#but during important things (strike) he's pretty much always there

[chaosfairy18]

especially love that everyone else is gone already

and he just sits here, reading, probably going to head to Brooklyn in a bit. I just love Max Casella saying he sees him more like a 'lone wolf', he doesn't sell with a partner, he mostly sells alone, a lot in Brooklyn which isn't even where his home is. And even here, right at the start, he stays back.

And later, he's the only one that gets home as late as Jack does.

racetrack higgins is three apples tall

[plounce]

my scion animal assignments (aka the daemon au that lives in my brain)

alphinaud: fancy rat (very smart and social, a little scurrying guy, busy little hands, can learn tricks, good to ride around on a shoulder, prey animal)

alisaie: coati (clever little omnivore with prehensile tails. females are very social with each other and form lifelong social ties (and also have bigger frontal cortexes than the males!) (my original thought was ocelot/margay although im veering away from that bc kit miqosquat @sunquail pointed out those are rather solitary critters. they also suggested magpies or woodpeckers? i also admit i have some biased fondness for coatis since they were in a local zoo when i was growing up heheh. this one might change - luckily in a daemon au we can sort of fudge when the twins settled. i think alphinaud settled earlier than alisaie.)

minfilia: luna moth (i knew i wanted a moth bc of flying towards light, the mythological tie to death, and the fleeting life - adult silk moths (which luna moths are) live an extremely short adult lifespan and literally cannot eat in their adult bodies. i went with luna moth because they're very striking and pretty)

yshtola: some species of pit viper (venomous, and an ambush predator. the duality between the venom and the association with healing. pit vipers (rattlesnakes, for example) have very poor vision but have extremely good heat-sense and sense of smell. y'shtola to me is someone who waits for the right time to do things and then does them very dramatically. snakes are also just sort of occult.)

thancred: coyote (has to be SOME type of canine. scrappy little scavengers who are so good at thriving under pressure. seen as a pest. evolved as a secondary predator. canis latrans = talking dog. social patterns can vary and adapt throughout an individual's lifespan - solitary, in a pair, in a pack. i have more coyote facts if you want them)

urianger: bearded vulture (so augury was a roman practice of divination through birds (also the source of the words 'auspicious' and 'inauguration' - and augurelt!), and augurs were the people who read the will of the gods through birdwatching. so it has to be a bird. vultures were a majorly important bird in augury, and i like the parallel you can draw between a scavenger of carrion and the hvw and shb gambits urianger was part of. i settled on bearded vultures bc i also wanted to pick something visually suitable as well - bearded vultures have a head of feathers, and have a sort of gawky golden elegance that suits urianger well. hey wikipedia also just told me that in ancient egypt vultures were associated with motherhood - i always win and i NEVER lose.)

ryne: cheetah (a lightning-fast predator who is also extremely anxious and needs companionship. the emotional support dogs from zoos also ties nicely to thancred being canine. her unsettled forms were mostly small little prey animals - rabbits (baby birch by joanna newsom), little songbirds (for the cage association - nightingales and canaries), lambs (sacrificial slaughter), and a lot of trying to force her daemon to be butterflies/moths to match minfilia.)

graha: meerkat (a funny little clever guy who builds a big city and needs to be in a group of people and also he can fight a poisonous viper. ballsy. the sweetest of the mongooses. to quote kit: "they're weirdly possessive over Their people. like they're cliquish kinda, they're extroverts and love to hang out with people, but they have THEIR special people also. who are favoured")

tataru: potbelly pig (extremely intelligent and cute. and PINK! my reasons are simple but effective.)

estinien: [placeholder] (i haven't put much thought into it bc my main thoughts for a daemon au would be about ryne settling during the events of shb and he isn't in the scions for that. has to be some type of predator that can survive in harsh conditions and isn't very social. a few of you are saying hunting bird, which is intriguing... like a heron or a cormorant. maybe an albatross? i'm also thinking snow leopard maybe, but also :/ lord asriel from hdm :/ )

krile: mourning dove (migratory. i think she'd be a domesticated animal, and they're close relatives of passenger pigeons. my main theme i identify for krile is constantly being the lone survivor/arriving late to the grief (minfilia, the isle of val, eureka story choice, the ninth). the colors also suit her. and there's a certain melancholy calm to her... also there's a huron/wyandot story about mourning doves guarding the entrance to the underworld that made me go HEY. OKAY LET'S GO)

[sammaggs]

4x02 Easy Money // 3x01 Burning Down the House // 3x02 Eclipse | Rift

Something that always strikes me about Ray's moment of reconciliation with his father (in a show that might as well be subtitled Fathers Kinda Suck Huh???????) is the way this scene in particular is shot.

They focus especially on Ray's bracelet as he extends his hand:

Which isn't the only time they've focused on Ray's bracelet during Important Character Building. There's of course, his intro in Burning Down the House,

The close-up on the similarity with Marcus Ellory's bracelet in Eclipse,

And a bunch of other moments over seasons 3 and 4 that basically use the bracelet as a quick visual stand-in for "Ray Kowalski's a little bit different."

It’s something Ray Vecchio would never wear; hell, it's something most cops would never wear. It's a little bit, as Ray Kowalski would say, queer.

And so is Ray Kowalski.

The decision to focus on this bracelet during the exact moment he offers his hand to Damian as a peace offering is therefore, to me, worth considering. I personally read this as an indicator that part of the reason for Ray's rift with his father was his queerness.

And the first thing Damian says to Ray after they shake hands?

He compliments Ray’s experimental hair! He mentions another “queer” element of Ray’s physical appearance—one his father has likely given him a lot of grief for—and accepts it. Metaphor!!

It is, of course, understandable that Damian would have wanted better for his son than to be a cop, and this isn't to say that there isn't a world where that might have been enough to cause Damian to lose meaningful touch with his son for a decade. It certainly made sense for Ray Vecchio's father, who was likely involved with low-level mob business. But it does seem pretty extreme for Damian!

There's also the beautiful scene where Ray tells Fraser about his family in the precinct mess. At the very end, it really does look like he has something else he wants to say... but then Huey interrupts.

Now I am, of course, aware that Ray was dating or engaged to Stella at the time he graduated Academy. So what could his queerness possibly have to do with anything?

Well, as much as many of us wish it would, your queerness does not disappear when you enter a straight-passing relationship. I've even seen interesting ruminations in fic that some of the early hardship in Ray and Stella's relationship—remember, they broke up for a while during her college tenure—might have been due to the fact that Ray was interested in (or even caught) experimenting with men.

A personal anecdote, if you'll indulge me: I was in my mid-twenties, four years into a relationship with a man I thought I was going to marry, and tormented constantly by the idea that I was, probably, queer. I had no way of finding out while I was in a committed monogamous relationship. When I told my own mother that I thought I was bisexual, she told me it was all right—but also to never, ever tell my father. Even though I was in a relationship with a man, the knowledge of my queerness would have been enough to potentially cause a rift between my father and I that I don't know if we ever could have repaired. [editor's note: i'm a lesbian now and my dad and I have a stellar relationship ftr but i did have to marry a whole man first so] [editor's note: i am also the editor]

Ray gets caught with a man while Stella is in college? Or Stella knows and tells Ray's mother while they're drunk on wine one night? Or Ray's parents find a magazine... or a photo... or a stamp from the wrong club... anything. There's a million reasons why Ray's queerness could and may have come up even while he was with Stella, even while he was monogamous. Because he was still queer.

I know there's a certain element of "sometimes the curtains are just blue, dude, chill” to all of my meta, but when it comes to this show in particular I very much operate in my analyses from a place of "everything is intentional." Small details really do matter; the way scenes are shot matter, the words that are used matter, there's intentionality behind it all. We can't know or understand authorial intent, of course, but we can read our own interpretation of that intent into it. (The author is dead but Paul Gross thought Callum Keith Rennie was hot, so)

This is, after all, another episode directed by George Bloomfield, who also did Burning Down the House and is responsible for that "love at first sight" moment in Say Amen, so the direction here is in the hands of someone who is clearly in lock-step with Gross around the inclusion of queerness in the latter seasons of the show.

This moment is interesting to me in particular when considering intent because I actually would prefer to see Ray and Damian's faces in this moment! I want to know what Damian is thinking, or if he frowns. I want to know if Ray looks nervous or concerned. We don't see that at all.

Instead of seeing them over the GTO, we get the close-up on the hands and the bracelet over the rebuilt engine.

Rebuilding!! They're doing it.

And that makes my little queer heart pretty happy.

[katerinaaqu]

Why didn't Odysseus's crew stage a mutiny against him in the Odyssey? (An analysis based on Homer's Odyssey)

It has been a while since the last time I did some Odyssey Analysis and here is an interesting question that goes on in this. A very valid question actually.

During the arduous trip in the Odyssey, the Cephallinians suffered greater loss than anything they suffered at the 10 year war at Troy. They lost almost all ships and all men were dying. They were reduced to a ship of a crew with less than 40 people and they didn't seem to get much hope. So of course one could ask; what was holding them back and didn't fight back against Odysseus apart from the indirect mutiny they did when he turned his eyes away from him to pray? Why their only mutiny was to disobey his orders and slay the cattle of Helios Hyperion? Surely more than 30 men could do plenty of damage to one man right? Why didn't they? And why is it important for the story?

So while thinking about it I came down with some possible explanations as to why that happened;

Odysseus was beloved to the gods

Regardless of their terrible situations, Odysseus probably still had the fame of someone beloved to the gods. He used to be directly communicating with Athena and was under her protection. Despite the fact that he was cursed by a god, there could be some sort of a thought running to their minds; what if we harm him and the gods strike us for it? What if there will be consequences for directly wishing harm to one who was blessed to be appreciated by gods? It could possibly be a risk that they didn't want to take. And it makes sense given how much Odysseus interracted even with minor gods during the trip (for example Aeolus or Circe). Quite frankly they might as well have wished that at some point Odysseus would appeal to yet another god for help.

Odysseus was beloved to his subjects

If you look at my other analysis here You can remember how beloved leader Odysseus was even to subjects such as slaves who in theory would have no real reason to be loyal to him. Odysseus seemed always to be a just and beloved leader and his men on the ship were not an exception. Regardless of whether they had lost faith hin him in his capability to bring him home or if they doubted his judgement, they couldn't get past the emotional connection; Odysseus had protected them during the war to the point of suffering the least possible losses, during the trip he was going to extreme measures to protect them (even the cruel misadventure in which Odysseus cut the rope from his ship to save the last ship from the Laestrygonians might as well have spoken volumes to the men that were saved). It would be hard for them to completely ignore that even in the face of mistrust. Somehow it would also be them thinking that they "owe him" till that part.

Odysseus was hiding stuff from them that could be important

Ironically the very source of their mistrust was protecting Odysseus. Odysseus didn't share with them the nature of the sack of Aeolus even if he seemed pretty clear that they couldn't touch it (and that led to their first tragedies). Later he hid the information that they would have to go through the Sirens till the very last moment where he warned them about it. Later he hid completely the information that they would go through Skylla and Charybdis. His men could think "How many more things did this man know on their way home and hid it from them?" if they captured or killed him in a mutiny how were they sure there weren't more dangers ahead that Odysseus was hiding from them and could either be informed the last moment or not at all? What guarantee did they have that Odysseus didn't know even MORE about their course? They had none. So ironically the very reason they began to mistrust him in the first place became the reason Odysseus was safe from their rage.

No one wanted to take responsibility at time of crisis!

Last and definitely not least comes for me the most important reason of all at least story-wise that shows how excellent writer Homer is into writing human nature. His men didn't stage a mutiny because no matter how displeased they were with his decisions, literally NO ONE wants to have the same responsibility to take decisions in time of crisis! Honestly, how many times do common folk feel themselves find a scapegoat usually to the face of their leaders when things go south? (and for good reason that is given that they are the ones with the responsibility to take decisions). When something goes wrong we blame the leader, the government or someone that has come forth and not only takes the decisions but also is responsible for the blame as well.

During their arduous trip Odysseus took some of the most painful decisions they could imagine in order to save what he could; he advised them to leave the Cicones and they didn't which led to their first tragedy; he tried to correct his mistake by appeasing the god Aeolus, he took the decision to sacrifice his ships in order to save the one he could knowing full well that they would never be able to fight against the Laestrygonians. He knew the 11 ships were lost cause so he acted fast cutting the ropes of his own ship and sailing away, making sure to save what he could even if that meant to the terrible loss. He traveled to the underworld even though he was alive, he chose Skylla over Charybdis knowing that the sacrifice would be too great but still not as great as to lose them all.

Regardless of their emotions at that moment; they put themselves in his shoes and realize that none of them would take the burden of leadership and take those decisions for them. Odysseus with his nerves of steel managed to save them so far even if they had so many losses and undoubtedly they realized that in his shoes they would never be able to act so efficiently and so fast. And knowing their own reactions against him; blaming him for the losses, they realize that none of them would have the guts to take not only the painful decisions but also the blame and hate that follows them. Odysseus was lifting on his shoulder as much hate and anger as very few others; not only his previous experiences at war and his actions but now his decisions of the trip. I have no doubt that even in their anger the men admired how he could carry it all.

Conlcusions:

Homer is a master of words and plot. I have no doubt that if he thought it served the plot he would have mentioned his men staging a full on mutiny against Odysseus or in one way I am almost certain he thought of the possibility being quite doable given as I said above that Odysseys was one man and the others were over 30. However knowing how great he is in protraying human emotions to his writing I think his choice of plot was deliberate.

Not only was Odysseus someone that could erupt not only controversy but also superstition given his close relationship with gods before, his leadership was always admirable regardless of the results (knowing his prudent nature and how plenty of his orders that were disobeyed ended up in a tragedy and let's face it Odysseus was also a brilliant fighter. I doubt anyone would easily take the first step to fight him one on one either!) and above all he was one of the best when it came on taking some really difficult decisions, carrying on his back not only the personal guilt he felt while taking them but also the anger of others and their retalliation. And in an amazingly human writing Homer speaks on times of crisis. When people do not wish to take responsibility at times of Crisis because they know full well that their decisions rarely ever would be painless!

Therefore they couldn't retalliate against him; they didn't want the responsibility of leadership or the blame for the losses. They didn't want to stand against authority directly either. So they took the indirect mutiny decision; when authority is not present they disobey or they break their will when the force of authority.

Could we perhaps one more time appeal to the usual theory of "unreliable storyteller" and speak on how Odysseus doesn't want to mention a mutiny in his story to Phaeakes because he doesn't want to appear as weak leader in their eyes?

We could but in my opinion this doesn't seem likely. Odysseus is already humiliated; shipwrecked and a beggar in their house. He mentioned how it was ellegedly his fault that the whole domino of reactions began when he mentions how he was yelling to Polyphemus being blasphemus that not even Poseidon could put him back together if he had killed him (which let's face it is too much given that gods had no probelm resurrecting some dead before). He had already mentioned his men not listening to him and disobedience was already a heavy thing. He didn't hide most of the unpleasant experiences during the trip so why miss the opportunity of shifting the blame to his men, saying that they stage a mutiny against him thus himself being unable to react instead of stating that he fell asleep during the prayer? To show that his men fear him so they do not dare to face him? Perhaps but it seems unlikely given the whole story in which Odysseus doesn't hide his bad sides from them.

What do you guys think? Let me know to your comments and reblogs below! ^_^

[necrotic-nephilim]

"I don't care how much you hate me - you need to eat!"

DickTim during Bruce's Lost In Time phase but with Dick stopping Tim from leaving💕

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

fucked up DickTim during Bruce's lost in time era my beloved. this is 2k of *very* dead dove DickTim, with one-sided feelings from Dick and unreliable narrator vibes. it is a smidge OOC, just bc of how dark Dick gets, but i think i kept it best i could. enjoy <3

It wasn’t supposed to go this far.

Dick thought he was doing this to honor Bruce. The last thing Bruce would’ve wanted was to see Tim drive himself over the edge and go too far, all for a fruitless chase to bring Bruce back from the dead. And sure, maybe deep down Dick knew he reflected some of Bruce’s worst traits. The obsessive control. The worrying to the point of being overbearing.

It came with the capes and spandex territory. Especially now that Dick had decided to man up and put on that damned cowl.

But even at Bruce’s worst, Dick was pretty sure he wouldn’t dare go this far.

Dick knew it was wrong. What he didn’t know was why he couldn’t stop himself. Why the gnawing guilt was so easy to compartmentalize and why every good point Tim had got ignored by Dick’s logical side, brushed off by one simple mantra.

He was doing this for Tim’s own good.

All of this was to protect Tim from doing something he would regret.

Dick had done brain scans, had Tim magically checked up, and even managed to get him to properly talk to a psychiatrist. Everything came back normal. Tim was perfectly healthy.

So maybe this was something that had always been a part of Tim. Maybe it was a bad idea for any of them to have let Tim into the vigilante world so young.

Some people could handle it. Some people couldn’t. Dick had seen firsthand how it broke minds and ruined lives. He’d seen people turn to drugs, cults, murder, and god knew what else just to try to cope with it.

That didn’t make Tim weak. Tim Drake was the furthest thing from weak, and Dick would fight anyone on that.

This was just a hard life to cope with. Sometimes, people needed support through the worst of it.

That’s what Dick was doing.

Giving support.

“I don’t care how much you hate me- you need to eat!” Dick stepped back, dodging Tim’s attempt to kick his feet out. The bowl of salad Dick had set next to Tim was completely ignored.

Dick had learned not to give Tim hot food after Tim flung potato soup at his head the first time, chunks of potato stuck to his hair.

Tim’s scowl was lethal. Technically, he wasn’t restrained. He could move freely around the manor and do whatever he wanted.

It was the shock collar that kept him from leaving the grounds or breaking into the Batcave.

Dick had decided that would be the most humane way. The shock was only momentarily painful, it was designed to knock Tim unconscious if he tried to get somewhere he wasn’t supposed to. The collar had taken three tries before Dick found a lock Tim couldn’t pick, and a few more unfortunate incidents of Tim finding weak spots in the barrier.

But Dick always found Tim and brought him back home.

That was what was important.

The fact Tim kept trying to break out and go to god knew where on some fruitless quest to find a dead man made Dick more secure about this decision.

He was doing this to protect Tim. Once Tim worked through the worst of his grief, all this would be in the past. Something they would laugh at.

Hopefully.

It was like one of Tim’s contingency plans. Really, he of all people should understand.

But he didn’t. Which was what hurt Dick the most, the angry look in Tim’s eyes and the way his fists clenched when Dick came into Tim’s room. Tim had access to the whole manor, but he stuck mostly to his room, refusing to talk to anyone.

Especially Dick.

And now, it seemed, his latest tactic was a hunger strike.

“I’ll let you look over the burglary case we’re working on,” Dick offered. “I’ll bring you all the files and your computer if you just…” he gestured to the salad, “eat something.”

That had worked, in the beginning. Dick could coax good behavior out of Tim by offering to let Tim help with whatever case Dick was facing. It took a load off of Dick’s back and gave Tim something to focus on.

Of course, Dick couldn’t leave Tim’s computer with him. The first time Dick did that, Tim managed to break all of the firewalls and safeties put on it to start a case file about Bruce. Dick had to delete everything and only allow Tim monitored access from that point on.

After that, Tim really didn’t like Dick.

“Can’t you just go back to ignoring me?” Tim snapped. He sounded… resigned. Emotionless in a way he hadn’t been, like all the fight he’d been putting up for weeks was finally going out.

“Ignoring you?” Dick frowned. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut at the words. He kept a wide berth from Tim, wary of more punches being thrown, and decided to sit at Tim’s desk chair, a good few feet from where Tim was on his bed. “What makes you think I’m ignoring you?”

Tim scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You only talk to me to ask if I’ve dropped the Bruce thing yet, or to try to force self-care on me. The rest of the time you ignore me so you don’t have to face your own guilt.”

Dick violently shook his head. “That’s not-” he sighed, running a hand over his face- “I’m just busy, I promise. Between being Batman, managing Bruce’s estate, and trying to handle Damian, I just…” his voice trailed off. So many things to balance. He still didn’t know how Bruce managed it all. “I haven’t made enough time for you. I’m sorry.”

He decided to take on the burden of helping Tim. It was his responsibility and Tim was right, Dick was doing a piss poor job of taking care of him.

No wonder he pushed away Dick’s attempts to reconcile. It must’ve come across as half-assed, in Tim’s eyes.

Dick wished Bruce was here. He would’ve known the right way to handle this.

“Don’t start now,” Tim said icily. He picked up a book from his nightstand and opened it, pointedly not looking at Dick anymore. “Just leave me alone.”

“Will you eat first?” Dick asked. “If you just eat, I’ll go. I promise.”

With a loud sigh, Tim snapped his book shut. He picked up the salad Dick brought and shoveled down mouthfuls, all while glaring at Dick. Once the bowl was empty he set it back down and spread his hands, waiting.

Dick didn’t leave.

He wasn’t going to abandon Tim.

Dick stood up and Tim relaxed for just a moment before he realized Dick was walking toward Tim’s bed instead of the door. Slowly, like he was approaching a wild animal, Dick crept forward. He chose to sit on the foot of the bed, still far enough away from Tim to give him personal space.

“Tim-”

“Out. Now. You promised.”

Dick ran his fingers through his hair. “I know, but-”

“What do you want from me?” Tim almost yelled the words. “Do you want me to just say I don’t believe Bruce is alive? Will you finally leave me alone, then?”

“Can you say it under a truth serum?”

Tim went quiet, grinding his jaw.

“I want you to get better,” Dick sighed.

“What happens when I get better, then?” Tim challenged. He moved to sit cross-legged on the bed. So close to Dick that Dick could reach out and touch him, but emotionally, they were miles apart and it hurt Dick’s chest. “You ‘fix me’-” he put finger quotes around the words- “to your liking, then set me free?”

“Don’t talk about yourself like you’re an animal.” Dick frowned, fist clenching at the idea Tim thought of himself that way.

Tim just stared at him. “Then don’t treat me like one.” He raised a hand and tapped the collar.

It looked like it had new scratch marks on it.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Dick said. He tried to find the words. It was so hard to explain it when Tim wasn’t listening to him. He wasn’t even given a chance. Dick tried to reach out. For once, Tim didn’t pull away. He was completely rigid under Dick’s touch, though. His hand rested on Tim’s arm, thumb stroking back and forth. “You know I’m doing this because… because I’m worried about you. And I care, Tim.”

“No you don’t,” Tim leaned away from Dick, but didn’t pull his arm free. “Whatever version of me exists in your head-”

“Tim-”

“-isn’t real,” Tim ignored him and kept going. “You won’t even listen to my theory-”

“Tim!” Dick tightened his grip, ignoring the small wince of pain that came out of Tim. “I’m not entertaining that kind of talk.” He tried to be firm but loving with his tone. But even Dick could hear the anger and frustration that was bleeding off of him. “This is practically self harm.”

“I know I’m right,” Tim mumbled. He wouldn’t look at Dick. “Will you just leave, now?”

Against his better judgment, Dick stood up. He had to patrol soon. “I’m sorry. We’ll talk after-”

“I’m going to sleep,” Tim snapped. “No, we won’t.”

Dick tried to throw his hands up in frustration, but he was still holding onto Tim’s arm.

He didn’t want to let go.

He knew Tim was waiting for him to let go, but Dick couldn’t force his fingers to release. He just stared for a moment, breathing hard.

Dick was doing this out of love.

And now, he loved Tim too much to want to let go of him.

Did he have to patrol tonight? He was pretty sure the Birds of Prey were in Gotham.

“Dick,” Tim said carefully, starting to scoot away from him. The apprehension in his voice was unsteady, eyes narrowed. He was always too on edge. “I’m tired. Just go on patrol.”

Instead of letting go, Dick lifted his other hand and held Tim’s face. Tim flinched but stopped inching away. He was completely still, barely even breathing.

He looked afraid of Dick.

Dick’s chest clenched. He wished he could get Tim to understand. Dick leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Tim’s forehead.

He wanted to kiss somewhere else, somewhere a few inches lower and just as unobtainable. That was a feeling Dick buried deep, deep inside of him.

It wasn’t why he was doing this.

A hand pressed against Dick’s chest. Trying to push Dick away, but for just a moment, the pressure and warmth almost made Dick shudder. Tim hadn’t properly trained in a while.

He wasn’t actually strong enough to push Dick off of him. If Dick wanted to, Tim couldn’t have stopped him.

But their relationship was already fractured. It would take a long time of repairing and letting Tim heal before Dick could even try pursuing those feelings.

Tim had once had a childhood crush on Dick, though. So he was pretty sure they could work their way up to it, be something more.

Dick pulled away. He let go of Tim’s arm and allowed himself one stroke of Tim’s hair. It was getting a little long, brushing against Tim’s shoulders.

The entire time, Tim remained perfectly still. But his eyes got wider and wider, the way they always did when he had just figured out a case.

Dick was getting too close. He needed to pull back.

“You still have the spare comm link?” Dick asked.

Tim didn’t answer. He just kept staring with those wide, searching eyes. He looked a little pale. Dick should get him some iron supplements, Tim becoming anemic is the last thing Dick wanted.

“Use it if you need me for anything,” Dick continued. He gave Tim what he hoped was a calming smile. “Get some sleep, Tim. I love you.”

He turned and walked out of Tim’s room. Slowed to crawl at a snail’s pace, hoping for an answer from Tim. He would take any kind of answer.

But Tim kept silent, even as Dick took his time intentionally, slowly closing the door. Dick just sighed, turning down the hall to head down to the Batcave.

Someday, he’d get through to Tim. Dick would find a way.

Someday soon.

[captain-joongz]

here's first of the bigger requests that came through during the hard hours, my dear ✨ anonie, i hope you enjoy your piece! <3

LOSE TO WIN

warnings: bdsm dynamics, mistress kink, spanking, humiliation and praise, strap on usage, strap on deep-throating, coming untouched, anal fingering, pegging, rough handling, rough sex, orgasm denial, face slapping, riding

word count: 3.9k

Minho wasn't the kind of person you'd expect to get into trouble. He was smart. Sly. Always had a comeback, always knew how to get himself out of hot water. But he was also impulsive, hot-blooded and stubborn. He knew that about himself, maybe better than anyone else.

And he was incredibly competitive. So maybe that's why his plan was such a bad idea.

I mean, of course his friends would try to persuade him to not go to a casino, unless they were shitty no one would encourage their friend to go gamble, but Minho wouldn't listen - of course he wouldn't.

He didn't begin to understand why it was such a bad idea for him specifically to go until he was sitting at the poker table with a terrible hand of cards and no way to lie himself out of it.

People tend to do stupid things when they get their first big paycheck - buy a car they don't need, spend it on clothes or stupid investments. Going to a casino might be the stupidest though, not that the man would admit that, even as his beginner's luck shifted and the tide turned.

Winning a nice sum in the first few rounds, he felt confident - he should stay, play more - he could double it, triple it, he could go home with three paychecks instead of one. He'd show his friends, he'd be the one laughing at them.

But then he started to lose. And it was not pretty.

He wasn't sure how it worked in casinos, but when he was discreetly offered more chips to have a chance to win his money back, he didn't think to stop and ask where they came from or what the consequences were - he just needed a chance to win and then he'd leave. That was all, just one lucky hand and then this nightmare would be over.

When the last game ended, Minho was in a daze - it took him several long seconds to realise that he'd lost once more, and this time he was in deep shit. Not only his own money was gone, but now he owed someone.

He didn't notice you at all, eyeing him the whole evening and having a private laugh about how cutely clueless he was. It was so obviously his first time gambling, your trained eye could see it the second he stepped in the room. Oh, you'd just eat him up.

And now, watching the man sit there all miserable, head in hands as he came to terms with his situation, it was your prime opportunity to strike.

"First time?"

Minho looked up as soon as he heard the melodious voice, coming face to face with you dressed in a black expensive dress, hair and face all made up. At first glance he could tell you were someone important. And very, very rich.

"Um, y-yeah, sorry if I'm blocking the table." He moved as in to get up and leave, but you stopped him quickly and instead offered him a cigarette. Minho threw a nervous glance at the security guys, but they didn't seem bothered by anything you were doing, so he accepted. Of course, what he didn't know was that as the owner's daughter you had free range to do pretty much anything, and they knew better than to interfere when you were hunting.

"I can pay it for you," you offered easily, playing with the packet in your hands while Minho choked his sorrows with nicotine. He startled and you had to suppress a satisfied smirk. This would be so much fun, you couldn't wait to ruin him.

"N-no, that's fine. I'm fine." So he was still deep in denial, huh. You leaned closer and plucked the cigarette out of his hands, taking a drag yourself. You saw his eyes glued to your lips, shock and interest mixing in his brown irises.

"Look, boy, I'm going to be honest with you," you started, spinning your soft web, "you're fucked, spectacularly so might I add. If you try to leave now, you'll end up in some really mean people's hands. I can pay your debt and trust me, I'm much nicer when it comes to paying back." Minho looked like he didn't trust your words one bit, but that's what's nice about desperation - it makes you do things even if you know you shouldn't.

It was all reflected right there in his eyes. You knew you had him, he only had to stop running away from it.

"What would you want in return?" he asked hesitantly and you grinned. What a smart boy, knowing you weren't after money.

"One night, you listen to my every word," you said confidently, "be a good little toy for me."

You saw him shudder before he attempted to school his features into a look of carefully constructed disgust, but you knew. You really hit jackpot with this one, no pun intended.

He sat there in silence for a little while and you let him. He had to come to terms with reality and realise you were offering him the only way out, you would not interfere with that - he had to do that all on his own.

Minho knew he was stupid and got himself into trouble. For the first time in a really long time he couldn't come up with a way to get out of this - he desperately wracked his brain for any solutions while you sat next to him and inspected your nails like a shark waiting for the fish to crawl up all the way in his mouth.

But really, how bad could it really be? He'd just fuck you and he'd be okay, it was definitely the better option than getting beaten up by loansharks. It would be easy, right? He was pretty good in bed, so he had the confidence he could pleasure you and then you'd let him go and everything would be okay. Easy peasy.

He nodded. You grinned. Bad premonition filled his stomach.

Minho cried out when another hit landed on his exposed thighs, your hand then gently caressing the reddening sensitive skin there. There were tears brimming in his eyes, the burn of the impact turning him needy and whiney.

You didn't waste any time after you dragged him off into a hotel room, immediately ordering him to pull his trousers down and bend over the edge of the bed. You yourself dragged a chair over and sat down, face level with his perky underwear clad ass. He needed a punishment, that's what you said, and he was maybe starting to agree.

"Will this teach you not to be such a dumb boy? Maybe I can fuck some common sense into that pretty head of yours, huh?" You teased and taunted, delivering sharp words after each spank until Minho's head was swimming and he couldn't see through tears, biting his lips to stop all the pitiful whimpers from spilling out of his mouth.

But even though he didn't know what to think of this, his body has made up its mind already - he could feel his cock hanging between his legs, so hard it hurt, but ignored and useless. He attempted to sneakily touch himself a few minutes ago, only to get another hard hit and the sharp words "hands where I can see them, boy!", so now he didn't try anymore.

Everything was kind of fuzzy and he couldn't even tell up from down, but fuck, he didn't want to stop, and that scared him. Right now he'd probably let you do about anything to him.

"What do you think, have you learnt your lesson?" Your condescending words broke him out of his haze, but he could only pitifully whine, realising just how much his knees were shaking, close to buckling under his weight. You'd stopped your punishment, but he still felt the phantom sting of your previous smacks.

"Well alright then. Take off the rest of your clothes and sit down on the bed." Embarrassingly enough, Minho wanted to scramble to follow your order, but his limbs just wouldn't cooperate, so he sluggishly turned and fought his shirt off while you sat in your chair silently and watched.

You waited until he was done and sitting down before you came to him, standing in front of him and taking in the state of him. And what a vision he made with his red eyes, tear tracks over his cheeks and lips bitten raw, all crimson and swollen. The once proud and cocky expression he wore during the game now changed into neediness and desperation. And that's what you liked to see.

His lips in particular caught your attention, and you found yourself tracing them with your thumb, mesmerised.

"Fuck, I kinda really want to fuck your throat..." You only mused that out loud, muttering it into the charged air between you, but the absolutely wrecked needy sound that escaped Minho's mouth surprised you both, judging by the blush suddenly spreading down his neck.

"Oh? You like that? Well, who am I to ruin your fun.."

You walked over to one of the huge built in closets, pulling a big box out and gingerly going through its contents. Minho saw glimpses of various sex toys and other kink related objects, and he decided he really didn't want to know why you had that here. Some things were better left unquestioned. And he wasn't even sure whether you'd like being questioned. He desperately didn't want to displease you.

When you found what you were looking for, you pulled it out with an exclamation of victory and finally let Minho see what he apparently asked for - a harness and a strap on dildo - huge, veiny and deep purple. He shuddered, and though he'd like to lie to himself and say it was apprehension, the way his dick jumped upon seeing it spoke a different story.

You had to take your dress off to put it on, and the vision of you in only your black lacy underwear, black heels and the strap on harness did something to Minho's brain. You just simply gestured to the ground by your feet, face curled into a beastly grin.

"Kneel."

And as simple as that, he was on the ground in front of you so fast he might have had carpet burns. You laughed at him, like he was pathetic. He felt pathetic, with his mouth already watering and filling with drool, jaw clenched because otherwise he'd already have it wide open, and he squirmed under your domineering eyes.

You grabbed him by his chin, gently, turning his face up and guiding his lips towards the tip of your dildo. "If you need to stop, tap my leg twice like this." You demonstrated and he nodded, hesitantly letting his lips kiss the cold silicone.

Minho had tried it with boys before, and he wasn't against it, but he'd never sucked a cock in his life, and he had no idea what to do, so he started slow. You didn't seem to mind, eyes keenly watching him as he licked the toy and kissed along it softly, familiarising himself with the veins and ridges. Your hand stayed on his face, holding him in place and gently guiding him.

But of course your patience would run out at some point, and soon your hand pulled him onto the dick, sliding it between his lips and teasingly always thrusting a little deeper, until it was kissing his throat and making him gag. This repeated a few times - you'd slide in, he'd gag and you'd pull out to give him a little break, until you took matters into your own hands - quite literally.

Grabbing his head, you took control of his movements, guiding him in a smooth motion.

"Don't panic, relax your throat," your words rang out and Minho fought to follow your instructions, eyes full of overwhelmed tears, "breathe through your nose. Deep breaths. There you go."

You felt his his throat relax, sliding in a little further - and Minho choked. But this time it was a good sound, all nicely wrapped up in a tiny moan, and you groaned in answer, thrusting a little harder the next time.

His face screwed into one of pleasure and you saw his thighs clench, mouth suddenly hungrily chasing after you every time you pulled out. You pumped your hips rhythmically, growing breathless as you watched him moan and choke on it, with every thrust taking a little more until his face was pressed into the leather of harness, gurgly moans slipping out.

It was enough to drive a saint mad.

And Minho loved it - you could see it in the way his red cock jumped and twitched, throbbing in his lap like it was about to burst without a single touch. You felt your own pussy, so wet and empty, squeezing and clenching around nothing while you guided Minho's pretty face to choke on your cock.

"Fuck, wish I could feel your throat, bet it's so fucking good," you groaned out breathlessly, picking up pace and roughly slamming in, Minho's eyes rolling back into his skull as he took it, fingers helplessly digging into the meat of your thighs.

You should have seen the warning signs, but truly you didn't think he'd be capable of something like that - when his moans doubled in frequence, growing higher, more desperate, more whimpery, his hips jumping abortedly as his cock throbbed and twitched with rising intensity, you thought nothing of it, enjoying the view of his face covered in tears and drool, cock slipping in and out of his mouth.

You thought nothing of it until suddenly Minho was cumming with a high-pitched raspy moan, cock spurting out thick streaks of jizz all over his stomach and thighs. You pulled out in shock, eyes appreciatively flying over the scene, over his fucked out ruined face and body covered in white as he panted with laboured breaths.

"Mistress..." he rasped out, voice all gone and scratchy, and your pussy throbbed so hard you were worried you might cum too. Instead you steeled yourself and smirked again.

"What a naughty boy you are, did I say you could do that?" Minho didn't seem to have much brain power to come up with an answer and he only whined, tired body winding down. "Get on the bed."

He still faithfully obeyed your commands, dragging himself to the king sized bed and dropping down like he was dead. Crawling in behind him, you signalled for him to turn over on his stomach and he did.

His ass and thighs were still a little red from earlier, and when you touched the skin, he jolted a little, whimpers falling into a pillow.

"Well, Mistress has to punish you now, again" you tsked at him, hand reaching for a bottle of lube and condoms standing on the nightstand. Pulling one over your fingers and warming some of the smooth liquid, you carefully reached down between his cheeks, running softly over the puckered rim and pushing on it. You would have been worried about his reaction, had it not been for the immediate groan tumbling out of his lips as his hips jerked into your fingers, back arching and begging for more.

"What a naughty boy you are indeed," you whispered, giggling in amazement. You truly found a gem tonight.

His hole had a little resistance to it, but with careful smooth movements you quickly slipped in, stretching him out on two fingers. You chose a slow sensual pace, winding him up again, pouring some fire back into his veins. You heard his breathy little sighs, hips moving in a rhythm with your fingers, rolling in little circles and slowly working them in deeper and deeper.

Once they slipped all in and you started up a faster pace, the sighs turned into pleased little moans, those that spoke of a complete satisfaction of having been filled up and fucked open, and you salivated at the prospect of fucking him soon. And when you managed to curl your fingers just right, hitting his prostate and punching out a loud moan out of him, your head almost spun with lust.

Minho took three of your fingers like a champ, rocking back onto them and trying to subtly grind his already hard again cock into the sheets - and you let him, even though he probably thought you didn't know. Soon he wouldn't have such a luxury anyway, so what's a few cheeky rubs now.

"Such a slut, I really had no idea who I stumbled upon, huh?" you teased some more, fucking your fingers in roughly and massaging his walls in a way you knew drove him crazy. His hips never stilled for a moment, chasing his pleasure mindlessly as he drooled into the white bedding.

"Don't worry baby, Mistress will fuck you good," you murmured, pulling out and ignoring his needy panicked whines at losing the stimulation.

Without losing a second you immediately reached over to get another condom, getting your cock all nice and wet and ready. Giving his ass cheek one last smack, you angled your hips and pushed in mercilessly.

The cock went in easy, his hole all nice stretched and covered in lube, and the reaction from Minho was instantaneous. You felt him tense underneath you, a little pained whimper falling out of his lips just as he pushed back hungrily and pulling you deeper inside.

You understood what he wanted perfectly, and wasted no second giving it to him just right. Pulling back, you thrusted back in forcefully, punching out a pained moan out of the man.

You set a ruthless pace, pounding into him and angling your cock just right to smack right into his prostate on every stroke. Minho cried and screamed underneath you, keeping his hips still and presenting for you like a bitch in heat, hungrily taking all the aching pleasure.

"H-hurts...!" he moaned into the pillow even as his hips shook with how much he strained them to be able to take more.

"Hurts? Does it baby?" you entertained him, smirking behind him.

"So- so goo-" he got choked up on a groan, drool shining on his chin, "it's so good! More!"

"Demanding, aren't you baby?" you mused out loud, slowing down so you could pound into him harder, "but you have to be a good boy and not cum until I tell you to."

You felt how his body immediately tensed under yours with the overflow of pleasure, and he sagged into the bed, only letting out content whimpers as you continued the tempo.

You yourself were growing breathless, the fucking taking a toll on you as well - you were better at controlling yourself, but the way the harness pressed into your clit with every movement, sliding with all the slick you produced, your own arousal was slowly growing to crescendo.

Minho shook under you, his whole body taut and hands helplessly grabbing onto anything he could reach.

"Please! I wanna cum! Please!" his voice was all raspy with desperation, hips jumping back into yours. You tsked at him loudly between quiet moans, one hand going to spank him again.

You knew it wasn't fair, especially not when he jerked underneath you with a debauched groan, desperation growing tenfold in him.

"Please! Mistress!" for a few more thrusts those were the only words that slipped out of him, an endless repeat of cries and pleading.

"Can you be a good boy? Can you listen?" you taunted again, sweat rolling down your body, hands slipping on his skin with the perspiration. You were so close, you needed to cum so bad.

"Yes! Yes!" he chanted, and he really took it well. You fucked forward a few more times, aiming to give more pressure on his prostate - and when Minho flailed under you with tortured groans, but still didn't cum, you decided to take mercy on him.

Movements tinged with your own desperation, you quickly pulled out and tore yourself out of the harness, stepping out of your panties as well in the process.

Minho was desperately whining on the bed, hips still in the air and begging for more, but you grabbed him and manhandled him onto his back, in rush putting a condom on for him before you mounted him and sunk on his cock, a pleased sigh leaving your lips while Minho cried with overstimulation and denied pleasure.

You felt how his entire body trembled, freezing every time you moved your hips, eyes wide and wet with tears.

Your lust catching up to you, you couldn't help yourself and ride him with reckless abandon, just chasing your pleasure and using him like your own fuck toy while he thrashed on the bed, hips chasing after your wet heat and inaudible nonsense spilling out of his red lips.

"Go on baby," you gritted out between breathless sighs and groans, "take what you need." You were so close you could almost taste your orgasm on your tongue.

But instead of cumming immeadiately as you expected him to do, Minho only cried harder underneath you, incomprehensible pleading filling the room.

"Hit- hit me! Please Mistress, hit me!"

To say you were shocked would be an understatement, but you couldn't hide how your cunt clenched on his cock at his demands, and you reached behind to caress the back of his thighs again, only to be stopped once more.

Minho grabbed your hand and without any preamble pulled it to his face, big begging eyes watching you bounce on his cock. The groan that spilled out of your mouth was absolutely beastly and you clenched on his cock so hard you both almost came.

But who were you to deny him?

Caressing his cheek briefly, you pulled back and delivered a sharp slap, watching his face screw up with pleasure, cock throbbing almost violently, so close to bursting.

It only took one more before Minho was arching under you, crying out as his cock twitched and throbbed inside you, spilling into the condom.

Watching his face bleed into ecstasy and feeling his orgasm so viscerally, hearing his blissed out cries, you felt yourself clench and then you were cumming on his cock as well, riding out your orgasm on his cock as the pleasure consumed you from inside.

Your bodies jerked together for a few more moments, lust riddled brains savouring every second of the liquid ecstasy flowing through your veins, before you slid down to the bed to his side, attempting to catch your breath.

The last thing Minho remembered were your soft whispers of praises you pressed into his naked skin with gentle kisses.

You smiled and let him, seeing no reason in waking him up. After all, he didn't have to hear you settle everything with the casino, letting them know that there was no debt to settle cause the money he lost was yours all along. He didn't need to know the truth.

When Minho limped home the next day, covered in bruises, back hurting like crazy but muscles slack in a way that only good sex could facilitate, he couldn't even look into his friends' eyes with shame.

Of course they were worried for him - he looked terrible and they could see the little winces he did with every fast movement. He looked like he'd gotten beaten up after losing all his money.

And Minho would let them believe that, until the end of his life. They didn't need to know the truth.

divider by @cafekitsune

[ghostybat00]

"OUR CUTE HACKER 👾..." KÖNIG YANDERE AND HORANGI YANDERE

(I need more Horangi content, but I also need more König yandere content, so I said fuck it, both of them as yanderes for a hacker reader, and here we are lol)

Reader gender neutral.

👾:Imagine being a hacker at the Kortac base of operation, you are someone who wants to go unnoticed. It's a shame that these two soldiers won't allow you to be alone anymore.

👾:You met the two quickly after you were hired as a hacker operator, specialized in stealing data from enemy bases and extracting important information on missions.

👾:First you met Horangi, he was a quite energetic man, a good soldier of Korean nationality, you caught his attention from the beginning, was it your cute little face? How your beautiful hands move around the keyboard and mouse, extracting data while you look so irresistible?He didn't know it, whenever you were around he would make jokes and sarcastic comments, he camouflaged himself that it was to break the tension with the team, But it was only to have even a minimal chance of seeing a nice smile or laugh from you.

👾:Horangi quickly told König, König hadn't really met you, but if he was a little tired of Horangi never shutting up talking about you, of course, he didn't know what he was missing when had the opportunity to meet you on a mission, you helped them and the others to open a database and finish the mission easier.

👾:Then he saw you physically...he swore he thought he saw a "Engel", You were so cute, so intelligent, the blood rushed to his face that fortunately for him, his piece of cloth on his face covered, from that moment on he understood why Horangi never kept quiet about you.

👾:They both tried to be friends with you, but it was a bit difficult since you were a bit quiet. They always tried to get you to spend time alone with them, inviting you to eat with them during breaks. Protecting you a lot when you had missions with them.

👾:Horangi used to use his humor to get the better of you, more than once making a cute laugh or small smile escape you, god how he loved that.Also, in his free time he used to write poems, so what's better than making some for yourself and leaving them in your locker or room?, The poems were very beautiful and always came with nicknames, but in the Korean language, he liked to see how you tried to decipher what meant each new nickname he gave you, such as "내 꽃" (My flower) "내 아기" (My baby) "나의 별" (My Star).

👾:It was obvious that König was more reserved, he wasn't shy, but he definitely wasn't very talkative, at least when it came to you if he usually made the effort to strike up conversations outside of the professional. Also, one of his favorite things was to help you train, of course, you were military too, but you were a hacker, so you were not in the same physical condition as them, So he helped you exercise more, taking the opportunity to touch you more, like helping you use a gym machine, putting his big hands on your hips for much longer.

👾:This was the nice part that you knew about them, not the obsessive and possessive part of these two.

👾:The two used to work together to eliminate any man or woman who would try to take you away from them. Did a rookie soldier try to flirt with you? Oh! You never saw that rookie again, he magically decided to quit after being brutally beaten!, Did an enemy even give you a mini cut? He died in the most brutal way possible, leaving his body unrecognizable!

👾:Another thing about them is that, worshiping it was a daily requirement for them. They see you as a god/goddess, you are so cute and unreal that sometimes they wonder if you are real or the both fell into a beautiful fantasy.They love you so much, that even the smallest thing about you drives them crazy,so much so that they keep them as if they were sacred objects simply because they were with you.Things like a ring that you dropped that was on your pretty finger? You never found it, and the plastic water bottle you just threw away a few seconds ago?, is magically no longer in the trash can.

👾:Speaking of item collection, yeah, they share a fucking sanctuary of you, hidden in the closet in König's room. Mundane things you used, even intimate things like a toothbrush you no longer needed, underwear you wore etc.

👾:They continue to act as your "just friends", although of course in the future they plan to make you their wife/husband, They are also very protective, thanks to König's status as a Colonel, they can keep you safe better, such as ordering soldiers not to get too close to you, excluding you from the others unless it is necessary for a mission, after all you already have them, what else would you need?.

👾:And they are very intelligent, especially Horangi who is a better manipulator than König, they know strategies so that you don't discover them and if you ever suspect them they cover it up as a coincidence.

👾:They really like "friends" nights, where during your free time at work you are squeezed between their muscular bodies in a comfortable bed,while watching some movie or series, you definitely have them around your finger, with the disadvantage that now you had 2 huge soldiers obsessed with you, and who will never let you escape.

[highonmarvel]

thank you SO much for answering my question (the one with Brock Rumlow). I just think his character is VERY underrated and his darkness and gruffness is just...wonderful, especially in Infinity War (when Steve goes back in time) and in The Winter Soldier.

If you don't want to write for him, it is totally fine.

If you are willing to write for him, here is my request:

Reader grew up in an (mentally) abusive household. Her self-worth is very low, but she manages to go to college. During college, she meets Brock. He, of course, works for S.H.I.E.L.D.S, and let's say he's a very important agent, not just the STRIKE leader. Reader gets together with him (ofc, he manipulates her into that), but he gets abusive, like...really abusive. Being raised in that household, she thinks she deserves that and she stays.

One day, her friend calls the police, and reader wants to go with them, but when the police arrives at their house, right then Brock arrives home and he sends the police away (abuse of power) and then he beats reader again and noncon maybe..

THANK U SO MUCH for reading my shit...idk if you are comfortable with age-gap and everything else, but thank you again.

Stay safe! Have a great day and remember: you are loved!

oh, i especially like the ending here, with him arriving home just as she’s right about to get away. love it! i’m cool with age gap, i like it. if you wanna be super sure, make sure to check out my requesting guidelines here! but in general, i’m pretty much okay with anything. sorry it took so long, i really, really hope you enjoy. alright. let’s go:

Breaking Point

Brock Rumlow: Brock seems too good to be true at first, and when that’s revealed to be a farce, some bad timing really pushes things over the edge.

especially for the beautiful @thehydraethereal, please enjoy. seriously, please do. i tried my best.

additional content warnings here!

CONTENT WARNING, PLEASE READ: This piece includes graphic depictions of violence. Seriously, this is really dark; do not proceed if you are uncomfortable with explicit descriptions of physical abuse and rape. This is your warning. This is fucking dark. I am going to hell.

Non Con Warning!

There were very few things your parents did right—in fact, nothing they did benefitted you in anyway: the constant belittling, sometimes yelling, but when they weren’t making sure you knew just how much of a burden you were, just how much your mother regretted not having an abortion and your father regretted that night, how much pain and exhaustion your existence causes them, not to mention the ridiculous amount of money they have to spend on an oxygen thief, they ignored you and your needs. Sometimes they got tired of dealing with you, and would resort to complete neglect, going as far as locking you out of their bedroom so you couldn’t ask for food or even just a hug. You learnt to take care of yourself pretty early on in life, and you always knew you were your best shot at getting out of this alive.

Surprisingly, you found yourself to be brilliant when you started school—all your teachers (which your parents would never meet with on parent-teacher night) praised your intelligence and creativity, but when you went home with this supposedly good news, your parents either didn’t care or straight up told a six year old to fuck off and die. Your entire schooling career had been straight As and perfect attendance—despite the days where your mother was blackout drunk and couldn’t drive and your father refused to take you to school, you made a plan, always worked around their abusive behaviour. Very early on you knew your parents would never pay a dime for university, and so you worked hard to get a scholarship, and you got it! Here, is where their negligence may have paid off—the only time your mother ever smiled at you was when you said you were leaving for college and you wouldn’t be living with them anymore.

But even now, being on your own, you can never really shake the nearly two decades of constant harassment they subjected you to. Even though your teachers all through grade school assured you you were bright and had so much to offer the world, it didn’t make much of a difference when the two people who were supposed to love you guaranteed and unconditionally just constantly drilled into your head that you were, at best, good for nothing and, at worst, a huge burden no one could ever love or even appreciate. If you were worthless to them despite eighteen years of what you thought was good behaviour (you never snuck out, never drank or did drugs, never did anything but your schoolwork and clean the house) what good would you be to literally anyone else?

It’s chilly when you step out of your dorm building, making you wrap your cardigan tighter around yourself as you adjust the tote bag on your shoulder, the heavy books weighing you down slightly. The walk to the other end of campus for your next lecture is dreary as the grey sky is above: you had tried to call your mother—even through all these years, part of you hoped that maybe if she sobered up she’d apologise for everything she’s said (you knew your dad was a lost cause)—but she didn’t pick up. To make matters worse, she texted you telling you to leave her alone, and you’re pretty sure she blocked your number because the message you sent begging for just five minutes of her time never went through.

You slow down as you enter the corridor where a few of your classmates are gathered behind a pillar, looking curiously towards the doors of the lecture hall. Ducking behind them, you ask one of the girls what’s going on.

“Like, ten guys in black went in there,” she whispers, “We think they had, like, guns and stuff, too. But it’s been quiet.”

“Is Professor Brown in there?” you ask with wide eyes.

She hums in confirmation and nods towards the entrance. “We saw him go in and then these guys appeared out of nowhere! Like they’re ninjas or something,” she mumbles, and you furrow your brows as you straighten up.

Just then, there’s a bang! and the small group jumps. But it’s only the doors bursting open, revealing two guys holding Professor Brown by each arm and practically dragging him across the courtyard.

A tall man steps out, and by his confident stance and firm tone you can tell he’s in charge here. “Nothing to see here,” he says, quickly side-eying the students you’re huddled in with. “Lecture’s cancelled. Take a nap or go to the bar or somethin’.”

The group disperses and leaves you standing there. And from where the small amount of bravery comes, you don’t know, but you muster up enough courage to walk over to the man that stands much taller than you. He has his back turned to you and is talking to two of whatever task force just dragged your favourite professor out of here, who eye you suspiciously as you approach. The man dismisses them and turns to you with what is initially an unimpressed look, before he looks you up and down and something lights up in his eyes. You shift nervously under his gaze and clear your throat.

“Excuse me, sir, I— I’m sure you can’t tell me what he’s done but, do you— do you know if Professor Brown is gonna be back?”

“No, sweetheart, he’s lucky he ain’t dead,” he deadpans, making your stomach drop. He takes a step closer to you and you instinctively take a step back. “What’s your name, darlin’?” he asks in a sweet tone, but the gruffness in his voice counteracts the easiness you guess this is supposed to bring.

You stutter out a response and he smiles, reaching out a hand for you to shake. “Brock,” he gives his name in response. “Brock Rumlow.” You tentatively shake his hand with a nod, slightly intimidated by his grip that’s just a little too strong. He lets go and crosses his arms over his broad chest, looking down at you. “What’re you studying?”

You want to answer him but you check your watch and come to the conclusion you could probably get some of your dissertation going if you hurry back now, or even just take a nap, get a few more hours of sleep seeing as you spent the night crying after your mother’s cruel behaviour.

“I— I’m gonna run now,” you say, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I could fit in some work seeing as I— I don’t have anything now so—”

“How about getting a drink with me instead?”

Your eyes go wide and you’re sure you’ve misheard him. “Excuse me?”

“Can just be coffee,” he shrugs, and unfolds his arms to tuck his hands into his pockets. “I won’t keep you too long, promise.”

You stammer nervously around your words as he looks down at you expectantly. “Th— Thank you but— but I really should get back to, um, to my dorm and—”

“That work’s not going anywhere, come on. Maybe a caffeine boost will help you in the long run—half an hour, 45 minutes tops.”

You chew your bottom lip and let your eyes dart around your surroundings. There’s no one here except these police or military or secret service guys, and you have a feeling if you leave alone he’s gonna follow you and wear you down either way.

“O— Okay,” you reply, to which he smiles warmly at you in response. Surprisingly, he offers his arm, and you loop yours through his and let him guide you.

Brock is definitely a dangerous guy, and you two attract stares as you walk off campus, obviously, because he’s a muscular guy in black tactical gear and you’re clearly a little anxious on his arm and regretting your decision to wear sundress today. Despite whatever security force he’s got going on, though, you can’t help but feel a little safer with him nearby—he’s more than equipped to protect you, and he’s being nice, taking you out for coffee, maybe he’s trying to help calm your nerves, or take your mind off the weird scene you saw earlier that he definitely can’t explain yet.

When you finally get to sit down in a quiet corner of a cafe that’s got a few students scattered around, all immersed in their books, and some people with laptops undoubtedly writing screenplays they think are genius, Brock again asks you what you’re studying. You’re a little confused at first, and tell him Professor Brown’s your chemistry teacher (which makes you surmise he was busted for cooking up a couple Breaking Bads), assuming this is some kind of informal interrogation, because why else would he be interested in you? But he shakes his head.

“No, I mean your course. Is this your first year? Are you enjoying it so far?”

You offer a weak smile and give a brief outline, but he presses you for more details, seeming to have a genuine interest in what you have to say, and smiling when you get excited about certain topics, listening—really listening—to you, and for the first time in your life, you feel seen by someone, and not just someone payed to educate you.

“Oh!” you eventually exclaim when you remember to check your watch. “I’m gonna be late! God, it’s been an hour already! I’ve got to go,” you say, and hastily stand up, but Brock puts his hand over yours and looks up at you with pleading eyes.

“No, stay,” he encourages. “It’s not a big deal if you miss one class, is it?”

You look to the door and then back to him, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you consider his words. He must be right, right? It’s not a big deal. You’ve worked hard all your life, and it’s not like it’ll be difficult for you to catch up, you’re just missing one lecture.

“Um, yeah,” you nod as you sit down again. “All right. It’s… it’s not a big deal.”

“That’s right.” He smiles as he flags down a waitress to get two more coffees.

***

Staring at your busted lip in the mirror, you wonder how on Earth it got to this point. You knew Brock had the potential to be violent because that’s his job, but when did it get to the point where you couldn’t even say “I’m leaving the house” without bleeding? You think back to that first day, and how he had convinced you to stay with him for coffee, and you can’t help but curse yourself. If only you had just listened to your instincts, just gone to class like you would under any other circumstance. Why did he have that power over you? How did he convince you to stay? You know why, but you don’t really want to think about it. You know it’s pathetic but that was the first time in your life you were asked to keep talking, the first time you had spoken about yourself without being told to go away, that your voice is grating and whatever you have to say isn’t worth the strain on their ears.

But this is how it works, right? You can only pick one—be heard and deal with physical abuse, or be ignored and deal with psychological damage. And besides, Brock isn’t abusive, is he? Yes, he’s rough, but that’s just in his nature, and he is a SHIELD agent, after all—this violent instinct just comes from his training, his commitment to keeping people safe, and that just misdirects sometimes, it’s not like he can turn it off. And you have to admit, you do feel safer when you walk down the street at night with him or go to bed and not make certain all the doors are locked. His toughness is protective.

You sigh as you wipe the last of the blood off and gather cold water in your palms. You splash your face and let the cool liquid drip down into the basin, along with a little bit of blood. You need to look on the brightside: Brock’s letting you go to school again! You hadn’t been dating him long before you joined a study group at your university, excited to meet some new people, make new friends, and just learning in general made you gleeful, like a little dork (the one degrading name you’d wear proudly) but Brock was suspicious. You brushed it off, thought he was only being protective, of course, but when you were sitting at his kitchen island, eating dinner and telling him the news, his appetite disappeared and was replaced with something like anger.

“You’re not doing that,” he said, firmly, jaw clenched and forearm resting on the table with his hand balled into a fist.

“What?” you had asked with a frown, genuinely confused, “Why not?”

“You really shouldn’t be hanging around kids, baby.” His voice had dropped, gravelly tone making your body stand on alert, ready to bolt for the door if the way he was looking at you was any indication of danger. “They won’t treat you right.”

He stood up and slowly stalked over to the kitchen door, casually turning the key to lock it.

“Well, it’s— I’m not really hanging out with them, we’re just studying.”

“But you don’t need it,” he says softly, walking back into you to cup your face with his calloused hands. “You’re bright, you’re brilliant, they’ll only slow you down. You could be five years ahead of them, you know that?” The stark contrast between his bruised knuckles and his soft eyes makes your mind swirl in confusion.

“In fact,” he continues, “You really don’t need school anyway. You’ll live with me.”

You could tell that wasn’t a question. And though you were hesitant, you accepted, because how nice would it be for once in your worthless life to live with someone who actually cared. But eventually, he started getting bolder with his claims about the people around you, until he declared it wasn’t safe for you to go back to campus at all, that it wasn’t even safe for you to leave the house, and any time you questioned him, a good bruise reminded you of your place, that you were only to listen to him, because he wants what’s best for you. Right?

You had been good the last few weeks, so when you begged him to let you go back to school, promising you’d keep your head down, wouldn’t say a word to anyone and come straight back to him the second you could, he smiled and allowed it. He also gave you your phone back, he took it when he noticed reading world news was only upsetting you, and there’s no reason to worry about that stuff—that’s the stuff he takes care of everyday on the job.

After more or less making yourself look presentable, you return back to school. You haven’t heard anything from the school or your professors about your four month absence, but you’re sure it’s because Brock took care of it for you. How thoughtful, you think.

When you hear a feminine voice call your name, you want to turn around, but you remember what you promised. You pull your hoodie over your head and walk a little bit faster, but she easily catches up to you.

Wanda joins you in step and smiles at you, and though you raise your eyes to meet hers, you don’t smile back.

“Are you okay?” she asks, hesitantly bowing so she can better see your face. When you don’t respond, she reaches over and pulls your hood back, casting you into light.

“Hey!” you yell, and she gasps, taking your face in her hands before you can cover up again.

“What happened?” she whispers, ghosting her thumb over the cut on your lip.

“Nothing,” you reply, a little too quickly, making her raise an eyebrow. “I’m fine.”

Before you can process it, she’s grabbing your hand and leading you into the nearest bathroom, which is thankfully empty.

“Sit,” she instructs, pointing at the counter lined with sinks, and you obey her without a second thought, hopping up with your back facing the mirror and letting her examine you. She’s quiet for a moment before she asks, “Anything else?”

You hesitate, but the look she gives you is of serious and genuine concern. You don’t know her well, only that she’s the one who invited you to the study group, and she lives on the same floor as you did in the dorms, so you spoke to her occasionally. The fact that this woman knows nothing about you but is clearly determined to help, it makes you tear up. You roll up your sweatpants to reveal your shin and thighs stained with ugly shades of yellow and blue and brown, at which she winces.

The room is silent for a few minutes, and it feels like you’re holding your breath waiting for her to say something.

“We’ve got to get you out of there.”

You want to sigh in relief, but you also know that you can’t get out of there, that he will always find you. Nearly immediately you regret showing this to her. Neither of you said anything about Brock (in fact, you’re not even sure if she knows his name) but both of you have the same idea of him.

“N— no, Wanda, really, that’s okay. I— I need to get going,” you hurriedly stammer out as you adjust your clothes and pick up your book bag.

“Do you have your phone?” she asks, moving to block the door when you try to leave.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I do, I need to go—I shouldn’t have even come, Brock’s not gonna be home tonight so I’ve gotta prepare dinner for myself and—”

“He’s not going to be home tonight?” she interrupts with a sad yet hopeful look in her eyes.

You look away from her and decide to just push past her, regretting you said anything at all. This time, she lets you go, but not without yelling from behind you, “Keep your phone on!”

***

Later that night, it’s approaching 20h00–Brock has left but you haven’t eaten anything, and though you tell yourself it’s from the nerves of being left alone, you know you’re anxiously waiting for Wanda’s call, your heart pounding against your chest, leg tapping furiously as you stare at your cellphone sitting across the table. When it rings, you all but jump out of your seat as your heart nearly leaps out of your chest. You almost forget to press Accept before raising the phone to your ear, breathing uneven and voice shaky as you answer, “H— hello?”

“Is he gone?” Wanda’s comforting voice comes through on the other end—she’s clearly in an anticipatory state, but just hearing the care her voice carries makes you feel a little lighter.

“Yeah,” you croak before clearly your throat and mentally reprimanding yourself for being so paranoid. “Yeah. He’s… he’s out. For the night, I think. He’s not gonna be back until I think tomorrow morning, or maybe even the day after.”

“What’s your address?”

You give her Brock’s address as you make your way over to the window, peaking out into the front yard, afraid he’ll just materialise and barge him.

“Okay,” she responds after scribbling it down. “I’m calling the cops.”

“What? Wanda, no!”

“He’ll kill you if I don’t.”

Part of you wants to argue with her, say he’d never do that but… he might. You’ve never been on the receiving end of 100% of his strength but you know you’ll never make it out alive if it gets to that point.

“Please,” she pleads, desperation so evident in her voice you cup your hand over your mouth to stop the sob that threatens to come out. “I’ll come with them, I’ll be there, you won’t be alone, I can keep you safe.”

Safe. Safety: the one thing you’ve wanted all your life.

With a few hiccups you nod, forgetting she can’t see you through the phone. When she asks, “Are you there?” you reply, “Yeah. C— call them, but please come, too.”

She assures you she will before hanging up, and you’re left in silence once again. It could have been a minute or an hour before they showed up at the door, you have no way of knowing because of your nervous pacing and your mind racing a million miles a minute. When the doorbell rings, you swear your soul must have leapt out of your body for a second, that you momentarily had a heart attack but that human survival instinct brought you back to life.

Your hands are trembling so hard you wonder how you haven’t dropped the key as you slowly unlock the door and crack it open just enough to peer out into the dark. Wanda is standing behind two tall police officers, and she gives you an encouraging smile that makes you want to cry for the third time today.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” asks one of the policemen, carefully watching your movements. “We have reason to believe domestic assault may be taking place in this residence. If you could come with us—”

His words are cut short by the crunching of gravel as a car pulls into the driveway and all four heads turn to face the black SUV coming to a stop. It’s like you’re paralysed, completely still as you watch his heavy boots hit the ground and hear the door slam shut. When he circles to the other side of the car and towards the door, a brief flash of confusion crosses his features, but he quickly regains his composure, and it was a subtle display, so subtle you doubt anyone else in the world could’ve spotted it but you. Your eyes dart nervously from Brock to Wanda, who is glaring at him so hard you’re sure she’s willing daggers to pierce straight through his nonexistent heart.

“Evening, officers,” he greets, casually as he takes the few steps up to the door. “Can I help you?”

He joins you in the doorway, standing just a little bit in front of you to discreetly hide your terrified features from the two men.

“Agent Rumlow,” Officer Two greets with what’s clearly deep admiration, and you see Wanda resist the urge to roll her eyes. “It’s an honour to meet you, sir.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he responds, changing his stance to lean against the doorway and crossing his arms over his chest. “Is there a problem?”

The two officers give each other nervous looks before the first speaks up again. “We were,” he clears his throat, then continues, “We were responding to reports of domestic assault, sir. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

Though you can’t see him, based on his faux sympathetic tone, you can imagine an exaggerated display of his brows furrowed in confusion. “Can’t say I do. Do you know anything, sweetie?” he turns to you and gives you an ugly grin, a face you know all too well—that look he displays when you piss him off and he’s got an excuse to punch you this time.

You gulp and shake your head, looking down at your shoes.

“Well then—”

“Bullshit!” Wanda suddenly calls, stepping up to Brock. “You,” she begins, pointing a finger at him, her voice trembling with anger. “You are a fucking maniac! You—”

Before she can finish, Brock waves his hand and the officers grab Wanda by a shoulder each, snapping her out of her rage and into a bit of panic for a second.

“Sorry to bother, sir,” is the last word one of them gives before turning back to the car.

“Wanda!” you call out, not taking a step forward before you’re blocked by Brock’s large body. Between him and the doorway you’ve got a gap to see them dragging her away. You watch with horror as she repeatedly calls your name, unrelenting in her kicking and screaming, calling out to you, and you’re… useless. You can’t help her. She did all this for you and you can’t do a single thing for her.

In shame and fear, you take a step back, breathing heavily. You jump when the door is shut and the click of the lock makes you queasy. There’s a rattle as Brock drops his keys into the bowl near the door and sighs as he turns to face you.

“What was all that about?” he questions, in between a laugh, and you can do nothing but stare at him in horror as tears spill from your eyes.

“Well?” he asks, taking a menacing step towards you, becoming bigger and bigger before you as you cower in paralysing fear. Before you can process it, he wraps a hand around your neck and nearly lifts you off the floor as he pulls you towards him. “Fucking answer me, you cunt!”

You claw desperately at his forearm to get him to relent as his breath hits you in harsh puffs through his flared nostrils—he’s seething, practically to the point you can feel his body temperature rise and rise. When your attempts become feeble and he can feel you struggling to keep consciousness, he lets go and you fall to the ground, gasping for air as your nails dig into the weathered floorboards. You cough a few times to regain feeling in your lungs before a swift kick to your chest knocks the wind right back out of you. You go sliding a few metres across the floor, splinters poking under your fingernails making your eyes water, wrapping your hands around your neck as if that’s gonna help.

“Brock” you try, but your voice comes out as barely more than wheeze, “Please—”

“You gonna answer me?” Another kick sends you backwards, sprawling onto your belly. When you attempt to crawl forward, he presses his boot down harshly on your lower back, making you cry out as you reach an arm behind you to try and pry him off. “What was all that about, sweetheart?” he seethes through gritted teeth before delivering a kick to the side of your head, sending a warm trickle of blood running down from your temple.

“I didn’t— I didn’t call them—”

“But your little friend did.” He grabs a fistful of your hair and you whimper. Leaning down to meet you halfway with your head pulled up off the ground, he drops his gruff voice to an almost animalistic growl. “Big mistake.”

If you didn’t turn when he did, you might have broken your spine in half, still trying to claw at him as he drags you by your hair to the bottom of the staircase and tosses you carelessly onto the steps—they’re carpeted, but that doesn’t soften the blow, and a ringing sound echoes through your skull as black spots dot your vision, disorienting you for long enough to let Brock tug down your pants.

“Maybe you need a reminder of what you are, and who you belong to.”

As he’s unbuckling his belt, you take the chance to push yourself up and run up the stairs, but you trip on your pants he hadn’t even bothered to take halfway off and he easily catches your ankle, pulling you down again and making your chin hit the stairs. Your teeth clatter together painfully and you’re sure you would’ve bitten straight through your tongue if it were in the way.

Finally rid of his belt, he grabs the end of it and whips so the metal buckle slashes against your face, making a deep gash down your cheek and nearly clawing your eye out in the process. You sob as your skin is ripped and reach a hand up to cup your injured cheek. Brock takes the opportunity to to press your other hand behind your back and practically crush your wrist with the impact of his boot to keep your arm pinned down.

He tries to finger you before quickly giving up and spitting into his hand, the lewd sound making you let out another sob as you try to wriggle free, a feeble fight which he effortlessly ignores.

When you feel his tip line up with your entrance, you let your head fall in defeat. Maybe it’s better this way, to just go limp and accept whatever comes your way. You’ve been worthless all your life, maybe this will make him think you’re worth something, if you just let him do what he wants, stop fighting him, because every single time you express opposition, you get hurt. You thought Brock was the only person to listen, but he’s not listening to your pleas for him to stop.

Eventually, he grows bored of your crying and grunts in frustration, turns your head to smush your face against the dusty carpet, somewhat effectively silencing you as you try to stop crying to preserve oxygen, taking shallow breaths as if that will have much of an effect. His slow pace makes it more painful, somehow, like he’s saving this memory, taking his time and making sure every one of his thrusts hits deep enough to make you jerk forward before pulling out of you almost entirely, and doing this over and over again. Gradually, your cries die out, voice slowly disappearing and throat hoarse and as painfully dry as your cunt. You taste blood in your mouth and can feel that the blood from your tearing walls is the only thing slick enough to keep him going. Now, it’s only his groans and the sound of skin on skin when he slams into you, but when he starts to lose focus, his rhythm hesitant, he lets go of your arm in favour of gripping your hips, his nails indenting your skin, like a tattoo of his name that’s impossible to erase even if you sliced the skin off, like it’ll just grow back if you ever heal, like the scars are a reminder of your breaking point.

The very moment you decided to stop fighting, to give in, just allow yourself to be worthwhile to someone, whatever it takes.

⊗

my beloved taglist: @cjand10, @cowboysnbugs

[weaselandfriends]

hey i liked cockatiel x chameleon to an extent. i did want to ask about the george floyd section since it was probably the most effective part in the story for me (i’m black i shouldnt have to say dis) but what was it’s thematic purpose in the story beyond pulling you away from the languid hellscape of suffering people into the real world? i get that gramme was in the protests/riots and went secluded.. but i feel like there was more in that moment.

Thanks for the question. I already talked a bit about George Floyd's inclusion in CxC in this post, and the thematic idea of the "End of History." I recommend reading that post and seeing if that answers your question, but in case it doesn't, I'll approach the question from a different angle than I did there.

In 2013, I wrote an unpublished, pre-Bavitz novel called This Really Happened. It was, at its onset, a surreal murder mystery plot in which a wealthy young corporate heir was framed for a murder of an executive in order for the true culprit to seize control of the company. The heir, a ridiculous weeb named Luxembourg, is harassed by an unstoppable, Terminator-like black detective named Denning. Luxembourg panics, takes his secretary Rachel hostage using a katana, and flees into the Los Angeles streets. (Rachel is, at Luxembourg's behest, dressed in cosplay of the character Rydia from Final Fantasy 4.)

20,000 words into the novel, these three larger-than-life personalities run smack into the 1992 Rodney King Riots, which have just started while all this murder mystery bullshit was going on. The rest of the novel is a beleaguered chase through an anarchic Los Angeles, Denning unable to receive backup, Luxembourg trying to reach his father's mansion on the northern fringe of the city. The murder mystery elements strip away until there doesn't seem to be anything propelling this chase besides momentum, while the story is intercut with transcripts from real interviews taken during the riots and other depictions of things that, as the title claims, Really Happened. The second-to-last chapter of the story is just a transcript of the Murphy Brown speech then-vice president Danforth Quayle gave regarding the riots (a quote from this speech would later wind up as a Chicago chapter title).

To prepare for the work, I researched the riots assiduously. I watched hours upon hours upon hours of on-the-ground footage, I watched documentaries about the causes of the riot, the reactions to the riot, all from different perspectives and angles, I read books on the subject, ethnographic research of the LAPD, pretty much a full-scale immersion into the subject.

Since then, the subject of police brutality has always been one of particular importance to me.

In some ways, Cockatiel x Chameleon is the evolution of the ideas I had with This Really Happened. The collision between fiction and reality, "fake" problems versus real problems, personal desolation and communal. (A minor character from This Really Happened has a small, unnamed cameo as a reporter Gramme encounters at the protest. Gramme also briefly wields a katana.)

The thing that always strikes me about the George Floyd video is how the police officers don't seem like real humans. Not simply in the heinous murder they're committing, but in how they talk and act. The bystanders shout, scream, sputter, fumble their words constantly. Floyd begs for mercy. But Officer Thao talks like an MCU character, like he's always trying to drop a funny quip. "Don't do drugs kids." Chauvin just looks around with one eyebrow raised like he's pulling a sitcom reaction face. At one point, Thao aggressively pushes a bystander, then says "Don't touch me again," despite him being the one doing the touching. It's absurd. I think if the video was fictional, if it happened in a movie, I would roll my eyes and say, nobody is that one-dimensionally evil! But it did happen. It's impossible to deny, and that causes the absurd to turn to disgust, to anger and sadness. I cannot watch that video without being sharply emotionally affected.

One of the books I read for This Really Happened is called Policing Space, by Steve Herbert. It's a work of ethnographic research on the LAPD after the Rodney King riots, meaning the author rode along with LAPD officers and studied them in their typical environment. Herbert concluded that there are a series of ideologies that influence police behavior, and that among the obvious ones like law, safety, courage, and morality, there's one called adventure. Police see themselves as action heroes, like from a movie, and that can color their entire mindset, including their perception of law, morality, etc. They're the hero and their enemies are, well, enemies. They're roleplaying.

If I were a smarter person, I would've thought to make a connection between the outrageous fictionality of the officers' dialogue and the fictionality of the roleplaying the other characters perform throughout CxC. That if "roleplaying" is the only way for Harper, Gramme, Sister, and so on to construct meaning or identities for themselves, then that is also the only way these police can construct meaning for themselves as well, to disgusting results. (The officers in the Floyd video aren't even doing their job. The bystanders are pleading for the cops to arrest Floyd, which they refuse to do.) The culmination of this idea is the LARPing vigilantes with the Punisher logo on their truck that roll up to the protest and abduct Fletch. "Hostile neutralized," they say, completely clownish fake dialogue. Fletch responds by shouting, "You can't arrest me, you aren't cops, you're fake, you're playing pretend!"

I hope either this answer or the other one is satisfactory answer to your question.

[ymiwritesstuff]

What They Call You | Goro Majima, Kazuma Kiryu & Akira Nishikiyama

Hello, I'm here with some headcanons for some of the Yakuza boys bc I love them all and my brain is craving content for them AAAA! Anyway, here are some headcanons of what they'd call their s/o, hope you enjoy!! ❤️

Notes: Fluff, some mild suggestive themes, spoilers for Yakuza 1/Kiwami during Nishiki's segment, mild angst

Goro Majima

Darlin' - This one is the default for him, the one his s/o will hear the most. It just flows off his tongue effortlessly, he hardly even realizes he is calling you that in the first place. The drawl of his Kansai-ben also really adds to the experience, making the pet name feel extra unique and exclusive.

Doll - This is the one he uses when he really wants to sweet talk. And oftentimes he pairs it with remarks about how pretty you are in his eyes. There is some slight silliness in it but for the most part, his overly honeyed words and compliments are almost always accompanied by this pet name.

Baby/Babe - Putting these two together because I feel like he'd use both in the same situations. Though I feel like "Baby" would be more so used when he and his s/o are intimate. In general, though, he uses one of these to surprise you, as you are so used to his usual "Darlin'". When one of these leaves his mouth, he's silently asking something of you. Usually, it's sexy time.

Princess/Prince - 100% most used when he wants to tease his s/o or is in the process of pampering them with lavish gifts or an unusually affectionate kiss. With this one, he just wishes to let you know how highly he thinks of you and how important you are to him. It leaves you with warmth on your cheeks almost every time.

Kazuma Kiryu

Your Name - Listen, Kiryu isn't too big on pet names, simply because to him, there isn't anything better to call you than your name. It's just much more special to him than any other nickname could be. He likes your name, so why wouldn't he use it? Sure, his s/o might feel like it's somewhat serious and not as light-hearted as it could be with traditional pet names, but really, Kiryu just wants to let you know that your name is all that he needs to call you, because nothing else would be able to convey his feelings better, in his opinion.

Dear - Now, despite what was said in the previous paragraph, there are still some times when this man will use a pet name. This one in particular is used if he and his s/o are married. He's a traditional, gentlemanly husband, so he uses the most traditional pet name there possibly is. Admittedly, he felt strange saying it at first, but it quickly became second nature, and he soon grew to love calling you that.

Beautiful - This is pretty self-explanatory. Whenever Kiryu uses this one, he is simply describing what he sees. To him, his s/o is the most beautiful thing there is, and him saying this out loud, is a verbal confirmation of it that admittedly leaves you somewhat flustered.

Cutie Patootie - He tried this once after seeing it on the internet. Bad idea. You almost died laughing. Never again.

Akira Nishikiyama

Babe - Nishiki's default. This one is rather broad, as he uses it with anyone who happens to strike his fancy if he is not already seeing someone, so it doesn't feel as exclusive when he and his s/o do get together. However, he somehow is able to make it sound special and different compared to how you used to hear it before you officially started dating. The charming smile he so often wears is surely a partial reason for this.

Sweetie - This one is saved for his s/o. It's a lot more tender and dare I say, sweet, perfect for when you two have been together for some time. Usually, you'll feel a kiss on your temple or cheek right after hearing him call you by this pet name. It warms your heart and you cannot help but smile a little. He is always genuine whilst addressing you in this way, and you know it. You hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes.

Sexy - To absolutely no one's surprise, Nishiki is a flirt, and he knows it. Whenever he is in a teasing mood, expect him to whisper sensual compliments to your ear along with this pet name. He is fully aware of what he is doing and needless to say, this is a word he calls you a LOT during intimacy. Usually, it's mixed with praise or, you guessed it, more compliments on how amazing and hot you are to him.

Mine - SPOILERS FOR YAKUZA 1/KIWAMI! When he calls you his, it's usually out of fear, though anyone can see the underlying possessiveness in his eyes. Deep down, he doesn't want to lose you, not after having already lost so many people dear to him. His sister, Kiryu, he absolutely can't deal with loss any longer. You see the change in his behavior, hear the sternness of his voice, and hear the hunger in his tone as he claims you with his words. Pre-Kiwami Nishiki would never say it in such a way, hardly at all if we are honest, but he has changed, and he is desperate to have you stay with him. So he holds you tight, vigorously telling you how you belong to him.

~

Support me on ko-fi!❤️

[dearweirdme]

Hi anon who sent me an essay.

I'm not gonna post your whole ask, because it's clear you have not spend any time reading my blog. Most of your ask does not apply to me, and it does not apply to many of my followers, so please go and send stuff like that to places it does apply to.

There is one part of it I'd like to adress though, because you are pretty wrong about it, so let's go through that part together for a bit.

Through out the years, Jimin and Jk have found solace in each other. They’ve depended on each other and been there for each other.

Yes, as have all members. I agree that Jm and Jk have established a great bond. You are however mistaken if you think they do not share that closeness with others. Jimin and Hobi, Jimin and Yoongi, Jimin and Tae... all very strong bonds. All very evidently strong, and Jimin has even mentioned and specified those bonds as being special and important to him. Namjoon 'Hoseok is always nr 1 to Jimin'. Jimin who knows Yoongi will always pick him. Tae and Jimin being soulmates. Jk and Tae (shiping aside), Jk and Namjoon, Jk and Hobi, Jk and Jin. All very strong bonds, and all persons Jk finds strenth, comfort and solace in. All members have their preferences amongst members for different things I believe. I agree that Jm and Jk are close and share a lot of time together. They have found solace in each other, but they are not the only ones they find solace in.

Jimin has always been the first one to run to Jungkook when he felt Jk needed him (but i honestly cannot say this about Tae towards Jk). Jk has always run to Jimin first when he wasn’t ok.

You are being very selective here, and also very dependend on situations we have seen. And more importantly... you are presuming to know exactly when Jk wasn't feeling okay. What you do here, is take a few easily identifiable moments in which something happened and it was obvious that Jk was feeling off. You do not take into account that Jk's feeling off (and this goes for all members really) was probably not always showing (at least not in full force). I think all members probably had many moments in which they had to "act" as though they were fine. It is actually my believe that for some of their 'tougher' moments Tae and Jk were actually seeted together, or joined each other more. Festa 2022 for instance, Mama 2018 was striking, Golden Disk 2020, the 2020 Grammys. You take some moments when they were physically unwell and take that as evidence of them always running to only each other, yet you fail to realize that physically unwell can perhaps be less impactfull than being mentally unwell. Being mentally unwell does not always obviously show though.. so how do we know? How can we place any value at all on which member they go to first when feeling unstable if we are probably not even always able to identify when that unstableness occurs.

They have always in their own way protected each other and been there for each other when it mattered the most. Emphasis on “mattered the most”.

See the above. Your "in their own way" and your "mattered the most" are your thoughts about this, not actual factual thoughts.

This isn’t about going snowboarding or together, or going for concerts, or being cuddly, or hugging each other at concerts while vibing to songs.

Sure.

With Jimin and Jk, it’s always been them two showing how much they value each other by showing for each other when it MATTERED. Jk falling on his back during AHL, Jimin being the first one to run to him and tell him he was cool.

Okay.. what does this say about the relationship between other members when they react when someone falls down?

Jk crying about missing his mom, jimin being the one who finds him and tells him it is ok to cry. Jk being sad and going to the bar alone, jimin being the only one who realizes that jk is not around and goes looking for him. Jk feeling sick and collapsing after concerts, Jimin being the one who doesn’t leave his side. Jk choosing to spend a majority of his downtime with Jimin (nights). Jk choosing to give only Jimin a birthday present until he is called out by the other members. Jk doing things for Jimin that he doesn’t do for anyone else.

Again selective. BTS members care and take care of each other. Jk cries easily, Jimin to a lesser degree as well. They get comfort more often in general because of that. I have a few examples for you to ponder on.. Jm comforting Tae when he cried on and off stage and in Bon Voyage Malta. Members taking care of Jin when he had his hand injury. Tae drying Jk's tears. Jk clinging to Tae as soon as he arrived in BV season 1. Jk wanting to be roommates with Tae at their house. They all (!) comfort each other, if those moments you mention mean something.. then what makes them different from all other moments (and there's plenty!).

Jk himself saying that Jimin is the one who knows him the best. Jk himself saying that Jimin gives him the best comfort. This isn’t about looks, skinship, or friendly hangout (the things u taekookers hang unto to prove ur ship).

Ah, anon! You're talking about quotes from 2014/15 here. It very much shows how Jm was being a hyung to him. That says nothing about how their relationships evolved from then. They were also very clear about Tae being the person who helped Jk out of his shell, which is not something to be ignored, since that takes a lot of trust and closeness. You will find that members' answers will vary from time to time. From various instances though, it becomes clear that Tae and Jk do have a knowledge about each other that other members do not. The other members were for instance not aware about the text Yoongi sent to Jk and Tae.. but Tae and Jk did know about them getting that text. Tae and Jk know more about details in their lives, like Jk knowing exactly how tall Tae is and correcting Jm. Like Jk knowing Tae had his nails done. Like Tae being able to easily summ up things Jk likes. Like Jk knowing Tae's favorite food and whether he has beer in his fridge.

This is about Jimin and Jungkook being each other’s number one person when it matters most. They have proven this time and time and time again but y’all continue to look away. Y’all look away from the fact that at those moments when it really matters, Jimin and Jungkook just somehow find themselves at each other’s side ALWAYS!

You don't get to decide which moments matter most. They are importnt to each other, I absolutely agree, but there certainly is no ALWAYS! at play here.

Jk will choose to play games with V, will choose to interact with him more on stage, will cling to him during concerts, will seemingly smile at him more, but at the end of the day, Jk will choose to spend hours on end in Jimin’s room.

Again a selective use of moments. Just because it is mentioned that Jk hangs out in Jm's room doesn't mean that's what always happens. They are talking about a specific period, so you should use this moment only when it comes to taht specific period as well.

At the end of the day, Jimin is the one who Jk will openly sit his ass down for, for hours watching and missing. At the end of the day, Jimin is the one Jungkook will gravitate to when he is done goofing around with his friend and bandmate. If you don’t get this by now, i’m afraid you never will.

Ofcourse I never will, because it is just not true and evidently so. I very often hear that Jm and Jk treat each other differently... I think the only way in which they do, is that they spend more time together than they do with other members (except Tae). So there are more moments of them together, which to some (jkkrs) makes it seem like they're in a relationship (quantity above quality). But when you look at the way they act with others (quality) there is not actually that much of a difference. Jm will hug and comfort anyone. He is physically close with many members.

Jk will cuddle easily with Hobi, Jm and Tae. He is an emotional person, so he needs comfort often.. and many members will give him that. Jm being one of the main comfort givers, and also his close friend, means it will often be Jm.

So where do Tae and Jk differ? Tae and Jk though do treat each other different from other members. I have not seen Tae talk about any member as often as he does about Jk and I have not seen Tae touch any member the way he touches Jk. Tae touching Jk is exploring, calming, it's long in daration, it's intimate, it's without it meaning to be playfull or edgy or funny. Jimin does not touch Jk the way Tae does, and neither does Jk let anyone else touch him like that. When Jm and Jk touch there will very often be with a humorous undertone. Their moments are shorter in duration. You will see Tae and Jk basically hang on each other for minutes.. but Jk and Jm less. Those moments are usually shorter. When Tkkrs talk about Taekook no space couple... it's because Tae and Jk do sit next to each other more closely than Jk and Jm do (in general). Jkkrs also say this about Jk and Jm, but when you compare those moments they're different. It's posing for pictures, it's standing aside each other. It's not the relaxing into eachother Tae and Jk do. So look for the quality of moments and not the quantity. Jk will way more often search for where Tae is than he will with any other member. Even when Jm hangs of him, Jk will often focus on Tae (I cannot proof this though, because there simply is too much footage in general). Jk leans into Tae's touches and will usually not pull away, with Jm he does though (not in a "I hate it way" just in a "I need my personal space" way).

Jk does not look at Jm like he does at Tae. We've talked about this live (watch at 9:17), but that stare lasts 6 seconds! People brush past this so easily, but 6 seconds is super long to stare in someone's eyes. Seriously try staring directly into someones eyes for 6 seconds and see how that makes you feel.

The ease with which Tae and Jk get physically close without even flinching is really something.

(excuse the edit, I'm lazy today). I have no explanation for Tae and Jk at Dream premiere. Jk's flustered nervousness, Tae's pride... the way they look at each other... this was a moment for them, and I cannot come up with a platonic reason for why that would be.

All of the above is so much more than anything between Jm and Jk. And it's not like these moments are the only ones like this, it's an ongoing thing throughout many years.

[thereindeerlady]

Hello to the 2 Zukka fans who may actually see this, i bring you Free Thoughts of a 2 am snacker!

Zukka hockey player/figure skater au

Now, i know what you’re thinking: Lydia! Tupp! This has already been done before!

And you would be correct! However! My brain has tweaked it in a way i have personally yet to see (wink wink nudge nudge drop the fic links if you’ve read this before)

So! My thoughts on the subject:

Hockey Player Zuko and Figure Skater Sokka

Zuko, child figure skating prodigy who suffered a tragic accident, is hidden away for two years before he reemerges under his Uncle’s care as a fierce hockey competitor after everyone said he’d never skate again

Sokka, who’s sister Katara became a World Junior Champion at 16* in ice hockey and who Sokka feels he can never live up to, enjoys after-hours figure skating on the same ice he works to maintain. Sokka, who watches singles programs galore and learns his favorites and recreates them, posting them to youtube for his 6 followers (Hakoda, Bato, GranGran, some kid name Aang, and two other anonymous strangers). Sokka who has a natural grace to him despite the obvious lack of formal training, who skates like he’s got everything and nothing to lose, whose love for the art shows in every glide and every turn. Sokka who gets discovered one day by an old grumpy coach who offers to give him a few tips. Sokka who is a fast learner and spends ages 14 to 18 quickly climbing the local ranks.

Zuko, who, at 16 faces a second injury that takes him out of hockey forever. Zuko, who has just been officially disowned as his own sister takes to the spotlight. Zuko, angry at the world, lashing out at everyone around, but goes willingly with his uncle when Iroh suggests a change of scenery 6 months into his recovery. Zuko who is determined to skate again, if only for himself, if only to prove that yes, he is strong enough to come back again. Zuko who strikes a deal with local ice rink that if he sits and runs the front counter during the day while his uncle runs the popular new tea shop inside the rink, he can use the rink after hours once his injury is healed enough. Almost 17 year old Zuko who stays late to reorganize some papers behind the counter one night and sees Sokka step onto the ice and go through vigorous warm ups and exercises. Zuko, who drifts a little closer and watches as Sokka is told he can skate anything he wants for the first skate. Zuko, hearing the song from the last program he ever skated come on through the speakers and watching as Sokka skates through it easily, with a passion Zuko himself had never managed to feel. Zuko, who occasionally stays behind to secretly watch a pretty boy skate and never gets caught for 4 more months. Zuko, who is finally cleared by his physical therapist to get back on the ice but with orders to take it slow, gliding carefully out onto well-taken-care-of ice for the first time in almost a year in skates very different from his last pair, and it feels strangely like coming home.

Sokka who watches a stranger hesitantly enter the rink. He comes to the rink on his nights off when everything at home becomes too much. He loves his sister and his parents- because Bato never needed to marry his dad to be a second father to him- and he even loves his sweet crazy old GranGran, but sometimes it all gets to be too much. They know he’s seriously training in figure skating now but they’ve never come to any of his recitals**. Its not that they dont care, but theres always something else going on. “Oh, we cant, Katara has her out of state tournament that weekend” or “Oh no bud Im so sorry, Bato and I are going on a late anniversary trip that day” or even “I have too much homework, Sokka, I’ll come to the next one, promise!” The only one who never makes an excuse but he also never actually sees in the audience is GranGran (this’ll be important later on wink wink). So, when things get to be too much and Sokka gets tired of having to be the loudest person in the room just to simply be acknowledged, he comes to his safe place. The rink after hours. Sokka watches from the upper shadows as the stranger takes careful, measured, practiced glides. Like riding a bike for the first time in ages, they’re hesitant at first before they slowly gain traction. At first, he thinks the stranger is just going to glide from one end to the other all night but instead he watches as they slowly begin a few exercises. Very familiar exercises. (Do you see where im going with this?) And then, they turn around, and Sokka is suddenly breathless because before him is the most beautiful boy- the most beautiful human- he’s ever seen. And sure, maybe Sokka has always fallen too fast and too hard, and sure, Sokka has literally never talked to this boy in his entire life, but Sokka looks at him and sees that look on his face and knows. ‘He’s just like me.’

Zuko who keeps coming back and lingers before Sokka gets on the ice. Sokka who stays late to watch Zuko retrain himself. Piandao who is sick and tired of watching these two boys dance around each other when they could clearly be learning from one another because, though Zuko had not trained in figure skating in years, he had been a true prodigy and he picked it back up easier than he should have been able. Piandao who was Zuko’s first coach before his father transferred him to Zhao’s guidance. (Jeong Jeong, a retired pro hockey player who is tired of listening to his husband bitch all day anout oblivious idiots because they’re starting to remind him of himself and Piandao when they were young and headstrong.) Jeong Jeong who finally takes matters into his own hand and tells the boy who runs his front counter that Piandao would like for him to come to Sokka’s next practice and then tells Piandao to “Stop whining and do something now, I’ll see you at home” with a kiss on the cheek as the two boys shyly trade introductions.

Zuko who begins helping Sokka with his training even as he himself recovers and relearns. Sokka showing up on the nights Zuko skates alone with greasy takeout and the occasional baked good his GranGran made that day. Sokka and Zuko curling up on the couch in the back office watching old figure skating videos on an old laptop and Sokka finally realizing exactly who Zuko is as Zuko finally realizes Sokka is that one youtuber he watched for years when he was younger. Zuko laughing and telling him that the random subscriber Aang is actually a friend of his and the other anonymous subscriber was just Zuko’s second account after he lost the password to the first.

On one of their casual skate nights, once Zuko is back to full strength, Sokka suggests they learn a pairs skate tongether for fun. Ike a trust exercise!” He says as if he hasnt been dying to know what it would feel like to skate in tandem with Zuko since he first saw his face. Zuko agrees and he and Sokka find a program they both like. They decide who’s skating what and then begin to fumble through learning their individual parts. A week or two later, they try it together for the first time, no music, and its not half bad. They continue to learn it together and notice that the more they skate together, the better they get individually. Zuko’s refined control gives Sokka a more polished look without smothering his passion while Sokka’s passion and fluidity allows Zuko to loosen up and actually enjoy what he’s doing. (1 hour mark)

Eventually, they put it to music, and Piandao and Jeong Jeong emerge from the shadows at the end of the song. Piandao asks them if they want to learn their own pairs program to compete together this year. The two boys share a look and agree almost immediately. The next few months are spent learning the choreography. Sokka and Zuko both go through core strength training and lifting weights because Piandao is currently planning to have them both lift each other at some point in the program.

Time jumps forward to the competitions and Zuko and Sokka blow it out of the water. This time, Sokka spots his GranGran when Zuko is pointing out and waving to his Uncle Iroh near the top of the rink. She’s sitting with Zuko’s uncle and he’s elated to see her there and yet, disappointed that his family still hasn’t come to support him. Time jumps again. Sokka and Zuko spends hours training and then hours on their off days hanging around Zuko and Iroh’s house or even Iroh’s tea shop. They ofc have spent all of this time in continual pining.

But, time jump to when they’re both 18 and 19 and they’ve both just qualified to skate pairs at Junior Worlds for the second year and this year they’re sure to win. They’re in Zuko’s kitchen, baking, and as they’re waiting for the over timer to go off, a slow song comes on. Sokka, in contrast to his norm, is quiet and gentle in the way he offers Zuko his hand and they slow dance in the kitchen with flour in their hair. They’re a little giggly and high on adrenaline but neither are sure who leans in first, only that they are both very much on board with the whole kissing thing. Despite the years of tension, the kiss is tentative and sweet. They begin dating and it only makes their program better. The love they have for each other so clearly pours over into their skating.

This Junior Worlds is the first tike GranGran finally drags the rest of the family by the ear to come and watch Sokka compete and to Zuko’s surprise, he sees Aang and a few of his other friends in the audience. Sokka and Zuko win (to no ones surprise).

Insert sokka family angst and resolve here. Insert zuko family trauma etc here

Sokka and Zuko go om to do more pairs skating things and they live happily ever after etc ete

I ran out of steam there but its 3:10 in the morning and i started at 1:51. Hope you enjoyed, this has been 2 am thoughts with Lydia.

* i did minimal research here, be proud

** same thing but even less this fime

[williamprattz]

EDANCY FIC RECS

↳ user williamprattz all time favorite edancy fics

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don't, don't, don't throw it away by roykentt [Completed]

Teen & Up • 72k words

Everyone in Hawkins, Indiana knows of Karen Wheeler’s three rules for raising her three children. Rule number one: No dating until college. Rule number two: Everyone takes care of Holly. The third rule, the most important rule, is to never go to bed angry. The first rule is rather infamous. What happens when Mike Wheeler wants to date one of the new kids in town and the only way to do that is to make his older sister, Nancy, date? Well, naturally, enlist the help of an unlikely student to be the one to try and tempt the angry and elusive Nancy Wheeler out on a date. The only thing Mike and his two best friends have to do in return is make sure that Eddie Munson graduates this year. It shouldn't be hard. Right?

[LINK]

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be my nightfire (while i close my eyes) by sunmaiden [Completed]

Teen & Up • 2k words

What if Nancy Wheeler agreed to join Hellfire club in Lucas’ absence the night of the game?

[LINK]

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Don't look at me like this by Kat_Of_Dresden [Completed]

Not Rated • 1k words

Robin thinks there might be something going on between Eddie and Nancy. Sure they are "just friends".... For now.

[LINK]

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marked for death by paranypmh [Completed]

Explicit • 10k words

better known as the edancy pirate au where they have far too much sexual tension in their sword fights to deal with like normal people

[LINK]

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the princess and the pub by mcplestreet [Completed]

Teen & Up • 16k words

When Steve proposes a plan of escape Nancy is forced to face whether or not the comfortable life she's always known is worth giving up for true love and her best friend.

[LINK]

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When you're near me darling can't you hear me SOS by fandom4fandom [Completed]

General • 2k words

Nancy realizes she's absolutely in love with Eddie Munson.

[LINK]

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The princess and the rockstar by Thecricketsarecalling [Completed]

Mature • 42k words

A slight twist on the series of events leading up to Season 4 of Stranger Things. Nancy knows things are ending with Jonathan, and out of nowhere...Eddie Munson walks into her life and changes everything. Maybe there's something else she's trying to protect when Venca strikes months later.

[LINK]

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can i waste all your time here on the sidewalk? by paranypmh [Completed]

Teen & Up • 3k words

Mike said he would be out of his Hellfire Club meeting at 8:30. Nearly an hour later, Nancy is done waiting for him and goes to find out where the hell he went.

[LINK]

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Sing me to sleep by Kat_Of_Dresden [Completed]

Not Rated • 2k words

Nancy can't sleep, Eddie helps her with his soothing singing voice.

[LINK]

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Pretty Eyed, Pirate Smile by roykentt [Completed]

Mature • 60k words

I know Eddie. He used to DM in Hellfire. Remember? She didn’t. She didn’t remember Eddie Munson or any of the other members of the band. But she knew the story. She knew that the moment their drummer and bassist graduated, a few years after Eddie had, the band started to gain momentum. It took them four years until they were breaking out into the scene in a big way. Like playing on MTV during prime hours big. Like selling out Madison Square Garden for two back to back nights big.

[LINK]

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School Bell Rings by fandom4fandom [Completed]

General • 3k words

Nancy Wheeler tutors Eddie Munson to help him pass his third senior year of high school. Along the way, feelings develop.

[LINK]

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one of a kind (of mine) by paranypmh [Completed]

Teen & Up • 2k words

nancy needs a shirt to wear, and eddie's got plenty.

[LINK]

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waking up to you by mcplestreet [Completed]

Teen & Up • 1k words

The morning after Eddie's first Corroded Coffin gig post-spring break he wakes up not only with a hangover but with a girl in his bed. Though he never expected her to be there he doesn't think he minds.

[LINK]

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pursuit of truth (no matter where it lies) by paranypmh [Completed]

Teen & Up • 9k words

The five things Nancy Wheeler knew about Eddie Munson, and the one thing she didn’t.

[LINK]

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Eyes Outshine the Horizon Line by fandom4fandom [Wip]

General • 22k words

Nancy Wheeler is the oldest of Queen Karen's children and the one with the biggest thirst for adventure. One night Nancy rescues the self-proclaimed "pirate" Prince of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. Doing this, Nancy quickly falls for him and longs to find a life on land. The sea warlock Vecna may be able to help her with that.

[LINK]

[pinkinsect]

can you elaborate on what you mean when you mention the "blue lock sociolect." because the linguistic/social situation that must be developing in this stanford prison ass training center fascinates me endlessly

hello this is going to be a lot. tldr at the end.

for anyone unaware, i use blue lock "sociolect" in this case specifically meaning the dialect that develops in the blue lock facility. i'd classify it more as a sociolect than a dialect, because while they now have a geographic location in common, i would say the speech features show up more in certain characters who've leaned into the blue lock egoist mentality more. the way hiori speaks changes as his view of himself and soccer change. (i also think that bltv enjoyers start talking like this. horrifically)

the blue lock sociolect is a phenomenon i invented in my mind palace to cope with the way i feel when i read blue lock and see phrases like "you're an eyesore, you pink-haired philistine" and "rotten orange." i brought it up in this post on my other blog some time ago, but in short, i've decided that the rather. unique way the blue lockers speak to one another is a result of putting 300 [and lowering] boys age 15-18 from all over japan in a hypercompetitive environment with very little adult supervision.

it's all about the individual, hence many of the insults taking the target's most striking physical trait and combining it with something the speaker decides is negative about the target. with japanese being a language with pretty structured assignments of appropriate politeness based on age, experience, and status, i could see it eroding given the general lack of older adult presence (ego appearing on a screen for like 15 minutes doesn't count, especially since he's rude as hell), and the mentality the players are encouraged to accept. rin isn't the best example given his dedication to hating across languages, cultures, and age ranges, but isagi pretty much comments on how he's rude as hell by social norms once, then clearly gets used to it.

i think the blue lock sociolect starts to diversify a bit once we enter the nel. the blue lock boys are shown studying english, but the nel introduces an environment where a lot of their teammates will most likely be speaking a language other than english or japanese within their teams (except for manshine but that's british english which isn't usually what's taught in japan so even then their contributions to the sociolect will be a bit different).

we don't know exactly how accurate the translation software is, or how it handles the cultural differences in honorific language, but based on some of the things we've seen (ness calling kunigami "kunigami-san" that one time, also ness being shown saying "ja" through the translation, "beinschuss" from kaiser, whatever's going on with charles, etc.) they're not always consistent.

(i haven't checked out the raws for these yet though, so im actually not entirely sure what's coming through in japanese.these could just be translation choices.)

this multi-language environment and the non-translation of certain speech could also have an impact on our blue lock players' vocabulary and introduce other languages' terms and speech patterns. japanese already has a pretty huge collection of loan words that eventually create "foreign" phrases that don't exist outside of japanese, so this facility could make this phenomenon occur more rapidly.

we see otoya say "golazo" during the fc barcha match, and while darai says the same thing during their bowling match, it wouldn't be too far off to assume that otoya picked it up from his spanish speaking teammates.

i could add more but this is getting too long so tl;dr: putting 300 15-18 year old boys in a prison with barely any adult supervision would make neat language shifts.

some features of the blue lock sociolect i think exist:

the particular type of insult we see so much of in blue lock

general lack of/comparatively less importance given to honorific language and polite conjugations of words

shounen protag accent (you'd know it when you hear it.)

increased usage of german, english, spanish, italian, and/or french terms

FAR less subject omission than average japanese, especially when the subject is "i" [thanks aryu.]

[phantomskeep]

I really, really love Clockwork as a character. He's legit my favorite DP character (besides Danny, but even then they're pretty equal). Anyways, have an excerpt from Putting the Fun Back in Funeral chapter two :) (Should be finished by the end of this upcoming week!)



... A sarcastic reference to the Observants trying to murder Danny should not have made Clockwork laugh.

Danny eyed the other with obvious suspicion. “What’s funny about that?”

The older’s form aged up as his chuckles died down. “You simply reminded me of when the Observants came to me about this very issue.” Clockwork loosened the grip on his staff and used it to lazily jester towards Danny’s throne. “They came to me months ago, warning me of how our timeline was going down the most horrible path. Danny Phantom, a half-dead ghost child with too much power taking the throne? It was something out of a nightmare for them.”

When Danny’s eyes flitted nervously downwards, his body unconsciously curling in a defensive motion, Clockwork used his staff to gently lift his king’s head. Pupilless red eyes met burning green, and a comforting expression graced the middle-aged ghost’s face. “My King, they were very wrong. This is the best possible timeline - one with such a powerful king who wishes only for peace? Whose Obsession isn’t one of power, or rage, or a burning greed, but of protection? Danny, this is the best timeline, the best era - and it is because of you. The Observants are correct with many of their findings, but they can make mistakes like any other being. Their power resides in control.” Here Clockwork paused, a mirthful feeling brushing against Danny’s calming one. “This is something I know you are very aware of. They fear the lack of control they will have during this timeline. It was their goal to gain control of the throne through you, but I’ve made sure the Observants failed every time.”

Danny’s eyes widened, a small gasp escaping his lips. Tears welled in his expressive eyes as he tackled his mentor into a monkey-gripped hug. The older ghost chuckled, easily returning the embrace. His form shifted, aging quickly as he ran time-wrinkled hands along the young king’s back.

“I had suggested a boarding school, of sorts.” Clockwork whispered into his apprentice’s hair. “A chance for you to go and stretch your proverbial wings. This other dimension has an old friend of mine who has offered to continue with your teachings, and the Earth there has many different protectors you can learn from. Of course, there are still duties you will need to attend to.” The old ghost broke from Danny’s clinging hug, looking the twenty-one year old king in his eyes. “It will be dangerous. There are many different forces who now have their eyes on you, my King. But know that if you choose to go this route, you will always be able to access the Infinite Realms and the dimensions attached to her.”

Danny discreetly wiped his eyes, nodding in agreement with Clockwork. A burning determination danced in his eyes as Danny’s gaze steadfastly stared into his most trusted advisor’s. “I need to explain things to my family, at least a little bit. Tell them I’m going on a mission for you at the very least - but I’ll be back. I’ll go to this other dimension and do what I can to be a better king for my people.”

[mmmm there's more stuff in the actual chapter here but for noooow LARGE TIMESKIP]

... However, instead of joining in the festivities like the others on the Council of Ancients, the time ghost had another important meeting to attend. Clockwork allowed the quick passage of time to overcome his form, aging him down like an ancient phoenix recently reborn from its own ashes. His young body turned to face the newest ghost king’s throne as a maelstrom of blue energy rapidly crisscrossed around his form. Wild winds whipped Clockwork’s pale purple cloak as a dark clock-hand appeared behind him, sweeping in a large clockwise motion to reveal a swirling blue and teal portal. The sound of a striking old grandfather clock echoed hauntingly across the empty room of Phantom’s Keep as the hands reached the metaphorical twelfth numeral. When the clock-hands began their descent backwards in time the Master of Time was swept under them, disappearing into the portal of his own creation. The hands again struck the midnight position with the last thrum of a dull, heavy, monotonous clang - once again leaving the now-empty room with the wistful cry of an old clock.

On a different world - one full of heroes, aliens, and otherworldly forces fighting vicious battles for justice - a smog-filled city held within the dark heart of an old ghost was just starting to awaken. When Clockwork’s portal faded from view, time snapped back into place. Loud honking filled his ears as the Master of Time floated above a striking clocktower, his back turned to the ever-moving bay that lapped at the shores of such an inspiring city. A low voice caught Clockwork’s attention, but he did not turn to face the ghost.

“Clockwork, perfect timing as always.” The voice was lofty, easily gliding over syllables with an ease born of hundreds of years.

The purple-cloaked ghost tilted his head in a small greeting, his own words spilling past smiling lips. “It is my pleasure - as always, Lady Gotham - to be welcomed into your haunt.”





:) I'm very excited to post this chapter!! Finally getting into those awesome DPxDC storylines I have planned out!!

(Also, I’m currently high-fiving baby-me for deciding on using “PhantomsKeep” as a username. Cause now I can name-drop myself in my own fics! And I laugh every time >:D )

[saintsenara]

Another eager follower of your blog here - checking it is always a highlight of my day! I can't think of any ships atm, so instead, thoughts on a trope?? In my youth, I read a lot of FF net era fics where Hermione Isn't Really Muggleborn - usually her parents are Bellatrix and Voldemort (and she ends up becoming the next dark lady), although I've also seen various other purebloods, like Regulus, suggested (1/2)

thank you very much for the ask, anon - this is extremely kind! and i'm delighted to expand from unhinged ships to unhinged tropes!

although i'll be honest that this specific trope has never hit for me.

i understand the appeal - we all love a bit of the princess diaries-style "ordinary person doesn't realise they're actually important" glamour - but i just really don't enjoy anything which implies that the blood-supremacist viewpoint which voldemort espouses is the correct one.

it always seems to me that the main thesis underpinning the "hermione isn't really muggleborn" trope is that she couldn't be as good at magic as she canonically is without wizarding blood. obviously, this undermines the entire central point of the harry potter series, which i don't think is great even in fanfiction - but the more important point is that it's not even an interesting way of undermining the series' central premise.

there is a lot which can be done in a "voldemort wins" scenario with the fact that - right on the canon page - the order of the phoenix is a profoundly unradical group committed to defending a vision of wizarding society which is just the status quo with a couple of minor adjustments. it's incredibly striking in canon that the non-human communities of magical britain - goblins, werewolves etc. - overwhelmingly support voldemort, as do the sort of working-class wizards who sign up for the snatchers, and his coup in deathly hallows [and his politics during the first war] can be written surprisingly easily as populist ones. i think you could hook hermione into his messaging, for example, by making him someone who appears - when he's around her, at least - to care about house elves...

equally, voldemort's commitment to pragmatism - which many people might also describe as a commitment to hypocrisy - can be used to write him as willing to make an exception for a muggleborn hermione, who is by far the member of the trio who would make the best death eater. something very interesting can be done with the fact that she would, i think, be possible to corrupt into a "dark lady" - especially one who held the viewpoint, as dumbledore did, that muggles should be subjected to wizarding control for their own good...

and i also think - as someone regrettably invested in the concept of a bellamort baby - that the "this kid was born hermione riddle" [except they'd have chosen a worse name] concept could be interesting in the right hands. we know from voldemort's own experience - as well as harry's - that magical children who are orphaned and/or adopted into muggle homes and institutions have a pretty grim time of things, and the journey of figuring out their life-story which all adoptees go on has an extra tangle of threads caused by the division between the two worlds. that hermione's relationship with the drs granger is canonically quite distant is always worth thinking about - and examining that relationship through the lens of them being adoptive parents could be a fun way of doing it.

but i will never be convinced that the alternative - "hermione is a secret pureblood and that explains why she's so clever and hot" - is interesting in the slightest.

great crackfic potential though.