#for literally your entire life and if you don't do that thing for like a week you lose all previous ability

[jack-bytez-genuine-corner]

It also ignores the need vs want aspect. The calculator allowed for people to do infinitely more complex problems faster, which is a thing that's a need, as in it literally lead to inventions that saved lives and enabled other technologies, good and bad to occur. It was also a step up from the abacus, which is in and of itself another marvel entirely. No one NEEDS art to be made faster as that, in and of itself, ignores the point of the humanities. There is no benefit to generative AI in the way it is currently being sold which is massively wasteful and a giant gimmick, this is why even the Apple AI commercials are embarrassed to present it's "Uses" cause it ignores the central point of not just the creative process but why you even prep for meetings or create gifts for people or use the written word to communicate. If you fundamentally don't understand, any moment you remember is likely a direct result from the human element, whether it be the lack of it or from it, like a cookie from your grandma quite literally tastes differently cause of your attachment to your grandma, just like how an insult from a friend will hurt worse than a stranger. You may WANT to write a letter instantly or create a gift instantly but without that human element you won't feel anything from it nor will anyone else.

Companies obviously want generative AI cause they only see the human element as costing money while ignoring that they wouldn't exist without the human element, and this means Gen AI is treated as the next big thing like NFTs or Crypto when in reality, just like those two, it's all smoke and mirrors with any beneficial aspect either already existing and are used or being too niche to ever be sellable for it's cost. Which is sad cause the tech behind the AI could be used to make accurate translations which can serve anyone in a foreign place in daily life. The same tech could be detecting things like cancer faster and with higher accuracy than a doctor, not replacing the doctor but enabling more effective screenings, lowering human error.

Generative AI will likely get itself sued into oblivion, but even before then it'll be treated like Web3 is now: An interesting oddity that will be abandoned once corporations, who are run by short term profit fetishization, run a single bad quarter and the house of cards collapses. Funnily enough it's those who are pushing generative AI the hardest that will get it killed cause, as a result of AI slop, it's become massively hated and viewed as an intrusive figure in every site and application it exists. The generative AI profiles Facebook touted recently? From 2024 if they still have a profile at all and they don't actually post at all, with many of them deactivated cause of errors and cost. Summaries by Gemini? Making people look for alternatives to Chrome and Google as a whole cause it not only gives unwanted insight (That is typically wrong anyways) but it is increasing the enshittification of a product that just fucking worked and no longer just fucking works. That AI "Artist" who sold whatever for a gazillion dollars? Nobody but the rich who fundamentally do not understand anyone but themselves doesn't care.

The calculator saved lives just like the abacus. Generative AI solely exists for a literal handful, a small village of ultrarich morons to gamble on cause they THINK if they JUST gut the human element it'll just work but they are so blinded by greed they can't even see a single step forward and the obvious issues that it displays. Just like when Wallstreet celebrated Trump's return and are hyped up on Musk and other venture capitalists being in his colon, they clearly have never opened a single history book and seen what happens, inevitably, when people blinded by greed get burned by their greed. Gen AI is a symptom of our rot economy, and I really don't think they paid attention to what happens when you break societal contracts for gold.

It's really telling that the Apple AI ads are ashamed of the product it's selling while the people funding it somehow don't see it. Never seen calculators boast about how secretive and sly they are, almost like when a thing is good it has lots of brag about.

'People are panicking about AI tools the same way they did when the calculator was invented, stop worrying' cannot stress enough the calculator did not forcibly pervade every aspect of our lives, has such a low error rate it's a statistical anomaly when it does happen, isn't built on mass plagiarism, and does not obliterate the fucking environment when you use it. Be so fucking serious right now

[alchemistc]

Listen I know @cecilyv and @liminalmemories21 are slow cooking an absolute masterpiece of a Mummy AU that I am going to eat like a gourmet meal, but I just watched The Mummy again and spent the whole time thinking about this, so here have a completely different take:

"No, Maddie, absolutely not. Do you remember what happened last time? There were boils, Maddie. Boils. On this face? Never again."

Maddie mumbles something that Buck can't quite parse but one word sounds vaguely like a name he's spent seven years trying to forget, and it's only when Chim pops up behind her like the freakiest Jack-in-the-box he's ever seen that things kind of become inevitable. "They took Jee, Buck."

---

It's not that he doesn't love this shit. He does. He loves it despite the fact that it's a hand me down interest from parents he's still struggling to have any sort of relationship with. He loves it despite the literal boils this particular special interest have caused him. He loves it despite the fact that he's pretty sure he met the love of his life on one of Maddie's little expeditions, and then the guy had disappeared into the wind. Not before a mind-blowing celebratory night and the most tender forehead kiss he's ever experienced (and he's including Maddie, here, so that really should say something) with the hazy dawn light filtering into Buck's hotel room.

He'd thought he was getting breakfast in bed. A coffee, at least.

Instead he'd been ghosted.

Which is incredibly ironic, considering.

The point is. The point is coming back home with a bunch of gold and maybe a broken heart hadn't killed his enthusiasm for digging into this stuff, following the research trails until every literal and metaphorical stone was turned. He loves it.

He would absolutely not be here if this were anything but family.

"Oh good, you made it," says a familiar voice from somewhere to his left, and Buck tries to give Maddie the evil eye, but she's too busy grinning at her husband.

Buck twists just enough to get a good look at the cleft before he's stomping his way back towards his suite.

---

Tommy is, of course, flying the fucking plane that's going to get them where they need to go.

Buck will admit he'd done a deep dive into piloting during one of his lamer spirals. He knows all sorts of facts about every helicopter known to man and quite a few of the planes.

"We're going to crash," Buck says, when the engine to his left makes another sputtering noise and then starts blowing smoke behind them.

Tommy frowns. "We're not going to crash," he mutters back, and then tips his chin, calls out loudly over his shoulder. "Maddie, Howie, you two strapped in?"

Buck isn't a fan of the tenor of his voice.

Who is he fucking kidding? He's a huge fan of that voice. He's been hearing it moan his name in his dreams for more than half a decade. Any version of that voice is something Buck wants to latch onto and never let go.

"We're not going to crash," Tommy repeats, and glances over at Buck like he's trying to drink in the sight of him.

---

They manage to salvage a good two-thirds of the water, two of Bucks suitcases ("You don't pack light, do you?" Tommy had asked, getting the bag that was almost entirely books over his shoulder like it weighed next to nothing. "Sorry my baggage is such an inconvenience." hadn't been his wittiest rejoinder of all time but it had made Tommy flush an interesting shade of purple.) and about twelve guns from the wreckage.

"Guns are notoriously not great at stopping ghosts."

Tommy glowers and continues cleaning his gun. In the firelight, his eyes have taken on a shade of blue that Buck absolutely isn't trying to memorize.

"Good thing human men took your niece, then, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that was great, no."

Chim whispers something to Maddie that makes her grin, and Buck scowls at them both.

---

"I'm so goddamn tired of boils, Maddie!"

"It's - you look fine. We just have to send Billy back where he came from and they'll clear right up. Just like last time."

"And if they don't? Your brother's going to die loveless and alone because no one's gonna want to kiss a face full of boils!"

Tommy hums to his left, shuffles, checks his watch, which definitely got broken in the crash. Buck is absolutely not thinking about the full-on make out they'd had in the middle of a graveyard full of fucking murderous ghosts while the boils were still definitely there on his face.

---

Apparently he should have brought a gun to a ghost fight, he thinks, when he glances down and catches sight of the red stain steadily growing on his shirt.

"Evan!"

Maddie's doing her chant thing over by the dias, and Jee's safely tucked in Chim's arms, and -

"Tommy," Buck manages, when Tommy catches him mid-fall and leans him back against the side of a truly hideous mausoleum.

"Hey. Evan, hey. You're - Maddie's just gotta finish up a few more lines and then you'll be good, okay? No more boils. You'll get thousands more kisses from however many people you like, alright?" He sounds a little panicked. Which is fair, considering. Ghost bullets fucking hurt.

"God, you're an idiot," Buck manages between wheezes. Things are - things are looking a little blurry around the edges. Buck lowers himself to a sit and sinks hands into the earth beneath him. "I'm gonna die still in love with the stupidest man who ever lived."

"You're not going to die," Tommy says, and he's eye level now, pressing at the spot where Buck's life is leaking out of him. Blue eyes, cleft chin, that stupid curl that never failed to release itself to settle over his forehead.

"Perfect time to completely miss the point," Buck manages through clenched teeth, and when Tommy's eyes catch his they look - terrified.

He's expecting it, maybe, a little, because he's being a little shit and that had always driven Tommy a little wild. Still. The press of lips against his is nice, and the tongue and teeth are even better, right up until he can't hold in the cough any longer and spits up blood right into Tommy's mouth.

"You're not gonna die," Tommy says, desperate now, as the world starts to tilt on its axis, and Buck curls a hand over Tommy's forearm and smiles.

---

Death isn't great. Kinda boring, actually. He's been here for five minutes or maybe an eternity when things start to go a little wonky. The endless nothing is either shrinking or expanding and Buck can't quite figure out if it's black or white or maybe just nothing and then it's shattering and shaking and gone.

---

"Ow," Buck says, and blinks open his eyes to find blue ones staring back.

They stay like that for a moment.

"So, you're O for two," Buck says, and Tommy immediately starts crying.

---

Tommy shifts a hand over Buck's jawline, calluses catching on a bit of scar tissue the boils left behind this time. Apparently they only clear up completely if you're still alive when the curse is broken.

"So there's a job," Tommy says, grooves on his face deepening, leg shifting restlessly over top of Buck's thigh. It's a trick - he knows it is, but he's still coming down off the high and Tommy's smile could probably make him do anything even if he hadn't just given Buck a Top Ten orgasm.

"No mummies. No ghosts. I swear to god Tommy if it's anything haunted I'm going to get those thousands of kisses somewhere else."

Tommy's grin is a little smug for his liking. "Have you ever heard of a Dybbuk box?"

Against his better judgement, Buck immediately begins spewing every bit of knowledge he's ever retained about them.

[markleessodalite]

Anything For You: l.mk

Anything For You: Mark Lee drabble

Content: Mark Lee is completely devoted to you. He would do literally anything for you. Warnings: A very brief mention of gods but not actual religion if that makes sense

a/n: my drabbles don't do as well as my text imagines but i find them more fun to write >:) also i worked a longer week than usual this week and i am exhausted!!!!!!!!! so this work is actually an older piece that i wrote for someone else that i just adapted for Mark

Mark realized now that he definitely should have written down his idea as soon as he had it, because now, of course, he doesn't remember. He always thinks of little things, little inspirations and prophecies, and he’s learned that if he doesn't write them down immediately, they’ll inevitably escape his mind just as quickly. And he’s only had so many more thoughts, inspirations and prophecies since you’ve come into his life. He doesn't remember what the thought was, but he knows it was beautiful. Maybe it was a message he wanted to send to you in prose, or maybe a single line to write an entire story from, to create a narrative that could only attempt to be as captivating as you.

He doesn't know what wrongs he’s righted, which gods he’s pleased, what universal forces he’s satisfied to result in you entering his life, but he knows that he is so grateful for you. He doesn't know how he’s managed to move along before your confluence, but he knows that to live without you now would be a miserable experience; to just know that you’re near is enough to keep him sane. He didn’t realize how little he cared for anything. He just floated, drifted, traveled in a haze that clouded his eyes from the beauty that the world holds. Now everything catches his eye, every piece of art makes him feel something, every bird sings a song he wants to hear. And his newfound love for everything that has existed right before him since the beginning of time is entirely on your shoulders (of course, don’t forget, there is perhaps nothing he loves more in the world than you).

Mark feels like his life didn’t truly begin until he met you. He believes that in 50 different lives, 500 different worlds, in 5,000 different dimensions, the only thing that makes the truest sense is you and him being together 5 million times.

So he’s determined to figure things out for you two. He’s determined to get to work. He’ll save up all his money and not spend a penny on anything that’s not for you. He’ll make sure you get to live in the world how you want to. You’ll have a life together, with a nice house and a few kids, and maybe a few pets too. You’ll have friends that you see whenever you want, places to go whenever you want, and you’ll have time to do whatever you want, and do whatever you want together.

And truly, if you’re as devoted to him as he is to you, he could build an entire country of palaces for the two of you on a foundation formed purely from love. If you love him, he will do it all for you.

Mark would do anything for you.

[lesbiansforboromir]

Bad news everybody I do have to make another post about War of the Rohirrim THERE IS A SCENE! Where Hera corners Helm in the stables just before the battle of Edoras. And she's like FÁTHER I will fight for my people and he's like NAY CHILD do not be absurd etc etc it's like the film's thesis statement (although then it turns out to be vital that Hera was forced to remain in Edoras and her presence there ensures all of the citizens escape safely so... Helm was right to enforce feminine gender roles on his daughter I guess? NEVERMIND, NOT WHAT THE POST IS ABOUT)

WITHIN this discussion HELM SAYS; "One day, you will marry, you will live in Gondor and have children who know nothing of our ways. [-] It would please me [to send you to Gondor] you will be alive because I will have protected you." AND GANG THE LAYERS... THE LAYERS OF INANE RIDICULOUS IMPLICATIONS I-

Fuck Rohan I guess! I suppose based on, idk VIBES, we have decided this country is constantly at war and suffering is a part of it's 'ways' and it's an inherrently unsafe and undesirable place to live and THE BEST WAY TO PROTECT YOUR DAUGHTERS ☝️ IS TO SEND THEM............ TO GONDOR 👉.

You know, fuckiing GONDOR??

GONDOR

This was really the icing on the cake for me in terms of the shallowness of investment in the narratives of these countries. AGAIN, Gondor is also at war right now if you go by book canon, in fact Rohan's war is literally an orchestrated distraction to STOP THEM GOING TO HELP GONDOR! This was a combined and coordinated assault by The Enemy to get around Gondor and Rohan's extremely successful alliance! It's destruction being the main purpose of the conflict!! Even the unending winter was thought to be a sorcerous machination by the enemy!

But no, we are taking Faramir's 'they love war' schpiel entirely at face value, ignoring all actual historical events that contradict him, and Rohan has to be this grim hollywood-stereotype of vaguely nordic warlords who do not value peace, hate prosperity as 'indulgent' and must therefore be constantly imperilled. MEANWHILE Gondor, being 'civilised' but of course also indolent has had a thousand years of peace to laze about and if Hera WERE to marry 'a Gondorian Prince' like, idk, Beregond son of Steward Beren, well! She'd never see war again in her life! I'm sure Beregond's title of 'greatest Captain of war since Steward Boromir' was just like... a vanity thing or something!!! DON'T!!! WORRY ABOUT IT!!!

[shackleton2]

it's true and I say this as an avid binge-watcher who in the stone age had to look up transcripts of episodes because I couldn't wait THREE ENTIRE DAYS OF MY LIFE FOR NETFLIX TO MAIL ME THE NEXT DVD

Seasons of TV released as one fat drop of 8-12 1-1.5hr episodes, literally being told THIS IS FOR YOU TO BINGE IN ONE INSANE SITTING is the exact definition of my dreams and desires.

......why are they no good??

I can definitely think of exceptions, but "both of them have too much time and not enough time for the characters to struggle and grow and change," as it's well-put above, does seem to be the rule more and more. But what does that phrase really mean??

I saw something recently weighing in on this and saying series in particular seem to think every single thing depicted on screen has to move the story forward, possibly because everything is angled to encourage "binging". It's funny because that sounds like it should do the opposite of making the story feel ponderous and pointless!! So what's going on?

Maybe it's because Real Life™ isn't constantly moving towards one plot resolution, so the more you write a story where that's true, the more impossible true immersion for the viewer becomes?

But also I think actively designing a series to be compulsively watched in one or two massive sittings is hurting them as stories. Maybe it's because bingeing, especially as it's understood in other contexts, is not about enjoying something massively good, at least not after the initial part.

We all know this, right? You don't binge on something because it's just sooooo good. Are there people out there who have never done any kind of binge? Maybe so, so I'll tell you because I surely have: it's inertia. A really scary kind, to be honest, that feels, after a while of getting acclimated to nonstop-consuming the thing, like an absolute involuntary need. Because the second I stop eating the family sized bag of chips, stop taking another drink, stop lighting another smoke, reality will come rushing back in place of the comfort-stimulus. And in reality I am not experiencing joy or even pleasure, I am experiencing the kind of existential horror you get when you try to convince yourself you don't actually have to deal with your own mind. This 100% applies to letting the next episode autoplay after 5 hours of watching one story unfold.

Sorry I got kinda dark there, but the point I'm trying to illustrate is that I don't think you NEED a GOOD PRODUCT in order to get people to binge. And, well, that shows more and more with this "content" streaming services are releasing.

True Blood was a hot mess in so many ways and my mental health sure as shit was too but holy shit watching that obsessively years back was so FUN. That show and other story-loves of mine feel different from stuff getting released in full-season streaming dumps right now, and I don't think it's quality of writing or acting or effects or anything else making the difference as much as whether a show seems to genuinely LIKE itself, or whether it's counting on you finding it preferable enough to reality to let the next episode play and thus get good stats.

we need 15-20 episode seasons again these limited series have the worst pacing in the world and none of the character decisions hold any weight

[yellowocaballero]

a while back you mentioned having written ~40k of a steven moon knight fic as well as some of a frenchie fic? i was just wondering if those would ever be posted/shared or if they will stay in google docs superhell forever (also love your work!! your star wars swap au i particularly enjoyed as well as the tma evilcon + associated fics) best of days to you !!

Look at this evilcon fan over here. Deep fucking cut.

Ah, yes I have. The 40k fic was written for Marvel Trumps Hate, and I didn't post it due to some vaguely complicated but not altogether important reasons. The Frenchie fic was the unfortunate victim towards me very abruptly falling out of MK, lmfao. I think all of my fandoms have The One Abandoned Fic that I was working on when I just Got Over the fandom (Human Relations sequel, so cruelly abandoned....).

Kind of a shame, since the Frenchie fic was not bad and just got kinda roadblocked at the end. I've tossed around maybe finishing it when MKS2 comes out and I inevitably get sucked back in. I don't want to post the MTH fic on AO3 right now (maybe in the future when MKS2 comes out and I get sucked back in etc) but there's honestly no reason not to show you...I think...looking back over this, I think I may have decided that the fic's sense of humor was just too insane. It's very.......uh.....

Uh, ok, just between you and me and other people reading this then. It's a fic about a normal guy who thinks that schizophrenia makes you immortal and autism gives you superpowers.

I'll put it in a follow-up post. In the meantime here's the first few scenes from the Frenchie fic. I really do wanna finish this one day....

“A phone call?”

The jackal barked in elderly confusion.

Steven leaned back in his chair, scratching his stubble. Jake was insisting that they experiment with facial hair and it was best to let him have these little victories. “Well, under the human American law each citizen is entitled to a phone call if they get arrested. That’s probably what he means.” The jackal barked dismissively. “Have you tried telling him that?” The jackal barked again, aggravated. “I see. Quite a pickle. Well, I don’t see any harm in giving him the call. We’d have to warn him that this is a faux legal system and that he’s not entitled to any lawyers, but perhaps he could tell his wife he won’t be home for dinner? That would be nice.”

The jackal growled. 

“We could be nice,” Steven said reproachfully. 

The jackal barked again.

“If you really think about it, nothing’s stopping us. Masters of our own fates and whatnot, right? Well - yes, yes, I know the gods are the masters of our fates, that’s not quite - look, sir, there’s no point in worrying a man’s wife unnecessarily, is there? How would your wife feel if you disappeared off the mortal plane?” The jackal hung its head, and Steven sighed as he stood up. “I’ll lend him my mobile.” The courthouse only had landlines, and even then that was iffy. Magical ancient Egyptian constructs still struggled with 4G. “But if he messes about with my Twitter then we’re adding another thousand years onto his sentence.”

Situations like this were why Steven still showed up to work. This zoo often struggled at little things like this without him. The place had gone to the jackals while he was gone - literally, they had taken over many administrative positions - and it would take months just to clean up the wreckage. Steven didn’t mind - nothing made him happier than a good little routine. Ten to two, that was his preference. Downright inhumane to make a man work any longer than four hours a day. He had even scheduled a deli or restaurant to visit for lunch each day of the week. And Marc and Jake were not allowed. Steven only zone. A man’s office was his castle. Besides - if they knew what he got up to all day they might complain about it. 

The two were deeply asleep - Jake because he found Steven’s entire life dull as dirt and Marc because all of the mandated socialization they were doing lately really took it out of him. Steven found it delightful. Jake’s friends were really nice once you got to know them, and you could reliably get a pained expression out of any of them once you told them so. Marc found their whole thing exhausting and if Jake wasn’t entertained he wanted to die, so around noon the two slept like Alexander the Great’s mummy. Might as well build them little tombs. That was cute. Steven knew exactly what his own tomb would look like. He was practically a pharaoh and everything - maybe Khonshu would make sure he got one? No, Khonshu didn’t care about them nearly that much. Boy, but wouldn’t that be nice.

He gave the Bast statue guarding the elevator its usual nose pat, he smiled and waved at the lumbering shabtis, and he stopped and said his usual ‘hello how are you how’s Nephthys Osiris talking to you again yet’ to the Set statue as the jackal gave him the stink eye for holding them up. Kindness was key, Mr. Jackal. Steven believed in positive Steven-god relations. He lived in hope that the other gods would model good behavior for Khonshu and eventually sway him into becoming less of a dick. 

The ibis perched adorably in a little booth checked his identity as it picked up a little visitor’s badge with his beak and dropped it into Steven’s outstretched hand. It pecked at the computer keyboard a few times, accomplishing nothing other than mangling the G and H keys, and a series of papers ground out of the ancient fax machine. Steven cautiously reached over and fetched the papers, scanning them. They were details of the prisoner’s case, which made Steven feel a bit like one of the Forbidden Lawyers. The jackal led him down the winding paths of the jail as Steven fumbled in his pocket for his glasses, squinting down at the pages. 

“Well, this doesn’t seem too nasty,” Steven announced. “I’m sure we can get this sorted out. Certainly not a problem for our Jake, eh?” He looked at the jackal out of the corner of his eye. “Eh?” The jackal did not respond. “Right?”

Steven made the executive decision that this was a bureaucratic issue and therefore not a Marc or Jake issue. They’d just over-involve themselves and pretend they knew anything about the fake legal system. Marc and Jake were like baby brothers playing video games with you on an unplugged controller. They needed to feel like they were doing something or they’d throw a hissy fit. 

The jackal didn’t have to stop and point out the prisoner. Steven could hear him from all the way down the hall: empathetic, pointed, and incessant French patter. The man sounded like he was arguing against a parking ticket, which displayed a disappointing lack of cognizance as to the severity of his situation and the high likelihood that he was about to experience extrajudicial horrors beyond his imagining. 

Poor guy. Imagine being from France. 

For the first time in Steven’s life his shaky French that he could not actually remember learning but that Marc and Jake did not know actually came in handy. As he got closer he could more or less puzzle out what the fast talking man was saying to the two unamused and unswayed jackals. Could the jackals speak French? It had to be some magic thing. The only animals around here who could actually talk to the humans and explain to them what was happening were the baboons, and they were never polite about it.

“ - one little call! That is it! I will never darken your doorstep again, I swear it. One phone call - and, maybe, letting me go! We can talk about it, let’s talk about it! You and I, we are reasonable men - jackal, I am a reasonable man and you are a reasonable jackal - unless you are a woman? Are you a woman? You are still a jackal at any rate. You are a very reasonable gendered jackal, and I am innocent of all crimes - and even if you are a nongendered jackal, I do not judge, I have friends of all kinds - if you give me one phone call I may call one of my friends and he can help, I am certain he is friends with very many of you people -”

The man cut off the second Steven walked into view of his cell. The cells were very basic, with only a cot and a toilet and one wall of metal bars. He was standing up against the bars, fighting with the two unamused jackals standing against the cement wall in the hallway. The man’s head jolted away from the jackals and fixed on Steven, forgetting his captive audience entirely. His slicked back hair was frayed and mussed, gelled strands sticking up every which way, and his blonde mustache twitching in surprise as his eyes widened.

Steven was sympathetic. Human prisoners were always shocked to find a real bloke around the place. 

He waved a bit awkwardly, his reading glasses flopping in the air. In shaky and awkward French, he said, “Bonjour! My name is Steven Grant. And you are…” He shoved his glasses on, squinting down at the intake form. “Jean-Paul Duchamp?” He pronounced it ‘Jean Paul Dew-Champ’, and judging from the man’s twitch he had mangled it. Oh well. “Right. Do not worry, everything will be fine. You wanted a phone call? I have a phone for you.”

The man stared at him. Steven silently suffered this. He knew he was attractive. 

Finally, the man said in accented but thankfully perfect English, “I have changed my mind. May I speak with you in private, Monsieur Grant?”

The three jackals barked simultaneously. Steven rolled his eyes. Honestly! He knew he was the Avatar of Khonshu now, they didn’t need to be like that! “I don’t think that’s allowed. For security reasons and all. Not that there’s anything you could possibly do to me.” A grizzled jackal with one eye barked. “Emotional - hey! I would have you know that my Myers Briggs said I was the resilient type!” Steven considered the matter for a second. “Oh, but I did have a bad horoscope today. Maybe you’re onto something. Do we have any augurers on staff?”

“Excuse me,” Jean-Paul butted in, increasingly wild eyed, “Do you care to explain what is going on, Monsieur Grant? Because the only explanation I’ve received so far was from paperwork on papyrus and a rude baboon.”

Why was he saying his name like that? The French were so weird.  Steven leaned down slightly to whisper in the nearest jackal’s ear. “And he must have been really bad if a French guy is calling him rude.” The jackals cackled. Jean-Paul’s eye twitched. “Never fear, Mr. Duchamp. I’m sure we can get this whole thing sorted out before supper. Let’s review the details of your case, shall we?” 

“What case?”

“Oh, you’re in an ancient Egyptian courthouse for ancient Egyptian crimes,” Steven said vaguely, sliding on his reading glasses and flipping through the pages again. “Yes, the Egyptian gods are real, no they are not aliens, you better believe in ghost stories Ms. Swan you’re in one, etcetera. Alright, alright…I see…ah! There we are! Charged as accessory to one count of tomb raiding…oh, just a little asterisk here, let’s see what that’s all about…you stole from a children’s hospital!?”

“I did not know that is what we were doing!” Jean-Paul cried. “Someone tells me to fly a medical helicopter, I do not ask questions! If I made a habit of interrogating every one of my clients I would not have a great deal of clients, monsieur!”

“Organs from a -”

“It is called professionalism!” 

“It’s called evil!” Steven said, appalled. The jackals barked in agreement. “I have to say, Mr. Duchamp -”

“It’s doo-shamp. And John-Paul. Mon frere.”

Oh wow, oh no, sorry for the French microaggression. Honestly. “If it wasn’t for the fact that you betrayed your clients the second you discovered what they were stealing and refused to pilot them away you would be facing the same punishment they are. It’s quite karmic. Do you  know what Egyptian canopic jars are used for?” Jean-Paul looked a little queasy. “Exactly. Do you still want that phone call, Mr. Duchamp? You’ll receive your sentence from Thoth with or without it.”

“Then why give it to me?” Jean-Paul asked waspishly.

Steven shrugged. “I wouldn’t want your husband to worry.”

“Rest assured, I am quite single.” Jean-Paul stuck his hand out through the bars. “Give it here.”

Steven pulled up the phone function on his mobile and passed it to Jean-Paul, ignoring his thoughtful expression. He tried to convey ‘mess with my phone and I’ll mess with you’ through rigorous eyebrow tilting, but he knew he was very bad at it. 

Jean-Paul stepped back, swiping on the mobile. It did not look like he was punching in a number. Steven abruptly became anxious that he was snooping on Steven’s mobile. He had remembered to delete his text history with Layla, right? Right?!

He typed something on it before looking up, holding it up oddly to show Steven the screen before passing it back to him. “I changed my mind. No need for a call. Thank you for lending me your phone, monsieur, but it was unnecessary.”

The screen was open to the notes app. Steven abruptly felt like they were passing notes in class. Except not quite, because Steven was the Avatar of an Egyptian god and the other party was in jail for magic crimes. The note read -

marc what is the plan

Oh. Oh!

Steven looked up, and now he could clearly read the man’s irritated ‘why are you looking surprised, this is a matter of utmost secrecy’ eyebrow twitch. “Goodness, I’m so sorry. The egg is really on my face here, I’m so embarrassed.” He looked down at the jackal next to him, who twitched its ears attentively. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. It seems -”

Steven stopped short. 

This man knew Marc. He now knew Steven. Marc really, really, really hated it when this happened.

Marc had spent the vast majority of his life masking. His family had been big believers in the ‘never talk about it and pretend it doesn’t exist’ school of mental illness, which had resulted in a great deal of very terrible problems. Marc did not learn from any of these problems and continued to hide the DID from everybody he had ever met up to and including his own wife for a depressing yet impressive length of time. Steven hadn’t really agreed with the wife decision, because it was a slightly huge aspect of their lives that was very much Layla’s business, but Marc believed in privacy. Steven couldn’t fault him for that. 

It wasn’t anybody’s business if Marc didn’t want it to be their business and they were not Marc’s actual wife. Jake spouted off about shame and internalized ableism, which was undoubtedly true, but nobody was really entitled to his health information. He had the right to self-disclose when he wanted and to who he wanted. Steven only wished that this reasonable desire did not lead to sitcom-esque hijinks as they all switched mustaches and pretended to be each other. Sometimes literally. Jake had his whims.

Marc wouldn’t want this random pilot knowing personal stuff about him. He was probably just some colleague he had worked with one time and never saw again. And Steven was very dedicated to helping Marc and making his life easier, just like Marc was dedicated to helping Steven and making his life harder. Jake was dedicated to being a bully. 

Being involuntarily outed was traumatic for Marc. The last time it happened he fell asleep for four weeks and plunged Steven into a Jake induced nightmare. What if he went back to sleep? What if he never woke up this time? What if he left Steven alone with Jake forever? He couldn’t take that chance.

Marc didn’t have to find out about any of this. No point in stressing him out over nothing. 

In a stunning show of cunning, cleverness, and subtlety, Steven looked down at the jackal next to him. “Actually, can I talk with Mr. Duchamp in private? There’s some things we need to discuss.” The jackal asked what. “Human things.” The jackal asked why it had to be private. “They’re private human things.” Steven paused a beat. “Like periods. We’re going to talk about our periods.”

The jackals knew enough about humans to know that periods were private human things and not enough to know that cisgender men did not get periods. They gave him dubious looks anyway, but when Steven mimed yanking a crescent knife from his chest they obligingly filed out. The grizzled one-eyed jackal turned around and gave John-Paul a gimlet ‘I’m watching you’ eye, but John-Paul just sniffed and looked above it all. French people sure were good at looking snooty.

The second the jackals turned the corner and disappeared from sight Steven took a deep breath and changed. 

He straightened, folding his expression into a deep scowl. He tilted his head forward in Marc’s faux intimidating fashion and affected Marc’s terrible Chicago accent - which was just as fake as Steven’s very real to him British accent, thank you very much! Jean-Paul straightened too, eyes widening again.

“What the hell?” Steven demanded. Ugh. It was hell on the throat to talk like this. “How did you even get yourself into this mess?”

“Me? I am the one in the mess?” Jean-Paul stabbed a finger at Steven, who scowled deeper. “What was that? What is this? Why are you working for an ancient Egyptian courthouse under a false identity?”

“It’s a long story,” Steven snapped. It was really easy to avoid questions as Marc. You just had to be mean. “And it’s none of your business.”

“At this point I think it is very much my business! Jesus, Marc!” Jean-Paul exhaled deeply, rubbing his forehead in a forcible attempt at zen. “What is this, some sort of op? Are you undercover?”

“I said it was none of your business!”

“This is why you don’t run the ops,” Jean-Paul said. Steven was offended on Marc’s behalf. “I am impressed at your acting skills but not at your subtlety.”

“The usual, then,” Steven said wryly. “I’m impressed with your talent at getting arrested.”

“I get it, I get it. Marc Spector twenty, Jean-Paul fifteen. I swear, Marc, only you would get yourself in these predicaments.”

“You’re the one in the predicament. I’m doing fine.”

“My predicament is your predicament.” Why would that be true? He said it so casually, as if it was a given fact. Quite presumptuous of him, in Steven’s opinion. “At least now I don’t have to waste a hope and a prayer that you would pick up your phone this time. How are you going to get me out of this one? They have a giant baboon! Have you seen the baboon!”

“The baboon’s very understanding about my medical needs, so watch it.” Wait - had he wanted to spend his one phone call on Marc? Why? They were talented, cool, and altruistic, but… “Look, I’ll do what I can. But the gods aren’t exactly easy to argue with. I’ve tried to get them to overturn a sentence before and it failed miserably.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard my friend try to do things the legal way.” Jean-Paul folded his arms. “Just bust me out. Isn’t that more your style?”

What a suck-up. Marc didn’t have friends. Steven smiled anyway, brittle and thin. “Don’t worry, Jean-Paul. I’ll do everything I can to help you. Just please try and understand the position I’m in.”

Jean-Paul stared at him. Steven forced himself to look the other man in the eyes even though it made him uncomfortable. Marc always stared down people he didn’t trust. 

“So, uh,” Steven said, “I better call the jackals back -”

“Please admit you do not know who I am.”

Steven froze. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Jean-Paul sighed. He kneaded his forehead again, shoulders slumped, but something about the gesture had changed. My predicament is your predicament - what did that mean? “Why didn’t you say - non, non, you would have no reason. Marc, please listen to me.” He looked solidly at Steven, and Steven found himself looking away. “It’s Frenchie. I’m your friend. We met in Afghanistan and we’ve worked together ever since. You’re having another amnesiac episode. This happens to you sometimes and it is nothing to worry about. Do you believe me about this?”

Steven opened his mouth. He closed it.

He couldn’t help it - he hunched his shoulders, clutching at his sleeve and drawing away. “I don’t have friends. You’re lying.”

“Call up Layla and ask,” Jean-Paul said. His voice was even and steady, and it struck Steven oddly. The man was literally in a jail cell about to be Egyptian tortured and he was comforting Steven? Looking out for him in a mental health episode? Did the world contain two Lukes? “Do you know Layla? Your wife? Now there’s a thief for you. I am but a humble pilot in comparison.”

That cinched it. Marc would never tell anybody he didn’t trust about Layla. Much less about what Layla really did for a living.

But Marc didn’t trust anybody. Marc wasn’t supposed to trust anybody. That was Marc’s whole thing. He only trusted Steven and Layla. He only trusted Steven and Layla and - Frenchie? What kind of nickname was that? That was so stupid.

Marc was really bad at naming things. Movie poster, pilfered ID. Frenchie. Jeez.

Steven put it down. He let his shoulders hunch back into their natural slouch, bent his voice back towards its natural tilt, and dropped the mean expression. Despite himself, he groaned. 

“Marc’s going to kill me!” Steven wailed. “He’s going to go to sleep again and leave me with Jake!”

Jean-Paul recoiled, surprise turning into shock. Wow, wow, big surprise. Marc or Jake’s friends freaking out over Steven. Stop the presses.

“He’s gonna blame me for this, you know,” Steven cried. Not whined. Nope. “This is why he doesn’t trust me with anything. As if it’s my fault that his friends keep getting arrested? Maybe I should get a little more recognition for being the only one without delinquent friends. Honestly, I don’t know why we can’t keep better company sometimes. A book club? A Dungeons and Dragons group? Anybody who doesn’t punch people for a living? Is that too much to ask?”

“Hm,” Jean-Paul said. “Your dissociative episodes have grown stranger.”

“What were they like in the military?” Steven asked, morbidly curious. “Marc didn’t even mention amnesia episodes. He can be right frustrating, you know.”

Slowly and carefully, Jean-Paul said, “Do you remember the manic episodes?”

“We’re bipolar?” Steven asked blankly.

“That is what I thought. I do not think I was correct.”

Wait. “Did you think Jake was a manic episode?”

“Jake?”

“The other one,” Steven said helpfully.

“Ah. Yes, I think so.” Jean-Paul paused - not as if he was uncertain, but as if he wasn’t sure how the words would be received. “I understand DID is a very difficult disorder.”

Something tugged at the back of Steven’s mind, then yanked. Steven felt himself fall backwards, and something else surged in him -

*

Frenchie stood in front of Marc, right in every way, wrong only in the eyes - only in the way he was looking at Marc - 

Cautiously, he said, “Steven? You look dazed.”

Dazed. That was what he’d always call it. Whenever Marc zoned out and left his body, whenever Frenchie caught him wandering listlessly around camp with no memory of having even left bed - you look dazed, Marc -

“Do you ever get tired of your front row seat?” Marc asked hoarsely.

But Frenchie just smiled - a little cockily, a little kindly. “The view is quite good.”

Marc couldn’t do this. He never could, he could never do anything - but he couldn’t do this. Humiliation crushed him, Frenchie’s affection and acceptance its strange shadow. The shadow was worse than the weight. It was the shadow he couldn’t handle. He couldn’t handle this. 

He turned on his heel and left, leaving Frenchie alone in the cell with no promise of rescue and no aid given, and he found himself walking faster until he turned the corner. The jackals were still huddled like a football team growling thoughtfully at each other, and they perked up when they recognized Marc. He ignored them, walking through the crowd until they leapt away.

Marc’s walk turned into a run. A drum beat rocked his head, pushing hard at his heart. The beat threw him forward, turning his run into a sprint down the winding cement halls. His desperation reached out and thought of a word, and once he thought it he just couldn’t stop.

Jake. Jake. Jake! Jake, I can’t do it again - Jake - !

*

Marc woke up face first in Jessica Jones’ hair clutching a bottle of Jack.

He yelped, jerking away automatically and falling off the couch with a heavy jolt. The bottle jumped out of its hands, landing on the stained wood coffee table with a heavy thump and rolling against a bulwark of beer bottles. 

Marc bolted upright, ignoring his pounding head to take inventory of his surroundings. He relaxed the second he registered where he was. Heroes For Hire apartment. Morning. Luke Cage was passed out in an armchair, sawing wood. Colleen’s bra was draped across the back of a couch. Did these people do anything other than party?

Jessica flopped over, squinting blearily at him in the morning light. Cars honked outside and traffic blared, the sound cutting harshly into his throbbing head. Jessica waved a hand limply at him. She mumbled something that Marc could somehow translate into ‘what’s your problem?’. 

Nothing. No problem. Not right now, not here. Marc climbed back onto the couch, pushing Jessica aside to reclaim his spot. Amazingly, they were barely even cuddling - their couch was one of those IKEA types that you could just keep adding onto, it was fucking ginormous. He left the bottle of Jack on the table, whiskey slowly sloshing in the glass. Jessica went back to sleep immediately, her warm breaths pressed against his back.

The sunlight faded into night, then nothing. 

*

“ - and that’s why I wouldn’t fuck Mr. Fantastic unless Sue Storm was watching.”

Marc bolted upright.

“I left Frenchie in prison!” Marc cried. 

“Man, what kind of weird dreams are you having?” Danny asked. Marc could hear his voice from behind the couch, accompanied by the rattle of silverware and the hefty scent of bacon. “I can interpret it for you if you want. The prison’s probably a metaphor for -”

“Your psyche,” Colleen intoned. 

“That’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?” Luke said.

Marc rolled off the couch again, slouching his way to the breakfast table and collapsing in his chair. Somebody put a bowl of cereal in front of him and began shoving it in his mouth. Everybody went back to ignoring him and resumed their conversation about the most fuckable superheroes. 

“Monica Rambeau at the top,” Misty said, for what sounded like the five hundredth time. “Very top. Except my girlfriend.”

“I’m the last heir of a samurai clan, not a superhero.”

“Very top. Monica Rambeau.”

“Do you think the Avengers have these conversations about us?” Danny asked Luke. “Like, they have to, right? I don’t think they’re above it.”

“They have mimosa brunches. Man, you know they do. I don’t want to know what the hell they say about me.”

“One time Hawkeye flirted with me and I snapped his bow over my knee,” Jessica reported. “It’s about controlling the narrative, Luke.” Marc’s hand reached out and swiped bacon off her plate, cramming it into his mouth. “Watch it, asshole!”

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Luke told him, half-amused. “Who do we got today?” Marc glared at him balefully, but he held up the ASL finger sign ‘M’ anyway. “Good to see you, Marc. You’re the early bird, huh?”

“Jake was complaining about you yesterday,” Jessica told him gleefully, as if she was snitching on her classmate to the teacher for saying the b word. “He told us all about your intimacy issues. Is it true that you yearn for acceptance, yet are terrified of receiving it?”

“And why,” Marc gritted out between clenched teeth, holding his spoon at a vicious angle, “is Jake always telling you my goddamn business?”

“He likes to vent.”

“Then tell him to shut up next time.”

Misty scraped up eggs with her knife primly. “Five times a day seven days a week. Never listens.”

“Five people live in this apartment, there is no such thing as your own business,” Colleen said, dead-eyed. “I haven’t had privacy in a year.”

“It’s not that different from the monastery,” Danny said philosophically. “Smaller, though.”

“Drunker?” Misty asked.

“Not really.”

“Damn. Guess you had to do something without television.”

Marc’s grip on his spoon tightened so hard that his bones creaked. “Then you can just go tell Jake -”

Tell me yourself. 

“Shut up, Jake! You can all tell Jake that next time he decides to overshare -” Hissy fit ten minutes after waking up, new record. “I wouldn’t throw a hissy fit if you stopped doing shit just to piss me off!” You are an egomaniac. “That is so rich.”

“Still weird,” Misty decreed. 

“Yeah, still weird,” Colleen said.

Luke cut into his hash brown. “I’m just glad that they’re all talking again.”

“Totally glad that Jake’s back to his healthy, regular state of talking to himself,” Colleen said. “Maybe soon he’ll become normal and only serial kill on weekends.”

“I know none of you care about my personal drama,” Jake said flatly, “but would a little respect be so outta line for youse?” Jessica mumbled something around her egg. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, woman, have some self-respect.”

“Steven and I were talking about going to the zoo and looking at the sloths,” Danny said brightly. “Do you still want to do that? I want to see them so bad. All we have back home are sloth bears but I don’t think they’re the same animal.”

“Sloth bears?” Misty asked.

“They mostly eat termites and ants, really,” Steven told her, “not nearly as scary as you’re imagining. Quite adorable. But nothing really beats sloths on the cuteness factor.”

“Steven! Good to catch you. When do you want to go to the zoo?”

“Oh, boy, maybe Sunday? Do we have anything on Sunday?”

I was going to get drunk.

Same. 

“Looks like Sunday’s free!” Steven paused a beat, a smile fixed on his face. “You know, fellas, I can’t help but feel as if we’ve forgotten something.”

We forget stuff incessantly, Marc said, tired. Frenchie was always dragging me out of bars I didn’t remember walking inside. 

There’s an alternate explanation for that one.

See, that’s what I thought, but Frenchie never thought so.

“Frenchie!” Steven cried. He jerked onto his feet, sending his plate rattling. “We left Frenchie in prison!”

Danny reached out and patted Steven on the forearm. “It’s okay, Steven. It was just a dream. The French can’t hurt you.”

“Not if they’re in prison, anyway,” Misty said.

Luke, the only one who ever remotely was on topic, put down his fork and looked at Steven. “Who’s Frenchie? Since when do you know other people?”

“He’s my best friend,” Marc said. He scrambled away from the table, faintly registering that he was wearing Jake’s outfit. He and Steven had their own changes of clothes in the guest bedroom, he’d have to take a minute and change. They hated wearing each other’s clothing. It felt so invasive. Jake hated polyester, Marc hated wool, and Steven hated layers in non-freezing temperatures. “Damn it, what kind of friend am I!”

Jessica squinted at him, sipping her orange juice. “Wait, you have other friends? I thought we were your only friends.”

“He’s my friend, not Jake’s. You’re Jake’s friends.”

“I’m not Jake’s friend,” Misty said.

“Jake’s my friend but I don’t like him,” Colleen said. 

“Jake’s my friend and I like him,” Danny said eagerly.

“No comment,” Luke said.

But Jessica just continued squinting at him - as if she could read something between their three faces, unremarkable individually but painting a clear picture together. “This is what stressed you out so bad yesterday, yeah?” Marc shoved the chair back into the table, averting his eyes. “Why don’t I come with you? Like, buffer zone?”

A part of Marc did want her to come. He didn’t know if that part was Jake or Steven or himself. He never knew where to put himself anymore, how to partition out his life into the good and bad. How to fit together Jake and Layla, how to give Steven the reins on the courthouse work, how to fit into the Heroes For Hire in a space carved for Jake yet welcoming of anybody. 

It was so easy. It scared Marc. 

“I can handle my own army buddy,” Marc said gruffly. He bent down and kissed Jessica on the cheek. “I’ll call.”

Marc swept out the door, ignoring Jessica calling “You better!” behind him.

[bratbarzal]

I fell in love with your story with Nico I was wondering if you could recommend other fics?

I'm the single worst person at keeping track of fics I read (and I know that's massively hypocritical of me I'm working on being a better person okay) especially before I started my blog but I do have a fic rec tag!! I haven't been reading a lot lately because I struggle to read while writing but I'll list my staples below bc I need to spread the love!! not all of these are nico, and not all of them are series fics, but they're all near and dear to my heart!!

the blueprint long form oc fic is whatever life throws at you by @raysofcrosby - it's a matthew tkachuk fic and I read it in the lead up to the stanley cup last year and it's probably what inspired me to start writing/post something myself!! the character/world building is unmatched and I don't think I ever have or ever will read another fic like it!!!

and speaking of world building him and I by @mikkomacko feels like you're literally in a different universe when you're reading it there's so much detail and as someone who struggles to write AU style fics more than anything I think this fic is like the epitome of talent!!!

and the same goes for say yes to heaven, say yes to me (and part two) by @theemporium - the whole mob!verse is chef's kiss, but also the entire masterlist!!!!! the amount cece writes and the unlimited ideas she manages to spin into something amazing has me staring at my screen sometimes in pure shock it's mental!! and don't get me started on luke and cherry, the mortifying ordeal of being a 20-year old virgin is the best luke fic on this app I love it with all my heart and I need to catch up!!

and katie @nol-pat is one of my favourite people period on this app so it only makes sense that she is my favourite writer!!!! I think I read must love dogs and it's been a long time coming before I started this blog, and I remember feeling like I hadn't read any other fics that I was completely submersed in so quick before!! katie's dialogue and storylines and the way she implements all the best tropes is my fave thing in the world and I'd like to think we're similar in some ways when it comes to writing but that's delusion, she is a thousand times better than me lmao

I know places by @hischierhoney is one of the best song based fics I've ever read it's so so cute and sweet and such a perfect capture of the essence of that song!! I love it and lee is very lovely!!!! I literally had a nico fic in mind when I first read this question and had to go looking and it's her off limits fic!!!! and the sequel I know!!!!! I'm a bum because it's been my favourite this whole time and I've never told her!!!! but now I can!!!

wishes come true by @sweethischier is hands down the best nico series on this app!!! I also love abby!!! I distinctly remember saving this in my drafts forever ago to read again and again!!! and now I want to read it again!!!! and I will!!!!

that night in michigan by @hockey-fics and part two that week in vancouver for if you want your heart ripping out and putting back together again!!!!

and I'm definitely missing a load more, I feel like some people have deactivated and I will yearn for them forever!!!

[kammy-hyperfixation-central]

This this THIS!!!

Oh my God don't even get me started on it, and given how Omegaverse is a allegory for our typical gender norms why don't we take it up a notch! The whole entire fact that they are the alluring subgender should honestly be talked about more.

I'm all for the subjugated Omega trope but in all honesty sometimes it gets tiring.

Like you're telling me that there's someone who is so stunning, they smell so absolutely amazing, that you're willing to lay down your life, and do literally anything for them, and you don't find that dangerous?!

Like oh my God, the potential of omega's to essentially manipulate the people around them in ways that are so cunning and subtle and have no one know that is happening is just amazing!

Like think about it!

I read a lot of manhwa's so take the typical villainess in a Manhwa and then ramp it up to 100 when you add a/b/o dynamics into it!!!

Like that is a recipe for danger in the wrong hands, and we need to talk about it more. Either I'm not seeing it or it's just not talked about enough because yes I love the whole entire soft Omega thing I'm a sucker for that, and I would probably fall for it too, but let's also talk about how dangerous they could be!

Women have good and bad aspects to them let's explore what would happen if you took those aspects and ramped them up to 100%

You're telling me that wouldn't be absolutely amazing I love the idea!

I need people to understand that omegas are NOT helpless 😭😭

The whole omegaverse thing is a biological exaggeration of male and female stereotypes/standards, so sure, omegas are expected to be soft and sweet but damn, do they fight dirty. Alphas are all brute strength and punches and kicks, but omegas are scrappy and clever. The usual high school fight between girls, turned up even more vicious: hair pulling, scratching nails, knowing all the spots that’ll hurt like hell. Oh—and biting.

Sure, an alpha will probably overpower an omega in a 1v1 boxing match. No duh. But omegas will latch onto you and gouge your eyes out, rip the cartilage of your ears. Grab your head by your hair and bash it into the ground over and over and over again. Especially since they’re fast, and quick, and there is most certainly force behind agility. Besides, you think an omega would leave their alpha behind in a fight? They’re not diving for safety; they’re tag-teaming by ripping flesh from bone.

They are not helpless.

And of course, that’s talking outright physical fights. I’d like to think omegas have protected themselves from alphas in other ways, as women in real life have for millennia—support systems, omega-only safe havens, and when necessary, a little poison something-something to get away from an abusive alpha.

[lsunstreakerl]

https://x.com/aerivstappen/status/1875348140590817736?s=46&t=4VW4ULISrrxmBdP3jcObxQ

https://x.com/vickymeanswin/status/1875477815224898046?s=46&t=4VW4ULISrrxmBdP3jcObxQ

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61889884

saw these tweets and this fic and they really reminded me of your latest chapter! a thing that often goes unmentioned in fics i’ve read is how horrible the grid treated rookie max vs the new rookies when he was literally 17 😭 like he was trained to be a winning machine all his life with some pretty horrible tactics and now all these people he’s looked up to aren’t even welcoming him onto the grid. was so happy you explored a little bit of this in search history because max’s rookie season drives me a bit insane <3

OOOOOO I could talk about rookie max for literal ages. he paved the way for all the other rookies, even for the drivers in his own generation. absolutely insane how he got treated, makes me mad every time I think about it.

Especially because Max, potentially more than anyone else, is a product of formula one, a product of the environment they participate in and cultivate. both his parents drove, his dad was literally on the grid, he went on holiday trips with the Schumacher's, his entire life was driving and moving up to F1. There quite literally was not anything else.

I think it was bullshit for the other drivers and media to suddenly act "holier than thou" about him when he got to the grid- he acted that way because that's what wins. He was innovative (see: him backpacking SV in monaco) and he was determined and he didn't cower down in front of anyone else, and I think several drivers were intimidated and didn't feel like he'd "paid his dues".

yes, he was reckless, and aggressive, and didn't leave anyone a single centimeter, and that's because it's what the greatest drivers of the sport did, and he was unfairly and disproportionately villainized for it.

he also knows the rule book front to back + the fine print, and he gets shit for it even today, from other drivers and teams, and I still think that's bullshit. I firmly believe the only time another team gets mad from something in f1 is because they didn't think of it first, and I think we've seen a lot of examples of that with Max.

Max Verstappen, and by extension, Redbull, are here to win, and they will use every inch of track, every gap in the rules, and every loophole they can find to do it. I don't think that's wrong, and any team that says "it's against the spirit of the sport" once again, is pissed they didn't do it first.

Max's treatment of the new rookies is a direct response to the way he was treated, and that is completely heartbreaking to see, because he's always full of praise and advice, and he's described over and over again off the track as kind, and sweet, and practically shy. It's ridiculous that he gets the reputation he does. (drive to survive when I get my hands on you-)

anyways that was a yap session sorry!! many many thoughts about rookie max.

[fushigurokogane]

~ JJK chats ~ (1)

Yuji: Yo, Gojo, why do you always wear those sunglasses? Are you trying to hide your face or your identity? Gojo: Face... identity... It’s all part of the mystery, Yuji. You wouldn’t get it. 😎 Nobara: No, it’s because he’s hiding the fact that he’s been wearing the same pair of sunglasses for 10 years and they definitely smell like Doritos. Yuji: No way, I bet they smell like vanilla body spray. Gojo: I don't need to explain myself to you guys. And for the record, my sunglasses are timeless. Megumi: I just want to know how you manage to look so ridiculous and still somehow get away with it. Gojo: You can’t comprehend this level of cool. Yuji: Wait, Gojo... do you have like, a backup pair? Or do you just keep that same dirty one for life? Gojo: Obviously, I have multiples. I have them in every room of my house, my car, and even in the bathroom. Nobara: Imagine Gojo in the bathroom, just wearing his sunglasses while brushing his teeth. That’s the energy I needed in my life. Yuji: 100% he’s the type to look in the mirror and say, “Yeah, I’m still hot.” 💁‍♂️ Gojo: Well, if the sunglasses fit... Megumi: You’ve all completely lost it. Nobara: Alright, alright. Anyone know where the last box of cookies went? I’m 99% sure Yuji’s the culprit. Yuji: WHAT? I didn’t touch them! Nobara: You’re literally the only one who would eat an entire box of cookies and then pretend nothing happened. Yuji: I... I might have eaten a couple. But it’s not my fault they were just...staring at me, you know? Gojo: Here we go again. The “cookies called to me” excuse. 🙄 Nobara: I think we need a snack intervention for Yuji. “Hi, I’m Yuji, and I have a problem with cookies.” Yuji:Maybe I do have a problem. But they were so good, I couldn’t stop myself. 😫 Megumi: This is why we can’t have nice things. Gojo: Honestly, I’m more concerned about the fact that no one saved any for me. Yuji: Wait, you wanted some too?! Gojo: Of course I wanted some! You think I’m just here for the vibes? Nobara: No, I thought you were here to give life advice no one asked for, and to teach us all how to look like you. Gojo: Nailed it. Yuji: I swear, Gojo’s the only one who eats snacks, throws them in the air, and then just disappears. It’s like a magic trick. Gojo: It’s a talent. You’re welcome. Megumi: You all are unbelievable. I can’t even handle this. Nobara: Wait, does anyone else think Megumi secretly has a candy stash that he hides from everyone? Yuji: Oh he definitely has a secret stash! He’s probably eating chocolate in the corner right now, like some mysterious snack ghost. Gojo: You have chocolate, don’t you, Megumi? Megumi: No, I don’t. Nobara: There’s no way. He’s probably got dark chocolate and then some random, deeply mysterious snack. Maybe like... dried seaweed and sadness. Gojo: WAIT. What if... he only eats vegan snacks? Yuji:Oh, no. That’s worse than tofu. Megumi: I swear to god, if you don’t stop, I’ll actually leave the chat. Nobara: You cant leave. This chat is your destiny. Gojo:Yeah, you’re stuck with us, Megumi. Whether you like it or not. Yuji: But if you have a secret stash, Megumi, just know I won’t judge. I’ll even trade you a pack of gummies. Megumi: I’m just going to pretend I didn’t see any of this. Gojo: Look, we’re a family. And in this family, we share everything. Except snacks.

OMGGG these are SOOO fun to makeee!! I would loveee to do more of these. If you guys have any suggestions of what type of convo i could do next i would be SO HAPPPYY!! I hope you enjoyed reading~ BAI BAI MY LOVESSS~!!

love, ✭ Nika ✭

[40bodiesinmybasement]

Minority groups have to walk on eggshells because one bad take, or one bad person is enough for the entire community to be labelled as bad.

If you call yourself a progressive or a feminist, but still generalize like this for ANY group- not just people of colour, not just gay people, not just people with disabilities, but also trans people- you're doing exactly what conservatives are doing.

A majority of trans people don't think that 'pink=girl' and 'blue=boy', if that were the case then a majority of trans people would also be like Calvin Garrah or Blair White ( people who are considered to be "good trans" by some conservatives and TERFs, btw ), who used to constantly police people's gender based purely on their appearance, used to target GNC trans people and called them "transtrenders" for not confirming to gender roles.

But a majority of trans people aren't like that, are they? Because trans people aren't a fucking monolith, stop treating them like they are.

And I also remember, in 2018 and such, it's probably still prevailing today, transphobes used to ask GNC trans people what was even the point of them trying to transition if they weren't going to even try to pass. [ "A trans woman who dresses masculine is just a regular straight man", "A trans guy who doesn't even try to hide his tits is just a regular girl", etc. ] There has been a lot of pressure for trans people to confirm to social norms, especially because of transphobia. And when trans people force themselves into boxes of masculinity and femininity so that they can be respected- they're called sexists.

Another thing I'd like to add- a lot of transphobes, TERFs especially, like to point towards trans women who are just beginning to get happy and settled in their bodies and often times perform feminity as proof that trans people want to uphold gender stereotypes.

What they don't understand is, many of these trans women grew up without access to make up or "feminine" clothes- so when they are finally free to do whatever they want, they quickly cling to these things because they consider these things to be extremely important, think that they need these things in order to be women.

This is similar to how cis girls often perform feminity as attempts to connect with their girlhood- because this is what they're told by media defines their worth as women.

But as you get later into your transition, and just *live* and *exist* in your own skin, you realise that these things are extremely unnecessary. Many trans women I've seen, once they're in a place of comfort, don't really give a shit about dressing feminine, having long hair, wearing make up, etc. etc. because they literally have better things to do- because they're at a point where they are fully comfortable in their own bodies.

What I'm trying to express is that claiming all trans people transition in order to fit gender stereotypes is a dishonest and false notion- it's made by people who don't interact with trans people outside of social media, who aren't deeply involved with trans people and have meaningful relationships with them.

When you actually get to know a trans person, when you get to know MULTIPLE trans people in your daily life you realise how little each person has in similar when it comes to their self expression or even how they see their transness.

You can't claim that "trans ideology is" this that and so on when there isn't even a thing such as "trans ideology". There are trans people, and that is all.

This entire debate on transness is rooted in the fact that transphobes do not see trans people as humans, do not consider them to be individuals with their own lived experiences. The anti-trans movement hinges on this. It's a movement based in dehumanisation, baseline.

[coockie8]

i once had an anti tell me to stop sexualizing their trauma on a story i wrote that was a word for word retelling of my own actual trauma but with names changed and its been 2 years and i still cant stop thinking about that

Ah, yeah... Unfortunately a non-insignificant number of antishippers seem to genuinely believe they own the concept of trauma, so any story they read that they believe to be portrayed in a romanticized or sexualized light therefore must be romanticizing/sexualizing their trauma specifically.

I couldn't tell you the amount of times I've gotten the "stop sexualizing my trauma!!!!!!" or adjacent comments from antishippers that universally garner a response that basically boils down to

Like, bitch! I'm talking about my trauma! I literally did not even know you existed until you fucking commented!

[hood-ex]

Gonna pull an Alfred tomorrow morning.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight #60

[cluescorner]

Randomized Robins AU - Ages + Worst Trait Exercise:

Steph (25):

Says her worst trait is her murderous rages (she is exaggerating for dramatic/comedic effect, she’s killed 3 people tops and for very good reason)

Thinks her worst trait is her spitefulness (one of the few traits she definitely got from her father + one that prevents her from fixing her relationships and living her best possible life. She’ll refuse to interact with someone she dearly loves after an argument (happens significantly less after Tim’s death) or will say things she knows are hurtful just for the sake of having the last word. This trait will worsen in some ways as the list of people who have wronged her and those she loves grows, but will also ease up as she matures and realizes the harm it’s doing to her relationships with those she loves most.)

Her worst trait really is her spitefulness

Cass (26)

Says her worst trait is her self-righteousness (she believes that her goals are righteous and, as a result, she is righteous. Cass becomes very defensive whenever someone questions the mission and often does not second-guess herself. This is a trait she only develops later in life as she grows closer to Bruce/learns to understand herself more/starts to love herself more. But she knows she isn’t perfect and when somebody she trusts criticizes something she is doing she is willing to listen. She just usually isn’t the one to START the introspection.) 

Thinks her worst trait is her self-righteousness. 

Her worst trait actually is her obsessiveness (she gets it from Bruce and, while not as bad as him, she will easily become preoccupied with her night-life and the mission if someone isn’t there to pull her back. She will do this to the point of self-destruction and it hurts her relationships with the people she loves, especially Steph.)

Tim (24)

Says his worst trait is his spitefulness (he actively rejects the idea of mending his relationships with the older members of the family and this causes him to also lack good relationships with the younger ones)

Thinks his worst trait is his obsessiveness (similar to Cass, if he gets fixated on a task or idea he will neglect everything else in his life in order to dedicate more time to it. Unlike Cass, he will almost never be dragged away from it unless Pierrot snatches control of the body and forces them to take care of themself.)

His worst trait actually is how manipulative he is (the KING of guilt-tripping and using people’s emotions against them. He’ll do whatever he needs to do to get what he wants, he’s not above crocodile tears. And he will do it to whoever he needs (or wants) to with little care for how his actions impact others.)

Pierrot (Insists: “Age doesn’t apply to me! And even if it did, I'd probably be the oldest. Or the youngest! I’d never be a middle child, though.” Mental assessments by the Bats have put him around 21, with a margin of error of 3 years. Pierrot has called this “blatant character assassination by my eternal rival!”)

Says his worst trait is that he is an irredeemable psychopath without any regard for the wellbeing of others (this is a lie and everyone who's important to him understands this). 

Thinks his worst trait is his parasitic nature (he literally would not exist had Tim not suffered the way he did. Plus he is a living reminder of one of the worst things that happened to many of his loved ones. He is a parasite injected into a functional person's body and contributes to his continued suffering. This is also a largely incorrect judgement of himself, caused by his actual worst trait.)

His worst trait actually is his limited sense of self (he doesn’t really know who he is outside of ‘inheritor to the legacy of the Joker (a man he despises yet also views as a father)’ and ‘chip in Tim’s brain that became sentient’. He slowly develops an identity over the course of his life and relationships with other people, but he lacks the foundations of identity that most people have. Pierrot will often almost become a caricature of himself and what others perceive him to be because it's the only person he knows how to be. This causes wild swings in how he behaves and relates to others, sometimes to the detriment of himself and others.)

Dick (17) 

Says his worst trait is his clinginess (he is a very extraverted person who likes to be around others, which mixed with his fear of abandonment after his parents died means that if he goes a few days without seeing/talking to a friend he will get very anxious.)

Thinks his worst trait is his anger issues (he gets ticked off very easily and will explode on people. He’s kind at his core and is usually very nice, but he has a temper that can escalate significantly. Spoiler (and later Twist) help him channel this anger into something positive.)

His worst trait actually is his anger issues.

Barbara (18)

Says her worst trait is her disability (internalized ableism, she thinks of herself as less valuable than the other Bats because she cannot be out there in the capes like they can. She will grow out of this as she matures and as she learns how invaluable her support for the team is.)  

Thinks her worst trait is her disability 

Her worst trait actually is her overly-independent nature (In an attempt to overcompensate for everything she can no longer do, she has resolved to do literally everything that she possibly can without any help from others. This results in many instances where she either takes on too much and winds up not being able to fully realize any of her tasks or where she makes her life and the lives of others significantly harder by refusing help when offered/not asking for it when she needs it.)

Damian (16)

Says his worst trait is his perfectionism (he is overly critical of both himself and others, taking any flaw or problem and amplifying it to an absurd degree. This is due in part to his life with the LoA (where even a brief misstep could lead to death), in part to how others treated him initially as Spoiler (any flaw was fixated on and used as a reason to either mistrust him or portray him as unworthy of the mantle), and in part due to the fact that he is Bruce’s son (the only person with worse perfectionism problems than Damian). Gradually, Damian has improved in this regard but it’s still a massive barrier to both his own happiness and his relationships with others.)

Thinks his worst trait is his perfectionism 

His worst trait actually is his perfectionism

Duke (16)

Says his worst trait is his definitely-real secret evil side (says this as a ‘my dad is a villain so who knows??’ joke)

Thinks his worst trait is his impulsivity in his words (Sometimes he will crack a joke or say a remark without thinking it through, leading to a LOT of hurt feelings and drama. He’ll say something without thinking it through and wind up seeming insensitive. This isn’t done because of malice, rather because Duke is someone who’s quick to act and speak. But while the mantle of Insight and his awakening powers have helped him with his actions, they do not always help with his loose tongue. As such, Duke gains an unfair reputation in the media as an instigator and will accidentally cause family drama through what he says.)

His worst trait actually is his impulsivity in his words

Jason (14)

Says his worst trait is his bad manners (he grew up on the streets and has no idea how rich-people society works, which he’s pretty insecure about considering he’s now the youngest kid of Bruce freaking Wayne). 

Thinks his worst trait is his reactiveness (Jason never got the privilege of planning ahead for various events in his life, so he instead needed to rely on being swift and harsh in how he could react to situations. It’s saved his life on multiple occasions and helps significantly in his role as Spoiler, but it can also lead to extreme overreactions (accidentally causing kidnapping scare after Jason ran away following a fight with Dick) and a struggle to plan things out ahead of time. As he grows more secure in his place in the family and in life, this trait will lessen but never fully dissipate.)

His worst trait actually is his reactiveness

[memento-morri-writes]

I've been thinking a lot about how Rook's reunion with his former mentor, Zara, is going to go, and since I can't predict what the DM is going to have her do or say, I can only dwell on what I know is going to happen. Which happens to include taking off the illusion ring that's been hiding his injuries from her. So have a snippet of the description I have planned for that moment:

tw for description of (mostly healed) injuries

He hesitates, twisting a ring on his finger. Looking at it more closely, she can tell it’s very finely crafted, and must have been very expensive. A large emerald is set into the band. Rook sighs, and pulls the ring off his finger in one quick motion.  Immediately she’s struck by the difference in his appearance as the illusion melts away. He looks awful. His warm, healthy skin fades to a dull and sickly grey. There’s huge bags under his deeply sunken eyes, and his cheeks are hollowed, as though they have been carved out by an overeager sculptor. He looks like he’s recently risen from the grave.  While he was thin before, now she can see his ribs under the skin, and his collarbones are exaggeratedly pronounce. Thin white lines left by dozens upon dozens of recently healed cuts are scattered across his body. On top of that, faded bruises cover most of his visible skin, a mottled mosaic of purple and yellow. They’re clearly days, maybe weeks old, and she can only begin to imagine what they must have looked like when fresh. Bandages are barely visible under his shirt, wrapping around his back, hinting at even more injuries.

[korrasamibottles]

That different people can engage with the same piece of media and come out of it with wildly different interpretations is a testament to the evolutionary miracle that is the human brain. It is also very annoying.