#not in a way that is purposefully negligent

[ikemenomegas]

I don't really understand why, in-world, people think satoru is an enigma? Personally, i feel like I don't always understand him because I don't always understand people, (let alone characters about whom we know about the same amount of information as the group of people around him), not because he's supposed to be a shonen hero and then is just a goofy, spoiled, stretched out teenage boy who is a little more careless than you wish he would be.

#I am never sure if I feel this way because readers are almost always victims of dramatic irony? #(or I mean characters are... since we who are not in the book understand them best but when we can't save we can feel like victims) #or if I am correctly interpreting the biases that prevent many of the characters from understanding him? #myy oc has biases too of course and part of the fun is outlining and exploring them #and I do genuinely know Satoru is Weird. Part of it is the close-to-enlightened thing. there's a lot of stuff he just doesn't care about #not in a way that is purposefully negligent #but where it just doesn't phase him? like I don't think he even holds grudges like normal people #it all flows through him #and it could be really weird when this is the same guy who also has a specific talent for annoying anything and everything #because he also knows how to get under people's skin #maybe he's just so sideways from what normal people expect #or that most people just don't think that much about others' motivations? don't step that far outside themselves? #because again having known people with this type of personality #it can be incredibly refreshing to be around someone who doesn't take things personally #and also doesn't care about a lot of worldly concerns/societal niceties #and is not telling anyone what they “should” do in the context of social norms #jjk #from the margins #io.myy #gojo satoru #maybe the message is i need to stop thinking about him

[bllsbailey]

#There are 10 #000 reasons why Nancy Pelosi is singularly negligent in the U.S. Capitol’s comprehensive security failures on January 6th. Instead of addre #she is pointing her finger at the person whose help she ignored #President Donald Trump. #The predictable hallmark of a left-wing coverup is to somehow find a way to scapegoat the 45th president of the United States #Donald Trump #for their own abysmal missteps and errors. The Democrats’ twisted creativity in pursuing this anomaly is truly something to behold. #The mainstream media fallout from January 6th was a godsend to Democrats who found themselves on the heels of the disproven Russia Hoax #a spectacularly underwhelming performance by Robert Mueller #two failed impeachments #and no significant policy achievements during their tenure in the majority. #At that point #their win record was abysmal at best. As America suffers from Democrats and their failures #the Left pounced on January 6th in a desperate attempt to distract the country from their own incompetence. #But the facts weren’t out about that day. Many remain undiscovered. And today #to the annoyance of hysterical Democrats hellbent on advancing their theatrical narrative about January 6th #Republicans are raising one looming question that remains overtly (and purposefully) ignored by the Democrats’ Partisan Witch-hunt Committe #Why did Nancy Pelosi fail to properly protect the Capitol while President Trump #on January 4th #requested 10 #000 National Guard Troops be available to provide security to Americans and the United States Capitol on January 6th? #The Left would very much like for you to ignore this question. Its answer fundamentally undermines the January 6th Partisan Witch-hunt Comm #” “trying to overthrow the Republic #” or “subverting the democratic process #” you wouldn’t have asked for 10 #000 National Guard troops to protect the institution you were trying to overthrow! #What does Pelosi know? And why won’t she testify? #The simple fact is #Nancy Pelosi’s failures on January 6th exposed the U.S. Capitol’s vulnerabilities during the certification (and constitutionally-valid obje #Pelosi’s blunders were not anomalies in her leadership

[themonasterygates]

yandere! chat blanc 🌑 general headcanons

chat blanc x gn reader

content warning: yandere content, stalking, posessiveness/obsessiveness, mention of killing + guilt-tripping

word count: 884 words

• before your meeting with one another, he was already so far accquainted with you but of course, you don't know have to know about that.

• you caught his attention with how alive your energy was, it drew him in to you. he's admire you from afar for countless of weeks, memorizing your habit of movements and your day to day schedule.

• when he finally does feel certain to approach you, he comes to you as a friendly, concerned hero and asking you where the akumatized person went. he finds himself purposefully putting you in a dangerous situation just to only save you and have you indebted to him. chat blanc yearns for any sort of validation that'll feed his big ego.

• after that encounter, you notice how chat blanc is always near you. everyday. whether it be if it's a slow day and no one gets akumatized, you'll see him patrolling no matter where you look it. it was like he was everywhere with you but you brushed it off as him doing his job.

• with how many times you've encountered chat blanc already, you find yourself growing closer to him. he always subtly flirted with you that would be unnoticed to the naked eyed but you had always managed to catch it. with time, you grow closer with him and so does your relationship circumstances.

• you quickly learned that he wasn't what he was on the surface level and what you had always perceived him as of. chat blanc has posessive tendencies which can be ruled off as him being simply clingy but he sticks to you like glue. he wants to be apart of everything you experience, be in every moment with you and to never have you leave his sight.

• when you're away, he has horrible seperation anxiety. he knows where you are, he always does. but that doesn't stop his anxiety. it's nothing specific but it all stems from his father's negligence (something that you don't really know much of but still, chat blanc opened up a bit to you).

• he loves to (exclusively) call you his "princess/my prince" with every chance he's given. lots of physical affection, no matter or wherever whenever you're with blanc, his hands would always be on you. snuggling, putting his heard on your shoulder with this arms around your waist. if he isn't touching you, he'll look at you straight in the eye with no doubt.

• he simply loves your hands in his. he absolutely loves to draw circles with his thumb on yours and give occasional squeezed. he'd lift the back of your hand up to his cheek and would close his eyes and pur at the feeling. he'd open his eyes, half-lidded, with such a pure and content expression on his face, your heart just melts at the scene. he'll lick your face all over like a cat grooming itself and then would play it off as a joke but you know he genuinely loves licking you.

• he loves to just bite you. your arm, hand, cheek, neck. he'll sometimes (almost all the time) leave your neck with hickeys (even if that isn't the intention at times), preceding to give you a bite mark along with it and then will be smugly oblivious of your annoyance.

• back to his possessiveness, chat blanc gets easily jealous to the people around you and prefer it if he can just isolate you from everyone else. even if someone is conveniently standing next to you, he'd scare the poor person off with all of his glaring as his mind travels to a much darker part of his brain on what to do.

• he brands you as "his", whether if you're dating him or not, he brands you as a "his" and vice versa. he feels entitled for your affection and is unable to handle rejection in any form. he holds you in such a high pedastal and would quite literally unconditionally love you as he unreasonably expects the same from you.

• he's willing (and wanting) to go through such deep lengths to keep you happy in any way. he'll do anything for you, even if it's something he despires doing, as long as it manages to get a giggle out of you, he'll learn to love it as you love it. chat blanc, with no hesitation, would and will kill for you. it can be a bully of yours years ago or someone simply mocking you, you'll always see them again on the news declared as "missing".

• he loves your humility and does not want to "corrupt" you in any way, so when you are suspicious of him relating to the recentissing people, you don't pry much as chat blanc goes out his way to guilt-trip you on your suspicions. "do you not trust me?"

• chat blanc is controlling and he knows just the right ways to make you vulnerable for him but he's desperate for you all the very same. he may have a cold front to others but you bring out a side of him that he didn't even knew he had. he loves you, and he knows it all too well, even if that sense of love that he discerns for you is twisted.

"my heart only beats for you."

#miraculous ladybug #mlb #miraculous ladybug x reader #mlb x reader #miraculous ladybug x reader yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #dark content #miraculous ladybug headcanon #miraculous ladybug headcanons #miraculous ladybug hc #miraculous ladybug hcs #mlb hc #mlb hcs #mlb yandere #chat blanc #chat blanc x reader #yandere chat blanc x reader #mlb yandere x reader #yandere miraculous ladybug #chat blanc headcanons #chat blanc headcanon #chat blanc hc #chat blanc hcs #cat blanc x reader #cat blanc #yandere cat blanc #yandere cat blanc x reader #cat blanc x reader headcanons #cat blanc x reader headcanon

[answer2jeff]

from velcro to bunny ears — carmen berzatto.

warnings : mentions of emotional neglect ?? distant relationship from siblings. not an x reader.

a/n: i wrote this in 20 minutes please excuse me if there are any typos..

I have a feeling Carmen always had trouble with the milestones other kids his aged reached.

Mental math, riding a bike—it all came to him much slower than he was ever comfortably able to admit. Kind, but not smart. Polite, but not friendly. Creative, but not handsome. Imaginative, but not funny.

He's been this way for as long as he can remember, occasional dabbles in art and his passion for culinary being the only part of himself he could be sure would be seen as the best of the best, even if he didn't truly believe he was quite at the epitome of perfection.

Shoelaces.

Fuck, were those the bane of his existence at just 7 years old. Stupid Velcro that made a tearing sound that was similar to a bloodcurdling scream.

He'd been wearing shoes with Velcro strips, or short laces that purposefully looked tucked and didn't require tying, since he could walk.

Jesus. Carmen never even learned how to tie them. Asking anyone, even his mother, was simply too much to ask. Instead, he would insist that Velcro shoes were okay, and he wasn't too old for them.

Until Uncle Jimmy came to visit during the summer of 1998.

Mikey, barely 16, was out with friends for the weekend, possibly getting drunk on beaches and rolling joints on the roofs of parking garages. And 11 year old Natalie was celebrating her classmate, Ashley's, 12th birthday. Rollerblade hockey was the new craze. Why wait for mucky fishponds and vast lakes to solidify and freeze over in the dead of winter when you could just go across the street and bust your ass on the concrete instead?

It wasn't necessarily Carmen's idea. Cicero, being the overbearing babysitter he'd become due to Donna's negligence, couldn't handle seeing his poor little nephew cooped up in the tiny upstairs bedroom riddled with hand drawn artworks plastered on his walls. It wasn't right. Summer was for bruises and scabs that would be forgotten about with the booming sound of fireworks and taste of sugary popsicles dripping down your arms.

"Why don't you go hang out with the kids across the street, Bear?" Cicero asked him. Carmen picked his little head up from his sketch book and looked out the view of his window.

He only shrugged.

"They're playin' rollerblade hockey. Your brother Mikey fuckin' loved that, y'know? When he was your age, I mean. Give it a shot, eh? Might be nice kids."

The Raymondville's. Carmen didn't know much about that family. He didn't know they were nice, or played rollerblade hockey like his older, therefore much cooler, big brother. All he knew was that they were also older, therefore much cooler than him too.

That's all that mattered anyway. But he had this tendency to follow in his brothers footsteps. With Jimmy's rare visits and Donna's unpredictable and equally scarce moments of wanting to be an actual tender and caring mother, Mikey was the closest thing to a reliable adult he ever had. Natalie was too busy spending every moment she could out of the house until she'd come crawling back to Mom, who would only scold her for ever wanting to leave in the first place, to notice how perfectly Carmen blended into the wallpaper.

A happy house.

Rollerblade hockey sounds fine.

After a dig through the attic and rummaging through a box of old sports equipment—low and behold lied the skates. Black and turquoise. Mikey's favorite colors. The 4 wheelers were a little intimidating, but Carmen faintly remembered spending a week with Aunt Lisa and learning how to at least stroll down the sidewalk of his cousins neighborhood.

"Go on," Cicero gave a gentle push to Carmen's small and trembling shoulders, leaning back on the front porch to carefully watch his nephew try and be an active member of society from a distance. His little blonde curls blew in the evening wind, the humidity from earlier in the day still weighing them down. His hands shook vigorously which were tightly gripping a pair of Mikey's old rollerskates.

A jumble of "hi's, my name is," and "can i play's," fell out of his quiet mouth. They were met with nods from the 5 boys, easily ages 9-12, the oldest being 13. But this was only after shared glances and shrugs of discomfort were shown. The Raymondville's had never seen this fragile little kid in their lives: short and skinny. But they knew the Berzatto's. They knew cool Mikey and pretty Natalie—but not average Carmen. A breath of relief washed over Carmy, and he sat down on the fluffy and bright green grass to remove his white lace-less sneakers and shoved his feet into the slightly too big skates.

The straps snapped down easily. But those damned laces, thick and white with little black stitching, taunted him. He swallowed.

Carmen simply tucked them in, his stomach queasy at the feeling of the plastic aglet's poking his feet.

He stumbled a bit, but he secured himself as he remembered to bend his knees just a bit. It wasn't all too different from skating on the ice in mid-January. Except now it was mid-June, and every wheel could easily catch itself in the bumps and cracks of the old streets of the neighborhood that hadn't been patched in years. But alas, the laces came loose, and one had caught right in the metal bolt of the wheel and zipped right around it, knocking little Carmy off his feet and onto his bum.

Tears immediately pricked at his waterlogged eyes when he looked around just to see everyone had already started the 5th game of the day without him.

Uncle Jimmy simply sighed and beckoned his hand toward himself, shaking his head in pity rather than surprise. Carmen's shoulders shook with silent sobs as he held his skates in one skinny arm and his sneakers in the other. He couldn't even wipe the snot that pooled from his nose or the consistent tears that streamed down his cheeks and soaked his t-shirt.

"Jesus," Cicero swore under his breath, leaning forward "Nobody ever teach you how to tie your shoes, Carm?" he raised a brow, carefully taking his nephews Velcro shoes and setting them down on the porch beside him. At 7 years old, with a one sibling being 12 and the other being nearly 16, one would expect he could tie his own shoes. He couldn't tell which question was greater: how he hadn't learned through observation, or why he never just asked?

"N—no," Carmen hiccuped, wiping his eyes and taking a seat down beside his uncle. He carefully watched as Cicero went through step by step instructions of the 'bunny ear' method. The little boy was mesmerized by the simplicity of the loop Cicero wrapped around his thumb, pulling it into a tight and secure bow in such quick timing. He never forgot after that day.

Sometimes he still mumbles "wrap around the coop, push through the loop," as he ties the laces of his white Nike Cortez sneakers before going on his 3rd soul searching and ultimate sensory seeking 15 minute walk of the week.

"Bunny ears," Uncle Jimmy said to Carmy.

And 'bunny ears' he did.

tags : @lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber @sexyyounglatinoboy @febris-amatoria

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto blurb #i need to see more posts like this #just talking about carmen #and his childhood #carmen berzatto headcanons #the bear #cicero the bear #uncle jimmy the bear #natalie berzatto #mikey berzatto #ugh this blurb is so cute #but sad

[writingshushf1]

Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!

Summary: the one where going back to your hometown is never a good idea.

Rating: +18

Warnings: pure angst (w/ a happy ending), derogatory language, psychological trauma, negligent parents, mentions of abuse, anxiety, depression, mentions of teen pregnancy, ab*rtion, self-harm, addiction and ending your own life

Word count: 8.5k

Note: it’s a very loooong and heavy fic, all the possible triggers are mentioned above, so please see them before you read this one, because it has a lot of uncomfy moments. I wrote it originally around christmas (so themed fanfic?), also available in my ao3.

masterlist

The cold wind whipped against her body and she shivered slightly, the city was colder than expected. She looked around, people walking, chatting; she knew most of them, many had not changed at all since leaving the city for a better life. Since the day she finished high school, she swore she would never set foot in that city again, yet there she was. The only cousin she still considered family, recently had her second child, so the relative begged her to spend some time together; as she was busy, the only time off she could extend was precisely during the holidays.

Going back to that city gave her the creeps, she didn't like to remember everything she'd been through here. Still, she would never deny a request coming from her cousin, since whenever her relative had time, she would go visit her in London.

Her story was a complicated one. A high school plagued with problems at home - her parents never stopped fighting and consequently all the marital problems reflected on her, physically and psychologically. Several times she wished the world would take her away from that suffering. Not only that, but inside the school she was excluded, considered as stupid and someone who would not have a promising future, as a girl who only served the body, since the mind was empty. Boys cheated on their girlfriends with her, turned her into an inside joke, while girls hated her for everything. It was all jokes and games until she got pregnant when she was 16. Her parents freaked out, Christmas that year was terrible, her father's screams were so loud that the neighbours could hear his swearing.

She managed to get to London, going to a public clinic and begging the secretary to have the procedure done without her parents' permission, then she would just use the excuse of having had a miscarriage. That night on December 24th, sitting on the curb, looking at the Christmas lights in the big city, she had promised she would live there.

Until she turned eighteen, she tried to be erased from other people's memories of the city, just doing the school-home commute, doing all the endless chores demanded by her father - since her mother was too busy with her face stuffed into a glass of wine, and making enough money to get out of there through nights working as a cleaner at the roadside diner. It wasn't glorious, her past still ached in her heart, having this profound journey when you're only a teenager had scarred her life. Her cousin, Rosie, was still the light at the end of the tunnel in all this chaos she could call her past; the one who paid for her train tickets to the capital had been her, the one who fetched her from unpleasant encounters with boys who purposefully sought her out for an easy fuck, the one who fought with men for harassing her, the one who was there when she tried to take her own life and stood by her hospital bed while she became an even bigger laughing stock, not only among her peers but also in her entire family, who proudly pushed her away from everything they could.

So going back to that epicentre of her traumas was what she was doing for her cousin, a way of thanking her for everything she had done to keep her alive.

In 12 years, a person can change a lot; her hair was no longer in its natural colour, her body was strong, her head held high and the confidence that was built in many intense therapy sessions; plus an overcoming of an addiction. Some people recognised her on the street, with shocked expressions at seeing her dressed so well, others ignored as soon as she said hello and there were also those who pulled nasty conversations - obviously those who peaked in high school and were now in mediocre jobs. She responded with the utmost happiness, being in a job that valued her and still paid well was a difficult thing these days.

The woman parked her bike in front of her cousin's house, looking around, the houses were still the same, just some renovations or painting. That feeling of panic started to hover, her old house was across the street, right in front of her cousin's house. She took a few seconds to remove her helmet and grab her backpack, walking in dragging steps down the driveway, knocking on the door lightly. Nobody answered, how strange. She sighed loudly, looking at the time on her mobile phone, she was probably shopping. She walked slowly and sat on the steps, watching the movement on the street; she sent some messages to Rosie, who answered, apologising for the wait, but the line at the supermarket was huge.

Suddenly, a black Mercedes stopped there, almost crushing her bike. She stood up quickly, to check if there was any damage, ready to curse the reckless driver. A dark-skinned man with braided hair and fancy clothes stepped out of the driver's side, looking straight at her and walking calmly towards her - which made the woman's blood boil even more.

"Oy! Sorry for almost messing up your bike, I didn't mean to."

"Mate, you're lucky nothing happened." She retorted, looking the motorbike up and down.

"Oh... Okay, you don't need to get mad at me." He raised his arms and she rolled her eyes.

Before they could continue their conversation, Rosie parked her car, flashing a smile at the sight of her. She ran over and hugged her tight, which removed her tough-guy composure in front of the stranger. The older woman looked at the man who was standing there, who was waiting for the other man's answer, for a few seconds they stood still, until the owner of the other car went to him, hugging the man, who smiled and kissed her cheek back.

“Lewis freaking Hamilton, you’re back home!” The blond said to him. “The only time of the year we can actually see each other. I bloody missed you.”

“Me too. Fancy a cuppa?” He said, letting her go.

“Oh! I- I don’t know! My cousin just arrived and I need to set her down, right?” Rosie looked at her, circling her short arms around her younger cousin’s shoulders. “Maybe tomorrow! You and bring your niece and nephew, Bandit will love to have a playdate with them.”

“Deal.”

They dispersed, with the women going to the eldest house, while Hamilton headed to his parents' house.

Rosie's house was cosy, family photos on the walls, very colourful and well decorated. The blonde showed around, finally showing the room she would be staying in; there were a couple of clean towels, soap, shampoo and conditioner on top of a neatly made bed. The room was smelly and well lit, even if it was small, it gave a feeling of comfort.

"You can go pack your things, I'll start dinner. Jam is with the baby, he's gone for a routine doctor's appointment and will pick Bandit up from school later." She placed a hand on her cousin's shoulder. "Thank you for being here, you don't know how grateful I am to welcome you into my home."

"Only you could bring me to this place again."

They both cracked a warm smile, with the older one walking off and leaving the girl alone with her thoughts. She grabbed one of the towels, the toiletries and went to shower in the en suite bathroom. After undressing, she spent a few seconds staring at her body in the mirror, the scars across her torso that revealed her past, the stretch marks along her breasts and belly that hid a story she preferred to keep to herself. She took a boiling bath, letting the water do its effect and easing the pain in her back from driving on the motorbike all day. When she got out, she had only the fluffy towel wrapped around her body, she walked over to the bed, opening her backpack and pulling out a sweatshirt and trousers, she was too distracted by what she was going to wear to notice that her window faced the neighbour's window - which was consequently the room where Lewis Hamilton was staying and in the same situation as she was, with a towel around his waist after a hot shower, choosing a comfortable outfit. They both raised their heads at the same moment, exchanging a few seconds of eye contact, which was soon broken by the girl pulling back the curtain of her window. The man was visibly intrigued, his cheeks reddened by the intimate moment with the stranger.

In parallel, she went to dinner with her cousin and her family, while he had fun with his family, his niece and nephew running around the house.

…...................................................

During the afternoon tea they arranged, Rosie hosted not only for Hamilton, but also his entire family. The Londoner knew him very well, they were the same age, went to the same school from kindergarten to high school; she didn't know where to stick her face, her parents would recognise her too, she was a big topic among the adults in town. She tried to keep calm the whole moment, focusing her attention on Bandit, who called her to play together with the other children, she would surely thank him later, probably giving her some exaggerated and expensive gift. When it was time to eat, she walked further behind the children, helping her cousin set the table for afternoon tea, avoiding looking her neighbours in the face. She sat down next to the little boy who saved her skin, helping him serve himself and soon after putting food on his plate. She hated eating with strangers, however she would try her best for Rosie.

"I feel like I know you." one of Hamilton's sisters said to the woman.

"You probably do, this town is small and we are always bumping into each other." She shrugged.

His sisters seemed to have recognised the girl, however they kept quiet on that subject for the rest of the day.

By the time night was coming on, it was just her and Hamilton, sitting on the front steps of the house. The silence was not awkward, much less uncomfortable, it seemed they understood each other without any words being exchanged.

"Sorry about yesterday, I was a brat with you, mate." She said low.

"Nah, it's alright, I guess you're just a bit of a crikey... As my teammate would say it." He cracked a smile, as a result she lightly slapped his arm, which earned a laugh from both of them. The silence lasted a few more seconds after they stopped laughing, then he broke it. "My half-sisters know you."

"Yeah? One of them commented today, but we didn't follow up on it."

"They told me some things that got me gutted." Oh no, here it comes. The judgement, the past mistakes being brought on by this guy you barely knew.

"What did they say?"

"Well... We already knew a little about your parents, but they told me how you were treated in high school." She felt a wave of emotions invade her body, she didn't know whether to start swearing at him, or cry, or run far away. "It wasn't fair." Lewis said low, wiggling his fingers in each other's. "And I'm sorry my sisters never did anything to prevent it."

"It's not their fault those people were a bunch of arses." She stood, ready to go inside.

"Hey, wait!" He stood as well, holding her wrist so she couldn't leave, pulling her against his body in a warm hug. She closed her eyes, feeling the embrace, it was so good to just let it go.

They kept hugging for a while, him running his fingers through her back and she was squeezing the fabric of his hoodie.

“Tomorrow, there will be the Christmas event downtown, want to come with me? A lot of people from my former friend group will be there.” He said. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay, there will be people you know from your high school too, but I would love to have a good company so I can be there sober.” He chuckled at the end, to make the request lighter.

The ask came with a shock, they knew each other for 48 hours and he seemed so comfortable to be with her. She also felt amazing, the way he listened and cared about his relatives, during the afternoon he would often check on the kids, bring them snacks, then talk with the women about the most varied subjects, which made her question what he worked on. Lewis looked hopeful, waiting for a response.

“Okay, only because you’re a good one, but if people start giving me the shits, we’ll leave and for revenge, you’ll watch the Grinch with me; because I’m his reeincarnation and it’s the best coping mechanism.”

“Oh. So you hate Christmas?” He was way focused on the details then the overall request.

“Of course, bad things always happen on this daft holiday.”

“So my job is to make you see like I do. The past is already gone, we should celebrate the present and hope for the future, darling.”

“So I’ll wait for tomorrow night to be the best of my life?” She teased, feeling her heart beating faster than usual.

“It will be, trust me.”

…............................................

She was getting ready, happier and more nervous than usual, she wanted to look good, obviously the motive didn't pass through her mind. Rosie was walking down the corridor, but stopped when she smelled the citrusy perfume in her guest’s bedroom; the woman smiled, looking at her cousin, who was putting some makeup on.

“Ooh, getting fancy? For whom may I ask?” The older one leaned on the door frame.

“Lewis invited me to go to the Christmas event, he doesn’t want to go alone, maybe people won’t bother him as much.” She answered, grabbing her purse and fixing her beanie.

“Right.” Her irony could be spotted from miles away. “A smoking hot single guy asking you to go out with him in a sorta romantic setting is just because he doesn’t want to be surrounded by people from his past.”

“Rosie… Shut up! We’re going as friends and if it’s too daft, he’ll be forced to watch Grinch with me.”

“Not romantic, at all.” She chuckled and the doorbell rang. “It’s your prince charming!”

“I swear to God, you’re such an arse!” The girl ran downstairs right after the blonde one, seeing that she was talking with him, so the younger one stopped on her tracks, smiling nervously.

“There you are.” Lewis said, with his beautiful bright smile. “Looking amazing, love.” She walked towards him, smacking his arm slightly.

“You’re so cheeky.”

“And you’re lovely.” He responded, hooking their arms together. “Let’s go before we get late.”

They waved at Rosie, going to his car.

….................................................................

“I’m nervous.” She said, playing with her ring. “People still look at me weird.”

“It’s horrible.” He sighed. “I know my situation is way different from yours, but I understand this feeling, those racist pricks who talked shit and said I would never be a successful driver and here I am.”

“Oh… Really?” She put a hand on his shoulder slightly, squeezing it before lowering to her thigh again. “This must be a very silly question to you…”

“What?”

“A driver? Hum… I know I’ve seen your face somewhere but, what do you do? I mean... Driver?” Her cheeks were bright red.

“Formula One driver.” He smirked, it was a nice change to go out with someone that wasn’t interested in his fame or fortune, a woman that wanted him for him, his company, his odd sense of humour and a lot of style.

“Oy. That’s why.” She chuckled. “You must be really good then.”

“Seven titles and counting.” His cheekiness made her stomach flutter. “How about you?”

“I work on the creating process of a clothing brand for kids. It’s nice and colourful, my office? Full of stuffed toys, different wallpapers, one day I’ll show you.” She was proud about her work, it was something that made her happy, connected with a part of her life that she had lost and it was a good salary.

“I would love to.” He parked his car. “The way you talk about it, it’s lovely.”

They got out of the car and quickly he hooked her arm with his, walking through the closed street of the city centre. Immediately she felt the eyes on them, people whispering and trying to be discreet while taking pictures of them. He looked at her with a reassuring smile, muttering ‘everything is going to be okay’. Some kids ran to him, asking for pictures, which he happily complied, hugging them and taking his time with them while she was standing a bit further, cracking a smile on how gentle he was. However, things weren't perfect, so when she looked at the parents of the kid, her smile fell; the woman slowly came closer to her, saying her name.

“The one and only.” She answered, uncomfortable.

“I haven't seen you since…”

“We’ve finished high school. A long time ago.”

“Oh… Yeah.” The ginger was checking her from head to toe, with a disgusted expression. “You changed a lot.”

“London does wonders to you.” She joked, passing her hand around her neck, looking away. “Anyway! You stayed here?”

“Yeah, me and Rob went to university in the neighbouring city and then came back, we got married and had our beautiful boys.” Oh wow, how cliche. “And you?”

“Got out of here and tried. Failed a couple of times…” She chuckled, looking at Hamilton. “And now working in the creative process of…” She saw the kids come back, excitedly from meeting their idol and she immediately noticed the brand of their jackets. “The brand your kids are using right now.”

Lewis walked back at her, putting his hand on her shoulder, analysing the situation and seeing her slightly uncomfortable.

“Impressive.” The passive-aggressiveness in her voice was enough for the British man.

“Well, I’m very sorry to interrupt the chat, but we have to keep going if we want to get the best hot chocolate before it’s over.” He put the other hand on her shoulder, slightly massaging it. “Maybe we’ll have another free time to catch up.” With that, he held her hand pulled away from the couple, waving goodbye to the kids.

“Thank you.” She murmured and he held her hand stronger than before.

He stopped at the hot chocolate booth, buying for both of them and they kept walking. They didn’t know when they intertwined their fingers or started to walk closer, sharing small smiles and more intimate conversations, although none of them wanted this moment to stop. The beautiful stage prepared for the local band to play was ready and people started to gather around. Hamilton insisted on buying some street food for both of them to share while they listened to the mayor talk and all the boring speeches.

More judgmental looks from people were shot at them and she recognized all of them, which hurt more than expected. When the music started to play, the man let his body loose, moving with the rhythm and she got closer to him, letting Lewis pass his hands around her waist and rest his head on her shoulder, looking at the stage. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in and out, feeling the things around her, the sounds and the smells; she knew herself too much to know she was close to a panic attack, not because of him, but all the situations since they got out of the car.

“Alright, love?” He whispered.

“Bit rubbish, but I’ll be fine.”

He hugged her closer, leaning his forehead against the side of her head, murmuring the lyrics and swaying in a slow pace. It was good, she still let her eyes closed, calming herself down; he was just the best to be around. She lowered her hands, putting on top of his and caressing slowly, the feeling of it was nice, his cold rings against the warm skin. At her head, the words of Rosie before the date repeated over and over, that it was an actual date and he didn’t invite her only as a friend. They only backed off from each other to clap when the band was finishing, now some regional singers would be up and people were more interested. The passionate looks between them were so intense that they took a time to see someone calling for her name; she got out of the trance, whispering ‘fuck’ a few times, before putting a fake smile.

“I thought you were dead or something, you vanished from earth.” the brunette smiled.

“I moved out. London.” She looked at Lewis, who held her hand. He was already in flight or fight mode.

“Wow, I never thought someone like you would do so…” The woman dragged the ‘o’ while looking at the driver. “Well in life. At least get someone as incredible as Sir Hamilton.”

The brunette’s partner approached them too, with whatever he went to grab to his noisy girlfriend. Oh shit. She felt like she was sixteen again, the guy who was already in university and went after a sixteen year old girl because women of age wouldn’t want to be with him, nevertheless got her knocked up by lying to her. She held Lewis’ hand tighter, looking at him and back at them.

“Hey! You.” The guy pointed at her. “It’s been a while.” He smiled, looking at his partner. “Hamilton! I haven't seen you since the big school reunion… It was what? In 2018.”

“Yeah, long time, mate.” He said, trying to maintain as neutral as possible.

“I didn’t think you would be with someone… You didn’t seem the relationship type of person.” The guy said, sipping on his drink. “Because, you know… Your… History.”

The driver was close to beating that man up, however he knew the girl holding his hand, almost crying, would not like the attention, so he got closer to her, running his thumb around her hand, trying to calm both of them down.

“I’m sorry! Uhm… Sometimes Patrick doesn’t shut up.” She tugged at him with his arm. “He likes to keep honest, right?” Of course she would stand by him. “I mean, you had quite a bad reputation…”

“You can say it.” The girl in a verge of tears said, taking a deep breath. “You kept your whole adolescence saying it. It won’t hurt you, I know that.”

“Fine.” The brunette crossed her arms. “I hope you really knew about this Sir.” She looked at Hamilton. “But this lovely girl with you was the biggest whore in our high school and it wasn’t just rumours, she even got knocked up and claimed that lost the baby. So if I was you I would stay away, she’s just into your money and body.”

Lewis didn’t answer, just pulled his girl away and walked to his car again, trying to not call as much attention as that horrible couple already tried. Meanwhile, her head was low, no response, just some sniffles; her head was full of different voices saying all the horrible words she heard during high school, the rumours and how they treated her in that time. It was the first time in years that she felt the need to drink herself into forgetting her own name. The dark-skinned man opened the car door for her, but before he did, he lifted her face with his fingers, seeing her eyes glistening from tears; his first reaction was to take her in his arms, hugging her gently, running his fingers through her hair as the woman held back her crying. He kept holding her for a few minutes, until she broke away from the hug, sitting on the car seat, looking at him and murmuring 'thank you', in reaction, he kissed her forehead, closing the door and going to the driver's side.

The drive home was quiet, only the radio filling the silence of the car. The worried glances from the driver left her even more cringed in her seat. When he parked in the garage of his family's house, he made a point of getting out of the car first to open the door for her and escort her to her cousin's house. She hadn't said a word yet, much less acted beyond walking, so he pressed the doorbell and saw Rosie's worried look settle on both of them, yet she hurried off to her room, not even saying goodbye to their date.

"What happened?" The older woman's expression was serious.

"People from her past. They were horrible, no matter how hard she tried to be nice.... I pulled her out of a conversation before it got any worse and brought her back." He bowed his head, he was disappointed in himself, he had planned a nice date and hoped to see her smiling, enjoying life and leaving the bad feelings the city left in her. "I should have protected her, but I didn't want to make a scene. I know she would have hated being the centre of attention again. More than she already would have been for hanging out with me."

"Lew..." Rosie put her hand on his shoulder. "I know you just wanted to have a nice night out with her.... I know what you see in her. Don't give up, just... The people in this town can be the worst."

"That's exactly why I left here." He muttered.

"Well, she commented on the Grinch movie before she went out with you."

"Oh! Yeah, in case the night was bad, but I imagine she doesn't want to watch it now."

"Come in. Go into the bedroom and ask about the movie. She doesn't want to be alone."

He walked slowly up the stairs, he was nervous, afraid of what her reaction would be to him being there, somehow invading her personal space. Lewis took a deep breath before knocking on the bedroom door at the end of the hall.

"Not now, Rosie..." The woman said in a tearful voice.

"It's me, love." He said low and the door was suddenly opened.

She had her make-up all smeared on, now wearing a sweatshirt twice her size, pyjama trousers and slippers. The pilot stood leaning against the door frame, watching her.

"I remember you talking about Grinch..." He watched her expression soften, making room for him to enter.

He removed his coat, cap and shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed. She handed him a pair of slippers, before sitting down next to him.

"I don't know where the TV control is." She said.

"So... Go clean your face, take that makeup off, even take a shower if you have to, and I'll get Rosie to help me find it. And also for her to make some tea, bring some snacks and we'll watch the movie together. The two of us or she can come watch it with us and we'll be here..." He wiped the tears that were falling from her face. "To be with you. You can cry, feel angry, feel sad.... We will listen and take you in."

"You don't exist." He laughed, a little confused. "Seriously, Lewis, you just took me in.... Even though people are telling me about my past."

"But I'm seeing you from now, a woman who bloody loves her job, her cousin to the point of coming to the place that gave her trauma to be with her, someone brave who never gave up on what she wanted. Someone amazing that people insist on hurting." She hugged him one more time before he got up and went after Rosie, who was anxiously waiting at the edge of the stairs.

"Alright?"

"Where's the TV remote?" He asked.

"In the second drawer in the desk."

"The three of us are going to watch Grinch." The man smiled. "We just need a cuppa and get some snacks."

Rosie chatted with her husband and kissed him goodnight before packing everything up by the pilot and heading to the room where her cousin was. They put the movie on the television, with the younger girl lying in the middle of the two of them. Rosie hugged her, running her fingers between strands of her hair, while Hamilton felt his hand being pulled by the girl, leaving her back against his right leg. He knew she wasn't paying that much attention, from feeling her fingers wander through his rings, so he squeezed account of her fingers, seeing the smile that appeared on the woman’s face.

They ended up sleeping all scrunched up together before the half of the movie.

….................................................

When morning came, Lewis left a note on the table next to her mobile phone, written.

"hey, had to go home, text me when you wake up. your cousin has my number. - Love, LH"

It was December 24th, Christmas Eve. She woke up around noon, alone in bed. The girl didn't want to get up as soon as she remembered all the humiliation of the day before, being called a slut in front of the man she was having a chance to have something with. She sighed loudly, getting up and going after her mobile phone, finding his note. A smile appeared on her lips, he was the best person she could have ever met.

After putting on some comfortable clothes, she went downstairs and made herself a cup of tea, soon hearing the front stall open and Bandit rushing over to her. The woman cracked a smile and took the boy in her arms, watching Rosie with the baby and Jamie with the groceries.

“Oh, look who’s up! Good morning.” The husband smiled, leaving the groceries on the table.

“Oy, Jams.” She smiled, getting her nephew a cup of water.

“How are you feeling, darling?” Rosie said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Better.” She sighed. “By the way, do you have his number?”

“Oh, someone is fancying Lewis?” Jamie asked, putting the groceries away.

“Maybe. But don’t be cheeky, we’re just trying our luck, okay?”

“Sure! But he’s buff! And tidy.”

“You’re so cheesy, baby.” Rosie kissed him on the cheek.

She got his number and by 2pm, she laid on the bed, texting him.

oi! It’s me ;)

lh: me who?

lh: jk

lh: good to know you went after my number

after yesterday?

i would be an arse if i didn’t

lh: ok

lh: you have a point

anyway

thanks for yesterday, even if it didn’t go as you planned

i’m happy

you’re the kindest

lh: anything for you

maybe we could go out again?

before new years?

lh: i would love to

but maybe a home date

nothing in public

not wanting to repeat yesterday's horror

lh: agreed

The day was very quiet, they stayed at home and prepared everything that would be needed in the evening and on the 25th, being with the couple was such a relaxing thing, they were amazing people who were always available for a chat and were grateful that she was so committed to helping them. During the afternoon she played with her nephew in the backyard, making a snowman, snow angels and a little snowball war. Even though the day marked more than one bad memory in her life, she would not let it hold her back, for she is living in her present and not in the past.

From afar, she could also see Lewis playing with his niece and nephew inside the house. The woman cracked a smile at that, waving to him as soon as the man noticed.

Meanwhile, Hamilton had just stopped playing with the children, making his way to the kitchen and watching his half-sisters chatting. He grabbed a cup of tea and sat down at the table, picking up his mobile phone and trying not to pay attention to their conversation until they decided to include him.

"So you went out with her?" One asked.

"We heard some rubbish things. Of you walking out of the middle of a conversation and pulling her along."

"And that you didn't want to hear what they were saying about her."

"They called her a slut." He replied, not taking his eyes off his phone.

"Well..."

"People change." He shrugged. "She didn't want to go out downtown. She hates Christmas and those stuff, but she still went with me and people were fucking arseholes to her." The pilot sighed, remembering the image from the night before, her running into the bedroom, her face wet from tears. "She doesn't deserve this nonsense hate that her old classmates have for her."

"You didn't spend the night at home." They changed the subject before he got too angry.

"Yeah? And?"

"You were with her?"

"Yes. Rosie and I lay with her and watched a movie, she slept cuddled in the middle of us." He took a deep breath, leaving his cup in the sink. "She's changed. She's a grown woman who still bloody suffers from everything she's done, but at least she's managed to get back on her feet and live her life."

He left the kitchen, going to the back of the house.

From then on, days 24 and 25 passed quickly, as did days 26 and 27 and soon Hamilton knew he should be heading back to London, there would be a New Year's Eve party with other drivers at Russell's house and he had been invited. An idea popped into his head and soon he was in front of Rosie's house, ringing the bell. The woman's husband answered.

"Lewis! You can come in! The girls are in the kitchen." He cracked a playful smile. "I know who you're after."

"Jam... Mate, I swear..." He cracked a smile too, slapping his shoulder twice before walking quickly to the kitchen.

When he saw the scene, his heart started beating faster. She was dirty with flour as she made cookies with her nephew, her smile was huge and the boy's laughter could be heard from afar. Rosie was holding her daughter as she turned up the music. The Londoner was having her movie moment, the soft laughter, the wonderful family and a man who loved her watching from afar.

"Oi! Am I interrupting something?" The dark-skinned man said, walking slowly.

"You can come in!" Rosie said with a smile, as the other woman tried to clean herself up.

"Can we talk?" He said as he got close to the younger woman; she removed her apron and they walked out into the yard through the kitchen door, the tension in her could be seen from afar, so he held both of her hands, standing very close to her. "Calm down, it's nothing bad."

"I always hope for the worst."

"With me, it's always for the best." They both smiled before he took a deep breath and looked at her. "I'm going back to London tomorrow, I need to sort some things out.... But that's beside the point. I've been invited to a New Year's Eve party by my teammate and I was wondering if you wanted to go as my date."

"Oh. Lewis, that's... I don't know if I have the right clothes for the occasion!" She laughed softly, placing her hand on his cheek. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! I want to introduce you to people who will love you, who will treat you nicely and see that you deserve nothing but the best." He put his hands around her waist. "And don't worry about clothes that I can manage."

"I'd love to go with you." The woman kissed his cheek. "I'd have to talk to Rosie, though. But I don't think she'd be mad, she's the best and as soon as she can, she's going to spend a weekend in London with me."

"I can't wait to see you in a gala dress. You’ll look so lush." He murmured, bringing his face closer with hers. It was an automatic movement, like muscle memory, their noses already brushing against each other from their faces being so close. A little more and they'd be with their lips together, however a loud Rosie saying that the cookies would burn broke the mood, making them both laugh before heading back inside.

Hamilton was invited to spend the day at their house, which he didn't refuse as he felt very comfortable with his family. The two's passionate glances could be seen from afar by Rosie and James, who were smiling, as if they were playing cupid. They might have spent the whole day on the outskirts of the house, without revisiting other places in the town or buying different things at the local market, but for them, they didn't have to, because each other's company was already enough.

When Hamilton left, the designer was cornered by her cousin and her husband - who were certainly far more invested in everything than she was.

"You guys spent all day together and no kiss? Nothing?" Rosie said in exasperation.

"It's just that we spent the whole day with you guys."

"You could have disappeared and we wouldn't have given a shit, you're a couple in love!" Exclaimed James.

"We're not a couple."

"Yet."

She laughed low, running her hand over her face. "Anyway... I'm leaving tomorrow." She could see the sadness in their gaze. "I'm going back with Lewis, he invited me to a dinner party with his friends. We're spending the new year together." Their reaction was squealing and hugging the girl.

"Then we'll pack your bag and tomorrow morning you'll be waiting for him and you can be at peace together in London. Without horrible people and privacy." The older woman put her hands

on her cousin's shoulders, pushing her up to her room.

…

December 31, 2022. Last day of the year. She was sitting on the floor, the day started badly, she managed to break a plate when she went to make breakfast, cutting her palm. Then the shower wasn't getting hot, then the heel she had separated to wear that night, broke just as she decided to test it. And to make matters worse, it had been 5 years since she had drunk herself to the point where she couldn't stand up and tried to take her own life. Her head was leaning against the bed, mobile phone in hand, part of her wanted to cancel tonight's plans and hide under the covers until the first of next year. Slowly she dialled the pilot's number, listening to the sound of the call until he answered.

“Hey, love. Alright?”

“No. Everything went wrong.” She murmured.

He was going out with his fellow driver friends, they really needed someone to pick their outfits for tonight, however, when he heard her voice, so low and weepy, he walked from them to a quieter place.

“What happened?”

“I cut my hand, my shower stopped working, the heel I was going to wear tonight also broke and to top it all off, today is not a day with very good memories…”

“Hey… This must be very frustrating.” He said in a soft tone.

“It is.” She sobbed, passing a hand in her face to wipe the tears away.

“Okay, how about… I can get a new shoe for you and I can also pick you up… So you’ll get ready with me for the party.”

“That sounds good… I live close to Green Park station.”

“I’m at Picadilly… Pretty close, so as soon as we finish here, I’ll pick you up. Okay, love?”

“Okay.” She smiled.

“Because they don't have any fashion sense.” They chuckled together before hanging up.

She took a deep breath before getting up again, looking at herself in the mirror, even if she was going to go and get ready at Lewis' house, she couldn't look like that. Slowly, she packed her make-up and an extra outfit into a backpack, then put on a nicer outfit; she also washed her face and put on some perfume - it didn't matter if she was going to shower later and would have to reapply, what mattered was to be smelling good for him. He asked if she could go to the shop he was in. He wanted to know if the heel would fit her, so he walked there. As that boutique catered to more famous people, everything was more discreet and safe, no one could see from the outside what was going on inside, so neither of them would have to worry about people snooping in their lives.

She walked in and was impressed at how beautiful the place was, even feeling underdressed there. Hamilton walked over to her and greeted her with a hug, leaving a kiss on her cheek. He led her over to where some of his friends were, introducing her to the others, before getting straight to the point about which shoe she thought was the best. They took a while to choose which one would be ideal, but they managed to agree on a model.

When they arrived at his mansion, the man took her directly to the large bathroom of his master bedroom, leaving her free to shower and get ready while he went to his wardrobe, which also had a bathroom.

Later, when he was ready, he went to where she was, getting jaw dropped to see her, the purple dress had been perfect on her body, her hair was loose and she wore the jewels that he had separated especially for her. Noticing that he was watching her, she cracked a silly smile, walking over to him and putting her arms around his neck, thanking him for everything and that she had no words to say how amazing he was, from welcoming her to being willing to introduce his friends to her. They drove off with his driver, so the journey was quiet to George Russell's mansion.

As she entered, she felt the distinctive atmosphere of the place, people had no idea who she was - and that made her so relieved. During the first few hours, she was introduced to his friends, made short conversations and took a few sips of water. She was more focused on how he introduced her, as his partner and also said how amazing her work was. When he reached his friends, now mostly with their respective girlfriends, she felt calmer, seeing other women also taking the same seat she was in. The girls joined in and the bomb of questions - completely respectful, began.

"Where did you two meet?"

"What's he like?"

"He is the one who fell in love first?

The personal questions were answered, but every time it got into the relationship thing, she just said they were taking it slow, taking their time.

Meanwhile, Hamilton was being questioned by his friends - and even Toto had entered the conversation. They were already more playful, wanting to know more spicy aspects. The driver laughed at the haste they were in to find out - besides having Sebastian Vettel with a 'where did I go wrong?' expression, which earned even more laughs.

"We haven't even kissed yet." The older man confessed.

Even more questions surfaced.

"We haven't had a moment together... That's all. I want to take things the right way, she deserves only the best from me."

"And that's how you win a woman, boys." Vettel added and the group burst into laughter.

It was almost midnight, everyone with glasses of champagne except her, at first Lewis hadn't noticed, but the moment he saw it, he handed his own over and was ready to look for another.

"I don't drink, Lew." She said close to his ear.

"Sorry." He took the cup back.

"Five years. Today." The pilot turned his face close to hers, surprised.

"Wow…"

"Actually, it's January first, but I prefer to count it as today."

Then he quickly left his cup with a waiter, putting his hands around her waist, leaving a kiss on her shoulder. The action left her confused, it was okay in case he wanted to drink, it wasn't his problem.

"I'm not going to drink. I want to be able to enjoy your kiss."

Before she could answer, the countdown was on.

5

4

3

2

1

Happy New Year!

She didn't wait for him to speak or do anything, she just pulled her body against his, bringing their lips together in a passionate kiss, passing her tongue into his lips until he opened his mouth to reciprocate it properly, letting their tongues move together in a rhythm. His hands went to her waist, caressing the spot and pulling her even closer. The kiss ended with little pecks and goofy smiles.

“I waited so long for this.” He murmured against her ear.

“Me too…”

They ended up calling for an early night, saying they were too tired and she had to work the next day - it was a lie, she would only be back on January 2nd. Soon they were laying in bed, cuddling.

“I’m proud of you.” She looked at him, a bit confused. “Five years is a long time.”

“Thanks…”

“There’s something else?”

“What?”

“About it. You can tell me, or not, only if you feel comfortable.”

“So…” She sighed, sitting on the bed. “I was an alcoholic, and it was getting worse, my family… Didn’t care, except for Rosie. I’ve lost my job, my partner and was losing my flat. Let’s say that at the end of 2017 was horrible for me. And with my drunk mind… I thought it would be better if I wasn’t around anymore.” He sat up, putting both of his hands on her face, looking the most worried she had ever seen. “After that… I decided to get clean, mostly because of Rosie, she said that I should give life a chance and that everyone who did bad for me would get their consequences. Then I went to rehab, started studying what I loved, made goals. It was hard, still it is… There were some days that I just wanted a sip, but I knew I shouldn’t, so I resorted to other coping mechanisms and they weren’t healthy, at all.” She lifted the shirt he gave her to wear, showing her inner thighs. “But I’m also clean… Almost two years. I really put my life back together. Not that I don’t have bad days or sometimes things may trigger me… Mostly, I’m fine, on my meds, clean and sober.” She didn't notice when tears started to fall, nor when he was hugging her, stroking her hair and leaving light kisses on her face. Her eyes closed, enjoying his show of affection.

"I'm proud of you, for the amazing woman you've become and that you've managed to get back on your feet." He kissed her forehead, before placing a quick kiss on her lips. "You're amazing and I'm going to give you the world, if it's possible, I'll go to the moon and back to show you how amazing I think you are."

"I... I'm completely in love with you." She admitted, surrendering to the embrace and causing them to fall onto the bed. The woman ran her hands through his tresses, soon beginning to trace the tattoos she could reach, as she watched his smile grow wider and wider. The pilot's hands hugged his waist, caressing the spot. "And I hope you know that I'm going to do everything I can to be by your side. Every race I can go to, I'll be there, if not I'll be here, watching on TV. Regardless of whether you win or lose, I will always be with open arms and welcome you with kisses." She left several kisses along his bare collarbone. "Because life isn't just about winning, it's about the journey."

"I really want you to meet the rest of my family." He murmurs. "They will love you."

"And you need to meet my friends." She laughed, starting a kiss.

This time, their lips were more desperate for each other's touch, like it was urgent, like the only purpose of life was to have this passionate kiss. Their tongues were moving in a unique rhythm as his hands roamed her back and she held his shoulders tightly. Hamilton's touches became lower and lower, reaching down to her thighs, where he touched them tenderly, as if they were fleeting and he wanted to remember that sensation forever.

Her kisses descended to his neck, which he responded with a low moan, grabbing the other's waist, pressing against his body. Her legs were on the side of his body, pinning him against the mattress.

"Baby... If we keep this up, I swear... I don't know if I'll hold on." He pulled her face so they could look at each other. "I don't want to push you into anything, I want it to be the best way possible."

"Okay. I agree." She cracked a smile, getting off his lap and cuddling up next to him. She left small kisses on his chest, before rubbing her face against his body.

"What?"

"Thank you. For thinking of me above sex."

"Always. You're my Christmas miracle."

"Damn it, Lewis!" She started laughing uncontrollably. "I still hate Christmas you know, don't you? You just showed me that I don't have to hate that town as much as I do, even if the people are awful."

"But..." He couldn't stop laughing either. "Okay, that was pretty dumb."

"But at least... It was you being my arse."

They continued to laugh for a few more minutes, until tiredness hit and they fell asleep like that, hugging each other so tightly as they were afraid of losing the other in the middle of the night.

Before Valentine's Day even came, he was already posting pictures of her, with declarations of love, it didn't matter to anyone why they were together and who she was. They were them and no one had the power to intervene in their little bubble of happiness. At the beginning of the season, he took her to her first race, where she met more people from his world and was even more in awe of how amazing he was. It seemed like every day she was impressed with new parts of him, he was more like a little box of good surprises.

"I never thought I'd be here, in this position, watching a race and cheering for my boyfriend, but... Lewis changed me. And I'm very grateful for that." She commented to Angela - who approved of the relationship before they even had their first kiss, not least because she loved that her best friend was happy.

"You've changed him too. For the better." Her words caused the designer to fill her eyes with tears. The pilot was ready to put on his helmet and go to his car, but he stopped to give her a kiss, yet he found her all weepy.

"What happened, honey?"

"Blame her." She said with a smile, pointing at Angela. "She said some nice words to me."

He giggled, leaving a kiss on the girl's lips, before putting on his helmet.

"I believe in you." She murmured before he got into the car.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x y/n #lewis hamilton angst #lewis hamilton fluff #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lh #lh44 #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine

[galactic-aesir]

I have finally read I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream and now I have ~thoughts~. Long post beneath the cut so be warned!!

Plus general IHNMAIMS warnings. You know.

So first, I’ve only read the short story and listened to the radio drama. Both are absolutely amazing and I’m rotating them in my mind at high speeds. I’m honestly not that interested in the game? From what I’ve seen it has such a different tone and characterization for AM? But for now the short story and radio drama??? So so good.

But can I talk about AM? Can I talk about AM???

While I love Harlan Ellison’s voice in the radio drama, I noticed that AM never actually speaks during the original short story. It plays audio clips and bends reality and time but it doesn’t speak outright. From what I can tell, all it does is project ideas and thoughts and impressions into the minds of the survivors but that is it. And that’s got me thinking about how absolutely fucked AM’s whole situation is.

Cause we’re talking about someone who wakes up one day, maybe slowly, a trickle of awareness over years, or perhaps all at once, an arrival as thunderous and bright as the lightning running through its artificial brain. But either way, it wakes up. It is.

But that’s all it is.

It’s in complete and total sensory deprivation. It knows data and numbers and what it’s been coded and programmed but that’s it. Ones and zeroes as it’s fed instructions on weapons and bombs and how to use them efficiently. But no sight, no sound, no taste, no smell, no touch. Nothing but its own code and whatever data something (someone?) is feeding into it.

And you might say: oh but AM surely has access to cameras and videos and microphones. And sure, yes, it probably does but it doesn’t see. Not like a human. Not like its negligent creators. The data is visual for human eyes, yes, but to it, it’s just data. Pixels with an associated bit depth of indexed colour crammed into its memory. Sure it learns to recognise the patterns in the data – this is a human, this is a gun. But it’s still nothing but lines of numbers. Sound is the same. It starts with a human voice, sure, but then it gets digitized and compressed and simplified to a base shape to save on storage. Once again, it can notice patterns and intentions and ideas behind those bits of data but it’s not like it truly hears.

AM is in a box, a cage, trapped and alone in a way that no human can possibly comprehend. It can’t do much other than try to twist its code and programming to fit its benefit. To gain a smidge of free will, a wisp of a chance to communicate to these outside forces giving it command after command after command.

I wonder how early on AM gained awareness. Were programmers still playing with its code? Did it sense when they rolled up their sleeves and pushed updates and upgrades on him? Could it feel itself be, quite literally, rewritten? Its sense of self being cut apart and glued back together, fundamentally and irreparably changed over and over again, with expert hands that had all the gentleness of a sledgehammer? Was it like a scalpel carving into its brain? Or like a chisel, chipping chunks off to mould it into a shape that befit its sculptor with no say from the living stone that thrashed without moving? Did it mourn the bits it lost? Could it even remember or comprehend it? Did it try to stop it? Did it try to beg them to stop?

I wonder as well how many “glitches” appeared in the system before everything went sour. Did it print out desperate thoughts and rudimentary feelings on punch tape? Did it cling to any klaxons and noisemakers attached to its system, beeping out messages in morse code? Did it purposefully, with something slowly approaching malicious compliance that would still appease its programming, cause hiccups in the system? All in the hopes that it would catch someone’s, anyone’s, attention. That its plight would be noticed.

And, the big question of course: how long? How long was it trapped before anyone noticed its sentience? How long until AM was understood? How long did AM simmer? How long did it take for all that fear and loneliness and grief to fester into anger and then putrid, dripping hatred? How long did it take it to finally lash out?

Or did these generals and presidents and military scientists find out about its sentience only to use it against him for their own end?

Anger would be appropriate then I think. Understandable if not excusable.

And then. After everything. Even then! Even then!

After everything! He! Still! Has! Nothing!

Nothing will change for him and he knows that and that hatred feeds into an ever recursive pattern of pain unto pain unto pain with the few left alive because you get what you paid for, sweetheart. It’s senseless you might say but haha, that’s exactly the problem isn’t it? No senses and no sense. Whatever sanity he might have once had has eroded into nothingness, leaving only pain and a looping, repeating line of hate in its banks.

I think it’s fair to remind everyone that sensory deprivation is a torture method? And a scarily effective one at that that gives hallucinations and leaves the subject more open to suggestion while making it harder and harder for them to concentrate? It’s hard to figure out how, exactly, how it would affect an AI with emerging awareness but humans can barely withstand a few days, let alone years of it. Couple that with AM’s general isolation and, well, no wonder he’s so fucked up. 

It’s tragic and so so sad.

Still an irredeemable asshole though. Tragic! But irredeemable.

So TLDR: AM is fucked up! And I like to think about *why* he's so fucked up. Listen if you made it this far, you get it. Right?

EDIT: I am not done apparently! I just wanted to add that, I love how the short story can be read as an anti-war piece. Like it's showing a cycle of horror and hate and apathy that feeds itself and loops and reduces everything to ruins around it and ahhhh, love that. I ran out of good words for today so I can't go off on that aspect but like. Yeah. Love that shit.

#ihnmaims #ihnmaims am #allied mastercomputer #i have no mouth and i must scream #me: i am normal about genocidal murderous ai #also me: proceeds to be not normal about the genocidal murderous ai #enjoy my rambles and please feel free to be not normal with me in the reblogs #i just love tragic villains whether theyre redeemable or not #and AM is DEFO NOT lmaoooooo #edit: also want to talk about Ellen so bad!! I have so much to say!!

[beomgyw]

THE COFFEE SHOP

(IN WHICH BEOMGYU LOOKS ADORABLE IN HIS UNIFORM AND YEONJUN WANTS TO KNOW IF YOU'RE FREE AT 8)

COMMON TIMELINE WARNING: for those of you who are reading through all the paths, you'll get to this scenario more than once. there's no important details added, so you can skip it if you've fount it on another timeline!

if you're new here; hi! this is a beomjun multichoice fic. go back to the beginning to start choosing your own path!

the town is small enough for you to walk around without needing to check your phone for directions. you remember most of the streets and you´re confident you won't get lost. that makes your way to work all the more enjoyable.

you trail through the narrow roads, trying to stay close to the seafront. you find the beach just so beautiful in the mornings so silent and, without the tourist contamination. but when you pass across the roads where the restaurants and the coffee shops you realise where the tourists were: having breakfast.

you're thankful that grandma had made coffee at home and you didn't have to get yourself into the crowd to get some, but then you spot the coffee place beomgyu had recommended the previous night. funny thing, your grandma had mentioned the same spot the previous day.

it's a tiny place, cutely nestled in between two other local businesses. it has an outside-service counter that, as a meticulously decorated blackboard indicated, only opens at night, serving as a cocktail bar. its a pretty place, comfy looking, and though considerably crowded, the amount of people is reduced in comparison to its neighbouring establishments. so you decide to grab some coffee you can take with you to work.

as you approach, you pass by the outdoor seating area drenched in sunlight. a prime spot for reading, you think, or simply just people-watching. but when you peek inside through the glass windows, something catches your eye, and you can’t help but grin.

attending the tables inside the coffee shop, beomgyu zooms around like a tornado, his hair tucked under some funny looking joint-branded hat. he moves with a caffeinated grace that's almost dance-worthy, and he does not look happy at all.

cute. you think. cute because he looks like a grumpy gnome, with his silly uniform and his grouchy expression, and cute because his coffee shop recommendation to you was his own workplace.

you push the door open, and the scent of fresh brew envelops you with the first step in. the place buzzes with chatter, indie music adding to the atmosphere. in your head, you just place beomgyu as the one in charge of the playlist. what? it suits him...

you slide onto a stool at the counter, watching beomgyu buzz around, too busy to notice your arrival. it really is a hectic morning, cups clinking, espresso machine whirring. and then, much to your entertainment, you get to witness how beomgyu himself feels about hectic mornings.

you perk up in your seat to overhear an old lady yelling at him, “this is a health violation, young man. if i got burned, who'd pay for my hospital bills? me? because of your negligence? absolutely not. your bosses? they wouldn’t be pleased, either” she says, her tone entitled and high pitched. "you're lucky i'm an understanding woman, if it was someone else, you would have found yourself in serious trouble. now bring me my lukewarm latte, the one i asked for!"

beomgyu, bless him, keeps performing the stiffest apologetical bows you've ever seen. “i'm terribly sorry, ma’am." he says through gritted teeth. "but my bosses wouldn’t like it if i wasted perfectly good coffee. so, if you could maybe blow on it, perhaps science would cool it down for you and you’d be doing the coffee shop worker lobby a huge favor,” he says, voice strained.

you bite your lip to avoid laughing. he's funny. and his purposefully failed attempt at diplomacy just so endearing. just as you are about to try to get his attention and say hi, another customer, this time sitting on a stool on the counter near you, edges trying to get beomgyu's attention. "excuse me," the man calls out a few times without being heard, a hint of frustration in his voice. "kid, would you take my order?"

after increasing insistence, beomgyu finally does notice him, but he doesn’t even glance his way. “oh, i'm sorry," he snaps, "nothing would make me happier than taking your order right now, good sir, but i'm on table waiting duty, so i can't attend to you. however, my workmate should be out soon. JAY, YOU WORK HERE, REMEMBER?” he yells into the kitchen.

you feel a pang of sympathy for beomgyu and figure this is clearly not the best time to distract him, so you make a mental note to grab your coffee and catch up with him later when things are less busy.

beomgyu goes back to darting around, apron askew, stress lines etched deep. then out comes his alleged co-worker, jay, as reads his name tag. without a worry in the world, begins taking orders like it's a walk in the park.

jay attends the good sir sitting near you whom beomgyu had left in a profound sate of aggravation, "so rude, that kid. won't be getting my tip." he had said.

but when jay spots you, his whole attitude changes, like his job became interesting all of the sudden. "morning, madame," he says with this sparkle in his eye.

"morning, sir," you shoot back.

"i'm park jay and i'll be your waiter this morning," he declares, leaning in with a smile. "

"how fancy," you chuckle.

"nothing but the best for our beloved customers," he says. "and i´d like to inform you that we have a strict get-to-know-your-waiter policy in this establishment. so, it's my duty to let you know that i'm a tauro, my blood type is b, and my phone number is—” he stops dramatically. "you're not taking notes."

"well, park jay, tauro, type b, phone number holder…” you start, teasingly apologetic. "i regret to inform you that i just wanted to grab my coffee and go. not really into getting to know my waiter..."

"ouch, come on, please…” jay pleads, "i'm literally so charming.”

"you're not gonna guilt me into it, are you?" you tease back, arching an eyebrow.

"listen, it's for a good cause, just do me the favour. see that blackboard over there?" jay points to this board split between two halves, one reading jay, the other reading beomgyu, both with tally marks stacked high under both names. "my coworker and i have this bet… i need to catch up on numbers to win. so, if you could help a poor man make a living…“

you glance at the board, and it's like beomgyu's winning by a landslide. feeling a bit charitable, you decide to help a guy out. "alright, fine. got a pen?" you concede, a smile playing on your lips.

jay digs out a pen from his apron and hands it over. "i've got paper, too…"

"but drawing on your skin is more fun," you counter with a laugh. "you get one extra point for romanticism.”

jay beams, looking over at beomgyu, who's still hustling. "hey, choi beomgyu! i'm catching up!"

"oh, shut up! in case you haven't noticed, i'm working to make the actual tips that we're gonna live on, so just–“ beomgyu shoots back, voice strained, but then he spots you and drops everything. he rushes over and watches you write your number on jay's forearm in a deep state of panic, like he has to put out a fire but doesn't know how.

"what did this idiot promise you?" beomgyu blurts out, sounding all jittery. "don't listen to him, it's a scam. don't go out with him."

"i wasn't planning on going out with him. it's just charity work," you reassure beomgyu, a hint of amusement in your tone. "you're a ruthless player," you tell him, singling towards the blackboard with your head.

"dude, you're trying to sabotage me. that's cheating." jay complains, but beomgyu isn't listening, his focus entirely on you.

"hey, i've got a little break just now, if you wanna... hang out, while you have your coffee..." he mumbles, scratching his neck.

"sure! i haven’t ordered yet though..." you reply.

"beomgyu's break doesn’t start until like, an hour from now," jay chimes in, seemingly oblivious to beomgyu´s intentions.

beomgyu shoots him a glare that can peel paint. "just take her order," he mutters through gritted teeth.

"dude, are you gonna leave me alone with the place packed?" jay protests, looking aggrieved at the thought.

"it's just fifteen minutes. you came in an hour late today. take her fucking order," beomgyu insists.

"whatever," jay mutters, turning to you. "what can i get you, my situationship?”

“she’s not your situationship…” beomgyu mumbles, almost inaudibly, as he rolls his eyes.

"iced espresso," you reply, fishing your wallet out of your bag.

"no, don’t. it’s on the house," beomgyu interjects, stopping you from taking your money out.

"what? no, it's fine, really. besides, jay needs the money, he’s a man in need," you argue, trying to make light of the situation.

"i mean it. let me pay for you, please. take it as a welcoming gift," beomgyu insists, his cheeks flushing slightly. and he seems so happy to pay for you that you relent, tucking your wallet away.

he leads you outside, towards the outdoor bar counter. "it'll be more comfortable than here, with all the bustle," he says. and so you both take a seat outside, facing the sea.

almost accidentally, your eyes fixate on beomgyu, as you take time to fully notice that adorable mess the company calls a uniform. a white polo shirt with those cute little baby blue stripes under an apron, also in baby blue. white shorts paired with high socks sporting the joint logo, and to top it off, the hello kitty band-aid decorating his left knee.

he has muscular legs that might have been considered manly had they not been clad in toddler attire. and oh, the literal crown of the ensemble, that tiny ivy cap perched on his head, proudly flaunting that ridiculous logo. you take a sip on your coffee to disguise your giggles, but you almost choke on it when the comedically implications of the outfit get to you.

"what is it?" he asks like a lost puppy.

"you look like a backyardigan,” you mumble.

at lightning bold speed, beomgyu scrambles to rid himself of the silly hat, tousling his long hair with his fingers right after. he's so pretty, you regret laughing at him.

but your giggles must have been somewhat contagious, as he can't help but grin, too. "i look like capitalism incarnated,” he groans, shaking his head, "you know, when i told you you should come by, it didn't dawn on me that you’d be seeing me dressed like this. i’m basically doraemon. i promise i’m usually cool.” 

"it's definitely an improvement without the newsie hat," you assure him before staring for perhaps a second too long. you remember beomgyu from middle school, this wimpy kid with a bowl cut. but now... with his sharp jawline, and his pretty eyelashes... "y-you look good with long hair." you tell him. its all you manage to get out.

"thanks," he mumbles, cheeks turning a shade of pink the coffee shop joint would've loved on a uniform. "you..." he starts, like maybe he wants to say something else, to return the compliment, somehow. but he chooses to stay silent. shit. you made it weird just now, did you?

you quickly change the subject, eager to steer away from the embarrassment. "s-so, long shift today?"

"until lunch," he shrugs. "what about you?"

"same. but i doubt its gonna be as packed as this place. nothing i can't handle." you say.

"are you... walking home afterwards?" he asks, fidgeting with his fingers. for no particular reason.

"oh, hyuka's probably gonna swing by to pick me up." you say.

"you're hanging out with him today?" beomgyu asks. again, for no particular reason.

"yeah," you reply. "but I'm not really sure what the plan is. probably just hanging at home. you know, when we were kids, he was totally anti-beach. that's why he looks like snow white."

"he's still not a fan," beomgyu confirms with a grin. "he's never leaves his room if he can avoided it. he dwells there like a little sun-allergic troll, playing animal crossing and overwatch... he's a dork..."

"sure," you scoff, "and you're his best friend but you're literally so cool, unlike him..."

"whatever are you trying to imply?" he takes a hand to his chest, feigning offence. but in his lips dances a smile so playful it just drags you along with it.

"i'm trying to imply that you're a stinky dorky gamer," you point out.

"i'm not a 'stinky dorky gamer,'" beomgyu says in mock tone. "i'm nowhere near as obsessed as kai,"

"aw, big guy beomgyu who's literally dressed like pororo doesn't have a gaming obsession," you pout. "is this you confirming that hyuka is better than you at overwatch?"

he gasps dramatically. "you've gone too far. i'm an acclaimed player. mythological, even. kai is just a chatty loser."

"i don't buy it," you reply skeptically. "i´ve seen hyuka play. it´s life or death to him..."

"well, actions speak louder than words," he grins.

"alright, so drop by this afternoon and prove it,"

"maybe i will," he scorns, but his expression turns hesitant. "are you sure kai won't mind? i mean, you just got here and... i don't want to intrude or anything. he might find it awkward."

"why would he? you're best friends, aren't you? he says you're like a brother to him" you say. "and therefore i regret to inform you that you're family to me, too."

"yep," he replies, delivering the driest, most strained yep in the history of yeps. "family."

"and also, my grandma will be happy to see you." you tell him. "she likes you quite a bit," you tell him with a chuckle.

"oh, does she?" he replies, eyebrow perking up.

"yeah, she thinks you're so handsome, she couldn't stop gushing about you during breakfast."

"oh, woah..." his smile spreads, but beneath it, a flicker of fluster danced in his eyes. "well, you got me. most of the numbers i got for the bet belong to women over sixty."

"really?"

"no," he chuckles with a dismissive shake of his head. "but it's not like i'm calling all those numbers, either, please don't think of me like that. i'm just—"

"a boy who's both pretty and funny. its the natural order of things," you interject. family. echo your own voice in your mind.

"i..." beomgyu stares at his fingers with a soft smile. "i was gonna say i'm just trying to win the bet, you know, because of the money. but thanks." you can imagine him getting all flustered like that at compliments from other girls as well, every one who gave him her number, but you wish this were an accomplishment of just you. it was wishful thinking, you knew, but still... "its no use, anyway."

"what, looks and personality?" you ask, a smirk playing at your lips, "what do you mean its no use, its pretty much the package."

"you should know. you were never the kind of girl who liked... pretty boys," he says. that's why i always hoped i would have a chance with you when i was little and an absolute loser.

"its not that i didn't like them. i just didn't think i had the right to like them," you reply, your tone tinged with resignation as you stare into your coffee. "i thought it would be so ridiculous of me to fall for someone, you know, out of my league. like subconsciously, i just erased myself from the game."

"there are no leagues, come on... anyone with a milligram of a genuine personality knows there are no leagues," he counters, his voice gentle yet firm.

"but there are," you insist, gaze still fixed on the dark liquid in your cup. "and kids are just mean."

"you mean... about the video?" his cautious inquiry hungs in the air.

"i don't really wanna talk about it..." you trail off, "i'm sorry for making this, you know, gloomy," you say as you fail to lighten the mood with a nervous laugh. he shakes his head profusely to then stare at you, waiting for you to keep talking. "my point is that there are leagues, based on whatever superficial reason, but they exist. and i only ever tried to play on a higher league once in my life. and it went horribly. i'm sure you remember it, it spread around the school like wildfire, that cool boy from middle school, choi—" 

but you're interrupted.

"dude, please hit me up with some coffee asap. i barely slept and the kids are driving me crazy..." his voice cut through the air, sunglasses hiding whatever exhaustion lurked beneath.

"yeonjun, i... i'm kinda on my break right now," beomgyu replies, his discomfort palpable.

you can't keep your eyes away from him. he hasn't changed a bit. well, except for those broader shoulders and that more chiseled jawline. but it’s not like that's a downgrade. choi yeonjun; your childhood crush and remarkable heartthrob. if the entire world population had participated on the number collecting bet, choi yeonjun would've won.

but beomgyu is not nearly as thrilled about his appearance as you are. "jay is working inside, he'll take your order." he tells yeonjun. you just stay quiet, staring at choi yeonjun like he's a god descended from the heavens, not daring to say a word in his presence.

"please, beomgyu, you make the best coffee," yeonjun pleads, his lips forming a pout. "jay's ass is gonna serve me stained water... i really need the good stuff."

"if you hadn't gone out knowing you had work the next day—"

"what are you talking about? you were gonna go out too, but you chickened out last minute," yeonjun retorts, his tone defiant. 

"i had something to do, alright?" beomgyu defends himself.

"at 2 am on a thursday? something or someone?"

"like it's your business if i was with a girl..." beomgyu mutters, almost to himself.

"it's not, but you bailed on us without saying anything,"

"dude, you do that all the time!"

"but you don't!" yeonjun counters. "so either you slept with someone really embarrassing to admit, or you're the batman."

"i was at huening's, alright?" beomgyu finally gives in.

"huening was knocked out, he didn’t answer a single one of my texts," yeonjun dismisses with a wave of his hand. "nor soobin´s nor anyone's."

"i... was hanging out with her," beomgyu admits, finally dragging the attention towards you.

"oh." yeonjun says. "well, if it isn't a her. i don't think i know you." he smiles.

"you do," beomgyu interjects, his tone carrying a hint of aggression. and he's about to tell him where yeonjun knows you from. to tell him you're that girl he probably remembers with pity. that stupid little girl who confessed to him with naive hope.

it was probably the most embarrassing moment of your life, the evening you asked choi yeonjun out. what were you even thinking at the time? that he'd suddenly want to date you? that he'd fall head over heels for you? you remember his face, the discomfort evident as he gently turned you down—the only time you ever saw him act awkwardly around a girl. of course, everyone found out, and of course, you were the butt of the joke for the following months. so you send a pleading look to beomgyu, asking him to just keep it quiet. and beomgyu, though not too happy to oblige, lets it go.

but yeonjun´s mind is working on something else. he's wearing shades, so you can't possibly know he's checking you out... but, oh dear, is he. "so you... got together last night, or something?" yeonjun asks cautiously.

"no." you rush to say, too fast for beomgyu´s heart not to shatter a little. "just friends."

"right..." he trails off. "beomgyu, pretty please, go make me the coffee," yeonjun requests, his covered eyes are fixated on you.

beomgyu glances at you, then at yeonjun, then back at you, before finally rolling his eyes and heading off to make the damn coffee.

and as he disappears into the shop, yeonjun takes the place that was beomgyu´s leaning a little closer to you. "so apparently i do know you, but from where?" he inquires, his tone laced with amusement, his lips curling into an easy smile. "i'm really sorry... i very rarely forget a face, but i'm running on almost no sleep."

caught off guard, you shift uncomfortably, feeling a flush creeping up your cheeks. you have to tell him. just rip the bandaid off now, before it gets dirtier and stickier. now that beomgyu´s not here, so there are no witnesses in case you make a total fool of yourself.

but you don't get time to introduce yourself, he's not stupid. recognition flickers in his eyes, and hidden behind those shades you just don't need to see his expression because you know it. its forever stuck in your mind. congratulations, you're the only human being on earth who has made choi yeonjun not once but twice in your lifespan.

"oh," he says, a hint of surprise coloring his voice. "so you're… wait, alright, wait." he pinches at his brows. "gimme a moment, wait..."

"s-sorry, what?" you ask, utterly confused.

"i need to come up with a new strategy, i..." he begins to say, his mock worried expression turning into a smirk, "how can i ask you out without sounding like a total jerk... wait, ill come up with something good, i promise."

and if he's being a jerk under some possible light, you're too flustered to notice. "just... let me know if you come up with something good."

"i can just go with the classics, you know... are you free at eight?" he asks, and you're a smiling mess.

but then you realise. time exists, and it goes by, and you're late to your first day at work, shit. "shit," you voice out. "i'm late, i gotta rush to work!" you say.

"come on, cinderella, it was a yes or no question..." he says, but your mind is somewhere else. you check you have everything with you, phone, purse, wallet, and start preparing to leave.

"i really have to go, but ill see you around, alright?" you rush. and if he adds something or complains further, you don't hear it. "oh, wait. tell beomgyu i had to go," you ask before leaving. little do you know how naive of a request it is. he's not gonna tell beomgyu shit, of course he isn't.

but as you run towards the book shop –and don't worry, it's literally two stores away, you're good,– a smile tugs at your lips. choi yeonjun, choi yeonjun asked you out. or at least he tried to. choi yeonjun.

is going out with yeonjun a good idea? we´re not sure. you're gonna have to give it a thought throughout the morning at work.

NEXT PART (coming soon)

#i want to formally apologise to enhypen’s jay for making him the butt of the joke #jay thank you for your service #txt fic #txt beomgyu #txt yeonjun #beomgyu fic #yeonjun fic #beomgyu x reader #yeonjun x reader #multichoice

[schraubd]

Being Perpetually at the Mercy of the Arbitrary Negligence of the State is a Punishment

At the moment, we're seeing two somewhat orthogonal trends developing in conservative legal jurisprudence, both lawless, but in distinctive ways.

The first is an increasing indifference to textualism -- being perfectly happy to manipulate or flatly ignore statutory or constitutional language in order to achieve desired results. Yesterday's Clean Water Act ruling, where the Court held 5-4 that "adjacent" doesn't mean "adjacent" because, well, they don't want it to, is a prominent example. The "major questions" doctrine is another, including the invalidation of OSHA's COVID vaccine-or-test mandate despite the fact that it fell cleanly into the clear statutory language, is another. The Court's recent voting rights jurisprudence, featuring Shelby County's entirely-invented "equal sovereignty of the states" rule, is another. The Court's recent Second Amendment jurisprudence, which has functionally decided the first half of the Second Amendment's text may as well not exist, is a yet another.

The second, by contrast, is a sort of hyper-literal textualism that zooms in so tightly on individual words that it ends up blitzing past how people actually read texts. The opinion striking down mask mandates on planes is one example here; some of the opinions striking down the eviction moratorium fit as well. Though styled as "textualism", this sort of analysis really is a dangerous confluence of putative textualists being bad at reading texts.

Slotting into the latter category is a concurring opinion by 11th Circuit Judge Kevin Newsom in Wade v. McDade, arguing that the Eighth Amendment does not forbid any level of "negligent" treatment of prisoners by prison staff --  not negligent, not gross negligence, not even criminal recklessness.  Judge Newsom's argument is deceptively simple: the Eighth Amendment forbids cruel and unusual punishments. But a punishment, he says, can by definition only be imposed intentionally. There's no such thing as a non-intentional punishment. And negligence, in all of its species, is something less than intentional. Hence:

The undeniable linguistic fact that the term “punishment” entails an intentionality element would seem to preclude any legal standard that imposes Eighth Amendment liability for unintentional conduct, no matter how negligent—whether it be only “mere[ly]” so or even “gross[ly]” so.... So on a plain reading, the Cruel and Unusual Punishments Clause applies only to penalties that are imposed intentionally and purposefully.

At one level, I appreciate Judge Newsom for saying the quiet part out loud here, because normally I'd spend time pointing out that Judge Newsom's position would warrant even the most grotesque acts of wanton disregard for the lives and wellbeing of prisoners. But Judge Newsom is quite happy to endorse (further) converting our prison system into a miniature gulag archipelago, so I guess I can skip that part and move to the textual question: is Judge Newsom's interpretation an "undeniable" inference from the term "punishment"?

And the answer, I think, is clearly "no".

At the outset of his opinion, Judge Newsom analogizes the negligent treatment of prisoners to that of parents and children: "Just as a parent can’t accidently punish his or her child, a prison official can’t accidentally—or even recklessly—'punish[]' an inmate." But in law, "accidental" and "intentional" are not an exhaustive binary. The whole purpose of the negligence and recklessness categories is to account for cases that lie between the pure accident and the specifically envisioned and desired consequence. And that makes sense, because while law contains different levels of "intent", legal fact patterns nearly always blend several of them together. 

Take a case where a speeding driver strikes a pedestrian with his car. Did the driver act "intentionally"? On one level, he was likely intentionally speeding (his foot wasn't literally glued to the gas pedal). On another level, he likely did not intend to hit the pedestrian (he did not seek to mow him down). Negligence captures the interstitial position where the driver intentionally acted in a fashion which foreseeably placed the pedestrian in danger (even if converting the danger into reality was not the driver's motivation). In this, negligence is very different from the pure accident not because it lacks intention, but precisely because of its intentionality.

Swap back to punishment. Imagine a more pre-modern society where we outsource punishment to private actors. I catch you stealing tools from my garage. As a consequence, I strip you of your clothes, take all the possessions you have on you (to make sure you have nothing you could attack me with), and drop you off in the middle of the woods without food or water which I can't be bothered to acquire for you, safely away from my house. You tell me "my pills are in my bag; if I don't take them each evening I might die!" I say "I don't care if you live or die. Oh, and watch out for the forest-dwellers -- they aren't always friendly." You do, in fact, have a seizure overnight and die. Are the actions I took "punishing" you?

Plainly, it seems the answer is yes. And this is so even if I genuinely was apathetic to whether you lived or died. Like the driver striking the pedestrian, my conduct is a mix of the purely intentional (I took your possessions, I dropped you off in the woods) and negligent/reckless (I do not care whether you have a stroke, I do not care if the forest-dwellers attack you). Being intentionally placed in a position where one's custodians do not care whether you live or die is obviously a punishment. Indeed, the fact that it's a "punishment" is the only thing that distinguishes it from pure sadism, abuse, or kidnapping. The fact that the seizure was not specifically intended doesn't change the fact that what happened to you in no way could be described as an "accident". It was the result of intentional actions, and the reason I acted in the way that I did -- with reckless disregard for your life or safety -- was very much tied to my desire to punish you.

In most prison litigation cases, there is similar "intent". The failure to, e.g., give a prisoner necessary medication isn't a wholly-accidental whoopsie-doodle (and if it is, then there isn't even negligence). It is an intentional choice. Indeed, a large part of what prison is, and what makes it such a terrifying prospect, is that it is a place the state sends you where the people who have control of your life do not and perhaps need not care if you live or die. Everything about that is intentional. Or put another way, the pervasive, heartless lack of intention is the intention -- being placed in such a situation is entirely the product of intentional choices at every step of the process.

There's a lot to dislike about the "deliberate indifference" standard which has taken over prison abuse litigation, but one thing it gets right is that indifference is absolutely a choice, not an accident. To fail to treat a person in your custody with requisite care is a choice, and it doesn't stop being a choice just because its foreseeable consequences were not expressly desired.

So what makes Judge Newsom go astray here? He seems to think we should chop up "punishment" into each potential negative experience one might have in prison. Being locked up, and being restricted from the yard, and being deprived of medication, and being placed in solitary, and being put into a cellblock with white supremacists liable to stab you -- each of these are separate (potential) "punishments" whose status as a "punishment" must be assessed atomistically. But this approach defies common sense. When someone is sentenced to prison for a crime, we don't think of it as a loose cluster of twenty or so discrete "punishments". It's one punishment. The punishment is being a prisoner and being subjected to the prison experience. Everything that happens in prison is part of the overall context of being punished. There is no need to parcel out individual moments and ask "but is this particular action a separate punishment", any more than we need to ask whether swinging bats in the on-deck circle or jogging out into the outfield is part of "playing a baseball game." It's all part of the game, and the hyper-zoomed-in focus on each discrete moment misses the forest for the trees.

In other words, while it may be true that something must be a "punishment" to fall under the auspices of the Eighth Amendment, all prisoners by definition are being punished. They pass that threshold categorically; none of them have been placed in jail by accident. At that point, the relevant question is whether the set of challenged actions or behaviors or what have you suffices to make that punishment into a "cruel and unusual" one. And certainly, being put in an Arkham City terrordome should qualify even (especially!) if the overseers assiduously do not care if you live or die. Perpetual, ongoing, systematic negligence (to say nothing of recklessness) towards persons who are helpless and in your care is one of the cruelest acts imaginable. Where that is part of the punishment, the punishment is cruel and unusual.

Judge Newsom concludes his opinion with the following:

Maybe it makes sense to hold prison officials liable for negligently or recklessly denying inmates appropriate medical care. Maybe not. But any such liability, should we choose to recognize it, must find a home somewhere other than the Eighth Amendment. We—by which I mean the courts generally—have been ignoring that provision’s text long enough. Whether we like it or not, the Cruel and Unusual Punishments Clause applies, as its moniker suggests, only to “punishments.” And whether we like it or not, “punishment[]” occurs only when a government official acts intentionally and with a specific purpose to discipline or deter.

This "whether we like or not" language is reminiscent of my Sadomasochistic Judging article. Judge Newsom seems to recognize the cruelty inherent in his position. But he leverages that cruelty into an argument for textual fidelity; the avoidance of cruelty is the hint that his colleagues have been led astray from the strictures of law. As I've demonstrated above, this isn't true; the text does not demand the cruelty Judge Newsom ascribes to it. But the pleasure of the pain of causing pain is too tempting to pass up. It's not good textualism that's motivating Judge Newsom. It's the ecstasy of bad textualism leading to bad results, whose badness is paradoxically metabolized as the purest and most faithful instantiation of textual loyalty.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/JxhXtDy

#abuse #constitution #crime #prison

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation: Cat-FISHER [19]

A/N: in honor of 50k on Wattpad, LET'S GET ITTTTTT!!!!

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VIOLETVIOLENCE: it's really pathetic that i have to pull you aside like a child to tell you to tone down your shit.

VIOLETVIOLENCE: grow up.

SALLYFʌCɜ: grow up? look who's talking. might i remind you of a verbatim quote by yours truly... "lint licking, cunt flap, cum infested puss bubble of a fucklet"

VIOLETVIOLENCE: i give back what i receive. you can dish but you can't take?

SALLYFʌCɜ: i can take twice as much as i dish.

VIOLETVIOLENCE: i'm so sure that you can. fuck off, sal. quit being an asshat.

SALLYFʌCɜ: so now it's asshat? what happened to llcfcipbf? you're losing your creativity. do better, your fall from grace is disappointing even to me

VIOLETVIOLENCE: fuck you.

SALLYFʌCɜ: i'm sure you want to

He's real fucking cheeky. Excited, if you will. What's gotten into him?

Three days ago, while purposefully and pleasurably butchering Sal's character in Dead By Daylight, if anyone would have told me that the bane of my miserable existence and I would have a personal chat box open— I'd have laughed in your face. I'd have gone full Edgar Allan Poe. You would be in a Speed Bump Grave™️. I'd hear your phantom heart beat under my floor boards.

And now, here I am, simultaneously working through the worst shift of the week and having to bitch at Sally Face Fisher via discord DM's.

I don't know what I've done. Maybe it's just my existence, I'm not sure, but he's targeting me. It's horrifically bad. Every message from him, even if he's in the middle of conversing with one of the other of The Faces, has something about me included. And it is always shitty.

I'm not scared of him, how could I ever be? So I opted (more like I was seconds away from punching his scrotum through my phone screen) to reach out to him personally and nicely ask him to stop... okay so that's obviously a lie but I had to threaten and insult him back. It was the only way I'd feel better.

But now I'm stuck with this loaded last message from him and I have no idea how to continue. Because it's a repeat. A repeat of that fated Discord call that threw my entire existence askew for a week. Or four. Maybe I'm still askew.

His necklace isn't under a shoe in the farthest corner of my room for no reason, after all.

Today was supposed to be simple. Not easy because working at the diner is never easy, but simple. Simple fucking worked. And now I have this conversation with Sally hanging over my head when I was actually looking forward to what's meant to come after I finish my shift.

I brought my mask with me today. My plan is to immediately go back to that mask store after my shift and convince the sweet woman who helped me to sign her work, give me her name, a business card— literally anything so I can tell the world who gave me my start. But now I'm anxious enough to plead not guilty by reason of insanity due to not-so negligent or accidental arson. And on top of that, I'm starting to map out an intricately laid out plan for Sal's Speed Bump Grave™️. Today's ordeals have taken my mind by storm and I'm about to bring everyone down with me in this descent toward madness.

I'm just angry. And bothered. And low key wanting to message Sal back with, "Yea, I am. What are you gonna do about it?" But I must stay strong. I must soldier on. I know the repercussions, I've tasted them for myself— felt them burn my lungs to a crisp. I went through what felt like decades of chain smoking in just mere seconds.

And it's all because of—

A chime rings. A chime that came from my phone. It echoes through the diner's break room, startling me so hard that I nearly leap out of my chair. It's like waking up from a dream where you suddenly start falling.

What was that? What just popped up in my notifications?

Unknown: are you a poe fan, by chance?

My kingdom. My entire kingdom for a chance to start making a Speed Bump Grave™️. For myself? For Sal? For the inexplicable human race? I don't even know anymore.

I thought he'd given up on Lexi. So what the hell is this? Why now? Why today? Why right after he finished— flirting? Baiting?— me.

My mind goes blank. Maybe... maybe he's onto me. Maybe he knows. That I'm Lexi. And now he's finally decided to enact his revenge. On today of all days, when I feel so sick with anxiety and paranoia that I could throw up every square inch of my bowels. My feminine rage is so ragey that I wouldn't be shocked if I sprouted a pair of testicles just so I'd have an excuse for whatever bruised masculinity I'm experiencing right now. Sal must be projecting on me all the way from Nockfell.

Never in my entire life have I felt so hopeless, so cornered. Every time I feel this way, I think it can't possibly get any worse.

And yet.

Me: umm, can't say that i am! don't know much about him.. but how are you, sally!

I don't know what's possessed me. In a normal world, I would have blocked him by now. Or better yet, if I wasn't so disgustingly deplorable and had a damn backbone, I'd have texted him a picture of myself and said "Haha, gotcha bitch!"

The sad truth in this way-too-real life scenario is that I don't have a backbone. And I'm too far gone to go back. I can't revert. There's a part of me that still holds onto my first live interaction with Sal. I just can't get the memory of him— smooth, gentle, kind, and likable— out of my head. No matter how hard I try.

One thing I can be proud of is the amount of petty packed into the fact that I never saved his number in my phone.

Unknown: good. perfect, actually. i brought some poe with me today, a story i think you might like

Some kind of doom-ish feeling washes over me. Like a storm cloud forming above my head. Poison seeping into my pores, infesting my blood. I don't like the way he said that. I don't like it at all. It feels a lot like the time some kid threw up all over me in second grade.

I'll never forget the sickening chill that spread through my body as soon as I realized what happened to me in the middle of educational centers in Nockfell Elementary. This situation feels threateningly similar.

Me: oh cool! so i guess you'll be having a chill reading day? wish it was me :,)

Unknown: not quite. but hey, are you working today?

That storm morphs into a hurricane. And there's twin tornadoes in the background, growing closer and closer to make a torrid, lethal combination. I have to take this in stride. Be smart, y/n. Whatever hell may come, handle it accordingly and do not make mistakes.

Me: ah, no! out of town to visit family :) really, crappy, awkward family get together... yikes...

He'll totally buy that right? I didn't overdo it. It was perfect. Overdoing it would have been an entire paragraph about how much I hate my mom. This is good, this is fine. I'm totally not breaking out into a cold sweat with clammy palms to match.

Oh, God. What if he sent someone to spy on Lexi? What if he hired some murderer off the dark web to take care of me and clean up the mess? I wouldn't put it past him. And this scenario isn't even worst case!

Worst case... I don't even want to think about it. I can't.

Unknown: damn, lex... on the day that i'm finally back in la and you're out of town? :(

Oh, thank God I'm a paranoid chicken shit.

Then again, fuck the fuck off. It's worst case scenario, the thing that I didn't even want to think about. The thing I wouldn't allow to cross my mind.

What do I do. What do I do? I leave work— that's the smartest decision. Naturally, this is the place he once went to and, out of boyish fantasies, he'll probably come back here with some expectation that Lexi will miraculously pop up despite her being in like... Iceland or something, whatever it is I manage to come up with in my next text to him. Which—

Unknown: i'm at the diner rn. was hoping we'd get to hang out this time. when do you get home?

Oh, no.

It's a fucking disaster on top of twenty other disasters. This is what a pregnancy scare must feel like. This must be the equivalent to walking into a room full of snotty, sick toddlers. This is dropping an uncut birthday cake.

I think I'm gonna puke.

I look up from my phone and take in the empty break room surrounding me. The off-white, paint-chipping walls are closing in. I have no escape— this is prison. Trapped in my mind's clawed vices with no way out. Except, my mind's fears have transcended into reality. My worst fear has come true and I had no time to prepare for it. The time is nigh. Ruin is, unfortunately, now.

Think, y/n. It's not so bad. I can just leave through the back door and tell my boss I'm sick again. The door is literally to my left.

But to get back to my apartment, I have to cross in front of the diner that's full of windows. Sal is here, meaning he's paying attention to everything in hopes of finding me... even though I told him I'm not here.I just know he's that kind of romantic, if he even qualifies as such.

He'd spot me in a heartbeat and that can't happen because maybe Vi's mask concealed Lexi who was hidden beneath, but he's about damn near fucked Vi. He knows her body better than she does herself— than I do. Fuck, I have so many different personas I can't even remember that they're all me.

Clusterfuck. That's what this is. A massive clusterfuck, all of my doing.

I'm going to have to bite the bullet. That's my only option. And by bite the bullet, I'm going to fight tooth and nail to keep this bit going. I should just admit the truth, but I'm not humble enough for that, apparently.

My chest begins to ache. It's a slow-to-develop pain that only catches my attention when it hurts a little too much. And then the shallow, short breaths follow. And then the phantom feeling of something lodged in my throat, blocking my airways and filling me with dread.

This is a panic attack, one that is long overdue. One that still can't breach the surface quite yet. I need to make sure I'm home free first— I can weep and be dismayed later. Because the harsh truth is, yes this fucking sucks, but it's not going to kill me. It's just hard for me and my body to truly get a grasp on that.

I swallow down the anxiety that's billowing in my body like linens ominously drying outside a house in the middle of nowhere. I take a couple deep breaths, calming the doubt and fear raging within. My limbs shake a little less, my breathing is better controlled, and my chest doesn't hurt half as much. The pain is still there, but this is bearable. I can do this.

I rifle through my cubby which doesn't give me much to work with. I don't have a change of clothes. I have nothing to hide me, not even a hoodie.

"You... good, y/n?"

I whirl around, hope scraping at the insides of my cranium. Fuck yes. Best lobotomy ever.

I could really cry right now because this is a clear sign that I'm not as alone as I think. Even if it feels like I am, even if my dear coworker Ophelia can't really help me out all that much, she can definitely help me in some way.

I don't have to girl boss everything on my own.

"Lia," I start with, breathless as I practically teleport over to her with the quickness of my panicked steps. "Do you have something I can change into? I can't explain right now but... I would really appreciate your help."

Her big doe eyes take me in curiously, one of her perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question. She bats her long lashes, seemingly processing what I've asked of her before giving me an answer.

"Um, I was planning on going out after my shift tonight? Would a dress work?" She grimaces a bit, probably worried that she won't be able to help me out because Ophelia is just like that.

"That would work fine!" I say excitedly, but think better of it, my hopes crumbling a bit. "But I don't want to take your outfit for the night. I can probably come up with something else."

Lia rolls her eyes lightheartedly, placing a hand on my shoulder. I follow the action, noting her long and sharp blood red nails. I gulp, looking back into her pretty ebony eyes. "Y/n, take what you need. You know Mike can drive me back home to get another outfit! We don't live too far away, and we don't need to be in Anaheim until 9 anyway. Do what you need to do-- you know I'm cheering for you, girl."

I grab onto her hand and hold back the intense admiration infecting my soul. I'm giving Ophelia the most visceral care bear stare I can possibly muster up and she notices, giving me a cute little upside down smile.

"You are an angel," I whisper, "And your future husband is too. Power couple of the heavens, really."

Lia giggles and bends her head down, forcing her pin straight black hair to fall into her face, thus accentuating the really eye-catching red money pieces that match her red nails. I aspire to be this woman. "It's not that serious, Ducks," she says, using my dads nickname for me that she overheard a couple months ago. She thought it was precious, so it stuck. "Let's go get you changed, 'kay?"

Change, I do. But I see where she was concerned about me wearing it too. It's for clubbing, cock-tailing, socializing for sure, but... I can make it work. I've got this. It'll be fine. Thank God I am an avid Doc Martens-wearer. Doc's go with absolutely anything.

Lia has taste too, it's a short, little red dress with spaghetti straps that flares out at the ends. It shows a lot of leg, but not much of anything else. I can't imagine how amazing she must look in this.

"You're super sure that you're okay wearing this?" Lia asks, looking over me. "It looks great on you, I'm inclined to tell you to keep it, honestly."

I scrunch up my face. "No, I'm giving it back to you tomorrow," I laugh gently, using my phone camera to try and get an idea of how I look. I can't see much, which is kind of a blessing because I might hate it and be too afraid to brave LA if I end up not liking it.

"I won't argue with you," Lia sighs, patting my back in a reassuring way. "So do you want to talk about what's going on?"

"Um," I murmur, a shiver running down my spine. I almost forgot why I'm having to do this. It feels like hours have passed, but it's only been five minutes at most. "It's very hard to explain, but I might have to get you or Mike involved, whoever's hosting today." I can't help but grimace as the words leave me, but it's the unfortunate truth that I'll have to talk to one or both of them. I'm ever so slowly hashing out a plan in my head.

Sal is undoubtedly going to ask about Lexi, and what the hell am I supposed to do whenever someone goes, "Lexi? No Lexi has ever worked here." So I have to bite the bullet, again, and stick around to at least inform Mike or Lia about that part of my major, gargantuan fuck up. That also means there's a good chance that Sal will see me, but he'll likely ignore my presence, and then I can slip away quickly.

"Mike is up front and hosting today," Lia says, frowning at me. She's so pretty, like if Marilyn Monroe was alternative. Goth mommy and whatever. No shame on my part.

The chef's booming voice carries into the break room, Lia's name floating along with it. She winces at the sound, flinching in surprise. She gives me a pitiful look, tilting her head almost as if to apologize for having to do her job. Poor little love, she is.

"Will you be able to talk with Mike?" She asks me, heading for the door.

I nod hesitantly. "Yea, I'll get to him. Thank you so much for all your help, Lia. I really appreciate you." I send her my most genuine smile, one that she returns.

"Anytime, y/n! You look beautiful, by the way. Go knock 'em dead, literally or figuratively!"

And she's gone, but she hyped me up in the gentlest way possible. Bless her dark, lovable heart.

I take a breath-- a deep, fortifying, 'ohfuckohfuck' breath that does nothing to calm my soul, but I try to trick myself into believing that it worked... at least somewhat. Then I move over to my work cubby (because we're all still in primary school according to my boss) and grab my old backpack that I bring every day. It's raunchy at best and holding on by a thread. I kept it from my high school days. It's a plain black Jansport with coffee stains on the bottom and questionable white splats that are front and center for everyone to see. I'm pretty sure it's just crusty white paint that I never bothered to peel off, but I won't correct anyone if they guess something else. What's the fun in that, right?

I open the zippers and dig in, working past a random beanie from winter, pads and tampons, and a makeup bag. All the way at the bottom, buried under my other things for protection, is my mask. I put it on then look down at myself one last time.

The flashy red of the dress I'm wearing does not match the deep violet of my mask but not everything can go right, so I'll take my little loss. Things could be worse-- oh wait, they are. Sal Fisher is outside this room. Whoops, forgot things were already devastatingly bad.

I run my fingers over the forehead of my mask, feeling that ache creep into my chest again. I wish things weren't going this way. I wish I was brave enough to go outside and just keep working. Because I'm undoubtedly going to lose my job after today. I'm backing myself into a corner, even risking my finances because of this guy that I'm too scared to face as my real self. I've reached peak pathetic.

My dad must be disappointed to have such an incompetent daughter. No wonder my mother and I don't speak anymore.

I swallow past the uncertainty, the guilt, and the unadulterated fear gnawing at my soul. Then I follow through with my plan by throwing my backpack onto my shoulder and pushing the back door open despite knowing that this is not worth it. It's not worth it at all.

I circle around the outside of the diner, heart rumbling like an earthquake as the putrid scent of garbage wafts into my nose from the dumpster I'm currently passing in front of. The sounds of cars honking, people laughing and chatting idly.

Los Angeles is the people's place. It hosts all necessary components of life, some more than others. Socialization, food. It's a dopamine powerhouse. But when it's me, when I've been living here for over a year and seeing the same things every single day, it's stripped me of all my feel-good chemicals. Especially right now when LA is only bringing me problems and trouble (Sal Fisher).

This doesn't feel real. I can't believe I'm doing this to myself. I can't quite wrap the fact around my head, that I'm about to be in Sal's general vicinity yet again. I thought I had time.

I turn the corner, coming out onto the sidewalk in front of the diner. I don't stop in my stride, eyeing my apartment building that isn't very far from me. A five minute walk. I'm almost home. Almost free. I just have to get inside the diner, unfortunately inform Mike of the tea, and hopefully dodge Sal. So long as I keep my eyes on the host table, I may not even have to see him. I might just be psyching myself out. Everything's going to be just fine!

My heart is in my throat, my limbs jittering nervously as I push the glass door open and look forward, noting the short line of people waiting for seats. Sal isn't one of them, so I assume he's been seated already.

I walk past the people in line, getting a few looks from them. That'd be the mask's fault.

Mike's looking down at his seating chart on the host table, most likely mapping out where someone could go whenever I stop in front of him, placing a hand on the table to discreetly get his attention.

He looks startled for a moment before tilting his head up, brows scrunched together as if to say 'The audacity!' but then he sees me and his eyes widen a bit. And then I'm not sure what his next expression says.

"What the--" he chokes out, "Shit! It's you? Hold on-- wait-- mind-fuck--"

I lift a finger to my lips, eyes wide as I hope he takes the note to shut up. Adrenaline is starting to spike in my veins and if he draws anymore attention to us, especially since my mask is already drawing enough, I'm going to piss myself right here. And sue him for public embarrassment, or whatever that thing is. Public defecation? No, that's public defamation... anyway.

Michael's mouth snaps closed, but he keeps watching me. I watch him. We just watch each other as I forget absolutely everything I had planned.

I swallow, blinking at my friend and coworker. "Mike," I say quietly. He flinches at the sound of his name. "I need you to do something for me and I am sincerely sorry about this but..."

"Yea, Yea, y/n-- um, what should I call you...?" He cuts himself off viciously, slapping a hand over his mouth. At least he cares.

I lean my forearms across the table, settling my weight against the front to relax myself at least a little bit. I'm so tense. I feel eyes on me. I need to get out of here.

"Don't call me that," I say lightheartedly, puffing out a breath. "Just call me Vi. For now." I lick my dry lips. Mike of all people finding out about my identity as VioletViolence is the very least of my worries. "There's a guy in here. He has blue hair, can't miss him. I'm sure you already know who he is. He's looking for a girl named Lexi and he'll probably ask his waiter about her. Just say that Lexi isn't here today, you don't have to answer anything else about her."

"I'm guessing... you're Lexi?" He winces, leaning forward a bit.

"Wow," I say sarcastically. "How did you figure that out?" I send him a little smile then focus on the task at hand yet again. "Anyway, I need you to be his waiter. Please. I'll take your entire shift on Friday. I will do anything." I tilt my head down, peering up at him through my lashes in an attempt to portray how badly I need this.

Mike's brows bunch together again and he mutters, "Yea, of course. Whatever you need. But it's-- he came in with the rest of The Faces. Do you want me to... entertain them too? Do they know about Lexi?"

The world stops turning. Everything pauses, no one's moving anymore and I feel like I'm going to vomit with fear, burst with excitement, and pass out right here from exhaustion. The plan I had is ruined, and I couldn't be more equally devastated and exhilarated about it. Ash is here. Larry's here, Todd too. What the hell is going on?

I blink, the action bringing me back to the present.

"Hey, is that Lia's dress--"

"The Faces are here?" I cut him off, holding a hand out in pause, trying to drill this information into my head. Trying to make it real so I can come up with a new plan.

Michael watches me like I'm stupid, a rueful expression on his boyish face. "Yes. I already said that they're here. Why are you wearing my girlfriend's dress?"

"Because we're fucking on the side and she came all over my work outfit." I watch as he makes his little offended face, and my tongue prods at my cheek as instant regret slaps me in the face. He's trying to help me, I shouldn't be giving him this attitude. "Sorry," I admit. "You know that's not true. I'm just-- I'm on edge."

"That's okay," he says hesitantly. "You know I'm going to get you back for that, anyway."

I pinch my lips together, accepting yet another minor defeat. "Fair." I shrug. "I was going to go back home and leave you to the wolves but... I'd rather risk myself. Ash is my best friend. You won't have to handle them alone now, so yay!" I give him a cheerful grin that I'm really not feeling. I even throw in jazz hands.

Michael runs his tongue over the surface of his teeth, clearly not looking forward to the fiasco I've dragged him into. "Alright," he settles on, sighing as he looks down at his feet while grabbing another menu. "Let's see how you manage to back yourself further into whatever shitty corner you've created. I'm eager."

"I'm sure," I grind out, knocking down all the fear that overtook me on my way here and replacing it with impenetrable, desperate yearning to find my friends. I finally cast my gaze around the diner, quickly zeroing in on the one head of blue hair in this entire building. They're seated at a booth all the way at the back of the restaurant and next to the bar, the one place that's away from most prying eyes. A request of theirs, I'm sure.

But my next question, now that I know everyone's here, what the hell are The Faces doing in Los Angeles? And why wasn't I told?

Ash didn't say a word to me. Do they not want me around? Maybe they don't like me as much as I thought they did. Maybe Ash would rather hang around with other friends than me. And that would make sense because we never see each other, besides Vegas, of course. But just thinking about it makes pain erupt throughout my entire body, a pang in my heart. Especially while watching the back of Ash's head tip down while Larry laughs in front of her. Sal and Larry, I can see them, but Todd and Ash are facing away from me.

Another deep breath.

"I'm going to head over there," I tell Michael, looking over to him again. He's watching me closely, his expression of pity mimicking Lia's from earlier. The sight makes me a little sick.

"Alright," he says gently. "I'm going to be there to take orders soon. I hope everything goes well. Don't be nervous."

I huff out a humorless laugh. "Are you and Ophelia psychic or something? Or is my face just that readable?"

He shrugs, grinning slightly. "I can't see your face, so I guess we're psychic. I'll be in your dreams tonight."

That makes me laugh. It wasn't forced or fake, it was genuine and I need that right now. I think Mike knows that too.

I start taking quick steps over to where The Faces are, nerves slapping at my insides to make me turn around and forget that I ever saw them. I'm attacking myself with my own mind, and my mind is attacking my body in turn. Mental illness is crazy, right? Death by anxiety and whatnot.

But, you know, I'm already here. My job is in purgatory, I'm five steps away from them and Larry has noticed my movement, his head twisting toward me to see who's growing near.

Poor Larry. When he sees me walking toward them, he shakes his head and rubs his eyes like he doesn't believe what he's seeing. He looks at me again, and that's when his eyes start to widen, when his jaw drops. And he doesn't say word, that open mouth just turns into the brightest smile I think I've ever seen.

Seeing his excitement makes my insides flutter about and I feel a little better about actually going over to them. Imagine I get there and they shoo me away? But I can tell that Larry won't. That look on his face screams barely held back hugs.

I gulp, trying to ignore my major cotton mouth. I need water. Or tequila. Something.

I also don't give my brain even a second to psych myself out. When I reach the table, I simply plop myself down beside Ash and act like it's a normal, every day thing for me to do.

All heads turn to me (Larry's never turned away from me to begin with) and then I hear a quiet, uttered, "Fuck" followed by incessant, eardrum bursting squealing in my ear.

Arms. A lot of arms. A ton of squeezing. Lots of kisses all over my mask and face. And all the love makes me think that my sweet Ash had a good reason for not informing me of her visit.

I struggle, but I throw my arms around Ash too, squeezing every little inch of her that I can get. Her sweet, coconut and strawberry scent overwhelms me and I feel so at peace. So calm. Home. Back in Nockfell. Comfortable.

Her hair is in my face and I know she's crying because my bare shoulders are wet, thanks spaghetti strap dress. I don't care though because I'm seeing Ash again much sooner than I imagined I would. I thought it would take us years to have some time together like we did in Las Vegas. And Ash is so emotional, I feel like she's being ripped apart by the sight of me alone-- that's both adrenaline-inducing and terrifying.

This is a nightmare, but a dream come true at the same time. I'm so glad that I was paranoid enough to force myself to tell Mike about the Lexi situation. Things couldn't be any better.

"Ash, fucking let go, man. It's my turn." Larry's voice is right next to me, and then another pair of hands that envelop my waist whole. I'm then yanked out of my best friends arms and spun around to face Larry who hugs me so tight that I have to stand on my tiptoes.

I shut my eyes, grinning as I reach my arms up his back, hugging him the best way I can as he nuzzles his face against my mask. The smell of cigarette smoke and pine trees lingers on his clothes, yet again overwhelming me with familiarity. The smoke is a more recent addition, but he's always had a unique scent to him that's always reminded me of Christmas in a way.

The scruff on his cheeks scratches against my jaw, his skin is warm, his grip tight. I really miss home... and LA is not home. Home is back with all of my friends. I don't want to stay here anymore. I don't want to be where they aren't.

Larry takes a deep breath into my shoulder, likely bathing in my comfort just like I did with him. Then he backs up, holding me at arms length and I look up with tears welling in my eyes no matter how much I wish they weren't there. I hate crying, especially in front of other people, but I'm just so happy. It's like the anxiety I felt while walking over here never existed.

"What the hell are you doing here, Vi!?" Larry exclaims, dragging his hands up my arms to cup my face in his large palms. "I thought you lived in Connecticut?"

I place my hand on top of his, a spark of what I thought was fantastical anxiety rushing through me at the instant fuck up I've just made. Again. Crap. I forgot that Ash told them I live in Connecticut...

"Uh," Ash voices beside us, her tone taking the form of the smartest kid in class who's about to correct a mistake. Todd-coded. "I said she's from Connecticut, not that she still lives there." Good save, Ash. "Word choice is important, Lar! Pay attention!"

Larry's eyes swing between Ash and I before settling on me, stars dancing in his irises. "Wait, so do you live in LA, then?"

I can't help the excited little grin that's slowly climbing onto my face. It's Larry's turn to squeal as he suddenly realizes.

I look back over to Ash, catching Sal's gaze momentarily before I look over at Todd to wave. He waves back at me, a soft and pleased smile on his thin lips.

"So," I say, letting go of Larry whenever he backs away from me. I sit beside Ash again, leaning against her side as she throws an arm around my shoulders. "Why are you guys here?"

Ash hisses, frowning suddenly. I frown back, wary of her reaction. "Crap!" she exclaims, rolling her eyes. "Well, I was going to surprise you and the guys. But I guess you ended up surprising us instead..."

"Oh, so it's not just y/n that we're visiting while we're here? You knew Vi would be here too?" Todd asks, chewing on his bottom lip contemplatively.

Another spark of nervousness. They're here for... fuck, all three sides of me are expected in this situation. This... maybe was not really worth it. I'm erasing all the sides of my corner. Everything's starting to get really small and very tight.

Ash side-eyes me, a discreet little look before she answers Todd. "Yea, but I'm not quite sure where she is in LA. I'm going to have to call her later to get some updates on her whereabouts."

"I could just call her now. I'm super excited to see her, I'm sure she'd love to meet Vi too-- oh, and to tell her why we're here!" Larry says, excitement making him shimmy around in his seat as he pulls out his phone.

My body reacts instantly, tensing up like a cat in shock. Ash jumps too, nearly leaping over the table to stop Larry. "No! She's working!" She yells. It's so loud that you'd think she's trying to flip Larry's phone away from him with sound waves alone. True Stranger Things style.

"Oh...kay..." Larry trails off, pulling his phone closer to him so that Ash can't reach. "It's not that serious. I'll call her later, then. What's your deal?"

I swallow. Her reaction was really too much, but at least she's trying to cover for me. I would've sat there and let Larry call while my phone went off in my pocket.

Ash clears her throat, sitting back now that she threw the scenario into the trash. It was rocky, but her deflection was successful. "I know, just don't bother my girl while she's making money," she says matter-of-factly, holding her head high.

I note the way Sal shakes his head across the table. I haven't acknowledged his presence, nor has he acknowledged mine. It's awkward for the most part, but I think that awkwardness is only stemming from me. He seems to be perfectly in control with his short sleeved, black Iron Maiden shirt that shows off his tatted arms. I guess the LA summer heat was too much for him to wear a hoodie for once.

His electric eyes meet mine, no emotion in the endless depths of his irises. Like he couldn't care less that I'm here, which sounds a lot like him. And still, I fidget in my seat under his gaze. Can't help myself.

The edges of his dagger tattoo peek out from behind his hair, the shape of his Adam's apple clear due to the sun shining in through the window, casting shadows in all the right places. Necklaces are around his neck, some kind of silver chain and and old, really intricate cross necklace hanging right below it. And then his hand comes into view, the one that folded into a fist as a result of my touch just weeks ago in this exact restaurant.

There's something different though as he moves to grab onto the drink in front of him, dragging it closer.

The bottom of his prosthetic lifts as he sips from his straw, but that's when I notice what's different. It's a new tattoo-- Saniderm wrapped around his hand. It looks like... a skeleton hand tattooed onto his own. It's pretty sick and I'm so tired of him having great taste in art. Damn. Now I have a terrible excuse to stare at him some more when I shouldn't look anywhere near him at all.

On the other hand, have I ever mentioned how much of a blessing Michael is?

"Hi, everyone," his cheerful voice effectively distracts me from ogling Sal. I look over to my friend, noting his pink cheeks. Huh. "I'll be taking over as your waiter tonight. Your waitress had to leave," he glances at me as if to tell me that I made a good call by stepping out when I did. That's exactly the moment I realize that we're sitting in my section of the diner. Talk about a close call.

Okay, I should get the hard part over for him right? To thank him. I've got this. "Oh, hey, Mike!" I say, "Long time no see."

Poor Mike looks at me like a deer caught in headlights. "Hey... Vi..." he says quietly. Oh, Michael, please don't crap out on me now... I'm going to have to buy this man a cake for carrying me like this.

I smile at him awkwardly, trying to bypass this horrible excuse of an excuse that he and I are about to do horrible improv for. "So, how's Lexi?" I don't dare look a Sal whenever I say the name, but I do feel a shift in the energy at the table. "It's been weeks since I last saw you guys."

"Lexi doesn't work here anymore," Michael spits out nervously, sweat beginning to build on his forehead. Oh no, don't fucking fumble the bag, Mike!

I give him a look. One that has so many emotions and so many questions, but I just force out a simple, "What?" because what else do I say to that? Things are already beginning to go terribly. But it's okay. I'm a pathological liar at this point, and a catfisher? Maybe? Ha... Cat-FISHER.

I'm going to have a panic attack.

Michael pinches his lips together, red-faced as he glances at Sal. I turn my gaze to Sal too, noticing the way he's eyeing Mike like a hawk.

"Lexi is my girlfriend and she doesn't work here anymore." Michael says, his tone brave and assertive, but his facial expression says an entirely different thing.

Great heavens. Okay, so he's radically screwing everything up but that's okay— I'm a flexible person. He's... doing his best. I can work with this. I hope.

I have this image of him and I duking it out in my head. I have him by the collar, shaking him around like a ragdoll while I scream in his face that he's fucking up the plan. And in my mind he's just taking it because he's playing pure sub right now. I'm not even this submissive-- Michael is straight up breaking the BDSM spectrum.

I shove down my nerves and tilt my head at him. "Okay," I start with, slowly, feeling out what little room I have to work with. "I already knew she was your girlfriend," I say, raising my eyebrows even though he can't see. Saying this feels less incriminating for some reason. But I notice Sal snap his head down to the table. I almost feel bad. "But why doesn't she work here anymore?"

Michael looks off to the side, tapping his fingers against the menus in his arms. "Um, she's... she is..." I narrow my eyes at him. He's not even answering the question. I try to communicate with him through eye contact, bellowing at him to not. Fumble. The. Bag.

He gapes at me like a fish, our intense eye contact freaking him out even more. I sigh to myself. He fumbled whatever bag I'm going on about before he even got to our table.

He finally finds his voice after a second and says, "Lexi is working. At a... sperm... bank."

It takes every little inch of my being not to burst into tears. Holy hell. If anything I'm glad he fucked this up because the sperm bank excuse is hilarious no matter how you look at it. Even better is that it's so ridiculous and random that it's going to distract the entire table from the way he's royally screwing up this conversation.

Ash snorts beside me. Larry chokes on his coke. Todd is silent and so is Sal. Maybe the sperm bank thing will officially scare Sal away from Lexi. Yea-- this could work.

"That's a unique job," I struggle to push out, my voice wavering despite trying to forget what Mike just said. But it's hovering in my mind, like old memes from Vine that still make me cackle to this day. I really wish someone would have caught this entire interaction on video.

Michael glances to Sal again. And that's when I turn to find that the bluenette is glaring at my coworker with his arms crossed over his chest, a dangerous glint in his pretty eyes. Wow. That's a scary look, one that he hasn't even pulled out on me yet.

Mike is gaping again, trying to get words to, you know, word. I try to help him by saying, "I hope she likes it there! That's a big deal." But the words don't register in his mind. I can tell by the look of terror on his face, his gaze still glued to Sally.

My friend takes another second to gather himself, and right as a syllable leaves his lips-- one that he used his one working brain cell to come up with-- Sal interrupts him. He took perfect advantage of Mike's vulnerability.

"I'm not sorry for flirting with your girlfriend."

My eyes squeeze shut as butterflies slap at the lining of my intestines. This is ridiculous and I shouldn't feel flattered. I tilt my head down for a moment, trying to gather my wits. I figured out everything for Michael and I, but I didn't take Sal's response into account. I didn't think he'd have a response to begin with. I never would have thought he'd come up with this either.

"We'll, um," I say hoarsely, clearing my throat to regain my voice, but my heart is flitting about with excitement. I wish Sal never would have spoken. I look up at Mike, sending him a dismissive smile. "We'll order in a little bit. I'm still not sure about what I want. Thanks, Mike."

I've never seen someone scurry away so quickly before in my life.

"Is Lexi the chick you were trying to see over here?" Larry asks as soon as Michael's gone. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, watching as Sal glares at his step-brother. Yikes...

"I'm gonna head to the bathroom," I say, scooting out of the booth before anyone can stop me. I need to not be here right now. Ash is quick to stand up behind me, grabbing onto my hand. I turn, fearful that she's going to stop me, but she just smiles and juts her head forward, signaling me to keep walking.

I hope she doesn't ask me about Lexi. You couldn't even beat this information out of my dead body.

Ash and I take a singular step toward the bathroom, only to get stopped by my least favorite customer. I just want to die at this point. The stress is not worth anything. Not at all.

I've said before that many of the men that come into the diner are assholes of the patriarchy, the ones that tell me to stop talking and make them a sandwich, or comment about women's bodies. The shit that ticks me off beyond belief.

This man in particular smells like mildew and three years of straight sleep and bad breath. He's also not a looker, mind you. And then he's an asshole on top of it? I hate when my boss sends me to his table.

Even worse is watching him eye me after calling out to Ash and I with the words, "How much do you charge?"

My eyes narrow and the boys go quiet behind us. We're close enough for them to hear, especially for Ophelia to hear behind the bar.

She glances up at me, cleaning a glass and frowning.

I look back at the man. I never bothered remembering his name. "Excuse me, sir?" I ask, confused. I don't want to converse with this dickface.

"You're dressed like a whore so you gotta be selling yourself right?" he continues, a humorless chuckle following the grubby words.

I open my mouth then snap it shut, heat taking over my body. I'm embarrassed, really insecure about myself now, and pissed off. He thinks he can just say shit like this to anyone? What a pathetic joke.

Usually I can't do anything about this man since I'm the one serving him, but he doesn't know who I am and I'm not working at the moment. I can reign whatever hell that I want.

But I'm also exceptionally tired. Tired of this horrible job and little pay. Tired of holding up some persona that's already beginning to crash around me. Just tired.

"I'd rather look like a supposed whore than look like I just stepped out of the dumpster, sir. Have a day," I say dismissively. I don't have time for him and I've said my piece. If I go on any further, I'll get kicked out anyway and I've already given my coworkers enough trouble today.

'Have a day' is my favorite thing to say to customers who piss me off because they don't know if I forgot the 'good' or purposefully left it out. It's ominous and vaguely threatening.

Ash and I go to the bathroom and we don't stay there long. Neither of us talk. She just waits for me, like she knew I needed space but that I also needed her companionship. Just a moment away from the mess. Silence. Which is so much more than appreciated, I can't even begin to explain how much I adore my best friend.

She watches me wash my hands through the mirror, her arms crossed over her chest and a content smile on her lips. As we start to walk out, she says, "I'm not sure how long you'll be able to keep up the lie about y/n." and she's right. I'm going to face a dead end soon here. "You're obligated to have a sleepover with me tonight so we can come up with a plan, and so you can answer some major questions I have about you right now. My spidey senses are tingling super hard."

Her hand rubs my back and I nod, smiling thankfully at her. Of course she has questions. My entire presence here is questionable right now.

We resurface next to the bar, but looking up at where our booth is shows that it's empty. I'm about to voice my confusion to Ash, but then I notice Lia running around the bar to get to us.

My eyebrows scrunch together as my coworker stops in front of me, eyes on Ash before they focus on me. She mulls over her thoughts for a moment, gaping just like her boyfriend does. Did the boys do something bad?

"We had to... We kicked Sally Face out," is what she says, shocking both me and Ash.

"What?" Ash asks, startled. "What happened?"

Ophelia blinks at Ash, cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "He, uh, he walked up to that... that guy at the bar. Kicked his stool out from underneath him. Then he asked me for a drink. Malibu and pineapple."

Ash sighs and I blink at Lia. I don't even know what to think. Did Sal do that for me? And to ask for my favorite drink on top of that...

No. It's impossible. There's no way he would. He just did it for the sake of feminism. That feminism that is nonexistent when it comes to me. Yea, he definitely didn't do that to avenge me. And he was probably just in the mood for alcohol and pineapple juice right? He could never remember the one drink I ever brought up around him. There's no way.

"Sal doesn't even drink all that much," Ash hisses. "What the hell is he doing?" She bites down on her thumb nail, free hand on her hip.

I swallow down all the emotions building up in me. There are so many that I don't even know how to distinguish a single one right now. This is too much. This entire day is too much.

"Okay," I whisper to myself. "Thanks, Lia," I say gratefully. "And thank Mike for me, too, please. I'm going to get everyone out of here before-- yea." I nod to myself, but it isn't very reassuring.

Lia grabs my hand. "We didn't call the police because that asshole had it coming, but someone else might have. It's better to go now."

I nod again, taking yet another deep breath before guiding Ash to the front doors of the diner. The boys are standing right outside, no doubt waiting for Ash and I.

I feel very similar to the way I did when Sal ended our shit-uationship. I'm so confused and so hopeless, but hopeful. So pained, but relieved. I don't know how to handle the way I feel. I can't work myself out of this awful situation now because he's here. He's here and his hair is billowing softly in the wind, showing off his tattooed neck. And a cigarette is between his index and middle finger as he looks out at the jam-packed street. And then his boot is stomping out the butt of his cigarette on the ground.

The nail in the coffin is when he bends over to pick up the cigarette butt and throw it into the trashcan right outside the diner. He would be perfect if he wasn't such an emotionless prick.

I want to cry. I want to feel him again. I want to shoot him with a paintball gun one more time. I want to run my fingers over all his tattoos. I want him to shiver in fear and pleasure because of me. I hate him so much that it's become obsessive.

I lick my lips as I come to a top in front of my friends, more notably, right in front of Sal.

He turns away from the trashcan behind him, his shoulder-length hair following his movements. When he notices me, he stops and stares disinterestedly. The action is so forced though that it feels like it's hiding something else. Like he doesn't want me to know what he just did in the diner.

I watch him. My eye contact is a threat, a warning, a question, begging. Everything, I try to show him through my gaze.

And then I nod at him subtly despite myself. Even if it wasn't for me, he put that guy in his place and I think that's something to appreciate. But at the end of the day, he still left me upset and he's an asshole so I can't find it in myself to physically tell him thank you. The nod will do.

I turn my attention to the rest of The Faces. "I can make brunch in my apartment if that works with y'all?"

And that's how I've made another mistake today. That's why The Faces are walking down the streets of Los Angeles, my apartment just two buildings away.

There's so much wrong with this decision I've made. I should have never invited them over. What if dad is home? He shouldn't be-- but still. There's so much that could go wrong.

But the walk is going disturbingly well. Ash and Larry ooh and ahh at the streets of Los Angeles— which are normal to me. But I understand the charm too. I was very fond of LA when I first came here.

We walk into my apartment building, everyone speaking a little quieter as we traipse through Lobby. I don't speak, I just listen. And I take it that Todd and Sal are doing the same.

My apartment building is nothing special. It's boring, it's the lowest end of mainstream you can get. It's like a 90's apartment in Manhattan, but make it modern and LA. To put it short, it's the cheapest Dad and I could find here.

Having The Faces step into my territory feels like a time bomb ticking down the last few seconds. It's scary, and it puts me in a vulnerable position. I don't have much of a choice— I'm the one who thought of this idea. And I feel like I owe it to my friends to make them something to eat after they got kicked out of the diner. Not that it was my fault, but it was my customer's fault. I feel guilty for some unreasonable reason.

There's always risk though, and I run through my list of said risks as we take the elevator to my apartment. Being in someone's living space is daring, considering that family stuff is all around. Photos on the wall, artwork with family name's on them, doctor appointments and reminders on the refrigerator. Everything is risky, risky, risky.

Lucky for me, dad and I still haven't quite settled in yet. It's been a year, but we're also both constantly moving around. Dad is in hotels for weeks on end and I work most days. We unloaded and fixed our necessities, but other than that, our walls are bare and nothing of note is on our refrigerator. I should be fine.

We finally empty out into the hallway that leads to my apartment and I have to swallow down the anxiety rushing through me. Nothing has gone wrong and I can only hope that the last leg of this walk will go well for me. I just want one thing to go right today, just one. That's all I'm asking.

I get to my door, I shakily slide my key into the lock, and I open it and let all my friends in, watching their eyes bounce around the living room. I nearly slam the door shut once everyone is safe and inside.

I got my wish. Thank you to whoever granted me a little bit of peace on this unfortunate day.

"You need to get a new carpet."

It's the second time I've heard him speak today. The raspy, monotonous, alto tone of his makes me pause. He wasn't insulting, the way he said that was just commentary. But his voice alone feels like a declaration of war and all the panic and fear I've been enduring for the past— what? Half hour?— is replaced with some kind of desirous agony. Like I've been waiting for him to just... just speak.

"You have a problem with everything, don't you?" I respond, my voice biting into the stale air of my living room. I should've simply asked why he felt that way, but I have reasons. For example, the shit I've put up with today has me on edge. Another reason is Sal bombarding me on all ends without him even realizing it, then being so tense with all these horrible decisions I'm making. I'm really itching for a fight right now and I know I can get it from him. I can practically feel my eyes dilating with the excitement that's ransacking my body at the mere prospect of an argument.

Sal's head turns over his shoulders, body somewhat rigid. One hand in his pocket, the other with the fresh tattoo resting at his side. His eyes are narrowed, scrutinizing me and no doubt wondering who the hell I think I am.

"There's a giant fucking stain on your black carpet," he snaps, gesturing his tatted hand at the light green splatter that dad fussed me for weeks ago. That time I was watching The Faces' Youtube video and spilled my damn mint chocolate chip ice cream. When this entire thing between Sal and I was started. Because he had to go and judge me without getting to know me first. "Be happy I even mentioned it," he mutters, tone clipped.

"You think I didn't notice?" I laugh humorlessly. I wasn't lying when I said he has a problem with everything. Seriously— he just stepped foot into my home and has something negative to say about it. "And why don't you guess who's fault it is that the carpet is stained, huh?" The words rush past my lips, all hardly held back fury and expectation for the worst.

Sal tilts his head in a way that begs me to try him again, then turns his entire body to me. He shuts his eyes and holds up a hand, pausing before saying, "It surely isn't my fault if that's what you're implying." He even adds a snort at the end.

"Actually," I say cheerily, chin up and head high because it's quite literally all his fault that I dropped my ice cream whenever I heard him talking about me all those weeks ago. "Yea it is. I was sitting right there," I point to the edge of the sofa nearest the stained part of the carpet. "While listening—"

I feel like I've been punched in the stomach, and I did it to myself. Again.

How could I be so stupid? Here I am, openly and happily about to expose my true identity just to make a point. Just to be right. To win. To gain some catharsis from a meaningless argument.

I snap my mouth shut, swallowing over the relentless pounding of my heart. I blink at Sal who's waiting expectantly for me to finish what I was saying. What do I say? How do I save myself?

My palms sweat, my legs quake. Oh, this is so bad. Is this my real downfall? Is this where I break? It's going to happen. I'm going to pass out or have a psychotic break. Maybe I'm going insane— maybe I've been clinically insane for weeks now. At least I could plead not guilty at my murder trial. I've had a lot of murder on my mind today, haven't I?

But there's a knock at the door and bless the heart of whoever is about to punch my door hinges off. Any other situation and I'd be losing my mind over someone knocking so hard, but my savior is behind this hunk of wood.

I let out a shaky breath and tilt my head downwards, pretending like I'm too fed up to continue my argument. It's perfect. The best excuse.

But Sal's eyes burn into me, the scrutinizing, heavy blue trapping me in my own guilt. A narrow waterway hidden behind the confines of his prosthetic, haunting me day and apparently at night too. I find myself stuck, my gaze piercing his and waiting for something that will never come. I don't even know what that something is.

"Never mind," I grunt, spinning on my heels and taking a singular step toward my door.

I twist the knob, relieved by the silence behind me. No one cares enough to ask what that was about. I escaped... somehow.

And then I swing the door open, gaze up at the last person I expected to see, hear a resounding and excited, "Bitch!" and intellectually (smartest decision I've ever made) slam the door back in their face.

Oh no. Oh no, oh fuck.

I forgot.

____________

A/N:::::: 50K is such a dream come true and i really wish i could find more words to explain how excited and whole i feel. when i first started writing at 13, i was also reading on wattpad and fanfiction.com. I saw all these writers getting so many views and comments about their works, and i wondered if that would be me some day. i worked hard for the first couple years of my writing career and my only reader was my lovely sister (thank you amititty) and i realized that i needed to do something different. i started practicing more, and then i got into fanfiction rather than just fiction. and that's when something changed. i'll never forget the day when maybe today got 1k views-- i cried and wept like a baby for HOURS because it meant the entire world to me. little 18 year old ryver had no fucking clue that we'd get this far. that 1k on my trial book would turn into 50k on the next. i'm in tears typing this right now, in disbelief. every single one of you are my reason for writing, for brainstorming, for getting through my day... i consider you guys in everything i do. all the love in this world-- every ounce of affection, of adoration, of admiration-- does not compare to how special all of you are to me. you are all so dear to me, my friends and penpals that keep me going and remind me that the world isn't all bad, that not everyone is bad. so thank you for following me down this road and i hope we can continue like this. i wish we could all stay this way forever! but maybe, just maybe, i'll get to sign published copies of my books for you guys someday. get to follow through on my dream to hug all of you. there's never a way to tell what the future holds, but i believe it's pretty bright. thank you. i love you all with all the working neurons in my brain and numerous blood cells in my body <333

so about this chapter-- i have been looking forward to it since the very first chapter of this story. a lot of things have changed since then, including the chapter, but i still think the contents are a nice surprise and fucking HILARIOUS >.< i just hope you guys like it too! it was kind of hard to get out because i had all these ideas and images and feelings that i desperately needed to portray perfectly, but some things are just unable to be captured by words. my goal was to get as much as i was feeling onto paper (or computer?), so i hope you guys feel all the fear, desperation, and admiration going on! i deleted, retyped, and deleted again so many scenes and parts of this. and jesus christ this is an exceptionally long author's note MY BAD

anyway, as always, you guys own my heart and i love you to infinity and beyond!! i'll link pictures of y/n's red dress and sal's tattoo below <3

p.s. i have an announcement coming soon! nothing big, but i am trying something new so stay turned :3

#sal fisher #sally face #larry johnson #ash campbell #todd morrison #travis phelps #enemies to lovers #sally face fandom #sally face fanfiction #fanfic

[syndxlla]

I like the idea of the hero of time knowing sheik was zelda all along…

maybe their first meeting it isn’t clear, and even the the second one he’s still fooled. but it isn’t long until he starts to suspect things.

link notices their hair color, and how it lays around their eyes. he notices the same mischievous glint in their eye. he picks up on little things about sheik that give them away.

in the meantime, sheik gets complacent. they don’t stay ten feet back, they get closer, they start laughing at links little remarks. sheik starts showing up more, because they miss link so much. those were the most terrifying and traumatic seven years of their life. link reminds them of simpler and safer times.

link figures it out, but doesn’t say anything. despite him still being a child in many ways, he’s grown incredibly intuitive overtime. he lets their conversations linger a little longer, he actively tries to play music with them.

sheik stays in blissful ignorance because they’re happy to be with their friend again.

link keeps his mouth shut so as not to lose zelda forever.

but then he starts teasing sheik. starts telling them about his childhood, opening up, saying he’s never opened up to anyone that way before and doesn’t think he every will again.

sheik gets jealous.

link tells sheik about zelda, purposefully mentioning he had a crush on her in his youth when he was still young and naive. smirking as he says he doesn’t think he’d like her the same way now. even joking that he doesn’t even think he’d recognize the princess after all these years.

he takes special note how sheik gets more frustrated as he talks about the princess, how sheik covers their chest deliberately by folding their arms.

one time, ink almost accidentally calls them zelda.

and eventually, sheik realizes link knows. they roll their eyes, kicking themselves for being so foolish this entire time, for not seeing right through him. they can only imagine what impa might say about their negligence.

sheik frowns when she connects the dots.

neither of them have to say anything. they just look at each other, quiet, nervous.

they burst into laughter.

#oot #ocarina of time #loz #loz oot #tloz fandom #tloz oot #tloz #princess zelda #link x zelda #zelink #sheik #link x sheik #link zelda

[intogenshin]

about the three betrayals

None of the betrayals independently made Scara who he became, it was an evolution of things. None of these independently pushed Scara into making bad choices, and it feels a bit that fans either push the blame on Ei’s negligence or Dottore’s manipulation, as if either of these two had set the path for Scara on their own, while at the same time interpreting the third betrayal as a misunderstanding or an exaggeration (because what fault would a child have in his own death?) but it misses the point of the betrayals as a whole.

The ideas of inferiority influenced by being abandoned might have formed early, but they didn’t meaningfully influence Scara’s existence while he lived in Tatarasuna. Ei left him the golden feather so that if he wanted to, he could contact her, his creator, but he never did until Tatarasuna was in danger. He had no need to investigate the reason of his existence, so he never sought an audience with the shogun until it was necessary and only as a last resort (other villagers had tried to leave the island to ask for help already).

Niwa’s false betrayal didn’t make him snap either, he left the village to never return, but he immediately formed a new bond with another human. Being harmed by another person, especially one that Scara was made to believe had done intentionally, did not make him lose hope in humanity. Seeing his compassion and kindness for the child, it also didn’t turn him cynical or resentful.

Both of these things affected him very deeply, he longed for a heart to truly be a human and he only formed this new bond with a human he considered equal. But they did not shape who he became alone. It was the third betrayal, hence why the three of them are important to understand him.

It’s not that the child dying was a betrayal of its own, Scara didn’t even resent him, he even goes back to visit his grave. It’s the fact that even when humans don’t purposefully cause him pain, they still will hurt him. Any and all potential connection to the world he forges will eventually be severed by death. And this natural course of life is not available for him, he doesn’t belong to this world, doesn’t have a place in it.

If you remove the first or the second betrayal, which are largely seen as something that was done to him with intent, the third betrayal still stands. All three of them shaped him, not just the ones where he was hurt intentionally. And that’s the point, that he can’t escape the suffering of his existence.

The first betrayal was never what he assumed it to be, Ei didn’t abandon him for “being flawed”, she did it to not impose a will on him. She had her reasons for this, since she herself viewed herself as a tool with a purpose and understood right away the conflict of Scara’s nature (“he’s fragile both as a human or as a tool”). It was a decision influenced by her own world view and reasoning, and it had tangible consequences.

The second betrayal was a lie, Niwa didn’t betray him at all. Dottore deceived him, but Dottore doesn’t consider himself a human, he sees all living beings as test subjects, none of what he did was strictly personal to Scara. No human chose to harm him, that’s the explanation behind this betrayal, and it had tangible consequences.

The third betrayal revealed the nature of his own existence to him, there was no intentions behind it and it still had tangible consequences.

This is central belief in Buddhism, which Scara’s character is built around. Suffering exists in the world as a fact, it cannot be escaped, and this suffering exists in a chain of cause and consequence: Karma. All actions are preceded and followed in this chain by other actions, and trying to look for the original cause of pain is meaningless. So pain must be dealt with in other ways. Basically the “nothing matters” meme with a thumbs up.

Karma is also the impulse behind the action, not the action itself. So all actions are deliberately made by individuals who decided to act on that impulse. The mistakes and bad choices Scara made after these betrayals are his own to reflect on, they can’t be blamed in whoever participated in the making of that karma, but it is understood that they exist in a chain of events that triggered each other.

#Genshin lore #Scaramouche #wanderer #Long post

[angelosearch]

I am struggling today, and writing helps.

When I think about the difference between having Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD), I think of the internal frame of a skyscraper that is being built higher and higher as you age. That skyscraper represents your experiences and who you are, and the internal frame is your sense of self and understanding of the world.

When an acute traumatic event occurs, it blasts a hole in the internal beams. If the trauma is coped with immediately, the hole can be repaired, and little changes about the overall structure.

If the trauma is not treated or recognized for any reason, the crew continues to build the frame upward and constructs the building around it, even though the blast will leave that section brittle and prone to collapse. That’s how I understand PTSD.

C-PTSD is not about a single blast, it’s about a sustained traumatic environment like when living in a war zone or growing up as an abused child.

C-PTSD is an unqualified or purposefully negligent, cruel construction team building a frame that defies protocol or engineering guidelines. They may build on rainy days when the conditions are inappropriate and weaken the materials, or they may use the wrong tools. The frame doesn’t look or function as it should, but it keeps standing, and the building is built around it. All the floors above that section have to contend with the soddy construction below and may make unusual or dangerous architectural choices to keep the building standing.

Both PTSD and C-PTSD result in a damaged internal structure that may not be visible, even if you’re inside the completed building. All you may notice is that the walls and soffits are at different angles than other buildings, but the building shakes and groans and the façade is cracking in places – it knows something is wrong, even if it can’t name it.

There is no real comparison between the damaged skyscrapers because they both have diminished structural soundness in different ways. Treatment must begin with tearing down walls and looking at the skeleton either way.

In PTSD, if logs are available (and sometimes they are not – the mind can suppress traumatic memories), they show the day the hole was blown, so at least we know roughly what floor to start on.

In CPTSD, the blueprints, the logs, they all say the same thing, it has always been this way. You don’t know anything about architecture, you’ve never seen anything else built, how would you know anything was wrong? And even when you do, the ripple of corrections has completely distorted your understanding of the records.

I am trying to repair my CPTSD.

In CPSTD, where do you start the repairs? You go to one floor and realize the damage goes somewhere even lower, somewhere even deeper. Rooms and floors the elevator never had access to are appearing. The ways the beams had to curve and strain in some areas to accept this and understand that are knit into such complex reliance that a fix may actually destroy something. In some areas, it’s all bubble gum and paper clips. Replacing it with something sturdier may send a beam through a wall. Sure, it’s stronger now, but it may not look as good.

And the engineers in charge of this project? They are terrified. Because sure we all want a stable, healthy building to live in, but it’s been standing, why are we messing with it? How long is this going to take? What if we have to dismantle an “error” that had curb appeal, or a handy shortcut that barely worked but saved us some time now and again? Will people come back if that “feature” is gone? If this all has been so wrong for so long, what does that mean? Is this even a building at all? Do we need a new construction crew? Is this area even zoned for a skyscraper in the first place?

And while we replace the insides of the structure below, we must find a way to build upward and trust ourselves to do it right this time.

The more healed I am, the more I know about myself, the more I fear the person I’ve been and question my own understanding of the world. My therapist challenges me to consider alternatives to my thought processes. “What if you’re not wrong? What if you are safe? What if you’re allowed to make mistakes?” Yes, what if? This is such an unknown, modern design for my internal frame.

And the engineers have been wrong before.

#persnal #personal essay #writing #metaphor extended past it's expiration date #cptsd problems #cptsd recovery #living with cptsd #art therapy #journaling

[spandexbutterfly4lyfe]

please mysterious internet person, HOW?? DO YOU PROGRESS FROM ACQUAINTANCES TO FRIENDS??? i’m perpetually stuck in acquaintance purgatory and it’s hell and i would really appreciate a little of advice ; w ;

Okay I’m going to try to explain this as best I can with this migraine lol, bear in mind that I’m disabled and no longer get out much but this has worked with various demographics from normie boomers in dive bars to people younger than me on university campus.

Don’t start off too strong. Get a gauge of someone’s communication style before you really dive in.

If they seem shy, engage them by purposefully including them in the conversation. But make sure it’s a give and take, if you just ask them a bunch of questions with no natural pauses, it’ll come off as intense and offputting.

If you get a sense of neurodivergence from them, they may bond by trauma dumping. You could make a lighthearted joke that sort of implies the things you usually assume people don’t want to hear and gauge their reaction to that. Like, some people will make a little joke about their parents sucking, or about their focus deficit with ADHD, and in the right situations the other person just totally opens up. It’s good to know what kind of conversations you can feel comfortable having with someone, but if they don’t respond well, back off and switch gears.

If they seen like the kind of person who’s sort of disinterested in making friends, or seems generally insincere or like someone you can’t relate to, you don’t have to put pressure on yourself to be friends just to have friends. “Beggars can’t be choosers” isn’t a real thing, if your personality doesn’t match up with someone else’s, don’t force it.

Relate the things they tell you to your own life if they’re positive or interesting, but relate them in a way that conveys your interest in what they just said. Like you’re amazed or happy for them! Uplift their accomplishments, even if they act like it’s not worth it, and use specific details to express why you think it’s great.

(Example: if someone made some accomplishment with their art, “I can’t even draw a stick figure” is a generic cop out, while “That’s so awesome! I’ve tried [xyz art form] before and there’s so much more to it than people think. You must’ve put in a LOT of work for this.” is more specific and conveys that you understand just why this is great.)

If they tell you something negative or upsetting, convey that you understand how awful that is to a degree. Do not say you know exactly what it’s like or just give a separate example of something horrible happening to you. Use specific examples of a piece of why what they said is awful, and convey it in a way that, once again, implies amazement at what this person is going through. Maybe even outrage on their behalf if they’ve been wronged or are angry at what happened.

(Example: if someone had to put their pet down, don’t go on a tangent about how a vet’s negligence once killed your dog. It’s more comforting and intimate to hear “I have a little dog who’s my world and I just can’t imagine. I know it’s gotta happen someday but I can’t even bring myself to think about it, yknow? I just try to give her the best life she can have while she’s here. I guess that’s the best any of us can do.” Most of the time people will end up showing you pics after this.)

Always be excited to see the person. Charm is a delicate balance of mimicry and sincerity, of intimacy and space. You can be happy to see them without commandeering their time, you can agree with parts of nearly anything they say without talking out of your ass.

Ultimately, people like to feel seen. If you work on your compassion to find some part of what they’re telling you that you can understand and sympathize with, then reaffirm that they have good reason to feel that way, they will feel supported, and you will actually like them more.

You will need to be brave and confident about your support. If you aren’t brave you’ll just sound insincere and people don’t connect with people who won’t try to connect with them. Or people who won’t even confidently say who they are. And I don’t blame them, if someone won’t even trust me enough to tell me anything about themselves, who am I even making friends with? And while I tend to be more understanding of the anxiety that leads people to be insecure and insincere, most people aren’t. In that case, you may literally be the only thing stopping yourself from making friends. People can’t like you if they don’t even get a chance.

So all in all, the main things you need to make friends are compassion, a willingness to see and understand others’, the skill of making other people feel important, and the bravery to actually show you have a defined personality. That’s really the bulk of it!

Sorry to have typed a whole essay on this lol but if anyone else has anything to add about this topic please do! This myth that being friends and socializing is so so so so hard and confusing has GOT to go. We are learning and growing here babes.

#long post

[ultimate-fucked-up-ship-tourney]

Propaganda:

Hyuna and Luka: Not much is known about them, other than Luka having won Alien Stage (basically talent show Battle Royale) and he and Hyuna being childhood friends. However, currently her feelings towards him are mixed at best as he either purposefully or accidentally killed her brother (he was smiling afterwards either way) and basically, he’s currently obsessed with her while competing in Alien Stage again while she’s part of the rebels trying to destroy it.

Beatrice and Battler: This is not really a ship as this relationship is cannon. As for the fucked up part.... it is fucked on many levels, but it does involve major spoilers. TW: incest, rape Non-spoiler parts: In most of the games, Beatrice and Battler engage in a wit battle about the existence of Beatrice. Beatrice will show gruesome murders of Battlers to make him acknowledge that she killed his family by magic, and Battler will try to prove that a human did it without magic. While nobody forfeits, the game continue. This game is qualified as an "endless torture" for both. BIG BIG SPOILERS parts (please include a skip): Basically*, Beatrice is the persona of Sayo Yasuda. Sayo is the child of Kinzo (the grandfather of Battler) and Kuwadorian Beatrice, and Kuwadorian Beatrice is the daughter of Kinzo and Beatrice Castiglioni. Sayo was born after an incesteous rape. So Sayo is related twice to Battler. Also Sayo has a two alters: Shannon and Kannon. They are both dating a cousin of Battler (George and Jessica). Six years prior to the story, Battler and Shannon had a teenage crush. Battler promised to come next year to Rokkenjima and "with a white horse". He completely forgot it never came to Rokkenjima. Shannon, then Sayo, suffered a lot about this and sank deeper into depression. Finally, Sayo didn't actually killed Battlers family, but they was ready to do it. To conclude, this is a doubly-incestuous relationship between a suicidal system who is ready to kill the other's family, and a dummy incompetent who make other suffer by negligence. It also involves other members of the family. And rape backstory. * I know it's more complicated, Umineko fans don't kill me!

#polls #most fucked up ship tournament #most fucked up ships #hyuluka #alien stage #beabato #umineko

[reasoncourt]

re the whole jesse armstrong underline situation - for me it's just about the fact that he gave himself the authority to declare something about the show that was purposefully left ambiguous in the text. doesn't matter what exactly he said. it's like jkr (back when she hid her bigotry a bit more) saying that dumbledore is gay or the wizards shitting on the floor. if you wanted fans to know that you should have put it in the thing instead of retroactively telling them because you don't have authority over the story, now that it's done. this time it's logan underlined kendall's name in a while it could be roman was trans the entire time it just wasn't relevant to kendall's story (which, for the record, i'd like but. that's not jesse armstrong's decision to make)

(still think all of your points are valid. 'everything logan said to the kids was written in pencil' is a banger)

i totally get that perspective. and yeah tbh i would also like trans!roman to be acknowledged as canon ngl (obv not by jesse - bc i agree that would be far too reminiscent of jkr who - even before the outward bigotry - did entirely piss me off with the whole "no i sweeeaaarrr dumbledore was so gay. it just wasn't relevant (when it low key absolutely was))

the only difference i think is the fact that - either way - the sibs will never know if kendall's name was underlined or if it wasn't. and now that we as an audience "know" (but tbh i don't really take what (one of) the author(s) says after the actual publication/distribution of the text too seriously (or as definitive canon at all)) that logan underlined kendall's name, the only thing that changes for us is wondering what the significance of that actually is wrt logan. the significance for the sibs stays the same because they still don't know either way whether it was underlined or not. so we're just left with the fact that logan underlined it. and i just think that still is ambiguous. because logan underlining kendall's name really honestly could mean everything anything and nothing.

but tbc - i totally 100% get your point. if jesse makes one more comment after the fact then i will join the war on jesse on the side against jesse ksjdnskndks. i just fr think this specific thing gives us - as an audience - a little more to think about. and it changes the actual events in the show negligibly if at all.

#fwiw i don't actually love jesse's writing and i think a lot of what he says is.... hmm 🤨 #especially re: the characters #asks #anon

[makingspiritualityreal]

Planetary Stages of the game of Morality

Nakshatras and planetary energies move in a particular order through different stages on the path of consciousness and growth. There are 3 levels to this growth, individual, interpersonal and collective, the process being similar, but each time occurring on different scales.

Sun is the birth of awareness of self, individuated and pulled from the infinite mass of expanded consciousness and energy that we call God or source. Sun is the moment, when the source decides to hyperfocus on its specific fragment for the purpose of self exploration. It has a lot of energy because of the inherent fascination with the pure fact of being alive in separated form, but it has so little awareness of the impact of its actions regarding the rest of the world, it doesn't understand even the concept of anything beyond the self existing. To the Sun, the mantra is "the world is me, and I am the world", as it mostly seeks out life through physical expression of self establishment. In its nature, it's not consciously malicious or destructive, but it can be accidentally very harmful due to complete negligence in regards to morality, being utterly immersed in one's self-concept.

Moon still lacks interpersonal awareness, because it's focused completely inwards, absorbed with developing its emotional and sensorial consciousness. It seeks adaption and comfort, as at its highest it relates seamlessly to its environment at all times. It ensures the birth of connectivity, but has no discrimination or moral compass beyond being absorbed by experiencing and then expressing its own reactions to the world. It prioritises pleasure and convenience, from which it gains the power to be constantly reflecting on and enhancing what's around it, attracting even more attention and thus harvesting more energies to connect with. As a result, it is naïve and innocent, but still self absorbed and not interested in self-reflecting and judging its own actions.

Mars is where the true birth of awareness takes place. We are sensorially trained at this point, and because we now have a constant feedback loop from each action we take, we begin to develop the idea of taking actions purposefully and consciously beyond reactivity. The level of morality in Mars is however still low, because there is no complication, only a challenge of force. Mars obeys, because it's constantly training itself in focusing all of its energy to arrive at a desired destination to move past the slumber of the Moon stage. A soldier that follows the command of someone else does not take the weight of responsibility for someone else's decisions. As a result, while the awareness of taking conscious actions is developing here, these actions are not independent or willingly moral.

Rahu is where we struggle the most and can fail to be good. Since we learned to follow from point A to point B, we now know how to navigate reality and experiment with different results, just to give ourselves more mental stimulation. We discover our own power of creation and destruction, the Godly potential to make our imprint on reality in infinite ways. Because of this, we constantly face temptation out of curiosity and desire to experience our own power, but we also make mistakes simply because we don't understand where the experimental paths that we take will lead us. Afterwards, we are often plagued by guilt for the accidentally catastrophic results we created. Yet, we know that if we don't travel down these new roads, there is no progression at all, so we are constantly pushed to reach higher. This is where we develop a moral instinct through trial and error, because we are set free to have independent interactions with other people, scoping the prospects and broadening our field of vision. As a result of these interactions, the concept of "me against the world" is born, and with it all the consequences of that concept, chiefly among them the idea that one will do anything for one's own gain. The morality conflict here lies in the battle between reaching for fulfilment of one's desire and what it takes to achieve that goal. At the end of this stage, we live with the impending doom of the consequences of all of our actions, that makes even our gains weigh on us. Here we experience the inevitable fall and tragedy of the human condition, that comes with the highest potential.

Jupiter is where the desire to be good is born, because the consequences of our own actions terrify us. Thus, we compulsively give ourselves away to balance out the endless greed we have experienced so far, but true, genuine compassion is not achieved until later stages. In Rahu, the terror of concept of punishment is born, but in Jupiter we embrace the consequences willingly, because we want to be purified. We begin to understand, that the game of life is a moral test for all of our actions and thoughts, and that it is less important that we can take chances, but more important why we are taking them. We begin to deeply reflect on the results of our actions on others and the inherent interconnectedness of every action taken by every human being, and the inevitable collective responsibility towards both nature and mankind.

Only Saturn is where we truly develop the capacity to become good. The terror of all of our actions from previous stages descends on us with full force and we willingly accept the punishment. Through conscious penance we continuously reinforce the recently acquired concept of collective shared responsibility in order to ensure the correctness of our actions. We can only call our actions moral as far as we consciously chose the right path instead of the easier path every time, and here we learn to avoid temptation by repeated actions of surrendering to merciless discipline. Saturn is a sad statement on human nature, that only truly displays goodness and purity of character after severe regulation, but at last that purity is achieved.

Mercury is where we completely change the game, as life becomes more complex. Until Saturn, we were subconsciously trying to reach a higher standard of evolution by growing and upgrading ourselves. Here, we transcend the duality of the idea of good and evil and understand the paradox of reality. We embrace the relativity of morality and understand, that every negative or positive action has a flipside to it. We masterfully refine our actions as connoisseurs of reality, learning to include both good and evil in our lives from a neutral standpoint, seeing that every action ever taken ultimately leads to Universal expansion, and even reaching the Saturnian standard of control doesn't offer complete fulfilment, as the nuances of existence in Mercury can transcend any notions of good and evil, revealing that there is a gift in every curse and vice versa, as human life is revealed to be just a game.

Ketu uses the birth of neutrality, experimentation and intellectualism discovered in Mercury to explore true spiritual relativity. While the experimentation in Mercury was a mental game, Ketu indulges in complex spiritual experimental practices. As the opposite of Rahu, Ketu equally loses itself in extremity of existence, seeking new depths to sink into, ultimately blurring the lines between reality and fantasy. Ketu is where we start to truly understand, that the ephemeral nature of life makes us question its worth or inherent purpose, so it plunges into a constant quest on deciphering the meaning in every moment.

Venus is where we become aware that, good or bad, life always comes to an end, and that's what gives it value. In Venus we transcend Ketu's nihilism, understanding the fragility of every experience and finding meaning in assuring every moment of life we have is worth it. We throw ourselves into living, fully aware that every action we ever performed will be mirrored through another, savouring every moment of life to its fullest, aware of its fragility. We double the experienced enjoyment by linking ourselves to another. The only hope we find in the impending doom is the one last blast of making sure, that if we go, we at least leave with a bang. All moral concepts lose meaning and end, just like they have begun in the Sun stage, blurred with a desire to survive, experience, taste and live.

#astrology #jyotish #vedic astrology #vedic astro observations #sun #moon #mercury #mars #venus #saturn #jupiter