#is that legal? probably not but i doubt any other element of this is. think they also ripped some ywbf projections right from the movie | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

acacia-may · 1 year

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The Fighter

Description: Kotoko Utsugi had once been "The Fighter" of the Warriors of Hope, and now, nearly 20 years later, she supposes the title still suits her. She doesn't know any other way to be. After all, they say we become what we needed most in our darkest moments.

With the help and encouragement of an old friend, however, she'll begin to her realize that maybe even "The Fighter" deserves to be fought for every once in a while.

Fandom: Danganronpa (Specifically Ultra Despair Girls)

Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Healing, Character Study, Future Fic (nearly) 20 Years Post-Canon.

Relationships: Kotoko Utsugi & Nagisa Shingetsu Friendship almost 20 years in the future with a little bit of the Warriors of Hope platonic friendship as well. A/N: I wrote this as a platonic work about their friendship, but as they're both 30 years old here, I guess you could take it in a more romantic-ish(?) way if you just really wanted to see it (maybe?). That was not my intention in writing, however, and in my mind, this is Friendship Hurt/Comfort (Nagisa is just awkward--bless his heart).

Characters: Kotoko Utsugi (POV Character) and Nagisa Shingetsu. Masaru Daimon and Jataro Kemuri are mentioned but do not physically appear in this story.

Rating: T for Thematic Elements and Some Language (Please see "Warnings" below for more details).

Warnings: Vaguely implied/mentioned childhood trauma and abuse. (A/N: This is hurt/comfort, but the past childhood trauma and abuse is only implied as vaguely and subtly as possible while still being treated with the sensitivity and gravity it warrants). Unhealthy coping is mentioned. Healthy coping is also mentioned. A very brief scene involves an adult character being hit on when they do not want to be by another adult (NPC) character who is not respectful when rejected. Another brief scene involves an adult character punching another adult character—followed by non-descriptive depictions of some minor injuries and mentions of blood. Legal/of age drinking is also implied/mentioned. Self-Worth Issues. Insecurities. Kotoko is a jaded and unreliable narrator (A/N: I like to think they characters are in a better place psychologically here (nearly 20 years after Ultra Despair Girls and having begun to get the therapy they so desperately need), but they still have a ways to go and don't always cope in the best/healthiest way. Healing is a journey).

Word Count: 2771

Link to original post on AO3. Please do not repost to another site.

Note: This story was written for @nothing-to-see-here-bye-yall and is my first work in the Danganronpa fandom so I'm a little nervous. I really loved Ultra Despair Girls, even though there were so many elements that were just heartbreakingly sad, and I just hope I've done these complex characters and their friendship justice in this piece.

Story below the cut. Thank you for reading!

Kotoko focused on counting the backsplash tiles behind the bar counter—mismatched and uneven with a tendency for cracking and falling off. The bartender, a friend of hers, had let her take a piece of broken tile home a couple of months ago, when it had fallen off the wall on her thirtieth birthday. The barkeep had insisted it was lucky, but Kotoko hadn’t been too sure. And now that she was trying her best to drown out the unwanted attention of the thug who had just walked up to drunkenly hit on her, no doubt, she was certain that even now she was too cursed to be lucky.

“I’m not interested,” she said again. Between the loud, rowdy noises of the bar and the blasting background music, she could barely make out what he was saying, but he clearly wasn’t getting her message to back off.

Kotoko caught the watchful eye of the bartender who was refilling the beers of a rowdy group at the opposite end of the bar. She nodded at Kotoko, and then whispered something to a waitress who headed to the kitchen, probably to get the chef, a big, burly man who was rumored to be ex-special ops, to keep this patron in line or throw him out if he got out of hand.

In the meantime, she added, “Besides, I already have somebody” particularly loudly for good measure in the hopes of getting rid of him. It wasn’t true, of course, but her friends were always game to step in and pretend to be her fake significant other if she needed to deter some drunk dirtwad and his unwelcomed interest in her. Luckily, she had just so happened to run into Nagisa in the bar an hour ago, and he was quick to jump in, leaning back in his barstool to glare at this bar thug who merely scoffed at them.

Kotoko could hear that dirtbag’s next words plainly above the low roar, and they made her feel sick. “I can show you a better time than this scrawny shrimp.”

“She said, ‘no’ so back off.” Nagisa rose from his seat at the bar counter stepping in front of Kotoko. From her high barstool, she was “taller” than him for the first time in nearly two decades, but as tall as Nagisa was—which Kotoko supposed was relatively average for a grown man—that drunk jerk towered over him when he raised himself to his full height.

“You gonna make me, pipsqueak?”

“Nagisa…” Kotoko reached out her hand, but before she could grab his arm it flew forward, his fist colliding with the man’s nose. Nagisa was slim, lanky—nowhere near brawny enough for a bar fight, and he looked almost ridiculous starting one in his three-piece business suit. He might as well have hit the man with his briefcase, if he had had one. His opponent was visibly surprised but unamused and returned the punch with a right hook that crashed into Nagisa’s cheek when he turned his head in an only partially successful attempt to dodge.

Luckily, Chef quickly broke it up before things got too ugly, but Nagisa was already worse for wear. As the chef kicked that thug out of the bar, the bartender ushered a bruised Nagisa into the backroom so Kotoko could tend to his wounds before they headed out.

With a frown, she shook her head as she tried to clean off his face with some warm soapy water. “You’re probably going to have a black eye now,” she sighed. Nagisa winced as she pressed the cold compress to his cheek. “What were you thinking? You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

Kotoko could have almost sworn she saw Nagisa’s mouth twitch in the corners, but he said dryly, “I guess we’ve come a long way if you’re worried about me dying now.”

She couldn’t tell if he was being completely serious or not. Sure, there had been a time in their lives when they couldn’t have cared less what happened to them, but almost twenty years had passed since they had tried to make their “Children’s Paradise.” They were adults now, and after nearly two decades of court-ordered therapy, they had accepted that. As far as Kotoko knew, none of them had a death wish anymore, least of all Nagisa who was probably the most successful of their group with his job coordinating the implementation of air filtration systems with the Future Foundation’s laboratory. Or something like that… Kotoko never could keep up with him when he talked about his work—whatever he was trying to say got muddled in all kinds of technical jargon. Masaru’s job with Fuyuhiko’s independent security contractors and Jataro’s work in the field of prosthetics were much easier to follow and understand. The boys didn’t ask her much about her work with the newly restored child protective services. She had once tried to explain that she mainly worked with orphans or children who had been displaced or had gotten separated from their families in the more dangerous, lawless portions of their slowly rebuilding world, but they knew, had always known, her reasons for choosing that line of work. She was their “Fighter” after all, and she fought for those children now, protected them like no one had protected her friends…like no one had protected her.

It was her life’s purpose or raison d'etre as Nagisa would probably say, and in that, she was happy—or at least, she was learning to be, even if some days were still enough to drive her to the local bar, a real hole in the wall joint in the basement of what used to be a department store. While Towa City had been built back up over the last twenty years, there were parts that still remained rundown and ruined. This was one of them. She was surprised to run into Nagisa there, considering he spent most of his time in the shiny, new city center, but maybe he had had a rough day at work as well. Regardless she was sure he must be having a rough day now considering the bruised and bloodied condition of his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said running his hand through his hair. “I really didn’t mean to start a fight. I just—I saw the look on your face and I just…” He stopped. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t worth it,” she insisted quietly, wiping the blood off his jaw. She shook her head and frowned. His lip was busted too.

“It was to me. I couldn’t just sit there and watch that pr—Ow!” Nagisa winced as she pressed the rag to the bleeding corner of his mouth.

“Sorry.” Kotoko paused, shaking her head again. “You need to hold this here—otherwise you’re going to stain your suit.”

Nagisa nodded, and his hands reached up to take the compress from her. His fingers were long, spindly and surprisingly cold. Kotoko didn’t suppose that the cool night air blowing through the small open window in the storage room was enough to leave his hands so chilled. She flinched and pulled her hand away.

“Kotoko, are you alright?”

Her brow furrowed. “I’m not the one who just got punched in the face.”

“You’re trembling…” His voice trailed, and he held out his free hand to her, recoiling it into a fist in the last second. “I’m sorry. Can I…? That is…do you want me to—hug you? It’s okay if you don’t…just you look shaken so I thought I should ask.”

“I’m fine, Nagisa. Really,” she insisted, but her voice wavered. “Besides, pricks like that don’t harass me nearly as much now that I’ve changed my hair…” With it cut pixie short and dyed dark black, she didn’t attract nearly as much attention nowadays, which she preferred.

“So that’s why you dyed it…?” he half-asked, half-stated. Kotoko nodded.

“Don’t you like it?”

Nagisa shrugged. “It’s nice. I just…kind of miss the pink, I guess…” he admitted, far more honest than he probably would have been if he had been completely sober, Kotoko thought. His face fell and something sorrowful passed over his eyes. “I wish you didn’t have to change yourself to feel safe.”

Something ached in Kotoko’s chest. She wished that too. She wished a lot of things… She pushed the thought away with a shake of her head. “You’ve always got to make everything so deep, Nagisa. I like my dark hair. Sure, it isn’t adorbs, but that’s why…” She stopped. “Look this isn’t even about me. This is about the fact that you’ve gotten yourself beat up ‘defending my honor’ or whatever after I tried to stop you.” Waving her hand, she rolled her eyes at those words.

Nagisa rubbed the back of his neck. “I said I was sorry. That’s the first time I’ve ever even done something like that...”

“Probably too much vodka.” She crossed her arms with a huff. “I don’t think drinking agrees with you—it makes you impulsive and reckless. It’s weird, and I don’t like it—you’re supposed to be the responsible one. We don’t need another Masaru.” Masaru didn’t drink, ever. He had never really discussed it with her, besides to tell her off for turning to the bottle when life got a little too hard, but she had always assumed he was afraid of the type of person he would become if he did start drinking, the type of person liquor might make him. She was sure Nagisa understood what she meant though. Masaru was impulsive enough without it. “But at least he’s brawny enough to pick a fight. You don’t see a lot of scrawny businessmen going after thugs twice their size like that. You should stick to destroying people with logic and statistics.” Her mouth twitched teasingly, but Nagisa changed the subject with a sigh.

“Have you talked to Masaru lately?”

“He called last week, but only for a couple of minutes. He’s in another relationship apparently...” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Nagisa, however, did not.

“That seems to be his drug of choice these days.” He shook his head bitterly before his face softened, and his voice grew quiet as he apologized, “I’m sorry. I know that must be upsetting to you.”

Kotoko took a deep breath. “I’m not mad at him. I understand he’s just looking for love or acceptance or whatever…” She huffed, but her shoulders slumped. “I just…I just wish we were enough for him—that the love of his friends was…” She stopped and stared at her hands. “But I guess not.”

“I don’t think it’s personal.” Nagisa sighed. “Jataro’s in love now too—or thinks he is. Somebody he works with at the lab—with shiny glasses or something…”

“Do you think people like us can really even fall in love? To bring someone normal into this mess…” Her voice trailed, and Nagisa shrugged his shoulders.

“Maybe. I don’t think it’s impossible.”

“Oh? You have the great love of your life stashed away somewhere?” There was a certain unintended bitterness that seeped into her words. She frowned as she watched the tips of Nagisa’s ears turn red.

“I think my work is probably the love of my life.” He chuckled lightly, almost sheepishly. “Married to the job, I guess…”

Kotoko almost snorted a breathy laugh. “I thought out of all of us, you’d want to settle down, have a ‘picket fence’ life.”

Nagisa paused and stared down at the ground. His voice grew so quiet she could scarcely hear him confess, “I don’t deserve to be so happy.”

Kotoko sighed. Drinking made him honest too. She had forgotten about that. “Don’t say nonsense like that. You were always the best of us. If you want something, you should go out and get it. Don’t just sit around punishing yourself for something that happened 20 years ago.”

“If I get in a relationship, where will that leave you? I think we’d be better off sticking together—let Masaru and Jataro work out all that stuff.”

Kotoko frowned. He had completely ignored and evaded everything she had just said. He certainly had a knack for that. She supposed he had a point though. Her friends knew all too well that a romantic relationship was something she didn’t want, probably could never want, not anymore. If her boys all settled down that meant she’d be alone, and while she didn’t think she would mind it much, it might be nice to have another friend who stayed perpetually single with her.

“I suppose you do give off that married to the job vibe…” shrugged Kotoko. “Though you also give off that ‘doomed to be in love with someone he’ll never have’ vibe too”—she paused—“Promise me that’s not the case.”

Nagisa’s cheeks flushed, but he said, “It isn’t.”

“Good. I don’t want you hung up on Monaca or something forever.” Kotoko stopped abruptly, realizing only from the look on Nagisa’s face what she had just said. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine,” he cut her off quickly and abruptly. “I haven’t thought about Monaca in years.”

Truthfully, Kotoko hadn’t either. Even so, the question which followed slipped out before she could stop herself. “Do you ever…imagine what our lives would have been without her?”

“What lives? We’d be dead,” Nagisa replied with a bitter dryness. “As much as I struggle to forgive her for everything that came after, I can admit that we are alive today because of her and Junko. And I think that maybe that’s worth something…” He paused and met her eyes. “I mean just look at you—at everything you’ve done for those children. Without you, they would have had no one to fight for them.”

Kotoko’s face grew warm, but she frowned. “Oh, so I’m a fighter now…? I thought I needed you to defend me?”

Nagisa let out a long, heavy sigh and swallowed hard. “Look, I really am sorry about earlier. I know there is a lot of fight in you, probably more than any of us, so…I really wasn’t trying to step on your toes and fight your battles for you. I’m sorry if it came off that way…I guess, I was just thinking that sometimes if a person spends all of their time and energy fighting for other people, they don’t have enough fight left in them for themselves.” The tips of his ears turned red, and he added hurriedly, “And I don’t mean that in an insulting way…I just…”

“Or,” she quietly interrupted him. He stopped, and she could feel him turning to look at her as she twisted her hands and continued. “Or they don’t think there’s anything left in them worth saving…They’re just too broken…”

“That’s not true,” he said without a moment’s hesitation. She couldn’t bring herself to look up at him, but as she stared down at the ground, she noticed his hand hovering almost sheepishly above hers before he asked, “Can I…hold your hand?”

Kotoko nodded, and he took it. His hand was warm now and clasped hold of hers with a sturdy, reassuring squeeze. When she finally looked up at him again, he said, “There is so much in you that is worth protecting, and I’d do it again, in a second.”

His face softened, and he smiled at her with something so kind, so earnest in his eyes that she wanted to believe him. And maybe she would someday. Maybe someday she’d grow out her hair again, letting in fall in long, pink locks that Jataro would want to braid and play with like he had used to do when they were kids. Maybe someday she’d get out that pink sweater Masaru had gotten her for her birthday and let him take her dancing in that park in the city center where someone, somehow, found the strength to play live music even in their bleak, post-apocalyptic world. Maybe someday she and Nagisa would come back here to this bar and sit and talk for hours and she would put her armor aside for just a moment and allow herself to feel safe, to feel protected, to feel happy with him by her side. But for now, she just smiled and rested her head on his shoulder with a grateful, “Thank you.”

In the comfortable silence that followed, she began to think that maybe Nagisa was right after all. Maybe even the fighter deserved to be fought for every once in a while.

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aspiringwarriorlibrarian · 2 years

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I think what's interesting about Toph's character in Korra is how much her decisions in life seem (at least based on what I vaguely remember of the series; haven't seen it since 2014 so bear with me if I make mistakes or forget details) to be a deconstruction/dark examination of aspects of her character in the original series.

Toph Beifong choosing to be a cop, while definitely "problematic" given the deeply disturbing nature of what cops are like in real life then and now, also in truth makes some sense.

Toph is very used to her life being treated as a lesser person because of her disability, being essentially isolated and powerless over her own destiny. While she was able to forge bonds with people who valued her and show her power as an Earthbender and as Aang's teacher, I don't doubt that this core element of her personality would still remain, and would tie into her decisions later on.

She rebelled against authority because of how often authority refused to treat her as someone worthwhile, and I think it manifested in her later life by trying to find a way to ensure that she would never feel so powerless after the war ended, something that I especially think applied when she expanded into being the teacher of Metalbending, and later the Chief of Metalbending Cops.

Being Chief of Police in Republic City later on, where she can fight against crime with her being in a respected position of authority where other people can't look down on her for her blindness would have seemed invigorating for someone like her. However, being a cop, she also ends up running headfirst into the grayer side of this kind of authority and position, where she can't truly do much against the corruption for a number of reasons, both legally or otherwise. And any mistakes, any failures now firmly hang over her own head, especially if she or anyone under her command caused it.

And for someone like her, who is used to either handling situations in her life with either subterfuge (like being the Blind Bandit) or in facing things head on, I think this situation proved to be much tougher and more stressful than she really knew how to handle, because a lot of the situations she deals with and the consequences of her decisions are vastly different from the perspective of authority vs being the underdog.

This in particular leads into the deconstruction of her being a master of Neutral Jing, as King Bumi once noted. While this is a very western (and thus not entirely informed and probably flawed) interpretation, it’s pretty evident that this mindset that worked so well for her on an individual level and as a teacher was much less effective when she was in a position of authority during a time when things weren’t as straightforward during the war.

Waiting and listening before striking is an important trait to have for an Earthbender, and arguably probably would have made her a damn sight more competent as Chief of Police compared to some cops (especially since being gung ho or cowboy cop probably wouldn’t have gone well). But at the same time, it’s also evident just how much it could also just as easily backfire, with the flaws of her own upbringing combined together with this Neutral Jing leaning mindset resulting in her being a poor parent, unable or unwilling to properly and proactively deal with the problems of Lin and Suyin, thus leading to some of the problems they’d have in the actual series proper, and especially the problems that would plague the rest of the Beifong family.

It’s also in many ways a direct parallel or possibly an examination/deconstruction of her effectively being LoK’s version of Bumi, who she’s been drawn to have some parallels given her eventual mentor position, and some side comics where they battled over who was the best Earthbender. They’re also both masters of Neutral Jing, both approach their situations reactively, and both rose to positions of authority during complicated times.

However, Bumi’s character was played relatively straight, with his decision to surrender being accepted as the right one in the long term given that they weren’t ready to deal with a siege that could put the population in serious jeopardy, a case of Neutral Jing being primarily a positive force. His decision to remain in a position of surrender was built on the long-term plan of taking the city back because he needed to find the right time to do so, and doing it too soon or too late would only jeopardize the lives of others. He appears to also been a king for a long period of time, and thus would have had a lot of complex experiences to build off of to justify his understanding of the world and how he approached it.

Toph’s situation in that sense, comes off as a counterpoint to that, where her predominantly reactive methods would end up causing a number of problems as I mentioned above, and her limits in her experiences would also play into her weaknesses as a mentor and family matriarch.

When fighting in the war against the Fire Nation, the world as she knew it was very much black and white. Their side good, Fire Nation leadership bad, with the only true gray area for her being Zuko within her limited experiences.

We see elements of this flawed mindset when she’s discussing the problems of the various enemies that Korra has faced, where her view on the matter is that they had good ideals but went too far and fell hard...because arguably, that’s possibly how she saw things in regards to the Fire Nation when Aang told the Gaang about the origins of the Fire Nations’ fall during the Roku/Sozin episode: Sozin being a “good” person with good intentions who went too far and everything fell apart afterwards, even though it’s clear that the situation is a lot more complicated than that. Also could be argued that’s the case with her family, given that they were well meaning but took their controlling tendencies too far.

And in the case of the Equalists, Unalaq, and the Red Lotus, it was definitely more complex than that, with the first two groups being driven by opportunists who took advantage of good ideologies built on very real complicated concerns for their own selfish gain, and the Red Lotus being built on a fundamentally flawed ideology that ultimately led to disastrous problems with the rise of the Earth Empire.

Combine the above with her reactive personality, and what we end up having is a fairly logical end result and deconstruction for Toph, where the traits that made her so effective in her youth ultimately ended up leading her to be far less able to function effectively in the ever-changing and increasingly complicated world of Korra. Reactive when she needed to be proactive, narrowly focused in her wisdom due to different contexts and understandings built on a different era during a time when complex situation needs more complex solution, and her only able to really try to patch up her past mistakes after the damage had been done.

Sorry if this post was extremely messy, and I’ve probably forgotten at least a good chunk of Avatar lore and story in the process.

Still don't agree with it, but yeah, that's a good point.

#toph beifong

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 1 year

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I do not think that what is going on here can be explained by the people involved having a habit of using "atheist" to refer to everyone who disagrees with them. In particular, I don't think it was a habit when in this context they used "militant atheism".

This seems like an oversimplification (ofc) but my impression from Wikipedia, which cites many sources for its claims:

1) Militant Atheists existed as an organized movement during Stalinist times; these were often explicitly left-wing and anti-religion because religion was associated with counterrevolutionary elements. The Wikipedia article doesn't mention whether any of those militants called themselves "Atheists," though. They might have been proud secular humanists or something instead.

2) Some modern western secular activists may call themselves "atheists."

3) Many secular American activists are at least nominally opposed to religious displays on public property, and some use the term "militant atheism" for such movements even if they aren't partisan communists. These groups tend to focus more on education than harassment -- there isn't much evidence of overly aggressive tactics being employed except maybe in some cases where there has been significant pushback against them.

4) There exist various other organizations whose main goal is pushing back against religious influence in government policy, including lobbying efforts about issues like school prayer laws and same sex marriage. Again, while none of these groups appear to employ bullying methods, some opponents would consider their work militant simply due to the intensity of opposition.

5) Finally, there are no doubt individuals within all these subgroups (and perhaps others?) who express a desire to eliminate religion entirely through whatever means necessary. Most probably don't actually want to kill anyone unless they could get away with it without suffering legal consequences, so most of their talk is bluster meant only to intimidate rather than threaten violence, but still.

So yes, you can claim that "there really wasn't anything resembling the kind of thing you call 'militant atheism'" under conditions #1 - #3, but you cannot legitimately say that these things didn't happen under condition #4 or #5. Even then, we shouldn't expect to find obvious examples of someone saying "death to the unbeliever!" since these subgroups tend to try to avoid doing stuff that gets attention outside of their own circles. But otherwise, "using terminology that insults you personally" is just about the definition of "bullying."

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umairkamil · 8 months

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How to use ChatGPT to Write a Full Business Plan

As a business owner or startup founder, having a clear plan of action is crucial.

But a plan that stands out requires research, time and adding your personal flavour.

This can be extremely daunting and hiring a project manager would set you back $1000's of dollars.

Instead, I decided to use ChatGPT with GPT-4 to build out my entire business plan.

You have probably already heard of ChatGPT, but here's a quick refresher of the most relevant happenings

GPT-3 could support a limited 8000 tokens, which is approximately 6000 words

GPT-4 can now support an impressive 32,000 tokens which comes to approx 24000 words

This is based on 0.75 words per token, as mentioned frequently on Open AI's website. But for a more precise count, you can go here: https://platform.openai.com/tokenizer

With the increased limit, GPT-4 can now work effectively with lengthy documents. Think documentation for programming languages, complex legal contracts, dense academic papers, etc.

On top of this, GPT-4 "hallucinates" a lot less than GPT-3.

GPT-3 would often misrepresent information and its factual accuracy would often be doubtful.

But with GPT-4, you can expect up to 40% improvement in the correctness of responses. This means better "cognitive" abilities and improvement when it comes to referring to knowledge that was shared during a conversation.

So given these improvements, I decided to treat ChatGPT with GPT-4 as my co-founder.

Here is the prompt I started with:

You are SocialHustleGPT (also called SH-GPT). You are my cofounder and together we will be building a brand called "Second Brain Operating System". This brand is all about SAAS Tools, AI Tools, Workflows, Systems, Prompt Engineering and Content Marketing.

Then I gave it a deep understanding of my business and after just a few minutes, it not only understood but also gave clear examples of applying the concepts.

This is when I knew that I had essentially trained a "co-founder". I could now ask it any questions regarding my business and future possibilities.

So I gave it the following prompts

Given our entire conversation, how should we go about building Second Brains Operating System's brand? I want to focus on building strong branding on the basis of "build digital distribution first". Give me the plan with a clear name for the phase and steps.

Next, want to build it into the "SAAS" platform for the Second Brain Operating System. Give me the plan in phases with clear steps.

Can you suggest any other phase with steps? Or are the 2 phases enough?

And here's everything it said

Phase 1: Second Brain Operating System Brand Ideology, Audience Growth, and Engagement

1a Define brand positioning and messaging:

Clearly define the brand's unique value proposition, messaging, and tone of voice that resonates with the target audience.

Develop a clear brand identity, including visual elements like logos, colour schemes, and font styles.

1b Brand Website, Social media setup and Analytics setup

Set up the brand's website and relevant social media accounts, including Twitter, LinkedIn, and other niche-specific platforms.

Ensure consistent branding across all platforms, with attention-grabbing visuals and copy.

Implement analytics and tracking to monitor engagement metrics and guide future optimization efforts.

1c Brand Content Creation, Distribution, Engagement & Collaboration

Create a comprehensive content calendar that outlines the types of content to be created, posting schedules, and content themes. Ensure that the calendar aligns with the brand's objectives and targets the needs and interests of the target audience.

Consistently create high-quality content (text, video, and audio) on SAAS tools, prompt engineering, and content marketing.

Use storytelling and copywriting techniques to make content engaging, shareable, and valuable to the target audience.

Optimize content for shareability with attention-grabbing headlines and visuals.

Build and maintain a strong presence on relevant social media platforms.

Share content, engage with the audience, and participate in relevant discussions to increase reach and visibility.

Utilize content distribution channels like online communities and forums.

Encourage the audience to engage with content and free info products by offering valuable lead magnets and asking thought-provoking questions.

Develop relationships with audience members by responding to comments and messages.

Transform the audience into a community by fostering regular engagement, hosting virtual events, and providing opportunities for members to connect and collaborate.

Collaborate with influencers and industry experts to create joint content or guest posts, increasing the visibility and credibility of the content.

1d Brand Email list growth and marketing

Use lead magnets and high-value content to attract subscribers to the email list.

Send regular newsletters with valuable insights, updates, and opportunities for the audience to connect.

Leverage email marketing for promoting digital products.

1e Brand Digital Info Product development and sales

Create paid digital information products, such as Notion templates, courses, and e-books, based on the audience's needs and feedback.

Utilize low-code and no-code tools for rapid product development and automation.

Promote and sell digital products through targeted email campaigns, social media posts, and other marketing channels.

1f Brand Analytics and continuous improvement

Monitor and analyze engagement metrics to understand the impact of content and identify opportunities for improvement.

Test and iterate different content formats, posting schedules, and promotional strategies to find what resonates best with the audience and drives engagement.

Phase 2: Develop and Launch the Second Brain Operating System SAAS

2a. Define SAAS product requirements

Clearly outline the features and functionalities of the Second Brain Operating System based on the methodology and user needs

2b. SAAS Integration planning

Research and identify the most popular and relevant note-taking tools and platforms that users may already be using, such as Notion, Evernote, Roam Research, Obsidian, and Mem.

Plan the integration process to ensure seamless compatibility between the Second Brain Operating System and these tools, without replacing them.

2c. Design SAAS user experience

Develop user flows, wireframes, and visual design elements to create an intuitive and engaging user experience for the chrome extension, web application, and mobile app

2d. SAAS Technical development

Design and build the Chrome extension, web application, and mobile application, incorporating the core features, functionalities, and integrations. Implement analytics and event tracking to facilitate the measurement phase of the Second Brain Operating System.

2e. SAAS Testing and refinement

Thoroughly test the Second Brain Operating System for usability, compatibility, and performance. Gather user feedback and make necessary refinements to the system to ensure a high-quality user experience.

2f. SAAS Launch and promotion

Develop a launch strategy for the Second Brain Operating System, leveraging our existing audience and social media presence. Create promotional content and campaigns to introduce the system to our target audience and demonstrate its value.

Phase 3: Second Brain Operating System SAAS Analytics, Iteration & Improvement

3a. SAAS Event and attribution data analysis

Monitor the usage and success of the Second Brain Operating System by tracking key performance indicators, such as user engagement, conversion rates, and user retention.

Analyze event data to understand user behaviour and identify trends or areas for improvement.

3b. SAAS User feedback and insights

Actively collect user feedback through surveys, reviews, and direct communication to understand their needs, pain points, and areas of satisfaction.

Use this feedback to inform future product improvements, feature development, and marketing strategies.

3c. SAAS Product optimization

Regularly review the Second Brain Operating System’s features, functionality, and integrations to ensure they are providing maximum value to users.

Implement updates, improvements, or new features based on data-driven insights and user feedback.

3d. SAAS Update marketing and promotional strategies

Continuously assess the effectiveness of our marketing and content creation efforts, making adjustments as needed to reach a larger audience and drive user growth.

Experiment with new content formats, platforms, and promotional strategies to broaden our reach and engage with different segments of our target audience.

3e. SAAS Partnership and collaboration opportunities:

Identify and establish partnerships with other tool providers, influencers, and industry experts to increase the visibility and credibility of the Second Brain Operating System. Collaborate on joint projects, co-marketing campaigns, or cross-promotional opportunities to reach new users and provide additional value to our existing audience.

3f. SAAS Community development and engagement:

Continue fostering a strong, engaged community around the Second Brain Operating System by hosting events, workshops, and webinars. Encourage users to share their experiences, tips, and success stories within the community, creating a supportive network and inspiring others to achieve their goals.

3g. SAAS Explore new market opportunities and business growth:

Explore new revenue streams, such as premium features, subscription plans, or licensing agreements, to support the ongoing development and growth of the Second Brain Operating System. Develop strategies to scale the business and reach a larger audience, considering factors such as internationalization, platform expansion, and additional integrations.

Making the Business Plan Actionable

On Twitter, I have recently begun the #HustleGPT challenge

Personally, this was a great opportunity to create a Notion template. So here is why human intuition and AI-powered insights come together.

I started off by creating a database in Notion and adding each "step" as a row

For each step, I defined the step name, phase, step number and details

Now to make the plan more actionable, I added 4 workflow columns: Status, Deadline, Blocked by, Blocking

I decided to keep the status really simple: no value, In Progress, Completed

As for the deadline, it had a start date and an end date.

And the Blocked By column meant "which previous step is a pre-requisite". Whereas blocking means "which next step can't be performed without completing this step"

This resulted in a stellar Notion template with 4 views: List, Gallery, Kanban and Timeline

The List and the Gallery provide a high-level overview of the phase, whereas the Kanban is great for execution.

Luckily, ChatGPT had laid out the steps in the right chronology so creating a neat timeline was easy!

And with the notion's new timeline view, connecting the dots was straightforward.

Whenever you use the timeline view to connect things, the Blocked By and Blocking columns are updated automatically.

And that was it. I had a rock-solid business plan.

ORIGINALLY FOUND ON- Source: Umair Kamil(https://umairkamil.com/chatgpt-business-plan-notion-template/)

#umair kamil #secondbrain os #ai tools #content strategy #prompt engineering

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mask131 · 9 months

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Fantasy authors I WILL NOT buy: Orson Scott Card

Or of the full title of this series: Fantasy authors I WILL NOT buy - I will maybe read them at my local library, because this is what libraries are for, allowing us to read books we don't want at home or authors we do not want to support, but I won't take any copy from a bookshop (unless it is one of those third-hand thrift bookshops)

I know that Orson Scott Card is one of these "great authors" that was heavily praised and talked about until very recently. He notably left a deep mark in science-fiction, but I heard about him due to the presence of his works among some of the "classics" of fantasy. Given he received numerous awards for it, keeps appearing in reference lists and everybody talks about his works, I'll probably take a look at it one day to understand what the fuss is about - and being a bad person doesn't prevent one from being a good writer, so maybe I will end up praising his books even though I dislike the man! But I will certainly never spend my money on his books, at least in any way that would be significant (aka - not from first-hand bookshops).

For one of two reasons.

He is an unapologetic and assumed, public homophobe. This is no secret and this is why Card has come under controversy these recent years. He is officially agains gay marriage and the legalization of gay unions, and he supports anti-gay couple laws. He refuses and condemns the criminalization of the homosexual acts and of homosexuality itself (thanks the gods!), but he considers that if a government streats treating homosexual couples the same way heterosexual couples are treated, "the heterosexual will rebel against the government and destroy it to preserve the sanctity of marriage". He doesn't support the systematic use of anti-homosexuality laws - but he does advise people to use it sparingly, but to send a "strong message" to homosexuals to make them understand they're somehow "violating" society. And of course, he puts in doubt the idea that homosexuality is something we are born with - he is one of these believers of "environment causes homosexuality - especially abuse". I think this is clear enough why I won't support the guy.

This is not as bad as the reason above, but the second reason explains why he is such a proud homophobe - he is a fervent, devout and proud Mormon. Even was a Mormon missionary in his younger years. And I do not like Mormons. For a long time I didn't have any interest or care for Mormons, and I thought of it basically as much as I think about any other little religion current like that... But then I discovered the whole "baptism of the dead " things. How Mormons literaly take over archives just so they can baptize people without they knowing, against their will, so that they would join the Mormon Church that they want it or not - how they go as far as to baptize dead people. There was a whole scandal at one point when they tried (did they succeed?) to baptize Anne Frank to make her a Mormon post-mortem. I will not back down from this: this is a vile practice, that gives so-called "religious" people the power to somehow ignore and erase a lifetime of personal choices and personal fights in the name of a "greater good" that clearlyexists only in their mind - it is an insidious form of religious tyrany and intolerance that literaly resurrects in its foulest form the "Christian savior" mindset that Catholics and protestants enforced onto the world for so many years, perverting their own rite of baptism by removing one of the key elements of humanity by their own definition, "free will". People fought for their religion, people died for their religion, people battled for their religion - and that you accept it or not, no matter what they picked, it is their religion. When they're dead, deciding the religion they chose or dedicated themselves to or sacrificed themselves for is not the one they should be remembered as a part of is not just dishonoring the dead - it is insulting them, pissing on their grave, showing in bright light how completely cut off from human decency and morals you are, or to be more precise how religiously fanatical you are. Anne Frank, come on!

I have to admit I do not know if Card personally supports the "baptism of the dead" thing, but given he has shown support for all parts of the Mormon practices and hasn't criticized it, I guess he also stands for this miserable practice - which is the main reason why I do not like Mormons as a religious organization.

#fantasy #fantasy authors #fantasy authors i will not buy #orson scott card #why i don't like mormons #mormons #homophobia #homophobes

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realhankmccoy · 10 months

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Bootstrapper types are sometimes 3 or 4 yrs old, and it's very creepy to me -- to see. I will not name names -- but you can guess who was responsible for screwing them up in that way, since I only ever talk about 5 naughty naughties, mostly.

Ultimately, Trump is responsible -- yes, it's true.

Boi is pondering my dad's 'favourite' book -- which I doubt my dad actually read, as I have never, not even for even the smallest amount of time that I can recall, seen my dad reading what is known as 'a fucking book!!!!' to the PhD-credentialed patriarchal kids.

Anyhow, Boi is wondering why she, as the same type of person as my dad and Bruce, is feeling the feelings she is feeling... and for that I must reference her to Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham, for as long noted, Boi only bleats for freedom because he has chosen the opposite. There's both a book and a movie, and she can read them both when she has time. I would imagine she has a lot of that -- having no adult responsibilities, silly kitten that she is, and the patriarchy covering shelter, expenses and probably even... nourishment.

I would not consider Boi to be intense -- rather, she's rather faded -- nor masculine -- just a boy trying to be man, certainly not feminine either -- perhaps on puberty blockers, probably because the liberals are handing them out like candy, although only she knows if she's taking puberty blockers or not -- and asexual like most children are.

That she has the same perverse sense of sexual attraction as my dad and probably Bruce is not atypical. Maugham was correct that many people act this way... I would think especially in a country like America where one's Market Cap is the whole point, and obsessing over one's own Market Cap and how to improve it is part and parcel of the sick social structure, one would be constantly driven to the state Of Human Bondage as one obsesses and such over one's value and why one does not seem to like it when somebody else is actually attracted to oneself. Sure, there is the "I wouldn't want to be part of any club that would have someone like me as a member" -- Groucho Marx element, too... the 'club' being 'the cult of love'.

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As a Confederate pirate, Boi is looking for others to 'bring something to the table', exchanging a negro slave for money and such being the only way of life that seemed powerful and masculine enough to gain her promotion as a philosophical outlook on life. She knows it is wrong, but she doesn't care that it's wrong, because Mini-Trump says this is The Apprentice, and "What do you bring to the table" is the very concept of that show.

What she is saying is her anal cherry is as clenched as Bruce's, Dad's, Bro's and Trump's, and so following Trump, she wants to somehow induce desire and market cap in herself so that I raise my assessment of the worth of it and allow her to have Trumpsex with me. I can think of few forms of sex more hideous than Trumpsex, which I absolutely will not be engaging with. If she wants to make herself attractive to me, she needs to start by putting her hairy asshole up in the air and crying that she's sorry and begging for somebody to finger her hole. This would help her break out of the 5% human range she's been flailing around in.

People need each other, given both the animal needs and the human needs that humans have, and it is nonsense to pretend that they don't. Anybody who claims this to be any sort of wisdom or serious position should at the very least do us all a favour and stop needing a doctor or a dentist. Funny how they always come running back to those.

I don't know why Boi thinks she's the only person raised by drunks... and again, as so often, playing a victim about it in a cry for help... unless everyone in her de-nuclearized family has a DUI on their record, as mine does, her family can't be *that* out of control within the legal framework for controlling such excess that the US government wisely set up. As if anyone in Illinois knows how to drink! Bitch, please. Next I'm going to be hearing about how the society down there has a hunting, fishing or sportsball addiction compared to Wisconsin... as if.

The thing is, like most conservatives, Boi plays the victim every day but also, like conservatives, has this fear of anyone 'helping' or 'trying to help' because that's weakness and people can't be trusted and blah blah blah blah blah blah. Seen it a million times, including in my dad and Bruce. Just think how screwed up those aforementioned 3 and 4-yr-olds are gonna be when they're afraid to ask anyone for help their whole life, all cuz Mini-Trump said help is bad. Bish...

Why would I need lectures on the dangers of 'coercion' from somebody who is coerced by her daddy every single day... when I haven't heard from my daddy in almost a calendar year, and that was just one brief 10 minute effort on his part to gaslight and manipulate and shame me -- and when my mantra is 'do whatever you want cuz your dad and America are 180 degrees upside down, but if you simply must act on the coercion your father gives you, do the opposite of what your dad wants of you just to spite him'.

In other words, here we have a case of pure projection. The one living under coercion, brainwashing and passivity is herself. Boi must work to wrest herself free of the coercion, brainwashing and passivity induced by the patriarchy.

Perhaps if she does, she could be celebrating her 8th trip to Paris, like I am tonight, only I would rather see her in Zagreb, Osijek, Rijeka or Moscow.... heck, even Belarus. Just think if we could get her to Moscow and get her off the puberty blockers... the third trip to Moscow, I'd reckon, puberty would kick in, her testicles would drop and it would be the start of a lifelong blossoming.

You don't need to be a basic and go to Paris like I do, kids. I'm basic enough without producing more of me.

Has somebody told her we don't use the R word anymore? I really dislike this sort of cowardice of picking on the REETARDS when she obviously lacks the mouth to pop off against the BLACKS that she avoids in similar fashion. This is always the case with social conservatives, and this is how you know they are weak on their alleged 'freedom fighting'.

As for Boi going on some mini-Trump spree about how smart she finds herself to be and then transitioning into more conservative stuff about being the victim (but not wanting help)... she'll just have to use her Trumpsmart brain to try to process that, however long it takes him.

Here's a hint: you're not very much of a victim if you don't want help.

Victims are begging and crying for help all the time on planet earth... their child has a disease, they are lying bloody on the pavement, somebody stole their wallet, they don't want to live so they call the suicide hotline, HELP ME, HELP ME they cry...

Who has time for this bootstraps crap about how 'the help' cannot be trusted? I guess her brain is as defective as those Christian Scientists who don't want chemotherapy cuz the help of modern medicine is not to be trusted, so one bootstraps oneself through a lot of prayer...

Perhaps she can start with therapy.

Therapy isn't just for crazies. It's for everyone, like going to the spa.

She probably doesn't want therapy or even think she needs therapy because 1) ideology of bootstraps in her head making her as dumb of a cluck as a Christian Scientist 2) she knows her own problems were hardly even that serious of problems, relatively speaking, which is why she decided instead to come up with some Choose Your Own Adventure funsies about making a game out of her mental illness.

Sometimes making a joke about something is the first step towards more serious engagement, especially when folks are, you know, thinking about the Trump train.

Hopefully her jokes and amateur self-analysis lead her towards a therapist who can help her process all this. Lordt knows she has the time and resources for that. Since she needs to get her primal aggression on to do anything, she could even throw it in her parents' face that she needs therapy because they screwed her up so bad.

That would feel good for her, I'm sure, rather than just muttering about it in the dark to an audience of me.

She is a bootlicker and projects this quality unto others, like all repressed conservacucks and those in mini-Trump's clutches.

She cannot even handle Boi being appended to her instead of Bro, for so eager is her desire to polish the hetero world's boots and pull herself up by her own boostraps.

She really needs to get out of this mindset in which all Parents and Authority Figures have never done anything for anyone except crush their 'true selves'. It's quite typical Millennial and it comes from being spoiled.

All those meals did not cook themselves, those rooftops did not tile themselves, tears were not dried, hugs were not given -- but even more importantly, kid, adults tell you what to do and what is best for you because a child is incapable of knowing. Their minds are not fully formed, and they do not understand why the adult world operates in the way it does and why certain aspects of life have value other than just GEE THAT MARIO MOVIE LOOKS LIKE SOME BONEWHITE QUALITÄT.

Being an adult and taking on broader social responsibilities beyond one's own naval is a lot of work. You should try it sometime.

Certainly, you've splashed in the pool from time to time concerning social responsibility and social issues. You clearly have some capacity for it, like much of your generation. You clearly do better at it than perhaps 50% of the males, which is good enough... even if by my standards, it is just a ridiculous and confused teaspoon or two of mishmash that I would almost want to turn back around, tell you it's an airplane, and ask you to open your mouth for the aeroplane... and all so I could fly it back in for you and you could decide what you're cooking up actually does to the tastebuds, throat and digestive tract. But I'm too nice of a babysitter for that, I guess.

Three teaspoons make a tablespoon, kid. It'd be a start.

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#rhcp #red hot chili peppers #trump #usa

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juniorgman187 · 3 years

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Be Forever Young (Reid Fluff Fic)

Summary: After Penelope’s resignation from the BAU, she attempts to set up her tech protégé, Reader, with Reader’s intellectual match yet much older counterpart - Dr. Spencer Reid.

A/N: The POV switches between Reader and Spencer, just use context clues to detect who the narrator is. Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: 21 year age gap, headcannon proposal Playlist: Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny Word Count: 6.1k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Prologue

Events like these weren’t exceedingly rare. They weren’t anything like Halley’s Comet, by any means, where it only happens once in your lifetime - if you’re lucky. But they weren’t exactly sunrises - something that you can count on occurring every day without fail.

The best celestial phenomenon I could compare it to are blue moons. Rare enough to still have an element of surprise when they came, but not so rare that I should never expect them.

These ‘blue moons’ are actually the events in which I meet an intellectual match.

It’s not too often that I find a mind quite like mine, so you’ll forgive me for the reaction it elicits to watch them transcend the physical level and connect with me on the psychological one. There’s only been a handful of people who’ve ever had the exact standard of aptitude to be permissible into this metaphysical world with me, but now - there’s a handful and one.

The newest addition to the list is her.

_ _ _

Getting a word in edgewise when it comes to a conversation with Penelope Garcia is nearly impossible. Getting a word in edgewise when it comes to a conversation with Penelope Garcia about Dr. Spencer Reid is impossible.

I couldn’t tell you when the first time she brought him up was, but I could probably tell you just how many times since then she’s mentioned him.

A trillion. At least.

For months on end, he was the only thing she would talk to me about. Morning, noon, and night. Every single day she’d gush about him with the same unrelenting zeal as she had the day before and the day before that. It was both scary and impressive how she never seemed to run out of good things to say about him.

“You would just die for his apartment. It’s got this super chic dark academia thingy going on. You’d be really into that,” she would say. Or something to that effect. I was never really listening.

Not that I wasn’t interested in learning about Dr. Reid - I was very interested in him.

As a superior.

I first learned of him when he taught my Psych 101 class. Freshman year me was simply enthralled with him as a speaker, probably due to the charm of his awkward humor. I found it eerily relatable and touching, in a way. That was probably my favorite class, minus the assholes who made it less than enjoyable at times. (That’s a story for later).

The next interaction I had with him happened not even a year later when he came back after temporarily teaching to sit in on a philosophy class. Even though he was only auditing the lecture, whereas I was enrolled in the course, he ended up sitting in the seat right beside me. Had he not been gifted with an eidetic memory - a fact I found out during one of my obsessive research sessions - I doubt he would’ve even remembered sitting next to me.

Our shared field of work helped to bring us back together repeatedly throughout college. I would run into him at seminars, workshops, once even at a library where we were both looking for the same book.

But for the most part, our relationship was parasocial. It largely consisted of me learning from him at a distance. I would use his brilliant research to support my own assignments, read the books he recommended, audit the classes he would teach.

Rather than accurately interpreting my very limited, very professional connection to Dr. Reid, Penelope was deliberately using it as ammunition for her arsenal of reasons why I should consider dating him.

“You guys are basically already friends, and nothing is cuter than the friends-to-lovers trope!” Now that she actually did say, and the only reason I remember it verbatim was it was so outrageous I couldn’t not remember it.

And probably because she just said it to me right now.

“We’re not friends! We’re ... acquaintances. Colleagues, if you will.” My attempts to gain distance from Penelope and this topic of conversation were crashing and burning. The more I tried to walk away from her, the faster she would chase me. It was inconceivable how she managed to do that and continue to pelt me with her perky persistence.

“Even better! You know I’m no stranger to workplace romances.”

That I did. One Derek Morgan or one Luke Alvez ring a bell?

“Dr. Reid and I don’t work together,” I reminded her, if only to burst her bubble of insanity.

“Exactly my point! If you two don’t work together, then there’s nothing keeping you apart.”

I was stopped dead in my tracks, almost causing Penelope to trip since she was right on my heels.

“Nothing? Really? Try 21 years.”

That surely kept us apart.

Our age gap was one of those glaring disparities Penelope couldn’t wave away with her magic wand. Frankly, it wasn’t an age gap so much as it was an age Grand Canyon. He was a whole person of legal drinking age older than me!

Hell - our age gap itself was older than me!

Maybe there weren’t any contracts or agreements or supervisors to keep us apart, but there was still one significant thing doing that.

Time. Arguably the most important thing you needed to get right for a relationship to work.

If there were any chance that he and I were good together, that was squandered by our divergence in age.

Right person, wrong time ... but wrong time by more than two decades.

I could see the smallest fragment of hope wither away in Garcia’s eyes, and it actually hurt to have known that I caused that. Her voice was more solemn when she said, “You don’t have to date him, I just want you to go on a date. Get to know each other better. Who knows? You might finally graduate from colleagues to BFF’s.”

Not that I was seriously considering the possibility of growing closer to Dr. Reid, but there was one question lingering in my mind.

“Does he even want to go on this date? Have you asked him how he feels about it?”

Part of why I was wondering was on the off chance that she’d tell me he had the same objections towards this that I did, which would be good news for me since it would mark my reluctance as a sound judgment. If there was anyone whose opinion was worth something, it was his, right? After all, he was the provable genius in the same compromising position as me.

“Trust me, he’s been dying to do this.” In spite of her preface to trust her, I didn’t. I couldn’t be sure if she was suggesting that he’d been dying to go on a date with me or if he’d been dying to go on a date in general.

No offense to him, but I guessed it was the latter, and if that was the case, he was only being a team player because she hadn’t told him it was me she was setting him up with. Already suspecting that I’d probe further to navigate through her vagueness, she cut in with one last Hail Mary. “One date! That’s all!”

Whether you believe me or not, 100% the only reason why I said what I said next was to put an end to this madness. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Maybe 99.99%.

_ _ _

I never knew how I could lose so much time. Sure, if anyone asked, I could probably account for everything I’d done in my day, second by second. But still, there was this cloudiness, a fog, inhabiting my brain, casting this haze on whatever else dwelled in my mind, too.

I couldn’t focus on anything for more than 4 seconds at a time, and while that wasn’t incredibly concerning for the average human, it was disconcerting for me.

What was going on?

What is going on?

“What’s going on?”

Suddenly, a hand began to wave in front of my face. “Yoo-hoo? Anybody in there?” JJ wondered aloud, causing me to realize it was her voice that asked the question from before.

“Yeah, sorry,” I shook my head to regain some clarity, but that did me no good. My foggy brain still remained. It goes without saying my words were worth nothing as well. JJ saw right through me in a way that never failed to scare me shitless. I could never conjure up a lie good enough to follow that look she’d give me. So I settled for the truth. The question that cast the haziness in my brain to begin with.

“What do you think about me dating again?”

If I thought that first look was bad, then the one she was giving me now was something of a nightmare. At least with the first, I knew what she was thinking. With this one, I hadn’t a clue.

To relieve us from some of the insufferable silence, I found myself speaking again in my defense. “Garcia mentioned something earlier about setting me up with someone and it got me thinking.”

Thinking about Max that is.

Being my most recent girlfriend, it made sense why she was freshest in my mind. That being said, we’ve been broken up for 14 months, which in any other context would seem like more than enough time to start dating again, but therein lies the catch.

We didn’t just break up. She said “no” when I asked her to marry me, which, if you ask me, is one hell of a way to break up.

So from that perspective, it obviously begs the question: is 14 months too fast to move on from something like that?

JJ sharply inhaled. “Well, are you ready to start dating again?”

I still didn’t have an answer for that myself. “I don’t know. There isn’t exactly a rulebook on how long you have to wait until it’s socially acceptable-”

“Lemme stop you right there, Spence,” She placed her hand on top of mine. “You can’t just do whatever statistics or studies or science say is right all the time. You not only need to be more in tune with your own needs but accepting of them, too. Screw what anyone else has to say about you dating again - including Socrates, including Einstein, including Aristotle ... including me. Do whatever you think is acceptable by your standards - not society’s. Do what you wanna do and I’ll support that.”

There was something special about having JJ’s approval. It was like getting permission to be excited, something I didn’t know I needed or wanted.

“I’m ready.”

Born ready, as Penelope herself would say.

_ _ _

I was starting to get suspicious that maybe I had an invisible string attached to me and on the other end of that string was Penelope. It was the only explanation as to how she managed to trail behind me at an isochronal pace. Perfectly equidistant, perfectly equal intervals of time. Must’ve been some form of magic that she was able to synchronize that connection for as long as she did as we pranced around the office, basically chasing me.

“Okay, I know the date isn’t until Saturday, but I really think we need to amp up your wardrobe choices ... like stat.”

Hearing that I was seeing my superior still didn’t settle well with me. I don’t think I could ever get used to the thought.

I should’ve been offended at her suggestion to change my clothing taste as it implied my stylistic choices weren’t up to par, but a part of me, a very small part of me, knew she was right. And just because I wasn’t keen on the idea of going on a date with Spencer didn’t mean I didn’t want to look nice for him for it.

“I’m assuming you’ve got some ideas in mind,” I said in a teasing voice, knowing that’s precisely why she brought it up.

“See! You are a genius! Exactly why you and Spencer are meant to be together!” Her exclamation was just as loud as it was outlandish.

“Alright, calm down sparky,” I shot a warning look. “It’s just one date - we’re not soulmates.”

Then, talking in the quietest voice I didn’t think Penelope was capable of speaking with, she said, “Not yet.”

I knew the minute I showed even the littlest bit of interest in Penelope’s fashion guidance, I’d end up draped in ruffles, sequins, glitter, tulle, rhinestones, or all of the above. Nothing again Penelope’s personal style - it’s just not mine.

I was scared to ask, but I had to know. “So what were you thinking?”

Before my very eyes, Penelope’s constantly-there smile transformed, something akin to the mischievous grin of the Cheshire Cat. “I was thinking …”

In a Mary Poppins-esque fashion, Penelope produced a dress that in no feasible reality should have been able to fit within that little Hello Kitty side bag.

I suppose it must’ve been absolutely backbreaking for Penelope to refrain from choosing a multicolor or at least pattern-riddled dress, so as compensation for the fact that it was only one singular color throughout, it had to be a bold one.

Red.

“Not too shabby, right?” Her eyebrows jumped on her forehead, knowing she’d made a good choice.

And a part of me actually died saying this, but it was pretty perfect.

_ _ _

My life didn’t flash before my eyes, per se, the moment I finally arrived at the delicatessen. It was more like a very specific, singular memory had flashed before my eyes.

That story for later? This is the one.

Psych 101 was my best class in Freshman year ... by a long shot. Come rain, wind, or snow, I was always excited to go. It was a standout course on its own, but not because it was terribly spectacular or the most fascinating subject in the world, but more so because of how it changed my own person. It challenged me, like all worthwhile things do.

There were more judgmental meatheads - boys, if you will - than not, who would jump down my throat for being a smart ass or a teacher’s pet if I so much as answered one of Dr. Reid’s questions. Par for the course, really.

As a result, I had a proclivity to avoid raising my hand. It wasn’t that I was hyper-fixated on managing my reputation, just that participating wasn’t worth the eventual harassment from my dimwitted classmates.

Nonetheless, one day, I felt compelled to answer Dr. Reid when he asked what our thoughts were about the sampled, pretense manifesto.

No one else was jumping at the chance to speak, perhaps they were just as cowardly as I was, and it was clear that he was going to stand there waiting until someone finally would. The silence was painfully awkward for everyone and so I felt obligated, as a student who was actually enrolled in the class for credit and not just to audit like 90% of the other girls here, to break it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, my hand hesitantly inched up into the air until it floated just high enough above the student in front of me’s head. As soon as I knew he saw it, I let it plunge straight back down.

“Yes, Ms. (y/l/n)?”

I could already feel the dirty looks and snide comments coming before I even said a word.

“I know we’re all collectively referring to this unsub as a man, and while that might just be a general assumption or Freudian slip perhaps ... I think the language is steeped in betrayal and contempt. And it would be ignorant not to notice how it reads more like the wrath of a woman scorned than your typical jilted male lover.”

“Lover?” Someone two rows back snickered quietly, clearly to mock my choice of words. I didn’t even have to look to know it was Brad who had said that. Nevertheless, Dr. Reid was impressed with my answer. His lips curved into the faintest smile as he nodded his head. If he had heard the commentary of one Brad Sterling, he made no visceral reaction to it.

With an extended hand, palm facing up, he gestured for me to, “Please. Stand up.”

I fumbled my way up and out of my seat to possibly delay the shit I’d get for this mere action.

“That, ladies and gentleman, is what it looks like to have courage,” He underlined his words with a grand flourish of his hand in my direction. “Putting yourself on the line even in the event you’ll be mocked and ridiculed or deemed wrong. That’s something you’ll need if you are seriously considering being part of the BAU, or the FBI at any capacity.”

My face was flushed from the acclaim he was showering me with. Suddenly, I was glad I volunteered.

Taking me completely by surprise, Dr. Reid wasn’t done yet.

“So, Mr. Sterling,” He began, directly calling out the boy in the back who without a doubt made the remark. I wouldn’t have had any reason to believe he heard it since his attention never diverted away from me long enough to catch the comment, much less the culprit. I wonder if he’d heard all the times Brad made jokes at my expense. Was he finally at his wits end with the sarcasm? “Make fun all you want, but might I suggest that if you like a girl, you do the opposite of that.”

His sickly sweet drawl was followed by a short wink at me as if to say ‘I have your back’, and I was lucky to have already been in the process of sitting back down because my knees would’ve given out underneath me from the sheer exhilaration of his praise.

The thought never once crossed my mind that Brad was so fixated on me because he had a crush, but it all made sense once it did. And if I didn’t know any better, Dr. Reid only humiliated him and brought it up because the realization dawned on him, too.

Was it possible that Dr. Reid was ... jealous?

In the spirit of complete transparency, that suspicion may have lit the tiniest wildfire imaginable in my chest. A wildfire that, even now, has yet to extinguish. Perhaps that little flame is the 0.01% of the reason I said yes. I could only imagine what kind of omnipotence it would soon gain if this date went well.

If he could light such an enduring kindle with simple praise, think about what would happen if he smiled at me. If he laughed at my jokes. If he held my hand.

If he kissed me.

Dr. Reid’s validation would be something I actively sought from all walks of life, I knew that much. What I didn’t know was how far that desire would take me.

I would have never guessed it would lead me here.

Standing in front of a fancy restaurant in a pretty red dress with the tenuous hope that the professor inside might just like it so much that he’ll end up liking the girl wearing it, too.

_ _ _

No matter how many times I adjusted the bouquet of poppies, they sat perpetually crooked on the table. Much like the dark gray tie around my neck that tightened around my throat with every passing second. I had to keep messing with it to loosen the noose-like grip it had on me. Who knew if it actually was becoming more restricting or it was the flourishing bundle of nerves in my stomach that made it harder to breathe.

I was never very good at lying in wait patiently. Especially if I was expecting something. Now that I was expecting someone? I could say with perfect clarity - I was not good at waiting.

I don’t wanna seem the way I do

Every time the door opened, my eyes flashed to it instantaneously. And every time it wasn’t her, a little part of me was disappointed. It was still too early to say for certain that she was standing me up, but my mind was doing what it did best. It wandered. There was nothing else to do after all.

Except maybe adjust those blood orange poppies one more time.

I’d picked them out specifically because Penelope slipped in a not-so-subtle comment about her dress being “a perfect match to the color of papaverales” - her words exactly. I thought if she went through that much trouble to find a color coordinated plant and say the scientific name for me to decode, it was worth picking up a bouquet of them on the way.

It was only the most ironic occurrence in the world that when I went to rearrange them one last time, I devoted my full attention to the action, missing the very moment I was on the lookout for the past hour and a half.

I didn’t even see her until the red poppies camouflaged into the identically colored setting of her dress.

Then there she was.

All the disappointment in the world was worth that first time I saw her with fresh eyes.

I was dumbstruck for a moment, long enough that it warranted an apology for not standing up sooner.

“(Y/n)! Hi!” I accidentally squealed. I couldn’t control myself, let alone control the pitch of my voice apparently.

I could see, in her, youthful naivete where, in others, I saw their age. She paradoxically had not aged a minute, and yet a new womanhood was piercing through her ultimately adolescent appearance.

“Hi, Dr. Reid,” She said through a laugh and a smile, shaking my hand politely and professionally. She was greeting me like I was still her professor and she’d just happen to run into me on an errand. Next, she’d be attempting small-talk for as long as it took for me to let her go.

Unfortunately for her, I had no plans for that.

But I’m confident when I’m with you

“Please, it’s just Spencer,” I reminded her, hoping to break down that governing image of me she surely maintained.

“Spencer,” She tried again; doing it more to be obedient to my instruction than to satisfy her own desire. It sounded so unnatural to her, just as it did to me. I found it adorable, actually. It seemed like she was breaking this unspoken, and very much illusionary rule to say my first name. “It’s nice to see you again,” She added after I pulled out her chair for her.

“Is it?” I asked when I rounded the table to get to my seat. “I get the feeling you’re a little disappointed.” The only reason I pointed it out was that it was true, not just that I’d observed the notion grow more poignant in her face for the past minute.

“Not at all,” She shook her head, which luckily for me, drew a line of congruence between her body language and verbal language. At least, she was being truthful. “It’s just that I’m sort of embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” I repeated in astonishment, unable to cultivate a list of reasons that would justify her feeling that way. I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d done to provoke that emotion, and it nearly broke me to consider her internal being substantiating it.

“Embarrassed isn’t the right word, but I can’t find a more accurate one for what I’m feeling,” She shied away from my eyes when she lowered her head as she spoke.

“You could try to explain it to me?” I offered gently. It took an overwhelming amount of self-restraint to not offer my hand with it. It would’ve been so easy to slide my hand across the threshold to enter her territory of the table, but who knows if doing so would just make her that much more uncomfortable.

“Well for one thing, I don't really go on dates,” From this alone, I could already relate to her enough to laugh at the fact. “Don’t laugh at me! You know how dangerous first dates can be,” She swatted her hand in my direction to chastise me.

“I do! I do! I think it’s really good that you’re protecting yourself to the point of avoiding dates,” I was teasing the implication that she wasn’t asked to go on very many, which was thankfully delivered well enough to make her laugh again.

“Hey! Many people have wanted to go on dates with me, thank you very much. You included.”

“Me included.” I nodded in approval. We sat in a short period of silence while we exchanged one soulful glance, borne from the insinuation of what I just said.

“And for another ... I respect you too much as a figure of authority to see you in that way.”

_ _ _

“In what way?”

Rather than tossing me a lifeline, he was feeding me to the sharks. Forcing me to dive into the deep end. He wanted to see me struggle to stay afloat in the sea of his sticky toffee eyes. He knew I'd get suspended in them when he gave me that look. How much I’d be willing to get lost in them just so I could wander in the depths of his honeyed orbs for a little bit longer.

That look ...

“You don’t find it weird?” This was the most honesty I could’ve demonstrated.

“Find what weird?” For someone with such a high IQ, you’d think he’d be quicker on his feet.

“This! You - me. On a date!” I gestured to the space between us. “You’re ... well frankly, Spencer, you’re old enough to be my father.”

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” He genuinely cared about the answer.

“Only in theory. Not in actual life,” was the most precise response I could give.

“So what is making you uncomfortable?” Again, I could tell my answer mattered to him.

“You were my professor once, and now I’m just supposed to go on a date with you and see you as my equal when I’ve spent the entire time I’ve known you, putting you on a pedestal? Do you know how much pressure that puts on me? To be perfect?”

“Who says you have to be perfect? Who says you’re aren’t already?”

That one caught me off guard. I had to gulp down the lump of shock.

“You think I’m perfect?”

“That, or you’re pretty close to it.”

Lately all I feel is bad and bruised

I could’ve smiled, I could’ve thanked him, I could’ve fallen at his feet and thrown my dignity down there along with it, but I just laughed. I laughed.

“That’s ridiculous! You barely know me.”

“You’re wrong,” He simply replied with a firm shake of his head and a cavalier sip at his drink. It showed just how confident he was in his answer. How cocky he was.

“How am I wrong?”

He cleared his throat as though he were preparing to deliver the world’s greatest speech. Then, he leaned forward, motioning with his fingers for me to do the same.

“If I’m remembering correctly, which you know I am, you were the student who had the gall to raise your hand and correct me on my gender identification of the unsub, right?”

The second the sentimental thought, ‘aww he remembered’, came into my head, it was soon followed by, of course, he did, idiot. Eidetic memory, remember?

Tired of tripping on my shoes

“What does that have to do with me being perfect? Or so you claim?”

He was piercing deep into my eyes now, his gaze overwhelming my senses and sending shockwaves akin to the feeling of butterflies everywhere … and I mean everywhere.

“Bravery is the audacity to be unhindered by failures, and to walk with freedom, strength, and hope, in the face of things unknown.”

I recognized the quote as one of Morgan Harper Nichols, but the words went right to my chest like they were his own.

That damn wildfire just got a whole lot bigger.

“I’ve always thought about how if I could be unfazed by failure or even just the prospect of it, if I could just be strong enough or have enough hope to face what I couldn’t predict, I’d be set. I’d be golden,” He paused. “I’d be perfect ... but you? You, little one, have already got that figured out. So whether that means you’re perfect on your own because of your bravery or you're a perfect match for someone fainthearted like me, is up for you to decide. Whichever interpretation of being perfect you choose would be correct, but you should know - I meant both either way.”

But when he loves me I feel like I’m floating

When he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody

Even when we fade eventually to nothing

You will always be my favorite form of loving

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asked when he finally refound his voice.

“Since the minute I walked in.” I replied after refinding mine.

_ _ _

“You always take girls to your apartment on the first date, Doctor?” Asking this in the name of taking a jab at him was the most clever way I could think to conceal my underlying motive of trying to gauge how giddy I could let myself feel about the fact that he’d taken me to his ‘super chic dark academia’ themed residence - Penelope’s words, remember?

“Well, in my abundant dating history,” He sarcastically began, “I can’t say I ever have, no. You’d be the first.”

That shot another quick bolt of lightning to the wildfire in my heart that I’m ashamed to admit made the heat reinvigorate. The flame must’ve been too much for my chest to contain so it had to relocate to my face, where my cheeks were left to burn under his gaze and thanks to his admission.

I was the first.

He must’ve seen the glint localizing on my countenance and decided to speak on it. “Why does that amuse you?”

“I don’t know,” I dumbly but truthfully replied. He didn’t need any more information to get his answer, though. Because even if I didn’t know what amused me about being his first, I never denied that it did, and that was more than enough confirmation for him.

“You promise to be here when I come back?” He wagged a cautionary finger at me like it might persuade me to stay and hold me accountable if I didn’t.

Spencer needed to go into his room to collect an item that ‘shall not be named’ but was apparently essential for our super secret plans tonight (secret to even me) and he was leaving me in the living room while he did so. I guess being the initial girl he took home on a first date was okay, but being the initial girl he took into his bedroom on a first date was crossing a line.

That was alright with me, though. I was in this for the long haul.

“I promise I pose no flight risk, Your Honor,” I taunted with a coy tone. “But I can’t promise I won’t snoop around some.” Hey, at least I was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

“Snoop around all you want,” He laughed ruefully, demonstrating an openness I quite envied and admired. “You’ll probably learn a lot about me that way. And you won’t even have to talk to me to do that!” I knew he was only saying that out of self-deprecating tendencies he harbored, but I couldn’t help feeling that a small part of him actually believed that I wasn’t interested in talking to him.

“Spencer, you know I do like talking to you right?” I caught him just before he ran into his room. Already halfway in the door, I could still catch the megawatt smile on his face.

“So stay then,” His smile grew impossibly bigger. “We can talk all you want when I get back.”

The door closed, and then suddenly reopened to let just his face through, a face that said, ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

After a few minutes of loudly sorting through his room, I heard the sanctimonious cry of victory. “Found it!”

I could hear the little pad of his feet and he happily trotted out of the room. “Ta-da! My stargazing kit.” He said it as though he were introducing the basket he was holding to me, and me to it. Like it was a real person he wanted me to know. I almost felt obliged to say, ‘Hi stargazing kit! It’s so nice to meet you. I’m (y/n)!’

“Let’s go,” He smiled, reaching for my hand.

I unabashedly took it, because although it meant that I was truly leaving his apartment, I had a very strong feeling that I would be back here again one day.

_ _ _

We were lying there on this big quilted comforter that was stashed away in that stargazing kit of his, staring up at the sky, drunk on the sound of our occasional fits of laughter.

“It’s Earth Day, you know that?” I wondered aloud in a state of complete euphoria.

“I actually did,” He said through a sheepish laugh, almost as if he was admitting the knowledge of it against his own will to protect my fragility.

From out of nowhere, there was a small tug on the skirt of my dress. I looked down to find Spencer’s hand there, playing with the fabric until it lay perfectly on my leg.

I coughed to possibly relieve the tension brewing in my loins. “So then you know the Lyrid meteor shower is tonight,” I moved the tiniest bit closer to lean into his touch.

“At exactly 4:33 a.m,” He moved too.

“Is that why you brought me here? To watch the shooting stars? To make a wish?” I thought for a second that I would appear exceedingly childish - more so than I already did being 21 years his junior. But he didn’t judge me at all for the kid-like notion of making a wish on a shooting star or the implication that I still believed in those things.

In fact, I piqued his curiosity, telling by the way he moved only his head to the side to watch my reaction. “Say I did. What would you wish for?”

In the throws of dreamy elation, I softly murmured the only honest answer. “To be older. But not the unfulfilling 9 to 5, loveless marriage, ‘I do my taxes for fun’ older. I want to be old in the ways that the stars and the sky are old. I want to be infinite.”

“...To be infinite.” He whispered my wish back, sounding sort of in awe of me.

Just then, the overhead horizon grew larger. With no buildings or people to block the view, it was just us, the stars, and the sky. I could actually feel that I was lying on a planet. It was so wide. So infinite.

“Can I hold your hand?” I asked softly, in a manner so vulnerable it scared me.

Without any words or hesitation, he put my hand in his.

“The universe seems so big right now. I just needed something to hold onto.” I explained quietly, practically with the hopes that he wouldn’t hear me. But he heard.

“I’m here.”

We didn’t know what was ahead of us then. We were just two people, looking up at the sky on a cold February night. We weren’t divided by power, or age, or space. We were ourselves and no one else.

My eyes fluttered shut again and a smile stretched across my face. “Stargazing was a good idea.”

The world and the sky and the stars and I - we were all infinite. I couldn’t have felt bigger in my own body. In the best way possible, I was taking up so much space. I was occupying the earth. I was made up of matter. I mattered.

Just as I began to open my eyes, I caught a glimpse of a fading shooting star. Though I had wished to be older, I still felt like a child. Then it hit me. I didn’t feel older because I wasn’t older.

I was infinite.

Yes, I was a child, but not in the pinch your cheeks, bottles and pacifiers, babyish way. I was a child in the ‘you have a life full of possibilities ahead of you’ way.

You are young. He tells me with his eyes. And that is a good thing. Be forever young.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #juniorgman187 #be forever young

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aletheiamagilee · 3 years

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Your October (Timeless)

A Pick-a-card Reading

Greetings✨ This reading is about what October brings you. Choose a number from 1, 2, 3, and 4 that feels right then scroll down to your designated reading. This is a reading for the collective, so take only what feels right for you. This is also timeless, so you can always go back to this reading whenever you feel drawn to it.

Disclaimer: This is for entertainment purposes only and thus, should not be taken as a professional advice whether legally, medically, or in any other way. Any decisions or actions you make after this reading is your sole responsibility and is not forced on you by me in any way.

For the collective ✨

Your wishes will come true, especially if it's a goal, but only if you start doing something about it. The key here is having a clear path in mind on how you'll be able to reach this wish. Also, be adaptable. Some necessary changes only rise to the surface when you're close enough to the situation or when you're in the situation. Know that these aren't always blocks. These could be your spirit guides and guardian angels redirecting you to a better path.

Pile 1✨

Your October will start with a flurry of events. There's an element of speed and momentum, so you can expect events to slowly pile up one after another into a big rolling snowball. You will also be communicating a lot, and I'm warning you know so that you can avoid it, a conflict may arise. This could be caused by insensitivity or saying hurtful things. This conflict would be a burden to your October. I can feel that this conflict might be with a close person to you. Perhaps, there's so much going on that you become stressed out, and the stress would cause you to become moody and snappy. Your words matter a lot, darling. Use them well.

After that, there would be an odd sense of peace, as if you're simply resting before a storm comes again. I guess you're someone who easily gets bored. You'll enjoy this rest for a while but you'll find yourself feeling bored. Do you have plans to attend a gathering or an event? I can feel that it would be best for you to enjoy this moment. After that, there'll be mountains to conquer again, and this would probably continue to November.

An advice: trust your intuition. It's especially difficult to listen to your intuition when there's a lot of things going on and you feel like you don't have time to breathe. I'm telling you, a moment of peace would already mean a lot, specially when you're struggling. Don't forget to connect to the powers that you believe in and let them help you.

Thank you for your trust and I hope it resonates🖤

Pile 2✨

A message coming in: the end is near. Perhaps, you're going through something right now, something that keeps you up or night or makes you feel anxious. Let this come to light. Hiding a wound won't heal it.

Your health is an important part of your October. It's generally good, but I do think that there'll be a time mid-October that your health would need a boost. Also, if you tend to forget things, you should probably write down stuff, specially the things you need to do.

If you're waiting for a message or an email or anything of that sort, it will come this October. Also, if you're working on something for quite a while not, you'll finally be able to finish it. There's a sense of accomplishment here, but also responsibility. I hope you don't don't doubt your abilities though, specially if this is the something that makes you anxious. Perhaps, the health part that appeared in your reading actually pertains to your mental health that needs healing. You might want to consider seeking professional help.

Thank you for your trust and I hope it resonates🖤

Pile 3✨

If you're having doubts about something, you'll need to settle it this October, specially if it concerns your stability or your home situation. You'll probably have to deal with someone who'll betray you, and the Universe will favor you. The person who betrays you will receive their karma. If there's anything that worries you, focus your energy on yourself. Your worth doesn't diminish based on how someone sees you.

Instead, you should look forward to a celebration. I can feel that this is about your personal achievement and while it's nice to celebrate with people, you'll also find time to celebrate with yourself. Also, don't forget to thank the Power that be that you believe in.

At the end of the month though, there's a cloud of uncertainty. Your decision-making will be tested once again. Tread carefully, and once you make a decision, be firm about it. Trust in your intuition.

Thank you for your trust and I hope it resonates🖤

Pile 4✨

Congratulations, Pile 4. You're having a great month ahead. Most of you might be students because I can see academic-related group activities. For others, you might decide to join a study group or something like that. Darling, you're beaming with confidence and personal power. Expect good things coming to you, such as relationship and money.

A little bump along the road though, a problem with a past relationship might rise to the surface, specially if you haven't moved on yet. Another bump along the road is regarding your finance. Beware of splurging and overspending. Be wise about managing the money coming to you.

Travelling is likely at the end of the month. Are you planning to go on a roadtrip or a weekend getaway or a vacation? Some of you might decide to move away. A message coming in for many: beware of escaping from your responsibilities.

Thank you for your trust and I hope it resonates🖤

#pick a card #pick a number #pick a card reading #aletheia magilee

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hotchscvm · 3 years

Text

best friend’s daddy - part one

Warnings: Dark!Andy Barber, extreme dub-con elements, explicit sexual content, forced orgasm, age gap, breeding kink

Word count: 3.8k

Summary: Andy finds interest in his son's best friend.

Or: In which he gets too comfortable around you when your best friend isn't looking.

Opening the door to your best friend's car, you flashed him the plane tickets with a wide smile on your face. "You, me, and two-way tickets to Aruba. What'd ya say?"

You best friend gave you a grimace, sighing as he pulled out of the student parking lot. "Fuck, I wish I could. But I can't. I'm supposed to go back home for Thanksgiving, anyway, and there's no way I can get out of it."

"Jacob." you whined, slumping back in your seat, the smile you previously wore turned into a frown. "We have four days off from stress, and the smell of cheap beer. Do you really want to spend it in your childhood home with your lawyer dad who probably won't spend much time around? Or do you want to go to a tropical island where we're legally allowed to drink as much as we want?"

Jacob rolled his eyes, driving back to his frat house that you had practically forced him to join. It was a miracle he passed initiation. "Obviously Aruba but after the divorce...I don't know, I just have to be with Dad, you know? Mom has her other family to be with and he's got no one."

"Oh." you murmured, your selfish reason now deemed even more childish. Sitting back in your chair, you sighed, flicking the plane tickets on the dashboard. "I guess I'll just go alone and hope it's some kind of a 365 Days situation."

He chuckled, stopping abruptly when a pedestrian sprinted across the road. "You know for a fact your parents won't allow you to go to some foreign island alone. And I know that you're not gonna go home for Thanksgiving so come with me. If you ever change your mind about visiting your parents, their house isn't that far from mine."

You waved away his offer, sulking. "No, I wouldn't want to get in the middle of a mini family reunion. Besides, I don't think your dad likes me very much. He kept glaring at me whenever I was around, especially senior year. And I doubt anything's changed in the past three years."

"My dad doesn't hate you. No, he just has that expression on a lot." Jacob explained, turning on his fraternity's driveway. Half of the members were on the yard, doing some kind of weird activity for the house. "Please come. I don't want you spending Thanksgiving alone."

Opening the car door, you got out, quickly turnings the heads of the guys. Ignoring them, you grabbed your plane tickets before walking up besides Jacob. "Who says I'll be spending it alone? With a bottle of tequila in one hand, and a hot Italian mob boss in the other, I'd say that would be great break away from this hellhole."

The frat house smelled like sweaty socks mixed with cheap alcohol, the smell forever imprinted in the stained furniture, and dirty laundry flung on the floor. It was a wonder, with Jacob being so organized, how he could stand living in such a messy house. Jacob lead you to his bedroom, which wasn't as bad as the rest of the house, but not particularly any better.

"You're spending Thanksgiving with me." he declared, grabbing his duffel bag, the one he often used to spontaneous trips you surprised him with. With an armful of clothes in his arms, he stuffed it all in the bag without checking if they were clean. You grimaced at your best friend's current habit. "Once I get done packing, I'll drive you back to your sorority and I'll help. We're leaving tonight."

Giving up, you plopped down on the messily-made bed. "Fuck my life. Fine."

—

The dying leaves was falling fast, almost all of the trees of all the city were bare and ready for the long winter to come. With Jacob's slow driving, it was dark by the time you came into city limits, the drive from New York City to Newton only a couple hours but he made it seem like days. Yet, you were sitting on the Barber's driveway before you could blink. You were already regretting coming along.

Jacob snatched his duffel from the back, grabbing yours along with his. "Dad knows your with me so he cleaned up the guest room. He sounded happy on the phone so don't give me shit about him not liking you."

"Chile." you mumbled, opening the car door. Even with your plush jacket you felt the cold wind hit you like daggers, the cold air seeping through the fabric of your thin leggings. Oh, how you wish you were in Aruba. "Holy fuck, it's cold."

Your best friend walked up besides you, leading you towards the front door with both your bags in hand while yours stuffed themselves in between your cross arms, trying to find warmth. Jacob rolled his eyes, climbing up the cemented stairs to the front door with you in tow. "Of course it's cold, it's basically winter. I'm surprised it hasn't snowed yet."

The door opened before either of you could open it yourself, warm light streaming from the opening, halfway blocked from the hard body standing in front of you.

Andy Barber, tall, smart, powerful, and painfully handsome. His broad shoulders almost as wide as the doorway, the thin button up he wore stretching out and showing his toned chest. The beard he always wore was trimmed, eyes bluer than the ocean. And even arms that looked attractive. To say you didn't have a crush on him when you were younger would be a lie but it soon disappeared when he gave you disapproving looks.

But the way he was smiling, enveloping his son into a big hug while he glanced up at you made you question if it really was all in your head. The man seemed happier than he had ever been when you had been hanging out with his son; or maybe it had been stressed.

"Hey, dad." Jacob greeted, hugging his father for a few seconds before letting go. Holding out his arm, he motioned for you to come forward with a knowing smirk. You hated that smirk. "Dad, you remember my best friend—"

Andy Barber murmured your name, smiling as he did so. "Yeah, I remember. Cheerleader, right? I distinctly remember opening the door when you were getting changed in Jake's room. Sorry about that."

You blushed, embarrassed at the memory while Jacob glanced between you and his dad. Andy motioned for you two to come inside but just as you passed him, you accidentally brushed up against his chest. "Don't worry about it. It's not like it's the first."

The house was just like you remembered it, the same color, the same furnitures—if not cleaned—and the same layout. You could see the kitchen from the front door, and the stairs in front of you, leading towards the second story. Even during the holiday it still felt empty, even more cold than it had before.

Andy chuckled while Jacob plopped down on the coach, dropping the bags on the floor next to it. "Well, I'm glad you could come. Jake, be a gentleman and show your friend where the guest room is."

The tv was already on before Andy could finish his sentence and the college boy innocently looked up, flashing his best puppy dog eyes. "But, I...I just sat down. Dad—"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." the older Barber muttered. He walked up beside the couch, and looking at the duffels. "Which one's yours, sweetheart?"

The nickname threw you off and if your expression was any indication, you knew that newfound smirk on his face was the cause of it. You pointed at it. "Um, the gray one."

Andy picked up the bag and walked up to you while Jacob day back in his chair, relaxing. You'd get back at him again. He knew how you felt around his dad. "Come on, I'll show you to your room."

"Okay." you muttered, glaring at the back of Jacob's head. You knew it wasn't your imagination; he had hated you back then with all his glares, the jaw clenches, and head shaking whenever you were in the room, or anywhere near the house. It was ridiculous how this man took everything in stride.

Andy climbed up the stairs with you behind him, trying very hard not to stare at that luscious butt of his. His trousers had no right to be that tight, or have the audacity to stretch that way. Thankfully it only took a few seconds to reach the second floor, the brightly lit hallway showing up.

"I had the guest room renovated after Jacob went off to college so it'll be different than what you're expecting." Andy explained, slowing his pace to match yours as both of you walked to the end of the hallway. "There might be a few dumbbells I forgot to take out. You can just throw those in a corner or something."

Instantly you felt guilty, the pang in your chest making you chew on your lip. "Yeah, I'm sorry about the unexpected tagalong. Jacob—"

"Don't be." the older man interrupted, stopping in front of a door, his hand wrapping around the doorknob. He smiled at you before opening the guest room. "I'm glad you're here."

You gave him a small smile, observing the large room from the hallway. Andy stepped inside, carefully placing your duffel on the bed while he motioned for you to come in. Looking around the room, you saw the queen-sized bed in the middle, pushed up against the back wall with one bedside table on each side, decorated with lamps. The carpet was soft beneath your socks, the whitish-gold room leaving a warm feeling through you.

"Thank you, Mr. Barber." you thanked, grateful the man didn't hate you like he thought he had. Stepping a foot inside the room, you realized how tense the vibe was.

"Call me Andy. Mr. Barber makes me feel old." Andy replied, hands landing on his hip as he studied your uneasiness. You nodded, awkwardly shifting your weight onto one foot then the other. He smirked, walking towards you, angling for the door. "My room is right next to yours so if you need anything, feel free to come in."

He winked, his arm slightly brushing yours. Even through the thick jacket, goosebumps risen on your arm, the uneasiness around the older Barber climbing. Thankfully, he had left the room, allowing you to sigh in relief. Whatever had changed his feelings towards you, you weren't sure you were a fan of the development. Just knowing his room was closer than Jacob's made you feel even more tense, the situation a little suspicious.

You didn't sleep well that night.

Andy kept making his way back on your mind whenever you tried to think of something else, anything else, only to have the man come back when you had been trying to sleep. After tossing and turning for hours, you gave up on sleep, trudging across the guest room in your Nike shorts that barely covered your ass along with a tank top that could've passed as a headband. Despite the cold weather, it was almost too warm in the Barber household.

Quietly, you walked down the hallway, squinting in the darkness as you tried to find your way to the stairs. The cold floor was evident on your bare feet as you made your way down the stairs, hoping it was okay to get a glass of water here. You never did really feel comfortable in your best friend's childhood home.

Your feet padded against the cool floor, your eyes trying to see everything by the one dim light coming from the microwave. It was enough to light up the kitchen but not enough for you to avoid the wooden chair. Grimacing, you hissed when you stubbed your toe on the legs of the chair, trying to be quiet so you wouldn't wake anyone up.

Glancing at the clock on the kitchen island, you were shown it was two in the morning, as if the darkness outside wasn't evident enough for your adventure in the wee hours of the night. With a throbbing toe, you limped your way to the sink.

"Is your toe okay?"

Surprised, you jumped in the air, thankful for the counter or else you would've fell over. Andy came out from the shadows, the dim light showing his broad form, his plaid pajama bottoms and white shirt humanizing the strict assistant district attorney.

Leaning against the counter, you nodded. "Yeah. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up, I just wanted to get some water."

"Don't worry, you didn't. I was already up when I heard footsteps in the hall." Andy replied, walking towards a cupboard, opening it to reveal glasses. He grabbed one, filling it up with water before giving it to you. "Here you go."

"Thank you." you whispered, taking a sip. He stood close to you, only a few feet away, but the way he kept creeping closer made you nervous. "Uh, so what kept you awake?"

Andy leaned his hip against the counter, eyes never leaving yours. He crossed his arms. "Oh, you know, work stuff. I've been thinking of retiring lately. Don't get me wrong, I love my job; but sometimes I wish I could spend my day the way I want to. What about you?"

"Oh, um, college stuff." you answered lamely, gulping down the rest of the water. Placing the glass on the counter, you felt a hand touching your bare waist, the skin contact sending a shiver down your spine. Looking back up, you saw Andy's eyes darkening ever so slightly. "I, uh, better get back to bed."

Before you could move a muscle, Andy trapped you between the counter and his body, his hard abs pressed against your stomach, both arms on either side of you. His tongue licked his lips in anticipation.

"Mr. B-barber?" you asked, nervous by the motion, if not a little turned on. His face was less than a foot away from yours, his eyes dropping to your lips.

Andy took a deep breath, a hand landing on your back. It crawled up a he talked. "Do you know how many times I had to jerk off to an image of you? How many times I had to hide my raging boner when you walked around the house in your tiny cheerleading outfit like you didn't know what you were doing to me?"

"Wha—" you started to say but shut your lips as soon as you felt the hardness pressing against the top of your hip. You swallowed, trying to sort the information you've just been given. "Mr. Barber, I d-don't know what you're t-talking about—"

And suddenly both his hands held your body, one tangling itself in your hair while the other dropped below your waist, resting on the curve of your ass. Your heart stopped for a second. Andy pressed a kiss on your cheek. "Of course, you do. Don't you think I know about the crush you had on me? No matter how short it lasted, I know you wanted me, too. Like you do now."

On that, Andy kissed your mouth before you had a chance to object. He slipped his hand up your thigh until his fingers came in contact with your clothed, warm pussy. Your thighs had been parted by his hand, and when he started rubbing the slit over the satin shorts, you moaned into his mouth as he kissed you deeper and harder.

Your tongues made a wet dance inside the cavern formed by your tightly joined lips. You couldn't believe you were kissing your best friend's dad, let alone him jacking off to you, but it was the hottest, most incredible kiss of your life. Until it wasn't. It was when Andy's fingers ripped shorts off of you--along with your underwear, leaving you naked from the waist down--that you finally pushed him away, despite the wetness he had created.

"No!" you said, pushing the older man away, trying to retrieve your torn shorts but was still stuck between his body and the counter. Andy pressed another kissed on your collarbone, yet you tried to pull away. "Mr. Barber, we can't do this. Jacob--"

"Jacob's asleep, sweetheart," Andy whispered, nibbling your ear. You bit your lip to stifle a moan. "Be a good girl, and finish what you started all those years ago."

Cutting off your argument, he crashed his lips back on yours, his fingers crawling up your thighs to, once again, rest on your mound, your legs parted by his knee between them. He fingered your slit, your juices spreading on his fingers and your clit was jutting out as hard as a little beach pebble. You were still kissing hotly when Andy finally moved his hand upward from your cunt towards your breasts.

He cupped one, squeezing and fondling it before moving aside to do the same thing to the other. Within moments, his hand was sliding and groping all over both your breasts, barely able to get enough of the incredible way they felt. He paused to play with your nipples, rolling and squeezing them firmly between his fingers.

Andy was overjoyed to discover his son's best friend's nipples were incredibly sensitive, and the harder he squeezed them, the harder you rubbed and grounded your naked half against the bulge of his cock. After a few minutes, Andy let his hand go back down between your warm, silk-smooth thighs. He could have spent hours at a time fondling your breasts, but he was just as eager to feel your smooth, warm pussy again. As he slid his fingers against your slit, he found your cuntlips were even wetter and more swollen than before.

You moaned heatedly into Andy's open mouth when his fingers started to grind up and down your excited slit, and Andy soon slid two of his long fingers up inside your cunt. He slid them deep, curling them as he searched for that sweet spot of pleasure inside you while he brought the pad of his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles around the hard, wet nubbin.

Hands still resting on his chest, you broke the kiss, trying to stop whatever was happening between the two of you. "Mr. Barber, please stop. We shouldn't be--"

A moan broke off the plead when the man found your g-spot, your legs trembling from the pleasure. Stunned, you gazed at the fingers so deeply embedded in your hot, juicy cunt. Andy was just as amazed by the sight of his fingers sliding in and out of the former cheerleader's pussy. The two of you watched, both gazing down in amazement at Andy's fingers sliding in and out of your dripping entrance.

Andy was just as entranced by the vision of his son's best friend's gorgeous tits heaving with the deep breathing you couldn't control as he fingerfucked you.

"Look at you, naked in my kitchen while your greedy pussy swallows my fingers." Andy breathed, shoving his fingers deep into your wet cunt with a forceful thrust. You mewled, throwing your head back. "Did you imagine me taking you like this? Like the slut you are?"

His words were enough to throw you over the edge, and you moaned deeply as your orgasm washed through you, hitting so hard you couldn't control the tremble in your legs. If it hadn't been for his arm wrapped around your waist, there was no doubt you would've crumbled on the floor. Andy didn't wait for your orgasm to finish as he yanked his throbbing cock free, the head purple and angry, desperate to be inside the warm, wet cunt of yours.

He smeared your juices over the length of his cock, throbbing once again as the smell of your pussy hit his nose. Without warning, he lifted you up on the counter, positioning his cock at the entrance of your inviting cunt. You shook your head, unable to talk from the overwhelming pleasure yet Andy ignored you, his pulse hammering as he pressed the bulbous tip of his cock against your slippery, wide-open pussy, rubbing his flesh all around your opening.

Andy plunged his cock deep into you, causing you both to groan. He growled at the tight cunt clenching his cock. "Oh, fuck! Fuck, this pussy is mine."

Words abandoned you as he started to pump his length in you with fluid hip thrusts. Andy let his hands slide onto the perfect, round cheeks of your ass, gripping them as he slid in and out of you. The force of his thrust filled the kitchen, the sounds of skins slapping, your whimpers, and his groans were loud enough to wake up Jacob but neither of you cared.

You watched in amazement as his thick, large cock slid in and out of your wet pussy, your juices coating the cock, making it, even more, easier for him to ram his dick into you. Every once in a while, your cunt would clench around his cock, earning a growl from the older Barber, making him snap his hips up, the tip of his cock touching your sweet spot.

It wasn't long before your second orgasm came along. Your cunt clenched around his cock while you threw your head back, mewling loudly as he fucked you through the immense amount of pleasure. The way you looked, the sounds coming out of your mouth, made him lose it. It was too late before you could warn him.

"Fuck!" Andy growled, his thrusts becoming sloppy. "I'm gonna cum. Cum inside this wet pussy."

That broke you out of your daze, and you felt the swelling of his head inside you. With wide eyes, you tried to push him away but the man was too strong and you were spent. "No! Andy, I'm not on anything! Don't!"

He groaned once again, the thought of your belly swollen with his child getting him closer to his release. "Fuck, fuck fuck. Gonna get you pregnant. Give Jacob a brother. I'm gonna cum in your pussy, sweetheart."

You shook your head, fear overriding the pleasure. "No, please, don't! Andy!"

Andy growled, burying his cock deep within your pussy, shooting ropes and ropes of his seed inside you. You felt the warm cum fill you, the obscene amount of the white, sticky liquid filling you up. Horror washed through you as Andy finished, giving you a kiss on the lips, his cock still inside.

"Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart.”

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #steve rogers #captain america #andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #dub con #jacob barber #defending jacob

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soulmate-game · 3 years

Text

This is an alternate ending for my Bio!dad Joker / Bio!mom Harley AU. Or really, the timeline itself will be entirely different starting from the moment that Marinette’s plane lands in Gotham. If you haven’t read the original, you can do so here.

—*—*—*—*—*

“He’s going to find out, Mom.”

“No he won’t, don’t be silly! I’ve been very careful about hiding you from him, Nettie-pie.”

“Mom… I just have a bad feeling. I don’t think we can hide who I am from him. If he sees me, I think he’ll know.”

The phone went silent.

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. If I was crazy about him, Sugar, then I’m head over heels for you. Not even he can stop me from caving his skull in if he tries his usual tricks with you.”

“... My plane leaves soon, I’ll talk to you when I land. And mom?”

“Yeah, honeycake?”

“I love you.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette often hated how accurate her intuition tended to be. She had barely even stepped out of the airport before she had felt the prick of a needle in her neck and the sensation of being shoved into a small, dark space before her vision cut out.

Looks like her mom wasn’t able to hide her existence away as well as they thought.

And unfortunately for Marinette, her darling asshole of a father had apparently had ample time to plan his first meeting with her. If he had just used the much easier to acquire Chloroform on her, then Marinette likely would have woken up early enough to come up with a plan. Chloroform was unreliable and wore off fairly easily. But no, he had actually had the time to steal hospital grade anesthetic.

Which meant that Marinette woke up with her wrists zip-tied to heavy links of chain above her head, and her ankles connected to the chain below her with what felt like ten layers of duct tape.

Lovely.

“Ah, there she is! Good morning, sleepyhead!” Those were the high-pitched, dramatic words she heard when she came back to consciousness. She didn’t even need to open her eyes to know who the speaker was— she had watched enough videos online and not-so-legally obtained Asylum and Prison footage to immediately recognize the speech patterns and tone that was echoing around her.

Apparently keeping her eyes closed was not allowed, because it was only a few seconds later that Marinette felt a harsh slap sting her cheek and whip her face to the side. Oh, that would become a bruise without a doubt. Her teeth betrayed her, cutting into the inside of her mouth with the force of the hit. So, when Marinette opened her eyes to glare at the sperm donor responsible for half of her DNA, she aimed her bloody spit right at him. It landed on his shoe, which only a few seconds later slammed into her gut.

Marinette gasped for air even as the chain she was on swung violently, making her dizzy and upsetting her stomach. Too bad she didn’t have anything in there to throw up on him, she thought angrily. The chain links rattled loudly, ringing in her head alongside the electric pain of both of her newly forming bruises.

“Honestly, is that any way to treat your dear ol’ Daddy?” Joker cooed with false offense, one hand over his heart. Marinette glared at him as best as she could as she continued to sway in the open air, the chain she was tied to being the only thing keeping her from plunging straight down into a vat of sickly green, bubbling liquid.

Marinette didn’t need to be told what that liquid was. And joker knew that, the moment he saw her look down at that vat and saw the realization almost immediately cross her face. So instead of explaining, he laughed. Loud, high, and deranged.

“Good, good! That idiot Harley kept you educated, at least,” he said between psychotic chuckles. “Ah yes, and she somehow managed to choose the perfect name,” he glided over to her, as if he was some ethereal demon of chaos instead of a human. His paper-white hand reached out, grabbing her chin in a crushing grip and turning her face this way and that. Inspecting her as if she was a piece of china and not a living being. “So easy to adjust. Right now, you’re Marinette. Just like how, all those years ago, your mother stood here as Harleen. But just as she was dunked into acid and became my harlequin,” he stepped back and grabbed Marinette’s shoulders. He spun her like a top, making the metal chain creak and clink as it wound into a few weak coils and then released back out, trying to go straight again. It sent Marinette twirling through the air in a horrid half-spin, one-eighty degrees one way before sharply spinning to the other side. Joker laughed.

“Just like that, you’re gonna go from boring old Marinette,” he stuck out his tongue like a child, as if the mere taste of her name was bitter. “And you’ll be reborn as my new little Marionette. Aren’t you excited?!”

“Fuck you,” Marinette spat, even as she tried to blink and return her vision to normal. She was far too disoriented to even come up with a plan— but she was still coherent enough to register that the sky was dark outside the high windows of the factory she was apparently in. She had been missing for a few hours then, which meant that her mom and Momma Ivy would have called for help a long time ago. Maybe if she just stalled long enough, it would get there in time. “I’m not a puppet. Not for you, not for anybody!” She snarled.

Joker rolled his eyes, but his smile still widened. “Oh, that’s what they all say. In fact, your mother put up a good resistance there for a while, but her inner chaos couldn’t resist me. You’ll bend even easier, I have no doubt,” her ran his hand along her cheek in a motion that was so gentle that it felt foreign, wrong, to her coming from him. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to whiplash her, take all her hope away before dangling the option he wanted her to choose in front of her like a carrot on a stick.

Too bad he didn’t know her at all. She cringed away from his gentle touch, revolted by the mere feel of his skin on her’s.

“And your accent is a nice touch,” he cooed as if her reaction didn’t bother him at all. It probably didn’t. “Exotic. Just the thing I need to freshen up my usual act a bit, the Boston twang my old Harlequins had is just… stale by now, don’t you agree?”

Marinette clenched her jaw at the reminder that he had tried to pass off a cheap look-alike as her mom when she disappeared, back when she was pregnant with Marinette, to hide her baby from Joker. How he had discarded that woman like trash when Harley went back to him, only to replace her again when her mom left him for good.

No matter how badly Joker spoke of her mom, Marinette knew that Harley had been the only Harlequin of his to actually last. The only one he kept around, and there was a reason for that. Now, he was looking for another replacement. One that was more than a cheap knockoff, and he was hoping that a teenager with not only Harley’s genetics, but also his own, would be the exact kind of right-hand prop he wanted. An obedient little puppet of chaos, just for him.

But Marinette was nobody's toy. She had been used and taken advantage of enough back in Paris, she had spent her whole life struggling to escape the side effects of her parentage. To deal with the things she inherited.

The obsessiveness, the way she was so quick to get attached. She knew she inherited that from her mom. But there was also the rage, the anger that Marinette constantly had to stuff down. Hide below the surface before it hurt someone. Keep under a tight reign and hide away in the back of her mind, her own dirty little secret.

The constant reminder of just who her biological father was. Because that anger, that viciousness, could only have come from him.

She had spent her whole life trying to carve herself her own identity, to create beauty with the chaotic elements she got from her blood. And she couldn’t blame her mother, not really. Her mother at least did her best to help, and always leant an empathetic ear when Marinette needed it. But Joker?

Oh, she could, and would, blame him even long after he was dead and gone. Because he was the one who hurt her mother, he was the one who twisted her and drove her to feel unfit to be a parent. And sometimes, Marinette thought it would be better if Joker never existed. Sure, that meant she never would have been born. But wouldn’t that have been easier, too? To not ever have to experience the struggle that came with being his daughter, a title she never consented to?

But she couldn’t change the past. She was alive, and she would use her life to spite everything that the Joker stood for. That would be her revenge. He wanted a toy?

Joker had been monologuing, but Marinette drowned it all out as she kept her periphery vision on the windows above her. Shadows moved out there, with familiar bright yellows and shadowy blacks. The bats were there. She just needed to stall.

She opened her mouth. Joker pulled a lever.

Marinette dropped.

Wire whizzed through the air, knocking the breath out of Marinette as it wound around her torso. She was barely able to piece together what was happening; one of the bats shot a human-safe grapple to try and pull her away from the acid.

But the chain and her restraints were stronger, heavier, and just dragged the grapple down with her body.

The impact sent a large wave of sickly green liquid surging over the side of the vat, and Marinette was dragged from view underneath the surface.

It burned.

She distantly felt the tape around her ankles peel itself away from her skin, the combination of acid and wetness rendering it useless. She felt the chemicals burning at her, sending painful tingles across every last inch of her skin. It got in her mouth, she didn’t have any breath in her to hold and ended up swallowing some. It seared her throat and created a river of lava inside her. It hurt.

It hurt so bad, she just wanted out. Out. Out. Out!

Someone pull her out now!

The zip tie around her wrist loosened enough for her to pull herself free, right as something heavy slammed into the heavy metal bowl. The entire container sloshed, slamming to fall onto its side. Marinette’s body was pulled alongside the rush of liquid as it flowed out, and she was able to breathe air again. Sweet, cooling air.

And then she hacked up acid, spitting and spewing it in an attempt to purge every last drop she had accidentally ingested. Like a cat choking on a hairball, she coughed and hacked and her chest convulsed and contracted to try and help her. Her ribs ached, she figured that the grapple that had tried to save her had ended up fracturing or breaking a rib or two. But all she cared about was breathing and getting rid of the chemicals she had inhaled. She needed it out. All of it. Out. Out. Out of her!

“Try to take a deep breath,” a gruff voice commanded, soft but solid. Something stable for her to cling to. So she did as it asked, forcing herself to stop hacking and instead focus on inhaling. As slowly as she could. It was difficult, the first few breaths cut themselves off with more involuntary coughing, but the owner of the gruff voice stayed nearby. Repeated it’s request. “Deep breath. Steady, now. In. Out. Good.”

Marinette was just starting to calm down, just starting to claw herself out of the haze of panic and adrenaline, when that wretched laugh cut through the air again.

“There you are! Heheheheh! My cute little Marionette!”

Marinette froze. She could barely think, barely understand her own emotions. But she knew she was different now. She knew there was no way back, he had taken it from her. He had taken her normality, he had taken all of her years of hard work and burned them right in front of her.

He had won. The bats hadn’t been fast enough. But, if her foggy mind was correct, Batman was the one trying to bring her back to lucidity. Batman was the one trying to help her get air back in her lungs.

Not her so-called father.

If he wanted a toy, she’d be a haunted doll. She’d harass him, haunt him, until he wanted nothing to do with her. She’d come back, like a possessed porcelain doll refusing to be thrown away. She would make him regret ever awakening the monster that she had spent so long forcing down. Because she was her father’s daughter, yes. But she was also her mother’s daughter.

And most importantly, she was Marinette Quinzel-Isley. Her own damned person. The Chosen wielder of the Creation miraculous. And she would never bow down and be used by anyone, ever again.

Tikki’s words from so long ago echoed in her mind. Resounded even louder than Joker’s laughter;

“That’s all order really is, Marinette. The decision to take all the chaos and madness around us, and make it make sense. Make it do something good.”

And wasn’t that everything Marinette had ever done? It was a part of her now. Like a tattoo she had inked into her very soul.

She took the chaos she was given, and turned it into something beautiful. And right now? Right now, the most beautiful thing she could think of was Joker’s face when she slammed her fist into it.

“Easy,” Batman repeated, but for a different reason now. Marinette’s lungs still stuttered a little, but her breathing was mostly under control. Now, he was saying it because Marinette was forcing herself to her feet. Her legs trembled under her, threatening to lay her out on the floor again. But she was every bit as stubborn as Joker, which made for a terrifying combination with her all-consuming fury. The acid had broken the mental chains Marinette had been using to hold it back, and now it burned fierce and bright in her eyes.

So Marinette kept herself up right, cognizant of Batman’s hand on her shoulder but ignoring it. She grit her teeth against the burning light of the room, everything suddenly too bright and colorful. Too vibrant. But it did little to distract her. She realized that one of her hands still gripped the heavy chain that had sent her drowning in the acid, and sent a snarl at her darling, jackass of a father as she whipped it out right towards him.

“Marinette!” Batman yelled, his grip tightening on her shoulder. But he didn’t pull her back, which spoke louder than any words he could have said to her right then. He wouldn’t save Joker from his daughter, he knew the man deserved at least this much pain. And sure enough, the metal links slammed right into Joker’s side, winding around him like a crushing whip.

But that was all Marinette had the strength to do. As soon as she saw Joker’s body hit the floor, writhing in agony and painfully loud cackles, her hand let go of the chain and her body tumbled down. Batman caught her.

“Red Hood, Nightwing, get Joker back to Arkham,” Batman’s order faded in and out of focus. Now that her most pressing desire was taken care of, the effects of the acid reared their ugly heads with renewed ferocity. Everything was too bright, too loud, and her thoughts echoed in her head like voices wrestling for supremacy. “Robin, Black Bat, stay on alert. Harley said that she’s incredibly trained,” he warned his partners. Marinette didn’t begrudge him, the only other two people who had survived being dunked into those chemicals hadn’t exactly treated him with kindness and pacifism. But she could barely focus on them anyway, too distracted by trying to reign in the chaos in her mind.

But Joker would never stay silent, even as he was dragged away in chains.

“Hehehahahahaha! Paper white, paper white!” He jeered cheerfully. “That’s my girl! Violent just like Papa!” Red hood knocked him out with a harsh punch to the side of his neck before he could say another word. But it was enough— enough for Marinette to gasp in realization.

Her skin. It was paper white, just like his. Not even Harley’s skin had been bleached like the Joker’s after her dip in the acid. That had always been makeup. Her mom had a healthy, peachy complexion like anyone else. A complexion Marinette had shared— until now. Now, she was unhealthily pale. Just like him.

A painful screech tore itself from her already raw throat, and Marinette’s fingernails immediately began to tear at her own skin. Red. Red was better than white— she didn’t want to look like him. She couldn’t. White was bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

“Marinette! Stop!” Strong hands clamped around her wrists, pulling her hands away from herself even as she wriggled and tried to keep clawing at herself.

“No! No no no!” Marinette howled. “I don’t wanna look like him! I don’t wanna be like him!” She managed to get one hand free and immediately tried to tear away at her face. Batman was able to wrestle her arm away before she could do any damage besides a few angry red lines. “I refuse! I refuse! I refuse!” She shook her head, not feeling as tears flung themselves off her cheeks.

“Okay,” Batman’s voice was solid again, soft and grumbly and stable. She grabbed at it again, drawn to anything that might help bring her stability. She needed his unflappable attitude right then, and he probably didn’t even realize how badly. “That’s good. But you don’t need to rip your skin off to do that, you know that right?”

Marinette hiccuped, finally sinking down to sob as the weight of everything she had lost pressed down over the chaos of deafening light and blinding sound that continued to jumble around inside her head. “He changed me,” she choked out. Batman nodded even though she wasn’t looking at him.

“He did.”

“Th-that f-fucking bastard,” Marinette managed a sad chuckle before devolving right back into sobs. “I wo-worked so h-hard. N-never hurt any-anybody. Never… never yelled. Ne-never hit… Not people who didn’t attack f-first.”

“I know. Your mom told me,” he confirmed calmly. Solid, tethering. Marinette swallowed another gulp of air, trying to calm down. But everything was too much.

“Mom!” She suddenly realized out loud, turning and grabbing at Batman’s chest, clinging to his uniform. She didn’t even care that she almost sliced herself on a batarang, she clung to him desperately with wide, crazed eyes. “G-get Mom and… and Ivy! They… they can help. They know—“ Marinette paused to breathe, then resumed. “Momma Ivy— she gave me—gave me a diluted… th-thingy, years ago, I can’t remember—“ Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed as she tried to get her mind to calm down. To work.

“The serum she gave Harley?” He asked. “The one that made her immune to poisons, and gave her increased physical abilities?”

“That!” Marinette agreed frantically, nodding. “I was too— too little, to give the real thing, so she diluted it,” she swallowed her spit and winced when it burned her throat. “It… I think it’s helping with the—the—the—“

“The chemical’s effects?” Batman suddenly sounded like he was paying much more attention than before, his shoulders a little straighter at her explanation. “You think it’s slowing down or numbing what it did to your mom and Joker?” Marinette couldn’t talk anymore, it hurt too much. Everything hurt too much, so she just nodded. “Good. That’s good, Marinette. Robin! Get Harley and Ivy down here, now!”

That was when the voices started. Sometime during the ten minutes it took to get her Mom and Ivy to her, they had apparently been waiting nearby anxiously incase the Bats had needed backup, the voices had built from ominous whispers to devious shouts, ordering her to do things like slam her elbow into Batman’s throat or see what happened if she splashed Robin with some of the acid that was still on the ground.

Her body didn’t move. She kept herself carefully still, focusing on ignoring her impulse to listen to one of the voices. She was still lucid enough to know that she would regret it if she did any of that. That the Bats were more on her side than any of the voices or the Joker were. But it was growing painful, and Harley and Ivy walked in to Batman trying to keep Marinette from hitting her own head. She had devolved to trying to knock herself out to get the voices to be quiet.

“Shut up,” she hissed, her voice hoarse and gravelly. “Shut up, shut up, shut. Up!” She was clearly talking to herself, her eyes screwed shut as she continued to try and hit her head. Harley gasped, hands flying to her mouth and eyes watering at the sight. This was something she had hoped she would never see.

“Harls,” Ivy spoke softly, putting a gentle arm around her wife’s back in support. It hurt Ivy to see Marinette in so much agony, but she knew it pained Harley even more. And much more personally. “Come on. We can help.”

“Y-you’re right,” Harley agreed shakily, taking a deep breath to try and compose herself before they both approached their daughter. Batman didn’t let go of Marinette, but did lean out of the way to give them access to her.

“Honeycake?” Harley called out softly, a little unsure how the chemicals were affecting her baby’s personality right then. The first few days were going to be the worst, and she knew that. The Dunk never took it easy on it’s victims. Marinette gasped, stopping her muttering and raising her head to look at Harley with wide eyes.

“Momma?”

Harley had to swallow heavily to shove back the sob that wanted to bubble up out of her. She had to be strong for her baby. She couldn’t break yet. But Marinette hadn’t called her Momma since she was little, now she called Pamela ‘Momma Ivy’ and her just ‘Mom’.

“It’s me, sugarplum,” she assured her daughter, kneeling down and cupping one of Marinette’s cheeks in her palm. And that was when she noticed it, and couldn’t help but widen her eyes in shock. But Marinette’s senses were so sensitive that she noticed it right away, and stiffened.

“Wh-what is it?” She grew frantic when Harley didn’t immediately respond, only winced in sympathy. Marinette knew that wasn’t good. “Mom? What is it? What did he do? What else did he do to me?”

“Darling,” Harley started, licking her lips nervously. “My sweet baby girl, your right eye… it’s green now, sugar.”

Marinette’s world froze. She tried to smile, but it came out lopsided and disbelieving. “No,” she somehow managed to breathe. “No, mom, I have your eyes. Your blue eyes. I love your eyes,” Her voice steadily got more and more panicked as she went on, not wanting to accept what her mother was clearly seeing. She watched as Harley’s face broke a little, a few tears escaping before the older woman could stop them. Marinette shook her head again, slipping her tiny wrist out of Batman’s hold and raising it to her eye. “No. It’s one of his tricks. He—he must have slipped a contact in my eye when I was passed out, that’s— that’s— that’s all—“ but her fingertip met her normal eye. No contact to be felt. Marinette’s hand fell into her lap limply. The room was absolutely silent as everyone gave her a few seconds to process just how much she had been changed, entirely against her will. She opened and closed her mouth, not sure whether she wanted to yell or curse or cry. Instead, her voice just came out in a very tiny, broken:

“...fuck.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette had gone mostly mute. She would say a word here or there, but for the most part she was doing a good impression of a vegetable. She stayed silent, as still as possible, and just stared at the ceiling of her hospital room.

She had been like that for the past two weeks they had been monitoring her in the Acid’s aftermath. Her ribs, which had turned out to only be bruised thankfully enough, had healed. Her cheek and torso were healed up too, only the barest hint of sickly yellow to show as a reminder of Joker’s hits on her. Sometimes the cameras would catch her talking to seemingly empty air, only for a nurse to rush in and see that Marinette had gone silent yet again.

Tikki was doing her best to help. She had been separated from Marinette, but Pamela had found Marinette’s purse and returned it— and subsequently Tikki— when they had gotten her to the hospital. She was the only person Marinette regularly spoke to, because Marinette knew Tikki understood. Tikki had been around since the Big Bang, she had seen worse things than a little insanity. Tikki had always been there to help her feel at ease with her mind and body. She shared a piece of Tikki’s soul, even, according to the tiny god.

But talking to anyone else was too hard. Too scary. She still had those damned voices at war in her mind, trying to convince her to do things that made her lock her joints and keep her body absolutely still before she acted on any of the coaxes. Possibilities she had never considered before came startlingly easy to her mind now— like how it would only take two seconds to tear her IV out and stab it into her nurse’s eye. How she could use her blanket to strangle Momma Ivy, or how she could fake jumping out the window and Harley wouldn’t waste a second trying to save her.

They were horrible thoughts. Intrusive, ugly, and far too loud. She didn’t want to act on any of them, but sometimes she found her fingers twitching only a second before she could follow through on one.

She spent a lot of time meditating, because of it. Which is why most people thought she was ignoring them. She didn’t mean to, she just needed to meditate. It was like her brain was a giant room filled with filing cabinets that held her thoughts and emotions. Her whole life, Marinette had carefully kept this room alphabetized, organized, and neat. Every file in its correct drawer. Until Joker had come along, and ripped the entire place apart. Tore certain files in half, broke her cabinets, ruined her filing system. And now she had to put the room back together, one drawer and piece of paper at a time.

That’s what the meditation was doing. She was getting reacquainted with herself. Learning what had changed in her mind and trying to adjust. She couldn’t be the old Marinette anymore, but she’d be damned if she let the Joker turn her into someone ugly like him.

So she needed time.

One day, towards the end of those two weeks, she got a visitor slipping through her window. Considering her room was on the tenth floor, she had it pretty narrowed down as to who it could be. Batman had visited her every night, a silent shadow in the corner, but he had already left for the day so it couldn’t be him. None of the other bats had dropped by after the second day.

She turned her head to see that that was now changed; Red Hood sat on her windowsill with one leg inside the room and the other bent on the sill itself. He looked the very picture of comfort despite being a stiff wind (or quick shove— no, bad brain) away from falling to his death. And then Hood took off his helmet, which was ugly enough to inspire some of the more violent suggestions in her brain and make them seem appealing.

“Ya know. Red Hood used to be what Joker called himself,” were the first words out of the vigilante’s mouth. Marinette’s eyebrows pulled down, and it was clear she was confused (and a little angry) at what he told her. He grinned, his eyes still hidden by the domino mask on his face. “Eh. The bastard killed me, ya know. I was the second Robin, a lifetime ago.”

Marinette’s eyes widened at that, and the violent voices dimmed and seemed to grow muffled. Marinette couldn’t quite understand what they were trying to tell her anymore, which made her figure that she had better pay attention to what Hood had to say. She licked her dry lips, and spoke softly. Her throat was still damaged from the acid, so she couldn’t speak very loudly yet.

“Then how are you… you know, here?”

The man chuckled. “Another group of assholes happens to have a magic pit in their basement. It’s a glowing green lake, ten different types of bad news. But it brings people back to life, and they dunked me in it without even caring for a second if I even wanted to come back.”

Marinette’s shoulders relaxed all on their own. It seemed to sink into her brain all at once, a simple:

Oh. He gets it.

“I guess the water doesn’t take it easy on your brain, either?” She hazarded an educated guess. He laughed, shaking his head.

“Not at all. I went off the deep end for a while, and killed a lotta people. They deserved it at least, but I don’t like how violent I was back then. Before I learned how to cope. Attacked people who were innocent. Red Robin almost died when I attacked him, back then, when he was just Robin.”

“Then why’d you keep calling yourself Red Hood?” She asked, tilting her head. He finally turned his head to look straight at her instead of just staring out the window. His grin widened, but it was lopsided. The grin of someone who was healed from some serious shit, but knew that it would always ache. A bittersweet expression.

“Cuz he doesn’t own that name. I made it into something that stands for at least a little good. Something that scares the assholes who don’t care about killing or abusing innocent people. Hell, some people take comfort in the name Red Hood now. And you know what that means?”

Marinette shook her head, and his grin widened into a shark-like smile.

“It means I stole it from him. The name Red Hood. He’ll never use it again, and now it stands for the opposite of anything he’d agree with. You can do that too, you know. Find something to steal from him, or use something he gave you, and make it your own.”

“Turn the chaos into something good,” Marinette said dreamily, clearly quoting someone. Red Hood nodded.

“Exactly. It’s not gonna be easy, but you got the choice here. You ain’t going back to who you used to be, but you can take the victory away from him.”

“... make him regret ever dunking me in that stupid vat,” she agreed, narrowing her eyes as they filled with determination for the first time since her body hit the acid. “He wants a puppet, an obedient little doll, I’ll give him Annabel.”

“There ya go,” The vigilante slid off the windowsill and approached her bed, holding out his hand for a shake. “I can help you get to that. What do ya say?”

Marinette was silent for a long minute, staring straight into his masked eyes. And then, a slow smile spread over her lips. “I got one question, Red Hood.”

“Shoot.”

“How do you feel about black cats?”

—*—*—*—*—*

This took four hours, holy hell. I’m actually happy with how this turned out. What do you guys think? I even got to max length on Tumblr 😂

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #jasonette #bio!dad joker #bio!mom harley quinn #Poison Ivy x Marinette #platonic brucinette

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deja-you · 3 years

Text

Starlight

m. de lafayette x reader

chapter two | spies and white lies

summary: it was never your intent to be anything more than a common thief, but fate -- and a rather attractive general -- have other plans for you.

word count: 3.6k

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“What are we at now? Twenty argenti?” You grin and lean forward, elbows resting on the table. “Another round, Mulligan?”

The tailor gives you a look that only makes your smile widen. “I don’t know if I have anything left to wager.”

“Mulligan, your deployment is about to head out, you should get down to the loading dock.”

The look of relief on Mulligan’s face is nearly comical when Hamilton interrupts the next game you are setting up. Mulligan mutters a half-hearted apology, you wish him luck, and then he is all too eager to leave.

Hamilton places a hand on your shoulder and points you in the direction of Lafayette’s office. “The general would like a word with you.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Aren’t you always?”

“Fair point. Wish me luck, Lex,” you mutter, making your way into the lion’s den.

You knock twice on the door, and without waiting for a reply, you push open the door and let yourself into Lafayette’s office. Dim, warm light greets you – a stark contrast to the harsh white lighting found in most buildings on Philia. Lafayette sits at his desk, thumbing through pages and pages of paperwork. The navy cape usually worn around his shoulders is draped over the back of his chair, and he absently scratches his beard as he continues to read the papers in front of him.

“You wanted to see me?” You ask.

He nods toward the empty chairs in front of his desk. “Yes, have a seat.”

You sit down across from him and wait for him to inform you as to why you’ve been called into his office. The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes before Lafayette finally puts down his paperwork and leans back in his chair.

He appraises you silently, then finally: “Hamilton says you’re cleaning my men out of their money.”

“I want you to know,” you say quickly, “that my actions have been completely legal. It’s not my fault you never taught your men how to gamble.”

“How much did Mulligan lose today?” He asks.

“Twenty.”

“You don’t feel bad about taking money from the poor guy?”

“It’s Mulligan.” The both of you share a laugh. “Did you call me in here to tell me to stop taking your soldiers’ money?”

“Not at all, feel free to continue scamming them out of their money,” he says with a shrug. “As long as you keep supplying me with intel on the New British battle plans, you can do whatever you want with your off hours.”

“I take it you’ve got a new mission for me?”

“Perceptive. This is why I hired you.”

“I thought you hired me because I’m expendable,” you say bluntly.

He stiffens at your comment and slowly shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. You’re incredibly good at what you do, and I think you’re the perfect person for this job.”

Lafayette hands you a tablet with the information for your next mission. This one is a bit different than the previous jobs he had you run. It had been your job to lay low at shady bars around Philia that had been known as sympathizers of the New British crown and report back any information you had overheard. On occasion, you had been sent to spy on wealthy sympathizers at dinner parties, galas, races, etc. All these events took place on Philia or neighboring planets. Looking down at the tablet, your eyes widened a little at the name of your next location.

“You’re sending me to Hesse?” You say in surprise.

“It would be…” he pauses and thinks through his words. “It’s rather vital we send someone to observe negotiations between the leaders of Hesse and New Britannia. We have reason to believe they’re discussing more than just a renewal of the neutrality act.”

“I see. It’s just that… Hesse is quite far. It’s not even part of the United Planets of Amerigo,” you say. Lafayette knows this. Hesse is a part of a large federation of planets that has remained neutral during the war between Amerigo and New Britannia. It’s out of Lafayette’s jurisdiction, if anything happened to you there…

“You don’t have to go,” he says quickly. “You can say no. If you don’t think you can—”

“You said this was vital, yes?” You say. “Who else would you send?”

Lafayette is silent while he tries to come up with another name. There isn’t anyone else they can send; his silence tells you.

“Alright. I’ll go.”

He eyes you warily. “This is a risky idea. Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested it. We can find another way. You shouldn’t go.”

“General,” you say firmly, “I’m going to Hesse. You said yourself that I’m the perfect person for this job; I already speak Alemanni.”

“You speak Alemanni?”

“There’s a lot you still don’t know about me, general. Glad I’m still full of surprises.” You scan the information on the tablet and stand from your chair. “Guess I should be going, then. I’ve got a lot of studying to do.”

“Our contact will be limited while you’re on Hesse, but if you run into the slightest bit of danger, press this button here on your bracelet and we’ll fly in to pick you up immediately.”

Lafayette hands you the bracelet in question, and you give him a nod before sliding it onto your wrist. You’re a few minutes out from the capital city, and the general is running through any last-minute details with you before he drops you off and the ship heads back into orbit around Hesse.

“Remember, this is a reconnaissance mission. You are not to engage in any combat whatsoever. Get in, get information, get out. Do you understand?” He asks.

Lafayette misses it when you roll your eyes, which is probably for the best. “I got it, general.”

He lands the ship, opens the cargo door, and turns his chair to face you. “One more thing.”

You groan. “What could you have possibly forgotten to say?”

Lafayette crosses his hands over his chest, taking one more good look at you. “Be safe out there.”

You’re a little shocked by his sudden switch to a softer tone, and it must show. You stare at him awkwardly for a minute before giving a small nod, grabbing your pack, and stepping out of the ship. Behind you, the ship begins to depart. You don’t turn back to watch it leave. You are now on a mission.

Hesse is vastly different from Philia. Where Philia has a temperate, warm climate, Hesse is considerably colder. Fortunately, it’s not snowing when you arrive, but the chilling winds are so harsh you don’t think it would make a difference. Traffic on the streets in Hesse is minimal, and you attribute this to the less than desirable weather. You’re not going to get any information from the inanimate light posts or street signs, so you find what looks like a promising tavern and head inside.

The tavern contrasts the icy Hesse environment; inside is warm and bright, backed with patrons from wall to wall and buzzing with conversation. As you make your way to the bar, you pick up on bits and pieces of the conversations happening around you. You’re in your element.

“You have to stop worrying so much. She’s a smart girl, she would call you if she needed any help.”

It’s been a few cycles since Lafayette dropped you off on Hesse. He didn’t expect you to call for him immediately, but he can’t stop himself from worrying a bit when he doesn’t hear from you for a few days. Lafayette is on a spaceship by himself with nothing better to do except work through piles of paperwork and think up every scenario that could go wrong for you on Hesse. If anything happens to you, he will be to blame.

In his defense, Lafayette had never wanted to send you to Hesse in the first place. It had been a rather forceful suggestion from General Washington after the head of the army had seen your success rates. Of course it made sense that you would be the one to take on this mission, but that didn’t make Lafayette feel any better about it. He voices these concerns in a call to Hamilton while he orbits endlessly around the planet.

“I’m serious, Lafayette,” Hamilton says, beginning to sound a little exasperated. “There’s nothing you can do at this point. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you panicking over this anyway.”

“Was this a huge mistake?” Lafayette asks, effectively ignoring all of Hamilton’s previous statements.

“No, it wasn’t. We need information on these treaties, I have no doubt New Britannia has something up their sleeves. If anyone’s going to figure it out, it’s her. You didn’t have a choice.”

It must be the eleventh or twelfth time Hamilton has repeated these sentiments on this call alone. Lafayette decides there’s no point in continuing on this line of conversation, so he surrenders for the time being.

“You’re right,” he says. “No point in worrying. So, have I missed anything while I’ve been gone?”

“Not much. Mulligan’s sent some intel back to us from his latest mission, nothing big yet. Oh, Laurens arrived back yesterday. A few bruises and a broken finger or two, but other than that, he seems to be fine.” Hamilton is happy enough with the subject change.

“He made it back in one piece? Well, how about that. The way he fights, you’d think he’s got a death wish.”

On the other line, Hamilton releases a bark of laughter. “You’d think so. Most men in your battalion are rather careless when it comes to safety. You think you had a hand in teaching ‘em that?”

“Me? I hardly think—”

He pauses mid-sentence when the light on his computer begins flashing a few times and a succession of beeps start sounding. Whatever he was about to say is lost at his lips when he stares at the blinking light. Lafayette has been waiting for this.

“I have to go,” he says to Hamilton, “it’s her.”

Lafayette doesn’t offer more of a goodbye, not that he needs to, and hangs up the call with Hamilton. Immediately he kicks into gear, sliding into the pilot’s seat and speeding toward the surface of Hesse in the direction being sent to the ship from your bracelet.

He’s surprised to find your tracking signal coming from a few miles outside of the capital, but he’s even more surprised when he finds the position you’re in. Amidst a forest of snow-covered trees, a fortress peaks out over the treetop with Gothic towers and intimidating sculptures. Along the top of one set of battlement walls, a fight has broken out and blasts of light are being shot from one side to the other. As Lafayette gets closer, he sees that you are on one side of this battle, doing your best to fend off a squadron of joint Hesse-New Britannia troops. It could be going better for you; you’re crouched behind a heavy shield, leaning out now and then to fire a blast at the soldiers who are gaining ground second by second.

Lafayette can’t be sure from this distance, but when you see the ship approaching, he swears he sees a grin spread across your features. Then, in a move that surprises both Lafayette and the soldiers, you stand from your position, and with a few steps, you’ve flung yourself off the castle walls. Lafayette curses under his breath, racing forward in the ship, opening the bay doors, and turning the ship sideways to catch you while you plummet from the air. Somewhere behind him in the ship, he hears a loud thud and is relieved to know you’ve made it onboard.

The soldiers recover from their shock and begin targeting the spaceship instead. Lafayette is able to avoid any significant damage to the ship by weaving through the trees, but it isn’t an easy task. When the blasts begin to fade and the fortress is far enough behind, the spaceship shoots up into the air, racing out of Hesse airspace. Lafayette navigates the ship for a bit, but once he feels they’re safe, he switches the ship into autopilot. He has a spy to debrief.

Lafayette finds you in the cargo bay, looking a little worse for wear. “Are you alright? Injured?”

You look up at him and grin. “Fantastic.”

After a quick observation, Lafayette concludes that “fantastic” would not be the word he used to describe your current state. Your hair is a mess, your face is covered with dirt and cuts, and you are cradling your wrist that looks bent out of shape, the skin around it already turning into a purple-blue color. He raises an eyebrow.

“Alright, I suppose I’ve been in better shape,” you say casually.

Lafayette steps closer, gently pulling your arm to him so he can inspect the injury. His eyes darken as they move from your wrist to your eyes, and you’re suddenly aware of the proximity between the two of you.

“Who did this?” His voice is quiet, but the low growl in the back of his throat sends chills down your spine.

Your uninjured hand takes the arm that is holding you, and his grip on your arm softens. “No one. I think I might’ve broken my wrist on landing.”

His eyes lower and he releases you. Suddenly aware of your closeness, he takes a step back.

“You think?” He scoffs, walking over to the wall and opening up the first aid kit. You’re sitting on the ground, back pressed up against a crate, and Lafayette kneels beside you and begins to tend to your wound. “Tell me about the mission while I patch you up.”

“I think it went rather well. I found a job as a translator my first day on the planet.”

“How did you manage that?”

“Turns out there’s a lack of Alemanni-English speakers on Hesse, and the New Britannia diplomats were in need of a translator. Right place, right time, I suppose.

Anyway, I was brought to this Hessian duke’s castle where the negotiations were being made. The first few days of negotiations gave me nothing to report on; just usual diplomatic pleasantries and treaty renewals as had been stated by New Britannia. However, last night negotiations took a different turn.

The New Britannia ambassador told the duke that the New British army was in need of troops, and they were willing to pay large sums. They’re hiring Hessian soldiers as mercenaries.”

“Mercenaries? I thought Hesse wanted to remain neutral in this war,” Lafayette frowned, placing a bandage over one of your larger cuts.

You nod in agreement, “That’s what I thought, too. Apparently, many of the Hessian princes are in a lot of debt – they need the money and the Brits backed them into a corner. I was going to call for you to pick me up last night, but I thought I could dig up some more information.”

“And did you?”

“Of course I did, general,” you grin again and pat the leather bound journal next to you; Lafayette hadn’t even noticed it before. “Snuck into the ambassador’s office this morning and found this. Looked like it had some information on upcoming battle strategies, but I didn’t have much time to read through it, I was caught by one of the ambassador’s guards. Barely made it out, guess I was lucky you were there when I needed you, huh?”

“Lucky only begins to describe it. You shouldn’t have put yourself in unnecessary danger.”

“I took care of myself, didn’t I? Besides, I think General Washington will find this information rather helpful.”

Lafayette can’t help but smile when you hand him the journal. He flips through a few pages, his eyes widening in pleasant surprise. This is more information than he had hoped to get out of this mission. Lafayette sets the journal down beside him, pulling a sling out from the first aid kit and gently lifting your arm into the fabric.

“I’ll make sure you receive proper medical attention once we get back to Philia, but this should do the job for now.” Lafayette tucks the journal under his arm and stands to his feet. “I need to make a call to the generals to update them on the information you’ve just shared with me.”

“Of course.”

“Get some rest, you look like you need it.” He begins to walk in the direction of his personal quarters but pauses before he leaves the room. “Oh, and starlight?”

You look up at him.

“Good work.”

Once Lafayette leaves the room, you can’t stop the proud smile that appears on your lips. Still, Lafayette is right about one thing: you need some rest. With whatever energy that is remaining, you pull yourself to your feet and begin to search for somewhere more comfortable to sleep. You were provided with your own quarters on the ship, but the room is small, windowless, and cold. You doubt you could get any rest there. It’s been a long couple of days, so you give yourself the authority to wander the ship in search of something comforting. You’re careful to avoid the direction of Lafayette’s personal quarters, even though that’s where your heart is being pulled toward.

Somewhere in between the kitchen and the bridge, you find a large observation room, and it takes your breath away. A large window gives you a view of space that leaves you in awe. Stars and planets swirl past you in a mixture of colors and brightness as the ship races back to the familiarity of Philia. The vastness of space should be intimidating, but for some reason, you feel safe. There is a world of opportunities open to you, and somehow you’ve managed to end up on this little spacecraft drifting through space and time. There is nowhere you’d rather be.

The observation deck is by no means extravagant or luxurious, the metal walls have sustained a fair amount of scrapes, a stale odor hangs in the air. Somehow, it feels more like home than anywhere else on the ship. You curl up on one of the old, stiff couches pushed against the back wall. As stars pass by, you count them. One, two… thirty-eight, thirty-nine… It’s somewhere between eighty-two and eighty-seven that you finally lose count and your heavy eyelids finally succumb to sleep.

Hours later, or maybe it’s days – you can’t really tell the passage of time in space – you begin to stir. When you open your eyes, the planets and stars outside the observation window are passing by slower, and in front of you, you can see the brown and green landscape of Philia. You pull your blanket around yourself tighter and enjoy the moment of peace. Who knows when you’ll have a chance to relax once you’re back on Philia, most likely you’ll be given another mission.

It’s not that you don’t enjoy your job; it’s the best job you’ve had in decades. You wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but you like doing work that feels important, work that makes you feel like you’re making a difference. The paycheck is a nice benefit as well. Still, the life of a spy for the United Planets of Amerigo isn’t exactly relaxing. Taking on new identities each week and the risks that came along with it was exciting, but incredibly stressful. Maybe one day when the war ended you would settle down. Picket fence and an army of kids might be too much to ask, but you could see yourself moving to a quieter planet and building a home for yourself… and maybe someone else. You gazed out the window, looking at all the planets and picking which one you would one day grow old on.

“Great view, isn’t it?”

Your eyes flick from the window to where Lafayette stands in the doorway. He wears his white uniform as always, watching you carefully, the gold in his dark eyes bright underneath the starlight. He crosses his arms over his chest and casually leans against the doorframe.

“I come here when I need to clear my head. It puts things in perspective, gives me a sense of…”

“…peace,” you finish for him.

Lafayette stares out the window for a moment, nods and turns back to you. “Yes, peace.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, Lafayette watches the way the light dances over your skin and can’t help but admire the artwork. You stare back into his eyes until you feel that he’s on the verge of staring right into your soul. You’ve never been completely open with someone before, and you’re not ready to be now, so you look away. The connection is broken, and he takes a step back, looking anywhere but at you.

“I just came to let you know that we’ll be landing in Philia soon,” he says, turning to leave.

“Wait,” you shrug the warmth off your shoulders, “I believe this belongs to you.”

It had taken you a moment in your sleepy consciousness to remember that you had no blanket when you had fallen asleep. At some point, Lafayette must have found you and covered your sleeping body with his navy cape. Always the gentleman. You fold up the fabric in your arms, already missing its warmth, and cross the room to return it to its owner.

“Thank you,” he says politely.

Your hands briefly touch when you hand him the cape, and the both of you linger for a moment too long. The moment is over when you pull your hands away, and the both of you silently agree not to address it.

#lafayette x reader #daveed x reader #marquis de lafayette #thomas jefferson #thomas jefferson x reader #daveed diggs #daveed diggs x reader #hamilton #hamilton x reader #reader insert #slowburn #enemies to friends to lovers #spy!reader #spaceau #scifiau

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cobradoesmcyt · 3 years

Text

Not just a game

@petrichormeraki has brought me angst ideas so I must write.

Quick little summery: It was all just supposed to be a game, and Grian sticks to this belief. At least he does until he can’t avoid the truth anymore

It was all a game. A fun little war, for the lols and the principle they’d all said with a laugh - diamonds being returned in letters and legal permission to further their schemes.

It was not a game. At least, it wasn’t anymore.

Grian had defended H.E.P’s actions as a part of the game, the Resistance had a base and now the H.E.P had one as well, simple. They spread the mycelium and they got rid of it, and placed grass instead. They sent out the sheep, and they countered with wolves. Simple, harmless fun, a turf war with no real meaning other than they just could. But then they infiltrated the new H.E.P build and suddenly the Resistance was starting to wonder how pure the other side's intentions actually were.

I mean who has a potion drugged ravager as their defence? Sure it’s good defense, but it's deadly beyond comprehension - and Tango knows this, yet he goes along with the plan, it's just a fun little game after all. And in the end Grian suffers because of it. Torn, shredded, crushed, bludgeoned, he goes through it all in a cycle, bed keeping him trapped in the death loop. Impulse and Etho desperately try to stop it, already knowing this is not an encounter Grian will get out of like it's nothing. Not only is that bad, but Tango is watching and he’s doing nothing, he watches the death loop and he laughs at Grian’s misfortune. That is the first time Impulse truly asks himself if this is really a game anymore - if anything it just seems like a twisted game of chess where they're allowed to think themselves in the lead, but in actuality H.E.P’s in charge. The dragon hybrid sheds a tear, because he knows he’ll never look at Tango the same anymore, not after he continues his taunts - playful and joking to any onlooker - even as Grian’s loop of pain and death goes on.

This is no longer a fun game between friends, it probably hasn’t been for a long time. And Impulse fears this will change Hermitcraft forever.

Grian suffers horrible damage from the repeated deaths, his spine has been weakened to where even just standing for a tiny bit too long will bring him immense pain, his lungs are horribly damaged after all the times they were pierced. He could no longer fly, grounded by the attack from H.E.P. Yet he says there is no true harm going on, it’s all just for fun!

Impulse doubts him, but there is nothing he can do other than warn his fellow members. H.E.P is out for blood. Grian’s blood. And they were willing to shed it however they deem it necessary.

So they protect him, protect not their leader but a wounded friend, from the enemy. Because that's truly what H.E.P has become, the enemy. And even after all the deaths, all the needless violence from H.E.P, Grian still believes it to be a game.

“They’ve just really gotten into it!” He argued with a cracked laugh, “They wouldn’t actually hurt any of us intentionally, we’re friends after all!”

No one has the heart to tell him he’s wrong, at least not then, to tell him the H.E.P has really gone too far this time. They know he won’t listen to them, too far into his belief that the H.E.P really don’t want to hurt any of them. That it's no longer just a game anymore.

Then Scar and Mumbo came blasting into the Mycelium Resistance base and suddenly the truth could no longer be ignored.

All the other Members managed to get out of the blast radius of the machine, but Grian - weakened from the Ravagers was not so lucky. A collapsing pillar trapped him on the side that H.E.P had breached. His fellow resistance members barraceded off from him.

Grian looked up at where Scar and Mumbo stood, both with gleeful smiles on their faces as they looked around the base, and his blood ran cold. Yet he prayed they were just happy they had found the base, and not at the damage and destruction they’d cused, but as his eyes met Scar’s he knew that was nothing but wistful thinking. Tears pricked in his eyes as he looked at his two closest friends, the two people he could always go to if he ever needed anything, a newfound terror and fear now filling him as he looked up at them.

This was no longer a game, he bitterly thought, it’s a hunt where he was prey.

Using what little strength he still had in him he threw an ender pearl towards the exit, Impulse meeting him there and catching him, and then he was pushed up through the water with the other not leaving his side once. Once in the ocean Impulse swam them both towards shore, Etho coming to help the two when he emerged. After that they all ran away, or rode away in Ren and Grian’s case - since Grian could not fly or much less move.

Grian had said there was a hidden room in Town Hall they could use, but no one in the Resistance wanted to risk being so close to H.E.P. So instead they headed way off, to lands not visited or lived in. None of them were ready to face H.E.P or anyone else right now, not so soon after the attack.

The whole way Grian satt numbly behind Ren and thought, thought about H.E.P and its members. Were they all out for them, like their leader and newest member, or was there some who weren’t? Tango-he was pretty sure Tango was on the same extreme as those two, the warehouse had proven that. Cub and Bdubs too probably, they were the most loyal to Scar after all. And Xisuma too he was so violently against mycelium as well, though he didn’t seem as violent and loyal as the other two. False and Keralis were both mysteries to him, as they both didn’t seem to be as extreme as the rest, but still who could even be trusted to not be against him anymore?

He let out a shaky breath and rested his head against Ren’s back, small tears silently starting to fall from his eyes. Hermitcraft was his safe place, a sanctuary he could heal within. But look at what it had turned into, him running away from his “friends”.

“Ren?” He tentatively called. And after seeing that the wolf was listening to him he continued, “Are-are they still our friends?”

Ren rowed silently, thinking the question over in his head. Finally he sighed. A sad, defeated, sigh of a man who just didn’t know anymore, “I don’t know G-man, I really don’t know.”

Days later H.E.P would come looking for them, curious as to what had become of their competitors. But they would not find them, not now and not ever. Because the Resistance had been found once, and they were not going to make the same mistake twice. Though Impulse did come to the Hermit meeting a few weeks later, much to Tango’s excitement. But the fire elemental stepped back in shock when the taller brunette growled at him, and Zedpah moved to his side in an instant. Though Impulse could care less about them now (no matter how much it hurt him to look at the two, he just couldn’t help but remember the ravager and Tango’s taunts from that day) his attention was fully on Scar.

“This started as a game between friends, something to have fun with and laugh about.” He spoke camly, a deathly calm tinged with ice, golden eyes hard with the same ice, “And you have made it a war between enemies.”

Cries of outrage came at his words, protest from H.E.P and Hermits filling the air.

“It’s not a war!” Bdubs argued, “As you said it’s all just a game.”

“A game does not make someone question if you are still friends or not!” Impulse roared, slamming his hands down on the table, causing totally silence, “It does not permanently scar or hurt anyone! It doesn’t not make someone terrified of you! A game wouldn’t warrant running away and hiding the only option!” Tears now fell down his face, all the emotions he’d kept at bay finally slipping past his defences, “It-it doesn't make Grian’s pain into something funny, his pain and health just something to brush off. He shouldn’t be considering leaving for real!”

Impulse looked from Scar to Xisuma, “Get your acts together, H.E.P, or you might just be a few Hermits sort soon.” And with that he left, not even looking back as Tango desperately pleaded with him to stay, or H.E.P calling out to him for answers.

But he would not budge, would not turn back to look at them. Because he knew if he did he might do more than just scream at them. They all had it coming, of course, but he’s leaving that for Etho to deal with.

Later that night Scar sat in his office thinking over the events of the past few days, “I’m not the bad guy, am I Jellie?” Said cat mewed at him, a paw on his leg as she looked up at him, “Of course I’m not! I mean it’s all a game and I really just couldn’t tell the other side wasn’t having fun anymore. Right? That’s all it is, right?”

Jellie sadly bumped her head against Scars leg, a mournful chirp leaving her. She could smell that something was off about the man, but she couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was.

Diamond blue eyes looked out at the shopping district, any hints of leaf green in them being overtaken by the blue, “Yeah, I’m not the bad guy.”

#grian #hermitcraft #impulse #impulsesv #ethoslab #Etho #goodtimeswithscar #scar #the rest of HEP #the rest of the mycelium resistance #and all the other hermits too #my writing #long post #sorry can’t do read more on my phone

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