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littlecomets-littleitaly · 1 year ago

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is there a reason why no one has common sense anymore?

rant under cut

this is about online customer service.

it is my first day back after a 10 day vacation. i am beyond burnt out, i took the vacation time all in one go to hope it would help, but it did not.

first of all, it costs 0 to be neutral to customer service agents. im not asking for "hello! thank you so much for your help! i want to rate you 1000/10 on your survey!" all i am asking for is that you give me more than 20 seconds to type out a reply to you, and for you to realize i am a human being. belittling me does not get you above and beyond service, it gets you flagged no more compensation, and piss poor customer service.

also Stop Typing Like This. You Aren't Quirky, This Is Hard To Read, And It Doubles How Long It Takes You To Type. same with emojis. I don't 🚫 really care 🤷‍♀️ that you want 🎁 free merch 🛍👠👗🧢 because your package 📦 was delivered 🚛 while it was raining ☔️ and the box got wet 🌊.

second of all, just give the agents the info they ask for. no more, no less.

if you tell me youre pretty sure your package was stolen, that can and will be used to deny your claim.

if i tell you that the address you just provided me was not used on the order, giving me the same address four more times does not help either of us.

if i ask you to clarify what package you are missing and you say "the first one", that unfortunately, tells me nothing.

if you order more than one of the same item in a different colorway or size, telling me the items name does not actually tell me what item you are referring to.

if i ask for six pieces of information, each on their own line break to make it clear exactly what im asking for, i should be getting those 6 pieces of information back from you. not 4 and two half pieces of information. i asked for your full name, that means first and last. i asked for your complete address, not just the city, state and zipcode. this is for your security. not to be malicious.

this especially goes for inventory inquiries. i work for a fashion retailer as online chat. we aren't in store. we aren't local to you. everything on our website has like 3+ different tiers of sizing, hundreds of colors, and hell, even hundreds of design variations within the same model. not to mention hundreds of store locations. thousands even.

all i ask for is product number, size, and a complete store address. i never get all three in one go.

"ugg slipper in six" the fluff yeahs? the tasmans? the nuemels? what color, since theres 10+ each for each model above. size 6? 6 womens? 6 grade school? what store? we have 800 under one banner alone?

"nike tech fleece black large" the hoodie, the sweatshirt, the half zip, the full zip, the joggers, or the shorts? which version of the black? theres all black, theres black with white logos, theres black with red logos, theres black with white screen printing? size large? large what? large womens, large mens, large grade school, large toddler? what store?

"timberland 6 inch black at inkster" aight. 6 inch what? the field boots? the waterproof? do you want iridescent black, sparkly black, black with red laces, black with black laces, all black? what store? theres two inksters, and theyre 9 hours apart.

do you know what answers all those questions? giving the product number, size and a complete store address.

if you give a product number, that tells me EXACTLY what item you want. so instead of ugg slipper size 6, instead it tells me ugg tasman in color chestnut in womens sizes. so the size 6 is no longer a guess between women's and kids sizes, since the gender size is tied directly into the product number. its no longer a guess to what color, because the color is tied directly into the product number. and obviously, if you give me a complete address, its no longer a guess if you want inkster in michigan, or inkster in new jersey.

again, im not asking for this information because i dont want to do my job. i am asking for this information because only you know the exact item you want, in the exact size that you want at the exact store you want. why would you want me to play 20 questions to have me guess if the item i picked out for you is correct, when you can give me the correct item from the get go.

third of all, i should not have to repeat the same questions ive already asked you multiple times in a row. nor should i have to repeat the same information i have already given to you because you didnt read my message in the first place.

if im collecting information for an IT ticket, or to even just access your order, and you do not have a piece of information that i need, just say that. "i dont have x piece of information." "i did not receive my order number so I cannot provide it" "i do not have wifi at home, so I cannot provide my wifi IP address"

do not string me along, having to ask you the same question 40 times in a row because you just dont have the common sense to say "i dont have that"

or when people give me bits and pieces of information, and when i ask for the rest they get mad "well i gave it all to you." no you didnt. scroll up to my last message. all 6 pieces i need are clearly outlined along with directions on how to find each piece of information. i asked for 6 pieces of information, and you only given me the word "iphone" and a diatribe on how much you hate biden.

which leads into customer not reading my responses. 9/10 times my response covers everything you currently need to know, and everything to expect in the future, so you dont have to contact back and ask again.

but instead, customers will read say the first 6 words of your reply, and skip the rest, or skim the rest and create their own narrative.

"why was my order canceled"

"it was declined by payment verification. you money will return to your account in 3-7 business days. this does not include weekends or holidays. here is some trouble shooting you can try, we recommend trying a different payment, and verifying that the info you provided to us is the same as on your bank as well."

3 days later

"my money still isnt in my account and its been 3 days" your order canceled on friday and it is now monday, there has been approx 0 business days that have passed.

"the bank says my information is correct" you put your name as only emojis and you put two separate addresses in separate states on address line 1 and address line 2. i 100% you lied about asking your bank.

"but i used *one recommended payment method* and it didnt go through" you used ONE of the recommended payment methods, and recommended does not mean your order is guaranteed to go through.

"why did my order cancel again" literally scroll up, you mustard packet.

conclusion: just use your brain a little. treat us as a human. realize we have no ability to change company policies no matter how much you belittle us. and when an agent asks for a specific list of information, just give it. for you, its 30 seconds of inconvenience having to type out your zipcode. for us, its 8 hours of inconvenience because we have to ask for this information multiple times in a row to every customer we get. read agent replies completely, as they probably already answered your question 3 messages ago. help us help you.

pps, we more likely to compensate you or break company policy for you if you are nice or even just neutral. i have comped people solely on not being a piece of shit to me, and even i broke policy today and took a return 80+ days past time frame because they gave me all their info the first time i asked and werent obnoxious about the mixup.

#long winded rant on how stupid customers are #read at your own risk #or dont

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greyeyedmonster-18 · 2 years ago

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hey there. hope you are doing okay.

i just wanted to ask something.

so... last week i went on a road trip with a few of my closest friends and well had the best time ever. but also that is the safest I have ever felt to just exist....i don't exactly know how to explain it but it felt as if I did not have to watch my back or pretend or hide something every second of the day. i felt safe in my own skin for the very first time ever and that was such a relief!

but what makes me guilty is that I did not even think about home for a single moment. even the thought of it did not cross my mind not that I was trying not to or forcing myself not to. it just...didn't? but all of my friends were homesick at least at one point during the trip.

so idk its just...is that okay?

hi anon, i am doing just fine, thank you for asking.

first, i am smushing your face in my hands and i am going to say: yes it is absolutely okay to not be homesick.

this is my personal philosophy, as a person who has moved a million times in their life, and who has no desire to "settle down" and plant roots in a place-- home and the concept of homesick is fluid. home isn't a house, or an address and its okay to drive away from the address you thought was home and not feel attached to it. its a feel of security and comfort.

because home can be a car on the road, where you feel safe and surrounded by your favorite people.

home can be a city you visit every 3 months, where you feel free to express yourself, dress the way you want, walk at your speed; where you have peace of mind.

home can be a lamp on the bedside table that you turn off every night and on every morning--consistent and always there. or a piano that you put in the trunk of your car no matter where you go, if its a night or a week.

you're not supposed to make home out of people, but ya know, sometimes home is seeing familiar faces in many zipcodes.

i know sometimes its...hard, being around people who do think of home as "parents, siblings, house on a street where you grew up" or whatever that is. who talk about wanting to go back to their bedroom, or missing knowing streets and shops like the back of their hands... but it doesn't have to look like that for you.

and its okay.

because bet you'll feel homesick when you're back in your bed and wanting to be back in that car.

#asks #grey answers #this is an advice blog now

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wyattvsmusic · 2 years ago

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Joey Bada$$ - 2000 ALBUM REVIEW

In the five years since the release of his last album, Joey Bada$$ hadn’t been as active as he usually is. Aside from his contributions to the Beast Coast album and the 3-song Light Pack EP back in 2020, Joey has been busy with other things outside of music. He had a daughter and continued his acting career, appearing in the first season of Wu-Tang: An American Saga, one of the Power spinoff shows, and the film Two Distant Strangers which won an Oscar. 2022 not only marks the release of Joey’s third album but also the 10th anniversary of his first mixtape 1999, which his new album’s title is a nod too. Though the cover and title are a nod to Joey’s beginnings, 2000 is definitely not a sequel to 1999 but instead marks the decade of Joey’s successful rap career. It’s much more polished in terms of production choices and mixing as this is a studio album full of original production mostly from longtime collaborator Statik Selektah who has produced a lot of Joey’s best music. The production is great and works well for Joey like always but the lyricism shines extremely bright on this album, which is also typical for a Joey Bada$$ album. Songs like Make Me Feel, Where I Belong, and Zipcodes sound like classic Joey. In terms of lyrical content, he spends most of the album reflecting on the past ten years, both in terms of his success but also sharing life experiences that happened along the way as well as honoring those close to him that lost, including Pro Era member Capital STEEZ and his cousin Junior B, who he dedicates the incredible Survivors Guilt to. Joey has mentioned Steez on many songs before, including #LONGLIVESTEELO but this song is easily the most vulnerable he has ever been about losing his close friend and family member. The beat is gorgeous and the hook is sung simply yet so beautifully as he says, “this one is for you.” He talks about missing his loved ones who came up with him and feeling guilty for being successful without them. It is moments like this song that we have been waiting for from Joey. The song Head High is also one of the better songs on the album, which he dedicates a verse to XXXTentacion as he tells a story of how their friendship came to be. I also love the hook on this one as he raps “This for my n****s who took the time to relax / huggin’ their block but the block ain’t hug ‘em back.” While a lot of this album is very reflective and introspective, he enjoys his successes on the album too on songs like Brand New 911 where Westside Gunn joins him for a verse and adds his amazing “BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM” adlibs to the track. There is also the song One Of Us with Larry June which I love the vocal sample on. While I love a good amount of this album as it sounds like the Joey we know and love, there are some dull moments like the intro with Diddy as well as Welcome Back with Chris Brown and Capella Grey which could have been cut from the album. That song really did not fit well with the album. I think the same thing about the hook on Cruise Control, though I do like the verses and the production. While 2000 accomplishes its goals of documenting Joey’s life since the release of 1999 back in 2012, it only somewhat meets my expectations. I am satisfied with the classic Joey Bada$$ wordplay and production choices and love the more personal songs on the album, the quality of the album as a whole doesn’t really hold a candle to his other albums. Besides that opinion which isn’t much of an actual criticism, I think that when you don’t compare it to anything and judge my own enjoyment of the album, it is really good and I am happy that Joey is back. 2000 isn’t anything groundbreaking but that doesn’t make it any less enjoyable. Joey is now in a very interesting part of his career as he has been in music for 10 years but is still only 27 years old. He has lived a whole rap career but is not even 30, making it seem as though he is only just getting started. 2000 seems like a major milestone for him, which is exciting because he is so young but has been rapping too long to be lumped in with the younger generation of rappers. 2000 is a very good album when you keep that in mind and enjoy the music for what it is and his reflective songs make a big impact for longtime Joey Bada$$ fans.

Fav Tracks: Make Me Feel, Eulogy, One Of Us, Head High, Survivors Guilt

#joey bada$$#Pro Era #Capital Steez #2000 #Diddy #Westside Gunn #Larry June #Chris Brown #Capella Gray #JID #1999-2000 #Statik Selektah

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thechekhov · 4 years ago

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So I’ve been studying a lot of my favorite artists because I’ve been trying to buckle down on my own work and I hope this is okay to say but I’ve noticed I’ve been giving characters’ hair a TON of volume lately and I think I can thank you for that! So, thank you for inspiring me and helping me become a better artist! Because I love drawing hair now!

Thanks! I just like drawing fluffy hair, because my own hair typically has its own zipcode, and we need more of that in our lives.

Also need more curly haired positivity in general. :)

#chekhov answers #Anonymous

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anonymoushouseplantfan · 5 years ago

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Submitted:

Jo Ellison is the fashion editor for The Financial Times. She read (majored in) history at Edinburgh University, and before joining FT, she was the features director of British Vogue. For anyone reading along, FT = NOT a tabloid lol. Her column yesterday:

“I’m not wild about Harry any more — just disappointed: This could have been the prince’s moment to lean in. Instead he let us down”

I know, I know, I know . . . There are so many other things to be focusing on at this time of Unprecedented Crisis than the details of the £14.5m mansion in which the Duke and Duchess of Sussex now dwell. Who cares that the Beverly Hills home, owned by the producer and actor Tyler Perry, sits in the 90210 zipcode, has eight bedrooms, a fountain and a pool around the back? Or that it costs around £200k to rent a month?

Is it really in my interests to know who is paying for the accommodation: if the lodgings are being paid for by the host, or if it has fallen to Prince Charles — who is underwriting the Sussex lifestyle for the first year of their transition into “normal” civilian life — to pay the cheques?

Who cares that Meghan and Harry have employed the services of the 70-year-old Rebecca Mostow, the Beckhams’ former aide, to help them “run their lives”? Or that Meghan has lost on some issues in the first stage in her battle against Associated Newspapers, which she is suing for misuse of private information, breach of data protection and copyright infringement, as Justice Mark Warby has ruled to strike out part of her case. It’s hard to join the dots when the couple’s claims about infringement have coincided with news of a biography, Finding Freedom, for which the pair have collaborated with reporters to tell the “definitive version” of their lives.

Who cares? I do, as it happens. So much, in fact, that if left unattended I scrape for any crumb of Sussex information and follow any cruddy source. But why do I find myself caring quite so deeply? Because each new story is just one blow after the next. A long litany of disappointments in which each new revelation finds my former affection for Harry further sour.

By rights, Harry should be flying right now. These are the exact circumstances — global meltdown, widespread chaos, patchy leadership — in which young, charismatic royals tend to soar. This crisis, with its catastrophic impact on our livelihoods and the challenges it has placed on people’s mental health, would seem to have been designed with his good works in mind. This would have been the perfect opportunity, to coin a phrase, for Harry to lean in. After an adulthood of listless purpose, the bonny prince of mindfulness and therapy could have used this moment to really make a mark. He could have encouraged us to empathise and be kind to each other and talk about our feelings — all the things of which he used to speak so highly when he was princing. Before he chucked it in.

The bonny prince of mindfulness could have used this moment to really make a mark

But while his 94-year-old grandmother has been rallying the people with optimistic speeches to the words of Vera Lynn, and his two-year-old nephew has been clapping for key workers and handprinting NHS-supporting rainbows on little bits of card, Harry’s only significant communiqué has been an announcement sent on April 20 to various tabloid papers to let them know that he and Meghan would be having “zero engagement” with them hence. His preoccupation with press mistreatment may be understandable, and — of course — he is under no obligation to get involved now that he is no longer officially a royal. But on a day when figures for corona deaths reached 16,509 in the UK, it seemed an epic fail to read the room.

In the few short weeks since the abdication of his duties, Harry seems already so removed. Having been such a unifying figure, he’s gone to Hollywood and shut the door. He’s addressed the odd video message to veterans, and shared a post on Archie’s birthday, but even @sussexroyal, the couple’s carey, sharey Instagram feed, has dwindled off to naught. Their last post, made more than a month ago, was some platitude about thanking their community for their “shared commitment to the good in the world”.

And they must be feeling thankful. Having eschewed the trappings of their royal obligations, the Sussexes are now embracing an alternative dominion, one in which they have Queen Oprah as adviser, and the services of Prince’s former aide.

I guess I care because I feel a bit cheated. Because, somewhat naively, I thought Harry cared about me too. I was charmed by his normal-person banter, his seeming indifference to status, and his cheeky-chappy grin. I enjoyed his affability with common people, his blokey energy and the way he made his brother look like such a stiff. His marriage to Meghan once heralded a new era: their stance on equality and openness and hugging seemed so thrillingly relaxed. But what seemed modern and exciting before this process of emotional devolution looks increasingly myopic, materialistic and mundane.

Now Harry is shacked up in a Tuscan manor, alongside neighbours Justin Bieber and Taylor Swift. His new civilian lifestyle in Hollywood upholds such baldly basic aspirations. I thought that he was different. Silly me.

The Emperor has no clothes. And the Emperor is not charming any more.

______________________________________________________________________

Thank you so much for sending this. I feel seen now. This is exactly where I am right now. Riveted to their ignomous, ongoing slide downhill towards celebrity irrelevance to the amazement at how different this is from their previous pr. I particularly like this phrase: “What seemed modern and exciting before this process of emotional devolution looks increasingly myopic, materialistic and mundane.”

However, what really strikes me is where you get if you invert the sentence. The brf media machine turned a myopic, materialistic and mundane couple into a symbol of modernity and excitement.

It’s not that Harry and Meghan changed. They were always like this. It’s just that the media machine spun Meghan’s Hollywood trappings (blog, fashion, merching, media leaks, magazine covers, celebrity “friends,” pap-walking) into “glamour.” Harry’s hyperspeed courtship, media fights, and disregard for basic protocol and long-standing government rules also got spun as “exciting.”

And the biggest marks were the mainstream publications like the FT. They loved the idea of a biracial princess, so they bought the spin, hook like and sinker. It’s significant, as you note, that now they realize their mistake and are willing to go public about it.

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bigskydreaming · 4 years ago

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@elfysparkles88

#listen it's a universal problem#I love my mans Scott#everyone is always bagging on him WHY#Scott Summers#X-Men

Its because Scott Summers is inevitably compared and contrasted with those around him, and he has the great misfortune of running in the same circles as an all-star line up of like....just the absolutely most Ridiculous People to Ever Ridick.

We’re talking about a guy whose dad was abducted by aliens and from there went on to decide, welp, guess I gotta become a space pirate now, jaunty earring and all, no, shhh, shh, no, there are no alternatives, I gotta, no, I said no - SHUT IT, I SAID I GOTTA BE A SPACE PIRATE NOW ITS THE ONLY WAY. Oh btw, meet my fianceé. She’s an alien mercenary who is a little like a skunk but don’t call her that to her face or she’ll shoot you in yours. How’s that for swoonworthy, am I right, son?

We’re talking about a guy whose own son was a literal sixty year old Grumpy Old Man overburdened with world-weariness, wildly unnecessary shoulderpads and arthritic joints when Scott was barely hitting his third decade. With said son now randomly being a moody sixteen year old again, with a pet sentient sword he talks lovingly to, because apparently Nathan Summer’s take on teenage rebellion was to act out by being all LOL Fuck Time Travel Paradoxes and then rebelliously zooming around the space/time continuum while blasting a soundtrack of MCR probably, until he finally got a bead on his older self and shot himself in the face while being like “its not that I’m angry with you, I’m just disappointed” and look this is the part where your eyes are gonna wanna just glaze over so your brain can have a break, shhh, shh, don’t ask questions, just let it be, it happened, its a thing.

We’re talking about a guy whose brother rode a merry-go-round of “Am I a good guy this week or am I a bad guy because Reasons or sometimes Brainwashing or sometimes I Don’t Even Fucking Know, Look Don’t @ Me Bro, I Just Fucking Work Here, I’m Not In The Loop” for most of his twenties until dying in a fiery explosion only to inexplicably return years later as a coma patient who finally woke up one day and said “Whoa, just got back from tripping around the multiverse and boy do I have stories cuz apparently I’m the Nexus of All Realities, so hah, SUCK IT, big brother, and yes that is TOO a thing, shut up, LET ME HAVE THIS. Oh and also btw don’t spend a lot on your wedding gift for me and Lorna because I’m gonna leave her at the altar once I realize that I’m actually more in love with the random nurse lady who changed my bed pans while I was in a coma having a romantic rendezvouz with her in Paris in my brain courtesy of her psychic eight-year old kid trying to play matchmaker for her cuz like, she doesn’t date much apparently but its whatever, this is FINE, I have no objections. Ugh why are you looking at me like that Scott, no, I don’t need to “talk” with someone about everything I’ve ‘been through,’ ugh I’m HAPPY you asshole, god, why don’t you ever want me to just be HAPPY ugh you just have to control EVERYTHING with your over-bearing BS like “I am concerned your decision-making processes might be affected by all the people tampering with your decision-making processes over the years” like umm DID I ASK? No? I didn’t think so? YOU’RE NOT MY REAL DAD, SCOTT, UGH THAT DOES IT, IM RUNNING AWAY TO BE A SUPERVILLAIN AGAIN AND THIS TIME ITS TOTALLY YOUR FAULT, YOU’LL BE SORRY WHEN I CRY HAVOK AND LET LOOSE THE DOGS OF WAR THIS TIME FOR SURE, AND OMG FOR THE LAST TIME I KNOOOOOOW THAT’S NOT HOW ITS SPELLED, ITS ABOUT THE AESTHETIC SCOTT, ITS CALLED HAVING A SENSE OF STYLE, UGH, LET ME LIIIIIIIIIIIVE.”

We’re talking about a guy whose other little brother randomly showed up and started killing people one day being like “hahaha surprise, bet you all forgot about me, PS, I’m REALLY FUCKING MAD AT YOU ALL FOR FORGETTING ABOUT ME” because the world’s most powerful telepath made everyone forget about him and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day they all had once and this is fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine, this is normal. As is the way his newly discovered slash remembered slash resurrected slash recently returned from spending the last decade fucking around as a disembodied energy ghost on a rock up in Earth’s orbit little brother then decided the Earth just wasn’t big enough for the both of them, the both of them in this case meaning both him, singular, and his Angst, as a wholly separate and towering entity in its own right. So instead he fucked off to space and decided to conquer a vast alien empire and spend the next several years being their god-emperor or whatever until he got bored with that. And also he kinda sorta killed their dad for a bit but whatever, its fine, he got better, and then he also kinda sorta died for a bit himself but whatever, its fine, he got better, and there was that whole interstellar war between himself and the Inhumans but whatever that wasn’t even his FAULT, Scott, THEY STARTED IT, god, do you ever stop JUDGING ME AND MY LIFE CHOICES and PS I’m still mad at you for killing Xavier, you fucking asshole, not because you did it but because like, you KNOW I wanted to do it, I had a whole fucking villain monologue moment about it and everything, you were literally there, UGH WHY WON’T YOU LET ME HAVE NICE THINGS?!?! YOU ARE THE ENEMY OF FUN AND JOY AND HEY MAYBE YOU WERE THE REAL VILLAIN ALL ALONG, DID YOU EVER THINK OF THAT? HUH? MR. I’M THE BOSS, WAIT WHO’S THE BOSS? OH YEAH STILL ME, SCOTT, I’M THE BOSS, YOU GOTTA STOP BEING A SPACE EMPEROR GABE BECAUSE YOU CAN’T BE THE BOSS, ONLY I AM ALLOWED TO BE THE BOSS BECAUSE I’M THE BOSS AND I SAID SO AND YOU GOTTA DO WHAT I SAY OR I’LL TELL DAD.”

And that’s not even getting into how we’re also talking about a guy who basically ended up divorcing his first wife and suing for sole custody on the grounds of “Well, your Honor, she tried to sacrifice our son on a literal demonic altar in order to summon Hell to Earth to destroy everything just to get back at me after I left her. Yes, your Honor, I understand that is in fact Asshole Behavior, but there were extenuating circumtances, you see, the woman I left her for was my first love before her who I thought was dead. And also, she was literally my wife before my wife was. No, I don’t mean I was married before Maddie, I mean Jean was kinda pretty much already Maddie before Maddie was Maddie. Its this whole clone thing. Look, I’m just saying it was a complicated situation and I know I have my part to play in it, but I still stand by my conviction that trying to sell out our entire planet and species to the legions of Hell while using the innocent blood of our ten month old as the Golden Ticket to the Chocolate Factory was still a little over the top and not really the right way to handle it either. Also, I contend that I can provide a better home environment at the moment than someone who is insisting on being addressed as The Goblin Queen because what even is that, honestly, Your Honor, and also, she also brainwashed my brother into trying to kill me on her behalf, which to be fair does happen about every other month anyway, but still, like. Dick move, you know?”

And we’re also talking about a guy whose second wife who was kinda sorta his first wife but only in that It Ain’t Bigamy If Its A Clone Thing way....like, I mean. Its kinda hard NOT to come across as the bland one in the relationship when your second wife occasionally moonlights as the AirBnb of choice for a cosmic parakeet goddess of rebirth and fiery destruction who is pretty infamous for the ragers she hosts every time she pops into town for a visit, all smiles and (literal) sunbeams (of scorching lethality) and “Lol hey hot stuff, remember me?” As if someone who ate an alien civilization’s sun the last time she hit a Mood is like....really in danger of ever being “New phone, who dis?”ed. But that is neither here nor there, much like the sentients of Alpha Centauri Bumfuckville after she went all Goodnight Sun, Goodnight Moon, Goodnight Solar System on their corner of the galactic neighborhood, because.....tbh I don’t think she ever actually said “why” there. Its one of those things where if you don’t already KNOW why a cosmic parakeet goddess of rebirth and fiery destruction has decided its nighty-night time for this particular zipcode.....like.....that’s not really something you just ASK, y’know? Its....tacky, probably. Also, low on the self-preservation instincts, probably.

Plus we’re talking about a guy whose second marriage to Yet Another Woman It Probably Should Have Registered As A Bad Idea To PIss Off Like This ended in like....so, okay, this was a bit more His Bad than even Round One was, courtesy of a “Groundbreaking. Revolutionary. Show-stopping” reinterpretation of what was up until this point te much more ambiguous and metaphorically named “Mental Affair” concept. Though it must be said, Scotty always has skewed a bit more towards the literal minded in his personal approach to things, so, y’know. That tracks. But regardless, the pattern remains consistent here, as once again, its not always easy to register on peoples’ radar as anything other than the Plus One when your newest paramour prides herself on being both the entire planning committee AND star attraction of Victoria’s Secret (assuming that said Secret is Secret Aims at World Domination) Presents: A Renaissance Faire. But in an evil and also kinky way. Except now with sixty percent less evil on account of how Emma’s reformed these days, but not a hundred percent less evil because she’s not like, REFORMED reformed, cuz that would be boring, eww, could you imagine, no, you couldn’t, because she won’t let you and she can do that, she’s that good at telepathy and that bad at boundaries. Still the same amount of kinky as before though, but like. That’s just about Strong Branding. After all, at the end of the day Emma Frost is above all else, a good businesswoman.

But yes, she is also a big fan of the Aesthetic, with that aesthetic being Her Whims On Steroids because like they say, go big or go home, and Emma Frost does not believe in going home when she can simply acquire your home instead. Hate the game, not the player. She didn’t make the rules, she just came to win. Point being, its hard to follow up an act like Jean-Who-Is-Sometimes-Phoenix-And-Sometimes-Dark-Phoenix-And-Oh-Hell-She-Cant-Even-Keep-Track-So-How-Could-Anyone-Else-Really, but say what you will about Emma’s wardrobe, she’s more concerned with clothing herself in unapologetic take no prisoners ambition, and as such, her being the follow-up to Scott’s epic romance with his childhood sweetheart turned literal cosmic embodiment of fire and passion, like.....this was never a big checkmark in the con side of a pro and con list for Emma. It was more like oh, yes, hello there, Challenge Absolutely Fucking Accepted.

Which, y’know, all the points to House Frost for showing spine and boy howdy, that’s a spine alright.....but at the same time, going head to head with someone who is classified as a galactic threat when people are deliberately low-balling her, like, for no other reason than you’re bored and your manicure appointment isn’t for another couple hours.....like that’s the kind of thing where it has to be pointed out that there were possibly alternative options worth considering somewhere in between ‘having no spine’ and ‘spiting cosmic entity who can kill you with her brain by stealing her man and saying come at me bro because like....my spine, let me show you it.”

But again, just to reiterate the premise here.....our thesis here today is that Scott Summers Gets a Bad Rap For Being Bland or Boring or Not Standing Out, But In Reality The Issue Is Just That All The People He Knows Are Truly Ridiculous People.

In other words, Scott Summers is no more the Everyman of the X-Men than any of his Truly Ridiculous Friends and Family.

Because an actual everyman would have bounced out of that madhouse way the fuck back in Chapter One: In Which Things Just Got Ridiculous.

Cut to Scott Summers, in contrast: *looks around, purses lips, weighs options* Nah. This is fine.

See also:

His daughter, who didn’t so much arrive after the traditional nine months of waiting and preparing for a bundle of bouncing baby joy but instead just like...plopped back into the past as a full grown woman hailing from a dystopian future she was hellbent on preventing by any means necessary, even if that means had Scott frantically shouting RACHEL NO as she screamed RACHEL YES and sprinted straight at someone like Selene (a villain who has survived 17,000 years of pissing people off and making enemies of actual, literal gods) while thinking “oh yeah, I got this.”

(To be fair, she probably DID have it, or would have, if Logan hadn’t chosen that moment of all moments to have his once-centennial contemplation of “Wait, what if....murder is...NOT good?” Never underestimate the daughter of a cosmic goddess.)

Or see also also:

Scott’s original classmates, including Doctor Hank “I’m not an over-archiever, I’m just stress-eating because its lunchtime and I’ve only revolutionized two whole fields of scientific study so far today,” McCoy, Warren “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, hate me because I’m a billionaire, wait no, I’m just kidding don’t hate me at all hahaha I’m too sexy” Worthington III, and Bobby “I may look cute and unassuming and like my only priority in life is video games but sike, I too am a potentially cosmic level immortal being of nigh-unlimited power or at least I will be whenever I get around to tapping that potential like I’m currently tapping xy up down A + BBA like a boss, now shhh, don’t interrupt me while I’m kicking ass at Mario Kart I said I’ll GET TO THAT LATER, ugh, JEEZ, my priorities are FINE, Scott, like get off my back already, you’re not even my real dad” Drake.

In conclusion:

Scott Summers is valid, and there may be legions drinking his Hatorade, but make no mistake, its not that he’s Less Than, its that every single person in his social circle is just that damn Extra.

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years ago

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His Name is Nine

For @dr-dendritic-trees who had a rough day and needed a pick-me-up... here is a drabble about Upstairs Guy!

CW: Referenced dehumanization, pet whump, recovery from dehumanization/assault, briefly referenced past implied noncon, referenced past violence/abuse

At first, everyone assumes it’s a trick.

The box arrives one day, addressed to the actual owner of the house, a man who lives four states away and only visits a few times a year. Jenna and Ben argued for an hour over whether or not to simply destroy it - what if it’s a bomb, what if it’s anthrax, what if what if what if going in circles until Nine was ready to scream at them both from his room up in the attic where he could still hear you, assholes - and finally they took the box out to the end of the walkway, where it sits, nearly in the street.

They come inside, sheepish and quiet now, and ask Nine to come outside and look.

And of course as soon as he does, they ask him to open it, too.

“Why me?” He asks, standing on the porch with his arms crossed, staring at the two of them. Jenna is in a big t-shirt and little gym shorts, so it looks almost like she’s wearing a dress, and Ben still relies on what Nat called -the uniform-: baggy shirts and baggier pants, designed to hide your body from view. Perfect for people who had, whether they had ‘signed up for it’ or not, lost all control for too long over what of themselves was on display.

“Well… you don’t seem scared of it?” Ben suggests, and Nine sighs heavily, rubbing at the top of his scalp with one hand. “I mean, you don’t.”

“Because it’s just a fucking box. Nobody knows what we are, nobody’s going to blow us up. This is a safehouse. The word safe is literally in the name of what this is.”

“You don’t know that we’re safe,” Jenna snapped. “That fucking Romantic could’ve turned us in already. He still went by his fucking pet name. We wouldn’t know until the fucking cops showed up to haul us all back that he’s still just a sl-”

“One more word and I fucking kick you out on the streets, Jenna.” Nine does not raise his voice. He does not even change his tone at all from its usual slightly aggravated patience. His face stays flat, unimpressed, devoid of emotion.

But inside, he’s a riot of anger on behalf of someone he had never actually seen in person. Of course, it’s not really about that kid, in the end, and he knows it. Jenna and Ben don’t - it’s none of their business, it’s none of anyone’s business - but Nine knows.

“I don’t get why you’re so damn defensive about it,” Jenna says, but her voice has dropped into a mumble, and Nine just rolls his eyes and thumps the rest of the way down the steps in bare feet, letting the warm sun hit him for the first time today. “It’s not like you were a Romantic.”

“How do you know I wasn’t?” He asks tone slightly lighter this time. Ben’s eyebrows raise nearly to his hairline, and the two of them take Nine in in a whole new way. He stared right back, keeping his grey eyes perfectly flat.

He knew what they saw - average face, maybe a little on the handsome side because pets were usually at least a little nice to look at, it’s in the brochure. Darkish hair, grey eyes, square jaw. What they don’t see - what they aren’t going to see - are the scars in layers across his back and thighs, evidence of the discipline he had taken once upon a time so that Eli did not have to.

“Because…” Ben clears his throat, a little nervously. “Well, because Romantics are usually pretty.”

“Well, I’ll give you that. You’re right, I wasn’t a Romantic.” Nine shrugs, picking up the box and shaking it just to see Ben and Jenna jump like he was handling dynamite on a kids’ cartoon.

I wasn’t a Romantic… but my bonded was.

Is.

He’s still an ‘is’, I know it.

I know he is, even if he had to go back home-

Not home, 598999.

The box isn’t all that big, and it’s light. Something definitely rattles around the inside of it, and there’s an odd metallic clinking sound he can’t quite place. Nine frowns, thinking that over. The sound is familiar, but still strange to him. He can’t name it, but he knows… some part of him knows what that sound is.

Nine drops into a crouch, right there on the sidewalk, and picks at the edge of the packing tape along the top with his fingernails, until he can pull up a corner and finally, with a loud ripping sound, tear it the rest of the way off to open the box up.

“This didn’t come with a return address?” He asks, without looking up.

“No, just our address, handwritten.” Jenna and Ben back slowly away, peering at him from behind the chainlink fence, as though it could in any way protect them if Nine were blown to smithereens. “What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know, give me two fucking seconds to check, okay?” He turns over the flaps, and doesn’t hesitate - he’s not afraid of whatever could be in this box, even if it’s the worst thing.

It isn’t. It isn’t the worst thing it could be, or even the second-worst. It’s not a bad thing at all.

Nine laughs.

Jenna jumps about a foot in the air in the sound, and it occurs to him she’s never actually heard him laugh. Neither has Ben, but he peers with curiosity and more than a little confusion, as though he thinks perhaps Nine has been possessed by the vengeful spirit of someone with a sense of humor.

“Look at this.” Nine picks it up slowly, carefully, and the clinking noise changes once he has it held up in the air, the breeze catching the little metal bits and causing them to create high-pitched, beautiful notes in the air.

It’s a windchime.

Nine smiles at it - genuinely smiles, he hasn’t seen one of these in years, not since he ran away in the first place, not since they got separated, he and his bonded, the one who got a name. “Who the fuck would send this?” He asks out loud. “Who sends windchimes to a halfway house for braindead pets?”

“I’m not braindead,” Jenna rolls her eyes, but she can’t quite keep the interest off her face, and she’s moving closer and closer to get a better look. When Nine flicks the chimes and sets them to ringing even louder, even Jenna’s perpetually scowling face picks up a slight, barely-there smile.

“Yeah, me neither,” Ben says, but he’s fascinated, too. “I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen those before.”

“I don’t know if I have, either,” Jenna says softly.

“I have,” Nine replies. His own voice has gone low and thoughtful. “Eli used to hang them all over his room. When I was allowed to be with him, he would set them all to ringing for me. All different shapes and sizes.”

He leans in, digging further into the box, ignoring the look Ben and Jenna give each other, a mix of confusion and a growing suspicion that neither is yet willing to voice, to ask him about.

Both of them have lived here in this safehouse for months now - Nine was here before they arrived and he’ll be here long after they’re gone, unless he shifts to a new attic somewhere else. Maybe they’ll get fake identification and try to integrate back into lives that don’t quite fit their new skin.

Nine will still be here, looking.

But maybe Eli is still out there looking for him.

He looks again at the handwriting on the box. Just an address, with no name even. Sharp angular letters, written in a hurry.

Handwriting he knows.

They used to pass notes under the dinner table when Master wasn’t looking, he and Eli. Hurried little notes written with the pens they could hide in the padded dining room chairs, on scraps of paper Nine was always keeping in his pockets.

598999. Eli needs more water, don’t you think?

Yes, Master. Of course.

That’s a good boy. Refill my wine, while you’re at it.

The way it felt to walk with a folded paper in his pocket with Eli’s quickly-written little scrawl, burning like a curse, like the perfect secret it was... opening it in the kitchen while refilling the pitcher with fresh water to read whatever little message had been left for him.

Eli is out there.

And Eli knows where he is.

He traces a fingertip over the street number, the name, the city, the zipcode, his smile growing and growing, centimeter by centimeter. When he digs back in, he pulls out a small paint-your-own suncatcher kit, another windchime that sings a slightly different set of notes, lower-pitched. When they both get going, they harmonize. Eli always had a good ear for harmonies… that wasn’t what Master wanted him for, and he and Nine had used the windchimes to give him music, in their own way.

“Eli,” Nine breathes out, softly. “Eli, where are you?”

How did you find out where I am?

Why did you send a box and not come here yourself?

There’s a folded paper still in the box and he digs it out, unfolding, knowing already the handwriting he’ll see there, a perfect match to the address on the top.

Someone helped me send this, the note reads. I had to go home. Don’t stop looking.

“I never stopped before,” Nine whispers, as though Eli can hear him through space, as though his voice could travel maybe dozens, maybe hundreds of miles to find his bonded, the boy they had thrown him into a cell with and trained them together. The boy he’d been tied to inside the box for delivery, whispering reassurances even as the drugs took hold. “Why would I stop now?”

He had been a number and not a name, but Eli had been the first to call him Nine for short, to give him something like an identity again.

Eli, the boy he’d woken up with, sweat-soaked and curled around each other, their wrists tied together and blindfolded but the first thing they’d seen when Master woke them was each other.

“... Do you know who sent it?” Jenna asks, moving slightly closer, tilting her head, neck stretched to try and see the words on the paper. Nine quickly folded it and pushed it into his pocket, dropping everything back into the box and picking it up.

“Nope,” He answered, quick and easy.

He didn’t have to lie to them - it did him no good to lie, although no harm either - but he lied anyway. Honestly, Jenna just got on his fucking nerves.

Maybe because… because he hoped that if Eli got free, no one would turn him away just because he didn’t recover the “right” way, fast enough.

They trail behind him as he heads back to the house, and it’s only when he carries the box inside and starts heading up the stairs that Ben speaks up. “Hey… wait.”

Nine stops on the third stair, glances over his shoulder. “What?”

“... what are you doing? Don’t windchimes hang on, like, the porch?”

“... not these windchimes.”

They don’t say anything else, just stare at him as he goes upstairs, turns a corner. They stay on the first floor and Nine pulls down the little stepladder to the attic in blissful silence. He sets the box on his bed - just a mattress with sheets and blankets and pillows on the floor in the corner of the huge attic room, mostly full of his computers all hooked together to let him do different things on each one, saved to a couple of larger CPUs - and looks around.

The attic has just one window, but it’s a pretty huge one, and he makes quick work of hanging the windchimes up there. Finally, grinding his teeth against the effort required to move the ancient frame, wincing at the nearly-shrieking wood-against-wood sound it makes, he forces it open a few inches.

It’s not enough to ring the chimes, but it lets some fresh air in.

He’ll let the suncatchers wait until later.

Nine heads over to his chair and flops into it, the wheels rolling across the floor a little, until he has to dig his heels into the floor to stop. He picks a monitor at random and pulls up the communications program - encrypted, deletes everything you send at a specified time, usually thirty seconds or so after being viewed. He’d written the program himself, five or six years ago, when he first lived with Nat.

He’s not supposed to be able to write computer programs, but he can.

Eli wasn’t supposed to remember music, but he did.

His bonded is still out there somewhere, with Master, in some new place. But he’s alive, and that means… that means Nine can maybe find him.

Don’t you worry, Eli, Nine thinks, chewing on his lower lip as he starts to type the message, set to send out to all the local safehouses and request they send throughout their own networks, too. I won’t stop looking. I’m going to find you.

They made us care about each other, but they can’t make me stop.

In the window, on the other side of the room, just enough breeze makes it through to set the chimes to ringing.

#whump #box boy #box boy bonded pair #bonded pair #tw: brief referenced implied noncon #tw: referenced past abuse #tw: referenced past violence #tw: victim blaming (brief)#and now a word from upstairs guy #whump drabble #trauma recovery whump #pet liberation movement #pet whump #dehumanization #captivity #recovering whumpee #conditioning #conditioned

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greyeyedmonster-18 · 3 years ago

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(ootd: sunshine day with my lorge bebe edition-

-grey muscle tank, wear these far too often for someone who doesnt have biceps its fine.

-black denim shorts (had a former life as a pair of mom jeans but they were repurposed)

-black filas

-gold jewelry

-gold rimmed sunglassesss

-pink lip

-hair has its own zipcode today, could not be bothered. )

#this is a fashion blog #ootd x grey tag #shes giving super chill #shes giving lounging on the patio listening to my teenager talk #shes giving exhausted chic

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cacenaven1986-blog · 6 years ago

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rentalsdirect · 2 years ago

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bigskydreaming · 5 years ago

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What kind of house/apt do adult successful Scanny have?

I think it would be something smallish and unassuming on the outside, very approachable. Maybe even like, a townhome or a duplex or something like that, depending on what city Scott ultimately settles in with whatever pack he builds up around him there vs whomever stays in Beacon Hills.

I don’t have any specific headcanons for where Scott relocates to, its just very important to me that he does, because like. He deserves to get far, far away from Beacon Hills. There are too many bad memories there. Its where he died. Its where Allison died, Boyd, Erica. Like, all the bad things that linger with Scott came from Beacon Hills and that damn evil attention-seeking tree stump, and all the good things that linger with Scott are one hundred percent the product of his own actions and the relationships he fostered with the people that became important to him.

There’s nothing in Beacon Hills that gives Scott anything he doesn’t already have by this point, no reason for him to stay other than his mother, who can literally just move as well. But not with Chris Argent. On account of like, well he died too. It was very sad and tragic, I don’t want to talk about it. Tears were shed, its all still really fresh and raw, we should probably just move on. Its what he would want. Probably. Also who cares, ding dong he’s dead and Melissa’s married to some nice doctor who’s never pulled a gun on her son, as well as possessing other qualities that meet somewhat higher standards, I’m sure.

Anyway. We were talking about Scott saying hasta la vista baby to Beacon Hills followed then by a slow motion dramatic walkaway shot before he gets on his motorcycle, adjusts his mirrors, revs the throttle all action movie star-esque, and also sexily - look, they’re not always automatically the same thing - and then he drives away forever from that toxic cesspit of a homicidal zipcode where square footage is calculated in terms of dead bodies. Leaving behind all the like, million and one reasons for him to say Bye Beacon Hills, see you never, try not to become a central locus for evil, but also, I don’t care if you do, it is hashtag NotMyResponsibilityAnymore. But also, I mean. It never was. Just FYI.

And then he flips the town off and accelerates off into the sunset while the town eats his dust, and admittedly Scott isn’t really the type to throw around middle fingers even where deserved, but fuck it, I’m projecting onto him and its my headcanon and I say that pile of excrement in real estate form needs to be flipped off and also, like. Its just an aesthetic thing. For the visuals. Its the whole dramatic end scene, roll credits, “I came, I saw and I blew shit up and now I’m off to reunite with my love interest and have vigorous victory sex” vibe. You get it.

So they relocate somewhere, wherever that is. I honestly don’t care, so long as its nice and doesn’t murder them or inflict gratuitous bodily harm every week and the nearest Satanic foliage is at least two statelines away. Preferably with a thriving supernatural community where Scott and his pack can all feel welcome and like they belong, rather than outsiders eternally hiding in plain sight among potential enemies. Like, somewhere where their neighbors are all vampires and Fae and other supernaturals, but only so long as like, the only reason they ever come over is to borrow a cup of sugar. Never to betray them to randomly resurrected enemies or guilt trip them into solving someone else’s centuries old and completely pointless grudgematch of Unnecessary Drama and Also Doom.

And wherever it is, the pack have their own dwellings and much needed privacy. Far enough apart that even supernatural hearing and smell don’t have them all playing Peeping Tom whether they like it or not, every time a couple wants to get frisky, but close enough together that they’re all still together, and know that more pack, more community, is always just a short walk away.

Scott and Danny’s place is some sort of small but cozy townhome or duplex or something like that, as I said. Scott’s always very aware of his presence and reputation and the power he both commands and also is afforded by peoples’ embellished expectations regarding him. So it was really important to Scott, and thus important to Danny, that their home be unpretentious. Inviting and approachable and not ‘above’ anyone else, or trying to be. Somewhere that when you got to their street and checked the address if you’re new in town and looking for an audience with True Alpha Scott McCall, you stop and do a double take and almost have to revise whatever preconceptions you have, or at least put them on hold, because like…this is where the famous True Alpha lives? Its so…ordinary.

But that’s the point after all….because the more he was looked at as standing apart from all others, the more ‘ordinary’ became the only thing Scott’s really ever aspired to be.

So its not poor, by any means. They do well for themselves, the whole pack, like you said, Scott and Danny are successful in this future. They have jobs that afford them both a sense of purpose and fulfillment of longheld interests, as well as the potential for discovering more, rather than getting locked into things that grow stale overtime as they outgrow fantasy careers that seemed more validating when they were kids dreaming of the future.

Also their jobs, whatever they might be, make them at least successful enough that it allows them both a large degree of autonomy. They can pick their own schedules, more or less. They have finances, but none that will be massively disrupted or stress-inducing if Scott has to take time off for a couple weeks to help a neighboring pack relocate somewhere new after they flee from hunters. Something where Scott’s never forced to choose between his job and keeping him and his pack financially afloat, versus someone needing his help and it not immediately apparent how long that might take resolve. The dream is stability and comfort, and enough personal agency for Scott in how and where he gets both of those, that he never feels like he’s letting down either his pack or innocents asking for his help, because the demands of his job or finances make him feel like it has to be one or the other, he can’t possibly do both.

Ideally, that flexible schedule means that when Scott isn’t helping others, something he now does by choice and simply because he wants to and he can, not because he’s made to feel he has to, like its his responsibility and his alone, because certain boundary-blind best friends have decided they want to play Peter Parker but are gonna need Scott to step up and play the actual Spider-Man part and lend his power even when someone else gets to decide for him when its his responsibility. Oopsie, I tripped and fell and my Bitter Resentment and Still Not Over It slipped out. Oh no. How terrible. Much woe.

Ahem. Anyway. As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted by myself, Scott’s flexible schedule means that when he’s not using it to help others, he has enough left over that he can afford (and justify to himself) using it for himself and his own personal enjoyment and interests, actually prioritize and commit to his own self-care, because a healthy, happy Alpha is a healthy, happy Pack. Someone said that once, probably. Probably not Hobbes. Definitely heard that somewhere though. Trust me, I’m a doctor.

So with the aid of this newfangled invention produced by cutting edge technology, this quote unquote “Free Time…” Scott explores other interests. His own. Le gasp, le shocking, le about the fuck time. He explores the novelty of being able to even have hobbies, because depressingly (why am I like this, science side of tumblr), there was once a time when Scott stopped bothering trying to figure out what all he was interested in, because he kinda assumed he’d be long dead before it ever had a chance to matter.

But by the power invested in me by Fuck You, Jeff Davis, in this future, none of that comes to pass. So free time and personal passions for Scott. He has them, in abundance. So like. He gardens, for sure. That’s why I specified a duplex or townhouse instead of an apartment in a complex or building….they live somewhere where they at least have their own garden or yard. Scott designs and implements it personally, something like his own personal Zen garden on a scale commensurate with What He Deserves. He goes outside whenever he’s starting to feel stressed about some obligation or commitment or another, and just….plays.

That’s what it is to him. He just plants things. Prunes things. Adds fountains or bird feeders or statuary, little personalized touches here and there that make his own personal territory uniquely his and his alone. Gardening in his yard is His Time in His Space, and all the pack know better than to interrupt him when he’s out in his yard working away, unless its an absolute emergency.

Danny enforces this with an iron fist and an ability to tank your credit score and spread all your most embarrassing pictures internet-wide with just a single keystroke. And Danny is the enforcer Scott doesn’t have to be. People forget that everyone loves Danny….but in no small part due to his usual proximity to Jackson. Next to Jackson, everyone looks like an angel. But Danny, on his own? Can be mean. Will be mean, if you touch or hurt or threaten or even just inconvenience his man, because like, who the fuck do you think you are and also it doesn’t even matter because he just replaced your whole identity online and if you’re nice and apologize and kiss ass without Scott ever having to know What You Almost Did, maybe Danny will have mercy on you and actually let you know what your new identity is, so you can use it to like, make a new life with the details he made up to replace your old personal info that no longer gets you anywhere.

Danny - that’s Miss Nasty if you mess with his husband - is chaotic neutral with an exception for “this is my list of special people. Touch any of them and my alignment is Chaotic Evil for however long as until I have personally escorted you to your Doom and physically kicked you into a bottomless pit where you will suffer for eternity.”

But then he smiles and charms everyone into only remembering lol oh yeah, everybody likes Danny, so that once again, everyone forgets that’s at least partially self-preservation because if you don’t love Danny and everyone Danny loves, like, you’re dumb and also screwed. Why are you bad at making good choices.

Don’t feel bad though. Danny’s very good at making people forget this part, t least until the next time he reminds people of that little piece of trivia. Have you seen him smile? Its like that flashing bulb thing Will Smith uses in Men in Black to make people forget what they just saw or were doing. Except without any supervision and/or morality because fuck your ethics, its Danny’s bewitching smile, he’ll use it however he wants. Get your own.

(The thing is, any best friend of Jackson has to have at least a little capacity for Evil. Danny just hides it well, thanks to the cloaking camouflage of Actually Having a Soul in Addition, and like, being a people person who actually understands how people work and how not to alienate them by being a total uncaring jackass 24/7. Its a fine line, except its really not, and Danny is very talented at all things and possesses an abundance of charm. Plus he’s just hot, and like. Let’s face it. That always helps. I mean, definitely never hurts).

The end result of all this tangent-having, is that Scott has enough him time and enough of a barrier from people constantly distracting him, that the exterior of Scott and Danny’s place, for all its otherwise ordinary appearance, Scott has over time turned into his own personal slice of paradise, and is exactly what that looks like to him.

See, the thing about Scott is no matter how hard he tries to be ordinary and value being just like everyone else and get lost in the crowd…..he never will quite manage it, because Scott just isn’t like anyone else. He’s good, in a way that too few people even aspire to be, because so many people just think its not possible. Especially not after having lived through the kinds of traumas Scott has, been dealt an especially unlucky hand. But Scott manages it anyway, in spite of everything, spiting every thing that tries to make him be anything lesser….and because of that, he’ll always stand at least a little apart from the crowd, be a little distinct from the rest, impossible to ever fully be lost or muted by any crowd of any size.

And the little slice of the world Scott makes just his and Danny’s, no one else’s. He doesn’t even need to share it with his pack without it being any less inviting to his pack for all that. It reflects this understated aspect of Scott, this impossible to quantify essence of him that he himself is too unassuming to ever fully realize is there, and everyone else just accepts without questioning…because they’ve learned by now when you’re given a gift, just accept it and appreciate it.

So in structure and layout, their home is nothing special, but amidst a neighborhood of similar structures, it pops all the same. It draws the eye without dominating your vision. It makes you want to look at it, want to come closer, want to be around it, much like the man who designed it. Who made it, cares for it, and never neglects it or takes it for granted. Its always green, year round, and filled with a variety of flowers that come from all over the world but can all complement each other and coexist without endangering any of the neighboring plants. None of them overgrowing the garden or in any way being at any of the other plants’ expense.

They’re like Scott’s pack in that way….of all shapes and sizes, coming from all around the world, of all kinds of types, not even just limited to werewolves. All beautiful, all unique, all existing in harmony. Even though Scott’s never shared this with anyone else, in his mind, each flower or plant he adds to his garden represents one specific member of his pack. Its Theirs, its what he associates with them. In this way, they’re all represented, it reminds him whatever conflict arises internally, its nothing they can’t ultimately all work out without compromising any single individual. And with each plant needing its own special attention and time devoted to cultivating it and caring for it, they serve as proxies for the pack members they represent.

Due to this, Scott can tell himself with just a glance at his garden - reassure himself, whenever his self-doubts get the better of him and he starts to beat himself up for not being there enough for someone or neglecting someone or not doing better - but with his garden, just going outside and checking it over can remind Scott that he’s not neglecting anyone. Because every time he tends to the plant that represents a pack member, Scott reflects on that pack member as he does so. Just going over what they’ve been up to, mentally checking in on them, casting about to see if he’s noticed any sign something’s been bothering them, making sure to spend one on one time with them.

He can’t tend to a plant without associating it with their linked pack member….and in this way, as long as he can look around and take in with a glance the sight of his garden, all carefully tended to, no plant neglected, all watered and pruned and harmonious and appreciated….and it serves as a visual reminder with which to reassure himself….he’s not forgetting anyone, overlooking anyone. Nobody’s being neglected, he’s always thinking about his pack and keeping their best interests at heart and if any problems do pop to mind while he’s tending to one of his plants or flowers, of course that would be the first thing he’d make a plan to go check in on and address personally, once he’s making his rounds later and having a little face time and conversation with his various packmates.

Of all the flowers and various plant types in his garden, there’s only one fruit….a single eye catching and lovingly attended orange tree. That’s Danny. They’re his favorite, and orange is his favorite color. There’s just something unique about it. Especially in the midst of so much green.

The flowers nearest the front door and around the external structures of the building, a pillar underneath the small, roofed-in entrance way, perhaps, a gate at the front of the property, next to the driveway, maybe a trellis along the wall just next to the door…..the flowers adorning and framing the entrance to their home are a carefully arranged spray of seven different hues.

A literal rainbow, advertising this House and All Who Live Here Be Gaaaaaaay.

Scott’s always had a sly, understated sense of humor. Mischievous, but not usually at anyone’s expense, and subtle enough that most people don’t tend to credit him with having much of a sense of humor. He does though….he’s just never needed words to express it.

Advertising himself and his personal pride with a literal year round rainbow that’s still subtle enough that most people don’t clue into its layered meaning or implications without being told. Later in life, stable and safe and more centered, Scott gets a pretty big kick out of how often people fail to see what’s right in front of them. Him living his best life on his own terms and not even being shy about it….and if other people can’t connect the dots on their own….its a pity, Scott muses with a mostly internalized laugh, that most people are just in too big a hurry or too eager to take things at face value to truly see what their surroundings look like and are full of.

Danny gets the joke, and thinks its hilarious how few other people figure it out. But that’s mostly just because Danny can be kind of a dick. He’s sorry not sorry. Its not his fault people are dumb. RIP to 90% of humanity, but he has braincells.

He and Scott complement each other well.

Similarly, just as Scott’s personal space is outdoors, natural, and helps him feel part of the world, feel part of nature, connected to it and in harmony with the natural order of things and not something completely separate….Danny’s personal space is indoors, the extra room converted entirely into his personal office or Batcave. Filled with monitors and screens and hard drives, a Hacker’s Paradise that keeps Danny plugged into the grid, manmade tools and his own cultivated expertise giving him the world at his fingertips. Any needed information or a satellite view of something happening with allies on the other side of the world is just a few clicks of a mouse away.

He’s also got every video game console known to man, because Danny’s Me Time is kicking ass on whatever game the latest redditor or twitterbaiting bigot to catch his ire is high-ranking on.

And if he also happens to use his gameplay as an opportunity to backdoor into said Wankstain’s systems and do whatever needs doing to make his life and those of all his enabling social circle’s a living hell and a lesson in empathy that comes too late cuz nobody has any for them because they suck and are Satan….

Well. Sucks to be them, and also, what kind of moron makes enemies while online gaming without first erecting even a nominal defense against Superior Intellects who might feel like retaliating against his jokes, that aren’t really jokes so much as the synaptic misfiring of racist braincells and proof that sometimes, evolution shits out a turd?

“That sounds like victim blaming,” Scott notes in an absent kind of tone when watching over his husband’s shoulder one day. Not really judgmental so much as just something to say.

“You say victim blaming, I say pest control,” Danny hums unapologetically. “Sides, can’t be victim blamed if you’re not a victim, and you can’t be a victim if you’re really just a human-shaped mistake who has no redeeming qualities, an online presence that’s the virtual equivalent of bad BO with no medical cause for an excuse, and a social media history that makes a strong case for your best possible contribution to society being a qualifier for a Darwin Award. Would you blame a cockroach for getting itself stepped on by stepping out into the light? I mean, you could, I guess. Just doesn’t seem terribly productive if you ask me.”

“Why do you hate cockroaches? They’re living creatures who never did anything to you, why would hurt them by comparing one to this guy?” Scott asks, because that’s really the more important part of the conversation.

“Dunno,” Danny shrugs. “I’m sure I could find some way to blame it on childhood trauma if you really need an answer.”

“No, just wondering if you’re gonna be done in time for dinner. I’m making tortellini.”

“I’ll be done in ten minutes, I swear. And ready to eat like a metaphor that’s more appropriate to you. Righteous vengeance really works up an appetite.”

“Uh-huh. Just out of curiosity, who exactly are you righteously avenging at the moment?”

“Humanity? Good taste? God, who couldn’t possibly have foreseen this free will thing would go so very wrong? That poor defunct condom that tried its best but in the end, just wasn’t up to the task of keeping this shithead from being unleashed unto the Earth? I dunno. Do I have to pick just one?”

Not really. As stated, Scott’s not actually judging anymore than Danny’s trying to hide this from him. They’re both in total agreement about the kind of people Danny cyber-vigilantes. They just have different approaches about how they should be handled. Scott, while not violent by choice for the most part, does tend to favor the direct approach. He just feels its right that a person know why exactly he thinks they’re a terrible person who deserves what they get. So he tends more towards the approach of: punch a bigot in the face, wait for a second for a whiff of remorse or sign someone might be suddenly reevaluating life choices, because he’s Scott and hope springs eternal, but when no such revelation comes, just shrugging and walking away. Oh well. He tried. Sorta. Well, kinda.

Danny, in contrast, prefers to go for the jugular and leave no hint of who or what might have been behind the all-encompassing full frontal assault that hits every online trace of his target’s miserable and miserly existence. It keeps them paranoid and this keeps him sated. Plus, his stance is when they don’t know what exactly earned them an enemy of his caliber, it forces them to reflect or at least call to mind every thing they can think of doing wrong to someone that might result in that someone hating them this much.

The ironic thing of course is Danny doesn’t even really hate them, because that implies a level of giving a shit he can’t ever quite seem to muster. He mostly just thinks they suck and should suffer for that. And he gets bored a lot.

Look, his husband and fellow werewolves are off saving the world every other week and being all kinds of kick-ass and action adventure movie-star types in the process. A guy sitting behind at home all the time has to get his jollies somehow. Also, he’s compiled a very engaging soundtrack to accompany his personal heroic undertakings, and it does wonderful things for his self image. Danny’s all about that self-care.

Plus, the first time he and Scott had something of a disagreement on their approaches, Danny unapologetically stated that loving him meant loving his vindictive side, because he personally was quite fond of it and thought it was really something of a Look. Also, making that Look into a Thing might be something of a dealbreaker for him, because he really didn’t want to undersell his capacity to be petty, and how little shame he felt about having said capacity. His essential life philosophy boils down to sometimes people just suck and somebody needs to say so. Maybe by draining their bank account and redirecting the funds to an ironically relevant charity.

“Fine,” Scott had conceded with a sigh. “Just be careful about making enemies like this, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

(That was really his only real concern all along. He’s a Nurturing Nelly. Scott can’t help but be a worry wart when his husband roams the internet highways under a masked IP address, taking on bandits and bigots all willy nilly, with not a bit of concern for himself. Its their biggest common ground, and Danny doesn’t have claws or a killer bite to protect himself with. A bite fetish, maybe, but that’s not quite the same thing, and also neither here nor there, and also also, he would like to plead the fifth while reminding you he can access and pull up your full porn-browsing history if you’d like to press that line of conversation further. Pervert).

Anyway, alls well that ends well, and thus Danny couldn’t help but be charmed at the reminder that his hubby is a man with clear priorities and his biggest is always gonna be the safety of his loved ones. Aww, sweetums.

“Aww, sweetums,” he said, just to see Scott squirm, because the more unexpected the endearment, the more Scott doesn’t know how to take it. And a squirmy Scott is an adorable Scott, Danny has always felt, and he is a man who appreciates his eye candy, as well as a go-getter who knows what he likes and goes and gets it, even if that means playing dirty. Especially if that means playing dirty. Danny likes dirty.

After all, dirty men need to shower, and showering together conserves water, and having sex while showering together is just a solid application of having eyes, a hot husband, and a healthy libido. It just makes good sense. He’s goal-oriented and a linear thinker, what do you want, leave him alone. He’s valid and you’re just jealous.

Still, exotic endearment applied, he’d then followed up with:

“How dare you accuse me of being so bad at the thing that I am most skilled at that you imply I’m even capable of ever leaving digital tracks like a total N00b. What do I look like to you? A 4chan poster who just figured out how to spoof their GPS for the first time?”

Danny rolled his eyes, exaggerating his wounded pride. It was the principle of the matter, and he was very principled. Sometimes. Kinda. If principles mean whimsy and whimsy means shh, don’t interrupt me, I’m doing bad things to bad people and this is very important work that must be savored or you really don’t get the full oomph of the revenge-gasm. Yes, he said revenge-gasm and he meant it. No he will not elaborate. Imagination is free.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for your low opinion of me, your valued and valuable life partner. Also, no sex for you, until…..okay maybe that’s too far. You seem like you’ve learned your lesson.”

“You’re too merciful,” Scott had said drily.

“Nobody’s perfect,” Danny had said lackadaisically. “Also, not to disrespect your tortellini-making expertise, but any chance we can put a pin in dinner until after we go have wild, passionate sex? This pending revenge-gasm is making me horny and I really hate to waste a good head of moral crusading.”

“That was a terrible pun.”

“I have never made a pun in my life, how dare you, my sense of humor is sophisticated. I’m not a peasant, Scott. And where did we land on the sex.”

“Didn’t we just do it this morning?”

“I have needs, Scott.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“And water is wet. I don’t see the relevance. Also, if you don’t want me jumping you 24/7, you have no business being so hot. Its your own damn fault, deal with it.”

“There you go with the victim-blaming again.”

“I’ll do five Hail Marys after I finish doing sinful things to you and racking up another five. Its more efficient to tackle them all at once.”

“Not sure that’s how that works, babe.”

“Eh, guess I’ll just go to hell then. Still worth it. Still your fault. Oh look, I’m naked all of a sudden, how did that happen?”

Scott sighs. “What am I going to do with you?”

“R is for Ravish me, if you’re really looking for suggestions. I can probably do the whole alphabet if you need. Or just do me. Whichever.”

Scott cut off further melodramatic peacocking with a kiss.

Things proceeded to a total media black out from there. Further voyeuristic attempts at seeing the Alpha and his mate get down, get down, would necessitate the invocation of the cautionary tale of the last pack member to not properly respect the sanctity of the inner sanctum of the Vindictive Master of Digital Identities and Other Important Details. His name is Chester, middle initial A., surname with a phonetic similarity to certain orifices. That wasn’t always his name, but it was once Danny got done with him, and that was only after Scott gave him the Pointed Stare of One Who Will Look More Benevolently On Those Who Demonstrate Both Mercy and Restraint.

Tis very much a tale of woe, as Chester is 6′5″, 260 lbs of visually intimidating werewolf muscle, and facial features that when accompanied by choice words and phrases, rather does call to mind certain similarities to certain orifices.

Like I said. Danny is very good at what he does. And everybody loves Danny.

….Aside from all other motivating reasons, its just a good idea in general.

Y’know.

Practically speaking.

#scanny #future fic not fic #idk #look call it whatever you want just dont quote me #like I ever know how to describe half the stuff that comes out of my head #lol as ifffff

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