#I know people use truthing because its easy and fun to say

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We Are Not Our Fathers

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You get summoned to your mate and Cassian whilst they are on a mission, only to find out there was a surprise at the end of it.

Warnings: mentions of a fight, children, and an argument between two lovers.

Words: 5k

Part 1: You are here! Part 2

Fun fact: this is technically my third fanfic now, cuz I’ve got a part one for something else and I’m writing part two, I just got this idea yesterday while listening to this playlist and was like “I need angst, azriel, his mate and a child.”

Azriel and Cassian had been at one of the Illyrian camps investigating rumors of… something. You hadn’t been paying attention when your mate told you why, he’d been getting dressed while telling. So, you could see the distraction at the time. It had been at least two hours since your mate had left and you got summoned down the bond, and a shadow seemed to tug at your hand.

So, following the bond you appeared in a typical Illyrian Steppes living room, with Azriel at the top of the steps.

“Hey, we uh, need you up here. We thought we were done but Cass found someone.” Azriel said meeting me at the bottom of the steps and grabbing a hand, rubbing his fingers on my wrist. He picked the habit up a few years into our bond, he says it keeps him grounded, especially after or during missions like these. Nodding my head, I followed the narrow steps behind him to see Cassian standing in the doorway of one of the rooms, there was a smidge of blood on the side of a wall, so I wasn’t sure what I was going to walk in on.

A little winged child was not what I was expecting. Cassian looked at me sheepishly then nodded to the side so the three of us could talk.

“So, I’m going to assume we didn’t know there was a child here?” I asked leaning against the wall.

“From what we could tell there were no reports of a child when we first started getting reports of the retaliation happening. My shadows also didn’t pick up on a child when we got here, so either he was just hiding really well because of the guests in the house, or he snuck in.” Azriel responded.

“Any idea how much he heard? Or what does his parental situation look like?” I asked, I needed to know how bad this situation could be. Especially if this child doesn’t have a family because of its father’s or mother’s choices.

“For the most part, some of them went easy. Only three of ‘em put up any real fight, hence some of the blood there by your head,” Cassian started.

“Ew, thanks for telling me that one.” I’ll just shuffle to the side.

“As for a possible guardian, he hasn’t answered any questions. He did call me a bastard though, so I guess he has listened to something while around them.” Cassian finished. He seemed almost more stressed than I. I assume because he’s become quite partial to being babysitter for Nyx in the last few months for Feyre and Rhysand to be able to go out.

“What do you think, he’s probably what four, maybe five. You have more experience in working with kids, and with Madja, what do you think his outcome is with what he’s been dealt.” Azriel asked, dragging a scarred hand down his face.

“All children are different. One could experience something awful like the death of a parent and not remember anything about it. Others could never recover from it and grow up acting out the rest of their lives. It’s just a matter of how they get help. And knowing this camp, they probably won’t get much mental help at all. You two should know that” It’s not what they wanted to hear I imagine, but it was the truth. “So, what’s the plan? I assume if you have summoned me here you want me to go talk to him?”

“Yea actually, that’s exactly what so thanks for offering that so we don’t have to ask.” Cassian states rubbing the back of his head. Little shit.

Sighing, I turn my eyes to my mates, who just shrugged. I’ve been left here with the two most awkward people when it comes to random kids. Such a surprise came from the man-child Cassian himself. I roll my eyes, but send something to calm down the bond, and turn to go into the room.

The child is on the smaller side, evidence of the winter that’s still in the mountains so it’s evident his family doesn’t have much money for food. He’s got some dirt on his clothes so he’s either been out playing today or he just doesn’t have many clothing options. His wings were on the smaller side for what we assume his age group is, so he either is just going to have slightly smaller wings, or he’s developmentally delayed for his possible age. Probably due to the lack of food and hygiene.

I step slowly into the room, trying to make my slightly tall frame smaller. “Hi there. What’s your name?”

The little boy looked at me with wide hazel eyes, a twinkle in it that I couldn’t tell meant he was scared or intrigued by my presence. “Hawthorne.”

“Hawthorne huh?” You ask, then tell him your name, “Are you okay Hawthorne?” I ask him, he sits up just a little taller, a twitch in his bat-like wing following after.

He nodded his head in response, and I nodded back in understanding. “I was wondering who you were here with buddy? It’s okay if I call you buddy, right?”

“I was with my daddy. and I don’t know if you can call me buddy. Daddy’s usually the only one that does. Daddy said it’s cause we’re friends, but I don’t know you.” He answers sheepishly looking around my body towards the end, telling me I have a shadow, likely two of them.

“Well, if I tell you something about me, and then you tell me something, then we would be friends, wouldn’t we?” He hesitates, thinking about the question then nods his head quickly.

“Okay, well you know my name already,” I say then move to sit on the corner of the bed and make it seem like I’m thinking about my fact, “One of my favorite things ever, is getting to go and watch the sunrise or sunset as it comes up or down, and it shine on the soft snow. It’s really pretty.” I say, his head perks up a little at what I tell him.

“I like that too! I also like it when it storms, 'cause that means I don’t have to go out and I get to stay inside with my daddy.” He says. I smile at his enthusiasm of getting to share something we both like.

“I’ll tell you another secret then.” His eyes get really wide, and I feel a questioning brush through the bond. “I also like it when it storms. Because that means I get to stay inside with my friends.”

“Are they your friends?” Hawthorne asks looking at Cassian and Azriel behind me.

“Yeah, those are my really good friends, Cassian and Azriel. They… came to talk to the people that were downstairs. Did you know them?” I ask, glancing at the two males behind me, who are trying to seem small, but with the size of Cassian and Azriel’s wings. They’re failing.

“It was my daddy and their friends. I heard lots of yelling. And that they called your friends bastards. So, I did when they came up here. Where is my daddy?” I looked at Azriel for an answer, he looked down and then at Hawthorne.

“We took your father somewhere so we could talk with them. Do you have a mother we could take you to? Or anyone else.” Azriel answered the child.

Hawthorne shook his head no, “Daddy says mommy died when I was little, even smaller than now. And daddy says I’m the only thing he has left. But I think that’s silly 'cause we have neighbors!”

I sigh and look at my mate and Cassian, I then look back to the hallway and back to the child, “Hawthorn I’m going to go talk with my friends really quick, are you okay here?” The boy nods his head and watches as the three of us leave the room.

It’s now my turn to rub my hands down my face. “What do we do with him? I assume mom either died in childbirth or from sickness. And now we’ve got dad where he’s going to probably be punished for what they’ve been planning.”

Cassian almost winces at the last part, “His father was one of the people to put up a fight. We’ve got him in Hewn City right now, one of the others said he’s the ring leader for wanting to try and get rid of Rhys, and ‘go back to the old ways.’”

“Gotta love males and their ever-needing reason to be on top,” Azriel said laying back against the wall across from me, one of his feet resting between my ankles.

“We asked Rhys what he thought. He thinks it should be up to you.” Cassian said.

I processed the question for a second. Thinking about the options that are available. If Hawthorne stays, he’ll be homeless, wandering the streets like Cassian did; and based on how he looks already, he probably wouldn’t last long. Or taking him with us. To Velaris and trying to find him a place there. He could stay in the House of Wind until we find somewhere or someone.

I look at Azriel and he nods, knowing what I’m going to decide. If I had it my way, there would be no children wandering the roads here in the camps. But the orphanage idea has been slow, Devlon the only one wanting to even entertain the idea.

“Take him with us. He’ll be better off in Velaris, and until we can find somewhere permanent, he can stay in the House with us all.” I say, Cassian nods knowing I’m making the decision based on what he’s told me of his past before Rhys and his mother.

“Looks like you’ll get a friend Cassian, I’ll be sure to set up playdates.” Azriel says pushing off the way and patting his brother on the back.

Cassian had a shocked look on his face, eyes following Azriel as he followed me back into the room Hawthorne was patiently waiting in.

“Hey, Hawthorne? How about you come with me and my friends for a little bit, until we can see if your father gets into trouble, okay?” I asked going in and sitting on his bed, angling my body to be eye level with the winged boy. He seemed to sit and think about it for a second, then spared Azriel a questioning look before looking back at me.

“Will I still get to do my training?”

My eyes widen just a tad. Training at five? I look over my shoulder to Cassian and Azriel in question.

“Yeah me, and Cassian can help with that. We’re both really going at flying so we can help you learn some.” Azriel told the child, putting a lot of emphasis on them being so good at flying. This seemed to make the boy happy.

“Okay then. I guess I’ll come with you. But I get to bring my toys!”

“We wouldn’t expect you to leave them behind buddy. Now where are your clothes?” I said standing from the bed and ruffling my fingers through his dark brown almost black hair.

Hawthorne jumped from the bed, his little wings flapping as he did, and ran to the dresser in the corner of the room. He pulled open a drawer almost at eye level and grabbed what little clothes sat in there. “Here they are!” He ran back over and handed them to me. He only had two shirts and another pair of pants, plus only a few pairs of undergarments.

I looked in the direction of my mate and he nodded at what I was thinking. We’ll have to get him some more clothes. I held my hand out and Azriel summoned a bag from the shadows and handed it to me. I usually use it for the farmers market, but I’ll just get a new one.

“Okay, bubs, come here and I’ll hold you while Azriel takes us back to the house.” The boy hopped over with a questioning look on his face.

“He’s going to fly both of us to your house?”

“Nope! He’s going to do something called winnow, which means,” I sat for a second thinking how to explain this to a child, “he’ll grab my and Cassian's hand, and then we’ll disappear and then reappear in the house!” Yeah, that was a great explanation.

Hawthorne seemed to question it for a second, then came over and all but crawled up into my arms. I moved the bag to my shoulder and then joined Azriel and Cassian. The three of us all looked at each other as if questioning what I’d decided.

And into the shadows we went, only for Azriel to then grab onto me tighter to glide us down to the balcony of the House of Wind. Hawthorne gripped my neck tighter looking around at all he could see of Velaris. And I knew I had made a good decision for the boy.

Feet touching the ground Hawthorne all but leaped from my arms to run and look over the balcony, pulling himself up by using his feet on the spindles to gain leverage to look out. Mouth opening by the second, I leaned back against Az watching the boy. He’s never seen so many people at once living in such a beautiful place.

“Hawthorne, wanna go get a quick snack before we get you cleaned up in a tub?” I asked leaving my mates front to join the boy at the railing. He looked up at me with wide eyes before looking back out towards the Sidra. “It’ll all still be here when we’re done. And if you’re not tired then you can even see it once the sun goes down. It looks even better.” He turned back with a slightly toothless grin and nodded enthusiastically, jumping from the side, and gripping my hand swinging from it.

Walking into the sitting room I walked the boy towards the kitchen. Already sitting on the counter was a little dinner for the boy, the House instantly knowing what was needed of it. I helped him up onto a stool he quickly dug into his dinner.

“Easy now, don’t want to eat too fast and make yourself sick,” I advised brushing a finger across his back. I walked around the counter and grabbed a small cup and filled it with water so he could drink as well.

Once he was done eating, he quickly gulped down the water and brushed his mouth on his hand, then proceeded to wipe the hand on his shirt. Boys. I grabbed him before he had a chance to run off and walked him up to mine and Azriel’s bathing room where Az sat pouring a few drops of bubbles into the bath.

I set Hawthorne down on the ground and allowed him to undress so he could climb in the bath and gave my mate a quick peck on the cheek in thanks. Admiration flowed down his side of the bond as I leaned over and started wetting Hawthorne’s hair. He splashed around a little playing with the bubbles as I washed the grime off of him.

Once I was done, I grinned and grabbed a handful of bubbles and placed them on his head. The little Illyrian quickly looked up at me and proceeded to grin. And without a moment's notice he flapped his wings in the water spraying water all over me.

We both sat in silence for a little bit, me in shock and him with a look that said, ‘Uh oh’. Then I started laughing, and Hawthorne quickly realized he wasn’t in trouble for getting water over me.

After his bath, and the fight of drying him off, and the battle of getting him dressed. I did as I had promised and walked him back to one of the balconies so he could watch the ending of the sunset and all the lights of Velaris come on. We sat quickly, him in amazement, me writing down some reports to send to Rhys in the morning.

It was in the middle of the night I was awoken to one of Azriels shadows, Azriel rousing from sleep himself and moving a wing off of me to see what was happening. Then I heard soft padding down the hall, and a shuffling of wings. I then heard the door move a bit as someone jumped and grabbed the doorknob, and the door quietly moved open.

Raising our heads, we were greeted with Hawthorne sniffling as he waddled into the room. He looked up at the two of us from the foot of the bed, glancing back and forth. I glanced at Azriel and silently asked if he’d allow the boy in the bed with us.

Azriel looked at me, then flopped back on his stomach and grumbled “Once you feed them and let them sleep in the bed, they end up staying. Look at Cass.”

I lightly slapped his arm and raised up more and nodded to my side of the bed. Hawthorne quickly shuffled over and climbed his way into the bed and my arms. “Wanna talk about it?” I quietly asked.

He shook his head and placed his wet face into my neck. I hummed an okay and moved the blankets back over us and went back to sleep, Azriel’s wing shifting back over as he moved around.

In the morning I awoke to an empty bed, not unusual with Az doing morning training, but I distinctly remember a little boy crawling into the bed in the night as well.  

Climbing out of bed, a shadow greeted me happily and started leading me in the direction of the living room; and was greeted by Cassian holding the boy in the air telling him to get ready, and Azriel sat in a chair drinking tea.

“If he breaks something Cassian, you get to tell Rhys.” I said, walking further into the room and joining Azriel on the armrest, his hand wrapping around my hip and patting it. Azriel tilted his head in a way saying, ‘That’ll be fun’ and went back to his morning readings.

“Hey, we learn to fly by being dropped from different heights, I figured you prefer it in the living room, where he could land on the couch.” The general replied, letting go of the boy and allowing him to flap-glide his way to the couch in question.

I let the two continue and looked down to my mate, “Wanna join me in the kitchen, so we could talk about H-A-W-T-H-O-R-N-E’s F-A-T-H-E-R?” He nodded his head and took my hand to lead me in the direction of said room. Already on the counter was my breakfast, courtesy of the house which I thanked, and a steaming glass of coffee.

“I went earlier this morning. He’s not wanting to give us anything. Rhys wants to make an example of them.” Azriel said going straight to the point. I looked up from putting jam on my toast, my eyes trailing to the sounds of the child’s laughter and Cassians' praise.

“What about Hawthorne?”

Azriel sighed, already knowing I wasn’t going to let this go without a fight. Either with him or our High Lord. “Rhys is going to leave that up to you. His recommendation thought was to find someplace around Velaris so he wouldn’t be in a camp where issues may arise in the future. When he’s older.”

I looked sharply up at what he said. “What is that supposed to mean?” I made sure to keep my voice somewhat low so as to not raise attention to us.

“We both know what he means. He’s just trying to cover future bases because he has Nyx now.” Azriel tried to calm down, resting a hand on top of mine. I pulled it back from him immediately.

“No Azriel I don’t know what you mean. He’s a child what are you two trying to say?” I was angry. He’s five, if that. What was there to possibly worry about to ‘keep an eye on him in the future.’

Azriel said your name then continued, “His father was plotting to get a group of people to kill Rhys. Maybe worse.” Azriel almost seemed angry at the position I had taken, in defending this threat against his High Lord. But the threat was a child.

I glared at Azriel and all but snarled when I said, “Sons are NOT their fathers Azriel. You of all people should know that.” I even pointed in his direction for emphasis on my statement, his hazel eyes going wide in surprise at it. Shock and hurt flowed down the bond, and I pushed my feelings of anger towards him.

Turning I leave my breakfast to go join Cassian and the deemed threat in the other room to watch him stretch his wings.

It was later in the evening, after playing with the child and having Cassian take us down to the shopping district so he could have more clothes that I had finally let myself think about the argument from earlier in the day. I had already put Hawthorne to bed almost two hours ago and was down in the kitchen sipping wine. Setting the glass down on the counter I ran my hands down my face in frustration, and then came some shuffling.

Turning my head, I expected Azriel but found Hawthorne. Bleary-eyed from what little sleep he got. “Hey, what are you doing back up, it’s late.”

The little dark-haired child rubbed his eyes, his other hand gripping a little black cat stuffed animal he begged to have. “I have trouble sleeping in the bed. It’s super soft.” His eyebrows furrowed together and then he said, “The shadows also keep me awake by playing with my hair.”

A few of Azriel’s shadows had taken a little liking to the boy, much unlike their master, it seemed. “Well. Since you’re awake, want some hot chocolate?” I asked, the boy seemed confused at my words and asked what hot chocolate was. “Hot cocoa?” He shook his head in confusion again.

“Come on, I’ll make us some cups and you can try it,” I said lifting him up to sit on the counter and wiped my finger at some of the dried drool on his cheek.

Turning to a cabinet, I grabbed two mugs to set beside him and continued to pull supplies out to make the cocoa. Hawthorne watched every move I made, measuring out the ingredients, putting them into a pot to warm up, and even helping stir every now and then. Once it was done, I moved it over to the side to allow it to cool a bit more before putting the drink into the mugs.

“Now here’s the fun part. I like to add some extra things to mine.”

Hawthorne seemed interested in whatever it was I was going to add.

“I like to take this white stuff, called whipped cream, and put it on top, then add this stuff here called cinnamon. Do you wanna try mine and see if you like it for yours?” I asked, Hawthorne seemed to think deeply about it, furrowed eyebrows, and all then eagerly nodded his head. I carefully handed him my cup and he took a little sip, whip cream getting on his upper lip and nose, then made a loud ‘ahh’ sound after gulping it down.

“I’d like some please!” The boy eagerly handed my mug back and watched me add it to his smaller mug.

We sat side by side sipping at our drinks, Hawthorne’s eyes drooping more and more as he drank before he set his almost empty mug on the counter and yawned.

“Ready to go back to bed?” He seemed a little hesitant and then said something that broke my heart.

“I don’t wanna sleep by myself, I’m scared someone’s going to come and get me.” He didn’t want to make eye contact.

I looked at him a little inquisitively, “Why do you think someone’s coming to get you?”

“Well, I really liked being with Daddy, even if I didn’t get much food. And then you guys came and took my daddy and me, because daddy was being bad. But you have been really nice, and Cassin has been helping me fly, and even though Azzie don’t like me he still lets me play with his shadows, and you guys have food and it’s warm-“ I stopped him before he could continue working himself up.

“Hawthorne, you don’t have to go back to the camp if you don’t want to. You know that right?” I said rubbing his hand in a comforting way.

He seemed sheepish as he nodded then asked, “I would get to stay here with you? And Cassin and Azzie?”

I sighed trying to think of an answer, “I don’t know if you’d get to stay with us. You could go to another place that would love you very much.”

Hawthorne didn’t like that answer. Tears forming in his little hazel eyes, lips wobbling, and I knew I needed to backtrack.

“Hey, how about this buddy?” He sniffed and ran a hand over his eye, “How about we pause this conversation, and me and you go sleep? Then we can talk when I get some answers.” Answers only the Inner Circle could answer.

It took Hawthorne only 20 minutes to fall back to sleep in his room and me another hour lying beside Azriel. It was early morning when I awoke to Azriel getting up himself.

“Think you could call a meeting about little bits?” I asked rubbing my hands down my face.

Azriel sighed and sat back in the bed beside me. “You shouldn’t get attached to him; you know that. And it’s not that I think that he’s going to become his father or that I hate him. I heard you guys’ last night, and what you both talked about.” He sat there for a second licking his lips as I cringed knowing he heard us, “I do like him. He’s a sweet kid, and I’m glad he’s had a better life than most Illyrians-”

I stopped him, “I didn’t mean what I said yesterday. I know you’re not your father and I should’ve never. Ever. Compared you to him.”

“I know. You were angry and believed you had to defend him. I’m proud of you for that. But if you really want to discuss what happens with him, then I think we should talk.” Azriel said, grabbing my hand and holding it as he laid back across my stomach.

I nodded, and we started talking. About all outcomes for Hawthorne. What would happen to him, how he’d be raised, all of it. Then we went to the River House. And I joined the Inner Circle as we talked about him. Rhysand’s concerns, Amren’s and Mor’s surprise, Feyre’s support in what would happen, and how it would all be dealt with.

At the end we had an answer.

It was later in the day that I asked Hawthorne if he wanted to go walk around town with Azriel. I was slowly walking behind as Azriel walked somewhat awkwardly with the boy, talking with him as Hawthorne was eagerly pointing around at different shops.

Hawthorne’s eyes widened and grabbed Azriels’ hand, the older Illyrian tensing up at the innocent little child grabbing his scarred hands and dragged him over to a bakery to press his face into the window and stare at the sweets.

“Can we go in there?” Hawthorne asked eagerly looking between Azriel and me. Azriel looked to me for some guidance, letting me control the situation. Nodding my head, Azriel led the three of us into the bakery and let the boy pick what he wanted and got me my favorite treat too.

I led Hawthorne back outside so we could eat, take in the sights, and talk to Hawthorne like we needed to.

“Hey Hawthrone, remember the conversation from last night? Can me and Azriel talk to you about it?” Hawthrone seemed more downtrodden at the reminder of last night but nodded his head.

“Hawthorne, I got to visit your dad before we left, and I just wanted you to know that he isn’t going to be able to come home. And because of that, we need to find you a good home.” Azriel started out, not telling the boy his father wasn’t going to come home. Rhys did have to make an example and couldn’t just pardon him because he had a son.

“Azriel and I have been talking with some people, and we’re wondering what you want to do,” I said, handing the boy a napkin to clean his face as he ate. He glanced between Azriel and me, then down at the table.

“Where would I go if Daddy can’t take me?” he asked shyly.

“Well, we could find you a loving home here, in the city. Where you would be cared for and get to learn all kinds of things with kids your age and everything. Another choice is we find you a home back at your camp, somewhere that’d be able to care for you, and you’d get to be with other Illyrians your age.” Hawthorne seemed to think the two options over. Then Azriel looked at me and I nodded.

“Or” Azriel started, “You could stay with us, and we could raise you. Then you’d stay with Cassian and us, get to meet the High Lord and Lady, and all our friends, while going to school here in Velaris. And in a few years, we’d take you to a camp called Windhaven and you’d train to be a warrior.” Hawthorne’s eyes got wider and wider as Azriel continued, looking back and forth between us two, his grin starting to match mine.

“So. Which would yo-“ Azriel didn’t finish as the tiny Illyrian lunged over the table into both of us.

“YOU I WANNA STAY WITH YOU!” Hawthorne yelled excitedly, gripping the both of us as I laughed.

Azriel looked at me, love flowing down the bond and him receiving the same back from me at the new addition to the family.

[star-anise]

Fun upside of rats and spambots fleeing Twitter for Tumblr are all the new fucking, uh...

They're not TERFs this time, they're "not feminists" because "feminism is cancer", they're, uh...

"Violent Misandrists"?

Like, huge use of Judith killing Holofernes vibes. 15yos posting "Kill all men (except my male mutuals lol!)" and insinuating that banning pornography will end child abuse forever.

(deep breath)

Look.

If you are a teenager from the USA, and your parents are Republicans, please consider that EVERYTHING you were ever taught about media, politics, gender, sex, feminism, and the advisability of mass murder as a political tool

has been carefully tailored to make you feel enraged with the state of the world, which is full of Good People and Bad People (groups it is very easy to sort everyone you meet into) and the way to Fix Society is to criminalize, incarcerate, or brutally murder as many Bad People as possible. You have probably seen several different sorting systems proposed, and may not have seen much political discourse beyond debates about "Which PART of society are Bad People who should be punished?"

And yes, I realize you've also been taught that people like me insisting on bullshit like "nuance" and "tolerance" and "educating yourself" are literal Satan and probably in favour of ritualized child abuse and puppy-kicking.

We're not. I'm not. I'm like a lot of people you wouldn't think are Good People, who nevertheless work to make the world better in what we understand to be the best methods available.

I don't know why I'm saying this. I'll probably end up a target of vitriol and regret ever speaking up. Just.

You are not smart for coming to the conclusion that the world is full of Bad People who just need to be killed. You did not figure out (or find the true prophet of) The Secret Truth of the Entire Universe. You haven't figured out how to fix the world. You just followed the fucking breadcrumb trail laid down by people who want to recruit you to commit atrocities in their name.

The world is so much more complicated than you've been led to believe. Fixing its problems is so much more tedious and difficult. Cruelty is so much less useful. And you've got so much more learning to do.

[thatbitchery]

'Power' and 'power hungry' are those words that we have demonized and sacrificed to spread the level down propaganda that's egalitarianism and anti- hierarchy, when power is not only inbuilt meaning we all seek it but extremely important and useful to life.

Power is the ability to influence the outcome, perception and course of events. People that have power are people that have- control or at least influence over lives, theirs or otherwise. Lack of power is the most painful position one can be in- exhibit A your childhood if you had one of those parents. Lack of power power leads to slavery, bring under dictatorship, resentment, self loathing, humiliation, shame, etc. The most painful position you can be in is one where you Lack power over yourself.

Neitzsche (I can never correctly spell his name) insists that power over yourself is the most important form of power, and that a good life is a life spent garnering and exercising power over yourself. Power over yourself is simply- discipline. When your will is stronger than your impulses and urges and wants- when you're disciplined- then you have achieved the highest form of power in existence- which makes this the first point. An easy way to be powerful is to be disciplined.

Power over others, however , is just as important. As social species we are constantly in need of company, in fact isolation is a death- to be at the mercy of others is also a death. Since as a social species we are dependent on each other for survival it is important to have some level of power over others- we are also animals and people will naturally treat you at the lowest level they can- it's important to make this level as high as possible.

So then, some cheap / completely free easy to do ways to be powerful?

Articulation and eloquence. Jordan Peterson says the most dangerous thing a person can be is to be articulate and eloquent. Why? Because words are the most powerful weapon out there. Everything social happens through words , and it's a social species so do the math. Wars have been declared and ended over and through words. Relationships formed and destroyed. Governments created and disbanded- words. In my religion save for human beings Everything was created by words- its that powerful. The most powerful you can be is articulate. The way you speak- from your surface lexicon to your intonation to the speed you use to your accent- people judge you over this. It influences how people treat you and think of you. It's soft power that's also explosive. Increase your surface lexicon. Get rid of your original accent and get one that people either a) find superior or b) commonplace ie most people have it (fun fact before skin color and origin we assess each other on accent basis and subconsciously decode if we like you or not. Explanation: people in the same tribe have the same accent , so consider eo brothers and safe. Strangers, not so much). Learn to pace your words. Be straightforward and open. Which drives me to point two

Honesty and authenticity. Look , I think you should lie. Manipulate girl boss gatekeep - these require lying at some point- go for it. What's more powerful, though, is to learn to ger what you want by manipulating the truth. You know what they say- the truth will set you free. Here's the problem with lying- we can tell. There are tells and subconsciously cues that your body sends when you lie and we subconsciously detect them and when you're caught in one lie it destroys your credibility all round. It's like a castle of jenga falling apart, everything that was once in harmony just- trips over. Credibility is the backbone of all relationships- you lose that you get isolated. Honesty is such a powerful tool because a) its vulnerable b) it signals confidence c) it builds trust d) the gift of companionship- you meet people that can actually relate e) you don't need to remember too much or always hold up a facade, the truth will set you free f) it's such an idgaf move that makes you seem superior especially if it's something you'd get judged harshly on. Just- be truthful- I've given f ways in which it influences how people treat you. The trick here is to do the mystery thing- keep things to yourself, unlearn your need to overexplain or justify, learn to give vague, short and true answers and when in doubt, cry.

Knowledge is power- what more must I add. Read. Keep up with the economics and government politics. Learn personal finance and build a financial base. Read fiction. Listen to podcasts. Be informed. Know the things that matter, and no that isn't drake X Kendrick Lamar it's things that matter. Get good grades and hold, at the very least, a bachelor's. Watch movies and go to the opera. Subscribe to newsletter. Be informed. Know. Knowledge is power. Join training camps and whatnots. Be skilled and efficient.

Networks. Power is stored in webs and security is in numbers. Exhibit a) try attack someone with a strong fan base see how that goes for you. You want to be powerful? Have friends, and not just friends. Powerful friends. I don't mean a team of CEOs necessarily- loyalty at the top is tricky and unless you're also a CEO that might not be easy- I mean people that can influence the turn of events. Sometimes- like in fandoms- it's simply just, people. Who your networks are made up of is dependent on what you want- as long as you keep in mind security is in numbers. Run up your numbers, ma'am. Forget your introvercy and self isolation methods , leave your house and learn to talk to people and run up your numbers. The most powerful you can be, is to get to a point where a) you have numbers on every level b)you have a cult leader like presence- that people worship you and are willing to die for you. Like most celebrities do. That's security, that's power. If you have a Nicki Minaj level fan base people treat you well because if they don't your fans will tear them apart. & you can get away with anything because they will justify it for you.

Grooming and mannerisms. We- inclusive of you- judge our books by their covers. Before you speak your Grooming and your etiquette speak for you. That's, I'm not explaining this. I know you know.

START HERE

[godessanonymous]

Blame it on the Vodka - LN4

Request: No.

Genre: Fluffy (i guess)

Triggers: mentions of small injury

Summary: Partying in the Netherlands Lando gets a little injured, after helping him you spend the evening at the celebrations.

The picture of him on the boat inspired me to do this

Blame it on the Vodka – LN4 Martin Garrix had invited you to the king’s day celebration in the Netherlands, load so of people were there, famous influencers and artists and then there was you. Technically you could be categorized under the influencer division, yet you were nowhere as known as most the others here.

The invitation only got to you because you went to school with the DJ.

You were now a nurse working in a trauma center in the sunny state of Florida. A couple of years ago you and a friend started a podcast just for fun and your following on both the Podcast as well as your usual social media grew fairly quickly.

Though you were not even close to some of the people here it, your podcast and work was what made you happy.

The party was loud, you got on a boat around noon and were immediately greeted with a drink and an orange shirt to put on. You scanned the crowd around you once you had pulled the fabric over your head. The boat wasn’t huge, but It was big enough to fit a lot of people you didn’t know.

The whole city was a Party, boats on the water and orange things everywhere. You loved a little bit of partying so chances were you’d have some good fun out here. Able you probably needed a glass or two before you could truly come out of your shell.

You made your way through the dancing bodies, recognizing a face or two and giving people a big smile and muttered sorry as you squeezed past them towards the DJ Desk to greet Martin.

As soon as he spotted you his face lit up. Next to him was a familiar face, be it only from TV. F1 Driver Lando Norris, a glass in hand chatting to a girl next to him. You reached him and he immediately pulled you into warm hug. “How’ve you been? How is life in the sunny state?” he smiled.

“Oh its great! Work never stops, but I am really enjoying life over there. The Podcast has been going well.” You responded. That wasn’t the whole truth, your life was rather busy than chill and enjoyable. You were more or less working two whole jobs. Juggling being in the media and the chaos of the ER weren’t always easy.

“How’s Daniel?” he asked leaving you debating what to say. You and your boyfriend had recently broken up and it wasn’t a pretty one.

“Oh… yeah well I don’t really know” was all you said, pulling a confused look from Martin. “OK well I have someone id like you to meet, you still enjoy motorsport right?” he switched the topic. “Of course I do.” You said, you knew what was coming. He was probably going to call Norris over to the two of you. And that is exactly what he did. “Lando come over here really quickly.”

The Brit, clearly already a couple of drinks in waddled over, quickly excusing himself from the woman he was chatting to. “This is a old school friend of mine, Y/N. I think you two would get along well. She doesn’t know that many people here. Maybe you could put your chatty self to use and introduce her to some people around here.” He said half joking.

The curly haired man looked at you. “Well hi, I’m Lando and apparently I am your tour guide, its nice to meet you.” He smiled. “Well how about we go get you a drink.”

And with that you walked off with him to the bar.

“You strike me as a Aperol Girl.” He thought out loud. You chuckled, he wasn’t wrong. But you weren’t about to go easy today.

“Well you’re not wrong but ill take a Vodka-O, if I want to get through today ill need something strong.

“Alright then, ill take another one of this and a Vodka-O for the Lady please he told the man behind the tiny bar, sliding his empty glass over the counter.

You lost him on your way back towards the middle of the boat. The swimming party had set of and was cruising around in the calm water surrounded by a ton of other small boats with partying people on them. You had found some familiar faces to have small chats with but quickly returned to dancing to the music playing loudly.

At some point you were stopped and checked by some harbor police who wanted to make sure everything was safe.

The alcohol had started to make you feel just the right bit fuzzy.

You grabbed another light drink and walked back to Martin who was jamming out just like the rest. On your way back you noticed a small group of people all standing around one individual. You went closer to investigate whatever was going on.

Getting closer you were greeted with the slightly bloody face of the British man you were introduced to earlier. He was clearly more drunk than you.

“Well what happened here?” You asked. Still grinning he responded. “Weeeelllll, I was dancing and someone smacked their glass in my face and it cut my nose.”

Ok so nothing bad. “Well what do we do now.” Someone you didn’t know said next to you.

“Aright someone get me a first aid kit. That cut won’t need stitches.” You said grabbing a tissue.

“Mind if I have a closer look Lando?” He shook his head no so you stepped up to him and wiped a bit of blood away.

“Well at least its not in your eye.” Someone set down the first aid kit next to you. You quickly went through it checking what you got. Grabbing a little light, some gauze and tweezers you turned back to your patient.

“Aright let me just have a look.” You stepped even closer to him. He was sitting and you were not, so eventough you weren’t as tall he was looking up at you.

You just now noticed the pretty color of his eyes and long lashes that put most girls to shame. Now almost standing between his legs you shine the light at the wound. It looked fairly clean cut, though a small piece of glass was still lodged in the wound.

“There is still something stuck in there, ill have to get it out. Stay still.” You said before you grabbed it with the tweezers in one quick motion. It came out easily, it did also earn you a tiny wince from Lando.

“You look like you know what you are doing.” He said, eyes questioning.

“That’s because I do, I am a nurse.” You responded quickly while searching through the little medical bag for some disinfectant a bandage and some steri strips.

“Aright lets clean the wound quickly. Cover your eyes with you hands please. And this might sting a little bit.” You warned him before spraying to quick sprays of the disinfectant on the wound.

He flinched at the coldness.

In your half drunken state you rewarded him with a little pat on the head, like you would do to pediatric patients at your hospital.

You dried of the wound and leaned down a little further to better place the strips to hold the skin together.

“What a view that is.” Lando said, probably before thinking about it.

The comment made you blush a little. Your shirt was pretty but also warm and not too revealing but given the position you were in his eyes were on the same level as your boobs.

You quickly finished up placing a small bandage.

“Okay you are free to keep partying but watch out for dancing missiles.”

“Well thank you very much for your help miss nurse.” He smiled back.

“How about I say thank you with a dance.” A offer you could simply not decline. He didn’t waste any time pulling you towards a small free space to dance. His steps were a little wonky, but you got there eventually.

In all fairness the man knew how to dance, your bodies were getting closer to eachother with each song and the tention was getting stronger.

Maybe coming here, despite not knowing people, wasnt so bad after all.

[hotluncheddie]

I'm on that autistic Steve shit!!!! (sorry no hc of Eddie.... can only focus on Steve ❤️)..... my favorite favorite favorite autistic Steve hc is that he is so so charming so charismatic so cool but it's entirely an act..... like he learned it from books and movies and watching other people and like his emotional / social intelligence is thru the roof bc of that.... I think I saw it described in a fic once as "he knows exactly what people want to hear"..... and I think he does revel in being a chameleon and doing that but of course it's draining!!! my fav is him letting the mask down in front of Very Important people..... I'm writing a fic rn where when Steve tries to mask around hopper he's like "boy stop that you know you don't have to do that here"..... I get such such terminal Nothing Face after a long day and I like to think Steve does too and he's worried Eddie will find it off-putting the first time he shuts down and still wants to hang out with him..... but Eddie is so so endeared by it and is very gentle with him "you ran out of faces, huh baby? that's alright" .....

2jug2head “you ran out of faces, huh baby? That’s alright.” That honestly melted my heart. I had to curl up in a little ball to deal with that.

It’s !!!!! So !!!!!! Sweet !!!!!!!!!

and omg having Hopper be like that with Steve, letting him know in that blunt, simple Hopper way I'm !!!!!! thats so good !!!! I will love love love to read that fic when u finish it !!!! pls tag me if u post it !!!!

but yeah I really really hc Steve as being super high masking, very capable socially, very able to read people. he's used so much of his life to think about others and be what's best in any possible situation. he always wants to be perfect in his interactions with people, wants to 'win' at it. wants to be the best version of himself for every person that he meets. and he mostly does. he's good at it, he's smart and a lot of people follow the same sort of conversions, expect similar things. he’s been around enough people and been in enough situations to have scripts and reactions to most scenarios. he can recognise patterns well and so he does that, but with people, over and over and over. so much so that he doesn't even think about it now, doesn't really even realise what he doing.

he’s very capable, very good and smart socially, but it's to his detriment. it means no one really knows him. it means he doesn't really know himself.

it's like he's a little perfect puppet and when he's alone it feels like this freak monster comes out; with all these feelings and thoughts and emotions that he doesn't know what to do with, doesn't know if they're normal. and he doesn't know how to tell anyone about it either, how to express it or talk about in the right way.

because he's so so scared of being made fun of, or being alone; of being told off, or being weird. and sometimes it makes him so sad, because he doesn't always know how to stop - he's so quick to respond wth his scripts that he forgets to think about what he really thinks, really feels. and he can't stop.

to unmask, at times, most times, feels herculean - to show someone who you really are? that feels impossible. terrifying. to ask for time to think? to risk saying something wrong? being honest feels deeply unnatural somehow - to be honest about how he feels, what he thinks, what he needs. he just, he's never done that before...

so when he's navigating these people, these relationships he so so cares about. with Robin and Eddie and Dustin and Hopper, even.

this is the slew of feelings he has to wade through when trying to be close to them, to keep them, to do what they ask of him. this is what he has to work through. and sometimes, sometimes they act as if it's so easy. as if it is so easy to say the honest truth when asked 'what's up?' or 'what do you think?' or 'what do you want?'

that's not easy, its never been easy. and it makes him feel like a freak once he realises it should be.

-

yeah idk that got kind of sad, sorry. but like. this is where I imagine him, when you get to the good, lovely, cozy, wonderful parts. I just, I think this is the thing, my lovely wonderful high high high masking Steve - this is what he's going through to get to the good. and its hard.

[rathayibacter]

been thinking about the parallels between ttrpgs and poetry lately, synthesizing some stuff i've been sitting on with both. i don't remember where i heard this from, but i really like the idea of defining poetry as writing that can't be edited down any more; if you made even one cut, one word replacement, you'd lose something. even the repetitions and redundancies are there to communicate something, because if they weren't they'd be removed. 

its not true, of course, but i don't think it has to be. as a lens to examine poetry i think it's fun, and as a goal when writing poetry it's helped me on more than one occasion. any claim to Fundamental Truth beyond that line doesn't matter much in my opinion. what i like about this isn't that it makes for poetry where you have to read a certain meaning out of every single line to "get it", its actually kinda the opposite! by assuming there's meaning baked into every detail, you can get meaning out of any detail you decide to focus on, and can narrow your focus as much or as little as you like. my favorite poetry is messy, colorful, and dense; you're not gonna get a single clean reading out of it because doing that requires ignoring all the fun little twists and turns, all the intersecting ideas that led it to this point.

and so that brings us to ttrpgs! role-playing games are a fascinating thing because they can really only get us halfway; even the most strict and detailed game has an innate fuzziness that comes from the peculiarities of how we play tabletop games. your mechanics are only airtight if everyone knows, understands, and remembers them, and those are three tall orders for any game, no matter how simple or intuitive it may present as. and that's not even a bad thing! interpretation isn't just "what percentage of the rules are the players getting wrong", its an adaptation of the rules as written to the game as played. even forgotten rules are part of this, cuz anything that's able to be forgotten (and again, that's potentially anything) probably was forgotten cuz it wasn't terribly relevant to the table forgetting it. 

so, as we write games and cast them into the world, fully aware that the thing that'll arrive at people's tables will never match what we had in our heads, what should we do? obviously some of this is just practical; don't bog players down with unnecessary busywork or minute exceptions to memorize, don't build a house of cards that stops working if any one part is missing or changed, you can use stuff like cheat sheets, examples of play, indexes, and asides to make it easier to learn, reference, and remember how to play.

but i promised you poetry, and poetry we shall have! so here's my big guiding principle for writing ttrpgs: only include it if it sings. every part of the game should be special, so that no matter what part or parts of the game a particular table winds up using, the game still shines through. by tangling the spirit of the game up in every line, every rule, every tiny little piece, everyone who engages with it can get tangled up in it too, and can fill in the spaces between in whatever way resonates most with them.

in more practical terms, this is "don't write anything that's less interesting than what the players will make up at the table", ie assume players will fill any missing spaces to the table's preferences, so only close those gaps if you've got something fun to say. don't fill space out of obligation, don't bog yourself down in the stuff that doesn't matter. this doesn't mean never add a polearms list because there's a million polearms lists out there already, but it does mean don't add a polearms list unless you're burning with passion to add it, and excited for people to share in that passion. if you don't, don't worry about it. they can figure it out. the table can always replace your good ideas with ones they like more, and they can always fill in the gaps when they come up, but it's not always easy to recover from a wall of bland filler or an ocean of lifeless cliches.

i wont tell you that if you follow this One Weird Trick then your game will be good. i don't know what a good game is. or rather, i know exactly what i think a good game is, and have no idea what you think it is, and have less than no faith that anyone could ever determine what a Truly Good Game is. but just like the quippy little definition of poetry at the top, universal truth isn't really what i'm after when i employ this. i'm trying to make something that satisfies the little itch in my brain, that sings to me as i make it and keeps singing even after i let it go. moreover, i'm trying to make something that doesn't waste my time as a writer, and doesn't waste yours as a reader or player or fellow designer. 

will this make sure players remember all the rules when they're playing? no, absolutely not. i wouldn't want them to, even if i could force it! but maybe, hopefully, what this does do is lodge one of those little razor-sharp slivers of text in their brains, and it'll sing to them just like it sang to me. not the same song, not the same tune, but just as beautifully.

[postoctobrist]

I could just look this up but I think it's more interesting to ask actual people about these things, so apologies

As a person who knows nothing about Islam, I gotta ask - what's the deal with the giant black cube?

Oh man I love talking about our cube! The cube is called the Kaaba, which means ‘the cube’. It is very holy (you are meant to be visualising it as a sort of aiming point every time you pray) but it isn’t secret, and a lot of people assume it is inherently mysterious.

So many pre-Islamic Arabian cities, including Mecca, had a cube. These served as public shrines and housed idols of the pagan gods of that city. A lot of them also housed or had embedded into them meteorites, because something falling from the sky is pretty easy to worship.

Our cube, the cube, is believed to be the site where way back in the day Ibrahim (Abraham, if you want) built a house of worship to God. Over time as monotheism lost out to pagan polytheism its original purpose was lost and people use it as a shrine and copy the form of that shrine elsewhere.

For any Muslim narrative, one of the things that Muhammad does as a prophet is to kick Arabia back onto the monotheism from which it had fallen away (into ignorance, jahiliyyah). So when Muhammad re-enters Mecca he goes to the Kaaba and smashes all the idols inside with a staff while saying that ‘truth has come and falsehood has vanished’ - in some tellings of this he preserves a statue of the infant Jesus and Mary but places it outside. What happens next is a kind of religious compromise where he Islamifies (well, God does, but he’s the one telling Muhammad what to do) bits of the Meccan pagan religion. So the cube stays, the meteorite in it, a black stone, stays, and the Meccan fertility rite of tawaf where people circled the cube naked gets changed so you have to wear clothes and it isn’t horny any more. A mosque is built up around it. Eventually the direction you face during prayer is changed from towards Jerusalem to towards the Kaaba. And from then until now Islamic practice in relation to the cube has not really changed.

FUN CUBE FACTS

It’s not the same building Ibrahim built or the same building Muhammad resanctified. It has fallen down in earthquakes or been destroyed with catapults an alarming number of times and then just rebuilt in a very practical way. The current incarnation dates back to 1626.

It’s not black - in high winds or when it’s being changed, which it is yearly, you can see under the black and gold cloth covering, the kiswah, and see the granite blocks underneath:

The kiswah also doesn’t have to be black. It’s a pretty firmly established tradition now but it’s been red, green and white at various times.

It has an inside. There’s nothing secret about it like the Holy of Holies, every year a bunch of dignitaries get to go in and clean it. There’s nothing material important in there, that being sort of the point:

The little cabinet has cleaning supplies, perfumes and the like. If you pray inside the Kaaba you can face in any direction, plus I like to imagine you unlock a fun little achievement.

[s0fti3w1tch]

TMNT POLLS PSA

I've explained this in my reblog tags of this post, please keep the TMNT polls fun and please be sure that the AU/Iteration/Fic creators are actually okay with being part of them.

**Not about polls I've been added in, but polls I've seen, and growing trends me and others have noticed. As always, please don't harass anyone.

Specifically the more popularity-poll-ish ones, ones that teeter on or are straight up serious, it can be discouraging for those who didn't ask for it. Some may fear speaking up about it because other people are having fun despite how they themselves feel about it. Especially when polls specifically put one well-known fanwork over a smaller one. Worse yet when you're dropped into it without awareness from beforehand. Hell, even when the creators have a similar size, it can hurt.

I've recently gotten some anon messages like this. Though I haven't seen that attitude in response to my AU in polls, it's the type of attitude I've seen towards a couple other creators.

Being publicly compared to others by hundreds, sometimes up to thousands, can be anxiety-inducing. As easy as it is to say that "the unpopularity of your work should not discourage you," truth be told, there's truth to the saying "comparison kills creativity."

To have your work being used to put down someone else? Someone who's working just as hard? Who's just trying to share an idea just like you? Or to be dismissed?

As stated by the authors of MMC and OMO, while it may seem like you're uplifting your favorite in this, it's awkward. It can be stressful.

For those with less votes, it's hard not to think that yours is being called "less than." An "I've never heard of the other one lmao" can feel like a punch in the gut.

There's also animosity towards more bigger fanworks because of the pedestal they've been put on.

All that, and not even wanting to be there in there first place.

These things should and can encourage creativity and growth. AUs crossing over, banter, propaganda posts, etc.

Around the time Tumblr first rolled out the poll function, I was included in The Night AU creator's Sep AU polls. Me and the poll creator, Ray, both got last place in 2 respective polls, hence why we call TN!Leo/Green and TD!Leo/Trainee the "Losers Duo." Key part being: there was the awareness that this was simply in good fun. And I enjoyed being included.

Getting to know the creators of The Night, Red Rover, Life Mission, Blood Bath, and SLAU was and still is an amazing experience. The amount of crossover art we've made is evident of how much I've loved its turnout. I'm still planning on making more crossover work in the future.

It was some of the most actual fun I've had in fandom since I was 12. I'm 20 by the end of the year.

TL;DR

Respect the boundaries of fanwork creators and don't be an asshole for fuck's sake.

[fursasaida]

The pervasive sadism cannot be explained away as the behavior of soldiers at war, adapted to the needs of a new generation whose social media-addiction compels them to document their cruelty. The tendencies to revel and deny coexist, not just within the population but within the same person. Near the border with Egypt, a settler, there to block humanitarian aid from entering Gaza, tells a journalist that (a) the Palestinians are not starving, and (b) they will continue to receive no food (i.e. starve) until the hostages are released.

These justifications are not for him; he throws them at a wall, and the listener is free to see what sticks.

People ask what’s wrong with the Israelis because, I suspect, they find the depravity difficult to believe, let alone comprehend. [...] The cruelty itself...is somehow less disturbing than that it is presented with naked glee—no trace of the sober air that marks a person “doing what needs to be done” or an awareness that the rest of the world might not welcome overt, genocidal sadism as enthusiastically as the average Israeli. It’s like they can’t see us seeing them. Or maybe they don’t care. Attempts to explain Israeli behavior often reach for the biomedical. Surely this cannot be willed, they think, and so it must be pathological. In medicine, when a patient is unable to grasp their condition—as when a person experiencing hallucinations does not recognize them as such—we say they lack insight. Because we encounter the Israelis’ smug cruelty most acutely through individuals—be they government officials, soldiers, or formerly-known-as-Twitter warriors—it is easy to perceive it as an individuated “settler psychosis.” Psychosis replaces politics and history; it obscures how societies arrive at ideologies, reinforce and transmit them over time; and how dehumanization is preceded, constructed, and justified, so that it can be rendered with intention. [...]

[part of a longer discussion of the Nakba:] The justification behind implementation of the population “transfer” was that war suspends morality. In February of 1948, addressing the consciences and practical concerns of those who worried how the Zionists could build a state when they owned around 6 percent of the land, Ben Gurion reasoned, “The war will give us the land. The concepts of ‘ours’ and ‘not ours’ are peace concepts, only, and in war they lose their whole meaning.”

[...]

Zionism is a self-contained system of truth, with an origin story inspired by divine right, a bridge over its wretched beginnings. [...]

Looking at Israelis looking at Palestinians, it is easier to imagine they cannot see than to consider what it means for them to know. We psychologize, in some ways, to avoid having to. Settler psychosis, sick society, these people are not in their right minds—these are descriptive terms that reflect our inability to make sense, within a particular ethical or moral frame, of what we see; they do not interrogate etiology. The illness, given its prevalence, must be colonization: through contagion or side effect, the brutality of colonialism folds back on the colonizer. The occupation exacts a price on its enforcers. Missing is historical time, through which we see that the problem starts with the decision to colonize. A post on X, by a doctor, advises us to avoid “dehumanizing” Israelis. She suggests we instead consider their behavior to reflect a complex trauma response to entrapment in cyclical violence. But alienation is only possible because we already perceive the actor as a human being. The language of illness confuses morality with mental status and diffuses blame. It erases volition, without which there is neither escape nor responsibility.

Israel is an anachronism, a settler-colonial work-in-progress, and that Zionists seem totally unbothered with how we might perceive them reflects a position integral to the project’s fabric: tautologically moral, it divides the world into “with us” and “against us,” and bulldozes forward with the help of God and foreign politico-economic and military support. It does what it will and presents a potpourri of justifications post-hoc (or, shoot first and ask questions later, in the words of one Israeli official). Zionists have, for over a century, disregarded what it might mean that the Palestinians see them. And their indifference has been maintained by global superpowers—at present, the United States. The Israelis have interpreted this impunity as a demonstration of their supremacy, rather than its basis, an impunity they wield to showcase strength, even when it appears to us as something closer to fragility.

Zionist supremacy, that perfect bubble, is delicate and requires constant protection in its state of unstable equilibrium. Israel’s maneuvering at present—full-blown genocide—reflects a frenzied tripling down of the state’s supremacist machinery, to try to restore the bubble atop its shaky hill. What they have over the native is force, and the pleasure it gives, undiminished: the right-wing weekly Olam Katan published an article in January claiming among the great victories of the genocide in Gaza—which it celebrated as unprecedented since the Nakba, even if, it qualified, the Palestinians were exaggerating—is that Israeli culture, previously influenced by “western discourse . . . knows today without shame to rejoice over the deaths of an enemy, and this is said with full mouth. This is decisive moral progress.” [...]

Understanding Zionism as a product and function of people does not quite show us the door. That is why, I think, the world met the actions of Aaron Bushnell, the active-duty U.S. Air Force member who lit himself on fire outside the Israeli embassy in D.C., with something like a burst of recognition: under the snarled weight of seemingly inescapable structural pull, here was a person stepping forward, disentangling their agency at a cost exaggerated to try to map the gravity of refusing to do so. The last time an Israeli self-immolated for geopolitical reasons was in 2005, in protest of the “evacuation” order from Gaza.

One cannot erase what they do not see. Ari Shavit’s great-grandfather knew, Lord Balfour knew, Ben Gurion knew, the people in the kibbutzim knew, and every soldier in Gaza knows. And the people back home, they know too. In the years since 1917 or 1948 or 1982, Zionism has become increasingly difficult to maintain, and requires a certain insularity—sustained by the United States—that appears, if rooted in a less curated selection of facts and causal links, like insanity. For Israelis, this is self-preservation. Peering into the Zionist project, what we see is what Zionism requires.

[romanoffsbish]

Love is a Learning Curve

Past! Kate Bishop x GN!R

Yelena Belova x GN!R

Love is a Dagger (P1)

The long awaited P2 I was never going to give, but people wanted closure to the angst I guess 😂 | WC: 3,638

Kate woke up with a start, her body flopped back into the mattress regretfully, her arm covered her eyes to lessen the throbbing ache in her head. The blinds being open the root of the issue as the sun permeated into her already sensitive eyes. Drinking the night away was once an easy feat for the archer, but the closer she gets to the middle of her twenties the more she'd noticed it's losing its flair for fun.

——

Stumbling ungraciously out of bed she made her way to the bathroom and made herself a bit more human by taking a shower and getting dressed for work. Then she made her way downstairs to find nothing to eat, it threw her off because normally you'd have filled her up a thermos, and made her something to go, but she only shrugs, and rushes out the door to make sure she now had time to stop for a bite.

It wasn't all that strange an occurrence, on the rare occasion you did miss the opportunity to prepare her for her day, so she thought nothing of it, you were likely running late, and she assumed that had something to do with her partying last night so she didn't mind at all.

Her day flew by without any messages from you either, but she never checked them much anyway so she didn't notice. It wasn't until her phone rang on her way out of the office that she knew something must've been up.

"Hello?" she answered with slight hesitation, unsure on as to why the blonde was exactly calling her. "Kate Bishop, it's Yelena."

"Hey, yeah what can I do for you Yelena?"

"Are you coming to pick up Lucky?"

Kate's brows furrowed, because yes, technically Friday was her day to collect the dog from Belova's Doggy Daycare, but usually you just willingly picked up her slack. "Where's Y/N?"

The question was more so a thought she was having that ended up directed at Yelena, who simply cleared her throat, a sure sign that she knew something was up, but didn't wish to say.

"Yelena..." she was more desperate this time, and the blonde sighed, "Told me they were not going to be able to pick him up today, but I saw some suitcases and boxes in their car Kate."

"Oh."

"Yeah, they said today was your day to get him, but I guess it must've just slipped your mind," Yelena said with a nervous chuckle to follow, it was clear as day to the blonde that you just left your mutual friend without so much as a word shared, and though a part of her is rooting for you for finally putting yourself first for once, the other feels bad for the raven haired girl who's likely biting back tears at the news.

"Here, how about I take him home with me tonight. It's been awhile since him and Fanny had a playdate anyways."

"Thanks Lena, I'll get him in the morning."

That night Kate ordered in, and nursed a bottle of red wine until the buzz lulled her to sleep. When she awoke the following morning to find you'd yet to return her rose colored glasses fell.

Her strained eyes began to study the living room, and as she took it in she found any piece of you she once had was gone. All that had remained was a cherished framed photo of you, her and Lucky at Fanny's first birthday party.

Kate was racking her brain for a reason, anything she could come up with besides the glaring truth that she just didn't want to face. For the last year she'd been taking your love for granted, and it's true what they say: you don't know what you have until it's gone, and now she's just meant to live on like you don't exist.

The note you hid in your dresser drawer said just that when she stumbled up to your room.

"Dear Kit-Kat,

I'm sorry I couldn't face you, but it's best for us that I left without a trace. There's nothing left for us, you don't love me anymore, and I have held on to delusion for as long as I am willing.

If I had approached you I know you'd have tried to tell me I was wrong, that you did still love me, because your heart is too soft, and I would've clung to that hope until it failed me.

Love is a perilous thing really; I don't regret our journey, but I do regret staying this long. It's about time I set off to find what's out there for a loner like me, and for that reason I have disconnected my phone and gone off the grid.

I'll love you forever Kit-Kat, and I hope you are able to find someone who makes you happy, and who'll share their last slice with Lucky."

Kate's tears soaked through the crumpled paper, messy lines of blue ink began to run, distorting the message of half truths. Reading it hurt her tremendously, seeing that she'd made you believe she'd been stringing you along out of obligation, and not out of love was hard to read. It wasn't true, right? She loved you with all of her heart, but yet she took your presence for granted, and now she's all alone.

You actually left her (Just like she'd left you).

—

The archer had been neglecting her work for months as she scoured all over the city for you. Nothing was available to help her. You were apparently an expert at disappearing, because there wasn't a single trace of you anywhere.

It was pathetic really, she ran the most well known security and surveillance company around and yet she couldn't track you down.

With time, Kate realized that you were right.

The love she had for you faded until it was nothing more than words you say to protect the others feelings, but it also hadn't completely died. Kate was desperate to find you, to atone for all that she'd done to you by using you as her personal assistant instead of her lover.

Even if she lost touch with you, she knew that what she did likely distorted your view on love. The girl couldn't live with herself if she just left you to think that love is only a hopeless cause.

When things were young, and fresh it was like magic, and she wanted you to remember that. To look passed her betrayal, and the feelings of inadequacy she left behind in the hollowed heart that hardly beat in your chest anymore.

She needed you to know that her love for you might’ve devolved into the platonic, as is the case when people grow, but it’s still there In enough of a capacity that she won’t give up.

Kate was a mess, and in a way you were too.

You thought that getting a cottage out in the beautiful countryside of Norway was the way to go. Far away from the life you once lived, and the perfect place to enjoy your solitude. Then the loneliness set in against your will, and so you'd set off to find a furry companion.

At the shelter you saw a young pup that'd taken a liking to the elderly cat. He'd yap in her ear, and she'd purr in response, it was clear her ears were not functioning well anymore. You decided two for the price of one was great.

Simon showered you with love and affection whenever you entered the home, even if you'd only stepped out to get the mail. Then Posey, when she felt like jumping, would meet you in bed to cuddle and purr against your chest.

It worked, but only as a mask for the problem at hand really. Your foolish heart longed for a love like you'd once known. One full of passion and joy over the loveless mess it had become.

Still, you persisted and lived as if nothing was wrong. That was until Yelena had found you, and damn near broke your door off it's hinges.

"Y/N Y/L/N!" She shouted loud enough that you'd left the security of your room, blanket around your shoulders as you'd just woken up at her unexpected, rather rude interruption.

"How did you find me?" You groaned, and she ignored your question, opting to scour through your cabinets until she found some glasses. “Better yet, how did you even get inside?”

Yelena barked a laugh, insinuating that your question was ridiculous. Then she briskly swung her arm around and handed you a glass that was far too full of booze for a morning sip.

"It's nice to see you too, now drink the vodka, we have lots to discuss my dear old friend."

Yelena told you all about Kate's demise, and it broke your heart into pieces thinking she was actually this torn up about your departure. Then you remembered she relied on you to change her clothes some nights and the ache from being used had returned even stronger.

"If that's all, I think you should be going."

“Y/N, she wants you to come home.”

“This is my home Yelena, the only one I’ve ever known. Feel free to tell her that when you go back and offer her my location. Now go.”

You were being harsh with her, you knew that and most of you regretted it, but you also felt like you were being backed into a corner. As if Kate’s problems were always going to be yours.

“I understand leaving her, you deserved better, we all told you that.” Yelena pondered aloud, her voice uncharacteristically small. “But leaving all together? That was hard to stomach, I lost both of my closest friends in the blink. You off grid, and Kate to her grief. When is it enough passed on pain for you to forgive her?”

You went to lash out, to try and get her to see it from your end, but then you saw her hand shake as she gulped down the rest of her bitter vice without ever looking up. Not that she needed to, you could hear the sniffle she failed to cover up with the scuffing of her boots.

“I didn’t think I would be missed,” you softly admitted, your ties to Yelena, and the rest were through the connection of Kate. Never a part, only ever an extension of the friend group.

Or at least that’s what you had always thought.

“I felt your absence immediately,” she voiced though her voice quivered. “Your visit at the kennel every day was what made me smile.”

“I-.”

“There was no more happiness with you gone.”

The way she spoke made your heart warm with an affection you felt was foreign for her. There had never been any indication that she wanted you, or that you meant that much to her before.

“Yelena, what are you doing?” You stumbled back into the wall when you saw her rise to her feet faster than necessary. Her body out of her control, and under the influence of alcohol led her to stumble until she caged your body in.

“I wanted you first.” You were shocked to see the honesty in her eyes, booze goggles or not she was being sincere and you felt an urge to kiss her lips as they pouted familiarly. It was a common expression of hers whenever you’d have to go, you always thought it was for Lucky since she loved the retriever so much, but a part of you always wondered if it meant more.

But you had Kate… Even now, you had her to consider. “Lena, w-we can’t,” you stuttered as her cold hand held your face. “I understand.”

Before she could pull away with her wrong assumptions you wrapped your arms around her waist and buried your face into the crook of her neck. Yelena would never deny you comfort, not even when you just shattered her heart, so she hugged you back rather tightly.

“You’re going to be okay Y/N,” she whispered in her thick Russian accent, and your hammering heart felt like it was about to burst at the offered tenderness. “I’m here for you.”

You pulled away and cupped her cheeks with a teary smile, eyes shining with appreciation. Your lips pressed to her cheeks, and she looked at you utterly confused when your eyes met.

“I was saying, we can’t do this… yet.” Yelena’s eyes went wide and you kept your smile. “I can’t let you kiss me when I’m still trying to forgive Kate, it wouldn’t be fair to any of us.” Yelena’s heart beamed, the notion that all you felt for Kate now was a tainted love in need of a life altering cleansing made her hopeful.

“So you’ll come home?” You shook your head and wore a broken smile, fear encasing your heart as you realized you couldn’t do that. “I’ve built a life here Lena, I have space for you, but I can’t return to the stagnation of the states.”

“No, I know that,” Yelena refuted. “I just mean to make the amends with Kate Bishop, and to collect my things and Fanny who’s at Kate’s.”

“Does she know you’re here?” She shook her head. “No, but I think she knows deep down.”

“What about the kennel?” Yelena shrugged, and smiled wide. “I’ve got nothing in the states worth living for if you’re not by my side.”

“Then I will agree to a half day in New York.”

Yelena squealed and you cupped your ears while glaring in her direction playfully.

“I’ll be back for you in the morning then Y/N! We have Tony’s private jet, and Happy’s at the hotel I’m going to be staying at tonight.”

“You’ll do no such thing, I have a guest room. I’ll just have to clean it of the cat hair since I don’t usually have other humans over.”

“You sound like you’re an alien,” she laughed, then began to head to the door to collect her bag, and that’s when it dawned on you. “How’d you find me?” Yelena stood in the doorway with a knowing smirk on her face, and tossed her thumb backwards to the people outside.

“I guess we’re sharing a bed then,” you mused while waving back to the grinning redheads. Of course, she involved the FBI’s hottest couple.

—

The following morning came with butterflies fluttering beneath the pads of fingertips that lightly pressed into the skin that your crumpled up night shirt had left exposed. Yelena’s body was pressed into yours so tight you were sure there’d be a layer of sweat amongst the fabric.

“Good morning pretty one,” Yelena rasped, her voice thick with sleep, and Russian inflections. The butterflies must’ve began a rave because you could hardly focus on anything but the way that her simple words made your stomach flip. “Goor morning darling, are you hungry?”

“I’ll make breakfast,” she announced, body scrambling for the door, but fortunately for the sake of your cottage Wanda was there with a teasing smile and greasy spatula. “No need Miss. burns houses down while making eggs.”

“It was one time!” Natasha snorted from a far away room, “Yeah, one time too many! Mama was so mad about it that she moved back to Russia the second you turned eighteen.”

Yelena turned back towards you and ran into your open arms. You could feel her pout against your skin, and for a second you were imagining her firmly kissing the skin instead.

“They are so mean. I am happy to leave.”

“We’ll visit them,” you answered the silent question, as sarcastic as she was, you knew that her sisterly love for Natasha was unbreakable. The same could be said in reverse, those two have been inseparable since you first met them.

“Okay, thank you.” You ran a hand up and down her back for a few seconds, then the sound of your rumbling tummy brought you both to the dining area where the food was still piping hot. “You two could move in as well.”

Natasha threw you a glance that said she’d do it in a heartbeat, but Wanda was less inclined seeing as their kids, and Pietro were in the city.

“We’ll visit, I promise,” was all she offered, then silence followed as you all got ready to go, and made your way to the airport. Once on the jet you chose to lean against the blonde, and take a nap to silence the screams of your mind.

At the airport you hugged the couple goodbye, and let Natasha threaten you as any good big sister would when you were taking her little sister across borders after one day of being sort of involved. The redhead knew that she could trust you, it’s not like you were strangers, but she was also the one who once held a crying Yelena when you fled the country, and once prior when Kate asked you to be hers first.

Once the lot of you parted ways Yelena drove you over to Kate’s. You told her to go get her stuff, and though she was hesitant she knew you had to do this part all on your own.

You knocked on the familiar door, it was a hair too light as your fist had stalled mid thrust. It still managed to gather the woman’s attention though because it swung open before you could even begin to knock again. Kate’s body crashed into yours, and you reflexively caught her and held her as she cried loudly into your chest.

Without a moment’s hesitation you brought your conjoined bodies back over her threshold and guided her onto her couch. Kate wanted to hold on, but you left no room for her to try. A moment of comfort was all you could spare, and she knew it was selfish to expect more.

It was silent, Kate stared at you as you sat in the recliner you’d had to swipe debris from.

“I’m sorry.” You pursed your lips, humming a low tune as you absorbed her empty words.

“For who?” Kate flinched at your response, it’d been ages since she last heard your voice, and the chill it carried now was heartbreaking.

“You,” her lower lip trembled, and your anger softened a smidge at her obvious remorse.

“If I’d realized what I was doing, I wouldn’t have ever let it get so far that you felt like you had to run away from your entire life.”

“I didn’t run away from my life, I happily left yours Kate. Nothing about tending to your every whim was a life I ever dreamed up. Did you ever consider that the only thing I was running away from was you? That life with you had become so difficult that I had no choice but to drop off the face of the Earth and retire?”

“You are making it seem like I ordered you around,” she bit back, a bit offended by the animosity you’re throwing. “You willing fell into a role that never should’ve been. You were my partner, I know what I did was fucked up, but I would never have hurt you on purpose. Let’s not forget that you never said anything. Just left me a note one day and vanished.”

Silence fell as you were faced with the other side of the truth. You stayed and lived with the hurt of being forgotten, but in another turn you never fought to be seen either. Literally, there was never even a discussion, you just handled business separately, and cared for her wholly.

A relationship without communication is nothing more than two bodies out of sync.

“You’re right,” your tense shoulders deflated, and tears that fell from your eyes were wiped away by a gruff tongue trying to comfort you. “Hey Lucky boy, how have you been?”

“He misses you.”

You pet him for a very long time, trying your best to calm your nerves before you were to face her again in the less tumultuous light.

“I still love you Y/N, no longer romantically, but there’s still so much of me that loves you.”

Her words of a love never lost were actually comforting, hitting a nerve that very well would’ve been catastrophic just a day prior.

“I’ll love you forever Kit,” you gazed into her eyes, and smiled warmly, “You taught me so much, and when it was good there was no questioning that love had a purpose in life. I hope you find someone worth remembering.”

With your peace found you stood up, and, and pulled her into a strong embrace. The two of you swayed for a few seconds, then you pulled away and headed for the door.

“I’ll never forget you Y/N, I’m sorry I ever did.”

Kate watched as you picked up a green leash, and her mind caught up fast. “I hope you two are happy together. Invite me to the wedding please, I wouldn’t want to miss such a joy.”

You smiled to yourself while hooking the leash to Fanny, and left the apartment with a final lighthearted comment. “I’ll try not to forget.”

Kate smiled too, and fell back onto her couch.

There’s no one right way to love someone else, but you both knew that near the end of things you only loved the other in shades of wrong. As you drove back to the airport, your hand in another’s you realized that giving up was never the answer, but at the time it was necessary.

Love is a twisted game, sometimes you lose, sometimes you win, but no matter what, either outcome came with a journey of life lessons.

——

[tiajk]

Platonic strawhat interactions? Here’s some ideas

You and Robin go shopping, You find a cool trinket, but you don’t have enough money

Sanji brings you a snack. A bird flies overhead and -plop- right on the food

Luffy was playing tag with you, Usopp, and Chopper. He uses his gum gum rocket to try and catch up and flies too far

Usopp is holding a game show. The contestants are you, Nami, Zoro and Sanji

Have fun!

Warnings; a POC reader in mind, with curly hair, Bi sanji because i genuinely believe its not cannon it's the truth, chaotic strawhats as usual, reader is interested in marine biology, and is hinted at having water powers (basically water bending), reader singled to have a lot of siblings, Gn!, reader, everyone just loving reader, Other pirates having a crush on reader

A/N; the game show one really spoke to me for some reason and your always so good with request ily, Guess who's working on her one piece script

Words count; 1070 masterlist

You have no idea how Usopp somehow convinced you and nami to join his little game show. That's a lie you know exactly how he did. Bribing nami with money that he didn't have. Sanji sees nami joining automatically willing to be the next contestant. Zoro joined because Usopp claimed that Zoro was too much of a chicken, scared that sanji would win. The rivalry automatically makes his blood boil. He got you to join by promising he would grow a water plant with you in his garden that you had particularly been wanting to learn more about. Your interest peaked. Now you stand in front of Usopp with poorly built little wooden stands Sanjis’s was made out of cardboard waiting for Usopp to finally get what he wanted. “Welcome my very good friends on this ship, the going sunny owned by the strawhat pirates and welcome our very own contestants Nami, {Na}-”. “Usopp, will you hurry up? I don't have all day for this” Zoro's voice from beside you speaks out. Ussop turns to him slightly offended from not being able to finish his little (cute) ramble. “Well i was almost done but since you rush me so damn much will start cant even have fun without you running your dumb mouth.” mumbling the last part he pulls out some flashcards out of his pocket. “The basic rules of this game are it's basically we're gonna see who knows each other best. It will go by category nami’s first, , then zoro, sanji, then {name}.” You all nod your heads at him, the game seemed simple enough. Usopp goes to your podium first “{Name} how are you today?” you smile “I’m doing great Usopp.” he returns the gesture to you “that's great to hear! Your question about nami is what are her favorite hobbies to do in the meantime when she's not scamming people.” Nami knocks Usopp on the head from her podium “YOU DUMBASS THAT'S NOT ALL I DO Y'KNOW” “HEYYY NO HITTING THE HOST” “USOPP LEAVE NAMI-SAN ALONE YOU HEAR ME”. you turn to zoro to see if he sees all the bullshit that's happening right now. He looks your way as well having a silent communication to at least try to stop the fighting. Before you could do anything the rest of the crew showed up. “What's happening we’ve been looking for you guys for the past 30 minutes” Luffy says while picking his nose. “I’m hosting a game show for the four of them!” Usopp explains excitedly while looking at you. Nodding at the others “yea were just about to get started you should watch!” The others agree they grab a few chairs or opting to sit on the deck floor and are curious to see what type of game show this is. “Alright now that we’ve all settled down we can finally begin. Clearing his throat “now {name} you may answer the question”. You thought hard nami was one of your best friends so it was easy but you had to pick one she licked the most then it was easy. Usopp had noticed you took a few moments “whenever you're ready tell me”. “I have my answer, it's shopping and she also loves to sunbathe”. Usopp looks at his flashcard “you are…Correct!!! Namis hobbies consist of sunbathing and shopping, one of her favorite things”. You smiled to yourself the game was slowly starting to get more fun now that you realize it.

The process had gone on forever every single time you had gotten the answer correct. Knowing your crew very well. Surprisingly the rest of the crew stayed. Robin was reading a book with chopper in her lap but her attention was still towards the game. Franky had been working on little fidgets while sitting there but he was interested nonetheless. Luffy had been lying in a star position. Brook and Jimbei had been engaging in small conversation but they still saw their crewmates go on with their daily shangains. Ussop had asked you a question about what is Zoro's favorite sword. Saying the Wado Ichimonji because his dear best friend gave it to him as a promise that they would both fulfill their dreams. When asked what Sanji's favorite food is answer spicy seafood pasta knowing that he wished he could have cooked it more often. It was your turn for the question to be asked about you. “Alright name your our last contestant and then the winner will win 40 thousand berries.” you look at nami to see the gleam in her eyes when money is mentioned. Usopp goes to Nami asking her the question he had prepared “How many people have a crush on {name}?” Nami scoffs while crossing her arms. Blood rushes to your face being grateful that they can't see it. “That's easy, Law,Kid, and not to mention Marco from whitebeard pirates. ” Usopp nods his head with confirmation and a thumbs up “YOUR CORRECT”. Usopp walks past you with a smile then stops at zoro. “Zoro what is {name} favorite thing to do with the strawhats crew” Zoro seems like he doesn't know but answers with confidence “They love hugging everyone giving people affection throughout the day”. Usopp doesn’t want Zoro to get the points but he does with a sigh of defeat “you are correct”. Ussop moved to sanji that was practically beaming like he was when he got asked nami’s question “Sanji your question about {name} is how many siblings do they have?” Sanji smirks and takes the cigarette out his mouth “Easy they have 4 being the middle child having two older ones and 2 younger” “your correct too” Luffy gets up from his pose from before “Is the game over who wins??” Usopp rolls his eyes “you have no patience y’know that luffy?” “BUT THE WINNER IS {NAME} GET ALL THE QUESTIONS CORRECT YOU GET 40 THOUSAND BERRY that i don’t have right now” Nami jumps from her podium strangling usopp “YOU LIAR YOUR DAMN LUCKY I DIDN’T WIN BECAUSE IF I DID” you go pull her off him just making sure that he doesn't die usopp i don't want the money just the water plant your promised to help me grow okay” usopp tried to catch his breath from almost being strangled to death “yup anything you want {name}” he said horsley maybe you should do more game shows from now on.

[vikinglanguage]

Top ten Danish sayings according to me

My ten favourite Danish sayings/turns of phrase (in no particular order), just because I love language. I say all of these regularly. Enjoy!

goddag mand, økseskaft – hello man, axe handle

This one is used when someone answers a question you asked in a nonsensical way or just in general when someone has said something foolish or nonsensical. you can read about the origin in Danish here.

det kan ske, det kniver med gaflerne – it may spoon it knives with the forks / it happens that the forks are in short supply

Not used in any specific situation other than when someone says det kan ske 'it happens', because ske 'spoon' and ske 'happen' just so happen to be homonyms. Additionally kniv 'knife' and knibe 'be in short supply' are almost homophonous, especially if kniv was a verb.

fra folk og fulde børn skal man høre sandheden – from people and drunk children you will hear the truth

This is not actually the saying, it's supposed to be børn og fulde folk, but it's more fun like this. Originally, this refers to the fact that neither children, nor the drunk tend to think too hard before speaking, thus they tend to tell the truth.

det haster ikke mere end det jager – it's no more urgent than urgency

Excuse my creative liberties here, as both haste and jage mean 'be urgent'. It is more or less synonymous with "take it easy, no rush" – a sort of Danish hakuna matata.

To me, as someone from Western Jutland, jager should always be pronounced jawer ['ja.wʌ] in this saying.

stå med håret i postkassen – to have gotten one's hair stuck inside the mailbox

A metaphor for when you are in some sort of trouble or problematic situation where you feel like you have no power to change your unlucky situation. Often used when you are disappointed as a result of being cheated somehow.

det kan noget – it does something

My best approximation of an English version is "it's got a certain je ne sais quois", because that's literally what it means. It does something for you, specifically, but you're not entirely sure what exactly it is that it does – but it works!

man kan æggehvide, hvad man æggeskal – one egg whites what one eggshells | one cannot know what one should not do

Another pun, I am sorry for being your literal dad, I guess. Basically æggehvide 'egg white' sounds like ikke vide 'not know' and æggeskal 'eggshell' sounds like ikke skal 'should not'

ikke nå nogen/noget til sokkeholderne – not being able to reach someone/something's garters

When someone/-thing is not nearly as good as someone/-thing else. You know, it barely reaches above their knee!

hvor der handles, der spildes – where stuff gets done, stuff gets lost

Exactly what it says on the tin. Its English cousin is "you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs".

fanden og hans pumpestok – the Devil and his pump stick

Yes, this is as vulgar as it sounds. This one is used last in lists of things that are excessive, e.g, vi skulle støvsuge, slå græs, fjerne spindelvæv, dampe gulvtæppet og Fanden og hans pumpestok 'we had to vacuum, mow the lawn, remove cobwebs, steam the carpet and God knows what else'.

Honourable mention for this one that I learnt while looking stuff up in the dictionary:

[ID: A screenshot from Danish online dictionary ordnet.dk of the entry for the saying 'anbringe bagdelen i klaskehøjde'. It explains the saying and additionally recommends the entries for smæk and øretævernes holdeplads. End ID]

Translation:

to place one's backside (ass, bum) in smacking height.

TRANSFERRED MEANING cause oneself to end up in a situation where one might very easily be exposed to criticism and negative reactions from one's surroundings – e.g., by speaking openly about a certain case USE informal

SEE ALSO spanking | the whoopings' parking space

[chronic-ghost]

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

rating: M (just for language)

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 5619

summary: you're a human lie detector-- so you tell the handsome man at the Jim Bo’s Burger Barn at 3AM. Too bad you're too drunk to catch up to his lies.

warnings: language, references to drugs/cartels, drinking, smoking, this one is pretty tame, no use of y/n

a/n: this is my Poker Face adjacent fic and inspired by the scene where Javi so innocently flirts with that american wife in the lounge. might become a series but not quite sure yet. lemme know which direction I should take this, if I should take it anywhere at all!

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🤍AO3 Link

You attract trouble.

You attract trouble like you put on your nicest dress, did your hair, fixed up your tits, and doused yourself in trouble-pheromones. Like you found trouble curled up on the side of the road, sad and alone like a lost dog, and you gave it a cookie and now it swings around your ankles, always moments away from knocking you on your ass. Except it’s not a dog, it’s a chimpanzee that’s finally snapped and it’s pissed–  it’s beating on the bars of its cage, it’s yowling, howling, it’s coming after you to eat off your goddamn face and–

Okay, back up a bit. 

You have a thing that gets you into trouble. No, not like a self-destructive habit or a weird twitch. It’s not drugs or alcohol or even a dumbass ex. It’s this thing you’ve always been able to do, always known, and because of your big mouth, it’s always gotten you into hot water with the wrong people.

You know when someone is lying. Don’t ask how. It’s a thing. But you know, without a shadow of a doubt, if what’s coming out of someone’s mouth is the God’s honest truth or total and utter bullshit.

You know when someone is lying and generally, folks don’t really appreciate it when you a) catch them on a lie and b) call them out on it. You and your big mouth.

Okay, that’s two things that get you into trouble, but it’s primarily the lying thing and the mouth thing is more or less a fun bonus. Used for good or evil, or whatever. 

The point – the point is – you know when someone is lying. Every single time. So, sure, the audience may say, it’s a weird quirk, kinda bizarre, may or may not be difficult to prove, but trouble? Real actual trouble? How could you possibly get into chimpanzee-face-eating trouble with just this little thing?

Well, rather easy actually. If you don’t have any particular skills, that is. If you barely finished high school, and street smarts was the only kind of smarts they were selling the day your mom smacked you on the ass and told you to find your way in the world. It was hard keeping a job too. Minimum wage living is terrible, especially when the customers lie to you, or to each other, or to their children. Even worse when management lies about why there’s no cash payout this month or why they’re late with this month’s checks. Getting by is fucking hard as shit, but when you know there’s something wrong being done and you’ve got this big fucking mouth, well, you’ve never been one to not court trouble. 

Maybe trouble is easier to find because you like to wave and flirt with it when you drive by. Give a little wink.

You work here, you work there. Nothing serious. Always temporary. And then, one day, during your shift as a maid at the Economy 99 on route 10, the elderly night guard asks if you’ve ever played poker. 

Nah, you say. Go Fish, that’s really your game. 

So he offers to teach you, along with a few of the other maids and staff waiting around for someone to blow chunks in the swimming pool because you always managed to find the really classy places. 

Okay, so you barely finished high school, you don’t have real marketable skills, you’ve got a big mouth and you’re not afraid to use it and –

– and –

You’re really fucking good at poker. 

And who here would like to venture a guess as to why?

You always know when someone is lying and what is poker if not Advance Bullshit for Adults? Fuckin’ Astronomical Physics for Liars and Dumbasses. Hell, you gotta fuckin’ PhD in Bovine Excrement and it’s time you graduated to the big leagues. Sayonara community college, hello Stanford for Assholes.

Okay, maybe that’s just regular Stanford. 

You learn to hustle too. Lose a few rounds so they don’t catch onto you and can’t accuse you of anything as you wipe their clocks clean. You change your name too, in different towns, in different back alley poker halls, because unfortunately the poker and casino community in this place is too small.

This place being all of the United States. 

You can’t exactly go online and work your literal magic– you gotta at least see or hear the person to know if they’re lying. Bluffing over pixels just isn’t the same. Isn’t sexy enough. 

So, with your big mouth and exceptional poker skills, you go hunting off the coast. It was an invite only poker tournament in Florida. You hadn’t managed to burn your ‘Marlene Green’ identify just yet and she was fucking crushing it up and down the east coast. You barely blinked at the ten grand buy-in– baby money, suckers ducks, little Tikes casino royale.

This was also the last one, you told yourself. One for all the marbles. 

Because the thing about disreputable poker halls, they tend to be filled with unpleasant, disreputable, very angry characters that, like a chimpanzee, will rip your face off and eat it if they think they’ve been cheated. 

Exit strategy. Mama always said you gotta have an exit strategy. Well, Mama said a lot of things and the actual literal exit strategy was Monterey Marina with a gorgeous trawler for sale. Older than shit, but damn that baby could purr. You were gonna take the money, offer up stone-cold cash (no questions asked), and sail off into the sunset. Or, well, sunrise because you were definitely getting the fuck out of Florida. 

But here it comes, the real kick in the goddamn teeth, the real screw in the rack. This is where your mouth and your talent– gift, power, is this a fucking superhero movie?– whatever– tended to get all mishmashed with one other thing that always– and you mean always– got you in the hot seat. Got you in Trouble, with a capital T, that rhymes with P and stands for pool hall – breathing down your neck. 

You alway had shitdumb, bad, fucking luck. 

So it’s not some lowtime, grumpy townies you piss off when you win the pot, it turns out its members of a goddamn drug cartel! And they are PISSED.

P-I-S-S-E-D

You don’t wanna ask the barrel of their guns if they’re going to kill you because you don’t actually want to be sure of their answer, so you’ve got your hands up, thinking this is definitely it– I’ve played my last hand, I’ve sunk my last boat, I’ve cursed my last fuck– when police sirens go off. It’s not a relief, but a distraction.

You’ve got a big mouth, wacky abilities, and reflexes like someone who’s been running their whole life. You smash a bottle against the back of the head of the blonde one closest to you, flip the table– chips and bullets go flying– and with the case holding the winnings still in your hands, you sprint out the back door. 

To your lovely Chevy Camaro waiting for you. 

And you drive.

“And I drive and I drive and I drive, all the way down to this lovely little diner in . . .” 

You swivel on the red seat, nearly knocking over the five little plastic bottles of Crown Royal on the counter that is making your head thick and puffy. You squint at the sign that boasts the best burgers in – “Texas, yes, thank you, Texas! Lone Star State. The most hated state, of all fifty of them, for Wile E Coyote. His nemesis. His haunting. His apocalypse now . . .” 

The man seated next to you, the same man who’s been there for an hour, quietly listening to you drunkenly ramble at the counter of Jim Bo’s Burger Barn, smirks. His mustache twitches.

“Why is it the Wile E Coyote’s least favorite state?”

Your mouth drops at him. You slouch as though indignant about his very question. “Roadrunner, duh, state bird of the Lone Star State. That and blue bonnets. I mean, the flower. Blue bonnets are the state bird and the road runner is the state flower of the Looney Star State . . . wait . . .”

He laughs, softly, his elbows under him as he leans forward on the counter, his brown jacket looking like it smells amazing. Drunker than you meant to be, you eye him from his classic cowboy boots, up his hips, and to the edges of that lovely brown jacket as it hangs around his waist. He has the prettiest eyes. 

“You were saying something about driving here?” He asks, very much aware of your shameless staring. “Do you still have that money?”

“Sure, sure,” you mutter and turn back to your chocolate milkshake that’s pretty much just chocolate soup at this point. You snatch up a remaining fry from your long gone burger and swirl it in the soup. “Got the keys and the money locked up tight. I worry more about someone fucking with my baby more than the money, you know. Lots of sentimental value in that car. ‘Is where I lost my virginity.”

At that, the man sputters on his coffee, his third of the night. Black, almost as dark as his hair. 

You sigh, frowning into your lumpy, ice-creamy soup. “So hard to get laid when you’re running for your life.” 

You swivel back to him as he’s patting his jacket dry of coffee. “Wait. You.”

“Me what?” You think his cheeks warm pink for a moment.

“What the hell are you doing out here at 3AM, listening to me babble endlessly? You don’t look shifty, but maybe you are.” 

He smirks again and tosses his napkins into the now empty coffee mug. 

“I’m Javi,” he says in a deep, soothing voice as he extends his hand across to you. You take it, with the proper amount of trepidation. “And I’m on my way to see my niece in Flagstaff.” 

You click your tongue and withdraw your hand, disappointed. “Bullshit.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I mean, your name is definitely Javi.” You pick up your own coffee mug and see that it’s unfortunately empty. You pick out some fleck that’s fallen into it. “Well, almost – is that short for something? – but you are definitely not on your way to see your niece in Flagstaff. Does she not live in Flagstaff or . . . do you not even have a niece?” You gasp, mouth agape. He has the decency to look uneasy. His eyes narrow at you. You scoff. “That is fucked up, hombre. Starting off a conversation with a lie is not a good way to make a friend.” 

“Why do you think I’m lying?” 

You roll your eyes, the coffee cup dangling loosely in your fingers. “We’ve been over this, my dude. See the court documents. Jeez, how hard is it to order a refill at three in the morning? Paragraph B, Subsection I’m really fucking good at poker. I don’t think, I know. I have this thing, always had, and when people lie to me, I . . . wriggle. Squirm. Not exactly ‘spoiled lunch meat’ but not ‘just clocked a hottie from across the bar and I like their vibes’ either.” 

He watches as the waitress, glaring, comes over and refills your mug. You immediately dive into five packets of sugar, shredding them like a racoon with a bag of popcorn. 

“But I don’t take it too personally,” you continue, flicking the sugar packet to make sure every single crystal falls into the cup. “People lie all the time. About stupid shit too. I don’t think they even mean to do it. It just happens.”

“Does it bother you? That people lie?” 

“Eh. Once upon a time. But fuck, if you could hear the bullshit firehose that comes outta people’s mouths on the daily, you’d stop shaking it off too, if you know what I mean.” Satisfied that you’d be able to see through both time and space with your sugar high, you take a sip. Needs milk. You reach across his plate, wobbling on the edge of the seat, his chest inches from your forearm, and snag the little tin milk pitcher. Your cup becomes more milk than coffee. “People lie for the best of reasons, mostly. Or at least, best for them. Either to save hurting someone else's feelings or their own. We humans don’t like pain, generally, as a rule. But rules are meant to be broken, I suppose.”

Javi, or as close to his real name as you’re going to get, is quiet. That tends to be more of his natural state, given that he had barely said two words while you recounted the past few weeks to him whether he wanted it or not. You sip your coffee again, delighted to have found the right balance of sugar, milk, and burnt coffee, when he taps the rim of his mug with his nail. 

 “I do have a niece, but she lives in Austin. Haven’t seen her in a while, actually, but I want to.” 

“Oh, yeah?” That was all true. You bend forward, eyes trying to watch him as you sip the delicate, hovering brown line that threatens to spill over the edge of the cup. “What’s stopping you from seeing her?” 

“Work.” 

Well, that was fucking ominous. 

“Wait. Fuck. What do you do for a living?” 

Javi slides off the seat and turns those slim hips towards you and, like a fucking idiot, you just now register the bulk at his waist. 

You whimper. Of course the one nice person who wanted to spare you a second glance was from the cartel. They found you. Somehow they tracked you down to the middle of nowhere, which was exactly what you wanted when you still had your life ahead of you. But now it seemed like a terrible fucking idea because there was no one around to at least make sure Baby Girl Camaro went to a good home. 

“Ah, fuck. Fuck! That’s a gun. Fuck, you’re gonna kill me right here in this goddamn diner,” you whine and put your head on the counter, hands covering the back as if you were preparing for a tornado. 

He sighs. “I’m not going to kill you.” 

Truth. 

“Then what do you want with me?” You glare at him, bleary-eyed. “Because the whole cover as a kindly stranger with baby cow eyes is officially fucking blown, my guy.” 

“Let’s go outside and – wait, what? Baby cow eyes? What the hell does that mean?” 

“What? You’ve never watched Dr. Pole? TV veterinarian?” You unwind from your prone position and frown at him. “He takes care of those little baby cows, lookin’ up at their mama with those big, sweet, gentle, loving brown eyes. Cutest thing in the world. Almost made me wanna give up beef for a whole two minutes. But seriously, dude, there’s this hamburger joint in Miami that makes you just wanna lick the juices right off your fingers– hey!” 

He grabs you by the upper arms and, as casually as a kidnapping can go, hauls you out of the diner. The bell above the door rings joyfully as he pulls you through. 

The reality of your situation hits you like a sixteen-wheeler truck and tears spring up in your eyes as panic bites into your spine. His grip is like iron around your bicep. 

“Dude, I’m so sorry I rambled on like that but I swear I didn’t know who you were. Please, please don’t kill me – o-o-or hurt me. Please don’t take me back to the cartel. You can have the money, I swear, j-j-just take it–,”

His eyes widen and immediately lets you go. The neon sign and lights of the diner behind him blur his face in shadow. You wipe at your eyes. 

“Lady, look, if you’re gonna survive on the run from the Cali Cartel, you can’t be telling your whole life story to anyone who asks.” He’s got his hands on his hips as if disappointed with you. You pout with your bottom lip out.

“Wasn’t telling just anyone. Was telling you.” You cross your arms and sniff, suddenly rather embarrassed to be crying in front of a man so genuinely hot it makes you go a little cross-eyed. Well, it was either him or the whiskey. TBD. “Not that I’m encouraging you or anything, but if you don’t kill me, aren’t your cartel bosses gonna be pissed?” 

“I don’t work for the cartel. I work for the DEA.” 

If crying was embarrassing, you are going to be fucking traumatized if you puked all over his cowboy boots.

“Aw shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.” You press your knuckles into your eyes, groaning. You wander backwards. Your head starts to spin and so do you. “The fucking government is after me? Holy shit, this is not good.” 

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

You frown and spin back around. He looks exasperated. 

“Well, how many words does it take to read me my Miranda rights?” You tick off the words on your fingers as you speak them aloud. “You. Have. The. Right. To. Remain. Silent. Anything – is that one word or two? – You. Say–,”

“Jesus Christ–,” He claps his wide hand over yours, squishing your tally between his palms. “Are you always like this or just because you’re drunk?” 

“I’m a delight, pal, okay?” You scowl up at him. “I am a barrel full of monkeys at all times. I am a waterslide with chocolate and whipped cream, okay? I am a–,”

His hands leap to your shoulders. His touch is gentle like he knows he shouldn’t scare you but he’s considering throwing you into oncoming traffic. 

“Just . . . show me the case of money you stole,” he begs with his baby cow eyes, “alright? Let’s start there.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “If I do, what’s to keep you from knocking me out and throwing me in the trunk?” 

“I’m not going to do that.”

No tingle. You purse your lips and wiggle out from under his palms. “Say it. Say, I’m not going to knock you out and throw you in the trunk and steal all of your money.” 

“It’s not exactly your money, is it?”

“Say it!”

“Fine!” He says, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m not going to knock you out and throw you in the trunk and steal all of your money.” 

Still nothing. No tingle. Well, no tingle about him lying anyway. 

“You passed the test. Now come here.” 

Hesitantly, he nudges towards you, those thick eyebrows dipping down as if expecting you to pull a bazooka out of your bra.

“C’mere, c’mere. Good.” You clap a hand on his shoulder and lean into him. You shift your weight onto one leg and wiggle off your other boot. You get a whiff of his cologne – dark, woodsy, a little too much, as if to cover for a lack of deodorant. “Now, as you so annoyingly identified earlier, I have had a little, insy-tintsy bit to drink, and if I tried to take off my shoe by myself, I would, as the kids say, eat shit. And once you’ve fallen on your ass in front of one cop, you’ve fallen on your ass in front of them all.”

His warm hands find your waist, steadying you, just as you pop your heel out of your boot. “I’m not a cop,” he grumbles.

“And I’m not a walking lie detector.” You shake your boot and your car keys tinkle as they hit the dirt. “Ah, ha! Got ‘em.”

You shake them in front of his baby cow eyes, grinning, before spinning back to your car and popping the trunk, hopping as you went to slide your boot back on. 

“Do you work out?” You ask as he rounds the edge. Half of you is buried in the trunk, feet in the air. 

“Uh, yeah, when I can. Why?”

“What do you bench?”

“256. Why?” 

“Oh, then this should be easy for you.”

You groan, struggling with something and he dives to help you – and his knees buckle. 

“Why the hell do you have a tire for a sixteen wheeler in your trunk?”

“Same reason you’re sweating, toots. Heavy as fuck and hard to move. But now that we have . . .”

You pull out a slim silver case. You pop the handles and sigh.

You haven’t moved a single bill since that night. You haven’t even breathed on it, as if doing so would set off a series of alarms, bells, and whistles.

“So small for so much trouble,” you whisper as he crowds in next to you. “Fifty thousand dollars. Make or break a life. Well, at least, a life like mine.” 

Javi makes a face. “Should be one hundred, but those fuckers switched it out.” 

“Wait, how do you know that?” 

He sighs and slams the lid of the trunk shut. You snatch up the case before he does and hold it tight to your chest. Javi stands there for a moment, with his hand on Baby’s trunk, head down, thinking.

“Look, I want to help you . . . and I can. But you’ve gotta start being honest with me. How did you really get into that poker game?”

“What do you mean?”

He crosses his arms, frowning. “That little party trick you do. The human lie detector thing. What is it? How did you know Veracruz had that shit hand?”

“Uh, because I asked him and he said he didn’t have a shit hand, and I knew he was lying.” 

“Yeah, that. How did you know he was lying?”

“I just did.”

“Bullshit.” 

“That’s my line!” You glare up at him, very much aware of his height and very much aware how hot he is. “I’m not lying to you. I just know when people are lying. If you believe it, I’ll know.” 

Javi rolls his eyes. “That’s not a real thing people can do. Have you done forensic work before? Studied body language somewhere?” 

You scoff and step back, showing off your black fringe vest, dirty jeans, and combat boots. “Do I look like I’ve studied anything anywhere ever? Where would I even have gotten the money to go study somewhere? Oh right, the forensic fairy, just beating the shit outta people with a bag of cash.” 

He puts his hands on his hips and you match him because you can do the scary cop thing too. It’s not that hard. 

“I broke my arm when I was seven on a bike ride.” 

“True.” 

“I had a dog named Benji.” 

“Dog’s right, but not named Benji.” You grin, rubbing your hands together, then putting them on your thighs. “C’mon, gimme something you’ve never told anyone. This is exciting. Your mustache does this little twitch thing when I’m right.” 

“When I was twelve, I cheated off my friend’s math test.” 

You frown, dropping your shoulders. “That’s your big secret? Whoof, buddy, and here I thought the big scary man gunning for me was mean and lean, when he’s actually just an All-American—,”

“I need your help to arrest the men who are trying to kill you.” 

Your mouth snaps shut so fast your teeth click.

“That’s what all of this is about.” He crosses his arms and leans against Baby. “Aren’t you curious how I found you so fast? Faster than the cartel who's been on your ass for two weeks now?” 

“I’d like to think it was just kismet that we found each other,” you grumble. “Serendipity. Movie magic. Lady Luck doing me a fuckin’ solid for once.”

“That case has a tracker in it. We had a plant in that game who was supposed to win, but not before he could distribute the cash out in the pot. We’d be able to follow them back to their stashes and track their movements.” He bit his lip, disapprovingly. “And then you showed up. Cleaned their fucking clocks like it was nothing. Had their goddamn numbers from minute one and none of us could figure it out. Steve was probably relieved when you knocked him out with that bottle.”

“Oh, shit, the blonde was your partner?” You grimace. “My bad, dude, my bad. Is he, uh, okay?”

Javi nods, eyes distant, as if subtly trying to work something out in his brain. Like testing to see if you could read minds or something. “He’ll be fine. His wife Connie is thrilled to have him home for a few weeks.” 

“Ah. And that means you pulled the shit straw to go after the girl who ran off with all your government money . . .” It was finally all coming together. “Shit, should I add your wife to the list of people I’ve pissed off? I can’t imagine she’s thrilled about any of this.”

His jaw works, as if he was chewing on something, eyes dark, before he pulls a packet of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jacket. He holds one out to you.

You stay where you are, hesitant. 

“C’mon, don’t tell me you’re not a smoker.” He spins an unlit cigarette between his fingers. “I don’t bite.”

You scowl and trudge forward. You snatch the cigarette from his thick fingers and wait your turn for the lighter.

“What gave it away? I haven’t had a smoke in hours.” 

The shadow of the flame flickered in his palm as he held out the lighter close to your lips, his hand blocking the wind. His brown eyes looked black in the absence of light. 

“Chain-smoking and playing poker with idiots is a combo deal. Two vices for the price of one.”

“Ha. Ha.”

You match his lean against Baby’s trunk, the pair of you watching the occasional car or truck go by on the interstate in the distance. The paper crinkles when you suck in the smoke. God, there really is nothing like the first bite of a cigarette. 

“So, what’s the play here?” You ask, after a moment. “You have the money. Why do you need me?” 

“You won’t have to worry about kindly strangers with baby cow eyes for starters.” You scowl at him. Maybe it’s the orange light of the flame, but you swear you see a twinkle in his eyes. “But you tell me. You seem smart. What would the government want with you?”

He likes a chase, you realize. He likes to play, to tease. He likes to be in control. Something inside you knots up, threatening goosebumps on your skin, but you shake it back. Down, girl. 

You take a sip from your cigarette, thinking. 

There is nothing else around except the highway and this diner. Seemed like such a good idea at the time. Who’d ever find your ass all the way out here? You lick the bottom of your lip before pulling it between your teeth.

“I’m your only witness to the mountains of coke being produced out in the open when they brought us in. Everyone else at that table was cartel or DEA. You want me to testify. 

He nods slowly. If he was impressed, he didn’t show it.

“We didn’t know who the hell you were when you showed up and planned to arrest you before everything went tits up.” He taps the ash onto the gray dirt and you watch his fingers. “If you do this, you’re out from under the cartel. We can give you a new identity, and you can start grifting again across America. All of this’ll be a bad dream.”

He flicks the butt of his cigarette into the dark, just at the edge of the light from the neon sign. You follow suit a second later. The keys to Baby are still in your pocket. 

“And if I don’t? If I don’t do this, then what?” 

His answer is a single arched eyebrow.

You dart to the left, trying to get around him, but he’s there first, arms outstretched like he’s guarding a goal. He frowns at you. Seriously? 

You lunge again, this time to the right, and he’s again in front. 

Your brow sweating, you hook your foot onto Baby’s trunk, desperately trying to scramble over the top. You get about halfway up before those annoyingly large hands snatch you around the waist and haul you off the car.

“Would you stop it?” He plops you down between his solid chest and the car door. This close to him, air temporarily leaves your lungs. “I’m being honest when I say I’m here to help you.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Am I lying?” Again, that beautiful eyebrow of disapproval. 

“No, but I’ve officially decided you’re shifty.” 

He shakes his head and steps back, allowing blood flow to return to your brain. 

“Is this what you want for your life? Driving from small town to small town, picking up bullshit jobs, sleeping in shit beds, when there’s so much more you could do? You’re smart, resourceful, funny, weirdly agile . . . but you wanna spend your life hiding from the world.” 

There’s something hot and sharp in your throat.

“It’s what I’m good at,” you croak. 

His expression softens. The gravel crackles beneath his boots as he comes closer. Javi, the DEA officer, has temporarily left the building. In his place, this Javi is smoothed out, dulled, not all jagged edges and razor burns. Maybe tastes sweeter than day-old coffee and stale cigarettes. You want to tell him there’s nothing wrong with either– you happily take both– but seeing him unguarded, even for a moment, threatens to topple you over. There’s a light in his eyes when he takes in your face. Your eyes. Your nose. Your mouth. 

He looks . . . hopeful. 

One hesitant finger brushes away a stray strand of hair from your forehead.

Do not tremble. Do not tremble. Do not do it, I swear, ladies, keep it together!

“I bet you are,” he says softly. Jesus Christ, his hands are so big up close. “I bet you are good at a lot of things. You seem like the type who could genuinely surprise me. And I think you might surprise yourself one day.” 

You grimace, deeply, deeply regretful. 

“Yeah,” you mutter glumly. “I do surprise people a lot, actually. Unfortunately, you didn’t seem to be listening.”

“Wha–,”

From your other pocket in your vest, you yank out a one-time-use stun gun and stab his thigh through his jeans. Fifty-thousand volts lights up his entire body, arched, and tensed, before the grown man collapses at your feet. 

Unconscious, Javi hits the ground so hard you squeal, landing on his face and no doubt earning a nasty bruise. 

“Exit strategy, dude! Always gotta have an exit strategy. But I’m so, so sorry!” Grabbing his deadweight shoulder, you roll him onto his back and try to get him in a comfortable position. There’s dust in his mustache. .You fold his hands onto his chest like he was casually napping. 

Then because you were in fact the nicest or stupidest person on the planet, you dig your arms under his and pull him out of the parking lot. It would be a true sin if he got run over and anything happened to that beautiful face. Huffing, you drop him off by the bike rack. “I’m sorry. You are so gorgeous but I gotta get outta here and I can’t have you following me. This hurts me way more than it hurts you.”

You bend down and rifle through his jacket. You find what you’re looking for and take his phone out of his pocket. Old, probably a burner. With a shake, you crack off the battery and throw it on the ground. The crunch is loud beneath your heel. That should give you some more time. Can’t haul you back to HeadQuarters if he can’t call them.

This close to him, you can see the bags beneath his eyes. You remember he didn’t eat the entire time he sat with you in the diner. He didn’t respond to your question about a wife. Guilt clangs into your ribs. Slowly, you loosely brush your fingers through his hair. It’s soft, curls around his neck and ears. He looks like he needs sleep. 

You had been blasting across state lines, hardly eating, barely sleeping, restless and fearful. Maybe he had been too.  

“God, I am such a fucking idiot.” You grimace as you see a ripe purple bump growing on his cheek. “I am so sorry and I am so going to hell for this.”

Over the road to the highway, the dawn rises, purple and pink and heavy.

Baby purrs, when you start the engine, welcoming and warm. Where to today, Mama?

Jim Croce’s twang eases out of the radio as you adjust your mirror and see his long legs still out by the concrete. Somebody would find him soon enough.

Uptown got its hustlers

The bowery got it's bums

42nd street got big Jim Walker

He's a pool shootin' son of a gun

Yeah, he big and dumb as a man can come

But he stronger than a country hoss

You shake your head, guilt gnawing at your gut. Baby roars as you pull out onto the road and up onto the highway. Into the burning dawn.

What was it that he said? 

And when the bad folks all get together at night

You know they all call big Jim boss, just because

He called you funny. Resourceful. Full of potential. And smart. He thought you were smart.

Liar, liar. 

And they say

You don't tug on superman's cape

You don't spit into the wind

You don't pull the mask off that old lone ranger

And you don't mess around with Jim

[dreamlifebunny]

hi~ i just wanted to know your thoughts or opinions on tarot readings? i got into reading tarot about a year ago and it turns out i am pretty good at it ! i get so inspired and really feel like im helping people when i give them readings. im not really sure if it's on brand for neville's teachings though. I've been a bit torn cause I really do fully believe in the virtues of both NG and divination, but it's kind of hard cause law of assumption is all about finding answers from the inner man, not from external sources (like tarot cards...) so i just wanted to know if you have any advise on keeping a balance of these things or maybe i should walk away from tarot practices altogether? yeah im not really sure, but any thoughts you have would be much appreciated 🫶🏻

OMG ANON, this is my favourite question EVER!! I completely understand what you mean, it's hard to "believe" in or use tarot when you know that you create your own reality and answers. However, I think that tarot is a super great tool for us to get to know our limiting beliefs and help us along our manifesting journeys!

Before I begin, I wanted to say that I think you are very wise to be questioning two seemingly "opposing" beliefs (tarot as an external source, law of assumption as an internal source). Spirituality and truth come from asking questions and getting to the very core of our beliefs, and I think you're doing good work here by trying to figure this out and asking these questions! ❤️

At its core, tarot is a collection of universal symbols that humanity has repeatedly identified with and recognized over time. It's very easy for us to look at a card's imagery and see how it reflects our own lived experiences. With this in mind, tarot is actually a really great way for us to better understand ourselves and our beliefs and solidify our manifesting practice!

I'll give you a couple examples. Let's say that I know for a fact that all of my desires have already been said "yes" to and that all I need to do is relax and be excited and fulfilled. If I asked, "where am I blocked in my manifestation?" and I pulled the Four of Cups, the card could be telling me that I am being handed my desire but I keep saying "no" to it by not believing that it is already mine!

Another example could be that I know that all I need to do is go within myself and fulfill the inner man. If I ask the question "where am I blocked in my manifestation?" and pull the Five of Pentacles, it could be saying that I am ignoring the warmth and abundance that is inside myself and instead am choosing to wander around the outside world looking for confirmation!

As you can see, I am not relying on the tarot to tell me whether or not my desire is coming, because the truth of the Law of Assumption has already given me that answer; a resounding yes! Instead, I am using the tarot to show me where I am straying from the truth, and getting advice on where I can reclaim my power as I Am.

In a way, we can use tarot similarly to how Neville used the bible; he analyzed the bible and re-framed the content to better understand and reflect the truths of the Law of Assumption, and we can do the same using tarot! The Law is the truth, and the tarot helps us return to that truth when used in a helpful way.

Additionally, there is absolutely nothing wrong with using tarot even though you know the truth of the Law of Assumption. For example, we know that we can lose weight without working out simply by assuming we have lost weight, but some people absolutely love going to the gym and have fun working out, so they should absolutely keep doing that! Same with tarot; we know that we can find all of the answers we need inside of ourselves, but we are also humans who struggle with human problems and tarot can be a really comforting and fun thing. Plus, if you get super inspired doing tarot and it brings joy to your life, then you ABSOLUTELY should continue doing it! 💗 Manifesting and Neville's teachings come from a place of wanting to feel the absolute most lovely feelings and give yourself the best life possible, and if tarot gives you lots of happy feelings then that is the best thing ever! 🥰

And really when you think of it, tarot may seem like "external" source, but where do you get all of the answers from when you pull a card? Yourself! You go within your mind and your own experience and intuition and you give yourself and others wonderful answers through the cards. In this way, tarot is actually a great way for us to externalize what we already know internally. It's kinda like when you feel sad or angry so you choose to journal all of the feelings out; as soon as you get it out, you get answers to your questions and you feel relief for having externalized it all.

Finally, the way that I learned tarot is to use it to tell a story; who are the characters? How does their story progress in the pictures of the cards we pull? Self / I Am / God wanted to live an infinite number of lives to experience its wonderful limitlessness, just like how human beings want to create beautiful stories and art. Tarot helps us understand our own human story, and that is a lot of fun and a huge comfort, even when we already know the truth!

(Also keep in mind, not a lot of people know or believe in the Law, which makes reading tarot for others such a beautiful way to give them positive news and make them feel good about themselves! And what a beautiful and lovely thing that is ❤️)

Hopefully this answers your question anon, I really appreciate such a thoughtful question and I hope you continue to pursue whatever makes you happiest and always returning to your belief in the law! 🥰 Also, pleaseeeee DM me if you ever wanna talk more about tarot and the law!!! Hehe.

Finally: I truly encourage everyone to look at any spiritual belief that you have or that you used to have and turn it over in your minds until you get to the core truth. Learn new things, test them out, and expand your mind and your beliefs against the things that you already know! I'll make a post on this later, because it is a really beautiful thing to explore :) Big hugs! ❤️

[jfleamont]

The beatles fic

I always thought that "i want to hold your hand" is so jily (James😌) coded!

Hii and thank you ❤️ yes, you read my mind! The pining in the song is definitely James coded lol I also thought this could be a sequel to this!

Her legs are intertwined with his; she's curled around him, and the palm of her hand is resting on his chest.

Their breaths have slowed down and the silence of the room is comforting, in a way. James brings his hand to his chest, covering hers. His eyes are closed, but he's not sleeping: she can tell by the slight crease between his brows that he's thinking. He wants to say something.

“Hey.”

He opens one eye, and smiles at her. He's so beautiful. “Hi.”

“You're awfully quiet. It's odd.”

He laughs, and she blushes. “I know, it's weirding me out, too. I guess I'm just enjoying this moment,” he replies, carding his fingers through her hair with his free hand.

“Committing this moment to memory, are you?” she jokes, but knows in her heart that it's the truth.

She loves him. She knows he feels the same.

He hasn't said it in words, but she recognises the longing look in his eyes; she often catches him watching her from afar with a serious, almost solemn expression on his face, as if he's surrendered to the intensity of his feelings for her and doesn’t know what to do with them, where to put them.

She knows it because she feels it too, and she can't imagine a future without him, and she's terrified.

“Yeah,” he smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

“I don't want to leave, you know that,” she tells him. She needs him to believe her.

“I know, I know, it's just— you don't have to go alone,” he looks nervous now, “I could go with you.”

Lily has thought about this a lot, bringing him home for the holidays, but her sister would hate having another freak at her first Christmas party as a married woman.

Besides, they aren't even together. Not really. They've kept it secret for over a month, and spending the holidays together isn't exactly laying low. She was afraid that people were going to judge her for not taking her role as Head Girl seriously, but it all seems a bit stupid now.

“Or I could stay, tell my family that there's a snowstorm and that the train can't leave.”

James snorts. “I'm not that good at charms, Lily, so if you were counting on me to do that I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. And I don't think they'd believe you, there are spells for those emergencies,” he remarks, but then his eyes widen, shocked. “Wait... They're aware magic is real, right?”

He's kidding, of course, and Lily shouldn't laugh at such a lame joke, but she does. “I'm trying to come up with a solution here and you're mocking me? Maybe I do want to leave.”

“Oh, shut up, you,” and before she can stop him - not that she wants to - his lips are on hers.

The kiss is heady; he removes the hand that was previously on top of hers on his chest and she misses its warmth at first, but then he cradles her cheek, and she forgets all about it.

Her own hand reaches his hair, which she tugs gently: he seems to enjoy it if the groan that spills from his lips is anything to go by. She doesn't know how long the kiss lasts, and when he draws away, she knows she'll see the lust, his pupils blown, almost entirely black.

What she doesn't expect, is the profound tenderness of his gaze; his eyes look watery, and she already knows what he's going to say.

“I want to hold your hand, Lily. I wanna snog you in public, I want to hold you close in front of our friends and have them make fun of us. I wanna be so disgustingly in love with you that people think I'm pathetic,” he's caressing her face and sighs when she mirrors him, her hand tracing the line of his jaw.

“I can't promise you that it'll be easy, that people won't talk. But it won't be worse than this, worse than staying away from each other.”

She can't contain her smile as she surges forward to kiss him.

“Yes, James,” she says as she pecks him all over his face. He's laughing too, now.

“Yes?” he sounds - and looks - relieved.

“I was going to tell you this, you just beat me to it. I don't care what they think, these are my last few months at Hogwarts and I'm tired of making things unnecessarily hard for myself.”

James chuckles, and lets Lily straddle him, his hands falling to her waist. “You tend to do that, yeah.”

[unifi3dtheory]

ZALGO HCS

Its hard coming up with a base for a character who can really just be summed up with “evil meme wants to destroy humanity” but I tried because he is my husband and I Iove him dearly.

Zalgo feeds off of chaos, destruction, and corruption. He emits this aura that makes people easy to charm, or irrational and angry.

Yes, Zalgo occasionally directly ruins, influences, and corrupts people for fun. But it would not be accurate to point at every single sign of evil and blame Zalgo for it.

Rather than making people evil, or corrupt, or a bully, Zalgo focuses on tormenting the already tormented.

Zalgo just pushes people over the edge.

Where there is chaos, violence, evil, corruption, Zalgo is aware of it. He isn’t “there” spectating the ordeal with a ghostly bucket of popcorn, but he is aware of it and he feeds off it.

He can take a look at one person and know exactly what they have went through, and what has shaped them and ruined them, and he credits himself for it and uses it to his advantage. This is what I mean when I say Zalgo is aware of all the horrible things that happen.

Does Zalgo deserve this credit he gives himself? Most of the time, no, but it makes him feel good and his ego is too massive for him to acknowledge the truth.

There are many factors that led to creepypastas like Jeff going insane and Eyeless Jack turning into what he is now, but Zalgo just claims that he is the reason why they are what they are and takes pride in it, even though his claim is false.

Zalgo can be only closely described as a “force of nature” only when he is confined to or trapped in the UnderRealm. When confined to the UnderRealm, Zalgo is unable to manifest himself and become tangible. He is nothing but a voice in people’s heads, trying to mess with their thoughts and/or an invisible force fucking with people’s emotions and rational.

This is where the “corrupt media” part of him comes in. Zalgo corrupts media, messes with people’s minds and emotions to gain more influence, to cause more chaos, so that he can manifest himself into a physical form where he is much more powerful and influential.

The UnderRealm is not a tangible place, you cannot go there, you cannot take a step in there, it is not a place, just a state of existence, you are dead, but also alive at the same time.

Obviously being non-existent and existent at the same time sounds extremely conflicting and unpleasant, so no wonder Zalgo does all he can to keep his influence to prevent himself from being banished back there.

Please feel free to ask stuff. I find it easier to come up with stuff when I have an actual question I can focus on answering. ​I’m writing this very late at night so it might not even be that good.