#i assume inactivity but in my defense i don’t know anyone there and i just wanna see how the rp actually goes down

[99centmusecd]

​please does anyone know of any rp servers or sites that are casual (as opposed to a dozen small games already going or once a week-or-so chat events), 18+ but easy on the nsfw if at all, actually active in rp channels, and focused on OCs in a modern setting?

get off ai and join an rp server. you must

[dessarious]

How the Sirens Adopted a Ladybug Pt4

AO3   Beginning   Previous   Next

Ivy was only half listening to Harley and a green Kwami detail various calming techniques, such as meditation and breathing exercises. Being around so many creatures radiating power was extremely uncomfortable, especially since she was fairly certain Ladybug’s Kwami was annoyed with her. That comment about her being able to feel that something was off in Paris seemed rather pointed. In her defense she had no idea a kid was involved. She just wanted to stay away from problems that weren’t hers, and it’s not like she wanted to be able to feel the disturbance.

She looked back to the girl and thought about her reaction. It likely meant she couldn’t feel the Miraculous either, which meant she couldn’t sense the ones that were missing. That explained why she was still fighting in the first place.

“You seem awfully interested in something.” Tikki appeared in front of her and Ivy flinched at the glare. She’d zoned out but it probably looked like she was studying Ladybug. Given how protective the Kwami were of the girl she was glad it was only a nasty look.

“She said that she’d never come across anyone who could sense the Miraculous. All of you put off different amounts or types of power and I assume the person you’re fighting would give off their own variation. Perhaps I can help find them.” Tikki just blinked at her for a moment before a grin broke over their face.

“It’s possible. We’ll have to test if you can feel the Miraculous in different states and how close you have to be to feel them. But since you can sense Ladybug transformed, worst case scenario you can try and move throughout Paris during Akuma attacks and see if you can feel Nooroo.” Well at least she wasn’t being glared at anymore.

“Different states?”

“Well you can obviously sense us when our holders are transformed and when you can see us, but we don’t know if you can sense an inactive miraculous or a Kwami on their own if you don’t already know they’re there.” Ivy nodded. Yes, she’d felt the power Ladybug radiated but she hadn’t felt different sources. She wasn’t sure if it was because Tikki was so strong or the other’s had been dormant. None of the Kwami were on her now though and that raised a different question.

“Does your power rub off on her? Because she’s emitting a similar energy but it’s not the same as any of you.” Tikki narrowed their eyes at her. Great, she was on the shit list again. Didn’t seem to take much.

“It’s possible you feel the Miraculous themselves but more likely you’re simply sensing her natural gifts.” Ivy sucked in a sharp breath.

“She’s meta?” That meant she wasn’t registered. France was pretty particular about keeping track of them, especially in large cities. If they had one as a hero the European Justice League would be all over it.

“No, at least not the way you mean it. Any true Miraculous holder is innately gifted depending on which Kwami they’re attuned to. Once paired with that Kwami those gifts become more and more pronounced. Also anyone who holds a Miraculous for an extended period of time will develop abilities. The most common being longevity and intuition.” Yeah, that still sounded like a meta. Wait… they said gifts.

“You mean like a savant?” Tikki gave a thoughtful hum before nodding slowly.

“I suppose that’s a good comparison. It’s not usually quite to the extreme most people think of with prodigies but it is enough to be noticed in the general population.” The creature looked at the girl sadly. “She had an amazingly bright future… before the imbalance destroyed it.”

“Imbalance?” The question came from Selina. Ivy hadn’t even noticed that the other’s were paying attention to their conversation.  Plagg was scowling but Tikki just let out a weary sigh.

“It isn’t pertinent to the current problem. If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you.” Selina looked like she wanted to argue but a knock sounded at the door. All the Kwami just disappeared. At least they wouldn’t have to explain a bunch of tiny gods to the delivery person. Selina went to grab the food and the second she closed the door the Kwami all swarmed her except Tikki. Ivy couldn’t understand anything they were saying.

“Tikki!?” The startled shout caused all of them to look back at Ladybug who seemed about to have a panic attack. Tikki was trying to reassure her but the girl seemed not to hear as her eyes bounced between Ivy, Harley, and Selina. Finally Plagg flew into the girl's face, pulling her focus.

“Calm down kit. Trixx has an illusion covering you. They still only see Ladybug, I promise.” Her eyes darted to the other Kwami who were all nodding and smiling at her, then she focused on the table where the creatures had eaten and her face went red again. Ivy wasn’t certain if it was more embarrassment or anger.

“Plagg, what did you do?” Ivy cringed at the girl’s tone. It was an odd blend of rage, exasperation, and shame. Plagg’s ears actually drooped.

“We all need to be ready if you need to use us kit. Using more than one Miraculous at a time is hard enough without us being drained at the beginning. I understand why you don’t want to give us out to others but I won’t stand by and watch you kill yourself because you’re too stubborn to ask for help. You shouldn’t have to deal with this alone. You were never meant to.” The anger in the last few words was obviously not directed at the girl but she flinched anyway.

“I had to take you back. The power difference… and him revealing himself to the others forced my hand.” She sounded close to tears and all the Kwami swarmed her, offering comfort.

“You did the right thing and none of us think otherwise. My point is that you shouldn’t have had to. You shouldn’t have to be the only responsible one and you certainly shouldn’t have had your entire life destroyed for doing the right thing. Those brats left you to defend yourself even before they renounced their Miraculous. I still can’t believe they tried to blame it all on you.” The Kwami was getting more and more agitated and Ivy could feel their power pulsing.

“We all do what we can with the information we have.” More than one of the Kwami let out a frustrated breath at Ladybug’s defense. Selina looked ready to do murder at this point. So much for keeping their emotions in check.

AO3  Beginning   Previous    Next

Ko-Fi

Tags

@asrainterstellar @scorchdragon88 @arty-shadow-morningstar @toodaloo-kangaroo @solangelo252 @smolplantmum @jayjayspixiepop

[thefanficmonster]

Corpse Infested

Corpse Husband & Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Mentions of dysfunctional family, Family problems, Swearing

Genre: Humor, Comfort, Platonic fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: When your friend disappears for a long time, seemingly having lost interest in what fueled the most passionate fire in their life, you cannot not worry about them. Even if you wanna give them space, you will reach out, you will offer your help. You will tell them they always have you to rely on and talk to.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! I’m really sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post your request, but here it finally is! Hope you come across it and if you do I hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

For me, it’s never hard to find things to do. I’ve constantly got things on my mind and tasks to tend to, keeping me occupied and my mind focused at all times. I think that comes with living in a home as dysfunctional as this one. I honestly can’t recall a time when my parents got along nor can I think of a time where there was at least one second of peace while the two are both present in the house. It’s always a warzone up there. I’m saying up there because I tend to live out of the basement of their home. I know living in your parents’ basement is considered a peak loser point, or the bottom of the bottom, but you’d have to believe me when I say - I wasn’t always like this. In fact, I only recently came back to this hell-hole and boy do I regret it. I mean, it was a decision forced upon me by circumstances. Trust me, I tried every other option there was. When my dorm was to be closed down and demolished, we were given a notice to start planning our next move about a month early. You can bet I immediately started looking at places but my very tragic and miserable budget didn’t allow such a purchase. No rent was adequate for me and my near-empty wallet so my second option was moving in with my best friend who was also not in the greatest of situations but I thought I’d give that a shot too.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t work out. She lived in a tiny apartment with her boyfriend and his best friend at the time, so four people in one apartment was a nightmare. Still a lesser nightmare than this one but a nightmare nonetheless. Some unwanted and downright traumatizing events chased me out of that place after barely managing to pack my stuff. Therefore, finding myself on the streets again, I had no other option other than the obvious and least liked one: moving back in with my parents.

Making money during my first year of college hasn’t been easy. Working two jobs at once and also streaming video games on the side was what my time was filled with all throughout the first semester but then this damn pandemic started and now ruined everything for me. I had things going for me, I was slowly getting my life together and now it has all fallen apart yet again. The places I worked at closed down due to quarantine and I haven’t been able to steam, not only cause I’d be the victim of my parents’ comments but also cause my terrible home life would be exposed to all my fans and viewers. It’s not like I could cancel out the commotion going on right above my head, it’s a livestream and this house’s walls are cardboard thin meaning all the arguing I hear almost 24/7 will serve as background noise for my streams.

I haven’t reached out to my friends or fans to inform them of this which I feel slightly guilty about but I’m really not looking forward to having to lie to them, just as much as I’m not looking forward to having to tell them the truth so instead I’ve picked silence which is probably either worrying them or driving them insane. Either way, I’ll make my comeback soon.

Well....not very soon by the looks of it...

I have to gather the money, then I have to find a place, then comes the packing, moving out of here, moving into the new place...oh God, there’s so much to it that I don’t even wanna think about. Just that thought that I’ll be inactive for that long makes my stomach turn. Streaming’s where I’ve been channeling all my negative emotions, turning them into something positive and entertaining with the help of my friends.

Speaking of my friends, I should probably put emphasis on how amazing they are. Basically the older siblings I’ve always wished I had. I’m the baby of the group, the eighteen year old freshman in college, powering through life the best they can cause they are constantly getting tripped up by inconvenient occurrences such as this one for example. I tend to have the gang poke fun at me quite frequently - all lighthearted and with good intentions obviously - but they are also the ones to get super defensive if anyone gets the balls to talk shit about me. They’d never allow me to be the victim of any smack talk or online rumors and ‘cancel culture’ or whatever the hell people will come up with to leave others restless and wondering if they did something shady a decade ago. Well, to be fair, I didn’t even know about the concept of social media a decade ago and I’ve never been one to post much but I still have a protection squad in case anyone decides to come after me.

Little do they know the people I need protecting from are the very people that are supposed to protect me - my parents. Luckily, they don’t venture into to basement very often if at all and I have my own exit to the outside world so I don’t have to run into them unless I absolutely have to. The only time I emerge to the surface of the house - aka the ground floor - I do so to leave my share of rent money on the dining table and I usually do it when they aren’t home or when they’re asleep - that happens often with how many bottles they each knock back on the daily.

*sigh*...at least I don’t have to talk to them, right?

Anyhow, remember how I mentioned I always have things to do? Well, right now I’ve tasked myself with rifling through the large boxes containing random stuff I found in one of the basements down here to see if there’s anything I could possibly sell online. For starters, I’d like to hope there aren’t any severed body parts in here because this was one shady-ass basement before I moved in and un-creeped it a bit so I wouldn’t have to become an insomniac due to the paranoia of there being a homeless person down here with me or some paranormal entity. Regardless, old basements tend to be, apart from haunted, also filled with junk no one would find valuable despite it actually being worth something after all. That’s basically what I’m hoping to find at the moment.

As I dig through the contents of the first box, the YouTube playlist I have put on on my phone cuts off causing me to furrow my brows in confusion for a second before my ringtone pierces the silence the lack of music created.

I quickly mute the ringing and take a look at the Caller ID to see a name I never thought would pop up on my screen as an incoming call - Corpse. I, as well as many of our friends, know that he’s not the biggest fan of talking to people on the phone so this is rather surprising. Still, I pick up the call in case it’s not a mistake and an odd chance that it’s somethin urgent cause Lord knows Corpse doesn’t call people willy-nilly. 

Thank God it’s quiet up there at the moment.

“Hello?“ I try my best to cover up the confusion in my voice but I can only assume I didn’t do the best job considering Corpse replies with a slightly awkward chuckle.

“Surprised you, didn’t I?“ He asks, getting my cheeks to redden a bit, “You can’t blame a guy for calling after up and disappearing on him and on the whole internet. Where’ve you been?“

I open my mouth to respond when I hear the sound of glass breaking a shouted curse from upstairs.

Oh for fuck’s sake!

“Um...you know, places?“ I’m aware the answer isn’t only nonsensical but also sounds more like a question, but I can hardly focus on that right now. I’m too buys praying to an entity I don’t fully believe in for the situation above to not escalate.

“Uh, is everything ok over there? Where even are you right now?“ The teasing tone to his voice is all but gone at this point, replaced with deep concern, having obviously heard the commotion that did the exact opposite of what I prayed for - escalated.

“Y-yeah, it’s ok. It’s just another Thursday, you know.“ I attempt a small laugh but it’s blatantly miserable, “I moved back in with my parents when they announced the quarantine so that’s where I’m at now. They’re not the quietest of folks as you can tell so...“

“I FUCKING HATE YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I HOPE YOU DIE“

Oh crap, here we go.

“...So I can’t really stream a lot...or at all.“ I mutter, cringing with all my might, “But it’s only temporary! I’ll get back in the saddle as soon as I find another place to stay.“ I don’t dare mention how long that’s gonna take me, it’ll be too disappointing and depressing for the both of us. “So yeah...um...thanks for showing concern but there’s really nothing to worry about. I’m ok, everything’s ok, things are just...a bit off the rails, but I’ll fix em no problem. Like I always do!“ I attempt to sound as cheerful as possible with little success due to the overwhelming anger I feel towards those people upstairs and the gut-wrenching nostalgia for the world of streaming I can no longer be a part of because of them. Actually, I put the blame first on the pandemic and second on my parents - if it wasn’t for Covid I’d probably still be in my dorm!

“Hey...um, I think I know an affordable place where you can take up residence. Only if you want to, of course.“ He sounds hesitant but I easily overlook that as excitement bursts throughout my entire being at the sound if an escape being offered to me just like that. Had I known I’d find the solution to my problem in the very people I spent time avoiding because I was afraid of their pity, sympathy and judgement.

“Oh please, it could be a rat and roach infested shoe box and I’d go running to it. How much is rent?“ I ask through a gasp of hurried laughter that’s a result of my inability to contain said excitement. Listen, I’ve been sitting here in Hellsburg for three months now and haven’t gotten a proper shuteye during that whole period, whatever Corpse is offering has to be better than this misery.

“Rent can be discussed once you move in...“ He trails off, “And it’s not rat nor roach infested but there’s a slight issue...“

“Which is?“ I’m honestly expecting the worst: in a bad neighborhood; faulty wiring with a high chance of being electrocuted; faulty piping with a high chance of flooding; people have died there; things get randomly moved around in the middle of the night etc. However, I don’t voice any of them to avoid getting laughed at for my wild imagination.

“Well, uh, it’s corpse infested.“ He says a little awkwardly, causing me to let out an inaudible sigh.

So my ‘people have died there’ guess was on point, huh?

“People have died there, huh? Well, I can turn a blind eye to that as long as I don’t find their bodies in the closet or meet their spirits at 3AM.“ I attempt to joke, now second-guessing my eagerness to accept the offer.

Corpse bursts out laughing his ass off at my statement, getting me to furrow my eyebrows in confusion and wonder what I said was so funny - it was a poor attempt at a joke, it in no way deserves that sort of reaction, barely a chuckle in my opinion.

“You’re golden, Y/N, I swear.“ He says once he forces the laughter to subside, “I meant corpse infested as in Corpse Husband infested.“ He breaks out in another fit as my brain slowly starts connecting the dots.

Oooohh he’s asking me to go live with him

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait, hold up for a sec. Are you aware of what you’re offering me? I mean, we’ve never met IRL, you barely know me and....and for all you know I could be the serial killer in this situation!“ I have no idea why I’m pushing my luck, don’t ask. I just don’t want him to make a decision he’ll later regret, I guess. “Like, I could kill you in your sleep!“

“Would you?“ He asks confidently, silently stating he already knows the answer.

I roll my eyes, “Of course not! But...” He cuts me off.

“Great, the offer stands on my end. I’m not a noisy nor nosey roommate so I suggest you start packing. If you choose to live in that hell-hole over living with me, I’m sorry but I’ll be hella offended, just so you know.“

Corpse sounds like he’s about to hang up on me, a decision already made, so I hurry to stop him. “Wait! What about rent?”

“Fuck the rent, pack your bags.“ And just like that, despite my efforts, he hangs up on me.

Well...this is a chance of a lifetime that I know refusing would lead me to not only remain stuck here but also put me in the hugest loser bin. There’s also the fear of being Corpse’s burden which I’ll try my best not to be - I mean, I’m a super independent person and Lord knows that if this offer came any other time or from any other person, I would’ve declined asap, no discussion.

But streaming

But sleeping properly

But having a normal life again

Yeah those are most certainly the reasons I get up and go into the closet in search on my emptied suitcase. Time to fill it up again, I guess. This time with a smile on my face and excitement fueling each and every movement of mine.

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[emerald-amidst-gold]

Six Sentence Sunday

Thank you for the tag @oxygenforthewicked! 

I was hoping to have a chunk of lemon to share on this fine, but procrastination is a cruel mistress and I just started working on that section of this scene.

Mainly because my brain went, ‘ANGST!’, and thus the boys are having a bit of a battle. Solas being Solas and Fane being Fane. That’s all you need to know before reading~ >:3

---

“My sky..”, Fane murmured as he pulled Solas closer by the waist, nudging against a cheek with his nose and smiled sadly as the mage practically fell into him, finally abandoning a portion of their battle. Heavily damp arms came around to embrace him, and he responded by wrapping his own around a lightly spasming body. “...I know pain followed upon awakening. I know you had to do things that you couldn’t stand to do. And I know my actions cause you to worry. I’m sorry for that. A thousand times over, but it’s a part of me; devotion. Do you really believe it to be blind? That I follow like a dog on a leash, merely happy to receive a pat on the head and unquestioning? Or is it the fact that I can tell when you’re frightened that has you on the defensive?”

Solas burrowed into him more, hiding his face in his shoulder. “It is the fact that I lost my temper from something so minor that has me so distraught. Rather, it worries me. I am slipping more and more as impatience hounds me, as the hands of those I locked away grip me by the throat. My outburst brought forth bitter memories. Memories of a time where I was no better than stone, unfeeling and cold.”, he mumbled from dark cotton, hands clawing into that same fabric from behind. “...Furthermore, it is that you are so prone to absolving me of such behavior based solely on the fact of, ‘I love you.’ without the full context of the past. Where my own actions worry me, your’s frighten me, ma’isenatha.”

Fane sighed heavily, wrapping his arms around the slender form against him more tightly. “Now who’s blind?”, he mumbled under his breath before leaning down to lay a tender kiss on Solas' head. He smiled a bit as he felt legs shift against his own as the elf sought more of him, but it fell away as he shifted gears backwards. “That’s not why I’m always so prone to wading in the flames, Solas. I’m not absolving you because I’m love-addled and unaware, or saying, ‘You were definitely in the right/wrong’ because there is no right and wrong to me. I’m only doing what I should have done a long time ago; act and support. You deserve to have someone by your side, not wander the path alone, and I’m not leaving you alone.”

Solas chuckled ruefully. “Action is not preferable to inaction, vhenan. Have I not stated that to you many times? Devotion is harmless at its core, but when warped, twisted, it becomes dangerous.” The mage shook his head against his shoulder. “Do you understand that? Do you understand how sharp the guillotine is above your neck?”

Fane frowned a bit, tightening his embrace a fraction more. “I sense its presence every passing hour, Solas. But you’re not the one holding the rip-cord, waiting to pull, and neither is the devotion I hold.”, he said, eyes narrowing towards the fire behind, wishing to extinguish flames as they laughed at him in crimson and orange. “...The world is a cruel master to a dragon, worse than the Evanuris had been at times, and it holds the rope.”

“Then why tempt it?”, Solas questioned with an air of desperation, sounding even more so since it was muffle. “Why incite its ire, its gaze, for anything beyond your kin? Your nature?” 

His glare sharpened further as flames seemed to grow before his eyes. “Because I’m not a slave.”, he growled, tendrils of fire cowing at its cadence somehow, but he found it empowering, justified. “It’s my decision on whether or not I heed its call or ignore it. It’s my decision whether I find inaction preferable to action.", he continued, giving Solas a small squeeze when he felt the grip on his tunic tighten. He nuzzled under a pointed ear, letting out a tiny sigh when the mage’s hands twisted his tunic into tiny balls of fabric. “...And I don’t find it preferable. I’ll act. I’ll stay devoted. I’ll endure. On behalf of myself, my kin, and you. No matter the punishment the world decides to execute, and there’s nothing you could say or do that will ever scare me away or make me doubt who you are or where my heart lies.”

"There should be." A whisper, a plea for him to understand, to let go and abandon, but Fane would never. Not again.

"There won’t be.", Fane growled out low, digging his fingers into one of Solas' shoulders with a small frown. Why was he both cursed and blessed with the most stubborn elf known to man? “You advocate for the power of choice and individual thought, but what does it say when you try to decide my feelings for me? When you decide what I should think without taking a second to see my side? I can think for myself, Solas. So, stop doing it for me.”

---

*sips my soda* ...Stubborn fools, they are. Solas just wants Fane to stop being reckless. Fane just wants Solas to stop assuming how he should act. How it began: a bucket of water. *slurps through a straw loudly*

Tagging (no pressure, of course! <3)

@the-dreadful-canine @varric-tethras-editor @little-lightning-lavellan @noire-pandora @aymayzing @dreadfutures @rosella-writes and anyone else who’d like to share! :D

[uwua3]

puppy love!

🌸💌 usui masumi

summary: masumi adopts a dog at the end

dedication: kmf anon 💍 — masumi loves you so much!

warnings: enemies to lovers (very light mention), falling, swearing

author’s note: i decided to write this adorable fluffy piece for my friend about masumi & reader volunteering at an animal shelter together~ (꒪ω꒪υ) please enjoy this puppy love ft. a very cute dog who plays matchmaker between you two!

word count: 3,859

music: this side of paradise – coyote theory

let’s make one thing clear: masumi didn’t like dogs

they were too loud, they ran around all the time, and they were way more trouble than they were worth. masumi didn’t like dogs, dogs didn’t like masumi, it was a mutual understanding

so how did masumi end up adopting a dog? well, it involved a park, a dog gone wild, and one veterinarian-to-be at an animal shelter

like every day after school, masumi took the shortest route to the mankai dorms: straight through veludo way’s park during its busiest hour

unfortunately, it was crowded nearly every time his acting sessions were finished. kids played silly childhood games before eventually crying about a boo-boo only a mother’s kiss could fix. teens masumi couldn’t relate to held picnics with their friends to savor the last fleeting memories of their youth. even grown elderly were practicing their afternoon yoga on decade-old mats. overall, every single age group was present right when masumi needed to head home

it was nothing soundproof headphones couldn’t fix with his volume turned up (it was no longer at maximum, he winced at the memory of how loud his music was as a moody teenager) (now, he was a moody young adult, but still)

but, maybe if he didn’t have such high quality headphones, he’d be able to hear a very alarmed voice call out to him and the sound of four paws running

“sir! watch out for—”

masumi quickly was knocked off-balance, his headphones flew off his ears and were replaced by the texture of a wet tongue. gross... masumi cringed as he tried to keep hold of a wriggling, fluffy mess and its wagging tail slapping his face

“oh my gosh, i’m so sorry for chocolate!” masumi tried to keep his eyes open as two black eyes and a happy grin greeted him. this... was chocolate?

“chocolate?” masumi murmured, to which the rather large chihuahua barked back a reply as if it understood. a figure blocked the sunlight streaming down upon the duo, a flash of a white coat momentarily distracting him from the constant panting from the dog in his arms

“ah... i’m sorry once again. she’s usually never like this, i promise.” you promised, bending down to reach for chocolate. yet, when you attempted to gather her entire being, you struggled as chocolate seemingly clung to masumi with a whine

masumi couldn’t even complain as he stared at you with wide eyes. who were you and how did he not know you yet? he was so distracted by your presence that he almost forgot there was a dog desperately attempting to lick his face all over

you were about to call for chocolate before you met masumi’s eyes, pausing before a light blush settled across your face. why was he looking at you like that?

“a-are you okay, sir? did you hit your head on the way down?” you waved your hand in front of masumi’s face before he snapped back to reality, blinking as he held out chocolate to you

“no, i’m fine. but... uh, your dog won’t let go of me.”

you held onto chocolate’s stubby legs and pulled. she didn’t even budge as she started growling at the mere threat of being removed from this stranger. you raised both of your hands defensively, trying to appear like you were totally okay with chocolate practically being attached at the hip with a random person in the park

“i... honestly don’t know why she’s doing this. she hates people, well, except me.”

masumi didn’t find that hard to believe. who wouldn’t like you? barely a few minutes into meeting you and he wanted to know everything about you

“she’s not my dog, by the way. i volunteer at the local animal shelter nearby.” when you introduced yourself, masumi barely registered he was suddenly holding your hand and hoisting himself off the ground (it seemed impossible, but chocolate cuddled into him even more)

“are you interested in adoption?” masumi was thinking anything but that

“it’s—” “she.” masumi blinked again, looking back down at chocolate then you. “uh... no but she, she’s... nice?”

you couldn’t help but laugh, successfully prying chocolate off in the meantime as you didn’t have it in you to be upset with his half-assed attempt. “you don’t like dogs, i assume?”

“they don’t usually like me, that’s all.” masumi lied smoothly, forgetting he just had an anti-social dog attack him like they were family. you raised an eyebrow at that obvious fib, but didn’t press anymore after getting a secure hold on the dog’s leash

“of course. well, i’m sorry again for chocolate, mr...?” you trailed off, half paying attention and half struggling to keep the dog from running towards masumi

“it’s masumi, usui masumi.” he said, subconsciously stepping away whenever chocolate lunged towards his ankles. you frowned at this but didn’t mention it, apologizing again before taking your leave

was this it? was this the last time he was going to see you?

masumi watched as chocolate kept looking back at him with her pleading eyes. why did that little dog like him so much? he didn’t even have any food on him...

maybe, dogs weren’t so bad after all... especially if you were there

“wait!” masumi called out this time, jogging up to the bench where you were gathering all the daily necessities when walking a dog. you almost let out a sigh of relief when chocolate became masumi’s issue to handle

masumi didn’t know what exactly made him detour his normal schedule even more, but here he was, taking up every excuse to talk to you. you, with the large chihuahua

“do you need any more volunteers at the shelter?”

you couldn’t believe what you were hearing, you almost let go of chocolate’s leash again! trying to figure out whether this was a revenge prank or not, you couldn’t tell based off masumi’s serious expression

“what? i thought you didn’t like dogs?”

“no. i love animals!”

masumi didn’t love animals, especially dogs

but, of course, an animal shelter always needed more volunteers. after getting a very hesitant reference from you, they didn’t even do a background check on masumi before taking him in. apparently, “corg-key to your heart!” had been understaffed. lucky him!

conveniently you and masumi were scheduled around the same times for training, meaning his impulsive commitment wasn’t a huge waste of time. except, there was one thing

chocolate wouldn’t leave his side ever since his first day of volunteering

it’s like masumi was made of every food possible and chocolate was a hungry person looking for a buffet. it was impossible to separate the two, even when you were there!

(you pretended it didn’t hurt when you were no longer chocolate’s favorite, but it was very obvious)

apparently, ever since you started volunteering years ago, chocolate had already been there. she was practically ancient now and was still looking for her forever home

but she had never grown to like anyone, making it hard for people to adopt her. she only liked you (and now masumi)

so volunteering at veludo way’s animal shelter, “corg-key to your heart”, wasn’t on his to-do list, but here he was. all because of you who he wanted to get to know more

but... that was becoming hard when you were suddenly competing against him for chocolate’s love & devotion

but, not only did he adopt a dog, but he had won the key to your heart as well. all it took was four simple steps!

#1 — clean the cages

masumi had never smelt anything worse in his entire life. walking into the back of an animal shelter made him stumble back from how awful the stench was. you strolled in, apron on, as if it was nothing, greeting the animals by name at the beginning of the day

“what are you doing?” masumi pinched his nose closed, narrowing his eyes at the sudden barking when they sensed there was a new person in the room. you rolled your eyes at how wimpish he was being, ruffling a dog’s fur as you gestured towards the cleaning gear in the back

“these cages won’t clean themselves, you know.” you tossed a sponge and bucket at masumi, who caught it easily, much to your dismay. when he glanced at both of them, you tilted your head as he seemed confused

“have you never scrubbed the floor before?” — “wh-of course i have!” — “doubt.”

masumi pressed himself to the wall as you let all the dogs out, letting them run out into the field so they could get their morning meal time in. he huffed as you laughed, knowing you didn’t warn him on purpose

“get to cleaning or we’ll have to smell this forever.” you didn’t have to tell masumi twice before he started scrubbing, holding his breath for a minute at a time

after making the beds, sweeping, and cleaning up any other messes, you turned around to ask about the floors before seeing masumi nudge chocolate away. she had somehow escaped from her pack to sit by his side, to which he ignored

this was so unfair! you love chocolate! she was your favorite but she was completely ignoring you for someone who didn’t even like dogs!

when masumi looked up, he tried to smile but you looked away, suddenly very annoyed. masumi frowned, glaring at chocolate and her giant eyes

damn it! he was almost going to have a moment with you, but chocolate blew it! why did she keep getting in between you two...

masumi quickly became the only person capable of floor duty since chocolate would trail after him obediently

you mumbled about how masumi didn’t even deserve that love! how could anyone even love him like that anyways?

#2 — dog walks

masumi by no means was inactive. he was the typical athlete; he could throw a ball, run a mile, swim laps, anything under the sun. but, walking multiple dogs at once was a whole different league of its own

no one told him he’d have to make sure ten different leashes didn’t wrap around his legs and cause him to fall over. nor did he think all these dogs had this much strength to drag him over every square inch of the park he frequented on the way home. unfortunately, he was beginning to spend way too much time outside

masumi didn’t know how, but he’s been getting better at remembering everyone’s names. the dogs had their own distinct personalities and appearances, with a coordinating rainbow of leashes

apparently, you found this very amusing. at first, masumi only walked chocolate to get practice in, but he’s unfortunately leveled up to even more dogs. you got back chocolate, but you began to understand why her attention always went back to masumi

even if he wouldn’t admit it, masumi was a natural with dogs. he remembered their favorite treats like it was nothing and had a guiding presence, making even the most hyperactive breeds calm down every now and then. masumi was fast enough to catch any rogue dog and threw every frisbee far enough to catch their breath

masumi figured out you weren’t as annoyed at him when you had chocolate, so he was 100% willing to manhandle hundred-pound dogs to get your satisfaction

even if it meant falling over in the middle of the field when the dogs decided to merry-go-round his legs

when you looked up from your spot underneath the tree, you tried your best to stifle your laughter seeing masumi fall for the second time in this lifetime

when masumi dug himself out of the pile of dogs happy to be with him, he was faced with an open hand and a teasing smile on your face

“having fun down there?” you joked, before masumi took your hand, about to pull himself up before freezing. you wish you weren’t so obvious with how much you stared at him right then and there

both of you caught each other’s gaze, seemingly lost in each other’s eyes before you realized there was one less leash in your possession

“wait... where’s chocolate?!” (after a moment of panic on your end, all masumi had to do was call her name and she ran over. it’s like she planned this whole thing on purpose...)

you two made sure not to touch again to avoid another distraction, even if your shoulders and hands kept brushing on the way back to the shelter. whenever you two exchanged leashes, all you two could remember was the accidental hand hold

walking the dogs with masumi became much more difficult all of a sudden. if you looked at him, you wouldn’t be able to look away. masumi didn’t question why you stopped meeting his eye

#3 — welcoming homes

chocolate had been at the “corg-key to your heart!” shelter for the past decade or so

but, you were allowed to take her home every weekend so she could get a break from everything. when it was your daily time with chocolate, you exited the break room only to find masumi already with her

masumi, who was always reluctant to get too close to any of the animals, seemed to throw caution to the wind as he slowly patted chocolate. she laid in his lap, her head propped up on his thigh as she sighed contentedly

you knew you were always jealous of masumi and chocolate’s instant connection but this time, you felt an indescribable amount of feelings seeing your best girl with your favorite co-volunteer (did you just think that? when did that happen?!)

masumi looked up from his seat on the floor, a red hue tinting his cheeks as he looked away, unsure of what to do next. “sorry, seems like she doesn’t want to move.” masumi looked anything but sorry but you let it slide

you sat next to the pair, reaching over to fondly massage chocolate’s ears. she leaned into your touch and your heart practically melted at the sight. you were so consumed by love you didn’t notice masumi’s small smile at your affection

“today’s my day to take her home. though, i don’t know how she’ll react without you.” you laughed, knowing it was going to be hell to separate these two

somehow, someway, masumi and chocolate had become the ultimate duo. after chocolate laying on masumi scrubbing all those floors, the park playtimes (which were the only time she moved more than a few feet ever), and everything in between, they began to become friends

(yes, it was cute. yes, you were still envious. though, this time, you didn’t know of who)

“then you should let me visit tomorrow.” masumi suddenly said, his words rushed as if he didn’t mean to say them. you paused, unable to comprehend the fact masumi wanted to come to your house

“u-uh... why?” you watched as masumi ducked his head, fiddling with chocolate’s collar as if embarrassed. you had never seen him react so physically, you wondered if you were reading too much into things

“chocolate will miss me. plus, i... i want to see you outside of work, too.”

ba-dump! your heart swelled up with love again, this time a very childish and innocent type that came with crushes. did you like masumi? was this okay to feel when you two were technically not even official friends?

“fine. but, make sure to bring something as a gift for chocolate or i’ll kick you out.”

“i’ll bring her favorite treat, promise.”

when you brought chocolate home, you stared at her as she lounged around

“i don’t like him... right?”

even chocolate seemed unconvinced, and she was a dog

masumi somehow knew chocolate’s favorite treat, believe it or not

when he showed up with that premium type of ham, it made you feel some type of way. how much did he know about chocolate? about you? just how perceptive was masumi actually?

“i know we weren’t apart long, but... here, take this.” when masumi gave you a box of your own favorite food as well, you felt everything in your system shut down as you tried to comprehend how he knew this. when you thought about it some more and realized you also knew masumi’s favorites, you blanked

did you two just skip the friends part completely? how did you already know this much about a total stranger?

“t-thank you, come in!” when you invited masumi in, he seemed to fit right in. it didn’t take long before chocolate was all over him, immediately leaping into his arms and ignoring the ham completely (until she came face to face with it, then she couldn’t resist)

you two spent the majority of saturday’s afternoon together, retelling horror stories and all the craziness that came with the week’s volunteer work. unlike before when masumi was disinterested, his eyes lit up as he recounted his encounters with the animals

you leaned forward, eager to see him talk so enthusiastically about a subject you loved. when masumi finished questioning how active the dogs were, he did a double take when he noticed your stare

were you looking at him the same way he looked at you? masumi held in his breath, eyes flickering down to your lips then back up. before you two could move, chocolate barked, demanding more attention from both her closest workers

you two quickly snapped out of it, going back to coddling chocolate and making sure she was taken care of

next, you two decided it was time for her walk. as you held the leash, masumi walked ahead to make sure there were no sticks or stones in her path. chocolate trotted happily, enjoying the views of the quieter parts of veludo way

you two held easy conversation, the words flowing naturally and the tension that came with work faded away. you almost forgot why you were always irritated with one another at the beginning. as you were about to say something, chocolate stopped

you lost your footing and tripped over chocolate, about to crash land before a pair of strong arms caught you. you understood how all those dogs didn’t get away as masumi made sure you were okay, holding you up as you stared up at him

(chocolate sat there satisfied, looking at her two favorites and making sure to hide her smug face)

“be careful next time, i don’t want to see you hurt.” masumi revealed almost in a whisper, his voice soft as you nodded meekly. unlike before, you two didn’t separate in a flustered rush. instead, when you forced yourself off his chest, masumi took your free hand like it was second nature

“i’ll make sure you don’t fall again so don’t let go.”

when you looked down at your conjoined hands, you were certain you had fallen without him noticing

if only you knew masumi had fallen for you the moment chocolate knocked him over

#4 — fundraiser

you and masumi were workers at the animal shelter’s fundraiser of the month. each month, “corg-key to your heart!” promoted their animals to the public in order to raise adoption rates

you two arrived to find yourselves where it all started: the park. at the center of it all were colorful posters advertising the pets and a pristine white booth guaranteed to be stained by grass in a few hours

for the past few weeks, you both have been passing out flyers and posting news on social media to attract potential adopters. not only did that, but the funds would be helpful for the electricity and food bill coming up

turning up to a forming crowd was nothing short of excitement. you both sat down at the booth, clipboards ready and energy buzzing in the air over the possibility of the pets finding their forever homes

as the blue sky passed by and the conversation in veludo way’s park grew, you and masumi worked together to make sure this fundraiser would be better than the last

“come meet our furry friends! you’ll find your best friend here at ‘corg-key to your heart!’” — “you’ll love these dogs and cats! come meet them today!”

although both of you were typically more on the quiet side, you and masumi made sure to attract as much attention as possible for the animals. slowly but surely, people began stepping up and asking questions about the pets

everything was going smoothly. you and masumi went on & on about all the traits about each animal you both have grown to know and love, donations were coming in at a consistent rate, and the staff were managing the excited dogs well. everything was great, until...

“how about this one?” a man had come up to the pair, gesturing towards one of the few dogs who wasn’t receiving that much attention. chocolate pouted in her cage, eagerly looking for someone to play with as she wagged her tail

masumi stopped himself from frowning, instead crossing his arms and forcing his voice to remain neutral. he couldn’t let down the animal shelter like this

“her name is chocolate. she’s a 13-year-old chihuahua who loves food and sleeping more than anything.” after going into a whole spiel about how wonderful chocolate was, the man seemed even more convinced that she was the one

“well, is she up for adoption?” you were about to respond with an enthusiastic ‘yes!’ before masumi shook his head, putting on fake sympathy as he shrugged

“no, she’s not. you just missed her, sorry.”

when the man went away, you dropped your customer service smile and slapped masumi’s arm. “hey!” masumi quickly lowered his tone, looking around to make sure no one was disturbed

“why did you say that?! chocolate has been looking for a home for so long now. she could’ve had an owner!”

“but, i want to be her owner.”

you couldn’t believe it, you were unsure of how to respond. was this real life? did masumi actually just say he wanted to adopt chocolate—

“yes, i am interested in adoption. i know if she went away with him, we’d never see her again. i always want to be with her, i’ll adopt her.”

you threw your arms around him, pulling masumi into a tight hug. a part of you was sad you’d see chocolate off, but now this meant you two would be able to see one another even more! this was the best-case scenario!

“masumi, thank you so much! i’m so happy, i could kiss you right now!”

silence (even if the park was crowded). then, masumi leaned back just like that saturday walk back then

“then, kiss me.”

when you met him halfway, masumi realized maybe he didn’t dislike dogs as much as he thought

you were too loud, you ran around with the dogs all the time, and you were way more trouble than you were worth. but, masumi likes you, you like him, it was a mutual understanding now

dogs weren’t so bad. after all, masumi had to thank a certain dog for making him fall for you at the park

[indiaalphawhiskey]

I respectfully disagree with your last post (as an author). I’ve been in this fandom for 6 years and noticed it’s a little bit toxic when it comes to certain issues that should be normal and obvious to anyone.

I don’t get the “I choose the people I want to take criticism from” part. Ok, so why posting your work on a public page for independent writers where every subscriber will be able to read it and comment on it? Just send it to the people whose opinion matters to you and have a discussion about your work with them. If you post your work on a public page made specifically for independent writers, you are automatically posting it for everyone on that site. And every person has opinions on things and feels invited to express it if that particular thing is public and comments are open (I’m talking about respectful opinions, not slurs and offending someone).

If it was only for you and the people you actually want to get feedback from then wouldn’t it be easier to create an “élite” group where you read your work and then discuss it together? Because your post sends a very negative and exclusionary message to people that are reading your work for the first time or without knowing you as an author. It really seems like you are saying “dear readers, your opinion doesn’t matter to me so unless it’s positive I don’t want to hear it because this fanfic was written for me and this list of people.” Then don’t post it. But why making people feel excluded or bad because they did something normal just because they didn’t know it wasn’t written “for them” as you said in your post. And constructive criticism is just an opinion too as long as it doesn’t contain vulgarities, you don’t have to listen to it. Other’s opinion shouldn’t change the way you feel about your work but you also shouldn’t make them feel uncomfortable and bad for expressing it in a respectful way on a public page.

I know that authors on AO3 aren’t paid and that’s just for fun, but that’s what every page like AO3 is about: putting your work out there for other people to read with the possibility to express their personal opinion in a respectful way (I mean, you CAN disable the comments). Why making it public and then complaining and making other people feel bad for expressing their opinion on it? It’s not a diary or a personal Instagram profile.

So, first off, thank you for saying you respectfully disagree with me. I appreciate that you’re trying to be polite. 

There are many different ways I can answer this ask, because there’s a lot to discuss here, however, I’m exhausted by this conversation and have tackled it many times before, so I’ll link things when I see fit and get straight to the point.

My question for you is this: What is the purpose of you posting negative  (even though well-worded, polite, and tactful) unsolicited comments on a person’s fanfic? Why do you do it?

That’s not a rhetorical question, I really want you to think about the answer, because, for something to be called “constructive criticism” (which is specifically what we’re discussing here, versus the opposite “destructive” criticism) there has to be a point beyond just the fact that “it’s a public forum” and therefore, you feel entitled to express your opinion, whatever it may be. (That reasoning, btw, is called entitlement. No one said you weren’t allowed to have an opinion, but if you’re saying it to the author with no constructive, bettering purpose behind it, then at worst, your intent is to hurt them, which is just mean, no matter how politely you word it, and at best, you’re saying your opinions and preference take precedent over the author’s own.)

There are three reasons that I assume one can have when posting constructive criticism on work/art:

1. You want to help make them be a better writer, both now and in the future. 

I, and other fellow authors, explain why this doesn’t work here and here, and there are more posts about it like this one, if you need to hear it from voices that are not from the Larry fandom (which I assume you do, since you said this is a little bit toxic here particularly.) 

I encourage you to read all those posts, to get a better explanation in context, but the gist of them is this: for something to be truly constructive (synonym: helpful), the source, the timing, and the tact is key. Let me demonstrate: There is a difference between telling a friend while shopping, “I wouldn’t buy that dress, it’s not the most flattering on you,” and saying, while you’re out at a club, “Oh, that dress isn’t the most flattering on you, I wouldn’t wear it again.” -- Both are honest, worded politely, and both will achieve the same outcome: she will not wear the dress again -- but only one of them will cause undue stress, embarrassment, and self-consciousness (under the guise of being helpful), and that is all due to tact and timing. At the store, she can change into something else, and won’t assume you think she looks awful the entire day while you’re out. At the club, the damage is done, there is nothing she can do to change it, and you’ve just ruined her night.

The same goes for writing. I have seen people gracefully and willingly rewrite their entire first drafts based on astute and even harsh comments on their work, by their betas. I have never seen someone take down a fic and edit it based on a piece of constructive criticism given by a stranger on AO3. What I have seen based on that scenario, is people taking that criticism to heart and reflecting on whether or not they ever want to write again, because when they made themselves vulnerable, some people looked at it as an opportunity to ask for what would cater best to their own tastes, instead of appreciating the work as a true product of the author’s personal feelings and experiences. That results in less writers for the fandom, less content, and a whole lot of undue discouragement which is not something we want (nor is it actually constructive).

2. You want to engage the author in a deeper discussion of their work.

This is in direct answer to this part of your ask:

It really seems like you are saying “dear readers, your opinion doesn’t matter to me so unless it’s positive I don’t want to hear it because this fanfic was written for me and this list of people.”

You feel passionate (both positively and negatively) about my work? That’s lovely. I say, start a discussion with me. Ask me questions. Learn why I made those decisions. A discussion starts with an invitation to have a conversation (two ways, you say something, I say something, rinse repeat). It doesn’t start with “I didn’t like” or “This could have been better if”, and it certainly doesn’t start in a public forum, like the comments on AO3, where the writer runs the risk of looking like a defensive asshole. 

But India, you say, what if I don’t have the means to have a private conversation/the writer doesn’t have tumblr/they’ve long since been inactive in the fandom? The answers are, respectively: leave a polite comment asking if they’re willing to discuss, if they are willing to discuss, leave a polite comment asking how to contact them, and if they’re no longer active, find other friends with which to discuss your feelings in private.

But India, that seems like so much work. It is, flat out. But if you really felt that strongly about something I wrote, you would make that effort to understand it. Otherwise, why not just walk away?

3. You don’t know better.

I found this part of your ask extremely interesting:

“But why making people feel excluded or bad because they did something normal just because they didn’t know it wasn’t written “for them” as you said in your post.”

The reason I found it interesting is because it means that there are people who assume that all work that is public was made for them, to suit their tastes, which is, frankly, a bizarre way to consume art. I do not go into The Louvre, look at the Mona Lisa and say “I don’t see the hype, it’s not something I would hang in my living room.” I look at it and think “What does this piece say about Da Vinci and his life? What has this brought to the world? How has this helped people/art/culture?”

(No, I am in no way comparing my talents to Da Vinci, I am not delusional. But, I don’t think my work deserves any less thought than that of a professional artist, simply because I’m an amateur and it’s on the internet and not in a gallery, and you have the superpower of anonymity.) You asked me what the point was in posting my work publicly if I didn’t want to hear every single person’s personal (negative) take on it, and the answer is this: I post what I write publicly, because I hope it helps someone. I hope my thoughts, feelings, experiences, loneliness validate someone, entertain them, help them through a tough time, bring them comfort. I post because I want to invite people to lose themselves alongside me, heal alongside me, dream alongside me. 

(Notice how I said “someone” and not “everyone”. How I said “someone” and not “an élite group that discusses my work”, because yes, I do hope that my work positively impacts someone outside of my betas, my friend group. Does that mean someone can leave negative comments on my work? Yes. But should they? That’s a different question.)

I know my work won’t be a positive experience for every single person, but my goal was never to be relevant to every single person. So, my question is, if I’m not relevant to you personally -- if my work doesn’t touch you personally, heal you personally, entertain you personally, why not just walk away and find something that does? Who does your negative opinion really help? How is it constructive? What is its purpose? Why do you do it?

I will apologize for this, though: I spoke on behalf of all writers, and maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe I should have been clear that though many writers feel this way, not all do. There are some, such as, I assume, yourself, who do view negative comments on AO3 as constructive, whether or not they are solicited, and I’m sorry to have spoken on behalf of you. However, I do still stand by this, though: it is much better to be kind than be right, and that definitely goes for comments on fic.

[rpbetter]

Hi! How do you distinguish between a mun who has favorites but still treats their non favorites with respect, and a mun who has favorites but uses this as an excuse to disrespect everyone else? Sometimes it's hard for me to tell, and I'd love to hear what you think.

Hey, Anon! That's actually a great question.

It's also totally reasonable to have a hard time telling. When you feel like you might be a little more into the threads than the other mun is, no matter how much they're being respectful and caring, it can still feel a bit...lame. We all want to be a favorite writing partner, even as we know that's impossible, that we can't manage that ourselves. It's not a thing of logic!

I feel like I should probably preface the detailing I'm about to do - this is only my experience. There are always variables in anything dealing with other people, and any time we're already feeling down, it's really easy to see things in a way that might not be the reality.

Alright, then.

Muns who use this as an excuse or justification for what they're doing tend to be the ones that:

are likely to pair the excuse/justification with aggressively vilifying anyone who takes issue with their treatment of them for being too serious about RP/too emotionally invested in anything from friendships to ships/otherwise "not realizing it's just a hobby" - apparently, "hobby" actually means "you're not making a dollar, so, do whatever you want in whatever way you want, so long as it's making you and only you happy and comfortable," who knew?

will lead muns on, either because they're uncomfortable with telling those who are not the favorites that...well, they're not the favorites and they might wish to just drop the threads or because...

they have a bit of a habit of going through favorites/their favorites take frequent breaks or are slower to reply, and it's good to have other muns around for when either situation happens - it's okay if everyone else is bored and/or left out, but not them

become angry and defensive if you ask them about your thread(s) and/or if everything is alright after a reasonable period of inactivity only on your threads*

if they previously had OOC contact and/or a friendship with you, it's one pole or another of OOC behavior with you now - no contact/as little as they can possibly manage or they'll proceed like you also only want to have conversations about what is going on with the favorite(s), the ships, the threads, the fandom, the mun. Before anyone misconstrues this to mean that "so, no matter what they do it's sus lol," no. There is such a thing as neither insulting someone by having nothing else to talk about except the mun/muse/ship you're ignoring them for nor just stopping/avoiding conversation altogether. It's actually not normal or acceptable to treat people like disposable fixations or expect them to be thrilled or lie about it when you can't shut up about their replacement(s)

in general, if this mun just keeps making it apparent that neither you nor anyone else exists unless they're the favored mun? That's really it. That's the difference between having favorites and still treating other muns with respect - there isn't any respect, none of you exist to respect

*I'm not going to speak to what is reasonable to everyone, it's one of those things I think muns should mention to some degree in their rules, but with people taking it to mean things it doesn't, it's doubtful that's going to happen. (I encourage it, though, please, put in your rules when you'll ask about threads or if you'll assume there is no more interest and they've been dropped. "After one month of no reply and no OOC contact, I will either contact you to ask if you're still interested." No big deal!) For me, it would depend on the mun themselves, even if I've got in my rules that after x time, I will assume y. If this is a mun that has updated OOC that they're extra slow right now, and they're usually pretty slow, I'm going to just see that as them prioritizing preferred partners with what little time they have, that's not coming across as rude favoritism to me at that point. If it's a mun that has continued to reply as normal, posted no updates OOC, and they're specifically just replying to one or two favorites with that regular timing, I'm going to ask if they're still interested after a month or so.

The problem always is that, despite what the RPC likes to say for the same damn reason, we're all afraid to be acting on ridiculous suspicion and paranoia. We get treated a certain way, maybe it is once and it was just extremely bad, maybe it has happened over and over again, and we really do start seeing phantoms of ill-treatment. It becomes difficult to trust your own judgment and listen to your inner voice (one that, furthermore, is already at least a bit embattled by life on and offline).

These are only some points to help you trust yourself or disprove yourself if you already feel like there might be this problem going on.

If you have someone who could be impartial when given evidence, you might want to consider asking if they'd mind helping you identify if this is a problem or not. Don't mention mun names or even muses if you're in the same intersections of the RPC, you're not trying to smear anyone here, just get a different viewpoint that isn't touched by any negative or positive feelings about that mun!

I said "evidence," so, I want to be clear that I did not mean screenshots or direct quotes. Give situations, what the mun is and is not doing, as both are important.

Some questions that might help you identify things to present to a third party for help:

Are they replying to any of your threads, how about asks?

If/when they reply to you IC, how do they reply? Is it shorter than it used to be, unenthusiastic? Or is it the same, just fewer and farther between, or less interesting to you than what they're doing with preferred partners?

Are the plots they're doing with the favorite(s) ones that you previously had with them or that you had plotted out and were working toward? And if that answer is yes, are these common plots that can be applied anywhere or specific ones?

Is this all something that is perhaps temporary overexcitement, or has this just kept going on for months, shows no sign of stopping?

Did you speak/were friends OOC? If so, how has this changed? Frequency of messaging, topics of conversation, enthusiasm, interest in you or your muse?

Are you now left out of games on the dash in which you used to be tagged, or unwelcome in things like "dash crack?" Is it, by contrast, that you might be welcome in the latter, but either it doesn't interest you by inclusion/focus of the favorite or because you lack a base of engagement with what's going on?

Do they send you memes, has that changed at all?

The way you feel is valid, but it might also be influencing the way you're viewing a situation, including in how you relate it to someone else for help. So, try to stick to actions when doing so.

By contrast, muns who have favorites but are not using this to justify being disrespectful to others tend to:

be open and upfront about having favorites and why - they're not trying to hide anything, including what makes their favorite writing partners, threads, and ships favorites to begin with

^they are not "open and upfront" by obnoxiously reminding everyone constantly who those favorites are, they're not shit posting how @munthatisntyou is their bestie/their muse is lusting after their muse/actually my wife. They are upfront about it by stating in their rules they can, will, and do have favorites. They're open about it by not lying or acting like it's the worst accusation ever when someone asks them about it

definitely have priority threads, might have an easier, thus faster, time responding to questions/prompts regarding those threads/ships, but still respond with equal interest to memes from others*

the same is true of interest and turnaround time with thread replies, they might get the preferred ones out faster, but they're still replying to everyone and still keeping other muns updated on what's going on*

will not be hostile when approached by fair, politely put concerns about threads, but rather, will respond with honesty as to their interests - whether they have, indeed, changed or haven't alike

they still express the same interest OOC outside of messages, liking and commenting on posts, sending memes, and being concerned or congratulatory when they see OOC posts dealing with life events

in general, muns who just have favorites like everyone does remain aware of others in the same way they always have, still make efforts to respond to threads, memes, messages, etc. with the same interest they always have - they appreciate everyone they interact with, not only their favorite(s)

*Everyone has a different way that works for them, and that influences their meme answering, thread replying, and OOC response turnaround time. A very social mun might respond to OOC messages more frequently, reliably, and with more zeal than a mun who is less socially active, forgetful, or dealing with different difficulties that might prevent doing so, for example. As another example, a mun who writes lengthy, detailed novella that takes a while to finish is going to take longer with everyone than a mun who writes in a way, or just has more time to write, that allows for replies to get out faster. Please, keep expectations and observances mindful of these factors and differences! What is typical of one mun might be perceived as legitimate favoritism when contrasted with a mun who operates differently than them.

That's really the difference, there is recognition and appreciation of everyone. They might have a visibly different friendship with their favorite(s), but it doesn't come with the cost of treating everyone else either like they don't exist or like total shit. And that comes in many ways, as many ways as there are possible interactions in the RPC. From being casual mutuals who do not write together (still acknowledging posts etc.) to outright writing partners (still giving replies with as much effort and quality).

You can think of muns like this as you would people who have different sorts of friendships as opposed to people who have rather cliquey friendships in which it's often enough a clique of two in which everyone else, even if included or otherwise used by those two, only exists out of necessity. The former is a normal social situation, we get on well with the people we do for a reason, and that's perfectly alright. The latter is some immature and self-interested behavior one should have grown out of in junior high.

As you didn't ask for this, I'm putting it under the cut as additional advice for others!

If you feel like someone is being disrespectful, or worse, and is glossing it over with "it's okay for people to have favorites, calm down" (a thing that's totally true but not meant to be used to excuse shitty behavior), you really do want to just remove yourself from the situation. In a situation like that, you're not going to change their behavior, and even if you did, are you ever going to be able unsee it?

What is more likely to happen is you'll be growing the seed of upset they planted into a big tree of animosity. Every time you are on your dash and see them replying or tagging their favorite(s), you're going to be either hurt or angry. Eventually, it's impossible to separate which of those things you are, and it's increasingly likely you're going to say or do something regrettable. And I mean regrettable in how it is likely to negatively affect you. You don't deserve to be branded a terrible person for an outburst. The situation has been bad enough.

Whether you should soft block to unfollow and force an unfollow, hard block, unfollow with or without communication is all subject to too many variables for me to advise any single course of action.

If it's possible to communicate politely that you're officially dropping threads or unfollowing, I will always advise doing so. If that isn't possible because this mun has been that terrible, or has proven in the past that they will react badly to such communications, then so be it, just quietly remove yourself from their presence.

You owe friends, even former ones if they've not done you awfully, the decency of communicating that you're ending things. You owe mutuals who haven't done anything more than ignoring you (as awful as that is, it's not as bad as being aggressively disrespectful, lying to you, leading you on, etc.) that decency and maturity as well. You do not owe anyone who has behaved like an immature ass that decency, it's okay to just leave in those cases. As it is in situations when you feel confident that speaking to them is going to cause drama for you.

When a mun hasn't ever really interacted with you, you've become mutuals, but it never went anywhere because they were already engaged in ignoring everyone except the favorite(s), it's alright to just leave quietly, too. They clearly don't register that you exist, so...don't exist. Go exist around muns who know you're there. But the caveat to that should be that if they decide to notice your vacant spot on the dash and come to you to ask about this, you should answer them. Be honest, but polite. Tell them that you just didn't see working out with them after all, and since you hadn't interacted, you unfollowed.

You never know (you just shouldn't count on it), in that latter case especially, that mun might honestly not be aware of the effect of their actions. Like everyone else, they're just doing what they enjoy, what makes them happy is what they're concentrated on, and might genuinely just have a narrow field of vision on it until spoken to.

Whatever is right for the unique situation at hand, don't lie to someone if they message you about it. Don't just act like it was an accidental unfollow or a tumblr glitch, grit your teeth, and add them back so that there is no unpleasantness. There is already unpleasantness if you felt the need to distance yourself from them, remember that!

[jonathanvik]

Starlight Dream - Chapter 10

"I can't believe Takako duped us like that!" Colten said, fuming in anger. "We underestimated her, and she's gotten stronger!"

"It didn't fool me for a second." Mr. Kiyojiro said.

"What?!" Aiko, Colten, and Seina exclaimed in surprise.

Seina's bodyguard smirked. "It wasn't like she made it difficult. She barely acted differently than her normal self."

"I suppose." Seina blushed in embarrassment. The deception was obvious if you stopped to consider it.

Mr. Kiyojiro rubbed the back of his neck, his turn to be embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I allowed her to train with you because I thought she'd be a good rival to increase your abilities."

Her bodyguard's mood darkened, voice tinged with self-loathing. "I never considered she might team up with the vampires. It almost got you killed."

"Yeah…"

"It's fine!" Aiko said, trying to disrupt the dark mood that had overtaken the room. "She saved my life, remember? I'm certain we can become friends again."

"You want her back?" Seina said, annoyed. After everything, why was her friend so quick to forgive the dark magical girl? "She hates me, remember?"

"Oh, that's just Maeko, er, Takako, being her usual self. I'm confident she doesn't really hate you." Aiko puffed out her chest. "We had a lot of fun together, didn't we?"

Siena looked away. "I'm still not sure I want her around." While part of her understood Aiko's argument, the nastier part of her refused to forgive Takako's deception and betrayal. It was childish, but Seina couldn't help herself.

A weak smile appeared on Aiko's lips. "Okay, I can't force you to be friends. Still, open your heart to forgive her, okay?"

"Sure." Seina changed the subject, wanting to discuss something less painful. "I still have the entire day off. How about we celebrate my victory with some lunch? We still haven't tried that ramen place you recommended, Mr. Kiyojiro."

Much to her relief, this restored her bodyguard's mood, and he nodded. "It isn't far from here."

"Actually, could you go without me?" Aiko said.

Seina blinked. "You aren't hungry?"

"There's some matter I need to attend to. Go and have fun. I'll catch up with you later." Aiko gave her friends a wink. "And I'll come with a special surprise! Later." With a wave, her girl dashed off in the other direction.

"Okay," Seina said, after some reluctance.

"What's she up to, I wonder?" Colten asked, before shrugging. "More ramen for me! All that action has made me starving!"

A pebble fell over the bridge as Takako kicked it away. Since she'd ruined her day-out plans with Seina and the others, it left her little to do. Without Nier, she couldn't leave this universe, unable to escape her shame. It burned her that Seina had given her mercy. Not that Takako wished to die, but it was still a black mark, regardless. Her stomach rumbled, and she groaned, hanging her arms over the bridge's railing. Why hadn't she fought with her rival after they'd gotten lunch first?

Should I go back to Lilha's place and raid her fridge? Still, it meant encountering her former ally, and Takako despised seeing a reminder of her shame. Because of that woman, Aiko had gotten hurt, and Takako found she couldn't forgive herself for it.

Wonderful. I just realized something. Without Lilha, I don't have a place to live anymore. I'm homeless and trapped. Did this mean she'd need to live in a cardboard box by the river until Nier returned? Or live in an abandoned building full of rats? Takako grimaced when her stomach rumbled again. She gasped as someone pushed a bento box into her face.

Takako glanced up to find Aiko smiling down at her, carrying her own bento box. "You haven't had lunch yet, right? I thought I'd join you."

For a moment, Takako hesitated taking the lunch box. She hated taking charity. Was this some kind of trick? A way to mock her for her failure? Yet, Takako sensed genuine kindness behind Aiko's smile. Her stomach growled again, and she grabbed the box, grasping the chopstick inside.

"I don't know what you're scheming, but thanks," Takako placed her back against the railing.

"I just thought you needed a friend," Aiko replied, joining her. She gave thanks for the meal and dug into her bento box.

"Friend?" Despite her hunger, Takako still hesitated, staring at her meal untouched. "After what happened, I thought you hated me, like Seina."

"Hate you? Nah. I never hold grudges. Waste of time." Aiko waved a dismissive hand.

Takako only stared at the girl, dumbstruck. "Really?"

"And I doubt Seina hates you either," Aiko said. "She doesn't take betrayal well. She's had a bad history with it. Are you going to eat or what?"

Takako mentally slapped herself and gave thanks for the meal. She grabbed a piece of shrimp and bit into it before gasping in amazement. It was spectacular!

Aiko smirked when she caught her friend's expression. "I'm glad you like it. A really nice old lady down the street likes making them for people. She was a famous chef before the vampires came. We're old friends."

They ate in silence for several moments before Takako broke it. "She truly doesn't hate me? Maybe she should. She wasn't completely wrong." Seina's accusations still burned in her mind with its unwavering conviction.

"Yeah, she was right," Aiko said, nodding, making Takako wince. The girl caught her reaction. "What? I won't lie and say it's a good thing you've allowed people to get hurt through your inaction."

"Thanks."

"But I won't say you're hopeless either," Aiko said. "If you were evil, you would have allowed that brute to kill me. I don't believe anyone is beyond redemption regardless of their past actions."

"You're a marvel, Aiko. You know that?"

"Huh?"

"The others argued I was too dangerous to leave alive, but not you. After everything you've suffered through, I thought you'd be the first to condemn me for my sins."

Aiko snorted. "That's because I can see people's hearts. Besides, most people aren't evil regardless of what they've done. They just need to do better. Or, that's what my mom always tells me, anyway."

"What makes you think I want to be good?" Takako asked defensively.

"I'm not asking you to be a saint," Aiko said, snorting. "How did you even get into this magical girl business, anyway? You seem to hate it."

"You're not wrong," Takako said, admitting the truth. "I'm not like the other magical girls. I don't like hurting people. As for how I became one…" She hesitated. It wasn't a story she'd told anyone else before. It had been so long ago, Takako had almost forgotten it. No, that wasn't true. She hadn't wanted to remember. Yet, something about Aiko made Takako want to trust her.

After taking a deep breath, Takako began her story. "It began almost three hundred years ago. I was just an ordinary girl. Plenty of sass, sure. It drove my parents and teachers up a wall, but ordinary. One day, my fairy partner appeared to me while I was sitting on a bridge, not unlike this one. I'd had a fight with my parents and wanted to be alone. They wanted me to attend a cram school, and I hadn't taken it well. Nier, he offered me the universe with the power to do anything. I was so angry and frustrated with my boring, ordinary life that I accepted without hesitation."

"They told me magical girls exist to cause suffering, but I was more interested in exploring the cosmos. Some magical girls like to burn their homeworld as an initiation ritual to join the order. I just left and never looked back. I ignored my magical girl duties and went exploring." Takako smirked. "It annoyed Nier to no end, but the multiverse is a beautiful place.."

Takako's mood darkened when she remembered the next part. "I'm immortal, and the cosmos is a huge place. When I finally remembered to return home, over four decades had passed. Everything I'd known had long disappeared. My brother already had teenagers, and my parents had long since passed. My disappearance devastated them. They never really recovered."

An unexpected tear slid down her face. "They loved me so much. They did everything to find me. Every day my disappearance tormented them, and I was gallivanting around the universe. Our relationship wasn't the best, but I loved them." How had she allowed herself to forget it? She'd been such a child. Aiko grabbed her hand and squeezed, giving Takako some measure of comfort.

"After that…" Takako trailed off.

After learning about her parent's fate, she ran away again, unable to bear the reality of what she'd done. It had been too painful. Her brother would be long dead now, forgotten by history. She had never even visited his grave. Takako couldn't deny Seina's accusation. She was cowardly.

"It's okay." Aiko pulled her into an unexpected hug, and Takako cried into her shoulder. Long suppressed emotions spilled out like a burst dam.

After several minutes, Takako wiped her eyes. "I'm such an idiot. Look at me. I'm a mess." Yet, the cry paradoxically felt good, not realizing how much she'd needed it. Aiko continued to say nothing, using her presence to comfort her new friend instead.

"I suppose once you grow accustomed to being alone, you forget how good it is to be around people," Takako considered her relationship with Neir. Could she even really consider him a friend? It pained Takako to realize she couldn't answer that question.

Aiko smiled and nodded. "That's true. But remember, you aren't alone. You have Seina and me."

This made Takako flinch. "If she'll even take me back."

"She will. Just give her time."

A horrible realization came to Takako's mind. "I've basically betrayed our order! The other magical girls won't tolerate such treachery." And her fairy partner would have an aneurysm.

"You haven't told them about Seina yet, have you? After your first fight with Seina, we'd assumed you'd returned home."

"No, but Nier went to Starlight Dream to gather more info about Seina's weird powers. She shouldn't be that powerful. He might have told someone." Takako sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter, regardless. My report about this universe is super late. They're bound to send someone." They tolerated Takako's laziness, but only to a point.

Aiko clapped her hands together. "That's no big deal. Together with Seina, I'm sure you'll make an unstoppable team!"

"I'm only a lowly grunt. You have no idea how powerful the Devil Princesses and their minions are." Wait, had she just resigned herself to betraying Starlight Dream?

No, I suppose I don't want to go back. They're a bunch of jerks, anyway.

"Can you teach Seina how to better use her abilities? She's been trying to learn magic, but it hasn't really worked out."

"Maybe? I'm surprised she hadn't already. Normally, magic comes intuitively to magical girls. She has her weapon already. It should be enough." Another oddity about Seina. What the hell was she, anyway?

"It's something, I suppose. But we can worry about that later." A mischievous smile appeared on Aiko's face. "In the meantime, how about we go shopping as we planned? I really want to see that trendy place I mentioned earlier. And I have a fantastic idea to help you get back into Seina's good graces."

Takako blinked. "Really?"

"We'll get her a cute purse. It will be a great makeup present."

"Okay." Takako shrugged and quickly finished her bento box. "I'm actually in the mood for some shopping." Even if she bought nothing, Takako loved trying on cool outfits. Besides, it would be fun to go out shopping with someone. Nier hated doing it and whined about every single time.

Aiko beamed, grabbing Takako by the hand. The girls giggled as they ran towards the shopping district. Takako's heart felt lighter than it ever had in several centuries.

"Yo, we're back!" Aiko waved as they entered the training dojo, her hands full of bags.

It had taken several hours, but they'd found several outfits Aiko was certain Seina would love. After their shopping session, they'd gone back to Aiko's house, and Takako had spent the night over. Aiko's parents had been very kind, treating Takako like a second daughter. It surprised the magical girl how much she'd missed having an adult fret over her. Plus, Takako was beyond grateful she didn't need to spend the night on the street. Aiko's parents were happy to have her sleep over anytime. It gave her a home base while she considered things.

Takako still wasn't certain she wanted to turn against Starlight Dream and the Devil Princesses. It was an insane risk. Yet she couldn't stand the thought of anyone hurting Aiko. She'd at least train with Seina for the time being and get stronger. Their fight had reminded Takako how far she still needed to go.

"Oh, so you brought her." Mr. Kiyojiro said, scowling when he spotted Takako.

"Uh, hi." Seina gave Takako an awkward wave, not eager to see the dark magical girl, either. Colten watched the unwanted newcomer with suspicion.

"We brought gifts!" Aiko said, beaming, and pushed bags into Takako's hands.

"What?" Takako suddenly became self-conscious. Aiko wanted her to present the gifts to Seina? Her friend gave an encouraging smile, and Takako steeled her nerves. Here goes nothing.

"Here, I got you these," Takako said, voice stiff. "I'm sorry for what happened. It was wrong for me to betray your trust like that."

Seina accepted the offering, peering into the bags. Colten joined her, peering over her shoulder. The girl's face brightened when she lifted the purse out.

"It's so cute! Thank you!" The purse had stitchings of lotus blossoms sewn onto its side. It had taken many shops to find it.

"There's more in there, too. We found you this sundress you're sure to love!" Aiko gave a wink.

"Huh." Seina peered deeper into the bags.

"Do you really expect a purse and a few dresses will make up for your past transgressions?" Mr. Kiyojiro gave Takako the stink eye.

"Yes, actually. Stay out of this. These are girl matters!" Aiko said, matching the bodyguard's glare.

"It's a start, at least," Seina said.

"It's not bad." Colten gave Takako an encouraging smile, accepting the apology.

"Don't expect me to help you fight against other magical girls," Takako said, trying to regain her cool factor. She couldn't allow her rival to see her as going soft. "But we aren't enemies anymore either."

"Everything is mended!" Aiko nodded in satisfaction. "Now you can train together again."

"Uh, actually." Seina rubbed the back of her neck, embarrassed.

"Yeah, I'm Seina's new training partner!" A giant brute with a mohawk walked into the gym. "The name's Masato Shibata."

"What?" Takako said, baffled. Wasn't this one of Lotus Butcher's goons? The memory of the fake magical girl still caused her to stutter in horror.

"We couldn't find anyone else." Mr. Kiyojiro didn't seem pleased by the idea either. "Some vampire was threatening girls to not train with Seina, and they're too scared to argue."

"Don't worry, sensei. With my Fist of the Scorpio, Seina skills will be unstoppable!" Masato smacked the bodyguard across the back, earning a further glare from him.

"No, we're sticking with karate." Mr. Kiyojiro replied without compromise. "Besides, you literally only know one move."

Masato coughed into his fist. "Well, they kicked me out before I could learn much else. But I've supplemented it with my own self-taught techniques."

"Your useless self-taught techniques you mean." Mr. Kiyojiro shot back.

"Now, let's not fight," Seina said, trying to avoid a bigger argument. "We're glad to have him, regardless." Though this was an obvious lie.

"I'll prove my worth, you'll see," Masato said.

"Hey, what about me?!" Takako said, unable to hold back her frustration any longer. They'd replaced her with this lug?! It was beyond an insult!

"You've lost your right." Mr. Kiyojiro said, crossing his arms. "I don't see any reason why I should train you any longer."

"Give her another chance!" Aiko's glare intensified.

"No, I'm not changing my mind on this." Mr. Kiyojiro said, refusing to budge.

"Forget it! I don't need these guys!" Takako stormed out of the room. It twisted her insides when Seina didn't move to stop her. Only Aiko loyally stood by her side.

"Damnit!" Takako kicked a trash can, which made a satisfying thud when it crashed to the ground.

"Those two." Aiko rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I can't believe how uncompromising Mr. Kiyojiro is! The jerk!"

Takako's entire body sagged. "I guess they don't want me around."

Behind them, someone coughed. It was Seina. "He means well, but Mr. Kiyojiro is hard headed sometimes. So, uh, sorry. That could have gone better."

Seina fidgeted on her feet before gaining the courage to speak again. "I really enjoyed the time we trained together. I won't mind continuing our training, but it won't be full-time or anything. Though, I'm not sure I'd be a great teacher."

"Seina." Takako said, lost for words.

Aiko beamed, glad her two friends were mending their differences. She suddenly turned thoughtful. "Actually, I have a better idea!" The two girls gave her an expectant look.

"How about Takako finds her own master? Then you two can spar in your free time. It's a great way to hone your skills. Besides, karate doesn't really suit Takako, anyway."

"You're a genius!" Besides, Takako had hated training under Mr. Kiyojiro, not liking the subtle disapproval he radiated whenever she was around.

Seina nodded in approval. "We can meet together in one month's time and spar to see what we've learned! Without powers, of course."

"I'll be there!" Takako would beat Seina, but in her own style.

While she hadn't become friends with Seina, Takako valued their rivalry. It brought some excitement to her usually dull magical girl life. They extended their hands and shook on it with Aiko's hand sitting on top of it. Takako couldn't wait for next month.

Still, it offered a burning question Takako hadn't considered until now. Where would she find a new martial arts master in a ravaged world barely recovering from the vampire's evil reign?

When she asked Aiko about this, the girl only smirked. "Don't worry. I have plenty of contacts. They'll find you something."

"Okay," While still unconvinced, Takako wouldn't argue the point. Her upcoming battle with Seina sparked a fire within her, and she was eager to see what awaited her down this strange new path.

[de-profundis-ad-astra]

Next Chapter | Project Masterlist

Word Count || 3.5k Author’s Note || These first two excerpts I’ll be posting aren’t exactly chapters, but they’re not quite a prologue either--primarily because of their length. But it’s an introduction to the story and the world and the characters nonetheless. After these first two parts the excerpts will be much shorter; I can’t be giving you all the information about the project ;)

Anyway, enjoy!

Kerri Stevens gripped the edges of the lectern and braced herself for a fight.

“We are on record for review of disciplinary case D08-493214. Please present yourself for the panel,” said a man in a charcoal gray suit, his voice echoing through the spacious, mostly-empty chamber.

From their perch at the elevated, curved table, the four members of Kerri’s disciplinary panel had her well and truly surrounded. The looks on their faces suggested they, too, were here for a battle. Calling upon every ounce of confidence she had, Kerri straightened and faced down the panel of suits.

While it certainly was not her favorite place to be, if she was here, it meant her prison sentence was about to come to an end at last.

The high-ceilinged council chamber was all but a new environment to Kerri. At first glance, it appeared warm with expensive wood paneling tastefully integrated with the modern interior and well-lit atmosphere. She knew, though, that looks did not match the grim nature of several meetings held here. Her job had called her to Austin, Texas frequently as a representative of her region for new inductions, retirements, and the occasional, dreaded, dishonorable discharge. Today, the chamber was empty, save for Kerri, the panel, and a lone guard standing near the only entrance into the room. Whatever was said today would be for her ears, and her ears only.

Drawing a deep breath, she willed her racing heart to slow, and answered, reciting the words she’d been rehearsing over and over again to herself since that morning. “Kerri Lynn Stevens. Call number: 493087. Codename: Foxtrot. May it please the panel, I move to present a defense.”

“If we were interested in hearing a defense, Agent Foxtrot,” another voice, this one from the center of the panel, chimed in, “we would have called for a hearing less than thirty-six hours after the initial infraction.” Kerri’s handler, Director Lawrence Ward, closed one of the buttons on his immaculately tailored midnight blue suit. “Not wait three months.”

Kerri gestured towards the first speaker of the meeting. “As Director of the Southern Reach, it was Director Shaw’s decision to authorize such a severe consequence without providing me with an opportunity—”

“The motion was decided outside of your presence, Agent,” Director Shaw dismissed with a wave of his hand. “We will not be hearing a defense.”

Kerri said, “I followed every directive from the panel without requesting an audience for three months when probationary periods, historically, have been half that or less. Does that not merit an explanation? Or a chance to present my side of the story?”

Director Ward lifted a hand before Shaw could respond. “Why do you push so hard for this motion, Agent?”

Kerri leaned into the podium, the quick flex it required of her muscles stimulating the blood flow necessary to cool the burn that seeped into her muscles from inactivity. “It’s never been denied in the past.”

Bracing his forearms on the long table, Director Ward leaned forward and regarded Kerri through narrowed eyes. “So you would assume that we should continue to follow protocol down to the letter, even when you, yourself, seem to think you are above such things?”

Kerri swiftly backpedaled, “I never meant to assume—”

Director Shaw bade her to be quiet. “The panel determined that your continuing disregard for expected conduct in the field was grounds for increased severity of disciplinary action. We will cover the specifics at the designated time. Concerning your defense: your obedience to directives as a result of your ongoing behavior warrants you no such privilege.”

Kerri’s mouth opened and closed several times over, searching desperately for a response but finding none. None that would be to her benefit, at least. The cavernous room remained unvoiced for another moment, the fluttering of turning papers from the panel filling the void before they turned back to her. She sought out Director Ward for solace, but found none in the hard lines of his face.

She said directly to her handler, “Director—”

“This is a review of your disciplinary case, and nothing more,” said the woman to the right of Director Shaw. Her nameplate identified her as Adeline Kim, Director of Active Agent Relations. “We are not here to listen to your agenda.”

Kerri bristled. “If helping others sounds like an agenda to you—”

“You broke protocol to fulfill needs that were not pertinent to your direct orders, Agent, did you not?”

Kerri, desperate to get a word in edgewise, huffed, “I’d say they had some relevance.”

“Now is not the time to play Devil’s Advocate, Agent. Did you, or did you not, break protocol?”

Everyone already knew the answer to that question, which made it redundant and, most infuriatingly, unproductive. Time and time again, the panel seemed to think that making Kerri confront and acknowledge her disobedience in the field would prevent her from putting herself in this position again. And yet they always seemed to find themselves here, each side waiting for the other to relent only for nothing to change. They were better than this. She was better than this.

She had taken accountability for her actions. Just not the way they might have wanted her to.

Kerri clamped down on her tongue before she could say any of that out loud. Doing so would only put herself at greater risk for more punishment. She strangled her features into neutrality, straightening her back as she faced down the panel of directors.

It was futile to hope that she could hide her true intentions here. Everyone here knew her secrets without her having to open her mouth.

Which meant lying would be pointless.

“I did.” Kerri squared her shoulders and stood with as much authority as she could muster before the imposing panel.

Kerri had been in this position enough times to know that controlling the room was a hopeless endeavor. So she clung desperately to what she knew she could control.

Director Ward pressed, “How, precisely, did you breach protocol?”

Kerri masked her groan with a sigh. “I deviated from the mission plan.” She stuck to the facts. “It was not a misinformed decision. I did it of my own free will.”

As she said it, Kerri looked towards the remaining member of the panel. Director Rachelle Frost had supervised her training during her earliest days in Legion. If there was anyone who could vouch for her, it would be Frost. The look she gave Kerri was unreadable before she made a note on her legal pad. Kerri felt her confidence wane at the gesture.

Ward’s voice called her back to the present. “And this, deviation, was to interfere with bystanders, correct?”

“I specialize in defense,” Kerri replied. “Shouldn’t my priority be the wellbeing of the people we’ve sworn to protect?”

“We aren’t looking for your mission statement, Agent. Answer the question.”

That was it.

Kerri snapped, “If by interfere you mean assist with the evacuation of a collapsing building, then yes, the deviation involved dealing with bystanders.”

“Do you understand the risks associated with your actions, Agent?” Director Kim sounded as exasperated as Kerri felt.

Averting eye contact, Kerri drummed her fingers against the underside of the lectern. “Yes, Director,” she said through a wired jaw.

“Elaborate for us, please.”

It was as if they wanted to humiliate her.

“Because my actions have again put Legion at risk of exposure.” She resented how robotic her voice sounded as she delivered the answer.

“Again.”

Director Ward’s voice was a low force. Kerri’s stomach tightened, the sensation drowning out the otherwise distracting thought of whether she’d have been able to hear him if she’d elected to not wear her hearing aids that morning. What was worse was the way he said it as if he was embarrassed on her behalf. Embarrassment which then transferred to Kerri. Clenching everything from her jaw to her knees, Kerri began keeping count of her deep, even breaths.

Director Kim said, “This is your fifth offense of this caliber in the past five years you’ve served in this capacity. Legion cannot continue under this pattern, nor can we afford to keep erasing any documentation of you every time you wander in front of a camera.”

“This manner of conduct can be forgiven once, maybe twice,” added Director Shaw. “The only reason you are still standing here is because Alpha has determined that you are more of an asset than a liability when you do follow directives. She is concerned that the scales may be tipping out of your favor. This kind of behavior is unacceptable from someone in your position.”

“All due respect,” Kerri said, “but are those who share my rank not expected to make challenging decisions when faced with a crisis?”

“Those who share you rank, Agent Foxtrot,” Ward countered, “are expected to make those challenging decisions in order to see their missions accomplished. Not go out of their way to get caught on camera.”

“So you would  stand by and watch innocent people die over something they can’t control?”

“Agent!”

The moment she said it, Kerri knew she’d crossed a line. But the blatant disregard for human life was something she refused to stand for.

Director Kim said, “People die in the name of the greater good frequently, Agent—”

“Not if they don’t know what they’re dying for!”

“And you must understand that there is nothing we can do to change that!”

Kerri went silent, absolutely stunned at the ignorance of the panel. Was there anything she could say to remind them that what she had done was good? Perhaps against instructions, perhaps dangerous. But those whom she’d saved from an untimely death or lifelong physical ailments might have told a different story.

Though three months had passed, she still remembered clearly how it’d felt to be inside that building—wood crackling and popping all around her, her eyes streaming from the onslaught of smoke, sparks and tongues of flame licking against her hands when she reached for a trapped child. Heat filling her lungs until she thought she might burn from the inside out. But most importantly, the frightened screams and cries from others. Frantic coughing and hacking  from those without proper protection. The terror etched into their faces… and then relief. Relief that, because of her, not all was lost.

Yes, she understood that she could not keep everyone she came into contact with from dying. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. It was her duty, the duty her employer, to try.

That was the Legion she’d signed up for. The tales of daring heroism, the best of the best fighting for peace, woven for her by her father on the balmy Texas nights. Not… this political mess.

Ward’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Do you understand, Agent Foxtrot?”

Despite her efforts, she could not wrest back the memory that took her back to fire and rot and decay and the crushing guild that she could not save them all.

No. She did not understand why she faced punishment after punishment for doing the right thing.

Letting out a long breath, Kerri forced herself to nod. “I understand, Director. I will improve my conduct where it is necessary.”

“Make sure those improvements align with your code of conduct, not your personal morals,” Ward sniped.

In a perfect world, those two might have overlapped. But they hadn’t hired Kerri for her morals, apparently, just her ability to shoot straight and win in a fight. She stared straight ahead and strangled the urge to scowl at her handler.

“Commitments to improve are well and good,” said Director Shaw, “however, this panel is not in a position to turn you loose and trust you to not cause any more problems.”

“What can I do about this?”

“Ward.”

Director Ward pushed a slim, manila colored folder to the edge of the table. The motion drew her attention to where he sat. Her gaze flickered back and forth between the file and her handler’s face, which was still heavily shrouded with an emotion she could not entirely place.

She felt her heartbeat thrum over her body. Another assignment? So soon after being cleared?

His hand remained flat over the cover of the folder. “You swore an oath to support and defend our corporation. To bear allegiance to us and no others. Do you still swear it?”

Anxiety—equally powerful and equally terrible—filled Kerri’s chest. “I do.” She forced her voice to remain steady.

“You swore to serve as a living example of this organization’s philosophies and beliefs and to uphold these values at all times. You took this obligation freely and of your own accord. Do you still swear it?”

Freely. Of her own accord. “I do.”

“Do you swear to give yourself wholly to this assignment and swear to complete the request of its commissioner?”

“I do.”

Ward removed his hand from the file and said, “You may approach the table, Agent Foxtrot.”

Slowly, Kerri stepped around the podium and approached the panel with slow, stiff steps. What normally might have filled her with a sense of honor and duty was now tainted with doubt and uncertainty. She felt acutely aware of every pair of eyes on her, burning hotter and hotter with each step that took her closer to the table. Ward gave a small nod as she took the file. She quickened her pace as she walked back to the podium and settled the file against it, eager to be as far away as possible from the ones who held her fate in their hands.

Flipping open the folder, Kerri was immediately faced with the image of a smiling woman. Her skin was pale, smooth, which brought out the green of her eyes and the mane of bright red curls framing her attractive face.

She turned the page over, and found in the following pages little information outside of basic information and demographics about the stranger. The panel waited, scrutinizing every action as Kerri skimmed the folder.

“What’s the assignment?” asked Kerri after finding nothing indicating why, precisely, she was looking at this woman.

“This,” said Director Ward, “Is your newest target.”

Kerri’s stomach flipped. She knew precisely what that meant.

Almost four years had passed since her last commission for an assassination in her five year career. Overall, she’s only ever completed two. One as a part of her initiation trials to earn her Name, and a second one year later. Both had left a bad enough taste in Kerri’s mouth that she’d requested to only be assigned to them if it was a last resort. Shockingly, Legion had obliged her. It seemed it was time to break that streak.

But she imagined they’d start her out with something small, quiet. Literally anything but an assassination.

She had to tread carefully, moving forward. Everyone was on edge. “All due respect,” she said slowly, “but perhaps this is a job better suited for someone not just cleared to re-enter the field.”

“We don’t have the time to call in another Named Agent to an area already occupied by one.” A beat passed during which Ward rubbed his chin. “I expected more enthusiasm from you about being put on a job.”

“I am honored by the panel’s show of trust in giving me an assignment with such a high degree of urgency.” Kerri looked down at the photograph inside the cover of the folder. Her target’s smile was so broad, so unlike the headshots from her previous assassinations which contained scowls and frowns. She looked, shockingly, friendly. “But what has Charlotte Moore done to earn a hit from us?”

Indeed, there was nothing in the file indicating that Charlotte had done anything so abhorrent that it warranted Legion’s attention. Her criminal record included little more than a few cases of petty theft and arson. Since when did they concern themselves with such relatively minuscule matters?

“Everything you need to complete your mission is in that file,” said Director Ward. “Can you show us that you can do your job?”

Although rare, it was not unheard of for agents to turn down assassinations. Kerri was a living, breathing example of that. Her jobs, which tended to focus on protecting life rather than ending it made her more likely than the average operative to do so. It was an interesting thing to be said of someone who worked for a company willing to kill others in the name of world peace.

And she might have said no, were it not for her audience. There simply was not enough information in the file for Kerri to accept a job with such heavy ramifications in good conscience. She was already on such thin ice as it was, she wasn’t willing to take the risk of saying no when tensions already ran so high.

Kerri’s eyes snapped up to Ward’s as she bit back, “Of course I can.”

As if sensing her discomfort, Director Shaw said, “Understand that all we are asking, Agent Foxtrot, is that you complete the assignment as it has been given, and there will not be an issue.”

Kerri’s fingers clenched around the lectern so hard her knuckles hurt. “An issue with what?”

“Given your acts of impotence in the field over the past half decade, Alpha has decided that it is in Legion’s best interest to move up your re-evaluation concerning your standing as a Named Agent.”

Terror wrapped its icy claws around Kerri’s chest and clenched, driving the air from her lungs. Every five years, Named Agents were put through a series of evaluations and assessments as a means of checking their skills and overall functioning. The results were used to make a recommendation concerning whether that agent was in good enough standing to continue serving in such a demanding, high profile capacity. Really, it was just a fancy way of saying “are they fit enough and sane enough”. Kerri’s evaluation, which had been scheduled for the end of this year, had hardly crossed her mind, until now.

At her silence, Shaw added, “Consider this a test run.” His tone was not warm. “Complete your mission with no infractions, and we will consider moving forward with considering you for a renewal of your credentials. If you fail, you will be immediately discharged.”

The world stopped spinning beneath Kerri’s feet. Gripping the lectern for support, she looked at each member of the panel. Nothing in their faces, their posture, indicated that they were being facetious. She actively struggled to maintain straight, untangled breathing—her mouth and through suddenly bone-dry.

After all she had done. All she had given to these people, this organization, this was what it came to?

A new voice, this one female, spoke up, calling Kerri’s spirit back into her body, “Perhaps this is a consequence we should reconsider, Director Shaw.”

“You have something you would like to add, Director Frost?”

Director Rachelle Frost straightened, pursing her plump lips into a line. She glared at Director Shaw with eyes so dark they seemed black. “I had the privilege of overseeing Agent Foxtrot’s training in my facility. She was one of my youngest and fastest graduates. She has done more than enough to earn her title.”

“It’s no question whether she earned her title,” said Kim. “That is separate from being worthy of keeping it.”

“Losing her would be a detriment Legion. I would recommend that the panel considers a customary demotion.”

Shaw said, “The order came directly from Alpha; she did not ask for the panel’s input on the matter. Agent Foxtrot has become too much of a liability to consider keeping her around, even in a smaller capacity. Our job as a panel is simply to pass the motion.”

Kerri pushed her hands into the podium, exerting as much pent up energy as she could without physically leaning into it. Doing so would only call more attention to her. Her lungs suddenly felt too small for her chest, and her breath came out in short, patchy puffs. Charlotte Moore’s face stared back up at her, her green eyes seeming to pierce into her as if she stood there in the flesh. Kerri swallowed when she felt her breakfast crawl back up her throat.

“All in favor, say aye.”

A chorus of ayes filled the empty space, punctuated by a single nay. As the echo faded from the chamber, Kerri felt she was truly in danger of emptying her stomach onto the floor.

“The motion passes,” said Director Shaw, flat. “Do you understand your task, Agent Foxtrot?”

With trembling hands, Kerri flipped the folder shut. Though it covered Moore’s face, she still felt her eyes burning into her through the thick cardstock. She hoped the podium covered her movements well enough to conceal that small detail. Her voice felt oddly detached from her body when she said, “I understand.”

“Best work on getting the color back into your face, Agent,” said Ward without a shred of sympathy. “If you’re serious about keeping your job, you’re going to have to watch her die.”

Despite her best efforts, she could not muster the strength to look away from her handler’s face. She locked her knees, pleading with her body to stop shaking.

“We want a confirmed kill in seventy-two hours. Get it done.”

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[gukyi]

love, guaranteed | kth

summary: with the celestial ball quickly approaching, kim taehyung is horrified to find out that you, his best friend, are dateless. to remedy this, he initiates The Match Project, a matchmaking service designed to find the most optimal date. to you, it’s an opportunity to meet someone else so you can stop pining after your clueless best friend. to him, it’s an opportunity to finally, once and for all, tell you how he feels.

{hogwarts!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: kim taehyung x reader word count: 11k genre: fluff + light, slow angst warnings: this is an idiots to lovers fic a/n: [distant screaming] [police sirens] oh god what is this !!! it couldn’t be.... a ... a fic ?????? just kidding, it is! just a reminder that i am still on hiatus and will be for another month, so inactivity should be expected. other than that, i am on break this week so i figured that while the inspo was rolling i’d write something !!! only jungkook’s au left and then we’re done .. my god.....

“I’m retiring,” Kim Taehyung says as he collapses on the worn yellow couch in the Hufflepuff common room with a dull, pillowed thud. You listen as he exhales, like he’s trying to rid himself of fifty years of pent-up aggression despite being a seventeen-year-old still finishing up his secondary schooling. From where you sit by the table under the window that overlooks the gardens, you can make out the tip of a tuft of golden brown hair and his old leather loafers, which aren’t so much loafers as they are feet-covers, considering how tattered they look. Every time you tell him to invest in a new pair he says that with only half a year left in this uniform, it’s absolutely not worth it.

You don’t really have the heart to tell him that if he plans on becoming a wizard psychologist like he wants to be, he’ll probably need to get a new pair anyway.

“Who’d have thought,” you muse from where you sit, placing the handcrafted wooden bookmark that Taehyung made you in second year into your book to save your place, “that after seven years of toil, trouble, and general stress, it was the decorating committee that took the great Kim Taehyung down. Write it in the history books.”

“I’m serious, Y/N!” He exclaims, swinging his legs off of the couch to assume a sitting position. “I’m done. It’s over. The decorating committee and I are breaking up.”

“Can you do that?” You ask with furrowed brows. Taehyung always makes everything sound so much more devastating than it actually is—one of his many talents—so you can’t imagine this, whatever it is that went down during Celestial Ball preparations today, is really going to change anything. “I mean, you are the head of the committee. I don’t think quitting is an option.”

“Says you,” Taehyung says like he’s about to prove you otherwise. “See, you don’t think quitting is an option because you’re one of those people that ‘doesn’t give up’,” he says, putting the phrase in air quotes like that’s supposed to mean anything. “Unlike me, an intellectual who knows when to quit.”

“Taehyung, you’re literally the head of the committee. You campaigned all throughout the fall semester to earn the position even though you were a shoo-in to get it because the only other person that wanted to do it was that one colorblind sixth-year,” you remind him with a roll of your eyes, as if he needs a refresher. All he could talk about over the entire summer break was how much he wanted to decorate for the Celestial Ball and give the Great Hall one of those Muggle home renovations. “Not to mention you had me, your incredibly loyal best friend, go around putting up your campaign posters instead of doing my Defense homework like I was supposed to.”

“You know I love you,” Taehyung says with a pout.

“The seventy-three I got on the test the next day says otherwise, but out of the goodness of my heart, I will believe you,” you say, teasing. You get up to sit down on the couch beside him, leaning back into the cushions against the armrest as you place your feet on his lap.

“Oh, did you get new socks?” Taehyung asks when he notices your mustard yellow socks. One of your other Muggle-born friends bought them for you over break as a Christmas gift as sort of a gag gift, considering they just have the word BITCH written all over them. “I like them. They suit your personality.”

“Do you have something to say to me?” You say, offended. You reach out to kick Taehyung’s chest to defend from his personal attack. Unfortunately for you (and fortunately for him), Taehyung takes your outstretched leg as an opportunity to go in for the kill, leaning over to tickle the underside of your knee, a place he knows is one of the most sensitive parts of your body.

(It’s a long story. To sum it up, in the third year the two of you were studying together before it somehow turned into a play-fight that ended with the other students threatening to call Sprout as the two of you were cry-laughing so hard.)

Immediately, you burst into giggles and start squirming, but Taehyung’s an actual demon out for your blood and his fingers follow you, even as you worm your way off of the couch to escape his evil clutches. Being ticklish is a weakness and a curse that only the truly sadistic like to capitalize on.

“Taehyung, oh my God, stop! Taehyung, please, I think I’m about to—” With a thud, you land on the rug beside you, the force rumbling through your body and knocking the wind out of you. Taehyung bursts into laughter instantly, clapping hysterically as you glare at him. “You are the highest form of demon possible. I just want you to know that.”

“Voldemort is quaking,” Taehyung jokes, making you laugh despite the fact that there is no sinking lower than tickling a ticklish person. He’s lost a couple points because of that. “Come on, come back up here with me.”

“You’re a demon and I hate you.”

“Please,” Taehyung begs, sticking out his lower lip and blinking because he knows it’ll get you to do anything. It’s how he convinced you to traipse around the castle campaigning for him even when you had a Defense Against the Dark Arts test the next day. He could get away with murder with that expression.

“Fine,” you cave almost immediately, because you’re nothing if not a sucker for him. “What was it this time?”

“With the decorating committee?” He asks. “Oh, nothing much. It’s just—no one can agree on anything and we only have a month before the ball. Like, today for example, we had a thirty minute debate on whether to have velvet curtains with satin lining or satin curtains with velvet lining. And all of the sixth-years say satin curtains because the shimmer they’ll give off in the candlelight is sort of like stars and it’s a Celestial Ball, but velvet is much more seasonally appropriate, in my opinion. It’s a February dance! We can’t have summery fabrics like satin at a winter ball. That’s just not how it’s supposed to work.”

“Have you maybe considered, I don’t know, silk?” You ask.

“Silk curtains!” Taehyung cries with such disdain you never realized how much of a problem someone can have with fabrics. “You wound me, Y/N.”

“Fine, not silk, then,” you say, backing off. Clearly you have no eye whatsoever for decorations for Celestial Balls so you should just leave it all up to Taehyung, the master. “But just for the record, I think velvet will look much nicer. And if you get crushed velvet, it’ll still glow in the light! Best of both worlds.”

“Y/N,” Taehyung declares, an epiphany in his eyes as he turns to grip your shoulders, “you’re a genius. Did you know that? An absolute fucking genius! Those sixth-years are gonna piss their pants when we get crushed velvet curtains. What would I do without you?” He says, collapsing back into the cushions with a satisfied grin.

You laugh. “Probably end up with satin curtains with velvet lining.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “The sixth-years are so annoying. All they were talking about today was finding a date for the dance. I mean, who cares about dates? It’s all so superficial, anyway.”

“I’ll bet they’re all planning to ask that one Slytherin, Park, out. He’s a real hunk, according to all of the underclassmen, I hear,” you say.

Taehyung scoffs. “Last I heard, Park was flunking Muggle Studies.”

“A hunk indeed,” you muse. “Has anyone asked you to the ball yet?”

“No,” Taehyung says with a flick of his hair for emphasis. “Everyone’s probably waiting because they’re too scared to be the first one. I can’t help how much the people love me.”

“Believe me, I know,” you say, muttering under your breath with a sigh. Taehyung’s charming and wonderful and perfect, but no one has fallen victim to his games quite like you.

“What’d you say?” Taehyung asks.

Quickly, you search for a cover-up. “Just that people are probably waiting to see if your ego will shrink before they commit themselves to that.”

Taehyung pouts, nose scrunching up as he pinches the side of your torso in response to your teasing. “Has anyone asked you?” He asks, changing the subject before you have the chance to bruise his ego again.

With a shrug, you shake your head. “No. I’m not really someone people ask to balls.”

“Hold on a second,” Taehyung says, standing up for emphasis. Oh, God. “Are you telling me that no one, not a single person, has asked you to the Celestial Ball? With only a month to go?”

You frown. “You don’t need to rub it in, asshole.”

“You’re saying,” Taehyung continues, “that you, my stunning, intelligent, funny, witty, talented, sarcastic, legend of a best friend, are dateless? Impossible.”

With that, you feel your cheeks heating up a bit from all the praise, something Taehyung is usually much more sporadic and lowkey about. Every now and then he’ll quietly let it slip how much he admires you, and how much he treasures your friendship, but this is like flinging a bucket of water in your face with how bold and upfront it is. Always a dramatic.

“Yes, well, the joys of being yours truly,” you say with a smile, accepting your life for what it is. There’s only one person you’d ask to the dance, and he doesn’t even know it.

“This is blasphemy! It’s an outrage! It’s—”

“If you’d like to do something about it,” you say as you grab your book and head up to your dorm for the night, “then be my guest. But you know that I’m not a big fan of the whole dating-for-the-sake-of-dating thing.”

“You’re giving me your full permission to find you a date for the ball?” Taehyung asks like a child given a blank piece of paper and a brand new box of crayons.

Your eyes widen slightly at what Taehyung’s insinuating, but even if he is a devil who tickles people for his enjoyment, you know that whatever he’ll end up doing probably won’t be too bad. Hopefully.

With a final turn, you meet his eyes and warn him. Just so he knows who’s really in charge here. “Don’t make me regret it, Kim!”

He grins.

Taehyung has been nowhere to be found all day.

Which would normally alarm you, considering his infectious personality and his constant need for human interaction. If you haven’t seen your best friend all day, your instinct is to assume that he’s dead. There are plenty of things inside and outside the castle that could kill him in an instant. Just one of the caveats of attending a magical school on the top of a secluded mountain.

“You’re allowed to worry about him, you know,” Sowon says as she bites into some corn on the cob beside you without a care in the world. She was one of the first friends you made in Hufflepuff house on the first day, even if Taehyung did end up securing the spot as ‘your annoying best friend’ in the end. “He is your best friend.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to seem too clingy,” You say, attempting to reason this out. “I mean, he’s probably fine. He’s never died before, so I don’t really see why I should be concerned now.”

“Yes, because nothing says consolation quite like the fact that he’s never died before so you don’t need to worry about him dying now,” Sowon deadpans, butter on the edge of her lip. “You’re one of the smartest students in the House and yet, I’ve never seen you be as unreasonable as you are when you’re talking about him.”

“I am not being unreasonable!” You cry defensively. “Look me in the eye and tell me that Taehyung’s died before. I dare you.”

Sowon rolls her eyes. “You going to the ball with anyone?” She asks, changing the subject probably for the sake of her own sanity.

“No,” you say, shrugging. Not unless Taehyung has anything to do with it, which, judging by his absence for the entire day thus far, doesn’t have you feeling too confident in your response.

“Let me ask a different question,” Sowon says like some sort of goddamn wizard psycho-analysist, like she’s about to read your palm and tell you your future. “Is Taehyung going to the ball with anyone?”

You sneer, narrowing your eyes at her because you hate when she plays this game. It’s because she always wins, no matter how much you try to block her path. Losing sucks, but losing because the other person has this annoying habit of always being correct is even worse. “No, but I don’t wanna hear it, ‘Won. You know I don’t like conforming to the whole heteronormative dating culture thing.”

“I get that, but you’re telling this to a lesbian who’s trying really hard to convince you to muster up enough courage to just—Ask. Out. Your. Best. Friend. Not because you need to conform to gender and sexuality secondary school dating bullshit, but because you’re in love with him!” Sowon exclaims, punching you in the shoulder just for good measure.

“Now look who’s being unreasonable,” you say pointedly. “We’ve made it through seven years of friendship romance-free. I’m not gonna fuck it all up.”

Sowon practically crashes her head against the wooden table.

“Besides, why should I take responsibility for the fact that he’s wonderful and hilarious and endearing and one of my favorite people in the whole entire world? That’s his fault,” you add on.

“This is why I hate talking to you,” Sowon says. “You have no idea what things could come out of you telling him.”

“Y/N!”

The both of you turn your heads to the doors of the Great Hall to find none other than the devil himself, Kim Taehyung, standing in the entryway with a giant piece of posterboard in his hands. He’s waving wildly in your direction, making you smile guiltily at Sowon as she glares at you, a single eyebrow raised.

“Oh, God,” you hear her mutter to herself as Taehyung proudly marches over, the gigantic poster in his hands not the least bit obtrusive.

“Jesus, Tae, is this what you’ve been doing all day?” You ask as he places the posterboard in front of you and Sowon—it’s a tri-fold, now that you’ve got a better look at it. He jumps over the table so that he can stand on the other side, like a salesman trying to pitch you a deal with a fancy professional display and everything.

“Hey, Sowon,” he says with a grin, making her salute in response. “How are you?”

“Losing brain cells.” She frowns, turning to you slightly as you grin helplessly and stupidly. Before Taehyung has time to ask her to elaborate, she gets up. “I’m going to go do something that makes sense in my mind, like Wizard’s chess, or my Potions work. See you guys around.”

“Wait, Sowon, don’t you wanna see what I’ve created to help Y/N find a date to the dance?” Taehyung asks. She glares harder, if that’s even possible.

“No, I’m alright,” she says with a forced smile. “Not to rain on your parade or anything, but I’ve given a bit of advice to Y/N to help her on her quest, if she so chooses to listen to me.” Another pointed stare. “I’ll see the both of you around, alright? Good luck, Y/N.” She does give you a friendly wave and a peace sign to make up for the verbal damage she’s been spewing out at you for the past twenty minutes about unrealistic things like Telling Taehyung How You Feel and Asking Him Out on a Date.

“Alright, your loss!” Taehyung calls after her before immediately directing his attention back to you with a devilish grin on his face. “So, Y/N. I bet you’ve been wondering what I’ve been doing all day.”

“Uh, not really,” you say, a lie meant only to curb his ever-growing ego.

“Well, I’ve spent the entire day thus far devising a foolproof plan to find you the best date for the ball, no exceptions. This has a 100% date-guarantee and if you don’t end up with one, then you get your money back,” He says confidently, fingers itching to open the tri-fold and reveal the glory waiting within.

“Wait, hold on a second, I’m not paying for this am I—?”

“Presenting: The Match Project!”

Taehyung flips open the sides of the tri-fold to reveal a bright pink background, littered with glitter and hearts cut out of red construction paper, stars and sparkles made out of that glitter glue that you can write with. It looks like Valentine’s Day ate his posterboard, vomited it back out, and then ate it again. At the very top, in gigantic red and gold letters, it reads: THE MaTCH PROJECT, the “a” suspiciously small and in lowercase, like Taehyung wrote the whole thing and then realized he was missing a letter.

The entire thing is particularly overwhelming, if you’re being honest. You don’t think Taehyung’s ever put this much effort into anything in his life. He’s got hand-drawn charts and graphs littering the sides and a survey taped to the middle of the board, front and center. On it, questions like “On a scale of two left feet to royal prince, how important is proper ballroom dancing to you?” and “If the conversation dies, what random topic are you willing to bring up to keep it going?”

“What on this godforsaken Earth is this, Taehyung?” You ask, in shock. You stand up to look a little bit closer, admiring the obvious dedication that Taehyung put into this creation. The tri-fold is covered in evidence that it’s Taehyung’s work, from the missing ‘a’ to the smudged writing, to the flecks of silver and gold glitter that covers his fingers, face, and hair and makes him shimmer in the candlelight of the Great Hall.

“My work of genius, obviously,” Taehyung boasts. “Listen, Y/N. I spent the entire day developing a matchmaking survey system to find the perfect date for you, as selected by me. Anybody I match you with will have a 90% or above approval rating by yours truly, because I would obviously never let you go out with someone that I don’t think is the most optimal match for you. What do you think?”

He’s probably waiting for you to say something like “Taehyung, you’re my hero!” or “This is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever done,” or any other comment that normally comes out of your mouth when he’s being his dramatic, overzealous self, but instead, you say this:

“You did all of this for me?”

And it does something that very seldom you’re capable of, which is rendering him speechless.

“Well,” he falters, trying to find the words. “I—Yeah, of course I did. You’re my best friend. Why wouldn’t I?”

He makes you warm on the inside, you realize. Like the sun is rising from the inside out, like summer and spring are blossoming from within your chest, spreading outwards like flower petals and a hazy breeze drifting through the sky.

“So let me get this straight,” you say quickly, shaking any ridiculous thoughts from your mind before your staring becomes too obvious. “You made an entire matchmaking service just so that you could find me a date to the Celestial Ball?”

“I would like to remind you that you gave me your full permission to do so. I’m just saying,” Taehyung points out, as if you don’t already know exactly what you’ve signed up for. It’s Taehyung. Of course you know.

“Something that I am beginning to regret already,” you tell him, overwhelmed at the effort spared in an attempt to find you a date for a measly school ball.

Taehyung scoffs, shaking off your concerns with a wave of his hand. “You’re just a hater, Y/N. I spend my entire Saturday curating the perfect matchmaking survey and no ‘thank you, my lord and savior Kim Taehyung?’ No ‘I owe you my firstborn child, Kim Taehyung?’”

“What are you, Mother Gothel?”

“I’m surprised you even know who that is,” Taehyung says pointedly. “Come on, Y/N,” he pleads, dangling a small piece of parchment in front of your face. “I made like, fifty copies of this using just my wand because this school doesn’t have printers for some godforsaken reason. I nearly set my entire dorm room on fire.”

With narrowed eyes and a suspicious smile lacing your features, you snatch the parchment out of his hand, tearing it slightly as you take a closer look at the questions. It seems, largely, quite legitimate for something that’s the creation of a seventeen-year-old Hufflepuff who still gets lost in Hogwarts despite it being his home for the past seven years. Other than some of the stranger questions such as “If you could be killed by anything on Hogwarts grounds, what would it be and why?” and “The Ministry of Magic is wrong—surprise! Change the classification for one magical creature and explain,” the survey is mostly standard, things about “Describe your ideal type” and “Do you have any House preferences (you may pick more than one)?”

“Fine,” you mumble, making Taehyung pump a fist into the air in success. “But only if you fill it out as well,” you declare, grabbing one of his many copies and stuffing it into his chest. “You’re dateless too, aren’t you? I’m sure there are plenty of wizards and witches hoping to be matched with you through your mysterious matchmaking algorithm.”

Taehyung clutches the paper against his chest, looking at you with a smug grin. He opens his mouth. Smirks. “Deal.”

That night finds you sitting in your bed, amongst your textbooks and essays and study guides, staring at the The Match Project survey that your best friend forced into your fingers earlier. It’s blank, but Taehyung’s been pestering you about it ever since you got your hands on it, popping his head in and out of the common room to remind you to fill it out. The questions are so easy, so perfectly Taehyung in every way that they could be, and yet, completing the form seems more difficult than ever.

You could always just tell Taehyung how ridiculous this entire thing is, and how much you don’t care about having a date to the Celestial Ball, but you can’t bring yourself to. He went through all of this effort—made a whole fucking tri-fold posterboard and nearly set his room alight in the process—and you’ll be damned if you don’t do this one thing for him.

Besides, Taehyung going on this epic quest to find the perfect date for you is nothing if not the perfect sign as to how he feels about you.

“Don’t tell me that this is what Kim has gotten up to,” Sowon’s voice interrupts. You turn to find her leaning against the frame of the door, holding a piece of parchment that looks particularly familiar in her hands.

“He gave you one, too?” You hum to yourself, amused at Taehyung’s antics. He certainly is going all out for this.

“Not so much gave as much as forced into my hands, but yes, it seems so,” she muses, walking over to take a seat beside you. “I must say, it’s quite comprehensive.”

“That’s Taehyung for you,” you say. “But he must know that we have no intention of being paired up together, so I can’t imagine why he’d give one to you. Other than to gloat, which is a frequent hobby of his, in case you haven’t already noticed.”

Sowon turns to you with a scoff, flipping some of her hair behind her shoulders. “You don’t know?”

Know what?

“After Kim showed you… whatever it is that he showed you, the whole thing gathered a lot of press. And I mean a lot, too,” Sowon explains, making your eyes widen. Nothing good ever comes from Taehyung receiving more attention than necessary. “Like, he set up a whole table outside of the Great Hall with that god awful pink posterboard and there were fourth and fifth years running up to him to grab surveys to fill out and he was putting them all into individual piles based on preferences and—quite honestly, I’d never seen him so popular and organized all at once. I swear he even managed to give one to Park, which shocks me because I’m pretty sure he has a thing for that one really quiet Puff in our year, the one that doesn’t talk.”

“Hold on,” you say, brain attempting to process everything Sowon’s just laid out in front of you. “You’re telling me Taehyung has somehow turned this ridiculous matchmaking service into a business?”

“I’m serious,” Sowon assures you. “I’m pretty sure I saw someone give him money, even if Kim does seem the type to enjoy setting people up together like this is the 1800’s just for the hell of it.”

You collapse back onto your bed, feeling old study guides and torn textbook pages fold under the pressure. “Jesus Christ.”

“You should fill it out,” Sowon tells you with a nudge. “Who knows? Kim seems like he knows what he’s doing. Maybe you’ll meet someone that will actually get you to move on from him,” Sowon tells you, that annoying thing called reason ringing in her tone.

“If only,” you sigh.

“Come on, Y/N. You’ve been hung up on him since the day you met—don’t you think it’s time to try and branch out? Have you ever been on a real date? Like, a real one. None of this ‘we went to Hogsmeade together that one time’ bullshit.”

Your silence is all the answer Sowon needs.

“If you don’t make any attempts to move on then do you think you’ll ever be able to?” She asks you pointedly. You are damn well aware she knows the answer to her own question. “Or, you could fill it out and hope that Taehyung realizes every answer is about him.”

“No. Absolutely not. No way,” you immediately tell her.

“Then just try,” she says, shaking your shoulders for emphasis. “Who knows, you might end up finding someone you really enjoy spending time with. And if you don’t end up finding a date to the dance, you can always hang out with me. We’ll have a blast and we’ll trash talk every boy in our lives. How’s that sound?”

“Fun,” you grumble, not sounding like it’ll be very fun at all.

“Good,” Sowon says, satisfied. She stands up to head back downstairs to the common room, but before she does so, she points at you accusingly. “But you have to fill out that survey and give it to Kim. I’ll make you. And you know that I can be even more unbearably persuasive than him, so you better.”

With that, Sowon flutters down the stairs to leave you collapsed in a pile of papers and quills and books, staring at the survey in your hands.

Fine. If Sowon’s so insistent that you either tell Taehyung how you feel (not happening) or try and move on (a more likely scenario), then you may as well go all out. It’s not as though Taehyung will put too much thought into what you write down. For all he knows—friends is all you’ll ever be.

A deep breath, inhale and exhale. Where it says, “Do you have any House preferences (you may pick more than one)?” you mark down, in sharp, permanent, heavy black ink:

Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor.

“There he is,” you exclaim happily as you walk into the Hufflepuff common room, having finished up your classes for the day. Taehyung’s sprawled out on the hardwood floor, legs crossed, surrounded by what looks to be dozens of The Match Project surveys, some in stacks and organized piles and others carelessly displayed. “Everyone’s favorite matchmaker.”

“Don’t touch anything,” Taehyung orders, not even moving to look at you. “It makes sense in my head and if I think about anything else for too long, then it won’t make sense anymore.”

“How long have you been sitting here?” You ask, strolling up to him. You have to say, you’re quite impressed by his work ethic. Even if he is spending it on something that is arguable not work. His fingers flutter across the ground, moving papers here and there, and you can practically see the cogs turning in his brain.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Taehyung admits. “I skipped Potions, I think. And Divination. But that’s it, I swear.”

“Taehyung!”

“What?” He cries defensively. “This is more important. I have until the end of the year to worry about my grades. The Celestial Ball is in less than a month!”

“You’ve been working at this for hours, Tae,” you tell him, nudging his shoulder. “Take a break for a little. Stretch your arms and legs.”

Taehyung pouts, like a petulant child who refuses to leave the candy store.

“Come on,” you say, giving in another persistent push. “No one’s going to fuck with your system. It’ll be good for your brain, and you can go back all refreshed and ready to go.”

You hold out your hand for him to take so you can pull him off the floor. He isn’t even sitting on a cushion or anything—his body must be aching for him to sit on a pillow or any sort of soft surface. He looks up at you, big brown eyes that shine caramel against the warm golden of his robes, and wraps his fingers around yours. The both of you crash on the couch, admiring all of the work that Taehyung’s put into this matchmaking service of his after only a few days. It’s booming.

“Are people really paying you to do this?” You ask, impressed.

Taehyung smiles guiltily. “They were at first, but now I’ve stopped accepting payment. I really like matching people together, you know? Just for fun. And it’s working out super well! Every match I’ve made has been successful so far.”

“Seriously?” You exclaim. “You must have a knack for this.”

“I do, thank you very much,” Taehyung tells you proudly, hands adjusting the collar of his robes for effect. “Speaking of which, you still have to give me your survey. Don’t think I’ve forgotten!”

“It’s up in the dorm, let me get it,” you tell him, getting off of the couch to scurry upstairs. You watch as Taehyung settles back into the couch cushions, letting the stress roll off of his back and sink into the fabric. You can’t imagine his job as Hogwarts’ unofficial official matchmaker is a walk in the park, even if he does enjoy it.

You return as quickly as you left, parchment held tightly between your fingers. It feels weird—giving your best friend a survey on who you’d most like to be with, who you’d most like to date. Especially when that best friend happens to be the answer to the survey (though that detail can remain hidden).

“Some of these questions are so… you, Tae,” you say with a shake of your head as you hand it over to him. “Like, I know that if you could re-classify any magical creature you’d lower the Crup to two X’s just because you want one as a pet so badly. You told me that in fourth year.”

Taehyung grins, caught red-handed. “I’m impressed you still remember.”

“Aren’t I supposed to?”

You lean into the cushions, feeling the tension fade from your skin as Taehyung gives your survey a quick overview. His expression seems to change from one of excitement to something undecipherable, even to you. His thick brows furrow and mouth turns down, lips pressed together in a thin line. Like he’s thinking about something. Like he has something to say, but has locked his lips for fear of the words escaping.

“Is everything alright, Tae?” You ask, leaning into him with a hand on his shoulder. Isn’t this what he wanted? A matchmaking survey filled out by you so he could match you with someone else?

And isn’t this what you wanted? A blank canvas, a fresh start, a clean slate? Someone to hold, to know, to love? Someone that isn’t Taehyung?

“Yeah,” Taehyung says with a sigh, voice muffled. “Everything’s fine.”

Taehyung sets you up with a Gryffindor named Yuta three weeks before the Celestial Ball. He comes marching up to you while you’re eating lunch in the Great Hall and plops down both your survey and the Gryffindor in question’s with a satisfied grin on his face.

“Can I help you?” You ask as he swivels in to take a seat next to you, immediately helping himself to some of the roasted carrots on your plate.

“I’ve matched you with someone,” Taehyung says proudly, shoving the parchment in front of you. “Now,” he declares, “normally I don’t show the two people matched their surveys next to each other, but since you’re my best friend, I decided to make an exception.”

“Wow, I’m honored,” you say, mock-touched.

“You should be. He’s on the Quidditch team, which is what you wanted, right? Someone sporty and athletic,” Taehyung asks as clarification. You can hardly remember what you wrote down on your survey—all you distinctly recall is making sure your answers were the opposite of Taehyung in every way something could be the opposite of him.

“Yeah,” you trail off. “I mean I wrote that, didn’t I?”

“I guess you did,” Taehyung says with a hum, thinking about something else. “I think you’ll like him.”

“Cool,” you tell him.

“Cool,” he tells you.

Taehyung stares down at the wooden table.

You stare down at your roasted carrots.

The silence that befalls you isn’t one you’re used to—not the normal type where the two of you are sitting together without saying a word, appreciating each other’s presence without needing to vocalize it. It’s not like that. It’s not like that at all.

This one—it’s tense.

“Well,” Taehyung says, the conversation having fallen into something sufficiently awkward. “I’m gonna go. I have like, at least five surveys that just have Park’s name written all over them, which I’m going to have to figure out because I’m pretty sure he’s taken. So, yeah.” He gets up, sending you some version of a finger gun-peace sign, like he couldn’t decide which one to do so he ended up just doing a strange combination of both. “Enjoy your date because I worked really hard to match you. 90% approval rating, remember?” He says, tapping his temple. “See you around.”

He walks off without another word, waving to some other people in the Great Hall and accepting a few more surveys along the way, but his goodbye makes you frown.

See you around means that you’re not sure when next you’ll come across each other. See you around means that another meeting is unclear, unsolidified. See you around means that you only expect to see each other in passing, not on purpose.

See you around means maybe, but the only thing is that Taehyung’s never been a maybe to you.

Yuta’s nice. He’s almost nothing like Taehyung, athletic and really into professional Quidditch teams, something you know essentially nothing about. He has a close knit group of friends who are all either in Gryffindor or Slytherin, and on weekends they frequent the parties that Slytherin house throws that you and Taehyung have never attended.

But he’s patient and kind and walks you around Hogsmeade, pointing at all of his favorite stores and favorite things to eat. He explains how the professional Quidditch league works even if the information goes in one ear and right out the other. He buys two licorice wands and gives one to you, but you don’t have the heart to tell him how much you despise the flavor.

“You’re friends with Kim, aren’t you?” Yuta asks as the two of you take a seat in the Three Broomsticks. He flags down a waiter and orders two butterbeers and a basket of multi-grain bread, the weird wizarding kind that has all sorts of magical spices and nuts in it.

“You mean the one running this whole business?” You ask, trying your very best to prevent the conversation from going stale. “Yeah, guilty as charged. He’d been begging with me to fill out the survey.”

“But it’s all just to find a date to the dance, isn’t it?” Yuta asks as the waiter drops off the bread and butterbeer. He immediately takes a sip of his, the foam gathering at the corners of his mouth, making you laugh. “What? What’s funny?”

“Oh, just the butterbeer on your face,” you giggle. Immediately, Yuta grabs a napkin to wipe away the bubbles. “But yeah, Taehyung really wants me to go with someone.”

“Well, it’s nice of him to arrange this whole thing. I mean—not just because of me, but just in general. It’s obvious he really cares about you,” Yuta says before chuckling, like he’s remembering something. “He actually came up to me before we came out today. He told me that I better not fuck anything up with you because you have to have the perfect date to the Celestial Ball, no exceptions.”

You nearly cough up your butterbear. Sputtering, you ask, “he said that to you?”

Yuta nods, though it’s clear that whatever Taehyung told him, no matter how bizarrely threatening it was, didn’t faze him much, if at all. “Yeah,” Yuta tells you. “He’s really protective of you. I hope I’m doing this date justice.”

“You’re fine,” you assure him.

And it’s true. Yuta’s fine. But that’s really all he is—just fine, nothing more, nothing less. He doesn’t know your preferences or your likes and dislikes, which is fine, because you’ve hardly spoken. He’s respectful and friendly and generous, trying his hardest not to scare you away while also trying his hardest to keep you entertained.

But he talks about things you have no penchant for and buys you food that you think tastes disgusting, and the conversation isn’t stale, per se, but it’s by no means light and airy either. And you can’t even fault him for it, because it’s not his fault that the two of you got paired up. Not his fault he wrote down what he was looking for on the survey and you wrote the complete opposite. But everything he does makes you think of how Taehyung found him before the two of you came out to Hogsmeade and told him to treat you right or face his wrath.

At the end of the day, you have a fine time. Just fine.

“I enjoyed spending time with you today,” Yuta tells you as he drops you off outside of the Hufflepuff common room. “I think it went well, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you say with a shrug and a smile you hope doesn’t seem too forced. “It was nice. I’ll see you around, right?”

“Sure thing,” Yuta says with a grin as he turns to head back up to Gryffindor tower, where all of his Quidditch-playing, licorice-eating friends await him.

You unlock the door to the Hufflepuff common room and swing the wooden thing open, letting out an exhale you feel as though you’ve been holding in all day. Like always, there Taehyung is, sitting amongst a pile of matchmaking surveys organized just the way he likes it, brows knitted in concentration. Even the sight of him makes you relax, shoulders sinking and heart warming. God, you’re fucked.

“Oh, you’re back,” Taehyung says when he spots you walking in, mouth curving upwards. “How was it? Was it perfect? The best? 90% approval rating, don’t forget,” he reminds you as he stands up, disregarding his system to chat with you.

“It was… fine,” you tell him honestly. No point in lying. Maybe Taehyung has another match up his sleeve.

“‘Fine?’” Taehyung asks, shocked that for once, his algorithm’s failed. “Just fine?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, walking over to collapse in the seat by your favorite table. “He was nice and all, just… not really what I was hoping for.”

“Oh,” Taehyung says with a frown, seemingly disappointed in himself. “I thought he was perfect. He matched everything that you wrote down,” Taehyung pouts. He fumbles in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a neatly folded piece of parchment. Is that yours? Has he kept it all this time? “You wanted someone athletic and extremely sociable. Maybe a partygoer. Someone who was clean-cut and sharp. I don’t get it.”

“It’s not you, Tae,” you assure him, this day feeling longer than ever. “Sometimes things just don’t work out, you know?”

“But it was supposed to,” he says with a whine, making you smile at his childlike nature. He thumps down amongst his pile of papers and surveys and diagrams, hardwood floor creaking under the pressure. He stares at his surroundings, each survey filled out with such care, such hopefulness, and frowns. “I’m sorry,” he tells you. This isn’t something he should apologize for. “I just—I really thought, you know? I mean he matched everything you wanted and it really seemed like you two would just hit it off, or something. I guess not.”

“It’s not your fault,” you tell Taehyung, walking over to him. The last thing you had wanted was for him to blame himself.

“I’ll try again, I promise,” Taehyung tells you firmly, fists clenched in confirmation. “I’m gonna find someone for you, Y/N. Someone perfect, who will treat you right and give you the best Celestial Ball experience of your life. Mark my words.”

“So I don’t get my money back just yet?” You ask, teasing him a little with a small grin on your face. Taehyung meets your eyes with his big brown ones, and you watch as a lopsided smirk overtakes his solemn expression. You miss seeing him like this. You miss being with him like this, like always.

Like you’re supposed to be.

“Not yet,” Taehyung tells you, snatching up a very specific pile in his circle of organizational hell and marching off, out of the room.

As the Celestial Ball draws nearer and nearer, Taehyung’s business, service, whatever the hell it is, only gains more and more attention, fools desperate for a date seeking out his aid. And, like always, Taehyung delivers with the utmost accuracy. He’s seemed to assume a somewhat permanent residence right outside the Great Hall, tri-fold on display and a never-ending supply of surveys sat at the table where he spends most of his time nowadays. And when he’s not sitting there, broadcasting The Match Project to anyone willing to listen, he’s surrounded by completed surveys in the Hufflepuff common room, circling him like flower petals.

You don’t really know how he matches people up, if you’re being honest. He says he’s got this system but that’s as much as he’ll tell you, your conversations these days brief and insignificant. You’ll walk into the common room to find him amongst his flurry of papers, say a brief hello and tell him to take a break because he’s straining his back, and head up to your room. If he sees you pass by his table outside the Great Hall on your way to a class, he’ll wave happily, usually surrounded by at least three or four people who are asking him about his services. Never enough time to talk.

You go on two more dates that Taehyung’s arranged for you. They’re not so much dates as they are meetings, little get-togethers to see if the two of you will get along well enough to accompany each other to the ball. A trip to Hogsmeade here, a bit of lunch in the Great Hall there.

Taehyung always makes sure to tell you exactly who he’s set you up with before you go out. He makes it a point to find you beforehand, shoving the two surveys in front of you just to prove that his decision is the best it could be.

“He’s really into playing football, which is that muggle sport where they kick around a black and white ball—”

“I know what football is, Tae.”

“Yeah, well. He also wants to work in Ministry and hopes to become the Minister one day.”

It makes you wonder—if he’s coming up to you to tell you everything he knows about the person you’re apparently destined to be with—if he’s going up to the person in question and warning them. Telling him what he told Yuta, the Gryffindor. Telling them that they better not fuck up because he only wants the best for you.

Is that scaring them off? What message is that sending to them?

Taehyung’s always been protective of you. It comes from being your best friend for so long—knowing you not even like the back of his hand but like his own face. It comes from always wanting the best for you, so much so that he’ll go through with making an entire matchmaking service just so that he finds you the perfect date for the fucking Celestial Ball. It’s always been like this.

Two unsuccessful dates later finds you with less than a week to go before the Celestial Ball and Sowon’s proposition of going with her and talking trash about the boys in your lives looking more appealing than ever. It wasn’t so much that they were failures as it was that they weren’t what you were looking for. Taehyung’s followed what you wrote down for the survey to a T, done his very best to pair you up, but nothing’s working. For what may or may not be obvious reasons, depending on how you look at it.

It’s one of the very few occasions when you creak open the door to the Hufflepuff common room to find Taehyung not sitting amongst stacks and stacks of papers, parchment worn and ink bleeding, sifting through the piles furiously, pairing different surveys off with each other before reorganizing the whole thing and starting all over again. Instead, you find him having fallen asleep mid-process, leaning against the back of the worn yellow couch with his mouth hanging open. Tufts of his golden hair dangle in front of his eyes, and a paper sits in his hand, like exhaustion had overcome him while he was in the middle of analyzing someone’s responses.

In sleep, Taehyung looks like a child. Not that he turns into a baby or ages backwards, but the hard lines from his furrowed brows and the tension in his shoulders vanishes, leaving behind someone who has yet to face the harshness of the real world. Someone who dreams just for the sake of dreaming, not because they need to worry about their future or are holding themselves to a standard of any sort. His skin is smooth and warm and his body is soft and comforting.

Watching him, you smile to yourself. Very rarely do you get to see Taehyung asleep—you stay in separate dorms and he almost never takes naps—and the sight reminds you, even if just briefly, of the closeness you share. There’s no one else in the common room besides the two of you, a gentle message that says, it’s always just been the two of you.

You have half of a mind to leave him there, let him rest. He’s been working himself to the bone over the past month, every person in Hogwarts’ student body desperate to get a taste of the matchmaking service he provides, not to mention a pile of seventh-year homework he has to get through nightly. But you know your best friend, you know Taehyung, you know everything there is to fucking know about him because he’s always on your mind and always in your thoughts, how could you ever forget anything about him? And you know that Taehyung hates going to bed because there is always something else that he wants, that he needs to do. It’s why he doesn’t take naps—why he’s always wishing that there were more hours in the day. Because there’s always so much to be done.

Slowly, you tiptoe over to him, hoping not to wake him roughly. You kneel down beside him, letting the sight of him sink deep into your memory so you won’t forget this, even when you’re old and wrinkly and can’t hold your wand properly anymore. You reach down to take the paper from his hands and place it with the rest of him, but one quick glance at the writing and you realize that it’s yours.

Which is strange, because he doesn’t know how your most recent date-not-date went, so why would he be looking at it? It’s not as though he knew that he needed to match you up again. You hold it up, staring at it, noticing how it’s worn around the edges, like it’s been looked at over and over. How the ink has faded, sunken into the paper, unmovable. Your fingers trace over your answers again. Looking for a Slytherin, Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor. Someone extremely active. Wears well-fitting, sharp clothing. Clean-cut hair. Enjoys going out and hates staying in.

And you stare at what you’ve written like it’s personally offended you, hating the way the words taste in your mouth. Reading each response as you look over at Taehyung, still fast asleep against the back of the couch, and you see the way he sniffles in his sleep and all you can think is, who the fuck am I kidding?

Even if you filled out a million matchmaking surveys, you’d always end up right back here.

“Tae,” you say softly, quickly putting down your survey amongst the rest of the papers, like you haven’t been staring at it and pondering the meaning of your existence. “Tae, wake up.”

He mumbles something unintelligible in response, head swaying side to side as you slowly shake him awake.

“Tae, you fell asleep,” you murmur.

“Y/N?” He asks, recognizing your voice even through his sleepy haze.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He still hasn’t opened his eyes, almost as if he feels as though he’s dreaming the whole thing. “You fell asleep. Wake up.”

Taehyung shifts over slightly, but still seems to be dozing off, drifting in and out of consciousness. “Did you go on another date?”

“Mmm,” you hum a response, “I did.”

“Did it—” his head falls before he picks it back up again, “Did it go well?”

“It was alright,” you say. “But I wasn’t really interested in him.”

“Hmm,” Taehyung seems to lean into your touch, even if it is as simple as a hand on his shoulder. “I just wish… just wish I could find somebody—”

“What are you talking about, Tae?” You ask sadly, jerking him a little harder.

“Find somebody you’d want to be with,” he finishes up. “I read—” a hiccup, “I read your thing and I realized that I can’t keep hoping—hoping you’ll want me instead of someone else—”

“Taehyung, what’s going on?” You ask, eyes widening as his drowsy mind betrays his thoughts. What on earth is he talking about? Could—could it be?

“I tried my best,” he says, and it sounds so goddamn sad. Makes your breath hitch in your throat at the sound of his words, faltering slightly, either from sleep or from truth.

“Tae, wake up,” you say, giving him a hard shake, unsure if you can handle anything else that spills from his lips. His eyes blink open, big and dark and beautiful, like always, and his mouth curves into a hazy smile when he sees you. You’re almost positive he has no recollection of what he’s just told you.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” He asks as he yawns, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. “Didn’t you have a date?”

“I just got back,” you tell him, moving away. Maybe he can’t see you shaking. “You fell asleep.”

“I did?” He asks, looking at his surroundings, blinking a few more times. “Oh, I guess I did.”

“I just came to wake you, you know,” you say casually, standing back up and dusting yourself off. “I know you hate taking naps.”

“Thanks,” he tells you, leaning forward to gather up all of the surveys. They’re in relatively good order, other than the one sitting on top of the pile, out of place. Yours.

“Okay, I’m gonna go,” you say, already beginning to beeline it to your dorm. Can he hear your heart pounding? It sounds like a bass drum in your ears.

“Wait, Y/N?” He says, catching your attention.

You turn around to look at him, see him gazing back up at you like there are a million thoughts flying through his mind. You can’t imagine you look much different.

“Do you think he was the one?” He asks.

You shake your head. It’s the easiest question you’ve ever been asked, especially when the answer is staring you right in the face. “No,” you tell him. “I don’t.”

The night of the Celestial Ball, you’re sitting on your bed in a pale blue dress sent to you by your mother, staring at your fingertips. Obviously dateless, Sowon’s made the executive decision to take you under her wing, even if she is already going with someone else from your year. She promised she wouldn’t leave you out.

The ball is already an hour in when she pops her head into the dormitory, long brown hair done neatly in an updo and a creamy white dress draped over her body. She looks gorgeous, but she always does, so this isn’t unusual.

“I know I said I wanted to be fashionably late, but this wasn’t what I was going for, you know,” Sowon says jokingly, walking over. She hands you a white rose from her bouquet, placing it between your fingers. “What’s got you so down? You can’t be in a bad mood when we trash talk men. I won’t have it.”

“Nothing,” you sigh, helpless. Taehyung and you haven’t spoken since you found him asleep in the common room, and now you’re sitting on your bed on the night of the Ball, his only failed survey.

“You’ve never been a very good liar, Y/N,” Sowon says with a shake of her head. “It’s Taehyung, isn’t it?”

You don’t need to move a muscle to give Sowon the answer she’s looking for. It’s as if his name is sitting in the air, permeating the oxygen. Like it’s inescapable, wherever you go.

“I took your advice and everything got worse,” you deadpan, trying to laugh at yourself. Instead, the sound comes out more like a dying goose. Things haven’t been going well recently.

“Impossible.” Sowon frowns. “My advice is golden.”

“I went out with a bunch of people and tried to move on and I couldn’t.”

Sowon smiles to herself, a small sigh escaping her lips as she sits down next to you, takes your hands in her own. “Okay,” she says. “So maybe you didn’t move on. Maybe you’re still thinking about Taehyung even after trying your hardest not to. But that’s okay, alright? It’s okay to not move on sometimes. You weren’t expected to fall head over heels in love with one of those people you went out with. All you did was branch out. And maybe it didn’t work, but that’s alright. What matters is you tried, Y/N. You tried your fucking best and you shouldn’t have to wallow in self-pity on the night of the Celestial Ball, of all nights, because of it.” She stares you straight in the eyes and normally you would be intimidated, but the fond grin lacing her features soothes your worries. “That’s not what I wanted for you. And that’s not what Taehyung wanted for you either. Obviously. Otherwise he wouldn’t have done all of this for you. Even if it didn’t work out in the end.”

“Ugh,” you huff out, falling against your bedsheets, crumpling up the hair that Sowon so painstakingly did for you earlier. “I just—I wish it was easier, you know? That I wasn’t so hung up on him.”

“Well,” Sowon declares confidently, “then let’s go down to the ball and you can show him how much you don’t need him. Or any date, for that matter. Because you’re a strong, independent woman who doesn’t conform to stereotypical secondary school heteronormative dating standards.” She pulls you up with her.

“I’m pretty sure that once I see him enjoying himself with his own date, I’ll realize that for myself,” you muse. You never did ask if Taehyung, after all that time spent helping others, found a date for himself. But, knowing him, he probably had no problem doing so.

“Taehyung doesn’t have a date,” Sowon tells you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Didn’t he tell you?”

“What?” You ask, blinking in shock. Taehyung? Dateless? Now, that’s a surprise.

“Yeah,” Sowon says. “When Nayeon and I went down earlier, I saw him sitting at one of the tables all by himself. He was like, halfway finished a second glass of the fruit punch. I thought you knew.”

“No, I had no idea,” you say, shaking your head. You wonder if he even tried to match himself up with anyone else in his service. You did make him fill out one of his own forms, after all. He must have at least tried. There must have been plenty of people eyeballing him, submitting a survey in the hopes that they would end up paired with him. Surely, there must have been someone he would have worked well with.

It’s almost like he was waiting for someone.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Sowon, do you have any spare surveys? Any?”

“Me? Yeah, he gave me one even though he knew I was already sort of semi-seriously seeing somebody,” Sowon says. “Why?”

“Can I have it?” You ask, eyes wide and full of hope. Maybe Taehyung is waiting for somebody.

Maybe all he needed was an excuse to be with them.

Sowon shuffles through her belongings and hands you the survey, all crumpled up after weeks of sitting in her desk drawer, forgotten about. She asks if you need anything else, and if you’re going to be joining her. You tell her not to wait up, because you have something you need to do beforehand.

“Okay,” Sowon says as she begins to walk from the room. “But I’d hurry it up, if I were you. Time you spend up here is time you’re wasting down there, with him.” With that, she winks before her dress disappears down the stairs.

It’s as if she’s known all along.

Do you have any House preferences (you may pick more than one)?

Hufflepuff. Seventh year.

Describe your ideal type.

Someone so determined to find his best friend a date that he makes an entire matchmaking service for them. Scruffy hair. Needs a haircut. Hates naps.

Someone who loves you back.

By the time that you reach the Great Hall, the Celestial Ball is in full swing. Flitwick is conducting the band as they play a fun, lighthearted tune, and students of all years are dancing around, enjoying each other’s company.

You spot him sitting at one of the corner tables. There are crushed velvet curtains behind him, a soft rose gold color reflecting in the candlelight. Good choice.

He’s all alone, as Sowon told you earlier, and there’s an empty goblet with a couple red droplets still left inside.

“You look like you’re having fun,” you deadpan, a small smirk playing across your lips. Taehyung looks up at you, and you watch as he takes in the sight of you in front of him. You have to admit, he looks awfully good in that suit of his, muted yellow bowtie complimenting his warm brown hair and golden skin. From a distance, he looks like one of those Greek gods, goblet by his side, ethereal glow surrounding him.

“So much fun,” Taehyung says, immediately scooting over so you can take a seat in the chair next to him. The two of you stare out into the sea of students in the Great Hall, watching as everyone enjoys themselves on one of the most exciting nights of the school year.

“Looks like The Match Project was a success,” you comment softly. “Everyone seems to really be enjoying themselves.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung agrees. “I mean, it was just a one time thing, but I think that I did well.”

“Me too, but you’re sitting here, dateless.”

“So?” Taehyung asks with a huff.

“So, how are you, my incredible, talented, dedicated, hardworking, inspiring, artistic icon of a best friend, dateless?” You ask, forcing Taehyung to look at you. You’re grinning, beaming, maybe, and it makes him roll his eyes. “Didn’t you fill out the survey, too?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says with a sigh. “But I couldn’t really… find anyone that matched with me perfectly. So here I am.”

“Well,” you say, placing your second and final survey in front of him, “I have one more for you.”

“Y/N, you know I don’t really care about—”

“Just read it, Tae.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes fondly at your persistence, but does so nonetheless, eyes glazing over the ink scrawled across the page, messy and unkempt from rushing. You watch as something lights up in his eyes the more he reads, like a single spark illuminating the night sky before the fireworks follow. Watch as he can’t contain the way his mouth widens into a smile, all teeth, the way his cheeks turn to a soft muted scarlet.

“What is this, Y/N?” He asks, like he can’t believe his eyes. He turns to you, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so hopeful, so desperate.

“It’s—it’s the survey I meant to give you the first time,” you tell him. “I should have just told you, I know, but I just—I had been in love with you for so long and I thought that maybe it was just time to move on so I filled out everything by writing down things that I knew were the opposite of you but it didn’t work out so—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Taehyung says, stopping you with a hand up. He reaches down to hold your hands in his own, “go back a bit.”

“Well, I thought it was time to move on so—”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Further back.”

“I should have told you—?”

He shakes his head again. “No. Just a little after that.”

You look at him and it feels like all the weight has been lifted off of our shoulders. Feels like when you crash on the couch in the Hufflepuff common room after a long day. Feels like when the sun streams in through the windows and lights up your favorite table. Feels like home.

“I’d been in love with you for so long,” you say, and it sounds like a song. Sounds like music to your goddamn ears.

“Yeah.” Taehyung smiles to himself. “That part.”

“What about it?” You ask teasingly.

“I don’t know,” Taehyung says with a shrug, “it’s just nice to hear. Taken you forever, but I suppose the wait’s been worth it.”

“Hold on a second,” you say. “You knew?”

“What?” Taehyung asks. “No, I had no idea. I just—I figured that if you were confessing, or whatever this is, then you knew how I felt about you,” he says. “God, I tried so hard to keep it from you because I was so—I was so scared that you’d find out and never want to speak to me again, but you sit next to me on the couch and let me tickle you and you wake me up when I accidentally fall asleep and you still use that bookmark I made you in second year and God, I can’t help it. And then you handed me your survey and I read it and it was nothing like me and I just thought, ‘Fuck,’ but I wasn’t going to fuck with your love life just because I was in love with you, so I tried my best to pair you up according to my system, but I guess—”

“I guess we both made mistakes,” you say, finishing his sentence. “Every time I thought about that survey, or the dates you sent me on, I—I always thought about what you had written. I wondered if you were searching for someone, too.”

“I was,” Taehyung says.

“So was I,” you say.

“Did you find them?” He asks, leaning in.

You nod, feeling his breath fan out against your lips as your eyes flutter shut. “I did.”

Then, he presses his lips to yours, and it feels like a warmth spreads throughout your body, from your heart to your bloodstream to your fingertips, engulfing you from the inside out. Feels like something in you has caught on fire—perhaps your heart, knowing you—and you won’t be making any efforts to put it out. Taehyung presses his lips to yours and pulls you close to him, wraps his hands around your body in every way that he can, every way possible.

Things like this—they’ve been a long time coming. Of course they have.

You and Taehyung part, breaths heavy as you rest your foreheads against each other. It feels so natural. It feels like this was always meant to be. Like this was written in the stars from the moment the two of you laid eyes on each other.

“I guess The Match Project does have a 100% guarantee,” you say. The last two people who ended up dateless found each other in the end. Go figure.

“I told you,” Taehyung says. “How would you rate your experience with The Match Project, on a scale of one to ten?”

“A million,” you declare happily, pulling him in for another kiss. “A billion. The service was unparalleled. I mean, I found the love of my life? What more could you ask for?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Pluralistic: 14 Mar 2020 (Free audio of Masque of the Red Death and When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth, Ada Palmer on censorship, Women of Imagineering, Glitch unionizes, Tachyon/EFF Humble Bundle, Canada Reads postponed, data-caps and liquid bans paused, Star Wars firepits)

Today's links

Masque of the Red Death: Macmillan Audio gave me permission to share the audiobook of my end-of-the-world novella.

When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth: A new podcast audiobook of my 2005 end-of-the-world story.

Ada Palmer on historical and modern censorship: Part of EFF's Speaking Freely project.

Glitch workers unionize: First-ever tech union formed without management opposition.

Women of Imagineering: A 384-page illustrated chronicle of the role women play in Disney theme-park design.

Tachyon celebrates 30 years of sff publishing with a Humble Bundle: DRM-free and benefits EFF.

Honest Government Ads, Covid-19 edition: Political satire is really hard, but The Juice makes it look easy.

TSA lifts liquid bans, telcos lift data caps: Almost as though there was no reason for them in the first place.

CBC postpones Canada Reads debates: But you can read a ton of the nominated books online for free.

Star Wars firepits: 750lbs of flaming backyard steel.

This day in history: 2005, 2015, 2019

Colophon: Recent publications, current writing projects, upcoming appearances, current reading

Masque of the Red Death (permalink)

Edgar Allan Poe wrote "The Masque of the Red Death" in 1842. It's about a plutocrat who throws a masked ball in his walled abbey during a plague with the intention of cheating death.

https://www.poemuseum.org/the-masque-of-the-red-death

My novella "The Masque of the Red Death" is a tribute to Poe; it's from my book Radicalized. It's the story of a plute who brings his pals to his luxury bunker during civlizational collapse in the expectation of emerging once others have rebuilt.

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250242334

Naturally, they assume that when they do emerge, once their social inferiors have rebooted civilization, that their incredible finance-brains, their assault rifles, and their USBs full of BtC will allow them to command a harem and live a perpetual Frazetta-painting future.

And naturally – to anyone who's read Poe – it doesn't work out for them. They discover that humanity has a shared microbial destiny and that you can't shoot germs. That every catastrophe must be answered with solidarity, not selfishness, if it is to be survived.

Like my story When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth, the Masque of the Red Death has been on a lot of people's minds lately, especially since this Guardian story of plutes fleeing to their luxury bunkers was published. Hundreds of you have sent me this.

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/mar/11/disease-dodging-worried-wealthy-jet-off-to-disaster-bunkers

I got the message. Yesterday, I asked my agent to see if Macmillan Audio would let me publish the audiobook of my Masque of the Red Death for free. They said yes, and asked me to remind you that the audiobook of Radicalized (which includes Masque) is available for your delectation.

I hope you'll check out the whole book. Radicalized was named one of the @WSJ's best books of 2019, and it's a finalist for Canada Reads, the national book prize. It's currently on every Canadian national bestseller list.

There's one hitch, though: Audible won't sell it to you. They don't sell ANY of my work, because I don't allow DRM on it, because I believe that you should not have to lock my audiobooks to Amazon's platform in order to enjoy them.

Instead, you can buy the audio from sellers like libro.fm, Downpour.com, and Google Play. Or you can get it direct from me. No DRM, no license agreement. Just "you bought it, you own it."

https://craphound.com/shop/

And here's the free Macmillan Audio edition of Masque of the Red Death, read with spine-chilling menace by the incredible Stefan Rudnicki, with a special intro from me, freshly mastered by John Taylor Williams. I hope it gives you some comfort.

https://craphound.com/podcast/2020/03/13/the-masque-of-the-red-death/

(Here's the direct MP3, too)

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_332/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_332_-_The_Masque_of_the_Red_Death.mp3

Ada Palmer on historical and modern censorship (permalink)

My EFF colleague Jillian C York's latest project is Speaking Freely, a series of interviews with people about free expression and the internet, including what Neil Gaiman memorably called "icky speech."

http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2008/12/why-defend-freedom-of-icky-speech.html

The latest interview subject is the incomparable Ada Palmer: historian, sf writer, musician, and co-host of last year's U Chicago seminar series on "systems of information control during information revolutions," which I co-taught with her. Ada's interview synthesizes her historian's distance from the subject ("yes, this is my subject, and these people are terrible, and it's kind of fun in that way") with her perspective as a writer and advocate for free speech.

"One of the victims of censorship is the future capacity to tell histories of the period when censorship happened….. It renders that historical record unreliable… makes it easier for people to make claims you can't refute using historical sources… It's similar to how we see people invalidating things now—like 'that climate study wasn't really valid because it got funding from a leftist political group"—they're invalidating the material by claiming that there has to be insincerity its development.

"Pretty much every censoring operation post-printing press recognizes that it isn't possible to track down and destroy every copy of a thing…An Inquisition book burning was the ceremonial burning of one copy. The Inquisition kept examples of all of the books they banned."

Fascinating perspecting on whether nongovernmental action can really be called "censorship."

"The Inquisition wasn't the state – it was a private org like to Doctors Without Borders or Unicef, run by private orgs like the Dominicans and it often competed with the state." As she points out, everything the Inquisition did would be fine alongside the First Amendment, because it was entirely private action.

Next, Palmer talks about market concentration and how it abets this kind of private censorship. This is something I've written a lot about, see for example:

https://locusmag.com/2020/01/cory-doctorow-inaction-is-a-form-of-action/

"If you have a plural set of voices, then you're always going to have some spaces where things can be said, just like you have a plurality of printers printing books, and some will only print orthodox things and some will only print radical ones."

And while the internet could afford many venues for speech, in practice a concentrated internet makes is plausible to accomplish the censor's never-realized dream: "You can make a program that can hunt down every instance of a particular phrase and erase it."

Tiny architectural choices make big differences here ("Architecture is politics" -Mitch Kapor). Amazon can update your Kindle books without your permission, Kobo can't. Amazon could delete every instance of a book on Kindles, but Kobo would need cooperation from its customers.

Palmer is just the latest subject of Jillian's series. You can read many other amazing interviews here:

https://www.eff.org/speaking-freely

When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth (permalink)

Over the past two weeks, hundreds of people have written to me to draw comparisons between the pandemic emergency and my 2005 story "When Sysamins Ruled the Earth" – an apocalyptic tale of network administrators who survive a civilizational collapse.

https://craphound.com/overclocked/Cory_Doctorow_-Overclocked-_When_Sysadmins_Ruled_the_Earth.html

I started writing this story in the teacher's quarters at the Clarion Workshop, which was then hosted at MSU. It was July 6, 2005. I know the date because the next day was 7/7, when bombs went off across London, blowing up the tube train my wife normally rode to work. The attacks also took out the bus I normally rode to my office. My wife was late to work because I was in Michigan, so she slept in. It probably saved her life. I couldn't work on this story for a long time after.

Eventually, I finished it and sold it to Eric Flint for Baen's Universe magazine. It's been widely reprinted and adapted, including as a comic:

https://archive.org/details/CoryDoctorowsFuturisticTalesOfTheHereAndNow/mode/2up

I read this for my podcast 15 years ago, too, but the quality is terrible. The more I thought about it, the more I thought I should do a new reading. So I did, and John Taylor Williams mastered it overnight and now it's live.

https://craphound.com/podcast/2020/03/13/when-sysadmins-ruled-the-earth-2/

There's a soliloquy in this where the protagonist reads a part of John Perry Barlow's Declaration of Independence of Cyberspace. Rather than read it myself for the podcast, I ganked some of Barlow's own 2015 reading, which is fucking magnificent.

https://vimeo.com/111576518

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. I've spent a lot of imaginary time inhabiting various apocalypses, driven (I think) by my grandmother's horrific stories of being inducted into the civil defense corps during the Siege of Leningrad, which began when she was 12.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. I've spent a lot of imaginary time inhabiting various apocalypses, driven (I think) by my grandmother's horrific stories of being inducted into the civil defense corps during the Siege of Leningrad, which began when she was 12.

You can subscribe to the podcast here:

http://feeds.feedburner.com/doctorow_podcast

And here's the MP3, which is hosted by the @internetarchive (they'll host your stuff for free, too!).

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_331/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_331_-_When_Sysadmins_Ruled_the_Earth.mp3

Glitch workers unionize (permalink)

The staff of Glitch have formed a union. It seems to be the first-ever white-collar tech-workers' union to have formed without any objections from management (bravo, Anil Dash!).

https://cwa-union.org/news/releases/tech-workers-app-developer-glitch-vote-form-union-and-join-cwa-organizing-initiative

The workers organized under the Communications Workers of America, which has been organizing tech shops through their Campaign to Organize Digital Employees.

https://www.code-cwa.org/?gclid=EAIaIQobChMIovDRsc-S6AIVCuDICh0rFQCMEAAYASAAEgJb1PD_BwE

"We appreciate that unlike so many employers, the Glitch management team decided to respect the rights of its workforce to choose union representation without fear or coercion."

Women of Imagineering (permalink)

Next October, Disney will publish "Women of Imagineering: 12 Careers, 12 Theme Parks, Countless Stories," a 384-page history of a dozen pioneering woman Imagineers.

https://thedisneyblog.com/2020/03/13/new-book-highlights-stories-from-the-women-of-walt-disney-imagineering/

Featured are Elisabete Erlandson, Julie Svendsen, Maggie Elliott, Peggy Fariss, Paula Dinkel, Karen Connolly Armitage, Katie Olson, Becky Bishop, Tori Atencio, Lynne Macer Rhodes, Kathy Rogers, and Pam Rank.

When I worked at Imagineering, the smartest, most talented, most impressive staff I knew were women (like Sara Thacher!). It's amazing to see the women of the organization get some long-overdue recognition.

Tachyon celebrates 30 years of sff publishing with a Humble Bundle (permalink)

For 30 years, @TachyonPub has been publishing outstanding science fiction, including a wide range of stuff that's too weird or marginal for the Big 5 publishers, like collections of essays and collections.

https://tachyonpublications.com/

Now, they've teamed up with Humble Bundle to celebrate their 30th with a huge pay-what-you-like bundle that benefits EFF. There are so many great books in this bundle!

https://www.humblebundle.com/books/celebrating-25-years-scifi-fantasy-from-tachyon-books

Like Bruce Sterling's Pirate Utopia, Eileen Gunn's Stable Strategies, and books by Michael Moorcock, Thomas Disch, Jo Walton, Jane Yolen, Nick Mamatas, Kameron Hurley, Lauren Beukes, Lavie Tidhar and so many more!

I curated the very first Humble Ebook Bundle and I've followed all the ones since. This one is fucking amazeballs. Run, don't walk.

Honest Government Ads, Covid-19 edition (permalink)

Good political satire is hard, but @thejuicemedia's "Honest Government Ads" are consistently brilliant.

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKRw8GAAtm27q4R3Q0kst_g

The latest is, of course, Covi9-19 themed. It is funny, trenchant, and puts the blame exactly where it belongs.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hks6Nq7g6P4

If you like it, you can support their Patreon.

https://www.patreon.com/TheJuiceMedia

TSA lifts liquid bans, telcos lift data caps (permalink)

Your ISP is likely to lift its data-caps in the next day or two. @ATT and @comcast already did.

https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/v74qzb/atandt-suspends-broadband-usage-caps-during-coronavirus-crisis

And TSA has decided that 12 ounces of any liquid labelled "hand sanitizer" is safe for aviation, irrespective of what's in the bottle.

https://www.theverge.com/2020/3/13/21179120/tsa-hand-sanitizer-liquid-size-airport-screening-coronavirus-covid-19

What do these two facts have in common? Obviously, it's that the official narrative for things that impose enormous financial costs on Americans, and dramatically lower their quality of lives, were based on lies. These lies have been obvious from the start. The liquid ban, for example, is based on a plot that never worked (making binary explosives in airport bathroom sinks from liquids) and seems unlikely to ever have worked, according to organic chemists.

Keeping your "piranha bath" near 0' C for a protracted period in the bathroom toilet is some varsity-level terrorism, and the penalty for failure is that you maim or blind yourself with acid spatter.

https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2006/08/on_the_implausi.html

And even if you stipulate that the risk is real, it's been obvious for 14 years that multiple 3oz bottles of Bad Liquid could be recombined beyond the checkpoint to do whatever it is liquids do at 3.0001oz.The liquid ban isn't just an inconvenience. It's not even just a burden on travelers who've collectively spent billions to re-purchase drinks and toiletries. It's a huge health burden to people with disabilities who rely on constant access to liquids.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0m12mLXgO1A

And as we knew all along, the liquid ban was a nonsense, an authoritarian response to a cack-handed, improbable terror plot. It embodies the "security syllogism":

Something must be done. There, I've done something.

Think of all those checkpoints where all confiscated liquids were dumped into a giant barrel and mingled together: if liquids posed an existential threat to planes, they'd dispose of them like they were C4, not filtered water. No one believed in the liquid threat, ever. TSA can relax the restrictions and allow 12oz of anything labeled as hand-san through the checkpoints. There was no reason to confiscate liquids in the first place. But don't expect them to admit this. The implicit message of the change is "Pandemics make liquids safe."

Now onto data-caps. Like the liquid ban, data-caps have imposed a tremendous cost on Americans. In addition to the hundreds of millions in monopoly rents extracted from the nation by telcos through overage charges, these caps also shut many out of the digital world. They represent a regressive tax on information, one that falls worst upon the most underserved in the nation: people in poor and rural places, for whom online access is a gateway to civic and political life, family connection, employment and education.

We were told that we had to tolerate these caps because of the "tragedy of the commons," a fraudulent idea from economics that says that shared resources are destroyed through selfish overuse, based on no data or evidence.

https://thebaffler.com/latest/first-as-tragedy-then-as-fascism-amend

(By contrast, actual commons are a super-efficient way of managing resources)

https://www.onthecommons.org/magazine/elinor-ostroms-8-principles-managing-commmons

Telcos insisted that if they didn't throttle and gouge us, their networks would become unusable – but really, what they meant is that if they didn't throttle and gouge us, the windfall to their shareholders would decline.

What's more likely: that pandemics make network management tools so efficient that data-caps become obsolete, or that they were a shuck and a ripoff from day one, enabled by a hyper-concentrated industry of monopolists with cozy relationships with corrupt regulators?

So yeah, maybe this is the moment that kills Security Theater and data-caps.

https://techcrunch.com/2020/03/12/coronavirus-could-force-isps-to-abandon-data-caps-forever/

(Image: Rhys Gibson)

CBC postpones Canada Reads debates (permalink)

The folks at the @CBC have postponed next week's televised Canada Reads debates, so we're going to have to wait a while to find out who wins the national book prize.

https://www.cbc.ca/books/canada-reads-2020-postponed-1.5497678

Obviously, this is a bummer, though equally obviously, it's a relatively small consequence of this ghastly circumstance.

And on the bright side, the CBC have just released a ton of excerpts from the nominees:

https://www.cbc.ca/books/canadareads/read-excerpts-from-the-canada-reads-2020-books-1.5496637

If you're looking for some Canada Reads lit for this moment, my novella "Masque of the Red Death" appears in my collection Radicalized, one of the finalists. I put up the story as a free podast last night (thanks to Macmillan Audio for permission).

https://craphound.com/podcast/2020/03/13/the-masque-of-the-red-death/

Star Wars firepits (permalink)

West Coast Firepits went viral when they produced a Death Star firepit, though of course, I lusted after their Tiki Firepit.

https://www.westcoastfirepits.com/shop/tiki-firepit-69825

But now they're really leaning into the Star Wars themed pits, with an Interceptor pit ($2500):

https://www.westcoastfirepits.com/shop/interceptor

Or, if you prefer a post-apocalyptic version, there's a Crashed Interceptor pit, also $2500.

https://www.westcoastfirepits.com/shop/crashed-interceptor

If those prices seem high, consider that they're hand-made onshore, and contain 750lbs of 1/4" and 1/8" steel.

This day in history (permalink)

#15yrsago How DRM will harm the developing world https://web.archive.org/web/20050317005030/https://www.eff.org/IP/DRM/itu_drm.php

#5yrsago Anti-vaxxer ordered to pay EUR100K to winner of "measles aren't real" bet https://calvinayre.com/2015/03/13/business/biologist-ordered-to-pay-e100k-after-losing-wager-that-a-virus-causes-measles/

#1yrago A massive victory for fair use in the longrunning Dr Seuss vs Star Trek parody lawsuit https://www.techdirt.com/articles/20190313/09554041791/big-fair-use-win-mashups-places-youll-boldly-go-deemed-to-be-fair-use.shtml

#1yrago A detailed analysis of American ER bills reveals rampant, impossible-to-avoid price-gouging https://www.vox.com/health-care/2018/12/18/18134825/emergency-room-bills-health-care-costs-america

#1yrago Ketamine works great for depression and other conditions, and costs $10/dose; the new FDA-approved "ketamine" performs badly in trials and costs a fortune https://slatestarcodex.com/2019/03/11/ketamine-now-by-prescription/

#1yrago Facebook and Big Tech are monopsonies, even when they're not monopolies https://www.wired.com/story/facebook-not-monopoly-but-should-broken-up/

Colophon (permalink)

Today's top sources: EFF Deeplinks (https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/), Waxy (https://waxy.org/), Slashdot https://slashdot.org).

Currently writing: I've just finished rewrites on a short story, "The Canadian Miracle," for MIT Tech Review. It's a story set in the world of my next novel, "The Lost Cause," a post-GND novel about truth and reconciliation. I've also just completed "Baby Twitter," a piece of design fiction also set in The Lost Cause's prehistory, for a British think-tank. I'm getting geared up to start work on the novel next.

Currently reading: Just started Lauren Beukes's forthcoming Afterland: it's Y the Last Man plus plus, and two chapters in, it's amazeballs. Last month, I finished Andrea Bernstein's "American Oligarchs"; it's a magnificent history of the Kushner and Trump families, showing how they cheated, stole and lied their way into power. I'm getting really into Anna Weiner's memoir about tech, "Uncanny Valley." I just loaded Matt Stoller's "Goliath" onto my underwater MP3 player and I'm listening to it as I swim laps.

Latest podcast: When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth https://craphound.com/podcast/2020/03/13/when-sysadmins-ruled-the-earth-2/

Upcoming books: "Poesy the Monster Slayer" (Jul 2020), a picture book about monsters, bedtime, gender, and kicking ass. Pre-order here: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781626723627?utm_source=socialmedia&utm_medium=socialpost&utm_term=na-poesycorypreorder&utm_content=na-preorder-buynow&utm_campaign=9781626723627

(we're having a launch for it in Burbank on July 11 at Dark Delicacies and you can get me AND Poesy to sign it and Dark Del will ship it to the monster kids in your life in time for the release date).

"Attack Surface": The third Little Brother book, Oct 20, 2020. https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250757531

"Little Brother/Homeland": A reissue omnibus edition with a new introduction by Edward Snowden: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250774583

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

Edinburgh To Boston - Chapter 12 - At The Crossroads - A Deal With The Devil

Good evening all! I am excited to have Chapter 12 of Edinburgh To Boston ready. This is a far, far cry from what I normally write. And it comes with a warning: THE CONTENT IS GRAPHIC. DO NOT READ IF THIS KIND OF THING IS OBJECTIONABLE TO YOU!

I do need to thank @julesbeauchamp @smashing-teacups and @scubalass for being betas on this. I do want to thank @scubalass who called me out on several points of this story.  I know this has made the story significantly better overall.  She is a “dog with a bone,” and wouldn’t let it go.

As always, I welcome any thoughts, suggestions, comments, respectfully submitted, of course.

I hope you enjoy reading.

Without further delay, for better or worse, I give you: 

Edinburgh to Boston

Chapter 12 At The Crossroads - A Pact With The Devil

 “What the hell are you doing here, Frank?” Claire snarled her nostrils flaring.

“Why Claire, dear, what does it look like I’m doing? I’m having dinner. What do you think I’m doing here?” he said mockingly.

She snorted with derision. “With whom? Another one of your students? Taking advantage of some poor misguided girl?”

“Poor and misguided girl, no.  One of my doctoral candidates, yes. We were discussing the best methodology to use in her dissertation. Sandy is a very bright girl.”

Jamie’s head spun from Claire to Frank. The fucking sassenach bastard! Shite, he dropped his guard just for a moment and look at what happened. He needed to put an end to this now. He needed to get Claire away from him.

Frank turned from Claire giving Jamie a cold stare, “You are remiss in your manners pet, you have yet to introduce me to your dinner companion.”

“Don’t call me that!” There was a marked note of threat in her voice.

Standing to his full impressive height, Jamie insinuated himself between the Englishman and his Sassenach effectively shielding her with his body. 

Frank briefly staggered leaning into Jamie for balance as he tried to get closer to Claire. That would prove to be an impossibility. An impenetrable mountain-sized man stood guard over her preventing even the meerest of glimpses of her.

Christ, the man stank like a distillery, his eyes were glassy, tie askew, and his balance impaired.  Jamie wondered how much the man already had to drink. 

He also looked like a man with a chip on his shoulder. A man angry at the world. 

His assumed a protective mode, body taut, jaw clenched, hands fisted at his side, ready to keep her safe.  “Dr. James Fraser, Dr. Beauchamp’s partner,” his voice husky as he tersely introduced himself.

There was no pretense of civility, no offer of handshakes made. The men took on the aspect of two dogs sniffing each other reading to fight. Jamie’s posture defensive while Frank’s became increasingly aggressive. 

“Now if ye will excuse us, we were just getting ready to leave,” Jamie said gruffly and offered his hand to Claire. “Come, lass ‘tis time we leave. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

She took the proffered hand to get up. As she leaned over to reach for her purse, the wrap dropped exposing her whole back.

“Oh, ho! I think this is more than two colleagues simply having dinner together. You do look ravishing my dear,” Frank’s eyes raked over Claire’s body lasciviously. A body that was once his and now it belonged to…? His eyes then went to Jamie’s left hand observing the absence of a wedding ring.  He looked at the Scot with contempt, how dare he claim something that was once his?

Her cheeks flushed crimson. What did it matter what he thought or what he thought he knew. The man was of no consequence to her anymore. And after all his liaisons past and present, who the hell was he to judge her?

Jamie helped adjust her shawl covering her once again. He knew that dress would be trouble.

He stood on the periphery of his limits struggling to control his anger.  He needed to hit something or better yet someone. But, he did not want to cause a scene in the restaurant in front of Claire. Christ, he wanted to wipe that lecherous look off the arsehole’s face.

“Are ye ready, Sassenach?”  Jamie asked tenderly as he turned to walk toward the front of the restaurant wanting to sign for the bill and return to the sanctuary of their room.

“Yes, let’s go. It’s been a long day,” She sighed.

“I guess this is it then. This is goodbye, Claire.”

Claire ignored Frank wanting to not have anything further to do with him.  She turned and started to walk away. 

“Who the hell do you think you are, Beauchamp? Think you’re better than me? You and your uncle always acting like you were better than anyone else, especially me.  I’m talking to you, Claire,” he raised his voice causing the other patrons to turn and look. Frank grabbed Claire’s shoulder, spun her around to face him. She could feel his sweaty palm on her skin as he firmly seized her.  He leaned in close enabling her to smell his fetid alcoholic breath skim hotly across her cheek.

It was obvious that he was drunk.  The memories flooded back in a torrent. He often became hostile and threatening, even to the point of becoming physically abusive when he was deep in the drink. It had been years since she had seen him like this, morose and surly. 

He had failed to make tenure and came home drunk. Of course, he blamed Lamb for his failures. He always did. Needless to say, she would be the one to pay the price. He demanded sex from her. “You like it rough, don't you, darling,” as he dragged her up to the bedroom. Frank threw her against a wall tearing at her clothes. She fought back but he was too strong. Naturally, he apologized the next day. “So sorry, old girl. I was drunk...pressure from work...the stress...a man needs the comfort of his wife in times like this...it will never happen again.” Yeah, you got that right. It will never happen again. He kissed her bloodied lips before he left for work leaving in a chipper mood like nothing had ever happened.  Rising from the bed, she went to her closet.  As she tugged her suitcase out of the closet, she dislodged a box that contained the love letters from his students. She took her few meager possessions and the box of letters. Battered and bruised, she left her home for what would be the last time for the safe haven she had with her Uncle. She never told anyone else other than Lamb what had happened. She never would.

She wanted to turn and leave just walk away from him now forgetting the whole ugly sordid mess that had been her time with Frank. But her loyalty to Lamb commanded her to stand her ground defending him against this pissant.

“DON’T. YOU. DARE. Lamb loved you like his own son and you betrayed both of us. Let go of me this instant you fucking sod.” Claire growled trying to pull her shoulder out of his grasp, but his grip tightened. For a man well into his cups, he was quite strong.

“I betrayed you and your uncle?! How little you know,” his voice dripped with sarcasm. “He wouldn’t share his research with me, hmm. Yes,” his speech slurred and he swayed slightly. “He said I had to earn the right to have it. I thought he meant all I had to do was marry you. But I was mistaken,” he laughed nastily. “You were a cunt then, and you’re still a cunt now. That’s all you were good for was a good fuck.” Frank drew closer narrowing the gap between them. His open hand familiarly cupped the space between her thighs, a part of her body that he once intimately knew. He stroked, squeezed and kneaded her like she still belonged to him. “You like that don’t you, bitch.”

Claire gasped, crying out, “JAMIEEE!” 

Jamie turned his head and realized that Claire failed to follow him. He saw that mac na galla grabbing and touching her in a way no man wants to see happen to his woman. 

“C L A I R E!” he bellowed in a hoarse angry voice. Christ, would no one go to help the lass?

Bystanders, diners, wait staff, were all stunned into inaction watching the tableau unfold around them not able to believe what their eyes told them.

With eyes narrowed dangerously, mouth grimly set, he pushed his way through the crowd recklessly. He must get to her. Waiters carrying heavily laden trays with dinners were knocked out of the way. Food flew about, dishes and silverware crashed to the floor, sending shards of china everywhere.

He watched Claire fighting and struggling with Frank. Taking her purse, she struck him about his head then clawed at his face. She kicked his ankle and stomped on his foot. 

That’s it, lass, gie it to him. He took pride in how braw she was.

Observing Jamie’s approach, Frank called out loudly, “Had a piece of this yet, Fraser? I’ll bet you have. She likes to fuck and she’s good at it too. If she didn’t become a doctor, she could have made a good living as a whore. Did she ever su..”

Frank never got to finish his sentence as his face became acutely acquainted with Jamie’s fist.

There was something quite satisfying about being able to hear and to feel the nasal cartilage crunch with the impact of his fist. He knew he broke it on the first blow. Blood splattered out of Randall’s nose and mouth. He struck him about the face and eyes. That eye would be swollen shut and black come morn.

He was outside of himself now no longer the kind and gentle giant but a man consumed with rage. There was a blood lust coursing through his veins. A man blind with the need for vengeance.  He would deliver blow after blow thus becoming her avenging angel to see justice done in her name. I fight for her.

He pummeled the filthy bastard in a trance-like fury reminiscent of his Viking berserker ancestors. He heard nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing other than the opponent before him.

He did, however, hear the voice of his Da. His Da had taught him how to fight, to defend himself. “Hit him in the soft parts, Jamie. Dinna waste time hitting yer opponent in the face. Ye’ll hurt yerself and no’ be able to defend yerself.” And he did as his father counseled him to do all those years ago. He struck his foe over, and over, and over again.

Slowly a soft musical voice began to cut through the haze in his mind. The voice called his name, told him to stop. The voice soothed him bringing him back. A hand so small, so fragile pulled him away stopping him from inflicting further damage. 

Jamie blinked and looked up, not sure of where he was or what he had been doing. He felt weak as a kitten. Looking down, he saw his clothes were a mess splattered with blood, fluids, and wine.  Someone called his name. Eyes the color of honey and fine whisky peered into his own. 

“Sorcha”. He spoke to her in the language of his forefathers, in the Gàidhlig, for he had no English.

“Come with me, Jamie,” the voice said. And he knew he would follow that voice wherever it took him.

Claire began to issue orders to the wait staff like a drill sergeant. Towels, bowls of ice, antiseptic wash, wooden dowels, tape, a plastic bag, and whisky miraculously appeared. Jamie’s scrapes and wounds were cleansed, each digit, each bone palpated, bringing with it a hiss of pain. The adrenaline and endorphins were wearing off. There were definitely broken bones. How badly broken she couldn’t tell for sure. At least there were no bones protruding from the skin. She used the dowels for splints, taping his fingers together, and placed his hand in a plastic bag sealing it closed.

Smiling at him, she eased his hand into the ice bath to help keep the swelling at bay. She poured him a healthy dram of whisky telling him to drink. 

“Moran taing.” He smiled back at her.

Unwillingly, she turned her attention to her former husband. A small blond woman was kneeling cradling Frank’s head on her lap stroking his forehead. She was dabbing at the blood seeping from his nose, wiping more blood from the corner of his mouth.

“You’re Claire, Fran, um, Professor Randall’s ex-wife? I’m Sandy Travers, his doctoral student.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are, my dear,” Claire said brusquely.

Pierre, the maî·tre d'hô·tel paced up and down sweat forming on his brow and lip. He began giving instructions of his own to the staff trying to resume order and business as usual. Guests were moved to empty tables away from the scene. Wine and liquor poured freely.  Shit, how many dinners will I have to comp tonight? 

“Madam, I must call the police to report this ah, disturbance. I shall call for medical assistance for the gentlemen as well.”

“Pierre, I am Dr. Claire Beauchamp room 702.  Before you make any calls, let me finish examining the gentlemen and I will let you know what else needs to be done.” She smiled at him sweetly.

He gave her a quizzical look before acquiescing, “As you wish Madam.”

“Alright Frank, let’s have a look, shall we?”

“Keep your fucking Neanderthal boyfriend away from me,” he said glowering at Claire with his right eye. The left eye had swollen shut and blackened.

“He’s not a Neanderthal. He’s of Viking descent. Now hold still,” she said as she began to poke and prod his face and body.

Jamie had done a thorough job of beating Frank to a pulp. His nose was definitely broken. The orbit might be fractured and she was concerned about the tenderness in the left upper quadrant. 

“Does your left shoulder hurt?

“What doesn’t hurt? But, actually yes it does a bit.”

“You need to go to the hospital now. I am very concerned about the tenderness in your abdomen.” Thank goodness his belly was soft, not rigid.

“I’m not going anywhere until I see that fucker in handcuffs for assault and battery.”

“Then you want to call the police to report this?”

“You’re damn right I do!”

“In that case, I assume you are prepared to be arrested too? If you have Jamie arrested, I’ll have you arrested for sexual assault.  That was really very careless of you, to touch me that way in front of a room full of witnesses. So many of the women gave me their phone numbers offering to testify as to what they saw you do. Oh, and by the way, I kept all the love letters that your doctoral candidates sent you. It will make for very interesting reading in court showing your sexual inclination. Don't you think? Are you ready to be branded as a sex offender?”

“Claire, you wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I just do that, pet,” she said caustically lightly patting him on the cheek. “It would give me great pleasure to ruin you, just like you ruined me and hurt Lamb. So, what’s it going to be, darling?”

Sandy looked from Claire to Frank. Her mouth open, her eyes wide with shock.

“Fr, Fr, Frank what does she mean by this? You told me I was the one you loved and there was no one else.”

“Oh, shut up, Sandy,” he snarled.

“You have a deal, Claire. No police. Just get me to a hospital. I’m not feeling well.”

“One more thing, you will never bother me or Jamie. There will be no contact, no threats of going back on your word ever, do I make myself clear? And you will stop using your students as your personal playthings. If you break any of these promises, I will make sure Dean Innes knows the reason why we divorced.  Did you know that Innes was a close personal friend of Lamb’s? No, I don’t believe that you did. He always wondered what caused our breakup. If you break your promise, I will make sure Innes knows what your academic counseling includes. I think he would find reading the love letters quite informative. I am no longer the meek and obedient child you once knew Frank. I will ruin you and enjoy doing it,” she smiled contemptuously.

“Excuse me Dr. Beauchamp, but I think I am going to be sick. I have to go.” Sandy lifted Frank’s head off her lap, laid his head down gently and stood up uneasily.

“I am sorry that you had to hear this my dear, but it is for the best.”

Sandy shakily nodded her head and left.

Claire gently propped up Frank’s head.  “I’m going to call Joe Abernathy to make arrangements for your admission. He’ll admit you discreetly.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Abernathy too, Claire?  Is there no end to your crass friendships?”

“You are a true elitist, Frank. Perhaps you would like for everyone to know what happened?”

“Call Abernathy, then. Be quick about it, I don’t feel well.”

And he didn’t look well at all. He began to develop a noticeable pallor. Skin becoming slightly sweaty.  She was afraid that he might be going into shock and commanded blankets to wrap him up in. 

She quickly scrolled through her contact numbers finding the one she needed.

“Joe Abernathy,” answered the male voice.

“Joe, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Lady Jane is that you?” he said with a wide grin on his face.  “Where are you?”

“I’m here in Boston. I was supposed to be at a conference, but it was canceled at the last minute because of the blizzard.”

“Conference? I don’t recall...well anyway, good to hear your voice.  What can I do for you?”

Claire proceeded to tell Joe about what happened and how she needed his help.

“LJ, you can’t be serious about this. The man molested you.  You need to have him prosecuted for this especially after everything he did to you.”

“I can’t risk Jamie’s career. He’s a brilliant surgeon and I won’t have it. Not on my account anyway. Besides Frank had to promise to stop using his doctoral students as sex objects in exchange for my promise to not prosecute him. If I can stop him from hurting anyone else, my silence is well worth it. Joe, please, will you help me?”

“Of course, I will. What about Jamie, you think he has broken fingers?”

“I do, I have splinted them. Now all I have to do is convince him to go to the hospital. They may need to be set.”

“I’ll send an ambulance. See you in a little while.”

“Thanks, Joe.”

“Frank, the ambulance will be here soon.” 

He grunted. “Is he coming with us?”

“No, you’re coming with us. Let’s get that straight. There is no you and me, Frank.”

“One more thing before you go, Claire.”

“What is it?” she said in an exasperated tone.

“I’ve been watching you with him all night. What is it that you find so appealing in him?”

“He’s a man, something you know nothing about.”

She turned on her heel and began to walk back toward Jaime.

Now all Claire had to do was to convince one very large and recalcitrant Scot to go to the hospital. 

“Lord, give me strength,” she prayed.

[justfandomwritings]

Hey, I was just wondering if you will be continuing the magneto fic? I understand if you aren’t going to. But I was just wondering with all the stuff that happened around it.

I frequently get upset with readers over the lack of support shown to myself and other writers on this website. Often times, I share posts which express that discontent, and frequently I add my voice to those posts in ways that I feel contribute to the discussion and show readers how harmful that lack of support can be to writers mentally and emotionally. Sometimes, I am even the creator of these posts, particularly when I come upon readers who do not comment/reblog yet still ask me when I will update, tell me to add them to my taglists, or even in some cases act as though they are entitled to the next chapter of a story. Occasionally, when I can be certain that an anon is involved in the general lack of support shown to authors or if I am aware of a specific incident, I don’t bother with the time it takes to entertain whatever compliment is being thrown my way by someone who isn’t willing to publicly comment or give credit where it’s due to the work they enjoyed. 

That agitation is, I feel understandably, compounded after I lose friends to the kind of behavior and entitlement frequently exhibited by some readers of fanfiction on this website. In recent days, weeks, and months, I have been forced to watch a number of my dearest friends give up on tumblr or give up on writing entirely either because the lack of support was just too disheartening to bother with or because, despite my protests, they had been led by readers’ consumption without credit to believe they were not talented enough to warrant reading. 

And while people who’ve been around my blog for a long time will remember the days I was an apologist for readers and defended their inaction and gave them the benefit of the doubt, age has made me a wiser individual, and I no longer make excuses for that behavior. 

The specific incident you’re referring to was between myself and two anons after I posted my Magneto fic. 

I have had multiple fics in a row at this point which I was hoping to continue perform incredibly poorly compared to past fics I have posted in those fandoms and generally in comparison to the number of followers I have in those fandoms. As I’ve always said, I write for me but I post for you guys. So, I’ve finished writing them because I enjoy writing, but I haven’t taken the time to format and post them because I don’t want to waste my time on that sort of thing. 

I followed those up with a Magneto fic; I had put out a call a few months ago for Magneto requests and got a rash of responses, so in general it was something I felt fine about. 

The first anon sent me an excited compliment about how they could not wait for part two and genuinely enjoyed part one. At the time, that Magneto fic had been up for several hours and only had 6 notes, all of which were likes. This assured me that that anon had not reblogged my post despite seemingly enjoying it. 

To which, I responded pointing out this discrepancy. I didn’t intend that to be a targeted attack at that person, more a PSA that “Hey, sending asks anonymously on my blog where people will already see the fic does nothing to actually give me credit for this thing you got for free and enjoyed.” 

Clearly, to that individual, my message did not come across that way, because that person came off anon to inform me that they had only found my blog that day and because of that Magneto fic and I believe the quote was, “I guess you don’t want a follow then.” 

While I generally don’t think that being new to a blog is an excuse that gets you out of supporting an author, especially if you feel a fic was worthy of following said author, I can see how, if they felt attacked by my post, that person wouldn’t have done so after. 

I take full responsibility if my post came off rude, and I did attempt to explain the situation to that individual when they messaged me off anon. Given that they have not responded to it, I cannot be sure if said explanation was sufficient or forgiven. What I can tell you is that that person is still following me and did not reblog the Magneto fic before or after I posted a response to their message. It’s all fair in my book.

What’s not fair, is the second anon who injected themselves into the situation. I am assuming that the hateful third ask was not from the same individual as the first two, because no one in their right mind would respond to an open explanation of the situation by turning around and vehemently attacking a person, that’s crazy. So I am begging the question of who the second individual is if they felt entitled to butt in to a conversation they were not part of and were aware the original anon was agitated by my response.

“Clearly the only thing that matters to you is numbers and since that one doc didn’t get a satisfactory number you should just delete your whole blog because you don’t deserve followers if you treat them like that. So how does zero followers sound?“

A) The only thing that matters to me is that fic authors, whether that be myself or my friends, do not lose their passion for writing because of the behavior of others. I assure you my posts do not generally get enough support for me to base my contentment on notes. I doubt any author’s posts get enough notes to base their contentment off of them. 

B) Regarding how I treat my followers, maybe my message to the first anon could have been misconstrued as rude, but it was by no means abusive towards that individual, which this anon is being.

C) Even if numbers were all that mattered to me, why does that matter to you? Why does what I value give anyone the right to take advantage of my hard work and effort? If an author only cared about notes, how would that excuse anyone from giving credit to an author who put blood, sweat, and tears into creating free content for you. 

Readers often use this defense for their behavior, and frankly it’s pathetic, moronic, and downright insulting. “Oh God, you only care about the notes.” No, no author cares about the notes. Notes don’t matter at all, but what they represent does matter. What authors care about is being appreciated for the hard work they’ve put in for you, and notes are how you show that appreciation on tumblr, and reblogs are how you give credit to that author for the FREE entertainment you received. 

D) I don’t think most readers realize how much hate writers get. We get hate from the rest of the world, from people who don’t like fanfiction, from people who don’t understand fanfiction, fro other writers, from other fandoms, from readers who don’t like our writing, from readers who don’t like our plot, from readers who don’t like our character choices. We are baraged with so much hate when all we’re doing is something we love, and we’re doing it for free for other people to enjoy. If I could go back to zero followers without losing all the rest of the work I’ve put into this blog over half of a decade, then I would take it in a heartbeat because with followers come people like this and buckets and buckets of hate. 

E) I’ve seen this wording before in messages, and it does make me wonder if it’s the same anon. 

Ages ago now (or it feels like ages ago, because after lots of work I managed to let that one go), I got almost word for word the exact same message except with the words “kill yourself” replacing “delete your whole blog”. 

Whether this anon is that same individual or not, I cannot be sure as tumblr no longer allows you to block anons to my knowledge. What I can be sure of is that if your message reminds someone of a time they were told to commit suicide, you’re probably in the wrong. 

...

All of that said, I don’t hold any ill will towards the individual who came off anon and spoke with me. While I still disagree with not supporting writers, that blog is just one of many who didn’t reblog but enjoyed it. 

The second anon and I have issues, and normally I would cut my losses, delete my replies to their post, and delete the fic. But this time I’m not going to do that. In part, because this individual’s logic is so far afield, I think they’re crazy. In part, because that anon made an issue of my response to something and not the fanfiction itself. In part, because I’m actually holding out hope that person will come off anon and talk to me like the first one did. 

But largely because I have let readers and followers make demands of me, trounce over me, push me around, make me feel guilty about nothing, and generally treat me like garbage for so long that I just can’t do that anymore. I don’t think I could keep writing if I let one more person walk over me like a door mat. I’ve been writing on here or other sites for a decade now. I’ve had my fill of being the spineless, non-confrontational, non-controversial, supportive blog. 

So the fic stays up. Whether I finish it on tumblr or not remains to be seen. But even if it’s not posted here, it will be finished on AO3 (It is there under the same title and the same account name. I will let everyone here know if I make the decision to only upload it there.)

Thank you very much for asking. That was probably a much longer response than you thought you were in for, so I’m sorry about that. I just thought I’d take the opportunity to explain.

Hope you have a lovely day my dear! 

[misterharington]

SECOND VERSE / STORY & INFO

Below is a thorough read-through of Kit’s second verse, there is plenty to go through so I don’t expect everyone or anyone to go through it all, but I implore those that do wish to interact with him to get through as much as possible as I want you all to be informed! 

If there are any questions such as plot ideas or just general things about his background and so on, I’d totally love to hear it. I’ve yet to find enough RP partners to interact with as I’ve barely found 80 people to follow but I’m always on the search, from my time away many of those I did follow are now inactive.

Either way, please feel free to hit me with pointers or if something doesn’t make sense, it’s still in the works a bit as I’m fleshing this verse out some more. Thank you, lovelies!

Hopefully you’ll want to interact with him as much as my main verse Kit, hehe.

                                                                                                            ———

It'd begun as a harmless holiday. A love and celebration only the union of family could provide to what was once a thriving boy, a boy who had it all. Too much, it seemed. Eight years of life marked the end to youth, snatched from his bed in the midsts of a moonlit night that left him as obscure in awareness as his memories, drugged into unconsciousness from the very moment he'd been taken, to the instant everything to his name was no longer there. The curly haired child recalled only whispers, murmurs in a language unknown, native to a country he'd been brought to visit. Harmless.

That's what it was supposed to be.

For a while, Kit could remember their faces between waking screams, when the drugs would wear off and captors had to fumigate his consciousness all over again, forcing the boy back into a world where nightmares and dreams coexisted, where even their faces began to fade. The one's who'd brought him into this world and taken it all the same. Even when all Kit could taste was the stale air of a cemented room, yelling that would no longer give out through the cracks of a tired throat, he hoped to hold on, somehow to all their faces — their smiles and memories he knew were there. Once. Waiting for him to remember.

But it was the click of a gun to the center of his forehead that woke him from the final haze — a nightmare painted in silken comfort to the boy that'd receded, removed all sense of understanding because he didn't know — Kit would never know just how long he'd been held in this hell only known through snippets of awareness; a place so void of color and warmth.. warmth he knew existed somewhere — anywhere but here.

Utter fear shoved him back into the comfort of his mind once the final view of a grinning mouth run in cigarette smoke, lost to the jumble of memories, put away in a pocket of solace next to the shrilling of a woman he'd never know would've been the signal fire to freedom. To lies and deceit, all in the name of protection for a boy only capable of recalling one thing as he was jostled between arms of back alleys and falling rain, ( or were those tears? ) that warmth he'd believed in so firmly about in this cutaway of existence he'd be trying to put together for the rest of is life.. remembering nothing but his name.

                                                                                                     ———

INFO & EXTRAS

Name: KIT EUN ( ADOPTED SURNAME )

Birthdate: UNKNOWN

Species: HUMAN

Age: ASSUMED AROUND TWENTY-FIVE ( 25 )

Hometown: UNKNOWN

Location: SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA

Occupation: PROFESSIONAL PHOTOGRAPHER

Relationship: INDIFFERENT

Hobbies: READING, PHOTOGRAPHY, EXERCISING / MARTIAL ARTS / UFC FIGHTING STYLE, CITY WANDERING, ART, OBSERVING OTHERS

                                                                                                 ———

There is nothing about Kit's life before his kidnapping that he recalls, even the month he was held hostage was a blur considering he'd been kept unconscious for almost the entire time. Between the drugs and constant trauma to his psyche, he inadvertently removed/lost all his memories up until waking in the home of the woman who saved him from the captors that'd taken him for ransom from his biological family and their fortune. His adoptive mother would inform him that she was also held as hostage where he'd been, taking slight advantage of his constant silence and rejection to speak about what had happened to not fully tell him of why she'd been there in the first place. Having betrayed the gang she'd been so loyal to for years, she sought a moment of escape when the time was right and ran with Kit in her arms, remaining in hiding for several years under many guises and fake names but all the while calling him by his name, as it was all he could recall of his life before.

Kit would grow up a very quiet boy, never understanding why he had no memories of his past and why the so many times his mother had tried to find his parents nothing would come up, or them in return. As if they were never trying to find him. Which in a way wasn't all wrong, they'd found him the moment he'd surfaced with his adoptive mother but made sure to keep a non-existence from their son, assured that if he were to make a return to the family, he would be killed one way or another. A spite not only clinging to those his stepmother took him from, but those that would be enemies to the Harington fortune. And so as the years went by, Kit's parents would make sure to provide his adoptive mother ample money monthly in secret, keeping an agreement with the woman to remain 'dead' to their son as long as she kept him safe, away from harms way and the empire they'd built in many ways and most, not exactly legal or morality astute.

The boy would grow up quiet, reserved in so many ways he'd never be able to form friendships which would last years, always attached to the cameras his mother would buy him as photographs became his closest confidant, able to capture memories permanently, unlike the one's he'd lost all those times before. Though, as that fight for awareness transcended, Kit knew danger is what defined his past, and of course, future. Training in as many martial arts and forms of self defense as he could to be able to put those recurring fears into power which would thrive in a body that would be defenseless no more. As soon as Kit hit 18 years, he was off to travel the world, constantly in search for clues, reminders, triggers — anything that would bring his old life back into light and even through the streets of Germany, New Zealand, France, Switzerland or England, did he come up with anything. Only a collection of photographs hailing him a prodigy of talent once making his return to Korea at 24, making a career out of the very failures he'd managed to capture all on film.

[lottalucamotion]

Strike + 👹🍊🌺🧡💜💗

Ma Boyyy (putting this under cut because it got long and rambly)

How does my OC act around different people and how does their personality change to match the environment they are in?

Strike has always been a bit on the defensive side when it comes to meeting new people. It got worse after his accident since he got so used to people judging him based on his looks and his past. His first impressions are usually quite harsh and aggressive. He’ll act territorial with people he feels he doesn’t now well, even if they are people he’s known for a long time. With friends, he adopts a much more playful “unpleasantness” to his personality. He likes to tease and be teased, though he rarely ever goes too far with his joking. He may not seem it but he is quite hyper aware of people’s mannerisms and body language, so he’s good at knowing where people’s boundaries lie. When it comes to lovers, well his only real lover was Hot Shot. Before he met Hot Shot and after he lost him, he’s really just been a flirt and a heartbreaker. As I said, him making strict social boundaries has always been in his nature, so him yielding himself to long lasting relationships takes someone very special. With Hot Shot, he treated him quite a bit like a friend, the difference being that he felt that he could be vulnerable around him. He would still try to hide his feelings, but he and Hot Shot were good at reading each other. Once one caught on, the other would surrender and allow further communication and comforting. Even as a passing lover, Strike is surprisingly tender. He really likes physical touch. Everyone just tends to assume he’s to abrasive for things like hugs and cuddling. Physical displays of affection whether platonic or romantic are Strike’s most effective form of communication when it comes to showing how he feels about someone. Touch of some kind is important when building relationships with him, plus he just really enjoys it.

Does my OC have any triggers? Why do these things trigger them? What are they like when they are triggered and how do they calm down?

Strike as the story is currently has PTSD from his accident but doesn’t know it yet. It manifests pretty similar to depression in his every day life. He’s haunted by his feelings of guilt and fear that he will loose someone he cares about not just due to action, but also inaction. He’s grown more prone to acting aggressively when he feels threatened, even mildly (like what he did with Flat Top in the second chapter). He’s always been a but trigger happy when it comes to fighting, but it wouldn’t escalate so quickly from small things. He has nightmares and insomnia linked to thoughts of his accident. He’s become emotionally detached, unable to open himself up emotionally to any romantic relationships. His trigger is loud metallic noise akin to the sound of a train crash and the smell of burning fuel. When the noises aren’t as loud/sudden he may feel a sort of “itch” and may begin to act frustrated and punch or body check walls or other fixtures.  When more severe he will experience a flashback in which he will feel sharp pain on the left side of his face, and he will begin to dissociate where he will shut down to his surroundings, tense up, shake, and breath shallowly. If touched he may go into fight or flight mode. To calm down, he usually will go to a quiet spot and try to breath and pinpoint small details to help him come back into reality.

What additions would my oc make to their body if they could?

An engine that isn’t faulty and bigger muscles, because what diesel engine doesn’t always want bigger muscles?

What traits of my own do I see in this oc? Are they a bit self-inserty?

Honestly I had originally conceptualized Strike to be a self insert, though I feel like the more I wrote him, the more I sort of deviated him from that original role. We have a lot in common and much of his story is inspired by my own life, but he’s nowhere near being a carbon copy of myself. He and I live the same life in a much more metaphorical sense. Strike’s a non literal reflection of my traits, desires, insecurities, and fears. Strike’s appearance is inspired by my own, but also inspired what I wish I looked like, as well as what I’m self conscious about. For example, Strike’s damaged face is a reflection of a rare condition I have where the nerves on the left side of my face don’t function like they are supposed to if at all. It’s been a cause of insecurity and has seemed to make people assume things about me throughout my life, but it’s a part of who I am, so I often reflect it in some way when I create new characters, Strike is far from the first, but his experience is the most similar to my own. Strike’s story comes from my experiences and fears of loosing people I care about, being forgotten about, becoming a has-been before I could be, loosing control of myself and my life, and my desire to have someone close in my life who I can not only rely on, but who can also rely on me. I actually began writing Strike’s story shortly after starting treatment for my mental health, and he has helped me come to grips with who I am, and where to go from here.

That being said, there are differences, I share Strike’s difficulty in connecting with people, but I’m not aggressive when it comes to first meetings, or a flirt by any stretch of the imagination. I didn’t grow up like he did, though there are people (mostly positive influences) in his life who are inspired by people who positively influenced me. I’m a bit playfully sassy with close friends, but not to the amount that Strike is. I have a stubborn streak, but in Strike it’s heavily amplified. Strike’s generally a lot more of an asshole than I am.

Do you enjoy working on your oc or are they a bit of a chore?

I quite enjoy writing Strike, so I would not say he’s a chore at all. He’s probably one of the few characters I’ve been able to naturally flow with.

Ramble a bit about this character.

Let’s talk a bit about the relationship between Strike and Rusty. While writing Strike’s story, I want his story to be almost just as much Rusty’s as it is his. He and Rusty started their lives quite differently but almost ended up switching places. Strike was a successful young engine who’s situation was changed for the worst by one incident. Rusty was a beaten down underdog whose life was changed for the better after one major event. While Strike is a more abrasive personality, both he and Rusty share a stubbornness about them, for better or for worse. They will occasionally butt heads, but they seem to understand one another pretty well. Rusty has been in Strike’s place so while he feels bad for him, he knows that Strike still wants to be treated with dignity. In turn, Strike places his trust in Rusty more than anyone else. Strike feels weak and all he really wants in life it to be able to be strong for other people in his life. In a sense Strike begins to feel like he owes Rusty. While he trusts Rusty he also will often hide how he feels from Rusty out of fear that he will drag him down in the process by placing his problems on him. He was brought to the yard mainly to help Rusty, so he feels pressured to do a good job at that.

[bestfarmhorsethissideofequestria]

i guess i’m making a warning

[[honestly, part of me didn’t want to do this, because i personally didn’t HATE my time here. but, since they’re burning their side of the bridge...i might as well do the same

everyone, please take caution in interacting with the blog “mlpserver” and joining their discord server for mlp roleplay. while it’s not the WORST server i’ve had a falling out with, and one of the mods there is incredibly kind and chill and welcoming and she would definitely be someone i’d want to connect with again if possible, the others...are not so much.

one of them literally called someone obnoxious to their face for being excited about joining the server and wanting a character. this was a young kid they were talking to

they constantly added little extra rules and addendums to the server, and people got kicked a few times before they were even official rules, thus not even given a chance to follow said rules when they were ACTUALLY added. felt like the expectation a lot of the time was to read their mind and know some slight was a bannable offense

they outright IGNORED their own rules when kicking people. someone i’m very close with got kicked despite being active and not having anything to reply to thread-wise for the last couple days, when the rules outright said to not worry about replying fast and that only people inactive past a week would be kicked. this also happened to a few others in their recent purging

there was little to no warning you ever did anything wrong until you were just removed. this happened pretty consistently, to several people i reached out to, and including myself. hell, one of the mods apparently just held a grudge based on how i apologized to them once, and i just. didn’t know it was an issue, until today, when i got kicked

anyway. i have long ass chatlogs under here, so. have those i guess?]]

bestfarmhorsethissideofequestria um, excuse me? i was in your server, as applejack and tempest, and i want to know why i was kicked. i didn't break any rules, and i'd replied to a couple threads just the past few daysi got no explanation or warning that i'd done something wrong, so. i'm coming here looking for answers

mlpserver We stressed several times that we wanted the server to be fun for ourselves as well as the users, and it was decided that it was best to remove the users who were perpetuating a negative environment and making the mods feel like they were in some form of servitude to the users, and not equal. It took the fun out for us and as such this is our last ditch effort to make the server entertaining and worth us putting effort into, else it'll get deleted.

bestfarmhorsethissideofequestria ...and i did that?

mlpserver Yeah we were slowly eaten away at, despite carefully worded feedback from other mods about how draining the attitudes of some users could be.

bestfarmhorsethissideofequestria so even though i and a bunch of other users for sure emphasized that we didn't expect every bit of feedback to be acted on and only wanted to post some ideas up if we thought they might be okay, and absolutely didn't expect mods to constantly be at our beck and call all the time or that they even had to be at all, we're just booted now?

mlpserver Yes because with the frequency and the style of wording that people gave feedback made it seem like an expectation rather than a suggestion

bestfarmhorsethissideofequestria the last time i'd even been a part of that discussion i said that it wasn't expectation. SEVERAL users agreed on that point, and that was that, and the last time i'd even been part of that talk

mlpserver Like, people spoke to us with a level of entitlement that I wouldn't speak to anyone with unless I was being intentionally rude. Whenever we gave an answer people would just try to counterargue whatever we replied with Like, our answers were never satisfactory for people and so what could have been a suggestion became an interrogation In your defense, you have actually been on the down low these past few days. Equally, it's just not really enough and we feel this is the best decision going forward for us to be able to enjoy our own server. Since that was the original goal of creating it.

bestfarmhorsethissideofequestria yeah, i'm pretty sure i acknowledged that being shitty and even apologized if i'd done that in the past while being a part of that discussion booting me for something that was from all appearances resolved already by the active mod at that time and myself is...not great also, i know for sure you hit people who were innocent. castoro was like never part of anything besides plotting and threads, and they're not in the server either we both thought the whole thing was just gone and was worried something happened

mlpserver Castoro was booted for a different reason separate to yours and they're independent cases which can't be compared.

bestfarmhorsethissideofequestria it's not my place to really ask why they were booted, so i won't. i apologize for just assuming it was the same reason as mine coincidence seemed to line things up

mlpserver if they have concerns then they're welcome to get in touch. We just don't want to entertain disruptive people and as an informal server, reserve the right to be selective in our userbase.

bestfarmhorsethissideofequestria well, i guess i can't argue about that. as much as i want to. because i'm honestly hurt and, since i thought things were okay and had been resolved days or even weeks ago when it originaly happened and was actually brought up, the fact that i was put on a list to be removed is concerning.

mlpserver Your behaviour hurt us at the time; we never felt that we had a resolution since we don't think that the discussion will have caused any critical thinking or genuine remorse about the way you caused us to feel and even with the apology, we don't feel like you knew exactly why or what you were apologising for, which was concerning for us. There was never a 'list' for removal, it was based solely upon attitude and as evidenced by this conversation, we just don't feel like there's a decent enough level of chill to enable us to feel comfortable or safe having you in our server.

bestfarmhorsethissideofequestria when you specifically came out and said "hey we're doing this for fun, the way these are being put in aren't making this feel fun, we feel kinda like servants at your beck and call and the arguing sucks" (paraphrasing), it's pretty obvious what the issue is

mlpserver The apology was always "if I have", and as such there was never true recognition of one's own actions, so I never felt like you ever took responsibility for your own behaviour.

bestfarmhorsethissideofequestria you also kept it a broad statement? you specifically didn't name names so, i apologized for if i was a part of that, and then stated i had never intended to do so

mlpserver Of course we didn't, because it's unprofessional to name names and we didn't want to single anyone out in front of the entire server. It's not fair of us to name people directly on the server; we'd like to have credited people with more intelligence that that and have the ability to recognise when they're being mentioned indirectly, without causing upset to those people who are not being disruptive. With regards to the apology, due to the fact that it was an 'if I have', it shows that you never recognised or accepted the fact that you were one of the users contributing to this situation, and as such made the apology feel hollow.

bestfarmhorsethissideofequestria i understand that. but also, my wording was clearly because i didn't know if i specifically had done something, and wasn't gonna ask when the mod, myself, and a few other users were talkin' it out if i did, then a bunch of others might have, and it wasn't the place for it

mlpserver There's no room for 'if I did' at this point, and the continued use of this phrase goes to show that you're still unwilling to accept the fact that our decision has been made as a consequence of your own attitude and actions, and for no other reason.

bestfarmhorsethissideofequestria i never made myself out to be above anything, or making mistakes. if i thought that, i wouldn't have apologized at all, because i would have thought i didn't have to essentially, the way i phrased things deemed me unworthy of staying, because you found my apology "lacking" but made no actual indication you thought that, until right now when you already booted me with no word or even discussion about it until you finalized that decision

mlpserver Similarly to conversations on the server, it appears that there is no answer which I can give which will ever be satisfactory to you and as such I think the best discourse is to end this conversation and go our separate ways.

bestfarmhorsethissideofequestria despite the fact i was never unsatisfied from a discussion in that feedback channel, even when something i suggested didn't happen, and again, had no indication that things weren't okay

mlpserver I mean, surely the indication that things weren't okay should have been the fact that I had to sit down and address the entire server about how to talk to people respectfully on the mod team? That's just... not a discussion which should need to be held. It should be completely obvious to treat people respectfully, and that includes the mods

bestfarmhorsethissideofequestria heck, even when rules were suddenly added and people got kicked, and lies were told, i supported you guys and even said you were doing a good job. i know being a mod isn't easy. i've BEEN there before and no no, i'm talking after that. when you came out and were honest about how you felt, we ALL had sympathy, we all apologized, said we would try to not be like that. from all appearances, everything LOOKED to be okay after that yeah it sucks you had to have that convo, but then we all talked about it and the situation was over it was resolved, by all appearances you can't go back to something that's been over and done with for weeks and say "actually i'm not satisfied with this now" and just boot for that? and expect people to be alright about it and for it to not come off extremely unfair?

mlpserver I am very sorry for not handling this in the best way, but I think that given the nature of past (and current) interactions, the issue stems from your incompatible personality with the server users and as such, even with a discussion the outcome was very unlikely to be different in the long run. I mean, server environment, not users. The issue boils down to your attitude with regards to certain elements of the server and taking criticism, and as such I don't think there's anything more to discuss. Good day.

bestfarmhorsethissideofequestria because your criticism is weeks late and seemingly out of nowhere considering how things actually went down but whatever, man. do what you gotta. hope your server doesn't feel too empty