#the law is that we can’t sell at certain hours

[thedragonboi]

I know addicts need patience and help and everything but you’ve got to understand that I am:

1. Not emotionally, mentally or physically equipped to deal with you when drunk or high

2. Not responsible for your own actions when you get drunk/high or want to get drunk/high

3. Not responsible for helping you break out of your addiction

[childabusesurvivor]

True Self-Care Is More Difficult Than We Make it Out to Be

New Post has been published on https://www.childabusesurvivor.net/reviews/2023/02/22/true-self-care-is-more-difficult-than-we-make-it-out-to-be/

True Self-Care Is More Difficult Than We Make it Out to Be

Note – As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases.

The recent issue of Anne Helen Petersen’s Culture Study is an interview with the author of Real Self Care (Affiliate Link), Dr. Pooja Lakshmin.

The topic, if I may be so bold as to try and describe it in a short sentence or two, is how there is an entire self-care industry that sells us more “things,” bath bombs, massage, wellness apps and retreats, designed to tick off the “self-care” box on our to-do list that never get to the root of the problem because the probles is systemic.

To quote Dr. Lakshmin from the interview:

And, going further, real self-care is an internal decision making process that can be layered into everything you do. As opposed to thinking of it as carving out self-care for a 15 minute pocket of the day, self-care needs to be threaded through the way we make decisions and design our lives.

There are several important reminders in the article about how a good walk in nature won’t solve for the 30 million Americans who don’t have health insurance or that 25% of Americans can’t take a day off with pay. That option isn’t available to them. Let alone the millions of people who can’t afford a massage, or who must work multiple jobs to afford housing where they live or single parents who struggle with having available childcare to work in the first place. Telling these people to take a relaxing bath isn’t solving anything.

I talk about this in the context of work often. A company culture that demans 60 hours of work per week but also says they encourage employee work-life balance doesn’t value work-life balance. They’ve made it another thing for the employee to be responsible for. Employers who offer PTO but see no problems with calling people on PTO or simply piling up work until they return are punishing people who take time off. This week, for example, Monday, was a company holiday. Tuesday was a day I chose to take off because it’s a state holiday where I live, MArdi Gras, even though I work remotely for a company that does not close for the day. That leaves me with a three day week. In many organizations, I would be expected to fit five days of productivity into those three days. For example, law firms often have a billable hour requirement per month. (Lawyers, and some staff members should be billing “x” number of hours per week/month/year.) Taking a day off means having to make up those hours somewhere. It’s a disincentive to self-care, even as those same firms will encourage people to use their PTO.

But, even in those situations, I have to acknowledge how privileged they are because many jobs in the US don’t have any of that, and many people wind up using their PTO not on self-care but child and elder care.

As much as I can talk about the benefits of taking a break, doing something nice for yourself, or having a hobby, we all need to acknowledge where self-care involves much harder life decisions. Yes, I do have a massage therapist that I see regularly and she is excellent at helping treat symptoms of my stress and anxiety. I can talk about that. I also need to talk more about the times I’ve made significant life changes as a form of self-help. Changes like leaving a job that was bad for my mental health, moving across the country, disconnecting myself from certain relationships, and having difficult conversations with people.

We also need to talk about how to change the systems that make it impossbile for other people to make those same kinds of decisions. We need to talk about the fact that no amount of self-care will make the world non-racist. There’s no self-care that women can do that will make the world safer for them, and no time spent relaxing will eliminate hatred towards LGBTQ people. Neuro-divergent people, those with disabilities, and countless other groups don’t have fair access to make an income. An extra hour of sleep isn’t going to fix that.

Yes, I believe in the importance of self-care. I will encourage it for everyone. It helps. But it can only help so much. Until this becomes a society that equally cares about everyone and actively seeks to offer care for everyone, self-care can only go so far. We need to recognize that and spend as much time promoting that as we do self-care.

Go back and read the entire interview.

#Insurance, #LGBTQ, #MentalHealth, #Nature, #SelfCare, #Stress

[theveryworstthing]

So over on patreon Trevor asked for my take on the Addams Family and I grew up LOVING the Addams family movies so here we are. Instead of doing a straight up style interpretation, I decided to do a full on design challenge, using the characters as bases to make a black southern gothic Addams au. I actually drew the kids first, using the character bases of Wednesday and Pugsley to create some delightful kiddos I'm calling Sunday and Blanche. I of course then redesigned Gomez and Morticia into Carlisle and Mortesha.

The Addams have a very specific high aristocratic goth aesthetic (they've got a butler and nobody really works among other things) so in this re-imagining I wanted to go with vibes that run a little more middle class/upper middle class.  I thought it would be interesting to think about what would be considered weird and off-putting in an entirely different culture, and how being a big ol' goth is way less controversial than it used to be.

I tried to keep this short (HAHAHAHAHAHA) so I didn't spin off into an essay about villain coded families, black people in the horror genre, and normalcy as it pertains to social survival, but just...bits of that are in these designs and lore. Keep that in mind.

Also I made the kids twins because they've flip flopped in age so much in different media and also twins run in my family (i'm the daughter of one). And let's face it, I'm pulling a lot of their southern gothic traits from living as a southern goth so *shrug*.

10 thousand pounds of lore incoming loooooooooool.

The Parents

From the moment he saw her he knew that there was a 50/50 chance of him either never making it out of that swamp alive or marrying the figure that was creeping out from under the distant willow tree in a black cocktail dress. The third time she found him trussed up in one of her traps, he complimented her rope work and asked if she'd like to go out sometime after his head wound stopped bleeding.

Or while it was still bleeding.

If she was into that.

Some kids and a mysteriously burnt down Piggly Wiggly later, their love is still as strong and inescapable as a bear trap in a sink hole.

Carlisle Guillermo (now Addams through marriage but I wanted to give him two first names for a name since Gomez has two last names) makes a vaguely described living practicing ‘law’ around town. A loophole king, people come to him from miles around with contracts signed in blood, fights over chunks of hair buried in their rivals’ yard, dehydrated primate hands, memories that seemed like dreams until the evidence of their happenings became too real, and other regular Legal Items asking for counsel which he is all too happy to give. For a price. Sometimes that price is a homemade pie and sometimes it’s a million dollars, depends on who you are. Whatever you’re asked to pay it’s worth that price, and if you try to scam him out of work or he just plain doesn’t like you? Well. He knows how to twist a contract better than anything at the crossroads.

And he always gets his due.

He doesn’t just serve the local (living)humans though, there are many things that need proper legal representation in this day and age. You wouldn’t believe how many city councils try to build on sacred burial grounds even after he lets them know that his ghostly clients are totally gonna haunt the FUCK out of the ensuing shitty condos and curse their families for all eternity. At least 50% of his energy goes towards dealing with real estate bullshit.

Carl is an excitable and good natured(?) man who loves his family, cigars, dancing, and his many knife-based hobbies. People find him very charming once they get past the feeling that they’re talking to a sultry gator badly disguising itself as a human. I didn’t put a ton of deep thought into designing him, mostly I wanted to make a middle aged dude who looked like he would have been voted ‘most likely to smooch the literal devil’ in high school. Tbh he probably has, but no demonic ex’s can compare to his lovely wife~

Mortesha Addams(her name was already perfect so I just tweaked it)is a woman of many talents. A self proclaimed homemaker, she prides herself on a greenhouse full of Concerning Foliage, a beautiful wasp apiary, and a coop full of what are probably chickens that she keeps for what are probably eggs. She’s also an avid creator of the outsider art that can be seen around the estate. She has taken on the family business of selling her homemade goods in a little stall by the road just outside the swamp with her mom, and makes pretty good money doing so. A surprising amount of poison gets bought in quaint southern towns.

Speaking of poison, people who come out to the edge of the swamp to buy it are usually carrying a lot of secrets around, and Mortesha knows most of them. It’s not like she pries the truth out of people, it just so happens that many nervous hellos eventually turn into the tragic backstory power hour if she’s alone with a client for long enough. She supposes that’s just how people are. Despite the fact that the Addams are very active in the community (whether the community likes it or not) she especially, as a direct descendant of the first Addams matriarch, is seen as…Well not an outsider because the community feels A Certain Way about outsiders and despite it all the Addams are their people, but maybe something like an exception. They feel like whatever weirdness they’re hiding can’t be weirder than any given Addams, so they get a little loose with their words.

This is amusing to her, since Addams’ don’t naturally keep the kind dramatic secrets that their surface level prim and proper neighbors do. It’s much more fun to openly talk about those things.

Do they have a sadly decrepit yet terrifying grandma up in the attic? Yeah, like three. They got a tv, all the creepy porcelain dolls they could want, and they’re close to family. Where do you keep your gram-grams?

Any bodies buried on the property? Yeah some, but most are thrown to the gators.

Any creeping through the balmy summer night with ill intentions? Yeah dude, everyone loves a nice family stroll.

What about dangerous forbidden love? If an adult Addams isn’t incorporeal then they’re either queer or in a torrid romance with some person/thing mysteriously drawn to that awful swamp. Sometimes both at the same time. Most times actually.

Mortesha would know.

The current head of the Addams family is just as outgoing as her husband but a lot quieter and harder to read. She never really seems to get mad about much and always has a genteel smile for everyone whether they deserve it or not. A seven foot tall human shaped “Oh, bless your heart”. A perfectly composed Lady even when she’s, oh I dunno, burning down a Piggly Wiggly. You know. A regular southern mom. Chat her up at the hair salon for 50% off a jar of wasp honey with your next purchase of a mysterious but foreboding packet of herbs.

Designing her was pretty easy because I just drew a lankier Grace Jones and called it a day. I had some problems with her outfit simply because if we were going HARD southern gothic then she’d probably be wearing a white/cream dress with a fuller skirt but I thought keeping the silhouette and the black was more important. She’s supposed to be an anti southern gothic southern gothic character anyway. A woman who looks like she has a million secrets who is actually the most open person you could meet. For better or worse. The red hair came from a coloring error that I really ended up liking (my mom had red hair her whole childhood that only darkened up in high school so I can buy that an Addams can be naturally fire engine red) and the veil was to get more of that classic Morticia silhouette in there.

The Children

Sunday and Blanche are the twin children of Carlisle and Mortesha Addams. Some say the Addams clan got their cursed homestead when a wealthy local businessman made a deal with the devil and lost, leaving his grand mansion to his least favorite maid and cutting his losses once he realized that the swamp would do everything it could to drag the house into the water and take what was owed with its horrible curse. Others say that the family has just always squatted there and no one really cares because man, fuck that particular swamp. Have you been in there? Absolute horror show.

Anyway.

Blanche is the more outgoing sibling and quite the engineer/mad scientist in the making. He started going grey at 2 weeks old but considering he was also rocking some extra fingers, toes, and a tiny tail (he takes after his dad), his parents just put it on the 'not life threatening' pile and decided not to worry about it. He's the kind of smart that teachers find utterly infuriating, less a dog eagerly learning and obeying commands and more a hyena who keeps teaching itself how to pick locks. He has a few friends in his school's robotics club (which they honestly allowed him to make so the school could contain his... creations) but mostly hangs out with his sister exploring the swamp. They find all sorts of neat things in there! wedding rings, suspiciously lumpy garbage bags, cloaked cultists who can't read private property signs, it's an adventure every day!

Blanche is all about experimentation with his creations, his look, and his tether to this mortal coil. Is lipstick a cool thing to try? Let's find out. Can he get out of a strait jacket fast enough after being pushed into the depths of the swamp by his sister? let's find out. He's not dead yet and confused local doctors can attest to the fact that he's rarely attained more than a bad bruise so he's pretty set on continuing to kiss rattlesnakes on their cute little heads and have his sister practice her knife throwing at him until that fact changes.

Blanche is very much a country goth. Cowboy boots (customized by his mom), knife, and lighter are daily accessories. He likes to wear the crusty swamp jewelry they find (the rust adds a splash of color!) and despite appearances he does try to keep himself neat. He's just got  natural Grunge Colors and a tendency to wear clothes he likes until they fall apart. Pugsley always seemed the most modernly styled to me (which might just be because little boys clothes have been the same for a long time) so I wanted Blanche to be the most purposely fashionable Addams. Everyone else is goth by nature, but he's the only one truly familiar with goth as an alternative fashion.

I got really into designing Blanche because honestly, I find Pugsley to be the most boring member of the family. And he was hard to design! I had to mess with his vibe a lot to get him looking how I wanted. I know he's supposed to evoke an " 'evil' little boy next door who's parents never reign him in", but that's just goth Dennis The Menace.  I's 2020. We can at least go queer goth Calvin.

Sunday was much easier to design. Wednesday was my favorite as a child (of course) and I really wanted to keep the spirit of her look while adding things like billowy sleeves (it gets HOT down here), big poofy twists instead of braids, and a nice tie. She's a professional after all, been running the local pet cemetery since she was 6 and the previous groundskeeper met with an unfortunate accident after telling her that tarantulas don't have souls. Her specialty is creating beautiful naturalistic animal funerals similar to those that Maquenda (https://linktr.ee/artofmaquenda) makes, and she takes pride in creating miniature dioramas of her subjects after each burial which she uses as a kind of 3D catalog for future clients.

She really wants to try out her skills on humans one day. Well. Publicly try out her skills. Lotta random bodies float into the swamp. None of them have turned down her requests for diorama models so far. Most seem downright flattered. Plus, she usually figures out which graveyard/crime scene they floated over from and gets her parents to give them a lift back. She'll even help enact terrifying revenge from beyond the grave on whoever put them there if she's not, y'know, busy.

Besides arts, crafts, and pet based funerary arrangements, Sunday is an avid lover of archery (any ranged weapon really), books where little fantasy adventure animals die dramatic deaths, and history. She is That Kid who eagerly raises her hand when asked who Christopher Columbus was and ends up being sent out of class after 15 minutes for making 'a scene'. Her favorite party trick is just picking an item in the room and talking about how it relates to either some obscure historical figure with a buck wild life or a horrible disaster. At least one charity pancake breakfast ended with children in tears after her vivid description of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.

Social-wise, while Wednesday is the girl that people ask to smile because they think she'd, "look so pretty", Sunday is rarely asked anything at all. People just kind of assume from her quiet nature (in between horrible history facts) that she's angry all the time and that she hates everyone. This is untrue. She hates some people but she's ambivalent to most everyone else and even downright friendly if you bother to talk to her like a person instead of a terrifying cryptid. Like, she IS a terrifying cryptid but she's also a little girl.  

That’s about it for now. One day I might do the other family members but for now I’m happy with the four I’ve redesigned. Making an au! Lurch in a family that doesn’t do butlers could be interesting. Over on patreon I put forth that he could just be Motesha’s mute little brother (similar bone structure) but Amy Crook had the nice idea of quote: “ a mysterious "cousin" that "helps around the house" whose origins are both long in the past and faintly unsettling. He's good for lifting heavy things, like that tank of propane you're about to throw into the burning Piggly Wiggly... “ which i now consider canon. Who's kid is he? How old is he? Not important. Anyone willing to commit arson with you is family.

Annnnyway.  This challenge was a lot of fun! I love indulging in AU’s.

[happyselves]

Law of Attraction { Lando Norris x reader }

Disclamer : Swearing !!!

It was a busy weekend for the Mclaren team, they were about to get associated with a new partner. It was a huge contract and it was your first big deal. Mclaren just hired you, you were on probation before your contract will be real. You couldn’t mess up, you needed this job, needed to make your proof. You just got your law degree and it was your first job as a lawyer and you got lucky that you found yourself working as a Mclaren F1 Team new attorney.

This contract was important for both parties and it would go to the press as well. You were set to make your client sign during the next grand prix weekend and it was this weekend.

You spend hours and hours in your office reading the partner offer but something was bugging you and you couldn’t put your finger on it . You had to fly this afternoon to join all the team in Austria and you were starting to feel stress because you knew you had to put that deal on your boss table for him to sign, but that it wasn’t a good one and that we would basically get screw over by some clause or something, you knew it in your guts, you just need to find which pieces of puzzle you were missing. If the partner attorney thought he could easily screw you over like this because you were in your first year of work, he was wrong. You might be a newbie but one thing your mentor had taught you was to never show your weakness. That’s why you spend all night writing a new contract, word by word like the original, to find that little detail and you end up finding it. You were ehausted and tomorrow was the signing day, but now you were ready to show that we can’t fuck you over easily and that nobody should ever underestimated you. That was probably why mister Brown had give you the job, hearing things from is old attorney and your mentor was one thing, but proving how worth of the job you were is another and it will be soon be your moment of glory, but you couldn’t celebrate victory to soon, another thing you mentor had teach you.

Today was the day of the signing, you were stressed, you didn’t know how this would turn out. You were scared to have made a mistake and the lack of sleep was starting to rub on you. You had your plan in your mind, letting the other party think they had the upper hand and not tell them you had found the hair in the soup that will make your client profit and not lose all his money. It was important for you to not show your whole game to the adversary, but let him build his ego before you put that last card that will make you win the whole game in hand.

To make it official, Mclaren had to make the deal in their motorhome, Mister Brown wanted his two drivers to be there with him while signing as well because it was an important partnership for the whole team. It will be your first time seeing them since you entered the company, you were based in the factory back in Woking, but never had met any of them. You were quite intimidated, but the job was coming before anything else, no matter how many hours you spend in your free time to search about these two drivers, focusing on one in particular because he was around your age and something was telling you that the two of you were somewhat alike in certain ways of your life. You would lie to yourself if you didn’t find him attractive as well, but your personal preference when it comes to man can’t interfere with your work, it was your first and most important rule in your code of conduct you had set yourself on when you started studying law.

You arrive early in the paddock, hoping to visit around and discover this whole new world that you knew nothing about. You gotta visit the garage of your team, mechanics were happy to explain to you one thing or two, having a silent competition between them for the one that will have the testosterone level at his highness and find a way to make you fall for them. You already know their little trick going to law school with men, nothing could surprise you anymore. You knew you were pretty or had a little something more perhaps, but seeing gentlemans thinking the same was actually really flattering. After this pleasant little escapade, you find yourself walking the stairs of the Mclaren motorhome reading to meet everyone in the meeting room. You were the last one to enter the room, but you could give yourself the right to make an entrance after the thing you discovered during your sleepless night of searching dirt on the company represented by the douchebag sitting on the opposite side of the table. By his face you knew this man was an asshole and that it wasn’t his first rodeo and you were ready to put a stop into his little illegal business.

However when your eyes meet the drivers, especially the youngest one, your heart skips a bit, before you turn yourself and find your boss judging your rather late presence. You quickly apologize with a nod of the head before inviting them all to sit around the table and start the meeting.

Everything was going smoothly, everyone was happy, except you. You already hated what you were about to do,but you had to act fast otherwise it will be too late and the papers would be signed in front of your eyes.

“ Excuse me, I have one more question before we head toward the signature. “ You interrupted the conversation, looking at your boss, waiting for his approval to continue. After all you were only doing your job to assure everything is well covered, he couldn’t argue on that. The opposite camp didn’t have any objection for you to give a go to your wonder, thinking it would be innocent coming from a young lawyer that is still learning about the job. He made a gesture toward you, avoiding getting over this.

“ Well, mister Backfield, without due respect I was wondering why you were so eager to help our company, I did some research, you know. Usually you are investing in smaller businesses, which will lower profit. Why show the Mclaren F1 Team when it's new territory for you ? “

And action, you knew that every word that was about to leave this man’s mouth would only be total lies, but he didn’t know that. You had the upper hand by far and you won’t give him the satisfaction to put down this team and family.

And he tried hard to explain, save his case, defend himself and if you were naive you would have believed the guy but you weren't and could give a shit about his speech.

" Well I'm afraid I can't let this go on further. "

Everyone around the table was stunted, not knowing what to say. Mister Brown was reading to make you go before you heard him a piece of paper and that's when his face changed and he let you continue.

" You see Mister Backfield, you thought you could screw us over and try to go fish at a bigger price. Unfortunately for you I find out who you truly are. A piece of garbage buying company when they must need it, making them believe you will help them develop until somehow by some miracle they are forced to declare bankruptcy a couple years ago and then you buy them twice the price they truly worth before miraculously going back on the high to sell them three times the price. I don't know you but I call that stealing and corruption and I'm not ready to let my company get fucked over by an asshole like you so you can take you goddamn deal, walk away from here and never show your face around us again or I can talk to the press and trust me they are going to love it. One thing for sure is that if it happens I might win big and no negotiation put on the table will make me give you your money back. " You threw him middle fingers as you stood up and showed him the door.

Everyone was so shocked they couldn't speak, not because of the revelation in itself but how you had handled the whole situation like a true boss, with confidence and pride.

Someone in the room was even more impressed and couldn't even close his mouth, clearly admiring you. If you knew better you would say that right there Lando Norris was falling in love with you and if that wasn't boasting your ego then you didn't know what will.

Mr Brown was the first one to come to you as you all watched the security guys escorting Mr Backfield out of the paddock. He was about to say something but the rush of adrenaline was making you bold and you beat him to it.

" I am so sorry mister Brown I know I should have informed you before the meeting, but honestly I wasn't even sure before entering in that room that my information was right and I only received the confirmation a minute before being here, explaining why I was late. Truly I'm sorry if I put your entire team in a difficult position, I will try to find the best replacement for you I promise you. " You were almost out of breath as you finish you log apologize but realize soon enough that it didn't really matter here.

" I am impressed with you, first month on the job and you are already making yourself irreplaceable, you shouldn't have to apologize and I certainly should be thanking you and giving you a raise. Your mentor was right to gush about you. You are someone else." Proud could be seen in his eyes and his smile couldn't leave his face as he hugged you awkwardly saying thank you one more time before leaving and going back to the garage with Daniel who made sure to wink at you and make a big thumbs up at you before heading out.

However, someone hadn't left his seat, Lando. You thought he was just going to stay there and ignore you but as you were opening the door he smashed it back close behind you.

" I observed you all weekend, wondering why such a little fragile person was headlining such a big deal like this but it turns out I was wrong, never judge a book by it's cover. I'm learning it the hard way. "

You turn to face him ready to get back at him but his lips on you made you shut up. He pushes you against that door again, putting his hands on your lower back. At first you were confused as to why he was kissing but eventually you just stopped resisting and let yourself enjoy the moment. You had a thing for him and you were now sure that these weird eye contacts weren't that innocent. He had a thing for you too.

His kiss could make you reach the roof, you never felt something like that before, not that you had much experience, he knew exactly what would make you moan into his lips and lose balance so he could tighten the grip around you. You needed air but you would not allow it to yourself, you wanted more, you wanted him.

The adrenaline in your system was still pumping through your veins and you couldn't really think straight, your hands found the back of his head, playing with his loose locks of hair. You were holding on for dear life on this ride despite the fact you barely knew the guy.

Lando ends up breaking it up and you realise you were hooked around him as he put you down on your feet again.

" Just for the record, what you did before was so fucking hot that I would gladly be a criminal if that means you would be the one to put me in jail. "

He made you laugh, you were gasping for air, messy hair, swallow lips and redness on the cheeks, no speaking of your clothes being runned and unfolding and your shoes not even on your feet anymore. Everyone knows what they say about aan that can make a woman laugh and you wouldn't argue on that, not with him anyway.

Now that you had a taste of Lando, you wanted more, so much more and by the look on his eyes he was willing to explore the " more " area with you too.

" Okay that was unexpected, but the good kind, so here's what we're going to do. You will knock twice on my door at 23pm tonight, room 344, not a minute before and not a minute after, hope you know what punctuality is because you won't get a second chance. " You gathered all your things, trying to clean yourself to make it look like nothing had happened before you caught Lando's chin in your palm.

" Hope you will have a good defense, because tonight is going to be the trial of your life " You blow him a kiss before leaving his sight, a pride face drawing on you.

MASTERLIST

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon - When you’re angry and say “Don’t touch me”

Original title: 当你生气地说 “你别碰我”

Original writer: 池离子 (chi li zi)

[ VICTOR ]

You’re seated on the sofa, staring at the hour hand of the clock as it points to “1″, trembling with anger. 

Victor! He promised that no matter how busy he was, he’d return by 11pm. Yet, even now, he hasn’t even called to give you an explanation. His phone is turned off, you couldn’t find him at the office, and all the employees had already knocked off.

Feeling upset, you think about heading to bed, but your immense worry causes your hands and feet to turn cold, and the blanket is unable to keep you warm. As such, you have no choice but to send message after message to Victor. 

Since you once made a promise with him not to head out at night, you wait for him to return home obediently. With this thought in mind, you climb into bed, covering yourself up before breaking into tears.

Click.

Although separated by the bedroom door, you can still hear the sound of the main door opening gently, followed by the soft sound of leather shoes stepping on the wooden floor. You know that he has finally returned, but you have no intention of forgiving him for breaking his promise and not returning your calls.

You hear the rustling of clothes being removed, followed closely after by the sound of the bedroom door opening gently, the familiar footsteps nearing you quietly. The space beside you on the bed dips slightly, and you can feel Victor pulling the blanket from your face.

"Dummy... why are you covering yourself up? It’s so stuffy.”

He speaks softly.

When Victor's hand is about to touch your face, you suddenly grab the blanket and turn over, your back facing him. He’s clearly stunned, and then realises that you weren't asleep, and are even a little angry with him. So he shakes your shoulder and says a soft “I'm sorry”.

"Don't touch me!" You shrug his hand away roughly. Curling yourself up, you begin to sob again.

Victor wants to pull you up, but you avoid him with equal determination, before dropping a cold “don't touch me.”

Victor sighs, then explains himself in a fatigued voice. “Sorry. I returned very late, and it’s my fault. When I drove past the park after work, I saw someone selling the taiyaki that you like, so I bought one. I didn’t have a firm grip on my phone and it fell into the water, so I couldn't turn it on.”

"I was going to buy a new phone along the way, but Goldman suddenly rushed over, saying that E Company requested to terminate our partnership due to contractual issues. Because we were pressed for time, I drove to E City with Goldman to hold a meeting, and only managed to rush back at this time... I’m sorry."

After listening to these simple words, you can’t help but feel an ache in your heart. You sit up with guilt. Despite how tired Victor was, he still had to deal with you being angry when he returned home. This... is really sad.

You turn over to look at him. Realising that your eyes are red, he reaches forward to hug you gently, leaning against your ear to say another “sorry”.

There’s a paper bag sitting at the corner of the bed, and you’re able to see half of a cold taiyaki.

"I'm so tired... let me hug you for a while..."

He embraces you tightly, and you reach out to pat his hair, as if touching a helpless child. 

-

[ GAVIN ]

"Sis-in-law, he really doesn’t take advice. I already told him not to rush ahead, but he did it anyway. Now, he doesn’t even dare to step into the house, and it’s really difficult for us...”

You’re listening to the voice message sent by Eli. Gavin was injured during a mission, and was caught red-handed by you. Eli is the spy you’ve arranged to be by Gavin’s side.

“Eli, tell Gavin that I’ve fallen sick, and that I haven’t told him about it because I don’t know what illness it is yet.”

"Sis-in-law... is this... a good idea?"

"Trust me. I can give your team a brilliant tomorrow.”

"Thank you, Sis-in-law!”

Turning your phone off, you lie down quietly. Thirty minutes later, you hear Gavin opening the door while shouting your name. You listen as his footsteps draw nearer, finally pausing at your bedside.

“Wake up, are you okay? What happened? Are you okay?” Gavin reaches out, wanting to pull you over to himself. Enraged, you slap his hands away and yell at him. “Don't touch me!”

Sure enough, he stops, and you hear him sitting down. What follows after is a protracted silence.

Your thoughts: I’m doomed. Does he find me annoying?

Gavin’s thoughts: Something’s wrong. I definitely did something wrong. What did I do wrong? Anyway, I should admit my mistake first.

"Sorry... I was wrong..."

You hear him saying this softly.

"Why were you in the wrong?”

Gavin is dumbfounded.

"I don’t know...”

Despite your anger, your heart aches. As you sit upright, you hear him asking with concern, “Are you sick? How are you feeling now?”

"I'm not sick. I asked Eli to call you home. He said that you were badly hurt and was afraid to see me. Am I that fierce?"

Gavin shakes his head.

"I'm not afraid of you being fierce. You can scold me however you like, but I'm afraid that you’d get tired after scolding me, and feel sad when you see my injuries, so I didn’t dare to return."

Pearl-like droplets of tears fall again, and he hurries forward urgently, wiping them away.

"Don't cry..."

"Where did you get hurt this time... don't be afraid to let me see. What I’m most afraid of is not knowing anything. Don’t refuse to come home..." You’re held in his arms, sobbing as you finish your sentence in bits and pieces.

He coaxes you while rubbing circles on your back.

“Okay, okay... next time, I’ll come straight home. I promise."

[ A few days later ]

"Sis-in-law, didn’t you say there wouldn’t be a problem? Us poor kids had to carry weights on our backs while climbing up a mountain...”

-

[ LUCIEN ]

You dislike that bunch of female students! You! Really! Dislike! Them!

Under the pretext of the lecture, they’d look for Lucien. Once Lucien finishes his class, they would surround him, and Lucien would be in the middle, explaining the questions to them patiently.

It annoys you to death!

You’re nestled in the sofa watching a show. Having finished his shower, Lucien steps out of the bathroom, wiping his hair dry while walking towards you.

“MC, the bathroom is already warm and I've filled the tub with water. You can take a bath now.”

As if you couldn’t get angrier, you notice that the tone of voice he uses with you and the female students is obviously the same! So you purse your lips, ignoring him.

Thinking that your lack of response was because you couldn’t hear him over the sound of the TV, he sits beside you on the sofa, leaning in closer.

"Little Butterfly?”

You turn your head away, unwilling to give him any attention.

Assuming that you’re feeling shy, he reaches out to hug you, but is pushed away. He even hears this:

"Don't touch me!"

Lucien's hand stops in the air. For a long time, neither of you speak.

Just when you decide that you’re causing unnecessary trouble and turn to glance back at him, it’s as though you see the ears of a large canine drooping, its tail swinging slightly.

Why does he look wronged? Also, he's a fox, not a dog!

"MC... do you no longer like me?”

You watch as his handsome brows furrow. His movement of leaning over causes his bathrobe to reveal his neckline, and you’re cornered by him on the sofa.

"Don't touch..."

Before you manage to finish speaking, Lucien buries his face into the crook of your neck, his damp hair rubbing against your shoulder and earlobe gently. His hand reaches out to hug you tightly, and you can hear his muffled voice from the side. 

"Are you leaving me? Don't leave me..."

Huh? You heart aches instantly, and you pat his back. 

“Okay, okay... I’m not leaving you. I was just angry because those female students like you so much! I’m sorry for just now...”

"Next time... I’ll pay more attention... So MC, shall we take a bath together?”

"?"

Today has once again been part of Lucien’s plan.

-

[ KIRO ]

As you stare at the black circles underneath Kiro’s eyes, a certain thought drifts to your mind. 

He must have accepted too many job offers, then failed to get proper rest! 

You’ve already told him several times to reject work if he’s able to. After all, he should give himself a break. The last time, he was so tired that he fell asleep on the sofa in the makeup room and was caught red-handed by you. Now, the situation is not only worse, but he spends his free time accompanying you.

This is outrageous!

"Miss Chips! Let's watch a movie tonight! I starred in it! You’ve seen the trailer and poster, right?" Kiro picks up the cap which he uses as a disguise, then hops around you excitedly. But you just can’t ignore the blackish hue underneath his eyes.

Seeing that you’re ignoring him, he grins and steps forward, tugging on your hand. Fuming, you slap his hand away.

"Don’t touch me!”

Kiro’s hand pauses in mid-air. In just a few seconds, you hear the sound of sobbing. 

"Miss Chips..."

Turning your head to look at him, you see that tears are flowing down his cheeks. His eyes are red, and he’s wiping his teardrops with the back of his hand.

Is this the prowess of an actor? Being able to summon tears at will?

His sobbing turn even more aggrieved, and he carefully reaches out to tug on your hand again. Your heart aches, and you don’t fling it away this time.

"Miss Chips... do you hate me? Don't hate me... I work hard because I want you to lead a life which is worry-free, at least in terms of money... I love you so much..."

Ah! Stop talking! I’m a sinner!

You quickly give him a hug, patting him on the back.

“That will never happen! I like Kiro the most, but I’m very worried about your health. You’re still so young, but you’re this tired every day, so of course I’m distressed and angry. I don't hate you...”

He nods, planting his chin on your shoulder.

"I’m already very happy! I haven’t had to worry about money at all. You’ve worked so hard that I’ve got a surplus of wealth now! I want you to turn down a few projects and stay at home with me for a while, okay?”

You feel some movements on your shoulder. He’s nodding.

"Miss Chips... I like you so much..."

"I like you too!"

"Then you should kiss me now!"

He says with a grin.

?

(Did he follow Lucien’s study plan?)

-

[ SHAW ]

“Spring Thunder! Spring Thunder! You! Spit it out right now! Give it back to me!”

[Regarding the nickname] The CN version of MC’s “Mary Sue” alias is 刘春梅 - Liu Chun Mei (“Spring Plum”). Meanwhile, the CN community likes calling Shaw 刘春雷 - Liu Chun Lei (“Spring Thunder”)

Amid your blood-curdling screeches, Shaw dolidges your flailing hands and successfully chomps down your final strawberry cake.

...

With no intention of speaking to him anymore, you stagger a few steps, collapsing onto the sofa.

Shaw opens a bottle of Cola and a bottle of Pepsi in the kitchen, mixing his favourite, unique drink happily.

When Shaw returns with a large cup of mixed Cola and sees your current condition, he calls out to you twice. However, you have no intention of paying any attention to him considering your enraged and depressed state.

He sits beside you, patting your head. 

Your eyes are sharp, and you slap his hand away, saying the cruel words:

"Don’t touch me!”

In Shaw’s heart, he knows that something bad is about to happen. You didn’t call him “Stinky Brother” this time, which meant that you’re genuinely angry.

“No way, what’s up with you? You have such a reaction just because I ate your cake?”

You’re in no mood to argue with him. Your favourite strawberry cake no longer exists. Without it, you will crumble. 

"Spring Plum?”

"..."

He sets down the Cola, attempting to wrap an arm around your waist. But he’s slapped away once again.

"Don’t touch me!”

"..."

You watch as Shaw retracts his hand, gets up, grabs the keys, opens the door, then leaves. All in one swift movement.

? 

Stinky Brother! He was obviously in the wrong, so why is he the one throwing a tantrum!

You close your eyes, missing that sweet and wonderful strawberry cake. Your mind has no room to think about Shaw.

After some time, you hear the sound of the door opening, followed by Shaw’s footsteps, then something being placed on the table. He sits beside you quietly.

Opening your eyes, you see that Shaw is seated, giving you a piteous look.

The scene before you resembles a world famous painting.

"Sister... I'm sorry... I went to buy a new cake..."

On the surface, you seem engrossed in your thoughts. However, your heart has long since been doing flips.

"Forgive me, okay...? Don’t give up on me just because of the cake...”

As though you’ve just survived a huge bloodbath, you sit up with a “hmph”, then pull the cake box over. Sure enough, there’s an entire cake, decorated with strawberries. 

Placated, you wrap Shaw in a hug and give him a kiss.

"What are you talking about, my beloved Shaw? Why would I not want you! I want you more than cake!”

Shaw's eyes darken.

"In that case... let me see just how much you want me..."

–

More translated and original works: here

–

[ Permission to translate ]

池离子: OK! Just state that the source is LOFTER池离子. Also, if you’ve posted it, could you also take a screenshot for me? No need for the whole thing - just a little will do!

[tinycreaturetalkingshit]

Wrote 2 chappters 2day--enjoyuy

Chapter 2

Dick was forced to leave the whole foods after the incident. Rick watched with mild amusement. Hhahaha.

He checks out his sundries and walks into the parkinglot. IN a not so surprising turn of event Dick is outside with a sign made out odf reversible sequins on a plastic trash bag. The sign reads “no cheese please”

Rick is finally at hios limit with the seemingly endless array of mysteries and nonsense coming from this woman. He meanfder cover to ehr with an apple (this is a reference to edward cullen)

Currently she is harassing the patrons of whole foods, many of whom see her shaking the sign with the force necessary to give a newborn baby bad brain disease and just go home.

Rick is unfazed by this behavior and bites into his apple while he stands a few feet away watching. When Dick realizes that she is under scrutiny she turns and asks “Are you a member of the cause”

Rick is an asshole, and say “I am too smart to beleive in causes. What the fuck is even your deal with the cheese?”

“Fuck you, the cheese cause is of great importance, and aaonly self entitled losers do not care about the well being of society and the laws regarding selling cheese”

“Listen, I have been around infinite universes and it doesn;t matter what the cheese laws are, because there a literally millions of universes where cheese laws are whatever you want

“Bruh, are you dense? Literally the fact that elsewhere things are gucci is meaningless, we are here and now, that is what matter, so yeah buddy the cheese laws matter here”

“Fuck you you just don’t understand how vast the fucking universe is, so youy can get all wrapped up in this trivial bullshit, but me, I can’t do that because I am too goddamn smart and have experienced things

“Bruhg you are so fucking boring, but low key I am about your arrogance. You wanna fuck?

Rick thinks the offer over and ultimately decides he has nothing better to do.

Chapter 3 they fuck

Rick and Dick were suprisingly compatible in the bedroom. They bioth were very open to experiemnetation and enjoyed a certain level of mischievous goofness in the bedroom,

We open this scene on hour 6 of their love making.

They are both somewhat worn out but have developed a certain level of camaraderie amongst the hours spend in the wonderland of eachothers bodies.

As they mutually climax while fucking on a robot bycylccle Rick is faaced with the realization that while he cannot keep fucking indefinately, he would like to spend more time with Dick, bioth inside and outsode of the bedroom.

He rests his head against her shoulder as he contemplates his new found attachment. While Rick prides himself on his lack of affection vocally, it is a bit of a sore spot that he is actually very needing of love., Rip Diane.

[artzychic27]

Artist Family Values?

Everything is calm. Marinette, Alix, and Rose are playing funeral in the backyard; Felix is helping Juleka write a love note to Rose, confessing her feelings; Nathaniel is arm wrestling That and losing

Marc: Nathaniel, wonderful news. My mother is going to have a baby and she wants us to have it... Right now.

*Several hours of excruciatingly painful labor later*

Little girl: And then mommy kissed daddy, and the angel told the stork. The stork flew down from heaven and left a diamond under a leaf in the cabbage patch, and the diamond turned into a baby.

Marinette: They had sex.

*Later*

Rose: Nathaniel!

Juleka: What news?

Marinette: Nathaniel, what is it?

Nathaniel: It’s an Artist!

The baby’s name is Kiran. He has black eyes and was born with fangs

Marinette and Alix immediately hate the baby and do everything they can to get rid of him. Guillotine, shooting him, dropping him from the roof

Marc: Mari. Alix. Why do you hate the baby?

Alix: We don’t hate him. We just wanna play with him.

Marinette: Especially his head.

To keep Kira out of trouble, Marc and Nathaniel hire a nanny. Lila.

Juleka immediately hates her because of how she’s taken a liking to Rose. Little does she know that she isn’t in love with the blonde. She’s a black widow out for their fortune.

Noticing that Marinette and Alix are onto her, Lila makes it seem like they wanna go to summer camp so they’re not in her way.

Nathaniel: *Disgusted* Fresh air. The scent of pine.

Chloé: Hi. I'm Chloé Bourgeois. Why are you dressed like that?

Marinette: Like what?

Chloé: Like you're going to a funeral. Why are you dressed like somebody died?

Marinette: Wait.

While at camp, Marinette and Alix make enemies of the popular bratty rich kids and allies out of the outcasts (The Akuma class)

Marinette finds herself glaring at a certain boy from America who glares right back at her... It’s Damian.

Back at the Artists’ home, Rose finds herself falling in love with Lila, much to Juleka’s anger but no one seems to notice

Marc and Nathaniel invite them to a gothic bistro

Lila: I just can't tell. Does she like me at all?

Marc: Of course she does. She pulled out her hair at the sight of you.

Marc and Nathaniel perform the badass tango from the movie

Meanwhile at the cemetery, Lila and Rose get engaged surprisingly quickly

Rose: Good news! I’m engaged!

Juleka: What?! *Felix pats her back for comfort*

Lila: *Shows the ring*

Marc: That ring.

Nathaniel: It was my grandmother’s. She was burried with it.

Lila: *Holds up a shovel*

Later that night at the camp, Alix and Marinette attempt to escape with some help from Damian, but are caught by the brat campers and are forced to sing Kumbaya

Damian and Marinette find themselves becoming closer

Damian: You know... I’m pretty good with a knife myself.

Marinette: ... *Holds Damian’s hand*

Escape attempt #2 is a success. When they hear about the wedding, Marinette and Alix have to go and see if it’ll be a train wreck. Of course, Marinette invites Damian as her plus one.

It’s surprisingly pleasant. Everyone’s dressed in black, the flower girl is tossing dead petals on the ground.

“I do.” “Ditto.” Marinette catches the bouquet.

Damian: Now you have to get married.

Marinette: It’s not binding.

On their honemoon, Lila attempts to kill Rose by dropping a toaster in her bath. Unfortunately for her, Rose is immune to death by electrocution

Needing a new plan and for the Artists to stay out of her way, Lila forbids Rose from seeing or speaking to em ever again.

Meanwhile at camp, Alix shoots an endangered bird!

Camp director 1: It’s a white tailed eagle!

Camp director 2: Aren’t they endangered?

Marinette: They are now

Juleka is sulking after receiving a letter from Rose, saying she can’t see them ever again.

Juleka: Have I done something, said something? Why does she despise me?

Nathaniel: Rose adores you.

Juleka: I'd do anything for her. At her request, I would rip out my eyes. At her command, I would crawl on my stomach through hot coals and broken glass.

Marc: ... You’re in love with Rose?

Back at camp, the directors announce that the campers will be performing the poorly written and quite racist play about the first Thanksgiving

Chloé will be playing Sarah Miller, the outcasts will play the Native Americans, and Marinette will be playing Pocahontas.

Marinette passes out at the announcement

Meanwhile, the Artists visit Rose and Lila at their pristine white mansion.

Juleka: So these are the gates of hell.

Lila forced them to leave, and Rose, out of fear, backs her up.

Marc: I see Lila that you have placed Rose under some strange sexual spell. I respect that. But please, may we see her?

Lila: No!

Marc: You have gone too far. You have married Rose. You have destroyed her spirit. You have taken her from us. All that I could forgive. But, Lila...

Lila: What?!

Marc: ... Pastels?

They leave, but not before Juleka curses Lila.

They try to go to the police, but they won’t take them seriously, and Nathaniel makes the following announcement

Nathaniel: I shall not submit! I shall conquer! I shall rise! My name is Nathaniel Artist, and I have seen evil! *Juleka holds up Kiran* I have seen horror! *Felix waves* I have seen the unholy maggots which feast in the dark recesses of the human soul.

Marc: They’re at camp.

Speaking of camp. The main 3 attempt to escape again, but are caught by the other campers and are soon forced into the Harmony Hut where they’re forced to watch Disney Movies.

Hours without food or drinks later, and they come out looking pale and traumatized

Marinette snaps out of it and traumatizes them back by smiling

With the Artists, something horrible has happened to Kiran. He blonde and has blue eyes!

Marc: My brother!

Nathaniel: *Faints*

Juleka: *Reading from spell book* “Infant possessions. These terrifying changes are most often the result of a troubled family life.”

Marc: Rose!

Juleka: If we don’t get Rose back, we’re talking dimples.

Nathaniel: Not in this house!

Juleka: He could stay this way for years. Forever. He could become... A lawyer.

Nathaniel: No!

Juleka: An orthodontist.

Marc: Juleka, please!

Juleka: ... Mayor.

Nathaniel: NOOO! TAKE ME INSTEAD!

It’s the day of the highly offensive show that portrays Native Americans as uncivilized people.

It goes off well until Marinette flips the script.

Marinette: You have taken the land which is rightfully ours. Years from now, my people will be forced to live in mobile homes on reservations. Your people will wear cardigans and drink highballs. We will sell our bracelets by the road sides. You will play golf and enjoy hot hors d’oeurves. My people will have pain and degradation. Your people will drive stick shifts. The gods of my tribe have spoken. They have said, “Do not trust the pilgrims, especially Sarah Miller. And for all these reasons, I have decided to scalp you, and burn your village. To. The. Ground.

The outcasts burn the camp to the ground and attack the brats while the main 3 escape in a canoe.

Meanwhile, Lila tries one last attempt at killing Rose, knowing this won’t fault. A bomb.

When it goes off while she’s out, she’s expecting a blonde corpse. Not Rose holding a tray of cupcakes and a warm smile

Enough is enough.

Lila: *Aims gun* I tried to make it look like an accident! I tried to give you some dignity, but, oh, no, not you!

That shows up to save the day by hitting Lila with his car and helping Rose escape back to the Artists’ Home,

*Now for the best scene*

Marinette: I may never see you again.

Damian: I know.

Marinette: There are forces tearing us apart-- Gary, Lila, tenth grade.

Damian: I'll never forget you.

Marinette: *Touched* You won't?

Damian: You're too weird.

Marinette: We'll always have today and camp

Damian: And this. *He holds up a retainer*

Marinette: What is it?

Damian: Chloé’s retainer. *Drops it to the ground* Meyn ziskeyt.

Marinette: Mi querido.

*The two kiss through the fence before pulling away and wiping their mouths*

Meanwhile, Nathaniel’s lost his mind.

Nathaniel: *Lying in bed* Swing low... Sweet chariot... Coming for to carry me home.

Marc: Oh, my sister is ill and my husband is dying. Juleka, what am I gonna do?

Juleka: Well, you already have a black dress.

Rose returns, apologizes for abandoning them, reconciles with her friends

And at that moment, Marinette and Alix return from camp. They all group hug, and Juleka is about to tell Rose about her feelings for her, until...

Lila: In-laws!

Down in the dungeon, the Artists, Felix, and That are strapped into electric chairs while Lila tells them the story of her life... Through slideshow!

She burned her house down with her parents still in it because they gave her Malibu Barbie instead of Ballerina Barbie

Marc: *Disgusted* Malibu Barbie. The nightmare.

Nathaniel: The nerve.

Her first husband the heart surgeon could never make it on dates, so she committed axe murder.

Juleka: Aw, an axe. That takes me back.

Husband #2 was a Senator who wouldn’t buy Lila that new, expensive car because they had to set an example. She ran him over.

Lila: So I destroyed one innocent life after another. Aren't I a human being? Don't I yearn and... ache and shop? Don't I deserve love... and jewelry?

Marc: *nods* Adios, mi querido.

Nathaniel: Zay gezunt, meyn tayer.

With some encouragement from Felix, Juleka uses her last few moments to confess to Rose

Juleka: Rose, night after night, I have desired you. I would worship every pale, lifeless limb on your body, die and kill for you, love you even after my dying breath. Rose... I love you.

Her confession leaves Rose in tears.

Rose: I love you, too.

Lila: Oh, barf! *Grabs the lever* Goodbye, everyone! Wish me luck!

Artists: Good luck.

Right as she’s about to pull the lever, Kiran, back go normal and by some miracle drops down from the ceiling and switches the wires, making Lila electrocute herself to death

*One year later*

Juleka and Rose got married! Also, it’s Kiran’s birthday! And Damian’s invited!

Rose: And to think I might have missed all this. What was I thinking?

Marinette: Physical pleasure.

While the others are celebrating, Marinette and Damian hang out in the cemetery and talk about marriage. Which Marinette doesn’t want

Damian: But what if you found a man so devoted to you, who worshipped you, that he’d be your eternal love slave?

Marinette: I’d pity him

Damian: *Looks at Lila’s gravestone. ‘Friend, Family, Killer* Damn. Lila was sick.

Marinette: She wasn't sick. She was sloppy.

Damian: What?

Marinette: If I wanted to kill my husband, I'd do it, and I wouldn't get caught.

Damian: How?

Marinette: I'd scare him to death.

Damian: *Scoffs* Sure. *As he goes to lay a flower on Lila’s grave, her hand pops out of the ground and grabs him, making him scream.*

[spiderling-space]

Henlo Liho-san~! A new follower of yours uwu May I ask for hcs of how the dorm leaders would react with having an f!s/o who is mostly respectful and polite, suddenly about to throw hands with someone as they may or may not have said or complained about the dorm head they were dating. It was not a compliment in any way or form- I hope I didn't cross over any rules! But if I had to pick 5 out of 7 of them, it's Riddle, Azul, Idia, Kalim, and Vil. Thanks a bunch if you notice this~! Good Luck!!♡♡

Hey yo Nocturne! I know of you from liking I and Brew’s OC (twisted-whimsies): Mozerella Trein and a couple TW related posts of mine.

Prefects and Vice Prefects are exception from character limit.

After finishing this, I realized I wrote something between a ficlet and headcanon. I hope you’ll like it though 💕

My German knowledge is bugging me to write Vil’s surname with ö instead of o yet my order-loving side is telling me to stick to how it’s written in TW

Before I start I’m gonna add a quote from a fandom of mine 👀 one look at my OG blog would reveal which fandom it is.

“Fallaces sunt rerum species”

Meaning: The appearances of things are deceptive

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle can handle himself. At least he could before his overblot episode. No body dared to talk behind his back.

But now he holds back, not using his unique magic frequently anymore which caused some students think he became too lenient and a couple students started to abuse this leniency

Every time someone tries his patience he counts to 10 internally or just ignore them. Don’t get him wrong, he still sticks to rules and makes his dorm follow the rules but he cannot force people to stop talking about him

Today is going to one of the days when he would ignore any bad mouthing because he is with (Y/N), the sweetest person he ever met

(Y/N) already saw at his worst when he overblotted. He doesn’t want her to see any more incidents such that.

He and (Y/N) decided to take a walk in Rose Gardens as a date. Then decided to get into Rose Maze, holding hands strictly for to not get lost.

“Prefect Rosehearts became such a softie. He is no longer fit to be our prefect.” “He never was. Mommy Issues needs to go back to kindergarten.”

(Y/N) and Riddle were in East side of Rose Maze when they heard 2 Heartslabyl students talking which made (Y/N) stop in her track. Riddle tugged her hand to move on but she didn’t budge.

“Riddle, honey, either push away those bushes or I’ll climb over it and have a nice chat with them.”

“There is no need.” — “okay then I’m climbing”

And she did. Riddle didn’t know how but she managed to go to other side of bushes by climbing to them.

“Hey jackasses! Would you like to say that again?” The two students were shocked to see Riddle’s girlfriend jump from above. “Wh- what?”

“I asked if you wanted to say those to my face.” And no answer.

Meanwhile Riddle was on the other side of bush walls, listening what’s happening.

“Did Riddle or did he not manage to increase Heartslabyl’s average grade?” “He did...” “Did he or did he not helped your dorm to have better ranking at Magift?” “He did...” “Did he treat you unfair ever since he fixed how he acted?” “No...” “Then what makes you say he is unfit? Is it because he is more tolerant on rules? Is it because he cares how his dorm mates feel?” No answer again. “I hope you come to your senses now because next time I hear something like this will be the first and last time you taste my wrath. Are we clear?” — “Yes ma’am!”

(Y/N) climbed over the bush again and landed in front of Riddle. With a kiss to his cheek, “Just because you give less punishment doesn’t mean you need to let people bully you. If anyone else acts this way, I’ll have a talk with them.”

She held his hand and pulled him into the maze again. Meanwhile Riddle was still wondering how his girlfriend climbed over a maze’s wall.

🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁🦁

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is used to people bad mouthing about him back in his palace. While in Savanaclaw, his dorm mates respected him and didn’t dare to oppose him. That is until they saw his vulnerable side during his overblot accident.

He heard a couple dorm mates say “He can’t do anything by himself.” “Good for nothing.” “All that lazy lion does is sleep.” “He must have lack brains to repeat the same year over and over again.”

He is used to ignoring them and sleeping it off. And his favorite pillow, (Y/N), helped him to dismiss their thoughts.

Leona only asked (Y/N) out because he figured she would be great body pillow. Certainly not her lively and cheerful attitude, nor her bright smile.

Leona asked (Y/N) out for a night date in Savanaclaw. It’s because he wanted to nap in his dorm. It’s absolutely not that Savanaclaw lounge looks romantic at night.

When (Y/N) arrived, she unfortunately heard those.

Leona tugged her arm to lead her to where their date suppose to take but no avail.

“Hold my purse, kitten.” (Y/N) handed her purse to Leona and went where those dorm members stand.

“Hey there is something in your face!” The main jerk looked up “Huh?” Proceeded with a punch to his face. “It was PAIN!” And ended with the guy falling to ground, holding his nose.

“Does anyone else have something on their faces?” The remaining ones shook their head in NO. “Good.” She turned on her heels and went to Leona’s side.

All Leona could do was admire her right hook. He did not think how she wouldn’t feel out of blue in Afterglow Savannah if she were to live there because women in his hometown are strong and fighters.

🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙

Azul Ashengrotto

(Y/N) first caught Azul’s eye when she sat down for 7 hours to read every single detail in his contract and demanded a change in certain conditions. Azul refused to make contract with her then offered her a job in Mostro Lounge.

With persuasion from the twins, Azul gathered courage to ask (Y/N) out. And she accepted.

They often stayed late hours in Mostro Lounge to spend some alone time.

After their quick date followed by closing of Mostro Lounge, Azul walked arm in arm with (Y/N) until the mirror passage. As they were walking, 2 Octavinelle student were messing around.

“Look at me! I’m the crybaby who hides behind two eels!” — “No one is making contract, I’mma cry now!” — “Maybe I can turn my crying into money. I can sell all the ink I cry!” “Nice one dude!”

One look to Azul’s face, (Y/N) understood he would deal with them either personally or the twins would play with them.

Not today Satan!

(Y/N) let Azul’s arm go and slowly approached the duo. “I am (Y/N), you can’t insult my boyfriend like that; prepare to die... socially I mean...” — “What are you saying?”

“I don’t have patience, time nor crayons to explain this to you but I’ll let you on a secret. Sometimes a nasty rumor, which doesn’t have to be true, can ruin someone’s entire school life. Maybe telling everyone your secret wish that you once asked from Azul or you offering a different type of payment to teachers to pass the grade.” — “You can’t do that!” — “I can and I will unless you cut the crap, ask for forgiveness and work for free in Mostro Louge for a week.” — “It’s a deal!”

Azul came to (Y/N)’s side as the two boys run away. Azul once again saw his angelfish using her wits to get what she wants. He knows she didn’t need to do that but he is flattered by the fact that his girlfriend wants to protect him.

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim asked (Y/N) out after spending time together after Jamil overblotted.

He is still the sunshine bean that brings smile to everyone’s faces. (Y/N) is as cheerful as Kalim and that’s why he hit it off

Kalim took (Y/N) to another carpet ride as a date. She loves the feeling of wind on her face on top clouds.

As they returned to the dorm, they heard a couple students talking.

“I don’t care what Jamil did. He was right! Kalim is unfit to represent us. After he became prefect, we became the last at everything.” — “How many Kalim can change a light bulb? None because he is too idiot and too incapable to change one. Hehehehe”

(Y/N) saw tears building up on Kalim’s eyes then she snapped. She made carpet to fly over them in law altitude then she jumped down in front of them. “Surprise motherfuckers!” Before anyone can understand what happened. (Y/N) kicked the one that made bulb joke between his legs then held and twist the ear of the other two. “You have 10 seconds to reconsider what you just talked. I suggest not to waste time.”

The trio tried to dismissed what they said but the glare they received made them comply. “Prefect Kalim, we are sorry to make fun of you.”

Kalim as the personification of sunbeams forgave them. Then turned his attention to his beloved. He was impressed by how she jumped down and was ready to protect him without any hesitation. He never thought someone as kind and happy person as her could hide a fighter in her. Not going to lie, he loves seeing this side of hers

👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑👑

Vil Schönheit

Being with Vil is exhausting. Don’t get her wrong, it’s not him (Y/N) is complaining. It’s the people around them.

(Y/N) started paying more attention to her appearance

(Y/N) was waiting for Vil to get ready, sitting on his bed. Vil had free time that day and they were going out.

As they went out of the room, whispering ensued as always but this time, for the first time, a Pomefiore student bad mouthed about Vil.

“He is compensating his wretched personality with his looks!”

Vil isn’t someone to care opinions of a no-mark but (Y/N) is

“Hold my earrings, my love.” (Y/N) took out her earrings and handed them to Vil. “I’m going to snatch his wig!” — “He’s not wearing a wig...”

“I take it you weren’t burned with overabundance of schooling. You think you’re a Gucci but you’re not even Lacoste. Now apologize before I think your face needs a makeover.” — “Gucci? Lacoste?” — “And I suggest hide your jealousy better. You can’t get near Vil as a fan and you try to make up for it by talking about something that you have no idea on. Honestly I am jealous of people who haven’t met you.”

(Y/N) waves back the boy, going back to Vil’s side then putting her earrings again.

Vil is quite pleased what has occurred. Not only he saw how (Y/N) can destroy someone with just words but he also saw a glimpse of what she thinks of him. Maybe he should hire some people to insult him so he can see this side of hers again.

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Idia Shroud

Idia tries everything he can to stay in his room but there is an anime con that he and (Y/N) are going so he needs to get out of his room.

Idia and (Y/N) dressed up as his favorite anime couple.

Idia left his room voluntarily without any compulsory reason! It became a quick hit topic in Ignihyde.

Idia and (Y/N) went to anime-con and Ortho tagged along to record the ordeal.

They had to return early because some drunk in the con spilt juice on (Y/N).

So they returned NRC then Ignihyde. Ortho left for somewhere as Idia and (Y/N) walked in Ignihyde lounge.

“He doesn’t even go Dorm meeting but doesn’t have a problem with going a stupid con! Idia is an embarrassment to Ignihyde! All he does is play games and ramble about them!”

(Y/N) coughed gathering attention from the group.

Idia freaked out by being in highlight, hand pulled his chest, eyes widened.

“Baby, get behind me.” (Y/N) stepped in front of Idia and strutted to the Ignihyde student that was shit talking. “Pick a God and pray.”

The boy gulped. “Wh-What?!”

“Did I stutter?”

“I don’t know what—“ He threw his hands to air in frustration. (Y/N) grabbed his wrist, twisting and pulling his arm. The momentum caused the boy to fell face forward. (Y/N) still holding his arm twisted, “Now, dear, you’ll apologize and promise that you’ll never speak of Idia that way. Then get out of my face or else..” — “Yes ma’am!” The boy did as he was told.

Idia couldn’t guess in a million years that his goody two shoes girlfriend was capable of pulling this stunt. What he saw right now made him think the fighter beautiful ladies in anime. It was like a dream come true for him.

🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉🐉

Malleus Draconia

People feared Malleus for a really long time that he couldn’t remember anything else.

People avoided and tend to talk behind his back yet those didn’t reach insult level.

Who was stupid enough to dare that?

Malleus asked (Y/N) if she wanted to explore Diasomnia dorm and hear about the gargoyles of Diasomnia.

Of course she would love it. She loves when Malleus goes on about gargoyles for hours. And she is the only member in his club. Plus nightly strolls are their dates.

“He has no friends and no body loves him. For goodness’ sake, his intimating aura makes rest of dorm unapproachable! Can’t he just be gone already!?”

No genius is needed to know who that Diasomnia student was talking about.

Malleus’ mood turned sour immediately. He could curse that boy but this would only prove those wretched rumors.

(Y/N) finds Malleus’ sulking face extremely attractive (he is too attractive to be real) but no one has any right to upset her beloved.

“I’m about to end this man’s whole career.”

“Dear, wait me here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Off (Y/N) went to defend Malleus’ honor.

“Hi there! Couldn’t help but hear you. Have you ever thought you have no friends because you’re an ass?” — “Who do you think you are? Oh it’s you.” — “It’s me Mario!” — “Huh???”

“Now now, let’s talk shall we? All you do is complain yet you don’t do anything to improve anything. You hold others accountable when you fail while there is no one but you to blame. You’re so wrapped in your tiny bubble that you can’t see outside world. That’s what small minded people do. Whoever told you to be yourself simply couldn’t give you any worse advice.” The guy was left speechless, gaping like a fish out of water. “Close your mouth or else you might swallow a fly.”

(Y/N) went back to Malleus side, winking at him. His heart skipped a beat, thinking this was such a queen act. Defending her beloved with her words. To be fair, Malleus finds everything (Y/N) does a fitting trait for a queen, the way she rambles, snorts, breaths, smiles...

Malleus only wishes he met (Y/N) ages ago.

[incarnateirony]

So if deancaswedding is the blue hump and theirlovewasreal is the pink hump, what is the little green hump? (Also, when u said Neilson accounts 1 for 1000, do u mean 1000 tweets =1 person in the metrics or every 1 tweet is counted as 1000 ppl?)

That was Charmed.

No, 1000 to 1 means that Nielsen generally takes a tweet as worth 1000 viewers, it’s the super streamlined version of it.

Think of it like this, last Thursday by the end of the night, Walker had like 16.7K tweets or something once they all trickled in within hours. Walker had about 1.7Million viewers. 16.7K x 1000 = about 1.7M give or take.

It’s a rough art, not an absolute law or anything. But you’ll find it generally translates pretty well, because in a way it also ends up being their online advertising too for more viewership. *jazz hands*

So by standard of about 50K tweets x 1000 you’ve got about 50 million. Which... actually isn’t ridiculous, because SPN has dozens of millions of digital calls. I mean they’ve lost some of those millions since the finale (general reminder to stop streaming any CW show on any official/paid platform, including Netflix, CW, Amazon etc)

Reminder to continue to kick CW in the ass like that. You guys just saw your impact. You know what your reach was?

Twitter has about 30M accounts. Literally like 1/4 of all twitter saw that. 1/4 of the social media world had it in their eyes. AND FRANKLY MOST ACCOUNTS ARE IDLE, THERE’S ABOUT 8 MILLION ACTIVE ONES

Imagine if you guys found a way to get together--like we were trying, before bloggers with agendas tried to make everyone scatter by spreading profuse lies about smaller bloggers making efforts--and use that reach to let that many people know they should stop streaming on the CW/Netflix/Etc with a coordinated message? Imagine if you got half the social media world to drop it on its ass? More than already did?

Mind you SPN was considered at 77x franchiseability/trend/watch level compared to the average TV show (GOT was like 227 or some shit for an idea). Now SPN is down to 34x. Still high? Sure. Also dropped in half basically. Or more realistically lost about a third of its digital watching overall.

Get all their content hit like that.  Don’t let it go back up. Coordinate with every GC and server you have and continue to kick them in the pants.

Also right now even if your friends won’t be in for the PERMANENT boycott haul, at least get them to immediately drop all watches in February, then in May, live or stream both. Just... convince them. They can catch up a month later. It’s a sweeps thing.

And it’s why the CW is gonna be in some shit because they weren’t expecting Walker to be clocking a low 0.21 THIS soon. It’s all they have until the end of February where they set up their big premieres for one day. Walker’s performance is their “highest” to try to cling on to 0.21 during sweeps to sell their ad space with everything else like 0.12-0.19. It’s why Jared’s also been popping on to livetweet--the digital side of sweeps.

What y’all just did was took one giant titanic shit all over their star product’s value level and that’s why they’re salty and spamming inboxes.

I’ve said it before--the only group I haven’t been able to vertically scale meaningful impact into the GA are the wincel-brand bronlies. The only time my SPN ratings were off was when I tried to vertically integrate their impact/protest of tombstone into the audience the same way as everyone else was integrated for influence/ad response/impact and guess what--I under-speculated Tombstone by about 0.04 points, which was the value I had given them by scaling up (as opposed to something like a realistic 0.01 impact lol-- less really.)

You can, for example, scale them up into the current Walker show-- but you can only scale up the interest as “Jared invested fans watching for Jared, mostly women, mostly 35-49”, and generally not “rolls themselves up in tinfoil and lives in spn_goss spreading conspiracies and hates Misha Collins and Destiel”. So sure. They’re probably, in that essence, giving Walker about 0.04. That’s a 0.04 they’ll probably never lose for that reason. But they have to worry about like 0.28 other points in the 25-54 age demographic, or the 18-34 just bottoming out (it’s already down to 0.09, even with the two dem overlaps).

Those same numbers made them furious because I pointed out at that time, Cas himself gave a 0.03 boost and Destiel advertisement per episode gave an extra 0.03 boost, based not only episode to episode but season averages--I ran charts based on it and completely removed special episodes like Scoobynatural so they couldn’t cry that was the reason. 

The same people calling you a minority or wtfever are the same dipshits that episodes bounce UP every time they boycott because they can’t even make a dip. There’s like like 400-- 200 of them that are casual level antis, 150 strongly opinionated but really just still vaguely out there, and like 40-50 core noisemakers.

There are literally. Millions. of Destiel fans in the GA. This idea of a monolithic, completely DeanCas blind GA that hates all’y’all? Completely made up. Certain people just profit off of keeping the myth alive: antis that want you to have to take them or their arguments seriously; blogs that want you to argue for certain points or had certain demands they wanted to feed you to “convince” the GA of anything. Like sure there’s homophobes in the world but they won’t just stop being assholes at a magic landmark I promise, if events haven’t proven that yet. But every single census has put y’all in the majority, ratings scaling has put y’all in the majority, the fact that you can trend things at the drop of a hat WITHOUT official support keeps you in the majority (when’s the last national trend you saw for J2-Only fuckbuckets that didn’t involve something like Walker livetweeting for Walker to push up numbers? That’s right, never.)

If I had a ring of infinite wishing, I’d wish everyone looked critically at this information and then had an awakening that this underdog idea of Destiel Vision magically stopping in fandom spaces when MOST OF YOU CAME INTO FANDOM SPACES BECAUSE YOU SAW DESTIEL IN THE SHOW, and this GA that unilaterally hates you-- like

Guys-- what do you think it means that even with a bunch of Destiel fans still streaming or rewatching, that even with all of that, SPN has dropped viewing/streaming tiers and lost more than half its franchiseability rating since that ending? Really?

Again: now imagine if you convinced all your friends to do the same, spread the same, trend the same.

Nuke the CW. All their shows.

[childabusesurvivor]

True Self-Care Is More Difficult Than We Make it Out to Be

New Post has been published on https://www.childabusesurvivor.net/reviews/2023/02/22/true-self-care-is-more-difficult-than-we-make-it-out-to-be/

True Self-Care Is More Difficult Than We Make it Out to Be

Note – As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases.

The recent issue of Anne Helen Petersen’s Culture Study is an interview with the author of Real Self Care (Affiliate Link), Dr. Pooja Lakshmin.

The topic, if I may be so bold as to try and describe it in a short sentence or two, is how there is an entire self-care industry that sells us more “things,” bath bombs, massage, wellness apps and retreats, designed to tick off the “self-care” box on our to-do list that never get to the root of the problem because the probles is systemic.

To quote Dr. Lakshmin from the interview:

And, going further, real self-care is an internal decision making process that can be layered into everything you do. As opposed to thinking of it as carving out self-care for a 15 minute pocket of the day, self-care needs to be threaded through the way we make decisions and design our lives.

There are several important reminders in the article about how a good walk in nature won’t solve for the 30 million Americans who don’t have health insurance or that 25% of Americans can’t take a day off with pay. That option isn’t available to them. Let alone the millions of people who can’t afford a massage, or who must work multiple jobs to afford housing where they live or single parents who struggle with having available childcare to work in the first place. Telling these people to take a relaxing bath isn’t solving anything.

I talk about this in the context of work often. A company culture that demans 60 hours of work per week but also says they encourage employee work-life balance doesn’t value work-life balance. They’ve made it another thing for the employee to be responsible for. Employers who offer PTO but see no problems with calling people on PTO or simply piling up work until they return are punishing people who take time off. This week, for example, Monday, was a company holiday. Tuesday was a day I chose to take off because it’s a state holiday where I live, MArdi Gras, even though I work remotely for a company that does not close for the day. That leaves me with a three day week. In many organizations, I would be expected to fit five days of productivity into those three days. For example, law firms often have a billable hour requirement per month. (Lawyers, and some staff members should be billing “x” number of hours per week/month/year.) Taking a day off means having to make up those hours somewhere. It’s a disincentive to self-care, even as those same firms will encourage people to use their PTO.

But, even in those situations, I have to acknowledge how privileged they are because many jobs in the US don’t have any of that, and many people wind up using their PTO not on self-care but child and elder care.

As much as I can talk about the benefits of taking a break, doing something nice for yourself, or having a hobby, we all need to acknowledge where self-care involves much harder life decisions. Yes, I do have a massage therapist that I see regularly and she is excellent at helping treat symptoms of my stress and anxiety. I can talk about that. I also need to talk more about the times I’ve made significant life changes as a form of self-help. Changes like leaving a job that was bad for my mental health, moving across the country, disconnecting myself from certain relationships, and having difficult conversations with people.

We also need to talk about how to change the systems that make it impossbile for other people to make those same kinds of decisions. We need to talk about the fact that no amount of self-care will make the world non-racist. There’s no self-care that women can do that will make the world safer for them, and no time spent relaxing will eliminate hatred towards LGBTQ people. Neuro-divergent people, those with disabilities, and countless other groups don’t have fair access to make an income. An extra hour of sleep isn’t going to fix that.

Yes, I believe in the importance of self-care. I will encourage it for everyone. It helps. But it can only help so much. Until this becomes a society that equally cares about everyone and actively seeks to offer care for everyone, self-care can only go so far. We need to recognize that and spend as much time promoting that as we do self-care.

Go back and read the entire interview.

#Insurance, #LGBTQ, #MentalHealth, #Nature, #SelfCare, #Stress

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Help news, not news-barons

More often than not, when I encounter a proposal to address monopoly power, I return to that old Irish joke: "If you wanted to get there, I wouldn't start from here."

Today, it's the proposal to save American news media by granting an exception to antitrust law so the news companies can form a cartel to bargain with the ad-tech duopoly represented by Googbook.

Let's start with the sleaziness of Googbook's ads. The ad-tech markets are rigged from asshole to appetite. Googbook defrauds buyers and sellers, collude to rig prices, and trouser billions for their trouble. It's not just sleazy, it's criminal.

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/20/sovkitsch/#adtech

Publishers are victimized by this fraud. The ad-tech duopoly uses funny accounting to shift billions from publishers of all kind to their own balance sheets (advertisers also suffer, but we're talking publishers at the moment).

The news industry deserves our sympathy for this, but they keep squandering it by saying stupid things like "Google steals from us by linking to our websites." These stupid things are credulously repeated by both the left- and right-wing press.

https://prospect.org/blogs/tap/will-google-stop-stealing-content-from-the-media/

Google and Facebook don't steal from publishers by sending them traffic. They don't steal from them by including short snippets from their articles. Neither of those things are stealing.

Googbook steals from publishers through ad-fraud and price-rigging.

It is frankly baffling to me that the news media has decided to ignore the vast, multi-billion-dollar fraud that is ad-tech in favor of the nonsensical proposition that directing readers to your articles and engaging in fair use quotation are crimes.

Writing for EFF's Deeplinks blog, my colleagues Katharine Trendacosta and Danny O'Brien describe the flaws in the Journalism Competition and Preservation Act, which proposes antitrust exemptions to news organizations to help them push back against Googbook.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/03/antitrust-exemption-news-media-wont-take-us-back-time-big-tech

To understand why this proposal is before the Congress, you have to understand that the dominant school of antitrust enforcement in the west is the "consumer harm" standard, popularized by Robert Bork when he was serving as Ronald Reagan's court sorcerer.

Bork was the Qanon of antitrust. He insisted that if you read the US's four founding antitrust statutes closely enough, you'd learn that despite the *explicit* language saying monopolies were bad because *they are monopolies*, Congress only intended to shut down *bad* monopolies.

What's a bad monopoly? A monopoly that raises prices. If you can't prove that a merger will lead to higher prices, it should be permitted. If you can't prove that higher prices after the merger were caused by monopoly, they should be forgiven.

Of course, Bork determined whether high prices could be attributed to a monopoly through complex economic models that only he and his friends at the University of Chicago economics department could create and interpret, and the models always said monopolies were fine.

Thus monopolies began to form in every industry, taking over one part of the supply chain or another. Once that happened, that element of the supply chain started to gouge everyone else. Every other part of the supply chain had to monopolize in self-defense.

Bork's version of antitrust is pro-monopoly, but anti-cartel. If six companies form an agreement to insist on a certain price, the FTC will flay them alive. But if they merge into *one* company and fix the prices, the FTC is fine with it.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/03/16/wage-theft/#excessive-buyer-power

That's why the news industry wants the Journalism Competition and Preservation Act. Ad-tech is a duopoly and Googbook colludes to rig the ad market, stealing billions from publishers. Publishers, meanwhile, are highly concentrated, but not so concentrated as Googbook.

They want to form a cartel to collectively bargain for more money from Googbook, but they need an antitrust waiver first, or the FTC will chain them to a boulder and send an eagle to peck out their liver every day for 1,000 years.

We need an active, independent news media. But if you want to get there, I wouldn't start from here. The news industry today is not a collection of scrappy, independent businesses devoted to telling the truth. Those businesses are long gone, emulsified by Googbook's frauds.

Their assets were snapped up at fire-sale prices by "hedge funds, private equity ghouls, and giant media near-monopolies." They are debt-loaded zombies puppeteered by vulture capitalists and billionaire dilettantes with pretensions of saviorhood.

And while the beloved papers of yesteryear were finished off by the internet, they were easy pickings, thanks to Wall Street's financial engineering. Long before Craig started Craiglist and diverted the easy money of classified ads, the newspapers were being hollowed out.

The newspaper families sold out to corporate raiders in leveraged buyouts that left the papers drowning in debt. These corporate geniuses merged papers into chains and fired local reporters *and* local salespeople, consolidating them to realize "efficiencies."

They flogged off the papers' head offices and printing plants, often selling the presses themselves, leasing back the assets they'd once owned, exposing themselves to rent- and interest-shocks.

*Then* the internet came along, and an industry that had weathered innumerable technological shocks from the telegraph to 24-hour cable, from radio to satellites, was too sickly and starved to do it again.

The internet is good at providing classified ad alternatives, but firing the sales agents who'd spent a lifetime building relationships with local merchants left the papers with no home court advantage.

And switching from reporters with distinctive insights and audiences to wire-services meant that when the newspapers went online, much of what they published was word-for-word identical to their competitors.

If you want to get there, don't start from here. Saving the press by allowing the scumbags who bought the husks from the sociopaths that produced them is a fool's errand. We don't need collective bargaining for media companies: we need collective bargaining for JOURNALISTS.

And we need to fix the ad-tech market: unwind mergers, prosecute fraud, introduce competition.

That's what they edged towards in Australia with the news bargaining effort.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/21/paltrow-industrial-complex/#facecrook

The Australian proposal mandated algorithmic transparency, a ban on retaliation against publishers that opt out of the duopoly, and other measures that were a welcome step to cleaning up the dirty ad-tech market.

But none of that came to fruition: instead, the Australian process turned into a pissing match between Facebook and Rupert Murdoch, and the two giants eventually struck a private deal that sidestepped any of these requirements.

As Danny and Katharine write, "Congress should focus its attention on making the sweeping changes to antitrust law we so desperately need. Figure out how to curb these oligopolies’ power."

[authorialarcanist]

It Seems I'll Never Understand (Kagerou Project)

Genre: Angst

Rating: Mature

Pairing(s): Tateyama Ayano x Kisaragi Shintaro

Summary: "...Hey, Shintaro. Why'd you do it? I mean... You could have stayed out of it. It wasn't your fight."

In a world where Shintaro Kisaragi was the one who killed himself on that fateful august day two years prior, Ayano isn't sure what she can do with her life. Living in fear of the Snake of Clearing Eyes, all she can do is think back on the past, and wonder - why it was that her best friend took her place when she's sure he must have hated her, and when was it that it all went wrong.

Shinaya roleswap with a focus on making it work with as few changes to canon as possible.

---

It’s late - late enough that it’s gotten truly dark out. I’m walking along the road to my home, a boy next to me. The bridge we’re crossing seems to stretch out endlessly into the distance, illuminated only by the moon and the street-lamps we’re passing by.

I fiddle with my scarf absentmindedly as I steal a glance at his face. I’m so glad… I was finally able to become friends with him. Or, well… maybe ‘friends’ isn’t the right word just yet. To him, I’m sure I’m still just that stupid girl who made him tutor her for hours after class.

Still… I tell myself that this is the most important first step. Mm-hm. Now that I’ve introduced myself, I’m sure that we’ll be friends - real friends - in no time at all.

“You really saved my life! I never would’ve been able to finish that problem set on my own.” I grin weakly as my babbling inevitably turns to self-deprecation. Ah, well… after my terrible performance back there, trying to act cool for my new friend was a lost cause already. Well, if this was a manga, at least this might be the part where the aloof genius breaks character to reassure me that I can do it?

“Even with my help, it took you way too long…” He sighs. “Geez. I only came here to get my wallet, too. I must be really unlucky.”

—Yeah, right. I’ve only known this guy for a few hours now, but it’s pretty obvious that tender support isn’t his strong suit.

“I really am sorry…” I shrink a little under his criticism. “But! I promise, I won’t forget about today!”

“What are you saying? Didn’t you just say you forget things no matter how much you study?” Ow… I guess I did say that, but… he really has no faith in me at all, huh?

But he just doesn’t get it! Not quite panicking, I redouble my efforts to explain myself. “Today’s special! I’m going to try extra hard not to forget, so it’ll be okay!”

He hums in contemplation and stares away into the distance. And then—

—“Liar.”

I recoil from the sudden accusation. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“You’ve broken your promise already, haven’t you? You can’t even remember my name.”

He picks up his pace, and though I try to follow, I can’t seem to move forward.

“Huh? Of course I can!”

“Really? Then why haven’t you said it?”

“Why are you so focused on that all of a sudden?”

“Say it, Ayano.”

“Stop it!”

“Say my name.”

“I— You’re—“ Tears spill from my eyes. I’m trying to say it. Why — why is this happening? Why couldn’t we just keep walking together, chatting about nothing important, like friends do?

“…Yeah. I thought so.” He stops walking, and for some reason, I freeze as well. I have no choice but to watch his back as he speaks. “I guess it’s not your fault, though. Sorry.” He shakes his head. “But… Try to remember, okay?”

He turns to face me again.

His eyes are red.

“If you can’t remember soon, then—“

——

Knock. Knock. Knock. Three hesitant raps on my door.

The sound wakes me from my dream. Already, it’s growing too hazy to remember. All I can say for certain is that hewas there.

He’s always there in my dreams. Maybe it’s some cruel balance for the fact that he’ll never be there again in real life.

“Ayano?”

At the sound of the voice calling for me, I turn over in my bed and bury my face in my pillow, trying not to make any sound to indicate that I’m awake.

“Ayano, please, I know you’re in there. I just want to talk.”

I don’t respond. My father is dead. That’s the best way to think of it. The safest way to think of it. Even when the snake lets him out, it’s only in the hopes of getting me to snap.

“Ayano, I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been the best father to you, since your mother died. But please, I just want to know what happened. What happened to Shuuya and Tsubomi and Kousuke. Why you won’t talk to me. Ayano, please.”

My hands clench against the pillow. I force myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

“Ayano…”

In.

Out.

“…Just… think about it, okay? I’m here, if you’re ever ready to talk. Even if you need another two years, I’ll still be here.”

A lie. Dad won’t be here. Just the snake.

“…I love you.”

I stay silent, waiting until the sound of footsteps fades from my hearing. No matter how many times I go through this, it never gets any easier. But… I can’t talk to him.

Even if the snake wasn’t privy to his every thought, I can’t bring myself to speak with the man who sold my world.

“…Is… he gone?” A tinny voice whispers from my computer’s speaker.

I listen for a moment. When nothing happens, I nod. “Yeah.”

My computer monitor lights up as it exits sleep mode, and a girl in blue peeks out from her hiding place behind a browser window. “…I still don’t understand why you don’t leave here, Ayano-chan…”

I shake my head. “I… I just can’t. I’m sorry, Ene.” Ene… that’s what this girl calls herself. About a year ago, she popped out of an email and decided to stick around. She tried to put on this sassy, hyper front at first, but it fell apart pretty quickly.

I’m pretty sure I know who she really is, after all. And she knows I know. I just haven’t been cruel enough to push the topic.

It’s not like she has much of anywhere else to go, after all.

“…Okay. I get it.” She looks down at the taskbar and pokes her index fingers together. “Just… hang in there, okay, Ayano-chan? Do your best.”

“Like my best has ever mattered,” I mumble, and sit down at my computer chair. To be honest, my activities since dropping out of school two years ago have been nothing, nothing, and a heaping dessert of nothing. It’s not like I have any sort of online life to speak of, even. It’s just that… ultimately, there’s nothing else to do when I’m living under the same roof as my father. I can’t risk going outside at the wrong time and having to face him. At least he respects the boundaries of my room; and the snake finds it convenient to leave me a sanctuary under his supervision for as long as he doesn’t have any need of me.

“…So, um… Ayano-chan?” Ene glances up at me, a little shyly. “Can I ask about whether…”

Ah. That. I shake my head. “…I’m sorry. I’ve tried talking to him while my father was away, but Konoha really doesn’t seem to remember anything about us.” Konoha… the white-haired boy the Clearing Eyes took in really is just another reminder of my failures. Still, I know that’s not hisfault, and I can’t really blame Ene for being too scared to check up on him herself. Talking to him hurts badly enough for me, and I still hadn’t been quite as close to Haruka as she was. Honestly though, whenever I’d felt safe enough to slip out and check on him, Konoha had seemed pretty nonresponsive. Forget remembering me and Ene; he didn’t seem to remember anything, not even basic things like rain.

“I see…” Ene droops. This happens every time she brings up Konoha; as much as she’s tried to be around for me, I don’t have the first idea how to comfort her when this topic comes up.

Well, honestly, I don’t think I’m in a place to be comforting much of anyone. Back when I tried all those years ago, it only ended in pain.

In the end, I go with the tried and true method of pretending I didn’t see anything. When there’s nothing you can do, acknowledging the problem only ends in more tears, after all. I pass the day mindlessly browsing the web and making more paper cranes for the army that chokes every available surface in my room. Occasionally, I can’t help but fantasize about what things might be like if I had Paper-Animating Eyes. Sending an army of little origami birds to get revenge on the Clearing Eyes… it’d definitely be a more efficient way of getting a wish granted.

Ah well.

At least my father has work during the day and the snake has better things to do than waste time in this lonely house during the nighttime, so I’m able to check on Konoha and grab something from the kitchen for lunch on most days. That’s particularly important, because dinner can be much more spotty, depending on whether my father is in a “bury his problems in work” mood or a “try desperately to be present to make up for selling his soul to an evil snake” one. Well, okay, I really don’t know how much he’s able to retain about what the Clearing Eyes does when in control of his body, but if he really is oblivious about everything that might actually be worse.

Unfortunately he seems to be in a “try to atone” cycle right now, so I’m running off of a single meal when the knocks return once again.

“Ayano.”

Ene hides behind the browser window again, and I click off of the tab showing a video of a mongoose taking down a snake.

…What? Look, I have to deal with the spite somehow.

“I know you’re in there.”

I stay silent.

“I’ve got another mission for you, Ayano. You know the deal by now.”

I freeze. This isn’t dad.

“I trust I don’t need to spell it out for you?”

It’s the other one.

“I’m waiting.Or is this some pathetic attempt at rebellion? If so, I have to applaud. It’s the most pointless one yet.”

I finally find my voice. “I-I understand.”

“Heh. Good.” The snake chuckles. “Two children are coming to stay in this house soon. Your father’s sister-in-law, and some hanger-on. When they’re here, you’re going to be the model of a big sister, understand? Get them to trust you, and then make sure they’re in a certain place on August fifteenth.”

I shrink in on myself. Children? Please, no…

“I said, understand?You know what’ll happen to your family if you refuse…”

“N-no!” I shoot to my feet in panic. “No… I understand…”

“Good.” What should be my father’s voice drips with malice. “See? Wasn’t that easy? Goodbye, Ayano.” Saying the last two words in an odd sing-song voice, the snake leaves. I collapse back into my chair, hugging myself.

“A-ayano-chan…” Ene peeks back out from her hiding spot.

I turn to her with wide eyes.

“Ayano-chan, you don’t have to do this. Please, we can fight back. I’ll help you.”

…If only. But no, I know it’s hopeless.

I can’t fight the snake. All I can do is delay the inevitable.

I shake my head, and start disconnecting the speakers from my computer. If Ene tried to do something brave, and the Clearing Eyes found out…

“…Ayano, please…”

I pull the plug on my monitor. Ene may still have access to the inside of my computer, but the most she’ll be able to do in the house is open and close the CD drive.

“…sorry…” I whisper quietly to myself, even though I know she can’t hear me.

God, how did things turn out this way?

——

I have many precious memories, moments I’ve spent these past two years trying desperately not to forget. Reading storybooks at bedtime with my mom. Meeting my little siblings for the first time. The way my dad’s face used to look when he’d play with us, long before everything happened.

If you were to look through those treasured days, flipping from one to another as though they were files secreted away in a lockbox, one might still stand out from the rest. Perhaps it’s laminated, or hidden behind a false back. Not because it’s more precious than the others - I wouldn’t trade my family for anything - but because it’s unique nonetheless. A moment elevated in its rarity, and in the pain it brings me - not the dull ache of my mom’s face, nor the stabbing betrayal of my father’s failures and mine, but a gaping void of ‘what if’s.

The first time I ever got to see Shintaro smile.

It was during our second year of middle school, a couple months after the day I finally introduced myself. The last test I’d gotten back had been my lowest score yet, and with exams rushing to meet me, I was honestly in a panic.

But then, Shintaro’d spoken up. For the very first time, he gave me a totally unprompted offer to help me study.

“Thank you so much,” I’d sobbed. “I don’t know what I was gonna do…”

“Ugh, don’t be annoying about it!” He’d refused to meet my eyes as he grumbled. “I just know that if you failed your exams I’d somehow get dragged into helping you catch back up. It’s just easier to get this over with this early, alright?”

Whatever his stated reasons, I still felt like I’d been saved when he stuck around to help me pound the latest lessons into my skull. And I don’t know if we finished faster than usual, if something good had happened to him at home, or if his guard was just down that day for some other reason, but one way or another, he decided to stick around and chat for a bit afterwards.

I can still picture it clearly. That sunny classroom, me perched on my desk to bask in the light from the window, him leaning his chair back as we killed time… and the glint of light that drew my eye to the spine of a book just peeking out of his bag.

“Hm? Hey, Shintaro?”

“What?” He glanced lazily back at me.

I tilted my head to read what I could from the spine. It rung a bell; I’d overheard some of the other girls in our class talking about it from time to time. “Isn’t that ‘Let’s Fall In Love’?”

“HUH?” I winced at the sudden crash as Shintaro lost his balance and fell in a heap.

“Ah! Are you okay? I’m sorry!” I rushed to help him up, but he just scrambled back until he was pressed against the wall.

“W-w-w-what are you talking about? I-I don’t, I mean, that’s not—“ Shintaro grabbed suddenly for his bag, but his hand missed its mark and sent the contents spilling out as it toppled over instead. The book landed face up, its cover proudly displaying a drawing of a boy and a girl standing together in a very shoujo-esque artstyle. Emblazoned above the picture was ‘Let’s Fall in Love ~ by Yumeno Sakiko.’

“Umm…”

“I mean! It’s Momo’s! Yeah! My little sister wouldn’t stop pestering me, so I picked up her copy for her, uh-huh! I definitely don’t read shoujo manga!” His stuttering picked up pace as he scrambled for excuses, and I couldn’t help it - some part of me kinda wanted to watch him squirm for a little longer.

So, I grinned slyly and searched my memory of my classmates’ conversations. “Uh-huh? You know, with how Mamiko and Oze were talking in the latest chapter, don’t you think there might be a chance they’ll—“

“THAT’S HERESY!” Shintaro slammed his hands down on the ground, and I winced at the sudden spike in volume. “Mamiko and Suzuki are meantto be together!” He clenched his fist and held it to his chest. “I can’t imagine how anyone would think otherwise after that moment in volume 7! And anyways, Oze and Waka may be having a fight right now, but everyone… knows…” He trailed off as my control failed me and I started to giggle. “…Fine. You caught me. Happy now?”

At the sight of him forcing down a pout and struggling to regain a serious expression, I laughed even harder.

“…So I like shoujo manga. Is it really that funny to you?”

“No, no! I’m sorry!” I did my best to get myself under control. “It’s not that, honestly. You just looked so earnest, and then you kept trying to hide it… If reading that sort of thing makes you happy, then I think that’s a goodthing! It’s actually kinda c—“ I suddenly realized what I was about to say, and blushed heavily. “—I mean, it’s kinda cool! Yeah! You shouldn’t worry what other people will think about your interests, you know?” Oh yeah, that was an absolutely stellarsave, Ayano. Absolutely nobody was gonna suspect that you almost called your classmate ‘cute’ without thinking. Aside from, I dunno, people with eyes.

Thankfully, all of that intelligence must have come out of Shintaro’s perceptiveness instead, because he let it pass without comment. “So…” Shintaro seemed to be looking anywhere in the room other than my face, which might have helped the whole ‘not noticing my face doing a bonfire impression’ thing. “Do… you also read it, then?”

“Huh?”

“Y, you know! ‘Let’s Fall in Love’!”

“A, ah! Right!” I snapped out of my thoughts. Right, let’s just pretend that slip never happened for now, and I can unpack whatever the heck it meant on my own time, when I won’t make my one school friend think I’m even more of a weirdo than he already does. “Ehehe… Not really, actually.” I scratched the back of my head and grinned sheepishly. “I was just parroting something I overheard. I’m more into the shounen stuff, you know? Hot-blooded super sentai fighting to save the world, and all that.”

“Really? But they’re so formulaic. You can see everything coming from a mile away. And how do those guys get through posing dressed like that and not die of embarrassment?”

Well, I couldn’t just sit there and take that. “What? Hold on a moment, like your mushy stuff is any better! Aren’t they all just ‘boy meets girl, cue nothing happening for the rest of their school lives’?”

“Wh— they are not!There’s nuanceand relationship growth and everything!” Woah. Shintaro was looking about the most fired up I’d ever seen him! At that thought, an idea clicked in my head.

“Hmm… Alright, then!” I grinned at him and gave a sharply enunciated chuckle, heh-heh-heh. “Why don’t you tell me more about this series, and if you manage to change my mind I’ll give reading it a try? And then, in return, you’ll watch an episode of Engine Sentai Go-Onger with me, and we’ll see how you feel about heroes after that!”

Shintaro rose to the challenge. “Fine! Come on then, I’ll teach you about why Yumeno-sensei is a master! I mean, her portrayal of Mamiko’s inner struggles alone touches the heart, even for a boy like me! There’s this moment in chapter 12 when she…” He lit up as he talked, gesturing wildly with the plot points. I’m a little ashamed to say that I actually stopped paying attention after a few moments, because my focus suddenly seemed drawn to his face. He was grinning - actually grinning, the first genuine smile I’d seen from him in, well, ever- as he opened up about his interest.

I can only remember thinking two things as we walked home that day.

The first was, ‘What a pretty smile.’

The second was, ‘…oh. Crap.’

…So, yeah. It looked like I maybe had a teeny little crush. That was okay! It was fine! It meant I was finally starting to grow up, right? Anyways, whatever Shintaro’s romance manga said, I was pretty sure that people were supposed to get a lot of those with time. They didn’t have to mean anything, or, y’know, gamble their only real non-family friendships on the chance that someone who was really smart and cute would still want to hang out with a dumb girl they barely tolerated helping out if she asked.

Not a problem! I’d just go about my life as normal, and it’d fade in time. Eventually, I’d probably look back on this day and laugh.

…And if in the meantime, I wanted to see him smiling like that again? Well, that could be my little secret.

——

Of course, let nobody accuse me of being a good planner. Obviously, the darn thing only seemed to get stronger with time. Wanting to see Shintaro smile because I wanted him to be happy slowly morphed into wanting to be the reasonhe was smiling like that. Hoping that maybe, if I could be the one to make this lonely boy smile, that’d mean I was actually worth somethingreally the hero I pretended to be.

Mom died, and I had to be the strength for the whole family as dad seemed like half his world had gone missing, but no matter how much I needed comfort of my own, I wasn’t ready to tell him.

We met Takane and Haruka, and one friend turned into three, but even though I’d only be gambling 33% instead of 100, I was still too scared to tell him.

And then I found out that dad had changed, what the thing in his body had planned for Haruka and Takane and my siblings, and suddenly my stupid little feelings didn’t seem so important. I had to research the read eyes, and I needed Shuuya to cover for me, and in the end I didn’t have the attention to spare for my friend my crush my…

…for Shintaro. Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice our growing distant. Why I didn’t notice things growing strained.

Why I didn’t notice that I really was just burdening him with my own expectations.

Didn’t notice until a hill at sunset, a hand snatched away, his back receding into the distance while I stood alone.

After that, I wondered about a lot of things. How much had been genuine, and how much really had just been putting up with me. How much of my motives had been pure, and how much had been that dark little thrill of seeing him down and feeling like I was still needed.

How cruel it must have been, to plan what I was planning and still try to hold onto his hand until the last minute.

So I didn’t try again. I delegated as much school time as I could to Shuuya (and carefully didn’t wonder why his face was growing more stressed, why his own time seemed to draw thin.) I withdrew further, and dedicated everything I had to my lonely mission. August fifteenth came all too soon at last, and I shoved my responsibilities onto Takane, told her to be honest with her feelings even as I swore that my own were better ignored. I wrapped my scarf around my neck, the colour of a hero, I steeled myself and turned to mount the stairs, and I was interrupted.

“Shuuya? What are you doing?” My little brother had arrived in front of me, hands on his knees as he gasped for breath.

“N, neechan, please!” Panting, Shuuya raised his eyes to meet mine. They glistened with tears. “You have to— you have to stop Shintaro-kun! He’s about to do something really stupid!”

“Huh?” I was taken aback. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s already gone to the roof! I couldn’t do anything! Neechan, please!”

“The roof?” I still didn’t understand, but I burst into a run anyways, leaving my brother behind. Why was Shintaro even here today, when he didn’t need summer school? Why did Shuuya know about it? What could he be doing on the roof, other than…?

He wasn’t involved. God, please, he wasn’t involved, why was he here?

I took the steps two at a time, ignoring the pain shooting through my lungs, and had no choice but to stop for breath and lean against the wall for a moment when I finally reached the door leading outside.

My father’s voice filtered in from outside. No - not my father. The thingwearing his skin. “Honestly, kid.” He sounded mildly exasperated, like my dad did whenever a student had turned in a particularly baffling answer on a quiz. “You think that you’re gonna be the big damn hero? You really think there’s a single thing you can do here to beat me?”

“No.” Shintaro, this time. “Honestly, it’s a stupid plan. Totally useless in every way. But hey.” A dark chuckle. “Objectively speaking, the life of a rotten boy like me is just worthless enough to make it worth trying.”

I’d finally caught my breath, but at that it caught in my throat. Did he mean—

I burst through the door, screaming, “Shintaro, NO!” The roof was empty except for two people. My father, standing on solid ground looking mildly vexed. And Shintaro, clad in that red jersey I’d said I liked, the color of a hero, sitting perched half-on the fence around the edge of the roof and half dangling over open air.

His eyes met mine, and no matter how hard I try I know I’ll never forget the way his face clouded over, the way his eyes darkened, or the words he said to me at that moment.

“…Oh.

“Ayano.

“The very last person I wanted to see.”

His final curse delivered, he leaned back. The world distorted around him, horrible discordant red tearing open fangs in the sky.

And he fell.

I must have screamed, but it’s a blur. I just know that by the time I came to, I’d fallen on my knees, and the thing that took my father was laughing.

Laughing.

“Ha! You kids never fail to surprise me, you know that? I never once would have expected that depressing little thing to get up off his ass and do something like this!” He paused. “Well okay, I guess I would, but the part where he tried to stand up to me was still new.”

Before I even knew what I was doing, I’d jumped to my feet and was tackling him. “SHUT UP!”

“Whoops!” Somehow, my father’s body stepped out of the way before I could react. I found myself impacting concrete and rolling on the roof, scrapes all over my body where I’d fallen. “Come on, brat. You’re a big girl now, you should be used to hearing swear words by now. Or wait, are you angry about the boy?”

With a wordless scream, I threw myself at him again, but this time he casually stuck out a leg and tripped me.

“You might still have time to save him, you know. Throw yourself off the roof after him, and maybe you could convince him to come on out and bring me that snake he stole.” He sneered. “Of course, it’d mean making this whole little sacrifice play all for nothing. And this guy” he tapped the side of my father’s head, “might even willingly help me kill the brat if you did! Oh, now thatdespair would be delicious to see.”

I swallowed the pain as my fists clenched, scraped raw though they were. “…Shut up. You… you’re just trying to convince me because you know your plan’s finished. You can’t gather the snakes now. There’s no… no more reason to kill Takane and Haruka, or the others.”

*snrk.* The monster covered his mouth with a hand.

“What’s supposed to be so funny?”

“Ha! Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just… you think this kid managed to save your friends? Please.” He rolled his eyes. “He was too late. They’re already dead.” He shrugged and continued in a sing-song voice. “And anyways, the boy was a goner already. You should be thankingme; this way, at least he has a chanceof living for another year or two.”

“W…what…?” I slumped, the fight draining from my veins. No. It couldn’t be. Takane and Haruka… they were gone, too?

My “father” walked up to me and rested a hand on my shoulder. To anyone watching, it might have just looked like a father comforting his daughter; but I could feel his fingers dig into my flesh in a vice grip. “Still, working this all back out from the top is going to be a pain. And that’s not even counting all of the cleanup I have to do! It’s one thing for those other two kids; I’d made preparations for them. But spinning the sudden disappearance of this brat, too? No, that’s far too much work.” He crouched down until he was level with me, a too-wide smile on his face. A shiver ran down my spine. “So, Ayano.I’m going to have you do me a little favor, alright? And before you consider trying to do something brave, consider just who it is that has your family’s life in his hands, hmm? Don’t say anything; just nod.” I nodded, stricken. Everything I’d planned had come to nothing in a few short minutes. “You’re going to find Shuuya for me, and you’re going to have him go make himself look like this guy -“ he waved vaguely at the empty edge of the roof - “’s body for me. A suicide should be easy enough to explain away. Especially when the victim was as gloomy-looking as this asshole here. Honestly, people’re gonna think it was a miracle he lasted as long as he did.” My fists clenched again at relentless slander, but there was nothing I could do. I was totally and utterly defeated. “You got it, Ayano? Do this, and I’ll let the people you care about live a little longer.” He chuckled. “…Well, what’s left of them, at least. Hahahaha!”

How could I have ever thought I could be a hero? All I’d managed to do was arrive too late to save either of the snake’s intended victims, and drag a bystander to his death in the process.

In the end, tears streaming down my face, all I could do was nod.

——

“Neechan!” Shuuya rushed up to me the minute I exited the school. He grabbed my hands - I didn’t resist - and gasped at the scrapes all over them. “What happened to you? Where’s Shintaro-kun?”

“Shintaro— He’s—“ My voice caught.

“Nee…chan…?” I could see the exact moment Shuuya caught on. His eyes widened and his face fell, all in one motion. “Dammit! And just when the guy starts to convince me he’s not all bad, he has to go and do something like this…” His hands tightened involuntarily around mine, but I couldn’t even find the energy to wince.

I spoke in a flat voice, forcing myself to put one word in front of the next. “Shuuya. There’s something very important I need you to do.”

“Huh? What is it?”

“You need to use your power to turn into Shintaro. Let somebody discover ‘his’ body, so there’ll be a record. If you don’t, then… then he’ll…” My voice caught again, but I forced myself to continue before Shuuya could ask any questions. “And then there’s one more thing you need to do. I need you to take Tsubomi and Kousuke, and go away. Go somewhere far away from here, and don’t— don’t tell me anything about where you’re going. You can’t contact me at all, okay? I can’t have any way to find out more about you.”

“W—what?”

“It’s the only way that you’re going to be safe. I… we can’t stop the Clearing Eyes. He can have you all killed in a moment.”

Shuuya must have been able to see the seriousness in my eyes, because he didn’t try to debate the point. “Okay, but… Why can’t you come with us? We can all run, that’ll be safer!”

I just shook my head. “…No. He… he’ll find me, somehow. He knew how to respond to everything that I tried. Anything I do… no matter what, I’m sure he’ll…” I hugged myself and started slowly walking towards the path home. It was clear to me now. I was nothing more than a puppet dancing on the Clearing Eyes’ strings.

“W-wait, Neechan! Come back!”

“Goodbye, Shuuya. Please don’t forget to do what I told you. Consider it… My final request as your sister.”

“NEECHAN!”

——

“…Hey, Shintaro. Why’d you do it?”

I lie on my back, staring at the empty ceiling as I talk to the air.

“I mean… You could have stayed out of it. It wasn’t your fight.”

The cranes crowding every surface above me seem to swirl and distort, like a heat haze.

My head keeps playing his final moments on repeat. Even as the happy days grow dimmer and dimmer, I can’t seem to forget his last words no matter how hard I try.

‘The very last person I wanted to see.’

“If… if you hated me so much, why didn’t you just let me be the one to jump? Why take my place?”

I wonder… if I’d been the one to jump that day, would he have been able to do what I couldn’t? I indulge in a brief fantasy of Shintaro, red jacket flapping behind him, standing tall with my siblings as they face down the Clearing Eyes together.

…Somehow, I just can’t see it. Sorry, Shintaro.

‘The life of a rotten boy like me is worthless’

“…Did you hate yourselfthat much? Were you so sick of life that you grabbed the first excuse you could find?”

…Maybe. But… somehow, as much as he tried to shut the world out, I can’t help but see Shintaro as someone who was brimming with life underneath it all. At the very least, whenever he talked about his sister, he didn’t seem like he’d want to leave her.

The thought of Momo-chan makes me wince. Another memory, this time of her crying and screaming at me when I’d tried to comfort her.

When I’d broken down and sobbed that it was all my fault.

I can’t blame her for hating me. To be honest, I wonder if it wasn’t what I was secretly hoping for.

Just another case where Ayano’s self-satisfaction came before actually doing her job.

My alarm clock rings. I’d set it instead of my phone, to make sure Ene couldn’t try and be a hero. (I can’t help but hope that she’s given up on me, and found her way to somebody who’ll be a better friend.) It means that the children…

…my victims…

…should be arriving soon.

I push myself to my feet. In the end, even blaming myself is just pointless self-satisfaction. I’ve made the choice to play this role; I made the decision that these two children were worth less than the family I know and care about.

It doesn’t take too long to get myself presentable. I choose an outfit that looks like its owner hasn’t been in hiding for the last two years, and glance at my scarf, hanging wrinkled and dusty on a hook.

My hands shake.

And I turn away without touching it. I don’t deserve to wear that color.

Not when red is the color of blood.

“Sorry, Shintaro. Guess you made the wrong trade, in the end. Even a genius like you makes mistakes, huh?”

With that snide remark, I turn my back on his sacrifice and walk out into the house.

…Still, a thought flits across my mind.

—Ah, I would have liked to see that smile, just one more time.

The doorbell rings. It’s time.

I hide my feelings behind a smile, painting it from ear to ear.

And I open the front door.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

3 Simple Rules for Dating a Centenarian - ch. 3

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Chapters: 3/3

Read chapters one and two on Tumblr.

Chapter three summary: Sam and Bucky take a breather from Sharon’s party in High Town.

Sam walks back into the room from before. The one that could be a high-end boutique, or the lobby of a shady but untouchable law firm, or the backdrop for a photoshoot featuring an Avenger who wanted their surroundings to exude enviable elegance and expensiveness without at all detracting from their presence. Not to name names, or speak disdainfully of the dead.

Shrugging off the brown leather jacket Sharon leant him, Sam tosses it at the couch. Yeah, technically it’s on a collision course with the back of Bucky’s head, but since Bucky dodges without turning to look, he figures he can claim poor aim. Which Sam would normally never do, especially to Bucky, but he has downed a few drinks tonight. Sharon wanted them to blend in at the party; Sam couldn’t see an easier way to blend than by doing his bit to deplete the contents of the event’s bar. He sure as hell wasn’t going to stand there pumping his arm to the beat like that motherfucker Zemo. Sam doesn’t know exactly what to blame for the Baron’s excruciating dance moves, he’s just glad he got away. Being near enough to Zemo for people to assume they were acquainted? Come on. That’s just insult on top of injury.

Bucky’s head swivels to follow him once Sam tracks into his line of sight.

“Where’s Zemo?” is the first thing he says.

Sam avoids his gaze until he’s good and comfortable on the couch at his side. It’s closer than he meant to be, since the damn thing has a curve to it, but the chairs don’t look comfortable. Unless, he supposes, you’re a percher, like Sharon. Sam doesn’t perch.

To cover for the fact that he picked his seat without thorough reconnaissance and is, with his inhibitions a little lower than usual, both far too nervous and not nearly nervous enough, Sam spreads his knees to take up even more of the couch, draping his arms along the back. Finally, he glances at Bucky.

“Sharon’s doing her shift as babysitter,” Sam says.

“Hasn’t she done enough?”

“You wanna go back down there and spell her, be my guest.”

“Nah,” Bucky says, “I think I’m good.”

Bucky’s jacket is gone too, Sam notes, moving his own from where it landed to the chair opposite. Briefly, he lets himself be curious. Why does Sharon have a wardrobe of men’s clothes in enough sizes and styles to reasonably clad himself, Bucky, and Zemo for the evening? Are these things expensive? Are they valuable, like the Monet he saw on the way in? Maybe the clothes on his back belonged to some celebrity and are set to be sold off to the highest bidder. If that weren’t a selling point before, it could be now—everything itemized and tagged as having been worn by Sam Wilson, the Falcon, the Man Who Wouldn’t Be Captain America.

In the short silence, Sam feels himself beginning to frown, but he’s just the right side of buzzed to prevent those thoughts from dragging him down. He’s a cheerful drunk. Always has been. A hugger, a giggler, a piggyback ride-giver in his younger years.

“Do you think she’s doing alright?” Bucky asks, forever ready to be morose. “Sharon?” Sam wants to stick his finger in the indentation between Bucky’s eyebrows and wiggle it until the seriousness drops from his face. He wants to smooth his thumb over Bucky’s chin, wipe out the memory of Zemo’s touch when he offered Bucky to Selby like a thing instead of a human being. “I know she took your deal, a favour for a favour, but I’ve been trying to work out what my debt to her is. My notebook—”

“There’s no math for it, Buck,” Sam says. Though his tone is lazy, his words are certain. “Who owes what to who. We just have to make it right.” Mildly annoyed that he’s been drawn back into a heavy conversation, he sighs and slings his foot up to rest his ankle on his opposite knee. The movement bumps Bucky’s thigh momentarily. “Think I might owe Sharon a little less now that she made me wear a turtleneck to that party.”

Bucky snorts a laugh. Sam turns his head and gives him the finger, though he’s also smiling.

“I’m laughing at what you said,” Bucky claims, “not the shirt. You coulda picked something else.”

“It’s black and doesn’t have a pattern. After that Smiling Tiger getup, I felt like being inconspicuous, ok?”

“Ok. You don’t need my approval.”

“You’re damn right I don’t,” Sam agrees, still grinning.

“Suits you,” Bucky half-mumbles.

Sam huffs from his nose, all his laughter in that puff of air as he faces forward again, then tips his head back to check out Sharon’s high ceiling. With nothing but night through the tall windows and the room under-illuminated by the two lamps either left on by their host or switched on by Bucky, the ceiling’s dark grey instead of white. Shadowy. Unlike the menacing shadows that seemed to stretch after them on the streets of Low Town, sending an unpleasant tickle up the back of Sam’s neck, these are soft. It’s a surprisingly peaceful end to the day, considering what the past 24 hours have encompassed. Suddenly, Sam feels as though he’s been awake a long, long time. Doesn’t mean he’s ready to sleep yet.

“So,” he says, “downstairs. Why’d you leave? Most date-like thing we’ve done yet and I tear my eyes away from the trainwreck of Zemo’s dancing to find you gone.”

“The noise, the crowd, Zemo,” Bucky emphasizes, “like you said.”

“You brought him.”

“I know, I just…” Bucky slumps forward and hangs his head, hands clasped between his knees. He turns pained eyes on Sam and Sam moves his hand from the back of the couch to Bucky’s shoulder. From there to his upper back. From a grounding pressure to a gentle rub. Just a couple times, but he doesn’t pull away, perennially touchy when less than sober. “I don’t want him to control me.”

“He doesn’t,” Sam says firmly. “You were yourself at Selby’s.”

“His version of me. I don’t like the reminder. I don’t want to find out if I’d do it again, in that crowd of people, attack someone just because he told me to.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. I’m trusting you not to.”

“Is that smart?” Bucky asks, expression raw. Sam can feel the heat of his back through his shirt.

“It’s not totally smart. Can’t be, with you involved.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and smiles and Sam wants to cheer.

“I don’t know about that date,” Bucky says lightly, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he leans back into the couch once more. It was a t-shirt under that jacket of his and Sam’s gaze slides to his arms, trying to look without looking. Only because the Vibranium one isn’t on display a lot. That’s all.

“Oh, here we go.”

Sam’s amazed at how his complaint sounds in this room, in this light, on this couch. Like the ceiling, it’s soft.

“It was too loud.”

“The last thing you called a date was a fight on the top of a truck speeding down a highway. Wasn’t exactly quiet.”

“Well,” Bucky tries again, “there were too many people.”

“Again, extra people weren’t a problem last time. Half a dozen Flag-Smashers, as I recall.”

“That was fun and all—”

“Which part?” Sam asks, smiling. “The part where you got hurled into a windshield by the woman you’d assumed was a hostage? Yeah, that part was fun for me too.”

“Can it.”

Bucky accompanies the words with a look that Sam could pick out a mile away as fake-grumpy. It cracks him up and he lifts his hand from Bucky’s back to shove his arm as he laughs.

“You called tonight a date,” Bucky says suddenly.

“No, I said… I said…” Sam squints at nothing as he retrieves his words in his mind. “Date-like.”

“Zemo got in my head and I got in yours.”

Instead of saying this miserably, Bucky looks quietly smug at his joke. Sam needs to set him straight; of course he didn’t think tonight was a date. With a massive bounty on their heads at the other end of Madripoor? With Zemo the third wheel always only an arm’s length away? And the current circumstances are beside the point because, fundamentally, Sam doesn’t know whether or not Bucky’s been joking from the start. Intentionally wrong-footing him, messing with him, like they’ve been doing as long as they’ve known each other.

“You’ve definitely done something,” Sam volunteers.

It’s his fourth drink talking, or maybe the fucking pickled snake organ he forced himself to swallow earlier. His jaw clenches fleetingly at the memory. Sarah’s gonna laugh her ass off when he tells her. Should be enough to balance out whatever ire she’ll be sending his way for that dumb shit he said about laundering money. Although she’ll get that he only said it to avoid getting shot (he won’t tell her how narrow that success was), she still won’t be thrilled that he made himself out to be a criminal. It’s the furthest thing from the kind of people the Wilsons are. He could always point a finger at how Bucky behaved—dropping everyone who ran at him with icily efficient twists and kicks—but he knows how Sarah would look at him, what she’d be thinking. That he and Bucky aren’t held to the same standard, externally or internally. That he talks about Bucky too often, so often that if he let his sister in on this stupid running joke they have about their ops being dates, she’d take it all wrong, think this was something serious and inevitable.

Sam swallows and laces his fingers together in his lap so he won’t reach out for Bucky again.

“I know I should’ve let you in on the plan to spring Zemo from prison,” Bucky says. Oh, he thinks Sam’s words were a subtle criticism, not an admission. That’s… good.

“But?”

“No excuses,” Bucky promises, stretching his neck from side to side. “I shoulda told you. Once I explained it, you would’ve seen that I was right and agreed with me.”

Sam gives the side of Bucky’s head a hard stare until he catches the smirk hiking his lips up on one side.

“Wow,” Sam says dryly, “that was almost you taking responsibility.”

“I take responsibility all the time.”

“The notebook, right?”

“Yeah. Can’t believe Zemo put his fuckin’ hands on something so private, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I get that it’s private,” Sam assures him, “but you can tell me shit. If you want.”

Bucky’s folded arms loosen and he shoots Sam a sideways glance that scans all over his face, measuring, cataloguing, computing with that cyborg brain Sam teases him about. Sam blinks back. He means it, and he meant it before when he said he’s trusting Bucky.

“Feels a little one-sided,” Bucky says.

“That’s because you won’t come home with me to meet Sarah and the boys. You already got your invitation into my personal life, you just haven’t used it.”

“We’ve been a little busy, Sam.”

Sam sighs loudly and pushes his sleeves up his arms against the warmth of the room.

“You can make time. Once we’re not on Zemo’s schedule.”

“He was supposed to be on ours,” Bucky mutters. “I don’t know how that happened.”

“It happened because you’re an idiot who didn’t tell me the plan.”

“It’s my fault we keep getting shot at.”

Sam ignores that, the happy looseness surging up inside him battling the gravity of Bucky’s self-pity.

“It’s your fault if you didn’t like the date,” he counters. “You got Zemo out of Germany, Zemo brought us to Madripoor. Low Town, Selby, Sharon—all that happened as a consequence. You didn’t like tonight’s date? That’s on you.”

“Date-like,” Bucky corrects with a sly smile. “The noise and the fighting last time were fine—”

“Were they?!”

“—I just thought the next date should be different.”

Sam laughs softly because this isn’t the first time Bucky’s made this sound like more than a joke, but it is the first time he’s done this at night. And without Sam’s sister and nephews in the next room, or the potential for anybody to drive past them on a country road that runs alongside untidy fields, but when they’re truly alone.

“How so?” Sam asks, heart pumping like the bass in the basement, where the party’s carrying on without the two of them.

Bucky loosens his arms even more, until his forearms rest on his thighs, until—when he rocks to the side, repositioning to face Sam—he can rest one on the back of the couch where Sam’s used to be. His hand hangs down and his fingers skim Sam’s shoulder.

“More private,” Bucky confesses.

“I didn’t know that’s what you wanted,” Sam says with an easy laugh because Bucky’s face is still a little too stern, but that could be self-consciousness. “Tell me how to get more than four stars, man.”

“And you’ll do it?”

“Depends. Try me,” he blurts.

He watches Bucky’s face pinch in then relax, going especially slack at the mouth, which gets closer when Bucky angles into his space. Sam’s fingers release and his back straightens as he shifts to square his body to Bucky’s. They’ve done something like this before, locked into stubborn, confrontational posture when Bucky makes Sam’s life difficult by refusing to go along with what he says, but not this. Not this exactly.

Sam doesn’t stiffen or jerk away, so Bucky keeps coming.

“Are you…?” Bucky asks, eyelashes fluttering as his lids raise and lower, looking from Sam’s eyes to his lips. “Is this…?”

Always talking.

Tilting his head and closing his eyes, Sam stamps his mouth to Bucky’s. He goes to break away after a few stunned seconds, but then Bucky’s hand lands on the back of his neck—warm; not the metal one—to hold them together. Sam meets Bucky’s seeking tongue with his own and feels scruff against his face as their mouths test and react to each other. Reflexively, Sam grips the front of Bucky’s tight, black t-shirt. The kiss is quick and feverish and, when Bucky’s fingers untense on his neck, Sam rests his face against Bucky’s.

He wouldn’t say he’s scared to move, but he’s wary. He can’t tell if they’ve fucked up their whole dynamic or taken it, at last, to a level it was always going to reach. Raising a hand to pat the side of his head and check that his goggles are in place, Sam stops, remembering he won’t feel the strap because he’s not in the air. It’s been a while since he felt lightheaded on the ground.

He clears his throat and draws back. Bucky starts to remove his hand from Sam’s neck, but Sam reaches up to keep it there. He juts his chin out challengingly as he holds Bucky’s eyes, thinking, for a second, of their joint session with Dr. Raynor.

“What’s the verdict?” Sam demands.

Bucky stares back solemnly.

“Four and a half.”

“I’m leaving you here in Madripoor,” Sam declares, pointing a finger down at Bucky’s abruptly and broadly grinning face as he pushes up from the couch.

He strides over to Sharon’s crystal decanters, laughing to himself and looking for water. There isn’t any, but she does have an insulated canister of dissolving ice cubes. Sam scoops a few into a tumbler and turns back to look silently at Bucky. He cups the base of the glass in his hot palm. Slowly, the ice starts to melt.

[madlymiho]

Hello!!! I was super excited for this event as Halloween is my favorite holiday! I was wondering if I could get Law and Kid reacting to their S.o being a wear-wolf? (Y’know, howl at the moon, transformation sequence and all?) If you want to add it in, maybe they were hiding it so they wouldn’t get hunted down?Keep up the amazing work you beautiful beast!🧡🖤🧡🖤

Hello there 🤓 we can definitely do that here! I'm sorry I'm only answering it now, but I hope it will still be enjoyable 🎃👻

Spookyvent #13

Law

• Frankly, even if he’s someone rather grounded, and used to the various strange elements of this world, Law didn’t see it coming. He didn’t know you were a wearwolf in the first place, but discovered it with time, even if you have never tried to hide it. He knows it’s a part of yourself, and he accepts you no matter what, because after all, his bestfriend is a giant polar bear...

• Though, your first transformations have been quite hectic, and it brought many issues. First of all, it’s absolutely out of question that you turn right into the Polar Tang, because it can be too dangerous for every member of his crew. He doesn’t watnt to take such a high risk, and will do his best to prevent you from harming yourself, or harming anyone among the crew

• Law is definitely the kind of person to dwell into serious researches to discover what might soothe you and help you the most, studying for hours your behaviors, and your patterns, only to find the best solutions to ease your life. Of course, it’s not always easy to feel his intense stare upon your back, or watching you every minute of your life, but you have grown used ot it at some point

• He writes everything down and keeps a little diary of your activities to study your wolf cycles. He even comes to the point that he knows exactly what your growl could mean, what you are craving at specific hours of the day, and how you would react under a certain moon. It becomes a second nature for him, and he doesn’t even have to ask too many questions to understand how you work anymore

• He doesn’t react so much when you’re having your wolf behaviors because he doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable by being slightly different from the others. Sometimes he just checks on you, a sly smirk growing onto his lips, before he eventually pats your head with his palm and goes back to his usual occupations... it’s like, completely normal to see you like this at some point

• Of course, he made some mistakes, something triggering a few catastrophes, but he has always been there to handle them, suffering from bites and scratches from time to time. Yet, he’s perfectly about to accept those damages, comfortable with the idea that you’re turning into a giant wolf at least once a month, because he finds that you’re an extraordinary person

• For sure, Law even found the perfect shelter for you to turn without hurting anyone, nor being hunted by some disgusting folks, making sure that you have everything in that little cave outside to feel comfortable enough. He often spends the entire day preparing it, helping you in the process by giving you some herbs to soothe your anxiety, always there and patient, which is so different from his usual petty attitude ; he’s just worried and wants you to feel at ease

• He’s always the first one to come back in the morning after your transformation, making sure that you’re not hurt, checking on your vitals before eventually kissing your lips tenderly because of course, he’s already worried when he knows you’re on your own, in that second state where nothing can actually reason you. He always fears that someone might hurt you one day, hence the fact he does his best to always protect you, being utterly patient and kind regarding your nature... He loves you so much, he can’t take the risk to lose you

Kid

• For Kid, honestly, the very fact that you’re a wearwolf is damn cool. DAMN COOL okay? This is something he has always admired, the very fact that you’re able to turn into a giant wolf and hunt down people? Hell yeah, it sounds like an awesome pirate story, so for sure he admires you a lot!

• Kid completely ignores the fact that it might be dangerous, nothing is actually too unsafe when you’re living the pirate life, and even if Killer might try to reason him about the fact you literally can’t control yourself if you turn into a big bad wolf with sharp fangs, he will just ignore the warnings. Life is about having some fun and thrill!

• Plus you’re having so many funny behaviors? He sees you stare at the moon with your giant curious eyes, howling at it without any warning, making him burst into an uncontrollable laughter, to the point that he might join you in the process. Acting like a wolf isn’t harmful after all, and he wonders what kind of effect if it can have on you if you’re disturbed by his presence

• No need to say... Yes, he tries to feed you with bones, to steal your food to trigger those animalistic behaviors, to the point that it pisses you off quite a lot! Damn, he’s not wearing that name for nothing, and you really suffer from his lack of seriousness when you often tell him that you don’t want to hurt anyone among your crewmates... At least, the most reasonable one like Killer or even Wire are here to help you...

• Kid eventually changes his mind when he notices how hurtful your first transformation can be, and how wild and dangerous you are. When he sees you all chained up in the jails of his boat, growling, drooling for meat, attacking anyone coming closer, Killer and Wire covered in blood and deep scratches... He doesn’t recognize the person you usually are, seeing the pain and fear in the back of your golden irises. He really didn’t prepare himself, and he feels utterly unwell for a while

• Everything changes after that particular night, Kid understanding that you’re living this experience as a curse and not a blessing, and that you’re afraid of your real nature. And he hates the fact that he didn’t see it before, to the point that other members of his crewmates have been injured, trying to help when it’s his first role as a captain, a second as your life partner. So Kid decides to man-up, and change a few things

• He’s becoming utterly protective towards you, even more than usual, sending dark stares to anyone looking at you for too long. He drags you back on the boat if he believes you might lose your temper, he also makes sure that you are never targeted by dangerous individuals who would just sell you on the Black Market or in Sabaody. You’re his precious lover, and for that, he would fight the entire world to protect you

• Kid prefers to have you on the boat during your transformation, no matter what, turning one of his jail into a cosy shelter. If he has to chain you, he wants to be the one doing it, if he has to stay awake all night long, he won’t move from his chair. He has, for once, the patience of a saint, serious eyes peering down at you each time you’re feeling down because of your nature

• Even if it won’t change his entire pissy and harsh nature, you better be sure that Kid will always be utterly kind with you, at least on a private level, right after your transformation. He bathes you, reassures you, and demands that you stay in his cabin to have some rest. For sure he can be a very dangerous and idiotic man... but when it comes to protect someone he loves, Kid is probably one of the best partner ever existing

[mysticalmusicwhispers]

glimpses into a calmer universe

a gift for @luyous, because you once made some posts asking for indchu fics, and I started writing indchuran for the hell of it, but never finished until now. I think this could fit in the indchuran: bros for life AU but only after they get together, since there’s less pining than usual. Anyways, this is very overdue, but I hope you enjoy!

A little bit of domestic fluff. 3 glimpses into the indchuran universe through three different perspectives. Iran/Persia is Roshan, and they’re genderfluid.

Also on AO3!

———

The smell of food is wafting upstairs from the kitchen. It tempts Aditya sorely, and he tries to resist—he has a rather crushing workload to get through today—but five minutes later his feet are padding softly on the first floor landing, the tiles cool under his bare soles. He stops in the doorway, idly tracing the spots of afternoon sunshine dancing on the walls, and watches the figures of his two loves, side by side in the kitchen. Yao is standing in front of the stove, spatula in hand, and Roshan is at his side in front of the sink, busy washing something Aditya cannot see. They are talking quietly above the sizzle of the wok and the sound of water gushing out of the faucet, a perfect picture of domesticity, all easy smiles, gentle touches, quiet jokes and careless laughter. An intimate synchronization of movement, like their hearts are beating in time. It strikes Aditya that his heart suddenly feels like it is overflowing, and he supposes he’s done enough watching from afar—for today, at least. 

Yao hears him coming first, and turns around as he enters the kitchen, but doesn’t say anything, just acknowledges him with a smile and a softening of the eyes, and begins to heap the stir-fried ants-on-a-branch—the vegetarian variation, with diced shiitake mushrooms instead of minced meat—onto a plate. When Roshan sees him, Aditya is treated to a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek that smells like roses before they turn back to washing the spinach, cilantro, and parsley—Aditya thinks they’re for the reshteh that recently appeared in the kitchen cupboard—in the sink. 

He offers to help with the washing, or the onions (even though they make him cry, which always makes Roshan and Yao laugh), but Roshan pushes him lightly out of the kitchen and Yao makes sure he doesn’t go back in. So Aditya is forced to sit at their small dining table, debating whether to finish his work or enjoy the afternoon sunshine streaming in from the glass back door. The work, he decides, isn’t worth it, and instead he goes back to watching Roshan and Yao work. He refuses to think he is admiring them. 

Nevertheless, it isn’t long before he’s too caught up in staring that he doesn’t notice Yao nudging Roshan and whispering “Aditya’s pining again”. But when Roshan catches him staring, they just smile cheekily, wink, and blow him a theatrical kiss that still makes Aditya’s throat catch and his heart stutter, even after a year of dating them. When they turn back to chopping herbs, the sunlight catches on their hair, coating it gold. Aditya is reminded of Roshan’s name, and Yao’s—and their meanings: light, shining. 

He does not think himself sentimental, but sometimes—many times—he wonders if they were fated to be. And he supposes it is not too cliche to admit to himself, privately, that his partners are the lights of his life.

———

Yao pauses at the entrance of the Ferry Building Farmer’s Market, still wondering whether it was wise to bring Aditya and Roshan along, and whether they will drag him to every place that sells anything vaguely shiny before leaving. But just as he thinks this, he makes the mistake—and it is definitely a mistake—of turning, and catches Aditya grinning at him, flashing an easygoing smile—a smile he’d do anything to keep, and he relents. But his regrets, or doubts, or whatever the vaguely self-preserving feeling in his chest is, must have shown on a slight frown or in an imperceptible sigh, because Roshan kisses his cheek and says,

“Come on Yao, we’ll handle ourselves. We won’t get distracted and we’ll be back at home in no time, exactly as you planned.” They wink at Aditya, which is never a good sign, but it’s still enough to wheedle him into agreeing, however fondly exasperated he is, and however certain he is that they will waste half the day away, as usual. He sighs again—the old man sigh, according to Roshan—but grumbles a “fine, but you need to pay me back in white rabbit”, and watches them veer off towards the artisan stalls, holding hands. Aditya’s hair glints brightly in the sun, and Roshan’s is dyed a rich, dark brown. Like two suns, hand in hand; one bright, the other warm.

Someone bumps into him, and Yao shakes himself out of his reverie. The grocery list is a mile long, and he doesn’t need to waste more time than is absolutely necessary, after all.

But finding all the things he needs to buy takes more time than he likes, and the walk to the Chinatown butcher’s to see whether they have halal live chicken— they don’t—takes even longer, so that it is almost noon (two whole hours, which he realizes with a pang) when he wanders back to the Ferry Building to find Aditya and Roshan in a small jewelry shop, excitedly inspecting a stand of earrings. He watches them for a second through the windows as Aditya holds a pair of dangling yellow lotus blossoms up to his ears and Roshan looks on admiringly. Yao is pretty sure he too is admiring Aditya—he looks truly beautiful, with the earrings and a modest smile and a bright twinkle in his polished obsidian eyes—but some part of him pulls him back into real time and reminds him that although it is a Saturday, he has no time to waste (stupid law firm), and he regretfully walks into the store to retrieve his partners. He thinks—no, he knows—it will be half an hour before he can pull them away from the (admittedly alluring) jewelry displays, but he supposes Aditya’s cheek kiss and Roshan’s cheerful gratitude will be worth it. Anyways, he can always bullshit case briefings and squeeze out extra time somewhere. He’d rather not rush this moment.

———

When Roshan finally trudges home after getting the week’s groceries, neither Yao nor Aditya are there to hold the door open for them, and there is no response when they call out an “I’m back” from the kitchen. They know Yao and Aditya are in the house—Yao’s Hello Kitty slippers are missing from the shoemat—so the only possibility is that they are ignoring Roshan. Sad. They sigh—rather theatrically—but heave everything into the refrigerator without calling a second time, and hope this will be a fair trade for them failing to find white rabbit in Chinatown for the third time in a row. 

Yao and Aditya, they find, are in the living room couch, engaged in another petty struggle over the remote. The newest Game of Thrones episode is playing on the TV Yao shipped from China, and Aditya is furiously muttering about “what a trashy white-produced rapefest show it is” and trying to swipe at the remote Yao grips with white-knuckled hands. Yao, for his part, has not retaliated much at all, besides scooting over to the other side of the couch and obstinately holding onto the precious remote. Roshan looks on for a time, amused, and watches Tywin Lannister’s face loom nastily over them all, until Aditya turns around and catches sight of them in the doorway. 

“Roshan, help me! You can’t possibly agree with Yao’s taste, can you?” Aditya looks thoroughly exasperated, and Roshan almost can’t believe how much his voice begs them to take a side. 

“No thanks. Aditya, you’ll have to fight the good fight by yourself; I’ll be in the kitchen making dinner.” They smirk, and decide that the way Aditya swells up with absolute fury is definitely worth whatever payback is coming. And as they walk back to the kitchen to start washing vegetables for dinner, there is a brief moment of silence as the TV switches off before everything descends into chaos. Yao's yelling now, and, by the sound of it, has started a pillow fight that Aditya joins in with enthusiasm. Roshan glances back, just in time to watch Yao whack Aditya with a flower patterned pillow and scream, 

"LET ME LOOK AT TYWIN LANNISTER AGAIN, ADITYA!" 

They are idiots, Roshan thinks with a smile, but they are their idiots.

———

Feedback is welcome and appreciated! thank you for reading :)

Notes

In the second scene, I just chose a notable farmer’s market in San Francisco at random hhhhh (apologies for any inaccuracies if anyone from CA is reading lol) the Ferry Building Farmers Market is pretty close to Chinatown, and although idk where they live in San Fran, Yao’s gotta get his white rabbit from somewhere right (the live chicken would be for chicken soup, but not the American kind)

Last scene inspired/taken from this ask! thank you bones, this was the fic I was talking about lol

the title was made up on the spot but I was thinking along the lines of “well this is a universe where the three of them are less of a group of bastards and also don’t have to contend as much with complex relations and just be lovers together”

In the first scene, there are two dishes I was referencing:

Ants-on-a-branch: 蚂蚁上树, whose proper name is ants climbing a tree, but I tweaked the translation a little. It’s a Sichuan dish that usually consists of vermicelli noodles cooked with minced meat (pork I believe) and a bunch of green onions and chopped peppers for spice (my parents also add stuff like wood ear, a fungus, and carrots and don’t add pepper but idk how “authentic” that is because we ain’t from Sichuan lol). For a lot of Chinese dishes you can usually substitute meat with shiitake mushrooms to make it vegetarian/vegan.

I tried to imply that the dish Roshan was planning to make is ash reshteh, a Persian dish of thick noodle soup with various herbs, onions, and peas. Kashk or yogurt whey is also a component of the soup and gives it its signature rich sour flavor. Because reshteh noodles are believed to bring good luck, ash reshteh is typically served around the Persian New Year, Nowruz, and at important events, but it can be theoretically be eaten at any time.

[justimajin]

Rise of the Nation’s King ♔ Part ½

⊶ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

⊶ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut (pt. 2)

↳ Historical AU, King AU

⊶ Words: 5.1k

⊶ Summary: Being born with nothing and yet wanting everything, Min Yoongi understands that the world will only favor those born with sliver spoons in their mouths. However, when an unseen incident breaks out at the royal palace one day, he’s forced between choosing all that he treasures for something much more. But Yoongi doesn’t know if losing you will ever keep him sane. 

⊶ Warnings: 18+ rating, graphic depictions of violence and death

The marketplace is livelier around this time of the year. 

Merchants and venders alike have surrounded themselves with goods that are chased after. From dangling strings of freshly cut red meat to heads of boars displayed in the front of their wooden stalls, the assortment brings those scrambling with coins and eyes flaked with desperation to scavenge as much as possible. 

A man dressed in a dark turquoise hanbok idles down the road with a dazed smile on his lips, too caught up in his own world to discover that the long fishing pole he reels has smacked into the back of another merchant’s head. His new stock is left flapping on the ground, covered in a layer of fine dust that has collected from the feet of others. 

His face is instantly coloured in a shade of red, “YAH! Can’t you watch where you’re going?!” 

The other man that’s received a generous layer of fish oil against his straightened hair whips his head around, donning a similar expression to him. He wears a dull green hanbok in contrast, a pale blue headband wrapped around his forehead and concealing the youthful features he radiates. 

He faintly touches the back of his head, left with an eerie smell that only reminds him of another grim-covered man he had passed by the other day.

“Shouldn’t you watch where you’re going old man?!” He scoffs, watching his opponent’s eyes increase by tenfold. 

“Old man?!” Despite the clearly visible facial hair on his chin and wrinkled lines maring his forehead, the younger fellow has struck him where it hurts most, “Why, I outta-” 

He fists his green hanbok and the man does the same to his blue one. Within moments, they’re engaged in a heated fight that relies more on swings and kicks that are clumsy and barely do any damage, provoking them to resort to the fine art of name-calling instead. Their ruckus elicits mixed reactions from neighboring stalls, all throwing them strange and annoyed looks. 

A man in the corner darkly chuckles, clad in a ragged beige jacket and a large straw hat perched on top of his black strands. There’s a rope filled with tools hanging from the seam of his hips, ranging from a hammer, a chisel and the most used, a pickaxe.

He leans against the old wall, his dusted arms crossed and drained eyes hardened as he watches the duo taunting each other. It’s fascinating to simply watch, because those who have more always seem to be heavily prone to quarreling about such non-sensible things. 

A deep sigh passes the seam of his lips, pushing his legs off the wall and taking a mere glance around before strutting through the marketplace. He walks slow, observing the man that carefully guides the horse carrying his load of loot with a rope, protecting the merchandise with all that he’s got. He also observes the woman throwing hopeful glimpses around, the fish she’s spent hours collected rapidly turning stale within the span of a mere couple of hours. 

He suddenly flinches, a wince descending through his right leg. Memories of the dark and humid caverns flash through his mind, tiring hours of gripping his pickaxe and swinging it in between layers of soot to retrieve battered pieces of stone only for greedy hands to immediately whisk it away. He’s left with a body that aches for him to stop, a bag of a few mesly coins tossed in his face and the chuckles of officials that hone down his work. 

His face contorts, fists clenching and shoulders tightened when he’s forced to step off the road with his tender leg. He leans against the wall again, breathing in harsh gasps as sweat quickly manifests underneath his straw hat. His eyes are shadowed before he flutters them close, a haze of muted fury silently spurring. 

“Yoongi!” A faint voice from afar calls, expeditiously growing louder, “Yoongi!” 

His eyes snap open, “Yoon-OOF!” 

He immediately whips around, sight landing upon your collapsed form. A cluster of coughs plague you from the mixed humid air and wafting dust in the crowded area, many merchants swiftly passing by you without another look. One in particular eyes you in irritation, your small mishap occurring right in front of his potential customer and nearly spoiling the boar head the man had been keen on selling. 

“Foolish girl! Go make a mess somewhere else!” He angrily shouts, your form instantly shrinking away. 

“S-Sorry.” You offer, a yelp escaping you when a strong hold suddenly lifts you up. You avertedly cling to Yoongi’s side as the man continues to spew out how much your recklessness could have damaged his material and ruined his clential, but the man holding you next to him isn’t having any of it. 

“She’s already apologized.” Yoongi states. 

“Instead of apologizing, maybe she should pay for the damages!” He barks, gesturing to his table, “Do you know how long it took me to find boars this fine?!”

You move forward to offer another humble apology, but Yoongi tugs you back. He grabs a small pouch from his waist, throwing the bag into the man’s face as the few coins contained inside spill out onto the ground. 

“There. Happy now?” Yoongi ignores the hungry ravenous look the man has, simply turning to leave and dragging you by hand with him. He leads you into the main road of the marketplace, taking an intrigued glance at all the things being offered inside the various stalls. 

“Yoongi.” Your grip on his hand tightens and he turns around questioningly, “Those were the coins you earned today….” 

“It doesn’t matter.” He mutters, eyes downcasted. He ignores the pinch those words bring him. “I still have enough saved up.” 

You become quiet, guilt still written all over your features. Yoongi sighs, glancing over to a stall selling bundles of meat. 

“You wanted to eat beef the other day, right?” He gestures towards it, “Go grab some.” 

Your eyes flicker, “I-I can’t let you do that Yoongi, we still have a hole in our roof to fix.” You recall both of you promising to hold back on expenditures when a certain harsh downpour had happened, the entirety of your belongings left thoroughly soaked with residue. 

“We can still buy one piece.” He smirks, a spark of playfulness in his eyes, “But you’ll have to share with me.”

You smile, heading over to the merchant once he’s finished with his last customer. Although you’re happy with being able to purchase some form of expensive meat after so long, you end picking the smallest piece to spare both you and Yoongi the troubles of paying. But it’s hard to erase the elation you have carrying it over to him, a somber question remaining on the tip of your tongue. 

“Why are you so nice to me?” You whisper out loud, the inquiry leaving a sad smile on Yoongi’s lips once you return. It’s a smile that speaks volumes, throbbing the dreadful gash that runs from his forehead to his cheek, his vision still not completely recovered as his peripheral view comes out distorted. 

Yoongi silently stares at you, an unsaid answer breezing by the light whistles of the air and the chattering among the people. 

Because you’re all that I have left now. 

***

Hugging the precious piece of meat to your chest, you walk aimlessly behind Yoongi throughout the entire marketplace. Yoongi in particular doesn’t seem so interested in purchasing anything, rather he observes the rest of the items displayed. You eventually become occupied with a woman who urges you to steal a glance at her range of slippers, the spiked up costs bearing a pout to form on your lips. 

The sound of a loud thud breaks you out of your thoughts, swiveling around to see all the townspeople flocking together. Yoongi instantly appears in the midst of them, grabbing onto your hand that’s not holding the meat and tugging you with him. 

“What is it?” You quietly ask, alarmed by the sudden increase of officials dressed in dark blue robes surrounding you. 

“The sinmungo.” Yoongi points to the large drum positioned at the edge of the road, a swirl of cool blue and warm orange decorated in the middle of it. You recall having seen it a handful of times, namely whenever there had been an issue between the authority of the law and the people of your class which needed resolving. Initially you had presumed that it worked in the form of being as a collective voice for all of you, but you had soon to discover the royal will it holds. 

“Who dares defy the King?” One official speaks up, a menacing glare in his eyes. In his grip is an unsheathed sword, pointed towards the man currently cowering on the ground beneath him. 

“I’m sorry! I-I meant no disrespect to His Majesty.” The man stutters, grasping onto any piece of mercy, “M-My wife has been sick and I-I had to sell everything for her treatment.” 

The official steps up and withdraws his sword, his gaze landing on the small palanquin hidden behind them. Your eyes are drawn to the intricate green and gold details glittered along the surface, the picture of a bright golden dragon painted in the centre.

Another official steps up, adorned in dark green robes. “This man has refused to pay the tax from running a business on His Majesty’s land. What is the verdict for such a crime?” 

A hand brushes pushes past the curtains of the laid palanquin on the ground, your eyes eager to see the unknown ruler of your land in the flesh. To your dismay, he makes a simple gesture and withdraws instantly. 

The man begins to shriek madly in horror, tears streaming down his eyes when the green official drags him by his collar and throws him in front of the one wielding a sword. He yanks it out, ignoring the man’s pleads of hysteria, before the sword descends down on his neck with a swift jerk. 

Your eyes are immediately covered, the gruesome sound of flesh tearing and blood splattering onto the ground ringing through your ears. The people surrounding you let out gasps of terror, a silence laced with fear prevailing heavy in the air. 

Yoongi twists you around from the sight, removing his hand from your face and replacing it within your hold instead. He drags you away, images of violent screams and begging sobs plaguing his mind as the sinmungo is hit once again. 

The King has made his new decree. 

You wipe away the tears streaming from your eyes with a trembling hand, something you know Yoongi can feel when his grip only tightens. Breezing by the many people cluttered together to view the sudden authority, their whispers serve to only increase the fear in you by tenfold. 

“That’s the third one in two days!” One shouts, stuck in disbelief. 

“This is absurd! An execution for not being able to pay tax??” Another one scoffs, “Is the King trying to kill off all his people?!” 

You freeze, blood running cold. A yank on Yoongi’s beige jacket makes him falter, spinning around to face your dread stricken features. 

“T-There’s been more than one. If we don’t pay on time-” A shudder runs through your body, the thought of you and Yoongi being next brings nothing short of utter despair. It’s no news that you and Yoongi are both a part of the sangmin class - the ones that are thrown with the king’s leftovers and then trampled on once your will to survive has completely fizzled and diminished. 

Yoongi lets go of you, stepping forward to cup your cheeks within his palms. 

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” He whispers, but the way his pupils shake with the impending doom speak of a different story. He releases you, grabbing onto your hand once more. 

You want to believe his words, you want to bask yourself in the strength he always manages to muster up when things head south. However, the perception of unruly bloodshed and injustice have lodged themselves too deep in the confines of your mind, the remaining hidden pieces of hope slowly breaking off bit by bit. 

You’re still shaken up by the events of the day by the time you reach home. 

Yoongi doesn’t attempt to pry into your silence, simply retrieving a handful of wood planks and tossing them into the middle of a brewing fire. He leaves once more to grab an old chair and a sheet of loose fabric, climbing up to the space where a chilling breeze has begun to enter through your roof. You’re reduced to somberly watching him from the corner of your bed, the mere satisfaction of temporarily enclosing it barely meeting his eyes. 

He claps his hands together, shaking off any remains of dust before approaching you with curious eyes. 

“How has your business been?” He settles down next to you, his gaze remaining on the occasional sparks the fire lets out. You’re at least grateful for the surge of warmth it gives off, eyes downcasting. 

“Slow.” You mumble, “I-I’m not earning much these days….” 

Your view drifts over to the tangles of thread woven through bundles of cloth, resting on the table where you presume dust is now starting to collect. The thought haunts you with more vivid images of a future line of fate you’re so close to taking a step upon, water harshly welling up in your eyes. 

“Y/N…” Yoongi shifts closer to you, interlacing his fingers with yours. “We’ll be okay.” 

“W-We can’t be sure of that.” Tears stream down your cheeks, a sharp quiver in your words. Your eyes stray over to the long incision running through his left eye, fingers reaching out to faintly trace it. Yoongi stills as you do, pain flashing through his eyes despite the wound having long been healed. 

“Even after so long…” Yoongi whispers, a sad chuckle leaving his body. “I can still hear their screams.”

Your hand falters, eyes lowering. “The King has been all losing his patience as of lately.” Yoongi hums, “We already have nothing and now he wants to take that away too.” 

No matter which direction you look at it, the sentence is absurd. You know better than to question the ways of the law, but the only word settling down for such treatment is simply cruel. 

“The King is a bloody tyrant.” Yoongi spits out, your eyes growing wide, “He sits in his golden throne all day long and executes all the people that he’s left his scraps to.” 

“Yoongi!” You harshly whisper, avertedly glancing around you. There’s a hardened look in his eyes from the gesture, voice growing louder.

“What? You know I’m right.” You tightly seal your lips, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“You are.” You take another quick glance around, “But his ruling is something that is out of our control.” 

Yoongi grows silent, annoyance still written over him. “For now, we need to find a way to earn more before-” 

You falter, the words ‘before we’re next’ not being able to leave you. 

Yoongi sighs, his tense form becoming relaxed. “You’re right. I’ll go to the officials tomorrow and see if I can join the military.” 

Astonishment sparks within you from the resolution, lucidly recalling Yoongi’s firm declaration that he wouldn’t want anything to do with the King and his empire in the future. His motive of earning on his own ended up becoming more and more solid as the days spun by, his hands and face constantly covered in an increasing amount of soot. 

“Y-You want to join the military?” It pays better, you know that. But it's something you never wanted to push onto him. 

He nods, “We need the money now more than ever.” There’s a faint smile lingering on his lips, “And besides, weren’t you saying something about needing to save up for a wedding the other day?” 

Crimson immediately flushes through your skin, swiveling around to grab a piece of fabric, “W-We don’t need to worry about that right now.” 

Yoongi glances in your direction, softly smiling when you lay down the rough sheet onto the surface of the bed and smooth it down carefully with your hands. You then move to place one on the opposite bed, settling down with a content hum and shuffling closer to the fire he’s made. 

He eventually joins you and lays his head against the rugged sheet, maneuvering himself to view your delicate features from across him. He observes the way your eyes have fluttered shut, content with the small space you have and the thinness of the blanket covering you, a single wish spurring out from the depths of his heart in that moment that quickly forms into a promise. 

He would do anything in his capacity to protect you. 

***

Despite the horrid display of power yesterday, the townspeople have fallen back into the routine of their daily duties. Yet it is still unnerving how many of them avert their gazes from the once flourishing stall, faint reminiscences of a sweating man unloading all of his chickens in anticipation that he comes home to a wife that longs to end her own suffering.

Now all that remains are broken shards of wood, marked with the edges of a familiar sword. 

Yoongi filters through all the anxious and distressed faces, hidden underneath the large conical hat he dons. He sharply eyes the official that strolls through the road without a care in the world, plucking a handful of seeds from a stall that has a woman uneasily smiling in return. The display nearly makes him scoff, but he holds it back and struts closer to the official. 

He’s dressed in light green robes and carries a stoic expression, different compared to the one that wields a sword and beckons to the King’s every word. The seeds slip from his palm at Yoongi’s sudden appearance, measly tossing them all away as the woman before him gingerly performs constructive bows. 

His voice is low, “What do you want?” 

“I wish to join the military.” Yoongi states, the words already tasting like acid. “To serve and yield to the beloved King.” 

The man smirks, an action that has Yoongi’s eyes narrowing, “Are you aware of how the military works? We only look for those that are physically fit to exclusively serve His Majesty.” 

“I work as a miner.” He clarifies, taking out his pickaxe, “I am more than capable of serving in the King’s army.” 

The man lets out a hearty chuckle, still stuck in disbelief. “It takes a lot more than that, miner. Maybe try around next year when you’re more adequate to fight for His Majesty’s sake.” 

Yoongi clenches his teeth, fists rounding. He’s made a promise to protect you and he didn’t come here to simply take no for an answer. 

“I need to join the military now.” He grabs onto the official's delicate robes in a fit of rage, only for the man to push him away. 

“Such insolence!” He spits, dusting off the parts of his hanbok that Yoongi’s managed to crease. He’s ready to unleash a storm of anger on the commoner man, but the straw hat on his head has withered onto the ground. 

The official freezes. 

The brewing anger vanishes within a flash, and he takes a handful of careful steps. 

Yoongi glares at him, tugging himself up with a scowl lined on his lips. He takes a glance at his arms, luckily not having been injured due to the man’s reckless actions. 

When Yoongi looks up and stares at him, the official staggers back. 

“I-It can’t be….” He whispers, appearing to have seen the equivalent of a ghost. Yoongi raises a brow, deciding to grab his fallen pickaxe instead and hook it onto his belt. 

The official latches onto his arm. 

It happens within the blink of an eye. One moment he’s crossed with annoyance, utter fury fueling the way the official treats him like he’s a piece of dirt and rejecting all his efforts at earning more for the two of you. Another moment, the official has slapped a hand over his mouth, dragging him to a secluded corner where Yoongi sees more of them crowded together. 

He’s thrown onto the ground harshly, a collection of gasps spiking around him. A blindfold is suddenly wrapped around his eyes, concealing his sight completely. He struggles at the layers of rope tied around his torso, desperately trying to free himself from the durable material. 

“Let me go, you bastards!” He growls, but a pricking pain is sent to the back of his head, rendering him unconscious as he crumbles down to the ground. 

***

Your brows are furrowed, the pin in your fingers delicately held. A small incision is made through the fabric, woven back to make another loop before you stretch out the thread and tighten it. You pluck the needle again, repeating your actions to create the long design. 

“Excuse me?” A voice halts your actions, a young girl standing before you with a smile, “How much is this?” 

She points to the piece you had created a couple of days ago, now sitting deflated on top of the wooden display. The incomplete fabric in your hands is instantly tossed away and you scramble to get closer to the potential customer. 

“Five won.” You immediately reply. The girl nods and reaches into the small pouch located on the string tied to her skirt, rummaging for the amount. The coins are placed delicately within the palms of your hands and she thanks you with a smile. 

Once she departs, you can only stare at the recycled pieces of metal that shine in your hands. A flood of joy overwhelms your senses, tightly fisting the coins. You can’t bring yourself not to glance around in anticipation, a smile blossoming on the corner of your lips and hastily closing your shop. 

You know it isn’t enough to buy a piece of meat, or that it would barely cut through the costs of repairing an ancient crumbling roof, but your feet assume otherwise when you rush through the crowd of civilians strolling down the marketplace. Your smile only widens once you catch sight of Yoongi’s signature hat, currently in the midst of conversing with one of the officials. 

Your curiosity grows the more you drift closer and peer in behind a shop, Yoongi’s convincing tone entering your ears. 

“I am more than capable of serving in the King’s army.” 

You tenderly smile, but a sharp laugh breaks into the air. “It takes a lot more than that, miner. Maybe try around next year when you’re more adequate to fight for His Majesty’s sake.” 

Hurt flashes across your features, your eyes immediately moving to see Yoongi’s form stiffen. The ground crunches as you falter to intervene, taken aback when Yoongi suddenly advances and takes a hold of the man’s robes. 

You flinch when Yoongi stumbles onto the ground, his hat falling off his black locks. The official sends him a look of disgust, his cheeks flushed. 

“Such insolence!” 

The official suddenly halts in his steps, eyes dazed as if he was stuck in a trance. “I-It can’t be….” 

Yoongi appears as confused as you are, the man grabbing onto his arm in an instant. The confusion completely disappears once he pulls Yoongi towards him, silencing him immediately much to your own horror. He begins to drag him away and you rush forward, swooping up his fallen hat. 

The streets are bustling with people as you chase after them, bumping into you with zero consideration. You end up stumbling, the dull beige hanbok you wear getting easily stained with grim. You pay no attention, simply scrambling back onto your feet and heading into the direction you last saw Yoongi. It turns out to be an empty ditch in between two abandoned stalls, a pang of panic running through you when you see Yoongi on the ground blindfolded and in the process of being tied up. 

“Let go of me, you bastards!” You hear Yoongi roughly shout, a man with a large wooden block coming up behind him and smacking the back of his head. Yoongi slumps down onto the ground, not long before an ear piercing scream leaves your lips. 

“YOONGI!” Tears stream down your eyes as you rush to desperately push the man dragging his limp body away. He retaliates by whirling around and hitting the side of your face with a harsh smack, your form falling onto the ground with a loud thud. You quickly glance up to see them tossing Yoongi into a cart, one with faded markings of green and gold. 

The men hurriedly head into the cart alongside him, ushering the horse attached to begin moving. You immediately get back onto your feet, your hand barely grasping onto the fabric of the cart before it’s sent soaring forward. 

“YOONGI!!” You run as fast as you can this time, tears clouding your sight. You fall down onto your knees when the cart is too far in sight, your form trembling as it vanishes into disappearance. 

“Y-Yoongi…” You sob into your hands, a simple dirtied straw hat left beside you.

When he comes to, darkness is all Yoongi can see. 

There are two people on either end of him, dragging his body against the ground. The faint chatter of voices sweep through the room, mere echoes entering his ringing ears. His breathing stills, the light air feeling different to the humid one he’s accustomed to. 

The sound of rumbling perks his ears, right before he’s sent flying across the room. The restriction of vision is pulled away from his eyes and for the first time in a while, he can actually see what is around him. 

It’s dark for being able to finally see, a shadow casted across from the silk curtains blocking out any forms of light coming from the two windows. There are four large pillars at each corner, spirals of deep green and bright gold decorated into the lavish and broad room. In front of him stands the very official he had gone to in search of work, but now he keeps his head down and gaze scattered. 

He asks the question he’s been dying for an answer to, “Where am I?” 

Among the six individuals in the room, no one speaks a word. 

“What do you want from me?!” He roars, chest heaving. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, he doesn’t know if there’s daylight or moonlight outside, he doesn’t know if you’re okay, if you’ve already reached home by now only to discover that his abrupt absence. 

The official he knows steps up, appearing scrutinized under his stare. He opens his mouth, only to close it a couple of times before spewing any words. 

“What is your name?” He calmly questions, earning a twitch from Yoongi’s eye. The man appears startled from the gesture, backing away immediately. 

Yoongi deeply exhales, “Min Yoongi.” 

The men in the room exchange strange looks, something that just leaves Yoongi puzzled. 

“And you said you are a miner?” 

“Yes.” Yoongi grits, “If you brought me here just for an interrogation, I’m assuming you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” 

Everyone in the room hesitates at that. They gather in a circle far from here, seemingly discussing something amongst themselves. 

“What do we do now?” One dressed in black robes whispers, frightened. 

“We can’t keep him in here forever.” 

“But we have to! It’s the only way.” 

Yoongi frowns, constantly tugging on the back of his hands roughly. The material of the rope is extremely steady, that’s for sure. 

They all collectively turn around, Yoongi pausing his escape momentarily from all the stares. 

The one adorned in black steps up, “We need to show you something.” 

***

He’s led into a cavern, a spiral of stairs descending down. It had taken a considerable amount of convincing on his kidnappers part for him to follow them around aimlessly whilst still tied up, but Yoongi can’t merely shake off the strange feeling he’s been getting since he’s arrived. 

The halls he’s passed by are extraordinarily decorated with rich coats of paint, gold ornaments hanging down from the ceilings and the floor polished as if it was made of fine marble. It’s not the same rustic grounds he’s walked countless times upon, something being utterly unusual of this place he’s been brought onto. 

Once the various rounds of stairs are done and a large green door is presented before him, Yoongi catches the faint glimmer in everyone’s eyes. They appear hesitant, as if they were just on their way to committing a grave sin. After the tense moment, one of them slots a golden key into the lock and the door comes creaking open. 

The very first thing Yoongi notices, is the sudden ominous atmosphere the room has taken. It’s almost borderline suffocating when one of the men tugs him in, a shining bronze crate laying in the centre of the room. He frowns at its appearance, noticing all of the men moving to stand around it in a circle. 

“What is it?” He throws out, glancing at them avertedly. One of them raises his head, distraught heavily on his features. 

“It is a tomb.” He mutters in a monotone voice, “For the late King.” 

Yoongi’s eyes dramatically widen and two of them move forward to lift the top layer covering the bronze casket. His heartbeat begins to thud against his ribcage, sweat forming at the temples of his forehead. 

“There has been an incident.” He continues, “An incident we have not let the public know of yet.” 

The casket opens with a thud and Yoongi harshly sucks in a breath. There’s a young man lying lifelessly in the coffin, dressed in royal green robes with gold embellishment. His long blonde hair has been set free, falling down delicately onto his shoulders and to the centre of his forehead. He holds an agitated expression, as if being in the afterlife had yet to bring him some peace. 

“H-He’s…” Yoongi sputters, breathing erratically. 

The official hums, glancing at the King with somber eyes. 

“Our beloved King Agust is no more….” He turns to Yoongi with a spark of hope, “but you, Sir Min Yoongi, are still alive.”