#and at the same time is not offering me a reasonable alternative

[calcichel]

Alright, I generally try not to dig into meta stuff, especially mid-read, but I gotta ask (since I don't have a good way to search for posts where this has almost certainly been previously answered). Every other arc of Worm has a female character do/say something suggestive with another female character, and then they immediately go "no homo though!!! promise." I saw this sort of pattern being joked about in various wormblr posts but wasn't sure how much was exaggeration. The prion kiss scene is the most egregious one obviously, but I just read Lisa's "the problem is my relationship with you" chapter, which was immediately followed by the "none of us girls bat for the other team" moment, to Parian of all people. Like this is getting ridiculous.

I obviously don't know anything about what the Worm community was like while this story was being published live. How intense were people about shipping? Was the author inserting these moments to deliberately fuck with the fandom? It happens so often that it seems like it has to be some sort of commentary on his part, but I can't figure out what he's trying to say. I'm personally sympathetic to a "friendships can and should be meaningful without romance involved" statement, but the type of lampshading happening here, specifically the way it seems to mock/tease the audience, doesn't seem compatible with that particular stance.

If anyone can offer me some additional context here (preferably without too many spoilers), I'd appreciate it!

[bookwyrminspiration]

I don't really have a final conclusion for this, I've just been thinking recently that I appreciate the effort Shannon made to say its okay to learn differently than others and have unique needs, however Exillium being the medium through which that message is conveyed in Unlocked falls short (at least for me) because...that's also the punishment school. Having different educational needs and being sent to a different school--not to mention one that's not even part of formal society and is literally in the wild--for poor behavior/choices are two very different things, but they've been lumped together.

Yes, it's entirely okay to learn differently and have unique needs, but that's not why kids get sent to Exillium. It's not a school to help accommodate their learning. Kids are, from what we've seen, sent almost always because they've caused problems and are deemed unfit for the typical schools. Disruptive, problematic, criminal, lesser, etc. So also having it be the alternative learning school kind of implies a correlation between having different needs and making poor choices/having problem behavior. Like none of these students "learn differently" (that we've been told at least) they caused problems (intentional or not) that people didn't want to deal with. Maybe this isn't representative of all Exillium students, but it's all we've seen so far that I can recall.

And yes Exillium is improving and did have a positive initial intention, but as it is right now I find myself (personally, these are my feelings) uncomfortable at it being used to say its okay to learn differently. Because it doesn't feel like it follows through on that message. Having the school where kids with criminal behavior are sent out of sight separate from the rest of society being the school for alternate learning styles just doesn't sit quite right.

And yes, some of the kids sent there were just labeled disruptive/problematic and they didn't actually do anything wrong but be themselves, but their being fucked over by the system doesn't change that that is how the system works.

I'm not really going anywhere with this and it's difficult to articulate (I'm sure I've missed a few clarifying points because I keep debating with myself back and forth) because I do think Shannon meant well, I'm not an expert, and there are always arguments to be made to the contrary (like I said, I've been debating with myself). It's just something I've been thinking about because I always feel icky reading that part of Linh's Exillium commentary, but maybe I'm making a problem out of nothing.

[kaysungshine]

𝓛𝓸𝓯𝓲 𝓛𝓾𝓼𝓽 ♡

{ Pairing } - Producer.bf!Jisung x afab.gf!reader

{ Genre } - NSFW; s/f/d(dark)*, PWP, established relationship

{ Synopsis } - Your boyfriend doesn't know any other method of stress relief, other than creating music. He can get so consumed by it, it can become the stressor. So you decide to present him with a new method. That's how you found yourself walking down the street in nothing but lingerie and a long coat.

{ WC } - 2.9k

{ Warnings & Tags } - 18+ MDNI, *forced orgasm/slight dubcon if you squint, everything is consensual but there is begging for more when reader might be at her limit so that's why I'm including dubcon (for those who may find it triggering)*, use of pet names (baby, angel, mine, my love, good girl & Ji), very lowkey needy/soft dom & romantic sub dynamic, worshipping reader, oral (f. recieving), squirting, overstimulation, unprotected piv (do as I say & not as I write, pee after sex too!), creampie, cum feeding & eating, fingers in mouth, pussy worship, I may just have gotten carried away with oral fixations okay? FORGIVE ME.

{ Disclaimer } - This work is in no way associated or depicting the actual life of the members of SKZ. It is a fictional piece of work, and I do not own Stray Kids. All works of fiction are loosely inspired by SKZ, and in no way am I saying it is true to their character.

{ A/N } - I originally was going to post a Hyunjin oneshot next, but I wanted to finish this one in time for Jiji's birthday! It's 2 am on the 14th where I am heheh. Hopefully you all like it. Han producing music will always be hot asf for me personally lmao. Barely proofread.

The air was cool, seeping underneath your long wool coat. In any other circumstance, on a late fall night, the coat would be enough to keep the chill out. Today however, it wouldn't. But you still kept walking, determined to make it to Jisungs studio. 

You focused on the clicking of the heels on the boots you wore. And the sound of the wind picking up, signalling a blustery night ahead. The small sounds calm your nerves. 

You were anxious about Jisung's reaction, he was in one of his moods again. You understand, you truly do. Juggling everything he has to on his plate, it was no easy feat. There were times he'd just let that dark veil take over, and shut everyone out without even meaning to. 

You knew he was in that state again when you hadn't seen or heard from him in three days. It wasn't for lack of effort on your end either. Every phone call sent to voicemail, every text sent by you was met with the same response;

'At the studio, I'll text you after, angel'.

You knew it was time for intervention when Chan texted you that he was only coming home, at 2 in the morning no less, to shower and change. No eating, no resting, just back to the studio afterwards.

This had happened twice before in the almost year you've been dating. Each time you remember talking with him afterwards, he always said the same thing;

'making music is my stress relief.'

That may be true, but it doesn't change the fact that he is also a workaholic. One who easily gets lost in the creative space he has built a career off of. And once that diligence sets in, it's hard to shake off. 

So here you are, ready to try a new approach. Ready to offer a new kind of relief. An alternative. 

You and Jisungs sex life was far from boring. Far from infrequent, you'd say too. But it surely was more... monotonous. You'd never complain about it, and neither would he. There was nothing wrong with it. It just happened at the 'perfect' times in your relationship. 

Before bed, after date nights, on monthly anniversaries, to express massive amounts of love, etc. 

It was never to celebrate happiness, calm anger, or comfort sadness. Never to relieve stress. 

You were determined to change that. There was no reason you could not help him in any way you could. And in this aspect, you knew you could. 

Still, you were nervous. This would be new, he never did well with new. 

Your footsteps stopped, leaving only the sound of the wind in your ears. Until you pressed your badge against the card reader, listening to the beeps, to the gears unlock. 

Once inside the lobby, the clinking of your heels against the vinyl tile filled your ears. Each step matches the thumping in your heart, you find yourself speed walking.

 You smiled and gave a little wave to the staff in the lobby, and they returned it. 

In the elevator, the sound of its melodic music filled your ears next. The whirring background noise the machinery made, stopped, as you reached your desired floor. 

There was silence when you stepped off. The flooring is carpeted now, and soundproof rooms lined the hallway leaving the night quiet. 

You took a deep breath and made your way to the door you knew was your boyfriend's. It was unlocked, thankfully. 

You let yourself in, seeing the silhouette of your boyfriends back facing the door in the blue lighting. 

He was all about ambiance in this facet of life, having LED's lining the ceiling. The only source of light in the room, besides the glowing screens of his monitors. 

He was sat in his chair, headphones on, hood up, head nodding in tandem with his fingers tapping. 

You took the opportunity to slide your boots off. Opting to keep your coat on, you brushed your hair over one shoulder. You took your badge from around your neck, and tossed it on the leather couch that was against the wall. 

Padding your way over to him, you place your hand on his shoulder lightly. He tenses under your touch, and turns his head. He's frowning when he first faces you, eyebrow furrowed together. 

When he sees you though, he softens. The corners of his mouth slightly upturning to a small smile. 

"Baby..." He whispers, sliding his head phones off. Soft lofi music is filling the room from them. 

He grabs your hand off his shoulder, bringing it to his lips. He's pressing soft kisses to your palm, and placing it on his cheek. 

"It's late my angel, why are you here?" He says in a husky voice with more volume. 

Your heart flutters at his gentleness, and you bend down to press your own lips to the top of his head. A musky, yet spicy vanilla scent fills your nostrils. His scent. 

"I'm here to help you baby." You murmur to him softly. 

That caught his attention. He fully swivelled around to face you, taking both of your hands in his. He gazed up into your eyes, a curious look on his face. 

You smiled down on him, feeling nothing but love for this man. You'd relax him in any way you can. You placed a hand on each side of his face, bending down again. No more words were said as you kissed him. As your hands slid down his neck, his found themselves on yours, pulling you closer to him. Matching your eagerness.

You let your hands fully slide off him, and tilted your head to deepen the kiss. Your trembling fingers were working the buttons on your coat. One by one, releasing the fabric from your bare skin. 

You stood up, letting the coat fall from your shoulders.

Jisung lets out a soft gasp, and licks his lips. 

Exposed to him, was his favorite lingerie you owned. It was a bra and panty set, satin and lace. Revealing. 

All white. 

Your boyfriends favorite part. He always said that the contrast against your melanated skin was a work of art. He joked about commissioning Hyunjin, if he didn't have to see you essentially naked.

So here you stood before him, presenting yourself to him. Silently willing him to do as he pleases. To take your body and use you to decompress. You were too nervous to say it.

He traces the swell of your breast with a finger, curving around the delicate lace. It's a simple touch, but it still sends a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps blooming on your skin. 

"So sexy." He mumbles, eyes roving your whole body. 

He stands up, kissing you desperately, and walking you back to the couch. Your knees hit the back of it, and you're forced to sit. Lips ripping away from his, panting at the desire in his eyes. 

All your nerves were gone. New or not, it would never change the fact that Jisung craved you as much as you craved him. 

He held himself up with his hands on the back of the couch, and hovered above you for a moment looking you in the eyes. 

Then he was sinking to the ground, on his knees, between your legs. His hands smooth over your thighs, making them pliant with soft kisses, before he spreads them open. Your pussy is glistening behind the lace, and he licks his lips again. 

His hand glides from your thigh, to your heat. Thumb brushing against that sensitive bud, the friction eliciting a whine from you. 

His eyes snap up to you, and he holds your gaze as his tongue licks a stripe up your clothed core. The tip of it flicking deliciously against your sensitive clit. 

"Mmmm..." He groaned at the taste of you, "All for me?"

You moan at his tongue swiping against you again, and again, "All for you, my love." 

His fingers hook underneath the band of your underwear, and he peels them off you. He's whimpering, watching as strings of your arousal stick to them. The cool air is hitting your sex, before puffs of hot air from his mouth is. And you're shivering again at the sensation. 

A gasp escapes you when his tongue slides between your folds. Lapping up your juices, and suckling at that bundle of nerves. You listen to the wet sounds his mouth is making against you, along with the broken melody coming from his head set. You get lost in it. 

Your hand finds his hair, and you're grinding against his mouth. He's whimpering and moaning with you, one hand palming at his bulge. The other has fingers teasing your entrance. 

You let out a loud moan when two fingers push into you, and your grasp on his hair loosens. He takes the opportunity to get air, panting, mouth hanging open. His cheeks, chin and lips all shine in the dull blue light. 

His fingers continue to pump into you as he watches your face contort for him. He's smiling with lidded eyes, basking in the fact that he's making you feel so good. 

"Ji..." You moan, needing more.

"My beautiful baby, let me worship you a little longer." And he's diving back down.

His tongue focuses on your clit, and fingers coaxing that gummy spot inside you. He's pulling moan after moan from you, making out with your lower lips, bringing you closer to the edge. Your thighs start trembling around his head, and he has to grip the fleshy part of one of them to stop you from squeezing him before he's finished. 

You're spilling over the edge, body alight and your release coating his fingers, and face. He's lapping up every little bit, determined to taste your pleasure on his tongue. Only when you start to whine from constant overstimulation does he stop. 

He's kissing his way up to your lips, leaving a wet trail behind him that you couldn't bring yourself to care about. 

You're not sure when he managed to discard his pants and boxers, but you feel his hard, bare length pressing against your inner thigh. 

He's rubbing his member against your pussy now, letting your slick and his saliva cover him. Kissing your neck as he's rocking against you, he whispers, "Angel, do you have another one for me?"

Of course you did, you knew you did. You needed to feel him, you needed to please him. So you started nodding fervently, eyes rolling in the back of your head when he sucked lightly near your ear and jaw. 

He had a grasp of his cock now, dragging the head through your folds with added pressure. Each squelch of your juices sounds like music to your ears, anticipation building in your body.

"'Gonna make you feel s'good." He's whining into your neck. 

He has your legs around him now, as he fills you slowly, both of you savoring the sensations it brings. Your pussy spasms around him, and it has him grunting. 

"Always feel so good squeezin' me..." He mumbled, letting you adjust, "...exactly what I needed..." 

Then he was pumping into you, and you felt it. All the frustrations he was holding onto, all the stress, all the vexation. He was translating it into the energy he used to pleasure you. Letting go of it all. 

You couldn't hear the soft lofi music coming from his head set anymore, instead the slapping of skin and heavy breathing mixed with moans were filling the room. You'd never be more thankful for a soundproof space. Neither of you were holding back. 

Your moans only being interrupted by quiet curses, and his being peppered in between praises of how good you feel for him. He made it known he was chasing your high before his, begging you to cum for him. 

"Please angel," he whispers against your lips, "need to feel you cumming on my cock."

His pace became quicker as he kissed you, and his hand slithered down to play with your clit. Your back arched off the couch at that, angling him deeper inside you. He groaned, and his thrusts faltered for a second indicating he was close. 

Regardless he was determined to finish you, and his tone grew more demanding, "Be a good girl... cum for me, angel."

And that was all your body and mind needed to let go, legs locking around him and body shaking. Your hands slid under his hoodie, and nails dug into his back. It was the kind of intense orgasm, that your moan got stuck in your throat, instead a rough growl coming out. 

You sounded absolutely feral for him, and you were. 

That was what pushed him over the edge, a slew of curses leaving his mouth as his hips stuttered. With a final harsh thrust, he cums deep inside you. All of the negativity has dispersed from his body, and he collapsed back to his knees. 

You're both panting, trying to catch your breath. You jolt when you feel his fingers in your folds, over sensitivity taking over yet again. He's spreading you open, hypnotized by the way his cum is drooling out of you. 

"So perfect, fuck." He says as he drags his finger through it. 

He's bringing it up to your lips, and your mouth opens instinctively. You're sucking his finger into your mouth, his essence salty but familiar on your tongue. 

His eyes are locked to yours as you work his finger, licking it clean. He slips a second finger in your mouth, letting you cover them in your saliva before he dips back down for a taste himself. 

You're whining around his fingers when his tongue glides against your clit, and your hips try to retract into the couch. Quickly, he has both hands on your hips, securing you in place so he can continue tasting you. 

"We taste so good together, my love..." He's mumbling against you. 

His words will never fail to coax submission out of you.

Your hand flies back to his hair, as good as it feels you're trying to pull him away. He's just burying his face deeper, tongue dipping into your entrance to make sure he's tasting everything. 

"Ji... s'too much... I can't-" You're pleading, even though you feel yourself succumbing to the overwhelming brushes of his tongue.

He hisses when you finally succeed in pulling him off you, "Please angel," He's begging again, "Just one more. I know you have one more for me." 

"Fuck, Ji, I-" 

He silences you with his tongue flat against you, another lick up to your clit "Please, need to hear you cumming one more time for me." He whines and starts leaving sloppy, wet kisses on your pussy. 

You always knew he was more of a giver. That even though it was you who had cum twice, and he only once. He preferred it that way. Even if he was the one needing the release more, he thrived more on your pleasure.

"Just be gentl-" You try to say, but cut yourself off with a groan. 

He's eagerly slurping at your core. Lost in the moment, all he has is your pussy on his mind now. Messily licking and lapping at every inch. He's shaking his head and moaning into it, keeping you pinned in place by your hips. 

You feel another orgasm starting to build quickly, clenching around nothing. He risks you bucking your hips roughly into his face, and takes a hand off your hip. He's pushing two fingers into you yet again, and you're seeing stars. 

His fingers curl, and his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly. You feel your release slip away from you, and your cumming on his face again. Yelling his name. He only grows more determined.

He leans back so he can watch the beautiful, writhing, mess he reduced you to. The thumb of his other hand is replacing his mouth, continuously flicking your bud. He doesn't slow his movements as you ride out your orgasm, instead picking them up. 

Your world turns white, and you feel yourself squirt on his hands. He's watching you in awe, whispering more praise for you as your juices spray over him. 

"So fucking sexy, my good girl."

"That's it, let go for me, let it all go."

"Knew you had one more in you, all for me."

"My perfect angel."

It's when you start to slip into that floaty space that he finally stops. He doesn't want you too gone, he's limited in the care he can provide here.

He's positioning you to lay on the couch, and he's laying behind you. You're both wet and sticky, and heaving for air. Yet, it's blissful. 

You lay there for what could've been minutes or an hour, you weren't sure. You were content in each other's touch. Your arm reaches back to caress his head, fingers combing through his hair. He's humming. 

"I love you." You finally murmur. 

"I love you more, angel. Thank you for this." He says, and kisses your shoulder. 

"You caught on quickly to my idea." You giggled.

He laughed with you, "I caught on halfway through it, actually. I was just beside myself with desire for you." 

You blushed at that, and you were thankful he couldn't see it. 

"I mean you showed up in my favorite set..." He whispers and starts toying with the lace on your bra, his finger slipping underneath to flick your nipple, "In ONLY my favorite set. How could I not show you how much I admire you." 

You felt his length harden against you again, and he rolled his hips slowly as he gripped your hip. 

You knew the night was far from over. 

As for how you were both going to escape and clean up? Well that was a problem for future you. 

Taglist:

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@nebugalaxy @wowitsafemale

As always, please let me know if you'd like to join the taglist. And if you do, pretty please interact with my fics besides liking (ie; replying/commenting/reblogging). Although I will always appreciate liking as well! Feedback is always cherished! ♡

But again, please be gentle in your criticism! I am but a sensitive soul.

[takaraphoenix]

I saw someone refer to Steter as a comedy relief duo earlier and it just completely sent me, because that's just... so far from what Steter is, in canon?

As I'm currently rewatching the show, it has shot up into being my favorite ship on the show because of the gravitas it has.

It's a ship that highlights Stiles' fearlessness in such intriguing ways, in canon. From the boy who yelled at a feral Alpha in the school, to their first face to face meeting at the hospital, when Peter recognizes him, knows him, acknowledges him ("You must be Stiles", as though Stiles' reputation as the one who figures things out proceeds him, as he is the first one to put together that Peter is the Alpha).

There's nothing comedic about the scene on the lacrosse field, when Stiles is kneelng beside Lydia's unconscious form and Peter... for reasons beyond comprehension... decides to curl his claws beneath Stiles' chin and guide him up. Not grab him by the arm and haul him up, not command him, not demand.

This is... sensual, filled with tension, and I don't even necessarily mean the sexual tension (even though the imagery of Stiles kneeling before Peter and Peter grasping his chin is something that I find hard to not see a sexual read on).

Peter kidnaps Stiles into the parking garage to force the boy to track down Derek and, sure, the "His username is Allison? His password is also Allison?" - "Still want him in your pack?" is absolutely iconic and is comedic... how do you boil that entire exchange down to "comedy relief"?

The way Peter offers Stiles the bite - Peter, who so far, only took whatever he wanted, never asked or offered - and doesn't force when Stiles says "No". Even the way Peter catches Stiles on the lie is a moment of tension and revelation on Stiles' part. The way Peter acknowledges Stiles as the clever one.

The season 1 finale? When Stiles sets the survivor of a horrific house fire on fire? Absolute riot, huh. It's vicious, it's cruel - it's everything.

And when Peter is resurrected? Sure, Stiles sarcastically asks if someone can kill him again and sure, Peter snarks about living in a cave system. But even in that episode, these brief comedic moments are absolutely overshadowed by the way Peter and Stiles work together, figure out what the vault is made of, then call Scott to warn him and Derek, by finishing each other's sentences. Two brilliant minds working together, on the same wavelength.

The next time they interact is when Peter tells Stiles about Paige, explains what the blue eyes mean. It's one of the more heavy and serious moments in the season, aside from all the death scenes. It's a big lore drop and character background on both Peter and Derek. And it's Stiles this information is shared with. It's a serious moment and even as Peter tells it all, Stiles doesn't trust, sees past the silver tongue and that too is part of the appeal.

When Peter and Stiles work together to save Cora's life in the hospital, while the Alpha Pack is hunting them down? Blind trust. Stiles asks Peter to help him and Peter doesn't even ask, much less quip, he just follows Stiles' lead and they work together.

Now, I'll admit, I haven't seen seasons 3B through 6 in six years and hey, maybe they'll be a real Abbott and Costello in season 4 and I'm just not remembering it, but damn it all to hell if the first half of the show doesn't present them as two clever minds challenging each other, with a growth from terror and pain to respect and teamwork.

I understand and respect not liking a ship, but I am genuinely baffled when people deliberately misinterpret a canon to suit their needs. Always makes me wonder what alternate reality's version of the show they were watching, surely not the same as me.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Your car spies on you and rats you out to insurance companies

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW (Mar 13) in SAN FRANCISCO with ROBIN SLOAN, then Toronto, NYC, Anaheim, and more!

Another characteristically brilliant Kashmir Hill story for The New York Times reveals another characteristically terrible fact about modern life: your car secretly records fine-grained telemetry about your driving and sells it to data-brokers, who sell it to insurers, who use it as a pretext to gouge you on premiums:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/11/technology/carmakers-driver-tracking-insurance.html

Almost every car manufacturer does this: Hyundai, Nissan, Ford, Chrysler, etc etc:

https://www.repairerdrivennews.com/2020/09/09/ford-state-farm-ford-metromile-honda-verisk-among-insurer-oem-telematics-connections/

This is true whether you own or lease the car, and it's separate from the "black box" your insurer might have offered to you in exchange for a discount on your premiums. In other words, even if you say no to the insurer's carrot – a surveillance-based discount – they've got a stick in reserve: buying your nonconsensually harvested data on the open market.

I've always hated that saying, "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product," the reason being that it posits decent treatment as a customer reward program, like the little ramekin warm nuts first class passengers get before takeoff. Companies don't treat you well when you pay them. Companies treat you well when they fear the consequences of treating you badly.

Take Apple. The company offers Ios users a one-tap opt-out from commercial surveillance, and more than 96% of users opted out. Presumably, the other 4% were either confused or on Facebook's payroll. Apple – and its army of cultists – insist that this proves that our world's woes can be traced to cheapskate "consumers" who expected to get something for nothing by using advertising-supported products.

But here's the kicker: right after Apple blocked all its rivals from spying on its customers, it began secretly spying on those customers! Apple has a rival surveillance ad network, and even if you opt out of commercial surveillance on your Iphone, Apple still secretly spies on you and uses the data to target you for ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Even if you're paying for the product, you're still the product – provided the company can get away with treating you as the product. Apple can absolutely get away with treating you as the product, because it lacks the historical constraints that prevented Apple – and other companies – from treating you as the product.

As I described in my McLuhan lecture on enshittification, tech firms can be constrained by four forces:

I. Competition

II. Regulation

III. Self-help

IV. Labor

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/30/go-nuts-meine-kerle/#ich-bin-ein-bratapfel

When companies have real competitors – when a sector is composed of dozens or hundreds of roughly evenly matched firms – they have to worry that a maltreated customer might move to a rival. 40 years of antitrust neglect means that corporations were able to buy their way to dominance with predatory mergers and pricing, producing today's inbred, Habsburg capitalism. Apple and Google are a mobile duopoly, Google is a search monopoly, etc. It's not just tech! Every sector looks like this:

https://www.openmarketsinstitute.org/learn/monopoly-by-the-numbers

Eliminating competition doesn't just deprive customers of alternatives, it also empowers corporations. Liberated from "wasteful competition," companies in concentrated industries can extract massive profits. Think of how both Apple and Google have "competitively" arrived at the same 30% app tax on app sales and transactions, a rate that's more than 1,000% higher than the transaction fees extracted by the (bloated, price-gouging) credit-card sector:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/07/curatorial-vig/#app-tax

But cartels' power goes beyond the size of their warchest. The real source of a cartel's power is the ease with which a small number of companies can arrive at – and stick to – a common lobbying position. That's where "regulatory capture" comes in: the mobile duopoly has an easier time of capturing its regulators because two companies have an easy time agreeing on how to spend their app-tax billions:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/05/regulatory-capture/

Apple – and Google, and Facebook, and your car company – can violate your privacy because they aren't constrained regulation, just as Uber can violate its drivers' labor rights and Amazon can violate your consumer rights. The tech cartels have captured their regulators and convinced them that the law doesn't apply if it's being broken via an app:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/18/cursed-are-the-sausagemakers/#how-the-parties-get-to-yes

In other words, Apple can spy on you because it's allowed to spy on you. America's last consumer privacy law was passed in 1988, and it bans video-store clerks from leaking your VHS rental history. Congress has taken no action on consumer privacy since the Reagan years:

https://www.eff.org/tags/video-privacy-protection-act

But tech has some special enshittification-resistant characteristics. The most important of these is interoperability: the fact that computers are universal digital machines that can run any program. HP can design a printer that rejects third-party ink and charge $10,000/gallon for its own colored water, but someone else can write a program that lets you jailbreak your printer so that it accepts any ink cartridge:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Tech companies that contemplated enshittifying their products always had to watch over their shoulders for a rival that might offer a disenshittification tool and use that as a wedge between the company and its customers. If you make your website's ads 20% more obnoxious in anticipation of a 2% increase in gross margins, you have to consider the possibility that 40% of your users will google "how do I block ads?" Because the revenue from a user who blocks ads doesn't stay at 100% of the current levels – it drops to zero, forever (no user ever googles "how do I stop blocking ads?").

The majority of web users are running an ad-blocker:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

Web operators made them an offer ("free website in exchange for unlimited surveillance and unfettered intrusions") and they made a counteroffer ("how about 'nah'?"):

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

Here's the thing: reverse-engineering an app – or any other IP-encumbered technology – is a legal minefield. Just decompiling an app exposes you to felony prosecution: a five year sentence and a $500k fine for violating Section 1201 of the DMCA. But it's not just the DMCA – modern products are surrounded with high-tech tripwires that allow companies to invoke IP law to prevent competitors from augmenting, recongifuring or adapting their products. When a business says it has "IP," it means that it has arranged its legal affairs to allow it to invoke the power of the state to control its customers, critics and competitors:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

An "app" is just a web-page skinned in enough IP to make it a crime to add an ad-blocker to it. This is what Jay Freeman calls "felony contempt of business model" and it's everywhere. When companies don't have to worry about users deploying self-help measures to disenshittify their products, they are freed from the constraint that prevents them indulging the impulse to shift value from their customers to themselves.

Apple owes its existence to interoperability – its ability to clone Microsoft Office's file formats for Pages, Numbers and Keynote, which saved the company in the early 2000s – and ever since, it has devoted its existence to making sure no one ever does to Apple what Apple did to Microsoft:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/06/adversarial-interoperability-reviving-elegant-weapon-more-civilized-age-slay

Regulatory capture cuts both ways: it's not just about powerful corporations being free to flout the law, it's also about their ability to enlist the law to punish competitors that might constrain their plans for exploiting their workers, customers, suppliers or other stakeholders.

The final historical constraint on tech companies was their own workers. Tech has very low union-density, but that's in part because individual tech workers enjoyed so much bargaining power due to their scarcity. This is why their bosses pampered them with whimsical campuses filled with gourmet cafeterias, fancy gyms and free massages: it allowed tech companies to convince tech workers to work like government mules by flattering them that they were partners on a mission to bring the world to its digital future:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/10/the-proletarianization-of-tech-workers/

For tech bosses, this gambit worked well, but failed badly. On the one hand, they were able to get otherwise powerful workers to consent to being "extremely hardcore" by invoking Fobazi Ettarh's spirit of "vocational awe":

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

On the other hand, when you motivate your workers by appealing to their sense of mission, the downside is that they feel a sense of mission. That means that when you demand that a tech worker enshittifies something they missed their mother's funeral to deliver, they will experience a profound sense of moral injury and refuse, and that worker's bargaining power means that they can make it stick.

Or at least, it did. In this era of mass tech layoffs, when Google can fire 12,000 workers after a $80b stock buyback that would have paid their wages for the next 27 years, tech workers are learning that the answer to "I won't do this and you can't make me" is "don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out" (AKA "sharpen your blades boys"):

https://techcrunch.com/2022/09/29/elon-musk-texts-discovery-twitter/

With competition, regulation, self-help and labor cleared away, tech firms – and firms that have wrapped their products around the pluripotently malleable core of digital tech, including automotive makers – are no longer constrained from enshittifying their products.

And that's why your car manufacturer has chosen to spy on you and sell your private information to data-brokers and anyone else who wants it. Not because you didn't pay for the product, so you're the product. It's because they can get away with it.

Cars are enshittified. The dozens of chips that auto makers have shoveled into their car design are only incidentally related to delivering a better product. The primary use for those chips is autoenshittification – access to legal strictures ("IP") that allows them to block modifications and repairs that would interfere with the unfettered abuse of their own customers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

The fact that it's a felony to reverse-engineer and modify a car's software opens the floodgates to all kinds of shitty scams. Remember when Bay Staters were voting on a ballot measure to impose right-to-repair obligations on automakers in Massachusetts? The only reason they needed to have the law intervene to make right-to-repair viable is that Big Car has figured out that if it encrypts its diagnostic messages, it can felonize third-party diagnosis of a car, because decrypting the messages violates the DMCA:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2013/11/drm-cars-will-drive-consumers-crazy

Big Car figured out that VIN locking – DRM for engine components and subassemblies – can felonize the production and the installation of third-party spare parts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

The fact that you can't legally modify your car means that automakers can go back to their pre-2008 ways, when they transformed themselves into unregulated banks that incidentally manufactured the cars they sold subprime loans for. Subprime auto loans – over $1t worth! – absolutely relies on the fact that borrowers' cars can be remotely controlled by lenders. Miss a payment and your car's stereo turns itself on and blares threatening messages at top volume, which you can't turn off. Break the lease agreement that says you won't drive your car over the county line and it will immobilize itself. Try to change any of this software and you'll commit a felony under Section 1201 of the DMCA:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

Tesla, naturally, has the most advanced anti-features. Long before BMW tried to rent you your seat-heater and Mercedes tried to sell you a monthly subscription to your accelerator pedal, Teslas were demon-haunted nightmare cars. Miss a Tesla payment and the car will immobilize itself and lock you out until the repo man arrives, then it will blare its horn and back itself out of its parking spot. If you "buy" the right to fully charge your car's battery or use the features it came with, you don't own them – they're repossessed when your car changes hands, meaning you get less money on the used market because your car's next owner has to buy these features all over again:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

And all this DRM allows your car maker to install spyware that you're not allowed to remove. They really tipped their hand on this when the R2R ballot measure was steaming towards an 80% victory, with wall-to-wall scare ads that revealed that your car collects so much information about you that allowing third parties to access it could lead to your murder (no, really!):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

That's why your car spies on you. Because it can. Because the company that made it lacks constraint, be it market-based, legal, technological or its own workforce's ethics.

One common critique of my enshittification hypothesis is that this is "kind of sensible and normal" because "there’s something off in the consumer mindset that we’ve come to believe that the internet should provide us with amazing products, which bring us joy and happiness and we spend hours of the day on, and should ask nothing back in return":

https://freakonomics.com/podcast/how-to-have-great-conversations/

What this criticism misses is that this isn't the companies bargaining to shift some value from us to them. Enshittification happens when a company can seize all that value, without having to bargain, exploiting law and technology and market power over buyers and sellers to unilaterally alter the way the products and services we rely on work.

A company that doesn't have to fear competitors, regulators, jailbreaking or workers' refusal to enshittify its products doesn't have to bargain, it can take. It's the first lesson they teach you in the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

Your car spying on you isn't down to your belief that your carmaker "should provide you with amazing products, which brings your joy and happiness you spend hours of the day on, and should ask nothing back in return." It's not because you didn't pay for the product, so now you're the product. It's because they can get away with it.

The consequences of this spying go much further than mere insurance premium hikes, too. Car telemetry sits at the top of the funnel that the unbelievably sleazy data broker industry uses to collect and sell our data. These are the same companies that sell the fact that you visited an abortion clinic to marketers, bounty hunters, advertisers, or vengeful family members pretending to be one of those:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/07/safegraph-spies-and-lies/#theres-no-i-in-uterus

Decades of pro-monopoly policy led to widespread regulatory capture. Corporate cartels use the monopoly profits they extract from us to pay for regulatory inaction, allowing them to extract more profits.

But when it comes to privacy, that period of unchecked corporate power might be coming to an end. The lack of privacy regulation is at the root of so many problems that a pro-privacy movement has an unstoppable constituency working in its favor.

At EFF, we call this "privacy first." Whether you're worried about grifters targeting vulnerable people with conspiracy theories, or teens being targeted with media that harms their mental health, or Americans being spied on by foreign governments, or cops using commercial surveillance data to round up protesters, or your car selling your data to insurance companies, passing that long-overdue privacy legislation would turn off the taps for the data powering all these harms:

https://www.eff.org/wp/privacy-first-better-way-address-online-harms

Traditional economics fails because it thinks about markets without thinking about power. Monopolies lead to more than market power: they produce regulatory capture, power over workers, and state capture, which felonizes competition through IP law. The story that our problems stem from the fact that we just don't spend enough money, or buy the wrong products, only makes sense if you willfully ignore the power that corporations exert over our lives. It's nice to think that you can shop your way out of a monopoly, because that's a lot easier than voting your way out of a monopoly, but no matter how many times you vote with your wallet, the cartels that control the market will always win:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/05/the-map-is-not-the-territory/#apor-locksmith

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/12/market-failure/#car-wars

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[ivygguk]

jeon jungkook fic recs!!

One-shots:-

Campus affairs - @kooktrash

summary: you transferred to a new college during second semester and you didn’t expect much excitement out for. that’s until jungkook came along and what had struggled to be a friendship was becoming so much more.

Cool with you - @kooktrash

summary: your break up from kim taehyung sent you spiraling into what felt like a midlife crisis of tear stained cheeks and tubs of half eaten ice cream with a broken heart. after finding out that your neighbor, jeon jungkook, was eavesdropping on your meltdowns and came to find out that your ex was his old friend, he found himself wanting to comfort you. he knew the kind of guy Taehyung was and he didn’t want to see you beat yourself up over a guy who wasn’t worth it so in the end he helped you through it and was unable to ignore the growing attraction you felt toward each other.

Million dollar darling - @kooktrash

summary: jeon jungkook is well aware of how privileged he is to have been born into the life he was given. it was glamorous and influential yet close-knit and suffocating, something he thought he wanted to escape from. a trip back home to the circle of wealth and snottiness for his best friend’s million dollar wedding has reminded him of all the reasons why he wanted to leave in the first place… and all the reasons he should stay — the main one being you, the spoiled rich girl he knew was utterly perfect for him.

Close the distance - @hearts4joon

summary: two different adults, living two completely separate lives — in the same neighborhood. a guy whose overbearing mother makes him carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. a girl whose parents are all too drawn to her younger siblings to even give her the time of day. while the two fall in an unlikely relationship (very unlikely), they still ravish each and every part of one another in every way — the best of attention, the one they both craved all their lives.

Cat got your tongue - @jessikahathaway

Summary: You were exhausted from schoolwork and just needed a chance to unwind. Jungkook, campus fuckboy, offers his services to help alleviate the stress from studying but is he going to cause more stress than he relieves?

Anpanman - @honeymoonjin

summary: part of the love yourself collab run by yours truly. your best friend jungkook finally convinces you to seek therapy for your failing mental health. the only catch? the one therapist that’s within your price range is an alternative marriage counsellor, jung hoseok, and the only way jungkook managed to get you an appointment was by saying the two of you were married. will couples counselling actually be useful for your wellbeing, or will something that runs much deeper rise to the surface instead?

Paint me naked - @gimmethatagustd

summary: After the mysteriously hot guy in your university class starts taking an interest in you, should you really trust that he’s not like all the other college fuckboys? Especially when his best friend is the guy who broke your heart?  

[theirisianprincess]

Something that really annoys me is that whenever there's an ambiguous depiction of queerness in fiction is that whenever an alternative explanation is given, certain people will assume the alternative to be true despite queerness being just as likely. These explanations aren't even necessarily wrong, it's just that people will run with those if it means not acknowledging that characters might be gay.

Like, for example, they never outright say that Marcille loves Falin, but a lot of people (myself included) believe this to be the case. But the fact that an alternative explanation for their closeness is provided is often used as a reason why it couldn't possibly be romantic. The alternative explanation in this case is that learning that her best friend got eaten forces her to confront her fear of outliving her friends. And that motivates her to try to save her. The problem with this is that it doesn't actually disprove the idea that Marcille loves Falin. Marcille loving Falin is just more motivation for Marcille. And sure, Marcille could be just as motivated if she thought of Falin as her platonic bestie, but why do people use the possibility of that as a reason to discount romance as a possible motivation for her?

Anime fans did the exact same thing with Madoka Magica. They cite Homura's solitude as the reason for her obsession with saving Madoka. But once again, that doesn't contradict romantic attraction. And when it gets confirmed that Homura loves Madoka (and that Sayaka and Kyoko love each other) in Rebellion, people just claimed "fan pandering" and "translation error".

And when an alternative explanation isn't provided, some anime fans will provide one for them. Like, in Watamote, Asuka constantly tries to get closer and closer with Tomoko. Some people suspect that this means she has romantic interest in Tomoko, but others choose to interpret her interest as curiosity and intrigue. Except curiosity doesn't explain the lap pillows or the nude FaceTime or offering her boobs to her or wanting to go to the same college or saying she spends most of her time thinking about Tomoko.

Would this problem be fixed if characters just said they were queer? No.

Dungeon Meshi is complete, so they won't confirm or deny Marcille's feelings. And Homura, Sayaka, and Kyoko had all been confirmed queer, but people still denied it. And Asuka has good reasons not to admit her feelings for Tomoko. Most notably, the world of Watamote is incredibly heteronormative, so people generally won't admit to being queer. And despite Tomoko being in a glass closet, she still doesn't even admit her bisexuality to herself, so it makes sense for Asuka to hold off on telling her anything. I would like Asuka to admit her feelings by the end, but as we are right now, it's better that she doesn't.

Insisting that we must always immediately confirm queerness and that it can never be ambiguous because some people will run with any chance to deny it will greatly limit the kinds of stories that can be told.

[demon-country]

This scene is so interesting to me for a number of reasons, but I want to talk about the eggs and how he said he finds them "off-putting". Now, Stolas is an owl, and like most birds of prey they can and often do eat the eggs of other birds (don't worry Blitz, it isn't cannibalism unless they eat eggs of their own species). So theoretically, eggs shouldn't actually be a problem and it's not like there aren't plenty of fancy foods that involve eggs.

But maybe it's not that deep, and has nothing to do with non-gourmet quality food. Maybe our heavily autistic-coded owl just has an aversion to a lot of breakfast foods. The texture of various types of cooked eggs, in particular, can be quite contentious even for people who aren't neurodivergent, but if you do have texture sensitivities then eggs can be a huge gamble.

The expression on his face in the shot above is exactly the one I'd make if someone tried to make me eat most egg-based dishes, and then I'd probably gag the second it was in my mouth, spit it out, and shudder through the visceral desire to claw my way out of my own skin.

Yeah, kinda like that lol.

Rodents, koi fish, and kale salads are probably safer foods, because there's less ways to cook them and he had a professional chef that would be able to do it the exact same way every time. They definitely are more expensive specialty foods though, so I'm glad he and Blitz were able to find a compromise with regular rats.

And I'm glad that Blitz didn't try to shame Stolas for his food preferences, especially because Stolas looks so awkward and embarrassed just saying them out loud. If he's anything like a lot of autistic folks, he was probably berated for being a picky eater, because even if in his own home with his own staff he could control what was served to him, the same cannot be said for anywhere else that required him to eat something lest he come off as rude. Blitz just takes it in stride though and simply asks about alternatives to vole and kale, because he definitely cannot afford that on a regular basis. And Stolas doesn't make a fuss about it, just tentatively admits that he also likes rats, which Blitz is more than happy to accommodate. Yes, what he offers is back alley feral rats, but Stolas doesn't seem put off by that or demand better quality, he's just alarmed and disturbed by Blitz having his fucking eye chewed on by one.

As someone with a lot of food hypersensitivities, it means a lot to me that Blitz doesn't accuse him of being spoiled or complain about Stolas needing a different diet than him or Loona. It often is hard to accommodate alternative dietary needs - be they because of food sensitivities, allergies, intolerances, or vegan/vegetarianism - when you're on a budget, but Blitz doesn't mind and jumps straight to a non-judgmental "what can you eat?" planning mode.

Like yeah, on the surface his answer to Blitz's initial "so what do you normally eat?" question and the way he gagged from a single, tiny bite of eggs does make him seem kinda spoiled. But his completely unhesitant, unbothered willingness to eat feral fucking rats says to me it wasn't about the fact that he now has to eat "poor people" food prepared by a novice chef, but rather that something about those foods in particular is hard for him to eat in general.

Just one more thing to add to the ever-growing pile of "Stolas is autistic!!" evidence, I guess. And just one more reason why I absolutely adore Blitz.

[cloversnstrawberries]

older brother!platonic yandere!80s slasher & gn!reader w/ dyed hair [headcanons] ! !

intro post | masterlist

additional notes; i'm actually re-dying my hair as i write this, so i think that proves that i'm totally not biased and absolutely not writing this because i yearn for an older brother who'd be willing to do my roots for me so i don't look like i have a big bald spot on the back of my head. because i have blonde hair and it's a very stark contrast to the bright pink. ough. not very yandere in this, but i needed this as a balm to my soul.

warnings; mentions of murder, violence, and killings; zachary's inherent clinginess, slight possessiveness, soft(er) yandere, overprotective behavior, and if there's any more I missed, please let me know!! this is pretty fluffy, actually.

w/c; 1.4k

The first (and only time) you dyed your hair without his help, it was an utter mess. I'm talking hands stained with the dye, if you bleached your hair then the towel was wrecked.

If you lived in a rented property rather than a house owned by your parents; well, lets just say you would've kissed your sweet, sweet deposit goodbye, what the mess you made in your wake.

Whether you bleached it or had hair light enough to just slap the dye on top, did natural or unnatural colors, the result was still the same regardless.

The bathroom was a mess, and he came home from football practice to find you with a plastic Kroger bag over your head; on your hands and knees, trying to scrub the leftover dye from the linoleum tile floor of your shared bathroom. You were in distress over it, if not in tears. Afraid you'd ruined the counter/floor.

You didn't go in blind, per se-- but you only had tips given to you by the few alternative kids, and from the sweet gas station cashier who dyes her hair to cover the fact its graying-- to go off of.

There was both a fear of having decimated your bathroom permanently, and a nagging feeling that you might've goofed up the actual process; damaging your hair indefinitely.

Whether it was the work of a miracle, or just plain old luck-- you didn't damage your hair too much, if it all. You'd missed a couple spots, namely on the back of your head, but other than that you did a pretty damn good job.

The bathroom, however...

When Zachary came home, he immediately started looking for you. Usually you were on the couch, watching TV-- or in the dining room, doing homework. You weren't in either of those spots, and you weren't in your bedroom either.

He knew it was stupid to worry about this-- But the reason behind his anxiety at not finding you immediately wasn't because "oh, what if something happened to them? what if they messed with the wrong kids and got jumped, or they went missing?" (both were unlikely in a town like yours, but not entirely impossible).

No, he was afraid that you'd committed the grave sin of hanging out with someone other than him-- and without his knowledge, to boot. Zachary didn't think you were the type to 'go behind his back' like this, but the fear was still there.

So you can probably imagine the absolute relief he felt when he found you in the bathroom-- but his sigh soon turned to wheezing laughs when he got a look of your sorry state.'

He's still your brother, after all. Siblings were basically made to laugh at each other in situations like these.

Normally, you wouldn't take it too harshly-- but this time around, you couldn't quite handle it. The fear of messing up your hair due to your inexperience, and the idea that your bathroom would forever be stained with your semi-spur-of-the-moment decision...

Well, he was quick to change his tune when you looked about ready to cry-- or started crying harder, if you already were. He stopped laughing, and immediately crouched down beside you, offering some reassurance.

Before heading off to the storage closet out in the hall, grabbing some cleaning stuff and a rag-- you were just trying to use water, which wasn't doing nothing, but that was mostly in part with how hard you'd been scrubbing. The dye wasn't going anywhere with that method.

You two spent about 20 minutes cleaning the bathroom up. By then, the timer you were using to make sure you didn't overdo the dye-time (that you totally didn't nab from the kitchen, but thankfully it'd been one of the few items spared from the wrath of your messy dye job) had already gone off.

Zachary noticed how uneasy you looked, afraid you'd messed up your hair for good. Again, he reassured you, before saying he'd help with the rest of the process.

Your hands were already beyond saving-- but he had enough foresight to go get some latex gloves from the hall closet before coming back to help you.

Then, for the next ten or so minutes, you kneeled beside the bathtub, head bowed over directly under the faucet-- the water was freezing cold, the nice punk girl, Melanie, told you that helped keep the color longer-- so you were taking little breaks when your scalp started hurting from how cold it was.

Eventually, after you were pretty sure he'd gotten all of the extra dye out-- the gloves having gone from clear to almost opaque with your new hair color--, he helped you up and wrapped an old beach towel around your head.

You sat on the lid of the toilet as he took over the duty of cleaning the tub-- telling you to just chill out for a while. once he was done with that, he brought you into his room and you two played on his Atari while your hair dried.

After that whole incident, Zachary borderline threatened you to come to him next time you wanted to dye your hair or anything of the like. Mostly because he didn't like seeing how scared and upset you were when you thought you messed it up :(

Weirdly enough, he'd rather you be mad at him if he messed up-- then see you be mad with yourself for messing it up. Besides, you'd probably forgive him in less then a day.

...Mostly because he's the one who drives you places outside of town, and has the membership card for your local video rental store. You never got one of your own, because he just always let you use his.

Can't really do that if you're giving him the cold shoulder, yeah?

But other than that, he's pretty good with keeping up with it all. It must've been a bit of a funny sight for the old ladies at the local hair shoppes, seeing a boy like Zachary coming in and asking the staff for tips on dying hair. Products to use, what to avoid, how to keep it from transferring-- etc etc.

After the first time, you never spent your own money on the stuff. It was always Zachary who was buying it; you tried getting him to stop that, feeling bad about spending his money on something that was solely for your benefit--

He gave you a withering look that made you immediately shut up and drop the topic, never to pick it up again. In your mind, he was too selfless-- you didn't want to feel like you were using him or anything.

But actually, he was sort of doing it for his own benefit. It let him spend more time with you-- not like he didn't already do that, but it was another sort of bonding activity that could be added to the list of 'our things'. You've never tried to dye your hair alone after the first time, because you knew it'd upset him.

Once he claimed something as an 'our thing', then there was no way to pry it from his grasp-- it'd be cemented in his mind that it was only something you could do with him present or actively participating.

It was just one of those quirks you have to get used to. In this situation, you weren't complaining that much about it, actually. He was very helpful, and it was nice to just be able to sit and do whatever while he did most of the work.

Whether or not you keep with the same color, or change it every week-- he'll help you no matter what, and won't question it. You wanna keep your hair honey brown for 3 consecutive years? cool! you wanna dye your hair different bright, in your face colors every other week? also cool!

He's not one to rag on you about self-expression, however-- if you did choose an unnatural color, you're bound to get stared or gawked at because of it. You were expecting it, and so was Zachary.

That's why he made sure to sharpen his fire hatchet and hunting knife, obviously. There was an uptick in Fools Killer victims after you dyed your hair-- completely unbeknownst to you, Zachary was using your out-of-the-ordinary appearance and the subsequent stares to 'sort out the bad ones',

To find victims who otherwise would've 'hidden their negative intentions towards you'.

[the-fallen-blue]

So of course a very common M/F romance trope is the Grovel™, in which A Guy has done something very wrong and been rejected because of it, and must make a grandiose, ideally self-sacrificial gesture and a heartfelt verbal apology to regain the good graces of the heroine. Very popular, entirely understandable kink. Now, I do not, as a rule, seek out M/F in my fanfic, so it may be that this is a professional phenomenon only, but it has been my experience that when The Groveler is a dude and his partner is a woman, he very consistently earned it. He was a complete asshole who demeaned his girl's expertise and agency, ruined her sister's happiness, and attempted to tear down the magic barrier and ruin the world, and he had better get groveling. Offer her your throat my guy! She has every right to tear it out!

But what's fascinating to me is that I also see people do what is clearly an attempt at the Grovel™ in femslash. And like 90% of the time, it's complete bullshit, actually! Utterly unearned! The Groveler gave the injured party's parents a gift that is perfectly polite and respectful in their mutual culture but which ruined the introduction for reasons the Groveler could not possibly anticipate. The Groveler made a decision in a time-sensitive situation that she has 20 years of experience with without taking the time to listen to and coddle the injured party's obviously incorrect and in fact genuinely detrimental alternate suggestion. The Groveler asserted a completely fair social boundary against a third party, ruining her partner's plans to make them both seem victims for later profit, a plan which the Groveler did not consent to or even know about. The femslash Groveler is mostly making grandiose gestures of denial and self-abasement to atone for doing nothing actually wrong.

I am so compelled by this phenomenon, I feel like it says so much about gender in our society. Is this a direct manifestation of our high demands on women socially, that any emotional injury to another party is treated with the same severity as the most severe, deliberate, and avoidable emotional injury caused by men? Is it a second-order consequence of that phenomenon, because female characters, by and large, must be far more considerate and respectful of other people's opinions and agency than male characters with the same literary role to be liked, and so the worst in-character thing you can get them to do is still undeserving of the trope you're trying to play out? Is it that the bar for forgiveness is different, that writers still want the Grovel™ catharsis but wouldn't be able to enjoy the relationship if there'd been an actual Grovel-worthy crime? Or something else entirely? What is happening here.

[forcedagere]

I personally really like the idea of Bill x Reader x Ford. This one kinda ties into my previous post, but it’s not required reading. I suppose this would be an AU where Ford accepted Bill’s offer during Weirdmaggedon, or something else went wrong resulting in Bill staying in power :)

Contents: forced age regression, yandere, implied mental manipulation

Whereas Bill is far from the best caretaker (though he tries, in his own way), Ford takes care to create a semblance of structure in your life. He doesn’t have tons of practical experience with children or little ones such as you, but he makes up for it with dedication. He takes to caring for you as if it were a newly discovered, fascinating field of study. In other words… He reads many, many books, and tries all kinds of things to figure out what you like best.

Ford is not entirely fond of the kind of dynamic you have with Bill. It's not because he doesn't want to be referred to with parental terms, that's simply a matter of preference, but that he insists on you being friends above anything else. Considering the dynamics at play here, Ford cannot help but view it…

"As simply pedagogically irresponsible, Bill." The triangle in question rolls his eye. "Oh, boohoo! Fancy McFancypants over here knows what’s up!” Bill glances at you from the corner of his eye. Seeing you crack a smile while you’re sketching away with your crayons, he’s encouraged. “You read one book on how to raise a kid, and now you wanna tell me what to do? Get lost. Kid, c'mon, prove him wrong-- I'm your favourite, right?" You look up from your latest piece of art. You are drawing all three of you, in fact. You're usually deaf to their arguments, it's such a constant that you've grown used to the noise and stopped viewing it as a threat. (Your daddy calls it 'bickering'; Billy, when daddy isn't listening, calls it 'flirting'. That makes you giggle.) But you don't like getting involved in it yourself! So you firmly shake your head, and drop the pacifier attached to your necklace to speak. "No favourites… I love you both," you say with the confidence only someone as little as you could have. Billy's eyelid flutters, and your daddy smiles.

To put it simply, Bill is the ‘fun, rule-breaking parent’ and Ford is… A little less that. One should not take Bill Cipher as the benchmark of taking good care of a human, though.

Ford will make sure your meals are more varied than the endless stream of candy that Bill feeds you, and get you tucked in for sleep at regular times, too. Compared to Bill, who enjoys playing games with you and ‘roughhousing’, Ford prefers calmer activities. He’s definitely up for the occasional board game, but, most of the time, he’ll read to you, make drawings upon requests (or give you lessons!), or toy around with science experiments safe for someone who gets the urge to put anything that looks interesting inside their mouth.

He might’ve taken you for an adventure or two outside, but… The world hasn’t been the same since Bill got his hands all over it. He may be technically immortal now. You decidedly are not, as far as he knows. Either way, he doubts that Bill would let you out of this room to begin with. He doesn’t have to ask to be able to know that. If there is any reason he would keep someone locked up the way he does with you, it must be because you have some form of special connection to him. Ford does not believe he would risk that.

Really, Ford isn’t stupid or blind. It’s not that he’s going along with all of this because he is ignorant of Bill’s manipulation of your mental state. Bill can call it a ‘nudge in the right direction’ all he wants. He’s keeping you regressed. But everything has changed. He has changed, and Ford doesn’t know if he made the right decision. He fears he hasn’t. (Somewhere out there, in an alternate universe, a Stanford must live who made a difference decision. Ford hopes he’s happy.)

Spending time in this little contained room, with something dependent on him and eager to be looked after by him, who doesn’t know better and never will… It’s not good, it’s the very definition of selfish, but it’s comforting to him. Grounding, in a sense. With an eternity of time left ahead of him and the foundations of his previous life all but crumbled, he has something steady to return to. It doesn’t matter how much he rationalizes it. It’s twisted and fucked up, plain and simple.

…He supposes he can understand why Bill finds him so amusing, even now.

A little whimper snaps him from the spiral of his thoughts. Your bottle is empty. He should get youa refill, then pull you back on his lap.

[holylulusworld]

Their little maid (Prologue)

Summary: Mafia business is dirty. The brothers need someone to clean up their mess and more.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader x Nick Fowler

Warnings: shy reader, flirty brothers, mafia business, money trouble, Walker is the worst, injured reader (nothing serious)

Their little maid masterlist

You gnaw at your thumb. Is this the position you want? Cleaning other people’s houses wasn’t the job you dreamed of when you were a kid.

All you ever dreamed of was to open your own bookstore or to work at the library as an alternative. Sadly, the library closed, and you reached the end of the rope. No one wants to hire you, an unemployed librarian.

Sighing deeply, you push the button at the large gate to ask for entrance. An angry voice asks what you want, making you flinch. You’d love to just run and forget about the job, but you’re in desperate need of money.

“Uh—I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you stammer. “I got an important appointment with Mr. Barnes.” You take a deep breath, waiting for the voice to deny you access or to open the gate.

“You’re two minutes later,” another voice says before the gate slowly opens. “Get inside. I don’t have all day.”

You duck your head and hurriedly walk past the gate. Messing up the first interview you have in weeks is the last thing you want. Before your anxiety can get the best out of you, you walk faster and faster to reach the front door. You cannot allow yourself to mess this chance up if you haven’t already messed it up by being late.

“Finally,” a man opens the door and immediately snarls your name. “I can tell, my bosses don’t like people wasting their time.”

He grabs your right upper arm to drag you inside the mansion, taking you by surprise. You shriek and slip on the floor. The man doesn’t stop your fall. He drops his hand from your arm and watches your knees hit the carpet.

The blonde man smirks down at you. He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Clumsy little bitch. Get up. You don’t have a job yet. Or, stay on your knees,” he chuckles darkly. “Maybe you can get to work right away.” The man cups his crotch, making you sneer.

“Walker!” The man in front of you cringes when someone calls his name. He stiffens and steps away from you. “What happened here?”

“Clumsy thing slipped and fell,” he explains and shrugs.

“Why didn’t you help her up?” The other man walks toward you to offer his hand. You bite your lower lip, chewing on it as you place your smaller hand in his. "Doll, don’t be afraid. I won’t bite. I’m Mr. Barnes, and I’ll interview you for the position we have to offer.”

He flashes you a stunning smile, making you feel warm. His hand is rough, but gentle when he helps you up.

The most stunning blue eyes meet yours as he helps you back on your feet. He carefully grabs your upper arms, looking you up and down to make sure you don’t get hurt.

You hope he doesn’t judge your plain outfit—a pale blue shirt and jeans shorts. His outfit is stunning, just like his eyes and deep voice.

He’s wearing an expensive, dark blue suit and a matching tie. His hair is short and neatly styled, but behind his perfect styling, he hides something wild. You’re sure about it.

“Brother did the maid already arrive?” Another man steps toward you and Mr. Barnes. Your eyes widen, and you gasp because he looks exactly like Mr. Barnes. Same hair, same eyes, same suit. “Oh, she is already here.”

“You look the same,” you stammer, regretting the words the moment Walker snorts at your comment. “I mean…you must be brothers.”

“Guilty, doll,” Mr. Barnes chuckles at your confused look. “We are twins.”

“We didn’t grow up together, sweetness. I’m Mr. Fowler.” He looks you up and down, humming as his eyes land on your bruised knees. “I hope my brother isn’t the reason for your bleeding knees.”

“She’s clumsy, boss. The girl slipped and fell,” Walker repeats. You already figured that he doesn’t like you. “Maybe we should look for someone else.”

You whimper. No. He can’t take the chance away from you.

“You mean we should look for someone new?” Mr. Barnes puts Walker in his place with a glare. “So far, she didn’t do anything telling me I should look for a replacement. Maybe we should look for someone to replace you. A man who doesn’t even offer his hand to a lady in need.”

“Lady—” Your cheeks heat up. No man before called you a lady.

“Buck, stop flirting. We got our hands full today. Let’s get over with the interview... I can hardly wait to tell her about her tasks.

Part 1

Tags in reblog.

[amywritesthings]

seven days. | part one.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: armin arlert x gn!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 3.9k Summary: Armin gets bamboozled into joining the annual Yeager family beach vacation — and accidentally meets you.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), beach house, summer vacation, eventual romance, alcohol, partying, Armin deserves a romcom, Eren & Zeke have zero braincells Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

part two. | masterlist

“Zeke, you Point Break bitch, did you steal my boogie board?!”

Ah, yes. 

If he was looking for a week of tranquility and peace, then Armin Arlert should have declined the invitation to join the Yeager family for their annual summer vacation.

Time and time again, Eren has begged his best friend to tag along.

As far as he's aware, this has been a family tradition ever since his best friend was a toddler.

One week, the same week, every single year.

Not to mention it's the same beach house merely two blocks away from the boardwalk and sandy shores.

Home away from home.

It’ll be amazing!

(Eren likes to claim.) 

There is so much sick shit we can do!

(His words, not Armin’s.)

You’re gonna sit on your ass and read anyway, so why not do it by a beach?

(...okay, maybe that sold him.)

Then again, nothing is more humbling than standing with your duffle bag in one hand, filled to the brim with ‘maybe’ shirts and ‘just in case’ medicines, and your pillow in another while the Yeager family chaotically dissolves into a panicked army of four battling to even get to said beach in one piece.

Chaos.

It’s their collective middle name.

“Armin, sweetie, do you want any snacks for the road?”

Carla Yeager — doting mother figure and matriarch of the family.

She’s the reason they’re taking two cars this year, too afraid she may forget something important at home.

From fresh tangerines to a plethora of board games, she’s thought of it all.

Shuffling his bag to give his hands some equal soreness — ouch, that's freaking heavy — Armin offers an apologetic smile.

“No, Mrs. Yeager, I’m fine. Thank you.”

“How many times do I need to tell you to call me Carla?” 

Every time, actually.

Although Zeke very easily calls his stepmother by her first name, Armin can't bring himself to do it.

Blah, blah, raised a certain way by his ever-traditional grandfather, blah.

The awkward blonde merely nods once and watches as Carla shuffles by to throw another box of napkins into the trunk.

“Here,” she gestures, waving her arms while she’s in front of the hatchback, “that looks bulky.” 

It is, but he’s a kindred spirit in the name of overpacking.

“I can find a spot for it,” he promises, but relents when the woman gives him that mom look that straightens out her son and stepson. “I— Thank you, Mrs. — Carla.”

Close enough.

He hands her his duffle bag, careful to spot the bottom of it in a sneaky attempt to help her ease his luggage into the first car.

Boom.

The front door bursts open to reveal Zeke and Eren, shoulder to shoulder, frantically fighting to see who can walk out first.

Grunting, Zeke tries to push ahead with his neon-green boogie board against his torso, but Eren manages to dip at the hip and rush down the steps. 

The momentum nearly knocks Zeke’s oval glasses off the bridge of his nose.

“Could you be normal for two seconds?” the blonde groans.

Eren merely answers by sticking his tongue out and holds up a hand, wiggling his thumb and pinkie back and forth. “Fucking loser.”

Carla immediately glares. “Eren, language.”

“Forking, sorry, forking,” Eren corrects with little remorse.

“Seriously?” Zeke laments as he walks by, squinting at his brother. “What are you, ten?”

“Zeke,” a voice chastises softly from the garage. "Be nice to your brother."

Grisha Yeager, father of the year, rolls out a large cooler to bring it towards the second yet-to-be-filled car.

He’s wearing a Margaritavilla button-down, his long hair tied similar to Eren’s. On his forehead is a tie-dye headband.

“We'll be within close quarters of one another for seven whole days," Grisha reminds in that airy tone of his. "We should hold off on the in-fighting until day four at the very least.”

"I'll give it until day three," Zeke mumbles under his breath as he passes by, shoving his boogie board into the first car and smushing Armin's duffle bag down to half its size.

Yeah.

This is what it’s like to vacation with the Yeagers.

Except when your grandfather gets a new girlfriend, and they go to Key West for the summer, you’re stuck without being able to say no to your best friend’s family.

Seven days.

He can handle the Yeagers for seven days.

.

.

— —

.

.

  It took less than three hours for Armin's pale skin to burn like an overcooked egg.

“It’s really not that bad,” chimes in Eren, mouth occupied by the hair tie between his teeth.

Invading his pessimistic mirror space, the taller brunette dips to look at himself while fixing his staple half-up bun hairdo.

The shorter blonde frowns even further as he checks out his tomato-red shoulders, standing shirtless and shoeless in front of him.

“It looks pretty bad, Eren.”

“Nah. Just slap some aloe on it, alright?”

Ruffling sounds behind him.

Glancing over his shoulder in the reflection of the mirror, a bag of potato chips flies into view as Eren carelessly rips it from the cardboard variety pack — courtesy of the emergency snack stash in the corner of the room.

(The emergency snacks are, quote: So that bitch-ass Zeke doesn't steal the goods.)

The sun-kissed boy walks barefoot to the edge of the twin bed and flops down.

Right.

He forgot to mention he’s sharing a room with Eren, which only makes matters forty times worse.

Two twin beds with doily-esque blankets and flat pillows.

Thank god Armin had the sense to pack his own.

“Besides, the alcohol will make it feel better," Eren adds, chewing on a potato chip.

With a noise of defiance, Armin turns from the mirror to stare at his best friend.

“You do realize alcohol dehydrates a person, right?”

“So?”

“So—” Armin protests tightly, “—it’ll make it worse.”

Eren pops another chip in his mouth, shaking his head. 

“Nah.”

Eloquent as always.

Groaning, he slowly — agonizingly — pulls his pastel blue polo over his aching shoulders and breathes out through his nose.

That SPF 50 was supposed to work, but he must have lost track of time binge-reading his first book of the trip.

A spy thriller, actually, that fell flat right around chapter three and nosedived bad just at the cusp of act three.

The wildly out-of-left-field twist made him so mad that he missed his alarm to reapply another coat of sunscreen, and—

Well.

As a result, human lobster is now on the menu tonight.

Regardless, he promised to go out.

It isn't ideal, but a promise is a promise.

About ten or so blocks away from the beach house is the coveted spot known as The Point.

From what he could gather from Google, The Point is a tiki bar boasting high-top bar tables nestled in sand, recreational volleyball courts, and live music all week long.

It’s about the only lively place in this rather family-friendly beach town.

While not technically a dry town, bars are few and far between and there are approximately a whopping zero nighttime entertainment venues, so The Point was about as wild as any college kid stuck on vacation was going to get.

Earlier, Eren spent most of the car ride to the house hyping it up.

Zeke, in surprising fashion, seemed to hold the same sentiment.

(It’s probably the only thing the brothers could agree upon.)

Plus, Zeke apparently had some surfer friends he’d met online that were going on the first night of vacation, so that solidified the night’s plans.

After showering, dressing, and having family dinner with the parents, it's go time.

A little past nine at night, the three boys walk on the sidewalk in a triangle unit, with Armin trailing behind.

Ever a wallflower he keeps quiet, observing carefully as the two brothers figure out their game plan.

Zeke is anti-shots.

Eren wants shots or nothing at all.

“We’re on vacation, why the fuck wouldn’t you do shots?”

“Because,” Zeke explains, “if you start with shots, then you’re setting yourself up for failure.”

“Yeah, if you can’t hold your liquor.”

“Eren, you just turned twenty-one.”

Eren’s nostrils flare. “So?! I had plenty of practice at university!”

“Is he a lightweight, Arlert?”

Wait.

What?

Oh, shit, they’re including him.

“Be honest,” Zeke adds over his shoulder.

Like a deer in headlights, Armin blinks between the brothers. “Uh… sometimes?”

“What?!”

The yell out of his best friend is piercing.

“You goddamn turncoat!”

“You’re not exactly somebody with an iron stomach, Eren,” the blonde reminds softly as if calming a petulant child, only to wince when he's met with a look of pure anger. “But that isn't to say you can't hold a shot down.”

“Or five,” Eren challenges.

“Three at best,” Armin relents.

“Three and a half.”

Armin squints as they turn the corner leading towards the entrance of the bar.

“In what world does half a shot cou—”

“Wait!”

Eren yelps, holding out an arm to stop Zeke in his tracks.

Armin subsequently also stops — as does his wearing patience.

“I have a solution.”

Zeke pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “And what’s that?”

“Look at me, dude.”

The boy with the man bun demands attention, using his pointer and middle finger to gesture between him and his half-brother. 

“You know what I’m thinking. Give it nine seconds.”

Right.

Not ten, because Eren’s favorite number is arbitrarily nine.

Zeke squints with about as much confusion as Armin’s feeling, but Armin knows by now how this is going to go.

Although they’re born with two different mothers, they’re eerily in sync with one another when they want to be extra annoying. 

Some kind of Yeager sixth sense tying them together; they fall silent, staring—

Then the thought strikes.

Like two brain cells clicking together, they simultaneously grin at one another.

“Jagerbombs.”

Great.

So even worse than a shot or a beer.

That’s all it takes for the two to become best buds as they stroll into the tiki bar like they own the place.

The blonde and brunette zero in on an open spot at one of the several pop-up bar locations at this venue—

—leaving Armin in the dust to fumble out his I.D. to the bouncer.

It's nothing new.

Cover charge? Paid.

Hand stamp? Accomplished.

Careful not to get any sand in his sneakers, Armin treads carefully across the uneven landscape towards the same lively bar as his best friend.

Music thumps right into his ribcage. 

Flashing lights threaten to blind him if he so much as looks over his shoulder to the west.

It’s more than he’s used to.

More than he wants, really.

(What happened to the leisure part of vacation again?)

“We got you one!”

Eren.

Blinking back into his body, Armin glances at the shot glass filled to the brim of Jagermeister waggled in his face. Immediately responding with a grimace, he steps back.

“No, I’ll just grab myself a drink, alright? You two enjoy — that.”

“What?” Eren’s frown is immediate. “Seriously? How else are you gonna get wasted with us?”

I’m not, is what he’d like to argue, but he knows Eren by now.

“What do you mean us?” Arnin shouts over the music. “I don’t see Zeke!”

“He got a text from one of his dumbass surfer bros and ditched,” Eren answers, “but to be perfectly honest, I’m thinking of playing the field tonight.”

“The what?”

“The field!”

“Eren, it’s really hard to hear you when they won’t stop mixing Pitbull with ABBA!”

“What?!”

Oh, this is impossible.

He raises his hands to gently push the shot glass towards his best friend’s chest. 

“You take it and show Zeke you can handle it!” Armin calls back at the top of his lungs, his shaggy blonde hair waving in the wind as he nods with encouragement.

That: giving Eren a challenge.

(Works like a charm.)

Determination spreads across his face. Eren nods, hyping himself up for a double-fisted success story. 

Armin simply nods, too, using the chameleon effect to build up Eren’s trust.

(Maybe he shouldn’t be using his psychology notes against his best friend, but desperate times call for desperate measures.)

“Yeah!”

Eren shouts while dropping the shot into the energy drink left perspiring on the bar top.

“I’m gonna!”

“Okay!”

“And then I’m gonna talk to a girl! Or a guy! Or someone!”

Armin’s eyes shoot wide with surprise, but he chooses not to rain on his best friend’s parade because Eren is already chugging the drink, spilling a little of the Jagerbomb down his oversized black tee.

(Good call, wearing dark colors, unlike Armin’s poorly planned pastel.)

Slamming it down on the bar top with a howl of victory, he pats Armin on the arm and trudges forward to the dance floor to do…

Well, that’s between the power of Charli xcx and God.

“Oh, Eren,” Armin mumbles, watching the little man bun bounce in time with the beat of the music until it’s consumed by dancing bodies.

Turning back to the bartenders, the blonde debates.

Agonizes, really.

He doesn’t drink very often.

It’s not really his thing.

But… when on vacation, right?

(Alone, apparently, since Zeke isn’t coming back anytime soon and he’s going to need to deal with dragging Eren’s drunk ass home in the next two hours.)

“Vodka soda, please,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

The bartender behind the counter nods his way before pulling out a plastic cup. 

Within a few seconds the simple alcoholic beverage is concocted, and he leaves a reluctant ten-dollar bill on the sliver of the bar that isn’t covered in condensation or sloshed liquor.

He reaches—

Oh.

That’s not a cup.

Freezing in his place, his blue eyes zero in on a pair of fingers entwined with his, nestled on the very same cup.

He can feel them tense under his own slender digits.

Dread. Pure, existential dread.

Apologize, apologize—

“Shit—”

“I’m so—”

“Sorry!”

A stranger’s voice yelps with his in unison.

Before he can move, their hand rips away from his, leaving his fingers to meet with the cold plastic.

His neck cranes to his left and—

Oh.

Oh, no.

You.

Blinking several times to get his wits about him, he can feel his mouth growing dry.

The way the blinking lights illuminate off of your face completely force his train of thought off the damn tracks.

Flickers of blues, greens, pinks — they compliment your face so nicely as each shade seems to highlight another feature that he hadn’t noticed a second before.

He shouldn’t stare, but he can’t help it: you’re drop dead gorgeous.

“It’s okay,” Armin breathes out after holding his breath for some time. “That was my bad. I didn’t see you.”

Your eyes are just as wide as his. “No! No, it was my fault. I thought that was my drink.”

“What did you order?”

“Uh, a hard seltzer? I think?” you answer, scrunching your nose as you respond.

Mayday.

That’s a type of adorable he is not equipped to handle in his sunburnt state.

“You think?” he repeats with a small chuckle.

You move your head side to side, tilting with an uncommitted air about it.

“It’s bubbling, right? Means I’m on the right carbonated track.”

“Yeah, but don’t hard seltzers usually come in cans?”

“Not always at this place,” you correct, before pushing the cup towards him. “I also kind of panicked when I ordered, so sorry for almost being a drink stealer.”

“Trust me, I know a thing or two about panic ordering,” Armin admits with a huff, taking the cup into his hands.

“Yeah?”

You give a carefree laugh that causes his stomach to give an Olympian-grade somersault.

“Is that why you got a vodka soda?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“We’ve all been there,” you empathize, briefly pouting your lower lip. “I won’t judge.”

He’s not nearly drunk enough to deal with this (see: at all) but that doesn’t mean Armin is going to waste his opportunity.

He may be a wallflower, but he’s equal parts an opportunist.

“So you’ve been here before?” he tries instead, hoping you don’t suddenly snatch your seltzer can and walk away.

You do get your seltzer from the same bartender — a slender aluminum can, nothing fancy — but you don’t walk away.

The opposite: you angle towards him.

Shit, okay.

He can do this.

“My friends love this place,” you tell him over the music. He finds himself leaning closer, angling his chin down, so he can hear you better. “So I just tagged along to make sure no one got black-out drunk or made out with anyone weird.”

“A noble effort,” Armin teases, and your eyes sparkle with amusement. “My friends dragged me here, too.”

“Dragged?” you catch with a growing smirk as you take a sip. “I said I tagged, not dragged.”

“Oh.”

Idiot.

Recover.

“I mean, it wasn't — yeah, no, I was definitely dragged here,” Armin confesses, sipping his vodka soda for some liquid courage.

No use in lying to seem cool.

That facade would crumble like a house of cards.

“Partying at The Point not your scene?” you ask without judgment laced in your tone.

Armin nods. “I could be sitting on the balcony reading right now.”

Your brows slide high with intrigue. "Reading?"

Yeah, he should have expected a reaction like that.

The blonde shuffles, shrugging his shoulders.

"I know, lame."

"I don't think it's lame at all," you answer instantly.

His eyes widen. "I— no?"

"Uh, no," you snort. "If I had a choice, I'd probably be doing the same thing."

Oh, shit.

Oh... shit.

So he's not lame, and he found a possible fellow bookworm.

Armin sips his drink so fast that a little dribbles out the corner of his mouth.

Liquid courage; he needs it, badly.

"If you could be home right now instead of here, what would you be reading?" he decides to ask, knowing it's the most unsexy question he could offer.

You scrunch your nose again, seriously contemplating the question while bobbing your head to the music.

"I brought maybe two books? I should have brought more."

He nods eagerly, his blue eyes round with interest.

"I have a romance that takes place in the summer — I know. Very on the nose," you relent with a small huff. "And, uh, this thriller? But I'm not crazy about it, so I'm mostly reading the romance book on the beach."

"I brought a thriller, too," he admits. "Bounty Run."

"Shut up, you too?"

"Huh?"

You laugh, and it's a melody that makes the music at this venue pale in comparison.

"I literally bought Bounty Run last month and never got around to it until now! It's so bad!"

To whatever deity is smiling upon him today, Armin has to thank them.

Not only has he met someone who likes reading, but they think Bounty Run sucks.

Maybe he's hallucinating from the burn screaming through his polo right now.

"It's really bad," he agrees breathlessly with a chuckle.

"Like dogshit terrible!"

"I know. What the hell was Tracy thinking in chapter six?"

"Oh my god, when she decided to call the hostage guy?"

"Yes!"

"Like, I'm pretty sure that's not how those situations work."

"Not even close."

You both laugh, and all Armin Arlert wants is to know every miniscule thought of yours.

What other books you may have read.

If you have any recommendations.

If you're single.

Nope.

No.

He's not Eren Yeager.

He is not his best friend— 

"Are you from here?" you ask over the music, breaking his panicked train of thought.

Armin swallows more alcohol, shaking his head. "No, we're not locals. We're just vacationing."

"So are we!"

"With your friends?"

"My friend's family," you correct, leaning closer to stop shouting so loudly.

He can feel his blood pressure spike exponentially.

"I'm with my friend's family, too," Armin tells you. "Our shore house for the week is something like ten blocks from here."

“For the week? Which way’s your house?” you ask, before holding up your free hand. “Not in, like, a mega-stalker way.”

“Oh, I didn’t take it that way,” he promises, earnest intent pouring from his mouth. “It’s, uh… wait where are we — oh! That way.”

He swivels and points, like somehow that’ll triangulate where the beach starts.

Your chin turns, noting the direction. “So near the… beach? No fucking way, our house is that way, too, but more like a seven-block walk from here.”

Oh.

No fucking way, indeed.

"Seriously?" Armin asks, voice cracking just a tad.

"Yeah! Do you guys camp out on the beach by third street, too?"

He nods almost too eagerly. "We were just there this afternoon."

"So were we," you confess with a light laugh. "Small world! We were both being subjected to that god-awful book and could've warned each other to pick a less shitty book."

"Well, I brought about a dozen books if you want one to borrow."

Way to go, mouth.

Armin tenses instantly as the words pour from his mouth.

"I... you know, just in case the romance book doesn't work out! Or if you're a fast reader! Or if you—"

"Promise?"

Your question cuts through like a knife.

He is in awe.

Enamored.

He'll give you all of his goddamn books if it means you'll talk to him after tonight.

Suddenly your chin drops, and your free hand fishes for your phone in the back pocket of your jean shorts.

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips, causing the blonde to simply wait.

Stare.

Don't go.

Don't go, don't go, don't— 

"Shit, mayday with my friend."

You sigh as if you were expecting a disaster.

Hell, he's expecting one, too, but he's selfishly forgotten about saving Eren or finding Zeke.

"Are they alright?"

"Yeah, just..." You trail off, typing back a response. "They pre-gamed before we came here to save money. I told them not to, but... best laid plans, right?"

"I could give you my number?" he blurts, and your attention leaves your phone.

Your eyes round with surprise, and he feels immense shame in even offering.

Yet—

"For the books," he adds hastily. Shakily. "To borrow. O-Or if you ever want to just... talk about them."

"For the books," you agree, biting your lip between your teeth. "Yeah, sure, give me your phone."

His cup is empty, but he almost drops it trying to yank his phone out of his pocket.

Armin holds it out to you, unlocking the screen. He watches as you pocket your own phone and take his, typing your number into a new text chat window.

This is happening.

This is seriously, actually happening.

"Here," you offer, handing his phone back. "I put my name in."

He glances down, memorizing your name with newfound vigor.

"Okay, perfect. Oh — my name. My name is Armin."

"Armin?" You repeat. He nods. "I like that name."

Suddenly, he likes it, too.

"See you around?" he asks hopefully.

With a parting smile, you take a slow step backwards.

"...yeah, Armin. See you around."

You look just as sheepish as he feels when you turn on a heel, disappearing into the crowd.

For a moment he stands there, dumbfounded — phone in hand, slack jawed —

Hopeful.

Maybe...

Maybe Armin Arlert won't hate spending seven days at the Yeager shore house after all.

.

author's note:

Thank you SO much for reading part one of my little summer story! I've been dying to write a proper Armin fic for a while now, and a casual, warm vacation setting felt perfect for him. This is meant to be a cozy read, so I hope you enjoy my love letter to my favorite boy. xo

How are we feeling after part one? Let me know in the replies! (And thank you for any reblogs, likes, engagement, etc. Every comment gives this writer wings.)

[missglaskin]

This happened to me before, when I bring my partner over to stay the night, my parent would give us separated room so...

In a alternative universe where reader married to Cregan, whenever they visited King's Landing the yan!hotd (parents) would not allow Cregan sleep in reader's bedchamber.

Who do you think would do this? (most to least)

There’s a reason why Cregan laments going to King’s landing, I mean not only is the weather and the customs so different, but that he has to deal with the pettiness of your family every single time. One might think to let his wife go to king’s landing by herself, which is one the roads are dangerous and two, Cregan doesn’t trust they will return you to him (trust me, he had to summon himself after the many excuses). Unfortunately to him that pettiness also extends to his nightly time. Cregan, unlike some westeros’ husbands, loved sleeping in the same bed, holding you close. 

Alicent and Otto will claim that you must sleep in separate bedrooms. They won’t even offer you both a choice, informing you that your room is still where it is before informing Cregan of the room they made ready for him. Rhaenyra will even do the same, hell there’s a chance she’ll hold onto your arm as she guides you away from your husband so you can both keep up. Rhaenys hints to Corlys that it’s best for you and Cregan to sleep separately, after all she and Laena want to spend some time with you together. 

One does not need to know Aegon and Aemond do everything in their power to ensure you're not even in the same space as Cregan. Alicent is also petty enough to send Criston inside your room to protect you while you sleep to ensure that Cregan does not sneak his way to you. Rhaenyra may also do the same thing with Harwin, it’s funny enough to imagine both Criston and Harwin being stationed in the same place. 

Daemon is surprisingly one of the few that does not bother himself, he knows you and Cregan have already consummated the marriage, and separating you won’t do anything. But he'll be a pain in the arse during the following day, keeping you all to himself. Viserys is perhaps the only one who’s not trying to separate you both, at this point he just gave up.

[caffedrine]

Keith Howell Sequel 01 - Fan Translation

If you trust me to know what I'm doing, then we have both made a huge mistake. I cannot guarantee accuracy for this fan translation, or even grammatical correctness.

Please support Cybird and pick up this event when it makes it to the English Server

In the neutral country of Jade, there was a useless prince with boundless kindness.

~Flashback~

Keith: "I'm not the kind of person you should worry about. I can't do anything, and I do terrible things without hesitation."

Keith: "Yet, here I am, still smiling."

Keith: "So you shouldn't get involved with me."

Alter!Keith: "Your words can be both poison and medicine to him."

Alter!Keith: "Emma, please kill the useless one."

~Flashback~

The cruel tragedy that struck him birthed an "alternate personality" and turned him into a beast. Haunted by the past, fearing an uncontrollable self, he continued to wish for a living death. The one who brought forth the heart of the beast sinking into the abyss was the only one with the most beautiful heart in Rhodolite—her.

Emma: "…It seems that when it comes to Keith, I become desperate to the point of not seeing anything around me."

Emma: "When I think I don't want to lose Keith, I can't think about anything else…"

Emma: "He's so important to me that I would do anything to not lose him."

She accepted the two personalities, and true love kept both beasts alive.

Keith: "I can't give you normal love. Still, I don't want to let go of your hand. I only want to love you."

Emma: "……………Then, please love me a lot."

Emma: "I will love both sides of Keith with all my heart!"

To make the flower called "happiness" bloom throughout the country, the prince with boundless kindness will protect the country's future.

As time passes, the love between the three deepens.

However, it remains a distorted and abnormal love.

The more happiness they have, the more the balance of their hearts, which seemed stable, secretly tilted.

~Timeshift~

Keith: "…"

The pounding rain soaked him completely and chilled him to the core. The golden eyes peeking through heavy bangs quietly gaze at the person who has been carelessly discarded.

A familiar-shaped ring was fitted on his ring finger.

Kagari: "Keith."

The man with fiery red hair, who appeared silently, followed Keith's gaze.

Kagari: "Have you lost something important again?"

Kagari: "Or is this your first time?"

~Timeshift~

Liam: "Ah…"

Keith: "She's fast asleep, so it's okay."

Keith: "Thank you for the documents. Just leave them there."

Liam quietly closed the room door and placed the documents on the table in front of the sofa where Keith and the other person were sitting.

Naturally, his gaze fell on Emma, who was comfortably sleeping with her head resting on Keith's shoulder. The book on her lap was open, filled with densely written words.

Liam: "Are you studying the history of various countries after practicing archery? As always, Lady Emma is powerful."

Keith: "She’s cute, isn’t she?"

Liam: "Eh? Yes, I guess so...?"

Liam: "I sometimes worry if I'm speaking the same language as you, Keith."

Suddenly showered with affection, Liam looked around the room in astonishment.

—Wanting a room with Emma, he decided to expand.

This spacious room was born from that sentiment

With large windows that let in plenty of sunlight, a large bookshelf that the two book lovers were quite satisfied with, decorative plants that offer healing, and a fluffy sofa with adorable, differently colored deer-pattern cushions.

Although not much time had passed, the room was steadily being filled in by the two—no, the three of them.

Liam: "That's right, she started seriously learning archery after coming to Jade, didn’t she?"

Keith: "Yeah. I haven't heard the reason, but she told me she wanted to learn after the tea party with my sister (Mireille)."

Liam: "It might be because Prince Keith’s mother and Lady Mireille are known archers."

Keith: "Also, maybe she just genuinely wanted to learn a way to protect herself."

Keith: "…Emma wants to protect things together rather than just be protected."

Liam: "Truly powerful indeed."

Keith: "Oh, today's practice was amazing! She hit the target's center in a row, and even when she missed, it was only a few millimeters off."

Keith: "I'm just so happy to see her results reflecting her effort, it feels like my own achievement."

Liam: "That's a delightful thing, but your excitement is making your voice louder."

With his index finger raised in front of his mouth, Liam indicated for Keith to be quiet, and Keith hurriedly covered his mouth, wanting to say that he had made a mistake.

Perhaps because she had entered a deep sleep, Emma still wore a peaceful expression on her face.

Keith: "After she asked me to teach her archery, I was quite happy."

Keith: "After all, I want to be asked a lot of things by the person I love."

Keith: "I need to properly thank my mother for patiently guiding me when I was a clumsy child."

Liam: "Speaking of your mother, I’ve heard that sometimes during their couple fights, arrows would fly from the king's room."

Keith: "Ah… She was generally easygoing and rarely got angry."

Keith: "But without discussion, the king would counter with a sword, so it always escalated. He always ended up being the one to back down."

Liam: "That's the weakness that comes with being in love."

Liam: "I saw that you also showed off by hitting the target multiple times, taking advantage of Lady Emma's request."

Keith lightly cleared his throat, diverting his gaze.

Keith: "I think… what I did was very immature."

Keith: "But the way Emma was so excited at that time was so cute that I’d want to capture it in a painting."

Liam: "…Are you bragging again?"

Emma: "Mmm…"

Keith and Liam: "!"

The two instantly closed their mouths at the faint sound they heard.

Emma shifted and snuggled even closer against Keith.

Emma: “...Keith.”

Keith: “...!”

The name that spilled from her lips made his large body shiver faintly with joy.

As if to say "Did you hear that?", Keith shot a glance at Liam.

Liam: “Please don’t look this way. Also, you look rather foolish with that face.”

Keith: “S-sorry, but Emma said my name in her sleep.”

Keith: “Maybe, even in her dreams, I'm right next to her, just like this…”

Keith: “...No, I can’t go back now. It seems I’m going to be grinning all day.”

Liam: “How pitiful…”

His large hand enveloped her delicate one, intertwining their fingers. Keith gently tilted his head toward Emma, savoring the happiness. The comforting silence filled the room along with the warm breeze coming through the window.

Although incredulous, Liam smiled at the sight of the two.

Liam: “It’s a well-known fact that the future king and queen are affectionate with each other. They are called the healing couple.”

Liam: “Their efforts to improve the country are met with great trust from the citizens.”

Keith: “Healing couple... I feel a bit embarrassed to be called that.”

After smiling gently, Keith looked down as if reminiscing about distant days.

Keith: “Being a person who has never been able to believe in myself, I was very anxious and feared trusting others.”

Keith: “But now it’s different. For the better future of the country and for peace, I want to look forward and respond to this belief.”

Liam: “You’ve changed.”

Keith: “It’s because Emma has accepted this ‘me’ straight on.”

Liam: “That ‘me’ doesn’t seem to improve much, though.”

Keith: “Ah... I’m glad she’s sleeping.”

Keith: “...”

Once again, silence returned.

However, this time it bore a hint of sadness... Realizing what that meant, Liam furrowed his brows.

Keith: “Sorry for worrying you. I want to correct the habit of it showing on my face.”

Liam: “Has it gotten worse?”

Keith: “Just a little. The time has lengthened.”

Liam: “About that…”

Keith: “It seems like there’s no problem for now. Maybe...”

Liam: “If only I could understand the reason…”

Keith: “...”

Liam: “Prince Keith?”

Keith: “No, it’s nothing. I should refrain from speculating."

Keith: “Right. About today’s scheduled diplomatic meeting, I want you to come along.”

Liam: “Of course. I have no reason to refuse.”

Keith: “Thank you. I know I can rely on you.”

Keith: “...I still wish that you wouldn’t notice, but that hasn’t changed since the old days.”

He gently tightened his grip on their intertwined hands. In his golden eyes, filled with affection, there flickered a hint of hesitation.

(This is...?)

On one afternoon—

The greenhouse that I entered escorted by Prince Keith was filled with a sweet aroma different from that of floral nectar.

Steam rose from the cups of tea on the table, which was crowded with flower-shaped cakes and baked goods.

(I didn’t think we had made plans for a tea party...)

Looking up at Keith with a questioning expression, he returned my gaze with a serene expression.

Keith: “I heard it from the head of the royal pharmacy (Yuel), and I couldn’t stay still.”

(Yuel... ah)

Keith: “Congratulations on passing the herbalist promotion exam.”

Emma: “Thank you!”

Emma: “I just received the acceptance letter a moment ago, so I was surprised.”

Keith: “I found out last night.”

(What a surprise! And yet, he prepared such a wonderful celebration...)

As my lips curled into a smile, Keith’s eyes softened too, and warmth filled my chest even more.

(The trigger was seeing Prince Keith talk vibrantly about the plants...)

(With my desire to “be of help” added to that, I got the chance to be recognized for my growth.)

(Along with learning lessons as a queen, I want to continue studying as an herbalist and absorb knowledge,)

(I want to become someone who supports the country.)

Noticing that Prince Keith’s expression had turned thoughtful, I tilted my head.

Keith: “The celebration isn’t enough.”

Emma: “!? That’s not true. If anything, I’ve received more than enough!”

Keith: “If that’s the case—... no, wait.”

(It feels like his eyes are saying "I won't concede.")

I always think that the reasons for Prince Keith's stubbornness are made up of kindness and cuteness.

(If the celebration isn’t enough...)

Emma: “Well then, may I make a request?”

Keith: “Of course! Please say anything.”

Which option will you choose?

Point to your own cheek.

Open your arms wide.

Indicate the cake you want to eat.

Emma: “Keith, I want to eat this tart first.”

I pointed to the plate with a tart topped with juicy fruits.

Keith nodded and seated me in a chair, then served the tart onto a separate plate as I requested...

Keith: "Here you go, Emma. Open your mouth?"

Emma: “Huh...?”

Keith: “Eh...?”

Keith: “Oh... Did I make a huge mistake...?”

(When you cant even just let them eat cake)

Emma: “No, it's just as I requested. I’ll eat it!”

I took the bite-sized tart he offered and popped it into my mouth.

Keith smiled as brightly as a blooming flower and cheerfully began to cut a second piece.

(What I really wanted to request was for him to serve the cake... but somehow, I feel like I’m gaining so much.)

I silently expressed my gratitude to Keith.

More than the sweet and sour fruitiness and the crispy texture, the smile of my beloved made me happy.

After thoroughly enjoying the celebratory tea party, I strolled through the greenhouse with Keith, admiring the colorful flowers.

As the time for public duties approached, a sense of sadness welled up at the thought of parting again, when I was suddenly called by name.

Looking up, I met Keith’s gaze, which was serious this time.

His face belonged not to my fiancé, but rather to the next king bearing the weight of the nation...

Keith: "Actually, Kagari-san..."

Keith: "I received an invitation to a friendship meeting from Prince Kagari Amagase of the Kougyoku (Ruby) Kingdom."

Emma: "At this time of year?"

Keith: "Yes, and that’s why I have many concerns about it."

A short while ago—

Information of significant importance had reached Jade that the three countries of Tanzanite, Achroite, and Kougyoku had formed an alliance, potentially disrupting the balance of power on the continent.

The three countries weren't historically close, nor was there any record of significant interaction between them.

The reason for forming the alliance is unclear, with no clues as to why this would happen.

Receiving an invitation to a friendship meeting from Ruby during such a time must mean there’s some ulterior motive.

Keith: "They say Kougyoku is a country where civil war never ceases,"

Keith: "and currently, three factions are vying for national unification."

Emma: "There are figures among the factions who claim to be king, right?"

Keith: "Yes. It seems that anyone with power, regardless of status, can claim to be one."

Keith: "And as a unique feature not found in other countries, each faction has various nations supporting them."

Keith: "Since Jade has a long history and friendly relations with Ruby, we are supporting the nation, not the factions."

(So, the middle island)

(The complicated state of affairs of the countries makes my head spin the more I learn.)

Emma: "Which faction has formed the alliance...?”

Keith shook his head in distress.

Keith: “Since multiple factions exist, I thought I would hear some information flowing in... but it seems to be difficult.”

Keith: “That’s why the invitation from Kagari is so valuable.”

Emma: “And Kagari ‘san’?”

(I noticed he corrected himself just now, but could it be...?)

Keith: “I’m friends with Kagari.”

Emma: “I see...!”

Learning about Keith’s friendships at such an unexpected moment made me lean forward in interest.

(I shouldn’t get carried away. I want to ask so many things, but I have to hold back for now.)

Keith: “Kagari has originally been part of the royal camp and has achieved numerous victories in battles.”

Keith: “He is feared and called ‘Yasha’ for his unmatched strength...”

Keith: “However, he seems to have defected from the royal family and is now building his own camp in a different faction.”

(That’s why the invitation came from Prince Kagari, the second prince, instead of the first.)

Keith: “Both the three-country alliance and Kagari’s current actions are honestly wrapped in mystery.”

Keith: “Which faction formed the alliance, and what is its purpose?”

Keith: “And the reason why Kagari, who has defected from the royal family, sent the invitation...”

Keith: “I’ve decided to participate in the friendship meeting as his friend to understand whether Ruby will be a country we should watch out for in the future.”

Keith: “So...”

Before Keith could finish his words, I opened my mouth.

Emma: “May I come with you?”

(I know I can’t be much help. Still, I want to face issues that affect the future of the country.)

Keith: “I want to ‘make this country bloom with the beautiful flower of happiness forever.’”

Keith: “I promised my brother that long ago... As the future king and as Emma’s lover—”

Keith: “I want to fulfill that vow together with him, the ‘other side of myself.’”

Emma: “...Keith, can I also be included in that 'promise'?”

(Because I want to continue making the flowers of happiness bloom in Jade alongside Master Keith.)

After a brief silence, his large hand gently took mine.

Keith: “Because you are by my side, we ‘can’ overcome any difficulties and hardships.”

Keith: “...Thank you for saying you want to join.”

Keith: “Ruby is said to be a country of chaos. We don’t know where the dangers lurk.”

Keith: “We will protect you, Emma... no matter what.”

His lips touched the back of my hand as if making a vow.

Emma: “Thank you.”

(I feel the same way as you, Keith.)

I gently stood on my tiptoes and this time, I kissed Master Keith on the cheek.

He turned to me with a smile that seemed to contain all the kindness in the world, warming my heart.

The warmth that flowed between us, the feelings shared, and the words spoken were all genuine and honest.

(But then... I wonder why.)

Keith: “Emma?”

Emma: “Oh, I’m sorry. I was staring too much.”

Keith: “No, I actually welcome that. If anything, I want you to gaze at me even more.”

Keith: “...Just kidding, that was an incredibly creepy response. P-please pretend you didn’t hear that.”

Emma: “That’s unfortunate... I was planning to take advantage of those words and keep staring at you a little longer, Keith.”

Keith: “Ah, I really want you to keep looking at me.”

His immediate response made me smile involuntarily.

(This isn’t the first time.)

(I wonder when I started looking at him like this?)

The faint dark hue that flickered in his golden eyes brought back the lingering anxiety in my heart.

Later in the carriage-

Emma: “Prince Keith... no, that’s not right.”

[floylia]

# MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾

02. I’m not a pervert! 💌

Lights out in an “empty” gym – luck chose to bless you today.

You’ve never been inside the indoor gyms – never found a reason to – but the school must have spent a fortune on the interior design. It’s impossible not to admire it.

The sun’s gaze peaks through the arched, glass roof, acting as the building’s only light source. Accented panels run along the walls in a well-ordained pattern. Pennant flags that alternate between the colors of the sky and the sand hang above the pool, occasionally fluttering back and forth in the air.

You can’t miss the pool, separated into chalk, thin lanes – and a stranger treading his way underneath, moving as if he belongs in the water – mastering its element and breaking the rules of gravity.

Every motion is weightless, following a rhythm with each stroke. No splash is wasted. His body propels forward until he reaches the finish line, victorious, despite the lack of competition.

Swimmers often describe the wave of water as freeing. You wonder if he felt the same.

“Can I help you?” The stranger asks, illustrating his paper-white teeth, not fazed by your prying eyes.

He emerges from the pool, breath labored, and chest – well-built, exemplifying his athlete status as water drips to the floor.

He steps closer and you draw the constellations of freckles falling along his cheeks–how they steal the sparkle of his eyes, threatening to lose anyone who looks deep within.

Focus.

You clear your throat, “By any chance, have you seen a brown vintage messenger bag? A friend left it.”

He squints his eyes and swerves his head from left to right before taking off his swimming cap. Wet ginger hair reveals itself as he brushes a hand through it, “I think I saw one near the stands.”

“Thank you. I’ll look for it.”

He nods before heading towards the locker rooms. A part of you is glad that the gym isn’t packed with training athletes. But the other half feels an unpleasant lump down your throat. The awkwardness of being caught gawking at his performance has you praying to leave immediately.

Fortunately, you spot Kaveh’s bag from the stands. Its weight indicates the laptop is inside.

Finally.

“HELP! WHAT THE FUCK!”

A high-pitched-horror-like scream followed by a string of curses echo inside the men’s locker room as the double doors blew wide open and the ginger sprints behind you — his eyes bulging out of his sockets, breath agape, and face from crimson to ash as if a ghost had tapped his shoulders and waved hello.

What the hell.

“Do you need help?” You offer.

“It’s alright, I’m fine,” He chuckles awkwardly. He opens his mouth to say something else, but no words form – only exaggerated hand gestures pointing at the empty locker room.

You don’t understand, but you pretend you do.

He looks insane.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” You ask one more time.

“So… Look– there” he slowly cranes his neck inside the locker room, anticipating something or someone from walking out, “I saw– Ok look It’s not what it looks like. I mean, to be honest, I don’t even know what this looks like. But I swear, in the shower— I’m not even—“ He looks down to his exposed torso, “Wait—“

You look away, hoping to preserve him of some dignity, “I got what I came here for. You don’t owe me an explanation.” You wave your hand politely before scurrying away.

“I SWEAR I’M NOT A PERVERT!”

NOTES:

hi i wrote the first draft a long time ago, but when i re-read it, i hated it so i changed some things and hopefully this makes more sense idk

also thoughts on childe with freckles? i saw a fanart on twitter once and it stuck in my head

SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.

When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back.

CHILDE x FEM!READER

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