#like they hate homeless people so much that they have to make things infinitely more complicated for everyone else

[francis-ford-kofola]

Genuinely one of the shittiest, pettiest things I have seen in a long time is the tap water automat at the Prague central station. You need to download an app to get your free 0.5 litres per day, because god forbid the water was actually free and homeless people could have it 🙄

[applespider]

Yes! My abuser is someone I'd categorize as a generally kind person, they'd do what they could to help others, they spoke out in support of disabled children, donated money to good causes, helped the sick and homeless, all because they genuinely cared and wanted to do the right thing. They had also been working through their own trauma and mental health coming out of an environment that was not supportive. They also, because of my neurodivergent traits, believed everything I did to be malicious, manipulative, and cruel since I was very young and this Fucked Me Up. This made me flip between hating them for their hypocrisy and wondering what was wrong with me that I was barred from that infinite kindness they always seemed to have for everyone else. They were very insecure and genuinely trying their best, so my criticizing genuinely hurt them, so they did what they could to shift that guilt, be it guilting me, denying they'd said or done what I'd claimed, blaming me for being so difficult to be kind to, or painting me as the unkind one. Because they were kind.

I was always more hesitant to help others because of my aversion to new places and people, compounded with the anxiety of being around this person. To them they were trying to make me a better person, to make me stop lying and being purposefully difficult and selfish and acting like I was better than them. Because they were insecure and hurting and took it out on me. They'd in moments of extreme guilt apologize to me, admit what they were doing was wrong, promise to change. I believe they meant it. But that didn't change the fact they continued to treat me in a way that left me traumatized. They continue to do good, still learning and changing but thinking about them still makes me want to curl up and disappear from the crushing guilt they imparted to me. Abusers are people. They're not all masterminds manipulating people for the joy of being evil and with the intention of fucking you up as much as possible. They are people, a lot of them are people who want to do good, who want to believe they're good. They can genuinely believe in helping those in need that they help as well as genuinely believe that you deserve their abuse.

My abuser is culpable for what they did to me and others, believing they were a good person doing the right thing. Every reason I have given for their actions does not change the effect they had on me. Abusers are people too. That doesn't mean they aren't abusers.

begging everyone to realise abusers can do good things for good reasons and care about people. abusers can do work helping fight against abuse, even! because, like. most abusers do not realise they are abusers. it’s such an insidious idea, and anyone can fall into the mindsets that lead to abuse if they think they’re immune to it, which most people do! a lot of them would genuinely be horrified to learn what they do, a lot of them would genuinely take steps to heal and become a better person if they could. this does not make them any less culpable for their actions. falling into the idea that people can’t be abusers bc they did x y and z is dangerous. the hardest thing to realise is that people can be otherwise good, helpful people, and still commit abuse. because, again, abuse is insidious, and oftentimes even the abuser doesn’t realise what they are doing is abuse. and people should not be free of consequences because they’re not stereotypical two dimensional villains. that mindset is dangerous.

[cerastes]

May I request a review of general coolness and awesome of the horses we saw during the event?

Right, Maria Nearl event!

I liked the event quite a lot, though I do feel like it dropped the ball at the end. That aside, I had a lot of fun the entire time!

First of all, the cast was wonderful. Maria is explicitly not a powerful or skilled fighter to any degree that matters in the frame of strength the story takes place in, being definitely more skilled than the average person and even the average nameless knight, but being woefully outclassed by practically anyone that has a name in the Major. A humble mechanic with a heart drenched in justice, Maria doesn’t even like to fight, and adheres to a knightly ideal and a duty she must fulfill instead to justify her participation in these commercialized bloodsports, which carries the narrative. She is joined by a lovable cast of rambunctious family and family friends, who serve as her mentors and support: Her aunt, who is more akin to an older sister-slash-maternal figure, Zofia, who we are immediately shown is so close to Maria that the moment Maria made a big decision (the participation in the Major) without confirming with Zofia first, she immediately chastised her, wondering why she did not consult with her beforehand. Aunt Zofia is her aunt only due to technicality, as she’s a lady-in-waiting (or, in other words, belongs to a branch family of the Nearl clan, and is actually only 5 years older than Maria) and, more importantly, a decorated, retired competition knight who earned enough in her career that she can live comfortably for the rest of her life, ironically far outstripping the main Nearl house in terms of wealth. There’s also Kowal, an old Ursus mechanic, engineer and smith who mentors Maria in the ways of the wrench, willing to pass his workshop to Maria with her as his successor any day of the week, who himself also used to be a squire to V, an old, retired knight of old who served as Grandpa Nearl’s peerless sharpshooter and who trained Zofia back in the day. Finally, we have Old Marcin, owner of the cast’s favorite hangout, a little bar where he and Maria mediate the infinite squabbles, fights, and arguments that Kowal, V, and occasionally Zofia spark between one another. The event does a great work of introducing the dynamic between these five characters as something extremely domestic and comfortable: You can tell these five are tight and that they have spent a long time together. It’s just another day in their low profile lives when, suddenly, Maria dons Margaret’s old armor and decides to take arms for the main Nearl house, which is currently on the brink of ruin and about to lose its knighthood and nobility titles.

And this decision, and everything this decision means, informs everything that happens afterwards: Zofia tells Maria that if she’s worried about being left homeless, then that’s just foolishness, since Zofia is absolutely 100% ok with Maria moving in with her. She’s loaded. They can live comfortably for the rest of their lives without a concern. Kowal, likewise, insists that Maria is a good enough mechanic that she can earn a living by doing that. But, see, it’s not about a livelihood for Maria, it’s about preserving that for which Margaret and Grandpa Nearl fought and stood for, it’s never about the wealth, it’s about the name, the principle, not the glory, the weight of ideals that blood was shed to nourish and maintain. Maria is not even sure if she’s doing the right thing, but she’s got to do something. Why? Look no further than Uncle Mlynar. A bitter man, a corporate slave, spitting bile at her niece and apologies at his bosses. And the fact that it is very clear that this guy can kick some serious ass -- we never see him without his trusty blade hanging on his hip and, at the end, tells Margaret to square the hell up -- makes it all the sadder: In any other context, Mlynar might be a knight’s knight, hell, Margaret herself says she respects him still, but the Mlynar we see now is an unimportant cog in the capitalist system, just another grunt apologizing to his phone every time his lips part, who gets in hot water just by making small talk because, whoops, your workload accumulated again, better get chop chopping. Mlynar is a very telling character, because he represents everything Maria resents about the current state of the Nearl family: Disgraced, meaningless, existing as an extension of other bigger conglomerates. He is what she wishes to never become, and what the Nearl house cannot be any longer, if she has any saying on the matter.

Maria is not a good fighter. This is important and delightful, because she wins not due to aptitude, strength, or experience, she instead uses her knowledge as a mechanic, her “pegasian sight” (what Grandpa uses to refer to Maria’s incredibly powerful investigative faculties, being able to analyze situations and catch even the smallest details quickly) and the sheer heft of her brass pair of metaphorical horse balls to pull through with clutch victory after clutch victory. Zofia trying to cram as much fundamentals as she can on Maria in as little time as possible so she can survive also helps a lot.

Maria’s victories earn her the possibility of sponsorships, which would, superficially, fix her problems: The main Nearl house would retain status, she’d get a Title, and she would not have to fight anymore. But, see, this is not the point of Maria’s fight. One might say “Maria should’ve just taken the sponsorships”, but that’s not the point of Maria’s fight. She is pushing back against this highly commercialized view on “knighthood”, just like Margaret before her did. Margaret had a clear intent and her passions made her act mostly in anger, as she makes no secret: She hates Kazimierz for what it has become. Maria’s intent is less clear, even to herself, but she’s very much aiming for the same thing, but instead of Margaret’s anger, Maria has her determination. To have taken any sponsorship would have superficially kept the Nearl house afloat, but Maria is not looking to keep the house alone afloat, she’s looking to keep the house and the ideals in which it was built afloat. It goes beyond mere status.

In a world as bleak as Arknights’ and specially Kazimierz, Maria is no doubt naive to the point of frustration... But it is that which we call naive that makes a knight’s knight: Chivalry forged from ideals, sacrifice’s blunt borne from beliefs. The easy way out would’ve ultimately doomed her story, hence why she did not just move in with Zofia, hence why she did not just succeed Kowal and accept his workshop, hence why did not accept a sponsorship: It never was about that.

The very first event of the game, Grani’s Treasure, takes place in Kazimierz as well, but in the isolated outskirts, and we see hard-working, honest people, inhabitants of a nice little scenic hamlet. Now, we see what Kazimierz really looks like: A sprawling megalopolis of neon and concrete where the system shamelessly feeds on whoever sticks out their neck. The contrast couldn’t be harsher, and any hell is upheld by its demons: Czarny was a fascinating character, in that he very clearly held a lot of influence and power... And was extremely replaceable. The moment he messed up badly enough, he was instantly replaced by just whoever the hell picked up the phone next. It’s chilling. One puppet performed poorly? Irrelevant, there’s an endless supply who’ll take his place, provided enough fear and funds. Fear and money. The two currencies of Kazimierz. When a shadow council can just appoint you as the next Spokesman just on basis of you having picked up a phone without any real background check beyond “the previous Spokesman likely intended for this next sack of meat to pick up his phone in case he messed up”, well, congratulations, you’ve crafted a terrifying capitalist hellscape. No wonder Margaret hates Kazimierz so much, given the rot brewing in its underbelly and upper echelons.

And to all this, I have to say: It’s lovely. I loved the world building, implicit and explicit, I loved the cast, I love the themes explored and how characters were used to juxtapose these.

I feel it kinda drops the ball at the end by just... Not having a conclusion? It just sort of ends, which is very weird because events tend to be good at concluding themselves. I assumed we’d get some post-Challenge stages cutscenes to tie everything up like in the past but... No, not really, it didn’t happen. Margaret swoops in, the sisters perform the Ultimate Kamehameha on the Sarkazian Knights, and then it sort of ends one brief talk later. It needed a bigger epilogue, for sure. But this doesn’t ruin the event or anything, just a bit of a weak ending, everything else is still delightful and I loved it very much.

So yeah! The horses sure were wonderful!

[hartrathaway]

Hii I'm interested in Hartley's story but I know literally nothing about him except that he was Wally's gay bestie in the 90s, what's his deal? Do you have any comic recs for him?

HI IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!!!!!!

Okay, so really brief, his dealio is: born to ‘incredibly rich’ parents (we never get a specified ballpark, but Hartley states that he was ‘born with two silver spoons in [his] mouth’ if that helps context wise), Hartley’s deaf!  His parents had him get cochlear implants when he was a child, which ‘medically healed him’.  (His deafness has been treated extremely ablest by writers who actually remember he’s deaf, I need to warn you of this now.)  He’s a music and sound waves guy, a former villain (it’s an on again off again relationship, but a lot of his character is defined by his time as a hero) and he’s very leftist.  Gay best friend in the AIDS crisis turned Wally West from a midwestern conservative to a leftie as well.  (Wally’s wife, Linda Park, was a major contributing factor, but we’re focusing on Hartley for this, so I’m gonna talk about him.)

I’ve got a mix of good reading from all over, so I’m gonna break this into sections, and do my best to describe which is which.  (all my screencaps are from this website right here, because i do not own all the back issues and it would have taken much, much longer to do this post, and as such, some of them are not sized or formatted correctly)  Click the read more if you’re interested!  Please note: I am not a 100% authority figure on Hartley, and I know there’s a few stories I have left out (the story with Bart Allen’s first appearance is a good one that Hartley is in), but these are the gist of who is he, what he’s been up to, and what is the family drama.

So for New Earth (otherwise known as post-Crisis on Infinite Earths), is where Hartley actually becomes Wally’s friend, and is a hero!  I’m going to focus on this section first.  Unfortunately, due to being a minor character, a lot of stuff is broken into small stories, or things that are happening behind the scenes, so there’s no real issue x - y that’s gonna help much.

The Flash Vol 2 #31, #32 Quick summary: In issue 31, supervillain here is killing homeless people, Hartley has been helping these same people get up on their feet by helping them get squatter’s rights.  They skip the fighting because a kid asks if they’re going to fight for a half hour and then team up, and go right to the team up.  They get Linda Park in, supervillain ends up backfiring his powers.  In issue 32, Wally, Hartley, and their pal Mason officially move to Keystone city.  Hartley’s folks are in trouble while the three of them are trying to freeload (off of Hartley’s parents, his and his parents’ relationship is better now than it had been, for a multitude of reasons), Wally and Hartley rescue Hartley’s parents, we also meet Jerrie, Hartley’s sister, and all is resolved there.  Yay, the family loves each other again!

(issue 31)

(issue 32)

The Flash Vol 2 #53 Special mention this is the issue where Hartley comes out and also has to inform Wally that Wally cannot tell who is a homosexual.  Also Wally’s an IRS agent here, for shame Wallace.  At least Hartley gets to cosplay Wally at the end, so that’s fun.  Content warning for this issue specifically is some casual homophobia, just so you know that going in.

(issue 53)

The Flash Vol 2 #170 In 170, Hartley’s being contacted by his father to call in ‘a favor’ that Hartley owes him.  The main plot line includes (one of) Wally’s ex(es) showing up, a former hero and teammate, Frances Kane, otherwise known as Magneta.  A person has been found murdered at Keystone Motors, and supervillain Goldface begins rallying union workers (which seems to just be a poorly timed coincidence).  The story itself (170 - 173) in and of itself is really fun, but I’m only going to talk about Hartley, or else I’ll be here all day.

(issue 170)

The Flash Vol 2 #174, #175, #178, #179 And here we get some drama! I’m grouping all of these together, since it’s all the same chunk of the story for Hartley, but since it’s the Flash, Wally’s center stage.  In 174, the people who were living with the Rathaway family aren’t exactly big fans of Hartley.  They know he’s changed his ways, he’s a hero now, but it’s just…  something feels off.  There’s loud music sounds, and bam!  Suddenly Hartley’s there and oh boy is this gonna be a hot mess.  In issue 175, we see some footage, and Hartley’s the lead suspect in his parents’ murder, considering that the footage has Hartley onscreen.  178 rolls up, and after Wally’s getting Gorilla Grodd taken care of (and that fight is a doozy), Wally gets to find out Hartley’s been arrested for the murder of his own parents, and Hartley confesses on-screen to his parents’ murder  (Also Hartley’s got a beard now, that’s how you know he’s depressed.) 179 opens with Hartley being processed.  Linda and Wally go to see him, and although Hartley confessed, he said “I think I did.”  (emphasis is mine; in the panel Hartley says “I think I did.”) Joker?  He’s got some Joker-fied people, and poor Hartley gets it too :(  Hartley straight up nearly kills Captain Boomerang (it’s okay, Wally stops him), and surprise!  Welcome back to Iron Heights Hartley.  Gonna have a fun time :)

(issue 174; this is the least messy part of the panel, but it was intended to be that way)

(issue 175)

(issue 178)

(issue 179)

The Flash: Iron Heights Brief interlude from the main comic line, we’ve got a one-shot that’s taking place in Iron Heights.  This takes place before Hartley gets arrested, presumably (since, y’know, they’re breaking in and all).  Fun one-shot honestly, keeps me on my toes the whole time.  Hartley’s a main character, and it’s less personal drama and very story driven.  You don’t need this to enjoy Hartley regardless, but I enjoy it!

(The Flash: Iron Heights, which you can read here.)

The Flash Volume 2 #189, #190 189! Now we find out how Hartley’s parents were actually murdered!  No spoilers, but we do get a prison breakout.  This is where we get some origin story! Don’t read this first though, because you’re going to be spoiling yourself the plot of his arrest.  In 190 we get more origin, including the way DC treated his deafness. (It’s ablest, and I’m still mentally grappling how you wouldn’t notice your child being deaf for two years, but okay Rachel and Osgood, you keep being bad.)  The story goes on for now, with Hartley on the run from… well, everyone.

(issue 189)

(issue 190)

This is pretty much it for New Earth Hartley up until Countdown.

I don’t like Countdown at all.  I’m much happier pretending that Countdown doesn’t exist (both because of how it treats Hartley for a multitude of reasons, and how Thad Thawne is treated leading up to Countdown).  More happens with Hartley’s storyline in Countdown, but I hate it with such a passion that I wouldn’t recommend it at all.  Countdown leads into Final Crisis, and I’m not a fan of either.  However, should you wish to read and make your own opinions, here’s Countdown and here’s Final Crisis.  Please note, Countdown’s issues are done in reverse order (so from issue 51 to 1, rather than 1 to 51)

And now I’m going to tell you the gospel truth:

I do like New 52 Hartley!  A lot. Unfortunately, he’s not as much in the n52 Flash run as I would like (but I’m biased, as obvious by my url).  What you need to know is that Hartley’s a musician now, like orchestra director, and he’s in a relationship with Barry’s boss, David Singh. (power move, honestly)  Unfortunately, we don’t get a whole lot in the main line.  Also at this point, the Wally West of New Earth hasn’t transitioned to the n52.  Wallace West of n52 is an entirely different character, and that’s a whole other issue for another discussion.  Wally West as we know him from New Earth doesn’t come back for a while.  Wally and Hartley haven’t talked since before Flashpoint, and that’s a shame. 

So read the Crimes of Passion Anthology he’s got please I’m begging you.  The only downside is that the artist gave him a haircut.

(Crimes of Passion: Secret Admirer)

I haven’t read anything DCeased related, and while I know Hartley gets his time to shine and kiss David, I can’t tell you much beyond that.  I’m pretty sure there’s other people who can tell you more, but it’s not me I’m afraid.  (This is me saying guys, please tell me about Hartley in DCeased, someone tell me about my fictional lavender marriage husband.)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Understanding the aftermath of r/wallstreetbets

A couple days back, I wrote up my best understanding of what happened with /r/wallstreetbets and meme stocks like Gamestop, trying to show how all the different, seemingly contradictory takes on the underlying financial stuff could all be true.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/28/payment-for-order-flow/#wallstreetbets

In the days since, a new series of contradictory takes has emerged, these ones disputing the meaning of this bizarre financial spectacle, and likewise what response, if any is warranted as it unfurls.

I think that all of these takes can also be true, and as with the trading itself, reconciling them requires that we widen the frame.

Let's start with Jimmy Carter.

In 1978, Carter's IRS created the 401(k), a tax-sheltered account for people who wanted to gamble on stocks to fund their retirement.

That was a fringe proposition at best.

The normal retirement system was a "defined benefits" pension where your employer guaranteed you a certain monthly percentage of your salary from retirement to death.

The vast majority of Americans wisely prefered a guaranteed payout to a tax-advantaged gambling account.

Obviously, right? On the one hand, you have the guarantee of a pension (maybe even inflation-indexed); on the other, you have a bunch of bets, that, if they go wrong, leave you literally homeless and starving.

When gamblers remortgage the family home and cash in the kids' college funds to play the tables, we consider them to have a mental illness, a pathological condition that harms them and the people around them.

Giving up a defined benefits pension in favor of a 401k is just the same kind of bet - staking all the money that will support you when you exit the workforce on the movement of stocks and bonds.

Who would do that voluntarily?

Pretty much no one. But the transition from defined benefits to 401k was not voluntary. Finance ghouls like Ethan Lipsig wrote memos to major employers like Hughes Aircraft showing them how they could ditch their pension obligations by moving workers to 401ks.

In the 80s, Reagan created a bunch of legal tools that allowed employers to coerce their workforces into giving up the security of a pension and force them into gambling their salaries on the prayer of a win in the markets.

This was insanely, amazingly great for the finance sector, in three ways:

1. It made companies more profitable. Guaranteeing that the workers whose labor made your company viable wouldn't spend their dotage starving and homeless is expensive.

Helping fund wagers on shares is much cheaper. The finance sector represented the major shareholders of the companies that transitioned to 401ks. The savings were transferred to these shareholders and the finance sector got commissions.

What's more, this temporary inflation of share prices disguised what was going on with the pension switcheroo: workers' defined benefits pensions were liquidated and turned into stocks, just as stocks were going up because their pensions had been liquidated!

Their legs had been amputated out from under them, but so subtly that they didn't yet feel the pain - and now their bosses cooked their legs and snuck them into their dinner, and everyone marveled at how full they felt after that hearty, meaty meal.

2. 401ks brought a lot of suckers to the table. The market was - and is - dominated by "sophisticated investors," AKA predators, who knew all the ways to fleece the rubes who had no idea how any of this worked.

The predatory nature of finance only increased over time. Hedge funds, for example, exist to find unethical practices that are legal (thanks to loopholes in the rules) and exploit them until they are illegal.

3. 401ks created a political force outside the finance sector that would lobby on its behalf. Transforming America into a nation of stockholders meant that workers had to choose between supporting rules that protected their jobs and rules that protected their retirement.

For your pension account to grow, you had to support policies that permitted finance ghouls to offshore your job, or misclassify you as a contractor, or eliminate the safety rules that prevented you from being maimed, or take away your right to sue for compensation.

Every time there's a particularly ghastly bankruptcy driven by PE or hedge funds - Toys R Us, Sears, etc - it emerges that at least some of that money is coming out of a union pension fund.

That's marketization - turning the once obscure, boring business of market-based capital allocation into a matter of import to everyday people.

Marketization begat financialization.

While marketization is primarily about capital allocation (who gets what money), financialization is about bets. Sometimes those bets are about things - businesses, houses, coal and timber - but things are limited. Mostly the financial market consists of bets on other bets.

Bets are infinite. Every time you make a bet, you create inventory for a market in a bet on the outcome of your bet. And that's inventory for a new market: bets on the outcomes of bets on the outcomes of bets.

It's called Wall Street Bets for a reason.

Bets need referees, someone who decides who the winner is. In sports, it's a major scandal if a referee is caught wagering on one of the teams in a match. In the financial markets, it's the norm - referees that lay wagers on the outcome of the contest they're overseeing.

Let's take stock:

Workers are forced to play the casino, and if their bets fail, they spend their old ages homeless and starving;

The vast majority of casino games are wholly abstract - bets on bets on bets - and require layers of refs;

the refs are all crooked.

Every couple of years, we have a massive, systemic financial crisis, and every time that happens, the finance sector lobbies for a no-strings-attached bailout, abetted by suckers who hate the finance sector but fear starving in their old age.

We're about to be engulfed in the second-largest crisis of our lifetime - the reckoning from trillions in capital market gains propped up by the Trump administration's policy of buying all corporate debt as a covid stimulus.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/28/cyberwar-tactics/#aligned-incentives

(the largest crisis of our lifetimes is a few years off, as the climate emergency piles losses on losses, stranding tens of trillions in assets, from fossil fuels to obsolete gas-stations to literally underwater coastal real-estate to whole towns incinerated by wildfires)

That's where we're at: a crooked casino that we've trusted our futures too, a crisis on the horizon, and a bunch meme-stock "players" who have thrown the normal weirdness of the market into stark relief through a spectacular stunt.

A lot of people are angry at Robinhood, the stock-trading platform at the center of all this. Robinhood froze trading on meme stocks, and has only allowed it to come back in a useless, performative trickle that is seemingly calculated to prevent more meme-stock gamesmanship.

Is Robinhood just another crooked ref? Yes…and no. The meme stock run upset the stable cheaters' equilibrium whereby cheating never escalated to the point where the game just collapsed.

For example, the total short position on Gamestop exceeds its total stock issuance.

Translation: there were more Gamestop shares promised between bettors than exist. When the game stops, all those promises come due, and they literally can't be paid off because there aren't enough tokens in circulation to settle all the debts.

Robinhood halted trading in part because the big fish upstream of Robinhood also halted trading, because they have even more at risk than Robinhood does if the game collapses - they the refs for MANY players, all the same size as Robinhood or larger.

https://www.bloomberg.com/opinion/articles/2021-01-29/reddit-traders-on-robinhood-are-on-both-sides-of-gamestop

But remember, the refs are cheating. And they are both downstream and upstream from other games in which the refs are also cheating.

And the games, as a whole, encompass our economy, including the solvency of the "real economy" (the people who make masks, deliver groceries and drive ambulances), and whether you spend your old age homeless and starving.

So the people who say, "Don't blame Robinhood, they didn't halt trading to help billionaires, they halted trading to prevent the game from collapsing are right."

But they're not the only ones who are right.

Also, there's the people who say that meme stocks aren't making money for little guys at the expense of the big guys. They're right too.

First, because these stocks will all need to be converted to cash, and that means selling them.

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2021/01/the-gamestop-bubble-is-going-to-hurt-a-lot-of-ordinary-investors/

When the selloff starts, the price will plunge, because even if the stock was undervalued before, it's certainly overvalued now. Every bubble produces wealth for its early bettors who sell out to later players who lose everything when they can't find a sucker later on.

From Beanie Babies to subprime, bubbles burst and leave suckers holding the bag. If you just heard about meme stocks last week, you're too late to make money off of them.

There's another version of the "this isn't little guys, it's big whales" that's *also* true: the main beneficiary of the meme stock runs is giant funds who magnified and the bets from r/wallstreetbets and got out smart and fast.

https://twitter.com/zatapatique/status/1354904995901136896

So given all this, what can we make of calls (from parties as varied as AOC and Ted Cruz) to investigate Robinhood and other retail brokerages to see whether they're honest refs, or in the tank for billionaires?

At Naked Capitalism, Yves Smith calls this a "fatuous uproar," saying that the Senate has more important things to do during the racing-out-of-control pandemic than to investigate a literal penny-ante grift.

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2021/01/the-fatuous-uproar-about-robinhood-and-gamestop.html

Do we really care who the winner is in "a beauty contest between Cinderella’s ugly sisters" ("clueless new gen day traders versus clumsy shorts")?

Smith is right too.

A speculator-v-speculator contest that falls apart when the crooked ref halts play to prevent collapse - who cares who "wins?"

But here's how they can all be right - the "who cares" and the "goliath v goliath" and the "bubble" and the "Robinhood is a plutes' honeypot."

*If* there's hearings, and *if* those hearings expose the absurdity and corruption of the system, *then* there is a chance to build the political will to make real, systemic changes when the crisis comes.

And there's a real crisis coming: two, in fact. The covid junk bond financial crisis, which is due very soon, and the climate crisis stranded asset emergencies, which will unroll with increased tempo and intensity for decades to come.

The half-century cycle of "addressing" finance crises by increasing financialization MUST stop.

If the meme stock spectacle gets us to pay attention to hearings that reveal the irredeemable rot of the system, then it's a unique chance to spread *real* "financial literacy."

And that literacy is the necessary (but insufficient) precursor to taking action when the time comes - and the time is certainly coming soon.

[longitudinalwaveme]

Flash Villains: Who’s The Most Evil?

Like all heroes, the Flash’s villains vary widely in terms of threat level, motivation, and level of malice. Unlike most heroes, Flash is relatively unique insofar as most of his villains aren’t especially malicious. However, that doesn’t mean that all of them are sympathetic. 

The most malicious Flash villains, to my mind, are probably Eobard Thawne (aka Professor Zoom the Reverse-Flash), Gorilla Grodd, Cicada, and Murmur. Eobard is a predatory stalker and has caused more personal harm to Barry than anyone else, Grodd is a sadist who wants world domination, Cicada led a cult that murdered hundreds, and Murmur is a creepy serial killer. None of them have ever displayed any signs of remorse or real humanity (and yes, I recognize the inherent meaninglessness of saying a gorilla has no humanity; I couldn’t think of another term.) 

Blacksmith, Abra Kadabra, and Girder the rusty rapist are also pretty high on the list. Kadabra is frighteningly unhinged and has very little regard for human life. Blacksmith organized a plot to take over the entire city and arranged for such things as framing Hartley for his parents’ murder and convincing Jay and Joan that Joan was dying of cancer. She also pointlessly killed Rainbow Raider, who posed zero threat to her. And Girder is...well...a rapist. Besides being angry and creepy around women, he has no other noticeable personality traits, so he’s pretty easy to hate. I guess Plunder would also fall around here, though he had so little page time that I have a hard time getting a good read on his personality. 

Beyond this point, things start getting complicated. While Grodd, Eobard, and Kadabra are almost always portrayed as malicious and dangerous, and Blacksmith, Girder, Murmur, Cicada, and Plunder were really only ever written by one person (at least in major roles), how malicious the other villains are varies widely between writers. 

That being said, Hunter Zolomon (Zoom) and Thaddeus Thawne (Inertia) would probably fall just below Plunder on the list. Zoom is hard to rank, because while his actions are often heinous, he seems to be legitimately mentally ill; to the point where I think he’s one of the very few supervillains who could successfully use the insanity defense in real life. He honestly believes that what he’s doing is helping Wally....but his actions are still incredibly disturbing. It’s also worth noting that he’s much less evil under Geoff Johns than he was when he finally made his reappearance during the relatively recent War of the Flash arc. His level of actual malice was so much higher there, in fact, that at points he seemed like a different character entirely. Inertia, while a serious threat, was portrayed somewhat sympathetically in his appearances in the Impulse comic, but was subsequently portrayed as an Eobard-level psychopath in the Flash: The Most Terribly Written Man Alive and nearly all subsequent stories (his most recent major appearance, written by Joshua Williamson, is an exception). Because of this inconsistency, I can’t move him any higher or lower on the list. 

Of the Rogues proper, the most malicious ones are, in no particular order, the Top, Captain Boomerang, Sr., Mirror Master II, and the Golden Glider. The Top is unique insofar as he was basically always portrayed as one of the most dangerous Rogues. In his first appearance, he tried to blow up half the world (though he seemed more than a little uncharacteristically unhinged in that story, so it’s possible that he wasn’t all there during that escapade), he tried to blow up the city when he died, he possessed the body of Barry’s father, he tried to take over the country by becoming president, he tried to kill the mayor to take over the city (though he was definitely mentally ill during this story), and he generally caused havoc during the Rogue War. He’s by far the most conventionally ambitious of the group. 

Evan McCulloch, the second Mirror Master, is not especially malicious when written by his creator, Grant Morrison (he refuses to kill women and children, readily works with the Justice League when Batman promises to donate money to his old orphanage, and seems to bear no dislike for Wally or any other hero). However, when other people write him, he’s usually one of the most malicious Rogues. During Mark Waid’s run, he was depicted as an abusive stalker; during Geoff Johns’ run, he racked up an enormous body count and was responsible for the death of Piper’s parents. Why this is, I have no idea, but it’s still enough to put him fairly high on the list. 

Captain Boomerang, Sr.’s level of malice jumped noticeably after Crisis on Infinite Earths. Pre-Crisis, he actually came across as one of the least malicious of the bunch, but when John Ostrander started using him on Suicide Squad, he became a disgusting, racist, sexist, foulmouthed, selfish, cowardly, abrasive, treacherous, boorish disaster of a human being...and he’s been that way ever since. 

Golden Glider is bizarre, as she’s one of the very few villains whose level of malice actually seemed to decrease over time without them actually outright reforming. In her Bronze Age appearances, she was absolutely terrifying; targeting Barry’s wife and parents and pursuing revenge with a level of single-minded determination that would make Batman impressed. (Barry even canonically compared her to Batman during this period!) While she was more sympathetic than, say, Eobard, by virtue of the fact that she genuinely loved and grieved for Roscoe, she was still incredibly malicious. After Barry’s death, the writers seemed unsure of what to do with her. I enjoyed her semi-reformed period under Messner-Loebs, but after that things just fell apart until her eventualy pointless death. Geoff Johns portrayed her as more of a victim than anything, and since Flashpoint, she’s actually seemed to be one of the least malicious Rogues. It’s very odd. 

Weather Wizard would probably be next. He’s had a few acts of humanity and a few more acts of unusual malice, but on the whole, he’s generally somewhere in the middle of the Rogues in terms of level of malice. He also doesn’t seem to vary too much between writers. 

Axel Walker, the second Trickster, was very malicious during the early period of Geoff Johns’ run (tying bombs to homeless people-yikes!), but gradually became more sympathetic over time as he started to realize he was in over his head. Post-Flashpoint, he’s been one of the least malicious of the bunch, probably since he’s just a kid. It’s still strange to compare his appearances under Johns to his post-Flashpoint appearances, though, since they’re noticeably different. 

The first Mirror Master, Sam Scudder, probably falls near or below Axel. Since most of his major appearances were pre-Crisis, he’s really never succeeded in doing anything particularly heinous, and when compared to, say, Roscoe or Bronze Age Golden Glider, he’s usually not planning anything nearly as damaging. 

Captain Cold is one of the least malicious Rogues; he’s the one to enforce their codes and generally seems to avoid causing harm to people if he can help it. He can definitely be hypocritical, and he’s shockingly brutal at times, but on the whole he’s one of the most restrained and moral members of the group. Heat Wave is probably one the same level as Cold. For a long time, he was one of, if not the, least malicious Rogues, but since the pyromania retcon, he’s gradually become more and more unhinged and violent. Furthermore, even though Captain Cold and Heat Wave are traditionally among the least malicious of the Flash’s villains, for some reason they both seem to have become much worse since Flashpoint happened, with Captain Cold becoming much more of a brutal ganglord than he was pre-Flashpoint and Heat Wave’s remorse over his pyromania seeming to all but disappear at times. 

Fallout probably falls about here. He’s more of a passive danger than an active one, and he doesn’t seem to mean anyone harm. 

The first Trickster, James Jesse, is usually comparatively harmless, even reforming and managing to do an impressive amount of good during the 1990s. He even saved the world from Neron! That being said, when he finally reappeared after a decade-long disappearance, he suddenly became much more like his TV self than the traditional comic book version of James Jesse, to the the point where it almost felt like he’d been replaced by the Joker. I wasn’t really a fan of the arc where he came back. While I was glad to see him brought back from limbo, I didn’t really want to see him brought back as a psychopath who brainwashes the entire city. 

Peek-a-Boo only turned to crime to try to save her father and legitimately didn’t seem to mean any harm to anyone. 

Finally, the Pied Piper has been the most reformed, and therefore least malicious, of the group since the late 1980s. Since his reformation, he’s done almost as much to help the Twin Cities as the Flashes. However, it’s interesting that his reformation was immediately preceded by the period at which he was the most malicious: the never-ending Trial of Barry Allen arc. During that arc, he actually attempted to hypnotize the mayor into committing suicide! However, since then, the Piper has been pretty solidly on the side of the angels (his stupid appearances in the Flash: The Most Badly Written Man Alive notwithstanding). 

[generalfoolish]

Mayhem Times Infinity

Part Two: Multiverse Mayhem

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader (enemies reluctant co-workers to lovers)

Rating: 18+

Warnings: cw mentions of death, gore, trauma; the snap, violence, comic mischief, language

Word Count: 4k

Summary: The duo finds out what odds they're up against, but Loki has other plans.

A/N: Hey babes! I couldn't help but put in the work ASAP on this one. Gotta chase that hyper-fixation high. I'm ready to move into the "will they" part of this story! Sorry, for that slow burn, guys. Also, this doesn't necessarily join up at all with the series, but I threw a little nod in there, a little Professor Loki at the end. Enjoy 💕

Masterlist | Part One | Part Three

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged :)

“So, to summarize,” Loki drawled. “This is Earth-616, and it’s in danger.” Doctor Strange groaned, but nodded. Four hours. You had been listening to Doctor Strange for four hours. He had detailed the Multiverses, interdimensional travel, sling rings, all-powerful creatures more heinous than Thanos, and the ultimate demise of Earth-616--your Earth, your universe--and all Loki could do was joke.

You were reeling. Sure, you had considered the idea of other dimensions. You gulped as you tried to wrap your head around the gravity of the situation. There was a Multiverse jumper, Strange had given you all the information he could about the existence of multiverses and the area the villain was from, but couldn’t be more specific.

“Sure, in short. Now, listen, we don’t know who exactly is doing this. It would seem they’re working for Kang or Gah Lak Tus, but we aren’t certain of anything. We’re sending you for reconnaissance. Find out anything you can.”

“Yes, but why us? Why not the Guardians with Thor?” You asked. The tea in your hands too cold to enjoy, but you took a small sip anyway. You pulled a small face, and lowered the small cup again.

“They’re busy.” Strange told you without preamble.

“Well, so are we. He was just resurrected, and I’m technically homeless right now.” You argued, lifting the cup again, and taking another sip. The now pleasantly warm liquid tasted much better than it had even when you poured it. You raised an eyebrow at Loki, wondering if it was his magic, but he was looking at Strange, a small smirk on his lips.

“Then it should be less of a discussion. You’ll need to travel light, and neither of you are otherwise entangled. Now, do you recall our conversation of sling rings?” You nodded, and yelped when a thick bar ring appeared on your hand.

“I just focus?”

“Yes, visualize, focus and see the destination. Look beyond what you see. You know how to do that. This is the only way you’ll be able to travel through the multiverse, and I only have the one. You’ll have to travel together.”

“Okay. What about the Negative Zone?” You asked, your hand weighed down by the new accessory. The physical weight was negligible, but the mental weight left you straining.

“Start there. Remember Earth-616 is yours. Though it is unlikely anyone will refer to them as their numerical filing. What’s your job?” Strange asked, and you huffed, annoyed.

“Gather intel. We can handle it.” You snapped, and he lifted his hand.

Suddenly, a golden ring appeared before you, and on the other side an empty field.

“Go on, then.” Strange challenged, and you shot him a look, but walked through the portal.

You felt the portal close behind you, the energy rippling shut.

“That was strange.” Loki murmured, smoothing his leather jacket down. Without thinking, without pause, you replied.

“Doctor Strange.”

“That is not a good joke, darling.” Your eyebrows shot up.

“First, it definitely is. Second, ‘darling,’?” You asked.

“I told you, I refuse to call you ‘Stone,’ and you haven’t supplied anything else.” Loki argued, and began walking through the field. The grass, untouched, reached far up his long legs engulfing his waist, and you tried to pull your attention away from how he looked surrounded by the golden strands.

Celestial. God-like, you thought as you failed.

“Well, perhaps we should focus on the mission instead.” You cleared your throat as you walked to him. You tried to ignore how you had to incline your head to see him, failing again as you took in the height difference.

“Yes. I was thinking, we should perhaps change our clothes to fit in.” Loki mused, and you nodded.

“Good idea. Where are we?” You asked. It looked...vaguely Earth-like.

“How should I know? Aren’t you the one blessed with infinite knowledge?” He grumbled. You rubbed your palm down your face, and tried to perceive your location.

“I got nothing, Mayhem.” You mused, and began walking again.

“Casual linens, then?” Loki inquired, a ghost of a smile on his lips. You shrugged, and before you had relaxed your shoulders back down, you were draped in a dark green gown. You rolled your eyes at Loki’s shit-eating grin.

“Subtle.” You told him, gesturing down. He held his hands out in a shrug, and you laughed. He had matched his own ‘casual’ clothes in the same deep shade of green. You expected another jab, but instead he started walking away from you, and didn't break pace to see if you were coming. You jogged to catch him.

"Where are you going?" You asked, slightly out of breath. You were only just realizing how much taller he was than you. His long legs had carried him swiftly away from you in no time.

"Anywhere I please." He told you, barely looking down, but you could see his lips lifted in a smirk all the same.

"What do you mean?" You asked, looking around, wondering what destination he meant.

"Norns, woman, are you daft? I'm leaving. I'm free, finally. A better question for you would be: where are you going? Hmm? All that time on Midgard, now you're in space, darling. Where are you going to go?" He had broken stride to sneer down at you. You tried to hide your obvious shock at the sudden turn of emotion.

"To find the threat against our Galaxy. Why wouldn't you want to do the same?" You asked, malice lacing your tone. Here he was, wearing his true colors finally. The treacherous Loki, the one you'd been told about, the one you should've heeded the warnings about.

His nose crinkled in disgust, and you felt the vision coming before it hit. You'd seen this one a few times already, but nothing prepared you for it. You gasped for air as you felt Loki's throat being constricted, and winced when you felt the crunch of his neck.

His smug look told you he'd made that happen.

"I have a few reasons." He told you, his voice quiet and dangerous.

"We were chosen for a reason, Loki." You tried, grasping for any shred of logic that might convince him to stay. Treacherous or not, he had much more experience in space than you.

"Yes, we were. Isn't it obvious to you, yet? We were sent here to die." He held his arms out and gestured around at the field.

"What do you mean? It's just recon." You replied, noting his wingspan, the subtle way his lithe muscles pulled taut the fabric of his shirt.

"Oh yes, truly the omnipotent Dr. Strange would send a known liar and the newest avenger to stop a doom to the universe." He rolled his eyes and began walking away from you. You watched his hands trail lightly over the blades of grass, and knew he was right. You hated him for it, but he was. You had been pushing those feelings down since you had first found yourself in space looking at Loki. If this truly had the gravity Dr. Strange said it had, why wasn't he here? Or anyone of the other space faring avengers, or the guardians? Why were you sent here with Loki of all people?

You followed behind him, the grass reaching much higher on you, and contemplated your choices. You had the sling rings, so the options were endless. Yet, you kept coming back to the same one: do the job. Every fiber of your being told you Loki was right, but a small voice in the back of your mind told you he could be wrong. And it was enough.

You glanced up at your companion, his black hair curling at the edges of his collar, his back straight and proud, his shoulders broad and capable. He could handle himself in a fight, this much you knew. He'd be an asset. How would you convince him to stay? Trick him? Trick the God of Mischief? Surely you weren't dumb enough to try.

You threw your head back and looked at the sky. You knew you were. You knew you had to. You needed his help, but more than that, you actually wanted it. He was charming, after all.

"So, where exactly are you going, then?" You asked, breaking the steady silence. You watched his stride falter for a second as he turned to look at you.

"To the town." He told you, confidently.

"So, you do know where we are?"

"No."

"Then how would you know?" You challenged him.

"There'll be a town, eventually." He told you, clearly agitated at your questions.

"Sorry, just working out a few things." You told him, keeping your gaze averted. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

You kept your face passive as the wave of wariness washed over you. You had thrown your plan together in about three seconds, but already it was going perfectly.

Step one: make Loki suspicious. It was easy to do. He had no real reason to trust you. Plus, he had to be expecting it anyway.

It led to the rest of your plan. He’d “uncover” your deceit, and you’d go along acting caught in a lie. Then, you’d gain his trust for real. Finally, you trick him into actually helping you do some reconnaissance for Strange.

Easy peasy.

Now, just to find this town.

I’ll be damned.” You muttered when you first saw it.  A light cascading in the sky, not the stars that littered it currently, but a new one. A man made, or alien made, one.

“Aha!” Loki called, looking at you expectantly.

“You did it!” You laughed, peering through the trees that stood between you and the source. Failing that, you reached out with your mind. No one was lingering about, so you focused on Loki. It was a mixture of joy and trepidation. It was all bitter endings.

He was planning a betrayal of his own, of course. What you couldn’t piece together is why he was feeling hesitant to do it. Clearly, he had worked out a way to get off-world.

“Perhaps we should make camp here.” He suggested, turning his steady gaze to you. You looked around, considering it. More open than the forest, but that could be helpful in a fight. Unlikely anyone would be able to sneak up on either of you. Especially if you took turns sleeping. But, didn’t you just feel his looming betrayal? Should you risk it so soon? You needed sleep. Would he leave you alone, asleep, in a field on an alien planet? Surely not. But could you trust it? Did you trust him?

“Okay, Mayhem. I’ll grab some firewood.” You told him, starting to head to the edge of the woods. He chuckled, and you heard the whoosh of a flame. You turned and your mouth fell open. He had conjured an entire campsite. The fire was contained within a stone structure, there was a clearing to sit, he’d even managed a few blankets.

"Surely this will suffice." He teased, a grin ghosting on his lips. You nodded, lamely, and grabbed a blanket.

"Can you be troubled with dinner?" You joked, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

"What do you want?" He asked, settling down onto the ground, long legs stretched before him.

"Oh I don't know, what's your favorite thing?" You mused, snuggling under the thick material. It was softer than cotton or wool, warm but not hot, heavy enough to provide weight without being unbearable. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling against your skin, and nearly dozed. He startled you when he began speaking.

"The perfect night-meal is a sampling of delicacies. But the most exquisite taste is fresh champagne from the springs on Alfheim. Poured lazily by the Pleasure Elves, of course." You laughed.

"Pleasure Elves and champagne springs, what the hell are we still doing here?" He chuckled and adjusted the blanket around his shoulders, before looking at you seriously.

"I will show you Alfheim, if you wish." You resisted shuddering under his intense gaze. You could barely meet his eyes, a deep, dark green that rivaled the evening forest.

"I'd like that, someday. For now, dinner. Can you do...pizza?" You asked, smiling broadly. He frowned, clearly disgusted.

"I could, but I would not. Is that truly what you crave? Greasy, unimaginative mortal food?" You shrugged. "Very well." With a flick of his wrist, he brought forth two wrapped sandwiches. Curious, you pulled the wrapper off and smiled happily.

"A cheeseburger! How is that better than pizza?" You asked, laughing and taking a bite. You watched him peel the wrapper with grace, only touching the burger with his fingertips.

"I'm not sure. Thor described them much better than they appear." He seemed vaguely disgusted.

"We could have had alien food." You told him, laughing at his discomfort. He rolled his eyes at you.

"Technically, darling, you're the alien here." His matter-of-fact tone wrecked your mood. The way he said "darling" was more like an insult. How could he conjure burgers and then ruin the moment so seamlessly.

You didn't respond, just silently tucked into your sandwich. You still needed to work out how you were going to break his trust anyway. It couldn't be too clever, you thought. Just clever enough that it seemed like it would work, but not clever enough that he would suspect another attempt.

You were so lost in thought that you didn't see the way he studied you, mapping your face, reveling in how the starlight splayed shadows on you. He had put you in green as a joke, but lounging fireside under the thick blanket, you looked at home in the deep shade of mid-summer forest green.

You finished the burger and tossed the wrapper remains into the fire. You turned to find Loki already looking at you, he lifted a corner of his mouth but remained silent.

"I'll take first watch." You told him, hiding a yawn behind your hand. He waved you off with a flick of his wrist.

"Sleep. I'll watch over you." He watched you as he spoke, and you felt his dark eyes on you as you snuggled your way into the blanket nest. The fatigue from the battle with Thanos, and the rush of adrenaline from finding Loki and talking with Dr. Strange, and the long walk through the field came crashing into you all at once. Your eyes closed of their own Accord, and your limbs followed soon after tingling with sleep.

"G'night, Mayhem." You mumbled, your mouth and brain mostly asleep. You were drifting off, even as you said it, but you heard his response.

"Good night, darling." You smiled as you fell further asleep, his tone softer than it had been.

As sleep began to take you under, quieter than before, you heard Loki mumble to himself.

"Damn. She's adorable." When you awoke, you wouldn't remember, as it were, you barely heard it at all. Proof, you thought dreamily. It was proof, that Loki wasn't all bad.

~~

You blinked hard against the morning light and groaned as you rolled over. You remembered where you were quickly, the hard ground your first clue. The event of the previous day hit you at once, and you sat up quickly, scanning for Loki. You started to panic, he had slipped off during the night, and now you were alone on an unfamiliar world.

“Shit.” You cursed, rising to your feet.

“What?” You whirled on the voice and sighed deeply when you saw the God of Mischief staring back at you.

“I...thought you left.” You admitted, stretching your back out. His smile faltered a bit.

“I did not. I found breakfast.” He told you, tossing you something that looked like an apple. You smiled sheepishly.

“You didn’t wake me.” You said, and he merely shrugged. “You haven’t slept.” You continued, unsatisfied with his nonchalance.

“I was dead yesterday, darling. I think I can manage without one night’s rest.” You winced at his nickname for you. It dripped with venom and mistrust.

“Don’t act offended, Mayhem. Betrayal is literally your middle name.”

“What do you know of betrayal? Hmm?”

“Plenty. You may have cornered the market, but you didn’t trademark it.”

“I would not simply slink away in the dead of night. I am Loki, prince of Asgard, the rightful king of Jotunheim, and the God of Mischief, and I do not lurk in the shadows. My betrayal would be right in front of you, rest assured.” You scoffed, as you watched him pontificate.

“What do your titles get you here?” You asked and smiled in triumph when his face fell. You turned the fruit over in your hand, and looked back at him. “I’m sorry I thought you left, thanks for the fruit.” You mumbled, guilt already eating away at you. Why did his crestfallen face split you in two so quickly? You bit into the apple, and winced right away. It definitely wasn’t an apple. The texture was similar to a kiwi, but the flavor was unlike anything you’d ever had.

“It’s a local fruit, not one I’m familiar with.” He explained, his voice tight. “It isn’t dangerous.” You furrowed your brow to object, but he held his hands up. “I had one already to test it.”

“Thank you, Mayhem.” You told him, genuinely thankful. He waved the campsite away, and the two of you began your trek through the dense forest. The dark green clothes helped camouflage you as you picked your way through the vegetation, and while you knew he had done it to get a rise out of you, you were thankful to be out of the clingy spandex uniform you normally wore.

You had been training with Nat when the first power surge flowed through your fingertips, and the blast produced was golden. Nat must have alerted Tony, because within the hour you had a brand new, golden suit. You looked like an asshole, flying around in a shimmery gold suit, but no one would change it. Friday had told you to “Fuck off,” and that was the end of it. You’d become the Golden Avenger in the news, but everyone called you stone. It was a horrible joke, born out of horrible circumstances. You looked like a walking gauntlet, and you were treated that way too.

You focused harder on the ground, stepping around massive root systems, and avoiding areas where the ground had sunk into itself. Loki was right. You hated that you were thinking about it now. No one had truly accepted you as an avenger, except Nat. It was hard for them, you understood. The thing that gave you power was the same event that had destroyed them. But, it isn’t like you wanted it. You hadn’t asked Thanos to do this, you didn’t have control over the events that led to your origin. Yet, the first chance they got, they sent you away. You were the outlier, you were the uncertainty, and you were safer kept at arm's distance. Why else send you on an obvious goose chase with a wanted intergalactic villain?

You glanced at your traveling companion, and found him deep in thought as well. His brow was creased, and his mouth was set. He looked handsome, bathed in the filtered sunlight and the flecks of gold illuminated his dark features. He flicked his eyes at you, and relaxed his mouth into a small smile.

“Shouldn’t be long now.” He told you quietly, and you found yourself wondering what he was thinking about. His double-cross to you? You needed to hammer your own plan together, but it could wait, you thought. You didn’t want to think too hard about it.

“Good, it’ll be nice to get a real seat,” You laughed and he smirked at you. “Is Alfheim your favorite place?” You asked, thinking about the pleasure elves, you could see the appeal. He cocked his head to the side, a ghost of a real smile playing on his lips.

“No, Asgard was my favorite place.” He murmured, and you wanted to disappear. Of course, his world was just destroyed, what a dumb question.

“Sorry Mayhem, I didn’t think…” Your apology died on your tongue, as he began chuckling.

“Don’t fret, darling. I’m not that fragile.” He teased. Your heart was firmly lodged in your throat, stuck from embarrassment, but remaining still as you realized he had softened your nickname. No longer did your skin crawl, instead, a warmth spread through your chest. His soft tone had rendered you speechless, dumbfounded, but you hoped he wouldn’t notice. What could you say? I was embarrassed at having brought up a potentially sensitive subject, and then you called me a flirty name and now my tongue is heavy. Why would it even matter? You were going to betray him, and then he would betray you. It was what your master plan was hinged on. Who cared if he was soft and pretty?

“Truly, it is not an issue.” He continued, confused, searching your face.

“Tell me about it?” You managed to squeak out, and you caught the look he gave you, the look of skepticism.

“It was a Golden City, built up in the mountains, and the rainbow bridge connected it to the bifrost. It was devastatingly beautiful. That was only the Palace, though. The forests around the city were as cruel as they were beautiful. It truly was a world fit for gods.” He looked wistful, and you pretended not to see the tears welling up. “Where is your favorite place?” He asked abruptly, and you smiled happily.

“You remember that place I took you yesterday, when I plucked you from the debris in space?” You asked, waiting for an answer. When he nodded, you continued. “It was my attempt at freedom. I had just broken up with a man who controlled me, and well, it was a little crappy, but it was mine, y’know? I had just gotten back in touch with my family who I had been cut off from, and it was so right. I was only there for a few months before Thanos’ attack.” You told him, fiddling with your sleeve, swallowing hard. “It was the first taste of happiness I had, and then it was taken from me just as suddenly as I had gotten it.” You wiped your eyes and cleared your throat.

“I know a great deal about that, darling.” He reassured you, and you were surprised to feel the pressure of his hand on your back. You gave him a tight small, and felt the smallest tendrils of affection reaching out to you. You widened your smile and turned to the forest before you.

“What’s your favorite power, then?” You asked, falling in step beside him. He laughed.

“Power?” He asked, and you rolled your eyes.

“Yes, your powers?” You wiggled your fingers, knowing he’d never done anything like that.

“It’s magic, darling.” He rolled his eyes at you, but you could tell it was playful.

“Whatever, your magic. What’s your favorite spell?” He chuckled at you.

“Duplication-casting, then.” You raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that? Conjuring?”

“They’re two completely different powers.” He explained with a long, suffering sigh.

“So, they are “powers” now?” You asked, laughing.

“Norns, you are so aggravating.” He huffed.

“Well, why duplication-casting? Why not the poison one?” You asked. He raised an eyebrow.

“What poison one?” He asked, looking confused.

“You can have poison without it hurting you.” You told him plainly.

“No, I cannot.” He was genuinely confused at this point, and you held your hands up.

“But you tested the fruit for me.” You told him, confused. He blinked slowly at you, and your face fell in realization. He had been protecting you. And immediately you treated him like a monster.

“Mayhem, I’m…” He fixed his lips into a small line. You were trying to form an apology, clearly you were the one deserving the monster treatment. You had actively plotted against him since you had landed, and he had done nothing but try to make you comfortable. He raised a finger to his lips, his face hard. You heard it then, the crunching of leaves and splintering of sticks underfoot. You were no longer alone with the God of Mischief.

[california-raccoon]

eye’s on the sparrow

He just stares at her, like he’d been wishing for his mom but she appeared instead. This belief - in wishing, in divine intervention, in fate - is probably the reason why he chooses to believe in her. BLEACH / AU / ICHIRUKI • [← PART 1 ○ PART 2: A study of Rukia Kuchiki] 

III.

Of all the things Rukia considers herself as, fortunate is not one of them. Though the echoes of fortune haunt everything she sees and touches, she considers she’d rather do without it all. When she looks in the mirror, she recognizes herself, but it’s in a vague way. She knows what she looks like, but she doesn’t actually know who she is.

It isn’t that she’s ungrateful for what she has.

Her parents love her as much as any daughter; her childhood with them is filled with memories of picnics in the park, trips to museums… the annual cherry blossom festival where she’d walk down the rows of trees, warmth on her face and always two hands to hold.

They have always been kind, giving, and extremely passionate about their work. It seeps into her blood, as if they were related, to work twice as hard, to shine twice as bright. Rukia wears her last name like a medal she’s won and lets it define her completely.

Her father is her pride. He works tirelessly at the Kuchiki enterprises, recently inheriting the company from their now-retired Uncle. She learns importance of proper etiquette and strategy from him. Her mother is her heart, working at a non-profit that finds shelter for the homeless. Rukia used to ask her why she worked, not really in need of anything given their status, but her mom just ruffles her hair, and tells her there’s more to life than money. Rukia understands, because what else had she ever wanted besides the two of them?

Adjusting the hem on her black dress with a tug, she takes one last look at herself before leaving her room.

She is thirteen when she attends her mother’s funeral.

Her mother looks asleep in the coffin, make-up caked on, her giving her an artificial glow like she’s just sleeping. Rukia thinks it’s a pointless gesture, but she appreciates it anyway. She’d like the last look of Hisana not to be the pale image she used to visit in the hospital to say goodbye. The cancer came quickly, too late when they found out. They’ve already been grieving for months.

The event is small and intimate, mostly filled with family and friends. Her grandparents and cousins hug her and keep her soft, reminding her of everything her mother was. When they share their stories of Hisana, they reveal sides of her mother that she’d never known: when she and her friends got lost traveling around Japan during their last high school summer, her first big win gaining a successful client at the office, one of her first dates with Byakuya retold by her best friend. She was adventurous, determined and loved fiercely, they say; she will be missed. Rukia cries. It’s the first time she’s cried since she’d been adopted.

Her dad takes it the worst. After the funeral he floats around like his gravity’s been taken from him, no longer tethered to Earth. To counter this, he chains himself to his desk, focusing on his work to keep himself grounded. She comes home from school to an empty house.

If this is the cost of having a family, Rukia thinks, she isn’t sure it was worth the price. The loss she feels in her chest is too heavy; six years of happiness ending so abruptly that no fortunate person could ever experience.

So Rukia lets herself float. She skips classes and spends the day in arcades, in parks, talking to homeless people and stalking cats.  

It takes her back to another time, hazy infinite summers sneaking out of the orphanage and playing by the river. It gives her the idea.

On a fair winter morning, Rukia takes a train to Karakura. The ride itself doesn’t take too long, and she hides her school uniform with her coat so as not to seem suspicious.

Walking around the streets, the town is quiet and serene. It feels like a dream. The buildings don’t seem as tall as they used to, the distance of things having shrunk between her steps. The river flows beside her at a constant ebb that floods her with nostalgia.

When she reaches the hill, she takes a moment to take it all in. Overgrown foliage and forest trees surround the Torii, weathered and dulled by time. It welcomes her like the arms of the birth mother she never met, but she ignores them in favor of the off-beaten path to the side of it, leading to the gate of a traditional-style house.

The laughter she hears from the children stops her cold on her feet. Rukia hides behind the gate and stands there, watching. The boys are running, all pranks and belly laughs with one another and the girls are gathering the toys to fight back at them. They were playing house when the boys had usurped the game with a declaration of war. There’s one kid, a little too scrawny and too short, who joins in the fight anyway, scrappy and unwavering.

She watches till she realizes her cheeks are wet, tears coming undone at the sight of it all, guilty for everything she’s built up in her head. These kids are tenacious, hoping for a better life that’s out of their control as foolhardy as it is. She was once that child, until fortune smiled upon her and gave her everything she wanted. Who was she to refuse it now when it was all she had asked for?

Rukia’s family may be broken, but it doesn’t mean she can’t try to mend what she has, to be grateful. Her mother was everything to her - to them - and she doesn’t regret anything about her life with her. She thinks of her mother, her ferocity for living, and keeps the spirit close to her heart.

Stepping away from the orphanage, she walks back to the station with renewed energy. The town itself seems to come alive with her. It’s the late afternoon and there are kids playing by the river, others biking past her in their school uniforms.

She deep in thought when a glint of orange across the street that catches her eye. She knows him, she realizes. He looks a little menacing, with a crinkle between his brows and a frown that’s permanently taken residence on his face. The look doesn’t suit him, too angry for someone so young. She doesn’t think she’d recognize him if it wasn’t for his hair. It has to be him though, right?

Rukia thinks she should say something. Hey. Hi. It’s been too long. Didn’t we used to write to each other? …it’s been years. Do you even remember me? The thoughts spill into her head all at once and jumble into a pit in her stomach.

What should she say? What would he think?

She stops walking and settles for a polite wave and a firm “Hello” deciding not to yell across the street. Panic calcifies in her chest when she can’t remember his name.

In the end, he doesn’t notice her. He’s got his earbuds on and when he’s closer she swears she can hear him humming a fast tune. They cross each other on the street with little fanfare.

The moment it’s over, Rukia just laughs, the sound foreign as it escapes her lips. She thinks herself silly for even trying.

Rukia’s mind wanders as she watches the landscape from the train windows morph from open fields back to the compact buildings she’s familiar with. She wonders what happened to him. She wonders if she’s changed as much as him.

-

Back home, she cooks a dinner big enough for two and waits for her dad to come home. He finally arrives two hours past his usual office hours. If he’s shocked by her gesture, its marginally expressed. The stovetop ticks to a lively fire as she reheats the food while he hangs his coat in the foyer. She’s laid the dishes out onto the table into a traditional setting she knows he’d appreciate.

“We can’t do this to her,” Rukia breaks the silence during the meal, fire in her words. “She would hate what you’ve become.”

“She’d hate what you’ve become too, skipping classes all the time.” He responds with ice, eyes low. “Don’t think I didn’t know. Your school’s called me every day this week.”

“You’re right and I’m sorry, but—” She grimaces, gesturing a slight bow to apologize.

“It’s hard to lose someone, isn’t it?” He says softly. “I don’t blame you for taking some time for yourself, but tell me next time… I know your mom usually handled these sort of things better, but…”

Rukia’s eyes are wide, her heart gutted at seeing her dad this way.

“I’ll make a deal with you. No more skipping classes but you have to come home for dinner.”

“I can’t help the office has been busy lately—“

“No excuses.” Rukia interrupts, strengthening her resolve, but her voice cracks. “I hate coming home to this empty house every day.”

There’s no response from him then, but his brows lift slightly in an expression she’s not used to.

“I visited the orphanage today.” Rukia says, the implication unfolding before him. She looks at him and his brows are still raised. “I just - I just wanted to see… to remember that time. I’m grateful for everything you’ve both done and given me, but.”

She takes a breath. There’s no fire in her now, just the calmness of knowing. “I forgot what it was like. Not to have parents. Or anyone. I don’t want to lose it again.”

The chopsticks clink against the porcelain of her dad’s bowl as he puts it down. He looks at her with a warmth that she’s never seen from him.

“I’m sorry… You have a deal.”

They don’t shake on the agreement and neither really speak much after the talk, but she feels the shift in him after dinner. Over the weekend they buy a frame and candles and set up a shrine by the dinner table. They buy flowers every week for Hisana. It’s not a lot, but they’re trying, and it’s enough.

Still, sometimes, she’ll take a train every once in a while back to Karakura.

[blaydiud]

[ 𝖑𝖔𝖌 ] - 07.   𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖌𝖚𝖊.

Although it still ran rampant, oftentimes it seemed like the plague had reached a more manageable point- at least within what Faerghus considered manageable. The country had always struggled with diseases and outbreaks- its bustling capital, Fhirdiad, was nothing more than a dirty nest of rats and illness with raw filth in its streets before Cornelia was admitted as the new court mage and began aiding King Lambert in improving the city’s sanitary problems. Yet this one felt different than the ailments that disturbed the north country of Fódlan, it felt like a product of magic rather than nature’s punishment for living in filth. One much similar to the country’s last documented plague that killed its queen. 

Needless to say, the air was one of pure grief and fear. Entire families wiped, widows and orphans raising in numbers, homeless searching for shelter after theirs were destroyed, the injured and elderly on the brink of death from the shortage of available healers.

It was “manageable”, but the prince couldn’t help but feel like he failed spectacularly at his own job. Helping and aiding his people, ensuring their safety and wellbeing- no matter what he did, nothing worked. He didn’t want to kill those infected in hopes that there may be a way to save them, yet he didn’t want to leave the healthy and innocent to perish. All in all, he felt like he disappointed much more than just his friends or family- rather, he disappointed his country. He wouldn’t be surprised if his own friends and allies began to turn their backs on him after witnessing such poor performance as a ruler-to-be. Such failure from a prince and house leader.

He wanted to be left alone for a bit. It wasn’t the best action, he was well aware- being alone with nothing but his own thoughts was an invitation to unwelcome ideas and voices, but at the same time he felt too ashamed to face others. Icy eyes that usually scouted the area from above were now directed to the found, instead. The blue cape that often blazed brightly under the sunlight was droopy and hidden in the shadows, close to the walls. The confident and mildly fast pace of his boots were now quiet and slow.

The blond hair that was compared to the sun’s mighty rays was obscured by clouds, his posture akin to a withering flower.

Fate had it out for him however, when one of the monastery’s messengers approached. Someone came to visit.

At first Dimitri frowned in confusion, after all who would want to visit him like that? Perhaps Rodrigue, to check in on him? Margrave Gautier? But the plague hadn’t reached the north. Count Galatea? Maybe to report losses and request aid. Maybe Cornelia, to give a detailed report of the disease and discuss what could be done to avoid this type of thing from happening in the future. Of course, all diplomatic matters- although usually directed to the Regent King rather than to him.

What he wasn’t expecting however, was to be sitting inside his room, a tray with boiling hot chamomile tea on the wooden table, two cups, right in front of his uncle- who eyed the room with an arched brow.

He hadn’t seen any signs in the monastery that would suggest the arrival of his uncle. No trumpets, no kingdom soldiers roaming the area, not even the flying units that always accompanied the royal carriages. It was quiet and simple, almost as if his uncle himself didn’t want it to be known that he was here. Maybe that was done on purpose- Rufus was unpredictable as ever. Sometimes he wanted to be received with parties and glamour, other times he’d much rather sneak around the halls like a weasel. He ever chose to meet Dimitri in the prince’s own quarters, rather than reserve a proper meeting room.

“Not bad. Nice non-existent decoration, by the way. Heheh.” A joke that didn’t land, received with silence. Dimitri’s gaze never really met his uncle’s eyes, instead focusing on his cravat, his beard, the teacups or his own hands sitting atop his lap, fiddling nervously with the hem of his jacket.

Dimitri wasn’t sure what to expect from this- it was the first time Rufus had visited him in the monastery ever since the prince left Faerghus for his studies. Did the man come here to scold him? Lecture him? Just hang out?  It was hard to tell. Shouldn’t Rufus be at Fhirdiad, acting on his duties and helping to make sure the city was still safe? The prince’s memories went to the response letter Rufus sent after the Church’s complaints about Dimitri’s behaviour in the ball- and the Regent King actively supported his nephew. But now, looking at the older man’s face, Dimitri wasn’t so sure if he came here to support and comfort him...or to yell at him for his incompetence. Or both, or neither.

Another moment of silence, nothing but their quiet breaths and idle noise from outside the room to fill up the void. Old blues lines the details on the room’s stone and wood walls, before stopping at the sight of Dimitri’s form.

“So? How are you holding up?” Rufus tried to strike conversation again, still not touching the steaming cup of tea, nor the sweet buns on a nearby plate. They were all brought from the Kingdom, all things done exactly the way Dimitri would like. The chamomile tea from the palace’s storehouse- the same kind that Lambert would drink in his afternoons, the buns prepared by the royal bakery- with marshmallow fillings, chewy and soft. Their smell was familiar enough for the prince’s own poor nose to catch on their scents, the smell of nostalgia dulled but present.

The intention behind these was still gray to the prince, however.. He reached out for his teacup, gauntlets long discarded, sitting atop his bed. “I feel well.”

The regent’s expression was neutral, unconvinced. With slow blinks, one would think he’s much older than his early fifties. His long blond mane was clearly messier than usual, some white hairs poking out. The blue of his eyes was lined by dark circles, his posture looked both at ease and crumbling down. Stress, perhaps. Exhaustion, unhappiness. Things that seemed alien for the king that would throw feasts and extravagant parties nearly every month- at least from others’ point of view. The Rufus people saw occupying the throne, the Rufus people used to suspect had a hand in the late king’s murder, the Rufus called sleazy and useless.

Dimitri’s silly, rebel uncle and his only family. Two completely different people.

    “I…” The prince started again, unsure. “...I feel like I did a poor job.” 

“Poor job at what?” The older man’s brows furrowed slightly, confused. “Got bad grades?”

    “No, my grades are fine.” At least for now, they looked good enough. “I performed poorly in aiding the people in the Kingdom. So much was happening, there was so much to be done and I could not-”

“You’re not a mage, boy. Not a healer, either.” And you’re not king yet. “There was nothing for you to do there.” Rufus’ words were quick and sharp, spoken seemingly without a care. 

As if they didn’t hurt at all, a simple fact. Dimitri deflated, visibly. Noticing that his words were perhaps too harsh, Rufus scratched his bearded cheek, suddenly uncomfortable. “You- train to be a knight, don’t you? So. Unless you walked out there to kill those diseased people, then there wasn’t anything you could do. Maybe stand there and grant the people comfort, but just that.” The more the regent king tried to do damage control, the more salt was added to the prince’s wounds.

Rufus frowned, huffing. Uncle was always horrible at this, Dimitri thought. After a pause that seemed infinite, the older man tried to speak once more.

“What I mean is that-...ugh, sorry boy but there’s no other way to put it. I’d much rather have you doing nothing and being healthy than you running around the diseased and ending up like one too.” Typical of the older Blaiddyd. Dance around the issue in hopes of sugarcoating or changing the subject, only to drop a bucket of cold water- of truth, unceremoniously like that. Dimitri, unamused, finally met Rufus’ own.

    “You want me to just stand aside and watch them fall one by one? You want me to watch them die and do nothing about it? What kind of ruler does that to his people?” Icy eyes grew a flame of their own.

“That’s not it at all- listen to my words, Dimitri. It is dangerous out there, even now. As much as I hate this damned building it’ll be better for literally everyone if you stay here.” Both voices were quickly rising in volume- once a quiet and controlled argument, now a potential shouting match. 

The prince’s hands were flat against the table, as if he were close to abruptly standing up- to prove a point. Or to just leave the room and be by himself, even though he knew well that Rufus would follow. “I will not sit on my hands and watch the people of Faerghus sink in a sea of torment! Even if I cannot perform healing spells, I wish to at the very least be there for them! So that they know they have someone to rely on!” 

“You’ll die out there if you do that! Leave that task to me-”

    “-You’re doing nothing about it! Nothing!” 

Although slightly taken aback by the shout, it was unclear if the prince’s words hurt Rufus. “Dimitri, think. I’m not telling you to sit and eat imported steak from Almyra next to a dying villager, what I’m saying is that there’s no use for you to roam around in a situation that’s unsafe and that you cannot directly interfere in! Lances and swords can only do so much, you know that better than me!” Rufus’ voice wasn’t a shout of anger, but rather a steady- and loud, command. He was defining an ultimatum for Dimitri to back down and obey. “It’s unfortunate that you had no means or ways to have a say in what happened but there’s no use in moping about it all day.”

The prince seemed to be stuck between curling in on himself and glaring back at his uncle with defiance. 

Rufus glared back with a similar fire in his eyes. “Don’t make that face at me.” The regent leaned in the chair, sighing. He finally reached for the tea- still warm, but not as much as before. Dimitri was still silent, immobile in the opposing chair. His emotions were a swirl of anger, grief, outrage and sadness- he felt justified in his points, yet felt that his outburst was horribly childish. Also unfit for a prince, as well as for someone his age.

Old, greyed azures roamed the room once more before focusing on one of the lances leaning against the wall. The lance Dimitri took with him when he left for Garreg Mach, a steel so smooth and clear that the lance was almost white in color with a charming blue decorating its hilt and the middle of its blade.

His vision wasn’t great as it used to be, but he could make out stains around its blade. Blood was a stubborn little thing, sometimes. The hilt was straight and seemed intact, save for subtle indents from what could only be Dimitri’s hands grasping it. Rufus had always supported having the prince learn how to fight, but he couldn’t help but get a grim feeling from seeing the weapon. From knowing that Dimitri was training to kill. It was all expected, but never easy to swallow. 

“Fhirdiad was a little nightmare. No disease, but the people were scared. Panicking.” The regent started casually, slightly tired. He took a sip of the tea, then finally grabbed one of the buns and took a bite. 

    “Did you do something about it, at least? Did you talk to them?” With words sharper than a knife, Dimitri reached out for his own teacup but stopped midway. Depending on Rufus’ answer, the cup could shatter in his hold- which would be quite unfortunate.

“Me? Dimitri, they hate me. If I stepped out of that balcony to say a ‘good morning’ Goddess knows what they’d throw at me in rage.” The older man stated with similar, ominous indifference. It filled the prince with a dull anger, but not enough to justify another fit.

Always avoiding anything that could prove to be inconvenient to you, uncle. The prince wanted to find it disgusting, outrageous, but his heart didn’t allow it. This was family.

Dimitri decided to fully reach for his cup, despite unfavorable feelings brewing in his chest. “I could have gone to Fhirdiad and offered moral support to its citizens, in that case. The lack of my presence is unforgivable. I will be perceived as unreliable-” 

Rufus’ hand came down on the chair’s wooden handle, not hard enough to shatter it but enough for the furniture to audibly creak. “The roads to Fhirdiad were crawling with the diseased! Our pegasus and wyvern knights were tasked with transporting medical equipment and food, and the mages skilled enough to cast a Warp spell were too busy trying to find a cure! Even that pink haired witch was too busy! There was no safe way for you to return, Dimitri!” The regent’s gaze was piercing, making full contact with Dimitri’s icy blues- which still burned in defiance, but the flame was weak. “Can’t you see that as much as the people need their ruler, no level headed person in Faerghus wants another royal funeral? You doing nothing and staying alive- nobody will hold this against you, dammit! Nobody here wants you dead!”

Rufus ran his hands through his hair, an ashy golden mane naturally messy that went past his shoulders. “Me included. So stop having those stupid ideas already.” The outburst from before was reduced to a meek, shaky mumble. With his face obscured from view, it was hard to make out his gaze- if it was one of anger, of exhaustion, or one of tears.

It tore a shuddered breath out of the prince. “...my apologies.” If this answer was genuine or performative, it was unclear. “But I...have to disagree with you.”

The regent simply shook his head and leaned back on the chair again, frowning at how one of the wooden handles was now slightly crooked from his fit. It seemed like another moment of silence, except Rufus knew that any time now Dimitri would say something. From the trembling of his lips and how his gaze zipped around aimlessly. Working up the courage to speak, rehearsing words in his brain.

It came out with an audible sob and a wobbly voice that the regent was most definitely not expecting.

    “I just don’t want to be like this…” Helpless, useless. “To stand there...with nothing to do- while people-” Die around me. “I-”

    “I don’t want it again.” The sentence was slightly mangled. “To have no control on the- the situation and-”

“Dimitri.”

    “People keep dying around me and I can’t do anything about it!”

“Dimitri-”

    “I’m ne- ever enough to make it stop! It's unfair! Unfair that I get to breathe all day doing nothing and they-”

“Silence!” The prince yielded, but his sorrow blazed on.

“...Sometimes it happens. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Call it fate or the Goddess throwing a fit or whatever, but there’s...there are things we can’t stop.” At first unsure, Rufus reached for the prince’s forearm, rubbing it gently.

“Being royalty, having a crest- none of these things matter sometimes. You’re just a person. And some things are just out of your power for...being a person like any other. Doesn’t make you weak, but...well, it happens. You’re helpless as I am.”

Dimitri replied with silence.

“And if any of your friends give you crap for it, then guess what? They’re not friends.” Rufus still didn’t know who Dimitri was friends with- except from the ones he’d spot on the palace sometimes. The youngest boy from Duke Fraldarius, the one from Margrave Gautier, and one of Count Galatea’s little girls. They seemed like good kids, at least. “And if that happens then- whatever! I’m here! It’s not much but I’m here!”

What could only be interpreted as a meek chuckle was all Dimitri reacted with. A funny thing for Rufus to say, considering how sometimes he didn’t bother to read his letters and never came to visit. He was too tired to confront the man about it however- so he let it pass. Rufus would probably forget about it later, anyway.

“Also can you- ugh, wait.” The regent produced a handkerchief and handed it out. “I know it’s rough and you’re sad but wipe your face? It’s three quarters water at this point. Gross as hell.” The Blaiddyds never looked pretty while crying. Always a red-faced wet mess, yet the redness and the tears made the blue of their eyes jump out exponentially. 

    “Language, uncle.” Dimitri grabbed the offered handkerchief- it held the emblem of Itha, not of the Royal banner- and pressed it against his face. He didn’t care, blew his nose on it despite an audible sound of disgust from the regent and handed it back.

“...you can keep it.” Rufus’ grimace was enough to finally make the prince laugh softly. A real laugh.

Dimitri sighed, feeling a headache coming in- one of exhaustion, the typical ones after a cry. Instead of looking down, however, he stared at the now cold cup of tea and the mostly untouched buns. “I just do not wish for my people, allies and friends to perceive me as… weak and unreliable. That is all.” I don’t want to be abandoned again.

The older man chuckled. “It’s funny to hear you speaking all fancy after all of that.” Dimitri simply huffed.

“Prince or not, you’re still a kid. Kids aren’t perfect, I bet that princess from Adrestia also has her slip ups as well as the little guy from Leicester you threw hands with. If people cast you aside for a mistake out of your power, then they’re the ones in the wrong for putting on impossible expectations.” Dimitri noddled idly, although he didn’t seem to be fully on board. Stubborn little thing, just like his dad, Rufus thought.

    “...I wish to support Faerghus still, however. Even if I could not do much when the disease was out of control...now that everything has reached a more stable point, I would like to help the people in every way I can.”

“And that’s alright. Just don’t skip school and be a good boy.”

     “Uncle.”

“What? You can’t be in two places at the same time, Mitya.” That baby nickname was enough to calm the prince down slightly. It was only ever used by his family nowadays- as his friends have all but stopped calling him anything other than Your Highness. It felt a bit embarrassing at times, as if Rufus were babying him, but it also brought comfort.

     “I- okay, I yield!” The prince crossed his arms, huffing out. “You are impossible, truly. Quite frustrating, at times.”

“Yadda yadda.” Rufus smirked, sipping on the now cold tea. ”Sheesh, this thing tastes like leaf water when it’s cold. Bad leaf water.”

     “That is more or less what tea is composed of.” Dimitri grabbed one of the sweet buns, taking a bit and munching with visible glee once he noticed that the pastries were bakes to fit his preferences.

“Finally, dammit! I thought you wouldn’t eat any of these! Well, you could at least spare one to give to a pretty girl you like.” Rufus winked and grabbed another pastry, powdered sugar lining his golden beard.

Dimitri made noises of disapproval, but preferred to just continue eating. Although his heart was still heavy with uncertainty and disappointment in himself, he felt that at least at that very moment, he could afford to occupy himself with something- or someone else. Other than death and suffering, other than despair. 

He’d brace himself for a difficult path, now. One of painful recovery and unfortunate difficulties.

[courtorderedcake]

Majestically Too Far Beyond : CSSNS 2020

It’s finally here! Yaaaay! Here’s my @cssns​ for 2020, Majestically Too Far Beyond, title based on the Poem written by Komal Kapoor. You can read my explanation of how this mess all got started Here. Art is by @kmomof4​ and I threw in some too for fun. 

Summary :  Emma Swan has never been that type of girl, you know, the one that cries and sinks into a pint of ice cream after a break-up. She's never ever cared about anyone other than completely out of survival, but then came Neal, and then came the final big break up with someone maybe she sort of kind of loved. So now she is one of those girls who are homeless, living with her adopted brother and his wife at their farm in a long abandoned Victorian keeper's home, desperately trying to save to get her own place while working her difficult government job and as a merc witch on the side.  When a desperate Witch calls on her to do a spell, it's all bad news - but then said Witch revealed a mountain of gold coins, and whimpered that Emma is her only hope. How can she not be a bad ass magic savior for this poor soul? All seems to be well, until the consequences are suddenly very real.  Killian may be a Demon, a fallen Angel that now delights in the practice of revenge, but first and foremost he's a gentleman. Sort of.  Especially when his ruddy Angel brother is focused on bureaucracy and keeping mankind out of chaos, while Killian barely keeps his denizens as safe as he can in a world that wants Demons dead. Witches and Warlocks use them for parts, Werewolves see them as a threat, Angels mostly still hold on to the ancient feud regardless of their treatise, Fae stay chaotic neutral, Vampires don't care for others affairs - it's a perilous world where hate crimes happen without consequence. When Killian goes above to plead for more safety laws in the metropolis of Hyperion Hills, the city that lies over a major portal to hell, he does not expect to meet a council that the elemental five sit on. He especially doesn't expect that the council would ever take him seriously in his campaign for demon safety. Regina, Snow, Ariel, Elsa, and Belle seem dead set on making it their pet project - each for their own very different reasons. Especially when they bring up hiring a tempestuous security consultant, Emma Swan. When they adjourn, he can say that he is optimistically apprehensive. An optimistic Demon never leads to good things, unless by good things you mean throwing back rum while chasing a pretty woman for plundering. He's unsure of what to expect when challenged to do shot for shot by a mysterious blonde Witch, who didn't care who (or what) he is, but he does like a challenge. Too much in fact, the challenge raising the stakes, because from there on it becomes a blur, and yeah, he's bloody well in it now. The idea of a contract sounds fantastic when they stumbled into the strange tower, half naked and wanting. It's the ritual she does instead that he should have been paying attention to. So, maybe now he's missing a hand, and has only the vaguest idea of what happened from the mess of blood he's woken up to, his and someone else's, a mirror's accursed magic the only thing to tell him what took place: he's a prisoner until someone lets him free… And a woman that he’s positive did not exist in his life yesterday, who just happens to not only be a Witch but a complete stranger, is pregnant with his child. 

Rated E, but really falls in at more of a M. Fluffy angst with some adult themes and hinted undertones.  READ ON AO3 HERE.

Chapter 1 - Long ago, eclipses were feared as well:

To say that the Jones 'Brothers' had been fighting since time began, was not an understatement, but also not exactly truthful. They had actually been fighting before recorded time, and before there was even a concept of the perception of anything besides the aether or eternity.

That's why he'd fallen, actually. Loss was a powerful motivation, enough even to question the utmost Authority - and the Authority despised questioning. Fighting was in the nature of the divine Celestials, as it seemed, and in Her infinite curiosity that She defined as 'Wisdom', God had let Lucifer burn too brightly. Their war was a lover's jealous quarrel turned violent. 

Although Liam was created moments before Killian, they were brothers (as it were) even amongst a host of angels, and they were close regardless of their stubborn spats. They fought over the world and its workings, Liam given a flaming sword while Killian was given books. They fought over knowledge of the divine arts, arguing whether humans were worthy of the Arcane. They fought over Killian's love of a mortal woman, and his questioning of commandments. 

They fought over Killian standing behind Lucifer, and Liam fought Killian right before he fell. In some ways, it was Liam's own hand that pushed Killian, but in his last angelic act, Killian forgave his brother. 

While Earthborne and some remnant Angels believed Demons were not capable of love, they were of course wrong. Demons loved, lost, and forgave just as any others. Even after the schism, even after years of passive aggressive pettiness between both sides, Demons were still seen as wayward, dark, demented creatures. Angels had done little to fight this stereotype, instead reveling in their continued status as goodwill ambassadors. 

Even their name amongst mortals was a cosmic joke, the Creator and her lover-made-antagonist too long gone to bother with proper names. They were Angels or Demons to some cultures as humans grew on God's abandoned project, while others called them by their new names. 

The Angel Diana was called a Goddess alongside Hecate, Freya, Gabriel, Uriel, and many others. The Demons Zeus, Odin, Loki, Hades, and Poseidon happily took on roles that suited their carnal needs. Angels mixed with mortals along with Demons, God's secret seeds of elemental magics taking life along beside them as Druids, Fae, and Elementals.  Some of the Celestials even birthed life as their lost parents had, Demons begetting Demons, Angels begetting Angels, and everything or anything in between. 

Humans gained magical prowess as the world changed, Witches, Druids, Warlocks, Mortismals, and Mesmerels becoming the norm for human bloodlines. 

Still, Demons were given less, all because God had cursed them irrevocably before disappearing with Lucifer into the abyss. They were cellularly different now than any of the Angels they had once been, a yoke around their neck that they could be forced to obey. Like Angels, they could be worshipped, called, trapped, or contracted even as their powers and bodies twisted into the curse stained strangeness God graced them with. They were looked on with disgust, pity, horror, and anger for it despite their best attempts.

Which was why his sodding Ponce of a brother working as an Angel ambassador for a Prince of Hell was so important - and so bloody frustrating. 

It wasn't as if being a Prince of Hell wasn't stressful enough - his people always under siege or afraid of some Witch summoning them to place a brand, then using them as a charcuterie board - no. It was that his brother was a baked potato when it came to convincing the public they were not what millennia of ingrained hatred had established Demons as. 

Bosch had died before Killian could uppercut him, regardless of his depiction of Liam as a trumpeting ferret bird or the even less flattering version of Killian. Dante had been another great PR stunt his brother had botched miserably. The Rings of Hell weren't even used, Lucifer gone before he could put God's plans for punishment into place. Now as a museum and reenactment park, it was a popular attraction that helped generate funds for the denizens that lived in the spacial plane that surrounded it, but Dante's review had been swayed by Liam taking him into The Kingdom right after. How could Hell ever live up to the paradise God herself had planned for humans? Only Cedar Point, Busch Gardens, Disney, or Universal Studios could come close as far as themed parks. It was a complete disaster. 

This newest idea of Killian sitting on the board of Hyperion Heights to work with the world's premier intersectional coven, 'StoryBrooke', was another terrible idea in the making, and Killian had no qualms letting his brother know it.

"This is absolutely ridiculous Liam," Killian gritted out, itching under the glamor that made him look mortal. Being confined in a skin suit had his molecules vibrating so loudly he could hear his canines, starlight and cosmic fire sending pinpricks of goose flesh down the dark hairs of his arms and legs. Wearing this was torture enough without Liam staring at him in disdain, his own heavenly image unblemished. Even his halo was a polished gold around his fat head. "While I am a dashing rapscallion in my original skin, don't you think it's bad form for them to see me like this instead of how I actually look? Isn't the point of this to show that even if we're not as pretty as your lot, we're still beings that deserve respect?"

Liam grunted, rolling his eyes. Blue fire from explosions of stars and galaxies lit in mirrors of Killian's own, but framed by rosy cheeks and tawny curls instead of moving shadow, a ghoulish pallor, and dark hair the color of ink or raven's feather. The Angelic glamor contained the haze of darkness that moved like smoke around him, the length of his fingers and claws, and made his flesh look pale but not tinted the color of the universe's light. It did not hide his horns (remnants of shattered halo) or his twitching tail if someone chose to leave eyes on him too long, but that was another Demonic burden to bear. 

"First impressions, little brother. Even the most progressive Witch is still a Witch. I'd rather them see you like this instead of wondering if you truly need all your giblets."

Killian swallowed hard, nodding once before grumbling, "Younger brother. Younger."

"Go over your notes again. You'll need to be your nauseatingly charming self for this, especially if they bring the males in their midst," Liam asked of him, and Killian looked out the dark windows of the car as his tail moved in agitation. 

"Regina. Head of the Coven, Witch and Mortismal that inherited her throne from her mother. Began the integration method and broke away from the Misthaven Coven to create the StoryBrooke one," Killian intoned. 

"Right. She's a tough nut too, and her ghosts do the most of her dirty work. She's not someone to cross unless you want your chairs stacked to the ceiling every morning by some bloody poltergeist." 

"Aw, well, I'm unfortunately haunted by you already, I doubt a poltergeist could do more damage." Killian slanted a look at his brother, who gave an annoyed huff as his pure white feathers ruffled. Killian was thankful in part that he did not have wings at all times, even if the trade off was painful. "While Regina is the head of the Coven, the head of the Council is Elsa Frost of the Frost twins. She's a direct descendant of the Giant Ice Sorceresses with powerful magic, but her passion is creating legislation for Hyperion Heights. Her sister Anna is the family's public relations face, and runs their fashion empire, Arendelle Designs with her Druid husband."

"Good. Good, tell me about Ariel Poisson."

"Siren and Mermaid, with four years on the council. Made history as the first water Elemental to sit on the council, beating the long seated Witch, Ursula, by a large margin. Opponents argue that her father's position as King of the seas and his dominion over fair weather and fishing made voters nervous to not cast ballots for her. Her campaign slogan was 'Part of your World', which could be beneficial to my campaign." 

"Right. Snow Blanchard?" 

"Would-be heir to the Misthaven Coven who ended its elitist reign by breaking tradition and leaving, sending them into chaos." Killian smirked. "She sounds like someone who I could get along with."

"She gets along with everyone except her family, which is more than normal it would seem," Liam replied back, and Killian snorted out a chuckle. 

"Druid, Elf, and Green Witch. Runs a high profile herbal apothecary chain Enchanted Forest Supplies, focused on holistic medicinals, herbs, and spices. Nolan Farms is a subsidiary that sells produce to the Heights, which is her husband's 'pet' project."

"Watch yourself, brother," Liam warned. "While you might get away with that if it's just the Witches, if David and Ruby sit in today you'll find that will not stand."

"Ah, yes. Ruby Reddings and David 'Charming' Nolan. You only circled that they are Werewolves in red ink everywhere you could. David is Snow's husband, and her lead farm hand. Ruby is Snow's cousin who introduced the two. Ruby is currently in a high profile relationship with your colleague, Inspector Wolfe, and they both are very active in pack politics. Many are betting they will create their own pack if the current Alphas do not abandon some of the more ancient doctrines. Nothing new there."

"Don't forget Livre and Fa."

"Belle Livre, Witch turned Vampire, runs a community literacy foundation and bookstore chain. Known ally to Demon rights. Soft spoken but brutally intelligent. Introduced a synthetic blood that allows for daytime living via plant cells collaborating with Enchanted Forest, which made history 6 years ago," Killian listed. "Mulan Fa, Vampire. Cultural Development head of the Heights, and curator of The Hyperion Heights Museum of Art, History, Science, and Culture. Teaches part time at Hyperion Heights University as an adjunct professor. Fa is married to a Fae Elf, Merida Ursa."

"Good. That's as far as we know besides the whole Swan fiasco, which is not to be brought up."

"What Swan fiasco?" 

"Oh, little brother. If you had done your research outside of the profiles I gave you, you would know all about the criminal history of the black and heartless sheep within the Misthaven and StoryBrooke covens. It's better off that you don't know."

"Er. Well. Alright. I didn't look into them because I don't bloody well care about their lots as long as we get protection. There was another slaying this weekend. A Lower Demon."

"I'm aware. Did you know her?" 

"Not really, but that's not enough either. I owe my people more. The other Lords of Hell are fine telling Demons to stay below and never use their name, which is fine for the new blood. It's the old, the weak, and the abused that are at risk."

"Careful, Killian. Your lust for vengeance will never be welcomed by mortals."

"I'm well aware Liam. They like my kind for an entirely different kind of lust."

"Could you please not." Liam sighed, sitting back against the seat. After a moment, his brother spoke quietly. "There was another attack as well, this time in broad daylight in Camelot Town. The Anti-Integration Movement has claimed responsibility."

"Of bloody course they have!" Killian hissed, clenching his fists. He pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing. "Brilliant. Just absolutely marvelous -" 

"They were going to run a story in the Times. I managed to block it for now, but we need a sympathetic writer on the inside, or we risk them running another story with their bias."

"I have a guy. I'll reach out, he's an old school Warlock who I've worked with in the past on push back. What's their excuse this time?" 

"They said that the Succubus was, quote, 'asking for it by the way she was dressed'."

Nausea rose in Killian's throat, and he swallowed it down with bitter practice. "I wasn't aware that how someone dressed meant their lives were not only void, but taking pieces of them was fine as well."

"We know they're being funded well, and we will get arrests as soon as possible. This won't be forever, Killian."

"That's easy for you to promise when this has been my - our forever." Killian bit out, glaring at his feet.

The car came to a stop, the driver opening the door to let them out. Killian moved briskly up the steps of the council building, as Liam followed behind. They moved through the lobby with an easy flash of Liam's ID that Killian scoffed at, moving into the elevator. 

"After that display, I'm going drinking after this," Killian gritted through his teeth. 

Liam blinked, straightening his tie in the door's polished reflection. "What display? They were nice."

"Exactly. If I came here alone, I would have been in that security line for an hour." 

Liam rolled his eyes, taking down his halo to polish the golden ring. "You absolutely exaggerate how you're treated. Not everyone is out to get you, especially when you look like this. Give others a break."

"I'll give myself a break after this with as much rum as I can safely consume, instead."

The doors pinged open to reveal a small atrium, dark wood flooring in stark contrast to the birch tree covered walls. A secretary stood behind a rounded desk against the far wall, motioning for them to sit. 

"They'll be with you in a moment," she offered, glancing at them with a thin smile. Killian could practically taste her distrust as he scratched behind his ear. Liam swatted at him lightly in a bid to get him to stop, both of them tense when the doors finally opened to reveal a petite woman dressed in a powder blue skirt and blazer. 

"Come in gentleman. The council will see you now." She smiled icily. His brother stood, his feathers slightly puffed in an indication of his own nervousness. 

Killian followed a second later, walking with them as they made forced, but pleasant conversation all the way into the boardroom. 

Women sat at a long table that curved slightly, facing their own small table similar to a courtroom. He was reminded of the tribunals in the old days when law had begun, but the courtiers were far different than the strange group of women scrutinizing them. 

To his surprise, the majority of them seemed actually curious instead of repulsed or bored. 

"The council recognizes Liam Jones and Killian… Jones. These are your chosen surnames, correct? And you identify as… brothers?" 

"Yes," Liam stated firmly with a curt nod. Killian watched from his peripheral as his shoulder muscles twitched, his wings held stiffly upright to keep them from the floor. 

Killian nodded, careful to keep his tail curled around his legs. The skin suit itched as it clung to him, not abated by his attempt to sit more casually. 

"Interesting," remarked the dark haired witch at the far right. A nameplate sat in front of her, marking her as Regina. He wondered idly if her stare was due to the blood on his hands only an eternal existence could bring. 

"You are here to ask for help in creating safety measures and a potential council commitment to Demon rights, correct?" Ariel, a fiery haired lass with a heart face, asked. 

"Our major point of concern is the influx of hate groups that seem to fall in line with smuggling operations and planned violence," Killian said slowly. Attention snapped to him, and he brought up the slide presentation he had prepared. "We have had some luck stopping shipments and arresting bit players, but we can't find the heads of these operations."

"You can't find them, or you are barred from digging deeper?" Mulan asked, and he chuckled darkly. 

"The latter, I'm afraid. We have consistently come to the same dead end again and again. I'm sure I don't have to explain to you ladies how difficult a foe powerful covens behind corporate entities are." He let a grimace creep onto his face, and saw the majority of the women nod in acknowledgement. 

"This could make many enemies for us, if approached in the wrong way." Belle stated quietly. "Specifically with our good friends in the Storybrooke Coven."

Snow nodded, exchanging a bitter look with her. "We may need a professional from our coven, but she's unable to get clearance without special notation."

"Oh? Who is this?" Liam asked. 

Elsa and the rest of the coven smiled in varying degrees of fondness. "The best in the business, and in my Coven. If you need to find someone, Emma Swan can always find them, and she's good at criminal magical activities. She knows the system, knows how and where to hide, and where to seek."

They'd found what the coven wanted, and their stake in the venture. Killian caught Liam's face falling, his eyes narrowing into slits. 

"You can't be serious. Involving Swan in this after -" 

"That was all a misunderstanding, and was blown completely out of proportion. We have long held up our end of the blame and accountability, while Misthaven has shirked theirs in the name of slandering her." Elsa steepled her fingers. "If you desire the best, which I assume is why you are here, you need to rehab not only Demons’ image, but hers as well. She should be sitting here with us."

Liam tried in vain to tip the scale back in their favor, his face going red. "We'll consider this as part of our negotiations."

"Negotiations? Liam, you are a detective. You should have deduced by now that you have no leverage. You have only decisions to make." Regina closed her planner, regarding them with her dark gaze. "So, make them quickly, before our patience wanes."

Killian bit back a laugh at Liam’s sudden blustered stuttering. These witches were good, and as the meeting ran on for hours he realized just how much liquor he would need to recover. 

 "Well that went well." 

Liam’s sour expression and slumped shoulders were just visible in his peripheral, even as his feathers were still quite literally ruffled. He huffed out a noise of disapproval, too vexed to even reply back. 

"Aye to that, brother." Licking his lips, they stepped into the cool dusk air. "I'm going for that drink, are you…?" Killian glanced at Liam, who shook his head with annoyance. 

"Seriously? You really -" 

"Really shouldn't what Liam?" Killian smiled, venom leaking into his tone. "Go get drunk in a town that would rather pretend I don't exist or sell me in a fine powder to the nearest bidder? I think I'll be okay, although the concern is duly noted."

He turned on his heel, his glamor falling away in a puff of smoke. The air hit his itchy, overheated skin, his tail whipping around in sharp, agitated flicks. 

"Take care of yourself, little brother! No need to be a self destructive bastard. We lost a battle, not the war!" Liam called after him, stepping into his sleek car. Killian snorted. 

Hailing a cab with some difficulty, the driver asked where he was headed with the same slight resignation he was used to for his kind. 

"A bar, Demon friendly please. Some place without swill."

The driver nodded, dropping him at a dimly lit corner of the city. A red neon sign spread crimson light along the sidewalk, soft light also spilling out the doors accompanied by loud guitar. Looking up, the looping, swirled lettering made him smirk. 'The Jealous Flask' was as good a place as any in his neck of the underworld woods. 

The inside was smoky, deep red damask wallpaper paired with dark, pitch stained wood panels, booths, and bartop. The liquor selection was displayed neatly, unlike the few early patrons sitting scattered around. The jukebox played warbly rock music, some punchy chords and an easy to memorize refrain. 

'one two three four, can I have a little more, five six seven eight nine ten, I love you' 

The bar stools were empty, and Killian slung himself onto one, the bartender nodding his head by way of a greeting. 

"Rum, neat," Killian stated, pointing to his preferred vice. The bartender did not stop polishing the glass in his hand, but the bottle floated down gently, pouring itself into a tumbler before the glass set itself down in front of Killian. "Thanks, mate."

The bartender nodded again, continuing his work with the aid of his magic. People began to trickle in as the time ticked forward, a witch or two eyeing him suspiciously, vampires playing pool in the front, a group of young werewolves forcing change into the jukebox to get edgier music playing through the speaker system. The Clash crooned out words against the Fae Queen ruling over greater Eld, the pack jumping around excitedly and thrashing their heads back and forth. By this time Killian had moved to the far curve of the bar, his glass refilled to the point of the bottle sitting next to him like a patient date. There were still no other Demons in his presence. It shouldn't have surprised him, shouldn't have even made him angry with the amount of violence they were privy to, but he burned away the emotions with the alcohol flowing down his throat. 

A soft touch on his shoulder caught his attention, and he turned with a growl. It died in his throat when large eyes met his, blonde curls falling in front of her eyes in loose tendrils. 

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to bother you," she stammered, biting her lip. Pointing to a drink that was clearly not his, umbrella and all, she continued. "I was trying to reach my drink. It’s gotten crowded and I thought, I mean, I am sorry I wasn't trying to -" 

"Aye." He nodded, throwing back his drink. "S'alright lass. I'm sorry, I s'pose I'm just a bit out of place here."

She smiled, blushing. "Yeah, I uh, I get that. I haven't seen you around before."

"First time here. I was in the neighborhood for business." He poured himself more, and to his surprise she pushed and elbowed her way to sit next to him. 

"Business?" Her eyes were curious while her fingers toyed with the umbrella in her drink. "Should I be concerned?" 

It was clearly teasing, and Killian felt himself loosening up around her. She seemed to read him well, or at least the alcohol was working. "Not any of the good kind, I'm afraid." He grinned with a wink. 

"Ah, so we're just ships passing in the night?" She leaned in and he could smell the floral and herbal scent of her, her eyelashes batting coquettishly as she sipped her drink in his space. 

"Passing closely, I hope," he murmured. His heart raced; it had been ages since any mortal had shown interest in him that was mutual. 

His head spun as she met him drink for drink, hand unsubtly creeping higher up his hip. 

"Would you be opposed to… Maybe, I don't know… getting out of here?" 

"Are you saying you would fancy a nightcap, lass?" She smiled from under her lashes while biting her lip, and his heated blood grew hotter. 

"Perhaps." She stood with grace as she extended a hand to him. "My place is a quick and easy teleportation spell away from here, and my bed doesn't require any sort of magic outside of what I can do with my tongue." 

Killian hesitated, her golden hair in the glow of the lights making her seem to shimmer. "I don't even know your name -" 

"Eloise. It's Eloise." She pulled him up, letting him stumble into her body. Her lips met his, and soon he was pulling her closer as their mouths slanted across one another's in hunger. She bit his lip and he felt the tightness that had bloomed in his belly spread fire down his spine. 

"Lead the way, love," he whispered huskily, grinding into her. 

She smiled broadly, the world shifting until he was in her dimly lit home. A lone window twinkled starlight, moon huge outside as it hung in the sky. Her tongue slid past his lips, the bitter herbal taste overwhelming while the world shifted again, this time pulling him apart. 

 In a perfect world, Emma Swan would not be doing anything remotely close to what she was currently debating doing. It truly wasn't her fault; it fell on Neal and his stupid family if anyone was to blame, and his stupid coven with their stupid leader. She should have known back then it had been a set up, should have known that Neal was a fucking liar. How many times did the same drawn out plot have to play out? Apparently, too many, considering she had still warmed his bed until a week ago. 

This time it was final. Emma wouldn't accept him back when Neal slithered out from under the rock he had his affair in. She wouldn't be charmed by his smooth talking silver tongue, and if he so much as breathed near her, she would take another five years for breaking his smarmy Fae nose. Final. It had to be final. 

But finality meant certain conditions had to be met, especially if she was to ward him away. For one, the beautiful loft that belonged to Neal in the Heights downtown could definitely not be her base of operations any more. Neither could the various in between places she found where Emma could grieve until he took her back, damaged goods and all. No more hotel rooms, no more abandoned apartments, no more warehouses, vacation rentals, or quiet empty offices. She had to get her own place, and it had to be able to handle her particularly finicky magic. Neal's place wasn't great for her particular practice, but the view had been killer enough to ignore it. Neal's fortune had meant she didn't need to work, and with her record (or, as his coven would sneer, 'notoriety') that was just as well. 

Working added a wrinkle to her life; she would have to find somewhere that allowed her enough space for her magic to keep her employed. That would require a hefty chunk of gold - if she was lucky. The prices in the downtown area were steep, only high profile Witches, Warlocks, Fae, and Celestials could afford accommodation that close to the capitol buildings and Ley Lines. Initially when Emma had glanced through the apartment listings on the bulletin board, she had almost had a panic attack at the amount of gold they demanded. 

Her brother David, blessings be, had been her knight in shining armor. There was a large Victorian home that lay in shambles at the edge of their farm lands, its beautiful scalloped details in need of paint, and the gutters growing weeds as thick as her forearm. But, it was within her budget if she could get the down payment placed before the scheduled demolition. She put what she had down to stall as much as she could, but it was not enough in the least. 

One big job was all she needed. One big job that she could cash out on. A dip of her toes back into the waters of peddling illegal magic, just quickly in and out without a splash. 

She didn't need any more jail time, that was for certain. 

Putting out the word she was available in the whisper market was always dangerous, but listening in was free and without a snag if you were smart. 

Emma heard tell of a desperate woman willing to give a truckload full of gold to the right Witch who could perform delicate, esoteric, deeply Arcane and forbidden magics. Luckily for both of them, that's what Emma excelled at. 

She had always been good at her craft, and her magical workings were beyond powerful. She could do things that other practitioners only dared to dream of, if they could even conceive it. It was why Neal had kept her around, and why his coven's dislike would melt away if she said she would consider joining. 

(If she did that around Yulesmas for better gifts, was it really so bad?) 

The request itself was intriguing, the woman herself a Witch that could not do the spell alone. She wanted an equivalent exchange of unbreakable magical bonds, which while tricky, was not forbidden in most circumstances. The offer was too good to pass up on, but Emma didn't like leaving things to complete chance. 

Cue her sister-in-law, Snow. If anyone could throw runes, read the winds, divine from the mundane, and not keep any of it a fucking secret, it was Snow. 

Emma knocked on their cheery red door in the early morning, which must have been a surprise to Snow considering she was half dressed in business wear. She pulled up her stockings in a one footed hop, motioning for Emma to come in as she balanced the phone receiver against her neck. The coiled cord spun around her, and she groaned loudly. 

"Yes, Regina, I know. I'll be there, I'm literally - it's 2 hours away. I will be there in thirty minutes at latest, but - Well, yes, Emma just walked in." Snow gestured at a chair, and Emma sat, looking at her with an eyebrow raised. "Yes, I know it's early for her. I know. Uh huh. Yes. We will definitely put her on the table; it's absurd not to, considering - yes, I would love to talk to you about this in person as I've said - alright. Yes. Okay then, buh-bye." 

Sighing, Snow twirled, untwisting herself from the phone cord. She smoothed down her pencil skirt and blouse before looking straight at Emma with a curious stare. Her mouth twitched with annoyance as she spoke. 

"Now. To what do I owe the pleasure? I have a meeting with Celestials shortly, so." She waved a hand indicating the clock in the background. Turning to the counter, she opened up a cookie jar and removed a rolled cannabis cigarette, putting it between her lips and lighting it. 

Emma swallowed, watching the petite woman slide the purple lighter back in its space on their counter. "I just need you to divine something for me. A situation, with a woman who wants me to… to uh, do something."

Snow rolled her eyes, narrowing them to glare at Emma. "We are bringing you up as collateral in our meeting today, trying to get you a seat where you belong - on the council," Snow hissed. She pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a breath. 

"Please?" Emma asked innocently, batting her eyelashes for good measure. 

Snow sighed. "Alright. Picture the situation and the woman."

Emma focused on the description, the spellwork requested, the woman's pleas. She could feel Snow's magic engulf her, and the fuzziness that came with it as she wove threads out into the natural universe, time and space sending her back answers. 

A moment passed, and the feeling abruptly stopped as Snow shook her head. 

"This doesn't feel right," Snow said, taking a drag of her blunt. She exhaled, the thick smoke swirling into the shape of birds that dove through the air. Emma coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. "That woman… I don't know. She feels off."

Emma frowned, petulant that the answer was negative. "She's a Witch, and in trouble." 

"Have you rolled your runes?" Snow began to pull on her loafers, gathering her things. 

Emma chewed her lip. She had divined, or tried to, but had not found a concrete result. "Yeah, and they said it's… Questionable, but the end result leaves all parties happy. Tarot said basically the same thing."

Snow let out a little twittering laugh, pulling her purse up on her shoulder. "And how does Neal feel about it?"

"Neal doesn't need to feel any way about it. I… We… I broke it off." Emma looked at her shoes, then idly inspected the counters formica. "Forever this time." 

"Oh. Is that why you're here so early?" Snow's eyes went wide, a hand covering her mouth. "Oh, Emma, honey. I'm so sorry, I've just been under so much stress with Regina and this council. Wait, where are you staying? Oh no - are you homeless!? You mean it, you're never going back to that creep?"

"Never," Emma said firmly, even as her voice caught. "I'll find a place though, Snow. Don't worry." 

"So you are homeless, oh Emma, if I wasn't late - no. No. You know, I'll call Regina and cancel it, you need me more than -" 

"No, well, I mean -" Emma shook her head. "No. I'll stay here tonight if I have to, but you need to get to your meeting. I don't need Regina's wrath on top of everything else."

"You know you can stay here with us as long as you need, oh, Emma, I wish you had told me -" 

"I don't want to stay here. I can't work here, and I love you guys but you both are gross with your lovey dovey hippie -" 

"I get it, I get it." Snow grimaced. 

"So yeah, I need the money. I can't stay here, I need my own place… I put a tiny deposit on that Victorian down the road, but I need the full down payment to keep it." Emma shrugged. 

"The house at the --- Emma, that place is a breeze away from being condemned!" 

"No it's not," Emma groaned, rubbing her temple. "It's got good bones, and character. It just needs some… help."

"Well. I mean…" Snow hesitated, heading towards the door, as Emma followed. "Alright then. I'm just warning you, I get a terrible vibe from that woman and I could cancel this today, we could work out a plan. We have the money from the harvest. You could work for us or with David and help us with the roll outs in exchange for a loan. I'm organized, but the help would be appreciated if you're living so close… especially since I'm making sure that house is safely remodeled for you. I don't want you to end up with the roof falling on you or some gas line exploding." 

"You worry way too much, Snow."

"I hear the future through nature, and it's generally terrifying. Nature is terrifying. Excuse me for being cautious, and wanting to help you out."

Emma laughed as they walked out the door together, Snow rummaging in her bag for lipstick which she quickly applied. "Yeah well, you're also smoking weed so potent it could put an elephant to sleep. I don't want a loan from you."

"I'm not an elephant, Em. I'm an Elf. It'll take more than this to knock me on my ass." She smiled, extending a hand to squeeze Emma's shoulder. "Be careful, okay? No repeats."

"That wasn't -" Emma protested, but Snow cut her off with a sharp look. "Yeah, alright. 

"Good. I'll see you tonight, you're coming for dinner. No buts." Snow grinned, before disappearing with a puff of periwinkle smoke. 

Emma groaned, kicking dirt as she stalked away towards her new potential home. 

 In the final days before moving from the small basement apartment Emma rented, the dingy, unused, bare studio finally found some decoration in chalk outlines, herbs, and a large bubbling cauldron. It hadn't ever been a home or remotely close to one when Neal presented a better option, the bed untouched and unmade. It reminded Emma more of her prison cell than anything else, which offered a strange duality of comfort mixed with dread. It was fitting that she would meet to do this ritual here. 

Gothel arrived promptly for their 10 am arranged meeting in a well worn taupe cloak. She looked as desperate as the correspondences between them indicated, but Emma resolved to get this over with as quickly as possible. They shared a nod in the form of hellos, then Emma pointed to the cauldron.

"Let's begin, shall we?" Emma asked, and Gothel drew back her cloak to reveal her tired and gaunt looking face. 

"Yes. Let's. Your payment, with more upon completion." Gothel dropped a large purse on the counter, Emma immediately grabbing it and checking the contents. It was real, her heart soaring as she shoved it in her bag. 

"So, you are to give me a token of your will, usually blood, an animal you raised, or something that's valuable to you . Something you care about, that you are tied to that a severing will make you -"

"I give you the life of my first child," Gothel interrupted. 

Emma's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh." Biting her lip, she brushed back her braid. "That's… That's super Illegal. I…" 

"You wanted something heavy, you got it. There's a reason why I came to you; you have a reputation for doing things quietly. The reason you chose me is because you need the coin. Now, my terms. I know you provide healing. I want to keep myself young and strong - youthful immortality. Grant me this." The grin on her face unsettled Emma, Snow's warning in her mind. Nevertheless, the satchel of gold meant a secured home.

"Um. Alright. Are you sure, the life of your firstborn? That's a ways off, and the strength won't happen until -" 

"Do it. Do it now, I know the spell will be enacted when payment is due. I'm well studied - Breaking a bond with a child, specifically your first, will grant me the power I need. I know that I can't do this spell myself either, so here I am."

Emma gulped. "Okay. Let me get the texts."

Emma returned with her copper cauldron, pile of books, and spell components. Gothel's grin grew wider, her eyes gleaming at the sight of the tongues, eyes, crushed butterflies, and other more macabre ingredients the spell required. 

Feeling a low tug in her gut that something was wrong, Emma backed away from the altar. The other Witch seemed to shimmer, slightly in alarm, a glamor of some sort possibly covering her skin. Feeling even more unsettled, Emma shook her head. 

"I can't do this, listen -" 

"Please. Please you must, I need this to escape a curse. It's blood magic, almost unbreakable and impossible to escape on my own. Please." Emma heard no lies in her speech. "I admit that I have not been entirely truthful. While I was able to send you the gold easily, I am trapped, held against my will. I can only project myself to you. I was afraid to tell you, because I am desperate to rid myself of this curse." When no lies continued to register, Emma felt a deep sense of pity for the other witch. A blood magic binding was no joke; someone truly must have hated the poor woman. 

"Fine," Emma said, throwing her hands up. Gothel perked up slightly, hope in her eyes. Throwing the ingredients in the cauldron, a shimmering mist roiled over the edge as she spoke ancient words and stirred in the shape of long unused runes. Adding bones that melted in soapy bubbles and stirring with a long Pegasus feather that gradually turned to ash, she looked up at Gothel, who was wringing her hands anxiously.

"Your tokens?" Emma asked. 

Gothel waved a hand over the stained cloth; several of the woman's teeth, a long braid of her hair, and a large chunk of skin fell into the cauldron. The cauldron's contents began to boil, smoke curling in darkened serpentine tangles. 

Emma began the words, Latin, Arameric, the old tongue of the Pagans, Celtic, remnants of Gaul, flowing them together until speaking plainly to her own magic. 

"Blood of one that is two, child, mother, 

Blood of my own, tear them asunder, 

Thicker than wine, thicker than water, 

Ties that bind, bound to another, 

The womb that grows life, 

Kin cared for in kind, 

A payment for power, 

Remake the ties, lift, and unbind."

Scraping her hand against a dagger, Emma let her blood drop slowly into the brew, the words flowing out in the crimson rivulets. As she pulled away the wound closed from her own healing energy. 

"Cradle of moon within flesh, 

Remake that which is to be made, 

Your reflection removed, 

Mine in its stead.

Your burden is mine, 

Carried and held as your first, 

Blood of the two, child, mother, 

As they are born, you are cursed."

She looked at Gothel, who was still wringing her hands, long nails cutting into her palms. This magic was hopefully worth the price the woman had so freely paid. Breaking an infant and mother's bond to give to another was a great sacrifice, the magic comparable to true love, if not greater. The power the Witch would receive would hopefully free her from the curse, but also give her the strength she desired.

"It's done. You must cast your brand over the cauldron, and when you, you know," Emma turned around, holding herself tightly. Caught up in the thought of what she, Emma Swan, would even do with a child, she was unaware of the other Witch behind her scrambling to the cauldron or her deep disregard for anything she was saying. "Get pregnant, let me know. I'll handle that - Wait, what are you -" 

Gothel chuckled lowly, her brand in its arcane circle around the cauldron, neon lines of electricity like power that sparked and crackled. Emma felt her hair stand on end, small pebbles lifting off the stone floor as the cauldron shook. Smoke rose in heavy plumes, purple and a noxious mauve that made the air feel sticky, her lungs not able to fill all the way. Gothel's chuckle had turned into a wild cackle, her braided and matted hair like vines or a visage of Medusa. 

Gothel's voice was crazed, shrill as she pointed a gnarled finger at Emma. "This is it. This is it! I've done it, I'm free! Oh, you silly, stupid girl. Now nothing will ever stop me again!" 

Her laugh grew into a shriek of triumph as magic swirled around them, Emma watching as the woman in front of her disappeared. Gaping at what happened, Emma checked herself for any signs of curses or hexes, unsure of what had just taken place. 

To her surprise, no sign of magic lay on her that she could see. She wasn't cursed, the room wasn't jinxed, and the second payment… Emma quickly checked her purse, finding the large satchel of gold easily. The second sat where Gothel had discarded it without looking twice, and she picked it up hesitantly. It was heavy in her hands as she checked it again and again, realizing that for once in her life, everything was going right. 

 Three hours later, she owned the Victorian home down the road from her brother's farm, the first home she had ever truly called hers. 

 Living near her brother's home had its perks, and disadvantages, as Snow had hinted. For one, Snow was cooking for her every day, and Emma was positive she was going to gain several dress sizes if she didn't stop gorging on various pasta dishes while pouring her magic into restoring the wooden floor. 

A major downside was having her brother constantly fixing her house without her being aware. She'd been woken by him cleaning the gutters, fixing her porch, and of all things, roofing. It had only been a few days, but between his insistence on the outside being presentable and her own work inside, the house was coming along faster than she ever dreamed. It was frightening, and David kept her on edge with his very obvious attempts at snooping around. 

"So, you're done with Neal for good," he said, startling her as she sat out on a newly hung porch swing. She wrinkled her nose at him in protest, and he grinned. "And… You're making doors again."

She froze, panic gripping her. 

"It's alright, I'm not mad. I'm just - just be careful. I trust you, but I know that before -" 

"I made a mistake. I know it, you know it, the Coven knows it, and so does everyone else in the Heights that saw me fall from grace." Emma curled her arms around her knees, bitterly forcing out words. "I won't make the same mistake again. I am on the straight and narrow; these doors are for commuting and hunting skips only." 

David laughed, poking her in the side. "Back to hunting skips, huh? Damn. Don't you ever settle down and enjoy the simple life?" 

Emma laughed, shaking her head. "What the hell is the simple life? Nothing is simple."

"Well, yeah, but… I mean the simple life." He brushed a hand through his hair, looking at her with a gentleness that she instantly felt uneasy with. "House, a pet maybe, hobbies, a partner, kids -" 

"If you are trying to set me up again -" 

"Not me," David raised his hands defensively. "No, I was just -" 

"I don't deserve that life," Emma stated, shrugging. The sun was sinking lower, crickets singing in the cool air. "That life isn't for me. That life is for people like you and Snow, people that are worth something."

"Oh, Emma. You know that's not -" 

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Emma snapped, standing with a start. David looked at her with a hurt expression, and she felt pure rage. "Goodnight."

She stepped back into the house, letting the screen door slam shut behind her. 

"Emma, come on," David called from the porch, but Emma wasn't listening to him as she fought the immediate urge to be ill. The sudden nausea ripped through her, and despite her attempts, vomit burst from her throat. 

She panted, holding on to the wall with one hand. The other hand gripped her side, fierce cramping making her double over in a scream of agony. She lurched forward, unable to breathe as pressure rose in her stomach. To her terror, her skin grew taut and she seemed to bloat, the pain of it ripping through her. 

David splintered the door, his arms around her as she lost consciousness. 

She woke in an ambulance, David holding her hand like he'd done when they were children. He was always the best big brother she could have asked for, always protective of her, and always pushing her to be better. He had convinced her to trust Ruth, convinced her to take a chance with the older woman who was willing to adopt both of them, and they had found another home together. When she was scared or sick, he was right there to hold her hand. Even now as pain ripped through her, he was there. She tried to understand, but her body burned until the flame became too much to bear. 

She woke again to the beeping of machines and David's yelling, her body aching but no longer in the same searing pain. Lifting herself up to try and hear what David was saying, she struggled to make out more than just fragments. 

"I'm not leaving, that's my sister ---- How did -- she wasn't, she --- I don't know, she never said anything ----- A WHAT? No! I'm --- not leaving!" 

Emma's stomach lurched, and she shifted to get out of bed. The sheets slid from her middle, and she gasped. Her middle was rounded, as if she was pregnant. But that was impossible, that was absolutely and completely impossible. 

A knock sounded, a petite woman entering. 

"I'm Doctor Mullins, Emma. I know that this may take some time to fully process, but… you're pregnant."

Emma hissed out a breath into a hysterical laugh. "What? No. No. This is not how babies work, or pregnancy, or even - I haven't even had sex since - "

"I know, and I understand that you must be frightened." The doctor attempted to console her, but Emma could not stop her rising panic. She touched the rounded skin of her stomach, the firm smoothness lined with stretch marks. Letting out a low wail, the doctor tried to speak over her still. "It's some ancient and dark magic, but it's very real. We have an inspector on the way to take your statement, and we performed a few tests -" 

"No. No, this is a bad dream, this isn't real, this isn't happening to me!" Emma closed her eyes, trying to focus. 

" - most concerning of which is the results on paternity, which indicate that the father has non-human presenting DNA. Normally that's not terribly unusual, but this is clearly not a planned pregnancy considering your… your conception being, well, this, and the genomic markers show that the parentage is half Celestial. I need to ask, have you had any relationships with an Angel?"

Emma shook her head, trying to understand what the doctor was asking. 

"Alright, what about anyone with proximity to dark, Arcane, or Demonic magics? Anyone who associates with Demons? Do you associate with them?" The doctor eyed her curiously, and Emma shook her head again. 

"I don't know any Demons, Angels, or Celestials." Emma bit her lip, frustrated at the question. Rolling it between her teeth, she murmured a thought out loud. "I did recently perform a ritual that was older. It didn't call for this though, I don't know anything about this…" 

"Well, it doesn't just happen." Emma looked at the doctor with enough venom in her stare to curdle milk. The doctor laughed nervously. "I mean, it did but -" 

"This cannot be happening," Emma moaned, throwing her head back against the hospital bed's pillow. "This has to be a bad dream."

"I'm afraid it is all very real. Considering the circumstances, an inspector of magical law will be assigned to question you regarding the situation. Because of the issues of legality, you may not leave or have visitors until then." The doctor stood, brushing her hands on her slacks. "Baby looks healthy despite wanting to grow at an accelerated rate, and we have slowed that as much as we can. Welcome to motherhood Miss Swan, and, er… Congratulations." Giving a last placid smile, she left the room, leaving Emma alone. 

Emma sat stunned, unable to do anything but focus on her steady breathing. 

(Fuck)

The single word came to mind again and again, escaping from her lips as her breath finally began to turn into sobs. 

"Fuck."

[puppypeter]

Bringing you all a sad ass fic rec this fine Thursday... prepare the tissues!!🥺These are all Peter-centric (some could be in an irondad list too tbh), but the focus is Pete going through some shit cause apparently I like reading about my fave suffering 😞 Please please remeber to READ THE TAGS/TW!!! (There’s quite a few Skip fics). 

PS: do not link any of these fics to the actors or anyone associated with them. Fics are from the fans for the fans, and they should stay within the fandom!

I’d say happy reading! but....

Countdown | Teen & Up | 26741 words

When May gets a new boyfriend, Peter is glad for her. But nothing can ever go that well for Peter. At first Peter thinks maybe he just doesn't like him. But then it gets worse. And Peter just wants May to be happy, at any cost.

or

The classic 'May's boyfriend abuses Peter' trope.

Will you let me, lead you even when your blind? | General Audiences | 3526 words

It all started as a normal day, a normal patrol. It was simple. It was something he had done at least a million times. Stupid bad guys.

Or

Peter goes blind after a problem on petrol and the chaos that follows.

what is stronger than the human heart which shatters over and over and still lives | Mature | 6977 words

Whumptober Day Sixteen - Pinned Down

Nothing matters. He can’t breathe, can’t sleep, can’t eat. He’s an empty shell of broken fragments, whatever’s left of himself.

He’s nothing.

Vacant eyes and a blank expression, pliant limbs and empty words.

He’s gone.

All because of Thomas.

All the pretty pictures in my head are faded | Teen & Up | 1770 words

Whumptober Day Seven - Isolation

Everything was lost in the fire.

Peter’s suit, all of Peter’s belongings, everything of May’s, everything that used to belong to Ben.

May.

Peter lost everything that day.

Your heart will lead you home | Teen & Up | 4591 words

Whumptober Day Fourteen - Tear-Stained

He hates fighting with Tony. He hates the disappointment on his face. He hates the sadness and the pain, hates the way he called this his home and not the cabin. Hates how he left without saying goodbye. Hates the lack of closure. Hates himself more than he normally does.

He hates the insecurities that crawl through his head like vines, entangling him in the thoughts of alienation. Of Unbelonging. Hates the anxiety like acid, like a rope around his neck cutting off his breathing. Hates the desperation to call Tony, to ask him to come back, to ask him to wrap in a hug and take care of him and the thoughts in his head, to convince his head that it’s wrong.

Everything. He hates everything.

But he doesn’t bother trying to fix it. He simply pulls the blanket over his head and wishes the world away.

hold on, i still need you | Teen & Up | 1797 words

He looked about as messy as he felt. A mess of probably greasy hair from having gone one too many days without a shower, strands of hair in every direction. Pimples on a pale face like mountains on a landscape. Picked at scabs leaving marks of dried blood. Dark circles beneath his eyes like someone has stepped all over him, leaving behind dark shoeprints and sunken skin. An emptiness behind dark eyes like an abyss hiding too much underneath for someone so young.

Post-Endgame and Peter's struggling to deal. Morgan can't lose her older brother.

Hitting Every Red Light | Not Rated | 12776 words

Happy Hogan does a lot of annoying stuff for Tony Stark, including driving an annoying spider kid places. But when Peter stops talking so much, Happy starts to think maybe he enjoyed the talkative kid’s company after all. Or A whump story about Peter crying a lot after being punished by Nick Fury for messing up on a mission. Peter feels lots of guilt for messing up, and he fears his favorite mentor will be disappointed. Luckily Happy is there to help.

You wouldn’t understand | Teen & Up | 2926 words > Read the tags!

‘Come on Einstein, it’ll be fun!’ Peter hears echoing through his head as he stares at the familiar face in front of him.

The pale blue eyes that are looking back at him make Peter feel nauseous. He feels his body moving, all but stumbling backwards towards the exit. His vision goes blurry, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heart thudding in his ears.

Appearances can be deceiving | Not Rated | 3269 words > Read the tags!

Alternate ending to 'You wouldn't understand'.

Peter's doing what he does best - saving people - when one of the people who needs saving is his childhood rapist.

If reality were a nightmare | Not Rated | 4334 words > Read the tags!

When people say sleep paralysis is one of the worst things a person can experience - they aren’t lying.

Peter Parker is no stranger to sleep paralysis.

Except this time, for Peter, it isn’t a dream. This isn’t something he’s going to wake up from in a cold sweat trying to catch his breath.

Repeating the past | Not Rated | 5584 words > Read the tags!

“Why me?” Peter asked, pulling back to look at Tony with red rimmed eyes. “Why do bad things always happen to me?”

Tony pulled Peter tighter against him, never wanting to let go. “I wish I knew, Pete.” Tony admitted. “You don’t deserve this.”

Green Turning Purple | General Audiences | 6239 words

Peter knows he can't fight back with his powers. So he doesn't. He lets whatever he's "earned" come at him. This time is a fucking bat.

Suit of Armor | Mature | 18230 words > Read the tags!

Peter Parker finally had a friend...

...but Skip Wescott was no such thing.

OR:

Peter deals with being a survivor post Skip Wescott. (Based on the PSA comic released by Marvel)

When You Hand By A Thread of Sanity | Not Rated | 87355 words > Read the tags!

Peter Parker has a good life. He has an Aunt that loves him more than anything and now a father-figure, Tony Stark, who would do anything to protect him. Despite losing his parents and his Uncle at such a young age, Peter’s life is good. But will all that change when a teacher at Peter’s school decides to take advantage of him in the worst way.

The New Normal | General Audiences | 24854 words

Life has a tendency to throw curveballs, and this one that's thrown at Peter Parker is one that he and his family never, ever expected.

Some curveballs are temporary, ones that are thrown to make life "interesting" and keep people on their toes.

But some are permanent...and the only thing left to do is adjust, regroup, and move on.

Move on with the new normal.

Don’t Leave Me Now | Teen & Up | 26524 words

Peter wakes up to white noise, static, a weight in his head that makes him feel like he'll never stand up straight again. His whole body is a wreck and every breath he takes is full of nails and pain. He can barely move.

Tony's face is the first thing to come into focus. If the blurry outline of him can be called focus.

"Tell me before May gets in here," Tony says, gravely serious. He rests his hand gently on Peter's shoulder. "I'm giving you that chance. What's going on?"

Peter knows he can't hide it anymore. He wants to sigh, but it hurts too much. Everything hurts too much. It shouldn't hurt this much.

"I think I'm losing my powers."

The Third Option | Mature | 220962 words

Homecoming A/U.

Ben and May divorced before Peter’s parents died, so when Ben is murdered Peter goes into foster care. It takes just a tiny taste of superpowers for Peter to decide he doesn’t want to put up with his horrible foster father anymore—the streets are infinitely more appealing. All he wants is to be Spider-Man anyway.

So he leaves.

Simple.

Simple, that is, until Iron Man needs Spider-Man’s help. Peter isn’t about to turn down an opportunity to fight alongside Tony Freaking Stark, but he also isn’t going to let his hero know that his recruit is a fifteen-year-old homeless dropout. So they strike a deal. Peter will help Tony. In return, the mask stays on.

And that’s when things get complicated.

Always Silent, Peter Darling | Mature | 116135 words

After a traumatic experience at age 6, Peter Parker hasn't spoken a word. Most blame it on the fact that he witnessed his Uncle die in a horrible fire, this is only partly true. Now, almost 10 years later Peter is given the chance to finally speak, but will he take it? Or is the fear of his Aunt to much for him to take that chance?

Either way, Tony Stark can tell something's not quite right about the kind hearted May Parker.

Downfall | Mature | 5307 words

Peter is being abused. Tony finds out in the worst way possible.

...more will be added! Feel free to inbox me any suggestions!

[some-jw-things]

So I’m not all that familiar with this religion, but after seeing it explained isn’t there some legal course you could take to try and get it dismantled? Or at the very least make it easier to escape for those who want to?

I don’t think having the Society legally dismantled would help anything. Jehovah’s Witnesses are already outright or functionally banned in like a half dozen countries. In countries with mandatory military service, they go straight to jail. In countries imposing a temporary draft, they go straight to jail. This really only makes things worse

The most famous ongoing case is the situation with Russia. Jehovah’s Witnesses are classified as extremist and under ban there. Imo from reading about it, it wasn’t actually about them being a doomsday cult. Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t vote and it sounds like Putin realized he had a population of thousands of people in his country where not a single one of them had voted for him. And the result of the ban has been the European Court of Human Rights going to bat in favor of JWs, all members of the Org going underground and into hiding, and some really shitty treatment of members.

That narrative has been used to further JWs’ persecution complex. If they’re being mistreated by “the world,” then that means they truly are God’s people and all the prophesies are right. It means everyone in the world is cruel and hateful. It means that only Jehovah’s Witnesses have love among themselves and you can only find happiness within the Org. A religious ban validates every single thing the Org tells its members and also actually fulfills several specific details of their doomsday prophecies. Also— being in hiding, only able to trust other cult members, unable to speak about the religion casually and hearing about pillars of your community be held by the state and tortured— is a really great way to make sure you don’t criticize the group you’re part of. Jehovah’s Witnesses already forbid members from listening to ex-members’ criticisms, and saying something negative about the Org is called apostasy— arguably the biggest sin they have. All serious sins are punished with disfellowshipping, aka shunning. I have to imagine that in that situation, most JWs are on way higher alert than normal to look out for apostates or potential false Witnesses

Religious bans hurt a lot of people, help no one, and make active members leaving a whole lot harder. Also in places like China where preaching/missionary work is banned.... they just find a way around it. They’re extremely careful and get visas to “teach English” and keep the fact that they are JWs secret

Legally, the only thing I want done about Jehovah’s Witnesses is governments actually fucking investigating their sex abuse database and also judges to stop letting kids be killed for their parents’ religion. A minor cannot freely consent to give up their life when every adult in their life (who they are dependent on) is pressuring them to, especially given that they wouldn’t have much of a life left if they refused. That’s not a free choice. Free acceptance of a blood transfusion isn’t safe and would be life-ruining, but refusal leads to immediate death. I know if I had been in that situation at 17, I would have chosen to die for my family’s sake, even though I no longer believed in the religion and desperately wanted out. Plus a ban on child marriage, which isn’t directly a JW issue, but it’s not disconnected either

Though on making it easier to leave: there was a bit of discussion like a few years ago about the idea of ex-cult safe houses. It wasn’t really a serious discussion, due to everyone participating being broke traumatized teenagers, but in an ideal world, I’d like to see that happen. It would be infinitely easier to leave a cult if you had somewhere to leave to.

Cults isolate their members. JWs forbid members from socializing with anyone not in the cult, with the only exception being for preaching. Most JWs are only close with other cult members and have no social safety net beyond that. There is no one who’s house you could crash at, even temporarily. Some have managed to get put in foster care, but with me, I didn’t even realize that was an option until I was over eighteen. That leaves homelessness or shelters as the only remaining options. When I first cut ties, I figured a homeless shelter would be a worse situation than the one I was already in, and I was uncomfortable with the idea of taking a spot at a battered women’s shelter. My situation isn’t exactly the sort of thing those places are meant for

But if there were even just a few ex-cult safe houses in like major hubs, then there would be somewhere to go to. I think there would be a real benefit in that for a lot of people.

There’s also been a few documentaries made about JWs in recent years, some of them focusing mainly on the sex abuse cover up. That’s great for awareness, but in an ideal world, more awareness would go with outreach. This is mainly a mental health reform thing, especially in schools, but there need to be other spaces that offer that too, esp children’s spaces. More JW kids are homeschooled than not. There should be ways to reach out for help, confidentially and for free

[quillyfied]

For a lot of conservatives in my acquaintance, I have to think it’s less about the rich wanting to protect their wealth and more about either the hereditary middle class who doesn’t want their status to change (read as: go lower), or people who clawed their way up from the bottom who don’t want the status quo to change and tip them back into economic turmoil.

Being raised in that environment and just missing the social awareness to call myself conservative for years, I know what I’ve been taught about things like socialism and communism; for a long time I didn’t realize there was a difference between them, or really comprehend that they were anything other than Evil and Morally Bankrupt. Good on paper, bad in practice. Sure glad we’re in America, the land of infinite opportunity, where the government doesn’t tell you what to do or what you can own. Isn’t it great that we punched out the Nazis and hate Russia and China? Just imagine if their communist-socialist agendas made it over here to us regular folk, how bad would that be? Just imagine going back on food stamps but this time the government tells you how much you can eat and it’s never enough. You know how your family has never been to Disney world and how every time you ask to go on some of the more fun expensive school field trips your parents get that look on their faces like their budget has been wrecked and it’s your fault? It’s that but all the time just existing! That’s what socialism will do to all of us!

A lot of conservatives are genuinely thoughtless and entitled people. A whole lot more are scared of any and all boat rocking whatsoever because they fought so hard for what they have and they fear that any economic change means they’ll be crashing back into poverty or headed there for the first time. It’s a brainwashing thing, almost: all change is bad, there’s opportunity in this country if you just work hard and aren’t lazy, being poor is a moral failing and so is socialism and don’t you forget it.

A great antidote to fear is education but there is a point of commingled complacency and sheer gut wriggling terror that makes anything but spouting conservative rhetoric impossible. There’s comfort in sameness. There’s safety in routine. There’s ritual to the stubborn assertion that the fictional America touted since World War II is how it is and nothing has changed since then. The rich are heroes and if we can just work hard enough we can be rich too and defeat the dread enemies Communism-Socialism and Poverty.

(You revile the poor and homeless as being both dangerous and lazy, you point out unions and labor laws and anti trust laws as senseless and wanting outlandish things, you normalize working long and obscene hours in dangerous conditions, you keep hammering home the point that being poor is a personal failing and make it impossible to get any sort of meaningful aid, you tout the rich as shining white knights of capitalism and proof that the system works for us and it can work for you, too, to defeat enemies to America, and you make sure that the people you are targeting are always too tired and complacent to resist, and is it any WONDER that a lot of people raised conservative find it so difficult to escape that mindset, if not impossible?)

[luvknow]

not so bad | lee minho

genre: lee minho x fem!reader | friends-to-lovers ; roommates ; college au ; swearing ; alcohol consumption

summary: falling for your best friend isn’t the most ideal situation, but it’s not as bad as you think

wc: 13.7k

For most people, living with your best friend sounded like the most ideal situation - the absolute best and only option. Most people couldn’t even begin to think about living with anyone else. Think about it; endless nights staying up watching some shitty Netflix live-action adaptation of an anime, eating Chinese take-out on lazy Sunday evenings, going grocery shopping together? The list of things to do together was infinite! Who else would anyone want to do all the boring domestic stuff with other than their best friend?

But you, on the other hand, would rather be homeless.

“Wo~ow,” Minho scoffed when you rejected his generous offer.

The two of you sat in his newly-furnished, but still a bit empty, living room to take a break from unpacking and arranging all of his junk. About a month before the new semester started, Minho’s rich-ass uncle so graciously offered him one of his several houses just a couple bus stops away from campus. As long as Minho kept the place clean and maybe got a roommate or two to help pay the mortgage, then he was free to stay until he graduated. Of course, you were the first person he asked because the above statements spent with you sounded like so much fun.

Too bad you’re cold and heartless and wanted him to die alone.

“Why don’t you want to move in?” his asked, cheeks filled with lo mein. “Didn’t you just say you hated living at your place?”

“I didn’t say I hate it… I just hate that she brings a different guy over every other day.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. It sounds like normal roommate shit. It’s better than her being a slob, isn’t it?”

“I guess, but when it’s 2:00 am and I can hear EVERYTHING through the walls, I want to jump off the balcony.”

“Not everything.”

“I mean it, Minho. Everything.”

“Damn, invite me over next time.” You chuck a piece of your half-eaten fortune cookie and it hit him right on his bare forehead leaving a tiny scratch mark. “Ow! What was that for!?”

“Stop being weird!”

“If you hate hearing all that gross stuff all of the time, isn’t that all the more reason for you to come live with me?”

“No, because you’ll literally do the same thing!”

“Ok, you have way too much faith in me to think I’m going to bring someone home that often.”

“Hm, I do, don’t I…”

“C’mon, cheap rent, cool aesthetics, good company - what’s actually holding you back? Are you afraid you’ll fall in love with me?”

Minho held a single chopstick between his big bunny teeth and did that weird little smirk and wiggly brow combo that somehow caught the hearts too many girls back in your high school days. To this day, you were one of the lucky few who didn’t fall under his spell. The sriracha sauce stains on his cheek made him look EXTRA sexy.

“Why in the world would living with you mean I’d fall in love with you?” you asked, shoving a napkin to his cheek.

“Don’t girls like that corny domestic lifestyle shit? Coexisting in the same space, mutual seemingly-platonic hugs and cuddles, cooking together, and all that jazz?”

“You’re not even into all that jazzy stuff!”

“I like to cook!”

“And then what, I’m left with the dishes? I’ll be falling head over heels for you in no time.”

“That’s how mutualism works, silly! We each benefit from each other’s skills! Symbiosis, or whatever.”

A giggle left your lips from his expanded vocabulary. Who knew he knew so many words with more than two syllables?

“Those are some complicated words. I take it you like Biology 101?” you asked.

“I do! It’s super cool! Did you know in most species, the male is known to be the more colorful and prettier one and not the females? And the males compete with each other and the females are the ones choosing the prettiest, strongest male?”

“I did not know that.”

“Well, it’s true. It’s called sexual selection - it’s like peacocking.”

“Sounds like some shit you do with all your name brands and stuff.”

“Please, like other guys could even compare to my train of feathers.”

In the end, after days flowed into weeks of begging you to come live with him in what he called his playboy penthouse, he reluctantly accepted your rejection and was off to beg one of his other friends because there was no way in hell could he afford this place alone. Though ideally Minho wanted to be roommates, having you visit often was close enough. It’s just… asking you to move in with him was not about helping him with rent in the least. He truly, genuinely wanted to do dumb domestic chores, bicker all day, and have those deep, late-night talks with you whenever he could. Wouldn’t it be so fun if he annoyed you and followed you around every waking minute of the day?

Doing all of those things to half the extent would be just enough for now. His favorite activities with you were anything involving food. Even grocery shopping, normally one of his least favorite and most stressful chores by himself, was tolerable with you around because you knew just the right cuts of meat and what ingredients were needed for the perfect meal.

“Why did you pick so many vegetables? I’m not a rabbit…” the seemingly twelve year old next to you pouted. Like an angsty teenager, he used the cart as a means of support and followed closely behind with a pout on his lips as you dumped vegetable after vegetable into the cart.

“You kind of look like one, though.”

“Are you callin’ me cute?”

“I’m calling you a nuisance.”

“A cute nuisance, right?”

“Oh, my God, you’re so annoying.”

But soon the semester would start and your day would no longer be spent with him, it’d be spent at the library either studying or tutoring the dumb freshmen. Before you ask, yes, he was jealous of all the other people who took up your time and yes, he’s very clingy. You could see where Soonie, Doongie, and Dori all got their bad habits from. Normally, with any other guy including some long-term boyfriend, you’d be tired and annoyed if they were anything like Minho. But only the real Minho could get away with texting you so often and wondering why you weren’t baking brownies with him at ten at night.

Things weren’t easy on your end, either. You barely had time for yourself and it was only the first round of midterms for the semester! All you ever did these days was wake up, eat, school, eat some more if and ONLY IF you had time, and finally sleep… sometimes. This routine included the weekends, too. You offered for Minho to join you in the library for a study sesh nearly every day, but he’d rather die than sit in germ-infested chairs that are never sanitized, so yeah, you don’t get to see him face-to-face very often anymore. Facetime and Skype would have to do for now.

But then all that lost time started to catch up with you. You’d often come home late, especially if you knew your roommate had someone over to do their thang, and before you could flop on your couch to take a breather, it was completely missing from the living room because your roommate packed up all of her shit and left! Without even telling you! How rude, right!? Until you found a note on the coffee table that said, ‘I moved out today! Sorry if this is such short notice… You haven’t been home the past couple of weeks for me to tell you in person and I didn’t want to break it to you in text…’

Ok, so you wouldn’t say you were totally not at fault for this considering she was considerate enough to want to tell you about moving out in person, but didn’t she think to at least text you like… a couple of days before she did it!? Your lease was supposed to renew tomorrow, but now there wasn’t enough time to find a last-minute roomie on the college forum-version of craigslist and you didn’t make enough money to pay for the rent solo, so now you were almost homeless.

So that’s how you ended up in front of Minho’s place at half-past midnight on the dot with your big stuffed bear in your arms and a cheeky, adoring smile on your guilty-written face. You must have woken him up because his fluffy hair was sticking up in all directions, his eyes were barely open, and… he was shirtless…

“I’m not interested in your Girl Scout Cookies,” he mumbled tiredly.

“I wish I was selling those, then maybe I wouldn’t be here…”

“What do you mean?”

“Guess who wants to be your roommate ~!” you sang cheerfully.

“No.”

“Wha-? Why not!?”

“I already have one.”

“Who!?”

“Changbin,” he said, shooting his thumb to the small lazy boy lounging on the couch. Wasn’t he rich as fuck also? What does he need to live here for?

“‘Sup,” Changbin greeted, unable to look away from the television.

“Don’t you have one more room in this place? I’ll even sleep in a closet if I have to,” you pouted tiredly. You were ready to ring in the water works if you had to because if Minho rejected you one more time, your tears were ready to flow.

“Whoa, you’re that desperate, huh? What happened?”

“Roommate moved out, I couldn’t find another one, cried and contemplated life for a little bit, and now I’m here.”

“Damn, that is pretty bad…”

“Yeah, so as you can see, I really need you right now.”

Minho knew you were never one to rely on people, no matter how close you two were. For as long as he could remember, you always did everything on your own. So for you to say that you needed him, you must have really meant it. Your words were soft and quiet, your gaze set on the porch you stood on, and of all things he hated, seeing you so upset and stressed like this was among his top five on the list. How could he turn you away when this was a time you needed him the most? He knew if he were in your position, you’d welcome him in without hesitation.

You sighed tiredly, pushing your pride aside to ask a friend a favor. “So could you spare another roommate? Just until I can get back on my feet again?”

“Hm…” Minho fake-contemplated, rubbing his scruffy chin. “You know, normally I would never do this, but since you’re my friend, I GUESS I could let you stay here until you’re set.”

“If it’s too much trouble, or if you don’t want me here, I can go -”

“No! You’ll stay here with me for as long as you’d like.” A half-naked but jolly Minho smothered you in a bone-crushing hug. Even though touching so much surface area of his skin made you cringe, his hug made you feel more at home than your apartment could ever make you feel.

“Don’t ever assume I don’t want you here, dumbass. I’ll always welcome you with my open, naked, buff arms.”

“Ugh, this is so gross.” Regardless, you returned his hug with equal force. You never felt safer. “Thank you. I seriously owe you one.”

“Anything for my girl. Where’s all your stuff?”

“Yeah, that sounded more like a tomorrow problem, but I came here tonight because I was lonely.”

“Ha ha, you miss me ~”

“Just a little.”

“Since you’re already here, just stay the night. We can order food and start our big, happy, poly-domestic partnership right now.”

“For the love of God, please do not say that aloud in public…”

“No promises.”

Minho dragged you into the only other bedroom that wasn’t occupied and you’re pretty sure it was just as big as your living room. It was pretty much furnished with all of the basics, so you’re lucky that you won’t have to bring too many heavy things in the morning. As you were admiring the room, a finally fully-clothed Minho chucked his pajamas at you.

“You can wear these for tonight,” he said.

“Ew! Why did you give me your boxers!?”

“I thought my pants would be too long on you?”

“I’m not wearing wearing these.”

“So ungrateful… My sweatpants are in my room in the drawer. Go nuts.”

Minho left you alone to go order food for his two favorite pals while you were left to your own devices in the room where the magic happened, as he called it. For a dude, you knew he was on the cleaner side, but his bedroom was a lot tidier than you expected. There weren’t any clothes on the floor, all of his accessories were placed neatly by the mirror, and the only thing out of place was his blanket that was jumbled up in the corner of his bed. You suddenly felt a wave of guilt wash over you for disturbing his beauty sleep, but like you said at the door, you owed him one. Well, maybe more than one… like, a dozen ones…

While looking through the drawers for pants, you rolled your eyes at the site of all the name brands embroidered near the pockets. The logos were strictly swooshes and SUPREME. An opportunity to wear matching sweatpants and hoodie that were worth more than your textbooks didn’t come very often, so you chose the heather gray pair. Just as you slipped your head through the top, Minho came in to check on you.

“I ordered chicken, I hope that’s cool - whoa!” Minho burst into a fit of giggles at the site of his his already-oversized sweats looking extra oversized on you. You’ve worn his hoodies before and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the way you look in them. You’re just so cute.

“You look like a jumbo toasty marshmallow.”

“I wouldn’t say jumbo… and marshmallows aren’t gray.”

“Same difference. Are you ready yet? Changbin’s gonna drink your beer if you don’t come out sooner.”

“That little -! He’s such a roach!!”

You sprinted out of the bedroom and hopped over the empty side of the couch, scaring the boy dressed in all black who was just trying to eat his chips and watch How to Get Away With Murder in peace. You didn’t know him as well as you knew Minho, but you two hung out within the same circle enough to be comfortable around each other so living with him shouldn’t be TOO terrible. Luckily, your drink looked like it hadn’t been touched.

“So are you like, living here living here?” Changbin asked with fake disgust in his tone.

“Yeah, so get used to it.”

“Just when I thought I’d get Minho all to myself…”

“What are you doing here, anyways? Aren’t you also like, super dumb rich? You could probably buy this whole building.”

“No, my parents are super dumb rich. I, on the other hand, barely have a dime to my name until I graduate law school.”

“Oh yeah, you changed your major right?”

“Yeah, and let’s just say my parents weren’t too happy about that… Thankfully, my favorite hyung here has so graciously let me into his home ~”

“Yeah yeah…” Minho mumbled, squeezing himself in the middle. “Anything’s better than being alone in this place, even if it means housing you two rats.”

“Hey, you said you’d always welcome me here, so that’s your fault for agreeing,” you argued.

“Love you, babe ~” Changbin sang.

Once the chicken arrived, your night of being welcomed to the penthouse had only begun. The rest of the evening was spent talking about literally anything your tipsy and dumb brains could conjure up. From crying about school, to praying to the stars, and telling Changbin stories about yours and Minho’s prepubescent days, you could already predict your days living here would make your heart full.

“I bet you’re single, huh, _____?” Changbin said suddenly after popping open his third beer.

A conversation about each other’s love lives was probably the last thing you wanted to talk about, especially when alcohol was involved, but your mouth started talking before your brain could process.

With a pout on your lips, you retorted, “Why do you say it like that?”

“Because what person would be ok with having their girlfriend living at another dude’s apartment and with me as the other roommate?”

“If you already knew the answer, why bother asking?”

“I just wanted to confirm in case you and I accidentally fall in love.”

“I’ll evict both of you before I let that happen under my roof.” Minho slurred.

“What is with you and Minho and the whole roommates falling in love trope? Is that a common thing? Have you two been watching dramas since you started living together?”

“So what if we have!?” Changbin yelled.

“They’re not realistic, you know.”

“It’s called a drama for a reason.”

“I feel sorry for the next person you end up dating.”

“Yeah, me too.” Changbin took a huge, final chug of his beer before crushing it in his hands. So macho… “All right, I guess it’s time I pass out. See you guys in the morning. Don’t get too crazy while I’m asleep.”

“Nighty night.”

You and Minho were left in the quiet living room snuggled up in your own blankets. You thought the silence was comfortable, as you’ve spent enough time with him that not a word said in between for long periods of time was just fine, but by the look on his face you could tell something was up. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe he was just tired, but his eyes never left the random spot on the coffee table for a solid five minutes.

You threw a potato chip at his cheek.

“Hm?” he hummed, surprisingly unphased. His tired eyes turned to look at you questioningly.

“What’s on your mind, my Prince?” The origin of the beloved nickname was from the time you dared him to try out for the high school play as the leading role and to your excitement and his dismay, he was passed the audition. He’d never admit it to your face, but he kind of enjoyed the spotlight and popularity for a while, and he never lets you forget how much he loved that nickname.

You managed to crack a smile from him and your worries began to fade away. “I was just thinking about something.”

“‘Bout what?”

“What Changbin said - what if you end up really liking someone and they’re not ok with you living with two hot and sexy guys?”

“Well, he can either get over it or I’ll dump him.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why not? Remember that pact we made our first year of high school? The one where we pinky promised each other that no matter what, we wouldn’t let anyone come in between us?”

“Of course I do, but we were like what, fourteen? That was so long ago!”

“So?”

“So what I mean is…”

The ruggedly handsome boy beside you sighed deeply like he was ready to tell you something important. He laid his heavy hands on your shoulder and pulled you close so that you had all of your attention on him and not the fact that there was only two inches between your faces and that he smelled like alcohol. Was his skin always this clear? What the hell was his skincare routine? The blush on your cheeks continued to glow brighter as his eyes bore deep into your own, like he was searching for an answer to a question that only you held the answer to. He must admit that your shy side made you look so cute. Each second that passed was more intimate than the last and you so wished that he’d tell you what the hell was up with him already because your inadvertent breath-holding from the close proximity was making you light-headed. This felt like one of those scenes in those corny dramas that Minho watches - was he about to… dare you say… kiss you…?

Then you figured Minho learned a thing or two in drama class because his serious persona flew out the window when he shook you roughly by the shoulders, but at least you could breathe freely again.

“You shouldn’t have to choose between me and someone you like ~!” he whined childishly. “If he doesn’t like you living here, and you really like him, I don’t want you to be stuck in the middle!”

“Minho, you idiot, you’re the sole reason I’m not homeless and dying on the street, so what the hell do you want me to do IF that ever happens!? Move out!?”

“Ah, I didn’t think about it that way…”

“Lee Minho,” you emphasized to the pouty boy. “If - if - I meet someone I like, and they don’t like that I’m living with two guys, then fine, I can understand that and feelings like that can easily change over time. But if he can’t understand that you’re my best friend, that I cherish our friendship more than anything, and thinks there’s something else going on, then that’s when I’ll dump him. So there’s no need for you to worry that I have to choose between those two, ok?”

Minho sighed once more, breathing out all his worries about you being alone forever and stuck being a hermit in his apartment. “Ok, I believe you.”

“God, you’re so weird! Since when did my love life matter to you?”

“We’re nearing graduation, _____. We’re not getting any younger! And look, we’re both STILL single as a pringle…”

“When you and I are twenty-five and alone, unemployed and rotting away in this very room, then that’s when we’ll cry about it. But for now, we gotta worry about graduating.”

“I know. I just want you to be happy ~” With crocodile tears in his big, curious eyes, he pulled you in for a bone-crushing hug. It reminded you of all the times you told him not to touch you because he was being too sappy or he was sweaty and proceeded to hug you tighter anyways. Those were the best hugs.

“Shut up, I am happy.”

“Good.”

“What about you, hm? What if a girl you like sees that I live here?”

“Easy - I’ll just say you’re the housekeeper.”

“… You’re going to make one dumb girl very happy one day.”

“You think so?” he asked sincerely. “You really think I could make someone happy one day?”

There weren’t enough words in the dictionary to tell Minho how much happiness and sunlight he brought into your life. From the minor inconveniences to the darkest days, Minho was always your only source of light. You were way too tired to even attempt to be cheesy with him and closed your eyes instead, relaxing into his tight hug and hoping sleep would find you sooner rather than later.

“I know so, Lee Know.”

You stayed in Minho’s arms while the hum of the television and rhythm of his heart lulled you to sleep. Your favorite boy was content with where he was - holding you in his arms and stroking your hair until you were asleep and you didn’t have to worry about school, moving out, and whether this was mutually platonic or anything but. He thinks that there’s no way that ordinary best friends could lay like this and not cause any sort of tension in between. Then again, you two were extraordinary at best, so maybe the standard rules didn’t apply. To an unknowing passerby, this scene might look like two people in love who couldn’t get enough of each other. If Changbin came to see this, he’d probably think the same thing.

In the end, Minho wouldn’t care what anyone thought if they saw. It didn’t matter because this just felt so… right.

He’ll question his tugging heartstrings some other time.

Minho ended up carrying your sleeping form to your room. After tucking you in and resisting the urge to crawl onto the open space beside you, he thinks to himself that he could get used to this.

There was no way you could get used to this.

For such a huge place, only one of the two bathrooms had a shower. Which seemed fine, right? Considering there were only three of you living there. But you totally forgot that you lived with two of the most high-maintenance men you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. Minho wasn’t as bad as Changbin because he didn’t spend an hour moisturizing his entire body and fixing his hair - he only took half an hour. But you know that weird thing guys do when they take a dump they take an extra half hour just to play phone games or scroll through social media? So think about it, two boys who are mildly-to-severely high maintenance took a total of almost three hours using the damn bathroom.

That wasn’t even the worst of it! Other than the night you told Minho you were moving in, you guys haven’t had any fast food since. The two of them were watching their weight and muscle progress together so their diet strictly cut out carbs and the good stuff which meant the fridge was filled with veggies and brown grains you couldn’t even pronounce.

And even then, that wasn’t the worst. The absolute worst was when Minho would text you or call you at nine on the dot every single night that you weren’t home at that time. First, he’d call, and half of the time you would answer, but when you didn’t, he’d spam your messages until you replied with a pin drop of your location.

Tonight was the last straw.

“Stop calling,” you scolded while walking home from the library.

“So Changbin and I are in the mood for pizza and we figured you wanted some. You must be tired of all the quinoa,” he explained, ignoring your scolding. “Where are you?”

What’s the best way to spook Minho but not to the point where he’d call the police and demand an amber alert?

“I can’t right now. I’m with a guy.”

There’s a slight pause on the other end and something that sounded like he dropped something on the floor. You can hear Changbin’s faint ‘bro, what the hell!’ in the background and Minho heard you stifle a giggle.

“What? A guy? Who?”

“No one you know. I’ll see you when I get home ~!”

“Wait -”

You hung up before Minho could get another word in and you instantly regretted it. Once Minho found out you were kidding, he was probably going to relieve you of your pizza privileges and force you to eat more quinoa as punishment. You would hate it initially, but if there was even a slight chance that this made your message to him to stop worrying and calling you all the time crystal clear, then you’d eat bowls upon bowls of it and get all the grains stuck between your teeth because that’s how worth it it’d be.

What the hell had gotten into him, anyways? He was never like this in high school. If anything, HE was the boy you’d sneak out with, doing dumb hooligan things with, and being too close for comfort with - he was the boy he was trying to protect you from. Not even your parents were this protective, but you had to give him credit for being so diligent.

You weren’t too far from home, so you left Minho’s texts all on read until you stepped through the door. Changbin wasn’t surprised in the least that you were joking, and Minho knew you couldn’t have possibly be truthful about that, either, but he stepped out the door and scanned the hallways just to make sure you weren’t actually with some creep. You took this moment to sneak a slice or three before Minho could hoard the whole pie.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” you teased, cheeks filled with cheese.

“I can’t believe you would joke about that.”

“I can,” Changbin muttered.

“What made you guys buy pizza?”

“A man can only eat salads and white chicken for so long. We deserve this.”

“We all deserve this. I wasn’t even on a diet in the first place, I was forced into it.”

“Yeah, but you look great at least, so you’re welcome.”

“Whatever.”

Sure, there were a lot of inconveniences when it came to living with two dudes who annoyingly functioned the same, but you would take on this form of entertainment over television any day. So yeah, Minho was annoying like ninety percent of the time… but he was just being a good friend and worrying about you.

It was nice to be cared for once in a while. Minho was the only one who would go out of his way just for you. Whether it was picking you up in the middle of the night from some party to walk you home or scolding you harshly about how you should wear scarves more so you wouldn’t get sick while making you a hot bowl of soup made with love, he never made you feel like you were an inconvenience. This curfew thing was a little over the top, though.

Changbin went to his room after whining about being a law student and how hard it was that he had to wear a suit everyday to his internship, leaving you and Minho alone at the kitchen table. The kitchen was were you spent most of your time together, whether it was using the table to eat, play dumb board games, or as one big desk to study on. Tons of late-night studying, gossiping, and snacking were spent at this table with Minho sitting across from you every time.

“It’s been about a month since you moved in, right?” he asked, plucking a pepperoni off of your slice. “How do you like it so far?”

There’s a short silence in the air before you answered. It was a little worrying, so he kicked you under the table to make you answer faster. How dare you not immediately answer with anything other than ‘I fucking love it’? “Besides only having five minutes to shower every morning, forced to go vegetarian, and having a 9:00 PM curfew? It’s better than being homeless, that’s for sure.”

“Good.” Another short pause, followed by Minho shyly avoiding eye contact. “It’s a lot of fun having you around.”

“Really? I don’t scare any poor souls you try to bring home?”

“To be honest, I haven’t been trying.”

“Whoa, Minho the slut taking a hiatus!?” you teased, earning you a crumpled napkin to the face.

“Shut up.”

“Why the sudden disinterest?”

His shoulders did a tiny shrug as if letting you know that even he was unsure of why. He hoped you’d help him find the answer. “No one catches my eye these days, I guess.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“It’s true!”

“Yeah, ok…”

“Well, what about you, huh? Has your boy-crazy self found someone interesting?”

You take a big, defeated bite into the leftover crust, allowing you to exploit your anger through vigorous chewing. Your efforts have obviously gone to a waste. “You and Changbin always like to remind me that I’m single.”

“I simply asked if you found anyone hot.”

“You know what’s sad? I haven’t…”

“Ah, I see - Changbin and I made your standards too high now, huh?”

“Both of you are probably stashing the hot guys in the gym somewhere because you know I won’t find them.”

“Damn, you caught us.”

“You know what else is sad, though?” Minho had to suffer and watch you sip your cola with your sad, pouty lips. It wasn’t that he felt bad, or anything, you just looked so… self-pitying. He’s seen this look way too often during your first year of college when some other chick would swoop in a steal the guy you had your eyes on. “Even if I did like someone, I don’t think I would act on it.”

“Why the hell would you cockblock yourself like that?”

“I’ve never been on a legitimate date before!”

“You’re such a damsel. You’ve totally been on a date before.”

“Senior prom with Hyunjin doesn’t count.”

“You guys had dinner and some dancing, doesn’t that count?”

You ignored your idiot friend’s justification and would much rather feel sorry for yourself than to consider prom as a legitimate date. You’re what, nearly into your twenties now and have gone this long without a guy properly asking you out on a date, maybe a movie and eating dinner at a nice restaurant with a small bouquet of flowers next to you, and ending the night with a kiss? The thought of your inadvertent abstinence made you want to chug a bottle of something strong.

“Do we still have that bottle of wine lying around?” you muttered, searching every corner of the kitchen. “Aha! Found it.”

“Mm, pizza and old wine. How are you single again? You’re so classy.”

“Do you want a glass or not?”

“… Hand it over.”

So another night was spent drinking and drowning your sorrows away while Minho watched - what else was new? Before, he didn’t think much of these nights, considering they were spent with Changbin also who drank just as much as you did, but Minho hadn’t even finished his first glass yet when you were already pouring your third. You must have been really going through it.

“Ok, I think that’s enough,” Minho scolded, taking the glass away. Clumsily and lazily, you reached out to take it back, but your state of mind was too loopy for you to fight back further. God, your tolerance had gone down significantly as time passed. Was this indication that you were getting old?

“Is this how you’re going to act on your first date at dinner while having several glasses of wine?” the mean boy across teased. “Good luck with that.”

“That’s ok, I’m never going on a first date, anyways.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because who would want to date me?”

“Hey.”

Your eyes are droopy and you feel like you could pass out from the drowsiness of the wine at any second, but Minho’s hand on top of yours snaps you awake. There were plenty of ways you and Minho shared skinship, like hugging, wrestling, high-fiving, and punching each other, but hand-holding was not one of them. It was… weird. You know when cats sometimes put their tiny paws on top of human hands? This was what it reminded you of and you had to hold in your laughter.

“Don’t say that stuff about yourself, only I can do that.”

“Well, there has to be a reason why I haven’t been on a date yet. It’s because I’m unlovable, right? Besides, I wouldn’t know what to do if I was on a real date. Like what do we talk about? The weather? That’s what adults talk about, right?”

“Yeah, if you work a nine-to-five at an accounting firm. You really are kind of hopeless, aren’t you? That’s ok, you and I can practice.”

“Practice?”

“Yeah, practice on me. Pretend you and I are on a date.” Minho left his seat across from you to steal Changbin’s seat that was to your right. The proximity of your bodies was so close that your knees knocked together, but your tipsy best friend was too distracted by your challenge to care. “A~and boom, we’re on a date.”

“Right now?”

“Right now. Look, we got our glasses of wine on hand, some dinner, we could even watch a movie if you want. But first thing’s first, we gotta test out your communication skills. What kind of things would you ask or talk about on your date?”

“I guess… What do you major in -?”

“Pause, red flag number one: never talk about school. Next question.”

“U-Uh, what kind of music do you like…?”

“Better. Let’s pretend that I’m some snobby older rich dude and I say, ‘oh, today’s music doesn’t interest me. I prefer classical music such as Bach and Beethoven, you know?’”

“I would never go on a date with someone so pompous and old.”

“Ok, but let’s say you’re dating this guy for money.”

“Minho!”

“At the rate this fake date is going, this is what your future dates are going to look like, _____! I’m just helping you prepare!”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but… you’re so right. I’m gonna end up as a sugar baby and I’ll be too hyped up about the influx in my bank account that I’ll drop out of college and make this my career!”

“Whoa, I didn’t say that -”

“I can’t believe this is what all my hours in the library have amounted to! Screw good grades, if I can’t find love, then what’s the point! This is it - this is how my life is really going to be like -!”

What Minho said goes in one ear and out the other as both of your hands are tangled in the mess of your hair and your blood pressure is suddenly through the roof. You were making a huge deal out of this fake date but you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t make a huge deal out of nothing! If this was how you were on a fake date, Minho doesn’t want to know how you’d be on a real date.

The first thing you hear is his boyish laugh as he removed your hands from your head before you could tear out your hair. You look like you have a bird nest on both sides of your pouty face and even though Minho thought you were being ridiculous, you still looked cute regardless. His tiny but warm hands smoothen your messy strands before holding your face. It’s hard to look him in the eyes after your mini breakdown and he didn’t make it easier by the way his thumbs caressed your cheeks. Was he doing this on purpose because he liked to see you squirm? You didn’t think so when you finally looked up.

Minho didn’t have his signature sly smile where the corners of his lips curled like a cheshire cat. There was no teasing twinkle in his eyes that normally accompanied it, either. Both were softer, like he couldn’t understand why someone as charming, intelligent, and hilarious as you could constantly worry about finding someone who would love you back. How could someone not, when you had the stars in your eyes after spotting a dog across the street, when you could sing an entire concert setlist in the shower, or when you had the cute sad look on your face after you burned your third pancake? Even now, in your tipsy and sad state, your eyes still sparkled and begged to be loved - exactly like all the cute puppies you spotted on your walks with Minho. The thought of someone NOT falling head over heels for you sounded completely ridiculous.

Before his heart could drop to the pit of his stomach, Minho broke the intimacy by squishing your cheeks so hard that your lips puckered like a fish.

“Stop being so sad,” he said sternly.

“Just like that, the sadness is gone,” you sputtered sarcastically, careful not to spit in Minho’s eye.

“I mean it. You’ll find someone who loves you just as much as you love them. No, you’ll find someone who loves you more.”

“How do you know…?”

“Because I’m Lee Know, remember?”

His cocky smirk returned and the corners of his lips curled adoringly. It was a smile you were more accustomed to and you’d never admit it aloud, but you liked this one much better. Soft Minho was kind of gross.

“You’re intelligent, selfless, sometimes funny, and life would be so exciting to be in love with you. I promise you’ll find someone.”

“… Tell me I’m pretty.”

“Wow, I put so much heart into my speech and that’s all you got out of it!? That I didn’t call you pretty!?”

“All of that doesn’t matter if I’m not cute.”

Minho squeezed your cheeks a bit harder. “Nevermind, you’re hopeless.”

“Ow ok, I’m kidding! Can you let go of my face now!? You know I bruise easily!”

He released his hold on your face and you tried to circulate the blood that pooled up. Minho usually wasn’t good with these types of talks, but something must have changed after high school. What kind of classes was he taking that he was being so poetic to the point that your heart felt like it was fluttering? Must be the bit of wine left in your bloodstream.

Even so, you were thankful. What would you do without your handsome Prince?

“I guess I’ll try to sleep the hopelessness away,” you sighed. Before heading off to your room, you wrapped your arms tightly around your best friend’s neck from behind and pressed your rosy cheek to his own. Normally, he’d let out a grossed-out groan, but tonight he returned the gesture with his hands on top of yours. “I love you, you know that, right?”

His chest ached. “Mhm. Love you, too, pretty girl. Sweet dreams.”

“You too, my Prince. Don’t stay up too late.”

The sound of your door closing triggered an empty silence in the entire apartment. Not a single sound is heard other than Minho’s beating heart that felt like it was blasting in his ears. Now he’s alone sitting at the dining table, downing the last of his wine and all he could think about was your lack of presence and how it lingered casually all around him. He could still feel your cheeks in his hands, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and the way the warmth of your cheek heated up his own. That wasn’t enough - he wanted more of you, but that was for a later time even he couldn’t predict. After cleaning up the table and trying to leave those moments in the dining room, they ended up following him to his bed until he was too tired to stay awake thinking about them.

That night, you ended up dreaming about Prince Minho and what it was like to be by his side forever.

It didn’t seem so bad.

There’s this crazy phenomenon that happened to you too many times to count, but this time had to take the cake. There were times when you’d have dreams about not necessarily random people, but people you didn’t normally associate yourself with. Like an old coworker, or a past partner for that one single assignment, or even that one time the guy next to you asked you to borrow a pencil for an exam. They would appear in your dreams at random with no purpose other than to play as your boyfriend, but the morning you wake up, you had this sudden weird… attraction towards them.

Maybe attraction wasn’t exactly the right word, but the moment they stepped into the room, you could feel your face heat up and your palms sweat and it really made you question your type in men because why was your body reacting so sensitively to seeing someone who literally just asked you for a pencil? Maybe this was why you’ve been single for so long…

Now let it be reminded that you’re having these weird, little crushes on guys you practically considered strangers. But now, for the first time in your entire life - in all your years knowing that stupid, handsome idiot, you had your very first dream about Minho. If you acted like a fool in front of strangers, how did you act around your best friend? Let’s just say you didn’t know how to act… or rather, you did what you do best - make things like ten times more awkward than they should be.

What did you do when Minho woke up in the morning with his stupidly cute bedhead and flopped on the couch next to you muttering a soft and gentle ‘good morning ~’? You got up and ran to your room after returning the greeting with a squeaky voice. What did you do when he would wrap his arm around your shoulder in that sly, boyish way that literally meant nothing? You’d run to the bathroom, whether you were at home or out in public.

And what did you do when he would walk out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel around his waist? You literally ran. You went to your room, put on your workout gear, and you ran - ran as far as your legs could take you with your ears blasting music to drown out any thoughts about your best FRIEND.

With his heart sinking, Minho didn’t know what to do.

“Hey, have you seen _____ these past few days?” he asked Changbin sometime around dinner. He knew your schedule like the back of his hand and he made sure he gave himself enough time to ask Changbin for his opinion before you came home.

“Yeah…? I see her like everyday. She lives here, too, you know.”

“I know, but she seems a little distant lately, right?”

“Mm, not with me,” the buff boy shrugged casually. His once unquestioning expression quickly turned into something sly when he realized what kind of situation Minho was in. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!”

“That’s not what it looks like to me.”

“The last thing we did together for more than five minutes was eat pizza and drink wine and that was last week.”

“Did anything happen after drinking wine? We all know how you get when you drink…”

“Mm… she was moping about how she’s never going to go on a date, or something, and then I told her she doesn’t have to worry.”

“Why doesn’t she have to worry?”

It was then that Minho figured maybe this was the reason why you were avoiding him. Shyly, the older boy avoided the teasing gaze from his close friend. “N-No reason.”

“Is it because you told her how wonderful she is? Or how funny, and smart, and how all men were idiots for not falling head over heels for her ~?”

“Shut up.”

“I bet you called her pretty, too.”

“Ok, she made me say that!”

“God, no wonder she’s avoiding you! You probably made her fall head over heels for you, or something!”

“… You really think so?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too hopeful at the idea.

Thankfully, Changbin didn’t seem to catch it. “If I heard that kind of corny stuff coming from you, I’d react the same way, to be honest.”

The sound of the door unlocking made both boys jump and quickly drop the subject, but not without Changbin shooting Minho a ‘we’ll discuss this later’ glance that reminded him of his dad whenever he got in trouble. For the first time that week, you didn’t sprint to your room right away. Rather, with a cheeky grin on your lips, you joined the two boys who eyed you suspiciously at the dining table.

“What?” you asked innocently.

“Nice to finally see you for more than five minutes,” Minho pouted childishly.

“Aw, you miss me ~?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Why are you so smiley, missy?” the smaller, more suspicious boy squinted.

“I can’t be happy on this fine Thursday?”

“No.”

“Fine, you downer. I’m super stoked because guess who has a date tomorrow ~?”

A short silence fell at the table. The first ten seconds of silence was so the two idiots could process what you just said. The following ten seconds was just a series of different ugly facial expressions from thinking about the question too hard.

“Did Seungmin finally ask that one person out? He’s been talking about it for months, he won’t shut up,” Changbin asked.

“No, not him…”

“Woojin? He’s not really the dating type, though.”

“No, idiot, me! I have a date tomorrow!”

“With who?” Minho finally asked. Of course he knew you were the one with the date, but he didn’t want to believe it until you said it. The rest of the conversation didn’t matter after you told him who it was.

“This guy named Wooyoung in one of my classes. We worked on a project together sometime last year and I just found him in lecture the other day. Small campus, huh? We caught up this past week and he asked me out just now after walking me home. Ah, I can’t believe it!”

Your smile was bright and so big that Minho could hardly see your eyes. He couldn’t recall a time when you were this excited for something since you and him both got accepted to this school. He was happy to see you like this, despite the circumstances. With your eyes all sparkly and cheeks blushed pink, the bit of aching was worth it.

“Oh, I know Wooyoung!” Changbin had a goofy smile when he saw how disappointed you looked. “His dad and my dad are close friends and we got close by coincidence.”

“Aw man, you know him!? I wanted to date someone not within this weird circle of friends!”

“He’s not! He’s like a little bubble outside of the circle.”

“Whatever… he’s nice and rich, at least.”

“Now I know where your priorities lie. Minho, what do you think?”

“Hm?” You raised a curious brow at your spacey friend. Minho had been in his own little world after blocking out the details of how you ended up with a date tomorrow night. He put on a fake smile so you wouldn’t have to worry. “I don’t know Wooyoung, but I’m happy for you.”

“I’m kind of scared… what if I blow it like our fake date?”

“Good thing it was fake, right?” The handsome boy across from you ruffled your hair into a bird’s nest style - much like how it was last week. You were a mess, but you were his pretty little mess. “Don’t sweat it. You’ll do just fine.”

“Yeah, Wooyoung may be rich, but his standards aren’t that high - ow! What the hell, dude!” he whined, rubbing his bruising shin.

“You two are so mediocre when it comes to these pep talks… but thank you. I’m so excited that my cheeks hurt because I can’t stop smiling!”

Minho watched you hide your heated face in your hands. He hoped you’d smile like this for a long time, even if he wasn’t the reason behind it.

If the boys were allowed a collective three hours in the bathroom nearly every damn morning, you were allowed three hours to yourself once this evening. You practically put on a spa for yourself in preparation for this. Every centimeter of your body was exfoliated and moisturized, every strand of hair fixed in its place, and every eyelash was coated with mascara. Not to mention that your outfit didn’t have a single wrinkle to be seen.

“Not gonna lie, you look pretty decent,” Changbin admitted while leaning on the doorframe. ��Expecting some dessert tonight, if you know what I mean?”

“You think I’ll let it go that far on my very first date? Who do you think I am!”

“A touch-starved damsel.”

“… Shut up.” At 7:00 pm on the dot, you received a text from Wooyoung that he’s here. “Ah, gotta go!”

Like you would on a Monday morning already late for class, you shoved all of your essentials in a bag and scurried for the door, but not before Minho came out of his room and caught you. After putting on your nice shoes, you finally looked up to stare back at your wide-eyed, jaw-dropped friend. The only other time he ever looked at you like that was prom night, and even though you were glammed up times ten that night, his face tonight was more intense. The sudden waves of confusion and erratic heartbeat skips reminded you of why you accepted to go on the date so quickly in the first place: to get rid of these weird feelings for your best friend that you couldn’t understand.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whined. “Too much? Or too little?”

Perfect. “No, no. You look fine.”

“Really?”

“I promise. You got everything you need?”

“Uh, wallet, keys, phone…”

“Condom?”

“Minho!!”

“Just kidding! Be sure to practice abstinence because I’m not letting some guy come into our apartment just so you can do THAT.”

“Don’t worry, he has his own place.” He knew you were joking… kind of… you were joking, right…? “I’m kidding.”

“You better be… Don’t forget, curfew’s at 9:00 pm.”

“Ok, I’ll see you at 2:00 am ~!”

You did a final wave goodbye before heading out the door to forget all about Minho while he was stuck being a boring homebody. He heard his other, more irritating roommate tisk annoyingly from across the room.

“Shoulda said something ~” Changbin sang.

“What is there to say?”

“Baby, don’t leave! Why go out with a boy when you can go out with a MAN like me?”

“Oh, my God, I don’t really sound like that, do I?”

“Only sometimes.”

So while you were off on your date, smiling at him like no one else in the world could matter more, Minho would glue his ass to the couch and wait for you to come home.

Your first date was both exactly and the complete opposite of how you expected it to be - quite awkward, but it gradually melted into something you would best describe as comfortable. It didn’t feel very date-like. It felt more like you were eating dinner with a very handsome friend. You could easily see why all of your friends were jealous that you were on this date. Wooyoung was so easy to talk to and just his stare alone, he could get anyone to fall in love with him just like that.

A moment like this, when he’s laughing at your corny joke or fixing a loose strand of hair, was when you truly wished cupid would shoot a thousand arrows into your heart at one time with Wooyoung’s name on the heart-shaped head. That itself would solve about 75 percent of your problems. But it was too late, for your heart already had a hundred thousand arrows lodged in with no way of taking them out, and every single one had Minho’s stupid name on them.

Your date ended earlier than expected which was a little after midnight when his friend San called him in some party-related emergency. Of course you understood, as you’ve experienced being that friend one too many times, and he bid you a farewell with a sweet kiss on the cheek.

“Let’s do this again sometime,” he suggested.

“I’d love that!” Though it probably wasn’t going to happen.

During the walk home, you took the time to reflect on everything that went wrong tonight. Fifteen minutes in, and you couldn’t figure out why your heart didn’t beat for Wooyoung. Passers-by gave you a strange look as you passed because of how your face twisted in confusion, but they went unnoticed because now you actually had to deal with your feelings for Minho straight on.

When did this all start exactly? Like when did the first arrow lodge itself in your right ventricle? Was it in middle school when he stopped those bullies? Was it during your last year in high school when he hugged you so tight, crying tears of joy when the team won the championship basketball game? Maybe it was during your first college party when he held your hair up while you puked into the toilet, but you knew there was no way this all happened because of one silly dream… Maybe your feelings were there all along.

The saying goes when it rains, it pours, right? Tonight, that phrase is both hypothetical and literal.

In a matter of seconds, the skies cried heavily with no thunder or lightning to be heard or seen. On this warm night alone, you were getting soaked to the bone with little-to-no-coverage. You didn’t pack an umbrella and for some reason, even the store awnings couldn’t give you shelter very well, so your only option was to take off your pretty much-ruined nice shoes and sprint home barefoot and that’s exactly what you did.

Minho liked the rain. It was calming, but only added to the lonely ambiance on this fine Friday evening. From inside, he watched the city glow different colors as the light reflected off of the rain droplets and this was when he thought the city looked the most beautiful. He could fall asleep at any moment just to the sound of the rain.

Minho’s apartment is so high up that it’s difficult to see the details in in peoples’ faces and clothes as they walked the streets, but it was easy to spot the little speck running towards his building a couple of blocks away. No one else for blocks on end could be seen other than the tiny speck running. He didn’t have to see your face to know that it was you running home because you didn’t have an umbrella. Not that he’s not happy to see you home, but why were you here so early? And alone, for that matter? Did that Wooyoung guy ditch you?

“Idiot,” Minho mumbled grumpily before grabbing his umbrella and making his way to you.

By the time he reached the lobby, he thought he’d see you inside by now, but that wasn’t the case and he was starting to get a little worried. He didn’t waste time running out the building and immediately he spotted you taking a breather under the big coffee shop awning. You’re completely soaked as if you took a dip in the ocean, strands of hair clinging to your rosy cheeks, and your shoes in your hand…? You’re barefoot, feet all cut up and a little bruised. Without looking at your face, a stranger could say that you were having a bad night, but even Minho knew that wasn’t exactly the case. You didn’t look disappointed or anything near that.

You must have enjoyed the date.

A huge shadow blocked the streetlight from your body and a pair of Minho’s beat up dance shoes are in your eyesight. Tiredly, but happily, you look up to a stern-faced crush who held an umbrella over his head.

“‘Sup,” you greeted casually.

“Let’s go, you’re gonna get sick,” he muttered.

Neither of you said a word until you reached your shared home, and Minho didn’t bother to give you a second glance until then, too. After carelessly tossing his umbrella near the pile of shoes, he found his spot on the couch again.

“You should shower.”

“Right…”

Still, he didn’t give you the time of day, and it hurts. From your cut-up feet to your pounding headache, everything just hurts, and your entire body was ready to crawl under your sheets and call it a night. But you obeyed, taking a long, hot shower to wash away all the wrongs that happened tonight.

When you were done, Minho had a first-aid kit ready in his hands. He didn’t seem as angry as earlier - now he just looked worried.

“Sit,” he commanded nicely.

Of course you obeyed like a misbehaved puppy walking to its cage. Nervously, you sat on the couch while Minho sat on the floor. Before you could ask what he was doing, he had already grabbed one foot to inspect for major cuts.

“You don’t need to do that - ah, hey!” The concerned boy wasn’t listening when he dabbed a cotton swab soaked in disinfectant over a single super small cut on your foot… that was bleeding… a lot. “That stings, bro!”

“Good, that means it’s working. Now sit still.” He put a tiny bandaid over the clean cut and when he thought he was all finished, he held both of your ankles in his hand. “Why is one bigger than the other? Is it swollen?”

“I may have tripped once… or twice…”

An aggravated sigh left Minho’s pink lips before he grabs the bandage to wrap around your swollen ankle. After neatly wrapping around once, the rest of the wrapping was done by yanking the bandage until you felt the blood flow cut off at that point.

“Ow ow!! Chill, Minho, you’re hurting more than helping!”

After realizing what he’d been doing, Minho halted, muttering a soft ‘sorry’ before re-wrapping your ankle with more love and care.

“Why were you alone tonight?” he asked out of the blue.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean why wasn’t your date walking you home like he should? Doesn’t he know it’s common courtesy to do so?”

“Ah, well he had an emergency to attend to.”

“Still… He just left you to run home in the rain, and look what happened. Also, why the hell were your shoes off!?”

“I didn’t want to ruin them…”

The inside of his cheek was starting to numb from all the inherent chewing. At this point, Minho was tired, and you probably were, too. What was the point in arguing?

“Don’t date that guy,” he demanded.

“Why not?”

“You shouldn’t be dating someone who leaves you in the middle of a date. Was it even a real emergency?”

“It was at the end of a date. But no, not a REAL real emergency…”

“Still, he left you, and look how you ended up.” Another sigh left his lips. “I don’t like him, _____.”

“I know.” When Minho finally looked up, he saw that you were smiling at him. You’re not angry or upset by the way he was acting, and he’s really surprised. What was going through your mind? “You don’t have to worry. I don’t think there’s going to be another date.”

Good. “How come?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t have that ‘I can’t wait to see you again’ type of feeling like I thought I would. I guess I wasn’t that into him.”

The shy boy below you cleared his throat hoping you wouldn’t see how relieved he was. “Oh, that’s good.”

“What happened to you wanting me to be happy with some guy?” you teased, lightly kicking his arm.

“I still do. Just not with him.”

“Mm. Maybe the next one will work out better.”

“Yeah… the next one.”

Minho finished wrapping up your ankle and went to stash the first aid kit in his room. You happily followed your confidant slash magical healer and he wasn’t complaining. In fact, he hid his growing smile so you wouldn’t see.

“I had a weird dream last night,” you said after flopping on his king-sized mattress.

“Tell me about it.”

“You were in it as a Prince.”

“Hm, doesn’t sound so weird to me.”

“I was right beside you the whole time.”

“Ooh, tell me more.” Minho hopped on right beside you and the two of you laid side-by-side as you told your fairytale. “Were you my Princess? My sidepiece mistress? The cook’s daughter I fell in love with? Oh, or were we betrothed to unite two kingdoms together?”

“Dude, I don’t know…”

“God is in the details, baby. What else happened?”

“That’s all I could remember. You were a Prince who smiled everyday and I was right there the whole time.”

“I probably smiled all the time ‘cuz you were next to me.”

To play it off as playful, the boy only a couple centimeters beside you nudged you several times. It was hard for him to keep up the facade when you said,

“I was probably next to you the whole time because of your smile.”

Now what was he to do? Subconsciously, Minho turned on his side to face you. With your cheeks and the tip of your nose a baby pink, you refused to look at him. Maybe you were getting sick.

“What, you like my smile, or something?”

“Have I ever told you it makes me feel safe?”

“Safe? Why?”

“It lets me know I have nothing to worry about - that I’m going to be just fine.”

The ceiling must have been very interesting. You have yet to look at him and though he wanted you to, he hopes you don’t, otherwise the magnetic pull between your lips might be too strong for him to resist. He wondered what you tasted like.

“I’m glad I make you feel that way.”

The world felt at peace again when he returned to his position on his back. As if the roof did not exist above, the two of you laid on his bed and pretended to count the stars. Minho’s hand blindly found its way to yours and the tiny bumps and touches of his fingertips made goosebumps travel up your arms. The handsome, confusing boy traced tiny stars in the back of your hand.

“Did you like your dream?” he finally asked.

“You mean did I like being stuck with you for eternity?”

“Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His shy giggle filled the empty spaces of his room, and yours soon followed.

“Neither would I.”

An eternity together wouldn’t be so bad.

The spot beside you on Minho’s bed felt empty. You must have knocked out the night before, too tired to crawl back to your cave of a room, and ended up sleeping next to him the whole night. Either last night’s date was exhausting or you didn’t want to leave Minho or his bed because you slept in so late that he had already got up for the day.

Changbin was eating cereal in front of the television when you finally left the room.

“Whoa, what the hell,” he smirked, not knowing that’s where you slept last night. “Did something happen that I don’t know about?”

“No, idiot. We were talking and we fell asleep. Where is he, anyways?”

“Either at the gym or running errands or both.”

“Ah, ok…” If you knew Minho like you thought you did, then maybe he’s at the gym, but running errands? The hell kind of errands did he have? You were the one who ran all the house-related errands.

“You goin’ out tonight?”

“Can’t. Huge paper I have to work on.”

“C'mon, it’s Jeongin’s birthday! And Minho’s going ~”

Your cheeks burned from his teasing. “So? I’ll literally fail if I don’t get a good grade on this assignment.”

“Fine, you bookworm…”

So that’s what you did - you became a homebody for the day and hermitted in your room to work on that cursed paper. It was hard to focus when all you could think about was going out tonight with Minho. If you went, would you stick by his side the whole time? Would he drag you to the dance floor and hold you close? Would the alcohol take over and close the gap between your lips?

Let’s pretend the answer was yes to all of the above.

You didn’t see him for the entire day. Not for lunch, or dinner, or when he finally came home and hopped in the shower, or when he got ready in ten minutes, or even when he and Changbin left for the party. No texts or calls, either.

He was avoiding you at all costs.

Ugh, dammit, _____! Why did you sleep in his bed last night!? Ok, to be completely fair, he was sending you mixed signals that everything was fine, you know? He smiled after you told him how it made you feel safe, those little touches and whispers, literally agreeing to how life beside each other 'til you both grew old and wrinkly would be ideal… Why would you want to leave his side on the bed after all of that?

Boys were confusing, you knew that. Maybe you just misread the signs.

Minho felt like his heart was collapsing. Waking up beside you made this morning the best he’s ever had. You were so sleepy and so cute… All he wanted to do was press little kisses all on your forehead.

But no, he couldn’t do that. You just happened to fall asleep here with no real purpose. It’s not like he was going to wake you up and tell you to move? But did that make him selfish for wanting you to stay when you didn’t intend to? Maybe, so that’s why he had to slip out of the apartment before you woke up.

In the morning, he ran for a couple of hours. Then he went to lift weights. Then he ate and wasted time around town until it was time to get ready for Jeongin’s birthday. Nothing he did made it easier for him to forget about you and the night before. He’ll just use this opportunity of free booze to help him with that.

After successfully slipping in to get ready and out for a night of festivities, he thought that avoiding you for the whole day only made him miss you more.

“You’re not gonna do anything stupid tonight, are you?” Changbin asked.

“No promises.”

Well, no promises was right, because as soon as the two stepped into Chan’s place, Minho weaved his way through the crowd of strangers and went straight for the alcohol table. There, Chan was serving the jungle juice.

“Hey, you made it!” he greeted them, but his grin dropped when he saw the distressed look on Minho’s face. “Yikes, rough night?”

“You have no idea,” Changbin answered for him while he chugged the sweet drink.

He held the solo cup out to his concerned friend. “More.”

“Uh-oh…” Chan didn’t disobey.

For a while, Minho was fine on his own while Changbin was off doing God knows what to some poor soul. He socialized here and there, greeted the totally incoherent birthday boy, and even flirted his way around for the sake of distraction. When something new didn’t seem to work, he’d down another shot, and by the time it was 2:00 am, Minho could barely stand on his own.

“Oh, son of a - are you kidding me!?” Changbin groaned after seeing his poor roommate passed out on Chan’s couch.

“Should I call an Uber…?” Jisung asked.

“Nah, I have a cheaper solution.”

At 2:03 am, while you were munching on some chips and crying to some Miyazaki movie, Changbin’s name lit up your phone.

“Yo.”

“How much do you love your roommates?”

“On a scale of one to ten? Four and a half.”

“Can you cash in that four and a half and pick us up from Chan’s place ~?” the whiny boy begged. “Minho is being insufferable! He keeps drinking everything in site!”

That did not sound good… Minho got very, uh, unbearable when he wasn’t himself. You felt your headache come back and your blood pressure fly through the roof.

“But I don’t have a car.”

“The keys to the Audi are hanging by the door.”

“What the - he has a car!?”

“No, his uncle has a car. Just don’t tell him we’re using it. Hurry, before he gets outta hand - NO, DON’T LET HIM DRINK THAT -!!”

The line cut out and the dial tone rang in your ears for a solid five seconds before you could process what Changbin was asking of you. So you were supposed to grab the keys to an expensive Audi, drive to Chan’s house, pick up your incompetent roommates, and somehow end up back home alive? Well, all right…

The key to the car wasn’t actually a key… It was just a remote. The car was hidden in the corner of the underground garage and if you weren’t being careful, someone could honestly kidnap you at any moment and no trace of the kidnapping would be seen. The Audi was very beautiful, all white and shiny like it was brand new. The interior was pitch black with red stitching, tons of fancy buttons normal cars didn’t really have, and a button for the ignition. You prayed to whatever Lord was listening that it was Automatic because you had zero idea how to handle Manual.

The drive wasn’t that far, but it was far for a walk, so no wonder Changbin called you for assistance. After texting him that his personal, beautiful Uber driver had arrived, you were left with your erratic thoughts about how you were going to handle seeing Minho for the first time since last night. Would it be awkward? Maybe on your end because you were sober enough to remember everything, but maybe his drunken state would ease up the atmosphere.

Your love life sucked. Your crushes never worked out in the end, your first date ended up mediocre, and now you fell for your best friend. You were in denial for the most part, thinking that maybe this was just a coping mechanism for all your failures and that Minho was the only real man to ever care about you, so of course you fell for someone like him. But that wasn’t it, was it? Minho wasn’t made to be your security blanket when all else failed. Maybe all else failed because he was the one all along. Fate always had a weird way of playing with you.

A loud thump in the back seat shook you from your thoughts.

“Sorry, he’s very heavy and I got tired,” Changbin said as he sat in the front seat.

Looking back, you saw a passed out Minho curled up on the seats.

“Jeez, that kind of night, huh?” Did you do that to him…? Was this because of last night…?

“Yeah… you wouldn’t believe the shit he was saying -”

“_____, is that you?” he asked cutely.

“Hey there,” you giggled. “How are you feeling?”

“I miss you ~”

“Huh?”

“Bro, he would not shut up the entire night! _____ this, _____ that, I was honestly so happy that he passed out on the couch because for those ten minutes, I could hear my own thoughts again. Can you two figure out whatever sexual tension you guys are having -”

“Changbin!”

“What!? I’m tired of living with you two!”

“Move out then!”

“No way, I was there first!!”

“Stop yelling,” the poor, drunk boy whined, moving up so his face was in between yours and a pouty Changbin. Minho turned to you all giggly and smiley like a kid in a candy shop and poked your cheek. “I miss you ~”

Of course you did, too. “I miss you, too, dork.”

“I have something I want to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell you when we get home, I’m sleepy.” And he was out like a light once more.

“What the hell…”

“Chan’s jungle juice, man. It’s magical,” Changbin tisked.

It took two small adults to carry one Minho all the way from the parking lot, to the lobby, to the elevator, and then finally to the door. You’d think with all the working out Changbin did that he could handle the unconscious boy all on his own, but Minho was very muscley… A lot more than you remembered. From supporting his back and abs and having his arm around your shoulder, you could feel every crevice of his taut muscles that you should definitely not be thinking about at a time like this. He was fine to support himself by the time the door opened, and Changbin happily let go of him to go to the bathroom, something about ‘needing to piss really bad.’

Before you could fathom that you were left alone with a loosey goosey Minho, he had already grabbed onto your hand and pulled you into his chest. His arms wrapped tightly around you so you couldn’t escape, but it wasn’t like you were going to, anyways. With his cheek resting on your forehead, you felt safe.

“I miss you ~” he repeated in his sing-songy voice.

“What are you doing?” you muffled into his chest.

“Showing and telling you how much I love you.”

“Wait, what -”

“In fact, let me show and tell the whole world!”

How Minho was able to run to the balcony and not trip and fall flat on his face was a mystery to you. The weird boy literally swung open the door and breathed in the fresh air before screaming into the night,

“I LOVE _____!”

Still inside, feet glued to where Minho first told you he sincerely loves you, you were shocked as the man you loved screamed at the top of his lungs to the city below.

“I LOVE YOU ~!” he screamed once more.

“Oh, my God.”

You sighed tiredly, though your growing smile wasn’t fooling anyone. Reluctantly, you made your way to the balcony to bring in the boy you loved before he lost his voice. After screaming a couple more times, he tuckered himself out and leaned over the edge of the railing.

“You’re going to fall!” you lectured, pulling him back up. That was a bit of a mistake on your end though, because now he used you as his means of support and coddled you tightly like you were his own personal teddy bear.

“I love you, _____,” he said perfectly like there wasn’t a drop of alcohol in his system.

“Minho, you’re drunk.”

He held you tighter. “Do you wanna hear a story? It’s called ‘The Day I Fell for You’.”

“Ok. Tell me all about it.”

“You were in art class and it was the pottery unit. You absolutely hated the mug you made, but I loved it. I told you to submit it for the art exhibit anyways. The following week at exhibition night, you won second place for the best pottery piece. When you went up to get your ribbon in front of all our other classmates and their parents, you only looked at me. You had the brightest smile on your face, and when I gave you a thumbs up, you glowed even brighter. I didn’t think that was even possible. Then when the awards were over, you ran up to me and hugged me so tight. Just like this. And my heart was beating so fast! Just like now, too. I never wanted to let you go, you know? And then when you let me keep your mug, it was all over from there.”

Ah, you remember that story perfectly, even if it was so long ago. Minho made you feel like you could fly without wings.

He hummed happily, enjoying the feeling of you in his arms. “It’s my favorite mug. I drink coffee out of it every morning.”

“I know, I’m the one who washes it…”

“_____, what do I do ~?” He broke the hug and the heart-wrenching moment to hold your face and squish your cheeks so hard your lips would pout. “What do I do ~? I love you and I want to kiss you so badly!”

“Eh!?”

“Just one kiss,” he begged, puckering his lips playfully.

“Ah, no, you weirdo!” you giggled, but you weren’t even fighting back.

“Just one, I promise.”

Before you could fake-object, his lips barely touched yours for a split second. They were soft, sent goosebumps all over your skin, and made sparks fly.

He giggled softly before leaning in again. “Ok, one more.”

“You said just one!”

“I got a taste and now I want more. This is your fault.”

“You sound like an addict.”

“Only for you, baby.”

So he kissed you once more. And again. And again. And then again for the tenth time. The eleventh time he made the kiss last a little longer. The fifteenth time was a kiss on your nose. The sixteenth, seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth were for your cheeks twice. The twentieth and the last was on your forehead, making your heart flutter like a little hummingbird.

"You taste like punch and tequila,” you gagged.

“Do you like it ~?”

“No!”

“Do you like me ~?”

“Only sometimes. But I guess I love you all other times. Luckily, you probably won’t remember this in the morning.”

There’s a short silence afterwards, only the sounds of the wind blowing could be heard as Minho continued to hold you. “Loving me means you can’t get mad at me, right?”

“It means I’ll probably get mad at you more frequently. Why, what did you do…?”

“Nothing, I swear! I’m just… not as drunk as you think I am anymore…”

“Ah, so you’ll remember this in the morning…”

“Absolutely. If you rejected my screaming confession though, I would have still pretended to be drunk. Isn’t my plan so smart? I’m a genius, bro.”

“Mm, I wouldn’t say genius,” you teased.

“Whatever, you admitted you love me, that’s all that matters.”

“I only said it 'cuz you said it first. If you didn’t, I would have kept it to myself.”

“But why ~?”

“You left me this morning. I thought telling you my dream was a huge mistake and I scared you away.”

Your loving boy pressed a twenty-first kiss to your forehead. “I was scared, but not because of that. I was scared you would leave everything at that and wouldn’t think of me as anything but a friend.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m an emotional man, ok.”

“I know ~” you sighed happily. The night air was crisp and cool, but Minho kept you warm, as he always did. He was always there whenever you need him. “I love you, you know that?”

Minho took a long and dramatic breath in, pressing his expanding chest to yours and you kind of regret tell him you love him because from the top of his lungs, he screamed,

“I LOVE YOU!!”

“Minho, shut up!!!”

“I LOVE YOU, _____!!”

The rest of the night until the following morning was spent with Minho’s arms wrapped tightly around you. The only time he ever let you go was when you burned the pancakes and needed his help making more.

Minho, the dorky, annoying, loving, sweet, dumbass of a friend was now YOUR dorky, annoying, loving, sweet dumbass.

He wasn’t so bad.

[whatevenismyaestheticidk]

Things I’ve heard high schoolers say pt 3

Person: it’s to early for me to be alive right now

Teacher: who invented math? Student: Lincoln.

Teacher: You feel as if you get low marks on this 5 paragraph essay you’ll end up poor and homeless and addicted to drugs. Student 1: Yes. Student 2: That’s exactly how it works. Student 3: I mean… you’re not wrong.

Student: It’s called panic and I do it well. I do it very well.

Student 1: I need to get glasses. Student 2: I need to get a will to live.

Student: Physics eats brains for lunch and sucks ass for dinner.

Student: Fuck you Perry the platypus!!

Student: he’s an Asian white supremisist. How does that even happen.

Teacher: After treating him like dirt for 7 years what is he to me? Student 1: Friends? Student 2: Lovers?

Teachers: We can’t have poor people running the place, that’s stupid.

Teachers: It was illegal to be alone because when you are alone you commit a sin.

Student: They play with your intestines? Like jumprope???

Student 1: you make me want to kill myself Student 2: Bitch please! I’ve been making myself want to kill myself for years.

Teacher: If you’re in my class don’t be acting the fool

Student: that’s it! You’ve lost your titty privileges

Student: I have the bladder of an octopus please let me go to the bathroom

Teacher: America broke up with Britain through text and by telling all of their friends but not actually telling Britain.

Student: my peripheral vision up is about as good as a fucking snail’s.

Student: I am allergic to myself.

Student: she brought my coconut juice. I’m going to cry.

Student: my name is Bitch.

Student: my elevator is literally a vsco girl

Student 1: what do you think? Student 2: I think I’m a fucking slut.

Student 1: I look like a lightbulb Student 2: A cute lightbulb. 10/10 would screw you (in)

Teacher: No one likes Axe, but its your friend.

Student: I am a flaming homosexual and that is why I want to dye my hair pink in honor of the women that I love so much

Student: oh my god it’s Michael fucking Jackson! *screams*

Student: Im 16 but not even very much 16.

Teacher: Theres a reason my cousin Neil trades three shifts of paramedic work so he doesn’t have to work on the night of the full moon.

Student: I know it sounds scary running from the police but it’s actually just leisurely walking away from them.

Student: I was washing my hands after lunch and this guy just started bleeding out next to me.

Student: I’m just saying, I would wear a full out prom dress to school and no one could stop me.

Student: I have the strength of a roasted peanut.

Student 1: Avacodo’s are thicc though. If there was a sexiest food event then avocado would win hands down. Student 2: what about peaches Student1: I would 100% fuck an avocado.

Student: chicken nuggets re the dad bod of the food world.

Student: in conclusion: gay.

Student: Hey Mr (Teacher) can you please elaborate on your outfit choice today?

Teacher: Dueling? You know the 10 paces fire? The thing that Hamilton is known for but he was a lot better at?

Teacher: Dreams are kinda wack Student: But this is another level of wack.

Student 1: Im just saying you could totally suck a dick by mistake. Student 2: How? Student 1: Like if you’re watching a movie and he’s holding a soda bottle between his legs and you want a sip but it’s dark you could totally accidentally suck a dick.

Student 1: hurry the fuck up Student 2: that is not how you treat people, you need to have some respect. You say PLEASE hurry the fuck up.

Student: You know, Stockholm syndromes. Like when someone is kidnapped and then catches feelings for their master, daddy kinks, that kinda shit.

Student: IF I were to eat Donalt Trump’s ass it would be so white I’d get retinal cancer just from looking at it.

Student: You were texting her which made us loose the quizlet live game! She is a whore!

Teacher: you’re a dirty old man, you read the script

Student: you’re my hwb. Homies with benefits.

Student 1: I’m a shell 2: I’m a crab. 3: what do crabs do to shells 2: I’m going to go live and eat inside you then eventually leave you for another

Student: Ayyyy!! We’re getting mono!!

Student: Stop catching feelings you dumb emotionally suicidal bitch!!!!

Teacher: *Student’s name* you need to find friends who love you.

Student: Is that a kneecap? *fake cough* Slut. *fake cough*

Teacher: Yah Buccanan was our first gay president. Student: But he was a Democrat! Teacher:… you DO know that people can be gay and a democrat.

Student: This whole book was just a giant KFC commercial.

Student: he other day I tried to zoom in on a book.

Student: every time I head an Indian person talk it’s like they’re raping me but in a good way.

Student: You canned corn of a human.

Student: you look like a broken piano

Student: There’s no room for Jesus! I don’t want to see him!

Student 1: Tiger sharks are the goats of the ocean. Student 2: Wrong. I’m the goat of the ocean.

Student: Florida is the Bermuda Triangle of stupid shit.

Student: Jesus has a plan for me, and I don’t think it’s in his textbook of an agenda.

Student: did you talk to her? Because I’m pretty sure blowing up a school is frowned upon.

Student: and that’s on period no tampon.

Student 1: what would your stripper name be? Student 2: Ruby. Teacher who over heard: Excuse me. Teacher here, stripper conversation over there. Please move the inappropriate conversation somewhere where I can’t hear it. Vanilla Pudding. (the thing about this one, was she was telling us that in the past, her stripper name was Vanilla Pudding)

Student: (Different student’s name), if I told you that I was possessed last night would you believe me?

Student: (Teacher) I was possessed last night, is there, like, biology to support that?

Student: Could I theoretically live forever if I drank infinite 5 hour energies.

Teacher: I have more glue sticks I just don’t put them out because the freshman eat them.

Student: drinking chocolate milk isn’t good for you it just like tragic.

Student: who do people even get stds, I can’t even get dms

Student: Tell me you’re kidding. Tell me you did not find my house by looking at snap maps. YOU HAVE MY ADDRESS!!!

Student: Hey you lived in Africa right? Does that mean you can say the n word?

Student: Someone threatened to open up my chest, piss in it, and close it back up.

Student: For how good I am at catching feelings, you’d think I’d be better at sports.

Student 1: I’m a Taurus. Student 2: I thought you were gay.

Student: So if I ate a tide pod then ate a t-shirt what would happen?

Student: Buddhism is just a series of vibe checks until eventually one works.

Student: why does bugs bunny have so much cleavage??

Student: Don’t underestimate snoopy you fucking heathen.

Teacher: So what you’re saying is when the okay boomer generation dies we won’t be racist anymore?

Student: Venus is in retrograde and that’s why Im not dealing with your bullshit.

Student: What is wrong with you. No sincerely. What made you think that eating a green banana is okay.

Teacher: You know Up? In the movie there’s this dog and when he’s talking then he’ll turn and say squirrel. That’s like me. I think I have adhd.

Student: you absolute tea drinking taxes liberal.

Student 1: if you see my cat run. She’s psycho. Student 2: Can I run her over with my tires?

Student 1: I will drive us through the gates of Shaw and into the water. Student 2: I hope we blow up underwater.

Student 1: Juxpositioning my rain boots with my lingerie. Student 2: those rhyme. Wait no they don’t!

Student: when he says he has a tenor recorder, but really we all know he only has a soprano recorder.

Student 1: you’re shoelaces are untied Student 2: I know. I hope I trip on it and die. Student 3:I felt that

Student: Every time I see a 9/11 ad I always pretend to have a panic attack.

Students chanting: Eat the rich. Eat the rich. Student 2: Rich, more like Bitch.

Student 1: UWU I’m going to lock you in my gas chamber Student 2: Primes flame thrower UWU

Student: I’m not Like other girls. I die on command

Studrnt1: Turkey bitch Student 2: she just called you a turkey bitch Student 1: yes you specifically are a Turkey bitch

Student: I will eat a bitches dick. Gobble gobble motherfucker.

Student 1: he opens my snaps in 10 seconds Student 2: that’s love

Student 1: My for you page is almost exclusively gays, theatre, and Percy Jackson at this point. Student 2: Those are all the same thing basically.

Student: I would have kicked so much ass freshman year if I wasn’t depressed.

Student: Navy blue is the white kid who thinks he can say the n word of the color world. He thinks that he’s black.

Student: Your nose hairs look fragrant. Would you mind if I took a taste?

Student: Boxed water tastes like what I imagine trader joes to taste like as a water.

Student: The water from Moana would be a gentle lover.

Student: we feast tonight brother. I found this in the trash can.

Student: Okay, but I cry myself to sleep BETTER than you.

Student: Can you Venmo me some titties please?

Girl holding hands with another girl: It’s a good thing we’re dating otherwise this’d be pretty gay.

Student 1: I just wanted to know if you knew Lincoln personally. Teacher: What? Student 2: We think you’re a time traveler.

Student 1: Sweetie, you’re having a breakdown over rocks. Student 2: I really hate that class!!!

Student: I love being the joker when we play chess

Student: are you saying that you finger fuck your eurethra?

Student 1: Honestly sometimes I just go onto that lofi hip hop radio, beats to relax/study to thing and just get into a fight with someone in the comment section. It’s fantastic. Student 2: Sometimes they do give good advice though, once I asked if I should ask out this guy and they responded with “No, guys ain’t shit” and I was like “aight you right, you right” Student 3: Sometimes it gets weird though, like once I went on and everyone was talking about how sex and money have become the new gods of our time, and how someday a future generation will die without ever seeing the light of the sun. Student 1: Okay but are they wrong though?

Student: It doesn’t matter if you’re a boy or a girl or something in between or something else entirely. A bitch is a bitch, and you sir, are a bitch.

Student 1: so last night I killed and area few of your kids, I hope you don’t mind. Student 2: nah I don’t really care.

Student: what size pussy your phone got?

Student 1: I listen to songs about Greek gods and being polyamorous Student 2: I listen to songs about... smashing.

Student: Motzarella cheese is the pastel pink of the cheese world.

Student: Someone who can bench press 200 has nothing on someone that can just double fist eat Costco sized pound blocks of cheddar cheese.

Student: I will drag you down to hell and make the devil give you therapy so help me. Student: You see, we don’t conjugate words in English, much less math.

Students: well the thing about gamers is, you know they’re good with their hands.

Student: Oka first of all, we’re all on the same planet, so that’s already real small. Then, what are the chances that we were born the same species, like I could have been born a platypus. I could have been a mealworm. Then the chances that we’re in the same country then the same state then the same school like damn. Imma just vibe now.

Student 1: You’re built like a baked bean Student 2: IDK why that hurt me so much but it did.

Student: If I don’t get a hug in the next 10 minus, I’m going directly to the pentagon to tell Trump to suck my dick.

[magmahurricane]

A decade of friends - in no order, here’s to all the amazing people in my life old and new!

@shinkumancer : I remember following your work waaay back in the Archie Comic days. I had always been too shy to approach you, but I loved your work. I still remember so much of your Egg Boss art and it’s insane how far you’ve come. You’re still one of the sweetest, kindest people I know and I always enjoy the little drawpile sessions we have! 

@zlatis-art : We haven’t been friends for very long - it’s roughly been a year, now, but it feels like we’ve been friends longer. Something just... clicked when we met, and god I came on strong looking back! I don’t regret it tho - taking the plunge and letting you into my life was such a good call. You’re super patient and you strive so hard to treat everyone fairly and give people so much love. You’ve come such a long way with both your OCs and your art, and our calls are always so much fun! 

@sege-h : Would you believe I actually don’t remember exactly how we met...? I know it had something to do with the Sonic RPC iirc. But you’ve always been such a wonderful source of optimism and joy, and I love our talks! You’ve always been so supportive of me and I don’t know how to thank you for it?? I need to draw Storm and Carey doing more shenannigans when I get better!

@rainingautumn : I also don’t recall how, other than vague recollections of the Sonic RPC I think. I feel like I learned so much from you - you’ve provided me with different perspectives, which really helped me open my eyes to a lot of things. You’ve always been such a warm, positive presence while still standing firm and speaking up for yourself, which is so hard to do. I love your little messages, even if I don’t always know how to respond to them!

@boy-of-silence : You’re legit one of my oldest friends around and looking back on where we started it’s honestly kind of insane? We met on dA and we were practically babies like??? It’s insane, I remember so much and it all blurs together like mad, but we’ve always just sorta stuck by each other and I’m always so happy to see you on my dash. You got me into Homestuck, and you made me curious about Bioshock (I still need to finish Infinite), and I still remember the little art collabs we used to do...! I got nothing but good memories!

@kismeti : We don’t talk much, but I’m hoping to change that soon! I love your work, and you’ve put so much into your OCs. Seeing you tweet about petsites makes me think about Neopets and I age 500 years every time,, You honestly seem so sweet and kind and I can’t wait to see what more you’re gonna share with us in the new year!

@fini-mun : I don’t talk with you as much as I should (purely because I’m shy as all get out) but you’ve honestly been such an inspiration to me. You’re so incredibly kind and patient -- I still have that doodle you sent me while I had been down in the dumps. I remember I found you so intimidating when I first met you on dA, when I first tried to commission you -- and watching you grow as an artist and getting to know you has been so great! You don’t know how much I smiled that night when I expressed how I knew nothing about BatIM and you up and streamed the entire game live. I know we were both excited to play FO76 together and that was a let down for like, the entire fandom. But we should definately hang sometime and do stuff! Give your ratties my love!!

@oddpastrys : JAAADE,,, I vaguely remember meeting you in one of Kaden’s streams,, and then in Joan’s weird campaign. You’ve always been such a fun, energetic person and you always bring the best jokes. Deadass, watching RWBY with you both ruined it and enhanced it. You’re so much fun to be around and you always work so hard to cheer everyone up and please everyone, and we don’t say thank you often enough - I don’t thank you often enough. You’re so sweet and fun to be around and I’m 100% not sorry about all the horrible, horrible things I’ve made you see. 

@calderscauldron : Kaden!!! You’re another one of my oldest friends, and it’ll never be wild to me how insanely lucky it was that I happened to move to the same state as you. I remember when we were dumb kids on dA, and how you used to joke about kidnapping me -- and how my first thought when getting to Texas was “I should see where this guy lives and meet up!” sjkfdjkfs It’s been a helluva ride and I don’t regret it. We had our bumps and fallouts but we’ve always worked through it all -- and your art has come such a long way. You’re always so sweet and so much fun to be around.  You deserve so many nice things and I can’t thank you enough for sticking by my dumb ass for so long!

@haunted-pixel : Yet another decade-old friendship! Bronwyn it’s been such a fucking wild ride. I still remember your old OCs from back in the day; I remember our gryphon friend group, and our lizard group and screaming about digimon, I remember getting really into Kimba/Jungle Emperor Leo cos of you and your OCs, I remember all the drawings of Z and Miki. I remember Nuki and the others. It’s been such a long time and so much has changed around us both. We don’t talk as much anymore but I’m always thrilled when we do hit eachother up on twitter!! I seriously gotta draw more Carey x Zanity sometime. You’ve also just, improved so much as an artist and branched out so much?? Your plushies and your fursuits are absolutely amazing and I can’t believe how far you’ve come! I also still have the sketches you and your sister did for me when I was technically homeless and stuck in the hospital and I’ll always treasure them - and the Nack you made for me is still sitting cozy on my shelf, along with the yeen and Sonic you sent!

@nuttyrabbit : My absolute best friend!!! And probably most unexpected friend! I remember seeing your posts in the Archie Sonic tag way back when, and how my asshole ex used to rant about how she hated you for w/e reason. I used to be so intimidated by you because you told it how it is, and I respected your opinion so I was always lowkey afraid you thought I was stupid and hated my ideas/OCs. But even before we got close, you stuck your neck out for me when things got bad between my ex and me. And in 2018, we finally just started to click with our OC stuff.  Lady Luck became a huge comfort dynamic for the both of us. You always argue against it but I still say you’re one of the kindest people I know. You always try to look out for me and find ways to lend a hand when things get tough, you’re always trying to help me when I’m down and you go out of your way to cheer me up and I can’t thank you enough. Meeting you at RTX this year was incredible.  Thank you so much for being you. <3 

@finitevus : We don’t talk much but I can’t not add you!!! You’ve been so kind and supportive to me, and artistically you’ve always been such a big inspiration. I love your character designs and your writing is so so good, and you always strive to be so positive and warm to others and I promise I’m not ignoring you when you reach out; I’m just very shy and dumb ankjdjkfs I need to,,, say hello on discord sometime. And draw you many things!

@lightdax : You’re always a whole lot of fun and I refuse to apologize for your eyes with half the shit you’ve been exposed to by proxy. You’ve always been really sweet and you’ve really been pushing to improve this past year and it shows! Take time off your mayoral duties for the town of Cuckoldia and put up your OC bios tho! @nvllspace : I,, gotta tag ur RP blog cos IDK ur personal but JACKKIIEE. You’re so sweet and fun and your art is always such a treat. You came through with helping me realize just how toxic a certain person I needed to cut out of my life was, and you’ve always been so kind and supportive. You’re always a blast in our calls and I love your AUs so much! Also you need to stop having so many gorgeous characters cos holy shit,,,

@frecklefacefromouterspace : Nixe!  You’re usually busy these days but whenever we do catch you it’s always fun. If it wasn’t for your old server, the current server wouldn’t have even existed and you brought us all together! You’re always so sweet and bubbly and you have one of the cutest, most distinct styles I know.

And to all my other mutuals - thank you all so much for sticking by me!  I’m having difficulty typing now so I’m sorry I couldn’t get to everyone but sincerely: thank you, all of you, for making these past years such an amazing ride. I’ve learned so much from each of you and I can’t wait to see what’s in store for 2020!