#I know our boss is leaving for good and viable reasons and it's the right choice for her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

agoodpersonrose · 3 years

Note

You want to WRITE again and I want you to WRITE again so #20 You walk out of a dressing room asking if the outfit suits you, but it’s not your friend waiting outside the room like you thought.

I KNOW this is a meet-cute prompt, but I also knew that there is already an INCREDIBLE fic based on this very concept right here by chthonicheart, and I couldn’t work out a way to write it without stepping on their toes. So, instead, I made it a mini canon divergent fic, I really hope that’s okay!

Patrick is desperate.

He’s really desperate, and he’s terrified. He truly had no idea when he woke up this morning that it would be such a momentous- such a life altering day.

But then, David was making a fuss over a man asking for a gift receipt, and then he was asking Patrick about birthdays, and that could only add up to one thing. It all came tumbling out after that; the invitation to dinner, the suggestion of 8pm (the universal date time), and then of course, the water out of the spray bottle, all over the carrots that Patrick then spent the next ten minutes dabbing anxiously with a piece of tissue, trying not to look too flustered.

But the truth is, Patrick is flustered; he finally did it. He finally asked David Rose out on a date. The same David Rose who has been the sole focus of all his attention; all his affection ever since he wandered into Ray’s house all those months ago.

It’s for this reason that Patrick is desperate to find some way to make this date go well. He needs it to succeed, because if it doesn’t, then he just knows he will always look back on this night as the one where he missed his chance. Where he lost out on the one thing he knows for sure that he really wants.

Except as soon as Patrick gets home, he finds that he has little- no, nothing that he could possibly wear that could live up to his expectations for this evening.

He’s still got five hours, so he tries not to panic. There’s plenty of time to hurry down to the clothing store in Elmdale, although, even if he did do that, there’s no guarantee that he could find something that he would like; something that would be worthy of sitting across from David’s monochrome glory.

He should have thought this through properly.

“Patrick? Are you okay in here? I hope you’re not intending on wearing that shirt soon, it’s going to need some considerably good ironing to get it back to the usual Brewer standards!”

Ray’s voice in his bedroom doorway startles Patrick out of his thoughts, and he looks down to find the one shirt that was in the running crumpled up in a ball in his hands.

“Patrick?” Ray repeats, stepping further into the doorway and looking concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just- I need to choose something. To wear to dinner. Tonight.”

Ray brightens up at the statement, seeming excited just to be involved in this important discussion. “To dinner?” he asks, suddenly turning sly. “I didn’t know you had a dinner planned for tonight. Anyone I know?”

Patrick can feel himself heating up and just laughs brokenly. “Ha, um, well, actually. It’s David’s birthday, so I asked if he wanted to go for a meal?”

“Oh, a meal?”

“Yes, a meal, and--”

Patrick pauses, thinking hard about what he’s about to ask, but eventually he gives in to the impulse.

“What are you doing this afternoon, Ray? I could really do with your help.”

This is how Patrick ends up accompanying his roommate/landlord/former boss on the forty-minute drive to one the only clothing stores in Elmdale.

Ray had agreed almost too quickly, seeming eager to get Patrick ‘out of his comfort zone’ and ‘into some colour’. Patrick is trying very hard not to regret his decision to bring his only friend along on the shopping excursion, though that is getting harder by the minute, as Ray rattles on and on about differing pattern swatches, and fabrics, and “ooh, maybe a little bolo tie!”

They pull up at the only viable store in the area, Ray shooting out of the driver’s seat in a fit of golden-retriever-like frenzy and rushing Patrick in and over to the men’s clothing section.

Surprisingly enough, Ray is conservative with some of his choices. Sure, there is a crocodile patterned vest thrown in, and a sweater with a cow on it which really would cause David to lose any affection he might possibly hold for him at this stage.

“I think these should do for the first round,” Ray says cheerily, bustling them into Patrick’s arms and pushing him in the direction of the changing rooms. “Go and try them on and I’ll be right with you with the next load.”

Patrick goes, unable to argue when Ray is acting this way, and wanders cluelessly past racks of shirts, suits, and jeans.

He smiles politely at the changing room attendant, and slips into one of the empty stalls, immediately letting out a huffed breath and glaring at himself in the mirror. He’s going to find something today. He’s going to look for his date, and he is definitely going to sweep David off his feet tonight.

And he’s going to kiss him.

That one he’s less certain about but he’s working on it.

Patrick slowly unbuttons his blue shirt, one white button at a time, and pulls it off, placing it carefully on a spare hanger while he slips on a bright orange sweater over his under shirt. He looks again in the mirror, wrinkles up his nose at the gaudy pattern, and goes to take it off.

“Patrick?” he hears Ray’s voice, and groans internally as he pulls the curtain back for his opinion. “Oooh, wow, well I think that’s a winner! What do you think?”

Patrick winces and looks down at the sweater, pulling the sleeves over his hands and making an uncertain noise. “I think maybe the colour isn’t quite--”

“Say no more, I’ll be right back with the next selection. Try this next!”

With that, another handful of clothing, this time majority black fabric.

“Ray, what are you--”

“Try them on, Patrick!” Ray calls without turning back, already disappearing behind another clothes rack.

Patrick does as he’s told again, stepping behind the curtain and pulling on a tight black fluffy sweater, leaving his work jeans on. It’s surprisingly, nice; soft fabric and a tight cut, and Patrick finds himself smoothing his hands over his chest several times with a pleased hum.

“I don’t know Ray,” he calls when he hears footsteps heading into the room. “I just don’t think David is going to be that impressed if I show up to our first date looking like his twin.”

There’s a small intake of breath, but Patrick pays it no mind, and instead steps out into the brighter lighting of the corridor, turning towards the large mirror leaning against the far wall.

Patrick whistles air between his teeth. “I’ll tell you what. It’s soft though, it’s pretty touchable,” he says, turning to one side, his hands continuing to skate along his own shoulders and arms. “Maybe too informal, you know? I want to impress him tonight; I just don’t know what he’ll think about this.”

Suddenly, a hushed conversation and some fast footsteps heading out of the changing rooms alert Patrick that something is happening, and he turns to look behind him.

“Oh. David.”

David Rose is standing in the changing room across from him, impeccably dressed and pale with surprise as he stares down Patrick from three doors down.

“Hi--”

“What are you doing here?”

David looks embarrassed all of a sudden, as if he is the person who just admitted in front of his crush that he was trying to impress him. “Well, um, Stevie actually brought me, she thought she might need a new outfit for- for tonight.”

Patrick’s heart drops through his stomach. “You’re going out with Stevie tonight?”

“Well, no, she was kind of under the impression that we all might be going out, um, after dinner. So, she wanted to get an outfit ready to collect some Randoms, not that that means much more than a vile new flannel shirt and jeans off the clearance rack, but you know.”

“Stevie is coming tonight,” Patrick says slowly, and then finally stops his hands where they have continued to brush against his sweater in an almost self-soothing manner. “To our dinner, tonight.”

David winces, looking uncomfortable.

“Okay, Patrick. I have a few more options here for you. Now, I know that blue is perhaps your statement colour, however, have we considered trying something a little more out there that I really think will catch David’s attention.”

Ray appears in the doorway and holds up a sequin covered sweater which changes colour from purple to pink when pushed in the opposite direction.

“Oh, um--”

“I don’t know Ray, I’m really quite enjoying his current get-up, don’t you think?”

Patrick blinks and turns toward David, who seems to have regained his confidence and is smirking at Patrick with his hand perched on his chin as if deep in thought.

“I think it looks touchable,” David continues. “And we all know how important that is for a first date.”

Ray looks between Patrick and David with an expression of pure elation on his face. Before he can open his mouth to say anything else in response, Stevie is suddenly back in the room too.

“Ray, I’m so glad you’re here. Do you think you could give me some advice for a--” she hesitates a minute, clearly coming up with something on the spot. “For a business meeting, that I have.” Ray’s grin grows ever bigger, and he is soon rushed away back to the store, though Patrick doesn’t miss the thumbs up Stevie shoots at David as they round the corner.

As soon as they’re alone, David steps up to Patrick and puts his hands on his shoulders. His touch is tentative and careful, but warm, as he slowly rubs up and down the seam of the black sweater.

“Mm, very touchable,” David hums, “But aren’t you supposed to ‘be yourself’ on a first date?”

“David--”

“I for one, will be wearing my very favourite Neil Barrett sweater. It has a lightning bolt across it, and my tightest pair of jeans.”

Patrick lets out a breath and slowly raises his hands to David’s waist. He’s still in the heart sweater from this morning, and the fabric is soft and warm from his body heat. “Oh, and why’s that?”

“I just think it shows off my best assets.”

Patrick clicks his tongue and leans back, pretending to look behind David for a while. “I don’t know, these seem to be doing the job just fine in my opinion.”

The laugh David lets out in response is miraculous, and his grip tightens on Patrick’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me it was a date?” he asks, dropping his voice slightly. “When you asked me to dinner.”

“I thought I’d made it obvious!” Patrick exclaims, unable to stop himself from feeling embarrassed despite how close David is standing to him. “And I’d hoped that if you didn’t know before, then you would know by the time you got there.”

“Not if Stevie had come and crashed it!”

“Mm, well, that just sounds like poor planning on your part.”

David pulls a face and sways closer. “You should kiss me now,” he mumbles, almost nervous in the way he’s pawing at Patrick, and dropping his gaze.

“You should at least buy me dinner first,” Patrick manages to get out before David’s lips are on his.

It’s a short kiss really, considering how long they’ve been waiting, though not by Patrick’s choice, as he makes a disgruntled noise of annoyance when David’s mouth is pulled away, and moving.

“Wha--”

“I said, how set are we on the café for our first date?”

Patrick blinks incomprehensibly, unable to stop his gaze from straying back down to David’s lips. Not that he knows what they feel like, how they taste, he can’t help but want to dive in for a second try.

“It’s just- There’s a diner down the road from here, I was thinking we could maybe--”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” David says, grinning and kissing Patrick quickly again. “Go get changed. This is lovely, but I want to go on this date with the blue-button-up, discount jeans Patrick who has been driving me mad these past few months.”

Patrick kisses David again, just because he can, and hurries off to change.

He’s got a date.

#David Rose #david x patrick #patrickanddavid #DAVID AND PATRICK #david #Patrick Brewer #Patrick #schitts creek fanfic #schitts creek #schitt's creek #fan fiction #meet cute #oneshot #prompt fill #my work

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the-darklings · 5 years

Text

—𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔;

pairing: john wick x f!reader

word count: 6.5k+

summary: “Tell me a story with a happy ending.”

warnings: strong violence, blood, swearing.

notes: oh wow, it’s been a hot minute, huh? I miss posting my writing on here but life has been hectic and pretty unkind this year so apologies for the inactivity. All I can say is that I got an urge to finally write for Mr Wick. This is set pre-first movie so any spoilers will be up to that movie only. For now, I decided to split this into two, so expect another part some time soon and enjoy!

children of ares series: .. | 02 |

“Tell me a story with a happy ending.”

“I can’t. People like us don’t get happy endings.”

. . .

The first time you meet him, he points a gun to your face with a sharpness that makes your pulse race.

You’re just a second behind him, but you know perfectly well that it would have been a second too late.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Tarasov grumbles under his breath, waving his hand in irritation. “Will you two lower your weapons, we aren’t in the zoo.”

The man clad in all black does so immediately, and you idly wonder just how tight his leash is if he obeys so seamlessly.

You watch him warily as you lower your arm as well, hesitating just long enough for Tarasov’s gaze to slide your way. While you don’t want to piss off your new boss, the man in black stands beside him with a stoic sort of calmness that makes your instincts prickle with unease.

You know who he is.

You’ve heard stories about him.

Soft, terrified murmurs of his infamy—of his terrifying skill. You would rather not meet him at all, truth be told.

Even amongst killers, John Wick’s name is spoken with a degree of reluctant respect and fear.

“John, this is our newest associate. I wanted to introduce you personally,” Tarasov explains easily, pouring himself another glass of vodka. “I was rather hoping you will be able to look after her for a bit. Show her how we do business.”

You rather he didn’t. Truly.

John Wick is tall, calm, and deadly focused on every twitch of your body.

Underground world has some certains you can find in any corner of the world: money, blood, drugs, and high egos. The latter goes hand in hand with an inflated sense of self-importance and posturing.

You’re used to that. You know how to handle people with egos. Know how to communicate with those who like the sound of their own voice a bit too much.

Yet, John Wick somehow manages to be the most fear-inducing thing in the room without so much as making a sound.

His dark eyes appear almost black when they finally connect with yours. There is nothing but polite coolness to be found in his gaze.

“Sure.”

Tarasov grins wider, saluting you both with his glass, “Excellent,” he intones in smooth Russian. “I do believe this is the start of something rather beautiful.”

. . .

Three months down the line, and you’re still unsure what to make of John.

Anyone who kills people for a living should be easy to pindown. Sure, everyone has their own reasons, but at the end of the day, they’re all a little twisted.

John is a walking contradiction.

He’s cold, he’s stoic, he’s frighteningly efficient in his field. John rarely speaks, and getting more than a few sentences out of him at any given time seems like an incredible feat.

But he’s also kind in the most subtle ways, thoughtful, and always—unfailingly—has your back on the field.

Tarasov originally wanted you to do three missions together before he sent you on your own. But somewhere along the way, he seems to have concluded that you work better as a unit.

It’s odd at first. You’re not used to working with someone, and you’ve never heard of John having a partner with him either. He’s the man they send when no one else wants the contract or they simply can’t finish the job. So working with him is as bizarre as everyone's reactions when they see you together.

Most of the time, you’re not sure if he even likes you because most of the time, it’s near impossible to read him.

On paper you should never work, you know that much.

He’s older. His name is known. He’s earned the respect of some of the deadliest in the world.

You’re a nobody from nowhere. Sure, your skills are finally being utilized and by merely associating with John and Tarasov, people are starting to take notice of you, too. But doubt still lingers in your mind as you go through one job after another.

Truthfully, you’re still unsure if there’s a place for you here, in this shadowy circle of Tarasov’s gang. Though all the alternatives are so much worse you can’t even entertain the idea of a different life right now.

“A stick of gum?”

John is silent for a long time, and for a second you worry that he may not have heard you over the sound of the wind, but you don’t dare to lift your gaze from the scope in front of you.

Patience you know well. It’s one of the very few areas where you and John are equals.

“Realistically, one,” he finally mutters, his voice low to a point you have to strain to hear. Blinking, you suppress a grin, adjusting your position as you wait for your target to appear.

“Just the one?” you repeat with obvious disappointment. “Huh.”

John’s breaths are quiet next to you, thoughtful, “Sorry to disappoint but choking is the only viable option,” he points out a little dryly.

You hum contemplatively, trying to think of your own spin on this scenario. It has become a bit of a game between you. When you first started working together, John’s company was near painfully boring, especially on long jobs. So you came up with the idea of challenging him with ordinary objects and drilling him on how many people he can realistically kill with them. Of course, he has to fully justify his reasoning for each casualty—that’s half the fun right there after all.

He still likes his space and peace to this day, but at least now you get him to talk with you regularly on jobs.

“See if it were me,” you begin in an unhurried drawl. “I would put slow-acting poison in the gum. Maybe even add a dispersing agent into it, so anyone the target comes into contact with would die as well. Multiple dead, I won’t even have to break a sweat.”

“Sounds dangerous,” he points out idly, but the challenge in his voice is clear. “And highly volatile. How can you be sure it won’t accidentally kill your partner or anyone else that needs to be kept safe?”

“Antidotes, John, c’mon now,” you shoot back playfully, your finger moving to rest against the trigger when you spot slight movement in the building opposite to you. “Oh, the party is a go. Target twelve o’clock.”

You both watch as the men file into the room, chatting and pouring drinks as both parties sit themselves down around the room. A typical setting for deal negotiations. Of course, Tarasov doesn’t want any negotiations to happen at all—hence why you and John are here, and ready to rectify that.

“You have a clear shot,” John speaks beside you after a long pause, and it still unsettles you how composed he is during jobs and outside of them. It’s like nothing can ever affect him. With every job, every interaction, you begin to understand more and more why the nickname The Boogeyman is starting to catch on. “Take the shot.”

You do.

Inhaling deeply, you line the shot and it pierces the air with a deafening whistle that shatters the hotel window to pieces.

Panic reigns and the men scatter like cattle. Some try to find where the shot came from, but by the time they come anywhere near the window, you and John are already walking down the fire exit in a calm, unhurried fashion. The target is dead, and that’s all either of you care about.

“You’ve gotten better.”

It’s not praise, not exactly, more of a tepid assessment. But you take what you can get with John nowadays. In the beginning, it unsettled you, but now you just know that’s how he is.

“Marcus is a pretty nice guy once you break past that prideful demeanour of his,” you joke with a slight laugh as you both get into his car. “I think he tolerates my pestering because of you, to be honest.”

You feel John’s curious gaze on you, and when you turn to glance at him one of his eyebrows is arched slightly. “That so?”

“Drive on, Wick,” you say instead. “I’m starving. I wonder what it is about doing this job that always makes me so damn hungry.”

. . .

“You’re a pain in my ass, I hope you know that.”

John only grunts in reply.

You half drag him with you through the front lobby of The Continental as you slowly approach the reception.

Charon welcomes you with his typical placid smile and a polite nod of his head.

“Mr Wick and Miss Vipress,” he greets politely, unfazed by all the blood covering you both as you stagger to a stop in front of his desk. “Pleasure as always. A room for two?”

You nod your head briskly, shifting on your feet till more of John’s weight is leaning against you. “Thanks,” you mutter, sliding the golden coin across the smooth wood. There’s still specks of blood on it, but Charon takes it without batting an eye.

“Will you be needing a doctor tonight?” he questions with a tilt of his head, ever the helpful hotel concierge.

You’re shaking your own head before he’s even finished speaking, and glance at the still dazed John beside you. He’s already looking better than he did fifteen minutes ago—less pale and clammy—meaning that the poison is slowly but steadily leaving his system.

“We’ll be fine,” you say wearily. “But if you could send us up some X7 and Aspirin later, I would appreciate it.”

Charon hums, noting your request immediately in a notepad in front of him.

“X7 will take a bit longer but consider it done,” he responds pleasantly, sliding your room key across the table. You grapple for it, clenching it tightly between your bloody fingers. “Enjoy your stay,” he adds as you turn to go.

You grunt some vague pleasantry back but your mind is only focused on getting John to the hotel room before his legs decide to give out on him.

By the time you make it to your room on the third floor—Charon has mercifully put your room only a few doors away from the elevator, and you make a mental note to thank him for it tomorrow—your arms are trembling from the strain. John falls on the couch heavily, a harsh groan rattling free the moment he does, indicating just how bad he must be feeling.

His dark, half-lidded eyes track your movements as you stumble towards the bathroom, grabbing the complimentary first-aid kit found in every room. A certain, intent sharpness you’re used to seeing is missing from his gaze and you snap your fingers in front of his face a few times.

“Hey, you still with me?”

John nods his head and groans as he sits up, leaving you once again impressed with his silent strength. It seems like things that would kill ordinary men ten times over barely leave a dent on John. Some part of you can’t help but be slightly envious of the fact that he’s really as brilliant and as unstoppable as everyone makes him out to be.

He shrugs off his jacket under your command, leaving him in only a shirt and a tie and you loosen it, hurriedly wrapping it above his bleeding forearm.

“See, poison is a bitch when it’s not done by yours truly,” you mutter under your breath, carefully tracking his breathing patterns. “Aren’t you a lucky boy to have me on hand?”

His answer to your poor attempt at a joke is a half-hearted glare, and you smile weakly, grabbing a small blade from your boot to cut off his shirt sleeve. The white material flutters towards the ground and you grimace at the deep gash running at least eight centimetres down his arm. It looks angry and inflamed; a side effect to the potent poison the blade to make that cut was laced with.

You brush the damp strands of loose hair away from his sweaty forehead, and press your palm against his skin. A pleased hum escapes you and you nod your head, satisfied, before turning to sanitize the needle you’ll be using.

“The fever is going down,” you tell him when you feel his silent question hang in the air between you. “That means the antidote is working. You should be back to normal in another hour or so. Gelsemine though? Jesus. I miss the days when people used Thallium and thought they were efficient poisoners.”

You grab your belt, taking it off with a hurried jerk as you offer it to John who looks up at you in confusion. “For the pain,” you supply, shaking your hand a little.

“Just get me something strong,” he grunts, pointedly shifting his gaze to the table where a bottle of something that looks like whiskey sits untouched.

Clicking your tongue, you shake your head, “Not if you want to start vomiting blood. The poison is still in your system. Alcohol will make it worse and likely kill the antidote too. Take it.”

John looks away and you roll your eyes, dropping the belt to the ground as you step between his legs to get better access to the wound.

“Right, okay, this will hurt.”

John doesn’t say anything—not that you expect him to. You start with cleaning the cut first, and John’s fingers sink into the couch but he remains stubbornly silent. His eyes focus on a spot just above your shoulder as you work quietly. Cleaning wounds is meticulous work, and your line of work assures that you’re always meticulous. By the time the needle finally pierces John’s skin, it already looks better.

His jaw clenches tightly as you move the needle in and out of his skin. You know it’s excruciating but he makes no protests aside from occasional soft grunt of pain. His blood is warm on your fingers and you work as quickly as you can without messing up, a slight tremor shaking your hand.

“How,” he begins before clearing his throat. “How did you get involved in all of this?”

You make a small sound at the back of your throat, unsure if he’s trying to distract himself from pain or truly asking because he wants to know.

“How does anyone get involved with this sort of thing,” you answer dully, not taking the bait. “We’ve known each other for almost a year and you’re only asking about my tragic past now? Tsk, tsk.”

You feel his eyes focus on you, and pull on the needle harder, tightening the stitches much to John’s clear discomfort.

You’re both silent for a long moment after that, and much to your surprise John doesn’t push further. Most people would.

But John Wick is not most people, you’ve come to find.

He’s the type of man who never tries to make passes on you, never makes unnecessary comments about you or your appearance, and always insists on two beds. If there’s no spare bed, he always offers to sleep on the couch or the floor—the only exception to this rule is if he’s injured himself.

“My parents,” you speak softly before stopping. There’s a sudden tightness in your chest and throat as you swallow, gripping John’s arm tighter so you don’t slip with all the blood coating your hands. You feel his attention turn to you, and work to control your breathing. “They worked for Tarasov when he still ran his drug operation in Moscow. Everyone owned him. He practically ran the city. People were watched, police bought out. I didn’t know about any of it. My father was tasked with the export of drugs from and into the country. My mother worked directly in one of his drug houses. Keeping the books.”

You pause, breathing deeply, and grab the nearby towel to wipe away the blood on John’s arm. Hesitating, you glance up at him. He looks alert again, sharp, and you wonder if you should continue.

This man is already lethal—the last thing he needs is leverage over you.

But—

You move towards the desk where the bottle of whiskey is sitting while you wipe your own hands on a towel, hiding the visible trembling of your fingers as you resume your story.

“They decided that it would be a good idea to have a side gig on the side,” you continue, your words flat, emotionless. By now, you don’t feel grief when thinking about your parents. Just anger. The destructive, bubbling sort of rage that festers under your skin every day. “My mother started adjusting the numbers. Little by little. Nothing Tarasov would notice. Never more than thirty thousand rubles per shipment. That may sound like a lot but actually, it’s less than five hundred bucks. Seems laughable now when I think about it. For us, of course, every month that kind of money made a big difference. We didn’t need many luxuries. But they say your greed grows as you eat.”

You turn back towards John, bringing the bottle over to him. Sitting down on the table in front of him, you pour some of the whiskey on a fresh towel and press the soaked material against his arm. John’s expression twists slightly but you can tell from the way his eyes focus on you seconds later that he’s listening intently to your every word.

“They started taking a bit more every month,” you whisper, swallowing your anger, “More and more. Just a bit. But penny after penny and it all adds up. Tarasov eventually found out, of course. He gathered everyone who works for him and had my parents shot in front of them. That’s how you keep sheep in line. You scare them till they’re too afraid to do anything, even help. I don’t blame them though. Those people had nothing. Elderly. Orphaned kids. Immigrants. Fear and hunger are all they’ve known. And well, after...”

Your head dips, and you nibble on your lip for a second, tasting blood. For the first time in a long time, the coppery tang makes you feel queasy.

“Tarasov came to our flat that same afternoon. Had me make him dinner practically at gunpoint,” you explain further, a sardonic smile twisting your mouth as you meet John’s steady stare. So far, he hasn’t made a sound. “We discussed my parents' debt to him. He could have just had me shot too of course. But he said he didn’t want that. He said that my talents with chemistry were too valuable for him to waste. So he gave me a choice. I work for him until my parents' debt is paid off or….”

For the first time since you began your story, John speaks, “Or?”

You chuckle under your breath, removing the towel from his arm, and lightly press your fingertips against the tender flesh.

“There’s many uses for a healthy, young woman, John,” you state flatly, your lips stretching into something that could never pass for a smile.

You can’t exactly pinpoint his expression, but you know it’s not pity. Perhaps it’s sympathy or even compassion. Some deeper understanding that can’t be expressed with words alone. But for once you feel like John is looking at you openly and without that uncrackable armour he usually wears like a second skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says, at last, his voice almost gentle. “About your parents.”

You scoff, taking a swing from the bottle and wince at the stinging burn the drink leaves in its wake. “They were stupid idiots,” you deadpan harshly. “I love them dearly. But they were fucking idiots.”

John nods once because you both know you’re right, and you swallow shakily, blinking your eyes rapidly.

For a few minutes, it’s quiet between you. You expect it to be awkward yet somehow it isn’t. In fact, it’s almost peaceful.

“Anyway, I made my choice and here I am,” you mumble, carefully pouring him a tiny amount of the drink. He should be fine to drink it by now. Probably. “Tarasov said that once the debt is repaid, I’m free to go.”

“And you believe that?”

Your eyes meet as John takes the glass from your hand.

“No,” you reply frankly, your smile pained. “But when you have nothing, you have to believe in something.”

. . .

You settle into an odd little routine, you and John.

Tarasov gives you a mission, you go, accomplish the impossible somehow and get to go on breathing for another day.

The longer you work together, the easier it becomes to correlate. Your only weakness—if one can even call it that—is that you’re both stubborn individualists. He’s a brute, relentless strength to your sly, vicious subtlety. That’s what makes the fact that character-wise you couldn’t be more different so stupidly hilarious to you. The only real arguments you have is the way in which the job should be approached.

That thought makes you chuckle and you wince in pain immediately after. The ice pack against your jaw shifts slightly, and you shift in your seat, trying to get more comfortable. Most of your body aches painfully, but your jaw feels especially sore. One of the idiots has managed to get three heavy hits in before John splattered his brain all over you. In return, you’ve been forced to kick John out of the path of a bullet hail.

He’s the one who pressed ice against your jaw while you were busy cleaning his bruised and bleeding knuckles.

Then you sat in silence, digesting another job well done, and basking in the tranquil air of the hotel room while the pain-reducing solution you’ve made works its magic.

And odd routine indeed.

“Hey,” John’s voice breaks the soft tranquillity, and you jerk up, realising that you’ve come dangerously close to dozing off. “Do you ever think about getting out?”

You blink slowly, clearing your head as his words register. Then, confusion blooms, “Out? Get out of what?”

John doesn’t look at you though. His heavy gaze focuses on something outside, out of your sight. The slopes of his profile have become familiar to you—the raven hair, dark eyes, the small crinkles that appear around his eyes on the rare occasion he does smile. He’s not standoffish in the way others often accuse him of being now. If anything he looks softer somehow, more human than a weapon Tarasov boasts of so smugly. More than a living nightmare so many fear.

He looks like a man. Simple as that, and when he finally turns to face you, you see the fresh cuts and bruises on his face. Just a man.

“Getting out of this life,” he replies slowly, his voice rougher from the lucky hit one of the guards managed to get into his throat. “Getting away from everything. From Tarosov.”

It strikes you then that John is asking from a genuine place of interest—something he rarely indulges in with you, considering nine out of ten times all conversations between you are started by you.

The second thing that strikes you is a genuine surprise. John is not the person you would ever expect to hear this type of question from. It’s private, it’s raw; he knows about your debt, about the chain around your neck. Better than most, perhaps better than everyone. But because you respect him enough to at least give it actual thought, you consider his question for a long time.

It takes at least five minutes until you finally speak and when you do your voice sounds hollow in your own ears, “I never wanted this life,” you begin softly, your voice thin. “I never asked to be involved in any of this. I didn’t ask for my parents to take me from country to country, never allowing me to settle down anywhere or make friends. When they kept secrets and were barely home. I didn’t ask for adventure, or danger, or even wealth, John. But—”

John stares at you, considering you, no doubt analysing your words, and you swallow the sudden lump in your throat at his show of keen interest.

“But,” you repeat again, your tone harsher. “I’m here, and I have to make the best of it. I’ve never been good at anything in my life. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself in this last year is that I’m very, very good at this. I’m starting to think that violence is in my blood, and I don’t know what that means just yet but…”

You exhale, eyes fluttering shut and you only open them after counting to ten inside your head. Slow and steady as you meet his gaze straight on. “So to answer your question: no. No, I don’t think about it. Even after I’m finished dealing with Tarasov, I don’t see another path for myself anymore. It was taken from me.”

John peers at you for a long, long time after you fall silent. You’re not sure what he discerns from your expression or what he’s searching for, but you doubt he finds it as his obsidian eyes eventually slide away from you and towards the window.

The sun is rising in the East.

Milan is beautiful this time of year.

You sit together through the sunrise, not saying a word.

Years later, you would look back on this as the last true moment of peace for an interminable number of years.

. . .

Separation comes only two short months later like a punch to the face.

Tarasov’s argument is simple: he needs two jobs done on different sides of the world. One requires the lethality John is infamous for, another requires the most subtle of touches; a snake’s slyness.

Tarasov needs the Boogeyman and the Vipress but for vastly different things this time.

John must sense your unease—this will be your first solo mission after all—and he stops you as soon as you’re both out of earshot of any prying eyes.

“You’ll be fine,” he says so simply, effortlessly, with enough confidence in his low voice that for a second you believe him too. “It’s the perfect job for you.”

“Of course I’ll be fine,” you shoot back with forced nonchalance. “I’m not that helpless.”

Your smile is forced, and John knows it too.

He doesn’t point it out because deep down John is kind—no matter how ironic it is for a deadly assassin to be that.

For once, you expect him to say something else but he doesn’t. One of Tarasov’s men shouts him over because his flight is leaving in three hours. John’s gaze lingers on you for an insignificant second but he still walks away, leaving a cold kind of silence in his wake.

His name burns at the back of your throat as dread bubbles in the pit of your gut.

But you don’t call his name out.

. . .

It doesn’t go bad.

It doesn’t go well either.

It goes thoroughly and wholly to shit.

You grasp at your shoulder where blood is still pouring freely, and your eyes sting with tears of pain as you make your report to the silent Tarasov over the phone.

They have known.

They have prepared.

The target got away at the last moment.

You are lucky to still be alive.

“Better you weren’t then,” Tarasov purrs in Russian, the letters curling like a death grip around your throat. “Report to me tomorrow.”

“But—”

The line goes dead.

You pull the bullet out yourself. Through gritted teeth and sweat dripping down your forehead. You cry twice and throw up once before you pass out from pain and terror. Still, you manage to patch yourself up.

The lack of John’s presence stings in an unexpected, violent way when you wake up, bleary-eyed and shivering.

You have gotten dependent on him and his help.

Now it feels like a weakness.

Now, you hate yourself for shaking in terror as you make your way to Tarasov’s new office in New York.

You’re strong (but not strong enough), you’re smart (but not enough), you’re—

You wonder if you should pray, or perhaps plead for help from some higher power. Tarasov as good as admitted that you will be dead by the end of this meeting. There is no helping you now.

Sickness cramps your stomach and you dry heave in an alleyway behind his office. Your vision swims, your blood rushes in your ears and for a second you consider simply lying down on this cold, dirty ground and letting the world consume you.

You failed, you fucked up. First solo mission and you failed in the most spectacular way possible. The target got away. There’s no one to blame but yourself.

You’ve considered poisoning him, but that seems so unlikely to succeed now. His lackeys will never allow you to walk through the office door without ransacking you, nor would Tarasov be stupid enough to let you anywhere near him.

Death, now more than ever, seems like an inevitably.

John will save me.

A harsh bark of laughter tears from your throat at the sudden, invasive whisper of your mind. How pathetic. To mess up is one thing, to know that there’s close to nothing you can do to rectify the situation is another, but to actually hope someone else will save you…

Even if you are to allow yourself the overly indulgent thought, that still doesn’t change the fact that John is in Europe right now. Half a world away—too far away.

John.

Knees quaking, you stand up.

Squaring your shoulders, and ignoring the burn of pain in your left shoulder, you start walking.

John would face this with dignity, with that same cool detachment he does most things.

John would not quiver in some dingy alleyway. He would not cry like some pathetic idiot because of his own mistake. He would face it, and he would fight back.

Your forehead presses against the freezing wall of the building as you pull yourself together piece by piece.

You are no longer that same girl who wept over your parents because you have no idea where they are buried, or if they even had a burial. If perhaps their bodies have been thrown onto the streets, or woods, or simply fed to the dogs.

That girl has been killed by your parents' stupidity.

Now only the Vipress remains.

Vipress who is a master poisoner, whose name is no longer whispered with mockery but with reluctant respect that’s starting to rival John’s.

With every step, you stand straighter, walk with more confidence. Your shoulder throbs terribly but you step into the building as through a fog.

Tarasov greets you with a glass of vodka and a wide grin.

The hardness of his gaze is chilling though, and you try to keep your cool demeanour, emulating John as much as possible. Two other guards lurk in the dark corners of the room, and you still entertain the thought that you can take them if it comes to that.

Your heartbeat is so deafening in your ears, you barely catch Tarasov’s words.

“Sorry?”

His grin stretches even further, and he tuts, “My, my, I almost forgot. How’s the shoulder?”

He doesn’t sound like he cares. But not answering would be a stupid thing to do. “It’s fine, sir.”

Tarasov makes a small sound at the back of his throat before his fist strikes your shoulder with enough force that you crumble to the floor. A cry of pain manages to escape before you bite your cheek, hot blood flooding your mouth as you tremble on the floor before him.

“Oh, my,” Tarasov comments in sharp Russian as if surprised by your predicament while one of his guards hands him his glass. “Seems like you’re not as ‘fine’ as you say. You’ve disappointed me, (Name). Greatly.”

Tarasov pats your head, the contact heavy and patronizing, as he jerks your head up. He stares at you with a hum, shaking his head as his powerful features rearrange into a look of genuine disappointment.

“Stand up,” he orders sharply and lets go of you, allowing you space to stagger to your feet. “It would be undignified to shoot you like this. Believe it or not, my hopes for you were high and you’ve been rather useful to me. I at least respect that.”

The two guards shift in the dim room, and you bare your bloody teeth on instinct, lowering your blood-covered hand from your shoulder. If they want to fight...

Tarasov laughs genuinely this time, loud and booming, suddenly reminding you of your father. “You’ve got fire, little viper. I will need that ferocity for our expansion. But you also fucked up. Badly. But you will never fail me again, isn’t that right?”

You don’t answer, staring at him through a pain-fueled haze. Tarasov ‘tsk’s and the back of his hand strikes your face with numbing force. Your lip splits on contact, one side of your face tingling with raw pain as your head snaps to the side.

Few droplets of blood hit the pristine floor, and you stare at it dumbly, breathing harshly through your mouth.

“I grow impatient,” he mutters coldly in clipped Russian. “Isn’t that right? I expect an answer. What did you think I will kill you? No, no, my dear. Not yet. You’ve made a mess but it can be sorted. How severe your punishment is going to be, however, is entirely dependant on you.”

Swallowing thickly, you lift your eyes to his, “I won’t fail you again.”

Tarasov laughs again, and salutes you before drowning the half-full glass in one gulp. He exhales, looking rather pleased with himself.

“Of course you won’t,” he hums pleasantly, and pats your injured cheek with heavy intent. “Because if you do, I will have John himself put a bullet in your pretty little head. Now get out of my sight and don’t come back till I call for you.”

. . .

The knock on your door comes two days later.

You aren’t expecting guests so the first thing you do is grab your poisoned needles and your gun.

Gripping the familiar weight in your palm, you cautiously approach the door, levelling the gun against the wood. “Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

Your hand drops instinctively, and you crack the door open, only to find a familiar pair of dark eyes already staring at you. Your fingers tremble slightly as you open the door fully and John’s familiar stocky frame comes into view.

He, in turn, takes a good minute to no doubt take in your bandaged shoulder and bruised face. Even though you added ice the moment you left Tarasov’s office, one half of your face is still swollen. Ugly, blotchy bruises litter your skin and you swallow shakily upon noting the hard, near frightening intensity in which John is taking in your injuries.

“Why did you come?” you finally force out, and clear your throat when your voice cracks a few times. “Didn’t you have—”

“What happened?” John speaks instead, and there’s an icy undercurrent to his words you’re unused to hearing from him.

Turning away, you walk deeper into the room, and John follows you silently.

“I figured you would know. I’m the talk of the town,” you mutter dryly, and feel a stab of anger at the thought.

When you turn to face him, John’s expression is still oddly severe though his demeanour appears as calm as always. You’re not quite sure what to make of it.

“I do know what happened on the mission,” he replies, his mouth a tight line, and voice dropping into almost whisper. “I want to know about this.”

He reaches out and for a stupid—purely idiotic second—you think that he’s going to touch your face; maybe run his thumb over your tender jaw to soothe the pain.

But John stops halfway and allows his hand to drop back to his side, patient and quiet as he waits for your explanation.

There’s an odd tension in the air that you can’t quite pinpoint. The relief of seeing him, at knowing he cares enough to at least come and see you, is already enough. Which doesn’t explain why you feel a distinct stab of disappointment at the realisation that he’s not going to hold you or comfort you, regardless of how naive it would be to expect something like that from him. That hard demeanour of his is near impossible to crack through most of the time.

“Tarasov wasn’t happy,” you settle on the easiest explanation you can give him. “Reminded me that I will never fail him again or he will have you shoot me next time.”

John’s expression twists. “I—”

He cuts himself off and you smile sadly, wincing when you scabbed lip stretches too wide. You know what he was about to say. That he wouldn’t do it—that maybe he simply couldn’t. Even in the world of killers, there are grey areas no one likes to tread on. Friends, family, associates.

But you also know the truth.

You both work exclusively under Tarasov’s contract. John would have to do what he’s told regardless of his own feelings on the matter. And maybe even if he does care, even if he considers you an actual friend, it won’t be enough to deliberately place himself in danger by showing disobedience.

“It’s okay,” you say softly, and you wonder why you sound so sad without even meaning to. “We do what we’re told. We don’t ask questions. We just pull the trigger, right? It’s who we are. We’re made for violence and isn’t that fucking sad? We don’t even question it anymore, John. Do you think—”

His head tilts, his loose hair brushing against his forehead. “Do I think what?”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head, and give him another tiny smile. Somehow even ignoring pain is easier with him beside you.

“It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

For a moment, it looks like John will say something else but he stops himself at last second and nods his head as if accepting your words.

The distance between you feels like a ravine even while you spend the entire evening in the same room, breathing the same air. But perhaps that’s just the endless paradox between you.

. . .

It doesn’t happen overnight. Or days. Or even weeks.

It’s slow. So much so that you don’t notice for a long, long time and by the time you do, it’s already painfully clear that there’s no going back.

Much like the name John wears, much like the man himself, it creeps up on you. Little by little. Bit by bit.

There’s no groundbreaking moment, there are no fireworks. There’s just the knowing that sits deep in the pit of your stomach. It’s a foolish, idiotic thing. You brush it aside because you know better. Because you’re not naive enough to hope for anything in a world like this.

Hope is a dangerous thing, and you’ve had yours broken too many times to rely on it anymore.

So you don’t.

You know not to expect good things anymore, to never try and rely on anything or anyone. Every good thing you’ve ever had has either died or been taken from you.

So you really should have known that this would never last.

. . .

Tarasov’s imposed “time out” lasts for three months.

It marks the beginning of the end.

And it starts with an accident that turns into a tragedy.

. . .

an: wooo, I hope you all liked that. I’m sooo rusty it’s not even funny but I hope you found some enjoyment in this. Also sorry for the very slowburn relationship I suppose? This isn’t super romantic. But considering the type of man John is (and the fact that he’s younger here) I actually don’t see him falling for someone immediately? Also, I love angst so....this is gonna be exactly that! Thank you for reading everyone!!

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick imagine #keanu reeves #john wick fic #fic: children of ares

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ganymedesclock · 5 years

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Hungry Knight & Characterizing Ghost

Y’know, it’s interesting, as far into Hollow Knight as I am, and having been aware of Hungry Knight for some time, I haven’t checked it out before very recently. Upon rectifying that, there’s really something interesting in how much of the game is recognizable from this bare bones, two-minute little thing. Obviously there’s a grandiosity and complexity of story that Hollow Knight possesses that Hungry Knight simply couldn’t be of the scale of, but as a sort of primal eggshell the rest of the game hatched out of, it’s very interesting.

The three guardians that are hunted in Hungry Knight are simply boss enemies; they are not given backstory, and hunting them is basically an unambiguously good action. It’s interesting how this progressed to the execution of the Dreamers in Hollow Knight- but what I find illuminating about the Hungry Knight’s journey to its ‘proper’ game sequel is that at its most bare bones, Hungry Knight is a story about Ghost- our Ghost, as we recognize them- who is hailed by Mister Mushroom as the same being, even though he’s sort of breaking the fourth wall to do so and thus Hungry Knight is not in-universe canonical to Ghost’s history- hunting three beings, in order to save the life of a being like themselves.

With many of the major beats of Hollow Knight following an extended, more elaborate imagining of Hungry Knight’s simplistic two-minute plot, I think this characterizes Ghost’s perspective and motives for returning to the kingdom interestingly.

Another related area of interest to me is that Ghost is very finished compared to everything else in this game that received intense reimagining. Their mainstays remain nail attacks and dashing; the hunger system is a clear predecessor of soul- in essence, Ghost as they are in HK does “hunger” and need to “feed” themselves- it’s just that the timing of such is dependent on the damage they take, rather than time.

However- Ghost also, in Hungry Knight, talks. Not to any NPCs in the game world, because they have no one to speak to- but directly to the player.

Ghost speaks twice; in the opening card explaining the controls:

I’m a knight. I have something I need to do.

And I’m hungry.

I need to eat every 10 seconds or I will die.

I must search the area carefully.

I must strike swiftly and remorselessly

I must be nimble to avoid danger

I must not fail, whatever happens. I am ready.

And at the end:

Thank you for your help. I couldn’t have done it without you.

Again, given how polished this proto-Ghost is to the finished character in Hollow Knight, I want to take this as an indicator of how Ghost would speak through some kind of proxy around their voicelessness. What follows is basically take-it-or-leave-it headcanon, but going off Hungry Knight as a guideline:

Ghost is very blunt. They contain a bit of the eloquence that perfumes all dialogue in Hollow Knight, really, and they’re not shy of using fancier language, but they express their ideas in very simple words. They seem to think it’s rather important that they are specifically a knight- and this statement exists in absence of them being a knight of or for anything. They do not seem to have an order or affiliation, or- in fact- loyalty to anything in the game world of Hungry Knight except their fallen friend.

They also show a predilection towards imperatives, which is interesting. Outside of the hunger limit which is a factual stating of boundaries, they cite four edicts with rather intense gravity:

Search the area carefully

Strike swiftly and remorselessly

Be nimble to avoid danger

Do not fail, whatever happens

The existence of these edicts is interesting. The idea of Ghost as someone who internalizes certain things that they take completely seriously and unflinchingly / refuse to compromise on is one not foreshadowed by their very subdued body language. But it betrays a whole host of implied values. That Ghost values precision, caution (they are not reckless in the risks they take) and adaptation, but, also, believes firmly that this caution and adaptation must ultimately serve their end goal.

The biggest reason this is interesting to me? Zote.

Here’s the thing about Zote: he was pretty clearly designed in Ghost’s likeness. Their cloaks are similar. Their weapons are similar. The shape of their horns are similar. While he is in other ways clearly his own character, Zote was conceived as a caricature of Ghost.

Zote insists that he is a principled creature, insists that he is a knight, and has an exhaustive, lengthy list of personal edicts that he insists lead him to success through every situation; however, those edicts are in some ways useless advice; in others, they are useful, but not in the way that a personal creed generally would be.

So, if we’re going off Hungry Knight: Zote as a caricature of Ghost, may, with his 47 Precepts, be caricaturing the idea that Ghost themselves carries and lives by a personal creed.

Some of these things are implied per my earlier headcanon, that the more “neutral-seeming” notes on the top half of the Hunter’s Journal entries represent Ghost’s impressions. These upper-half journal entries, and overall gameplay of Hollow Knight, would seem to align with Ghost’s stated edicts in Hungry Knight.

“I must search the area carefully” -> Ghost’s notes, compared to the Hunter’s, are detailed and factual. They often discuss what weapons a creature uses, whether or not it is trained, its origins... and, take special note of anything that is or used to be a knight, or adhering to a personal creed. (note the sentry enemies in particular, and how much Ghost mentions their hierarchy and weapon choices. The White Defender is also described as “gallant”, in contrast to the dismissive way the Hunter speaks of the Dung Defender). What’s more interesting is that some of the most formidable enemies in the game- Radiance, and Nightmare King Grimm- are given extremely sparing descriptions by Ghost- as if they are struggling to describe what they are beholding.

Likewise, a huge amount of Hollow Knight’s gameplay, especially if you want anything besides the worst ending, or just to make your going easier, involves scouring the game world tenaciously. Both Hornet and Hunter suggest Ghost has a predilection to dogging others’ trails; Quirrel and Cornifer both suggest Ghost is a kindred spirit to them as someone grasped by the love of exploration, and the Old Stag likewise commends them when they open the Queen’s Station.

“I must strike swiftly and remorselessly” -> not only is this one spoofed by Zote (he has a precept about exploiting weaknesses, a precept about felling enemies in a single stroke...) but Ghost is basically never reluctant to throw down with anything that seems about to attack. The Hunter cites Ghost as approaching without fear after he roars at them, and Quirrel’s dialogue outside the mantis village suggests that without much of a clear sense that the mantises are obstructing Ghost’s progress, they’re eager to challenge the Lords. Likewise, the Radiance does not attack you immediately, but Ghost still hops to the highest peak of her domain and tells her exactly how they feel with a single brandished nail.

Likewise, everything Godseeker tells them seems to galvanize them onward, even though initially their motivation may have been curiosity. This even lines up with, according to Hungry Knight, at least, that Ghost defines themselves first by their job, and second by the fact that they have something they need to do- and they do not consider failure any kind of viable option.

As far as remorselessness... there are in fact several times in the game you can cut someone down and then realize afterwards maybe you shouldn’t have. Encountering fully infected Myla is basically set up to encourage it- a player might assume that in defeating her, she could be saved, or just be startled by her attack and retaliate the way that the game has trained us. Her unique dying cry, to me, suggests that the game expected us to hear it.

Likewise, the Nailsmith asks to be cut down, and, if you oblige him, it happens extremely quickly and without effort.

The interesting other side of that is someone who tells themselves to act without remorse, is, generally, someone who is predisposed to regrets- which we know Ghost is, given the canonical information available about the Shade, and that the Shade is already pre-loaded into the Hunter’s Journal on unlock... suggesting Ghost has been forced to contend with it before in the wastelands beyond the kingdom.

Similarly, both Grimm and Brumm in the Grimm Troupe questline prod at the idea that Ghost must make their choice, knowingly, and choose something they won’t regret doing. There’s also the absolutely heartbreaking song of the Hollow Knight battle, and Godseeker’s comments on the Pure Vessel fight that Ghost may yearn to be close to their sibling, but can only get there through combat.

So this particular edict is something emotionally shaky to Ghost- they feel like they have to attack quickly without hesitation, and it’s seen them through many enemies, but... as far as attacking remorselessly- they, uh, don’t always succeed.

“I must be nimble to avoid danger” -> platforming and evasion are huge parts of the game. Given the amount of health bosses have, hanging back, moving around attacks, and finding the right places to heal is an imperative regardless of play style. There are few bosses you can really efficiently face-tank through and you need to do a LOT of charm work, and screaming of either the internal or external variety to succeed there (ask me how I know,) The majority of the upgrades you unlock are about maneuverability.

“I must not fail, whatever happens.” -> Much of the game, especially Hornet, is basically about interrogating Ghost’s resolve, and whether or not they’re okay with what’s going to happen to them. This refusal to give up in the face of outstanding adversity is a huge quality of Ghost’s, and basically one that the game sympathetically cultivates in the player. This is a game with a harsh and demanding learning curve, and, basically, if you’re going to see it through, you need to commit to it.

However, like Ghost’s belief they need to lack remorse, this walks a dicey line. At their worst, Ghost can ignore everyone and everything, write them off as distractions, minimize their observations of their surroundings and blind themselves to everything except the next obstruction in the way of their goal.

However, in that worst ending? Ghost does fail, if you look at what Hungry Knight says about Ghost’s motives. What proto-Ghost thanks the player for is being able to save their friend and leave that place together.

In the base ending of Hollow Knight, Ghost is unable to save Hollow. Instead, they cut Hollow down, and replace them, making a meaningless sacrifice that won’t save anyone else, either- just buy them more time, in a stasis that has already led to decay.

“Thank you, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

All of the better endings are facilitated by engaging with other characters. For Dream No More, you need Hornet and the White Lady’s help, and seeking closure from the Pale King’s body and the bottom of the Abyss. Ghost has to confront their past there- twice- and face, and embrace, their regrets. The opening to dream nail Hollow rather than cutting them down is only created by Hornet believing in Ghost enough to risk her life entering the Black Egg Temple and tackle Hollow to hold them down.

Embrace The Void takes that even further- you need all of those criteria, and then you need to rummage in two different areas, very far away from each other, to find first a key, and then a sarcophagus, and keep prodding the weirdo that falls out of said sarcophagus, even when she’d really rather you didn’t. And even that has unpleasant consequences unless you go even further, and rummage enough to find a way to deliver a Delicate Flower to Godseeker.

Ultimately, Ghost only gets what they want by letting others in. They only accomplish what they do with help. And this is important, when, again, Hungry Knight would point towards the idea that everything Ghost does is to the end goal of saving another person. They want, ultimately, to protect Hollow.

#Hollow Knight #Little Ghost #Hungry Knight #readmore

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dragon-kazansky · 5 years

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Jasmine - Tony Stark x Reader

Summary: Tony Stark can’t take his mind off of you when he meets you. He’s about to make your wish come true.

Warning: Slight language.

Notes: Part 3 of my fairy tale series. Imagine Peter is you in that gif.

Meeting Tony Stark was one of the most random things that could have ever happened in your life, and that was saying something because your life seemed to be full of random events.

You were literally minding your own business as you walked down the street alone. It was midday and New York was bustling with life.

With the sun out and you being and pretty good mood, you thoroughly enjoyed the day.

That is until you bumped into someone who was having less than a good day. You looked at the man ahead of you and began your list of apologies.

"I'm so sorry. I wasn't looking."

"Well obviously! You should pay more attention lady." The man snapped.

You glared and crossed your arms.

"Hey, asshole! I was at least being polite about it. Being nice goes a long way you know!" You snapped back.

"Polite? You're not being so polite now, are ya!" He squared up. He was much taller than you and a lot more buff too.

"Well I'm sorry. I'll be getting on with my day now, good day to you sir." You gave a mock salute and turned on your heel, ready to leave.

"Think you're funny?" He man huffed.

"Just let it go, I accidentally walked into you, let's go our separate ways and enjoy our day." You looked at the nameless man over tour shoulder.

"Is he bothering you?" A voice called out from the pulled up car beside you and the man. You instantly turned to see the man in the car peering at you over his sunglasses.

"Uh, it's OK, just some guy trying to pick a fight." You said calmly despite being aware that the man in the car was pretty much famous and you recognised him.

Tony Stark. He had a huge tower in the middle of the city with his name on it and he was an insanely intelligent billionaire.

He peered at the nameless man as if asking if this statement was true, but he didn't get an answer. At least not a verbal one. How the man shifted in his spot was answer enough for Stark.

"I think the lady was right, just turn around and get on with your day."

"Whatever." The man lost interest in any urge to fight and walked away from the pair of you.

Tony looked at you and removed his glasses completely, giving you a smile.

"Need a lift?"

"No thanks, but thank you, for getting rid of that guy." You offered him a smile to show your gratefulness.

"You're welcome...."

"Y/N. My name is Y/N." You offered him your hand.

He took it and shook it firmly.

"I know who you are, so you don't need to introduce yourself." You chuckled. "Everyone knows Tony Stark."

He gave you a not so subtle wink.

"Be careful from now on, lot of weirdos in this city."

You nodded and waved a little before departing ways with the Billionaire. He watched you go and then had his driver take him home.

You had left an impression on him.

Tony Stark wasn't even sure what it was about you that him made you stay on his mind. There wasn't much of a conversation between you both. You were grateful for his stepping in, which made him happy. You were stunning, in his eyes at least, so much so that he didn't look away until you were completely out of sight. Not to forget, he was enamoured by the sound of your voice. What he would do to hear it again.

It wasn't long until he was able to either. The very next day he bumped into you again. Actually, you bumped into him as he was leaving his Expo that night.

"Hello again." He was grinning, but you couldn't tell what his eyes were saying as he wore glasses again.

"Mr. Stark! Hello. I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention again..." Your gaze was on the ground as you kicked lightly at the concrete.

"You should watch where you're walking." He didn't sound angry at all, which caused you look him in the eye. He had pulled his glasses down his nose to peer over the rim, so you could see those dark brown eyes of his now.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. Do I sound mad?" He chuckled lightly.

"No."

"Take a walk with me." He angled his elbow in your direction as he removed his glasses completely with his other hand. He hooked them on his shirt.

You looked your arm with his and let him take your away from the Expo centre where an unhappy Happy Hogan was looking for his boss.

"Where are we going?" You asked quietly, feeling guilty for disturbing the peace.

"Up high, I want to show you something." He led you into one of New York's many tall skyscrapers and nodded at the receptionist who nodded back. Everyone knew who Stark was and he had access to pretty mug everywhere.

The pair of you stood in an elevator (or lift since I'm British) and let it take you to the top. When it finger to signal your stop, still linked together, you walked out.

The entire room was nothing but glass windows allowing you to look out as far as the eye could see.

You slowly slipped from his grasp and hurried over to the window ahead of you, had dropping, eyes widening. The view was amazing.

Tony walked over to your right and pushed one of the windows open. The door blended in so well you wouldn't have now it was there if he hadn't opened it.

"Come outside." He gestured his head to the terrace and watched as you slowly walked outside.

"This is incredible! Look at the city, I've never seen it look so beautiful." You placed your hands on the railing and lea ed over ever so slightly, letting your eyes take in the sight.

Due to the amount of light the city emitted, the stars were barely viable, but you could see the buildings far out in the distance because of it. The cars and people below looked so small, like tiny ants.

"Why did you bring me here? I walked into you, hardly reason to being me out here... unless you're actually angry and plan on pushing me off." You became nervous very quickly.

"I plan to do nothing of the sort." His gaze had been locked on you the entire time.

"Then what is it?"

Tony took slow and quiet steps towards you into one was standing opposite you, gazing down at you.

"You're... amazing." He complimented quietly.

"What?"

"You've been on my mind since yesterday afternoon and I can't understand why! Just, everything about you is memorable." He gave a click of his tongue as he cast his gaze out to the city. "Why would one person who I barely spoke to be on my mind for hours on end?" He asked himself. "I honestly don't know, but I'm happy to see you again, that I do know." He looked back at you again.

"Weird. I feel the same way, but I don't know if that's just because you're Tony Stark. I figured you being Iron Man would make me feel this way."

"Is that all it is?"

"I don't know... Not like it can be anything else right?"

"Why not?" His gaze was locked with yours.

"You're Tony Stark. The most famous billionaire in this city. Iron Man. An Avenger. A hero. I'm just someone with a normal day job who pet sits for my neighbour and walks into people." You shrugged your shoulders and sighed as you turned your gaze away from him.

"If you had three wishes, what would you wish for?" Be asked out of the blue.

"What? Where did that come from?"

"Go on, if you could have three wishes, what would they be?" You could tell his eyes were still on you.

"One: I'd wish that I could be strong enough to be an Avenger and help those in need." You held up a finger as you thought about his question. This wish was something you had wanted since the heroes came to be several years ago.

"Your second wish?"

"Two: I'd wish for more time go enjoy moments like these because I don't get to see these kind of views very much. I'm missing out on the beauty around me, I need to take time to relax and not stress about life. Enjoy the little things."

"Your third wish?"

"Finally, three: I'd wish that I could see you more often because you're honestly the most amazing person I have met. You don't even know me, yet here we are spending time together and talking." You chuckled softly.

"I like you. Can't say why, but I do."

You smiled and pushed away from the railing, heading for the door. "Let's go. I've had my time with the billionaire."

His heart sank that you wanted to leave, but he walked you back outside. Happy was there with the car waiting for Stark. He looked put of breath.

"The receptionist told me you were here." He gave his brow a pat with his handkerchief and opened the door. "Will the lady be joining us?"

You quickly stepped back from Tony and out up your hands.

"Oh no, I'll walk home from here. Thank you though." You gave Tony a smile and waved as you walked away.

"I'll see you soon, Y/N!" He called out, you were already half way down the street.

"No you won't!"

Tony grinned as he climbed into the back of the car and let Happy drive him home. Pepper bombarded him with questions when he got back, but all he said was, "I met someone."

She rolled her eyes and sighed, but the look on his face made her wonder who he had met.

The next day you left work with a skip in your step and a song stuck in your head, which you hummed the entire day. Must have been something you heard last night at the party.

You were about to cross the road when a car you thought looked familiar caught you eye. It was parked just a little further down the street. Forgetting about your potential destination, you headed over to the car.

"It's you." The window was rolled down and you could see Tony Stark sitting there. You were surprised he wasn't being surrounded by people, but you think his slight disguise might had had something to do with that.

He was wearing a cap over his head and his eyes were covered by, what you thought were cheap, sunglasses. He had dressed down from last time you saw him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I had to see you again." He climbed out of the car and waved it the side mirror. The car drove off.

"Why?"

"I told you, I like you."

"How did you find me?"

"This is where we met that first time." He grinned. "Also, looking you up wasn't hard."

"You looked me up?" You scoffed, but not upset with him.

"A little. Had to make your wish come true." He smiled sweetly as he looked at you.

"My wish?"

"You told me if you had three wishes, one of them would be to have more time with me. Here I am. This time, however, I don't intend on letting you go." He was standing there looking all smug like.

"You're serious?"

"Yep."

You grinned up at him and took a moment to let this all sink in. The Tony Stark made an effort to seek you out and make your wish come true.

"I must be pretty lucky."

"Special. That's the word I would use." He winked at you, but you could just about see it.

"Alright. Take me somewhere amazing." You held out your hand to him. Tony smiled as he took it and savoured how it felt in his own.

"I know the most amazing view I could show you."

If someone had said you'd fall in love with the billionaire and your life would never be the same, you would have laughed, but that's exactly what happened.

Your life just got wild.

#tony stark #tony stark x reader #marvel #Avengers #avengers x reader

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

don't play the fool now (multi) - chapter two - lily2

adore isn’t too interested in attending the famous and ever-so popular: club katya however, she bumps into someone who leaves a lasting impression. meanwhile, shea breaks the most basic rules of her job and katya definitely cares for her sister more than she should.

— ✧*。

Adore stood, locking arm’s with Scarlet and Courtney who were on both of her sides, both of them completely dolled up and wearing their finest and cutest sequin dresses, the new employee stuck out like a sore thumb with her long hair down, a short and black v-neck dress and of course some fishnets and bright red lipstick— she didn’t want to be polished, it was a casino and a club after all, as if someone could get through a sentence or even speak to her about her possibly questionable style choices as they sat, gambling their life away and utterly wasted.

“Well I don’t see the others but we are a bit early.” The Australian speaking up and brushing her hair back gently, not wanting to ruin the shape before she heard a whistle and saw the rest of the girls from their unit walk up, Adore clearly the odd one out as even Yvie decided to dress in whatever she could find that wasn’t too casual. “Let’s do the damn thing ladies.” Aja spoke over the gaggle of girls who all interlocked hands, it almost looked like a cult; an extremely attractive and undercover (but not really) cult.

First Scarlet and Courtney walked through, waving to the suspecting and familar bartenders and staff who greeted them oh-so-sweetly as expected from two glamorous regulars though Adore couldn’t help but notice the security’s eyes follow her before she turned the corner, clinging a bit to her two new teammates, not due to fear however, Azusa was far more tramuatic and terrifying as a thought than this entire casino: it was more the feeling of being so unaware, everything was bright and the lights a bit dim, people of every kind wanting the same two things: money and alcohol, music blasting as Yvie and Tatianna moved as they walked, feeling themselves to the song.

“Obviously we aren’t gonna stick together forever so do we want to have a time and place to meet?” Scarlet raising her hand to stop the other seven girls from walking past her, raising a good concern. “The fact you think we will be sober enough to even remember.” Yvie cackled, amused that Scarlet really, truly believed picking a place in the middle of the night, at a casino was a good option for the unit of girls, trying to run away from the stress of their jobs and welcome Adore (in possibly the worst fashion possible) as they gambled and drank the night away, atleast that was what Yvie was planning to do with her time.

“It’s a genuine question, I’m sorry I don’t actually get wasted every time I go out somewhere and besides we’re not on the job, not like I have radios to talk with you guys!“

Tatianna held her phone up and nervously gave a smile to the two already beginning to start the usual bickering session, “But we all do have phones and I’m sure some of us will stick together, if anyone goes wrong let’s do that me and Brook Lynn are the ones to call, I know she doesn’t drink too often anhway and I’m pretty responsible so we’ll be the good parents today.” The Canadian shrugged, utterly and completely okay with that little suggestion, “That’s fine by me, I know I’m always the type to get bored and be on my phone anyway."

"Why did you come then?” Yvie asked, gripping her arm, “Because someone has to be the responsible one like Tatianna said and I don’t trust any of the rest of you to be at Club Katya, we saw how that saga turned out for you and for Aja last time.” Adore wasn’t exactly sure what story that was about but judging by Aja’s cheeks beginning to glow red and Yvie’s stammer, she assumed it wasn’t the most pleasant situation or maybe it was the fucking funniest thing ever, she had yet to find out and maybe she never would.

“You’re coming with me!” Scarlet winked at Adore, speaking up over the rest of them and dragging her along with Courtney, the two of them giddy as can be, they seemed to legitmately enjoy the aesthetic and double life, not like anyone would ask what job they had and if they didn’t they certainly wouldn’t answer a private investigator or detective, what a damn downer.

“The first night of your job and you’re gonna spend it with us gambling, wonderful!” The chipper tone from Courtney’s voice enough to speak volumes of how this night was about to go, she was either going to earn a fuck ton of money or die on the balcony roof and both seemed like acceptable, viable options at this stage of the game.

“Let’s get our money ladies!"

*.✧

Bianca, Shea and Jinkx gathered in the car, all dressed about as nice they ever would going to Club Katya though Bianca always attempted to atleast look decent, wanting to make a lasting impression and also show off her clothing, it was a win-win! Shea’s fingers tapped the window of the car she she stared blankly, the window of the black Tesla dimmed, Jinkx claiming it was for protection— not wanting others to make any assumptions but Shea knew it really came down to what was probably a sponsorship and the fact that Jinkx could barely drive if the sun was glaring, she probably got tired of wearing glasses in the car, claiming always it made her look older than Bianca.

"You’re really hilarious for someone who can’t even stay awake doing a simple task, why do you think I only give you the exciting shit? It’s not because I love you, it’s because I know you won’t fucking sleep and pass out on the concrete.” The Auburn haired woman had to laugh, gently clutching Bianca’s arm, Jinkx knew the mutual love and respect they had shared for over two decades was enough to make her atleast go a bit easy on the Seattle native, she twirled her own auburn hair around her fingertips before giving a blank stare at Shea, who turned and met her eyes.

Jinkx wasn’t exactly sure what to think of Shea just yet, she had been very promising and apparently Bob’s word of her was so generous and so incredible that Bianca already trusted her with Katya: Manila had been scared after only meeting her at Bianca’s own living space, though she had a few, once a few boys and drugs got involved so to see someone as new as Shea being trusted to handle the dirt and task to come was definitely terrifying and impressive enough.

“You nervous?” Bianca asked, crossing her legs as Shea’s eyes darted away from Jinkx, her hands interlocking with themselves as she shut her eyes, running a hand through her hair. “A little, but nothing I can’t handle, I’m here to show I’m ready for the job.” For someone who had only joined five months ago she was definitely a shining beacon of what the future was in store atleast that was how Bob put it and Bianca would definitely trust her word.

“Well, don’t stress yourself out before we’ve gotten there.” Was the only piece of truth Bianca could offer before she turned away from Shea who only gave a polite nod, wishing deeply she had just been sent with Aquaria and Violet instead, she had heard a lot about the infamous Katya Zamolodchikova.

Katya Zamolodchikova who had been in prison for drug abuse, Katya who had escaped Russia due to her family and the growing and rampant terror of government, Katya who now was a mogul in the Eastern United States for her line of casinos, clubs and whatever downtrodden thing she could possibly imagine, living on her own and hanging around at her own established area’s, staying hush and quiet about any business or disappearance of men or women who had messed with the wrong people.

All she had to do was laugh or smile and she had anyone who was willing around her finger, her thick and curly long blonde hair covering almost all her beautifully and consistently painted face, wearing lots of lace and lingerie on her downtime and spending her growing fortune on beauty products, animal charities, her new projects and sometimes saving a stack or two for Bianca who had helped her break into the business and gave her a place when she was just a bedridden, ill immigrant, lost in New York City and barley able to communicate in proper English.

“I miss Katya!” Jinkx pouted, smiling at the thought of seeing her fellow Eastern European at her own club, she knew the meeting was for business but nothing a pack of cigarettes couldn’t do for sweet and dear Katya, Bianca had already figured out every mark and weakness she had and she really would be a difficult character to crack if it wasn’t for the fact she is the reason the bitch could even communicate in English. “I don’t.” Bianca laughed, hitting Jinkx before coughing and handling herself up again realizing Shea was still in the car and she had to keep up that “leader” and “supreme boss” act up.

✧*。

The three exited the car, Bianca giving her driver direct and clear instructions when and where to come before he was on his way off, she walked in the middle of Shea and Jinkx, the latter auburn haired woman adjusting her dress and making sure it hit the floor in just the right light before she shook a bit to ease her own personal stress and begun walking closely to Bianca, Shea following in pursuit, knowing better than to open her mouth and ask questions.

Music blasting, lights dimmed, flashing and bright colors everywhere, alcohol splattered on the floor everywhere they seemed to look and the constant image of people grinding or kissing or attempting to dance: this was definitely Katya’s club and her own doing.

Bianca’s heels hit the tile of the hallway right next to club, her two girls following, many knew this as the gateway from the Club to the Casino or vise versa but the hallway also housed dressing rooms for any kind of entertainment that showed up, Katya took after these rooms like her own and had even converted one into her personal space, knowing her entire life was work and the occasional times she went home and didn’t have to ring down ten shots of vodka.

A smattering knock from Jinkx, credit to her, had the Russian cursing before she opened the door and her dull and otherwise threatening expression changed into a soft smile, her eyes raising in surprise as her lashes fluttered, shrieking then which made Shea almost collapse into the pavement in surprise, still grasping the door handle she quickly pulled the three of them in and locked the door— Bianca impressed with how well decorated and insulted the room was.

The Russian quickly grabbing Bianca in her arms and laughing wholeheartedly, the two giggling and rowdy like two high schoolers, “красивая женщина!” She cooed in Russian to her dearest and nearest friend before taking Jinkx and planting a kiss on both of her cheeks as she reciprocated the favor, “красивое платье.” Jinkx flushing and waving her off, knowing more than enough Russian to realize she called her dress beautiful, “Спасибо!” The half-Ukranian replied with a soft glow across her face, Katya wearing nothing but a gorgeous red, feathered sheer robe with a thick black bra and spandex.

“Looking like a whore as usual.” Bianca teased as Shea stood a bit awkwardly, not exactly knowing how and when to introduce herself to the not-so-mysterious Russian mogul. “Oh yes!” Jinkx clapped noticing Shea, “Katya, this is Shea, she works for us and is a very good and promising employee."

They shook hands though Katya was never into the formality, she’d rather kiss someone on the cheek than shake their hand and hope the other person didn’t have a strong grip. "Any friend of Bianca is of course a friend of mine, I trust you are new? I have yet to see or hear of you around.” Her sniffing was absolutely correct, Bianca explaining she was of Bob’s finding and is very dedicated to her line of work and extremely intelligent. “Likes leather to boot.” The comment from the blonde referring to her skin-tight leather emsmeble, “I like it!” She slapped Shea’s shoulders and flashed that endearing and famous Katya smile.

“Thank you, it’s a pleasure."

The four of them sat before Katya stood again, pouring four glasses of genuine Russian vodka she had gotten yesterday from her deliveries, "Just some taste of the motherland!” Handing a glass to the other three they cheered and took down the shot, Katya giving herself another sip straight from the bottle just for fun.

“So of course there is some business to speak of, we love you but we have a task to finish.” Bianca spoke first, Katya leaning in her chair and staring curiously, “Well yes, it’s what you must do, please tell me more.” Bianca opened her mouth before giving a signal for Jinkx and Shea to leave, an unusual turn of events they both gave eachother a disheartened look before they stood and went out the door, Bianca scooting closer to Katya, “I want them out because this goes back to you."

"To me? Has my family finally caught up to me and the Russian government wants the money I stole back?"

"Not exactly but I fear it has something to possibly do with your sister."

Katya’s face bleached itself white, her breathing a bit slower but her heart racing almost three times as fast, her greatest and only fear in life wasn’t being killed, death, nothing like that; it was her sister being in harm and somehow poking herself at the underground and what was there, Sasha had majored in forensics and political science last Katya had heard, their brief and discreet conversation during their mother’s funeral at St. Petersburg more than enough of an indication that Sasha would absolutely become some kind of hero, politician or worse— detective.

"Bianca you swore to me she would never, ever get hurt or wind up in your cases.” The tone in her voice nothing but pure anger and disappointment, Bianca quickly grabbed her hands and shook her head, “And I’m keeping that promise, I’m a cold hearted bitch but jesus christ, you know I would never do that shit.”

The Russian breathed a much needed sigh of relief before letting go of her hands, “So what, I’m guessing she is a detective now? My worst fear.” Bianca could only nod and see Katya’s eyes flash with nothing but utter fear and worry, she knew that meant her sister was safe but at a distance— they weren’t going to just dismiss her and go easy if she tried to harass and meddle in what she didn’t need to even if she was Katya’s sister but: the promise would always be kept, Katya was absolutely sacred and her sister was untouched territory, that’s how it would stay.

“She is but from our files it shows she really hasn’t broken out on us specifically, she is doing the easy work, not the dirty work, anyone can take someone to court for a single count of murder and analyze the results."

"So what about her is so important then?"

Bianca snuck a file folder covered in sticky notes, throwing it to Katya for her to open and investigate herself.

"We need you to help us out and pull some strings."

✧*。

Shea had decided to take the chance as she walked herself over the casino, knowing Bianca was someone who would take her sweet, sweet time if she was talking business and things with Katya: Jinkx insisting on just staying by the club and getting alcohol. Giving herself a grand tour, Shea gagged at the sheer amount of wealth and power and beauty the casino showed off, clearly Katya was intent on showing every penny she had put into her business and buildings, it showed from the outside to the inside.

Alcohol was the only thing really on her mind and she wanted to overpay for a speciality cocktail to atleast make herself feel a bit fancy and important, not wanting to be in the club lights and blasting music, the Casino had music but was definitely not loud and not obnxious party and dance music, it was a nice welcome in the moment.

Her eyes immediately caught eye of a stranger, short haired, curly blonde and tall who was leaning against the bar and speaking to someone next to her who had long, thick and black hair. The blonde’s soft gaze almost instantly gravitating Shea towards her, she prayed that she wasn’t married and this wouldn’t be awkward fast, she simply wanted a drink and the opportunity to buy her one.

"Excuse me.” Shea spoke up, gently tapping the blonde on her shoulder, she turned in the barstool and her eyes met with Shea’s and the two completely melted, Sasha incomprehensibly silent before Adore nudged her a bit, smirking seeing her new co-worker and fellow friend so caught in midst of the gaze.

“Oh I’m sorry, that was so rude.” The Russian speaking up once Adore gently shook her out of it, the two smiling at eachother as Sasha leaned on the bar counter, telling that the mysterious and new girl clearly was struggling to speak, “I…"

Shea put her hands around her own waist and gave a glistening grin and wink, sliding in-between her and her friend, Adore raising her hands a bit frustrated that she might already turn into the third wheel. "I was wondering if I could buy you a drink."

"I would be very glad if you did."

Thank god, Shea begun to calm a bit, pulling out an 100$ bill and sliding it to the bar tender who quickly took it and waited for whatever drinks they wanted to purchase, "I just want straight vodka.” She must’ve been Eastern European judging by her choice in alcohol, it wasn’t sterotypical, it was just what she had come to understand from Jinkx and barely meeting Katya twenty minutes ago. Not to mention the not too obvious but still noticable punch of an accent

“Gin and tonic.” She instructed while still staring at Sasha, entranced, she was already breaking ten rules in the non-existent handbook of being in the mafia but not like Bianca was even wondering where she was, if she was she would’ve called anyway. “I’m Sasha.” She giggled, Shea taking her hand and giving a small wink in reply, “Shea."

Adore didn’t know whether to throw up and just leave, let her be or see where this went but she decided on the usual, giving Sasha a discreet tap of the shoulder, a nod from her and she was off on her on.

Ten minutes of aimless strolling had showed that Scarlet and Courtney were both gambling as if they had any good amount of money to lose so freely, flying by the hem of their dresses. But they genuinely seemed to be loving their lives and the game they were playing.

"Oh shit!” She yelped, feeling herself fall into someone as she stared backwards, not paying attention to whatever was in front of her, an entire bag dropped but she more focused on helping out the poor person she had knocked down.

“Jesus Christ!” Yelled the other, distinctly female voice, before Adore gently took her hands and helped her up, making sure she didn’t trip on her heels before they both begun to speak, quickly letting go of their hands.

Bianca couldn’t help but glance at her, she was gorgeous. She would usually rip someone in fishnets to pieces and destroy them on sight but damn she looked good and everything fit her to a t, clearly she had her own eye for fashion, her dark eyes and dark hair only helping her to blend in with the dark wall of the casino, “I’m sorry, I really didn’t watch where I was going—"

"I know, I know, I got that.” Bianca dusted herself off and only hoped her heels didn’t suffer any damages, they were expensive and a gift from Raja which meant she either bought them or stole them but either way, same attachment to the perfectly snug white heels. Adore snapped back, “I’m sorry?"

"Listen don’t worry about it, really, thank you for your help.” Bianca raced off as fast as a normal person could look trying to run in heels across a casino at night but Adore blinked, finally shying her eyes away from the woman.

She was beautiful.

Black hair, styled very nicely to add onto the overall package, white heels, a tulle skirt and either handsewen or what Adore assumed was designer for a sequined top that matched and coordinated so well with her entire outfit, she was either the most important person in the world and Adore was oblivious or she was just someone’s arm candy for the night who needed to make themselves into a beauty queen for the occasion.

Adore didn’t believe too badly in many things but she would definitely pray and hope that somehow, somehow she could find that same girl again, someday

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emmybluefire · 5 years

Text

Accounting for Powerful Characters in RP Events

Story Time

So, towards the last couple hours of my shift at work, a rather concerning thought occurred to me:

“I roleplay a dragon for a reason. But every time I enter the city, or attend an RP event, I’m not allowed to use it. Period. At this point... I might as well be playing a generic mage. That kinda sucks...”

And to be honest? I got a bit angry about it. To the degree that I even started verbally ranting about it to myself in the form of mutters. I just sat there asking myself: Why? Why is it that whenever I enter a RP event, I can’t play my character to the fullest extent? I’ve worked so hard to balance out them out. To make them fun, make them memorable... and yet, people still have yet to get the full experience.

Dilemma

Every time I try to cast something like “Spellsteal” or “Counterspell” or even use the most basic of dragon abilities: “Dragon’s breath” I’m told “No. No, you can’t because it’d solve the problems in the event too quick! And it would be very unfair to others!” It’s almost like people just- don’t account for powerful characters. Ever. No, that would make things “Too Complicated” or “Too Easy.”

But that’s when this thought occurred to me: “Powerful characters being ‘too special’ and ‘A sign of bad RP’ and ‘A red flag that indicates an asshole player’: These thoughts have been so ingrained in our collective server conscious for so long that even guilds who say they’re alright with powerful characters still don’t account for them in their events.”

This often leads to someone having to constantly annoy the DM asking: “Hey. Is this okay? Can I do this or would it be too much?” and detract from the RP at large. And let me tell you, that’s not fun at all. You feel bad for annoying the DM, and the DM winds up constantly distracted from actually running the event. That needs to change.

Disclaimer

Now, before I get too far into this: I would like to say I understand the opposing argument. One character being more powerful than the others would, In fact, make things unfair to other players. It could, in fact, make things too easy. A character that can solve a complex problem with one spell does tend to remove the challenge the DM worked so hard to develop all too quickly. Games like D&D, 5e especially, face this challenge all to often once the characters get to certain high levels. It’s a problem so many people are unsure how to tackle. At least, in a conventional setting...

On one hand: You need to let your characters play true to how they would. On the other: It really sucks when your hard work is surpassed so easily. Many DMs are unsure what to do, and so leave things as is, and silently vent to their closest friends in the background afterward.

My post today isn’t here to argue against this argument. My post today is here to offer potential solutions to these dilemmas all DM’s and event runners face every day. So, without further Ado: “How to Account for Powerful Characters.”

“Flex Raiding”

This one is my first and foremost solution. The one that I, as a DM or Event runner, would personally turn to as my first solution. In MMOrpgs like “World of Warcraft” , the RP environment is so diverse, vast, and random that it’s rather hard to cater to everyone’s preferences. You have people who like playing silly mundane characters like Old Men, Young Warriors, Book Binders, or even just your average run of the mill Civilian Drunk. But in the same environment you also have people who like to play more grandiose characters like Grand Archmages, Grizzled War Veterans, Elemental Lords, Dragons, and things like that. Sometimes more than one pour into the same pot, so to speak. So when you run a guild or dungeon group that contain characters from all ends of the spectrum, it’s hard to find one particular “Rolling System” that would accommodate for all of those and have it still be fair.

My solution? Don’t. Instead, here’s what you can do:

In some MMOrpgs, there’s a mechanic called “Flex Raiding” , it’s when the raid or dungeon scales to the number of players doing it at once, and the levels of each player’s character. One can, in some ways, apply this same principle to roleplay events.

Write a version of the event that would come to being if your entire group consists of “Powerful Characters” , A version of the event for when your group consists of just “Mundane Characters”, and a version for when you have a mix of both. It doesn’t have to (And shouldn’t) just be: Army faces hoard, and bellows into them head on.

This can manifest in ways such as: Your antagonists anticipated facing powerful characters, and prepared accordingly. Perhaps they tamed large, hulking creatures from the deep, and placed them among their ranks to aid the hundreds of soldiers. The powerful characters must focus on them to succeed, while the mundane characters keep the armies busy. Or perhaps they managed to cast a large defensive spell that makes it hard for even the most powerful characters to enter, and the mundane must find creative, mechanical ways, like siege engines, to get past it.

Your antagonists trapped the protagonists, and now the soldiers must defend the casters for as long as they can while they pool their powers together. Encounter ends once the casters succeed in casting a very large, devastating spell that annihilates all enemies around them, or the soldiers fail to defend the casters, and must retreat.

Or perhaps it is just a generic battlefield scenario, and all you have are the mundane characters to appose them. The limit for this is truthfully the sky. Your imagination. BE CREATIVE WITH YOUR ENCOUNTERS!

You prepare accordingly, and you’ll be able to run an event where everyone is able to play their part, and their character to the fullest extent. The downsides to this obviously are the level of preparation you have to do in order to make a viable “Flex Raid” ... and obviously the complexity. But if you get used to doing this, it’ll become much easier than it sounds.

Share the Spotlight

All (Well Written) Characters have strengths and weaknesses. Even the most powerful ones. All characters are an aspect of the player’s creativity. Everyone knows that. You could have a really powerful archmage, but they have a crippling phobia of rats. That very same powerful archmage could also be a ritualist caster, meaning that their really powerful spells take time to cast, taking them out of some attack rounds. Without that time, they’re just a generic mage. Little things like that. Of course I’m describing my own character here, but in that situation, your other party members could very much help you out.

You enter a dungeon that’s infested with rats, and now the archmage is too shaken up to cast. In that situation, the spotlight would turn to the druid who’s able to talk to said rats and remove them from the scene, while one of the more soft-spoken characters work to snap the archmage out of it.

The warrior suddenly finds himself in the middle of an enemy tavern after failing at a stealth roll. At this point, the spotlight would shift to the bard and rogue who’d step in and form a charming distraction or convincing lie to make the patrons look the other way.

The party is asked to come up with battle plans for the impending war ahead but none have any idea how. All, save, for the warrior. He’s fought in wars before. Hell, he was once a general! He knows how to do this. The spotlight shifts to him as he lays his hands over the map and is very quickly able to find a choke point to slaughter the enemy from.

The party is surrounded by a hoard of encroaching goblins, and all seems lost. But at the last second, their draconic ally catches up to the rest of the group and bellows a large cyclone of flame onto the unsuspecting hoard. The spotlight then shifts to the dragon as the party now has an opening to escape their predicament.

Little things like that would help to make roleplay events far more dynamic, all inclusive, and fun for everyone involved. Powerful, OR mundane. Sharing the spotlight with everyone, gives everyone a chance to shine in one way or another. The downside to this one: Depending on the nature the groups you play with, this may require quite a bit of improvisation. But if you’re good at that? Well, what the hell is stopping you? XD

Creative Bosses

Ah yes. The Classic boss. The biggest, toughest, most badass motherfucker in the entire antagonist group. Perhaps even the one leading them all too. I mean, it is in their title right? “The Boss” Well, here’s the thing. MMOrpgs and turn based RPGs often execute them in a way that: “We need a bigger challenge? How do we do that... hmmm.. MORE HEALTH OF COURSE!” ... This, my friends, is a mistake. Especially when there’s much more powerful characters in the group you’re running with. Said characters would, “realistically” just melt through that ungodly amount of health.

All adding more health to a boss does is create conflict among a group, and prolong an event for far longer than it should be. Come on guys. We all have lives, we cant spend ten hours a week of it playing through an event that gets almost nowhere. Instead, what I’d suggest is to consider the following questions:

-“What makes this ‘boss’, the boss?”

-“What is happening to them that’s making them so impossibly powerful? Can it be stopped? How do you get around it?”

-“Does ‘power’ always have to mean magical ability?”

-“Do they utilize all the resources at their disposal? What’s stopping them form doing so if not?”

Considering these, and applying the answers to your “boss” makes them much more interesting and dynamic. It gives the players something to strive for, something to work together on as a group to figure out and take advantage of.

Your boss could just be a normal human war general, but who’s power come’s from his political influence and the men he has at his disposal. This makes the players strive to expose his corruption and unseat him from his political standing. The men at his disposal could also make it difficult to get to him as well. Get past those obstacles, and suddenly he just becomes a normal human that can be overpowered and arrested just like any other.

Your boss could also be a young, power-hungry elven sorcerer who’s only been studying for about a decade. But in that decade he somehow came across forbidden lore and is now attempting to conduct a ritual that makes him physically invincible. The players could find out about this and find him in the middle of this ritual. To stop the ritual and take away his invincibility, you can’t just cast a “Spellsteal”. The overwhelming power of such magic would tear anyone apart without proper anchoring. So to stop him, you have to destroy his ritual components and the magical crystals he’s siphoning from while he tries to stop you. The boss fight, at that point, would just be avoiding his attacks and his minions until you shatter all the crystals, and the ritual itself is the thing that destroy’s him. Not you.

Conclusion

Accounting for powerful characters, when done right, can be just as hard as it is fun and dynamic. All it requires is, if you’re willing to have a powerful character in the group, is to mold the event accordingly, and work to understand the strengths and weakness of each member. If they don’t show up then have a backup writ on hand for the non-powerful characters. It just takes a bit of care and consideration. I suppose the TL;DR to take away from all of this is: Be creative, consider the circumstances, and create rolls each character in your party has a chance to fulfill. That way nobody feels left out, or held back.

Thank you all so much for reading. As you can tell, I did a lot of thinking into this. I’m open to discussion, and questions should anybody have some. But overall, I feel I’ve said all I need. After all, the goal of this post wasn’t to tell you--step by step--how to account for a powerful character. Just ideas and suggestions to guide you on your way to greatness! ... Being over-dramatic of course XD. But yes. All of you, have a good day or night wherever you may be!

#wow #rp #roleplay #power playing #accounting for powerful characters #discussion #ideas #suggestions #world of warcraft #dungeons and dragons #table top

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lfthinkerwrites · 5 years

Text

The Flight of Icarus

Title: Tales from Gotham Academy: Field Trip

Rating: T for more mayhem

Summary: Another ride, another misadventure. Mockridge has a come to Jesus moment with a 'business partner.'

Meanwhile, in the office of Daniel Mockridge

"They did what to the boat ride!?"

Cleo Droukas, Mockridge's assistant for the past three years, watched as her boss' face lost its smug smile and turned pale. She tried not to let on how much it amused her. "One of the teachers rammed his boat against another boat, which in turn rammed into a third boat, causing a collision against the embankment. None of the students are injured-"

"Forget the students!" Mockridge shouted. "What about the boats!?"

Cleo frowned. "The third boat was tipped over, but otherwise undamaged. The first and second boats, however, sustained damage during the collisions. They'll need to be repaired."

"And just how much is that gonna cost me!?" Mockridge yelled, running a hand through his hair. "This park's already in the red! Between operating costs and the settlements from that food poisoning case last year, I'm in the hole for $5 million! Which I could have handled, no problem, if Riddle of the Minotaur 2 hadn't bombed!" Mockridge moved his hand from his hair onto his desk, smearing paperwork with the greasy hair product. "I don't get it. Riddle of the Minotaur put Competitron on the map. It broke sales records. How did the second game do so badly? We marketed the shit out of it!"

Perhaps you shouldn't have fired and blacklisted the original game's creator, Cleo wanted to say. Instead, she waited until Mockridge had finished his whining before she continued. "The teacher who rammed the boats, Mr. Basil Karlo, has been removed from the park premises."

"They called the cops on the son of a bitch?"

"They did, but he was taken away in an ambulance. The other teachers administered their own 'justice' on him."

Mockridge's eyes widened. "Jesus Christ," he muttered. "I always knew Nashton was a fruitcake, but what the Hell is wrong with these people?"

Cleo had heard the rumors about how badly the students and teachers behaved at the Raging Rapids Water Park the previous year. She'd tried to warn Mockridge, but he'd been too set on sticking it to Edward Nashton to listen. Now they had to all deal with the consequences. "Principal Gordon is currently speaking with park security, while the teachers and students are continuing their trip."

Mockridge looked slightly amazed. "After the boat ride, they want to stay in the park?"

Cleo shrugged. "Apparently, this isn't anywhere near the worst thing that's ever happened to them on a school trip." Which, if true, was the most disturbing thing she'd heard all day.

An oily smile returned to Mockridge's face. "We may just be able to salvage this day yet! What about Wayne? Is he still happy?"

It took everything Cleo had not to smirk. "He was in the boat that was overturned."

Mockridge's face paled again. "God damn it! He's already pissed at me for that crack I made about his girlfriend! I was hoping to convince him to invest in Competitron!"

That was looking about as likely Mockridge himself admitting that Edward Nashton was the reason Competitron had been as viable as it was. Before she could say anything else, there was a knock at the door. "Yes?" Cleo called.

Mockride's secretary poked his head in. "Sir? Mr. Sionis is on Line One."

All the remaining color drained from Mockridge's face. "Oh shit. Tell him I'm in a meeting!"

The secretary shuffled. "He's being very insistent sir. He threatened to staple my lips shut if I didn't put him on the phone with you."

Mockridge sank in his chair. "Oh, Christ...fine. Put him through." As soon as the door shut, Mockridge pushed a button on his phone. After how badly Riddle of the Minotaur 2 had sold, Mockridge had needed to seek external funding to keep Competitron's losses manageable. Unfortunately, Mockridge had about as much sense in seeking out loans as he was in keeping talent, and he'd wound up in the debt of Roman Sionis, industrial magnate and rumored mobster. "Roman!" Mockridge said jovially. "I was just about to call you! How have you been?"

"Sure you were," Sionis spoke, his voice rumbling over the speakerphone. Oh good. He was pissed. "I checked my account this morning and lo and behold, I didn't see your monthly contribution. Where's my money, Mockridge?"

Cleo watched Mockridge gulp and somehow kept the satisfaction off her face. "Ah well...It's going to be a bit late this month, Roman. I had other obligations to take care of." Said other obligations included child support, gambling debts, payouts to several young ladies under his employ, and a new yacht.

Cleo could just make out the sound of a sharp intake of breath. Then Sionis spoke again. "Perhaps my last request was too mired in subtlety. I want my money, or you're dead. When I say dead, I mean dead. Beaten, broken, YOUR HEAD MOUNTED ON MY WALL KIND OF DEAD!!!"

Mockridge began to sweat, babble excuses and Cleo took that as her cue to leave. She shut the door behind her and finally let out the small laugh she'd been holding in. Then her thoughts turned to the Gotham Academy group. Hopefully, the boat ride would be the extent of their shenanigans for the day.

"We're going to the Library of Alexandria and that's final!"

"Like Hell, we are, Nashton! The kids want rides, we're going on rides!"

"Right, Harv, because the last time we were on a ride, it worked out so well! We're going to a place with books!"

"You can go to a place with books if you want Nashton, I'll take the kids to the rides."

"You're not going anywhere with my little girl without me!"

Jonathan and Jervis looked on at their friend and co-worker's argument and then gave each other a long-suffering look. After seeing Karlo off, Gordon, Wayne, Neil, Miguel, and Victor had been quick to split off into different sections of the park, leaving the four of them in the main hub to argue over which way to go. "We could just leave them, you know," Jonathan whispered to Jervis.

Jervis shook his head. "No we can't, March Hare. You know as well as I do that Harvey will kill Dormouse if left unsupervised."

Jonathan looked back to Harvey and Edward. Harvey's hands were balled up into fists and his face was turning magenta. "Harv looks ready to strangle him now." The students themselves watched the argument with the kind of indifference that came from witnessing this happen several times. Not even Ellen and Duela seemed that concerned.

"Which is why we need to intervene," Jervis insisted. He stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Now see here chaps-"

"If you don't get out of my face in the next two seconds Nashton, I'll make sure that Ellen stays your only child!"

Jonathan rolled his eyes, then stepped in to help Jervis corral the two men. "Knock it off the both of you," he scolded. "You're actin' worse than the actual children." Harvey and Edward turned to glare at Jonathan, then back at each other. Edward looked ready to say something smart when Jonathan interrupted. "Harv, don't you have that coin? Just flip on it."

Harvey smirked and pulled said coin out of his pocket. What he and Jonathan knew but Edward didn't, was that the coin was double-sided. "Alright, Nashton. Heads we go to the rides, tails we go to the Library of Alexandria. Agreed?"

Edward crossed his arms. "Fine. Flip it." Harvey did so and caught it with his left hand, flipping it over onto his right palm. When Edward saw the result, he scowled. "Flip it again!"

"For God's sake!" Jonathan shouted. "Edward, stop acting like a damn toddler and come on already!"

Edward sneered and opened his mouth, only for Ellen to interrupt. "I've got Penny in my contacts," she said in a sing-song tone. "And I'm not afraid to call her..." Edward paled, then sighed.

"Fine. Fine. We'll go rot our brains on the rides. But when disaster strikes, I will be the first to say I told you so!"

"Welcome to the Flight of Icarus! Please observe all posted rules. You must be at least 64 inches tall to ride, follow instructions at all times, one adult must be with a group of kids..."

While the ride attendant droned on, Edward, Jonathan, Jervis, and Harvey took in the ride with a growing sense of horror. The Flight of Icarus was a modified swing ride. Only, instead of seats hanging down from the top of the carousel, there were harnesses. The riders would strap themselves in, lie on their stomachs, and put large canvass wings on their arms. The idea was to simulate flight, like the mythological character of Icarus. It looked even more dangerous than the boat ride. When the ride attendant finished his spiel, the four men looked at each other. "So," Jonathan drawled. "Who's going first?"

"Not me," Edward said immediately. "I'm a father."

"So am I," Harvey said gruffly. "And Duela, there is no way in Hell you're riding that thing."

"I don't want to," Duela quickly agreed. "That thing looks like a death trap."

"I kind of want to go on it," Ellen added. Then her face fell. "But I'm too short to ride."

"Good," Edward said.

"I'm too short as well," Jervis said. "So I suppose that leaves you, March Hare."

Jonathan sighed. "Well, I have no fear of death. Might as well." He and the six kids who actually wanted to go on the ride stepped through the gate, and let themselves be strapped in. When Jonathan's wings were placed on him, he heard Edward chuckle from the other side of the gate.

"You're living up to your name now, Jonathan Crane," he smirked. "When you're airborne you'll look positively majestic."

"I will hurt you," Jonathan said crossly. Once the last child was strapped in, the ride attendant stepped back to the control panel and powered the ride on. The carousel's tower rose slowly as the chains began to move and spin the riders around. At first, it was slow, but it quickly picked up speed. The teachers and the students on the ground were colorful blurs to Jonathan as the ride spun him around, faster and faster. Luckily, in addition to feeling no fear, he felt no nausea. Frankly, it was almost fun.

Unfortunately, while the designers of the ride had accounted for height and maximum weight, no one ever thought to consider a minimum weight for the ride. Jonathan was so light and thin in build that he wasn't securely harnessed. On the thirteenth rotation of the carousel, he slipped out of his harness and was vaulted through the air. "Jesus Chriiiiist!" he screamed as he flew 50 feet above the ground.

"March Hare!" Jervis screeched, running after his friend. Edward and Harvey followed in close pursuit, trailed by Ellen, Duela, and a few other kids. The rest stayed put to film the scene, of course.

"Jon!" Edward shouted as Jonathan began to dip down. "Flap your arms! Try to fly!" Jonathan did so, and remarkably, managed to pick himself up. "We should be close to the main hub," Edward mused as the group followed Jonathan, who was now gliding at a steady pace. "Jon! When we get to the plaza, you should be able to glide into the fountain!"

"The fountain!?" Jonathan shouted. "After the boat ride!?"

"Well it's that or you can impale yourself on a tree!"

"Jesus fucking Christ," Harvey muttered. "Mockridge has one Hell of a lawsuit coming his way."

The small group followed Jonathan into the plaza, where they caught the attention of not only other parkgoers, who were pointing and gasping at the sight of Jonathan gliding through the air. Unfortunately, they also attracted the attention of Maxie Zeus, who took Jonathan's appearance very differently. "A fury!" he bellowed. "Back, fury! Back to the depths of Tartarus with you!" He gripped onto the base of his lightning bolt, which, while not a real lightning bolt, served very well as a javelin. He threw the bolt at Jonathan and his aim was true, the bolt puncturing one of the canvass wings.

"Son of a biiiiiiitch!" Jonathan screamed as he plummeted to Earth, disappearing in the tree line that surrounded the main entrance to the park.

Jervis collapsed onto his knees. "March Hare! Jonathan! No!" He began to wail and sob.

"Dad?" Duela asked, for once almost shaken. "Is Mr. Crane dead?"

"I'm sure he's not," Harvey comforted her. He gave Edward a short nod. "You and Tetch better go look for Crane. I'll take care of the kids."

Edward didn't look happy at the prospect of leaving his daughter, but he liked the idea of her tagging along to find Jonathan's possible corpse even less. "Alright. Ellen, behave yourself. I'll be back with Uncle Jon in a few minutes." He stepped forward and began dragging a still weeping Jervis towards the tree line. "Come on, Jervis. We have a March Hare to find."

In an hour, he would regret letting his daughter out of his sight.

#tales from gotham academy #high school teacher au #fly jonny fly

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raccoon-james · 5 years

Text

Midnight guest

Pairing: Billy Bennet x Reader

Words: 2522

Universe: Deadly Class syfy

Requested: Yes

Summary: The reader has an unexpected guest in the middle of the night.

Warnings: kinda bad writing I guess?

A/N: As you can see, I’ve finally uploaded my work! It’s my first published fic, but I thought it’s good enough to show it to you guys. English is not my native language so I’m sorry for every grammar/language/spelling mistake I had made while writing it. Also, it’d be nice to receive some feedback, some pieces of advice – please leave a comment or sth. It’s very helpful and motivates me to write more.

●○۞○●

Nights at King's Dominion contrasted with the school in the daylight. Relative calm seemed to return to school halls every time when sun comes down. No noises, no running or fighting - no whatever-made-pupils’-daily-rutine. With sun held up, high at the sky, the school was bustling with life, but with the moment of sun disappearing time seemed to slow down immediately.

Sitting in the room with the door closed, you could easily feel cut off from that little world you have lived for some time. It wasn't hard to feel lonely sometimes. All you had to do then was talk to your roommate, or sneak out to meet friends living in another room. If you wanted peace and silence it was enough to not speak to anyone, play music and take care of whatever had to be done - like homework or makeup.

You liked nights here. Somehow you managed to get a small single room, which was a godsent for you, someone who enjoys being on their own, and the lack of unexpected guests was a guarantee of a successful night. It gave you a feeling of control. You could choose when you wanted company or not; if you wanted some time by yourself, you just stayed in your bedroom. That kind of control was enough to make up for many things, that the legacy status had taken from you. People think if you have a high position in the walk of life then it's easier to live. Bullshit. Why is no one speaking about the expectations everyone suddenly has for you? That you have to be the best, never miss a bit in a fight, never hesitate to pull the trigger, to know all poisons at the back of your hand. And what if you simply cannot live up to the expectations? That's when the lynch starts. "She? I can't believe..." "You're so not what I expected" "The shame of our family"... People pick you clean, then go to work on the bones.

It was couple minutes before midnight and the only audible sounds were your breath, pen writing something down on a sheet of paper and the turning of pages of numerous books surrounding you. Tirelessly you've been repeating materials for the “fundamentals of psychopathy” class. It was interesting, specific but exceptionally enjoyable.

The conception of motive that you had focused on this night was far more addictive than you could imagine. For you it was like digging in someone else's brain. Coming to the conclusions about the killer’s personality based on his actions - adding the way of killing, some repeated patterns and you can compile information about their past, present...the top of the top in this field can speculate - based on tiny details found at the crime scene – about the traumas and habits of the criminal.

The cracking of the door interrupted your flow. While studying in a school for assassins, unannounced visits after midnight don't bode well. In any moment then you could find yourself stabbed or with broken arm, your position meant nothing. Everyone could become a target, from children of the heads of state, through mafia bosses, to the average street rats.

With daggers, the fight technique you have been training for several years, you almost never part with, always keeping them within reach. That was the main reason why you grabbed the weapon so quickly.

Ready to defend yourself, you turned towards the door, no longer sitting but standing. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, ready to fend off the attacker.

"Y/N, put the dagger down" said Billy closing the door, in the tone of someone who's welcomed by people ready to slit his throat at least three times every day.

"Uh, I don’t know, I like it... Brings out the color of my eyes, dontcha think?" you said relaxing a bit. You fliped the dagger that made a full rotation in the air and than came back to your hand, that fist on the handle again. Pretty easy trick but always impressing Billy - until one day you'd be very unlucky and loose a hand while catching the blade.

"So, what's the matter?" you asked putting down the dagger. You tossed it on opened notebook on your desk. It was obvious that the studying session is over for you, at least for that night.

"You better tell me, huh?" said the teenager seemingly upset, pointing out to a half-packed suitcase on the floor. Shit... You promised yourself to tell him about you leaving right before They come to take you, which would be about 7 am, definitely not midnight! For all intents and purposes you didn't even know who or where was supposed to take you by tomorrow morning. All you knew was that your parents admittedly, may have overplayed your hand a little. You were a kid after all, a student who'd rather stay up late studying killers’ minds than actually becoming one. Still, have you ever had any other options but learning how to live under direct orders of your family?

"I'm leaving...for some time" you mumbled averting your eyes.

"And what? You...you didn't want me to know? Just leave?" he started, and by that moment you realized what was going to happen. It was going to be a bloody long lecture about your incompetence as a very best friend, as a main theme.

You haven't completely got used to the relation between you and green-haired Billy Bennett. Since your connections with other people were built on viable alliances, and because your loyalty twords them was like loyalty of an average whore from the brothel, you haven’t had many friends. All that had to happen was an extremely unlucky incident, a broken nose and slippery wooden stairs, for you to make some changes in your social life. That was how you met Billy.

"Could you once in your life shut the hell up, maybe?" you stopped his speech before he got a chance to get started with it, slowly looking up at him. He shut his lips and tilted his head a little, raising his eyebrows, noticably surprised with your reaction. You sigh heavily, running your fingers through your hair, wondering what you actually wanted to say when you stopped him. Or was that only self-defense because you didn't want to hear him whine about how bad you really are.

"Y/N..."

"No" you cut him off again. Tiredness that studying drew away, now started to slowly overtake you. "I seriously wanted to tell you but..."

"But when I couldn't do shit about it, right?" he snarled looking little piqued.

"It's not always about you" you hummed staring at your white socks "I don't even know what they want me to do. I received a letter saying I have to pack up and be ready to go at 7 am in the morning. Nothing more. No greetings, how are you or a fuckin hello. It doesn't matter if I told you about this crappy trip today or tomorrow morning, you can't do shit about it. I can't disobey direct orders" you managed to keep your tone serious. You glanced at the rat, still standing near the door. It could be harder for him without you at hand but come on! He could handle it before, so why the hell would anything change now?

Before you had the chance to think about anything else, Billy was standing next to you, embracing you all of the sudden. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close, gently rubbing your arm. Despite the heaviness in your stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of your body pressed against his. You sunk into the warmth of his side, appreciative of the simple gesture. His touch made the room warmer somehow, your future within its walls seeming a little less bleak. Still, you were confused after that sudden display of benevolence coming from Billy. Your body was tense, ready to attack. It took you a moment to edge off but when you did it, you returned the hug.

You liked Billy. He was like cat. Not a fluffy kitty, pretty as a picture but homeless, a bit scraggly and scrawny with unbelievably stunning eyes. These cats you want to take with you even if they aren't drawn to you. And honestly you'd never thought, till this moment, that leaving the cat would be so damn hard. Stupid Billy... Why on earth did he hug you? It was clear now why you had avoided profuse goodbyes all your life. It was so much easier to leave not realizing what's left behind you, because without "goodbye" it feels like you'd never really left. You spared yourself the heartbreaking pain and feeling of loneliness, that goes hand in hand with every long-term goodbye.

"Do you have any plans for tonight?" you mumbled into Billy's t-shirt, hoping your voice wouldn't crack and reveal how devastated you started to feel with every passing second. You used to keep a stiff upper lip, but now it's harder, apparently.

He stepped back at the length of an extended arm and grinned as only he could, which warmed your heart.

"Sleep? I guess..." he answered slightly shrugging his shoulders.

You smirked wrinkling the bridge of your nose, waited for a moment just squinting at him and than turned on your heel so you can walk over to a nightstand and reach the alarm clock.

"I'm not sayin' now, right? But what else would I do at this hour, haha..." Billy muttered while staring at you, tracking all your movements when you were setting an alarm for 6;30 am. You mumbled something like "mhm" putting the device where it was before.

Bennett once again was like a torrent, an unbelievable flow of words which wasn't exactly what you needed right now. Soon it would be half past one, your mind has told you that six hours of sleep is definitely not enough for you to be full of energy by tomorrow morning. Billy was concerned with your actions but didn't ask any questions, hoping you'd tell him what was on your mind. What the hell were you trying to do? Well, you wanted to turn off the only light in the room which was the lamp on your desk buried in books and notes. And when you did it, complete darkness surrounded both of you.

Billy was ready to ask question about what the fuck you were doing. He raised his arm, opened his mouth but that instant you grabbed his raised wrist

"Come" you whispered, dragging him to bed.

"Wha...No! Y/N what the fuck?" he squealed, acting like he didn't want to go with you, yet somehow his body didn't fight back and let you sit him on the bed, so his behavior didn't match the words he was saying at all.

"God...I don't want to bang you man!" you rolled your eyes lying down on the mattress "I had already packed my emotional support teddy bear. How do you think I'm gonna fall asleep now, hm?" you were kinda joking, but kinda not - it was true you had packed your stuffed animals but it didn't really have any influence on your ability to sleep well. You just wanted Billy around, even though you haven't thought about it earlier. The boy widened his eyes on you or at least the darker spot on the bed that should be you. Pretty hard to see anything without any source of light.

"You're still sleeping with a teddy bear? What are you? Twelve?" he laughed. Not exactly laughed, more like attempt to laugh. He was cut off with a cold blade of the dagger near his throat, the best way to silence him in your opinion.

"Say a single word about it and you're gonna end up stuffed just like that teddy bear" you hissed not anymore laying on the bed

"Jesus, how many of them do you have here?" whined Bennett moving away the blade. You couldn't help admiring his ability to stay so chilled and cool with your threats. It was really impressive. Something (the dagger) landed on the floor as evidenced by the hollow metallic sound going with the sound of a laying back body.

"But waking up so early...I don't know..." boy was still whining around while taking his shoes off.

"I'll do my best to not wake you" you said calmly waiting for him to lay near you. To be honest you had never ever slept with him. Sure you had laid down together, sometimes even he managed to take a quick nap but you never lowered your guard.

Billy tried to lie down comfortably but it was hard since it was single bed, not exactly what two people need to sleep together. Your back was slightly touching the wall against the bed, sticking to the boys body, hoping it would compensate for the lack of the bedsheets. You were actually lying on one but it was pretty warm already so it wasn't necessary. With your arms around his neck and a leg over his belly you breathed softly into his hair. You know you should have found it adorable but after all you liked your space. Still you couldn't resist it since you haven't got any idea when you would meet him again. You weren't really much of a hugger when it comes to people, but liked teddy bears as a kid and it you stuck with till now.

Time was passing and the feeling of tiredness disappeared, leaving you on standby mode exactly the same that you were on while being on a lookout. Just like someone if was about to burst into your room now and attack both of you. You haven't locked the door, it was haunting you now but you didn't want to move, scared it would wake Billy up. He was probably asleep by then. You could tell by the regular deep breaths and silence.

With your right hand, you reached for the boys head. For a couple of minutes, you were playing with his short green hair tangling them between your fingers until you would get tired again. That relaxing activity, it made it inevitable for unpleasant thoughts to come across your mind no matter if you were or were not prepared for them. Obviously, you weren't.

Was it possible for you to come back to school in one piece? Who would protect Billy from getting in trouble during your absence? Would you have a telephone wherever you were going, to call Billy here every evening or at least once a week?

It was mind-blowing for you since you have never, ever had problems like that! But also you never had a friend like Billy to make your life more complicated than it already is. Master Lin was right when he said that when you have someone who you would die for, sooner or later things were going to get messed up...

The red numbers on the screen of the clock showed five minutes after one a.m. when you finally dozed off.

#deadly class #deadly class syfy #billy #billy bennett #bennett #billy x reader #billy bennett x reader #billy x y/n #billy bennett x y/n #fanfic #fic #fanfiction

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astrology-with-charu · 5 years

Text

12-21 June - Mars our planet of action, war, aggression, desire in the water emotions led sign of Cancer meets North Node or Rahu to generate karmic actions this week & this will continue to be the theme till the July Eclipses. This is Angarak Yog which if used appropriately leads to breakthroughs

13-19 #June #Astrology #Horoscope

War or Karmic Breakthrough - Angarak Yoga Activation

Mars our planet of action, war, aggression, desire in the water emotions led sign of Cancer meets North Node or Rahu to generate karmic actions this week & this will continue to be the theme till the July Eclipses. This is Angarak Yog which if used appropriately leads to breakthroughs that likes of Shivaji, Albert Einstein or Abraham Lincoln achieved for the society. But used aggressively this aspect creates serial killers & abusers. Aries, Scorpio, mars dominant signs must work out /stay active with requisite precautions on getting overheated/hurt.

We want it all, we want it now & more importantly we want it at any cost. Risk taking warrior spirit goes up, taboos old stereotypes are broken, volcano in our emotions erupts & powerful lava needs direction. In Cancer sign though emotions & need for security are leading this train & it can all be bit passive aggressive.

So objectivity is Low, combine this with Jupiter Neptune - misinformation confusion strong ideologies are abundant. Miscalculations, wars , accidents, dirty politics, regrettable actions are likely lower manifestations. We are restless, we are rebellious, we can’t sit, our warrior spirit needs direction.

13 June can act as a catalyst to it all with Sun Quincunx Pluto - perception that our power is being suppressed.

14th June Saturn, a restriction , a voice of reason, an older person, an administrative blockage tries to tame this energy - give it direction, help focus it & possibly ask us to deliver something valuable under pressure. How will we respond ?

This is tremendous energy to strike out though every battle is not worth fighting. It’s a lesson in self assertion but also a lesson in effective use of our energy which is better used in starting things that were stuck, following through on our bold ideas, creating productive ways to overcome the hurdle being introduced & moving out of repressive systems.

Neptune supports us through innovative approaches, by creating a grand water trine on 15th Jun giving us an indirect approach, softer approach that works better in this environment & is a win win for both.

High Pressure creates diamonds not graphite , we choose to become diamonds. Manage the rigidity of mind that this aspect suggests which can become a full ego fight by 18-21 Jun by taking the high road. In Gemini season we learn, we imbibe different ideologies but we do filter what’s empowering what’s not, without burning bridges.

Karmic discussions & thinking happen on 14/15/16 Jun as Mercury joins this to initiate important discussions, negotiations which continue next week but with more intensity.

Solar Flares come with this aspect, which is a geomagnetic storm that shifts magnetic field of earth as a mass or plasma cloud is ejected from sun & reaches earth 1-5 days later. Impacts -

💫Voltage surges

💫Telecom / satellite system shocks

💫 Storms / extreme weathers

💫 Pineal gland affects - sleep, anxiety, depression, biological clock

I did separate video for each sign to cover this aspect last month but let’s briefly look at this sign on how best to use this as it impacts how we receive the July Eclipses

Video Link for each sign - https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLv3tUTLu8-MTIEmuVKTo_5BR_8uTRQ07M

Check for your Rising / Sun / Moon sign

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

♈️ #Aries

We are fighting for our emotional security, our happiness, our comfort, our family, our sense of self, sometimes we are fighting with our own insecurities as we don’t want our talents to be slave of any administration anymore. So what is it going to be me or you - who is the boss ? You ofcourse, you are always in charge, key is to recognise that, that we always had the power so this is self made chains that are getting dissolved & we are being asked to take charge of our happiness, putting our home, family, comfort first over & above how it looks to the world, or what’s right for the public status, authorities. This is tough energy, work out, do a domestic project / repairs, cool body heat, release the barriers of worldly success - follow what your intuition knows well is your path. Family could get fever so be careful. Leaving a job or a responsibility not conducive to your mental happiness is a likelihood. Authority fights should be managed.

♉️ #Taurus

Many ideas, head is full of them, short trips, communications, information from all sources, some good some just provocative, very busy running around. This is easier energy, filter information to what’s the messaging versus the tone, the way it’s said, we can take things too personally. Can over identify with our old belief & miss out on enriching our mind. Impulse impetus is high - use is to have productive discussions, learn a skill, sell something commercially but remember softer skills of sale work better right now. Create something with hands, an emotional art piece may be & keep your mind engaged as you learn fast & ideas come flying to you which can have great commercial value. Be very careful using cars / vehicles / while driving & tell your sibling to be careful too.

♊️ #Gemini

Happy birthday again to Gemini Sun. Activated to get our material worth, ego fights can emerge if we feel we aren’t valued in joint situations. Proving oneself by expanding our commercially viable talents & looking at financial ideas is productive use of this. Careful of impulsive expenses & heaty foods in diet. Use this to get out of any repressive situation by innovating your way out. Don’t take a loan right now or look to repay some sort of debt - financial or karmic or leave an addiction - you can easily do that right now.

♋️ #Cancer

This is all about you, you know you are different & your new chapter is unfolding right in front of you. As you see that coming in, we are restless to get out of any contract that is restricting our growth. We are very assertive, vitality is high, we take charge but be careful of burning bridges with powerful partners & careful of being accident prone as we are in a hurry to get there. Workout, sex, bold actions are healthy outlets of this immense energy. Careful of fights with partner.

♌️ #Leo

Sleep won’t come easy as we are restless to end a phase, give up a hurdle work is presenting to us or a pesky work environment/ coworker is presenting. We are being told in no uncertain terms that self care is essential right now without delay, taking a trip, taking a step back, grounding oneself in a healing practice is a must right now. Imagination, creativity, bed pleasures are fired up & are healthy outlets. Inflammation in body should be managed. Take a short break from routines if possible for fresh approach. Change is required in work environment dynamics for better health.

♍️ #Virgo

We are driven to get the rewards of our work done, big wealth ideas & social recognition of our creative talents. Ambition & drive are high, self employment, starting a business, launching a website, mass marketing an idea, being a leader not a follower in your field of interest are healthy expression. Fights with Friend or a powerful person in business partner should be avoided or managed. Open flood gates to your passions & let that reflect in your work.

♎️ #Libra

You are in spotlight at work getting stuff done & leading a project - you should self promote put your name on things & business career must take a priority when it comes to your energy focus as you can make a significant leap. Be careful of being too quick to say things to authority figures & overcommiting. You are enough as you are - bring your charming personality to work, with balanced attitude. Home might need structural changes to adjust to your career or require rebalancing of responsibilities. It’s time! Rise & Shine.

♏️ #Scorpio

We are bold, we are fearless, we want to take a leap towards a higher path we know is our calling, who will block us ? Our mind - War with our own conservative approach, negative thoughts is raged in our mind which we must win. Hostility in immediate environment might be felt when you leave the high path & come down to walk with mortals, stay on the high road, travel, read, publish, teach, engage in foreign influence & expand your mind. For you are the guru, the spirit, the light world is waiting to be enlightened by but don’t be the preacher, be inclusive, all embracing. That’s mark of a true adventurer & guru, no ideological wars or legal wars. Just walk your high road as you take a leap of faith & embrace a different path.

♐️ #Sagittarius

Joint finances, intimacy, depth of our mind gets fired up to claim our power when it comes to joint situations in business or personal relationships. This is not you, not your natural you but we need to take a stance sometimes to get our fair share. Use diplomacy to get support, be strategic in your approach. The temptation to have a ego conflict will be high but it won’t be productive. A mini crisis of ego handled rightly can change everything financially & in intimacy. You just have to ask in the right way, who can say no to that smile 💕

♑️ #Capricorn

We are raging a war in a commitment, firing on all cylinders as we know our new version is about to be revealed to the world - our partners have to be in line with our ambition so who needs to pull their full weight ? You go after that but the way you ask is more important right now versus what you ask. You can get a lot more from your friends, your business partners or marriage / relationship partner if you approach it diplomatically. Relationships are dynamic undergoing shifts from conflicts to resolution to reconciliation till you get the requisite support. Challenges should be expected from adversaries cause you are growing in visibility & power so many won’t like this new you - but should you care - no, but nip it in the bud.

♒️ #Aquarius

Lot of work yes it’s not all interesting but it’s required to get things in order & you are determined to get things in order whether it’s at work or in health. Coworkers be damned - nah that’s not your style - so be careful of conflicts at work & running too fast on your treadmill. You can get way more done in unison with your team right now which is what is you - you bring people together. Start a new health routine if a health issue is pesky & inflammatory.

♓️ #Pisces

Lot of energy, lot of creative flow, ready to take more risk on passions in personal life & professional. Do I or do I not , keep your eyes open as we might be moving at speed of light on that risky gamble investment or that risky gamble romance. No use getting hemmed into a restrictive mound of society - you were not built to be a stereotype - so do things differently but keep an eye on speed missing details. You are magnetic powerful full of energy - direct it in right creative ventures & don’t burn out.

Love & light 💫

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finnofamerica · 5 years

Text

Kissing Under The Mistletoe - JoJo De La Guerra x Reader

Summary: 12 Days of Christmas - Day 8. It's been three years since you've seen JoJo, turns out there is a lot to need to be resolved.

Word Count: 1836

》Fluff《

|| Masterlist ||

It's been three years since you'd last seen your best friend JoJo. Sure, you'd frequently message each other, but it been three years since you'd seen his face, seen his smile, heard him laugh.

You were so conflicted when he left to follow his dreams. You loved him and supported him, but at the same time you love him and you didn't want him to leave. Yeah, you succumbed to the cliche and had fallen in love with your best friend. You knew he'd waste away in this town, so you pushed your feelings aside and saw him off in a very tearful goodbye from both of you.

But that was coming to an end tonight.

You'd gotten a text early that morning from JoJo saying that he'd be arriving at the airport at noon and if you could pick him up. Luckily, your boss was understanding, he'd known you and JoJo for years. You both worked for him for the majority of high school and he very quickly picked up on your feelings for JoJo before you were even aware that they existed.

So you stood in the baggage claim of the airport, waiting for any sign of your friend, even just a little glimpse of his messy brown locks.

“Y/n!” his voice shouted from behind you. Of course you were facing the wrong direction, you cursed yourself. Within seconds of turning around, he had you wrapped up in his arms spinning you around with gusto.

“God, I missed you so much,” JoJo admitted breathlessly as he set you safely on the ground.

“I missed you too, Joey.” You beamed at him. More than you know, you thought.

“So, what have you been up to?” He asked, slinging an arm around your shoulder, his suitcase secured in his other hand.

“Mostly the same stuff,” you shrugged, “Sadly, I'm still living with my parents. They dont mind much since I started taking online classes. I still work for Ron and Robert at Libby's. Other than that, life has been dreadfully boring without you in it. You?”

He grinned widely, animatedly telling you of his adventures in dance and theater and all the friends he'd made. All the while gesturing wildly with his hands.

“Anyone special in your life?” you asked, cringing internally as you did - of course you had to torture yourself with the question.

“Nah, I've been too busy.” JoJo laughed. “What about you? Damon finally sweep you off your feet?”

“As if,” you snorted at the mention of your nemesis, “I wouldn't touch that demon with a thirty foot pole.”

“I still think he likes you.”

“Are you kidding me? He's an asshole! I'd die before I even considered him as a viable dating option.” You shook your head, setting his suitcase into the back of your car. “To your moms’?”

“Yeah, I'd like to get a nice shower in before dinner at your place.” He grimaced at the grease in his hair.

“How'd you know about that?” You questioned, starting up the car.

“Your mom invited me as soon as she got word from my mom that I was coming home. It was supposed to be a surprise, but our parent can’t keep secrets, so I figured I'd just tell you.”

The rest of the ride was quiet as he took in the familiar sights of his hometown and you took in the comforting familiarity of his presence, hoping that your face wasn't red from your heart beating as hard as it was.

“So I'll see you at six?” You asked as you brought his suitcase to the front step.

“I wouldn't miss a chance to have some of your mom's Shepard's pie and you know it,” He joked, his brown eyes alight with happiness.

“Hey, JoJo,” You said seriously, grabbing his full attention, “I'm really glad you're home.”

“Me too,” He beamed at you once again, bidding you a ‘see you later’ and leaving you to head home in silence.

Six o'clock came all too quickly and too slowly all at the same time.

“You're dressed nicer than usual,” Your mother commented as you paced the kitchen.

“What? No I'm not.” Your face heated up. You were dressed nicer than usual. Not in a way that should've been obvious, but just enough to make it feel like a special dinner. It was a special dinner.

Your heart leapt from your chest as the doorbell rang, your little brother jumping up to get it.

“How do I look?” You panicked.

“Beautiful as usual, Darling,” Your mom assured, but her next comment made you scowl. “JoJo will think so too.”

“JoJo will think what?” He asked. Did fate hate you? Did he just have to walk in at that moment?

“That my mom's food is the best!” You played it off, hoping your face wasn't as red as it felt. He was wearing a well tailored button up and jeans, and you swore he'd gotten more fit since he'd been away. This was not boding well for you.

“As true as that may be, I'm pretty sure I'm legally obligated to say that my mother's cooking is the best.” He laughed.

“Sister Ruth does make excellent bread pudding.” Your mother commented. “The rest of the family is in the living room, Dear, if you'd like to join them.”

“Actually, I was hoping to hang out with Y/n for a bit,” He gave an innocent grin.

“I was gonna help my mom set the table,” You scratched your arm nervously.

“Oh, that's quite alright, Darling. Sister Ruth and I can handle it,” She ushered you off, “Besides, it's been so long since you've been able to spend any quality time with Jo.”

You wanted to scowl at her, but she just beamed at you with innocence - like you didn't know what she was doing.

You and JoJo sat in your bed like you were once again in highschool. You just talked anxiously about your classes until you finally relaxed into his presence. He was your best friend after all, what reason did you have to be nervous around him. Your feelings aside, under all that mess, he was still perfectly and wonderfully JoJo.

Dinner went by without a hitch, for the most part. You were happy as he went into detail of his travels and his friends, but he seemed to be living a much better life in New York than he'd ever had here. Again you were happy for him, but you longed for the ways things used to be. Or rather, you longed to be around him longer. He would, eventually, go back to that life.

“Let's go take a walk,” JoJo whispered in your ear as you rinsed your plate in the sink.

“But dishes,” You protested.

“Connor can do them. Please?” He pouted. Him and those stupid puppy eyes.

“Fine,” You sighed, unable to keep the smile off your face as he cheered.

Bundled up in your winter jacket, you followed JoJo out of your driveway and down the sidewalk. Neither of you speaking until you'd turned around and were already halfway back to the house.

“I can't even begin to explain how much I've missed you,” JoJo said suddenly, interrupting the comfortable silence between you.

“Well, if you missed me as much as I missed you, then I have some idea,” you laughed nervously, hoping you weren't being too obvious.

“I doubt you missed me as much as I missed you.” He sighed, “I've had a long time to think over the past three years and…. As much as I love life in New York, there is something very important missing from it.”

“Snowball?” You scrunched your eyebrows together, coming to a stop in front of your front door. Snowball was a cat adopted by Sister Ruth around the same time she'd taken in JoJo, friends for life.

“As much as I do love and miss Snowball, no, that's not what I was talking about.” He laughed. You loved that laugh. He coughed before continuing, “You, you knucklehead. You're what's missing. What I'm missing. I was so excited for the first couple months and all I wanted to do was share it with you, but you were never there. At first I mistook the emptiness I was feeling as homesickness, but it would never go away when I spoke to my mom. Only when I talked to you would it ease, for a while at least. What I'm sayi-”

He froze in the middle of his sentence, his finger tangled in his hair as he stared at a spot above the door.

“Joey?” You prompted.

“Do you think they're mocking us?” He questioned, pointing to what he was staring at. If you weren't red before, you certainly were now. Directly between you and JoJo was a bushel of mistletoe, tied together and hung above the door.

“You were saying?” You prompted again, trying to ignore the plant that condemned you.

“Right,” He broke his stare on the mistletoe, turning his eyes on you instead. “What I'm saying it, I never should've left you-”

“You really should have,” you interrupted, “You would'da wasted away here Joey and you know it.”

“Can I finish?” He rose a brow at you. You nodded, it was strange to see JoJo so serious. In fact you hadn't seen him this serious since he'd told you that he was moving away.

“I never should have left you, Y/n, but if I hadn't I still would've been the oblivious idiot I was when I left.” He gripped your hands in is, if only to ground himself. His gaze didn't turn to your face with his next admission. “I'm in love with you. I've probably always been, but it's taken me this long to figure it out and I just-”

“Jo?”

“Yeah?” He looked up from where he was staring at your hands.

“Are you gonna keep talking? Or are you gonna kiss me?” You asked, suddenly feeling bold as you processed his words. His eyes went wide in shock for a second, then that beautiful smile graced his features. Both hands let go of yours and moved to cup your cheeks.

“Are you sure?” He asked. He'd leaned in so far that you could feel his breath on your lips.

“Absolutely.”

His lips connected with your softly at first, then growing more passionate as three years of longing poured from you both. Any chill in the air was forgotten as he pulled you close to him, as if you'd suddenly disappear.

You could feel his pants of breath against your lips as you finally broke for air, not ready to back away but not quite ready to kiss again.

“Well it's about damn time!” Your mother commented out of the blue.

“Mom!” You groaned in embarrassment, burying your face in Jojo's shoulder. He, however, dissolved into laughter.

“Man, it’s good to be home,” He patted your back fondly, the laughter not leaving his voice.

Tags: @albertdasillva @glowstick-anon @smoke-anon @kingofsantafe

#jojo de la guerra #jojo x reader #newsies x reader #12 days of newsies #newsies the musical #newsies #12 days of christmas #12 days of ficmas #newsies 12 days of christmas

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veerletakino · 5 years

Text

The Shirley Exception

From @/AlexandraErin on Twitter

The Shirley Exception is a bit of mental sleight of hand that allows people to support a policy they profess to disagree with. It's called the Shirley Exception because... well, I mean, *surely* there must be exceptions, right?

Let's imagine that in response to suspicions about overbroad use of service animal rules, a city somewhere decides to just swing the pendulum 100% in the other direction. Restaurants, public accommodations, etc., no longer have to recognize any service animals.

And in the aftermath of the change, existing rules about where animals may and may not go apply full force.

A lot of people would back the change because Obviously Some People Take Advantage. (Positing that someone, somewhere is taking advantage is a great way to get the masses on your side in our politics, sadly.)

Now if you point out the existence of a blind person or an epileptic person who has a service dog for everyday navigation of life or for life-saving purposes, the Good People who just don't want anyone to take advantage will tell you:

"No one's talking about legitimate cases."

And if you point out that the rule that they're backing would affect what they call "legitimate cases", the response will be:

"But surely there will be an exception."

If you back up an anti-abortion activist to the point where they actually have to grapple with a case where the parent would 100% die delivering a 100% non-viable fetus, you'll get the same answers: "No one is talking about those cases." and "But surely there will be exceptions."

All of those studies of people in Trump Country USA who were shocked, shocked, that the kind man next door who is a good father and a great neighbor and a real part of the community was dragged away by ICE?

They all thought that surely he'd be an exception.

If you point out that the laws/policies they're talking about *don't* offer such exceptions and in some cases explicitly forbid them, if you say "So let's put those exceptions in writing."... well, then you're back to Surely People Will Take Advantage.

See, the people who are sure that Surely There Will Be Exceptions are very comfortable with the idea of justice being decided on a case-by-case basis. They've always had teachers, bosses, bureaucrats, even traffic cops giving them some slack for reasons of compassion and logic.

I mean, if Officer Smalltown von Cul-De-Sac could give them a warning when they were caught with recreational amounts of pot as kids because it was harmless and they Had Futures, then Surely there must be similar exceptions for everyone?

That post about "I never thought the leopards would eat my face, sobbed woman who voted for Face-Eating Leopards Party" is very true, and it goes farther than personal immunity to a very generalized and broad Just World Fallacy.

Surely, they think, surely the leopards will know to only eat the *right* faces, the faces that need eating, and leave alone all the faces that don't deserve that.

But if we try to lay out rules to protect faces from being eaten by leopards, people will take advantage. Best to keep it simple and count on decency and reason to rule the day.

So moderate conservatives, what we might call "everyday conservatives", the ones who don't wear MAGA hats or tea party costumes and think that Mr. Trump fella should maybe stay off of Twitter, they will vote for candidates and policies that they don't actually agree with...

...because in their mind the exact law being prescribed is just a tool in the chest, an option on the table, which they expect to be wielded fairly and judiciously. Surely no one would do anything so unreasonable as actually enforcing it as written! Not when that would be bad!

And then they are confused, shocked, and even insulted when people hold them accountable for their support of the monstrous policy.

"I didn't vote for leopards to eat *your* face! I just thought we needed some face-eating leopards generally. Surely you can't blame me for that!"

The old "Defense of Marriage" laws are another textbook example of this.

Many of them included language that expressly forbade giving similar benefits (like hospital visitation) to same-sex relationships.

Yet the people who voted for them, in many cases, wanted it to be known that No One Is Talking About Stopping You From Visiting Your Loved One In The Hospital. And Surely There Will Be An Exception.

The Shirley Exception is how people who are only mundanely monstrous, moderately monstrous, wind up supporting policies that are completely monstrous.

And when they do, they always want credit for their good intentions towards those they see as deserving, not the outcomes.

I'm describing a phenomenon here and I don't have a solution to its existence. While convincing people that laws that don't specify exceptions functionally *don't have them* might work sometimes on (ironically) a case-by-case basis, what is really needed is a broader shift.

People need to get used to thinking about the harm policies will do as a real part of the policy, not a hypothetical that Reasonable People of Good Will Can Surely Work Around.

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thatlesbiannudistcult-stories · 5 years

Text

Finding Goddess (Chapter 15)

"Yes? You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Ah, Miss Connors. I just finished speaking to Miss Cassidy and she seemed surprisingly chipper for once. She spoke quite highly of you in particular. Said her meeting with you had been a very informative and inspiring experience."

"Ohh. What...exactly did she say?"

"Oh, a great many things. Such as how you provided actually useful feedback for once, showed you were clearly well-versed in the kind of experiences she was looking for in her writing material, finally understood what we are looking for in the books we publish, that sort of thing. She claimed she might even have an idea for a new story entirely thanks to you."

"I....I see."

"I understand she is a very difficult client to work with, Miss Connors, but she is a very important one, so I would like you to know that I greatly appreciate the work you have put in with her. Nobody else in our company has been able to reach Miss Cassidy in nearly the same capacity as you have today. The next time she needs a little one-on-one time with us, I'll know exactly who to turn to."

"G...great."

"Are you feeling well, Miss Connors? You look awfully red, and you're shaking an awful lot."

"I'm fine."

"You don't need to lie to me for the sake of your job, Miss Connors. And you shouldn't. Go on. Take the rest of the day off. You've earned it."

"I...I...alright. Thank you, sir."

***

Carol thought the way clothes felt on her body yesterday was bad, but after her meeting with Elaine, they had become even more unbearable. Whereas before they closed in on her like a coffin, today it was more apt to say they were piercing her flesh like an iron maiden. It almost hurt to wear them, made her feel dizzy and feverish, even sick to her stomach. It didn't help that they were wet here and there with spilt coffee. At least, she hoped that wetness was just from spilt coffee.

But more than anything else, her hands seemed to be operating on their own accord. They wanted to pop every button off her blouse until her breasts popped out, they wanted to peel every inch of nylon off her legs until they were left completely bare, they wanted to stroke every erogenous area on her body until she burst again. Every ounce of her willpower had to be devoted to keeping one hand firmly grasped on the other to prevent either from stripping her bare while she talked to her boss. Even that was shaky. Or maybe it was just her legs that were shaky. With how violently they were trembling, Carol's ability to stand up for any length of time could only be described as a miracle.

Miracle...I seem to be experiencing a bunch of those, lately.

Carol didn't wait until she got home before she began to take her clothes off. The second her car door slammed shut, she was already tearing voraciously into them, starting with her shoes. She tossed them so contemptuously into her backseat that she could hear the heels snap. Her stockings followed; she didn't so much peel those off her legs as she ripped them off, tearing numerous holes in the fabric and ruining them completely. She didn't care. They were clothes. She hated them. Hated how they covered her body, hated how they stuck to her skin so tightly, hated how they gave her so little room to breathe. If Carol never had to wear stockings again, it would be too soon.

"And...there! Ahhhhhhhh. Much better." Carol let out a deep sigh of relief once she slid her skirt off. She was bottomless now. From the waist down, she didn't have a thread or a stitch on her body. And it felt so good! Even her skin seemed to be moaning with happiness. Things were much less tight around her, air circulated in and out of her lungs more freely, and the temperature just seemed to drop dramatically in and around the mother the more nude she got.

"I should be allowed to be like this all the time," she murmured as she rubbed her thighs and wiggled her toes. "And I could be...if I converted to Zenrism."

Her smile faltered with that thought. Convert to Zenrism. That would definitely solve all her problems. Heck, it would give her everything she ever wanted in life. Permanent 24/7 nudity! Bodily freedom! Sexual liberty! It was everything a woman could ever ask for.

But...it was a big step. One that would no doubt turn her whole life upside-down. It would change the way everyone looked at her, it would dictate the things she would do, the crowds she would run with, and so on. And Carol wasn't so sure she was ready to make such a massive change so soon. She couldn't help but be a little suspicious of it as well; Zenrism sounded too good to be true. There was a definite catch to it, there had to be. It was a cult after all, one that would expect her to believe in all kinds of nonsense.

But then, how nonsensical could it actually be? Strange things were happening the moment she learned about it. Henrietta forgot to put her clothes on the one time. Carol was forgetting to put her clothes on every single day. And she was stripping herself naked without realizing it. Wearing clothing was getting more uncomfortable by the day, the hot coffee didn't affect her at all, in fact, now that she thought about it, it didn't affect Maisie either when it spilled all over her the other day. Was it just as the Holy Scripture said in the story of Kinuse? Were Zenrists really resistant to fire and heat?

And then there were the words that the priestess whispered in her ear as they made love in the grotto.

"I need...I need to think about this," said Carol. Realizing she had been sitting in her car for ten minutes without any pants on, she decided it was time to get a move on. Turning the key in the ignition, the mother rolled the vehicle out of the parking lot and drove away.

***

Driving bottomless was great, but it wasn't enough. Carol's breasts were still trapped in the confines of her blouse, and the way they were pushing against the fabric told her they were screaming for freedom like two hungry babes. So when she stopped at her first red light, Carol wasted no time in giving them their wish. She was naked now, completely butt-naked in her car, and no one was the wiser. No one except maybe the two people in the van right next to her who were staring at her with eyes the size of saucepans.

"Uh...hi," Carol giggled as she gave them a nervous little wave, not knowing what else to do. Fortunately, the light chose that moment to turn green, mercifully giving her a reason to vamoose. "Bye!"

So here Carol was, driving in her car totally naked. It had been a while since she did that and she forgot how...fun it was. Sure, she got to ride with Henrietta as a passenger a few days ago, but this was different. Carol had full control of the situation now. She could drive as fast or as slow as she wanted, pull up as close to the curb as she liked, and decide for herself if she wanted to go left or right. In essence, she had a choice in who she could reveal her naughty little secret to. That college-age group of girls entering the cafe? The old man with the cane on the crosswalk? The despondent-looking mother exiting the grocer with two bags of food in her hands? All viable marks.

N-not that she would of course! Such a thing would most definitely get Carol in trouble, and she didn't want to push her luck anymore. Not after she miraculously dodged that cannonball with Elaine. But if I were a Zenrist, there wouldn't be any luck to push...

She let that thought hang until she pulled into her apartment building's parking lot. She very nearly opened the door and stepped outside before remembering that she was still naked. Riding around in the car without a thing on was one thing, nobody had to know what she was doing (and few people did). But it was another thing altogether to stroll outside in the...altogether. Everyone would see what she was doing, and there would be no way to deny it. Carol would need to put something on first.

But as the mother gazed at her assorted clothes, which had been tossed haphazardly around the car, a feeling of despondence seemed to fall over her. She didn't...want to put them on. She didn't want them covering her breasts, her stomach, her back, her thighs, her butt, her anything. She didn't want them anywhere on her body! Not even for the couple minutes it would take just to walk from her car to her apartment. And now that she was looking at her blouse lazing about on the passenger seat, Carol couldn't help but feel her skin crawl simply from seeing how close it was to her. It was like it could, at any moment, leap up and pounce on her, covering her beautiful skin with its odious fabric.

"Screw it," she said, flinging the door open without a second thought. "I already showed everyone on this street my naked body. What's flashing myself one more time gonna hurt?"

Carol shivered with joy as she stepped out and the sun hit her bare skin, warming it in all the best ways. Goddess, these were the moments she lived for. That she used to live for. That she could live for. That she would do anything to live for. To live nakedly every minute of every day, to feel the very essence of the world with her every inch of skin. The sun caressed everything; its rays crept down her thighs, over the contours of her back, along the slopes of her breasts, and even crawled between her buttocks and slightly parted lower lips. Even the soles of her bare feet were not spared the sun's touch as they took in its warmth from the ground.

"Mmmmm," she moaned as she stretched herself out, thrusting her breasts into the air just to expose them to more of the sun's warming light. This feels divine. Being naked is such a blessing. Why can't more people realize that?

Deciding that she had spent enough time soaking in the rays, Carol locked her car and headed inside, leaving her clothing behind.

#carol #finding goddess

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hub-pub-bub · 5 years

Link

Wage theft is when your boss doesn’t pay you what you’ve already earned. When I learned that Massachusetts had “blue laws,” that my bosses weren’t obeying them, and had shorted me around three thousand dollars, it was wage theft.

This was the law: retail employees were to be paid at a “premium” rate on Sundays and holidays, time-and-a-half, the same as overtime. But none of the booksellers where I worked had ever been paid it. And while not being paid overtime is a textbook example of wage theft, when I tell people, they are happy to qualify it for me with a “Well…” or an “Okay, but…” I don’t know where this instinct comes from. Maybe it’s because “wage theft” makes it sound premeditated, more like a crime. (But it was a crime!) Or maybe it’s because I worked at an independent bookstore, and indie bookstores are beloved pillars of the community. (What would that mean about the community?) Maybe it’s because it doesn’t makes sense that an independent bookstore would do something like this. Everyone knows indiebookstores are thriving! (Which is true—it’s the people who work in them who are struggling.)

I found out when I was trying to see if I could afford to take a sick day. I felt like I was coming down with something, but taking a day off meant losing a not-insubstantial chunk of my monthly take-home pay ($11.50 an hour). Since there were sick hours adding up in a box labeled “time-off accrual” on my pay stubs—and surely they had to amount to something—I went to mass.gov to check the law. But they amounted to literally nothing, as it turned out: Massachusetts businesses only have to provide paid sick leave if they have more than eleven employees, and we had ten. My “sick days” meant I couldn’t be fired for staying home sick (as long as I wasn’t sick more than five days per year).

But I learned something else. There were links to related pages and I clicked the one about “blue laws,” which I didn’t know we had in Massachusetts.

Later that day I emailed the bookstore’s owners. Is there a reason our bookstore is exempt from blue laws, I asked, or was this an oversight?

They responded the same night. They’d heard that other area bookstores had to pay the premium rate, they said, because their booksellers were unionized, but that otherwise there was some exemption. They said they would investigate, that they’d talk to their lawyer and get back to me.

After that the story gets so routine you could probably write it yourself. When I followed up a few days later, they said their lawyer was on vacation but that they’d update payroll and we’d receive the premium pay on Sundays and holidays from then on. When some of the other booksellers and I contacted the Attorney General’s Fair Labor Division, they only sent a form letter saying the matter was too small for them to investigate personally, but we were welcome to pursue legal action (on our own time and at our own expense). I found some free legal clinics on wage theft, but only once-a-month and while I was scheduled to work. Ten days after the first email, I followed up again; “still the same conflicting intel,” they said, “but when we told our lawyer that we started paying 1.5 for sundays and holidays, the matter dropped. (lawyers are expensive!) let me know if it’s not reflected in your check.” A coworker who already planned to quit asked the owners specifically about back pay–which I hadn’t had the courage to do—and they told her no, they weren’t going to pay it, and they said it in writing.

I ended up speaking to a lawyer, who offered to represent me on a contingency fee basis: I wouldn’t have to pay if we lost, and the bookstore would be responsible for my legal fees if I won. But he recommended I not move forward until I got a new job. It isn’t legal to retaliate against an employee for bringing a case, he told me, but, you know, it also isn’t legal to ignore blue laws.

I said thank you, I’ll consider my options.

One day in November one of the owners called me into the office at the bookstore. She gave me $500 in cash and $500 in store credit, about a third of what I was owed. I spent the store credit on gifts for the holidays and I looked for a new job. I ignored a follow-up call from the lawyer and tried not to wallow in the humiliation. I was not successful. Even now it feels like admitting something shameful: I was fooled, maybe, or I’m some kind of miser. A few people asked me, what if they can’t afford to pay back pay and they go out of business? You hear it more than once and it’s easy to forget it’s not a ransom, that you didn’t pluck the number out of nowhere.

It’s hard to compare independent bookstores to other kinds of retail stores. Bookstores sell a cultural product and booksellers insist that bookstores can’t be compared to other retail stores because they sell a cultural product. And bookstores don’t exploit their employees more than other retail. But what grates is when bookstores market themselves as more than stores, as community hubs.

“Independent bookstores act as community anchors,” the American Booksellers Association declares, at the bottom of every page on their site; “they serve a unique role in promoting the open exchange of ideas, enriching the cultural life of communities, and creating economically vibrant neighborhoods.”

This same lofty idealism justifies why booksellers don’t need to be paid a living wage, like employees of nonprofits or teachers: because bookstores are so vital for the community, the assumption goes, the job should be reward enough itself. The work is so important that maybe booksellers should make personal sacrifices, working well below the value of their labor.

I spoke to around twenty booksellers while I was writing this, and I was struck by how many are willing to make trade-offs. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been. “Independent booksellers consistently describe their work as more than just a way to make a living, and more than just a means of escaping the constraints that come from working for somebody else,” writes Laura Miller, in her 2006 book, Reluctant Capitalists: Bookselling and the Culture of Consumption; “These booksellers see themselves as bettering society by making books available.” Plenty of the booksellers I spoke to saw bookselling as a calling. Because of course they do! If they weren’t willing to make sacrifices, they couldn’t still be booksellers. And how else could bookstores get away with paying them—they, who generally have to have a college degree; who have to spend a lot of unpaid time reading across all genres and topics; who have to have at least a little knowledge about everything, from the ancient Greeks to Dog Man 7: Brawl of the Wild; who, at at least one store, famously have to correctly answer quiz questions before being hired—so little, while so successfully preserving an image as a (generally progressive) force for social good?

And it is so little. A bookseller in Southern California with eight years of experience still earns less than $20 per hour; “I can’t think of another industry where you could work for eight years and still be making that little,” he said. A different Southern California bookseller/assistant events manager earns $17.50. A bookseller/assistant events manager in the Boston area is earning $14. A former bookseller in Northern California was making $14.25, a quarter above the minimum wage. A part time bookseller in Chicago makes $13, the city’s minimum wage. A former bookseller in Minnesota was salaried after two years at $30,000 while a bookseller and events manager in Tennessee started at $25,000, six years ago, and now makes $31,500.

I started at $11 per hour and ended around eighteen months later at $11.50, and as far as I know, none of the booksellers at that store even earned $15. The median rent for a one-bedroom apartment in Boston is $2400 per month, which I could cover if I worked 50 hours a week, didn’t pay taxes, and didn’t need money for food, utilities, medical care, or literally anything else.

The booksellers I spoke to reported quite a range of benefits—in one year, for example, a Bay Area bookseller accrued three weeks of vacation time, and in the same time period a Pennsylvania bookseller got three days. But some booksellers told me that their benefits were mostly on paper. Not being fired for calling in sick or going on vacation doesn’t make it financially viable, after all. A Minnesota bookseller told me she has ten paid vacation days per year, but the store has so few employees that taking time off means she’d have to make up the missed hours working overtime. A bookstore in California offered a health insurance program, but gave employees a fifty-cent raise if they didn’t enroll.

It’s not so bleak for everyone. Unionized stores generally fight for better benefits and act as safeguards against labor law violations; I talked to a handful of booksellers whose stores had some kind of profit sharing, which can make a big difference.

But… I don’t know. There’s a bookstore owned by people who, all evidence suggests, really give a fuck and want to do right by their booksellers. They pay at least $15 per hour, and I heard one of the owners say on a podcast how much is required of booksellers; “If you’re a college graduate, and you’ve spent all this time reading, in addition to going to college—yeah, you deserve $15 an hour. Period.” But when his interlocutor mentioned a bookstore that had profit sharing, the owner was quick to say it wouldn’t work at his store. (And it wouldn’t, yet—the store is young and not yet profitable.*) But “It’s also a matter of loyalty,” he said, and explained that he couldn’t envision employees staying longer than a year. “I would love to find a bookseller who I know would be around long enough. Right now it just hardly seems even worth doing all the work. No one would qualify, because they won’t stick around long enough.”

Tell me, what are they going to stick around for? The bookstore owner said all of his employees are part-time—they’re either in grad school or working other part-time jobs. Are they supposed to stick around for a part-time job that pays $15 per hour?

What is there to be loyal to?

IndieBound—an ABA project—has a section on its website dedicated to answering Why Support Independents? One answer is that “Local businesses create higher-paying jobs for our neighbors.” But you can also find a page at the ABA website on “The Growing Debate Over Minimum Wage,” warning that “a minimum wage increase that is too drastic could result in reduced staff hours, lost jobs, or, worse, a store going out of business.” There’s also an “Indie Fact Sheet” to print out and give to local politicians; “Many indies pay more than the current minimum wage already for senior and full-time staff,” it says; “They do this because offering superior customer service is one of their competitive advantages—it is what separates them from their chain and remote, online retailing competitors. This also helps indies retain and attract good employees.”

See? Many bookstores pay their booksellers more than the minimum wage! It’s not their problem that that same minimum wage isn’t enough to cover a one-bedroom in any state in the country. It’s not their problem that inflation has eroded the value of the minimum wage. It’s not their problem that low wages are an affront to basic dignity or that higher minimum wages save lives. They’re just fiercely committed to their neighbors and their communities.

The ABA is happy to help its member stores fight even modest wage increases. “If the minimum wage is raised,” the Indie Fact Sheet continues, “it inevitably means indies will have to increase the wages of senior and full-time staff, in addition to increasing the wages of any minimum-wage workers. This increases the ripple effect. A seemingly ‘insignificant’ wage increase can have a dramatic effect on the bottom line, sending a profitable store into the red.”

There’s no mention of the dramatic effect an increase in the minimum wage could have on employees.

At Winter Institute–an annual ABA conference for independent booksellers–there’s a town hall where members can share their concerns. According to the ABA’s coverage of the event, an independent bookstore owner went to the mic to speak about the minimum wage. “I’m very happy the staff is getting a pay bump,” she said, “but that’s a huge adjustment to make every 12 months and once you get a handle on it, then it’s going up again. I feel like this seems to be going countrywide and that is something that is extra important to our nonexistent margins.”

Why this framing? Why not ask how other stores are handling the adjustment? Why not pay employees a living wage now so as not to have to change business model every year? Why does a bookstore owner feel comfortable getting up and saying this in front of an audience of booksellers?

If your local indie bookstore skirts labor laws or advocates against them, at the expense of its employees, can you still be sanctimonious for shopping there? Is your local indie bookstore thriving if its employees skip doctor’s appointments they can’t afford? If your local indie bookstore’s trade group doesn’t have resources for booksellers on paid sick leave, health insurance, or wage theft–in an industry famous for its tiny margins–is it an industry you’d recommend joining?

“We find ourselves in the uncomfortable position of being believers in social and economic justice while struggling to pay our employees a salary they can survive on,” writes Elayna Trucker on shopping local and running a bookstore; “We urge our customers to Shop Local but make hardly enough to do so ourselves. It is an unintentional hypocrisy, one that has gone largely ignored and unaddressed. So where does all that leave us? Rather awkwardly clutching our money, it seems… All of this brings up the most awkward question of all: does a business that can’t afford to pay its employees a living wage deserve to be in business?”

I am so glad I don’t have to come up with an answer. I have no idea. I haven’t the faintest idea at all.

In the end it was a tweet. I left the bookstore after the holidays and started a new job in January. In February, after a night of shitty sleep, I tweeted, “I have been spending hours lying awake at night doing nothing but feeling this intense shame like a stone in my chest about experiencing wage theft at my last job and I am sincerely just hoping that tweeting about it is enough to make it stop so let’s see if it works.”

A day or two later I got an email. “It’s filtered back to me that the $1000 we gave you to settle the Sunday pay issue,” they said, “didn’t resolve it.” They said some things about how they hadn’t known until I told them. They cut me a check for the back pay that same day.

I didn’t delete the tweet. I don’t know if any of my coworkers got back pay.

A little later, I read an article about the student-run Harvard Shop in Cambridge. The Massachusetts Attorney General’s Office found that the store owed almost $50,000 in back pay to their employees and $5,600 in fines for violating blue laws. “In this case, we unknowingly did make a mistake in how we were paying our students for Sunday and holiday pay,” the store’s manager said.

I only saw the article because the union I joined at my new job shared it on Twitter.

In Seasonal Associate, Heike Geissler’s barely-fictionalized account of her time working at an Amazon fulfillment center, she writes: “What you and I can’t do, because you and I don’t want to, is to think your employer into a better employer, and to compare these conditions to even worse, less favorable conditions, so as to say: It’s not all that bad. It could be worse. It used to be worse. We don’t do that. You and I want the best and we’re not asking too much.”

I loved bookselling. I loved it for the same reasons everyone does: the community of readers and booksellers, the joy when someone came back into the store and says I recommended the perfect read, the pride when authors reach out directly to say how much my work meant to them. The free books, the discounts, the advance copies, all of it. And I do believe that bookstores can be forces for social good, insofar as bookscan be forces for social good, which I think they can. It is self-evidently better to get your books from a local store than from Amazon, and for precisely the reasons the IndieBound website gives.

But it’s not enough to Not Be Amazon, and framing bookstores as moral exemplars regardless of how they treat their employees isn’t to the benefit of booksellers. Bookstores “thrive” by hiding how much their booksellers struggle. “Any thriving I do personally is in spite of my store,” one of the booksellers I spoke to said. Working at a bookstore is not as bad as working at an Amazon warehouse; I didn’t walk dozens of miles per day and my bathroom breaks weren’t monitored. But are we willing to let that be the baseline?

*clarification added after publication

#bookshops #book seller #wage theft #living wage #unions

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tumblunni · 5 years

Text

I had a really weird dream involving Dr Maddiman. Its a shame i can barely remember any of it and also it seems i woke up before it ended? Like i just had this overwhelming sense that allll the plot threads were gonna be wrapped up any second now and then BOOM awake. So just a whole bunch of random stuff happened with no real explanation at all.

It was some sort of post apocolyptic setting i think? Humanity was in these small isolated cities fighting against some sort of invading army but we never actually saw the aliens themselves. And some part of my brain was like "it makes sense its the same rules as a hairdresser and the design takes cues from a pack of AAA batteries". I have NO idea what that means! So basically everythibg was super vague and undescribed and dream-me just had a sense of already being a long time fan of this series and knowing enough to fill in the gaps. Apparantoy this was some sort of adaptation of a thing id already seen, but id been told the ending was different and more accurate to the manga? Also i wasnt actually a person watching this show i was still the protagonist of the show yet i acted like i'd been reincarnated and relived this week a million times or something

ANYWAY the way dr maddiman comes in is that he was some sort of 'brilliant but dangerous' expert the government had hired to help our fight against the aliens. It wasnt really explained why he was.. yknow.. maddiman. Like is this meant to be that ghosts also exist in this sci fi universe? Was he a half alien hybrid instead of a yokai? Was it just human maddiman with the personality of yokai maddiman due to ptsd...? In any case he didnt seem entirely tethered to the laws of reality and nobody knew exactly how he pulled off all his scientific miracles. He was treated as the only guy who could understand the mindset of the aliens, but that also made him dangerous because he trapped in the delusion of everything being okay and fun and happy and he often did evil things by accident while having good intentions. But they didnt have anyone else who'd cracked the code of the alien weaponry so they had to put up with him. He was just sorta assigned a crack team of secret agents whose job was Be The Old Man's Friend So We Dont All Die. Dont let him realise how the world is all destroyed and such, just play along with his goofyness and try and remind him to do his important work while dancing around why its important. it was super creepy how he was locked up and gaslighted like this!! And he was all 'oh im sure when im done with my ultimate experiment i can go home to my wife and kids' and yeah it was implied here that the same backstory applied :( 'distract the old man and validate his false opinion that his family is still alive and waiting for him' :( poor sci fi madds :(

Oh also for some reason he seemed to be wearing elements of Adventure era Dr Eggman's outfit? But just the general style of the coat and the wearing goggles that he never actually uses. And he had a very warm and cuddly autumnal colourscheme

Anyway i was part of the Super Secret Grampa Cherishing Division whose job was to act as his assistant but also secretly be packing a bazillion weapons to neutralize him if he poses a danger to humanity. But i started to genuinely care for the guy and question the 'any atrocity is permitted for the sake of saving the world' philosophy of my bosses. Also it was just very weird how it was this post apocolypse alien fighting action thing yet i didnt see ANY OF IT cos this story was confined to this one laboratory. It was surreal hearing about all this stuff happening offscreen!

I think Maddiman's main project was some sort of dimensional transport thing using salvaged alien tech? It was just a door in his lab that usually led to a closet but if he got it working itd teleport us straight to the alien base and save the world. And a lot of it wasnt explained but i got this great sense that itd all come together with a great twist ending evebtually but then i woke up before i got that far. Same for the reveal of this maddiman's new sci fi backstory and soooo many other dropped plot threads. Alas!

So anyway: closet. Closet with one of those bead curtain things cos i was thinking about them when i fell asleep. It was supposed to be a teleport but when it malfunctioned it had really scary negative effects warping people's biology and stuff. I remember one of the test subjects was sent in for a five day trip to a specific alternate dimension but then when they came back itd been several years and theyd had to survive in a deadly wasteland and been mutated into a hellbeast. And maddiman had a huge breakdown because he felt like his recklessness and optimism towards this experiment had caused this mistake to happen, and he'd never realized just how awful the consequences could be. He was babbling motor mouth discussing theories for where it went wrong and there was something like 'we'd only tested it for one day trips and assumed that just programming two of them would equal two days but actually with each additional number on the screen it multiplies the days by 3" And there was something about like...the bead curtain was the machine rather than the door itself? Like trying it on a bunch of different doors around the lab to try and find a way to cure this person.

And there was some sort of artificial intelligence computer with the personality of an adorable lil girl, who helped maddiman do calculations and stuff. She missed the mistake in this calculation cos her concept of linear time and the limits of human organs was kinda undeveloped. She only existed within the realm of numbers after all, and didbt even have functionality to record footage of her human friends's faces. No idea wtf a human looks like! So maddiman was lost in his desperate grief of potentially accidebtally killing or at least mentally scarring a person and the government would probably kill them now if they saw they were a super mutant. And he was sobbing and begging this AI to help, his last resort was her maybe being able to see a brainwave that he'd missed. But she was freaking out cos she didnt even fully understand why maddiman was crying let alone what to do to fix it. Eventually she did manage to find a solution theough some simple different logic thing that she had from her perspective as a computer. And that person was saved but still traumatized and maddiman had a moment of realizing just how high stakes everything was and freaking out. He was like 'whats wrong with my head, why didnt i notice that, why was i so reckless, why cant i seem to grasp basic human logic that i need right now" Having a big existential crisis of 'wait how did i even get in this lab, where's my family and why do i seem to have superpowers'. Protagonist mission: hide all the goddamn mirrors to avoid this weird ghostgramp (...aliengramp??) from realizing he's dead (..or an alien??) and losing control of himself. And everyone was running around talking about 'containment procedures' and poor maddiman didnt know that if his panic attack continued he might just straight up be killed for outliving his usefulness. So the protagonist was desperate to help him calm down and it sucked SO MUCH cos they had to lie about his past and weave the web of deception around him again for his own safety. In the end they just hugged him close until he calmed down, and all the other employees were like GASP THEY ACTUALLY TOUCHED THE EVIL DANGEROUS SUPER EVIL MAN and protag was like 'i am 1% away from slapping the next bitch who insults this grandpa'. And it was super depressing cos once he'd calmed down he seemed to start forgetting that anything bad had ever happened?? And he was really panicking and scared cos he didnt understand why he was forgetting, and he knew he had to cling onto something important but he didnt know what. And then five minutes later he was back to haha cheerful nothing is wrong and i love doing my fun science in this room im never allowed to leave. And protagonist was crying the tears that this poor gramp wasnt allowed to cry :(

Also actually i think maybe he was a ghost AND an alien? Like he was a scientist who died in some sort of tragedy back when the aliens first invaded, but along the way he'd been infected so his body got back up as a twisted combination of human and inhuman. And this was something unique to him, like he just happened to have a genetic mutation in his blood that was totally undetectable in life but happened to mix unpredictably with this alien virus to turn him into a hybrid instead of just killing him. So the government was very interested in finding a way to replicate this and create new supersoldiers, as well as just taking advantage of this dude's confused mental state that granted him a unique understanding of alien tech that made him more effective than other scientists. And, of course, also made him easy to manipulate :(

And i also had a feeling that maybe his backstory was mixed up with Adventure dr eggman? Like here it seemed he had a daughter instead of a son, and she had a similar death to Maria Robotnik where she was assasinated by the government he worked for, and it tipped him over the edge. I think Maddiman-alien-scifi-dude originally died trying to save her from being used in some sort of experiment? Like she was already dying of a disease and thats why maddiman took this job to have access to powerful government technology to try and look for a cure. But when the whole alien apocolypse happened, the evil government decided to use her for experiments cos she was 'basically dead anyway'. Theyd just lie and tell maddiman she died of her illness. So this was how they found out that this particular family's bloodline had a mutation that let them form a viable hybrid with alien dna. They were turning this poor kid into a monster in the basement while lying to her dad about her being dead! And maddiman was about to commit suicide from having no reason to live anymore, with the hell of this apocolypse world and the false impression that his kid was already dead. But somehow monster-daughter sensed this or something and broke out of containment to try and save him, and when he saw her he was able to recognise her even in her twisted state. So when the soldiers gunned her down in front of him and fed him some lies about this not being his daughter, he just completely snapped. He tried in vain to fight back and take down as many of them as possible in revenge, but well he was just a simple round dad with no ability to fight a government. So he was unceremoniously executed along with his kid and they shoved the bodies back in the lab to continue testing. "Damn that overemotional science dad, he made us execute our most valable test subject! But at least this way we can analyze his corpse to see if the mutation is passed down on the patrilineal side." But at some point during the fight, monster-daughter's blood had splashed on her dad and gotten into his bloodstream. So the seemingly dead body suddenly got up out of the morgue and started sucking people's blood or something. And this led to the current situation where they have him locked up cos he's a valuable test subject but also hey he has 100% reason to kill all of us and we're screwed if he remembers his past. Also i think the computer AI thing was his subconcious attempt to recreate the personality of his daughter even if he couldnt remember she'd ever existed :(

Anyway at some point things escalated and there was this final showdown versus both the invading aliens and the evil governmebt guys. I think there was some corrupt greedy politician dude who stole maddiman's teleporter tech and sold us out to the aliens cos he wanted money and power or something. And probably predictably the aliens just threw him off a bridge after he gave them the thing, because seriously even this evil army thinks these government dudes are too evil!

So this big actiony event was happening and Maddiman was freaking out like 'no no no i cant leave the lab everyone wpuld be mad at me, i dont even know what its like outside this room' even when he was in the middle of being attacked by aliens. He was forced to face his repressed memories to survive, and he naturally had a massive fuckin freakout! And i think maybe when protagonist character was trying to protect him he accidentally lashed out with his powers and hurt them, and he was so horrified thinking another person he cared about was gonna die because of him. Protagonist was like 'dont worry gramps its just a scratch' but he'd already freaked out and run away into the battlefield to his heavily implied death.

BUT THEN at some sort of moment of dire need, he came back all powered up and re-memoried and was like 'i have every reason to despise humanity but im not gonna let more children die because of these damn corporate monsters (and also literal monsters which are infinately less scary)" And he did some sort of great sacrifice to save the protagonist at the cost of his own life, and it was super dramatic falling from a building into a lake of fire or something. While sobbing and smiling peacefully thinkibg "did i atone for my sins? Will i be able to see my family again?" As his smiling face sunk beneath the flames and the protagonist cried out into the abyss...

Aaaaand then i dont really know what happened in the big battle and i also never found out wtf the solution was to fixing the transporter thing or how the aliens invaded or any of the million plot points that were non gramp related.

I just remember that when we all saved the day and defeated the baddies we found that maddiman had actually survived and it was a big hugs reunion. He was like "OH YEAH i totally forgot i literally already died once and regenerated from it, and this was the entire start to my story. My bad!" *shrugs inexplicably not dead arms*

So yeah in summary im glad my brain summoned up a universe where my favourite sad granddad is literally immortal now, but also why did it torment him with an even sadder plot than his original one

#weird dream tag #the sequence with trying the teleporter curtain on different doors actually took up the majority of the dream #it was ridiculously long and i wish i could slap my brain and be like 'geez save some time for explaining gramp backstory more!'

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