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#it meant the us and its allies
backofthebookshelf · 5 months
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I know I'm a week late but I do think people are misunderstanding the point of the Anthony Bourdain quote about Kissinger
The point was never "Anthony Bourdain has good politics and is an unproblematic fave," the point is that even someone with mainstream liberalish politics who goes to Cambodia for a food tour - a, let's be honest, very bougie type of trip to be part of your job - and has a basic understanding of history and a bare minimum of human decency can come away from that bougie food tour wanting to murder Henry Kissinger with their bare hands. The point is that Henry Kissinger fucked up this country so bad the only reason he wasn't lynched decades ago is because it's on the opposite side of the world and the people who were in proximity to him never really saw what it was. The point is that if we could see firsthand what our First World politics do to the Third World we would understand that monsters walk among us and it's a cultural failing that we let them die at home at 100 years old surrounded by their friends and family.
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enlichened · 7 days
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BOTH transphobes and allies (and even some trans people) react to trans people existing by doubling down on gender roles/standards and it's REALLY making me mad
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cantsayidont · 5 months
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March 1992. Probably the most interesting change the ROBOTECH storyline makes to the plots of the three Japanese anime series from which it's derived is that in ROBOTECH, the Invid, the snail-like alien race that conquers the Earth at the beginning of the NEW GENERATION/GENESIS CLIMBER MOSPEADA storyline, are a colonized people, interstellar refugees. As explained in the Jack McKinney novels and later dramatized in the six-issue miniseries ROBOTECH GENESIS: THE LEGEND OF ZOR, based on Carl Macek's story notes, centuries ago, the Tirolian scientist and explorer Zor visited the Invid homeworld, Optera, and discovered that the Invid "Flower of Life" could be used as the basis of a potent form of bio-energy he called Protoculture. Zor stole the secrets of the Flower and took them back to Tirol, where Protoculture soon sparked a technological revolution that created space fold travel, reflex weaponry, and bioengineering. The lords of Tirol, calling themselves the Robotech Masters, used this power to annex their neighbors, and created the giant Zentraedi to police their new empire. The Masters then ordered the Zentraedi to defoliate Optera to monopolize their control of the Flower. The surviving Invid split into two factions: one, led by the Regent, fixated on vengeance against Zor and the Masters, and the other, led by the Regiss (or Regis), determined to find a new home and a new evolutionary form that would enable their survival. The Invid later killed Zor, but not before he sent the last Protoculture factory to Earth (as shown in the 1986 ROBOTECH graphic novel), hoping in vain to put it beyond the reach of the Masters.
When Zor Prime, a clone of the original Zor, destroys that factory at the end of the ROBOTECH MASTERS/SOUTHERN CROSS segment of ROBOTECH, it effectively seeds the Earth with the Flower of Life and draws the attention of the Regiss, who invades in hopes of finally reclaiming what had been stolen from her. (This isn't the case in the original MOSPEADA storyline, where the Inbit simply invade Earth because it seems like a habitable spot for their eugenics project.)
This is a clever amalgamation of ideas from the original shows, and it gives ROBOTECH a very different perspective on colonialism than the original series. MACROSS says explicitly that the devastation of the Zentraedi holocaust makes the colonization of other worlds a moral imperative for the human survivors; the original SOUTHERN CROSS storyline is about defending a human colony world (established after a nuclear war devastated Earth) against the return of that world's weird and malevolent original inhabitants; and MOSPEADA ultimately suggests that the Regess has been a more-or-less benevolent, religiously motivated colonizer who leaves the Earth better than she found it. The ending of ROBOTECH is a series of moral reversals: The Invid Regiss has gone from refugee to conqueror, doing to the humans what the Masters and the Zentraedi did to her, but at the same time, the human survivors of the war with the Zentraedi have in effect become the new Robotech Masters (something the Regiss says pretty explicitly in her final monologue), prepared to replicate the devastation of Optera and the Zentraedi holocaust to keep the Regiss from winning. Her ultimate departure, which also destroys the attacking REF fleet, is driven by shame, and a desire for a very literal kind of restorative justice that seeks to redress the humans' sins as well as her own, which makes for a morally complex and bittersweet finale for the saga (the misbegotten SHADOW CHRONICLES notwithstanding).
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blightingtrees · 17 days
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i have too many thoughts and im chewing glass
i just think it would have been cool if soto had stuck with the shady wizard cult fuckery that was being set up in the first update instead of instantly dropping every thread to go play demonland rebellion for eight million years. it feels like.
What's up with the fucking eternal fractal torture islands? What's up with Lyhr and everything that happened in the Skywatch meta? WHAT about the ward member that just straight up fucking left, and left behind a bunch of extremely suspicious letters?! Why is Isgarren..........just why is Isgarren?
I can't help but imagine a SOTO where we stayed with the Ward and like, actually went further into that. Imagine if we actually got to know the characters! Learn more about them, who they are, about the things they've done, maybe got invested in them! And then, if we uncovered some dark secret! Something that destabilized the Ward, splits people - people we now know - up. Maybe set us against Isgarren - or hey, maybe with him! Maybe - even though he's shady and we're kind of morally opposed - things set up so that we are on the same side, ultimately! either could be neat! And then, at the end, Peitha, who's been sneaking in her little comments here and there (and imagine if people finding out we had a demon in our had had any time to have a meaningful effect!!), finally shows up! Maybe gives us some answers to questions raised during this hypothetical what-if. And then we have the lead in to the next expansion, in demonland! Imagine!!!!
IMAGINE IF IT WAS GOOD AUUUUUUUURRRGGHGHGHGHGHGHG!!!!!!!!
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ykw seeing these two images side by side. i think ive had some decent progress in the last few months. this is mostly to dunk on past me for forgetting his 3rd eye & to laugh at how his features changed as i started getting better at drawing them (read: nose). my art is still not at the level i want it to be (i do eventually want to get anatomy & poses & such & i want to get more stylistic) but sometimes you just gotta. idk. recognize ur own progress & all that. thank you school thing for which im painting another oc in the renaissance style for finally giving me a way to color pupils/irises in a way i dont hate.
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qqueenofhades · 3 months
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“U.S. President Joe Biden issued a memorandum on Thursday requiring allies who receive military aid from the U.S. to provide ‘credible and reliable written assurances’ of their adherence to international law including international human rights law,” the Times of Israel reported. Israel will need to supply written assurances within 45 days or risk loss of aid. The report added, “The memo did not mention specific countries who would be held up to the new standard, but came amid increasing calls in the U.S. to condition aid to Israel due to concerns over its military operations in Gaza which were triggered by the Oct. 7 attacks, in which Hamas terrorists murdered some 1,200 people, mostly civilians, and kidnapped 253.” No one should underestimate the impact of the decision. The Associated Press explained, “Democratic senators on Friday called Biden’s directive — meant to bring breadth, oversight, deadlines and teeth to efforts to ensure foreign governments don’t use U.S. military aid against civilians — historic.”
[.......]
Biden also pressed on with intense one-on-one diplomacy. After his comment on Thursday evening that Israel had been “over the top” in Gaza, Biden engaged with Netanyahu on Sunday in a 45-minute conversation — unusually long by most diplomatic standards (and even more so given that no time had to be spent on translation with English-fluent Netanyahu). According to the White House readout, Biden insisted Israel make “credible” arrangements to protect civilians before launching a widely criticized military plan for Rafah, where civilian casualties could mount. He also pressed Netanyahu again to increase humanitarian aid to the Palestinians. Biden’s patient approach with Netanyahu over months has gradually transformed into a private and public pressure campaign. A Biden official told The Post that the leaders had “a pretty detailed back and forth on that.”
-- Biden delivers tough love, takes historic step: Conditioning aid to Israel
Meanwhile Trump?
Trump has said he would implement travel bans on people from certain countries or with certain ideologies, expanding on a policy upheld by the Supreme Court in 2018. Trump previewed some parts of the world that could be subjected to a renewed travel ban in a mid-October speech, pledging to restrict people from the Gaza Strip, Libya, Somalia, Syria, Yemen and "anywhere else that threatens our security." During the speech, Trump focused on the conflict in Gaza, saying he would bar the entry of immigrants who support the Islamist militant group Hamas and send deportation officers to pro-Hamas protests.
Also: Trump vows to expand Muslim ban and bar Gaza refugees if he wins presidency
Really, really not sure how much clearer I can make it here for y'all, but sure. Something something Trump's actually a better choice on this issue/overall (sarcasm).
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The Washington Post reported that administration officials informed Congress of the 100 foreign military sales to Israel in a classified briefing. Few details are known of the sales, because keeping each one small meant their contents remained secret, but they are reported to have included precision-guided munitions, small diameter bombs, bunker busters, small arms and other lethal aid. The Arms Export Control Act makes significant exceptions for arms sales to close allies – a limit of $25m for ‘major defense equipment’, defined as big-ticket items that require a lot of research and development, but the limit rises to $100m for other “defense articles” like bombs. “This doesn’t just seem like an attempt to avoid technical compliance with US arms export law, it’s an extremely troubling way to avoid transparency and accountability on a high-profile issue,” Ari Tolany, director of the security assistance monitor at the Centre for International Policy thinktank, said. She added that, in exploiting the loophole, the Biden administration was following the steps of its predecessor. “They’re very much borrowing from the Trump playbook to dodge congressional oversight,” Tolany said. The state department office of the inspector general found that between 2017 and 2019, the Trump administration had made 4,221 below-threshold arms transfers to Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates, worth an estimated total of $11.2bn.
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weasleyreidstyles · 5 months
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Serendipity Masterlist
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summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.
series status: ongoing
“serendipity is the phenomenon of discovering something interesting or valuable by chance”
no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. All characters are aged up to be over 18. and bellatrix isn't mattheo's mother in this fic (just fyi)
pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader
general warning(s): 18+ content, angst, fluff, some canon compliance, some canon divergence, typical wizarding world violence, war, torture, drugging, hospitals, familial problems, mean!harry, mean!ron....
** indicates smut warning
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~∞~ chapter one
chapter summary: on the trainride to your sixth year, your friends give you a proposition that you can't refuse.
~∞~ chapter two
chapter summary: it's your first day back as a sixth year student. Classes are more intense and your first lesson with Mattheo ensues.
~∞~ chapter three
chapter summary: the first Hogsmeade trip of the year has a rather unpleasant ending.
~∞~ chapter four
chapter summary: after you end up confined to the Hospital Wing, you're surprised when Professor Dumbledore pays you a visit.
~∞~ chapter five
chapter summary: Mattheo has been avoiding you. You find and confront him after a frustrating week.
~∞~ chapter six **
chapter summary: the growing tension between you and Mattheo snaps. He reveals something about yourself that you has scarcely any prior knowledge of.
~∞~ chapter seven
chapter summary: joyful dinner parties and a switch in point of view. Two juxtaposing starts to the christmas holidays.
~∞~ chapter eight **
chapter summary: you're given plenty of revelations: all equally as daunting as the other.
~∞~ chapter nine
chapter summary: Ginny ambushes you in the library and Ron's birthday is off to a delirious start.
~∞~ chapter ten
chapter summary: in the aftermath of Ron's poisoning, Harry learns a thing or two about where your loyalties lie when he overhears your private conversation with the headmaster.
~∞~ chapter eleven
chapter summary: intent on avoiding him, you underestimate just how desperate Mattheo is to be around you.
~∞~ chapter twelve
chapter summary: new friendships are formed and you finally learn to control your abilities. Mattheo comes to a life altering realisation.
~∞~ chapter thirteen **
chapter summary: idk how to summarise this but i will say it's pure smut...enjoy
~∞~ chapter fourteen
chapter summary: friendships are rekindled and you save Draco from certain death in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, igniting your powers in the process.
~∞~ chapter fifteen
chapter summary: now fully recovered, Draco has a task to complete. The fate of the Wizarding World hangs in the precipice of his actions.
~∞~ chapter sixteen
chapter summary: after a startling and gutting discovery. secrets are revealed and alliances are questioned as Voldemort's tyranny begins to fester into the beginnings of another war.
~∞~ chapter seventeen
chapter summary: Dumbledore's funeral reveals new allies as you navigate a world without its protector.
~∞~ chapter eighteen (coming soon!!)
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series oneshots/headcannons:
~∞~ tulips & starlight – valentines day drabble
~∞~ serendipity hcs (mattheo) – a glimpse at his life pre sixth year
~∞~ invisible string – bonus scene from chapter 16 **
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series taglist:
(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag, reblogs of the individual posts have an extended taglist)
@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora @lantsovheiress @emiliahoward @stunkbiggu @vcosette @prongsprincessworld @mattiesgirl @rachmmb @x-kermit-x @sun-fiower-seed @cas-planet @certaindreampost @weirdowithnobeardo @mikalovesicecream @sunasbbie @rainy-darling @faeriepigeons @lovely-blackinnon @hiireadstuff @gimalo135 @elsafromcabinsix @moonlightreader649 @blueshome @nopedefe @spencerreidsthings @navs-bhat @agent-tempest @magimtz23 @y0urm0m12 @sbrn0905 @leona-hawthorne @whatsupb18 @moni-cah @taylorann2013 @unstablereader @gisellesprettylies @nat1221
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eluxcastar · 2 months
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Hello Riri! :]
I'm in my platonic harbingers with a child reader era, and you're one of the few people I follow who writes platonic stuff on an occasion. So here's my request!
Here's the small storyline I have. Reader is the child of a god (you're free to decide what they are the god of, if you want) who is extremely well known around Tevyat, and puts on a very intimidating and serious presence. Yet one unfortunate day, the readers parent dies, so now they have to take on their legacy at a too young of age. Making them grow up out of their childhood much faster and pressuring them into becoming exactly like their parent. Cold, intimidating, and serious.
And out of all the mortals the reader has met, the harbingers are who they find comfort in. They could be lecturing some other mortal one minute, and the next minute, they see one of the harbingers. They're grabbing them by the hands, bouncing on their tip toes with a bright smile.
(Hope you're having a good day! And please don't overwork yourself<3)
Fatui harbingers with a child god
── ୨୧:fatui harbingers & reader
୨୧﹑synopsis :: child reader taking over as archon and basically immediately proving why child rulers are a bad idea but it's ok because it's cute and endearing
୨୧﹑genre :: fluff
୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, god reader, signora might be ooc tbh I struggled to think for her, not proofread
୨୧﹑words :: 3k
this has been in my inbox for some time, even though I've really wanted to do it for ages. I'm sorry honey it took me a while to get to it. the description of their parent at least to me was giving mr zhongli when he was morax and I immediately thought of the ramifications of him faking his death in the rite of descension which makes me wanna write something else BUT THAT'S FOR LATER
I meant to post this four and a half hours ago but suddenly it was like twice the length I thought it would be and uh yeah that was not the plan but enjoy the food served hot and fresh
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There has hardly been a moment of grief since you were orphaned, and the people are turning to you for their next overseer. You, small, fragile, and ill-prepared, are the one they wish to see take up the pillar left in your father's wake. You weren't ready, and maybe you never would've been, embraced by the caring side of your well and truly mellowed-out father and cherished by the people as the child of the nation.
Your transition from people's treasure to people's guide was jarring, and you're still not used to it. You move with what pleases and hide what brings deep frowns and disappointed eyes. The people no longer want a child but a god. They want their pride, once a god who had walked by their side for millennia, now the passing generation of a god as the mantle shifts to his blood.
It's hard not to notice what they make you, now the spitting image of your father, though you can only parrot his earned wisdom and show a brave face to keep the nation from despair.
You have but a single ally—the Tsaritsa—someone whose messengers approached you to ask for your father's gnosis and who gladly agreed to offer you an invitation to Snezhnaya at your request to speak to her personally, quite honestly not knowing how to say that you frankly didn't know what to do with the gnosis. Though you could keep it, you're unsure how to harness its power, wield it, or even control it. Your father was strong, you're not.
She is an intimidating presence but gentle. She knew of your father for as long as she had been an archon—though they weren't on good terms toward the end—perhaps you could understand her more than he would. He was the original archon in his seat, but you are an inheritor like her. In her lands, you are the careful balance of both a god and a child, spoken to with the grace of a higher power but the softness that is befitting to a young child.
It is as you are.
Tartaglia is the first to seek a test of your strength, though you wish not to hurt him and convince him to wait. So long as the answer is someday, he allows you to let him down easily and settles at indulging your requests to join the snowball fight you noticed him having. You want to join in, fidgeting and with your gaze flickering between the smiling children and your feet. You push away your every want to join them and play as well, but remind yourself of the people who would scorn you. It's unfitting for a god to behave like an immature child, you remind yourself, but every hope of remaining steadfast to that is gone as Tartaglia notices you watching.
His offer is merely that—an offer. He speaks with a snowball forming in his hands as he approaches, his thick coat engulfing his form and the red scarf bundled around his neck to keep him warm. You have to look up to meet his eyes, playful and perhaps a little mischievous. Tartaglia holds the snowball out to you as if it were his peace offering.
"You look like you want to join the fun. Care to throw a snowball or two with us?"
"May I?"
And with that, you take his offering.
Pantalone's musings and the intentions of his gifts are not beyond you. He means to win you over and perhaps spoil you a little. It is coddling, and you notice it. He wants what he wants, and he will get it out of you, but it is also not beyond him to recognise that you are...naïve, endearingly. Pantalone can lavish you in fine silks all he wants, but you have received many offerings, so they don't particularly sway you as he had hoped, and he moves on. Your true weakness lies in children's toys, the many things you have been denied since you have been forced to steel yourself. The smile that twitches at the corners of your lips as he presents you with the first is enough to confirm it.
Toys are made for children; though you try to deny it, you are still a child at heart. Gifting a child a toy they will try to pretend they don't cherish but will protect with their life is perhaps the quickest way to earn their favour. He watches as you fiddle with the arms of the plush cat when you think nobody is looking, asking it questions and then responding to yourself in an all-too-dedicated voice you put on for this cat. 
"Oh, Mr Cat, would you like some borscht too? It's very good."
"Yes, please, I would love to try some!"
Pantalone admittedly can't deny that you come with your own charms.
Signora spoils you what many of your aids have tried to before you, the chance to fix your hair, marvel at a pretty lady and wish you were half as sophisticated as her. She is your role model, second only to the Tsaritsa. She is beautiful and elegant and willing to teach you her ways as long as you continue to show up as cute as you are. Fix your posture a bit, head up, and walk everywhere with purpose, even if there isn't one. She has mastered the art, and you want it. Pantalone has his own appeal, a sophisticated man who learned through blood, sweat and tears, but there is something so distinct about Signora that makes you run to her at your first problem of presentation.
Like your mother, she will take you by the hand, lead you to a mirror, straighten your back, tilt your head up by the chin, and tell you to look at yourself now. Each time, you stare dumbly in awe of her reflection standing behind you, observing you like something precious, and it fills you with the confidence you need to heed her advice. It doesn't occur to you that Signora looks at you that way only because she thinks you're cute in your efforts, but too much like a child who got into their mother's perfume to be taken seriously.
"How others see you is important. Do you think they want to see their god with their back slouched and head hung? Hold your gaze above the people."
"It's-- well, different. I think I just look tense."
Sandrone has also come to realise that your weakness lies in toys, though she will not admit to aiding and abetting Pantalone's endeavours to find you a plushie. Instead, she shows you Katheryne. You have seen Katheryne before; you are sure of that, and that is only confirmed as Sandrone informs you that she exists in every branch of the Adventurers' Guild, including the one in your homeland. Katheryne is your access to knowledge, and the Northland Bank is your connection to Snezhnaya. Sandrone offers you comfort, the path that will lead you back to where help is and where you can go when you become overwhelmed by responsibility.
She likes your company, a reluctant admission that does not come cheap as she bargains your silence with the knowledge that she's aware of your liking for your cat toy. The embarrassment that overwhelms you is palpable until she offers you her workshop to play when your quarters are so overcrowded by your aids. You couldn't come to Snezhnaya alone for your safety, and it leaves you stranded without a moment of peace at times.
"Really?...and I can just, stay here? For as long as I want?"
"Isn't that what was offered to you?"
"Well...yes, thank you."
Scaramouche, whom you meet adjacent to Sandrone, is ill-tempered in the presence of others but a tad nicer when it comes to you. He does not drop his rough-around-the-edges personality to melt his heart out of his chest for you, but you manage to strike the perfect cord in his to gain liberties others cannot, having him share sweets with you. You learned at one point he really doesn't like them, leading you to wonder why they suddenly appeared ready and available for you to stuff your pockets full and snack on them when nobody's looking. You earn his favour through endearment and talk to him like he's normal because he is.
He is the child of a god, though in a different capacity to you. He was not loved quite so dearly by his mother and cannot share with you the pain of losing someone who treasured you. He was merely abandoned. There is the vague part of you that shuns the idea his softness is pity, sympathy even, as you're stuck stumbling through the world alone. It is all too familiar to him, and if candy will make you smile at him so cheerfully and hug him so tightly, then candy is a simple trade-off.
"Are you sure you don't want any? These are yours."
"Sickly sweet things make me feel like my teeth are fusing together. You can have them."
Pulcinella reminds you of home, the trinkets gathered on a whim that he keeps, the years showing through the rooms dedicated to him as you notice things your father told you of in stories. These are stories that Pulcinella will start off on without prompting, indulging your curiosity before you even lowered your guard enough to show it and casually enough that you slowly ask more. Every item holds a story: what it is, how he obtained it, why he kept it, who it was for. You see many such things around what used to be your house, but you don't know all of the stories, treasuring the ones you remember.
Pulcinella doesn't recall every story either, as some of your pointing and questioning is met with remarks of how long it has been. It is the only thing you feel you share with him, a living space filled to the brim with memories. Many of your trinkets don't belong to you, but his do, and it's nice to hear someone tell you stories again as he lets you pick from the collection of sweets in your pockets to eat when it suits your fancy.
"What about this? It reminds me of a lumenstone, the ones from the chasm."
"It is, and it came from Liyue when I asked that one of my subordinates bring it back for me. You must have a fine eye for these things."
"Not really, only lumenstone and noctilucous jade glow like this."
Arlecchino's offering to you is company, and plenty of it. Children who are so far removed from the stretch of news beyond the issues of the Steambird they manage to get their hands on that they wouldn't know your face from a haggler on the street. Father brought a guest to play with, and that's what matters as they induct you into their games, teach you the rules, and regard you exactly as they regard every other child their age. You are given the choice to simply become nobody, and you love it. Though you were once only a child, you were still the child of a god, and everyone knew it. Now, you elicit excitement only because someone new enters their lives, someone to learn about and befriend, merely a guest their father brought them.
Despite her sharp exterior, she is sweeter to you than you expected. You thought Arlecchino might be scarier, meaner, harsher, but she softens when she speaks to you. It is not with the cutthroat demeanour she holds speaking to the Harbingers and lacks a degree of the stern attitude she fronts to the children. You are not the average child, and it's necessary to treat you with some degree of respect, but you notice she's gentler with you than others, and it almost makes you feel special.
Columbina has sung you to sleep many times during your stay; her voice is sweet and more than enough to calm you. You let her hold your cat plush and dance with you in the hallways with the excuse you need knowledge of these things should you aspire toward being an archon, even if spinning around until you fall on the floor from dizziness and burst out laughing is a tad non-traditional. Columbina can see things others can't notice more than the human eye is capable of, and you'd rather not know what that's like. Something in the way she speaks tells you that it's hardly adjacent to anything human, closer to you, but still quite far off. It's interesting to hear the strange things humans have no business knowing.
Your hand is grasped in Columbina's, her fingers holding you tenderly. Her eyes are partly obscured beneath the lattice of a mask she wears. You're not sure if you could really call it a mask. She steps back, tugging you with her, and spins you in time with the steps she takes, each accompanied by a shift that forces you to keep up with where she moves, her other hand on your shoulder. It is the closest you will get to proper dancing, though merely a fool's waltz. You can't dance; being spun down a hallway while you struggle to match her movements feels much like you imagine a waltz would.
"It's not really proper dancing if we have no pattern to it."
"There is no such thing as proper dancing. If you'd prefer it, I could sing."
Dottore is someone you did not expect to be so open to the idea of you, and your assumptions were proven correct by his apprehension to engage with you. He is curt with you at best and avoidant at worst. You are a child filled with the yearning to touch everything that doesn't belong to you, desperate to hear too much about the things that don't concern you. You are young, needy, and with no concept of what is beyond you. Dottore's unique abundance of knowledge is appealing to you, however. He knows things your father did, many of which he didn't tell you, but Dottore will, so long as it gets you to sit still and stop interrupting him. You may be convinced you have pocketed your unnecessary emotions away, but he has seen you, and that is an insulting lie.
Your wants are written on your face plain as day, so long as people pay enough attention to you to care what you feel. He does not especially care, not for the child of a god, but it helps to know what you want to stick your nose in most. It helps to know how you benefit from him, and on luckier days, you might even catch him in a better mood when he is willing to indulge your interest in his knowledge. Your capacity to understand, let alone remember, hardly worries him.
"So you have clones of yourself? And they just...work for you?"
"Not exact clones—segments. They have wills of their own and use them as they see fit."
Capitano is strong, a man of few words, and he does not abhor your presence quite so strongly, nor does he indulge your more childish desires. What you get from Capitano is respect, the highest honour you can get from his book in your eyes, and it comes from your perseverance. You're running around working so hard when you're so young, and you deserve a break sometimes. You deserve a quiet place to curl up in the corner with that cat he's caught you hiding under where no one can bother you, and maybe with a few sweets you always seem to have these days. That corner still does not exist, though he will find you one if you want it. 
You show no signs of slowing down, are energetic and eager and are far too committed to the act of being something you're not to listen to him when he tells you to rest. Gods must all be fickle. The most he can do for you is make sure you're safe and happy as you will be in your position, maybe wipe your hands of powdered sugar when you find pastries at the market you want and recklessly eat them without thinking of how you'll clean up short of wiping the remnants on your clothes, but you'll never do that as you are.
Pierro once made you nervous. He is a stern, serious man who never smiles. Pierro is steadfast in loyalty and never wavers, which is precisely what you have begun to aspire to be now that that is what has been asked of you. You could never hope to replicate the kind of dedication he has, and perhaps that is part of what sways you. Though you have become so comfortable behaving childishly around some people, you fear you may never be around him, whether because you fear his disapproval or yearn for his approval. Despite that, he is arguably who you trail around behind most, quiet, observing, trying to figure out how to copy and apply what he has to yourself.
It settles the quick realisation he reminds you most of what the people saw in your father. Someone like him is someone people envision fostering a nation to prosperity, and you fight your own subconscious to keep all of your slipping habits, making sure he never sees you sneaking candy, hiding your cat plush from him, refusing Tartaglia's every offer to play games around him. You're not sure why you think that will make him like you more, having long ago gained his favour, unable to notice the faint smiles and the conscious effort to make you believe he doesn't notice you out the window barreling snowballs at Tartaglia.
You are still a child at heart; he is just about the last person you can hope to hide that from.
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cryptidghostgirl · 3 months
Text
What Can I Do For You? (Alastor x Reader)
Pairing: Alastor x Reader
Prompt: what if the deal restricting Alastor's powers is with you? haha, unless....
Warnings: THIS IS NOT SMUT. However, there will be some abusive/unhealthy relationship things obvi. One (1) bad word (I think).
Word count: 1,855
Master lists:
Master Lists 
Hazbin Hotel Master List
A/N this is just a reminder that I do accept requests if anyone is interested!
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She was waiting there for him when he got back. Of course she was. Sitting in the chair of his recording studio, leaned back and casual. She acted like she owned the place.
It had been a few weeks since she'd sent him to the Hazbin Hotel. Alastor still didn't know the reasons but, him confirming the success of his appointment of the place had been the last time they'd spoken, it had been the last time he had seen her.
Quietly, Alastor pulled himself from the door way, his heart pounding frantically, halfway between anger and something akin to joy. He walked up to her, his hands placidly clasped behind his back. Stopping a few feet away, she turned to face him.
There it was, that sickly smile. Part of what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. There was a reason Alastor had avoided intimacy, love, complex feelings like that for so long and it was because he knew they made him weak. If he cared, he always thought, his enemies could use the object of his care against him. Simple as that.
Never in his wildest dreams did he think that it was the hypothetical person he might care for who would use his affections to their advantage. He had been naïve. He had been a fool.
The red light from the night sky crashed against her face, throwing her features into sharp contrast. She crossed her legs, the length of her skirt revealing her thighs just the slightest bit above her laced combat boots. She tilted her head slightly to the side. She was beautiful, just as beautiful as the day he'd met her.
That had all been part of the act as well, being small and afraid under the grips of that man. Alastor had heard her scream and found them in the ally. He had killed the man, reaching a hand out to the trembling demon. Hesitantly, she had taken it.
"I've been waiting." she hummed, her voice warm and inviting but with a cold sharp under-layer.
It was the voice someone had when they held a knife behind their back, knew they had the trump card, knew they couldn't loose. When he had first met the woman twelve years before, it had pulled him in. There was a curious depth to it he just couldn't help but want to uncover, need to uncover.
"My apologies." he softly replied, "If I had known, I would have come sooner."
Her smile widened, matching his own in its wildness. Sharp teeth, sharp eyes, sharp heart. Every fiber of his being told him to pick an option, fight or flight. He kept it all at bay, there was no other option. Not any more.
"I know." she hummed, taunting him, "You're quiet domesticated now."
There had been a time when her saying something like that might have made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. There had been a time where the word, domesticated, would have meant in love and together, not bound to her side for all eternity.
Now it just made Alastor feel sick to his stomach. Shame rose within him, making his cheeks glow pink. She chuckled at the sight.
"Now that's a sight that never gets old."
"What?"
"The feared Radio Demon, one of the most powerful overlords in all of Hell -- ashamed."
Alastor didn't reply. After a moment, she sighed, pulling herself to her feet. She circled him like a mad dog, like she was stalking prey. He didn't watch her, but his ears twitched, following the sound of her footsteps. She came to a stop behind him.
"What can I do for you?" he asked, clearing his throat.
She reached up, grabbing his shoulders gently in her hands. Even after all this time, all these years, all that had happened, he melted at her touch. That's what five years of building trust, forging love, did. Even if the seven after were hell, even if she had tricked him, betrayed him, time and time again, Alastor couldn't help it. He was weak and pliant beneath her skilled touch.
"What, I can't just check in on my favorite pet?" she asked innocently, rubbing his shoulders gently.
"Y/n..." Alastor sighed, letting his hands fall to his sides, "please, just tell me what you want."
She abruptly stopped in her movements at the sound of her name. It was a rare gift to hear it from someone's lips other than her own. Hell's Hunter Demon didn't share her true name, didn't reveal her face to anyone. It had been part of the trust building, the day she had finally given both to him.
When he had first met her, he had recognized her immediately from the stories. Alastor was on the verge of killing her, adding her voice to the broadcast to prove his power but, seeing the way she shook stopped him. He had smiled to himself, he had thought he had learned a secret about one of the most feared overlords in Hell besides himself. He had thought he had the upper hand.
"Say it again."
"Y/n."
She had been so sweet at first, so docile. He was set on getting her soul, making her subservient. The longer he had lain in wait to enact his little plan, the more he had gotten to know her. Y/n had a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue, she was clever and had a kind side to her that she hid well. It hadn't taken much for him to realize he was falling in love.
That had been terrifying, the first truly scary thing the Radio Demon had encountered since arriving in Hell. It had tortured him for months and he'd consulted every one he knew and trusted on the matter. Finally, Rosie was the one who had convinced him to just tell her, had told him she might feel the same way too. As much as he wanted to blame Rosie for that, Alastor couldn't bring himself to. She hadn't known, they'd both been in the dark, captivated by her sweet austere brilliance.
They had gotten a few happy moments together, a few blissful years. There had been time before she had revealed her true colors and what a lovely time it had been.
A shiver trickled down both their spines in the silence, the sound of his tongue forming the syllables of her name bringing back memories of brighter times. She took her hands from his shoulders, coming to stand before him once again.
Y/n was a book in a language he didn't know, an undeciphered code. Mouth drawn into a thin line, hands daintily placed on her hips, he watched her as she watched him. Unbidden thoughts, unbidden memories, the same ones as always, filtered into his mind. He couldn't help but wonder now, as he had a hundred times before, if it had all truly been a lie. If it had all been some ruse to get what she wanted.
Alastor had to admit, she had gotten him fair and square. Y/n had had him so absolutely wrapped-around-her-pinky-finger in love that she hadn't even been the one to bring up the deal. He had thought he was being sweet, romantic even. It was unfamiliar territory for the man and it had been important. He had fretted over the right way to ask her for weeks.
When he finally had, she was ecstatic at the idea of them joining souls, of giving themselves so fully and completely over to one another. A contract for each of them, an equal exchange.
As a sign of good faith, a mistake he would never be making again, Alastor had offered to go first. When the green smoke had lifted from their clasped hands and he had first caught sight of her face, of her wicked grin, he knew he had fucked up.
Y/n stepped up to him. With a gentle hand, she wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye. Alastor hadn't even realized it had been there, so preoccupied with his own pity. He held his smile strong as she examined the little drop of salt water on her finger, smiling ruefully.
"What do I want from you." she mused softly to herself, "Well, I think I already have everything, wouldn't you agree?"
A green chain materialized in her hand as she spoke, the tear hitting it, melding with the metal as it became solid and she grasped it firmly. With a tug, she sent Alastor to the floor. He fell to his knees harshly, the impact reverberating through his bones.
He had loved her once. Now, looking up at her, he loved her still. He was a fool, through and through. Not because of his persisting love but because of his persisting hope, the fact that he had trusted her. The fact that he still trusted her. The fact that after everything, it somehow still made him the slightest bit joyful to see Y/n smiling and know he was the cause.
More than anything, he wanted to ask her if she regretted what had happened, what she had done. Alastor held his tongue. Even if she was, it was too late. There was no point in asking.
"I can't keep doing this." was what he chose to say instead, his voice was barley more than a whisper.
Y/n's smile fell, her eye brows raised as she crouched down in front of him, pulling the chain tight between them. She delicately placed a finger beneath his chin, forcing his eyes to meet hers.
"It doesn't matter. You will."
He knew she was right. Curse or no curse, he would come when she called.
"What can I do for you?" he asked again, his tone resolute.
"You can burn."
And burn he did.
There was a reason Alastor had avoided intimacy, it was because he had been afraid of it. A secret part of him had always yearned, a secret part that even now still felt fulfilled at her gentle touch. All along, he had been right that love would destroy him. Never in his wildest dreams did he think that it would have happened in this way or, that after everything, he would still care for the woman in question, his captor.
"Ask me again." she commanded.
"What can I do for you?"
He had been naïve, a fool.
"You can rot for all I care. Ask me again."
He was a fool still. A fool in love, a fool destroyed.
"What can I do for you?"
His breaths were labored, his heart open and bloodied. Y/n held it in the palms of her hands, given willingly. She radiated power crouched before him, holding his head close to hers with the chain.
"You can obey. Will you?"
"Yes."
The metal, cold and heavy, tugged against his neck, bruising the bone of his spine.
"For how long?"
"Forever."
There was no hesitation in his voice. A smile split her face in two, wicked and hungry.
"Good."
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chococolte · 2 years
Text
☼ — osculatus solem
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my take on sagau/cult au zhongli, reactions to first meeting you/as a worshiper + reactions to being your lover
word count. 4.2k
୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationship, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au shit, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.
୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. im sorry if tense is weird im kinda dumb lol
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Zhongli has waited for you for six-thousand years.
It wasn’t until he was faced with you that he realized how cruel the wait was. Six-thousand years of patiently waiting had never felt like grueling punishment until he realized what he was deprived of. Like a man starved, he had grown used to the numbness of constant hunger— he found it almost comforting, as he had lived his entire life malnourished. He lived unaware of what it was like to have a full stomach.
Your presence is primeval. It emanates, and it overwhelms all else. When Zhongli looked into your eyes for the first time, he finally felt complete. He was finally where he was meant to be. Finally with who he was meant to be with.
The scripture had described you in detail, but there were only so many words, so many different ways to speak of you. None of them could compare to how you looked in person, standing in front of him.
Your eyes hold all the knowledge in the world. Constellations and stars shine within them, a myriad of stellar tapestries formed within the small reflective surface of your eyes. Past, present, and future dance inside, moving according to your design. You see all. You are all. Everything that is, and everything that will be, is you. Every burgeoning bud, blooming flower, roaring wave, and colossal beast; you are every death, there in every mournful cry and scornful glare; you are every mortal life and every god.
You are the sun that brings warmth to Teyvat, the moon that caresses its tides, and Zhongli wants nothing more than to worship you for it.
Zhongli was not always your devout worshiper. He was once, like all of his temperament, rebellious and spiteful. He refused to believe that all of his victories in battle had simply been part of your design. Just a single thread in your grand tapestry.
His triumphs were his, and his alone. He won by his own virtue, will, and vigor. He won by his own hand, spear, and stone. You did not aid him in his wars. You did not save anyone worth saving. Zhongli watched his allies die, slip through his fingers like grains of sand— and he would never thank you for what he endured. He promised himself that if ever faced with you and your faux benevolence, he would demand answers from you. You owed him that much. A recompense for all the hardship and injury he had sustained.
Zhongli, in his youthful hubris, did not care who heard his blasphemy, and whether they thought it distasteful or not. He was the god of war, and would allow no being to silence his voice. Zhongli bathed in his rage, wallowed in it; he would not allow himself to believe what others so easily indulged in. Ignorance led way to arrogance.
Guizhong had always been of the opinion that you were a kind, gentle god. She argued that your light could not be quantified, nor labeled; just because you did not act in ways he could see, did not mean you did not act at all. You breathed life into the abandoned, the lost— you embraced those without a home, without purpose. You forgave and you pardoned, and you rained down fury on those wicked and vile.
Zhongli had long grown used to her arguments. Every victory of theirs, despite the tight grip on his weapon and the ichor on his blade, was attributed to you— your grace, your blessings. By your grace you allowed them one more day, by your blessings you allowed them one more triumph. Zhongli thought her pitiful; you had done nothing to deserve her kindness. She worshiped you, and what had you given her in response to her devotion?
Guizhong died in his hands, and he had nothing to show for it. Helplessness ate it's way at him, through his flesh and bone. What was left was nothing more than a husk, a parody of a god. What was once anger at authority transformed into righteous anger at the one who made him. You allowed him his victories, to parade around with pride and vanity; you gave him your blessings, benediction and approval, and yet you let the one who meant the most to him die. The one who worshiped you above all else.
Why did he live over her? He did not appreciate you. He did not worship you. He made no offerings, nor did he pray. He did not believe in your salvation, neither did he ordain your will. But he was the one left behind with the sorrow and the guilt, and Guizhong was the one turned to dust. Why was he chosen?
Zhongli knew that asking questions was meaningless. You would not deign to answer. Maybe it was to be expected. Why would an Almighty God answer to a lower being demanding answers far beyond their comprehension? Why should you have to explain yourself, when you saw all? Zhongli was merely the god of Geo. You could take even that from him.
You were the God of All. The Primordial One. No being had authority over you; not even one of the Seven.
It was only in the light of Guizhong's death that Zhongli had finally begun to understand her perspective. He might’ve been alone, but that did not make you cruel. It did not mean you were unable to be kind, tender and loving. You loved as much as you breathed— the world was showered in your love for it, in the wind that caressed its people and the sea that fed them. Your love was in its bountiful harvests and its gentle rain.
You loved just as any other, but Zhongli had long refused to see it.
He started small. Gestures of devotion hidden underneath many layers of misty glass, only clear to those who looked hard enough. Zhongli had postured to those still with him that he no longer minded if they worshiped you in his presence. If he was feeling particularly daring, he would join in and mutter a small word or two of thanks. Perhaps he thought of it as a way to make up to Guizhong after so many years of his disapproval.
Though he may have found it unbearable at the beginning, he soon began to pray to you in times of need. He looked for you when he found himself in need of counsel, forgoing the people around him. He made offerings in your name when there was a drought or a shortage, praying for your guidance. Even if he did not initially believe that you would truly respond, the comfort it brought outweighed the logistics. If there was no one else he could turn to, he still had you— and you would never forsake him.
Zhongli started to find your answers in the strangest of places. An arrangement of flowers in some botanical garden of some odd scion, the conversation of two orphan boys that shed a new perspective; a tale that seemed almost catered to him told by a storyteller at a tea house. Perhaps he was imagining things— he surely would have thought so a millennium earlier. But were they truly coincidences, if they only happened after he had prayed and offered at his altar for you?
If it was the Zhongli of old, he would have said yes. But the Zhongli of new knew better now: it was you, speaking to him through indirect means. You answered his prayers and accepted his offerings. You forgave him for what he had done and the things he had said in the past.
Liyue was modeled after what Zhongli believed you favored the most. Its jagged cliffs, jeweled karsts, cuihua forests, and vibrant plant life; sculpted and molded to fit your tastes. He sometimes daydreams of showing you his life’s work— would you like it? Would you tell him he’s done a good job, that he had done enough to please you? If you found it distasteful, would you tell him why? Even if it meant tearing the land asunder and usurping the earth that tethers it to its place in the sea, Zhongli would change whatever it is you dislike immediately.
Even if the problem was himself. He would happily bow his head, whisper one last plead for forgiveness, and take his own life. If it was your will, there is nothing he wouldn't do.
When Zhongli meets the Traveler for the first time, he is frozen in place. His heart drops to his stomach as he sees the gleam of your existence in their eyes. It's you. You're here, in front of him— he wants to kneel and worship you the way he's always wanted, but…
Why is it them, and not him?
Zhongli knows he shouldn’t be jealous. It’s a blessing in the first place to meet you like this. It's a blessing to know that you're real. But he can’t stop himself from lying awake at night, thinking of what it would be like if he was the eyes through which you experienced this world.
It’s an ugly feeling. A twisted, nasty feeling. It leaves him feeling bitter in the morning and sick whenever he sees the Traveler walking through Liyue’s streets. He assists them on their quest, because you are there with them— watching him through their eyes. He hopes to leave a good impression, to assure you that there is no problem with him; perhaps, that is why you did not choose him? Because he was faulty in some form?
Hours upon hours of self-reflection spent in dark, locked rooms. Zhongli stays there, looking in mirrors, searching for reasons why. He looks at his mortal form and wonders: is this why? Did you want him to serve you as the Geo Archon for longer? Why not him?
Was he not enough? Was Liyue not enough? You are never wrong, never incorrect— the problem lies with him. But no matter how long he looks, he can't find the reason. He's better in every way. Better in his devotion for you, better in his worship— he would kneel until his knees turned raw and skin gave way to bone, he would pray and sing your praises until his throat bled. He built Liyue with earth and stone, and cracked the land until it was worthy enough of a formation, molding it with his hands to please you. He had changed himself until he was deserving of your forgiveness, until he was worthy enough to worship you.
The voice in the back of his head tells him it was because he once hated you. Once, when he was a fool and a heathen, he spat on your good name, derided it with disgust. Zhongli thought you forgave him for the sins of his past. He thought you still loved him despite it. He thought he had purified himself long ago, but perhaps he still had some rot left to root out. What part of him wasn’t perfect? What part of him wasn’t enough for you?
Zhongli knows he’s only being ungrateful. You’ve done enough for him. Who is he to demand more?
REVERENTIA ; first meeting/as a worshiper
Zhongli did not know what to do with himself when his eyes laid on your figure for the first time.
You were beautiful. Resplendent and illustrious. When you spoke, crying out so timorously, he shuddered involuntarily. He clasped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to steady his breathing, but your voice was infectious. His heart felt heavy in his chest as you looked at him with wide eyes.
Nothing could compare to your stare, to the life that swirled within your eyes.
Zhongli knelt, then, his head hitting the floor. His shoulders trembled with tension as he kept them taut and straight, keeping his posture as poised as possible.
His first words to you: "Welcome home."
Whether your reaction was volatile or not, Zhongli is at your beck and call. He waits on you hand and foot, staying by your side and keeping close. He acts as your shadow, following your orders, even simple commands, as if the result of his failure will be death. Zhongli is aware that your current form is weaker, mortal in nature; but when you ascend once more, he wants to be known as the one who never doubted you, never thought of you as lesser because of your current circumstances.
Zhongli, despite his worship of propriety, is still prone to decadence. His hands as he helps you dress linger for far longer than they should, brushing against the soft skin of your shoulders. The tips of his gloves burn from where they've touched you, and you notice him wearing them less and less often, now.
In Zhongli's eyes, you are never wrong. You stand at the pinnacle of righteousness, justice and light; anything you say is gospel. He commits all of your opinions, even of the littlest, pettiest things, to memory. His personal thoughts on the matter are meaningless, now— if you dislike it, then it's bad. Simple as that. If you find something enjoyable, then it's good. If your concept of morality is twisted and murky, then he will morph his own to match it; there is no internal struggle, no hesitation in his thoughts and behavior. Your will is all that matters.
When in your presence, Zhongli is perfect. He is courteous, gentle, and benign. He never does anything without your explicit permission. He brews you tea, and tells you anything you wish to know. He worships you with so much vigor it's hard to deny him.
Outside of it, he is barely hanging on by a thread.
Zhongli doesn't know how he lived without you before. He feels vaguely sick even thinking of going back to when you were not present. Just a moment without you is hellish. Every step away from you is like walking on scorching coal. It is an agonizing pain, one slow and tortuous.
He has never felt such pain before. The mere thought of leaving you by your lonesome sends him into a frenzy powered only by his desire to stay by you. He is willing to tear anyone apart should they stand in between him and his god. He can't leave, not when he isn't worthy of your forgiveness yet, not when you're so fragile in your current form.
Every night he rests only barely. Every morning he rises with relief, knowing that once more he is allowed to bask in your company.
Perhaps he's still driven by his insecurity, by the idea of you thinking him unworthy of you.
Zhongli speaks of your grace and elegance, of the light you inspire; he tells you how long he's worshiped you, how long he's loved you.
He tells you of his devotion, of the offerings he's left at your gilded altars, jewels and the finest riches. Zhongli brings them directly to you, now, with an uncharacteristic bashfulness.
He tells you of the wars he's fought in your name, of the blasphemers he's slaughtered— though, conveniently leaving out that he used to be one. Zhongli hopes you're proud of the things he's done in your name, that you will finally embrace him, utterly and wholly.
In the dark of the night, when doubt and searing loneliness so clearly bite at his mind, Zhongli walks to your room. He never dares to walk inside, always conscious of your privacy— but he kneels outside your doors with muted footsteps, only the soft echo of ruffling fabric to accompany him.
He mumbles into the gelid floor unintelligible prayers. He listens for your breathing, for assurance you're still within reach. His unrest is barely abated each time.
When he is particularly nervous, he stands by your doors until morning light, shoulders trembling with unease until you rise from your slumber.
Zhongli is fearful. His muscles are tense as he whispers pleadings that you stay, that you at least say goodbye, should you leave again. He fears one day he will awake and you will be gone.
He fears that he will be left alone again, once more without the tenderness of your guidance. Back to when he had thrown you away, when he only knew of bloodshed and the weight on his shoulders.
You freed him from his self-imposed shackles, whether knowingly or not.
Only when he's assured you're safe will he allow himself peace and serenity.
Only then, will he finally rest in the only paradise he wishes for: being by your side for eternity.
VENUSTUS ; as your lover
Zhongli has always loved you. By virtue of your holiness and sacred being, he has always loved you as his god. As his guiding hand and light, sculpting him into the Archon you want him to be; into a believer worthy of worshiping you.
Faced with your luminous presence, finally able to see what he has only imagined before, Zhongli's love for you only grows. It unfurls like a blossoming glaze lily, petals perfect and serene.
He would never dare presume that his feelings are returned. As his God, you are above him in every way— you are above him in every breath, every step you take. In every slight movement of your fingers, you establish the bridge between you. The line he should never cross.
You are above him. He is beneath you.
Whether it is intentional or not, Zhongli knows his place. He is grateful to be where he is, blessed enough to stand beside you in any capacity. To know that you exist would've been enough, but to care for you personally— to be the one with whom you spend the most of your treasured time with; that is an honor worth dying for.
Zhongli has played with the idea of being your consort before. Of being yours, utterly and entirely. He never lets the thought stay for long. Shame begins to eat at him all too quickly, twisting his stomach into knots of guilt and remorse. He's embarrassed more than anything; of having the gall to dare to imagine himself ever being so important to you.
The thought would've never crossed his mind before, the mere idea laughable. You were untouchable. Above even The Seven, above Celestia. You had not shown interest in any individual for a millennium, and it would be no different now.
But Zhongli knows you now. He's felt the brush of your touch, the zephyr of your breath when he leans in too close. He's felt the warmth running through your veins, the warmth that leaves him flustered, even when you've only touched him for a moment.
The thoughts come more often, now. More vivid. More apparent. You cradle him in your arms, whispering soft words of loyalty and love. You hold his hands in your own, intertwining your fingers, and tell him how you have come to love him. He is special. He alone is yours; no one else.
It terrifies him.
Zhongli is nothing more than your worshiper. He is your servant. He may have been a god, but now he is just your tool. He is content with that much. He should be content with that much. But his heart wants more from you, more than you've deigned to give him.
It wants your love. Your attention. His heart yearns to be special to you; to be the sole holder of your affection.
It's a selfish desire. A nasty one. One that he wishes he could remove, exorcise out of him like a spirit. But every attempt to carve it out of him only leaves him bleeding, and it hurts more to pretend like it doesn't exist. It burns him from the inside out, a fiery jealousy that roars whenever he sees you with another.
It should be me, his heart trembles. It should be me, his heart weeps.
Zhongli is terribly flustered when you begin to show signs of reciprocation. Small things like careful touches, honeyed tones, and words of favor. You compliment him more often, go out of your way to do things that please him; brushing and running your fingers through his hair, listening to him spin tales of old. He is aware that you must know everything already, but you look at him with such big eyes of wonder and interest he can’t help but go on.
He’s barely able to speak when you admit to him your feelings. His heart beats fast in his ears like war drums, his heartstrings tightening as if nocked by an arrow.
It's an uncharacteristic moment of timidity for the wise ex-archon. He's stammering over his words, barely able to keep up his façade of calm. Is that something you truly wish to do? With him?
You assure him— I want this, you say— and Zhongli allows himself to believe you. He follows you when you lead him by the hand into the palace of your heart. He cradles it softly in his hands, gentle and delicate. Zhongli swears to never hurt you, to never let another harm you in any way; but he still fears, still doubts you.
It should be expected for you to have multiple consorts. Multiple lovers, all equally vying for your attention. Zhongli should be happy that you have any interest in him at all— but the thought of being second to another in your heart makes him sick.
Venti, the verdant bard, does nothing but drink. He wastes away his woes in bottles of wine and bourbon; surely, you will not choose him over Zhongli? Ei lorded over her people and took their freedom away. Her reasons do not matter. All for an eternity unreachable by mortals and gods, she attempted to trespass upon your domain. Surely, you will not choose her over him?
The thoughts are foolish. Nearly sacrilegious in nature. He has no control over you; no place to demand that you only love him. But Zhongli has spent thousands of years worshiping you— is it wrong of him to believe himself better than the rest? Venti does not worship you in the way he does, with such fervor or zeal. Ei may pray or rest her eyes beneath your statue, but she has not spoken good of your name like he has, hasn’t hunted blasphemers like he has.
She’d rather her servants deal with them, whenever they so rarely come. Zhongli deals with them personally, knuckles clenched around his blade.
In every way that matters, he is better. As such, he shouldn’t fear, shouldn’t worry of when you will inevitably grow bored— he should enjoy the moments he has with you, the brief time when he is all that you have. When he is still all that you want.
Fear still grips his throat with its tiny, intangible hands. Even if he severs its wrists, it continues to thrive; to suffocate him with its pervasive thoughts.
He must prove himself, it echoes. Or else he'll be deserted. Discarded when another proves themselves his better.
Zhongli won't let himself be thrown away. Whatever he must do to please you, he will do.
Until his mortal form wears down to nothing but dust and bone, until his only coherent thought is how wonderful it is to worship you— until you have no need for anyone else.
Whatever your command is, he will follow. As long as he alone stands in your heart, as long as he alone can kiss the dirt off your feet, he will be content.
He only hopes that he can love you as you deserve.
Zhongli’s zealous behavior worsens to an obscene degree. He never falters in his fervent, almost fervorous veneration— it becomes excessive, almost actorly. Though his obsequiousness appears inflated, it is entirely genuine; he fawns a tad more obviously, smiling with dazed eyes when you kiss his cheeks or lips.
This has always been how he feels. He's only unrestrained, now. And even still, he hides the deeper parts of his worship, the servile and fanatic in him that wants to drool at your lap. It's hard to stop himself every time you sit on your throne to immediately drop to his knees.
Zhongli is happy to give and never receive. He is pleased with being yours, though it never clicks in his mind that the same is applicable to you.
You are not his, but he is yours. If you call yourself his, Zhongli melts. His face blossoms red and it permeates his cheeks for hours afterward. His hands slightly shake and he has trouble standing still in the immediate aftermath. All he wants to do is kneel, and say I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—
If you'd like it, Zhongli would let you do whatever you want with him. Tear him apart with your bare hands, and shred him of any sense; it matters not as long as it's you.
You are everything, your love is everything. Even the softest of your kisses and touches have him breathless and numb, and anything else only serves to make him fall deeper into you.
Only with you is he easy to fluster. Anyone else, and he'd have punished them long ago, if not tore out their eyes for having seen him in such a state.
But it's you. You could crush his heart in your hands, leave him heartbroken and bitter, and Zhongli still would not find it in himself to hate you.
You are the lifeblood that runs underneath Teyvat’s cracked earth, the soft undercurrent that ties it together— and, if only you'd let him, Zhongli would worship you for it.
6K notes · View notes
thatbitchery · 4 months
Text
Unlearn the dumb idea that inflicted pain justifies your reaction to it. It doesn't. Ladies elite women make it because we have a level of stoicism that borders on sociopathic apathy, exhibit A: we don't react to triggers we mimosa, sleep, see if it's worth it then logically make decisions. The idea that when someone does you dirty you have the right to react based on emotions so you're angry mad throwing names & hands sending texts talking sheet & other loser girl things is dumb dumb. You're not justified to react. 'They did me wrong' . So? Sit down, watch Netflix, wait for the emotions to pass then use the head God so generously gave you + that pretty face bonus.
When you react to people doing you wrong you give them the permission to bypass their actions & focus on your reaction so if your bf cheats on you & you start screaming sending 1b texts making titktoks he can bypass his cheating & focus on you're immature you're abusive why did you hit me you're mentally unstable you throw things around bla bla & will never face what he did. When we say be non reactive we aren't asking you to be a stone we are asking you to be smart. Do you want to get manipulated? Abused? Sit down get a manicure & go for brunch. Run to your room scream cry anhiliate your pillow but when they're watching its Elsa Lite, froooozen ice queen don't let them in don't let them see, ever.
One tactic m3n use in divorce court is to get the lady so triggered she loses her cool then it's look at her could you live with that? I'm taking my child this is an abusive woman & men don't leave relationships they just trigger you into irrational behavior and use that as an excuse & crying is worse what did we say about public vulnerability? Go cry to your bestie and God in your house out here tears are a sign to bully you. When you're not reactive you throw THEM out of balance and you hold the cards, once you go 'right to my opinion I'm the victim' we'll find you a grave bc that's called social suicideeee.
Two friends. Real life story here, ladies. Ah high-school back in the good old days.
We call them Allie and Sara. High school circles were tight so you're friends with someone you're also friends with their bfs, right? Alice & Sara both got cheated on (by m3n looking like area 9 failed experiment Shrek cosplayers but that's not thepoint). The bfs know that they were discovered. Allie, Allie is that girl. Drama girl. Find him in cafeteria & make a scene girl. How could you cheat on me you suck your pp is short anyway bla bla watch me devalue myself. Allie feels good in the moment, her bf leaves and tell his friends of course i cheated that girl is crazy. Would you date someone like her? So immature. Women are so ovarical I can't handle it. Evening the story is- she was abusive. She hit him & threw words in public imagine in private? He's been protecting her in silence, you know women can be abusive too.
Sara, Sara my love. Sara sits next to her Shrek Lite boy and says hey so that girl you kissed, Jane was it? She's pretty. You have taste. End of story. After lunch her Human experiment failure boy says let's talk she says sure abd listens with 'mhm' and nods. She meant nothing babe she seduced me I'm an adolescent what can I do bla bla. She nods says okay and goes to class. Days goes as usual. Evening we get dinner , Weekend we do research for our papers & talk college. Is she talking to him? Yes. Painfully polite, painfully. No emojis no nothing just shallow dry polite texts. Let's talk about this babe- is left on blue ticks. Monday morning her factory reject lookalike is losing his mind, she's being painfully polite, in a shallow way, so he resorts to triggering. It's because you're like this you are like a man and I'm straight I need a woman bla bla. She says OK then turns to the next person & did you hear about the trip to the beach? Of course I'm going. Boy realizes that's not working & resorts to Allie behavior- throw a tantrum in public make yourself the victim why won't you give me the pleasure of being the one to push you to your edge? Sara says babe pull yourself together you're embarrassing your family. Do you need your anxiety meds? My therapist is good she can treat hysteria are you okay? No this isn't like you, this is hysteria babe do you need psychological help? No this isn't normal , hey do you guys think it's normal to do this? I'm calling your mom babe we are getting you a mental check hold up-
Heres a little secret. In private? In our dorms? Sara was BAWLING her eyes out. Chocolates & Styrofoam cups. We are talking 3am on the bathroom floor. In public?
Guess who won.
Unlearn the idea that you're entitled to reacting to others actions to you, you're not. Learn to hold your tongue and tears and smile and Elsa don't let then in don't let them see then call mom and spend the rest of the week in her arms crying. The amount of women I've seen triggered out of their jobs, marriages, houses, parenting &c when they were 10000% the victim from lack of emotional intelligence is unforgivable.
Dont, be dumb. Don't let yourself think you have the freedom of expression, you don't. Not in the way you want to. Go write a poem but remember everything you say can and will, in fact, be used against you.
Non reaction is the highest level of power in existence. Mind over body. Logic over emotion.
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newtkive · 3 months
Text
shift shenanigans - social media au (pt. 2)
note: yes there’s the main work chat w carmy, the secret coworker chat w/o carmy, and the secret secret bestie chat w syd, marcus, and yourself. it would be canon.
warnings: crude humor, slightly offensive jokes
part one
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liked by carmyberzatto, marcus.brooks11 and 40 others
chefboyardee: life lately
see all 9 comments
syd_adamu: that pho was life changing
↳ chefboyardee: i think it was the best i’ve ever had
marcus.brooks11: feet off the table @syd_adamu
↳ chefboyardee: leave my girl alone
↳ richietheking: I knew you guys were lez
↳ syd_adamu: we aren’t and you can’t say that
↳ chefboyardee: oh.. we aren’t? ☹️😔
↳ syd_adamu: 😑
carmyberzatto: 🍲🔥
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THE GOLDEN TRIO
[ 7:45 AM ]
y/n: did you see
did you see
did
you
see
ogmgokggkowkfofsk
syd: pardon??
what did richie do oh my god
did he post another picture of him with the gun from that one day
fuckkkk carmys gonna be so mad
marcus: nope i wish
y/n: he commented on my post 😭😭😭😭
syd: who
marcus: think about it
who else would cause this reaction
y/n: carmy!!!!!!!
i woke up to him commenting 🍲🔥 😍😍😍😍
syd: woah and the heart eyes?
y/n: no that’s my addition
syd: the bar is in hell
HES YOUR BOSS
y/n: AND I WANT HIS BABIES??
marcus: y’all so hype to be pregnant THEN BOOOMMM ‼️ THE BABY’S UGLY AND BALD WITH ECZEMA 😩🤨
syd: LMFAOOOOO WHOS YALL THO????
y/n: bye im done
im leaving for work.
don’t talk to me ever again
done.
marcus: bye 👋
why do you leave so early fool
syd: so she can be teachers pet
marcus: smh always there before everyone
y/n: not true.
syd: i thought you weren’t talking to us
y/n: 😒
marcus: want me to bring y’all an iced latte again
y/n: …. 😁
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WORK
[ 8:15 AM ]
y/n: AYOOOO
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great job cleaning up after work yesterday 😊👍
richie: Is this a joke?
y/n: why would i joke about such a thing
carmy: Y/n what are you doing
y/n: u said to tell everyone their housekeeping is shitty
carmy: No I said I was going to tell them that, and you said no I’ll do it
This is not what I meant
y/n: well you yell too much
marcus: ouch
that’s my station 😔
carmy: Well clean it better
y/n: im using reverse psychology and positive reinforcement
carmy: Not what that means
y/n: well notice how no one’s mad at me
im making alliances day by day
richie: You’ve worked here for two years and we are already friends
y/n: so you’re saying you aren’t my ally
richie: No
We are definitley in an alliance
y/n: love u richie
richie: Don’t go that far
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chefboyardee’s instagram stories
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WE HAVE THE BEEF 🥩
[ 3:25 PM ]
y/n:
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he so fine im bouta cermmmmm
syd: …..
marcus: :O
y/n: why are you acting shocked
like i haven’t said this daily
tina: Woah girl who?
y/n: HUH
richie: I’m not in the picture I don’t get it
syd: let’s just keep working before carmy notices
tina: I don’t care I’m on smoke break. Who are you talking about girl? Spill the tea..
marcus: she was talking about me you guys
y/n: the guy in the back
oh i mean yeah marcus
tina: The meat delivery guy? He has a wife..
y/n: we are having an affair
marcus: no it’s about me
richie: I didn’t know Marcus and Y/n were a thing..
tina: Something ain’t right. No way they are.
marcus: we aren’t it’s just our sense of humor
y/n: i was just being funny!
tina: What did Jeff just yell inside?
syd: came out of the office and said “just cuz we’re slow doesn’t mean you can play on your phones” 👍💯
tina: Whatever. No chance Y/n meant Marcus. You got the hots for Jeffrey?
y/n: what no
tina: Well I wouldn’t blame you. He’s cute
y/n: OMG RIGHTTTTTTT
its the tattoos isn’t it
richie: You have to be fucking joking
tina: I was playing..
y/n: im confused
syd: that was cruel
marcus: who cares it’s not a big deal
y/n: so you don’t think he’s cute tina?? ☹️☹️
tina: No he is cute… for you 😝
y/n: this is humiliating
richie: I’ll tell him
y/n: NO
stop
sSTOP THATS NOT FUNNY
richie im not joking i’ll put a bomb in your floorboards
richie: I’m just fucking with you kid
tina: This isn’t over.
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THE GOLDEN TRIO:
[ 3:40 PM ]
syd: y/n….
marcus: you look like a ghost y/n
y/n: i cannot believe i sent that to the wrong gc
i’m done im so done
marcus: stop looking so sad it’s making me feel bad
syd: it’s okay! just be thankful it wasn’t to the work groupchat with him in it..
marcus: true it could be worse
y/n: i guess so
thank you for trying to cover for me marcus
marcus: anytime you know i got you
syd: let’s get back to work before we start looking obvious
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Text
Demon-haunted computers are back, baby
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Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables on Jan 22 at 8PM.
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As a science fiction writer, I am professionally irritated by a lot of sf movies. Not only do those writers get paid a lot more than I do, they insist on including things like "self-destruct" buttons on the bridges of their starships.
Look, I get it. When the evil empire is closing in on your flagship with its secret transdimensional technology, it's important that you keep those secrets out of the emperor's hand. An irrevocable self-destruct switch there on the bridge gets the job done! (It has to be irrevocable, otherwise the baddies'll just swarm the bridge and toggle it off).
But c'mon. If there's a facility built into your spaceship that causes it to explode no matter what the people on the bridge do, that is also a pretty big security risk! What if the bad guy figures out how to hijack the measure that – by design – the people who depend on the spaceship as a matter of life and death can't detect or override?
I mean, sure, you can try to simplify that self-destruct system to make it easier to audit and assure yourself that it doesn't have any bugs in it, but remember Schneier's Law: anyone can design a security system that works so well that they themselves can't think of a flaw in it. That doesn't mean you've made a security system that works – only that you've made a security system that works on people stupider than you.
I know it's weird to be worried about realism in movies that pretend we will ever find a practical means to visit other star systems and shuttle back and forth between them (which we are very, very unlikely to do):
https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/09/astrobezzle/#send-robots-instead
But this kind of foolishness galls me. It galls me even more when it happens in the real world of technology design, which is why I've spent the past quarter-century being very cross about Digital Rights Management in general, and trusted computing in particular.
It all starts in 2002, when a team from Microsoft visited our offices at EFF to tell us about this new thing they'd dreamed up called "trusted computing":
https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/05/trusting-trust/#thompsons-devil
The big idea was to stick a second computer inside your computer, a very secure little co-processor, that you couldn't access directly, let alone reprogram or interfere with. As far as this "trusted platform module" was concerned, you were the enemy. The "trust" in trusted computing was about other people being able to trust your computer, even if they didn't trust you.
So that little TPM would do all kinds of cute tricks. It could observe and produce a cryptographically signed manifest of the entire boot-chain of your computer, which was meant to be an unforgeable certificate attesting to which kind of computer you were running and what software you were running on it. That meant that programs on other computers could decide whether to talk to your computer based on whether they agreed with your choices about which code to run.
This process, called "remote attestation," is generally billed as a way to identify and block computers that have been compromised by malware, or to identify gamers who are running cheats and refuse to play with them. But inevitably it turns into a way to refuse service to computers that have privacy blockers turned on, or are running stream-ripping software, or whose owners are blocking ads:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/02/self-incrimination/#wei-bai-bai
After all, a system that treats the device's owner as an adversary is a natural ally for the owner's other, human adversaries. The rubric for treating the owner as an adversary focuses on the way that users can be fooled by bad people with bad programs. If your computer gets taken over by malicious software, that malware might intercept queries from your antivirus program and send it false data that lulls it into thinking your computer is fine, even as your private data is being plundered and your system is being used to launch malware attacks on others.
These separate, non-user-accessible, non-updateable secure systems serve a nubs of certainty, a remote fortress that observes and faithfully reports on the interior workings of your computer. This separate system can't be user-modifiable or field-updateable, because then malicious software could impersonate the user and disable the security chip.
It's true that compromised computers are a real and terrifying problem. Your computer is privy to your most intimate secrets and an attacker who can turn it against you can harm you in untold ways. But the widespread redesign of out computers to treat us as their enemies gives rise to a range of completely predictable and – I would argue – even worse harms. Building computers that treat their owners as untrusted parties is a system that works well, but fails badly.
First of all, there are the ways that trusted computing is designed to hurt you. The most reliable way to enshittify something is to supply it over a computer that runs programs you can't alter, and that rats you out to third parties if you run counter-programs that disenshittify the service you're using. That's how we get inkjet printers that refuse to use perfectly good third-party ink and cars that refuse to accept perfectly good engine repairs if they are performed by third-party mechanics:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon
It's how we get cursed devices and appliances, from the juicer that won't squeeze third-party juice to the insulin pump that won't connect to a third-party continuous glucose monitor:
https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/
But trusted computing doesn't just create an opaque veil between your computer and the programs you use to inspect and control it. Trusted computing creates a no-go zone where programs can change their behavior based on whether they think they're being observed.
The most prominent example of this is Dieselgate, where auto manufacturers murdered hundreds of people by gimmicking their cars to emit illegal amount of NOX. Key to Dieselgate was a program that sought to determine whether it was being observed by regulators (it checked for the telltale signs of the standard test-suite) and changed its behavior to color within the lines.
Software that is seeking to harm the owner of the device that's running it must be able to detect when it is being run inside a simulation, a test-suite, a virtual machine, or any other hallucinatory virtual world. Just as Descartes couldn't know whether anything was real until he assured himself that he could trust his senses, malware is always questing to discover whether it is running in the real universe, or in a simulation created by a wicked god:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/28/descartes-was-an-optimist/#uh-oh
That's why mobile malware uses clever gambits like periodically checking for readings from your device's accelerometer, on the theory that a virtual mobile phone running on a security researcher's test bench won't have the fidelity to generate plausible jiggles to match the real data that comes from a phone in your pocket:
https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2019/01/google-play-malware-used-phones-motion-sensors-to-conceal-itself/
Sometimes this backfires in absolutely delightful ways. When the Wannacry ransomware was holding the world hostage, the security researcher Marcus Hutchins noticed that its code made reference to a very weird website: iuqerfsodp9ifjaposdfjhgosurijfaewrwergwea.com. Hutchins stood up a website at that address and every Wannacry-infection in the world went instantly dormant:
https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/10/flintstone-delano-roosevelt/#the-matrix
It turns out that Wannacry's authors were using that ferkakte URL the same way that mobile malware authors were using accelerometer readings – to fulfill Descartes' imperative to distinguish the Matrix from reality. The malware authors knew that security researchers often ran malicious code inside sandboxes that answered every network query with fake data in hopes of eliciting responses that could be analyzed for weaknesses. So the Wannacry worm would periodically poll this nonexistent website and, if it got an answer, it would assume that it was being monitored by a security researcher and it would retreat to an encrypted blob, ceasing to operate lest it give intelligence to the enemy. When Hutchins put a webserver up at iuqerfsodp9ifjaposdfjhgosurijfaewrwergwea.com, every Wannacry instance in the world was instantly convinced that it was running on an enemy's simulator and withdrew into sulky hibernation.
The arms race to distinguish simulation from reality is critical and the stakes only get higher by the day. Malware abounds, even as our devices grow more intimately woven through our lives. We put our bodies into computers – cars, buildings – and computers inside our bodies. We absolutely want our computers to be able to faithfully convey what's going on inside them.
But we keep running as hard as we can in the opposite direction, leaning harder into secure computing models built on subsystems in our computers that treat us as the threat. Take UEFI, the ubiquitous security system that observes your computer's boot process, halting it if it sees something it doesn't approve of. On the one hand, this has made installing GNU/Linux and other alternative OSes vastly harder across a wide variety of devices. This means that when a vendor end-of-lifes a gadget, no one can make an alternative OS for it, so off the landfill it goes.
It doesn't help that UEFI – and other trusted computing modules – are covered by Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), which makes it a felony to publish information that can bypass or weaken the system. The threat of a five-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine means that UEFI and other trusted computing systems are understudied, leaving them festering with longstanding bugs:
https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/09/free-sample/#que-viva
Here's where it gets really bad. If an attacker can get inside UEFI, they can run malicious software that – by design – no program running on our computers can detect or block. That badware is running in "Ring -1" – a zone of privilege that overrides the operating system itself.
Here's the bad news: UEFI malware has already been detected in the wild:
https://securelist.com/cosmicstrand-uefi-firmware-rootkit/106973/
And here's the worst news: researchers have just identified another exploitable UEFI bug, dubbed Pixiefail:
https://blog.quarkslab.com/pixiefail-nine-vulnerabilities-in-tianocores-edk-ii-ipv6-network-stack.html
Writing in Ars Technica, Dan Goodin breaks down Pixiefail, describing how anyone on the same LAN as a vulnerable computer can infect its firmware:
https://arstechnica.com/security/2024/01/new-uefi-vulnerabilities-send-firmware-devs-across-an-entire-ecosystem-scrambling/
That vulnerability extends to computers in a data-center where the attacker has a cloud computing instance. PXE – the system that Pixiefail attacks – isn't widely used in home or office environments, but it's very common in data-centers.
Again, once a computer is exploited with Pixiefail, software running on that computer can't detect or delete the Pixiefail code. When the compromised computer is queried by the operating system, Pixiefail undetectably lies to the OS. "Hey, OS, does this drive have a file called 'pixiefail?'" "Nope." "Hey, OS, are you running a process called 'pixiefail?'" "Nope."
This is a self-destruct switch that's been compromised by the enemy, and which no one on the bridge can de-activate – by design. It's not the first time this has happened, and it won't be the last.
There are models for helping your computer bust out of the Matrix. Back in 2016, Edward Snowden and bunnie Huang prototyped and published source code and schematics for an "introspection engine":
https://assets.pubpub.org/aacpjrja/AgainstTheLaw-CounteringLawfulAbusesofDigitalSurveillance.pdf
This is a single-board computer that lives in an ultraslim shim that you slide between your iPhone's mainboard and its case, leaving a ribbon cable poking out of the SIM slot. This connects to a case that has its own OLED display. The board has leads that physically contact each of the network interfaces on the phone, conveying any data they transit to the screen so that you can observe the data your phone is sending without having to trust your phone.
(I liked this gadget so much that I included it as a major plot point in my 2020 novel Attack Surface, the third book in the Little Brother series):
https://craphound.com/attacksurface/
We don't have to cede control over our devices in order to secure them. Indeed, we can't ever secure them unless we can control them. Self-destruct switches don't belong on the bridge of your spaceship, and trusted computing modules don't belong in your devices.
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I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.
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If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/17/descartes-delenda-est/#self-destruct-sequence-initiated
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Image: Mike (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/stillwellmike/15676883261/
CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/
577 notes · View notes
junkdrawerfics · 5 months
Note
hiya! could you write a jasper fic where the reader meets the major? i'm obsessed with how you write for jasper 🥺
A Major Moment
Summary: Takes place in Breaking Dawn, when all the covens show up to be witnesses for the Cullens. Jasper is worried about you being around so many vampires, especially when he starts to feel like he's losing control. When an incident does occur, the Major steps in to save the day. But you have no clue what's happening.
Words: 2456
Note: I'm alive! And writing again. This work gave me so much trouble before I took my break, but I'm pretty happy with it! I hope you like it, thank you for the request!
---
“I don’t like you bein’ here,” Jasper murmurs stiffly, leaning against the doorway to your shared room.
“I know, Jazz, but I’m worried about what’ll happen if I’m not here.” You pull on your coat, turning to meet his concerned gaze. It makes you soften and you give him a gentle smile, “You think I haven’t noticed how tense you’ve been lately, huh mister?”
Jasper’s lips press into a thin line, a wrinkle forming between his brows. Of course you noticed. 
It started the moment Alice had the vision of the Volturi coming for their family. He felt it, in the back of his mind. That slight pull. The need to feel in control. Him. 
Jasper was used to it. He had plenty of practice holding him back, only letting the edges fray enough to help. Like when they fought the newborn army, or when the two of you and Alice had fled with Bella from the hunter. He could control it. He had to.
You were never meant to meet that part of him, the one with stained hands and war-driven convictions. You were too soft for that side of him, too…breakable. So Jasper did everything in his power to keep him out of it, locked away deep in the recesses of his mind.
But then their allies started to appear and something shifted. The pull turned into a dull pressure in his chest, like a beast pressing at the bars of its cage. Snarling, vicious, protective. He could feel it as he watched you interact with them, oblivious to the danger, the hunger he could feel radiating from all of them. It set his teeth grinding.
“You shouldn’t trust ‘em, darlin,” the blond warns you, voice almost a growl.
“They’re our allies, Jazz,” you remind him softly, curling your arms around his waist. The vampire is tense, tenser than usual. You prop your chin against his chest, wide eyes squinting. “Plus I have you. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they’re all pretty intimidated by you. They won’t try anything.”
That does give him a strange sense of satisfaction. While he considers most of these people friends, he knows that he won’t be able to control himself if one of them touches you. The family had made it clear. You’re off limits. Every human in Forks is off limits. Still-
“Hey.” You pinch his ribs, making Jasper jump. Those gold eyes flicker back down to you questioningly. You shake your head, giggling, “Stop worrying! I’m fine, they’re fine, everything will turn out okay. You can relax, Jazz, I’m safe.”
The stiffness lasts for only a few moments before Jasper gives in and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. He’s always had trouble resisting you, especially when you radiate such warmth. There’s no doubt, no hesitation in your emotions. Just complete and utter certainty in him.
The beast goes quiet, if only for a moment.
A moment that disappears as soon as you join the covens downstairs.
The room is tense, filled with quiet, murmured conversations. They’re all on edge. Though they were all asked to come only to be witnesses before the Volturi, the expectation of a battle still hangs over the house.
You flicker among them, sparking conversation, making jokes, trying to just lighten the mood. It’s the least you can do to help. And this way you don’t feel so useless. If it does come down to a fight, that is exactly what you’ll be. You’re only human after all.
Jasper lingers along the wall, never taking his eyes off of you. 
It’s in moments like this he wishes he could turn his ability off. Every anxiety, every twitch of impatience, the collection of unspoken concern, he feels it all. It’s like walking through a fog so thick you can barely see. It's suffocating.
And he can feel him again. Prowling along the edges of his mind. Looking for just the right moment to-
A sharp gasp makes Jasper flinch. The smell of blood, your blood, hits him, and for a split second, his focus falters.
Enough for his control to slip.
---
You can barely process it.
One moment, you’re clutching your bleeding hand to your chest, fear freezing you to the ground as you watch a man lunge for you, teeth bared in a snarl.
The next moment, that same man is crashing through the wall of windows, the sound of shattering glass ringing through the air. The whole room goes dead silent.
Jasper stands in his place, drawing back to his full height, face a mask of impassivity, eyes alight with a rage that makes everyone recoil. It pours off of him, fills the room like the static before the storm. 
Your breath freezes in your lungs when he turns to you. It feels like one wrong move could set him off. On what? You don’t know. But you stay stock still as his eyes trace over you slowly. They catch on the blood oozing out between your fingers, the ones you desperately press against your wound. Something dark flashes across his face, his jaw clenching.
“Upstairs.”
Your heart lurches to your throat, wariness and confusion flooding your chest. His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, accent thicker. An alarm goes off in your head.
When you don’t move, though, Jasper reaches for your arm, grip just shy of bruising.
“I said - upstairs.”
Before you can even get a word out, he’s dragging you in that direction, so fast you can barely keep up without stumbling. Glancing to the Cullens, you silently beg for some kind of help. You have no clue what’s going on. But the family just watches on as if they’ve seen this all before. Except Bella, who looks just as confused as you feel.
Your attention is forced back to staying upright when you reach the stairs. Jasper doesn’t slow down for even a second, not until you reach your room and he practically throws you inside. In an instant, you’re backed against a wall, his tall frame eclipsing yours.
“Show me,” he demands, voice low, barely restrained.
“What?” You squeak, eyes wide, heart racing. Something’s wrong.
“Show me your hand.”
You tighten your hold unconsciously. Panic grips you like a noose around your lungs. 
“I don’t- I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jazz,” you croak out. There’s too much blood.
Jasper’s eyes narrow, “And I don’t appreciate repeatin’ myself, sugar.”
“But-”
“Now.”
Flinching, you instantly offer him your hand. Even if it’s a bad idea, you don’t want to test this side of him. Something tells you that he could force you to if he wanted to and this is him being nice. 
You hold your breath when he takes your wrist, waiting for whatever’s going to happen next. Jasper’s never had an easy time controlling himself around your blood. You’ve worked on it, but this is too much, too sudden and you can’t help but brace for more pain.
But the seconds tick by and…nothing. You peek an eye open slowly. The blond moves with practiced ease, checking your pulse, carefully examining the edges of the gash, as if the blood isn’t even there.
Something’s different. Everything’s different. How he holds himself, the way he dragged you up here, his voice. And his eyes. It’s hard to not stare at them. Their usual gold depths are dark as amber, still burning with something completely violent, bloody and crimson and unnervingly calm. 
You’ve never once seen Jasper like this.
“What’s going on Jazz?” You ask, voice pitching up.
The vampire pauses, hard gaze flickering up to yours. You almost flinch, instincts screaming at you that being at the center of this man’s attention is dangerous. It feels like any moment that rage could turn on you, like a wolf, bloody maw ready to clamp around your neck.
“Are you scared, darlin’?” His voice is a low rumble, softer than before, but still rough, dark.
Swallowing thickly, you look down at your hands, head spinning. He quickly covers the cut on your palm, careful not to touch it, but keeping it from your eyes, as if he knows the sight of blood makes you dizzy. It’s at odds with everything else about him right now and it makes you think that your Jasper must still be there somewhere. The worst of your nerves fizzle out.
“I don’t know,” you whisper eventually, and his eyes narrow, “I don’t- I don’t understand what’s going on, or why you’re acting different, but I don’t think you’re trying to scare me. So..so, no, I don’t want to be.”
The man hums, lips pursing into a thin line as he goes back to examining your palm, “No tellin’ if that’s foolishness or courage.”
“Maybe both.” Your voice is still shaking. Taking a deep breath, you try again with a different question, “So who are you? Cause I don’t think you’re Jasper, at least not completely.”
He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, you watch as he steps back, disappearing into the bathroom for only a moment before reappearing with your first aid kit, the one you keep here for emergencies. With that same, practiced ease, the blond pulls out the supplies he needs and starts cleaning your wound.
“Most call me Major Whitlock.”
You hiss as he swipes alcohol over the cut. It stings almost as much as the wound itself, scattering your thoughts. The Major mumbles an apology, but doesn’t pause in his movements. It’s methodical, how he cleans it, applies some ointment, and then bandages it. Like he’s done it be-
Oh.
His words finally process in your mind. Major Whitlock. Jasper told you about him once, back when you first asked him about his scars. The man he was before you, before the Cullens. The man he had to be to deal with all that death. The Major.
“I never thought I’d meet you,” you murmur, all but forgetting your apprehension in the wave of curiosity that washes over you. 
“He never wanted you to,” the Major replies stiffly, taping off the wrap, “He’s scared I’ll hurt you.”
Brow furrowing, you glance down at your bandaged hand. It’s perfectly done and you can barely feel any more pain. Thanks to him.
“I can’t see why he’d think that,” you hum, head tilting, “You don’t seem all that dangerous to me.”
Wrong thing to say.
A sharp, unexpected tug on your wrist makes you squeak. The Major draws you flush to his chest, close enough that you can see the flecks of molten gold in his eyes and feel his cool breath against your face. It makes you freeze, hands trapped between your bodies, unable to do anything as he leans down, lips tauntingly close to yours.
“You shouldn’t be so naive, sugar,” he drawls, voice a low rasp. “You wouldn’t think so kindly of me if you knew what’s goin’ through my mind.”
Like how he wishes he had ripped the arms off the man downstairs for even thinking about touching you. Or how the scent of your blood makes him want to pin you against the wall and sink his teeth into your neck. He wants to know if you taste as cloyingly sweet as you smell. 
“I’m still not scared of you,” you whisper, blinking up at him with wide, doe-ish eyes, cheeks painted a tempting shade of red. “I know you won’t hurt me, Major.”
You trust him. He can feel it radiating from you, soft and warm and simple. It makes something violently possessive curl in the Major’s chest. You were right, after all. He would do anything to protect you, like a feral dog at your heel - loyal even if it killed him. He and Jasper could agree on that, as much as he might not want to admit it.
“You really are somethin’, sugar,” he muses, grip softening. There was no point in trying to scare you any further. You were a stubbornly sweet thing.
You offer him a shy smile, “Thank you. And thanks for saving me.”
The Major nods. “It was my pleasure.” 
He pauses, lips pursing. You watch as his gaze flickers over your face, something you can't pinpoint crossing his features. Then-
“Can I kiss you, sugar?”
You almost laugh. It’s a ridiculous question at this point, but it’s just so Jasper that you can’t help but grin. Guess he’s always been like this.
“If you want,” you hum.
And he does.
It’s not like any of the kisses you’ve shared before, not soft or gentle. Jasper has always been too scared of hurting you, but the Major holds onto you like a starving man. He pulls you impossibly closer, fingers threading through your hair to tilt your head just the right way. It’s hard and insistent but still achingly tender and perfect.
You’re left breathless when he pulls away. Not too far though. He rests his forehead against yours, taking the moment to focus on the sound of your heart and the comforting warmth of your touch. It softens the snarling creature that he’s meant to be.
You can feel the shift. The way his touch turns gentle, hands shifting to hold your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheeks. You can practically feel the concern that fills his gaze.
“Hey Jazz,” you breathe out softly.
He doesn’t respond. You glance up at him, amusement flickering in your chest at the perplexed look on his face. There’s your Jasper.
“I’m fine, Jazz,” you insist. It’s easy to tell exactly what he’s thinking. The vampire frowns, glancing at the bandage covering your hand. Right. You correct yourself, “I’m fine now. The Major saved me and bandaged me up. Good as new.”
You wiggle your fingers, just to show him. It stings a little, but not nearly as much as before. 
“He did a good job, almost as good as Carlisle!”
“He-” Jasper stops, swallows. “I didn’t hurt you?”
“No. Nothing happened.” You wrap your arms around his waist. It’s just like before. He holds himself stiff for a moment, fighting between the urge to relax or push you away to a safe distance. But he still can’t resist you. Not now. Not ever.
The tension drips from his shoulders. Jasper curls an arm around you, voice muffled as he tucks his face into your hair, “Sorry if I scared you, darlin’. I should’ve known that would happen. I just want you safe.”
“I know,” you hum, “And I wasn’t scared. Not really. Though, the Major sure has his own way of doing things. Charming guy, really.”
You can feel Jasper smile into your hair, “You really are something, darlin.”
“That’s what he said!”
---
You cannot convince me that the Major is not still a gentleman at his core! He's a bit rough from his time with Maria, but he was such a kind man before that. I will die on this hill.
Anyways! Hope you guys liked it! I might be a bit rusty, but feel free to send in requests! I'm excited to write for y'all again.
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matan4il · 4 months
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Have you noticed how almost everything that the anti-Israel crowd accuses people who simply recognize Israel's right to exist of, is (in additional to usually being false) stuff they're guilty of themselves?
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"You support ethnic cleansing!"
What do you think it means, when you chant the English translation of "From water to water, Palestine will be Arab"?
"You support an ethno-state!"
Do you call for the destruction of every single nation state, such as Germany, Japan, France, and so on? No? Then so do you. Have you called for the establishment of a Palestinian state? Then, so do you. Between Hamas ruling Gaza and being genocidal when it comes to Jews, and Mahmoud Abbas (president of the Palestinian Authority) stating no Israelis will be allowed in the State of Palestine (and by "Israelis" we all know he doesn't mean the Arab citizens of Israel, he's talking about Jews) that's going to be an ethno-state, too. Oh, you meant a "pure" ethno-state. Those don't exist in today's reality, and Israel, with 27% of its citizens being non-Jews, is no exception.
"Oct 7 didn't happen in a vacuum, you're ignoring the context of the past 75 years!"
You are ignoring big chunks of anti-Jewish violence during these 75 years, you're ignoring the expulsion of almost 900,000 Jews from Arab and Muslim countries, you're ignoring the anti-Jewish violence and persecution that preceded the establishment of the Land of Israel, and you're ignoring all 3,500 years (at least) of Jewish existence in and connection to our ancestral homeland, Israel.
"You support collective punishment!"
The same way you do, when you chant, "When people are occupied, resistance is justified"? Because that's what it means, that for the sin of Israel supposedly being a colonial state (a false claim, since Jews are native to Israel), you're justifying raping 13 year old girls, shooting them in the head, murdering Holocaust survivors, burning babies alive... what's that if not supporting collective punishment? (that's before we get into the fact that Israel not surrendering in a war started by Hamas is NOT collective punishment, or else we would have to define the allies not surrendering to the Nazis in WWII as collective punishment of the Germans)
"You suppor apartheid!"
All Israeli citizens have the same civil rights. Apartheid in South Africa was a system where citizens of the country had their rights limited based on skin color/ancestry. The issue in South Africa wasn't that racism existed (IDK a single country where racism doesn't), it's that it was codified into law, and used against the rights of that country's own citizens. Israeli Jews and Israeli Arabs have the same rights. Non-Israeli Palestinians not having the same rights as Israelis, including as Israeli Arabs, is the same as French Canadians not having the same rights in the US as French Americans. It is NOT proof the US is applying a system of apartheid unto French people. And if it were, then I have news for you, every country applies different rights to citizens vs not citizens, so every country would be an apartheid state by this criterion. Which would make the word meaningless, and it would diminish the suffering of non-whites under South Africa's apartheid (as some young black South Africans who have actually been to Israel now point out). Meanwhile, I'll point back up to where Mahmoud Abbas said no Israelis (i.e Jews) will be allowed in Palestine, and that under the Palestinian Authority, a Palestinian can be jailed or executed for selling land to Jews, which means the PA demolishes the right to property (of Jews to own it, and of the PA's Palestinian citizens to sell it as they see fit) based solely on the ancestry of the buyer... And you support the PA, right?
"You deny the Nakba!"
I had never encountered any Israeli denying that roughly 850,000 Arabs fled Israel due to the War of Independence. Pointing out that the Arabs are the ones who started that war isn't the same as denying it happened. Meanwhile, the people who make this accusation, largely deny the expulsion of the Jews from Arab and Muslim countries, deny the suffering, discrimination, expulsions and massacres Jews had endured for centuries under Arab and Muslim regimes, and deny the atrocities of Oct 7.
"You support colonialism!"
Say the people who deny the native rights of the Jews, who act as if these rights are limited by time (as if such a limitation benefits anyone other than actual colonizers), who ignore the fact that Palestinians wouldn't exist here without Arab colonialism, or who wish to confer a native status unto them by virtue of... being settler colonialists for a "long time" (to be clear, the way the UN's definition of a Palestinian refugee works, it only requires a person to have been an Arab* settler colonialist in Israel during the 2 years prior to the founding of the Israeli state, to be recognized as a Palestinian. To become a US citizen, in addition to other requirements, you have to live in the US for at least 5 years, 3 if married to an American citizen. That means in June of 1946, it was easier to become a Palestinian "native" in the eyes of the UN, than an American citizen). Don't get me wrong, Palestinians have a right to live in the place where they were born. I can both recognize that they're here due to Arab colonialism, AND be okay with them living here. Just like I can recognize that no Americans today deserve to be displaced, even though the majority of them are there thanks to colonialism. And I don't have to pretend like Americans of European descent have suddenly become native (something that if I did, would probably hurt actual Native Americans), in order to recognize their right to live where they were born. It's just ironic that if we took the logic of the anti-Israel crowd when it comes to native Jews, and applied it to all native peoples, this would harm the natives, erase their rights, recognize their colonizers as natives, and generally help colonialism.
There's probably more, but I think this is demonstrative enough.
* Technically, the UN didn't specify ancestry. As an idea, you could be Arab, Jewish, a Polish Catholic priest living in a convent in the Land of Israel from Jun '46 to May '48, and you'd be recognized as a Palestinian by the UN, but in reality this definition ended up favoring all non-Jewish colonizers of the land. In 1952, Israel said, "It's okay, we'll take care of the Jewish refugees displaced by the War of Independence. No need for the UN to do so. This is what we set up a Jewish state for." This is in addition to Israel taking care of the Jewish refugees from Arab and Muslim countries, and Jewish Holocaust survivors. And for Israel's show of responsibility, the now-Israeli Jewish refugees have been punished. They don't get recognized as existing, as having been displaced by, and having suffered due to the war the Arabs started in the Land of Israel against its Jewish communities. "Palestinian" refers to non-Jews only from the second The British Mandate in Palestine's Jews became Israeli Jews, but that doesn't stop the anti-Israel crowd from falsely claiming there are Palestinian Jews today... even though since May of 1948, there aren't, and before that, those Palestinian Jews were British subjects, not the citizens of an Arab independent state called Palestine (something that has never historically existed). Thanks to the exclusion in practice of Jews from the definition of Palestinian refugee, the UN agency for taking care of Palestinian refugees, UNRWA became a tool of spreading anti-Jewish hate.
(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)
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