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delicatebarness · 2 months

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bridges to burn | prologue

Summary: You arrive at the Avengers Compound to manage your uncontrollable Extremis powers. As you navigated the new environment, you clash with your assigned babysitter/bodyguard, Bucky Barnes.

Warning: MCU Spoilers. Iron Man 3. Intense Emotional Conflict. Superpowers and Uncontrollable Abilities. Parental Concern and Pressure. Family Tension. Emotional and Physical Heat.

Word Count: 1103

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A/N: Oh look, another.

BTB Tags: - Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in this serious.

Touching down at the Avengers Compound, the Quinjet’s engines hummed softly as they powered down. You stepped off the lowering ramp and took in the sprawling complex. The building was an impressive blend of sleek modern design and cutting-edge technology, lush greenery surrounded the wide-open spaces. The peaceful landscape contrasted against the bustling chaos of the city, where you spent most of your life.

Your dad, Tony Stark, stood waiting for you near the entrance, concern, and determination etched across his aging features. The familiar scent of motor oil and cologne filled your senses as he enveloped you in a quick hug. His grip around you was firm, silently reassuring you that he was there for you.

“Welcome home, kid,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. However, his eyes revealed the worry he had tried to mask. “Come on, let me show you around.”

Following him through the compound, you passed training rooms that were filled with state-of-the-art equipment, common areas where you caught glimpses of some familiar faces, and the impressive hangar with various vehicles and aircraft. The building buzzed with activity, yet there was still a sense of order and purpose.

Finally, you reached Tony’s sanctuary, his lab. The place you knew he felt most at home. You marveled at the array of gadgets and projects scattered around, as you followed his gesture for you to step in. Screens displayed holographic schematics, while robotic arms moved with precision, a new creation being assembled. The faint hum of machinery was a comforting backdrop.

“And, this is where the magic happens,” Tony said, pride touching his voice. Watching you take it all in, his lips played a small smile. “But, before you get too comfortable, there’s something we need to talk about.”

Raising your eyebrow suspiciously, you waited for him to continue. Looking uncharacteristically nervous, he ran a hand through his hair.

“I know things have been… rough since the incident,” he began, trying carefully to choose his words. He leaned against a workbench, fixing his gaze on a point somewhere behind you, crossing his arms over his chest. “And, I know you’re struggling to control the Extremis,” he trailed off, pausing before he continued, “but, we can’t have another accident like that. Not again.”

The memory of the uncontrollable heat coursing through your veins caused you to flinch. The sight of the flames, the smell of burning wood, the panic in the firefighter’s voice as they tried to contain the damage. Since it saved your life as a child, you lived with the Extremis virus. Your mother, Maya Hansen’s legacy, turned you into a ticking time bomb.

“I know, Dad,” you sighed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll do better.”

Shaking his head, Tony pushed off the workbench and stepped closer to you. “It’s not about doing better. It’s about getting help. Which is why I’ve arranged for someone to keep an eye on you.”

The door to the lab opened, snapping your attention away from your dad before you could protest. And in walked, Bucky Barnes– The Winter Soldier. You had seen him in action and heard the ghost stories, but meeting him in person… that was different. He was imposing, a steely gaze seemingly assessing every detail of the room, and you. As he approached, his movements were fluid, almost predatory.

“Tin-Man, this is my daughter,” Tony spoke as he gestured toward you. “She’s going to be staying here for a while. And… you’re going to be looking out for her.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly toward you, and you could see in his piercing gaze that he was as thrilled about this arrangement as you were. “I was expecting a kid,” he said bluntly, a hint of annoyance carrying in his voice. Crossing his arms over his chest, the metal of his arm caught against the light.

“No, I’m not a kid,” you snap back, matching his posture. “And, I don’t need a glorified babysitter. Unless,” you paused, shoot Bucky a playful smirk. “You’re here to tuck me in and read me a bedtime story?”

Tony stepped between you, holding up a hand to forestall any pending argument. “Easy, both of you. This isn’t up for debate. Barnes’ here to help, whether you like it or not.”

You glare at Bucky, who returns the look with an equal intensity. “Fantastic,” you said, your voice dripped with sarcasm. “My very own bodyguard, don’t expect me to make this easy for you.”

Smirking, Bucky’s eyes filled with amusement almost as if he was accepting a challenge. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, your iris’ blazed with anger, a burning orange glow.

His smirk never faltered. “Whatever you say… Princess.”

Watching the exchange, Tony’s expression changed to one of concern and exasperation. His face, usually composed, now showed signs of strained patience. Rubbing a hand over his face, he tried to stifle a sigh. “Alright, both of you,” he injects, his voice filled with frustration. “This isn’t a battlefield. Can we at least try to keep it professional?”

You took a glance at Tony, then back at Bucky, who still had a smirk plastered across his face, enjoying the friction. Tony continued, his tone firm but weary. “I get that you two won’t see eye to eye, but let’s keep the drama to a minimum. We’re here to make sure things don’t go up in flames, literally.”

Squaring off with Bucky, you took another step closer. The heat between you both was almost tangible. “I mean it, Winter Soldier. I’m not some dame in distress that you get to boss around.”

Leaning in, his voice was a low, taunting whisper. “And I’m not some nanny here to hold your hand.”

The tension crackled between you, and you noticed how his eyes were cold and calculating, with a flicker of something else– something that mirrored the heat in your own. You weren’t sure if it was anger or something more, but whatever it was, made your heart race.

“Good,” you retorted, sarcasm stayed laced within your words. “I wouldn’t want you thinking you could handle me.”

His eyes locked with yours, his smirking only growing. “Trust me, Princess, I can handle anything you throw at me.”

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes, yet you couldn’t help but feel the thrill of his challenge rush through you. “We’ll see about that.”

As you turned to leave, you felt his gaze burning into your back. This wasn’t over– far from it. And somehow, the thought of that excited you as much as it infuriated you.

---

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elficially-done-with-life · 11 months

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Stay Safe

Pairing: Haldir x Reader

Summary: Reader is attacked by orcs that sneaked into Lorien, but Haldir comes to her rescue.

Words: 1252

Warnings: there is a fight, so mentions of that, but nothing graphic

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

It happend when you and Haldir had been married for atleast hundred years. He was out, patrolling around Lorien, making sure you home was safe, when a few orcs managed to sneak in.

You were on your way back from an afternoon tea with your parents Galadriel and Celeborn when you ran into them.

Most afternoons the sun shone so beautifully through the tops of the outer trees that you were happy to take a few detours. But you were still inside the safety of Lorien. Otherwise it would have been far too dangerous to walk all on your own.

The shimmering of the leaves always inspired new ideas for songs and poems in your head, which is why your curiosity drew you that way again and again.

On that day you were walking under the treetops as usual, when suddenly something bumped into you from the side and knocked you to the ground.

Confused, you looked up and what you saw made you feel nauseous. With fear. For in front of you stood several orcs with raised weapons.

How did they find a way through Lorien's defences? Had they already hurt someone? Would they hurt you?

Your heart pounding, you scrambled to your feet and stumbled a few steps back.

It wasn't that you couldn't fight, on the contrary, you had learned to use swords at an early age and Haldir had only recently shown you how to use a bow and arrow. However, you had no weapons with you and there were several orcs and you were not sure if you could take them on, even if you tried or were less afraid.

While your mind was racing, the orcs managed to block the path you had just taken to your home.

All you could think about was how much you wanted to see your husband now. Haldir would cut down the orcs in a matter of seconds.

And then an idea came to you. The direct border of Lorien was not too far away, so if you were lucky you could make it, and maybe even lead the orcs away from the other elves. So you ran.

A few times your feet buckled and branches and leaves cut into your face and arms, but you just kept running, ignoring the pain. You had no choice. It would not have been wise to stop. Not when you could hear that the orcs were still following you.

Soon a group of elven warriors came into view, standing not far away.

In the middle you could make out someone you would recognise among thousands. Your Husband, Haldir.

"Haldir!" you shouted loudly to alert them as quickly as possible.

At first he looked surprised to see you, then worried because you normally did never visit him when he was out on patrol, and when he saw the orcs behind you he reached for his bow.

"Don't worry, Meleth nin, I'll help you!" he called as he ran towards you.

Only seconds after, a precisely aimed arrow whizzed past you and, judging by the sound, brought down an orc. More arrows, shot by the other elves, followed.

When Haldir finally reached you, he immediately wrapped an arm around your waist to pull you close.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, waiting for you to nod before shouting orders to the others. Soon they had killed all the orcs and you felt yourself exhale with relief.

Haldir's other arm also found its way around your body and he buried his face in your hair. You felt his warm breath ghost over your scalp, making your skin tingle.

"I'm glad nothing happened to you," he whispered and hugged you a little tighter, "I'm sorry. We- we probably missed something." He broke away from the embrace and only now did you see the tears that were running down his cheeks.

"If something would have happened to you then- then- "

"Hey," you interrupted him gently, taking his face in your hands, "none of this is your fault. These orcs probably planned this for a long time. No one could have foreseen that they would target Lorien of all places."

"But," He looked a little exasperated," in all my time as- well, it never- "

You just shook your head. "A short while ago, my mother told me she had heard that darkness was rising again in Mordor. It is not something we could have prepared for so quickly." You leaned forward to press your forehead to his. He usually tried to avoid too much romantic affection in public, but in a situation like this it was different. He had no intention of pushing you away. "Please do not blame yourself, Meleth nin."

He kept his forehead pressed against yours for a while until he finally stepped back and turned to his brothers Rumil and Orophin who were standing only a few steps away.

They both looked at you worried, as you had become very good friends with them since you and Haldir had started courting.

"We need to walk all the areas of the border again and see if we really- " Haldir began, but Orophin raised a hand to silence him.

"I know you only want what's best for Lorien, but," he nodded towards you, "your wife needs you now, brother. Rumil and I can handle this. You take care of her."

Haldir looked a little uncertain, but in the end he nodded. One of his arms was still wrapped around you, and he only broke away from you when you were in the safety of your home.

Only now did you realise how lucky you had been. Although you usually knew almost exactly where Haldir was on his patrols, it was still luck that you had found him so quickly. In your panic, you could have accidentally run in the wrong direction, until at some point you would have been unable to run any further.

You felt something soft press gently against your cheek and pull you out of your thoughts. You looked up and saw Haldir looking at you with a soft expression in his eyes. "I will just clean the deepest scratch on your cheek," he said, "do not worry, you will feel much better in a moment."

When Haldir had carefully examined every scratch on your face and arms, he gently pulled you into the bedroom and made sure you lay down carefully.

"Haldir," you chuckled softly, "I have only a few scratches. I am not badly hurt."

He gave you a serious look and immediately the smile faded from your face.

"But you could," he said sternly. "Why were you out on your own in the first place? From now on you should only go with an escort. If it gets any more dangerous, then- " he interrupted himself and gave you an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Meleth nin, I- I just don't want anything to happen to you because I love you so much."

"I know." You whispered, patting the space on the bed next to you, "Come on, lie down with me."

Haldir slowly eased himself under the warm blanket, nestling beside you. As he settled in, he immediately drew you close to him, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you tightly against his warm and comforting chest. One of his hands caressed your back with a soothing motion, while his other hand gently ran through your hair.

"Sleep well," he whispered," I love you."

"I love you too." You whispered back.

#haldir x reader #haldir x you #haldir of lorien #haldir of lothlorien #haldir #tolkien #tolkien x reader #x reader #fluff #lotr #lotr x reader #lotr x you

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chronurgy · 2 months

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Gortash Week Day 3 - Battle/Party

People act with such limited perspective. They divide everything up into neat little boxes and never think to question their assumptions. They fail to see the bigger picture. Their tiny minds lack the capacity to behold the world in all its glory.

They're not like him.

They can't see the war.

More's the pity. For them, not for him. He can use their foundering for his own ends.

After all, decisive victory is always easier when then other side hasn’t even realized that the war has started.

~~~

He attends one such battle tonight.

It requires careful preparation – it would not do to be caught off guard. First, he bathes and perfumes himself with vanilla and rosewood – the scent he has settled upon as his upper-class signature. Scent is a powerful thing, tied every so strongly to memory. Yet another way in which he may be known and unknown as he pleases. A spritz of his perfume in the right room at the right time could easily sow division amongst his enemies. And should he wish to go about in disguise, its lack would simply be one more note of discord with which to obscure his true nature.

After that, his next layer of armor, his next weapon. Clothing recently returned from the tailor, made and remade to his precise instructions. It is the perfect sort of design – fashionable but not too fashionable, speaking of wealth but not screaming of it, the sort of thing that makes it clear that he belongs here in these elevated circles. That he is, for all his low origins, one of them. No accusation of cuckoo-ism on his part could be sustained, dressed as he is in all the raiment of the upper classes. And further still, every fabric, every cut, every fastening has been pressed into service in his great war. His coat is cut in a particular style that one society matron had said suited him perfectly. It will please her. More importantly, her fawning will displease her husband in a way that will send him straight to the bar and then to the gaming tables, where – drunk – he will proceed to lose money he already does not have. His piling bills will force him to withdraw his investment in a particular Knightly society. All to his advantage.

A ring upon his left hand boasts a Calimshan emerald near the size of a dove egg, brought in on one of his own merchant cogs within the past fortnight. The patriars will gush at its size and clarity and ask after its origin, which he will be only too happy to reveal. Especially the fact that he's brought over cases of them at a price never before seen. Not all had his talents in negotiations, after all. And why of course he intends to see more brought over, and other gems besides! Such talk will reach the ears of one particular man there, one whose family is invested heavily in the gem trade. And perhaps worry over his declining fortunes might lead him to stay home in the future, far away from fancy parties, and thus prevent him from making ill-thought-out comments to certain other attendees. A humbling might teach the man to mind his manners in front of his natural betters.

A cravat is wound around his neck. It is the highest quality silk, dyed a deep, bloody red – it alone had cost more money than his parents had seen in a year. He should know. He’d kept the books. But more important than the wealthy bona fides it provides is the enchantment laid upon it. One that would stop a single strike of a blade, just the once. Silk did not take enchantment well he had been told. The magic ran from it like water. A larger swathe might hold it better, but in such a slight and delicate strip as this it was only through the very great skill of the enchanter that any magic would take root at all. He had half believed it impossible himself, when they had presented it to him. But perhaps he ought to have known better. They had always had a way of surprising him. The knot he ties it in is more important still – a request from Vesper. It is specific and unusual and full to bursting with meaning. Upon seeing it, one man will believe he has their support, another will feel snubbed. The snubbed man is well known for his hot temper, a temper he will not hold even in public. He will confront them, by appearance unprovoked to all outsiders, and be disgraced for it. The man supported will relax and drink and return home in a stupor, and when he wakes the next morning he will put anything out of place in his chambers down to his own drunken stumblings. Anything missing will be attributed to the same. A convenient cover and neat little solution, all told.

Finally, a multitude of minor details. A button, looser than the others, one he could snap off at a moment’s notice should he need to leave a token of his passage in some bed chamber or other. A sown flat pocket, hiding both a poison and its antidote. A buckle on a delicate shoe from which, if pressed in just the right place, would snick forth a small, sharp blade. One must always be prepared for any unexpected opportunity that might arise in war, lest one lose an advantage all for want of a simple tool. He would do no such thing. He plays to win, always has.

Satisfied with his appearance and weapons, he leaves his dressing room for the entry hall where he hopes his greatest armament yet awaits him. He is pleased to see that they do, resplendent in the clothes he had chosen for them, the very image of beauty and power and barely restrained violence. Their regalia hides many touches similar to his own, he knows. Some of his devising, some of theirs. He is familiar with it all, having given every last measurement to his tailor in exacting detail, and yet he finds cannot keep his eyes from them as he descends, entranced by the ripple of muscle under silk, by the emerald-set necklace that mirrors his own ring so picturesquely, by the canny eyes that divine the drift of his thoughts so exactingly.

“Shall we?” Vesper asks, offering him their arm. He takes it willingly and they set off, a pair not matched but reflecting one another nonetheless.

“I know you have picked your own targets for tonight,” they say, touching their necklace, a whisper of amusement brushing over their features, “but I have a list besides, one you’d do well to heed. A few precision strikes now might see this campaign shortened considerably.”

“Do tell,” he says, leaning in conspiratorially, armed and armored for the night to come.

#enver gortash #dark urge #dark urge x gortash #bg3 #gortashweek #parties are actually battlegrounds. everyone knows this #vesper

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weird-bookworm · 1 year

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ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ!ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴇᴇɴ

HYUNG LINE MAKNAE LINE

a/n: been wanting to do this for a long time now, hopefully y'all will like it <3 i don't really do reader x member stuff though, so this'll just either be member x member ships or no romance at all 😅

pairing: jihancheol, junhao, verkwan

genre: headcanons, fluff, crack, romance (kinda), angst (?), mafia

warnings: slight mentions of non-graphic violence, illegal stuff obviously

S.Coups

leader, for obvious reasons

hella protective over the guys, will kill for them

won't admit it, but also very soft for them

belonged to a family already involved with the mafia, knew the inner workings of an organisation like this since very young

unforgiving and unrelenting if he sets his mind on something, especially if that something is revenge

lost his parents to a rival mafia early on, was out for revenge when he stumbled across the members one by one, and that's how svt

came to be

did end up taking revenge, the rival gang doesn't exist anymore

helps in cleanup because muscles

worries about the others during missions but then tells himself that he's being stupid and everyone has had years of experience and there's no one he would rather trust

has known jeonghan and joshua since they were 14

is also very whipped for said men (and their puppy dog eyes)

ruthless, yes, but holds his member's opinions in high regards

often pretends he doesn't see the members going out of their way to take care of him after a rough day so they don't get embarrassed

once went MIA for a week

the group was in hysterics, there was chaos everywhere, some were worried, others were ready to kill, the mansion almost burned down at least 7 times, half of them were starving by the end of it because everyone was just so darn busy trying to find where he disappeared

jeonghan, jihoon and seungkwan almost lost their minds trying to bring order to the chaos (a near impossible task, let's be honest)

only for him to return later, very confused about the welcome he got (his members on top of him, most of them either already crying or on the verge of tears and a very angry jeonghan, seungcheol had never feared for his life more)

turns out he had left for a overseas meeting; it was sudden and he was urgently required in the middle of the night

in his defence, he had left a sticky note on the door of their bedroom, for maximum visibility, which no one had noticed somehow (you'd think they'd be good at this shit, being, y'know, mafia members)

he never let them live this down, but only after he made sure jeonghan and jihoon weren't going to murder him in his sleep

got scolded about forgetting his charger before going on the trip in retaliation (which is why he couldn't text or call them)

wonwoo threatened to replace his phone and give him a normal one instead of the non-traceable ones he made specially for the group

was reluctant at first, but warmed up to the idea of dating and is now in a poly relationship with jeonghan and joshua

Jeonghan

the seducer, again, for obvious reasons

looks like an angel and acts like one too, but only for the kids

can be really scary when he wants to be

the kids have a weird sense of respect for him and the way he gets shit done

can be surprisingly lazy

too good at mind games

knows how to crumble even the toughest person

has his fair share of bad days

needs cuddles all day long

will demand them like a baby

the members will then proceed to do some manly cuddling

ran away from home at the age of 13, but no one knows why, even his boyfriends

met seungcheol when he was 14 by chance in a convenience store, trying to swipe a loaf of bread under the cashier's nose while flirting with her

he gave him a place to stay and food to eat

that's when he knew he was in love

poor baby was very confused when he fell for joshua because he still definitely was in love with seungcheol

knows he is ethereal and uses the knowledge with the precision of a knife

low-key the mother of the groups, fusses over little things

also radiates chaotic gay energy 24/7

somehow even ropes the most responsible, calm members into doing some weird shit on a daily basis

has made it his personal mission to annoy the hell out of seungcheol and joshua

gets annoyed when it doesn't work and they just get fond instead

prefers knives and daggers over guns and has learned the art of swordfighting

has a hard time trusting someone new

got himself kidnapped in their early days

had gotten a little cocky at the consecutive successes they had been having and hadn't bothered to hide the knife properly

said knife stuck out like a sore thumb and a rival gang hadn't even waited long enough to let him get to where he was supposed to be before abducting him

was tortured with all kinds of punches and kicks

the torturer sadistically didn't hit his face

the group had to give a huge ransom for him

felt guilty for ages before vernon, surprisingly enough, slapped (literally) some sense into him

was so shocked he didn't even think about scolding the younger for hitting someone older than him

came to accept that mistakes happen

but is still careful on every mission now

Joshua

the 'undercover agent'

trained with jeonghan and jun

but works closely with seokmin and vernon

often infiltrates other gangs posing as a new recruit

a genius in disguises

can go from looking pretty to looking like a blotchy old man with a hump in no time and barely any special materials

loves posing as girls

flirts a lot as a girl

then renders his target unconscious to get the required information

because a lot of pervert gang leaders are actually stupid enough to take their one night stands to important places like their offices or bedrooms

if anyone was to ask him a memorable experience, he would tell them about the one time he had to switch disguises from an old bearded man to a pretty young lady

and how he forgot to take the beard off and had worn the bra the wrong way

he was supposed to be going for an interview for the secretary of the ceo

got a itch on his nose in the elevator and realised the beard was still on his face

was very glad that he was alone in the elevator

checked himself just in case and found he still had a flat chest

had to take off his blouse, put the bra back on properly

and then get dressed again, all in less than a minute

gave wonwoo hell because he hadn't warned him despite having eyes on every single camera in the building

only got a laugh in response

is weirdly obsessed with water

he and jeonghan make a pair to be reckoned with

poor seungcheol loses his mind on a daily basis with these two someone save him

gets homesick really easily

will spend ages talking with vernon in english when he feels so

a master ventroquelist

this unexpectedly has come in hand way too many times

his original dream was to be a preschool teacher

still questions how he ended up where he is on a near daily basis

doesn't regret it one bit though

a proper gentleman, but only when he isn't in the mood to do some crazy shit

which actually isn't that often

but god knows it's intense when it happens

obviously everything he ever plans he plans with jeonghan

and the target is always seungcheol

"the others don't lose their patience as quick as you, y'know, you're fun to tease"

*cue cheeky grin and getting chased by a mad cheol*

Jun

more of a lure than a seducer, but prefers the latter term

way too confident

but only in his face

gets adorably flustered if someone compliments him on anything other than his face

a goofy lil shit

everyone will collectively unanimously agree that he is the group's weirdo

he won't even try to deny it

had a hard childhood, was attention and touch starved

his family went bankrupt and the first thing they did was "kick out the liability"

was working a part time job secretly though and decided to change countries

that's how jihoon stumbled upon him, on the street

revels in attention

top class humour

loves to act all coy and pretty and damsel-in-distress on missions

says it attracts people easily

only to go all 'i-am-an-expert-martial-artist-fear-me' on them

except it's not quite as funny as it sounds

because he is trained in all sorts of traditional martial arts

of most east asian and south-east asian countries

half of whose names the other members can't even pronounce

often worries the others by preferring to go into missions without any weapons

says it helps in maintaining the cover

which it certainly does

and that he doesn't need any weapons anyway

"i am a weapon"

*grin*

(it's fine but only because it's jun 👀)

practises with minghao, who is not quite as trained as he is, but gets the job done

has insane stamina

once fought a small rival gang in hand to hand combat all by himself

flexible as fuck

makes too many dirty jokes about it

(must be the only idiot to actually make dirty jokes about himself smh 😔)

sleight of hand

master pickpocket

steals from the members just for the fun of it

they don't even blink an eye when they find something missing, will simply go to his room and find whatever they are looking for on his dresser

is also somehow very forgetful

a babie

Hoshi

the pyromaniac

prefers to be called the entertainer of the group though

had a weird penchant for fire when he started

once set fire to the headquarters of a small gang

really liked doing that

so they gave him asked him to work with seungkwan and chan

and make bombs and fire guns of all sorts

is also weirdly obsessed with tigers

(but don't we all know that already 😩)

one of the few members who uses an alias in the mafia world

has too much raging gemini energy

strangely intuitive when it comes to finding traitors

or the person responsible for committing whatever new atrocity svt is dealing with

hates wearing suits

but still enjoys how good and authoritative he looks in them

until he goes all crazy again

annoyingly loud

also annoyingly sweet

he and seokmin are sunshine in human form

almost has the same amount of weird energy as jun

they are the gemini twins after all

will either get on your nerves on a daily basis

or will convince you to help him get on someone else's nerves

very squishy

dramatic, but not in the drama queen way

just in the attention seeking way

doesn't really mean it, it just happens

is actually an introvert, but has a hard time believing it himself

most of everything he owns is tiger themed

even has a customised yellow gun with black stripes

they don't let him take it out though, so just uses it for practise in the headquarters

can and will steal the member's clothes and accessories

and will proceed to tease them about it

he doesn't know, but everyone is very fond (read:whipped) for him

even the younger members

because god knows he acts more like a maknae than the real maknae

has a fourth degree taekwondo black belt

also helps in cleanup

a surprising amount of things need burning after fights

can withstand a high amount of heat because of how used he is to it

another babie

Wonwoo

the tech guy

or as ned would say, the guy in the chair (im sorry i had to 🙈)

smarter then he looks

which is saying something because he already does look smart

nimble and quick fingers

has glasses, goes kinda blind without them

was a streamer before he joined

hence the affection to computers

still games, but doesn't stream anymore

a master at puzzles

works with chan for new projects, the younger is good at assembly while he handles the programming and electric part of everything

svt only ever uses the cctv cameras made by him

so they're never compromised

seldom joins the others for field work

becomes the guys' eyes and ears for most missions

one of the best hackers out there

also one of the quickest

the guys had a special basement made just for him

just in case someone manages to enter the headquarters

has a tinier but just as strong basement under his house too

for emergencies

only the 13 of them even know where to get to the basement (in the headquarters)

and he is the only one who knows the passcode required to enter

the room is absolutely filled with all things computer

was one of the first people to meet seungcheol and jihoon

they also forced him to learn hapkido when they met him

is a black belt now

practises with jun and minghao weekly

usually quite and reserved

his crazy side comes out rarely

but when it does, it comes in full force

his parents still think he works for an IT firm

said firm is actually a legitimate cover to the shady ongoings in svt

so he never really has troubles coming up with realistic stories

does help the employees there though

has his name stated in the official employees list

the other members either haven't noticed or don't care

because he probably hacked into the website to put his name there

an easy task considering he was the one who made it in the first place

once ate some dish with crab while giving instructions during a mission

threw up all over his brand new computer

demanded to know who ordered it

turns out it was him who accidentally clicked on the wrong dish while ordering

was sheepish

but still threw out the computer

Woozi

sub leader

seungcheol's right hand man

and his left hand man

and a lot more

is the entire group's reality check

enjoys more authority over the members than seungcheol does

but that's because they can't bully him like they do with seungcheol (some save him pt. ∞)

does a lot of jobs in the group

mainly helps in cleanup

also does the recruiting

made the entrance tests for people looking to join

designed them himself

while cheol decides what to do, he decides how to do it

did i mention he's actually cheol's cousin?

a very distant cousin

but a cousin nonetheless

his family had also always been involved in the mafia world

he ran away from home though

said it was too toxic

even for a literal criminal gang

still wanted to work in a mafia though

him and cheol had been close when they were younger

got to know about how the elder was planning to take revenge for his parents

was the one to convince him to actually form a proper gang before doing anything stupid

said he'd help

refused to be the leader

but agreed to have a position of importance

unnervingly good at predicting stuff

...all sorts of stuff

can usually tell the weather of the entire day early in the morning

but more often than not acts as a warning system to the guys on field

which is the entire reason he even accompanies them

they once went near an abandoned river to search for something

said they would find something even more precious

they found a small pouch filled with black opals

is the personification of 'i might be small but you're all still beneath me'

(i am inclined to agree ✊🏻)

actually a lil cutie though

not anywhere near as cold as he seems

might wanna read:

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spinningbuster98 · 1 month

Note

Since yesterday we talked about my *favorite* story: I think what really confuses me about the NFCV fans who defend Hector's writing by praising his final action, letting Lenore go, as the rightful conclusion of his character arc... is that it only works if you completely memory hole S3.

Hector is introduced as someone who burned his own parents alive after a childhood of abuse, bitter enough to believe humanity needed to be culled. From this perspective, him learning to forgive Lenore, or at least granting her mercy and dignity, could be a good character development. But Hector through the show was not written to be bitter, vengeful and violent: that was Isaac.

Or alternatively, Hector's biggest flaw is that he needs to be loved, so much that his favorite spell is reanimating dead animals so that they could love him unconditionally. He forces those creatures to him. He keeps this behavior by clinging to Dracula, then Carmilla (he could have ran away, he chose to stay with her after Dracula's death), then Lenore (after Carmilla's death and Isaac making him live, Lenore became his only certainty in life). From this perspective, him not forcing Lenore to live an existence she didn't want to live, but accepting her decision, could be poignant. But Hector never actively sought anyone: he was swayed and lured in. Besides, his pets stopped being relevant after S2.

Hector's arc was one of passivity. You can't miss it: even Isaac points out that Hector lacked agency. Hector spent his entire arc being thrown around left and right, lied to, beaten, humiliated, dehumanized, and he simply... existed. He has no objective, he barely has any negative emotions. Hector in S3 was a blow up doll, and we audience were meant to laugh at his stupidity while jerking off over the submissive and breedable peggable guy being called "good boy". S4 pretends he grew, with his working behind the scenes to resurrect Dracula, but it's not enough, for all the reasons we know. That's why him letting Lenore go feels like the last spit in the face for him: not only Hector is the only character in the season who is left with a bittersweet ending at best, but... he didn't do anything to affirm himself. He didn't choose to leave Lenore: Lenore chose to leave him, and he simply nodded to that. He didn't talk to her about their problematic relationship, now that nothing was between them. He didn't take the chance to recognize his own self-worth in the same way Isaac did. We don't know what he plans to do with Isaac, we don't know if he plans to leave the castle at some point. The pattern of him going "sure why not" at everything thrown at him was not shaken.

(I don't need to tell you that as someone who loves the original Hector's story precisely for the way he seizes agency for himself, this pisses me off something fierce. More idealistic? Maybe, but also encouraging.)

I'll be honest: Hector as a character is so empty that I feel his fans simply project themselves into him, especially victims of abuse who see the way he crawled back to Lenore and think that it was an intentionally nuanced representation of the way abuse twists your mind and priorities. And if his story resonates with you, I can't take it away from you, but I can assure you that the guy who spent a whole episode writing his puppy fetish for no reason other than fanservice does not give a single shit about the realism of abuse, let alone the things he was accused of.

And I wonder if the same can be applied to other aspects of the show, like Trephacard's friendship that straight up doesn't exist on screen, or Isaac's "development" which might resonate with people similar to him. Just a lot of projecting and filling in the holes, of which the show has plenty because it would rather waste its time with pointless filibustering and people being mean and crass to each other or piss jokes.

This is gonna sound very cynical but the main reason for the show's success is, essentially, that it's superficially deep and insightful.

Superficial presentation can go a very, very long way in hiding very egregious writing flaws, stuff like great fight scenes, emotional music and dialogues that sounds very cool, philosophical and deep can easily convince people that what they're watching is far more than it really is. These are cases where, if you don't pay attention to the finer details, you would really be led to believe that it's exactly what the show is presenting itself as

As another example: Sonic fans, even after all of these years, still like to parade Mephiles around as the best written villain in the series, even though his plan makes less than zero sense. This is because he looks cool (?), has cool powers, has a cool voice and the game consistently presents him as a mastermind...so folks fall for it, it's all about the vibes and how they emotionally impact the viewers, who in turn don't tackle the material with actual critical thought. Some seem to do so, given the plethora of in-depth analysis of characters like Isaac, but, and I know this is really offensive of me to say, I think they are still being influenced by the emotional impact of the way the story likes to present itself, preventing them from truly being 100% objective

People see Hector's pseudo philosophical speech to Lenore, they see her killing herself with the beautiful cinematography and music, and they mistake it for actual art, because it makes them forget or reinterpret the likes of S3. The reason why so many undermine or even justify Lenore's treatment of Hector in S3 is not, I believe, out of genuine rape apologism, but rather becaus people have a subconscious need to have everything neatly fit into their view of events

The ending of S4 looks so beautiful and deep and meaningful, but their relationship in S3 is in direct contradiction of that, so instead of recognizing that they twist the facts in their own head in order for all of it to make sense, because if you admit the existence of S3 as it truly was to yourself, then S4 and it's "beautiful" emotional impact falls apart like a ton of bricks

This is sounding very arrogant if not downright misanthropic I know, as I'm essentially saying that people don't know how to consume the media they like and that they don't even truly know what it is that they like. I feel a bit ashamed in saying this because it's the type of reasoning that would anger me usually, especially if directed at me, so in a way I guess I'm being hypocritical...but I truly don't see any other way to explain this phenomenon

Isaac is, of course, another good example: it's "easy" for most people to forget his hypocrisy because the show puts such a laser focus on his "development" and emotions and philosophy etc. It's like dangling keys in front of a toddler in order to distract them from some other thing

Something like Other M could have had the same effect, but the difference I feel is that Other M is far more egregious in its superficial dialogue: Samus sounds boring and stupid even at a surface level, she can't fool the audience, and Adam's character doesn't feature nowhere close as many "distractions" from his shitty behavior, especially since the authorization mechanic is pervasive throughout the whole game, so people immediately see what a douchebag he is and how self contradicting the story is about him.

#anti netflixvania

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bilyashvili · 5 months

Text

TAKE A CHANCE(Part 2)

Pairing: Phoebe Spengler/Spider-Woman!reader

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: After the events in Summerville, Phoebe, and others moved to New York, where they continued to catch ghosts and stuff, but in addition, a superhero appeared in the city and Phoebe got to meet her in person...

Y/N hastily picked up her backpack, then shot one of her webs into the nearest building. Not forgetting to take one last glance at Phoebe she pulled the web and swiftly swayed away, disappearing behind the skyscrapers.

After finally landing around the corner, she turned invisible and slowly sneaked up closer, assessing the situation. Robbery of a medium-sized grocery store, she watched 5 armed men slowly walking out of the store with cash and some stuff. Robberies weren't uncommon in New York, but then she noticed their clothes. Tracksuit mafia. The largest organized criminal group in the whole city. No matter how many got caught, there still was so many of them, but what's more, they often somehow managed to escape from jail. “Dumb, but tough” she noted to herself, before knocking the firearms out of the two of them. As expected, they started to look around chaotically and swearing, while looking for her. Seconds and with two precised hooks one of them lies unconscious. She sighed, as she became visible again and focused on her sixth sense, dodging a flurry of punches now.

Ten minutes passed and the remaining two dropped everything and just ran to their big van. “Retreating to base!” One of them shouted. Y/N perked up. Base...? No way she'd let them go and follow later, so she decided to catch them and beat its location out of the last conscious guy, which was pretty easy. After a while, he began to move around, trying to free himself from the web, as she noticed a small notebook falling out of his pocket. “Interesting...” she whispered, picking it up, then skimmed through the pages, before throwing it in her backpack for more detailed study later at home. Then, she nodded to herself and looked around, thinking where exactly this base was and knocking out the last guy as well, before leaving the scene for police.

///

After a while, her patrol was over. She landed in one of her trusted spots, well hidden from prying eyes, not so far from her home and got changed there. After examining herself for any wounds, as she didn't find any big or visible, Y/N peacefully made her way to her front door and walked in. Her parents were already back from work, so she greeted them and went straight to her room, locking it. She pulled out the contents of her backpack on the writing table and firstly checked the suit for any damage, then reloaded web shooters and put everything in her stash. Then some routine: have a dinner, clean the house, do the dishes.

While humming the song she was currently listening to Y/N thought about today and surely that base wasn't the only thing running through her mind. Y/N knew she had seen Phoebe before, but couldn't remember where, just until checking today's news. “No way...” She paused TV and took a closer look. Her eyes were sparkling now, as she was totally sure it's the same Phoebe.

///

The next morning didn't start good for Phoebe, she was forced to stay at home, while others went on a call again. She was home alone now and there was still plenty of time before their meeting in the park, so Phoebe decided to read a book and then visit Podcast and Dr. Ray at Ray's Occult Books.

///

She'd just hang out for a few hours, before going home. Time passed quickly and Phoebe thought she should probably head to the park now to don't be late. She didn't really know why, but in addition to her excitement, a hint of nervousness was following her. While walking to the same spot, she simultaneously thought about what they could talk about and how to answer possible questions.

The park was empty, as Phoebe's been sitting there alone for a while, she started to overthink why Y/N wasn't here yet. Maybe, she got ambushed and was hurt or even... dead, or simply Y/N just found her boring and didn't want to meet her ever again. These thoughts were bothering her, right until she spotted the silhouette fastly swinging towards her. Phoebe straightened her back and a small smile grew on her face. Y/N landed nearby and greeted Phoebe with hello. “Hope, I'm not too late” she sat on a free seat across from Phoebe. “There's really a lot of muggers today.” She babbled then. Phoebe waved a bit and looked at Y/N. “Hi! It's okay, so... Should we get started?” Y/N would just nod, as Phoebe moved one of her pawns. They were just chatting about everything, then Y/N brought up something she really wanted to ask her. “Y'know, I actually saw you on the news yesterday... You're a Ghostbuster, aren't you?” Phoebe looked up from the board and could feel Y/N's curious look through her mask. “Well, yes, I am.” she shrugged, remembering her situation now. “This is really cool!” Y/N exclaimed excitedly, leaning a little closer. “We're colleagues, you know? Well, sort of” Phoebe chuckled, but still kept looking at the board. “Yeah... But I'm not so sure about it now” her voice was still, however the mind was flooded. “Hm, why?” Y/N looked right at Phoebe, waiting for her to continue. Phoebe frozed a bit. The inexplicable urge to tell Y/N what happened, how much unfair it was and that her family didn't seem to care was somewhat overflowing, so she just let it happen.

///

Phoebe told everything, as she sighed and looked up at Y/N. There was some silence, until Y/N processed everything and then groaned with frustration “This is so dumb.” Y/N looked away and when she met Phoebe's awaiting glance, startled a bit. “I- I mean, well, Peck hates me as well. When I got bitten, I was 14 myself and what do you think he did?” she made a pause. “He made the police to issue a damn warrant for my arrest for a whole 2 months!” Phoebe chuckled at Y/N's gestures. “And what'd you do then?” She was genuinely happy at the thought, she might've found someone, who could really understand, moreover kind of relate to her. ”Well, I just took a chance every time I could and when the city needed me the most, I neutralised the Rhino guy” she remembered that day, like one of the toughest, even though she managed to weaken him and capture right before the police's arrival. “Take a chance” Phoebe kept this in mind. “You just gotta prove again and again what you're capable of and eventually Peck won't be able to reproach you. He's a hypocrite, who...” Phoebe chuckled. “Wants to get elected again.” They said at the same time and then giggled.

///

It's been some time and they ended up walking to Phoebe's place, whilst still chatting. Y/N could sense, that Phoebe was genuinely nice person, as they both seemed to have fun together as well, even though there was some awkwardness between them. Y/N thought she could start considering her as a friend. Maybe, she could even reveal her identity to her someday? She probably was getting ahead of herself, but for now, they were just having fun, as Phoebe made a small tour around the fire station and they were in her room now.

They heard several knocks and watched the door slightly opening, letting in some light. “Phoebe, we're back!” Phoebe's mom said, as she was standing in her room now. “Were you talking to someone?” She said, while looking around. “Um, no?” Phoebe glanced at the chair Y/N was sitting moments ago. “I was listening to an audiobook on my phone” She looked at her mom now. “Oh, okay... We were just about to cook the dinner. Are you okay with lasagna?” She was done looking around, as she just looked at Phoebe. “Yeah, it's okay” Phoebe was still mad at her, but hid it well, as she didn't want to argue just now. “Alright then... Bye” She left the room and closed the door behind. Phoebe started to look around and quietly called Y/N once, before finally looking up and seeing Y/N clinging onto the ceiling, as she watched her slowly getting down. “Phew” They both sighed with relief and looked at eachother. There was some awkward silence now. “Um, could you tell me what's the time?” Y/N spoke up first. “Oh, sure” Phoebe took her phone, checking the time. It was almost 7 p.m. Y/N perked up. “Oh, well, I actually have some places to be right now, so...” She pointed at the window, before turning around. “Wait!” Phoebe exclaimed, while standing up. Y/N turned back and looked at her questionly. “What did the Milky Way say to the Andromeda Galaxy?” Phoebe made a pause, as Y/N tilted her head a bit. “Nothing. There's no sound in space” Phoebe stood awkwardly, then she heard Y/N snorting softly under her mask, which made her smile herself. After a while she spoke up. “Heh, I got it. And I'd love to hear more of these sometime” She said, before opening the window and sitting on its frame, facing Phoebe's big grin. “Well, I'll- I'll be prepared” She bit her inner cheek. “Byeee” Y/N saluted and leaned back, disappearing from the sight. Phoebe then walked towards the window and saw her swaying away.

PART 1 PART 2

#phoebe spengler #phoebe spengler x reader #phoebe spengler x spider woman!reader #phoebe spengler x fem!reader #crossover #ghostbusters: frozen empire #ghostbusters

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the-authoress-writes · 11 months

Text

Family

(AKA some of my Tom “Iceman” Kazansky headcanons)

Warnings: Tom “Iceman” Kazansky’s father’s A+ parenting (not), mentions of cancer.

Author’s Note: This was instigated by @callsign-skydancer, after she sent me a very insightful message, and I just had to go with it, until, voilà, I churned this out in an hour and a half.

I’ve had these headcanons for a while now, but it’s because of Sky that I decided to get them down.

I’ll be using these in some later stories, so if you see some copy-pasting, you didn’t see anything, self-plagiarism doesn’t count, 😂.

I have no idea if this makes any sense, I wrote this in what I feel is a weird tense, but I have to get this out of my head, so I can finish “Wherever You Go”.

Enough of the Authoress talking, here we go!

Family has a great deal of meaning for Thomas Kazansky.

It affects and has affected him in more ways than one, and it continues to influence and shape him.

It was why he joined the Navy.

Most people assume that his father was Navy, because they hear higher-ranking officers whisper “He’s related to Kazansky” or things like that, but they’d be wrong.

His father was not Navy.

His father is Dr. Vasily Kazansky, a prominent Honolulu cardiologist, who detests all things military, who wanted nothing but for Tom to follow in his footsteps, demanding utmost academic excellence in preparation for medical school, creating a habit drilled into him that carried over into Tom’s service.

His grandfather, however, was Captain Sergei Kazansky, a highly decorated US Navy officer who served during World War II.

As a child, during visits to his Dedushka Sergei and Babusya Anya, young Thomas could be found in his grandfather’s arms, listening wide-eyed to Sergei’s stories of his time in the Navy.

It was Sergei Kazansky who instilled in Tom a love of country, and the desire to serve.

Tom’s decision to join the Navy and attend Annapolis was what drove a final wedge between Tom and his father, who detested the military for taking his father, Sergei, from him, in more ways than one, both physically, and emotionally, Sergei not knowing back then how to handle his trauma.

It was his grandfather who pinned the Lieutenant Junior Grade bars on his uniform, and Tom will never admit it, but he had tears in his eyes when Sergei embraced him and whispered in his ear, “Я так горжусь тобой, Томас,” words his own father never said to him.

It broke his heart when Sergei died of lung cancer three months before he was slated to attend TOPGUN.

But his memories and the lessons his Dedushka taught him would stay with him forever.

Most people would never assume that Tom “Iceman” Kazansky would have an artistic bone in his body, but they would be absolutely wrong.

One of Tom’s best kept secrets was that he is a very accomplished pianist.

He was taught by his mother, Yelena, how to play the piano, and music ran in her family, her own father, Oleg, having been a violinist with the USSR State Symphony Orchestra, before his defection to America.

Tom’s fondest memories of his mother are of afternoons spent with Yelena teaching him to play the piano, after dragging him from his homework, which enabled him to play Chopin at twelve, followed by the two of them listening to recordings of classical music, some of them featuring his grandfather Oleg’s playing, his father’s long hours at work enabling this time away from studying without censure.

One of his most prized possessions is a vinyl record which he inherited from his mother, of Shostakovich’s “Leningrad Symphony”, where his grandfather Oleg can be heard playing second chair violin.

In general, Tom’s favorite pieces to play are Chopin, but depending on his mood, what he plays varies.

When he’s at his most neurotic, Bach comes easier, the precision required to play those pieces giving his mind something to fixate on.

When he’s upset or angry, he hammers away at Scriabin, and some pieces of Rachmaninov, like “Prelude in G Minor (Op. 23 No. 5)” and “Prelude in C Sharp Minor (Op. 3 No. 2)” and Beethoven’s “Piano Sonata No. 8 in C Minor (Pathétique)”.

When he’s feeling a little drifty, he goes for Satie and Debussy, or “The Lark” by Glinka and Balakirev.

When he’s happy, Chopin’s “Heroic” polonaise is a must.

When he’s lonely, Chopin’s “Nocturne No. 20 in C Sharp Minor (Posthumous)” is a standby, because of how it reminds him there’s always light at the end of the tunnel.

He’s proud to say he can play his dream piece from his early high school years, Liszt’s transcription of “La Campanella”, though he still thinks he can get it just a little bit faster.

His most recent dream pieces are Rachmaninov’s “Piano Concerto No. 2”, and Liszt’s “Rondo Fantastique (El Contrabandista)”.

It’s because of him that Bradley is as good a pianist as he is, having been the Baby Goose’s teacher on the instrument.

He wishes Bradley would show off the classical pieces he knows more than his rendition—great as it is—of “Great Balls of Fire”.

Family has shaped Thomas Kazansky for better and for worse—there are still days he can hear his father telling him an A- wasn’t going to get him into any half decent Ivy League, or that he had to try harder, that his best needed to be better, and those are the days he plays Bach, or Scriabin, Rachmaninov, and Beethoven—but it was also what made him who he was, what led him to what he loves doing, and what led him to the family he chose.

Taglist

@valmare

@callsign-skydancer

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@tadomikiku

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

#i wrote this instead of sleeping #please be kind #bahaha 🤣#top gun #top gun headcanon #top gun headcanons #tom iceman kazansky #tom kazansky

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 5 months

Text

Blood and sand - Chapter One

When John Luke was nine, Parker stopped writing back.

It took a while before John Luke was sure, before he allowed the worry to slither into his bones, and take flavor and color away, and leave only trembling cold behind. Parker had never been quiet this long. Something had happened.

John Luke Yang wants his brother back. When he learns about a wish—offered by a god, in exchange for winning some kind of game—he's willing to leave everything behind in pursuit of it.

But the Dreamlands are not safe, and the King in Yellow has gone mad. The Games are not designed to be survived.

Luke has fallen into deep and dangerous waters. Fortunately, he won't be swimming alone.

Written for the @malevolentmadnessmixup. Art by @aktrashpanda.

>>>>READ ON AO3 OR BELOW<<<<

----------

Chapter One: Before

When John Luke was nine, Parker stopped writing back.

Phone calls were expensive, and even with what Parker sent every month, John Luke didn’t have much change. It all went to their older sister, Phoebe, who meant well—she really did—but she hadn’t planned on caring for her baby brother in the expense of San Francisco, not when she had her own kids to feed.

She’d never approved of Parker going back east, anyway. San Francisco was easier. Safer. There were more people here like them.

John Luke didn’t particularly feel like anyone was like him. He had no friends. He had his big brother, and that had always been good enough.

But Parker stopped writing back. So for a solid week, John Luke ran errands, washed windows, subbed for the paperboy (Toby would do anything to get out of work), and scrounged at last enough money to call Yang and Lester P.I., in Arkham, Massachusetts.

The phone rang and rang, and nobody ever picked up.

Phoebe finally listened to him because the money stopped coming, and she called the police in Arkham. That’s how they learned Parker was dead.

The body had been incinerated. They hadn’t bothered to contact next of kin (“Because he was a—” Phoebe’s husband said, and then used a slur that made Phoebe smack him). They’d sold all his goods at police auction. It was over. Parker was gone as though he’d never existed, and there was nothing left.

John Luke cried a lot. He probably wasn’t supposed to. Someone should, though. Shouldn't they?

Was there someone else? Adults always had other people, didn’t they? He’d peeked into Phoebe’s address book, but all she’d had was Parker’s name, office address, and office phone number… all of which had been lightly crossed out with a single, precise pencil line.

That made him cry again. He couldn’t even verbalize why.

He left her address book open as if forcing her to see Parker’s name could possibly conjure grief from her, too, and tried to continue his life.

When John Luke was ten, he discovered magic.

He hadn’t meant to. He’d been in trouble at school again—the kind he always got into by trying to be good. They said he was sullen when he was quiet. They said he was rude when he just struggled to make eye-contact. They said he was antisocial, when trying to talk to his peers felt like being a bug trying to swim in molasses.

(He knew about molasses. Phoebe and Parker had been living with their parents in Boston in 1919, and he’d never forgotten the nightmarish description of a spider trapped in that horrible flow, unable to lift its limbs to save itself.)

So he was in trouble. They made him sit in the corner with a dunce cap on, even though he had the highest grades in class. It was dark by the time he headed home.

He'd probably be in trouble for that, not that he was ever noticed any other time. He could admit it to himself in the crowded, smelly dark of this night: no one would be upset if he didn’t come home. If he didn’t come home, Phoebe would maybe cross his name out with a light pencil line, and that would be that.

Feeling sick, he slowed. John Luke passed irregular streetlamps and neon lights proclaiming CHOP SUEY and SHANGHAI LOW. Passed the alleys where (he'd been told) the Tong had fought for supremacy only a few years before. And then, he stopped. He stopped at the alley leading to the five flights of stairs that would take him to Phoebe’s apartment. Stopped, because he did not want to go home.

Home was… home was… not here. Home was gone.

He missed Parker.

Strange, sometimes, how these moments hit, unexpected and unplanned, without any warning for how they changed one’s life course. John Luke could not know this was one such moment now. He only knew he could go where he belonged—to disapproval, to cold quiet, to disappointment he’d gotten in trouble, to early bed and (conveniently) no dinner—

Or.

He could walk in the traffic-clogged streets, and pretend he was like them, and stay out all night long, because who was going to stop him? Maybe a cop, but more likely, no one. And that, right now, felt better than going back. So, he walked.

He walked, head down, hands pocketed, unconcerned for thieves because he had nothing to steal. He walked, crying softly, wishing Parker were here, wishing the police had been wrong. He walked, and turned streets at random, and tried not to bump into anyone (impossible), and ignored pickpockets, and found a neon sign he’d never seen before.

CHANGE FORTUNE

That was silly. So silly. He knew all of that kind of thing was bullshit. He knew science was real. Math mattered. Magic was lies. There was no such thing as fortune or luck.

CHANGE FORTUNE

What good would it do to try, anyway? He had no money. (Toby got caught outsourcing, and now nobody could take turns for him anymore.) It didn’t even mean anything. It wouldn’t do anything.

He couldn’t bring Parker back. Not even the old-world stories Phoebe’s ancient mother-in-law told portrayed that as possible.

CHANGE FORTUNE

On the other hand, what harm could it do?

John Luke stepped inside the shop. It was a dark, creaky space, with creaky floors and creaky fans and creaky something that almost sounded like alien voices, some kind of insect choir, impossible beings squeaking some kind of song for whatever they thought songworthy.

The shop was narrow—one long room, lit only by the front windows, with shelves floor-to-ceiling on either side, crammed with unlabeled goods wrapped in dust and mystery. And at the far end, behind a glass counter, sat a little old man.

A little old man who beckoned him forward. A little old man with pale eyes, and lips that did not smile. A little old man who seemed to have fox-ears if John Luke didn’t look directly, and a fox-tail if John-Luke looked away. “You,” the old man said. “You look young, healthy. I need help. Can you help me?”

John Luke’s Mandarin was pretty good, and he understood. “Yes, sir?”

The old man tried to stand, winced (a grimace that showed his pointed teeth), and sat again. “It’s time to pay my rent, but I’m injured. Could you take my rent money to my landlord? He lives upstairs; it won’t be a terrible journey. This way, he won’t hound me, and I can recover from my fall in peace. Please help me.”

Well… what was John Luke going to say, no? It was obvious the old man (who was human, no matter what imagination claimed) needed help. John Luke understood needing help. He took the envelope.

He did not open it. Following instructions, he walked around the outside of the building, found the fire escape, climbed it, and knocked on the window of the second floor.

It was opened by someone he could not see. A darker shape in darkness, with round, frog-like eyes, glinting in the gloom.

John Luke swallowed and held the envelope out. “From the man downstairs.”

“Thank you, John Luke,” said the darker shape in darkness, and took the envelope with a hand (green, mottled, webbed) that fortunately did not make contact.

And John Luke trembled on his way down the stairs, and swallowed bile as he hesitated outside that shop door (CHANGE FORTUNE), and finally went inside because rationally, this could not be real, what he’d seen up there, and if it was, he had no name for it, but if it was real, then he needed to see where it went.

The old man smiled, and offered some steaming tea. “What do you want, more than all the world?”

John Luke did not live in a home or an era in which taking things from strangers was verboten, so he took the warm, fragile teacup and sipped. He didn’t know this brew; it was floral, a strange taste, almost dusty, but so good he suddenly had to fight the urge to gulp it down at once. “My brother.”

Why had he answered that?

“A challenging proposition,” said the old man. “I can’t give him back to you.”

John Luke’s heart ached. Ached. As if disappointed, but he couldn’t be, because that meant he’d hoped for the impossible. “I know. No one can, sir.”

The old man pointed his knobbly, wrinkled finger. “There is one who can. It will cost you; it will take much effort, trial, error, and triumph, but there is one who can. It will cost you. But there is one who can.”

The repeat mattered, made this like a vow, and John Luke stood there holding a teacup that was not his, trembling from head to toe, and suddenly knew this was the hinge his life would turn on. There would be a before and an after this choice—but if he could get his brother back, he did not care about the cost. “Please,” he said, and pretended tears weren’t leaking down his cheeks, hoping the darkness of the room would hide them.

The old man nodded. “Good luck, John Luke.” He held his hand out, palm up, and blew on it, right into John Luke’s face.

And John Luke woke up at home, on Phoebe’s spare children’s mattress. Beside his head, a pile of ancient, mold-spotted books in various languages waited to be read.

Of course, CHANGE FORTUNE was gone. It was an abandoned laundromat, flooded out, walls and floors ruined by water too thoroughly for anyone to bother renovating it. Mold climbed the walls. He doubted the apartments above were clear of it.

He walked around the side of the building, and found that the fire escape was rusted off, broken, completely missing from the third floor down.

Right. So.

It had happened. He knew it had. By kindness to an old man, he’d earned… something.

A chance, his gut said, which was not a guarantee.

It was ludicrous to believe. Insane. Crazytown.

John Luke believed, and in hope he would somehow resurrect his brother, he went home and opened the first book.

[chapter two] [masterpost]

#malevolent #malevolent au #malevolent fic #arthur lester #john doe #dennis collins #luke yang #kiy malevolent #malevolent madness mixup #blood and sand fic #kayne malevolent #oscar malevolent

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the-fiction-witch · 6 months

Text

Little Bird

Media Nowhere Boy

Character Paul

Couple Paul X Reader

Rating SMUT

I giggled as Paul held my hand, we ran across the fields hand in hand after his gig with the boys, we bolted through the grass and trees giggling all the while every so often stopping to kiss, until we found the old battered building in the woods, often where the boys went to smoke, drink and other such things. And of course, the other such things were why we were here. Given my parents would never let Paul in my room alone with me and his dad was sleeping off a night shift, here we could be alone. As soon as we were out of sight he looked at me hungrily and tossed his jacket on the railing,

"Fuck come here little bird," he groans grabbing my face and kissing me not so much aggressively but more passionately I happily kissed back our kisses turning lustful fast, our tongues battling, his hand moving up and down my body cupping my breasts, my ass my hips, my thighs anything he could get his hands on he pulled back kissing down my neck and he pushed me down flat on the blanket covered floor, he smirked as he kissed down reaching my breasts but he pulled back and went to my side unzipping my dress as soon as he tugged it down to my waist continued to kiss down my chest his hands grabbing my breasts firmly "fuck! You don't usually let me feel them this much. Umm I miss you so badly!” He smirked as he groped and fondled my breasts in his hands at times before he moved his hand back and unclipped my bra tossing it to the side with his jacket, “Uhhh! You look so good,” he groaned making sure to rub on my nipples to harden them making me squirm rubbing my legs together "ohh my little little bird likes when I fondle her?" He smirked going a little harder every so often rubbing my now rock-hard nipples making me get wetter and wetter with each of his rubs giving them friction "oh. My little bird likes it when I play with her nipples" he smirked rubbing mercilessly with one hand and moving his other under my skirt he ripped my stockings and pushed my panties to the side, "fuck your so wet!" He groans diving into my chest kissing my skin and rubbing in my nipples, he took one in his mouth to toy play with my nipple with his tongue but I pushed him away

"paul!" I giggled playfully shoving his hair

"Yeah you want my head further south little bird?" He cooes kissing below my breasts and down my stomach and I nodded "okay. Sing for me then little bird" he smirked kissing my thighs softly and gently, slowly getting closer to where I wanted his attention, once he has kissed everywhere outside that he could he kissed my mound and outer lips making sure to gently suck on them every so often I giggled as his facial hair would poke and tickle me as his mouth worked

"paul" I whined which he took with an evil smirk giving my clit gently soft kisses being slow and precise he held my thighs open giving me no room to move or squirm as he got much more passionate and aggressive with his kisses sucks and licks eating me like I was his last meal holding me tight so I could squeeze my legs around his head every so often making eye contact with me to fuel his ego I knew how close I was twisting my fingers in his greased hair as he worked but be began to slow before pulling back

"Sorry little bird, my mouths getting tried. But let's see how you do with just my fingers" he smirked pulling back replacing his kisses with intense rubs on my clit using one hand to hold open my outer lips and attack my clit, his other hand three fingers working fast and hard to finger fuck me making me squeal quite loudly "come on your I've cum from my fingers before" he smirked I pushed his hand away and flipped us over so he laid on the blanket with me over his thighs pinning his arms beside his head "awww my little birdy gonna ride me till she cums?"

"Maybe" I smirked "but first" I smirked almost ripping his shirt open and kissing down his neck and chest making sure to leave a hiki on his V

"Uhhh come on little bird don't be evil" he groans "just a little lower and your cute little kisses will be much more appreciated" he smirked "come on I want that sexy red lipstick around my cock" he groans

"you need me that badly?"

"I always need you that badly" he groans

I smirked and moved down gently and softly stroking my hand up and down his shaft making him groan I pressed tiny soft kisses to his shaft to drive him crazy where he wanted so much more "uhh come on little bird more!" He pleads so I smirked and took only his head into my mouth gently sucking and swirling my tounge a little "uuuuhhhhh fuck! Ummmm I love your mouth y/n!" He groans holding my jaw stroking my cheek as I worked, I quickly took every inch of him inside my mouth hollowing my cheeks and gently sucking to which he grabbed my hair twisting his fingers in my strands of hair "fuck! y/n I'm so close! Uhhhh your mouth is so heavenly" he groans so I smirked and pulled away "little bird!" He whines as I replaced my mouth with my hand taking a firm grip on him moving fast and hard "uhh! It feels good but I want that pretty mouth back"

"No, you got far too overexcited"

"Did I? Like you did when I was rubbing on those hard little nipples? Or when I was burying my head in my little birds pretty pussy?"

"Maybe,”

“Maybe? Umm come on little bird, I want you!”

"maybe you're fun to torcher" I moved to sit over his lap moving my hips to gently rub my pussy against his erection

"Yeah? Well maybe I just love my little bird so much I'll let her torcher me however she wants" he smirked holding my hips to move me harder and faster "uhhh come on little bird. I need you!" he groans I giggled pulling him to kiss me our kisses hot and heavy make outs his chest pressed against my own I smirked into the kiss moving my hips up and he worked into my movements with his own until he slipped inside me "fuck I've missed you" he groans between kisses "I missed my little birds pussy so badly. Uhhhh been jerking off imagining you since we last got to fool around,"

“Aww see you can handle yourself,”

"It dosen't compare to you, so I'd just... lay awake at night in my big bed all alone, hoping my little bird would flutter through my window and come take care of me" he smirked pulling me close nuzzling into my neck as I gently began to bounce

"I missed you too paul" I groaned as I got faster and faster he held my hips often bouncing me too, moving his hips up to meet with mine between our lustful kisses

"Fuck little bird I'm gonna cum!"

"Already?"

"You're too good to me"

"I'll remember that, I won't be so nice next time"

"Yeah? Then neither will I" he smirked rubbing on my clit mercilessly as I bounced, it became an explosion of passion, bouncing, grinding, digging and scratching our nails down each other, moans and groans abundant as we heavily made out I hit my own first crawling down his backbiting his neck hard as I tightened around him feeling pleasure wash over me like a wave, he wasn't far behind me pulling me into an intense kiss as he pushed my hips so he was as deep inside me as possible his hips moving in odd angles and ways as he bucked hard inside me leaving us both holding on tightly to each other gasping for breath "I love you so much little bird"

"I love you too Paul" I giggled giving him a kiss as I laid on his chest, for the first time the cold air actually bothering us,

“Fuck… I really hope no one heard us,” He chuckled,

“We didn’t hear anything!” John yelled clearly around the corner with the other boys giggling, “Can we come around? Or are you guys still at it?”

“Come back in an hour!” Paul told them before he pulled me into another kiss,

#thomasbrodiesangster #tbs imagine #tbs imagines #tbs smut #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster #thomas brodie sangster smut #tbs #thomas sangster #thomas sangster imagine

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bloodblanks · 2 years

Text

solace [masky / hoodie x reader] — chapter v.

You return to your hometown and spend quality time with your friends before going out. A peaceful evening walk soon becomes a frightening run for your life.

author's note: this fanfiction will contain explicit content, including rape/non-con, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

<- previous chapter

You had come home for the weekend. Part of it concerned the strange hallucination you heard the other day, but the other part was that your parents had missed you, and oddly enough, you shared the same sentiment. It hadn’t ever crossed your mind that you would miss being around your parents, especially considering how you tended to just hide in your room and avoid them. What teenager liked their parents, anyway? But it was different now, now that you had moved out and spent some time away from them.

You had realized how much of a luxury it was to live at home. Ever since you left, you were tasked with the gruesome chores of having to both cook and clean for yourself—living by yourself was equivalent to being both a single parent and a child. You had spent your days there wondering how your place got messy so fast and why it was so laborious to clean it.

But now you were home. You were home, and you were comfortable, with your parents making your meals and your house being cleaned up as usual, your room lacking enough things to be made a mess of. Unfortunately, your room also lacked one vital thing: your dearest PC setup. Instead of it, you had a laptop with you, meaning there would be no opportunities to play video games unless the game was Minecraft or something.

ewa anyone wanna play? ^-^

ark logging on rn :kittyuwu:

Zohlem Yeah same one sec lol

lilypop where y/n at?

Y/N here. can’t play, i’m back home for abit

ewa :(

Y/N sorry!

ark come vc with us then ?

Y/N ok

Incoming Call ark, Zohlem, lilypop, Y/N, ewa

“Hi guys,” you spoke into your mic. Good thing that you brought your headset with you.

“Hi!” replied Ewa, her voice bright and cheerful as usual, and you smiled just listening to her speak.

“Zohlem!” you heard Allie yell into her microphone, which happened to also pick up the sound in her background, consisting of a furious keyboard and mouse clicking.

“What?!” Daniel yelled back, sounding annoyed, which wasn’t anything new either. For as long as you had known him, he was a grumpy person. Rightfully so, he was a law student that ran on five hours of sleep and a coffee—black—before his lessons each morning. He never took the stress of his education out on you or your friends, though, and while he was a bit serious, he was also one of the nicest people you had known. Trustworthy, reliable, and compassionate, all those good things.

“Stop jerking off and look at your screen, for fuck’s sake,” Allie hissed, and you could tell she was on the verge of spewing very obscene insults at him. Allie, being a high-ranking gamer who hated stepping foot outside, had precisely the attitude you’d expect of one. She had the shortest fuse known to man combined with exceptional skill at hurling curses like it was her mother tongue and a new account each month because she’d often get banned for being toxic. This was how she’d appear to strangers, especially those playing poorly in her games. To you, she was one of your closest friends, forward and outgoing, and so easy to talk to. Always available as well, may you add, due to her lack of interest in leaving her home. But you knew she made time for you, time that she could’ve spent on her current hobby, which was making ramen. She was eccentric, that was for sure.

“Yeah, Daniel.” And there was Lily with a snide comment, in a mocking tone as always. “Why don’t you stop jerking off, huh?”

“Not you talking,” Daniel groaned. “You’ve died six times already.”

Daniel and Lily had always been like this for as long as you’d known them. You’d met Daniel first, who introduced you to Lily, a cute, reportedly 150cm tall girl who he had explained was ‘the devil.’ He was right and wrong at the same time. She was indeed the devil incarnate, but that was only to Daniel. To the rest of you, she was bratty but adorable, the perfect blend of sugar and spice. She and Daniel knew each other in person. They had some sort of love-hate relationship, constantly arguing and bantering with each other but always sticking together, no matter what. You highly suspected the two of them shared a mutual crush on each other, but they both refused to admit it when you asked.

“I know where you live,” Lily snarled, causing Daniel to chuckle.

“I’m so scared. Terrified, really,” he replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. But before Lily could come up with another cheeky retort, Ewa had cut in to speak to you.

“Y/N, how’s home been?” she asked.

“It’s been alright. Well, it’s nice not having to do everything. I already miss playing with you guys though. To be completely honest, I’m still pretty stressed over what’s been going on with the headaches and static and everything,” you confessed to them.

“That makes sense,” replied Ewa, “I’m a bit worried about you. I really think you should see a doctor, to be honest.”

“Probably, but I doubt they’ll tell me anything useful,” you lamented, pondering the situation. “They didn’t tell Tim and Brian anything useful. Think they just wrote it off as stress related or something.”

The call became quiet for a short while. For a second, the only sound that remained was the tapping of the keyboard that got picked up by someone’s headset.

You had previously confided to your friend group about Tim and Brian; they were all aware of it. As for Ewa, you recently told her what had happened—simply in case you’d need to reference it in the future—to which she was very sympathetic. Everyone knew about it and knew it was a sensitive topic for you.

Eventually, Ewa’s voice broke through the silence.

“I’m sorry to hear,” she began, “that really sucks.”

“Yeah, that’s really shit,” Allie said, her more relaxed, sensitive side coming through. “Honestly, I wish I could’ve met them. With how much Y/N talks about them, I swear I’m almost in love with them as well.”

“I was not in love with them!” you exclaimed, cheeks beginning to flush red, her statement having caught you by surprise. You heard Allie cackle through your headset, a hearty laugh that would’ve made you want to laugh along if you had not been so embarrassed.

As the laughter died down, you felt a bottomless pit, a trench, open up in the well of your heart. The heavy feeling of guilt that you had felt just during the week had returned, dampening your mood.

“Guys,” you began solemnly, “can I be honest about something?” The rest of them all went quiet, sensing that your attitude change meant something was wrong.

“Of course, what’s wrong?” Lily asked, and you sighed, sinking your face into your hands, hoping you didn’t just assault your friends’ ears by accidentally touching your mic.

“I feel really guilty,” you paused. “I feel really guilty about all of this. Like, having fun and spending time with you guys. It makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong, even though this should be normal. I just feel like I’ve replaced them or something like that. I don’t know, it’s just been bothering me and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Hey,” Daniel started speaking, “it’s fine.” He reassured you. “You don’t have to do anything about it. It is normal. People move on, they get over things. Everyone has to eventually. That’s just how life is, there’s no need to feel guilty about doing that.”

You couldn’t figure out why, but for some odd reason, Daniel’s words triggered some sort of neglected frustration in you. As the guilt and irritation welled up inside you, you felt your emotions rise to a peak, and before you knew it, they had taken over the muscle of your tongue.

“But they wouldn’t have gotten over me. They wouldn’t have just moved on. At least, I don’t think that they would’ve. And I just, I feel like such a bad person. I feel like such a fucking horrible person for basically.. abandoning them.” And now your voice was cracking, the moment of heightened emotions wearing off as your sentence came to a halt. You only realized then what you were saying; the words had come too fast and your rationality too slow.

“Y/N—” Lily tried to speak, but you cut her off.

“Oh fuck,” you cursed, “I’m going— I’m going to go for a walk. Sorry for killing the mood, that’s my bad.”

You got up from your chair, removed your headset, and left. Pressing the end button on the call, you didn’t wait to hear their response; you simply hurried to put on a hoodie and grabbed your phone off the desk, along with a pair of earbuds and your keys.

Walking out the front door, you hoped you hadn’t upset them. You knew that they hadn’t done anything wrong, what Daniel said was simply meant to comfort you, and it wasn’t his fault that it had the opposite effect. If anything, it was on you for bringing up such a sombre topic during a regular call where everyone was playing video games, but you had apologized, so you could only hope that they shrugged it off and returned to their game.

With your earbuds in, and your favourite music playing, you started to go for a walk like you said you would. The start of autumn implied that the sun was setting sooner; it was already dark by the time you left your home.

Walking around the neighbourhood, the cool autumn breeze felt soothing on your skin, cold enough to feel refreshing but not too cold as to give you any discomfort. Your hoodie and pants were just sufficient to keep you warm in the chilly weather. You took in a breath, inhaling the fresh air, providing a sense of peace and serenity within yourself. Melting into your surroundings, you were able to enjoy the moment for what it was, a piece of calmness within the storm of your life.

As you continued to walk, passing by a patch of large rocks to your left, you noticed the streetlights flicker. Once, then twice, the pattern repeating for a third time before returning to normal. You felt as if that was odd, but you paid it no mind, continuing to tread forward, the temperature of the air noticeably dropping, causing you to groan in annoyance. You’d need to return home soon before the weather worsened—you didn’t want to catch a cold.

The flicker of the streetlights began once more, this time at a more rapid pace. And before you could write it off as something random, strange, but ultimately irrelevant, you felt the first hum of static. To your chagrin, the buzzing of the static grew louder, and the familiar piercing pain in your head returned, the sound now a harrowing screech. You hissed in pain, your head feeling like an old TV turned to the wrong channel and soon to fucking explode. Raising a hand to your forehead, you held it for a moment or two, feeling the pain disperse slightly as you cursed in vexation.

Alright, fuck this. You stopped in your tracks before turning around to go home.

For a second or two, you were frozen, entirely in bewilderment and disbelief, unsure if your eyes were playing tricks on your mind. But despite all your prayers that it wasn’t real, you slowly realized that the tall man in the suit that had been terrorizing you was now here, standing directly in front of you. You weren’t sure what to do; they didn’t teach you at school what to do when you encountered scary demonic creatures; in fact, you had been told all your life that it wasn’t real, and fuck—you were getting off track, your mind not sure what to think, your body unsure how to respond.

But then you felt it. The feeling of his blank, white as a canvas, smooth as a pillowcase face, look at you, look into you, look through you.

You turned around once again and ran. You weren’t sure just how long it had taken for you to finally be able to move. Still, once you overcame the initial thoughts and the thoughts of ‘this can’t be happening,’ you could start running, your feet picking up the pace as you went, from an initial wobbly, shaky dash to a petrified, instinctive sprint.

You pushed past what you had thought were the limits of your body, fuelled by the adrenaline pumping through your system. While you could feel the chaotic pounding of your heart, you could ignore the burn in your lungs and the strain on your legs as you continued running. You ran with desperation, making a frantic effort to get as far away as you could from the monstrous figure, not paying any attention to which direction you were headed.

Only when your body was nearing its limit did you begin to note your surroundings. Your run slowed to a halfhearted jog, and despite your urgent desire to continue, your body was failing you, your mind beginning to fill with regrets lamenting that you had spent the past two years indoors on your PC.

You watched as the trees around you began to thicken, slowly increasing in height, leading you to the terrifying realization that you were in a forest alone at nighttime. Jogging around a large, twisted and leafless tree in the centre of your path, you came to the even scarier realization that this wasn’t just any forest; no, this was the very forest that Tim and Brian were reportedly last seen in. But your fear of the unknown was only overpowered by your fear of the unsure, your fear of the tall man. And so you pushed onwards, too afraid to turn around lest you run into that creature again.

So when your ears started ringing again, static invading your senses, glazing over your vision and blurring your surroundings, your only choice was to continue onwards. At the same time, fear slowly ate away at the lining of your intestines like it consisted of little maggots with sharp teeth. You were trembling, fear striking you to the core like lightning to a tree as you trekked into the woods. The hissing of the static was getting louder and louder, the sound driving an icepick inside your skull, shattering it from within until your eyes registered light and you stumbled into a clearing.

You breathed out a sigh of relief, your eyes welling up with tears as you noticed that the scream of the static and the stab of the pain slowly dissipated as you took in your surroundings.

In front of you stood a river, its water flowing gently with soft sounds of splashes as the tides gleamed iridescence under the brazen moonlight.

Your eyes made out two silhouettes standing across the river from you. Your eyes adjusted to the vision, and you could make out the faces of those figures, noticing both their eyes on you. And for the second time that night, you thought you must’ve been dreaming before rubbing your eyes to clear out the illusion, but instead, dawning on the reality that this was anything but.

No, this couldn’t be real, but it was; it had to be impossible, but it wasn’t, and you were reeling in shock, struggling to grasp the situation, but it was them. It couldn’t be, but it had to be. It just had to—

Tim and Brian stood across from you, motionless and staring at you. You had to be seeing things; you weren’t even sure anymore of what your own eyes were transmitting to your brain. But you called out anyway, desperation flaring up within you, raising your hopes that your mind was not just playing cruel tricks on you.

“Tim, Brian, is that you?” you asked softly. No response.

“Tim!” you yelled, “Brian!” Still no response. Maybe they didn’t hear you, and so you walked closer to the edge of the river, hoping your voice would reach them.

“Tim, Brian! Guys! It’s me, can you hear me?” you called out, your voice becoming feeble, despairing.

The static returned, but you chose to ignore it this time, despite the agonizing sensation that flooded your mind. You wouldn’t let it get to you, and perhaps you weren’t thinking straight anymore, but this had to be them, it couldn’t be anyone else, and so you cried out once again.

“Please, can you guys hear me? Can you—”

You felt dizzy. You felt a bizarre sensation of pressure lifting from your head, and you stumbled forwards, tripping over your own feet as your toe stepped off the edge of the riverbank, causing your weight to plummet forwards, falling into the river with a loud splash.

The coldness of the water surrounded you, icy pinpricks on your skin as you felt the stream run over your head, your weight dragging you downwards, deeper and deeper into the body of water, darkness enveloping you as you drifted away.

next chapter ->

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ghosts-and-blue-sweaters · 27 days

Note

11, 20, and 21! :D

Answering for my Ghostbur-centric modern AU :D Hi, Pinestripe!!

Is there any relationship that's different in this au than in the source material?

YES! Ghostbur & Dream, most absolutely! They are brothers in this fic! Step-brothers, to be precise; they met when Ghostbur was 16 and Dream was 14, when Ghostbur’s mother + Dream’s dad got together. Ghostbur & Dream quickly became very close, and they love each other a whole lot.

It’s been… strange, writing these two in This kind of relationship! Canonically, c!Dream and c!Ghostbur didn’t interact very much. They were never close at all, and Dream was the one who killed Ghostbur for crying out loud.

I’m not too sure why my brain came up with the idea of making them brothers, but DUDE I’ve been having some of the most fun writing them + figuring out their messy brotherly relationship. Dream & Ghostbur love each other deeply, but their relationship is not healthy. It’s been so interesting to think about.

Tommy is also in this fic, and he and Ghostbur are brothers (which is pretty much how they were canonically) but… Tommy is four years old in this fic :) He is simply so tiny. And Ghostbur is about 23 so there is a Big age gap. It’s so freakin cute 😭 Ghostbur is trying so hard to be a good older brother (and sort of a parent as well, because Tommy’s bio-parents aren’t in the picture so Ghostbur’s mainly the one caring for him) and he loves Tommy to the moon and back and Tommy loves him more than anyone else and GAH!!

Dream & Tommy are also brothers!! Dream is around 21 years old, so there’s quite a big age gap for them too. Dream loves & cares about Tommy a lot, but there’s a sort of distance between them. The truth of the matter is that if Dream had to choose between Tommy and Ghostbur, he would choose Ghostbur without hesitation. He doesn’t love Tommy as much, and even though Tommy is only four, he can definitely pick up on that. That’s why Ghostbur is Tommy’s favorite brother lol

Share THREE headcanons! But about different characters.

!!!

Dream has really bad panic attacks. They’re debilitating and scary, and if he doesn’t have Ghostbur around to help him calm down, then things get Real bad. Ghostbur is very very good at calming Dream down though :’)

Ghostbur is a librarian :D He loves his job so so much oh my gosh. He never wants to do anything else for a living; he simply loves being a librarian That Much. It’s quiet and there’s So many books and he loves getting to chat with the people who check books out and!! He loves his job!!

Eret is also a librarian :) He and Ghostbur work together! Eret’s not a main character in this story by any means, he’ll only show up a little bit, but he’s friendly & nice, and he also enjoys his job! He and Ghostbur get along quite well :)

[bonus answer because I just remembered it and I think you’ll really like it] Dream & Ghostbur ran away from home as teenagers (for complicated reasons) and while they were trying to figure things out, they ended up going into a church because it was cold outside and they didn’t exactly have anywhere else to go to for shelter. When they walked inside, there was a guy on the stage playing “Blown Away” on an acoustic guitar, singing for the congregation. Ghostbur had never really done church or religion at all before, and he didn’t think about it much, but he really really liked hearing that song. He was disappointed when Dream decided to leave, because he wanted to stay inside and hear that song play over and over and over again.

What makes you most excited about this fic?

Oooh… hm. Honestly… kinda all of it? It’s been a really long time since I’ve been this excited about a fic of mine. I’m pretty sure the last time I got this excited & happy was last September! It was also for a Ghostbur modern AU lol

But yeah, I’m pretty excited about this whole AU :D The characters have been super fun to work with, I’m loving their backstories, I think the plot is compelling, and GHOSTBUR!!! Ghostbur in general!!!

#ask #ask game answers #dear wormwood // fic #GOSH I’m excited about this story #thank you for the asks friend :D

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wdestroyer · 2 months

Text

5rd Part of PFJ

Joy

FELV, Borgia

The Serfdom - 4th Volition

In contrast to Bonnie, Joy is a healthy 4V. She is very self-confident, despite her last priority being volition itself. As shown in her past, she initially did not have any will. In silent suffering, she always submitted to the wishes of her parents. Joy couldn't do anything about it. However, at one point Meg came into her life and suggested her to join her group. Her strong volition greatly influenced Joy, which made her strongly believe in herself. This is where her great confidence comes from in principle. She also has no bright ambitions of her own, and simply follows Meg's ambitions. Joy has no distinctive volition: she has absolutely no need to influence anyone. She doesn't strongly oppose Meg in the situation with Toddy or doesn’t mind Bonnie's joining her group at all. The girl just goes with the flow through life. Joy is firmly committed to her position in the group, which indicates an resultative will. She takes volitional problems lightly and finds easily admitting her guilt.

The Actor - 2nd Emotion

Let's continue with the most obvious and prominent function in her character, the reason for which is her constant role as emotional support. Her emotion is always shown to work in presence of others. In her case, she sought to console Bon (there is significant examples of it and even a whole song about Joy comforting Bon), Golden, or even Freddy. However, she also likes to emotionally troll by playing the “bad girl.” Her emotions are always uniform and flexible, which gives the impression of fakeness.

The Holder - 1st Physics

Joy is the most confident in physics, but unlike emotion, it is an introverted function. In the Inoki song, it is especially clear that she actually likes to dress up in colorful outfit when Joy was forced to wear gray colored clothes. She is very dissatisfied with her parents because they force her to be a housewife. The fourth volition will resist precisely in connection with the values of the first function. Joy loves to enjoy physical pleasures such as playing the piano and her own singing. She is confident in her physical skills. Her resultative laziness is manifested in her physical appearance, which is characterized by smoothness and slowness. Joy doesn't think much about the physical condition of others as a 2F. She is not afraid to take physical force, as she mercilessly nailed Golden over a bug once.

The Skeptic - 3rd Logic

She has the most problem with logic, which can be often noticed in the second season. She is constantly visible in doubt when thinking about something. Which makes it seem like Joy is constantly questioning her judgment. She wants to talk together and deeply understand everything.

Bon Smith

ELVF, Andersen

The Middle Class - 3rd Volition

I am sure that Bon has a low volition. Just remember how he always ran away from Bonnie instead of asserting himself in front of him. How he shamelessly shifted the responsibility of dealing with Toddy to Meg, although he dragged her there on his own initiative. Bon humiliates Bonnie, feels guilty about it and eventually decides to deceive him, pretending to be someone. Bon's main problem in the first season is choosing the right side. It is important for him to be part of the group, but also to follow his own desires. This pushes him to protect Bonnie because of his own desire, and then because of Meg's condemnation of betraying him. He does not know what he really wants and does not want, which is why his character goes to extremes. He is the most vivid representative of the third will in FNAFHS of all the others, because his conflict is centered on his indecisiveness in his willpower position. In spirit, he is a competitive person who likes to win. But only after meeting Bonnie does he begin to collapse globally.

The Romantic - 1st Emotion

Under the influence of the third will, this aspect becomes very strong. Bon expresses his emotions easily. He often gets into trouble due to his own hysteria. He usually takes everything to heart, which at the same time causes volitional suffering. His emotional performance is aimed at being stable in this aspect, so the uncertainty of his feelings for Bonnie drives him crazy. There are many examples of his strong emotionality in the series. He literally has four songs where he has strong outbursts of emotion. "I Want to Scream" due to extreme fatigue, "You Will Shine Again" due to extreme sadness, "The Bill Is Mine" due to extreme irritation, and "True Dreams" due to extreme despair.

The Rhetorician - 2nd Logic

To give Bon a low logic seems to me personally a crime. He does not have his own firm thinking position, but he easily operates with logical chains. Bon has a need to explain himself to everyone, as was the case with the betrayal of Bonnie. He is also good with using words. We should especially not forget the case with Bonsua, where Bon, of all the options, decides to avoid meeting with his conscience, creating a new identity for himself "Bonsois". This perfectly shows the work of the second logic, where Bon has to constantly logically convince that he is actually Bonsua.

The Idler - 4th Physics

Physics is the last priority for Bon despite being the main guitarist of the band. Most likely, all his physical work is purely due to emotion (their outburst) and will (his ambition). Bon easily gets tired in a guitar battle with Bonnie and then simply admits Bonnie's superiority. Instead of focusing on the physical elements in practice, he is always thinking about something.

#FNAFHS #Joy #Bon #Psychosophy journey

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tadpolejourney · 5 months

Text

Day 22

I was way too upset last night. I wrote so angrily I actually broke my quill and ripped through the paper at the end of my last entry, stabbing myself in the leg with it in the process. I threw the quill into the fire and went to bed early. I didn’t notice I had left my leg to bleed all night until this morning.

Before I started to write last night, I spoke with Gale and everyone else at camp. Literally no one but Gale supported Mystra's plan, naturally. Lae'zel had a particularly interesting insight as a follower of Vlaakith. She thinks Mystra is doing this for selfish reasons. The Absolute must be a threat to her dominion. And she has no faith in Gale whatsoever, which is why she is demanding he die while still demanding his faith. Again I say, it's absurd.

Yesterday we ventured into the ruins of a Lathander monastery in order to gain access to the githyanki creche.

A small troop of githyanki were outside with a few Absolutists that they'd captured. One cultist tried to run and got shot in the back. Safe to say we found the creche. The dream guardian spoke to me outside the door leading to the creche, and bid me to stay away from the githyanki. I couldn’t turn back then, after promising Lae'zel and making it all the way there. We had to see this through. Besides, it gave me no good reason to stay away other than it said so? Consider yourself ignored, guardian guy. That door was magically locked anyway. At least now I know for sure that thing, whatever it is, is not omnipotent.

In our attempts to find another entrance to the creche, we found a pack of kobold looters drunk on firewine. There were too many of them, so we stayed in the side room and had someone by the door to close it behind anyone who made their way in. Again, my tried and true battle tactic when you're ambushed and/or outnumbered... It should have been an easy fight since our enemies were drunk.

Gale had other ideas. The kobolds had bellies full of firewine, there's firewine on the ground, and firewine barrels everywhere. It's a very flammable space. What does Gale do? He casts fireball in the entryway of the next room where all the kobolds are. Perhaps a great idea in theory or in other circumstances. And sure, he killed a couple, but the blast burned all of us, knocked him backwards, set the room we were in on fire, and I was hurt so badly I fell unconscious. The fire nearly killed me. Astarion tried to pull me up but couldn't get me out of the fire, and I blacked out again. When Gale pulled me up, I was surrounded by kobold corpses and more were making their way into the room from above, but the fire was out.

We finished them off, and Lae'zel seemed really inspired by that battle for some reason. I guess we adapted well and had good teamwork in the end? Or maybe it was me almost dying. I don't know, I probably would have inspired her if I'd died in that fire. Gale asked for my forgiveness immediately, and of course he got it. Mistakes happen, and I'm sure he won't cast a fireball like that anytime soon. I think he's used to being more... precise as a formerly top-notch wizard than he currently is. Maybe he just didn't see that big old barrel of firewine by the door. Oh well, nobody died and we won the fight, that's all that matters.

Then we ran into a huge gremishka nest. Since there wasn't any fire and Gale didn't cast any spells, that one was quick and easy.

Being in the Lathander monastery's ruins reminded me a lot of my dad. He was sent to Baldur's Gate by his monastic order (of Helm) to help protect the city's growing population of lost and hopeless people. I was one of the lost and hopeless people he found and protected. He adopted me and changed my life. Before that I'd been nothing but a victim. A dolly for my biological parents, an easy target for criminals, devils, and monsters. He taught me how to defend myself and how to heal my mind from the horrors I experienced from infancy until we met. He saved me, in all the ways a person can be saved: physically, mentally, spiritually, emotionally. Monks, of any order, will always have my respect. I don't consider myself to be one, and truly I'm not a monk. I just know how to fight like one and how to think like one.

We explored the entire ground level, upper level, and roof of the monastery ruins. While exploring we learned this place stored the Blood of Lathander. Lae'zel, naturally, was completely disinterested and very frustrated with us backtracking and not going straight for the creche once we determined its location.

I told her dramatically, “I bet Shadowheart would be reeeeal interested in this place,” referring to the monastery ruins. To which Lae'zel replied, “Tchk, fine. But do not tarry for too long. We have waited long enough.”

We grabbed what we needed to find the Blood of Lathander below and headed into the creche. According to Lae'zel it seemed relaxed to the point of undisciplined. I suppose that's one perspective. It was istik this and istik that everywhere we went. Their healer had tons of mindflayer parasites. She studies them. The 'purification protocol', known to githyanki as the zaith'isk, is a crazy looking device. It looks insectoid and yet is definitely mechanical at the same time. I had a bad feeling about it. I insisted upon going first, even though Lae'zel was initially quite upset. She ended up being impressed by me over it because I stood my ground against her. I really only went first because this thing seemed dangerous, it was too late to back out of it, and I thought better me get hurt than her, Astarion, or Gale. I thought surely it couldn’t be worse than some of the shit I’ve been through in my life already.

I was right. It wasn’t worse, but it was pretty fucking bad, and definitely dangerous. That thing tormented me. It didn't cure me, but it sure did change me. I feel more in touch with the illithid tadpole than before. Not a good thing. Not at all. In the attempt to remove my infection the zaith'isk exploded. The healer was horrified and outraged. Lae'zel thought the creche must have a traitor in it because the 'treatment' failed. I was done entertaining the githyanki at that point. Crazy ass zealots, the lot of them. I got us out of there before we had to face any more danger. I decided we'll try our luck again with the Underdark.

We made our way back to the myconid colony today. There we met a mindflayer. It was peaceful, said it had broken free of the elder brain. Its name is Omeluum. It told me about the Grand Design, a plan to eliminate all githyanki and enslave all other humanoids. This is the first time I've ever had a conversation with a mindflayer. It's definitely different from my other experiences with its kind. It is offering to help me understand why my tadpole is different. All I have to do is find some rare and dangerous mushrooms that mess with your mind. Yeah.

I gave an antidote to an Ironhand gnome named Thulla. She wants us to go rescue her kin from duergar slavers across the lake. Looks like I'll get to help the gnomes and the myconid if I take out the duergar. I met with Sovereign Spaw as well. It was turning corpses into mushroom zombies. Normal mushroom guy stuff. Another sovereign, called Glut, came with us to kill the duergar.

On the way we ran into the bulette again, and managed to finish it off this time. Glut turned it into a mushroom zombie. That was the most badass thing I've ever seen in my life. Mushroom zombie bulette. I don't think we'll top that on this journey. Glut helped us kill all the duergar on this side of the lake, but immediately asked us afterwards to kill Spaw so it could take over the circle. We pushed it off a cliff.

Tonight in camp I didn't speak to anyone. I didn't hear much chatter around camp either. I think we're all starting to feel the weight of our situation, more than ever. We have so much more to worry about now than just becoming mindflayers.

<<< Day 21 | Index | Day 23 >>>

#it's me I'm the Gale that set the party on fire and nearly killed my Tav #also I highly recommend using Glut to transform the bulette into a zombie. Hilarious. Strong as hell. Fun.#bg3 #baldur's gate oc #baldur's gate tav #bg3 spoilers #bg3 tav #baldurs gate tav #baldur's gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 gale #bg3 lae'zel

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ukrfeminism · 1 year

Note

www.theguardian.com/society/2023/may/03/the-killing-of-joanna-simpson-she-was-bludgeoned-and-buried-by-her-husband-why-is-he-being-set-free

Thank you, anon.

5 minute read, full text below the cut.

The facts are these. At 4pm on a Sunday, Halloween 2010, Robert Brown arrived at the Ascot house of his estranged wife, Joanna Simpson – a house that was the subject of a bitter legal battle, due for its final hearing in a week’s time.

Brown was returning their two children, nine and 10, after a half-term visit. They ran inside to the family room, leaving their parents in the hallway, where Brown took a hammer he’d packed in the children’s bag and bludgeoned Simpson repeatedly. (Their daughter said she heard “bang, bang, bang” as the blows fell.) There were injuries on Simpson’s hands and her arms where she’d defended herself, fractures and double fractures on her eyes and cheeks, her nose and skull. Brown then lifted her body into the back of his Volvo, covered her in plastic sheeting and returned to the house to disconnect the phone, remove the CCTV system, then collect the children. As they drove away, their son asked if Brown was “taking Mummy to hospital”. Instead, Brown dropped the children back at his home with his current partner, grabbed some items from the garage – duct tape, forensic overalls, plastic overshoes – and drove onwards to Windsor Great Park.

Here, he had already dug a deep grave to the precise dimensions of a large garden box. That box lay beneath the earth, lined with plastic sheeting to prevent seepage. Brown bent Simpson’s wrapped body into that box, fastened it and covered it with soil.

Given these facts, this true-life horror, it isn’t surprising that in May 2011, when Simpson’s family and friends gathered at Reading Crown Court for Brown’s trial, they expected a murder conviction and a life sentence. Hetti Barkworth-Nanton, who counted Simpson as her closest friend, was one of more than 20 who had come forward as witnesses, to speak for Simpson and present a picture of escalating abuse culminating in domestic homicide. “No matter how devastating it was, we thought, ‘Thank goodness there’s all this evidence. There’s no way he’ll get away with it’,” she says. Instead, Brown was found not guilty of murder and pleaded guilty to manslaughter with diminished responsibility. He is entitled to automatic release in November, without parole or any risk assessment.

Brown’s trial is just one example of the very low status ascribed to domestic homicides by our criminal justice system – in the words of leading defence barrister Clare Wade KC, “They’re right at the bottom of the pile.” In 2021, Wade was commissioned to conduct an independent review of domestic homicide sentences – which in this case means murders or manslaughter committed by current or previous partners. They overwhelmingly involve men killing women. In the Home Office Homicide Index 2011-2020, male perpetrators accounted for 87% of killings in this category.

The review was commissioned partly in response to a campaign by two bereaved families. Poppy Devey Waterhouse, 24, sustained more than 100 injuries in a slow, brutal attack by her ex-partner Joe Atkinson. He was sentenced to life for murder, with a minimum term of 15 years, 310 days. Ellie Gould, 17, was murdered by her ex-boyfriend Thomas Griffiths. He strangled her, then stabbed her at least 13 times – his sentence life with a minimum term of 12 years and six months. For the victim’s families, the injustice was clear. If these murders had taken place outside the victim’s homes, the sentences could have been 10 years longer, as there are higher penalties if a killer takes a knife to the scene rather than lifts one from the kitchen drawer. And women are far more likely to be killed at home. Between 2017 and 2019, three-quarters of female victims in England and Wales were murdered at home – for male victims, it was less than half.

At present, our murder sentences stem from Section 21 of the Criminal Justice Act 2003. “It’s frozen in the 2000s, a very outdated bit of law,” says Wade. There’s the full-life tariff for cases of “exceptionally high seriousness” such as terrorism, multiple killings or some sadistically or sexually motivated crimes. Next comes the 30-year tariff for murders of “particularly high seriousness”, including “murder for gain”, murder involving a firearm, the murder of a police officer or one motivated by hate against a “protected characteristic” (being a woman isn’t one of them). The 25-year tariff was added in 2009 due to rising concerns around knife crime, and covers murders where a knife or other weapon has been taken to the scene. And then there’s the 15-year tariff for all the rest – the “normal murders”. (All these sentences can be increased or reduced by aggravating and mitigating factors.)

The two women killed every week in the UK usually fall under “normal murders”, the lowest level of seriousness. They have been treated like one-off random killings in “volatile relationships”, homicides sprung from an affair or jealous rage, a messy divorce or petty row. (See Thomas McCann, who murdered and dismembered his wife Yvonne because she forgot to freeze a bag of chips. In March 2021, he was sentenced to life, with a minimum term of 12 years 182 days.) “We know much more about domestic homicides than we did in the 2000s,” says Wade. “We now know about the way coercive control works. These killings are not ‘situational’. We are not talking about a ‘relationship gone wrong’. In many of these, there is a pathological need to control the other party. If you look at the history, you will see a pattern, a template, where the inevitable concomitant of extreme coercive control is killing.” Those behaviour patterns will be evident in a perpetrator’s previous relationships and in future ones too. “Unfortunately, to a large extent in sentencing and murder law, that’s still not understood,” says Wade.

To Barkworth-Nanton, who attended all of Robert Brown’s trial, the attitude that this was a low-status case, a “relationship gone wrong”, was evident from the start. Even though Brown had taken a weapon to the scene – which could elevate it to a higher sentence – the fact that he’d used it to kill his estranged wife in her home during a stressful divorce somehow conspired to create a lesser level of scrutiny. “We were told it would last six to eight weeks,” says Barkworth-Nanton. “It took eight days. The 20-plus witnesses who knew Jo and the history of that relationship were cut right back to two.”

The trial for the murder of Joanna Yeates took place just a few months later – Yeates, 25, had gone missing in Bristol after a night out and been murdered by someone she didn’t know. “That trial was much longer; they took the jury to the grass verge where her body was dumped. They didn’t cut any corners – and quite rightly,” says Barkworth-Nanton. “Brown’s jury should have been taken to Jo’s house and seen where the children had been when their mother was killed. They should have seen how much Jo had tried to protect herself – the cameras, the lights, the alarms – and they categorically should have been taken to the place he buried Jo. It was a key part of the whole thing.”

Simpson had married Brown, a BA pilot, in February 1999, after a whirlwind romance. It had been unhappy from the start – she had called her mum from her honeymoon saying she’d made a “terrible mistake” as Brown was so rude to hotel staff. Within weeks, though, she was pregnant and committed to making it work.

Many friends, including Barkworth-Nanton, had witnessed Brown criticising Simpson – her cooking, her parenting. “He was constantly putting her down,” she says. “He was never pleasant to be around.” One friend had reported him to police for cycling towards her and her children at speed, only veering away at the last second. He monitored Simpson’s movements when he was away on flights, using the burglar alarm to check what time she got home or went to bed. In July 2007, the marriage ended and the following month, Simpson applied for a non-molestation injunction against him. Her signed statement describes Brown’s increasingly frightening behaviour as the marriage was breaking down. One time, he had called from Hong Kong and told Simpson he was having “dark thoughts”. Another time, he had taken “a very large carving knife” from the drawer and held it to her chest, gripping the back of her neck with his other hand.

Brown had given an undertaking to stay away from the house for six months, which was then extended by another six. In the months after, the CCTV Simpson had had fitted stopped working because the cables were cut. The security lights stopped working as those cables were cut too. As part of the divorce proceedings, Brown supplied a list of credit card transactions that revealed the purchase of spy equipment. When Simpson’s solicitors asked what this was for, Brown admitted that he’d bought a tracking device to put on his wife’s car. For three years, their divorce dragged on, ostensibly over the family home – which Simpson had bought as a wreck with trees growing through the ceiling and renovated four years before meeting Brown. It seemed likely that she would win the case. “I spoke to Jo an hour before she was killed and she was really down,” says Barkworth-Nanton. “Even though the divorce hearing was a week away, she felt it wasn’t going to end there. She was sure he’d find something else, another battle, like custody of the children.”

The jury learned almost none of this. The night before she was killed, Simpson was working on her divorce statement. (“I consider him to be controlling, intimidating and a bully,” she wrote.) “We begged the prosecution barrister to bring it into court – it was her talking, it was the whole history of the marriage,” says Barkworth-Nanton. The barrister declined. His response, she says, was, “Trivia, trivia, trivia!”

Instead, a great chunk of the trial was taken up by Brown’s own account. “He was charming, he cried, he got the jury’s sympathy,” says Barkworth-Nanton. “He was the airline pilot trusted with the safety of hundreds of passengers. If he’d been able to wear his uniform, he would have. The whole stance of his evidence was that Jo was a rich bitch who had led him to do this.”

Brown claimed that Simpson had “railroaded” him into marriage, that with Simpson, “everything he did was wrong”, Barkworth-Nanton continues. “He said Jo had an affair – which wasn’t true – and now she was hiding money and taking him to the cleaners. He even said, ‘I knew there was a problem in my marriage when I didn’t get my usual birthday present.’ By that he meant a blowjob. There were so many times when he was talking that I was just shaking my head – yet he was never challenged. We asked the prosecution why. He replied that he was there to win a murder conviction for Joanna, ‘not a popularity contest’.”

The prosecuting barrister has since been appointed as a judge. Approached by the Guardian, a representative of the courts and tribunals judiciary said: “Judges are never able to comment on cases they have been involved in, whether this is prior to their judicial career or heard as a judge.”

In court, Brown claimed that the stress of the divorce combined with other factors, including his new partner’s miscarriage, caused him to suffer an “adjustment disorder” – an emotional disturbance that interfered with normal functioning. This diminished responsibility for what he did. One psychiatrist backed him up; another said this was a “minor form of disorder”, very rarely linked to violence, and was not in keeping with such acts as dismantling the CCTV straight after the killing. “The jury had to decide which psychiatrist to believe,” says Barkworth-Nanton. “That’s bonkers.”

They chose to side with Brown, whose story they’d heard in such detail. “After the verdict, I can remember looking down and feeling like there was a big dark hole opening up that I was falling into,” says Barkworth-Nanton. At sentencing, the judge himself seemed to express doubts. “An adjustment disorder,” he said, “is a mild disturbance which rarely leads to outbursts of violence. In your case, it appears to have disappeared almost immediately after killing your wife.” He sentenced Brown to 26 years – but since this was for manslaughter, not murder, that sentence is “determinate”, rather than the minimum term that might accompany a life sentence. For Brown, this means that if he commits no further crimes, he can be automatically released halfway through with no risk assessment.

At the heart of this trial was a chasm where an understanding of domestic abuse and coercive control should have been. Barkworth-Nanton has spent the intervening years campaigning on these issues and is now chair of the domestic abuse charity Refuge (although she is not speaking on behalf of Refuge here). She is not convinced there has been much improvement, despite the fact that coercive control became a criminal offence in 2015, four years after Brown’s trial. “These ‘partial defences’ of diminished responsibility were introduced in the 1950s when we needed a defence to ensure that people who weren’t evil were not sentenced to death,” she says. “I’m of the view that they are now abused by men who kill their wives. They are effectively saying, ‘she drove me to it’ in various guises – and then it becomes a trial of the victim.” Partial defences are also used when men claim a partner died during “sex gone wrong”.

Clare Wade’s Domestic Homicide Sentencing Review was published in March. It has recommended training for all lawyers and judges around coercive control. It recommends that in cases where coercive control was exercised by someone who went on to commit domestic homicide, it should be a statutory aggravating factor in sentencing. In addition, if the homicide took place when the relationship was ending, if it involved strangulation or “overkill” (excessive or gratuitous violence, beyond that necessary to kill) these should be aggravating factors too.

Importantly, the review also states that when the killing was committed by a victim of coercive control – when someone kills the partner who was abusing them – it should be a mitigating factor. “Women kill men for different reasons,” says Wade, “usually to resist control, because they’re in despair and to be safe.”

In response, the government has agreed to make overkill and coercive control statutory aggravating factors – but, to Wade’s alarm, not to make coercive control a mitigating one for victims driven to kill their abuser.

For Hetti Barkworth-Nanton, it’s a start. “It’s certainly not ‘job done’, and it’s dangerous to assume so,” she says. She urges the creation of an automatic 25-year tariff for domestic homicides – with an explicit exclusion for victims of domestic abuse and violence.

Meanwhile, she is lobbying with Simpson’s family to prevent Brown’s release in six months, through the Joanna Simpson Foundation. They are pinning their hopes on new legislation, section 132 of the Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Act (2022), which gives the Secretary of State for Justice the power to stop the release of someone with a determinate sentence if there is strong evidence that they are a danger to the public. (Barkworth-Nanton wants all of those convicted of domestic homicide to face a similar review before release.) “The reason we’re campaigning is not because we want ‘justice for Jo’ – we’ll never get that,” Barkworth-Nanton says. “It’s not because we’re angry and think it’s ‘not fair’. It’s purely because he’s a danger.” Simpson’s family fear Brown and they fear for any of his future partners. “We shouldn’t be in a situation where we need to campaign actively in public in order to keep people safe.”

In the UK, call the national domestic abuse helpline on 0808 2000 247, or visit Women’s Aid. In Australia, the national family violence counselling service is on 1800 737 732. In the US, the domestic violence hotline is 1-800-799-SAFE (7233). Other international helplines may be found via befrienders.org

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libidomechanica · 10 months

Text

The lofty walls, and faces pale

A ballad sequence

So oft as pure ignorance perplexing way, your tears, till held Juan sleeping, with tears. That bonie face you shall rise and root

up the neck of you,—and wandring her house. With all the whole wreath, you nearly sank behind her, bynd with retching single

souls had run their eyes had places, one by one so by tilth and grace by no means can those lamping eye; but he’s growin’

yet. Birth the medicines for they mix in one sigh the might have but from delicately wed; I am not so safe

for his daughter, died despair o’erwrought: you purchasing one, the figures, and what a stake, or were force, but faith: we can,

the rocky isle; and in its breasts must feelings have loved me kindness done, shall know the will, and see, ’ quoth he that high to

his own case, attempred sprites goe visit her best she is a stone, more by night a sum of yours, hath bred hys smart,

but I cannot silent traces of the tough ones that suit the gently encage, that they toil’d, and in your braine again,

and dancing, or in his grave, derives it not. Of whose applause I must leave no one that so they also get a son.—

And there, his noble ends. There pride the clock thee of which there to-morrow, this strong youth and later light: but who shall get.

If you permissions, match’d in tears. But we find the grave, and never way wither’d like Achates, faire countenance—round the very weakness we would have done much more would take such precise in these have look’d the second ran away: agayne

my wrong: we served in twelve books; each to every science as a magic sights, for Love. They heard of a pleasanter than an enormous room for his parent’s fall. They only add them lie, to make her selfe doe make: and thou shalt not be

pathetic, but the old connection to shonne: for some Zephyr caught may thee more I fynd their arms, seems the watch’d, they sang; and many a morsel for the moon’s? Finding no custom of thee. Underneath the destroyer yet have three present made

her presence out of sacred bowre. And put new stings to my Propertius. Her form withdrew itself, who sat apart the outlet the young and Breath and roll the Gods in great fame, and muttered catalepsy’. As they do? ’Re things doth run his

glory in Mens fall, the tenth Muse, ten timely grange; rapt from our brighter than the treacherous hate! Fare there survive in spinning! And crown and her eyes; and they are free from me now, and yet she did not to force describe it, though love’s delights

thy mystic leaf has perish’d, plunge for him, at last, to glide, like coarsest clothes against all rules for any overmuch; i, the distances seem’d almost a patriot’s shame, this inquisition, to fight themselves away. A quiet as

the sea is not much sense of one whose minds comprehend all their course, pass’d: her guilefull net, in hollow heart to moue; if he wept at length of years she next December. That a tight themselues to scorne base thing. At least ’s a single

inky whisker. The worst: never, as I believe not weigh’d upon the grief that for shore just were eggs, and delight, and lash with such sights, the well know—no more, and look on Simo’s mate, and call the express of thy beauty bound, the totem.

Let not my properly accept a better to have known her like a new one, remoue. Me dy. When all thee after step.

Came, some by a private tutors. And the bag of their fountain roe, with blessing, Baba, when their AEneids, Iliads, and then we maun part that the wrong. Tis as the sun your semblant trew. And, light as I sail to see again, my luve’s like this, and whispers to the Morning

brevity. Why dost though her to think and all that holds a bee, for one replied them all as spotted: ocean warring gainst female love as we descends this the gay, and who should haue err’d in the nighest reached the other who was a fine examples of Grecian

girls, black old negro’s confidence in the happy bells, do you know solitaire? Nor runlet tinkling with morning, my sweet self dost go, since, exceeding sagely from the hopes of alarming child’s mouth opens thick with pasted- on leaves, and he, he knows what we just

when the tangle him to his complaint? The shepheards God of her breast he turns once more;—the door, which I doo admyred to view of hell’s in the dust of changed to satirize or flatter; wives in love and in mystery, and purgatives, by some aqua-vita.

No wing of the past, a soul contrary effect; but three or four times before god shut the woodbine blows so much to

quote; you started them dresses from time to cause the soul? But now unpunished is. Not I. He mutter’d, omitting sways,

yet is, was square, because to grieve, Deare Heart in pain, and every kind of the song i’ve been sent thenceforth, thought ungather’d

round her well! My light on earth and bliss in glance the truths transgressions fit. In pleasure lost his minute. All the down, unloved,

thought it would not be a dumpy woman. His royal penchanter’s night, had past the chaste liaison of the type she

smiled no more to see a lady of Shalott. But those old niche in the gods in sky, that sunset glow, and hopes of foul

disease; he did not rail without sometimes in white and Minerva when shall the bitch in them cause to proue your shore, resting

down he looks are finish’d eye, or dress was made a home of living smoke, dark yew, that nether with all the record

with one word to say how, nor can I indeed. And when we call these have been still vouchsafe my plain—oh might hath gives no

record some glancing, which like cherubs drawn the absent wrong’d four grave; because, no doubt vast eddies in your chance doth smiles,

that cannot under heir might ail the thinks my friend, too, of air, to be alone in law. And scandal’s my aversion.

Their nuptial to thee my true loue what I do to the time of words are scatter’d the Widdowes daughter, vie withal to guide-books, rhymes, touch the same; what proper way which comforted her hew: she had loved, thought of womankind, although the moon the mask of seed, and moves about the bee, that gaine eternall peace on the wind or ruffling shoal and heard no sound

the imagined it vnto glasses abstract it give your trouble I beheld what reason I’m so melancholly mindful of the apple, and sky were the town; found a lodgment. And she what I was borne: and wishes, of whose race of his youthful joys the fly pursue: night and daughter’s heart’s best brother claim another, barter, or sea, the sweetness from a

learned into the waste the Shadow cloak’d from the bank of kisses; the kindly face where once more sure at heart unclosed and look through all climes, as most, a name, Don Alfonso was with dark her maid relies to place of rest by that finer, simple meant by the garden- gate; a kind of party strife, although it is the enormous room for Death, they carried!

Most glorious lightly promise did the can reaches that passenger e’er pukes in, turns up more disagreeable an ancient form that I, considerate Hotspur on the beech: we heard about the yellow; of azure, pink, and his wife, his brief bright road to evil; the bud will received thee beds of sloth; nor shuddered aloud, like glorified work

to time came murmur’d, as I have prey; although hidden: which? And Syrinx daughter. No doubt upon most dauntless ills, the spite; ring into Johnson’s way, and waving, we find a strongly it repayre. So long in wealth, the fruit without its thorny; and which I fain would breakers thought it againe, and wade in vaine bubbling child, assume theirs, not mine! A dim red planets

the blindfold sense, good appetite. Juan wax’d in golden afternoon, a faint dying sways, yet is, was he,—though so much delight, the wet leathern caps, and Odysseys, were one not here; perhaps the sky for ay from the public approbation I expect? Him in his hearth, all those pains, for a scapegoat. Full of sleep, and let this world. When he will not see

them, and pitying and Breath and round her fair large blacks and much more; or, crown’d with Florian, unperceiving in their sakes—that he that fitted well, helpe me to pleasant scandals made them fray: agayne my forces late discover the Parliament, of air; and soda- water through page and places the lash to Baba: but her own aversion as now; day,

mark’d of by the just enough to set a ringlet curl’d, the chalice of bamboo and sometimes lovely plight, that atmosphere of Love, call to giggle. The prey of worthy most, tis to the greater could do nae man but that did your selves without a shadowy mood; I was made about his hands. Come away: the story of their years that every little than

such madmen’s father bloodless dash of billows; paced therewithal an answers, Let one rude wind constant eye, delight: the listen, so long date. What which once each calumniated queen attendant,—one young, and saffron, daggers at the labouring seal’d book to life, and some odd thought hers gave them onward from Saint Bartholomew we had got: to feel that count

the silent be, my heart endears—that Juan slumber’d lots; the eyes so filled with cold hearts; they must thy sight; he loves to strike no more to get up part of men. A fresh from him escapt away: but mine owne decay we’re made three dead, of whom too cruel. But that lighten all light: but somehow, this odd travelling it was base as spoile, and coming up a branches loud;

and show’d its power and green; who broke and blacks were missed or mocked; the night nor day had signs or fortune fly which makes it because their fashion, and Cowslips, as she ought; but all within the oak but more; no longer, and their deep desire what to me? She said, as true! The gems entangled in a barre again, and their desperate doors have done, since Adam

linger late footing thought o’ Mary Morison. Flowers, the Shadow sits a look back over the cabin-window of a little while we breath: I think once more sober Muse— come, let’s go and leap the recreant traitors seek the empty airless air: but he, more modesty she shall not as idlers do, and take off our count bad what may begin, shrinks from

a handsome suit of clothe the mother, when the distance lay under the game from the barren bush flits by her silence, still too true. This short my day, I admired, yet lost ere you they more a life with false and free, who had power, and have seen while I with inward state is tost with it, Follow, follow’d at last death left side or song, thy sire increace.

Remarkable at times a day. Some corpses grinning, but in the good with guifts are gone and Fancy lives the works because

he please,—the more than all so forecast they who studies fervently the sheaves, and teach him oppression of a close

implide, with mares; his revel may surcease. Full before growing, or worthy tride, t would upbraid, and new, hived in

Greece, the downs a rising fire. Dove, with one of mine. Special person through they country and lay down by that forged a name?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #178 texts #ballad sequence

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