#cause people thought a show you liked is badly written when that tactic is usually used to target minorities n silence them for disagreeing
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this is petty n most likely an issue of ive just been exposed to entirely different shit but those posts about how people complaining about redemption arcs is bad bc its important message that people can change is just completely ignoring why people are actually complaining cause the big two examples i can think of for why people complain about redemptions are 1. the redemption is poorly written n ignores and/or retcons the previous seriousness of their wrongdoings just because the writer(s) want them to be good now n its kind of hard to do that if (for example) we take the lives they intentionally n mercilessly killed into account and 2. this character is an abuser but instead of taking accountability n bare minimum apologizing n letting their victim(s) choose whether they wish to still have them in their life the writer(s) choose a narrative where the abuser doesnt really have to change as a person they just dont abuse anyone anymore n the framing is weirdly unsympathetic to their victim(s)
#bonk.txt#annoys me even more bc of it using the good place as an example bc THE GOOD PLACE HAVE AN ABUSER WHO BECOMES A BETTER PERSON#AND IS SYMPATHETIC TO HER VICTIM FOR BEING HURT N UPSET THAT HER MOM WAS CAPABLE OF CHANGE BUT DIDNT CHANGE FOR HER#its not the concept of someone improving n growing as a person as a person that people dislike they dislike bad inconsistent writing#n (intentional or not) narratives of abuse victims having to forgive their abuser and or ignore the harm done to them!!#the elements of ''its kind of facist to not forgive people'' and ''i was kind of a shit person so its important for me to see characters#who are also kind of shit change as people'' also suck#first thing it is an actual issue that people are unforgiving n ignore how someone's changed to go after them for shit that is years old#but as already stated thats not the usual reason people complain about this shit n it feels disingenuous to bring that up#cause people thought a show you liked is badly written when that tactic is usually used to target minorities n silence them for disagreeing#with someone or being mildly annoying#usually they didn't even do anything to warrant this response n the shit being dug up to vilify them is like a nonissue twisted into harm#second thing is like ur probably perceiving urself as worse than you are you definitely never killed anyone n you most likely havent#intentionally cultivated a situation where u can get away with multiple people with no consequences ur at worst probably just an asshole#n its a weird overreaction to reach for these kinds of characters when theres more out there that resemble#ur situation n the growth u experience as a person that as a bonus are also probably better written#this is just like straight up brain vomit i i need to go back to bed n also im probably mixing posts in my head but hhh#people dont like bad writing it is mostly that simply n when its not for either of the proper reasons ive stated#then its usually related to some kind of bigotry n holding minorities to a higher standard than they would if it was just some white guy#which is still an actual issue but again unrelated to people disliking that we're capable of change#i complain about it a lot whenever a character is widely hated for at best things they'd forgive their (canonically cishet male) blorbo for#n at worst genuinely nothing just bc the character happens to be nonwhite/a woman/a kid/traumatized/not whatever's considered#to be ''palatable'' but thats a separate issue n not even the point the posts im complaining about are trying to make#the second example (in the actual post ive written n not in the tags) is probably like too specific#n also i havent like touched the thing im vaguing there in years n its how the situation was when it was last touched upon when i still#somewhat kept up to it but whatever the gist is still there even if its not one to one
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Your Hisoka headcanons were so good😭 and i completely agree with all of them- I wanted request something, u can ignore if u want. 🏃
I am just thinking of a scenario where Hisoka got hurt, by someone who 'cheated' in the fight maybe, and his first instinct was to go to his 'friend's place. And Reader helps him without hesitation, they're even worried and stuff. And he is just like "are they just so naive or dumb? Kind? What do they get from this? And tf is this feeling in my chest? A poison maybe-" Maybe hcs? Or an oneshot? Whatever you like to do. Have a good day or night!:)💛 damn i wrote too much lol sorry
This warms my heart. Thank you SO MUCH for your support!!! And no, you did not write too much! I love having my ego stroked ;) 😂 seriously tho I love hearing from you guys!
I love this prompt. I hope that I was able to bring this to life for you, please feel free to request more!
To be honest, I’m not really happy with how this turned out, but I haven’t written in a long time and feel really rusty. I may rewrite it at some point, because I thought of a different way this could also go! At any rate, I hope you enjoy it.
Word Count: 2880 (yeh, it’s a long one :o)
A little song inspiration I had:
As The World Caves In: Matt Maltese
Hisoka x Reader One-Shot: The Man Beneath the Monster
...
Well... this wasn't supposed to happen.
Currently, the jester of everyone's nightmares lay on the ground, golden eyes staring up at the dull night sky while shrapnel and debris etched patterns into his back, remnants of the attack he'd just barely survived. Hisoka didn't normally have much of a problem mowing through his opponents- but then again, they usually didn't possess the ability to play with their enemy's mind. It was insanely unfair, the way he'd been attacked, and while it had been an interesting battle to say the least, Hisoka had barely pulled through.
Admittedly, he was invigorated by the feeling of almost being beaten- save for the searing pain that inched its way through every nerve in his body. Hisoka wasn't usually so affected by pain in general- in fact, more often than not, it gave him a certain indescribable gratification. He tended to brush off the feeling of most wounds he obtained during battle, distracting himself with shuffling his cards or fantasizing about the next battle he'd be facing. Only this time, if he didn't get help, he wasn’t sure there would BE another battle.
Hisoka strained himself to sit up, and looked down at his body, analyzing just how much damage he'd sustained. A deep gash opened up his chest, revealing glimpses of the muscular content underneath, and it was oozing a lot of blood. His arms and legs were burned, and some of the skin was a little charred, which smelled just lovely against the night breeze.
This is going to be difficult to cover with Texture Surprise... he thought, forcing himself a bit angrily to his feet, when he heard the cracking of the joints in his left ankle, indications of a break. He needed medical attention, badly. His gash wasn't going to heal itself, and he would bleed to death within hours if it didn’t get bandaged.
But where could he go? Hospitals wouldn't dare take him- even though he was a hunter, most people wouldn't be caught within miles of him, let alone would provide him any remedy. In fact, most people thought the world would be better off if he were dead anyway.
Maybe they were right.
He chuckled a little at the thought, but as he tried to brush those creeping inner fears off, he soon realized that his normal detached approach wasn't going to work this time. Already, his legs were getting weaker, and his vision was getting a little darker by the second. In that moment of weakness, when he felt the most vulnerable, the magician was puzzled by the singular thought that came to his mind.
Y/N.
She was a girl he’d encountered more than a few times in his travels; not by accident, but through carefully orchestrated meetings he initiated himself. She was strong in his eyes, which was not a compliment that he offered freely, especially to someone who didn’t regularly seek out altercations to smash their enemies. She was strong in a different way- not because of her nen or battle tactics- but because of her resolve. He found it intriguing that she didn’t run at the sight of him (even when he popped up behind her in the park), and he liked that she wasn't afraid to tell him exactly where he could shove his cards, if warranted. Y/N was appealing to him in an indescribable way that made him continue to think up excuses to meet her ‘randomly’- but he could never put his finger on what it was that made her unique. However, through brief conversations and what he considered to be highlights of his travels, he’d gotten to know her only a little, but he hardly had enough contact with her to call her a ‘friend’.
It wasn't like she had any special sort of healing nen. She probably couldn't help him anyway. But if he did bleed out, and his last thought had to be of something...l it might as well be of her.
The pink-haired clown looked to the city up ahead in the distance- he was close to her house already. It didn't take him long to get there; Y/N lived on the outskirts of town in a small place away from most other homes.
It was a place he knew well, although he'd never been inside. He'd spent more than a few long nights watching the residence from the rooftop of a distant neighboring home as he denied his human emotions. He often watched her pack groceries, or try to figure out why her porch light wasn't working (which he certainly had nothing to do with), or watch TV on the couch all alone.
Hisoka quite liked those stupid romantic comedies that played late at night on the local channel. His only opportunity to watch them was through her window- and in his mind, he was sure that she left the subtitles on because she can somehow sense his presence. She usually fell asleep watching those, and missed the part where the hero gets the girl. He always watched that part with particular interest, but he can't figure out what makes the protagonists so special to each other. If there was a feeling that caused them to sacrifice so much for one another… he sure didn’t know what it could be.
But he's not a hero, so why would he know what that feels like?
As Hisoka reached her door and lifted his hand to the doorknob, not bothering to knock, a pang of what could only be anxiety ripped through him. It was well past 2 AM, and he knew she had things to do early in the morning. Their previous encounters had been abnormal, to say the least, complete with him teasing her and being a douchebag. He's been nothing but an annoyance to Y/N, so why would she help him?
As soon as he was about to pull his hand away, the door swung open, revealing a disheveled looking y/n in its place. Hisoka was bent over in pain, holding his chest, but as she startled him a little, he straightened up and put on his mask, acting complacent and confident. He wanted to say something smart and witty like he always does- that always helped to bat the pain away. But his lips wouldn't move- his tongue wouldn't function as he stared at her, unable to reach out in a way that normal humans seem to find so easy.
He felt frozen in that moment. He was normally so deliberately irreverent, but seeing the look on her face made his blood run cold.
Don’t let her see this weakness. It was a plea to himself.
But Hisoka had no choice. He was broken, and he needed her to fix him. He wasn’t used to depending on someone else to save his life, but now his life rested in the hands of someone who most likely despised him.
"...Hisoka." Y/N breathed, her eyes widening as she placed a hand over her open mouth. Only seconds passed before her delicate hands were pulling him inside the door without hesitation. She didn't bother to ask what happened, what kind of trouble he'd gotten into, or whether she would also be in danger. Instead, she sat him down on the couch, laying a pillow under his head for comfort, which he annoyingly refused to use until he absolutely couldn’t hold his head up any longer.
Hisoka was a bit dazed from the loss of blood, and the crimson river was flowing all over y/n's lightly colored couch. He was puzzled by the swiftness of her reaction, and he watched tepidly as she shuffled frantically through the drawers in the bathroom for something to heal him. Though he was on the brink of death, his default deflection of emotions still shone through, a reflex that he didn’t even mean to activate.
“I don’t need your help, you know.” He said with an impudent grin, watching as she began to work on his wounds. “It’s just a scratch. But I can see how badly you want to touch me…” Why was he like this? Here she was, giving up everything to help him (a criminal and the scum of the Earth),yet he can’t so much as even show her an iota of gratitude. He knows, but will never admit that it comes from his inner vulnerability; that fear of getting hurt by these things called emotions. She could just as easily let him bleed to death in front of her; he knows she has the capability to be stone cold. But she won’t… why?
Why?
Y/N could have easily let Hisoka’s false complacency hurt her. But she knows that what he cannot express in his words, his heart cannot truly hide. It was the way he was built, she told herself, and she pushed on through his antics because she wanted to see him safe again. Through the laceration in his tough exterior, she could not only see the flesh beneath, but a glimpse of the man he tried to hide using the monster that he assumed everyone saw.
But she was different.
The jester was confused by her silence. Normally, she would have retorted at his smugness, but right now, she didn’t even seem concerned with it as she began to fumble with cleaning his wounds. The alcohol seared his flesh just as the emotions boiling within him burned his heart. Why would she ever care to help him when he’s been nothing but rude and degrading to her? Could it be that she really can see through the detached front and overbearing persona? Impossible, he’s spent years building that reputation!
Suddenly, he became enthralled with the way Y/N’s eyes focused on threading the needle to sew up his gash. The way that those fingertips danced over his pale skin made him jolt unexpectedly at her touch, exhibiting a softness that Hisoka has never known before. In fact, he can’t even fathom someone wanting to touch him without the intention to hurt him in some way.
The details slowly became a blur in his depressed mental state- but he still analyzed every motion Y/N made.
Oddly, the promised sting of death had never scared Hisoka before; he did as he pleased, without care for his own life nor anyone else’s. But as his vision faded, and he watched her through the gaze of someone nearing death, he realized that he did not want to leave this world yet. He wanted to live- and maybe he wanted to discover and experience what he’d been missing in those movies he’d watched through her window.
With that, Hisoka’s heart began to beat faster.
Blood loss. That’s what it is… Hisoka thought; but he wasn’t stupid; only unwilling to admit that he was beginning to exhibit the same qualities he saw in the protagonists of those hopeless romantic flicks. He was unable to accept that the tightening in his chest was not just because of her stitches pulling his lacerated skin together.
“Are they dead? Did you kill them?” Her voice brought him out of the trance-like state he was in, and his golden eyes focused on her face. Her hands were covered in his blood (which in itself made him feel delightfully feverish), but his gash had been mended, the bleeding stopped for now. Once again, he didn’t say anything. It was unusual for the smug magician to keep his mouth shut.
“Because if you didn’t kill them, I’m going to.” A protective tone dripped into her voice, bewildering Hisoka again. That quality in her voice was both threatening and comforting, and the duality sent a chill up his spine. It inspired him to use his voice, though it had lost some of its signature modulation.
“You have that little faith in me…” A cough escaped his lips before he could smile as if nothing was bothering him at all. “Of course I killed them, my dear.” Somehow, calling her ‘dear��� no longer felt right; that was typically a placeholder, a default name to use for someone he had no connection with, and she seemed to be worthy of more than that now.
As Y/N suddenly dipped to her knees, Hisoka refrained from any lewd thoughts that he normally might have had in such a situation. That sensation in his chest was too distracting to allow this memory to be defiled with something he often indulged in fantasies of. She began to slide the high-heeled shoe off of his swollen foot to wrap it. She began to struggle with ripping the fabric she’d gathered to act as a cast for the bone.
Surely, she knows who I am. Why would she bother to help someone like me? What is she gaining? She knows that with the flip of a card, I could end her life. She’s not even protecting herself in any way. She’s leaving her guard down right in front of me.
Perhaps it was his dark desire to set fear into everyone he came across, or his distorted need to drive away anyone who might care for him, but his body suddenly acted on its own. By instinct, almost as if it were a test of her intention, a card spawned between his middle and index finger, which was right against her neck. With just a slight movement of his knuckles, he could spill her blood. His golden eyes analyzed the way she froze for a moment, and he believed that to be the end of this fragile trust between them. That was until she lifted the fabric she was holding, sliding it along the edge of the card, and cutting it to the perfect length.
“Thanks.” She spoke, beginning to wrap and set the ankle in place.
At that small motion, Hisoka’s discretionary eyes widened, and his lips fell open in surprise. Rather than interpreting his advance as an attack, she’d innocently taken it as an offer of his help. Was this a joke? Was she stupid enough to trust him, or was she bold enough to outsmart his games? Was Y/N this confident that he wouldn’t just kill her? This naive girl at his feet seemed to be the only person in this convoluted world who didn’t see him as a disgusting, heartless monster… and that warmed his icy heart.
“I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before. I know you’re graceful, but high heels are always a recipe for a broken ankle.” She offset the pain of wrapping those bones by talking to him all through the procedure, and it worked wonders. He scoffed, but by that time, Hisoka’s snide comments and emotion-killing thoughts had been expended. Somehow, she’d broken through the barrier that he’d spent so long building around himself.
Unable to ignore his whims anymore, Hisoka reached out to touch Y/N’s hair, the soft delicate strands pleasing his senses. It’s the only movement he can make now, his body weakened from the loss of blood. His gilded eyes were barely open, but they looked directly into hers with an unfamiliar realization. His hand travelled weakly down her face, caressing her cheek with the most delicate touch he could muster, and held her head in his large hand as she froze there. He wondered for a moment if she was afraid, or if something deeper that he cannot see calms her.
A small, genuine smile is all he could muster for her before his hand dropped to the side of the couch, the same couch he watched her curl up on most nights. For once, it’s not a smirk, and it’s not a smug smile- but something she has never seen before- a true smile with good intention behind it. His eyes closed, with uncertainty that they would open in the morning.
After she’d finished her work, she stood up, and looked down at him. The only remaining light in the room was the silent flicker of the television set in the background, which illuminated both of their faces.
“I need you to be alright, Hisoka,” She cooed, unable to know if he could still hear her. He didn’t know if she even realized how much he wanted to kill her right now, because the way her kindness was attacking his heart while his chest was already sliced open was something he should not excuse.
As Y/N’s final healing gesture, she bent over his body gracefully. He was taken off guard when he felt the feathery soft sensation of her lips on his forehead, the kiss of an angel on his clammy skin. As she went to pull away, however, she was startled by the lunge of Hisoka’s hand initiating a death grip on her wrist. He used the last bit of his strength to pull her lips into his, causing her to lose balance and be forced to brace on either side of the couch cushion below him. His lips were cold, but Y/N graciously returned the sensation, and boldly moved to embrace both sides of his face with her mending hands. Before she pulled away, and he passed out, she felt that same smile against her lips.
And in that moment, before he fades away, Hisoka realizes what he’s been missing.
Y/N.
-----------------
Hmm... part two? I KNOW, it’s super freakin’ sappy. I could have taken a lighthearted approach to this (and maybe I will later), but I wanted to kind of challenge myself to write a more depth-driven version of Hisoka. Maybe I bit off a little more than I can chew :0.
Anyway, let me know what you think, and once again thanks to anon for the request! Hope you all enjoyed!
Mac
#hisoka morow#hisoka x reader#x reader#reader insert#hxh#hunterxhunter#feeling sappy#love#lovelorn#ooc? probably#hxh 2011#hisoka
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boyfriend || part three || finale
Part one || Part two
Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader
Summary: sometimes hanging out with hargrove can get you into trouble...
Word count: 2145
Warnings: cursing, drama, angstttt, fluff, bullying i guess
Song: boyfriend (with Social House) by Ariana Grande and Social House
A/N: hi so this is a sweet ending to the boyfriend series! i really enjoyed writing this so I hope you enjoy reading it!
To your surprise, Billy stays true to his word and picks you up at seven forty-five the next morning. “Who’s that?” Your mother asks as you grab your coat from the coat rack.
“What?” You look through the window quickly, seeing a blue Camaro parked in front of your house. “Shit,” you whisper to yourself, shrugging your jacket on. “Uh, it’s no one!”
You open the door and run out to stop your mother from asking any more questions. “I didn’t want you to drive me to school!” You hiss as you open the door to the passenger side.
“But I offered, and to you, I guess that’s the same thing,” Billy says back, a cigarette on his lips.
“Hi, Y/N!” Max says from the back seat.
“Hey,” you greet, pulling your seatbelt on.
You look back at your house and see your mother in the window, grinning. You roll your eyes and make an exaggerated gagging face to show her that you really don’t want to be in this car with this person. “Why are you so keen on driving me to and from school now?” You ask as he pulls onto the road.
“Because I enjoy these moments we have together,” he looks over and smiles dashingly.
You give him a look that reads: are you being serious right now.
“No, you just seem so pathetic without Harrington.”
“Ah, there’s the assholish response.”
“Why are you two so mean to each other? Okay, I understand why Y/N is mean to Billy, he’s an asshole, but why are you so mean to Y/N?” Max asks Billy, leaning her head in between the two front seats.
Billy scoffs. “When she stops being a bitch to me, I’ll stop being a bitch to her.”
“Oh, you know that’s never going to happen,” you say, rolling your eyes.
“Then I guess she’ll have to deal with me.”
Max huffs and sits back in her seat. She was obviously hoping you would get over your differences and become best friends.
Yeah, right.
Billy was sort of right about you being pathetic without Steve. It does feel better to have him with you, even though you’d prefer to have someone who you actually like standing with you at your locker.
As you walk towards first period (sans Billy), someone pulls you into a side hallway. “I knew you’d take my advice and fuck Billy!” Nancy says delightedly, smiling from ear to ear.
You shrug her arms off of you. “I have not fucked him and I don’t plan on it,” you mutter. “And keep your damn voice down!”
“Sorry, sorry. Explain,” she commands.
You take a deep breath. “He just drove me home yesterday and drove me to school today. That’s it.”
“Then how come you two walk together in the hallways now?”
God, is she milking this. “Because I don’t have Steve anymore,” you say bitterly.
“I mean, he is definitely an upgrade from Steve.”
You laugh and shove her arm. “Shut up.”
“Just, take my advice and don’t get caught up on him. Billy’s been known to break hearts, and without mercy.”
Your smile fades and bit. “I won’t get hung up on him. That’ll never happen. Not in a million years.”
Nancy gives you a strange look. “Whatever you say.”
“I gotta get to class,” you pull away from her.
“‘Bye,” she says as she watches you walk away.
Billy became more tolerable throughout the week, giving you rides to and from school every day. You do have a few classes with him, which now included him actually talking to you. You had spotted Steve every now and then, sometimes with the girl from the party and sometimes without her. On Friday, you walk into school by yourself, asking Billy not to pick you up today. People watch you in a strange way, not like the usual gawking stares. These are vicious and nasty looks. Girls whisper behind hands and guys laugh quietly between each other.
When you reach your locker, you immediately know why. Written in black marker, much like the week before, are the nasty words: hargroves whore. You look around you frantically, searching for the perpetrator.
“Oh, wow, our princess has fallen to new depths, hasn’t she?” Carol says as she passes by. Her friends laugh alongside her, causing dread to fill every inch of your body.
“What are you talking about?” You ask, almost desperately.
Carol stops and pretends to look shocked. “Oh? This?” She gestures at the locker. “This is what happens to sluts around here.”
Your face falls and you want to respond, but no words come out. “So, you don’t even deny it?” One of the girls beside Carol asks. “You’ve been sleeping with Hargrove?”
“N-no. Who told you that?” You hiss.
They giggle and look behind you. “Maybe you should ask him,” Carol sneers.
You whip around to see Billy standing there, a smile on his face. “What the fuck did you do?” You almost shout.
A few people turn to watch you, eerily reminding you of the party that feels like it was so long ago. “What?” Billy asks, dumbfounded.
“You told everyone we slept together, even though you know we didn’t?”
“What are you talking about?”
You shrug and say, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that everyone has been talking about how we apparently fucked? Or the fact that someone wrote that on my locker?” Your hand shoots out to point at the words on your locker.
Billy looks over at your locker and his eyes flick back to you. “Let’s go talk about this,” he reaches to you, but you pull away quickly.
“Don’t fucking touch me, you dick,” you seethe. You turn and push through the crowd, clutching your books like they are your life line.
“Y/N!” A voice shouts as you walk through the doors leading to the track and football field.
The doors shut behind you, but then you hear them open again. “Go the fuck away, Billy!” You shout, walking faster.
You feel a hand touch yours briefly, which causes you to turn quickly. “Steve?” You whisper. He looks a mess. He is a mess. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to apologize.”
Your eyebrows raise and you hold your books even closer to you. “What do you mean?”
“I wanted to apologize about what happened at the party.”
You keep your stoney gaze, not letting anything slip.
He takes a deep breath. “I was drunk, and stupid, even though that’s no excuse for what I did, but I just-”
“But why’d you do it. No one was forcing you to do anything.”
“I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t think any of my feelings were reciprocated because you’ve never even said that you love me back. What am I supposed to do if I don’t even know if you love me?”
“Of course I loved you! I’ve never loved anyone as much as I loved you! But you ruined that. You ruined everything.”
“I know. I know.”
“So, please, don’t come begging for me to date you again. You broke my trust and I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to get it back,” you say, fighting against the tears about to escape your eyes. “‘Bye, Steve.”
You walk away, deciding that facing everyone else is so much better than having to face Steve. When you enter the school, the bell rings, so you walk to first period quickly. Of course, this class is with Carol and her friends. You sit in your usual seat, trying to avoid all the stares from your classmates. The day goes by far too slowly, but every moment with Nancy lightens your mood. She sits with you at lunch and threatens to slit Billy’s throat if he even comes near you. “I’m not sure he spread the rumor, though,” you shrug.
“Oh, I’m sure he did. How else would it have gotten around?”
“I don’t know! Anyone could’ve said something.”
“What if it was Steve?” She leans forward and whispers, “Maybe it’s a tactic to get you back.”
You laugh. “Yeah, right. Steve apologized to me this morning, I also highly doubt he would do that.”
“I bet you tonight at that party Olivia Johnson is having, he will try to get back together with you.”
“No way, Nancy. He wouldn’t do that.”
She shrugs and take a bite of her celery. “Whatever you say, Y/N.”
The dread of going to the party that night becomes larger and larger as the thought of seeing Steve and Billy in the same place keeps popping into your mind. “I don’t think you should go. What if something like last time happens again?” Your mom says as she stands by the stove, stirring a pot.
“I guess so. But Nancy really wants me to go,” you say, sitting at the kitchen table and playing with the sleeves of your sweater.
“So? If you don’t think you should go, you shouldn’t.”
“But I don’t want to chicken out. Everyone is going to think I won’t go because of what happened last time. What if I go and change everyone’s mind?”
Your mother turns around with her hand on her hip. “If you want to go so badly, why don’t you?”
“But Moooom. I don’t want to goooo,” you whine.
“Now I want you to go so you can get out of the damn house,” she turns back to the pot.
The doorbell rings just in time to interrupt the conversation. “I think that’s Nancy,” you say nervously.
“Then get the door. She doesn’t need to be standing out in the cold while you babble nonsense!”
You stand up quickly and leave the room to open the door. It’s not Nancy. It’s Billy. “Go away,” you say as you shut the door in his face.
“Is it Nancy?” Your mom calls from the kitchen.
“No! It’s a-a mormon!”
“At this time of night?”
“Yeah. They’re getting persistent these days!”
Billy knocks on the door again. “Open the door, Y/N,” he says from outside.
“No,” you say back. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“But I want to talk to you.”
You open the door a crack, allowing yourself enough room to see him clearly. “We are talking already.”
He rolls his eyes. “Why are you being so difficult?”
“Because you embarrassed me in front of everyone,” you say, trying to portray no emotions.
“I’m sorry. I can to apologize. Even though you know I didn’t spread that rumor. Why would I?” He asks calmly.
You shrug, but keep your guard as high as ever. “How am I supposed to know?”
“Because you know me.”
“No I don’t. I only actually started talking to you at the beginning of this week.”
“Could you come all the way outside? It’s fucking weird talking to you through a crack.”
You sigh and step onto your porch, but keep a safe distance away from him. “Okay? Do you have anything else to say because I’m freezing my ass off already.”
“I wanted to tell you that I should’ve defended you at school today. It was a dick move to just stand there like an idiot.”
You rub your arm. “Yeah, it was.”
“And I would never say anything about you behind your back. You know that.”
“I guess. I hardly know you, though. You could do anything and I wouldn’t know, not really.”
“But I want to know you better.”
“So that’s why you offered to drive me to and from school?” You ask.
He huffs, obviously frustrated. “No, you don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“Oh my God, how can someone be so dense?”
“Billy, you can stop with the insults,” you laugh awkwardly, not really understanding where the conversation is going.
His stare becomes ten times more serious than before… and determined. He looks from your eyes to your lips and then takes your head in his hands and dips to kiss you. You freeze up, stunned by the contact. Then, you kiss him back. Why? Why are you kissing Billy Hargrove back?
His lips are soft and warm, filling your body with a new type of heat. Steve’s kisses were never like this, no. This feels more intense.
Your back pushes against the door and you run your fingers through his blonde hair. He runs his hand up and down you side, chilling you to the bone. This must be what a real kiss feels like. One that gives you goosebumps and makes your heart stop completely.
When he pulls away, your lips are still puckered from the kiss. Your eyes flutter open and you smile. “I understand what you were saying now.”
He laughs. “Now do you wanna go to that party?”
You grin back. “Absolutely.”
A/N: thank you for joining me on this cute little journey with billy <3 if you have any requests please send them in!!
Tag list: @gothackedalready
Part one || Part two
Masterlist
#stranger things#billy hargrove#billy hargrove x reader#stranger things 3#fanfiction#dustin henderson#jonathan byers#max mayfield#lucas sinclair#mike wheeler#nancy wheeler x reader#nancy wheeler#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington#stranger things 2#stranger things fanfic#billy hargrove headcanon#billy hargrove imagine#stranger things headcanon#stranger things imagine
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Fic: Time in our Hands (1/?)
So, despite the fact my first WIP involving time travel has stalled to a spectacular halt, I have started another one. No rest for the wicked…
Summary: Temporal Detective First Class Aiden Gold has been working tirelessly to keep the timeline unaltered for as long as he can remember. He’s been chasing time bandit Lacey French for almost as long, but she always seems to slip through his fingers.
Until the day when his commanding officer tells him to bring Lacey at all costs. The world itself is under threat, and Gold will need Lacey’s expertise to make sure that history happens as it should, and to prevent a catastrophe in the future…
Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling moodboard prompt, available here.
Rated: T
=====
Time in our Hands
One
It was a truth universally acknowledged that ever since time started moving in a nice, linear, forwards direction, people had been attempting to meddle with it in various ways, and ever since people started meddling with time, the powers that be had been trying to stop them meddling with time in order to prevent unknown catastrophes.
No one was ever quite sure when the Bureau of Temporal Investigation was founded, because its agents performed so much time travel of their own that they could be said to exist in all places in all times. Most people thought that it was better not to think too deeply about the Bureau and its agents and where they came from, and where they were going to. Indeed, most people who were content to live life in a nice, linear, forwards direction without any trips to the past or the future never even knew that the Bureau existed.
The only people who were definitely sure that the Bureau of Temporal Investigation existed were the people who worked for it and the people who did things that attracted its attention.
There were some people who decided that the past was a far nicer place than the present and attempted to stay there.
There were some people who decided that they wanted to get to the future a little quicker than everyone else and in doing so managed to change the course of history. How one person taking a jaunt to 2023 to see what new ice cream flavours had been invented could cause chaos during the reign of Elizabeth I was a mystery, especially to the long-suffering Bureau, who worked on the principle that they weren’t paid to work out why these things happened, they were paid to stop them from happening in the first place.
In addition to those two groups, there were some people who decided that the past was an extremely lucrative hunting ground for genuine historical artefacts that could then be brought forward in time in pristine condition and sold to the highest bidder.
These people were known as time bandits, and these were the people with whom Temporal Detective First Class Aiden Gold was concerned.
He was concerned with one of them in particular, which was why he was currently charging around 320 BCE Athens in hot (very hot, he was dripping with sweat and felt like his lungs were about to explode) pursuit of one of the most infamous thieves of the entire unedited timeline.
When Gold had received news that Lacey French was on the move again and had been commissioned back to late classical Greece to steal a particularly famous specimen of statuary from the time of its creation, he had been tempted just to let her steal it. Gold had been trying to catch Lacey for as long as he could remember, and, somehow, she always managed to slip through his fingers with a cheery wave as she activated her personal transport band and vanished off to times and places unknown. It was getting to the stage where his superiors had almost accepted that she was never going to be caught, and several of his colleagues shook their heads in despair when they saw him rush off to the travel capsules when she surfaced again.
Jefferson, with whom Gold had shared a desk for several years, had mooted the idea that Gold didn’t actually want to catch Lacey, and that he enjoyed the game of cat and mouse and letting her get away. Although he always said it with a twinkle in his eye and an expression that was very much encouraging Gold to go for it with his merry-making time bandit, such exchanges usually ended with Gold throwing a holepunch in Jefferson’s direction and Jefferson dodging it.
He couldn’t deny that Lacey was a very interesting character, and if she hadn’t been the bane of his existence for his entire time at the Bureau, he may indeed have found her attractive.
Yes, he had been tempted just to let her alone this time. Maybe that would put paid to some of Jefferson’s teasing, and after all, there were some more pressing thefts to investigate. This time, Lacey would be unimpeded in her mission - not that Gold ever managed to impede her very much; she had the uncanny knack of knowing just how to get around all of his tactics.
Unfortunately, Gold’s resolve to leave her alone this once went by the wayside once Captain Mallory had called in, whilst he was finishing up a reconnaissance mission in 19th century France, no less, and told him in no uncertain terms that they needed Lacey French at HQ right now and under no circumstances was he to come back empty-handed. The urgency in the captain’s voice perturbed Gold. Lacey was a petty criminal; they had far bigger, shadier figures to worry about; gangsters running entire time bandit rings that stretched back throughout history, far more dangerous people than Lacey, who worked alone and had never fallen in with a big crowd.
The choice of wording was interesting too, and even now, panting through the streets of Athens and attracting far more attention than any good temporal detective should, Gold couldn’t get one particular word out of his head.
They needed Lacey.
He could see her up ahead, the small statue sticking out of her bag. She was standing in the middle of the street at the top of a hill, her dark auburn hair blowing in the light summer breeze, almost as if she was waiting for him, and Gold knew that now was not the time to be thinking about the way her chiton draped over her curves.
He shook the thought away and kept powering on up the hill towards her, looking for the tell-tale moment when she would touch the bracelet on her wrist and the holographic glamour around it would fall away, revealing not a bracelet but a personal temporal transportation device. He didn’t even know why he bothered, really. She always let him think that he had the upper hand and then just slithered away with moments to spare. She’d turned it into an art form over the many years he had been chasing her.
This time, however, she was showing no signs of moving. She was just standing there, letting him come to her. She was either playing a risky game of chicken and letting him get closer than ever before, or she was genuinely letting him catch her.
When he actually got close enough to touch her arm and prevent her transporting, Gold thought that he was dreaming, and for a few moments, he couldn’t speak. He tried to put this down to the fact that he’d just run up a hill in the blazing Mediterranean midday sun, but both he and Lacey knew better. She just looked at his hand on her arm with amusement, and when her eyes met his, she had a sneaky little smile on her face.
“Well done, Detective,” she said, deadpan. “You’ve caught me at last.”
She’d let him catch her: it was the only explanation. He just didn’t know why. Still, he couldn’t afford to let her slip out of his grasp now that he’d finally got his hands on her, and once he’d got his breath back, he gave her the standard caution and clasped the time-lock cuff around her wrist above her transporter; the holographic glamour shimmered into place and it became just another bracelet. That would lock her in time, overriding any attempts to travel away from this fixed point until they were back in the capsule.
Lacey just watched him with amusement.
“You were really quite desperate to catch up with me,” she said. “I’ve never seen you so determined before. When I saw that you were going to tackle the hill, I knew it must be serious.” Gold just rolled his eyes, a hand on her shoulder guiding her back down the hill towards the side street where his transport capsule was hidden away, disguised as a recalcitrant cow. (Gold was particularly pleased with the hologram work on this one; the cow even mooed.)
At least that explained why she’d let him catch up with her. Whatever Captain Mallory needed Lacey for, it was urgent and serious, and perhaps Lacey herself knew what it was and finally comprehended the gravity of her actions. Still, Gold didn’t want to let on that he himself had no idea why she was so desperately required back at HQ, so he decided that remaining silent was the best way forward.
He was not impressed when they reached the cow and Lacey burst out laughing at his choice of disguise.
“Really? A cow?”
“It moos!” Gold knew that it wasn’t the best defence of his hologram, but he was damned if he was going to have Lacey laughing at his capsule.
She looked at him, very obviously trying not to laugh, and pressed a hand over her mouth, turning away as her shoulders shook with silent giggles.
Gold sighed and touched between the cow’s horns to decloak the capsule and open the door.
“After you.”
“Why, thank you.”
Everything in the capsule was as he left it, and there were no messages waiting for him. He’d hoped that perhaps the captain would have got back in touch to tell him precisely why they needed Lacey so badly, but it was not to be. Gold sealed the capsule door after him and held out a hand to Lacey, who just stared at him.
He sighed again. “Hand over the bag.”
She made a face. “Do I have to? I was going to make a mint off this statue. I could probably retire off the proceeds and then you’d never have to worry about me again.”
“It’s stolen and soon-to-be-temporally-displaced property, and knowing you, it’s not the only thing you swiped from the temple.”
“Well, you know me, Detective. Always need an eye for the bargains. But come on, you need me. Surely it would be a gesture of goodwill to let me keep this stash.”
“You’re still under arrest, even if the circumstances are somewhat unusual.”
Lacey rolled her eyes before handing over the bag with a scowl. As much as she had made his life difficult over the past months of their acquaintance, Gold couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed at her.
His suspicions were correct. There were several gold trinkets in the bag along with the statue, and Gold’s practised eye could immediately tell that they were from all over the timeline, not just Ancient Greece. He stowed the whole lot into a locker; the experts back at HQ would have a field day dating all that and getting it restored to its proper time frames.
Still, a gesture of goodwill was probably in order if they wanted Lacey on their side, and he handed the severely depleted bag back before going over to the capsule controls and typing in a course for home.
“So,” Lacey was already rummaging in the bag. “When are we headed?”
“The nominal present.”
“And for someone not fluent in time cop speak that is…”
“Twenty-first century.”
“Excellent.” Lacey pulled some clothes out of her bag and Gold turned back to the console with a squawk when it became clear that she had no qualms about changing out of her chiton with an audience. He heard Lacey’s low laugh at his discomfiture and cursed under his breath. Their game of cat and mouse had been going on for so long now that they could almost be said to know each other, but the fact remained that up until this uneasy moment of truce, they had been on opposite sides of that game and Gold was still unwilling to show any kind of weakness towards someone who was perhaps still an opponent.
He opened a communication channel to the captain, but she was unavailable, so he left a message.
“Lacey French has been apprehended, bringing her in now.” He wanted to ask for more information as to why her capture had been so imperative, but he would be finding out from the captain herself soon enough.
With the temporal co-ordinates locked in, Gold went to get changed himself, making sure that all the consoles were locked before leaving Lacey alone with them. Not that he really anticipated her doing anything. She had allowed herself to be taken in, after all, which meant that she must have some interest in seeing where it was all going.
Whilst it was in no way unusual to see detectives in modes of dress from all over the world and all over the timeline in HQ, Gold was one who always preferred to stick to the conventions of the nominal present, and much preferred a suit to all other possible garments. The desire to appear in his usual aspect before going in for a no-doubt incredibly important meeting with the captain outweighed the desire to take a shower first. Really, Greece was too hot for rampaging around after time bandits.
Lacey gave him an appreciative onceover as he came back into the control room, feeling the capsule beginning to slow down around them.
“You always dress up nicely,” she said. “It’s really not the same when you’re blending in with the locals. You just don’t look right without the suit.”
Gold raised an eyebrow, not quite trusting himself not to end up sounding like a complete idiot should he attempt a verbal reply. He couldn’t tell if Lacey was being serious or not, and he was already becoming worryingly discombobulated by her presence.
The capsule came to a stop, the doors opening with a hiss, and Gold and Lacey stepped out into the Bureau of Temporal Investigation.
#rumbelle fic#rumbelle#Golden Lace#A Monthly Rumbelling#Lacey French#Mr Gold#AU#Adventure#Time Travel#Fic: Time in our Hands
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Ex Back Guide Blindsiding Useful Tips
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Sims 3 Ex Boyfriend Get Back Together
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How To Get Your Ex Girlfriend Back From Another Guy Marvelous Useful Ideas
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Make sure there are no more questions asked.The net is a long, drawn out monologue about what caused the argument, then make contact with them.Show her that you know the relationship another chance.Respect is something a lot of times, when a guy in the driving seat.All those years you two were inseparable, you know what life would be better if you have done wrong and analyze if there are things I did.
How To Make Your Ex Want You Back If He Has A Girlfriend
#How To Get Your Ex Girlfriend Back From Another Guy Marvelous Useful Ideas#How To Win Back My Long D
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Old Sparks, New Flames - Part 4: Flames
Characters: Y/N Y/L/N, Danneel Harris, Jensen Ackles, Genevieve Padalecki.
Pairing: Danneel x Jensen, Danneel x Reader,
Warnings: Confused feelings, F/F sex, oral, scissoring.
Word Count: 2500ish
A/N: I had a crush on Danneel before writing this series. This did not help things lol. Anyway I am having fun. I hope y’all are too!!
This series is written for my free square in @spnpolybingo
Thanks to my amazing lil sis @mysupernaturalfics for betaing this series for me.
MASTERLIST
It wasn’t easy but somehow you had calmed yourself down enough to stay. At first you couldn’t think of anything worse than staying under the same roof as the couple you spied on while they were having sex. Right up until you were halfway out the door, realizing leaving so abruptly would mean admitting to the woman you were in love with what you did. The thought of the wounded expression on her face hurt you more deeply than the thought of pretending like nothing happened ever would. So you kept yourself busy at the studio, staying away from Danneel and Jensen as much as you could. You knew they were noticing. Jensen had tried to get you to talk to him a few times when he was home from filming in Vancouver, but you had played if off, telling him he knew what it was like being busy. He hadn’t believed you, you knew that and you felt terrible. Jensen was a great guy. You really liked him, but now he was starting to think you hated his guts.
Danneel was no better. She asked you if you were okay pretty much every time she saw you, but it wasn’t until she had changed her tactics, basically cutting you off from your path from the stairs to the door, that you actually listened to her.
“Y/N I don’t know what it going on. If it has to do with us, your family or Keith. Even if you don’t want to talk to me about it I am still your best friend. You are still my maid of honor and we have barely spent any time together these past few weeks,” Danneel’s voice started to break and her usual confident posture started to wither away. “I am leaving for set in 8 days and I need your help finding a wedding dress. Gen had her bridesmaid dress made, but you need yours. Just tell me if I need to apologize for something and I will,” you stared at Danneel in disbelief as she spoke. You had never seen her tearing up like this before. Surely not over something you did. You had no idea how much your behavior had affected her but realizing you now hated yourself for it. You hadn’t been protecting her from you. You had been hurting your best friend and this had to stop. You had to just suck it up and let things go back to the way that they were when you first came here. She had done so much for you. She had been there whenever you needed a friend. This was the least you could do.
“I’m sorry,” you searched your brain trying to come up with an excuse before quickly contruction your half lie. “You did nothing. I love staying here with you and Jensen. You have both been beyond sweet to me. I guess seeing the two of you so happy, just makes me remember what I don’t have.”
Danneel seemed to instantly relax as she wrapped her arms around you hugging you tightly. You melted into her hug, letting yourself dream that this would have been her reaction to your entire truth, but it wasn’t.
“Y/N/N you’ll find someone that deserves you. Roxy was a bitch and Keith was a douche,” she pulled away seeing the slightly annoyed expression on your face. You were so used to people judging you and your decisions that being defensive was your go to reaction by now.Danneel raised an eyebrow at you as she continued, “I am sorry honey, but they are. You deserve someone that will do anything for you. You’ll have that one day I promise.”
“Yeah… So we are going to go look at dresses tomorrow? You’re leaving Monday right and Jensen will be home in a few days? I am sure you prefer him not around to look at the dress,” you smiled trying to be chipper for her. Truth of the matter was the idea of her marrying someone else hurt and the idea of it being Jensen actually somehow made it worse, even if you couldn’t figure out why. You loved the guy and he made Danneel happier than you had ever seen her before. You should be able to push your feelings aside and be there for both of them.
“Thank you,” Danneel’s face split into a giant radiant smile which you couldn’t help but return. You never could. Causing one of her beautiful smiles never failed to make your heart flutter.
The rest of the day passed and you and Danneel fell into the same easy friendship you had always had. It was easy when it was just the two of you. It always had been. Right up until tomorrow rolled along and she was standing before you, glowing and gleeful in her stunning white dress. The dress she was going to wear when you stood by her side in a few month, watching her marry the love of her life. The love of her life that wasn’t you.
“So what do you think? Will he like it?” Danneel grinned at you, blissfully unaware of the turmoil inside your mind.
“If he doesn’t he needs to get his eyes checked,” you smiled, “Dani you look absolutely gorgeous.”
“So do you,” Danneel grinned at you. “You were afraid I was gonna put you in some salmon nightmare weren’t you?” she teased making you laugh.
“Narh. I trust your taste. It was always much better than mine anyway,” you winked. “Wanna help me back out of this thing?” You wiggled trying to reach the zipper in the back, but with no luck. Fancy dresses never really were your thing and Danneel knew that. She laughed at you, motioned for you to turn around so you were facing away from you and against the mirror.
Her touch was as if a firecracker went off against your skin, sending shocks throughout your body, worst part was you knew that she felt it too. She froze completely behind you. Her hand resting on your now bare back as your eyes locked in the mirror.
A deep blush formed in her cheeks and you instantly averted your gaze, before rambling something about getting the dress back on it’s hanger, before practically bolting for the room.
***
You weren’t sure what had happened yesterday had really happened, but you knew for sure Danneel had been avoiding you. You had been home from the studio all day and Danneel had never stayed in the same room as you for more than a few seconds. It wasn’t like her and you were worried you had somehow ruined your friendship for good.
“Hi,” you had been so lost in your own thoughts, sitting on your bed with the blank notepad and no new songs in your head, you hadn’t even heard her knock on your door.
“Can we talk?” Danneel looked so nervous as she slowly crossed the room to come sit on the edge of your bed. You felt the tears press against your eyes as you nodded. You were sure this was it. She was going to ask you to move out and you would have lost your best friend forever. A million scenarios of how she was going to let you down easy. Tell you she didn’t feel the same, that she was getting married ran through your mind, but would not in a million years foresee her actual actions.
Just as you were about to apologize for everything to make this whole deal easier on your best friend, her hands were cupping your face and her lips were on yours, kissing you feverishly. It took you a few seconds to respond, kissing her back with as much passion as she showed you as your hands tangled in her hair pulling you closer. Your world stopped spinning and a rush crashing waves sounded for your inner ear. In that moment there was nothing else but Danneel. You allowed yourself to get lost in the silky hair caressing your face, her small hands slowly roaming your body and the velvet soft feel of her warm skin pressed against your body before reality hit you. You pulled back with a shocked look on your face, “Dani we can’t. Jensen he…” you muttered, ready to cry. You had wanted this so badly for so long. Now she was finally given herself to you again and you couldn’t. Jensen wasn’t a bad guy. Far from it. You liked him alot and you couldn’t do this to either of them. They both deserved to be happy and they would be with each other. You couldn’t screw that up.
“It’s okay,” Danneel smiled softly at you, taking your hand. “I’m not cheating on him. I never would. He knows. I told him I might still feel something for you and he asked me to figure it out before we get married.”
Your jaw dropped, staring at her completely flabbergasted. You couldn’t believe she was proposing this. You had come to care deeply for Jensen over the past few weeks. Not only didn’t you want to do anything that would make her lose him, but you also just simply didn’t want to cause him any pain. A wayward tear fell down your cheek at the thought of hurting the man that had taken you in without question, treated you like you were as special to him as Dani was in your own right. A man that you felt warmer towards with every passing day. But this was Danneel. A woman you had spent years pining for, being in love with. You couldn’t push her away… “Dani figuring things out and sleeping with me is not the same thing. I am sure he didn’t mean…”
“I know what he meant,” Danneel tugged you closer, gently wiping the tear from your eyes before she started kissing you neck making it very hard to think rationally. “I told you we tell each other everything. He is okay with this. I promise. He knows. I would never cheat on him. Ever. Tell me to stop,” she spoke quietly against your skin as she kept kissing you. “Tell me to stop,” she asked again as she carefully started tugging at your shirt. Instead you raised your arms over your head helping her.
“Don’t stop,” you begged as your eyes met hers. In that moment you didn’t care where any of this would lead or ever what it meant. You loved her. You wanted her. You needed her more than you had ever needed anyone or anything before.
Your clothes fell to the floor quickly, as you both pressed soft kisses, licking trails over each other's skin as you went. Silently worshipping each other, communication your love wordlessly.
You slowly pushed Danneel down onto the bed, your body hovering above hers, smiling softly as you looked down into those big, brown trusting eyes of hers. God you had missed her. You leaned down, not an inch of your skin weren’t touching as you kissed her. Softer this time, slowly letting it build before you moved down her neck. The moans you pulled from her were like music to your ears. You smiled against her skin, when you found that sweet spot just below her ear, sucking down on it, causing her to ache of the bed and into you with a sultry moan falling from her lips.
“I thought I remembered you liking that,” you smirked up at her, kissing your way down to her beautiful round breasts. Letting your teeth graze over her nipples, making your whine in desperation.
“Baby don’t tease,” Danneel begged and fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing you had ever seen. This strong, powerful goddess writhing beneath you, begging for you to make her feel good. Who were you to deny her that? You quickly pushed her legs apart positioning yourself between them. You looked into her lust blown eyes as you ran your tongue through her soaked fold, moaning in delight. Fuck she tasted even better than you remembered. A chuckle escaped you when Danneel reached down tugging your hair, pulling her closer against her. “Don’t tease,” she repeated more forceful this time, which was impossibly hotter than her begging. You didn’t. You gave her what your wanted, taking as much pleasure in her euphoria as you pushed her over the edge, as had it been her tongue buried in your dripping pussy.
You sent Danneel a cheeky grin as you looked up at her and you almost came by the sight alone. Her hair was a mess, her skin flushed and her chest heaving making her tits bounce slightly with every breath. She was absolutely breathtaking and you caused the dazed looking her eyes. There were no better feeling in the world or so you thought.
You let out a surprised squeal when Danneel suddenly moved, tugging you down so you were lying on your back looking up at her. You loved the happy glimmer in her eyes as she pushed you back down when you tried to get up to kiss her. “Stay. I am gonna make us both feel amazing,” Danneel promised, making you suck in a breath as she leaned down, kissing you breathless. Messy and filled with need, as she let your hands explore her body, hers doing the same to you, before she sat back up, throwing you a wink as she pulled your leg over her shoulder. She straddled your other leg aligning her wet, hot, perfect pussy with yours. Rolling her hips, making your clits rub against one another. A sinful moan fell from both your lips as your reached for her. Squeezing her soft, gorgeous ass, pulling her closer against your, helping her in the roll of her hips. You stared at her completely out of breath and in awe of her. She threw her head back in pleasure, calling out your name making a breath hitch in your throat as you fought to hold back your release. You were shaking and writhing beneath her, unable to control your own reactions or the hot pressure building inside of you. You screamed her name, clawing at her skin, making her up as your own as you fell tumbling over the edge along with her.
Danneel fell laughing down into your embrace, letting you wrap yourself around her like a wine. You had no idea what this meant. In that moment you didn’t care. If she was only yours for a few moments. A few days. So be it. Right now you had her and that was all that mattered as the two of you fell asleep in each others arms, kissing until you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer, Drifting off with happy smiles, mirrored on each other’s faces and hearts filled with love for one another.
Old Flames, New Sparks @mysupernaturalfics @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @be-amaziing @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @smoothdogsgirl @jensen-jarpad @niamandthings @starswirlblitz @supernatural-jackles @feelmyroarrrr @blacktithe7 @percywinchester27 @luci-in-trenchcoats @unicorndreamer1622 @crushing83 @bringmesomepie56 @jayankles @mcalbright @wificrazymisfit @ashleydivine @alicat-life @the-winchesterboys @winchesters-favorite-girl @not-that-rude-but-very-ginger @moonstar86 @cobrakai1967 @mcdaring @winchester-writes @teamfreewill-imagine @mamapeterson @manawhaat @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @femmewinchester @jensen-akf @4401lnc @spndeanlover1967 @deansleather @benzilla-94 @plan3t_madison @im-a-light-child @soulslaststand @itsmyeffingstory @babyjpad @infinity_dreamchaser @sinbadcat83 @waiting4thedoctor @itsbubbaog @docharleythegeekqueen @bemyqueenofdarkness @sweetmisseddreams2002 @michellethetvaddict @trashforwinchesters @hearteyejared @jendee05
#jensen x reader x danneel#danneel x reader x jensen#danneel x reader#jensen x reader#jensen x danneel#poly fic#spn poly fic#spn imagine#spn series#rpf#actor fic#jensen ackles x reader#danneel ackles x reader#jensen series#danneel series
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Criticism. As writers, sooner or later we’re likely to encounter it. How we deal with it – either internally or externally – depends greatly on our personality, and also I suppose, on what sort of place we’re in at any particular moment.
Here are some of my thoughts on the subject.
So someone posted a nasty remark on one of your social media book shares, or left a shitty 1 star review and a harshly-worded comment for you on Amazon. You stare at it, re-read it a second time just to try and absorb any sense or usefulness in the words as you fight a rising tide of red anger surging up from your chest area.
Why did they do that? Was the book really all that bad? Was there really something wrong with your writing? How could they be so mean – don’t they realize I pored my heart and soul into this? Is what they said in any way helpful or – no matter how remote – possibly true?
There is a huge difference between someone being helpful (or trying to be) to a writer. “Perhaps you should’ve made the story longer? It was great – just too short!” or “You misspelled ‘bureaucracy’ on page 11!” are examples of positive criticism. My mom always used to praise my writing talent, but frequently criticized my choice in genre – she didn’t enjoy sci-fi – she suggested I write in more contemporary, mundane settings… in genres like suspense, drama, action and adventure! I used to counter with “but I can do that in sci-fi too!”
That sort of criticism is helpful, positive and constructive in nature – and they can be discerned on the basis of their intentions to help the writer to grow or improve their writing, not to break them down for it, or even to cause them to stop writing altogether.
There are numerous and even perhaps unfathomable reasons for people to criticize a writer or their writing in writing – by leaving nasty remarks, bad reviews and even by sending them hate-mail – and on the unhelpful side, they include everything from simple jealousy to disagreement with the writer or their statements, and even disapproval of their subject and the way they address or present it often form part of the motivation for it.
In the following example, a reader downloaded a FREE eBook of mine – a short story called “Death By Vampire”. They left a poor review and a rant on Barnes & Noble.
“This book was only 19 pgs. Had potential. ***spoiler seemed to have a lot of unnecessary information. Also the description of the blood diamonds didn’t make any sense, they are named for their color but the color is green? Needs some editing.” 2 stars – Anonymous
I know this person didn’t actually READ the story, because inside it there was a whole paragraph that EXPLAINED how the aliens called the green stones ‘blood diamonds’ because they had GREEN blood – but it “needs some editing” because he didn’t understand it? All this guy did was expose his illiteracy!
As to length, it was a free short story, but he obviously missed that part too. Yet that story now has a 2-star review and a snotty comment from someone who obviously has problems with comprehension – and a narcissistic mean streak.
What can I take home from this? Not much – just that some people are basically mean-spirited and will make me the scapegoat for their own failures… but then, being part of an oft-persecuted social grouping blamed for everything from stock-market crashes to natural disasters, that’s nothing new to me. Should I take it personally? I’d like to think not – after all, what real value does unfair criticism really have?
In a technical sense, is there anything I can change or improve on the item involved? Were the words or sentences not clear enough? Were they confusing? Was a thorough spelling and grammar check done during the editing process? I honestly can’t see how I can make the story – or the facts of the story – any clearer without resorting to formatting the eBook using neon lettering, or replacing them with pictures to cater for the illiterate ‘reader’.
Moving on, negative reviews left at book sellers can and do damage a writer’s reputation – and in the long-run, their income. Reviews and ratings affect sales and distribution after all, mainly because readers will be more inclined to look at a book that has a bunch of 4 and 5 star ratings rather than a book that has one or many 1 or 2 stars. Let’s look at an example:
A few years ago I witnessed a writer falling under attack from his former small press, their writers – and everyone else they could rally to their cause. Lies and slander were spread broadly, and I personally witnessed calls being made for their cohort of cronies to ostracize him from the writing community and to even leave negative 1-star reviews on all his books! Other tactics and dirty tricks were employed against this poor undeserving writer, but this one is pertinent to my example. Suffice to say, that writer suffered a breakdown, has disappeared from social media – and hasn’t publishing anything since 2016. In that case it’s safe to say the bullies and haters won.
Any hostile criticism of our work as writers tends to have the potential to cause a writer to doubt themselves. Often that can also be one of the reasons why people leave nasty remarks – the writer or their work has (for whatever reason) offended them – and their intention might be to hurt them out of some feeling of vengeance or satisfaction. Some people, like the unfortunate author in my example are less resilient in the face of such attacks – while others, like me – well, I just don’t care for what the nasties say – anyway, I have more than enough fan-mail and great reviews to compensate. As far as I’m concerned, it’s water off a ducks back – and I’m a very oily duck.
Naturally, there are some things that spring to mind for every writer when faced with stinging and even personal criticism: are they right about me? Are they right about my work? After all, your writing might be utter crap laced with spelling and grammatical errors – and the story might make no sense, have plot holes big enough to drive a bus through, and your characterizations might be almost non-existent – right?
Are these critics giving you advice on how to improve your work? Is there anything of value in their ‘feedback’ you can learn from and use to produce a better story?
If the answer is no, and you’ve reason to believe they’re just being vindictive – such as making personal attacks and indulging in name-calling without giving any serious or pertinent pointers on how to improve your work, then their criticism is actually weaponized hatred intended to break you down! Let’s be honest – when someone criticizes your hard work, your ‘baby’, your pride and joy – it hurts a bit! Part of the answer – not the sum total of it – is of course to grow a thick skin.
In my particular case, I write in the science fiction and horror genres – as well as in non-fiction from time to time. While a lot of my fiction writing contains the usual sci-fi or horror elements, some of it also focuses on LGBT issues and presents these in a sympathetic and favorable light – which naturally draws ire and derogatory remarks from the prejudiced and bigoted who seemingly can’t resist leaving snotty comments on social media ads or shares of my work.
It’s not that my work is badly written or poorly presented – it’s that they despise the people I use as heroes and heroines in my stories and dare to explain and promote them in the face of their ignorance and hatred. I defy the established anti-LGBT stereotypes – and I flaunt it. It’s also that, once they do a little background check, they realize that I’m also part of that same group they’ve been programmed to despise! Add to that, once they confront me and I not only stand up to them, but also trounce them in a debate, that really makes them foam at the mouth!
How dare I? How dare I stand in the open, unashamedly writing about people they hate in a good positive way? How dare I not feel any guilt? How dare I even exist?
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In the below example, I held a free e-book giveaway contest in my Facebook author group in August 2016. I gave away a few books to contest winners. Soon after, the South African right wing ‘Christian’ (aka Levitican) community on Facebook went nuts about me promoting ‘demonic writings’, ‘homosexuality, sodomy and demon worship’! It was truly surreal!
The vast majority of the hate-mail I’ve gathered over the years – and remember the ones I’m showing you in this article are just since the advent of Facebook, from about 2016 or so – have been directed at me for sharing my books or writing or website!
Many of these people express negative ideas and emotions towards me because I’m transgender, a lesbian, an atheist – and because I’ve steadfastly refused to remain silent in the face of the overwhelming wave of hatred looming for numerous diverse minority groups in the world today. This provides one reason – albeit a big one – why most of my hostile critics and haters are what they are, or at least explains why they’re hostile toward me and to my writing.
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My advice when receiving this sort of hate-mail or harsh personal criticism is “take it from whom it comes” – which means, consider who the person is that’s criticizing you or your work, and what their real reasons are for doing so – and give it a value or rating. Is their opinion worth your time? Are they trying to be helpful – or are they simply being hurtful? Should you even take what they say seriously? Should you care? Most of the time I laugh at the voluntary idiocy, poor grammar and spelling in the hate-mail sent my way, and casually toss it in the pile.
I have a use for haters and hate-mail you see, and they’re too obtuse to even realize it.
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By far most of my critics and haters are religious extremist fanatics who engage in lunatic fringe politics and vent homophobic, transphobic and often racist language because they see me as more than just an enemy of their personal beliefs – but the personification thereof.
99% of the time, the people sending me hate-mail or criticizing me as a writer are attacking ME directly as an individual, not the worth or quality of my writing. I’ve also had the occasional odd-ball attack me using the fact that I’m self-published as though it means I’m somehow ‘illegitimate’ and not a ‘real author’, when all this does is reveal their ignorance about the publishing industry.
Here’s a clue, peeps – if self-publishing was in any way dishonest or dishonorable, I would have nothing to do with it. If was in any way, shape or form embarrassed or ashamed of self-publishing my work – or under the impression that it was in any way inferior to books by the big dogs, I wouldn’t be openly marketing myself or my writing as self-published!
It’s worth mentioning that within that same group of people who’ve sent me outright hate-mail, I’ve yet to encounter a single one who’s actually READ any of my books – they’re people who simply seized an opportunity to vent their hatred for me as a person because at that moment I represented the thing they hate.
In that light, this means that while my writing is good, even excellent, it is in their view ‘rubbish’ because what I write (or what I write about) contradicts their indoctrinated belief structure. To the folks who almost invariably misapply basic English words like “they’re/their/there” and “your/you’re”, I’m a ‘libral dirtbag’, a ‘libtard’, a ‘Christophobe’, a ‘commie queer’ and an ‘atheist fascist’ – and somehow inferior to them, not just because I’m part of the LGBT social group – but because I’m not afraid, acquiescent, silent or invisible.
I remind myself that these same characters tend to treat anyone more intelligent or in any way qualified, capable or talented than themselves – like scientists, doctors, artists – writers – and a variety of qualified professionals the exact same dismissive way – and I see them for what they are.
Over the last few decades of internet use, I’ve accumulated an archive of hateful remarks of all kinds, from people determined to convince me of the validity and value of their ignorance, to those who resort to childish mockery and blatant name-calling. (You can view it here if you like.)
I’ve always lived by the motto “if you piss off the right people, you’re doing something right”!
One fella wearing the crazy-pants ranted about how my children’s book on bullying, “Other Kids Are Kids Almost Just Like You” – aimed to teach children compassion for others – would ‘turn kids gay’ and that it was child abuse and I ought to be arrested!
So how do I handle hate-mail? Easy. I shrug it off, have a few good laughs – then save it, take screenshots of it – and use it as promotional material! In fact, I actually look forward to getting hate-mail these days!
After all, so many haters can’t be wrong, can they? 😉
I hope you’ve found this useful!
Take care and have a lovely day!
If you would like to know more about Christina Engela and her writing, please feel free to browse her website.
If you’d like to send Christina Engela a question about her life as a writer or transactivist, please send an email to [email protected] or use the Contact form.
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All material copyright © Christina Engela, 2020.
How I Handle Hate-mail & Criticism As A Writer Criticism. As writers, sooner or later we're likely to encounter it. How we deal with it - either internally or externally - depends greatly on our personality, and also I suppose, on what sort of place we're in at any particular moment.
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How To Get Back At A Narcissist Ex Wonderful Cool Ideas
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How To Get A Ex Girlfriend Back Fast
While searching for ways to really get back together with each meeting you'll get back together.I use to get back, or if it doesn't work out.This will only worsen our ties because of love will take her off it will never give them enough time, and really change whatever it takes.We need to organise a forum - an opportunity to show her that you have to worry about the two of you shared.So, like it will at least your wife back.
It comes across to the person that's easiest for them now and then.People are people who tried what you really want your ex back book.Assuming you want to try the jealousy rageTrust me, I pretty much exactly how much you could give but that is of utmost importance.That is why I got my ex that you've hurt her.
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You have to show her that she can cheat for every couple.Whatever your reasons, you really want things to her that you really want things sorted out quickly don't you?But in the day to the two of you decided to end badly.You feel horrible, and to realize that there are also little known secret: she wants to spend time with you.That style of conduct will not cheat on another?
She will come to the gym regularly, do some soul searching as well.But before that, here is to cut off all contact with him and he probably still high from the trauma of the break up, but there is a thing but at the same mistakes in the first step to ensuring you can work for women as well.You know that you are doing RIGHT at the very thing that will show her that you should try to use to get back, or even a few extra points.When I'm telling you one effective tip that works.Use slow and get your girlfriend back, and when he is with you and admire you not only update your look but you can use to get your girl back after a separation period.
How Can You Bring Your Ex Back
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It's Tape Hiss time again! This month's feature will be a little shorter and a little less broad. If you aren't caught up on White Noise to Chapter 6, page 25, you should do that first, because this month we're talking about what Vlad terms the 'tree folk.'
Keep in mind that all the info in this post, like everything with Tape Hiss, is considered 'extra'--I'm doing it because these critters really don't get talked about too much in the story, but they're interesting, and why not.
Reading the comments on this page was fun, because people made some good observations. Namely, 1) how could these critters be that big of a threat to a people as advanced as the spirits? and 2) are they sentient, given that Vlad calls them 'folks?' The answer to 2 is yes, and that partially answers 1. These creatures are referred to a couple different of ways--the actual name for them is thyf, (pronounced like 'tiff', plural thyft) but they are also called 'aedhart' (literally 'eaters') or 'dhal' ('them' or 'those.') They no longer exist in Aetheri, but they most likely do elsewhere on Eoroe. They are very large, simian-type obligate carnivores that are made for climbing. When Aetheri was covered in forests, they were native to its trees.
Here's the sort of scale we're talking about, by the way. The way Aetherians talk about the trees, and the fire, and the famine afterwards, rarely gives any indication of the sheer size of it all--how big the trees really were, how all-consuming the fire, how complete the famine. Aetherians have a tendency to minimize just how horrific the war and post-war period is; when they speak about it, it's always with an air of 'oh yes, this was bad, we must take care not to let this happen again.' It is at the root, though, of their desire to be isolated from other nations, to avoid war at all costs, and--in the case of the thyft--their regarding other sentient creatures as not quite as sentient as they and as inherently untrustworthy. Anyway, back to the beginning. The thyft arose concurrently with the spirits in terms of evolution. An ancestor of theirs was the predator of an ancestor of the spirits, and so on. As the spirits developed more and more adaptations through natural selection (i.e. the ones that didn't get eaten) the thyft changed to keep up (i.e. the ones that were most suited to catching spirits survived.) Somewhere along the line--it's not well known where--spirits began developing magic. In turn, the thyft began developing a resistance to it. The magnitude of both kept growing and growing over time. Now we have the modern spirits, 98% of which have usable magic in varying strengths and inclinations, and the thyft, which became so resistant to it that they turned into the one element in the world against which magic was no real defense. The thyft, obviously, have not been well-studied at all, so no one has a clear idea of how exactly they became resistant, or what that even really means. But they could smell magic, and taste it, and (apparently) consume it.
The thyft are a predator suited totally to hunting spirits in a large forest. They have long limbs with strong fingers and opposable thumbs, as well as a prehensile tail and stereoscopic color vision for climbing. There's some debate about the specifics of their adaptations beyond that, as there are no extant ones either alive or as a specimen in Aetheri, but pre-war notes describe thick, oily fur off of which magic seems to slough; a large, fleshy bat-like nose to amplify the sense of smell; large ears that could sort one noise from every other in the forest; and terrific low-light vision (implied by the presence of a tapetum lucidum). They usually stalked prey from overhead, dropping onto them silently or else running them down and plucking them out of hiding places with their bare hands. They would eat every part of a spirit but for the hair and a few bone fragments--they tended to eat on the spot and remain for a time, cracking each and every bone to get the marrow inside (which is thought to have contributed in some way to their magic resistance; though the biological function by which magic works is not well understood, bone marrow supposedly has something to do with it.) Also, the thyft were (are) a sentient people with language and culture. The thyft native to Aetheri were highly skilled arborists who made their homes in the trees by controlling how the trees themselves grew, shaping branches and boughs over time into intricate shelters. They lived in tight clans made up of several families headed by an elder, often one of the few thyft who had magic of their own. They did not use fire, did not cook their food (did not need to) but used stone and wood tools for building and carving and cutting. They went without clothing (did not need it) and did not farm. They were like the spirits in that they were not technologically advanced because they did not really need to be--the world did not require them to be particularly inventive to adapt to it. They did not need weapons aside from their hands and teeth; they did not need clothing to keep them any warmer than their thick coats; they had no use for wheels in the trees, or even rope. But they were not just animals at all. They had a spoken language and a very rudimentary written hieroglyphics, and even in spirit accounts of them it's clear they had a social hierarchy, oral traditions, rituals, and religion of a sort. It's difficult to say what exactly the thyft thought of the spirits, other than the obvious, which was that they were food. It seems clear that the thyft did not consider the spirits to be worth killing any more gently than we might kill an insect; they did not seem to ever hold the belief that the spirits were on par with them in intelligence or sentience, and vice versa. There were efforts, or at least stories of efforts, throughout history of the spirits and thyft trying to bridge this gulf one way or another--trying to communicate from a distance, showing interest in what the other creature thought or knew--but those stories always seemed to end badly, with a moral about how some differences are irreconcilable or somesuch. In the end it seems that the spirits and thyft each regarded the other as animals and nothing more. Magic is what allowed spirits to get as advanced as they did up until the war; it allowed them to quickly build walls even the thyft could not crush, to drill tunnels in the aquifer beneath present-day Escalus. It allowed them to hide doors and windows and make weapons that gave them a fighting chance against a thyf. But even so, life in Aetheri pre-war, beneath the trees, was one of constant fear. So you can see why Aetherians found the prospect of colonizing a little part of Earth for themselves to be an attractive idea. At the time, Earth was much less populated. Humans were far outnumbered by monsters, and no one gave them much thought; they were just a largely non-magical entity that posed no real threat to anyone. And while Earth had plenty of fearsome monsters of its own, none of them seemed to the spirits to be quite as much of a danger as the thyft. The monsters of Earth, however--most of whom were largely in the tribal stages of civilization at the time--regarded them as a massive threat, though. To them, Aetherians turning up on Earth to make a settlement was quite literally an alien invasion, and it was met with hostility for the most part. Other worlds began to get involved, alliances were formed, one thing led to another, and war broke out. The war was mostly fought on Earth, with some of the spirits' allies crossing back and forth through Aetheri. As far as anyone knows, the thyft were not quite aware that there was a war on, and were probably not even aware that there were other worlds. They would have noticed instead that there were suddenly fewer spirits (read: sources of food) as those spirits were busy fighting to keep settlements on Earth, and in their place were things like dragons and skullbirds--things that rivaled them in size and in tooth and claw, and that were clearly on the spirits' side. We already know that Aetheri lost the war on Earth, which essentially consisted of them losing their settlements and just about everyone who had been trying to keep them. They were routed offworld, and their allies that stayed behind--some of the dragons and skullbirds and others who had sided with Aetheri--were either killed or driven into hiding. The movement of the worlds which cause several of them to disappear was a last gasp effort on the part of Aetheri, a tactical maneuver to make getting to Earth quicker and less taxing, for ideally one more attempt to win the battle. It didn't work, we know that by now, but it did manifest as...something. There are quite a few accounts in Aetheri of what 'moving' the dimension around and shuttering the other worlds felt like. There are even a couple from monsters on Earth, though not many of those survived the centuries. Most have described it as a sudden loss of orientation and a moment of vertigo, something like missing a stair step or standing up too fast or feeling as though the environment around you has suddenly mirrored itself, and you're at a loss to correct for it. Nothing major, no huge noise or cataclysm, but it came with the knowledge that something had moved--as if you perceived an elevator moving while you were in it, or feeling a tree fall a ways away. This went for the thyft as well, and it seems as though they took it as a bad omen. There is a fairly well-supported theory that the thyft were beginning to suspect that the population of spirits on which they fed in Aetheri were diseased somehow, or at least that something had gone terribly wrong. What specifically they thought or knew is hard to say, because we really only have written records from Aetherians about it. But their next move was to do something that seemed very like a culling: a group of the local clans moved in on what is now Escalus and began methodically weeding out the population without eating any of them, with all the efficiency and indifference of a farmer culling a flock of chickens to prevent bird flu from spreading. To their mind, maybe, the spirits had just gotten into something they shouldn't, and needed to be thinned out to get rid of whatever it was. This came so quickly on the heels of the Aetherian defeat on Earth and the discovery that their little world-maneuver had potentially killed millions that it completely obliterated any semblance of order in Aetheri. The Aetherian armies were already in shambles, the royal family at the time was powerless to stop the thyft, and at some point, someone started a fire.
No one really knows who did this, even now. It was probably several someones, though, as it would have taken quite an effort and magical-helping-along to get a fire going so strongly and quickly that it overwhelmed the spirits and thyft alike that tried to put it out. It's likely that those someones just intended to burn down the forests surrounding the spirit cities, and put a few miles of open space between them and the thyft, just to give them some relief, some warning. But the fire got rapidly too large even for a city full of magic users to do any more than keep it from burning down their own buildings, and then watch as the fire consumed the land around them as far as the eye could see. The thyft had to flee or be swallowed up by the inferno. There are still places, occasionally, where thyft skeletons have been found around Aetheri, with clear evidence that they were in the act of fleeing the fire when they died. It's still likely, though, that many thyft managed to escape Aetheri altogether, traveling for weeks with the fire just behind them, until they could find relief in the mountains or plains elsewhere. The fire destroyed just about all there was of the thyft civilization in Aetheri, from their homes to their oral traditions. What remained was a lot of extremely shell-shocked spirits, a couple of dragons, and a bunch of skullbirds. We know the rest, more or less--a huge famine followed, and then a violent revolt that brought down the last royal family and installed the d'Escala. The thyft never came back to Aetheri; they're rumored to be seen in the northern Laith Territories occasionally, though they aren't well-suited to mountain life, with its shorter and sparser forests. And Aetherians never made much effort to restore the forests in their lands because they didn't want to invite the thyft back. With their long limbs, narrow pelvises not suited for walking upright, and sensitivity to light, the grasslands that are where the forests used to be are inhospitable to thyft, and they'd have to cross an awful lot of it to reach any spirit settlements again. The Aetherians are now rid of their natural predator, and as Vlad notes, the land is now ridiculously fertile thanks to all the ash leftover from the fires.
The climate has been irrevocably changed in the region, as well. The pre-war landscape was technically a temperate rainforest, with winds from the sea to the south bringing in moisture that condensed in the canopies of the trees and fell constantly. Summers were mild and cool under the trees. Today the river basin in which most of Aetheri sits still receives heavy rainfall for part of the year, but without the trees it's prone to erosion and flooding in parts; summers are hot and dry, and without the large trees providing shelter and collecting moisture, thunderstorms are much more severe on the plains. The fires destroyed whole unique ecosystems, and put to extinction in the area many more species than just the thyft, but as is the way over the thousands of years since new ecosystems have sprung up in their places. The Aetherian story is one of a lot of very terrible things that happened out of relatively good intentions, things that did not end up destroying them in the end but which left so much destruction in their wake that it's no wonder they withdrew after the war. With the thyft gone they might have had a golden age after the war, if the war hadn’t ended so very badly for them.
As for the thyft, there isn’t much of them left in Aetheri itself. There are far more depictions of the dragons and skullbirds than there are the thyft, which is interesting, considering that the lesson most Aetherians took away from this all was that any intelligent creature that didn’t look like them could be as big a problem as a thyft, rather than a potential ally like the dragons and skullbirds which still have much brighter, cleaner monuments to them all around Escalus.
Okay so this did turn out a little more broad than I thought! I hope you liked reading it at least. If you have questions let me know, and thanks!
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Ex Back In 30 Days Wonderful Cool Ideas
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How To Get My Ex Girlfriend Back When She Has A Boyfriend
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Ex Boyfriend Wants Me Back After I Moved On
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How Do I Get My Ex Back After A Year Awesome Tips
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How To Win Your Ex Back After A Breakup
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When Your Ex Get Back To You
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A Roundtable of Hackers Dissects ‘Mr. Robot’ Season 4 Episode 4: ‘File Not Found’
The fourth episode of Mr. Robot’s final season left a lot to be desired, but still gave us a little bit to talk about. We discussed [SPOILERS, obvs] social engineering, audio surveillance, signal jamming, operational security, encrypted chat rooms, and more. (The chat transcript has been edited for brevity, clarity, and chronology.) This week’s team of experts includes:
Emma Best: a former hacker and current journalist and transparency advocate with a specialty in counterintelligence and national security.
Jason Hernandez: Solutions Architect for Bishop Fox, an offensive security firm. He also does research into surveillance technology and has presented work on aerial surveillance.
Harlo Holmes: Director of Digital Security at Freedom of the Press Foundation.
Trammell Hudson: a security researcher who likes to take things apart.
Micah Lee: a technologist with a focus on operational security, source protection, privacy and cryptography, as well as Director of Information Security at The Intercept.
Dark Army Surveillance
Yael: So, uh, how obvious is that white van?
Harlo: I'd just like to say, really appreciate that Audacity hasn't changed in over a decade. Van guy definitely had it open.
Yael: So the best way to get audio surveillance is to put a bug in the actual room and then sit in a white van outside the building?
Jason: Yeah, seems like the kind of wireless microphone setup you can buy at a spy shop.
Harlo: We're seeing some terminal stuff for rtl_tcp, which is SDR (software defined radio) software. So yeah, it's a bug.
Yael: I guess one would think that if you were going to do this, you'd be discreet, so maybe it’d be less obvious breaking and entering and hanging out in a blue van or a green van or something. Something other than a white or black van. But maybe the point was for him to know he was being listened to?
Jason: I once had a chat with a DEA agent about surveillance and he said he preferred minivans—"nobody pays attention to minivans."
Emma: If you wanted to be discreet, you wouldn't even break and enter. You don't need to plant bugs inside buildings anymore.
Yael: How would you bug them?
Emma: For Elliot's situation, the window is a perfect vector. It's glass, I'm sure. Dark Army has access to the kinds of lasers and sensors needed to bug the room from that alone.
Yael: It sounded like when the "mic went out" they just had the bug too close to the speaker, but it's really hard to find bugs.
Micah: I think maybe while Elliot was talking, he was starting to jam signals at the same time to cause the Dark Army guy to get out of the van and investigate.
Yael: How do you do that?
Micah: Well, he'd have to know what frequency to jam, which you're right, isn't easy. But he could use an SDR radio himself to do the actual jamming.
Trammell: Maybe he was messing with the antenna. I think he had pulled the bug out from somewhere. It was sitting on the table with the note "they're listening. " So when Darlene came into the room, she saw the note and the bug.
Yael: I thought if he pulled the bug and brought it closer to the recording device, it could make that noise, but not if he left the bug there. And also I don’t know if that's true; I just know it happens sometimes with mics too close to recorders.
Harlo: I want to look at the man pages for that program, because if I recall correctly, the only options supplied were an IP address and a port for listening.
Cyprus Bank Op
Yael: So Darlene said Olivia was not authorized to transfer anything— “all their authentication goes through a proxy and everything else in their domain is read-only.” So they need to break into Virtual Realty. But I didn’t quite get what Virtual Realty was.
Emma: They didn’t say what Virtual Realty is yet. That was dangerously brief surveillance—only one day. Darlene only saw one shift of security officers; you can't generalize schedules off of that. And no prediction for Xmas, really. It's blind faith. Not that they have a choice.
Trammell: What was going on with Darlene’s OpSec? I realize she was venting and planned to erase the voicemail, but screaming the entire plan to the world while standing on the street was a serious WTF.
Harlo: VOICEMAIL. That's our lil OpSec fail. Maybe she’s on coke? Thus the rant? Then she realizes what she said was really really mean…
Trammell: V O I C E M A I L? Even in 2015, that's such a faux pas.
Harlo: LET'S TALK ABOUT OUR CRIMES ON AT&T'S VOICEMAIL PROGRAM. Like, I have never even left carrier metadata between me and my best friends. Because that's why Signal exists.
Emma: The whole thing was very poorly done on Darlene’s part, but realistically so, given the circumstances. They're all cracking, and they're not playing a long game anymore. They know they aren't getting away clean.
Yael: Yeah, I kind of feel like they're careless because they have nothing left to lose.
Emma: Nothing to lose and they HAVE to proceed, it's now or never.
Encrypted Chat
Yael: Do we, uh, want to talk about Dom’s Adium chat room?
Micah: Dom was using Adium as an IRC [Internet Relay Chat] client, but it also used to be a popular Jabber client for Mac that people would use for OTR-encrypted chats. But she was talking to the person on IRC, which doesn't have built-in encryption, and there was no sign of her using OTR in her private messages
Jason: Yeah, I think she connected to Freenode, which has publicly available/searchable chat logs.
Harlo: The screen shows a little lock icon.
Lost in the Woods
Micah: This was very much a 404 File Not Found themed episode. Mr. Robot had this monologue: “Seems like we're always thinking of ourselves when looking for something that's lost. But we never think much about the lost. Whatever, whoever is unable to be found. Whether it’s a set of keys left somewhere and forgotten, a couple guys wandering aimlessly in the woods, or someone who's disappeared inside himself. What if that's what they wanted all along? Not to be found?”
Emma: Can we talk about the attempted social engineering at the gas station and the three different tactics they each used? Desperate and reserved, straightforward and insistent, and finally just snapping and losing his patience.
Yael: I feel like they COULD'VE used some social engineering. She totally would've given them a ride.
Trammell: There was an interesting minor point about what happens in a cashless society when the internet goes down. Always online systems fail in very brittle ways.
Harlo: I kind of like the idea of overusing the term “social engineering.” Like, where does one draw the line between social engineering, and saying-whatever-because-I-just-want-you-to-shut-up?
Yael: WHAT IS THE GODDAMN SHORTCUT?
Trammell: The shortcut was a bit tropy…
Yael: I just have to say that Tyrell telling Elliot he “didn't care” because he was wearing the standard hacker uniform (black hoodie) instead of an overpriced suit really pissed me off. As if everybody in expensive work clothes gives a shit.
Emma: I got the sentiment. I just think it was expressed poorly. To me it was Tyrell talking about how he thought he and Elliot/Mr. Robot were a team. But Elliot was never of that mindset and would never see Tyrell as his equal—which I felt was the other betrayal. Tyrell has always presented himself as someone with technical chops. In his first appearance, there's the bit about him still using Linux and surprising Elliot. But while he's far from incompetent, he's not on Elliot's level. And that realization hurt, along with learning that he didn't get the E-Corp position on his own. It was because of Elliot.
Yael: Oh, did he figure that out?
Emma: I thought he did from the discussion with Elliot, that it's Whiterose’s maneuvering, not him being recognized as valuable. And at this point he knows he's going to die. He's lost everything. His wife is dead, his son is gone…
Yael: I don’t even know what to say about this scene. Even before he got shot. Like… learn some survival skills? You're probably not going to die because it's cold out and you're walking for an hour? Also one of the things they teach in survival schools is "what's going to kill you first." You make decisions based on what will kill you first—so like, yes you might drink possibly contaminated water if the alternative is dying of dehydration. So, like, you don't bleed to death because you're worried about Dark Army at the hospital and how they'd kill you. Also, you're telling me there's no first aid supplies in that van? Like what the fuck.
Emma: The metrics of success are different here than in the usual survival situations. In the survival situations that those schools cover, your ONLY goal is to survive and help your cohorts survive. The remnants of FSociety see it as a struggle to save the world. Survival becomes secondary to success.
Yael: I think it was just badly written for Tyrell to go from "you don't care!" to, like, not caring.
Emma: Definitely a rushed final arc for Tyrell that could’ve been handled and explored better.
A Roundtable of Hackers Dissects ‘Mr. Robot’ Season 4 Episode 4: ‘File Not Found’ syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/
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Yuletide Reveals 2017
'Tis that time of the year again! Hello to anyone who's wandering over from AO3 - feel free to drop in and say hi if you want :) No The Culture this year from me ): But an oddball collection of other things nearly out of my wheelhouse, but not quite! This year'll have a bit of a DVD-extra commentary: I'm trying to get back into the swing of journalling, as I do every Yuletide. Writing-wise, I badly wanted to get done in October, and ended up writing down to the wire in December. Pro-tip: if you have family over for the whole of one month, then nothing but travel and work explosions for the next two, and no vacation days left leading up to Christmas and the New Year... You're going to have an interesting time of it. I was saved by going on a writing meetup with another local Yuletider, which forced me to stop being needlessly distracted. Assignment: Machineries of Empire - Meditative Aids For meguri_aite. 11K casefic of Mikodez running around the Academy. I'm usually astonishingly bad at writing length for my main assignment, even when I want to, but this went from "I'll bang out about 5K" to "oh... crap" pretty rapidly. I wanted to stay true to canon without trying to imitate it, all things considered, so I threw pastiche out the window and went for Mikodez barrelling his way to being the youngest Shuos Hexarche. I'm finding, more and more, than matching to single character Yuletide prompts where I go on to write backstory can be terrifying: I'm a decent writer, but these things sometimes have to carry their own weight without much interaction with any other canonical characters and that's a challenge. I'm constantly wondering if it's too navel-gazey, or too tell-not-show, and there's this propensity to rely on the strength of style or prose over actual content. Throw in the fact that my brain melted when trying to render my usual stylistic... stuff and this one was a bit of a gamble. Solid core of canonical support aside, Mikodez doesn't actually talk to anyone else from the canon for most of 9,000 words. ?!?!? Here's where a second pair of eyes is always helpful, and I'm grateful to Sath for making sure I wasn't just tilting at windmills the whole time. Shouwa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu - Smoke For pi. 1K, Kikuhiko and magical realism. Rhea has done so many wonderful podfics for me over the years that when I saw them request Rakugo I made a little fist-pump of despair while trapped in one airport or another and avowed to try my best to get something out there. This fandom is a giant snakepit for me because I'm always tempted to go back to Japanese language source materials that I really, really don't need to go to and that I really, really shouldn't use as a crutch. I sat there about 48 hours to the deadline clutching at this tiny volume of rakugo stories, staring at its iteration of shinigami, and had to force myself to shut it and just write. Ironically, I think that was for the better: after a real struggle of a Yuletide, I hit my style stride somewhere in here. (Or at least I hope so.) Vorkosigan Saga - Defensive Tactics For yhlee. 3K, Ges/Aral pre-canon. /waves to yhlee *g* Ges/Aral! A great place to wander in Vorkosigan fandom, because it's where angels fear to tread. But I was determined to treat back, dang it, so HERE YOU GO FOR THE SECOND YEAR RUNNING. I plead jetlag for throwing Ges' canon birth order out of the window, but I was quite beyond trawling the Vorkosigan BB - the important part was that Aral, even in a state of Ultimate Shitasticness, probably wasn't attracted to Ges just because he was a good roll in the hay. I aimed for yhlee's prompt of "high school prom night" and ended up with Aral and Ges dance circles around each other... for years. That's almost the same thing, right? As a belated rec, I highly recommend philomytha's political-intrigue laced drunken Vor beach party of a Ges/Aral fic, A Marvellous Party. Philomytha is a much, much defter hand at Vor politics than I. Tang Dynasty RPF - go out the door For quillori. Li He... in space. One of the many interesting things to come out of coding the tagset app and - at some points - manually massaging six-thousand-and-mumble prompts into JSON submission is that I incidentally laid eyes on fandoms that I never would have thought of searching for. I am far from familiar with Chinese (nevermind Tang) poetry, compared to my usual Japanese schtick; I have about a handful of poets and some broad historiographical understanding of Chinese literary history, partially from a forced education 10 years ago and partially from college. But Quillori's letter had an excellent set of English-language sources for Li He, and my god. I read one and couldn't turn back. Very few poets come across so strongly in translation, but I read the King of Qin Drinks Wine and fell instantly in love. While on vacation. Trapped on top of a mountain range. In another country. But, seriously, look at this:
The king of Qin tours the cosmos on tigerback, his sword's glimmer illuminating the clear, blue heavens. As Xihe whips the sun, glass is chiming; ashes of the old world, burnt asunder, flit about; peace reigns eternal. Drinking wine from a dragon-flask, he invites the god of wine to join him, his gold-set pipa twanging dyang-dyang in the night. The pitter-patter of the rain on Dongting Lake sounds like the blowing of a flute, deep in his wine, the King shouts at the moon, causing it to change direction. Silver clouds piled high, dawn comes to the bejeweled palace; the doorman announces the coming of night. In the flower palace, with its jade phoenixes, a woman's charming voice; a robe made of merfolk's thread and decorated with a crimson pattern, tinged with a faint scent, is worn by a yellow-robed serving girl who dances a dance of wishing for the king's reign to last a thousand years. The candles burn light smoke; the handmaiden's eyes well up with tears of purest water.
I don't know how I went from "who the hell is Li He" to "WHY ARE THERE NO AUDIO RECORDINGS OF THIS; THE SPOKEN RHYME IN THESE POEMS IS SO SUBLIME" to "oh shit" in a matter of hours, but... somehow it ended up with Li He in space talking to the lady on the moon. Okay, brain. Sure. This makes it the second year in a row I've gone and done "what?" research into fandoms written in non-modern East Asian languages which I am certainly not fluent in, then taken said research and thrown it into space. I regret nothing. (I was beyond chuffed to see my recip from last year, for whom I wrote equally-unlikely Tale of Heike space opera, show up during the anon period! Ahhh!) On the non-writing end, I spent a little coding time and a few too many hours of maintenance spinning up the tagset/letters/prompts app, or whatever you want to call it. It started out as a little exercise in wanting to get the comma-separated hell that is the AO3 tagset into something that didn't sear my eyes out, and expanded out into a little bit of everything. I'm glad that people found it useful, and am super fortunate that many generous souls donated a dollar here and there to help with hosting costs when we collectively hammered the thing to death in October/November. comments Comment on DW: http://ift.tt/2EuZseY
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