#receipts: works from my old blog

[selamat-linting]

Want a gifset of your favorite cartoon/show/movie?

Look no further than here! I'm opening a gif commission slot for Palestinian Fundraisers. I want to help Muhammed Shehab ( @zeanyahyaa ), he and his family, consisting of his sick mother, father, wife (Hiyam), and two kids (Zain and Yahya, 7 and 4 years old respectively). They've been displaced nine times, so they've been fundraising for months as a way to finally escape and settle somewhere safe.

However, Shehab's fundraising blog kept getting shadowbanned, so he has a hard time fulfilling his goal. Theyre still at 8k out of the 25k goal. That's why I'd like to give an incentive for anyone who donates to them. I encourage others to do the same

HOW IT WORKS :

1. Donate €5 or more to Shahed's Gofundme (click here)

2. Send me a screenshot of the confirmation receipt through tumblr's direct message

3. Talk about what kind of gif you want. It can be anything, scenery shots, short dialogue, five gifs of your fave character doing something or wearing a certain outft, parallel scenes, action sequence, anything you'd like! I don't have to know or be into it. If you're in doubt, just ask. Here and here, are my gifs for reference. Slots are limited to 15 for now

Please DONATE. Their fundraiser is currently at :

9,700 / 25,000

1/15 SLOTS FILLED

vetted by 90-ghost

tagging for visibility. dm me for removal

@teethburied @commissions4aid-international @transmutationisms @determinate-negation @evilponds @rongzhi @yu-tap @orbcube @wammbam @gabajoofs @soup-mother

[wasabijean]

‼️ART FOR DONATIONS TO PALESTINIAN FUNDRAISERS‼️

Hello! A few days ago I began kickstarting my own personal Art for Palestine Campaign on Twitter, and I’m bringing it over to Tumblr as well! By donating to the fundraisers linked below, I will draw you something!

Details on how to help are here!!⬇️⬇️

First, send proof of donation to this google form (I require a screenshot of receipt with name, amount donated and who you donated to.)

After receiving your form, I will then DM you on Tumblr, to let you know your place in queue on trello, and the Estimated time of completion for your art! I will send WIPs if asked.

Here is what to expect based on how much you donate, example drawings are in the google form, or search #my-art tag on my blog.

$1 - traditional full page notebook sketches

$5 - digital messy sketch 

$10 - digital clean sketch black & white/monocolor shading

$15 - digital clean sketch with color

$30 - (2 people) digital clean sketch and color

($40 - Three people)

($50 - Four people)

$60 - Clean Rendered Portrait (simple background, bust up)

$100 - Clean Rendered Full body, full background, full color

5. And here is the list of fundraisers participating, please donate to ALL of them, not just one!

Aya & Mohammed - Both torn by the occupation, them and their families are trying to evacuate Gaza. Mohammed is a survivor of IOF imprisonment for 20 days without outside contact.

Farah & her family - A 20-year-old english translator studying at Al Azhar University, Farah is young and has already gone through much. She and her family are trying to cross the border in Rafah.

Mahmoud Mush - A Palestinian graduate with dreams of establishing his Bakery, all his work undone by the bombings. He is determined to rebuild and pursue his dream no matter what.

Dounia Tanani & her family - A Palestinian mother who graduated as a translator and has been left homeless like many others. She and her family are trying to evacuate Gaza and begin a new life to raise her child.

Ahmed Almofty & his family - He is a recent graduate in Gaza with a promising future, and now he has no home or possessions. Ahmed's future relies on rebuilding his families lives.

Sondos Maher & her family - She is a 27 year old mother of three children who runs a family vlogging channel and now is trying to get them out of Gaza.

Nagham & her family - She is a third year medical student in Gaza who hopes to escape to Canada where her Gaza-born brother, Yasmeen, resides. To start her life anew for her and her family, they need to be evacuated!

Issa & family - They are apart of a family of 6, two of which are college students, while their youngest child is 12 years old. They are trying to evacuate and continue their children's education!

Hafez & his daughters - He is a father two young and bright girls, Malak, a 5-year-old with a love for school and his baby Habiba, born during the occupation. Please donate so they stay healthy!

Mostfa and his family – A young Palestinian body builder who has broke many records and set a precedent for his community, he and his family suffers from the occupation and sickness caused by it.

I will add more fundraisers for those who would like to participate, just tell me and I will add on to this via reblog. Palestine will be free, and it starts with helping the people who need freeing.

[hueseok]

( 01. ) GOOD GRACES.

kim seokjin doesn’t believe in luck. he’s someone who knows that in order to have good things coming your way, you have to work damn hard for it. however, that might not be the case when it comes to bad luck, because after a video of him goes viral wherein it looks like he’s screaming at someone’s grandma, he begins thinking maybe luck does exist—and it just so happens that he’s now being subjected to a lot of unluckiness.

he’s being cancelled. his career is getting destroyed. his manager is forcing him to take a hiatus. and on top of that, as if things could not get worse, the only hope he has on redeeming everything he worked hard on depends on you, the director’s daughter of the theater show that could propel him back to where he used to be.

that should have been a piece of cake. if only you weren’t his ex who he dumped via phone call and got threatened by to never show his face to ever again...

pairing: seokjin x reader

word count: 4.2k

rating: NC-17

content: fluff, light angst, humor, exes to enemies to friends to lovers au | ft. theater actor!seokjin + himbo energy!seokjin lmao, podcaster!reader + nepo baby!reader

warning/s: lots of swearing | lots of internal monologue by seokjin? lmao

[ chapter index. ]

EPISODE 01. there are worse things i could do !

seokjin never thought that the downfall of his career would happen because of a misconstrued video of him going viral where he was apparently yelling at a poor old lady in a grocery store.

but here he is, getting canceled on twitter and being informed by his manager that he was taken off the projects he was scheduled to do for the upcoming year, the brands who were once so keen on getting him on board suddenly backtracking and terminating the previously signed deals that were already discussed.

regardless of how he tried convincing yikyung, the said manager, that he wasn’t actually fighting the woman who was probably the same age as his grandmother on that short clip—and that all of this was just a stupid a misunderstanding, he’s told it’s too late. the public already made up their mind; they all hated him, and there were several gossip blogs publishing articles that had ‘receipts’ of his apparent bad and diva behavior over the span of his career.

“look, namjoon and I are working on it,” yikyung says, explaining that the PR and legal team are already in the midst of taking care of the whole problem. “but for the meantime, the best you can do is lay low for a while, buddy.”

“what?” seokjin exclaims. “are you saying—”

“you’ll be going on a hiatus.”

“hiatus,” he repeats, enunciating every syllable like he heard it wrong. he feels like he’s going to vomit, the whole room he’s in right now spinning before his eyes.

“yes. hiatus.”

god, seokjin hates that word. he’s been working his ass off since he knew how to act and sing and was the absolute fucking best at it. and now they’re putting him on a hiatus? it’s ridiculous. it’s unfair! he isn’t in some kind of boyband or anything, but he’s pretty sure that they use that term to sugarcoat the fact that the members are quitting the industry or going solo which doesn’t make sense for him so the former category is probably more applicable to his situation at the moment and—

“it’s temporary,” yikyung continues speaking, as if reading what’s going in his mind. “at most, it’ll be a year.”

that still doesn’t calm seokjin down. “you’re benching me for a year?”

“at most.”

“does it really have to be that long?”

“yeah, if we see that it’s necessary enough.”

“i don’t think a year is necessary.”

“we don’t know that yet.”

“but if you keep me away from the public that long… it's going to kill my career!”

yikyung gives him a pitiful look. “it's already dead, jin. let’s be real here.”

he gasps, genuinely offended that his manager would say such a thing. “take that back.”

“look, i’m not happy with this either,” yikyung says, “but the public needs to forget that video. It’s what everybody is talking about, it’s what every director or sponsor that’s asking us about too—nobody would want to associate themselves with your name anyway while the story’s fresh, so this hiatus won’t kill it. doing this hiatus will just induce your career into a coma. you’ll be like sleeping beauty.”

“then who’ll be the fucking prince?”

“a mindblowing project that’ll remind people that you’re the best leading man in the theater world.”

seokjin lets that sink in.

just days ago, he was being blasted with offers to do commercials and new productions due to the successful run of chicago where he portrayed billy flynn. A lot of columns praised his versatility, saying that despite reservations on how he was going to perform, he nailed the part and captured the audience’s hearts with how he made that character his own. it was the biggest ego boost he had in a while considering he was so passionate in bringing billy flynn to life and pulling off the long note he had in we both reached for the gun—now though? all the happiness that he felt before? all the acclaim he reckoned could last him a good few months to stay motivated in doing this? it’s being buried to the ground; he feels as if everything is crashing down and every good thing in his life is fading away.

guess it’s true that being too happy can cause too much sadness after.

“a year goes by so fast, you know,” yikyung tells him. “keep yourself busy. pursue other hobbies. the next time i’ll call you, i’ll make sure it’s about an offer that’ll jolt your career awake again.”

and so with no other choice, really… that’s what seokjin did.

he decides to follow yikyung’s advice and take a train back to his hometown with the plan to help his aunt run the small grocery business she had, residing there until circumstances appear better for him. he figures this break might be better than he thinks, taking into account the fact that he’s been working nonstop since he began landing solid roles years ago. maybe a restart is what he needs; maybe he can use this as an excuse to do other stuff and pursue other hobbies like he was suggested to do.

in the first month of his forced hiatus, he becomes some kind of apprentice at his aunt’s mentioned grocery store. he meets taehyung, a young man who looks way too handsome to be only arranging packed and canned goods in the aisles of the shop as another helper of his aunt; taehyung also apparently recognizes him, asking if he’s that “theater star harassing an old lady” he kept on seeing on tiktok which seokjin’s always quick to correct. taehyung never looks convinced though, regardless of how much seokjin explains, but he at least doesn’t treat him shit for some groundless scandal.

then in his second month, he begins to try pottery. there are classes for it in the same town, a 10-minute drive away and the instructor happens to be a family friend. however, after five sessions, he realizes that he’s horrible at the task and can’t produce anything that’s worth selling or admiring even. that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it though, ‘cause he does, and he still attends each class or goes on his own for the following months to use this activity as catharsis.

for the third month, he starts painting; on the fourth, he volunteers to walk the golden retriever that an elderly couple neighbor has; when the fifth month comes, he begins jogging around the area, continuing that until the sixth and seventh as he progresses to running—and then on the eight month, while he’s tending to the crops he’s growing at his aunt’s backyard, he finally gets the call from yikyung that he always pretends not to care about.

hurriedly taking off his gloves that are covered with mud, he picks up his phone from the table and answers his agent’s call. “please tell me you have something,” is what he says, not even concealing the desperation in his voice.

“i have something,” yikyung confirms, sounding excited.

“holy fuck,” he whispers to himself. he’s pacing around now, thrilled and anxious, praying to the gods of every religion that this will be a good offer. “what is it? tell me quickly.”

“they’re doing grease,” he says and seokjin does an impromptu super mario impression, just jumping all over the place because of the mention of the famous musical, the kind of musical that he knows would definitely benefit him if he wants to be within everybody’s radar again. “they already have a sandy young—it’s the producer’s niece—so now all they’re looking for is the rest of the cast. I already got you an audition for danny zuko and it’s two weeks from now.”

“god, i fucking love you, yikyung.”

“i’m amazing, aren’t I?”

“the best. you’re a goddamn gift from above.”

“and it hasn’t even been a year,” yikyung proudly points out. “you’ll be absolutely back on your feet after this project. your scandal has died down, anyway. not a lot are talking about it, and some of your fans are getting better at defending you, sharing encounter stories of their own to support the claim that you aren’t a dick who has a fetish in getting into a bickering war with an old woman.”

seokjin rolls his eyes. “never describe it that way to me again.”

yikyung chuckles. “i’ll hire a cleaning lady to clean your apartment here in the city maybe this weekend. when do you think you’ll arrive?”

“some time after the weekend. i’ll have to take care of a few things before i go.”

“like what?”

“well, believe it or not, i actually made some friends here.”

“damn. i told you this hiatus was going to be good for you.”

“yeah, you are right about that. i think it was healing for some reason. aside from the first weeks of me being depressed as fuck.”

“so, what does that mean? does this mean that you think you’ll nail the audition?”

seokjin grins. he isn’t cocky for nothing. even though it was advised to him before to lower it down a bit so that he wouldn’t come across as a complete ass, he knows he’s great at this pursuit of his. he’s charming, he has an amazing voice, and he can pull off any choreography instructed to him regardless of his initial lack of dancing abilities. being a hard worker makes you that way, and it’s what seokjin thinks will always help him in every endeavor he runs after.

“you bet, i will.”

“how’s your voice? your joints? do you need to warm up?”

“i’ve been singing for the community here every tuesday and thursday. i also haven’t been physically inactive like you think i am. i’ve been exercising regularly, improving my stamina and all that shit.”

yikyung doesn’t answer for a few seconds, a silence that seokjin translates into his manager being impressed that he hasn’t let go of himself despite the circumstances.

after a few more clarifications and reminders, the call ends and seokjin flops down on the wooden chair close to him, this goofy and giddy smile erupting on his face. it doesn’t occur to him until this moment that he’s been wishing for a miracle like this to come along because he’s been missing performing on stage like he used to do during shows and even when he’s in dance studios for the rehearsals. yeah, having a reason to take a break was nice too as he expressed, but nothing beats doing what he loves to do.

and playing danny zuko? wow, talk about a huge upgrade from being mandated by his management to disappear from the public to potentially being cast as one of john travolta’s famous roles. of course, the challenge with this is that he has to make sure that he actually gets the role, which he’s optimistic that he’ll be fine with.

his reputation may be questionable once he comes back, but there’s no denying that if there’s anyone who can emanate an arrogant greaser who cares too much about his image—it’s him.

****

seokjin’s aunt was devastated when she discovered that he’s leaving. she tried to persuade him to stay longer (if not for her, for the plants and the grocery store—and maybe the crowd of people he would sing for whenever there was an occasion in the neighborhood). however, regardless of her insistence, seokjin cannot be budged; he’s been waiting far too long for this to have second thoughts about it, to be swayed from this provincial life he has come to love and genuinely enjoy.

“are you coming back?” taehyung asked him when the news of seokjin’s immediate departure got to him too. “because if you aren’t, can I have your bike?”

seokjin rolled his eyes. over the course of his stay, taehyung has become some sort of little brother he never had. “i’m coming back. just to visit though,” he said. “so you can have my bike.”

on the weekend before he left, he spent time with the people he befriended. he arranged a bingo session with the elderly; he ran laps with that golden retriever he took on walks every morning; he did his last piece of pottery with the instructor he also became friends with; then, on his very last night, he shared a few drinks with his aunt and taehyung, promising them that if he gets the part, they’ll have front row tickets to the show.

if not, he’ll jump off the bridge because he doesn’t think he has a face to show to anyone anymore. 

he earned a slap on the arm by his aunt with that one.

everything went smoothly when he came back to his old apartment the following morning, freshly cleaned like yikyung promised. nonetheless, seokjin felt it was necessary to check every nook and cranny of the place to verify that, even going as far as examining the decorations, memorabilia, and picture frames he had on display, his finger being swiped on the most random areas to make sure that every corner was polished. nobody lived here for eight months in his defense, and he really could catch a bad case of allergic rhinitis in the case yikyung was lying. he couldn’t have that. he had his voice to take care of; there shouldn’t be snot or phlegm getting in the way of the full prowess of his vocals.

for the next few days leading up to the audition, he did everything he can to assure that he’ll be in his best state when his time to shine comes. he practiced the song sandy, a solo piece sung by danny zuko, and rehearsed the lines for the scene where danny and sandy first meet again at rydell high.

in those hours he spent talking to himself, warming up his voice, making sure that he shaped his words right and exuded the energy of the greaser he’s aiming to play, he started thinking again that he seriously got a huge chance in landing this role. he’s superb at acting; he’s certain that he has the voice needed for this part; and not to mention that he’s got the looks for it, alright. his handsomeness is certainly one of the aspects that makes him so marketable as an actor.

plus, he manages to get a positive outlook regarding this because yikyung has been great in encouraging him, sending him inspirational quotes that sometimes were borderline annoying because it had nothing to do with his situation but still touching in a way.

like right now, as seokjin waits in the holding room of the theater for the audition, he receives a message from his manager with a GIF of a maneki-neko with an oversized arm and the quote by dr. seuss saying, “you have brains in your head. you have feet in your shoes. you can steer yourself any direction you choose. you're on your own. and you know what you know. and you are the guy who'll decide where to go”.

it is a little aligned to what he’s going through right now but seokjin can’t help but still grimace in distaste.

“kim seokjin?” the casting assistant calls, and he snaps his head up from the screen of his phone to peer at the person who called him.

he stands, gaining the attention of the casting assistant. “here.”

“great. follow me please.” she smiles and begins walking to where the stage is without checking whether seokjin followed her or not. 

he does, as quickly as possible, thankful because he can finally get away from that enclosed space with fellow auditionees who were either gaping at him or chatting him up, asking about the hiatus he did. he’s smart enough not to give any specific details, instead saying the standard “mental health break” or “sabbatical leave” that they seemed to buy.

walking across the stage, his eyes squint a bit at the spotlight directed to him. then, stopping at the center, he averts his gaze to the two people who are sitting on the front row seats. hyunbin park the director and seungjoon ahn the producer. they both appear serious, like they’re bored, or like they’ve been unimpressed by the roster of auditionees they’ve been having so far.

it creates a spark of hope for seokjin who’s confident that he might just be the person that’ll blow their minds for today. even though this is his first time performing in front of a professional again, he’s learned over the years to trust his skills more, and he knows that he’s definitely adept for the tryout happening at the moment.

“kim seokjin, isn’t it?” mr. Park says. he’s the more intimidating one out of the pair. he’s famous for having directed a lot of shows that got to win several trophies in every award giving body that catered to the theater industry. aside from this production being an anticipated project of his, he’s scheduled to direct a movie with a star-studded cast.

seokjin nods. “yes, that’s me.”

“wait a minute, i know you,” says mr. ahn, an index finger pointed towards him. this man doesn’t look that much older than seokjin. give or take about only five years his senior. “i’ve seen you somewhere. where have i seen you?”

seokjin swallows hard. fuck, fuck, fuck. kill me now. bury me in the ground. shit. i hope he doesn’t realize that i'm—

“ah! i remember.” mr. ahn laughs, turning to mr. park. “isn’t he the guy who played corny collins three years ago or something?”

a huge breath of relief escapes seokjin.

mr. park nods unsurely. “yeah, I think so. did you play corny collins, son?” he asks.

“i did.”

their faces significantly brightened.

“well, i’m looking forward to your audition, seokjin,” mr. ahn says. “i watched the media preview of hairspray back then. i was a great friend of jiyong.”

jiyong was the director of the said show.

“you may begin,” mr. park adds, gesturing for him to go ahead before readjusting the glasses he’s wearing. “break a leg.”

seokjin flashes a dazzling smile and begins.

****

yikyung: how was it? yikyung: the audition should be over by now. yikyung: tell me how you did! yikyung: i’ll be like this for the whole day until you reply. yikyung:

seokjin: do you think sending gifs is cool? seokjin: bc it’s not

yikyung: you didn’t answer my question?

seokjin can’t stop grinning. he’s had this grin since he finished the audition and walked out to the lobby, his mind replaying the events that took place during his performance and the reactions of the director and producer after he was done.

even though the two didn’t make their verdict apparent, seokjin had a feeling that he was going to get cast in this show for the reason that as soon as he finished belting the last line of the song sandy, mr. park and mr. ahn shared a look with one another, their eyebrows raising in what comes across like understanding.

now, quick disclaimer, seokjin doesn’t read minds, but he’s pretty sure that that’s a good sign. he’s done his fair share of auditions and seeing an interaction like that from people who are in charge of casting always raises the chances that he’ll end up in the project. it’s a really big tell from what he thinks—and it’s what’s prompting him to almost skip like a little girl while walking to the café nearby where he’s planning to treat himself with the mouthwatering strawberry cream croissant he saw on their display earlier, nothing in his mind other than fantasies of receiving a call as soon as he gets home confirming he got the part.

maybe i should start incorporating black leather jackets into my wardrobe more… it is what danny zuko wears half of the time in the film and since i’ll be danny zuko, it can be some kind of way i’ll be able to internalize the character and be fucking amazing in this…

clearly, doing an inner monologue isn’t advisable when you’re walking along a busy street filled with people who are obviously in a rush to get to where they’re going.

because as he continues marching forward, taking a quick turn to the café he’s aiming to go to, his thoughts everywhere aside from the path he’s strolling on—his arm bumps against someone’s shoulder, ceasing his daydreaming and causing him to glance back, about to utter a quick apology if it wasn’t for the sight that greets him when he does.

he wrinkles his forehead, gazing at you.

there’s no doubt in his mind that it really is you who he’s looking at, but due to the fact that it’s been approximately 9 years since you last saw each other, seokjin asks himself whether this is legit or is his imagination taking a sinister route and letting him imagine how it would be like to meet the person he doesn’t want to see on a perfect day.

“well, shit,” you say, staring at him with the same surprised yet puzzled expression. your features look more mature, your hair is styled in a different way, your choice of clothes is more sophisticated—yet despite the subtle changes, you’re still as attractive as you were when he last got to see you. he might even dare to think that your attractiveness leveled up as well. “i’ll be damned. it’s you.”

seokjin feels his throat closing up, reality sinking in that you’re really here in front of him. “____?”

“i’m flattered that you remember.” you chuckle. “or that you’re not pretending to have amnesia to escape this conversation at least.”

to be fair, if it registered to him a few seconds earlier on who you are, he might have done exactly that.

but of course he doesn’t admit it. his ears just turn red while he utters a lie. “that’d be silly. it’s not like you’d believe me if i said that.”

“touché. but i still reckon you’d do it. you are an actor.” a smirk makes its way to your lips. “how’s that going, by the way? last time i heard, you’re being murdered on twitter and being called a world class asshole.”

he winces slightly. “that’s an exaggeration.”

“i don’t think so. you are on hiatus because of it, aren’t you?”

“not anymore.”

“oh?”

“you seem disappointed,” he retorts. “then again, i wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve been praying for my downfall ever since you-know-what happened.”

“you-know-what? do you mean when you dumped me?” you explicitly say, not even missing a beat after he was done speaking.

yes, you’re an ex-girlfriend. sadly, an ex-girlfriend he knows he didn’t treat well because of what you just reminded him of.

he presses his lips together, gathering all the confidence he has left. “yes. i do mean that. and i am sorry about it. truly.”

“you dumped me over the phone.”

“i’m aware of that too.”

“you didn’t explain why you wanted to break up.”

a pause. “yes, i didn’t.”

“and just because we coincidentally met again after so many years, you finally apologize?”

“that’s about right.”

“it doesn’t sound very sincere to me.”

he widens his eyes, surprised that you’re not letting this go as easily as he thought you would. from what he remembers, you’re the type of person who doesn’t hold grudges; you’re the type of person that everybody would say was genuinely good. in fact, it’s what he was mad about years back when you were still together—how you often let other people take advantage of your kindness, often putting you in a position of being a doormat or an emotional punching bag.

but that’s almost a decade ago. he feels bad that he’s not sure whether to be proud of you or to be a bit frustrated that he’s on the receiving end of this.

“anyways,” you add after the excruciating awkward silence, “as much as i want to give you a piece of my mind, i have to go. i’d say it was nice seeing you and that we should catch up sometime, jin, but that would be a lie.”

seokjin’s supposed to let you go despite his conscience eating him up. he’s not entirely stupid, it’s apparent that it’s better not to reopen healed wounds, and judging from the manner you spoke to him, you don’t want to give him an opening to enter your life again.

but then your phone rings, which you’re holding on one hand while the other holds a paper bag from the coffeeshop. And then, seokjin sees it—sees mr. park’s face on the screen with a caller ID named ‘dad’, that he can’t prevent himself from staying still and allowing you to leave without explaining what he’s witnessing right now.

“wait,” he holds your elbow as you’re trying to walk past him, “your dad isn’t mr. park, is he? i know your dad. He’s not hyunbin park.”

you blink at him, confused at the random question, however a wave of understanding swiftly washes over you. he watches you grin all of the sudden, eyes twinkling in amusement. he’s familiar with that expression, and it’s scaring him to death because he now has a pretty good idea on what your answer is going to be.

“you’re here in the city because of an audition,” you state, tone so sure that it makes him sweat. “don’t tell me… You’re auditioning for grease?”

he doesn’t tell you he’s auditioning for grease.

your grin widens even further, your next sentence inducing a sensation that might be a heart attack.

“then you’ve met dad. he is hyunbin park, the director.”

fuckity fuck fUCK FUCK!

note. AHHH first chapter is out! i hope y’all like this because i’m happy with how this turned out hehe. this drabble series will only have 10 episodes and i’m gonna pray that i get to finish this before the year 2024 ends 😭

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[fuck-customers]

This situation truly felt like the closest I've ever gotten to reenacting the L vs. Light from Death Note battle lmaoo I kept my cool and plausible deniability, but I was dying laughing internally.

(I think I've won the battle, btw. I'll have to wait and see. There's more to this war, though)

So, for background (and I've complained about this on this blog several times...sorry) my moron boss refuses to put price tags/signs on the products in the store, especially at the register. Considering I work in a retail store...this is obviously a problem. So I've made several attempts to get products priced, in varying degrees of extremity.

1. I made handmade signs/tags out of receipt paper/scratch paper and put them on the products around the register. (Candy, toys etc.) Braindead manager took them down.

2. All but 4 of the shopping carts at work are broken, but customers are stupid and still try to drag them halfway through the store and then abandon them or somehow blame me personally for them being broken. So I put signs on the broken ones and blocked them off. Dumbshit managers keep unblocking them and then customers try and fail to use them and abandon them throughout the store, rinse and repeat daily.

3. I then got the idea to go over my manager's head, but without having it fall back on me. Write to corporate. I originally started snatching receipts to leave negative reviews on the store survey, but that seemed to be a dead end, as the SM and DM are the ones who are supposed to read the surveys, but appear not to, as not a single thing was fixed in over 6 months of "customers" complaining weekly. (Usually at least 1 every 2-4 days)

4. I found a clearance price gun and tagged everything with it, even if it wasn't clearance. One way or another, it had a price on it, right? Of course the braindead moron took them off.

5. I then found actual price tags that were technically for different products, but had the same prices as our current candy, so I tagged the items with that. (For example, we'd have a tag for chocolate that we no longer carry that was $3.99 and we have some current chips on the shelf that are $3.99, so I'd just put the old tag for the current candy, since all customers need is the dollar amount and blacked out the old product description) These lasted longer than the previous attempts, but were ultimately taken down, but this is (hopefully) the turning point.

6. Just to really make sure something would change, a month or so after reusing old price tags, I (simultaneously, while also putting up old tags) made several fake emails posing as disgruntled customers and emailed corporate complaining about the lack of prices and the broken carts (among other things) at my specific location. (I did not name any specific employees or throw anyone under the bus. I just complained about the appearance of the store and any mention of employees was simply left at "the cashier" "the manager" etc. with no personally identifying info) I did this on the feedback section of the company website as well.

This all came to a head today when the braindead's mini-me (the ASM) pulled me aside before I clocked in today to basically call me out. She said that she knew that I was the one who put the handmade tags and also put "broken" signs on the broken carts and blocked them off. I, of course pretended not to know about it, because I'm not THAT stupid. But I'm not in trouble, because she has no real proof. (It was very much "I know that she knows and she knows that I know she knows lol) Anyway, she says (and we'll see about this) that new carts have been ordered and are on their way and also that she had to go around and undo all the tags (oh boohoo, she had to do her job, poor her) and will be putting real, correct tags on the products.

We'll see. In the meantime, "customers" are still going to leave bad reviews and contact corporate until changes are actually made for real. There are still other issues that need to be fixed, but are not as important as the lack of price tags and carts. (Such as the lack of price checkers, the shit radio music, the lack of employees, the dysfunctional inventory system, the bare shelves, the disorganized store, etc.)

Posted by admin Rodney

[toonafeesh]

Spare Merch for Gaza + Sudan

Hey guys, I'm following @jayssparemerch's merch for Gaza + Sudan donations! I'm giving out old merch in exchange for donations to Palestinan and Sudanese fundraisers. Most of these are fanmade danmei merch and trades from friends so please do not resell them :(

$5 items | Baihe & Danmei $5 items

$15 items

Take a look and see if there's anything you want! This is all first come first serve so don't hesitate to donate. More information about how exactly this will work under the cut. Please read everything carefully!

Feel free to claim 5 items or more in the $5 tier. I'm trying to declutter so it doesn't really matter to me how many you pick as long as you donate to a fundraiser! Make the shipping cost worthwhile. Don't be afraid to ask if you want more than 5 items. :)

Donation minimums are just that - minimums. Please donate as much as you can spare.

Please donate directly to people in need and grassroots orgs. Gaza Funds will spotlight a random campaign if you have trouble choosing. E-sims for Gaza and Khartoum Kitchen are both great choices. Another one you could donate to is to help disabled Sarah and her family evacuate from Gaza. Hopefully your dashboard has people sharing fundraisers on it, so it shouldn't be too hard to find somewhere good to send your money to!

You'll be expected to pay for shipping on your own items. I will ship both domestically within Australia and internationally outside of it. Please note that it can be a bit expensive to ship things to outside of Australia.

All mail except for stickers will be tracked! AFAIK Australia doesn't let me send out untracked letter mail if they aren't paper goods. Stickers will be untracked and cheaper to mail, but if you choose to get stickers WITH something else then they will be tracked.

Once you've decided on an item you want, send an ask or message to this blog (if you are from twitter, feel free to DM me on albacorenim @ twitter) with the following information:

- The item you want - An email address where you can be contacted for followup in the event that you're the first person to claim an item - Your zipcode, or country and postal code so I can estimate shipping

After I receive this information, if yours is the first claim, I will contact you at the provided email with a quote for shipping and ask you to provide a confirmation/receipt for a new donation made after the creation of this post. A screenshot is fine as long as the date is visible

Feel free to donate in whatever currency is most convenient/required for the fundraiser you're donating to, as long as it's equivalent to the required donation amount in USD

I will try to ship out items within 1-3 business days. I'll send out confirmation as well as the tracking link to your email address one shipped out.

REGARDING ACRYLIC CHARMS/STANDEES: These may appear cloudy in the photographs. This is because some still have their protective film on them! They will be crystal clear once the film is removed. But do note the epoxy charms may have some yellowing because they are couple of years old.

If you buy something from my shop and want to combine shipping, just let me know in the email so I don't charge you twice!

Feel free to ask any questions you have that weren't answered here, and I'll reply to you/update this post as necessary

[vilz]

hello obviously there isn't anything i can really do to control this (unfortunately i deleted a bunch of posts BEFORE turning off reblogs on them) but i would prefer that people did not circulate my posts from this blog any more... i appreciate that people are kind to me about my art, but that is just my request i suppose. this blog is unprivated now, and if you'd like to see what is still up you can look at them here. my ask box is also open but i will not be making any art posts here from now on. here is a little preemptive faq:

why did you leave?

i didn't feel comfortable or happy posting on this blog any more!

do you still make art? do you post it somewhere else?

yes. but i've been pulling away from posting very much online, and the things i'm interested in drawing nowadays are generally more private, so i won't be directing anyone there or anything. i don't consider my new blog to be a continuation of this one.

i know your new blog!

that isn't really that surprising since i didn't honestly put great effort into concealing it or anything. we are probably not friends, so i hold no sway over you, but i would still prefer you did not share it or treat me as if i am still "vilz who posts fnaf art". i'm just a whatever blogger who blogs about whatever things. also to be frank i do not think my new blog has anything that interesting for people who followed for the kind of art i used to post here. this is not an invitation to say "it is interesting!".

we are friends!

if we have not been in direct, mutual conversations i highly doubt that. i'm sorry if that hurts anyone's feelings.

why did you delete all your self ship art?

people seem to enjoy my self ship art a lot, which is very flattering, but i don't want people to be looking at them any more. i realize that they are still rebloggable and are still circulating around, which is nobody's fault but my own, but i would prefer they were not shared any more. i can't really do anything about it and i also don't blame anyone for reblogging those posts since it's obviously not something they would know, but yeah.

i saw your art on pinterest!

i did not and do not consent to my works being put on pinterest. the art from "vilz" has not been uploaded by me to any other website besides tumblr. if someone is posting my art from here on a different platform, they are doing so without permission.

i saw you on magma!

i still join magma boards sometimes lol. it's a fun site.

what about your ocs?

they are still my ocs. sometimes i still draw them. currently, i do not have any plans of posting my oc art online ever again. i would prefer that people did not reblog the oc art i have posted to this blog.

what about your fics?

all of my fics are still up on ao3 anonymously. they are: small mercies obscura floriography baying of lambs scrape bitch, bastard, bullshit almost human a dream, recurring countdown i'm very flattered and happy that people have left kind comments on these. thank you very much for reading the words of an amateur and for sharing an experience with me.

are you going to finish your uncompleted fics?

i would really like to say yes, because i care a great deal about aspects of them, but it's looking pretty unlikely. i lost all my files (and my calmlywriter key !!! always save your emails and receipts, everyone!!!) and also it's hard to feel motivated about them now. i guess i will leave this up in the air just to soothe my own feelings but in reality the answer is Probably Not.

are you going to post new fics?

i might, because i've been in a writing mood lately, but please don't expect anything. if i do, they will be anonymous on ao3. i will not post about them here or on any other blog.

i really liked your posts and blog!

thank you. i'm glad that people could feel that way about the things i made and thought about stuff i care about. irregardless, i would prefer that people did not share my old posts from this blog.

i will do it anyway.

i cannot stop you, so there isn't really any point in pleading. i just thought i'd make a little info post for people who are inquiring. after this, there won't be any "posts" from me. if there are relevant questions or messages i might reply to them or just update this post.

thank you for reading and for enjoying my blog. goodbye !!!

[seangelfish]

A/N: This is a reupload from my old blog, but I have rewritten some things here and there so the story will flow better. Added more fluff into it too, hehe~ I love Jun sooo much. He's a sweetheart. A perfect lover if I say so myself. I hope to write more fics around him, it's what he deserves.

"Alright, I'll just pay for the bill."

Jun Sazanami x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1,385

Plot/summary: Inspired by one of Jun’s idol stories! After a long day at work, you decide to grab a bite from the cafeteria. However, you didn't have money on you, but lo and behold, here comes your saviour...

“Thank you for your work today, (Y/N)!” exclaimed Hinata, jumping into your arms.

“Yes, thank you!” Yuta followed suit. “Have a good rest of your day!”

The twins had you in their grasp, jumping up and down.

“You two do know that you shouldn’t show affection like this to your producer, right?” you scolded, but at the same time, you just couldn’t help but hug them back.

“Hehe, sorry producer!” said Yuta.

“We will do it again!” cheered Hinata.

“You mean you won’t do it again,” you said with a sigh.

The twins bid you their farewells as they exited your office. Packing up your belongings, you were just glad that the day was coming to an end. You were dreaming of heading home and going to sleep, but before you did that, you decided to grab something to eat in the cafeteria. Your stomach had been grumbling for a while now.

You scanned the menu, wondering which meal you should order. Perhaps you should try something new or maybe it’s best to just go for the usual…

“Time for food!" Jun muttered to himself excitedly. "It's the only thing I expect during all these harsh trainings~ What should I have? ...Huh?"

Jun caught sight of you deep in thought, your thumb underneath your chin as you debated on whether to get a sandwich or a salad.

He began to approach you from behind, chuckling to himself.

Maybe I should get the salad… you thought. Should I get dessert too or—

Suddenly, you felt a pair of hands clasp your shoulders and a voice that whispered, “Nice to see you here too.”

“AHH!” you screamed as you whipped around to face the prankster. “J-Jun?!”

“What are you getting?" he asked, laughing at your reaction. "Let's eat together."

Whilst the cashier took Jun's order, you rummaged in your bag, trying to find your wallet.

"Yeah, I'll just get it with a meal," said Jun. "Thanks."

However, it became increasingly clear that you didn't have your wallet with you. You turned to Jun who picked up his receipt. He didn't notice the sullen expression on your face until you tugged on his sleeve.

"Hmm? What is it?" he asked.

You didn't want to answer him with your words as you were ashamed of asking him directly to cover your costs. You thought of just going home to eat instead.

"Did you forget your wallet?"

Eyes locked with his, you slowly nodded your head.

He smirked. "Well... that's indeed a problem. I'm sorry to hear that..."

You looked away, lips pursed.

"It's okay," you said quietly. "I'll just go home—"

"You wanted a salad, right?" He turned to the cashier once again. "Hi, I'd like to order the salad too, please. Yeah, the one that comes with the meal. Oh, and..."

You watched him in astonishment and gratefulness. Due to the fact you were so embarrassed for even thinking of getting Jun to pay for your meal, some of the words he was uttering became muffled.

"Yes, thank you," he said, taking another receipt from the cashier. He stuffed it into his pocket. "So... alright, I'll just pay for the bill. You can pay me back later, okay?"

You looked at him with glassy eyes.

"H-Hey!" he exclaimed. "I was joking, alright? I won't just abandon you here...!"

You nodded.

Jun sighed, but he gave you a reassuring smile.

"It's fine. I'm only doing this for Cos Pro's beloved idol and producer," he said. "Come on, let's find a seat, okay?"

The two of you sat across from each other on one of the empty tables by the windows.

You stared at your food blankly. You felt so ashamed that you didn't have it in you to even take a small bite. Your eyes darted away from your food to Jun. He was looking outside at the amber sunset as he ate. Feeling your gaze on him, his eyes fell on you, resulting in you looking away.

“You don’t need to feel guilty about it, you know?” he said, pointing at your food. “Just eat.”

You hesitated for a moment. You slowly picked up your fork and began to eat. Jun noticed how quiet you were being and it concerned him.

"(Y/N), it's okay," he said softly. "You don't need to be embarrassed. You can pay me back whenever. And as I said before, I was only teasing. I wouldn't just leave you without food especially since you've been busy all day."

"I..." you began. "...Thank you, Jun. I really appreciate it."

He smiled with his cheek resting on his palm.

"Of course."

You looked a bit happier now. You were eating normally too. He was relieved, he liked it better when you were smiling. He really hoped you smiled like that often.

When you worked as a producer, you kept it professional. However, when you worked as an idol, the real you came out. You were so bubbly, jumpy too. Unfortunately, this personality of yours would seep through your producer activities sometimes, and you would end up annoying Eden for help on work. Jun, however, never minded that you would confide him on such matters. He would help you no matter what.

And today wasn't any different.

You looked up at him and he smiled wider. "How's work for you nowadays?" he questioned. "I hope Ibara isn't bothering you with too much work."

"He isn't, thankfully," you chuckled. "He's been trying to reduce my workload as a producer. He still wonders why I decided to become both an idol and producer, but... well... it's just something that I wanted to do."

You smiled at him.

"Plus... I get to be with Eden more~!"

He laughed at this, his hand automatically covering his mouth. For some reason, that sentence made him incredibly bashful.

"Well, that's good. We don't want you to be overworking yourself," he replied. Now noticing that you've finished your meal, he continued, "Anyway, how was the food?"

“It was good, thank you!” you exclaimed. “I promise to pay—"

But before you could finish your sentence, the cashier approached your table and placed down a plate of cake.

"Enjoy," they said, making their leave.

You looked at Jun in confusion, but he was just smiling at you.

"You wanted dessert, didn't you?"

You couldn't believe it. Jun had paid for your meal AND ordered you dessert? So, that's what he was asking the cashier for...

"I noticed how much you like your desserts here," he added. "So, I thought to buy you one. Don't worry, I won't charge extra."

"Jun, you're so nice!" you cried, already digging in. "Thank you so much! I promise to pay you back immediately!"

As you scooped up a piece of cake, Jun grabbed your hand and moved the spoon into his mouth.

"What? I paid for it," he teased.

Smiling, you scooped up another spoonful and tried feeding it to him in retaliation.

"What?" you teased back. "You paid for it."

But as you watched him shyly back away, his cheeks hinting a light shade of pink, you started blushing too.

"J-Just eat your cake, (Y/N)..."

Once you were finished, you helped Jun clean the table.

"You know what?" he said, pushing his chair back to its place. "I change my mind. It's my treat. Don't worry about paying me back."

"What?"

He walked over to you. With a napkin, he wiped off the frosting on your lips. You blushed at this action, but you didn't stop him from doing so. It felt nice being cared for like this.

"Buuut," he began. "You could pay me back another way... Hmm... let's hang out tomorrow... at the arcade. I'm free after five."

You grinned and nodded.

“Yes, let’s hang out!” you chirped.

He walked you to the bus stop. When your bus pulled up, you tiptoed to his height and kissed his cheek.

"(Y-Y/N)?"

"Thanks for today," you said, beaming. "I enjoyed being with you."

You skipped into the bus and seated yourself down. You waved at him from the window, and he returned the wave with ease.

You were looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow, but it seemed like he was more excited. He couldn't stop himself from smiling, thinking of you and the little kiss you gave him.

Intro page | Ensemble Stars masterlist | Rules

[ladamedusoif]

Provenance

A Gentleman Thief x F!Museum Professional Reader Story

Part of the HCU (Heritage Crimes Universe) - click for masterlist

Pairing: The Thief (Casillero del Diablo) x F!Museum Professional Reader

Summary: Two months after their reunion, the museum curator finds herself on an unexpected Parisian adventure. 

Content warnings: Smut; Oral sex (F receiving); unprotected but safe PiV sex; discussion of contraception; alcohol consumption; angst; discussion of illegal acquisition of stolen objects during WW2; (ethical) heritage crimes; theft; sort-of fluff; no physical description of Reader beyond her professional attire, though she has a nickname (chérie).

Rating: E (18+ MDNI)

Word count: ~7,500

A/N: They're back! The Thief is just too charming to resist. A follow-up to My Kiss, Only For You and Reunions.

I am no longer using a taglist: please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to keep up to date with my work.

The package is, unmistakably, a book. Wrapped in brown paper, a neatly-typed address label affixed to the front. No return address. 

It’s pretty explicitly addressed to you, though. Right down to the department. You rack your brain, trying to remember whether you’d ordered something and forgotten. Or maybe it’s a gift?

You slip it out of the wrapping carefully. The dust jacket design suggests it’s from the 1950s, 1960s at the latest, but it’s in impeccable condition. 

The Museums of Paris: A Guide

The front cover features a photo of the Louvre, the facades still soot-blackened before their cleaning in the later part of the twentieth century, with beautifully-dressed tourists milling around the old entrance to the museum. 

Before you can leaf through the book, seeking a receipt or gift card or invoice of some kind, your desk phone rings. The museum director. And they want to speak to you: now. 

***

“We’ve had an…unusual request.”

You slip into the old leather chair opposite the director’s desk, covered in papers and catalogues. “An unusual request?”

She takes off her dark-framed glasses and smiles. “One of our major donors. They’re potentially about to buy some important art objects from a private Parisian collector, and we are hoping that - in time - they might donate them to us.”

“Okay…”

“But they don’t feel entirely confident appraising the collection without expert guidance.”

You nod slowly. 

The director looks at you as if she’s waiting for the penny to drop. 

“They want you to go to Paris with them, as an expert consultant. They will pay for all your expenses, travel, per diems - the lot.”

You just about manage to stop your jaw falling open. 

“Um…why me? I’m not one of the senior curators or object specialists, maybe they…”

She holds up a perfectly-manicured hand. “Stop there. The donor has explicitly requested you. They believe you are the best equipped to manage their needs on this job.”

“Uh… okay. So, when do I leave?”

She grins. “Two days’ time. And bring some decent clothes - you know how formal some of the French collectors can be.”

As you return to the office, a sensual memory flashes through your brain. Velvet, the colour of good Burgundy wine. Soft lips, coarse beard. Warm bodies pressed together. The most intense orgasm you’ve had in years, maybe ever.

It couldn’t be, surely. It was almost two months since that night and there’d been no missive, no note, nothing. The director said “them”, didn’t she? Not “he”. 

Besides, she’d said the donor was buying the objects. Not, you chuckle to yourself as you sit at your desk, stealing them. However ethical his motives may be. 

Still. No harm in packing some nice lingerie. Just in case.

***

It is still dark when your phone buzzes to let you know that the car - paid for and sent by the client - is waiting outside, ready to bring you to the airport for your transatlantic flight to Paris. 

You’d expected an Uber, not the gleaming black vehicle pulled up outside your building. Suitcase securely stowed, the driver points out the bottled water and snacks located in the back of the car as he sets off through deserted city streets. 

The surprises keep coming. You are in business class, not coach, for the long flight, resisting the urge to kick your feet and squeal with delight at the unexpected luxury. A smartly-dressed man holds a sign with your name on at Arrivals, and for a moment you wonder if this is the client. He’s another driver, of course - a charming and funny young Frenchman called Youssef, who speaks English with a vague American accent he says he picked up from TV and movies. 

Youssef whisks you into the city, pointing out landmarks along the way. The Eiffel Tower comes into view on the other side of the river as the black car negotiates elegant, narrow streets lined with perfectly-maintained nineteenth-century apartment buildings. 

“Et voilà!” Youssef stops the car and hops out to retrieve your suitcase. You step out, expecting to see the entrance to a hotel - but instead it’s just another residential building, sealed off from the city by two huge, heavy, dark green doors. 

With a bright smile, Youssef taps a little tag off a keypad and one of the doors swings open, revealing a passage leading to a gorgeous courtyard beyond. He refuses your tip - “it’s all good, madame!” - and instead picks up your bag and leads the way, opening another door to reveal the entrance hall proper. The marble floor is polished to perfection; dark red carpet covers the staircase that wraps around the elevator shaft; and there is not a sound to be heard.

”Sixth floor, madame. They’re waiting for you there.” He slides back the door of the elevator, slots your case in beside you, and presses the button. “Have a nice day!”

The elevator is old - possibly pre-World War One, you muse, unable to turn off the specialist’s mind - and slow. As it ascends, you take a moment to gather your thoughts and process this strange little adventure. 

If this was a movie, you’d be walking into a meeting of a criminal gang - or maybe to your death, you suddenly think, panic taking over for a second as the lift comes to a shuddering stop and you step out onto the sixth floor landing.

There is only one apartment entrance up here, as far as you can see. Dark red double doors, perfectly polished brass doorknobs and fittings adorning them, and a tiny doorbell discreetly tucked alongside the doorframe on one side. 

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and hover your finger over the button. 

The door to the apartment swings open just as your fingertip makes contact with the doorbell, setting off a loud, sonorous bell somewhere within and making you jump.

”Bienvenue, chérie. Come in, won’t you? I do hope I haven’t frightened you.”

***

“You know, if you wanted to ask me out again you could have just called or emailed, like a normal person.”

He hands you a cup of strong black coffee and joins you on the couch in the apartment’s enormous living room. 

“Do you think I’m a normal person?”

You take a sip and chuckle. “You are definitely not a normal person.”

He smiles in satisfaction, eyes taking you in from head to toe as you feel a warmth building deep within.

”It’s very, very good to see you, chérie.” His voice is warm and honeyed, an inviting purr that makes you ache between your legs. 

Today, he is wearing a black cashmere turtleneck with a pair of perfectly-tailored grey dress pants and some heavy, brown-framed glasses. It’s all you can do not to climb on top of him. 

“It’s been almost two months, Thief. Did you forget about me?”

He shakes his head, eyes softening with what you want to believe is genuine regret. “Never. I had to spend some time away, in South America - dealing with the family business, you know - and then I came here, to look at Madame Deseine’s…collection.”

The way he enunciates the final word gives you pause. What was in this “collection”?

“So my invitation here was just an excuse to see me, is that it? Because you weren’t back in the city yet?”

He looks at you in surprise. “Of course not! I mean, I’m very happy to see you again.” A little smile, eyes twinkling. “But no, I need your expertise. And your company is…a nice bonus.”

“My expertise?”

He sits back and crosses his legs, holding your gaze. “You are a specialist in the kinds of decorative arts and objects in Madame Deseine’s collection, I believe. And you are fluent in French. Year abroad in Lyon, correct?”

Your mouth falls open and you quirk your head. “How did… have you been… were you digging for information on me? That’s a violation of trust, and -“

He interrupts your fury with a chuckle. “Chérie, it’s all on your museum staff page profile. Qualifications, time abroad, special areas of expertise.”

You blush, embarrassed, and stare down into the dark swirl of your coffee as an awkward silence takes hold in the apartment’s tasteful interior. 

“I’m sorry, chérie. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Trust me, you are exactly the right person for the job.” 

He extends a hand towards yours, long fingers gently stroking the back of your hand. When you look up, his dark eyes are warm and genuinely apologetic. 

“I guess I’m not used to being…pursued, like this.”

He arches an eyebrow. “In what sense?”

You smirk and stand up. “In every sense, Thief. Now: are you going to explain this ‘job’ to me or not?”

His gaze - taking you in, a smile on his lips - is enough to set you aflame. 

“I am. But over dinner, I think.”

***

The waiter perfectly pours a little more white wine into each of your glasses before returning the bottle to the stainless steel ice bucket and leaving the two of you to your meals. 

He raises his glass to you, and you return the gesture.

You were not surprised when the car had pulled up outside an elegant, discreet restaurant tucked away in the Seventh Arrondissement. It was exactly his style: subtle, timeless, and exuding quality even before he held the door open and you stepped inside.

“So.” He swallows a bite of his monkfish and takes a sip of wine. “Madame Deseine.”

“Madame Deseine.”

You start to eat your meal as he explains. A genuine and respected art collector, Madame Deseine lived outside Paris in her family’s country estate, surrounded by an exceptional array of mostly nineteenth and early twentieth-century paintings, decorative arts, sculpture and furniture. As she grew older, she had begun to sell some parts of the collection - but remained extremely guarded about its exact contents.

“There are some…questions about the provenance of some of the items in the collection, or at least items we think are in the collection. Mostly late nineteenth-century decorative arts - clocks, vases, that sort of thing - but also some small art nouveau sculptures and figurines.”

You take a sip of your wine and narrow your eyes. “And this is where you come in?”

He nods. 

“You’re planning to steal some of her collection?”

He shakes his head, pauses, then nods before shaking his head again.

“Kind of, not really. Didn’t you hear what I said about provenance?”

“You think she’s not being entirely honest about her methods, about how she came by the collection?” In a world increasingly attuned to the repatriation of looted and stolen objects to their rightful place, you were deeply familiar with the importance of the provenance paper trail. 

He dabs at the corner of his mouth with the linen napkin. “Some of the collection. I believe that some of the collection came into her family as a result of looting and theft, that these items were not restored to their rightful owners, and that she is well aware of this fact.”

“You know that some of the most important art collectors in France before the war were Jewish families, no doubt.” You nod and he continues. “And that many of those families, even if they were in the minority lucky enough to escape the round-ups and the camps, had to leave behind those collections.”

”And when they were gone, the collections were…dispersed.”

He shakes his head. “Not dispersed. Stolen. Some of the surviving members of those families had their possessions located and restored, but not all. And I have been reliably informed that some of those missing items are currently in the hands of Madame Claudine Deseine.”

You swallow a bite of your salmon and size him up. “Aha. And this is why an ethical gentleman thief is required, I suppose?”

He gives you a knowing smile. The way the candlelight catches the coppery flecks in his brown eyes makes your breath catch for an instant. 

“I have been asked by a number of individuals to retrieve the objects stolen from their families over eighty years ago, and which have made their way into Madame Deseine’s collection without regard for their provenance.” He chews thoughtfully on a steamed green bean. 

“So where, exactly, do I come in, Thief?”

”I am going to buy some of the collection. But in order to be sure that the missing objects are in the Deseine chateau and to cross-check the gaps in the provenance records…I need to gain her trust. Or rather - you need to gain her trust.”

You raise your eyebrows and take another sip of wine. You might need something stronger by the end of the night.

”You aren’t seriously asking me to steal art, are you?” you hiss. He shakes his head furiously.

”Absolutely not. But I know Claudine Deseine’s reputation, and I know she won’t just let a potential buyer see the whole of her collection. She will, however, be a little more welcoming to a specialist who has kindly agreed to evaluate the items properly. Oh, and to look through the provenance records, to save us all time.”

”So what, I just turn up with you and hope she lets me into her secret stash of stolen stuff?”

He chuckles at the alliteration. “Not quite. But you may need to butter her up, tell her you’ve heard extraordinary things about the rare items she has, ask if she might let you see these things you’ve only read about in catalogues. And when you’re in, you can use your expertise to confirm that these are the items we are looking for, and then look for any gaps or obvious forgeries in the accompanying paperwork.”

”And how, exactly, do you propose to liberate the items from this chateau?”

He taps his nose. “Chérie, telling you that would make you completely complicit. I will handle it, you will wait in the apartment.”

You purse your lips. “I can’t believe I’m actually agreeing to this.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Deseine has knowingly sat on these things too long - why else would she hide these valuable items from any public descriptions of her collection? The government ignores the claims from the descendants because, for the most part, they live in the US.” He finishes the remaining wine in his glass. “And I, personally, cannot resist a challenge.”

“I have one condition. Apart from not becoming more implicated in this than I already am.”

“Name it.”

”That. That’s my condition. I want your name.”

He chuckles and looks down at his empty dinner plate. “Chérie, I cannot.”

”You’re asking me to help you steal back some very valuable art, and you can’t give me your name?”

”If you know my name you will know too much. And I don’t know why you need to know, anyway.”

You roll your eyes. “I like to know who I’m working with. And, on occasion, who I’m sleeping with, or who’s eating me out on my desk.”

To your satisfaction, he splutters on his sparkling water. 

”I still can’t tell you,” he says, recovering his composure.

”Nothing stopping me guessing, though,” you whisper mischievously. “Let’s see. Giacomo.”

He gives you a withering glance.

”Not that, then…Pietro.”

An eye-roll. 

“Dave.”

”Do I look like a ‘Dave’ to you?”

You giggle as the waiter takes away your empty plates. “No, that’s true. Pierre?”

He groans and shakes his head, but his smile is unmistakable. “Don’t make me regret this, chérie.”

***

Back in the apartment, he rummages in a sideboard filled with bottles of various liqueurs and spirits, before producing a bottle of Courvoisier and two cognac glasses.

“A little digestif, if you’d like?” 

You accept your glass gratefully and inhale the complex, fruity aroma of the alcohol, swirling it gently before taking a sip. Its warmth radiates through your body and you close your eyes and savour the sensation, tucking your feet under you as you cosy up on the couch.

“Tell me about the apartment.”

He smiles, looking around the spacious living room, its nineteenth century interior fixtures somehow matching perfectly with the array of impeccably-chosen twentieth-century furniture. 

“My great-great-grandfather bought it, not long after this building was constructed - late nineteenth century, I think. The family business frequently brought him to Paris, and he needed a base.”

“And the family business is…?”

He huffs a laugh. “You are persistent, chérie. Wine. The family business was - is - wine.” 

You raise your eyebrows and nod as if extremely impressed, and he chuckles, revealing the laughter lines around his eyes that lend his handsome face such character. 

“Well, I can’t pretend to be an expert - what do they call it? An…oenophile, is that it? - so I’m not going to ask for any more details, fear not. My wine knowledge extends no further than ‘that’s quite nice, isn’t it.’”

He feigns horror, recoiling back into the cushions of the sofa. “Chérie, I am going to have to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

You giggle and take another sip of the cognac. “I’m willing to learn, though.”

“That so? Well, I can be your guide, if you’d like.” He finishes his cognac and licks his lips as he looks at you. 

“I…I would like.”

He smiles, takes your glass, and stands up. You follow his lead, wandering behind him into the kitchen where he deposits the empty glasses on a pristine countertop. Every fibre of your being wants to reach for him, to pull him to you, to have him there and then.

“Chérie, I…didn’t want to presume anything.” He swallows hard and turns to face you, eyes a little wary. “About, uh, sleeping arrangements. Hence the guest bedroom.”

You had changed there earlier - a bright, pretty bedroom at one end of the corridor running along the apartment, complete with its own small en suite bathroom. 

“Oh. Of course.” You flush. “A busy day tomorrow.”

His hand finds yours, long fingers caressing yours before he brings it to his lips for a soft, sustained kiss that does nothing to quench the flames of your desire.

“Indeed. That said, if you want company…”

You see the spark in his eyes: teasing, playful, almost daring you to act first. Instead, you meet his gaze with an enigmatic smile.

He pulls away slightly and arches an eyebrow. “If you want company, I am just down the hall. Bonne nuit, chérie.”

***

In the quiet of the guest room you slip out of your clothes and into a wine-coloured silk robe you’d found hanging on the back of the door, freshly pressed. You retrieve your washbag and toiletries and set about your nightly routine. 

You hoped it would be a distraction from the ache between your legs, from the memory of his hand on yours, from the way he looked at you, from his offer of company. From the wet patch you’d noticed on your panties as you undressed. 

“Fuck.”

You close your eyes and lean on the sink for a moment as you take a deep breath before reaching for your moisturiser.

***

He’s sitting on his bed, stripped to his boxers and clad in his own, navy blue silk robe. It hangs open around his body, the colour a perfect complement for his golden skin. 

A knock. He lifts his head from his papers.

“Come in, chérie.”

She peeks playfully around the door. “I was wondering if that offer was still valid. I think I do want some…company.”

“It’s still valid.” He tidies away the paperwork and pats the space beside him on the large bed. “What kind of company did you have in mind?”

She crosses the room, hands reaching for the sash of her guest robe. It falls open as she reaches the bed, revealing the lacy bra and matching French knickers underneath. He inhales sharply, cock twitching at the sight. 

“Up to you. This is your turf, after all.” 

“Ah, but you’re the guest, chérie. Your preference is what counts.”

She shucks off the robe and climbs onto the bed, swiftly straddling him. With a slow roll of her hips, she drags her pussy over his hardening cock, the outline visible under his dark boxers.

“This is my preference. Does it work for you, too, Thief?”

He answers with a hungry kiss as he pulls her tight to him.

***

He tastes of mint and cinnamon and the faintest trace of Courvoisier. You had missed his mouth.

His fingers unhook the clasps of your bra and he tugs it off you, discarding it to a corner of the room. He breaks the kiss, lips pink and wet, and turns his attention to your tits: cupping them, fondling them, squeezing them with his broad hands before he starts to suck on each nipple in turn.

You toss back your head and bite your lip, stifling a loud moan. He releases your breast with a pop of his mouth.

“This apartment is the entire top floor, chérie. You can be as loud as you wish.”

Two fingers tug aside the crotch of your panties and find the warm wetness that’s been building between your legs all day. He looks up at you and grins. 

“On your back, amor.”

French knickers off, he gently pushes your thighs back before resting your legs over his shoulders. He buries his face against your pussy with a delighted groan, the delicious timbre of his voice rumbling against your core. 

He licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, a hand pressing against your belly as your hips instinctively buck upwards with pleasure and need. His tongue swirls lasciviously across your folds, lapping up the wetness, before he begins to suck on your clit. Slow at first, a gorgeous torment; then faster, more insistent, the tip of his tongue flicking over and back over the swollen nub rhythmically in time with your needy moans and whimpers. 

He keeps it up as he slips first one, then two fingers inside you and hooks them just so, chuckling when you cry out.

“Fuck…I’m close, I -“

You let go. You come hard against his face, ecstasy coursing through your body as he keeps on fucking you through it with his fingers, gently pulling out when he senses your overstimulation. 

He moves up and lies beside you, face to face. 

“You enjoyed that.”

You try to slow your breathing. “You think?”

He chuckles, tracing the curve of your hip with his hand. “I enjoyed it, too.”

“And no jewel theft involved this time. So far, anyway.”

He closes his eyes and smiles, humming contentedly as he reaches for your breast, idly rubbing your nipple with his thumb. 

You study his features for a moment, noting the handful of freckles on his face, the way his dark lashes look against his cheeks, the gloss of your own slick shimmering across his pink lips, his chin, his moustache. 

This time, when your tongue swipes against his mouth, he tastes of you. 

You gather some of your own wetness on your fingers by way of lubrication, before tugging down his boxers and taking his cock in your hand. He closes his eyes as you stroke him slowly, steadily, feeling him growing harder under your careful touch.

With your free hand you caress the side of his face, thumb rubbing gently against the grey patches in his beard. 

“I want you, Thief.” 

He opens his eyes and smiles before gently moving your hand away from his cock. He shucks off his robe and shifts into position above you, arms caging your body on either side. 

“You know, I’m on birth control,” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes. “And you were the last person I was with, and before that…well, it had been a while.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Same. Well, not the birth control, evidently…but the rest. No one but you, not for some time. So…?”

You trail your fingers over his chest, dappled here and there with freckles, and he leans down to kiss you. Different, this time - softer, less desperate, more…tender.

“So you can have me bare, if you want.” 

“Oh fuck, chérie. Yes. Please.” He gestures with his head. “Turn, get on all fours.”

You do as you are told, teasingly wiggling your ass at him once you’re in position. He gives it a light slap and you squeal approvingly until the feeling of his cock opening you up makes you catch your breath.

He sinks slowly inside you, pausing when he’s fully sheathed in your warm pussy. You can hear his breathing becoming a little ragged, hitching as he adjusts to the feeling.

”Feel good, Thief?”

”Incredible, amor. You?” 

“Fucking amazing.”

He takes you slowly at first, a long drag out, a quicker thrust back inside, and builds up a rhythm quickly. The angle is nothing short of perfect and you bury your face against the covers, whining with pleasure. He reaches down and grabs one of your breasts, fingers pressing into the flesh as he fucks you harder and faster. 

“Such a beautiful body, amor. So soft and warm and fuck, such a tight little pussy for me. You feel so perfect on my cock.”

He’s hitting you just right now, another orgasm building rapidly until you come for the second time, muffling your cries in the blankets. You turn to look at him: broad body glistening with perspiration, errant curls falling over his forehead and darkened with sweat, that gorgeous head thrown back as he gets closer and closer.

”Come on, Thief.” You purr your encouragement, never taking your eyes off him. “Come on. Come. Fill me up.”

He comes hard, with a loud cry, hands gently caressing your hips as he finishes deep inside you. 

”I think you missed me.” 

He flops back on the bed and turns to face you as you nestle against him. A mischievous grin plays around his lips. “What on earth makes you say that, chérie?”

You kiss his forehead, tasting the salty sweetness of his damp skin. “Just a hunch. By the way, I have an even better reason why I need to know your name.”

He groans and rolls his eyes affectionately. “Well?”

”Well…if I knew your name, I could scream it out loud the next time you make me come like that.”

His eyes widen and he grins. “You could, I suppose.”

”So? What’s your name…Pablo.”

He fixes you with a teasing glare. “Not Pablo.”

”James. Jimmy. Jimbob?”

He can’t help but burst out laughing this time. “Fine. Fine. Let’s make a deal. If we succeed with Madame Deseine, I’ll give you a name.”

”A name?” The distinction is striking.

”A name. It may or may not be my name. But it will be a name. Deal?”

“Deal.”

***

The morning mist hangs low over the French countryside as you drive through the enormous gateway that divides the Deseine estate from the rest of the world, and follow the long drive up to the chateau proper.

You had expected that Youssef would be on driving duty. But it was your gentleman thief at the wheel of the understated hire car, confidently navigating the autoroutes and trunk roads that led to your destination. For a moment you imagine a parallel universe where you are just a normal couple on a normal holiday, not a nameless thief and a museum curator plotting to relieve a woman of her family’s ill-gotten gains.

He had slept well, it seemed. You? Not so much. In the wee small hours of the morning, you lay awake, listening to his steady breaths and ruminating over what, exactly, you were doing here - and why.

He isn’t your partner. Not your boyfriend. Hell, you don’t know if you could call this “dating”. You don’t even know who he is. He stole from your employer because you let your pussy override your brain. He brought you to Paris to aid and abet in another theft. And, instead of turning on your heel and trying to protect your professional reputation, you’d not only agreed to his scheme - you’d fucked him. Again. 

You’d tossed and turned on the pillows as you tried to quiet your mind enough for sleep. Was this really just about sex? Or was something else pulling you into each other’s orbits?

The Deseine chateau emerges at the end of the driveway. It appears at first glance to date from the eighteenth century, with some later additions and extensions. He pulls up near the main door and hops out of the car, quickly bounding over to the passenger side so he can hold the door for you. 

“What a gentleman,” you whisper, straightening the smart blazer and palazzo pants you’d worn for the occasion. 

“At your service,” he replies with a subtle wink. “Just as I was when you needed…company. How are you feeling this morning, by the way? Satisfied, I hope.”

Before you can answer, the enormous main doors of the chateau swing open and a petite woman with snow-white hair emerges, clad in a vintage bouclé Chanel skirt and matching jacket. He moves swiftly up the steps to shake her hand, speaking too quietly for you to pick up on whatever name he’s using today.

“And this is my expert, my advisor, my guiding light!” He gestures towards you, motioning for you to join them. You introduce yourself with a bright smile, trying to read the older woman’s expression, to get a sense of how you might gain her trust.

“It is an honour to be here, Madame. I’m so excited to see the collection.”

Claudine Deseine casts an appraising glance over you from head to toe. Seemingly satisfied, she extends her hand in greeting and addresses you in clipped, precise English. 

“It is very special, I think you’ll agree. Now, do come in - I’ll have my housekeeper Maryam bring us some coffee, and then we can take a look at the objects we’ve discussed.”

***

He is gentlemanly charm personified, you think, watching him follow Madame Deseine around the house. He flirts just enough to have the older woman like putty in his hands, listens attentively, laughs at her jokes, and looks at her with a familiar twinkle in his eyes. 

The recognition gives you pause, but you push it to the back of your mind. You have a plan to stick to today.

She leads the two of you into a bright room at the back of the chateau, overlooking a gorgeous French-style formal garden. “Well, here they are.” She gestures towards a large oak table in the middle of the room, where a variety of figurines and decorative objects are set out. You’d known what to expect: mostly art nouveau, dating from decades either side of 1900; some bronze figures; some beautifully-decorated ceramics, glazes still bright and vibrant; and what you immediately recognise as a small, early Lalique crystal vase.

He claps his hands together in what looks like genuine delight, eyes widening as he moves closer to the table. “May I?”

Madame Deseine beams and nods. He carefully picks up one of the vases, inspecting the swirling, sinuous curves of its painted decoration before checking the makers’ marks on the bottom of the piece. 

“Extraordinary,” he says in a rapt whisper.

“Madame?” She turns to face you. “Would it be possible for me to see the paperwork while he - while my client is inspecting the objects? It would save your valuable time, and you’ve already been so kind to accommodate us.”

She beams. “Of course. Follow me, won’t you?” She opens another door leading off the room and pauses for a moment. 

“I’ll be back tout de suite, monsieur,” she purrs at him as he peers at a bronze figurine. “Please, make yourself at home.”

“You really are most kind, Madame.” He winks, and the esteemed Claudine Deseine titters like a schoolgirl.

***

She flicks a switch and illuminates a large, windowless room located at the rear of the house, in what you suspect might be the former servants’ quarters. “Et voilà. The archive.”

The walls are lined with shelving, filled with hundreds of archive boxes and files. You begin to scan the shelves, trying to work out a pattern in the filing system. 

“They are labelled according to date of acquisition,” she explains. “Achats, purchases, by year.”

You look at her with an expression that you hope conveys innocent confusion. “Gosh, it’s all such a lot. Could you give me dates for the items being sold? Ballpark, if necessary - I just know he’s a stickler for the paperwork but he’s impatient and he won’t take kindly to me taking a long time in here…”

She smiles and nods sympathetically, and for a moment you feel incredibly guilty. “Ah. Men. I understand, my dear.” She pulls out an unmarked, unlabelled box file from the top shelf and retrieves a spiral-bound book.

“This is strictly entre-nous, my dear. My personal catalogue. Everything by date. Let this be your guide. And now, I must return to monsieur.” She looks at you conspiratorially. “If he becomes - how do they say it, antsy? - then he can simply take a walk in my beautiful gardens, hmmm?”

***

He strolls past the elegantly-trimmed box hedges as he makes his way to the elaborate water feature at the centre of the gardens. He couldn’t quite believe how well it had all worked out, so far - your complaint about his impatience had, as planned, won you her sympathy and with it an order from the lady of the house to go and see the gardens while you worked through the papers. 

If necessary, he’d have feigned illness, claimed he needed some air. But it’s always better when they play right into your hands, with something they believe is their idea. 

The gardens are perfectly positioned to give him a view of the back of the house: the doors leading to a terrace, the smaller windows and discreet servants’ entrance. His dark eyes survey the building closely, making a mental map he’ll refer to when he finalises the plan. He has his suspicions, but he needs you to confirm exactly where the collections are hidden. For now, he just hopes you can unlock the final part of the puzzle. 

***

A knock on the door announces the return of Claudine Deseine. 

“Well, have you found what you needed? I do hope the catalogue was useful.”

Little do you know, Madame. 

You replace the lid on a box of papers and nod at a stack of receipts and records of authenticity relevant to the items he was perusing for purchase. 

“Very useful, thank you, Madame.” 

You swallow hard and slow your breathing as you follow her out of the room. 

“Madame, may I - may I make a somewhat bold request?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You may. What is it?”

“I couldn’t help but notice the entries for some of Lalique’s cire perdue work when I was looking at the catalogue. Pieces so rare that we only know they exist because of René Lalique’s own records…”

“Yes. And?” 

“My masters dissertation was on Lalique, Madame. Is there…would you…could I…?”

She stares at you before her features soften into a smile. 

“You want to see them, don’t you?”

***

“Well?”

He waited until you were out of the estate before asking the question, not seeming to notice how quiet you’d been since getting back in the car.

“They’re there. The three Lalique pieces, that rare Sevres vase. She was only too happy to show me.”

“Did you check the makers’ marks?”

You nod, gazing out of the window. “I did. They’re the right pieces. Those Laliques are one of a kind. In different circumstances, it would have been a joy to see them.”

“And the papers?”

He takes the turn to merge onto the autoroute back to Paris, and you wish the nagging doubts about this whole sorry enterprise - about him - would dissipate.

“The private catalogue clearly states when they were acquired, but with no corresponding archival code numbers. I checked the boxes for those years carefully, just to be sure…but there’s no paper trail. Just a note in each catalogue entry recording the dealer they came from - all from the same man.”

He nods, satisfied. “And the room itself? What’s access like?”

“I sent you some photos earlier.” While Madame Deseine had been taking the priceless objects out of their storage boxes, you had snapped some surreptitious pictures. “Access may not be straightforward, though, given the absence of a window.”

He chuckles. “Leave that to me.”

“Won’t she know that you’ve taken the pieces, by the way?”

“F is for Fake, chérie. Nothing some good forgeries cannot fix.”

***

You spend the rest of the journey in silence, while he rambles about various subjects: French motorways, private chateaux, Lalique’s cire perdue process, in which a vase is formed within a one-off wax mould that was discarded afterwards, rendering the pieces unique - and extremely valuable.

“The descendants of the original owners still have, in some cases, the provenance records for these items,” he explains as he parks the car and taps the sensor to open the door into the building. “And now, soon, they’ll have their rightful inheritance.”

You don’t know whether to snap at him or burst into tears.

He takes your coat and saunters into the apartment’s small kitchen, still talking to you as he audibly potters around, opening cupboards and taking out dishes and glassware. You are not really listening, still caught up in your own thoughts. Why the fuck were you here? Were you really willing to risk your entire reputation for a crush and some sex? You’d been lucky to escape any questioning or punishment after the theft of the ruby, after all. 

And what if, as you wondered in the chateau when he was so flirtatious and charming with Madame Deseine, he was just using you? Your knowledge and your veneer of professional respectability helped him steal. Your desire and your body got him off. Win-win for him, but a potentially devastating loss for you.

“Chérie? Didn’t you hear me?”

He’s standing at the narrow door into the kitchen that adjoins the living room, sweater sleeves rolled up.

“Oh. Oh, sorry. I was miles away. What is it?”

“I asked the housekeeper to leave a light dinner for us, as it’s been a long day. It’s nothing fancy - some salads, crudités, cold cuts and cheeses - but I do have a very nice Sancerre chilled in the fridge…”

You force a smile. “That does sound good. I’ll set the table, if you show me where everything is.”

He cheerily opens the various cartons and tubs of food as you ferry the tableware into the open-plan dining area. Behind his usual charming patter, though, is a man increasingly worried about how quiet you’ve been since you left Madame Deseine and her collections earlier that day.

***

“You know you can talk to me, chérie. What’s on your mind?”

Of course he’s noticed. Why wouldn’t he? His perceptiveness is what makes him such an artful, successful thief.

You drain your glass of Sancerre and look him square in the eye.

“Am I really so different to Claudine Deseine?”

He looks confused.

“Excuse me?”

“Am I really so different to Claudine Deseine? In your eyes, I mean. Are you using me, like you’re using her?”

“I’m not using Madame Deseine. I’m buying some of her collection so I can liberate the really valuable pieces and get them back where they belong. That’s stealing, not using.”

You exhale, long and slow. “I saw you today. Handling her just like you do me. The charm offensive, the twinkling eyes, the flirting. She, at least, hasn’t slept with you - though I wouldn’t put it past you to try if you thought it would have helped.”

The words leave your lips, and you instantly regret it. So much for rational calm. Now you just sound like a jealous lover.

He looks at you, jaw ticking, and a blend of fury and hurt burning in his dark eyes. 

“That’s rather unfair, don’t you think?”

Silence.

“I had to win her over. Just like you did. Or did you forget your part in this?”

“Why am I here, Thief? What do you want from me? There must be hundreds of other experts out there you could have enlisted to help you gain access to the collection, theft or no theft. And if it’s just about sex, well - I suspect there’s no shortage of people who’d be very glad to fuck you. So why me? Or do you just want to ruin me, finish what you started when you tricked and took advantage of me?”

His voice is low and carefully controlled. “You know that’s not what this is, chérie. You know that.”

You push away from the table and stand to face him, flinging down your linen napkin. “So what, then, is it?”

He stares at you and his expression shifts, from glowering to openness. Mouth slightly ajar, he seems to be struggling to find the words.

He can’t even bring himself to say it. Coward.

“I see. Good night, Thief.”

***

Your return flight is booked for the day after tomorrow, and there’s no way you could afford a last-minute ticket for an earlier departure. As you complete your nighttime routine and slip into the guest bed, you resolve to make the most of an unexpected solo day in Paris, looking up current exhibitions and shows at the city’s various museums and galleries. 

You take a herbal sleeping tablet, just in case, and turn off the light.

When you wake in the morning, you find that your pillow is damp from the tears you wept in the night.

His bedroom door is still firmly closed as you pad down the hallway and to the main door. Exploiting you or not, he’d made it clear that he didn’t need you for today, the final stage in his plan. There’s a spare keyfob in the drawer of the small hall console table. You slip it in your bag and head out of the apartment and into the city.

***

Museums afford a kind of sanctuary: a quiet space for meditation, reflection, imagination, escape. On a day like today, they enclose you in a safe, comforting cocoon of art and beauty, helping to shield you from the world outside - and from the raging storm of your own thoughts and worries.

You flash your work ID at the entrance to the Petit Palais and are waved through, past the lines of tourists, by virtue of the international reciprocal entry schemes for museum staff. The current temporary show, on Paris in the first decades of the twentieth century, is just what you need by way of distraction, and you lose yourself in artwork after artwork, in no hurry to return to the apartment. 

At the museum’s garden café, you take your time over coffee and cake, occasionally joined by a tiny songbird who seems hell-bent on helping himself to your snack. His daring raids on your slice of carrot cake help to stop your mind from wandering back to the apartment, to him, and to his journey back to the chateau.

***

He’s gone when you get back. Just an envelope on the counter, addressed to you. Normal service, you think, resumed at last.

Chérie,

As planned, I’ve returned to the Deseine estate to finish what we started. I intend to return later tonight, or in the early hours, but promise me that if I do not return, you will take the flight tomorrow evening. 

You must not look for me. Promise me that.

I hope that I might see you before you leave, one way or the other. 

Know that I care for you, chérie. 

Midnight comes and goes with no sight or sound of him.

One. Two. Three. Nothing.

You close your eyes and force yourself to sleep.

***

He whispers to you in your dreams, over and over. He calls out to you. 

“Chérie?”

You open your eyes. In the half-light, you see him. Hair mussed, eyes wide, face streaked with dirt, stripped to the waist. 

He feels real to the touch: warm, solid, the softness of his middle, the strength of his arms and shoulders. His beard bristles so realistically under your lips that you could almost believe he was there.

“Chérie, I’m here. I’m back. I’m with you.”

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around him and pull him to you, wordlessly peppering his face with kisses before he wriggles down and nestles his head against your chest, holding you tight to him.

He seems unsettled, distressed, even. Perhaps it had been a narrow escape. Perhaps something had gone wrong. 

No matter. You envelop him with warmth and protection. The way he clings to you, needs you, starts to provide an answer to your questions about the nature of his feelings.

You kiss the top of his head and stroke the scruff on the side of his jaw. He pulls away for a moment to look up at you, all softness and awe and warmth. He motions as if to say something, then stops, pensive, and reaches up to kiss your mouth.

“My name is Alejandro.”

Find out more about the Lalique cire perdue technique here!

If you'd like to read more about the great Jewish art collecting families of pre-war France, I strongly recommend James McAuley's The House of Fragile Things and Edmund de Waal's Letters to Camondo.

[secret-tacos]

my response.

yesterday, i was ''called out'' by @deathmetalyaoi. i put that in quotation marks because OP has stated this is not a callout post, but a ''warning to people in the fandom'' in an effort to ''cut off the diseased tissue at the source'', positioning this as not only something good but necessary, justified, and righteous.

let's unpack that.

my ''ides of march'' event was not a ''most controversial dead dove'' contest, and implying as such is a deliberate misreading of the situation.

i don't actually have a copy of the original post, which has been deleted for over 3 months, so i'll be using this screencap from deathmetalyaoi to illustrate my point--

the explicit intent of the event was to promote and create dark content. i created this as a direct response to events like the christmas and valentines ones -- not because i had an issue with them, but because i wanted to see content that was more accurate to the dark and brutal show that i fell in love with.

deathmetalyaoi later posted a clarification which proved to be a deliberate misreading of the situation, moving me from ''aggressor'' to ''victim'' and misgendering me in the process--

i want to set the record straight -- the original prompt list was my idea and mine alone. this includes murder, gore, stalking, cannibalism, and torture, all of which are concepts that frequently happen within the show that we all claim to have watched.

when i was creating this event, i spoke with basu, who urged me to include nsfw prompt options, and insisted on having incest be one of the options, despite my reluctance. we have spoken about this, she has apologized.

shortly after posting the event advertisement, it was screencapped and posted in a discord that i was also in, where several people made baseless accusations about me (including that i was a pedophile, that i hated survivors, that my event was edgy and baseless and devoid of any merit), leading me to delete the post. several of those people are now liking and reblogging the original callout and using that as an excuse to pat themselves on the back for being ''against harassment'' and ''doing the right thing''.

deathmetalyaoi refuses to speak to me or ask me for clarification -- all they've done is throw around extremely serious accusations and play with people as if they're paper dolls. but, i'll bite. deathmetalyaoi is implying that i -- and the other people named in that post -- are bad people, while they, by contrast, are good.

so, who IS deathmetalyaoi?

deathmetalyaoi is a 22 year old person who claims to have DID -- a serious condition that real people suffer from -- with their primary alter being pickles the drummer from metalocalypse.

they frequently suicide bait, beg for money to escape toxic living situations, and then spend the money on luxury purchases before going back to begging for money.

they also like to go through people's blogs and find old receipts to hold over their heads.

and leave rude comments on fanfiction they dislike -- primarily of the explosiontooth/tickles variety, as they operate under the ableist assumption that toki, as a canonical age regressor and potentially autistic character, is a child incapable of making decisions by himself.

they also like to use their labels (primarily being trans and autistic) to label anyone who does not agree with them as bigoted.

here's another example of them begging for money and then misusing it -- they seem to have a habit of remaking blogs whenever people catch on.

they also make music labeled as lolicore -- this is a genre originating on 4chan which primarily gets its name from the sampling of lolicon porn. they claim the name is purely ironic and that using it does not make them a pedophile, which is correct. however, in the same breath, they also accuse triplefaggot of being a pedophile for drawing an au where toki and murderface are safe for work, fully clothed, unsexualized children, implying that simply using the word 'loli', even if ironic, is unacceptable and cause for cancellation.

to be quite frank -- this hurt me. i am upset. this is a show that brings me a lot of comfort, and several real life incidents occurring in close proximity have left me desperately in need of that comfort. i don't like the idea of having to walk on eggshells to avoid being raked over the coals by a fandom perpetually hyperfixated on the idea of ''moral purity'' -- the idea that wrong step can leave you irredeemable, and that it is your god-given duty to lambast this person for being impure, lest everybody else believe you, too, are Bad.

there is no such thing as a person without sin. the best people fuck up and make mistakes and don't think straight and act based on emotion all the damn time. you are never going to find your perfect fandom darling, and cultivating an environment where everybody is paranoid of being attacked for having beliefs that differ from yours is not only pointless, but specifically, objectively cruel -- you have accomplished nothing beyond making people afraid in a space meant to be about enjoying a cartoon and making a fool out of yourself.

i know that you aren't going to read this, @deathmetalyaoi, because you blatantly ignore anything that paints you as being incorrect. at the very most, you're going to make a text post about how people are being mean to you when all you want to do is think about nathan and pickles kissing sloppy style, and people will shower you in sympathy and pictures of kittens and puppies.

but i'll know, and that's enough for me. i'm not doing this to call you out, nor am i trying to warn people -- it's my honest response. you get what you give.

[catras-breakup-song]

I know v0id-clawz is one of the recent people wa came after and you can see some of the asks on their blog. Its unfortunately quite real; thestargayzingetherian has a series of docs with receipts and miraculoustakes was also talking about it because they used to do the same thing to miraculous ladybug fans

If you search “salty kinkshamer” on wa’s blog you can also see some messed up stuff from like 2016 for yourself. She’s lying about not having seen the docs because everyone who contributed has been getting slammed

I know this is your friend and I’m not asking you to change that but she’s hurting people and has been for a long time

thank you for at least providing something for me to work with. while i still don’t know the full story, i can address a bit of research i did.

the only asks on the blogs of v0id-clawz (who is a catradora anti so i'd rather not dive too deep and break their boundaries or make myself uncomfortable) & miraculoustakes that i could find from searching "witch apologist" are VERY recent, like... as of yesterday recent. and there aren't more than 2-3 on each. not to mention, these still carry the same issue as you in that it’s all words from unnamed blogs with no proof. the fact that it’s multiple people means nothing when we know there’s a whole clique of people supposedly trying to “cancel” (for lack of a better term sorry) WA. also, i don't want to accuse you of anything so this isn't an attack because i'm still open to reading from you, but it looked to me like those anons' typing styles were similar to yours. not sure if that says anything (or enough) but i’m throwing it out there anyway.

i couldn't find anything on @thestargayzingetherian by searching "witch apologist", "doc", "document", and "receipt." do you have any other suggestions, or a link? or would she know what you're talking about since i tagged (feel free to ignore this btw; i apologize if you didn't want to be involved but i don't like mentioning people without them knowing)?

i don't really have an opinion about kink discourse, at least not one i'd like to share in public on any of my blogs. if you're going to assume my stance from this, make it neutral.

i'll be wary of stuff that went down in 2016-2018 since holding people accountable is important, but it's also important to remember that was 6-8 years ago, so i'm not too keen on defining someone by their actions after so much time. i had mindsets that i wasn't proud of as little as 3-4 years ago (although it didn't directly affect anyone nearly as much), so i believe in improvement. i mean, hell, i'm literally a catra kin/stan. that being said, i appreciate that you’re not trying to force me to break it off.

now, i’m speaking for WA here since i sent them a screenshot of this before posting, and here’s what they said (paraphrased):

1. they can’t access the google doc because it’s limited to invitations, and they’re not willing to give their main(?) email. they can’t create a new burner one because they need an extra phone number which isn’t readily available, but are currently looking into if they have any old ones from a while back. that being said (i have only partially brought this up in a different way), i can volunteer to do that with my own extra email and screenshot parts of it or something, or send a recording of me scrolling through. i’ll just need a link. UPDATE: they suggested the same thing right as i was ready to post this, and have already sent me the link. i’ll see what i can do.

like i said, i won’t reveal whether i’m positive or negative about kink stuff, but obviously i have to stand against certain dark themes people are into initiating such as CSEM, rape/CNC, actual incest (as opposed to catradora lmao), etc, which is what they claim to have been shaming years ago.

[thatsmimi]

Hello, I hope you and your family are well. Can you please help me recycle the post on my account? 🌺 And help rescue my family from the war in Gaza? 🙏 Thank you.

https://gofund.me/37005939

Yes! This is a vetted fundraiser with only $265/$30,000 at the time of posting, please check the blog/page for details.

If you could donate any amount to them, dm me the receipts and I will draw something at your request. You can check out my works @enderscribbles. Please consider helping them out! Best of luck.

[weaselbeaselpants]

For those curious, I don't got dirt or shit on VivziePop. As I've made clear before I followed her back in 2009 and I talked to her like on devintart and tumblr 1 or 2 times. No, I don't remember what was said between us really or exactly. The tumblr blog I remember hearing back from her is long dead so I have no receipts.

I kinda lost interest in her because her fanbase was way too intense and mean in 2014 (no idea about any of the Dollcreep drama), and because I was also in a soft antisjw phase myself then and reading BadWebcomicsWiki - I saw her being talked about all throughout the forums on that hellsite up and until 2017. I also saw the completely different forum posts made there about Hazbin at the time- which os of course how I learned about the Dollcreep fiasco, frootrollup1, and Angel Dust r@pe art someone did of Viv.

If you interested and/or curious about any personal anecdotes I can remember from the best of memory -these are NOT facts, though I'm happy if anyone else can back them up if u also have memories of this- I can list those out:

-I found Viv through her fanart first and specifically her fanart of Shane Acker's 9. I loved Viv's fanart- it was always so distinct in her own style but still recognizable. Anyone else in the 9 fandom remember that "design a beast" contest deviantart had? Yeah she took place in that. She also did artwork of the stitchpunks inspired by Kinkei's chibi-pinup style. They were not as sexy as that would have you believe. She did fanart for Rango, Adventure Time, Regular Show, Rio, and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. Also remember her begrudgingly liking Tangled after the fact because it wasn't 2D like Princess and the Frog was.

-The first time I saw Viv's characters in comic form it was in a comic where it was Halloween and the ZP gang (Zill, Kayla, Jack, Spam, and Vanex) were trick or treating and got stuck in some dark twisted version of their home. Isn't this the plot to the Invader Zim Halloween episode?

-Ickle!Viv was pretty skilled at drawing animals. Personally I think she still is but this was specifically the thing which stood out about her to me. I really love when she drew/draws animals. I also actually think her creatures look genuinely good, especially the dragon looking ones.

-Viv was ALWAYS so clamoring and adoring of her fandoms, especially animated stuff. Even on deviantart, animation fans are cynical and snarky so it was nice to see someone with their own established style be into movies that other people would mock you for as a teenager or god forbid an adult. Didn't make you feel so alone.

-I saw Viv's ZP gang develop in style from 2009-2013 and I gotta say I liked her og cast so much more when they were teenytiny and children. Zill just looked better then.

-Speaking of Zill, before I saw one of her posts getting mad at people who called Zill a "neopet"...I said her style reminded me of neopets. I was 12! I didn't know and also I hadn't gotten to that one doodle in her gallery at the time where Zill and 2009!Viv were cursing out this blob for calling him that.

-I also personally saw Alastor develop from out of those days, or at least the character who would become Alastor. It was the red black, buck-looking deer from 2006-2008ish who's disc Viv said was "the evilest character in all of zoophobia!!" I know she liked the directtovideo disney sequels and really liked Bambi II. I'm not convinced Alastor and Autumn don't exist souley because of Bambi II.

-I have no proof of it happening on my end because I ended up deleting a shit ton of crap on my old deviantart out of embarrassment and I think Viv deleted her posts about it. But a distinctly remember an artist in around 2011/2012 w I was really into art trades did a trade with me where they drew my 9 oc, in spite of us really not connecting in any particular way or being 'close'. They worked in traditional medium and had he/him pronouns and their art was so obviously inspired from Viv's. It wasn't traced, though- just very Viv-inspired.

I remember watching Viv and also that guy when suddenly Viv and Faustisee made a huge callout graph showing the artstyle and characters that had been stolen from her and she showed that guy's work. I also distinctly remember saying in Viv's journal abt the callout something along the lines of "this is bad, but, this guy is a friend of mine [rlly barely mutuals], he didn't mean it". To which Viv replied with something like: "then tell ur friend that what he's doing is bad >:c". So I did and that's when he told me he'd been told enough by her base how to feel and that he was leaving dA. And he left. and nuked his entire gallery, including his part of art trade, which made finding the proof of this encounter even harder to track down. Because he was no longer there, I deleted the piece I did for him as part of my mass embarrassment deletion.

-There was one other encounter I had personally' with Viv that I do remember and it's only because she was actually friendly to me and I liked that coming from my what was, at the time, a fav artist: I like the 2012 Frankenweenie remake and was really incensed back in the day that people weren't liking it because it is a ymmv-case. One of those people happened to be Viv and I def remember messaging her about how "I disagree with you, hmf" and then having INSTANT REGRET and suddenly spamming her with this way too personal "I'm sorry please don't hate me"-ventrant thing and, for all I know the Viv stans can be overly apologetic, I really do think it was my indiagnosed OCD/ADHD talking there. Anyway, what was sweet of her to do even in a passing way was she was all "it's okay. you didn't upset me but lol yeah ur not changing my take on frankenweenie either".

Viv describes herself as "being everyone's friend" and really- where there are a lot of points now that I don't think she cares if she is, most of the time I think the problem is she doesn't know how mean or backhanded she is. She really does strike me as the kind of person who never grew out of 2000s-2010s highschool and that petty thing were you get angry and lash out at others behind their backs but then sweet up after that, and where you think lovebombing = being genuinely appreciative. And yeah, that's still abusive and volatile. Because, and this is all from a decade ago and an antidote I only recall because it was Viv, but I truly didn't get the feeling that Viv thought I was beneath her or that she was trying to own me buy telling me she didn't like the movie I did. The vibe I got from her was "I don't really care about this but also I don't want you freaking out, calm down".

I rb a bunch of critical stuff (still don't like antiHazbin shit) because, and I still mean this, I do still genuinely like her style and wish I could be in her fandom w/o her stans basically gatekeeping me from being my own fan. I really am disappointed as the fan I am that Viv doesn't take better care of herself, her shows or the people working for her.

[o-craven-canto]

Upon being tagged by @wellmetmat; thanks for thinking of me! I hope you'll pardon me if I don't tag anyone additional just yet.

1. What virtue do you most often see in other people that you feel comparatively deficient in?

First of all, self-confidence, absolutely. I think the shame centers in my brain are accidentally wired to fire at ten times the expected intensity. A minuscule rebuke can make my whole day worse, however objective I try to be about it, and more often than not I feel just barely tolerated by the people around me, even though I'm fairly sure that that is not actually the case. The #1 advice I get from my coworkers is "you need to get better at self-promotion".

Close second, constancy. You wouldn't believe the amount of stuff in my backlog (or maybe you would, it's probably not all that extraordinary an amount). At the very least I should be doing more work on my main long-term creative projects: my future-history novel, and my Ea worldbuilding, both of which are years behind schedule. Though in my defense I'm also doing a PhD, which I'm also somewhat behind with but not ruinously so, so there's that.

2. Show us an object in your daily life that you have an emotional attachment to - tell us a little bit about it if you want! (a favourite mug perhaps? socks with a cute pattern? dealers choice)

Well. I have here this old wallet in blue denim-like cloth, which has absolutely nothing distinctive or particularly endearing, but I've had it since I was in middle school or about there, so. Had it pickpocketed a couple years ago, and I mourned the wallet a lot more than the money, but the thief had at least the decency of leaving it where it would be soon found, with all documents in order, which I guess was nice of them. (They must have had a nasty surprise when they realized the wallet's impressive thickness was almost entirely old receipts and train tickets I hadn't gotten around to throwing away yet).

3. If you could choose, what level of fame would you want? How many people would you want to recognise you?

Hmm, probably some mild subsubcultural level. The point where two blogs can exchange a few posts discussing my work, or where a few people may comment under a story "this reminds me of Concavenator's style". Anything above that would probably take too much attention end energy, and those grapes look sour anyway. This is probably not outside my grasp, especially if I make some progress on that "constancy" thing.

4. Where do you feel language is least adequate to capture, communicate, or express your experience?

You could argue that this question is, by definition, impossible to answer! But to actually try, I do have some extremely strong feelings about biological life, evolution, extinction, and deep time, which I've tried to express in various ways over the years, never quite to my satisfaction. Actually, I've never seen anyone express them satisfactorily yet. I guess it's kind of a mystical thing. You look at mountains and you see them swell and warp under the strain of a continent crawling north. These words I've just written are not adequate. It will sound like a weird niche interest but it's genuinely a major part of what I see when I look around.

5. If you had to come up with a question with the following criteria:

a) it should disuade knee-jerk reaction answers (i.e. it shouldn't be something people are likely to have spent a lot of time considering before)

b) it shouldn't be too specialised (the audience should be general, don't ask about people's top 3 byzantine spice merchants opperating between 754AD-816AD)

c) it shouldn't be needlessly emotionally charged or divisive

d) it should be a question you expect people to have lots of varied opinions about

What would your question be?

Hmm. How about this: if for the rest of your life hereon you could only communicate directly with X people, what would be the smallest value for X for which you'd be satisfied?

[catbountry]

Hi, I'm the one who made the Respawn of the Dead page on Fanlore. I'm sorry about the misinformation about you being an admin and it's fixed to be accurate now to say you were just a mod.

And I'm sorry about not disclosing that you've since distanced yourself from that site. Thats now in there too. I respect you as a fic writer both for your fic (loved the TF2 Harlan Ellison and Steven King-inspired ones) and because it's impressive that you've kept your username for so long. I think that literally everyone who's been online long enough can theoretically be "canceled" on the Internet if everything they've ever done was connected to only one pseud, including myself. Fandom's honestly a minefield that doesn't take to cultural changes at all. The culture of, say, 4chan, Tf2chan, those things, it's so different compared to today. Same with Kiwifarms when it was just known for being the CWCwiki. One day, the culture of social media will be just like those, and I think being able to own up to who you were then to compare with how you are now, as a better person, is a respectable skill to have.

I don't know everything you've done, (I know some of the Vade thing and some of what's on the receipt blog,) but it seems some Fannish people just see "Kiwifarms" and think you're supporting the site as it is currently, which wasn't what it was back in the 2010s. I tried to be very neutral since I figured TF2 Tumblr/Twitter would find my article first, but now it's more positive on you and your body of work on there. I'm sorry that the article brought up old wounds, hopefully all misinfo on it is fixed now.

Wow, I actually wasn't sure if I'd get a response. Thank you for being so considerate, for enjoying my fic, and being so understanding. I used the same pseud for years because, well, I'm proud of Respawn of the Dead, warts and all. I don't want to distance myself from it and I'm okay with it being my legacy. Also I'm just absolutely lousy at hiding myself. If I changed my name, people would figure out it's me, so I don't really bother.

If you don't mind, just for the sake of fandom oral history, I'd like to expand upon the period of Medic being a Nazi in fandom. This might be interesting to you as somebody interested in TF2 fandom lore.

Medic being a Nazi was assumed by a lot of fans, due to him fitting a bunch of "Nazi mad scientist" tropes. This remained the case until fans went to Valve's headquarters and straight up asked an employee if he was, to which they were told "no." And then people stopped writing Nazi Medic (for the most part) because it wasn't canon. People still made art but again, we did not know the horrors that the future had in store for us.

It really is wild to think how drastically things have shifted politically online since the late 2000's, when nobody could have predicted that being a Nazi would be anything but the most fringe of fringe, and these people would be regarded as internet sideshows to be gawked at and trolled. Also, Respawn of the Dead was written around the time Inglorious Basterds came out, so there were a lot of sexy Nazis or repentant Nazis in certain fandoms at the time.

There was a TF2 fic, I believe it was called Do No Harm, that legit had Medic working in a concentration camp in a position where he felt like he had to work there or he'd be shot, and he ate human flesh given to him by an evil, Aryan Nazi OC. I don't know if the author distanced herself from the work, because she did re-work it to make it into an original novel that she sold on Amazon. I absolutely could not see anything written like this now that wasn't some kind of dogwhistle, but the author was pretty progressive, actually. So much so we had a fight while I was in my anti-SJW phase and she did not appreciate me bringing up the things she wrote about that emphasized the humanity of a Nazi character, who in all fairness, did deflect in her story. I'm sure she's probably put a lot more distance between herself and that story in the years since, given the way things have gone since Trump's presidency. I wouldn't know, though, since we don't talk, and haven't in nearly a decade.

The person who wrote that is probably forgotten by anybody who wasn't in the fandom at the time, even though she was known for this fic and it was praised almost universally when it was being updated. But she was not the only one doing this. I cannot emphasize enough just how far in the past Nazis felt to us. At the time, being a Nazi was a stupid way of thinking that would never come back outside of attention-hungry edgelords co-opting its imagery, especially in America, an allied nation that loves using Nazis as villains in its media. If you told any of us in 2009 that fascism and white nationalism would make a comeback in America, we would not have believed you unless you were counting neoconservatives and evangelical white Christians as Nazis, and while I think a lot of those people are now pretty much that nowadays, back then it would have been a little bit of a stretch. But the thing is, the white supremacy on an institutional level was always there. We didn't really notice it until it started being pointing out, and at the same time, a bunch of fuckin' white nationalists and neo-Nazis just started popping up all over the place because someone with blue hair and pronouns told them a video game character having her titties out was bad or something. I'm still not entirely sure how that escalated that quickly, but Jesus Christ. It's a shame "clown world" got used mostly by right-wing people online because the label feels pretty apt and also applies to them a lot more. There is something deeply pathetic but also kind of hilarious about filming yourself letting a gas stove burn, or shooting cases of beer to own the libs.

I think most people that used TF2chan are pretty progressive now, a lot of them have come out as some flavor of queer, and the use of "-fag" as a suffix is frowned upon in the official TF2chan Discord server as being incredibly childish and cringey. We were all young adults but clearly we had a lot of growing up to do. I think it is important to point out that a lot of this edgelord shit done at the time, while hurtful and not cool, was done by a lot of people who hadn't figured out who they were yet, and weren't really bad people. Dr. Tanner, who was actually the first person to write a TF2 longfic and beat Respawn of the Dead by at least a few months with the first version of The Lessons (which is gone now), got cited by name in an interview with an old TF2chan user for being really racist, sexist, homophobic and transphobic, only to completely turn around once he came out as trans. I think a lot of this behavior kind of functioned as a shield, because there was still a separation between the internet and real life. Now, there's more people on the internet with less websites people visit, and fandom spaces where everyone is an adult are harder to find. Everything is very politically charged now. The right-wing is further to the right than it was even when I was a teenager and a young adult during Bush's presidency, which given that we got into two forever wars under his administration, is insane to think about. It doesn't feel real, but it is.

So yeah, that's why nobody writes or draws Medic as a Nazi anymore, and that's a good thing. Sorry for the tl;dr.

If you have any questions about old TF2chan and TF2 fandom, I'd be happy to answer them.

[fuck-customers]

https://www.tumblr.com/fuck-customers/740474153557164032/this-is-totally-a-dick-move-but-im-doing-it?source=share

I wanted to address a reply I saw on this post that I submitted. (I prefer to stay anonymous on the off-chance that someone could figure out who I am from my blog. The chance is EXTREMELY small, but if you read the original ask, you'll understand my concern)

Someone responded, saying that (I'm paraphrasing) by leaving negative reviews, I'm causing corporate to cut hours to my location even more and this is hurting me and I should instead leave fake positive reviews.

Ok I GET where you're coming from, I do, and I'm sure others have had that same thought. HOWEVER, as I said in my original post, I. WANT. THAT. STORE. TO BURN. I said in my original post that I've worked there several years (actually 4+ years more than any other employee at my particular location) and I've gotten shit on left and right. By the company, by management, and by customers and while I am looking for another job, it would make me SO happy to watch that shithole burn.

In the time I've worked there:

-My hours are always the first to be cut whenever "budget cuts" come around

-I regularly get scheduled closing shift when the other shifts CLEARLY have not done their tasks (as in I clocked in less than a minute ago and my manager can clearly see that the amount of work left could not physically be made in 1 minute) yet the manager is on my ass every few seconds to clean up after all of them and if my shift ends and I cannot finish, I get a talking to.

-I have been physically shoved by a manager and berated in front of coworkers and customers and that + the already stressful day I was having made me hide in the bathroom and cry. Then a few days later, another manager who wasn't even there that day heard about the incident (not the crying part-I hid) and made fun of me for a small mistake and said that I deserved the other manager yelling at me

-I spent my first year covering every single shift whenever asked and cross-trained myself so I could work in all departments and get more hours that way (🤡) only to be repaid by never getting promotions or raises (I did stop covering shifts after it was blatantly obvious that I would not get a raise/promotion/anything but taken advantage of)

-I worked the entire pandemic every day, almost to full-time, yet they refused to actually make me full-time, scheduling me just under (30-35 hours) so I was essentially working full-time hours without being able to get full-time benefits.

-An SM that worked there for a year apparently was threatened by me (though in no way was I after her job, I even repeatedly expressed that I had no interest in becoming management) and proceeded to fabricate an entire false story and reported it to HR as an EEOC issue in an attempt to get me fired

-Plus the multiple leads that have come and go that either treat all employees like dogshit and/or me, specifically. Talking down to me/us and snapping at me/us.

-Not to mention the disrespectful customers who see that I appear young and automatically assume I am stupid and/or incompetent, the most memorable experience being the old man who straight up asked me if I had brain damage and the (separate) old woman who straight up asked me if I was stupid and then immediately flat-out called me stupid to my face 10 seconds later.

PLUS: the store has been extremely noticeably not managed. We don't get enough hours to actually clean the store up and when I personally tried to start some cleanup projects on my own, I was actively discouraged and scolded by management. The place is a mess and actual customers have complained to me personally and other employees that I've witnessed about how shitty the store looks and how shitty the shopping experience is, so odds are, real customers are making the same reviews. I'm just filling in for those who lost their receipts.

ALSO: In the years I've worked there, I have seen several positive reviews from real customers, in fact the store used to have almost exclusively positive reviews, yet I never once saw any rewards from that. I even had customers personally go up to my manager and tell him how helpful and nice I was, blah, blah, blah and he came back and told me what the customers said and never once rewarded me and instead cut my hours when budget cuts came around.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[xxx-theartofsuicide-xxx]

You were pretty disrespectful at first at least from my point of view, with your discussion

I mean starting with a "too long didn't read" and then dismissing everything he wrote as an answer to a question someone asked HIM?

Maybe you didn't do it in bad faith as you say and wanted to have a discussion, but it does seem like it was started in bad faith and you had already made up your mind about him.

Also going to Twitter to fin receipts on how he doesn't like beetlebabes or has spoken badly about it is a bit... idk like how old are these post, and why do you think he hasn't been here as a fan for 20 years

I think that when one wants to start a conversation the worst way to do it is to dismiss immediately what the other is saying

Where some see something ship-worthy others see something completely different and interpret it as such. It's not wrong. It's not the wrong way to see it. It's just a way to see it.

I began disrespectful because I came at it with the context of having seen lots of his anti-babe rhetoric on Twitter that he spits pretty commonly. He is very unkind over there. Excuse me for thinking he could take a joke - a funny joke btw. Betelgeuse DOES treat Lydia better than Nelson treats Lisa lmao. BJ has never made Lydia cry. But that's another animal and I'm being silly rn

When I realized he was open to an actual conversation, I attempted to have one. Foolish me. I've been told he's over on his blog making a callout post and behaving like a typical anti right this second. I'm sitting here minding my own business answering anons, working on fic, and chatting with my friends in discord while my husband watches the game.

He got exactly three reblogs from me, and suddenly I'm ✨harassing✨ him lmao seriously though? Everyone can eat my ass

Edit: I don't think he's been here for 20 years because there was nothing for non-babes before the musical. If he claims he used to ship it but conversion therapy was successful? I'm so happy for him