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inchidentally · 2 months

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Um, these 60 seconds of recent content between Lando and Oscar made me realize one thing, are these two really only knowing each other for a year or their whole lives?

the audience does not know !!!

like there's a very specific 'united front' thing I can see in a lot of partnerships and it's founded on different things but ultimately manifests in a feeling of cohesion between the drivers. (and I am so sorry bc I saw in passing someone else made a similar post to this but I cannot remember who so lmk bc I don't want to be ripping off their idea !! I have my own separate feelings about it so it's not a copy but still I wish I could have kept that on my dash long enough to rb)

like most teammates fall in the neutral category of professional politeness and friendliness but also the need to push for their own advantage wherever possible. totally fine and normal. also allows for a few fireworks occasionally which is just as good for fan engagement - sometimes more - than if the drivers were always cool w each other.

aberrations like Senna and Prost, brocedes, and sebmark are not to be included - way too unique. could even throw Esteban and Pierre in there.

you've got consummate professionals Lewis and George who are both careful about cultivating their own separate images and who hold a baseline of genuine respect for each other - but part of that respect being that they both know they'll look out for themselves first. so they're very much similar and equals even in operating very independently. ultimately they want the mess to get cleaned up and to shake hands and do business as usual. I could see them genuinely having to hash out something truly ugly and shake hands and move onto their own lives no problem. which like, they clearly have lol.

then there's a situation like Alex and Logan where the dynamic is so incredibly imbalanced BUT you have someone as humanly decent and warm as Alex (even if he maybe wishes he were less so for competitive reasons) and Logan has already become very skilled at dealing with being an outsider/almost unwanted :( and it's clear that they both see how hard-working they both are and what a massive thankless task they have in trying to just achieve points - undetermined if they're mostly friendly out of trauma bonding or will remain friends after being separated but there's absolute friendliness and respect.

then there's The Charisma Guys of Daniel and Carlos and now Lando (who mooched a lot of his F1 charisma off of Carlos and then Daniel). Daniel and Carlos replicate an almost identical dynamic with all of their teammates and it's predicated on what most drivers are already well versed in, which is: playing gay for fangirls, bromance hugging/camaraderie/ribbing for sports media and fans, and taking care of their own brand and career separately from their teammate. it's a powerful tool to have especially for leveraging the popularity of whatever bromance they're in towards their own image without having to lose power over their own image. individual sponsorships being a driver's second goal after winning races and WDCs also makes this an exceptionally good skill to have. it only starts to break down when the personal fortunes of one of the drivers start to hit hard times (current example being obvious).

the Carlos and Charles dynamic absolutely pulls a lot from the charisma/bromance stuff but the huge difference is that Ferrari would - like any F1 team - not give a shit if they didn't get along and just hitched on a bland smile for the cameras. Ferrari aren't remotely behind C2 being what it is, that's all Charles and Carlos. don't get me wrong Ferrari social media teams are MORE than happy to jump on! and sure, the challenges and content are a fun bonus thing to sponsors but three things here: one is that Ferrari IS the brand and they're a top 3 team like they're not grasping for sponsors asflgaslf. two is that as many partnerships have shown, you really don't need to do that much to satisfy the brief. and third, sponsors are like 99.999999% interested in the team's standings and the drivers' individual popularity with partnership popularity coming dead bottom - the bromances are only worth it if they're engagement darlings like carlando. and charlos doesn't do anywhere near those numbers or that widespread corporate social media appeal. you gotta do major impact with crazed fans for it to at all influence a brand's decision where to put their money. so all of the pop off the screen fun and genuine enjoyment we see Carlos and Charles have is fully legit. when they're being tongue-in-cheek levels of cutesy they literally say so. 2025 onward will see how much of a friendship there actually is, but as far as them being very happy with the partnership and collaborating exceptionally well within it, they're far more rock solid and natural at it than most. and the fact that they're if anything even tighter when there's zero incentive for it ?? and when their families and fanbases and their team principal and garages are constantly feuding ?? like it says everything about how much they respect each other and actually feel affection for each other to remain such a united front and so happy and affectionate. nobody else benefited from Carlos asking his team to tell Charles' team to come celebrate his win with him. nobody else in Ferrari or on the grid made bank off of about Charles rushing to congratulate Carlos while he was still in the car. (especially not when carlando did a quick hug and it got brands and official accounts posting tiktok ship edits to the predictable delight of thousands of fangirls. and for them all to cough cough conveniently ignore the embrace with his gf to push the image further.) there is no PR benefit behind C2 that would justify them hitching on such a dramatic facade - and if anything the people around them would prefer they kept separate so that they could celebrate one without the other. whatever their relationship is after this there will always be that massive respect IN SPITE of what the world around them wants.

but Lando and Oscar are such a major aberration not just in them both being so incredibly young and arriving into F1 so hot and already being so close in ability, but their specific 'history' and personalities. they were already such an easy fit together that it surpassed the professional need for a bromance buffer - and at the same time their bond being partly on how naturally private and shy they are made them poorly suited for a PR machine.

Oscar had already said - and a lot of fans already knew - that there were several friends in common and that the shifts in careers and being separated professionally by more years than their ages is the only thing that meant they'd never crossed paths before privately. as K said back when Oscar originally opened that TikTok acc it was so long ago that he followed Max F but that Lando didn't even have an one yet.

but also as many people close to Lando have said (good example that was posted recently) and that we can often still see in streamer Lando - Lando is very much like Oscar as a person at his core. pretty much all of the 'famous person' stuff we saw him become happened after 2019 and directly because of latching onto the social lives of guys like Carlos, Daniel and Martin. he's always referred to as extremely shy and he's said before he likes for others to lead. but his comfort place is still either hanging out in private with close friends only or to get on stream and laugh with his friends. Lando himself said that he considers Oscar to be very similar to him as a person outside of F1 and for all that in some ways that seems surprising, when you look at who Lando is when he's not in Professional Mode or Party Friends Mode he genuinely really fits in with someone quiet like Oscar who loves spending hours gaming w his friends and not being in public. I don't know enough about Martin Garrix as a person but I rly honestly see that with him as well. yes there's the Party Friend aspect but for them to travel solo for two entire winter breaks in a row ?? clearly Martin is a peaceful, quiet guy on Lando's level <3

and ofc I go onnnnn and fucking on about how while we all hate it bc it means we don't get as much content, the fact is that Lando and Oscar are the type of friendship/partnership where it's quiet and private and not something that translates to a bromance on camera. it's never going to be strategic.

so the fact that they have this "twinning" thing isn't that they are identical or that they even look all that similar, it's down to actually slotting in really well with each other as people! as always who knows how deep these friendships actually go but the whole mind-reading and synchronization and total lack of drama between them as drivers comes from genuinely being similar people and liking each other - that's what we're all picking up on when we watch them together.

the fact that they honestly find it awkward as hell when the media try to get them to "package" their friendship in bromancey soundbites or when they look at the camera a bit like an intruder that's making them dance their friendship around for media, like. that's so incredibly relatable for how any of us would feel with one of our actual friends having to do all that. having a camera aimed at us and some stranger being like "so you two get on really well huh?" and practically leaning in for an expected answer ???? it would be so stupid and weird and the whole way Lando and Oscar work together in unison to dispel how weird that is is so natural !!

idk it's like there's different things to take from different partnerships and literally all of us are suckers for a fun bromance and great professional chemistry. but I think this whole universal 'twins' thing that everyone sees in Lando and Oscar is genuinely two guys who are similar in all the fundamental ways and who actually slot together in ways where they naturally just agree on everything and therefore can predict a lot of what the other person is thinking if that makes sense ??? like yes Lando has Single Guy Party Times and professional motivations where Oscar does not but for a friendship and partnership to work, those are the two least relevant things to need to be similar about y'know ??

#inchreplies #landoscar #guess who won't shut up again it's me !!!#inchidentallyanessay #don't answer the same as me

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jasontoddsdarling · 5 months

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snow angels

— casts: jason todd x reader, aurora todd (my kid oc)

— words: 1,515

— tags: fluff, winter, family fic, family fluff, kid fic

— summary: It's Aurora Todd first winter and you two decide she should experience the ultimate first time under the snow: building some snowmen and one or two castles. And apparently also snow angels along the way.

Heavy snowfall from yesterday—that kept everyone inside the house all day long—resulted in a thick layer of snow in the backyard. You, Jason, and your fourteen months old daughter, Aurora, included. You two even built her a blanket fortress from the pile of her soft baby blankets. She was very fond of it.

Today, Jason and you decide to bring her outside.

It's her first winter, thus the first time she will experience the snowfall that blanketed the city like icing sugar dusted on a beignet.

Earlier, Jason had shoveled the snow that piled up in front of the front and back door. Thankfully, it wasn't blocking the doors that bad or else you'd feel bad about not helping him—even though he had insisted on doing it himself because she was cranky waking up and you'd have to feed her.

Now, though, your daughter is so awake and definitely not cranky anymore.

Jason has put his shovel back to the garage and changed his clothes to newer one—he had managed to sweat and drenched his sweater, and he's currently sporting a new sweater that matches the ones that you and your daughter wear.

“Papa.”

You put Aurora on her colorful foam puzzle mat. Jason, who is just getting out of your bedroom, smiling when he spots her.

“Who's going to play with snow today?”

Jason sits down on the edge of the mat and he beckons his daughter to his lap.

Aurora enthusiastically walks toward him—with her brand new baby boots that you just put on her, a big smile with her four small teeth showing.

“Nou.”

She perches her little legs on one of his thighs. You gasp and cannot help but grin. Did she just say a new word just now? Nou. Snow.

Jason beams. You can see his eyes shine with proudness.

“Yeah, snow. Snow! You, Mama, and Papa will go outside and we can build some snow castles and snowmen. Now, you need to wear these warm mittens first, okay?”

You observe the two loves of your life while packing a little thermos of jasmine tea to drink outside. These two always without fail put a smile on your face.

And oh, Jason is wearing gloves with the same color theme too because, of course, he would not want to be excluded in the matching outfits shenanigans of you and your daughter. We've to match as a cute little family, Jason had said so almost a year ago—after for the third time you and Aurora had matching outfits and he was being excluded; which in your defense, most husbands don't really care about matching outfits with their baby daughter, but you learnt it wasn't the case with Jason.

Jason tugs Aurora's mittens to make sure it's right before holding her in his arms and standing up, walking towards you who stands beside the dining table.

“Come on, Mama.” He squishes his cheek on Aurora's, whispering to pretend as if it's your daughter who’s saying that.

Aurora giggles. “Mama, mama.”

You bend down a little to kiss her rosy cheeks—and Jason steals a kiss from you when you stand straight after that—and the three of you are ready to mess with snow.

Jason has finished building one snow castle just now. It's a cool snow castle, in your opinion—considering he's only using some plastic snow toys for kids that you got for Aurora.

The kid in question sits on your lap, and is currently playing with the scallop shell plastic mold and making her nth crooked shell shaped snows with so much interest, completely oblivious to what her dad has been doing.

“Rora, look!” You pat her tiny leg gently. “Look. Papa has built you a little snow castle!”

You point your finger at the 1 meter tall snow figure. When Aurora looks up from her stuff, her eyes brighten and she moves her arms and legs excitedly, wiggling and trying to stand up from your lap.

You help her stand on her own little feet, her tiny boots scrunch the snow.

“Papa. Nou.”

Jason—who just put a twig on the center of the castle as a fake flag—grins. He waved his hands, beckoning her to walk towards him and the snow castle.

“Papa, papa.”

Aurora walks giddily.

You walk at a snail's pace to ensure that she steps safely, because you know sometimes babies and toddlers can be quite clumsy, and your daughter is no exception.

Aurora is two meters before landing herself in his dad's arm when, instead, she's landing backwards on a pile of fluffy snow with a very dull thud.

“Rora!”

Jason and you immediately shout at the same time and in less than two seconds both of you are in front of her.

Aurora is silent for a second, that you are almost panicking, but then she bursts into a fit of giggles. She moves her arms and legs in ups and downs motion, unknowingly making herself a snow angel.

“Mama, Papa.”

Aurora waves her mittens clad tiny hands. She wants you two to do what she's doing.

“Well, I guess we're making snow angels too.”

“I know. I am just glad she isn't crying.”

You release your breath you know you were holding.

You lie down beside your daughter on one side and Jason on her other side and you two proceed to make your own snow angels.

After it is quite deep, Jason gets up from where he's lying down and takes some photos of you and Aurora with his phone and instant camera he hides inside his deep coat pockets.

“One, two, three. Smile!”

And so, the next ten minutes, Jason takes a lot of photos of you and Aurora in front of the snow castle.

“These are so cute.”

It's 8:30 pm. You and Jason just put Aurora to sleep in her room, you're lying on bed with your head propped on a pillow and Jason's shoulder.

You scroll on Jason's gallery, currently landing on the selfie of you, Jason, and little Aurora in front of the snow castle and the two snowmen on each side of the castle—snowmen that later the three of you built after snow angels' antics. The snowmen are guards, Jason had said.

Jason's shuffling and looking at the printed photos he (and you) took with the instant camera, while occasionally brushing your raven black hair that fans the pillow.

“Lovely snow angels.” Jason mutters.

You laugh. You immediately scroll towards one picture of the three of you as snow angels. “Yeah, that one was cute too. It's fortunate that you brought your tripod outside so we could take a photo with the three of us as snow angels.”

“I meant this.”

Jason shows you one printed photo from the instant camera.

“Oh.”

It is a photo of you and Aurora as snow angels, the sunlight reflecting on the snow and bouncing a very faint light on your smiling faces.

“That’s…” You almost can't say a thing. “So beautiful.”

“I know.”

“You're very talented, Jason.” You look up and give him a soft smile.

“It's not as much talent as what's the subject of the photography.”

“Hey.” You can't help but chide him.

“It's true.”

“It's not.”

“It is.” Jason says with a finality. He puts all—the photos except the one on your hand—on the nightstand beside him.

“Both of you are just the loveliest snow angels. My literal angels.”

“Oh, Jason…”

“My only angels. You and Aurora.”

That's it.

You drag his face towards you with one of your hands behind his neck. You kiss him deeply and slowly. You can feel his pulse beneath your fingers and run your hand up and down his nape.

Jason shudders and he kisses you deeper, if it's possible, and you let out a small moan.

At last, you separate your faces from each other to inhale some air.

“Jason, I love you so much.” You caress his jawline, looking at his perfect shade of viridian eyes.

“I love you more.” He looks at you as fondly. Sometimes it's hard to breathe everytime he does that.

“I love you more and more.”

“I love you–”

And that's where you two hear a cry from Aurora's room. She's awake.

“I think trying to tell us she's agreed that I love you more.” Jason snickers.

You huff, moving your body to get up from the bed. “She's trying to tell us she wants to co-sleep with us again tonight.”

“That's fair too. Still, I love you more and more and more, though.”

“It’s me, actually, but I will let you win.”

You almost land your feet on the floor when Jason immediately stands up.

“Let me get her or I love you more and more and more.”

You can't believe your husband's antics but you smile ear to ear nonetheless.

“Fair. Go get her, Papabear.”

“On it, Mamabear.”

Jason shouts I love you more and more and more when he's in another room with Aurora's “Papa” accompanying it.

mariea's note: guess who decide to go all in and repost the fic from my ao3 here? anyway here's the og appearance of my jason todd's kid oc aurora "rora" todd 🤍

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #dad jason todd x mom reader #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd's kid oc #kid oc #kid ocs #aurora todd #dad!jason todd #mom!reader #jason todd fluff #mariea's fics #mariea's works #mariea's writing

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averageclawcodeenjoyer · 13 days

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Analyzing things in ATSV part one

Okay so I have to be absolutely insane about Ganke for a bit, so this will probably take up several posts because screenshots/videos galore.... ermmmmm....

HAVE FUN (will edit and update as needed)

I'm going to start off by analyzing this piece of concept art

Taking a look at Ganke's tapestry on his wall, that absolutely looks like the CS:GO logo, just flipped and without the text. Ex:

Taking a look at more things on the walls as well:

1) who is doing this math. Is it Ganke? Is it Miles? Is it both of them? I like to think that is is Ganke writing things down and then coming back to them later, or, maybe Miles writes things down and Ganke corrects them/adds stuff.

2) I'm pretty sure that says deadly twins. Is this a game? Movie? A play on words? Makes me think of seven deadly sins, but I'm not too knowledgeable in the world of entertainment.

3) (not the jet) is this a schedule? Lunch schedule, perhaps? It's on the bulletin board in the final cut of their dorm as well, just redesigned. Has to be something school event related. It says "Spring 2023 Brooklyn ________ Academy." I can't make out the middle word.

4) I just like the little spider included in the drawing :3 Miles FOSHO draws all over the whiteboard all the time. I love it.

5) I love love LOVE the stickers he put on the drawers, and I'm guessing there also from video games, but again, not good with logos. If anyone knows though please tell me and I will put it on here.

6) I think it's neat that they have a poster of a bunch of cassette tapes on the door. That was definitely Miles's doing, as well as the record player that i found in there (it's his way of honoring Aaron.)

7) Peep the No Expectations drawing on Miles's side of the bunk. I love the little Easter eggs all over. This is so special to me. Makes me think of the Chekhov's gun principal that they did with the Spider in ITSV and are continuing in Across.

8) Ohhhhh so he's a soccer guy. I wonder if he likes the sport, players, or had played it himself. Maybe that's why he got buff, bit I doubt it (BRING ME BACK LOSER NERD CHUB GANKE)

9) Taking a look at the photographs that Ganke has and comparing them to what I could find in the final product. Ganke has a camera on his desk, so obviously he takes all of these himself, but we will get to that later.

10) This looks like a picture of himself to me. Self portrait. Look at that blurred out smile. It's either him, or one of his parents, but I'm guessing it's of himself. Did someone take that for him, or did he take it? Maybe it was Miles.

11) might again be a stretch, but it looks almost like two people leaning against each other. Headcanon that Ganke is just like Lilo and takes pictures of random people interacting for funsies (reminds me of them Gwen & Miles leaned on each other on the building but I have HIGH doubts it is that)

12) ..Again, just bullshitting here. But this reminds me of the scene from ITSV where Gwen and Miles first were introduced to each other. Could he totally off, but there were a lot of kids in the background that resembled and could have been Ganke. Who knows what that kid does in his free time. (I bet he has a lot of photos of Miles that he doesn't know about...)

13) i don't have any idea of what this could be but uhh.... we're open to discussion. Train???

14) Looks like a party. A school dance perhaps? Winter formal? Homecoming? Something. Reminds me of the Prom scene in Gwen's universe.

___

I absolutely love all the stuff they have in their dorm room for food. Those sillies!! Look at them! Eating dinner together! Fully equipped! Who owns this shit! Banking on Ganke owning most of it because like... just look at his fucking setup.

15) Here's that record player I was talking about!!!! I wonder if it's a brand new one of something Miles got when they went through Aaron's stuff after he died...

16) Coffee machine even though Ganke drinks like 7 energy drinks a day (this boys' coffee addiction is.... wow. Also personally I feel like Miles wouldn't really be too fond of coffee. Imagine if the caffeine messed with his venom strike and caused him to chock everything and himself a billion times lmao)

17) what is this???? Is this some kind of like.... portable burner, or something?????? So they can boil water/use a pan??????? If anybody knows it would be GREATLY appreciated.

18) We've seen the air fryer/rice cooker with googly eyes and I love that... oh, I bet that was Miles's doing. Maybe as a prank or a joke to mess with Ganke and they kept it. There's so much personality here.

19) ignoring the condiments for a moment- THEY AHVE A MINIFRIDGE???? DO THEY EVER NEED TO LEAVE THEIR DORM, ACTUALLY????? It almost looks like it has sparkling/seltzer water in it but.. gross. They really decked this place out, huh.

20) and in ITSV there's a microwave too. Everything to fuel Ganke's crippling chronically online illness.

21) SPRAY CANS!!!! Oh how wonderful. These are hidden/scattered throughout their finished dorm, too. I love that. I wonder if Ganke and Miles ever become delinquents and go off to graffiti stuff. (However, I don't see Ganke as being very artistic when it comes to things like that, so maybe he just tags along with Miles and acts as lookout.

22) FIDGET spinner!!!!!!! Oh boy. Oh boy. I know that these were a big thing a couple years back, but please consider... Audhd Ganke.... thank you.

23) is this an alarm clock? Radio???? Why do they need another source for music when they have like... three.. seperate ways.... okay.

24) You cannot convince me that this isn't Yoda. Or at least a similar character.. but I'm banking on Yoda. WHY DID THEY CHANGE SO MUCH STUFF THERE WAS SO MUCH PERSONALITY HEREEEEEEER

25) look at this slanted ass bowl. This supports something I will talk about later, but keep him in mind.

26) SKATEBOARD! Does Ganke skateboard??? Oh man. Oh boy. It's Canon because I said so. Skateboary Ganke!! You think he goes somewhere with Miles just to show off the tricks that he knows. I do. It's also his because it's leaning on his bed and there is a pretty clear separation of whose side of the room is whose.

27) Here is laptop #1

28) BIGASS speakers they deafen EVERYONE when they start playing music.

29) HIS FUCKING PC??? BROTHER, WHY DOES HE HAVE THAT EXPENSIVE ASS PIECE OF EQUIPMENT IN HIS DORM ROOM. WHAT DOES HE HAVE AT HOME?????? Bros got eh curved screen and everyrhing. Also is he making MUSIC. Ganke in his producer era (what genre do you think he makes?) Also, not pictured, but he has a Webcam, too. StreamerGanke....

30) HERES THAT CAMERA I MENTUONED EARLIER!!!! He has hobbies other than gaming like... photographing Miles.. and......... taking.. pictures of Miles..

31) is this some kind of console, maybe? We see him playing the Spider-Man 2 game, which is playable on both PC and Playstation, but I'm pretty sure it's confirmed that Ganke is, in fact, playing it on his ps5 (do not quote me on this that is what Google has told me...)

32) his professional-ass microphone.... pray that nobody ever finds out the kind of LOOT you have, Lee, or you will be robbed blind. (Not sure if this is still kept in the finished version, I'll have to check) ((also the stuff on his bulletin board? Brother.... broski you live with him.. you don't need to have him beside you on the daily))

33) This looks like an IPad to me, but I could br wrong. Also, he's watching Miles on it!!! COME ON. I know Spider-Man is his favorite superhero and all.. but come on, this is "person-who-has-crush-behavior" and I don't think that's too wild of me to say...

34) look at him with his little soundboard!! In the final version it ends up looking more like a keyboard than what it does right now, but he obviously makes music on the side as well. He's so dear to me.

35) This little drawer pulls out on his desk!! Where he stops his billionth keyboard and mouse. (In another angle of their dorm, in ITSV, their is a random unused keyboard propped up against the wall)

36) ANOTHER FUCKING LAPTOP. Bro has one for his games, one for school, one for talking to his online friends, and one for coding stg /hyperbolic

37) Here is the console for his computer. Simply that. Just astounding to me.

___

Just look at how much mire comfortable they are with each other now versus ITSV!!!!!! Good friends, good match, good sillies. The only thing I DONT like is the inconsistencies of the room... but perhaps they got a different dorm room this year and still chose to bed down together. Historians will just call them best friends.. rommates... anything but lovers.

Oh you thought I was done?

No.

No, I have one more thing to say.

One more tiny, tiny detail I fished out while studying their room.

Are you ready?

In the concept art.

Underneath Ganke's desk.

Is a bag.

And what's on that bag?

Some pins.

Oh but what's that?

That yellow one??

Is that the intersex flag?

Is that another game logo that I'm too uncultured to understand, is that just a coincidence, or, is Ganke intersex?

I don't know enough about people that are intersex to get into it, but.. Has anybody else noticed this?

I can't find it in the finished version... but. But guys. Guys.

Please tell me your thoughts on this.

I'm going to analyze that scene in ITSV with the hyperlapse of Miles sleeping and Ganke.. dicking off all night next. Might not be tomorrow but it will happen.

Edit:

I gave Ganke longer hair because he looks bald without it. THATS ALL BYE

Part 1.5

#across the spiderverse #prowler party #ganke lee #miles morales #milesganke #talkaholic #yappinghour #god these backgrounds are SO interesting to me #im a STICKLERRR for itty bitty details #i am insane #my friends have to hear about these rants so often #this mighttttt become a series thing if people enjoy it #i enjoy it #GANKE!!!!!!!#GOD PLEASE LET US SEE 42 GANKE AND THEIR DORM PLEEEAAASSSSEEEEEEEE #AT LEAST THE CONCET ART #atsv concept art #atsv

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mbta-unofficial · 3 months

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If your city is a Brand, it’s already too late

Long post time. What is it that drives gentrification? Also, what is gentrification? Is it when a city gets blue hair and pronouns? No, it probably already had those.

Gentrification is the result of concentration of wealth in the hands of business owners, including landlords, over and above the hands of residents.

Let’s start with rent. Rent, like any good, is priced according to the laws of supply and demand. Supply of available rental housing is primarily determined by construction costs and estimated return on investment for new construction, and property management costs and estimated return on investment for existing units.

Breaking that down a bit, the higher construction costs get the higher the rent needs to be to break even on new construction. Construction costs include labor (which can always go down but you want it high for moral and practical reasons), materials (highly variable depending on the project) and bureaucratic costs. A bureaucratic cost is a cost that is based on how projects fit into the legal and practical environment, and are usually non-negotiable. Dig Safe, a program which requires three days of surveying local records before breaking ground, is an example where the function is to prevent crews from flattening a neighborhood by puncturing a gas main. Environmental Impact Statements, Fire Codes, Habitability Guidelines, and other regulations increase costs to projects. These programs are good and need to exist, but do stop smaller projects from happening at all because the capital investment required just to actually break ground on a new house might cost as much as the land and materials put together at which point you might as well build another 120$/sqft luxury midrise.

Property management costs for existing units are largely dependent on age and wear. A unit with no occupant is going to depreciate little, and may also appreciate in value. Depreciation and appreciation here are sort of unintuitive because they can happen at the same time. Imagine an old luxury sports car with a high resale price. Driving depreciates the value because it’s literal condition is poorer, even as the resale value goes up over time. The appreciation needs to beat both inflation and the value of depreciation for it to go up in real value. For companies with large capital holdings however, losses such as through the upkeep of empty apartment buildings are useful to a point because they reduce these organizations’s tax burdens. A company that makes a killing on the stock market only has to pay taxes if they keep it: if they buy houses they then don’t rent, they can claim they “lost” their stock market earnings with “bad investments” and then pay no tax while saving the real estate to rent later. Again, this favors the largest possible projects and the largest possible operators because small companies can be killed by an unprofitable quarter or 4 while large ones explicitly benefit from unprofitability in reducing their tax burden.

Expected ROI is the final piece of this, which affects both new and existing units. Every private developer and landlord wants to make as much money as they can, unless they are explicitly are renting as a service. An example of renting as a service would be families, who will rent to each other at favorable rates or for free, privileging people with large and/or wealthy families that are friendly with each other. Now, ROI is also subject to supply and demand. Everyone wants to build 120$/sqft luxury apartments but once everybody does nobody can sell/rent for those prices without setting a price floor and waiting for buyers to catch up. If you are a small developer, you can’t afford to do this. Your expenses will eat you alive. If you are a big developer, though, those expenses are offsetting the gains you make and serving to reduce you tax bill. Units at prices nobody can pay are effectively furloughed, meaning off the market, and, so long as they remain cheap to maintain, will remain that way, artificially restricting supply. It doesn’t matter if it’s for sale or not when it’s at a price you can’t afford. (Sidebar, anyone who tells you that the minimum wage depresses hiring because it artificially restricts demand is lying to you. It’s not strictly false, but like the above it’s a multi-variable equation and blanket statements about cost of labor are aimed at killing wages.)

What this alludes to also is a need for greater income equality. In order for rental to be a competitive option with furlough, not only does the price of furlough have to be increased, the real value of wages have to be increased in order to create opportunities for people to splurge. This is a twofold strategy, of both increasing the rewards of putting units on the market and increasing the costs of keeping them off. If real wages barely cover cost of living, or don’t cover cost of living, nobody can realistically spend more real wages on rent regardless of the percentage of their income it is. (Real wages here refers to the political power implied by dollar wages. A dollar is really worth whatever it can be exchanged for, whether that is a candy bar or a square inch of a 144$/sqft condo) The real value of everything except time and land are also constantly going down because of constant improvements in manufacturing. The cost in acres of land and hours of labor of a pound of beef, a bolt of cloth, or a pint of beer have dropped dramatically in the last century. Unfortunately, land is one of the few things that remains in marxist terms uncommodifiable, because it cannot be fully abstracted from the physical properties that make it valuable and we can’t make more of it just by making a better machine. This means that as the real value of things goes down because of supply and demand, the value of land only goes up because the supply is hard capped. If the value of everything under capitalism must go down because of increased production, while the value of capitalist assets must go up, or the system collapses, it makes sense that land would become a fixed point in that equation, the marxist speed of light observable from all reference points. The best approximation of land as commodity is, what else, apartments, which make available as living space the empty air above us. Because production never stops, the value of everything but land must go down. Therefore, as time passes, the price of land, and hence the price of housing, must tend upwards. Therefore, in order for housing to remain affordable, real wages must grow. This is the opposite of what is currently happening, as real wages have gone down for decades.

This income inequality which is one facet of capitalism is not new. For as long as people have lived in urban areas there have been issues between the abject class, the working class, the ruling class, and the professional class, a four part distinction I will seriously argue for in opposition to a lot of marxist theorists. The ruling and working classes ought to be familiar, or at least self explanatory. However, the other two classes I identify, the professionals and the abject, are useful to this analysis because they fill both a racial gap in the primarily marxist analysis I put forward and identify the two most likely groups to rent, which is to say the worker who works to produce but owns without governing and the professional who works to govern but does not own. The ruling class both governs and owns, but its court is full of courtiers who are there to push various agendas from within the rule of law without per se producing. Likewise, the working class pensioner exists in opposition to the abject who is denied the opportunity or the resources to be productive explicitly as a means to manufacture a threat against which inter-class solidarity between the workers and the rulers is developed. The textbook nazi conspiracy theory about “elites” doing a great racial replacement picks out perfectly what I mean by both the racial character of the professional and the abject and their utilization to foster solidarity between your plumber uncle and Elon Musk. This is relevant to both the broad theme of gentrification and the narrow theme of rent because gentrification is a wedge issue that divides the working class and the professional class far more than its impact on any other. The working class’ disidentification with doctors, lawyers, PMCs and other yuppie types, as well as the professional class’ disidentification with union politics, illegalism, and radicalism in general is brought to firecrackers in virtually any conversation about gentrification which seems in passing to be more about tapas bars than about real politics. Likewise, these groups shared distrust of and disdain for the abject, who are explicitly labeled by the state as constitutionally guilty, is the basis for the very broken windows policing strategy that empties neighborhoods of minorities regardless of class. The Rent is Too Damn High, and excluding homeless people from the “working” working class is a big part of how we got here specifically because the interests of small time owners and small time government functionaries, carried to their conclusions, are necessarily self defeating. These two groups eliminate the presence of the abject from their spaces at their own financial peril.

In addition to class, there is also a specific historical movement that is crucial to the understanding of gentrification as it exists, which is the movement of factories in search of cheap labor. The United States is not a good place to find cheap urban labor. You build a factory and suddenly everyone complains about air quality and labor violations and you can’t just kill them because everyone has lawyers. You kill one (us citizen) organizer and the NLRB is trying to get you in court for intimidation. What’s the country come to? But a shipping container costs a quarter cent per mile and the goods aren’t perishable so you go to Guangzhou or Cape Town where you can kill union bosses in peace. But for the American city, that’s a loss of what once made land prime real estate. What jobs can replace the insatiable demand for labor that a 24 hour paper mill once produced? Service labor, which crucially is site specific and therefore not outsourceable, is what the US has predominantly turned to. (and arms manufacturing which is not outsourced for very different reasons) However, service labor is only in demand if there is already a stable population that can be served, which requires a constant influx of capital holders in demand of service. This is why Airbnb exists and is hollowing out rental availability, why Boston as a college town is the way it is, and why there are in fact so many damn tapas bars. Fred Salveucci talked about being able to go north of the expressway in the 70s and being able to get a plate of mac and beans for half a buck. I went looking for a 5$ slice of pizza on my lunch break today around Government Center and found two places that were boarded up and ended up spending 20$ at Chilacates. Cities are being slowly turned into Cancun, complete with the fences to keep out the homeless.

What can be done about this? Obviously the factors we’ve discussed that favor consolidation of housing are mostly either contained within a gordion’s knot of tax policy or intrinsic to capitalism/goods as commodities. But, given that we narrow our objectives to making the rent lower, some obvious weaknesses jump out: increasing the cost of vacancy forces units out of furlough, because companies are no longer able to justify the losses, and increasing real wages increases the availability of capital for workers to spend on rent. These are the prongs I talked about earlier.

Legal means to pursue each prong exist. Both a minimum wage and a maximum wage, depending on their implementation, can potentially increase real wages, and vacancy taxes directly increase the costs of vacancy. The government can also ignore the market and directly mandate maximum rents within certain parameters. This tends to decrease the long term supply of housing for the reasons discussed at the outset, given that if the revenues from house building don’t cover the costs of building, less gets built. However, any political movement that exists exclusively within the white lines of the law fails to genuinely threaten change. Landlords, like bosses, break the law constantly with the impunity that a lawyer provides them against consequence. This is why a healthy dose of illegalism is an important part of any effective political movement. The most direct action one can take is property occupation, or squatting. Squatter’s rights are nearly non-existent in the United States. The most leeway that any state grants to any unknown persons occupying a dwelling is 60 days notice to vacate the property, and there are states that allow no notice evictions or lack statutes governing squatting at all. Every single state regards the occupation of owned property as trespassing, meaning most kinds of squatting are prosecutable offenses. However, squatting, even temporarily in ways that don’t expose the squatter to liability provided they don’t get caught, can seriously impact the value of properties. You have heard of rent lowering gunshots. This is the serious version of that. At the same time, illegal action needs legal defense, both in terms of non-compliance with police to protect those willing to take illegal actions from arrest and in terms of legal, 1st amendment protected disruption to keep focus on the issue. The most effective movements have a radical wing and a institutionalist wing who do not acknowledge each other but share the same tactics and objectives.

If you are housed, you need to be willing to protect and support homeless people because they are your front line. Start or join an Occupy movement, where they are your peers in occupying a public space illegally in a way that is too public to prosecute. Give to people on the street, and smash anti-homeless architecture if nobody is watching. Be willing to distract cops if you see someone doing something dodgy so they can get away. Remember that following the law is a tactic, and so is breaking it.

The case for this being on my transit blog is arguably weak, but I felt compelled after a particularly hateful experience looking at facebook memes about homeless people on the T. You should want those people there. You should want those people breaking down the doors of luxury apartments and setting up shop. You should want them keeping your city safe because the cops you hire to separate you from them will train their guns on you next.

And for gods sake, don’t let your city become a brand. Branding is marketing. Branding is clean, and bloodless, and a gloved hand around your throat that leaves no fingerprints.

#long post

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dujour13 · 2 months

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15 lines of dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Thanks for the tag @dragonologist-phd and @arendaes! 💕💕

“I don’t manipulate people. I just get them to reconsider what’s in their best interest.”

“The Queen gave me the reins, so I’m pulling them where I damn well please, and so far it’s been working. Tieflings want to join the Crusade? Fine, I have no problem with tieflings. I even rather like some of them. The troops want a barrel of ale and a victory party? I’ll be right there throwing up alongside them. An army of bards? That sounds good to me. Let the Abyss tremble before our mighty lutes. We took back Drezen. And that’s just the beginning.”

“What, stand back and sing rousing songs while the rest of you fight?”

“I mean collecting stories about degenerate aristocrats is our national sport.”

“Welcome to Drezen. Brand new city, ripe with opportunity.” Siavash surveyed the stinking heaps of rubble and demonic graffiti proudly. “Don’t mind the mess.”

“If I knight you, you can’t eat Crusaders. There aren’t many rules, but that’s one I’m sticking to. And you especially can’t eat Woljif.”

“I don’t think anyone in my whole life has ever accused me of being someone they can count on. But my heart’s in it, for what that’s worth.”

“And you know what bothers me too, is that mortals seem to be nothing but fuel to the machine. Just as Areelu snatched me from my crib for her experiments, we’re nothing but tools to a heartless universe, indifferent to our suffering.”

“Spend it. Wine, good food, nice clothes, new guitar strings. More oranges, if I’m lucky. Don’t need much more than that and the wind at my back.”

“You traded your copper coins for gold.”

“We’re committed. No need to kill the mood with priests and vows.”

“I won’t abandon my people. And my dragon.”

“Trust me. My crusade friends will be there and I may not look like much but I have, in fact, obliterated a couple demons in my day.”

“All right. Sounds like fun.”

“It’ll be fine.”

Tagging no pressure! @crows-of-buckets, @yunessa, @rollofleaf

#siavash #my writing #tag game #pwotr spoilers #pwotr pals

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elisysd · 11 months

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Best Days - Alessia Cara

Masterlist - Previously - Next Chapter

But the hardest pill to swallow is the meantime Are the best days just the ones that we survive?

Charles had been apprehensive about New Year's Eve with Lyanna's family, given the way the introductions had gone the last time he had been here. Yet he had been warmly welcomed and included in the Michel's family traditions, playing cards with Lyanna's grandfather and uncles, a piano session with her aunt, passionate and exciting discussions about the future of motor sport... he felt at home with her family. Welcomed. And it was with emotion that he joined Lyanna on the first-floor balcony of her grandparents' house.

“Thank you for letting me come.” He said to her.

“You’re my family now, I couldn’t see myself spending that important moment without you.”

Midnight was approaching. He put an arm around her shoulders to hold her close, placing a kiss on her forehead and pressing his cheek against it. Lyanna gave a contented sigh before slipping her cold hands under the Monegasque's jacket. They stayed awhile like that, just enjoying each other presence and company. On the ground floor, they could hear the countdown and when 2024 finally arrived and the fireworks began to appear in the sky, Lyanna turned to Charles.

“Well, happy New Year, my love. I hope this year will be filled with success for you and you’ll finally get what you have been running after for so long…”

“You know, I have already everything that I ever wished for. I have you and somehow, it’s enough for me.” He confessed.

He took her face in his hands and placed his lips on hers. Lyanna stood up on tiptoe and put her arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.

“I love you so much, Charles.” She whispered when they finally let go of each other.

Shortly after the New Year, they were due to travel to Rome for the FIA gala. It was an opportunity to honour Max, who had brilliantly won the 2023 season, but also to put Charles in the spotlight, as it was planned to present him with a trophy of honour to welcome him back to the top category of motor sport. Charles agreed willingly on condition that Lyanna was present at his side. He hated this kind of ceremony and even more hated being given a trophy just for getting out of the crash alive.

“I want a trophy because I won the championship, not because they’re pitying me.” He had said.

So it was in a magnificent room in a 5-star hotel in the heart of Rome that they had arrived a few hours earlier. Lyanna was immediately taken aside by the make-up artist and hairdresser, while Charles was requisitioned to fetch the young woman's dress. Charles had been impressed by the speed with which the actress had organised the preparations. A phone call to Sophia and that was it.

“Sophia knows many people; she has her own emergency glam team in every country of the globe. It saved my ass more than once.” She had explained when Charles questioned her.

As for Charles, being personally sponsored by Armani, he didn't really have much choice about his outfit. A black suit and white shirt would do the trick, not forgetting the Ferrari logo embroidered on the left-hand side. As for Lyanna, she had also opted for an Italian brand: Versace. The dress was simple in appearance: draped black with no frills. But when she turned around and Charles saw the young woman's entire bare back and the slit at the bottom of the dress, he thought he'd lost his composure.

“I swear if I had no obligations to be there tonight, I would have pretended to be sick just to keep you in this hotel room. This dress is driving me crazy. You are driving me crazy.”

“Yeah? You like it? I thought that it was a little too much…” said Lyanna completely oblivious to the current state of her boyfriend.

“I like it a little too much, Lya, that’s the thing.”

“It’s a nice dress, for sure? I love it. It’s just the right mix of classy and sexy.”

“You’re killing me, you know that?” he said, grabbing her by the hips and pulling her tight to his chest.

Charles continued to place light kisses on her neck before slipping his hand through the opening in the young woman's dress, drawing a sigh of pleasure from her and bringing a cocky smile to the pilot's lips.

“Lya, love? Do I feel that right? No underwear? Are you really trying to drive me crazy?”

“Have you seen the dress, Charles? I can’t wear anything under it!”

Charles breathed hard into her neck as he closed his eyes, trying to pull himself together.

As the minutes ticked by, they finally left the room, but Charles promised Lyanna that as soon as they got back the young woman would quickly understand how much he loved her dress.

Photographers lined the red carpet and Lyanna was blinded by the lights. It was a strange experience for her, a red carpet where people weren't shouting her name to get her attention, but one where all eyes were on Charles. They posed confidently for the cameras and Lyanna could feel her boyfriend's firm hand on her hip, as if looking for support. After many long minutes, they finally entered the room where a hostess greeted them and led them to their table. Charles was surprised to see them assigned to the same table as Max, Checo and Fernando. He hadn't won anything and knowing that he was sitting with the 2023 podium finishers made him uncomfortable. He felt illegitimate. Seeing Charles' discomfort, Lyanna took his hand and shook it. Charles turned to her and gave her a slight smile as Max and Kelly, his partner, arrived together.

“Charles, it’s good to see you!” greeted him Max as he was shaking Charles’ hand and patting his shoulder.

“Hey. Congrats again, I didn’t have the occasion to tell you that. How does it feel to be third time world champion?”

“Oh you know, it’s weird. It’s not like I had much competition anyway. I hope you’ll get a nice car this season so we can fight. I miss that.”

Then he turned to Lyanna, who was sitting sipping her glass of champagne.

“I don’t think I had the pleasure of meeting your girlfriend, yet?”

“True. Max, this is Lyanna. Lyanna, this is Max.”

“Nice to meet you. It’s always a pleasure to meet Charles’ friends.” She said politely.

“I wouldn’t go as far as saying we’re friends, but let’s say that we have a friendly rivalry.” Corrected her Max as Charles shrugged.

Everyone finally sat down as Max began to tell Charles in detail about the races he had missed. Lyanna tried to keep up with the conversation, asking a few questions from time to time, which resulted in a new explanation from Max that lost Lyanna more than it enlightened her. She eventually lost interest in the conversation and tried to chat with Kelly, but quickly gave up when she realised that she didn't feel like talking to her. She stayed on her phone most of the time, seeming completely disinterested and only joining in the conversation at rare moments. Lyanna couldn't help thinking that she and Max really did make an odd couple. A little later Checo and his wife arrived, followed by Fernando, who was running a little late.

Finally, the ceremony began. Lyanna couldn't help but find it extremely long and had to restrain herself from yawning more than once out of politeness. Charles also seemed to want to be anywhere but here and Max was beginning to fidget in his seat in impatience. Finally, the part about Charles began. Lyanna didn't know what to expect but one thing was certain, it certainly wasn't what was now projected on the big screen. Images of the accident with epic music, the reaction of the commentators in several languages, the reaction of the drivers and the people present. Lyanna suddenly felt ill; she hadn't been prepared to relive the nightmarish minutes that sometimes still haunted her nights. She glanced at Charles, who wasn't doing too well either. He was staring at the floor, his fingers playing with his watch. Lyanna grabbed his hand and squeezed it to try to get his attention. Charles looked at her and smiled shyly. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the video stopped and the room fell into a stunned silence. Nobody really knew how to react.

The presenter returned to the stage as if nothing had happened and called Charles to award him his trophy of honour. With the cameras now focused on him, Charles stood up, adjusted his jacket, and winked at them, before trotting back to the stage. He shook hands with the host and the President of the FIA, who was presenting him with the trophy, and handed him the microphone.

“Charles, it’s good to have you back! How are you doing?”

“I’m great thanks. And it’s nice to be there as well. Thanks for the invite and the trophy.”

“A few words to the audience maybe?”

“I just want to thanks everyone for the kind words I received during my recovery, and I also want to thanks my family and my girlfriend that is there tonight for their unconditional support. I can’t wait to be back on tracks this season and hopefully have great fights wot Max and Red Bull. I’m looking forward to that.”

As Charles spoke these words, the camera focused on Lyanna, who gave an embarrassed smile and a slight wave of her hand. After that, the ceremony quickly came to an end with prize-giving for Max, Checo and Fernando, and soon Charles and Lyanna were on their way back to the hotel. As soon as he was through the door, Charles stripped off his shoes as well as his jacket, and as Lyanna headed for the bathroom, Charles grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him.

“You don’t think that I have forgotten about what I promised you earlier, love?”

“All I can see is that your all talk and no actions mister Leclerc.” She teased him while looking at him deeply in the eyes.

That was just what Charles needed to kiss her hard and lift her onto the bed.

A few days later, Lyanna was on her way to Los Angeles to meet Michael Mann and Adam Driver for a few camera tests and to discuss the project in more detail. She wasn't surprised that everything went well. After all, she had taken the time to study the project carefully and seeing the director's passion and the way he talked about the film was enough to convince her. Filming would start at the end of February and Lyanna would finish around the end of May if all went well. The actress took the opportunity to raise the question of the film's marketing and took the time to make it clear that she did not want her relationship with Charles to be used for the film's publicity, which was accepted. So it was with a light heart and a certain excitement that she boarded her plane for London to sort out the details of her move and say goodbye to Sophia.

When she walked through the door of her flat, she was not shocked to see it empty, Sophia having taken care of packing up her things and sending them off to her new flat in Nice. But all the same, it gave her a twinge of sadness. So many memories, both good and bad, belonged to this place. Soon the owner arrived to check out the apartment and Lyanna felt a tear roll down her cheek as she handed him back the key. Then her legs took her towards Sophia's office, where she was waiting.

“So, how does it feel to leave? How do you feel?” she asked her.

“Weird, to be honest. It’s like closing a big chapter of my life. If you had told me that it would happen six months ago, I would have laughed. But here we are.”

“I’m not saying it often but, I’m proud of you Lya. I'm proud of the progress you've made and of the woman you've become. You grew up a lot. I’m happy for you. Really. And I know that it’s just the beginning for you, so many great things are still ahead of you. It’s a pleasure to work with you.”

“Stop it, you’re going to make me cry. And we’re still working together! I’m just going to annoy you a lot less now that I won’t be around.”

“And as weird as it sounds, I’m going to miss that.”

In the meantime, Charles spent his days in Maranello working on the simulator or talking to the teams about the new season and how they would approach it. As he was making himself a coffee from the machine in the break room, he was approached by Carlos, who asked him if it would be possible for them to talk, to which Charles agreed.

“I have something to tell you.” Carlos announced.

Feeling that the conversation was going to be serious, Charles settled into a chair.

“2024 at Ferrari will be my last season.”

“What? Why? Where are you going?”

“It’s not public yet, but Valtteri is going to retire at the end of the season and they are looking for a driver to replace him. Especially since they want to prepare the merging with Audi. They want me as first driver and it’s an opportunity that I can’t refuse. And we both know that here, I’m not their first choice. If they had to choose between you and me, they would choose you. I need to secure my future in F1 and Audi might be my best shot.”

“Well that comes as a surprise, I’m not going to lie. But I’m happy for you. If they can give you what we couldn’t and you think you’ll be happier there, then I’m happy for you Carlos.”

“Thank you, Charles. Despite everything that happened between us on tracks, I’m glad to be able to call you my friend.”

“You know what? Let’s make this season one will never forget. In honor of what we have both been through with Ferrari, let’s make the most out if it. This our year.”

It wasn't just talk to Charles; it was a promise. And one he intended to keep.

=================

author's note: 2024 is here!!! And let me tell you that's gonna be a hell of year for Charles and Lya and I'm waiting for your predictions about the final chapters because yes, we are entering in the last part of Cruel Summer with only 10 chapters remaining... I'm sad. But let's not cry now, there is still a lot to tell! Let me know your thoughts on this chapter and don't forget to like/comment/reblog. Don't be a ghost reader. 😊💛🌸 taglist:

@zendayabelova @purplephantomwolf @ru-kru @dakotali @blueflorals @aundercover @ruleroftheuniverse @fangirlika @writerscurse @elijahmikaelsonbitch @leclerc13 @karmabyfernando @stargaryenx @pitlanebabe @boiohboii @reengard

If you are tagged but did not receive any notifications, please check your settings because it means that Tumblr didn't let me tag you.

#writing #charles leclerc #fiction #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #cl16 #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x female reader #cl16 x reader #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 x oc #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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uzumaki-rebellion · 9 months

Text

"Sinner & Saint" : Creed III Chapter 10

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

youtube

"You are my light in the dark

Show me the way with your heart

I know I'm not used to this feeling

But it's clear even when

I'm a thousand miles away

I'm so taken by ya, can't stop thinking bout ya

I am in love and from where I stand,

I am your man, I am...all, all…"

Terrell Grice feat George Lovett & Saeed— "All"

Donnie blinked at all the photographer lights flashing white and yellow blasts at him. Bianca and Amara sat to his right and Athena and Tony sat to his left with his new business partner Herb Raffe and the always ubiquitous Buddy Marcelle. Behind them on a giant ESPN banner his likeness held the coveted heavy weight belt and his upper body glistened and popped with muscles. Donnie knew this day would come, and the emotions roiled deep inside his chest.

Seated near the phalanx of news media and photographers were a few selected fighters on his roster, including Dame. The usual rush of questions came at him and he answered with the sophistication that all of his media training provided. Donnie needed to appear adroit and confident as a new brand manager and businessman. The transition from boxer to brains behind a multi-million dollar operation had to go off without a hitch.

"Why now, Adonis? Pundits say you have a good two-to-three years left in you."

The female reporter asking the question stood up holding a small notepad. She was a familiar face in the boxing scene, Carly Deloach, the daughter of a media magnate. Carly tossed back blond highlighted hair and gave him a warm flirty smile coaxing him to give her juicy details.

"It's time. I've reached the pinnacle and done everything I can to show the world that the Creed legacy is something to admire and be proud of. There's nothing left for me to do but usher in a new generation of talented boxers and pass on the wealth of knowledge I've gained from my training with Rocky Balboa, Tony "Little Duke" Evers, and the matriarch of the Creed family, Mary Anne Creed…hey Ma, love ya!"

Donnie winked and blew a kiss toward a camera that he knew transmitted his message to his mother at home. Another reporter jumped in, a cocky Sports Illustrated veteran who had doubts about Donnie from the very beginning until he finally won the belt. Patrick MacLaughlin was an asshole, but a fair one when he looked at the stats on all boxers. Patrick's stomach lopped over his belt, and his thinning hair stayed slicked down.

"Adonis, you toss around legacy a lot, and as the talented son of a beloved icon who has brought back a coveted world champion title to the family name—"

"I have to cut in, sorry Adonis…" Buddy said.

Buddy Marcelle gave a smirk that Donnie couldn't tell if it was meant to be rude or just hustling for air time. The man glanced at Athena who looked beautiful as always, dressed in a tight pumpkin top, and dark flared designer slacks. Buddy cleared his throat and continued.

"The Creed legacy can't be spoken about without mentioning the fact that Athena Creed brought back the first championship title to the family. I know this press conference is about Adonis, but Apollo Creed has two world champion fighters up here on this panel. Put some respect on your big sister's name, Adonis."

The crowd chuckled and a few of the women representing the media clapped and called out Athena's name.

"You right, you right," Donnie quickly blurted. He threw his arm around Athena. "My big sis is the first of Apollo's children to bring home a title. You people out there in the MMA arena are lucky she's a sports manager now instead of whooping ass!"

Athena laughed it off.

"Athena! Athena! Could you beat Adonis in a one on one?" Another reporter shouted.

Donnie pushed his table mic closer to her.

"Tell 'em," Donnie said.

Poised and polished, Athena leaned in.

"I had to always keep Adonis in check. The only thing he has on me is height and muscle weight," Athena joked.

Buddy horned in again.

"I think we need to see a big ticket event with these two, Creed versus Creed."

Athena waved a dismissive hand to Buddy and she patted Donnie's arm to get him back on track.

"Athena… what does this moment mean for you watching your brother retire?" Carly asked.

Something sad flashed across Athena's face and she composed herself. Reaching out to hold Donnie's hand she squeezed it and took a deep inhale.

"Our father would be very proud that both of his athletic children have found their niche to excel beyond fighting. Adonis will bring in a lot of new talent so that other boxing legends can come forth down the line…Donnie?"

Athena pushed the mic back toward him and sat back in her seat.

A new volley of questions hit him and Tony up fast and he allowed the last few questions to go to Bianca and Amara, who signed her delight at having her father home more since he didn't have to train and travel so far away as much. Bianca translated for the media and everyone clapped when Amara said that she planned on being a boxer like her Auntie Athena and her daddy.

Once the retirement portion was handled, Donnie spent the rest of the press time answering questions centered on his new venture. He revealed his partnership with Buddy Marcelle in promoting the new company. Everyone in the audience saw dollar signs and a revitalized boxing scene. Afterward, Donnie posed with his family for pictures. He also posed with a few of his boxers. Dame was pulled into the mix and Athena made sure he stood next to Donnie's future cash cow, Felix Chavez. There was still bad blood between Dame and Sleepy from their sparring dust up. But Felix soaked in the media exposure knowing he was the guy to watch. Two other strong contenders for heavyweight champ status enjoyed the limelight too.

A buzz entered the room the moment Dame's name rang bells, and during the retirement mixer Donnie set up for the ESPN coverage, Athena fielded questions with Dame. Felix felt a way about Dame shifting attention his way, but that was all due to Athena. The press loved getting soundbites from her and she was an expert at snagging spotlights for clients. She damn near twisted his arm to get Dame a seven figure signing bonus. She haggled for more through Dame's lawyer when they went over the contract, but Donnie didn't want to get his partners riled up over an untested client. He sweetened the deal by offering to put Dame in their ads over the next six months to bolster his visibility. She agreed to that…barely.

Athena was a pitbull, and she worked the room forcing him to do the same for Felix and the other boxers. They were both hustlers and no matter what she did to get Dame more exposure, it only helped Creed Enterprises.

"Hope I didn't step on your toes during the press chat," Buddy said, easing next to Donnie.

"Nah man, you were right to bring it up. Athena was the first, and she was way better than me when I started."

"I think people in this business tend to overlook her fighting talent. Just so you know, I want her to work for me one day."

"I doubt if she would, but you can certainly try," Donnie quipped.

"How come she's not a part of Creed Enterprises?"

"She wants to do her own thing."

"So no hard feelings if I poach her from her current gig?"

"Like I said, good luck with that."

"Her managing Dame isn't a problem for you?"

"Dame needs special handling. My sister likes a challenge and she is making a lot of good moves for him."

Buddy kept hawk-like eyes on his sister. Bianca and Amara joined them and they worked the room celebrating his new life. Patrick from Sports Illustrated approached him. Donnie pumped his hand up and down with enthusiasm.

"When can Felix sit down with you for that cover story?" Donnie asked.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about an in-depth interview with Damian Anderson. Athena pitched me a whopper of a comeback tale and I want to jump on it before Rolling Stone does."

"Pat, we talked about getting Felix on there before his next fight. He is the next big thing—"

"Yeah I know, but Damian is a more compelling story right now. When can we get together and talk shop about him?"

Donnie checked for his sister striding across the room holding a plate of food with Dame stuck to her side.

"Call Maxine to set up a date on my calendar, Pat"

"Great. You've got a helluva roster Adonis, and if the buzz on this Damian pans out, you and your boxers could dominate for years. Congrats on the retirement, too."

Pat shuffled off to speak with other reporters and Donnie stared at Felix who chatted with his mother/manager by the bar. He now had to come up with an excuse as to why he wouldn't have the next cover story. Fuck. Perhaps he could work in a one-on-one interview with Stephen A on SportsCenter for immediate coverage to get Felix out there first.

Athena handed Dame a shot of top shelf tequila and they both gulped back the liquid, letting it warm a trail down their throats.

"Doing okay?" she teased, watching Dame's lips pucker up from the intense taste.

"I don't need no more of that today," he joked.

"Look alive," Athena said.

Buddy Marcelle looped around a group of former boxers hooting it up and slapping backs at battles long past won.

"Today went well," Buddy said.

"Thank you for the kind words. I appreciate the shout out."

"I only spoke straight facts. You my dear are the crown jewel on Apollo Creed's crown. Folks need to remember an accurate legacy history. By the way, you look lovely today. That color brings out your skin tone."

"I can leave if you just wanna flirt," Dame said.

He had a smile on his face, but his tone said different. Buddy patted Dame's shoulder to defuse the heat in the boxer's eyes.

"Beauty and brains need to be acknowledged kind sir. I'm about to head out, I have an interview with Molly over on First Take tonight."

"Oh yeah?"

Buddy noticed the arch in her eyebrow and chuckled.

"You smell blood in the water and want to jump in, huh?"

"Hell yeah. I set up a cover story for Dame with Pat over on Sports Illustrated. I'm taking Eden from Rolling Stone to dinner tomorrow, trying to pitch my client."

Buddy eyed Dame with a sly quirk of his lips.

"Maybe let this man win some bouts before lining up too many interviews."

"I'm aiming for exclusives down the road for that."

"Okay…get his name out there. I see you. Can we meet up with some of my people to talk future promotions? Your brother's roster is full and he has to strike with his first string."

"He promised to give Dame as much attention too as part of our contract deal."

"Athena, you know how the game is. Chavez, Alvarez, and Jackson have Adonis booked and busy. Take advantage of some promotions in Dame's favor. My connections run deep big sister. Dame, I hope you do some serious winning these next six months before Adonis loses interest."

"He won't," Athena insisted.

"All I'm asking for is a sit down with you and Dame on my turf. Check out the lay of land and get in where you fit in." Buddy glanced at his rolex. "Call me when you're ready. We can make it dinner at 71 Above. Javier has a new menu I think you'd both like."

"I'll let you know."

Buddy meandered toward the exit leaving Athena with thoughts about Donnie cooling on her client. She snatched up another shot of tequila from the bar.

"He's right. You've got to win big to stay on Donnie's radar."

Dame put a hand around her waist and pulled her in close. His touch ignited arousal in her and she wanted so desperately to kiss his lips. They hadn't had any private time since they returned from Vegas. She needed him…needed the intimacy that shut out the world.

"Careful," she said stepping back from his solid wall of warmth.

Dame grinned and removed his hand before anyone clocked their true relationship.

"Invite Marcelle to my first fight. He'll have no doubts about me," Dame said.

"Don't worry, he'll be there on his own. That man doesn't miss anything that can make him richer. I think you should mingle with the other boxers now. I'm done beating the bushes for game."

Dame touched his index and middle finger to his forehead and saluted her before walking over to Donnie and the other fighters. She grabbed a glass of white wine and bee-lined over to Bianca and Amara. Her niece hugged her waist and Athena ruffled the spiral curls on top of her head.

"Excited?" Athena asked Bianca.

"Relieved. I couldn't wait for this day. Ma is ecstatic because he will finally use that business degree from college."

Amara took off skipping over to her father. Bianaca studied Athena's face.

"Does it bother you when people forget that you're a champion too?"

"That was so long ago—"

"Not really. You seemed happy that Buddy brought it up. I could tell."

"I appreciated him saying it."

"Will you come by our place for dinner tonight?"

"I thought there was going to be a big dinner celebration with Ma at the mansion."

"I wanted to do something at our house to give her a little break."

"A break from what?"

Bianca pulled her to the side.

"Have you noticed Ma slowing down or forgetting things a lot lately?" Bianca asked.

"Slowing down, yes… but that's her getting older and not doing the stretching and strength training I've tried to help her with. Maybe her hip is acting up. I mean, it's been a year since her replacement surgery, but…"

Bianca's expression hinted at something more serious. Her voice went even lower in volume.

"I think you and I should go with her to get checked out. The other day she was driving me to lunch and I noticed some eye-hand coordination things that have me concerned."

"You think it's something serious?"

"If I broach the subject she'll dismiss it, but if you come with me and talk to her about it, maybe she'll listen. I'm with her all the time and a different voice may convince her to make an appointment. Donnie had a lot going on and I didn't want to worry him about it. I was thinking we could talk to her after dinner. If it's at my house, she can't make an excuse to be busy hosting everything. It'll be out of her element."

"What time?"

"Seven. It'll be a catered BBQ around the pool, casual dress. Donnie wanted a lowkey family-oriented party. No celebs or anything like that. Just our people."

"Okay, I'll come to the house and do some girl time. Who else is coming from the gym?"

"Tony, Stich, Smoky... Padman and Amir. You can bring Dame if you want."

"Why would I bring my client?"

"Girl, be serious."

Bianca snickered and Athena rolled her eyes.

"That man has heart eyes for you and can't let you out of his sight without his neck swiveling."

Bianca moved in closer, and her eyes darted about before she spoke.

"I know what happened with him and Donnie."

"How do you feel about it?"

Bianca glanced over at Donnie and Dame speaking with the other boxers.

"It was a shitty situation and they were kids back then. Dame sounds like he wants to make the most of the opportunity to box again and Donnie will help him."

"It's the least he can do, right?"

Donnie walked over swinging Amara's hand.

"Ready to dip?" Donnie asked.

He kissed Bianca's cheek. Bianca spoke and signed at the same time.

"Yeah. I need to get the house ready for our guests tonight and check in with the caterers."

"Coming by right?" Donnie asked Athena.

"I have to check in with a few other clients downtown and I'll be over around seven-thirty depending on traffic."

"Cool. Hey, you were great up there. I'm glad you agreed to sit at the table with me. I wish Ma was here though."

"She hates media stuff and I'm sure she wanted the focus to be about you. I'll catch everyone tonight. Bye Ladybug."

Athena signed away for Amara, and her niece hugged her tight then clutched both of her parents' hands. A surge of people bid farewell to Donnie. Athena made her quiet escape from the crowd and sought out Damian.

"I'm going to pick you up at seven tonight," she said.

"For what?"

Dame followed her steps out of the ESPN building and waited with her for their valet parking.

"You were invited to attend Donnie's private family retirement party at his house by Bianca."

"Not Donnie?"

"Not sure, but Bianca is on to us. I think that's why she extended the invitation. Do you want to go? Sorry for assuming you would just go with me."

His lion-like eyes brought butterflies again. Dame had a way of looking at her that made Athena feel safe and protected.

"I want to go…with you. I like that you assume that about me. It's true."

"Okay, great. It's a date. We'll have to carry on like client-manager for appearances, but it'll be more relaxed. My mother will be there…if you change your mind, I won't be offended."

"Nah, its fine. It's time that your mother met me away from all the limelight. Maybe she'll finally see the real me."

"Trust me. She won't.

"Well then, that's on her. Not me."

The valet brought her car around and they both climbed in for the drive to Venice Beach.

"Want to come inside for a minute?" Dame offered once they reached his place.

He stood outside of the passenger side, leaning in through the window. Temptation reared up, but job responsibilities took precedence for Athena.

"I can't. I have some work to do."

"How about I meet you at your place and save you the drive out here? I'll leave my car in your parking garage."

"That'll work."

"Later," he said.

He tapped his fist on the door and strolled to the house he rented a room from. Despite having a million dollars in his bank account, Dame chose to stay in his Venice rental until he won his first post-prison fight. That would be in one week, and she had a lot of things to do to drum up more pub. The buzz about him in the ESPN mixer could only last so long before the sports media moved on to the next interest story.

Her day continued until she clocked out from her office. She swept into her condo showered, and changed into a comfortable pair of olive green cargo pants and a knotted, off-the-shoulder knit top in a loud tangerine color. Slipping into heels, she checked her landline for messages and ignored the ones from her ex who flew back into town from Toronto. Nolan was a long-distance fling that became a bit more the previous year, but Athena caught wind of some red flags, one of which was a whole ass wife and child with another baby on the way. Before the discovery of his indiscretion with her, Athena's gut warned her pre-relationship not to entertain a man below her pay grade with a Drake-like personality of feigned kindness and "you-go-girl" performative musings in her ear, but she was in a dick drought and a hook up every now and then from a Canuck worked around her schedule at the time.

Nolan started acting weird too, sending her flowers and gifts out of the blue, even after she clearly defined the boundaries of their relationship after she broke it off. Now he was back to leaving messages swearing he divorced his wife and was ready to make a true commitment. What a fucking loser. He had deluded himself into thinking they were serious instead of just a poor match. She blocked his number, erased the other unimportant messages and waltzed out of the premises to meet Dame at her garage entrance.

He arrived on time and she showed him where to park his car and ordered a ride from her reliable car service. They were picked up promptly and she held Dame's hand in the backseat, snuggling against his shoulder like they were headed to prom together.

"You look nice," she said, sniffing the cologne on his neck.

She noticed a new platinum and diamond chain around his neck.

"Finally splurged," he said as she fingered the necklace.

"Good for you. Listen, since this shindig is at Bianca's, my mother may be a little more extra because she can't lord over anyone in the family mansion. If she becomes too much or gives you a hard time, let me know and we can bounce quick."

"I'm not worried. Relax. This night is about Adonis—"

"Tuh…trust me, everything will revolve around her. Me and Donnie know how to stay outta her way when she gets nitpicky."

"She gets along with Bianca?"

"Yeah, they're pretty tight. Bianca lost her parents young and most of her family is back in Philly. She's a great buffer for me because she doesn't have a mother-figure in her life, so she takes up a lot of mother-daughter duties that would be hell for me if I had to do it all the time. Don't misconstrue anything though. I love my mother and we have our own good times, but sometimes she gets a little classist and obsessive about things and I can't take it…so Bianca does. It smoothes Ma out and brings balance to the force when we don't butt heads."

"I hear ya young Jedi," Dame teased.

By seven-forty five they reached the private entrance of Donnie and Bianca's place. Athena hopped out of their ride to punch in the gate security code. A yellow cab pulled up to the driveway behind their hired driver. An older man with a black hat climbed out from the back of the cab and looked around the neighborhood. Athena recognized the pale leathery skin and puffy nose. She sprinted down to the street.

"Ohmigod, Rocky!" she shrieked.

Rocky Balboa stood humbly dressed in an old black bomber jacket and a clean white shirt. His wrangler jeans were faded and comfortable-looking. He held out his arms for Athena, accepting the big kiss on his cheek from her.

"Yeah, I just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I'd check up on some retired boxer whose s'posed to be living here. Am I at the right spot?" Rocky joked in his heavy Philly accent.

His jovial eyes stared at her.

"Athena, my god girl, look how beautiful you are. It's been years sweetheart," Rocky said.

Athena wiped her eyes from errant tears.

"Whaddya crying for? It's just me, Uncle Rocky. Is the BBQ here yet? I'm starvin'."

"I guess we'll go see," she said.

"Me being here is supposed to be a surprise. Bianca said to give the gate intercom a code word to hide me from Donnie, but my old brain is gettin' foggy with time, so…hell if I know what the magic word is to get inside."

"No worries, you can come in with me and…Dame…come over and meet the only Italian in our family."

Dame walked over with a grin on his face. He held out his hand for Rocky to shake.

"An honor to meet you Mr. Balboa, sir."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Dame. This is a nice-looking young man Athena. Mary Anne must be excited to see you settling down like your brothers."

"Um, actually Rocky, I manage Dame. He's a part of Donnie's new venture."

"A boxer. What division? I don't keep up on the ins and outs as much. I spend more time with my grandkids up north," Rocky said.

"Heavyweight," Dame said.

"You're going to know more about him in the weeks to come. Let's get you inside before Bianca sends out the calvary," Athena said.

She punched in the gate code and Dame gave up his seat in the back of the car to Rocky. He climbed into the front next to the driver and Athena linked her arm around Rocky's.

"I can't believe you're here. You look good Unc. Being up north looks great on you."

"Thank you. Health is holding up. Knees are a little rusty sometimes but I'm still here."

"Drop us off right by the statue, please," Athena told the driver.

They all left the car and Rocky continued looking around.

"Nice…lotta space," Rocky said.

Athena texted Bianca and three minutes later she bounced out from the house trying to contain the squeals at seeing Rocky.

"Bianca…"

Rocky hugged her and Bianca squeezed his shoulders.

"So happy you're here. The caterers finished setting up out by the pool. Everyone is here mingling, so Athena, I'll go back in with Dame first to throw off Donnie, then you can bring Rocky in through the house."

"Sure thing," Athena said.

Music started playing and echoed in the front of the property. Bianca led Dame around the side toward the back and Athena guided Rocky inside the front door. Amara met them while coming down the stairs and the little girl's hands flew around signing her happiness at seeing the Italian Stallion, her godfather. Rocky hugged her and used sign language to warn her about the surprise. His thick fingers moved slower and he checked with Athena to make sure he did alright. Amara understood everything, complimenting him on his ability to sign so well and clasped his hand to follow Athena through the living room and long gameroom that led to the back patio door facing the pool area.

The music, a jazz fusion, buffeted the laughter and loud talking. Athena could smell the delicious aroma of ribs and her stomach growled in anticipation. She stepped outside first and took in the celebratory scene. At least forty people chatted and drank expensive liquor. Donnie was in the middle of introducing Dame to Padman and right away she observed her mother's lips growing tight as she stood with her companion, Archie. Athena ignored the cool facial expression of her mother and caught Bianca's eye. Bianca gave her a nod, and she cleared her throat.

"Hey, Donnie, there's a man over here looking for you. I don't know if he's supposed to be here," Athena said.

The tone of her voice over the music brought everyone's attention in her direction. Donnie rushed over and Rocky appeared next to her with Amara grinning by his side.

"Unc!" Donnie yelled.

Everyone reacted with a burst of praise shouting, rushing over to Rocky. Bianca clasped her hands together, pleased that her surprise brought on the intended reception. Dame hung back near the food set up, right across from Mary Anne and Archie.

The glee of having Rocky there showered the air with rousing sounds of joy all around, but Mary Anne's eyes cut over toward Dame, and he gave Athena the biggest smile of support. She could face anything with that smile in her corner.

Athena took a deep breath and strolled toward her mother.

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labyrinthofsphinx · 2 months

Text

Statistical Outliers

Part 4 and 4.5 of drabble. Couldn't really figure out how I should chop it up so, extra long one this time. Still working on something else in the meantime.

“Voxtek is proud to present the newest innovation in headset technology. Gone are the days when the screams of the damned or your annoying mother-in-law ruin your gaming experience! The sound cancellation on them is guaranteed to see you through even the noisiest situation!”

As if to accent the point, Vox, while wearing them, stood in front of comically large speakers. The sound cut out just as the speakers activated, the force of the sound enough to send his employees flying. Vox, himself, couldn’t hear anything. A quick press of a button to the side activated a secondary feature, sound filtering.

“And if that wasn’t enough, they can also filter out any sound you want, save for your voice. Again, perfect for the unfortunates still stuck in their mother’s basement! Not only are they connectable to any and all of your Voxtek devices, but the wireless communications can hook up straight to your speaker function. You can take your call and enjoy walking through a scream park without a problem! The perfect gift for a busybody like myself!”

On cue, Velvette slid into frame, sporting a brand new, very modernized outfit. On top her head was the special one she requested, the one with ears. The lights dimmed ever so slightly, and Velvette’s outfit jumped to life, including glowing eye shadow and, of course, the frames of the ears. Again, not sure why it was such a necessity but he’s rolling with it.

“And right now, we’ve got a specialty line of them, working in collaboration with Velvette Designs! You might’ve seen them on the web lately! These items are limited release, so get them while their hot!”

Then, of course, the finale.

“Here at Voxtek, we strive for innovation! So Trust Us and take a look at our newest product!”

Before the commercial even finished, the limited release items sold which, at least informed Vox, that Velvette had once again been right. Apparently, people were fighting each other tooth and nail outside of stores for a set. Muggings and an odd black market popped up almost immediately. And that also meant the knock offs were starting up too, things that only ever made his products look even better by comparison. People wanted these things so badly that they were willing to risk getting ripped off. And these were people that hadn’t been hypnotized. Odd.

He might’ve felt compelled to thank her, but the kid was reward enough. Speaking of…

He watched him sitting there in her studio like a glorified trophy. Velvette was working on some designs that Val came up with for his models, things that looked trashy and were made even trashier. Naturally, that just wouldn’t do for their brand. While Vox didn’t usually care about this sort of thing, especially since none of Val’s workers ever wear clothes long enough for it to ever be noticeable, he will admit that it looked better on the poster if Angel wasn’t wearing cheap stockings and fake leather.

Anyways, the rest of the studio was treating the kid like a set piece, something to look at, coo at even, and then quickly return to work. He wasn’t speaking, but he was sunken into the couch like a boy dragged out to go shopping. Just sit, smile, and pretend everything everyone puts on looks lovely. Velvette had him in an oversized sweater which only made him look even punier. Looked good in pictures though, he noted as he scrolled through her recent posts.

He waved the footage away. He had other matters to attend to.

Like, for example, filming that segment about the horrors and potential health hazards of a specific frequency of radiowaves.

…

Just a few more hours. Then, he’d turn in for the night. Just had to go over the stock list again, product numbers, sales, and finally the new pitches his lesser technicians came up with. Only a few more things to do…

His sharks started to swim agitatedly, circling more, and then disappearing from his peripheral. Oh, great. He had a guest. Three guesses who.

“Val, I don’t have time for this right now! I’ve got-”

The smell of coffee caught him off guard. Val didn’t bring him coffee. He brought coffee to Val sometimes, but the only person who brought him coffee he threw off the building the other day. He didn’t expect him back to work so quickly either. Huh. Employee loyalty was a heck of a drug.

“Ah, great timing, and here I thought I’d have to go grab one myself-”

When he spun the chair around, he was greeted to the kid. He had a tray in his hand. Sitting atop it was a coffee, apparently handmade, and a muffin, chocolate chip from the looks of it.

“What’s this?”

The kid opened his mouth, then promptly shut it without uttering a peep. Vox rolled his eyes.

“You can answer when I ask you a question. What is this?”

“Black coffee, only a sip of cream. And a chocolate chip muffin.”

He peered at them, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not fucking blind. I know what they are but what,” He gestured. “is all this?”

“You…you’ve been in here all day.” His ears folded behind him, granting him an odd insight into just torn up he seemed to be. “I notice you haven’t eaten anything for hours…and I thought, well, you know.”

“…where’d you get the coffee?”

“The coffee bar.”

“How’d you know what I liked?”

His ears perked up almost immediately, and a thin smile crept up on him.

“So I was right?”

Well that remains to be seen. He snatched up the cup, the need for caffeine just overriding caution. Sure, it might be poisoned, but the deadliest kind around here was Val’s kind, and Vox regularly makes out with the man. If it was going to kill him, it should’ve done so already. Now, that didn’t mean he didn’t do a secondary analysis, testing the coffee as he chugged it down. The results came quick, almost as quickly as the warm liquid hitting his stomach.

It was…coffee. Black, with just a sip of cream. Actually, this was better than the ones his assistant made for him on the regular. That’s…not what he expected.

How exactly had the kid figured out his order?

Not that he’d admit that he liked it, of course.

He made a sour face, looking at it like it had been poison.

“Disgusting.” He tossed his hand up before the kid made a move to take it back though. “But better than nothing I guess.”

He snatched up the muffin this time and took a bite. Okay, it was actually good. Warm still, the chocolate was melted slightly into the muffin. Their kitchenette wasn’t fully stocked, so he had to assume the kid used the ingredients from his cooking kitchen. A quick double check at least told him that the kid cleaned up after himself so…not so bad. Certain things were out of place and would need fixing before his next kitchen segment, but it wasn’t a bad price to pay, sort to speak.

“God, kid. Where’d you learn to bake? You should get your money back.” He snarked.

But, as he chanced a glance, the kid’s delicate smile grew slightly. His ears weren’t pulled back anymore. In fact, they flicked up with excitement. It was annoying.

“What?”

The kid’s attention flickered between the coffee cup and the remains of the muffin. There was pride drawing on his cheeks, almost turning them flush. He had to pull back the urge to shock some sense back into him.

“Well, why don’t you run along now? You’ve handed over your revolting-”

“But you’re eating them.”

He blinked. Did this kid just interrupt him? Him?

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” He quickly added. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t look sorry. In fact, he looked almost gleeful. Had he been among friends, Vox imagines he’d be bouncing off the walls. Even his tail was wagging like a dog.

And there was only so much disrespect Vox could take in one turn. Especially to his face. And despite the coffee and snack.

“Get. Out.” He sneered through his teeth.

That wiped the smile off the kid’s face. His ears tugged down again, and his tail pulled at the bottom of his legs. His eyes drooped as he nodded, bowing out. His head lifted only for a moment, peering at the aquarium. Vox couldn’t see it directly, but the mirrored image of him in the glass seemed to wag a friendly finger towards his man-eating friends. He didn’t stop walking though. The door hissed shut as he left, giving Vox back his space.

The coffee was warm on his hands. The warmth seeped into the very soles of his shoes as he took another sip. You’d think he’d be used to the cold now, since he often kept this room colder than others to save his monitor’s the extra workload of having to cool. But heat was something he craved, just like moths crave the moon.

He bit into the muffin again. When was the last time he had a chocolate muffin? He can’t remember. He should look back into the security footage, steal the recipe for his next dessert special. At the very least, he needed to write it down so that when his assistant does finally reform, he can have it whenever he wants.

Work called back to him again, even as he polished off the muffin. The coffee made the extra time bearable, as usual. Not great, but better.

The news was the usual assortment of dramas. Another turf war has broken out, pitting southeastern kingpins against each other in a violent exchange that encircled the block. Fifty eight dead so far, but who counts death that aren’t permanent anyways? His new headsets were doing wonderfully, and the fakes were proving themselves to be both a disappointment and, as Velvette keeps tabs on such things, akin to social suicide. It was Voxtek or nothing.

And not to worry, they should have new shipments coming soon! It’ll only cost an arm, a leg, or a soul.

The bitterness of the coffee held back the sweetness leftover from the snack.

Alastor was asking around now, about the kid. He caught him disappearing to the cannibal part of town, old stomping grounds to him. There were less cameras there, but he didn’t need them to know that he’d be visiting his old gal pal. Rosy, for all else that she was, knew a lot of gossip. Gossip that, ironically, really wouldn’t help here. Alastor should know that. The kid wasn’t even close to there when Vox’s men picked him up. Was he dragging his feet? He seemed less enthusiastic about the kid’s safety than Vox would’ve expected. They had seemed close. Well, as close as any of those deadbeats seemed to be. Alastor wasn’t the type to purposefully turn his back on a friend…or potential ally. Then, he considered how similarly he was treated once upon a time. Close enough to seem close, but never enough to truly care. For a moment, he wished the coffee was more bitter.

Finally, after a few hours slipped into a few too many, Vox was done with today. The rest had to wait for tomorrow. What was the point of being an Overlord if he couldn’t draw the line where he wanted? Oh, wait, no. That project needs to be reviewed and-

He caught an odd alert. Someone was looking something up on his T.V., something not in the library.

Sitting there on the couch, the newest waste of time sighed to himself as his search yielded no results. Vox tapped into the camera just in time to hear him complain.

“Oh, come on! He has to have it here somewhere. It was his show.”

A show of his? He brought up the search.

Well…it was one of his, one of his first ones. Back when he was still fresh off the hooves of the mortal realm fads. It was a sitcom of sorts, featuring characters dealing with life in a POW camp during the war. It was so old; it was still filmed in black and white. Half the actors in it had died to exterminations. One had drained his career down the bottle and drugs. Another had faded into obscurity when he refused to sign on for a different project, an insult Vox treated kinder back then.

It had been fun though, at the time. One of his first big breakout shows. People ate it up. Until times changed and tastes changed and no one wanted to hear about that war anymore. Vox got with the program. He wasn’t about to let an opportunity slip.

Unfortunately, that was the end of his first experiment. He gave it one last episode, ending like any other, before moving to the next thing. It’s too bad too. He’d been hoping the end of that show would showcase the actual end of the war, but…well…as he said, times had changed.

So, what was the kid doing looking it up? He hadn’t the slightest clue.

The kid kept digging, trying to find it on his streaming, his internet, even digging through the cabinet looking for DVDs. He wasn’t going to find anything. Once everything went to digital, that was the end of the DVDs.

He had half a mind to call Velvette up and tell her to watch her pets. In fact, he was going to but…his fingers curled around the warm mug.

Ugh, fine. Whatever.

A ping noise popped over the T.V., making the kid jump to attention. Look at that! All eight seasons of the show just got downloaded onto the platform! Aren’t you lucky?

He’d not seen so much joy in someone down here in a long time. Like, childhood giddiness. He was smiling like it was Christmas and the first present he opened was the one he wanted all along. It was odd, to say the least.

“Yes!” The giddiness spread to his legs now, and he could barely keep from leaping off the couch as he turned it on.

The intro song played. It was a chipper tune, playing along the lines of the old marching songs but lighter toned for general audience viewing. The kid knew every beat of it, and he twitched his head to the drum. Personally, it’d always been an earworm for him. That’s one of the reasons he went with it. Anything that could stay inside your head all day was something you’d give another watch later.

But, again, it’s been a while since any of this aired. It made sense that he’d still remember the beat. He invented it. The kid had no reason to know it, not this well. Maybe he heard about the show from some old sinner lurking about, that he could kinda understand even if he didn’t get the fascination with it. But knowing the song?

The more he watched, the more he realized that the kid wasn’t just excited to see the show, he was a fan of it. He knew the characters, knew the catchphrases, knew the twists. Hell, he seemed to know most of the episodes in general, from guest stars to side plots.

By the time he’d finished with work, the series was up to its last season. It’s this one the kid fell asleep watching. Vox wasn’t even sure the kid ate anything this whole time. Vel and Val were still out partying or whatever at this ungodly hour of the night. Given how he hasn’t moved at all, he can only imagine that Velvette abandoned her little toy or, worse, expected Vox to make sure he was still alive by the end of the day.

Speaking of food, he’d need some himself. The coffee was gone hours ago, and the muffin felt like a lifetime away to his stomach. He could make himself something. Hey, those cooking shows weren’t just an act. But that would require so much more work than he felt capable of right now.

He dragged himself away from his monitor room, his pet sharks darting about for one last look at their owner before the doors slammed shut again.

Was the meatloaf he made the other day still there? Probably not. Anytime Val smokes too much, he devours any leftovers that managed to make it the day. The bar had some snacks stocked in it, some for Velvette and some for bar prep, namely lemons, limes, and small accompaniments. At this point, he’d eat a whole fucking tree of lemons if he had to.

When he got to the longue, episode eighteen of the last season was playing. He remembers filming that one, where the POWs snuck out dressed in drag to pretend to be army nurses for the other side. At the time, even in hell, the drag caught people off guard, mostly because Vox made sure it damn well looked convincing. He snickered to himself as the lieutenant asked if the outfit complemented his figure. That was an adlib. The actor actually asked to keep the costume afterwards. Vox obliged.

Okay, now, bar.

He found some of the spread snacks lying about: crackers, chips, and different cheeses. He also found the whiskey, which he needed after a day like today. He grabbed them all and sat at the coffee table, just as the characters flirted past the guards to get to the secret plans hidden in the hospital. Ordinarily, they try not to eat here, on account of the expensive furniture and because Vox himself has made a habit of standing on the furniture when he got too excited. But with both of them gone, he didn’t care.

As for the kid, well, he was too small to take up much space on the couch as it was. That, and he was curling up as much as possible, so he hardly took over much more than elbow space. He sat down beside him, eyes unfocused and starting to drift.

In the world’s worst excuse for a sandwich, he smushed a piece of cheese, the kind didn’t matter, between two crackers. He downed about twenty of them before he reached for his whiskey. Yeah, there definitely wasn’t enough of that for tonight. He finished the bottle way too fast. Great. Well, better get back to the crackers. Otherwise he was gonna have a massive migraine later. And that just wouldn’t do with the morning news!

God, he needed another drink-

“Do they get out, in the end?”

He almost spit the crackers and cheese out like a rocket. Thankfully he didn’t. Velvette would throw a fit if she sat down and ruined an outfit on spit out, half chewed crackers.

“Where you just sitting here the whole time awake-?”

“Because the last episode doesn’t say if they got out.” As the kid pouted and, before he could even come up with an intelligent response, noticed the empty bottle and snack food. “…is that your dinner?”

If he wasn’t so tired and, admittedly a little tipsy, he might’ve snapped at the kid for talking over him, then not even giving him the second to think. As it was, the alcohol, the sleep deprivation, and growling of his stomach was making his mind a little too fuzzy to answer like he normally would.

“I dunno, kid. Didn’t think too much on it.”

“…regarding the show or dinner?”

He blinked slowly. It didn’t make the world stop spinning.

“Both. I think both.”

The kid went silent for a moment, just enough time for him to sit up a little bit more. Geez, was he always that small? Was it just his stupidly big ears that made him look bigger?

“I can only make muffins.” The kid announced randomly.

He swears his processors were lying to him. He did not just say that.

“…What?”

“Lucifer taught me how to make muffins, but I haven’t figured out pancakes yet. Do you want PB and J?”

“The fuck are you on about, kid?”

“Everybody says hangovers suck, and that it’s worse if you don’t eat anything. You want crust or no crust?”

The alcohol was swimming in his brain too much. The kid had a point. He’s drunk too much and ate too little. What would the viewers say tomorrow if Vox, the Vox, looked like he drank himself stupid the day before? Logically, his numbers automatically fed back to him, he should eat something.

But his mouth wasn’t running by his logistics, unfortunately.

“What do you mean, ‘everybody says’? What, you’ve never been hungover?”

The kid’s face pursed like he ate a lemon, or a girl with kooties tried to kiss him. Revolt, the kind that only kids had for stupid things like love, baths, and vegetables, tugged on his face.

“I make it a point not to drink anything I could run a car on.”

A deep throated laugh burst from him. He’s not even sure where it came from. It kinda just puked right out his mouth and filled the room.

“That was funny.” He managed between filling his lungs. “Where you always funny, or am I way too drunk?”

He doesn’t think he should’ve said that last part out loud now that he thinks about it. Thankfully the kid didn’t answer the stupid question with a stupid answer. Instead, a small grin peeked under his muzzle.

“So, PB and J?”

He put the bottle down, the empty clang of it echoing in the room. He forgot how quiet it was when everyone else was gone. He was so used to this being their space, their collective space, that any time spent alone felt…odd. The kid wasn’t much. Even drunk off his ass, he couldn’t really compare to having one of the other Vees here.

But, you know, he was funny. A bit.

And he offered peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Even the other Vees never offered as much when he was drunk, not that he remembers anyways.

“Yeah, kid. Go make me a fucking sandwich.”

“Okay, but don’t watch the last episode without me!” He leapt up and over towards the cooking set. Again, he needed to chase his staff over and clean that up later, for tomorrow’s lesson. He was going to go over a filet mignon with red wine reduction sauce. That was the plan. Now, for some reason, he was wondering if he was better off showing how to make muffins.

The intro song played again. It was the last episode of the series. Nothing special, he didn’t get to have the grand finale he’d once envisioned. It was still as good as any other episode though. And no, he didn’t feel like waiting either.

The kid came back with the sandwiches about a fourth of the way through. He had removed the crust and sliced it down the middle to make two even triangles. It was a fucking lunch his mother could’ve packed him for school. He was eating school lunch. He didn’t feel drunk enough to be eating school lunch, though he was just hungry enough to cave.

It was good, obviously. Hard to mess up PB and J, especially with his own ingredients.

“I told you not to watch without me.”

The kid huffed as he bit into a different sandwich, also peanut butter and jelly.

“Did I ever say I agreed to that?” He mentioned back.

“…you’re kinda a jerk.”

Of all the insults he’s taken: the curses, the lengthy speeches, the loudmouth screeching of a certain radio, he’s not sure he’s ever been called a ‘jerk’. It was so wildly immature, but not in the ‘I’m spouting whatever curse comes to mind’ kind of way. But, probably because he was drunk and because it wasn’t the usual cursing white noise it hit harder than expected. Like, he laughed, but there was a bitter edge to it.

“A ‘jerk’? Really? That’s the best you’ve got?” His toothy grin might remind one of a shark, though it probably looked less intimidating with peanut butter all over his teeth.

The kid shrugged.

“I don’t know. Just seemed to be the word that fit best, I guess.”

Somehow, that was even more insulting.

“…shut up.”

He did as he was told, staying quiet for a good couple of minutes, but Vox didn’t really talk much either. He usually loved talking in the middle of movies or shows, partly to annoy but partly to entertain when the watchability wasn’t there.

“Do you still have the sets from the show? I know sometimes people in Hollywood would reuse sets.” The kid asked, interrupting the silence. And giving Vox plenty to talk about.

“From this show? Nah. We used some of it for other programs at the time, but a lot of it was scrapped when we branched out into Sci-fi shows. The space race was a hell of a time for TV.” Notably, the kid seemed genuinely upset to hear that, though something about the sag of his shoulders told Vox that he expected that answer.

And, okay, he was still drunk and not thinking right.

“I’ve got the captain’s hat in my closet.”

The kid’s jaw snapped open.

“Really?”

Wow, he just wore his emotions on his sleeve, huh?

“Yeah, it’s got all the pins on it still too.” Why had he kept it? Even he didn’t really know the answer. There’s been a few times where he’d thought about throwing it away, like the rest of the old, outdated junk but…well, then there were moments like these. When drunk, he liked thinking about those stupid passion projects. It was better than focusing on more recent events, usually.

“That’s so cool!”

Well, that might be going a step too far.

“It’s just an old hat, kid.”

“From a classic show!” He argued. “It just sucks that Hell doesn’t have museums or something.”

His show as a dusted up old display in a museum? Even drunk, that sounded suspiciously like an insult.

“That’s because Hell is the museum, kid.” He flashed his teeth again. “Too many old bastards long past their time hanging around and dragging their fucking heels. It’s all a museum and a fucking zoo down here.”

To that, the kid didn’t seem to have an argument. He gave up a little sigh.

“You’d think people with knowledge from, like, thousands of years ago would be really cool.”

“Fossils.” Vox, now hitting a little too close to his chest, stopped smiling. “Just a bunch of fucking fossils who are pissed off that the world didn’t fucking stop turning when they died. Bunch of narcissistic assholes who think everything should revolve around them.”

The kid stopped mid-bite and just looked at him. After a moment, it started being pretty funny.

“Hey, the world actually does revolve around me!” He stated. The kid raised a brow and gave a slow blink of his eyes. “It’s true! If it wasn’t for me, nothing would’ve ever changed down here. Trust me, before I got to Hell, you would’ve thought we were in the dark ages.”

The episode’s outro played, a reprised version of the intro song. As the last episode though, it seemed a little slower pitched than he remembered, as if it wanted to go on just a little bit longer. It was an absurd thought, especially since all episodes fitted nicely into the exact TV slot allotted to them, with commercials. None of them were any longer than others. But this? It seemed longer. Did he do that on purpose? He doesn’t remember doing that on purpose.

He snatched the remote before the kid could. His eyes were dipping a bit from the need for sleep, and the cocktail of PB and J and whiskey settling in his stomach. So, rather than take a chance on the remote, he flicked the signal between his fingers, telling the TV to put on a game show. Guess he still had old crap on the brain because the one that popped up was one of the ancient, prerecorded ones. That was back when TV was on more of a schedule, meaning that at some point in the night the broadcasts would stop.

It was a non-creative project, something he’d ripped off from a show he’d used to watch, except instead of trying to figure out someone’s job, you’d typically be figuring out how they died. Vox had found some pretty amusing ones over the years. One of his favorites was the guy who’d been reporting the weather and died when a fish leapt out of the water and smacked him in the face. Poor bastard wasn’t even sure if it was the impact of the fish that killed him or if it was falling off the dock and getting run over by a boat.

Some of the best ones resulted in sinners that looked really fucking weird, because, apparently, part of being in hell was remembering, forever, how and what killed you. He remembered a guy that looked like his face was squashed by an old cartoony hammer because he’d actually died to a piano being dropped on his head.

Vox, of course, had been the host. Some other demons filled in the guessers’ positions, people who’ve long faded into the background of his mind. In this one, a demon resembling a polar bear wrote his name down and sat beside Vox as the questioning began.

“He got sliced by a hockey skate, didn’t he?”

Okay, color Vox surprised.

“How’d you figure that?”

“’Cause his fur looks like a hockey jersey and he keeps trying to hide his neck.”

Huh. He supposed that was true. Maybe he’d seen the episode before though. Maybe he was just lying. Well, there was one quick way to test it.

“Not bad. Alright, here’s a tougher one. How did I die?” He challenged. He better not say he got crushed by a TV. He’s heard that one way too many times, and he was sick and tried of people assuming he got knocked off like a looney tunes character-

“My guess would be a power surge.”

“…huh?”

“Well, I mean, you don’t look like you’ve got any scars on you, but you’re a kind of dark blue everywhere. And you short circuit the city when you get mad. So, my guess would be you got electrocuted or something.”

That was a first. Obviously, his death was a little more graphic and detailed than some random electrocution. Here, come watch the death of your favorite TV star! Live for one night only. Or alive for one last night only. And there were still people out there that thought the chair was merciful. Merciful, my ass. That shit had hurt.

“Couldn’t be further from the truth, kid. You really suck at this.” He teased. “But since we’re on the subject…”

There honestly wasn’t much to go on for the kid. He was used to having these answers behind an info card, rather than having to guess himself. Sure, constant practice showed some consistent things. He’s not sure how the fox part of his appearance played into things, but he could spot the pattern of his ears and arms well enough. The slight glint of his freckles reminded him more of taillights than of actual freckles. Also, he was a kid. What was the most obvious thought there?

“What? You go chasing after your ball and get hit by a car?”

The kid suddenly found interest in his feet, kicking them around like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Oh, he could picture it now. A stupid little kid on his way to school, playing in the street when all of a sudden-

“I got run over by an eighteen-wheeler.”

A What?

“Come again?”

“I was driving my car, took my eyes off the road for a second. An eighteen-wheeler had come barreling down the road going the wrong way.”

What the fuck?

“Like, run over though? Not just crashed into the car?”

He nodded.

“I think that’s why I’ve got treads on my arms, legs, and ears. If you get my meaning.”

Holy shit. Like karma was a bitch and, yeah, obviously the kid was down here for…something but-

“Was it quick at least?”

The kid bit his lip, and his body curled closer to him.

“I…I just remember the headlights.”

He was lying. Vox knew that. Oh, fuck, that’s a hard way to go. Plus, he’s a kid. He felt like his brain was running too many programs at once, never a smart thing to do while intoxicated.

“How old are you?”

“Um…twelve, I think. Maybe thirteen. I…I don’t really remember. Time’s so weird down here.”

Twelve? They threw a twelve year old down here with the likes of serial killers, sex offenders, and power hungry dictators? What the fuck did he do? Did he accidently bring a super psycho into the Vee tower?

“Where you murdering other children behind the school cafeteria or something? How does a twelve year old get into hell? You’re not even alive long enough to do anything. Or big enough. Or have a functioning brain.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“No, we are clearing this up right fucking now. Why are you down here?”

He was not going to let this go. The last thing he needed was for a deranged little twerp like Alastor’s girl running around stabbing things. Sure, he hasn’t shown any of that yet and he did check into that loser’s hotel but he’s learned better than to trust that. If the kid wasn’t going to spill, he’d just make him, with a quick suggestion of course.

“I…I mean.” The kid shuddered, and he seemed to gulp down air. “I-I went for a drive. It was dark, and it was raining. I-I honestly d-didn’t mean to hit him! He just walked out from the woods somewhere a-and I-I-I didn’t see him.”

Oh. Well, that made more sense then. But damning a twelve year or thirteen year old for an accident? Seemed excessive, even to Vox. Usually he punished people for, you know, actual mistakes. There was the occasional fuck up that couldn’t be ignored obviously, but he’d think kids would get a special pass, at least.

“So, what? You bury his body in the middle of nowhere?”

He shook his head.

“I just…I just panicked. I drove off…I…I didn’t even try to help.”

“…okay, then what? You lie to everyone and get someone else convicted?”

There had to be another reason…right?

“No. I only drove another few miles before the truck happened.”

Wait. Wait.

“You mean to tell me that you got damned to hell because of an accident? You? A kid?”

“…I…I think’s it more because I ran instead of helping-”

He said more but Vox toned him out because what the actual fuck. No wonder hell was overpopulated. An accident? An accident was all it took to send an otherwise innocent soul to shack up with the murderers, rapists, and tyrants of the world?

You knew something was wrong when he thought that heaven or whoever was in charge of this nonsense went too far.

“I am not drunk enough to process this.”

“You’ve had two bottles already.”

He had? Huh. Where’d the second bottle come from? A quick look revealed that he was holding a bottle, a different one from the one on the table. Though, from his spot on the couch, it’s started to look like four bottles rather than two. Again, not a good sign.

A quick check of his internal clock told he needed to be in bed like two hours ago if he’d planned on getting up without issue in the morning. He went to stand, putting just the barest amount of weight on his legs when he felt them buckle. Okay, too drunk and too weak to walk. Brilliant.

“See that blanket over there?” He gestured to the same one the kid found yesterday, labeled with their logo in that warm flannel knit. It was on Val’s couch which meant it might not exactly be clean, but if he’d been scared away by that about Val, they wouldn’t be in their stupid little back and forth all the time. “Go get it.”

He did as he was told. Being sober granted him the ability to at least check it before bringing it over. In that time, Vox pushed around pillows, making a small wall that he planned to use as a rest for his screen. The kid held the throw out, and he wasted no time in tossing it over himself. He always had to make sure it didn’t accidentally cover his fans, least he overheats and really needs a tune up in the morning. Almost as soon as he laid down right, everything in his body seemed to be losing power. Feedbacks were starting to fail. Limbs started turning to jelly.

“Do I have to sleep on the floor again? It’s cold on the floor.”

“Kid, could you just shut up? I’ve had too long of a day to deal with this.”

“…is that a no?”

Sparks started flying about his face, some getting dangerously close to the blanket. By now, most of the casual fabrics lounging around their inner sanctum up here have been made fireproof. Live and learn and all that. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t been known not to melt a few of them when in a particularly bad mood, anger he tries to keep tight on a leash.

Except when he’s drunk. Like now. Which is a bit of a problem.

Calm down. You don’t want to set the tower on fire now, do you? No, you don’t. That’d be bad for the reputation, the brand’s reputation, and especially your reputation. You don’t want him to win again, do you?

Plus, you’d have to deal with pissed off Val and Vel.

He steeled his nerves and opened his eyes a bit.

“Clean this shit up and I’ll think about it.” He wouldn’t. He’d be passed out long before clean up would be finished.

“…pinkie promise?”

Were pinkie promises deals? He didn’t think so. Nothing in his database said they were.

“Yeah, sure.”

Despite the dark circles on his eyes, the kid was surprisingly springy. And trusting, because he seemed to just take Vox’s word on the matter. He caught him bounding around the table like a jack rabbit in his fading peripheral vision, his red fur blending in with the maroon hues of the cushions around. Right before everything went offline, he had an odd moment of clarity.

He was unarmed, drunk, passed out on the couch at the disposal of someone who would literally only gain from his death. It wasn’t like he was under contract. His guards wouldn’t be so stupid as to let the kid leave, but it’s not like any of them could reach him in time if, say, the kid poured the whisky into his outlet.

This is a bad idea, he concluded. Then he knocked out.

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7/ Part 8/ Part 9/ Part 10

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fic #hazbin hotel ficlet #hazbin fanfic #drabble #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin hotel vees #the vees

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brightlight-dazzlingeyes · 1 year

Text

the french exit | chapter 01

kylian mbappé x original female character [+18]

synopsis: alice is a lonely rich girl whose biggest fear is to become a lonely rich woman. ever since they moved to paris, her fiancé doesn’t seem to be interested in her anymore. so alice decides to find comfort in the arms of another man. warnings: cheating; angst; smut; i have never been to france; minors dni.

masterlist | next chapter

Chapter 01 | Blank Space

“'Cause we're young, and we're reckless

We'll take this way too far

It'll leave you breathless”

Alice Morgan-Webber is a classic Ralph Lauren blonde girl. Summer at the Hamptons. Kate Moss poster on her wall. Her father owns a hotel chain and is the CEO of a company specialized in luxury goods. Her mother is a fashion designer. Alice is an only daughter and heir to an American dream empire. Her highschool sweetheart boyfriend, David, proposed to her in the summer. Their families have been friends for generations and when their mothers got pregnant at the same time, they knew it was meant to be. His family have their own inspirational story about their generational wealth.

A couple months ago David got a job at his family's company's French headquarters, and now they’re living in Paris. It didn’t take long for Alice to get an internship in a fashion magazine – in fact, all it took was a phone call from her mother. The couple’s perfect french pronunciation and overall cool behavior made them a perfect match for the city of light.

Their European fairytale didn’t last longer than a month. Very quickly David got bored of playing house. He started to spend his nights and weekends away from their cozy luxury apartment, always with the excuse of being busy with work. That was expected, in a way, so Alice wasn’t exactly disappointed; but she was surprised, his lack of interest in the very first month was a disaster. They weren’t even married yet.

“Men are complicated, honey. But maybe he really is busy with work.” Her mother, Caroline, told her over the phone. David’s family owned a holding company that was currently in the process of starting to invest in a fashion brand – owned by Alice’s family. So her mother soothed her, told her to wait. It is in everybody's best interest if they could find a way to be happy together. “You’ll be married in the spring and everything will be perfect, dear. I promise. You just need to be a little less controlling.”

It was a destination wedding, in Greece. Her mother would design her dress, of course. On her left hand she was wearing David’s grandmother’s ring. A colossal diamond that felt heavier every time he left the house without making eye contact. “Bye, love.” His strong voice, that once made her legs shake, now made her nauseous. He could at least look at her when saying goodbye, right? That wasn’t too much to ask, right? Alice thought to herself.

Part of Alice’s job included getting invited to luxury brands promotional parties, the kind she was already used to. But this time was different, she was working. Alice was supposed to post pictures of the event on social media and later report it to her boss. How the food tasted, was the music any good, what kind of celebrities showed up. It was a sports brand, so there were a few french athletes present – one specifically caught Alice’s attention. Kylian. She saw him in person before, in another one of those parties long before she moved to Paris. Back then David was present, a possessive hand around her waist. Warning her of the depraved behavior of football players. Now she was alone and Kylian was staring right back at her.

Later she would have a hard time recalling the food and the music; the French football player was the only thing on her mind the whole time. They were formally introduced at some point, he graciously shook her hand.

“Beautiful ring.” His eyes were on her left hand. She blushed.

“Thank you.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“In the spring.”

Quickly and smoothly, without anybody else seemly noticing, he whispers in her ear:

“So I still have some time.”

Alice laughs and nods at him, still blushing. They don’t talk for the rest of the evening, but when she comes home she gets a notification on her phone that makes her heart beat faster: k.mbappe just liked your post / k.mbappe just followed you. He answers one of her stories; it is a picture of her living room, beautifully decorated solely for the purpose of impressing her future in-laws.

k.mbappe you have good taste

alicemwebber thank you

k.mbappe i’m a buying a new apartment need help with the decor you should visit give me some tips

Kylian’s new apartment was just outside of busy Paris; it was modern and spacious, and smelled brand new. There wasn’t a lot of furniture or items that identified the owner, so Alice felt like he wasn’t entirely lying to her. Who knows how many times he used that trick, but Alice didn’t need a very convincing excuse. She just wanted to see him, to be in the same room completely alone with him and to feel desired by him. Her lust was aggravated by her anger. In her messed up head, what she was doing felt like revenge.

“So, what do you think?” He was standing behind her, so much taller than her. His perfume was intoxicating and she was fighting her own brain, trying to keep herself focused.

“It’s a really nice place, but it needs more… Personal touches.” She guides her right hand to his, without even looking, her thumb slowly caressing him. Kylian takes a step closer to her, his body now fully flushed against her. He holds her hand and rests his head on top of hers.

“I agree. Like I said, you have good taste.” He gives her a soft kiss on the cheek. “That’s why I invited you.” He continues to softly kiss her face, lowering his kisses down to her neck. “Are you going to help me?” Their bodies are even closer and she can feel he’s getting hard behind her.

“Yes, I will. Whatever you need.” As she says that he puts both of his hands on her hips, pushing her back onto himself, making her feel him.

“Whatever I need? Are you sure?”

Alice nods, and when she opens her mouth to properly answer him, he kisses her. She turns around, holding him by the neck. The kiss feels like a perfect match. They instinctively know exactly where to touch each other, their tongues know the exact moves. Their breaths and the small noises of pleasure Alice makes echoes in Kylian’s almost empty living room.

“Do you own a bed, at least?” She asks, face still close, afraid of moving away from him and breaking the spell. Kylian laughs warmly.

“I do own a bed, yes. Let me show it to you.”

He guides her to the bedroom while still kissing her. By the time they lay in bed together half of their clothes were already forgotten along the way. She’s lying on her back and he’s towering over her, he already feels big just standing over her, looking at her. His body is warm, he’s kissing her like he’s in a hurry. A real man. Wanting her, tasting her. Paying attention to her. She surrendered herself to him. Alice tries to take off his pants but he holds her hands above her head. She stops the kiss.

“Please. Please.” She guides her hand once again to his jeans. Kylian sits on the bed and brings Alice onto his lap. He takes her left hand and bites the side of the finger with her engagement ring. Alice moans. “Do you like that?” He whispers in her ear, she eagerly nods in agreement.

“I like it too.” He kisses her finger. “I also like knowing I only had to ask you once.”

“You’re being mean.” Alice takes the rest of her own clothes off, tired of waiting for him. Kylian laughs. His eyes shining bright give Alice butterflies. He looks beautiful like that, horny and teasing her. She feels lucky to get to experience it.

“I’m being mean?” He gets up and holds both of her legs, carefully making her seat at the end of the bed. Then he pulls her legs apart and admires the view of her dripping wet core. “Alright, let me be nice to you, then.” He gets on his knees and starts kissing her feet, almost in a devotional manner. He continues his kisses up, firmly holding her legs. After what it feels like forever he finally kisses her cunt. Kylian can’t help moaning with her. She tastes amazing and he can’t get enough. She cums screaming his name even before he puts his fingers on her. “What about now? I’m still mean to you, baby?” Alice is laying on her back again and he’s fingering her roughly.

“Ye–yes, yes, you are.” She’s stuttering, can’t control her voice when she’s so close to another orgasm. On her third orgasm she has his cock inside of her. She’s on all fours and his hand is holding her hair, keeping her head up. Her mouth is open, her moans somehow still getting louder.

“You’re so big.” Alice mumbles, eyes closed, feeling full and satisfied. Kylian is proud, both from her words and the state he managed to get her.

“You should always feel like this, baby.” He’s still behind her, but they’re both on their knees in the middle of the bed, his hand never leaving her hair. “It’s what a pretty girl like you deserve.” He kisses her shoulder and neck, restraining himself from biting her.

Later, after she showers, he politely offers for her to stay. She can’t, of course, and he knows. At the apartment door, kissing goodbye, she says:

“There’s a lot of work to be done in this place, don’t you think?”

He agrees, grinning at her. “You should come often, I need all the help you can give.”

***

David doesn’t know anything about football, but loves talking about it. It never bothered Alice before, she used to find it amusing; his lack of knowledge over tactics or stats. It used to be cute, even. They were at a private box in Parc des Princes, together with some of David’s work colleagues and a potential client. The guy was a family man and a PSG fanatic, so David decided to take his lovely bride to a football match in hope of luring the French millionaire into doing business with him. Alice is nauseous the entire time. She deserves it, she thinks. Maybe this is God punishing her somehow. Still, she has her eyes on Kylian the entire time.

“Alice, are you feeling good?” David asks her, his hand on her back. Her head is spinning. God, why is he being so thoughtful.

“I… I don’t think so.”

Alice sort of disassociates, only fully regaining her consciousness after she throws up a couple times at the Saint-Germain lounge bathroom. David is by her side, holding her hair. His action only made her more nauseous, reminding her of a few nights before.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Her fiancé asks and she weakly slaps him.

“How can you ask me that this way?” Alice is angry, but her voice is weak. David laughs, brushing her hair off her face and kissing her forehead.

“Well, there’s still a few months till the wedding. I want you to look good in your dress.”

Alice stares at him in shock, trying to gain courage to ask him what she really wants to know. To tell him how she feels. It was the first time he even mentioned the wedding in weeks.

“Do you really? You still think about our wedding?”

“Of course, love. Where’s this coming from?”

Her hair is a mess and her make up ruined, they’re both still sitting on the bathroom floor and Alice feels like this is the lowest so far in their relationship. David's tone of voice makes her feel like she’s delirious. Maybe she overreacted. She should have asked him sooner.

“I feel like you don’t want me anymore.” She’s fully crying and David tries to dry her tears, confused. He takes out a handkerchief embroidered with his initials and hands it to her.

“What? Love, that’s not true. How can you say that?”

“I’m sorry I ruined your business meeting.” Alice says in between sobs. David shakes his head.

“You didn’t ruin anything. It’s actually a pretty good look for me, coming to help you.” He chuckles. A few minutes later, Alice recomposes herself, quickly fixing her hair and make up. When they walk out, holding hands, it is like nothing happened.

“Oh, look, Messi scored!” David points at one of the Tv’s on the lounge. Back home, getting ready to bed, Alice tries to initiate a kiss but he points a finger on her lips.

“Love, you threw up today.” He looks at her with disgust.

“Are you serious? I’m feeling better, you psycho.”

“Well, let’s wait a few more hours. Just to make sure.”

On her phone there’s a new notification. An answer to her stories on the stadium. It was a group picture, David had his arm around her, kissing her cheek.

k.mbappe enjoyed the game?

alicemwebber not really wasn’t feeling well had to leave early

k.mbappe feeling better now?

David was sound asleep beside her, she stared at him for a while before answering.

alicemwebber yes much better

#the french exit #kylian mbappe #kylian fanfic #mbappe fanfic #smut #football fanfic #kylian mbappe fanfic

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 8 months

Text

By: Prisha Mosley

Published: Apr 4, 2023

The transgender community of today is built upon its cult-like tactics of brainwashing, information control, and deception. It has grown so big because of these lies and the control they can take over young minds, and the minds of the mentally ill.

I hope that by discussing some of these lies I can shed light upon them and allow people to see more truth and a different narrative than what is being pushed by the media and transgender community.

1. Transition or Suicide

“Would you rather have a dead daughter or a living son?” This is what my WPATH certified therapist asked my parents in front of me on my very first appointment. This is the narrative among doctors and the community. However, research has shown that rates of suicide actually increase in transgender patients after they receive treatment. Nonetheless, the idea that if anyone, particularly a child, does not receive “gender-affirming care” they will kill themselves.

This is a myth. A lie. No one will die if they are denied access to experimental, mutilating, sterilizing surgeries and drugs.

We can rebut this argument with simple facts. If transgender people have always existed, which is another narrative the trans community pushes, then there would have been droves of child and teenage suicides throughout history we would be able to look back at and refer to. These children would be killing themselves because they didn't have access to “gender affirming care, because it did not exist.” But this did not happen. This is a brand new medicine, which people have never wanted or needed before now, because it was never accessible before.

Transition is not a cure for suicidality, anyway. It won't make suicidal thoughts or ideation go away. In fact, as mentioned above, suicide rates actually increase after transition.

Suicide is a multifaceted issue, and multiple factors are required for a completed suicide. There is no such thing as “trans children not given hormones will kill themselves.” “Misgendering” someone will not cause them to kill themselves. Suicide requires four things, including hopelessness and a lack of support, and will not happen without all four factors being present.

Sources are below.

Finally, the effects of hormones, especially testosterone, can increase suicidality just like completing surgery does.

2. Trans Genocide

Another common with being pushed is that a transgender genocide is going on right now. This is also false.

Claiming that there is a genocide happening when there is none is incredibly disrespectful to people's who are victims of genocide.

Genocide is defined as the purposeful killing of a large group of people with the purpose of erasing that group or people.

No one is going out in droves killing transgender people, at least not in Western society where the ideology is being pushed.

Being denied access to women's spaces will not kill any trans-identifying male. The same goes for their sports. Hearing your birth name will not kill a person either.

I have also heard claims that the laws being rolled out to protect children are genocidal, and will cause people to kill themselves, a part of the genocide… This is also false, and as mentioned above, the CDC made a statement about the four factors required for suicide. None of them included “anti-trans bills.”

3. It's Reversible

This is one of the biggest lies they tell, most commonly to naïve, impressionable children. Trans-influencers even make videos saying that you can just go on “T” (testosterone) for a little while and essentially pick and choose which side effects you would like to experience. This is false. Testosterone effects everyone, and every woman, differently. You don't know what side effects will come first, you don't know what will happen when you stop, and there is no way to know until it happens. At that point, the effects are irreversible and unchangeable.

This goes the same for estrogen abuse in males. The effects, such as atrophy, and the growth of male breasts, will not go away. They are irreversible side effects, and they are life-lasting.

When I am testifying on bills, I often hear that puberty blockers are reversible, too. This is another lie for more reasons than one. Puberty blockers have not been studied for their use in completely ending puberty in a young person. Their use has only been studied for things like cancer, sterilizing pedophiles, and use in children with precocious puberty. In the case of precocious puberty, they are used for a very short period of time, and are not meant to completely stop puberty, but rather simply delay it so it can be experienced at a normal time.

Everything that is meant to develop and change during puberty will stop when puberty blockers are in use, and time is not reversible. You will never get back the time you lost when you were supposed to be growing your bone density, and developing your brain. And there is no information about what happens mentally to a child who is on puberty blockers, and if there is irreversible damage to mental health and the development of the personality.

Surgery, of course, is irreversible. There is no going back once you have lost body parts, or put in fake implants, or destroyed your sexual organs.

Reconstruction is almost impossible, will not be covered by insurance, and cost tens of thousands of dollars. It is also difficult to have follow-up surgeries after such mutilating procedures. It is traumatic on the body, and mentally and emotionally as well.

For myself, breast reconstruction will consist of at least three surgeries, and I may lose my nipples altogether. They have to be grafted once again, and are not extremely likely to survive the procedure.

First, I have to endure a tissue expander. An implant-like bag will be placed in my chest, and I will have to go to the surgeon every week for a period of at least 6 months to have the bags injected with saline through my skin. This is so that I will grow more skin, because my flesh was taken during the surgery and my chest is tight.

After my skin has regrown, I will have to remove the tissue expanders and heal for a while. After that, the implants as well as some fat, which will be taken from my stomach and thighs with liposuction, can be put into my chest beneath the loose skin. Once this is completed, after I have healed again, we can attempt to surgery to graft my nipples again, but there is a chance they will not survive. I may lose my nipples completely.

The cost of these procedures is an estimated $35,000, and is not covered by insurance. Even still, I will never be able to breastfeed. I lost that ability forever as a teenager.

4. Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria isn't Real

This is another lie which I hear when I'm testifying. I remember in Texas, a doctor laughed when she was asked about ROGD.

Rapid on set gender dysphoria is gender dysphoria which is experienced suddenly and usually at the onset of puberty or right after a trauma.

Most common patient seen at a gender clinic is experiencing rapid onset gender dysphoria. According to the Journal of Adolescent Health, many parents are reporting that their parents are experiencing ROGD.

I experienced ROGD after a sexual assault. I became disconnected from my gender, and I blamed all of my problems on it. I believed that only girls were sexually assaulted, and believed that if I remained one, it would happen again.

Another common reason youths, particularly girls, experience ROGD, is porn. Porn shows girls a sexualized version of femininity which is degraded and abused for the sake of men. My early exposure to porn also contributed to my ROGD. I have seen many young “trans-men” claim that they are transitioning to escape sexualization.

My story is not uncommon.

6. Gender Euphoria

“Gender euphoria” is advertised by the trans community a lot, but it's another lie.

No one experiences euphoria about their sex. Autogynophiles experience sexual euphoria and gratification when they are perceived as women, and wrong sex hormones have steroid-like effects, but that is all. The high that trans-identifying people are chasing is either sexual gratification or a literal high from drugs.

There is no such thing as gender euphoria. You can be comfortable and satisfied in your sex, and experience sex based pleasure, but gender euphoria isn’t real. Despite its non-existence, however, people suffering with gender dysphoria are set on the path to chase this high. This is how life-long medicalization happens.

7. The Male and Female Brain

There is talk within the trans community about “female vs male brains” and the claim that transgender people have the brain of the opposite sex.

According to a study written about my ScienceDaily, (linked below), "Men and women's brains do differ slightly, but the key finding is that these distinctions are due to brain size, not sex or gender," Dr. Eliot said. "Sex differences in the brain are tiny and inconsistent, once individuals' head size is accounted for."

There is not only no evidence that trans-identifying people have the brain of the opposite sex, but actually, evidence to the contrary. Despite this, the trans community, and even doctors, will tell gender dysphoric people that they actually have the brain of the opposite sex. This is diabolical, as differences between the brains of the different sexes do not exist.

8. There is no Social Contagion

The presence of ROGD and the 4400% increase in minors who with trans-identifying, this myth is easy to blow out of the water. Many trans-identifying people are minors, specifically girls, the most demographic most vulnerable to social contagions. According to a study done by the UCLA, “Nearly one in five people who identify as transgender are ages 13-17.”

The social contagion theory was first suggested by concerned mothers of ROGD teens. ROGD is a subset of gender dysphoria specifically picked up and shared by teens, and as mentioned previously, usually at the onset of puberty of following a serious trauma.

The moms have gotten together and created support groups wherein the parents come up with other solutions for gender dysphoria than drugs and surgery. They have been touted as “hateful” and “anti-trans",” however, and face a lot of backlash. Despite the success the mothers have had with helping their gender dysphoric kids, WPATH says that “-all persons— especially adolescents—are deserving of gender-affirmative evidence-based care.”

9. No Surgeries are Happening on Minors

This is yet another false claim. I won’t horrify you with photos of nude minors with their breasts cut off, mostly because I think it is wrong and exploitative to share those photos, but I will tell you that it happens, and is continuing to happen.

If you would like to find this information for yourself, search for gender clinics near you, tell them that you have a 15 or 13 year old trans-identifying daughter and that she needs “top surgery” and see what happens.

Many lawsuits are beginning to come out by detransitioners, most of whom were minors when they were medicalized. Chloe Cole is a shining example of one of these young children.

Finally, WPATH has lifted all age restrictions on surgery for trans-identifying minors under their gross and negligent guidelines.

10. Informed Consent

“Informed consent,” is a form of gaining consent on paper which is signed by the patient to verify that they fully understand all of the consequences and side effects of the treatment which they are being given. This is another delusion, however, and for two reasons.

The first reason is that children cannot consent. Children do not have the mental or emotional capacity to consent to sterilization, or understand what life long medicalization means. I could not even grasp the meaning of the words “vaginal atrophy” when they were said to me, and without being trauma informed, my doctors did not know that I said yes because my understanding of atrophy made me believe that it would make it impossible for me to be raped again. This is the way a child thinks. Children cannot conceptualize what will happen to them if they undergo puberty blockers, wrong sex hormones, or undergo surgery.

The second reason is that the doctors cannot give proper informed consent because they do not know everything that happens when a patient takes wrong sex hormones, or what complications they may have from surgery. This is brand new and experimental medicine which has not been researched in the long term.

Puberty blockers have only been studied for their use in things like precocious puberty and their long term use remains unstudied. Wrong sex hormones have almost never been studied, and the studies that we do have are short term, not peer reviewed, and abysmal. Brand new surgeries seems to be coming out every month or so, like experimental clavicle shortening for trans-identifying males. There is no way for any research or long-term follow up to have been done on this.

11. “Trans Hate” is at an All Time High

At a time when the president is visiting with newly trans-identified men and writing them personal letters of congratulations, and trans-identifying people are all over the media with sponsorship deals and being influencers, and with acceptance higher than it ever has been before, there is the claim that “hate” is at an all time high.

This is said usually in response to the recent bills to protect children from “gender affirming care.” These are not anti-trans bills, but they are pro-women and pro-children bills.

In fact, with the rate of acceptance, there are more trans-identifying people than ever, and the trans community will tell you this themselves. This is how they defend against the social contagion argument. Their theory is that there have always been this many trans-identifying people throughout history, and that it is because of acceptance that they are able to come out and be public about their identities. I thought there was a genocide happening, though? So is acceptance high or low? They can’t keep the narrative straight.

Sources:

Suicide:

https://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/preview/mmwrhtml/00031539.htm

https://twitter.com/LeorSapir/status/1631030625397252101

ROGD:

https://www.jahonline.org/article/S1054-139X(16)30765-0/fulltext

https://www.parentsofrogdkids.com/

https://journals.plos.org/plosone/article?id=10.1371/journal.pone.0202330

Male/Female Brain:

https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2021/03/210325115316.htm

Social Contagion:

https://williamsinstitute.law.ucla.edu/publications/trans-adults-united-states/

https://thepostmillennial.com/new-study-supports-social-contagion-theory-for-surge-in-teen-girls-identifying-as-transgender

Surgeries on Minors:

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/09/26/health/top-surgery-transgender-teenagers.html

https://mercatornet.com/chloe-cole-gender-transition/80073/

https://news.northwestern.edu/stories/2022/09/age-restriction-lifted-for-gender-affirming-surgery-in-new-international-guidelines/?fj=1

Prisha Mosley is suing the doctors and therapists who pushed her through the transition conveyor belt. She has testified at several hearings about her ongoing medical problems resulting directly from this medical malpractice.

Reminder: suicide is itself a socially contagious phenomenon.

https://www.city-journal.org/article/reckless-and-irresponsible

Decades of research suggest that suicide is a socially contagious behavior, especially in youth. In 1994, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention published a document titled “Suicide Contagion and the Reporting of Suicide: Recommendations from a National Workshop.” In a section titled “Aspects of News Coverage That Can Promote Suicide Contagion,” the CDC cautioned against “[p]resenting simplistic explanations for suicide.” Suicide, it explained, “is never the result of a single factor or event, but rather results from a complex interaction of many factors and usually involves a history of psychosocial problems.”

Those pushing the narrative should already know this, and those reporting it already do know this. It almost seems like they want it to happen to justify their activism...

#Prisha Mosley #gender ideology #queer theory #genderwant #affirm or suicide #manipulation #gender cult #religion is a mental illness

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domripley · 8 months

Text

Chris Motionless NSFW Alphabet

Pairing: Chris Motionless x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Dom!Chris, Sub!Reader, mentions cnc/water sports/sounding

A/N: me writing bandom in 2022 I’m shocked skkskshs

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Chris makes sure that you’re completely okay before he’d get up to start cleaning. He’d give you a massage as soon as you drink the water and you eat the snack he gives you. After sex, especially after a rough scene, he gives you all the attention you could want.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Chris’ favorite body part on himself would be his hands. He loves being able to feel how wet you are when he slides his hand down your pants when nobody’s paying attention.

Chris definitely loves your mouth, especially your lips. He loves watching you wrap them around his cock, especially when he isn’t hard yet.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Chris loves when you come on his cock the most, feeling you squeeze around him while he fucks you through your orgasm. He also loves when you come on his face.

Chris prefers to come inside of your pussy, and occasionally inside your ass. He also loves coming on your face, especially when he’s fucking your face.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It’s not really a secret between you and him, but he’s open to you pegging him. He would still be doming when you peg him though.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Chris is very experienced, and he’s always willing to teach you about things you’re unsure of or things you’d like to try. He’s really patient when it comes to teaching you too.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Chris loves missionary the most, being able to see your face as you come is his favorite. However, he’s not opposed to fucking you in other positions either. His other go to position is on your side. This way he can play with your nipples or choke you better while he’s fucking you. He also occasionally likes sixty-nining with you.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Most of the time, Chris is completely serious. He takes your pleasure serious, but sometimes he can’t help it when the two of you are having a quickie. That’s when he’s usually giggly.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Chris barely shaved unless you prefer him to. His hair doesn’t bother him much, and if it doesn’t bother you, he’ll keep it unshaved. For you, he loves hair but if you prefer to shave he’s okay with that.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Chris can definitely be romantic, but he saves it for when he’s off of tour. Once he’s in town, he’ll buy flowers, and get your favorite food before coming over to your place to surprise you. Usually that’s when he takes his time with you, especially since he has to leave the next day. You always appreciate him stopping to see you when he’s in town.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Chris usually masturbates when he’s away from you, and it’s usually to videos that both you and him have made together. Sometimes when the other members are asleep, he’ll call you just to hear you come.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Chris is definitely into a lot of things. He’s big into knife play, as well as CNC and watersports. He also enjoys service submission, being called daddy or sir, and he also really likes orgasm denial and overstimulation. If you’re into it, he’s really sharing you. Chris loves the idea of watching his other band members tucking you while he watches. He’s also into having threesomes - and the thought of having one with him and Spencer from Ice Nine Kills gets him hard.

With watersports, he’s really into it, but if you’re not, he’s okay with not doing it. He also really likes branding. Chris also has a big breeding kink. Chris is also into being a service dom if he’s not being rough. He also loves making you cry.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Chris will fuck you anywhere as long as he’s comfortable. If he thinks the two of you would get caught, he wouldn’t take a chance. But if it’s on his tour bus or in his car, Chris will most likely have his hands in your pants.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Honestly, Chris is so into you, he really only has to think about you to get going. Especially when he’s thinking about making you come so much you cry.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Chris won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with. He’s also not into sounding.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Chris definitely prefers giving over receiving, but he’ll never say no if you offer. He’s very good at oral, and he takes his time with it. When you suck his cock, he loves when you take him in your mouth when he’s completely soft at first, wanting to get hard in your mouth.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Chris is usually fast and rough, but when he hasn’t seen you in weeks or months, he prefers slow and sensual most of the time.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Chris and you always have quickies when you’re traveling with the band. You both don’t mind them, but it’s not your favorite thing.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Chris loves to experiment with you, and will just about try anything with you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

On a good day when he isn’t having a concert, he can go about four rounds in a row. Usually you’re the one who taps out when he’s gotten enough rest. When he does have a concert, he can go two rounds.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Chris and you have a collection of toys, including a few pocket pussies for him to use on himself when he’s punishing you. He loves using toys on you, especially when he gets tired, so that way you can still get off.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Chris is a tease, a hundred percent. He loves teasing you, especially when you whine for him and when you beg for him to do something. Unfortunately for you, he doesn’t give in to begging easily.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Chris will occasionally moan, but for the most part he isn’t as loud as you. But he does love to talk dirty.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

If you’re wanting to shave, and you need help, Chris loves to help you. Afterwards he loves kissing your pussy.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Chris isn’t too big, or small. He’s average.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Chris’ sex drive is very high, especially when he loves fucking you.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Once you’re taken care of and cleaned up, Chris falls asleep very quickly.

#my writing #mine

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revenant-dumpster-fire · 3 months

Text

Corpse of My Brother

Summary:

"I have been watching my brother, even though he does not like that name. He's been more upset than usual. I just wanted to help, but he never let me. He just threatens to hurt me like always, but lately he can't even get through his usual speeches without choking and glitching. It looks like it hurts!

"I am worried about him. I finally had a good excuse to look for him! Mirage and I are making a cookbook, so I was going to ask him if he knew any good recipes to include. I planned to ask him why he's been acting so damaged lately, and see if I might be able to help. But when I went looking in all the usual places he hides… He wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere. I couldn't find him.

"I heard his voice, but when I turned the corner to wave to him, I saw someone I don't know."

…

This is a character piece formed via my own pain. I turned it into an interaction that I could imagine happening.

---------

"Oh! Hello new friend! You sound like—”

“Shut it.” His voice sounds just like him.

The blue MRVN approaches the new face gingerly, bouncing with each step. Maybe Revenant has a secret brother, which means—

Pathfinder is giddy, what if he had two brothers just like Revenant? Sure, he's a little mean, but that's just how big brothers are!

“What’s your name?!” Pathfinder’s vocalizations pitch with excitement, facing the back of the new, massive figure before him. If he's in the Apex facility, he must be new! Maybe he needs a friend to show him around?

The figure’s head kicks up visibly from the back, as if in surprise. The black hood turns to glance at the MRVN behind him.

This machine has a smooth, white face with few notches. He looks brand new with no scuffs or faded materials, sporting a massive red smile and jaw. The solid yellow eyes shift just a little to lock onto Pathfinder's red bulb, revealing a honeycomb pattern to the filter. He has a nasal cavity just like Revenant, and red lines traveling up from his eyes instead of down. He even has a beautiful notch of red on his forehead, barely showing from under the cloth hood.

“Wow!” Pathfinder quietly expresses aloud, slightly moving in his direction as if yearning for a closer look.

The figure growls, turning away rapidly at the expression, leaving nothing but an oppressive array of long antenna and stabilizers jutting out from his shoulders towards Pathfinder.

“It's me.” He says in Revenant's voice.

“That's a strange name, but nice to meet—”

“No, it's me. Revenant. Can't you hear me, you useless amalgamation of scraps?!” He spins back around, angry.

Just like Revenant would.

But that's not him.

A moment of confusion washes over Pathfinder.

“Oh, is this one of your new, fancy shells? I haven't seen this one before!” Pathfinder bounces back. Revenant almost never uses the fancy ones, this one is so different he almost didn't recognize him!

“No. It's not.” The smile hangs downward.

“What—do you mean…?” Pathfinder’s vocals trail off a little quieter. The hallways have long since gone quiet as the evening becomes old. Even though there's no one around, something feels sour in the air.

Something isn't right.

“I'm stuck.” The smile makes a cracking sound, like porcelain under stress. “I can't get out of this… thing.”

Pathfinder reels back just a little. This body is big. Could his normal body really fit inside?

Something makes a cracking sound ever so slightly behind the smile.

“Could I help?” Pathfinder cautiously asks, knowing full well the explosive anger will probably immediately follow.

But…

It doesn't. There's no outburst. No abuse. No rage. No nothing.

The whole unfamiliar chassis tenses up, just like humans when they're in pain, but then it all loosens. Every joint becomes lax, but they don't fight gravity. They hang, like the effort to fight their own weight is too much.

Finally, a resigned sigh can be heard.

“No, you can't.” He says.

This isn't Revenant.

Revenant doesn't look like this. Revenant doesn't smile. Revenant doesn't pass up an opportunity to be mean or yell at him like this.

His hands look the same. His colors are close. His build is so similar. He still has the same voice.

Then why does it feel so wrong?

“When are you going back?” Pathfinder’s voice quakes just a little in its quiet concern.

The body tenses again.

“I'm never going back.” He splays open his palm, looking into the familiar red leather.

Pathfinder feels something deep within himself shift. This is wrong. That can't be right. He'll never go back? He can just swap chassis, can't he?

“But—!”

“Pathfinder, shut up. I have enough problems to deal with that aren't…” his hands make a juggling motion, as if trying to conjure up the right word. “You. I don't have the bandwidth to deal with you.”

Pathfinder feels his insides twist. That's not how Revenant would act. Revenant always had time for him. Revenant was always happy to be mean. He wouldn't say that. He wouldn't be calm about it either. Why does he sound like that? Why isn't he mean?

Where is the soul?

Didn't he say he was human?

“Why are you talking to me like that?!” Pathfinder's vocalizer shifts octaves on accident. It sounds like when humans cry.

“I mean I don't have time for you. If it isn't obvious, I have bigger problems than your misguided naïvety at the moment.” Revenant growls, keeping control better than he ever had before, despite himself. “Go bother someone else. Anyone else.”

Pathfinder feels his processors hurt. That's not a happy emotion. That's the opposite. This isn't even sad, this is worse than sad.

“Why won't you yell at me?!” Pathfinder’s emotive screen turns black, unable to keep up. “Who are you?! You're not Revenant! My brother would—”

“I was never your brother, Pathfinder.” It speaks with his voice, but it's using it all wrong.

“No! Go back into your other body! The pretty red one, with the pretty red makeup and the yellow eyes!” Pathfinder doesn't understand what he feels, but he needs to find Revenant fast. Pain is awful, and the sooner he sees Revenant again, the sooner it will go away.

“I can't.”

“Yes you can! You could before! Why can't you now?!” Pathfinder tries to stop his vocalizer from getting louder, but he can't help it. Is this what yelling feels like? He doesn't like it.

It locks eyes with Pathfinder, as if seeing something familiar, but Pathfinder takes a step back.

This is bad. This hurts. This is wrong. This isn't—

“It’s a corpse now. Stop crying about it.” Revenant's calm but cruel voice echoes loudly in the hallway.

Pathfinder pulls his hands to his head. Is this crying? Why does it hurt? Is it because he doesn't have tears to shed? Is this what it feels like, to cry with no tears? Why is it so painful? Why can't Revenant go back?

Why did he have to die like this?

He always came back before, why can't he go back again?

“Stop crying, it's not even your problem.” The figure snarls, shrugging with what little defiance remains in his defeated stance. Revenant turns away, walking away slowly.

“Stop!” Pathfinder instinctively reaches out towards the twisted shadow of Revenant. “Don't… Don't leave me!”

Revenant ignores the request, continuing to trudge away soulessly. What happened? When did this happen? Why was there no warning?

Revenant pauses, now having moved well out of reach, letting his head pivot for just a moment so his voice can reach Pathfinder one last time.

“Your brother's dead. Now leave me alone.”

It hits Pathfinder all at once. Something is wrong, forever. Nothing will ever truly be fixed. Maybe it will improve over time, but this won't ever heal. The pretty red scarf; the scary, scuffed up mask; the tearful makeup; the bright yellow eyes… It's all gone. Forever.

Everything is awful, everything is wrong, nothing can fix it, but nobody else seems to realize it.

Not even him.

Pathfinder feels his joints tense up.

Grief.

This is how Mirage talks about his mom when she doesn't remember him. This is how Valkyrie withers when she holds her father's helmet. This is how Bloodhound howls Boone’s name a little louder than all the others.

It's awful.

Is this what humans feel?

There is no body to bury, no memento to hold onto, no opportunity to say goodbye.

And yet the corpse just walks away.

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