#the rules in the house are that he can go as all out as he wants but it MUST be taken down IMMEDIATELY upon the first of November

[lostinlovingrevery]

Logan Being Bossy and Domineering

Really need Logan to just take control rn.

just need to be his mindless princess while he takes care of me

Anyhoo, both fluff, and nsfw stuff (logan is a hardcore dom in this btw, beware) under the cut, enjoy!

Love me a man who can take control

I think deep down, logan can be a little bit of a control freak. He doesn't make it obvious to anyone

dont get me wrong, he's still a HUGE sweetheart, esp with you

but years of trauma has made him antsy to jump in and take care of things

because only he can do it right anyway

he can be a great leader. an even better partner.

its starts almost immediately

you're doing chores, laundry, other random tasks, he'll come in and take over for you. "Don't worry bout it bub, I got it."

He'll kiss your forehead and forcefully take over. He doesn't mind if you stay and watch. You just need to sit there and look pretty for him

If you're an independent bitch (lovingly) (like me!) this may cause you to butt heads a few times but admittedly as your relationship flourishes, you found a little relief knowing logan is willing to take on the load, take care of you, make you feel loved and not a nuisance over it?

personally, I know I can do everything, but having a partner who wants to take care of me just as I do for them? *swoon*

He won't let you do any heavy lifting. Why should you? He's the one with the metal skeleton and is freakishly strong anyhow.

When he does tell you to do something, and you tease him about being bossy, he'll smack you on the ass and tell you "Damn right"

If you do get stubborn about something, he'll get damn firm with you. he doesn't like to use that tone but dammit quit being a brat

Will manhandle you. If youre refusing to do soemthing, go somewhere. Hell throw you over his shoulder

And he wont put you down till youre where he wants to be

he'll tell you things like to get undressed and wait in bed for him

but he'll also be bringing you water or food and telling you to eat. it's not asking. he's telling you what to do.

i personally get a little pissy with authority, so if you get shitty with him about it, he will bend you over on a table and smack your ass a few times

(by the by, theres a time and a place, he'll know when to let it go.)

he'll jnow your moods quickly.

takes on the maintenance of the house/apartment/mansion. it's quite hot.

stands over you a lot, watching what you're doing. it's a little bit of being curious and wanting to be close honestly, but there's a hint of him keeping an eye on you

you may win the arguments

but he's gonna be real arrogant later in bed when he undos you perfectly, you're begging and whining and he's like "oh, look who's wanting me to take of her now?"

If you're out in public, he gets pissy about others looking and talking to you

he's not so bad that he's gonna tell old mrs.wilkins to fuck off, but if that fucking mechanic calls you sweetheart one more godddamn time....

In a bar, it's a rule that you are to be glued to his side at all times. The most leeway he gives you is if you go off with one of the others, like Jean or Ororo, to go to the bathroom/mutual friends for the other variants

Don't worry, it's not a trust issue with you. he's trust you 100 percent

its the world he doesn't trust

Honestly though, he wants you to be happy. What he really like is for you to sit there and look pretty for him. Preferably on his lap

Once youre both settled in the relationship he is definitely glued to your side

its a mixture of him being an attached puppy and secret service body guard

if you're getting shitty/bratty with him, hes not gonna raise his voice

but he is going to manhandle you

get your bent over his knee and spank you as many times as needed till youre compliant

dont worry, he'll make it up to you

but it is for your own good, sweetheart.

He demands cuddles btw

Actually, that means that he's asking. he doesn't ask

you walk by the couch he grabs your arm and pulls you onto him, your curled into his lap- unsure what happened while his arm is around your shoulder, and hand stroking your thigh as he continued watching his show

Sometimes you both are existing and he looks at you and clears his throat to get your attention

he pats his lap, beckoning you over, the ever familiar bossy look in his expression and you know you better listen

recently discovered the appeal of being a brat because you know you're not truly getting in trouble, allowing you to argue, or be moody just because

and WHEW boy that was a whirlwind for me

doing that with logan tho? You're in for a good time

he'll be smoking a cigar when you start up and that just tells him you need a lil taken care of

he (once again) gets you bent over his knee, spanking your ass till youre crying.

then he fucks you dumb. pliant and happy again, he'll go back to finishing his cigar while you're curled in his arms

with trilogy logan, he gets domineering over your safety. you and him have probably gotten into arguments over missions, you going out on your own, etc etc. it usually ends with him fucking out his frustrations on you (you work it out too tho...) "Got me acting damn stupid out there. now look at you, practically drooling as i fuck you."

old man logan. oh boy. that man is the definition of telling you to sit the fuck down. (IM SAT). You're arguing and a simple look from him has you backing down. hes too old to being dealing with your tantrum. can and will force you to suck him off just to get you to shut up (lovingly). he knows you just need his cock in your mouth to feel better. "there you go darling, just needed to suck on my cock to feel better huh?"

DOFP (70s) logan, will simply just like the power over you. he likes you compliant. he'll tie you up simply because you didn't tell him you were going out with your friends tonight. make you beg him to fuck you and when he finally does he'll be cooing and telling you "see? see how good i make you feel baby?". it's all fun and games...for the most part.

DOFP future will literally just be a soft dom. Hes ordering you around but he's being so sweet about it. its for your own good love. if you rebel a little bit though, you might see some of his 70s self come out. "Thought id' put up with your antics huh?"

Origins Logan? You'd honestly think he'd be the sweetest out of all of them. I think he could be a very aggressive dom. Go on bub, test him. See what happens. You're not gonna be able to walk straight for days. "That'll make you behave,"

worst logan, he's very pissy over it. hes telling you to knock off the tude, to let him carry the groceries, paint the walls, fix the leaky sink etc, then he's pinning you down and you're being dealt the roughest, nastiest fuck of your life. "Obviously you just needed to stuffed full of me to get you to calm down."

wolverine (2013) is a mix of everything. probs the meanest motherfucker out of them all. he genuinely loves you, wants you safe, wants to take care of you. just fucking let him. Try anything and you're gonna be sobbing as he shoves your face into the carpet, fucking you roughly and telling you "you brought it on yourself princess". He knows whats good for you, he's been around the block more than a few times. Don't push him too far- otherwise you will get tied to the bed and he won't let you go.

he can and will be a very sweet control freak though

making you breakfast, lunch, dinner

brings you cut up fruit

fills your gas tank

the sexy stuff put aside, logan genuinely wants to take care of you. he wants to ease the burdens off your shoulders.

you may wonder is it too much for him but he actually couldn't love it more. the fact that he can devote himself to you, the one he loves. is healing for him. he's spent a lot of time being lonely. let him take care of you

He does listen to you, he'll listen to your vent and your feelings. you talk things out and everything

but BOY is it sure fun to get him riled up huh? ;)

[callmrmorrow]

mild spoilers for invincible s2-3

horrified to realize my blog doesn’t even pass a bechdel test. this will change NOW.

debbie grayson is one of the coolest characters in the invincible tv show, and is a serious upgrade from her character in the comics. she had nolan, this incredibly powerful, planet-destroying alien, going grocery shopping for her across the atlantic ocean. dude was whipped. she wrangled 2 of the top 5 contenders in the power-scaling verse (this grayson father-son duo), and never once failed at it. nolan was missing her from a viltrumite prison before he died. mark’s entire shell-shock at nolan’s “hey bud, you should help me rule the world or something” shot into anger the MOMENT he said he saw debbie as a pet. this woman just yells cecil’s head off and denies his orders, mandates, offers for help — sees right through him, too, and can tell he’s playing her for leverage whenever he can. clocked angstrom so hard that he broke her damn hand. such an incredible lady that even confessing everything about her life to paul didn’t keep bro from wanting her. haven’t even broached the subject of oliver.

beyond her interactions with the men of the invincible show… she is an incredible character on her own. uniquely fearless and compassionate. encourages everyone around her to be a good person, donates all of nolan’s book money to survivors of his atrocity, bears her burdens with a strength that is beyond just motherhood. consumes enough wine to kill an army of viltrumites. clearly intelligent enough to calculate nolan’s top speed and figure out exactly where to send him so she had enough time to search the house for evidence of his murderous acts. figured this guy out pretty much on her own, had the gall to lie to his face and act like everything was fine and pretty much get away with it. takes nolan’s child from his (basically) affair and raises him as her own with no resentment in sight; got mark AND nolan to look past their power-strength-fight-fight-might-makes-right mentality and listen to her, more than once!

tells mark to follow his heart even when nolan disagrees (regarding titan’s request for help in s1); she is quite literally the reason that our mark is a good person, when so many other variants fail to be. mark is debbie’s son before he’s nolan’s. nolan is debbie’s spouse before he’s a viltrumite, try as he might to convince himself otherwise.

she is the axis on which the morality of those around her is precariously balanced. she provides incredible emotional depth to the show and while she has every reason to lose it, she holds together.

and that’s why she’s the goat.

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Prologue: overkill

tw: canon typical violence, death

It’s hard for Simon to keep his thoughts straight when there’s fresh blood on the ground. 

Though he knows the blood is bright red, the pale grey cement of the empty pool gives it a russet tint. Oxidizing in front of his very eyes, he watches as the pear-shaped splatter dulls beneath flickering fluorescent lights. It’s a warning—fight hard, or his blood will be next to paint the floor of this empty, dilapidating pool. 

No one else pays any attention to something as trivial as spilt blood. The countless voices that morph into cacophonous background noise are all focused on money. Men with twitching fingers are placing bets and making wagers, and if they’re lucky they’ll return home with more than what they had arrived with. Though Simon refuses to look outside of the sunken-in pool that cages him like a bad dog, he can feel the countless eyes searing his skin. He’s being measured. Sized up. Options are being weighed on if they think he has good odds. 

He doesn’t care what they think. 

An announcer on a jerry-rigged PA system mumbles something about last call for placing bets, and a few of the shapeless figures around him begin to scramble along the side of the pool. The chatter picks up, as does the shouting. Perhaps it’s the stone that encases the old pool house, but the men in charge have a way of making Simon feel as if he’s been thrown into the colosseum in ancient Rome. All he’s missing is a sword. 

In five minutes, more blood will be added to the pool floor. Simon has every intention of ensuring that it’s not his. 

Using the last few minutes of peace that he has left, Simon adjusts the wraps on his hands before securing the balaclava that obscures his face. The small bit of privacy that it provides gives him the tiniest semblance of comfort as he stands there like a pig waiting to be slaughtered. Underground boxing isn’t the most legal thing in the world, but being a butcher isn’t exactly a well paying job either. No one steps in the ring for fun—not in this establishment. These are high stakes, and higher rewards. 

The only reason Simon even risks his skin in this hole is because the winner gets to take home twenty percent of the pot, and he’s got family to take care of. 

Minutes pass and people begin to line the edge of the pool. Knowing his last few minutes of preparation is soon to end, Simon readies himself. He presses a thick soled boot against the concrete at his back where he pushes himself away from the wall and toward the large spray painted circle that decorates the bottom of the pool. The ring was drawn so long ago that the paint chips and fades in odd places, muddying what is blood and what is not. His opponent mirrors his actions on the other side of the ring. The man lazily saunters up to Simon, oozing a misguided confidence. 

Out of all the spectators, the referee is the only one brave enough to sit on the ground with his legs hanging over the side of the pool. He’s a bored man who looks to be nineteen going on forty with sunken eyes and chapped lips—Simon notes how easy it would be to snap his scrawny legs by accident should the man find himself unfortunate enough to get caught in the crossfire of the fight. Like all the others in charge of this illicit operation, he’s clad in black, which makes the silver whistle dangling down his chest all the more eye-catching. 

“Alright boys,” the referee shouts over the commotion around them. Simon attempts to put a name to the face, but fails. “The round starts and ends when the whistle blows. First to be pushed out of the ring or rendered unconscious loses. No weapons and… well, you guys know the rules.” 

Both men nod before turning their attention to one another, using their last few moments to fully size one another up. Simon is taller, but that’s not exactly news. He’s well aware that his height and size is larger than the average man—a freak of nature, as his brother so politely reminds him—but that fact rarely seems to force anyone to shy away from fighting him. His opponent is shirtless, displaying a tense set of showy abs and ribs that dance beneath thin skin with each breath he takes. Simon internally rolls his eyes as the man cracks his neck. Muscles mean nothing; not when they’re being paraded. 

Neither man wastes any time getting to work once the whistle blows. Simon’s nameless opponent didn’t bother to wrap his hands, and he flaunts tightly wound fists as he skirts around the edge of the ring. Refusing to be flamboyant, Simon keeps his arms tucked close to his face and chest, waiting either for the man to make a move or for the opportunity to attack. There is no need for him to show off or to prove himself to the people who placed bets on him—his only objective is to survive. 

To win. 

The man’s first punch is slow. Sloppy, even. A quick duck of his head and an adjustment of his hips is all Simon needs to avoid the blow. He dances like it’s child’s play and responds with a quick and sharp jab to the man’s exposed abdomen. The blow gives him a strained grunt in return. His opponent follows up with a weak punch intended for Simon’s face, something he easily blocks with his forearms. Speed and misplaced force seems to be the stranger’s tactic, something that doesn’t concern Simon in the slightest. Fortitude and stamina—he’ll exhaust the man before finishing him off. 

Bit by bit the fight begins to pick up momentum. A quick jab on the right. A wide swing that sends one of the men ducking. Each blow is punctuated by the audience roaring in applause mixed with slight grimaces and groans. Two minutes pass and Simon’s cheek begins to swell from a nasty blow, and his forearms throb from all the hits he’s blocked. It’s nothing but scraped skin compared to his opponent, who’s attempting to ignore the blood that wets his chest as his nose spews like a faucet. Several drops manage to make a new home on the floor at their feet, only adding to the masterpiece of gore that stains the cracked concrete. 

As the match goes on, the crowd begins to grow restless. Most fights only last a handful of seconds maximum, and the fact that it’s pushing into several minutes has people antsy. They want their results. They need their winner so they can claim their share of the sizable prize waiting for them, should they be so lucky. Instead of continuing the fight, of picking up the pace and doubling down, Simon’s opponent places his hands on his hips with a heavy sigh. There’s a slight pull to his lips, and the beginning of a titter that grows in his throat. The change in pace is enough to get Simon to pause. 

“Look, man… I really need that money,” the man says, loud enough for only the two of them to hear. 

Though Simon hadn’t expected anything friendly from the man, he certainly hadn’t expected something as insidious as this. Scraped fingers slowly dip into the pocket of his jeans where his opponent shows off the silvery sheen of a knife. Fully revealing it would instantly disqualify the man, so he keeps the majority of it tucked into his pocket and well out of sight. Still, there’s no mistaking the pocket clip or the threat that glints in warning. 

He saunters up to Simon with a wide smile. He tries not to let his guard down despite the man’s sudden amicable composure, yet he finds himself stunned. The man still oozes that same, unwarranted pride. As if the match is already won. 

“Just step outta the ring,” the man says flippantly. His feet tread carefully as he begins to close the gap between them like predator cornering prey. “This doesn’t have to be difficult.” 

Simon doesn’t bother with a reply. Jittery neurons fire in his brain as he assesses his situation as fast as his mind will allow. The threat of a blade is real—terribly tangible—but flashing it would earn his opponent nothing. 

He’s looking at a failure who doesn’t yet realize he’s lost. 

Before the man can get any other bright ideas, Simon leaps into action. Though his size makes speed a difficult feat, he makes up for it in sheer force. Thick fingers wrap around a forearm, then there’s a twist of a wrist accompanied by a cry, and finally, bone on cement. Torn skin and chipped teeth, his opponent goes down with a frivolous groan that can hardly be heard over the sound of gasps and kvetching. His already sore nose is now well acquainted with the side of the pool, and the blood smears in a lighting-shaped streak as his knees buckle. 

Not bothering to offer an apology, Simon turns away from the crumpled heap of a man on the ground only to be met with the soft face of the referee. He stands in the center of the ring where he gives Simon an enervated sigh, head shaking in disappointment as he blows his whistle. 

“A little overkill, don’t you think?” the man asks as he spits the silver from his mouth. 

Simon’s lips purse. “Overkill?”

“He was already well out of the ring before you made him kiss the wall,” he explains. “Technically, you did win, but they might cut your pay for bad sportsmanship. They’re not exactly trying to get anyone killed or disfigured here, kid.” 

Bad sportsmanship. Simon knows that’s not really the issue here. Boxers dying during fights isn’t exactly good for business—or keeping things secret—and those who place bets usually get pretty sour when their lucky contestant is too injured to play. Still, taking a hit to his pay would dampen his night.

Huffing, Simon approaches his opponent once more with several shouts in protest. The man cowers, covering his face as he presses his back into the wall while muttering incoherent apologies. Simon kneels down to retrieve the hidden knife from the man’s pocket, and tosses it toward the referee. Clinking metal stuns the crowd into silence as all eyes lock onto the contraband as it skitters across the ground. Simon stands there with dull eyes. 

There’s a short moment of hesitation from the referee. He opens his mouth, closes it, then smiles. 

“And we have our winner!” 

Ducking his head, Smon pulls himself out of the empty pool just as several security members leap in. They swarm his opponent like an angry hive of bees, but he doesn’t stick around to watch the show. As he weaves through the crowd, several people are brave enough to give him a pat on the back, though most stare at him with slight terror and the respect one gives to a dog with a nasty bite. He does not care about the heavy gazes—he’s won. 

Things are quiet in the cash room; so quiet that Simon can hear his own heart. What used to be a locker room has been turned into a makeshift bank with large, heavy duty safes housing absurd wads of cash. That evening’s bettings, as well as everything leftover from previous weekends, stays locked behind thick doors and padlocks. A man with thin wired glasses sits at a rickety folding table as the banker—so to speak—counts Simon’s winnings by hand. Two men stand close by, armed to the teeth with illegal guns visible on their hips as if the very image of the weapons themselves are deterrent enough to keep everyone’s nose clean. 

The banker glances up from the cash on the table, but neither man speaks as he returns to work. With a minimum bet of five hundred required to participate, Simon knows his winnings are in the thousands. It’ll take time for it all to be counted, but he’s not in a hurry; not at this time of night when the city ignites the sky and the porch lights wink to sleep for the evening. 

“Ghost?” 

Unlike most of the other fighters, Simon refuses to reveal not only his face, but his name. In fact, he had peeved the sign up representative a little when he refused to give the man his proper name, and in some sort of fit of annoyance, he was unceremoniously given the name Ghost. It’s a name that had gotten him laughed at when he first stepped foot in that bloodied pool. People deemed him nothing more than some stupid boy who dreamed too much of being in the WWE. After a few matches, people have learned to respect both the name, and the man behind the mask. 

Simon turns to face the voice behind him and isn’t surprised to find a well dressed man approaching him with an easy smile. Donning a dress shirt and slacks, this stranger is the best dressed man in the putrefying pool house. The best smelling too, as Simon notes a whiff of expensive, woody cologne mixed with lingering tobacco. Though events such as illegal boxing were usually saved for the grunts, it isn’t rare for him to find the occasional well off business man feeding into their gambling addictions with something a bit more bloody than your average horse race. 

“Yeah?” Simon responds stiffly. 

Much to his surprise, the man holds his hand out for him to shake. There’s a dazzling silver watch that peeks out from beneath his sleeve—it’s probably worth half of his salary. Stretching the ache out of his knuckles, Simon courteously but cautiously takes the man’s hand. 

“John Price,” the man introduces himself. “Quite the show you gave everyone out there.” 

Simon hums as he shoves his hands into the pocket of his jumper. The sudden quietness isn’t lost on him, nor are the wary eyes that seem to burn into John Price. Even the guards look apprehensive despite the lead weighing their belts down. He tilts his head to the side, gesturing to the banker and his table. “Too excited to patiently wait for your winnings?” 

“Oh. Oh, no. My wife doesn’t like when I gamble,” John chuckles. “No, I came here to offer you a job.” 

It’s as if the ambiance of the room changes the very moment that proposal leaves his mouth. Shuffling feet, counting cash—it all ceases until it’s nothing but an echoing memory. There doesn’t seem to be any insidious intent or tone behind John’s voice, yet his offer still stops the very turning of the earth. 

“Must be an interesting job if you’re scouting in a place like this,” Simon notes stiffly. 

“Interesting and well paying,” John agrees. “I think it would be a shame to let those talents of yours go to waste.” 

Talents? Simon nearly laughs in the man’s face at such an odd compliment. He’s not a trained fighter by any means, just obnoxiously big and brutally strong in a way most other people rarely ever have the misfortune of being. There are very few reasons why he would ever want to turn to a life like that—a life full of nothing but violence and fighting—and simply being offered decent pay was not one of them. 

Here in this pool house, he can step out of the ring at any time. Something in the silence of the strangers around him tells him he wouldn’t have that same luxury with John Price. 

“Thanks, but whatever it is, I’m not interested,” Simon deadpans before turning his attention back to the table. 

The banker must have finished counting his winnings some time in the middle of their very brief conversion, because he holds out a fat stack of cash with impatient hands. Reading the queue begging for him to leave, Simon takes the stack before quickly shuffling through it and tossing a couple notes back on the table. The banker mutters an awkward thanks, but his eyes don’t leave John. 

“Have a good night, Mr. Price,” Simon dismisses with a simple nod. 

Just as he goes to leave, Simon is stopped in his tracks as John raises a hand in front of his chest. It would be easy to push past him, yet Simon obeys. Still smiling, John reaches into his pocket where he retrieves a small rectangular card before holding it out. 

“Take this before you go. Just in case,” he insists. 

Simon stares at the card for a long moment, studying its features. It’s nothing but plain white cardstock with a phone number handwritten across the face, which is oddly simple for someone with such a powerful aura. He’s inclined to believe that John had scribbled it down before entering the building, as if he had anticipated Simon’s rejection. Seeing no harm, he takes the card before hastily shoving it into his pocket, convinced he’ll forget all about it by the time he gets home. 

“I won’t lie, it’s hard work. Not exactly an easy life. No more legal than what you did here tonight, either,” John says as his smile begins to wane. “But just know that if you do change your mind, I always take care of my men. Always.” 

Unconvinced, Simon gives him a curt nod. “Sure,” he responds, voice hoarse. Then, he turns and strides out of the room, leaving John Price and that decaying building far behind him. 

Simon doesn’t remove his mask until he’s several blocks away and the night begins to dwindle into nothing but a faint memory. The aches in his body begin to show themselves with a gentle pulse beneath his left eye and a throbbing in his ribs, ones he knows will only worsen by morning. With his earnings tucked safely away into the confines of his pockets, he hardly thinks about the numbers until his car is parked in front of his mother’s house. 

It hasn’t changed much since he was a kid—it still has the floral patterned curtains obscuring the windows and the cement stairs with railing that squeaks whenever anyone leans on it improperly. The paint has begun to fade, sunwashed a pale azure that nearly blends in with the sky on a cloudless day. The inside has changed considerably throughout the years. Significantly less toys than he remembers, and more pictures of the long lost days of his childhood staining the walls. 

He makes sure to exercise caution when unlocking the door and letting himself in. Like always, his mother has left the lamp on in the living room, providing just enough light for him to sneak into the kitchen. Several hand washed dishes sit neatly in a drying rack next to the sink, and he can smell the lingering aroma of supper. On the fridge, there are countless old photographs of him and his older brother from when they were younger. Toothy grins and stained knees—the annoying bastard used to be cute back then. 

Digging his hands into his pocket, Simon pulls out the cash he earned and begins to shuffle through the notes. There’s more tonight than he can recall from any of the other nights he’s thrown himself into the ring. Plenty for him to live off of for a little while, in addition to what he already makes at work. If his math is correct, he could give his mother two thousand, though he can already hear her chastising him. He counts the cash and tosses it on the counter next to the bread box, then pauses. No, maybe he should give her three thousand, just in case his brother comes around asking her for cash. 

Again. 

“Thomas?” 

It isn’t often that a man like Simon jumps, but all men know well enough to have a little bit of fear when their mother’s voice cuts through an otherwise quiet kitchen. He squints as she flicks the lights on, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the brightness. His mother stands in the doorway, tired gaze attempting to make sense of the scene in front of her. Though she had been freshly roused from sleep, her hair is well kept and her pajamas are only minimally wrinkled. 

“Oh, Simon,” she corrects herself, surprised. “Everything alright love?” 

He feels like a kid again getting caught red handed trying to steal snacks at some ungodly hour. Except, instead of stealing, this time he’s attempting to give something. It’s too late for him to shove the cash into his pocket and pretend he’s here for some other reason. A late night cup of tea, or a one o’clock talk. Ever since her eyes adjusted to the light, his mother’s been clearly scanning the bundle in his hands. Huffing, he continues to count the cash as if it’s of no importance. 

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” his voice rumbles softly. It doesn’t take him long to finish counting, and when he’s done he straightens out the pile before shoving the remaining amount back into hiding. “Just droppin’ somethin’ off real quick. Don’t worry ‘bout it, just go back to bed.” 

Ignoring his request, Simon’s mother shuffles across the room with a titter before she reaches the fridge. It isn’t long before she’s retrieved a bag of peas from the freezer, and she all but forces it into his hand. 

“If you ice it now, the swelling should go down by Monday,” she says while raising the bag to his cheek. 

Sighing, Simon relents. Leaning against the counter, he keeps his face shoved into the brutally cold bag and tries not to wince at the pressure. If anything, the bite of the frigid peas is worse than the bite of a fist. 

“You have to stop doing this to yourself, Simon,” she lectures. Despite her short stature, she stares up at her son with her hands on her hips as if he’s still a child and not a twenty-six year old man. “Whatever money you’re making from this isn’t worth what you’re putting your body through. All bruised up like a peach, look at you.” 

“It’s worth it if it helps get you through the month,” Simon retorts bluntly. Plastic crinkles as he adjusts the bag on his face. His fingertips begin to tingle. 

“I know your mother is getting closer to being a helpless old lady, but I’m not there quite yet,” she chuckles. “I’m not going to be living out on the streets.” 

“You will if you keep giving money to Tommy as often as you do.” 

It’s difficult for her to come up with a response, because deep down she knows her son is right. No matter how much she wishes he wasn’t. The oldest of her two sons grows skinnier and more pallid every time she sees him, and the only thing he ever seems to be interested in consuming is cash. His expensive diet is insatiable, and unfortunately, she doesn’t have the fortitude to deny him his favorite meal. 

“If he comes around again, tell him to talk to me,” Simon continues. Wincing, he pulls the bag of peas off of his face to offer his skin a little reprieve from the cold. “Kick him out if you have to. Unless he’s over for tea, he doesn’t need to be harassing you for money.” 

Lips pursing, his mother nods. 

There isn’t much left to their late night kitchen conversation. Sleep pulls heavy on his mother’s eyes, and all Simon wants to do is wash away the filth of that night down the shower drain. He places the bag of peas back in the freezer before giving his mother a quick kiss on the cheek. They quietly mutter their goodbyes, leaving him to quickly slip out of the kitchen and toward the front door. His hand hardly brushes against the dull, brass knob before he hears her call out to him once more. 

“You stay safe out there, Simon.” 

“Always, mum.” 

The thing about Simon Riley is that his hands are always dirty. No matter how much pink tinged water swirls down the drain, he can never quite get the stench of death and raw muscle out of his skin. But it’s alright. Men like him—large, burly, and utterly terrifying—are meant to be this way. Hidden in the back of butcher shops, transforming once living creatures into something so unrecognizable that the average person is able to stomach consuming something that once looked at the same stars as them. 

His face still aches, and it’s bruised a deep plum, but he ignores it as he attempts to wash his hands clean of stale blood. 

Just as he finishes drying his hands, the small pitter-patter of feet catches his attention. Looking up from his station, Simon sees Meara, the young girl who runs the register up from. She’s kind enough, yet always seems eternally bored with the work at the shop, but her usual dull expression is replaced with one of slight concern. Leaning against the doorway, she jams her thumb over her shoulder while clearing her throat. 

“There’s someone up front asking for you,” she says. “He’s uh… very adamant about speaking to you.” 

Nodding, Simon tosses his paper towel into the bin next to the sink. “I’ll take care of it.” 

There is a corpse waiting for Simon. Or perhaps a ghost. Some otherworldly being who’s been long dead with skin so pale it’s nearly translucent and gaunt cheekbones. Greasy blonde locks lay flat on this corpse’s head, neatly combed back as if the filth is there on purpose. Simon’s stomach drops as he witnesses the mess that’s become of his brother as he stands on the other side of the counter, yet the man smiles at him as if all is right in the world.

“Simon, hey man,” Thomas greets as he scratches the back of his neck. His scuffed knuckles don’t go unnoticed, but Simon doesn’t bother to mention the split skin. “How’s work?” 

“What do you want?” Simon deadpans. “Mum finally turn you away? Come to beg me for cash instead?” 

Whatever amicable persona Thomas attempts to wear quickly morphs into something more desperate at his little brother’s comment. He slumps forward, hands flat on the counter, and getting much too close for comfort. Simon can smell his breath; putrid, as if he has rotting flesh stuck in his teeth. 

“Come on,” he says, nearly begging. “I know it sounds bad, but I just… This is serious, alright? Look, I couldn’t tell mum ‘cause she’d freak the fuck out, but I-I owe some guys a bit of money, okay? They’re getting a little impatient with me.” 

A heavy presentiment hooks into Simon’s stomach, and then tugs with brutal force. Cracking his sore knuckles, he ignores it as he keeps his attention on his brother. 

“How much?” he questions. 

Sweating, Thomas’s eyes flicker throughout the shop, landing on everything but Simon. “I just need a couple hundred to keep them off my back for a while.” 

“That’s not what I asked you,” Simon snaps. “How much, Tom?” 

He swallows. “Seventy-five.”

“Hundred?” Simon pushes further. 

“Thousand.” 

Every muscle in Simon’s body turns to stone as he repeats that simple word in his mind over and over again. It’s an echo. One that threatens to crack his bones. He is well aware that his brother is an idiot—a dunce who can’t help but make choices that draw blood—but he never imagined he would get into this much trouble. Thomas still refuses to look at him, which gives Simon the time he needs to get his thoughts together and stay as level headed as possible, lest he worry Meara. 

“How the fuck did you manage that?” he asks, keeping his voice low. 

“That’s not important right now,” Thomas snaps, though he backs off when he notices just how sharp his brother’s glare is. “I-It’s a long story. Look, I can explain later, but right now I need you to help me. I think… I think they’re coming after me.”

“What do you mean, coming after you?”

A small bell rings with the opening of the shop door, and Thomas anxiously turns around to greet the two men like he knows them by their presence alone. As the men saunter inside, Simon catches himself memorizing their faces. He scrutinizes every detail until every angle of their faces is carved into his mind. They’re oddly well dressed, though their clothes are monochrome and dark. The sneers on their faces and the boredom in their eyes remind him of snakes. Forked tongues and sharp teeth—they grin like they enjoy blood and meat only for the smell of it. 

“Oh, Tommy,” one of the men taunts in a sing-song voice as he approaches. “You took us for a good chase, but time’s up.” 

“Look, I’m sorry man, I don’t have the money right now. Just give me another week,” Thomas pleads. 

“You’ve already used your extended week,” one of the men snarls. His biting words manage to make Meara squeak from behind Simon, and he hears her feet scrape against the floor as she hides in the back of the shop. “You know the rules. If you can’t pay with cash, then you pay with blood instead.” 

Trembling fingers brush against Simon’s arm as Thomas attempts to urge him to the back of the shop. “Get outta here,” he hisses with a pathetic squeak. “You don’t… you shouldn’t have to watch this.” 

For a moment, Simon is back in the ring again. Cheering voices echo off cement walls as he’s caged and forced to rage against another man. He’s never been scared before—not there with his arms raised and hands clenched into fists—but he’s scared now. All it takes for him to spring into action is a flash of silver and the searing glint of light along the sharp edge of a knife. 

The fight starts with Simon leaping over the counter followed by a crunch. Metacarpals and pebble-like bones twist and fracture beneath the crushing force of his grip, and the would-be-murderer in front of him squeals like a pig. Wrenching the pocket knife from his broken hand, he then drives his knee into the man’s gut. Air escapes between clenched teeth as the assailant drops to his knees where he clutches his stomach and dry heaves, spit dribbling from his mouth. 

All noise suddenly becomes muffled as Simon straightens himself out to face the other man. He cannot hear the cries of the crumpled man at his feet, nor his brother’s warning. It’s hard for him to hear anything at all when he’s staring down the barrel of a gun. 

Bracing himself, Simon charges toward the man as fast as he can. The distance is short, but it feels as if an eternity lies between their bodies before his elbow finally connects with a sputtering diaphragm. Both of them fall to the ground as a single, deafening gunshot rings throughout the shop. When he lands, he hits the ground hard, his shoulder taking a majority of the impact. Groaning, Simon rolls away from his attacker and pushes himself to his feet to prepare himself for a fight, yet the battle has already been won. 

Thomas’s creditor lies on the ground with a blade embedded into his stomach. It fits so snugly in his abdomen it’s as if the object has never known any other home. All the man can do is lie there with careful breaths as he tries to paw at the wound, but it’s deep. A large crevice that pierces through more than just skin. More than just muscle. Blinking, Simon looks down at himself with his stained jeans and reddened fingers. 

He just washed his hands. 

“Fucking… Jesus fucking Christ… Oh my god, Simon,” Thomas stutters. Wide eyes stare at the fading life on the ground, yet he doesn’t dare to bring himself closer to his almost-killer. “Simon, he’s gonna… He’s gonna fucking die. What do we- Jesus Christ, Simon your arm!” 

Hands begin to paw at him, but Simon can’t feel the pain. He can’t hear Meara’s trembling voice as she begs on the phone for an ambulance. There’s nothing. All he feels is the nervosity clawing at his chest while he watches the light flicker out of the eyes of the man on the floor. He can’t deduce what’s worse; the fact that he’s just killed a man, or the realization that taking a life is just as easy as butchering a pig? 

It’s a long afternoon at the hospital. It takes eight stitches to close up the flesh wound that nicked Simon’s shoulder, but speaking to the police is ten times more painful. The questions. The interrogating. They speak to him as if they think he’s already guilty—as if they can’t see the remorse rolling off of his shoulders in thick waves. He isn’t able to limp back into his apartment until close to midnight, and even then he’s still unsure if he’ll remain a free man. 

A murderer. That’s what he is now. Even with the torn flesh on his arm screaming at him that he would be a victim if it weren’t for his actions, he still feels the way that stranger’s blood sullied his hands. That was a life he took. A real, tangible life that used to breathe. Someone is dead because of him. Cold and stiff. Because of him. 

Then, in the midst of his self-deprecation, he remembers his brother. 

No—Thomas would have been the corpse. He still could be the corpse. Seventy-five thousand pounds is not easy to scrounge up—not when it’s worth more than an average salary. A dead man walking, Thomas only survived the day because Simon was there to take the hit. 

It takes Simon three minutes to search through his trash can. He claws at the old take out boxes and rotting food all to find the now stained card that was gifted to him over the weekend. Pasta sauce muddies the phone number scrawled across the otherwise pristine face, yet he can make out each digit clear enough to punch it into his phone. 

The line rings for so long that he fears no one will pick up, or that maybe he’s too late for this opportunity, but eventually the silky smooth voice of John Price bellows through the speaker. 

“Hello?” he greets. 

“Mr. Price, this is Simon Riley… Ghost. Is that job offer still on the table?”

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates | get early access to chapters here

[lil-dragon-rawr]

TOH x DC: One-Sided Identity Shenanigans

Cause like...the Owl House gang didn't bother to make secret identities

Part One, Part Two

Masterlist

Jason, finally finding an opportunity to talk to Vee alone during their volunteer shift: hi.

Vee, thinking he's going to blackmail and/or permanently silence her for figuring out his secret identity: *about to have a panic attack*

Jason: so I heard about vigilante bingo

Vee, who was expecting him to say something WAY different: ...huh?

Jason, continuing: I have it on good authority that Spoiler made a deal with Eda to help her win

Vee: ??? (when did Eda have time to talk to Spoiler???)

Jason: but personally I'm rooting for Luz

Vee, still processing the fact that she and Eda are now officially cheating:

Jason: also, expect the other vigilantes to start throwing their hat in the ring soon. They can be really competitive

Jason, patting her on the shoulder as he leaves: okay good talk

(Amity and Luz arriving at Barbara's apartment for girls' night)

Steph, answering the door with an evil glint in her eyes: oh, you must be Babs' new friends! I've heard so much about you >:D

(eventually, the topic switches to vigilantes, thanks to one meddling Steph)

Steph, trying to feed Lumity false information to stop them from getting more points in bingo: you know, I hear the only vigilante who's ever given out autographs is Spoiler

Barbara, also invested in bingo and trying to help her new sister win: *narrowing her eyes* don't listen to Steph, she doesn't know what she's talking about. Spoiler's never given an autograph before. Ask Red Hood

Steph, who knows Jason will absolutely give an autograph to Luz: *glares at Babs*

Luz, who doesn't know they know about the bingo cards: haha why would we want an autograph??

(Batfamily meeting in the cave)

Steph: well we can't all speedrun bingo!

Jason: oh yeah? Who's gonna stop me?

Steph: it was my idea to meddle! I can easily do all the tasks before you can!

Babs, trying to defuse the situation before someone catches a Batarang in the knee: okay, okay. What if we made rules about how much we can interfere?

Steph, still glaring at Jason: ...I'm listening

[THE RULES:

1. The party you aid cannot be aware that you're aiding them - it must appear to be coincidence.

2. You cannot outright say things such as "Got any ice cream around here?" to prompt challenge completion - the subject of the challenge must be brought up by the party you aid.

3. Failure to comply with the above rules results in penalties including, but not limited to, extra patrols, public humiliation, and death by disappointing Alfred. Penalties are decided by Batwoman based on the severity of the rule infraction.]

Gus, on his first day as a news anchor: well folks it looks like we've got some quality rogues active in central Gotham today!

Camera crew, concerned about this kid's apparent apathy towards dangerous criminals:

Gus "I Was The MC For My Friends' Gladiator Match Against The Actual Embodiment Of Fear" Porter: Two-Face just made a move on Gotham National Bank - but oh? What's this? *listening to his earpiece* the temperature is dropping, grab your coats everyone because Mr. Freeze is here for six more weeks of winter!

Kevin the Cameraman, whispering to his coworker Beth: actually I think he's perfect for this

Signal, out alone and having to deal with both Two-Face and Freeze: I cannot live laugh love in these conditions

Gus, ten yards away in front of a camera, glancing back at Signal and winking: *mouthing* I gotchu fam

Real Gus, lying in wait behind a building while Illusion Gus MCs: *traps Mr. Freeze in a mental purgatory of his worst nightmares as soon as Freeze walks by*

Mr. Freeze, suddenly screaming and collapsing: Nora, don't leave me!

Real Gus: oops might have reawakened some trauma there

Signal, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth: *punches a distracted Two-Face and hauls both him and Freeze back to Arkham* don't know what that guy did to Freeze but whatever works ig

Hunter: *enjoying a peaceful night on the balcony with Willow*

Robin, manifesting: woodcarver.

Hunter: ??? Hello???

Robin: I would like to carve a palisman.

Hunter, confused: *looking to Willow for support with the stabby child*

Willow: *thumbs-up*

Hunter, finally getting Robin to talk about his emotions: what do you care about?

Robin, lore dropping like there's no tomorrow: I was genetically engineered to be the perfect combination of my mother and father. Growing up, I was expected to be the heir to both their legacies as the Demon's Head and the Bat. I always thought I wanted to take up the mantle, but it feels like a burden instead of some great destiny.

Hunter, making a few connections: ...you were supposed to fill the role of someone else?

Robin: yes, that's what I just said

Hunter, smiling: me too!

Hunter: though for me I was genetically engineered to be a copy of my former uncle's brother. And I was supposed to serve that uncle as the Golden Guard

Hunter, having a moment: ...and then I found out he was lying about our family and that he was trying to commit genocide

Hunter, spiraling: ...and then I found all the masks of the former Golden Guards...

Hunter: ...and realized he killed them all every time they - we - betrayed him...

Robin:

Hunter: ...and then he killed Flapjack...

Robin, prepared to go to war: let us kill that imbecile for his crimes.

Hunter, appreciating the support: thanks, but it's already taken care of :)

Batman, approaching the Clawthornes: Eda.

Eda: Batman.

Batman, actually kinda trying to help: King is fourteen, correct?

Eda: what's it to you?

Batman: that would place him at the start of high school. It might be good for him to interact with kids his own age.

Eda, squaring up: don't tell me how to parent my kid!

Eda, immediately turning to King: do you wanna go to school?

King: hmm maybe, I don't really know how human schools work and don't want to deal with what Luz went through...

Batman, who has a fourteen year old who also doesn't want to deal with school (but has to anyway to keep up appearances): we could get you a student liaison to shadow. If you want, they could be informed of your situation so you have someone to talk to

King: ...yeah sure sounds interesting

King, approaching The Bingo Council that night: is Batman getting me into school considered an almost-adoption? Cause I feel like if Eda wasn't there he would've adopted me

Eda, crossing her arms: I vote no. Adoption has to go through me and we have to fight for custody

Gus, who wants a point: I argue yes. We all know Batman has an adoption problem and Eda openly challenged his parenting attempts

Vee, off to the side, twiddling her thumbs and wondering if Batman is one of the vigilantes involved in Bingo Interference:

King, walking into class on his first day and seeing the glowering student liaison that everyone seems afraid of: *squints*

Damian: *narrows his eyes, waiting to see what King does*

King: *sips his Starbucks suspiciously*

Current Standings for Vigilante Bingo:

Lumity:

Huntlow:

An argument was made for "have a vigilante crash through your window", but since Robin never technically went inside the apartment, it was vetoed.

Gus and King:

Gus was awarded the "be a hero" square for taking out Mr. Freeze. The council agreed that more effort needs to be made on the "almost adopted by Batman" front. Should Batman try again, King will receive the point.

Eda and Vee:

Vee stewed in silence for the entire council meeting for unknown reasons.

[alicedrawslesmis]

it seems to me pretty obvious that Tempest Within A Brain and Javert Derailed are mirrors of each other. One thing we notice about Valjean that may consist a flaw is that he's too introspective

These two thoughts [to escape men and to return to God] were so closely intertwined in his mind that they formed but a single one there; both were equally absorbing and imperative and ruled his slightest actions. In general, they conspired to regulate the conduct of his life; they turned him towards the gloom; they rendered him kindly and simple; they counselled him to the same things. Sometimes, however, they conflicted.

while Javert (we'll find this out later so no quotes yet) is a man who has trouble seeing below the surface. He abhors thinking and reflection and more practically in the end, he has trouble literally feeling Marius's pulse and understanding the things that can happen inside of a house? This is a genuinely incredible detail about him and about the concept of buildings in Hugolandia that building interiors sometimes physically manifest people's interiors. Javert does not know what happens inside of a home. Rather tragically I may add, because he never really had a "proper" one.

In Déraillé he is forced to look inwards and see he has a soul and a heart and is capable of kindness and of love and isn't just a pure representative of real world mundane law. He isn't made of stone no matter how much he may want to.

Here's from Fantine's arrest:

Javert up to that moment had remained erect, motionless, with his eyes fixed on the ground, cast athwart this scene like some displaced statue, which is waiting to be put away somewhere.[...] From time to time she paused, and tenderly kissed the police agent’s coat. She would have softened a heart of granite; but a heart of wood cannot be softened.

And here is from Derailed:

Terrible situation! to be moved. To be made of granite, and doubt! To be the statue of punishment cast all of one piece in the mould of the law, and suddenly to perceive that you have under your bronze bosom something absurd and disobedient, which almost resembles a heart!

Now for Valjean: He is faced here with a question impossible to be resolved kindly. Valjean represents divine goodness in the same way Javert represents the law. On the one hand, ignoring Champmathieu means saving the people of the town, maybe even Cosette, on the other, Champathieu will endure the 'artificial hell' in Valjean's place. There is no possible answer that leads to universal good. So Valjean makes the choice to sacrifice himself, suffer a symbolic (and later a false) death by turning himself in and then jumping onto the sea.

Like I said, it's important to understand that Les Mis is interested in symmetries. Beginnings that mirror endings, people who go toward evil and people who go toward good. Miners that work to change society and miners that work to undermine it. Paris above, the sewers below. "justice" and Justice. Hougoumont at Waterloo and the Barricade during the june rebellion.

This also got me thinking that the reason there's a certain kinship between Javert and Éponine is because they form an opposing pair with Valjean-Cosette. Valjean interacting with Montparnasse like Javert interacts with Marius, you know what I mean? It is absolutely no wonder a book full of cycles and mirrors has exactly 365 chapters, starts on a short little paragraph foreword and ends on a poem with the verse "Comme la nuit se fait lorsque le jour s'en va."

[shini--chan]

Yandere Paul Atreides - Hourglass

Word count: ~ 2,5K Summary: It is your own fault for taking a liking to Paul, but you never love him. Perhaps you are doing it because you love his mother as if she were your own sister, and this is why you are helping him reach clarity when it comes to his dreams. Pity that the whole thing just backfires on you when Paul realises that you’re saving him and his House through your actions. Trigger warnings: politics, manipulation, stalking, yandere behaviour Autor Note: Here is the Yandere Paul Atreides story I promised long ago. This can be seen as an isekai, doesn't have to be. I might turn it into a oneshot series.

If anybody asked you what your favourite place in the universe is, your answer would be Caladan. It was home after all. That was why you had come to detest Arrakis just as much as the honourable Duke Leto. Of course, it was more than apparent that the Duke couldn’t openly display his distaste; it would be a blow to morale. That being said, you had known the family for years, and the Atreides’ displayed it though longing for Caladan, for day long rains and fish and the lush continents.

The only seas here were those of sand and those were even more treacherous than the Caladanian oceans had been. Sandworms were also far more dangerous than any kraken or other creature of the deep, and spice more valuable. Your problem was that the greatest discomfort, danger even, didn't stem from the local fauna, the environment, or even the political machinations running their course in the background of everyday life.

The matter at head that was making your heart race and cursing you with sleepless nights, was a person and his name was Paul Atreides.

Which was why you were particularly wary about running around in the open. You had just finished attending to Lady Jessica, or to put it in better words, finished trying to convince her to allow you to end your tutorship to her son. Unsuccessfully, mind you. Your lady saw the close bond between you and Paul and cherished it. Besides, you were far too useful to let go, or to allow you to distance yourself in any way.

Turning your head left and right, you huffed and then scurry along the shadow in the corridor. Nothing stopped you and you felt yourself breath a bit easier. For such a pale young man, he was very apt at concealing himself. Something he now used to avoid your scornful gaze and pleas for him to stop following you everywhere. Not that any words of yours stopped him.

A few stray pebbles bounced as you hurried along and there was the quiet swish of your robes as the light cloth flared out. Other than that, there wasn't much sound from you. Servants were supposed to be seen at most, and not heard. The soles of your shoes cushioned your every step, ensuring that your steps themselves were silent. Thankfully, there wasn't anybody else around, so you didn't have to bother too much with decorum.

The rest of the staff was either tucked away in the cooler parts of the castle or station elsewhere in the unbearable heat. Of course, you would prefer the former yourself, yet you weren't master of your own fate here. There were rules of conduct between a noble and their subjects that both had to adhere to. Therein lay one of your problems.

Paul always liked to be too close for comfort. It was a habit of House Atreides to foster close connections with their servants and subjects. While it was all good and well that they saw their lessers as human, unlike so many of the other houses in the Known Universe, the Atreides heir was crossing lines. He was being invasive.

Before turning around a corner, you slowed to a halt and peaked around it. A valet disappeared around another corner just as you did so and you continued your harried journey to the landing bay. Since your position of strategy teacher was unofficial and unlisted as opposed to your job as handmaiden, you were going to play the official part more than usual. It was reasonable, seeing that the household was still only just settling in their new home. There was still a lot of work to be done - rooms had to be furnished, the warehouse stocked, the trunks unpacked…

Doing so would give you a chance and a reason to minimise contact with Paul until you had another chance to persuade his mother to put you out of harm's way. You didn't graduate as an intelligence officer and land yourself with dignified employment in House Atreides only to be pursued by a boy that had only just become an adult. You just had to make sure that he didn’t catch wind of your intentions to distance yourself from him. If you didn’t, he would probably find a way to be even more on your case than he already was, if that was even humanly possible.

The lift that led to the landing bay just a few metres away when a hand shot forth to grab you. Hyperreactive reflexes allowed you to duck before any conscious plan could even register. You turned on your heels as you automatically fell into a low fighting stance. In order to put enough force behind your punch, you put your whole torso in the movement. You were rewarded with a clean sucker punch and the grunt that your would-be assailant let out.

However, unlike the usual person, he didn't allow himself to be stunned. Even as he choked on his next breaths, he delivered a swift kick to your sternum with a steel toed boot. So in turn, you were winded as well. While it didn’t knock you heels over kettle, it did make you stumble back a few steps. Eyes stayed on your opponent, and when he stepped out of the shadows of the servant nooks, you got a good look at your attacker.

Paul had the linen attire that he usually wore these days - heat isolating and flowing to allow swift movement. Yet there still was embroidery that marked him as noble and a pride to his countenance that couldn’t be framed as youthful arrogance. What’s more, he didn’t leave you any time to recover and body slammed you into the opposite wall. The both of you stayed quiet for a few minutes. You shot Paul a glare. If he thought that you were that close, then two could play a game.

Once it was clear that this interaction wouldn't be interrupted, he hissed at you: “Where have you been? I’ve been searching for you everywhere!”

You adjusted your position as much as his grip on your waist would allow you, just a bit so that you were a smidgen more comfortable. Then you huffed at him. “I was attending to Lady Jessica, as I was expected to.”

Of course, that wasn’t completely true. As soon as the chance had presented itself, you had slipped from Paul’s watchful eye. Naturally, he thought that you were completely insolent to slip from his side without his approval.

“We’ve discussed this time and time again. Since the Harkonons are this close…”, he snapped at you, and released you to hold up his dominant hand in front of your face. His thumb and middle finger were nearly touching. “... to enacting their plan to overthrow House Atreides. You know this, and yet you go galavanting around as if this is a mountain meadow back in Caladan. If I didn’t know better, I would say you have been the spy all along. Did you really forget about the hunter-seeker that went for the kill just a few days ago.”

“Your dreams have become more vivid?”, you inquired instead of coming up with any further excuse. That would be just as futile as whispering in the wind.

Paul sagged a fraction. It wasn’t enough for a stranger to notice, yet you had known Paul for too long for it to escape you. It was a damn shame that the haggard look that anxiety granted him, suited him.

“Yes”, he affirmed softly. Then he straightened up again. A look to the right, a look to the left, and then he seized your wrist and dragged you to the servant's nook from where he had ambushed you earlier. Since there was a small bench hewn in the wall, you took the chance to sit down - your chest still ached from where Paul had kicked you and breathing could be easier. Unluckily, it meant that you were knee-to-knee, side-to-side with Paul.

“The dreams have been becoming so vivid and clear that they have been bleeding into my waking hours. Mother hasn’t been of much help, and just sees it as confirmation that I’m the Kwsatitz Haderach.”

Without invitation or prompting, he lay his head on your shoulder. While you flinched for a second, you made no move to push him away. That could be interpreted as an insult and was volatile enough already.

“Sometimes I praise you and curse you in the same breath. All that you said was true, and all my dreams are clearer now because of that. Yet they are now sometimes so clear that I mistake them for the occuring present. Every thread of a possible future is ladened with death and destruction, and there are only a handful of narrow paths that don't lead to a future where we all die. How can I be still and passive when I know of such things?”

You gave him an awkward pat on the back. It was your fault that he was like this, and you were torn between regret and resignation and a third emotion that you couldn't name. When Paul had told you of his dreams, you had explained to him that dreams were messages from the deep. The human subconscious had a fuller grasp on reality than the consciousness and therefore the warnings brought forth in the forms of dreams shouldn't simply be ignored.

He had taken your advice to heart, and had opened himself to the wisdom that oversimplified conscious thought couldn't comprehend due to its magnitude and complexity. Then, a few days prior he had stormed into your room without fanfare, awaking you with his loudness, and had gone on a disjointed rant about the Harkonons and how they couldn't be trusted to be moral or honourable or stick to legality and that everyone was in danger.

It had taken him long enough to calm down, especially since the spice in the air had only fueled his continuing premonitions. Eventually, when he had been coherent enough again, he had echoed a lesson you had taught him long ago. That humans rarely operated on cold logic and that even the highest emperor was a creature guided by passion and fear. Logic was used to justify emotions, and therefore politics could never be clean.

So much destruction lay ahead, because one man feared losing even just a smidgen of his jealously guarded power.

It had surprised you to learn that he had listened may back then, though that had been quickly replaced by the desperation that infused everyone of his following action. It reminded you that no matter how well-educated and well-read he was, he still was a sheltered youth at the end of the day. All dreams paled in comparison to lived reality - this was a quiet crisis that never had a place in the adventures he had daydreamed about.

The ducal heir wound an arm around your waist and buried his face in your neck. Paul relaxed just as you tensed.

“Panicking would be counterproductive now. It is in panic that people make the most severe mistakes”, you cautioned him. He hummed in agreement and pulled you closer to him as if to comfort. You let him because what choice did you have. Despite all the sweet words, there was a wide gap in power between the two of you. 

“Stay by my side all the time, then I’ll have a clear and calm mind.”

Your movements were wooden when you lay an arm over the back of his shoulders. As fond as you were of him, you never had loved him so his insistence on closeness was uncomfortable. When should you have drawn a line in the sand? When he was in awe of your knowledge and experience? Or when he used the just small age gap between the two of you to establish a friendship? It wasn’t regarded as an anomaly at the time, since he was close with his other mentors. 

“You know that wouldn’t work very well. People that don’t already know that I’m training in intelligence will become suspicious. And it is not like Duke Leto and Lady Jessica would let me stick to your side the whole time”, you countered. 

He already insisted that the two of you share the same bed and it was a boon when he allowed you to shower alone. It made you think that it wasn’t all about safety, as he claimed when you became stern. For one, he seemed to enjoy the close proximity with you too much. 

Paul separated himself for you and then grabbed you by the hand. Soft lips pressed lightly against the insides of your wrist, directly over the veins and arteries. You took deep breaths to prevent yourself from ripping your arm out of his grasp. 

“Both of those arguments are invalid, so that is besides the point. Your appearance doesn’t hint at your true skills and lets people underestimate you. They’ll find ways to justify the changes in both our behaviour, without them coming close to the truth. Humans hate being wrong, so they won’t alter their assessment of the situation to match the truth”, he chided you. 

“If that is the case, then it was counterproductive of you to ambush me. Somebody could have seen us. Keep in mind that I’m talking about unfriendly eyes.”

The free hand reached up and with featherlight fingertips he traced your hairline. 

“Yes, I know. It was just a reminder to keep your guard up. And to not get ahead of yourself - I did overpower you, didn’t I?”

“My Lord is the exception rather than the rule. Your father didn’t neglect your education, and did ensure that you only got the best teachers.”

“That is true, otherwise he wouldn’t have given me you”, he countered. 

You sighed softly and dared to give him a direct glance. The young man was more relaxed now and calmer. The calm before the storm, mayhaps? He laid down your hand in his lap and those softened eyes hardened and his next words had a cold quality to them. 

“The Harkonnens won’t show any mercy or let you live under any circumstances. Even if you would succeed in convincing my mother and my father to let you go, then you wouldn’t get far. You wouldn’t get aboard a spaceship, because you can’t afford a price. The Spacing Guild doesn’t just let anybody join their crews on short notice, so you would be dead before they would even hire you. Going alone into the desert is a death sentence and you would have no guarantee that the Fremen would draw you in the fold, aside from draining you for your water. 

“It is completely unlike you to not maintain a level head in a stressful situation. That is only more reason for you to kindly cease your attempts of running away and heed my guidance.”

The wad of saliva went down with difficulty. Were you so obvious to him, or was it prescience speaking? Was the rumour mill to blame? Either way he was right - you were stuck in the same boat as him and the Harkonons would either kill you or enslave you or both. Trying to remove yourself from the situation would mean making yourself more vulnerable and would invite predators in for the chase. Your fate lay in his hands and by the looks of it, he intended to keep it forever and chain you to his side. 

What should you do? 

[shukraastro]

what will jk and his fs wedding be like?

Wedding falls under big social gatherings and social events which is represented by the 11th house which is also 5th from the 7th house. He has Libra in his 11th house and has Mars placed there in Swati Nakshatra (Rahuvian) which tells us that his wedding will possibly take place in foreign lands and coastal area (Rahu's influence), somewhere very beautiful and with a romantic atmosphere (Libra's influence). Yet a very hot and rocky place and the local people of that place or even the guests could be very hot headed, passionate and carry Martian energy.

Libra's ruler Venus is in Chitra which tells us furthermore that the location could be somewhere where sea shells and pearls can be found a lot and a very prestigious place. But also a place which has great artistic architechture since Chitra is strongly linked with ancient greek architecture with ornates which could be temples with columns. The decorations could also be sparkly or pearlescent since Chitra symbolizes a pearl/jewel, it could be decorated in an oceanic and ancient classical theme with Saturn aspeting from the opposing side in Revati. The sign in which Venus is placed in Virgo, tells us that the place also has lots of green land and farms and is linked with natural medicine and herbs (talking of the region/city it takes place in). Venus being placed 12 house away from the 11th house tells us that a lot of expenses will be spent on the wedding to foreign lands. So it will be very well organized, luxurious and beautifully decorated.

Swati's ruler Rahu is placed in Leo Purva Phalguni in the 9th house, which tells us that the wedding location could actually have a Temple somewhere near by and it could have been ruled by Kingdoms in the past and been a very fertile region. Also that the place has a very romantic and artistic nature and is well known as a vacation spot, since Purva Phalguni is strongly linked with vacations. It could also be a place which many artists/performers visit or concerts/events are held frequently. It could also be a vacation type of trip for his family, exploring a new place and new culture. It's most probably going to be during summer time (July/August). It can possibly take place by the beach side and hosted by a luxurious hotel.

To sum up: foreign lands with rocky hills yet green and a coastal area, has classical architecture and temples, ruled by ancient kingdoms, well known as vacation and festival spots. By all these traits it could be in a Mediterranean country for example:

Turkey - Antalya, Izmir, Bodrum, Didyma

Greece - Santorini, Mykonos, Crete, Rhodes

Italy - Amalfi, Sicily, Tuscany, Rome

Further planets sitting along with Rahu in the 9th house, Mercury, Sun and Moon it tells us that the wedding will be a culturally mixed gathering filled with feelings of pride and emotions. Mercury in the 9th house, lots of various languages could be spoken at the wedding and even the music could be in various languages and very romantic themed with Purva Phalguni but with Moon in Magha also classical, cultural, nostalgic or old school music could be played. With the Sun in Purva Phalguni in the 9th house it tells us that a very theatrical and foreign/cultural performance could be held with music and dance, like out of a Bollywood movie. His Lilith is also present in the same house in Purva Phalguni in an exact conjunction with Rahu, this could indicate that the place is well known for beautiful women/feminine beauty in general, or is associated with a beautiful yet feared and hypnotic feminine figure symbolically. Btw forgot to mention in other readings: For Rahu in the 9th house, since the 9th house derived represents her 3rd house of cousins also (besides the siblings), she could have foreign/mixed-raced cousins or cousins who live in various foreign countries and speak multiple languages or have step/adoptive cousins, they could also be very unique and non-traditional with Rahu's influence.

As for the guests, it could be mostly siblings, cousins and very close friends attending. For both of them (Jungkook and his future spouse) mother and father will be present, but with Rahu it tells us that the maternal grandparents could also be present. Rahu represents Maternal grandparents and Ketu represents Paternal grandparents and we only have Rahu here. Generally for both of them the maternal side of their families could be dominant in number.

I hope this was helpful. 🌺

[honey-bitch]

Albert Einstein Birth Chart Analysis (#1 smarty pants series)

As the lovely @rinakateoenfnf suggested I will be starting a new series ananlysing the birth charts of the smarty pants of our world and seeing how their chart played into their life.

What I first noticed about his chart is that his ascendant is directly conjunct the fixed star Sirus at 0 degrees. This could potentially mean that he had a fated purpose in this lifetime and was made to create and innovate.

His chart ruler is in the 6th house in Saggitarius, and it only has one aspect, a trine to Aries Venus. This tells me that this mad was LIT. There's an innate desire to innovate and create is while in this house. It's also at 14 degrees which is ruled by taurus so this could have made him quite relaxed.

His Venus is at 16 degrees in the 10th house and he's publicly beloved figure, especially since it's at a cancer degree which could indicate him being quite needy.

His mercury is conjunct Saturn in aries, this is an interesting combo to have being that Saturn is in it's fall here but I think it counteracts all the jupiter energy going on and can really ground him and make him super duper precise to what he wants to do. Especially since mars is in capricornnn. However Saturn is also where you're rejected and shunned from and in his case it did manifest as dyslexia.

Sun in pisces in the 9th house very much an explorer and wanted to delve deep into matters and get lost in them. Also this brings the idea of how he wasn't an athetist which is surprising being with the nature of the field he worked in. But was an atheist.

The 9th house is the house of God and with the sun being in there in pisces, it really did manifest itself as that.

It's also very much piscian for him to be anti war, although he has a stellium in aries, I think his Capricorn mars guided him to know that it wasn't viable for him to support the axis. Especially as mars is in a gemini degree (very smart).

He also has north node in Aquarius and that may perhaps say that he was destined to have some profound affect in science, and with it being in the 8th house and Saturn being in Aries it does speak to his involvement in the Manhattan project.

This is quite a short reading but still very interesting, as truthfully I don't know much about Einstein. Anyways I hope u guys like it and I do offer paid birth chart readings on my page . If you want to check it out.

[smoresasaur]

So my Tokyo debunker fans.. how we feeling about the new crests that they just released.

I do have a small thing to say regarding the news crests. That each character is being represented some how some way in them.

But first the new crests.

So how we feeling?

I love the new Darkwick seal. It looks very pretty.

Onto the fun bit!

Frosthiem has on their new updated crest

Everyone would assume Jin is represented by either the Crown or the snowflake. Due to him being the ice king I also think this represents him

The chess piece would represent Tohma. It is the rook which symbolizes strength and stability.

Lucas would be the crossed over swords as that is quite literally the artifact he obtained when he transferred.

I would like to say that Kaito is represented by the Fleur de lis. It is a French symbol represented purity and innocence.

Vagastorm I feel like has a similar issue. But all of them all in the same spot.

The bird has a shield and a chain.

I assume the chain would fit in well with Alan due to his juvie days.

Sho would be represented by the shield as he seems like the protector.

And Leo would be the bird itself. Tethered in to the group with a connection to both.

This is the one crest where I couldn't find an element for each character involved. Within looking at it for so long.

Jabberwock's new design sucks ass. I say this as I fucking love Jabberwock's old crest and Jabberwock as a whole.

Haru would likely be represented by the actual contents on the crest. The bunny, the sunflower and the windmill. The bunny with Agility, trickery (lock picking), and vulnerability. Sunflowers represented strength, good fortune, admiration and loyalty. And windmills represent transformations, energy and the balance of nature with human ingenuity.

Towa would likely be represented by the clover. Naturally luck is what comes to mind and faith.

Sinostra my darling it is now your turn to be analyzed for well.. existing.

Taiga would be easily bunched in with the skull being impaled by a dagger.

Romeo could be represented due to his fall from grace and his wealth with the crown. A sign of some royalty even if just being higher up then the rest in the way they are.

Ritsu could be represented by the four cards suits. An order. Due to him having the laws as his back up he is very by the book. (Maybe a small reference to Alice in Wonderland and all her little rules due to The Queen of Hearts likely not but let me be delusional)

Hotarubi would be hard to find one. I struggled to find Zenji and Haku until I stared at it for a solid five minutes with coffee.

Subaru would be the red crowned crane. Not a green pheasant the national bird.

Why so the neck and tail feathers better represent this bird. Longevity and immortality. Longevity due to his name being famous and Immortality for his well being able to look back on objects.

Haku could be represented by the flower which looks pretty close to a hibiscus to me which is personal power, fame and glory.

Both Haku and Subaru's could actually be switched. Both can suit the characters well and do it's job.

Zenji could be represented by the harsh line dividing the two. Showing the divide of life and death.

Obscuary was the easiest one that I could tell would be represented by who and what.

The shield represents how unprotected they are. They are the main house to go out on dangerous missions where there is a higher probability the ghouls wouldn't make it back.

Edward would be represented by the cross. Due to him being a Vampire and showing weakness to this.. it sort of funny.

Rui would be represented by the roses that adorned it. His care for the plants and the right one specifically looks like it is wilting.

Lyca would be represented by the moon. Also a bit obvious but alas.

The final house we have Mortkranken.

Yuri would be represented by both the snake and the scales. The scales with a fair thing to make decisions. But both together represent a symbol in medical Caduceus which is a symbol of life or the Rod of Asclepius as it is a singular snake.

Jiro would be represented by the top of the crests. The hourglass to represent how time is ticking for his medicine and his memory.

Thank you

I am sad I couldn't find a representation of Ren.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Husk: Yeah..... So we're gonna duck out and go get ready to make it at Ozzie's.

They left and Lucifer didn't know why but he felt put out. They had a great day and now this? Maybe he could get into this place and celebrate with them.

From a distance.

-

Turns out Ozzie's is a couple's only restaurant and the guy at the door is a real asshole about the rules.

Lucifer: Couples huh?

-

Adam sat on his couch, he felt extra depressed tonight and he didn't know why. Maybe because he was all alone, Lilith had taken to staying with her brother at night.

Abel was over at a friend's house.

And Adam was here, alone with his cereal and crappy rom com series.

Tv character: Why won't you love me Alejandro!?

Adam: That's a mood Gabriella.

He munched his cereal sadly, it made him think of Lucifer a little bit.....

Then his phone rang and it was Lucifer, Adam nearly choked.

Adam: Hello?

Lucifer: Yeah, hi Adam, I know it's late but are you busy?

Adam blinked, he looked around his empty home: No? Why?

Lucifer: There's this restaurant, didn't you want to join me?

Adam flushed: Are ..... Are you asking me out on a date, Luci?~

Lucifer: I.... Yeah I guess I am. How fast can you get to Lust?

Adam was already picking out an outfit: I can be there in twenty! See you soon.~

His heart did happy flips, he was so excited he hasn't been on a date....... Ever really.

The light in his life

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

Adam groaned as he finally woke up from another barely restful sleep. He sat up and ran a hand through his short, chocolate locks tiredly before sitting up and getting out of bed. His mind and body went into autopilot as he took a shower, cleaned his face and teeth, and took his medication before finally donning a robe and heading downstairs to get some breakfast.

He automatically grimaced as he heard his wife's laughter before he even entered the kitchen. He saw Lilith pacing as he animatedly talked to a friend on the phone. However, her face stained when she noticed his presence.

She turned her back on him and continued her chat. Adam felt his irritation stir within him as he grabbed a mug and poured some coffee in it.

Abel: Morning Dad!

His lips pulled upwards at the sound of his seventeen-year-old. He turned around and saw his son eating on the marble counter. His smile doubled as soon as he saw Abel's.

Adam: Morning bud.

He went to sit down next to him and try to enjoy his morning with his son. Keyword, tried. He was just about to read the paper when he was barraged by Lilith.

Lilith: Well, I'm off I'll be gone for the majority of the day, but I'll be back here around four thirty or so to pick you up. When I get back, I want you both in your suits got that?

Abel: Yes mom.

Abel replied before going back to his breakfast. Adam sat there confused, however, picking him up and Abel to where?

Adam: Um Lilith where we are going tonight?

Lilith pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed heavily: Adam I thought I told you this already. Tonight is the company party.

Adam: No, that's not right the company's anniversary isn't until a few months from now.

She narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms: No, this is the anniversary of when your parents' company and my parent's company merged. Don't you remember? Because before that little contract was sealed another contract was sealed between us.

Adam knew exactly what she was getting into, she was talking about their marriage. About seventeen years ago Lilith's parents were having a rough patch with their own company. Even if their business was still lucritive in certain areas.

They decided to get help from Adam's parents, and they said that they could simply merge their companies as one. That way they would all still have rights to them as one day their children would too.

However, there was only one way for a merge such as this to happen. One minute Adam was being introduced to a beautiful girl the next he was standing at the altar saying I do. What made it even worse was that they were only eighteen at the time.

No, the worst possible outcome is being married to this beautiful yet cynical creature. At least there was one small yet noticeable light that came from this, Abel.

Adam was pulled out of his thoughts by his wife snapping her sharp, well-manicured fingers in his face.

Lilith: Ahem, as I was saying since this is our "family" company party Jr. is allowed to attend. But I want you to make sure he stays on his best behavior for the ENTIRE evening. Is that clear?

Adam: Crystal.

Lilith: Good, then I'm off.

Adam's hardened gaze followed her retreating form as she left. Not even bothering to at least say goodbye to their son. Adam started to take in big gulps of his drink, trying to ready himself for the day.

--

Adam downed yet another glass of champagne trying to keep himself busy as he watched the guests mingle about. Abel was not that far away talking to a few of the employees' children. Though Abel tended to be on the shyer side his friendly character always brought others to him.

Adam: (mutters) At least you're having a good time.

The sound of a familiar voice drew Adam's attention to Lilith.

Adam: (mutters): And so are you.

She wasn't that far from him yet didn't take any note or acknowledgment of him there. Or maybe she did, and she simply didn't care. Adam however did take notice in the topic she and her friends were discussing.

Him.

Despite everything in him screaming to walk away he got a little closer to them and listened closely.

Stella: So, tell me darling what is he like in bed? Is he at least desirable then?

Lilith: Ugh, don't make me laugh he is HORRENDOUS under the sheets. It's like he has no idea what to even do with it. And it was one thing back before he started taking those damn happy pills. Because at least then he wasn't bad to look at. Now every single time I have to lay with him it's like a walrus is trying to squash me!

Her friend let out a haughty laugh: Oh, I can't even imagine the horror of that brute naked let alone actually bedding someone.

Lilith: What makes it worse is that he practically has breasts now. Breasts Stella! But that's not even the absolute most dreadful part of being married to him.

Stella: Oh? What is then?

Lilith: I have to do all the work! I run his company; I run the house, and he even wants me to run him ragged in the sheets!

Stell: (gasps) You're not suggesting-

Lilith: Yup! From the very beginning, he had me do all the work while he lay there on his back like a log. A true bore and pathetic excuse for a human being. I'm glad I only had to birth one child so I could stop pretending to want to bed him.

The rest of the conversation was drowned out as stared down at himself. A hand going to his extended waistline and grimacing. He really had let himself go hadn't he?

Retracting the hand back he used it to scrub over his face in an attempt to stop the tears from flowing. Instead, he decided to find something stronger than champagne to drown himself in.

[sentientstump]

goodbye waynehouse, i have a job now

[awesomebutunpractical]

See, on one hand, Ford seems like the type who'd remember most of the weirdness he encountered in the multiverse. Even if it was just another Thursday for him, he'd at least have notes. But I have this horrible villain who'd absolutely seethe if Ford had no real idea who he was. You see my dilemma?

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

Friday the 13th in the middle of December....... ideal Nightmare Before Christmas viewing time methinks :3

[magnusmodig]

ovo whispers menacingly abt his grandstanding .

[kay9leo]

Tectonic Plates - Time Travel AU

I saw this post and it made me think of something.

Okay, so going back to the idea of Iñaki being an accidental time traveler stuck in 1890 and seeing a picture of Sebastian's lookout point in Feldcroft made me thing of something funny. Iñaki being from the future (late naught/2000s) knows about tectonic plates might mention on an off comment as a fun fact about the Highlands...of and it isn't until after she starts explaining to Sebastian about Tectonic plates....she realizes she runs into a new problem being stuck in the past.

(From my "A New York Yankee in Hogwarts' Courtyard, 1890" AU).

Iñaki: ...In fact, the Appalachian Mountains were once part of the same mountain ranges as the Scottish Highlands. It's the reason why a number of Scot-Irish immigrants settled in that region - aside from the cheap land, the place reminded them of home like what you see here in the Highlands. 🤓 *Iñaki smiles as she stares at the scenery* it also reminds me of home when I would go on hikes by the Hudson River. 🥹

Sebastian: Huh, that makes sense. 🤔 So in what year did this Alfred Wegener made this theory? 🧐🤓

Iñaki: He proposed the theory in 19- 😃😐🫤 *Freezes when she realizes she's about to spoil a future event (Alfred Wegener proposed the theory in 1912)* ...or was 25 years ago...umm...I'm not sure...I tend to forget small details like that after an exam hahah....🙃😅😓

Sebastian: *knowing Iñaki doesn't forget small details*🤨

....

Years later after Iñaki has mysteriously vanished (and Sebastian was unable to find her despite his best efforts) in the Year 1912, a 37 year old Sebastian reads the muggle newspaper and finds an article about the new Tectonic Plate theory.

Sebastian: How is this news? 🤨 Iñaki told me about the guy being in her his...tory....exam....wait a minute! 😶😐🫤😳

...

Meanwhile in the future:

Iñaki: Why do I get the feeling I need to go back in time and obliviate Sebastian? 😑

...

Meanwhile in the year 1912:

Sebastian: Ominis I'm telling you, Iñaki didn't go missing! She's from the future! My best friend still alive somewhere out there! 😃🤩 She told me about Alfred Wegener and tectonic plates before it was a thing!

Ominis: I thought we agreed she was secretly a seer! That makes more sense then for her to be a TIME TRAVELER! 😩Sebastian, this is the opposite of making peace with her disappearance! 😤🥺😢

Sebastian: She's Time Traveler! That's why we could never find her nor find any records of her in the States! 🤩

Ominis: Why would a time traveler even want to meet us? You're overthinking it Sebastian! 😩

Sebastian: She also said to not get on some ship called the Titanic. Remember how it sank earlier in the year? Back in April? She's a time traveler! 🤩

Ominis: Sebastian please.😩SHE. IS. SECRETLY. A. SEER! 😭

[followerofmercy]

Networking/Knowing A Guy: A Guide

This is the autism website. Now, as an extension of the power of love and friendship, there are few things more useful than Knowing A Guy. Knowing A Guy means you have a support network. Knowing a plumber, or a tax accountant, or just that one dude that's really fucking good at finding the information you need when you're really overwhelmed, can be the difference between being able to pay rent and having a fun party with friends to fix your shit.

How does one end up Knowing A Guy? It's a skill you can develop called Networking and it is one of the foundations of society. Unfortunately making those connections with people is fucking hard and nobody makes a tutorial for it. So, here you go:

The golden rule is you scratch my back and I scratch yours

It is necessary for survival to seek out useful people

Great news! Everyone is useful in some form or fashion - including you! When given the opportunity to learn about someone, do it! Extroversion does not come naturally to some people and that's okay. Just take whatever falls in your lap.

Types of usefulness: trade skills, connections of their own, personality you jive with, pleasant to talk to, niche interest in shared hobby, security - the list is pretty much endless. I know a guy that lives in the metro area - no job, no major hobbies, inoffensively annoying to me personally, kinda ignorant, not attractive to me, but you know what? He knows how the fuck to get around the city by foot. My rural-raised ass APPRECIATES the guide.

Remember important information: general personality, background, skillset, likes and dislikes. You can find this information by making smalltalk about their life. There is no such thing as pointless conversation. (Yes, even the annoying smalltalk)

The more people you know, the higher the likelihood that one of them will be useful in a given situation - or will know someone who is.

It is overwhelming. In a given clique/community/workspace/whatever, there is A Guy Who Knows The Other Guys. This Guy is a shortcut. Find them. They're often elderly, extroverted, a little bit annoying, a secretary or in some otherwise forward-facing position. Look for people that are gossipy/talk about other people a lot but not in negative ways. If they constantly talk shit, they'll talk shit about you too. They're still useful but be careful with the information you share

You do not have to like someone for them to be useful.

You do not have to like someone for them to be useful.*

If you have low self esteem, you're going to feel like you're using people. You're not. That's the devil talking. People like feeling valued and the connections you are making are the threads holding community together. Recognize people for their talents. It's only a problem when you're taking advantage of people

So: don't feel scummy about it. You're an animal. You have to claw out your right to survive and people will respect you more for it.

Luckily mutualism is the name of the game in the animal kingdom. Offer something back. The foundation of a Know A Guy relationship is Mutual Benefit

Sometimes that Mutual Benefit is just spreading news of the The Guy far and wide. My plumber friend is my actual friend and I love her to death, but I'm maintaining our backscratch relationship by pimping out her plumbing business to anyone that'll listen

Food is a good Mutual Benefit. People across cultures for all of human history have bonded over food. I have good success asking people for a favor and then offering to buy them lunch in return **

General compensation is also good. Offer a service in return and always do your best to offer financial compensation as appropriate. Having your plumber friend take a look at your drain: doable with a case of beer. Having your plumber friend redo the pipes in your entire house? You need to pay for that.

Being transactional is not necessarily a bad thing. I would advise against keeping an itemized list of things owed, but fish don't seek out cleaner shrimp just because they enjoy their company. Everyone gets something

Unfortunately being extroverted and generally personable is a huge benefit here, but that's the value of the Guy That Knows A Guy. There's someone out there that has consolidated All The Guys so you don't have to be the local expert. Always remember nobody can do everything and you don't need to master every skill

* This is the foundation of a functioning community. I have many acquaintances that I find incredibly annoying. They include doctors, welders, artists, social workers, lawyers, construction crew and random fuckers at the grocery store. I do not hang out with them. I do not have to in order to maintain a civil Know A Guy relationship. I can drop them useful tidbits and fuck right off so I don't have to spend any more time than necessary with them

** People may assume romantic intent. Be prepared for that. I generally denote that it's a friendly/work lunch by calling them bro at some point if they're my age. Otherwise my general demeanor is sufficient to show that I do this with everyone

Source: personal experience, mother's teachings of crime, booth vending and poverty