#or - more importantly - how much of this is real?

[leam1983]

As a Canadian, and as someone living in a country that has a UBI framework, I think a lot of people misunderstand just how basic Universal Basic Income is.

TL;DR: I agree on principle, but identifying greed as a problem doesn't solve deeper systemic issues.

I see some armchair social theorists on here say that UBI is enough to fight more pressing social battles; that it empowers you to demand better rights as a worker, as a citizen. I've been on UBI and, well - no. UBI is enough to allow you to survive. If you want to invest in a project, if there's a worthwhile cause you want to get involved in that requires some involvement or some capital injection (even something as simple as buying supplies to fashion picketing signs) - that's on you. In Canada, UBI is calculated based on median income, which means that it isn't enough to kickstart some people's Post-Work-Era Roddenberry-Powered Magical Socialism where nobody works and everyone contributes out of sheer passion and drive.

UBI is there so you can survive, and so you can eventually have the resources and skillsets needed to contribute to Society without UBI lining your pockets. More importantly, UBI is there to ensure that there are no "bad jobs" to speak of, because even the fast food joint's janitor who's on Minimum Wage starts with better conditions than a UBI beneficiary. In Canada, a kid with no diploma who makes a living manning a Tim Hortons' cash register doesn't have to fight with the system to obtain credits related to his living conditions. The real problem has three prongs:

Welfare kings and queens who make it harder for legitimate demands of financial assistance to go through;

The corporate world that's forgotten that the very first rung past UBI needs to be 100% livable and needs to allow for at least some measure of savings to be something that can be planned for. UBI should facilitate survival, what happens when even minimum wage doesn't allow you to live right?

Slum lords who buy off properties initially set aside for Affordable Housing programs and who drive market values so far high that entry-level workers have to settle with living several hours away from their place of work.

But Sweden and Norway - Hold it. Sweden and Norway are filthy fucking rich. Sweden and Norway are Petrostates. Canada? Not so much. Year after year sees Affordable Living programs or revisions to UBI being floated that would turn it from a lifeline to an actually workable form of remuneration, but year after year sees my local politicians butt their heads against the fact that any kind of serious Social Security net can't just pay for itself; and Canadians are already sadly renowned for living in a country choked by taxes - all because our already-present pro-Social infrastructure is complex, inefficient and sadly vital for most low-income residents.

Imagine how insane implementing it would be on a per-State level, on the American side. Imagine the work that needs to be done; not just in terms of greater education, but also in the sense that there's an entire infrastructure you guys never put in place. Some of my colleagues are American expats, and their first big shock came in the form of their first tax bill on Canadian soil. Free healthcare isn't free, the load is just spread across the country's residents. It also means that UBI and Free Healthcare programs can only cover so much, seeing as even if you put the load primarily on those above a certain income level, those below it are still going to feel the pinch. God knows I do, every tax season, and even if it's for a fundamentally good cause.

So. Beyond harping that UBI is a basic right and that we all deserve to rest, ask yourself how wealthy your State is, first. Try and model the kind of help you'd be getting. Try projecting it as a deferred hit on your salary or your savings - one that you need to account for year after year, forever.

The social model where none of us work and all of us effectively play with shelter and rest being in-built facets of our social contract would require a total upheaval of our current system - and something tells me most people wouldn't like the transitional period between the two. Would people really maintain power stations or work hospitals just because it's the right thing to do?

Call me cynical, but I've been alive long enough to really, really, seriously doubt that logic. Sooner or later, someone's going to want to look out for Number One. The USSR fell for that very reason, and my own country's very pro-Social policies are rife with examples of what happens when someone with good intentions gets unfettered access to a chequebook, supposedly for the good of all. Remuneration is a great control system, in that respect, especially when we know that in an Egalitarian system, there's always going to be one or two chucklefucks who think they're more Egalitarian than the rest.

Greed is in all of us; the only thing that keeps you or me honest is our lack of power. Money, as they say, is the root of all Evil. Remove money from the equation and something else will take its place. Social status, most likely.

Then let's make all of us equal! Communism FTW!

you're likely American if you're reading this, how do you think most people will react to that kind of assertion?

even in an ideal system, the Overseer would have more power. That, right there, is enough of an imbalance for unfair treatment to surface.

Again, we've seen what happened with Soviet Russia, and I'm not saying this to be a bootlicker. Open a history book: Lenin barely managed to approximate Marx's idea of an Egalitarian state and Stalin identified the cracks in the system and pushed them wide open, priming it for collapse.

UBI needs to happen. via antiwork

[sagesturns]

Live Photo

Summary: Matt had never hated a live photo more, yet deep down, he knew he'd always love it to the core because it was something he could never fully let go of. Something he couldn’t erase, no matter how hard he tried.

Contains: angst

The party was loud. The bass of the music rumbled through Matt's chest, vibrating the couch he was slumped on. Lights flashed in chaotic patterns, streaks of red, blue, green, white—blinding him in every direction. The people around him seemed to disappear into the rhythm of the music, swaying and moving in sync, their voices rising and falling in a blur of laughter and shouts.

But he didn’t care.

Nick had vanished along with most of his friends out on the patio, and Chris was somewhere else with his own friends, gossiping about something which really did not concern Matt. The crowd was too much, too overwhelming, too loud. The air felt thick with sweat, the smell of cheap beer, and something else—something he couldn’t name. But it didn’t bother him. Not anymore.

He just released his body into the old sofa cushions, hugging the sleeves of his hoodie tighter as if it might save him from anything. He could still feel the vibration from the speakers under the floor, the pulse of the beat, but he wasn’t listening. He wasn’t there, not really.

It was all noise—just background to the silence inside his head.

He got his phone out of his pocket and idly scrolled around. Scrolling through social media, he briefly skimmed a couple of comments from his friends without engaging with any of their notifications, like annoying little electronic flies buzzing around his head. None of it interested him. The screen was just a way to distract himself from everything happening around him—and, more importantly, from everything happening inside of him.

He idly swiped the thumb over the app one by one until it reached the photo gallery.

It was instinct, a part of him that reached for the past without even thinking. He tapped it open.

At first, there were just random pictures—some blurry shots from parties, selfies with his brothers, a few candid moments with friends. But then, something stopped him.

A photo of you.

It was an old one. One from before everything had changed. A time when things felt… easier. The memory of it hit him in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

His chest tightened. He hadn't meant to stumble on it, hadn't meant to open it. But there it was. You were smiling—really smiling—in that picture. Your eyes were bright, like you were in on some private joke that only the two of you shared. Your laugh, captured in that moment, was so genuine, so alive. The strobe lights flashed in his peripheral vision, but they appeared out of reach, even unreal. The voices, the laughter, the wild beat of the party—all mellowed. He couldn’t even hear the music anymore. All sound was swallowed up by the vision of your smile, your face, the picture of pure joy, and it was almost impossible to take in.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed you—how much he’d been avoiding that feeling. He fixated on the photo, as if he was being choked by the lack of something he didn't know how to restore.

For a brief second it got stuck in a pause, his thumb touching the screen, hesitant. He wasn't willing to revisit that portion of his life. Not now. But the longer he stared at your face, the harder it was to look away. And when he swiped along the screen he, spontaneously, tapped on the photo.

And then it happened.

The photo blinked. The screen flickered. And the sound came back—your laugh. It wasn’t loud at first, just a soft giggle, like a memory drifting through the air. But then it grew. Clearer. Louder. Real.

It was as if he could also hear it, even now, even with the music at such great volume, your laugh felt like the loudest melancholy in the world. Just then, the world around him started to blur.

His breath caught in his throat. It was like hearing a ghost—like you were suddenly right there with him. It was a joke he hadn’t heard in ages and yet it seemed such a fresh, real, experience, as though to experience the heat of it.

The sound of it did something to his heart. Something sharp. Something heavy. His breath became caught, and he felt himself to be somberly holding his breath.

He looked back over the photo, experiencing the burn in his throat. The image was alive. You were so alive in it, your smile stretching wide, your eyes full of happiness, your face glowing with something so pure, so real. It was a snapshot in time, an almost forgotten memory.

And then, the sound of your laugh… it hit him like a wave.

It wasn’t just the sound of you laughing anymore. It was a force, almost overwhelming. The music from the party seemed to fade out completely, as if it couldn’t compete with it. The laughter filled the entire space around him, even though no one else could hear it. It was the loudest object in the world, as a sound effect of something so beautiful this was almost unbearable to recall.

He shut his eyes for a moment, and did his best to resist a feeling of lump in the pit of his stomach.

The laugh was so familiar, yet so foreign now. It felt like he’d forgotten how much it meant to hear it. Forgotten how it used to make his heart race, how it made everything feel lighter, simpler. Like everything was okay. Like you were okay.

The more he listened, the more his heart twisted.In that moment, everything he’d been avoiding—the regret, the guilt, the silence that had come after—suddenly rushed back to him. It was all so clear.

He missed you. More than he was ready to admit. More than he was willing to let himself feel.

The picture was still on his phone. The smile, the joy, the love that seemed to radiate from it. He almost didn’t want to look at it anymore. It was too much, too painful to see something so perfect, something so real, that was lost now. That was gone.

He sat for ages, thumb poised over the glass, the sound of laughter still ringing in his head, and the world kept going, ticking to a beat. But to him, it was all a blur.And as the sound of your laughter faded away, he knew he would never forget it. Never forget how it made him feel.

He just didn’t know how to get it back.

Word count: 1k

a/n: first matt angst. hope yall like ittt! tysmm for all the love on my recent fics, cant be more grateful, love you all <3

Tags: @sweetshuga

@sagesturns

[enixamyram]

I truly do not get the "Angel sexually harassed Husk!!! He's awful and it's gross the writers never addressed it!!!" mindset some of the anti's have. Especially when the show very much did address it very clearly in a way that I, personally, believe was very well done:

"Maybe I'd treat you better if you were real, and not some bullshit version of yourself. Always pushin' my boundaries."

Husk openly calls Angel is a jerk for the way he treated him. He (and the writers) make it very clear that Angel's constant sexual advances bothered him. And this isn't a revelation moment either since it's obvious during every moment prior that Husk doesn't like the way Angel behaves with him, even if he puts up with it. He physically expresses his discomfort and dislike for it each time and you'd have to be blind to miss it.

People like myself may find a line of Angel's to be funny, but it's the same way we find other lines funny. (Like Val's: "Not off camera you're not!") As in, it was amusing the way the line was said. But that doesn't mean we're ignoring or missing the seriousness behind the issue in reality. (I mean, some people might be, but in general I think most of the audience is not like this.)

More importantly, all of this is literal Character Development. In all further episodes, Angel stops acting this way with Husk entirely. And only after he stops acting this way, is when Husk and him start to genuinely get on as friends.

I've seen some people complain that Angel never officially apologised for his actions. And yes, while we don't seen an on screen "I'm sorry for what I did to you", it's very clear that there has been something based off of the very next shot of them:

Even if he hasn't said those exact words, Loser Baby was an entire song about how they understand where each other is coming from, why they act how they do and how they can now change that by leaning on each other for support instead. Loser Baby is, in its own kind of subtle way, an apology between them. Just because we're not spoon fed scenes doesn't mean they didn't happen off screen.

Anyway. You don't have to like the ship. But can we stop trying to find problematic reasons why no one else should like them either and just grow up and say it's personally not your thing?

[h3nderyss]

magazine - mark lee

pairing: idol!mark lee x fem!reader . . . masterlist genre: fluff word count: 774 a/n: recently got the mark cosmopolitan magazine.. i KNOW it's a june issue and it's literally november, but i'm still thirsty. sue me.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

"i'm home!" mark's voice echoed throughout the hallway, the familiar voice making your expression soften into an automatic smile.

the day had been slow; off work, catching up on a show you occasionally rewatched, and anticipating mark's return from his long days of work.

being an idol meant his schedule was FULL. barely any time for anything, especially for mark, the most hard-working and committed man you'd ever met. nobody could ever compare to him, how he perfectly balances life, work, and relationships. most importantly; you.

he'd recently had a photoshoot. for what? well, you didn't know. he demanded he'd keep it a secret, although a hint had been it was for a famous magazine brand. of course, this meant waiting weeks upon weeks for the issue to release. especially when your boyfriend was on the cover, it felt like months of waiting.

you sprung off the couch and rushed over to mark who took off his shoes and set them aside, as a second after, bringing him into a loving long-awaited hug which you both had been dying for the entire day.

"what's that?" you looked at this plastic bag he was holding, inside of it was a suspiciously tall thin book that you took a glance of.

mark moved the bag behind his back, out of view. "a surprise." he smirked at you and gave you a peck on the lips. "i want you to be prepared."

it only etched more confusion on your face as you slightly tilted your head. "why? is it just a book?" the thought of the magazine photoshoot mark had weeks ago hadn't even crossed your mind.

his eyes darted up as if he was thinking, "hm, i guess you could say that.." he nodded and looked back at you as he was joking around. he made you chuckle, and he moved the bag back in between you two, looking into it.

"a magazine? a-" your eyes immediately widened, mouth agape.

"oh my god." you spoke in light speed, digging the book out of the bag and into your arms. "mark..?!" your voice had been quiet and breathless. he really did have *this* much impact on you, even if it was a single photo. "c..cosmopolitan..?"

"i only managed to get this second version. the other two they couldn't give me." he gestured at the magazine and you immediately went and sat on the table to prepare yourself to skip through the pages and only focus on your ravishing boyfriend.

mark followed suit and sat next to you, the whole time smiling like an idiot. you were smiling too; blushing and biting your bottom lip as you stared at the gorgeous man on the cover of this magazine.

"how are you real," you said in almost a whisper. mark had not taken his eyes off of you. he loved seeing your reaction to everything, and he adored you so much it had been unhealthy.

mark moved a piece of hair that fell on your face looking down at the magazine, he wanted to see your face as he melted upon seeing you freak out over the man on paper. him.

you flipped through the pages, taking a minute to actually take in the photos of mark. "this pose.. mark this pose is.. that shirt on you.." mumbles came out of your mouth as you glanced at the real mark next to you.

"how are you you?" you looked at him infatuated.

"how am i, me?" he chuckled at you with a smile and briefly looking at the photo of him in front of you.

you nodded. "how did i manage to snag you?" suddenly a joking mood filled the air.

"i don't know but, i'd prefer you over anybody else."

as if you hadn't already been fiercely blushing from looking at mark in photoshoot in the magazine, he never failed to make you flustered.

"stop it!" you giggled and turned your attention back to the magazine, flipping through the same pages over again.

"close that book now and focus on the real mark! i'm right in front of you.." mark starts to whine, his real self not getting attention, just the reflection in the magazine.

"it's your fault for getting me this! i'm gonna frame all of these pictures now."

"babyyy.." his whiny tone and his hand starting to intertwine with yours was just enough to make your give in.

"markieee..." you reciprocated his whiny tone and gazed into his eyes. "i can't believe you're mine."

"you better start believing soon because, i'm not going anywhere anytime soon." mark smiles and pulls you into a loving passionate kiss.

[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1

p.2  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.3

p.2

AN: Thank you for reading part 2! Again each of these will be around 3k in length. Enjoy!

warnings: i'm putting these here for future chapters too, and ill sprinkle some in as I go. I want to make it clear, there is no underage sex, but later on there will be some more raunchy shit. this is somewhat non-canon compliant-make it up as I go

-ok for the real warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build.

Another

Cleaning had always been second nature to you, a skill drilled into you by your clan as a symbol of discipline and control.

The ways of a proper young lady.

Back then, it had been another way to meet their rigid standards, but now, in Toji’s apartment, it served a different purpose. You weren’t trying to meet anyone’s expectations. It felt more like you were creating a space that felt livable, even comforting. As you scrubbed and tidied, echoes of your clan’s demands lingered in your mind.

Megumi stayed holed up in his room, avoiding you, though you suspected it wasn’t out of rudeness. Maybe he was still figuring you out, testing the waters before deciding how to interact. You couldn't blame him. This was all new and strange for both of you.

As you scrubbed the counters and sorted through laundry, you tried to keep yourself busy, hoping to quiet the restless hum of your thoughts. The spiraling.

But the silence of the apartment only amplified them, leaving you with little to do but reflect.

You thought long and hard about your next move—about what you wanted to do and what you were willing to endure. You hadn’t expected to make it this far, away from the suffocating grip of your clan, away from the ways they’d meticulously instilled into you. This already felt like a step up. 

No one was yelling. No one was crying. And most importantly, no one was punishing you for merely existing. And for once, you could breathe. 

But could you settle here? Could you turn this into a real home? The thought carried a weight you hadn’t anticipated, especially when you considered who you were married to.

Toji Fushiguro.

The infamous thirty-something gambler whose reputation preceded him. His name carried weight—none of it good. You’d only heard whispers about him before, rumors about the "Sorcerer Killer" who couldn’t see curses but had carved a place for himself in a world that didn’t want him. The name he was making for himself wasn’t the kind anyone would aspire to have. And now, he was your husband. Could he truly be better than what you’d left behind?

Marriage had never been a simple thing for people like you. It was a transaction, a tool for power and alliances, not a partnership. You'd settled your thoughts with that. But you couldn’t be sure what kind of man Toji would turn out to be. So far, he was an enigma—evasive, blunt, and not exactly brimming with warmth.

When you first met Toji, you’d been terrified.

His voice, gruff and laced with irritation, felt like a warning in itself, and his towering, muscular frame only added to the daunting image. You hadn’t known what to expect from him—your mind raced with possibilities. Many clan marriages ended in misery. Beaten wives, suffocating restrictions, and vows that served only to bind. The unknown had loomed large that day.

You’d been genuinely shocked when Toji had even shown up to the meeting. After all, he already had a history—a wife before you, a notorious rebellious streak, and a reputation soaked in blood. What had happened to her? The question lingered in your mind, twisting your thoughts into a frantic swirl as you tried to piece together what kind of man he was and what exactly you might be walking into. Not that you had much of a choice.

To your relief, he left shortly after the meeting, without forcing himself on you or issuing a set of suffocating rules. But even without his demands, you already knew your place. How could you not? The weight of the clan’s expectations had been drilled into you for as long as you could remember.

Still, the questions remained.

Could you trust him? Could he truly protect you from the very people who had pushed you into this marriage? Or would he become like the others you’d seen—the cruel, controlling men who treated their wives as tools, not partners? For now, all you could do was wait and hope.

If things got sticky, you could run. But the thought terrified you. Your clan wasn’t known for letting their investments go so easily.  They had their motives, their expectations for you, and you knew better than to think they’d let you walk away unscathed. The marriage was a tool to them, a means to an end, and the moment you stopped being useful, they wouldn’t hesitate to dissolve it.

The questions would start soon if you didn’t make an appearance at the estate for a ‘visit.’ You’d have to come up with something to keep them satisfied, a way to buy yourself more time. But would it be enough? You weren’t about to stoop to spying, but maybe if you offered them the bare minimum, it could hold them off. Still, you knew the risk. The moment they decided you weren’t fulfilling your purpose, they’d drag you back.

Back to the suffocating walls of their estate. Back to the life you’d fought so hard to escape. Back to another arranged marriage—this time, likely to someone far worse. Someone who wouldn’t tolerate even a shred of independence. The thought was unbearable, and yet, the fear of that possibility clung to you like a shadow, refusing to let go.

You had no illusions about what they were capable of. They’d find you. They’d make an example of you. You’d seen it happen before—to women who had dared to defy their place, who had tried to escape. The consequences were always swift, brutal, and served as a warning to others.

The only thing keeping you from that fate was this house.

Toji.

For all his flaws, for all the uncertainty that surrounded him, Toji was the barrier between you and the life you so desperately wanted to escape. The clan couldn’t touch you here—not while you were under his roof. His name and infamous reputation were enough to keep them at bay for now. But what about when he left the clan for good? You’d heard it whispered countless times—how he’d distanced himself, how he was already one step out the door.

So why had he even agreed to this marriage? It didn’t serve him. If anything, it seemed like another chain, another tie he’d likely resent. What had convinced him to take on a responsibility that did him no favors?

The thought nagged at you as you clung to the fragile sense of safety he unknowingly provided. As much as you despised the precariousness of your situation, you couldn’t ignore that he was the only thing keeping the clan’s shadow from falling over you entirely.

For now, you had to play the game carefully. Toji was unpredictable, but at least he wasn’t actively cruel. You’d take your chances with him over returning to the hell you’d left behind.

Still, he hadn’t returned, yet. When would he come home?  Sure it'd only been a day, but...

Would he even explain what this arrangement meant for you both, or just leave you to figure it out on your own? Would he have a list of rules like your clan house? Would you have expectations to sleep with him? You let out a sigh, feeling the weight of uncertainty press heavier on your shoulders. The hours were dragging. 

When lunchtime rolled around, you prepared food for both yourself and Megumi. Doubling the portions, you were glad he was starting to warm up to you, even if only slightly. Knocking softly on his door, you waited for a moment before it creaked open.

Megumi stood there, his expression unreadable as usual, but he took the plate with a small nod. “Thanks,” he muttered before retreating back into his room, the door closing firmly behind him.

So, you ate alone.

It wasn’t the solitude that stung the most—it was the familiarity of it. Sitting at the quiet table, your thoughts drifted to the countless meals you’d eaten alone back at the clan house. Sure this home was better than your previous, yet the echoes of those days crept back in, uninvited, and settled heavily in your chest. You’d thought leaving that life behind would make things different, that here, in this little apartment, you could find something resembling peace.

But for now, the silence was deafening.

You reminded yourself to remember that this was better and you needed to be patient. Megumi wasn’t cruel or rude—just guarded. He was still so young, still figuring out his place in all of this. And maybe, you thought, you needed to adjust to him just as much as he needed to adjust to you.

So, you cleared your plate, brushed off the dull ache settling in your chest, and told yourself that this was temporary. It was just a matter of time.

Later in the day, you decided to step out for groceries. The apartment was practically empty, the fridge holding little more than condiments and a few questionable leftovers. You couldn’t fathom how Toji and Megumi had been surviving off such meager scraps.  You’d noticed the state of things your first day there, picking up a few essentials just to scrape by. But today, you decided it was time to stock up properly.

Standing by the front door, you hesitated for a moment, glancing toward Megumi’s room. A small part of you debated whether to ask him to come along. It might have been nice to have the company, and perhaps the outing could bridge some of the growing gap between you. But you quickly pushed the thought aside.

He was just a kid, and this wasn’t his responsibility. It was yours. You were the one trying to build a home here, the one who had stepped into this precarious role.

With a quiet sigh, you grabbed your shopping list and headed out the door. It wasn’t a long walk to the nearby market, but as you made your way down the street, a faint unease crept over you. You couldn’t help but think back to your clan and their constant monitoring.

By the time you returned, your arms were weighed down with bags. Maybe you’d gotten carried away, but everything seemed so necessary. Stumbling through the front door, you dumped the bags onto the counter with a relieved sigh.

Megumi peeked out from the doorway, alerted by the sound. “You’re back?”

“Yeah,” you said, turning slightly to smile at him, still catching your breath. “Got some food for tonight.”

He frowned, his gaze shifting to the hefty bags on the counter.

“Didja walk all this back yourself?”

“Mhmm,” you replied with a small hum, stretching your back before reaching to start putting things away.

Before you could even grab the first item, Megumi stepped into the kitchen, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he gently nudged you aside. “Go rest. I’ll put it ‘way,” he muttered, his voice low and rough around the edges, but without any real bite.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the unexpected offer, but decided not to argue. Instead, you took a seat at the kitchen table, watching him move around the room. His movements were deliberate and efficient as he pulled items from the bags. He inspected each one carefully, as though weighing its importance before putting it into its proper place.

For a moment, you forgot the weight of everything else and simply watched. Megumi, for all his prickliness, had his own way of showing appreciation—even if he didn’t say it out loud. It was hard not to notice how much care he put into something so simple. He still reminded you of a grumpy old cat—aloof, guarded, but with moments of surprising thoughtfulness. There was something endearing about it, about him. A small giggle escaping you as the thought crossed your mind.

Megumi glanced over his shoulder, his sharp eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What’s so funny?” he asked, his tone flat, though the faint red at the tips of his ears betrayed his irritation.

“Nothing,” you replied with a light chuckle, a small smile playing on your lips. “Just thinking about how teenagers can be so stubborn sometimes.”

“Stubborn?” he repeated, his tone edged with skepticism. “I’m not stubborn. You’re acting like I’m some little kid or something.”

The amused smile tugging at your lips only grew as you tilted your head at him. “Well, aren’t you? Just a little bit, maybe?”

His scowl deepened, and the flush on his cheeks darkened, the faint hint of embarrassment making him look even more endearing. “I’m not a kid. I’m almost fourteen,” he muttered, his voice firm, though it teetered dangerously close to a pout.

You chuckled, unable to resist teasing him just a bit more. He was too cute when he got ruffled. “Fourteen, huh? Practically a grown-up. My bad.”

Megumi’s gaze darted away briefly before snapping back to you, his tone quieter but still holding a note of defiance. “You’re not that much older than me. You’re what? Sixteen?”

His words startled a laugh out of you, and you shook your head, unable to hide your amusement. “Sixteen? Try eighteen, Megumi. I’m officially an adult, thank you very much.”

His eyes widened slightly at the revelation before narrowing again, as if processing the information. “Eighteen?” he muttered under his breath, his skepticism clear. “You don’t look eighteen.”

Feigning offense, you straightened your posture. “Well, I am,” you said with mock indignation. “And as the adult here, I think I get to call you a kid.”

Megumi huffed, crossing his arms as the faint pink tint spread to his ears. “You don’t act like an adult,” he mumbled, quieter this time. “You’re more like a bossy older sister.”

That made you grin even wider. Was that supposed to be an insult? Because it only made him sound more adorable. “Bossy older sister, huh? I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He avoided your gaze, pretending to focus on folding one of the empty grocery bags. “Take it however you want,” he muttered, his tone clipped, though the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

“Well, thanks, I guess,” you said playfully. “But I’m still older than you, and that makes you the kid, like it or not.”

Megumi frowned but didn’t argue further. Instead, he busied himself with the counter, his lips pressed into a firm line. “I’m not a kid,” he mumbled again, though the conviction in his voice had softened.

You raised your hands in mock surrender, your tone kind and teasing. “Alright, alright. You’re not a kid. You’re a very mature almost-fourteen-year-old. Better?”

He didn’t respond right away, but the faint blush lingering on his cheeks gave him away. Turning his attention back to the counter, he muttered, “Whatever,” though the twitch at the corner of his mouth told you he wasn’t entirely annoyed.

You leaned back in your chair, watching him with a mix of fondness and curiosity. Megumi had a way of endearing himself without even realizing it. His insistence on not being treated like a kid, the way he tried to act older than he was—it was all so very… Megumi-esque. And you hadn't even know the kid for long. Not even a day.

“You know,” you said gently, breaking the silence, “you don’t have to rush to grow up so fast. Fourteen—or almost fourteen—is a good age to just… be.”

Megumi glanced at you, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if to challenge your words, but there was no real bite in his expression. “I’m not rushing anything,” he said after a pause, his tone quieter, more thoughtful. “I just don’t want to be treated like some helpless kid.”

Now that got your attention. You tilted your head, your smile softening. “I don’t think you’re helpless, Megumi. Not at all. I just think it’s okay to let people care about you sometimes. It doesn’t make you less grown-up.”

He didn’t reply, his gaze flickering back to the counter, but you could see the wheels turning in his head. And then there was the way he lingered. The groceries were already put away, yet he didn’t leave. He didn’t know why he stayed. Maybe he didn’t want to admit it. But his actions spoke louder than words ever could: maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind you being there after all. Psycho-ex of his dads or otherwise.

While making dinner, Megumi hovered close to your elbows, his dark eyes following your every movement with quiet intensity. He didn’t say a word, but his focus was unwavering, soaking in every detail. Your cooking so far had been phenomenal. Enough to make the kid jealous. He wanted to learn, that much was clear—wanted to memorize the steps, the measurements, the little techniques you used. You had a sneaking suspicion it wasn’t just curiosity. 

His silence didn’t bother you. If anything, it gave you the perfect opportunity to chatter away, filling the room with a one-sided conversation that you hoped wasn’t entirely unwelcome. You explained every step meticulously, breaking it down like a cooking show. Megumi didn’t interrupt or huff at you. Instead, he absorbed it all like a sponge, his head tilting slightly when you mentioned something new.

“Toji must not be much of a cook,” you remarked at one point, glancing at him with a teasing smile. His lips twitched upward for the briefest moment, a ghost of a smile that made your chest tighten with warmth. Even when you explained the most basic things, like how to dice an onion properly, Megumi listened as though it were the most important lecture of his life.

The thought made you pause for a moment. It made sense—Megumi was still young, and cooking had always been considered a woman’s role in traditional clan life. And considering Toji’s seemingly chaotic lifestyle and the lack of a maternal figure, it was no wonder this felt new to him.

Still, the conversation flowed a little easier that evening. Each fleeting moment of ease melted your heart a little more. You were already developing a soft spot for the kid, despite his grumpy attitude. That much was obvious. You hadn’t had many interactions with children back at the clan estate—everything there had been too rigid, too suffocating for anything resembling normal relationships. So this, the tentative beginnings of friendship, felt… nice.

But even in those moments, there was still a frigid layer of distance he maintain between you two—a protective barrier he refused to let you pass. Distrusting, yes, but not beyond reach. He was still trying to figure you out, sizing you up, before deciding whether you were even worth the effort of trusting.

Why the hell was this kid so frosty? Was it Toji? The absence of a mother? Or something else entirely? You weren’t sure, but the guarded way Megumi carried himself—the abrasiveness, the defensive huffiness—stirred something in you.

You’d seen plenty of kids like him back in the clan house. Some were cold and indifferent, their walls impenetrable. Others carried arrogance like armor, wielding it to hide their insecurities. But the ones who stayed with you—the ones who truly stuck in your memory—were those too weak to defend themselves, cast aside for showing too much emotion. Beaten into shape. Megumi wasn’t like that, obviously. But the thought of him enduring anything similar made you feel...protective.

When you finally sat down to eat, the food turned out fantastic. Megumi, ever stoic, simply nodded in approval as he ate, but you caught the way his chopsticks moved a little faster than usual, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride.

“Not bad, right?” you teased lightly, hoping to draw a reaction from him.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours for a fleeting second before he mumbled, “It’s good.” Another almost-smile.

It was your second day in and you were starting to feel like this wasn't such a bad arrangement.

p.3?

AN: Thank you for reading! Please reblog and like if you enjoy this series!

[twistedcrumbs2]

Just an intrusive thought to add to the series of random ideas that strike me throughout the day—this time while working out to the most chaotic playlist you can imagine.

A workout routine with Jack!

Maybe you’ve suddenly found yourself dropped into another world, surrounded by traumatized and slightly unhinged students (or completely unhinged, depending on how you look at it), all while trying to survive the chaos of an insane school semester. Naturally, you’ve barely had any time to care for yourself. Just maybe.

Then, during one of Professor Vargas’ motivational lectures—peppered with lines like “Exercise is essential for self-care! Just look at me!” and “A healthy mind lives in a healthy body!”—a thought crosses your mind: “Alright, one hour of exercise a day won’t kill me… probably.”

To be fair, realizing you can’t even chase Grim around the dorm without gasping for air and nearly collapsing was the final push you needed. Something had to change—and fast.

The problem? You have no idea where to start. After mulling it over, you decide to drop by the athletic club. Watching others train might give you a clue (or, let’s be real, trigger some anxiety—there are a lot of sweaty guys in short shorts, after all).

As soon as you arrive, the first familiar faces you spot are Jack and Deuce, who immediately look at you like you’ve just fallen out of the sky (which, admittedly, isn’t far from the truth).

After some chatting, you explain why you’re there. Jack, much to your surprise, seems more excited about your decision than you are.

And let’s be honest—given his physique, it’s no shock that the wolf beastman is the living embodiment of a gym rat. As you ramble about wanting to get into shape, his tail swishes back and forth, his subtle smile betraying just how thrilled he is.

— That’s great. If you need anything, just let me know, — he offers sincerely.

And, of course, you take him up on it. Jack is easily the most dedicated person you know when it comes to fitness, and more importantly, he’s kind enough not to expect something outrageous in return.

But it’s a terrible decision.

Not because Jack is bad at helping—quite the opposite. He’s an incredible instructor: patient, committed, and always willing to lend a hand. The issue is that you were expecting something easy. A casual evening stroll, maybe some jumping jacks. Nope.

Instead, Jack shows up that very weekend with a detailed workout plan, complete with an intimidating ABCD schedule (whatever that means), exercises with weird names, and—worst of all—one hour of cardio every day.

Yes, he genuinely wants you to run for an hour. Every day. You’ve seen him jogging past your window before sunrise, but you never thought you’d be dragged into it too.

To make matters worse, some of the exercises sound downright absurd.

— Bent-over barbell rows? — you ask, staring at the workout sheet like it’s written in an alien language. — Do we need to find a boat for this?

Jack chuckles softly and replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world: — No, just a barbell. I’ll show you.

The first few days are brutal. By 8 PM, you’re practically falling asleep on your feet, and your muscles are so sore that walking through the hallways feels like a challenge. But oddly enough, your mornings start to feel a little more structured. Despite the physical exhaustion, Jack’s company makes everything worth it.

During your sessions, you chat about all sorts of things. He even shares tips on improving your diet—always as gentle suggestions, never pushy.

It’s honestly adorable. Hard to believe this is the same guy who nearly kills you with his workouts.

Of course, there are moments of pure misery. Like the time he introduced you to burpees—an exercise that can only be described as modern-day torture. But in the end, the support and camaraderie you share with Jack turn the grueling routines into something almost… enjoyable. Almost.

Jack seems genuinely excited about your commitment. After all, what gym rat wouldn’t want a workout buddy? But it’s more than that. He enjoys your company and takes pride in helping you improve. He even goes out of his way to ensure you’re safe and don’t overdo it.

When you try to slack off—cut a set short or cheat on your form—he sighs heavily and says firmly: — You’re only cheating yourself, not me.

It’s giving strict dad energy.

Yet, he’s also incredibly perceptive. When you get frustrated or demotivated—like the time you stopped mid-run, gasping for air—Jack slows down and walks beside you, encouraging you to keep going at your own pace.

Beyond the workouts, Jack introduces small healthy habits into your daily routine. He reminds you to carry a water bottle, stretches with you before class, and even brings homemade protein bars. He insists they’re nothing special, but you’re convinced he blushed when you complimented how good they were.

As the days pass, you start to notice small improvements—not just in your stamina but also in how much easier your mornings feel. The group grows, too, with Epel, Sebek, and occasionally Deuce joining in. It’s chaotic but oddly fun.

Training with Jack isn’t just about getting fit. It’s about building a deeper connection with him. Because let’s face it—nothing bonds two people like suffering through a set of crunches at six in the morning, right?

Final verdict: 8/10 experience. Exercising is still a nightmare, but Jack makes it bearable.

[lovelyatomicpeace]

Betond the masks, chapter three

Knights and princesses

Here is chapter three! It took me a long time to write it I know 😅but I was looking for a suitable way to tell the story of Steve and y/n best way (that's why I published it an hour after the scheduled one I rewrote parts). Who knows what happened between them, why they fought and most importantly who is the culprit...if you want to know stay tuned for part 4… enjoy it!

Fonts: 20.556

Type: friends to enemies to friends to lovers

You continued to pedal relentlessly in the rain the previous evening: after finding that little girl, the 3 were incalmable. But then again, how could you blame them?

Where she came from you didn't know...for Lucas had escaped from the Penhrust asylum, me it was impossible. On her arm she had a tattoo, in serial number we could call it

011

Eleven so the boys had promptly renamed it.

Who was she really? You couldn't tell, she didn't utter a word....

It was all so strange, to the point that you came to think it was all a figment of your imagination: you had slept very little lately and especially badly, but you knew of course that it wasn't so ... it was all real

That little girl was real

But why find her in the woods? And just when Will disappeared?

The clatter of voices and the sight of the school shattered your thoughts. Mechanically you put down your bicycle and entered the school and headed inside to your locker, strangely not late as usual. You were walking briskly and looking focused, when you suddenly stopped: Jonathan was posting a flyer for his brother at the common bulletin board

"HAVE YOU SEEN ME?" the headline read; beneath the picture of Will smiling just as you had left him the night before the disappearance, you clutched your chest. God how you missed that little face... Instinctively you turned back to approach his brother; you had never exchanged more than a few chats those times you found each other at the Wheeler house: he always gave you the impression that he was a closed, shy, but good-hearted guy, and you didn't mind his company...

"Hey..." you approached him without knowing what to say to him precisely and speaking almost in a whisper "I wanted to, um... I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about Will really... I don't..." you began, but froze at the expression on his face, a mixture of sorrow and suspicion that sent a shiver running down your spine: but surely he thought you were somehow responsible for his brother's disappearance.

Great, We're going well...

He was about to leave, and you wouldn't have tried to hold him back, but from not too far away the voices of Steve's group could be heard,

from better and better...

You turned around at the same time to see Tommy backing up Carol who was loudly and annoyingly chewing that bubble gum of his, you wondered if in the course of the day he ever stopped doing that; just behind them were Barbara and Nancy who with pitying eyes were watching Jonathan and next to her Steve...he had his hands on his hips as he used to do, for as long as you could remember, when he wanted to do something; he was wearing a green sweater and had his eyes on you...again

"Jesus is so depressing," Steve said, earning giggles from his companions.

And after him Tommy, with his usual dick-face shouted "how much you want to bet he's the one who killed him..." so that everyone could watch him now with a menacing look.

You had turned away from the older Bayers, turning to see his face after Tommy's sentence: you continued silently walking, ignoring their presence when the younger man's voice echoed in the hallway, "You know Steve, I think it was her instead...they say she was the last one to see him or isn't that y/s," a cold shiver ran through your body. You tried to keep calm, not to let fear and humiliation overwhelm you, her words capturing everyone's attention, turning your weakness into a public stage.

"And tell us, what did you do with the body? Do you keep it at home for your collection?" spat Tommy, you felt your face ignite with embarrassment: as tough as you liked to show yourself you were never prone to brawling nor were you ever inclined to respond to accusations,

And one among them knew it well...

"Y/s the sadist," cried Carol.

Choked with that gum

3 against 1 was not a good prospect....

The tension in the air was palpable, and Tommy's every word felt like a direct blow to your heart. His arrogant face, accompanied by the laughter of his friends, made you feel increasingly vulnerable.

"Don't you have anything to say, Y/S? Or are you too busy thinking about how to justify yourself?" he continued, with a mocking grimace plastered on his face. "Maybe you even have a secret diary in which you write about all your crimes, huh?" anger and embarrassment mingled in a whirlwind of emotions. You felt trapped, an easy target for their cruel amusement.

Frustration invaded you. Your voice rose, surprising yourself.

"Oh, sure, Tommy. Why don't you write about it in the papers huh? 'Y/S: the girl who makes her friends disappear.' It might be trending,and you'll make more money than is already coming out of your asshole?" you replied sarcastically, trying to maintain control as your heart pounded.

Steve, who had earlier taken part in the game, remained silent, his gaze fixed on you. His expression was inscrutable, a mixture of surprise and--something akin to concern?

"Tommy, stop it. This isn't funny."

His voice was firm, a tone you never thought you'd hear him use with that group: the air grew heavier. Tommy, for a moment, was speechless. He wasn't used to being berated by Steve, much less to defend...you; leaving everyone surprised

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" hissed Tommy, but his voice lacked his usual tone.

"Leave her alone," Steve repeated, in a tone that left no room for doubt. The expression on his face, for a moment, turned hostile, something you never thought you'd see.

Nancy, approached Jonathan, while Carol and Tommy hesitated.

It was as if something had changed...

You still felt Steve's eyes on your skin, and a small hint of a shy smile appeared on his face, then, with a quick glance, he turned and walked away, joining his steps with those of Nancy and the others.

You were left alone, your heart still in your throat, watching their departure. His unexpected defense, his sudden protection, left you confused and incredibly disoriented, worse than the night before, and as you walked away, you wondered what had prompted Steve to intervene. Had he realized he had gone too far? Or was there something deeper going on? The answers, for now, remained unknown, but in that moment, the weight on your conscience eased a little.

Classes passed quickly that day, not that you paid much attention to them.

Why everything now you wondered?...

At the sound of the bell you quickly gathered your things, you had to catch up with the kids outside school because they had said they urgently needed to talk to you...you took the bike parked outside without even bothering to put the books in your backpack that were now clutched in your hand: the biting cold froze your bare hands resting on the handlebars, you didn't pedal much because the school was close and you managed to get there in no time seeing them waiting for you

"Y/n" shrill voices reached you.

"Hey guys" you greeted them with a lopsided grin as you approached them "so what do we have to do today?...are you waiting for Mike?" you exclaimed noticing the absence of one of the usual delke heads

"He stayed home with El," Lucas said.

"And that's where we have to go... "said Dustin.

"Oh...okay" came out of you....

You thought this day would never end....

With backpacks still heavy on our shoulders, we hopped on our bikes headed for the Wheeler house. Upon arriving we were greeted by the warm light of the living room and the established familiarity of the place empty of people; it seemed as if time had stood still here, and the eerie feeling could not be ignored.

"Is Eleven still in her hiding place?" You asked, receiving an assenting yes, and indeed you reached Mike's basement door; something dark hovered in the air: Lucas preceded the group "Eleven!" he called. "Are you here?"

From inside, no sound was heard but on the sheets spread on the floor Eleven's silhouette was unmistakable: sitting, her shoulders hunched, her eyes closed, her face pale, and next to her Mike

"Guys you can't understand ... she knows ... she" he blurted incomprehensibly reaching for you

"Hey, hey, calm down," you said as you approached little Wheeler.

"What does she know ?" Spat Lucas not quite convinced yet by the weirdo.

"He knows about Will," blurted Mike.

"What?" Shouted you Lucas and Dustin.

"He's in danger..."

"Will?" asked Lucas, a growing frustration in his tone. "We can't leave him there alone!"

But suddenly, the girl stiffened and in an authoritative voice said, "No!" Her gaze grew intense, almost as if she were trying to wrestle with something invisible. "It's not safe...I can't..."

Lucas approached her. "So this is all a game? Mrs. Wheeler needs to know what's going on! We can't stay here and waste time!"

his footsteps were suddenly interrupted: the room's previously strong, low lights began to flicker slowly more and more as if they were going to burst, leaving us enveloped in beams of light and shadow that intermittently lined the room.

The dull sound of a slamming door reached your ears.

"What's going on?" asked Dustin, looking at the door, Eleven rose to her feet, her eyelids lowered, a trickle of blood wrung from her nose, "We can't go," she said, "they see us..." Her voice broke again, and a tremor ran through her body.

She had done it...

Silence reigned in the room.

El had her arm outstretched toward you menacingly....

wait wait so you're telling me that little squirt in front of you has the gift of telekinesis? There and she has powers!!!? That's crazy, just...

"They who?" You asked, frustrated and agitated but realized that, despite your growing fear, you had to keep calm for Eleven, who knew more than she had ever revealed and now the mystery seemed darker than ever.

"I cannot...help you..." Eleven repeated, blinking. "They will destroy you. It's my fault..."

Lucas leapt back. "What? You're not serious. We have to help him!"

With an unthinkable effort, Eleven stepped forward, forehead furrowed, nose bleeding. "I can try to explain to you where he is..."

Lucas and Dustin's eyes lit up. "If you try, we might find a solution!" Dustin,

"We need you! Please!" Pleaded Mike tenderly to the girl.

Before you tried to do anything with that little girl the sound of the front door opening reached your ears and with it the sound of Mrs. Wheeler's shrill voice: hurriedly you pushed Undi into the hiding place of sheets sketched out by Mike the previous evening and just in time before Karen entered the basement

"Oh good you are all here, hello y/n"

"Evening Mrs. Wheeler..." you greeted with a show of hands.

"Are you staying for dinner? I bought a lot..."

"YES" you shouted in unison, earning a smile and a surprised look from Mike's mom: now more than ever you couldn't leave the little girl alone not after what she had told you about Will. "Well then it won't take any time at all start getting ready," she shouted to you as she walked away from the room.

Closing the door El came out of the fort and walked over to the table: with both hands she took the large D&D board that the boys used to play on still open and left where it was since the night Will disappeared and flipped it over. We approached her as if to surround her by positioning ourselves on either side of the table staring at the scenario that had presented itself before us, dripping with curiosity.

"Will is stuck," said Eleven, her voice serious.

"What are you talking about?" asked Mike, confused.

Eleven pointed to the board "It's here," laying on it a figurine representing the game creature

"Demogorgon?" whispered Dustin, smiling nervously.

"It's not just a game," retorted Eleven, his gaze intense. "Is... it's real. Will is in danger."

The group remained silent, their faces lit only by the glow of a dirty streetlight. The atmosphere grew heavy, as if the basement had become a place steeped in mystery and frustration.

"All right," you said, breaking the tension. "What do we need to do to help Will?"

"We need a plan," Mike replied, his mind already racing between different strategies to defeat the Demogorgon. "If he's stuck, we need to find a way to free him."

Each of them knew that Will was more than just a character in a game lost in a dark world; he was in a place he knew so well but was simultaneously foreign to us.

Why turn the board over?

Why, because....

Of course...

A world foreign to us...we might as well try things could only get weirder now

You approached the girl by putting yourself at the same height as her...you gently touched her shoulder to reassure her and at that moment you looked into each other's eyes

"Will is ...in a different place from us? They didn't kidnap him here did they?" The girl looked doubtful but at one point her expression softened as she moved her head in assent

Ah! Did you know.

In the room electricity reigned supreme as well as silence:metabolizing that your best friend might be in an alternate dimension to yours is certainly not something that can be digested very easily, you watched each other n the eyes as if to find a sitting soliton that wouldn't jump out of the hat though

"Food is served!" interrupted, again, Mrs. Wheeler, setting a pot of stringy macaroni and cheese on the table. The kitchen exuded a delicious smell, but that scent was not enough to divert the boys' attention from other problems: you hid Undi in the fort again to set out for the kitchen where, seated at the dining table, the boys exchanged glances, silently agreeing to keep their previous conversation hidden by shifting their gaze first to Mike then to the hushed whispers of Lucas and Dustin and finally to you.

The meal proceeded quietly and for you also quickly, none of those present had much desire to talk, you especially, but the quiet was broken when Nancy began to speak "so mom later I was thinking about going out with Barb..."

"No Nance it's dangerous you know what just happened..."

"But mom we, we...have to attend a vigil for Will."

Vigil for Will? That wasn't on your agenda

"For Will? Why didn't you tell me anything and why aren't you attending?" Karen asked, turning to look us in the eye.

"Well because we organized it, for the older ones," said Wheeler saving the conversation

"Bah if that's why go ahead, but be back by 10:00 p.m." "Y/n would you like to accompany her? It's safer with the car" You choked lightly on the soda that had poured into your glass at their mother's words: eyes were on you

The boys wanted you to come back down

Karen wanted an answe

Nancy was pleading with her eyes for you to say yes or else that lie of hers would immediately blow up

With a pleading look you looked at the 3 boys as if to apologize, but reluctantly you had to accept "the invitation," "Huh yes " you replied with your mouth full as you watched the young woman rearrange herself cheerfully and smugly.

Your heart beat frantically as your thoughts crowded in your head: you had taken Barb with Nancy's car ,which you were driving. Your mind was now fixed only on what Undi had told you and on what was going on in the basement without 'the knowledge of the people upstairs: you feared that those 4 might get into trouble again perhaps alone or end up like Will.

The words of the conversation between the two friends sounded to you like something far away, you kept driving but where were you supposed to get to...right, what was the destination?

"Ehhm then where do we have to go?..." you asked as you observed them from the rearview mirror: Barb's silhouette was recognizable by her red hair and eyes turned skyward, evidently opposed to Nancy's ideas who with fluttering eyes watched me her reflection at the makeup mirror.

"Oh right," Nancy exclaimed, remembering your presence.

"At Steve's house."

What!? You would have liked to brake the car immediately and leave the driver's seat for one of them to drive back, better with the children than with him, but you couldn't it would have all seemed too strange: you were gripping the steering wheel so hard from tension that your knuckles turned white and you only noticed when your hand began to hurt.

You hadn't seen or entered that house in...how long? It seemed like centuries...

The drive down the road you reluctantly knew by heart was short-lived, you got out of the vehicle and approached the shiny black door of the Harrington house....

It's funny last time it was a lighter color...this drew a slight smile from you that remained hidden from the other two girls who had swooped in front of you leaving you alone behind them with your hands in your pockets from the cold. Your idea, surely more tempting, was to run away; turn back start the engine and run away home but it would have aroused even more suspicion than the expression on Steve's face once he opened the door.

A short time later you were greeted by the boy you had seen a few hours earlier at school: beaming smile, perfect hair, impeccable appearance, and cigarette on his ear; all fell away when his eyes landed on you.

Your presence there was as unwelcome as it was unexpected.

"I had to take her with me otherwise my mother wouldn't let me out," Nancy justified, earning only a silent smile from the boy as a sign of accepted apology and a lopsided, annoyed look from you

Actually I brought you here...otherwise you couldn't come, you thought.

When you walked in, you felt overwhelmed by a reality that seemed so distant from the one you remembered.You would not have minded moving around that house again but in the living room you saw the silhouettes of Tommy and Carol sitting on the couch, luckily they had not noticed you as you stopped at the threshold of the front door uncertainly. Steve's 'attitude changed the moment the girls reached the pool and his eyes met yours, you warned him.

"S/n," exclaimed the host almost in a whisper so as not to be overheard by the others, with a surprise that betrayed a hint of embarrassment, how long has it been since you heard your name spoken by him

"Hello, Steve," you replied, maintaining a neutral tone as his heart clenched in a vice.

"I wasn't expecting you here," he said with surprise and discomfort.

"Well, it's not like I had much choice," you whispered, trying to maintain an air of indifference.

You paused on opposite sides of the doorframe, each word like a small pebble thrown into a deep well: it was strange and at the same time funny to have him so close, as kids he was just a little shorter than you and now he was hoping for you distinctly "we haven't spoken exactly since..." he resumed

"since you decided I was less important than your popularity?" you replied

"Yes, it's been too long," he replied, his heart pounding, "I just thought it was for the best."

"What do you want me to say, Steve? You left me out while you continued to play king as a child."

An aching silence settled in the space between you, you cast a glance over his shoulder, toward the party: Nancy and Barb were laughing, their faces lit up with joy as it had once happened to you in those very walls; to stay there with Steve would mean another confrontation, another wound between them. It would be pointless and embarrassing.

"Maybe I'd better go," you said, your voice calm but veiled with sadness. Steve remained silent as you opened the front door to walk away into the darkness. Although the noise of the party was audible, a deep silence asserted itself inside him, an unbridgeable emptiness. He had made the mistake of giving it away briefly and now, perhaps, it was too late to make up for it.

Turning away from the house and walking down the familiar street for a moment you had the senation you could still hear, like echoes past, your children's laughter echoing in the garden....

We used to run on the porch, afternoons spent building pillow shelters and imaginary castles.

"You can't like that, Steve. You're the king and I'm your queen," said the little girl who had climbed a low wall as Steve threw dried leaves at her.

"No, T/n, I am your knight! I will save the kingdom and become king!" declared Steve, puffing out his chest with a mischievous grin plastered on his face. Time ceased to exist as they wielded imaginary swords, fighting dragons and monsters that lurked in the shadows of the courtyard.

"You're the worst knight ever, Steve!" you giggled, chasing after him as he clutched in his hands his improvised sword fashioned from a stick. "But what would happen if you were captured by the scary dragon?" You asked sincerely.

He laughed, "I will save you! Always!" The promise echoed in your head and now in your soul with present awareness

as in all fairy tales, the magic is bound to fade: there are boys who move on and others who continue to be children, like your knight and there are princesses, like little you, who are not saved and in order to protect themselves wear the hard armor themselves...

[thaliagrayce]

y'know what we don't talk about enough? Hazel died. We talk about how she grew up in the 30's and 40's and we talk about how out of place she feels in the modern world, but! She died! She was dead! She has spent more time dead than alive, and not by a close margin!

How does that effect a person??? We got some of it in the flashbacks, but once those caught up with her present timeline and she shared them, they just kind of... disappeared. And she was a regular girl with some weird past experiences. That's one way of doing it, sure!

I think it would have been a lot cooler if she was just a touch creepier. If she felt a little bit Wrong. Yeah, in general she's more approachable than her brother, she's more sociable and less closed off, but. If you actually spend any time with her, it can be difficult to tell which child of the underworld is actually more unsettling.

Hazel is bright of personality and has a dazzling smile, but sometimes she'll just... shut down. She'll go completely blank for like half an hour and nobody knows what to do with it. Sometimes she forgets she's alive. Sometimes she'll spout the grimmest shit you've ever heard like it's nothing, she won't even notice it's weird until the room goes quiet. She spent decades in Asphodel, which is designed to make people forget about themselves and wander around for eternity, only she didn't have the luxury of forgetting! Wild! After she comes back to life, sometimes she forgets that she's allowed to Do Stuff now. She can spend so long sitting and staring at nothing. Sometimes she'll start crying on cloudless days because it hits her again that she can actually feel the warmth of the sun on her skin and she can hear birdsong. Every little mundane experience is a blessing and she will make you remember that in the most foreboding way possible.

[wonder-worker]

"...Walsingham, the monastic author of the St. Albans Chronicle, was by far [Alice Perrers'] harshest contemporary critic, who in his venom has (somewhat ironically) left us with the longest and most detailed account of her background and personality, her influence as Edward’s mistress, and her subsequent trial. He describes Alice as a shameless lowborn meretrix (a word variously translated as mistress, whore, or harlot), who “brought almost universal dishonour upon the king’s reputation […] and defiled virtually the whole kingdom of England with her disgraceful insolence.” Although Walsingham was not always accurate and, specifically in this case, clearly heavily biased against Alice, he nevertheless provides a truly contemporary account, and his importance as a source should not be underestimated. Likewise, the anonymous monk of St. Mary’s York recorded that in the Good Parliament the Commons (represented by their speaker, Sir Peter de la Mare) stated that it “would be of great gain to the kingdom to remove the said dame [Alice] from the presence of the king both as a matter of conscious and of the ill prosecution of the war.” During the same assembly, the bishop of Rochester, Thomas Brinton, preached from St. Paul’s Cross that “it is not fitting nor safe for all the keys of the kingdom to hang from the belt of one wife.” Although the word wife (uxoris) is used, it is widely accepted that this is a reference to Alice.”

-Laura Tompkins, '"Edward III's Gold-Digging Mistress": Alice Perrers, Gender, and Financial Power at the English Royal Court, 1360-1377", "Women and Economic Power in Premodern Courts" (edited by Cathleen Sarti). Italics by me.

[merf-txt]

.

[yanderespamton78]

I swear BOTH TIMES a new tadc episode has released leading up to it ive had the most stressful few hours and have been told something thats brought me immense distress by my friend and had to lock myself in the bathroom for ~30 mins so i didnt die. is this becoming a pattern. should i prepare myself next time

[spiderwarden]

"Tu'ril de'n." , a term I put together using the drow dictionary, which means 'half of myself.' Which is the term of love she has for @menzoberras

[ruvviks]

made the realization my vampire story would work best as a video game and now i can't stop thinking about it

[stergeon]

for the writer ask

💭🚦💛 💌

💭 What inspires you and your writing?

this is a real marketing major-ass answer (from your local marketing major), but i love sharing knowledge and telling stories. writing’s one of those things that’s a bit of a compulsion for me—i’m always writing something. i took a five-year break from fiction writing before i stumbled ass-first into fanfic last year, but even in those years when i was focusing on my career, i was writing guides and trainings and a ton of other stuff—just not anything fun, lol.

writing is also so cathartic. sometimes i set out to tell a specific story, but at other times, a particular emotion gets me in a vice grip and i have to put it to words before it’ll go away. my stories tend to wind up as emotional dumping grounds as a result.

i don’t write things pulled directly from my own life, but there are bits and pieces of myself and things that have happened to me scattered throughout stuff i’ve written, and usually when i’m about 75% of the way through a piece, i’ll realize it’s absolutely related to something i’m currently going through. funny how art works that way, even when you don’t intend for it to.

and occasionally i just have a fire lit under my ass about an issue and i get so hot about it that i gotta compile my thoughts. looking at you, silver snow

🚦 What sort of endings do you prefer to write: ambiguous, bad, happily ever after, etc.?

look, i would love nothing more for them girls (pick whichever girls you please) to have a happy ending where they kiss and are stupid in love for the rest of forever. i love reading those kinds of stories. but in my heart of hearts, i love an ambiguous ending. i like when there are still questions after the story ends. i like thinking about where things could go or how the characters will go on after the events of the story. like, shared space could be read as having a happy ending, but i don’t really think it is. and with the victors; the vestiges, well. you’ll see :0)

come to think of it, i’m not sure i’ve ever written a happily-ever-after, but i don’t think i’ve ever written a 100% bad ending, either. i read too many bury-your-gays stories and watched too many sad european queer coming-of-age films in my youth to ever be happy putting that kinda thing out into the world. i want to write about love with all its ugliness, but not despair or hopelessness. i think what most appeals to me about an ambiguous ending is that lingering feeling of hope. it’s not the same as the kind you get from a happily-ever-after, and something about it speaks to me.

💛 What is the most impactful lesson you’ve learned about writing?

honestly? how to take criticism. i took a creative writing class in high school where we had to read our work out loud and then receive feedback on it from the other writers in the class, and that did a lot for me. going into that class, i’d already been writing for forever and had won some little local writing contests and such, so i was a wee bit of a pretentious douche. but i’d never gotten real critique before beyond, essentially, spelling and grammar checks. it humbled me lol. it made me grow so much as a writer, and i could see where i needed to improve or where my head was wedged way too far up my own ass for others to follow. it also helped me recognize strengths i didn’t know i had, and that was huge. it’s easy to get into a self-doubt spiral when making creative work, and good, constructive criticism can do so much to help avoid that.

to this day i love critique. i like knowing what worked or didn’t work so that i can continue to improve as a writer and do better next time. did my themes land? did something really work, but another part fall flat? i’d love to know!! i try to treat everything i write as practice for the next thing, and frankly that’s helped take some of the pressure off so i don’t go into total Perfectionist Mode.

i know critique is kind of a sensitive topic in fan spaces, but i think that’s because a lot of people have gotten unsolicited criticism that is purely critical and isn’t constructive. but getting good, constructive criticism will do so much to help a person grow as a writer. it’s scary, and sometimes it hurts! writing is very personal for most people, and it stings when things aren’t received the way you think they will be. but i know i’ve grown more from having my failures pointed out (and, very importantly, having the good things about those efforts acknowledged) than anything else.

💌 Is there a favorite trope you like to write?

actually Just answered this in another ask!

[non-un-topo]

Second-hand stress from a family member's wedding is reeeal

[dreampearls]

if i wasnt infected with colleibrain i think i would be like way more immensely anguished over nahida and rukkhadevata than i am right now