#but on the other hand i think you need to verify your account or some kind of whatever. and i feel iffy about giving twitch my phone number

[incomprehensi-bull]

i wonder if i should be a streamer or something. for enrichment

[gallusrostromegalus]

Move To A Darker Place

This is a story of Man Vs. Machine.

---

Last March, my father attempted to file his Taxes.

My beloved father is a Boomer. Unlike most Boomers, my father is rather handy with technology because he was one of the people that had a not-insignificant hand in Developing a hell of a lot of it. He was studying Computer Science at Cal Poly before the computer science degree existed. I have many fond childhood memories of skipping through the aisles of various electronic and computer part warehouses while Dad described something that either terrified the staff or made them worship him as a God.  He taught himself how to use his smartphone.  Internationally.

So when he saw the option to file digitally with the IRS through the “ID.me” program, he leapt at the chance to celebrate the Federal Government finally entering the Digital Age.

It was all going swimmingly for about six hours, until he was ready to file and the system told him that it needed to verify his identity. 

“Very Well.” said my father, a man unafraid of talking to himself and getting something out of the conversation. “It wouldn’t do for me to get someone else’s return.”

The System told him that it needed him to take a “Digital Image ID”.

a.k.a: A Selfie.

“A-ha!” Dad beams. Dad is very good at taking selfies. He immediately pulled out his phone, snapped one, and tried to upload it.

Please log into your Id.me Account and use the provided app to submit your Digital Image ID. The System clarified.

“Oh. You should have said so.”  Dad pouted, but used his phone to log onto the ID.me account, do the six security verification steps and double-checked that the filing looked the same as it did on the desktop, gave the IRS like nine permissions on his phone, and held up the camera to take his Federal Privacy Invasion Selfie.

Please align your face to the indicated grid. Said The System, pulling up a futuristic green-web-of-polygons approximation.

“Ooh, very Star Trek. Gene Roddenberry would HATE this!” Dad said cheerfully, aligning his face to the grid.  My father is a bit… cavalier, when it comes to matters of personal information and federal government, because he’s been on FBI watchlists since the late 60’s when he was protesting The Vietnam War and Ronald Regan before he’d broken containment. Alas.

Anyway, there is very little information the federal government does not have on him already, but he’s as good at stalking the FBI as they are at stalking him, and had worked out a solution:  He has something approaching a friendship with the local Federal Agent (Some guy named “Larry”. Allegedly), and got Larry hooked on Alternative Histories and Dad’s collection of carefully-researched “there is very likely buried treasure here” stories, and Larry is loath to bother his favorite Historical Fanfiction author too much.

But I digress.

After thinking for a minute, The System came back with an Error Message. Please remove glasses or other facial obstructions.

And here is where the real trouble began.

See, my father wears glasses that do substantially warp the appearance of his face, because he is so nearsighted that he is legally blind without them. His natural focal point is about 4 inches in front of his nose.  While Dad can still take a selfie because he (approximately) knows where his phone is if it’s in his hand, he cannot see the alignment grid.

He should ask someone to take it for him! I hear the audience say. Yes, that would be the sane and reasonable thing to do, but Dad was attempting to do taxes at his residence in Fort Collins, while his immediate family was respectively in Denver, Texas and Canada.  He tried calling our neighbors, who turned out to be in Uganda.

He looked down at the dog, Arwen, and her little criminal paws that can open doorknobs, but not operate cell phones.

She looked back at him, and farted.

“Well, I’ll give it a try, but if it gives me too much trouble, I’ll call Larry, and Larry can call the IRS about it.” Dad told her. 

She continued to watch him. Arwen is an Australian Kelpie (a type of cattle-herding dog), going on 14 years old, deaf as a post and suffering from canine dementia now, but she still retains her natural instinct to Micromanage. She was also trained as a therapy dog, and even if she can’t hear my dad, still recognizes the body language of a man setting himself up for catastrophe.

So, squinting in the late afternoon light next to the back door, Dad attempted to line his face up with a grid he could only sort-of see, and took A Federal Selfie.

The System thought about it for a few moments.

Image Capture Failed: Insufficient Contrast. The System replied. Please move to a darker place.

“...Huh.” Dad frowned. “Alright.”

He moved to the middle of his office, away from the back door, lit only by the house lighting and indirect sunlight, and tried again.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“What?” Dad asked the universe in general.

“Whuff.” Arwen warned him against sunk costs.

Dad ignored her and went into the bathroom, the natural habitat of the selfie. Surely, only being lit by a light fixture that hadn’t been changed since Dad was attempting to warn everyone about Regan would be suitably insufficient lighting for The System.  It took some negotiating, because that bathroom is “Standing Room Only” not “Standing And Holding Your Arms Out In Front Of You Room”.  He ended up taking the selfie in the shower stall.

As The System mulled over the latest attempt, Arwen shuffled over and kicked open the door to watch.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move to a Darker Place.

“Do you mean Spiritually?” Dad demanded.

“Whuff.” Arwen cautioned him again.

Determined to succeed, or at least get a different error message that may give him more information, Dad entered The Downstairs Guest Room.  It is the darkest room in the house, as it is in the basement, and only has one legally-mandated-fire-escape window, which has blinds.  Dad drew those blinds, turned off the lights and tried AGAIN.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move To A Darker Place.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO PHOTOGRAPH MYSELF INSIDE OF A CAVE??” Dad howled. 

“WHUFF!” Arwen reprimanded him from under the pull-out bed in the room. It’s where she attempts to herd everyone when it’s thundering outside, so the space is called her ‘Safety Cave’.

Dad frowned at the large blurry shape that was The Safety Cave.

“Why not?” he asked, the prelude to many a Terrible Plan.  With no small amount of spiteful and manic glee, Dad got down onto the floor, and army-crawled under the bed with Arwen to try One Last Time. Now in near-total darkness, he rolled on his side to be able to stretch his arms out, Arwen slobber-panting in his ear, and waited for the vague green blob of the Facial grid to appear.

This time, when he tapped the button, the flash cctivated.

“GOD DAMN IT!” Dad shouted, dropping the phone and rubbing his eyes and cursing to alleviate the pain of accidentally flash-banging himself. Arwen shuffled away from him under the bed, huffing sarcastically at him.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“MOTHERFU- hang on.” Dad squinted.  The System sounded strange. Distant and slightly muffled.

Dad squinted really hard, and saw the movement of Arwen crawling out from under the bed along the phone’s last known trajectory.

“ARWEN!” Dad shouted, awkwardly reverse-army crawling out from under the bed, using it to get to his feet and searching for his glasses, which had fallen out of his pocket under the bed, so by the time he was sighted again, Arwen had had ample time to remove The Offending Device.

He found her out in the middle of the back yard, the satisfied look of a Job Well Done on her face. She did not have the phone. 

“Arwen.” Dad glared. It’s a very good glare. Dad was a teacher for many years and used it to keep his class in order with sheer telepathically induced embarrassment, and his father once glared a peach tree into fecundity.  

Arwen regarded him with the casual interest a hurricane might regard a sailboat tumbling out of its wake. She is a force of nature unto herself and not about to be intimidated by a half-blind house ape.  She also has cataracts and might not be able to make out the glare.

“I GIVE UP!” Dad shouted, throwing his hands in the air and returning to the office to write to the IRS that their selfie software sucks ass. Pleased that she had gotten her desired result, Arwen followed him in.

To Dad’s immense surprise, the computer cheerfully informed him that his Federally Secure Selfie had been accepted, and that they had received and were now processing his return!

“What the FUCK?” Dad glared. “Oh well. If I’ve screwed it up, Larry can call me.”

---

I bring this up because recently, Dad received an interesting piece of mail.

It was a letter from the IRS, addressed to him, a nerve-wracking thing to recessive at the best of times.  Instead of a complaint about Dad’s Selfie Skills, it was a letter congratulating him on using the new ID.me System.  It thanked him for his help and expressed hopes he would use it again next year, and included the selfie that The System had finally decided to accept.

“You know, my dad used to complain about automation.” Dad sighed, staring at the image. “Incidentals my boy!  My secretary saves the state of California millions of dollars a year catching small errors before they become massive ones! He’d say. Fought the human resources board about her pay every year.  I used to think he was overestimating how bad machines were and underestimating human error, but you know? He was right.”

He handed me the image.

My father was, technically, in the image.  A significant amount of the bottom right corner is taken up by the top of his forehead and silver hair.  Most of the image, the part with the facial-recognition markers on it, was composed of Arwen’s Alarmed and Disgusted Doggy face.

“Oh no!” I cackled. “Crap, does this mean you have to call the IRS and tell them you’re not a dog?”

“Probably.” Dad sighed. “I know who I’m gonna bother first though.” he said, taking out his phone (Dad did find his phone a few hours after Arwen absconded with it when mom called and the early spinach started ringing). 

“Hey Larry!” Dad announced to the local federal agent. “You’re never gonna believe this. My dog filed my taxes!”

Larry considered this for a moment. “Is this the dog that stole my sandwich? Out of my locked  car?” he asked suspiciously.

“The very same.” Dad grinned.

“Hm. Clever Girl.” Federal Agent Larry sighed. “I figured it was only a matter of time before she got into tax fraud.”

---

I'm a disabled artist making my living writing these stories. If you enjoy my stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Book on Patreon. Thank you!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 22

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

A man shows up shortly after. You think it’s the judge but you vaguely recognise his thick gray hair and his stance. Steve greets him happily and introduces him as Bucky; the other witness. 

He nods at you and your mom as he crosses his arms and subtly checks his watch. He’s not dressed as nicely as Steve; he has no jacket but he wears a button-up and slacks. You wonder if he’s just as surprised by the whole affair or even if he has the context to be. 

Your mom and Steve barely know each other. It’s only been a few weeks since he moved in. Isn’t marriage supposed to be a big thing? Something you do after at least a few years. Well, how do you know? All you know of normal life, you learned from TV and everyone knows that’s not realistic. 

The judge arrives and introduces herself as the Honorable Valentina de Fontaine. Your vision is blurry as she begins by reading from a piece of paper. Is this how it really is? No romance, no fairy tale, just a stuffy city hall room and a judge with a script. You don’t know why it’s bothering you so much. 

It’s just too fast. It’s too surreal. It just doesn’t feel real. 

You can barely process the words as Steve and your mom stand before the judge. Their vows are lost to the void of your confusion. That man, Bucky, stands near, intently listening but showing no emotion. He senses you looking at him and gazes back at you. You quickly turn away and self-consciously pull at your dress. 

You don’t move until your asked to sign. You take the pen but have a hard time getting a grip on it. How strange it all is. You manage to sign your name on the paper to verify your presence and step back. The declaration of man and wife echoes in your ears. 

What does it all mean? Steve is... your stepfather now? Is he still going to live next door? Is he going to move in? Do you have to go? Where? What about your mom? She’s still sick. None of it makes sense. 

The judge congratulates the happy couple. The do seem happy. You bend your arms over your chest and clutch the sides of your neck. You chew your lip awkwardly as your mom and Steve beam at each other triumphantly. 

“Uh, right,” Steve snaps out of it, “so, we’re going to do lunch. How about it, Buck, you wanna join?” 

Bucky looks dully at his friend then glances at you. You notice how your mom clings to Steve’s hand. All of this is so fast and so much. 

“Sure, why not, I can drive this one,” Bucky says, “so you two love birds get at least the drive to yourself.” 

“You don’t gotta do that,” Steve smiles. 

“Don’t mind,” Bucky insists, “you two must be so excited.” 

“Honey,” your mother keeps her voice low, “it’s alright, they can meet us at the restaurant, right? I mean, we’ll need to talk about a few things on the way.” 

“Sure, uh, sure. There’s a reservation so you can just give my name,” Steve’s voice evens out, “see ya there. 

“Mm, sure. Starving anyway,” Bucky mutters and turns to you, “coming?” 

You look at the man then your mom Steve. Your mother gives you a look that says get out of here. Best that you don’t ruin the happiest day of her life. It truly does seem to be. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her anything close to elated but she’s just smiling and latched onto her husband. 

Her husband. 

You turn and follow the other man from the room. He slows his gait until you’re walking beside him. He’s quiet as you tread through the maze that is City Hall. As you get to the parking lot, he points you without a word. You go to a car and hear the locks slide back. 

You wait until he gets in the driver’s side before you open the passenger door. As you buckle in, he checks the mirror and turns the engine. He sighs. 

“Must be strange,” he comments as he reverses out, “new dad and everything, huh?” 

You’re quiet but make yourself eke out a noise, “mhmm.” 

“Sorry, I probably don’t make it any better,” he steers casually, “why don’t you save us both the trouble and find something to listen to?” 

He turns on the stereo with a button on the wheel and you flinch. You hesitantly lean forward and search the stations. You don’t want to make him listen to anything too out of his preference and you’re a bit too embarrassed to search for what you really like. You settle on a station with old songs you recognise vaguely. 

“Talking Heads, nice,” he comments. It takes you a moment to realises that’s the band’s name. 

You nod and look out the window. He doesn’t press further. He doesn’t try like Steve to manufacture the conversation. He just lets you be. You can appreciate that. You watch the buildings pass by and flutter your fingers against your legs. 

As the car pulls in behind a restaurant, you feel another lurch in your stomach. You’re both hungry and terrified. It’s a nice place and you’ve never been anywhere nicer than an Applebee’s. That was when you were eight and your grandmother took you out for your birthday. 

You let Bucky take the lead. He gets out, you get out. He crosses the lot, you cross the lot. Right there at his side. He’s a stranger, you don’t know him, but his presence is almost reassuring. He has a confidence you could never fathom. Besides, what choice do you have? 

You step inside and he steps ahead to meet the hostess. He gives Steve’s name and you trail after him as you’re led further inside. You see other diners dressed nicely for their meals. You look down at yourself and the faded polka dot dress. 

You sit and wait. You’re on edge, waiting for Bucky to say something, anything. To ask you a question. So what about your mom? You take care of her? She’s sick, huh? 

He lets you be and orders a coffee, asking if you want something at the same time. You just ask for water and sink into the chair. Your eyes wander over the floor and up another table. Another woman stares at you. You try to ignore her as the server nears and puts down the coffee and water, a small divet between his brows. 

As you sip, you hear your mom’s crow above the din. You glance over as she walks ahead of Steve. The settle in and order drinks as Bucky greets them. It all still feels so disjointed, like a dream. As if the little pieces of reality have been stuck together haphazardly. 

"There's the happy couple,” Bucky muses dryly. 

“Says the eternal bachelor,” Steve retorts, “sound jealous, huh?” 

“I’m quite happy, actually. Got my own space, my own bed, my own everything.” 

“Sure,” Steve chuckles, “sounds amazing.” 

“Any plans for the honeymoon?” Bucky asks though he sounds disinterested. 

“Probably will have to wait a while. For now, we’re just gonna sort things out,” Steve turns and looks at you, “you’re quiet, kiddo, what’s going on?” 

You shake your head and sit back as the server returns with a coffee for your mom and a grapefruit juice for Steve. You wait for him to leave but he doesn’t. You stare at the table and he clears his throat. You look up at the man as the table stills. 

“Excuse me, miss, um,” he keeps his voice low, “this is a nice establishment so I’m going to have to ask you to cover up.” 

You bite your lip and your eyes go wide, “what? I don’t...” 

“You can put a napkin over your chest,” he suggests. 

Steve lets out a heavy breath and your mother mutters under hear breath. 

“I...” you look down and try to pull your dress up, “I’m sorry.” 

“Here, take my jacket,” Steve stands strips off his jacket, offering it up. “Thanks, you can go.” 

You accept his coat with a quavery thank you and he sits after the terse dismissal. With your head down and your body on fire, you pull the jacket around your shoulders, hiding in it. It smells like his cologne. Your eyes tinge and you roll them back to keep from crying. 

“Wow, that was rude,” Steve says. 

“Well, she shouldn’t be wearing something so inappropriate,” your mother snorts. 

Bucky shifts awkwardly and you turn your face away, humiliated. 

“Her dress is just fine. That guy has no right to be commenting on her body. We’re paying customers,” Steve snarls, “makes me wanna just go.” 

“It’s okay,” you sniffle, “really.” 

“It’s not okay,” Steve insists. 

‘”Oh, honey, don’t be so dramatic,” you mother snickers, “if she didn’t want people to comment, she’d cover up.” 

Steve is quiet as Bucky sips from his coffee. He clinks it down and you wince. 

“I think you both should let her speak for herself,” he says bluntly, “and if she doesn’t wanna talk about it, move on.” 

You blink and slowly peek over at the man. He doesn’t glance back or even acknowledge you. He just sits back and swirls his mug. 

“I always hated places like this,” he scoffs. 

[staticespace]

Hi sorry for burging in . I need your helping Please if you can be able to extend a hand for me,that would be much appreciate. I'm $800,needed pls🙏 . I need to save my blood sugar which costs $300.and also to afford living expenses.food,gas and medication which costs$500. I plead for your little donations. I'll really appreciate your help❤️please help me with your little donation or share🙏

I will not donate. But I will share.

Not to advise others to donate, though. Because I think you're lying.

Your request doesn't really pass the smell test for me.

🚩Red Flags🚩:

You say on your page that your request is "vetted and verified" but do not say by whom.

Your tags start with "free palestine" despite your request having nothing to do with Palestine or Palestinians. This makes me think you're trying to get people who want to donate to Palestinians to think you're one so they can donate and/or spread your post if they don't read any deeper into your account.

Adding to that, looking into your archive, you only recently started your account this month (September 2024) and all of your posts closest to your start were about Palestine. It seems you're putting a mask on.

As of today (September 29th) only 3 of your 29 posts are from a date that is not September 25th, so it's not as though you're particularly active.

Your other tags on your pinned post have nothing to do with the topic of your post, meaning you're clogging other tags to get someone to bite (e.g. "artists on tumblr" and "succession").

The link you provided goes to a PayPal account, which does not have many protections for anyone who donates money on its platform, like reimbursement and such.

In case I was wrong, I reverse-image-searched your icon photo and...

Well, well, well...

Same photo, same script, different account.

This naming trend on your old account is very familiar, too. Three words smushed together, usually starting with an adjective. Hell, you might be related to the other person I found out was scamming using insulin requests.

And when I tried to find that account, it's apparently been closed.

So yeah, nah, you don't pass the smell test.

---

If you want to donate to Palestinians, here's some actual, verified ways to do so. The methods through that link have been backed by various frontrunners in the Palestinian sphere, like @/90-ghost and @/el-shab-hussein.

If you aren't going to look much further than the fact they sent a note to your inbox, please stop.

Look further and do your due diligence or rely on people who will do it for you.

Some scammers are not just trying to get money for food or a TV or something. Giving to a scammer may not be harmless.

Scammers can and have used false aid requests to fund human and drug trafficking.

Double-check. If it doesn't smell right, don't donate and call it out.

Also, feel free to report their PayPal account for fraud if you see their pinned post.

[legallyacceptibleurl]

i keep seeing this stupid fucking take propagated

ID: screenshot of a tumblr post. @paraparathecow asked: (a screenshot of text that reads: “desperately need your support. 🙏 Achieved 25500 kr/ 200000 kr, My account was verified by@\gazavetters, @\90-ghost & Voices from Gaza on X.,1100kr=100$.”) @paraparathecow: “Man, I sure do wonder why the poor poor gazans are gathering money using swedish krona of all currencies... At least they got the conversion rate right...” @homochadensistm: “But she was verified!! Bsbshjdhdd” END ID.

if you genuinely think a fundraiser being based outside of palestine is some sort of “gotcha“, that it “proves” that the fundraisers are “scams”, then you are either really dedicated to keeping yourself ignorant or someone who enjoys lying to fuck over people in need.

ID: two screenshots, the first showing that it’s a post @prismatic-bell reblogged, and that the original poster is @bsof-maarav. the second screenshot is a section of the post. @bsof-maarav: “Also reported to gofundme, I'm sure they will be interested in why this campaign is listed as being located in Texas, USA while the campaign narrative places the individual in Gaza. And I'm sure they will be further interested in knowing that I heard about it from an unsolicited spam-type message from an unknown account on social media.” END ID.

is anyone actually claiming that the fundraisers are based in palestine? who is saying that? genuinely who is saying that because i don’t know why this is such a prevalent fucking issue for people.

ID: @luckyletd0wn: “every donation that goes to a scammer is a donation stolen from gaza. gofundme does not even operate in palestine, someone from there cannot set up their own gofundme. i cannot believe the people falling for the constant scam asks. you're handing desperately needed donations to modern age nigerian princes. please i beg of you, learn some media literacy. thousands upon thousands of dollars have gone to scammers "vetted" by other scammers. some even admit to having their accounts banned for scamming and drop their new accounts!!!!” END ID.

i assumed it was common knowledge that the fundraisers were set up by family/friends/organisations/helpful people in one of the countries where gofundme operates.

but don’t take it from me, here’s one of their fellow liberals explaining it

ID: @cardassiangoodreads: “There was one case where a popular anti-scam post got things wrong - or more accurately, was "correct" but missed the point (pointing out that gofundme doesn't operate in Gaza, which is true, but to suggest none of the fundraisers are legit, which is false) and someone reblogged to correct them (that the legit gofundmes are run by relatives and friends in supported countries, not in Gaza itself - that's basically the only way people are getting out of there, having people on the outside send them money in order to do so).” END ID.

but hey don’t take it from some random tumblr liberal either. here’s time magazine explaining it

MARCH 25, 2024. Emphasis mine, plain text at the end of the post, under the cut.

“As a result, more Palestinians have increasingly turned to online crowdfunding platforms such as GoFundMe or JustGiving. A GoFundMe spokesperson told TIME that the platform has seen more than 12,000 active fundraisers for Palestinians in Gaza launched since Oct. 7, collectively raising $77 million to date. In addition to evacuation efforts, these campaigns have also been launched to fund access to humanitarian relief such as medical care and food, particularly as funding to formal aid organizations like UNRWA has been cut in various countries.”

[…]

“Because the platform can only be used in 19 countries, however, many of the Gaza-related campaigns are set up in Europe or North America. While some campaigns, such as Tareq's, are led by friends and relatives who live abroad and want to help on the ground, others have been created by activists or as collaborations between charities who rally a well-established network of donors and friends on social media or via public appeals.

In every crowdfunding case, Palestinians will rely on contacts abroad to help set up the campaign and receive donations on their behalf. In return, the platform benefits from the campaigns by charging donors 30 cents per contribution and keeping 2.9% of the total donation. “As fundraising for Gaza increases, we will continue to dedicate more resources to helping people help each other,” the GoFundMe spokesperson told TIME.”

[…]

“Despite the rising popularity of crowdfunding as a means of aid, many campaigns remain underfunded. 24-year-old Noor Hammad was once a nutritionist in Deir al-Balah, but now, she is desperate to escape Gaza after her home was heavily bombarded and she gave birth to her daughter in Rafah in January. “I lost everything in this war,” she said in a WhatsApp message. “I need to leave because I have a baby now, I need money to buy food for her.” To help Hammad, a Sydney-based journalist set up a GoFundMe campaign earlier this month to raise $27,000, which will be sent to Hammad’s brother in Sweden. So far, the fundraiser has raised just $2,580.

Even when campaigns raise enough funds, other challenges in ensuring Gazans can access and receive the money persist, especially as Western governments have introduced sanctions against Hamas. As a result, GoFundMe and other crowdfunding platforms are now required to comply by asking organizers for extensive information about to whom, and where, the money is going. Any individuals or groups who don’t pass a test screening for money laundering or terrorist financing are likely to be put on government-run lists. “

[…]

“The means through which money is transferred to Gazans is also complicated. A few wire services like Western Union are still operating in the besieged territory, but for many, a more viable option is to have the money sent to someone outside Gaza who can withdraw the cash and travel to Egypt. There, the money is paid to brokers who facilitate evacuations.

In February, Tareq and his family raised $20,000 and were finally able to leave for Egypt, where they are currently seeking refuge. But now, the 16-year-old says he needs to find the money to relocate to Canada, where his family can apply for asylum. Above all, the 11th grader—who was months ago participating in international student competitions—hopes to re-enroll in school to complete his education. He plans to make a new GoFundMe campaign in the coming weeks to raise money for the cost of visa applications, flights, and other expenses.

“The GoFundMe really helped with the evacuation and I am full of hope for the future,” he says. “But the circumstances have led Gazans to crowdfund because they lost a lot, and they continue to lose a lot”.”

Is every blog asking for funds legit? Sadly no. Do the people doing the vetting want you to just donate to each and every person who asks nicely? That’s really easy to check actually, surprising i know.

ID: @\el-shab-hussein on 30/1-2024: “As a rule of thumb, don't reblog donation posts or people asking for donations unless they've been vetted and reblogged by Palestinian bloggers. We usually go to lengths to verify this shit because we know scammers have been faking to get people to send them money, using the urgency of our genocide as bait.” END ID.

The answer is “no”. Imagine that.

hello. it feels nice and cozy under a readmore doesn’t it? like i’m inviting you into my pillow fort. be careful so you don’t rip down any of my blankets, i’m turning on the fairy lights so i can show you the article i was talking about. yk while we’re down here, i might as well post the whole article, right? i’m sure time doesn’t mind.

Palestinians Have Turned to Crowdfunding Platforms for Survival

MARCH 25, 2024.

In December, Tareq watched his entire life in Gaza get reduced to rubble. “The school I attended since first grade, the street I walked on daily, my neighborhood—they all collapsed into memory,” the 16-year-old tells TIME. With a sinking feeling, he realized that no immediate ceasefire would be brokered in the Israel-Hamas war, and the only way he could escape the horror was by evacuating Gaza. “I never imagined being forced to leave home, but it felt inevitable, like a cruel twist of fate,” he says.

U.N.-backed global monitors have issued warnings that “mass death is now imminent” in the besieged territory with acute food shortages exceeding famine levels. For most Palestinians like Tareq (who asked his last name be withheld for safety purposes), fleeing Gaza is seen as the only way to escape Israel’s bombardment, which has now entered into its fifth month.

But evacuation is not an easy or affordable feat. The only official way to cross the Rafah border, the sole crossing point between Egypt and the occupied territories, is with Israeli approval. The border is currently under an Egyptian-Israeli blockade, and evacuation is permitted only to foreign passport holders or seriously wounded patients.

Under a parallel, informal system, however, Palestinians can pay travel brokers in Egypt to get on a list of people approved for permits to leave. The fees for evacuation are often exorbitant sums ranging from $6,000 to $12,000 per person, and those looking to flee must also navigate scammers and misinformation with no guarantee of success, according to sources who spoke with TIME, as well as recent media reports.

As a result, more Palestinians have increasingly turned to online crowdfunding platforms such as GoFundMe or JustGiving. A GoFundMe spokesperson told TIME that the platform has seen more than 12,000 active fundraisers for Palestinians in Gaza launched since Oct. 7, collectively raising $77 million to date. In addition to evacuation efforts, these campaigns have also been launched to fund access to humanitarian relief such as medical care and food, particularly as funding to formal aid organizations like UNRWA has been cut in various countries.

That is how Tareq—who fled his home in November with his parents and three younger siblings after it was destroyed by Israeli airstrikes—found money for his family’s escape. After taking refuge in a U.N. shelter, he launched an online campaign on GoFundMe in December with a fundraising goal of $25,000—enough money to cover his entire family’s entrance fees to Egypt and temporary living expenses. A family friend in New Orleans helped set up the fundraiser; an aunt in Canada became the recipient for the donations to transfer the money to the family directly.

“Thank you very much for your generosity, solidarity, and kindness, your support is much appreciated and encouraged,” Tareq wrote on his fundraising page. “Your donation will make an essential impact on me and my family to live safely and have a better future.”

Crowdfunding for survival

Over the past two decades, online crowdfunding platforms like GoFundMe and JustGiving have become vital sources for mutual aid and charity efforts to raise funds for everything ranging from medical emergencies and hunger relief to small business loans. In the Ukraine war, they have been essential in co-funding Ukraine’s defense campaign against Russia. “Ukrainians elevated crowdfunding’s significance to match the existential threat they face,” wrote Olga Boichak, a senior lecturer in digital cultures at the University of Sydney.

Because the platform can only be used in 19 countries, however, many of the Gaza-related campaigns are set up in Europe or North America. While some campaigns, such as Tareq's, are led by friends and relatives who live abroad and want to help on the ground, others have been created by activists or as collaborations between charities who rally a well-established network of donors and friends on social media or via public appeals.

In every crowdfunding case, Palestinians will rely on contacts abroad to help set up the campaign and receive donations on their behalf. In return, the platform benefits from the campaigns by charging donors 30 cents per contribution and keeping 2.9% of the total donation. “As fundraising for Gaza increases, we will continue to dedicate more resources to helping people help each other,” the GoFundMe spokesperson told TIME.

Just before last Christmas, Mansour Shouman, a Palestinian-Canadian journalist based in Doha, started a crowdfunding campaign with a team to raise $1.2 million for urgent humanitarian needs like food, water, clothing, tents, and hygienic products. The 39-year-old has so far raised just over $1 million in donations toward the goal.

Shouman, who has over 300,000 followers on Instagram, says he began fundraising shortly after making videos about the humanitarian crisis in Gaza. “A lot of people responded by asking how they could help,” he says. “So we started slowly creating a way in which people would donate through different means to support different projects in Gaza.”

Much of the money raised by Shouman’s fundraiser has been sent to local charities in Gaza, like the Palestinian Ethan Society for Community Development, who then purchase mattresses, tents, water, food, and redistribute the funds in the form of cash donations. Shouman says the focus has also shifted from the south to northern Gaza, where the famine has grown worse with each day. “We want to ensure that we can feed the starving population there,” he says.

In early February, a group of U.S.-based activists started a grassroots movement called Operation Olive Branch, or OOB, to help with the overwhelming number of crowdfunding requests from Palestinian families. So far, OOB has assisted close to 800 families to reach their fundraising goals.

“The families behind the fundraisers are experiencing acute starvation, illness, and trauma more extreme than any of us can imagine,” the group told TIME, adding that its role was to “center and amplify families’ direct aid requests by tapping the talents of a large and growing network of social media activists.”

But it adds that while fundraising platforms like GoFundMe have been “key to the autonomy and fundraising success of Gazan families” with the help of the diaspora who can act as beneficiaries to assist their affairs remotely, “having direct access to their donations would make a life-saving difference for these families.”

Challenges persist

Despite the rising popularity of crowdfunding as a means of aid, many campaigns remain underfunded. 24-year-old Noor Hammad was once a nutritionist in Deir al-Balah, but now, she is desperate to escape Gaza after her home was heavily bombarded and she gave birth to her daughter in Rafah in January. “I lost everything in this war,” she said in a WhatsApp message. “I need to leave because I have a baby now, I need money to buy food for her.” To help Hammad, a Sydney-based journalist set up a GoFundMe campaign earlier this month to raise $27,000, which will be sent to Hammad’s brother in Sweden. So far, the fundraiser has raised just $2,580.

Even when campaigns raise enough funds, other challenges in ensuring Gazans can access and receive the money persist, especially as Western governments have introduced sanctions against Hamas. As a result, GoFundMe and other crowdfunding platforms are now required to comply by asking organizers for extensive information about to whom, and where, the money is going. Any individuals or groups who don’t pass a test screening for money laundering or terrorist financing are likely to be put on government-run lists.

These processes have slowed aid efforts, according to a report by The Verge, which found that organizers and donors had been dealing with “heavy-handed moderation” and “inconsistent policies.” In response, GoFundMe issued a notice in March explaining how organizers could get around the extra red tape and avoid any delays, adding that it would comply with laws and regulations to “make the flow of funds from donors to beneficiaries as fast as possible.”

The means through which money is transferred to Gazans is also complicated. A few wire services like Western Union are still operating in the besieged territory, but for many, a more viable option is to have the money sent to someone outside Gaza who can withdraw the cash and travel to Egypt. There, the money is paid to brokers who facilitate evacuations.

In February, Tareq and his family raised $20,000 and were finally able to leave for Egypt, where they are currently seeking refuge. But now, the 16-year-old says he needs to find the money to relocate to Canada, where his family can apply for asylum. Above all, the 11th grader—who was months ago participating in international student competitions—hopes to re-enroll in school to complete his education. He plans to make a new GoFundMe campaign in the coming weeks to raise money for the cost of visa applications, flights, and other expenses.

“The GoFundMe really helped with the evacuation and I am full of hope for the future,” he says. “But the circumstances have led Gazans to crowdfund because they lost a lot, and they continue to lose a lot”.

[yizhou-time]

A RANT ON MINORS AND NSFW POSTS

This is a quick one but I feel like it needs to be said because it’s getting out of hand for not just writers but also minors. As much as we don’t want minors reading NSFW content it’s basically impossible for a number of reasons:

1) The ATEEZ writing community is full of it. Whether people write it because it performs well or they enjoy it, it’s everywhere. It’s becoming rare to see SFW posts in the main two tags (ateez x reader, ateez imagines) and when people are trying to look for something to read and that’s all there is they’re going to read it. It’s basically become downright porn plastered everywhere, what else are they going to read?

2) It’s not being tagged as NSFW or MINORS DONT INTERACT. For whatever reason people aren’t tagging it and it’s just really weird. Even as an adult I don’t want to read NSFW stuff and yet when it’s untagged I come across it (the whole reason I decided to write this is because I was reading a fic this morning that jumps into smut without warning). You can say people choose what they read and if they ignore the tags it's on them but when it's not being tagged as such it's not like people have a choice. I’m an adult and I know when to stop, some minors will just keep reading.

3) a) People are tagging it wrong. Calling smut suggestive when they’re having actual sex is crazy. Some people have been tagging it as a SMAU which means social media au, kids will read that thinking they’re going to see some fake twitter or fake messages and they’re met with smut instead.

3) b) People are using other tags (ateez angst, ateez fluff) for smut. Regardless of if there’s plot keep smut out of those tags so they can be used correctly.

4) Some authors don’t block faceless/blank/ageless blogs (even when they say they have a rule for it). On any site (including YouTube when it comes to age restricted content) age can be verified with a press of a button before the viewer can start watching or you can simply change the year you were born in, but it then argues that they can read what they want here regardless of how it makes an author feel because they can do it online. They can talk to an author in DM and through their Inbox, they can’t talk to a pornstar so they’ll never know or have that lurking feeling. Block people that you aren’t sure of, even if they’re a big account or your post is doing well, it’s not worth it when there’s kids reading it.

5) Some authors don’t display their own age. This is a short one but I know so many NSFW authors who aren’t displaying their age and yet other writers still interact with them, going against their own ageless/faceless blog rule, for what I don’t know. That could be a 14 year old or a 40 year old and we don’t even know who’s in their Inbox.

6) There’s no one controlling what content the minor is reading. Although we can’t do anything about that that doesn’t mean we can’t do what we can, they may read it anyway, but if you look at the contributing factors there is something we as a community can do.

I'm well aware this post is giving them the benefit of the doubt but can you blame a kid for acting like one? As much as we get mad at them for reading NSFW posts for whatever reasons at the end of the day we have to be doing something about it too. Both parties should take responsibility and try to combat it.

This is in no way a targeted post so if you choose to ignore it and feel that you’re not part of the problem or you’re just not interested, that’s fine I won't be offended but I strongly urge to think about if you relate to even just one of the point and then do something about it.

I'm well aware that this is a sensitive topic that doesn't get spoken about because it just isn't or when it is spoken about it gets shut down by people who accidently read it the wrong way. This post isn't to hurt or upset people or accuse anyone of anything bad, just pointing out some things we could all collectively do better. If you do believe this post has hurt you or I’ve said anything that has come across offensive to you please message me about it so I can know what I did wrong!

[iznsfw]

Can we get more Hyewon fics?? 🥺🥺

Negotiation

IZ*ONE's Kang Hyewon x Male Reader Smut

4,491 words

Categories | daddy kink, power dynamics, titjob

It's your usual route, to be completely clear: circling up all the newbies, clearing out the incompetents and training those who had more than a pocketful of potential. It's your job, it's what you're paid to do. So if anyone dared question your bond with any of the trainees, they can complain about it to your face, and not in the form of scattered whisperings throughout office cubicles.

Your intentions are wholly pure. You swear on your mother's life. You'd pull the typical blame-it-on-the-femme-fatale thing with this girl, but you know it's somehow your fault, too: whatever might happen. She can't bear all the weight of the sin. 

You don't think sin is supposed to look this good, though.

"Sir," she says, perfect curled lashes fluttering with no ill intent at all. She's innocence, pureness, angelicness—all compiled and composed into one beautiful young girl. "Good afternoon. My name is Kang Hyewon; I'm more than eager to do my best for you."

In what way? you're tempted to ask. But then those exact words tumble from your mouth, and you're pretty sure you've fucked it all up. You, in your holier-than-thou suit and tie, asking something so suggestive to an innocent girl like her? Outrageous, that's what it is; scandalous, too. You could get fired for it.

However, it's as if she expected it—she leans forward, offering you a show of plentiful cleavage that breaks several dress code regulations and ethical rules, with a soft, rare smile. 

"However you want me, sir," she says sweetly. Resting her chin on her hand, the smile on her full lips grows wider. "I'll do anything."

"I've heard something like that before, Miss Kang," you say. "Strangely, I've heard it from the same person, too."

"Oh?" Hyewon assumes an innocent naïvety, wide doe eyes almost convincing you of a clean record. "How so?"

See, she's kind of used to that subtly flirty banter. Somewhere in the city of Seoul, in a humble little apartment, she's learning to make money in other ways. By doing it, she needs not travel lengths of distance to a corporate building or spend day after day spell-checking papers. You, having checked backgrounds of probably a billion people and verifying their digital footprint as decent or in-, know all about it. Might have watched a few of it online. Might have done some stuff too.

"You might've fooled Nana and the others, kiddo, but you haven't fooled me," you inform her, offended that you actually have to tell her. You're lowering yourself down to keep up with her one-step-ahead talk. She may be playing dumb, but she knows what she's doing. "I know all about your secret streaming account. Thing is, it probably isn't a secret. You've got thousands of followers on it."

"Can't a girl have a little fun, sir?" asks Hyewon with a giggle. "I was just playing games to pass time."

"'HyemsterKang' ring a bell?"

Hyewon looks up at the ceiling, as if she could find an appropriate answer for your inquiry embedded there. There's none: only a switched-on lamp and a vent. 

"Hmm," she hums, curled hands supporting her pretty face, "probably. What kind of account is it?"

"There's Twitch, YouTube, you name it. Twitch has the most followers, with over two hundred thousand. It's a surprise no one recognized you when you walked through the front door."

"Why would anyone recognize me? I'm just looking to enhance my skills here."

You're tired already. "Cut the bullshit, Hyewon," you say. Drop all the formalities and workplace language just like that. "You know what kind of videos you make. And, look, you've got to understand that I've got nothing against them, but anoth—"

Hyewon pouts. "Why are you so hot and bothered then, sir?" 

"Because you can't pretend to be some pure, holy girl here. I would've gotten you on the training course if you didn't lie through your teeth. What we need is honesty, transparency. You can't lie on the job here."

Hyewon seems to consider this. Her eyes lose their glimmer as they look down to your desk. And she looks so… sad: her eyes are, as mentioned, downcast, and there's so much more to them than sadness because they hold so many raw emotions of disappointment that make even your heart hurt. Her saddened shoulders lose their sturdy posture. 

For the first time since she's entered your office, Kang Hyewon looks… defeated.

"Does that mean you're not taking me in, sir?" she says after looking up at you again.

"No, and please," stress this with gritted teeth, "don't call me sir."

You've no idea why you feel that way. Many other girls have called you sir, both in a formal and informal setting. There was Kim Minju, whose experience gathered little to no potential, and Yabuki Nako, whose aspiring dream to become your corporate's airline stewardess was a pipe dream due to her petite height. 

But it feels strange with Hyewon. It's like there's some hidden motive behind it. Whatever it may be, it's surely working.

Hyewon juts out one, plump lip as she rises from her seat. Instantly, your boundary alarms go off. They're blaring like ambulances now, running in purposeless trips around your mind. Interviewees are not supposed to do that. She's crossing the line, so many lines.

What sets more alarms off is her taking a seat in your lap, as if she's always done that before. As if she belongs there. 

Her slim, tiny body presses up snugly against your frozen one. "What would you rather be called, hm?" she asks. Like a good girl, her hands are folded neatly on her lap, (un)fortunately covered by a gray skirt. "Please, do tell."

"Hyewon…"

You try to give her a steady look, try to tell her that it's wrong. But your hands are on her waist, and they subconsciously pull her closer. Damn her and that sexy skirt and blazer. 

"Mm, your hands feel so good on me," she sighs happily. "It turns me on so much. It makes me feel warm here," she pats the space between her thighs, "and it's all your fault, sir. All your fault."

"You need to be taught a lesson, Kang Hyewon."

"Go on then, daddy." Hyewon's voice drops to a haunting whisper. "I deserve it."

There, you let go of all your morals. The fact that Hyewon's supposed to be your interviewee and you're supposed to play professional with her becomes nonexistent. You've seen what she does on those videos, and now you're eager to see the body she hides so chastely under those uniform clothes. 

"Bend over."

The obedient Hyewon gets off your lap and lowers herself on the table. Her skirt rises and shows you a lack of even undershorts to save the exposed thong. Her ass cheeks sandwich the thin little thong perfectly.

"Ooh, what's daddy going to do?" she asks eagerly. She wiggles her round butt into your sprawled hand. "Is he going to spank me and make his babygirl count it all?"

"That would be too easy, don't you think?" Groping her, you look hard into her sparkling eyes full of excitement. "Daddy's going to spank you, but you can't make a single sound."

Hyewon whines. "But that's so hard, daddy. Can't you make it easier for Hyem?" 

"So am I, and no. If I hear you moan, you're not allowed to cum." 

Merciless is the perfect word to describe you right now. But your mind just rambles with lustful things to do to this sexy little vixen—(a hamster, if you will, as an ode to her username HyemsterKang, but that sounds less sexy; it doesn't give justice to the seductress that is Kang Hyewon)—and you're eager to perform them ruthlessly. 

Trail your fingers on her wet pussy lips. You find her clit, and from there, you give it tiny, teasing brushes. Hyewon bites her lip hard, and clings to the table for support. And for a moment that's all there is to it: you rubbing her clit and her grinding her round ass to your fingers. Until:

"Ahh, daddy!" 

That's one orgasm subtracted from the list. After you slap Hyewon's cheeks with all the might you have, she instantly cries out. You feel her juices dripping on your hand. 

Hyewon looks back at you. And you realize why her streaming career has done so well—that face is made to be ruined. Her scared eyes portray an opposing desire for more, and you can't help but give and give exactly that.

"I'm sorry, daddy!" she whimpers. "I'm sorry!"

Nevertheless, you continue to spank her. Reddened skin blares almost as bright as the office lamp. Her thighs drip with her nectar. 

You're harsh; your hand's starting to hurt from yout endless slaps on Hyewon's butt. But the pain seems like a small, sideway thought when you're witness to her cheeks bouncing with each blow. When she's holding onto the table like she wants you to go on. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," sobs Hyewon. "Please just spank me like that, treat me like a whore, use me—"

Your spanks become less and less measured—one follows the other a little too briskly. If the door weren't locked and the glass made it so any outsider couldn't hear, people would assume you're already fucking her with your brains out. But no, that's just you spanking Hyewon to teach her a lesson, to teach her to be a good girl.

"Fuck, slap my pussy like that!" she yells. Her pants sound hot and eager. "I'm going to cum, oh yes, oh fuck!"

That's your cue to stop. Hyewon doesn't deserve to orgasm yet, not until she's learned her lesson.

"This is so unfair, no," whispers Hyewon disappointedly, turning around with a pout. 

"Newsflash, Hyewon: the world isn't fair. Nothing is." 

Slip a finger inside her and her knee-high-clad legs curl around your hand protectively. She's riding on any good thing; she wants nothing more than your cock, and besides that, probably a job, but anything works for now.

Hyewon works herself down on your fingers. "When will I get to cum, daddy?" she asks. "Daddy? Say 'now,' please."

Execute blunt thrusts into her slick pussy, which is an impossibly tight cavern not even the bravest can make it out alive without exploding. Her back curves and she twists at the pleasure. Her delectable little cunt is sweet and closed around you, a newfound temptation to latch on for life, a vice to remember.

But there's also her fantastic chest to look at, doing what you're doing: peeking through the neckline of her blouse, which you just so happen to do as well. 

"If you give me a feel of those tits," you propose, the way negotiations should go, "maybe I'll let you."

"Of– of course, daddy." 

Hyewon undoes the buttons of her blouse. Like curtains, they part to a wonderful show. This show, though, would have been banned for nudity and corruption (and not in the usual way.) 

Hyewon's tits are glorious—they size up to more than a handful, and have these tiny pink nipples that you'd love to squeeze any time of the day. You're hypnotized by them, in every way possible. You glance at how they rise and fall in coordination with Hyewon's breaths, and the way her nipples perk into the air hard and aroused once the black lacy bra is off. The air-conditioner wind might have had something to do with their state, but you're thankful for both, either-which-way.

"C-careful," begs the young girl, wincing. "They're sensitive…"

"Is that so? Would it feel good then if I did this?"

"Oh, ohhhh!" Hyewon gasps with a hand over her mouth. Her skin feels boiling hot, but in a strangely good way, when you begin to suck directly on her nipples. "Yes, just like that!"

Her breasts are softer and better than the stress balls your office gave away during mental health seminars. The balls are only good for squeezing and throwing. In Hyewon's case, you can completely release all your stress just by fingerfucking her tiny pussy, and sucking her tits all at the same time. With her, you forget more than your morals—you forget about work, your deadlines, your responsibilities. And, needless to say, it's all her fault.

Hyewon can't keep up with the doubled pleasure. She's constantly squirming to have your fingers deeper in her cunt, and she keeps pushing her breasts into your face. Your rhythm of thrusts in her hole doesn't wither, and neither does your sucking on her right nipple. She doesn't know what to do except squeal out replayed pleads.

"Daddy," she says. "Please keep doing that, it feels so good. I'll be a good girl, I promise I won't lie anymore."

You ride your teeth around Hyewon's areola, sucking the area around it also. If you could, you'd never let go of her breasts. You would keep sucking on them, alternating between one and the other, for days on end. You bet you'd survive even without food or water. Hyewon's tits are enough for you to live eternally. Hell is nonexistent when you're with her.

"Do you think you deserve to cum, Hyewon?" you ask. You play with her clit, making it harder for her to get her words out.

"I think so, d-daddy. Yes."

"I don't," you laugh. "I told you not to make a sound, and you disobeyed. How would you become a competent worker if you're like that?"

Hyewon's near tears. "I'll do whatever you want," she says. Breaths get lost here and there due to your fingers still swiftly exiting and entering her. "Please. I need you. I'll, I'll be your good little fuckdoll, I promise, I swear."

"Will you let me fuck your tits, then, Hyem? If you're that good and eager?"

"Yes, daddy!" 

Hyewon nods over and over. A bit too excited, she pushes you down to the office chair rather roughly. But you pay no mind; in fact, your erection grows harder and lengthier at her enthusiasm. It throbs violently with how Hyewon slips off her blazer and pulls down your pants.

Her eyes brighten at the sight of your member, as if it's something that can actually make her day better. 

"You're very hard, daddy." She bites her lip, looking up at you with incredulous adoration. "Let me do something about it."

Hyewon's huge tits hug your hard-on, sandwiching it between them. You groan as she holds her chest so that your cock slips in and out seamlessly, lubed up only by her spit and your precum. Her soft flesh brushes your sensitive, pink penis perfectly, giving it a feel of what heaven might actually be. 

"Holy shit, Hyewon," you sigh. 

It's like she's entertained by what she's doing, too. She's looking down at your cock entering her flesh as if it were an exciting movie. But she takes extra care to seal longer glances with you, knowing that her face alone can make you cum.

"Oh, daddy likes my tits, huh?" Hyewon says coyly. Playing with her nipples while titfucking you, her gaze grows more and more sultry. "Daddy's gonna let me cum after this, right? Make me learn my lesson?"

"Just… just keep moving your tits like that. And we'll see what happens."

Not a solid promise, but Hyewon is satisfied with that. She knows her power and how to use it well enough. She's practiced in the strokes and squeezes she does on your cock, the temptation calling for you  in her brown eyes, everything. She has it all measured and listed down somewhere, probably, just waiting for the right time to use it.

Hyewon lifts her breasts, then slams them down on your lap again. The cycle repeats, and her boobs become like that of a real fleshlight. But hers is better—a toy pales in comparison when paired up with Hyewon's tight, hot body. And all it took to have her was a spanking session. There was no need to shed thousands of won.

"Like this?" she asks. Hyewon's letting you use her for your own pleasure, caring for your bliss rather than hers. The grip of her bosom around you tightens, and you find it difficult to catch your breath. "Do you want me to keep doing this?"

"Fuck yes. You're such a good girl for me right now, Hyewon."

Her cheeks are rosy. "Thank you. I'll make you cum, I promise."

She's made probably a hundred of oaths from the moment she walked into this building, but this one seems to be the one she's most determined to carry out. Hyewon's fiery rhythm risks you of exploding all over her pretty chest. Her smooth, pillow-soft skin knots your stomach and sets everything ablaze. Her facial expressions, which are a far cry from the saintliness she pretended to possess earlier, drive you off the edge.

"Shit… shit, I'm going to cum," you announce in a broken voice.

You can't stave your orgasm off anymore. Your dick expels liquid white strings everywhere. Hyewon's collarbone and big breasts bear most of the desirable damage, but she's sure to open her mouth, too. And she looks every bit the part of a cock-hungry slut, with her eyes rolled back and tongue lewdly hanging from her thick pink lips. White semen becomes her new lip gloss, and she'd put it on any time of the day.

"You still have more in you, daddy," says Hyewon. She strokes herself around your cock without pause. Curses leave your mouth as her evil gaze challenges you to say the opposite. "I can feel it. I want you to explode all over me."

"Fuck, yes, Hyem. I fucking will."

There isn't a single bad movie out there that matches the rapid pacing of Hyewon's titjob, and it's probably for the better. You just keep on cumming, and Hyewon keeps on titfucking you. It's a win-win situation because she enjoys being sprayed with your cum. It makes her feel like the used little doll she is.

She forces you to spurt more up until you can't anymore. All there's left are little droplets of pure white, and ragged moans from both ends. 

Hyewon's blouse and chest are stained all over. But when she gazes at the mess you made on them, she doesn't look upset. She looks rather… turned on. Her squirming thighs and bitten lower lip indicate that. She may look like a porcelain doll with her angelic face and pale skin, but she's been used just like a ragdoll would.

"Did you enjoy that?" she asks. "You liked it, didn't you?"

"I did," you confess. "How wet are you after all that, Hyewon?"

Hyewon reaches under her skirt and brushes her fingers over her pussy. She gasps. "Oh, v-very wet, daddy. Won't you do something about it?"

"Yes, I will. Get ready."

Both you and Hyewon rise to your feet. You step out of the rest of your pants while she shrugs off her blouse. Now, she's only wearing her black schoolgirl skirt and her long socks with shoes. 

Hyewon hops on the edge of your desk. "Will you really fuck me this time?" she asks hopefully.

"A deal's a deal, Kang Hyewon. Now spread your legs."

She opens them. You lift the skirt up to get a view of her pretty hole. Her pussy lips are plump, just like the painted lips on her face. 

(You want to fuck both.)

So, you thrust. 

All at once Hyewon is filled up to the brim, your balls pressing against her ass. 

"Oh, oh, so deep!" gasps Hyewon. "You're so big inside me!"

Your cock throbs. The clench of her walls is amazing, but they're also tempting you to cum again, and you can't have that. So, you set slow but forceful strokes, driving yourself inside Hyewon and feeling her walls part. Her surprised moans guide blood to your erection. The expression she wears never goes far from orgasmic, and she might as well be already cumming with how tight her hole's clamping on you. 

Wrap your hands around her tiny waist. You're ready now. You start to drill her tiny body down your desk. She cries out and leans her head backwards, allowing you to see how much of her neck you've covered in cum. Her glazed breasts bounce before you, getting your cock in an increased solid state to pulse and thrust in her hard and good.

"Yes, daddy, fuck me!" she prods you on, just like how your cock is prodding at her insides. "It's so good, daddy, it's so good, it's so good—"

She's promised to make you cum and delivered it out. Now, she wants you to make one, too, and return the favor. And, even if the only thing you're offered in exchange are Hyewon's loud screams that sound in your ears and her half-naked figure that's straight out of a porn video, you're glad to do so.

"Guess you aren't so innocent after all," you laugh. You're trying to keep custody of the upper hand here, but, god, does Hyewon's cunt choking your cock make it nearly impossible. "All that pretense, Hyewon, don't you get tired?"

"Oh, daddy," Hyewon sobs softly, arms hung around your neck and shoulders. Her eyelids are heavy, too wrung by pleasure. "If it gets you to fuck me, I don't mind at all."

You find her erogenous zone and rub it in the same, fire-quick way you thrust. "A little too fast there, don't you think?" you chuckle, but you're flattered.

"All I want is you going fast inside me." Hyewon's legs tense up after you grab them for easier leverage. Her moans are cut short with stutters. "I want it now."

"And what exactly do you want, Hyewon?"

"I—" She blushes furiously. Her words rarely come out in any form other than squeals. "I want to be your little office cockwarmer. I want to do nothing but be the toy who sucks daddy's dick and keeps his cock hard. I don't want to be anything else, daddy, and you know it—you know I want it—"

"Oh, you will." Pumping into her harder, you set the stone there and then of your ownership of her. "You're mine now. Everyone's gonna know about how you get on your knees for me so easily, Kang Hyewon. You'll be known as my little office slut, the one who keeps my stress relieved."

"Yes, yes, you can fill me up all the time, you can make me wear the slutty secretary outfits from my streams, daddy! Use me, oh god, I'm yours!"

It's a tempting offer. You've seen her streams while looking through her background, and you saw that one of her in the tight little secretary uniform. You think of how pretty she'd look in it, and how heads would turn at her entering your office everytime in it. You picture the outrage that does nothing since you're at such a high position in the office hierarchy, such an important person. They can't do anything if you decide at once that Hyewon's going to be your cumslut. They can only create rumors painting you out to be the exploitative bad guy, and Hyewon starring in the role of the poor head-over-heels newbie desperate for a good life.

You can live with that. 

The inches of your length never get to breathe as you're constantly shoving them inside her, knocking against her cervix and making her sob for more. There's no limit to the pumps you can give to Hyewon, but you still test it out. Hyewon remains at your mercy.

"Are you going to be my slut now? Do you really want that?" you ask her. "Or are you going to back out because you're too much of a pussy to dive in?c

Grab her chin and force her gaze at you. That's how you see that Hyewon's completely serious. That's exactly what she wants. She didn't come here for a job, she came here for you, and she's not leaving without being yours.

Hyewon nods. She presses her forehead against yours. "I want you," she whispers. "So make me yours. You know you want to teach your whore of a babygirl a lesson. You know you want to fill her cunt everyday."

That's right, you do. You knew, since the minute she spent teasing and toying with you, that you want to fuck her brains out. And here you are, doing exactly that. 

This could be forever if you wanted. 

"Gonna cum now, Hyewon. Gonna fill your cunt up with daddy's semen. Gonna fucking breed you."

"I'm close, too, daddy. Give me your cum."

You make sure to press completely against her cervix when you cum inside her. Hyewon's girl cum and your white fluids mix together, a blend of sex and sin, and drip down your table. You can't really think of anything else except for Hyewon's screams climbing up in volume and her squirt spurting all over your best uniform. No, you're brain-dead with lust, and there's no turning back.

You make her your cum deposit. You make her your babygirl, and as corny as it sounds, straight out of a bad teen romance where everything goes too quickly for any talent to be actually seen, you're okay with that.

-

"And that's how I think that we should promote the book earlier this year. Thank you for listening."

The clan of higher-ups sitting at the oval-shaped table clap politely. You try to keep your clapping at the appropriate level of enthusiasm, but your heart bursts with pride for Hyewon. She's come so far without your help. She's learning to stand on her own.

"I think that's a great idea, miss Kang," says Miyawaki Sakura, your director. She's a petite woman with a soft voice, but everyone knows that she's the boss of any room she stands in. "I'll jumpstart the idea tomorrow with the board of directors."

Hyewon flushes with happiness. "Thank you, miss Miyawaki."

"I do have one concern with miss Kang about the presentation, though," you pipe up. "Miss Miyawaki, do I have your permission to speak about with Hyewon in private?"

Now everybody's looking at each other. They try to keep themselves decent, but they all know what you mean. By now, your sexual relationship with Hyewon is an open secret. It might not be eligible for the title of secrecy anymore since all of the office knows it. 

But what can they do? You're the best in your team. You run too many things that keep the company going and they can't risk your loss. 

Hyewon waits for the director's response with bated breath. Her hands fiddle with each other as she waits for a response.

"Of course, sir," replies Sakura finally. "You may go."

You and Hyewon exchange glances. The two of you know exactly what your "talk" would be about.

[axkirak]

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : X]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings :  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+ Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary : At the Jedi Temple, everyone confronted a shocking truth about themselves, whether it was Sol, Yord, or yourself.

Status: just finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : I'm not spoiling anything, but two things: First, Qimir's out of the picture for a bit after this, while the story shifts to the Jedi Temple, where you'll learn more about his and the reader's backstories. Second, there's a super important character here you won't want to miss.

Ps.If you enjoy my work, please reblog it. Just liking the post won’t help others discover it.

➡  Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread // My mother is my enemy

[Episodes 10] Hand of God be my witness; I am the voice from the outer world

They won't believe me.

The thought crosses your mind as you survey the interrogation room in the Jedi Temple on Olega. The room is nearly barren, with bare gray concrete walls and no windows, furnished only with a table and two chairs on opposite sides. You choose the inner seat, facing the door, patiently awaiting the arrival of another.

It isn't long before the steel door slides open, revealing the tall, gaunt figure of a middle-aged man dressed in a yellow Jedi uniform. Sol’s expression is grave as he takes the chair opposite you. Without preamble, he begins to speak. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. The things you’ve told us are... quite shocking.” He pauses briefly, then continues with a polite tone, “It will take time to verify the truth of all this, and we may not reach a conclusion soon.”

You reflect on everything you've revealed to them earlier. You told them all they needed to know—that Qimir was behind the Jedi slaughter on this planet and that he was a Sith Lord disguised as a harmless apothecary, hiding right under their noses for years.

To the Jedi, however, your account is just hearsay. After all, everything you said came from your visions, lacking tangible evidence to prove your story—no proof that what you saw was real and not some fevered delusion.

You know your fate hangs by a thread. There’s a strong chance the Jedi will deem you delusional and might even cast you out of the Temple. That is a risk you cannot afford to take, especially when Qimir knows you have escaped and is relentlessly pursuing you. Nowhere in the galaxy will be safe for you except under the protection of the Jedi Order. It's your only hope for survival.

“You don’t believe me either, do you?” You decide to test the waters, assessing Sol's demeanor behind his neutral exterior.

Sol clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable as he speaks. “I can't say I believe everything you've said, but I don't think you have a reason to lie, given that you admitted this man was your lover.” His gaze meets yours with sincerity. “But some parts don’t make sense...”

“It doesn’t make sense because you believe the Sith have long since vanished," you interject, interrupting him before he can finish. "But I'm telling the truth. I've told you everything. Qimir is a Sith Lord. His goal is the destruction of the Jedi Order, and he won't stop until he achieves it.”

Sol sighs. He remains skeptical of your words and seems caught between belief and doubt, but can’t help feeling concerned, aware that this issue is far too serious to ignore. The implications of your claims could threaten not just the Jedi Order but the stability of the entire galaxy. It is beyond the capacity of a single Jedi Master to decide alone. “The problem is we have no evidence to confirm the Sith still exist,” Sol says cautiously, his tone now even more guarded. “And the way in which these Jedi were killed doesn’t align with typical Sith methods.”

"But it aligns with Jedi methods," you murmur, though Sol hears every word clearly. "He kills Jedi in the Jedi way. That's why you initially suspected the culprit might be one of your own, or perhaps a former Jedi."

Sol's eyes widen in shock, staring at you as if your words are the most startling thing he has ever heard. "How do you know all of this?" he asks urgently, his voice laced with confusion. He clearly remembers that none of these details were shared with you. So where did you get this information?

You offer him a faint, mysterious smile, one that makes Sol feel unsettled in ways he cannot fully explain.

"I know what you know. And I know what you don’t," you say, your blue eyes momentarily distant and lost in thought. "Your suspicions aren’t wrong. Qimir isn’t his real name, and he was once a Padawan among you. As for the rest... you’ll have to find the answers from your own people—someone who knows him far better than I do."

Sol is taken aback, concern reflected on his face. For the first time, the words of this stranger evoke a pang of fear within him. "Who are you talking about? Who among us knows the Sith Lord?"

"Your friend, Master Vernestra."

Sol furrows his brow, thinking of the Mirialan Jedi Master, who is indeed his friend. At this point, Sol's doubts multiply as he struggles to find answers for himself. How does she know about Vernestra when they've never even met? he wonders.

Sol turns his gaze back to you, his eyes now filled with analysis and wariness. He's no longer sure how to feel about you—whether to be amazed or afraid.

"Who are you really?" he finally asks.

In truth, the more appropriate question would have been, “What are you?”

You sense the confusion and doubt etched on his face, making you start to wonder as well. "You really don't know who I am?" you ask, almost to yourself.

Sol shakes his head, not pausing to consider his response. "I don't know you, and I’m sure no one else here does either."

How is that even possible? You wonder; the memory is still vivid. When Qimir first captured you, he warned that the Jedi were after you too. You were certain their intentions were the same as everyone else's—to claim the power of the last Bene Gesserit for themselves. That's why you always avoided the Jedi. But when things changed between you and Qimir, you had no choice but to reluctantly seek refuge with the Jedi, knowing it was your best chance to evade Qimir.

You had prepared yourself for the possibility that your secret would be exposed here, which is why you dared to use your visions in front of Sol. Even though you hadn’t said you were a Bene Gesserit, you knew that the Jedi, who already held an interest in the Bene Gesserit, could easily piece the truth together on their own.

Yet, Sol’s response is not what you expected.

Confusion swirls within you as you meet Sol’s gaze. You desperately want to peer into his thoughts to understand what he’s truly thinking, but you can’t do that. Despite having prophetic powers, you lack the ability to read minds like a Force user. This limitation makes predicting the future so difficult—human thoughts are ever-changing, and so too is destiny.

However, Bene Gesserit training provides a solution to this weakness through a technique known as the 'Way of Perception.' This method focuses on observing every minute detail in your conversation partner’s movements—like the slightest twitch of a facial muscle, a shift in the eyes, or a swallow—each subtle gesture that reveals their true intentions. By employing this meticulous observation, a Bene Gesserit can analyze another’s thoughts, discerning truth from deception without relying on the Force.

You use the Way of Perception on Sol, meticulously observing his reactions and analyzing them as you have been trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit. What you discover is that he’s telling the truth. Sol and the others here neither know of nor acknowledge the existence of someone like you—a Bene Gesserit.

In that moment, a realization hits you with blinding clarity—a truth you have never considered until now: Qimir has been lying to you all along.

You remember when he first approached you out of sheer curiosity, manipulating your fear of the Jedi to keep you from running. He worked to earn your trust, all in a bid to uncover your secrets. When Qimir finally learned that secret, he realized you were too valuable to fall into anyone else’s hands. So, he killed everyone who knew about you, all to keep your power under his control.

And what better way to control someone than through love?

That’s exactly what he did to you. Qimir tried to make you fall in love with him, to surrender yourself completely—body and soul—to serve his grander purpose. His ultimate plan was to resurrect the Sith and exact revenge on the Jedi. With the aid of a Bene Gesserit, he believed he could conquer the universe.

But what throws everything off course is that Qimir, instead of merely seeing you as a tool to achieve his goals, has become genuinely attached and has fallen in love with you. 

Then, when you decided to drink the Water of Life, you allowed yourself to foresee the terrible future that unfolded, with countless possibilities and impossibilities stretching out before you.

You know that Qimir's plans will never succeed. Sooner or later, he will meet his end before reaching his goal. Even so, your bloodline and his will succeed nonetheless. Anakin Skywalker will become everything Qimir has ever aspired to be—the one to lead the Sith to greatness, the one who brings the Jedi to their ultimate demise. 

And so it goes, you think to yourself. You expected to feel more sorrow, yet you find your thoughts and heart curiously cold.

As days pass, you lose more and more of yourself. It’s as if you’re no longer human but merely a data system, recording and processing the flow of events in your mind. Fate itself has become nothing more than a set of data inputs into a system, repeating endlessly until it loses all meaning.

You resign yourself, allowing your mind to swim once more in the currents of temporal data, hoping you can still alter those paths, even if only slightly.

And you decide to start with Sol.

"I know what you did on Brendok ten years ago, Master Sol."

Your voice comes out deeper and raspier than usual, almost resembling a man's voice rather than your own.

Those words hit Sol like thunderbolts. You instantly read his reaction, analyzing every movement. The tensing of his shoulders betrays the fear he's trying to suppress. Sweat beads on his temple, indicating pressure and dread. His lips tremble, momentarily rendering him speechless.

It’s a secret Sol has kept hidden from everyone. In the past, when he was still a Jedi Knight, Sol was part of a team assigned to explore Brendok after the planet endured a devastating natural disaster. There, he encountered twin girls named Osha and Mae—children born of the Force, raised by a coven of witches, a group of women attempting to mimic the ways of the Bene Gesserit, who had been hiding on this planet for quite some time.

The twins' strong connection to the Force sparked Sol’s hope that they could undergo training to become Jedi Padawans. However, the witch coven opposed him fiercely. Osha and Mae were the future of their coven; they wanted the girls to inherit the witches' path. They didn't want the Jedi to take their children away, as had happened to other families across the galaxy before.

Tensions between the witches and the Jedi finally reached a breaking point when Sol accidentally killed Aniseya, the twins' mother and the leader of the witch coven. This triggered a violent battle, resulting in the deaths of the entire coven, including the twins, who were trapped in a burning building during the fight.

That calamity has haunted Sol ever since, a nightmare and stigma he has carried to this day.

The entire story was covered up by the surviving Jedi, as this grave mistake could have led to their permanent expulsion from the Order. There's no way an outsider like you could know this secret, which is precisely why you bring it up. You understand that this is the only way to prove the truth of your words and make Sol fully believe what you’re about to reveal to him.

You lock eyes with Sol, unwavering, before unveiling your truth.

"I possess foresight. I can perceive all secrets and discern the fates of every life. That is why you must trust me."

What’s happening to Master Sol?

Yord ponders, watching as the once-calm Jedi Master suddenly storms out of the interrogation room, his face pale as if he has just seen something profoundly terrifying.

For a moment, Yord hesitates. He considers asking what happened but ultimately decides to stay silent. He remains where he is, observing from afar as Sol approaches. Yord notices that Sol seems entirely unaware of his presence, lost in his own thoughts and drifting past him as if he isn’t even there.

Yord's gaze follows the Jedi Master until he disappears down the hall. A frown forms on Yord’s face before he turns his attention to the steel door of the interrogation room where Sol had just exited.

Suddenly, Yord feels it—a deep, undeniable sense of certainty, as certain as knowing the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. He knows what's inside that room. He knows exactly what made Master Sol so shaken. He knows who is in there.

Yord bites his lip, torn between the urge to open that door and simply walk away. But curiosity wins over; he takes a step forward, tension rippling through his body. Cautiously, he pushes the door open and steps inside.

There you are, seated on a chair, with only a metal table separating you from him. You greet him with a faint smile, your demeanor calm, showing no surprise, as if you’ve been waiting for him all along, or perhaps you already knew he would come.

“It’s good to see you again, Yord.”

Hearing his name makes Yord freeze. It’s not just the fact that you know his name, even though he’s never told you, but the way you say it—your words and tone are exactly as they were in his dream last night.

There’s something eerily familiar about you, something Yord can’t quite shake off. It’s as if you and he share a connection that runs far deeper than the mere acquaintance, although he still doesn't know who you really are.

For the first time, Yord begins to suspect that he’s caught up in a mysterious and complex pattern beyond his understanding—something his mind can barely comprehend. 

And he knows. The only person who can explain it all is you.

Yord takes a deep breath and moves to sit in the chair across from you, his hands clenching nervously in his lap. “This might sound strange, but... I dreamt about you before we even met,” he says, the words spilling out before he can stop them. “I saw your life. I glimpsed what has happened and what will happen to you. How is that possible? Why do I feel like I've known you all my life when we've just met?”

“Dreams are messages from the deep,” you reply. “They’re a form of prophecy, a sign of the gift we both share. But your family's lineage has abandoned the old ways, which is why your power is weaker than mine.”

Yord senses a hint of sympathy in your voice. Though you speak of it as a gift, he can tell you view it more as a burden—an inescapable curse.

His eyes lock onto yours, searching for answers, but when your piercing blue gaze meets his, it feels like you’re the one reading him instead. In that instant, he’s certain that those eyes can see straight into the depths of his soul.

"You mentioned my family... Do you already know who I am?" he asks. 

"I do," you nod. "Our ancestors are connected."

With each word you speak, Yord’s confusion only deepens. "How do you know all of this? Did you see it in a vision?"

"I didn’t see it; I was there," you correct him. "I stood at the mouth of the cave the day my sister was born. I held her in my arms. That child grew into a woman, and eventually she loved and secretly gave birth to a daughter before she died. Your bloodline began with her."

"How is that even possible?" he argues, his voice growing tense. "How could you have been there thousands of years ago?"

"I’m not telling you this to make you believe. I’m simply informing you." You give Yord a gentle smile, a fond smile like an elder gives to a child. "If we’re counting, you are as much my descendant as she is."

Yord raises an eyebrow in surprise. He just notices that your choice of pronouns has suddenly shifted. Instead of using ‘I’ to refer to yourself, you now use ‘she’ as if you’re speaking about someone else.

And then it hits him. Yord suddenly realizes that the woman in front of him is no longer herself. Her spirit is tainted, like clear water muddied with black ink. Something is possessing her—something he both fears and cannot comprehend, like an ancient mystery sealed away for eons, only now unraveling.

“Who the hell are you?!” Yord shouts, one hand instinctively reaching for the lightsaber at his side, ready to strike if the person in front of him makes any sudden moves.

But you remain calm, unshaken by the threat of violence. "You know exactly who I am," you reply evenly. "Think carefully. Your mother warned you about my coming. You’ve always known who I am, just as I’ve always known who you are."

Your words send a shiver down Yord’s spine. His throat tightens, and he finds himself unable to speak. 

He remembers clearly what his mother warned him about before she passed away. Her wrinkled hand gripped his tightly as she whispered the important secret of the universe that no one knew except him—the return of that person.

All his life, Yord had dismissed those words as nothing more than the ramblings of a dying woman—just imagination and meaningless superstition. But today, when he faced you himself, he finally realizes that it was all true.

As the truth crashes down on him, Yord unknowingly utters the words.

“Lisan Al-Gaib.”

A/N :

Yord when he know who you are

[misc-obeyme]

THE THREADS THAT BIND

CHAPTER NINE

MASTERPOST for summary/info/chapter list

a/n: Protective Barb is my favorite thing. I couldn't let Arrie and Sol have all the fun lol. Should you feel that this chapter ends abruptly, just remember that there are four more chapters to this story. This is not the end!

GN!MC x Barbatos | word count 1,775

Warnings: magical violence, MC is in pain, demon OC, sorcerer OC

A few days later, you were at RAD with Barbatos when Arsenios and Solomon came over to where the two of you were sitting.

"You owe me more tea, at the very least," Arsenios said, arms folded as Solomon placed a folded piece of paper on the table.

Solomon laughed lightly. "It wasn't that bad, was it? In fact, I would say it turned out to be much easier than either of us expected."

Barbatos picked up the paper, unfolding it. You looked over his shoulder and saw that it was a detailed description of a counter curse. It was handwritten, clearly something that had been created by Tobias himself.

Barbatos smiled. "I cannot express how grateful I am to both of you. I hope it was not too difficult for you to obtain this."

"It was no problem," Solomon said.

At the same time, Arsenios said, "It was mostly annoying."

They looked at each other, Solomon smiling while Arsenios gave him a flat look.

Arsenios turned back to Barbatos. "All I had to do was sing to him."

You cocked your head to the side. "Sing to him?"

"Arsenios can put humans into a trance merely by singing or playing an instrument," Barbatos explained.

"It was fascinating to watch," Solomon said. "His expression went dull and he simply brought the paper with the counter curse over and handed it to us. I was able to verify right away that it was the right one."

Arsenios glanced between the two of you. "I can also use my song to influence people's future actions. I don't think he'll be bothering you again."

There was something ominous about this statement, but you noticed how Arsenios met your eyes when he said it, instead of looking at Barbatos.

"I tried to convince Arsenios that he probably didn't need to do that," Solomon said, smile still in place. "But really I don't think it's going to cause any harm. I made sure to let Tobias know that we will not go easy on him should he return to the Devildom without permission again."

"You should still be careful, though," Arsenios said, his eyes back on Barbatos. "Don't go getting cursed again, okay?"

Barbatos nodded. "I understand. You have my word. Thank you both."

Arsenios turned to Solomon. "I admit that I wouldn't have known if that counter curse was the right one or not, so I guess it was a good thing you were with me."

Solomon laughed. "What a compliment! Don't strain yourself on my account, Arsenios. I know you find me annoying at best."

Arsenios stared at him for a moment, then he actually laughed. "Man, you are something else. Anyway, good luck with the counter curse, Barb."

Arsenios moved away to his own seat across the classroom while Solomon sat down nearby to get ready for class to start.

After RAD, Barbatos brought you back to the castle, ready to use the counter curse to break the threads. Solomon had offered to help with it, but Barbatos seemed content to take care of things himself. Solomon told you that should the counter curse prove ineffective for some reason, he still had the Night Dagger as an alternative option. All of you hoped it wouldn't come to that.

You were feeling apprehensive. It wasn't that you didn't believe the counter curse would work. It was more like you weren't sure how to deal with how it would feel when your connection to Barbatos was severed.

During the time you had been bound to him, you had observed Barbatos in a way you never had the chance to do before. Every day, you had been by his side as he worked, as you studied, and as both of you began to do things together, moving in sync in a way that you had never done with anyone else. And every night, you had walked in his memories or he had come to pull you out of them so you could sleep peacefully.

And now suddenly he wouldn't be by your side anymore. Or at least, you would be able to move away from him without it causing you pain. You would likely return to the House of Lamentation, which you admit you missed. But that would also mean you would have to readjust to your life the way it had been before all of this.

You stood across from Barbatos in one of the castle's many living rooms. He was frowning, reading the paper with the counter curse on it. Then he looked up at you. Barbatos extended a hand toward you, reciting the spell from the paper.

You saw the threads suddenly, bursting out from your chest still. You saw them rise where they coalesced into the single thread that ran through Barbatos. It rose and rose until -

Snap!

It broke.

And the threads that had been bursting from you, that had been a knot inside your chest, began to unravel. They fell around you, little strands of teal littering your arms, legs, the floor beneath you.

And it hurt.

You gasped and clutched at your chest, which felt like that empty yawning hollow that would form whenever you got too far away from Barbatos.

Barbatos was at your side, his arms on your shoulders.

You watched in horror as the threads turned black. They began to ooze, just like in your dream. You cried out and shoved at Barbatos.

"Get away!" you yelled, pushing on his chest. "Get away before it swallows you!"

Barbatos caught your hands. "MC, there's nothing there."

You looked at him with wild eyes, your chest throbbing, the black seeping toward him bit by bit. "You can't see it? It's going to consume you!"

The pain was dizzying and made it difficult to focus, causing you to simply react with desperation.

The black ooze seemed to freeze in a white light and there was an odd sharp note that rang through the air.

Although the pain was lessened, it still lingered. You managed to look up and a man you could only assume was Tobias stood behind Barbatos, hand extended, glowing with white light. His head was cocked slightly, as though he couldn't help listening to something.

Barbatos was instantly in demon form, his tail wrapping around you protectively as he turned to face Tobias.

"I do believe you were warned not to return to the Devildom," Barbatos said, his voice calm despite the tension in his body. Through the fog of your fear, you could feel the tail around you trembling with anger.

Tobias frowned. "If you think I'm afraid of Solomon and some singing demon, you miscalculated. The counter curse alerts me when it's used and there was always this little unpleasantness built into it. Your sweet MC will fall completely to the hallucinations, believing everything they ever loved to be fully consumed by darkness. I can release them from that torment… for a price."

Barbatos shook his head as though he felt sorry for the sorcerer. "You have been troublesome for quite some time now," he said. "Today you have finally gone too far."

The room was plunged into darkness and you would have fallen if Barbatos's tail hadn't been holding you up.

You looked around and found yourself in the same constellation filled sky of your dreams - the teal streams moving through it as always.

Barbatos was practically glowing with teal light. Tobias instantly dropped his own spell, which brought your pain back full force. Through it you could see Tobias gripping his head with both hands, as though he was experiencing some horrific torment.

"As there was a secret in your counter curse, so there was a secret in Arsenios's song," Barbatos said. "The notes you're hearing now are tied to my power. You must choose to find a way to deal with the loss of your loved one without time travel. Make that choice, release MC, and I will return you to the human world where you belong, unharmed."

"And if I refuse?" Tobias demanded through gritted teeth.

Barbatos shook his head. "It is best if you do not even contemplate that option."

Tobias fell to his knees. You couldn't hear the song that was apparently playing in his head, but it seemed he was suffering even more than you were.

He cast a spell and the pain inside you lifted, though you noticed there was still a single thread running through you. And although the pain was gone, the empty feeling wasn't.

Barbatos opened a portal there and Tobias stumbled through it, clearly desperate to end the sounds that were playing in his mind.

Everything around you felt off, your heart still ached in a way that was worse than what your body had endured.

"Barbatos," you cried out, reaching toward him.

Barbatos turned to you, pulling you into his arms and pressing you against his chest, his tail still wrapped around you.

And suddenly, you were at peace. That last lost thread had simply gone back inside your chest. It filled the empty yawning hole, making you complete again.

You were breathing hard as you slowly calmed down, tears of pain and fear streaking your face. Your arms were clasped around Barbatos tightly and you were afraid to let go.

After a few moments, you leaned your forehead on Barbatos's shoulder. "I'm okay," you whispered.

Gently, you felt yourself being moved through space and once again you were in the Demon Lord's Castle.

"Even after Tobias released you, there was still a single thread trapped in me," Barbatos said softly. "But that magic belonged to you. It was fighting to return to you. Forgive me, MC. It was difficult for your magic to move through my timescape."

"You knew that the sorcerer would show up," you said.

Barbatos smiled. "Solomon suggested that there might be such an issue with a counter curse written by the sorcerer himself. So Arsenios added an extra layer to his song that allowed me to force Tobias to set you free. It was a precaution."

You sighed, feeling heavy. "I hope that he leaves you alone now. This has been tiring."

Barbatos didn't move away, only waited for you to gather yourself, waited for you to pull away first. When you finally did, he shifted out of demon form. You could see that this situation had taken a toll on him, though he hid it well.

Barbatos smiled at you again. You could see the small hint of weariness in it. "That was quite the ordeal, I'm afraid. Shall we have some tea to calm ourselves?"

You agreed immediately.

masterpost | chapter one

chapter eight and a half | chapter ten

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[daviesroyal]

Fanfiction Update:

I know there are some cases where users can't get an account for safety or legal reasons. I'm truly sorry about that. But I'm not willing to expose my work to bad actors for exploitation just to potentially reach a few people.

I'm tired. So very tired of fending off efforts to steal work for money. Very tired of AO3 and other platforms saying "sorry, we'll do what we can within our ToS, but you gotta fight this battle on your own" and not doing anything to change and improve how they protect the creators that use their platforms in good faith.

During the lore.fm debacle (it's recently been announced that the creator is "happy to shut it down" though it's still up on the app stores. I'm waiting for the EU and other legal action already started to nuke it properly), when multiple authors were upset about their work being stolen without so much as a notice from AO3 as to what was happening, when we were talking in the r/AO3 subreddit about how AO3 hadn't made significant changes to their web security after the scrapers and bot attacks, I had a (self-declared, I didn't know how to verify and honestly wasn't willing to pick a fight about it) volunteer tell me that AO3 couldn't make those changes because they would all negatively impact the readers and "readers are just as important as authors."

(I am not going to go into a technical explanation/cybersecurity rant, suffice to say their grasp of how security measures work is... incomplete at best. They're wrong. Several measures could have been implemented with minimal impact to users overall.)

It says a lot about AO3 that they are unwilling to enhance their security to protect authors even a little bit just in case it inconveniences some readers, when this is literally how any website or software makes security decisions: you protect the most people to the best of your ability with the least amount of inconvenience. AO3 is putting convenience over protection.

The fact that a volunteer saw no issue with telling me, during all of this, that I wasn't thinking of the readers and should be making decisions about how my content is used and shared with them as a priority and shouldn't be criticizing AO3 for prioritizing the readers over the authors and their works is galling.

AO3 is supposed to be an archive, where creators can be assured their work will be safe from exploitation or censorship. If it's meant to preserve and protect works, why is it that readers are placed on equal importance? That's like saying a kid could handle the Book of Kells with sticky hands because the "reader is just as important as the author" or work.

I've not only locked my works, but also put them in an unrevealed collection. I have yet to decide whether or not I will reveal them again, or if they will eventually be taken down. AO3 as a platform (and OTW as an organization) would need to show that they're taking creators' concerns about this seriously.

This was not an easy decision for me, and I apologize to anyone out there who was waiting for an update, or marked a fic for later, or even just enjoyed rereading. I hope, one day, I'll be able to put my work up again without worry or fear.

[obsidiancreates]

Power Crystal vs Power Turtle

"So this is your lab!" Donald looks around the small dimly-lit room. "Not many... power outlets?"

Donnie walks over to a pile of scraps and various parts in a box. "What? Yours is just as dim."

"Ha! It is not."

"Yes, it is, you just have neon lights everywhere."

"Yes, that light up the space."

"No, that make it look cool. But the light they provide is barely more than a phone screen, anything more than a foot away from them is completely unlit!"

"You sound like Raphie. 'Oh, Don, your eyes, you'll ruin them!' As though my Donnie-Tech contacts don't account for that."

"Well, we're a lot more used to dimness, I guess."

"... Deep inhale... I'm going to be a good person and not capitalize on that setup. What are you looking for?"

"The reason I asked you to come over to our dimension- AHA!" Donnie stands upright and turns around dramatically, holding out a pink-tinted and metal-capped cylinder. He's suddenly surrounded by rotating white-and-purple lines like fan blades as he proudly presents the item.

"... I have no idea what that is."

There's a disappointed "whap" sound, and the background behind Donnie disappears as he sags and scowls. "You could at least pretend, to be interested."

"Sorry, sorry. Ahem. OHMIGOSSSSHHHH! A PINK TUBE!!!" Donald clasps his hand together and stands on one foot, practically leaning over backwards in his exaggerated pose.

"Alright, alright!" Donnie walks over to a small metal table with a truly old computer monitor on it. "Just come over here. This, is an alien power crystal."

Now Donald's eyes do truly sparkle, and he dashes right up to the table. "What kind of alien?!"

"Our uh, squishy guys."

Donald loses his excitement. He slowly inches away from the crystal.

"It's harmless now," Donnie promises. "The Kraang haven't been seen- well, ours haven't-"

"Yours? But I thought-"

"There's one in a dimension perpetually stuck in the late Eighties we met recently, but he's an idiot and busy having marital issues with their version of Shredder."

"... Marital issues?"

"I wish that was the weirdest thing about that dimension... anyway, the point is there's no Kraang to track this, and no tech in this room that I haven't personally verified is safe. You know, relatively speaking."

"Ah, relative safety, my favorite kind. But why did you need me to come here for this?"

"I want to compare the energy this crystal outputs to the energy of your ninpo."

"... Is it because it's a similar color?"

"Wh- NO! ... Alright, maybe. BUT, that's not the only reason! I use a lot of Kraang tech in my inventions here in this dimension, and I've gotten prett-y familiar with most forms of terrestrial, foreign, or otherworldly energy through uh... various means."

Donald tries not to look at the electrical burn scars all over his counterpart's body. "So you're looking for some kind of commonality between them all?"

"Mmm, not exactly. I just want to note how they work in comparison with each other. Combining these various technologies can lead to incredible advancements, and that can lead to a lot less butt-kicking when new enemies show up."

"Well, this all sounds reasonable enough to me, let me just make a quick construct and-"

"Actually." Donnie pulls up a schematic on his monitor. "I was thinking more along the lines of this."

Donald leans in and squints. "You want me to... power things. Like a living battery."

"Well, I wouldn't have used those exact words."

"You realize using people as living batteries is usually a villain move!"

"It's not like I'm kidnapping you or want you to push your limits! I just want to see how the Shellraizer runs on this crystal versus your ninpo, and them maybe try out one or two other things a few, uh, dozen times-"

"I don't even think my ninpo works this way."

"What? Of course it does, I've seen you use it on practically all your tech! And I've seen videos of when you used your techbo!"

"Ha-ha! Ah, that wasn't ninpo. That was pure genius!"

"No it wasn't! I studied the properties of average electricity and other fuels and energies in your dimension, and there is clearly a mystical element to your tech!"

"I don't think there is."

"Donald, it's all purple. Even the fire. OBVIOUSLY IT'S MYSTIC!"

"Of course it's purple, all of my creations are! It's called branding!"

"It is purple... BECAUSE YOUR NINPO IS!"

"WHY DID THIS TURN INTO A SHOUTING MATCH!"

"OF COURSE IT DID, HAVE YOU MET ME?!?! YOUR NINPO IS PARTIALLY POWERING OVER HALF YOUR TECH!!!"

"PROVE IT!"

"FINE!" Donnie grabs the artifact off of his belt and reopens the portal. "Wait right here and don't touch anything!" He steps through.

Donald huffs, and begins snooping.

Lots of junk, lots of rusted items mixed in with unreasonably shiny chrome parts, lots of old schematics lying around. He picks up one that shows a stout android design, clearly modeled after the mutant turtles it would be surrounded by. It's a carefully preserved blueprint, and it makes Donald's heart ache.

Metalhead. Donnie has mentioned the incident, only briefly. A robotic son, lost in a fight. Just like his sweet Shelldon.

"Someday you'll both be rebuilt and can meet," he informs the blueprints. He carefully puts the blueprint away and looks around some more.

Some backpack-type devices with cable functions, clearly made for a mission of some sort based on the various implements to keep sound to a minimum, and one for each brother. There's some blueprints for various vehicles as well, a few various sensors, a box of incredibly small helmets labeled 'Spy Roach Gear' that Donald quickly puts away-

"AHHHHHH!" Donald jumps back as he looks up from the box and into a pair of disembodied eyes!

The eyes don't blink, flinch, or move at all. Donald takes in the whole... scene.

It's a large tube not unlike the one the crystal is in, but this one is filled with organs. Suspended in a frozen goo of some kind is an entire nervous system, alongside digestive and cardiovascular and... everything. A pair of lips hang suspended like the rest of the parts, attached by some kind of thin organic tube.

Donald makes a break for the portal.

Donnie steps out at the same time.

SLAM!

"OW! What the shell-!" Donnie gets up, a 2-D red vein popping up by his forehead. "What was that for?!"

"You have a pile of organs staring at you in your lab!" Donald holds his bo in a defensive position, ready to fight his way out.

"What?! You- ... oh." Donnie's eyes trail over to the tube. "No, that's not what he is."

"He?"

"He's a friend. or... I think of him as one. I don't know if he'd agree anymore." Donnie picks up the small device he'd brought over from Donald's lab.

"I've been told I struggle to grasp some societal nuances but-"

"He mutated, he lost his mind, he got frozen, and it's my fault, okay? And I'm working on figuring out how to unthaw him without hurting him or letting him loose so I can give him the retromutagen. But we're not working on that today, so drop it." Donnie holds up the device. "I'm proving to you right now that this is powered by your ninpo."

"Go ahead and try, but-"

"There." Donnie smirks as he hooks up the device to his ancient computer and types quickly on the equally ancient keyboard. "Right here, the readings match up."

"What? No. I made this when I was fourteen, it's impossible." Donald leans in to look, and his jaw drops.

"You were using your ninpo without even realizing it then. Which means... we can mix it with other technology! Think of everything we can create by combining all of this!"

Donald continues gaping. "I used my ninpo first?"

"Well, I don't really have a way to determi-"

"I WAS USING IT FIRST!" Donald cackles, picking Donnie up and jumping happily as Donnie screams. "HA! I NEED TO GO RUB THIS IN NARDO'S FACE IMMEDIATELY!"

"PUT ME DOWN FIRST- WHAAAAA!" Donnie screams as Donald uses his battleshell to absolutely blast off through the portal!

[graceojuola]

How to Connect Your TON Wallet to STON.fi: A Simple Step-by-Step Guide

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Step 2: Click "Connect Wallet"

Once you’re on the app, look for the "Connect Wallet" button. It’s usually easy to spot, but if you don’t see it right away, just take a second to look around. Clicking it is like opening the door to your vault—this is where you’ll be able to access your crypto and start interacting with the platform.

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[p5x-theories]

I might be a dummy but im still not sure how the Magatsushin site works even after reading the post about it.

From what I got the website its not too different from the phansite, but people are also allowed to put videos and photos, and thus the posts are about 'evil' people that get called 'phantoms'

But beside that im a bit stuck; is the consequence of being there just public shunning (cancelled on twitter lmao) or is there something more cognitive going on? Like what if a lot of people call someone innocent a phantom? Do their cognition change and start to act 'evil' for real?

Asking because from what I got its the "equivalent" of mental shutdowns, and thus must be someone big behind it

My understanding of the Magatsushin site is this: it started from the beginning with the intention of posting and sharing information about "phantoms", which Magatsukami defined as "a person who causes trouble for others" without strictly being illegal. It sounds like Magatsukami directly filmed and posted these videos at first, but at some point (maybe even from the start) also had submissions open for others to post, as long as they made an account.

Because of this, and especially as the website became more popular, people started posting a much wider range of troublemakers, including videos of themselves in an attempt to become famous that way. Even when people started posting videos of genuinely illegal things, the police didn't really act, because then they'd be obligated to investigate every case there, and possibly also didn't have the energy to care due to the general lack of desires.

The most important phantoms are the "confirmed" ones, which are verified by Magatsukami themself, though no one but Magatsukami really knows what the criteria for confirmation is. However, we know that Kiuchi, Miyazawa, and Katayama are/were all confirmed phantoms, and Miyazawa was talking on the phone with someone who seemed to essentially want Miyazawa to find/create a new phantom to be confirmed, possibly indicating a "confirmed" phantom has some kind of role to fulfill?

This might be obvious, and maybe you're just saying it's "not too different from the phansite" in terms of equivalent roles, but just so you're on the same page with how I've been thinking about it, the key differences from the phansite are that Magatsushin: 1) as far as we know, was not created to address problems (unlike the phansite, where the expectation was that the PT might help you with the issue), but rather just to document them, 2) is not run with any connection to the PT themselves (again, as far as we know, since Magatsukami's identity is unknown), and 3) seems to be tied to something at best neutral, but at worst malicious, considering the hints we have about the "confirmation" process, and the pattern of confirmed phantoms being Palace rulers.

As for your question about consequences, the fact is that we're only in the third chapter of the game, so a lot of this still isn't clear. There was a lot that the PT didn't know about the mental shutdowns while working on Kaneshiro/Futaba's Palaces, if you recall, and information mostly came in bits and pieces!

What seems to be the case, at least right now, is that a normal, unconfirmed phantom doesn't seem to have any inherent consequences in the Metaverse. Confirmed phantoms, on the other hand, seem to always be Palace rulers (whether Magatsukami is aware of this, or confirming them through some other means). However, the social consequences here shouldn't be brushed off; besides the fact that having a phantom on your staff can be a PR issue that an institution or business may need to deal with (as indicated by Katayama's treatment), because Mementos is shaped by the public's cognition, it's possible that popular belief that someone is a "bad person" because they're a phantom could actually influence the Metaverse, as we've seen cognition do before. And due to the treatment that popular (even if unconfirmed) phantoms get, it's possible it could cause them to form a Shadow anyway, even if that's not a forced consequence inherent to being a phantom.

If that makes sense? Basically, I don't know if being posted on Magatsushin and recognized as a phantom itself does anything, but the social response to phantoms might have important Metaverse consequences anyway. A large enough portion of the public believing something can be very dangerous in a world that's literally shaped by their beliefs.

So in your example, "Like what if a lot of people call someone innocent a phantom? Do their cognition change and start to act 'evil' for real?", as far as I know right now, an innocent person simply being posted as a phantom doesn't do anything. But if they get popular as a phantom, the reaction of other people around them and in public may change. And this could push their own desires to warp, leading to a Shadow, or may even led to their desires being stolen, which is similar to a very slow mental shutdown in terms of consequences.

This gets into my personal theories, but this could be especially true if Magatsukami themself is a Palace ruler- it may be that people becoming popular as phantoms on their site is what allows Magatsukami to steal their desires. It seems like indulging what makes them a phantom is how Palace rulers steal desires- Kiuchi assaulting Tomoko led to her desires being stolen, and Miyazawa attacking restaurants like Toraiken and Ashouken led to Yamagoshi and Masa's desires being stolen. Katayama's a stranger case, for a lot of reasons, but we know that Akashi targeting her has allowed him to steal her desires, as well, whether Akashi's a phantom or not. So Magatsushin, as a whole, may actually be a scheme to steal desires, even if Magatsukami isn't consciously aware of the Metaverse and is only acting on their own distorted desires by running it. So in that case, "phantoms" might actually all be victims of Magatsukami, and "confirmed phantoms" are the ones that instead get to steal desires from others.

I'm not sure if that theory works out 100% perfectly, but it's the kind of thing that's floating around in my head right now. I think the public's lack of desires, and the theft of desires going on, is a bit more equivalent to the mental shutdowns than the phantoms themselves are, but it's all interconnected, and we don't have the full bigger picture here yet. But I hope that helps at least give you a better grasp on what we do know, and a few possibilities for what it could mean?

[museenkuss]

Hello! 🎀

I just read your thoughts on the pretty privilege as well as the tags mentioning the American mindset. I might be off topic a bit but it reminded me of a thought I had a while ago - it often seems that Americans (those I’ve seen online at least) are somewhat striving towards a general and sometimes uniform “prettiness”, whether it be because of the privilege it gives or not. All the heatless or elaborate hairstyles (the attention to hair is the biggest thing here I think) and everyday makeup, jumping on trends (like the stanley cups) way more than we do in Europe. None of this is bad of course but I’ve never seen it on such a big scale outside of the US. Even when browsing European influencers’ accounts they usually seem to just leave their hair as it is and let themselves be themselves instead of part of almost identical group of pretty girls with voluminous curls, long lashes and water bottles in hand.

What are your thoughts on this? Your posts are always interesting to read 😌 (If I’ve ventured too far off the topic of pretty privilege I apologise, the tags emboldened me to share my observation)

Hi!!!🌹🌹

This is a really interesting point. I was thinking about it a lot, because I do remember a certain look at my school when I was a teen (tank top with lace under a grey/black/blue cardigan, dark skinny jeans, Pearl earrings, straight hair in a ponytail. An army of conservative housewives…). But I don’t remember the “people rushing into a store to buy out a cup” mentality, nor do I see it these days.

So maybe I would say I do think there are uniform ideas of pretty here, too, down to “pretty girl uniforms”. That’s a topic I’m really fascinated by, I highly believe that you can DRESS in a way that will make you attractive by proxy because it’s what “attractive people” wear. However, I think this standard can vary depending on where you are — for example the pretty girl uniform at MY school would fall flat completely at another school. Just like fake lashes, fake lips, fake tan and lots of beige and pastels might be the rage in the US, but in Europe the beauty standards are different (as much as social media is trying to erase any non-US look). However, I was searching my mind and realised I simply know too little about influencers to really verify that claim. I think a problem that might contribute to the uniform standards of beauty in and outside of the US is the “aestheticisation” of things. Pilates being an aesthetic, reading or gardening or tomatoes all being an aesthetic that comes with a full on dress code. That’s also probably most prevalent around teenagers who haven’t settled in their identity just yet and thus are more likely to cling to a “package deal” (“I like reading, so I’ll dress like a reader”). But also humans ARE pack animals, so maybe this uniformity in some way also gives us a feeling of security? The need to belong never fully goes away, after all.

But then again, to return to the other point: I definitely agree that the strange aggression the USAmericans have when it comes to those trends seems not to be this prevalent here. The “craze” for something. Cups, eyeshadow palettes, bags… I just don’t see it much over here. So I’m conflicted. I do think the attitudes can be more relaxed, but I do assume that there are still beauty standards — maybe we just don’t notice them as much because we’re more involved in them? In contrast, we see the US influencers and THEIR pretty girl uniform from the outside.

Thank you so much for your ask aHH!! It definitely wasn’t off topic, it was super interesting :’)!! I feel like I got a little sidetracked in the middle there haha but this is really fascinating. I can already tell I’ll be turning it in my head for the next few days. Thank you!!! :D

[abyssal-ali]

Stars Around My Scars

Part 1

Pairing: Jasonette

Rating: T

Word Count: ~5.7 k

I don't believe there are any warnings, but if you think I should add one, let me know!

Some things may make more sense if you read my (extended) Author's Note here.

Cardigan AU Masterlist here.

Everyone say thank you to my wonderful betas @sarcasticbambi and @boldlyanxious <3<3<3

Any errors are mine, and please don't hesitate to point them out (but please be nice, I'm really proud of this AU).

Requested by @mochegato from my discord poll. I hope you like it! (I promise the fluff and comfort is coming <3 )

You drew Stars Around my Scars

Marinette rushed from her last class to her locker.

The teeming crowds of students milled around the suddenly full hallways, pulling her closer to her goal. Her boyfriend often left little notes or clues to gifts, and it always brightened her day to find a loving surprise. How he knew her locker code, she didn't know, but brushed it off (she'd certainly acquired dubious skills for stupider reasons than giving her SO a gift).

There was nothing there today, but when she slammed it shut she turned and walked into her boyfriend.

“Hey, Pixie. Ready to go?”

She groaned. “Nooo. I have to work on my Lit essay.”

“I can help; whatever you need.”

He grabbed her hand and dragged her to the quiet library, seemingly empty except for the rows of books and the librarian, Ms. Blue. She nodded familiarly at them and went back to her computer as they disappeared deeper into the library's abyss. Finally, they stopped at a table and Marinette dumped her things on its surface.

“Okay, let's do this.”

About an hour after they began working on their homework, Jason got up to find a book for references. A few minutes later, Marinette noticed he still hadn't returned, so she decided to stretch her legs and go look for him. After scouring several rows, she finally heard a thump behind her. The trail of thumps led her to a corner of the library, where Jason was waiting with a smug grin.

“You did miss me.”

“Of course.” She rolled her eyes. “I have to keep a very close eye on you when we're in a library or bookstore. I couldn't wait too long or I mayn't have seen you ever again. Like that time I lost you at the B&N.”

“Mayn't?”

She punched his (stupidly solid) arm. “It's an uncommon contraction that should be used more.”

“I'll tell the world to start, then. We should make a prank on Twitter.”

“Oui, good idea! No one will know it's us trolling them, and you can share your bizarre stories and explain your unusual skills.”

“What bizarre stories?” He followed her back to their table, setting up a new Twitter account on his way.

“Um, my ex-girlfriend possessed my other ex, for one. That time you met a civil, agreeable demon, for two...you are a mysterious person, Jason Todd.”

“Thank you, I try to be as cryptid-like as possible. What shall we name our crack account?”

“Um...our names combined make “Janette”; Janette can be the mod. For the handle, how about...Janette@pothamcrack. Yeah. And before you ask, Paris + Gotham equals Potham.”

“Great. Here, our first official tweet. Janette@pothamcrack says: 'Mayn't' is an underused contraction. Use it more, cowards'.”

“Perfect. Can you make everyone we know that's verified follow us so more people are subjected to our crack and insanity?”

•○•○•○•

Jason knocked on Marinette's door. There was a brief flurry of activity, then she opened it enough to stick her head out.

“Heyyy, Jay. You're early!”

“Is that such a bad thing?” he asked, faux-offended.

“No, of course not...come in. I just gotta...”

“Why is there blood on your sweatshirt? Are you hurt?”

Jason carefully circled her, gingerly trailing his hands over her body to check her reactions. When he reached her lower left ribs, she only winced once, very quickly, but he caught her reaction and yanked her Gotham Knights sweatshirt up a couple inches. Her hand grabbed his wrist tightly, preventing him from moving.

“Oh, sorry, Pix. I...should've asked first.” He felt quite remorseful, knowing she hated showing skin, though he didn't know the reason why. But if she was hurt and hiding it, and bleeding...“How badly are you hurt, Pix? Do you need me to take you to the clinic?”

Marinette looked down. “I'm fine, it's just a scratch,” she mumbled quietly. "I was just gonna change, you don't need to worry.”

Now Jason was really concerned. Why was she hiding it? If it really wasn't bad, she'd show him as proof, like that time he thought she chopped her fingers off (in hindsight he may have panicked a bit, but she was his girlfriend and he was terrified of something hurting her) and she immediately showed him the barely-visible nick on her finger.

He gently tilted her chin up to face him and started directly into her blue eyes.

“Marinette, I'm your boyfriend, and I'm worried about you. I understand if you don't want me to see, but can you tell me what happened, at least?”

She dropped her gaze again, though it could only reach his callused hand this time, and inhaled sharply, then winced again.

“I was lightly stabbed from an attempted mugging, but I'm fine! It's just a scratch! I'm sorry for worrying you. I was just gonna get a bandaid; it's not that deep.”

“Stabbed and mugged? Marinette Wendy Dupain-Cheng Stone, why didn't you tell me?!”

She jerked her chin out of his hold and glared at him. “Because I don't need to answer you. I'm an adult and I can take care of myself just fine, thank you. If you don't trust my judgement, then you obviously don't respect me and you can leave me to my first aid.”

“Woah, Pix. I-” Jason stopped and took a deep breath.

“Okay, clearly you have some things we should talk about, but first, you're right. I'm sorry. We can talk about this after you get first aid. I don't have to watch, but I'm staying until we talk this stuff out, Marinette."

Marinette headed to the bathroom where her closest first aid kit was and began unpacking it to search for the things she needed.

The door shut in Jason's face with a decisive click.

He sat across the hall, leaning against the wall and talking to Marinette. She didn't reply, but she didn't chase him out or tell him to shut up, either, so he took it as a win.

Finally, the door opened and Marinette stood in the doorway, just looking at him.

Jason slowly got to his feet and scanned her up and down, just in case she'd bled out in the bathroom and was now a zombie or some other supernatural revenant his brain cursed him with imagining.

She'd left her sweatshirt off and was just in a white tank top, bloodstained on the lower left side (thankfully less blood than his traumatised brain helpfully made him think of), and her jeans. His eyes landed on her arms, which she usually had covered by a sweater or hoodie (usually one of his).

Scars of various sizes and shapes littered her arms and what he could see of her chest. She'd told him that everyone was healed and brought back to life, but he'd thought it was completely healed, not left with scars.

A sudden flash of insight hit him and he blinked, then moved across to hug her gently. “I'm glad you're not seriously hurt. Are you in pain? Do you want me to get a pill?”

“One small slice does not constitute pain, Jason.” She was avoiding his eyes again, he noticed. He much preferred those pretty blues looking at him, not away from him in shame or pain or anger.

“I understand.”

Which hurts more, A or B? Forehand, or backhand?

“I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I didn't...when you told me about Hawkmoth and Multimouse, you obviously toned it down a lot.”

Marinette realised he had picked her up and they were now in her kitchen, where he perched her on the island and began making her a mug of tea. Oh, she realised. He's not just talking about the mugging.

Her lips quirked up a bit as she watched him move around her kitchen familiarly.

Jason handed her her favourite mug and leaned against the counter beside her.

“Are you okay, besides the 'light stabbing'?”

She glared at him over the rim of her mug, but it lacked heat. “Yeah, it was only an attempted mugging. The dude was following me so I ducked into an alley and when he 'caught' me, I let him get close enough to stab me and then I grabbed his wrist, kneed him, and put him in an armlock. The stab was simply a tactical sacrifice. Then a nice cop drove by as I was zip-tying him, so I let him take the guy into the station. His name was, um, Dick Grayson, I think? He had similar features to you...anyways, yeah, I'm fine, you worrywart. I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier, I just...I shouldn't have yelled, I'm sorry. You were just worried but it reminded me of some situations in Paris and I reacted disproportionately.”

“I forgive you, Pixie. Can you tell me what part of what I did and said reminded you, so I can work on that?”

“The...well, it wasn't really anything. I'm just always on guard because I had to fight for people to trust me so much, and my ex-partner was...always crossing lines and I was always explaining things I shouldn't have had to. You were just asking out of worry, but I immediately jumped to you trying to back me into a corner. It's not something you have to work on,” she snorted bitterly.

As she spoke, Jason picked up her free hand and began running his fingers over her arm soothingly. Marinette suddenly realised what he was doing and focused on the shapes. He was slowly tracing stars around every single mark and scar on her arms. Eventually, he reached her shoulder and left his arm comfortingly across them. She snuggled a little closer and they drank their tea in cosy silence.

○○○○○○○

To Kiss in Cars and Downtown Bars

Jason flipped through the security feeds from his office in the Iceberg Lounge. A familiar face at the back of the line to get in caught his eye. Why...

He changed out of his Red Hood gear into his usual outfit of jeans, a T-shirt, and his leather jacket (different from his RH jacket), then snuck out the door.

•○•○•○•

Marinette jumped as a large, warm hand was put over her mouth. She hadn't heard anyone coming, but they were awfully brave to attempt...whatever...in full view of the bouncers a few metres ahead. She made eye contact with one but he completely ignored her!

Now Marinette was more annoyed at the bouncer's incompetence than the person behind her!

“It's me.”

She whirled around. “Jay? What're you doing here?”

He plucked her ID from her hands (thanks to Fluff and Trixx, she had a passably legal ID) and examined it.

“Not bad. C'mon.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind the Lounge. A passcode later, they were in the dark hallway leading from the club's fire exit.

“Here.” He handed her a metal bracelet. “It tells people to back off, you're under the owner's protection. You also won't have to pay.” He pointed to his matching bracelet. “Maybe you'll tell me why you're trying to enter a club?”

She strolled over to the bar, him following closely as usual.

“I'm legal in Paris. Apparently, I have the worst luck. My old class is coming on an exchange in a couple months so they can tour some American universities and experience the American high school system. The problem is, they all think I'm dead - a strawberry daiquiri, please.”

“Mood. Can't you...avoid them? Hack the system and become part of the class going to Paris?”

She chugged half her drink, impressing him, and shook her head.

“Most people in Paris think I'm dead. Paris is bad for me...all the memories...and I was asked to be a translator if there are any issues and because I'm a helpful person who still hasn't learned to say no, I said yes! Although, I didn't know it was my class until the details were sent after I already agreed.”

“Oh...that is a problem. I'm also fluent in French, could I replace you or at least help you?”

“I'll talk to Mr. Patel, he's organising it, but that should be okay. We can continue Janette's crack—they're so idiotic sometimes, and yet they can be so brilliant others, I really don't understand it.”

“I can't wait to meet them. And um, maybe don't chug your drink without eating something?”

“Right. Want to dance?” She held out her hand. He took it and kissed the back, spinning her away from the counter.

“Sure.”

After a couple dances and a close call with a tipsy patron, they headed to a quiet corner, where Marinette dissected outfits and rated style with Jason, who knew a surprising amount about fashion. She supposed he'd heard more than one of her rants/lectures and picked stuff up.

Around midnight, Jason's phone buzzed and he sighed.

“Hey, Pix, I gotta go. Can I bring you home first?”

“Sure. Did you bring your bike?” She followed him outside, her hand still in his.

“Nah, I borrowed a friend's car because I had to transport stuff earlier.”

He led her to a sleek black car and opened the door for her. When he crossed the hood to get to his side, she leaned over and opened the driver's door for him and smiled sweetly.

The drive to Jagged's penthouse, where she was currently living until her parents finalised closing the bakery in Paris and joining her in Gotham, was quiet, broken by her soft humming of random song snippets.

“Thanks for the fun evening, Jay. I was so bummed about them coming, but you cheered me up.”

Marinette leaned over and kissed Jason's cheek before she got out of the car, but he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her back for a longer, proper kiss.

“Night, Pix. Have sweet dreams, maybe of me?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she giggled and waved him off noncommittally. His ego would be too big if she told him she often dreamed of him.

•○•○•○•

Marinette sighed at Tikki and Wayzz for the fourth time.

“I know I should, I just don't want to. Why can't I live in denial a little longer? He treats me like a princess.”

“Marinette, this is the third time in three weeks that he left your date early with no explanation. This won't be healthier for you in the long run if you keep denying it,” the ladybug kwami advised.

“I'm just tired, Tikki. Aside from the dates and being even more selective about what he tells me about his family and life than I am, it's great! I didn't want a busy, dramatic year. Can I seriously not just leave it a little longer?”

“Guardian, there is a difference between being patient and understanding, and letting everything slide because you don't want to confront someone. There is a possibility he just doesn't know how or when to bring some of these things up, so just try talking to him,” said Wayzz. “If that does not resolve anything, then you can consider what to do after that.”

“And as for the 'no drama' you want, ignoring all of this is only adding to it,” Tikki interjected.

Marinette huffed a breath of hot air and crossed her arms petulantly, knowing the kwami were right. “Fine. I'll ask him to meet me later.”

○○○○○○○

Peter Losing Wendy

“I think we should break up.” She looked him in the eye as she stabbed him in the heart with those dreaded words.

“Why?”

He knew it was for the best, it would keep her safer, but he'd hoped...if she wanted it, he would let her go, taking his heart with him, as he ignored the urge to hold her and never release her.

“You can't explain those weird texts and calls and disappearances, and you've been late or left early with such plausible excuses...I can't...it looks like Adrien 2.0. And believe me, I don't want to think that, but ...call it PTSD or whatever, you're so hot and cold. You keep me at arms' length for so many things, and then you turn around and you're the warmest, most perfect boyfriend I could want. You've got this way of telling me everything, but it's nothing at all...all an illusion. I just, I can't do this again. It's not fair to either of us. Gotham has been better to me than Paris, and I'm going to fight with everything this time."

...And now she was taking his shattered heart with her.

“I asked you to come so we could talk about it, try and figure this out, but you cancelled last-minute, again, Jason. Once or twice I understood, but now it just feels like you're avoiding me, or at least avoiding opening up to me. I'm just...done. I can't ignore all of this anymore, and I'm tired.”

He couldn't do this to her. He'd seen how scarred she was after Multimouse. Now, as an ordinary civilian with loads of PTSD, he wouldn't risk hurting her anymore, repeating Parisian mistakes.

He swallowed. “I'm sorry, P-Marinette.” He turned to leave, blinking rapidly. “If you're in trouble, call me. I'll still come.”

As he turned to shut the door his eyes met hers.

Both pairs were overflowing.

“Goodbye, and good luck.”

The door closing behind him sounded like a sentencing being put into effect.

•○•○•○•

She didn't go to school for two days, choosing to curl into a ball and cry instead.

When she'd first enrolled as Marinette Stone - courtesy of Jagged and Penny helping her set up a new life in his hometown - everyone had been trying to get to know the other new transfer student, Jason.

She'd snubbed him, wanting her final school year to be drama free, and he'd laughed.

Thus began an academic rivalry, and everyone thought they were sworn enemies from the cold way she'd greet him in the halls. For his part, he was warmer to her than anyone else, which confused her, but she wrote him off as a masochist.

But thanks to meddling from Mrs. Perez, who paired them up on a very important assignment, they became sworn besties instead, which led to dating. They kept it quiet, finding that trolling the entire school was hilarious to them, as well as the disappointed look in Mrs. Perez's eyes when at the end of the assignment, they were still rivals and not in love (yes, Mrs. Perez was the biggest Marison shipper).

Jason picked up one of her design scribbles and looked at the hand-lettering she'd done when she was bored in class.

“Your name is Marinette Wendy Dupain-Cheng?”

“Yeah, so?”

“We're Peter and Wendy! My full name is Jason Peter Todd.”

“Didn't they end up not together?”

“... Right. Well… You're petite, so you can be Tinker Bell then.”

She hoped her face conveyed her scepticism. “Tinker Bell? A pixie?”

He ignored her and exclaimed, “Pixie it is!” happy to finally have a nickname she didn't hate or have bad connotations with.

Marinette cried even harder at the memory. They hadn't ended up together, after all.

○○○○○○○

I Knew You (Marked Me Like A Bloodstain)

The tell-tale swish of a grappling hook being deployed caught Jason's attention from where he sat on the roof's vent, swinging his legs as he surveyed his empire's capital, Crime Alley. He rolled backwards off the vent and faced the Dark Knight, tensing for an altercation, whether verbal or physical.

“What do you want, B,” he snapped, annoyed his depression session had been interrupted by the partial cause of the entire mess he was moping about right now.

Batman didn't move, signifying he wanted to talk right now, not fight.

“You haven't been around in either capacity lately, and you didn't respond when Nightwing texted you earlier, either. I just wanted to make sure you're doing okay.”

Angrily, Red Hood turned on Batman with a growl. “As you can see, I'm out, so I'm perfectly healthy. You don't need to check in on your wayward soldier personally. You only care that I'm fine so that you know if you can call me to help on missions and I'll come running back like a dog when you whistle. Just because I'm working with you more doesn't mean I'm one of your little clones who only exists to be useful to you; I have my own life and I don't have to answer to you about any of it.”

“Hood, where is this coming from?” Batman truly sounded bewildered. “I was only checking on you because I care about you. I care about your health and functioning because I care about you.”

“Well maybe you care too much, B. You're constantly calling me out on missions and that's about the only time you contact me, unless Agent A requests it. If you actually care about me as a person, if not your son, you'd ask to see me outside of the mask, but you haven't, which leads me to my previous conclusions. I'm taking a break from all of your messes. If you need my help, don't contact me, and clean it up yourself. I'll be back when I'm back—if I'm back. And don't snoop!”

Hood jumped off the roof and landed on a fire escape, using parkour moves to slide down railings, and assassin-training to evade Batman's close tail. Eventually, Batman gave up and Hood moved out of the shadows to mope back in his Bat-proof apartment.

•○•○•○•

Chasing Shadows (in Grocery Lines)

Red Hood angrily yanked the knots tight on the goons' restraints. He knew the Untitled were in Gotham, but why? Besides the obvious (to kill him), of course.

A flash of movement caught his eye, and he followed it carefully. He snuck up behind the faux-Catwoman and hissed, “Who are you and why are you here?”

“...Catwoman, of course. You know cats, curiosity kills us.”

Convincing.

She acted similarly to Selina, but she was... off. Wrong inflection, similar mannerisms but they were too forced, the suit wasn't pure black like Selina's (it was black with grey accents), no purr...

“No, you're not. Catwoman and I have a bi-monthly feline petting session where we complain about Batman, so I've spent enough time with the Sirens to know you're just… Uncanny Valley Catwoman.” He waved his hand at faux-Catwoman's entire existence.

She hissed and her ears and tail twitched.

Were...they real?

“Look, I don't want to fight you, but you're making it hard. Don't insult 'short' people. It's not our fault you're trees.”

“I'll stop saying things like that when you stop looking at me as if you want to climb me like one,” he retorted.*

Wait, faux-Catwoman, Bat-adjacent, flirting on a roof… NO! I'm not becoming Bruce!!

“I'm here because I think some of my trainer's enemies are after me,” faux-Catwoman blurted in an attempt to change the subject.

Ha, he could still see her cheeks and neck warming.

“Who?”

“They're a creepy old magic group called the Untitled. Ironic, I know. I don't know much about them besides the fact that they're incredibly evil, and they want my Miraculous.”

“Are you All-Caste too?” He didn't think they had anyone left besides himself, but if they were travelling while the Untitled attacked, maybe someone escaped...

“What?”

“Nevermind. I didn't know the Untitled had more enemies than my sect. I'm the last member; the Untitled wiped the rest of us out. I can tell you more about the Untitled once I finish my patrol, in 20-ish minutes?”

Faux-Catwoman nodded. “The gargoyle across from Drake Industries work for you?”

“Sure. What should I call you, by the way?”

“Onyx. Ciao!”

Twenty-three minutes later, Red Hood grappled up to his gargoyle, finding Onyx sitting beside it, casually swinging her feet as if she wasn't 40 stories up and untethered.

“So, you like Freddy too?”

“Freddy?”

“My thinking gargoyle. You're new in town.”

Onyx sighed heavily. “No, you're just the first person to notice I'm not Catwoman.”

Jason sensed she needed to talk more so he employed his most effective interrogation technique, silence, and she began talking a moment later.

“This is Paris all over again. Do you know about what happened in Paris?”

Jason nodded and pulled out a granola bar from his pocket, unwrapped it, and began eating as she continued.

“I was Ladybug. When I became Guardian of the Miraculous, I revoked my black cat's ring. He'd been corrupted since he wasn't a true black cat, and also from living in a house with the corrupted butterfly and broken peacock Miraculous. His dad was Hawkmoth, though he didn't know that, and he was my boyfriend as a civilian. Turns out he was cheating on me with my bully per his father's and my bully's manipulation.

“I used the Miraculous of Multiplication to become Bugmouse and Catmouse, and when I got the Miraculous from Hawkmoth, I put them away.

"My uncle helped me move here to start afresh… in Paris, everywhere I went, there were memories… And most weren't happy. When I came here, life was great… I didn't think I wanted another boyfriend but I did get one… And now I've broken up with him. He was perfect, and I was waiting for the imperfections, but... It turned into Paris II: Electric Boogaloo. He would disappear randomly, and it seemed like he was waiting till I was busy so I wouldn't notice. I followed him once because he'd left something behind, but it was like he knew I was tailing him and he lost me. He never introduced me to his family — he said they were semi-estranged, but I can't help wondering...

"So I grabbed a Miraculous and became Onyx; beating up bad guys is better than therapy, y'know? I just didn't expect to be traced by the Miraculous's signature by the Untitled.

“And now Gotham is becoming Paris,” she finished with a heavy sigh. “At least to me.”

After another silence, she gasped quietly. “I'm sorry for monologuing on you, you just felt… like a comrade, maybe? You give off safe vibes, anyways.”

The more she talked, the more she solidified his suspicion that Onyx was Marinette.

“I'm sorry you had to go through that, Onyx.” He didn't want to say anything else, partially out of guilt, and partially to stop himself from explaining everything and throwing himself on her mercy and begging her to take him back.

“So, the Untitled?” Onyx cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, turning to see his (masked) face a bit better.

“Right. The Untitled are millennia-old evil sibling magicians who got their power from a well of evil. There are only eight members of the Untitled, but they are very old and powerful. They were enemies with the group who trained me, the All-Caste, and killed them all. They can't be killed by normal means, but I have the All-Blades, which can defeat them. Do you have anything that can harm them, do you know?” Hood asked.

“I suspect the ‘Cataclysm’ power and perhaps ‘Clout’ or ‘Uproar’, and though I'd prefer not to test it in battle and find I'm wrong, I don't know how else to confirm my hypothesis.”

“Then how about you stay in the background while I take on the Untitled with the All-Blades, and when there's an opening you try your hypothesis?”

“I can do that. When are we going?” He asked her.

“Sooner rather than later, I think. When can you-”

“Okay, give me ten minutes,” Onyx interrupted. “I'll get my Miraculous and meet you at the warehouse at the edge of Gotham, in the westernmost part of the Tricorner Yards. You can lure the Untitled there or something, right?”

“Yeah, I can do that. Ten minutes average or ten minutes on the dot?”

“On the dot. I have a very precise Miraculous.”

“...okay. See you in 10, Onyx.”

•○•○•○•

Ten minutes later, Onyx appeared in the shadows of the warehouse, where Jason was already in the middle of two Untitled, his glowing swords flickering in the dark and giving off an eerie vibe. The chill and sense of evil permeating the air didn't help, either.

Onyx's suit was now pure black, with thin stripes of red, magenta, and brown scattered around her suit.

“Cataclysm,” Onyx whispered and threw the ball of destruction at the Untitled on Jason's rear.

The Untitled were now alerted to her presence and she moved swiftly from shadow to shadow. One began to approach her, and she instinctively activated the tiger's power, ‘Clout’. The immense power from the magical punch knocked the being out, and Onyx turned her attention to the two Untitled who took the place of the previous duo already taken care of by Red Hood's swords.

“Uproar!” she cried, hoping the power-disrupting ability would work on the beings as she tossed the circlet like a frisbee at them. Onyx breathed deeply in relief when she realised her powers did work on the Untitled and turned to face the remaining two, back to back with Hood.

They attacked at the same time, swirling black shadows with surprising speed, but Onyx had prepared a second Cataclysm and yelled “Jump!” at Hood as the Untitled reached them.

The Untitled almost crashed into each other and tried to stop themselves before they could collide. It was too late, however. Onyx and Hood jumped to the first level above them (superpowers handily granting them extra height), and watched as the same cataclysm turned both ghouls into nothing.

Hood exhaled jaggedly and turned to her. “You have some nice moves and those were some sick abilities!”

She grinned, a little winded from using three Miraculous at once, and replied, “You weren't too bad yourself! Those swords sure are handy.”

“Yeah… Thank you for your help, Onyx. I couldn't have taken them all down at once without you.”

She waved it off and swung down to the floor again. “It was my pleasure, I assure you. I'm thrilled one less group of weird power-hungry monsters is after my head.”

“If you want to team up for a night of regular vigilantism, that'd be cool. Or are you leaving, now that you're safe again?”

“No, I'm here for another unforeseen amount of time,” she sighed, civilian life distracting her.

Hood didn't want to have her dwelling on their breakup quite yet so he decided to distract her. “Hey, how'd you learn that flippy move you did back there? It was really cool.”

Onyx cheered up a little. “Really? Thanks. My uncle taught me, actually... I'd taken gymnastics for a couple years so I had a good base and then he built off that. I have a similar build to his daughter, so he taught both of us. I think you'd get along great… He does prefer a sword, but he's still pretty handy with a gun.”

“Oh, maybe I've heard of him?”

“Uh...Slade Wilson?” Onyx asked hesitantly.

Deathstroke was Onyx's uncle?!

“Your uncle is Deathstroke?!” he blurted.

Onyx chuckled guiltily. “Heh. Not by blood, my nonna just has a ton of connections with really strange people, and she introduced us a few years ago. He kinda adopted me, so I just call him uncle. Y'know, we only see each other a couple times a year. He likes to surprise me when he visits and keeps my skills sharp, so he usually makes sneak attacks. I've got a good eye for attempted assassinations thanks to it!” she said cheerily, rambling in her nervousness but somehow concerning him more.

Hood was a little more scared of Onyx after he learned that information.

Yeah, Talia al Ghul had adopted him, but she was less likely to come after Marinette just because she was dating her son. Also, he knew her.

Slade was protective of his children, even if he did nothing else as their father, and he was unpredictable.

Hood shivered and headed home chilled, looking over his shoulder a couple more times than he usually did.

•○•○•○•

Jason wandered aimlessly down the aisles, collecting items he remembered he needed and tossing them in his basket. Bread, yeast for when he was feeling less sad and went back to making his own, milk, oats, soap, bandages and ointment, coffee, chicken, ice cream.

He headed to the only checkout lane open and put his purchases on the conveyor belt. The bored and tired-looking young adult started soullessly scanning them while Jason rolled his eyes at a gossip rag loudly proclaiming Wayne family "news" on its cover.

He reached for his wallet and spun back to face the shadows. Slim, black hair, shadowy…Marinette?

He looked closer and grimaced at Cass.

“What are you doing here?” he signed, annoyance clear in his body language.

“Saw you going by and you looked sad, so I followed you. No one else knows,” she replied.

He frowned harder. “I’m fine. Just tired. And I told B not to contact me. I’ll talk to whomever of you I want when I want to, and I don’t want to talk to any of you right now,” he signed emphatically. “Thanks for checking on me, but I don’t need it.”

He turned back to the slightly bewildered-looking cashier, who had only seen him making gestures at the shadows, and rolled his eyes harder. Stupid Bats, always making him look foolish.

He grimace-smiled politely and handed over the cash, grabbing his bags and leaving immediately, feeling even more foolish for thinking Cass had been Marinette.

Marinette wouldn’t be near him willingly for a while. Clearly he needed to do something about that.

He’d been feeling more foolish in the past couple days than in the past couple years combined.

Marinette had told him she was a temp hero, Multimouse, and stayed in contact with her friends, who had been temporary and official heroes. She clearly still cared about them and knew they were heroes, yet didn’t act any differently. He could’ve told her his secrets, she would’ve understood and kept them, but he didn’t want to hurt her with them.

Well, if she was still friends with official heroes, she’d obviously weighed the risks and decided it didn’t matter. He should have let her choose in their relationship, too.

Marinette had good judgement (the only strike he had against that evidence was her agreeing to date him in the first place, but then again he’d always been a good actor out of necessity) and he trusted it, although he hadn’t really shown that.

Tired of waffling between should he talk to her/should he leave her in peace and never show his face in front of her again, he finally decided.

○○○○○○○

THE END of Part One

Thank you for reading!

*this sentence is all thanks to @nitwitjustice, who gave permission for me to use his quip in my fic :)

[ps1demodisk]

Changing our username to escape the consequences of our actions, are we? You managed to get a whole server shut down because of your manipulative bullshit. I hope the people you hurt can find some comfort in the fact that you will die alone. Especially if you keep treating people like this.

You can’t even clearly explain what the people you went after did. No evidence, no screenshots, nothing. Just your lies and manipulation and petty bans thrown at anyone you don’t like.

At the very least, don’t be a coward. You owe many people a massive apology, although I don’t expect them to forgive you. God knows I certainly don’t.

Ok so I'm gonna try and take this seriously but I gotta be real "changing our username to escape the consequences of our actions, are we?" made me snort so hard coke came out my nose so I apologise for how shittily put together this is but god damn it's hard to get your thoughts in order when you're almost throwing up

Anyway maybe go ask the spy (because i know that's why it(i checked pronouns, its bio only lists it/its) followed, and i haven't blocked because im not trying to hide) who you sent to my main twitter account to verify this shit before you talk to me cause I told it "My profile is open, I only have hob blocked, I only changed my username because I felt disconnected from my old one. You don't need to worry about me trying to wiggle back in or whatever."

I never tried to hide, if I was trying to hide I'd have shut down all my accounts before changing my name, I don't want to hide. "You can't even clearly explain what the people you went after did. No evidence, no screenshots, nothing." Ok. I can't gather screenshots from servers I'm not in, I explained myself clearly as I could given the fact I still have not had anything explained to me outside of what one person told me and you guys for some reason don't care about that part of any of it so it doesn't help me address shit. The Doc I posted on my old nsfw is the best I could do with the lack of information. My only regret is that I remembered extra details too late to edit them into the doc.

You and the rest of them are essentially a group of highschool children, that's how you're acting. You whisper behind your hands to each other and claim to want to protect people from the big scary evil master manipulator [Kalista] but when someone asks you what I did you act like nothing happened unless it's someone you think will fall for your shit. I do not believe there's substance 99% of whatever you guys have against me that could justify the reaction on that fact alone. Not to mention how STILL, screenshots are shared of me having flashbacks to being RAPED, and you treat it like evidence I'm the devil.

When you guys want to be civil and at the very fucking least stop wishing death on me and sharing that screenshot (and again Hobqueer is fully aware i was having flashbacks, I told him the day after in DMs when he pretended like he cared) then you can come talk to me about how evil I am.

"Don't be a coward" go fuck yourself, Peachy. The call is coming from inside the house and you fucking know it. I know that's you. Don't tell me to stop hiding when you didn't even have the balls to send it off anon, probably cause you know "I hope the people you hurt can at least find some comfort in the fact you will die alone" isn't a good look.

Seethe, for all I care. Rot in your hatred, I welcome it. I don't see myself as a victim, sorry if that fucks up the narrative you constructed for yourself or others.

I have no desire to be in contact with any of you besides maybe two people who defo hate me but at least didn't say some unhinged top-of-bible-studies-class level shit, so like... you can "let go of hatred" now like you wanted to before. You don't have to waste your energy thinking up ways to make me feel bad, because it doesn't work anymore.

Should've tried this two days ago then maybe you'd have gotten more than a half-thought-out bait response.