#who loves another rotten fight

[hannahssimblr]

In the early evening once the dishes have been cleared away, I wait in Michelle’s room. Downstairs, she speaks to Jen and Hazel for a while, their voices soft and solemn, until eventually Hazel goes home, alone. 

“They couldn’t find him?” I ask her when she sweeps into the room, though I already know the answer.

“No,” she rolls her tights down her legs to start changing into the sweatpants she prefers to spend the evenings in while I fidget my hands in my lap. She’s trying very hard not to look at me, her shoulders have that tense line about them that I know so well. With anxiety slowly unfurling inside me I decide I would much rather get this over with than prolong the inevitable horrors.

“I didn’t let him escape on purpose. You realise that, right?”

She can’t hold back the tremble in her voice, “I just can’t believe you left the door open.” 

“It was an accident, I didn’t mean for it to happen.” 

“Accidents don’t just happen, Jude,” She says, her tone rising with each word, “You were supposed to be watching him, Hazel said that he could escape if we weren’t careful.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

My guilt and remorse only irritates her more, “You were just standing there like some kind of fecking eejit with the door wide open, how could you not notice?”

“Because you were picking on me over the wine, I was distracted.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?”

“Oh God, please.” 

“What?”

I hold my head in my hands and exhale a frustrated laugh, “Nothing.”

“Do you have something to say?”

“Let’s focus on Goose, okay? I’m going to do everything I can to find him. I’ll search all over Clontarf, I’ll knock on doors, I’ll put up posters...”

She scoffs, “Goose is probably under the wheels of a train by now.”

The violent imagery of that is enough to make me rear back in shock, “How could you say that?” 

“Because that’s probably what happened. Nobody wants to say it to Hazel, but we’re all thinking it. The tracks are right there, and it’s probably the first place he went.”

“I wasn’t thinking it, God, Shell, what a horrible thought to have.”

“Well,” she shrugs, “that’s reality. This is what you’ve done, so, I hope you know.” 

I watch her, speechless as she casually steps into her grey jersey sweatpants, casually picking bits of lint off her thighs. “Why are you being like this?” I manage. 

She pulls off her sweatshirt to switch it for a vest, “like what?”

“It’s like you’re trying to punish me, I already know it was bad, but it was a mistake-”

“Yeah you don’t have to keep saying that. We all know it was a mistake, but it was the kind of mistake that only you would make.” 

“What does that mean?”

“You know what it means.” 

“Why don’t you just say-”

She whirls around and flings her jumper at me, “Because you’re an idiot!” She explodes, “You’re a fucking idiot and this is the kind of shit you do!”

This is the kind of shit she does. She starts screaming out of nowhere, and then inevitably gets louder and louder and shouts over me until the room shakes and I have to shout back to be heard. I usually skip the foreplay these days and escalate it immediately. “Oh,” my voice scrapes my throat, “you think that’s helpful? Just throwing shit?” 

“Please, shut up!” she’s digging through her chest of drawers for something else to wear, and her movements are tense, jerky with anger, “and stop looking at me!” 

“Why? I’m talking to you.”

“Because you don’t get to look at me in my underwear when I’m mad at you.”

“My God, what? You think I haven’t seen it all before? Do you really think I’ve got that on my mind right now?”

“Yeah, because that’s about all you think about isn’t it? That’s all you want me for.” She wiggles into a vest and crosses her arms, “Sex, sex, sex, when am I getting it? Where are we doing it? You’re an animal.” 

“Oh please, you think about it all the time too.”

It’s almost inconceivable to think of now, that first time we ever did it right here in this room, on this bed, and the shadowy shape of her beneath me as she revealed to me how often she’d secretly imagined this, how long she’d wanted me. Sometimes I don’t recognise those people at all. It’s like I’ve stolen from someone else’s memories.

“Yeah, and then sometimes I can’t think of anything worse.”

“And you think I’m gagging for you at this moment? That I lose my fucking mind when I see you standing around in a bra? When you act this way?”

“This way? What is this way?” 

“Fucking annoying. Annoying and irrational.”

She puffs her chest out like a boxer, like she’s rounding on me, and if I wasn’t so furious with her I might laugh, the sheer confidence of my girlfriend, squaring up to a man a full foot taller than her. Sometimes, on smoother days, her moxy is what I love most about her.

“Oh really? That’s what I am?” She says. 

“Uh huh. Yeah. You’re actually the most annoying, irrational person I’ve-” A notebook comes spinning right at me, whipped right from her desk and I duck quickly, head to knees as it wallops against the wall behind me, sending a burst of loose papers flying over the carpet.

“Jesus!” I cry, “What are you doing?” 

“That’s how much you piss me off sometimes!” 

I hold my hands up in surrender before she can reach for something else, crashing back into myself as my anger dissipates, overtaken once again by the rational part of my brain, “Look, let’s stop this, okay? I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t want to hurt you, I’m sorry.”

“We are in a relationship,” she explains, as if spelling it out to an infant, “that’s what happens. We hurt each other. It’s impossible not to.”

“Can’t we avoid doing it on purpose?”

“I’ll stop it when you stop being such an arsehole.”

“God, Michelle,” I grit out, “why do you make everything so hard?”

“Hard?” She repeats witheringly, “Being with me? Well imagine what it’s like being with you. The most self-involved, shallow, selfish person I have ever met.”

“Selfish?” I echo as my spine stiffens, “Selfish?”

“Uh huh! Yeah!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I feel like I have had a glass of ice water tossed at me, and though I have stopped shouting, Michelle keeps it up.

“I know well enough! It’s all about you all the time, you go on and on about how hard your life is, how sad you are. Meanwhile your dad bought you a fucking car for your birthday and you weren’t even grateful for it. Look at you! Strutting around with your little Ralph Lauren T-shirts and your ten thousand euro teeth! Who do you think you are?”

For some reason, her dragging my composite bonding into this feels like the biggest betrayal of all. A low blow. My teeth were weirdly short for my mouth until dad fixed them. It felt like the easiest, most obvious solution for a cosmetic issue without doing drastic work, yet revealing it to Michelle late one night as we murmured our secrets to one another in the dark felt so incredibly intimate that I’m momentarily lost for words at her treachery. 

“My teeth have literally nothing to do with any of this.”

“They prove that you’re spoiled.”

“It’s so obvious that you’re jealous of me.” I say. I’m not usually the kind of person to choose their words solely for the damage they can inflict, but something horrible within me feels a twinge of satisfaction when I see the stricken look on her face. 

“Jealous?” She splutters, faltering, “What the hell is there to be jealous of?”

I just look at her, because it’s all I need to do. I know, and she knows, and I feel disgustingly satisfied and contemptuous in my knowledge of it. I already know how she can’t bear to hear about my achievements, to see me hanging out with other friends. It is agony for her to hear about my grades or to look at my artwork, knowing I’ve worked harder than she has. She won’t come to parties with me anymore, because people laugh at all my jokes, and them crowding around to talk to me is hard on her self-esteem. Even cats like me better. I sense it in her every molecule, the atoms around her vibrate with envy. 

Fresh rage shimmers in her eyes as she stares at me, fists clenched as though she’s wrestling the urge to wrap her hands around my windpipe and squeeze. “You can get out if you’re going to be like this,” she seethes. 

“Oh, I’d love to leave.”

“Then do!” she stalks towards the door and yanks it open with such ferocity that I fear it will escape its hinges. “Get out!” Her voice echoes through the whole house, bouncing off the ceiling, reaching a frequency I am surprised doesn't rattle the glass free from the windows, and I have brief concerns about what everyone else in the house must think before remembering they’ve heard it all before. In fact they’ve lived this for years. 

So I do, I get up and walk out, turning toward her at the last moment, facing her stinging hot face to say, “you know what? I think it’s a good idea if we talk about taking a-”

“No! Fuck you!” she spits, and slams the door in my face. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How to shatter the class solidarity of the ruling class

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me WEDNESDAY (Apr 11) at UCLA, then Chicago (Apr 17), Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Audre Lorde counsels us that "The Master's Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master's House," while MLK said "the law cannot make a man love me, but it can restrain him from lynching me." Somewhere between replacing the system and using the system lies a pragmatic – if easily derailed – course.

Lorde is telling us that a rotten system can't be redeemed by using its own chosen reform mechanisms. King's telling us that unless we live, we can't fight – so anything within the system that makes it easier for your comrades to fight on can hasten the end of the system.

Take the problems of journalism. One old model of journalism funding involved wealthy newspaper families profiting handsomely by selling local appliance store owners the right to reach the townspeople who wanted to read sports-scores. These families expressed their patrician love of their town by peeling off some of those profits to pay reporters to sit through municipal council meetings or even travel overseas and get shot at.

In retrospect, this wasn't ever going to be a stable arrangement. It relied on both the inconstant generosity of newspaper barons and the absence of a superior way to show washing-machine ads to people who might want to buy washing machines. Neither of these were good long-term bets. Not only were newspaper barons easily distracted from their sense of patrician duty (especially when their own power was called into question), but there were lots of better ways to connect buyers and sellers lurking in potentia.

All of this was grossly exacerbated by tech monopolies. Tech barons aren't smarter or more evil than newspaper barons, but they have better tools, and so now they take 51 cents out of every ad dollar and 30 cents out of ever subscriber dollar and they refuse to deliver the news to users who explicitly requested it, unless the news company pays them a bribe to "boost" their posts:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/saving-news-big-tech

The news is important, and people sign up to make, digest, and discuss the news for many non-economic reasons, which means that the news continues to struggle along, despite all the economic impediments and the vulture capitalists and tech monopolists who fight one another for which one will get to take the biggest bite out of the press. We've got outstanding nonprofit news outlets like Propublica, journalist-owned outlets like 404 Media, and crowdfunded reporters like Molly White (and winner-take-all outlets like the New York Times).

But as Hamilton Nolan points out, "that pot of money…is only large enough to produce a small fraction of the journalism that was being produced in past generations":

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/what-will-replace-advertising-revenue

For Nolan, "public funding of journalism is the only way to fix this…If we accept that journalism is not just a business or a form of entertainment but a public good, then funding it with public money makes perfect sense":

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/public-funding-of-journalism-is-the

Having grown up in Canada – under the CBC – and then lived for a quarter of my life in the UK – under the BBC – I am very enthusiastic about Nolan's solution. There are obvious problems with publicly funded journalism, like the politicization of news coverage:

https://www.theguardian.com/media/2023/jan/24/panel-approving-richard-sharp-as-bbc-chair-included-tory-party-donor

And the transformation of the funding into a cheap political football:

https://www.cbc.ca/news/politics/poilievre-defund-cbc-change-law-1.6810434

But the worst version of those problems is still better than the best version of the private-equity-funded model of news production.

But Nolan notes the emergence of a new form of hedge fund news, one that is awfully promising, and also terribly fraught: Hunterbrook Media, an investigative news outlet owned by short-sellers who pay journalists to research and publish damning reports on companies they hold a short position on:

https://hntrbrk.com/

For those of you who are blissfully distant from the machinations of the financial markets, "short selling" is a wager that a company's stock price will go down. A gambler who takes a short position on a company's stock can make a lot of money if the company stumbles or fails altogether (but if the company does well, the short can suffer literally unlimited losses).

Shorts have historically paid analysts to dig into companies and uncover the sins hidden on their balance-sheets, but as Matt Levine points out, journalists work for a fraction of the price of analysts and are at least as good at uncovering dirt as MBAs are:

https://www.bloomberg.com/opinion/articles/2024-04-02/a-hedge-fund-that-s-also-a-newspaper

What's more, shorts who discover dirt on a company still need to convince journalists to publicize their findings and trigger the sell-off that makes their short position pay off. Shorts who own a muckraking journalistic operation can skip this step: they are the journalists.

There's a way in which this is sheer genius. Well-funded shorts who don't care about the news per se can still be motivated into funding freely available, high-quality investigative journalism about corporate malfeasance (notoriously, one of the least attractive forms of journalism for advertisers). They can pay journalists top dollar – even bid against each other for the most talented journalists – and supply them with all the tools they need to ply their trade. A short won't ever try the kind of bullshit the owners of Vice pulled, paying themselves millions while their journalists lose access to Lexisnexis or the PACER database:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/24/anti-posse/#when-you-absolutely-positively-dont-give-a-solitary-single-fuck

The shorts whose journalists are best equipped stand to make the most money. What's not to like?

Well, the issue here is whether the ruling class's sense of solidarity is stronger than its greed. The wealthy have historically oscillated between real solidarity (think of the ultrawealthy lobbying to support bipartisan votes for tax cuts and bailouts) and "war of all against all" (as when wealthy colonizers dragged their countries into WWI after the supply of countries to steal ran out).

After all, the reason companies engage in the scams that shorts reveal is that they are profitable. "Behind every great fortune is a great crime," and that's just great. You don't win the game when you get into heaven, you win it when you get into the Forbes Rich List.

Take monopolies: investors like the upside of backing an upstart company that gobbles up some staid industry's margins – Amazon vs publishing, say, or Uber vs taxis. But while there's a lot of upside in that move, there's also a lot of risk: most companies that set out to "disrupt" an industry sink, taking their investors' capital down with them.

Contrast that with monopolies: backing a company that merges with its rivals and buys every small company that might someday grow large is a sure thing. Shriven of "wasteful competition," a company can lower quality, raise prices, capture its regulators, screw its workers and suppliers and laugh all the way to Davos. A big enough company can ignore the complaints of those workers, customers and regulators. They're not just too big to fail. They're not just too big to jail. They're too big to care:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

Would-be monopolists are stuck in a high-stakes Prisoner's Dilemma. If they cooperate, they can screw over everyone else and get unimaginably rich. But if one party defects, they can raid the monopolist's margins, short its stock, and snitch to its regulators.

It's true that there's a clear incentive for hedge-fund managers to fund investigative journalism into other hedge-fund managers' portfolio companies. But it would be even more profitable for both of those hedgies to join forces and collude to screw the rest of us over. So long as they mistrust each other, we might see some benefit from that adversarial relationship. But the point of the 0.1% is that there aren't very many of them. The Aspen Institute can rent a hall that will hold an appreciable fraction of that crowd. They buy their private jets and bespoke suits and powdered rhino horn from the same exclusive sellers. Their kids go to the same elite schools. They know each other, and they have every opportunity to get drunk together at a charity ball or a society wedding and cook up a plan to join forces.

This is the problem at the core of "mechanism design" grounded in "rational self-interest." If you try to create a system where people do the right thing because they're selfish assholes, you normalize being a selfish asshole. Eventually, the selfish assholes form a cozy little League of Selfish Assholes and turn on the rest of us.

Appeals to morality don't work on unethical people, but appeals to immorality crowds out ethics. Take the ancient split between "free software" (software that is designed to maximize the freedom of the people who use it) and "open source software" (identical to free software, but promoted as a better way to make robust code through transparency and peer review).

Over the years, open source – an appeal to your own selfish need for better code – triumphed over free software, and its appeal to the ethics of a world of "software freedom." But it turns out that while the difference between "open" and "free" was once mere semantics, it's fully possible to decouple the two. Today, we have lots of "open source": you can see the code that Google, Microsoft, Apple and Facebook uses, and even contribute your labor to it for free. But you can't actually decide how the software you write works, because it all takes a loop through Google, Microsoft, Apple or Facebook's servers, and only those trillion-dollar tech monopolists have the software freedom to determine how those servers work:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/04/which-side-are-you-on/#tivoization-and-beyond

That's ruling class solidarity. The Big Tech firms have hidden a myriad of sins beneath their bafflegab and balance-sheets. These (as yet) undiscovered scams constitute a "bezzle," which JK Galbraith defined as "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it."

The purpose of Hunterbrook is to discover and destroy bezzles, hastening the moment of realization that the wealth we all feel in a world of seemingly orderly technology is really an illusion. Hunterbrook certainly has its pick of bezzles to choose from, because we are living in a Golden Age of the Bezzle.

Which is why I titled my new novel The Bezzle. It's a tale of high-tech finance scams, starring my two-fisted forensic accountant Marty Hench, and in this volume, Hench is called upon to unwind a predatory prison-tech scam that victimizes the most vulnerable people in America – our army of prisoners – and their families:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

The scheme I fictionalize in The Bezzle is very real. Prison-tech monopolists like Securus and Viapath bribe prison officials to abolish calls, in-person visits, mail and parcels, then they supply prisoners with "free" tablets where they pay hugely inflated rates to receive mail, speak to their families, and access ebooks, distance education and other electronic media:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/02/captive-customers/#guillotine-watch

But a group of activists have cornered these high-tech predators, run them to ground and driven them to the brink of extinction, and they've done it using "the master's tools" – with appeals to regulators and the finance sector itself.

Writing for The Appeal, Dana Floberg and Morgan Duckett describe the campaign they waged with Worth Rises to bankrupt the prison-tech sector:

https://theappeal.org/securus-bankruptcy-prison-telecom-industry/

Here's the headline figure: Securus is $1.8 billion in debt, and it has eight months to find a financier or it will go bust. What's more, all the creditors it might reasonably approach have rejected its overtures, and its bonds have been downrated to junk status. It's a dead duck.

Even better is how this happened. Securus's debt problems started with its acquisition, a leveraged buyout by Platinum Equity, who borrowed heavily against the firm and then looted it with bogus "management fees" that meant that the debt continued to grow, despite Securus's $700m in annual revenue from America's prisoners. Platinum was just the last in a long line of PE companies that loaded up Securus with debt and merged it with its competitors, who were also mortgaged to make profits for other private equity funds.

For years, Securus and Platinum were able to service their debt and roll it over when it came due. But after Worth Rises got NYC to pass a law making jail calls free, creditors started to back away from Securus. It's one thing for Securus to charge $18 for a local call from a prison when it's splitting the money with the city jail system. But when that $18 needs to be paid by the city, they're going to demand much lower prices. To make things worse for Securus, prison reformers got similar laws passed in San Francisco and in Connecticut.

Securus tried to outrun its problems by gobbling up one of its major rivals, Icsolutions, but Worth Rises and its coalition convinced regulators at the FCC to block the merger. Securus abandoned the deal:

https://worthrises.org/blogpost/securusmerger

Then, Worth Rises targeted Platinum Equity, going after the pension funds and other investors whose capital Platinum used to keep Securus going. The massive negative press campaign led to eight-figure disinvestments:

https://www.latimes.com/business/story/2019-09-05/la-fi-tom-gores-securus-prison-phone-mass-incarceration

Now, Securus's debt became "distressed," trading at $0.47 on the dollar. A brief, covid-fueled reprieve gave Securus a temporary lifeline, as prisoners' families were barred from in-person visits and had to pay Securus's rates to talk to their incarcerated loved ones. But after lockdown, Securus's troubles picked up right where they left off.

They targeted Platinum's founder, Tom Gores, who papered over his bloody fortune by styling himself as a philanthropist and sports-team owner. After a campaign by Worth Rises and Color of Change, Gores was kicked off the Los Angeles County Museum of Art board. When Gores tried to flip Securus to a SPAC – the same scam Trump pulled with Truth Social – the negative publicity about Securus's unsound morals and financials killed the deal:

https://twitter.com/WorthRises/status/1578034977828384769

Meanwhile, more states and cities are making prisoners' communications free, further worsening Securus's finances:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/14/minnesota-nice/#shitty-technology-adoption-curve

Congress passed the Martha Wright-Reed Just and Reasonable Communications Act, giving the FCC the power to regulate the price of federal prisoners' communications. Securus's debt prices tumbled further:

https://www.govtrack.us/congress/bills/117/s1541

Securus's debts were coming due: it owes $1.3b in 2024, and hundreds of millions more in 2025. Platinum has promised a $400m cash infusion, but that didn't sway S&P Global, a bond-rating agency that re-rated Securus's bonds as "CCC" (compare with "AAA"). Moody's concurred. Now, Securus is stuck selling junk-bonds:

https://www.govtrack.us/congress/bills/117/s1541

The company's creditors have given Securus an eight-month runway to find a new lender before they force it into bankruptcy. The company's debt is trading at $0.08 on the dollar.

Securus's major competitor is Viapath (prison tech is a duopoly). Viapath is also debt-burdened and desperate, thanks to a parallel campaign by Worth Rises, and has tried all of Securus's tricks, and failed:

https://pestakeholder.org/news/american-securities-fails-to-sell-prison-telecom-company-viapath/

Viapath's debts are due next year, and if Securus tanks, no one in their right mind will give Viapath a dime. They're the walking dead.

Worth Rise's brilliant guerrilla warfare against prison-tech and its private equity backers are a master class in using the master's tools to dismantle the master's house. The finance sector isn't a friend of justice or working people, but sometimes it can be used tactically against financialization itself. To paraphrase MLK, "finance can't make a corporation love you, but it can stop a corporation from destroying you."

Yes, the ruling class finds solidarity at the most unexpected moments, and yes, it's easy for appeals to greed to institutionalize greediness. But whether it's funding unbezzling journalism through short selling, or freeing prisons by brandishing their cooked balance-sheets in the faces of bond-rating agencies, there's a lot of good we can do on the way to dismantling the system.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/08/money-talks/#bullshit-walks

Image: KMJ (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Boerse_01_KMJ.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[joemama-2]

nanami kento has always been a patient man. he’s respectful and doesn’t talk to unless spoken to. he doesn’t like most people, might even hate some. but you’re not the type of person he would exactly hate, unlike a certain someone. he thinks you’re kind, polite, you always bow respectfully to your seniors, you diligently complete every task that’s asked of you. there’s also one more thing about you….he just cant put his finger on it. maybe you’re just tolerable, yeah that’s it.

you’re not a sorcerer, at least not a very good one. it’s why you’ve opted to be an auxiliary manager like ijichi and akari. “as long as i get to help the sorcerers in battle, i’m fine with whatever position i’ve been assigned.” you would say with a big and warm smile, innocently, naively. he thinks you’re too good for such a rotten society, something like that will get people killed. and he doesn’t want you on that list.

when he first met you back in high school, he didn’t think much of you. you weren’t a special grade, you didn’t have any awesome technique, you were just simply there. maybe you have connections, he thought. because there’s no way someone like you was admitted into tokyo jujutsu high. to this day, he doesn’t know how you did it. maybe you have some super cool talent that you didn’t like showing, maybe you just won over everyone’s hearts and they felt pity for you, he’ll never be able to find out. that’s one of his many regrets.

his other regrets are letting himself grow attached for no reason. no matter what, his eyes had a mind of his own, searching and scanning any room or environment for your figure. he chalks it up to protectiveness, you weren’t strong like he was and he didn’t want to see another comrade die. because thats all you were, a comrade. a comrade. a comrade. he chants this mantra into his mind every morning.

nanami didn’t know how it happened, but one thing led to another and he was always alone with you. comfortable silence was what he loved the most. you two could sit together for hours in a flower field you came across one day, just watching the sky and clouds form random shapes. you liked when they made hearts and little animals. although he always argued that they’re just clouds.

but, clouds almost reminded him of you. free, soft, floating around from place to place, and residing high in the sky. because he knew, no matter what, you were one of the few people who would go to heaven in this sick world, sick society. you belonged in heaven, you looked like an angel, acted like a goddess.

“let’s go to malaysia together.” you told him randomly one day, seeing an ad pop up about a beautiful vacation spot. kuantan. he didn’t take you too seriously. malaysia? out of all places? he didn’t see the hype.

all these thoughts flood his brain when he sees your body, looking lifeless and bloody, next to ijichi. you two have huge stab wounds in your mid-section. however, you have a bit more than your co-part, clear signs of your fight. even when you know you don’t have the upper hand, you won’t hesitate to fight back.

it’s hard as he carries you two, having to make sure ijichi doesn’t fall off his back while simultaneously holding you close to his chest. his heart twists and turns, stomach churning the entirety of the slow walk he does to bring you two back to ieiri. his mind is running rampant, constantly looking down at you. you can’t be dead, he thinks. neither of you two are dead, he can’t see more comrades die.

it’s almost weird to him how his throat tightens, tears stinging at his eyes. you don’t move, head lolling to the side as barely a sign of a breath is escaping your lips. your skin is pale and bruising. he hates it, hates how you look, hates how hurt you are, hates how he wasn’t there to stop it and protect you.

he sets you down first once he reaches shoko, handing the passed out ijichi to her. finally, he kneels down, taking in your appearance. nanami rarely gets mad, at least not seriously. but this time, he’s absolutely furious. silently seething as he breathing gets heavy. his fists clench by his side, nails drawing blood into the skin.

he gets up, no being able to stand how you look. but, he forgets you’re a fighter, forgets that no matter what, you look out for the sorcerers. out for him.

“kento….” you straggle out, hand weakly clutching onto his. you can barely keep your eyelids open. you mutter out the next few words. “…man….blonde……ponytail……s-sword….”

ah, he thinks. that’s his target.

he gulps, simply nodding. but your hand stays clutched onto his. using all your strength, you open your eyes wider, and he hates the tears that form in them. “….come back to me please…..”

he feels like crying with you. but he can’t, not now at least. he kneels down again, bringing the back of your hand up to his lips to press feather light kisses to each knuckle. his other hand gently uses his thumb to wipe your tears, treating you with utmost care. “kuantan,” he murmurs. “when this is all over, i’ll take you.”

you weakly chuckle, more tears falling at this point. “..p-promise..?”

he hesitates, but you notice. “promise.“ he says back, leaning down to give your forehead a kiss, sealing the promise. he places your hand back to your stomach before getting up to leave, not before sparing you one last glance.

and as you watch him leave, you don’t even know that it’s the last time you’ll ever see him, last time he’ll ever see you. because you trust his word, trusted that he’d come back to you.

nanami leaves with a heavy heart, staring death in the face and yet all he can think about is you. there’s many regrets he has.

he broke your guys’ promise, he hopes you won’t stay mad at him.

he won’t be able to take you to kuantan.

he won’t be able to see you, hold you, talk to you.

and finally, he wasn’t able to confess that he loved the simplicity. that he loved you.

he’ll see you again, in heaven and in another life. until then, he’ll watch over you. because nanami kento has always been a patient man.

[absfawn]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐘𝐄𝐑!𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐘 | 02.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ PART ONE

꒰ ♡ ꒱ lawyer!abby doesn’t care how expensive something is, if she sees you looking at something for a little longer but refuses to pick it up or mention that you like it, she’s already making a mental note in her head to come and pick it up when you’ve wandered off into another store so she can buy it for you and gift it once the pair of you get back home.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ lawyer!abby gets a little agitated in the early hours of the morning when she’s trying to get ready for work, and she almost starts fighting with her tie because she simply can’t do it sometimes with how tired she feels. After all, she’s still trying to wake herself up. So she enjoys it when you stumble out of bed, grumbling and muttering under your breath before wrapping your hands around the expensive item and tugging it just slightly. “You’ve been a lawyer for 5 years, Abigail, you know how to tie a tie” she knows, but she just loves watching you do it.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ lawyer!abby loves─ won't openly admit it, but she loves it when she comes home to find you secretly, without her knowledge, trying on her suit jackets. There’s something about seeing you in nothing but your thin panties and a piece of her clothing that always has her brain in overdrive. 

꒰ ♡ ꒱ lawyer!abby wears her strap to any work event, especially when she knows you're gonna be her plus one. She's always risky with it, pressing herself into your back while she has her arm wrapped around your waist, the feeling of the bulge in her pants pressing right against your ass. “Been such a good girl for me tonight, gonna reward you so well, baby” she'd whisper quietly into your ear before excusing herself to join another conversation.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ lawyer!abby comes home exhausted most nights that she can barely take her clothes off because she simply doesn't have the energy to do anything else but slump herself onto the bed, watching silently as you walk around the room, telling her about your day while she's just staring at you.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ lawyer!abby who will have you riding her strap that same night, still in her suit while you’re completely naked above her. Lips wrapped around your nipple and her fingers rubbing circles on your clit. Drives her crazy when you start tugging on her tie, doing your best to pull it off and messily trying to unbutton her shirt. “can barely fuckin’ focus on that when i’m fucking you this dumb, huh?”

꒰ ♡ ꒱ lawyer!abby without a doubt will leave her credit card on the nightstand for you if she has to go away on a business trip for a few days. Abby doesn’t care how much you spend or where you spend it, as long as you're having fun and being safe.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ lawyer!abby who’s fucked you on the desk in her office on multiple occasions when she’s working late. Both of those time she missed dinner, being the girlfriend you are, brought it to her instead. You thought nothing of her sudden demeanour change once she ate, and you certainly didn’t mind when she had you perched on the top of her desk and face buried between your thighs for what felt like hours.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ lawyer!abby wakes you up with kisses against your shoulder and neck when you both have a day off. She can’t get over how warm you are in the mornings that all she can do is hold you tighter in her arms and give you every single kiss possible.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ lawyer!abby tells you she loves you every morning, even if you’re still asleep. Once more, before she leaves for work. She’ll call you on her lunch break just to let you know how much she loves and adores you. And finally, she will tell you just before you both fall asleep. It’s a lot, but you cherish every time.

꒰ ♡ ꒱ lawyer!abby spoils you rotten but loves you unconditionally.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

I think Crowley falls into two of the classic pitfalls of people who see that the problems are systemic long before anyone else around them does: impatience and despair.

(Yes yes I know, “Crowley was an optimist.” Book Crowley is an optimist. I don’t think that line is particularly useful for analyzing TV Crowley. Stay with me here.)

Let it be said that 95% of the time, Crowley has the patience of a fucking saint (ssh don’t tell him) around Aziraphale. He knows that Aziraphale needs to build his little plausible deniability rationales in order to do something that they both know he wants to do (because it’s right or simply because he would enjoy it) but Heaven wouldn’t approve of. And most of the time, Crowley is happy to help Aziraphale get there, asking the questions Aziraphale is afraid to ask, offering excuses and justifications until Aziraphale finds one he can accept. He does a lot of work of parsing out when “no” means “you haven’t convinced me yet, keep trying” and pushing through all the “I’m an angel, you’re a demon, we’re on opposite sides and mine is the good one” talk that Aziraphale gets up to all the way through s1. Because he knows that Aziraphale doesn’t really believe that stuff, right? He just needs some time to talk himself around his own cognitive dissonance, and most of the time Crowley is not only happy to facilitate that but sees it as part of his role in their relationship.

But then when the chips are down and Aziraphale is still dithering, that’s when he gets frustrated, because HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE what’s been blindingly obvious to Crowley for millennia, that Heaven is just as cruel as Hell and no one is going to step in and fix it because the system is working as intended. And that’s when he says things like “how can someone as clever as you be so stupid?” Which is a surefire way not to convince the person you’re arguing with of anything.

And then there’s the despair. I really think the running away thing is not about cowardice or selfishness or some kind of unhealthy level of avoidance of hard or scary things, but about hopelessness. They’ve spent their lives avoiding very very real danger, and of the two of them Crowley is much more constantly aware of the danger that they are in from both sides. Yes he’s hypervigilant but he is also almost always right about the amount of danger they are in. Trying to get as far away from danger as possible is not an irrational response, even if it’s not always the correct one for a given situation.

When you feel like you’re the only person who sees how rotten the system is, how it needs to be dismantled entirely, but you are also VERY aware of how strong the people in power are and how ruthless they are about crushing dissent because you experienced it personally…well that gets fucking depressing after a while. Because even if you think the whole system needs to go, that feels like a completely unattainable goal when it seems like no one else even sees the problem, or if they see it, they are too afraid to do anything about it. And can you blame them? You know exactly what happens to people who speak up.

So it’s very easy for your goals to shrink from systemic change to just taking yourself and the people you love and finding somewhere for them to be as safe as possible, for as long as the system will let you exist. Because reforming the system is a fool’s errand, and dismantling it entirely seems impossible. I think this is where Crowley is at. Even if on some level he knows it’s an imperfect solution, because both of them have enough compassion that they would feel guilty abandoning Earth and humans to save themselves, and because Heaven and Hell really can find them anywhere in the universe. He just doesn’t see another option.

And look, I think Aziraphale is 100% wrong that Heaven can be reformed. But he is not wrong to want to stay and fight to make things better, even if it means sacrificing the Earthly comforts he loves so much, and even if it means doing it without Crowley by his side.

Ultimately they both need each other. Aziraphale needs Crowley for his willingness to ask questions and to see the scale of the problem, even if it’s terrifying. But Crowley needs Aziraphale for his hope, his stubborn determination to believe things can and should be better, and to fight for that. In the right hands, hope is an enormously powerful weapon.

[sweetmage]

I love the drama of the "Varric sees Anders when he looks at Solas" posts that have been going around, but I personally do not vibe with the common "I should have stopped Anders from blowing up the Chantry" narrative that some of them have but instead "I could have prevented it from even getting to that point." I've been putting some thought into how I would spin this for my own purposes. I'll place it under the cut since it's a little lengthy :)

To begin with, this was not an overnight decision on Anders' part. He held out for years, tried to find other solutions, tried to rally a group of supposed friends who would not hear it. Varric thought himself a listening ear, a supportive companion, but he was as deaf as the rest of them. Varric had the resources and connections to keep the templars away from his clinic, he had the fondness to invite him out to drinks and trade jokes with him, but when the threat grew larger and more serious, Varric's response did not.

Anders, who had spent most of his life in a prison surrounded by uncaring jailors watched his home, his friends--family even--become no better. And Varric became one of them, meeting every silent plea or cry for support with words and actions that protected those walls, those structures, but not the people who lived within. That was, of course, unless they were quiet, uninvolved. It was easier to face than the reality that the city he loved was rotten and diseased.

In the end, he never gave Anders what he needed. He never used his resources to fight or his words to speak out, he never even told him that he understood him, that mages shouldn't have to go through that. And in the end, Anders had to do what he could alone and Varric lost his friend and the city both.

Anders lived, but at the cost of his own freedom, his home, his friends he had tried until the very end to convince. But that didn't settle in for Varric right away. It was easier to be angry, even if much of that anger was turned inward. He disparaged Anders in the same breath that he called him a fond nickname, he protected his and Hawke's location while claiming he never wanted to see him again, he placed blame upon him for what went wrong in the world while pretending to himself that the world itself was not at fault.

It wasn't until he was faced with another friend, another mage, in a situation all too similar that Varric realized what he had done. Or rather, failed to do. And what he must do this time in turn. It was too late for Anders, he could never go back to Kirkwall and the trust he lost for his old friends must have been near irreparable, but it was not too late for Solas.

So to me when he looks to Solas and sees Anders he isn't seeing some mage who did a bad thing, he's seeing the friend he could have saved, or at least could have tried to understand, but didn't. So it's personal. He throws every resource at tracking Solas down, every contact, every favor, and when it finally pays off and he stands before him, he tries, even when it puts his life on the line. But, like before, it seems too late. He could look back and see every moment he could have offered his ear or his aid to Anders before things reached a breaking point, but he didn't have that time with Solas. He may as well have been trying to talk Anders down that evening in the Gallows when the culmination of so many years of injustice were ready to boil over. But he never tried then, he had to now for Solas.

[gay-dorito-dust]

HEYYYY

Soo I'm here to rq another Damian x reader(platonic). But real quick, I'm sorry if I'm requesting too much or being a nuisance. Pls lmk if I am so I can stop! It's just hard to find somebody that writes for him like dis.

Anyways, basically the same thing were theyre friends but this time it's a diff scenario. So Damian n reader are obvi friends but theyre also complete oposites. Like Damian is intelegent, focused and meanwhile has reader is a bit dumber, daydreams too much, and kinder. They also get walked over a lot.

So he invites reader over to the manor and she meets his brothers n dad. It's all fine n dandy but they can't help but notice how diff they are.

Bonus points if reader talks positively abt him to his brothers and they're all like "fym he's nice?" And readers all like "fym he isnt?" (They're just not used to being treated like a normal human being) ‼️

Honestly I love writing for platonic! Damian. So pls don’t apologise for anything bc I’m having so much fun rn. 🦦plus I don’t know if this will read well as I’ve written this late at night when o should probably be in bed.

‘Am I seeing things or has Damian finally made a friend.’ Dick whispered to Jason, his eyes unable to tear his eyes away from you and Damian followed Bruce through the manor.

‘Nope, I’m definitely seeing it too.’ Jason replied also looking at you and Damian as if he was looking at the human personifications of night and day.

‘The fact that the demon spawn managed to get a friend sure is…something.’ Tim piped up, having overheard his brothers conversation from standing in between them. ‘I can only hope he didn’t kidnap the poor soul.’ Dick added as he was quick to click onto how Damian kept a hand on your arm, tugging and pulling you along when you stop to stare at a painting in awe for a little too long, gently encouraging you to keep up with him and Bruce by promising to go back to the painting later. Jason then looked over at Tim, ‘any ideas on who they are?’ Tim shrugged. ‘Only the fact that they go to the same school as Damian, share the same art classes and is known for being a little bit of a daydreaming pushover, but despite all that they’re still a kind person.’

Dick smiled sympathetically as his heart ached for you. It wasn’t easy being nice in a city like Gotham, if anything nice ever wandered into the accursed city it seemed as though Gotham itself would stop at nothing to see it destroyed, decimated and become as miserable and as bleak as the city itself; So it was rare to find someone who genuinely could still bring it in themselves to smile whilst in a city like this. And for that Dick had to give you props for being brave enough -and strong enough- to be kind in a place that would gladly take pleasure in stepping over and on you at any inconvenience. For it was truly a sign of bravery at its finest.

‘That kid is sure brave.’ Jason signed, knowing that people like you don’t last in Gotham but it was people like you that Gotham needed the most, but how could a retched place like Gotham heal when it’s always been a rotten city since it’s very conception? He didn’t believe it could be possible but there were always solutions to fighting the problem that seemed impossible to overcome. So who cares if you weren’t the brightest bulb at school? The education system in Gotham was shit anyway the last time he checked and he doubted much had changed when he…well you know…

Tim was silent. He was too busy recognising the protective measures that Damian was taking specifically for you; mainly the hand tugging at your arm anytime he thought you were getting distracted or wandering off elsewhere and muttering about how you need to keep or you’ll get left behind, despite the fact that even if you did Damian would allow himself to fall behind just so that he could walk besides you. While he might be part of the majority that didn’t think he’s ever see the day that Damian brought a friend home, never less a friend who was the total opposite of him. He couldn’t help but feel a sort of relief that Damian finally found a friend, and he knew that both Jason and Dick felt similarly from the looks upon their faces, silently observing how you interact with one another.

The one thing that Tim was confident in was the fact that Damian needed you as much as you needed Damian because you were a beacon of opportunity for his younger brother in many ways that Tim was certain you weren’t made aware of just yet. So while he and his brothers may tease and take this piss about how different you were from Damian, they mean well and express their happiness the only way they knew best; teasing and taking the piss.

‘This library is beautiful Mr Wayne! Do you have any fantasy books?’ You could be heard asking down the hallway, followed by the sound of Bruce softly laughing as he showed you the grand library. ‘This library has any book you can think of and please call me Bruce, it’s not often that Damian brings anyone home for the weekend.’ He says as you looked the Damian confused and a little betrayed. ‘You’ve got friends other than me?’

Damian groaned. ‘No. I don’t, you’re the only friend I’m willing myself to have.’

You smiled and gripped his hand. ‘Aww Dami! That’s so sweet of you to say, despite how brash and blunt you may come across, I’m glad to say that you’re the only friend I’m willing to have too!’ You said without shame. ‘Everyone else isn’t a nice as you are.’ You trailed off while a rare solemn look appeared upon your face as Damian was quick to squeeze your hand reassuringly, Bruce smiled sympathetically. ‘I’m not smart like your son mr Wayne, I can’t help it if things don’t come to me as easy as they do others but I try! I try really heard to do my best at every test but…but people tend to laugh of me because to them I’m either slow or thick.’ Damian’s jaw clenched and his brows furrowed upon being remembered of what people tended to call you.

He hated it and whenever he saw it happen, he was quick to utter some threatening words before taking his usual position as your pseudo-bodyguard for the rest of the school day. At first he wasn’t bothered but when you became restless in your pursuit of being his friend, he remembered vividly how people were mocking and making fun of you for trying to be his friend, that he often regrets not accepting your friendship sooner if it meant being able to be there when it counts.

‘When will you get it that Damian doesn’t want to be friends with someone like you.’ One person said.

‘Then I’ll just have to keep trying.’ You rebutted, still smiling somehow.

Another person scoffs. ‘Get fucking real. You’re a weirdo, no one wants to be friends with a weirdo who so fucking slow at everything.’

You merely shrugged, even when someone’s insulting you, your brain doesn’t recognises it as such. ‘I’m sure he won’t mind.’

‘God you’re so fucking useless that I’m surprised that anyone bothers with you. Let me say this in a way you won’t have to try so hard to understand dipshit. Damian. Will. Never. Be. Friends. With. Someone. Like. You. Ever.’ A third slowly spoke and Damian had heard enough and within a blink of an eye had laid them out flat. You blinked before looking at Damian with a bright smile. ‘Hi Damian! Did you hurt these guys, that’s not very nice.’

‘They insulted you and yet you defend their honour.’ Damian asked incredulously as you both walked down the hallway, leaving the three bullies to groan from their injuries. You shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

‘They were insulting you.’ Damian reiterated. ‘They insulted your intelligence and your abilities. People like them often hide bigger insecurities than others.’ Damian replied, finding your ability to keep smiling after such things both annoying as it was admirable.

‘Are we friends now?’ You asked innocently enough and Damian knew he had sealed his fate, and so he sighs and looks up to the ceiling. ‘Yes, we’re…friends.’ He mutters and doesn’t do anything to stop you from dragging him to art class.

‘I was alone before Damian.’ You admitted as you looked at Bruce with a smile as you squeezed Damian’s hand in kind. ‘But now he’s here and he’s my bestest friend ever!’ Damian honestly wishes that you respect yourself more because you could claim that he saved you multiple times, but you’d never acknowledge the times where you have saved him by being unequivocally kind, sweet and over all a better person then all of Gotham’s civilians combined. ‘I was finding my first week at school horrid before I befriended l/n.’ Damian admitted as you softly cooed. The boy then swallows thickly. ‘Their friendship is much appreciated.’

‘Aww! Dami!’ You cried as you crashed into him, causing you both to hit the floor in a heap of limbs.

While Damian was cursing mom lethal threats and you were laughing, Bruce had already made his mind up about you and was certain to make sure to have Damian invite you over as much as possible. It was obvious for him to see that you and Damian were good for each other despite your vast and glaring differences, however that’s what worked in your favour, the power to have over come all odds was incredible; not to mention the fact that your friendship with Damian had lasted as long as it has was another impressive feet on top of that. Bruce knows it’s been hard for Damian to fit in and find a friend, but he couldn’t have made a better friend than he did in the likes of you.

You were more than defiantly welcomed back to the manor if Bruce had anything to say about it.

‘Get off of me!’ Damian shouts.

‘Damian, I think my foot is stuck with yours.’ You reply, scared.

‘That’s your own foot- how did you manage to tangle yourself up in yourself? You landed onto of me?’ Damian asked incredulously.

‘Sorry.’ You apologised.

‘Don’t be.’ Damian said.

Bruce smiled one last time before leaving you both alone in the library to untangle yourselves, only to be greeted by Tim, Dick and Jason. ‘Can I help you three?’ Bruce raised an eyebrow at the boys.

‘Nope.’ Dick started.

‘Not really, just…seeing how the little scamps are dealing.’ Jason followed after.

‘Damian? Nice? The same Damian who tried to, oh I don’t know…KILL ME?!’ Tim asked, revealing to Bruce all he needed to know, their breathing behind the library door was telling that they were clearly eavesdropping on the three of you. Jason and Dick looked at him displeased as Tim looked back at them. ‘I’m not the only one of us who thought that.’ He defended himself. ‘I mean it’s nice that he’s looking out for y/n but still that’s not something someone casually forgets.’

Bruce merely leaves Tim, Dick and Jason to their own quarrel, he loves his boys he truly does, but sometimes they’re more trouble than what they’re worth. He can only hope that they don’t scare you off from coming back for good because he was already planning your next visit.

[ivystoryweaver]

He's Okay

"My dad never defended me. Not once."

Summary: No one ever defended Marc. He doesn't want the same happen to his only son. Word Count: 1.3k

Content: overprotective!Marc, angst, discussions of Marc's past/abuse, mild violence, Marc trying his best, mention of food, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

From the time your son first scooted across the hardwood floor, Marc has existed on high alert during the day and stood constant vigil each night.

Eyes and ears ever aware of the video baby monitor, he would drop anything at a moment's notice if your child uttered so much as a restless sigh or grumpy gurgle.

The first time your baby fussed all night had Marc pacing the floor, one hand tearing through his curls while the other scrolled one baby website after another, attempting to decipher the cause. This came after an hour of holding and rocking the baby himself.

"I think it's just gas - he's okay," you attempted to soothe both your boys, taking your turn walking your little man.

It was. It passed, like every crisis before it.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

When your son began to really crawl, Marc baby-proofed your home three times over. In fact, you had trouble opening the kitchen cabinets now.

The first time your toddler tripped and smacked his chin on the hard floor, Marc was ready to roll up to the emergency room.

"He's okay, just a bump," you tried to convince him.

Marc didn't put his little boy down for the rest of the night, rocking him, icing his chin, giving him snacks, playing "Pat-a-cake" and generally spoiling him rotten. He gave your sweet angel a bath and put him to bed with all his favorite stuffies and his blankie.

"Daddy loves you so much," he soothingly whispered. "I won't let anything hurt you."

Watching discreetly from the doorway, your heart melted.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

When your kiddo started school, you both walked him the few blocks over, each of you holding one hand as his backpack (which practically swallowed his little body whole) flopped rhythmically on the back of his legs.

"Now, remember - you only have to stay until 1:30 - one-three-zero," Marc reminded him, tapping on his digital Spider-Man watch. "Then we'll walk you back and?"

"Go get ice cream sundaes!" Your five-year-old cheered.

Kneeling down, Marc took his son by the shoulders. "You don't have to be afraid. You're gonna be awesome."

"I'm not afraid, Daddy," he proudly beamed, blinking innocently while cocking his head curiously. "Are you afraid?"

Swallowing thickly, Marc locked eyes with you briefly. "I'm proud of you is what I am."

You thought Marc might climb the walls, waiting on your kiddo to get out of that first day of school. Yes, you both took the day off just to be available for this momentous occasion.

"He's okay," you promised, wrapping your arms around him. "He's been waiting for this day to come - you know he has."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

When your son was twelve, he came home with a black eye and a split lip, attempting to duck into his room before his dad could see...

Ever vigilant, Marc's entire body went rigid before a shuddering tremble urged him forward.

"Who did this to you?" he demanded, his voice stern - eyes flashing with anger.

Seeing his son shrink away stopped him cold.

"S-sorry. I'm sorry," He stammered, kneeling down in front of him. "What happened to you? Who hurt you?"

Your son had gotten into a fight with another kid during lunch. So there was no one for Marc to unload his rage on.

That night, after your boy fell asleep, you saw Marc sink down on the edge of your bed, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Carefully kneeling in front of him, you reached for his hands, caressing his fingers with your own before tenderly kissing each knuckle. Standing up on your knees, you wedged yourself between his thighs, but he turned his head away.

Marc wasn't going to hear you right now. So you gave him a little space, fixed him a drink and took a long shower before checking in again. You found him staring out the bedroom window, gazing up at the moon.

Easing behind him, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of his back. He covered your hands with his own, releasing a heavy sigh.

"When I saw his black eye..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"I know," you softly returned.

Drawing a trembling breath, he pushed his fingers through yours, resting there on his soft abdomen.

"I had so many..." Unable to finish his thought for several long moments, he simply soaked in your love and your touch, steadily drawing breaths in and out to remain calm. "Most of mine were...hidden, under my clothes, but..."

Chomping on your bottom lip, you held back the tears pricking your eyes.

"My dad never defended me. Not once," he whispered. "Not one time."

"Oh baby," you gasped, easing around to hug him for real.

Marc accepted your love - your healing, steady tenderness, folding you close.

"He could have, you know. But he didn't." His voice had faded to a broken whisper.

You understood the entire basis of Marc's parenting philosophy.

"I shouldn't have let him..." he carefully admitted, wincing as he waited on your response, but he couldn't help himself: angry red and brutal blue were colors too familiar. "I can't let him get hurt."

You didn't judge him. He should have known.

"That makes you a damn good father," you said with conviction, turning your gaze up to his.

“When I had Khonshu’s armor, it healed my body, so you can’t see…not anymore.” Sniffing, he shook his head sadly. “Do you think those little cuts on his face will scar?”

“They’re scrapes, they’ll be fine,” you assured him. “The doctor even said so.”

Marc was beginning to realize he couldn’t protect his only son from everything.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

During your son's teenage years, Marc’s (over)protectiveness put some distance between the two of them. Your son was the last kid his age allowed to go online, or go on a date, or get a driver’s license.

But every time he would get angry, Marc would try to extend an olive branch. He would take all his friends to the movies, or simply order a pizza and watch baseball together.

And one day it dawned on him that not one adult ever asked him what he wanted. Or needed. So he asked.

“I just want to feel like you trust me,” your son admitted.

Marc took him to get his license the next week.

Then came the car accident. Because, of course Marc’s only child would be involved in an accident. Marc was expecting it - practically waiting for it.

Thankfully everyone was okay, but the car was totaled.

When you and Marc saw your boy at the scene, you fully expected fireworks, but he charged toward his son, arms open.

“Dad, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry about your car, please don’t be mad.”

And then you witnessed the exact moment Marc far surpassed his own father (as if he hadn't spent you son's whole life doing so).

Taking the boy's face in his hands, he gently smiled. Marc Spector actually smiled in the middle of a life-threatening situation.

“It’s only a car. There are millions of cars.” He touched his forehead to your son's. “There’s only one you. And you’re okay. You’re okay.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Sometimes there were failures or broken hearts. Things Marc couldn't punch or fix or threaten. In fact, a life free from Khonshu's service left him with no one who really needed defending.

Years later, your son dropped by for a visit. The three of you decided to take a walk through the old neighborhood, to his favorite ice cream shop from when he was little. Nostalgia mingled with sugar for a bittersweet concoction that opened your hearts for sharing.

As you ambled back toward home, Marc noticed his son walking beside you protectively, closer to the street. He had opened the door for you, he took your hand as you crossed a puddle and even shielded your body briefly as a stupid teenager breezed by too fast on a motorbike.

It was like looking at a younger version of himself, but he was…softer somehow. Stable. He was a man now. And he was okay.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc Spector-Centric stories

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[save-the-villainous-cat]

The hero let out a wet groan, pushing themselves up as the blood ran down their side. It was in itself a funny feeling.

It was a good feeling.

Absolutely no one in this rotten city was able to challenge them. Physically, they were stronger. Mentally, they were quicker. And their dedication, their devotion was like a holy prayer that guided them through their nights.

The hero knew it wasn't a good thing - the longing for a challenge, the desire for an opponent that could actually make them a better fighter. It was a dangerous wish and they had to remind themselves regularly why they were doing this job in the first place.

To do good. To be good. Not to find someone who was their very own nemesis.

However, with the villain's boot on their ribs and that brutal nature of theirs, the hero was struggling not to find this utterly satisactory.

"Yeah, right there," the hero wheezed. "Make me scream."

The villain tilted their head and tutted, nearly bored of the hero's games. They let out a sigh and grabbed the hero's hair, yanking them up.

Another wheeze.

And the villain crouched, holding the hero by their hair. Very close. Very intimate.

"Do you think I am stupid?" the villain asked. Their lips brushed the hero's ear and despite the pain, or maybe because of it, the hero could only concentrate on the adrenaline rushing through their body.

"No," the hero said. They had to grin. Sometimes, they wished they could devour the villain, that they could change them and ultimately, that they could control them.

The hero knew it wasn't right. They knew it wasn't good. But they had never felt this kind of obsession towards anyone. In previous relationships, they hadn't gotten jealous, they hadn't gotten angry. They had never struggled like this. They had never doubted themselves like this.

"I know your dirty little secret," the villain said. "I know you like me. You like this."

"I didn't try to hide it," the hero said.

"Not from me. But the public."

"What are you trying to...?"

"Oh, poor hero," the villain murmed. "See, the difference between you and me is, that I do not care about you. If this gets to one, just one flimsy reporter, the people will turn against you. I can ruin your entire career. Your entire life."

The hero had miscalculated. Obviously, they hadn't expected their nemesis to feel the same. But they also hadn't expected them to tell the public. To use the public against the hero. It was a little shameless. But the hero was even more disgusted by their admiration for it.

"So?" the hero asked. Losing the public was a detrimental loss, that much was clear. But was it even measurable next to the fights with the villain? Did it even matter? When the hero could feel this euphoric? This alive? When had the public ever made them feel that way? "I would still have you."

"I do not love you," the villain argued. "You're not as important to me as you think."

"Give it some time," the hero said. "You will love me, don't worry. Everyone does."

The villain simply laughed at that. It was nearly soft. Or maybe the hero wanted it to be. It didn't matter.

"I have to admit, I am quite interested in what you have in store for me. How will you act once the public calls you a traitor? What will you do when I refuse to fight you? You are-" with their index finger, the villain traced the hero's thoat "-so very unique."

"Is that attraction?"

"Obligatory interest."

"And you say you're not in love."

They stared at each other until, finally, the villain dropped them. They cleared their throat and tilted their head. But the hero swallowed blood when their head nearly smashed against the concrete floor.

"I like toying with you, that is all."

"Sure," the hero said. They clutched their heart, tried to breathe. Being close to the villain was a gift, no matter how much it hurt. The hero loved it, loved their words, loved their personality, loved the challenge. It was insane, the hero felt completely deranged. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

And the hero was excited. So very excited for the next weeks.

[wileycap]

Hi! I really want to hear your opinion about Agni Kai in Atla LA and why it's bad thematically. Thank you!

Hi! I've never been asked anything before!

Alright, so - spoilers. Also, sorry that this is so long.

In the original, Zuko does not fight back, and that's so important. It's clear that the Fire Nation has great respect for hierarchy, whether it be elders, leaders or superior officers. Ozai is the ultimate hierarchical superior to Zuko: his father, his superior as a royal, and - of course - the leader of the entire nation.

In the Agni Kai, Ozai repeatedly orders Zuko to fight for his honor, and Zuko refuses. He remains prostrate, and reaffirms his respect for his father. In the context of this hierarchical culture, he is doing everything right in the face of an order that, to him, is the ultimate paradox. And that's what earns him his scar. A disfiguring, dishonoring brand.

He gets burned because he wants so badly to do everything right. He gets burned because he wants to show respect. He gets burned because, in a cultural context, he is behaving as he should. Because his father is cruel.

But it's not just that: it also serves as a shorthand to the audience that the Fire Nation under Ozai and his forefathers is wrong, to the point that Zuko, the dutiful son, literally cannot do right under that system. And you don't need to do a deep dive into what the culture is presented as to get that - it immediately strikes the audience with a profound sense of unfairness. It efficiently communicates that the Fire Nation is rotten, that the system itself has become corrupted and distorted.

And this sets up Zuko's entire arc. He did right, and he got punished. At the end of S2, he does wrong, and he gets rewarded, but the reward isn't fulfilling to him, because everything he could ever earn under that system is tainted and his experiences outside the system have shown him that, even if he can't accept it at first. And it's so narratively satisfying to watch him then defy his father, who tries to punish him again with lightning, only for him to now be able to literally turn it back (with Iroh's technique, Iroh being one of the few sources of unconditional love in his life!). He then redefines his relationship with Firebending itself, going back to the original source of it. He literally rids himself of the corruption of his nation.

It forms such a tight narrative arc, and it sets up so much about the Fire Nation with no need for explanation. Even his interactions with Iroh also tske on a new light: he's intentionally disrespecting his uncle - another elder and superior, as well as a father figure - and Iroh never punishes him for it. Ultimately, that unconditional love and support leads him to reform his nation.

In the Live Action, Ozai orders him to fight back, and he does. He even has a chance to strike Ozai, but doesn't, prompting Ozai to remark that "compassion is a weakness" before he burns Zuko. Which was never the point of Zuko's arc. It waters down his entire primary character conflict, because if his takeaway is that he lost a fight because he was too kind, then the only thing that needs to happen is for him to get some kind of narrative payoff by being kind. Wow, arc over. It becomes this surface level morality tale about how compassion isn't weakness.

In the LA, he also gets multiple chances to speak out at the war meeting. He questions the plan, the general and Ozai lay out actual, sensible reasons for why the plan has to proceed as it is, and then Zuko says that it's a terrible plan anyways. In the original, he speaks out once, and his words even make it clear that he's speaking out because the soldiers "love and defend our nation." His objection is the mildest possible form of objection: he isn't questioning the system, in fact, he's reinforcing it by appealing to the virtue of these soldiers. And he still gets punished.

With all that and Iroh explicitly calling out Ozai multiple times in the LA, we don't get the sense that the Fire Nation culture itself has been warped by imperialism. We just get the sense that the leader is a bad dude. And that's a far less powerful setup, and it will lead to a far less satisfying resolution.

It's an incredibly watered down version of the original, and lacks so much thematic weight.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Daisies and Talks

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Hi lovelies! Lia here and I know this pic is a bit misleading but I SWEAR on you that Simon doesn't die in this one, IT'S A HAPPY STORY OKAY. I was debating on making this a part two of Ghostie's parents progressed and though you're free to think that, I thought it would be much cuter to leave this to stay as a story on it's own.

Ghost's mum plays a big role in this one though so if you're not very comfortable with mentions of death or anything then I suggest leaving this one out and skipping. Two posts in one week? Are y'all lucky or am I just emptying my drafts? Y'all will never know.. AHAHAHA.

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thesnowurzikdjinn @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @cutenote @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld

I'd like to think that everyone is familiar with the saying "You never know what you have until you lose it", many of us having it said during childhood but you never truly experience that till your older right? Wrong, that couldn't be more wrong for a man like Simon Riley, the man who lost it all at a young age, no one left to care for him but himself.

He always used to hear that from his mother, over some the toys she used to make for him that he cherished and loved so much as a kid. Simon knew his family wasn't up their with the middle class but he also knew they weren't exactly poor, though his father might prove that wrong with how much he's driving the family into debt.

Due to this, Simon always taught himself never to get attached to another person though he tried working on it, he doesn't know what he'd do if he does. That was before you came along skipping your way into his frail heart, making all the walls her built crumble with just a few words and a soft stare, someone who was patient enough to stay.

Simon can't let you go, he took that saying that his mother used to chant and took it to heart. He didn't need to lose you to know you were so fucking important, like that the man held onto everything that you were.

Cherishing moments with you although sometimes wishing his mother could see you. He wanted his mom to know that he found that person that only is in fairy tales she used to read him to at night. Maybe you were sent by her, that's it right?

Because all Simon could think about staring at your face while you sleep next to him was "how?". How were you able to wiggle your way into his heart so easily? You make him feel so alive and full, sometimes it causes him to be self-destructive, starting fights simply because he doesn't think he deserves you but you were so patient, holding him as if he was the whole world after every fight.

Because of you, that part of Simon slowly disappeared, knowing that he should change his ways because you deserved better. They say there's one moment in someone's life where you know for sure that, that is the person you want to spend your life with. Do you wanna know what that moment was for Simon?

Every death anniversary of Simon's mother, he visits that grave, sometimes a little later than usual. You've been in a relationship with this man for a little over a year now and to say you've grown attached to that man like he did to you was an understatement. He saw you there, leaving flowers.. Daisies in particular, he told you those were her favorite.

You sat next to the grave, absentmindedly staring up at the sky, it was beautiful out that day. You talked to yourself, more like his mother really, greeting her quite casually as if you've talked to her before. Simon at first found it a bit odd, though he did tell you everything regarding where his mom was buried and dates when he'd visit her.

You've been doing this secretly for at least once a month for a couple now, not having the heart to tell Simon but it just so happens that he was a little earlier there than he usually does go. He hid himself behind among other things surrounding the grave, listening to the conversation you've been having with his mother's tomb stone.

"He's been doing better now.. I'm sure you're so proud of him because am I, I know you're watching over him and I promise to do my best to make Simon happy and make sure he's cared for, he deserves all that and so much more"

Simon listened, on and on as you continue telling his mother updates on his life and how he's been doing. He put two and two together slowly realizing that you've been visiting her grave for a while now.

"Thank you, if it weren't for you then I wouldn't have Simon. My Simon.. someday I'll help him create the life you'd want for us, I know he'd just say that you would want what we want and I know that for a fact. I wish you were here, I would've loved for you to see Simon smile again."

You looked back at the grave. "You know Mrs. Riley, I feel safe here, are you the one doing that?" Smiling as you looked up and rested your eyes a little.

You leaned back a bit with a satisfied sigh hum after a deep breath, Simon's deep voice making you jolt up, "You know she'd want you to call her mom right? Or at least Ma Riley is what the other kids who she practically adopted in the neighborhood call her" he walked out from wherever he was hiding himself.

"Simon I-" You were cut off by seeing the tears running down his eyes, you stood up from where you were sitting, not bothering to dust off your backside that probably had grass stuck to your clothes.

You immediately wrap your arms around your boyfriend and gave him a tight squeeze, letting go only to cup his face in your hands and wipe his tears with your thumb, Simon leaned his forehead on yours, looking at your eyes with his teary ones.

"Oh Simon, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have done this without asking for your permission. God I'm so stupid, you hate me now, don't you—" Before you could even continue what you were saying, Simon cut you off with his shushing, pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

You knew it must've meant a lot to him, he didn't have enough words to describe how grateful he was for you. Unbeknownst to you, whenever Simon did talk to his mother, he'd always find himself worming to you somehow.

One of the reasons he had brought the ring between his fingers at that very moment, coming to ask his mother's grave for guidance on how he's going to do it..

[attapullman]

long time listener, first time caller!! i’m SUCH a sucker for a first meeting with our beloved bob so maybe #3 from the fluff list? “catching them staring at you, and they immediately look away blushing when you notice them” perhaps?? or just caught staring in general? <3

Welcome, welcome! I love a meet cute, especially with someone as blushy and adorable as Bobby boy. Let me pinch those pink cheeks just once, please!

Drabble Day

“You have an admirer,” Penny whispers as you pour another Sam Adams. You catch her smirk and give an eye roll in response.

It’s been three weeks since you came to North Island for the summer. An escape from the city, from deadlines and rotten smells. The sea, sun, and a part-time gig bartending was the cure for burn out. But you’d seen how the aviators fawned over the other barkeeps - fighting for attention, outrageous tips, the lingering eyes. It was as if the entire patronage saw right through you when ordering the next round.

You hand the beer over to its owner and wipe your hands on your apron. Penny was a sweet soul to employ you for the summer, but you’re no sucker. “Unless it’s Theo because I gave him a milk bone yesterday, I have a hard time believing you.”

She gives you her own eye roll before gesturing over your shoulder. “Save the sass for the customers.”

You turn back to the bar and pour out drafts, shots, and sodas with practiced concentration. However, there’s an itching at the back of your neck, as if something sits right out of your periphery. But who would pay attention to you without needing a beer?

You hand another captain his stout before the feeling overwhelms you and you finally turn around. Eyes flitting over the dart board, pool table, and a sea of aviators. But amongst it all, one figure stands out.

His entire attention is on you, curiously watching the way you smile taking orders and bite your lip trying not to spill. A cup of peanuts forgotten in his hand as he peers through wire-rimmed frames with the corner of his mouth quirked up.

It takes a moment before he realizes you’ve caught him, noticed him noticing you. A pearly pink blush overtakes him, embarrassment flooding his features as you give him a friendly smile.

His fingers raise in a tentative wave, the most he’s interacted with you since he got too nervous to order at the bar three weeks ago.

A hip bumps yours. Penny gives you a knowing look. “Told ya. He likes ginger ale.”

[dcxdpdabbles]

Have you seen the halfa cass post that's been floating around? I'd love to see your take on that

I'm going to assume you mean the au made by @phandomhyperfixationblog so I'll write about that but if I am wrong please let me know in another ask or message.

Cass was sent to Amity Park to investigate its residents' disappearance. Ghost towns in the USA were fairly common, often after they were abandoned, the earth would reclaim the land and would be left untouched for years to come until a lucky urban exploder discovered it again.

What wasn't uncommon was that everything was left behind when the town was abandoned. Cass walks down three more streets, eyes taking in everything around her. Although the lawns were vastly overgrown and the houses left to the elements, there weren't a lot of open spaces.

Empty cars were parked perfectly along the road or in a lot, chairs and tables on porches were left out, children's toys laid in driveways, and after squinting through a few windows, she could see fully furnished households- some even had a slight mess as if the owners hadn't gotten around to their household chores yet.

One house even had a dinner table set up. The meal was rotten and smelled, but she could tell it was a family dinner that was interrupted mid-way.

Yes, everything was covered in dust, as if years had gone by since someone was last here, but otherwise, it looked like a thriving community had been here only a few days ago.

Even the stores were fully stoked, aisled upon aisled of merchandise left untouched for who knows how long. Restuantants were similar, rotten food aside, everything was open and set up as like a normal bussniess hour.

Overall, it didn't seem like the residents willingly abandoned this place. They left literally everything behind. Nothing showed looting either, which indicated how uncommonly outsiders came here.

The fact Cass was investigating Amity Park at all was because she was doing a favor for Raven. The girls didn't talk much, but it was the least she could do as the magic-user had helped her with a fight in Hong Kong a few days ago.

Raven claimed that an abnormal energy pulse came from the town. It wasn't wrong; some places just had more natural energy to them, but she had always wondered what the cause was.

It is a low-level mystery that she put off exploring due to all other priorities, but about a week ago, Raven sensed another pulse-this one reeking of death- and had asked Cass to check it out while she went on a space mission with the rest of the Titans.

She was supposed to take picutes, do some scenes and get some readings. Cass was not expecting to find literally no one for miles.

Cass slowly made her way down streets, breaking into houses and stores, looking for clues. She found no signs of a struggle but that may be due to the time frame of when this happened.

It wasn't until she got to Fenton Works that she managed that she could figure out some parts of the puzzle. The building itself was a challenge to get into. It was rigged to the teeth with weapons and security measures.

Some were old and rusted, but a majority quickly powered up to shoot at her as she tried to get past. Ducking and weaving through the blast she felt all her muscles burn from the rapid dodge she was doing.

Through years of training, she turned a handstand into a run and then a leap to crash through the front window, and the weapons outside halted as soon as she rolled to a stop in what appeared to be a cozy living room.

Weary, she watched as the gun blasters slowly retreated back into the slight holes along the roof, the fake pathway, and the gnome. Once done the world fell silent again. It's now that Cass startles.

She hadn't noticed Amity Park's silence until it was broken. She hadn't heard birds or the wind blowing through the leaves as she walked. Something was terribly wrong in this place.

Maybe she can find out what it was in Fenton Works.

She began her search by examining the walls. They were lined with family photos- a family of father, mother, and what she assumes are the children of both based on facial features, one girl and one boy. There are art pieces every so often- primarily abstract. The furniture is nothing expensive- coming from a generic furniture store. The kitchen smells rotten food- like most houses- but there is a stack of books on the table.

Cass peers down at them, noticing that they all revolve around a psychology of some sort. An open book is lying next to a notebook filled with notes for teenage development. A pencil is even left over the last unfinished sentence.

Danny's need for acceptance may be due to living in my shadow. I should show him more support.

Cass moves upstairs after confirming there is nothing else of value. There, he finds three rooms- a master bedroom obviously belonging to the parents, a slightly larger room belonging to the girl, and the smallest bedroom belonging to the boy.

Cass can confirm that the girl was tidier than the boy but while her room seemed less personal than the boy's. While the boy has far more personal touches to his belongings, nothing seems to be in order or so driven.

The parents' room was covered with either machinery that could be weapons or images of their children. Whoever they are- or were they loved the two deeply.

In the master bathroom, Cass found that the couple habitually wrote sticky notes with their to-do lists taped on the bathroom mirror's corner. She could tell the differences in handwriting and word choice- the mother wrote explanations while the father did short annotations.

Clean the beakers in lab zone 2. They are releasing gasses, so they must be disposed of properly.

Jazzy-pants slam poetry night. Nov 19th. 6pm.

Danny's sleep study. Dec 10th. Teachers said he's been falling asleep in class too often. It might be Narcolospy!

Dinner Date with Maddie. Nov 22. Classical music reservation.

Cass taps her chin. This happened before December but what year and where did everyone go?

She looks down at the sticky notes again, noticing that many speak about a "lab" downstairs. Seeing as she did not find a lab on the ground level, that only left a lower one.

Leaving the bedroom, she makes her way down to the basement, where she does, in fact, find a large lab. There is a clutter of tools for the eye to see, all surrounding what looks like everyday household items and weapons.

Cass's lips thin as she takes in the strangely shaped guns, staffs, and blades. A weapon maifator? But why here? She tried the computers she scattered about, but none worked. She didn't think so, seeing as the electricity had been shut down across the city, but she had hoped.

Thankfully, this family seemed to believe in paper and pencils because she could find multiple writings throughout the lab. It's mathematical, primarily formulas, a half-baked thesis of "ecto-being" behavior, and notes on "ecto-beings." portal.

A portal that is sitting at the far right of the lab. Cass walks around the perimeter checking to see if it has any traps, but finds none. Then she walks over to the controllers testing the power on it.

She pressed the on button waits forty seconds to confirm that it was not active before she entered the portal. It resembles an early design of the zeta tubes. Maybe the family here were trying to develop teleporting technology-

"GET OUT OF THERE!" Someone shouts. Cass jumps a good foot in the air, swinging around with her fists raised for battle. She hadn't heard him! Hadn't sensed him at all!

It's been long since anyone has gotten the drop on her. She is just grateful she is wearing a mask- not her batgirl or Orphan gear but rather a borrowed ninja outfit Damian had granted her- since it means her identity is protected from the glowing man at the stairway's base.

Wait, glowing?

She opens her mouth to demand to know who he is when the portal powers on. She only had a moment to bite back a swear before her world exploded in pain.

Cass can hear herself scream, but it's too far away from the agony of electricity being poured into her body. She is being ripped apart by it, pushed and molded, and put back together again, only to start the process repeatedly.

It feels like ages before she can't handle it anymore- again, it's been years since that last happened- before the world fades away and she falls into blissful slumber

She has smoke-grey hair and glowing opal-white eyes when she wakes hours later.

The man is leaning over her with snow-white hair and glowing green eyes, looking worried as Cass finds that her body can no longer stay solid. It seemed that she had died and now had the body of a ghost.

She knows who makes this.

"Hello, Danny," She says, pushing through the pain of her death. Oh gods, how will Bruce react when he learns about her stupid error. She doesn't want to think about it, so she pushes it away to give the startled man an empty smile. She had to at least figure out the mystery so that her death can not be in vain."I have some questions about Amity Park."

[billysgun]

loyal

billy the kid x cowgirl!reader |requested!|during the fight against murphy, you find out you're pregnant with billys child, and now you see where his loyalties lie |

you felt numb as you stared into the outhouse's seat that was swimming with your vomit like you did every morning while the gang went out and you were too sick to follow. but, you didn't let them know that.

because you aren't just sick, you're pregnant.

you know from the lack of blood in your bloomers -which would've been red 2 weeks ago, but it never came.

you think back to billy. the night where he drunkenly thrust in your with a raw cock. you both were whiskey-filled idiots and decided to fuck like you've been doing for months.

and now you're gonna have a baby.

and, in the middle of fighting the house. you're too sick to ride, can't stand the scent of gunpowder even when you used to soak in it, you have no chance of being here.

but billy? he isn't going to stop fighting for some mistake child.

you're on your own.

that night when they returned, billy snuck into your room and kissed up your neck

you tried to push the guilt aside and enjoy the feeling of his fingertips running up your thigh, your hormones begging for more touching but your morals drowning you in your shame

billy looked up at you right before he was gonna lay you on your bed, seeing the way your eyes were glossed over and brows twisted in not pleasure, but pain.

"darlin' whats wrong?" he immediately stopped as his eyes widened and hands cupped your face

"no, nothin' billy! don't worry" you quickly whispered, cursing at yourself as his worries grew

"is it the fight?" he asked, and you nodded, but he didn't seem satisfied

"nah, somethin' else in on your mind. you can tell me, love" he whispered, and you couldn't keep your tears in as they gently rolled down your cheeks as you whimpered a breath

"I'm pregnant, billy" you admitted and his eyes widened

"what?"

you let out another sob as he moved back from you

"I'm pregnant" you repeated and his fingers ran through his hair

"h-how long?"

"a little while-"

"before we joined this?" he asked and you quickly got defestive as you rose from the bed with furrowed brows

"no billy. not before" you sternly said and he turned away from you to hide his teary eyes

"why didn't you tell me- this is why you haven't been ridin' right? 'cuz you..." he paced around the room and you felt like a child who broke a vase as you stood with your head down

"I can't let you get hurt" he says walking up to you while grabbing your hands softly

"I can't let you get hurt, billy" you quickly add and he just shakes his head, your palm brings his face back to you

"this baby needs its father"

"not as much as it needs its mother, I'm not the kind of father a child wants" he whispered, tears brimming his eyes as you shook your head

"no, that's not true. they're so many rotten men out there, you're not one of them. you're loyal, and kind, and selfless-"

"I've killed people" he emphasizes and you just stare at him, backing up slowly once his eyes reveal the thing you worried most

"you're not leaving tunstall, are you?"

"...Y/n, I made a promise-" "what about this baby? you think fucking land is more important than a child you made?"

"I didn't fucking choose this!" he snaps and your eyes are wide as his words soak into both of you and he's quickly shaking his head as he moves toward you "I didn't mean that. I'm just sayin' I didn't-"

"what about me? you chose me first. what if I decide to stay and go with-"

"you're not doin' that. you're out of fighting." he sternly says but you just laugh

"I can't have you two gettin' hurt" he adds

"oh so now you care about the baby?" you ask, and he presses his lips together as you two are no longer talking and just fighting. with no response, you grab your shoes as you leave the cabin, leaving billy behind.

part 2 is: here

an: BILLY WHY???? haha but, hi guys!! & thank you for requesting!! <33

[prettyboypistol]

merc Valentine headcanons if you're up for it?

TF2 VALENTINES HEADCANONS!

no art for this post because I've posted 3 times todayyyy

Scout

ridiculously corny and a tryhard- you're getting the whole shebang with him! Flowers, dinner(?), a teddy bear!

gets really frustrated/anxious when things don't go exactly as planned

you thought his planned pick up lines were cheesy? just wait til you put him on the spot. You could probably quote them all from specific books of pick up lines.

Soldier

He'd make an honest effort to try and romance you- but nothing would really turn out as you would expect traditionally. With your luck, the date will be fighting a pack of bears for more of his honey stash!

In the end though, you can tell through Jane's actions that he loved you with all his heart. Even if the romance was a bust, he's still going to be your ride or die forever!

The day would end with you two covered in various ratios of blood and honey staring at the setting sun. So I guess that's a win?

Pyro

Doesn't really have a concept of Valentine's Day, but once explained to them, they are so on board with pampering you the entire day!

Of course, the way to make their day is to just relax by a bonfire and snuggle up next to a radio.

They give you one of your shirts back as a gift- only to see that they embroidered little rings of fire around the cuffs! (who let them touch needles????)

Engineer

definitely a lot more relaxed about valentines than most of the other more "passionate" mercs, but he's still earnestly sweet nonetheless.

His gift to you is a little music box he made and a rose he welded together out of sheet metal.

Dell probably had your gifts done ahead of time then subsequently forgot what day it was (you had to remind him of the dinner date that you two planned earlier that week)

Heavy

Mikhail lust loves kissing and loving on you, he will play coy about valentine's day until the evening, where he spoils you senseless.

Dinner and drinks get shared over a movie and cuddles. Nothing feels better than your big teddybear of a boyfriend and the smell of mulled wine as you laugh at some stupid movie you two are barely paying attention to.

Once you fall asleep in his arms he murmurs poetry to you in Russian, all of them written just for you.

Demoman

He... well, honestly, he kinda blows it.

He remembered the special day, but he's really just lackluster. Valentine's day is just another day to him and he thinks he doesn't need a specific day. When he realizes that you are hurt, he overhauls it in the next few days. He shows off the multimillions that he actually does make and pampers you rotten.

Apologies and kisses and wonderful dinners aside, Tavish holds you close and murmurs just about how much he loves you.

Medic

He trained his doves to do little tricks just for youuuuu awww

Remember that shitty ex you had? Yeah, that's their heart. Mhm. Yep. Go ahead. Stab it. :) (Gift giving, act of service, quality time)

Puts a record on and dances you around the medical room with little kisses and flirtatious lines of how cute you look when you're flustered and trying not to step on his feet.

Spy

Romance KING! The fright of commitment is still there and paralyzing at times, but he powered through it for you! After all, you see him at his worst every day and to see him, he is slightly more comfortable to be honest with you.

Roses and a bottle of wine are in your room, along with a card signed by "Your handsome rogue"

You two go to dinner and then to his smoking room to really relax, those parfaits were perfectly handmade just for you two.

Sniper

He invites you out to camp with you and hunt, but he really liked showing off his survival skills in front of you. You ever had gator?

Mick loves cooking in front of you and really putting on a show. It feels like the one time he can really accept praise is when you look in awe.

Everything is done for you whenever you try to do something. Making coffee? "Nah love, I'll get it." Your back hurt? "Lay down, chickadee, I'll give you a massage."

[aingeal98]

The thing about Cass is that the law holds very little value to her sense of right and wrong compared to Bruce. She's like oh the government thinks this man should die? Let's break into the execution chamber and break him out. Tim wants to call the police? That's stupid when I can just keep fighting bad guys until I get the answers I need. A assassin hesitates before killing a kid? Projection levels firing high today let's break into the CIA baby.

But then you bring up the one area of life where there are no easy feelings, where everything is complicated and it hurts: Her childhood with David Cain. He shot her for fun and she loves him and he loves her and showed her stars and constellations as a kid and he made her kill a man. And no one will understand that for the longest time the only part of her childhood that felt clearly deep bad wrong was the kill. The rest of it was... Not fine but something she misses sometimes. And no one else will ever understand why because it doesn't make sense to anyone except Cass.

So you bring 17/18 y/o Cass a case of child abuse, especially one that's not as clear cut as physically violent parent, where the father is a good man but a criminal by law, and the mother is cold, neglectful and uncaring, and that's the one time where Cass will rely on the law. David Cain is a bad man because he made her kill. He loved her but he was a bad father because he made her a criminal. Cass sees this man who is a thief (neutral to Cass, bad to the law) who loves his daughter, and her projection levels go through the roof. Yes the woman is abusive but Cass hasn't processed her own abuse. David is bad because he's a criminal not because he hurt her. She can't make the decision who the good parent is. She can't even decide how she feels about her own father.

Except it's not true, she does make the decision. On a different day, one where Cass was not reeling from the revelation of David cain being her biological father, she might very well choose not to let the man get arrested, to help him with his daughter. The law is something Cass falls back on only when her sense of purpose is in disarray. Twice we see her falter, when she let's the father get arrested and earlier in another issue when she puts the man back on death row. Both cases she projects hard, on the death row killer and on the daughter of the thief. Both times she ends the story miserable and with a deep sense of wrongness. She followed the law, she followed their version of justice.

And her gut tells her that this is not right. This is not how things should be.

Cass believes in herself. Cass believes in gut instinct for right and wrong.

Cass believes that she is an evil murderer, not someone who can ever fully belong with the actual heroes. There is something rotten inside of her, and when the situation is too similar, when she's reminded that she was raised to be a killer, a weapon who can never truly be good, just desperately trying to prove herself while feeling she never can...

Cass deferres to the law. And she hates every second of it almost as much as she hates herself.