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al-the-remix · 10 months

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Random fandom thoughts/feelings

The reblog button is turned off on this post but I think it's another incredibly important one to be thinking about. I enjoy their framing of how the profit economy of other social media sites has been bleeding into fandom spaces on both tumblr, and like this post focuses on, Ao3. It's something that I've been noticing more and more and it really rubs me the wrong way and I feel like OP's post words it perfectly in a way I've been struggling to express.

This sort of connects the previous post I reblogged on the topic talking about how fandom is not a good in road for becoming internet famous.

A facet of this that's really bamboozled me recently is that I feel like i've been seeing more and more of is the idea that a singular person has a right to call "dibs" on a specific piece of media. Which is honestly totally fucking wild to me and if I'm being totally frank kind of dumb.

Every single one of us who interacts with fandom and by extent and IP is flirting with copy right law, the consequences of which everyone should be extremely familiar with by now with the fall of LJ and various lawsuits by authors, dmca notices, etc.

We have all heard the adage "there's no such thing as an original idea"; the idea that everything we create is the amalgamation of all the things that influence us, good and bad.

This is totally normal and good, actually.

For example, if I and another person both watch a TV show, see a production photograph that we really like and decide to draw it and post them one after the other it would be considered extremely bad behaviour to then turn around and make a big stink about how someone else had the gall to turn around and draw the same thing that I did. We can all look at a picture, video, lyrics to a song, become inspired and create something wildly different based on our tastes and influences--but we also are equally, if not more so, likely to create something nearly identical to our peers, especially in a fandom space where ideas are concentrated and we are all consuming each other's thoughts, opinions, and creations. More than once I've come up with an idea for a fic or a drawing that someone else had had a nearly identical execution of without us communicating or viewing each other's work. That's just the way the human brain works, we're hard wired to make connections in a fairly similar way.

You do not have a right to call dibs on any one photograph, clip of video, song lyrics or any other bit of media you might consume.

This stands for artists, writers, gif makers, AMV creators, and any other way you choose to express your love of fandom creatively.

If you are really hard pressed to focus on the numbers and work at being ~influential~ the burden is on you to distinguish yourself creatively.

There's a reason why not being able to see follower counts is so important to the way fandom and tumblr functions. The concept of ~small creators~ and ~big creators~ or BNF or whatever are all burdens you place on yourselves. No one is taking anything away from you by engaging with the same bit of media you are in a similar way. We all have a right to express ourselves creatively and emotionally through any snippet of media that sparks our interest. You do not get to "own it" just because you happened to pump something out first. There are no creative "dibs". This isn't even some sort of "fandom" etiquette thing that has gone thus unspoken. It's a strange possessive thing that I've seen crop up more and more as the idea of being a capital "C" Creator brain rots people's minds and atrophies their ability to be creative.

Sort of on a tangent, but I have a bunch of other personal random thoughts about how this push to be prolific stagnates fandom, but these are more complicated for me and I'm not as clear on how I want to express them. On one had I am completely on board with the "there is no such thing as cringe" mindset and that everyone has a right to create whatever super indulgent thing they want to without having to suffer people being snobby about it. But, on the other hand I feel very strongly that the cycle of people seeing one trope or characterization being repeated repeated over and over and gaining popularity, reading only that--writing only that--leading others to also only consume that, really stymies creativity and makes it harder to grow the fandom if people that are trying to enter aren't into That One Thing, while also ostracizing people who are already in the fandom that aren't into That One Thing. I strongly believe that people's tastes are at least 70% just what they're exposed to, and obviously not everyone is going to be into whatever weird niche concept they're exposed to through fandom, but the more they are the more opportunity they have to expand that horizon. I don't know how many times I've gotten a version of the "I wasn't sure I would like this but I gave it a shot and it turns out I really love it!" and how good that feels and how much I wish other people were emboldened to do the same instead of being so wrapped up in how their work may or may not be received.

This is mostly a subjective thing though, so it's less cut and dry. Like for example, I really struggle with engaging with transgender fic despite being transgender myself because of the way most AFAB fic is written to the point where I avoid it now almost entirely. Which, frankly, really fucking sucks but also I will be the first person to fight for other's ability to write transgender characters wether they appeal my personal feelings and taste or not.

Anyway, this is one of the reasons I'm so protective of fandom community events, especially ones that employ aspects of the fandom gift economy such as exchanges. There are one of the few wholly un self-centred places left where the focus is on gifting someone something they will love and giving back to the fandom at large by flooding it with art and opportunities appreciation and engagement with each other. It is not supposed to be an opportunity for you to think about yourself and "getting something good" in return or using it a convenient deadline. It also offers you an opportunity to engage with fic tropes and genres that you've never considered writing or reading before.

TL;DR if you've found yourself recently squabbling over how many notes your gifs, art, writing, etc. has been getting compared to other people instead of focusing on forging community ties and your own creative expression, I'm sorry to say you're doing it wrong.

#mostly word vomit but it's a topic i think a lot about since both my job and most of my hobbies are creative focused #and after coming off a nearly two year burnout (that was not caused by any of these things) but effected my ability to participate in fando #and some of my hobbies in favour of others like working out in order to focus on work and stuff that would help my brain heal #I just do not think brining a profit economy mindset is really what's going to make fandom engagement /better/#again why are you acting like capitalists on the socialism website #anyways i'm really trying hard not to go full “parade of shame down the main street” but this behaviour is so appalling to me and while #i understand it i don't understand the appeal of participating in fandom in that fashion

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olivieblake · 9 months

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hi olivie!! big fan i’m in love with ta6 and am looking forward to reading more of your work. one of my social media platforms (my book / pop culture youtube channel!) has gained an unprecedented # of followers! which is great! i suppose the reason i make youtube videos is for people to watch them… but do you have advice for this scenario? where overnight you suddenly seem to have SO many more eyes on you than normal? how do you deal with the pressure of being an “influencer” when what you’re doing is following your passions & you have gained an audience! it’s a good problem to have, i know. im curious for your take <3 thank you!

oh god well you've come to the right place I guess, in terms of people who went from underrated to overhyped over the course of about 48 hours. it's a blessing of course but also in some ways a burden, especially when it comes to creating art, which is by nature subjectively made and interpreted. so, do I have advice... not really! I actually don't think that internet/social media "fame" (microfame lol) is something the human brain is meant to withstand. with every surge of popularity WILL come a surge of haters, that's just the nature of the game, and while I think you can convince yourself on some level to interpret that as a good thing, it's still hard to shake off the effect of what some people think is appropriate to say, especially in those kinds of volumes. not that this is about me

I think I generally have pretty good boundaries, but I've really gotten to a point where I have to admit to myself that there is no conceivable way to have skin thick enough for everything, shy of psychologically warping in a potentially bad way to cope with it. so, I guess my main piece of advice is: remember what you're doing and why you're doing it. always come back to that, because what you're making isn't for everyone, and therefore inevitably people will criticize or complain. don't forget that the people who interact with you, especially the ones who do so to be negative, are only a fraction of your audience, most of whom are consuming your work silently, and they are only a TINY SLIVER of the actual world, which is filled with people who care about you and want you to succeed. go outside. seriously. literally. turn off your devices and remember where life is actually happening. never create content directed at the haters—it only hurts the people who support you and will never do anything to change or educate the trolls. overalll, my advice is the same advice to my husband, who is occasionally frustrated by the problem students in his classroom. address the person in the room who wants to learn from you. focus on the person who is actually listening, because they're the person you will really, meaningfully reach

#big sistering #and thanks for reading my work!

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chatsukimi · 2 years

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555 (kenma kozume)

pining pining pining, fluff, slight angst (?), gamer!reader, highschool!reader, canon-compliant. part ii of 5am.

'Kenma seems to have it in for someone.'

'Who is it?'

'Internet café kid.'

Some people don't understand what games mean to players. To them, it's just a bunch of moving figures on a screen. At the back of an internet café, though, covered head to toe with sweat from the latest heatwave, there is a representation of what the gaming world has done for society. It's taken two kids who would otherwise be anywhere else and placed them together, a little madness where the brain should be.

You know it's nothing to be scared of.

'Concentrate.' Kenma nudges you softly.

He texts.

Kenma: 555.

Outside the door, two of Kenma's high school friends are making a bad attempt at redirecting a tourist who probably thought this place was a cat café.

'Sorry. Are you sure your friends won't mind waiting?' you say, finishing off one of the villains in the video game.

Kenma hums.

You two win, full stars. The part afterwards is always awkward. You grab your schoolbag. Kenma slides out of his seat, so you can exit. Making friends isn't easy, you think, balancing with your heavy bag in one hand so as not to slip.

'I watched your stream,' he says.

'Oh?'

'Yeah.' His eyes never fail to wrack an invisible shiver through you. 'I liked it.'

Lucky you've had four months of experience keeping your cool. You smile and tug him out towards his friends, letting go when they turn around. 'M'glad.'

'Kenma! You had us waiting for an hour.'

'Our game wasn't finished,' Kenma mutters.

'Sorry to keep you waiting.' You bow.

Kuroo, the rooster-head, freezes, narrowing his eyes, before he loosens up.

'Any friend of Kenma's is a friend of mine.' He says, 'we were thinking of getting some fish with Yamamoto. You wanna join us?'

You remember Kenma explaining why he was stuck doing laps at the height of summer with guys twenty centimetres taller than him.

'I do volleyball?'

'Sounds like a question more than an answer,' you had replied.

His volleyball friends still scare you by appearing at the internet café spontaneously. Your pact is with Kenma, not his schoolmates.

You shake your head. 'Thank you, but I'll probably have dinner at home.'

You walk to the nearest bus stop and take a ride back home. After dinner, you shoot Kenma a message.

Y/n: Wanna level up?

On normal days, he responds in three minutes, max, which is why you're restless in no time, five minutes, for his icon to display as active.

Kenma: The last week of the last round

You watch the text bubbles float onto the screen. Something in your chest clenches.

Kenma: I'll be in Miyagi

Kicking your legs up onto the table, you toss your phone across the bed. This guy... he’s probably going to Miyagi for volleyball.

You and Kenma had pledged to win every round of this gaming competition, defeat every contestant in Tokyo, and use the prize money to upgrade the tech you two use. You inspect the broken mic hidden behind the school books. Could you learn to fix it, possibly?

Some minutes pass before you hear another ding from your phone.

'This guy...' You press a palm to your face.

Kenma: You should come with me to Miyagi.

...

It's five pm and three people sit at the back of the internet café. You, Kenma, and the beloved Kuroo Tetsurou. Friday afternoons always boast a handsome aroma of coffee and regular chatter. Only, you had not anticipated to be the prime annoyance.

'It's on the weekend. Fukurodani has a great volleyball team.'

'Have you considered the fact we aren't in the same school?'

'Of course.' Kenma glares at your blue and grey uniform like it's the most detestable thing in the world.

'Alright, people. Kenma, why do you need this kid with you when you game? Isn't it... online?'

You stare at Kuroo, answering instinctively, 'better communication.' Duh. 'Would you rather text or speak during volleyball?' With how bad you're holding back, your voice trembles.

'Volleyball isn't gaming.'

Why, what's the difference? Both use hands! It's just in one you choose to get tired, you think to yourself.

'You'll die in a minute if you don't play together, in the last challenge,' Kenma says.

You wince at the thought. Kuroo feigns hurt, placing his hand over his heart.

'Ganging up on me, what is this?'

'I think I've figured it out,' you mumble. Kuroo and Kenma pause their staring contest. 'Hey, Kuroo...' This is the last resort, it really is. '... do you know Bokuto Koutarou?'

'Bo-kun!'

...

'My apologies, Bokuto-san. I won’t falsify documents for a volleyball camp we are not going on. If you want to lie to their parents, you can do it yourself,' you paraphrase. 'That's what Akaashi said.'

Kenma turns to face you. Too bad Tokyo has light pollution. It is twelve am, midnight, and you're lying on the rooftop of an apartment building, a fizz in the air concocted by the honk of cars and the bright broadcast panels flashing over the crossroads and the way his hands find yours.

Deft, small, delicate.

'We're not giving up,' he says.

It's another world up here. The concrete beneath your head feels both rough and smooth. You could laugh with certainty no one would hear you, and cry, the same. The stress in your head drains to your toes.

'You're so...' Your brain catches up with your mouth. '... so you.'

Your thumb brushes over his index finger, then knuckle; each, used to flitting over the controls. You think you know how he functions. You think he knows about you too.

Kenma lifts his hand, bringing yours with him, and hooks his pinkie tight around yours. 'You're you too.'

Whatever you is.

It is like the first time: you look at him, and it feels like you've bared a scratch of your soul, more than you've shown anyone else, more than you knew before.

Instinctual as gaming.

Yet breathless.

...

Coach Nekomata sends an official manager permission form for the trip to Miyagi. The red school logo is edited to blue. A sweat-inducing meeting with you (dressed in Nekoma uniform) and the coach convinces him that if their brain needs a manager, he is in no place to refuse. He lets Kuroo figure out the logistics. Later, Kenma borrows Bokuto's jersey, before it is decided maybe Kuroo is a better fit.

So, Kuroo comes to your house. Over dinner, he persuades your parents the “Fukurodani Volleyball Team” needs their manager with them on a trip to Miyagi. He deserves an Oscar Award for charming your mother so much as to eye you suggestively: this boy deserves to be your boyfriend.

After dinner, you sit in your room and game, Kuroo inspecting your shelf full of knick-knacks.

'I can't believe I'm here before Kenma,' he muses.

'Kenma was never forced to meet my parents.' You keep your head down. 'It's better he doesn't.'

Kenma plays more recklessly than usual. You two pass with two stars. Kuroo cranes over your shoulder. You can smell his grin from a mile away.

'What is it?'

'There are certain things you won't tell Kenma, huh?'

'Eh? Like what? Wipe that smile off your face. That's creepy. I'm never inviting you to my house again.'

From behind his back, he reveals a polaroid taken of pudding-head at an arcade, two months old. You reach at Kuroo's wrist, but he raises his arm higher, an absolute taunt. You chase him. He scrambles back, unlocking the door to run out, laughing like a bloody maniac.

'You sly neko!'

'Y/N, is there something wrong?' your dad says, standing outside your door.

No. Nothing is wrong. You shake your head. Then, you speed-walk down the corridor.

Not this door- not that one-

Ha!

You enter a dark room, feeling a hand slithering up your arm. Your hand goes splat on top of something (like a nose?) and your other hand reaches around the thing to click the lights on. The bathroom flashes to life.

'Reserve the name-calling for snakes, will you?' says Kuroo, removing your hand from his face. ‘When we play Nohebi, you better cheer us on as ardently as you hide your affections.’ Good-naturedly, he pats your shoulder. 'And don't jump to slapping the instant I meet your gaze.'

'Has Kenma ever said you use big words?'

‘Normally, he doesn’t talk about me.’

'Annoyed, I bet?'

'Distracted.'

'Hm...?'

'With you.'

In your room, the phone on the desk glows. A message pops on the screen.

Kenma: r u online?

'That's unfortunate,' you say. You don't know what you think.

Your bathroom has a mirror alit with two reflections. You, and Kuroo, sporting a cunning grin, and a dark blue blazer. Traffic clogs the street out your window. You, instead, imagine sinking your hand into a soft grey hoodie, pushing the cat-languid body against the sink. You can, you can, you won’t; because you don’t know if you will regret it tomorrow.

‘Normally, he’s too busy playing with some kid at an internet café. I don’t think the kid cares about volleyball one bit. But he’s prevailed all these years. It makes me wonder, what does he do about the things he does care to spend his energy on?’

‘Volleyball is not simple,’ you answer, 'it makes sense some don't like it.'

Kuroo shrugs, his expression relenting. ‘If you don’t play well, it’s game over.’

That, you can get behind.

‘I’m going to ask you a rhetorical question.’ Kuroo shifts, facing you entirely.

‘Fire away.’

He tilts his head the other way, as though to shed the brunt of impact from his statement to come.

‘Are you two just a game?’

At five-fifty-five, you wander in on Kenma at the internet café, in the seat he first took, chewing a mint. You slide into your regular table, five steps away. The café owner looks at you almost pitifully. You open your game. A slow loading screen lasts -seemingly- in seconds. You’re distracted by the clock, and the person five steps away. When he doesn’t turn around, you play one round, then another, as many as it takes to remember promises are half-hearted. When you play, you can lose, and lose, and lose.

It is another world, but somehow it doesn't hurt any less.

'What does that mean? Five-five-five,’ Kuroo had once asked.

You had said, ‘go-go-go. Don’t stop or think.’

The second hand on the clock ticks by.

Go, go, go.

You waste them all by staring.

Staring.

You hear him at the back of your mind.

(Kenma: 555)

---

part iii is here

555 in Japanese sounds the same as go, go, go, so, according to google, it is used in gaming. Also, is this plot too confusing? I tend to jump between places and stuff, but hopefully you got the gist of it. Hope you enjoyed!

#kenma #kenma x reader #kenma kozume #hq kenma #hq #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #kenma fluff #haikyuu #kenma x y/n #kenma x gender neutral reader #kenma angst #kuroo #kuroo tetsuro

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mokacheer · 11 months

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Hey do you reblog ai art?

I do on occasions but I usually tag it if I notice that it is AI art, I'll tag it with " #ai ". Why did I not tag something that was AI? A lot of the time I mindlessly add posts to my queue so unless it's in the immediate tags or in the description, I literally won't notice if it's AI or not unless super obvious or I am actually awake while queuing.

And the following isn't meant to come off rude directly towards just you but it has been bought to my attention multiple times why AI art is bad and such or I get a lot of asks like this one. It's getting annoying atp, again not your fault I understand you just don't want to reblog and or advocate for that whatever. But damn I am human and like to turn my brain off and put pretty pictures on my blog without thinking. The internet, tumblr, a blog is not a serious place for probably a lot of others to get asks like these where they probably have to feel like they need to patrol what they reblog afterwards. You never know how someone can react to things now a days.

^ thats just for anyone in the future that sends me asks like this. ill tag it if i notice it or if my brain is on. thats about all i can be asked to do, with love <3

#answered #anonymous

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fullofsunsetwhispers · 2 years

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Seiko is good with a sword and Kimiko's got fire-powered martial arts, can Keiko fight?

Well, I would say she's the least skilled in that area. She can start a fight, sure (especially in the younger days). She took some self-defense classes because Seiko would not let her be.

' The world is a dangerous place you should learn how to deal with such situations' - Seiko would reprimand her friend.

'Lol that's what pepper spray is for!' - Keiko would brush off the topic, grinning and pointing at the spray hidden in the lipstick-like object.

Seiko is just worried, so every Keiko's 'later' makes her angrier. She often reminds her 'life isn't like in totally spies and she can't depend on funky gadgets all the time' So, Keiko finally agrees to learn some basic self-defense tactics. The Internet turned out to be more effective than the real instructor tbh.

However, Keiko is not good with a combat strategy like Kimiko and Seiko. She often freaks out and focuses more on getting OUT of the situation rather than fighting. She knows where to punch and kick, but then she runs away, which is understandable.

She's not a fighter type but she surely serves as a great distraction. It adds to the team dynamics! She infodumps the enemy so Seiko and Kimiko would handle the rest. Keiko's role depends more on the 'I'll survive if I'll keep talking' attitude. After all, not only fighting skills are crucial - you have to have wit and know how to manipulate your foes! That's Keiko's department.

The guy who keeps her prisoner is rather obese and eats yet another hamburger? 'Sir I'm very worried about your health' and then she enumerates how it would cause heart diseases etc. She's pretty knowledgeable for her age - that's the only advantage of staying up late at night reading unrelated fun facts from any scientific field. Such an action would make the guard totally frightened and we know if someone's in distress - the easier it is to defeat him.

Keiko's the brain of any operation while Seiko and Kimiko are the muscles' - to wrap things up with a funny digression.

#ask #seiko #keiko #kimiko tohomiko #keiko headcanons #she would talk down the kidnappers to death #keiko: i may be the most regular one of our trio but I can help in other ways!

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sciencestyled · 6 months

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Explosions of Genius: When Beakers Become Brushes

Imagine, if you will, a world where the periodic table is not just a sleep-inducing laminate on the classroom wall but a vibrant palette for the next viral art movement. This isn't your grandma's watercolor class; this is Chemical Art Forms, where safety goggles meet the avant-garde, and the only rule is that there are no rules, except for those pesky safety regulations.

Let's kick off with a scene: a lab that looks like Picasso and a mad scientist had a baby. In one corner, there's an experiment that resembles the aftermath of a unicorn sneeze—glittery, shimmering, and inexplicably sticky. This is the domain where science education and art not just hold hands but do the tango in zero gravity. The fusion of these fields is not merely interdisciplinary; it's an all-out, rave-inspired, glow-stick-fueled party where electrons and paint pigments drop it like it's hot.

Consider the classic elephant toothpaste demonstration, a favorite amongst both pyromaniac teens and weary chemistry teachers. It's not just a foamy spectacle; it's a metaphor for life's unpredictability, a visual sonnet about the chaos inherent in the human condition, presented with the pizzazz of a Broadway showstopper. This reaction, combining hydrogen peroxide with a catalyst, churns out an overflowing mass of bubbles in a display that could rival the finale of a fireworks show, teaching us that sometimes, things need to implode spectacularly to reveal their true beauty.

And then, there's the Belousov-Zhabotinsky reaction, the chemical equivalent of a Jackson Pollock painting coming to life. It’s a swirling, pulsating party of colors that refuses to settle down, like a rave where the beats never stop and the floor is a living entity. This reaction is the perfect allegory for the internet's attention span—constantly shifting, never resting, and absurdly mesmerizing. It teaches us the beauty of non-equilibrium thermodynamics, a term that sounds like it was coined by someone who enjoys complicating simple concepts for the sheer thrill of it.

But why stop there? Let's dive deeper into the rabbit hole with chemiluminescence, the science behind glow sticks. Break one, and you kickstart a rave in your hand—a silent disco for molecules excited by their own energetic dance. This is the chemical world's version of going viral: a sudden burst of fame and light, illuminating the night for a fleeting moment before fading into obscurity, a poignant reminder of our own quest for momentary glimmers of recognition in the vast darkness of the internet.

These experiments aren't just about awe-inspiring reactions; they're a subversive commentary on the educational system itself. They poke fun at the traditional, dry approach to science education, injecting humor and life into subjects that many had written off as terminally boring. It's like turning a Shakespearean tragedy into a meme-filled TikTok saga, complete with costume changes and unexpected plot twists.

Chemical Art Forms is a rebellion against the mundane, a manifesto written in bubbling beakers and exploding colors. It's where the left brain and right brain collide, resulting in a glorious explosion of creativity and logic. This fusion creates a spectacle that's not only visually arresting but intellectually stimulating, proving that learning can be a wildly entertaining adventure.

In this bizarre laboratory, the marriage of science education and art gives birth to creations that are as thought-provoking as they are beautiful. It's a place where you can witness firsthand the transformative power of combining knowledge with imagination, where scientific principles are not just understood but felt, in every shimmering color and unexpected reaction.

So, next time you find yourself yawning through a lecture on chemical reactions, remember: within those formulae lies the potential for the next great art movement, one that promises not just to illuminate the mind, but to set the soul on fire. In the end, Chemical Art Forms is more than just an educational curiosity; it's a vivid reminder that the world is a canvas, and science is just one of many brushes we can use to paint our masterpiece.

#science education #science #education #science art #art #chemistry

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caffeineandsociety · 1 year

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One thing that I find simultaneously very baffling and very telling about the current wave of LGBT+ conservatism and sex-negativity is...

Where did this obsession with incest come from?

Pedophilia, I get where that came from - our society is creepily obsessed with youth, and while "pedophilia" is...okay look that's a whole can of worms, clinically it refers to attraction to actual living prepubescent children specifically because they are children, colloquially it implies ACTION on that/an actual literal child molester, but it's been weaponized against so many marginalized groups (especially POC and queer people) that at this point it's just turned into a rallying cry implying "ATTACK THAT GUY TO SAVE KIDS FROM GETTING MOLESTED" to get people to turn their brains off and act without noticing the subtext and most fears of it are DANGEROUSLY misguided, but even so it's PAINFULLY easy to see how you can start from critiquing how creepily socially acceptable ephebephilia can be (which genuinely needs to be criticized!!) - and you see that most of the people who care about the difference are creeps trying to use it to say "nuh-uh, I'm not a creep, I want to molest TEENAGERS, not ELEMENTARY SCHOOLERS, that's fine!" and you decide "no, I'm not going to play your game, I'm going to use the word everyone recognizes as colloquially meaning 'child abuse' because call it whatever you want, abusing a 14-year old isn't 'better' than abusing a 10-year old" and that can get turned into the fear of...whatever else someone wants to demonize under the specter of pedophilia even in someone who knows about the corrupt usage of the word. Furthermore, child abusers are...somewhat good? at using the internet to find new victims - even though they're one of the least common online threats, mostly what you see is scams and most child abuse is STILL committed by family or authority figures offline, but that's another issue for another day, the point is that we know that assholes creeping on kids online is at least something that HAPPENS, so in that context, it's pretty easy to start from a place of concern for internet safety and end up destructively hypervigilant.

But incest?

One, how do you expect incest to ever be normalized? There are no even somewhat widespread phenomena you can point to that suggest this is even possible, like you can with "barely legal" being a popular porn category or manosphere memes that center on how teenagers don't know better than to run away from creeps like them. When incest shows up in media it's almost always code for deep corruption. It's a pervasive negative stereotype of the poor in red states. How do you expect a few people with taboo kinks to turn that completely on its head?

Two, if that WERE possible, what is the threat here, particularly to the people you're saying it's a threat to?

Incest is bad because some 99.something% of cases are abusive, yes. So that's definitely not something we want to encourage...not that it's exactly easy to encourage like I said, but let's pretend anyway. Let's pretend that person you called out for writing an incest fic absolutely does want to fuck their siblings, and there's a callout for them for that - that callout is likely justified by the claim that this is a DANGEROUS person, and...that's really where this falls apart, isn’t it? Sure, it's good to care about other people, but then why the big public warning of danger that...isn't to you, or any other random stranger online? You can't recruit new family members to abuse over the internet. The closest you can come is get someone to roleplay a taboo kink with you - which...isn't inherently abusive, as it turns out! Consensual roleplay isn't abuse! How about that!

....oh. Wait a second. That's right, queer people have been describing their relationships as "familial" and even legally adopting each other in lieu of being able to get married for at least multiple decades, and laws against incestuous abuse have been repurposed against us for just as long.

Hm. I think some of you got weasel-worded here. Whoops.

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mikesavagenewcanaan · 2 years

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Mike Savage New Canaan Where To Locate Low-cost Muscular Tissue Vehicles To Buy

Are you racking your brains searching for out where there are economical muscular tissue autos for sale?

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Yet, except waiting around for somebody to create a time maker any min, we're mosting likely to have to look somewhere else.

There are a couple of alternatives open up to you, some reasonable better than others. Yet it deserves attempting them all.

Mike Savage New Canaan

1. Ebay.com. I don't understand if you have actually currently thought about looking right here but do consider it as you can fairly quickly discover a prize. I don't understand location in the Nation you are reading this, yet do not be put off due to the fact that eBay is across the country. Regional (to you) vendors additionally make use of eBay and also infact, there's a web site that exists that listings muscle automobiles up for sale on eBay also. Naturally, you'll need to bid as well as you might stumble upon stiff competition. There once again, you might not. It's a little a gamble but if you're significant concerning your muscle mass cars and trucks this may be an avenue worth checking out.

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Mike Savage New Canaan

3. Don't ignore the noticeable alternative to both of the above when searching for affordable muscle autos offer for sale. Scour your regional newspaper. Possibilities are that a local vendor isn't going to be a collector & so will not be asking an outrageous rate. Once again you could make a take whilst leaving the supplier with a smile on his face at the very same time.

4. Lastly, & never least. Turn your focus towards the on the internet auction sites that have police or government confiscated vehicles for sale. I recognize that the majority of the automobiles that they take are just a couple of years of ages yet sometimes they have actually likewise been known to retrieve classic muscle cars and trucks. You need to come to be a participant of these websites, yet by doing so you have prompt accessibility to over 3000 upgraded auctions nationwide. Some sites also provide real-time public auctions. It's an excellent way to see specifically what timeless muscle mass vehicles are out there. Once again, these websites also assure to have public auction sites that cater for your State. So if you discover one that you want you will not have too much to go. Using this choice to find the muscle cars and truck of your selection indicates that you can be a step in advance of everybody else that's looking.

There are low-cost muscular tissue autos to buy out there, & currently you recognize just where to look.

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codependencytendencies · 2 years

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This was supposed to be better than the capitalistic b.s. we are sold but it's still pissing me off so I'm gonna scream into the void. Fuck this assessment.

Physical self care

I eat the same thing every day i don't think about it

Who has the fucking money for prevention or medical care

Fashion is overrated bullshit made up by thin ppl who dont even make shit in my fucking size

I'm disabled. I don't do physical activity. I exist and that's enough.

Hot take, it's not my fucking responsibility to constantly try to think positively about myself in a world that tells me they want me dead. I'll be a fucking realist and not lie to myself about shit.

What is it with these pretentious fucks and massages? Noone is fucking touching me and I'm sick of it being so fucking normalized. I will NEVER get a fucking massage and you can't fucking make me.

Psychological self care

Who the fuck has money for vacations? What even is a "day trip"? Driving is exhausting.

What the fuck is "my own personal psychotherapy" even supposed to mean? If it's just a more pretensious way of saying get a therapist, fuck no. I'm not going back to therapy until therapists stop being dicks who gaslight with cbt and work with cops.

The internet is the only place I can interact with other ppl that I don't hate. Taking breaks is harmful.

Who is this written for? How much reading did the creator of this little list think the average person read for work? Bc I don't know anyone who reads for work honestly.

Do you not notice your own thoughts 24/7? How does that even work?

Engage my intelligence... this is one of those ppl who can turn off their brain to watch trash toxic stuff like reality TV isn't it?

Bold of you to assume I'm an expert in anything

This list is so fucking weird. It's like stuff that I don't even think about or stuff that is not helpful at all.

Be curious... this is why I hate so many ppl. If you have to be reminded to be curious I honestly don't understand why you are alive.

Yeah work stays at work but that's just fuck capitalism don't be taken advantage of.

Journaling is such a basic ass thing and after a while it's pointless. I haven't done that since I was like 16. Not to mention it's exhausting. I'm not writing stuff down by hand esp if I'm the only one that's gonna see it. I'll rant out loud in my apartment bc that's at least not a waste of fucking time. Like who even has a thought long enough to write it down like that?

Emotional self care

I.have.no.support.system. that means no fucking ppl to hang out with.

I HAVE NO SUPPORT SYSTEM. Fuck those toxic ppl that gave birth to me and all the fucks related to them. They can go dissolve in the toxic sludge they created.

I am autistic. Rewatching things is kind of required.

Express outrage... ironically that is what I'm doing right now. Again, fuck this assessment

Fuck affirmations. I'm not lying to myself. It's not actually healthy to tell yourself you're a good person. Bc you're not. Nobody is. That's black and white thinking bullshit. I am a person that does good and bad things depending on my capabilities and I know that bc im not a fucking lying allistic that thinks they don't suffer from black and white thinking.

I'm autistic and for me that means i have uncontrollable bouts of crying. There is no allowing myself. Privileged ass person who made this can apparently controlled their crying. How nice for them.

Now here's where the REAL anger starts

Wtf is going on with this whole "spiritual self care" bullshit? Why is it so hard for ppl to grasp that not everyone thinks like them? And they say autistics have a lack of theory of mind.

Causes aren't spiritual. They are opinions and values.

Reflection isn't spiritual, that's just using your fucking brain to analyze yourself, we already covered that, how many reminders do you boring allistic ppl need??

Non material aspects of life? Wtf does that even mean? Am I aware that there are abstract concepts? Yes, social constructs are abstracts, like Religion is a social construct and im not interested, it's boring.

Find spiritual connection or community?? This bullshit is why atheists are so lonely. Yall can't build any community outside religion.

Relationship self care

Partner. No. Fuck that amatonormativity.

Relatives? Fuck those toxic ppl.

What posting on tumblr isn't enough?

Personal correspondence? Did someone forget to upgrade to modern language? Why does this sound like some 19th century person talking about writing a letter to send along the pony express.

There are no people to do things for me. I have been asking for help and there is noone. I hate this fucking state, I have nothing in common with these ppl. There is nothing for me, I don't like any of the things that ppl do here, and they don't have any of the things I like to do.

Literally all I have is my cats, and I had to Pavlov them into loving me.

Workplace self care

Chat with coworkers??? Why the fuck would I want to do that? At best I tolerate ppl enough to do my job. Peers?? There aren't even ppl my own age here. I can go days without talking to anyone at all. support groups at work??? This is some fancy blue state shit isn't it?

Can't balance shit when you don't have shit.

Fuck self care

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mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess · 2 years

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The wedding ring

When Lan Wangji returns home from a long and gruelling work day, the last thing he expects is to find a quiet, dark and empty apartment. Wei Ying was supposed to be home, but obviously he is not, so maybe he's out with friends? Or getting groceries? He would have let Lan Zhan know if that was the case, but then again, people forget things and it's not like Wei Ying needs to update him on every single thing he does during the day either, he isn't controlling or distrustful of his own husband after all.

With a sigh, Lan Zhan turns on the kitchen light and decides to get himself a light snack before whipping up something for dinner, when something catches his eye on the kitchen counter: golden and shiny, Wei Ying's wedding ring.

Now that's odd. Very odd. Wei Ying never takes it off, ever. Lan Zhan picks the ring up to inspect it - maybe something is wrong with it and it made Wei Ying uncomfortable so he decided not to wear it. But the ring is smooth and perfect and Lan Zhan starts feeling uneasy.

He's fishing for his phone in one of his pockets when he sees, forgotten on a table corner, a little post it note with an address and a phone number, with the words "moving out" written in capital letters at the top.

The ring, the note, the empty and suspiciously tidy apartment, no communication... is... is Wei Ying trying to...

Lan Zhan feels his pulse thrum in his ears as he swipes his thumb across Wei Ying's number on his smartphone and he's praying Wei Ying will pick it up and Lan Zhan will find a way to fix this. He loves Wei Ying so much, he couldn't bear him leaving, much less in such a way... Had Lan Zhan hurt him somehow? Neglected him? Had he forgotten any important dates or anniversaries?

Wei Ying doesn't pick up the phone.

Lan Zhan is halfway out the door the next moment... and nearly gets himself smacked in the face when the door opens to reveal Wei Ying happily strolling into the apartment, earphones in.

He smiles widely when he sees Lan Zhan there and yanks them out of his ears before launching himself to kiss his husband. His very dumbfounded husband.

"Wei...Ying?"

"Yeah, that's me for sure. Why're you so surprised? I live here too, you know?"

"...you do."

Wei Ying raises an eyebrow. "Lan Zhan, are you okay? Did you fry your brain at the office today or something?"

"Why do you want to move out?"

Wei Ying blinks up at him, now confused as well. "You did fry your brain today. Why would I want to move out?!"

Lan Zhan produces the little paper with the address and the phone number, as well as Wei Ying's wedding ring, from one of his pockets. "Please, be honest with me, Wei Ying, don't lie to me."

Wei Ying looks at the heartbroken expression on Lan Zhan's face, then at the two items... and laughs, pulling his husband into a hug. "Silly, Lan Zhan, I'd never lie to you. I'm not leaving either."

Lan Zhan squeezes him tightly. "Then why aren't you wearing your ring?"

"I was washing the dishes this morning and it slipped off my finger down the drain! It was so much work to get it out of there that I decided to keep it off so that I don't lose it forever while cleaning!"

A sigh. "And the note?"

"Oh, that's for Sizhui. You know he wants to move out from the university dorms, so I've scoured the Internet today helping him find a new place. That's the number for one of the apartments I liked, I was going to send it to him."

"And where have you been?"

Wei Ying laughs again. "Took out the trash! I can't believe you'd think I'd just disappear like that! Especially after I decided to surprise you by cleaning this whole place up myself so we don't have to do it tomorrow anymore! We can take the day off, go out-"

And suddenly Wei Ying is swept up and over Lan Zhan's shoulder. "No going out."

"Then what?" A flirtatious tone. "Will you keep me in bed the whole day?"

"Absolutely."

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #writing attempts

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takuyakistall · 3 years

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to yuu.

Note: I wanted to write short HCs for each character as they wrote the letter when I finished reading everyone's thank you messages (◕ᴗ◕✿) ! All of them are very cute and I couldn't help but get some midnight rot so I had to write it down. Here's the link to the post where every message is listed down. Before you start reading, just a heads up, most of these are written in a romantic light. I also recommend reading the letters themselves first before heading here.

Characters: All students + Grim (Excluding Ortho)

Riddle Rosehearts

"Dear friend," Riddle thought that it was the most appropriate way to address you—or at least, that's what his brain is trying to make him think. Ever since overblotting and you helping him snap out of his frenzy, he had difficulty in labeling what exactly you were to him.

Before everything, you were supposed to be just a mere acquaintance to him and yet here you were sending him gifts out of the blue. The general "rule" towards receiving gifts was to give the giver your thanks. Albeit the better option was to thank you personally, he thought that maybe a letter would be better so that he can sort out his thoughts.

Friend. He nodded, proceeding to write down the rest of his message until he realized that this was an opportunity to invite you to tea with him under the pretense of paying you back for the gift. He furrowed his eyebrows slightly as he continued writing.

Surely, you would accept his invitation, right?

Trey Clover

"Hey you," was that too casual? Too rude sounding? Trey shook his head as he stared at the two words. He hadn't been expecting a gift from you and frankly, he was more than a bit surprised. Though perhaps he hadn't read the "gift" part when he suddenly started writing down questions about what you liked.

He immediately started thinking of how he should pay you back—gifts? He doesn't know your taste that well. Favours? Hmm, he's not too sure about that one. That's why he decided to ask, if there was something you wanted—he'll do his best to find it for you. A tempting offer, right?

It seems like you have to tell him that this wasn't a trade.

Cater Diamond

"Helloooooo," he started off. The extra amount of Os he used was proof that he's trying to take this occurrence casually. Though in the inside he was absolutely beaming. Gifts never fail to put a smile on his face, especially if it came from someone you didn't expect to give you a gift or someone special to him.

In this case, it was probably the latter. He took a small break as he stared at your gift, wondering what he should write. A small smile took over his face as he picked up his phone and snapped a few selfies of him with your gift with a caption before hitting the post button.

"Received a gift from a dear friend, isn't it amazing? ♪"

Deuce Spade

"Friend," Deuce rarely got to experience receiving gifts from friends to one another judging how his past years were spent as a delinquent. To say that he was happy to receive one from you was an understatement, he was over the moon.

He felt the need to mention it to you with a huge grin on his face. He thought of various ways to give you something back as he let out a small hum, he felt like he was having a field day. He signed the message and told himself that today was going to be a great day.

Ace Trappola

"Hey you," Ace was terribly suspicious of the fact that you sent him a gift out of the blue. Were you trying to buy him silence over something you did? Were you trying to convince him to do your homework for you? A lot of questions springed up inside his mind but not once did he think that it was just a genuine, sweet gift with no ulterior motives hidden beneath.

He knew that you would get mad at him if he continued to suspect you so he said that he was kidding in all caps with three dots after that—which didn't help his situation at all.

He felt awkward trying to convey his feelings like this and he ruffled his own hair as he told you that he just needed to tell you something later, when you're face-to-face. That would make it easier for him to speak.

Leona Kingscholar

"Good day," Leona uncharacteristically typed. He felt like he was being held at gunpoint by his past etiquette teachers as he tried to think of an appropriate response. If it were up to him, he would've just slapped a "thank you" on a piece of paper and asked Ruggie to give it to you.

Though he thought that perhaps it was better for him to actually put in effort for once. Even if it seemed like his so called effort seemed like something he just stole from the internet—that was more than enough, right? He'll just put his signature at the bottom and ask Ruggie to give it to you.

Ruggie Bucchi

"Hey you," a big grin took over his face as he wrote down his first few words. He wasn't as experienced as other people when it came to writing down messages of gratitude, he once tried consulting Leona about it—asking how to make it sound decent only to be met with an answer that went like: "Just put whatever."

And that's what he did! Truly, he's thankful for receiving a gift. For a split second, he wondered if he should share it with the people back in his homeland. Though he pushed that thought to the back of his head as he signed the bottom of the paper with his signature. He'll figure that out once he gives the letter to you.

Jack Howl

"Friend," he doesn't know what to say it's embarassing. Even in letters, he still manages to retain that straightforward yet somewhat roundabout personality of his. A tinge of embarrassment seeping through the letter.

He wished he could've just talked to you in person instead but alas, he was stuck here trying to rack his brain for words. In the end, he felt like it was best to keep it simple—the slightly demanding tone at the end was the result of him getting flustered at the thought that it's possible that it could be a date between the two of you.

Azul Ashengrotto

"My dear friend," Azul couldn't count the number of times he had crumpled a piece of paper and threw it into the trashcan only to get a new one—rinse and repeat. Jade and Floyd had to stifle their laughter when they saw how distressed he was over a single message. Though, perhaps that was the fruit of his unconventional feelings towards the giver.

He didn't want to sound too stiff and professional to the point that he sounded like a robot but also, he didn't want to sound too casual to the point that you might find it weird. He had to let out a small sigh as he ruffled his hair, another piece of paper thrown into the trash can before deciding that he should just play it safe and give you a free drink.

Jade Leech

"To my dearest," oh no. His hand slipped and accidentally made his greeting more intimate than it should be, he could go back and change it but—fufu, where's the fun in all of that? His lips tugged up into a smirk as he continued writing, knowing full well that what he was implying would evoke an interesting reaction out of you. But, if that wasn't enough to stir you up a bit then why not put a little more something? He was a prick this way.

He spotted an empty space on one of his shelves in the corner of his eye, glancing at it for a few seconds before an idea popped into his head. A smile that barely showed off his sharp canines, hidden beneath his gloved hand.

"Truly. Would I lie to you?"

Floyd Leech

"Little shrimpy," he grinned. Floyd was in an especially good mood today after receiving such a thoughtful gift from you. He played with his pen in hand, spinning it around as a distant look took over his face when he tried thinking about the reason why you gave him a gift out of nowhere.

Knowing that Floyd pays a little more attention to you than others, he was bound to be curious and he was more than eager to find out—there's always a reason behind someone's actions, after all. He tried expressing his intent to get the answer out of you which came out a little threatening but if you saw the look on his face there's no mistaking that it was an even bigger threat than you initially thought.

Kalim Al-Asim

"Hey love," Kalim was as straightforward as ever. Not a single filter as he wrote down his raw feelings. There was no reason for him to hesitate especially now that he was practically about to shake from pure joy—he was incredibly close to signing the letter and hopping into his magic carpet to give it to you personally but Jamil was there beside him to stop him if he ever does that.

Though that didn't mean that it was gonna stop him from wanting to ask you out on a magic carpet date with him, he'll just have to explain to Jamil when you accept his invitation. That is assuming you'll accept, right?

Jamil Viper

"Dear friend," Kalim practically forced him to write a letter back to you. Jamil wasn't an ingrate, he knew when to show gratitude when it was appropriate but he preferred thanking you in person. He had to settle for this in the meantime, he thought that maybe he'll just invite you to Scarabia to talk about what he could give in return.

He hadn't really expected a gift from you, especially with all the trouble he might've caused you due to his overblot. Though he didn't think it was all that bad. In fact, he felt a little relieved that you didn't hold any grudge against him.

Vil Schoenheit

"My dear," Vil had an unmistakable smirk placed upon his lips. The choice of words he wrote managed to give out a slightly smug vibe as he stared at your gift on his desk. Impressed by your ability for finding him a suitable gift, he decided to give you a little bit in return.

His smirk slowly turned into a gentle smile as he imagined your face probably tearing up at the thought of him giving you a signed card, he couldn't help but put an offhanded comment near the end. But it was quickly followed up with a single bit of rare praise from him.

Rook Hunt

"Hey love," Rook was always one to act dramatically whenever he had the chance and even in letters, he managed to sound dramatic. As soon as he realized that you had sent him a gift he started gushing about how wonderful it was and how inspiration was raining down on him like tiny droplets.

What's a better way to let his raw emotions out than poetry? That's right, this man wrote you a poem expressing how he feels because of your gift. He almost forgot to say his gratitude because he got carried away but thankfully, Epel pointed it out to him before he could give it to you.

Epel Felmier

"Dear friend," he rarely got any gifts from anyone outside his relatives so when he saw you give him a gift, he was excited to say the least. There's always a certain joy you can evoke in a person when you give them a gift it was almost euphoric for some. He thought that it was sweet of you to give him a gift and decided to give one back with a small message.

Friend. For some reason, it felt a bit off addressing you as that but he quickly shook his head and shot down that thought. As for his gift, he prepared a little something he made himself. Hehe, he's quite proud of it too!

Idia Shroud

"@YOU" it was interesting how Idia didn't bother changing to formal speech when he decided to give you a thank you message for your gift. He's typing the same way he would to his friend, namely "Crimson Muscle", but perhaps that was because he didn't know of any other way to talk to you without sounding unnatural or weird.

People would normally not even think about giving him something and yet you gave him one. He couldn't help but smile a bit when he said how you were a bit of an oddball—he came up with various nicknames for you inside his head. Most of them being different words for the term "weirdo". Yet they always had a hint of affection whenever he would think of it.

Malleus Draconia

"Dearest," Malleus started off. It was rare that he received gifts from people outside his family or nobles back in the Valley since a lot of people found him intimidating—terrifying for some, even. He was glad that you felt comfortable enough around him to show simple gestures such as these. Upon receiving your gift, Lilia noticed how it came from you and urged Malleus to write his thank you message differently from how he usually writes it.

Did you perhaps know of the legends surrounding the Thorn Witch...? If so, then maybe he could sneak in a little joke. The gift of beauty and the gift of song—ah, nevermind. He pursed his lips slightly, he'll just handpick a gift for you himself. A small gargoyle statue, maybe. Or he could ask the other members of Diasomnia to help him.

Lilia Vanrouge

"My dear," his lips formed a small smirk. Lilia appreciated all surprises, big or small. Though, in particular, something about your surprise gift made him more excited about it than usual. Was that just his old age getting to him or was it something else? He couldn't be bothered to think about it that much.

As a form of gratitude, he weighed his options. It was either giving you a gift back or letting you ask a favour of him. He thought the latter would be more acceptable until an idea popped into his head as his eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. He knew you didn't know what it exactly meant but he gave you his signature nonetheless—he'll leave you to figure out.

Silver

"Hey you," Lilia taught Silver that it was common courtesy to show gratitude when someone gives him a gift. He tried thinking of countless ways to say thank you with his old man bugging him to ask you out on a date instead in the background. In the end, he paid Lilia no attention and instead went with the standard short message and giving a gift back.

He urged himself not to fall asleep as he typed out his message even though he already let out a yawn without him noticing. He glanced at the screen blankly, wondering if he forgot to add anything until he slowly felt himself snoozing off. Head resting on the keyboard and typing out whatnot. When Lilia arrived at the scene, he didn't bother waking him up and just sent the message as it is.

Silver was so embarassed the next day and refused to talk to Lilia temporarily.

Sebek Zigvolt

"Human," he didn't even try addressing you as anything else other than that even in letters. When he found a gift lying by his room, he was a tad suspicious but loosened up when he read the tag attached to it. As stated, it came from you and the gift was meant for Malleus—wait, what. Sebek scrunched up his face as his eyes scanned the words printed on it.

"To Sebek Zigvolt" This was a mistake, right? Sebek was a bit flushed but quickly shook it off by saying how it was probably a subterfuge or whatever that was. There was no way it was for actually for him, right? Surely, you must've sent this in hopes of hearing more about the great Malleus Draconia. Right?

That is... Wonderful!

Grim

"Dear underling," it was cute how he made an effort to write you a letter despite being in the same dorm wherein he could just talk to you directly. But perhaps he was so touched to the extent that he wanted to do this—did you give him tuna? He struggled thanking you properly and ended up boasting about how he was going to be the greatest sorcerer.

Even though he called you underling at first, he couldn't help but soften up a bit. That didn't sit right with him somehow, he didn't know why. He let out a groan as he racked his head for a more appropriate word until-!

Partner... Sounds about right.

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who-is-page · 3 years

Text

Horoscopes for Alterhumans

Author: Page Type: Experimental Fiction Words: 859 Summary: A list of horoscopes for alterhumans.

[Part of the Sol System’s Alterhuman Writing Project for NaNoWriMo 2021. If you don’t want to see these posts, block the tag #inkedpaws]

Aries: You like things simple and direct, which is why you've been running from those new feelings for a few years now, isn't it? Why are you hiding, Aries? What's the worst that can happen? Introspection doesn’t have the teeth to bite you unless you give it some.

Your lucky number is a stern "fuck you" aimed at someone you hate.

Taurus: Having the coolest kintypes and the biggest (metaphorical) balls of anyone around is your burden to bear, Taurus. Also, you're just so incredibly modest. Is that a new haircut?

Your lucky number is 14, which is statistically twice as lucky as 7.

Gemini: You've been surrounding yourself with so many other people that you've lost track of yourself. It's good to keep your alterhuman pals around, but maybe you should start focusing on your own alterhumanity first. You’re your best anchor.

Your lucky number is a crunchy leaf on a sidewalk. Step on it and seize the day.

Cancer:Consider learning how to crochet to fill the gaping maw of insecurity and fear inside of you. One day you'll crab rave on the graves of your enemies, but for now, some quality time with the most important person in your life (yourself) could do you good.

Your lucky number is food shared with friends.

Leo: The life of the party, except the "party" is just you crying over a self-insert OC at 3am while simultaneously lowkey hating yourself. I get that you identify as something nocturnal, but when you start wondering where you went wrong in life and if Suzie from 3rd grade still hates your guts for the time you accidentally dropped gum in her hair, it's time to go to bed.

Your lucky number is Saint Motel's "To My Enemies".

Virgo: Stop being so critical of yourself and others. It's okay to just exist and you don't need to lean on specific things to "justify" your alterhumanity. If anyone gives you shit, just ask Aries to help you jump them. (For legal reasons, this is a joke.)

Your lucky number is 3.14. Consider treating yourself to some pie.

Libra:In an ideal world, you wouldn't have to deal with the injustice and bullshit you're unfortunately exposed to everywhere. This, however, is not an ideal world. With that said, there is literally nothing stopping you from blocking the exclusionists and anti-kink on Twitter to at least make yourself feel better.

Your lucky number is a soft, warm blanket fresh from the dryer.

Scorpio: I know you want to be a [big shot] and you've definitely got the brains and determination to do it, but you need to give yourself a break. You're not a lump of coal that will turn into a diamond with enough pressure and force, you're a sprout that will grow into a redwood if given time, patience, and effort. Also, you're a phytanthrope. Surprise!

Your lucky number is a field of flying moths and fireflies at dusk.

Ophiuchus: You think with your heart, and that can land you in trouble Ophiuchus. You can end up reading as something of a people-pleaser, spreading "#valid"s (or their equivalency in whatever your preferred lingo is) everywhere you go, which doesn't lend itself to really rewarding conversations. Don't be afraid to stop and talk to the roses, you know? You might just learn a thing or two about yourself in the process.

Your lucky number is the opposite of infinite.

Sagittarius: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Consider checking in on yourself to see if you want to disconnect from the Internet and enjoy some quality time outdoors, especially if you can immerse yourself in a place relevant to your alterhumanity. I think it would do you some good.

Your lucky number is an old-fashioned bowling alley and arcade complex, complete with colorful and tacky 90's carpet.

Capricorn: You’ve been sealing yourself off lately, and you certainly don’t need me to tell you that that’s a bad idea. Don’t be so afraid to open up to other people and, more importantly, to open up yourself. I mean that last bit literally, for the record: there’s a very small nugget of squirrelheartedness inside of you that the surgeon forgot to take out. You’ll have to handle it on your own.

Your lucky number is…wait, where did it go? I could have sworn it was here a second ago.

Aquarius: Sometimes it feels like you don’t know what to do with yourself. You have these opinions and thoughts and even beliefs, but you’re just vibing 99% of the time and content to chill on the sidelines. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it does make you a pretty east target for a kinfeels ambush, so keep your eyes peeled.

Your lucky number is [̴͝ͅR̵̩͖̋Ḛ̷͖̓͘D̶̻̃̿Ȁ̶̼C̴̗͆̇T̸̛̟̦̎Ḛ̷͗͜D̸̫̠̆̊]̴̭̄͠.

Pisces: Have you considered throwing yourself into the ocean, Pisces? A cool, refreshing splash into the seawater is just the thing you need to reset the meh week you’ve been having. Just make sure to avoid the physical shifters, they’ve been wandering the beaches looking for people to kidnap and run off with.

Your lucky number is Brian Jacques’s Taggerung.

#inkedpaws #alterhuman #horoscope #astrology #zodiac signs

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honeysidesarchived · 3 years

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WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

pt. iii: tra i due litigante terzo gode ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 3.6k

warnings: mentions of animal death (canon-typical), clown on clown violence.

rating: m/t

notes: putting this little project of mine up on the internet for strangers to see was incredibly nerve-wracking, but i have been so lucky to be received so kindly by folks! thank you to everyone who reads, it really means the absolute most to me.

i don't know if i mentioned this before, but you can find translations for the (google-translated) italian at the bottom of each chapter on my ao3. i know it's a hassle, i'm sorry!! just can't find an easy place to put them here without spoiling what's going on in the chap ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ

thank you as always to my lovely beta @starcrier, my lover my life my shawty my wife; this could not be done at all without you. ♡ and to @belorage, who loves euphie enough to send me the cutest message that managed to kick my ass into gear to get this chapter edited!!

Two days after the engagement party, when Santino has finally made up for his delay and lateness, is when he ruins it all again.

Later, Euphemia will think that he can’t help it—he is destined to be a wrecker, a ruiner, even if it’s for himself. It’s not his fault, not really, she’ll say. Ignoring that he is a perfectly autonomous adult means that she can excuse his thoughtlessness and not call it selfishness.

One of Santi’s men tries to tell her that he’s busy as she strides through the museum, heels clipping the floor with a strict, stark cadence. The smell of the doctor’s office is still stuck in her palette. She feels a wad of anxiety, anticipation, coiling deep in the pit of her stomach, a black stone dropped there to torture her with its heaviness. Santino will be happy, she thinks absently, chewing the inside of her cheek as she moves. He’s always wanted this.

The man is keeping pace with her well enough, despite her long legs and the purpose with which she walks to one of the back rooms of the museum.

“Bella,” he says, reaching to stop her, “per favore, he is in a meeting.”

The words put a sour taste in her mouth. Busy, the man is trying to say, too busy for you, for this, right now.

“Trust me, Gianni,” she replies dryly, “he’ll want to make time for this.”

She takes two steps into the room past the other guards, who don’t bother trying to stop her. The room is marked primarily by a high ceiling, which allows all of the paintings to be hung in it in their varying degrees of size. Euphemia recognizes Santino sitting on the bench first, and then another man that he’s talking to. The man looks like he’s just come off of the streets, his hair dark and the scruff that she can see on the side of his face manicured enough to look like he just hasn’t bothered recently.

It takes Euphemia’s brain a few seconds to register the facial features of the man who turns to look at her over his shoulder. He would be nothing, mean nothing, to her if she didn’t see the way his expression flattened, his gaze sweeping over her—calculating. Measuring. Identifying.

He looks dirty, unshowered, covered in soot, and she thinks back to two nights ago when Santino showed up to their engagement party smelling like fire and gunpowder.

Santino stands abruptly. He might be angry, or perhaps worried; it’s hard to tell the difference with him. But she can’t look at him, anyway, her gaze fixed on the stranger who is not much of a stranger at all, who she knows because of the scary stories. The rest of the world may as well be melting down around her, some sick Van Gogh painting, and she can’t look away.

John Wick has dark eyes. Shark’s eyes, she thinks. Black, soulless. Like the glass eyes on a teddy bear. She feels her stomach lurch as fear washes over her in a slick, wet wave, reminding her that she’s already received one bout of stressful news this afternoon.

He watches her. She’s sure he’s sizing her up—that is what John Wick is made to do—but after a second, he glances to Santino, gauging his reaction. If he thinks she's any kind of a threat, he's not letting it show.

“I told you not to let anyone in,” Santi says angrily to Gianni, helpless behind her—because Gianni would have never dared to grab her arm to stop her, would have never thought it acceptable to handle her like street rabble.

“Santi,” Euphie says, feeling very small and very far away and somewhere that her body isn't, “who is that?”

She knows, but she wants to hear him say it.

He steps around the bench, excusing himself from his conversation with Wick and crossing the space between them to guide her out of the room with his hands on her arms. She lets him, not because she isn’t burning with rage but because if Santino doesn’t show her where to go, Euphemia will just stand there, fear driving icy-hot spears through her chest.

He takes her as far as around the corner of the room, maybe to put as much space between her and John Wick as he can afford, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. She starts to shrug his hands off of her, and oh, there it is—the shrieking, panging fear, and fury, boiling inside of her. Venomous, indignant. Her mind is a mess of color and noise and she’s vaguely aware that maybe she should be working hard to keep her voice down, but it no longer matters.

A lot of things shouldn’t have happened that did. What’s one more?

“You brought him here?” She can feel her voice bordering on hysteria. “Are you a fucking idiot, Santi? What part of I don’t want John Wick near my life—”

“Euphie, Euphie, Euphie,” Santi says, trying his sweet-talk; condescending, like he’s speaking to a child. “Lower your voice, tesora, and we’ll talk about it.”

Her hand moves of its own accord, a knee-jerk reaction to Santi sweetly telling her to shut up, and she slaps him. Hard. As hard as she can manage. The second her palm connects with the side of his face, and the needles start stinging in her palm, she thinks that she regrets it: but all she can really think about is the pure fear and rage coursing through her body, pummeling adrenaline through her bloodstream until she feels like she’s going to be sick.

And, a little, too, a warmth blooming in her chest: satisfaction.

Santino's head doesn't turn back to her right away. There is a heartbeat of a moment where only silence reigns, where his fingers reach and touch the place her palm had made contact with, like he can't believe she did it. Maybe he can't, but then he'd be a bigger idiot than Euphemia thought.

He turns to face her again and holds up a hand—perhaps to call for a moment of inaction, or to be prepared for a second blow, she’s not sure and she doesn’t care. Santi begins, his voice a low threat, “Do not do anything else you're going to regret, Euphemia.”

Anything else you’re going to regret, he says, as though she will regret having done this.

“Fuck you,” she snaps, her voice rising in volume further yet. The poison reverberates on the high, smooth glass ceiling, bouncing off of the marble walls until it’s all echoing around them. “He knows what I look like, what—what I sound like, he knows my name, Santi, you—”

She's pushing him, hitting his chest; an impatient and weak battering. She wants both to get him away from her as much as possible and keep him close. Santi catches her wrists with bruising force, trapping her and making her look at him.

“Euphemia, basta—if you had waited,” he bites out, “then—”

“I’m pregnant!” The words leave her in a visceral, furious shout, her heart thundering in her chest, her flight or fight demanding one or the other. She rips her wrists from his grip. It feels like her entire body is vibrating. “You fucking idiot—I was late, I just got back from the doctor, and—and you’re not supposed to have him here anyway! You promised me, Santino D’Antonio, you promised me!”

There is a heartbeat of time, of space, where her fiance stares at her like he doesn’t quite think that she’s real. Red blooms on his cheek where her hand made contact and the dark of his pupils has all but swallowed up the beautiful green of his irises. Finally, something seems to kick the gears back into motion, and he plunges on, catching his footing.

“Euphie,” Santi says, reaching for her again, “Euphie, listen to me. John came to me, I didn’t—”

“I don’t need a fucking history lesson, Santino!” Euphemia spits, brushing his hand away from her arm. Blood is rushing through her head, louder and louder, demanding she raise her own volume to be heard over it. “I told you to leave him alone. You insisted, and I thought that was the end of it—you came late to the party that night because of him, isn’t that right? So why is he here, Santi? Why is John Wick near me and my baby?”

Santino stares at her. She can see the flex of his jaw when his teeth clench, trying to maintain what shred of control he has. He swallows, lifting a finger, to indicate one minute, and it takes all of her self-control not to scream at him that he doesn’t get any more minutes. But there is some pleasure in seeing him a little ruffled; to see the way his eyes dart over her face, trying to keep everything collected neatly in his mind, filed away for premium use. She wants to shake him until he is really rattled.

“It may have taken more persuasion than I anticipated,” Santi says finally, at last.

Euphemia makes a sound something like wrecking, like grief, because she knew this was going to happen and he told her it wouldn’t but here they are anyway. It’s a death knell, ringing in her ribcage, in the cavity of her chest. Dead, dead, dead, we’re all fucking dead now, don’t you see it? You, and me, and now our baby, dead like stones.

He continues quickly, over the sound of her agony, “But that doesn’t matter—cara mia, listen to me, it doesn’t matter because now John will do what I ask him to, and we don’t have to worry about anything else. Euphie, Euphie—come here, we'll talk about this.”

She’s going to be sick. The doctor’s words are still rolling around in her head; avoid stress, make sure you sleep and eat well. Can’t be worrying that baby, can we, Miss Volpe? Make sure your fiance does all the work, hm?

“It does matter. It matters the most, Santi, I—I told you to leave him be, I told you, and you said that you would only ask and that would be it—”

She’s grieving, now, lamenting the loss of her happiness, the hysteria taking a melancholic edge in her voice as the sorrow sweeps over her. Santi keeps reaching for her, to try and ground her back to him, and for the first time since she met him she just can’t stand to feel him touching her, saying her name, trying to sweet-talk her. His hands sweep her shoulders, coming up for his thumb to brush the nape of her neck; instinctively, her shoulders scrunch up to disembark them, arms shoving his off of her.

He says, “Tesora, we can talk about this—”

“You did exactly what I asked you not to,” she manages out, taking a step back from him. “I ask you for two things, Santi. Helping my mother, and not putting yourself at war with John Wick. I do not—you should not have asked him at all!”

“Euphie—”

By the time Santino reaches for her again, she’s turning and walking away, her steps unsteady. She’s sure that she’s sweating, or crying, or maybe both or neither and her body is just kicking into overdrive with gut-wrenching sweeps of grief rocking through her body now that she’s got Baba Yaga fifteen feet from her. From her and her baby.

“Euphie!” Santino’s voice echoes down the main hall of the museum, lighter now. Almost like they never argued at all. “We’ll talk when I get home, si? Mi amore?”

Euphemia is certain she’s never heard a sentence more infuriating in her entire life. It sparks something violent in her. It had been dormant, had stepped aside for her mourning, but it catches fire the second Santino says, we’ll talk when I get home.

Incensed, she turns and slides the engagement ring off of her finger, throwing it as hard as she can at him. Gianni had been trailing her, certainly at Santino's behest, and he tries to stop her—but it's too late, the fury inside of her forcing her to move more quickly than Gianni anticipates.

He catches her around the waist and she considers, briefly, the logistics of wrenching Gianni's arm off of her to go and slap Santino again; instead, she watches the expensive engagement ring bounce off of the front of Santino's jacket and clatter on the floor.

The way he tilts his head, as though expecting her to lob it at his face, and the irritated expression that comes over him is almost as good as actually having hit her original target of that pretty face of his.

Then, it’s pure, sheer, furious indignation that crosses Santi’s face, but she has no time to think about what that means for her.

“Fuck you, Santi,” she bites out venomously. “Fuck. You. Don’t fucking bother coming home.”

“Bella,” Gianni says, “we should get you back.”

Euphemia debates slapping Gianni, too, but it would be unfair; in his defense, he did try to keep her out of the room. She turns and marches her way out, the doors slamming shut behind her and the cold air of New York in the fall washing over her. As Gianni speaks on the phone and calls the driver around, she glances up at the sky; gray and soft as wedding silk, it stretches, endless, cut in pieces by the skyscrapers parsing it out.

A fool, she thinks. Santino has always made a fool out of me, and this is no one’s fault but my own.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Two hours later, Euphemia hears him enter the loft. He lets the door click shut softly behind him, not slamming it, not storming through. She expected no less; Santi so rarely lets the anger really take hold of him, so rarely lets himself scream or yell or throw something. I’m marrying a fucking sociopath, she thinks, but there’s no heat to the thought; only exhaustion, only a tiredness that goes bone-deep

Even now, she still thinks of it as present tense: she’s marrying a sociopath, as though she didn’t try to hit him in the face with the engagement ring he picked out for her just hours ago, as though in the end, she will still be his. She will.

“Are you calmed down?” Santino asks, in the way that only he could manage—condescending, and soft. Euphemia can’t withhold the vicious scoff that rolls out of her the second he talks.

“I told you not to come home,” she replies tartly, “but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You are apparently as deaf as you are stupid.”

“So no, then.”

“What do you want me to say, Santi?” Euphemia demands, looking at him now. She’s got a suitcase out but there’s nothing in it; she can’t bring herself to pack, to think about going back home to Tuscany where her mother is waiting, barely sober because she can only stay sober for about a month at a time before she falls back to her old habits. “Why don’t you invite our friend John Wick up for dinner, hm? I’m sure he’d like that, after you did whatever you did to make him show up here. Perhaps you took a page out of that idiot Iosef’s book and killed his new dog?”

“He owes me,” Santino insists, glossing over her needling, “and I will get what I am owed.”

She has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Do you know how fucking stupid you sound?” she asks, incredulous. “If I die before telling you how incredibly, disgustingly stupid you sound when you say that, then I will—”

Santino kisses her. He does it because he knows that she’s not expecting it, and it has its desired effect; she stills, all of the furious energy like bottled lightning capped again. He kisses her softly, with no rage, but she can feel it woven into the sinew of his posture.

She thinks about slapping him again. But he probably knows that, because he grabs her hands, gripping them in his; the pressure is more relaxing than it is infuriating, which almost drives her mad, but it does what Santino always does. It pulls her apart until all that’s left is the hurt, the fear, welling up inside of her like a tidal wave crashing into the shore.

“He’s doing what I asked,” he murmurs. “And then we’ll be done with John Wick. Mia piccola volpe, look at me.”

“No,” she says, trying to sound angry but it comes out an agonized sound; she’s crying before she can stop herself, tears burning the edges of her eyes and a big, wet gasping breath necessary for her to keep going. “No, I don’t want to look at you anymore, Santi—”

“He’s doing what I ask, and then I promise, you and I will be done with John Wick forever.” His voice is urgent and insistent. “The three of us, tesora. Isn’t that right? You weren’t just saying that to get back at me?”

She nods, numbly. They had been careful, because she’d said she wasn’t ready—but mistakes happened. Pills got forgotten. She wishes that she could have lied about it and kept it secret. Maybe he’d be acting differently now if she wasn’t carrying his child; maybe his face would be something else.

“Euphie,” he whispers, taking her face in his hands. “My perfect, gorgeous Euphie—my greatest piece of art.” He kisses her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. “And the one with the most bite, too, even when you are so ungrateful for the things that I do. My face still hurts.”

“Good,” Euphemia manages out, her voice wobbling. “You deserve it. Idiota.”

“Maybe,” Santi replies. He tucks her against his chest and kisses her hair. “I never thought I would piss you off enough to get you to hit me—and you did cause quite a scene in front of Wick.”

“Stop.” Just the sound of that monster’s name makes her stomach churn. “Stress is bad for the baby.”

He laughs, the first real laugh in what feels like days since he’s decided on this path with John Wick. “Fine, I will not mention him again. But know that after this, it will be done. Permanently. Forever. Si? Tell me you understand, Euphie.”

She’s so tired. She’s so tired down into her core, the kind of tired that doesn’t go away with a nap or a cup of coffee. “Si,” she replies, closing her eyes. “Capisco, Santi.”

Somehow, Santi’s words that things will be done “permanently” with John Wick only manage to make her more uneasy.

She can’t remember what exactly carries her through the rest of the evening. She remembers calling her mother to check on her, to ask if she’s keeping up with her meetings. She can’t bring herself to come clean about the surprise pregnancy; it’s early, anyway, and her mother would only stress her out more.

“Sei la mia stella più preziosa,” her mother says. “Ti amo, Effie.”

“Yes, mama,” Euphie sighs, unable to say the words back. “Buona notte.”

She hits the red end call button on the phone screen, setting it face-down on the countertop and leaning her palms against the marble. God, she knows that she’d fucking kill a man for a drag of a cigarette—but she could never. Not now. Not when she has—

The sound of paper on the countertop stirs her from her half-bent position. Santino slides it across to her, setting a pen down next to her hand. It’s their marriage certificate. He’s already signed it, and while she stares at it numbly, he takes her left hand and puts the engagement ring back on her finger, but this time with the diamond wedding band he’d picked out as well.

“Santi,” she starts, but he tsks his tongue, quieting her. She’s too tired to be offended.

“Sign the certificate, amore,” he says. “Do not fuss. You’re going to stop throwing this ring at me, yes?”

There are a million reasons not to sign it: but the words that came out of her mouth are, “We don’t have the witnesses or the officiant.”

“Do we need a witness or officiant greater than God himself?” Santino replies. He leans against the counter from the other side, watching her. He is polished, pristine. Any remains of her earlier transgression against him are now completely gone, at least the physical marks. She’s sure that he won’t forget very soon that she raised a hand against him. “Sign it, Euphie, and be my wife.”

She stares at the paper. She feels like she’s melting; her life can’t be real anymore, not when John Wick was, just hours ago, feet away from her, and she’s pregnant, and now Santino is asking her to sign their marriage certificate right now.

The implications fill her with dread. What’s the rush? If nothing’s wrong, if they’ll be done with John Wick, what’s the rush?

“You said that you had nothing before me,” Santino says, breaking her out of her eerie, absent-minded disconnect. He brushes the hair from her face. “You will never have nothing again.”

Euphemia signs the certificate in a haze. It doesn’t feel any different after; she doesn’t feel different and neither does Santino in relation to her, and the realization that they had felt married for a few years now sinks down on her.

Santino rounds the counter to her, taking her face and kissing her; her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, the corner of her mouth and eventually just kissing her. His hand smooths over her stomach, admiring, and he brushes their noses together.

“Perfetto e tutto mio,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “Isn’t that right, Euphemia?”

She replies, without thinking, “Si, sono tuo.”

Always, she thinks, always yours, whether I like it or not.

#santino d'antonio/original female character #john wick oc #santino d'antonio/ofc #john wick #spilled ink #c: euphemia volpe #c: santino d'antonio #c: john wick #x: senza tentazioni senza onore #oh yeah baby real good love the SUFFERING #ugh i wish i could convey how much it means to me to have people reading and enjoy this #alas i can only!!!! cry in the tags #thank you everyone <3

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wendystales · 3 years

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Memories - lrh (Chapter Six)

Memories (also on Wattpad)

Chapter Five ※※※※※ Chapter Seven

“Problems in the fairy world: After almost two years, Luke Hemmings and Marnie McGonagall break up”

“The lovely couple of 2020, the model Marnie McGonagall and the singer Luke Hemmings, break up after almost two years of relationship”

“Shaken structure : After an accident and amnesia, Marnie McGonagall and Luke Hemmings puts an end to the relationship for a year and a half ”

After a week in peace and serenity, or something like that, my second one started with the internet breaking at the end of my relationship with Luke.

All the tabloids, renowned newspaper sites, gossip sites. All social networks. All radio stations. Everyone was commenting on.

All articles were based on “someone close to the couple”. Who? I have no idea, since after a slight spurt of distrust, I realized that none of my friends would do that. According to Noah, this was just the media playing, hoping to see if Luke or I would take the bait.

With my good leg beating at a fast pace, signaling my nervousness, I keep staring at the TV in silence, while Noah paces behind me, trying to control everything. The doorbell rings and I watch him go to answer. When Luke comes into view, I get up quickly and walk over to him, hugging him.

I close my eyes, feeling safer. I don't know how to deal with half the Los Angeles media behind me for a statement, or expecting a slip-up to attack me. I release all the air trapped in my lungs, in no hurry to break that hug.

“Are you okay?” he whispers and I just shake my head as if it was okay, or something close to it. “Great, that's what matters.” he leaves a kiss on my shoulder, before letting go and greeting Noah right.

“What's the order?” I see my friend question.

“The usual. They don't want me to say anything, but I won't be quiet while they attack her. I never stayed and it is not now that I will.” Luke replies, decided.

“Are they attacking me?” I ask approaching the two, who look at me without knowing what to say.

Since the headlines came out, Noah planted a lookout here at home, because he is the one who woke me up, and since then he hasn't let me see anything, just the TV and the mute yet. I knew he was protecting me, but I didn't know what.

The two look at each other and Luke approaches me again, sitting on the couch. As he tries to find a million ways to start, I interrupt him.

“Why do I feel like we already had this conversation?” I ask suspiciously.

“Because we already did, before we tell the media.” he scratches the back of his neck.

Once again, before he starts, Noah's cell phone rings and he leaves, leaving us alone.

“So?” I incentive to continue.

“There are a group of people, who like the band, but don't like our relationship and well …”

“They attack me.” I say, shortening for him. Luke states awkwardly. “How and why?” I don't know if I really want to know, but I know I need to.

Luke scratches his forehead. I feel bad for having to pass it on or go over it.

“They say bad things about you, about your job, about us. But nothing, nothing, is true.” Luke stresses "nothing" already knowing that most likely I would have that in my head. “Look, no matter what we do, there will always be people wanting to get in the middle and think they know more than the two of us, so just ignore it. Let them talk to themselves, they stop and go on to another topic. OK?” his face lowers, trying to meet my eyes, which were focusing on the pillow between us.

“OK!” I look at him with a weak smile. Luke gives a weak smile too, before giving me a kiss on the forehead and going after Noah to post his text.

In his tweets, Luke explains what happened between the two of us. He tells about my amnesia and how we both talked, and together, we decided to take a break, until I got used to my life or until I remembered everything. In the sequence, he also made clear all the affection and respect that we still had for each other. In addition to pulling the ear of whoever was attacking me or blaming me.

I don't know where it would be my fault. After all, I am the victim. Not to mention that none of this would be happening if it weren't for the accident. I would probably still be with Luke, together and happy.

I stare at the rug, hoping and praying for some memory to come, but my brain ignores me. I sigh, sinking into the couch. I look at the balcony, seeing the two talking. Luke is too perfect, it is not possible. I wouldn't have all that maturity.

This is not just maturity ...

I close my eyes, trying to silence my conscience. I know what it was, but not talking or thinking makes it seem like it’s not real.

Who am I kidding?!

Soon Luke's tweets were on TV, with several photos and videos of appearances, and everyone was commenting. Apparently the text was well accepted by the media, which changed the focus of the relationship a little and went back to talking about my accident. I hold my breath when the accident video is played again. I get up calling the attention of the two, who return to the living room and turn off the TV.

“Are you OK?” Noah asks attentively. I just nod.

“I need to go. I'm sure someone will show up at the studio to discuss with me. Later I try to stop by or call you.” Luke warns, coming towards me.

I hug him again, feeling safe. I apologize for getting him into this mess.

“It is not your fault and what matters is your well-being. And remember.” he holds my face, making me look into his blue eyes. “Nothing they say about you is true, don't let that take your head. I'll call you later.” he kisses me on the forehead and leaves.

“Oh, it is so difficult to see you like this and know that you are not together.” I turn to Noah, who is sitting on the sofa, looking at me in pain. I throw a pillow over his face and sit back down next to him.

“Believe me, I know.” I watch one more picture of us on the screen. “We are a beautiful couple.” I give a sad smile.

“Are?” Noah comments with a hopeful smile. “Can I start to ship again and create expectations?” he nudges me.

“First of all, did you ever stop to ship and create expectations?” Noah gives a weird smile. “Second, even if you haven't stopped, no. Despite everything, I still don't feel anything for Luke.” I sigh.

Perhaps "nothing" was a very strong word. I have affection and gratitude, but that I also have for Noah, Kyleen, Mike, Ashton, Calum and Leah, that is, it didn't mean much. What I needed was not there yet. However, I still hope to happen.

[...]

“Doesn't he look beautiful dressed like that? You have to see when he uses the overalls.” Calum sits next to me, provoking Ashton who was sitting on the floor, moving in his garden.

“Old Ashton had a farm, ieieo.” I humming with Calum, continuing the provocation.

I take the water bottle from Calum's hand, watching Ash dressed in faded jeans, a dirty T-shirt and a wide straw hat. I give a short laugh, watching Ashton glare at Calum. Apparently, his hobby in gardening was pretty funny.

“I already know what to give you on your birthday.” I get on the joke with Calum.

“You already gave that.” the two talk together, scaring me.

I look at them both with wide eyes as they laugh. This is already getting boring, it seems that everyone has some advantage over me. I see the idea of the garden kit for kids going down the drain. I didn't know what to give, now then.

“Then I will need your help with this.” I whisper to Calum, who just nods.

“So, you stopped when Luke left.” Ash reminds me.

After yesterday, with my name and Luke's in everyone's mouth, today I didn't want to stay at home, I needed to relax, so the two ladies went to pick me up to spend the afternoon here at Ashton's house with them. Especially because they wanted to know how I was doing and I wanted to hear from Luke.

“Well, everything was fine. Everything calmed down, as far as possible, until the intercom rang.” I give a discredited laugh, remembering yesterday. “When Stephen appeared at the door of my building.”

The two looked at me in astonishment.

“You're kidding, right?” Ashton even got up, approaching me.

“Go for me, I would like a lot, but no. He knew about Luke and me and wanted to try the chance. Little does he know that I already know everything.” I comment the last part quietly, not wanting to focus on that.

“This guy is unbelievable. How does he have that courage?!” Calum comments outraged.

“Did you tell Luke?” Ashton asks, after walking around as outraged as Cal.

“No and I don't know if I'm going to tell.” they look at me alarmed. “I don't want Luke to feel like he has to have any responsibility to keep Stephen from me and I know he will.” I confirm my theory when Cal shakes his head, agreeing with me. “Nothing happened either, Noah went down and ran him, it was just an isolated case.” I shrug.

I didn't expect Stephen to show up, not after the hospital, however, if he ever had the courage to show up for the first time after everything I experienced (according to my diary), the hospital misunderstanding was nothing for him.

I can't hide that I was very tempted to go down and break my cast on his head, but Noah was quicker, locking me at home and going in my place. According to him, now was not the time for an aggression scandal. Do what?! He's right.

“I understand you, my love, but as a friend, I advise you to tell.” Ash sits next to me. “This will end up getting to him, like it or not, so it better be for you.”

“Yeah, no need to go into details, but tell him.” Hood reinforces.

“I don't know if Parker's party is an appropriate place, but it may be easier to relax afterwards.” Ashton shrugs, wanting to help.

“Ah, I heard about this party. He's Noah's fling, isn't he?”

“Don't let Noah hear that.” Calum laughs, catching my attention.

But it was Leah who told me about them.

“Noah and Parker resemble you and Hemmo very much at the beginning. Everyone knows something is going to happen, but you guys play hard to get”. Ashton explains. I open my mouth to defend myself, but according to my diary, that was it.

I don't help myself.

“Well, regardless of his status, I won't.” the two look at me surprised and upset. “ I'm not ready for parties yet, sorry, but I don't want to sit all night on the couch without being able to dance or having to drag it up and down.” I point to the orthopedic boot on my foot, irritated by that thing.

“But what are you going to do over the weekend then?’ Cal asks.

“You will laugh and judge me.” I answer with a pout. I may not know them well enough, but enough to understand what they are like.

“Calum quite capable, but I don't.” Calum opens his arms, visibly offended by Ash's comment, making me laugh. “You laugh at that fall of Mike in the London show until today and it has more than seven years.”

It was Ashton talking about this show that Hood started to laugh, agreeing that he was the most likely to laugh at me.

“I still have the video.” he comments after a sigh, stopping laughing.

“Tell me.” my friend asks me, turning my attention to him.

“ I'm going to throw myself on my couch, with a lot of junk food and watch makeover programs and maybe some movies. This is going to be my weekend.” I tell after a sigh.

“This is so depressing that I can't even laugh.” Calum says shaking his head in denial. I look at him indignantly. Come on?! It's not so bad.

“Really, M&Ms? Is this going to be your weekend? On the couch clogging up with food?” Ashton is more indignant than I am with Cal.

“ I'm not in the mood, I'm sorry. But don't worry, Kyleen told me about your birthday party and I will, I swear.” I raise my right hand, as if I were in court.

“You are not even crazy to consider not going. I bring you by the boot.” he counters by returning to the vase he was stirring before.

“Was he always that delicate?” I ask Calum, who spits half the water.

“Oh, Marnie, you need to spend more time with us.” he pats my knee, like an old man telling about his childhood.

“Well, changing the subject a little, and Luke, how is he?” Ashton and Calum look at each other to get my attention.

“He's taking it. He has been busy with some compositions, he has lived in the studio.” Calum replies, going around the mouth of the bottle with his finger.

I look at Ashton, who was still thoughtful. Luke is probably not as well as they try to pass me, or something else is going on.

“He'll be fine!” Irwin reinforces, trying to keep me calm.

I decide not to poke the situation anymore and focus my thoughts on the conversation we were having when I arrived, which was to recall some more facts from the last few years.

“Wait, and you got stuck in the room? And the girl is gone?” I question Calum, very lost in the whole story of how he met Kyleen.

“Yes, the girl locked me there and I don't know where she went, but Kyleen came and released me.” he explains.

“You need to find more normal girls, seriously, you have a serious problem in choosing someone.” I tell them. Serious! Emery, this girl now, my God, what a rotten picker.

“After that we went out a few times and she became part of the team. Shortly thereafter, we met Noah and Leah. That's been six years. Something around there.” Cal finishes.

“Went out?” I widen my eyes. “Have you and Kyleen ever had an affair?” I approached him, shocked, seeing him nod. “ Oh my God!”

“ It's really fun to tell her things, isn't it?” Ash laughs, seeing my reaction.

“Yes, but it came to nothing, it was more fun and in the end, it started to get weird. So, we decided to just be friends.” Hood responds. Once again, I look at Ash with my mouth open, making him laugh.

“She didn't tell me that. What a bitch.” I lean against the wall, indignant.

After the fun afternoon with Tweedledee and Tweedledum, Calum took me home, since today I was having dinner with my father and Meredith for the first time.

“Anything call me, okay?” Hood speaks before saying goodbye. “Especially if Meredith brings that peach pie with homemade whipped cream.” I watch with wide eyes, he close his eyes dreaming of the pie. “I can even taste it.” he finally sighs.

“Do you want me to keep a piece?” he quickly nods, smiling. “Okay, bye, Cal. Thanks!”

I get out of the car laughing. I couldn't ask for better friends.

I keep imagining a million scenarios while I get ready and wait for them to arrive. I know that Meredith and I know each other and get along, but that doesn't stop my anxiety from attacking.

The doorbell rings and I almost cry, regretting not having canceled before. I open the door to find Meredith fixing the collar of my father's shirt, which held the so famous pie. I watch the woman with medium dark hair and a long jumpsuit, opening a warm smile. My father steps forward and gives me a hug.

“How are you?” he analyzes me.

“Well, every day better.” I give a nervous smile. Then the time came. “Hey!” I open my smile a little more to receive Meredith.

She takes a step towards me, shy and extends her hand. I squeeze willingly and give passage to the two of them. We sat at the table and stared at each other for a few seconds, until I realized that I didn't put the dish on the table.

“Sorry.” I mention getting up, but my father takes the lead.

I understand that he wants to help, but being alone with Meredith, even for two seconds, was still not comfortable.

“So …” I start. “I saw that you are going to publish a second book.”

“Ah yes yes. Next week, I can't wait.” she responds excitedly.

Her first book was about toxic relationships and to my amazement, I helped out on some points. The second book would be about the new beginning, the emotional and financial freedom of women. She was not a Jane Austen, because the genres are different, but she is well known.

“I know I'm suspicious to talk, but it looks incredible. Your mother read and loved it.” my father comments the last part in a natural way. However, Meredith notes that I was a little uncomfortable and changed the subject.

I discreetly thanks. My parents' divorce and their friendship is something that I am still absorbing. I accept, but I am learning to cope.

We started talking about my father's trip to Japan and how he fumbled over there. It didn't take long for me to get comfortable with Meredith over there, she's as funny as my dad and very kind.

Meredith must be my mother's age, but she has an energy that makes her look much younger. She wears colorful clothes, always has a huge smile on her face and a contagious laugh. It is good to be close to her. I discover that her first husband was her high school boyfriend, but unfortunately he died of cancer.

Then she started dating an organic food store owner, but he was not a nice guy. It was from this relationship that the first book came out. I admire the courage and strength she had to put an end to it. In return, she had Kendall and Samantha, who look adorable.

“Ah, before I forget.” She takes some papers out of her bag. “The twins made some drawings for you.”

I open those papers with a huge smile. The paintings contained various hearts, flowers, Petunia in various forms and even their self-portrait with me. Everyone wished me well and said that I was the best sister in the world.

“I do not even know what to say.” I am touched. I always wanted to have siblings and since I knew them both, the desire to meet them only increases. The only issue is the fear that they won't like me.

“They are dying to see you, but we said they need to wait for you to be ready. I know there is still a lot to assimilate and absorb.” Meredith says calmly. I am grateful that they do not press anything.

But like everything, I needed to face this. Being afraid of two five-year-olds is not going to help at all. In fact, it will only make me miss them more.

“Yes, you commented on the interview that Meredith will give on the afternoon program, on Wednesday. If they want, I can take care of them.” I suggest nervous, after all, I have amnesia, a broken arm and a leg in the orthopedic boot. I don't know if I'm reliable.

They both look at each other and shrug. For them, I wouldn't have the slightest problem, and certainly not for the children. So it was agreed, Wednesday, I would find my brothers, and may God help me.

“Who's up for pie?” Meredith opens that smile again.

I end up laughing again, remembering Calum earlier. I send a photo of my plate to him, who responds with crying emojis and a huge audio, begging to keep his piece.

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