#the US government does stuff right SOMETIMES.

[nerves-nebula]

Incoming rant about a story from the 1960s

One of my classmates adapted a story called Harrison Bergeron and. Well. I hated it. What kind of ayn rand incredibles shit did I just read.

Like as someone who doesn’t forget disabled people actually exist and are treated like trash’s by society and our government and have had to fight for the meager resources they’re (sometimes) given, and who remembers that not everyone is middle class or white, it was truly insufferable to read. Like what’s the point, that we’ll never be perfectly and exactly equal?

Thank god someone made a story about that. You know whose had it too easy? The socially ostracized and people who fight for social change. Man you really showed them the dangers of equality.

It’s also just stupid. In what world would a loud noise stop you from thinking, wouldn’t you just get hearing loss? Wouldn’t you just immediately go back to thinking about something the moment the sound passes??

I get that it’s a hyperbolic dystopia but what is it satirizing, the concept of equality? BOOO, five year old idea of fairness ass story.

If it was about people using the concept of equality to further their own stuff that’d be kind of better but the whole thing reeks of this awful cynicism and essentialism about how some people are just Better than others, and I truly can’t stand that.

If the idea is that you shouldn’t sacrifice individual rights for a mythical version of total equality then the story falls flat on its face out of ignorance of any real world issues, If it was about not giving up your rights to the government, then what’s with this whole “equalizing the smart and pretty” nonsense. Why not pull from how governments ACTUALLY get away with stripping you of rights using supposedly righteous causes.

Like the whole premise is “wouldn’t it be awful if we were FORCED to be HANDICAPPED for being too smart or hot.” And like. You’re not exactly going against the grain of popular society here. People generally treat those they think are hot or smart better than those they think are dumb and ugly.

All this does is argue that actually the status quo is good and intelligence and beauty are solidly set things. Like it talks about putting bags over hot peoples faces, but never talks about anything that would actually be helpful like.. wheelchair ramps. It all superficial shit.

If the idea is that differences should be celebrated- why is it only differences that people in society already overhype like beauty and intelligence. You’re not celebrating anyone that our society doesn’t already celebrate.

Am I really supposed to feel for a guy who proclaims he’s an emperor and a great ruler and super hot and smart? If not, why did this comic portray him like he’s someone we’re supposed to root for???

I know it’s from the 1960s but you know who ISNT from the 1960s? My classmate! So what exactly am I looking at here.

And for future reference I’m only talking about the comic adaptation my classmate made, I haven’t read the thing it’s based off of. It just seems really obnoxious.

[tenebriism]

// BIG OOF.

Got home from the con, tested myself three times--- positive on all three. I’m trying to get ahold of my workplace so we can figure this out ( because, obviously, I’m not gonna go to work if I’m sick with the ‘vid, but I ALSO cannot afford to quarantine and not get paid for it. PICK UP THE PHONE. )

I feel fine, minus a bit of a raspy cough and some sneezing here and there, and I’ve already posted it on my Instagram so the mutuals I met at the con are aware they may have been exposed because of me. One already confirmed she tested positive, too. This shit is still serious, and while I’m happy we can go to cons and escape life a bit again, when we get home and take off the costumes, it’s back to reality.

[steddieas-shegoes]

oh love, i'm terrified

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is terrifying'

rated t | 1,585 words | cw: negative self views | tags: falling in love, getting together, love confessions, sappy and fluffy

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

He thought he was being obvious.

He doesn't do this stuff for everyone else. He doesn't show up after work to hang out for no reason other than just wanting to be around the other person. He doesn't talk on the phone for three hours in the middle of the night to comfort the other person after nightmares. He doesn't fucking stargaze with anyone.

But with Eddie he does. Steve always goes out of his way for Eddie.

He knows why, and he feels like everyone can see it too: he loves him.

But somehow, Eddie doesn't see it, or chooses not to.

Even Dustin, oblivious to human emotion as anyone else Steve's ever met, pulled him aside after Hellfire one night --yes, he even attends Hellfire now-- to ask if he knew he was flirting with Eddie so much.

Robin and Nancy had called him out on two different occasions for touching him too much in public, but he hadn't even realized his hand had gone to his waist!

And Eddie still seemed clueless.

Or at least, most of the time he seemed clueless.

Sometimes, though, Steve could swear he looked at him in a specific way, a way that Steve would think is understanding and maybe even returned feelings. But he never said anything, never did anything out of the ordinary for Eddie.

Months of wondering what the hell he could do differently, months of being less and less subtle every day, months of showing how much he loved him without actually saying it.

All for Eddie to still be oblivious.

But not tonight,

Tonight, he was going to Eddie's to have dinner and watch a movie. Wayne was on a fishing trip with his buddies from work, and all the kids were at the same summer camp, probably torturing underpaid teenage counselors.

No interruptions were possible.

He could bring out all his moves, and if Eddie still didn't get it by the end of the night, maybe he could even use his words.

"Dinner's almost ready!" Eddie yelled from the kitchen as Steve let himself in. "I didn't burn anything!"

Steve rolled his eyes fondly. "Sounds like something someone who burnt dinner would say."

"I didn't! I mean one edge is a little crispy on the lasagna, but I think that's because our oven is older than Wayne. You think the government could've given us a better oven for my troubles, but apparently not," Eddie turned to Steve standing in the doorway. "You look...nice."

Steve always liked to look nice, but he'd decided to dress up a little bit tonight, try to make his intentions clear right from the start. His hair was done as usual, but he was wearing his khaki slacks instead of jeans and his nicest navy polo instead of the t-shirts he'd mostly been wearing outside of work. He even sprung for his watch that his dad gave him as a graduation gift. He hated to know how much money was wasted on it, but it did look nice.

"Thanks. You do too," Steve replied.

Eddie looked down at his own clothes and back up at Steve. "Dude, I'm wearing sweats and a t-shirt that has more holes than cloth. You don't have to lie."

"I'm not lying. You always look best when you're comfy," Steve shrugged. "Need help with anything?"

Eddie shook his head. "Not unless you wanna grab beers from the fridge. I forgot to get some this afternoon so they're just Wayne's PBRs, but a cold beer's a good beer, right?"

"Right," Steve agreed, walking to the fridge to grab the beers.

Dinner went as dinner usually does, except they actually sat at the table this time instead of the couch. Eddie seemed surprised when Steve set his things down in front of the chair he only sat in to keep Eddie company while he planned for campaigns, but just silently joined him.

They talked and joked, they made themselves laugh so hard beer almost came out of Eddie's nose. It was perfect.

After, Steve started working on the dishes, Eddie standing by the counter watching.

He was quiet, which was unusual, especially when no one else was around to fill the silence.

"Everything okay, Eds?" Steve asked as he scrubbed a particularly difficult area on a fork.

"What? Oh. Yeah."

Steve turned to look at him, suddenly worried when he saw Eddie's face turned down to the floor. This wasn't them. They'd just had a nice dinner, and now Eddie was being...shy?

Now was his chance. He could say it. Robin would be proud of him for finally just doing it.

Hell, he'd be proud of himself for doing it.

But something seemed wrong, and the last thing Steve wanted was to turn a good night bad because he couldn't reign in his feelings for a bit.

He wiped his hands on the towel by the sink and turned fully towards Eddie.

"What's wrong?"

Eddie shook his head once, then sighed. "I kind of feel like I've been wined and dined tonight. And that's ridiculous because you're just one of my best friends, and you're straight, and it's all been in my head for months, but-"

"Woah. Wait." Steve interrupted. "You've been noticing that for months? And you didn't say anything?"

"Well, no. I didn't wanna ruin our friendship because I can't handle my own hopes getting up." Eddie leaned away from Steve further. "I know you don't mean it that way. I don't want you to change anything."

"Eds-"

"And if you do want to, that's fine! Whatever would make you comfortable. I just have to say it's feeling very 'I have romantic feelings' for you territory and I know you don't so."

"Eddie."

"I'm also not good at that though. No one's ever shown interest in me other than one girl in high school who ended up moving away a week later so I didn't even have to break her heart."

Steve crashed his lips to Eddie's, half hoping it would shut him up, and half hoping he would somehow keep rambling. He kind of loved watching him ramble.

It did shut him up. Even when Steve pulled away, Eddie's silence was deafening.

"Sorry. I should've asked if I could first, but I don't think you would have even heard me. Was that okay?" Steve asked.

"Why did you do that?" Eddie sounded heartbroken.

That's not what Steve wanted at all.

"I wanted to. I have wanted to."

"No you don't."

This was not going the way Steve had hoped for. "How would you know I don't?"

"Because I'm me! I'm just the dude who gets the good weed, and says funny shit, and cooks dinner sometimes. I'm not a girl Steve Harrington falls in love with, or even takes on a date. I'm not the type you build a relationship and future with. I'm just the guy who gets to watch everyone else do that. I'm not good for that."

"What the hell do you mean?" Steve was angry now. Who had convinced Eddie he couldn't have good things, couldn't be loved or love someone, couldn't be important? "You're Eddie Munson. You saved us all from an evil wizard dude and nearly died doing it. You're the guy who makes me a sandwich when I come over for Hellfire even though there's strict no eating during the campaign rules because you know I've been working all day and need to eat. You turn all my bad days good, and make my life better just because you're you."

"Steve-"

"My turn." Steve crowded him against the counter, hands cupping his cheeks and eyes boring into Eddie's. "I need you to understand something. I've been trying to show how much I care about you, how much I love you, for months, and I've been thinking I've just been terrible at it. I thought I truly did lose all my charm. I've been pulling all my moves out for you. I was starting to think maybe you just were trying to ignore it all to let me down easy, but it isn't that. It's because you don't see how fucking amazing you are, isn't it?"

Eddie's eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"Because you are. You're incredible. Maybe the best person I've ever known other than Robin. I find excuses to be near you. I find reasons to talk to you. I didn't even have a nightmare the other night, I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm in love with you. Like, the real stupid, do anything for you even if it hurts me kind. And if you don't feel anything for me besides friendship, I'll leave right now and I'll do my best to get over it so we can be friends."

"And if I do?"

"If you do love me, then you should kiss me."

"I've never kissed anyone."

"That's not true. We kissed two minutes ago," Steve smirked, his heart racing in his chest.

"I'm scared," Eddie's whispered admittance nearly broke Steve's heart.

"Oh love, I'm terrified. Love is like that. But we've faced scarier things, haven't we?"

Eddie's soft lips against his own was the only answer he needed.

Love was terrifying, even for Steve, maybe especially for Steve, who was used to giving a lot more love than he received back. But as they kissed in Eddie's kitchen for seconds that turned to minutes, minutes that turned to hours, they got just a bit less scared.

[brucewaynehater101]

i'm gonna be real idk if your the right person to go for young justice core four headcanons but you give the best replies by far so heres my own idea idea

I was listening to the Roblox Soundfont remix and now the og Gone Angels and now I'm thinking . . .

Tim became Robin to prevent Batman from ceasing to be the symbol of heroism and good he started off as

The symbol that spiraled into destruction of even the self with Jason Todd's death

imagine a world where Red Robin becomes the very thing he swore to destroy with his own death

he dies along with Bart and Kon. Cassie due to this and maybe other factors fucking looses it, Batman post-Jason's death but pre-Tim becoming Robin style

or maybe instead he dies but the rest of the core four lives. either way Cassie still looses it, by herself or with her other teammates

And maybe, just maybe, they get nobody to be the Third Robin to their Batman, no Third Robin to Tim's Second Robin

likely improbably in canon but the idea of Cassie and maybe even Bart and Kon having a villain arc (maybe Black Silence style) is too good of an idea not to share

(Side note; imagine a Gone Angels cover where the survivor(s) sing and for the itallian lyrics in the midway point the deceased sing)

((extra side note: imagine this is what gets Batman and maybe the other Bats to reflect on the time before and after Tim become robin, post Jason's death; seeing their history repeat with Young Justice))

((hell maybe the Justice League realizes as wells))

"you give the best replies by far." Thank you. Sometimes, it takes a bit to reply to asks cause I'm taking a few hours to really answer the prompts/ideas/questions people pose. I also sleep at random times, so apologizes in advance to any asks that take a while!

My image of YJ is a codependent platonic polycule. They are Young Just Us because they didn't receive proper support from their mentors. This is part of why Cassie and Tim fell apart after Kon and Bart died. This is why, in their own weird ways, both of them tried to get a form of Kon back. Tim tried the scientist cloning avenue, and Cassie tried the cult.

If you want Tim's death to inspire Cassie and YJ to go evil, might I suggest Tim sending proof of Bruce being alive in the timestream and then succumbing to his spleen injury (perhaps an infection)? This would create a delicious amount of angst, anger, and mental breakdowns.

Cassie, the only nonretired YJ member alive at the time, didn't believe Tim about Bruce being alive. This was in part due to the cloning stuff but also in part to trusting Nightwing (or Batman at the time). If Tim didn't make it out of that alive, Cassie may be desperate to find anyone to blame but herself for that. She was a kid, she was lost in her own grief, and Tim should have had the support of literally any other hero.

The entire hero community turned against a teenager in his time of need that he resorted to conspiring with the LoA and ended up losing his life. Whether she chooses to be mad about nobody believing him (Tim's possibly a better detective than Bruce and people have revived before, but his evidence at the time was flimsy), she can be very pissed that not a single hero offered to help him. They didn't even need to trust in Tim's decision. They could have just accompanied Tim until the teen gave up or proved himself right. They could have treated it as a grief road trip while Tim found himself.

Anyways, losing the last nonretired YJ member that way may cause her to just snap. The JL was already on thin ice with the YJ for their lack of support to her generation of heroes. Them failing YJ enough that two children died in the field and one died as a direct result of their actions? She would, rightfully, loathe the JL. On top of that, she does already not trust the government for what they did to Secret. If she can't prosecute the JL, she'll become their enemy.

Cassie lost all of her main polycule. She wants revenge.

After Bart and Kon come back, they see how JL left Cassie and what they did to Tim. Cassie is part of their ride or die, and she has been treated so horribly. Tim has died. They obviously join her.

Now, with Bart there to give evil ideas (Bart is the scariest member of YJ and you can't convince me otherwise), YJ is a force to be reckoned with. Maybe some of the other members come out of retirement, maybe not. They would be unstoppable with Tim helping them, but that's the problem. They don't have Tim. Tim isn't there to help them nor hold them back. That's why they became "evil" anyway.

I like to imagine someone, probably Nightwing, screaming at them from across the battlefield. "This isn't what he would have wanted! He became Robin to stop Batman from destroying everything. This is the antithesis of why he became a hero!"

For a split second, YJ would pause. There's merit in those words, after all. Cassie would recover first as she shakes her head. "He became a hero to be the leash to Batman's rage. He's not here now. He's not here to temper our rage, and you did that. You abandoned a child." She plants her feet more firmly and points her sword at Nightwing. "We won't let you do that again."

It's dealers choice on whether YJ win the battle or not. Also, I do believe YJ would be obsessed with trying to bring Tim back. Perhaps some of their evil deeds truly stem from them trying to find ways to bring back Tim. They are incomplete without him just as they were incomplete without Kon or Bart and would be without Cassie.

Now, is Tim actually alive or does he stay dead? Did Ra's revive him using the Pit? Did Ra's lie or misguide the Bats while keeping Tim hostage? Will Tim come back, either after being brainwashed by Ra's or escaping, to find his platonic polycule has officially lost it and turned evil?

[csuitebitches]

KEEP. READING. STUFF. THAT. MATTERS.

Yes, I’m about to sound like a pick-me right now and I don’t care because you need to read this.

There’s nothing wrong with reading about fiction, romance, fantasy, all that stuff. However- it does separate you from the real world. Sometimes, its an escape and I understand that. BUT. In order to function positively in social settings - any social settings - you need to be on top of stuff that’s happening.

That doesn’t mean that you have to be a geopolitical expert or a current affairs news anchor. But it does mean that you need to at least read the news everyday. Once you accomplish that, take that a step further and start looking at reports.

Read what Morgan Stanley’s reports for your country are. Take a look at EY’s or Deloitte’s insights. This will give you an idea as to the years ahead could be like, which is important to know in the case of getting jobs, applying for Masters, talking and connecting to people - you need to what’s going to be relevant and how YOU can benefit from it. Read case studies relevant to your industry/ what you want to work in. Make it a note to read at least one case study a week, from different parts of the world.

You’re too old to keep watching the same beauty gurus rant about the same 5 products over and over again. Even if you’re in the cosmetics industry, its important for you to read about things like manufacturing (what is your country’s stance with China, and how will that affect manufacturing?), ingredients (what have been banned by governments/ FDAs/ equivalents and why? What is the alternative?), rising trends not just in terms of the next “cool” item but the future of the industry itself.

Knowledge is power. You are blessed to live in a time where you have access to things that can put you 10 years ahead at your current job/ profession/ situation. Be smart. Use it wisely. There’s a lot of distractions, but that means that there’s equally as many opportunities.

[artbyblastweave]

So, the thing about Ward's worldbuilding is, it's bad on purpose. This is something I didn't catch until a relisten of the earlier parts, but the disconnect between the actual literal apocalypse that occurred two years prior and the shockingly advanced levels of infrastructure and technology is very deliberate. The entire thing is slapdash and farcical. You have people out the door of a shitty concrete hovel lining up for bad coffee. You have cars built out of random scavenged parts, "dumpsters" that Victoria can't manhandle because they're made of clumsily-welded-together scrap metal. Victoria can't reliably navigate at night because power to the city below is intermittent (and her mother Carol happens to live in one of the parts that does have consistent power; that's unexamined, make of it what you will.) The mall cluster shitshow goes down in a "mall" that, IIRC, is called out later as having been basically a dead end economically, a doomed grasp at a sense of normalcy. The patrol block uses recycled PRT gear, Dot's interlude involves the machine army jumping a bunch of bog-standard apocalypse scavengers. What you're looking at isn't a new society built up shockingly quickly; you're looking at the previously-well-supplied-and-externally-supported outpost of the recently destroyed society, and after two years they're finally chewing through the last of the head start they got. The societal equivalent of Wile. E. Coyote hanging in the air above the cliff, or of the seemingly-untouched duelist seconds away from sliding in half. Unfortunately, due to choices made about the timeframe and focus of the story, the Coyote sprouts wings. The duelist whips out a staple gun. Or to come at this from another angle- in The Walking Dead, a comic I really like, I can sort of organize the arc of the apocalypse into three-ish big chunks. For the first eight or nine months in universe, about 48 issues, things are obviously bad, right, quite a few people have died, but there's a sense among Rick and company that they might be able to ride it out, that things are on the upswing. They've got crops going, they have new births, maybe help from the government proper isn't coming the way they thought it might towards the start, but things are looking up! Then, of course, the Great Fuckening of Volume Eight occurs, and you enter the middle phase of the comic, where they're down to like a third of their group, they're food-insecure, they're constantly on the move, they're under attack from rapists and cannibals who've descended into habitual atrocity because they're totally without hope. Children are having mental breaks and killing children, the first friendly guy Rick met in the whole comic is now an insane hermit feeding dead bodies to his undead son, on and on and on and on and on. Bad times, but a comparatively short middle in the grand scheme of things. Then they find Alexandria, and the back half of the comic is spent basically on an upward trajectory with some zig-zags, there are still periodic existential threats but they're clearly past the nadir.

Ward feels like it starts midway through that first part, the you-don't-know-how-much-worse-this-can-get part, with the emphasis on the social tensions, the encroaching winter, but then it just...doesn't get much worse. I mean they have a rough three months, but then they sort of speedrun right to the hopeful future ending as soon as the titans are dealt with. There were parts that I suspect were supposed to be the dark-night-of-the-soul I'm alluding to but they didn't land as such. I feel as though the superhero genre stuff kind of subordinated the apocalypse stuff, made it less visible by virtue of whose POV we were following, and sometimes I feel that as a remedy to this, Ward should have taken place over the course of years, and it should have Just Kept Getting Worse. For example Breakthrough should have had to kill and eat Rain to survive the winter

[bloodsadx]

when ur like 5 or 6 a not insignificant amount of your time is spent fucking with wood chips. like those are your homies. they smell bad when it rains and sometimes people throw them at you or just in general. everybody knows that one kid who has a favorite wood chip. i don't know if that's true i don't fuck with being 5 or 6 at this point in my life anymore. but it feels like stuff like that used to happen. but then one day u don't mess with them at all anymore. the alternative to a woodchip when ur a kid is sometimes like weird asphalt foam stuff that is slightly colorful and gets too hot. where does all of that stuff go? it gets chemically turned into cardboard boxes that contain things like "door dash orders" and "100 copies of the new nintendo game". there's kids out there right now eating wood chips. or like sometimes a wood chip would get into a place where a wood chip wasn't supposed to go: such as, the bathroom, or maybe even, the class room. you gotta think about stuff like, does the principal of a school, call the wood chip place? i need some wood chips down here? or like a church? when i was a kid i imagined there was some sort of playground manufacturing position and maybe a hard hat government employee would come and he would handle all of the wood chips forever. but by like the 6th year of a school's life time it might be safe to assume any singular wood chip has been inside of at least half of the school's mouth. what if you took a wood chip home and did weird stuff with it? that's just the kind of possibilities that are extant in wood chips, and i'm afraid not a single person is going to think about any of this stuff in as soon as 100 years.

[just-late-roman-republic-things]

This post now has an expanded, better researched version! Check it out!

~~~

Things I watch out for when considering if a Roman history blog/community/media might have fascist leanings:

"Ironic" jokes that demean groups of people. These are often a cover for normalizing real prejudice against those groups.

Various dogwhistles and hate symbols. Also, check out the early warning signs of fascism.

Glorification of the military or the empire's size. It's one thing to be interested in a subject, but fascists tend to ignore the many problems of Rome's military and government, like corruption, mistreatment of veterans, abuse toward non-Roman people, and the occasional genocide.

Justifying historical oppression or abuse. This is different from merely explaining or trying to understand something. In case someone simply worded something poorly, I look at their additional posts or ask for clarification. If there's a pattern of downplaying/excusing oppression, that's a bad sign.

Power fantasies. Does a person (or community) seem to identify with the conquerors and overlords, because of their power? A person making jokes about Cicero's shitty poetry, or Augustus wearing platform shoes, is probably here for a different reason than someone talking about "putting the barbarians in their place."

Ignoring women's experiences, queer history, slaves and working-class experiences, and cultural diversity. At best this could just be a newbie who hasn't gotten around to those topics yet, which is fine. Learning takes time. But if a community, historian, or professionally published work makes Rome look like it's composed solely of rich white cishet guys...there is a problem.

Flattening history into Romans vs. outsiders. "Us vs. them" themes, also seen as "civilization vs. barbarians," or "virtue vs. moral decline/degeneracy," is endemic to bigoted worldviews. Not only is it demeaning toward other cultures, it also erases how multicultural and changeable Roman identity was over time.

Also, any modern person who seriously attributes Rome's fall to "moral decline" or "degeneracy" is either deeply ignorant or using a dogwhistle for homophobia, antisemitism and racism. Also, using "barbarian" or "savage" unironically.

Be extra alert for antisemitism. Shit like justifying Hadrian's actions, bringing up Jews when discussing Roman debt problems, or idolizing Vespasian or Titus. The Romans did a lot of bad shit in Judaea, and sometimes those stories attract antisemites today.

Use of the past to justify present-day harm or anger. Fascists and racists tend to get attached to "tradition" or "the good old ways" - or what they think is tradition - believing that this makes their bigotry more "normal" instead of "bizarre, hateful and reactionary." But just because something was common in the ancient world doesn't mean it's a good idea today.

There's a lot of anger and bitterness in fascist communities in general, in fact. Many people fall into the "alt-right pipeline" because their personal lives are deeply troubled, and those places give them someone to blame and feel superior to. If hanging out in a community seems to be making you angrier, more suspicious, or looking down on certain kinds of people, think carefully about whether this is a good community to be in.

And finally...fascists aren't all that interested in history. They care about their myth of good guys vs. evil outsiders, and they warp history to fit into that narrative. They might like the aesthetics, or symbols, or idolize a few famous dudes or battles. But rarely do they know, or care, about how Roman society worked, or how it changed over time, or anything less "glorious." Rarely do they actually want to learn or put in effort. My favorite example of "fascist laziness" is Mussolini's terrible film about Scipio Africanus, in which you can see telephone wires and the extras wearing wristwatches.

Feel free to add to this list. I am not an expert at spotting this stuff, and I probably missed some things. But I figured this might be a good starting point for others, too. Don't use this list to make "callouts" or harass people - it's usually more effective to block, avoid, and report extremists than to give them more visibility.

Conversely, a great way to protect yourself from falling into the alt-right pipeline is to learn more about how diverse the Roman world was! Check out studies of ancient women, disabilities, queer people, and decolonizing the classics! Not only will they broaden your horizons, they're also fascinating in their own right.

[abzania]

What they don't seem to get is that this isn't going to stop. Not until the genocide ends. Not until Israel gives up its occupation in Palestine. Not until the US denounces Israel's violence and a ceasefire is called. We're going to keep donating, talking, protesting, and advocating until we can firmly say the genocide has ended. We're going to keep encampments on every college campus in this God forsaken country. Just as we have before. And as we will do again, and again, and again, every time America decides to participate in or be intentionally ignorant of every genocide, war crime, and humanitarian crisis we could put a stop to. There's nothing they can do to stop it. Even if they manage to keep people off the streets, this stuff will still happen behind closed doors. We'll keep fighting. We'll keep applying pressure, until sometime finally breaks. It always does.

So the US can sit back and drag our name through the dirt, as they are want to do. Our government can keep acting like it's on the right side of history. We all know what those textbooks will say in 40 years. They can even try to suppress us. It won't work. Not until Palestine is free. Not until the people there can finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Free Palestine. Respect to those students, standing up for what is right. We're proud of you. Keep fighting.

[theresattrpgforthat]

hello! i was wondering if theres any ttrpgs set in/inspired by Terry Pratchett's Discworld? thanks :)

THEME: Discworld

I love the Discworld books and I'm very glad you asked this question. I have three resources for you!

A One In A Million Chance At Adventure, by Jocher Symbolic Systems.

This is a game where you play the roles of, often unwilling, sometimes zealous, pawns in the cosmic octarine coloured narrative. Your character is not necessarily a "hero" per se, instead one could possibly see it as being important to the story. Characters like yourself do have a knack for not dying as often as a common mortal (or undead if that has been your unfortune).

With this follows that you'll naturally have a higher chance of actually, possibly, doing some heroic deeds, just by sheer mathematical logic. Unless, of course, you are the type of adventurer who'd prefer a cup of hot tea and soft slippers and a reliable day job.

That does severely reduce the odds of let's say beheading a mythical beast of ill repute or befriending the immodest wood nymphs of Howondaland*.

*if your day job happens to be for example a tax collector this is not true, this and similar careers have shown to increase the risk of leaving the disc rather early.  ** only rumoured, no one who has gone looking for them has ever returned.

This is a free, fan-made d10-based game written in the style of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels, footnotes and all. The characters you build are expected to be flawed in some way - they have vices that can cause problems for them and plenty of skills (or spells) to help them get out of trouble.

A One in A Million Chance At Adventure has plenty of supplements to support the game, including an introductory adventure: The Murder of Dominick Kolchak, and a character supplement: The A-M Professions Character Build Guides.

Discworld Roleplaying Game, by Steve Jackson Games.

There's a lot of unusual stuff on the Disc, but don't worry about getting lost – game author Phil Masters has crafted a roadmap to Pratchett-inspired storytelling.

Visit settings like the most dubious city in the multiverse, Ankh-Morpork. Intervene in the cultural interactions of trolls and dwarves (but watch out for flying axes). Campaign for goblin rights. Flee from an angry Swamp Dragon (two feet of mindless fury and high-explosive digestion). Even find out why the second-greatest lover on the Disc needs a stepladder.

And remember, the world is round. And also flat.

This is the official roleplaying game published by Steve Jackson Games, the creators of Munchkin and GURPS - which means that this game also uses the GURPS system. Characters are pretty in-depth and require some time to put together - and that means the the core rulebook is a pretty hefty read. If you like big games with heavy modularity and a lot to chew on, maybe this game is for you!

If you want to try the game out and need a little help, there’s a GURPS Character sheet app available to help you put characters together, and Chris Normand is an avid enthusiast with many videos providing advice on how to get a grip on the system.

The Kleptomancer’s Crypt, by Max Kāmmerer.

The Kleptomancer’s Crypt is an adventure for Troika!, but is easily adapted to other systems. It mostly consists of tables to help you generate a variable adventure. Improvisation and interpretation by the GM required. 

A client hired you to break into the Kleptomancer’s Crypt and so you did. Now you need to get out of the place. The Kleptomancer is a government official tasked with redistributing the wealth by stealing from the rich and keeping what they stole for themselves. Okay, that last part isn’t in the official job description. The Crypt is filled with all kinds of strange things and rooms and people, really. You might for example encounter pipe smoking sloths, boardgame playing plants, ever expanding spheres or the Kleptomancer’s apprentice. The place is dangerous, so you prepared by cutting a deal with death, preventing you from dying while you are in the Crypt.

To be clear, this is not a full game. It is simply an adventure for one.

The eclectic tone of Troika fits Discworld so well that I’m not at all surprised that there is an adventure made for it. If you have experience with Troika, or even with other OSR games, you might want to check this one out.

[septembriseur]

The latest thing I’m thinking about with Andor is the question of its relationship to Cassian’s line in Rogue One about having “been in this fight since [he] was six years old.” Now: there’s still a lot that we don’t know about what happened between Cassian-as-Kassa and Cassian as we see him in this show, and revelations about that might change our understanding of the character. But right now I’m really interested in how the show interprets "be[ing] in this fight.” The fan interpretation has been that Cassian has been a member of the Rebellion (or some faction that identifies itself broadly with the goals of the Rebellion) since he was six years old. What the show gives us is a Cassian whose life, since (presumably) the mining disaster when he was six years old, has itself been made a fight with a hegemony that has pitted itself against his existence. The show’s Cassian (as far as we know at this point) has been sent to prison for acts against the Empire, has stolen from the Empire, and has basically done everything except join a formal movement. 

I think this is significant because it’s a very different understanding of what being in a struggle entails. I know an awful lot of people who join formal activist groups and do very little aside from giving money and occasionally sending out form letters. They place a lot of importance on the identity part of a movement: I am a member of this, and my personal identity is determined by self-identification as part of this movement. Many of their acts center around self-identification: for instance, wearing t-shirts, attending marches, buying merchandise. However, most of those people do not live their lives resisting hegemony. In part, this is because they don’t have to: they have the option to not resist hegemony because hegemony is not opposed to their existence in the way that, to take just one example and the one with which I happen to be best acquainted, it is opposed to the existence of asylum-seekers/migrants. When hegemony is opposed to your existence, every day you fight hegemony to survive. Sometimes you fight literally, by engaging in acts of violence. Sometimes you fight by stealing, begging, escaping, lying, hiding. Sometimes you fight by doing some or all of those things under the guise of being a model citizen. This is one of the things that resistance can be. 

It seems important the Cassian moves in and out of acts that we would identify as formal Rebellion. The Rebellion isn’t bad; the Rebellion is great. The Rebellion wins. But Cassian was in this fight before he was in the Rebellion, and after doing stuff that counts as “being in the Rebellion,” and before getting a job and a title in the Rebellion. He was in this fight because he was doing things to survive and help others survive in the face of an Empire that does not see them as “people.” That’s what being in this fight looks like. The fight is not between two organizations; it’s not even between two systems of government, or two economic philosophies. It’s a fight against a power that classifies some forms of life as grist, as extraneous, as fuel. Resisting that power therefore takes many forms of refusal to accept that classification, to insist on the value and dignity of those people whom you’ve been taught have no value or dignity— which may or may not include yourself. And the importance of understanding this lies in the fact that it denies you the opportunity to exculpate yourself by virtue of your inability to pick up a rifle. It’s not about picking up a rifle. The fight is now. The fight is every day.

[eggplantwaffles]

i think a big problem with modern batfam comics is that they have so many characters that kinda just overlap- here’s my ideas for how to give each of them their own “niche” to make them unique. Some of this is canon or alluded to is some way- but a lot is just what i think makes sense for each character.

Bruce Wayne

Bruce retires, it’s the only way to give all his kids / kid adjacents their own chance to shine. i’m sure he grumbles about it and watches from the bat cave obsessively, but i’m the end he’s learned to trust the batfam and lets them take care of things.

Dick Grayson

I actually really like where Dick is at in comics right now, i mean it’s not perfect- but I like the idea of Nightwing being a “better” version of Batman for Blüdhaven. He leads the Titans, which are now on par pedigree wise with the Justice League, and as Dick Grayson he is an active member of the community in Blüdhaven, trying to use all his resources to help people. So basically not much changes here.

Barbara Gordon

This one’s easy, just make her Oracle all the time- in the most bad dads way possible. Give me paralyzed Barbara Gordon who has eyes and ears all over the world and is the center of ALL super hero activity. She leads the Birds of Prey, she’s in the ears of all the bats, she’s IT for the Justice League- she does all of it.

Jason Todd

I liked Jason’s character best when he serves as an antagonist. Jason goes back to being a crime lord, and we bring back his ideals of trying to control the crime as opposed to trying to stop it. Jason has good intentions, but he lacks the idealism of the other bats who are constantly trying to save the city without compromising any morals. I think that Jason often butts heads with Tim and Cass (mostly Cass due to her very strict no killing rule) but is mostly left alone by Steph and Damian, who are more willing to accept his methods even if they don’t love them.

Tim Drake

Tim should travel the world “conspiracy hunting,” kind of like how he took down the League of Assassins, except he probably chills out on the blowing up bases all around the world that might (definitely) have people inside. Tim is supposed to be the best detective of the Robins, so lean into that- I want globe trotting - mentally unwell - detective stories where Tim fights big secret organizations or takes down corrupt governments. He is also still apart of Young Justice, though they are all a bit older and are a less official group, the core four are still close and work together- they help keep Tim grounded and remember that he doesn’t have to do everything alone.

Stephanie Brown

I think Stephanie kind of separates herself from the batfamily after her time as Batgirl. I don’t mean that she give up fighting crime, or even gives up wearing the bat symbol, I just mean that she becomes a mostly solo act. Steph becomes Gothams main hero, she does normal vigilante stuff, patrolling the streets, saving the city, detective work, the typical bat stuff. But she’s far more connected to the people of Gotham than Batman ever was, stopping and talking to kids, handing out blankets to the homeless, doing cool flips and batarang trick shots for civilians passing by. Eventually she is the hero most Gothamites associate with their city, and she represents the good parts of Gotham- giving the people hope that they aren’t doomed to be consumed by the city, but that they will be stronger because of it. I also think that things are kinda awkward between her and the bats (except for Dick, Damian, and Barbara) and she tries to keep her distance a bit, considering she was kinda treated like shit as Spoiler and i think Steph deserves to be bitter about that, for a little bit at least.

Cass

Cass becomes Batman, but she operates globally. She’s not like early-Bruce batman who stayed in Gotham, she’s more similar to later batman. She’s in the league, she goes on funky missions to space or other dimensions sometimes, she fights the world ending threats that someone with no powers really should have no business fighting. She also works frequently with Tim and they do some fun little espionage stuff. And while she does return to Gotham, she’s mostly content to leave the city to Steph now- except for all the times she gets into fights with Jason, it bothers her that Steph rarely messes with his operation.

Damian

I really love the idea of Damian getting more into the magical part of DC, I think he should absolutely end up with a Justice League Dark team and learn to do cool magic shit. He goes on a training montage quest like Bruce did, except he’s learning all about magic and demons and cool stuff like that. He has cool magic swords and is sort of the connection between the more grounded part of the universe and the magic parts. He also does a fair bit of globe trotting, looking for ancient mystical artifacts or magical worlds and stuff like that.

Duke Thomas

Duke also mostly stays in Gotham, he’s kinda doing his own thing as The Signal- he still operates during the daytime meaning he doesn’t cross paths with Steph or Jason too often on patrol. There’s not much to change here because Duke is already unique in that he 1- operates during the day and 2- is the only meta-bat, so I don’t need to make a niche for him, DC just needs to use him more.

Random Stuff

- Duke is starting college and takes night classes at Gotham U, Steph is also still in college and is graduating soon

- Tim is either Red Robin, or operating under a new name (I think the Vulture or Condor would be kinda cool but idk)

- The Batfam does not get along like a real family, they are dramatic bitches who fight all the time and have cannot all be in the same room

- Damian and Steph are super close, she was the first person to insist on treating him like a child, which he hated but now that he’s older is grateful for (but he’ll never admit it)

- Damian also sees Dick as his father figure, Bruce is just kinda also there

- Bruce, Alfred, Damian, and Cass all live at the manor- but Damian and Cass are rarely there as they travel a lot and got shit to do

- Barbara lives in the clock tower, she technically lives alone but usually one of Cass, Dick, Dinah, or Helena will be crashing there

- Steph lives alone in the same house she grew up in, her Mom has moved to California or something for a fresh start as she is finally sober, but at this point Steph doesn’t need her. It’s very sad as Steph never truly had a mother, but she’s happy that Crystal is getting another chance away from Gotham.

- Duke swears he’s seen Jason at night classes at Gotham U, but Jason won’t admit it

- The only ones Jason talks to semi-frequently are Dick and Tim, the relationships are super rocky though. Dick sees Jason as his brother first, and since he’s in Blüdhaven he tries not to concern himself with Jason’s business. Tim and Jason do fight a bit but Tim is more lenient than Cass so he can tolerate Jason’s shit if he feels like it’s for the best.

[verosvault]

🚨SPOILERS FOR FANTASY HIGH JUNIOR YEAR EPISODE 6🚨

Dimension20 "Fantasy High Junior Year"

Episode 6 "Party Politics"

Timestamp: 1:06:43

Video Length: 4min. & 15sec.

Mazey asks if anyone wants to play Twister 🫶

Brennan: "It's one of those things where the host and other kids go to a room at a party they are throwing, it has a gravitational pull to it."

Mazey joins in! 😭✋ I LOVE HER SO BAD! 😭✋

Mazey: "Oh, a little private hang? Some cool air in here?"

Kristen: "Yeah, you know, I'd love to pick your brain sometime, if we could do a power lunch at school."

Mazey: "Not allowed to do favoritism, but during office hours, school hours, yeah, let's do it."

Kristen: "I'd love that. I'd love that."

Fabian asks if Mazey wants to do some pirate snuff 💀 and she kindly declines the offer 😋

Mazey: "Wanna break out some Twister?"

Ivy: "Twister? What, are we in middle school?" 😭

Mazey gets very HURT! 😭✋

Mazey is very talented and has cool stuff going on, but she's involved in student government. She's a good egg! 🥺😭

Fig says that she'd love to play Twister with Mazey! 😭✋

Mazey looks very heartened at Fig! 🥺

Fig rolls intimidation towards Ivy for that and Kristen offers the help action! 😎👌 Fig gets a 17 intimidation towards Ivy!

Ivy purses her lips and smiles at Fig

Ivy: "Bit chilly."

Drunk Adaine: "That's the ice muffets." 😂🤣

Brennan laughs! 😂🤣

Brennan: "I love drunk Adaine so much! The ice muffets." 😭✋

Adaine made it really cold in here! 😂🤣💀

Gorgug: "Can you get them out of here?" 😂🤣💀😭✋

Fig doesn't respond to Ivy.

Fig uses all of her bardic energy to get a rowdy game of Twister going!

Fig turns it into drinking twister and emcee's it!

Fig has rivalries. She hosts it like a pro wrestling match. 😂

Ivy looks at Mazey and doesn't say anything, 'cause of the intimidation roll.

Ivy asks for some snuff from Fabian.

Mazey looks at Fabian "Yeah, Twister, there's a cool variant where there's some break dancing moves, if you wanted to come play."

Riz: "That's awesome."

Ivy just smiles at Fabian!

(BRENNAN IS REALLY OUT HERE TRYING TO LEAD FABIAN/LOU TO MAKE ALL THE BAD BUT ALSO PERFECTLY IN-CHARACTER KINDS OF CHOICES! I'M CRYING FR! 😭✋ BRENNAN IS SO EVIL! 😭✋)

Fig: "There's actually a huge line, you don't need to come. It's already really popular."

Fabian: "Yeah, I'm gonna stay up here and do snuff."

Fig: "Yeah"

Fabian: "Sadly, Twister is not my style."

Ivy grins

Ivy: "Bye Bye, Macy"

Everyone makes insight checks into Mazey 😭

Brennan: "I think all of Fabian's friends see Fabian's decision for what it is."

Gorgug and Riz both decide to go play Twister 💀

Mazey has a deep sigh.

Mazey: "Let's go!"

Mazey picks up Fig and puts her up on her giant shoulder! 😭✋♥️

Kristen mouths to Fig: "Use this! Be in with the Prez!"

Fig: "I'm not gonna do that!"

Kristen: "Use this!"

Fig: "Kristen, Fine!" 😭

Kristen: "Follow the money!"

The Twister party is legendary! 😆👏

Mazey doesn't take shots, but transitions to being like "All right, taking my windbreaker off!" 🥺

Mazey is getting involved with other people 🥺

Brennan: "Everyone goes and jumps in the tartar sauce in the pool. You see that it's very fun and rowdy. There's a variant where you can avoid certain things by doing dance moves. At one point, she has to get a foot to an impossible place and leaps up and does this incredible acrobatic flip into a spot to land in the right place."

Ally: "Standing ovation."

[nordickies]

I have a question, are nations seen as ordinary people or are they seen as famous, like they are celebrities?

How unhinged do you want me to get about this topic? I have so many thoughts but no skills to write them down in a comprehensible manner. I have a lot of ideas on how Nations could potentially work in their universe, so exploring ideas like this is fun. The canon gives us some hints about it, but I love deep-diving into stuff. As a warning, this is how I view the situation and use it in my interpretations. I tag my thoughts on the nationverse as Nordickies Nationverse AU - so just to clarify, I don't even try to explain the canon with this! This is, once again, just my own thoughts and ideas. Feel free to implement them in your work.

The way I think Nations work, it would be impossible to see them as totally detached from the public consciousness. After all, they work for their government - their job description is to represent their country, domestically and internationally. But, how they're supposed to represent their state is a bit different than, say, a Head of State (like a president) would. They're not political personas; in fact, they would probably be pressed to be excessively apolitical. Their political rights would be almost certainly stripped away. They're not equal to their country's citizens in that regard.

While a Head of State would represent a country in diplomatic and political settings, a Nation would represent a country in entertainment, so to speak. These immortals don't hold any authority, so the only purpose they would have is to entertain people - Be the symbolic figure for people who share a national identity. This also makes Nations more people-oriented, easily approachable, and relatable. They regularly visit schools, hospitals, and ceremonies, work as a spokesperson for humanitarian organizations, appear at national celebrations or major events, support their athletes in international competitions, do interviews, etc.

And, of course, a massive part of their job is to uphold relationships with fellow Nations, which is a form of entertainment in itself. That's what the World Meetings are all about, for example. They're not political meetings, and they don't decide anything there. It's like a massive corporate party, just a chance for all the Nations to gather in one place for half a week and have fun. Keep up appearances, meet coworkers, and do networking. It's almost a facade sometimes, but the intentions are good. I think the Nations enjoy that particular side of their job more than anything.

But it hasn't always been like this, and I think the role of Nations has changed a lot throughout history. This sort of "celebrity" status only developed through celebrity culture and expectations of the modern world. Every Nation views their role differently, primarily based on their culture, personality, and even global status. The USA is far more famous than, say, a micronation. Some Nations love the luxurious celebrity lifestyle and genuinely love to meet and work with their people. But others prefer to keep to themselves and avoid publicity as much as possible outside work hours. I don't think there even is an agreed standard on what kind of role a Nation is expected to serve, to be honest - it's all determined by the local culture and government, not to mention Nations that don't even have an independent state! To summarize, some are far more public and famous than others.

But, this public role does come with a heavy burden. Being the representative of potentially millions of people means that Nations are not individuals anymore. They're not supposed to have needs, desires, or opinions - especially if those diverge from the masses or conflict with their state's interests. They don't even have an individual name anymore, and they just carry the name of their land. Their personal experiences don't matter because they're not a person anymore.

Every single thing they do can be praised or criticized (especially nowadays through social media). When their people are divided, whose side are they going to take? Do they serve their people or their government? Who do they really represent at the end of the day? Their government tells them that they represent the people, the nation. But their people may see them as the face of the system. And maybe, in their heart, they don't feel a particular connection to either of them. But that's a scary thought because if they're not here to serve their nation, then what is their purpose?

They didn't exactly ask for this role; they were just put into this situation. Nations don't know what they're doing or why they are here, but they feel this sense of duty and responsibility to be here for their people. Their personal needs, feelings, or even opinions don't matter. They have grown up thinking that they're here for humanity, not for themselves. But sometimes, they catch themselves thinking how unfair it is. They're expected to be perfect, to conform to the norms others have assigned to them. They can't disappoint people, but always put their best face forward and be the picture-perfect representative. But let's be real here, it's always going to be impossible to please everyone. They probably have loud critics, and what would entertainment be without scandals and controversies? It's such a fascinating and complex part of Nations' existence that I love to explore in the Nationverse.

Ah, I got off the rails, but I seriously have so many thoughts on the whole concept. I love developing this AU. I'm a logical person, and I must make sense of everything. I adore overanalyzing media, especially silly media like this. So, figuring out the small details of Nationverse is always fun for me. It really gets my creativity going because I'm curious about worldbuilding overall. If you didn't get it, I apologize. But if you did, I applaud you.

TL;DR: They're celebrities/public figures, but their level of fame and willingness to interact in celebrity culture is totally dependent on their personality and role in society. Some bathe in the public light, and some avoid it like the plague. It's a source of fluff and angst in this AU; I love it <3

[fancychaostraveller]

ReviveCherik2024 - Cooking

For the #ReviveCherik2024 Day11 : AU - Day26 : Cooking, based on @clockwork-stars's astonishing culinary talents !

The AU is set on a modern!Uni -verse where Erik and Charles met on a protest thanks to Raven, Charles' sister, that is in Erik's brotherhood.

Erik is fighting for mutants' rights by organising protests across the city and sometimes escalating (obviously because of the policemen, he says), and also leading riots when "It is necessary". He is not against breaking government stuff if those can be used against mutants, and have quite a group of followers (and his most trusted form the Brotherhood, which is more of the 'Hardcore rioting club' than anything hazardous) (Ps : Edie Lenhsherr is still alive!!! She also supports his son and taught him how to sew so he could make himself his Magneto suit)

Charles on the other hand can be found at peaceful protest, but he mainly persuades his scientific degree to prove to the world they are not so different and educate people. He also doubles as "TA" for younger mutant students to help them control their powers if needs arise. Charles knows about Erik's "Club" and is unconvinced by it.

~~~

~~~

Magneto was looking over his Brotherhood, quite bored if he had to say so himself. Their 'meeting' -if you could even name it that- had started what feels like hours ago -a good 15min- and they were getting nowhere.

He looked across the room and threw an exasperate glance at Mystique, who was clearly laughing at him mentally. He admittedly had been the one to insist for a weekly reunion, but he hadn't thought it would end up being so mundane and repetitive. Was it his fault if he had expected grand bravado operations, explosions, spying and all those great things we see in movies nowaday?

He could nearly hear Charles nagging about it in his mind -Probably because he had been nagged telepathically a bit too often.- "Eril we're not in a movie and I will certainly not call you 'Magneto' when you're wearing that dreadful helmet and cape. Where did you even find those??? You should focus on peaceful protest, or else humans will truly fear us!" He repressed a sigh, annoyed but quite fond of the man that had managed to somehow -and it's a miracle when we take account of all the tweed the other was wearing- steal his heart.

He was snapped out of his thought by the sudden buzzing coming out of his pocket.

Bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz

He frowned. "Who in Hell..." All of his Brotherhood were present in the room. So, no one could be calling his burner phone. And no one else had this number, except his mom, just in case of emergency (and anyway, she was more likely to call his regular phone) or....

A sense of dreed washed over him. The only other person who had this number was Charles!

As soon as the realisation was made, his phone quite literally flew out of his pocket thanks to his power and he was taking the call, speaking sharply : '- What's wrong?'

A silence answered him for a few seconds -too many already- and then he heard Charles (His Charles, thank G-d) clearig his throat :

"...Erm.... Erik? I..... I swear to God it's not my fault"

Embarassment and... Guilt(?) were laced in Charles' tone, and Eri- Magneto's face suddently morphed into a deadpanned expression, feeling all his previous worries evaporate. Because there was only one situation where Charles would speak like that. Oh L-rd.

'- What have you done?' he asked.

"I was cocking rice right? And before you ask, no I didn't add too much wa- Oh bOllOCkS"

More chatter could be heard throught the phone, and a quick glace toward his Brotherhood showed him that Mystique had too understood what her brother was up too. Unfortunately. He vagelly heard her muttered a "Is he burning the house down AGAIN???" before registering what else Charles had to say :

"WHY does it smell like burned food??? All I did was boiling water!!"

'- I told you not to cook by yourself...' was his only answer, voice as blank and emotionless as his face.

"It's literally just rice!" Charles answered cheeckily as if he wasn't burning down the house at this exact moment.

Erik had a sudden thought, imagining Charles sitting outside their shared flat burning down, with a stubborn expression that could read "I don't get it, my cooking skill are not that bad" even if the fireworkers were called on site. And then he sighed, and called off the meeting.

And yes, @clockwork-stars is this bad at cooking rice. We told them everything to know to cook better rice after that and they still can't do it- But they manage pasta so I mean they won't die of hunger any time soon don't worry

[johnwickb1tsch]

A Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick Imagine Part 6 by:

@treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @johnwickb1tsch and now featuring @tammykelly

Warnings: So many dead doves! Do not eat! Unless you like dead doves, that is. You're in good company here. 😘 Violence, sexual content, blood, murder, kidnapping, possessive behavior, dubcon, yandere sh!t...it's all here! Please take care! 😘

ALL CHAPTERS

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

Bradford keeps you cuffed to this chair for a whole lot longer than you can stand. You’ve tried getting out, but only succeeded in cutting steel into your wrists and ankles, leaving bloody raw rings that sting and throb.

You’re not a medical professional by any means, but you know it just can’t be a good thing that your fingers and toes are numb and stiff and bloodless. Of course, maybe that’s in part due to the temperature of this room - the room that he has left you in to rot. 

No, not rot, it’s too damn cold to decompose. Freezing. Like the dead of winter without snow. And all you have is this little ripped sundress to protect from it. 

Bradford left you here bolted to the floor after letting you know that when you were ready to give up information on Tex and John, you could just say so and it would end. 

You won’t. You won’t give that asshole the satisfaction. But, god, you’re cold, thirsty, listless, unable to flex your fingers without hot pain shooting up your arm. And really, you don’t know much about your boys, anyway, right? Except for what the inside of John’s house looks like and the brand of the sometimes too strong cologne Tex uses that makes your nose crinkle up and your toes curl. Little stuff. Would revealing that hurt them?

Of course it would. Of course these government parasites would latch onto every little detail and use it to smoke your boys out. You keep your mouth shut, your eyes on the table. You want to bawl, sob, scream, but make a solemn vow not to give Bradford anything except a blank glare. 

You don’t know how you actually manage to fall asleep like this, but a cold bucket water wakes you up,  screaming and thrashing, handcuffs cutting deeper into your flesh, blood in the water pooling at your feet. 

“Wakey, wakey,” Bradford tells you. “Time to go watch Tweedle Dee and Dumb die.” 

“Fuck you,” you try to say, but the chatter of your teeth and violent tremor of your muscles make it impossible to form coherent insults. 

Four of Bradicks goons manhandle you into the trunk of a car, and, honest, you do try and fight, kick and bite and scratch while they uncuff you from the chair only to string you back together again.

Before Bradford can close the trunk of the SUV, you look up at him and ask, “why?” 

He flicks damp hair off your mouth in an almost fond gesture. “You’re insufferable, anyone ever tell you that?”

You manage to find the gumption and roll your eyes at him. “Yeah, bigger and badder men than you, agent fuckwad.” 

He slams the trunk down, leaving you in the darkness. And whoever the driver of this car is does not go gently into this good night. They make sure you roll around and slam into seats and knobs and handles and acquire some nasty bruises.

The next time you see anything, it’s bathed in the white fire headlights of a car army. You feel the need to fold in on yourself, cover up the welts and bruises and wet, shredded, clinging dress. You didn’t even bother to put underwear on before you started rummaging through the kitchen, and now here you are half naked and shaking in front of a group of angry Russians with big guns.

A young man with a thick accent - you assume him to be the recent successor of the Nobokov Bratva - smiles and it sends ice through your blood. “Hank,” he calls, like he’s seeing an old friend. “How are you?” 

“Fuck off, Igor. Where are they? And before you go into some fucking Russian monologue about debts and consequences, know that we have a time limit here. I don’t come out in 3 minutes, the agency lights your boys up with c4.” 

Igor’s grin turns wider.

The body with the black hood over its face is one you intimately recognize. Your fears are only confirmed as the hood gets torn off and Tex’s bloody, bruised face is revealed. 

You make a desperate, croaking sound, and try to go to him, but Bradford pulls you back by the scruff of your neck. You’re pathetic. A pawn in a game. A speck of dust hiding in a corner that can’t even save itself from the vacuum. 

“His buddy gave him up,” Igor explains. “Turns out John Wick isn’t that tough when you pin him against a hundred men and his only ally.” 

Bradford nudges his gun into the air. “We had a deal, Igor. Both of them. And my wife.”

Igor clicks his tongue like he’s disappointed. It reminds you of John. You feel hot tears spring down cool cheeks. Tex. That fucking bastard. Of course he would sell John out. You should have expected it, but your heart still aches. 

You look at John, and he looks back, only able to keep one eye open because the other one is swollen shut. He winks at you, and even though the grin on his face is a weaker version of what it usually is, you know for a fact that this is not John Wick. Oh. Oh.

“Hank,” Igor continues, “do you really need Texas Johnson if you have John Wick? Baba Yaga? How many confirmed kills under his bloody belt? Oh, it must be in the thousands now, eh John?” Igor kicks Tex on the hip, making him grunt in pain. 

You glare at the bastard son, and he turns his wicked smile on you. “Ah, this one has fire, and I hear she likes being kidnapped. Maybe I’ll kidnap her for a while before I kill her.” 

Bradford gets a ding on his walkie. “Yeah?” 

Something about moving in and securing the target and cutting losses, and Bradford sighs. 

He pushes you forward, and you land on the wet gravel face first. “My wife, Igor.” 

“Oh, yeah, you know you really should have just called her yourself, Hank. These chicken shit assholes didn’t even go to the trouble of actually taking her. They used ai technology to clone her voice.” Igor chuckles. “Don’t worry, we all make mistakes.” 

“Fucking bastard,” Bradford - Hank - spits at Tex. 

You raise your head to look at him, see his handsome face maybe one more time, and Tex Johnson is scowling, seething, an animal that only gets angrier the more you beat it.

Just like how John’s rare smile unnerved you, Tex’s glare does the same.  You’re not sure how it happens. You’re not even sure you’re alive - not after fire tears through the sky and shakes the ground and busts your eardrums open. But Tex is not in handcuffs anymore, and he’s wrapping his arms around you. Gunshots, screaming. One minute you’re in the dirt - the middle of a war zone, and the next you’re cradled against something solid, broad and warm, watching the ground zip by.

You touch your saviors cheek, feel the rough blood caking his facial hair. If you’re dead, this is heaven. Because Tex has got you and you somehow know that he’ll die before ever letting you go again.

“Where’s John?” You ask.

“I missed you too, rattlesnake.”

Johnwickb1tsch:

You are hiding behind a boulder with Tex, his steady arm around your shoulders, holding you upright, if you’re being honest. Bradford’s unkind methods of keeping you immobile rendered your limbs into an unreliable fucking mess.

One last distance to cover, Tex claims, before you reach your getaway vehicle, and with any luck, freedom.

You hurt everywhere, and all you want is to go home.

“What was that, rattlesnake?”

You realize you accidentally said that part aloud, and you sigh, banging your head back against the rock. How insane is it, that your idea of home now is a soft bed with Tex and John wrapped around you?

You should be enemies.

You should be fighting this tooth and nail, trying to find your own escape that doesn’t involve Bradford, the Bratva, or your assassin Beaus.

But the fact is…you don’t want to, anymore.

The system that was supposed to protect innocents like you instead fucked you royally, exposing the true corrupt underbelly of the way the world actually works. You’re beginning to grasp that it’s all a construct to keep the little people like you in line. The elite need a complacent workforce, after all. And that makes you question everything else you’d ever thought was wrong, or right, or something in between.

Tex is looking at you intently, even through his swollen eye, a warmth in his gaze that makes your insides melt. Fuck it. You all might die today. Maybe you should tell him. “I said—”

A hail of bullets cuts you off, Tex shoving you down nearly into the ground. He returns fire with a pistol he picked up from a dead Russian, and you press your hands over your ears, already half deaf from all the explosions and gunfire. Apparently the FBI had descended on the Bratva in what they thought was an ambush, and John…John was killing everyone.

You’d seen a glimpse of it from a distance while Tex had been pulling you to safety. The absolutely savage beauty with which John killed. It was like watching a vicious deadly dance, the artful way that man could seemingly effortlessly unalive a group of armed and dangerous people was a sight to behold.  

“I know it’s you, Tex!” rises a hoarse voice from the darkness beyond.

“What’s it to ya, Bradford?” answers Tex, checking his clip to see how many shots remain. He frowns at the one bullet he has left, and he slides it home back into the gun with a menacing click. racking the slide to feed it.

“Slick trick you two played. Well done.”

“Thank you kindly!” Tex looks down at you, making a jerking-off motion with his hand and rolling his eyes. It makes you giggle quietly to yourself, winning that heart-stopping devil-may-care grin.

The fact that the two of you can joke at a time like this probably means you’re both half insane. You’re probably in shock, which is your excuse. You’re afraid Tex doesn’t have one.   

“Give me the girl and I’ll let you go!” offers Bradford, winning an incredulous scowl and a shake of the head from Tex. The FBI agent sounds haggard. Desperate. Tex hopes he can take advantage of that. He peers around the boulder and squeezes off a single shot.

This is answered with a full-on barrage, and then the clicking of an empty gun. “Fuck,” you hear off in the distance.

“Stay here,” Tex mouths silently at you. You shake your head, clinging to him, desperate not to be left alone in this chaos. Gripping your chin none too gently, Tex kisses you hard, stealing your breath, and your senses. His hand possessively runs up your thigh, to your bare ass, squeezing you with his fingers maddeningly close to your center. With a devilish glitter in his eye he licks his fingers, whispering, “Keep that warm for me, darlin’.” He renders you into a befuddled little puddle of molten desire, then disappears into the night.

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck!

You hear more gunfire, then grunting, the sound of flesh striking flesh. You dare to peek out from your hiding place to see Tex and Bradford fighting with fists, grappling on the ground. Tex gets the upper hand, straddling the FBI agent. Between punches he snarls, “Did I—” punch “hear you,” punch “lay hands” punch “on my woman” punch “over the phone?” punch “you piece” punch “of pig-fucking shit?”

By the time Tex is done with him Bradford can’t give an intelligible answer, just groans with excruciating pain through broken teeth and bloodied lips.

Tex spits on him before standing, and delivers a kick to the man’s ribs for good measure. Bradford grunts again, coughing blood. You run out from behind the boulder on shaky legs, and Tex loops his arm over your shoulders again, pulling you in the direction of your escape route. You’re not sure who’s leaning on who more now.

You look back at Bradford one last time—and see he’s pointing a gun in your direction, specifically, at Tex’s broad back. “Tex!”

You don’t know why you do what you do. It just happens, and you are throwing your weight with what little strength you have left against Tex’s body. “Wha—”

It seems simultaneous. The report of Bradford’s last shot, and a searing pain in your side. It burns, and you whimper in Tex’s arms. He’s shouting something at you, maybe your name, or bawling you out for being stupid. Your ears are ringing, and you watch as though through a tunnel as John—dressed in a black western-style shirt a-la Tex—emerges from the shadows, and shoots Bradford in the head.

“What fucking part of keep her safe and I’ll do the rest did you not understand?” snarls John, going to his knees beside you, his laser-like stare fixed on your side.

“I was!” protests Tex, equally as worried as they examine you. “Goddammit, woman, why did you do that?”

“Shut up,” you manage weakly, winning yourself a grin despite everything.

John produces a black handkerchief, folding it and pressing it to your wound. It hurts. “Keep pressure on it. Time to go.”

They help you to your feet—but your legs aren’t really working. You almost fall again, but Tex hoists you in his arms. “I got you, honey. You’re ok.” You’re not sure who he’s trying to reassure more—you, or him. But you nestle your cheek against his collarbone, and your thought from earlier returns. Home.

Through heavy lids you are vaguely aware of the boys—your boys—loading you into some kind of 4x4 vehicle. As it starts with a mean grumble and you pull away with tires spinning in the dirt you pass out.

-----------------------------

Murmuring voices. A beeping machine. So annoying.

Hands on your side, pulling, prodding. You wish it would stop.

Voices speaking rapidly, not in English.

The bright flash of treetops and sunlight speeding past.

Palm trees. Blue skies. Birds singing.

Fingers sliding through your hair. “You’re gonna be fine, sweetheart. Promise.”

Promises, promises, promises.

When at last you wake, you feel as though you’ve been dreaming for days.

Your vision focuses selectively. First, upon the sloping contours of a muscled bare back adorned with black ink. The chiseled cut of a bicep, and raven-dark waves of hair. Beyond that you see a gauzy curtain waving in the breeze, the shimmer of impossibly blue water just visible beyond. You hear waves, and the plaintive call of sea birds. You can smell salt on the breeze.

Oh. So you’re not dead. Isn’t that nice?

There is a furnace of a body behind you as well, a heavy hand upon the curve of your hip.

The warmth you feel, not just on your skin, but kindling in your heart…is a wonderful, damnable thing.

You lift your head a little, winning a grumble of protest from behind you.

Then you notice dark eyes shining from behind the curtain of that mop of hair on the pillow next to you. “Hello, beautiful.”

“John?” Your voice sounds like you swallowed a cup of borax, like you haven’t spoken in a week. You reach out to touch him, and find that even that makes your side ache.

“Next time,” advises your assassin boyfriend no 1, kissing your fingers, “Just let Tex take the bullet.”

“Hey,” grumbles Tex from behind you, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “That’s not nice.”  

__________________

Sweetwolfcupcake:

Things are slow at first. You remember you were thirsty--parched, to be precise, you drank around a jugful of water and you remembered that everything ached. Especially your side. Left shoulder.

How lucky, you think cynically, could have been your spine cord.

Then, Tex gave you a pill, and you were awake enough to eat before you fell asleep again.

This time, you are more aware, more coherent, and surprisingly far more tolerant of the pain. Or maybe it is the painkiller in your system. Whatever, the pain is not a bitch on your shoulder, on your whole body anymore. The bed is soft, it seems like it's late and you are wide awake.

You are alone in the room, you notice. Although (surprisingly), it is a little bit disheartening, it helps you to think. Process things, finally after the storm is over and it has left a silence behind.

So, your life was pretty normal, and then you became an accidental witness to a crime, you were whisked away by the two assassins who were paid to kill you and somehow they decided that you are interesting enough to be kept alive and to be taken for themselves. You are practically dead for the world. They faked it. No one is coming to get you. The one person you thought was on the right side, turned out to be the villain in your story.

Now, coming to Bradford--- asshole showed his true face, the fuckling system failed you, your moral beliefs, your perspectives, everything has toppled down, turned into ashes and through this wasteland, emerge these two handsome assassins who eerily look exactly the same and harbour similar affections for you.

Also, you are falling in love with them.

With your brain in survival mode, you had not even properly registered the torture Bradford put you through, and the dangerous situation he pushed you into. Heck, you barely understood anything before pushing Tex away and taking a bullet for him.

You don't understand where you stand, where your relationship with them stands. But if they are willing to risk themselves to save you. It might just mean something.

You don't feel the tears streaming down your face, not until a few drops land on your hand. You are finally processing. And of course, you are at the brink of ugly crying.

If someone advised you to ugly cry a few days ago, you might have rather held things up within, bottled it all up, gulped it down and raised your chin instead.

But now, you think of it as the only way. You need to let it all out. Too much has happened. Too much has changed too soon. So you allow yourself to ugly cry, not counting the ticking of the clock, not heeding to your pain, not even hearing the door open with urgency.

"Hey, hey, hey--what's wrong, what's wrong?"

It isn't Tex's panicked voice that pulls you out of your deep dive into your own pit of loss, confusion, and misery, but rather his touch, his hands cupping your cheek.

Funny how a few weeks ago, you would rather take any possible escape route to slip through their clutches, and now you can recognize them by their mere touch.

Through the blur of your tears you can see his worried expression, especially his panicked eyes. You feel the bed dip beside you and fingers running through your hair.

"It's alright, let it out, let it all out."

John's voice is steady and soothing as he tries to comfort you. He is much better at deciphering and handling your situation, you assume.

"Does it hurt?" John asks, wiping away your tears. You look up to meet his concerned gaze. But there is something else in it-- something dark, sinister. "What did he do to you?"

You instantly know that he's speaking about Bradford. His thumb rubs against your sore wrist. So, he knows... Of course he knows. Your eyes flicker between your wrist and his eyes. His burning orbs that let you get a hint of why is he so feared in the underworld.

But you have no energy to elaborate any further, you have no energy to even reply. You just shake your head and look away. Lips still quivering, eyes wanting to be, ironically, anywhere but on them.

Tex mutters something under his breath that sounds more or less like a snarl, but you're too far gone to care. You feel John's fingers back on your hair, but you don't look his way. His touch is comforting, yes, but you can't bring yourself to acknowledge that.

Too bad because it is the softest Tex has sounded so far. Nothing is teasing or mean about him at the moment. You would have teased him for the panic in his voice, but you just can't bring yourself to care. It doesn't even occur to you to pass any comment.

Everything that has happened has finally dawned upon you, and you have at last acknowledged it. It's all too much, too bad, and you feel yourself spiraling. But deep down, you know. You somehow know that they won't let you fall into the abyss.

Tammykellly:

- a flashback-

You feel like you are one of the dead doves, forever frozen in a cage that is deafening loneliness and drug-like need for love. Love that’s gonna give you purpose to keep waking up. A visceral need to love and be loved. Love with a price tag of $2.5 million.

Sofa cushions bend under your weight, before you take a sip of your tea. You notice birds fly in the distance, across the dawn sky. You can’t remember the last time you woke up before the sunrise. But this sunrise feels cold and almost menacing. As hot water makes contact with your throat, your chest tightens, as you think of how those little creatures can fly anywhere they wish to, almost always together, in a flock. Your gaze shifts to the water, trickling across the porch outside the panoramic windows, and a tiny squirrel, running around the backyard, bringing food to its nest, before a cat comes to catch it. You feel a sigh, escaping your mouth.

You lean back, listening to the sound of silence. When you’re alone, the peaceful world inside the house is so otherworldly mundane in the sense that you’ve never known before. Your ears take in the distant sound of the washing machine in the laundry room, loaded up by one of the boys, who, you’re sure, are out and about by now. Your eyes notice the dim blueish hue of the living room, that’s connected to the kitchen and the terrace, the misty colour of which seems to have bent the glass, separating both worlds. Two worlds, divided by the bulletproof glass. One world - mocking you, the other - keeping you away from it.

You try not to notice a lump in your throat and burning sensation in your eyes. You don’t bother to wipe a tear, running down your cheek, before placing the cup on the designer coffee table. For you don’t think you should hold anything right now, when, in fact, you can’t hold anything in at all. Your arms wrap around your body, bringing you anything but warmth - a reminder that you’re alone, so utterly alone, no one will see you’re inside this glass house, built by your captors.

But what you don’t know is, the walls have eyes. The walls have ears. And shadows in between the walls hide secrets, spilt by the devils. One of which is watching you with his intense obsidian eyes just around the shadowy corner, letting you cry your heart out, for he knows some lines aren’t meant to be crossed. Yet. He’ll make sure to be your comfort, but for now, he’s just an observer, for he guesses he’s the reason why your cries fill the space. John’s gaze takes in your broken, lonely shaking form, as you’re holding yourself in the middle of the sofa. A tiny smirk curls up the corners of his lips.

The code that is you turns out to be so easy to crack.

You wake up on the couch in the living room from the warmth that touches your skin. The cold blue of the early morning has been replaced by bright yellow midday sunlight. You hear clinking in the kitchen and steady steps towards you, as you stretch. A cup of hot tea appears in front of you, as if it’s been waiting for you to wake up to taste it. Your eyes lock with jet-black chocolate ones, warmth radiating off them, making you feel more cozy and relaxed than the soft cushions you’re sitting on and the scent of your tea.

You feel the sofa fabric dip beside you, a warm body now sitting next to you. John smiles at you: “Change of plans, princess, you’re spending the day with me”. You can’t help but return the gesture, before quickly touching your puffy cheeks and dried up tears. “Oh, what a delight”, - you sit in a way your body is facing his, “what’s Tex up to?” John watches you throw one arm on the back of the couch, taking it as a sign to slightly lean in closer.

He says: “You’re here with me and asking about him?” The warmth of the teacup plays on your fingers again, before it touches your lips that hold a reminiscent scent of toothpaste you’ve used in the morning: “Y’all are like two peas in a pot. One can’t go without the other”. John quirks an eyebrow, seeing you freeze, your mouth slightly open upon realisation. He darkly chuckles but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes: “Cowboy has really gotten to you, hasn’t he?” He can’t help but notice how adorably innocent your wide eyes gaze up at him, still in shock you’re picking up Tex’s manner of speaking.

John lets you place the cup back on the coffee table, and you feel his large hand around your wrist, pulling you closer. “Get over here. Now”, - he tells you, his muscular thighs now in between yours, the thin layer of your silky pyjama shorts doing absolutely nothing, apart from making you feel the harsh fabric of his jeans. He feels your arms loosely wrap around his neck, never breaking the eye contact, letting you study him however much you want, akin to a shark, showing its fins through the murky waters, before disappearing into the depths of the unknown.

And it works, for you’ve been caught by his mesmerising charm, as you notice how pretty he can be from up close, so serenely majestic, wrapped up in your arms, his energy never letting you fully escape him. You run your fingers through his raven hair, mixed with silver strands. You can’t help but feel stuck in the emanating jet-black radiance of his eyes, that you discover have many colours you haven’t seen before.

And that’s how you learn darkness has different shades and they all taste like John. You lean down to kiss him, which he reciprocates without missing a beat, bringing you closer to the whirlpool that might drown you one day. You play with each other’s power of will for a while before you have to pull away for air.

“You taste like oblivion”, - you whisper against his lips. “What does that mean?”, - he replies, a curious glint in his eyes and his lips eager to feel yours again before you let him relish your sweet flavour once more. You pull away slightly to look him in the eyes, watching him study you. You simply state: “It means there’s no way out”, watching a smile appear on his face again, as his hand travels to the back of your neck: “You’re going to be a good girl for us, right?” You don’t reply. For it’s not about the possibility of the fall anymore, but the depth of the crash.

Playful midday sunlight slowly grows into early evening specks of light, splashed across the living room that you’ve been in and out of. Your crying session in the early morning seems like a distant memory, replaced by conversations with John and slow afternoon sex.

Could this be a dream come true?

You can’t help but look over at John, feeling his magnetic gaze on you. Instead of feeling stiff like you often would under his intense dark eyes that emit power and control, you choose to embrace this new feeling of being seen. Moments turn into long seconds, passing through the slick of time in between the kisses.

“Baby”, - John calls you quietly. You hum in response to his lips against your neck. “I want you to fuck me”, - he tells you before looking up into your eyes, that strong threatening flavour of power and attraction catching you deeper in its web.

“Huh?” - you can only manage to get out of your mouth, that might hit the floor at this rate. Strands of hair fall across the man’s face, as he tilts his head, his hawk-like eyes testing the limits of your self-control. He doesn’t wait for you to continue: “Fuck me, before I change my mind”. You don’t even try to hide the possibilities flashing through your eyes from him, knowing exactly what he expects of you.

Behave, be a good girl. It’s all just a game.

You lean down to kiss him, before dragging your lips across the sensitive skin of his throat. “If that’s what you want, sir”, - you lick up to his jawline, before his palm finds its place on your cheek. “Is this what you want?” - he questions and you believe he sounds genuine. For the first time, he watches a playful and almost cunning sparkle appear in your irises. He doesn’t believe the sound of your voice when you tell him: “I want you to beg”, which makes him smirk. Your fingers inch closer to his pubic bone and nether, as you expectantly look at him, at last, giving him the taste of his own medicine.

“Please, fuck me, babygirl”, - John calmly asks, though swallowing, when you wrap your hand around him. Now it’s your turn to return the smirk. “You gotta do better than that, sir”, - you begin to pump him harder, watching his chest rise and fall a bit deeper, as he twitches against your skin when you swipe your thumb across the most sensitive part. It’s so satisfying, seeing a man like him cracking down because of you. A little rattlesnake pinned against a serpent.

“I need you to fuck me”, - his breath becomes a bit more shallow, “now. Please”. You line him up before starting to painstakingly slowly sink down on him, not breaking the eye contact that makes you both feel like the house of glass is about to burst into shards around you. “As you wish”, - you kiss him and bite his lower lip, seeing the way his eyelashes flutter, when you close the distance between your bodies in one move and feel his full length inside of you.

John’s hands grip your thighs, but you don’t move, his questioning eyes find your teasing ones. “I told you to beg”, - you whisper, “so be a good boy and fucking do as you’re told”. You add: “Sir”, for good measure. John’s fingers sink deeper into your skin, both of you knowing it’s gonna get bruised later, which makes you involuntarily clench around him, receiving a guttural hiss from him.

“I want you to fuck yourself on me so hard that the only thing you’ll remember is how to scream my name”, - John’s tongue collects the sweat, dripping down your chest, as you slowly move your hips, both of you feeling every part of the other’s body in the most delightfully hot sense possible. His hands guide you to increase your speed, which you cannot get ahold of controlling anymore. You feel John’s breath on your face: “And you’re gonna do, as you’re told, princess”, he sucks your lower lip and kisses you hard, which earns him a moan from your lips against his mouth. John looks up at you, his eyes filled with brooding darkness that holds a promise of a tsunami, something so primal you dare not to even attempt to overpower. “Yes, sir”, your shuddering breath barely escapes, before his lips hungrily find yours again and you feel yourself move against him, without his hands on your hips, as if your only purpose is to please him.

As the sound of sloppy kisses and moans fill the living room, you don’t care to pay attention to the way John takes in your sweaty form that he knows is desperate for him, while you pick up the pace, his hands placed loosely around your waist. His eyes lazily roll over your body, down to where your skin meets one another, his chest filling with pride and joy that he is the one making cracks appear all over the essence that is you and everything about you.

With every thrust and love bite, you feel yourself lose the control and further tangle in the triangle of devilish delusions, daunting dreams and dangerous desire. With every deep kiss from John, you let go of your position in the Devils’ game and succumb to the faceless decay, akin to a house of cards eaten to ashes by the flames of pretense and a masquerade of hopes. John’s arms pull you closer to his heated body in a possessive embrace, every fibre of his being titillated by the thought of you. For, as you and John cross the joint everlasting limit, you become the incandescence of a fire and the event horizon of all consuming oblivion.

- present -

You get off Tex, his arms still wrapped around your body, the AC blasting on both of you, as you watch the Seychelles sun grow closer to the horizon. Tex kisses you sweetly, making you smile against him: “What was that for?”, you lean back to take a long look at him. “Nothing”, - he replies cheekily, putting a loose strand of hair between your ear. “It’s never nothing with you”, - you chuckle, basking in sunset light, letting Tex stare at your magic after sex glow. You lay your gaze back on him, as he asks: “Is this how you see me?” You feel the warm sunlight lick your skin, as you put your silky dress back on, still careful around the almost completely healed bullet wound, still not used to seeing it on your body. You sit back down: “I don’t know, you tell me. We are nothing more or less than what we choose to reveal”. You and Tex watch the ocean waves sparkle under the setting sun, cloudless sky turning more orange and pink with each passing moment of silence between you. You feel a small sigh leave your mouth, thinking about what happened months ago, hoping the sentimental softness for the two men would slip away from your heart with specks of dust.

The more you think about it, the more you begin to sense your blood flow through your veins, your cheeks painted with blush not just because of the sun and the sex.

First, months ago, there was a flood of tears and denial. Now, anger takes the stage, setting up the diverse uncanny possibilities for a deal with the Devil.

You clench your jawline and let it go before saying as softly as you can: “Hey, listen…uh…I gotta talk to you about something”, from the corner of your eye, you can vaguely make out Tex turn his head to face you, as you keep the ocean and palm trees in your direct view, “It’s been bothering me for quite a while and I know it might seem like a silly little thing to you, but it matters to me a lot”.

You finally look at him, choosing not to divide your attention on the way his eyes and skin beautifully glow under orange sunset lights. “Okay, lay it on me”, - Tex tells you in a soft voice, as you pace your breath, so as not to give into the temptation of letting him see right through you.

“It’s about the day I got kidnapped and shot”, you watch Tex stiffen.

“Why didn’t you give me something to cover myself up?” - you question, tilting your head, watching Tex’s eyebrow twitch.

“What are you talking about?”, you hear his deep voice.

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you”, - you tighten your jawline again for a split second, “you saw I was literally butt ass naked and you didn’t even offer anything to cover it”. A shuddered breath from the man next to you enters your personal space, as he replies: “There wasn’t enough time”. You raise your brow: “But there was plenty of time to touch me, wasn’t there? You just didn’t care enough, did you?”

You calmly watch him search your eyes, though the smile you have put on reflects none of how you feel. For how you feel is far from letting his hand brush against yours. Your hand slips away onto your thigh, while Tex apologises: “Listen, I’m sorry. I’ll never forgive myself for what happened. All I could think about was saving you”. You stop yourself from clenching your fist, sending an unkind smirk his way.

“Oh, you want a cookie? Having to save me is nothing to be proud of. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place”, a cushion next to you dips, as the man shifts, while you continue: “and, Tex, I was so fucking scared I thought I was out of my mind”.

You poke his chest: “Admit it, you see me as nothing more or less than a plaything”.

Tex seizes the opportunity to snatch your hand, which, in turn, makes you flinch, as he smiles: “That’s not true. You’re my woman”, you shakily wiggle your hand out of his grasp, crossing your arms, chuckling, unamused: “Yeah…I heard when you were punching the life out of Brad”, your voice full of sarcasm and venom, “well, guess what, Tex Johnson, you don’t let dozens of blood thirsty men watch your woman’s private parts”.

Tex doesn’t reply, so you continue: “and it’s not even the fact that you didn’t offer your clothes to cover me that makes me mad”, you inhale slowly before looking into his eyes, illuminated by something more than sunlight. “It’s the fact that you further took away my dignity by touching me. I felt so exposed, so vulnerable and hurt”, your voice raises slightly, your fingers digging into your skin, “and you took advantage of that. You just wanted to show off, didn’t you?”

Suddenly, you feel Tex’s hand on your throat, his breath on your lips, your heart pumping so fast you think it might jump out and spill into the waves of pain when you hear the man’s growl: “I’ve been so good to you for the past few months. We traveled everywhere you wanted”, he makes you lock your eyes on his fiery ones, “Why? Because I care about you”. His jawline dangerously plays under the skin, as he tells you lowly: “Be careful with your words now. Or you’ll pay for it”.

You quietly laugh, earning a look of confusion: “I already did, I fucking took a bullet for you”.

Tex watches your eyes narrow, as you smirk, the fire in your stomach adding fuel to the way you spit in his face, mirroring the growl of his own: “Do you really think a bird forgets how to fly once you lock it in a cage? The thing is, toys break. You don’t wanna see me at a breaking point, do you?”

You feel like you can breathe again, as Tex leans back, saying: “What are you talking about, y/n?”

You lean closer: “You don’t fucking know me, Tex. Neither of you do”, you let yourself drown in the couch cushions, for it’s Tex’s turn to laugh this time, his words and self-indulgent voice punching holes in your soul, as you try your hardest to stop the burning occur around your watery eyes. “We know everything about you. Your background, your family, who are all dead, you got no friends. We know your hopes and dreams, how you like your eggs and pancakes in the morning, how you like your tea in the evening and what you look like when you’re sound asleep. We know what helps you feel better when you’re on your period and how you look like when you’re falling apart because of our touch. Everything”.

You exhale sharply, as the cushion shifts under the weight of the man, when he gets closer: “Look, doll, I’m so sorry”, his voice so unbearably soft, sweet and apologetic you feel your stomach turn, “We are so sorry that it happened and we’ll have to live with that guilt forever. We’ll never let it happen, ever again”.

You slap his hand away, the boiling fire in the pit of your chest coming out sooner than you thought it would, as you scream: “Stop fucking saying that! I’m not your fucking doll!”

You feel tears pooling in your eyes and quickly wipe a fallen one, as you repeat in a low shaky breath: “You don’t know me”, before getting up in a swift motion and storming off, as Tex’s loud voice chases after you: “We never wanna lose you, Y/n!!”

Tex hears a click of the door lock, making him curse, feeling a strong presence behind his back, as it’s coming out of the shadows.

“Let her cool off. You know she doesn’t actually mean any of it”, - John sits down on the couch, handing Tex a beer bottle, which he opens with his bare hands, saying: “Yeah, didn’t sound like it. She started crying, for fuck’s sake”, his voice frustrated and almost sad. The men look ahead at the ocean and palm trees, engulfed in flames of sunset lights. John exhales: “She’ll come around”.

Behind the closed doors, you don’t even understand yourself anymore, for you can’t recognise any of the pieces of who you’re seeing in the mirror.

Point of break when you got nowhere to run looks different on everyone.

They want a plaything? They’ll get it. You’ll get them hanging by the strings. Before they decide to break your wings, completely.

You continue to study yourself in the mirror. Maybe that lucid knife play was a prophecy, disguised as a dream.

The mask of sanity has slipped.

.

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ALL CHAPTERS