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barleyo · 1 month ago

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Trailer Trash.

Neighbor! Leon X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: this is an older draft of mine that i recently finished up, i'm not too sure about it. this is such a testament to how much i love to "southernize" characters, it's comforting to make them feel like me. hope you enjoy it!

Tags: enemies to lovers, p in v, penetration, pussyjob, blowjob, pwp, not proofread, sort of ooc

Wordcount: 2.1k

Behind the broken screen door of Lot 13 resided a girl with low expectations. Life in the trailer park you had grown up in was stagnant; a constant, seething disappointment regarding your situation. Your double-wide was hardly a house, and damn it all if it felt like a home, but it was all your father scraped together to leave in your name once he passed. That, and a near negative credit score.

With broken shingles and worse-for-wear plumbing, you roughed it out. Your floorboards creaked with every step, your AC unit was a shitbox, and the best thing your cable television could get you was the E! Network and Fox News, but it was somewhere to live, and it was fully paid off. For better or for worse, it was all yours.

That didn't change the fact that your front yard was a mess of gravel and dead patches of grass. Truly, it was better on the inside than it was on the outside, but that could be said for most things in your life— all except for the sleazeball who recently moved next door. Blond, blue eyed, the whole nine yards that made the other women in the community swoon, but you couldn't help but feel odd about him.

He was too good. Too primped. Too good for a place like this. He looked like a damn cop— the last thing you wanted living near you. God forbid a girl wants to sit topless on the porch of her own trailer. Then, it's "public indecency" and a "crime." Bless it.

More than that, he was too nice. He fed right into the coupon-hoarding old women who stayed up the drive from you, sitting through their ramblings about their single daughters and mischievous cats, and which number grandchild they were expecting next. He stood next to the grimy, wanna-be and have-been mechanics who lived nearby, looking over their busted engines with his sleeves rolled up. Hell, he even lit up sparklers and cherry bombs for the bare-footed, hellion kids who couldn't be trusted with their own lighters. Everyone loved him, from the moment his sleek Silverado pulled up.

Everyone except for you.

Maybe it was his smooth talk. You learned to be weary of men with too much charisma, your father was the same way. Maybe it was his face. You simply could not understand why someone so chiseled and proper had to live in a place like this. It was hard to believe that Gap and Old Navy weren't seeking him as a model to plaster onto their walls. Most likely reason of all, though, was that you didn't like how happy he was. How could someone be satisfied, at all, living there? Where the asphalt cracked and the windows constantly rattled? Where every car was rusted over with bent rims? Where you were so unhappy, how could he make a half-decent life?

Yes, you disliked him. That didn't stop him from trying to wiggle into your life, though.

Living alone gave you a strange, isolated sense of independence. It didn't much bother the people in the community, aside from a snippy, nosey, older woman who knew your father. You truly resented the man. Not only had he left you a shoddy trailer, but he left an even shoddier reputation around your family name.

You sat on your porch, day-drinking with the decency to sip from your can rather than chugging it, while reminiscing about your father. At least he hadn't left you with a slew of younger siblings to care for. A girl you used to know wasn't as fortunate, with three younger kids under her wing since her mother dumped them on her. You wondered where she was now. Tired, no doubt, and—

"Your door's broken," Leon pointed out benignantly. "Storm busted it?"

You huffed, looking up at him with squinted eyes. You tried to bite back your venom, best you could. "Guess so. What's it matter to you?"

"I can fix it, you know. I'll bring my tools over."

Another huff, this time more offended than just annoyed. Who did he think he was? He didn't think you could fix your own door? Well, you couldn't, but who was he to assume that? Another ploy to play the lovable part, yeah?

"I don't take charity, Leon," you said, popping the tab off of your van and flicking it out into the yard with a grimace.

He had the gall to laugh, a croaky one with his devil smile. "I'm sure you don't, but I'm offering."

"Well, stop it."

You stood up from your chair. Whether it was the heat of the moment or the liquor in your system that spurred you on, you got in his face the most you could tolerate, and scowled.

"I'm not sure just who died and nominated you to be loverboy down the lane, but it won't work on me." A deep crinkle formed between your brows. "I've got enough on my plate, I don't need to owe you jack-shit. I'll fix my door on my own time."

As you slammed said broken door behind you, your shutters rattled, a slat breaking off.

You lost yourself in the aisles of the local tool shop. What the fuck was circuit tester? All you could possibly need was a screwdriver and a couple of nails, bolts, or another. When did they start making WD-50? This was not a place for an amateur to peruse safely, at all.

You spent thirty good, strong minutes of your life trying to figure out how you were going to fix your trailer's door. Truthfully, you were planning to let it rock out until you couldn't physically lock it at night. A busted bolt and uneven handle didn't bother you, but Leon made your big mouth run itself ragged, to no fault of your own. The thing had a mind of its own, you swore.

Maybe you could slap some duct tape over the hinges. That could work, it's how you fixed everything on the inside of your house, how different could it be? You pulled into the park with a game plan. Tape the door, have a drink, and if your television's antennae allowed it, watch an awful reality show alone.

With your night weighing on your mind, you were slow to realize how your door was suddenly straight on its hinges again. Your hand halted on the knob, a rush of confusion flowing through you.

Where was the chipped paint on the door? The tarnished handle? Hell, where was the dust and dried mud on the porch?

It was normal for the place to look worse when you came back to it. You were used to its constant deterioration. Better, though, was foreign. You felt displaced, unwelcome by your own home.

It was a wreck, sure, but it was your wreck to mend when you chose to. You were going to sand the scuffs off of the doorframe, eventually. You had the concept of the plan to one day replace the shutters. That was your right, and you didn't need someone else to do it for you, especially not—

Leon.

Obviously, it was him. Everyone else was in their right mind enough to know to leave you to your business. He didn't get it, you couldn't understand why. You would have to teach him that you could handle your own well enough without his interference.

"I told you that I don't want your charity."

You tried, you really did, so hard not to look at his body. Your were only human, and your eyes dipped at times, seeing the water droplets sliding down from his head, to his chest, and down to the towel wrapped around his waist.

The one time you initiated an interaction with him, to yell at him, and he had to look his most enticing.

Is this what everyone else saw in him? His firm, toned body, weathered just enough? Blue eyes that were brighter than you remembered them ever looking? Thick, arched brows that were now drawn tightly together?

He inhaled deeply, arms wrapping over his chest. "What the hell is your problem, woman?"

"Who are you—?"

"You," Leon spat sharply, pointing his finger at you. His nails were short but jagged, and his digit was slightly crooked. You'd never noticed his small details like this. "I'm talking to you."

You wanted to take offense at his tone. Nobody spoke to you like that, aside from your father, and even then you snapped back. You were never one to sit quietly and let yourself be chastised, to be so quick to submission.

"No one can do anything nice for you, can they? What is wrong with you?"

His words hit harder than they should have. You had always told yourself the lie of sticks and stones, and the harmlessness in words, but for some reason, his tone made you reconsider. A sharp sting set in your chest, pinching at your throat as it rose.

He wasn't angry, as far as you could tell, but his exasperation was worse. The edge of frustration, the tint of chagrin was poignant.

You hated to be undermined or questioned, especially by someone who hardly knew you, but you stood still and let him stare at you like a failed project.

"I've made it far enough in this world without someone looking over my shoulder," you finally managed to say, your voice breaking more than you wanted it to. "What makes you think I'd need your help? I can handle myself."

He eyed you. For a mile-long minute, he watched your face tremble, holding back the hateful tears in your eyes. He could tell it was bigger than him playing handyman while you weren't around.

"You know what I think your issue is?" His hand felt weightless on your shoulder. "You need to learn let people in."

You should have known this is how his house would look. Shag carpet, flat screen television, pictures from his high school days on the wall. You tried to ignore his covert self-absorption, focusing on the ache of your open jaw.

"There, let me in, all the way to the back," he mumbled, squeezing your cheeks with one hand.

The rug burn on your knees was almost worth the view from between his legs. He sunk back into the leather of his couch, letting your throat work down on him. He puffed a goading laugh from his nose each time you went too far, gagging. It didn't bother him how your nails were digging into his Levi's, or how your tears were staining the denim.

"See," he said, groans peaking through his teasing, "good things happen when you let 'em, baby."

If you were in a better headspace, you'd get him for talking to you so patronizingly, but right now, all it did was turn you on more. If you knew this was how you could pay him back, you would have let him build you a house from damn near the ground up, if he wanted to. Maybe that was just your dry spell talking.

Leon's hand gripped onto your hair, tightly enough to pull you off of him. You felt the 'pop,' and looked at him in glossy, spit-soaked confusion.

He hiked you int his lap, shamelessly wetting his dick further on your slit. So selfish, but you suppose he earned it after weeks of trying to get you off of your bullshit. You spread your legs for him easily.

You wanted him, but your cunt seemed to reject him. Too tight, with slick ridges at forced him out when he tried to slide in. It was almost embarrassing, especially with how he kept tapping your entrance with his tip to test the waters.

He didn't mind teasing. Just the tip was fine by him, just as long as he got to feel you. Feel you he did, with your cunt leaking over him with need. It was painful to be so empty when you wanted him so badly, but his fingers found their way to your clit, so it was not all bad.

His skilled finger tips pushed down on your clit like a button, using just enough force to have you bucking forwards. You reckoned he did that so you would take on the brunt of movement. Too good to make his own friction, hm?

You still felt a certain way about him, despite how hot he had you. You still felt like he was too pushy, too involved, and too perfect to be true, but he certainly wasn't too good to stick around.

And he would never be too good to give you a fuck-and-fix when you needed it.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy #xreader #x reader

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lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom · 7 months ago

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Perfect Queen?

BRANDON STARK X READER

Summary- As the new queen and lady of Winterfell, you feel out of place. Thankfully, Bran reassures you of your position and loves you for who you are- not who you are trying to be.

A/N- I have not written for GoT in awhile, but HotD season 2 has sparked my interest again! Reminder that REQUEST ARE OPEN! <3

Requested by- @eualiabd @zamwnda

Word count- 1,612

You were barely a noble. The third daughter out of seven girls born into house Frey. Not a single male survived long enough to carry on the family name. What does a family full of women do? Marry off. So quickly that just after your ten and nine birthday, you were the only sister who was unwed.

Maybe being from a low house, and not having much experience with lordship- landed you as King Brandon Starks wife.

Of course, your mother was ecstatic when the king of all men, wanted to marry you. You had only known the previously named prince when he was a boy.

His father, Ned Stark, would visit on business to the Riverlands. Brandon always joined, eager to see you. Even after his fall, you were able to see him one last time before he disappeared for many years. You were devastated when you learnt of his 'death.' When he returned, you figured he forgot all about you. Though, a dozen knights showing up at your door, requesting you to meet with the King, changed your mind.

"A Stark never forgets an oath." Was his reasoning, suddenly a fond memory of Bran and you as children appeared. He, even at his young age, held your hand and swore on his name to marry you one day. To join your families.

At his now official and surprising marriage proposal, you quickly agreed. Any woman would be insane not to, feelings aside, you were helping the reputation of your house.

While your reunion with him was quick, it was satisfactory. He had changed with age and with his new responsibilities. As king and The Three Eyed Raven. Deep down, he was still the boy you loved. Even if he only showed it to you.

The cold air was refreshing, not stiff not muggy like you were used to. Though it took some time, you've learnt to grow fond of the snow and crisp feeling. A trip back to Brans home made you overjoyed. Even if Bran was only there on 'kingly' matters.

A large coat made of the finest furs rested up on your shoulders. A pin with the Stark emblem let all know you were the Queen. A title you were trying to get comfortable with. There were so many duties you were getting familiar with.

That wasn't hardly the worst part, however.

What irked you to no end, were the stares. Mostly women who were in court, or wives of men who frequented the castle. They had no room to speak, yet still murmured and gossiped to each other. The audacity to talk about the queen as they passed you. It shocked you that they were so informal.

You could never get close enough to hear, as Brandon had two Knights with you at all times. You understood the precaution, though your freedom was slightly limited.

"Bran, please tell me what they said..." You pleaded. It was evening, and the two of you were sat side by side for supper. Only separated by a corner of the table.

He looked up at you, face expressionless like it always was. "It is insignificant gossip."

You pushed your warm plate of food back, you were not interested anymore. "Not to me, it isn't."

Bran was fully aware of what they were thinking and saying. Just because he was All-Seeing, did not mean you also had to bear that burden. He would do everything he could to keep away the ill effects of his powers.

"Consider the matter finished." Was all he responded with, very 'Bran-like.'

However, the matter was not finished to you. With enough time, you knew you could get Bran to cave into you. He almost never told you 'no.' All he wanted was to keep you happy. He just did not see any reason to spread negative thoughts into your mind.

You pushed your chair back with a small screech. Taking a deep breath, you took one long stride to Bran's side.

Maybe you were trying to soften him up, you'd never tell, but you wrapped both hands around his forearm. Even crouching down to look up at him.

"I want to be a good queen. I want to fix whatever they chastised me for. Bran, you know I wont give until you tell me... Surely you know that?" You lightly moved your hand up and down his arm. He did know, he just wanted to do something his way for once. Deep within, he knew you'd get what you wanted. It was terribly hard to do anything that upset you.

He pursed his lips, giving out a sigh. "You are a good queen." He leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

With a puff you stood up, letting him go. "Obviously no one else thinks so." Your dramatic side got the best of you as you turned and left the dinning hall.

You allowed yourself to wallow in self pity, something you'd have time to regret later.

Your handmaid rushed behind you, eager to help whatever the problem was.

"I just don't understand why he won't tell me, Tamsin." You sulked on a padded chair while your handmaid gently took the ties and pins out of your hair.

She pressed a friendly hand to your shoulder, "He just wants to protect you."

You gave a half hearted smile, "I want to get better, I've never been a queen before..." You stood to let Tamsin being to unlace your corset.

You both heard a strong knock, assumingly from a member of the kings guard.

"The queen needs a moment to dress!" Tamsin called out, aware of a queens modesty.

A deep voice called back, "The King requests to see her Majesty."

Tamsin stopped with the laces and went to peek her head out. You couldn't hear what she was saying, but she quickly returned.

"Uh, Ma'am, the King is outside... waiting..." She was always a little nervous around Bran, you knew it was because of the Title and passiveness.

She fiddled with her fingers, "You are dismissed, thank you. Please let the King in." She responded with a light curtsy.

After Tamsin opened the door, you stood and watched as a knight pushed Bran in. The two of you were quickly left alone as Bran waved off the man.

You look down, trying to press your dress flat, slightly anxious.

Bran simply looked, the smallest smile present. "I apologize for upsetting you. It was not my intention." He says, his own hands resting still in his lap.

"I know..." You licked your lips, suddenly your mouth felt dry. At the following silence you started again, "Will you help me?" You gestured to your lace that was halfway tied on your back.

He nodded, "Of course."

He pushed himself over, getting closer to you. You turned your back to him, pulling your hair over your shoulders.

"Bran?" You quietly said as his gentle hands worked at your laces. An activity that was strangely intimate and peaceful.

"Yes, my love?" He responded, mindlessly. You let the dress fall from your frame. You stepped out of it, now only in a white slip.

You gnawed at your bottom lip, tears were threatening. "Please, just tell me if I become a better queen?" Your voice cracked up on the word 'queen', tears spilling over.

Hands came up to try and cover your sobs.

''I have a feeling you have been struggling with this for awhile..." Bran says, ushering you to spin around with his hands at your waist. He would never read your secret thoughts without your permission.

You weren't able to deny or agree, but you turned to look at him.

"I have seen, and you will become the most loving Queen the realm has ever known. You will be named for your care of the people." He said, pulling you down into a hug.

"Really?"

You fell further to your knees, leaning your head onto this lower chest. Bran pet your hair slowly, his other hand rested on your back.

"Have I ever lied to you?" You shook your head, still buried in him.

"Would you really like to know what those two women said?" He asked, a finger bringing your chin up. You nodded.

"They said your house was not high enough for you to become queen. They were sure that they would be better candidates." His face was stoic, clearly in disgust at what they said.

You sighed and rested your head down once again, arms crossed under your head. You looked out the side sadly, though starting to accept your position. There was nothing you could do about the house you were born into.

"You do know that I would rather die an old and lonely man than marry another? Right?" He pets your hair once again.

A smile arises on your face. "I couldn't think of a more handsome nor giving husband of you."

Without skipping a beat, he says, "Well, that's because I am king." His expression and tone is serious, but you laugh nonetheless.

It is soon clear that he was joking as well, as he breaks into a grin.

You sigh once more, this time happy. "Can we retire to bed now?" You ask, squeezing his hand.

"Whatever you so wish."

Sleep was moments from taking you, your eyes fighting to stay open. You were pressed up as close as possible to Bran, your head tucked under his chin.

"I meant what I said, earlier." Bran mentions, staring up. Without moving you speak, "About what?"

"That you're already a great queen." Your heart fills with flutters.

"Promise?"

"I swear it."

A/N- Not going to lie to y'all, I hate this one. But, I promised more Bran content! Please let me know if you have any ideas on how to improve! Thanks for reading, and thanks again for the support guys!

Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss

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dramagodesss · 4 days ago

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nine : maybank attack

playin' the players

outside your lecture hall, the air was thick with late afternoon heat and the lazy buzz of campus life slowing down. students poured out of the building like water through a sieve, conversations echoing off brick and glass.

you pushed through the crowd, backpack slung over one shoulder, when you spotted him.

jj maybank.

leaning against a bike rack like it was a throne, baseball cap backwards, white tee a little too tight, like it wanted to piss you off. his grin appeared the second your eyes met, that signature spark already dancing in his gaze.

"lookin’ studious, winslow,” he called, straightening up as you approached.

you slowed. “what are you doing here?”

“waiting for you. duh.”

you raised a brow, skeptical. “why?”

he shrugged, stepping in beside you like it was nothing. “felt like walking you to wherever you’re going. maybe I just missed the smell of developer fluid and crushed dreams.”

you snorted. “darkroom?”

“darkroom.”

you tilted your head, amused. “you know it’s not glamorous, right? it’s red lights, weird chemicals, and absolute silence. not exactly a date.”

he gave you a full grin. “still sounds like more fun than whatever topper and kelce are doing.”

you sighed, adjusting your grip on your bag. “fine. but don’t touch anything.”

jj held up his hands. “i make no promises.”

you narrowed your eyes. “maybank.”

“what?”

“i’m serious. don’t even breathe on the drying prints.”

he mock-gasped. “me? a menace to the art world? never.”

you rolled your eyes but didn’t stop him from following you into the art building, into the dim hallway that led to the red-lit sanctuary of the darkroom.

the door closed behind you with a soft thud, and everything felt a little quieter. a little closer. and jj, with his golden boy grin and restless fingers, suddenly looked very out of place among the silence and shadows.

“whoa,” he muttered, eyes adjusting to the glow. “this is kinda… spooky. hot spooky. y’know?”

you smirked, already pulling your negatives from your bag. “welcome to my world, maybank.”

he leaned on the counter beside you, watching with interest as you clipped the film into place.

“so,” he said softly, after a beat. “do i get to see the ones you took of me?”

you paused, hands stilling mid-motion.

you didn’t look at him right away. instead, you clipped the last strip of film into place, letting it hang gently as you reached for your gloves.

“depends,” you said, voice light, “you want to see how you look through my lens?”

jj leaned in a little, voice a low hum. “always wondered that, actually.”

you glanced over, finally meeting his gaze. it was softer in here, everything muted in that eerie red glow, like secrets could be whispered and swallowed by the shadows.

“they’re not perfect,” you said. “you moved too much. couldn’t stay still.”

he grinned. “i’m a wild spirit, remember?”

you gave him a look. “you’re a pain in the ass.”

“same difference.”

you exhaled a laugh, reaching past him to grab a sheet of photo paper. your arm brushed his chest as you did, barely a touch—but jj noticed. his head tilted, something flickering in his eyes.

“y’know,” he said quietly, “i like this. seeing you like this. focused. a little bossy. kinda hot.”

you raised a brow, pretending not to flinch under his stare. “you flirt like a high schooler.”

“and you like it.”

you shook your head, setting everything into place for the first exposure.

“so serious,” jj murmured, his voice closer now. too close.

you didn’t look at him. “because this is literally a part of my grade.”

“and yet,” he said, like it was some ancient secret, “you still let me in here. alone. with all your precious work.”

“don’t make me regret it.”

you bent slightly over the enlarger, focused on lining things up. but he didn’t move. didn’t even pretend to go back to leaning on the counter. you could feel the heat of him behind you, the tension crackling like static in the dark.

“do you ever stop talking?” you muttered.

“depends,” he said softly. “do you want me to?”

you turned to glare at him—but he was already right there. barely a breath between you. and before you could say anything, before the warning or comeback could make it past your lips—

he kissed you.

not some drive-by peck. not a cocky smirk pressed to your mouth and gone again.

this was slower. longer. a little surprised by itself.

his hands didn’t go anywhere, not at first. he just leaned in, head tilted, lips warm and sure against yours like he was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. like he was taking his time—because he could.

and god, maybe it was the glow of the red lights, or the smell of chemicals, or just the fact that it was jj—but you kissed him back.

your fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table. his breath hitched when you leaned in just enough to deepen it, the kiss dragging into something lazier, a little messier. still careful, but barely.

when you finally pulled back, his eyes were half-lidded, lips parted like he hadn’t meant for it to go that far but wasn’t even close to regretting it.

you didn’t move away. not yet. the air between you buzzed like a secret.

jj grinned, breathless and boyish. “guess that’s what happens when i shut up.”

you rolled your eyes, trying to cool the heat blooming across your cheeks. “you’re impossible.”

“yeah,” he said, watching you with that same gleam. “but you like it.”

you turned back to the enlarger again, ignoring the way your heart pounded.

oh you were fucked.

rafe's phone

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goldenlaquer · 7 months ago

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Woahhhh if asks are open... can I ask for Gintoki trying really hard to impress this girl he likes, but everything goes to absolute shit because this is Gintama? Totally fine if you delete! I still devour all your old stuff to fill my soul with life 🥹 Never come across anyone who writes Gintama as accurately as you bebe 😘

Sakata Gintoki Headcanons:

If Gintoki made a list of pros and cons about himself, it would probably read like this:

Pro: he has a big dick. (Big dick reading as BIG DICK, in bold, all-caps. Triple underlined.)

Con: he's a perfectionist. (Con: he's a liar.)

So, it isn't all that hard to imagine impressing you would be a Herculean task for Gintoki.

Asking Kagura for advice is like shooting yourself in the foot. Gin-chan is penniless, she says matter-of-factly. No lady wants a broke, mooching, deadbeat boyfriend. A pause to let him absorb these insults, and then, Papi brought Mama three heads, she kindly tells him like it's the secret to your heart, and that's very romantic in Yato culture apparently. Which reminds Gintoki that Kagura is from a different species just as much as her barely counting as female to begin with. Well, in human culture, he could give you as many heads as you'd want— but that's bases away and he's been swinging strikes all throughout this sad, unrequited game.

Asking Shinpachi— no, no. Now, that's a lost cause.

He tries. He does. He really tries.

He tries complimenting you. Suavely slide in a comment about how your teeth looks like it could bite into hard candy, no problem. That your hair doesn't look as dry and brittle today than it did yesterday, and oh wow, your tits look... wow. Double thumbs up.

He tries paying for your meal, to show that he can provide for you, that he's not going to be the broke, mooching, deadbeat boyfriend Kagura deemed him to be. Work a few odd jobs and have all the correct bills in his normally depleted wallet, even break a comb on his hair and get dressed to the nines in his nice, regular clothes that passed the sniff inspection when he shook it out from a pile of unwashed laundry— and it's just, while on the way to his favorite family diner he invited you to, he's passing by a pachinko parlor, with all of its flashy get-rich-quick displays and bright dinging noises from within, and that was when he's suddenly sensing it... the taste of victory. Long story short, the only thing he'll end up tasting is the strawberry parfait that you paid for.

Whatever poor progress that manages to inch forward always ends straight back to the negatives. Damn the perverted stalker and her masochistic plays she forces on him. Damn the timing and whatever deity has pitted against him when you step onto the scene to the sight of him wielding a paddle as the stalker squeals happily while tied to the wooden cross. No, this isn't— he wants to tell you, but your expression has already smoothed into a carefully blank canvas before you turn your back to him and walk away to leave him to... it. No, this isn't what it looks like, he wants to scream.

In a mood of desperation and shots deep in cheap gutter sake, he'd even wrote a poem in the dead of night, detailing the color of your eyes and all the things they reminded him of, invented a new word just to make a rhyme with your name, how the sound of your voice catches in his chest when he hears it— shit if he knew anything about pretty words, he'd never wrote anything longer than a drawn penis before— and once he was done, what he did next was ball the whole sheet up, open the nearest window, and pitch it to the stars. The lamest shit he ever did in his life will be taken to his grave.

Sometimes, because his name is Gintoki, and he is the protagonist of a septic tank for low hanging fruit comedy series called 'Gintama', sometimes the whole universe is against him.

There is a two episode-length arc the occurs, but due to the time-constraints of these headcanons and the writer's own laziness, the details of it shall not be outlined, but please know it involves an exposition, conflict, rising action, a climax (and not the good kind), falling action, some explosions and a tiny grave misunderstanding that leaves you storming from the wreckage in fury and exasperation, and Gintoki catching your wrist, spinning you around to face him. Emotions and adrenaline running high, chests heaving in exertion, and seeing your face covered in soot and sweat and your eyes huge and wet, looking damn more beautiful than you have any right to be, that's when Gintoki finally decides to put his big balls to use and confess himself to you. Opening his mouth and—

Plotfully, the wind picks up, and then suddenly a wadded ball of paper rolls to hit your feet. Both you and Gintoki look down to stare at this interruption. You bend down to pick it up and unfold the ball, startling at whatever you find, snapping your eyes up to him. "Gin, your name is on here?"

Shit! Gintoki realizes, recognizing the paper now. This is the worst possible timing! My stupid shitty poem somehow found its way to the woman it was written for. And why the fuck did I sign it!

He looks left and right, searching for a vending machine to put his head through, and when there are none, he's scrubbing his face with his hand, looking at you and the damned poem he wrote that found it's way to you, as if was meant to be there. "I wrote it." He finally grumbles. "For you. Don't be creeped out."

Your eyes scan the page from top to bottom, reading. Your eyebrows shoot up, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"This is really what you think about me?" Your trembling voice barely above a whisper.

Gintoki pauses. Then nods. "Yeah. Every word."

Your expression blanks. You turn the wrinkled paper around. Gintoki squints.

Shit! Gintoki thinks. I was so drunk I never wrote anything down, I just drew a penis!

#gintama #gintama headcanons #sakata gintoki x reader #gintama imagines #sakata gintoki #writing for gintama means that i could write shittily and it would still be somewhat gintama (this is a false statement)#coming out of semi retirement and if the crowd goes boo im going back to semi retirement #im sweating im shaking ive lost my touch #pen #is

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starhoppin · 2 years ago

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pick a picture; how do you capture people's attention

pile 1 -> pile 2 -> pile 3

disclaimer; this is a general reading! these messages may not fit everyone. please take what resonates and leave the rest.

「 pile one」

king of wands, the magician (cb: the moon), queen of cups

based on the court + major arcana cards, you have a very powerful aura/energy surrounding you. i'm hearing "naturally charismatic." you're the type of person that people turn to stare at when you walk into a room - all eyes are naturally drawn to you. people are attracted to your confidence; it makes you magnetic. you're self-assured and patient - others wonder how you're so successful. "you keep your cards close to your chest." you don't broadcast your desires to the world which helps you with your manifestations. you have strong boundaries, and there are parts of you that you keep hidden from the world - this draws people in since they're curious to learn more about you. you also have a healthy self-esteem which people admire. you're calm and collected - queen vibes. you draw people's attention because you're poised. i'm specifically getting the image of the queen in princess diaries (the one played by julie andrews). people look to you for guidance and strength.

[songs that may resonate] look what you made me do - taylor swift, la vie en rose - michael buble, wow - post malone

「 pile two」

the moon (cb: the hanged man, three of cups), nine of wands (cb: ace of cups), the emperor (cb: eight of cups)

you're mysterious to a lot of people. you draw attention due to your ability to adapt to any social situation. i'm hearing "enigma." at first, you may come off a bit guarded; however, when you're surrounded by friends and family, you're a lot more open. this paradox naturally draws people's attention. nonetheless, others view you as influential. you draw attention because you're the type of person who comes into someone's life and completely flips it upside down. even with a brief interaction, you have a way of changing people. you capture people's attention because of your connection to the divine. others can sense this about you. people feel like they can open up to you - you see them for who they truly are. you may often be used as a messenger for the divine. remember how i said that you have the ability to change people's lives? this is how. you have a gift of conveying what message a person needs to hear in the way it needs to be said. people are naturally drawn to you because of this gift. you capture people's attention because of your resiliency. you're not afraid to walk away from something that is no longer serving you. you know when to let go. you're independent. you don't tolerate or entertain low-vibrational people or situations.

[songs that may resonate] stories - paden, waiting games - trella, you were good to me - jeremy zucker, chelsea cutler.

「 pile three」

the world (cb: two of cups, four of cups), queen of cups, the empress

people are drawn to you because you have a good head on your shoulders. people think your independence is attractive. you may have a lot of suitors since you don't entertain just anyone; you're selective when it comes to romantic relationships. you're very discerning when it comes to people who approach you (romantic or otherwise) with negative intentions. you can spot them from a mile away. your aura/energy captures people's attention. you exude a calm and compassionate energy - you're approachable. others may even describe you as bubbly. i'm hearing the sound of laughter? like a really bright laugh that's infectious. so either you have a laugh like that or people tend to laugh a lot around you. where you go, happiness and abundance tend to follow which draws people's attention. with your energy and your intellect, you're naturally magnetic. i'm getting ethereal/royal vibes. "what you see is what you get." you're very transparent. you're not the type to be nice to someone's face and then talk behind their back, you're just genuinely nice. people may think that this comes easy, but you make a conscious effort to be this way. there's an air of humility surrounding you that people are drawn to. they know they can trust you.

[songs that may resonate] paper rings - taylor swift, i dare you - bea miller, i was in heaven - chelsea cutler

tarot deck used in this reading: cirque du tarot

#tarotblr #tarot reading #tarot readings #pick a pile #pac #pick a card reading #detailed pac #tarot #divination #cartomancy #pick an image #pick a photo #tarot pick a pile #free tarot #oracle reading #intuitive readings #free tarot reading #pac tarot

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episims · 9 months ago

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Foxfire ROS

After playing Foxfire for 9 rounds I've started to feel like I could use something to nudge me out of my routines a bit! For the next round, I'm going to try how adding random scenarios to the mix feels like 😁

I didn't find any existing scenario lists to be exactly what I wanted: more gameplay prompts that leave room for interpretation, and not so many strict rules or tasks or forced drama (my sims create enough of that as it is lol).

So I cherry-picked some scenarios that I liked, edited others, and created many new ones. A shout-out to @kayleigh-83 for this list that was a great starting point!

Night out: Visit a community lot after dark.

Bring your own basket: Visit a park with family or friends.

Movie marathon: Invite friends over for movies and snacks, or go on a movie binge by yourself.

Family matters: Invite over a relative or someone you share a similar bond with.

Fits like a glove: Wear a new accessory.

Games night: Set up a board game or fire up a console for an evening. PC owners can throw a lan party.

Burn off steam: Devote a day to exercising in any form.

Playing hooky: A child or teen skips one school day.

Online friends: Spend an evening chatting over the internet.

Fence-mending: Talk to a walkby you don't know or have a low relationship with.

Fertile ground: Get a new plant to your garden or other outdoor area.

Pulling strings: Use influence to your advantage.

Tired of cooking: Order delivery for a meal.

Peculiar flavor: The sim with the least cooking points takes the cooking turn.

Sprucing up: Choose a room or space and give it a facelift.

Touch base: Call the friend you currently have the lowest relationship score with.

Dine out: Eat at a restaurant.

New hobby: Try out a hobby you haven't explored before.

Broken record: Talk about your favorite hobby to every sim you encounter during one day.

Slumber party: Invite friends for a sleepover.

Power outage: Turn off all the lights except for candles and only make uncooked meals for a day.

Cloud over a head: Argue with every sim you encounter during one day.

Old gang: Meet up with the friends you have known for the longest.

Turn up the heat: Woohoo in public.

New ink: Get a tattoo.

Fresh air: Spend a day outdoors.

Homebody: Spend a day indoors.

Got the moves: Visit a community lot to hit the dance floor or turn on a stereo at home and dance until you run out of energy.

Make the bed: Change sheets for all beds on the lot.

Health concerns: Visit or call over a doctor.

All things are transient: Sell three objects.

Odd bottle: Consume a potion from your inventory.

Dig it: Spend a day treasure hunting.

Capture it: Take a picture and hang it on the wall.

Running on fumes: Have a cup of coffee once every few hours.

Reaching enlightenment: Meditate for a day.

Sugar rush: Prepare only desserts for a day.

Clocking extra time: Spend an evening on a computer either blogging, writing, or giving financial advice.

Dressed to the nines: Go on a date in formalwear.

Pretty lights: The outdoor areas of the lot are filled with fireflies for the round.

School assignment: A child or teen collects bugs for the round.

Stealing the show: Perform with an instrument or a microphone, freestyle for tips, or breakdance in public.

Devil on a shoulder: Prank every sim you encounter during one day.

Turning the page: Negative relationship effects are reduced for 48 hours and any existing fury states are cleared (get the 'forgiving' vacation benefit).

Meeting deadlines: Job performance is increased for 48 hours (get the 'industrious' vacation benefit).

Hot stuff: The attractiveness is increased for 48 hours (get the 'je ne sais quoi' vacation benefit).

On the ball: Skill, talent badge, and homework rates are increased for 48 hours (get the 'refreshed' vacation benefit).

Scatterbrained: Skill, talent badge, and homework rates are decreased for 48 hours (get the 'jetlagged' vacation penalty).

Bonfire night: Light up a bonfire with family or with friends.

Explosive entertainment: Throw a party with fireworks.

By example: Share hobby tips or instruct someone in a hobby, or find a sim who can share tips or instruct you in one.

Score points: Visit a community lot to play arcade games, poker, don't wake the llama, mahjong, or myshuno.

Self-care: Skilling is forbidden for a day. Instead, practice recovering activities like taking bubble baths, enjoying hot tubs or hot springs, getting massages, relaxing in saunas, or sunbathing.

Feeling chipper: Compliment every sim you encounter during one day.

I'll probably add these whenever I come up with new ones. Scenario ideas are welcome!

#text post #foxfire forest #ts2 #the sims 2 #sims 2 #*appears out of nowhere to post this*#i hope these will be fun!#i left out some obvious ones like changing clothes or hairstyle #as i tend to plan those in body shop

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peskellence · 2 months ago

Text

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

A03 Link

Summary: In the aftermath of Detroit's android revolution, Nines grapples with the complexities of his newfound deviancy. As he seeks to establish his place in a newly transformed society, his resolve is put to the ultimate test when he is paired with Detective Gavin Reed-a notoriously volatile human with a well-established hatred for androids-to investigate a series of murders.

While initial impressions of his partner seem to suggest his reputation is well-deserved, the more time Nines spends with him, the more he is forced to challenge his judgments. As they form an unexpected bond, the RK900 is also pushed to examine truths about himself he would much rather seek to forget. (A Retelling of 'More Than Our Parts' from the POV of Nines.)

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 5.3K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

To the dismay of all those affected, RK800 had been selected to choose their movie. Not that Anderson’s taste would have served them better—high-octane, low-budget action features with impressively bad acting.

Nines simply could not understand why the human and android did not rotate. Their biweekly film nights were infrequent enough that it would have been easy to balance control. Despite this, both parties insisted on an archaic coin-flip system.

Initially, this had been a coin issued to RK800 for calibration purposes. Following an inordinate number of failed attempts, Anderson insisted it must be weighted. A digital replacement was employed to appease him, until he had hotly repeated the claim.

Rather than debate the feasibility of a computing algorithm being ‘weighted’, RK800 had complied with the ongoing request that Anderson’s preferred currency be used.

The weathered nickel was pinched deftly between calloused fingers, brandished like a priceless artifact. His so-called lucky penny. He vouched for its reliance proudly, claiming it always landed on heads—and that he would gladly drain the contents of Sumo’s dog bowl should he lose the wager.

The coin was placed on the flat of his knuckle and flicked with a snapped ding. As the human watched on, it gained impressive height and momentum, clipping the side of a lamp shade. His chest was puffed, and a preemptive smirk of victory tugged at his lips.

The metal fell back to earth, hitting the coffee table with a clink. It spun on its side for several rotations before finally tipping over. The embossed lines of the union shield gleamed, catching against the suspended bulb rocking above.

The smirk fell from Anderson's face. He gawked at the cent with an inexplicable degree of accusation, as though it had personally betrayed him.

Defying all laws of statistical improbability, it seemed the universe was working against him. At least, this had been the dramatic proclamation made before he left for the kitchen. His feet dragged laboriously, as he muttered incoherently—something about fetching a drink.

Whether or not this would comprise the liquid in Sumo's dish was yet to be seen.

In his absence, the androids were left alone. RK800 secured a nearby remote, prepared to choose whatever dire cinematic offering they’d be forced to endure. The television flickered to life, tuned to an evening news segment. One that was infamous for its sensationalism—riddled with lurid headlines, ominous sound bites and manufactured urgency.

It lived up to expectations. Following a bizarre montage of inverted mugshots intercut to the tune of waterphones, the camera focused on a presenter. She was brandishing a stack of papers, tapping them lightly against her desk and frowning morosely.

Nines recognised her as Teagan Rodgers—one of the field reporters who had been sculking outside the barricades of the HR400 murder scene.

She was discussing local crime statistics, spoken with such dramatic inflexion it bordered on self-parody. Her artificial seriousness only heightened as she started reading a series of audience prompts.

As Nines tuned in to the presented topic, a flicker of tension locked his jaw, which he deftly smoothed over. However, as a visual accompaniment appeared on the screen behind Rodgers, it became much more challenging to conceal.

"I was recently on-site at one of these gruesome android-targeted scenes, and when asked for comment, this is what the DPD’s finest had to say."

The screen transitioned to a candid shot of Detective Reed outside the Hartwell Apartment complex. Capturing the precise moment he’d lost his temper with the badgering reporter, forcing her microphone away from his face.

The feed then cut back to the studio. Rodgers sat with her arms folded, pressing up the swell of her chest, as her rouged lips pouted disapprovingly.

"And, well, I think that says it all, doesn't it?

The public agrees, with 85% of our viewers suggesting that local law enforcement aren't doing enough to protect this new, vulnerable group.

With another body having been discovered mere days ago, and police no closer to catching the culprit, we must ask ourselves a serious question:

Is this post-revolution Detroit truly a safe place for—"

Rodgers was interrupted mid-sentence as RK800 changed the channel. The segment went undiscussed, but as a streaming service was loaded, Nines could sense the wary glances directed at him. He monitored his reaction, working to project a stoic indifference. His fists clenched in his lap, balled against his jeans, while his face remained expressionless.

RK800 moved on shortly after, navigating to the ‘Romance’ subsection of the platform. He began flicking through a catalogue of nearly identical posters. Attractive men smirked playfully, engaging women who ranged from equally mischievous to endearingly flustered. Occasionally, the suitor was shown giving his potential sweetheart some generic gift—a vibrant floral arrangement or box of chocolates.

All the titles blurred together in their formulaic blandness, making them even harder to differentiate. One broke through the haze, leading Nines to wince at the extent of its saccharine absurdity:

Love, Lattes, and Pumpkin Spice Wishes.

"Does anything look good to you, Nines?"

> An impossible choice, RK800, when all options demonstrate such stellar quality.

"I have no preference," he replied flatly, suppressing the more biting musings that bubbled in his throat. He perched stiffly on the couch's edge, leaning towards the roster as he scanned it cursorily. It was a half-hearted attempt to engage in the discussion, albeit with a reluctance to seal his fate.

RK800 seemed unhappy, deconstructing the manufactured focus with a terse frown on his lips.

"You're the guest; it's only fair you have a say."

Nines considered informing him this would undermine the purpose of the coin flip. If the android wished to include an outside party in the decision-making, he could have spared his housemate the disappointment of defeat.

Not wanting to spark a debate, he instead waved towards the screen. His wrist flopped in limp, disinterested circles. A listing was selected, whichever one RK800 determined the vague motion had directed to. Then came an intermission, marked by a loading wheel spinning on a black screen.

This was a troubling indication of what was to come—that the agonising 132-minute run time would stretch even longer due to the home’s spotty internet connection.

Eventually, the wheel vanished, and the first title cards began to appear, of which there would be an undoubtedly egregious amount. The screen froze again, this time at the request of RK800.

He was waiting for Anderson to return, a task the man showed no great urgency in completing. Nines anticipated there might be some form of vocal protest. An insistence that the android should not exercise such ‘thoughtful’ consideration.

Then, he noted the crisp breeze creeping in from the kitchen. Anderson had slipped outside, and while he understood the reason, Nines amusedly contemplated a more absurd scenario: one in which the burly man nimbly leapt the garden fence, fleeing into the night, never to be seen again.

A faint click of a lighter broke the reverie, bringing him back to reality. He wondered whether RK800 knew that his partner had traded liquor for another—equally contentious—vice.

Surely, he must have, his olfactory receptors more than attuned to detect the scent: potent ash and tobacco molecules that would cling persistently to the fibres of Anderson's worn clothing.

It was a fragrance that was becoming increasingly ubiquitous in Nines’ own life.

As he constructed an image of Anderson—standing on his porch, silently inhaling from his cigarette—the features in his mind began to transform. The imposing bulk diminished as time ticked back by roughly two decades; his silver hair shifted to brown, and his face twisted into a sneer. This expression softened as he took another drag, tilting his head back to allow smoke to drift in lingering coils past the scarred bridge of his nose…

Nines shook his head, rejecting the intrusive projection that had booted onto his HUD. The vision faded, and he found stiff artificial limbs locked into an even more rigid, defensive position.

RK800 also seemed uneasy, though it was unclear why at first. He subtly mirrored the other android's posture as he shifted to the end of the couch, staring blankly at the static screen. His gaze was deeply embedded in the neat cursive of a production logo, trailed with dithering idleness that matched the stuttering yellow pulses on his temple.

It soon occurred to Nines that he wasn't looking at the screen. Instead, his attention had shifted beyond the text, studying the younger android through the reflections cast in the dark backdrop.

Thin lips twitched and finally parted as RK800 prepared to speak to him:

"...So, Nines…"

The younger android felt an immediate sense of foreboding, further heightening his tension—a resigned acknowledgement of the inevitable conversation ahead.

RK800 intended to initiate small talk.

"How has your week been? Have you made any progress?"

It was a not-so-covert pivot back to the news report. While probing, it was not accusatory, assuring Nines his predecessor knew how misleading or sensationalised such stories could be.

He found additional solace in the fact that this topic was at least more intellectually engaging than their previous exchanges—ones which had revolved primarily around domestic mundanities. The comparative merits of different cleaning supplies or the frequency of bowel movements observed in an ageing Saint Bernard.

"Our attempts to track the killer's movements have not produced satisfactory results thus far," Nines remarked, aiming to address his companion’s curiosity as succinctly as possible. "The leads we've followed have been either unhelpful or unresponsive, offering little in the way of valuable information. However, we did stumble upon something yesterday that could be significant. We need to analyse it further to determine its credibility."

RK800 shifted in his seat. His previously stiff posture eased in place of curiosity, shoulders settling against the backrest of the couch. Despite this, a hint of disappointment clouded his warm gaze, indicating that Nines might have missed a layer to his question.

The wish for a more intimate connection: dismissed by a reply that, while informative, rang as impersonal.

Silence resumed between them, a comfort which Nines welcomed graciously. It was only interrupted by a sporadic rustling as Anderson returned to the kitchen. His jittery hands fumbled to close the screen door before pushing it gradually closed in an attempt to stay quiet. This was undermined by Sumo, who lumbered over on heavy paws and barked in greeting.

RK800 fiddled with the remote, adjusting volume and brightness settings as he pretended not to hear. While the stolen glances at his successor persisted, they decreased in frequency before stopping completely.

Nines, in turn, settled into emerging security, allowing his racing thoughts to slow in the onset of cognitive rest. By flushing out lingering nuisances clogging his mental channels, he prepared for more in-depth investigative analytics.

Although he wished he could claim the news report hadn’t affected him, concerns were beginning to blossom. Truthfully, he had not been working as efficiently—or urgently—as he could have been regarding the investigation.

The week had been filled with constant distractions resulting from unwanted supervisory duties. Diverting his focus from primary objectives to less relevant occurrences…

Unexpected emotional and behavioural anomalies observed in his assigned associate, leading to a growing state of contemplation.

He struggled to push past these thoughts, attempting to contain them within a hastily built mental stronghold.

"—and how are things going with Detective Reed?"

The question felt like a nuclear warhead launched directly into the barricade, and Nines almost groaned at the predictability of the assault. Naturally, his predecessor couldn’t leave well enough alone, eager to observe what lay beyond the bounds of his privacy.

Though the younger android understood the concerns which drove such actions, he still found them incredibly frustrating. His brow twitched, and he tried to deflect the intrusive inquiry before any more hits could land:

"As well as you might expect," he said dryly before turning his attention to the television. He scanned the film’s title, feigning interest in the production details presented on his HUD. "Is this not the film we watched last time? About the amnesiac florist who falls in love with her long-lost twin’s brother's former boyfriend?"

"This is the sequel," RK800 responded, undermining the attempted diversion as he continued. "What I mean is, how are you two getting along? Have there been any changes, or just… anything you might want to talk about?"

Another missile hit, further eroding the already crumbling barricade. The hidden reservoir of thoughts stirred with the jolt. A wave surged, spilling over, causing Nines’ brow to bunch tighter.

Anderson's absence became more keenly felt. Nines reflected resentfully on the numerous excuses he might have had to escape his current predicament had he also been human. Be it seeking food, needing the bathroom, or a strategically timed cigarette break. Each small evasion could have added up, increasing the likelihood that his interrogator might lose interest and drop the subject.

As it stood, Nines had no discernible means to escape. Internal pressure mounted, pleading for cathartic release as he grew more susceptible to bow to its influence.

"I know you’ve been trying to make the most of the situation, and for what it's worth, you’re doing great. I'm so proud of what you’ve achieved, and you should be as well, so please don’t let anyone change that. It is not an easy case, and Gavin is not an easy partner to—"

RK800’s words trailed off into a growing rumble of noise. Floodwaters raced as his partner exerted himself to the forefront of the compromised dam, pressing against it vigorously. Of the many preoccupations that rushed Nines in the wake of his approach, the most prominent was the events that had recently transpired during their enquiries in Ravendale.

They had left Nines with enduring questions. Ones that had seared through fraught synapses, leaking out from the mental alcoves he had attempted to tuck them in. A series of damning activity logs, taunting him with their presence—and all implications they carried:

>SYSTEM PROMPT: UPDATE CHARACTER FILE ‘DETECTIVE GAVIN REED ’

> STATUS: CHANGES ACCEPTED.

"...I hope you don't mind, but I talked with Tina, and she mentioned that you two went out to lunch the other day. I'm glad he’s being reasonable in giving you a chance; with any luck, maybe you two will find some…"

> COMMON GROUND ESTABLISHED.

The waves charged again, relentless now, having gained an unstoppable momentum. Reed continued to wade at the front, casting reflections in the choppy waves. They were remarkably, inexplicably, clear despite the surrounding turbulence.

"...He…is not entirely what I expected."

This admission came too late to avert any repercussions, spilling forth as Nines found himself unable to contain it.

"Well—that's not entirely accurate. He is exactly what I anticipated…but in a uniquely frustrating way. Much of his behaviour appears exaggerated or falsified, so much that I am not sure even he comprehends the full extent of it."

RK800 hummed thoughtfully, contributing little else but nodding in solidarity.

"He is not significantly more complex than any other human I've met. The core reasons for his behaviour are clear. Insecurity, resentment, vice. It is simple enough to predict when he might refuse to cooperate or lose his temper. My understanding of that is becoming quite robust. It can be forecasted…but..."

RK800 remained silent, listening on in attentive sympathy, smiling softly. An open, undemanding gesture. Inviting the other android to proceed at his own pace. Somehow, this proved enough. The cracks spidered through his safeguard erupted into scattered chunks as his deluge of consciousness rushed freely from his mouth:

"He is so much less transparent, honest, than he wishes to suggest. The man is a walking contradiction. Whether or not he chooses to abide by his own convoluted belief system seems entirely random. It is becoming increasingly difficult to predict, or determine, his motivations—"

Nines’ thoughts were rushing once more.

The disclosure of familial trauma. The revealing of hidden kindness. His smile, the richness of laughter as he fussed fondly over his cat. The android's swarming internal panic, which ended with Reed's hand buried firmly into a bony torso.

Then, there was the warmth that this action had inspired in the RK900. Heat which returned now, as his internal body temperature climbed staggeringly.

"—particularly now, after what occurred yesterday."

Finely tuned diplomacy disintegrated as RK800’s logical processes gave way to emotionally driven instincts. He tensed, the rhythmic cycles of his performance indicator broken, as he grew concerned:

"What happened yesterday?"

As quickly as the thoughts had begun to spiral, they stopped dead—grounded to an abrupt halt. In their waning discordance, Nines grappled to re-establish control. Incentivised by a mixture of frustration towards his predecessor but also a niggling wish to avoid troubling him.

"Nothing of significance."

"I find that hard to believe…" Connor gives him an all-too-familiar look of doubt. As always, however, this was the point when he stepped back, understanding that prying further would only be met with resistance. Lips pursed contemplatively before he spoke again. "You know we can talk about anything , right? I’m always there if you need it."

"There is nothing further I wish to discuss."

RK800 sighed, the dejected sound masked as a synthetic breath, before he pulled up his shoulders and responded brightly.

"Well, if you ever want to—if you change your mind—I'm happy to listen." He paused, holding up his palm, skin unsheathed in a tentative offering. "...We could always—if it would make things easier—"

"That would also be unnecessary." Nines denied the interface, his own hands remaining firmly stationary in his lap. "I assure you that your concern is unwarranted. I am fine. Thank you, RK800."

Following the uncomfortable encounter, the RK900 considered departing early—fabricating some excuse, albeit with his limited options. Perhaps under the guise of feeding the neighbourhood strays, although he knew, with confidence, he had left sufficient provisions in the dishes outside.

By the time more genuine contemplation was underway, however, Anderson had returned—and any hopes for escape were thwarted.

Sumo trailed after him, tail swinging in slow, sluggish strokes before his large eyes met Nines. The bushy appendage wagged faster, with increased enthusiasm, as his tongue lopped out in excited pants—as though he'd somehow forgotten the RK was visiting.

He plodded over to the couch, lumbering his ample weight onto it, sandwiching himself contently between the two androids. He partially overlapped each, with his head plopped affably on the RK800’s lap, while Nines was subjected to a less agreeable hold of thumping tail and hindlegs. He supposed, at the very least, there was less chance of being saturated by drool.

With his pet having laid claim on his spot, Anderson instead relegated himself to a nearby armchair. Flopping into it with a laboured grunt, he cracked open the soda that he had eventually retrieved from his fridge and took a liberal swig.

The movie commenced shortly after, and it didn't take long to transpire that it would be impressively dull—even by usual standards. An inordinate amount of the opening sequence seemed dedicated to showcasing what the main character intended to wear for the day. After the third or fourth rotation of skirts, and the encouragement of a full-figured roommate who Nines assumed would play as comic relief, the leading lady dashed from her impressively large apartment, ready to head into work.

Several mishaps ensued, including one of her heels being lost to a wad of chewing gum and almost toppling headfirst into a hot dog cart. It surpassed the realm of charming clumsiness, as it became clear the woman posed a serious threat to both herself and others.

Nines could feel his attention wane fast. His optical units lost focus, his eyelids stooped, cognition breaking into waves of static. Fortunately, whilst he struggled in numerous interpersonal aspects, he had somewhat mastered the art of feigning engagement in the abysmal films—with such proficiency that even the advanced deductive protocols of his counterpart failed to detect it.

Anderson was not so mannerly. By the time the poorly coordinated heroine had wrangled her way into a cab, previously meticulously styled hair full of leaves and twigs, he had fallen asleep. Head lolled back, mouth agape as he snored thunderously.

After a few more minutes enduring the endless cycle of empty dialogue and contrived plot beats masquerading as storytelling, Nines determined he had allowed himself sufficient rest. With the other android placated, suitably engrossed, he invested the replenished energy into examining his case files. Specifically, reviewing the most recently inputted item of evidence: Mr Scott's phone.

It had been evident from the store owner's sketchy behaviour that he had been concealing some well of greater knowledge. A link undoubtedly existed between him and their suspect. There was obstinance, petty defiance, and then the arduous lengths Scott had attempted to protect his affiliate. He had seemed worried—almost fearful. As though dreading some unspoken ramifications should he fail to uphold his lies.

However, there was only so far his primitive mental capacity could take him. While their killer was unlikely to be so careless, Scott had demonstrated himself as a man unable, or otherwise unwilling, to uphold satisfactory standards of data protection and security.

Nines hoped it would not take long to uncover the scuffed footprints he had left behind, trails that may lead them to their culprit.

And so, the android submerged himself—plunging deep into yet another odious pit. Except, unlike with the movie, the offense of this one was far less benign. This time, he exchanged dull vacancy for something far more insidious: hateful abhorrence and vile obscenity.

Chat logs ran thick with bilious sewage that proved deeply unpleasant to wade through. The majority hinged on uncouth anecdotes pertaining to minority groups. There would be the occasional tasteless image—grotesque caricatures, captioned with vicious and demeaning phrases.

Despite the unpleasantness, there was nothing especially incriminating. Nothing to suggest explicit involvement in illegal activity. His online activity, however, proved significantly more damning.

Scott's browser was riddled with searches for illegitimate stock providers. These distributors dealt in counterfeit electronics—devices billed as indistinguishable from their branded counterparts. Legal mandates for returns policies, and how little flexibility could be applied, also featured heavily.

Then, activity veered into more immediately relevant offences. The man had a penchant for harassing public figures—primarily those involved in the android liberation movement.

He was not alone in this endeavour. Nines soon identified the same names, appearing repeatedly, spread like a disease through the digital space. Scott seemed to have aligned himself with a particularly vitriolic subsect, seen in his consistent approval of their comments.

In the profile summaries, the RK identified several patterns. Hidden in bios, birthdays, taglines—innocuous to those who did not know what they were looking at, but immediately identifiable to those who did.

Dog whistles—phrases like ‘people first' or 'organic supremacy', hastily buried under codes and acronyms—aligning Scott with a more extremist, radicalised movement. One that sought to violently eradicate the newly acquired rights of androids, restoring human dominance by any means necessary.

Tucked into one of these user bios was a condensed URL. Upon clicking, he was directed to an unmarked landing page, protected by a password encryption system. The address comprised a series of random numerations, with no information to identify its purpose—just a vacant text bar, suspended forebodingly on a blank screen.

Not wishing to risk compromise from an unforeseen security protocol, Nines utilised the code from Scott's phone to simulate a replica within his own system. With a spoofed IP, along with the man's browsing data and saved passwords, the android soon confirmed that the man had been here before—on numerous occasions.

Following input of the authorisation now previewed in the login screen, Nines was permitted access to the site. A header flashed onto his HUD, alongside a manifesto, forecasting in disquieting detail what he was about to unveil:

> ‘The Fleshbound Brotherhood’

> DUST FROM EARTH, BREATH IN LUNGS.

> PBMA ATFFXK BG ATGW, PX UKXTD MH IBXVXL MABL ZHWEXLL GTMBHG.

It was a forum, with hundreds of discussion threads materialising concurrently. Titles ranged from the benignly malicious to the criminally obscene. Within them, he found detailed recounts of imagined, intended, and perpetrated violence.

As Nines searched deeper, he was dismayed to discover that many discussions did not stop at text. There was visual accompaniment, images depicting abuse and mutilation of grotesquely brutal proportions. It splintered his focus, accosting his optics in a shattered mosaic of white and blue.

Then his attention was divided further. There was a shift on the couch, and he glanced at RK800, assessing whether or not he had detected the signs of his heightened distress. The older android remained none the wiser, and had simply been readjusting, fully engrossed in the television as he stroked the top of Sumo’s head.

With the security to continue, Nines did so, plunging deeper into the wells of depravity. He sank, inked in black, until he found something that twisted his stomach unbearably.

A snapshot of a scene that rang hauntingly familiar. One that should not have been accessible, having never been released to the broader public.

> ANALYSING SUBJECT…

> SUBJECT IDENTIFIED.

> MODEL: MJ100 #1105 180 903 — DESIGNATION: ‘JENNY’

He realised that this offered no tangible proof. The forensics team had not submitted their report. There was a chance that the department had succumbed to a data leak, with the photograph scalped by a sadistic admirer of the killer's work.

Yet, there remained the possibility that it wasn’t—that it had been captured in real time, from the viewpoint of the perpetrator.

They had already seen in the case on the HR400 that he was not opposed to documenting his work in this way. The RK speculated it accounted for little more than another keepsake—a cruel trophy overshadowed by the more boast-worthy accolades of harvested biocomponents.

Nines felt anger. A potent, all-consuming frustration. He had located the killer, appearing in his visual scope like a vengeful spectre. He could almost reach out, feeling the remnants of his movements with his fingertips, while the man cowardly concealed himself behind a veil of digital anonymity.

Indeed, all posting on the site was anonymous. Identifiers were procedurally generated, with no consistency of username. Despite this, there was no difficulty in identifying Scott. The same unique typing errors had carried over from private messages and his public terrorising.

A specific instance grabbed his attention while he was browsing the page. A notification in the corner indicated it was a new comment. The RK900 examined it closely, zoning in on the letters, picking them apart with meticulous scrutiny:

> bacon at cedars + me. organic and synth

It was a code—though not a particularly complex one. Upon deciphering, it seemed clear that the subjects being discussed were ones with which Nines had intimate acquaintance.

A reply followed, in rapid succession to the initial message:

> > what did they want?

This was preceded by a second comment—another searing blow to the face, the sting of its mockery lingering.

> > > Tlla ha JSOX. ZS J—

—She doesn't want to see you, Davis! Get out of here before I make you.

Nines paused, perplexed by this additional detail, as he attempted to interpret its meaning. Setting the code aside for the moment, his deductive systems searched autonomously for a ‘Davis’—assessing whether the name had appeared earlier in their investigation, and what significance it might hold.

"You broke my fucking nose, you asshole!"

He then dawned that this specific thread had come from the television.

The dual clash of flesh and bone was identified, a theory validated by the terse yelp of pain that followed. His focus was shattered, and the forum receded into the digital obscurity from which it had emerged. Nines was back in the living room. Awake, alert, and left to ponder if RK800 had conceded his victory, allowing Anderson to switch the movie.

He had not. Upon examining the scene more closely, the android recognised the same key players. The leading lady was on the sidewalk outside her apartment complex, eyes wide with shock and hands clasped firmly to her mouth. Behind her, a group of people—led by her roommate—gathered closely. They reacted with much more joyful enthusiasm, cheering loudly and pumping fists excitedly into the air, to a fight happening in the street.

Nines identified one of the fighters as the lead's romantic partner from the last film. Davis, an ambitious CEO with whom she had shared a fulfilling romance. Clearly, something had shifted since then, but he was at a loss to discern what.

He lunged at his opponent again, incited by a chorus of cheers. Davis staggered back, stunned, following another blow. Turning to the lead for aid, he extended his lightly blood-spattered palm, which she gazed at—visibly horrified.

"Come on, Stacey. I know I messed up, but she didn't mean anything to me. Let’s go upstairs, and I'll make it up to you. What do you say?"

Her horrified expression then shifted into muted melancholy, as if she were suddenly lost in thought. The camera cut rapidly between Stacey and the men brawling for her affections. Artificial tension was heightened by a melodramatic orchestral sweep that began to swell in the background.

Then, it faded, and she turned away. Her eyes closed, she shook her head with quiet resolve.

"I'm sorry, Davis, but I don’t think that’s enough for me anymore."

The friends erupted into scandalised gasps, along with RK800, who leaned so far forward that he risked toppling off the couch. Even Anderson appeared engaged, having woken up at some undisclosed point, tuned in keenly to the telenovela-grade escapades.

"...Oh, I see. Too scared to finish things, so you'll have your new boyfriend do it for you?"

David advanced towards his ex-partner. The sting of rejection had transformed him into a distorted caricature of his already ill-defined character, the framing and score presenting an absurd, cartoonish antagonist.

His romantic rival responded quickly. Forming a protective blockade in front of Stacey, his eyes narrowed menacingly. A hand was then planted into the other man's sternum, and he shoved him back.

"Kick his ass, Jerry!"

"Yeah, Jerry..." Anderson muttered, chuckling softly to himself. "Show this kid who he's fucking with."

Nines was also strangely captivated, although not due to any infatuation with the rising violence. Instead, his curiosity stemmed from more… elusive reasons.

He couldn't pinpoint the cause, but he found himself leaning closer to the flickering screen—seeing past the poorly scripted characters and dialogue, as his mind constructed a more compelling narrative.

Whilst the scenario didn’t precisely mirror his personal experiences, his internal imaging adapted to the available details. As Jerry pushed again, his features changed—not as classically handsome, but with an indisputable, rugged appeal. The shrinking woman behind him vanished, supplanted by a more formidable presence.

Davis’ transformation was the most striking. His defined features sagged, melting like wax from his face, mirroring the decay of his body. His disdainful comments shifted from the trivial grievances of a rejected lover to something far more sinister:

"Seems like your own kind doesn't even want you."

"Do us—favour—go back—came from—"

"That's enough."

It was at this point, when the scene had fully transformed, that realisation struck him. A rock propelled through a fragile windowpane. Nines reeled in embarrassment, forcefully dismissing the projection, and blocking the intrusive neural pathways that had inspired it.

He silently cursed RK800 for contributing to this lapse. Undoubtedly, the result of fatigue that had amassed over the week, exacerbated by the prying.

Mental strongholds would prove challenging to re-establish, now that Reed had fully breached their containment, meandering freely around his mind. For now, all Nines could do was ponder the injustice.

He was used to his mind betraying him—thrusting relocations onto him unwillingly, formed as weapons—but it had never occurred in such a profoundly degrading way.

He despaired to think what psychosomatic implications a human might draw from the event, before reminding himself he could not afford to become blindsided by such preoccupations.

The advent of Reed had already derailed enough of his professional undertakings. Nines, swiftly and resolutely, decided that he would not allow this oddity to impact his duties further.

Nines would set aside considerations of unanticipated kindness and compassion—as well as the strange endearment they inspired.

He would not, under any circumstances, dwell on this topic again.

#dbh #detroit become human #dbh nines #reed900 #dbh gavin #gavin reed x rk900 #dbh fanfic #dbh rk900 #dbh fanfiction #dbh fic #detroit: become human

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generalluxun · 28 days ago

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I hope you know that I don't take issue with you criticizing Miraculous on principal and that I've long learned that one fan's treasure is another fan's trash. Nobody need to like something completely and if asked, I'll probably rattle off on my own list of things I felt Miraculous could have handled better.

I guess... part of it comes from how there's a lot of negativity around Miraculous and, while they are entitled to express that, there's not enough for my side of "I love it overall, wart and all." Part of this is likely YouTube and Reddit promoting what happens to get the most clicks.

Hell, Tumblr reccommended that post to me when I was editing a Miraculous post for correcting. You know, in that corner where nine posts they think you'll like show up? I just have horrible practice when it comes to walking away because it eats at me that I'm letting somebody go uncontested in this age of poor media literacy (again, not trying to accuse you of anything).

What I'm trying to say is... I had you all wrong. I might not get your "potential" standpoint because Miraculous hasn't missed its potential for me but I'm not you. And I shouldn't have to be.

I... hope this rambling is coherent enough. I really don't want to offend anybody.

EDIT:Just added the readmore because the post was so long. Hey, Thanks for reaching out. That takes a lot. I appreciate it. In the spirit of sharing I'll run by exactly where the show 'missed the mark' for me. The first is just a 'potential' argument, and the others are sort of a chain of similar-and-escalating choices that... I don't know. They're not good. They hint at something just.. wrong I guess? In the writing room. I don't understand the choices, and I hope they're corrected. They *matter* in my opinion.

The first one (the potential argument) comes at the end of S2/Beginning of S3. The OG5 heroes they had there were SUCH a good setup. Nino, Alya, Marinette, Adrien, and Chloe.

Nino&Alya=Established couple who know each other's IDs

Adrien and Marinette=the promised couple, don't know each other's IDs.

Adrien&Chloe Childhood friends

Marinette&Chloe rivals (light bulling as of S2 but really nothing like the S5 retcon would have us believe at this point)

Chloe->Ladybug fangirl

Everyone knows Choe's ID, she doesn't know Anyone's ID

Alya-> Thinks for herself, yet very loyal.

There's just so many angles and storylines in JUST those 5. You could have never once touched the secondary heroes and you could have feasted on that. I'd say Kagami and Luka just because of how important they are on the civilian side could have been part timers, but yeah. The rest? I don't hate the class, they're fun! But you're stretched so thin trying to cover so many heroes that you don't get to really dig and explore. I've seen the other heroes called 'Marinette's pokemon' and it's kind of true, sadly. S4 was a parade of one hit wonders, they even had to stuff 4 into the final one! You could have tackled all the powers with fusions and let the other civilians be cool civilians. It'd make the 'Resistance' in S5 all the more interesting.

That's not to say there's nothing good about how it was done or it's the worst ever for not sticking with the sentai format. It's just a choice that's indicative of the surface level skimming. And it's got us in S6 with a 16(?)v1 scenario which is.... really low stakes as far as these things go. Yes they can course correct it somehow, but they *already* had to do that in S5. so having to do it again... you see how it was a setup for problems.

That honestly would have been all well and fine if the show hadn't gone as it did down another path. This is a 'Please read to the end' because there are a lot of takes on this and I'd rather not be lumped in with some of them.

It started with how Chloé was handled, is bad *for the audience of children watching the show*, and I have a very real problem with that.

Chloé is an abused child. Full stop. There is no arguing this. Neglect, verbal and emotional abuse. Not just from Audrey. It's on screen. People with actual degrees in the fandom have chimed in on this.

They didn't *have* to make her an abused child. I'm not sure they *intended* to do it. t is what they put up on the screen for eyes to see though.

Once you put an abused child on screen. It is my belief that you have an obligation as someone writing children's programing for children to see, to be sure that child's abuse is A)recognized in-universe and B)shown to get help.

This doesn't mean Chloé needed to be a hero, or even liked by her peers. She's just a classic example of a child who responds with anger instead of sadness. She's a 'bad victim' and bad victim kids are often overlooked because they DO tend to bully their peers(they can't fight back against adults so they pick on those they can) The message *needs* to be 'You too can get help' for any in the audience who identify with her, not 'You're just bad, oh well.'

The sow had Marinette push Chloe to act more like Audrey (Queen Wasp ending) which- is actually a perfectly reasonable mistake for Marinette who grew up in a loving household! But it was never revisited, it's basically ignored. yet, pushing a child back int the abuser's care, showing her that she might gain affection by emulating her mother *even harder*? ooof.

Strip away liking or hating Chloe when you think about this, and liking or hating Marinette. Just think about this in broad 'That's a child' terms.

The S3 fall- not terrible honestly! The finale even seems like it gets it. Master Fu's voiceover says 'Some lose hope' when they're showing Chloé. *lose hope* that's not someone gleefully embracing evil, that's a tragic oversight. The show actively built up that Gabriel and Nathalie -along with Lila- deliberately targeted and isolated Chloé. That's horrific, and you can have a payoff from that!

But- there was nothing. The kid manipulated by the two grown adult villains is just 'a villain' from then on. No consideration, no hints, just evil and evil, framed as the worst, we even added a whole 'Was here all along honest' character and retconned some very specific things to make her more eviler! It goes on right up to the point where her own father throws her to the abusive woman that *he a grown man* is divorcing. Let that sink in. He won't stay with Audrey because he knows how she is, but he's quite willing to throw his daughter away to her rather than take responsibility for the child he raised(badly) and try to fix it.

Which leads into the not-Chloe parts of things that as I said go kind of hand in hand. S5 went on a binge of very sudden and questionable 'redemptions' Every crappy dad out there got one. (plus two honorable mentions)

Jagged? He at least was *only* a deadbeat who left his kids alone despite living in the same city for 15 years... and he's the best of them!

Felix!-No he's not a dad, but we had such a very weird 180 on him. He shows up, is cruel to Adrien, tries to force himself on Ladybug, and is shown to be an all around heel. Gabriel Agreste(the episode) continues this, and then in Strike Back he passes ALL the miraculous and Adrien's amok to Gabriel without a care in the world. 2/4 of a seaon later he tries to wipe out humanity. As an excuse we get hints about his dad. Then right before the end we find out his backstory is basically Adrien's backstory with enough changed that they hope the teacher won't notice. One kidnapping later, he's one of the good guys now! He's just a little guy! Poof! Kagami, the girl who THRIVES on honesty, just kinda is like 'nah, everything is cool, and spills LB's secret to him.' It's s weird. This coming from someone who clocked Felgami from the moment they had the side-eye in Gabriel Agreste. I figured a well executed enemies/rivals to lovers though, not.... whatever this mess is. The only saving grace of canon Felgami is that there is no excuse against Lukloé now. Felgami is literally 'She'll fix him.' 🤣 (note: Even though they basically had Felix's abuse-photocopy-backstory off screen, I would still want him to get *help* for it too. all abused kids need to bee shown getting help. Kids need to see there is help to be had. Help doesn't generally look like 'Free girlfriend and Miraculous' though.)

Nathalié-This is probably the least-problematic after Jagged, but we do still have the fact that Nathalie already murdered one Senti-being wiht free will, and arranged for Fei to be an orphan again. (She knew exactly who Cash was when she hired him). We needed a bit more than a last second gasp to sell this one. On her own I don't think this would stand out as much, but it's just one more in a line of 'Redeem everyone but that one blonde girl' choices.

André! The guy who raised Chloé. The one who *showed her how to cheat, steal, and abuse power* Twice in the series she even explicitly states she learned what she does watching him. We've seen this guy, a grown man, bully and abuse his power, engage in corruption, and it's stated this is how he's been his whole career. But oh no, he's actually just a sad little guy who wanted to make movies. It's all his *daughter's* fault! she's so heartless. She sprang from Audrey and started controlling the happless *grown man* before she could even walk.... or something.

And then after André's supposed redemption, we have him run from all responsibility as a father, and steal Zoé apparently? (S4 indicates Mr. Lee is alive and involved in Zoé's life. I'm pretty sure that Andre did something wildly illegal there. 🤣)

And then Gabe! What a kick in the teeth there eh? Now this one does take some outside-of-show information, but not Twitter. The writers did an actual commentary on the finalé explaining their intent. That was a redemption for Gabriel. The light is him ascending into heaven with Emilie, That was supposed to be Ladybug 'winning'. They legitimately believed the 'All the times I tried to be a good father' was warranted. I think they *thought* they were writing Movie!Gabe, and just missed the mark so hard.

That ties back into Adrien's abuse, which was also pretty obvious all throughout the show. More people care, because Adrien is a 'good victim' (sad and meek) so they take pity. Yet- The writing team doesn't seem to really *see* it as abuse. Gabriel just *really* loved his family and was *misguided*. And... yeah....

With all that having happened. This whole 'Marinette keeping the truth from Adrien' plotline just feels so icky. The boy has had no agency. He's got literally control rings. He's been lied to his whole life. Now his girlfriend, Ladybug, Marinette, the show's actual protagonist is lying to him.

There's so little hope they'll handle it well, considering *waves to the previous paragraphs*. Revelator and Alya's anger is the tiniest glimmer of hope that *maybe* with the end of the contract at the end of S5, there's a different set of priorities. It's just worrying, and why every time this specific thing comes up, I have concerns.

The writing room has shown they're shockingly insensitive to the topics they toy with. They can do lighter-side stuff just fine! But when it hits something heavy... oof.

Child abuse is a Very Big Deal for me. I'm a survivor myself. My own went under the radar, which is why *recognizing it in all it's forms* is extremely important to me.

Again-ML never had to do anything with this, but they *chose* to put it in, and once it's in, feel they had an obligation to handle it well. That's an obligation I don't feel like they've met. It's also not something that will improve if those who do see it just go silent and ignore it.

Silence and ignoring is exactly how abuse thrives.

If you're interested I could go into more detail on some of the specific examples of on-screen abuse elements that are present. I knw I left stuff out. In some cases it's so strange because you *think* they must be aware, but if they are then how could they just leave it unaddressed?

I'd love to get answers, but that's not an option.

Well, I bet this answer was more than you bargained for! Maybe it'll provide some clarity as to where the harshness comes in. To be clear, I really want Miraculous to be *better*, not to die. want it to address the abuse it's already displayed in a reasonable way. Once that's done, the hackles will go way back down.

If I lose any and all hope it ever will be addressed, then I'll probably walk away and just warn other parents off the show.

#ask #miraculous ladybug #Child abuse is never okay #ml writing critical #chloé bourgeois #adrien agreste #Andre bourgeois #Audrey bourgeois #gabriel adreste #nathalie sancouer #felix fathom #this is a long one

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jeffhirsch · 26 days ago

Text

Down Q1 Can Lead to More Trouble

This is no April Fool’s joke. Adding to our concerns that the market in 2025 continues to track less bullish post-election year scenarios is the history of market performance following down first quarters, especially in post-election years. First the good news. April has been up on average and about 63% of the time. Q4 has been even stronger. Though both April and Q4 have taken some hits as well.

But unfortunately, Q2 and Q3 have been weak overall and Q3 especially in post-election years. Most compelling is that if the market had already achieved bear market levels when Q1 was down it was usually near a bottom or low point from which the market rallied substantially. Conversely, if Q1 is negative and the market has not reached bear market status or is not far from a recent all-time high, then we have more often than not experienced further market trouble and downside action over the subsequent nine months.

Several of the weak republican post-election years discussed on page 28 of the 2025 Almanac also standout: 1953, 1957, 1969, 1973, 1981 as well as 1977, Jimmy Carter’s difficult first year. There are several other non-post-election years of concern, most recently 2022. The most impressive turnarounds from down Q1s occurred at or near the ends of bear markets in 1980, 1982, 2003, 2009 and 2020 after Covid-19 induced the shortest bear market on record.

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awsugar · 16 days ago

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I mean we can be frustrated that there’s not new music, but the remixing is literally transformative for anyone listening to revenge. People have long recognised the low quality mixing of revenge (and bullets) and they have fixed it. Idk why whenever they do something that isn’t new music people get frustrated. Yeah I think some things are potentially a cash grab, but not this, it elevates the art that we all love. they wanted to improve upon an album that means so much to many of us. I honestly don’t see any negatives to it

but i am still allowed to express my personal feelings (which are complex, nuanced, and varied) on my own blog...it sounds great. im happy to have it. but it also comes with NINE vinyl variants, a 90 dollar hoodie, other merch, it also exists as a potential loophole in a contract to get out of putting out new music which a lot of people have expressed for a long time that they want and which mcr have sort of made us believe is coming eaach time they do something new with new imagery and lore, AND they have zero communication with us AT ALL. like literally at all in the past 5+ years now we have gotten zero communication from the band on their plans or intentions going forward, and like most people clearly are still looking for some answers wrt that and feel a little bit jerked around at times.

im not saying its a bad thing, im just saying i have many different feelings on it not all of which are pure excitement and/or joy

#anonymous #asks

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odetopictorialism · 3 months ago

Text

From "The Vampyr", a gothic horror film directed by Danish director Carl Theodor Dreyer, 1932

The film presented a number of technical challenges for Dreyer, as it was his first "talkie" and was recorded in three languages.

To simplify matters, he decided to use very little dialogue, and much of the story is told with intertitle, like a silent film. The action was shot entirely on location, and to enhance the atmospheric content, Dreyer opted for a washed out, soft focus photographic technique. The soundtrack was created in Berlin, where the characters' voices, the sound effects, and the score were recorded.

After having its release delayed by nine months, so the American films Dracula (1931) and Frankestein (1931) could be released first, Vampyr was released in Germany, where it opened to a generally negative reception from both audiences and critics.

The film was long considered a low point in Dreyer's career, but modern critical reception has been much more favorable, with critics praising the film's disorienting visual effects and atmosphere.

#cinema #1930's

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chukys-mouthguard · 10 months ago

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i feel like this is so specific but can you do something angsty (maybe with a happy ending) based on the ending of white ferrari by frank ocean? with mtkachuk 😁

white ferrari

2k words

genre: angst

featuring: matthew tkachuk x female reader

note: i tried something new with this, green light indicates present day, red light indicates a flash back

green light

The lull of the engine filled the car as Matthew continued on the road. No destination in sight as he watched the scenery pass by his window. Attempting to clear his head but all he could think about was you.

Your entire relationship replaying in his head, making him question how the two of you ended up here.

red light

“Oh Matt, I gotta introduce you to Emma’s friend that she invited. I really think the two of you will hit it off!”

Brady shot Matthew a quick wink before pulling him over towards you and his girlfriend. Matt reluctantly followed, knowing that in the past Brady hasn’t always been the best wing man. But the moment he saw you, he had to try his best to act cool. Despite inside feeling like a nervous wreck.

“Matt, this is Emma’s friend y/n. Y/n, this is the less handsome Tkachuk brother, Matt.”

Matthew rolled his eyes with a chuckle as he extended a hand to you, immediately noticing the soft touch of your skin as you accepted. He felt himself lingering a bit too long, though you didn’t seem to pull away. A smile on your lips as he saw a slight blush beginning to appear on your skin.

“Pleasure to meet you y/n.”

green light

He’d never forget that day. The two of you ended up talking for hours, and he’d never been so thankful for his brother playing wingman.

Who would’ve thought that day would’ve turned into four years, a relationship that had been seemingly perfect. You’d followed Matthew to Calgary, and then to Florida after being traded. His biggest fan though plenty of ups and downs in his career. But also the only one who could keep him in check, and talk him down when he’d gotten a little cocky or full of himself. He’d never met a girl like you, and he knew he never would again.

The two of you having talked about a future, marriage and kids, the whole nine yards. The idea of seeing you as a mother one that Matthew had thought about for over a year now. Knowing you’d be the perfect mother from how you cared for him. You were patient, understanding, loving, everything he would ever ask of you to be.

red light

Matthew winced as you touched the alcohol soaked cotton pad to his brow, cleaning the cut he’d earned in a scrum during tonight’s game.

“You okay?”

He nodded as he simply replied mhmm, allowing you to continue as he glanced up at you. Watching as you took your time, trying your best to be gentle. A smirk coming across his lips while you felt his eyes on you, tracking your every move.

“What?”

Stopping as you felt yourself beginning to blush, he simply shook his head. Smiling at the ground as you packed up the first aid kit.

“Nothing, I just. I’m thinking about what an amazing mother you’re gonna be one day.”

His words caught you off guard, eyes wide as you laughed. “Me? What? You’re thinking about that, really?”

“Of course I am!” He stood up as he checked his brow in the mirror, admiring your patchwork. “You’re so fucking good to me, always. I can’t help but think about how perfect you’d be as a mother.”

He wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder as he looked at you in the mirror. Kissing your cheek as you shyly smiled back.

“You think I’d be a good mom?”

“Oh the absolute best mom babe! In fact,”

Matthew quickly picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder as you playfully screamed and fought against his grip. “I think we should start trying to make you a mom right now!”

green light

He remembers the struggles you’d had getting pregnant. The highs and lows of all the false positives, and true negatives. But he knew you to always be a fighter and push through. So he never expected the day that you’d take all those things back and say you didn’t want the marriage and the kids. No more dreams of packing orange slices for soccer games, and back to school shopping.

It broke his heart, to know you had lost all want for those things. Things the two of you shared for so long. He never meant to push them onto you, and if he did he regretted it, because it meant losing you.

The fights had become more frequent. Matthew not sure what he’d done to push you away from him. He’d tried everything; therapy, vacations, anything to bring the love back. He thought maybe it was him, that he needed to change. But no matter what he did, you’d checked out.

red light

Rolling over in bed, Matt woke up to the feeling of cold sheets next to him. Opening his eyes to find you weren’t next to him. The soft glow of the tv coming from the down the hall giving away your location.

Pulling on a tshirt he made his way to the living room, seeing you curled up on the couch. This had become a frequent occurrence with you; moving to the couch when you couldn’t sleep, then passing out after watching 1 or 2 episodes of trashy tv.

He turned the tv off, sitting next to you on the couch as he brushed some hair from face. His thumb resting on your cheek as he traced your features. Soon a soft groan coming from you as you stretched, eyes fluttering open to look at him.

“Baby, let’s go to bed.”

Pulling the blanket over your head, you attempted to go back to sleep. Not in the mood for one of Matthew’s ‘baby’ conversation starters. You knew he missed having you next to him when he went to bed, then waking up to you in the mornings. It wasn’t that you enjoyed treating him this way, you did still love him. But how do you love someone me not want a future with them at the same time.

The countless efforts to try and get things back to how they once were, all failed as your heart was no longer in it. But you saw the way he looked at you, how he longed for the old you. The you that wanted kids and marriage. The you that was now long gone.

It was Matthew that kept you going, kept you willing to try for a baby after numerous false hopes. Kept you talking about wedding plans despite you knowing inside the ideas would never become reality. Because you had given up hope for those things to become your reality with Matthew.

“Y/n, please. I miss you. I miss us. You keep shutting me out and I don’t know what to do anymore to fix this.”

“Maybe there’s no fixing this Matt!”

Matt jumped as your voice echoed throughout the room. Though you didn’t mean to snap, you had let so much frustration build up and to be blunt, you were tired of trying to make things work when it was clear they couldn’t and wouldn’t.

“Have you not once thought that maybe there’s no fixing us? How many therapy sessions, couples trips, all of that bullshit will it take until you realize this isn’t working anymore? I don’t want the wedding, the kids. I mean after countless failed attempts at having kids, I’m fucking tired of it. The disappointment, feeling like I’m the problem. I can’t give you what you want!”

“Baby-“ Matt tried to take your hand and calm you down but you pulled away.

“No, stop. Stop the baby this, baby that. You need to wake up and see that I’m done. I’m done trying to be something I’m not for you. I’m done, we’re done.”

green light

The words still echoing in his head as if it was yesterday, the pain never subsiding as he knew he’d never find another girl like you. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

He never imagined a future without you, and maybe that was his fault for not seeing things from your perspective. You two had become so comfortable in the routine that he’d neglected to see how unhappy you were. To see the signs of you slowly pulling away from him. His focus on the future and not the present.

He missed you like crazy, and could only hope that the universe would bring you back together. But he didn’t get his hopes up for that.

As he pulled into a familiar parking lot, overlooking the water, one of your favorite spots to go together, he couldn’t help but get emotional. The two of you always drove here when you had a bad day, or an argument. It was your place to clear your heads and reset.

No surprise his subconscious led him here.

Pulling out his phone, he scrolled until he saw your name, knowing it was a long shot for you to answer. But he needed to hear your voice, it still being the only thing that could calm him down or talk him off the ledge when he was spiraling.

“Hello?”

You’d picked up on the second ring and he was a bit shocked, silence filling his car as he forgot to speak.

“Matthew…hello?”

“Sorry, I, I was surprised you picked up. How are you?”

Your laugh brought a smile to his face, god he missed the sound. “I’ve been better.”

“Same here, I, I’m at our spot. Didn’t plan on coming here but, I was having a rough day. Guess muscle memory brought me here.”

His voice was laced with nerves as he spoke, unsure whether or not you’d cut him short or actually talk to him.

“Yeah, I’ve been going there a bit lately too. Life’s, been interesting I guess.”

“Yeah…”

The call continued with you both sitting in silence, Matt unsure whether or not he should be honest with you, knowing you’d probably shoot him down. But he couldn’t lie to you, he never was one to do that.

“Y/n, I have to be honest. I fucking miss you. And, I love you so much. I, I know things won’t be the same. We don’t want the same things anymore. I just, I need you to know it’s always been you. It’ll always be you.”

His heart beating out of his chest as he impatiently waited for you to say something, anything.

“I know, I love you too. But, it’s just, it’s not going to work. I’ve reflected on everything and, I was trying so hard to give you everything you wanted, I lost myself. I lost sight of what mattered to me and what I wanted. What I needed. You know I never meant to hurt you the way I did. But, I meant it when I said there’s no fixing us.”

He nodded his head as you spoke, expecting that answer but the pain still came with each word. He tried laughing it off, as if he was fully anticipating your response. But deep down he’d hoped that time apart would somehow be the missing piece.

“Yeah, I know. I just, I gotta remind you any chance I get. I love you y/n.”

“Love you too Matthew.”

The line went dead as you’d hung up, Matthew taking a deep breath as he tried his best to accept the fact that you were gone. That this time, he’d have to accept that there was no chance at fixing things.

He enjoyed the view a bit longer, watching the water settling his emotions before he headed back onto the road. The lull of the car the only sound once again, as he tried his best to abandoned all thoughts of you.

green light

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