#of course mindful education is an exception

[incdrop]

well, season 4 happened. how does so much happen in a season, and yet so little? most of it feels like off-model filler? is that an exaggeration?

[classicintp]

Can't stand it when professionals have objectively bad takes but they're legitmately professionals and you're just some guy. You recognize this, you acknowledge it, you even appreciate it in the appropriate context, but it's so fucking infuriating. Even if the professional is humble and concedes to your point, which is usually not going to happen to even the humble in general unless it's a correction directly being witnessed, you still have their diehard fans demonizing you because you proved their idol wrong (even if you weren't pompous or obnoxious about it, just the idea that their beloved expert was human and made an error drives them mad). So I white-knuckle it and say nothing and then log into Tumblr and blurt it out in the tags.

[http-numbah5]

bros is aupairing still a possibiity?

[j-esbian]

it’s all good to say everyone should have public holidays off, but what about when you want to go to the movies on that holiday because now you don’t have to work? what if it’s presidents’ day and you need groceries? what if you need medical attention but it’s flag day? what if you need childcare, for any reason, on mlk day?

essential workers are some of the most overworked among us and deserve relief as much as anyone else but it’s just not enforceable for everyone to get every holiday off

[txttletale]

Saw a tweet that said something around:

"cannot emphasize enough how horrid chatgpt is, y'all. it's depleting our global power & water supply, stopping us from thinking or writing critically, plagiarizing human artists. today's students are worried they won't have jobs because of AI tools. this isn't a world we deserve"

I've seen some of your AI posts and they seem nuanced, but how would you respond do this? Cause it seems fairly-on point and like the crux of most worries. Sorry if this is a troublesome ask, just trying to learn so any input would be appreciated.

i would simply respond that almost none of that is true.

'depleting the global power and water supply'

something i've seen making the roudns on tumblr is that chatgpt queries use 3 watt-hours per query. wow, that sounds like a lot, especially with all the articles emphasizing that this is ten times as much as google search. let's check some other very common power uses:

running a microwave for ten minutes is 133 watt-hours

gaming on your ps5 for an hour is 200 watt-hours

watching an hour of netflix is 800 watt-hours

and those are just domestic consumer electricty uses!

a single streetlight's typical operation 1.2 kilowatt-hours a day (or 1200 watt-hours)

a digital billboard being on for an hour is 4.7 kilowatt-hours (or 4700 watt-hours)

i think i've proved my point, so let's move on to the bigger picture: there are estimates that AI is going to cause datacenters to double or even triple in power consumption in the next year or two! damn that sounds scary. hey, how significant as a percentage of global power consumption are datecenters?

1-1.5%.

ah. well. nevertheless!

what about that water? yeah, datacenters use a lot of water for cooling. 1.7 billion gallons (microsoft's usage figure for 2021) is a lot of water! of course, when you look at those huge and scary numbers, there's some important context missing. it's not like that water is shipped to venus: some of it is evaporated and the rest is generally recycled in cooling towers. also, not all of the water used is potable--some datacenters cool themselves with filtered wastewater.

most importantly, this number is for all data centers. there's no good way to separate the 'AI' out for that, except to make educated guesses based on power consumption and percentage changes. that water figure isn't all attributable to AI, plenty of it is necessary to simply run regular web servers.

but sure, just taking that number in isolation, i think we can all broadly agree that it's bad that, for example, people are being asked to reduce their household water usage while google waltzes in and takes billions of gallons from those same public reservoirs.

but again, let's put this in perspective: in 2017, coca cola used 289 billion liters of water--that's 7 billion gallons! bayer (formerly monsanto) in 2018 used 124 million cubic meters--that's 32 billion gallons!

so, like. yeah, AI uses electricity, and water, to do a bunch of stuff that is basically silly and frivolous, and that is broadly speaking, as someone who likes living on a planet that is less than 30% on fire, bad. but if you look at the overall numbers involved it is a miniscule drop in the ocean! it is a functional irrelevance! it is not in any way 'depleting' anything!

'stopping us from thinking or writing critically'

this is the same old reactionary canard we hear over and over again in different forms. when was this mythic golden age when everyone was thinking and writing critically? surely we have all heard these same complaints about tiktok, about phones, about the internet itself? if we had been around a few hundred years earlier, we could have heard that "The free access which many young people have to romances, novels, and plays has poisoned the mind and corrupted the morals of many a promising youth."

it is a reactionary narrative of societal degeneration with no basis in anything. yes, it is very funny that laywers have lost the bar for trusting chatgpt to cite cases for them. but if you think that chatgpt somehow prevented them from thinking critically about its output, you're accusing the tail of wagging the dog.

nobody who says shit like "oh wow chatgpt can write every novel and movie now. yiou can just ask chatgpt to give you opinions and ideas and then use them its so great" was, like, sitting in the symposium debating the nature of the sublime before chatgpt released. there is no 'decay', there is no 'decline'. you should be suspicious of those narratives wherever you see them, especially if you are inclined to agree!

plagiarizing human artists

nah. i've been over this ad infinitum--nothing 'AI art' does could be considered plagiarism without a definition so preposterously expansive that it would curtail huge swathes of human creative expression.

AI art models do not contain or reproduce any images. the result of them being trained on images is a very very complex statistical model that contains a lot of large-scale statistical data about all those images put together (and no data about any of those individual images).

to draw a very tortured comparison, imagine you had a great idea for how to make the next Great American Painting. you loaded up a big file of every norman rockwell painting, and you made a gigantic excel spreadsheet. in this spreadsheet you noticed how regularly elements recurred: in each cell you would have something like "naturalistic lighting" or "sexually unawakened farmers" and the % of times it appears in his paintings. from this, you then drew links between these cells--what % of paintings containing sexually unawakened farmers also contained naturalistic lighting? what % also contained a white guy?

then, if you told someone else with moderately competent skill at painting to use your excel spreadsheet to generate a Great American Painting, you would likely end up with something that is recognizably similar to a Norman Rockwell painting: but any charge of 'plagiarism' would be absolutely fucking absurd!

this is a gross oversimplification, of course, but it is much closer to how AI art works than the 'collage machine' description most people who are all het up about plagiarism talk about--and if it were a collage machine, it would still not be plagiarising because collages aren't plagiarism.

(for a better and smarter explanation of the process from soneone who actually understands it check out this great twitter thread by @reachartwork)

today's students are worried they won't have jobs because of AI tools

i mean, this is true! AI tools are definitely going to destroy livelihoods. they will increase productivty for skilled writers and artists who learn to use them, which will immiserate those jobs--they will outright replace a lot of artists and writers for whom quality is not actually important to the work they do (this has already essentially happened to the SEO slop website industry and is in the process of happening to stock images).

jobs in, for example, product support are being cut for chatgpt. and that sucks for everyone involved. but this isn't some unique evil of chatgpt or machine learning, this is just the effect that technological innovation has on industries under capitalism!

there are plenty of innovations that wiped out other job sectors overnight. the camera was disastrous for portrait artists. the spinning jenny was famously disastrous for the hand-textile workers from which the luddites drew their ranks. retail work was hit hard by self-checkout machines. this is the shape of every single innovation that can increase productivity, as marx explains in wage labour and capital:

“The greater division of labour enables one labourer to accomplish the work of five, 10, or 20 labourers; it therefore increases competition among the labourers fivefold, tenfold, or twentyfold. The labourers compete not only by selling themselves one cheaper than the other, but also by one doing the work of five, 10, or 20; and they are forced to compete in this manner by the division of labour, which is introduced and steadily improved by capital. Furthermore, to the same degree in which the division of labour increases, is the labour simplified. The special skill of the labourer becomes worthless. He becomes transformed into a simple monotonous force of production, with neither physical nor mental elasticity. His work becomes accessible to all; therefore competitors press upon him from all sides. Moreover, it must be remembered that the more simple, the more easily learned the work is, so much the less is its cost to production, the expense of its acquisition, and so much the lower must the wages sink – for, like the price of any other commodity, they are determined by the cost of production. Therefore, in the same manner in which labour becomes more unsatisfactory, more repulsive, do competition increase and wages decrease”

this is the process by which every technological advancement is used to increase the domination of the owning class over the working class. not due to some inherent flaw or malice of the technology itself, but due to the material realtions of production.

so again the overarching point is that none of this is uniquely symptomatic of AI art or whatever ever most recent technological innovation. it is symptomatic of capitalism. we remember the luddites primarily for failing and not accomplishing anything of meaning.

if you think it's bad that this new technology is being used with no consideration for the planet, for social good, for the flourishing of human beings, then i agree with you! but then your problem shouldn't be with the technology--it should be with the economic system under which its use is controlled and dictated by the bourgeoisie.

[oukabarsburgblr]

Work Ethics [Age Gap AU]

FEATURING : DAISUKE YUICHI (OC) x male reader

The new intern took a liking to you, it went unnoticed by you, his boss sadly. However, he would prove how deep his admiration was when the both of you were drunk, alone in the building with the exception of his hard cock.

age gap, bit dubcon. not much plot just sex, profile

Find out more under the cut!

"Hnngg- f-fuck stop! Wait wait I'm gonna-"

(m/n) clasped his hand over his whimpering mouth, his hips bucking up while a stronger grip clawed on his waist, urging him to lay still on the wooden desk. He was squirming, his pants gone and his briefs dangling on his left ankle.

Daisuke hummed as he proceeded to swallow (m/n)'s load of cum in his mouth. He was on his knees, his hands holding (m/n) down while giving the latter a blowjob. "Did I do good, sir?"

The (h/c) could only mewl, his dick flaccid and slobbered with spit as Daisuke stood and climbed over him. Their dynamic was interesting, to others if they had noticed. (m/n) was head of department for his sector and Daisuke Yuichi was the new intern they had received.

Well, he wasn't just an intern. He was one of the shareholder's son so all treated him like royalty once he stepped foot in the company. (m/n) didn't care, treating him like he was any normal intern and there was the obvious age gap between them.

A good six years apart with Daisuke still in university with an internship as part of his education programme. He could've been 20 or 21. So why was someone like him messing around with (m/n) who was at the end of his twenties?

Daisuke probed his fingers into (m/n)'s mouth who screamed and gagged around his thick digits, knuckles brushing against his palate and poking his uvula. He coughed with his mouth full and the ravenette kissed him on his cheek.

"Am I better than any of those geezers? Their old bodies couldn't ever pleasure you...at least up to my standards."

The ravenette took his fingers out of the (h/c)'s mouth and trailed lower, reaching his crotch and (m/n) gripped his wrist when Daisuke poked his virgin hole. "Y-You brat- I never fucking touched there- anhh!"

"Really? I'm glad. I would be pretty sad if someone else had slammed their dick in there instead of me. I was born a bit too late hm?" Daisuke shoved a finger inside, stretching his rim and pistoned against his twitching walls.

(m/n) spread his legs wider, his hips stuttering as he moaned more, his veins coursing with unknown pleasure. His button-up rustled against the frame of the desk, his desk to be exact. The (h/c) was Daisuke's superior, HR had reached out to him, asking him to take special care of the new intern and (m/n) was annoyed and ignored it to say the least.

He didn't realise how much the intern admired him, how black eyes adorned into his mannerisms, his body language, the way (m/n) carried himself as a person. Adoring gaze lingered on the (h/c) whenever the department had a meeting and (m/n) was presenting his slides upfront.

How the (h/c)'s blazer would hike up every time he lifted his arms, his pants hugging his tight ass with those two back pockets mocking Daisuke with how the ravenette had wished how much he was those fabric instead...

It was a planned dinner for their department, Daisuke however had forgotten his USB drive that had documents he needed to finish up for the night and (m/n) offered to follow him along, saying he himself needed to retrieve a few things.

And when (m/n) thought Daisuke was heading for his cubicle, he in his tipsy state did not realise the ravenette had followed him into his office and pounced on him.

"Do you feel the same way as me, Mr. (l/n)? Is that why you offered to take me back here?" Daisuke had drunk a lot, his mind was much more intoxicated than (m/n)'s after he had gotten hazed by his seniors. His dick was hard and being alone with his hot crush didn't make it any better.

"What the-? Daisuke, what do you think you're doing??" (m/n) yelled, attempting to push the younger man away as the latter started to pepper kisses all over his neck. "I'm making love to you, sir. My boss is such a cool person." He kissed his the complaining man's forehead. "And cool people should fuck together."

Maybe (m/n) should keep up with the times, trying to relate more to younger people who's almost a decade apart but he couldn't understand how Daisuke's loose mouth easily spat. It was good around his dick too.

He tried to resist, pushing against the younger's strong rock hard body but he instantly melted when Daisuke pulled his pants down and shoved his open mouth, swallowing his hard penis.

Now he was bent over his own messy desk, his shirt ripped and his ass being pulled back and forth against Daisuke's crotch. Their bodies were hot and wet squelches rang from where their skin connected together. Hands around his waist tightened, fingers digging into his abdomen and he was sure a bruise would appear tomorrow.

"Aanh anh angg!" He never thought he would cry like a girl, like a woman would whenever he would sleep with the opposite gender. "You sound so good, (m/n). Your ass is so fucking thick too." Daisuke whispered into his ear, his fat chest pressing against the (h/c)'s shoulder blades as he continued humping into his boss, pounding his dick into the older man's once virgined asshole.

"C-Calm down- mmffhh! Y-You're too deep- nggh!" Did young people had this amount of energy? Or maybe it was (m/n)'s age catching up to him since he was getting tired of Daisuke's never-ending bunny fuck with him.

He cried out when the ravenette came inside, complaining about the lack of condoms and Daisuke bit his nape in return, asking him to be a good boss and let the younger one do all the work. Although the ravenette was putting in overtime as he came inside the (h/c) for the fifth time that night, (m/n) only twice for a bitchy reason.

Fat tears slipped down his lower lashes, drooping down his (s/c) cheeks as he struggled with his restrained arms above his head, Daisuke tying his wrists with his own tie when (m/n) started to complain and wanted to switch.

He was back laying on his desk, his nipples getting twisted by Daisuke's fingers whose face was flushed pink, his eyes half-lidded gazing down at his naked boss who was tied up under him, his wet dick still deep inside his cum-filled anus.

(m/n)'s cock was also tied up, a thin felt string Daisuke had snatched, carefully roping it around his tip. The textile scratched against his sensitive cock but the pressure wasn't letting him burst, precum spilling all over his base, leaking onto his crotch and abdomen.

"W-Wanna cum- mmff! I wan cum too- angg!" (m/n) mumbled, his face flushed as he flinched when Daisuke pressed his cock deep, squirting more of his cum inside his already full ass.

His stomach felt queasy, the high taking his body, the remains of his attire was ripped to pieces earlier and he had been denied of his orgasm ever since he mentioned wanting to top.

"Really? Boss wants to cum? (m/n) wants some cum?" The (h/c) irked, feeling degraded by the smirking ravenette who was usually nice and polite, except he was drunk and fucking his ass at 1 AM in the office.

He hesitatingly nodded, his head fuzzy and his hole spilling semen, dripping down his desk and onto his carpeted floor. "I want to hear it from your mouth. Your really cute fucking mouth." Daisuke peered, his dark eyes open focusing on the whimpering man beneath him, his lips stretching into a smile.

"I want to cum. Let me cum. I can't just- mfff I wanna cummm-" (m/n) whined and he never thought a noise like that would come out of his mouth. Daisuke lightly sucked in his cheeks, collecting his saliva in the middle of his tongue and his fingers pried (m/n)'s open. He opened his mouth and extended his tongue down to (m/n)'s, letting his drool drip into the (h/c)'s mouth.

The (h/c) had confused noises slipping out of his throat as he was forced to swallow Daisuke's spit. "Angh angg ngghh-" He mewled, struggling with the continous saliva flowing into his mouth by the excited ravenette.

Daisuke stopped, feeling satisfied seeing the panting and slobbering (h/c) as he leaned down once again. "Kiss me." (m/n) mumbled, hazy and drowsy as Daisuke further edged him. "Kiss me and I'll pull it off." His finger pinched the edge of the string and (m/n) frowned, annoyed at this young man's bold behaviour.

"Anhh-" He propped himself up with his elbows, (m/n) sticking out his tongue to reach the ravenette who teased him by slowly inching away. But the (h/c) grabbed his jaw and slammed his mouth on his lips, his tongue sloppily pressing against Daisuke's.

The younger was definitely better at fucking but (m/n) had the upper hand in kissing. Daisuke melted, moaning in his mouth as he desperately hugged his boss close, his eyes rolling behind while his cock rubbed against his slipping hole.

(m/n) tilted his head, angling his lips as he slipped in his tongue into Daisuke's mouth, the latter teasingly pulled off the string and clenched his tip tight. The (h/c) hissed as he started to lap at his wet muscle, making out with the younger ravenette.

Their faces were flushed, alcohol still lingering in their system, especially Daisuke whose cheeks had a nice pink hue. (m/n)'s heart was beating in his chest, his cock was gripped by the ravenette twitched and threathened to burst as he bucked his hips up, wanting release.

"Mmff- angh! Call me Yuichi first- mmn!" (m/n) pulled away from the messy make-out, his lips slick with spit and he furrowed his eyebrows. "Yuichi?" "Daisuke is a family name. I'm the one up your ass moments ago, not my whole lineage. Unless-?"

His cheek was firmly slapped, (m/n) frowning annoyed his release denied as he jutted a finger in his face. "Behave." "...Yes, sir." Yuichi smirked, licking his lips. The slap wasn't strong, but it was enough to awaken the ravenette who started to jack him off.

The (h/c) gritted his teeth, clenching his eyes shut as he squirmed under the mercy of the ravenette who was estatic to see his boss submit under him. "Y-Yuichi..." (m/n) breathily spoke as he wrapped his arms around ravenette's ears.

Yuichi's cock immediately sprang up, his hands pulling the (h/c) off the table as he sat on a nearby ergonomic chair, (m/n) on his lap. The ravenette bit his neck, leaving a mark on the skin as he slammed (m/n) onto his cock, the latter yelping and instantly came.

Ropes of cum spilled from his tip, his eyes continued to dwell tears as he yelled at Yuichi for bouncing him on his cock while he was cumming, his orgasm rode out for so long, a good 20 seconds. His hole could barely fit anything, wet and slobbering. The rim was strained, being pounded by Yuichi's long cock for so long as (m/n) felt like he was going to cum again.

"Aanhh angg mmhh! Fuck fuck- khh mmnh!" Curses and whimpers spilled from his lips as he tightened around Yuichi, the latter pulling him into a kiss as he stilled himself balls deep inside the (h/c) while cumming for the nth time that night. (m/n) held onto the ravenette with his still restrained arms around neck as he squirted onto Yuichi's stomach, his watery cum coating his abs as the ravenette continued to face fuck his boss.

It was a blur after that, he wasn't sure where he ended up but he woke up in an unknown apartment, Yuichi hugging him while sleeping. The ravenette took him to his home, a very expensive home at that after their drunken affair and the younger one kept pestering the boss.

"You like me now, right sir? We can date outside the office." (m/n) rolled his eyes, whacking a document on Yuichi's forehead as he pulled the hands off that was tugging on his vest. "Finish the e-memo and I'll talk to you, Yuichi."

It may seem that the boss was still as cold towards the intern, but the fact that he's using his given name was a sign of endearment. Older men really had it different, huh?

Yuichi was ecstatic as he sneaked into (m/n)'s office whenever it was past closing hours, the latter having to stay back for numerous reasons. One of them to entertain his intern.

Although he never let Yuichi sleep with him in his office again, praying that the poor cleaner wouldn't ask who he had brought in during the late night a few days ago.

[END SCENE]

[unedited]

Afterthoughts :

i need to STOP putting daisuke in office settings...he's just perfect for it. a nepo baby taking a liking to u HAHAHHAHA ME WAN JADIKHHIGSAHJK; anywyas im so stressed out recently. but the worst part's over so i gotta suck it up argh.

THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A RESPONSE TO AN INBOX BUT I GOT HORNY SO I WROTE A DAMN FIC INSTEAD 😭😭

I wrote this in like two hours w sleep in between. Hence, the lack of like good stuff sorry.

comment for more!

Edit : i did not implement the dynamic a younger top and older bottom is supposed to have...forgive me. I wrote this at 3am. Expect a drabble soon

Taglist :

@tehyunnie @rainnyydaysworld @webwanderer @a-short-ass-disappointment @chikai-k @mello-life25 @miyuuuki @simpsations @sugar-p0p @kiiyoooo

[sleepydeprived]

A Chance for Redemption

—A mysterious high school student appears out of the blue, bearing the face of the late Martha Wayne and puzzling even Gotham's greatest detectives.

[chapter 3]

Mama I’m Chasing A Ghost.

| Platonic!Yandere!Batfam x Reader

The floor-to-ceiling windows of my bedroom looked out onto the manicured gardens of the estate, and in the distance, was a view of Gotham that never seemed to change.

The same scenery, the same routine.

The butlers, the maids, the drivers who ferried me from one lavish location to another.

Every day was like the last, but with one major exception;

Gotham Academy

For the first time in my life, I had been thrust into a world that wasn’t mine. My mother had insisted I’d go, telling me it was for my own good. I was homeschooled my entire life, my education confined to private tutors and digital classes.

That is.. until my mother moved me to a prestigious school a few months ago. I don’t know what changed her mind. She was always so hellbent on keeping my life private. Her sweet little girl that only she knew about.

But now here I am attending a school that is closely watched by weird, content-hungry journalists and creepy paparazzis hoping to catch a photograph of children with high titles.

Nevertheless, I felt like an outsider. A puzzle that didn’t quite fit. I was the new kid—the girl who came out of nowhere.

But being an outsider didn’t automatically mean loner.

My presence didn’t go unnoticed.

I was different. People knew it, felt it, and stared. Maybe it was the fact that I came from a family—a clan—that held such an influence over Gotham’s elites. I was basically one relative away from a famous celebrity or a corrupt politician.

But, of course, there was also the resemblance to Martha Wayne.

It was a ghost of a resemblance, really, but it haunted me all the same. From the first day I stepped onto campus, I heard the whispers;

She looks like Martha Wayne.

The wife of Thomas Wayne?

She could be her daughter...

Or granddaughter.

It had started out as idle speculation, but as the days passed, the gossip only grew.

People stared, talked behind my back, and pointed at me when they thought I wasn’t looking. They didn't know me, but they had already formed an opinion. The mystery girl. The girl who had somehow, inexplicably, appeared out of nowhere. The girl who had the same smile, the same eyes, the same air of dignity and grace as Gotham’s most beloved figure. The figure whose tragic death had left an indelible mark on the city.

I had never cared for the attention. In fact, I hated it. I’m not interested in being some object of fascination, and that’s just how I was raised. I’m not Martha Wayne nor am I related to her—or at least, that’s what I’ve been told. The more people asked, the more I pushed that idea away. But the whispers were constant.

It made me think. A lot. So much more than what I preferred.

And suddenly, the buried thoughts from childhood of who and where my biological father was came rushing back.

Ever since I was a child, I had learned to bury my feelings—bury the questions about my father, and why my mother wouldn’t speak of him. There had been one conversation about it, years ago when my mother still had the time to let me in her study.

"Your father is not someone you need to concern yourself with," mother had said, her voice cold and stern. "Do not ask about him. Do not seek him. He is not a part of your life. Understand?"

And now, in the halls of Gotham Academy, that memory itched at me, more often than ever before. The bell rang, signaling the end of another school day, but I didn’t hurry to leave. I stood at my locker, staring at my reflection in the shiny surface of the metal.

Do I look like her?

————————

taglist:

@leeleecats @mariadvorak @deans-spinster-witch @rainlovewrites @xoacesgf @whiteoakoak @uknowimdumb @otterluver05

[mymindisneverhere]

FAVORS

warnings: 18+ MDNI!, sub!Terry, soft dom!black fem OC, explicit language, slight smut, a bit of a slow burn (forgive me if I missed any)

summary: Terry starts a new job at a warehouse after losing his life savings. He becomes acquainted with all of the workers except for one… the boss’ daughter.

Part One

“You alright over there Terry?”

“Yeah I’m good.” Terry responded.

He lifted the large boxes with ease, tossing them onto the back of the truck as they traveled down the conveyor belt. With each toss he’d let out a grunt, onlookers assumed it was from struggle but it was nothing other than frustration.

Terry had just secured a job at a local warehouse where he would load each delivery truck with boxes filled with parts for cars, motorcycles, trucks, etc. It was his only option after losing all of his life savings to a crooked police department.

Of course his experience in the Marines and his education made him a quick hire for the position. After a few weeks of orientation, training, and learning his new work schedule, he had fallen right in with the other workers who had been on the job for decades.

She watched him like hawk on the surveillance cameras, her freshly manicured tips tapping the sides of her coffee mug. She didn’t orchestrate any of the interviews or handle any of the paperwork that came with hiring people because she didn’t care to. She was solely there to do one thing and one thing only, find her next partner.

Terry had met all of the staff members on the job during his orientation. Supervisors, team leads, those with special assignments and floor workers, the same as he. There was only one person he had yet to meet, the CEOs daughter, Khloé MacArthur, the head bitch in charge.

MacArthur Motors and Parts Inc. was established in 1989 by a man named John MacArthur. There were a decent number of locations down south but his daughter only visited the ones closest to home. However Khloé visited very rarely, usually to spy on the workers and search for her new piece of meat.

She watched closely, observing his every move. Her eyes roamed from his face, admiring his naturally arched eyebrows, down to his full pink lips, his strong neck, and lastly to his chest that flexed every time he lifted a new box. The gray company shirt he wore wasn’t tight but it was no secret that when he wasn’t at work, he was in the gym religiously.

Jobs that require hard labor always had the perfect associates to fulfill her needs. Usually tall, muscular, a few tattoos and oozing masculinity. There was nothing she enjoyed more than making a big dog her bitch.

This new piece of meat she had her eyes on was nothing like she had in the past. He was pretty, no fuck that, he was beautiful. Everything about him fit perfectly in her sexual fantasy. She could see it clear as day in her mind, his big hands gripping her throat and that tight ass clenching every time he filled her up.

“Ms. MacArthur?” Olivia, the warehouse clerk and her personal assistant, called out to her, interrupting her thoughts.

“What?” Khloé snapped her head in Olivia’s direction, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

“Y-your father’s on the line ma’am, h-he wants to know if you can make it in t-time for dinner tomorrow tonight?” Olivia notified.

“I’ll pick it up.” She rolled her eyes, walking over to the phone. “Knock next time or that’s a write up!”

“Yes ma’am, I’m sorry.” Olivia stammered out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

She picked up the phone and smiled.

“Yes Daddy?” She answered in her usual sweet voice. The voice she used only for her father… and her prey.

“How’s my princess doing?”

“Fine, just doing my check-ins as usual.” She responded.

“That’s my girl, always making sure the business is running smoothly.” He said. “Have you found a date for the annual banquet?”

There it was, the real reason he was calling.

“No daddy, I don’t need a date for a family banquet.” She responded in a fake tone, trying hard to mask her irritation.

“Your sisters got her husband, your brothers got his finance, all of your cousins have partners. Do you want to be the only one there without someone for the third year in a row?” He asked, hoping to hit a nerve.

Every year the MacArthur family would get together and celebrate their accomplishments and achievements for the year. Some families had family reunions, hers had family banquets. They’d dress up in gorgeous gowns and tailored tuxedos just to feast in a ballroom reserved just for them, a few business partners and close friends.

However Khloé hated them because every year they reminded her of how lonely she truly was. The dates she had brought in the past didn’t make her feel seen or loved, they just enjoyed status. Witnessing her siblings and other relatives truly love and admire their significant others had her questioning her ability to be cherished and loved by someone other than family.

A husband wasn’t necessarily the end all be all for an ambitious and independent woman like her but she wouldn’t mind having someone to come home to every night. Someone she could truly be herself with.

“I’ll have to call you later Daddy, I’m busy right now.” Khloé said, trying to end the conversation.

“Okay princess, but I will see you at dinner tomorrow… alone I’m assuming?” He was pushing her buttons again.

“Goodbye Daddy.”

She slammed the phone down onto its receiver, making the cord bounce violently. She stared down at the brand new business phone, one she had begged her father to purchase. She wanted to upgrade the phones and computers in each warehouse. Just because the buildings were old didn’t mean the technology had to be.

After a few minutes of collecting her thoughts and attempting to bring her emotions back down to zero she went back to lurking from the small office window. She was beginning to come up with the perfect plan that would involve the perfect man.

“How long were you in?” Earl, a man in his late 50s, asked Terry.

“Four years.” Terry responded, continuing to toss the boxes like they weighed nothing. “You?”

“Man I went in in ‘85, saw all that shit they wanted us to do, told ‘em they could kiss my ass.” Earl stated unapologetically.

Terry couldn’t help but to laugh at the older gentleman. His thick southern accent made what he was saying ten times funnier than it actually was.

“I understand that.” Terry said.

“But you young bucks got the heart for that type of training,” Earl said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Me, I been a old nigga all my life.”

“Oh yeah?” Terry continued his laughter.

He genuinely enjoyed Earl's company, he was one of the first few people to introduce himself to Terry. It didn’t take long for him to warm up to the older guy, seeing as though his extroverted personality made him so many friends.

The long conveyor belt had stopped, letting them know that it was time for lunch. They tossed the final boxes onto the truck and slammed the back closed before walking away from their stations.

“How long you been here?” Terry asked, placing his hands on hips.

“20 years.” Earl responded.

“That’s a long time man.”

“Who you tellin’?” Earl joked. “I remember when this company first started. I didn’t think it would last long. A business like this ran by a black man in the south? I just knew them white boys would tear this place to shreds.”

“What you think stopped them from doing that?” Terry asked.

“The same thing that’ll make anybody do something they don’t necessarily agree with-,” Earl looked over at Terry with a surprised expression “-money.”

“Olivia!” Khloé called, approaching the large desk that sat right at the front of the building. The words “MacArthur Motors and Parts Inc” plastered on the wall in big red letters.

“Ma’am?” Olivia answered, tearing her eyes from the computer screen.

“Who is the new guy?” Khloé leaned onto the desk trying to keep her voice low so the employees passing by wouldn’t hear her.

Olivia turned to the file cabinet on her right, stuffed with folders designated for each employee in alphabetical order. She scanned her slim fingers covered across the tabs before landing on his name.

“Richmond.” She said proudly. “Terry Richmond is his name.”

Khloé took the folder from her hands, flipping through each page carefully. She immediately began heading back to the office to figure out how she was gonna go about getting him.

“Ms. MacArthur, I actually need that to finish his new hire forms.”

“I’ll handle it!” Khloé yelled from down the long hallway.

“Thanks?” Olivia said in a confused tone.

The break room was becoming empty as workers began to head back to their stations. Terry kneeled down to get the water that had gotten stuck in the vending machine, putting up a bit of a fight to retrieve the beverage.

She stepped into the break room slowly, not wanting him to hear the loud click of her expensive pumps. The muscles in his back flexed as he tugged on the water. Finally getting it from the bottom of the machine, he still hadn’t noticed her standing there. She planted her feet together, standing just a few feet away from him.

“Terry, right?” Khloé asked.

He turned his head to see her feet first, his eyes trailing up her body and landing on her face. She stood there, hands behind her back, a small smile on her red colored lips. The black suit dress she wore fit her petite frame perfectly and her thick black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail topped her business attire.

“Yeah and you are?” He said looking up at her with a raised brow.

“I’m Khloé,” She answered, holding out her hand for him to shake.

He stood, his movement seemingly in slow motion as he grew taller and taller, eventually towering over her. He took her hand and shook it suspiciously. He couldn’t think of one reason why a woman like her, dressed the way she was dressed, would be in a warehouse wandering around.

“Khloé MacArthur, I’m the owner's daughter.” She said, hoping to rid him of the obvious skepticism she saw in his expression.

“Oh, Ms. MacArthur.” He said in surprise, immediately changing his expression. “My apologies, you scared me for a moment there.”

“No need to apologize. I’m usually traveling, I’m hardly ever here so I understand.” She assured him, staring into his eyes.

She held onto his hand longer than she planned to, not noticing until his eyes darted down and back to her face.

“I’m sorry-“ She said, finally letting go of his hand. “-it’s just, your eyes are so beautiful.”

Terry looked down, blushing a bit.

“Thank you.” He said, returning his eyes to hers.

“You hear that a lot, I’m sure.”

“I do.”

“When did you start? I know I haven't been here in a while but I’d definitely remember seeing your face.” Khloé asked, shifting her weight onto her left leg.

“A few weeks ago actually.” He answered.

The eye contact was almost intimidating but Khloé wasn’t a woman who folded easily, even standing in the presence of this Earthly God.

“How you liking it so far?”

“It’s good. I’m still getting used to the scheduling, a lot of coffee in my diet lately but it’s pretty cool.”

“Not an early bird, huh?”

“No ma’am.” He turned to look back at the clock on the wall and she took this quick moment to get a close up of his chest, flexing as he turned. She bit down on her bottom lip before he could notice.

“I hate to be rude Ms. MacArthur-“

“Khloé” She interrupted.

His lip folded into a slight grin. “Khloe, I have to get back on the floor, my lunch is over. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” She smiled up at him as she watched him walk away, her eyes scanning the back of his body.

“That is an ass on that man.” She whispered to herself before heading back to her side of the warehouse.

4 hours later

“Another day, another couple hundred dollars, young blood.” Earl announced, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “You got plans for tonight, you know it’s “Free shot Friday’s” down at Frankie’s?”

“Nah I’m good man, I don’t drink much.” Terry said, placing both of his arms into the straps of his backpack.

“You know Terry’s a good guy-“ John, another man shouted from behind the two of them. “-he ain’t no drinker or smoker.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that, that’s why he built like a gladiator and we walkin’ around with beer bellies.” Earl joked, receiving laughs from the other men in the locker room.

Terry chuckled, placing the last of his work items into his locker before leaving the locker room. The only thing left for him to do was clock out for the evening and head home.

“I see y’all boys on Monday, y’all be safe.” And with that Terry left the locker room, heading to his truck.

He reached into his pants pocket to grab his badge and swiped it across the small box designated for clock-ins/clock-outs.

He exited the building walking to his truck, relieved to be at the end of another workday. He searched his pockets for his keys unaware of the pair of eyes that had been on him the entire time he spent in the parking lot.

She watched the TV screen closely, each quadrant displaying different areas in the building and parking lot. It had been two years since she had been with anybody but this was the first time she had this type of craving for someone.

Sure she had flings here and there but this longing was so strong, she could practically feel him inside of her already. Like his energy was pulling on hers, begging her for connection.

Khloé could still smell his scent, the mixture of cologne and sweat as if he were standing right behind her. She could still see the thick veins in his arms, permanently in her memory. She couldn’t wait to find out if he had those same veins on his dick, licking her lips at the thought of feeling him along her tongue.

*Knock Knock*

She was suddenly snapped out of her thoughts and grateful for it.

“Come in.”

“The night shift are all clocked in and at their stations, are you ready to go Ms. MacArthur?” Olivia asked, her large purse hanging off of her shoulder.

“Yes, let’s go.”

Khloé grabbed her purse, her keys and Terry’s employee work file and headed out of the office.

She paced back and forth in her living room, biting the insides of her cheeks. Her feet sank into the white plush rug as she read over the pages for the 10th time, trying to piece this man together.

She had been looking over Terry’s file for the past hour now. She studied every page, every background check, every piece of information they had on him but unfortunately it wasn’t much.

Walking over to her computer, she wiggled the mouse and slammed herself into her large desk chair that sat against her window. The heavily lit view of downtown shined lights through her windows along with the full moon up in the sky as she began her research.

“Terrance Richmond, former Marine, Born June 7, 1994.” She whispered to herself, typing each word as she spoke.

‘He’s 30, perfect.’ She thought.

She searched his name to see if she could find him on social media.

No Twitter.

No Facebook.

No Instagram.

“Who the fuck is this man?”

She continued searching, scrolling for what seemed like hours until she stumbled across an article for a small town called “Shelby Springs”. The article titled “Ex-Marine Exposes SSPD” caused her invisible antennas to perk up.

‘Former Marine, Terrance Richmond, helps stop corruption invading Shelby Springs. After officers unlawfully seized $36,000 from Richmond, the last of his savings intended for posting bail for his late cousin, Richmond took matters into his own hands. One man gets justice for himself, his cousin and others who were wrongfully convicted.’

“So he’s some sort of hero?” She licked her lips, smirking to herself. The fact that this one man had gone to war with a police department full of cops and won made her nipples hard.

She could feel the gears in her head begin to turn as she finished reading the article. Learning about his time in the Marines and him being trained in martial arts, he was the perfect candidate for her future escapades.

Images flashed in her mind. Images of her hands against his bare chest as she rode him, the view of him looking down on her while she went down on him, him sitting back and watching while she played with herself. Each scene sent a shiver down her spine. She crossed her legs tightly rubbing her thighs together to create a pleasureful friction.

Khloé didn’t want to fully pleasure herself just yet. She knew the build up would be so worth it, she could feel it. She needed to contain her desire for an orgasm. She wanted to be sure that he was the one to give it to her.

Shutting down her computer, she closed his file and placed it on the counter next to her purse. She went into her bathroom and started the shower turning the knob to the far right to make the water cold.

After about 15 minutes of washing up and bringing her arousal back down she prepared for bed. She got into her large queen sized bed, topped with a thick white comforter and smiled to herself…

so her mission begins.

to be continued…

[odinsblog]

“I'm observing such a huge gap between different social groups that I didn't even realize were different. I, you know, most of my friends are in the media. A lot of my journalist friends are just much better informed.

A lot of them have had experience reporting in Israel, Palestine, and are quite critical of both Israel and the antisemitism narrative. Then, like, my wife is a lawyer, and her circle is a little bit different, right? It's not dominated by media people, like people in the law or in other professions seem to be broadly much more kind of taken by the sense of profound insecurity and shift in the American Jewish experience.

I think we sort of see different things, for example, when we watch the hearings in Congress on antisemitism on campus.

The university presidents, of which there have now been two hearings, one with three presidents, one with the president of Colombia, and there will be many, many more. And what I see is a right-wing campaign against higher education that is weaponizing antisemitism as an idea, right? Not antisemitism as a practice.

And what they see is, with the possible exception of the president of Colombia, is people who represent institutions or lead institutions that they feel an affinity with, often institutions that they graduated from, who are not standing up for them. Which I find that viewing of those hearings somewhat shocking because people seem to be turning off their critical faculties. But people, intelligent, educated, politically astute people don't turn off their critical faculties unless they're scared.

So I think the underlying fear is real. But just because it's real, it doesn't mean it's justified.

I think a factual account of what we're seeing on campuses now is that this generation of Americans is far more critical of Israel than their parents' generation. And this is true of both Jews and non-Jews. I think that they look at information available to them and they see a 57-year brutal illegal occupation.

And they don't understand how it's possible that their parents and the politicians that their parents support and the politicians who come and give commencement addresses and all that other stuff that I can say about politicians, how it is possible that these people support that state? I think that is an entirely understandable view. It also reflects a huge generation gap.

I think some of those young people are assholes, and some of them are antisemites. I think it's a small minority of the protesters, and it is not actually part of the critique. The protesters' demands, the protesters' organizing beliefs are not in any way or shape antisemitic.

And then there are Jewish students who were brought up Zionist, who were brought up to identify strongly with the state of Israel, who are, I think, a little bit like my cousin in the settlements again. They see these protests, and even probably the participation of their fellow Jewish students in these protests, as threatening their core identity, as threatening their ties to their families, as threatening everything that they were taught for the first 18 years of their lives is true. And of course they feel rattled, of course they feel unsettled, of course they feel threatened.

Like, wouldn't you, if you felt that everything you had believed in was being turned on its head, and if you, by apparently reasonable people? And so you have a couple of options. One is to look at what the protestors are saying, to engage with the facts, to engage with the critique of everything you've ever believed.

There was a terrific, George Curran's podcast a couple of weeks ago with three Columbia students, one of whom sort of narrated that kind of trajectory, getting to university and finding this stuff out and having their mind blown. That's a very difficult path, and it's a very difficult path, especially if you are, say, a first year student in 23, 24.

And then there's the easier path of staying integrated in your community, in your beliefs, and saying this is antisemitic.

Because unfortunately the things that the protestors are talking about are so horrible that you can't say, okay, let's agree to disagree, that you can't hold both of these things in your mind at the same time.

You can't continue to hold your family's uncritical, long-standing support of Israel, and an understanding of what is happening in Gaza and the occupation that has preceded the war in Gaza.

So yeah, of course they feel rattled. That doesn't mean that they're being surrounded by antisemitism.”

—Masha Gessen, the descendant of Holocaust survivors, discusses campus protests (part 3 of 3)

[cripplecharacters]

Media Representation and Writing Characters with Facial Differences

[Large Text: Media Representation and Writing Characters with Facial Differences]

A writing (?) guide (?) consisting of an explanation of what facial differences are, some basics about the community of people with facial differences, a terminology guide that is extremely subjective, a very long explanation of the real-life effects of misrepresentation of facial differences, a subjective guide on why most tropes surrounding facial differences are awful and unoriginal, and the part that people actually want to see (I hope at least) AKA "types of characters I do actually want to see". As always, this post is meant for people who have no experience with the subject, and not in any way an attempt to tell writers with facial differences on what to do in their own writing.

What Does "Facial Difference" Mean?

[Large Text: What Does "Facial Difference" Mean?]

"Facial Difference" (FD for short) is an umbrella term for any kind of scar, mark, or condition that makes your face visibly different. This encompasses anything from not having parts of the face or having less of them (e.g. anophthalmia, anotia, hemifacial microsomia), having "more" to the face (e.g. tumors, neurofibromatosis), conditions affecting how the face moves (e.g. facial paralysis, ptosis, cranial nerve diseases), ocular differences (e.g. hypertelorism, nystagmus, strabismus), conditions affecting the colors of the face (e.g. rosacea, vitiligo, pigmentation conditions in general), a "look" that signals a specific disability (e.g. Down Syndrome) and approximately a million more things - scars, burn marks, craniofacial conditions, ichthyosis, cancers, and a lot more.

Despite popular opinion (popular ignorance would be more accurate because no one knows about it in the first place but opinion sounds better-) people with Facial Differences have both a movement (Face Equality) and a specific word for the oppression we experience (Disfiguremisia). There is even the Face Equality Week that happens every year in May! This is a real thing that has been happening, and we are generally going unnoticed, even in the "representation matters" circles, the body positivity movement, disability spaces, and so on. There is an alliance of organizations dedicated to this called Face Equality International, who can help you learn about the real-world community and movement! They even have sections specifically about media representation, which is foreshadowing for how important this topic is to the community and for how long the "explaining the issues of representation" part of this post is.

And of course, if you have a facial difference/disfigurement, you can do whatever the hell you want when writing! Call your characters how you call yourself, subvert the tropes you want. I don't want to preach to people who already know all of this firsthand. This post is meant to explain some things to people who don't have experience with having FD.

Terminology

[Large Text: Terminology]

There is a lot of words to describe people with FD. Some of them are alright, most of them are awful.

Please keep in mind that all of these terms (maybe except for the... last one...) are used by real life people. This isn't me saying "you can't say that about yourself" (more power to you!) but rather to educate able-bodied people that some words they refer to use with aren't as neutral as they think (at least not to everyone).

"[person] with a facial difference" - generally the most polite and widely accepted way to refer to us. That's what is generally used in the Face Equality movement, sometimes alongside the next term which is...

"[person] who has a disfigurement" - an alright term that is sometimes used interchangeably with the one above. However, most things that involves the term "disfigurement" to me sound kinda medicalized and/or like lawyer speech. It's not offensive, but just generally used in more official ways etc. Has the potential to make you sound like a medical report or a legislature sometimes. lol.

"A disfigured [person]" - starting to steer into the "uhh" territory. Describing a whole person as disfigured is, to me, just plain weird. I get that some communities push for the identity first language, but this just isn't it most of the time. Could be way worse, could be slightly better.

"[person] who has a deformity" - "deformity" is such a negatively charged word that I don't understand how people (without FD) still use it thinking it's neutral. This sounds awkwardly medicalized in a "case study from the 80s" way which is definitely not a good thing.

"A deformed [person]" - pretty much the jackpot of bad terminology, the term deformed, the calling of an entire person by it, it has everything I hate about writers describing people like me. The only one that I think is even more awful is...

"Horribly/gnarly/nasty/monstrous deformity/scar/[name of the specific condition]" - again, I'm impressed by what some people think is neutral wording. If you're searching a thesaurus for synonyms of "scary" to describe your character, I think it's time to just stop writing them. This is about using ableist terminology, sure, but I just can't imagine that someone calling their character that actually will represent FD well. It shows the negative bias and attitude of the writer.

However, there is also one pretty awesome and simple way to describe them!

Say what they have specifically. Really. Assuming you know what condition your character has (which... you should) it should be very easy. "She has Treacher-Collins Syndrome." "Xyr forehead has a port wine stain on it." "They can't fully open one of their eyes." It's clear and lets your readers know what you mean. You don't always have to throw around euphemisms to describe someone not having a nose.

Tropes and Current State of Representation

[Large Text: Tropes and Current State of Representation]

If you have read basically any of my previous posts about FD then you probably know what I'm about to say in this section. Still worth a read though? I hope. Warning that this is long, but you probably expected that already.

One thing I will note at the start is that I'm aware that a lot of writers were already turned off from this post just because of the terminology section. I know that artists love describing people like me as ugly deformed monsters! It's literally a tale as old as antiquity, and that's how overdone and stale it is. Visibly disabled = ugly. I get it, I heard it a thousand times before, I hear it majority of the time someone is excited to tell me about how horrible and gross their OC's scar is. But now some guy (me) from that group is telling you to like, maybe stop calling your disgustingly deformed character that!

I want to make it very clear that FD representation in media is not treated like a real thing that's worth anyone's time, even by the most "representation is so important!" writers. I guess it's too inconvenient to unpack the amount of baggage and uncomfortable implications this would cause. It's too good of a device in writing; everyone knows that if a guy with a scar shows up that it means he's evil, the easiest way to make a villain visually interesting is to make them a burn survivor, and if you need a tragic backstory for a serial killer just give them a congenital disability that caused literally everyone in the world to treat them horribly, so of course they started killing people. It's such a good moral signifier that literally every book and tale has done - pretty is good, ugly is bad. Dichotomy is so helpful. What is less helpful in the real world is that what is considered "ugly" is generally very tightly bound to what visibly disabled people look like. Ugly Laws weren't just like, coincidentally including disabled people and disability activists aren't still forced to speak out against being put in those "Ugliest People" lists by accident. This is all to say that facial differences are considered to be "ugly" completely uncontested, and you probably have this bias too, as the vast majority of people do. The whole "the character is ugly, then they become evil, if they're evil, they become ugly"... you need to be conscious to not do that. Don't make them evil if they're visibly disabled because it will always end up being the same old trope, no matter how many weird excuses and in-universe explanations you give. I want to put it in people's heads that you are writing about a community of people who are technically visible in real life, but have no large voices that the general public would listen to when it comes to how we are seen. The general public relies on media to tell them that.

Putting people with FD in your books or your art seems to suddenly be intimidating for a lot of artists when they realize that not only is facial difference a real thing, but people who have it can see what you write or draw (and your other readers will take some things out of what you write, subconsciously). When an author is faced with the fact that maybe they are doing harm with their writing, they either: suddenly don't want to do that anymore at all, or say: "I don't care! I'm going to be very innovative and make my very evil OC be deformed!" which is kinda funny to me that people actually seem to think it's edgy and cool to repeat the most tired Hollywood tropes but that's the best we can get I guess lol...

The attitudes that people have around the topic of facial difference and the whole "media impacts reality" are very interesting to me in general. On one hand, when I tell someone that I was bullied or ostracized because of my disabilities, no one is ever surprised. On the other hand, everyone is for some reason uncomfortable when I say that this doesn't just... appear out of thin air. People are taught from childhood that facial differences and the people who have them are scary, untrustworthy, or literal monsters. Media is a major factor in that. Like, looking back at it, it makes sense that my parents told me not to stare at other kids because they would get scared. After all, I looked like a kindergarten version of the bad guy from some kid's book. Other kids were able-bodied and looked like the good guy, I was visibly disabled and looked like the bad guy. That's the lesson kids get from media on how people with visible disabilities are: evil, scary, not to be interacted with. So they avoided me because of that while I had adults telling me to not even look in their direction. Dichotomy is so helpful, right?

And this doesn't magically stop at children. When I post a self-portrait or a selfie, I usually deal with multiple grown people comparing me to sometimes an animal, usually a specific character from a movie, sometimes even making my face into a meme right away. But if people don't generally see people with facial differences on the daily, then how are there so many specific reactions and so many similar problems that we go through? If it's so rare, then how are people so quick to tell me the character I remind them the most of- Yeah, media. It's always media. It's almost funny how everything circles back to one thing.

I want you, the author, to understand the impact of misrepresentation of facial difference. If you feel uncomfortable because you have done these tropes before, good! That's a sign of growth. If you want to help instead of harm, you need to get over your (subconscious) biases for a minute and think about how a person with the same condition as your character would feel like reading about them. Maybe you are even currently realizing that that one OC with scars is just five harmful tropes glued together. Maybe you are going to reblog this and tell me in the tags that somehow your character decided to be like that, as if they have free will instead of being written by a biased human being. Or, as I said earlier, a lot of people will be annoyed by this post and keep doing their thing. Which is like... whatever, I guess ?? There are a dozen huge movies and TV shows every year that do this. It's so basic and normalized that whatever reach this post will have will change very little. I have been signaled "we don't care what you think about how we portray people like you" my entire life, I'm frankly more surprised when people do actually claim to care. You can, practically speaking, do whatever because the FD community is fully ignored by uh, everyone, and even if I'm disappointed or annoyed I'm just one man and I know (from experience) that most people won't have my back on this topic. It's too ingrained in our culture at this point to challenge it, I suppose. I mean, there have been multiple media campaigns telling writers to treat us as people, and they had practically zero impact on the writing community. But even with my absurdly pessimistic view on this subject, I still decided to write all this. Sure, there are no signs of the industry changing and the writing community doesn't seem to care much, but I still naively hope that maybe the right person will read this and at some point in the future I will be watching or reading about a character that looks like me and actually have a good time, and even more naively that maybe people will gain some amount of awareness of the damage that has been and still is happening to people with FD through media, so that the next time they see that the villain has facial scars for no reason they will think "damn, this sucks" the same way I do. And very, very naively, I hope that people who read this will start seeing us as people. Not villains, not plot devices, not monsters.

Sad part over(?), now the fun(?) part. AKA the tropes! Yay.

"Dramatic Reveal of The Deformity".

Use of the word "deformity" very much on purpose here. This is arguably the most common trope when it comes to FD, and it's always awful. At the very best it links FD with trauma and talks in a Very Sad Voice about how having a FD is the worst thing imaginable, I guess (think a "X did this to me... now I'm Deformed For Life..." type of scene) and at worst it does the classic revealing that the main villain actually was a burn survivor under his mask, because of course he was. In media, people with FD are evil. If they're not, then it's because someone very evil did it to them (the most evil thing of all - causing someone to have a facial difference. the horror!). It can't be a thing unrelated to someone's morality, there's gotta be evil somewhere around it. There is literally nothing good about this trope. Showing FD as something to hide? Check. Dramatizing FD? Check. Placing the way someone's face looks as the worst thing possible? Check. General treating FD as some kind of circus attraction to stare at with your mouth open? Check!

"Wearing a Mask*."

I made a whole post about this one actually, that's how much it annoys me. Putting your character with FD in a mask is so overdone, lazy, and boring I'm not even offended as much as I thought I would. It's like... really? Again? For the millionth time, the character with FD is forced to hide their disability? Is the author scared..? What is the point of giving your character a visible difference if all you're doing is hiding it? And yes, I know that your character chose to do that for reasons that you as a writer somehow can't control. It's always so strange how it's the character that's in control and the writer is in the passenger seat when it comes to annoying tropes.

Found yourself already waist-deep into this trope? Take a look at this post I made.

*"mask" here refers to anything that covers the character's facial difference (e.g. eye covering, surgical mask, whatever. It's about hiding it and not a technical definition of "what is a mask").

"Good Guy has the Tiniest Scar You Can Imagine, but Don't Worry! The Villain is Deformed As Hell."

A genre on its own. In the rare instance that a positive character has a facial difference, they have a curiously limited choice - you can have:

the thinnest, definitely-very-realistic straight line going through the eye (the eye is always either perfectly okay or milky for reasons the author couldn't tell you),

the same exact line but going horizontally across the nose,

and if you're feeling spicy you can put it around the mouth,

regardless of location, just make sure it doesn't look like an actual scar (certainly not a keloid or hypertrophic one) and is instead a straight line done with a red or white crayon. Interestingly, villains have unlocked more options which stem from scars, craniofacial conditions, burn marks, cleft lips, ptosis, colobomas, anisocoria, tumors, facial paralysis, to pretty much everything that's not infantilized, like Down Syndrome. These are always either realistic or extremely bloody. I sound like a broken record by now, but no, your morality has nothing to do with your physical appearance and being evil doesn't make a visible disability get more visible. Shocker. And don't get me started on...

"The Villain turned Evil Because They Have Scars."

Ah, how nice. Disabled people are evil because they're disabled, truly a timeless classic for able-bodied writers whose worst fear in life is being disabled. In case that needs to be said, having a facial difference doesn't turn you evil, doesn't make you become a serial killer, doesn't make you violent, doesn't turn you into an assassin with a tragic backstory seeking revenge for ruining their life. If anything, having a FD makes it more likely for other people to be violent towards you. Speaking from experience.

"The Villain Just Has Scars."

An impressive attempt at cutting out the middleman of "clumsily and definitely not ableist-icly explaining why getting a scar made them evil" and not even bothering with a tragic backstory or anything. They are evil, so of course they have a facial difference. What were you thinking?

"Facial Difference is a Plot Point."

As anyone who's read like A Book will tell you, the only way to get a facial difference is to be in a very dramatic fight or an extremely tragic accident who will become a plot point and thus the facial difference is now Heavily Emotionally Charged and a symbol of The Event/The Tragedy. If you look at media, congenital FD isn't a thing, illness-related FD doesn't exist and boring domestic accident or a fall causing FD has never been seen. It has to be dramatic and tragic or else there's no point in them having it. A true "why are they [minority]" moment, if you will.

"Character gets a FD but then Gets Magically Cured Because They're Good."

Truly one of the tropes that make me want to rip my hair out. Curing your character with FD sucks just as much as curing a disabled or neurodivergent character. Who is this even for? That's not how real life works. This is some actual Bible shit, that's how old this trope is. The only thing you're doing here is making people think that those who do have FD just aren't "good enough". Every time I see it, I wonder what the author would think of the congenital disorder I have. According to this kind of in-universe rules, was I born evil and just never got good? or ??

"Character with FD has Self-Esteem Issues and Hates Their Face."

I admittedly mocked all the previous tropes because they're absurd, ridiculous, offensive, boring, all of the above, and have zero basis in reality. This one however... ouch, right in my own tragic backstory. This is unfortunately a very real experience that a lot of people with FD go through. I even have a hunch there wouldn't be as many if the general public didn't think of us as monsters, but I digress. Yes, a lot of us have or had self-esteem problems, and a lot of us wished that we wouldn't have to go through all the BS we were put through because of it. Thankfully for you, you don't have to write about it! Seriously. You don't need to. As one million people have said before me, "maybe don't write about things you haven't experienced" and I agree here. I have yet to see an able-bodied author get anything about this right. Instead of the deeply personal, complex experience that involves both you, everything around you and the very perception of what others think of you that this is, somehow writers keep giving the tired "character crying and sobbing because they're "ugly" now", because the author thinks we're ugly. Or maybe they're sad because all the other characters with facial differences are evil, and they didn't have the time to prepare their evil monologue for when they inevitably become evil in the sequel? Who knows.

"The Author Doesn't Know."

I'm not sure if a trope can be the lack of something like this, but the author not knowing what their character actually has going on medically is common to a ridiculous extent - this applies to all kinds of disabled characters as well. You don't need to name-drop the Latin term for whatever your character has, but you need know what it is behind the scenes. You need to know the symptoms. You need to know the onset and the treatment or lack of it. Please do your medical research.

Things I Want to See More of in Characters with Facial Differences

[Large Text: Things I Want to See More of in Characters with Facial Differences]

The thing you might have noticed is that I want Facial Differences and People with Facial Differences to be presented as normal. Not killers, not SCP anomaly whatever, not monsters. I'm aware that the term is tired, but I absolutely want Facial Differences normalized as much as possible.

I want to see more characters with facial differences...

who have friends that don't bully or make fun of them because of their appearance.

who have support from their family.

who know other people with facial differences - even if they're just background characters, or mentioned in passing. Marginalized people tend to gravitate towards each other, people with FD aren't an exception to this.

who are queer.

who aren't only skinny white cis dudes in general.

who are disabled in other ways! A lot of us are Blind, Deaf, both, unable to speak, intellectually disabled, having issues with mobility, and a million other comorbidities.

who are fantastical in some way - preferably not the "secretly a monster" way. But a mermaid with CdLS or an elf with neurofibromatosis? That's cool as hell.

who are allowed to be cute or fashionable.

who have jobs that aren't "stereotypical bad evil guy jobs". Give me a retail worker with a cleft lip or a chef with Down Syndrome!

who are reoccurring characters that just happen to have a FD.

who are those stock/generic characters that aren't typically associated with FD. Hero's mom has septicemia scars? Cool! The popular cheerleader at school has alopecia? Awesome! The bartender of the place the heroes secretly meet up at has Möbius Syndrome? Goes hard! The kid that the MC used to hang out with before they moved somewhere else has Crouzon Syndrome? Great!

who have their FD be visible.

who aren't ashamed of their FD.

who are feeling very neutral about their face.

who are proud of how they look.

who got their FD in a very boring way or were just born with it (and maybe make up very silly, obviously not real ways of how it happened when annoying people ask them. Think "oh, I was fighting a shark").

who have facial differences other than small scars.

who's angst is fully unrelated to their FD. I love me an angsty teen character! Even more if they are angsty about their crush, or basically anything that's not their disability.

who have a significant other who doesn't do the whole "I love you despite your looks" thing. It just kinda sucks. Sorry. I would hate if someone said this to me.

who are children and aren't implied to be "cursed" or "demonic".

in genres that aren't just horror or thriller. RomCom or slice of life, anyone?

who aren't evil.

I want to see stories with multiple characters with facial differences. I have nerve damage and facial asymmetry, and I am friends or mutuals with people with Williams Syndrome, Bell's palsy, Down Syndrome, neurofibromatosis, facial atrophy, ptosis... and a lot of other things. Your character would have (or, would probably want) some connection to their community. We aren't rare!

And, I want stories with the whole spectrum of facial differences shown. Of course you can't represent the whole spectrum, but you can still aim for at least a few. Don't give every single character with FD the same scar-through-eye + eyepatch combo. It's not unrealistic to have a range in your writing. Here is a list of facial differences you might want to check out for inspiration. Don't be scared to give them something rare - no matter how uncommon, people still have it. My specific condition is allegedly extremely rare - I still want representation!

Closing Remarks

[Large Text: Closing Remarks]

Facial difference and the media is a topic that plagued me for the past almost two decades and won't stop ever, I think. It's a very unique relationship of a group of people who just aren't allowed to get into the industry and an industry that clearly hates them, loves to use their image, and defines how people see them all at once. There's this almost overrepresentation that is consistently awful and damaging to an absurd degree. Most people know more villains with FD than actual people. Certainly doesn't feel great to be one of the aforementioned actual peoples. But I hope that this will change - the negative portrayals that are plaguing the FD community will slowly fade out and a newer wave of portrayals will come in, hopefully this time realizing that we are real people and care about us a bit more.

The thing with facial difference is that it's pretty much impossible to make a specific guide of what it's like and what to do in context of writing because it's an incredible vast category that includes conditions that are very different from each other. That's why this post was more focused on "why you should care in the first place" (sorry for the clickbait) rather than being a straightforward guide that would still be very lacking even if 20 different people were collaborating on it. I really, really encourage everyone who got through this rather long post to do their research on what they plan to write about, be conscious of their own biases, don't pull inspiration from movies because they're all hellholes full of tropes and just sit down for a minute, think of the real-world people with facial differences, and read what we have to say. I know that drawing a guy with a line across his eye is more fun than realizing you're low-key scared of or uncomfortable around the real-world equivalent, but sometimes you have to get over yourself and try to be a better person. Caring about the people you write about is, dare I say, essential. That will certainly make your writing of us better :-) (smiley face with a nose)

If you have any specific questions, feel free to send an ask

Mod Sasza

[janeyseymour]

Save Me Before I Lose Myself- part 4

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Summary: Millie is exhausted. Melissa thinks she understands. Carrie is... different.

WC: ~2.55k

When you show up to work (on time for the second day in a row), you immediately hate the fact that you sit at a cubicle for most of the day. You end up standing almost the entire shift, and your feet hate you by the end of it.

At Abbott, Millie continues to stay quiet, resigned. It’s a far cry from the usually upbeat and happy-go-lucky kid that Melissa usually sees. The redhead swears she almost sees bags under the seven year old’s eyes. She looks exhausted- truly and utterly exhausted.

“Millie?” the teacher calls for your little girl during their snack time. “Can you come here for a second?”

Your little girl obeys, and she practically drags herself to the teacher’s desk. “Yes, Miss Schemmenti?”

“I’ve just noticed that you’re a kinda acting different today,” Melissa notes quietly. “I wanted to make sure everything is alright, and that you’re okay.”

Millie just nods quietly. 

“If you have anything you’d like to talk with me about, you know Miss Schemmenti is always here to lend an ear.”

Your daughter nods silently again. Then, in perhaps the quietest voice, she admits, “Sleepy.”

“Did you not get good sleep last night?”

Millie shakes her head, and her blue eyes sparkle as tears begin to cloud them. “I’m so tired,” she whines.

“Oh, hun.” The more maternal side of the childless redheaded teacher comes out, and she wraps her arms gently around her student. “I’m sorry.”

The seven year old clings to her teacher much like she clings to you, looking for any warmth and comfort anybody can provide. Her tears hit leather with soft thuds.

“Why don’t you just go lay your head down for a few minutes?” Melissa offers. “Close your eyes and relax?”

Your daughter bites her lip nervously. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to say. “But we’re at school.”

“An’ I can’t have a sleepy Mills, now can I?” the teacher teases softly. “C’mon, it’ll be okay. You won’t be in any trouble.”

The little blonde searches for any hints of ingenuity from her educator. Then, she gives the tiniest nod and slinks back to her desk. Before her head even hits the desk, it’s like she’s asleep, exhaustion finally taking over.

Melissa is in the middle of her math lesson when it hits her. She stops in her tracks, marker halfway raised to the board to write the answer to one of the problems on the whiteboard. 

What you said makes full sense to her. Please stop helping me, because it’s only hurting me. While she thought she was helping by slipping you that note to show her support, it was actually a hindrance to you. It made your life so much harder, knowing that she knew exactly what was going on. She had acknowledged what you have been so clearly trying to ignore- put aside for the well-being of your daughter. It makes all of it real for you, and in that instant, she wishes she could take it all back. If she had known that it was only going to hurt your heart, she would have simply dropped the matter of the subject and simply supported you in silence. Or at least, that’s what she thinks you meant- she has no idea the pain her sticky note caused you.

When lunch time comes, the second grade class lines up to make their way down to the cafeteria- all except for one child: Millie, who is still sound asleep at her desk.

Melissa stands at her door as she waits for Janine to begin filing her own class down the hall.

“Pipsqueak,” the redhead calls to her coworker. “Can my class just tag on at the end of your line? I got a student still in the room, an’ I can’t leave ‘er by herself.”

Janine looks slightly confused, but nods with a bright smile. “Of course! The more, the merrier!”

“Yeah, kid. Would ya mind havin’ Barb stop down here with my lunch too? I don’t think I’m gettin’ away from this one any time soon.”

Brows furrow, and there’s the silent question of if everything is okay. Melissa can only nod before the shorter teacher nods again. “Sure thing.”

It’s a few minutes later that Barbara appears in the doorframe of the second grade teacher’s classroom, two lunches in hand. Her eyes immediately set on Millie asleep at her desk. Her brows raise in concern.

“Asleep since snack,” Melissa says quietly. She’s sitting at her desk staring straight ahead. Her eyes don’t even meet Barbara’s.

“And you let her sleep? You never let students sleep in your class.”

“What was I supposed to do, Barb? The poor girl came in silently today, which you and I both know is not normal for her. She told me the other day she hears her mothers up late at night, and she was so tired she started crying,” the redhead sighs. She puts her head in her hands. “God, Barb. This is awful. That poor little girl should not be living like this. And neither should her mother.”

“No,” the kindergarten teacher says softly as she makes her way into the classroom. She sets Melissa’s lunch on her desk. “But you and I both know that Y/N does everything she can to keep Millie safe- she’s well-fed, clean, and loved by at least Y/N. So, we can’t step in.”

“I didn’t,” the redhead mutters. “All I did was slip her a note yesterday telling her I was here for her when she’s ready, and this morning she came in limping and begged me to stop trying to help her.”

“So you stop.”

“I- I don’t know if I can,” Melissa admits. “I- How am I supposed to stop trying to help her when I know what it’s like to be in her situation, albeit mine was not nearly as severe?”

“I know it’s hard, but you have to respect her-”

“She told me that my trying to help her only hurts her,” the second grade teacher mutters. “I- I caused her hurt, when all I was trying to do was help.”

“Melissa, I think you need to take a step back from all of this. Yes, what’s so clearly happening to her is a terrible thing that no human should ever have to endure, but she very deliberately asked you to stop. So, you need to stop and just take care of Millie to the best of your abilities while she’s in your care at school.”

Melissa takes a deep breath and lifts her head from her hands. “You’re right.”

“When are you going to realize I always am?” Barbara teases her. “Eat, Melissa. I’ll bring down a lunch for Millie for when she wakes up too.”

“Thank you.”

Millie ends up sleeping through the entire day, and even when Melissa knows she should wake her, she can’t find it in her to. She has Janine take her kids out for dismissal with the instruction that if you’re outside to come down to your classroom if possible. 

You’re standing there, and you see some of your daughter’s classmates running towards their own parents, but there is no Melissa, and certainly no Millie. You internally begin to panic. What had Millie told her teacher that has the both of them not out here?

Miss Teagues makes her way over to you. “Hey. Melissa told me to have you head down to her classroom if I saw you.”

“Is my daughter okay?” you ask quickly, already limping your way to the front door. You don’t even wait for a response before you’re in the door. You make your way in as quickly as you possibly can- your body still aches. It takes you far too long to get down to the classroom.

“Miss Schemmenti?”

“Hey,” the redhead sighs softly. She points over at your daughter.

“She’s sleeping?” you raise a brow as you lean against the doorframe gently.

Melissa nods. “Has been since snack at ten.”

“Thank you for letting her get the rest she needs,” you say quietly. “Last night was… rough.”

The teacher nods. You can see that she wants to pry. She wants to question your statement. But she doesn’t.

You slowly make your way over to your daughter and squat down in front of her. Shaking her shoulder gently, you press a soft kiss to the cheek that isn’t laying against her arms. “Baby.”

She stays asleep. And on another day, you’re sure you would just carry her home despite the fact that your arms would be sore, and she’s getting too big for you to hold for long amounts of time. But today, you know it’s not even a plausible thought.

“Honey,” you shake her a bit more. “Sweet girl, it’s the end of the school day.”

“I don’t wanna go home, Miss Schemmenti,” Millie grumbles, eyes not even opening. “I wanna stay here.”

You frown, as does the redhead sitting at her desk. “Sweetheart, it’s Momma. Wake up for me please.”

She cracks one eye open. “Momma?”

“Yeah, baby. It’s Momma.”

“Carry me?”

“You know I would, but I can’t today,” you sigh. “Not after…” you trail off. You know Melissa is listening intently.

“Okay,” your daughter sighs softly as she picks her head up from her desk. She rubs her eyes sleepily.

“Have a good night,” the teacher tells the two of you softly as you make for the door.

You give her what you hope is a smile. “You too, Miss Schemmenti.”

Millie just waves sleepily.

When you get home, you expect your wife to be sitting in her place at the table like she always is. You expect her to be typically quickly and with fervor, as she usually does. But she isn’t. She’s actually standing by the door with a smile soon her face.

“Hey, baby,” Carrie says sweetly. She pulls you in for a kiss that isn’t too dissimilar from the way she used to kiss you when you were dating and newlyweds.

“Hi, hun,” you sigh softly.

“How was your day?”

“It was alright,” you lie. Your body is exhausted, your mind is exhausted, and you really don’t feel like doing anything today. “I’ll start on dinner now.”

“There’s no need to do that,” your wife tells you. She bends down and opens her arms to Millie.

“Hi,” Millie yawns out, but she doesn’t make a move for the woman she looks so much like.

“Sleepy today, little girl?” Carrie asks as she takes matters into her own hands and wraps her arms around your daughter.

“Mhmm.” She allows her mother to hold her for a few seconds before detaching herself from the woman. It’s quite clear to you that your daughter is not comfortable with this. She immediately clings to you again.

You head for the kitchen, but you see that dinner is already in the oven upon walking into the room.

“You’re making dinner?” you furrow your brow.

She nods and gives a shy smile. Carrie reaches for something on the dry sink and hands you a beautiful bouquet of flowers. “These are for you, love.”

You take them gently and look at them in awe. They truly are beautiful. And they smell absolutely delightful.

“Why don’t you go take a load off and relax with Millie on the couch while I finish dinner and set the table?”

“R-really?” you squeak out. The last time that she had done this, it was before everything had really gotten bad. The last time she had done this, she hadn’t hit you yet, but the fight that had taken place the night before had gotten out of hand. “Yeah, hun,” Carrie kisses you again sweetly. She bends down and ruffles Millie’s now lopsided pigtails and kisses her hairline.

Dinner is splendid- absolutely delicious. And when you expect your wife to head up the steps to change to go out for dinner, she doesn’t. She actually stays in the dining room to clean up, does the dishes, and sits next to you on the couch as Millie curls up in your lap. Her long fingers trace patterns on your thigh like she used to- and not in a sexual way, just a way of letting you know she’s there.

When it’s time to put your daughter to bed, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Carrie so maternal. She reads the bedtime story with you, making sure to use silly voices and sing when it calls for it. She tucks your daughter in, kisses her forehead, and promises her that she’ll get great sleep tonight. Millie looks nervous, but not as nervous as she was walking into the house this afternoon.

When you’re alone with your wife, fear begins to seep into your bones. She was nothing short of a dream this afternoon and this evening, but that was in front of your little girl. Now, everything is being closed doors again.

But tonight, there is no hurt. There’s just short, sweet kisses. No hands roam where they aren’t wanted. Soft affirmations of love are whispered into the crook of your neck. She even apologizes for her actions last night. She promises you that she’ll back off on the drinking, she’ll be around more often for Millie, and that nothing like what took place last night will happen again.

You forgive her. Of course you do. You always forgive her. A small part of you believes her- she genuinely seems like she’s feeling remorseful for her words and actions. But another part of you wonders if and when it’ll happen again. A part of you hopes that it won’t ever happen- the more naive side of you. 

But the other part of you- the jaded side that has grown used to this woman knows it won’t be long until she’s back to her habits. Because this has happened before. She’s done things like this before, and yes, this is the worst it’s been, but it never changes. 

It gets better for a week, two at most, before it turns back to what you’ve grown accustomed to. For a short span of time, Carrie will shower you with love and affection, soft touches and gentle eyes. She’ll lull you into a false sense of security like she always does. And when things begin to go south, and you speak up, she’ll turn. She’ll tell you that you’re ungrateful for the life you have, that she’s been nothing but the perfect housewife and you’re taking her for granted. She’ll tell you that she never should’ve married you, threaten you with divorce- promise you that if you were to separate, she would be just fine but nobody would ever be able to love a pathetic, broken woman like you. Carrie is a manipulative, egotistical narcissist. She’ll never change. You know this, and you wish you could just run away. But you have Millie to worry about, and she will always come first. As long as Millie is safe, there isn’t a chance in hell you’ll leave- even if things go back to how they usually are, and you know they will. It’s just a matter of time.

But for now, you bask in the change of pace. Your body is grateful for the healing time that you’ll get. You’ll take what you can get.

Tags (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff

[primofate]

About boycotting Genshin Impact: Natlan skin colour issue and McDonalds.

(Read if you care about these issues and care about what I'm doing.)

If you are only here for a TLDR and want to know if I'm still writing Genshin fanfiction here's the short story: (I appreciate all the encouraging messages and all the love, but I may need to find another platform if things aren't working out here. If that day comes I will surely post over here and let you know where I've gone, but for now, though it is quite unpleasant, I do like and am used to the tumblr format. )

Long post starts here:

Decided to finally say something about this, because I feel like I've read up adequately about things.

First off, to the anon who claimed that I didn't care (who revealed their real identity in my inbox and apologized) I appreciate your bravery and also appreciate the apology. But I'm not going to lie to you, I don't really care for your presence around here, specially after what happened.

About the Natlan issue and the lack of tan/brown/dark skinned colour characters,

I understand why people are upset. I had a conversation with someone about this on tumblr, on how me, myself, I get upset when there is a lack of FEMALE main characters in games (I am mostly talking about the Persona Franchise, the main characters are always MALE, time and time again I always wait for a FEMALE MC, but am always disappointed that it hasn't happened EXCEPT of course, for P3 Portable and P2EP. Finally you had the option to play as Female, but that was it. I mean, it's 2024. WHY is there a lack of FEMALE MC in Persona? Anyhow, that is a different topic altogether.) so I can see how it could be disappointing for POC to see less or even NO characters that are POC.

That part, I totally understand.

All of your actions, boycotting, not rolling, not playing the game, being free to play, I UNDERSTAND all of that.

Now, recently there has been a big issue with Genshin Impact collaborating with McDonalds, because the chain supports Israel (but McDonalds is a franchise... and different owners have different ways of using their ownership of the chain/profit they make off it, so idk how that equals to all McDonalds support Israel. Educate me on this if I'm wrong.) People are saying that they are uninstalling the game because of it.

Again, I UNDERSTAND why you would do that.

I think what I need to address is what I am going to do.

And I'm not gunna lie to you, I don't think I'm going to stop playing the game (and I don't spend much money in game in the first place).

Does it mean that I support the bad situations they've put themselves in or the bad choices they've made? No, but of course there will be people who will say I play the game = I support their thoughts. Can it not just be simply I play the game = I enjoy the game/story?

I am being transparent and I think that's better than some of the people online who keep saying they won't play anymore but you KNOW some of them still do. Like, come on. Don't lie.

If that makes me a bad person according to you judgers out there, then so be it. Who really are you to claim I'm a bad person just because I play a game? Do you know what kinds of things I do in real life? What groups I help out and what organizations I donate to? What really do you know about what I do in real life? Maybe think about that before pointing your finger at someone online, and maybe think about what YOU are doing in real life too, instead of just being keyboard fighters, have you done anything to enhance the lives of other people?

Am I still going to write Genshin fanfiction?

Honestly if I stop doing it, it's because the interaction here on tumblr has been so toxic. LESS people commenting and interacting, I don't really mind much because I enjoy writing in general, I don't do it for you, I do it for me.

I am STILL writing, but at a slower pace because of my real life plus everything that's surrounding the game and the toxicity at the moment. I am even considering not posting on tumblr and just releasing stories like Ruthless Prince, stories that would be available through physical copy or ebooks that you have to pay for (that way I don't get nasty interactions and messages and those who really want to read my stuff can just pay and enjoy it) but as you all know, I'm not money hungry, I still post a lot of free stuff over here, but again, I'm not going to lie, there isn't much reason for me to post on tumblr anymore, specially with all the controversies and attacking going on.

I appreciate all the encouraging messages and all the love, but I may need to find another platform if things aren't working out here. If that day comes I will surely post over here and let you know where I've gone, but for now, though it is quite unpleasant, I do like and am used to the tumblr format.

The End.

[shiftchii]

U.A. High in my DR !

Basics

Students are separated randomly into specific departments and classes sectioned by the letters A-K.

These departments are:

Department of Heroics (A - B): Students in this department learn everything they need to know in order to become excellent heroes in service to the community. They are trained in battle, first aid, rescue, support, and all manners of heroic-related lessons.

Department of General Education C - E): Students who don’t make it to the hero course are included here. This department supports students aiming for college and other pursuits. It’s also possible for students with good grades and exceptional strength and quirk skills to be transferred into the hero course (And either the support or business course mind you). Basically regular HS but they get to say that they went to UA on their resume.

Department of Support (F - H): Students here focus on developing support equipment that helps heroes out on the battlefield. With a workspace stock to the brim with all sorts of special tools and their own studio to build things, this department provides an unmatched creative environment.

Department of General Management (I - K): This department focuses on all aspects of heroic business, from the founding and managing of hero agencies to the promotion of public opinion regarding heroes. They even do hands-on lessons in venture capitalism. They have a lot of free time.

Each class is usually comprised of 21 students. That means that the total student population at UA would be 693.

We stay in the same class with the same teacher for all 3 years.

Since UA is a highly prestigious school, we get a lot of funding and benefits for the dorms and when we go on trips and whatnot. (Food we buy for the dorms is paid for, we get free snacks/concessions in the sports festival, free hero costume updates and renewals)

The school curriculum is way less loaded than here. The school system is much better.

The Hero Teachers are actually good at teaching.

Since U.A. is famous, it has many sponsors with support and hero merch companies, so some hero course students (usually 3rd years) have their own hero merch already. Students are sometimes sponsored and do photoshoots and are invited to red carpet events. (Following the School Festival, Class 1-A gets loads of sponsors and stuff!)

The teachers and students are encouraged to decorate their classes and most of them do so.

U.A. has a popular school website.

Staff and students are recommended to have Twitter to update the public events, the majority of the students obviously don't take this seriously, there's always someone who has beef and makes it public (Monoma) and it always ends up like those MHA Tweets, it’s the funniest thing ever.

Schedule

School is Monday - Friday and starts at 8:25 and finishes at 15:10. Regular classes take place during the first half of school, then the afternoon (for the Dept. of Heroics) you will have hero training. Only Dept. of Heroics students have an additional 7th period.

The teachers move between classes while the students stay in 1 class (besides electives).

Wednesdays are half days and only consist of hero training (so no typical school work), though sometimes it's replaced by FHS. You also don't have to wear your uniform on Wednesdays.

We will always have some kind of free time for school despite our somewhat busy schedules.

Not all school days are the same (emergency drills, other schools coming to train with us, etc.).

Classes

Core Subjects for Dept. of Heroics

Homeroom: Taught by Aizawa. Acts as a study hall. The class reps will often give a small meeting with the class about important events during this period.

Japanese: Taught by Cementoss. Focuses on reading, writing, and literature.

Mathematics: Taught by Ectoplasm. Covers algebra, geometry, and calculus.

English: Taught by Present Mic. Emphasizes reading, writing, and conversation skills.

Home Economics: Taught by Midnight. Cooking and other aspects of household management.

Foundational Hero Studies (FHS): Taught by All Might, Aizawa or Midnight. Hero related studying: hero laws, safety precautions, first aid, jsl, media training, dividing hero and civilian identity etc.

Hero Training: Taught by various teachers, usually Aizawa or All Might, it changes every week and we are informed about the activities during homeroom. For example: Quirkless Combat, Rescue Training, Combat, Quirk Training etc.

Elective Subjects

Thought by various teachers. This is the only class where students move instead of teachers, these are shared, so you could end up with classmates from other classes. Students get to completely choose what electives they have. If they don’t choose, they are placed in extra training or study hall.

Options:

Foreign Languages (e.g., Chinese, Korean)

Journalism

Art Foundations

Photography

Ceramics

Psychology

Choir

Band

Orchestra

Woodshop

Metalshop

Chemistry

Poetry

Cooking

Baking

Biology

Physics

Film Analysis

Computer Programming

Animal Work

Volunteer Work

Theatre

Student Council

Literature Analysis

Forensics

Study Hall

Class 1-A Timetable

Around UA campus

The updated UA security system is really good. The sensors are so good, you don't even need to have your ID out. They can scan it anywhere on your person. If you lost or misplaced your ID, the gates also have facial recognition software, so it's fine. If you're not a student or staff, you NEED a visitor pass or the school will go into lockdown on you.

We can use our school IDs to get snacks and drinks from vending machines around the school hallways. It’s free and they are replenished daily.

UA has a courtyard where we can eat outside. Most of the 2nd and 3rd years get food from places outside of the school campus and eat outside in the courtyard. Because of this, the cafeteria isn't as crowded and when we eat lunch we can sit and enjoy our food comfortably. The cafeteria is also luxurious and looks like a fancy mall café.

The library is huge and has many resources with much to explore. There are many different levels with varying types of quiet floors and study halls. It's also open 24/7 so students who are fighting to finish a project can pull all-nighters.

There’s a little shop that has U.A. and hero merch and school supplies including books for courses. You can also buy the merch on the online website.

UA has extracurricular groups and clubs for those who aren't in the hero course such as other sports and things like cheerleaders, debate, theater, music, cooking, ballet, and much more. I mean, hero course students CAN do those things but they WILL have a hard time doing so all while dealing with said hero responsibilities. As mentioned before, business course students have a lot of free time and general ED students are basically regular HS students who just so happen to be going to UA and for support course students, it really depends on how much work you choose to take on for yourself.

There is a study center where students who need extra help can go. Students with failing grades must go here for a set amount of hours to get the help they need. It’s strictly work, and talking about anything other than school is basically prohibited. It’s usually run by Ectoplasm and his clones or Hound Dog.

Work studies & Internships

All first years do an internship, it’s required. This is usually after the sports festival when students have had a chance to show off their skills.

Work studies are basically experience-oriented off-study programs that allow students in the hero course who have Provisional Licenses to work with pros at their agencies. Students will be able to use their quirks under the guidance of a pro, and can even be dispatched to fight villains and help out in disaster areas. If you do well, you can be scouted to become the hero’s sidekick.

Work studies are a more serious version of internships. They entail helping pro heroes on the streets and with investigations. They are usually reserved for 2nd and 3rd-year students, who usually have their licenses. 1st years didn't do them in the past. However, with the rise of villain activity, the school decided to open up work studies to 1st years as well, albeit a very small and select few of them. If they didn't find a good agency with a proven track record they wouldn't do it at all.

Events

U.A. has seasonal dances and a lot of events, like Halloween, Hero Day and other festivals.

Uniforms

Color palette

The uniforms the students receive consist of 4 sets of each clothing (besides the coat and varsity jacket):

Shirts

Long sleeve

Short sleeved

Sleeveless

Blazer

Long sleeves

Sleeveless

Cardigans

Sleeveless (two color variations)

Long sleeved (two color variations)

Sweaters

Sleeveless (two color variations)

Long sleeved (two color variations)

Pants

Shorts

Below The Knee

Classic

Skirts

Mini

Below The Knee

Maxi

Ties

Necktie

Bow Tie

Socks

Quarter

Crew

Knee High

Thigh High

Tights

Shoes

Coat

Varsity Jacket

Gym Clothing

Tank top

Loose Zip-up Sweatshirt (long sleeves, short sleeves, sleeveless)

Cropped Zip-up Sweatshirt (long sleeves, short sleeves, sleeveless)

Shorts

Below Knee Shorts

Sweatpants

Swimwear

Sleeveless, Short sleeved and Long sleeved

Lanyards

Uniforms aren’t required on Wednesdays

Students are allowed to accessorize their uniforms however they want and wear their own jackets

Piercings, colored hair, nails, makeup etc. are allowed

The uniforms aren’t gendered - all students receive all versions and are allowed to wear whichever one they prefer

For students with mutant type Quirks, custom made uniforms are made

Button and sleeve/lapel stripe differences between the department uniforms [1-General education, 2-Hero, 3-Support, 4-Management].

School Bag

Along with the Uniforms the school hands out bags. You can return them and use your own if you’d like.

A standard deep blue nylon matching the uniforms. The U.A. logo sits at the right bottom corner.

Class

If you’re standing at the front of the classroom looking out at the desks, the seating arrangement starts at the leftmost side of the room (“A” names), going front to back and then going to the next row to the right, and so on.  keep in mind that the alphabetical order here is based on the Japanese alphabet. My number is 10.

Here's how I laid out the desks for 21 students:

Since we stay in the same classrooms for most of the days we can leave out stuff at our desks. They have shelves underneath with 2 outlets and lots of space.

Class 1-A Friend Groups

Everyone is actually really close, but those are what groups spend the most time together. Of course we hang out in different groups or all together too.

We have frequent movie and game nights, 1-A has a group chat and it’s always active, there’s always someone wanting to do something. Sometimes we invite people from other classes.

DekuSquad

Izuku

Ochako

Tenya

Tsuyu

Shouto

Haruka

Hitoshi (after he joins our class)

BakuSquad

Katsuki

Eijirou

Mina

Denki

Minoru

Hanta

TokoSquad

Fumikage

Mashirao

Mezou

Tooru

MomoSquad

Momo

Kyoka

Yuga

Kouji

Rikido

I hope this was helpful! <3

© credits: seating arrangement • basics @/Priicklleshifts on TikTok • uniforms • dividers

[happy74827]

Burning Bridges

[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Upon an incident that was out of your control, Dexter comes to the realization that it wasn't just a coincidence.

WC: 1951

Category: Slight Angst, Hurt/Comfort

I forgot how much I missed this show (him), so I decided to write another. It's been so long since I last wrote for him that I actually see the difference in my writing. It's wack.

『••✎••』

Dexter was many things… a brother, a son, a pro bowler, a serial killer… but what he lacked was being a good friend.

He didn't understand friendship or its value. It was something that he simply couldn't grasp. Sure, he was able to fake it well enough in order to make sure that people liked him and didn't find him too creepy or strange, but there was never any real emotional connection. In his mind, everyone was either someone he needed or someone he didn't need, and he would treat them accordingly. The only exceptions to this rule were his sister, Debra, and you.

The two of you had met back in college, having been assigned to be each other's partners for a group project. It was a poetry class and a course that Dexter hadn't really wanted to take, but a general education requirement and the promise of an easy A convinced him to at least show-up and suffer through it. Well, for a guy who had to fake every single aspect of his personality in order to fit in with society, it turned out that poetry didn’t come quite as easily as he thought it would.

He had always found the art form to be rather silly, with all the emphasis on metaphors and flowery language. There was no purpose or goal other than to be creative and artsy, and it bored him to no end. The first time you had sat down with him to discuss the project, you could tell how much he didn't want to be there, and the look of complete disinterest on his face as he tried to figure out what your poem meant was the most hilarious thing that you had seen in a while. You couldn't help but laugh, the sound of which made him sit up and give you a quizzical look.

"What?" He asked, tilting his head slightly, confused.

"Nothing," you replied, still giggling. "It's just that I can tell that you don't like poetry."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because you haven't said a word; you're just sitting there, staring off into space and twirling your pencil between your fingers," you told him, and he glanced down at the utensil as if he didn't realize that he was doing that.

"Oh. Sorry, I guess," he apologized, his tone making it clear that he was actually a little annoyed at having been called out on his inattentiveness.

"That's okay. I like poetry, so I'll be happy to do most of the work," you offered, smiling sweetly, and his eyebrows raised.

And that you did. In fact, you loved it so much that you majored in English and planned on getting your Masters, while Dexter got his degree in criminology. It was a nice trade-off because while he struggled in poetry, getting down into the debts of his feelings that were nonexistent, you struggled with chemistry, unable to wrap your head around the subject no matter how hard you tried.

So, the two of you had a mutually beneficial agreement. You did all the work for the poetry class, and in exchange, he tutored you in chemistry and made sure that you got a decent grade. Once the class was over and done with, the two of you stayed friends, though you had very little in common. Dexter had no interest in books, and you had no interest in criminology. He was a loner, and you had plenty of friends. You were a romantic, and he was completely unromantic. He didn't even have a girlfriend, and you had been in three different relationships over the course of the two years that you had known him.

Still, the two of you got along well enough. You were one of the only people that Dexter could actually stand for more than five minutes, and he was the same to you. So you went out to the bar sometimes, hung out with his sister, and did your best to keep him company while also doing your best to try to set him up on dates, hoping that one of these days, he'd actually find someone. It eventually did work out when you found him Rita, but as of right now, she had broken up with him, and he was back to being a lonely bachelor which it didn't bother him much until now.

You were in the hospital, your head wrapped and bandaged like a mummy. You were apparently attacked outside the grocery store, and if it wasn’t for the small instructions he had given you for self-defense, you most likely wouldn’t have survived.

At first, Dexter didn’t think of it as anything important in terms of his line of work. He believed it to be a coincidence, a random crime in the night. But it turned into something more the night he decided to visit with some cake.

“How’s the head?” He asked as he came inside, seeing you propped up reading. Of course, you were reading.

You shrugged. “Like I’m wearing a sweater hat, but it doesn't hurt, so there's that." You paused, setting down your book and glancing at him. "I’m still salty about my groceries. Almost two hundred dollars I spent on that stuff. Gone. Wasted. Poof."

Dexter had to chuckle a bit. "Hey, I can't do much about the food, but I brought you something," he said, revealing the white box.

"Is it chocolate? If it is, I love you," you joked.

"No, it's just vanilla. But, here."

He opened the lid and showed you, and you immediately lit up.

"Awww, Dexter! You are the best friend ever," you gushed, giving him a warm smile.

He smiled back. "It's the least I could do."

He was cutting it up for you when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. You didn’t seem to notice, but out in the hall, a shadow passed by the window. His body went on alert, eyes flickering towards the door. He couldn’t see much, but he could make out an elderly man with gray hair and a beard.

Dexter's face remained unchanged, though his body language betrayed him as he sat the cake knife down. He knew that look. That look in a man's eyes when he was looking at prey. This was a predator.

"Hey, uh, what was that description again? Of the man who attacked you," Dexter asked, his tone a bit distracted.

"You mean Santa Claus on drugs? That pretty much sums it up. Why?" You looked up, confused.

"I don't know. It's probably nothing."

But it was something. The man had apparently come back to finish the job, and Dexter's jaw clenched at the thought. He was already planning his death in his mind. It wouldn’t be pretty. He gave you a piece of cake, swearing that he’d be back soon before going after the man. He stopped at the lobby momentarily, informing Angel to keep an eye on you, which, of course, the cop complied with.

Angel was a good cop. He was loyal, smart, and a damn good shot. But there was one thing that made him a great cop. He cared about his city and the people in it. He would protect the innocent no matter the cost, especially when it came down to those he was closest to. He was the kind of guy who would risk his life without a second thought if it meant saving others.

This is why Dexter liked Angel and why he was the only one that he trusted with this job.

Finding the man was extremely easy on his part. Dexter already knew what the guy’s plan was, so he stuck around outside the parking lot, watching the shadows. After a few minutes, the man appeared, heading towards the entrance once again.

He never got that far.

A hand was clamped over his mouth while the other dragged him away from the double doors and towards the side of the building. Dexter didn’t pull out his knife, though, only resorting to his arms as he applied pressure against his throat. The man fought, trying to break free, but he didn't get the chance. Dexter didn’t kill him, no, not yet, but his arm was still strong, and he had no plans to let go.

“Listen closely. If you so much as look the wrong way, I will rip your heart out and shove it down your throat. Understand? Nod if you do," he threatened, his voice calm and even. The man nodded, terrified, his eyes wide.

"Good," Dexter replied, “Why are you here?"

The man was quiet, but he was breathing heavily, and his eyes were watering.

"Talk. That girl, why are you after her?"

"I’m not—”

"You attacked her, and now you came back to finish the job, did you not? Who sent you?"

The man was sweating; his face was flushed and red. Dexter was pressing too hard, and his victim was starting to lose air. He didn’t care.

"Who?" He repeated.

The man choked, unable to speak.

"Last chance. Who sent you? And don't lie to me."

The man didn’t answer, and Dexter tightened his hold. That finally did it. The man began to squirm violently, trying to break free, but it was too late. His face started to turn purple, and Dexter had to adjust his grip and pull him closer.

“It wasn’t personal! I had to! I didn't have a choice! It was just a job!" He gasped out, struggling for air. “I got paid to do it. I was just doing what I was told! Please, please, don't kill me."

"Who was it?"

"I—I don’t know. It was some lady. I met her at a bar. She didn’t give her name, but he wasn’t American. She gave me ten thousand dollars and told me that the job was to attack this chick in the parking lot and make it look like an attempted robbery. Said it had to be done in a couple of days. Listen, man, I didn't want to do it. But the money—"

"What did she look like?" Dexter cut in.

"Dark hair. Young. I don't know! I don't know, I swear. She wore sunglasses the whole time. Please, don’t kill me. Please."

Suddenly, it hit him like a ton of bricks. The Dark Passenger was roaring, the realization washing over him like cold water.

Lila.

Everything made sense now. The way she had suddenly showed up out of nowhere, the incident outside the bowling alley, her sudden interest in you. It all made sense. She was behind it. She had done it.

Dexter wanted to snap the man's neck. He wanted to rip his throat out. He wanted to take his knife and stab him over and over again, to punish him for what he had done to you, but he refrained. He had the answers he needed, and the cameras around were still running.

He dropped him and watched him collapse, gasping for air. He didn't move, too scared and in shock to do so. Dexter didn’t say a word; his anger was silent, but it was boiling beneath his skin.

He was going to kill her. He was going to hunt her down and end her, and there was no place on Earth where she could hide.

“You ever, and I mean ever, come near her again; I will tear out your spine and make you choke on it. Understand?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I understand."

Dexter didn’t say anything else; he simply walked off, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He had a lot to think about.

[atlaswav]

EMPYREAN ☾

INFO: 4385 words, dr ratio x gn!reader, college au SYNOPSIS: Art is the practice of capturing life in still motion, and yet Dr Ratio can never seem to capture your beauty in its entirety in his sketches. His waking thoughts are clouded by images of you, the bane of his existence. He hates it, but can't resist. The Gods - if there are any - are cruel. WARNINGS: none! for once! except attempted kiss. AUTHOR'S NOTE: my head hurts so bad rn and i need sleep but there were thoughts in my mind. also i think its really boring lowkey but hey! i said i'd publish something by sunday! also i think his characterisation is really off today but oh well.

Divinity wasn’t real. There were no real Gods, they didn’t exist – couldn’t. Science proved such. Miracles were situations of insurmountable luck, and no one’s fate was “ordained” like astrology maniacs liked to think. 

But when Icarus fell from the great skies of myth, reaching for the sun and Gods and the heavens beyond, Veritas Ratio was sure that the gnawing terror and morbid awe that seized that man at the sight below was familiar to him. That sprawling city touched by the sublime sun, smiled upon with the benevolent God peering through the clouds whose gaze melted fragile wax. 

He was sure that that fear and unprecedented awe was the same as when he first glimpsed you. 

His fall, however, wasn’t graceful or worthy of any legend. 

“Oh– you alright?” 

“My apologies, I–” he glanced up, leaning down to immediately pick up his sketchbook which had fallen to the ground, then he froze. 

“...Are you okay?”

This, he wasn’t certain. You helped him gather his supplies again, and he thought he’d never see you again – there were so many buildings and so many classes, why would he? But as if fate was stringing him along, he wound up sitting next to you for his art studies class. The class he convinced himself he needed to take for a proper education.

Icarus’ fall was met with swift demise, and he was so sure that he would too. But who was he to compare himself to legends? Even still, why else would he be stricken by the malady of your existence, if you weren’t some overwhelming beauty that his greed desired to capture? 

Art, however, could not capture life as any man would like. It could never catch the way light reflected in the eyes, illuminating the soul. Neither the delicate intricacies of a smile, a twitch of muscle, a beating of a butterfly’s wings, the delicacy of life.

Try as one might, however, Dr Ratio aimed to do this, anyway. Charcoal was his chosen medium, pervading clean paper, marking intent, focus and desperation. 

He remembered you casting him a smile before seating yourself beside him, and all his doubts in taking the art course dissipated from his mind – despite your literal run in moments before. 

You became immersed in the artwork at your fingertips as the professor chirped about something he should’ve probably been attentive to, but to him, it was now entirely meaningless. Your cheeks lifted when you smiled, creasing the corners of your eyes. Your hair fell over your face in graceful lines that framed your features, and your hands moved with such gentle dexterity that he yearned to capture them in his drawings. Your eyes narrowed in the slightest as your brush met the canvas, mouth agape with your fixation on your art. 

The charcoal snapped, and Veritas Ratio likewise snapped from his immersion, frowning at the dark lines that marred the page. 

In his sketch, your eyes were obscured by a wall of smudged black ash instead of the curtain of hair that covered your features. Ratio sighed, leaning back from the desk. Your eyes were now downcast on your palette as you mixed paints. 

There was a divinity in you that he yearned to capture, like sunlight in a jar. Futile, but with noble intention, he swore to himself. 

Then, there were more classes. More days that passed, more instances where he observed your habits, your artwork that had you enrapt, just as he imagined his own perverse captivation with you. There were more charcoal sketches in sketchbooks that never saw the light of day, ones where your smile was too wide, didn’t meet your eyes, or didn’t carry the exact expression that yours projected. 

Art could never imitate life – Veritas was simply mortal. But mortals could always dream of something divine.

There were times where he left the classroom for a moment, and he feared you might glance over at his sketchbook to see the hundreds of sketches of yourself. Smiling and frowning and focused, the end of your paintbrush sitting absently between your lips, your gaze cast to the side, small splatters of paint smudged under your eyes and on your fingers. It was unsettling. He knew it himself. There had to be an extent to his observation when it became invasive, yet he feared losing your presence without ever capturing it in still motion. 

This is when a man grows desperate. 

“May I draw you?”

“...draw me?” you glanced towards him, reluctantly tearing your gaze from your own work. “Why?”

“A study.”

You smiled a half smile. An expression that he was familiar with, given that you were already halfway through the semester. Still, there was nothing to your encounters but smiles of courtesy and niceties (he’d never admit that he so desired more).

“Sure. Show it to me later.”

Now, Dr Ratio discovers, there are few things that may disturb a man’s endeavours when he is enrapt in his studies. None of which affected Veritas in the slightest as his charcoal became dust on his fingers and he clicked his tongue at the material’s reluctance to bend at his will. 

None of which can successfully capture the being that is you, and he isn’t sure he wants to, anymore. Art isn’t made for the eyes of greed, it’s made for the soul that yearns for the cure of the senses. Or so the greats all say, but he thinks he cannot be one of them. He couldn’t imitate life, he was versed in the calculations of life instead. 

Caught in his thoughts, he taps his – new – stick of charcoal on the edge of the drawing pad, frowning at the new sketch he was pondering. 

“You’re really good.” your voice echoes from behind him. 

He turns abruptly to find you standing behind him, head tilted as you examine his sketches. Your nose scrunches the tiniest bit, and your eyes crinkle with a hint of mirth.

“Does my nose really look like that?”

“Of course.”

You laugh at his blunt reply. “Can I see your other drawings?”

There are over seven thousand languages that still exist in the world, and Veritas Ratio cannot think of a better, more dire way to say no than to agree completely. 

“Of course.” He flips through his sketchbook quietly, letting you glimpse his insanity. You were making him lose his mind, really. He watches your expression – how your eyes widen, your lips part, your brows furrow. 

“Did you do all of this since the last lesson?”

No, but he wouldn’t say that – 

“No, I've been studying you for a while.”

– Or maybe he would. 

Your laugh is another divine thing that he wishes he can capture. “Oh God, I’m embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. You make a good muse.” 

“Do I?”

He nods, biting his tongue. He doesn’t want to incriminate himself any further than he already has, and he’s already become a stalker to you. 

“Is that a compliment?”

“Yes. Undoubtedly.” 

“Consider me flattered, then…” 

“Dr Ratio. Veritas. Veritas Ratio.”

“...Veritas.” 

He loves the way your lips mouth his name. He’d never say it to your face, though. This, at least, would die with him. 

“Well, thank you. You may return to your painting.”

You huff a laugh. “So formal. I’m nearly done, so I don’t really have anything urgent to worry about. Meanwhile you…”

He’s inclined to agree. The professor was checking everyone’s progress the next lesson, and he still hadn’t grasped what he thought to have been perfect. 

“Ah. Right.”

“Do you want me to like… pose for you or something?”

He hesitates. Why? He doesn’t know. Maybe something about morality and art and the truth, but he doesn’t care anymore. “That… would be ideal.”

“Alright, but you’ll owe me as well. Deal?”

This is how Veritas Ratio finds himself pacing his apartment, fixing his hair in the mirror, dusting the tops of the bookshelves that line the walls and polishing the kitchen counter so that each surface is devoid of any evidence of his own guilty conscience. 

His anxieties were immediately multiplied hundredfold when you knocked. He waited a couple of seconds – to not seem too desperate, with his heart racing out of his chest – then finally opened the door. 

You stood there, smiling with such casual ease that he found himself wanting to know everything about you. 

It was absurd. 

A tiny, suppressed part of him welcomed it. 

“Hey, Veritas,” 

There it was again, the unfamiliar way you said his name, smile widening. He decided against a verbal reply, instead nodding and guiding you into his living room. 

“You’re so… clean.” you glanced about the apartment, marvelling at how almost every surface had a shine to it. But it made sense, once you saw him sitting at the couch, already observing you with the unshakeable gaze you’d felt since that first class. 

You weren’t entirely oblivious to his stare, just as you weren’t unobservant with the way his cheeks dusted with pink the day before – and today, it seemed – as he made eye contact. 

You smiled, and watched him blink a couple of times before turning away with a cleared throat. 

“Yes. I can’t stand a mess of any sort.”

“Figured.” you shrugged, standing next to him. “So, where do you want to start? What should I do?”

He hesitated for a second before directing you to the armchair across from him. “Just sit there for now. We’ll start here.”

You complied, allowing him to hurriedly arrange the folds of your clothes and angle of your limbs with fleeting touches. 

He appeared nervous, but it was endearing. 

Minutes pass by in silence, faint scratching of charcoal on paper filling the space between you. The sunset’s light poured in through the balcony behind you, casting a dramatic shadow over the armchair. Purple, orange, yellow – you wondered if that scrutinising look he gave you was disapproval or awe. There was no way of telling, with his complex set of facial-expressions. 

But interpreting him through guesses wasn’t how you envisioned this would play out. 

You cleared your throat, but he didn't glance up. He held the sketchbook up next to you, but quickly returned to the page, making harsh lines across the page. 

“So… Veritas?”

His head snapped up, stray strands of violet hair splayed across his forehead. “Yes?”

“Why did you take art?”

His eyes narrowed on you. Examining, maybe. “I felt as if I needed to. For a well rounded study, of course.”

You laughed. “Of course you did.”

At this, he paused. “What do you mean by this?”

“Your reputation on campus. You have… what, four degrees? You’re famous.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, never putting down the charcoal, but tapping it against his fingers instead. “Oh? What else have you heard?”

“Well, they say you’re insanely smart, but you’re also pretentious.”

He frowned. The way his brows scrunched was endearing. “I’m not pretentious. Everyone else is simply far underqualified.”

“They also say that you’re an elitist.” you laughed. 

Concern only grew on his expression. “Do you think this of me?”

You shrugged. “I’m yet to form an opinion.”

He nodded. “Good. Wise.” he said, almost as if reassuring himself. 

“...How long will this be, though? I can only sit still for so long.”

He blinked, turning to the sketchpad again. “Not too long. I promise.”

“Can we go out to dinner, afterwards?” 

At this, he choked. You stifled a laugh at the renewed blush on his cheeks. 

“Dinner? Why?”

“You owe me, don’t you?”

This is when he realises that he was a fool in allowing you in, to allow the muse of his most divine visions to become human. 

He’s greedy, though. No one and nothing can change this. He wanted more of you. He wanted to hear each thought that crossed your mind and know each little item that occupied your attention. He wanted to dissect your mind and examine your memories and behaviours like an insect splayed under a glass, and he wanted to understand you so well that he became sick with the thought of you. But in his mind, you could do no wrong. You were so divine; with your secret smiles that held secret thoughts, and knowing glances that examined his frame with an artist’s scrutinising eye. 

“Fine. Just let me finish up.”

So you stay put, and you return to the thick silence that envelops the room. The clock ticking above the armchair only taunts you as your limbs begin to ache from lack of movement. 

Scratching on paper, huffs of exasperation, the occasional tearing of a page, and he finally sighs, rising from the couch. The sun had long since set, only remnants of daylight still lingering on the sky’s deep blue. The light was gone. You wondered if he’d captured the sun in his drawing, as well. 

“It’s done. Not good as the professor would like, but it will do for now.” he said, running a hand – dusted with black – through his hair. His forehead was coated in splotches of black thumb prints. 

You similarly rose from the armchair, stretching, and walked over to the drawing on the coffee table. 

You didn’t realise this was how you looked to him. Your features were only emphasised in the dramatics of the sunset, the slight turn of your lips and curve of your cheekbones accentuated with the shadows. He’d taken artistic liberty, you realised, in painting you within the sun’s dying light. 

You almost looked divine. 

“Holy shit.”

“Does that hold a negative connotation?”

“Veritas, you’re crazy.”

“...negative?”

“It’s so…” you met his gaze which was already searching yours for a reaction. “It’s brilliant. It’s so, so good.”

His shoulders relaxed as he sighed. “Good. Let’s go to dinner, then.” he turns to leave, but you stop him, grabbing his arm. You found that it was hard as chiselled marble, and almost want to find out exactly what’s underneath, but you dismiss the thought. 

“You have something on your forehead.” you point. 

He frowned, rubbing his forehead with the same hand that had been gripping the charcoal for the past hour. Smudged it even further. His forehead was thinly coated in black ash.

You sighed. “Here, let me.” 

He leaned down for you to wipe the stains, hair hanging over his eyes. He smelled faintly of the library with its old books, and partly of ink with something deeper. His eyes darted around to meet anything but your gaze, long lashes fluttering, crimson red eyes matching the shade of his complexion. 

You make him nervous, you confirm with delight. 

“There. That’s the most of it.” you withdrew, and he stood back up quicker than you thought possible. 

“Alright, dinner, then.” 

“Dinner.”

“I’ll go and… wash up.”

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

He realised how much he was doomed as the sky started to pour with rain, just as the two of you stepped outdoors, beyond his apartment complex. 

“How far is the place you wanted to go?” he asked you.

“Not too far. Let’s just keep walking.”

He shrugged, falling into step beside you. His steps were terrifyingly large, as would make sense with his tall frame. 

“So what are your interests?” he blurts out, staring at the ground as he walks. 

“Well, art, obviously,”

“Yes, of course, do you think I’m dense?”

“Maybe a little.” 

“I will interpret that as sarcasm.”

You laugh, and as if the heavens had heard you, the rain began to fall heavier, darkening the landscape, tingeing the air with smells of petrichor and a cold that wasn’t there before. 

Ratio thought it was ironic. A pathetic fallacy of his doomed fate. 

“You have to be kidding me.”

He sighed, massaging his temples with his fingers. “We are unfortuitous.”

“...You could’ve said unlucky.”

“I choose not to associate myself with idiots.”

You chuckle as you attempt to cover your head with your arms, running to the nearest block for shelter. The rain, however, doesn’t desist. It continues to pour until you’re both soaked through – his hair soaking wet, sticking to his forehead, white shirt clinging to his carved abdomen that you desperately try to avoid looking at. 

“Should we just go back?” you move your hair out of your eyes, squinting in the relentless downpour. Through the slight shelter of the building behind you two, the rain pours heavy as ever, unlikely to cease soon. 

“I was waiting for you to come to that conclusion.”

“...Why didn’t you offer it first?”

Because he thought you looked good in the rain with wet hair. He wanted to remember the image – burn it into his eyelids – before he returned to sketch it. Number of things he’d never say aloud: two.

“I was waiting for you to come to that conclusion yourself.”

“Pretentious.”

“Thank you. Now can we hurry? It’s only getting heavier.”

His situation, ironically, then becomes even more perilous. A series of unfortunate events, unfolding like a train of misfortunes. First, your meeting – strikingly uncomfortable for both of you, he imagined (it certainly was for him) – then your failed attempt at dinner, interrupted by an unforgiving rain storm. He didn’t think it could get much worse. But there was always room for improvement, as he knows better than anyone, the academic that he is. 

There are, now, puddles of water throughout Dr Ratio’s apartment that he hadn’t bothered to clean since you got into his shower.

You, in his shower. 

He wonders if there is a God, somewhere out there, delighting in his torment. It was never supposed to devolve into such interactions, only observing you long enough to capture your beauty on the page. 

He wonders if you know he is thinking about you often as he does. Thinks you’d be completely repulsed by him. This is what frightens him. 

“Veritas?” your voice echoes from within the house. 

He gets up from where he’s sitting in a puddle near the kitchen, racing to the bathroom at your call. Did he manage to miss something incriminating in his bathroom? He’d made sure that every surface was bare before you entered, had he not?

“Yes?”

“...This is embarrassing. Can you please get me a towel?” 

This felt like one of those cliches in romantic comedies that Ratio’s colleagues liked to watch. Mindless scenes of dry humour and burlesque attempts at “comedy” he found appalling. It was happening to him, now. Spiting his academic rigidity. 

“Of course. One moment.”

He tries not to think about you, standing completely bare behind the door, as he sticks a hand into the bathroom, head turned away. If you looked closer, you’d have seen the bright red shade of his ears – but to his merit, you take the towel, shutting the door, a muffled “thank you” audible through the door. 

He sighs, sitting on the floor beside the bathroom. 

Whatever Gods there were, were bestowing great suffering on him today. 

It takes a couple minutes for you to finish up in the bathroom. Another few more for him to wash up, and another handful of minutes for you both to be seated on the couch together in awkward silence. 

You wear one of Ratio’s old shirts and shorts, scrolling on your phone, and he is sitting, arms crossed, on the opposite end of the couch, staring at you again. Outside, the rain still pours in unceasing rivulets, dissipating any ideas for going out for dinner. 

He thinks his clothes look far better on you than on him. Thinks that you were made for this world and its inhabitants, crafted so perfectly. Wonders what wouldn’t suit your wear, because he can’t imagine anything that you couldn’t look good in. 

“Okay,” you say, turning off your phone to stare back at him, “I ordered. Should be here in about ten minutes.” 

He nods, and averts his gaze. 

You smile. His behaviour is amusing.  

“Veritas?”

“Yes?”

“What are your greatest fears?”

“Excuse me?”

You shuffle closer, and he notes a glint in your eye that suggests mischief. Teasing, as he’d seen before. “What are you afraid of? Like, the dark?”

“Nothing.”

“Boring. Come on, there’s gotta be something.” 

He frowns, brows bunching together as he stares at the wall. An easy, natural habit. “Nothing. Fear is irrational.”

“Right.” you laugh at his blatant refusal to cooperate with you. 

“Am I being funny?”

“No,”

“Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re being so… unexpectedly childish.”

“What?” he seems to prickle up with indignation. “What do you mean?”

“Your stubbornness to just answer my question, and the way you’re…” you gesture to his posture, the way his arms are folded and he glares at the wall. “Behaving. It’s childish.”

“Well, what are you afraid of? Nothing, right? It’s a stupid question.”

“I’m afraid of insects, the dark, I could go on, really,”

Veritas glares at you, meeting your eyes for a second. “Fear is stupid.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you scared of holding eye contact?”

At this, he blinks. He turns to face you, still frowning, but his gaze flickers between your eyes and the rest of your face. Your laugh only makes him roll his eyes. 

“You really can’t hold eye contact, can you?” you say through a fit of giggles. “Have you ever dated?”

“Yes, I can hold eye contact,” – but not with you, it seemed. You intimidated him – “And no, I haven’t, it’s a distraction.”

“From what I’m seeing, you can barely even be near me without blushing.”

He blushes, breathing a sigh of exasperation. 

“Dr Veritas Ratio’s one fear is making eye–”

Then he grabs your shoulders, forcing you closer, and holds your gaze with such intensity that the words disappear from your lips. You blink as his stare bores into yours, crimson eyes deep, shining with something unfamiliar to you that you realise you want to decipher. 

People like to say that eyes are the windows to the soul, and Veritas Ratio’s was ridden with something that burned like the sun's dying light. 

It’s then that you realise how close you are to him, how his firm grip on your shoulders softens and his touch drifts to hover above your jaw, how he smelled so inviting, familiar and distant all at once, and how his lips were slightly parted, how they looked so soft –

Knocking, at the front door. 

You both tear away, and he stumbles to the front door to collect your delivery. 

You never regret anything more than this moment. 

“Delivery.”

You nod, obscuring your face with your hair as he sets down your meal on the coffee table. 

You’re both back to silence, pleasantries and common niceties as the meal passes. 

Neither of you meet the other’s eye. 

Time ticks away as you finish your food and clean up, wiled away by carefully weighed words and half-met glances. 

He hates it. 

He hates how you were looking at him with such curiosity, and he hates how he let you tease him. He also hates the delivery man for not being delayed by the rain, but he also hates himself for not ignoring the knocks on his front door. 

“I think I should go now.”

Yes, that would be best. “Why? It’s still raining, you could stay.”

“Well…”

He knows your dorm is far from his apartment complex. He knows that you’ll have to trek through the rain, and yet he also knows that if you stay, he won't be able to sleep. He still has images of you – fresh in his mind – to sketch onto the page. 

“It’s no trouble.”

“Okay. I’ll stay the night.”

“You can sleep in my room.”

“But–”

“Don’t argue.”

Somehow, you’re inclined to do as he says. 

Time, like all things, passes too quickly and too slowly all at once. Without time, nothing exists, but with it, it’s all too agonising to live through. 

This is exactly how Dr Ratio feels as he sits at the coffee table, the small space dimly illuminated by a lamp, as the entire apartment is still. You’re probably sleeping, as he reminds himself, tearing another page out of his sketchbook, unsatisfied with his own hand. 

The rain was now tame, a steady rhythm to his never-ending endeavours to capture your beauty on the page. 

Maybe it’s when the charcoal snaps in his hands, or maybe it’s when his lamplight flickers that he decides that capturing life in still motion is helpless – a pointless and impossible venture that can never succeed. 

You’re too deific to fit into a world of his creation. 

What are supposed to be your eyes – painted with fervour, but lacking depth – stare up into the ceiling as he dozes off, charcoal falling from his hand, eyes drooping closed. Slivers of moonlight cut across your painted face as he slumps onto the table, snoring softly.

—

You wake to sunlight in your eyes, blinding and harsh, and realise where you are. 

It all smells like him – that scent that you can’t place that smells good, and a lingering smell of the library with all its papers. It all smells like him, and when you walk into the living room, you find that his own apartment is completely devoid of any sense of himself. 

But when you find him slumped at the coffee table, lamplight still illuminating the space with its curtains drawn and rays of sunlight peering through, he’s obsessed with you. 

You’re unsure what, exactly, to feel. There are abandoned pages scattered all throughout the space, and unfurling one, you recognise your own face staring back at you. 

Each and every drawing is of you – your hair wet, clinging to your skin, you drowning in his clothes far too large for you, or your face painted with curiosity and entrapment. 

It’s you through Veritas’ gaze, and you think that beyond all else, he made you look divine. 

When Veritas Ratio wakes to his papers – all wrinkled and partly torn – sitting in front of him, neatly arranged with a note on top, realisation hits him, but he can only laugh. 

“Veritas Ratio’s greatest fear: eye contact with the person he’s obsessed with. Completely irrational – even though he can draw me perfectly from memory. A shame, really. Looks like you’ll have to invite me over to pose for you again.

So you can get my eyes right, of course.”

written by @atlaswav , published 26th of August 2024

[jentrovert]

Love to Hate You ♡

(Charlie Dalton x Fem Reader)

Enemies to Lovers Oneshot!

Warnings: Swearing, 1950’s stereotypes (purity, clothing style, cigarettes), mentions of neglect, immature high school drama, talk of paddling at school, dumb pranks, kissing, romance, teen partying, suggestive flirting, mention of a diet, moral grayness, parental issues, arguing, drinking, jealously, reader possesses slight anger issues, Neil lives and all is well.

Synopsis: The highly regarded Welton Academy has two buildings, one strictly for girl students, and the other for young boys. By a turn of events, they all end up having to share study hall together in the afternoons. (Y/n), your typical rich, hyper-feminine prima donna, thinks she’s in charge of Welton Academy. With her squeaky clean reputation and unwavering confidence, surely no one will ever see her sweat. However, being the drama queen that she is, she takes her first encounter with Charlie Dalton as a personal attack. Teenage chaos ensues. ~

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡ *

Authors Note: Hello! I just got into DPS, and I don’t write very much, so be gentle. This was originally supposed to be a dumb little blurb I wrote without intent to post. Short and silly. Obviously it’s based on the movie, but I also made it my own. Reader is referred to as a female, woman, and girl. She/Her pronouns used. It’s mentioned once that the reader has hair, but other than that, if something doesn’t feel neutral as far as the reader’s appearance, please let me know. Feel free to request! :)

Dramatic Princess Society

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

To say you were a diva was a staggering understatement. Everyone who graced your presence could see that you were in control of any room you happened to wander into. You weren’t a princess; you were the princess. A fond nickname you’d developed as well. You were never afraid to say whatever was on your mind, and you figured that really wasn’t such a bad thing. You just knew what you wanted, and that was all.

It didn’t help that your wealthy parents constantly fed into your ego, insistently showering you with lavish clothes and gifts to distract you from the fact that they only saw their child a few times a year. The only time your mother really gave you any guidance or contacted you at all was to ask about your diet or your clothing size, which was honestly fine by you. You had a social hierarchy to rule over, and that kept you plenty busy. Yeah, you were vain, and maybe even a bit too proud, but if anyone had the right to be, it was certainly you.

Your parents had pushed you into doing all sorts of extracurricular activities throughout your childhood and adolescence. They put a lot of weight on status and education, so failure just wasn’t an option in their eyes. You were meant to sit above everyone else at all times with a crown fixed on your head. Maybe if you could accomplish that, then you’d have to be good enough in their eyes.

What most people didn’t usually see, however, was the bleeding heart beneath all of that pompous prestige. Just below the surface, there was a young girl who wanted the same thing every other teenager so desperately did: to be accepted. But no one was going to knock down that wall you’d built.

On par for the course, you attended Welton Academy, one of the most distinguished prep schools in the country, made strictly for young women like yourself. The catch was that just across the lake from your school, there was another high school identical to your own, except it was made for young men instead.

The girl’s building was a fairly recent addition to the school grounds themselves. Neither of them weren’t necessarily close in proximity, but they were close enough that you could always see the opposing building. On the rare occasion of a mixed assembly, the Welton staff were always swift to pull you in opposite directions when the event had ended. There would be absolutely no one partaking in any premarital activities on their watch. The adults around you were very strict in that regard.

“What do you think the boys are doing over there right now?” Your roomate Maddie wondered aloud, her elbows propped up on the seal of your dorm window as she ogled dreamily across the lake.

You gave a teasing scoff as you turned away from your chemistry work to face her. “Probably using binoculars to stare at our building so hard that their eyes are getting sore.”

“You think?” She chirped in almost a hopeful tone, glancing over her shoulder at you.

Your eyes nearly rolled out of your head as you went back to reading. “That’s not a good thing, Madison. They’re a bunch of little perverts, and everyone knows it.”

“Maybe I should wear prettier night gowns,” She mused, ignoring your input completely.

You groaned. “Gross. For the love of all holy, please just close the shutters.”

“At least you said ‘please’ for once,” Madison grumbled, doing just as you’d told her before deciding to turn in for the night.

You sighed, playing with a strand of your hair. “Madison. They’re just boys; I promise you, they don’t have anything special.”

Once you heard Maddie’s mischievous giggle, you already knew where she was about to go with that statement.

“Oh, I’d beg to differ on that one.”

You couldn’t help the grin that cracked across your face, but you waved a dismissive hand in her direction.

“Maybe if you weren’t so uptight, then all the boys wouldn’t be scared of you,” She stated through laughter.

You looked over at her again, brows raised. “Ha! Shows how much you know. That’s the way I like it,” You hummed, shrugging your shoulders as you inspected the polish on your nails. “But who could really blame them? I’m pretty intimidating, if I do say so myself.

Now it was Maddie’s turn to roll her eyes. “Whatever you say, princess,” She said, bowing theatrically before flopping back on her pillow. “Can you cut the lights off already? You’ve been looking at that forever.”

“Oh I have to say ‘please’, but you don’t?” You huffed at her, but obliged anyway.

Cutting off your lamp, you followed Maddie’s lead and crawled beneath your own blankets, curling into a cozy little ball. Your eyes lingered on the ceiling for a while before you finally drifted off. You couldn’t stop yourself from wondering if there really was anything interesting about the boys over there. You doubted it, but you wouldn’t know unless you saw for yourself. Perhaps they could make things a little less boring in your current life. As much as you appreciated all the praise from your female peers, it was getting a little tired.

The next afternoon, it was nearing the end of the school day when you were sitting in Mrs. Newman’s class, daydreaming about your next salon appointment before dismissal. That’s when the older woman made an extremely important announcement to the class. Apparently, the boy’s library was under some new renovations, and as such, all of the boys who still wanted to attend study hall were instructed to use the girl’s library in your building until construction was over.

Your eyes widened when you heard the news, and you’d never admit it, but your heart also sped up a little at the thought. A few coy giggles echoed through the room as Mrs. Newman spoke.

“Now, ladies,” Your senile instructor boomed, scanning the room with a very firm look on her face. “I expect nothing but professional behavior from you all, and anything to the contrary will not be taken lightly. Do you all understand?”

“Yes, Mrs. Newman,” The class cooed in unison, not sounding nearly convincing enough.

You never thought you’d live to see the day Welton Academy would actually allow males and females to mingle. Hell had finally frozen over, you thought.

Newman kept a narrow eye on all of you as she dismissed class, but none of you seemed to pay her any mind. You were all too busy laughing and gossiping about what it would be like to merge study hall with boys. You must’ve heard your name being called a hundred times as you made your way to your locker.

“(Y/n)! (Y/n)! Did you hear?! We get to be with the boys every single day for the next few weeks!” A freshman girl named Rachel beamed as she approached.

The mundane expression never left your face. “Duh, of course I did. That’s all anyone’s talked about for the last five minutes.”

She deflated a bit. “Oh. Right. Um, I like your makeup today, by the way… Always, really.”

“Of course, Rach. You know me,” You remarked, stopping to fiddle with the combination on your locker. You could see her grin from your peripheral as she started to turn away.

“Alright, well, I’ll see you later, (Y/n)!”

You wiggled your fingers in her direction as you sorted through the books you wanted for study hall. You liked Rachel; she had great fashion sense, but she was a little too boy-obsessed for you, even worse than Maddie. You refused to give young men so much of your attention. They should be excited to see you, not the other way around. You’d never judge her or anyone else for it, but there was no way you were going to be dubbed a ‘tramp’ and end up being an outcast from your social groups. At least that’s what your parents told you would happen. So a boy would need to have something truly magical in order to make you break a sweat over them.

As you gripped your stack of books and began making your way to the now highly sought-after library, a small group of girls began trailing close behind you, a couple of them throwing affirmations your way about your hair or outfit. A few of them you knew, a few you didn’t, but at least you never had to worry about sitting alone.

“(Y/n), I love your pink socks.”

“Thanks. You know I just can’t be bothered with their horrid dress code. The patterns on the skirts are bad enough.”

“(Y/n), where did you get your bag?”

“Don’t remember. I just grabbed one this morning.”

“(Y/n), are you going to talk to any boys?”

“They can come up and talk to me if they want.”

“If they dare,” Maddie laughed, amplifying the string of constant giggles behind you.

You had your hand on the library door, ready to push it open, when a high-pitched voice startled you by crying, “Wait!”

You pulled away, immediately recognizing a sophomore named Jenny as she rushed over, peaking her head through the window of the large double doors.

“Ohmygosh,” She whispered. “They’re really in there.”

The group laughed, but you simply nudged her aside. “Please, Jen. Of course they are.”

“Oh! Let me pick where to sit!” Maddie begged with her sad brown eyes.

You thought about it briefly and ultimately caved in to her request. She cheered as she took a turn looking through the window, scanning each male specimen with great precision. A few women were in the library already, but not too many just yet. You tapped your foot impatiently, staring at the side of Maddie’s head while you waited on her decision.

“Pick cute ones to sit by!” A little red-headed girl commented, and the rest of them whispered amongst themselves in agreement.

You huffed, stamping your foot a bit as you began to push by your classmates. “For God’s sake, women, can we pull ourselves together a bit? Maddie Garcia, you’ve got two seconds before I pick for you.”

“Okay! Okay!” She squealed. “Um… That one! That table right there.” You stepped beside her, observing the large table that she’d pointed out. It was only half full, with one side harboring a fairly normal-looking group of young men, and the other side vacant.

“Fine. Perfect.”

Giving the entrance a quick shove, the group began filing in to the library one by one. Maddie and Rachel stayed by your side in order to get a closer look at the scope of people, and the rest of them hung behind you shyly. If the boys weren’t looking your way already, they certainly were after you haphazardly dropped your pile of books on the table. The rest of the girls sheepishly sorted out which chairs to take, making sure to leave a space between them and any boys. Almost instantly, you began burying yourself in your chemistry book, ignoring the girl’s whispering and the boy’s eyes that were burning holes in your head. You couldn’t believe all that fuss was just for them to not even talk to a single male in the room. You simply had no time for the nonsense.

After a while, everyone seemed to settle in and get back to their books and homework like normal, but every minute or so, Maddie would tap on you and ask, “What about that one? Is he cute?”, only for you to look over and shrug. More and more students came through during the hour. The library had stayed surprisingly quiet, so you figured the boys must be on their best behavior in the new environment. They were very careful not to say anything too loudly about any of you, though you knew what they were probably talking about when they lowered their voices. It was fine by you as long as they weren’t being overly distracting.

Your friends, on the other hand, weren’t doing anything with their time except yammering on; their books were open to a random page in the hopes that none of the teachers would actually notice. That day probably set a record for how many students attended study hall in Welton history, and the ironic part was hardly anyone was studying.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” A girl named Tayla asked, catching your attention.

You looked up at her in acknowledgment, so she continued. “How do you always keep from getting in trouble during Mr. Baker’s class?”

You thought about it for a second and laughed. “Well, you see, if you misbehave in a male teacher’s class, but you simultaneously wear a skirt that’s two sizes too small, then they won’t paddle you. None of them would dare make you bend over in a skirt that short.”

And you were right; teachers wouldn’t paddle you if your clothing seemed too short, so you always made sure wear clothing from previous school years if you were planning on causing problems. It may have been a shoddy thing for you to do, but so was hitting your students with an object, you thought. At least this way you could laugh about it.

A few of them giggled, one calling you a ‘genius’ in a playful manner. However, you could see from across the table that a few of the boys had suddenly turned rather crimson, and you knew it was likely from your conversation. You couldn’t fault them, because you weren’t exactly being quiet. Though you wouldn’t concern yourself with it either. If they were embarrassed, that was their problem.

A toothy smile graced your lips as you returned to your book, feeling oddly triumphant in your “advice”. But alas, you couldn’t revel in it; you had chemistry work that desperately needed your attention as well. Your parents would have your head if your grades proved any less than perfect.

You’d sat at the head of the table, trying your best to focus for at least a few minutes once everyone had gone quiet. However, rather than focusing on chemistry formulas, you’d slowly started to take notice of a young brunette who sat opposite you. He wasn’t doing anything particularly special, just chewing gum and trying to kick one of his friends under the table, not paying much mind to the new female table-mates. One of his classmates had called him “Charlie”, which was a name you actually recognized. You’d definitely heard a few of the girls talk about him before, and his not-so-appropriate stories.

You took a moment to observe the details of his face and the way he interacted with his friends, your work now long forgotten. He seemed so confident and loud, clearly a class clown as well. His boyish features were pretty charming, if you had to admit it. Soft and mischievous at the same time. The uniform looked handsome on him too. His looks and mannerisms definitely made you want to get to know him a bit better.

Suddenly, the same male you were admiring cleared his throat in a loud, dramatic sort of fashion, catching everyone at the table’s attention. He made quite a show of folding his hands out in front of him on the table, leaning toward you with direct eye contact, so you knew that whatever he was about to say, he was talking to you.

You cocked a brow at the boy, clueless as to what he could possibly be drawing so much attention for.

“Ma’am, since I don’t see any paint or an easel in front of you, I’m going to have to ask that you refrain from staring, please. Not that I don’t enjoy it, but it is very distracting at the moment,” He explained in mock concern, smiling in almost a taunting sort of fashion.

Your eyes blew wide, your jaw all but dropping to the floor as everyone who was listening turned to see your reaction. A few other tables had heard the disturbance as well. Your back suddenly straightened, and you opened and closed your mouth a few times in an attempt to defend yourself, but nothing came out. Normally, you’d fire off something snarky in return, maybe even insulting, but instead, your mind was rendered completely blank. It was strange, really. Sex and everything related to it were extremely taboo, especially with the way you’d been raised. It was one thing when you were talking to your female peers, but having a male address you in that sort of manner was kind of petrifying.

Your cheeks burned with humiliation from all the giggles that met your ears. His gaze never left yours as a huge smirk began to paint his features, causing you to avert your eyes. You couldn’t remember when you became so shy.

“I, uh...” Your eyes darted around to various on-looking students. “Whatever,” you muttered, propping your book up in a way that would block most people from seeing your face.

A symphony of “Ooo’s” echoed from all around you, the group of boys laughing as they playfully punched their friend on the shoulder. Only one boy in a vest who sat closest seemed to give Charlie a displeased look. Some of your own friends began poking you and laughing themselves. Your skin was on fire. You hardly even interacted with men in your day to day life, much less experienced this. You were mortified. You could only take it for a few more moments before you stood straight up from your chair, slamming your chemistry book. Charlie and a couple of your friends were the only ones who noticed the tantrum you were throwing, and Maddie stood to follow you as you made your way out of the library.

You practically stomped out of the room, never once looking behind you. “Who the hell even is that? Who does he think he is talking to me that way? This is why they shouldn’t be over here,” You ranted, directing it toward Maddie, even though she hadn’t caught up to you yet.

Before the door could shut behind both of you, someone had flung it open once more. You turned to see if the rest of the girls were following you, only to be met with his face again. You groaned and began walking faster to your locker.

“Hey!” The boy laughed, hurrying to catch you. “Hey, hold on-”

You didn’t answer, the click of your heels being the only noise you made. Maddie didn’t say anything either, but she watched the two of you with suspicious eyes.

“Wait a second,” He urged, attempting to grab your sleeve before you swatted him away.

“Who do you think you are, exactly?” You snapped, suddenly spinning on your heel to face him. He nearly tripped over his feet to stop himself from running into you.

“Uh, I think I’m Charlie,” he stated, taking a couple steps backward.

Your eyes narrowed. “And what do you want? Why are you trying to humiliate me?”

Charlie stared at you for a second, then let out a small chuckle as he began rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. “Ah, I see. You’re one of those types.”

“Excuse me?” You seethed, digging your nails into your textbooks. “One of what type? Nobody is like me, not even close, so get that straight.”

The male put his hands up in defense. “Now, I didn’t mean it like that, babe.”

Throwing him a fake laugh, you rolled your eyes and continued the journey to your dorm. “Babe? I’m not your babe; my name is (Y/n). Now go torture some other girl.”

Charlie stuffed his hands in his pockets as he watched you walk away, glancing over at Maddie, who had yet to follow you again. "Well, now I have to torture her,” he said.

“Good luck with that. She’s, like, the queen of Welton,” Maddie laughed. “Although, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody work her up that much before.”

Charlie hummed, fixed on the spot you once stood. “Well, then the king himself will just have to take that as a challenge.”

.

The next few days went by with you avoiding study hall like the plague, no matter how much any of the other girls begged you to go. You were sick, you were hungry, you were tired—anything it took to avoid him until you were certain the whispers had died down. You hated his cocky demeanor. You were the only one who should be cocky at Welton. Of course, the rumor of your “crush” had made its rounds by now, much to your dismay. Maddie told you she’d heard some of the boys talking about it as well. The majority of girls just couldn’t shut up about how cute you’d be together with one the “poetry nerds”.

You must’ve been asked a dozen times if you and Charlie were dating, and for once you wished people would stop paying so much attention to you. That was the point where you’d had enough. There was no way you were going to let people think you had a thing for that clown, absolutely no way. You knew he just liked to flirt with every girl anyway, so his advances meant nothing to you. He had embarrassed you on purpose, and you were going to make damn sure you returned the favor someday. These were your school grounds, not his, and not anybody else’s either. Mr. Nolan, the old bat, could take that fact and shove it for all you cared.

The day you finally went back to study hall was on a Friday. There was a chemistry test on Monday morning, and no matter how much you detested it, you really could’ve used one of the boys’ help to study. This chapter of Chemistry was your weak point, and you’d heard a lot of good things about a boy called “Meeks” and his godlike abilities in that realm. You’d seen him sitting around Charlie on that fateful day, which troubled you at first, but once you thought about it for a while, an idea started forming in your brain. That’s where your friend Rachel came in.

Rachel had an affinity for lizards, frogs, and any other small creature that crawled along the ground, which was just perfect for you. You just hoped Charlie loved lizards as much as she did. By the time Friday afternoon had rolled around, you all but dragged Rachel out and down to the library. You could tell she was very unsure, but went along with you anyway.

You stopped and turned to her right outside the doors. “Did you catch one?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, crouching down to fish through her bag.

After a moment, she stood, holding out her hand to reveal a small lizard gently clenched in her grasp. You grinned a wide, maniacal grin, carefully taking the creature from her hands. He was small enough that he would hopefully go undetected for a while, which is exactly what you wanted.

“Thanks, Rach. Alright, c’mon, let’s go,” You instructed, holding the creature in one hand behind your back.

“Ok—ay,” Rachel replied, trialing behind you with your chemistry books in hand.

You strutted right through the room and towards Steven Meeks’ table, ignoring any whispers you heard along the way. Sure enough, Charlie was sitting right beside the Meeks boy, laughing at something his friend had said.

Perfect.

As you approached, most of the table’s attention had turned your way. Charlie immediately plastered that smug look across his face at the sight of you. You scowled at first, but quickly switched your expression to something nice and welcoming as you looked toward Steven, leaning down to his level once you were beside him.

“Hello, gentlemen. Do you mind if I steal your friend Steven for a moment? Rachel and I are seriously clueless when it comes to chemistry, and we need some help for our test Monday,” You explained in a sugary sweet tone, intentionally placing your hand on Meeks’ shoulder. You knew they would fold like wet paper at your request.

The group exchanged several glances with one another, during which, you took the opportunity to place your lizard friend into Charlie’s uniform coat, carefully planting him where he’d likely go down rather than out the top.

“Uh, yeah, alright, sure,” Meeks agreed, gathering up his things and rising from his chair. Rachel chuckled awkwardly, giving a timid “Thank you” to the boy for his help. You couldn’t distinguish whether she was nervous about what you’d done or if Rachel actually had a thing for Meeks. Either way, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting to witness the events that unfolded when Charlie realized something besides him was moving in his clothes.

You and Rachel led Meeks to a vacant table off to the left and began setting up things to study. You could tell the boy was a bit nervous around you, but he but shook it off pretty quickly. You, however, were still too distracted with watching Charlie. Once Meeks noticed this, he chuckled, gaining your attention.

“What is it?” You questioned.

“It’s just that… I noticed you staring over there.”

You shot him a chilling glare.

“I was not staring at him!” You blurted a little too loudly. A few students glanced your way before going back to their work, making you take a breath and sit back in your chair. “I apologize. Continue, please.”

Rachel held in a laugh, but said nothing.

A few minutes had gone by before you finally caught a sign of Charlie feeling around in the sleeve of his clothes. You leaned forward in anticipation, waiting eagerly for some sort of panic to ensue. However, rather than panicking, Charlie stood up, removing his jackst and flipping it to search the inside. After some investigation, he found whatever he was looking for.

“Oh, man!” You heard Charlie exclaim as he pulled something from the article of clothing. “Guys, check this out.”

He seemed excited about it, much to your utter frustration. The group all gathered around to view the animal Charlie now held in his hand, all taking turns viewing the small reptile. You were fuming, now sunken down in your chair with your arms folded.

“Yeah, I wonder where he came from, too,” Charlie articulated louder than before, peering over his shoulder at you with a knowing look.

That cocky smile of his made you stand up so hard that your chair fell backwards. You snatched your book off the desk and started to walk out, not bothering to say anything other than, “I’m going to study in my room.”

“Okay,” Rachel squeaked as she and Meeks’ eyes followed you out the door.

Charlie couldn’t stop the laughter that nearly doubled him over as he witnessed you pretty much barrel through the door on your way out. You ignored him, walking briskly to your locker to grab another book, accidentally bumping into a few people on your way. Once you stopped in front of your locker door, a puzzled look replaced your once furious one. The combination lock on your locker had completely disappeared, initially making you think someone had stolen something out of it.

In a panic, you threw open the door to see what might be missing, but rather than finding an empty space, you found the exact opposite. The second you tore it open, an absolute mountain of paper came toppling out like a waterfall, making you shriek as they pooled all around your feet. You stood staring at the ground for a moment, desperately trying to process what just occurred. That’s when you heard footsteps approaching to your right. You didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

Charlie was stifling laughter as he closed in on you. Then he dug around in his front pocket for a moment before pulling out your missing lock and holding it towards you. “Figure you’d want this back,” he offered between chuckles.

“You put these here?” It came out as a statement rather than a question.

“Yeah, kinda like you put a lizard in my shirt. Funny coincidence. Mine was funnier, but I guess we’re even now, eh?”

You studied the inside of your locker for a second more before slamming it shut as hard as you could and pivoting on your heel to face him. His expression faltered a bit when he saw the rage evident in your features.

“Babe, hold on, it was just a jo-”

“How did you get my lock off of there?!” You roared, kicking papers away as you shoved your manicured finger right in his face.

Charlie smirked. “The same way I knew it was you who got that lizard in my blazer, I’m just smart, is all.” He didn’t seem too fazed, which angered you even further. “That was pretty corny, by the way. You should know that we men aren’t afraid of our own shadows like you ladies are.”

You thought your head was about to spin around.

“Afraid of our own shadows?! Are you aware that it was a girl who got the lizard in the first place, you hoity, lame, stupid, conceited-”

“Children!” An adult’s voice boomed from down the hall, making you both whip your heads in that direction.

“Shit,” You and Charlie whispered in unison.

“What on earth is going on here?! What’s all of this mess for?!” Mrs. Newman screeched as she advanced toward you, her brow carved into a deep, wrinkled frown.

You quickly began straightening your outfit, scanning your brain for an excuse to the papers.

“Well, Ma’am, I, uh- Um, Mr. Dalton here had accidentally bumped into me, and I dropped a bunch of papers on the ground,” You rushed out, flashing her an innocent smile as you flattened your skirt.

She gave you a skeptical look up and down, then turned her attention to Charlie. “Is that so? Then what’s with all the noise?”

Charlie coughed into the crook of his elbow before he spoke, giving himself a moment to think.

“Were we being loud? I’m so sorry, Mrs. Newman; we’ll keep our voices down. Won’t happen again, I promise.”

After contemplating it for a minute, she finally let the two of you off the hook, scolding you not to let it happen again and instructing Charlie to help you clean up. Once she was out of sight, the boy grinned at you, kneeling down to help you sort through the sheets of paper littering the floor. “You lied for me, babe?”

You could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Don’t flatter yourself. I knew if I told on you, then you’d probably narc me out too.”

He paused for a second, then laughed under his breath. “You hardly look at me when we talk like this. Do I make you that nervous, babe?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, you reached over and kicked the foot he was balancing his weight on, effectively toppling him over. Charlie was quick to catch himself, though, cackling like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen happen.

You stood to your full height, intending to leave him on the ground to fend for himself. “I told you to stop calling me that!”

“Hold on!” He cried rather dramatically, grabbing you by the hand while on his knees in front of you. “I’m sorry. How could I have ever upset the most amazing girl at Welton? A beautiful flame that I’ve tried to snuff out. Could you ever forgive me?”

It was almost weirdly poetic, but still very sarcastic.

Your expression couldn’t have been less amused than it was in that moment, but it quickly twisted into one of shock and horror as the boy leaned forward and planted a curt kiss on your knuckles, still staring up at you with a look that feigned remorse. Those auburn eyes froze you in place for just a moment before you finally snapped out of it, tearing your hand away. The recoil of your action caused you to stumble back a step, which Charlie was thoroughly entertained by, of course.

You shook your head. “Ugh! Can you just stop messing with me, Dalton?! There’s a hundred other girls here; try one of them.”

As much as you hated it, Charlie was right about one thing: You did have a difficult time meeting his gaze. Something about those eyes just made it frustratingly difficult for you to string the right words together. So instead, you scooped up your books and trudged back to your dorm, leaving him surrounded by mounds of paper that still needed to be dealt with.

It seemed that the more irate you became, the more Charlie couldn’t help but laugh. Whatever the reason was, you were not amused in the slightest. You were really about to snap, and dumb little pranks weren’t going to alleviate your feelings. As the day crawled to an end, you took a shower, ate a snack, and eventually decided on going to Maddie’s house for the weekend. You figured it would do you some good to hang out and relax rather than staying at school, and it wasn’t as though your parents cared anyway.

Madison lived close by, and her parents would always come pick her up if she wanted. They were happy to have you since they got along well with your family, so it worked out perfect anytime you needed to get away. By the time you got there and caught up with her family for a bit, it had grown dark outside. She was quiet for a while as she put her things away and meandered around aimlessly, obviously stalling for something she wanted to say.

“So,” she finally said, drawing out the “o” at the end. Your eyes flickered up from your book to see Maddie fighting a smile, her hip cocked with one hand placed on top of it. “I heard about your locker.”

Your jaw clenched. “Maddie, let me stop you right there. I do not want to talk about it. I do not want to think about it. And it was hardly a joke at all; it was just stupid. I had no idea he’d actually pull something so dumb.”

She let out a breathy laugh and picked up a book of her own, beginning to immerse herself in its contents after plopping onto her bed. “Right, so stupid. It's almost as stupid as putting a lizard in someone’s clothes.”

Your nails nearly tore the page you were pretending to read. “I asked you to drop it. I do not want to talk about that man child anymore this weekend.”

“Actually, you didn’t ask,” She hummed. “And it’s funny, since he’s all you’ve wanted to talk about for the past week.”

“Is not!” You wailed, dropping your book on the desk to look at her.

Maddie blinked at you owlishly, though she was plenty used to your antics by now. “(Y/n), I know how much you adore drama, but don’t you think you’re being a touch dramatic here? He probably just likes you.”

“Well, he has a horrible way of showing it.”

“He’s a teenage boy, (Y/n).”

“I don’t care. You all are gonna make me take up smoking.”

She pursed her lips, observing you for a moment. “Are you sure you don’t think he’s kind of cute..?”

You heard the skepticism in her voice. “... Absolutely not.”

She didn’t acknowledge the fact that you hesitated for a split second, she just smiled and went back to reading. “Whatever you say, princess. I’d say you match each other’s egotism.” She paused for a second. “I was going to tell you something else, but now I forgot what it was.”

“Mm. That’s a shame; I would’ve really been interested to hear more of what you had to say,” You drawled, sarcasm dripping from your words.

She grinned. “Shut up, you-… Hold on, do you hear that?”

You glanced around. “What? It’s quiet.”

Maddie lived in a pretty wealthy neighborhood so everyone, including her parents, had turned in by half an hour ago. It stayed generally pretty mundane.

“Listen,” She said, walking to her window and moving the curtains. Both of you stilled as you strained to hear something, and sure enough, the sound of distant music met your ear.

“Is someone throwing a party?” You asked.

“Must be that girl across the street. I bet her parents are out for the weekend.”

“Hm. And where does she go again?”

Maddie shrugged. “One of the public high schools nearby, I suppose.”

“Whatever,” You sighed, standing up. “I guess I’m going to head over to the guest room and get some sleep.”

Maddie nodded. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be next door.”

“Thanks, Mads.”

Surprisingly, it didn’t take much for you to doze off once you’d gotten comfortable. Perhaps you were exhausting yourself worrying about nonsense. The unfortunate part was that you didn’t stay asleep for very long. About three hours went by before Maddie was shaking you awake again.

“Ugh,” You groaned in annoyance, shifting as your stirred awake. “Wha—at, Maddie? My beauty sleep-”

“Don’t you hear that? I haven’t been able to sleep forever!” She interjected.

Your eyes fluttered open as you listened. That’s when you finally processed how excessively loud the party music was playing from outside. Maddie was hardly visible in the darkness, but you could still make out the aggravated expression etched on her features.

Now you were pissed.

The absolute last thing you wanted to deal with was being woken up out of your sleep by some inconsiderate bunch of teenagers with nothing productive to do in their spare time.

“I’m surprised no one in the neighborhood has called the police on those kids or something,” She grumbled, folding her arms over her chest. “I guess none of them are as close to her house as we are.”

You kicked your legs over the side of the bed, weaving past the young girl and practically growling as you went digging around for some shoes.

“What are you doing?” Maddie quizzed, watching as you tugged some slippers onto your feet and started towards the door.

“I’m going to make sure they quiet down. Come on.”

She was quick to follow after that, not uttering a word as you padded down the stairs and out the front door. You were careful not to alert her parents of your exit, even though you knew they slept through everything anyway. Maddie almost had to jog to keep up with your pace.

As you made your way across the street, it became even more glaringly obvious where all the noise was coming from. The neighbor’s backyard was practically lit up like a rock concert. You didn’t even bother with the front door at that point and instead looped your way around the back of the house, straight for the source. You could hear Maddie faltering behind you.

“(Y/n), wait, if there are boys here, we can’t be in nightgowns! What are you even going to say? What if-!”

“Listen, I know you’re a ridiculously light sleeper, and this noise is just stupid, so I’m fixing it right now. Either follow me or don’t,” You snapped, not bothering to look in her direction.

She didn’t reply, but never stopped following you. You were on a war path, but the instant you rounded the corner, you came to a screeching halt, causing Maddie to smack into your backside.

“Ouch!” She yelped, stepping backward. “Why did you…” Maddie trailed off as she caught sight of what you were staring at—the very thing that had caused you to stop in your tracks.

“No. Way.”

Just as you suspected, there was a crowd of high school kids everywhere, some drinking, some smoking, and others dangling their feet in the large pool. You didn’t recognize any of them—none of them except two teenage boys standing by a large table of refreshments. One of them you knew as Knox Overstreet, and the other was Charlie Dalton himself, right there in the flesh, sipping on a cup of God-knows-what with his arm slung around a young brunette girl’s shoulders. They were preoccupied laughing at something Charlie had said, completely oblivious to your presence.

God, he looked just as arrogant as ever with that horrible smug look slapped across his face. To you, it looked like he thought he was getting somewhere with that girl.

You were initially shocked to see them both, but quickly shaped up when you remembered why you were standing there in the first place.

“That’s Mary, the girl that lives here. Is she with Charlie?” Maddie asked.

“Over my dead fucking body,” You mumbled, marching right towards where they stood. It only took a second for them to notice you approaching. The girl, Mary, seemed only bewildered by your clothing choice, while the two boys looked like they had suddenly seen a ghost.

You got about six feet away before stopping and jamming a finger in their direction. “I apologize, but this music is-!”

“What?” Mary yelled over the music. You could tell by her body language that she really wasn’t all that interested in what you had to say regardless. Like you were the one being a nuisance, not the other way around.

You gritted your teeth, glaring down at one of the radios that blasted on the table beside you. You all but ripped the knob off that damn machine trying to turn it off. At that point, nearly everyone had turned to look at the commotion you’d caused, but you truly couldn’t have cared less. The perplexed expression had melted off Charlie’s face, now seeming more impressed than anything. But what he was impressed by, you weren’t quite sure.

“I said,” You snarled, practically boring holes into the girl’s head. “I’m sorry, but music is over the top. I’m at my friend’s house across the street, and it’s clear as day through the walls. It’s late. We and everybody else in the neighborhood are really trying to sleep, and you’re being a bit inconsiderate with this. There is zero reason for it to be that loud all night.”

Your head snapped to Charlie when you heard his laugh, and it was all you could do not to tackle him, then it went back to the girl.

“Or maybe,” Mary said slowly, “You should try putting some clothes on before you decide to come stomp on everyone’s fun. I mean, seriously, are you a prostitute or something?” Her words were slurring together. Then she took a final swig from a glass bottle she held before tossing it in your direction.

You stepped back quickly, listening to her giggle as the bottle rolled along the grass and bounced off your foot. Charlie chose to step away from her at that point. Taunting “Ooo’s” came from the crowd of people, who were now fully engrossed as they moved closer to watch the show. You stood there stunned for a moment, in disbelief that someone had actually thrown a glass object at you. Sure, you could be catty sometimes, but you’d never done anything like that to a stranger.

“(Y/n)..?” Came Maddie’s meek voice. You could hear her take a few steps in your direction.

You ignored her and instead looked up at Mary again with a calm smile.

“Hey, alright, look, you can’t-” Charlie began to tell her, but you stopped him politely.

Her smugness seemed to diminish at your mellow reaction, which was quite the opposite of what everyone thought. She had clearly anticipated on you being angry.

But you were angry. You were literally shaking with anger. However, you opted not to express it right away. You weren’t going to give her the pleasure of seeing you scream or cry over her actions.

Still sporting your gentle expression, you sauntered around to the back of the refreshment table and stood there for a moment, all while maintaining eye contact with the young girl.

Mary furrowed her brows, almost ready to laugh at whatever you were doing, but just as she did, you reached out in a quick motion, and flipped the table completely over onto its side, emphasized by a deep ‘thud’ as it hit the ground.

Food went cascading in various directions, the radio rolled several times, and the punch bowl’s contents shot out so far that it covered almost all three of their shoes, causing Mary to shriek and jump backwards. You could tell she had some nice shoes on, too. Well, they were nice.

“Oops,” You sang, “My mistake.”

You could tell she was furious, but thankfully for her, she didn’t move to approach you.

“What in the hell is wrong with you?!” She screeched, face now glowing with anger.

“What’s wrong with me? It’s you, bitch. You’re what’s wrong.”

Noises of surprise and astonishment came from the other teenagers, some egging you on and others commenting on how unladylike you were. You didn’t care; you were ready to shove her in the pool if she tried something else. However, Maddie was there to snatch your hand and start tugging you in the opposite direction.

“(Y/n), let’s go,” She demanded.

You pulled your arm back, knocking her aside as you left all the laughter and commotion behind you. She was about to take out, but Charlie stopped her.

“Hey, head on home, I’ll handle it.”

Maddie sneered at him. “Are you kidding me? You? You think you’re going to help?”

“I’ve got it, I promise. She’ll be back at yours afterward,” He assured.

She sighed, and begrudgingly allowed him to go after you. It didn’t take him long to catch up, but he was confused to find you walking down the road rather than back toward Maddie’s house. You knew from the weight of the footsteps that it wasn’t Maddie behind you, but that didn’t concern you in the slightest. You were too busy fighting tears that threatened to swell in your eyes, the adrenaline making your emotions run rampant. You just wanted to walk and cool your head a little bit, and you were deaf to anything else going on around you.

“(Y/n)! Shit, I didn’t know you had that kind of fire, babe!” Charlie hollered, but when you didn’t stop or even slow down after a few more steps, he took the liberty of grabbing you by the shoulders and spinning you around to face him.

“(Y/N)! Where are you-“

“What?!” You yelled, not bothering to fight him as he held you. He let go when he saw the way you were looking at him, then opened his mouth to say something, but you immediately cut him off.

“What do you want with me? What did I even do to you?”

“What? I’m pretty sure you started this whole thing, not me. Besides, where are you even going?” Charlie laughed.

You glared. “Does it really matter? And what the hell is so funny? What are you so amused with all the goddamn time?!”

“You,” He stated dryly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Me?” You quizzed. “I’m is amusing? Is that why you embarrassed me in front of my friends the first day we met?”

He pulled back. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you, I was trying to get your attention.”

“Well, congratulations, you’ve got it!” You ridiculed. “What are you even doing here? Did you sneak out with Knox to go to that stupid party? And who was that girl hanging all over you like that? She’s awful.”

A broad, playful smirk stretched across the boy’s cheeks. “Why do you care who she was?”

You straightened, placing a hand on your chest. “I don’t. I just don’t see why you have to throw yourself on every girl like that; it’s gross.”

He stepped forward with that ever-teasing look on his face. “Oh, but it was okay when you were rubbing Meeks’ shoulder at school?”

“I wasn’t ‘rubbing’ his shoulder!”

“Yeah, and I don’t actually ‘throw myself’ at women, either,” He shrugged. “I only talk a big game. I make jokes, it’s what I do.”

You tried to fight it, but it was useless. He just looked so attractive under the warm street lights, the wind making his hair all ruffled and messy. Your resentment diminished at the sight, and instead was replaced with a pang of jealousy. The reality was that you wanted Charlie’s arm around you instead. You needed it to be you, and not Mary or anybody else. The facade had finally lost its luster. Realization was now staring in the face: you had feelings for Charlie Dalton.

“Yeah, right, Dalton. That’s what I’d say too,” You uttered, demeanor now flat.

“It’s part of my charm,” He affirmed.

“Of course…”

Charlie was so easy to admire that it made you loath him for it. A thick silence hung between you both for a second.

“I wasn’t trying to make you that angry, for the record. I was just teasing. You’re absolutely gorgeous, and everyone at school wants your attention, so I was trying to make sure I kept it to myself for more than two seconds,” He mused, scuffing his shoe on the pavement. “Although you are pretty hot when you’re mad, so I’ll admit it was a little fun.”

Chills ran down your arms, eyes drifting to the ground bashfully. “You’re crazy, Charles Dalton.”

“Hm. Then I guess we have a lot in common,” He retorted.

“Really? You can’t be serious for two seconds?”

“You can’t loosen up for two seconds!”

You wheeled around, ready to walk away from the conversation and let your crush die with it, but Charlie grabbed you again. This time he wrapped one arm around your waist and pulled you dangerously close, using his other hand to firmly grasp your chin so you’d have to look at him.

You were about to reprimand him, tell him to unhand you and to go back to that other girl, but before you knew what was happening, he’d already leaned in and smushed his lips right up against yours.

A bolt of electricity ran through your body upon contact, and the words that died on your lips came out as a small moan of surprise. He was kissing you. You couldn’t believe it, Charlie was actually kissing you. A real kiss. The sharp scent of cologne and cigarettes invaded your nose, overwhelming your senses. It took a moment for your brain to process the situation, but when it did, you relaxed against him, instinctively letting your eyes close and snaking your arms around his neck. You felt him smile against you as you pulled him flush to your body. It was sweet, meaningful. Your heart thumped wildly in your chest, making you slightly lightheaded.

Oh, you were so screwed.

You had no foggy idea what came over you, but you didn’t have to think twice about it. You began running your fingers through his chocolate locs of hair, nails grazing his scalp ever so slightly in a way that had him sighing against you. He ran his hand to the back of your neck began moving his lips feverishly with your own. You could taste whatever fruity substance he’d been sipping on earlier, but it was heaven. The way he kissed you caused your tongues to brush together a few times, and your stomach flipped each time it happened.

All the built-up tension you’d acquired over the past week was completely released in those few moments as his hands moved up and down your torso. You were fully content to stay like that for the rest of the night, but of course, it was over all too soon.

“Hey, Dalton! Why can't we leave you alone for five minutes, man?” Knox’s voice made you jump away from Charlie, ears warm from being caught.

You weren’t exactly being discreet about it by making out in the middle of the street, but you were still surprised and suddenly much more aware of the fact that you were in nothing but a nightgown.

“Hey, Carpe Diem, man!” Charlie called back to him from down the street, sporting a grin that was probably less than trustworthy.

He continued when all he got was silence in return, “Hold on a second; I’ll be right there, I swear!”

Knox rolled his eyes, turning back toward the house. “Make it quick; we’ve gotta get back before someone misses us!”

Charlie gave his friend a thumbs up, then turned back just as you shivered from a gust of cool night air. Without missing a beat, he peeled off his jacket and placed it over your shoulders, shooting you a goofy smile.

You pulled it around you while shaking your head, then leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, and watched as youthful excitement erupted on his face.

“So you were staring at me that day.”

“Mmm, let’s not push it, Dalton. You’ve been having way too much fun this week,” You warned, stifling a smile.

“Neil owes me a dollar.”

Eyeing the wet grass for a moment, you thought carefully about what you wanted to say next, but it proved difficult to come back down from the high that kiss had put you on.

“You know… I really am sorry about everything that happened,” You said ashamedly.

Charlie’s silence urged you to continue.

“You… I like you, truthfully. And I’ve never really been interested in a boy like this before. When you called me out that day in the library, it sort of hurt my pride a little bit for everyone to see how flustered I got.” Your breathing trembled. "And… I don't know, I guess I just panicked when I realized I couldn’t be cool in front of you."

It felt foreign to open up like that. Showing soft emotions was just not your forte. You were always taught to suck it up and keep going; you were to cry about things in private and smile like a lady in public. But fortunately, Charlie didn’t care about that, and he listened to you ramble with perfect patience. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to cry or throw up at that point, but you were glad you got it out.

“That’s what all this was about?”

You nodded.

“(Y/n)… You need to stop worrying so much about what everyone else thinks. I was sure you just hated me by this point.”

“Charlie, I can’t help it. I’ve worked hard all my life trying to impress everyone,” You defended, feeling a twinge of sadness as you thought back to your parents.

“Well, whether you believe me or not, I would never want you to feel like you had to earn my acceptance. Never.” He gave you a sympathetic look. “And please trust me when I tell you it’s not worth trying to be whatever your family expects you to be. You’re better than whatever they have in their head for you.”

You nodded, and he smiled. A genuine smile, not that patronizing smirk.

“I could’ve approached you so much better than I did, and it was immature to keep antagonizing you like that. I’m sorry, (Y/n).”

You shook your head. “No, I should’ve controlled my temper. You and that poor lizard didn’t deserve it either. And now I need to go apologize to Maddie for the feud her family is going to have with the neighbors for the rest of their life.”

He grimaced. “Eh, they sort of had it coming, if you ask me. I should’ve known you could handle yourself just fine.”

“Don’t encourage me,” You hummed in amusement, watching the trees sway in the breeze.

“Man. Nobody gets the last word with you, do they?” He said through chuckles. “Honestly… What you did was pretty funny. And you were right; the music was obnoxious. It was giving me a headache. Also, let it be known that none of this was my idea, by the way; Knox dragged me here.”

You smiled back at him half-heartedly. “Yeah, I’m never going to hear the end of it… Not that I necessarily deserve mercy.”

“Well, regardless of how it started out, I hope it can continue.” Charlie took your hand, kissing your knuckles just as he’d done before, mumbling against your skin, “If I had known all it took to get on your good side was to stick my tongue in your mouth, I would’ve done it a while ago.”

You took your hand away and whacked his shoulder gently. “Shut it.”

You didn’t have to look at him to know he was grinning from ear to ear.

“I’ll see you Monday! And I’ll have to properly introduce you to my friends,” He joked, walking backward toward the direction Knox had disappeared in. “They all think you’re pretty, but they’re also scared of you, so you have to sit by me.”

“Wait! Do you want your coat back?”

“Nah, I’ll get it Monday, and I’ll get you your lock back, too,” He laughed. “And next time we’ll have to do this at my place, babe!”

You rolled your eyes. “Only if you wear the nightgown next time, Charles.”