#Trump Really Liked His Boxes

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Exactly.

Wherever this Chris Christie has been for the last eight years, his re-emergence as a truth-telling ass kicker who isn’t afraid of other politicians is an interesting development in a party wholly defined by its intellectual and moral cowardice. Christie is the only GOP candidate who is not abjectly terrified of Trump and his mob. Every other candidate is terrified — and it shows.

Will the voters listen, or will a man with no regard for our safety, sovereignty, and freedom be given the power to destroy the American republic? Should the republic die, it will be from the neglect of citizens who didn’t care about their own freedom, and more disturbingly, that of their children. The cause of death will be apathy and an absence of love and gratitude.

All around the world there are Americans who are in harm’s way working to protect the United States. They are involved in dangerous and deadly work. It is their lives that Donald Trump was risking so cavalierly. It was also the pilots who would be called on to fly into Iranian or Chinese airspace. It was the submariners who provide the nuclear deterrent. It was the CIA officer in the back alley in a foreign land far from home. Trump betrayed every one of them.

Trump will have his days in court, and like every criminal defendant in the United States, he is presumed innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. Yet, the indictment alone is enough as a matter of fact for the entire country to reach a verdict about Trump’s abject disregard, recklessness, and unfitness. More importantly, it provides a last and final opportunity for Republican officials who have been elected and sworn oaths to the US constitution to put the nation first for once, at long last. Why won’t any of them simply say enough already? Again, the diagnosis is plastered on each of their yellowed foreheads: cowardice. Trump is bigger than America to them. They are his stooges, and stooges cannot be patriots. They are the greatest collective disgrace in America’s political history, not counting the Confederacy. Shameful doesn’t begin to describe it.

[Steve Schmidt on Substack]

[wqnwoos]

You were once deeply and irrevocably in love with Kwon Soonyoung, and it’s incredibly hard to avoid that fact when he works literally two offices down from you. It’s even harder to avoid when you’re stuck in a broken elevator with him for hours, and he seems determined to dissect everything that went wrong three years ago.

⇢ pairing: kwon soonyoung x f!reader

⇢ genre: angst, fluff, exes!au, lawyer!au

⇢ wc: 5.6k

⇢ warnings: minor alcohol consumption, lots of flashbacks

⇢ a/n: early happy new year!! this is my gift to u all <3 thank u to @haologram for hosting this collab and for just being alive. and thank you SOO much to ally @lovetaroandtaemin and em @gyuswhore for beta'ing i appreciate u both endlessly 💗

as part of the don’t hate, litigate! collab hosted by the wonderful @haologram

SOMETIMES IT TRULY feels like God, or the stars in your skies, or whatever the hell is controlling your fate down on this measly earth, hates you.

Sometimes it truly feels like this indefinite being is determined to deal you the worst set of cards, and this – this trumps all. Being stuck in an elevator with your ex-boyfriend sounds like the beginning of a shitty romcom, except it’s not. It’s your life, and it’s been your life for the past eight minutes, since the metal box you stepped in ground to a creaky, noisy halt halfway between the sixth and seventh floor. 

And it takes eight minutes before Soonyoung sighs resignedly. “Are you just going to ignore me forever?” 

Forever, you think, is your least favourite word. There were a lot of things you thought you’d have forever, and one of them is standing right next to you.

You swallow thickly. Your reply comes measured and clipped. “For as long as possible.”

When he speaks next, you can hear the attempt at a forced smile in his tone. “Well, you kinda just failed.”

You stay silent. If anyone had told you five years ago that Kwon Soonyoung would be begging to talk to you and you’d be ignoring him, you would have called them crazy; and yet, here you are. Ignoring him like your sanity depends on it, because actually, it does. So for the past eight minutes – nine now, but who’s counting? – you’ve barely spoken a word. You’re both stuck; the recovery team can’t make it for two hours at least; and God hates you, basically.

Soonyoung’s trying to make the most of it, and you’re not letting him.

He says your name, ever so softly. “Really, though. How – how have you been?”

It’s weird, going from years of no contact to working together. It’s been a year since Soonyoung joined your company, but it hasn’t become any easier. Not when he’s such an open book, so fucking easy for you to read. Every time you cross paths, he gets this look in his eyes – sad puppy, you’ve nicknamed it. Now is no different.

“I’ve been okay,” you say finally, stiltedly. You’ve never been able to resist that face, and you’re pretty sure he knows it too. “What about you?”

The silence is painful, but the way he says fine stings a little bit more. You know when he’s lying, and he never used to do that to you.

“So…” He shifts his weight awkwardly, huffing out an uncomfortable laugh as he gazes intently at his shoes. “This is weird, right?”

You match him with an equally uncomfortable smile. “The weirdest.”

“Our longest conversation after forever,” he says. “But I wasn’t expecting it to go like this.”

You cock your head to the side, fixing him with a questioning gaze. All hopes of ignoring him are sailing out the hypothetical window. “How were you expecting it to go?”

Soonyoung looks up at you with one of those embarrassed, endearing smiles. “Better.”

There’s a pregnant pause, and then – “You know, Jeonghan calls you the one that got away.” 

He’s always had a habit of dropping things like that on you; things that leave you a little winded.

“That makes it sound like I escaped,” you say, with an ease you don’t feel.

Clearly, Soonyoung doesn’t feel it either — he exhales heavily. “Maybe you did. Escape, I mean.”

You snap your head towards him, eyes almost owlish in your surprise; “You’re not serious.” When he doesn’t say anything, you continue haphazardly, “Soonyoung, that’s not — there wasn’t anything to escape from.” 

Your ex-boyfriend looks miserable. Avoids eye contact, staring fixedly at his shoes with a dejected expression he can’t properly disguise; even throughout the three years of your relationship, you rarely saw him like this. He looks…

Heartbroken, your mind suggests.

“I’m serious,” you insist again, pushing the thought out of your mind. “You weren’t a bad boyfriend, Soonyoung.”

He snorts then. “Okay, we both know that isn’t true.”

“It is!” 

“If we had, like, a counter of who fucked up however many times, I would leave you in the dust.”

You don’t know how to tell him this might even be half of it. This weird pedestal he puts you on – it’s not even guilt-tripping. You’ve seen that, but never from him; Soonyoung just truly, sincerely feels bad. Whenever you look back on your relationship, which is more often than you’d care to admit, it’s plain as day. He truly, sincerely feels that he has never deserved you. Like you’re something out of this world, out of his world. 

“Wow.” Soonyoung huffs out the one word, and it’s half a laugh, half admiration. “You are so out of my league.”

“Stop,” you whine, pushing his shoulder lightly. “Don’t say stupid things like that.”

“Well, not everyone gets to date the prettiest girl in law school,” he retorts quickly, lifting his brows. “Not sure why I of all people get to, but thank you.”

“Stop it,” you repeat, rolling your eyes and fixing the tie he’s wearing. “You’re gorgeous and you know it. You should know it, at least.”

“Not just that!” he protests quickly. “I just mean… you’re so smart. And good. And kind, and funny, and — ”

“Ah, yes! Of course, Kwon Soonyoung, known famously for being mean and horrible and extremely unfunny,” you say sarcastically, before tugging his tie and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “I choose my league, and you’re the only one in it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he murmurs, slightly breathless.

“Oh, shut up and kiss me.”

There were a lot of things that went wrong with you and Soonyoung. You’d started off wonderful: both of you bright, flaming, drawn to each other like magnets. You managed the stresses of law school, graduated together, and lined up jobs – jobs that were miles and miles from each other.`

There were lots of things that went wrong with you and Soonyoung, but if you had to pick one, it would be long distance.

“When did we stop trying?”

The question makes you snort. “What, you want a date and a time?”

Soonyoung smiles ruefully, but there’s nothing happy about it. It’s more of a painful grimace. That’s always been the way with you both: you deflect, he feels. He doesn’t hide the way you do, not from anyone. And for a few years, he was the only one who you didn’t hide from. 

Maybe that’s what has you opening your mouth again. “I could probably give you one. A date, I mean.”

Soonyoung hugs his knees to his chest, eyes searching your face. You can read him so well it physically makes you ache. The hint of uncertainty in his eyes, the twitching of his fingers – he’s nervous. He’s torn between wanting to know what you have to say and the strong sneaking premonition that it might hurt. “Go on,” he says finally, just as you knew he would. 

Honestly, you don’t have an exact date. Things fell apart slowly, and then all at once. A toppling tower – leaning, leaning, leaning, until it crashed. 

“There were probably a few things,” you say, softly. “My birthday, for a start.”

He winces reflexively. “That…” he begins, and then breathes out, shutting his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make up for that.”

“I mean, in the end, it wasn’t that big of a deal.” You’re not sure why you’re trying to reassure him, even if it's true. You forgave him almost immediately.

“Shit.” 

Soonyoung’s first eloquent word when he walks into the apartment only means you become sure of what you already suspected. He takes in the half-eaten cake on the table, candles blown out and tossed to the side, the scraps of wrapping paper littering the floor, the cards; you take in his face. And you know, as quick and as simple as that – he forgot. 

Some small part of you had been holding a sneaking hope that maybe this was just an elaborate attempt at a surprise. You’d told him once, months and months ago, that you didn’t think ignoring people on their birthday to surprise them later was a very nice thing to do. But you’d rather he forgot that than your entire birthday.

His eyes meet yours, both of you frozen to your places. Him at the doorway, you at the table. The distance between you isn’t more than a few metres, but suddenly it feels like an engulfing abyss. Still, even from the other side, you can feel the guilt pouring out of him. 

“Shit,” he says again, before rushing his words out. “Shit, baby, I’m so sorry.”

You haven’t cried all day. You haven’t let yourself, but this has your eyes brimming over before you can control it.

“I’m going to bed,” you say finally, hugging yourself tightly, making yourself smaller. The apartment is warm, but you suddenly feel freezing. And despite your best efforts, there’s a waver in your voice, verging on a crack. “I’m tired.” 

You glance over the remains of your birthday party, one that you plastered a fake, painful smile on the whole way through, and then you turn to leave. 

“Baby, wait,” he implores quickly, and takes a step towards you — you mirror it immediately with a step back, and it makes him pause, his expression falling even further. “Baby.”

“You’re not allowed to call me that.” Your voice is obviously shaking now. “Not today. Maybe — maybe tomorrow.”

Maybe tomorrow you’ll be able to hear his excuses, his promises, but today, you’re allowed to be upset. You’ll let yourself have today, at the very least.

He’d driven hours to see you that day, but he’d still forgotten why he was there. You hadn’t really celebrated your birthday before you met him. Soonyoung was the one who made it a big deal, back when you first started dating, and even now, there’s a sharp pang in your chest when you remember how hurt you were that day.

“You made up for it tenfold,” you remind him now, because it’s true. He made the rest of the week practically a utopia, once you banned him from apologising. And he’d been so busy at work, so incredibly tired the whole month before, and you could understand. Both that he upset you, and that it was an innocent mistake. And you’ve never seen more sincere apologies than those that came from Soonyoung.

He looks grim, shakes his head, but doesn’t say any more. Probably because you’ve had this conversation a few times already, both of you too stubborn to give in. 

“Keep going,” he says, then, looking at you head on. “What else?”

All of a sudden, you don’t want to talk about what else. All of a sudden, you’re annoyed with him, his stupid face, this stupid elevator. “Do we have to do this?” Your voice has switched from somewhat reassuring to harsh – for want of a better word, angry. It makes his brown eyes a little round with surprise, his mouth parting a little.

“What?”

“What else and what if have been on my mind for three years, Soonyoung,” you say acidly. “Forgive me if I don’t really want to talk about it to your face.”

Again, his mouth opens a little bit, stays open as he tries to form words. Until he gives up, seals his lips and nods. “Alright. Okay. That’s fine.”

“I know it’s fine!” you cry out, only more angry that he won’t argue back. You’re lawyers, it’s what you do. And just to be petty, you add — “Besides, I bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about this anyway.”

Finally, his passive poker face drops, and he looks a little confused. “My what?”

Immediately, you regret opening your mouth, but it’s too late to back down. “Your girlfriend. You know, that girl from accounting.”

“The girl fr— You mean Rachel?” Soonyoung gapes at you, and something in you bridles, until he continues. “Mrs Choi, who's married to her wife and adopting a kid next year?”

Well, now you feel stupid as fuck.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he continues, and if you weren’t afraid to look at him right now, you’d swear he was hiding a smirk.

“Whatever. I don’t care. Why are we even talking about this?” you snap, irritated and embarrassed.

He still sounds smug. “You brought it up.”

“You sit with her every lunch hour,” you mutter, heat creeping up your neck. “I just assumed.”

“Well, there’s nothing there. So don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried! I don’t care who you date, Soonyoung!”

He looks a little taken aback, blinking once or twice, cockiness gone without a trace. “Wow,” he says, finally. If you didn’t know him as well as you did, you wouldn’t notice the slight tremble in his voice. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name since — ”

He cuts himself off, but you complete the sentence in your head — three years ago. Three years since you packed up and walked out of his life. It feels like a decade ago; it feels like last week. You’d been so sure that you wouldn’t see his face again after that, that it was a decided end of a full four years of your life. Until last year, when he’d waltzed straight back into your life, this time at your workplace.

“This is the new hire.” Your boss is speaking, but you’re still finishing up the last sentence on the document you’re working on, and you listen absently as he fires a couple instructions — “Jeon, you’ll show him around. Filing system, get him logged on, the works.”

You look up then, to cast Wonwoo a knowing smile, because he always gets lumped with showing around the newbies, but halfway to making eye contact with your friend, you catch the familiar tilt of a jaw, the soft lines of a nose you know so well.

You’ve seen Soonyoung in a hundred people since you left him. You’re always looking over your shoulder at the bus stop, at the grocery store, at the library, finding a tiny piece of him in everyone and everything, a tiny piece that lodges itself tight and sharp into your throat until you take a second look, until you see unfamiliar eyes or too dark hair or shorter legs. Until you find something to make you swallow, exhale, and keep walking.

Now, your second look doesn’t yield anything unfamiliar. Except maybe his hair, gone from blonde to black, but everything else — everything else. It’s him, and he looks just as shocked to see you as you are to see him. There’s a heavy moment that seems only heavy to the two of you, everyone else still talking, the boss still giving instructions, but you and Soonyoung are looking at each other, dumbfounded, and all you can think about is the distinct taste of bile in your throat and the tie he’s wearing is the one you got him for his birthday.

Your initial plan is to avoid him. He foils that plan within two hours, cornering you in the break room, whispering urgently, “I had no idea you worked here, I swear I’m not, like, following you or – ”

The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind, and you just pin him with a blank stare. 

“I could quit.”

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the sentence. “I’m not so butthurt that I can’t be a professional.”

“Right,” Soonyoung nods, breathing out a little. His lips are chapped. He never used to wear lip balm, just used to borrow yours. You hate yourself a little for remembering that.

The memory almost makes your lips twist with an sardonic smile. “I was so pissed when you showed up here.”

You can see his half smile, rueful and charming, through your peripheral vision. “I felt so bad about it, you know. But you just seemed annoyed when I saw you in the break room, so I figured you weren’t… mad or upset or anything.”

“I went straight from the break room to cry in the bathroom for fifteen minutes,” you admit truthfully. “I had to tell Wonwoo I had curry for breakfast.”

“You cried?”

You scowl. “I’m not saying it to be pitied, Soonyoung. I’m just saying, I’m not, like, some heartless jerk with no feelings. Of course I was upset.”

“I know that,” he says quickly, vehemently. “Of course I know that.” He hesitates, and then continues, words practically inching out of him. “It’s not really my place to ask, but… you and Wonwoo… are you guys…?”

“You’re right,” you say, and press your cheek onto your knees to fix him with your eyes. “It’s not your business. But that’d be hypocritical of me, so… no. No, we’re just friends. I’m friends with his girlfriend too, Cam, she works at the plant shop down the road.”

Soonyoung tilts his head back, lets out one of those breathy laughs that aren’t really laughs. “It’s so weird that you have new friends now.”

“Thanks,” you say, dripping with sarcasm.

“Not like that! I just mean I’m so used to – like, it used to be our friends, you know what I mean?”

“Not since three years ago,” you say with false lightness, because when you lost Soonyoung, you lost the friends he brought you too. You catch the glint of pity in his eyes again, and scoff. “It’s not a big deal. They were your friends first.”

Frowning, he speaks again. “First doesn’t matter. It didn’t matter to them either. Seungkwan said you were the one who stopped answering their calls.”

It’s true, and the feeling still burns a little, because Seungkwan and Jeonghan had called so many times. Even Vernon called a couple times, and you weren’t even that close to him, but Soonyoung has always attracted good people. Like calls to like. Maybe that’s why you ended up leaving.

“I was trying to make it easier,” you say bluntly., “for them to choose you.”

Your ex-boyfriend clicks his tongue, rakes a hand through his dark hair. “It’s not about sides, ___, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well, it felt like it at the time, alright?” Your words come out louder than you mean them to, and you pause, trying to quell your defensiveness. 

Soonyoung raises his hands in half-hearted surrender. “Alright. Alright.”

Something in your stomach feels acidic. Leaning your head back against the cool wall of the elevator, you manage to meet his eyes apologetically. “How – how are they, though? Seungkwan and everyone?”

Graciously, he ignores your quick show of temper. “They’re good. Seungkwan’s working freelance photography now. Jeonghan still hates his job, but keeps getting promoted anyway.”

Jeonghan. You told him you thought you were going to break up before you even told Soonyoung. You wonder if he remembers it, because that night is seared into your memory – New Year’s Eve, three years ago.

You’re much drunker than you ever intended to be when you finally find a place to sit in the cramped apartment, waved over by a sympathetic looking Jeonghan. He pats your head affectionately as you groan. 

“Feeling alright?”

“No,” you say elaborately.

Jeonghan never pries, which is probably what makes people tell him everything. He only raises his eyebrows at you, a hint of scepticism toying with his smile.

You look away, eyes drawn immediately to your boyfriend, laughing in the middle of the kitchen. Throwing his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, looking so fucking happy; when you see him like this, your heart always feels so incredibly warm and so incredibly full. 

Except today, there’s something else intertwining it, something similar to dread, and it causes the faint smile on your face to fade a little.

Jeonghan sees it, of course, and when you look back at him, his eyebrows only raise higher. 

You sink further into that horrible, looming feeling. “Jeonghan.”

“___.”

“I think I’m going to break up with him this year.”

If you didn’t know Jeonghan as well as you do, you’d think the information hadn’t affected him at all; his features remain completely impassive, but you catch the flash of surprise in his eyes. He stays quiet for a long time, the silence between you filled with thumping bass and indistinct conversation, until finally, he asks the only question there is to ask. “Why?”

It’s ridiculous, how one word can bring you to the verge of tears. But that one word holds so much weight – why would you break up with him? Why would you, when you’ve pictured a future with him a thousand times over? 

Why would you leave the best thing that ever happened to you?

You blink back the tears, and Jeonghan waits.

His voice is soft, but you still hear him under the din of the party. “Is this about your birthday?”

You shake your head quickly. “No.” You stop. “Maybe. It’s – there’s just – little stupid things.”

“Little things add up,” Jeonghan says gently. You hate how he’s already understanding.

“Sometimes – ” You swallow thickly. “Sometimes I just feel so far away from him.”

You don’t have to explain that you don’t mean physically. Because that’s part of it, but it’s not all of it, but without you saying that, Jeonghan knows. You barely notice when he takes your plastic red cup from your hands, setting it on the table next to him. “And I know he loves me, and he’d never hurt me on purpose, and – he’s been so good to me, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan only hums, waits for you to continue. And you do, the alcohol only pushing more words out of your mouth. “The distance,” you say, “is killing us.” You rub furiously at your eyes. “No matter how hard we try, Jeonghan, it’s not working, and I feel like – I’m the only one who can see that. He’s ignoring it, but we can’t keep going like this.”

Jeonghan hesitates for a second, looking torn, more torn than you’ve ever seen him look. “Do you still love him?”

Tears blur your vision again, but don’t quite escape this time. “I don’t know how to stop.”

When you kiss Soonyoung after the countdown, your cheeks are wet.

“Long distance.”

“What?”

“You asked what else,” you say, picking at your nails. “I think it was the distance. I think that’s what – you know. Broke us up.”

Soonyoung has that look in his eyes, the one where he wants to argue but knows he’s going to lose, knows that you’re right. He breathes out, licks his lips and tries to speak. “We tried so hard.”

It’s not even a counter-argument. You agree with him, even. The two of you were brilliant at long distance, until you weren’t. Hours-long video calls, surprise weekend visits, staying over for the holidays, until it all started collapsing. Weekly movie nights kept getting postponed. Visits had to decrease in number. You were missing each other’s calls – if one of you wasn’t working late, the other always was. It was like the entire universe was working against you both, and suddenly, you felt like a burden rather than a lover, and Soonyoung would probably say the same. It’s hard not to feel that way, when you’re celebrating your anniversary over FaceTime and both of you keep dozing off while the other talks.

In a way, Soonyoung is right: you both tried so hard. In a way, he’s so wrong: neither of you tried hard enough.

Towards the end of it all, you were too tired to fight. Both of you were. The breakup was a quiet affair, mostly. You brought it up first, standing in the kitchen of Soonyoung’s apartment after realising you had no idea where he kept his cereal bowls.

“Soonyoung?”

“Babe, I told you, it’s the third cupboard from the left,” he calls, but he’s rounding the corner to his kitchen anyway. He stops in his tracks when he sees your face, smile fading, and for a second, time freezes.

“Soonyoung,” you say again, quieter.

And he knows. “Don’t,” he says, faintly, but there’s no weight behind it, because he knows.

Tears are already brimming your eyes, and you’re wrapping your arms around yourself, shaking your head. “I can’t,” you say, and you’re not sure what you mean. I can’t end it. I can’t keep going.

The picture before him is enough for Soonyoung, and any defence, any fight he still had in him (because he’s always been the more tenacious) drains. He gives in, same as you. 

“Okay,” he says, in a voice that’ll haunt you for years to come, a clashing harmony of gentle and damning. “Okay.”

You try to formulate words. You fail. All that you can say is “Soonyoung.” before you trail off. 

You don’t finish. He gives you a tired, forced smile, says something about, “We had a good run, didn’t we?”, but you’re too busy trying to wrench the tears back into your eyes to focus properly. Your efforts are in vain, of course, tears slipping down your cheeks hot and heavy, no matter how much you try to stop.

“I’m sorry,” you say tearfully, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t be sorry.”

After that, he only helps you load your bags into your car and says thank you when you give him the house keys. He does everything so quietly, so methodically, so defeatedly. It’s like he’s just lost a war he’s been fighting for far too long.

It turns out that in the end, four years can be reduced down to this: two cardboard boxes, three bin bags, and two broken hearts.

It’s your fault, in technical terms. You finished this. You’re the one who said the words, or almost said them, the one who spelled out what was so obviously ignored. More than once, because you’d tried this before, six months ago. Soonyoung was the one who fought back. He’d said no, of course, that first time. He’d said no with tears in his eyes, like it was a surprise to him, like he couldn’t see it the way you saw it — that you were on two very different paths. 

Soonyoung didn’t believe in following diverging paths, he believed in forcing yourself straight ahead hand-in-hand, come hell or high water. He believed in it, until he didn’t, and then he let you go.

When it’s time for you to leave, he accepts the hug you can’t help but fling on him just before you step in the car. Both of your arms around each other, fitting into place like you have a hundred times before, but so much tighter and so much briefer this time. Soonyoung clings to you like he’s never going to see you again, because he isn’t. You cling to him like this is the last time you’ll ever hug him, because it is.

And then both of you are pulling away, laughing awkwardly at the wet patch you’ve left on his shirt, and then you’re getting in your car and he’s waving you off and it’s over, just like that.

“It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?” There’s an acerbic quality to Soonyoung’s laugh as he continues. “We broke up because of distance, and here we fucking are.”

There’s a metre and a half between you two.

“Maybe it was a dumb reason,” you say. Voicing the thought that’s tormented you since the day you drove away. Because maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was a temporary rough patch, and if you’d stayed, if you’d fought a little more and a little longer, you’d still have Soonyoung.

But you didn’t, and you don’t.

There’s a heavy expression on Soonyoung’s face, a strange mix of anger and confusion and guilt. “Maybe,” he says, at last. There’s the vaguest trace of bitterness, the little tiny sting that reminds you again that you’re the one who called it quits. 

“It felt like the weight of the world at the time,” you say ashamedly, squeezing your eyes shut for a second.

Soonyoung takes the chance and scoots closer to you, sitting against the wall with you, shoulder-to-shoulder. (How easy it would be to just rest your head there, as you’ve done a thousand times before.) “It can’t have been easy,” he says, patting your hand with his own. Warm and familiar in its unfamiliarity, which is when you realise you’ve misread him, for once – he’s not bitter. He’s empathetic.

“It wasn’t stupid,” Soonyoung continues softly, rubbing his eyes, “but God, I wish you’d just talked to me. Actually — I wish we’d talked to each other.”

“Yes, well,” you say dryly, wondering if he’s going to catch your reference, “I’ve always had a problem with communication.”

He catches it; it makes him pause, lift up his head, give you a tiny smile.

It takes you a minute to register that the seat across from you has been occupied. When you do look up, you realise Soonyoung’s mouth has been moving since he sat down, and you haven’t heard a word of it. Also, somewhere between the class you guys shared two days ago and his presence in the library this morning, his hair’s gone from a discreet dark brown to a particularly indiscreet blond.

“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, taking out your earphones and setting down your pen. “What?”

“I said – do you have a problem with communication or something?” Despite the nature of his words, he’s practically beaming at you.

You blink at him, bewildered. “I mean… maybe? But — what?”

He holds up his phone. “Project,” he explains elaborately. “I’ve been texting, and I didn’t get a reply, and then I saw you over here, so I thought I’d ask.”

You frown, grabbing your phone. “I didn’t get any texts.”

Soonyoung mirrors your expression, tapping at his screen, and you’re struck by how much the blond suits him. As did the brown. As did the black he had a semester ago. Not that you’ve been keeping track, but it’s hard to not notice someone like Soonyoung. Even if the first time you talked to him was two days ago to organise the project you’ve been paired up for — you know him. Of him, at least.

He swivels his screen round to face you, showing you a contact with your name and what you quickly realise is almost your number. You smile a little awkwardly, tapping the last digit. “That’s meant to be a seven. You’ve got an eight.”

“Fuck,” he exhales, “that explains it. Who the hell have I been texting about litigation then?”

Something about his expression and his tone is so comical it makes you laugh, which surprises him a little – he glances up at you with a blatantly admiring smile, and he taps the edge of the desk. “Your eyes light up when you laugh, did you know?” And as quickly as he says it, he moves on, gesturing to your phone. “I’ll text you about the project, okay?”

He’s like a hurricane, and you’re trying your best to keep up. “Okay,” you agree confusedly, still hot-faced from the sudden compliment. “Yes. That’s — yes.”

As he gets up to leave again, he shoots you another one of those blinding, dazzling smiles, and sticks his hand out. “We’re friends now, right?”

His question sounds childishly sweet, and you can’t find it in yourself to do anything other than agree. 

Your one little reference sets you both off. You spend the next two hours talking and talking and talking, every other sentence beginning with “Remember when…”, as the two of you dredge up the long-buried memories of four long years spent together.

Soonyoung talks about the massive crush he had on you before you even got paired up for the project. You talk about how you never believed him, even when he did ask you out – it took three tries before you understood how serious he was. And then you remember the time Soonyoung sprinted from campus to his accommodation and back just to get you the calculator you forgot for your exam – and the time you both went to a frat party and ended up playing the most intense game of UNO in the bathroom with Vernon, which ended in a drunk Soonyoung trying to flush the cards down the toilet. 

He talks about the surprise party you threw for his birthday, and you talk about the time he tried to make you pancakes for National Girlfriend Day and failed horribly. You ate them anyway.

You don’t, however, talk about other things, even if you remember them. You remember Soonyoung kissing your forehead every morning he woke up next to you. You remember him buying your favourite flowers for your favourite vase every week. You remember coming home after a long day to food already delivered and paid for when he was working hours and hours away. You remember being so incredibly in love that it made you giddy and so in love it made you calm. And you don’t talk about it, just store it away somewhere as a reminder of what love is meant to feel like. If four years with Soonyoung brought you anything, it’s that: it taught you how to love and be loved.

When the recovery team finally arrives, you leave the elevator feeling like a new person. It doesn’t hurt when you look at Soonyoung anymore, there’s only a vague, warm fondness. And he can look you in the eye now, which he does. He smiles at you, sticks out his hand the same way he did all those years ago.

“We’re friends now, right?”

an / AHHH!!!!!! i know this fic is only like 5k but it took a lot out of me so i’d love to hear your thoughts. literally any thoughts. i wanted this fic to be longer but it happened this way and. what can i do. i may be the author but im NOT in control. it’s not a fic i’m 100% proud of but i think it’ll still hold a special place in my heart!!!! i love an angsty exes au.

anyway — this will be my last fic this year!!! see you all in 2025 and thank you so much for all the notes and all the reblogs and all the wonderful conversations this year i love you

perm taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @glowunderthemoon

@wondering-out-loud @tokitosun @hannyoontify @sahazzy

@dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars

@immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya @doublasting

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@iamawkwardandshy @twilghtkoo @yuuyeonie @lllucere

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@sourkimchi @porridgesblog

[wilwheaton]

Every day, more and more everyday people are at the point where they get it, and they get the urgency, even if the conventional politicians with their consultants and their focus groups and their big-ticket donors do not. Any leaders who join them on the Tesla protest lines are the ones who will be rewarded in the coming elections, and not the cowards who troll hopelessly for right-wing votes. The Democrats like Newsom or Houlahan who didn’t speak out for those being marginalized by the forces of autocracy will be remembered at the ballot box, but not in a good way.

Feckless Dems need ‘a Navalny, not a Newsom’

Newsom has been a reliable governor for us here in California. I have taken some comfort in the knowledge that he has stood up to Trump several times, and any of Trump’s fuckery will hopefully be mitigated or defused because Newsom is my governor.

But I’m disgusted with his platforming of a Nazi, his careless willingness to just abandon and betray our trans siblings, and his transparent effort to suck up to the shitty Gen Z nazis who are ascendant in Republican politics.

Like so many centrists who came before him, Newsom is about to experience -- but will learn nothing from -- the reality that, given a choice between a real piece of shit republican, and someone who is pretending to be a piece of shit republican, the real republican wins every single time.

It’s why Fetterman lied through his teeth about being a progressive; he NEVER gets elected if he runs on what he’s done since taking office. He has infuriated and betrayed the people who worked so hard to get him elected, and now he will be a one term senator, because no Democrat will trust him, and the garbage MAGA morons will choose some dipshit WWE guy or whoever the party puts up, no matter what.

It’s very early in Newsom’s national political rollout, and he has time to clean this up ... but he isn’t stupid. He knows exactly who Charlie Kirk is, and he knows exactly what platforming him on his premiere episode means to the Democratic base.

Trans rights are human rights, Governor. You know that. You’ve said it. Your conduct on your podcast is disappointing and morally bankrupt. My first strike against you was that idiotic French Laundry stunt you pulled during Covid, which directly led to the recall against you. This is your second strike. I really hope you don’t strike out.

[kitkins13]

shared from Click's subreddit:

Trump actually cheated and there's time for a recount but we need to act NOW!

https://www.reddit.com/r/TheClickOwO/s/KTdyrF1AdD

idk how accurate any of this is but if even some is true I really hope something can be done

(post text is below the cut)

Not enough people are talking about this and there's still time.

Trump did actually cheat and someone compiled all the evidence on twitter: https://x.com/Espaking2/status/1854287198331515005

Edit:

If you don't have twitter, this will show most of the thread but may not have the entire thing: https://threadreaderapp.com/thread/1854287198331515005.html

People are reposting and saving it because from what I saw in the comments, Elon has been deleting any evidence against trump tampering the election.

- Trump said a few weeks back that he didn't need anymore votes, that he had more than enough.

- Trump also said he had a 'trick up his sleeve' to win.

- A bomb scare was called into areas where voting was taking place, so people would flee the areas and not vote.

- Ballot boxes were then set on fire by trump supporters.

-20 MILLION Ballots went missing. People only just got emails today about their ballots going missing, their signatures suddenly not being accepted, or some outright being destroyed if they didn't vote for trump.

- Trump has a long history of lying, cheating, blackmailing and bribing people to get what he wants.

Kamala was in the lead to win but literally after these ballots were lost and after the russian bomb scare, somehow trump ended up with the highest republican vote in over 20+ years.

- Russian software used for rigging elections was found being used.

All of the evidence is in that tweet but I've also saved a copy of everything in case Elon attacks that post too. There's a link to contact the white house and to (politely) demand a refund due to the evidence of trump cheating:

https://www.whitehouse.gov/contact/

Submit directly to the president.

Click the first option, select your reasoning as election security.

State these pieces of information as a paragraph:

-32 fake bomb threats were called into democratic leaning poll places, rendering polls to be closed for at least an hour

- a lot of people reporting their ballots weren't counted for various reasons that are not very sound seeming (signature invalidation, information that vote counter could not have had)

This all occured in swing states (PA, Nevada, Georigia, ETC.)

- This is all too coincidental that these things happen and swing in his favor after months of hinting of foul play

- Directly state that an investigation for tampering/fraud is required, not just a recount

Again, there is not much time, please, please, please make this spread like wildfire, there's still time to do this!

(trigger warning, SA

(trump is not a good person. Aside from a history of the above and dodgy legal activities, he also has a long history of SA towards women and children. Trump is a convicted p*dophile and project 2025 will strip away the rights from anyone who isn't a cis white man.

Please, please, please spread this information, read through the twitter evidence thread and share it. There's still time to demand an investigation but we have to act NOW

[luveline]

hiiii not sure if your requests are open but if they aren’t just ignore this😭

imagine getting into an argument with james, sirius, and remus because you brought a stray kitten or something home and you really don’t have the room for a kitten

“but look at him🥺”

“no”

“🥺”

“… no” *less convincingly*

You hold the kitten in your hand. Remus strokes her head, her little damp ears. “It's not about that, Remus, I just couldn't leave her there, the box was falling apart and… I thought that only happened in movies.” 

Sirius leans forward on his knees to give the kitten a stroke of his own. “She's lovely,” he murmurs, scratching under her chin and grinning when she moves into it for more. “It's too bad the flat's so small. Otherwise we could keep her.” 

She's tortoise shell with a white half circle around her mouth, eyes squinted closed as she shivers. You've wrapped her in a tea towel like a blanket. She is, without a doubt, that cutest and saddest creature you've ever seen. “Where is she supposed to go, Siri?” you ask gently. 

“People love cats.” Sirius puts his hand on Remus' thigh casually, giving it a loving squeeze as he settles in. “Everybody wants a kitten.” 

But not everyone will be nice to a kitten. She feels like your responsibility now; how can you leave her? She's burrowed into you from the moment you picked her up, shushing and murmuring, your knees sodden in the puddle of rainwater beneath you both. 

“We have to keep her, please,” you say. 

There's a mutual surprise. “Dove, we can't,” Remus says. “The bathroom barely fits the toilet, shower, and sink, we'd never be able to have a litter box.” 

“It wouldn't be fair,” Sirius agrees, “on us or the kitten, she'd have no room once she turns into a cat.” 

You bring the kitten close to your chest and show them her helpless face. “But look at her,” you say softly, widening your eyes gently, your brows bunched together in the beginnings of heartbreak. 

“No,” Remus says, shaking his head sympathetically. 

You frown at him and Sirius in turn, your bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly. 

“No,” he says again, sounding unsure. 

Sirius rubs his leg. “Stay strong, my love.” 

“There's just not enough room.” 

You fear you may be losing this battle, and if they really don't want a cat, maybe you shouldn't force them. But then your trump card comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his neck, shirtless, grey joggers low on his hips, and you know you still have a chance. 

“Wow, Jamie,” you say, not having to act very much to give your voice a hoarse rasp, “you might need to shower again.” 

His smile is magnetic. “Yeah?” he asks, immediately delighted by such a brazen comment. “How's the little sweetheart? Reckon we can leave her alone?” 

“She's cold still,” you say.

James visibly melts at your sad tone, while Remus rolls his eyes. “She's just trying to get you on her side, James. I've said we can't keep the cat and she's–” 

“Taking advantage of her feminine wiles?” Sirius suggests. 

“Cheating,” Remus finishes. 

James leans over the back of the sofa between your head and Remus to kiss behind your ear, a brief press of the lips. “Why should I care? Doesn't she deserve her own way?” 

“It's not as though I'm lying,” you say guiltily. 

James laughs and kisses your jaw. You bring your shoulder up to your chin and flush with heat at such a simple thing, trying your hardest not to jostle the kitten in your hand as he wraps an arm around your front, resting his face against yours. The wet curls of his hair are cold on your skin, and the straight line of his jaw digs in. “I know,” he says. 

“Catch on, Jamie,” Remus says. 

“Shan't, won't.” Another kiss to your cheek. 

“Please, Remus, I promise if you don't want her then I won't make you, but if it's about room, of course there's enough. The four of us manage to squeeze in, don't we?” You lean into James’ embrace, eyes melty-soft. You're practically batting your eyelashes at him. 

Sirius flops into Remus’ lap with a resigned sigh. “If you don't say yes, I will anyway. Look at her.” 

You don't know if he means the kitten or you, but you choose to believe it's you he's complimenting, and you react accordingly, your little smile pushing Remus completely over the edge. 

He sighs. “Yes, alright. Fine.” 

You pass James the little warm parcel of fur and use your freshly emptied hands to grab Remus by both arms. “Thank you! Aw, thank you, Remus. Sirius. I'll be so absolutely clean and if it does seem too small I promise, I won't make anyone suffer.” 

“I never thought you would,” he says. “If you really want to keep her, I can't stop you. I'm your boyfriend, not a prison warden.” 

“Well, we share a home–” 

“I know,” he says warmly, “it's alright. Keep your kitten, dove. Looks like you've found her for a reason.” 

You laugh happily and gather him up for a hug. “Oh, I love you.” 

“What shall we name her?” Sirius asks around you. 

“I'm not fussed. What do you like?” James asks. 

Sirius meets your eyes as you and Remus pull apart. “You always get your way, hmm? Why don't you name her?” 

Oh, you could hug him to death too. He looks comfortable where he is, his face on Remus thigh, hair fanned out over his joggers, and you don't want to disturb him (he's not quite as tactile as the others), so you stroke a curl from his cheek and offer him a cheeky smile. “Don't you have any ideas?” you ask. 

“About you, or the cat?” 

You laugh at his teasing. “Which one do you think?” 

Remus nudges you in the ribs. “Don't start. If we're keeping your cat, we need to go out, don't we? You'll have to go get dressed again.”

You give them all a glowing smile and clamber off of the sofa to find your shoes. 

[centrally-unplanned]

VOR: Henry Kissinger

Ugh, HUGELY overrated, Bismark has nothing on him. What, truly are his accomplishments? Oh, rapprochement with China? You mean the country that had just experienced a huge split with the Soviet Union, to the point where they were scared of military conflict, that was simultaneously backing North Vietnam in a war against the US? And so we opened doors to them and gave them literally everything they asked for, hanging Taiwan out to dry, and in return got absolutely nothing; China's aid to North Vietnam actually *increased* the year after? The corpse of a roadkill dog could have done that.

The "cease fire" with North Vietnam? That's just losing with coat of paint to poorly cover the shame! At least he had the self-respect to try to return his Nobel Peace prize. Ho Chi Minh handed him his ass on a platter and somehow that is a win on his ledger.

Accelerating arms sales to the Shah of Iran in order to back separatist fighters in Iraq? Whoops! Wow, that uh, wow what a call there. Really picked the right side.

Coup against Allende in Chile? That went well! Not to mention...he didn't. Chile coup'd Chile, Allende was a complete disaster imploding the country's economy. The Chilean military asked for permission as like a token gesture, we gave them support that didn't matter. Its like taking credit for a sports team win because you bought box seats, except at this game they dropped the opposing team's family out of a helicopter headfirst onto the pitch.

All the SALT treaty stuff started under Johnson, he continued it which is fine but is VORcel stuff. His grand "pivot to Europe" was trying to link trade policy to increases in defense spending from European partners...which didn't happen. They didn't increase them. We gave them trade deals anyway. Its fucking Trump without the memes.

On March 1, 1973, Kissinger stated, "The emigration of Jews from the Soviet Union is not an objective of American foreign policy, and if they put Jews into gas chambers in the Soviet Union, it is not an American concern. Maybe a humanitarian concern.

Awww "I'm such a cool little edgy boy, look at me and my joke about the Holocaust when discussing systemic discrimination against Jews the Soviet Union, surely this will somehow score me Realpolitik points on the Big Board that I can cash in for prize money while shedding America's moral legitimacy because it makes my dick hard."

He is the academic definition of style over substance, snottily walking from fuck-up to disaster to status-quo free ride and putting a pithy quote about The Nature of Power over it to pretend he had any to begin with. Hurry up and die already so I can stop running into you haggling over hostess tips at overpriced Georgetown restaurants.

F-

[deterioratingpisces]

Daniel Molloy, marriage councillor from hell.

He’s got a 98% divorce rate. The other 2%? They’re probably staying together out of sheer spite—or fear of returning to his office.

Instead of fixing his clients’ problems, he digs up some more. Forget “working on communication.” He’s a master at uncovering your worst secrets and weaponizing them like a teenager in a text fight.

He gets a little spark in his eyes whenever he finds something new to grill his clients about. It’s the closest he gets to joy: that glint that says, “Oh, you thought that wasn’t going to come up?”

Don’t worry about him playing favourites; he’s being a little shit to everyone equally. Even the mildest disagreements become battlefields under his gaze. You’ll go in debating how to load the dishwasher and come out wondering if love is even real.

Also, don’t be gleeful when your partner is on the receiving end of his judgement. Your turn is just around the corner. The moment he catches a whiff of smugness, he redirects like a hawk zeroing in on fresh prey.

Passive-aggressiveness just gasses him up more. Every eye roll, every groan, every passive-aggressive “are we done here?”—it’s all fuel for the fire. You think you’re breaking him down, but really, you’re just feeding the beast.

The only way of coming out of his therapy still married is through fraternizing against him. But good luck. Before you can say “teamwork,” he’s found the one thing you can’t agree on and driven a wedge so deep, you’ll forget you were ever on the same side.

Probably one of the biggest mistakes you could make is trying to weaponize his own two failed marriages against him. Oh, sweet summer child. You think that’s a trump card? He’ll shrug it off like lint on his blazer and hit you with, “That’s adorable, but let’s talk about why you brought this up.” Cue emotional bloodbath.

Thinking you can charm him by mentioning you’ve read his work and thought it was brilliant? Big mistake. He doesn’t take compliments; he takes ammunition. “Oh, you read my book? Fascinating. Let’s talk about why you felt the need to bring that up. Seeking validation, perhaps?” Now you’re defending yourself for being polite.

He’s written exactly one book, and it’s the kind of thing only masochists or grad students read. Titled “Irreconcilable: Why Most Marriages Were Doomed Before They Began,” it’s a scathing 600-page manifesto on why love is an illusion and compromise is a scam.

He’ll be going off on you for one hour, and the second the time is up he’s his perfectly composed self. Nothing like hearing, “Same time next week? We’re really cracking this open!” after you’ve spent an hour sobbing and accusing your spouse of crimes you didn’t even know you cared about.

He’s immensely motionless and visibly dissatisfied every time a couple does make it out of his counseling still together. No congratulations. No “job well done.” Just a flat, “Wow. Guess miracles do happen.” The closest thing to an endorsement you’ll ever get.

If you somehow survive his sessions intact, you’ll leave with a list of issues you didn’t even know you had. Trust issues? Check. Miscommunication? Check. A sudden, inexplicable need to google “how to file a restraining order”? Double check.

His office décor is clinically neutral—beige walls, minimal art—because the real carnage happens in your emotional landscape. There’s no place for comfort here. Just two chairs, a box of tissues, and the sharp glare of his judgment.

He’s the kind of counselor who will literally pause a heated argument to correct your grammar. “Actually, it’s ‘my partner and I,’ not ‘me and my partner.’ But please, go on about how they never support you.”

He’s got a poker face so strong, even the most unhinged confession barely raises an eyebrow. You could admit to orchestrating a fake kidnapping to test your partner’s loyalty, and he’d just scribble something in his notebook with a bored, “Huh. Interesting.”

Somehow, he remembers everything. That tiny detail you offhandedly mentioned in week one? He’ll bring it back 15 sessions later, weaponized and sharper than your spouse’s passive-aggressive tone during your last fight.

His motto? “Honesty isn’t always the best policy—it’s just the most fun for me.” Because nothing says therapy like watching couples tear each other apart under the guise of “truth.”

Every session is like playing emotional Minesweeper. You think you’re navigating safely until—BOOM—he hits you with a “So when are you planning to tell them about the credit card debt?”

He’s probably got a closet full of tissue boxes because he goes through multiple ones a day. Not that he’s offering comfort, mind you. He’s just emotionally eviscerating people left and right, leaving them to weep into piles of Kleenex while he sits there scribbling in his notebook like “Another one bites the dust.”

On the rare occasion he does favour one client over their partner, he’ll join in with them to gaslight the other. If you thought your gaslighting was bad, wait until he tags in. “Honestly, that’s a perfectly normal thing to do. I don’t know why your partner’s making such a big deal about it.” Next thing you know, you’re doubting your grip on reality.

You know he’s in a good mood when he starts with, ‘So, let’s revisit that thing you were hoping I’d forget.’ His version of ‘good vibes’ is a merciless callback to the worst fight you’ve ever had. Bonus points if it involves a completely trivial topic like a burnt casserole.

He once accidentally helped save/improve a marriage, and he still brings it up as his greatest failure. “It wasn’t my fault. They blindsided me by… actually communicating. Ugh.”

He doesn’t just break you down emotionally; he’ll dismantle your hobbies too. “So you knit to ‘relax’? Interesting. Is that why your partner feels neglected every time you pick up the needles?”

Every now and then, he’ll throw in a “fun” hypothetical just to spice things up. “So, if your spouse did start an affair with their coworker, how do you think you’d react? No, seriously, let’s explore that.” And just like that, he’s set your relationship on fire.

If you’re brave enough to call him out for being biased, he’ll hit you with a “Why do you think you feel that way?” Congratulations, you just fell into his trap. Now you’re the one who needs to “explore your insecurities.”

He’s got a way of twisting even the smallest compliment into a passive-aggressive critique. “So you think they’re a good parent? Interesting that you don’t mention them being a good partner.”

No argument is off-limits to him, no matter how petty. You could be fighting over the remote, and he’ll somehow turn it into a deep dive on your inability to compromise. “Is it really about the TV? Or is it about the control you feel you’re losing in this relationship?”

He has the audacity to send you home with homework. Nothing says fun date night like sitting down to answer questions like, “What’s the worst thing your partner’s ever said to you, and why do you think they meant it?”

He signs off every session with, ‘It’s not my job to fix you. It’s my job to show you what’s broken.’ Thanks, Daniel. Really uplifting. Can’t wait for next week.

He keeps a tally on how many digs it takes for both of his clients to start sobbing. He’s like an emotional sniper, except instead of bullets, it’s a well-placed “So, how did your mother influence your relationship dynamic?”

He also keeps a separate count of how many clients had a full-on mental breakdown that week. At the end of the week, he probably leans back in his chair, reviewing the numbers with a satisfied, “Another record-breaking performance. Good job, me.”

He gets a twisted sense of joy from the whole thing. Every time someone cries, he casually slides the tissue box closer with a little smirk, like “That’s the spirit.”

He claims he doesn’t enjoy making people cry, but the smug look on his face says otherwise. You swear you caught him jotting “two-for-one cry deal” in the corner of his notebook after both you and your partner lost it in the same session.

If you call him out on the tally, he’ll act surprised. “Tally? Oh no, that’s just... uh... my grocery list. Don’t mind that.” Meanwhile, you can see “MENTY B TOTAL: 12” written in huge letters.

He has a "Hall of Fame" in his mind for the fastest emotional breakdowns. “Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Impressive, really. Most people hold out until the ten-minute mark.”

His biggest letdown of the week is a session where nobody cries. He’ll sigh heavily, jot something in his notebook, and mutter, “Well, we all have off days.”The week his tally hits zero? He might as well shut the whole office down. He’d sit at his desk, staring out the window, whispering, “Have I lost my touch? No... it’s them. They’re just repressing better.”

The reason his Google ratings are still up? It’s either fear—because who wants Daniel Molloy coming after them in a vengeful Yelp tirade—or gratitude, but of the gaslit variety. His clients walk away thinking, “Wow, our marriage was doomed from the start. Thank you, Mr. Molloy, for showing us the truth.”

There’s a rumor that he has a celebratory bell he rings in his private office for every milestone. After every couple that leaves his office divorced. Ding-ding-ding! “Another happy ending.”

Sometimes he drops subtle hints about the bell mid-session. “You know, not every couple makes it through therapy. But that’s okay. There’s… closure in accepting the truth.” And you know he’s thinking about that bell.

If he had his way, the bell would be a centerpiece of his practice. Displayed proudly behind his desk, polished to a shine, with an engraving: “In honor of irreconcilable differences.”

Please feel free to add anything I have missed. 💀

[shanastoryteller]

Happy birthday! Could you continue the naruto daughter of the homage series?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6

Naruto doesn’t feel comfortable going back to the tower until the Suna kids have collected their scroll and arrived. Gaara had killed nine people – three teams total – in that time. None of them Konoha, thankfully, but that’s mostly due to her team and Itachi engaging in some creative luring and misdirection. The Konoha Twelve can be redirected outright by one of her clones, but the other leaf genin that she doesn’t know as well have to be lured rather than instructed. Getting their own scroll is more an afterthought than anything else.

They probably should have thinned the herd a little more. Now they’re having preliminary matches, which is just another chance for Gaara to kill one of her shinobi.

Great.

“Is that Orochimaru?” Sakura hisses, looking up at the spectator box. “Isn’t he a missing nin?”

Naruto flickers her glance upward, but she’d already known he was attending. What does surprise her are the two people by his side. “Yeah, but he’s also the Otokage, and one sort of trumps the other. Dad gave up on that one a long time ago, and Sarutobi still likes him besides. That’s not the interesting part.”

Jiraiya sends intelligence back to the village frequently enough, but she’s never thought she’d seen Tsunade back in the village.

~

Orochimaru is already bored.

He barely attends chunin exams when they’re in his own village. But Kabuto had given him an interesting report, and he hasn’t seen Minato in something like fifteen years, so he figured it couldn’t hurt. Besides, Anko is proctoring a portion of the exam, and she always complains that he doesn’t visit.

Jiraiya found out, somehow, which was bad enough, but then the traitor told Tsunade, and the two idiots insisted on coming with him for some reason.

Probably because they were worried Minato might try to arrest him, which is frankly insulting. He can and will kick that kid’s ass if he has to.

Hm. Maybe that’s what they’re intending to prevent, on second thought.

Minato’s daughter has her father’s coloring and her mother’s bone structure.

“I’m surprised she’s made it this far,” Jiraiya murmurs.

Kushina throws him an irritated glance, but the white knuckled grip she has on her armrests seems to imply she agrees with him. Minato doesn’t look at either of them, not that he’s looked at Kushina at all. There’s really no point in them playing the part of happy couple in front of foreign ninja if they can’t commit to the deception.

“She’s got a solid stance,” Tsunade says. “Don’t need working chakra coils for that, I suppose.”

Minato’s lips thin, but he keeps his silence.

“Gaara of Suna versus Rock Lee!” shouts Hayate, pausing to cough halfway through.

Orochimaru leans forward now that something interesting is finally happening.

It’s not as immediate of a bloodbath as he thought it’d be. Lee holds out, demonstrating a mastery of taijutsu truly can make up for an awful lot. He fiddles with the weights on his wrist, but then he glances up. It seems as if he’s looking at his sensei, who’s shouting encouragement, but standing just to the left of them is Team Seven.

Naruto’s lips tug down at the side and she shakes her head just slightly, the movements so small thar Orochimaru wouldn’t notice them if he wasn’t focusing on her.

Lee’s shoulders droop even as he backflips to avoid another deadly arm of sand. He’s not even close to exhausted, and he’s lasted longer against Gaara than anyone else has, but he raises his arm and says, “I surrender.”

Everyone is stunned, an air of disbelief surrounding them.

Gaara acts like he hasn’t heard, more sand barreling for Lee. Hayate moves to interfere, but he’s a lot slower than that sand is.

There’s a smudge of yellow across the arena, there and gone, taking Lee with it.

Orochimaru turns, expecting to see Minato’s seat empty, but he’s still there, eyebrows raised.

He frowns, looking back down, and Naruto is back out of the arena, putting Lee back on his feet. “It seems you didn’t hear him!” she shouts, grin so wide her eyes are slits.

“I didn’t know you taught her the Flash,” Jiraiya says.

Kushina stares between her husband and her daughter, eyebrows pushed together.

“Yes,” Minato says stiffly, “well.”

Interesting.

It appears Kabuto’s report was accurate.

[solrabi]

catalyst - epilogue

Life has many twists and turns- yours included getting rejected from med school and ending up as a manager for your burnt-out pro boxer ex. (sukuna x reader)

fanfic masterlist

You sigh as soon as you drop the last box down. “Ugh, starting a business is no joke. We still have to clean up the gym before the setting up the equipment,” you groaned as you sat on the curb in front of Sukuna’s new gym.

After announcing his retirement, Sukuna wasn’t really sure about what he wanted to do. All that was familiar to him was competitive fighting. That was until Yuuji had the genius idea of suggesting that his older brother become a coach and start helping young fighters so they don’t go down the wrong route.

So Sukuna sold his high rise apartment and gathered funds to buy a building for his gym. Two grueling months later, he was able to score a nice place with a reasonable price. His connections from his championship days came in handy.

And so here you were, sitting in front of Sukuna’s most prized investment (after Yuuji’s college tuition, of course.)

He hadn’t hired any help to save initial costs so he could buy better equipment. You and Yuuji groaned when you heard Sukuna needed free manual labor but your love for him trumped the pain. At least your boyfriend knew the best chiropractors in the country.

So far, Sukuna was progressing well, especially considering that he had already built up a steady waitlist of clientele. It was only a matter of time till he’d start making the kind of money Coach Yaga was.

You, on the other hand, were still stuck in the transitional phase of your life. You’d finally submitted your med school applications for the second time, and it had been about three weeks of waiting.

It was agonizing, it’s like you’d screamed into the vastness of the universe for help, and stayed stationary just to hear a decibel back.

But, if it all goes to shit, you can always work at Sukuna’s gym. It’s not like you’d be complaining about it anyway—it would just be one more place where Sukuna fucks your brains out.

Yuuji plops down next to you, popsicle in hand. It still baffles you that he chose to wear shorts even when his legs were sporting angry red sunburns from your beach trip earlier that week.

You stare at the cherry flavored treat in envy. “Hey, I want one.” You try to grab it from him but he pulls it away quickly.

“Go ask your man for one. He bought it for me,” Yuuji teases. You roll your eyes and slap his calf, which makes him screech and glare at you.

“I’m gonna be your sister-in-law in a year so you better treat me right.”

Oh right, and Sukuna had also proposed to you the night after his final match.

Sukuna walks out while dusting his hands, he had probably organized all the boxes you and Yuuji had left scattered because of the exhaustion. Compared to Sukuna’s stamina, all you and Yuuji had was sheer will to push yourselves while doing manual labor.

“Hey, pretty,” Sukuna says as he kisses your scalp. “Your phone buzzed so brought it for you.”

“Aw, thanks, hon,” you grin up at him, and he takes a seat next you. You sigh as you unlock your phone to check what your notification is about.

Yuuji fake gags, and this time, Sukuna reaches behind you to slap the back of his head. “Just eat your popsicle, dumbass.”

You’re about to make a sarcastic comment about Yuuji being jealous and lonely until you notice what’s written in your email. “Holy shit,” you mumble.

Yuuji rolls his eyebrows and leans over to you to read what has shocked you and his his eyeballs nearly pop out.

“Holy shit!” he parrots. Sukuna groans. For the past few months, you and Yuuji have turned into twins, sometimes teaming up against the former pro-boxer. It annoys Sukuna to the bone, but he makes his peace with it by demanding an apology kiss from you.

“You guys are such clowns,” he complains as he leans over to you as well, reading what’s on your phone.

The brothers look up at each other at the same time, eyes wide, and look at you, who’s trying not to tear up.

“My girl’s going to med school!” Sukuna exclaims as he picks you up and twirls you around.

[cryptidtumbleweed]

Mysterious disappearances, missing chunks of time, glitchy camera footage, faceless man-like monsters in the woods? Welcome to...

Marble Hornets has always had a special place in my heart ever since I stumbled upon it in 2019. It's a tradition for me to watch it every Halloween, and I still keep up actively with the comics and other things Troy, one of the creators, still does. The fanfics from the fandom have shaped my taste in reading and style in writing, and the art has inspired me.

So, what better use of my time than to smash it together with the most important show in my life?

---

Marble Owls is a Hunter and Luz focused au that follows the two trying to figure out what's happening to the people in their lives.

Two months ago, Edalyn Clawthorne went missing. One month ago, Hunter's father Caleb went missing.

Two weeks ago, Hunter went missing.

The police aren't doing anything.

Luz, having been infuriated by the cops not doing anything even before her own brother vanishes while on a walk at the local park, Rosswood Park, decides to take the matter to her own hands. As she searches for answers, thinking maybe Hunter for some reason ran away or went to look for his dad, she stumbles upon Hunter's diary and a video camera stuffed under his bed, hidden behind boxes. Deciding Hunter's safety trumps his privacy, she starts going through them.

The confusing, paranoid scribbles and weird corrupted footage of the woods only make Luz more worried and determined to get to the bottom of this. With the bits and pieces of clues she has, she sets out to follow the bread crumbs to track her brother down.

Hunter, affected by The Operator's influence, is slowly getting more and more paranoid. His dad's disappearance really messes with his head, only adding to the constant feeling of being watched that's been plaguing him for a while now.

While on a walk in Rosswood Park (totally not there trying to find Caleb), Hunter runs into a familiar face. He doesn't quite know the story behind why his father and Philip had a falling out, he was far too young when it happened. But Philip seems to sympathize with what he's been dealing with for the past month or so, so Hunter gives him a chance when he brings up having an idea what happened to Caleb.

The next thing Hunter knows is that he wakes up in a shack in the woods with no memory of how he got there, or how long it's been.

Philip and Belos were a fun thing to tackle for this. I played around with the idea of them being the same pesron/creature, but eventually settled for separating them. Belos is referred to as "The Operator".

The sickness:

The Operator's influence presents itself in a few ways; increasing paranoia being the strongest. Other effects are coughing fits that worsen the closer The Operator is, losing (sometimes significant) chunks of memory and seizures. As it progresses, the paranoia festers into aggression and violent outbursts. There is medicine to help it, but untreated it can lead to fatal incidents when interacting with other people. The Operator seems to prey on those who have struggled in their life.

Below are some other drawings I've made while workshopping this :)

Playlist:

AU go brrrr

[parallel--parallel]

I was trying to stay out of this discourse because usually fandom chooses to believe what they want to believe no matter what, but it doesn’t feel fair if I sit this out anymore as so much plainly wrong or misleading information is going around

If Joss following Trump means he supports him, does Joss following Biden (and Obama, and a whole lot of Thai progressive politicians) means he supports them too?

He made a cleanup now and unfollowed all politics as well as many non-controversial accounts, but my point stands. His follow list was much more mixed and diverse than people want to admit

About Tate, he unfollowed him YEARS ago. It’s a valid question to ask “why he followed him in the first place”, and here’s why: Before Tate became known as the trafficker piece of sh*t, he was a famous boxer. Back then Joss was into boxing himself and he literally followed every boxer ever

He still follows some boxers including Talbott who is ANTI-Tate and is vocal against toxic masculinity

Another thing, if Joss really was a raging MAGAt, would he be close friends with Luke who is strongly against Trump and right-wingers? Luke even follows AOC (for those not familiar with American politics, AOC is MORE left-wing and progressive than Kamala Harris)

And Gawin, bless his hermit soul, he rarely promotes himself, let alone politics. His sister tho, she posted ANTI-Trump memes on igs comparing Trump to Joffrey from Game of thrones and she follows ANTI-Trump commentators like thedailyshow with Jon Stewart

Then there’s p’Jojo who loves working with Joss and now p’Ark, I’ll just leave this here

I know all this because I follow leftist politicians on Instagram and I also follow GMM actors, directors and some of their friends and family so I see when someone follows politicians

Another thing, I noticed that Joss doesn’t even hang out with problematic GMM-tv actors and those who have shared bigoted views in the past. Closest people around Joss in that company seem to have left-leaning views, and obviously it doesn’t necessarily mean he has them too, I’m just saying, he being fr a MAGA and a bigot seems unlikely to me. He could be a normie centrist, or someone who finds craziness and stupidity of American right amusing (he didn't follow any Thai right-wingers and weirdos) but nothing more than that in my honest opinion. If out of 1285 accounts he follows, only 5-10 were these trash accounts, I think it's really a stretch assuming that's what he supports

In the end, everyone's feelings about this are valid and I'm not trying to shame those who don't feel comfortable supporting him. All I'm doing is sharing my personal take. I'm politically a leftie to the point that if I were more left I would turn into Karl Marx, and still, I'm willing to give Joss the benefit of doubt because he hasn't ever shared any bigoted or toxic opinion and I've been following him for many years. That is all

[posttexasstressdisorder]

https://www.sfgate.com/politics/article/hey-democrats-wake-up-20219559.php

The sky is falling. The United States federal government is being illegally dissolved before your very eyes. The workers you rely on to ensure that you don’t eat ground beef tainted with paint chips are being laid off en masse. Immigration and Customs Enforcement raided your office last week and asked for your papers, even though you were born in Fremont. A fire tornado is due to touch down in your backyard next Tuesday. Your parents are terrified to board an airplane. Your gay nephew is terrified to go to school. Your 401(k) is in the toilet. MEASLES. Measles have returned and want to eat your baby. Every day you look at the news, and you’re told that the president would like to bring back cockfighting. You and I need reassurance. You and I need to know that someone out there is trying to put an end to all this madness. Instead, we get this.

I hate you, Democrats. I hate you so, so much. Yes, I hate Trump and Elon and all of the s—t-for-brains voters out there who were like DURRR THESE FELLAS ARE JUST WHAT WE NEED TO CLEAN UP WASHINGTON DURRR. But I reserve a special place in my black heart for you, Democrats. You are the representational equivalent of being put on hold by customer service. All you do is let me down. It’s like being a Browns fan if every time the Browns lost, a Tesla ran over my dog. You guys make voting feel pointless.

Starting with you, Joe Biden. You still alive, old man? Well, you could’ve fooled me. Great job staying in the 2024 race juuuuust long enough to torpedo your party’s chances, and then pissing off to Cape Henlopen solely because George Clooney asked you to. Were you a good president? I have no idea, because you were too busy huffing oxygen from your bedside tank to sell your agenda to the American people. Maybe you could have gotten everyone on your side by crafting a really clever sign to hold up.

And who’s this? Why, it’s former Vice President Kamala Harris, who got voters excited for exactly one month before huddling with her advisers and deciding to campaign as a Republican, WITH Republicans. And what other brilliant tactician could tap one of the most beloved governors in America as her running mate and then Tim Kaine-ify him by 75%? Hey Kamala, maybe in your free time you can pursue a life sentence for a homeless man who stole a box of Chiclets from a local CVS. I legit thought you would win in November! Why did I think that? Someone should brain me on the head with a baseball bat.

Speaking of head injuries … John Fetterman! I’m a fellow brain injury survivor alongside John. So when this man suffered a stroke during his Senate race against Dr. Oz, I was like, “Do NOT discriminate against this man just because he had a brain injury.” Little did I know that Fetterman’s blood clot would turn him into the second coming of Joe Manchin. I just got rid of Joe Manchin, and now I have to deal with a taller, weirder one? 

These are just some of the people I was foolishly hoping would put a stop to the meme-ocracy that’s currently eating the world. Democrats keep responding to our cries for help with, “Get out and vote!” Who am I even voting for? Is it you? Is it some asshole company on your donor roll? Is it shrink-wrapped skull James Carville, whose electoral acumen has aged even worse than he has? I’ve gotten more results voting on a new flavor of Lay’s potato chip. 

U.S. President Donald Trump shakes hands with California Gov. Gavin Newsom upon arrival in Los Angeles on Jan. 24, 2025, to visit the region devastated by the Palisades and Eaton fires.MANDEL NGAN/AFP via Getty Images

Now that I think about it, how did a state that offers so much sunshine and terrific produce end up with a whole armadaof s—t Democrats, including Adam Schiff, Nancy “once we all die in a rejuvenated smallpox epidemic, the House will be ours again!” Pelosi and Alex Padilla, who thought that a sternly worded letter to a Trump mole would end the administration’s desecration of our national parks. And don’t forget about Dianne Feinstein! Yes, I know that Feinstein is dead. No, that doesn’t excuse her. Stupid, dead Feinstein. I bet she’s lecturing children in hell because they dared to ask for a table fan.

And if you think that my party has more to offer on the opposite coast, may I introduce you to New York Democrats? Oh look, it’s Little Mister Punching Bag, Chuck Schumer! A Palestinian American resident of this man’s state was just kidnapped by ICE and remanded to Kafka State Prison down south without cause, and Chuck’s first instinct was to essentially say, “Now we all know this young man is brown, which means he hates the Jews.” Totally. Way to see the REAL story going on here, you empty tin of pomade. And somehow Chuck has even greater moral fortitude than Eric Adams, who probably couldn’t commit murder without accidentally leaving his Turkish passport in the victim’s hand. 

I can’t believe how useless most of these Democrats have proven in the fight to preserve something, anything, functional in this backwater of a country. Oh, do you want me to give the RBG girlboss treatment to Sonia Sotomayor, who skipped out on retiring while Biden was in office because she just loves writing terse dissents? What about Hakeem “Next Pelosi” Jeffries? Will he bamboozle the opposition with his fearsome repertoire of debate club hand gestures? Judging by those signs from the other night, I’m thinking no. No as all f—k. 

I don’t expect you geniuses in charge of my party to listen to my plea, but I’ve been shouting into the wind for decades now so I may as well do it one final time. Democrats need to give voters like me a reason to care. Our current president is an asshole, but he sure knows how to get people to care one way or the other. Part of that success has been from brute force political messaging. Part of it is from the voraciousness of capitalism mutating this country into a place where everyone is told they’re equal but no one WANTS to be equal. When Donald Trump runs on a platform that boils down to F—K OTHER PEOPLE, tens of millions of Americans eat it up because they’ve been conditioned to hate other people: their boss, their movie stars, that guy that cut them off on the drive to work, everyone. 

I don’t know how we solve this problem, but actually WANTINGto solve it is a good first step. I see little evidence right now that Democrats — especially you, Gavin — have that desire. I’ll still vote in every election out of obligation, but how many others will just stop doing it entirely now that you’ve failed them so consistently? I have a hard time trusting a bunch of people who couldn’t even think to start up an ASSHOLE chant on the House floor during Trump’s speech last week. I’m wagering that younger generations are even more disaffected. Those people will be lost forever unless you f—kers finally understand what’s happening outside your office window. 

And if you don’t get your s—t together now, I’ll know it’s because you don’t want to. I’ll know that you never cared about democracy. That you never cared about fixing the Constitution that’s currently sitting at the bottom of Sam Alito’s toilet. That you never cared about women or gay and trans folk or the poor or Muslim Americans or even Jewish people. I’ll know that you only care about yourselves, same as the president does. If you careerist scum want to prove me and every other voter wrong, you’d better get started right now. The clock is ticking. 

[missmarveledsblog]

A knight in Shining ...denim ( Mechanic!Eddie Munson x Reader )

summary : one day a woman shows up to the shop only for eddie to find out she the new receptionist changing his work space , life and feelings .

warning: mutual pinning , idiots in love , no upside down here ( soz ) jason carver is alive ( again soz ) sort of age gap ( eddies like early thirties where reader is mid twenties ) , 18+ no smut but allusions to it

It’s not that working wasn’t the bain of existence because he actually loved the shop , working on the cars  listening to music of his own choosing even being able to squash some of the stupid assumptions people had about him although it was also the downside of working  there was some people still thought he was the devil incarnate. Some of his old highschool associates could he even call them that would come in with minor or even non existent problems just to make some off handed or down right insult him . the snobby asshole who once we jocks now owning their own small town businesses thinking they were donald trump or some sort of multi billionaire , or they constantly  bring up their successful marriages and  families when eddie dates consisted on woman that preferred to keep him as a secret . life was still like high school to these fucks .   then like a shift in the wind working during one of the hottest days of the year when he heard a clearing of a throat and sound of a knock. Pulling himself out from under the car only to have the wind knocked out of his lungs . 

“ are you eddie ?” soft velvet voice hitting his ear drums like a piece of heaven on earth . 

“ what can i do you for sweetheart ?” . 

“ oh didn’t frank tell you i’m the new receptionist …  i thought he told me you would show me around… i’m y/n by the way  “ her brows furrowed in such an adorable way he almost melted to the spot . 

“  you don’t mind if i just double check make sure you not some new hot thief that steals from the auto repair shops  or i would be in so much shit “  only for a laugh to fall from her lips  standing little taller making a pretty lady laugh was always an ego boost .  the two stood patiently as frank suddenly remembered but eddie never blamed the guy he was getting older at first working there well it was a favour for his uncle wayne  giving the two were buddies  .  

“ So check out although i don’t think you’ve been fully briefed in what the job entails” he winced slowly walking over to the office he swore one of these days he was going to tidy up .  opening the door waiting to hear a gasp or for her to storm out and say not my problem . 

“ holy shit “ was probably selling it lightly at the chaos of files everywhere . “ ok take what you need for today and i will do the rest “  she nodded walking more trying not to knock over the stacked boxes and create more of mess although it wasn’t like it would really make a difference.   Eddie doing just that in truth he was still that whole the day even the first week waiting for her to run out of there. Only thing was he was not allowed step foot in the office until then  . everytime she would open the door a little  handing him out paperwork  he needed or receipts til  maybe the middle of the second week she finally opened the shutters on the small office which he honestly never even noticed they were shutters to begin with .  then one day while he was eating lunch he watched her with a trolley carrying boxes into the garage only to see cleaning supplies while throwing out the near ancient ones . by the end of the month well it was like a whole other place  , old furniture replaced  in the waiting area , the break room was cleaned out and refreshed , even returning customers wondered if they were in the right place  and word travelled fast the new changes to the shop , the new beautiful receptionist .  which second part he was kinda sad she was thought of in such a way it was like his own greedy little secret . 

Working day in and day out together for that time too became fast friends he almost smacked his head when he heard her blasting metallica in as she cleaned or how hard his mouth fell open when he found out she was franks granddaughter . which explained how she was able to get approval for everything so easily or why she didn’t run for the hill when she first saw the place. It was also a surprise to see steve harrington driving in giving that eddie already repaired the bmw the weekend just gone. 

“ harrington “ he arched his brow . 

“ the windshield wiper fell off that like safety thing right?” he asked looking around everywhere but at eddie. 

“ fell off … did you pull this off “he gasp seeing the mangled state of piece in his hand. 

“ no why would he do that now” robin voice called as she too was looking around the space. 

“ you helped it wouldn’t have to do with the news of a certain lady that start working here would it ?” he mused looking at his close friends who in his opinion couldn’t lie for shit. 

“ oh hey welcome  would you guys like a cup of coffee “ the voice of angel rang out as the two stood goofy smiles on their faces. 

“ sweetheart no need for the niceness these are my friends actually more like pest robin and steve this is y/n , y/n robin and steve” he chuckled. 

“ oh nice to meet you both … did a bear attack your wipers “ her head tilted looking down at the scrap metal in Eddie's hands. 

“ yeah i had to fight it off save my car “ steve nodded trying to appear strong and buff only for his friends faces to scrunch in disgust.  

“ yeah right  yogi bear , soo y/n how old are you … single ?” Robin smiled sweetly. 

“ erm i’m 25 and yeah i’m single .. I spend so much time here to even find a boyfriend  “ she laughed . 

“ ignore those two .. you heading out ?” 

“ oh thought i get us lunch was just coming  out to see what you wanted .. or you guys wanted if your friends want to join” 

“ yes “ ..”they were just leaving “ the three spoke in unison . 

“ hey why don’t  i come with you i know what they like and plus  make a new friend “ robin linked arms already leading her out the door . 

“ I taught her too well “ steve sighed . 

“ yeah cause your swimming in the ladies lately” Eddie teased walking to the car trying to  see where to even begin . 

“ i’ll have you know i’ve a date for tonight munson “ .

“ so why are you flirting with my hot coworker harrington ?” 

“ cause she hot plus i’m not the only one  you do realise more repairs  lately have be guys wrecking their cars on purpose to try and talk to her ?” steve snorted. 

“ so you admit that you broke the windshield wiper … wait that why we’ve been so busy lately?” eddie turned his head to the side  as steve nodded his head yes . 

“ come on man she new and well she easy on the eyes  and yeah she gonna be a hot ticket in town “ . 

“ she not just a pretty face man , she funny and goofy and great music taste that dio album playing she brought that in from home and she friendly and kind makes the old gals feel like vip honestly she the best” eddie beaming smile only made steve eyes widened. 

“ oh my god you love her” 

 “ dude i know her a month and couple of week i do not love her” scoffing pretending like it wasn’t close to it . which in his defense was a cruel joke on universe part to put her so close knowing a woman like that would never go for a guy like him, girls like that make guys like him the best friend or close friends it was a cruel thing but it was a fact he could already see unfolding . barely listening to steve drowning on, not even realising he was moved on to a new topic of conversation til the time past and the girls were back robin was more friendly then flirt must of picking up that y/n was straight well he thinks she was .  steve and robin thought they could see it , the lingering touches or the fact her eyes would be on eddie  or how they would quickly move before he could catch her bluntly checking him out . 

It went on like that for weeks both looking when the other wasn’t or slightly flirty undertones of exchanges that they would brush off thinking they were reading too much into it .  another thing it was always just at work it was like the friendship or whatever it was only extended to the walls of franks automobile repair shop not that the two didn’t want to like anytime they went to extend it ,they would chicken out or say something completely different . soon  it was a year that had passed since y/n came to the shop , a year of trying to convince himself that he wasn’t in love or that he wasn’t good enough for the woman who gave him sweet words every single day .  like the day she arrived it was hottest day of the year and like it was the universe was trying to kill him when she walked in the door wearing pair of shorts and tank top looking like one of those supermodels on the coke and pepsi commercials . he could feel his throat go dry and his mouth water  trying not to stare at the way the shorts hugged her ass so right  or how perfect her cleavage was in the tank top or how he was sure to melt and evaporate all in one.  Then like the universe called he sensed the real devil in town . jason carver and his bum chum andy another two idiots who still thought they were in highschool .  

“ I got these, would you check the inventory please  “ he called as y/n gave him a nod and a quick good morning. 

“ well looks like your still here huh munson and still the  one fixing the cars , i thought you at least be manager or something “ that smug smirk on his face , the pearly veneers that his buddy never told him look ridiculous . 

“ what can i do you for gentlemen” 

“ it’s making weird noise cop told me get checked out or next time he’d give me a ticket.. Hey were the hot piece of ass that works here maybe i could service her while you service my car” he chuckled looking around . 

“ her name is y/n not piece of ass and she working “ the glare if it could kill jason carver would fall to the ground dead , usually the comment never hurt shit he’s heard it all since he was a kid learned to grow tick skin but hearing them talk about y/n was different . 

“ go get her then i wanna talk to her about the price of all this not that matters maybe throw her a bone give her taste of a good thing instead of being here with your deadbeat ass all time i mean i’m sure she nice to you all time cause she feels sorry for you “ he snickered as andy high fived him . 

“ i mean i seen her man she definitely wouldn’t be into satan spawn here … you like her don’t you munson … what you think girl like that chooses to be here listening to these noise you call music “ andy snide smile as two found themselves hilarious but what they didn’t know was said woman was listening to everything, finding that part of her that wouldn’t end up in a orange jumpsuit . how dare they talk down to eddie like that one of the funniest , goofiest sweethearts that was basically sex on legs . how drooled over her work as she watched him bent over the hood of a car or how she had to clench her thighs when she saw his arm muscle contract along with the ink on his body . how dear these two personality void asswipes talk down to anyone when they looked like dollar store versions of wall street nope not in this world or the next would she let anyone talk down to eddie not on her watch . she didn’t even have a plan nor did she wanna even think of the consequences of what she was about to do it could wait another time . instead she came out of the closet before jason carver could even get anything out of his mouth she pulled eddie by his overalls and crashing her lips against his taking every single male in the room off guard including the one she kissed only to pinch his side to bring him to reality  well it wasn’t reality for him , he was sure this was a dream because it was like so many of the ones he woke up painfully hard from . it had to be a dream because this felt too perfect , too right . like every nearvein his body was under her control as it came to life from just her touch . 

“ oh shoot sorry i didn’t even notice you guys”the coy smile as she pulled back from clearing of a throat. It wasn’t a true lie she did actually forget the two  were there after a while getting lost in the feeling and taste of eddie on her lips . 

“ really the town freak” 

“ really those highlights “ she shot back , “ those clothes i mean  i get you guys got money but shit you got no personality as for eddie being a lowly mechanic he’s been running the place since he started , he is this place but you wouldn’t know that since you work for daddy “ she rolled her eyes . 

“ so what your just some slut anyways “ . 

“ ah as well as no personality , no brains either best you can do is slut ok my turn …. You rich boy never been told his whole like so well you been a prick all your life and who can blame you when toupee tommy which isn’t fooling anyone here bigs you up when your insult hurt as much as a feather … now do you want the car that clearly is compensation for the fact you got nothing going on down there or your free to leave” she batted her eyelashes  while eddie on the other hand never though his feelings could grow even more. 

“ your a receptionist why should i care what you say  , your both trash literally a fuck and dump is all your worth “ . 

“ and all your worth is nothing , yeah you may get girls but it’s for the money and even that isn’t worth sticking around for , which is why you have more girlfriends than you’ve had birthdays , oh and lets not pretend that you have actually friends because the second you go broke you will have no one not even toupee timmy who’s afraid to tell you those veneers make you look like a horse that died decades ago and now looks like a bad taxidermy job  so now do you want the car fixed or do you wanna leave because those are your opinions my friend either learn some manners or drive to another place “ she smiled sweetly like andy didn’t like he was going to start crying suddenly the universe and eddie were great old school pals as  looked weighing their options . through gritted teeth and almost killing him to say it but small town there wasn’t a luxury of going somewhere else and the other repair shop  well  he had a messy situation there too . through the whole interaction eddie stood looking at her like she save him and his whole family from a burning building or she hung the sun, moon and stars and after that fuck she did in his eyes.  The two men stood usually quiet while eddie got to work it wasn’t a tough repair but with those two tried to do it themselves when it would of been a whole other mess . once paid and speeding the hell out of there as she wave ever so sweetly .  like pride filled his body almost forgetting himself in the moment when he picked her up and spun her in a circle , placing his lips on her until he pulled back wide eyed thinking he overstepped the boundary that the other kiss was for show. 

“ shit sorry .. fuck “ he pulled back cursing himself . 

“ eddie..” she went to begin but he went on his own rant. 

“ i am sorry i know you did it to get the guys off my back i stupidly though ..but why would a girl like you like a lo.. Ouch did you just pinch me “ he gasped probably a little over dramatic but then again it wouldn’t be eddie if he wasn’t . 

“ yes because you were going to go on about being a lowly trailer park kid and shit ? wanna know what i think ?” she asked. 

“ if it like what you told carver i’d rather you hit me with a wrench instead … here” he winced handing her the wrench making her roll her eyes she wasn’t new to deflecting humour  she practically mastered it herself . 

“ i see a man who knows how to appreciate things in life like friends and possession, one that even if he did have a ton of money would spend it on his friend than to show off what he had , one of those people that would make sure everyone is ok before himself , a funny silly man who enjoys entertaining those around him , big nerd but honestly nerds are hotter “ she winked . “ also if you haven’t gathered i kinda of kissed you first and it wasn’t fully for those guys but maybe my own selfish reason of wanting to kiss the hottest guy in town by a mile “ she added slowly walking towards him placing her soft hand  on nap of his neck puling him down to her level so she could place a kiss on his lips . 

“  i mean sometimes i do wanna hit you with the wrench but like ninety seven percent of the time i wanna do that” she pulled back only for him to walk over hitting the shutter before lifting her up . 

“ well if we're showing off what we wanna do my little knight in shining ... denim let me really show you what i  really wanna do with you “ a wolfish grin and new found confidence maybe the shop could shut earlier for the day .

[sirfrogsworth]

Grampa's Antique Fan (2015 vs 2024 Edit)

As a young man, after coming home from the Second World War, my grampa got a job as an electrician for Emerson Electric. He didn't work on the actual electrical products. He just maintained the electrical systems that power the tools to make electrical components.

It was a "I heard you need electricity for your electricity" type deals.

The company was founded in 1890 in nearby Ferguson, Missouri by John Wesley Emerson. He was a Union commander in the Civil War and a lawyer and then a judge and then an author and then a historian... so he was clearly qualified to run one of the first electronics companies. (This is currently referred to as the "Law of Elon".)

Emerson (the company, not the dude) specialized in electric motors and was the first to stick their motors in a fan and sell them.

As you can see by the 4 protective fan guard loopies, these were very safe for kids to be around.

I mean, the biggest thing you could shove in there is a baby arm, which is the least important part of a baby. No baby heads were chopped off—which was the bar for consumer safety during that era.

Fans are rated by the volume of air they can push over a period of time and your average box fan can push about 1400 cubic feet per minute or "CFM". When this Emerson (the fan, not the dude) was produced they actually used "CCH" or cubic cubits per hour. Emerson (the dude) loved using odd standards of measurement much to the chagrin of his engineers.

Due to the small surface area, weak angle of attack, and heavy metal blades, this electronic beast could only push a baker's dozen cubic cubits per baker's hour—which was a confusing metric of time because people were very superstitious and they refused to put the 13 on the baker's clocks. They just left a mysterious blank void after the 12 and apparently several people had existential crises during the baker's hour. Some were institutionalized for a rare condition called Time Delirium.

Thankfully Emerson Electric was able to provide the electroshock therapy devices that cured several patients. This was achieved by erasing the memory of the traumatic time delirium events along with a few other unimportant details like what they did last Tuesday and their mother's name and one engineering degree that the guy wasn't even using.

My dad actually got the fan working and let me tell you... that bad boy could really work up a gentle breeze...

...if you stood behind it and blew.

And that fine American-made electric fan motor was just as quiet as a leaf blower on Saturday morning.

Over the last century, Emerson was bought and sold and bought and sold.

And bought and sold and bought and sold.

Was that 7?

Eh, close enough. We'll call it a baker's 7.

They changed their product line countless times over their 130+ years of existence. After fans they pivoted and made electric meat grinders. To this day, no one know what inspired that decision.

Currently, they make radar avionics and are majority-owned by the private equity firm, Blackstone. Which is a totally non-evil sounding name they chose for their company-eating empire. Please ignore that the CEO was one of Trump's policy strategists. This is a non-evil company with a non-evil name run by non-evil people, okay?

Despite Emerson Electric having to settle a baker's gross of lawsuits involving a few lightly scalp'd babies, they maintain a Fortune 500 status and are still headquartered in Ferguson.

They occupy one of the most boring ass buildings ever constructed.

Just rectangles all the way down.

That architect told every angle to get rect.

Of course, I forgot all of this cool history and sold this fan in the estate auction. I suppose it is a good thing I got a nice photograph to help assuage my current feelings of guilt. I mean, it is not baby scalping, time delirium guilt—but I would feel better if I knew my gramp-gramp's fan was in a good home with 0 babies.

[vintagerpg]

In its last moments, the Role Aids line sought to reimagine the fundamentals of D&D. Arch Magic pushed arcane spellcasting to the outer reaches. The Blood & Steel box set (1993) seeks to renovate combat. That’s Carl Critchlow on the cover (not Biz, shockingly). Interiors are by Julian Jackson. In a novel bit of art direction, we get to see a fighter carve his way through opponent after opponent on each page, until he meets his match against a warlock.

I’m a poor judge of this box set. I kind of hate replacement combat systems — they’re almost always noodly and more complicated than the vanilla system, which I guess really lights some folks’ fire, but I want less complicated fighting, generally. At a glance, all the new fighter stuff is complicated. Skill points. Wound points. My eyes glazed over when I tried to read the 2.5 player option book for fighters, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the methodology here wound up in there in some form after TSR bought the line. There are a bunch of new fighter class variants, too, but the fact that the fighter in the illustrations handily dispatches all of them but the warlock doesn’t really inspire confidence.

The big thing is the combat cards. 180 cards that kind of work similarly to the Lost Worlds one-on-one combat books, with each card displaying a maneuver with bonuses and penalties, both of which are resolved and applied to the combat rolls. I think. I kinda like this, actually, I enjoy the idea of building more move-to-move action into combat (I especially like that the intention here is to only use it when the fighter requests it, which seem like a good way to heighten the drama). But at the end of the day, “simple” usually trumps “cool but complex” for me.

[centrally-unplanned]

Let's do a "Tepid Critique" of Tanner Greer's latest piece around America's new turn away from the European security alliance. It is a quick one, generally outlining how generational churn has resulted in a cultural shift around the value of NATO+ amoung a new wave of people who weren't around for the Cold War. And he outlines this as a response to the material realities of the US/Euro funding split, citing a 2011 speech by Sec Def Robert Gates:

Indeed, if current trends in the decline of European defense capabilities are not halted and reversed, future U.S. political leaders—those for whom the Cold War was not the formative experience that it was for me—may not consider the return on America’s investment in NATO worth the cost.

I do not think this is a false statement, but I think we are confusing the mechanism here. There is not in the US much of a "new generation" of people who now hate NATO or Europe. All of that polls very well!

The actual Ukraine war tested it, sure, (live wars do that) but it didn't shift it much at all - except amoung a minority faction. And note, Ukraine...isn't in NATO? Like that isn't a NATO thing! The US also tired of supporting South Vietnam, this just happens in all wars - we are cheapskates, news at eleven. The idea that Greer & Gates outlines of a next generation "atrophying" away this alliance is not really shown in the data.

And that makes sense because, while Europe underfunding their military is bad for Europe, it really isn't a huge deal for the US. The only real NATO war fought since the end of the Cold War was against an attack on the US! I guess you can count the Serbian bombings, but that is incredibly small bore. And to widen from NATO, dozens of European allies helped the US in Afghanistan and Iraq and the War on Terror, and meanwhile almost none of those countries have had any real conflicts that we have had to commit to. Whatever they spend on military is general "bonus" for the US. There are wider problems here, sure, that isn't my point - my point is that the current US population has not, materially, felt at all the "burden" of supporting Europe. There is not yet such a thing.

Now ofc there is a large minority faction that is pretty passionate about all this isolationism stuff! Which is a valid mechanism for change even if the "silent majority" is unmoved. But I think this group is a bit misunderstood because they have looong roots in the US. Many who have written about this will mention the isolationist parties of Charles Lindbergh and the America First movement; this did not vanish during the Cold War by any means! It just didn't win elections. My perennial go-to Trump precursor Ross Perot was a globalist-skeptic, and in 1992 - one year after the USSR fell! - he won ~20% of the vote as an independent. Not saying that was his Big Issue, it wasn't...but it wasn't Trump's either. The turn to isolation in the current administration wasn't fought at the ballot box, it was fought in the shadows of the back rooms and the trenches of Twitter. Those are far more contingent battles and "generational churn" is too simplistic to use for them.

And let's look at some of those fighters! Remember the whole North Carolina hurricane thing last year? That was a big one for the anti-Ukraine movement, lots of shit like this:

Now I want you to remember Greer's point, that European "free-riding" created the conditions for their intellectual discarding. Take that, and imagine a world where Europe spends 3% of its GDP on defense. A world where Europe, instead of giving 40% of all military aid to Ukraine like it currently does, gives 70%

In that world does a single word of this tweet change?

Obviously it doesn't! It is actually insane to think it would, no one does. These tweets are from fucking liars, they don't care about the actual quantity of aid flows to Ukraine. If Trump was president when the aid was given they would never said a word! It is partisan bullshit from top to bottom. The actual, material realities of the US-European security relationship are a bit player in this ideological reshift. It is just domestic politics picking out partisan victims.

The simple reality of America's currently realignment on this issue is that is not a grand shift in public opinion so much as a collapse in the elite structure of the Republican Party. They failed to gatekeep candidates due to a bad primary system, failed to anticipate the growing importance of immigration, and were too stubborn to just lie to voters and pivot to the center on things like middle class welfare. And that faction, for mercurial reasons, also hates Europe. This is not some inevitable trendline by any means.

Now, I said this was a tepid critique, and I meant it. I think this framing is wrong, it didn't happen the way Gates implied. An extant minority wing hijacked by an outsider strongman executed an entryist takeover of an existing party structure and started winning just enough online culture war battles to grow into dominance. But it is the case that, while that happened, the Republican Party is still pro-life despite Trump not caring about that in the slightest. Because when he took over the party, the pro-life faction was strong, and he could not simply discard them, and so he accommodated them (and other reasons ofc, just gotta focus).

Foreign policy, unlike domestic policy, never has a large domestic voting base, so it was easy to discard. But also, while traditional Republican support amoung party elites for the globalist strategy was consensus, the faith in it had been dinged by European weakness. Few really wanted to die on this hill the way that during the Cold War they would have, and Gates is correctly outlining something that happened within this elite subfaction (as opposed to the "establishment" as a whole, where it did not happen). So when push came to shove on this topic they balked, over and over - while at the same time hard-pushing tax cuts and welfare reductions, the things they have strong faith in.

I do think a world where Europe was seen by these elites as "doing their part", pushback would have been stronger. Enough to make a difference? Eh, who knows. But still worth pointing out and exploring.