#a truly terrible pipeline

[luxaofhesperides]

We Are Robins meeting to Signal apprehending Danny ; requested by @zylev-blog!

“Hey, Danny. How are you feeling?”

Danny gives Duke a tired smile, his head falling back against the wall. He’s sitting up today, which is good. It’s definitely an improvement from the many days Danny was unable to do much but lie down and grit his teeth through the pain as Duke checked on the gunshot wound. It’s a good thing Danny’s a meta with a healing factor, or nothing Duke could have done would have saved him.

As it is, the wound was severe enough to keep Danny vulnerable and unable to move on his own without making it worse. Though Duke has looked, he hasn’t had any luck in finding whoever did this to Danny. He hasn’t brought it up to the rest of the We Are Robin gang, but only because Danny only let him help if he kept it between the two of them.

What’s another secret? If it lets him stay close to Danny and make sure he’s healing well, then he’ll keep quiet and carry on the search by himself. He’s got plenty of practice in doing things on his own.

“Busy out there?” Danny asks as Duke sits down next to him, dropping his backpack onto the ground. 

“Yeah, it’s tough with the cops after us, but someone needs to help Gotham and with Batman gone…”

A pained expression crossed Danny’s face. Eyeing him carefully, Duke opened his backpack and pulled out a few protein bars and sports drinks for him. Once Danny takes them and began eating one, Duke takes out the first aid kit, always kept at the bottom of the backpack, and sets it in front of Danny.

The most he can do is offer supplies and company at this stage of Danny’s healing. He gets twitchy and tense when Duke tries to tend to his wound, and seems to have plenty of practice in patching himself up. 

He didn’t answer when Duke commented on it once, so Duke let the matter drop. 

Metas may have legal protection, but that doesn’t stop people from targeting them. Duke has no intention of pushing Danny into remembering unpleasant things while he’s already wounded, hiding out in the upper corner of an abandoned warehouse taken over by a group of homeless people. Most aren’t inside during the day, choosing instead to be out with the rest of the city, which leaves them alone. 

Duke keeps an eye on the ground floor of the warehouse, making sure no one comes in while Danny tends to his wound. When he peeks back, he can see that it’s much smaller than it was the night Duke found him, crawling down an alley with one hand clutching his side, tears slipping down his face. There had been so much blood that Duke was sure he had just stumbled upon someone dying and froze, horrified. 

And then a shout down the road prompted him to move, hauling Danny up and helping him into the warehouse to hide. 

For a normal person, if it didn’t kill them, the wound would still be raw and bleeding, larger than any gunshot wound he’s seen before. But Danny’s wound is closing up quickly, no longer bleeding, the edges a healing pink.

It doesn’t look like it’s going to scar, either. 

“Think it’ll be all healed up by the end of the week?”

Danny glances up, then continues covering it with new bandage, large enough to cover the entire wound. “Hopefully,” he says. “Then I’ll be out of your hair and can figure out a way to get home.”

“Your folks gonna look out for you?”

“Probably. I’m not planning on telling them, though, since they’ll get way too overprotective. The only reason they’re not tearing Gotham apart looking for me is because I came here with my godfather and he told them we’d be gone for two weeks. Can’t believe he tried to kill me on day one…”

“Your godfather tried to kill you?”

“Yeah. Not personally, or anything, but he definitely hired the guy who shot me. Though he also yelled at him for shooting me? Not sure what that’s about, but I never trusted the guy and he didn’t try to help me afterwards when I ran away, so. You know.”

Duke wants to have a conversation with Danny’s godfather. Maybe bring the other Robins along to make sure the message sinks in: Don’t touch Danny.

But Danny, acting so casual about his godfather trying to kill him, would be unhappy about it, and Duke would really rather be able to take care of him than be shut out for trying to take control of the situation.

“Shit, man, that sucks,” he offers, instead of prying for details so he can hunt down his godfather. “You want a hug or something? I can’t really do much else, but if it can make you feel better about all this…”

Danny brightens and shoves the first aid kit away, his shirt (one of Duke’s old ones he offered up to replace the bloodstained one) falling to cover the bandage. “Please. I would love a hug, dude, I don’t remember the last time I felt so lonely.”

Carefully, Duke wraps his arms around Danny, leaning back so Danny could relax fully and not worry about holding himself up. Danny sighs into the hug, going fully limp as he drops his forehead onto Duke’s shoulder.

“Thanks for this. And everything,” Danny says some time later. He doesn’t move to pull away, so Duke stays as he is, watching the weak sunlight slowly move across the warehouse as it spills in from dirty windows. 

“You don’t need to thank me. I mean, I’m a Robin.” He brings up a hand to tap a finger against the R embroidered into his jacket. “It’s what we’re here for.”

.

.

.

It’s been years since he saw Danny. After he was fully healed, Duke helped him get to city limits, watching as he boarded a bus and disappeared down the road, leaving his life just as suddenly as he entered it.

After spending so much time together, quiet hours of stillness just looking out for each other, his life feels emptier without Danny in it. He knew it wouldn’t last, that Danny would go home eventually, but it didn’t make the parting any easier.

Even now, as Signal, taking a break from going on missions with the Outsiders to spend some time with the Bats, his thoughts drift towards Danny, wondering if he’s alright. In his darker moments, he wonders if Danny’s godfather has tried to kill him again, if he’s succeeded. In calmer, happier moments, he remembers Danny’s quiet stories about his family, his town, all his dreams and hopes for the future, remembers the easy company and how Danny didn’t look at him with pity when talked about his parents, just quiet and contemplative. 

Sometimes, he can’t resist the urge to look him up, but there are so many Danny’s out there that he doesn’t know where to start. He never got Danny’s last name or learned when he came from.

It’s not like he can just ask the Bats for help finding a guy he knew for two weeks before he ever joined them. They’re all busy with their own missions, and definitely don’t have time for Duke’s reminiscing. 

“Just caught sight of the truck entering city limits,” Oracle says in his ear. “It’s heading towards the Coventry.”

“On it. Any movement from the mobs?”

“None yet. I expect this to change soon. Red Hood and Black Bat are patrolling nearby if you need backup.”

“Got it. Signal out.”

His comline shuts with a little click, and then he’s grappling over the roof tops, keeping an eye on the roads in search of the truck. He doesn’t have time to think of Danny anymore, not when a shipment of new, experimental weapons is passing through Gotham. Spoiler had heard a few whispers of it and Red Robin helped find more solid details; the mobs are all looking to take the shipment for themselves in an attempt to get the upper hand in the nonstop fight for control of Gotham’s streets. 

It’s passing through during the day, visible and a good move to keep from being ambushed at night, but it’s not enough to stop mobs hoping to take out their competition with new weapons. Duke enters the Coventry just as his comline beeps once and Oracle begins giving him specific directions, along with a brief description of what the truck looks like. 

Apparently, the weapons are being moved in a U-Haul rental truck. That is… certainly a Choice™ to make for moving weapons around the country.

He follows it from the rooftops, but nothing happens. The truck passes through the Coventry without incident and takes a turn that keeps it away from Crime Alley and the Bowery. It gets to the middle of East End then pulls to a stop in the parking lot of a diner. 

Two people get out and stretch, then head in to get something to eat.

It would be the perfect time for someone to break in. Duke pulls the light over himself, manipulating it to make him disappear from sight as he looks down from the edge of the rooftop, tense and prepared for anything.

He almost doesn’t see it at first. It’s just a flicker, a flash of color, a shift in the shadows across the street. But he does see it, even if he can’t find it again, and drops down from the roof, creeping towards the truck.

Duke waits, holding his breath, off to the side of the parking lot. 

A minute passes. And then a figure materializes out of thin air, floating right behind the truck. All Duke can see is white hair and a black body suit; they’re either a meta or an alien, but either way, Duke is ready to take them down.

The figure lifts their hands and a bolt of neon green energy hits the truck, melting the back and leaving a large hole that gives them direct access to the weapons. And then they shoot again, destroying the weapons.

“Phantom!” someone shouts, and the truck driver comes tearing out of the restaurant, a white gun in his hand. His companion follows, her gun also out, and the begin shooting. 

Phantom dodges the blasts, then vanishes from sight. He reappears behind them a moment later, tackling back of them into the side of the truck. 

“No you don’t!” Duke say, rushing forward as he pulls at the shadows around him then sends them racing towards Phantom, restraining them. The driver and his companion collapse onto the ground, groaning weakly, and Duke grits his teeth. “O, send someone to look after the people moving the weapons. Apprehending an attacker now.”

He doesn’t wait to hear a response, tightening the shadow’s grip on Phantom, who struggles fiercely.

“We can do this the hard way, or the easy way,” he says, pulling Phantom closer to him.

Phantom doesn’t answer. They just scream, the force of it making Duke fall back. His shadows dissipate, and Phantom flies up.

“Get back here!”

Duke gives chase, dropping in and out of shadows, throwing some at Phantom in the hopes of catching him again. But Phantom is fast and it takes all he has to keep up as they cross Gotham.

He thought Phantom was flying around blindly, but the way they move across the roofs and then through the streets are too confident, too focused to be anything other than someone with a destination in mind. But where? Where could they be going? If they’ve been in Gotham, then Duke would have heard of them.

A flying, powerful meta with a multitude of powers? Yeah, he would have known about them.

Phantom flies through a wall and Duke curses, going onto the roof and looking around, waiting to see them fly out. But they don’t and Duke finds a broken skylight to drop in from, landing on the support beams of the warehouse, well above the ground.

He knows the warehouse, he realizes suddenly. It’s the warehouse Danny hid in while he was healing. Duke hasn’t been back in years.

“Just listen to me, please,” a voice says behind him, and Duke tense, spinning around to face Phantom, floating just out of reaching distance. “Those weapons are dangerous. No one should have them, it’s why I had to destroy them. Please, you can’t let them get those weapons out.”

Duke stares. Something about Phantom is familiar. The shape of his face, maybe. His voice. Maybe it’s just because he’s in the warehouse again, with someone pleading for his help.

Maybe it’s all in his mind.

“Danny?”

Phantom flinches, floating back a few inches. “What— How—”

“What happened? Is it your godfather again?”

“My— Duke? Is that you?!”

He definitely shouldn’t be doing this, but Danny’s here. Danny’s here in front of him, needing help, and he doesn’t need the Signal. He needs Duke.

He pulls off his helmet and lifts his bare face to Danny.

“Oh,” Danny breathes. “Well. I guess I should have known you’d be a hero. Can you help me one last time?”

“Yeah, of course Danny. Tell me what you need.”

“Those weapons, they were first made to kill me and others like me. It’s a whole thing I don’t have time to explain. But they’ve been changed to affect humans, all types of people, as well. I can survive a few hits from those weapons, but for most people, it would kill them instantly. I need to destroy all of them and stop any further production before the rest of the world gets a hold of them.”

“That’s why you—”

“They have to be destroyed,” Danny says. “And the people making and selling them need to be stopped. I can’t do it on my own. I’ve tried, but…”

“I’ll help,” Duke says, “I’ll help. This is a big enough problem to bring the Outsiders into it. Or the Bats, but they like to stay in Gotham.”

Danny floats closer, looking painfully relieved. “Really? They’ll be able to put an end to this?”

Duke reaches for him. “Yeah. they can do it. I’ll make sure of it.”

Danny’s feet land on the support beam as his hand meets Duke’s. They balance above the rest of the warehouse, drinking in the sight of each other. Duke rubs his thumb over Danny’s knuckles in soothing circles and watches as the tension begins to fall away from Danny’s shoulders.

“Duke,” he whispers, “I’ve missed you—”

The door below is kicked open, and a gunshot rings out. 

Moving on instinct, Duke tackles Danny, wrapping him up in his arms as they fall off the support beam. They hit the ground hard, rolling a bit, and Duke tucks Danny into his chest, bodily protecting him.

“Narrows!” 

The Red Hood stands over him, menacing, a gun pointed at him. 

“Hood?” He loosens his grip on Danny. “What the hell was that for?” 

“Thought you needed back up. You chased after our guy and lost your helmet, I think I’m right to be a little worried about you. So, who’s this?” There’s a hard edge to his voice, and Duke realizes with a sinking heart that all anyone else sees is an aggressor, a meta who attacked a truck full of weapons, attacked two people, and had to be chased down by the Signal. Jason’s seeing a threat and acting accordingly, putting Duke’s safety first. 

And with his helmet off, identity clear, Danny’s even more dangerous now that he has this knowledge.

“I’m sorry,” Danny whispers to Duke. He doesn’t have time to ask for what? before Danny’s shooting another beam of green energy at Jason then taking off, flying through the roof and out of sight.

“Shit,” Jason mutters, straightening up from where he ducked to avoid being hit, then puts his gun away and kneels next to Duke. “You alright? Why’d you let him go? I thought you had him.”

“I’m fine. He’s not… He wasn’t going to hurt me. He just needed help.”

“Sure. And what are you not telling me?”

“I knew him. He’s a good person, but he’s been in danger for a long time. This was him trying to protect others from what he went through.”

Jason takes off the helmet and stares at him. Then he sighs and reaches a hand down to help Duke to his feet. “Alright,” he says, “Let’s head back to the truck. You have until then to convince me that they’re the problem, and if they are, then I’ll help you blow up more of their weapons.” He claps a hand on Duke’s shoulder, then pulls his helmet back on. “Grab your helmet. We’re wasting daylight, Narrows.”

There’s nothing else he can do, no way to search for Danny when there are other leads to chase, so Duke grapples up to the catwalk where his helmet landed and grabs it.

Just before he puts it on, he sees a flicker of white just outside the window he’s facing. He ducks his head to hide a smile. It’s almost like he’s stepped back in time; Danny’s here in Gotham, needing help and asking for it in the warehouse. 

And though so much has changed in those years, there’s still one thing that Duke will ensure never changes: he’s Danny’s hero. Above Robin, or Signal, or anything else, Duke is Danny’s hero.

This time, he has the power to actually help Danny. He’s going to make sure no one ever hurts Danny again.

“Let’s go,” he says, jumping back down to Jason, helmet on. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #dp x dc fanfic #prompt fill #my writing #gotta be honest i do Not know much abt the We Are Robin movement. have yet to read those comics.... #also this definitely deviated a bit from your prompt. sorry!! still hope i got the main things you wanted to see #duke being dannys hero is something so special to me... #also it is his parents selling weapons and blueprints and things to the giw which is then given to the military for new weapons #a truly terrible pipeline #duke and jason and whoever else joins will find the source of the weapons. break into the fenton home. and dannys just there eating toast #in his pjs like. um hi guys did u need something? (and staring at duke like DUDE HELLO WTF??) #a mess of a situation :) not gonna write it bc i know it would get away from me and get so long #thanks for the prompt!!

[lillymakesart]

more episode 5 discussion

tl;dr a continuation of my video dissertation on lilly.makes.tiktoks: (summary) mikio fell in love with mizu, they had their first argument, mama convinced mikio to turn mizu in, mikio did go turn her in. "love poisoned by betrayal" where mikio is the love, mama is the betrayal

i feel like mama's betrayal needs some more reading into in order to truly understand her motivations, because that pipeline going from caretaker to ultimate betrayal is so insane

mikio's petty actions (picking at mizu's insecurities by calling her a monster and taking away the horse he gifted to her) are all in line with a hurt, petty, toxic lover that just wanted to hurt mizu back in the way the she hurt him

what about mama? she has cared for Mizu all these years, had been her mother figure, and even reaped some benefits off of Mizu's arranged marriage. isn't turning her adoptive daughter into the very men she fought all her life to keep her safe from a bit too intense?

to wish such foul ill on someone must have taken years and years of built up resentment and vitriol. maybe if we look at the timeline from mama's perspective the motivation behind her betrayal would reveal itself

Fowler said that mama was Mizu's maid. not sure if this has any significance, but he didn't say nanny or wetnurse. maybe she was simply a maid that worked around the house and only tangentially caring for the baby. life in the estate must have been pretty cushy for her as she was generally sheltered and protected under her lord's care

but then assassins come for the baby, she is caught up in the mess, and she can only stand by and watch as Mizu's life hangs in balance before her. fate decides that Mizu should live, and she is shoved into mama's arms and the man tells her to take the devil child and run, and so she does. she leaves the cushy protected life of being a maid in the estate and becomes a homeless woman on the streets, now burdened with a crying baby and no idea what to do

at some point she turns towards a life of prostitution, which at this I'm guessing is her only option. this life must be terrible compared to her work at her lord's estate. perhaps the stress turns her towards opioids, and she becomes an addict

maybe a messenger keeps in contact with her and makes regular deliveries of money to continue caring for the baby. the money amount could have even been generous, enough to keep them off the streets in a respectable town, but with mama's addiction we all know where the money truly went.

one day the money stops, and mama can't get her opioids anymore. theoretically she could have continued caring for Mizu, but she'd rather work full-time as a prostitute and continue acquiring drugs than care for a child that she never wanted, was never even trained to care for. in fact, this child has brought her life lower than ever before, so of course she'd leave her

the resentment has already built up when Mizu was a child, but it really ramps into full force when she finds Mizu again as an adult

we can see some first signs of jealousy when Mizu tells mama that she "should never do that again, I earn money, more than enough" and mama replies "how honorable you turned out to be." the implication here is that mama thinks Mizu is accusing prostitution of not being honorable. Mizu does not have to suffer woman's work in the way that mama has because Mizu has lived as a man, and was permitted to learn an artisanal trade to earn money with. this is a luxury that mama will never know, and builds on the resentment.

when mama finds Mizu a husband, to the audience it seems like Mizu is the one doing the favor for mama, but for mama, this is the least Mizu could do for her in return for all those years of debased service caring for her. at least with Mikio things could somewhat start looking like mama's old life again, protected in a household, not having to worry about when the next meal would come in, and most importantly, a steady stream of income for drugs

but then Mizu blocks mama's drug money, forcing mama to go out and work for her drugs again (more discussion on this part in the tiktok video tl;dr my theory is that mama never stopped smoking and was secretly going out to work for her drugs and just keeping it a secret). this return to a debasement that mama thought she was finished with really drives home the hatred she has developed for Mizu at this point

from mama's point of view, Mizu is an ungrateful brat that ruined her life, stole her best years from her, forced her into prostitution, and now just when she was starting to get some return for all those years of turmoil, Mizu snubs her again by forcing her back into prostitution

when Mikio comes home that day after the duel, clearly angry with Mizu and looking for ways to hit her back, this must have been a point of weakness for mama where she just couldn't help but divulge the secret of Mizu's bounty. all those years she has held back her resentment and hatred, with no thanks or appreciation for what she has given up for Mizu's wellbeing, must have come crashing down on her as she let the bitterness and resentment win at this exact moment

it's not right, but it does make sense. mama betrayed Mizu in the ultimate way, but she too was once a victim send post

#mizu #mizu bes #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai fan theory #lillydrawsmizu theory #bes fan theory #blue eye samurai mama mizu theory #bes mama mizu theor #blue eye samurai episode 5 #bes episode 5 #blue eye samurai episode 5 theory #bes episode 5 theory

[communistkenobi]

if you don't feel like taking the time to explain this to a random person I totally understand lol I will continue to look elsewhere to form an opinion. but I'm torn on not voting for biden, because I do understand the motive. he's terrible, teaching the democratic party a hard lesson is overdue. they need to be taught once and for all that they need to actually fucking deliver on their lofty virtuous promises or they will lose all support. on the other hand if you're following closely the shit trump's people are spewing right now he just keeps getting worse and worse and overtly fascist and ambitious, it's incredibly frightening atp, it's obvious that he will only make everything that's bad now in the usa and in palestine and everywhere else 10000x worse for a long time to come, I just don't know if the damage from another trump presidency is a worthy price to pay to stick it to joe

I’m going to be blunt, but I genuinely do not mean this in a rude or condescending way, I invite you to think about this deeply: do you legitimately think that if the democrats get re-elected they’re going to stop any of the horrific shit the republicans want to implement, either domestically or overseas? Has their track record given you any hope that that will happen? If you vote for them as they gleefully, openly carry out a genocide, literally what incentive do they have to stop Republicans at all? If their voter base is that secure, that loyal, what incentive do they have to protect their constituents or address their needs when in power? Protecting Roe v Wade was what made voting for Biden an existential necessity in 2020 and that still got trashed! People are still in cages at the US-Mexico border! Cop city is being built in Atlanta! Police brutality against Black people continues unabated! Pipelines are still being built on indigenous land (DAPL happened under Obama)! The threat against minority populations, the truly disadvantaged and oppressed people inside the US, are already living with this violence on a daily basis and have lived with it regardless of who is in office. To assume the threat of fascist violence has not yet arrived, has not yet been developing for decades, is to ignore these things.

I do not think the democrats need to be ‘taught a lesson’ or that you need to ‘stick it to Joe.’ The Democrats are not failing to deliver on their promises - these are their promises. Even on a purely self-interested level, ignoring the genocide currently happening, you are not going to be protected from fascists domestically by voting blue no matter who. Certainly there are local elections and movements were there is genuine progressive potential (Ohio just voted to legalise weed and support abortion, a legit good thing that was absolutely worth going out and voting for), but that is not the reality of the national party. The primary language available to voters as voters is to stop voting for them.

The fascist right in the US (both ‘populist’ groups like qanon and the proud boys, as well as institutional groups like the federalist society, the heritage foundation, etc, the list is endless, not to mention evangelical churches) is organised and developed enough that they will continue to hold power and influence regardless of who is in office. The genocide happening in Palestine right now, carried out by a democrat, is not a neatly contained far-away thing that can be separated from domestic politics (I am not claiming you’re making that argument, only trying to articulate my own point) - it is already having a profound and measurable impact on the US population in the form of increased racist, islamophobic and antisemitic violence, mass police brutality, institutional silencing and firing of anyone who even says the word genocide, etc. I think it’s productive to view those actions as developing fascist actions, actions which are being stoked by a democrat. And if they are not outright fascist, they are certainly a precursor to it. In the last couple years there have been a lot of stupid, incompetent demonstrations by the far right in the US - Unite the Right rally, the storming of the capitol, Qanon-motivated assaults and murders like the attempted plot to kidnap the Michigan governor, that one mob guy who was murdered by a Qanon follower in New York I think, Alex Jones being a national figurehead for the conspiratorial and openly fascist right (although he’s probably not going to continue to be that now that he lost a billion dollars in his court cases lol), the “stop the steal” legal attempt to contest the results of the 2020 election - these are ridiculous and on-the-surface ineffective attempts to express a fascistic will onto USAmerican institutions (“inchoate fascism,” a fascism not yet fully formed, a fascism in an experimental phase). But I think the genocide in Palestine is allowing for the effective version of those things to be done in the US. The hysteria, the rage, the violence that this genocide is producing “at home” is not going to dissipate if a democrat continues to hold office, and the Palestinian genocide is both an organising force for the current fascist right and an inciting force for it to further develop and grow. This larger debate about voting or not voting seems to be operating on the (correct) assumption that foreign policy is not a meaningful realm of difference between democrats and republicans, that the only space to battle over is domestic affairs. But absent from this debate is that these two things can’t be neatly partitioned, they are not separate, not just because you should view all human life as equally worth preserving but because we are seeing the mass domestic response within the US about Palestine - the popular resistance to it on the one hand and the institutional support for it on the other. The early 2000s US culture (“post-9/11”) is widely regarded as incredibly right-wing, and that was because of the war in Iraq! Foreign policy produces and shapes US culture, and the genocide in Palestine a colonial and fascist project.

This is not an argument for despair, or to do nothing. Fascism is not defeated by voting regardless of who you’re voting for, and so we can dispense with that idea. If you want to exercise your civic responsibilities, there are many other avenues - labour unions, community work, protests, boycott organising, and yes even voting in local elections when there is a strategic advantage to do so - things that are meaningful and do legitimately help people. But I do not see any strategic calculus in voting for democrats. Biden already told everyone this - “nothing will fundamentally change.” There should be no surprise, no expectation that they will do anything except what they’re already doing, which is business as usual

#asks #turning off reblogs bc I don’t feel like getting screamed at lol #anyway hope this was helpful. I’m also Canadian so my perspective is a bit more removed #although I feel largely the same about my own country. I’m not voting for genocide Justin!

[7-wonders]

In Waking Hours

Roommate!Calliope & GN!Reader (platonic)

Summary: Calliope's planning to enjoy a nice, quiet evening sitting outside under the moon and enjoying her relative freedom when she sees you still haunted by a particularly brutal nightmare. Plans change, because she's not about to let you face the worst parts of her former husband's realm alone, obviously.

Word count: 3.6k

A note from the author: (You don't have to, but you'll have a lot more backstory if you read To the world we dream about first)

Shitty summary but you have a nightmare and Calliope's like "well this is my emotional support human so I can't not help!" WOW this is the first time I've felt truly inspired when writing in months. S/o Calliope girl hope I'm doing you proud by giving you the stories and love you deserve.

So, I know that this isn't going to get a lot of love since there's no actual Morpheus in this, just mentions which means my normal tags can’t be used, but I love this little fic-verse I've created so much that I have to write it. (All this is to say please show this fic some love if you enjoyed!!!) This isn't romantic, but there are definitely romantic fics in the pipeline. The nice thing about a loose fic-verse is that there are plenty of fics for you to read if you don't want an eventual throuple :)

(But hopefully there will be plenty of fics for you to read if you do want an eventual throuple)

I would be remiss to not shout out the reason this fic-verse exists in the first place and the person that I can talk about any and every random fic idea with, the lovely @ivandra-winters! Thank you, thank you, thank you for everything.

Calliope doesn’t really sleep well anymore.

Not that she needs sleep in general. She’s a goddess, after all, and divine beings such as herself only sleep because they want to, because they feel like indulging in all the wonders available to them upon closing their eyes. Few things truly and regularly excite beings of myth, but the Dreaming is one of those few things. Only very rarely, such as in cases of extreme injury, do they need to sleep. Mostly, sleeping is a comfort, a way to pass the time.

In the early days of her imprisonment, after Erasmus Fry first captured her, Calliope thought that she would use sleep for both. Though her relationship with her husband had ended about as terribly as a relationship can end, the Dreamlord had never reneged on his promise to always give Calliope the sweetest of dreams. She would rest, then, and find a distraction and comfort in the Dreaming until someone, be it her sisters or her mothers or somebody seeking her favor, would save her.

Then, she found out all the terrible things one person can do to another while they’re unconscious.

Even though she’s now safe, the once-familiar action no longer comes easy to her. Almost every time she’s tried—and those have been few and far between—she wakes up in a panic before she can fall asleep enough to even make it to the Dreaming. When she closes her eyes, she sees them once more. Both of them, Fry and Madoc, taking what was never theirs in the first place. She feels their cruel, rough hands on her body, hears their voices demanding that she give them inspiration for their works. 

(Works that she wishes would be little more than drivel. But no, nothing inspired—forcefully or not—by her could ever be drivel. They’re wild successes every time, and so the men just continue to take take take until Calliope thinks that she has nothing left to give. But she does, because she is the Muse of Epic Poetry, and for as long as people still believe in her, she shall be a source of inspiration. And so she continues to be drained like a tree of its sap, an essence so integral to her being that she knows not who she is without it. Until one day, when Madoc returns to his home ranting and raving—and there is a knock at the door.)

Calliope’s been doing some reading on the device that you gave her, the one that’s like a digital library, and she believes she might have what today’s humans call Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The inability to sleep, the flashbacks, the ever-present hum of vigilance that still thrums under her skin and warns her that the threat might be just around the corner—it’s all there, and it’s all her. It’s humiliating to think about it as a possibility, and more humiliating still to see herself in the words written. 

Goddesses shouldn’t have trauma! They shouldn’t even be in a position where trauma could be inflicted on them! She misses the age when she was at her strongest, the age when people worshipped the very ground she walked on, dropping to their knees in reverence and begging for her gifts.

But that world is long gone, and Calliope has landed in a new one that is entirely foreign to her. Slowly, though, she likes to think that she’s adjusting. Since the night is long and sleeping is not an option for her at present, she finds other ways to pass the hours when the rest of the world rests. The 21st century is new and exciting, and there is much to catch up on. 

Not only is she learning more about this new world, but she’s also learning herself all over. There are hobbies that she gets to discover once more, enjoyments that she forgot were hers. She listens to music (music now is…very different from even a hundred years ago, but there have been some works that she enjoys) and reads—not just the books that tell her things about herself that she does not wish to hear, but she reads epics! And poetry! How she missed poetry; that special language so near and dear to her, the words of her most favorite patrons. She reads all that she can get her hands on, good and bad, for the simple pleasure of being able to read once more.

Oftentimes, she simply enjoys the quiet at night. She basks in the knowledge that she can do what she wants, when she wants, with nobody lording over her or imposing their will. Yes, she is still technically bound to a human, but that is a non-issue. Calliope knows with absolute certainty that you have no idea of who she is or what Richard Madoc had done when he declared that she was your problem now.

She likes living with you, though it has been an adjustment being what you call a ‘roommate’ instead of a captive. Whereas the two men (if such brutes can be referred to as men) had been the worst of humanity, she finds humanity endearing when she sees it through your lens. How can she not develop a fondness for you, with how earnestly you try to include her in your life and make her feel like she belongs? 

There is also some level of comfort to be gained from the blissful ignorance you live in, the way that you believe your world to be black-and-white with no potential of the things you were taught to be nothing more than myths and stories. To you, such tales don’t exist—Calliope, the Muse, doesn’t exist—and Calliope, the woman, feels that she is able to let her guard down for the first time in a long, long time.

At times, she can feel your desperation for some sort of inspiration, lost as you attempt to complete your studies. It is comforting to know that you have no idea the being that you now share a home with. It is even more comforting to know that she has the choice of whether to grant you some inspiration or not. 

Tonight, Calliope decides for herself once more, and thinks that she would rather like to sit outside on the patio and enjoy the late night. With her mind made up, she sneaks out of her bedroom with a blanket in one hand and a book in the other.

“Oh!” Calliope gasps in surprise, startled upon seeing a figure sitting on the couch. 

Moonlight shines through the curtains that were most definitely closed a few short hours ago and illuminates your face staring out at the dark. She relaxes, but her fear immediately shifts to concern upon seeing what look to be tear tracks drying on your face.

“Hey. I’m sorry.” Just as she suspected, your voice is thick with tears. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Do not apologize,” she lightly chastises you. “Are you alright?”

You nod and use your sleeve to wipe under your eyes. “Yeah.”

It’s obvious that you’re planning on leaving it at that, which simply won’t do. Calliope levels you with a stare (a ‘mom stare,’ you teasingly referred to it as the first time she used it, without knowing how true your words were. One day, she thinks, she’ll tell you about Orpheus. Once the pain of losing him stops hurting so much) that you try your hardest to act unaffected by. You sigh after a moment, knowing that the fight is lost.

“I had a nightmare,” you admit. “And like, I’m not a little kid anymore. So why did this nightmare scare me so badly that I literally woke up and jumped out of bed in fear?”

Well, that explains why she heard a noise of surprise from your room, followed by a loud thump. She assumed that you hadn’t yet gone to bed, that you were up late finishing a project or just plain procrastinating your sleep. Why your late night required what sounded like the moving of furniture was beyond her. But no, instead, you’ve found yourself at the whims of a nightmare. 

Nightmares are not something that Calliope has a lot of experience with. She’s met nightmares, of course. With how much time she spent in the Dreaming, it was a foregone conclusion that she met a nightmare or two. And when they weren’t performing their duties, a lot of them were really quite nice!

(The only nightmare she truly could not stand was her former husband’s most beloved creation—The Corinthian. He…creeped her out, for lack of a better term. It wasn’t just the ocular mouths, though those were also chill-inducing. Rather, it was his entire demeanor. Like he was simply playing nice, biding his time before he could go in for the kill. She was glad to have never seen him again after the end of her marriage.)

But has Calliope ever actually dealt with a nightmare? The lives of immortals are long (obviously), and while she may have once had nightmares when she was very young, it was so long ago now that she can’t remember any particulars. Even when her own son was young, nightmares were not truly a concern. Though she and Morpheus had mutually agreed that he needed to sleep like a normal child at least sometimes in order to aid in his development, the very first time his little brow creased and frightened whimpers began to well in his throat, that decision was quickly forgotten in favor of comforting the boy and assuring him that nightmares would harm him no longer.

So, while it’s true that she does not have much experience with nightmares, what little experience she has had helps her to know just how frightening they can be—and how frightened it’s made you. 

“Would talking about it make you feel better?” Calliope asks.

You shake your head resolutely, determined to keep your fears to your chest. “I don’t remember it anymore.”

For many mortals, dreams and nightmares do not follow them out of the Dreaming. They may remember snippets of it, or certain emotions, but often, they fade away in the few hazy moments after waking. It’s pretty obvious that this isn’t the case for you, however. You continue to hold yourself tense, as though whatever had troubled you while you slept would reappear at any moment. Calliope has also seen you deep in thought a couple of times now, and the way you were looking outside when she first stepped out of her room was the same way she had seen you look when trying to complete schoolwork or focus on making something complicated. 

Up until now, you’ve tried so hard to always be positive and to make your home and yourself as comforting as possible so that Calliope may have the best possible environment to heal. She appreciates it—this new life she’s found herself in has truly been conducive to recovery—but now, she struggles to watch you try to keep up this facade so as not to lay your upsets upon her. She wishes that you would, though; that you would feel like you can confide in her the same way that you have made her feel towards you. After all that you’ve done for her, you deserve to feel like you have gained a friendship. 

Calliope will let you keep your secrets, then, even though this means that particular avenue of help is closed—she will not force you to do anything that you do not want to do. She moves on to Plan B, into the kitchen where she fumbles around until finding the kettle. Filling it with water, she places it on a burner and turns the stove on. Though she’s still not very confident around newer inventions like kitchen appliances, she’s proud of the fact that she’s slowly learning.

At the sounds, you peek up from the couch. “What are you doing?”

“What you’ve done for me when I find myself particularly upset,” she says, fetching two mugs from the cupboard.

“You’re making me tea?” Your voice sounds strangled, as though you can’t imagine why she would be providing you this small comfort.

You first started making tea for Calliope on the night that she technically became ‘yours.’ After locking herself in the bathroom and scrubbing her skin raw under the stream of hot water until she was sure that every inch of her body was clean from the DNA of another, she spent an interminable amount of time just enjoying the knowledge that she was now safe. While it was true that you were still practically a stranger, she had lived for long enough now and had honed her gifts well enough to be able to get a good read of a person’s intentions.

From the moment that she met you, you held none of the same ill will as the others. No, your immediate concern had been making sure that she was warm. When was the last time somebody cared for how she felt? She watched intently as you grabbed a coat from your vehicle, sure that, at any moment, your intentions toward her would change. Though she didn’t believe that she had the power (both strength and will) to fight you off, she would not be caught off-guard if it came to that.

But it never did. You simply wanted to make sure that she was out of harm’s way. You concluded on your own that whatever had happened to her in that house, at the hands of the man you called your professor, was horrific. To you, Calliope was a woman, battered and scared, with nothing to her name and nowhere to go. It was the obvious option to offer her food and shelter, to ensure her safety, simply because it was the right thing to do.

Still, even after your show of immense kindness, she did not want to face you, for some part of her was waiting for the inevitable. When you would demand the use of her gifts, wanting inspiration and fame and power and riches. She was dreading the potential that you were simply another human wanting to take take take. So she waited until the water ran cold and she was shivering. Even then, it took until she physically could stand the water no longer for her to finally make slow moves to get ready to leave the bathroom. Toweling herself off and putting on the borrowed clothes (clothes that actually covered her skin, so much more than the satin slips that she had been granted by her former captors) could only take so long, so with a heavy sigh, she steeled herself and opened the door.

There was no sign of you, however, and a quick glance at the light from under the closed door of one bedroom indicated that you were inside. The only sign of life that proved that you were once in this space was a plate and a mug sitting on the counter. When Calliope cautiously got closer, she saw a note next to them. 

“Made you some dinner and tea. I’ve always been told that tea (or your preferred hot beverage of choice) can do wonders for making you feel better, and I’ve found that to be true a few times now. Sweet dreams!”

Your name was signed at the end, along with what looked like a drawing of a smile.

Aware of the very real possibility that this could be a trap—Fry, after all, had first tried to woo her before taking what he believed to be his by force—she hastily grabbed the ceramicware and made off to the room that you had called hers. She had no real need for food, of course, nor for bathing. But they were those same creature comforts that not even the gods were above, and beyond sporadic, cold baths, they were creature comforts she had been denied for over sixty years. Calliope would take any that she could get, especially when they were (seemingly) freely given. Unfortunately, she was not in a position to spurn such gifts right now.

These gifts kept coming, without an expectation of anything in return from her. She was free to take whatever she wanted, go anywhere she liked, do anything she wished. And you were always there to cheer her on and encourage her, with a smile on your face and (when she wanted it) tea in hand.

“‘Make’ should perhaps be used loosely.” She smiles sheepishly, back in the present as the kettle begins to warm. “Depending on how much of your help I shall need after the water boils.”

You wrap a blanket around yourself and make your way to Calliope. “Then we’ll make it together.”

After the tea has been successfully prepared and you’re both settled back on the couch with a large blanket shared between you, Calliope asks, “Do you have nightmares often?”

“Not like when I was little. I was one of those kids that had night terrors, y’know?” She doesn’t know, because she has never heard of them more beyond being mentioned in passing when she was still wife to Dream of the Endless, but she nods regardless. “Apparently, I would just scream and shake until I ran out of breath and woke myself up.”

“I am so sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. Like most kids with night terrors, I never remembered them.” You take another sip from your mug. “This is good tea, by the way.”

“You are the one that determined when the tea was done steeping.”

“Yeah, but you boiled the water, which is an integral part of tea-making.” You smile at her, the first smile she’s seen from you tonight, and it makes her feel a little better, like she’s doing something right. “So well done.”

You fall quiet, having said what you wanted to say regarding your nightmare and choosing instead to enjoy your tea. Though you’re content with companionable silence, Calliope is not. She feels like she should be doing more to help you, to comfort you. Caring for another, helping someone to feel better, does not come easily to her like it once did. She has been burned for too long now, that caring nature snuffed out early on in her imprisonment. But slowly, like the first blades of grass pushing back through the soil of a blackened landscape after a wildfire, new life has started to grow in the middle of this scorched area of her heart. She wants to help you, to care for you. 

She wants to make you feel better.

“My younger sister, Thalia, is far better at this than I,” Calliope admits with a sigh.

“Better at what?”

“At cheering people up.” 

Indeed, Thalia did not preside over comedy for no reason. Many times over the years that she’s been unwillingly away from her family, Calliope found herself wishing that Thalia would be right next to her. She loves all of her sisters equally, but Thalia would have effortlessly known what to say or told an anecdote that would have made her imprisonment easier. Perhaps it would have even given her the extra strength needed to truly fight and find a way out.

You bump Calliope’s shoulder with your own. “You’ve done a really good job of that yourself, Cal.” 

She feels her chest warm, both at the compliment and the term of endearment. Somewhere along the way, you (and your friends, who are just as kind and welcoming to her as you have been) adopted a nickname for her. This is new for her—prior to her imprisonment, she was Calliope, eldest of the Muses Nine, Beautiful-Voiced, Chief of All Muses. She has always been Calliope. But now, sometimes she is Callie, or Cal. Those who call her this do not know that they are in the presence of a goddess, that she should be commanding the respect that she deserves from mortals who believe her one of them.

Instead, she finds that she loves having a nickname.

“You have…eight sisters, right?” you ask.

“Yes. Thalia is the second youngest.” Calliope has only spoken about her sisters in the most vague of ways, hesitant to reveal too much. Telling you the names of a sister or two certainly won’t hurt.

“It must be so much fun when you’re all together.”

Calliope smiles wistfully, feeling that familiar pang of homesickness. “It is. There are lots of laughs shared, and we all leave with enough stories to last until we see one another again.”

It hits her almost as soon as the words leave her mouth: There is something that she can do to help. She can do what she does best, that which is her chief function. She can tell you a story. Already the words come to her, the tale writing itself within her, nestled right at the hollow of her throat, and just waiting for her to speak it aloud. Her inspiration, her gift, is used on herself for the first time in a long time, and as her mind goes to work, she remembers why it is that she is so coveted. It feels intoxicating to think up a story once more, to be inspired to create. It’s an old feeling, one that was once so familiar to her, that it feels quite like a homecoming for her to be experiencing it once more.

“Have I ever told you of the wager that Thalia and our sister Mel once had?” she asks, baiting you.

You look at her curiously and take said bait. “No.”

Calliope smiles, feeling her power hum within her as, for the first time in a long, long time, she prepares an epic of her own. “Well, it started one summer…”

•••

Fic-verse taglist! (If you want to be notified when future parts drop, shoot me a message or an ask and I'll add you!)

@aralezinspace @morpheusbaby3 @juwu-theliciosa @pageswithoutaplot @thatonehumanbeing05

#the sandman #the sandman imagine #calliope the sandman #calliope the sandman imagine

[froshele]

You know we pick on the Aspirant but I think we don't do it comprehensively at all, because even among cultists I think they truly are special.

Nobody else is entirely normal compared to the librarian either. It's just that they have solid reasons to be doing their thing:

1. Exile has the world's most dramatic relationship to his father possible and is hopping continents and cities instead of working it out, sure. But it's (partly) because he's an Antaean, and Duffoure Senior really and genuinely forreal sucks.

2. Dancer is ... in a possibly survival based position that they choose not to leave for better things despite knowing that it's full to the gills with horrific occult threats to wellbeing. To be fair, they are within rights to prefer that to the attention of their patrons, but basically on the we respect sex workers and, what, adult entertainers website I don't really need to elaborate on the fact that whatever Dancer gotta do is whatever Dancer gotta do. At some point it may switch from getting that bag to becoming a chorus dancer for the Thunderskin, or to becoming a full time esoteric furry, but to be honest go sib go I refuse to fault the Dancer for anything they're my favourite. They were in what may be read as an inescapable pipeline and they won that shit, no notes, pack it in everybody.

3. It is a beautiful day and Priest is a terrible priest, actually I'm unsure of what Priest's deal is, I think Priest might just be Priesting correctly. Their religious framework sacralizes their despair and mania, which like, ok, not healthy maybe, but it gets them through the day without chugging opium!

4. Detective and Physician are just ill but functioning guys with jobs who happen to have totally justified brushes with the Mansus and make some rash decisions.

5. Medium??? Is a totally legitimate businesswoman don't even fret about it :)

Aspirant, though. Aspirant isn't forced into their life nor has it thrust upon them nor do they respond in any sense normally to being willed a bunch of occult stuff - they're just, like... Like That, from the jump, from the moment they as a surly hospital janitor have access to occult concepts. And the Like That that they are is totally divorced from their mechanically represented condition; everyone else has the same condition. Nobody else seems to make the same choice for the same reason, Just Because They Can -- the ending text is the same but I think the context, right, the context really does a lot of quite heavy work here.

Everyone else is /capable/ of pursuing one of Aspirant's victories, but, um, they don't really... I mean their heart's not in it, nobody seriously reads it as canon when they do. I bet you didn't even remember it was possible to ascend under a different Hour as the Dancer!

Which brings me to this: nothing at all has happened to make the Aspirant talk or think in their very instrumental and personally cruel type of way. Their existence as a menial hospital worker is far from as precarious as some others', their main gripe seems to just be that it's not very stimulating.

There's no backstory causing it, they're not undead, they seem to have not been working before because they think it's beneath them, they don't metaphysically or personally /need/ to be doing what they do. They do what they do /specifically because they crave that mineral,/ that mineral being for some reason immortality and phenomenal cosmic power.

And they WANT it. They want to be an unspeakable bodiless radiance or an ithastry-golem or one of the Grail's heaps of awful devouring minions more than anyone should have strength to want anything. It's a fixation for them, an obsession, possibly a symptom of their mental illness, since we have to manage what is actually a very strongly crafted but probably unintentional representation of bipolar with schizoaffective traits.

From specifically the point of view of ludonarrative integration I think it's fair to diagnose everybody in that game with a dread-fascination cycle in some capacity with some form of something in that general region. But Aspirant is probably the one with the worst coping mechanisms, and the one in the most need of help -- everybody else has friends or coworkers or voices to talk to at least, and something else to do in their life. The Aspirant... paints ominous pictures and smokes opium.

Exile grieves their dead, you get a card about it and heaps of exposition and all. BYT seems to be doing the whole thing kind of half as a bit at least at first, and I guess you could say they deliberately don't get too close to anyone. Physician is academically curious and honouring a patient's last wishes. Detective is just doing their literal actual rentpaying job. Dancer likewise, at first. Priest. Ghoul, if you want to get deterministic about it. But Aspirant just does all the culty horrible things the others have to be professionally inured to doing, /for no initial reason and with no training at all/ except a desire to cope badly with The Wolf, Despair.

Aspirant is just ... Aspirant. They just... are Aspirant. They're the most Cultist of all the cultists, even the other POV guys in that game.

Whatever Librarian does calmly and from a hinged mental state, no matter how eldritch, has nothing on Aspirant, who woke up one beautiful day [arning, burning, yearning, burning, yearning, burning, yearning, burning, ye] and completely uprooted their entire life to become an antisocial, occult hermit who isn't even very good at it

#book of hours game #cultist simulator #hushposting

[notaplaceofhonour]

I feel so worn down and despondent from going through this same stomach churning journey of watching people I am deeply invested in—from friends to creators whose work I adore and have followed for years—slowly spiral down the pipeline from liking/sharing reasonable Pro-Palestine content that humanizes Palestinians, advocates for peace, and shares donation links into the “Isnotreal”/“Exposing the Lies of the Sneaky Zionists™️!”/Canards & Denialism conspiracy content. Again and again and again. And I’m left lost and distraught.

It feels like a terrible Catch-22, because—on one hand—by the time people are actually liking/sharing the truly objectionable posts, they’re already too invested in the greater conspiracy theory & web of misinformation for them to be receptive (and even if they are at first, they’re already swimming in streams that continue to feed them more similar content, and it’s like whack-a-mole trying to address every single one until they get fed up & see you as The Enemy™️). I’m left wondering, could I have said something sooner?

But, that’s just the thing: at first, when they’re just liking/sharing Pro-Palestine content (maybe more than you’d expect, but nothing necessarily objectionable; mostly stuff you agree with, even), you don’t suspect anything—why would you?—but after enough times watching in real time as people you care about slide down that pipeline like you’re stuck in a time loop, the worry does pop up in the back of your mind that they might end up the same… but if you say anything… well, that’s just evidence that you’re suspicious of Palestinians and “Falling For Zionist Propaganda™️”

It feels like there’s no winning. There’s just… watching person after person I care about embrace awful propaganda & become more and more certain that any evidence to the contrary is The Real Propaganda™️

#i/p #antisemitism

[chungledown-bimothy]

Do you believe there's a Darren Criss to Jeremy Jordan pipeline? I feel like there is.

Bonus, as fun as it is to roast Glee cause it is that terrible of a show, they did have some great singers. Who were your favourites?

i don't necessarily think it's a pipeline, but the venn diagram of darren criss and jeremy jordan fans is mostly a circle and the people who aren't in the middle simply are not familiar with the other guy (yet).

oh god yeah glee was ENTIRELY carried by the vocal chops of the cast.

in no particular order, some of my faves: amber riley, naya rivera, darren criss, the guy who did take me to church (i truly did not care about any of the season 6 students so i've forgotten everything else about him), jonathan groff, chris colfer, alex newell, and grant gustin (weakest voice on this list for sure but annie are you okay fucked too hard to leave him out and i was just thinking about him- are you the same anon?)

so many other incredible voices but those are the first few that come to mind

[desertsongpdf]

VIDEO ESSAYS (part ??? 1/2) [parts: 1 / 2 / 3 / 3.5 / 4 / 5 / 6], *=personal fav

ronald reagan & the biggest failure in physics (1) / george bush vomited & set physics back by a decade (2) / bill clinton & the day physics died (3)

the man who almost faked his way to a nobel prize (1) / suspicions are swirling and bell labs is burning (2)

the man who tried to fake an element

air: an honest review

what if you put your head in a particle accelerator

the most successful scientific theory ever: the standard model

the five kinds of paradox

disney channel's theme: a history mystery*

music theory and white supremacy*

the power of nostalgic music

we tracked what happens after tiktok songs go viral

why spotify playlists never truly shuffle

will toledo and the rise of car seat headrest

kid a: the greatest left turn in music history

how trailer music tricks you

why steve lacy is annoyed.

the postmodern horror of tiktok's encanto discourse*

the queer history of weimar germany

queerbaiting celebrities: an over analysis*

why queer relationship dynamics are harder: the stable marrige problem

queer rage & the christian right

overanalyzing the barbie movies with a queer marxist theory

the gay appeal of toxic love

queering cinema (by any means necessary)

the tragedy of being rich

what the internet did to garfield*

your college essay didn't get you accepted, you're just rich

why are you so angry? part 1: a short history of anita sarkeesian / part 2: angry jack / part 3: perception is everything / part 4: an autopsy on gamergate / part 5: 'the good guy' / part 6: talking to angry jack

the modern diogenes: a guide to slavoj zizek

stimulating alternate voting systems

men are miserable: tiktok's depression pipeline

the broken mythology of great men

so you're having an existential crisis

why is gen z humor so weird?

how to be correct about everything all the time

useful idiots and the groomer panic

why extinction loves the ugly - the 'cute' defence

paris saint-germain: a legacy of failure

why did sebastian vettel get called out on national tv?

an introduction to match fixing in football

the debacle of blue clay: used once and never again

atticus is everything wrong with modern poetry*

how the publishing industry failed 'lolita' (as told by terrible book covers)

the death of the teen fantasy era

recreating the fashion of my immortal

hijacking the dead? terry prachett & the trans 'debate'

this best-selling novel was a total hoax

the little book of cosmic horrors

the absurd 2nd century space opera you'll never read

fantasy is very pro-monarchy (and that's weird)

anti-smoking campaigns on tiktok

why did our brains shrink

the origins of the anti-christ

world war one performance tier list

the psychology behind conspiracy theories

why are there two a's?

i fixed the alphabet / i fixed the alphabet more

hangman is a weird game

the curious history of ignorant tattoos

the arguments for god's existance tier list

projecting 'boris is a wet wipe' on houses of parliment

buddhism is kinda out there, man

mortis - internet mysteries

the universe iceberg explained

reviewing every mental illness

#video essays #some of these are so good i loveeee all of the jack saint and alexander avila ones 10/10

[tomorrowusa]

Fossil fuels are not just terrible for the planet, they are bad for democracy. A disproportionate number of major oil and gas exporters are autocracies such as Russia, Iran, Saudi Arabia, and Venezuela.

Russia in particular uses fossil fuel sales to fund repression at home and imperialism abroad.

Putin appears weaker than ever – and for a ruler who relies on projecting strength, that’s a bad look. To further dull Putin’s fading aura of invincibility, and to ultimately lead to a reversal of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, we need to undermine the pillars his strongman myth is based on: colonial conquest, unregulated capitalism and climate abuse. As questions are raised about his ability to rule, Putin will claim that despite the efforts of the nefarious “collective west”, the Russian economy can stabilise because the world needs Russian fossil fuels; that the need of western companies to make money in Russia means it will never be truly isolated; that for all his blunders on the battlefield, he can still hold on to swathes of Ukraine and its resources, which he will dole out between the Russian system’s stakeholders for whom the risk of sticking with Putin will thus still be smaller than the risk of going against him.

No matter what the source of the oil or gas we consume, we push up the international price of those commodities whenever we use them. It's supply and demand; when we reduce our demand, the price goes down and dictators/theocrats get lower profits.

We need to recognise the fact that human rights, security and economic ties are deeply intertwined, and to alter our behaviour accordingly. Let’s stop selling dictators the rope with which they hang people: our neighbours – and ultimately us. And if there’s one base element that powers Putin’s claims to invincibility, it’s reliance on fossil fuels. The battle against Putin is also the battle against climate crisis. As Prof Alexander Etkind lays out in his new book, Russia Against Modernity, Putin’s economy has been up to two-thirds dependent on oil and gas exports, largely to Europe, and crucially through pipelines that cross Ukraine. Etkind argues that Putin launched his invasion in part to control this flow. Moreover, he wanted to destabilise Europe, flooding it with refugees and instilling so much chaos and fear that Europe would be forced to abandon plans for net zero carbon emissions by 2050. As so often in the course of this war, Putin’s aims have backfired. The invasion has led to a decrease in dependence on Russian energy. Putin’s aura of fossil-fuelled invincibility has been shaken, but we are only part of the way there. Faster decarbonisation is the most sustainable way to not only undermine Putin, but also to limit the opportunity for future Russian leaders and other resource-rich authoritarians to wage aggressive wars.

Decarbonization is also de-Putinization. We contribute to peace and stability when we lessen the amount of fossil fuels we consume. And, of course, we slow down and eventually halt the warming of our planet.

Using these late 19th century sources of energy encourages despotic autocracies while making Earth less livable. It's time to say до свидания to fossil fuels.

#fossil fuels #climate change #invasion of ukraine #dictatorships #autocracies #theocracies #russia #vladimir putin #decarbonization #net zero #peter pomerantsev #alexander etkind #human rights #stability #россия #владимир путин #путин хуйло #диктатура #самодержавие #ископаемое топливо #изменение климата #союз постсоветских клептократических ватников #руки прочь от украины! #геть з україни #вторгнення оркостану в україну #україна переможе #слава україні! #героям слава!

[myckicade]

I, uh...

Well, you might say I have some thoughts.

Okay, so, on the one hand, I'm slightly impressed. Certain sections of this episode made me think, "Dude! Where has this level of writing been for the last two seasons?!?" All the scenes at the Reyes house. EZ dumping his bike. Some of it felt really good. It watched well, even if it felt a little out of place with the rest of what we received.

On the other hand, I am disappointed as all hell, for several different reasons. The glaring issue being that I don't foresee a neat little wrap-up in just one episode. Come on. They really are suffering for the bullshit pacing during the rest of the season, and it shows. Ugh. I feel nitpicky for always complaining about that, but this is a clear-cut case of, "We could have had it all!"

Yeah. Anyway.

I'm also at a bit of a loss over Terry claiming the Mayans broke into their (I assume) clubhouse. (And, as an aside, they should really consider some new lighting, or a coat of paint in that bitch, something). Anyway. I understand protecting the girls. Sure. That's a great surface deed. But, not only is it coming back to bite him - and everyone else - in the ass, it's also a terrible watering-down of everything Letty and Hope went through in this series. We didn't hear a thing about Letty this week (unless I missed it), and, unless she delivers the kill shot on Isaac (which I highly doubt), what more is there for her? I love this girl. I wanted the best for her, and the pain they have put her through has been unnecessary, beyond furthering the war. I ask no forgiveness. That just pisses me right off.

I'm distraught about Elio. I really am. Further proof that EVERY MOTHER FUCKING THING EZ touches goes to shit. The looks on Bottles' and Guero's faces... The devastation done to the Broken Saints. Their animals. And all that punk-ass little bitch could worry about was the fucking pipeline?! It's all EZ's fucking fault, top to bottom. (I know the Broken Saints made a decision that came back to bite them, but I only have one more episode to blame El Presidente, okay?).

Which brings me to Felipe. OH, MY FUCKING HELL. I knew it was coming, that Papa Reyes would come under fire, but FUCK ME. Maverick, too?! That poor baby boy!! Like the poor kid doesn't already have enough stacked up against him. Cripes. I would like to hope Felipe is still alive, and that whoever is in that bag is one of the Sons. Felipe is a tough old man, and I'm sure he's been through worse in his younger years. And, yeah, keys words, right there: younger years. Let me hope, huh? I like the dude. But, if he really is gone, my heart can handle it, in that he died to protect his grandson. <3 .

*mutters to herself* No crying at work, Mycki. No crying at work.

I did appreciate seeing Wendy. Nero and the boys would have been awesome, but that's just asking for too much. (Tee-hees). She had some good advice, and I'm glad to find her doing so damned well. She's worked for it, and she's earned it.

But.

But.

After that (long-ass) chat, I'm expected to believe that EZ truly loves Sofia so much 'it hurts'?? *cackles* Gimme a damned break, here!! I don't like the broad, but I was hoping she'd at least have the good sense to pack up herself, and the pup, and get the frick away from Hurricane Ezekiel. (Which isn't fair, because the man is pretty much every single natural disaster mashed together in one mess of a human being). These two, though, are both a special kind of dumb, and they truly deserve one another. I just don't want anything to happen to the dog.

I don't. At all.

Since nothing much else happened this week, I'd like to take a moment to say, R.I.P. Les Packer. I'm sure you'll be seeing Little Brother again, shortly.

Finally, my heart is just going out to Angel, yet again. Damn, this poor guy. He's built up some bad karma, sure, but he's steadily lost over the years, too. It just keeps happening, and it's because of his brother. He tried to warn him. Tried to pull him in the right direction. Now, their family has come under fire. AGAIN. His kid, for the second time this season. I hope to hell that he gets out. That he gets out, and far, far away from Santo Padre, and from the Mayans, and from all the bullshit he just doesn't need, anymore. To keep Maverick away from all the haunts and dangers of their family. (Ideally, if the old man is still alive, I'd like him to go along with). I know I've said it before, that Angel has become the Jax of this series, and I still feel that way. At least, in halves. EZ is the Jax that make stupid decisions, and Angel is the Jax that the consequences all come to call on. I just want Angel to be able to be a good father for his kid.

Oh, yeah. Where the hell was everyone else, all of a sudden? Penultimate episode, and suddenly nobody else's bullshit storylines matter? My word!

Until the finale, Y'all! -Mycki

#Mayans #Mayans MC #Mayans M.C. #Mayans M.C. Spoilers #Mayans MC Spoilers #Mayans Spoilers

[ktempestbradford]

The social media space since November feels like a microcosm of the pandemic

After Elongated Muskrat finalized his purchase of Twitter and people saw just how terrible things could get in less than two weeks, most people recognized the danger/problem & mostly did what they needed to to stay safe. But soon after they became itchy about not being able to do what they had always done. And as things got worse, many of those people got pipelined into questionable communities.

As soon as something that looked like "How Things Used To Be" came along, they jumped right on it despite the fact that "How Things Used To Be" SUCKED and was bad for most people.

Now they keep leaping at things that look "normal" in order to get back to the status quo instead of truly considering how the world has changed and could still change for the better and they could have something that's truly wonderful even though that usually means putting in some work and being uncomfortable for a minute.

Mainstream Americans especially are bad at being uncomfortable for a minute.

It's fascinating and disheartening to watch this same scenario play out in different arenas in life yet not get better.

#why yes this was indeed inspired by the news coming out of BlueSky #We've been through this with at least 3 different new social networks since November #Why are some people still doing this?

[kirathegreatfoxandkingofeyeballs]

So, I have a tendency to be out of the loop with a lot of shit that goes down around here, and half the time I end up deeply confused why everyone is feeling the need to reiterate things like trans rights. It’s usually pretty hard to figure out where the source is because people prefer to be vague, which isn’t their fault necessarily. However, I actually caught up on some of the stuff going down with reiterating trans rights this time around, in regards to Carnivorekitty.  I’m not going to say anything in regards to them specifically. I will say, as not only a trans person, but a person who lives in the South and has witnessed a lot of bigotry throughout my life, often not even directed at me, as I am a very pale white passing trans man, even if I’m openly trans and queer, I’m deeply disappointed to see this happen.  I’m going to be open about something I generally don’t talk about a lot?  So, uh, I used to be really alt-right. Especially as a white person, and not fully understanding the way POC are treated, not really examining my own friends and experiences with those I care about, I fell down the pipeline in a similar fashion to a lot of cis white dudes. I admit, as well, I have the lenience of having been fairly underage, 12-16~, during this time.  (I also will admit, I used to be a flat earther for a few years as a kid. I was influenced to believe it largely by family.) So I say this, not as just a trans person, not as just a person who has been bullied and deals with bigotry regularly, but as someone who has actively perpetuated horrible beliefs and followed people who are fascist and not great, upon further retrospection, and I say this with all kindness and hope for someone to genuinely find a place they feel comfortable.  These people do not care about you. They did not care about me. They do not ever care about any individual. I ask one thing of you, please. Listen to the people you oppose with no bias. Set aside all of your feelings and thoughts and biases, and genuinely listen to people. Look at the sources they provide. Compare how many you see them provide comparative to your own side. Follow actual science and don’t base this shit on slight discomfort and feelings. As a white person, when I first pushed into race related topics, it made me feel fucking terrible. Because history is terrible, and biases are terrible. The important thing isn’t to let that make you cower, and recognize your own failures. Grow and learn, admit failure. It doesn’t make you weak. The weakest thing you can do is be so afraid of admitting a mistake that you cannot ever face the facts and consequences of your actions. Learning to grow and be a better person is not easy, but it is infinitely more emotionally, and morally rewarding than anything I ever experienced previously.  I do not say this as someone who just wants people to agree with me, I say this as someone who has been there and can tell you that what they are doing, the manipulation of your emotions to their own ends, that hurts you far more than you realize. I say this as someone who wants everyone only wellbeing, whether you are someone who is kind or malicious to me. Bitterness breeds nothing but bitterness. My cruelty will not be an exception to the cycle of cruelty.  I cannot pull anyone from the clutches of manipulation no more than I will allow someone to sweep me back into that horrible place, mentally. The only person who can decide where you lay is YOU. Which is why I merely ask that, if you truly believe your side is just and fair, you should find no worry or issue in listening to someone on the other side with those biases aside, because science and logic should still lead you to the same place. It’s your decision. I will not force you anywhere or to be anyone.  I just hope the best for anyone and everyone. And I hope, much like myself, that the guilt of the people you’ve hurt in the process isn’t so overbearing that you cannot face your own actions and you hide within the comfort of manipulation and ignorance.  As someone who loves science, and always has, it was only when I took people for their word in saying that facts should matter more than feelings and trusted myself to listen to the opposition to properly understand how they thought that I actually realized error in my own ways. I can only hope that for others, but again, that is something they must themselves choose.  To end this rant, I will quote something that I find relevant to the topic at hand, especially within the queer community.

“First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—     Because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—     “Because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—     “Because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.”

    -  Martin Niemöller, January 6th, 1946

[invalleumbraemortis]

You know what’s so super fucking insidious to me? When some black immigrants hold their ability to travel and their experiences with travel over the heads of African Americans as an “I gotcha” as soon as a particularly ignorant African American person says something ignorant. I hate that shit. It feels so icky.

And on occasion, I see these takes from the same people that talk about how bad capitalism is. It’s even more insidious when you consider all of the “to prison” pipelines that there are systemically targeting AAs which not only financially limit us and in general limit opportunities, especially for black men, but also creates difficulties for securing visas to actually live and travel to some of these other places. Like I literally watched a man at the shelter I volunteer at break tf down because he won a trip and can’t even go because of a charge he had in 2004.

Like let’s bffr, in a country where race, ethnicity, and class are highly intersectional you’re gonna flex your access to a luxury? Cause… travel is a luxury… I mean cool I guess. But there are also ppl on the continent of Africa and across the diaspora in general, who literally cannot afford air travel and vacation and it is not at all attributed to or related to their intelligence.

I understand that American imperialism has done global harm and being American gives us some privilege outside of America, but truly the bulk of us will never get to experience it or don’t know that(this is another conversation on how American media, propaganda and education systems are systemically limited and under funded in the communities the majority of us reside in).

As AAs in this country we experience a specific type of systemic racism as well as ethnicism from the American government that consistently goes out of its way to harm and hinder us. Like yea black immigrants def experience racism here too, and more than other immigrants because of global anti blackness/stereotypes and discrimination against africans. But the structure of American racism was specifically built off of oppressing african americans which is why the success of immigrants and the accessing the American dream(not just black immigrants) is weaponized against(see examples model minority myth).

I get being frustrated with the ignorance and xenophobia that you experience from some AAs and I’m not tryna tell you how to feel…. And by all means call them out on their bullshit….but my god please pick a better way to address without being terribly tone deaf, elitist, and classist.

#personal bloop #african american #black american

[nicole-timey-wimey-stuff]

Love and Pipelines

dbf!joel x reader

Dbf Joel x Surfer girl reader

Word count - 4.2K

Warnings- swear words, smut in other chapters (but not this one), suggestive thoughts and comments, large age gap, slowburn, forbidden relationships, fluff, awkwardness. My terrible grammar. Let me know if I’ve missed anything.

This will be a 3 part series, it’s a slow burn with Joel and reader. This is one of my first fan fics so bear with me, I’m used to writing non fiction usually.

No smut in this chapter but there will be in the next two, so no minors this is a 18+ fic. I know many have said they can’t relate to a hyper fem/ girly reader, so I’ve made the reader a sportier tomboy character, just to change things up.

Chapter 1

The low buzzing hum coming from your phone alarm rouses you awake, ‘6:00am is way too early for a Sunday’ you think. But it’s the last chance you’ll have to get in any practice, before your big competition. With a groan you stretch out your limbs almost cat like in your movements, trying to shake the stiff morning aches. With a groan you pull yourself up, grabbing your swimsuit and wetsuit from your wrack, and make your way to the bathroom.

On your way downstairs you can still hear your dad’s soft snores, coming from his bedroom which is closest to the stairs. Smiling to yourself you’re glad he’s actually still sleeping, recently work has had him up at the crack of dawn, and in bed way into the early hours. He works hard to provide the best life for you both, and you’re truly thankful for all he does for you, but you can’t help but wish he was around more these days.

Your mum left one night when you were only 4 years old, just upped and went. A single note left on the fireplace for your dad, explaining she couldn’t do this anymore, how she didn’t love him enough nor wanted to be a mum enough to stay. It broke him, he’d tried so hard climbing the corporate ladder, to bring in more money for a comfortable life. To bring her the life she said she wanted. But she left, with nothing but her indent in the mattress and a note.

So it was just you and him, and he tried he really did, he moved you away from the bustle of California life, to a fairly small but lovely beach house just at the edge of Lincoln City. Nelscott Beach was beautiful, long stretches of sand and great waves. The residents in your area were lovely too, mainly the older generation who have come here to retire. Mrs Myers your 68 year old neighbour across from you always made you baked goods, claiming you were too thin, “no meat on you” she’d say offering you the tub of whatever she’d made that day. You had tried to tell her being an athlete you weren’t thin but muscular, that you tried your hardest to keep fit and strong. She’d always just wave you off though, smiling as you took the sweet goods from her, usually to hand off to your dad to enjoy.

It was true though being a surfer was demanding, you spent half your time in the gym or out in the waves. Building muscle and stamina, pushing your body to the maximum it could handle, but this was your dream.

Ever since you were a little girl the ocean called to you, and whilst living in California at just 8 years old your dad started paying for your surf lessons, which turned into surf clubs, which turned into moving from foam topped boards to more expensive boards, to custom boards. He paid for it all, he supported you through it all. You never felt growing up that you only had one parent, he more than made up for it all. Coming to all your small kiddie competitions to finally your proper competitive ones.

Three month’s ago you came second in the three part competition at Florida’s PRO-AM championship. Which you were absolutely elated about! Even more so that it got you the wildcard ticket to compete at Billabong Pipe PRO, Pipeline in Hawaii. Which was terrifying but at the same time, you were bursting with excitement at such a huge opportunity. Not to mention a trip to Hawaii would be like a dream, your dad has booked two hotel rooms for two weeks, pretty much on the beach near your contest. The rest of the time will be spent travelling the island, finding great surf spots, waterfalls, hikes and cafes. You were leaving in two days just you and your dad for a trip of a lifetime!

And so you were practicing hard these winter months, as they brought in large waves to your doorstep. You were proud of how far you’d come, praying that Pipeline was your opportunity to finally get a sponsor. Grinning to yourself at that thought you grabbed your board and a bottle of water, leaving your dad a note on the counter ‘Catching waves, be back soon! Y/N’ and headed out the door.

The morning was dull, grey skies and a slight hazy mist, but there were specks of sun coming through the clouds, colours of purple, yellow and blue breaking through and casting golden shadows. You loved that morning sea air smell, the cool wind on your face. You closed your eyes and breathed it in for a moment enjoying the peacefulness, until a sudden truck door slamming startled you, causing you to jump and swing your board into the offender “Hmmph, woah watch it there kiddo” Oh how you wished he wouldn’t call you that ‘Kiddo’. Joel Miller your next door neighbour to your right and your dad’s closest friend. There he stood with that amused smirk on his face, all broad and handsome with his tousled sleep hair, having no right to look so good at 6:15 in the morning!

“Joel!! I’m so sorry you startled me, did I hurt you?” You rambled out quickly, feeling embarrassed for being caught daydreaming and for smacking him with your surfboard.

“No it’s alright darlin’ no harm done, you be careful out there, it’s quite rough today” he says pointing to the heavy crashing waves 300 yards from us. You were now praying your face wasn’t too red after the pet name, you loved when he called you darlin’ in that southern accent.

“I always am” you smile “Catch you later?” You ask. “Yeah I’ll be over watchin’ the game with your dad” he answers, “Great! See you then” you reply already escaping to the beach. “Later’s” you shout back as you break into a jog, leaving an amused Joel standing in his driveway.

Joel had moved here from Austen Texas, along with his daughter Sarah about five years ago, mentioning a fresh start for them both. Sarah was a few years younger than you, but you both made fast friends with one another. She has recently started college, something your dad had originally hoped you would do too. But after finishing high school your surfing career was starting to take off, as competition wins became frequent. So you made a deal with him, to pick up college once you’d come to the end of your competitive years. ‘You have great grades and it’s never too late’ he had said. Your dad and Joel had bonded quickly over being single dads with teenage girls at the time, they now help each other out and bond over football games and BBQs.

Standing on the beach you strap your board to your ankle, before running in. The rush of cold water runs over your feet as you wade deeper, placing your board down when the water starts hitting your waist. Throwing your right leg over you pull yourself on and start paddling out, pushing your board down at the back, in turn pulling the front up to glide over the waves.

When a particularly large break comes you push the front of your board down, diving under the wave, you feel the rush of icy water submerge around you, as you pull up the other side gasping, feeling air refill your lungs. You paddle out further getting yourself in place for when the next large wave comes. Unknowingly by you being watched from the boardwalk by Joel, who was leaning on the railing gazing over your every move.

Joel’s POV

He told himself it was to make sure she was ok, after all those waves were pretty aggressive this mornin’. But he couldn’t help admiring you, the way you showed no fear, how strong and confident you were out there. The way your sea bleached hair swayed as you ran into the water, how your powerful body pulled you up and over those waves, the determination on your face as you rode the wave to precise perfection.

You were beautiful, in such a different way to other women your age. You weren’t girly, or wore much makeup, you had a toned but muscular figure, strong thick legs which were powerful to push that board wherever it needed to go. You had sun tanned skin from hours out in the sun and ocean, in turn your hair never sat sleek, but in constant windswept curls.

You chased your dreams, worked hard for them, weight training, boxing, running. All to achieve your goals to become a professional surfer, and Joel admired you so much for that, for the commitment and determination. It just made you even more beautiful in his eyes.

He doesn’t even know when it started, these feelings he had for you. The ones that ate him up in guilt and anguish, they even stopped him from sleeping some nights. He shouldn’t feel this way about a girl half his age, not to mention his best friend’s daughter! God if Howard ever found out, he’d be a dead man! But every evening he spends at your house, and you joke with him and your old man, when you talk about your competitions with such passion, your goals with such drive. The way your face lights up, your eyes crease and those cheek dimples of yours show….. he can’t help himself.

Not only that, you’re just so damn sweet! You always ask about Sarah, how’s college going, if she’s happy. You always ask Joel if he needs help, or if you can grab him anything while you’re out shopping. You’re always smiling, even through the tough times, you have this demeanour about you to always look on the positive side, or what can you do to make the situation better. Your heart is huge and kind and fearless, and poor Joel he just can’t help but fall in love with you.

He’s Tormented by these feelings he can never act on, because for one what would a gorgeous, talented young woman of 22 want with a 46 year old man. In addition to that you’re Howard’s kid, his best friend’s daughter. But what he can do is watch over you, feign ignorance to others, that your his best friends kid therefore he worries about your wellbeing.

Y/N POV

You’d been out here an hour now, and you were beginning to feel exhausted. One more wave you thought, let’s make it a good one to end on. You felt it before you saw it, the push of something large coming. You turned your head waiting for the perfect moment, then you started paddling, moving your arms steady but fast to get into position in time. Before pushing up and onto your feet, you held yourself steady as you started to descend, the wave pulling over you into a perfect even if on the smaller side pipe. You crouched leaning into the wave, hand stroking the curl of it, until you came through the other side, hearing it crash behind you. “YES” you cheered! Absolutely ecstatic that you managed to pull it off.

You ran out of the water so elated, noticing Joel standing on the boardwalk you sprinted towards him. Pulling him into a wet hug “did you see that! Please tell me you saw that! Dad won’t ever believe me otherwise, he’s so worried about Pro Pipe, saying I can’t do pipe, how it’s so different to my usual competitions, his…. I’m rambling aren’t I?” you babble out at such a speed you doubt he understood a word you said. Joel lets out a chesty laugh, eyes creasing ‘gods he’s beautiful’ you think to yourself. “I did” he responds heartily, “You just remember me and your old man when you make it big alright” Joel offers. “Promise” you reply with a big grin, before realising you are literally soaking Joel. “Oh my goodness, I’m sorry I’ve drenched you!” You exclaim. Joel clears his throat detaching himself from your embrace, “Don’t worry about it sweetheart” he replies. ‘Sweetheart that’s new’ you ponder, face turning red for the second time today at one of Joel’s pet names.

“Come on kiddo, let’s get you back before your dad starts to worry” Joel said before walking towards your house. ‘Kiddo again’ you sigh to yourself, secretly hoping that he starts seeing you for the woman you’ve grown into and not the kid you used to be. You silently walk back to your house together, both deep in thought. Once you have reached your driveway, Joel turns to you with a fond smile “See ya a bit later yeah?” Joel asks “Gonna run some errands, then I’ll be over for the game.” He continues. “ Yeah see you later” you reply timidly, small smile on your face. Joel nods before leaving towards his house, you gaze at him for a second before reaching for your own front door.

You walk in to total chaos happening in the kitchen, your dad on the phone with his boss arguing over something, meanwhile smoke coming from the stove where he’s attempted to cook breakfast. You quickly slot your board into its rack by the front door, before moving fast to take the pan off the stove, turning off the heat and opening the window, wafting some of the smoke out. Your dad mouths a quick ‘Thank you’ before leaving the room, to continue his phone call.

You quickly run up to your room stripping off your wetsuit, hanging it out to dry, pulling on some sweatpants and a hoodie, before you begin cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, afterwards you whisk some eggs to make you both an omelette. You plate them up and place them on the table along with some fresh coffee, for you both just in time for your dad to walk back in. “Thank you sweetheart” he mumbles clearly frustrated about the phone call, and the cooking disaster.

“No worries dad, what was all that about?” You ask, “Don’t worry, hopefully it’s getting sorted as we speak” he replies, still clearly annoyed at whatever situation is happening, and you know better than to push him right now. “Ok well I did good out there today! Actually caught some great waves, one pipe even!” You exclaim. “Yeah?” He replies kind smile on his lips. “Yeah! Joel saw me do it too! So he will help convince you I’m not going to kill myself at Pipeline, I know your worried but I think it’s going to be really great for me�� you trail off excitedly. “Joel saw you?” He asks his voice showing some confusion. “Yeah he walked over to check on me I suppose?” You reply, “He caught me leaving this morning, said to be careful or something as it was a bit rough out there.” You continued. “That was nice of him, he’s a good man Joel. Really cares about everyone in his life” he replies. “ He’s helping me do some work on the garage next month, I’m gonna split it into a double, it’s big enough. That way we can have somewhere else for you to put all those boards you keep collecting” he laughs, his voice amused even if he’s complaining slightly. “Hey I got rid of the foam topped ones! I even gave one to Sarah to practice with!” You exclaim laughing too, knowing all too well you do probably have too much surfing equipment. You share a smile before digging into breakfast, eating in comfortable silence.

“Joel says he’s coming over for the game later?” You ask while cleaning the dishes. “Yeah thought we could order pizza in? Make a night of it?” He asks. “Yeah sounds good! I’m sure one cheat meal before the big day won’t hurt.” You reply. “Great! I’ll send him a text to let him know, I think he gets lonely on his own over there you know? Since Sarah’s been at college.” Your dad muses, “Yeah I’m sure your right, maybe you should invite him over more? Especially once I’m travelling the world as a famous surfer, can’t have you old men all lonely can we?” You taunt with a giggle. “Alright you, go on… go pack or something” he replies shoving you along, you huff out a laugh. “Yeah I probably should get on with that actually” you announce before making your way upstairs.

The rest of the day passes slowly, you take a shower washing off the ocean. Taking time to shave your legs and condition your hair, goodness knows it needs it! Before getting yourself ready for this evening, you stand there looking into your closet for something to wear. You want to look cute, you want Joel to notice you, for his eyes to wonder over you. But your not a girly girl so you don’t own dresses or skirts, and you wouldn’t even know how to put them on anyways. You opt for low sitting, baggy legged jeans, and an off the shoulder crop top. Showing just enough skin to feel sexy, but casual enough to still feel like yourself. You move over to your vanity and apply small winged eyeliner and use some lip balm on your lips, again casual but still making a effort. You really want Joel to see you’ve grown up, that your nearly 23 and not that awkward teenager anymore, well not a teenager anyways you are still however as awkward as ever.

As you make your way downstairs you hear the distinct muffled voices and laughter, that belong to your dad and Joel, meaning he’s already arrived. You gather yourself together before walking into the living room. “Hey!” You announce yourself as you take a seat in the armchair next to your dad. “Hey darlin’” Joel says with a smile, “There she is!” Your dad replies. “Been waiting for ya to order this pizza, what you having?” Your dad asks. “Uh veggie please” you reply shyly. Joel’s watching you smirk on his face, “Still eatin' that rabbit food I see?” He teases. You blush at his teasing, ‘Is it hot in here you think’ “Yup, got to at least try and be healthy, maybe you two should give it a go too” you sass back with a smile. “Haha I’ll keep that in mind darlin’.” Joel replies with a amused grin. “Joel was telling me how well you did out there today, think your ready kiddo?” Your dad asks. “Yeah I’m definitely as ready as I’ll ever be! I’m super excited for this one!” You declare. “You’ll do amazin’ darlin’ you always do” said Joel, your always taken back by his kindness and support. “Thanks Joel I hope so, it may be my real chance at securing a sponsor” you reply. Your dad chimes in with “Does that mean someone else will be paying for all this expensive stuff that clutters my house then?” An amused look on his face, “Nah that will probably still be you dad” you snip back laughing. “Sounds about right” he scoffs.

The night carries on with banter and laughter, and once the pizza is all gone and the game is finished you fall into comfortable chatter. Your about to ask your dad if he’s all packed ready for your trip, when his cell phone stars ringing. He excuses himself and retreats to his study to take the call, leaving you and Joel alone.

You stretch out in your chair, unconsciously showing more of your skin as your top shifts up. Joel gazes over at you catching glances of your exposing midriff, wondering how soft your skin is, what it would be like to run his hands up your sides, to hold you close. He clears his throat and try’s to control his thoughts, but they slide straight back to imagining touching you, what noises you’d make if he ever got the chance to touch you like he wants too.

“Joel?” Your questioning voice pulls him out of his trance. “Yeah sorry sweetheart, what were you saying?” Joel replies trying to control his embarrassment of being caught staring. “I was asking if your ok? You kinda zoned out there” you ask. Your inner thoughts running riot, ‘was he staring at you? No he couldn’t of been could he? But he was staring straight at you, zoned out with a weird look on his face.’ Joel clears his throat again, then scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, “Yeah all good darlin’, was just in a daze I guess, long week” he offers. You nod offering him a small smile.

You dad comes walking back in with a grim expression on his face, “What’s wrong dad?” You ask worried. “Well sweetheart” he replies trying to collect his words and you can see his inner struggle, it’s written all over his face. “That was Mathew from work, it appears that Thomas has quit, just walked out Friday and told them he ain’t coming back. The problem with that is him and I were working on this large presentation. Which needs to be presented over tomorrow and Tuesday to the main investor, then the second part presented Friday and Saturday to the rest of the investors. This deal is worth millions to the company, and the investors will not reschedule. No one else in the company can catch up in time for the presentation, meaning I have to present it. I found out from Mathew this morning when you came home, but he was going to try and convince Thomas to come in just for the presentations, but it seems he won’t” He finishes waiting for your reaction, you however are pretty much speechless.

After what feels like forever you stutter out “ But but but, my competition is from Wednesday, our plane is at 5am Tuesday and I have to sign in Tuesday.” “ I know sweetheart, I’m so sorry. But if I don’t present this I could loose my job” he croaks out, emotion thick in his voice. “But what do I do? Do I go on my own? I can’t miss this opportunity dad, I’ve trained so hard!” You say, really now starting to panic. “You can go alone if you really don’t want to miss it, I know what this means to you, I’m just so sorry you won’t have support there with you” your dad replies.

“I’ll go with her” Joel all but blurts out.

He’d been watching the exchange between you and your dad, heart breaking at how upset you were getting, he couldn’t let you go alone, and he couldn’t let you miss this amazing opportunity. He hadn’t really let his brain catch up with his heart before he opened his mouth.

“Really?” You reply your voice laced with hope. “Yeah really, if it’s ok with you Howard? I mean I have no work scheduled for a few of weeks now, and I’d just be sat at home nothing to do.” Says Joel. Your dads looking at him while Joel explains, “Are you sure Joel? That’s a big ask, I mean I’ve booked two hotel rooms and a hire car. But you’ll have to take her to sign in Tuesday, then back for the event Wednesday, and I’ve been told the heats for the contest are spread over a few days, and that’s if the conditions are right, the trip is a two week trip?” Your dad explains. “I’ve also promised her day trips around the island after, there’s some spots she wants to surf, a waterfall she wants to see, cafe trips …” your dad rambles on, feeling distressed and guilty.

“Yeah I’m sure, it’s fine I’m happy to do it Hal, and she can’t go alone it’s a dangerous contest. She needs someone with her, plus it’s a huge chance for her to get the recognition and the sponsors she needs. It’s not a problem I can go, if you can get the travelling documents transferred into my name?” Joel replies. “Yeah I can do that no problem there.. is this ok with you kiddo? You happy for Joel to go with you?” Your dad asks. “Yeah” you reply “I’m happy for Joel to take me” you say with a smile. “Ok then, I’ll get the documents put into your name first thing tomorrow Joel” your dad confirms. “ I can’t thank you enough for this Joel” he continues. Joel just smiles at you and nods at your dad, butterflies start to flutter in your stomach at the thought of two weeks alone with him. Though your disappointed your dad can’t come, your excited to go on this adventure with Joel.

#dbf!joel #dbf joel miller #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #dbf Joel x reader #surfer girl #tlou #the last of us #joel miller #dads best friend Joel miller #dads best friend

[tysonchapmans]

FULL NAME: Tyson Chapman.

GENDER: Cis man.

PRONOUNS: He/Him.

AGE + BIRTHDAY: 30 + August 2nd.

LENGTH OF TIME IN FAIRFORD: His whole life.

HOUSING: Downtown.

OCCUPATION: Bartender at Poshed and Sloshed.

QUICK OVERVIEW.

Rounding out the Chapman family should have ensured an easy path to success for Tyson, with outwardly excellent examples for how to be a well-adjusted upstanding contributor to society on clear display from his parents who ensured that he was always surrounded by stability. 

That wasn’t the case.

The start of his life was peaceful, a mama's boy from his first breath, right up until her last when he was five years old. He didn't have the faculties to understand how an aneurysm could take her from him in her sleep, or why, all he knew was he was left behind in a home with two people who never showed him they were happy to see him.

Grief didn't managed to band the two Chapman boys together, rather it paved the way for what would be a slow descent into a lifelong shared disdain. The arrival of a step-mother and step-sister to the family home in the year following his mother's passing added further strain. Tyson didn't know how to process such drastic life changes in such quick succession.

Growing up in the long shadow cast by his older brother Everett had fostered a cold boy who grew into a callous man. There was a time when he had once idolised his older brother, wanting to be like him in every sense of the word until that affection had splintered into a venomous affliction due to emotional neglect. 

Instead of wanting to be like him, he coveted what he had, from his professional success to the adoration earned from his father. After dropping out of university in his second year of studying business and economics, it was clear to Tyson that his career path would be checkered and chaotic rather than linear and well curated like his father had always intended for him.

The man's disappointment has been easy to ignore, ever since he found himself a new home in a prison cell for embezzlement and money laundering just after Tyson's eighteenth birthday.

Unable to truly get a handle on what it was he wants to do with his life, he prefers to focus his excess energy on something else that holds his interest -- his childhood best friend and Everett's fiancee, Deanie.

PERSONALITY.

+ carefree, spontaneous, laid back.

- envious, vengeful, petty. 

BONUS ROUND.

tyson is bisexual, he came out when he was 16. 

while currently he has a regular position as a bartender at poshed and sloshed, he picks up shifts here and there at various bars as needed, as well as odd jobs depending on what bills he has about to fall due. it’s a temporary arrangement while he figures things out. 

he’s been figuring things out since his early twenties. 

had a complete mcfucking meltdown when he turned 30.

CURRENT CONNECTIONS.

everett chapman: older brother, permanent one-sided rival. ty’s villain origin story, basically. 

@gemchap: step-sister who turned out to be his actual biological sister. not complicated at all.

@deaniewagner: long-time crush, former best friend, current wife-to-be of his older brother.

@fionaosman: the 51 to his 50.

@rcnanwagner: friend / sort of looks up to him but would rather die than admit that.

@thaddcarter: roomie roomie.

@phoebebaker: fwb.

@tcriacosta: childhood homies to adults w weird hobby adventures pipeline.

@yunxminho: gym buddies.

@ljjames: partners in crime/bad influence on.

@nguerrero: former co-worker, vibey.

@eloisechapmcn: cousin thats more like a sister. #worstchapmans

@ashaisabelle: poshed and sloshed regular.

@aylinerdogan: current boss. 🫡

SPECIFIC WANTED CONNECTIONS.

current/former co-workers: as i said above, he sort of rotates around various bars and has probably worked in a number of restaurants in the passed for varying lengths of stints. 

a best friend.

barfly regulars who tell him the innermost details of their life/psyche when they get a little too merry.

terrible influence.

good influence.

someone who lost money through his dad's swindling.

childhood friends.

rivals/enemies/someone who just doesn't fuck with him.

exes of varying levels of seriousness.

fwb, hook-ups, tinder matches etc.

owners of establishments who've fired him for being the woOoOooOOrst

GENERIC WANTED CONNECTIONS.

connections wise he’s pretty much an open book right now, but some baseline ideas that can be springboarded off are:

friendly.

a best friend / ride or dies / someone who checks him on his shit (of which there’s plenty of recourse for rip) / childhood friends / pseudo-siblings / friends / drunk friends / new friends / former roommates / folks who’ve let him couch surf.

romantic.

flirtationship / friends with benefits / one time hook ups / tinder matches / unrequited crush (can be either way) / exes from high school / exes from his twenties. 

antagonistic.

enemies / former (best) friends / frenemies / rivals / negative influence / former co-workers (but combative.. u know) / people he’s fucked over in the past or has fucked him over. 

#intro. #fairfordintro #death tw #parental death tw #crime tw

[discoscoob]

Anon cause I feel like maybe I'm kicking a can of bees here, but...

Have you seen any actually obsessive behavior towards Joe from HellCheer shippers? I know we're a passionate bunch with amazing fanart and fics, plus some amazing metas about the potential in the Eddie/Chrissy pairing but it all stays soundly in the realm of fantasy.

I'm looking through Twitter and there's just so many hateful, creepy, hyper-sexual posts from St*ddie shippers. Like individual users with hundreds of posts with pictures of Quinn as a teenager. People with user names like "JoesphsCumBucket" or folks raging on about how Eddissy is discussing because Joe is "literally gay" and so is Eddie.

I don't think it's wrong to have a crush on a celebrity, but reading some of this authentically scares me. The extremely explicit tweets, the assigning of sexualities to real-life people, the truly obsessive behaviors - all of it is terrible...

But is it just me, or is the vast majority of it coming from St*ddie folks? If so, why do you think that is?

I obviously can’t say with 100% certainty that there has never been a toxic hellcheer shipper, there are toxic people in all fandoms no matter what. But I can truthfully say that I have never encountered one, toxic st*ddies on the other hand? Too many to count.

I think that the mlm shipping (or rather fetishising) to misogyny pipeline is very real and unfortunately mlm shipping does attract a lot of misogynists and people who don’t genuinely care about queer representation, they’re just shipping the two male characters they’re most attracted to and since a large portion of people don’t ship it with good or genuine intentions, I think this is what leads to a lot of the toxic behaviour from some of them.

Meanwhile hellcheer shippers aren’t here just bc Chrissy and Eddie are both hot, I mean they are but that’s a whole other point. We aren’t here to fetishise, since you can’t fetishise a m/f pair like mlm can be fetishised and we aren’t here because we’re misogynistic, since we aren’t jealous teenagers who can’t stand to see their favourite character, who they’re attracted to, in love with another girl. Which means that most people who are here, are here for their genuine interest in the ship and it’s dynamics and so we love occupying ourselves with fics and fanart, rather than starting drama, harassing innocent people and spreading lies.

That’s my take on it at least.