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thepersonperson · 1 month

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just to clarify the reading of 「凡夫」

while common translation for 夫 by itself can be ‘husband’ (read as おっと / otto), the 夫 in 「凡夫」 is read as そ, giving the meaning of ‘that person.’

「凡夫」 meaning ‘that ordinary person.’

apologies if my English is not correct. I want to help with translation Japanese. :)

Yes, you are 100% correct. No one would ever think to read Bonpu as “mediocre husband” and that’s my point. Sukuna’s wordplay banks on you breaking the rules a little to see the hidden secondary meaning.

Take for example Sukuna's Shrine or 御厨子 (mizushi).

When analyzing the kanji, the person in this post says this:

"A “厨子/zushi”, ignoring the “mi”, is a small Buddhist shrine used for storage."

"Also - the “厨/zu” kanji is most directly translated as “kitchen” iirc."

By isolating the kanji, the poster was able to explain why the Mizushi was translated as Kitchen or Shrine. They also concluded that both meanings were probably to be taken at the same time. That makes sense—it is quite literally a shrine in his Domain, but because we know Sukuna loves food and the rest of his Curse Technique (CT) is cooking prep themed, the kitchen reading is just as valid.

I linked another example in the Bonpu post...but the account that explained Enchain=Megumi Activities got nuked (screw you fElon Musk). I did take screenshots though!

So we have the translation of Enchain from 契闊 (keikatsu) which might be better localized as Separation.

契(kei)闊(katsu) can be written as 恵(kei)活(katsu). 恵 can be read as kei or...Megumi. (It's the literal kanji used for his name.) 活 is where you get "activities" from, which leads us to Enchain=Megumi Activities.

Sukuna is also referencing a poem about lovers. (Here's a link to the full poem and context of it.)

In summary, it’s about a soldier who is on the brink of death, having lost nearly everything after being abandoned by those in power, lamenting the happiest days of his life with his love are ones he can never get back. (Hey that sounds just like what Sukuna did to Yuji!)

Sukuna here is not only straight up telling Yuji he's going to steal Megumi's body, he's also mocking how the two will be separated by the act. (And he appears to be acknowledging the love between them is more like a couple's than it is friendship.)

But as you can see, the reading of “Megumi Activities” is not something the character hearing this or person reading the kanji would think of first. In hindsight we recognize that Sukuna was most certainly using that hidden secondary meaning.

With all this in mind, let's go back to Bonpu.

There are other kanji you can use for ordinary and unenlightened. There's also the fight being framed as a date and Gojo showing up to it dressed as a groom. That's why the kanji 夫 for husband is so sus. Perhaps Sukuna really did mean it that way too. (It doesn’t help that Sukuna hesitates slightly before he says Bonpu in an isolated bubble. This framing draws attention to it in a way I can’t ignore.)

Hopefully this explanation makes sense?

Completely unrelated...

I'm choosing to ignore that 契 (kei) in Keikatsu/Enchain is also the kanji used for sexual intercourse, especially between husband and wife, since it might mean there's a 3rd layer to Sukuna's Keikatsu wordplay of 契(chigi, spousal sex)活(katsu, activities). Hang on maybe I need to update Sukuna's Negative Rizz again.

#cactus yaps?#This happens in Umineko which is why it makes me want to strangle Sukuna.#Ah yes instead of telling this person I love them I will engage in extreme violence and hope they understand the symbolism.#And if Mx. [redacted] is doing this because of trauma. Sukuna is too.#Geto also did this with declaring war on Dec 24th.#Flirting is when you tell someone you're going to kill them and all their loved ones.#Girlfailures Sukuna and Geto both fumble Gojo because they refuse to communicate their love to him directly.#Yuji and Megumi? They’re breaking this toxic doomed yaoi cycle by being honest with their feelings.#But that’s its own post I am currently working on.#ryomen sukuna #sukugo #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 7 months

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𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 🎃💦 ∘₊✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟚𝟙 ✧₊

|| ︶꒦꒷𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥꒷꒦︶ | main masterlist ||

@absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 Prompts

day 21: Anonymous Sex, Hair Pulling, Masturbation

𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐲

| PAIRING(s): Javi G. x masseuse staff | RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 1.1k | CONTENT: sensual massage, crunchy woo woo energy exchanges, bad Spanish translations, anonymous sex acts, sex furniture (?), cock milking massage table vibes | SYNOPSIS: Javi gets the attention he deserves from six strangers.

It was advertised in the unlisted services as the “Twelve Hand Symphony.” Javi had been coming to this establishment for a long time to keep his mental clarity and physical agility in fine tune. Of course he was privy to and proffered its other offerings, but he’d never taken them up on it. Not until now.

The anonymous aspect of it was what made him finally ask to book it for himself. Glory holes and the like felt a bit seedy, and he’d always preferred the more sensuous side of things. This place offered a bit of everything – for those whose bank accounts had enough commas, anyway.

It was discreet and clean and regulated. There wasn’t anyone there against their will or under dire circumstances. There was never any fun in an unwilling partner for Javi, and his stomach turns at some of the conversations he’s heard in passing amongst business partners, family, and every other man rich and powerful enough to get away with such things.

He shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about that, not while he’s already disrobed and is supposed to be finding a comfortable position face down on the table. It was a curious design – certainly ergonomic – and he was pleased to find that despite its awkward configuration it was actually very comfortable. It almost felt like getting onto a motorbike at first with its designated arm and leg rests, but the final position was like being on all fours while fully supported.

Javi’s head settled into the hollow headrest. The curved support under his hips lifted them up, presenting his backside fully to the warm room. His soft but sizable cock dangled out from the circular hole crafted for this exact situation. It was more sex furniture than massage table, but he relaxed into its elegant, precise design so quickly he could’ve easily fallen asleep if the room were darker.

A soft tap at the door and the sound of it creaking open. “Mr. Gutierrez? Are you ready for your service to begin?”

Her voice was light but confident. He liked that. He wondered if anyone else was going to talk. He’d marked ANY under who he preferred to render his service. It sent a thrill through him wondering if he’d be able to tell a man’s hands from a woman’s as it worked his body.

“Yes, I’m ready, mi amor,” he replied, eager and curious. “And, please, call me Javi.”

“Wonderful, Javi.”

The soft padding of feet. The weighty presence of others entering and occupying the room with him.

“We’re all very eager to get started. Please let us know if there’s any discomfort while we work.”

“Claro que si (of course),” he affirmed.

The first two sets of hands applied warm oil to his arms and ran smooth strokes against his major muscle groups. Each masseuse bent his arm and laid it against their torso, working his hand against their lower chest. Javi spread his fingers, an experimental touch in this new experience, and only felt one pair of breasts. His cock twitched at the discovery of mixed company working on him.

Another bit of gentle pressure applied to his scalp. Another oiling his back. One of each of his legs. The six sets of hands on him would’ve been overstimulating if they hadn’t all been in such harmony. No one practitioner applying too firm a pressure or deep a touch. His body felt like it was melting onto the table within the first 10 minutes.

“We’re going to begin the next portion of the massage. Again, let us know if there’s any discomfort.”

He could only groan in assent. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this dazed and loose. There was something intoxicating about the gentle, attentive regard of numerous human beings all focusing their energies into him. It felt as though he was absorbing all their uplifting, peaceful energies through touch alone.

The first slip of an oiled hand to his inner thigh almost made him startle at the potent juxtaposition. His arousal came flooding, dam walls crumbling and giving away entirely. Two sets of hands now worked along his inner thigh, making no effort to avoid brushing against his balls and cock. The pitched moan that left his chest was unfamiliar to his own ears.

“You have such a gorgeous energy, Javi. It’s so beautiful.”

His hand darted quickly to the waist of the speaker. Soft, supple skin met his greedy touch. The curvature of it felt like a woman. He gripped harder, something to anchor himself to. He began to mindlessly squirm, his body begging for whatever was next. He hadn’t been mindful that he was growing more impatient, but his body was in no state to wait for his mind to catch up.

Firm pressure against the knots in his shoulder. The pair of hands on either side of him that gently spread his ass apart to let oil drip down down down. When a fingertip grasp gently cinched around his cockhead, Javi whined loud and overwrought. The fingertips spread the oil that dripped down until his entire cock was covered in the slick liquid.

His hips began to writhe in sync with the hand stroking his cock and the two hands spreading him open and gliding firm pressure against his puckering hole. It felt as though the hands working over him had multiplied to cover every inch of his body. Everything moved of its own accord, all cognizant presence now filtered through a euphoric trance.

“A few of us would like to use our mouths. Is that okay, Javi?”

“Sí, quiero que me hagas tuyo (Yes, I want you to make me yours),” he gasped.

A warm, wet mouth closed around his cock, and that combined with the hand cupping and tugging his balls sent him right up to the edge. When the pair of hands on his ass spread him apart to let a flittering tongue press firmly against his hole, Javi was gone. He panted as he spilled into the stranger’s mouth and grinded into the tongue massaging him.

After he’d emptied every last drop, the hands and mouths in the room caressed and kneaded his pliant body until he was nearly drifting off. A hot towel wiping away the excess oils roused him again. All sets of hands laid against his body once more, and the soft, confident voice from before was next to his ear again.

“Thank you for letting us have this experience with you. We appreciate the energy you brought here today to share with us, and we hope our energies have found a home in you as well."

“Gracias por todo (Thank you for everything),” he whispered.

“Of course, Javi. We hope to see you again soon.”

He almost laughed at the idea that there was any doubt he’d be back.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x reader #pedro pascal characters

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olibird · 27 days

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KitKat Rambles 6

Part1. Part2. Part3. Part4. Part5. Part6. Storms. Power. KitKats.

Sorry about this being late/ not making sense. I had it all written out but it didn’t save so I had to redo it so ideas got jumbled T^T

On leave: First time got 8km out of base decided to walk to town alone. (Scared the shadows that he ran into, because he was pretty far out). After that he either has to get a taxi or go on leave with a different shadow. (He dosent take leave often so it’s manageable).

Money: He doesn't have his own bank account so all the pay checks are sent to N-30s account. Meaning KitKat just doesn’t get any of the money. (N-30 has figured this out but it’s low on his to do list). So for a while KitKat would just not buy anything, would asks others to. After a while Graves (or a oc like 7-11) figures out and takes 1/3 of the pay check and makes it into cash for KitKat. (Again another reason the shadows probably don’t like KitKats dad o7)

He has a few stuffies. His favorite is his military bear from his dad (like this). He also has a caterpiller (like this) he got from a shadow (Someone can claim giving him this if wanted). He also has a bunch of mostly cat stuffies in his room in a big pile, mostly from other shadows or using his paycheck for them.

Radio: He always has his radio on him, Albite has a tracker in it (it’s engraved with ‘don’t remove we don’t want to lose the gremlin’). He keeps it on mostly for that, but also he likes being able to keep contact with others cause he doesn’t have a phone. (If the shadows ever want to put a tracker he would just put it in his radio and forget about it)

Birthday: He will try to get leave for the week of his birthday. Albite will have civilian time with him, taking him around different towns and fun places. (Albite has the tradition of making a KitKat cake without KitKats). So if he can’t get leave he will hangout with the shadows. Might be disappointed about the cake but will still have fun with them.

Medical: He’s a good patient, will sit still the best he can. Wont move away unless surprised. Is willing go to the med bay if needed, won’t bug them over simple things.

Tattoos: Has to tattoo one on each wrist (hides it with his gloves) just a simple ‘Albite’ in cursive on his left wrist. And on his right has ‘Kit Rūpa B+’ in simple lettering.

KitKat learning basic Spanish from someone like Pixel or (I don’t know if anyone else speaks Spanish T^T).

Text because handwriting is hard to read

A mi me gusta escuchar música! (I like to listen to music)

A mi no me gusta cocinar! (I don’t like to cook)

#Albite (cod)#shadow company oc #shadow company

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vocalsynthbdays · 11 months

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happy birthday Mai(synthv studio) and XIA YU YAO(utau) !!!!!!!! [nov 10]

mai

yu yao (original)

Mai is a japanese synth developed by dreamtonics, and released in 2022. she is voiced by Honoka Kitta, but her illustrator has not been revealed. mai was created with jpop, dance, and idol-like music in mind.

XIA YU YAO is a chinese japanese synth developed by E-CAPSULE. shes originally introduced in 2014 and is the first of the VOICEMITH(ecapsule's virtual singer production brand) synth. xia yu yao is voiced by Mi Yang. yu yao's original, "OUTSIDE" utau append, and synthv illustrator is izumi, and the illustrator for her "INSIDE" utau vb is Nyaroro. yu yao has other illustrators for different things, but im only showing (what i believe to be) izumi's and nyaroro's art. i am uncertain of how drew yu yao's 3.0/ v3 utau art; i think it might just be izumi again, however Shénzi is credited as the "2018 illustrator" on the utau fandom wikia, and im not sure what they drew. the 3.0 bank was released before 2018 though, so who knows. on 4 aug 2015 yu yao's 2.0/ v2 utau bank was relased, on 10 nov 2015 her OUTSIDE and INSIDE utau appends, on 26 feb 2016 her 3.0/ v3 utau vb, and on 30 jan 2023 yu yao's synthv studio ai vb. ecapsule originally wanted to release yu yao for vocaloid 3, but that didnt happen due to differeing opinions between them and yamaha. yu yao was originally 17yo, but this was changed to 18yo on 22 jun 2016. she is 158cm tall and taiwanese. she enjoys taking care of others, and has a wind attribute which gives her wind powers that let her blow away peoples bad emotions and cleanses their hearts with her magical wind. xia yu yao is the most popular vocal synth in taiwan ? or like is the most popular taiwanese one ? or is just very very popular in taiwan ?? something like that sorry im not sure

2.0

outside

inside

3.0

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artcalledtattoo · 2 years

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I’ve never been ... when it comes to Passion Ask a Lady friend I would say A partner sort of speak in present A love needed in a place Regardless in present mis guidance Stomping out a try for two thousand and almost 23 years a blame applaud to a name Cover thy heads 100 years plus suffrage Minus missed years And now Don’t own bodies He washed the feet of defiled you Why the cause for making ends meet We need to be like them And get the money’s A sticker said He paid for Sins And Kings living I see That’s been a way for 2022 years And no still comeback He never stood still, he walked in missed years most likely further than Roman Empire and like home the other Asian learned how to corral and control in early kingdom states walked first He went back home with messages Crucifix end to tales Thinks every where just like at home Stop being instilled To all and everyone Corporate appall like in Paul Cover your heads now Like you made them It sits in the Bible Us to be better Will bring a second comeback If He is in foot prints, then you must be walking Just like Shadowing mankind for better Seems real to me It’s for the all universe of US Everyone planet Earth Or home Quit standing still waiting Make a walk for a return The whole world of God Not your residential city Small spheres Dots I’m a different • I see life All around me It’s everyday in my awakened occurrence In this experience and passions for as I learn more all things in my present Thank you, my God for my feelings with things perhaps I’m brain inefficient and I just don’t know yet I awake from each day after dreaming thanking for the continued experienced as I keep walking even when I hate it at times Doing my best for an awakening return It would be the Badge Certificate Grade of all people prize, for all mankind The trophy to live hop and bounce around the whole Universe We have all seen if we’ve had travels around the Globe from our home state of affairs, drop of water to an ocean of worldly concerns or at least for a hope return Wait, it all has to come to a nothing, leaders in charge and at their worst To save us What show banks statements Have you bought into but into the investment of present affairs This human chaos Is not Science It’s as walk each day US and the whole watching everything now of World Like a Constitution Religion needs revamped Everything done from here down in my posts are my passions those other blogs too I have to scroll down to 2 tiger to bottom Arts of war in minded present walking Am I sound of mind w/ American Pharmaceutical American TV American Churches American Conglomerate American Politics American Virus’s American Parental’s American Residential American Homeless I’m an American Veteran, bullyied in southern belts and belts of southwest that’s still in wear western style it’s all so saucy like condiments & kinds, I joined military and found all the same likes, ventured in ono and one and found the same there, my life is just made more of the same continues I’ve never been standing still when it comes to passions Science - walking is body beneficial How else to make impressions by your own feet? LIFE A must in experience if not then stay still. No one can make you A whole wide God made Planet we named Earth ourselves and it’s unsafe to move amongst all humans Most likely not as any Universal Power God Would have wanted We humans humanize ourselves in all things and we did then too For further higher human control power It’s all in history books Take a walk and start thinking Like hearing a tornado siren for practice After the other community tornado They just learned Sounding off The horns Listen too: Carmina Burana, by Carl Orff, the ending bit for background music while reading!

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glaciertea · 4 months

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Masterlist here

Tales the Songs Weave

Ch.17<< >>Ch.19

Chapter 18: To Bring You to that Other Place

Word count: 3.4k

Your eyes shoot open as you examine the still room with the occasional muffled car horn blares or morning chirps from birds draping in. Dimly rays of golden yellow filled the parts of the area, leaving gorgeous streak patterns on your walls and furniture.

You groaned out from the achy, tender stings flooding all over and rolled over to an empty, torn bed.

“Miggy?” Your voice was very gravelly. He really did a number last night.

“Mi Estrella?” No response.

It wasn't bizarre for him to be gone before you awoke at times, but when it comes to an extreme moment similar to last night, he normally waits to check if everything's fully okay with you. It was odd that he rearranged your guts and then dipped. Even more so, as you wanted to express your concerns about his new out-of-the-blue habits.

Deciding to strain yourself, you reached over for your phone when an excess amount of medicated pain pill bottles, your heating pad, and a glass of condensed water sat on the bedside dresser.

Snatching the phone up, you began to scroll through the texts he sent before the crack of dawn. “That’s odd. Why so early?”

‘Morning. Sorry for leaving before you woke up. Work needed me.’

‘I left some pain relievers and other things. I also put money in your bank account to cover the deliveries for breakfast and lunch. If you need extra for dinner, let me know.’

‘And I’ll replace the sheets and mattress again.’

‘Enjoy your day off.’

You sat up quickly, flinching at the sharpness from your hips downward. Pulling the covers back, you staggered at the many welts and blemishes. He enjoys leaving markings on you to boost his ego and self-pride, but not to this degree. Furrowing your eyebrows together, you reread the messages, and ran your hand through your hair in complete and utter disbelief and bewilderment.

There is something going on, and he’s trying to run from it.

All day, you've been messaging him, only to be met with lackluster responses or barely any. You tried to get a hold of Ronnie, but she was too distracted by the business to give any sort of feedback besides, ‘I’m here for you, remember that.’

You refused to believe what your boss was implying. Simply denying it all. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Overworked and spent, obviously. That was the only explanation that made the most sense.

It couldn’t have been anything else.

Yet, as two days passed, nothing changed. Miguel still answered with those lifeless replies, and the scarce times he did visit your place and job, you were met with forlorn stares and that freezing embitterment.

You and Ronnie conversed during the slow hours of work, as Ronnie did everything in her power to not drive to the point that Miguel was maybe trying to wedge himself from you on purpose.

It did, however, go south when he showed up Sunday with a box of gears he wanted to return while you were out on break. Ronnie nearly wrung him a new one, spouting how dare he try to pull a stunt like this while you weren't here.

“I don’t fucking know what the hell your problem is, but whatever it is, you need to get it fixed and not bring my girl down in your sinking ship.”

She rejected the tools, spitefully mocking him, saying that she had no room to store those supplies and that he ‘better’ keep them. So he snatched them back up and left without speaking another word. Even at your job, he couldn't escape the boorish judgment.

Miguel was catching flak on both ends. Peter was pleading and bargaining not to call it quits with you, to objectively take a peek into the others to find out if he was missing something. Jess was back on his ass, wondering if he had broken it off, in which case he would furiously dismiss them.

No matter what happened, it was destined for failure. He couldn't make anyone pleased.

And the one he wanted to please was originating destruction upon the world.

The more he isolated himself, the more you would communicate. He was stuck. He struggled to keep away so he could figure out what to do, but you always made it so difficult with that magnetized, gravitational pull you held.

It's hard to keep pretending not to want to be near someone you want to be around. Especially in his case.

He hated this. He hated himself. He hated this whole thing.

Trapped in this cell. A bandage he didn't want to rip because he knows that wound will never heal; it'll only sit there bloodied and pained—an unsettling integrity.

When he left the shop, he went back into his office and on his platform. He yelled and catapulted the pack of trinkets everywhere, letting them shower all over the cold, metal flooring.

“You know you don't have to do this. There could still be time to fix this-”

“I'm ending it when she doesn't have to work the next day. It makes things easier. Now leave, Peter.”

“Miguel, things like that don't magically become easy. I would know. You would know.”

Peter began to clean up the tiny cogs, placing them back into the box. He wanted to try one last, final time to steer him away from this decision that may impair him even more than he already is.

“Nothing can be done, Peter.”

He could hear the cracks in Miguel's heart.

And that's when he understood his friend was set in stone. Sacrificing that slice of what everyone else gets to have because that's how it goes. They have to listen to this entity that predetermines their lives.

Peter once again has to merely sit back and watch Miguel's world slip through his fingers. He is the hourglass that holds the sands and can only watch the particles trickle beneath his feet before being swept away by the winds.

“I'll… I'll alert Jess about it.” Peter turned his back. Reeling his head to his depressed friend, he opened his mouth, but immediately closed it and gripped his empty chest, silently leaving him to his own devices.

Miguel waited until the sounds of Peter's footsteps faded away. He was alone. How it's truly supposed to be.

All he could see were the twines of enshrouding twilight. No light, not even his own, could be seen by him.

You glanced over your phone for the millionth time today. Miguel hasn't texted a word all day. Which didn't help with your anxiety because he somewhat chatted with you the last few days. But today, you didn't even receive a ‘good morning’ or a ‘how are you?’

Your mind went down a rabbit hole of scenarios about his job—that something drastic happened to him, and he's gravely injured somewhere out there in the billions of universes. Or, a better option, that work was crazy today and he had to haul around non-stop.

You endured to keep your thought process on the second path.

Checking the time, you typed a few messages, hoping to get something from him. “If he doesn't respond by eleven, I'll give another call. Yeah, that's reasonable.”

It was less than five minutes away, so you put on a song and slumped on the couch. Closing your eyes, you allowed the notes to flow over your anxious body, soothing your jittery knee and overloaded conscience from indulging in any more negative notions.

Inhaling and exhaling out, you were beginning to find that inner peace when a knock snapped you out of it.

Fluttering your eyes open, it took a second to regain your bearings when the rapping at the door got louder. You didn't order in and weren't expecting any guests to come over. Stumbling off the couch, you looked out the peephole and nearly gasped.

It was strange for him to be out this late today, but you chalked it up to him coming over to clarify why he couldn't respond. Clumsily opening the door, you beamed at the giant man.

“Miggy! I was just about to call you! Come on, don't be shy now.” You sang out and teetered out of the way with an arm outstretched.

Miguel nodded and slogged in; the heavy weight on his shoulders seemed to only worsen. He barely had any sleep, going over a script on how this would go and how fast he wanted to get this over with.

He scanned your place, and the memories of laughter and admiration directly flooded on him, which wasn't helping with the tons of grief and weariness settled upon.

“I was so worried about you, you know?” You locked the door and gave him a warm hug from behind, triggering him to stiffen immensely. “I thought something bad had happened. I wanted to keep other options on the table, of course, but your line of work makes it kinda tough.

“And I can't believe you used the door. You didn't use your key, but hey, this is a step in the right direction!” You snorted and giggled, then abruptly paused, noticing the melancholy on his face and in the air.

“Mi Estrella? Everything okay?” You pulled away and seated yourself back on the couch. “Is it time to talk about what's been going on in your mind?”

He didn't sit down along with you; he only towered in the middle of the apartment, feeble and inconsolable. Everything he practiced went out of the window. He couldn't explain this to you; he couldn't do this to you.

And yet, he had to. He had to be one to turn this wrong into a right. The wound is there; it's hidden under that patch. Does he rip it away painfully quick or tenderly slow? Either way, the damage will still be in the open.

You firmly tightened your lips into a thin line. Your heart suddenly began to race, nerves were blasting off all over, and your body began to burn up.

“Mi-Miguel? What's… what's going on? Is everything alright? You know we can discuss it at your own pac-”

“We need to break up.”

Quick and painful won the round.

You blanked. There was not a single noise. Not even from the outside. Maybe you misunderstood him. That had to be it.

“I-I'm sorry, I don't think that I- maybe I misheard what you sa-”

“You heard it.” He didn't mean for it to come out brashly. “We… we can't be together anymore. Lo siento mucho.”

Miguel glazed down on the floor as you remained motionless. Your brain was trying to comprehend where this surfaced. It could explain the weird detaching, but it still makes no sense.

“I-I know it's coming out of nowhere, but there's multiple affirmations behind it. They may not make sense in the beginning, but the logic and justifications when I explain down the line are all there.”

You didn't know rather to hear him out, dissociate, or evaporate into thin air. You picked the first and second options.

He has disdain for this, but even when he's the one creating pain, you are still willing to be patient and listen.

He was certain he didn't deserve you to begin with.

“Okay. You know that there are infinite universes. I told you that, and I don't think I need to go over that again. Right? Right, no. No. I don't think so. Yeah, I think.”

He was off to a horrible start.

“Remember that day you wanted to know about how you and I were in other universes? Wait, no, that's—that's too early, I think.”

His thoughts jumbled as you stared at him to continue.

“The night we met, I went to the park, but when I did, I didn't go out the back; I went out the front. You may not see it as nothing, but it isn't. That isn't like me going out where I can be seen in this sort of manner. It isn't a canon thing for me to do.”

“Canon?” You held some sincerity, but mostly hesitancy.

“Yes, canon. I remember the night when you told me you lov-” he choked before clearing his throat. “You looked into the idea that life doesn't have a road and that it can take you anywhere. But, from what I've learned, life is predetermined no matter what. There's a reason behind everything you do. Like a beautiful web.”

You didn't say a word.

“And my canon got knocked off track when I walked out those doors. Now, you're thinking, what does that mean? Why is that a big deal?”

You only nodded.

He took in a huge gulp and exhaled loudly. “It's a huge deal because... because this... because this world is... it's unraveling. It's being destroyed as we speak.”

Your eyes broadened and your throat parched as you clenched onto the sofa until your knuckles turned white.

“Yes, it is a terrifying thing to think about. One moment everyone is here and the next,” his eyes glassed thinking about Gabi. “The next... they're simply gone.”

“And that's why we have canon events to make sure things like that won't ever happen. To prevent a catastrophic devastation such as that.” He balled his hands up.

“Is there a way to stop it?” You whispered, eyeballing the floor.

Miguel bit his tongue to hold back the tears. “Yes. My canon shows a major flaw in this world. There's a flaw that's detrimental to us all... and that's us being together.”

Your shoulders slumped down as you tried to retain all this new, strange information.

“We aren't meant to be together. Remember when you asked me to check out the other versions of our relationship? Well, each and everyone I saw, you were either with someone else, we didn't know each other, or we did date... but none ended well.”

Words got caught in your throat. What if you never made that request? Would things have been okay? Would the world still have been destroyed?

“And that's when I realized it was happening again... You loving me was wrong to begin with.”

Your head snapped up, accidentally pulling a muscle, but you didn't care. You leered at him bug-eyed, as he was alienating his brain to wanting to end this as swiftly and fluidly as possible.

“When I walked out and met you, that's when the world started to glitch. The new waves of anomalies, this strange gut feeling, and how things were seemingly going too well. The world was knocked out of place, confused about what was going on.”

He shook his head and wiped away the threatening tears that wanted to leak down. “We shouldn't have ever met. We shouldn't be together. And the only way to stop this universe from being consumed is for us to stop... to stop what we have going on.”

He turned to you with that stupid pouty face—the face you grew to admire and fawn for. The face that showed you true love.

“So... what I'm hearing is that what we did was for naught? What we had was all just… nothing?”

“In a way. No, wait, not like that. Yes, but no. Mi Lu- look, ever since that night, I've been doing things I would never do in a million years. Yes, I have things I enjoy, but this,” he gestured at everything between you two, “This isn't me. This was never me.”

“Are you serious?” Your voice full of disbelief, trying to hold back a scoff.

“I'm not joking; this is all serious. Our world is dying because you wanted to become attached–”

Miguel dug his talons into the side of his hip. You gawked over that incriminating stance, nausea taking over your stomach.

“I shouldn't have said it like that. I-I didn't mean for it to come out that way.” He roughly ran his claws through his curls.

No response.

“Look, just listen; if you didn't—if I didn't—if you didn't cause me to step out, we wouldn't be in this danger. We wouldn't–”

Crickets.

This isn't how it was supposed to go. There was supposed to be a back-and-forth conversation where he could steer it in a way that it could've gone through effortlessly. But you weren't saying anything; you barely spoke a word.

You barely even expressed any emotions, unless he somehow missed them. But he has to keep going. He has to shove all that guilt aside for your protection… And for the others.

“Please say something… I know–I know it's hard, but it has to be this way. It has to. I have to—I need to protect you. And I know my Spider-Man work was always confusing, but please just... please give me something.”

Hushed. A blank glaze.

“Don't—don't make this more difficult than it already is. I know it's so sudden; that's why I tried to distance myself, trying to give you the last few good moments together. I know, it's hard, but for the canon's sake, we have to go through with this.”

You crossed your arms and stared ahead. This was all too much to take in. Many questions scrambled in your head. Why was his work unexpectedly a huge interference in this relationship? Why is he haphazardly saying something about this to you now? Why is he making this decision for the both of you?

But you kept listening to this whole nonsensical, pious conception.

Miguel paced, anticipating something, anything. The only sentences that are repeating in his head are his own, and they aren't clear-cut winners.

“¡Por favor! Please! Say something! Anything!”

Not a single peep.

“Look! I know it's hard! You don't think this is hard for me?! Knowing that the person who I lov- the person who got attached to me—shouldn't even be here? Shouldn't even be with me?!” His eyes were blurry as droplets of tears and snot dripped onto the wooden floor.

“Excuse… excuse me?” You straightened up your back. “What… wha-what did you just say?”

Miguel recoiled, agitated, and vexed with himself. Regretting this whole affair that he still wants.

“I shouldn't be here? I shouldn't be here?”

Your words were low but penetrated deeply. Miguel's own heart pounded in his ears at that.

“I… I'm the one who shouldn't be with you? Not you. No, no. Me. Only me.”

“I- you…” He trailed off, his voice inaudible.

“What?” Your tone slightly increased.

“You shouldn't… shouldn't-”

“Huh?! I can't—I can't hear you!”

“You–you…”

“Speak. Up. Speak. Up!” You tried to control your rage, but it faintly seeped out.

“YOU SHOULDN'T EXIST!” He roared out, grasping his skull to prevent himself from breaking something in your apartment.

“You—you don't belong! You don't—you don't belong in this universe!”

He was losing his mind but managed to lower his voice, yet he still had it marginally booming. “You... you shouldn't have fallen in love with me! It's wrong! It's all wrong!”

He plopped down on his knees, rocking and shaking as you mournfully gazed at an empty rift.

“You're an anomaly in this world! The others... the others didn't fall in love…”

He stained your dusty, wooden floors as he strangled those wails he didn't deserve. This isn't what he imagined. He thought more words were going to be shed, but he only heard his.

His vile words that he stormed onto you.

You were ready to flatline. There was too much given, and there was no way to properly handle it. You didn't want to cry. You don't want to shout anymore. You didn't want to do anything. You wanted to daze ahead in a white space for hours.

“Please... please just say something.” His whimpers were pathetic and he knew it.

Your head turned down as the shriveled, broken man curled up. His eyes are red, either from sobbing or whatever his spider condition is. It took you a minute—a good, long minute—as Miguel dreadfully sat still, forced to endure this pitiless, silent void, but you did find the right words.

“I have work in the morning. There's the door.” You spoke in a scathing, withdrawn way, standing up to open the exit.

He froze at the mistake he had caused. Not knowing what to do anymore, he obeyed, stood up, and lumbered out the door, capturing the jaded fuzziness plastered all over you.

“I'm so sorry…”

“Yeah.”

And that was it.

You closed the door on his face and instantly collapsed onto the ground, scorching, broken tears now flowing down your face.

The light will shine no more. The dark side of the moon and burnt-out stars form nothing in the damaged skies.

Both now completely bound by the twines of endless heartache.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@ella-janehaven @prozacgooble @sanguwuxyoonbummy

#tales the songs weave #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #atsv miguel #miguel fanfic #miguel spiderverse #miguel x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #atsv

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orangameelectronics · 16 days

Video

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klbwriting · 6 months

Text

Our Strange Duet

Chapter 10 - Empty Chairs

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

Warnings: violence

Summary: YN takes care of Maroni, Jason and Dick confront Bruce

Notes: sorry it took forever, its been a rough week! There is one more chapter after this so I hope you enjoy!

Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch @amberpanda99

There's a grief that can't be spoken There's a pain goes on and on Empty chairs at empty tables Les Mis

Jason and Dick had gone out to confront Bruce. YN had said she would send the proof of Sal Maroni’s new drug and its effects to the GCPD, and she would, just after she did what needed done. Jason was so laser focused on Bruce’s betrayal that he wasn’t thinking about the fact that sending Maroni alive to the cops would probably make him talk, tell them he knew who Red Hood was, then word would spread and soon everyone would know. YN wouldn’t let that happen. She would protect Jason as much as she could. She couldn’t do anything if Two Face or Joker found out about him, but Maroni she could.

She steeled herself for the work that needed done, arriving to the alley entrance to the headquarters. She had worked there enough to know the back ways around the place, and she had been with Jason long enough to know how to spot the cameras and how to avoid them. She knew that if you entered Maroni’s office from a secret side door that the camera in the room wouldn’t activate. That camera was only for blackmail material, and the only people he would blackmail came through the front door. YN slinked to the desk chair and waited.

It didn’t take long, she had made sure that someone had seen her sneaking the back halls, paying him a hefty amount to tell no one but her father she was there, ever, so she wasn’t surprised when Maroni came into the office from the side entrance. He was irate, face already a deep shade of red as he approached his desk.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded. “You have a lot of nerve coming back here after you took my data. You’re lucky I don’t have three guys in here popping you full of lead.” YN actually smiled a little, standing from the chair. She held up the revolver she had brought, aiming for his head.

“Yes, well, maybe you should have brought them,” she said. That had been the only real risk, that he wouldn’t come alone. She had banked on the fact that he saw her as weak, as a child who didn’t know how to take care of herself, who needed to sleep with a vigilante to be safe, and she was glad her gamble worked out. Maroni looked surprised to see the gun, but then he chuckled. “O, feeling tough now, are you?” he asked, moving around her to a bust by the window. He flipped it open and pressed a button. Nothing happened. He pressed it again.

“Sorry Sal, I cut the power to your little alarms,” she said. “You left me alone here too much, well, you left me alone my entire life so…” she shrugged, nodding to the desk chair. “There’s a needle with your drug in the drawer, inject yourself.”

“You’re nuts, I’m not doing that,” he said. He did sit at the desk and open the drawer though. He took out the needle and looked at it. “I don’t use my own supply, bad for business.”

“Well, curiosity is going to get the better of you this time. You’ll inject yourself and by the times the cops get here and see what you’ve done they’ll never believe you when you spout off about who Red Hood is. They’ll just think you’re hopped up on something,” she said. “Either that or you’ll be dead, shot with the very same gun you hide in that desk.” She held the gun into the light more so he could see that it was in fact his. “Up to you honestly. Get a little high before the cops bust down the door or be dead when they do it, which one?” She could see she was winning; Maroni was panicking. He looked from the gun to the needle and then finally to her eyes. Whatever he saw there must have terrified him because he picked up the needle and injected himself.

“You know, every day you were coming in here I was thinking how much you looked like your mother. But right now…right now you look like me. A killer, ruthless, heartless,” he said, sitting back. She could see the effects of the drug starting to wear him down, making him almost sleepy. She walked over and put the gun to his head.

“Your right dad, I am ruthless, I am heartless, and now, because of you, I have to be a killer. No one will ever hurt Jason again, least of all a lowlife fucking deadbeat like you,” she said softly before she pulled the trigger. She quickly placed the gun in his hand and bolted out the side door, rushing down the back halls of the building until she got to the ground floor. She ducked into the lab, finding the incinerator they normally used for burning toxic materials and grabbed the bag she had hidden there. She got changed and burned the bag with the old clothes. She checked herself again for blood before she left the facility out the alley door, driving back to the apartment and sending the data to the cops just as Dick and Jason had asked.

Since YN couldn’t be in the musical but was doing such a big part of the lifting with heading the music development for it the director arranged for her to have a small showcase after dress rehearsal. Everyone involved in the show would be there to celebrate her talents and she could invite anyone she wanted. She only really had two people to invite so she was pleased to see Dick and Barbara in the audience next to Jason.

She had already been in bed when Jason and Dick had returned home the night before from confronting Bruce and Jason had not been in the mood to talk about it that day. She had asked Dick about it, but he said it was something that Jason would have to tell her about. He needed time to process everything and once he was ready, they would all talk. She had been a little surprised that he had even gone to dress rehearsal, that he wasn’t burning rubber to get out of Gotham and hide, but the fact that he was there, having preformed amazingly at rehearsal and now was sitting there, focusing on her, made her so proud of him. He was such a good man and she hoped one day he would see that also.

“Hey everyone, um, thanks for coming to this, I know you’ve all been working hard on the show so the fact that you are taking this time to watch me is humbling, thank you,” she started before motioning for someone to join her on stage. “So, I have a few songs to play, all covers, I couldn’t write anything new while doing the music supervision, so I hope you don’t mind. The first song is with our very own Andre, Callum Bloom, and we will be preforming Exile by Taylor Swift and Bon Iver.”

Jason heard the song start, had heard her singing it to herself while she was preparing for this show. The first few lines were fine, Callum was fine, then the bridge hit and for some reason it sent Jason back to the night before, back to confronting Bruce in the manor. It had been the most emotional Jason had ever felt.

I think I’ve seen this film before And I didn’t like the ending You’re not my homeland anymore So who am I defending now? You were my town Now I’m in exile seeing you out I think I’ve seen this film before

“What are you doing here Jason?” Bruce asked as Dick stood off to the side. He was there to support Jason, but he knew that his brother wanted to do this on his own. He wasn’t the child Bruce knew anymore and he wanted to prover that.

“Sal Maroni? Ring a bell?” Jason asked. Bruce looked confused, looking to Dick, who just shook his head, nodding back to Jason.

“What are you talking about Jason?” he asked.

“You sold me out to Sal Maroni!” the younger man bellowed. Bruce stared. “He knows who I am, and he said I wasn’t the only who knew masks in this town. Well, the only person who knows Red Hood’s identity is you and Dick and I know he wouldn’t betray me like that. And up until last night I didn’t think you would either.” Bruce stood silent, staring at the person who once was his son. Jason stared right back at the man who he used to think of as a father. He realized now that Bruce had never been his father, his drill instructor, his warden, his creator maybe, but not his father. Dick had been more of a father to him in the last year and a half then Bruce ever had. This betrayal was just the nail in the coffin of his childhood and Jason was about tired of being in coffins.

“I did not do anything like that. I would never, not even after everything you did, I would never do that…”

“You’re right, he wouldn’t. But I would,” said another voice. They turned to the entrance of the room to see Tim Drake. He stood tall, looking arrogant, righteous in the firelight. Bruce’s jaw went slack as Jason’s eyes narrowed.

I can see you staring honey Like he’s just your understudy Like you’d get your knuckles blood for me Second, third, and hundredth chances Balancing on breaking branches Those eyes add insult to injury

“Tim?” Bruce finally said, voice barely a whisper. Tim walked further into the room, sitting in one of the plush armchairs like he was the master of the house. He sat straight, eyes like a shark’s.

“We know all the criminals in this city. You said so yourself, criminals don’t get to hide behind masks and alter egos. The cops should know them, they should know each other, everyone should know them. Red Hood is a murderer, he is a criminal. You were too blinded by nostalgia to see that so I did what you couldn’t. Maroni was looking for information on him, so I gave it to him,” Tim explained. Bruce stared at him, and Jason could see him finally realize what he had created.

“Tim, Jason is family…” Bruce began.

“Jason Todd is a murderer, Bruce. And you said so yourself, killing is never the answer, no matter what happens. Joker killed Jason and he still walks this earth because you know the line, you drew it yourself. He walked past it and he no longer can be considered a hero, or even a vigilante, in this city. He is a killer,” Tim said. His voice never wavered. He wasn’t reconsidering his actions. He was right, Bruce was wrong. Bruce was going back on all his teachings and lessons to the boy, but Tim wasn’t going to falter in their black and white view of things. Bruce looked at Jason and then back at Tim.

“Did you tell anyone else?” Bruce asked.

“Not yet,” Time said. Bruce nodded. “If you would like to use it I have it all on the batcomputer, I can send it out to everyone whenever you’d like.” Bruce grabbed his phone.

“Alfred, wipe the batcomputer…yes, get rid of everything, including the backups. We’ve been compromised,” he said, voice breaking at the end there. He hung up and Tim stared, clearly confused. “I have failed all of you.”

So many signs, so many signs You didn’t even see the signs I think I’ve seen this film before So I’m leaving out the side door

Jason was pulled back to the auditorium when he heard applause. He clapped also, seeing YN looking right back at him. She smiled at him, and he forced a smile to his face as she continued her show. It was the final song, the one she hadn’t let him hear her rehearse.

“I know it’s corny to dedicate a song to someone you’re dating,” she said from the stage. “But I for one, love corny shit like that, so this one is for Jason, I love you and I always will. Now please enjoy my last song, One Bedroom by Yellowcard.” Jason actually did smile at this as she started playing the guitar and singing.

You’re the light from the moon tonight You’re the history I will write You’re the last stop and I arrive You’re the one for rest of time What good could I do in a life without you? What more could I lose than what I’ve found in you? The song was just fading out when Dick shook Jason’s arm and held out his phone. There was a police alert. Jason read the notification and then reread it.

Sal Maroni found dead from self-inflected gunshot wound in office

#jasontodd #jason todd #red hood #redhood #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #strangeduet

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usafphantom2 · 9 months

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Ukrainian Air Force shot down 3 Su-34 fighter-bombers in just one day

Fernando Valduga

On December 22, the Ukrainian Air Force reported that it shot down three Russian Su-34 fighter-bombers in the southern sector of the country, a boost for Ukraine after a series of military setbacks.

This was considered one of its most successful operations against Russian air power since the beginning of the war. A spokesman for the Ukrainian Air Force called it "a brilliantly planned operation".

The Commander of the Air Force of the Armed Forces of Ukraine, Mykola Oleshchuk, reported about this, said that the jets were shot down near noon on Friday.

Russia would be using the jets to launch cruise missiles and guided bombs against Ukrainian-controlled cities on the western bank of the Dnipro River and against Ukrainian soldiers who established a safe position on the eastern side.

The mode of destruction of the fighter-bombers has not been reported and there is no photo or video material that can confirm the loss of the fighter-bombers.

However, photos of a Russian search and rescue helicopter Mi-8/17 and the landing site of the killed pilots appeared on social networks.

It is worth mentioning that unconfirmed information about the overthrow of a Su-35 and two Su-34 is circulating online. An unconfirmed image that intends to show Patriot missiles being launched against the three Su-34s is also circulating online.

The Russian propagandist Fighterbomber (Ilya Tumanov) indirectly confirmed the slaughter of an aircraft on his Telegram channel at 1:54 p.m., saying that the crew was being searched.

Later, at 2:14 p.m., he said that all the crew, alive and dead, were taken. He believes that the preliminary cause of the loss of planes was a Patriot air defense system.

German Chancellor Olaf Scholz announced that the Patriot system would be deployed in Ukraine by the end of 2023.

Developed by Lockheed Martin and RTX, formerly Raytheon Technologies, the Patriots have successfully taken down some of Russia's most advanced missiles. But the stocks of interceptor missiles, which can cost millions of dollars each and take years to manufacture, have been exhausted by Russia's continuous attacks.

In an additional boost, Japan said on Friday that it would supply Patriot missiles to the U.S., strengthening global stocks. Tokyo is expected to transfer dozens of interceptor missiles from its own supplies, starting in the first quarter of 2024, according to a U.S. authority.

On Friday, the Dutch government said it began preparations to deliver to Ukraine 18 U.S.-designed F-16 fighters, without providing a schedule. The delivery of the jets will still require an export license and that Ukraine meets the personnel and infrastructure criteria.

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boat-car-charger · 2 years

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years

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Biden set to appoint mass foreclosure cheerleader to the Fed

Personnel are policy, something that the Biden administration has proved again and again since the 2020 election. Biden himself is a kind of empty vessel into which different wings of the Democratic party pour their will, yielding a strange brew of appointments both great and terrible.

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/2023/03/06/personnel-are-policy/#janice-eberly

On the one hand, you have progressive appointments like Jonathan Kanter at the DoJ and Lina Khan at the FTC, leaders who are determined to challenge and curb corporate power:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/10/see-you-in-the-funny-papers/#bidens-legacy

On the other hand, you have deferential leaders like Pete Buttigieg, who fill their own staff with status quo counsel, and then let those timid corporate apologists run the show, leaving the substantial enforcement powers of a powerful agency to gather dust:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

While the Democrats’ anti-corporate wing got to drive the administration’s competition agencies, the corporate wing has enjoyed near-total dominance over finance regulations (with notable exceptions, e.g. Rohit Chopra), starting with Trump’s Jerome Powell, a bloodletting monster happy to shovel workers into their bosses’ crushers all day long:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/19/creditors-vs-workers/#finance-colored-glasses

Corporate Dems continue to flex their muscle. A seat has just opened up on the Federal Reserve Board, and the WSJ is pretty sure the seat is going to Janice Eberly, a corporate ghoul who helped Obama Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner steal Americans’ houses on behalf of the bankers who destroyed the world economy in 2008:

https://www.wsj.com/articles/white-house-considers-two-economists-for-fed-vice-chair-58f13344

A quick refresher: Obama inherited the Great Financial Crisis, a massive global asset crash that followed from a decade of real-estate and derivatives deregulation that saw the world’s largest banks issuing mortgages they knew would fail, and then placing massive bets on “collateralized debt obligations” that were supposed to offset the risk.

The banks gambled trillions, nearly destroyed the world’s economy, and then blamed it all on reckless borrowers — mortgage holders who had been mis-sold predatory mortgages that were designed to trigger defaults thanks to low “teaser rates” that later “ballooned” into monthly payments the banks knew the borrowers couldn’t afford.

Geithner was Obama’s go-to guy for the GFC. It was under his leadership that billions were handed out to the banks to bail them out and keep them solvent during the crisis — and it was also under his leadership that bank execs were able to pay themselves millions in bonuses using that public money.

When the banks were in trouble, Geithner leapt into action. When the banks’ customers faced crises, he was MIA — especially during the foreclosure epidemic that followed, as the banks stole our homes out from under us, often forging the paperwork. No bank was seriously punished for this policy.

Back to Janice Eberly, who served as Geithner’s assistant secretary of the Treasury for economic policy — his hatchet-woman, in other words. Now, sometimes people in senior government roles stick around because they disagree with their bosses and want to mitigate the harm of their bosses’ policies.

That’s not why Eberly took the job. In 2014, she and Arvind Krishnamurthy co-wrote a Brookings Institute paper called “Efficient Credit Policies in a Housing Debt Crisis,” that explained why Geithner had it right all along — bailing out the banks and leaving homeowners in foreclosure is “efficient”:

https://www.brookings.edu/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/fall2014bpea_eberly_krishnamurthy.pdf

Writing in The American Prospect, Max Moran from the Revolving Door Project breaks down “Efficient Credit Policies,” explaining how Eberly’s stated views should disqualify her from sitting on the Fed board, especially as we teeter on the brink of a deep financial crisis:

https://prospect.org/economy/2023-03-06-janice-eberly-fed-nominee-mortgage-crisis/

The first thing you need to understand here is HAMP, the Home Affordable Modification Program, which received the $100b Congress allocated to help homeowners whose mortgages were “underwater” — that is, whose houses were worth less than they owed for them.

That money could have gone to “principal reduction” — that is, to paying off part of your loan. If you owned $350,000 on a house that was now worth $300,000, the Feds could give the bank $50k and you wouldn’t be underwater anymore. The FDIC proposed just this, in a plan that would have required homeowners to pay back the US government if the price of their homes rebounded.

If you want to keep Americans from losing their homes, principal reduction is a straightforward and reliable approach. But the banks hated this — and that meant Geithner wouldn’t do it. Banks don’t like principal reduction because it means that they’ll lose out on future payments: reducing your principal by $50k now means that the banks won’t get hundreds of thousands of dollars over the 30 years of your mortgage.

Using the money for principal reduction would have meant the banks’ balance sheets would have looked a little worse — which, as Moran points out, is a perfectly fair outcome for banks that had just come close to destroying the world economy, especially since many of these underwater borrowers were destined to lose their houses and would never make those payments.

But Geithner didn’t do principal reduction. Instead, he did HAMP, which was just a way to temporarily lower borrowers’ monthly payments so they could stay in their homes. Geithner sold Obama on this plan, convincing him to renege on his election promise to support a “cramdown” on the banks, which would have saved homeowners:

https://www.propublica.org/article/dems-obama-broke-pledge-to-force-banks-to-help-homeowners

HAMP was full of the kinds of complex requirements and paperwork that the professional managerial class love, rules that made it almost impossible for homeowners to invoke HAMP and improve their payments. Meanwhile, the banks got “investor incentive payments” that let them take in public money even as they foreclosed on the public:

https://www.irs.gov/newsroom/principal-reduction-alternative-under-the-home-affordable-modification-program

HAMP was a disaster. Almost no one managed to use it, and even among the lucky few who did manage to do so, many were tricked into foreclosure.

https://www.theguardian.com/money/2014/mar/30/government-program-save-homes-mortgages-failure-banks

This is the policy that Eberly and Krishnamurthy defend in their paper: rather than reducing debt, just temporarily restructure mortgage payments. One reason they defend this: it’s cheaper, and Congress didn’t allocate enough money to help everyone who needed principal reduction. But, as Moran points out, Geithner’s anemic response to the crisis caused Congress to claw back $225b of the money allocated to deal with it — enough to do $50k principal reductions for 4.5m households. Under Geithner, HAMP only spent $10b.

But of course, the US government didn’t need to pay the banks off to do principal reduction. They could simply order the banks to take a loss. That’s how lending usually works: lenders who originate bad loans have to eat them — they don’t get made whole by Uncle Sucker.

But when Eberly was working for Geithner, “federal officials convinced themselves this was impossible.” Rather than hold banks to account for their reckless speculation, Geithner announced that he was going to “foam the runway” for the banks, pureeing Americans’ homes to make the foam.

But Eberly’s tenure coincided with the banks’ rebound — by the time she went to work for Geithner, they were rolling in dough, posting massive profits. As @[email protected] put it, “If you force them to eat a bunch of foreclosure losses, maybe a few hundred billion over several years, it probably wouldn’t have been that bad.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPLbnr1mxBs

Moran nails it here: “When a bad loan is made, it is both prudent and fair for the lender to bear the most responsibility. They are supposed to be wise stewards of their own capital. Instead, ordinary homeowners who did the least of any actor to cause the financial crisis ended up eating the losses.”

Eberly and Krishnamurthy claimed that Geithner’s policy would be efficient, and that it wouldn’t lead to mass foreclosures. As neoclassical economists love to do, they “proved” this using elaborate mathematical models. And, also in the grand neoclassical tradition, they didn’t bother to check whether their model was correct.

To quote Ely Devons: “If economists wished to study the horse, they wouldn’t go and look at horses. They’d sit in their studies and say to themselves, ‘What would I do if I were a horse?’”

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/27/economism/#what-would-i-do-if-i-were-a-horse

Here’s what Eberly and Krishnamurthy missed: the choice to foreclose wasn’t being made by the lenders, they were being made by the mortgage servicer, a kind of consequence-free middleman who made more money by foreclosing on homeowners, even if the lenders lost more money over the long term:

https://www.researchgate.net/publication/228125783_Why_Servicers_Foreclose_When_They_Should_Modify_and_Other_Puzzles_of_Servicer_Behavior_Servicer_Compensation_and_its_Consequences

Eberly and Krishnamurthy barely mention the existence of servicers, but another researcher was keenly aware of them: a law prof named Katie Porter, who delved into the servicers’ role in foreclosure in a report for the California AG:

https://oag.ca.gov/sites/all/files/agweb/pdfs/mortgage_settlement/01-report-waiting-for-change.pdf

Porter identified the servicers’ “dual track” approach to distressed mortgage borrowers: on the one hand, they slow-walked HARP-based changes to payments, and on the other hand, they raced to foreclose on those borrowers who were waiting for their payments to reset.

The servicers’ hunger to throw people out of their homes knew no bounds: they set up massive robo-signing boiler-rooms where low-waged employees forged deeds to plug the paperwork holes created by the high-speed, unregulated speculation on mortgages that precipitated the Great Financial Crisis:

https://www.reuters.com/article/robosigning-plea/ex-mortgage-document-exec-pleads-guilty-in-robo-signing-case-idUSL1E8ML0C120121121

Eberly knew about robo-signing, she knew about servicers, she knew about foreclosures. It was her job to know. But she still wrote her paper defending Geithner’s runway-foaming and all those ruined lives:

Principal reduction can be helpful, but it is a less efficient use of government resources, since it back-loads payments to households that cannot borrow against these future resources to support consumption today, and also because it is most helpful in reducing strategic default, rather than payment-distress-induced default,

This is just means-testing by another name, a fetish for separating the “deserving poor” from “moochers” (AKA “strategic defaulters”). The PMC loves means-testing, but only for poor people. As Moran points out, rich people like Trump use strategic defaults all the time:

https://www.nytimes.com/2016/06/12/nyregion/donald-trump-atlantic-city.html

Elite economists and finance ghouls convinced themselves that helping people stay in their homes would enable waves of crooked “strategic defaulting” but there’s no evidence this was ever widespread — rather, it was a fairy tale that justified mass foreclosure:

https://www.nber.org/system/files/working_papers/w27585/w27585.pdf

Eberly helped throw millions of Americans into the street in order to reward reckless banks, already wildly profitable banks, with even more profit. And far from regretting this, she went on to write elaborate justifications for the cruel policies she helped administer.

The historian Michael Hudson describes debt and debt cancellation as a key determinant of whether a given civilization survives. In every venture, producers have to borrow capital from lenders — farmers, for example, must borrow to pay for seed and fertilizer and labor. When the ventures are successful, the borrowers pay back the lenders.

But not every venture can succeed. There will always be blights, droughts, fires and other risks that can’t be fully mitigated. When failure occurs, borrowers can’t pay back creditors. If you farm long enough, you’ll eventually lose a crop, and have to roll over your debts next year. Eventually, you’ll owe so much that you can’t even make the interest payments.

In the absence of some structured, periodic debt cancellation — such as the Bronze Age tradition of Jubilee — creditors eventually end up controlling the work of the entire productive sector. When that happens, your society stops producing what everyone needs, and instead just makes the things that rich people want:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/08/jubilant/#construire-des-passerelles

A civilization can’t survive if all of its farmers are growing ornamental flowers for rich creditors’ villas instead of staple crops. It can’t survive if every productive worker is stuck in a dead-end job or a dead-end place because of medical or student debt.

Personnel are policy. Eberly has explained, in excruciating detail, exactly what policy she favors — policy that rewards reckless speculation by incinerating the life chances of everyday Americans. Appointing her to the Federal Reserve board would be a giant Fuck You from the Biden admin to every person who got their home stolen by a bank.

Tomorrow (Mar 7), I’m doing a remote talk for TU Wien.

On Mar 9, you can catch me in person in Austin at the UT School of Design and Creative Technologies, and remotely at U Manitoba’s Ethics of Emerging Tech Lecture.

On Mar 10, Rebecca Giblin and I kick off the SXSW reading series.

Image: Medill DC (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Timothy_Geithner_in_2011.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[Image ID: A bombed out neighborhood. Over the crumbling houses is the 'HOPE' wordmark from Shepard Fairey's Obama campaign posters. On the right is the grinning face of Obama Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner, colorized to match the Fairey posters. On the left is an ogrish, top-hatted capitalist figure, chomping a cigar and disdainfully holding aloft a single-family home between a gloved forefinger and thumb. He stands before a podium bearing the Citibank logo. The podium has a lever in the shape of a golden dollar-sign, which he is yanking with his free hand. He, too, has been colorized in the mode of the Fairey poster.]

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