#when they could just. talk about how they like the thing without that qualification? and I feel like...

[musical-chick-13]

I'm the LAST person to suggest that you have to preface every single comment you make about a character/fictional relationship/etc. you like with a reminder that you Know™ it's pRoBLeMaTiC, but I DO question what the point of acting genuinely for real like there were no problems is.

[faaun]

WARNING: The penalty for trespassing on the railway is £1000.

[inkskinned]

no, but really, we need to talk about the casual objectification that has become the fallback discourse of the internet: if you're pretty and dressed nicely, you're a slut. and if you're even vaguely outside of their body standard, you're fucking disgusting.

too-frequently, people position sex workers as being "the problem". they sneer you're addicted to pornography, you don't know what a real woman looks like. but real women are in pornography. the real bodies on display are not the issue here: the issue is that other people feel extremely confident when commenting on someone's physique.

2000's super-thin is slowly worming its way back into the public ideal. recently i saw someone get told to "go for a run", despite the fact she was on the thinner side of average. not that it would ever be appropriate to say that: but it's kind of like sticker shock when you see it. people think that is fat? holy shit. do they just have no idea about things?

but what are you going to do about it? that's the problem, right. because chances are - you're a normal person. we can say normalize carrying fat on your body, but we are not the billion-dollar diet industry. we are not the billion-dollar fashion industry. we are just, like. people. who are trying to make content on the internet, without being treated shittily.

as someone who has been on both sides of things: you are treated better when you are thin and pretty. this is statistically correct. i am not saying that you cannot be bullied for being thin; i'm saying there are objective institutional biases against certain bodytypes. there are videos of men and women who lost weight all saying: i now know for a fact exactly how much worse you're treated. in the comments, some asshole inevitably says something akin to you deserved to be dehumanized when you were fat.

which means that ... the easiest thing to do is be pretty and thin. it is the path of least resistance, because of course it is, because any time you post a picture of yourself without a thigh gap, someone immediately comments something like you need to try a diet.

the other half is also dehumanizing though, huh, just in a different way. when i put on makeup and nice clothes, i am told i slept my way to the top as a professional. do you know how many women in STEM have told me they purposefully dress to "unimpress" because they already struggle to be taken seriously and if they're ever considered pretty - it for some reason takes away from their authority.

so they make it seem like it's your fault. you, existing in a body - it's your fault! if you didn't want shitty comments, don't have a body. they position us against each other like chess pieces; vying for male attention we don't even need.

and i can be an authority on this unless you think i'm fat and unattractive. when i am pretty and thin, i'm an activist. when i am just a normal person who makes a good point: i am immediately dismissed. nobody fucking believes you if you're not seen as attractive. you literally lose value. you cease to exist.

but the whole time, it feels like - is anyone actually grounded the fuck in reality? the line of "pretty and thin" keeps shifting. nobody seems to understand what "a normal weight" even looks like, because it's not something that exists - you cannot tell a person's health by looking at their body. even if you think you could tell that, even if you're sure a person is dangerously overweight - people are not your dolls. they do not need to be dressed up or displayed properly to soothe your aesthetics. you aren't concerned for them, you're stealing their agency. you don't get to say if they're "allowed" to take pictures and post them on the internet - you don't get to tell them how to exist.

people hide behind "the obesity epidemic" without any actual qualifications. they crow things about "normalizing unhealthiness".

but it's bullshit. i have visible abs. there is a pair of parallel lines on my body, even when i'm relaxed; where my obliques meet my abdominal wall. i am proud of this because it means i'm strong, because i overcame an eating disorder only to be ripped as fuck. it is genetic and physical luck that i even get any definition, i'm pleased as punch.

but it does mean that my abdominal wall sticks out a little bit. the other day i posted a video of myself dancing, and, for a moment, my shirt slipped. you could see a little bit of my stomach. i was cartwheeling to the floor. moments before this, i'd had my foot over my head.

a guy slid into my DMs. a row of vomiting emojis prefaced: you should really lose some weight before you think about dancing.

i stared at it for a long time. there was a time when i would have been triggered by this, where it would have encouraged me to starve myself. i would have ignored the fact i'm flexible, agile, good at jumping: i would have lost the weight for a stranger's passing comment. i would have found myself and my body fucking disgusting.

and for what? to please what? because why? so that he can exist in this world without an unchallenged eyeball? what would my self-hatred even accomplish? usually i write paragraphs. obviously. on this particular occasion, in this body i've been at war with for ages: i just felt exhausted.

it shouldn't be even worth saying. it shouldn't be hard to explain. all of this emotional turmoil when he cannot even comprehend the most basic truth: i am not an object on display for him.

[yestrnight]

how much do I have to pay for svarog sex 😊

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ DILF ROBOT FUCKERZ !

FROM: svarog / afab! reader

SUBJECT: the underground of belobog is a cruel, dark place where it's a competition of the fittest. sweet, little clara is lucky to have svarog as her guardian, but you're even luckier to be able to... heh, get to know him ;)

MESSAGE: nothing to pay but ur dignity babygurl 🥴

( uh me and my doujinshi writing ass at it again; reader is a SL— /svarog counterattack/; overstimulation; robot fucking… duh; svarog is treated as an oversized vibrator cuz that is what he is!!! )

you're not exactly sure when clara pulled you into her little family dynamic with svarog— the svarog, leader of the vagrants, protector of the underworld, and for the longest time, the barrier between upper and lower belobog. sure, you liked telling her the children's stories you've read from natasha's bookshelves, and accompanying her around as her personal bodyguard while she looked through scraps to find supplies for the vagrants.

but you feel like, even as clara tugs you by the sleeve, that stepping foot into the svarog's lair is a biiit too much.

your cold sweat and pale face as the large, rickety gates swing open for clara (and you) says all that needed to be said. your stiff body follows clara as she pulls you inside. "um, clara…" you start, your shaky voice betraying any kind of macho you try to summon. "i don't think this is a good idea… i'm from wildfire, you know? svarog and our relationship is a bit… y'know."

clara's a smart kid. of course she knows. but she looks up at you, as innocent and hopeful as she can be, and pleads with you. "it's okay!" she says. "i've told mr. svarog all about you before! in fact, he's the one who told me to invite you, just so he can properly thank you!"

"h-he did?!" is all you could yelp before she and her traffic light perkins whisked you away to their home.

a few moments later, you're face to face with the big bad robot himself, his lone red eye peering down at you seven foot above. you gulp, clenching onto clara's soft hand for support. "h-hello, sir svarog…" your voice cracks. "nice to meet you…?"

"my data says that meetings between parents and their children's educators are common between human life forms," his deep and rusty voicebank echoes throughout the room. "a parent-teacher conference, they call it."

you shrink further into your uniform. "um… i'm not really her teacher…" your voice is so small even you yourself can barely hear it.

"that is obvious," he states. "according to your data, you lack the qualifications for being a professional educator. nevertheless, you've taught clara a great many things. she is… happy, whenever she talks about you. i hope you continue to spend time with her."

"i told you!" clara leaps up with joy and clings to your arm. her smile is so great that it gives you a literal heartache as it squeezes from how cute she is. "mr. svarog likes you!"

you swear svarog's eye glints, and you double swear his gaze is directed at the red bandanna wrapped around your arm. you'd give him the staredown too, if you were brave enough, that is. after all, what kind of robot needed pants anyway?

that robot needed pants because he needed to hide the luggage he was packing underneath. because if he had that out in the open, you swear any of your cowardice would have evaporated and you'd climb that big hunk of metal like a tree just to get that branch inside of you.

AHEM! what you meant to say was… oh, whatever, no use saving the very little dignity you have left. 

the first time you drool over him is when he protects you from the cold. it was a wildfire expedition gone wrong and you underestimated a rogue robot, and the vagrant camp was so unfriendly without clara around. frostbite made you delirious, so any sort of fear vanished when you yelled through the rusty gates for some sort of savior.

only when the world begins to go dark do you feel a giant metal hand cup your back, and your feet swing in the air. when you finally come to, it's by the crackling fireplace. the world is still blurry when you sit up and see svarog’s hulking body looming over you. in other circumstances, you might have run away as soon as you can, but the near frostbite has made you delirious, and… well, svarog’s looking too sexy for a piece of scrap metal.

“ngh, ah ♡~” svarog’s one metal hand is large enough to encompass your whole lower body. he cups it as gently as a warforged robot can, and he bullies your throbbing clit with his finger while you’re left shaking under him. his red eye glints as he observes your expressions– drooling and eyes rolled back, a happy grin on your face as you rub back against his finger. “m– more~ more please!” his cupped hand bounces you up and down, and you squeal in delight as it heightens the stimulations even further. 

“y– you can vibrate, right?” you gasp when svarog rubs your clit juuust right, and you pleadingly look up at him with tears in your eyes. “th– that makes sense… robots all– ngh! r-right there, please– vibrate, don’t they? jus’ comes with the machines ‘n all that, hehe~”

you’re quite the talkative one, aren’t you? svarog isn’t exactly used to this, given that all the architects and elites he served in the past were so quiet and distant while they used him. “what exactly are you insinuating, [your name]?”

“oh, come on!” you pout frustratedly. “v-vibrate for me, will ya? i need more! this isn’t cutting it for me anymore– a-aaH ♡ yes yesyesyesyesyes! right there, oh my gosh, right there!!”

his data tells him that you’re at the height of ecstasy as he watches you arch your back and kick your feet. your fucked out laughs as you continue to beg for more is the sign that tells him that he’s doing a good job, and putting one and one together, he increases the vibration setting and you devolve into orgasmic screams.

“ah ♡ ah ♡! ahhh ♡♡ wh-what the fuck, svaroggg!!! ♡” the vibration on your poor, swollen clit is too much as he continues to rock you up and down while pressing the vibrating finger down. “i– i never told you to– ahh ♡– increase ittttt!”

“is this not necessary?” svarog questions. he’s so used to cold and unflinching ‘clients’ that he’s not exactly sure what to do with a human as expressive and loud as you. “records tell me that further simulation will bring you to what humans call an ‘orgasm.’”

“i’m, nggh, i’ve already orgasmed, you idiot!” you sob as you flail your legs, squirming and kicking as if that will loosen his grasp on you. “oh, ooooh~ t-too much!”

ah. so this is an orgasm. while this does not fit the algorithmic standards for the measurement of beauty, svarog surmises that this is ‘beautiful’ to him. it’s his reward for a job well-done, as all worthy leaders give to their soldiers. “apologies, [your name], but i fear that my past experiences have not given me sufficient data on what constitutes an ‘orgasm.’ clara adores you very much, and i do not wish to strain you at the expense of her anxiety. so, if you would allow it—”

something pushes at the tip of your hole, and you widen your eyes when you look and discover that he’s slowly bullying his way into you. you grip his metal arms for safety and stare at him with wide eyes.

“if all goes according to plan, you should have nothing to worry about.” you don’t know how to feel comforted when he says it in that apathetic-sounding (yet super hot) voice of his. “human orifices can be trained to take in objects larger than them– i should have you sitting on my… cock, as they call it, at the end of the day.”

[ponyosmom35]

welcome to hell

Simon Ghost Riley x reader

Liability series, chapter one!

synopsis: reader is transferred to a new base as a medic. upon meeting the Lieutenant she realizes that she may have gotten in over her head.

warnings: cursing, ghost is rude

Link to full Liability series!

https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

“What do you mean we’ve got a new medic on the base?” Ghost asks as Price slides her file across the desk. He picks it up and reads through it quickly, his eyes skimming the qualifications, more the lack thereof. “What the fuck is this Price”

“Miss y/l/n is a young woman whose been sent here by Laswell. She’s good at her job, she’ll do just fine here”

“Shes not military”

“No she’s not”

“Then why is she here?” he questions once more

“Between you and I, Laswell sent her in because her sister is training for 141”

“Emma” Ghost realizes as he puts together their last names. 

“In order to get Emma here, Laswell had to pull some strings. One of the requirements was the transfer of her younger sister”

“Its a waste of space!” he states, crossing his arms in annoyance “what good is a medic who has no military background or field experience? Sounds like a fucking liability to me”

“She’s strictly on base, she won’t be in the field”

“So I say again, what’s the point of her? We need medics for the field! She’s only 26!” 

“Ghost I don’t make the rules, I just follow them. When Laswell gives me a transfer I deal with it, just like you’re going to listen to me when I say that this girl is more than welcome here. If she’s the price we pay for Emma then so be it” Price says, taking the file out of his hands. He nods to the door and Ghost shakes his head before exiting the office. He was livid, just one more mouth to feed. One more person he’d have to worry about. He didn’t care if this girl was the best in the world, without military or field experience she was as good as useless to him. He fucking hated useless people. 

He walks through the base angrily, searching for Soap and Gaz to inform them. He stops dead in his tracks at the sight of Emma with her arm wrapped around a much shorter woman’s shoulders as she led her through the room. She was gorgeous, her long hair fell down her back, she was wearing a pair of scrubs, with a long sleeve underneath it. She had large golden glasses sitting uptop her small nose. He watches as she spots him, she stops in her tracks and stares at him in confusion. 

“Oh perfect timing, y/n I’d like to introduce you to our Lieutenant goes by Ghost” Emma says 

“Nice to meet you Ghost, I’m y/n, I’m excited to be here” she says with a kind smile on her face, holding her hand out for him to shake. 

“A medic with no combat experience, I’ve heard about you”

“Yeah, I’m on base only”

“Fucking useless” he grunts before walking away and leaving the women in shock. 

“Excuse me?” she calls out to him, dropping her bag and walking over to him, he stares down at her, his dark eyes boring into her. If looks could kill, she’d be dead. “How dare you speak to me like that!”

Ghost is taken aback at her words, he hadn’t expected her to react this way. Nobody ever talked back to him, this was quite new. “I’m your Lieutenant” he reminds her

“Okay got it, that gives you no right to be a dick!” 

“Oh fuck!” Emma calls out, hurrying over to her sister. “You can’t talk to him like that”

“I’d listen to your sister” Ghost warns as they continue to glare at each other 

“I’m so sorry Ghost, please ignore her, it’s been a long day she just got off a 10-hour flight, and she’s a little delirious” Emma rambles 

“No I’m not delirious, I’m just-”

“y/n!” Emma snaps, clutching her sisters arm tightly. “We’ll be on our way now” 

Emma pulls her sister out of the room, trying to ignore the whispers and small laughs from the others in the common room and. They hurry to her room and set her things on the ground. Nobody had ever seen anything like it, this young woman, fresh off the plane looked Ghost in the face and yelled at him, calling him out for being rude. 

“What the fuck were you thinking? That is my fucking Lieutenant! The only person above him on this base is Price!”

“He was a dick Emma!”

“He’s allowed to be a dick! He’s the Lieutenant!” she exclaims 

“I really don’t care who he is” 

“do you have any idea how lucky you are to be here? You aren’t a trained military medic, you don’t belong here! Ghost knows it, that’s why he reacted that way! The only reason you’re here is because Laswell wants me on his fucking team! You forget that I’m in training with him right now, that’s why I’m here, I can’t have you fucking it up for me!” 

“I’m sorry Em, I don’t want to get you in trouble”

“Then don’t pull that shit again okay?” Emma asks, she sits down on her bed and nods watching as her sister sighs angrily before leaving her alone. 

-

Later that night she walked out of her room for the first time in hours. Admittedly she was embarrassed about what happened earlier. She shouldn’t have lost her cool with the Lieutenant, but she was hurt by his words. They were simple yet they cut so deep. She walks to the dining hall and all eyes turn to her. Whispers spread through the soldiers and her cheeks burn. 

“Don’t worry about them, they’ll be over it in a day” a man says as he walks up to her with his own plate of food, his was stuffed so high she wasn’t sure how he’d gotten it all to fit. “I’m John MacTavish, call me soap” 

“Why soap?” she asks 

“I clean house” he answers with a smirk, as he walks over to a table with several people sitting there eating “come sit” 

“Oh it’s okay-” she starts 

“Come on lass we don’t bite” Soap says holding his hand out to the empty seat across from him. She nods and takes a seat next to another young man with a hat on. 

“y/n this is Kyle aka Gaz” 

“Nice to meet you love” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Gaz. How do you guys know my name?” she asks 

“That was quite a scene you made earlier, you’re a celebrity” 

“Great, my sisters gonna kill me”

“Yeah if Ghost doesn’t get ya first” Soap jokes

“You’re a brave soul” Gaz chuckles “in all my time here I never seen anyone do that”

“Oh so you guys know him?”

“Yeah he’s our Lieutenant”

“Oh you guys are on the taskforce?”

“141” Soap nods as he shovels food into his mouth.

“Thats what my sister is here for, she’s training”

“Emma”

“Oh you know her?” she asks in surprise

“Of course, we train with her daily, she’s one hell of a solider”

“Yeah she is” she responds 

“So you must be y/n” a deep British voice says, she looks up to see a tall man with mutton chops. 

“Yes”

“I’m Captain John Price, it’s a pleasure to meet you” he says holding his hand out to her, she takes it and shakes it. 

“Its nice to meet you too Sir”

“I hear you’ve made quite an impression already” he smiles 

“Seems like it” she says nervously 

“Between you and I, you’ve got guts I like that. Keep your head up, you deserve to be here. Stop by my office tomorrow at 7 and I’ll introduce you to the other medics”

“Yes sir” she smiles 

“Have a good night guys” he nods before leaving their table 

“Looks like you might survive, if Price isn’t mad at you then you might have a chance” Gaz comments 

“Great” she smiles sarcastically 

“Eh you’ll be find lass, just takes gettin used to is all” Soap says 

“Thanks guys” 

“Anytime you wanna go toe to toe with LT let me know so I can get front-row seats” Soap says causing them all to laugh.

"welcome to hell, love"

chapter two: https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733825688470192128/you-dont-like-me-i-dont-like-you?source=share

[gabessquishytum]

CEO Dream is looking to mess with his board of directors (they’re all cronies of his parents, resentful of his being nepo’ed into the position despite his actual qualifications, and constantly looking to needle or undermine him), so he decides to hire his preferred sex worker Hob as his PA in order to fuck him all over the office all the time.

They don’t really hide that Hob is there for sex, given that the whole point is to piss the board off with it; during meetings Dream’s hand is usually up Hob’s skirt, or sometimes he’ll just pull Hob to sit in his lap. Directors will have scheduled one-on-one meetings in Dream’s office, only to walk in and see Hob and Dream who had clearly just finished having sex. Even finding Dream alone in his office sitting at his desk isn’t a safe bet, as there’s a decent chance that Hob is under the desk sucking Dream off.

Dream is having a great time, both the sex and the chance to be a menace to his board is incredibly stress-relieving. But also Dream has inadvertently given himself an opportunity to get to know Hob better; before they only met up in order to have sex, and despite the fact that they are having even more sex now, there’s still time left over to learn about Hob as a person, which is beginning to do funny things to Dream’s heart.

Not to mention, as time goes on, both of them are startled to discover that Hob is…actually really good at the PA part of the job. Like extremely competent kind of good. Not only willing but eager to even take some of the workload from Dream, and clearly thriving in his new position.

(Competent is a very sexy look on Hob, of course, which encourages Dream to come on to him at the office even more)

The day Hob presents substantial and comprehensive proof of corporate wrongdoing from the most annoying board member, leading to their termination, Dream very nearly proposes on the spot.

-🪽anon

AKAJDJF this is such a great au, with SUCH great fic potential.

Hob never told Dream this (because they never really talked a lot), but he actually started doing his BA in business and even nearly graduated, but unfortunately had to drop out because money was so tight - that's when the sexwork started. So Hob is far from clueless about what he's doing - he's extremely knowledgeable and competent. He makes reforms in the office that make work much more efficient. He seems to notice everything that happens, even the tiny things. He could easily put Dream out of a job. Although of course, he'd never want to.

He very much enjoys having unrestricted sex with Dream. It's so much better than only seeing him a few times each month. Hob doesn't have to bother with other clients because Dream is keeping him very much afloat financially. His new work outfits are sooo cute and fun. Dream even gets him lunch every day... and yes, Hob is maybe developing feelings in that particular direction. But hes too afraid to investigate his heart any further. Falling in love with a client is a bad idea, that's just good business sense.

Getting fucked is enough. Particularly because Dream makes it so fucking good. It seems to get better every day. Hob can't even smell Dream’s cologne without getting hard, and he can't pass the main boardroom without flushing pink. Knowing exactly how many orgasms he had while spread-eagled on the table and speared open on Dream’s tongue....

Alas Dream does not propose when Hob shyly reveals the outcome of his investigation into the board member. He does, however... offer Hob a seat on the board. And it's not just a seat on Dream’s lap this time.

The scandal is uproarious. Dream put a common whore on the board of directors! Didn't vote him in or anything! Too bad Hob has a dossier on each of the other board members and plenty of corporate secrets to spill about them. Looks like they'll have to accept his presence.

Even when he spends half of the meeting under the table. He can still take notes from there just fine, don't worry!

[tomurakii]

My last post about bloodweave was pretty negative (though necessarily so imo) so I wanted to talk about the little things about the bloodweave dynamic that I DO like and want to see more of in fic (under the cut).

- the orb means Astarion can't start their relationship transactionally. Gale can't give Astarion blood, and also can't have sex with him (and presumably would refuse casual sex anyway). How would the relationship develop without Astarion being able to rely on the give-and-take, forced instead to just trust Gale will watch his back? Astarion isn't a plans guy, I imagine having to come up with something on the spot (considering none of the other companions are reeaaaally an option either) would lead to a lot more emotional vulnerability as he tries to take a route he has much less experience with. Not to mention that the flirty and standoffish front isn't exactly going to endear him to Gale, who approves of the capable, loyal, and righteous. How long can Astarion pretend to be invested in Gale's wellbeing before it becomes true?

- they both have bad ascension endings, but different natural outcomes. Gale is considered the more morally upstanding one, but in their solo states (without the player's influence) Gale will go through with ascension and Astarion won't. Would they goad each other on? Gale disapproves of Astarion's ascension, using arguments that could apply to himself about the personal sacrifice and loss of the soul. Would Astarion flip them around, become defensive? Their dynamic could mean the power hungry character ending up discouraging the pursuit of godhood, or the two of them hurtling over the edge together. Or, maybe, Astarion encouraging Gale to ascend and having to trust him to return.

- they're the party members with the most life experience, and they're also both pretty well-educated (even if Astarion's law qualifications may well have expired by the events of the game). He spent his time under Cazador sewing (like Gale in his Baldur's Gate epilogue) and learning languages (of which Gale knows four). They have enduring common interests beyond their circumstances. Gale can help Astarion rediscover the latent nerd potential he lost when he died, and lord knows he would love to pick his brain for a first hand account of the mid-to-late 12th century.

- Astarion recently regained hope for his future when the tadpole freed him, Gale recently lost all of it. While act 1 is a continuous series of positive discoveries for Astarion (tadpole frees him from cazador -> ceremorphosis is held off by the dream visitor -> tadpole can be controlled), Gale's life gets worse with time as his treatment stops working. It's a dynamic that could give Gale hope, force Astarion to practise empathy, or put them completely at odds.

- Astarion's all-encompassing desire to reclaim his life could be inspiring to Gale. Moreover, I imagine seeing just how passive Gale is about his death would infuriate him. To have so little regard for his real, mortal, free life? It's a great source of angst, and also a great starting point for Gale to start wanting to live again. Because after learning about Astarion's past he would agree, he'd recognise how much value a mortal life was supposed to have. He'd think himself ungrateful or impolite for entertaining the idea of throwing it away when Astarion would give anything to have what he had. This would lead to guilt, and potentially self-loathing, unless someone was there to help pick up the pieces.

- If Astarion meets Oblodra before Gale's act 2 romance scene, (or for a fanfic plot, just before Gale is confident enough to confess) they most likely won't have sex until the graveyard scene in late act 3 (or the post-ascension equivalent). It means that rather than the fuckfest we so often see from bloodweave fics, the relationship is almost entirely a slow-burning, emotionally intimate affair. I'd really love to see that play out, the progression from semi-horny yearning on both parts as the orb keeps them apart, to two love confessions that are followed by the both of them experiencing non-sexual intimacy for the first time in years. I doubt Mystra was one to hug her chosen, after all, or hold their hands.

I just love a bg3 ship that forces the characters to take different actions than they do in canon. It makes me feel like I'm developing a broader understanding of the characters, you know?

[intothedysphoria]

The podcast was Steve’s idea.

It had started with a joke from Heather. She’d took one look at Billy and Steve’s accidentally matching gym clothes and told them they looked like a failing alpha bro podcast duo. The type of guys who’d talk about being alpha males. Billy had laughed hard but it had made Steve think.

They’d been best friends since kindergarten and were functionally inseparable. Billy had seen Steve through a long period of deep, dark depression and Steve liked to think he’d helped Billy through Neil. Most podcasts Steve had listened to, the hosts didn’t even sound like they liked each other. They’d be perfect.

It took Steve about a month to convince Billy to put himself in front of a microphone. For a guy with a 300k follower Instagram thirst trap account, Billy was crushingly self conscious about his voice. He’d been on testosterone for three years but still felt like he sounded “clockable.” It wasn’t until Steve promised that if they got even one comment about Billy’s voice, they’d immediately delete the episode, that Billy agreed.

Between the two of them, they had absolutely no qualifications to start an agony aunt podcast. Still, the first episode was released onto Spotify and it had a surprisingly warm reception. Most of their listeners were queer or neurodivergent and were asking about what to do when a hookup went wrong or how to go outside without having a panic attack.

It was heartwarming really, the affect Steve felt that they were having. Two trans guys talking openly about sex, relationships, social faux pas, fitting in and the occasional tangent on oyster forks wasn’t exactly common. And their audience seemed to cling to them like two older brother figures.

It was perfect. Should have been perfect. It was just that there was a bit of a side affect.

As it turned out, spending every week with your best friend, who was physically just your type, and was also just an absolute sweetheart, led to having a crush on said best friend.

That is if you were Steve anyway. Shit.

Most guys on realising they were crushing hard on their best friend probably would have done something normal, like tell him. Not Steve though. Steve endeavoured to lock himself in the broom closet and scream before every recording session of the podcast.

It would work. Hopefully.

Then Billy started getting random listeners proposing to him via email. They’d read them out before every advice segment and Billy would either accept or decline depending on how funny he found it but it still made Steve die a little inside. Billy felt like his in some intangible, indescribable way and even jokes about marriage felt like suffocating.

He redownloaded Grindr the next day. The guys on there left a lot to be desired, especially compared to Billy but at least it stopped Steve from feeling quite so lonely. He flirted, made decisions that made Robin tut and generally started morphing into the kind of hot mess Steve had been in his late teens.

Billy didn’t seem to notice. That is until he did.

Steve was very late for recording the newest episode, a silly one about accents. He hadn’t remembered to shave so the patchy stubble that hrt was helping him grow in was a mess. There was gum stuck to to the bottom of his shoe. Something had gotten spilled on his shirt.

His co host once again looked delicious. Delicious and worried. So worried in fact that he dragged Steve into the very closet that he’d spent almost two months hiding in.

There was only so long Steve could hedge around the issue. Not with Billy worrying about all the things that could have gone wrong, anxious brain in overdrive. Steve had to tell him.

A short, excruciating silence followed after Steve admitted his crush/budding love. One that the slightly irrational part of his mind was convinced would culminate in Billy punching him again.

That didn’t happen.

Instead, Billy called him a dumbass, they made out under a precarious tin of paint for fifteen minutes, and agreed that getting together was long overdue.

The first email they got from a listener after going public about their relationship was short and to the point.

Can I propose to both of you?

I think it was @camaro-and-smokes and @prettyboy-like-you who reblogged being interested in the og post about this idea and since I am a fic writing weirdo, I wanted to write a little ficlet for them! I hope you both like it

(Inspired LOOSELY by the hilarious Help I Sexted My Boss podcast which I adore. Also inspired a smidge by Lust For Life by @oopsiedaisiesbaby)

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

By the time it’s through, Harry is a panting victorious mess.

He swears some Gryffindors get dumber by the year. They were pulling the same stunt at every start of the term. I mean, Harry scoffs and thinks to himself, they couldn’t even have been bothered to pick a different corridor. It astounds Harry how persistent their hatred of Slytherins—of him especially, remains even after all these years.

Like, so what? He can talk to a few snakes, and he’s alright at quidditch, and, yeah, he defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort when he was a baby and then sorted Slytherin at eleven. It’s not like anyone told him it was some cultural taboo to accidentally end a war and sort into the mass murderer’s Hogwarts House.

Honestly, Harry has a sneaking suspicion that even if someone had told him, he’d of ended up in a similar, if not worse, situation. So he’ll take the yearly Gryffindor smackdown any day.

Surveying his handiwork, Harry gives a pleased nod to nothing in particular. These six definitely need the medi-wing, but, seeing as Harry was slighted from the Head Boy position and finishing off his final year at Hogwarts as a mere seventh-year prefect, he figures this can slip under his radar. Of course, it’s not good to slack on the first week back, and usually Harry frowns at anything of the sort, but six to one is his new personal best. So, this little lapse in duty can be a small treat for a job well done.

The pep to his step and smile on his face certainly agree with Harry’s decision as he does an about-face and walks a few paces only to come toe to toe with their latest Defence professor.

Shite.

Harry’s face shutters and he freezes in place. There’s no way he can talk his way out of this. But, more importantly, what the hell is he going to do about a bloody witness.

In the haze of panic, Harry has enough sense to correct his posture quickly. He straightens up, shoulders back, hands clasped behind him, and speaks politely, if a little blandly, “Professor Riddle.” Harry bows his head in what he hopes comes across as a sign of respect and not the blatant attempt to hide his wince that it is. How could he have been so careless?

Professor Tom Riddle is the hot new thing in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Not only for the ne’er-do-well gossip mongrels but also just- generally. He’s incredibly attractive and incredibly unknown. Sure, he has more than enough qualifications for the position, but no one has any useful information on the man other than the fact that he might have been a Slytherin in another life. And that’s only because he’s got a pet snake slithering about, allegedly.

All of that to say: Harry has no idea how his new professor will react to this. But it’s vital that he keeps his head down this year; nothing can come between him and freedom from the Dursleys. Especially not a little roughhousing with a few morons. If Professor Riddle punishes him with a detention or eight, it will be a low blow but bearable— and if he brings what Harry’s done to the Headmaster…

Harry is certain expulsion will be considered with a heavy hand. Headmaster Dumbledore did not like Harry one bit.

“Harry Potter,” Professor Riddle’s voice is deep and just on the edge of lilting. It’s a nice voice, Harry’s shocked to acknowledge. His lessons will be a huge step up from Snape’s temporary claim of the role. Thank the gods they forced him back to Potions. Though, Slughorn’s lessons and overall attitude were pleasant while they lasted.

They both stood without saying another word in tense silence. Well, tense for Harry. He’s not too sure what’s rattling around in Professor Riddle’s head that’s keeping him so quiet.

Actually, Harry couldn’t imagine being on the other end of this scenario. Like, what would he do if he’d come upon some kid, who by almost all accounts was the supposed saviour of the wizarding world, beating the shite out of six Gryffindor students? Harry doesn’t think he’d handle it as well as Professor Riddle seems to be. In fact, maybe they should both take a cue from Fake-Professor-Harry and just pretend this never happened.

Harry’s neck is just starting to strain from its lock level with the floor when Professor Riddle speaks, “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

His head snaps up at the pleasant, almost jolly tone. Professor Riddle is staring out into the courtyard, eyes glued to something far, far in the distance. Completely ignoring the six injured students mere metres away.

Dumbfounded, Harry replies, “It’s evening.” And it is evening. Harry tries to look out at whatever has Professor Riddle’s steadfast attention and can’t pinpoint a damn thing. It’s dark as all hell out there. Finally, in the awkward pause, Harry finds the wherewithal to look back and tack on a belated, “Professor.”

Professor Riddle’s eyes slip to Harry’s face, but his head remains still, and Harry comes to the startling realisation that this is meant to be an act. Anyone passing by, or any nosey portraits, would still believe him enchanted by the courtyard and not confronting a rogue student.

“I know you’re socially inept, Mr Potter. But you are not stupid.”

And with that charming, hissed comment, Harry turns about-face once again to also fake watch the courtyard. “Why yes, sir. Very lovely.”

“It seems,” Professor Riddle starts up again, “in my vacant-minded appreciation for this beautiful day, I have forgotten some paperwork in my office. Could you spare a moment to accompany me?” Harry hears the loud and clear statement as what it is: a demand.

“Of course, sir. I happen to be returning to the common room and going that direction regardless.” Harry is oddly proud of the truth of this. He is technically done with his prefect rounds now, anyhow.

“Very good. Come along.”

The walk to Professor Riddle’s office is long. It’s made longer by their run-in with a few of the Hogwarts Ghosts. Peeves has always had this odd tolerance for Harry that he’s gladly taken advantage of more times than he can count. Something about his father and his father’s friends, the best group of pranksters to ever walk these halls! or whatever. Harry’s not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, their slight distraction with Peeves has nothing on the Grey Lady’s interaction with Professor Riddle.

She never takes an interest in anyone outside of her little Ravenclaws if Hermione is to be believed. And Hermione is rarely ever wrong. So Harry is on the deep end of surprised when she floats down the other end of the fifth-floor corridor, sees them coming, and waits. Ghosts can’t really be described as warm— unless you were talking about the Fat Friar, and only then because, even as a ghost, he appears to be wearing too many layers for this time of year— but the Grey Lady’s soft eyes for Professor Riddle is a near thing.

“Tom,” she starts as Harry follows his professor’s lead and stops to greet her. “You’re back.”

Harry tries to keep as quiet as a mouse because he very desperately wants to know what she means by that, and he doesn’t think she’s even realised he’s here yet. Harry doesn’t even think he’s ever heard her speak before, either, but her voice is as soft as her eyes. Dainty like bells.

“Yes, Lady Ravenclaw. It has been a long time.” Professor Riddle seems pleased she remembers him. But… Harry can’t put his finger on it. Something just feels off. His neck prickles with that alert sort of awareness, the kind he’s never really been able to break since he was a kid—that prickle of danger.

Grey Lady nods, “Nearly three decades.”

Three decades? Hell, that’s a long time. How old is Professor Riddle anyway? He doesn’t look a day older than thirty, but unless Grey Lady knew him pre-birth, Harry would have to reevaluate his perception of wizard ages.

Harry is vaguely aware that this is all none of his business, and he really shouldn’t be standing here listening closely and pondering on whether or not Professor Riddle was a good Ravenclaw back in the day. But knowledge is power, right? As an obvious Ravenclaw Alumni, Professor Riddle would appreciate Harry’s retention. And since Harry still has no idea how he’ll react to the little skirmish from earlier, looking out for possible blackmail wouldn’t be amiss.  

Professor Riddle looks surprised, “I don’t recall speaking with you the last time I was here.”

“Because you didn’t,” her reply is simple and to the point. Not said with any ounce of anger. It’s undoubtedly spoken with a fair amount of weight, however.

Harry hasn’t spent six, going on seven, years in the snake pit not to pick up on her clear underlying message: you didn’t see me, but I saw you. And even though it sounds like a threat, Harry is confident she only means it as a warning. A warning for what? Harry hopes to find out.

“How terribly remiss of me,” Professor Riddle shakes his head as though ashamed. “We should rectify this, of course, and speak at length when you have the time,” his accompanying smile is bright and charming. Harry almost wants to whistle in appreciation. That is some fine schmoozing if he says so himself.

But Grey Lady doesn’t respond. Instead, she floats on, and as she passes Harry, her shoulder phasing through his, he can’t help noticing her stricken face. The purse to her lips and the translucent grip of her hands, it’s almost like she’s scared.

Harry watches her go, still for a touch too long, and Professor Riddle clears his throat, “If you’ll continue following me, please, Mr Potter.”

His attention snaps back to the professor, “I had no idea you were a Ravenclaw, Professor Riddle.”

Professor Riddle looks very amused for a moment. Then, he continues walking and asks, “Whatever gave that away?”

Harry is immediately suspicious, “Ravenclaw’s Ghost. She doesn’t speak with anyone outside of her House. Even the professors have a hard time catching her attention unless they are one of her past students.” When Professor Riddle doesn’t respond right away, Harry adds, “For example, she didn’t acknowledge me once during your conversation.”

“That is true,” he nods, and that strange amusement lingers on the edges of Professor Riddle’s lips. They don’t speak for the remainder of their walk, though it isn’t without Harry trying.

Really, Harry hasn’t met anyone this paranoid in his life— maybe Moody, but the Auror is in a league all his own. However, Professor Riddle isn’t far behind, acting as though even the floors have ears. Or, at least, Harry assumes it’s paranoia stopping the Professor from answering. Maybe he’s just fed up with Harry’s questions…

As they enter the Defence classroom, Harry takes in the changes. Each Defence Professor certainly came with their own flair. Lockhart with his vain decor and opulence, Remus with his purely educational and scientific creatures posters and skeletons, Moody with his nearly claustrophobic clutter of dark curse detectors and jars of worms and bees, Umbridge with her bare-walled bleakness almost as though she could be the only thing of note in the room, Snape with his… well… Snape-ness—no one was surprised to come into the drawn curtain, candle-lit, gruesome pictured room last year.

Professor Riddle is an interesting mix, Harry thinks. Not over the top with gold and silver or anything like that, but there’s definitely a lustre to everything that speaks of fine quality. There’s a nice variety of defence posters, all topics from creatures to spells to stances to potions. How refreshing after the gloom of Snape. It’s brighter in here, Harry notes. Even in the late hour, the warm glow of the room is inviting.

Harry carefully tucks away the sight of a large empty vivarium for later questioning as Professor Riddle shows him up the staircase to his office.

“Have a seat, Mr Potter.” Professor Riddle rounds his desk, a simple wooden piece, large and already strewn with papers, and takes a seat. Harry follows suit, taking in his office with much less attention than the classroom. If only because it seems Professor Riddle hasn’t finished setting it up to his standards. Piles of books sit abandoned by the many bookshelves covering one wall, and a fair amount of boxes are open and unopened in each corner.

Harry takes a deep breath and readies to defend himself. He thinks he’s got a pretty reasonable defence (pun intended) for his Defence Professor. Even if the man has heard of Harry through gossip rags like Witch Weekly and the hardly-a-news-source Daily Prophet, Harry figures he’s still got the benefit of the doubt.

Unless, of course, Professor Riddle had strong affiliations during the war. That could always go either way. Harry’s met some pretty chill Voldemort supporters over the years and some pretty not-chill ones. The Malfoys, for instance, treat him like a second son, and Harry’s mostly sure that’s only because they think him the next Dark Lord or something. Whereas Theodore Nott, and probably his whole family, definitely hates Harry’s guts for killing Voldemort.

“Professor Riddle, about what happened earlier, I can explain—“ Harry starts and is near immediately cut off.

“You’re quite gifted in spell casting, aren’t you, Mr Potter?” Professor Riddle leans back and crosses his legs, hands in his lap. Okay…he doesn’t look like he’s about to get Harry expelled… And is that a compliment?

“Uh,” Harry stutters. He’s still not good with praise; it’s still so foreign to him. “I wouldn’t use that word, Professor. But thank you.”

Professor Riddle shakes his head, “It is nothing to thank me for if it is a fact. When I was accepted for the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, I first requested a list of all the students and their academic placements.” He pauses to shuffle the papers around on his desk until he pulls out one long parchment, “Four years straight, you held the top of the list in Defence for your year, and your Ordinary Wizarding Levels were exemplary even though you appear to have barely scraped by in fifth-year with a Dreadful.”

Professor Riddle glances up at Harry with a world-weary look, “I have speculations about why you placed so low the last two years. A Troll for sixth-year? With the casting I saw? Highly unlikely.”

Harry blinks, “Oh,” is all he can muster. Welp, that answers how much of the duel Professor Riddle had seen. And, surely he didn’t have all the Hogwarts students’ placements memorised so thoroughly? Is it just his seventh-year classes? Is it just Harry?

For the first time all evening, Harry is struck with the sudden question: why was Professor Riddle in a random seventh-floor corridor, anyway?

Now, Harry can say what he likes about paranoid people being paranoid. Unfortunately, it didn’t mitigate the fact that Harry was a touch paranoid himself. And, even though Professor Riddle hasn’t come off as anything less than concerned-professor-addressing-his-student, Harry still hasn’t quite gotten over that prickle of danger back with Grey Lady. It would be absolutely batty to think Professor Riddle was following him, or whatever, but now that Harry’s thought about it, he can’t stop thinking about it.

“That is just Defence. You have placed consistently in the top 10 of almost all your other classes since you arrived at Hogwarts,” Professor Riddle rolls up the parchment and sets it aside. “Divination and you do not seem to agree, however.”

Harry can’t tell if Riddle is impressed, surprised, or both. Honestly, he’s kind of busy scoping out any easy exit points now that he’s spiralling down the my-new-defence-professor-might-be-stalking-me rabbit hole. Harry lets out a strained laugh and hopes that’s enough of an answer.

“You appear to be a bright young man, so why did you feel the need to fight six Gryffindor students after curfew, Mr Potter?”

Indignant, Harry decides to shelf his panic attack for later, “I didn’t feel the need. This is a yearly thing they like to do. They’ve decided they are within their rights to punish me for my audacity to sort Slytherin when I was eleven and enjoy cornering me during my prefect rounds.”

Riddle arches his brow, “This has been going on for years?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve not gone to your Head of House?”

Harry nearly scoffs, “Snape and I do not get along.”

“Professor Snape, Mr Potter,” Riddle’s amused smile is back in full force.

Harry presses his lips into a thin line and counts backwards from ten. Twice. “Of course, sir. Professor Snape and I do not get along. He tolerates me on the best of days and probably plans out my murder in vivid detail on the worst.”

Peeves may love Harry’s father. Snape decidedly didn’t. Hardly fair, if anyone asked him, that he has to take Snape’s shitty abuse just because he looks like a man he’s never met.

Riddle nods and tilts his head. He’s silent for a moment before he asks, “And do you like Slytherin House?”

It’s such an out-of-left-field question that Harry gapes for a moment. He pulls himself together enough to give it some serious thought. Does he like being a Slytherin? He’s never been anything else, so it’s hard to say. It was pretty shitty in the beginning. Being ostracised for doing something he didn’t even remember or know about until a month before school while also adjusting to a totally new concept like magic being real was kind of awful. And he wouldn’t recommend it. Still—

“Yes,” Harry answers passionately and wholeheartedly. “I love it. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

And he means it. Because even though first-year had its fair share of torture, it was also magic. It was walls that opened with a whispered word revealing a room with a sea-floor view and green velvet sofas, it was his very own room after years of sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs, it was his first friend and his first laugh, it was wands and potions and spells and charms and magic.

Riddle does seem surprised now, as though he expected Harry to give a very different answer. His quiet turns thoughtful for a long, long while, and Harry wonders how long their meeting will drag out. It’s well after curfew and prefect hours now, isn’t it?

A dragging sound pulls them both from their silence.

Harry’s eyes quickly lock on a stack of precariously stacked boxes. They move slightly as though pushed and wobble dangerously. After a few moments of nothing, a large snake head appears from around its corner.

And that answers Harry’s question about the empty vivarium in the classroom.

The snake’s scales against the stone floor are what make the dragging sound as it carefully moves closer and closer to Harry. A quick glance at Riddle shows that he has no intentions of stopping it; great. In fact, that amusement is far too obvious once again.

Belatedly Harry realises the snake is sort of massive, far longer than any snake he’s ever seen. Including that one ball python at the zoo. The snake’s body gracefully adjusts as it creeps up and up and up until its head is level with Harry’s. A cool forked tongue quickly brushes against his cheek. Harry blinks, wide-eyed.

“Excuse Nagini, Mr Potter. She’s just curious.”

Harry knows he shouldn’t say anything. He knows it’s too risky to reply because he can’t quite control his parseltongue in front of snakes, but he can’t just sit here and not say anything. He’s still trying to get out of expulsion and maybe even a few detentions, after all. So he looks very hard at Riddle and desperately hopes the man won’t act too cruel if Harry slips up, “It’s-s fine, s-sir.”

Harry winces. Even he can tell his s sounds were a little too harsh just then, and Riddle’s brown eyes sharpen at the curious drag of his voice.

Riddle leans forward, elbows on the desk, hands clasped together, and tilts his head. “That’s right. As a Slytherin, you must not mind snakes. Comes with the territory?”

“You could,” Harry swallows, “s-ay that.” He grits his teeth. Hope is a lie. He needs to get out of here.

Somehow Riddle leans ever so closer, “It’s interesting. I was under the impression that her presence here might cause a great disturbance. Headmaster Dumbledore was very worried about student safety and their reactions.”

Harry pauses. His eyes drift back over to Nagini. What? Wait, “Student safety?”

Suddenly Riddle is up and standing. It startles Harry more than he’ll ever admit, and while he’s distracted by that, Nagini rests her large head on his shoulder and inches her way behind his neck, “A speaker? You speak parseltongue, young child?”

Riddle quickly rounds to the front of his desk, his fingers tapping a pleasant little rhythm across it. He finds a comfortable spot and casually leans back against it, arms crossed. Harry’s thigh is almost brushing the long line of Riddle’s legs. Harry wants to die, just a little.

“Mr Potter, Harry,” Riddle says his name like a curse and a blessing and very, very different from how he’s been saying it all evening. A chill runs down Harry’s spine.

Nagini interrupts before Riddle can continue, “Are you cold, young child? Tom, the boy is cold. Warm him.”

“My snake seems rather taken with you, Harry,” Riddle carries on, completely ignoring Nagini and her demands. Which makes sense because Riddle doesn’t speak parseltongue, but Harry is sorely tempted to laugh at how she sounds so used to bossing Riddle around. He doesn’t scream doting pet owner, but maybe Harry’s got a bad read on him. Or maybe the fear and adrenalin are making Harry fucking crazy.

And when did he become Harry and not Mr Potter?

Harry coughs, focusing all his attention on Riddle once more, “Cool. What concern did Dumbledore have for the children?” Nailed it.

Riddle’s answering smile is large and closed-lipped. He’s not laughing, but it sure as hell feels like he is. “Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry. And it is nothing to worry about, as I have taken measures to keep you all safe. Nagini just happens to be rather poisonous; her venom is capable of killing a man in less than a minute.”

Huh. Harry suddenly doesn’t feel all too thrilled about having Riddle’s rather large, potentially man-killing, and weirdly mothering snake getting all cosy on his shoulders. Even now, she’s still hissing nonsense words of concern and praise, and really, Harry’s not been paying too close attention to her out of fear of messing up again.

Harry nods as slowly and carefully as possible. “I get why he’d be a little worried.”

Riddle hums, not necessarily agreeing, not necessarily disagreeing. “Back to our original topic, I will not be reporting your altercation with the Gryffindors.”

The fierce surprise waging a three-way war with suspicion and hope in Harry’s chest is enough to leave him breathless. How the hell did he get this lucky? “Thank you, I really appreciate it—“ Harry stops himself from adding an instinctual sir.

Harry sits uncomfortably in the realisation that Riddle is definitely laughing at him as Riddle’s brows inch up. Harry sighs and says, “s-sir.” He clears his throat.

“Apologies, Harry. It is quite late, is it not? I wouldn’t want to keep you; the term officially starts tomorrow, after all.” Riddle straightens up from his lean, and he’s closer now than he’s ever been to Harry.

“One last thing,” Riddle says, and his hands curl around either side of Harry’s neck. Harry is dizzy in the stifling nearness. Riddle’s not touching him, but the warmth radiating off his body and hands burns until Harry is certain there’ll be blisters.

Riddle carefully takes Nagini from her perch on Harry and wraps her gently across his own shoulders, “In exchange for my silence, I expect us to meet here once a week. Outside of our class time. I shall wait until you get your timetable before picking something suitable for us both.”

Harry’s eyes are glued to the floor when he says, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Harry.”

Harry’s neck whips up at breaking speed, and for just a split second, hardly a blink, Riddle’s eyes are a scolding red.

Harry blinks once, twice, three whole times before he manages a desperate, “Yes, Professor Riddle.”

Riddle’s answering smile is the cat’s canary, and Harry certainly feels like prey to a predator right now.

[ultimateplaylistmaker]

OH BOY LETS DO IT @jacksmusesdrv3

Unfortunately due to how little we know about Jin, it's hard to talk about things he specifically did on his own, BUT WE CAN TALK ABOUT WHAT HE DIDNT DO, AND HIS STAFF THAT HE ALLOWS TO RUN WILD

I'll try to not be talking about the Izuru project outside of things Jin may have gone out of his way to do that were not required of him, otherwise I will assume that he had no real control or say over it because without that then you have to get into the steering committee and the structure of the schools politics and eughgheguh

First off, lets start with something a bit less directly but still speaks a LOT about how Jin's a weak ass pushover who doesn't give a shit about the students, his staff!

Like first of all, it's the one, the only Koichi Kizakura! For those who don't remember it's the guy in the hat from Danganronpa 3, the drunk one.

Which as you can imagine, that makes the problem immediately apparent. You shouldn't have a teacher who coming to work hangover and sick, I care a lot less about his talent hunting part, that's a weird secondary thing, and he's not really interacting much with them just giving them invites, I'll allow it. Teaching though? No. no no no no. Especially Main Course??? What. What. What. Is he only here because none of the students actually have to show up to class (which is fucked up as well what the hell) so he can just sit in Jin's room emanating "my best friends straight and married and ive been in love with him my whole life so im going to be sassy and drunk" energy??

However I want to quickly pivot because i just realized

Chisa's actual title is ASSISTANT HOMEROOM TEACHER. Which while 8 years ago this was just "oh yeah shes a teacher" however, with my current life experience she 100% should not have had as much power over her class. Assistant teachers and aides and the like while VERY useful...need supervision, Chisa is straight out of college, she's never taught before, and while that might be okay for a normal school, the fact this is ONE OF THE MOST ELITE SCHOOLS IN THE WORLD? Everyone here doing the main teaching should HAVE SO MANY MORE QUALIFICATIONS.

So while Assistant is a good fit for her over the main homeroom teacher, the fact JIN ACTIVELY ACKNOWLEDGES THAT KOICHI'S GONNA BE KINDA SHIT??UNHINGED BEHAVIOR. GIVE HER TO A TEACHER WHO'S ACTUALLY GOING TO BE ABLE TO ADVISE OR SUPERVISE?? AND KOICHI IS JUST LIKE "LMAO DO WHATEVER YOU WANT"?? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?? WHAT SCHOOL WOULD EVER ALLOW THIS???

I will give Koichi one thing though, he's shrewd as hell, in the future foundation killing game hes a valuable asset, but in a school setting? Why is HE HERE

Jin laments somewhat that Chisa is here because of Munakata "insisting", which Koichi rightfully points out as a power play. Jin brushes this off as he knows that, but like?? What the hell.

KYOSUKE ISN'T EVEN AT HOPES PEAK??? HE'S AT AN OFF-SHORE FACILITY, YOU COULD HAVE SO EASILY JUST...NOT HIRED HER? YOURE THE ONE IN CHARGE HERE! SAY NO! HE CAN HIRE HER AT HIS SCHOOL HE'S BUILDING

As well, even with the class being required, KIDS ARE STILL SHOWING UP, so even the excuse of "they dont show up' doesnt fly! Sonia, Fuyuhiko, Hiyoko, and Mahiru are ALL IN THE CLASSROOM when Chisa first enters, god they're all so cute also why is hiyoko's cuteness up the max in this anime also Mikan enters a bit later bringing the total to five

Then chisa IMMEDIATELY starts lying, she was NEVER made the teacher, she's THE ASSISTANT TEACHER, THATS A DIFFERENT JOB, YOU ARENT SUPPOSED TO BE THE MAIN TEACHER, YOU ARE THERE TO EASE THE WORKLOAD. YOUR JOB IS TO GRADE SHIT, AND HELP KIDS DO FRACTIONS OR WHATEVER. YOU ARE THERE TO HELP BE MORE HANDS ON DECK AND MAKE SURE THE MAIN TEACHER CAN FOCUS ON MORE IMPORTANT THINGS THEN TELLING KIDS THEY CAN GO TO THE BATHROOM

I do love Hiyoko immediately going "lmao i cant wait to break her, destroy her social position, sell her organs, kill her, and more" like im sorry if you don't like Hiyoko you're wrong she's hysterical Fuyuhiko is the only person to go "WHAT ABOUT THE IDIOT BEFORE" To which we learn..... HE'S HUNGOVER AND VOMITING, GO HOME.

FUYUHIKO'S RESPONSE??

"Again?"

WHICH JUST FURTHER ILLUSTRATES THAT KOICHI IS BEING AN ACTIVE DETRIMENT TO THE CLASSROOM, WHY IS HE A TEACHER, IS HE EVEN CERTIFIED.

Im going to ignore Chisa's absolute batshit student hunt to get them all in class, that one's going under "thats just danganronpa/anime logic" though i will point a few things, like she is right that school isnt about just passing exams, its also about learning social skills and building connections, so the fact so few kids are ever even in class is not great for their development. However, do not call your actual students rotten oranges, especially when one is essentially named orange, {Mikan}. Especially when it's not their fault??? Like these are the kids who actually came into class, dont punish them for it, at least Sonia's having a blast. Also don't threaten students with knives but as he's literally a yakuza heir i'll let that one slide, like yeah fair.

Even just the FIRST EPISODE of danganronpa 3 we learn

Jin is protecting and sheltering his completely unfit to be a teacher best friend, something actively detrimental to the school life and education of these kids. While I'm okay with his talent hunt stuff, this man should not be a teacher on campus who is hungover and vomiting often enough for students to recognize a damn pattern

Jin is completely uncaring or ambivalent to power plays done by people with less power then him that he can easily shut down, but instead plays it off as "forcing his hand" when in reality he absolutely could have just...not hired Chisa! What's Kyosuke gonna do in retaliation if he doesn't? Does Jin benefit from this at all? It's a pointless allowance, one Koichi points as only going to undermine him for no reason, and he's not wrong! She literally came as a spy!

Hiring Chisa makes no sense whatsoever, she's graduated so while she's probably qualified to teach in general. Letting her completely take over and command a classroom on her first day, going against the school rules to do so because attendance isn't mandatory, of one of the most PRESTIGIOUS schools in the world is just. Unhinged. It's lunacy. Especially when she's officially just the assistant teacher. Which is the role she should have in this situation! Assistant teacher's DON'T DO THIS. While she's said to leave a good impact on the students, this could have gone horribly wrong, and the fact Jin doesn't seem to care is a really bad look.

Actively upholds policies that are detrimental the development of social skills and normal skills one would learn in a high school environment along with seemingly uncaring if they get hurt or hurt others doing this, along with the sheer amount of property damage.

He actively allows people into the school who turn out to be spies or actively looking to work against hope's peak, Chisa is a spy, Juzo is a spy, it seems the only credentials to work here are "be an ultimate at some point" and after that Jin just does not care

What about other things he does in the series? (im not going to get screenshots anymore i dont wanna)

He plays favorites with the students, despite Nagito's terrorist attack being very much nagito' sfault, out of the four students involved in the utter catastrophe that was the gym testing thing, he's the only one not expelled because his luck is wanted for further study by Jin. While Ruruka and Seiko do have valid reasons of helping Ruruka cheat (which even then im unsure? like yeah ruruka tried to put in performance enhancing drugs but uh, i dont, think that would effect the pastry? it would just make the people eating it have better talent? It wasn't like Ruruka doped herself to make better pastries, so im unsure if this actually would have counted as cheating. Sure the mix up resulted in laxatives being put in instead which could count as poisoning but the act of the enhancing drug is kind of a grey area here but also gundham was allowed to let a bear bite Souda so I think this should be considered same shit as always) I'm unsure if this is really an expel worthy offense next to "literally blew up the gym in a terrorist attack" nagito over there just getting suspended, and also Sohnosuke is tangentially involved in that debacle at BEST. This is the one time in her life ever that Ruruka deserved better. Also Koichi finally gets punishment in a suspension and Chisa faces a consequence for her actions only after multiple people are poisoned, and Komaeda did a terrorism

The reserve course teaching position is used as a punishment, as when Chisa is finally given a consequence for how wildly out of control she's kinda led everything to be, it's to be a reserve teacher, something seen as a nasty punishment. Again, this ties back into LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT THE RESERVE COURSE. While I won't go too into that because that's also like steering committee stuff, Jin could have easily just suspended her like Koichi. This doesn't even get any payoff because the next episode she just gets put back into 77-B and now is made their ACTUAL homeroom teacher after a few months passed off screen. Jin no.

Jin laments about how he didn't use Kyoko's talent to find the mastermind of the tragedy, which. Is another annoying retcon, because he did do that in danganronpa 0 then fucking backpeddled and threatened her about it. He literally talks about the parade, he did do that, which also my man you couldn't do anything to try and appease the parade? At all?

He's extremely uninvolved, basically every choice or decision he ever makes is because someone else told him to do it, or because he couldn't bother to do something different, he's a doormat, a puppet, and he doesn't care even when it starts to have a death count

Has helped cover up over 10 student deaths. While he argues about the massacre of the student council being covered in dr3, in dr0 he still covers up the Madarai Brothers, Yasuke, the only survivor of the massacre, and Yuto, marking them as just expelled, instead of fucking killed. Very "no one has ever died in disneyland" of him.

Does nothing to help the Reserve course, I'm not even sure he even ever interacts with a reserve

Literally everything about Juzo, sir, sir are you aware the security are assaulting reserves? SIR!

I can't talk too much about his plan to lock up class 78 inside hope's peak because we dont see much of it, but also only sheltering like 17 people inside of hope's peak is a little underkill for how many people you could save with that.

The steering committee isn't even actually all that intimidating, its just four old dudes, like, my dude, you have yakuza and other gang members at this school, you could solve this problem of the steering board doing crimes against humanity pretty easily actually (list of students who definitely could have just killed, reported, or otherwise sabotaged the steering committee if jin had enough of a backbone to actually use his resources to stop mass human experimentation: Byakuya Togami, Imposter, Madarai Brothers, Santa, Suzuhiko Ōtsuki, Matsuda, Sonia, Ted, Elite Task Force Members, Fuyuhiko, Peko, Miaya) These guys are so fucking killable look at them, one of thems already about to pass over dead, literally just give Fuyuhiko like 100,000 dollars and a pass on the sato murder and your problems ~are solved~ and no one can argue "but but morality" HE HELPED COVER UP OVER TEN MURDERS OF HIS STUDENTS

So yeah, terrible headmaster, terrible father, utter spineless coward who I wouldn't trust with a banana let alone Hope's Peak Academy

I do wish we learned anything about his past of hopes peak because like, he has to be an ultimate right? No way he's not, what was his ultimate? What did he do? How did he get this role? Honestly I'm extremely curious about this ngl, like if you want to actually flesh out jin (WHICH LIKE HA NO THEY DONT) a novel about his time at hope's peak could be fun to actually y'know, make him in any way shape of form actually redeemable?

Honestly you could have something interesting there because the Kirigiri clan is supposed to be super underground and Jin's a shit detective so if he's scouted it had to be something related to something else he did, which could help create the divide, and you could use this to actually give us basically any information on his wife, like, a name for instance. Hell with his age of "late 30s" and Kyoko's age at time of death you could make a solid argument that he was a teen dad and now wouldnt that make his dynamic with kirigiri so much more interesting? Like if we assume Kyoko's 17-18 and the late 30's is accurate still even after time in the tragedy that puts him at a solid 17-22 when kyoko was born, hell retcon his birthday to november-december and you could get away with 16. If you really wanna go dark you could even play into the steering committee secretly encouraging teen pregnancy amongst students as an early form of talent eugenics study. Make Kazuo worse, make Jin an example of the circle of violence cowards.

[carefulfears]

can you talk about how dd wanted hank to die vs the ending as it is? like. i can't help but love the characters, i wanted them to make it and for things to get better. but things don't really get better? hank tries and sometimes he does better than others. it was always a struggle, and it wasn't just hank. (things i know you've talked about, i just really love what you have to say 💜💜)

i love you so much <33 yeah i think it's a classic "david sowing vs. david reaping" situation in the sense that he's talked about before the magic trick of that character. making him someone that people don't hate. seeing redeeming qualities in him, like loyalty and honesty. putting so much into it, and pulling it off, in a way that doesn't always happen. i really love that character and not because of who he is as a person or any qualification or anything to do with the way we've begun talking about characters in recent years (as though to love a character you have to want to be friends with them) but because i think it's a great character. so much went in to making it a great character.

and because of all of that...you don't want hank moody to die in the end!! i don't want hank moody to die!! but at the same time, duchovny is right. there is this whole alpha male incel culture based around that character (which fascinates me to no end) and a lot of it lacks an understanding of consequence. in duchovny's work and writing, there is always a clear sense of consequence. there are clear morals, a beginning and end, a right and a wrong. he writes fairytales, basically exclusively. and so it makes sense to me that he would want to make sense of this story and character that way, and it makes sense that he never was going to be able to do that. it ultimately just isn't that kind of story.

one of my clearest memories around this show is when you started watching it and you were watching the raw and the cooked, and you were really upset by the ending scene. karen's "angel i love you so, so much" and the break-up and ‘free bird’ and the ring. and you texted me and you kept saying "i love them so much and it's all terrible" and "it was terrible" and "it's insane that i like this man i get why they love him"

and i said "you have to believe that there's a reason why his girls love him so much and you kind of DO." which was kind of the first way that i contextualized that character…you have to accept, if not understand, that there is something in him that people want to save. something worth sticking around for years, weeping on the porch, waiting on the day where everything will “be okay again” (as karen says).

otherwise, it’s just annoying to watch this group of people suffer at the hands of his actions and wait around for more. for that show to work, you have to believe in him. that’s what the first essay that i ever wrote on the series back in october was about, kind of, “the seduction of sunk potential.”

i remember writing that and choosing every word so carefully and thinking of the “sunk cost fallacy,” this concept of sticking with something just because you’ve put too much into it to give up now. and i wrote about what’s “seductive” about hank moody being “sunk potential,” so much in him that could be realized, if only.

that’s a character that always stands out so much to me (especially as someone so idolized by an “alpha male” culture) as being so loving. he’s openly physically and verbally affectionate with his friends, both male and female. i love scenes where he’ll come into charlie’s house and just casually kiss his forehead hello, or want a hug before work. when charlie’s upset hank always holds him. fucking around with marcy, sitting with her legs over his lap (with their spouses and exes in the room). always would walk away from any situation to help someone else. he never left a room without telling his girls and his friends that he loves them (“to my son, the writer. something i never said too much: i love you” / “i love you. i didn’t say it to hear it back.” being the same episode, etc etc). scenes where becca storms out upset with him and he’s just like…. “okay. i love you.” tries again the next day (a lot of that, verbatim, in s4.)

even what i was talking about yesterday with slow happy boys, the way he cries on the beach listening to his old friend talk about his life and health, drops him off at the airport and hugs him goodbye saying “i love you. i love you.” (and his friend being like…… “okay, homo. love you too.”)

“what’s up, mama mia? mind if i join you?” and sitting out on a ledge, offering to help with her writing when it really confused her (“my own father has never so much as offered to help with my homework, so”), the way he always goes to get her and tells her she’s a “good kid” and hugs her goodbye even after everything.

that character was loving in a very specific way that lacked ego (which he had PLENTY of in every other arena so let’s not get crazy), and that isn’t cohesive with the “last real man” archetype that the show catered to and has become associated with.

and that wasn’t necessary to walk the line of keeping him redeemable. keeping him someone that you don’t hate. which they could’ve done in any number of ways, that didn’t risk making him look like a pussy. (a “homo”)

but he has this endearing goodheartedness to him. and my favorite favorite favorite thing about that character, is that it doesn’t matter. it just doesn’t matter.

it all falls second to this extreme cowardice, and weakness, and vice.

it doesn’t matter that he adores those girls and tells them that he loves them every day, when his dad never said it too much. karen tells him that she knows he loves them, but she doesn’t know what that means anymore.

becca says a few times that she knows that she has parents that love her, and that’s a lot, but that her life has been chaotic and hard. there’s that great moment where she says that her first boyfriend makes her feel beautiful, and hank says very matter-of-fact that she is beautiful, and she rolls her eyes that she is not. and he makes her stop and tells her to never say that, that she’s “the most beautiful thing in the world” to him, and she tells him to treat her that way then.

when she asks if he’s ever felt like he has no one and nothing, and he says that he used to feel like that but now has her. and she asks why she still has nothing.

he can pull mia off every ledge for her whole life, shove and threaten every predatory man around her, help her with every writing assignment and forgive her every sin- but he did not tell a grownup what was going on with her.

he played her game. he kept their secret. he does not ultimately save or protect her, and he does it to save and protect himself.

that’s what keeps me coming back to this character. and i imagine that it’s what keeps his loved ones in LA. there is very easily something good there, something worth saving, but it isn’t winning. and as a viewer you can know that it’s not going to, but it doesn’t feel that way while watching.

and so when you think about this question of like…..how should it all have ended? narratively, he should’ve failed. if not death, something like the ending of season 4. i love that scene so much: hank walking through the film set hugging marcy, making charlie laugh. seeing visions everywhere of karen, and becca, and mia. versions of them that aren’t there anymore, that maybe don’t exist anymore. riding off into the sunset alone in the porsche, typewriter in the backseat.

it’s a good ending. not perfect, maybe not even narratively sound. he doesn’t die, doesn’t really lose, except for the fact that he’s alone. which is really the one thing he never wanted to be: “a morning of awkwardness is far better than a night of loneliness.”

but how much are you really going to get, on a showtime comedy? this isn’t a david duchovny novel. isn’t one of his x-files episodes, isn’t one of his films. he talks all the time about how he wanted hank moody to die because he didn’t want him to get away with it, and maybe that’s part of what’s causing so much of the cultural reputation and harmful rhetoric around men. but you’re never really going to realistically get that on this type of show, and perhaps more troubling, you’re never really going to want it.

[just-a-sleepy-idiot]

Criminal Minds Imagine: Being a Paramedic for ‚The Silencer‘

Based of S8 E1 with the Silencer aka John Myers. I always loved that episode, he‘s one of the few unsubs that I can feel for. Fun fact: The actor who plays him is actually deaf as well!

Content/Warnings: Gender neutral Reader, Canon events, Leg Injury, Short!Reader, Height difference

You were covering the night shift when you were called to come to the Prison and pick up an inmate. Since you were the Hospital closest to the facility you were responsible for the cases that exceeded the qualifications of their medical personnel, as well as anything that happened after their Nurses shift ended. Like now when it was nearing 2 AM in the middle of the night. The guards weren‘t trained to recognize what was wrong with the Inmate, the only thing they could say with certainty over the phone was that he was found collapsed on the floor of his cell, violently shaking as if he was being jolted with electricity.

You and your colleague shot each other a look, while he was driving you prepared the equipment in the back to have anything handy should he turn out to be epileptic or suffer a similarly urgent ailment. You watched the gates of the prison open from the windows in the back, looking on for a moment before you turned back to get a cushion to hold his head still once he was brought in. You opened the doors, the fluorescent lights of the ambulance spilling onto the concrete that the patient was being rolled over by three Guards. They fixated him on a Stretcher of their own, it almost looked too short for a man his size. He was still shaking, you jumped out of the vehicle to help them get him in. His eyelids fluttered when he was brought from the dark into the brightly lit inside of the ambulance, you checked his vitals quickly and prepared an injection.

The Guard that came along for Security reasons hopped in as well and closed the doors behind you, you called out to your colleague to drive without looking up from your patient. The man in front of you didn‘t seem to be aware of anything that was happening, just like you weren’t fully aware of the stuff that Guard was chatting on about while you were at work.

You frowned and looked up when you realized he was talking to you, „Sorry, what was that?“ He sat there so casually like this was a mild nuisance, not the urgent cause for worry over a human life.

„I said it’s a shame you had to come all the way here for that stuff.“ He repeated, and while you looked him in the eyes for a moment and contemplated answering, you didn’t and went back to check for any other injuries.

„So what‘s his problem? Can you tell?“ He pressed on and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his spread knees and looking you over.

„It‘s an allergy.“ You replied, and studied the mans face. Did he have a stroke before? One eyelid was slightly drooping, you flipped through his medical record. While there were many notions about fights he supposedly started and the injuries he took away from them there was nothing there explaining what you were seeing.

And.. „There’s no name? How is that possible?“ The guard shrugged, „Never talked, neither back then or now. Either way he’s silent or he’s violent. A complete waste of tax money if you ask me, but you should know. They call you up for Scum like that in the middle of the night.“

You found yourself getting annoyed with his presence in your work space, this reminded you why you didn’t like taking up these emergencies from the Prison in the first place. That job really seemed to attract a certain kind of man, usually the kind that looked for an excuse to put others down without much of a consequence.

„I don’t know what he did, but being so willing to talk foul of others doesn’t really support your supposed superiority over those you guard.“

You remarked, and there was a moment of silence before suddenly- tires screeched, you were violently thrown back into the wall and the guard flew forward as the ambulance crashed down a hill. Your hearing was muffled by the sound of your blood rushing through your ears like waves crashing down on you, a metallic taste spread in your mouth and made you spit out blood onto the cold floor before you fell unconscious.

It happened so quickly and yet it all took ages, when you regained consciousness you immediately spotted the guard collapsed against the broken doors. You blinked slowly, trying to make out your surroundings.

Hearing velcro snapping open and metal clinking you looked up to find the man getting off his handcuffs and slipping off the Stretcher. When he stood up to his full height his head gently bumped against the ceiling, he tilted his head and looked around-

you make eye contact, you hold onto your breath. He was a Criminal, and judging from the fights he picked in prison he wasn’t adversary to violence.

He said nothing, he only eyed you with suspicion and caution, almost like a wild animal. You didn’t recognize any aggression in his features despite looking worn and well capable of the brutality from his medical record.

He took a step toward you, almost towering over you with the little space he had approached- and held out his hand towards you. His eyes flickered from his hand to you, and your lips parted in surprise. He wasn‘t planning on killing you..

You nervously looked up and yet you found yourself reaching out to him as well to take his offered hand. It engulfed yours easily, his skin radiated warmth against yours and it made you aware of the cold from outside flooding in from the broken doors.

A swift pull brought you up to your feet and a sharp pain made itself aware in your left leg- „Ah..!“ tears shot into your eyes and you instinctively grabbed a hold of his Prison Overall with your free hand to stabilize yourself. „F..Fuck.. I think..“ you breathed. His eyes widened at the sudden motion, instantly letting go of your hand to support your other side. He had seen this pained expression many times, usually it was followed by loud, pained noises that he found unbearable. And yet, even when you gasped in agony it was unexpectedly soft. The tears in your eyes gleamed in the flickering, dimmed lights of the ambulance- it reminded him of something he had read once in a book by Jerry Spinelli; ‚When a Stargirl cries, she sheds not tears but light‘

You looked up to meet his gaze, his ever quiet, intense expression. You weren‘t able to get help if you weren‘t able to walk, the phone dangled from the wall with parts of it scattered on the floor alongside a bunch of medical supplies. The Guard and your Colleague seemed to suffer more than mere unconsciousness, it was crucial that you found someone to help. You.. you should probably start off by taking care of your leg as best as the supply of this ambulance would allow it and give yourself a remedy for the pain. That is.. if he wasn‘t going to change his mind on sparing you. You essentially had no idea what his intentions were, only that he could have easily killed you already if he had wanted to. Would he take you hostage now? Use you for his escape and kill you off once you weren‘t of any use for him anymore? You grimaced, both out of pain and fear, but you didn‘t shout or beg. You simply asked, „Are you going to hurt me?“

He didn‘t immediately react, he couldn‘t guarantee that he wouldn‘t if you did something stupid. But he didn‘t intend to, for now. So he slowly shook his head. You exhaled and closed your eyes in relief, squinting again at the pain. „Are you going to take me hostage?“ You asked, again, he shook his head. You nodded, „Then.. I‘m going to be taking some time to get help. It should buy you enough time to disappear. I don‘t know where exactly we are but.. avoid Thompsville, I see a lot of Guards dropping by there to get lunch. They would recognize you.“ He had more reasons to kill you than to let you go, so the least you could do.. was that. That was when it dawned on you that you were practically clawing at his Overall and you quickly let go, taking a step away from him and hitting the stretcher with your back.

He saw the realization on your face when you became aware of your proximity, quickly you retreated from him despite your sprained leg. But unlike everyone else you didn‘t make a disgusted face when they realized he was there, it was.. embarrassment? He slightly tilted his head. John nodded at your words and took a step back as well towards the doors. He knew where he wanted to go now. Before he was arrested there was no calm, no quiet, no matter where he went in hopes of finally living without the agony of the noisy outside world. But due to an unexpected turn of events did he find a vision of such place in prison. The man in the cell next to him talked of a place so peaceful, it left him yearning to go there ever since. Now he actually had an opportunity to see it for himself.

He was about to turn away, to open the doors and go, when he picked up your movements from the corner of his eye. You heaved yourself up on the strainer and tried reaching the supplies from there, but failed to do so because they were up too high. Your hands were shaking. John paused, and why he did it he could not tell, but he went back to go to the cabinet for you. His hand hovered over it, waiting for you to tell him what you needed from it. „Ah.. um, the syringe, and, yes-„ He got out what you told him you needed.

You lifted your shaking leg so you could start cutting open your pant leg, he got impatient and took the scissors from you and kneeled down to do it instead. He carefully propped your foot on his chest, you looked at him in surprise but let him proceed. He carefully cut through your pants up to your knee to reveal the swelling that confirmed it to be sprained. He helped you put an ankle brace on, careful not to touch you. It might prevent further injury when you moved, and the pain medication you injected yourself would soon start to work as well. You sighed when everything was done that could be done for now- he watched you run your hand over your face. When he helped you you had winced here and there, sighed at the pain, but you didn‘t pull away. Your eyes locked with his, there was no need for you to speak, he nodded at you as if he instantly understood what you felt. You figured he saw it as a repayment for helping him out of the seizure he suffered.

John turned around to open the doors, looking left and right before jumping out of the car. The ambulance had landed in the forest next to the highway, it was dark and steep. You limped towards the doors, and lowered yourself to sit on the floor so didn‘t need to jump when you slid out and came in contact with the forest floor. He was looking around, working on putting together a flashlight he had found in the car. Where were you..? You have rarely been the driver during Calls like these so you couldn‘t really tell where the highway was going either. Shit.. you didn‘t want to hitchhike, how high was the possibility of being spared by a Criminal twice? You‘d rather not wander the street in the middle of the night to be picked up by god knows who. No, best case scenario was you found a shop with cameras, the manager could call an ambulance and send them to your stranded car to help the other two.

The man managed to turn on the flashlight and looked back at you, gesturing you to come along. He would get you close enough to civilization until you could safely walk the rest on your own, maybe you recognized your surroundings at any point and could pinpoint him into a secluded direction.

You followed suit as best as you could, thankfully he illuminated the path in front of you both so you wouldn‘t trip and hurt yourself even more. The forest air was cold but fresh, you heard birds calling out in the distance and the rustling of leaves as the wind bend the trees in what was going to be a storm in foreseeable time.

„I like Night time walks..“ you started talking, just because the whole Situation was freaking you out and you still had lots of Adrenaline pumping through you, „It‘s usually too bright and noisy when you walk in the Daytime. But it‘s really pretty when you look into the Orange lights of someones windows against the blue night. And when the birds act up around the time it gets dark and they fly around in swarms.“ John shot you a glance, lingering for a moment before looking ahead again. When was the last time he was out at night? He tried remembering the last time he had seen what you described to him. Maybe it was in Spring, the night had been warmer than the ones before.

You found a walking path soon, a good sign that you were somewhat close to civilization, at least you could follow that path now instead of hoping that you were somewhat steady in the direction you‘ve been taking. The pain medication was working by now, but it didn‘t make walking any less difficult for you. The man was walking slower so you could keep up, you were thankful of that but at what rate would you actually get somewhere with the way you were limping? The longer you two were gone the closer he was to have the Police called on him. You hoped that he wouldn‘t abandon you in the forest because of this. Time was running and it would rain soon.

It’s been a while, you couldn’t tell if it was thirty minutes or two hours when you came across a gigantic tree on your path, it was so dark you couldn‘t even see the trunk. The man approached it and looked around as well, climbing it with ease and huffing when he jumped off to the other side. You slowed down in your steps, eyeing this massive obstacle in your path warily- he pointed the light back at you so you could see and it wasn‘t looking good. Should you try to get on your stomach and then just.. just move over like a seal? The man seemed to recognize the problem as well, because he got on top of the tree as well. He crouched down to one knee and held his arm out to you.

You limped closer and carefully put one hand on his shoulder, imagining he‘d support your balance– you let out a surprised sound when his hand came around your waist instead and he heaved you up into his arms instead with one arm, lifting you off the ground as if you weighed nothing. You instantly went to put your arms around him to hold on, clawing at his collar. You felt heat rushing into your face when you felt his fingers gently dig into your thighs. He rose up to his full height again, adjusting you in his arms by heaving you up a little more. He got off the tree, careful not to shake you too much. For a second he caught a whiff of your perfume. It was sweet, like a vision of the place the man in prison had told him about. The paradise he was chasing, with lush fields and honeybees.

When his feet touched ground again, John pointed the light towards you again to check if you were alright. His eyes widened just a little when he saw that a dark shade of red had flooded your cheeks, and your eyes caught his with a glassy look of embarrassment. He mustered you for signs of discomfort, yet the only thing he could discern was that you seemed to be.. flustered. Hm.

People usually didn’t react to him that way. Many of them crossed the street or put distance between themselves and him even if he was just minding his own business.

His imposing height paired with this impairment he had with noises, his defiance to speak after growing up deaf, it made him unapproachable and suspicious to most people. He understood why, and over time the noise sensitivity and isolation had turned him into a recluse. But..

he couldn’t deny that this felt nice, comforting in a way. He didn’t remember the last time he wanted to be careful with someone else in the way he was with you right now.

He held out the flashlight to you and you took it from him with a questioning look. Once his other hand was free he put his other arm around your legs, shifting you so you laid in his arms like a bride instead. You swallowed thickly, unable to break eye contact with him for yet another moment before you pointed the light ahead of you so he could see. His hands were warm through the fabric of your clothes.

„So you don‘t talk at all..?“ You started after a while, looking up into his face. It seemed like he was going to show no reaction, but then he nodded slowly while still looking ahead. „I assume no one in Prison is using sign language with you.“ You were quiet for a while, rocking in his arms with every step. You heard the gravel under his shoes. The wind picked up, you slightly cowered more into his chest. „If you had written letters to someone they would have known your name by now. So.. so do you communicate with anyone at all?“ You looked up to him, he frowned and his eyelids fluttered for a moment. How did you know? Why did you ask? He did not dare meet your gaze.

First raindrops were starting to come down, a contrasting cold against your warm cheeks. You shivered. „That must be hard.“ You breathed, gaze letting go of him to trail down to your legs. The swelling of your leg still alarmingly prominent. When the rain picked up you blinked fast and instinctively hid your face in his Overall. His eyes quickly darted down to you when you did that, John slightly pressed his lips together and slowly looked up again. Your nose nuzzled against him, it felt like he held a fawn in his arms.

It seemed as if the forest was slowly clearing up, the path was getting wider. You must be close now-

A light cut through the dark, one that was not your own. He spotted a house, no, more than that. A village.

The luminescent lights of a nearby gas station reached you, a car was just driving away from there.

Relief coursed through you, you turned off the flashlight and ran a hand through your hair. God.. you actually managed to get there before the night was over! Maybe your colleagues had a chance, maybe someone had called already to find your ambulance. You needed to tell them where you were.

He halted and bend over, carefully helping you back onto your feet. His eyes flickered over you when he stabilized you and took back the flashlight. You realized he wouldn’t want to get any closer, once you made your call this place would be swarmed by Police.

So.. this was it?

You breathed out and looked at him, you didn’t quite know what to say. Your form stood against the orange light from behind you, contrasting the blue from the night. A scene molded out of your words. Maybe you could make all these impressions come true with your words.

„I.. um,“ you brushed a wet strand of hair out of your face, it was pouring now. „Thank you for taking me here. I don’t know what you did that got you into prison, but I know what you did for me so.. please stay safe.“

You smiled and, maybe it was the adrenaline but, you leaped forward and hugged him. Johns arms instinctively jumped upwards in surprise, he felt his heart race against the spot where your head laid.

He was.. fully immobile for a moment, when he managed to regain his senses John put his arms around your smaller frame in return. He engulfed you easily, the rain seemed to stop when he lowered his head to rest on top of yours for a moment. Even now he seemed to be very careful with his touch.

He felt weirdly grateful for this, for the way you allowed him some kindness despite his unknown past, despite his Silence. You squeezed him and let go, he inhaled deeply and nodded at you before taking a few steps back.

You smiled lightly and turned around to go to the Gas station. When you turned around one more time he was gone, but you saw the faint light of the flashlight dancing through the trees. Birds called out from the forest and took off into the sky.

It‘s been a while since I‘ve written or posted anything. I hope you liked this nonetheless and if you did it would motivate me if you left a comment or an ask!!

[albatrossdeveloper]

XOXO Accessibility: My Experience Attending

All right, this is what I do, and for once I'm actually excited to do it?? 

I went into XOXO jaded as hell. I have every right and every reason to be. Access is both easy and hard, complicated and simple. An event can do everything within its power to create accessibility, but if your crowd is full of people who block the ramps and stand in front of people sitting in rollators, disabled people will still be kept from enjoying themselves, and be forced to put on a brave face for it. XOXO was the rare kind of thing where I left uplifted, and thinking maybe there is a future for people with physical and cognitive disabilities to be allowed to participate in the larger community of artists. 

Every talk had CART. It wasn't perfect, the outdoor tent had them stage-right in the front, so they couldn't see the slides which showed some of the more difficult words people were using, but holy shit they had CART at every talk. This shouldn't be an issue like it is, but it creates access for everyone; not just deaf and HOH individuals, but people who have sensory processing disorders and just able bodied and minded people who missed a word or two. The events at the mainstage had the CART done from the back it seems, and I noticed it was much more accurate. 

As for the comfort level at the events, guys, I did fucking floor time. I was flaring pretty bad those two days, the chairs weren't incredibly comfortable, and I wanted to change positions. So I sat on the floor, which is already rare for me to feel that confidence, and a volunteer asked if I needed anything like a chair, and when I started explaining just thumbs-upped me and walked away. I was astounded, usually I have to explain myself, but they just went on "I don't have to understand I'm just here to help" style and did their job without making me feel weird. Genuinely, that was probably my most uplifting moment of the event, stopping dead in my tracks of an explanation I shouldn't feel the need to give in the first place, feeling safer than I've felt to just be a little autistic weirdo who needs floor time than I probably ever have. I go to chronic pain support groups regularly where people will look at me funny for sitting on the floor. The fact that in support groups I get more side-eyeing than I did at XOXO just speaks to the atmosphere they cultivated that we're allowed to truly come as we are. I've had so many iterations of this experience, all well-intended usually, but this is by far the most comfortable I have ever felt. 

I'm the kind of sensitive person who gets caught up in this minutiae. I noticed every single cable was well covered with an accessible ramp that would have passed seattle's legal qualifications for how we have to cover our EV chargers as to not trip people on sidewalks, and the ramps were always immediately made clear for me when people without mobility aids were crowding them as soon as I came into view with one. Everyone who I interacted with did literally everything within their power to help me deal with my very severe grass allergy. This always bothers me at conferences, and at GDC I was running on 4 benadryl at a time multiple doses per day because yerba buena is like swimming in histamines for me. I didn't have to take any benadryl until the last day when I went to a Slack organized meetup in a park, and I hadn't brought my rollator and was given a chair to sit in so I could continue participating in the conversation. At no point did anyone stand in front of me excluding me from the group, this happens often when I'm sitting in a rollator, I was always a welcome member of groups and circles of conversations. 

There was one big issue that happened, and everyone who marked ourselves as having access needs were emailed about it the day before. They usually have tiling on top of the grass, to make the terrain easier to navigate. It was BUMPY as hell, and I definitely struggled to navigate it. This was the biggest access hangup I hit, but I was notified it would happen in advance, and it was made clear to me that one of the main organizers was absolutely scrambling to try and make it right. When I asked if there were any plans to mitigate it, I was told options had been exhausted and was actually offered a full refund of my pass. I had an incredible experience, and I don't feel like it impacted me enough to make that necessary, but I cannot stress how fucking rare it is for people to literally put their money where their mouth is on these issues. Everyone who is disabled and/or using mobility aids I talked to was definitely struggling with it, and anyone who was there and dealing with it in some capacity please feel free to comment your experiences below, as mine isn't enough to give a full picture. My fellow attendees did everything they could to make it easier for me to navigate, and even the food vendors helped me make sure everything I bought was something I could move from their space to the tables in or on my rollator without sauces going flying. 

Covid measures are their own thing, and this event had some great policies in place. NUMEROUS types of masks were available, and I'm finding myself wishing I'd taken pictures of all the different types available. This is just a summary of my experience, and I’m so happy it was so positive. I left this conference feeling artistically fed and uplifted, which is a genuine first for me. Thank you to everyone involved in organizing for your hard work! 

[grison-in-space]

I'm honestly curious how you square the criticism of paternalism with the apparent conviction that people (or at least some people) are better off with some kind of minder, or in some way unfree. These read as basically the same things to me, so what qualifications need to apply to the latter to make it acceptable?

You know what, that is a fair question. I think what I was trying to articulate last night is actually a little more complicated than that, but I definitely did not lay out the connective tissue to get there, and I see how you got that reading. (I am very much one of those people who thinks by speaking, sometimes, and I am absolutely doing some of that by this point.)

First: I don't think that some people are better off unfree, full stop. I really want to emphasize that very strongly here.

Second: I was trying to articulate some of my tension with the notion that 100% unbounded freedom of choice is inherently the ideal to which all individuals (do? should?) aspire. ARA philosophy focuses really heavily on the idea that any curtailment of choice or influence from humans to animals is inherently coercion and therefore immoral. It focuses very strongly on the idea that freedom to choose is the highest possible value to strive for.

And I think that partaking in society is inherently to accept curtailments on at least some freedoms, in exchange for receiving the support and resources of the greater social whole. (If nothing else, sometimes things I would like to do are also things that will upset someone else in my shared social world, who will then impose consequences on me about it.) What I was trying to do is articulate that trading some of those freedoms in exchange for the benefits of a society can be, and often is, a pretty good trade. That's why sociality exists in the first place, even in the existence of some pretty harsh hierarchies within some species.

I was not very clear about this, I freely admit.

The thing you gotta understand about me is that I think in terms of trade offs. Life is a series of imperfect decisions made to allocate finite resources (if nothing else, time) between series of conflicting demands and desires. Understanding those decisions is essentially my bread and butter. And everything has a cost—even preference itself.

Now, in terms of humans, one of the things that humans are genuinely rather unusual about is our collective capacity for delayed gratification, impulse control, and abstract reasoning. When we talk about animals, we have to recall that informed consent in this sense is essentially impossible to acquire: without language to convey abstract options and with much less capacity to consider future outcomes, it's harder to present these ideas to animals the way you can with humans.

And... for all that humans are unusually good at those things, we're not always that good at them! I was trying to reach for and articulate that my own experiences with decision-making in the present instant don't always square with my longer term goals and values, and that reasoning through the long term consequences of my actions like a perfectly logical actor isn't always something I am capable of doing in all moments of all time. Which is why I build in structures to outsource some of that cognitive load. I think there's a considerable cognitive load that comes with decision-making in an infinitely complex world, and I think that part of the utility of society is to help structure choices so that you don't have to engage in the cognitive effort of gathering information for every potential choice you could make and then making it. The structure lets us conserve effort and reserve energy for other goals and decisions.

I don't have to know why the fire code says there needs to be an egress window in my basement bedroom and think about whether the future risk of fire justifies the definite immediate cost of paying for the window and accurately assess the risk of burning alive; I just need to know that my city fire code says my choice is to have a bedroom with an egress window or not have a bedroom there. Risk assessment is really hard and it carries a lot of uncertainty; yielding my judgement to a trustworthy authority is a way to conserve effort.

Of course, how do we know an authority is trustworthy? That's the thing that is hard; the consequences of yielding choice to a structure that is not actually built to support you are stark. And authority isn't always trustworthy by default.

I view the ideal role of the state as a way to structure our society such that we leave maximal room for freedom while minimizing the amount of effort and discomfort it takes to attain longer term collective goals for safety and comfort. The inclusion of humans with all kinds of experiences in that power structure to the extent that we can do so, with expertise in various situations outsourced to people who have dedicated significant time to thinking deeply about those cases, helps us to minimize the risk of authority wielded to oppress rather than to guide. (And yes, circling back to disability and mad pride, the experience of people with cognitive, emotional, and perceptive disabilities absolutely needs to be a part of that structure.) We collectively build authoritative structures that shape our choice making environment such that we have relatively little room for harm and increased freedoms elsewhere.

That's humans. We can think far enough ahead and communicate well enough to make that work. Animals generally can't. So when we think about the ethics of human/animal interactions, it's likewise important to make sure that we are listening as carefully as we can in order to try to navigate that trade off as carefully as possible, with the caveat that it IS a trade off rather than an unalloyed good juxtaposed against a certain evil.

[mgarmagedon]

It's one shot time again baby >:3

English:

Magnus walked through the prison corridor. The noise from the echoing cells was overwhelming, and despite them being fully soundproofed, the sight of the highest judge surrounded by inmates in that place caused sheer madness.

Unmoved by it all, Ultra Magnus walked silently, tapping his cane on the ground.

The man didn't have the opportunity to frequent such places outside the court, where he interacted with convicts, but this occasion was exceptional due to one prisoner, the son of his former leader – Bumblebee.

He couldn't believe that it was Bumblebee from all of the people that he needed to ask for help, especially considering how this young man had fallen and become a disgrace to the entire Optimus legend in Ultra Magnus's opinion.

He slowly entered the closed special wing, where prisoners were isolated from the rest, for various reasons, but Bee had been transferred here for the safety of other inmates.

Magnus took a chair standing in front of one of the empty cells, dragged it into one of the dark alcoves, delicately placed it in front of the solitary cell, and sat down slowly. He tossed his coat back, rested his hands and arms on the cane, looking into the dark cell.

A quiet cough to draw attention, hoping for something to finally happen in the dark cell illuminated only by blue floor lamps.

He could hear a faint rumble from the cell, reacting to the man's presence. This sound was followed by another – the shooting of the spine, getting up from the prison cot, and the quiet sliding of headphones from his head to the ground. Slowly and lazily, the dark figure stood up, concluding the entire procedure with a loud yawn and a scratch on the lower part of his back.

"Maybe you could show some manners in front of others," he remarked, looking at the dark figure. "Such unscrupulous behavior doesn't suit you, especially."

The figure in the darkness hunched slightly and sighed quietly. The man in the shadows approached the bluish glow.

"Do you care that much about my behavior, since when? Since the day you spat in Ratchet's face, blaming him for my whole behavior?" he crossed his arms.

The man standing before the barrier, who was shorter than Ultra Magnus, wore an orange jumpsuit, dirty from sweat and slightly torn, with food stains. His hairstyle was a messy mass of brown strands going in all directions. He wore no shoes, only socks with a hole through which a toe protruded. Due to a lack of care, he had grown a beard, and his previously well-toned figure had given way to a slightly protruding stomach.

Ultra Magnus scrutinized Bumblebee, who lost his touch since he got into prison.

"I see you haven't spared yourself during your time here," he said, despite the sarcasm, in a cold and serious tone, to the point that he meant it literally.

"And what about you? Is the cane and glasses a new thing to make you seem more dignified, or are you slowly deteriorating?"

"Without malice, Bumblebee, considering who you're still talking to, I can submit a request to extend your sentence for insulting a public servant of my high rank."

"Just tell me what you want from me? If it's about any capabilities to fight or lead, Arcee has all the qualifications to do it better and faster than me!"

The gray-haired man simply sighed at Bee's words and shook his head disapprovingly.

"If I could, I would have done it long ago. Currently, your sister is busy as she holds a higher position in the Senate."

"Even better," he scoffed at the news, behaving like an offended little child.

"Anyway," Magnus cleared his throat to interrupt Bee, "I come to you today with a kind of proposition that I rarely apply..." He struggled to get it through his pride. "Due to the fact that you are a trained soldier, an excellent agent, ready for any possible situation, where we need people like you the most in these times. I want to give you the opportunity for rehabilitation through community service. By fulfilling them satisfactorily, you would repay your social debt and become a free man again."

"Do you really want to release me so easily?" Shocked by the older man's words, Bee widened his eyes and raised his eyebrows.

"Unfortunately, I have to..." he hissed through his teeth.

Bee grabbed his chin and pondered intensely over Magnus's words.

"And what exactly does this 'community service' entail?" Bumblebee crossed his arms again, looking into the eyes of the graying man on the chair.

"Something simple, where you'll have to communicate with young people and teach others your naturally acquired knowledge from the battlefield. You shouldn't have a big problem with that. Of course, we'll hire you in the central police station as a lieutenant for a while so you can get the necessary permissions."

"Wait," the man in the cell stopped him. "What do you mean by 'communicating with young people and teaching others my knowledge'?"

This was a question that Magnus wanted to avoid as much as possible.

"To teach my daughter a few skills. She has great potential and amazing abilities, but due to recent events, I realized that she doesn't cope well in the real world. With her knowledge and your skills, she would quickly learn how to function in real society, not just in theoretical situations. Besides... She needs to spend some more time with someone she won't take such an example from, like you." 

The words spoken by the black man only disgusted Bee. He couldn't believe what Ultra Magnus was proposing to him. He approached the barrier separating him from Magnus, looked him straight in the eyes, and furrowed his brow.

"Are you mocking me?" He chuckled slightly in anger. "Now I have to take care of your brat, which you accidentally made, and you don't even want to take care of her yourself? Just because you think you're doing me a favor now by offering me to become a nanny for my own freedom? I have no idea what Optimus saw in you appointing you as his right hand; you're a messed-up piece of shit. Not to mention what state you've brought Cybertron to with your 'great council' after the war." He said mockingly. "Let me tell you one thing, Magnus, I'm NOT SUITABLE for taking responsibility for anything. Look at the state I've brought myself to! It's a miracle I haven't died in some ditch, becoming an anonymous corpse of some hobo, like every war veteran lately. And now, find yourself a better sucker! I don't know, maybe Bulkhead is free, or convince your ass-kisser Smokescreen. He'll surely agree, after sucking your dick for almost 10 years to get to a good position."

Bee turned on his heel and disappeared in the semi-darkness of the cell, lying on his cot with his face to the wall. Just so Ultra Magnus would finally leave him alone. He grumbled something under his breath. The older man just stood up, took the chair under his arm.

"I got the message. Well then, I guess Ratchet won't be able to see you anytime soon." He began to walk away slowly.

Bee moved towards the barrier at Magnus's words, pressing against it with all his might.

"What do you mean by 'meet'?" he shouted in his direction. 

"I intended to let you meet your father shortly after joining your service as a reward for your conduct. It's amazing how your family misses you, even Arcee and that con, Knock Out, are asking about you. After all, for the first time in a long time, they all know where you are, and that you are safe."

"Do you really think attempting to force me to become your lackey will accomplish anything? They don't need me, and everyone knows it well. I'm just garbage in their eyes and in the eyes of the whole society! Stop, just... I..." he rubbed his face with his hand. He sighed loudly; his head was already a mess from this conversation.

He didn't know what to say or do anymore. He also missed everyone, but he sincerely believed he was just a burden that had to be dragged along. He kept telling himself that he was a failure and the reason for all the misfortune in his and others' lives. Now he was wrestling with himself, and didn't want to sell himself so easily to Magnus, on the other hand, it sounded so easy to be free again and escape far from here once again. 'But does it make any sense at this point?' he asked himself this question, slowly bending down to the ground to sit crouched. Clutching himself as much as he could, he hid his head between his knees.

"So what's your final decision?" Magnus after he came back to Bee, raised an eyebrow standing in front of Bee. "This is not the time for such behavior; just say yes or no."

Bee froze in this position for a moment, unable to utter a single word because with every scream thrown into the space of his mind, tears were gathering in his eyes.

"Will it make anything better at all?" he said, staying in his crouched position.

"You'll have a chance to finally stabilize and perhaps change your life for the better," Magnus stared blankly into the space in front of him, noticing how Bee's cell was neglected.

Torn papers were scattered everywhere, and the photos attached to the wall had strings made of shoelaces connecting them. Clean clothes were piled under his cot in an indeterminate mass, remaining untouched for a while. On Bumblebee's bed, there was a discman covered with slightly yellowed stickers.

"When should it start?" the brunette whispered. "In about 3 months, the new semester will begin at the academy, and that's when I plan to take my daughter, Strongarm, for homeschooling, which you will take care of. Of course, I'll take care of your repair, medical care, and psychiatrist. I'll also make sure you return to your prime form by then," he cast his gaze back on Bee, slowly getting up from the ground. "I understand that this is your consent, Bumblebee."

"I guess so..." he replied uncertainty. 

"Great. In a week, my secretary will come with documents for you to sign." he walked away with the chair under his arm, leaving Bee without further explanations.

Bee was left alone, shaken by the whole situation, not knowing what to do and why such situations only happened to him. He lay down again on his cot, put on his headphones, and immersed himself again in his world of music

Polish:

Magnus szedł przez korytarz więzienny. Szum z unoszących się cel był wszechmogący i mimo tego że cele były w pełni wyciszone, widok sędzi najwyższego zbiorem zamkniętym w tamtym przybytku powodowało czyste szaleństwo. 

Ultra Magnus niewzruszony tym wszystkim cicho szedł przed siebie postukując swoją laską o ziemię. 

Mężczyzna nie miał okazji zbyt często przebywać w tych samych przybytkach poza sądem, gdzie widział się ze skazanymi, ale ta okazja była wyjątkowa, z powodu jednego więźnia, którym był syn jego byłego przywódcy- Bumblebee.

Sam nie był w stanie uwierzyć, że był skazany na taki, a nie inny wybór, zwłaszcza przez to jak stoczył się ten chłopak i stał się wstydem dla całej legendy Optimusa zdaniem Ultra Magnusa.

Powoli wszedł do zamkniętego skrzydła specjalnego, gdzie więźniowie byli odizolowani od reszty przybytku, z wszelakich powodów, ale w tym został tutaj przeniesiony dla bezpieczeństwa innych więźniów.

Magnus wziął krzesło stojące przed jedną z pustych cel i zaciągnął je w jedno z ciemnych rozgałęzień. Po czym delikatnie je ustawił przed jedyną celą i usiadł powoli, zarzucając swój płaszcz do tyłu, a swoje ręce i ramiona oparł o laskę patrząc w głąb ciemnej celi.

Cicho kaszlnął by zwrócić na siebie uwagę, by coś się w końcu wydarzyło w ciemnej celi, podświetlanej jedynie niebieskimi lampami przy podłodze. 

Można było usłyszeć cichy pomruk unoszący się celi, reagujący na obecność mężczyzny. Tym dźwięku nastąpił kolejny- strzelania kości, przez wstawanie z więziennej pryczy i cichego zsunięcia słuchawek z jego głowy na ziemię. Powoli i leniwie czarna postura wstała, kończąc tą całą procedurę głośnym ziewnięciem na koniec i podrapaniem się po dolnej partii pleców.

- Może zachowałbyś trochę kultury przy innych.- stwierdził patrząc na czarną posturę mężczyzny.- Takie bezpruderyjne zachowanie nie przystoi zwłaszcza tobie.

Postura w ciemności jedynie jedynie nieco zgarbił i cicho westchnął. Mężczyzną w cieniu podszedł do promieniującej na niebiesko.

- Aż tak ci zależy na moim zachowaniu, od kiedy? Od wtedy kiedy splunąłeś w twarz Ratchetowi, że to jego wina i jestem wstydem dla Optimusa i niego? - skrzyżował ręce.

Mężczyzna stojący przed barierą, był niższy od Ultra Magnusa i był w pomarańczowym stroju, brudnym od potu i nieco podartym, posiadającym plamy od jedzenia. Jego fryzura za to była tylko rozczochraną masą brązowych pasm włosów, które niezgrabnie rozchodziły się we wszystkie strony. Nie nosił żadnego obuwia, jedynie skarpetki z jedną dziurą przez którą wystawał palec. Brunetowi przez brak ochoty na większe dbanie o siebie urósł zarost. A jego ówcześnie wysportowana sylwetka oklapła i zastąpił ją delikatnie wystający brzuch.

Ultra Magnus dokładnie przyjrzał się Bumblebee, który wyszedł z formy przez zastanie i ogólny brak woli do robienia czegokolwiek.

- Widzę, że się nie oszczędzałeś przez ostatnie lata pobyty tutaj.- Mimo, że jego wypowiedź była sarkastyczna, powiedział zimnym i poważnie, do stopnia, że mówił to dosłownie.

- Ty chyba też? Ta laska i okulary to nowa, rzecz która ma ci dodawać powagi i respektu czy już powoli niedomagasz? 

- Bez złośliwości Bumblebee, widz z kim nadal rozmawiasz, mogę dodać wniosek o wydłużenie ci wyroku za obrazę funkcjonariusza publicznego tak wysokiego stopnia jak mój.

- Powiedz mi po prostu czego chcesz ode mnie? Bo jeśli chodzi o jakiekolwiek możliwości do walki lub by coś poprowadzić, ona ma wszystkie predyspozycje by zrobić to lepiej i szybciej ode mnie!

Siwy mężczyzna jedynie westchnął na słowa Bee i pokiwał głową z dezaprobatą. 

- Gdybym mógł to bym dawno to zrobił. Aktualnie twoją siostra jest zajęta, bo obejmuje wyższe stanowisko w senacie-

- Jeszcze lepiej.-prychnął na tą wiadomość, zachowując się jak obrażone małe dziecko.

- Wracając.- odchrząknął by przerwać Bee.- Przychodzę dzisiaj do ciebie z pewnego rodzaju propozycją, której nie stosuje prawie nigdy...- ciężko mu przez jego dumę przechodzi to przez gardło.- Z powodu dlatego iż jestem wyszkolonym żołnierzem, świetnym agentem, gotowy na wszelkie możliwe sytuację, gdzie potrzebujemy takich ludzi jak ty najbardziej w tych czasach. Chcę ci dać możliwość na rehabilitację swoich czynów poprzez pracę społeczne, dzięki którym po wypełnieniu ich w satysfakcjonujący sposób, spłacił byś swój dług społeczny i byłbyś spowrotem wolnym człowiekiem.

- Naprawdę chcesz mnie tak łatwo wypuścić?- zszokowany na słowa starszego mężczyzny, Bee zrobił duże oczy i podniósł brwi.

- Niestety muszę...-wysyczał przez zęby cicho.

Bee chwycił się za brodę i zaczął się intensywnie zastanawiać nad słowamis Magnusa. 

- A na czym mają polegać te "pracę społeczne"?- Bumblebee ponownie skrzyżował ręce i spojrzał w oczy siwiejącego mężczyźnie na krześle.

- Coś prostego, do czego będziesz musiał komunikować się z młodzieżą i jedynie uczyć innych swojej naturalnie nabytej wiedzy z pola walki. Nie powinieneś mieć z tym większego problemu, oczywiście przez to zatrudnimy cię tam jako porucznika na jakiś czas, byś dostał potrzebne pozwolenia-

- Poczekaj.- zatrzymał go mężczyzna w celi.- Co masz na myśli przez "komunikację z młodzieżą i uczenie innych mojej wiedzy"? 

To pytanie, które Magnus chciał ominąć jak najszerszym łukiem. Aczkolwiek również nie zamierzał go w tym temacie okładamć, bardziej uniknąć tego szczegółu. 

- Uczyć moją córkę fachu. Ma wielki potencjał i niesamowite zdolności, ale przez ostatnie wydarzenia, zrozumiałem, że nie zbyt dobrze sobie radzi w prawdziwym świecie. A z jej wiedzą i twoimi umiejętnościami, szybko by się nauczyła jak funkcjonować w prawdziwym społeczeństwie, a nie teoretycznych sytuacjach. Poza tym... Musi trochę pospędzać więcej czasu z kimś z kogo nie będzie brać takiego przykładu, przez jak skończyłeś.- słowa wypowiadane przez czarnoskórego mężczyznę, jedynie zniesmaczyły Bee.

Bee nie mógł uwierzyć w to co mu proponuję Ultra Magnus. Podszedł bliżej do bariery oddzielającej go od niego. Spojrzał mu prosto w oczy i zmarszczył brwi.

- Kpisz sobie ze mnie?- zaśmiał się lekko w złości.- Teraz mam jeszcze zajmować się twoim bachorem, którego sobie zrobiłeś przez przypadek I nawet nie chce ci się nią zajmować? Tylko dlatego, że myślisz, że robisz mi teraz Primus wie jaką łaskę proponując mi zostanie niańką za własną wolność? Nie mam pojęcia co w tobie widział Optimus mianując cię swoją prawą ręką, jesteś skurwiałym śmieciem. Nie mówiąc już do jakiego stanu doprowadziłeś Cybetron po wojnie s "wszechwspaniałą radą".- powiedział to kpiąco.- Powiem ci jedno Magnus, ja się NIE NADAJE na branie odpowiedzialności za cokolwiek, spójrz do jakiego stanu się dopuściłem! Cud, że jeszcze nie umarłem w jakimś rowie, zostając bezimiennym truchłem jakiegoś żula, jak każdy weteran wojenny ostatnio. A teraz znajdź sobie lepszego frajera! Nie wiem może Bulkhead jest wolny albo weź zmuś do tego swojego lizodupca- Smokescreena. On na pewno się na to zgodzi, w końcu od prawie 10 lat ssie ci pałę, by dość do dobrego stanowiska.

Bee odwrócił się na pięcie i zniknął w półmroku celi, kładąc się na swoją pryczę twarzą do ściany. Tak by w końcu Ultra Magnus dał mu święty spokój. Burczał coś sobie pod nosem. A starszy mężczyzna jedynie wstał i wziął krzesło pod pachę.

- Zrozumiałem ten przekaz. W takim razie, chyba Ratchet nie będzie się w stanie z tobą zobaczyć w najbliższym czasie.- zaczął powoli odchodzić.

Bee ruszył do bariery na te słowa Magnusa. Przycisnął się do niej z całej siły.

- Co masz na myśli spotkać się?-wykrzyczał w jego stronę.

- Miałem zamiar cię puścić na spotkanie z twoim ojcem w niedługim czasie po przystąpieniu do twojej służby jako nagrodę za Twoje sprawowanie. To zadziwiające jak twoją rodzina za tobą tęskni, nawet Arcee i ten con- Knock Out się o ciebie dopominają. W końcu pierwszy raz od dawna wiadomo chociaż gdzie jesteś i że jesteś chociaż tutaj bezpieczny.

- Serio myślisz, że próba wymuszenia na mnie zostania twoim sługuskiem coś da? Oni mnie nie potrzebują i wszyscy o tym dobrze wiedzą. Jestem zwykłym śmieciem w ich oczach jak i całego społeczeństwa! Przestań, po prostu... ja...- przetarł swoją dłonią twarz. Głośno westchnął mają już mentlik w głowie przez tą rozmowę. 

Nie wiedział już co ma powiedzieć, ani co robić. On również tęskniłem za każdym, ale szczerze wierzył, że jest jedynie męczącym workiem mięsa który trzeba za sobą ciągnąć. Ciągle sobie powtarzał w głowie, że jest nieudacznikiem i to on jest powodem wszystkich nieszczęście w jego i innych życiach. Sam się teraz gryzł ze samym sobą, nie chciał się tak łatwo sprzedać Magnusowi, z drugiej strony, brzmiało to bardzo łatwo by znowu być wolnym i uciec daleko stąd ponownie 'ale czy to ma już jakikolwiek sens w tym momencie?', sam sobie zadawał to pytanie, powoli schylając się ku ziemi by usiąść skulonemu. Ściskając się jak najbardziej tylko mógł, ukryła głowę między kolanami.

- To jaka jest w końcu twoją finalna decyzja?- Magnus podniósł jedną brew stając przed Bee.- To nie czas na takie zachowanie, powiedz po prostu tak czy nie.

Bee zastygł w tej pozycji na chwilę, nie potrafiąc wypowiedzieć jednego słowa, bo za każdym okrzykiem wyrzuconym w przestrzeń jego umysłu, zbierało mu się na łzy. 

- A czy to jakkolwiek sprawi, że będzie lepiej...?- powiedział to zostając w swojej skulonej pozycji.

- Będziesz miał szansę w końcu się ustabilizować i być może zmienić swoje życie na lepsze.- Magnus patrzył pusto w przestrzeń przed nim, zauważając jak cela Bee jest zaniedbana.

Wszędzie leżały poszarpane papiery, a zdjęcia przylepione do ściany, miały że sobą powiązane sznurki zrobione że sznurówek. Czyste ubrania były ubite pod jego pryczą w jedną nieokreśloną masę i pozostając nieruszone od dłuższego czasu. Za to na pryczy Bumblebee leżał discman obklejony nieco przyżółkłymi naklejkami. 

- Kiedy by miało się to zacząć...?- szepnął brunet.

- Za około 3 miesiąc zaczną się nowy semestr, w akademii, wtedy właśnie zamierzam zabrać moją córkę- Strongarm na nauczanie domowe, którym ty się zajmiesz. Oczywiście zajmę się twoim zakwaterowaniem, lekarzem i psychiatrą. Również zadbam o to byś do tego czasu wrócił do swojej najwyższej formy.- zarzucił swój wzrok znowu na Bee powoli wstającym z gleby.- Rozumiem, że to twoja zgoda Bumblebee.

- Tak sądzę, że tak...?- odpowiedział niepewnie.

- Świetnie. Za tydzień moja sekretarka przyjdzie z dokumentami dla ciebie do podpisu.- odszedł z krzesłem podpachą, zostawiając Bee bez większych wyjaśnień.

Bee został sam w jednej chwili roztrzęsiony całą tą sytuacją, nie wiedząc co zrobić i czemu takie sytuacje tylko mu się przytrafiają, położył się znowu na swojej pryczy, założył słuchawki i oddał się ponownie w swój świat muzyki.

[fromchaostocosmos]

Footage has emerged of Khymani James, a student at Columbia University and a leading figure in the ongoing "Gaza Solidarity Encampment" at the college, making incendiary statements—including "Zionists don't deserve to live"—during a video he appeared to have recorded in January. The video was unearthed by the Daily Wire, a conservative-leaning media outlet, after which James posted a statement on X, saying: "What I said was wrong. Every member of our community deserves to feel safe without qualification." On social media, James' resurfaced remarks have sparked a backlash from users, with one writing: "The internet lives forever. We know your true feelings. You are a clear and present danger to all people."

On April 17, students at Columbia University established a protest camp, dubbed the "Gaza Solidarity Encampment," to demonstrate against ongoing Israeli military operations in Gaza. Newsweek has contacted Khymani James and the Columbia University press office by X direct message and email, respectively, outside normal working hours. Thursday, the Daily Wire published a video of James making controversial remarks both during and after a virtual meeting with two Columbia University employees who expressed concern about earlier remarks he had made and indicated the matter could go to a disciplinary hearing.

In the statement James published after the footage went viral online, he said he regretted his remarks. He added: "I also want people to have more context for my words, which I regret. Far right agitators went through months of my social media feed until they found a clip that they edited without context. "When I recorded it, I had been feeling unusually upset after an online mob targeted me because I am visibly queer and Black."

Responding to James' statement, an X user wrote: "The clip is so egregious, you can't qualify it by saying 'well I felt bad and bad things were said to me.' Your statement also fails to say the word 'sorry.'" Another user commented: "What's up with pro Palestinians and their desire to kill? This is Khymani James, a leader of Columbia University's anti-Israel Gaza Solidarity Encampment. Just sick?" Earlier this week James organized a human chain to block a group of what he said were Zionists from entering the protest camp, urging protesters to take "one step forward" in unison and "push them out of the camp."

I'm very much do not like the Daily Wire and do not support their politics, philosophy, or views.

I do think, however, it is worthwhile to share the video they have of Khymani James statements. If there was another source that could provide this video I would use that instead of the Daily Wire, but unfortunately that is not the case.

Warning for antisemitism, Holocaust Inversion, and more.

Edit: (if anyone knows how to post it so the video plays directly in tumblr please either let me know or reblog this with that addition because ppl are more likely to watch it on tumblr then click the link, thank you)