#we will never have an app folks

[transformativeworks]

We know Ao3 doesn't have an app and yet they keep popping app. That makes me feel that people want it and get exploited by the fake ones.

There isn't a plan to make one but, have a PWA been considered?

Hey chaoticneutralchocolate -

The main reason that apps pop up for AO3 is not because fandom folks want it, so much as app-making-folks want to monetize fans accessing fanfiction. All those apps? they have ads. that make the developer money.

Currently, we do not have an API (application program interface), which is needed to allow an app to interact with our servers. Developing such an interface and then the apps themselves (for the various mobile platforms) would take significant time and coder effort. It’s unlikely to happen while the Archive code is still rapidly changing, as this would require the apps to be updated for each change. You can see more details at our news post on the subject: https://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/3390 .

Even a browser-based app interface would be a tremendous amount of work that we do not have the staffing (or inclination) to establish or maintain.

In the meantime, you should be able to access the fully functional Archive using your device’s browser with our mobile stylesheet, and to download works to read offline with an e-reader app. You can also add a link to the site on your home screen ( https://www.howtogeek.com/196087/how-to-add-websites-to-the-home-screen-on-any-smartphone-or-tablet/ ) for quick access!

I should note that, due to fannish response, the app stores removed a number of unofficial apps in 2020. See the Fanlore page for more information: https://fanlore.org/wiki/AO3_App_Wars

(if you see an app out there claiming to be AO3 or using our logo, send a message to OTW Legal and let them know the name of the app so they can look into it!)

I hope this answers your question!

~ Mod Remi

[thetruemasterofgames]

H..had nobody thought of this before? Like seriously? Did we learn NOTHING from the porn bann? Did we learn NOTHING of the purging of old net archives? You youngins have no idea the forces at play you are messing with here. This place was once a nigh lawless wasteland and it was beautiful. We have so few places where creators can post uninhibited DO.NOT.BREAK.IT!

the worst thing that could possibly happen to ao3 is it being put on the app store so please stop asking for it because you don't understand what would happen if that went through. ao3's whole deal is it archives EVERYTHING, while the apple app store's whole deal is keeping everything clean and safe. so if ao3 were to have an app all of the 'bad' stuff, including nsfw in general, would have to be censored at best or would be purged at worse. the google play store is more lax but who fucking knows what GOOGLE would police if they got their hands on the archive. do not ask for an app. do not use third party apps. it's on mobile browser functioning perfectly, just fucking use that before you ruin everything for everyone please.

[clarenecessities]

He-man.org will close in 5 days.

He-man.org has been a staple of the Masters of the Universe community since the early days, originating as an email list that worked to document episodes before anything (not footage, not lists, nothing) was available online. It grew into a sprawling, multi-faceted beast of a thing, including an encyclopedia (an in-house wiki), merch lists, a marketplace, forums, anything you could think of.

Several years ago now, the main site went down for updates/maintenance. For a few weeks, we were told, maybe months. The forums remained open for fans to communicate, and barring a period of downtime earlier this year things were going smoothly.

Yesterday, the owner of the site, Val Staples, announced the site would be closed on November 14th, 2023. Six days later. We are currently attempting to contact him, to see if he’s interested in selling, and if he means closed as in “no new posts” or closed as in deleted entirely. Regardless of its eventual fate, the archiving of these forums is essential to preserving the history of the franchise, the fandom, and the brand.

TO SHE-RA (and MotU) FANS SPECIFICALLY: I have personally used these forums to answer questions that could be answered nowhere else. Had I not had access to them, I would never have been able to prove that Purrsia was fake, or found so much unpublished concept art, or discovered that Scott “Toyguru” Neitlich personally wrote Catra’s MOTUC bio (even if he’s put off answering my questions about it for over a year now). Forum members have conducted interviews with the likes of Jon Seisa, Cathy Larson, Janice Varney-Hamlin—essential figures in the very foundations of POP, and those interviews revealed and recorded priceless information for future generations (me! you! us!) to find. Did you know Cathy Larson named Adora? That she originally pushed for “Dorian”, after her own daughter? We cannot let this treasure trove disappear into the ether(ia).

TO THE UNAFFILIATED: Please help. Pretty please. If you’ve ever liked my art or my writing or my haphazard blogging, ever, at all, consider archiving just one board. Just one page. Literally anything helps. I am spiraling into madness & this is my library of Alexandria. The mythical one that was totally unique and persevered nowhere else and was destroyed in a single cataclysmic event. Pretty pretty please help.

HOW TO HELP:

Archive.org has several ways to upload shit but most of them are longer term than “a few days” so we’re focusing on two (which can be run simultaneously): Save Page Now, and browser extensions. From their help page:

1. Save Page Now

Put a URL into the form, press the button, and we save the page. You will instantly have a permanent URL for your page. Please note, this method only saves a single page, not the whole site.

We want to keep outlinks and screenshots wherever possible. The Archive does not keep your IP address, so your submission is anonymous.

2. Browser extensions and add-ons

Install the Wayback Machine Chrome extension in your browser. Go to a page you want to archive, click the icon in your toolbar, and select Save Page Now. We will save the page and give you a permanent URL.

One plus to installing the extension is that as you surf around, when you run into a missing page they will alert you if we have a saved copy.

More extensions, apps, and add-ons:

Firefox add-on

Safari Extension

iOS app

Android app

I strongly encourage you to use these tools even if you aren’t helping with this project/after it ends. Documenting and preserving information is essential in this day and age & The Internet Archive is at the heart of it. Please support them however you can.

I’m serious about paying you, though I may need more communication with folks I don’t know so we can coordinate/verify shit gets done. I think this is a worthwhile pursuit in itself but I recognize your time is valuable & like, people gotta eat. DM me if you’re interested and we’ll talk. I may need to adjust pay depending how many people bite but I’ll do what I can

[zot3-flopped]

Sylvia Plath did not stick her head in an oven for this! When Taylor Swift took the Grammys stage last month to claim her award for Best Pop Vocal Album for Midnights, she saw that spotlight as an opportunity to announce her 11th studio album: The Tortured Poets Department. The follow-up cut to audience members—Swift’s music industry peers, mind you—told us all that we would ever need to know, and the collective disinterest across the crowd echoed through our TVs.

Folks from all walks of life took to social media to express a multitude of reactions. Swifties clamored to their beloved monarch’s forthcoming era, while others lambasted the terminally cringe title and artwork and ridiculed Swift for making a night recognizing musical achievements across an entire industry about herself—knowing perfectly well that it would send her fanbase into a surge that would, no doubt, overpower the excitement around the ceremony itself.

Quite a few people questioned whether or not that moment suggested that a critical—definitely not commercial—tide would turn against the world’s most-famous pop star. And, perhaps it has—but, to most, it will look like nothing more than a single ripple in Swift’s ocean of successes.

Swift remained relatively hush-hush about The Tortured Poets Department up until its release, leaving her fans, admirers and haters alike with nothing but an album title to ponder about. And it’s a bad title.

If you have never been in Swift’s corner, her taking the route of labeling her next “era” as “tortured” was likely catnip for your disinterest. If you are a fan—not necessarily a Swiftie, but even just a casual lover of her best and brightest work—you might be beside yourself about the first Swift album title longer than one word in 14 years.

In terms of popularity—certainly not always in terms of quality—no musician has been bigger this century than Swift, which makes it impossible to really buy into the “torture” of it all.

This is not to say that Swift being the most famous person in the world makes her immune to having multi-dimensional feelings of heartbreak, mental illness or what-have-you.

But, she has made the choice—as a 34-year-old adult—to take those complex, universal familiars and monetize them into a wardrobe she can wear for whatever portion of her Eras Tour setlist she opts to dedicate to the material.

Torture is fashion to Taylor Swift, and she wears her milieu dully. This album will surely get comparisons to Rupi Kaur’s poetry, either for its simplicity, empty language, commodification or all of the above.

And, sure, there are parallels there, especially in how The Tortured Poets Department, too, is going to set the art of poetry back another decade—as Swift’s naive call-to-arms of her own milky-white sorrow rings in like some quintessential “I am going to take pictures of a typewriter on my desk and have a Pinterest mood-board of Courier New font” iPhone fodder. 2013 called and it wants it capricious, suburban girl-who-is-taking-a-gap-year wig back!

Soaking our book reports in coffee or having our moms burn the edges with a kitchen lighter cannot come back into fashion; the cyclical notions of culture cannot make the space for such retreads.

There is nothing poetic about a billionaire—who, mind you, threatens legal action against a Twitter account for tracking her destructive private jet paths—telling stadiums of thousands of people every night that she sees and adores them.

Tavi Gevinson says it well in her Fan Fiction zine: “When 80,000 people are also crying, you become less special, too.” If Swift can return to one of her dozen beach houses across the world, kick up her feet and say “I’m a poet of struggle,” then who is to say that millions—maybe billions—of people with access to a notes app and a social media account won’t dream that dream, too?

Maybe that looks like a net-positive, but it’s inherently damning and destructive to take an art form that has long stood on the shoulders of resistance, of love and of opposition to power, systematic injustice and climate warfare and boil it down to the new defining era of your own 10-digit revenue empire. “My culture is not your costume,” yada, etc.

The Tortured Poets Department does begin with a shred of hope that, just maybe, Swift knows what she’s talking about—as she sneaks in a cheeky “all of this to say,” textbook transitional phrasing for poets, on opening track “Fortnight.”

But “Fortnight” unmasks itself quickly as a heady vat of pop nothingness, though it isn’t all Swift’s fault. “I was a functioning alcoholic, ‘til nobody noticed my new aesthetic,” she muses, attempting to bridge the gap between a behind-the-scenes life and on-stage performance—only for it to occur while propped up against the most dog-water, uninspired synth arrangement you could possibly imagine.

Between producer Jack Antonoff’s atrocious backing instrumental and the Y2K-era, teen dramedy echo chamber of a vocal harmony provided by out-of-place guest performer Post Malone, “Fortnight” chokes on the vomit of its own opaqueness.

“I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary,” Swift muses, and it sounds like satire. This is your songwriter of the century? Open the schools.

The Tortured Poets Department title-track features some of Swift’s worst lyricism to-date, including the irredeemable, relentlessly cringe “You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate, we declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist / I scratch your head, you fall asleep like a tattooed golden retriever” lines glazed atop some synthesizers and drums that just ring in as hollow, unfascinating costuming.

Aside from the Puth nod, which I can only discern as a joke (given the fact that he is one of the 150-most streamed artists in the world and is one of the blandest pop practitioners alive—I don’t care if he can figure out the pitch of any sound you throw at him), I think Antonoff should stick to guitar-playing. Get that man away from a keyboard, I’m begging you.

Synths can be, if you use them correctly, one of the most emotional and provocative instruments in any musician’s tool-box. There’s a reason why keyboards defined the 1980s; they rebelled against the very oppressive nature existing outside of the cultural company they kept. There’s resistance in electronic music that, while they brandish an aesthetic that, to a layman’s ears, seems like technicolor hues for any infectious pop track, it’s a genre that aches to tell its own story. That is simply not the case here, and that electronica hangs Swift out to dry when she drags us through the lukewarm “I laughed in your face and said, ‘You’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith’ / This ain’t the Chelsea Hotel, we’re modern idiots” lines, only to hit us with a softly sung F-bomb that sounds like a billionaire’s rendition of that one Miranda Cosgrove podcast clip.

I used to rag pretty heavily on Reputation—mostly because I thought (and still do, mostly) that it sounded like Swift had given up on making interesting, progressive pop music; that, in the wake of her (arguably) best album, 1989, it seemed like she’d lost the plot on where to go next. But as she’s put out Midnights and The Tortured Poets Department back-to-back, I find myself clamoring for the Reputation-era more than ever—at least seven years ago, Swift wrote songs like she had something to prove and even more to lose.

That was the always-obvious charm of Reputation, even despite the downsides—that she took a big swing from the echelons of her own musical immortality, that the comforts of winning every award and selling out the biggest venues in the world were no longer pillowing her aspirations. Even though that swing didn’t land, she still made it in the first place—and Swift is at her best either when she is clawing upwards (Reputation) or faced with nowhere to go but into the studio and noodle with the bare-bones of her own sensibilities (folklore).

You get something like The Tortured Poets Department when the artist making it no longer feels challenged, where she strikes out looking.

The mid-ness of The Tortured Poets Department will not be a net-loss for Swift. She will sell out arenas and get her streams until she elects to quit this business (a phrase decidedly not in her vocabulary, surely).

She will sell more merch bundles than vinyl plants have the capacity to make, and rows of variant LP copies will haunt the record aisles of Target stores just as long as Midnights has—if not longer.

Perhaps, in five or six years’ time, we will speak of this record just as we now do of Reputation. But right now, it is obvious that Swift no longer feels challenged to be good. The Tortured Poets Department is the mark of an artist now interested in seeing how much their empire can atone for the sins of mediocrity.

Can Swift win another Album of the Year Grammy simply because she released a record during the eligibility period? The Tortured Poets Department reeks of “because I can,” not “because I should.”

On “I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can),” Swift tries stepping into the shoes of the country renegades who came before her—the Tammy Wynettes and Loretta Lynns of the world. But her self-aggrandizing inflation of importance, glinting through via a seismically-bland bridge, is backed by a minimal set dressing of guitar, drum machine and keys.

“Good boy, that’s right, come close,” she sings. “I’ll show you Heaven if you’ll be an angel—all mine. Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man. No, really, I can.” On “Florida!!!,” Swift calls upon Florence + the Machine to help her sing the worst chorus of 2024: “Florida is one hell of a drug / Florida, can I use you up?”

Even Welch, who is a fantastic pop singer-songwriter in her own right, delivers a grossly watery verse: “The hurricane with my name, when it came I got drunk and I dared it to wash me away.”

Not even the typos on the Spotify promotional materials for this album could have foretold such offenses. I won’t even get into the sonics, because Antonoff just rewrites the same soulless patterns every time.

What separates The Tortured Poets Department from something like Reputation is that, on the latter, Swift made it known what was at stake and who she was making that album for—herself, in the aftermath of her greatest long-standing criticisms (“Look What You Made Me Do” triumphs exactly because of this).

On The Tortured Poets Department, there is a striking level of moral nothingness. The stakes are practically non-existent, and the album sounds like it was made by someone who believes that they had no other choice but to finish it, as if Swift fundamentally believes that her creative measures are firmly embedded in the massive monopoly her name and brand currently hold on popular music. That’s how you get meandering pop songs about hookups, wine moms, Stevie Nicks comparisons, Jehovah’s Witness suit mentions, hollowed-out, tone-deaf nods to white-collar crime in lieu of empowerment and, topically, Barbie dolls.

(Don’t even get me started on the Anthology lyrics, which feature these absolute barn-burners: “Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto” and “My friends used to play a game where / We would pick a decade / We wished we could live in instead of this / I’d say the 1830s, but without all the racists / And getting married off for the highest bid.”) This album and its hackneyed grasps at relevance exist as “Did I just hear that?” personified, but in the most derogatory sense of the notion.

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys” features another low-point in Swift’s lyrical oeuvre, as she sings “I felt more when we played pretend than with all the Kens, ‘cause he took me out of my box”—perhaps a measure of her capitalizing on the Barbenheimer mania that none of us could escape, not even the musician who spent most of 2023 flying across the world from one country to another.

But you, us, the listener—we want to believe that Swift makes these records because she has the artistic will, drive and interest to continue giving us parts of her story in such ways that they exist as an archival of her life.

But the problem is that, on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift is packaging her life into a form that is easily consumable for the 17 or 18 years olds who pour over her music. Just because her Eras Tour film is on Disney+ doesn’t mean she has to strip her songwriting (which we know can be, and has been, phenomenal) down for the sake of it being digestible by a wide spectrum of ages.

And, sure, maybe that makes the work accessible. But on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift makes Zoomer jargon her bag—titling a song after one of the most popular video games in the world and conjuring flickers of “down bad” and “I can fix him”—and it feels like she’s cosplaying because the Fountain of Youth was out of order.

Now that Swift is in her 30s, it sounds like she is infantilizing her own audience more than ever before—that singing to them at a level that could force them to reckon with something more akin with adulthood would be some kind of kink in the coil or her consumeristic threshold, that writing lyrics that sound like they were penned by a 30-year-old would, somehow, deter the interests of the billions of people who adore her.

If making one, continuous coming-of-age album is what Swift has been doing for 15 years, folklore and evermore were hiccups in the timeline—existing as the most fully-formed renderings of Swift’s own insecurities and concerns. They mirrored our platitudes towards an uncertain future with sweet, stirring remarks about isolation and heartbreak and the unavoidable, hard-worn truth about getting older. On those records, her larger-than-life living seemed, for once, to truly feel as close to the ground as ours.

Now, though, Taylor Swift is at the top of the mountain. Far better artists have made far worse records than The Tortured Poets Department, but you can’t read between the lines of this project. There is nothing to decipher from a place of quality.

Sure, Swift’s fan base will pour over these lyrics for the rest of their lives—insisting they know, for certain, which song is about who. But you cannot place a bad album on the shoulders of lore and expect it to be rectified.

We are now left at a crossroads. Women can’t critique Swift because they’ll run the risk of being labeled a “gender traitor” for doing so. Men can’t critique her because they’ll be touted as “sexist.”

And, sure, Swift is probably too easy a punching bag in this case—and most of the time, I would argue she is undeserving of being a victim of such barbs. But, you cannot write about someone being a “tattooed golden retriever” and get away with it and still retain your title as the best songwriter of your generation. You just cannot.

Sisyphus should be glad he never got the boulder to the top of the mountain—because Taylor Swift is showing us that such immortality and success ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. And, when you’re standing on the peak alone, who else is there left to hit?

In a recent interview with The Standard, Courtney Love said that Swift is “not interesting as an artist,” and I think The Tortured Poets Department proves as much. She has nothing to fight for, no doubters left to drown.

So where does she turn? Well, to boredoms of celebrity thinly veiled as sorrow everyone and their mother can latch onto—because we’ve all had to “ditch the clowns, get the crown” at some point in our lives, right?

The billionaire is having an identity crisis, but there are no social media apps for her to buy up. So she sings like Lana Del Rey and writes meta-self-referential songs about looking like Stevie Nicks.

What’s hollow about The Tortured Poets Department is that the real torture is just how unlivable these songs really are. No one can resonate with “So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street, crash the party like a record, scratch as I scream ‘Who’s afraid of little old me?’ You should be.” And normally, that wouldn’t be an end-all-be-all for a pop record—but when your brand is built on copious levels of “I’m just like you!” as the demigod saying it to their fans does so from a multi-million-dollar production set, it’s hard to not feel nauseated by the overlording, overbearing sense of heavy-handed detritus we’re tasked with sifting through on The Tortured Poets Department.

Love’s words to Lana, her advice to “take seven years off,” should be applied to Swift. Now, that doesn’t mean that, to make a good album, you must sit on material for years and labor extensively through the sketching, shaping and recording in order for it to be transcendentally landmark. But it’s obvious now that not even Taylor Swift wants to be the head of an empire—that she, too, can’t outrun the damning fate of being plum out of ideas by hopping in her jet and skirting off to God knows where.

See you at the Grammys.

****

[sindar-princeling]

LOTR Newsletter 3 Shire Drift - FAQ

Hello everyone!

Just like last year: for those of you who are already familiar with The Lord of the Rings Newsletter, this serves as an announcement that I'm doing it again; and for those who aren't - an introduction to the project :)

What is LOTR Newsletter?

I'm one of the people who subscribed to Dracula Daily in May 2022, and immediately thought, "Hey, I can do this too but with XYZ!" - XYZ being The Lord of the Rings. Because the events of LOTR also have specific dates ascribed to them, we're gonna be reading LOTR as it happened.

When does it take place?

Because of the way the beginning of LOTR is structured (read: because I don't want to leave six-month-long breaks between the first entries), we're gonna start on September 15th - a week before September 22nd, when the main events start to take place. It's also the publishing date of the Silmarillion, but that's just a fun fact for my own enjoyment.

From September 15th to September 19th, we'll read the prologue, and the fragments preceding Frodo's departure from the Shire. From September 20th, we'll be reading according to the dates in the book until April 8th. Then we'll be reading last parts of the book - which are stretched over a long time - once a week, to once again avoid lengthy breaks in delivery.

The Newsletter will last from September 15th to May 26th.

Where do I go if I want to post/talk about something related to the Newsletter with other readers?

We discuss current (and not only current) entries in the #lotr newsletter tag, and we have a Discord server set by the amazing @k-she-rambles! (I really hope this time I managed to generate a link that never expires...)

How do I subscribe?

Since the original platform I was using (TinyLetter) was shut down halfway through the second year of the newsletter, I had to figure out an alternative way to execute this project.

For the lovely people who joined the last edition of the newsletter, just a short announcement - I weighed all the pros and cons and decided to continue carrying out the newsletter the way I did after TinyLetter shut down.

For the new folks, a lengthier explanation: check out this post if you want to learn the details, but long story short: I can't send the newsletter as e-mails anymore, so instead I decided to provide you with a ready copy of the entire thing. I prepared formatted copies of the whole newsletter - September 15th to May 26th - as an .odt file, as a .pdf file, and most importantly as an .epub file, because I assume most of you are reading on your phones (if you don't already have an .epub reader, I use FBReader, and everything worked fine on my phone). At the beginning you'll find the whole table of contents with hyperlinks, so the navigation inside the document should be easy!

The MEGA folder can be accessed right here, and it's available for everyone!

In the folder linked, you'll also find a calendar file made by @none-ofthisnonsense that you can download on your phone and import into your calendar app so that all days when we read are marked in your calendar!

If you want to receive notifications about when there is an entry to read, you can also follow @is-today-a-lotr-newsletter-day and turn on notifications! This is a blog created solely for notifying you all when we're reading a new fragment of the newsletter, so all notifications you'll get will be about new entries, and nothing more. The notifications are meant to be the equivalent of sending e-mails.

Anything else I should know?

Please don't rat me out to Tolkien Estate/j, and have fun reading!

(And as a PS.: Thank you very much if you join - or join again! Last year was very tumultuous because of all the changes in the format, and I know the new way is not for everyone - but introducing more changes again felt like once more creating new chaos, so I decided to stick to a solution that mostly worked. I hope you understand!)

See you on September 15th!

[changes]

Friday, July 28th, 2023

🌟 New

We’ve updated the text for the blog setting that said it would “hide your blog from search results”. Unfortunately, we’ve never been able to guarantee hiding content from search crawlers, unless they play nice with the standard prevention measures of robots.txt and noindex. With this in mind, we’ve changed the text of that setting to be more accurate, insofar as we discourage them, but cannot prevent search indexing. If you want to completely isolate your blog from the outside internet and require only logged in folks to see your blog, then that’s the separate “Hide [blog] from people without an account” setting, which does prevent search engines from indexing your blog.

When creating a poll on the web, you can now have 12 poll options instead of 10. Wow.

For folks using the Android app, if you get a push notification that a blog you’re subscribed to has a new post, that push will take you to the post itself, instead of the blog view.

For those of you seeing the new desktop website layout, we’ve eased up the spacing between columns a bit to hopefully make things feel less cramped. Thanks to everyone who sent in feedback about this! We’re still triaging more feedback as the experiment continues.

🛠 Fixed

While experimenting with new dashboard tab configuration options, we accidentally broke dashboard tabs that had been enabled via Tumblr Labs, like the Blog Subs tab. We’ve rolled back that change to fix those tabs.

We’ve fixed more problems with how we choose what content goes into blogs’ RSS feeds. This time we’ve fixed a few issues with how answer post content is shown as RSS items.

We’ve also fixed some layout issues with the new desktop website navigation, especially glitches caused when resizing the browser window.

Fixed a visual glitch in the new activity redesign experiment on web that was making unread activity items difficult to read in some color palettes.

Fixed a bug in Safari that was preventing mature content from being blurred properly.

When using Tumblr on a mobile phone browser, the hamburger menu icon will now have an indicator when you have an unread ask or submission in your Inbox.

🚧 Ongoing

Nothing to report here today.

🌱 Upcoming

We hear it’s crab day tomorrow on Tumblr. 🦀

We’re working on adding the ability to reply to posts as a sideblog! We’re just getting started, so it may be a little while before we run an experiment with it.

Experiencing an issue? File a Support Request and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can!

Want to share your feedback about something? Check out our Work in Progress blog and start a discussion with the community.

[beartitled]

✨🎊🎉 Narratorverse March is finally here 🎉🎊✨

Big thanks to everyone who joined the collab and made their animations ❤️💕💓

Shoutout to @blackkatdraws2 with coming up with the idea for the collab 🫵❤️

Lemme just briefly say my thoughts

I have never expected for so many people joining 💥 Omg you guys 🥹

I was so pleasantly surprised with how attentionate you studied the original animation, you guys caught every detail and adapted it into your animation

My huge respect to ppl who decided to do 2 animations 💪💪

It was a blast seeing your animations and working on this project, I hope everyone had fun and learned something new along the way❤️ You guys did great I’m so proud of you👏👏💕💓❤️💕

🎉🎉🎉ENJOY THE VIDEO FOLKS🎉🎉🎉

(Posting this in 2 parts, bc tumblr cannot handle the original, 👉if you want to see the full image here’s the link👈)

Be sure to check out creators who participated in the collab✨

Animation for:

Kevan Brighting, Black, Gray by @blackkatdraws2 (twitter/youtube: Black Kat Draws)

Narrator by @rick-ety

Solaris by @stylus427

Narrator by @neat-o-things

Narry the first by @braisedhoney

Narry the second by @insomniphic (Instagram: insomniphic_art)

Narry the third (Barry) by me >:3

Henry by @soulsquigg

Nikolai by @cha1nsawblood

Wes by @purpleskelet0n (Instagram: Purpl3kelet0n)

Narrator + Stanley by @horimasoshi

Nicolas by @souppye (twitter: soupyye / tiktok: souppye)

Cyril by @shy-blue-waters

Laurence by @visillantopng (twitter: _visillanto_png)

Nigel by @emcake1 (twitter: em_cake1)

El and Discord by @paradoxspir1tart

Mantra by @deviousnarrator

Violet by @xandyprojects

Agus by @thenamesmobu

Narrator by oughtlyofcrow on twitter

Naranja by @dirtylittlemuffin

Archie by @notmefoina

Narson by @codenamedgalahad

Nova @idunnowhattowriteheretbh

Narrator by @bullpup-blog

N4RR_V3 by @bog-mob

Virgil by @oswinunknown

N by @gamergirls427

Narrator by @mar00nharp00ns (twitter: harp00ns)

Narrator by - @Mellowing4ever on twitter

Narrator by @kelpiekidd

Don @bloody-dear

Edwin by @machines-art-shenanigans

Edward by @galacticatzzart

Curtis by @file-unknown24

Floyd by @5kiyo

Archivist and Percival by @crowv3xd (Percival belongs to @demonicrhythms)

Snarry by @semisocialporcupine

Baxter by @emile-tb

Narcissus by @roseaterougerues (twitter: RoseateRues)

The Space Narrator by @raccoontank

Arthur by @indigo-art (twitter: IndogoopArt)

Clive by accoleius on twitter

Ozzie and Aesop by @miiints-repostiory

Narrator by airyyria on twitter

Edgar V. Marlowe by @bucketfullofstrawberries

Pixel by @melancholys-inc

Ambrosius by @your4thwallbreakerdraws

Narrator by @junebug-dot-com

Grefă by @limelemonleaf (instagram: lime.lemon.leaf)

Entropy by @z-static-z

Nathan and Staney by @tumbling-turmoil (tiktok: clock-app-chaos, twitter: CreatorChaos2)

‼️Continuation in the reblog‼️ (bc tumblr only allows 50 tags per post)

[voxisdaddy]

Hello~! I hope you are having a wonderful day and I would like to humbly request a part 2 of the Velvette x reader break up seeing how reader is holding up.

Are they watching Hella Novelas as well? Do they regret the whole thing? I love Velvette and really want to see how this would be affecting both sides

-🎨 anon

Ice Cream

Pt 2

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Velvette x Reader

C/TW: cussing

Type: Headcanons + Drabble

In which we see from readers perspective on how they’re dealing with the break up.

Pt.1 Pt.3

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Opening up sinstagram, you scrolled past numerous posts on the discovery page. It seemed every other post was about your relationship with Velvette—hells most prominent fashionista and social media influencer. You huffed upon seeing another video of speculation on the status of your relationship.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ You had deactivated your account long ago, a few hours after getting rid of all the remembrances of your previous relationship with the overlord. The memories were too much, and people speculating all the time was getting unbearable. You knew deactivation of your whole account might’ve been a bit too far, it most certainly had people talking, but you’ve seen this shit happen before;

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ High profile couple break up, people speculate, lots of talk and gossip, even months and years after it’s ended people will still talk, they’ll compare their new partners to their old partners, insist it’s a “right person, wrong time” type bullshit and just ugghhhh

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ “Do people have nothing better to do with their lives?” You’d ask yourself, liking a random post using your new account—a new and more anonymous account. You had made sure to keep it as less “HEY IM Y/N” as possible as to avoid any suspicions. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem to any other normal person. Though of course, your previous partner was no normal person and her associates were no normal folk either.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ it made you slightly paranoid at the thought that Vox could be aware of your new account—which was set to private—but considering he’s basically the king of tech, it wouldn’t surprise you that much if he had his ways. But it brought you some peace of mind that he probably doesn’t give a shit so he’d just leave you alone. Unless Velvette made him: then that’s an actual issue.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ You frowned when thinking of Velvette—getting slightly upset with yourself for thinking about her.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ It was hard not too though. You don’t just forget about someone who meant so much to you for so long, so quickly. Sometimes you wondered if you made the right choice. Did you regret it? Hmm…some days you did.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Some days you’d wake up and turn to the side to see a face you grew familiar to seeing every morning—she wouldn’t be there. Oh yeah. Of course she wouldn’t.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Some nights you slept just fine, not missing a familiar presence next to you or wishing she was there at all.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ It was very strange. It’s still strange. It didn’t help that considering she’s fucking Velvette—she’s everywhere. Every app you open; oh Velvette or the Vee’s are top of trending? Shocker! Leave your place for a little while to do some shopping? Oh look on the billboards—it’s fucking Velvette. Dating a celebrity as big of a deal as Velvette you were aware would have some draw backs but at the time you never considered what the end of the relationship would be like. Cuz I mean like, who would think about the ending of a relationship with someone you really liked to even get into said relationship with anyways?

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Somedays you opened your closet and yours eyes would drift to the clothing that Velvette had gifted you. Designed, hand made, complete with a spritz of her signature perfume to mark her scent on it—her own way of claiming you. You quirked an eyebrow at the clothing. It’s been… several weeks. Months maybe? Who knows but…

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ “Can’t keep hanging onto this forever…” You mumbled, thumb circling on a corner of a shirt she made you. It be nearly impossible to move on if you kept onto these sorts of things. I mean, you suppose by now she’d probably move on…right? Velvette doesn’t get attached to most things so…she has to be over it now. Right?

The walk to the nearest thrift store was anything but simple.

Meaning you had to take the long and more dangerous way around, through random alleyways and parkouring your way about. Their was VoxTek cameras everywhere in Pentagram city so you tried to avoid those as much as possible since dumping Velvette. Out of… slight fear, if you’re being honest.

No one disrespects and humiliates the Vee’s, evident from the Vox and Alastor fiasco, so you were slightly paranoid what Velvette or her fellow Vee’s would do to you since you are the one who ended things. You’re the one who deleted evidence of your relationship with the overlord on your very public account—which you then deactivated which of course only got people talking even more. Fucking great!

“I’m a real genius getting everyone’s attention on us Vel, whoopy.” You muttered quietly to yourself, dodging a stray bullet in the process.

The thrift store was in sight now, and in a quick jogging distance. You stopped from your corner, looking around for any VoxTek camera. Surely Vox isn’t always watching, right? He’s the ceo of his stupid empire for fucks sake, he should be way too busy to be sitting around looking at a bunch of random ass citizens in Pride. You spotted several cameras, making you tense.

“Just act natural. Don’t fuck up.” You whispered to yourself, completely missing the quirked eyebrows of a couple of sinners next to you that you apparently didn’t notice.

Pacing your steps correctly, you tried to make it seem like you weren’t just obviously trynna avoid said cameras. Just gotta blend in with the crowd.

Unbeknownst to you however, three overlords sat in Vox’s office, all the monitors displaying all the nearby streets to this thrift store.

Vox scrolled on his phone as he sipped his coffee, giving the occasional “uh huh” or “that bitch” whenever he felt necessary as he was forced to listen to Velvette’s rant. He was doing his usual work until Velvette and Valentino walked in, well more so Valentino dragging Velvette in. Apparently Velvette went on another tangent about ex’s and how she’s soooooo over you now. Valentino was too high too care but found it amusing nonetheless so he dragged the young overlord and himself to Vox so Vox could deal with keeping up with her tangent while the pimp just sits there and watches in amusement.

Velvette’s rant comes to a sudden stop when her eyes catches a glimpse of the monitors.

“Vox, teleport me there, now!”

With a quick grin to a staff member, you placed the group of neatly pressed clothes in the big donation bin.

The feelings of parting with the clothes was difficult for you to describe. Peace that you could more easily move on? Anxiousness that you’re letting your past relationship go? Self doubt began to flood your soul again.

In an almost desperate attempt to cling onto something, you took one article of clothing and sniffed it—wait is that her scent? You sniffed it again more confused this time. Wha—but you washed it! You washed all of these before donating them, why is that scent lingering around? Another sniff before you realized it wasn’t the clothing that had the scent.

“You’re kind of a freak for sniffing clothes, you know that?”

You turn on your heal, nearly jumping back in shock at how close the other was to you,

“Velvette.”

I’ve had this in my drafts for so long and I had no idea how to end it I’m so sorry. I really wanted to finish at least one request though bc I have so many that’s just sitting there half done 😭

Thank you for the request! I wasn’t expecting anyone to want a part 2 of sorts but I had fun and I hope it isn’t terrible lol

[yuzukult]

from home 03 || jjk & reader

title: from home pairing: jungkook x reader genre: richkid!jk, baker!reader, fakedating!au, fluff, angst, e2l, smut in future chapters word count: 8.1k prompt: jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class? a/n: .......... LMFAOOOOOOOOO SORRY FOLKS I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ORIGINAL... anyways hopefully i copied the right chapter hahahhahahah

“You going to the staff dinner tonight?”

Raising a finger at Hoseok, Jungkook slips his phone from his pocket, skimming through the pages before landing on an app, typing a few things in before he looks up with a saddened expression on his face. “... I guess not.”

“Why? What’s wrong? Why can’t you go?” He turns his phone to show the both of you. 

JEON JUNGKOOKACCOUNT BALANCE: ₩33,258.75

“Jungkook!” You and Hoseok in unison exclaim in disbelief. “How the fuck do you only have $30 in there?” Jungkook shrugs, slumping his shoulders as he leans against the conveyor belt. “My mom hasn’t given me the modeling money yet. Our accountant is still calculating all of my earnings. You’d think with how much my parents pay him that he’d work a little faster...”

“We just got paid two days ago,” Hoseok points out, completely baffled as to how Jungkook was able to go through that money so quickly. “What did you do?”

Standing in the middle of Jungkook’s apartment, you and Hoseok just heave out a heavy sigh, shaking your heads in disappointment. He has new curtains, one that makes it easier for the sun to shine through in the mornings which has been an incredibly huge mood booster for him. His futons now have pillows and a blanket to claim their own. Then there was the fridge— full of almost every type of frozen meal from the aisles of the grocery store. And the pantry was an entirely different story; stacks of ramen, chips, cookies— they were practically spilling.

“Jungkook, you need to learn how to control your spending.” You say with great dismay, skimming through the labels of all the ramen bowls and packets that pile on top of each other. “If you keep going at this rate, you’re going to be so broke that you’ll be living on our couches on rotation.”

His face brightens. “You’d let me live on your couch if I needed to?” 

Ignoring his question blatantly, you start browsing his apartment with Hoseok. His suitcases and boxes remain full of things that he brought back from the estate which has you going through them in pure amusement. “You guys... wanna help me unpack or something?”

“Unpack or something. Either or.” You pull out a velvet royal blue suit from one of the boxes that’s still in its clear plastic jacket for the outer protective layer. “Jungkook, want to give me a reason why you have this?”

“Oh. That’s this year’s Hugo Boss. Haven’t worn it yet, I needed to get it fitted.”

Your nostrils flare at the words. “... OK, so why do you still have it? You’re a lower middle class guy living in a studio apartment that’s still probably being paid by his parents who have a butt load of money so they honestly don’t even know they’re still putting money into this. Why they hell would you have a suit that’s...” flipping the label around, your jaw nearly pops off when it drops to the floor, “₩665,175,000.00? Jungkook, what the flying fuck—”

“What?” Hoseok drops the bag of chips he’s in the midst of opening from his hands. Despite also coming from money, he was never that rich in comparison to Jungkook. “Yeah, Hobi, you heard that right. $600,000.00 buckaroos. That’s the cost of a house right there.”

“The Jeon estate is actually—“ You place your index finger against Jungkook’s lips to hush him. “Don’t even. You need to sell this suit.”

“Sell—“ Breathless, Jungkook looks like he’s going to pass out. “I can’t sell a limited edition suit. It was hard to even get it in the first place! What makes you think I’m going to sell it?”

“Because you have 30 bucks to your name.” You respond bluntly before picking up another suit that he has lying underneath the first. “Or sell this one.”

“Not the 2021 Vintage Gucci Men’s Suit!”

“How— One, how can something be vintage if it’s in 2021? And it’s not even 2021 yet?”

The sun begins to set; the rays peering through the curtains gradually dissipates, leaving the three of you sprawled across Jungkook’s new apartment with clothes splattered on every possible surface in the poorly lit room. He still lacked another lamp, but the one his mother left was going to have to do. The staff dinner plans are cancelled, mostly because reorganizing Jungkook’s belongings has been an unanticipatedly gratifying yet a fraught chore that took up more time than predicted. Jungkook was hoping to attend the dinner, but after seeing how much effort you and Hoseok put in trying to make his living space a bit more comfortable, the hope for going to the event has been pushed to the back of his mind.

“Do you guys want to order take-out?” Jungkook suggests, and both you and Hoseok nod while sharing each halves of the futon. “But we’ll pay since you barely have any money. You can get us next time.”

Next time, which means that you guys want to hang out with Jungkook again. 

To him, this is a huge step in the friendship direction. Throughout the entirety of his life, having friends had never really been a thing. Sure, he had play-dates per request from his mother, but those kids were fans of the stuff he owned, they didn’t even like him for him. It had become a recurrence up until high school, where the replacement for the need for friendship had been occupied with flings with women instead. People hung around him for the image, but he never felt a connection with anyone.

That was, until he met you and Hoseok.

Although he’d known Hoseok from showing up at the same parties, he never actually got to talk to him on this level until he visited the supermarket that fateful day. He was always the fun guy at parties; attention constantly gravitating toward him, whether he liked it or not, and he came from money as well, so Jungkook wasn’t sure if those people were surrounding him because of it. Sure, Hoseok’s parents weren’t as rich as Jungkook’s, but they were pretty high up there and could afford almost anything they desired.

Yet, he preferred this sight of Hoseok. Baggy hoodie and jeans, skin greasy from spending the day at work then coming to Jungkook’s apartment to unpack. He’s nagging at you for taking up too much space, covering the surface area that Hoseok had claimed to be his under an unspoken contract as you frown when he slaps your leg.

He likes this. There’s no gowns and tuxes in a ballroom with hors d'oeuvres worth the price of a car per bite; there’s no young people at a party, getting wasted and high, fucking in bedrooms that they weren’t sure who it belonged to; there wasn’t a dining room full of both family and strangers that attempted to start small talk about things he didn’t care about— there was none of that. Just comfort from people he genuinely wanted to impress and make proud of him. He’s not sure if he’s ever felt this way before and he’s barely even known either of you that long. Jungkook has been spending most of his life trying to fill a void in him and has been unsuccessful. He’s finally feeling like he’s going somewhere.

You and Hoseok finally agree on what to eat and he learns that it’s your favorite. Pizza. Extra cheese, pepperoni, sausage, spinach with an ungodly amount of jalapeño peppers, Hoseok mentioned earlier that night that your tolerance for spicy foods is stronger than the pits of hell. 

“Jesus, how are you eating this?” Jungkook cries, snot dripping from his nose while Hoseok wipes his tears after taking another bite. You sit there, unfazed, picking up the abandoned slices of peppers that sit in the box, dropping them into your mouth. “It’s honestly not that spicy. Don’t be dramatic.”

“Bitch, we are not being dramatic, your stomach is made out of whatever Captain America’s shield is made from...”

Jungkook’s phone buzzes in the midst of your argument with Hoseok and just from the name on his lock screen, his heart drops. Jeon Junghwan.

There were a couple things in life that Jungkook wanted to attain— the acceptance from Junghwan and his parents being on top of that list. Ever since Jungkook was younger, Junghwan had been the golden child, the rest of the four were just barely making it, arduously following in his footsteps. But he failed, he hasn’t been able to win the approval from him.

Jeon Junghwan [7:55PM]: Mother is having a charity banquet on Saturday. She would have called you but figured it’d be best if I contacted you instead. Something about ‘inspiration’. Please be at the estate at 7:00PM sharp.

Jeon Junghwan [7:55PM]: Goodnight, Junghwan.

“Why does he text like an old man?” Jungkook flinches, head turning sideways to meet with Hoseok hovering over his shoulder. “Junghwan, I mean. But cool, I was supposed to go to that banquet too, until I got called on a shift. Luckily you’re not scheduled.”

“Yeah...” He says quietly, seated on the floor as he leans back against the sides of the futon. “This is the first time I’m seeing my family after moving out. I need to plan this out right.”

“Well, what’s the plan?” Cheeks full of fries, you’re munching away on the other side of Jungkook as he contemplates the next steps he’s going to have to make in order to reach his goal. “One thing is for sure. You’re going to be my date.”

The breath has been stolen away from his lungs and his heart feels like you’ve pierced through his chest cavity and squashed it into the palm of your hands. He doesn’t know what it’s called (maybe a blowout) but the way your hair cascades down to your shoulders is marveling. In a black long dress with a slit that exposes the entirety of your legs, his breath hitches when his eyes meet the skin of your thighs, the spaghetti straps drape over your décolletage with the v-cut neckline only finishing it off right. He thinks this is his fatal moment. He’s never seen you dolled up like this before; cheeks brushed with a peach blush, lashes emphasized with mascara, liner that makes you look even more fierce, and lips... so buttery pink and plump that almost wishes he could—

“Jungkook?” He shivers, immediately pushing the thoughts out of his head. You’d probably stab him in mere seconds if you knew what he was thinking about. “H-Hey. You look good.” 

You grin, adjusting the fabric that hangs around your legs. “Thanks, you don’t look so bad yourself. Anyways, let’s get going. You said your brother sent a car for us?”

Even though Jungkook is a model and has posed in magazines in suits, it’s still a surprise to see how stunning he manages to look in person. He keeps his hair casual today, despite the formal attire, but when his fingertips rake through those luscious locks, it makes sense why he went with that decision. If you didn’t know any better, you wouldn’t believe that this hunk was living off of frozen meals and instant ramen for the past week. 

He’s pretty, yet there’s something that you can’t help but loathe about him. 

Jungkook is still from money, despite the amount of times you’ve seen him in the supermarket’s uniform and apron. It’s something you’ve been trying to force yourself to remember when you feel yourself slowly falling into the traps of his smile and looks. The reminder is there when a Mercedes Benz S-Class pulls up and Jungkook isn’t as astonished as you are. The window of the driver’s side rolls down, revealing a middle-aged man who wears a chauffeur’s hat and a grin upon his lips. “Jeon Jungkook, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Hyungjin,” He dips his head in acknowledgement before saying your name, “... this is my date. This guy has been my driver since I was born. Park Hyungjin. He’s going to be taking us to the estate tonight.”

Jungkook opens the back door for you as you slide in with ease, completely in veneration at the characteristics of the vehicle. It feels luxurious, from the leather seats to the center console, and when you see Hyungjin beginning to raise the customized partition between the front and back seats, you’re shocked it can even do that until Jungkook halts him from doing so. “Uh, sorry, Hyungjin, she’s not one of those nights.”

Oh, you think to yourself, this was a routine. His preceding lifestyle is starting to unfold before you.

Arriving at the ‘estate,’ which was something you’d had been stuck with trying to adjust yourself in calling Jungkook’s family home, it’s an unreservedly different part of the home compared to your first visit however a sudden coldness hits your core from incredulity. How could anyone need a home this big? Jungkook guides you out of the car before you could even register the visuals of the home, waving Hyungjin goodbye and brisk “thank you.”

“Hold my hand.” His fingertips brush against the back of your hand discreetly, and as a reflex, you slap him away while he whimpers in pain. “What the hell was that for?”

“Sorry. Habit.” When you try to reach for him again, he opts for resting his palm on your lower back instead, keeping you close. “It’s okay. Is this alright?” You nod. “This is better anyway. We look close yet at the same time professional.”

When you step into the ballroom, you quickly learn that your previous time at the Jeon estate had only been a glimpse of what Jungkook’s sumptuous home had to offer. There’s something of a mezzanine or indoor balcony of some sorts with staircases that branch around the perimeter where a couple people stand idly. The chandelier that you saw in the dining room before was no comparison to what was currently hanging from the ceiling right now— there’s diamonds that hang like raindrops, intricately scattered with clear clarity that only the rich could identify and have the opportunity to see in person. The guests are dressed like those diamonds— sparkles and jewels of women that bathed in the crystals, accompanied by men who simply wore tuxedos and suits. 

But the real stars of the show were the Jeons. With Mrs. Jeon’s hair in an updo, it accentuates her collarbones and shoulders where her dress lies; a beautiful detailed lavender gown that you can already sense the weight of when she drags it behind her. You see where Jungkook gets his genes from.

The filler music from the orchestra that plays in the corner stops, the chattering along with it as they all divert their attention to the Jeons that stand by the railings of the balcony— the four boys and their dates. All that’s missing is Jungkook who stands beside you, hand graduating from your lower back to your waist. 

“Hello, everyone,” Mrs. Jeon greets, a pearly white smile upon her lips. “I am so thankful for your attendance here. As you know, tonight is dedicated toward the Cancer Research Foundation of Seoul, known as the CRFS, and I will be the host tonight but the true genius behind this all is my son, Jeon Jungsik.”

Jungsik approaches his mother from the side, dressed just as well as the rest of his siblings, shaking his head in disapproval. “Mother, I couldn’t have done this without you,” He says humbly, eyes browsing the crowd but pauses when he sees Jungkook with you by his side. There’s something hidden behind his stare, Jungkook hypothesizes, because his modest brother suddenly wants the spotlight whereas previously, he’d be standing in the audience. He can’t tell if it’s because it’s the first family event where he’s sober or if truly there’s something about Jungsik that’s different. “But tonight is a different kind of night. We’re here today not to just donate what we can to a good cause, but celebrating as well. I’m announcing my engagement with Kim Nari.”

An abrupt realization washes over Jungkook.

Kim Nari. The daughter of a tech mogul whose relationship with Jungsik would further advance the Jeon Corporation and skyrocket their profits. Her marriage with Jungsik would link the two companies together, creating possibilities for what seemed to be impossible. Which brings to question, why would Jungsik be interested in Nari? She’s a reflection in the mirror of Jungkook himself— uncontrollable, spoiled, and dependent with no future planned. Why would Jungsik, someone with passions, dreams, and stability want to be with someone like that? Something was up, and Jungkook can taste the bitterness in his mouth.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You ask, but you genuinely don’t care. Anything would be better than listening to conversations that were beginning to start up again at the hasty announcement. Nari has one of her hands sitting upon the rail, waving as if she’s the Queen of England, with a dress that may be deemed inappropriate for a setting like this. It seems that the rest of the family is hearing the engagement for the first time though because Mrs. Jeon looks like she’s going to faint and Mr. Jeon is holding in his anger rather than noticing Nari’s attire.

“Nothing, just... something weird with my brother.” He says before turning to give you his attention again. “Anyway, should I introduce you to my horrific bloodline?”

When Jungkook guides you toward his family members that have begun trickling down the staircase, you’re appearing to have heart palpitations from the suspense. The way the Jeons walk is intimidating alone; shoulders pushed back, straightened posture, and smiles that resemble authenticity on the surface but daggers will be pulled at their disposal if anything goes haywire.

“Mother, Father, this is my girlfriend...” You altogether miss when Jungkook says your name from the sight of his family up close until he squeezes your waist gingerly to capture your awareness again. “Oh, yes, hi,” You bow speedily, “I’m uh, Jungkook’s girlfriend.” Wait. Didn’t he just say that?

“Are you now? Last time we spoke, you said you weren’t,” Mrs. Jeon comments, and albeit her words sound harsh, the draw of her lips upwards say otherwise. It feels a bit forced, but you know it’s from the sudden news coming from Jungsik. There’s a façade of happiness when deep down, she’s disappointed. “We... we met after that night and he treated me to dinner for taking care of him. We’ve been... seeing each other ever since.” 

Mr. Jeon stands there in silence, observing the conversation between you and his wife before unexpectedly speaking up. “Did you attend University? And have you graduated yet?”

Jungkook knows what this is. The Interrogation. Every Jeon child’s significant other has gone through this and you were next. He had completely forgotten about it— mostly because his other brothers had gone through it years ago, and Jongseok’s ‘girlfriends’ had never really been girlfriends, so their dad had given up on that until someone serious came by.

He never thought it’d be him before Jongseok.

“Yes, back in 2016.” You state, fingers fidgeting with the metal chain of your purse. It was a simple question yet the way it’s executed is as if he’s searching for a particular answer.

The older gentleman tilts his head, the space between his brows crinkling in perplexity. He looks so much like Jungkook, except matured with wisdom, and if Jungkook was of any replication of his father when he’s that age, he’d probably still have a line of women after him. “So you’re older than Jungkook.”

“No, father,”  Jungkook chimes in, “... Quite the opposite. She’s actually a year younger than me. Graduated University rather early. Or... well, she finished high school early.” He can see from his peripheral vision that he has captured the ears of his other siblings that stand languidly. “Gifted, really. Child prodigy. Despite all the talented Jeon children, we’ve never had one of those.”

There’s a glimmer in his father’s eyes. He’s impressed. “Really?” His stiff tone has shifted to a lighter one. “Did you study in Seoul? What was your degree in?”

“No, uh, I actually studied abroad in New York after graduating high school. I was about... maybe fifteen at the time? I chose Food Science— I thought about being a Chef because my inspiration is Guy Fieri but someone told me to be a bit more realistic with my brain so here we are.”

Guy Fieri? Jungkook stifles a laugh at your secretive role model, rubbing your sides comfortingly. It’s something to tease you about later, but right now, you have a job to do. Swoon his father.

Mr. Jeon nods, hands slipping into the front pockets of his slacks. “Remarkable. We could use someone like you in the Jeon Corporation.”

Both you and Jungkook choke, clearing your throats at the sudden suggestion, glancing at one another. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m thinking about opening a chain of restaurants, something high end, something different.” Jungkook’s brothers are stepping in closer to listen shamelessly to the conversation, the look of disarray stamped onto each one of their faces as if it’s the first time they’re hearing this information, for the second time tonight. “I would love it if you gave me your take on how to proceed on some things, and help the chef formulate something that makes sense without him cheating me out on prices. Jungkook, tell Maeri to schedule something for us so I can discuss further details.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” You blurt, palms growing sweaty. “But you just met me, and Jungkook and I just started dating. Are you sure you trust me?” It’s another experience of déjà vu; Jungkook mirroring his father’s actions at the yacht party when he claims that he’d pay for your aspirations.

“Of course. Jeon Jungkook doesn’t have girlfriends.”

Just then, someone taps his shoulder and whispers something ineligible into his ear before he turns to you with his hand extended, and you take the offer with a firm shake. “I’m needed elsewhere. It was nice meeting you. Glad to know Jungkook chose someone fitting.” And with that, he leaves.

“Well, that was pleasant,” Mrs. Jeon comments, hand resting on Jungkook’s shoulder. “Seems that sending you off to live alone has brought nothing but good impressions on your father. Keep it up, Kook-ah. I’m going to go accompany him, so in the meanwhile, introduce her to your brothers, why don’t you?”

Turning your body to face Jungkook, you let out the hugest breath you’ve ever held in your entire life. “What was that?”

He looks equally as stunned as you. “I don’t know but that went so much better than I actually thought. I think that was the fastest he’s ever been fascinated by any of our girlfriends.” 

Jungkook’s father had strict outlooks for the company, one of them being that he wanted nothing but pure Jeon blood leading the corporation. This meant that the significant others of any of his children weren’t allowed to be part of the trade. So why did he ask you particularly for a hand in the family business?

“Jungkook,” One of his brothers calls out, your heads sharply jolting at the sound of his voice.

Have you ever watched Boys Over Flowers? When the Flower 4 walk through any entrance, it’s like time slows down and their hair flows through the wind like they’re models?

That’s what pretty much happens.

“Hyungs.” He says; it’s their own version of a hello and the atmosphere between them is tense. “It’s nice to see you sober, Jungkook.”

His jaw tightens. “I wasn’t an addict, just you so know. Made it easier being around you all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” The one you assume is Jongseok from your previous google search waves his hand, disregarding Jungkook’s statement before pointing his finger directly at you. If only you could bite it off along with his rude mannerisms. “Girl toy?”

“Girlfriend,” Jungkook corrects him and his other brothers are intrigued. “This is my girlfriend,...” As he says your name, your eyes immediately are drawn to the woman behind one of the males; shiny caramel colored hair with the simplest white dress that hugs her small waist that still manages to make her look like a goddess with a smile that was so sweet your teeth start to hurt. You recall catching a sight of her in the same magazines that Jungkook featured in and on the posters at the mall whenever you’d walk into a store but how she looked in person was flawless compared to those photos. She was like the real life version of a photoshopped picture.

“This is Hayoung, my brother Junghwan’s wife.”

“Uh, H-H-Hi,” why does she make you so nervous? Do you get anxious around extremely beautiful women? “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” She hums, cheekbones high with her grin. “Kookie never mentioned he had a girlfriend, let alone brought anyone to meet his family before.”

“Kookie?” You reiterate with a mocking tone. He knows you’ll never let him live this down. Least he still had the Guy Fieri thing up his sleeve. “Noona, it would’ve been nice to keep that away from her for a bit. I’m trying to ease her into this madness. She’s probably still recovering from that conversation with our father.”

“As if!” Hayoung counters back. Her husband, Junghwan, wraps an arm around her waist before dipping his head slightly toward you. “I’m Junghwan, Jungkook’s older brother.” He then begins to point at the other gentlemen. “Jonghyun, Jungsik, and Jongseok, respectively.” 

Frankly, it had been a lot to unpack for the night, and you assumed that the boxes back at his apartment were a lot, but this was truly a lot. Within an hour, Jungkook introduces you to almost anyone that plays a significant role in his life and elaborates on each of their backgrounds. 

Junghwan, his eldest brother, is married to the international supermodel Na Hayoung, and he’s the next in line to inherit the CEO position when his father steps down from the company. He’s been trained all his life for this role, apparently, and it’s evident in how he carries himself. Jonghyun, the second oldest, stands behind Junghwan in the company, supposedly his right hand man when it comes to business, joined at the hip although their personal relationship with each other isn’t as close. He’s also married, Jungkook mentions, but his wife is currently very pregnant and at home. He skips over Jungsik, only because you’ve met him over dinner, but he doesn’t miss a beat when he says that Jungsik is purportedly the angelic Jeon. Lastly was Jongseok, the last sibling before himself, and was described as something along the lines of, “the most useless, right after myself, and if it weren’t for his involvement with the marketing department because of his diploma, he’d be living in a studio apartment downtown, cut off from this family too.” Jungkook’s words, not yours.

The night slowly reaches an end, people scattering to leave the estate, thanking Jungkook’s parents for hosting such a charitable event. Just before you’re about to step out along with Jungkook, his mother had her fingers wrapped around your wrist. “Jungkook, you and your lovely girlfriend should stay the night. Downtown is far and your siblings will be here as well. Maybe you can show her to your bedroom? I know you’ve been missing your bed and well... maybe show her around your childhood home.” She pauses for a moment as Jungkook hesitates as you eye him suspiciously before interrupting his thoughts. “Your father wants to speak to you and your brothers in the morning anyways, so it would be nice for you to stay for breakfast, dear.”

“Are you fucking dense, Jeon Jungkook? I do not want to stay the night here.” Contradicting your angry words, you’re already unlatching the attachment on the straps of your heels, sliding them off while seated on the bay window seats of his bedroom, rubbing the soles of your feet. “I’m sorry,” He mutters weakly, falling on the foot of his bed. “I don’t know how to say no to my mother.”

“Well, quit being a fucking momma’s boy and call an Uber. I want to go home, Jungkook.”

“Uber’s don’t run this late at night in the area. We live too far off the grid.”

“Well, then ask Mr. Hyungjin to pull up in his whip and take us home.”

His face drops, a guilty look pooling in his orbs. “We sent him home. He’s technically off on the weekends. Hyungjin only came out because Junghwan asked for him beforehand.”

You grumble, laying back on the cushions, locks tangling along with your mood. “What are we supposed to do here? Share a bed? What am I supposed to wear to sleep? Did you already ask your housemaids?”

“No,” He answers bleakly, standing up. “But I’ll go ask now. In the meantime, you can watch some TV? Then when I come back you can shower and do whatever you need. I think I have a spare toothbrush for you to borrow. As for the bed thing...” Jungkook looks over at that California King that he misses so much. “... it’s more than big enough for the two of us, I’ll keep my distance from you without a problem.”

Before you can counter the suggestion, he’s already out the door.

Perusing through his bedroom, you soon learn that this ‘room’ of his is the size of your childhood bedroom times five with a closet the size of your apartment with a connecting bathroom that was equivalent in surface area.

Then it has you thinking. Jungkook grew up like this, in a life of grandeur where everything he had, he had a plethora of. Whether it be education, belongings, or the aid of people who tended to every need he had, it never seems to run out. He had a driver since he was born while you struggled to learn how to take the bus alone at the age of 7. Or running out of money to pay for a new notebook for class since you’ve been using the same one for the past two grades in order to save cash so your parents could put food on the table. While Jungkook over here was probably tearing down trees in his yard to make all the paper in the world. What about noticing that you were ahead of the kids in your class? No one seemed to have realized it until you said to someone that you were bored, and needed more challenging material when you got sent to the Principal’s office per request, begging to be with the bigger kids.

If you had the money Jungkook had, you would’ve been able to pay off both yours and your parents’ debt in addition to opening your bakery all within the same year. 

But you aren’t Jungkook, and jealousy just runs through your veins alongside the enmity. 

Entering through the housemaids’ chambers was a nostalgic feeling that he couldn’t exactly say was his favorite. Sneaking down here during the late hours of the night for quick sex and running back up to his bedroom felt like such a teenager thing to do at the age of twenty, so he instantaneously gave up on that. 

There’s two wooden doors to choose from. Nayeon, the house servant he slept with several times before realizing that she had falling for him while thinking it was some forbidden love, and Hana... also a servant that he had sex with until she also fell in love with him.

So which one of them would be less upset about him asking to borrow their sleepwear for his new girlfriend?

Answer to that question: neither because they both slammed their doors on him after asking. He should’ve figured that sooner.

Next stop: Junghwan’s room. Maybe Hayoung had something for you. 

He hesitates when he’s standing outside of his brother’s bedroom door. It takes him back to when he was a kid all over again, desperate for his big brother’s attention who didn’t even have enough time to dedicate to him. Taking in a deep breath of courage, he does it yet again, his knuckles tapping against the wood that makes the same knocking sound.

Peeking out, Junghwan looks at Jungkook with a perplexed expression. “Jungkook, what’s up? Are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah. Is noona with you?” He nods. “Yeah, of course. She’s washing her face right now, wanna come in?” Jungkook steps into the room, ambivalent with each movement because he’s never been invited into Junghwan’s room before. It’s almost exactly what his room looks like, except all the shades are dark, varying from grey to navy, with his bed, closet, and bathrooms in the same locations. 

“Hayoung, Jungkook is looking for you.”

“Kookie?” Coming out the bathroom with a robe on, her hair is drenched as she attempts to towel dry it, face pretty even without makeup. “What’s up, bub?”

“Uh, my girlfriend,” He starts, rubbing the back of his nape anxiously because he’s never said those words before, “She doesn’t have anything to wear tonight. I have some clothes, but I think she’d feel more comfortable if she at least has some pants.”

“Tell her to sleep in her underwear, what’s the problem?” Because she’s not really my girlfriend, is what he wants to say, but he takes a different approach. “We’re... still in the early stages. So, uh, you know. She’s shy.” She shakes her head with a smile upon her lips. “Okay. Give me a second. I have a bunch of clothes that I left when we used to live here.” With that, she disappears into the closet.

“I’m... proud of you, Jungkook.” Junghwan speaks up, protruding through the silence. Jungkook just stares in bewilderment, unsure what he even did to make Junghwan say those words he had dreamt to hear coming from his eldest brother. “Other than landing a girlfriend who is definitely way out of your league, you’re actually showing some progress living alone. I honestly didn’t really agree with the plan that Jongseok proposed but... I see it’s working well.”

“W-What do you mean?” Jungkook questions. He still can’t believe what he’s hearing.

Junghwan hums. “You were able to find a job yourself. I haven’t seen you coming back begging for money again, and you found someone who doesn’t have the facilities to give you the lifestyle that our parents gave us. You found love without money and I think it really makes a person humble.” He’s fiddling with the strings of his sweatpants now, comprehending that the two of them don’t really talk one-on-one. “I know I changed a lot when I met Hayoung.”

“Kookie, I think I have a couple options for you— whoa, why does it feel so sad here?” She remarks, stopping in the midst of her walk toward Jungkook. “You guys... alright?”

“Nothing,” Junghwan responds quickly. “I just wanted to tell Jungkook that I’m proud of him.” This does nothing but prompt Hayoung to roll her eyes, laying out a pair of shorts and a silky baby blue nightgown. “Junghwan is always proud of Kookie, just not always the decision he makes. Anyways,” She completely brushes off the topic that Jungkook wants to hear, but he’ll circle back to that later. He had a pretty girl waiting in his room who had the temper of the Hulk. “I have two options for you to give her. Maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll wear the night gown?”

Jungkook scoffs. “If I brought that to her, she’d probably wrap it around my neck and choke me within seconds. Keep the gown, I’m taking the shorts. I’ll let her wear one of my T-shirts.”

“Are you sure?” Hayoung sings and Jungkook tells her he’s almost confident that he’s going to die tonight if he so much reaches the door with that thing in his hands.

Jungkook chucks the shorts at your face while you’re laying on your back on his mattress. “Here you go, Mrs. Fieri. The girls wouldn’t lend me anything because well... I may have slept with them both and they were hopelessly in love with me. Hayoung noona gave me those shorts instead.” He’s babbling on about how rude the housemaids had been when he asked, but you’re canceling his voice out because the coolest chick you’ve ever met just lent you her shorts.

“... Are you even listening to me?”

“Huh?”

He snaps his fingers in front of your face but registers that it’s no use. You’re too busy trying to decipher how God decided to gift Hayoung the looks and the personality that you miss when Jungkook leaves the closet, throwing a plain white t-shirt at your direction. It’s huge compared to you, yet seems like it would fit him well. “Go shower. I’ll be in there after you.”

It’s awkward.

So goddamn awkward. 

Jungkook is wearing a black T-shirt of some band you can’t recognize because the majority of the print has been worn off paired with grey sweatpants that hug his ass so beautifully. Scratch that. You never thought that. They look soft. That’s what you meant.

While you’re currently occupied with attempting to avoid looking at Jungkook, he can’t stop staring at your exposed legs and notice how small and cute you are. Soft. It’s tempting him to want to wrap his arms around your frame and snuggle his nose into the crook of your neck while inhaling the scent of his body wash on your skin. He wants to blame it on the dry spell he’s having because all he does is work nowadays that once he gets home, he’s completely drained. Alcohol doesn’t even appear in his mind either. Or maybe he genuinely thinks you’re pretty and having you in his bed doesn’t make it any better.

Sitting on the farthest opposite ends of the bed, Jungkook clears his throat. “See? I told you that the bed is way too big for the two of us. Should be easy to steer clear from each other.”

Wrong. Incorrect. You should’ve known that Jungkook would be fallacious.

The sun gleams through the sheer white blinds of his prodigious windows, illuminating your faces on an unironically Sunday morning, emitting a groan from a stiff beside you. Your body feels heavier than usual, almost like something was pressing down on you. 

You panic. Were you having a stroke?

After forcing your eyes open from the dry boogers, you can’t believe the sight. Jungkook has his arms and legs tangled in the sheets with yours, nose brushing against your shoulder. He’s so cosy, the most he’s ever been, and the warmth from your body is like a different feeling of home for him. It’s comforting like a cup of hot chocolate during the harsh weather in the Winter or swaddling yourself in a blanket in front of the fireplace. Now knowing how it feels to be in your embrace, he’s not sure if he wants to let go.

“Jungkook, please get the fuck off me.” You bite. Cuddling was not what was discussed in the terms of agreement. Not that there was one but having a buff guy curled up beside you that wasn’t actually dating you was making your heart do cartwheels when it shouldn’t be. He doesn’t seem a bit rattled knowing that he’s snuggling up against you because he scoots even closer. “Five more minutes.” He mutters. His dreams of taking in the aroma of your natural scent mixed in with his shower gel were coming true.

You push him off with as much strength as your body could gather, yet you fail underneath those muscular arms. Those big, thick—

There’s one knock and someone just immediately flings the door open with a gasp. 

But then you see them. Jungsik and Jongseok. 

You don’t know why but you care about how Jungsik sees you, but you care. He’s the closest to your ideal type— as unrealistic as it is for him to ever have a relationship with you, especially since he has a fiancé now— yet at the same time, he knows you’re ‘dating’ Jungkook, and whether or not he believes it, you’re not sure, but your chances were already wearing thin as it is, even worse now that he’s witnessing you in the same bed as his youngest brother. You may have a teensy weensy little crush on your fake boyfriend’s brother.

“Cute,” He chuckles, already dressed in his daily attire; grey slacks that crop at the ankle and a navy dress shirt that doesn’t button up all the way, hugging tightly around his pecs that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. “Well, we’re sorry for intruding. Father wants us down for breakfast within an hour. Wake up your boyfriend for us, will you?”

“I’m not sorry,” Jongseok adds with a devilish grin before he quickly shuts the door and leaves promptly with Jungsik. Jungkook hasn’t even moved, not even twitching the slightest bit despite his brothers’ abrupt invasion.

You officially hate Jungkook even more... if that was even possible.

There's an abundance of choices for breakfast foods that sits on the length of the dining room table that you had gotten a glimpse of during your first visit to the Jeon estate, more food than you've ever seen in one place. They had waffles, pancakes, sausages, bacon, toast—all that’s expected of a typical American breakfast laid out like it’s a picture from the Food Network Magazine. He has servants, shuffling through in and out of the room, placing plates and utensils in specific detailed orders before they pull out the heavy upholstered wooden chairs for each and every member of the family in invitation. 

"Uh, it's okay, thank you, I got it—" The woman who has her hands gripped on the framing of the seat tightly as she clenches her jaw, has a glare shooting lasers in your direction. Maybe you'd just take the offer and sit instead. She might be one of Jungkook's late night affairs, you never know what she'd do to your food if you didn't comply.

Sticking out like a sore thumb, you settle yourself by your now claimed to-be-boyfriend who sits comfortably in his own seat since he's owned it for two decades now. You, however, it's your first day and you're not even sure how to feel. Hayoung seems to be doing the opposite; eyes shiny from excitement at the sight of all the options that are laid out in front of her. You can agree to her interest, the Belgium waffles that's stacked at the center of the table with a square of butter residing on top makes your mouth water.

"Thank you all for coming," Jungkook's father announces, the chair he's rested on makes him look so tiny at the head of the table. "I want to discuss some matters with all of you and also invite Jungkook's new love into the family. Honestly never thought this day would come where I'd see my most troublesome child make such advancements in a short span of time."

There's reticence along the table, Mrs. Jeon beside him, eyes searching the table for something in particular. "The proceedings with this engagement with Kim Nari, Jungsik. What did you expect would happen with that?"

And there it was. The conversation that had been put off last night due to guests being on the residence. It's because of two of the things that Mr. Jeon stood by when it came to his family and business: no bloodline, no business entrance had been challenged and the Interrogation had never been in place. 

"Father," Jungsik clears his throat, pressing his back against the cushion. "I'll have you know that I'm only thinking of the future of our company."

"Without talking to me about it?" He snaps, agitated. He doesn't even care that a complete stranger is sitting at the table with them. "What gives you the right to be the only person to know what's good or not for the company? Why not consult with Jonghyun and Junghwan? Why am I told that no one knew about this?"

"Well, I thought—"

"You thought wrong." He confirms, and the Belgium waffles don't seem as appealing anymore. His firmness makes your stomach queasy, despite not being his current victim. "Terminate your engagement. You don't love her anyways. I don't need any affiliation with a self-obsessed tech company."

"But father—"

"None of that." He shushes his son, laying a beige cloth napkin on his lap. "I'm tired of having to teach you how we run this business. I gave you a percentage of the company and I expect you to know what to do with it, which is not to share it with some airhead who doesn't even understand what her own father's company does." Jungsik's body stiffened at his father's lecture after he made a decision solely for what he believed was beneficial for the family business. "Anyways, let's eat." 

"Why do you favor Junghwan over the rest of us?" Jungsik spits, fist slamming against the table. The cups, silverware, and plates trembled underneath his strength, startling you. "I can't believe that I let you walk over us for so long. I can't believe that any of us has let you do it. In reality, none of us get your fortune, just Junghwan. What about the rest of your children? Do you have the only one? Or did mother have an affair for the remaining four?"

Yum, drama. You admit you were getting a little bored last night at the banquet, but his conversation was perking you up in interest. Jungkook oddly remains cool, turning to tap one of the housemaids to pour you some apple juice, patiently waiting for the go to eat. 

Jungsik is disparate in this light because he's not the compassionate and gentle soul you had assumed he was during your first encounters and what was seen on the internet. He’s fierce and competitive, in actuality, with this hidden duel behind doors against his eldest brother. The description written of him was all an image that was portrayed to the public and you start to see what Jungkook means now when he says "apparently" or "supposedly" whenever talking about his older brother.

And Jungkook... he's strangely distinctive as well when sitting amongst his siblings. He's quiet, actually, and attentive, but you take note that he mentions before how he often comes to these things under the influence, and that your presence was what halts him from doing so. 

"Just eat. We'll talk privately later." Mr. Jeon says through his gritted teeth, tips of his ears fading red from Jungsik talking back.

"I saw you eying that waffle earlier," Jungkook says in a hushed tone, leaning into you. "Want one? I'll grab it for you."

OK, maybe he wasn't that bad. He knows what you like and he’s getting it for you. You’ve waited long enough.

The Jeons are awfully good at pretending the argument between Mr. Jeon and Jungsik didn't occur. Everyone sits in lull, occasionally exchanging comments with whomever sits beside them but consuming their breakfast with glee. It wasn't something you were used to.

When you're back into Jungkook's room, you slip on a jacket that you brought the night before, zipping it up. "Is that... normal?"

"What's normal?"

"That whole thing with Jungsik and your dad. Do they fight often? And do you guys normally just... sit there and forget it even happens afterwards?"

He slides onto the bed one last time, inhaling deeply in the scent of lavender, wishing he could take this bed with him as he absentmindedly responds, "Mmm. Yeah."

What kind of family dynamic is this? "Yeah? And you just... watch?" 

"Well, what else are we supposed to do? Join in? Take sides? Hell no. It's a different sibling each meal and every time there’s always someone being jealous of someone else. We don’t really get along here and it’s just what we’re used to.”

Treading into Jungkook’s reality was starting to become comprehensible. Almost justifying the way he is, how he’s utterly clueless in basic situations and disconnected he was from the world. Because this is his world; his parents, four brothers, and house full of servants, and he knows nothing outside of it. Their home is completely off the grid, separated from people living regular lives, he even has his own tennis court (you learned from the view from his bedroom), and no one normal has their own private tennis court. His mother has been shielding him his entire life, letting him grow and become a shell of a man in an empty home.

Family isn’t family to him, is what you’ve come to terms with and something he hasn’t yet accepted because he hasn’t seen what a real family looks or feels like. His home isn’t a real home but brimming with employees who work for his family that probably see him more than the people who he called relatives.

It makes you pity him and want to show him what it’s like to be home.

[jrswritings]

Tingles and Giggles - Chapter Twenty - Tyler Owens x Reader

Get caught up with the Chapters 1-19 on the Masterlist! :)

Chapter Twenty - Duke

It was a couple of hours after Auntie B had gone to bed when the fire finally died out. You were in the on-suite of the spare bedroom, brushing your hair as Tyler was in the bedroom getting changed into pajamas. You were still unsure how you felt about sharing a bed with Tyler while not even officially dating. 

“Hey babe,” Tyler called out. 

“Yeah, Ty?” You asked, shutting the door to change into your pajama clothes. 

“It can wait,” he sighed, changing into shorts and getting into the bed. 

“Oh, okay,” you sighed, sliding on your shorts. 

After brushing your teeth you came out while tossing your hair up into a bun to not get strangled by it. Tyler was shirtless and sitting against the headboard with his phone in his hands scrolling some app. You walked over to the empty side of the bed, grabbed your phone charger you tossed on the bed and plugged it in beside the nightstand. Once you plugged your phone in you pulled the covers back and slid yourself under the covers. 

“What time did you want to head out in the morning?” He asked quietly. 

“Whatever time you think would be best,” you said, opening your phone to see the notifications that could wait until tomorrow. 

“How far is it to your parents?” He asked, opening the clock app on his phone to set his alarm. 

“About six hours or so from here,” you said, “We’d be there a little before they normally have dinner.” 

“So, you want to leave at like ten,” he said, setting an alarm for seven. 

“They eat dinner at like four, and usually are in bed by seven,” you said, turning and facing him, “They get up around 3:30 or 4 depending on what chores need to be done.” 

“Do we need to help them with any?” He asked, changing the alarm to 6:30. 

“Dad will probably just have you help load hay or something,” you said, “They do most of the bigger chores on the weekends.”

“Is your brother still in the area? I’d love to meet him and learn all your dirty secrets,” Tyler said while nudging your arm slightly, “I have to learn how to pick on my girl from the master.” 

“Yeah,” you said softly, “He’s still with them.” 

“Awesome, I can’t wait to meet him and your folks,” he said, adjusting himself to lay on his back. 

“I bet,” you sighed, doing the same and leaning over to shut the night light off. 

“Are you okay, babe?” He asked, reaching over and gently putting his hand on your arm. 

“I’m just tired, babe,” you whispered, “Let’s just get some sleep.” 

“Okay,” he said quietly, laying on his back with his hands under his head, “Goodnight, beautiful.” 

“Goodnight, handsome,” you whispered while lying on your side to face away from him. 

“If you want to cuddle, I’m more than happy to,” he said softly, “You know if you’re cold or something.” 

“If you want to cuddle, then cuddle me,” you said, turning your head to face him. 

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he said as you could hear the smile that was across his lips. 

With that, there was a sudden warmth that overtook your whole body, his masculine smell, and the sense of being at home filled your heart. You adjusted how you were lying and he waited for you to get comfortable. 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” He asked, his breath hot on your shoulder. 

“If I’m not I’ll just scoot away,” you said quietly, “Don’t be so worried.” 

“Well, I don’t wanna mess things up,” he sighed, adjusting to get comfy.

“You won’t,” you said, “If anything, I would.” 

“Nah, you never could,” he said, kissing the back of your head. 

“Just get some sleep, Ty,” you said, pulling the blanket closer to get cozy. 

“Best night's sleep, here I come,” he said softly, nuzzling his nose into your hair. 

You laughed slightly and had your hand on his arm while you stared into the darkness, trying to sort out all the emotions that were running laps inside you. It had been years since sharing a bed with a guy, the last time was with someone who treated you like garbage. 

Within a few minutes, Tyler was lightly snoring and had turned onto his back. You grabbed your phone and checked the few texts you had, one from your mom, one from Willow, and one from Finn. 

Your mom sent, ‘Hey, sweetie, do you think you would be able to help your dad and I haul hay from your uncle Oliver’s fields?’ 

You sent back, ‘I’ll ask if he’ll feel up to it in the morning, I’m up for it though.’ 

Willow sent, ‘You okay, (Y/n)? We’ve hardly said anything to each other since I left the team.’ 

You replied, ‘Yeah, just figuring out the whole chasing situation. Going to be at my parent's tomorrow and in that area for a couple of days. The boys and I joined the Tornado Wranglers so I’ve had to get to know Tyler better since he said I’d be their second leader besides him. It’s just been a lot to process since the team fell apart and then being caught in a tornado.’ 

The message from Finn said, ‘Hey, how long are you going to be gone? I’m worried about you since I’ve hardly seen you.’ 

You sent back to him, ‘I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, it’s been a couple of years since I’ve seen my family so it could be a week. I don’t know. I’ve been through a couple of hard waves with the team, the tornado, and being partnered with Owens. I’ll try and keep you posted more.’ 

You glanced up at the time at read 1:26 am, at this rate you felt like you weren’t going to sleep. Too many mixed emotions, along with being in the house of someone you just met made you uneasy even if it was Tyler’s aunt. You slowly slid out from the bed, grabbing the sweatshirt again as the night Texas air could get quite chilly. 

You slipped on a pair of socks, grabbed your wireless earbuds, and quietly made your way out of the small bedroom to the stairway. You crept down them, taking one step at a time to try and not make them creak. After putting your boots on, you walked out the back door to Cash waking up and growling at you slightly. 

“Hey buddy,” you said softly, bending down to rub his head which made him calm down and push into your hand, “I’m going for a walk if anyone asks you.” 

He huffed and laid back down, stretching his legs out and laying his head against the bench leg. You smiled slightly and made your way down the steps to head out towards the pasture. You put one earbud in and turned on your liked music on Spotify. Shoving your phone into the hoodie pocket, you looked up at the almost full moon lighting your way. 

“Almost heaven, West Virginia, Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River,” John Denver sang in your ear, “Life is old there, older than the mountains, blowing like a breeze.” 

“Country roads, take me home to the place I belong,” you sang, “West Virginia, mountain mamma, take me home, country roads.” 

As you sang, one of Auntie B’s palomino horses walked up to you and nudged your shoulder.

“All my memories gather round her, Miner’s lady, stranger to blue water,” you sang to the horse, rubbing her snout, “Dark and dusty, painted on the sky, misty taste of moonshine, teardrop in my eye.” 

The horse neighed at you and pressed his nose to your cheek. This sent chills down your spine as your brother, James, had a palomino horse that did the same thing to you. 

“If this is a sign that everything is going to be okay, and that this is the right decision for me, Jamie,” you spoke softly while rubbing the horse's neck, “Please make sure I know it’s you.” 

While sitting in silence with the beautiful palomino in front of you, you noticed a rein that was marked with the name ‘Duke’ which happened to be the name of your brother's horse. 

“Thanks, big bro,”  you said, trying not to cry, “I really needed that.” 

You kissed the nose of the horse, giving it a tight hug and it hugged you back by putting his head on your back. This was where the dam gave way, and a steady stream of tears flowed from your eyes. You slowly backed away from Duke and headed back to the bench swing by the fire pit where you would end up falling asleep for the night. 

Want more? Here's Chapter Twenty-One!

Taglist: @fanboyswhore9 @faith719 @ummmeg @nerdgirljen @winterassassin1804 @smoothdogsgirl @xbox5angelx @ifilwtmfc

[hiyashortking]

Dare the Devil

Summary: Charlie's hotel residents are becoming more successful at being wholesome and have to get creative about how they spend their time. Tonight, a game of Truth or Dare leads you to watching Lucifer make out with a LOT of people. Are you going to get a turn?

Disclaimers and credit: read this post before reading any of my content, please.

After the huge influx of new residents, around 20 or so, the hotel’s lobby and bar became a nightclub every night. The new residents invited their friends to spend time in the hotel, and almost overnight the hotel became the place to be. The original residents worried about this at first, but there appeared to be little to no drama or depravity, so Charlie allowed it. Everyone seemed to use these nights to unwind and dance. Charlie had Husk do a drink cap per person, and everyone was ordered to follow a drug-free policy for the princess. Most of the new residents wouldn’t have a comfortable place to go if they broke one of Charlie’s rules, so things were running smoothly for now.

After the original crew got used to some of the new people, and got used to how much noisier and more fun the lobby had become, there began a notable wholesomeness in the hotel. At least wholesome in comparison to how they used to behave. It’d been a very tame few weeks, and the initial residents were starting to become restless. They’d even looked forward to some of Charlie’s de-sinning exercises during the days, though not many of them would admit to having enjoyed those. Their abilities to stay away from debauchery at night meant engaging in juvenile ways of spending time. Truth or Dare. Spin the Bottle. Seven Minutes in Heaven. Seven Minutes in Hell. Never Have I Ever. If they played it when they were alive on earth, they were playing it again now. And not a single one of them was going to confess that they were actually having fun.

“So which of our little games are we playing tonight?” Angel Dust asked, settling into the sofa they typically sat at. He gave a meaningful look over to Husk, who was far away and busy at the bar.

Charlie put all of the games into a generator on her phone and pressed a button for the app to decide. “Truth or Dare, again!” she happily exclaimed.

Vaggie picked the first Dare. Charlie had her ask for someone’s consent to touch their butt. The group rolled their eyes, as Charlie’s dares were often either childish or silly.

Cherri Bomb picked the first Truth. Niffty asked her if she loved or only liked killing. Cherri Bomb seemed very uncomfortable, said she loved it of course, and then left the game to go dance.

Other residents joined in and left the game throughout the night, until they reached a moment when it was just Husk on his 15-minute break, Angel Dust, Lucifer, and you, squeezed together on the sofa. Angel Dust took the opportunity to mount his fella and dared him to spend his entire break with his tongue down his throat, a turn of phrase you hoped was an exaggeration.

“I pick both,” Lucifer told you. “I want a Truth and a Dare.”

“Okay, Truth: as the King of Hell, how often do you get approached for sex by strangers?”

“How often, like, how many times it happened today?”

You could not help but facepalm. You figured he was heavily sought after, but you were trying to ask how many times in a week or even a month, not how many times in a day!

He used his fingers to count, but when he finished with the pinky of the second hand, he started counting on both hands again. “Twelve ladies, fourteen gentleman, and seven nonbinary folks today, during my walk over here today.” He knew each of their genders, because he took the time to introduce himself, exchange pronouns, and spend a few minutes charming them. This was why he arrived to the hotel three hours later than he planned to. He also fucked two of them in an alley nearby, but he didn’t tell you that part.

Fuck, what must it have been like to be the most desired being in all of hell?

“Now the Dare,” he reminded you.

“Oh, um. Well. I dare you to spend the rest of the night kissing twelve ladies, fourteen gentleman, and seven nonbinary folks.”

“Whoa, I did not see that coming.”

“If you want to, of course. It’s just a game!” You tried to play it off like this was a random idea that just struck you out of boredom, but the reality was that you wondered a few things about him lately. You wondered why you’d only ever seen him reject advances. You weren’t privy to his recent alleyway sex, after all. And in the spirit of playing these immature games, you wondered what kissing him might be like.

He motioned as though he were to stand up but before doing so turned to you once more. “Your pronouns are they/them, correct?”

“Yes, Luci.”

“When I’m finished with everyone else, I’ll come back for you to be my seventh in that category, with your consent of course?”

Lucifer Morningstar wanted to make out with you? This would be exciting if it wasn’t so fucking ridiculous.

Standing up, he looked around the hotel lobby, seeming pensive.

“Everything okay?” you asked him.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he said, almost as if to himself, but then turned and grinned sweetly at you. He fucked almost every day, but kissing wasn’t always included. “I might need a little moral support.”

“Oh, sure, how can I help, Your Majesty?”

He took hold of your hand. “How do I start?”

“Well, what are you looking for in a fun make out sesh?”

He seemed to take your question very seriously, if you could take the man’s cartoonish expressions and poses seriously at all. Holding his chin with his free hand and pursing his lips as if that helped him make deductions, he actually waggled his finger in the air in a Eureka! gesture when finishing his thought.

“I don’t know!” he told you, flashing his arousing sharp teeth.

A laugh escaped and surprised you. “My liege, you seemed like you were actually trying to figure this out.”

“Maybe instead of saving you for last, I could start with you and you can remind me of the different options.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Majesty, I’d think you were trying to get out of your Dare!”

He made a pearl-clutching motion and feigned an outraged gasp. “Why, Y/N, I cannot believe you would accuse the King of Hell of such a thing!”

You couldn’t help smiling whenever you were around him. “It seems to me like maybe Our King is worried he has lost his swagger.”

“I- don’t know what that means, but I am sure I have an abundance of swagger! If that is a good thing to have an abundance of!”

With a boldness you would question for days after this, you leaned closer to his ear and whispered: “prove it”.

Narrowing his eyes at you, the sweet expression gone from his face, he brought your hand to his mouth without breaking his gaze from you. He kissed the back of your hand. “I will see you after 32 kisses. Make sure you watch each one of them. And please be ready for the finale.”

When he walked away from you, you needed to steady yourself against the sofa as you struggled to breathe.

You spent the rest of the night engaging on and off with only the Truth parts of the game, as residents joined and left and returned throughout the night.

You were asked if you’d watched any of Angel Dust’s porn before you met him. Yup. You thought his acting was especially good in the one with the fraternity brothers.

You were asked who you would kiss, marry, or kill regarding the V’s. Marry was easy, definitely Vox. But you could go either way between kissing or killing the other two. Valentino seemed like he would be the better kisser, but your loyalty to Angel Dust made killing him the only decent option.

While participating in these games, you were making eye-love with Lucifer as he played with other people all night. He positioned himself and his, uh, partners in ways where he made sure he had your attention. He made certain you could see the way he moved his hands on their bodies, the way his fingers ran through or even tugged on their hair. He showed you his various skills, from slow kisses using his lips only, to drooling ones with both his and the other person’s tongues outside of their mouths. When he separated from one of these folks, you could see the magnificent outline of his thick hard cock in his trousers, and you crossed your legs reflexively as if to hide how much watching him was turning you on.

You lost count of his partners somewhere around number eight, which meant the countdown to when he would come meet you was going to become excruciating.

You watched as one person shivered as he sucked on their neck.

You could swear another one had an orgasm grinding against him, though both of them were fully dressed and wearing pants.

There was one person who spoke with him a lot, who got him to lift his gaze away from you for longer than the others had. He kissed them very sweetly when they parted, and you tried not to imagine what conversation they’d had.

There was one he pinned against the wall, the person’s legs around Lucifer’s waist, their hands clawing at his back. Lucifer’s ass looked amazing and you couldn’t believe the ease in which he held up people bigger than him.

After that one, he sat down at the bar and seemed to ask Husk for a drink, fixing his hair and sighing in your direction. He was trying to mouth something to you. You thought you could see “may I please stop now?” on his lips.

You made the symbol for Loser with your fingers, and pressed it to your forehead, sticking out your tongue at him.

He laughed, and downed whatever Husk handed to him.

He seemed a bit tired as he sighed, and you regretted giving him such a high number. He disappeared into the crowd which gave you a moment to realize you were beginning to grow tired, too. Sleepy. Before your mind could finish the thought, your body was up and looking for him. He was already charming somebody else, but excused himself as soon as he saw you waiting.

“I’m tapping out, I’m so tired. Congratulations, you win, My King.”

Did he actually look sad?

He took your hand into his again, and leaned closer to you to block out the music as he spoke into your ear. “Thank you for tonight. I had a wonderful time and I owe it all to you. I hope I was able to meet at least some of your expectations.” He slid an arm around your waist and pulled you into a gentle hug.

In your sleepy stupor, you responded, “It was one of the sexiest displays I’ve ever seen.”

“Please let me show you more of my abilities sometime.”

With a bit of a quiver, you put a hand on his chest to begin pushing and pulling away. As if your body had other plans, you leaned back in and placed your puffy lips on his cheek and breathed him in as you kissed it.

“That was my favorite kiss of the night, I hope you realize,” he said as you started backing away. He touched the spot you’d kissed gently as if to emphasize his point, cupping his hand over it in a protective manner.

“You’re full of shit, but hit me up tomorrow. I have notes for you,” you teased.

Surprise twinkled in the motion of his brows and widening of his eyes, and then you saw challenge in his smirk. “I look forward to my performance review.”

“Goodnight, Daredevil.”

“It’ll be an even better night tomorrow.”

[feminist-space]

There is nothing wrong with a person who wears adult diapers. Those are an aid, a tool, to help that person be more mobile and preserve their dignity.

If someone has tremors in their hands and needs help picking up everyday objects, that doesn't take away from who they are as a person. There's no dishonor in muscular tremors.

If someone can't see or hear, or can only see or hear with aid of a tool, a piece of technology, that's fine! Here's a really simple one: so many of us wear glasses because our eyes can't do the thing on their own.

Having disabilities doesn't take away from who a person is. Mocking someone for needing aid to do things, however, is morally repugnant. And using ableism to put down or mock someone who themselves is morally reprehensible is still never ok.

It is important for all of us to re-examine how we, too, perform ableist acts in our daily lives. Here are some simple ones:

Stop using ableist words (check out this page: https://www.autistichoya.com/p/ableist-words-and-terms-to-avoid.html).

Stop calling disabled people "inspirational" and using them as a way to say "if they can do it then so can you" (see: paralympic commentaries from the same people who still support organizations like Autism Speaks -- https://www.themarysue.com/the-autism-speaks-controversy-explained/).

Stop mocking people for not being able to move the way you think they should move.

Stop calling bigots "crazy" (their bigotry isn't a mental illness).

Stop saying that "only disabled and immuno-compromised people are at risk from COVID-19" when what is unsaid after that is "so that's why I don't need to care about it or take any precautions."

Stop calling someone "blind" or "deaf" when they're being ignorant.

Stop making fun of someone for taking an elevator or using a motorized scooter at the store.

Eliminate the stigma of disabled people asking for accessibility by making things accessible in the first place.

When you're in a position to design things, physical or otherwise (buildings, software, apps), think about accessibility.

Actively learn from disability activists, what things are actually helpful and actually accessible. Incorporate those things into your design.

Hire and elevate to positions of leadership people with disabilities (and if your gut response is "but we hire by merit," I challenge you: are you telling me you don't think disabled folks can perform the duties of leaders in your organization? What are you saying, exactly?).

Change your organization to be supportive to disabled employees, and get rid of policies that marginalize them.

There's a whole LOT of ableism weaved in to literally everything. Even if we don't get it all in one go (and we won't), it's important to put in the work to do better.

--

Before someone comments with these:

"what's wrong with people?"

Ableism is EVERYWHERE, it is in EVERYTHING in this world and we have to actively work against it. Don't assume you're exempt. None of us are.

"who says these things?" "who does these things?"

A lot of people. A lot of people you might love. A lot of people that might include us (likely, actually). These mostly aren't monsters in alleyways saying and doing ableist things.

It's the nurse getting annoyed at the person using a wheelchair for having their wheelchair there. It's the dude at the gym who tells his friend that if those paralympians can do it, they definitely can do it. It's the person who keeps telling their friend with long covid to just do more yoga. It's the liberal angry at Trump who mocks him by saying he wears adult diapers. It's the person who builds a business branded and marketed on being kumbaya "we're so progressive" but they made their doors so heavy that they're hard for anyone to open and definitely impossible to open for a wheelchair user. It's the boomer telling a young person using a disabled parking spot that young people can't be disabled. It is literally everywhere. It's that guy telling disabled people they shouldn't be out past sunset ("we're disabled, Daniel, we're not werewolves."--Jen L Rossman).

--

Reading list, obviously not exhaustive:

https://thebodyisnotanapology.com/magazine/14-black-disabled-women-reminding-us-of-our-power/

https://thedailytexan.com/2018/03/23/stop-using-ableist-language-and-call-out-others-who-use-it

https://www.autistichoya.com/p/ableist-words-and-terms-to-avoid.html

https://www.tolerance.org/magazine/no-joking-matter-words-and-disability

https://diaryofadisabledperson.blog/

https://www.thegauntlet.news/p/disabled-peoples-exclusion-from-indoor

https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/being-grabbed-pushed-touched-without-27376323

https://www.sociability.app/blog/the-medical-vs-social-model-of-disability

[lowkeyrobin]

hi :) i was wondering if i could get somethin with the cricket crew folks (those who are a-okay with xreaders) and a reader who deals with type 1 diabetes, like the reader is having low blood sugar troubles while hanging out pretty please 🦕 (platonic or romantic doesnt, matter to me)

OF COURSEEE OMG sorry for taking so long to get this out, I did a lot of research into this so hopefully I got everything accurate! my dad has type 2 diabetes so sorry if anything got mixed up with that as well 😭 billzo and aimsey are the two that aren't cool with x reader fanfics so I didn't include them, although I'm pretty sure they're okay just being in the bg? lmk if I need to change anything! I genuinley appreciate it ; also all hb content will no longer have tubbo!!

HANDSOME BROS ; you have type one diabetes

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, & freddie badlinu

warnings ; swearing, mentions of fainting, mentions of needles/dexcom

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

instantly shoving bills diet coke down your throat

he just panics at first and kinda asks you what to do

yk like in movies when all the characters are shouting over each other in panic? that's him

bill rushes over since his drink just got stolen

"dude, their dexcom needs changed"

"what the fuck is a dex-com!?"

Tommy's too scared to help you in the beginning, literally forces Bill to help you if you need it

even seeing the damn dexcom app on your phone scares him sometimes

like when you walk too far away and it starts doing that scary ass beeping thing, he jumps out of his skin

you left your phone with him while you went to use the bathroom in a public area and your phone started doing the thing because you were too far away and his face went from 😊 to 😨 in a millisecond

"What if they're dead in there???"

wilbur and tubbo are usually the ones reminding him that you're fine and it beeps when you're out of reach

after time, he gets used to it

although he never lets you forget your phone

he's still scared of the beeping

but he learns a lot on how to help you and shit from both you and bill

if he's got an embarrassing question, he'll go to billzo bc he's so scared of making you uncomfortable LMAO

has a whole notes app list for procedures when you're having issues with your dexcom/blood sugar troubles

makes sure you eat some snacks through the day

🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 I'm so hopelessly in love

RANBOO

the first time it happens it was while you were out with them and aimsey

you only told the both of them "hey I'm diabetic just so u know" and left it at that

so when you started having blood sugar troubles out and about with them, they didn't know what to do

you kinda had to explain yourself and tell them how to help and stuff

ranboo made a little safe plan after that, now worried that you could possibly faint and stuff

he has a whole like 3 page note on his phone (like size 9 font too) of what to do in certain situations and when to call 911 if needed

he runs it by Bill too in case you guys missed anything

like bi-hourly checkups that your sugar is okay and stuff, making sure the dexcom is working etc etc

makes sure to only take you to restaurants and fast food places where you'll actually eat instead of pulling the "I'm not hungry" bullshit

he's just looking out for you

"we can't go there, y/n won't eat and I haven't seen them eat today. if you guys wanna do that, that's cool, we'll probably run by a gas station or a store to get something for them, though"

"ran, it's fine-"

"shut up. youre eating, you toe muncher"

"WHAT???"

if you're recovering from low sugar and being weasy/feeling like you're gonna faint, he just tries everything to make you smile

from dumb jokes to comfort videos, etc

they'll do anything to make sure you're better than you were before

you and bill have a diabetes competition where you're just talking shit and spewing about how you've got it worse than the other and ranboo just records it 💀💀💀

FREDDIE BADLINU

during the pov you're at a family reunion ranboo stream is the first time you have troubles around your friends

you forgot you needed to change the dexcom and almost halfway through you step out

like half an hour later you're still not back and the whole groups confused to Freddie goes to retrieve you

brother finds you in the bathtub in and out of consciousness

tbh you blame yourself for writing it off and not thinking about a plan just in case but lessons learned

he texts the groupchat to inform the others what happened while you stumble back into frame with Freddie's help bc you were not gonna ruin this for the others or chat, no matter how much he told you that you weren't ruining anything

you were acting a little out of it but he got you eating off the charcuterie board which helped a bit

afterwards, he always makes sure that you're eating properly and helps you with communicating if you need help with your dexcom and stuff

like Tommy, the beeping when you're too far away from your phone scares the shit out of him sometimes

sometimes he gets a little anxious and slides your phone under the bathroom door or quickly gives the phone back like "I'm just making sure you're okay! it disconnected, I got a little worried"

God I'm so head over heels for him 💔💔

[lisaplant4]

Just spent 40mins on the phone with the bank because some b*stard tried to steal almost £900 from me! 🤬

So here's what happened:

I Received a call from my banks fraud team who flagged a fraudulent purchase attempt on my account to eBay from somewhere in Northumberland (Not where I live). Confirmed it wasn't me. They said they'd cancel it, send new card etc. Then they asked me to state exactly how much was in my account (more fool them, I'm skint! But that's not the point.) When I couldn't say the exact amount down to the pence, they asked me to log into the app on my phone.

This sounded the alarm.

I told them I would be hanging up now and calling the bank directly. The bank confirmed that the aforementioned amount had been requested, but that they had not contacted me, we then spent half an hour securing my account and making sure no credit had been claimed in my name.

Folks, please be careful, NEVER EVER give personal information/passwords/data security over the phone. Don't be afraid to be rude. HANG UP and contact the company directly. If they are genuine, they won't mind. In fact your bank will encourage this behaviour.

This thieving prick sounded calm, professional, genuine. They sent me a text from my bank during the call. It all looked and sounded perfect. If I hadn't had to deal with data protection and fraud in my work life I could easily have been fooled.

In conclusion; be smart, protect yourself, don't tell them anything!

Here endeth the PSA!

[necronatural]

Project Moon Discourse Part Whatever: Statement 2

Project Moon's company twitter has released a statement on their perspective.

In summary, the Youth Union who has been rallying a lot of people has been protesting about Vellmori's "unfair dismissal" (firing over previous statements). Project Moon points out that they have not fired her yet, and the YU do not have concrete proof of what happened (AKA why you have to say "alleged" when commenting on crimes yet to be tried). Youth Union discusses the private circumstances and apologizes for repeating accusations as fact.

Kim Jihoon posits here that this was a political conspiracy by the Youth Union to boost their position (they were a very very small group before all this), which the Project Moon User Association must a part of. He posts the draft the Youth Union drew up if PM complied, without the union rep's permission as evidence. OK man.

...By the way, he also sent an official legal notice to the Project Moon User Association with that same info.

The PMUA says hey man! We do talk to the Youth Union, but we're actually a completely different group who has not declared jackshit as fact and have been conscientious in our speech. Fuck you! And posted the letter (legal threat) PM sent publicly along with their reply. (Jihoon references this in the statement above).

Read here. The letter is the pdf at the top of the doc.

It's through this response that we learn that the reason the Youth Union was cowed was because Vellmori resigned.

The PMUA notes: hey, isn't it extremely fucking suspicious that you publicly stated that due to breaking company rules with years old tweets (this isn't legal btw) and Vellmori's most recent statement was that you told her that she's getting her papers in a week (legal but asshole shit btw)? And yet when you're catching heat about the ludicrously illegal unjust firing, you reveal you've been hiding her resignation? Unrelated, why did you post an unfinished draft statement predicated on a round table that never occurred? Why are you threatening us for libel we never posted?

AKA they fucking ate him for dinner.

Kim Jihoon is being cooked alive over his notes app malding & pointed translated repost of his original statement. Everyone and their dog can see his sole deflection only really applies to the Youth Union, who fucked up publicly a while ago, while the PMUA is spotless in their conduct. The fact they have not done anything but ask the Youth Union for info - which they used responsibly thus far - renders literally every complaint Kim Jihoon is making totally worthless. And they made sure he fucking knew it. Meanwhile, the folks who originally kicked off harassment and boycotts (DCInside) remains uncommented on, enraging people even further.

By the way, you may be wondering why Kim Jihoon is suddenly so frenzied in his attacks. The thing is, PMUA just successfully met their fundraising goal! And wouldn't you know it, the money they raised is for applying to file a class action lawsuit over PM's mismanagement.

Stay tuned for more on Crossy News Network. I am too nosy to possibly stop reporting on this

[murfpersonalblog]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTFqc5yJ3/

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTFqcGyPq/

I hope this isn’t weird but, I stumbled upon these TikTok’s and they reminded me of some your iwtv metas.

@louis-of-nola omg it's not weird at all; thank you for liking my IWTV metas, and for sending me links to these REALLY good analyses of Black & LGBTQ+ people in white media! ❤️ TBH I'm never on apps like TikTok, Twitter or Instagram, so NGL I was bracing myself for rage bait when I clicked the links, only to be pleasantly surprised by these two videos by Mouseabolition on film theory--I sincerely appreciate it!

The first link especially got to me:

Cuz in Mouseabolition's critique of the White Gaze--particularly the White (Female) Gaze--she mentioned one of my favorite horror movies, Get Out.

"A lot of black people I know are able to very deeply care about and empathize with pieces of media that are attempting to speak to our experiences, even when it's done poorly. And we're not necessarily trying to say: 'That's a good thing and that was done well.' But it's the same reason why Chris from Get Out--THE template for black horror--why Chris from Get Out felt like such a new, refreshing horror protagonist. A huge part of what makes Get Out work, and what differentiates Chris from the average horror movie protagonist--outside of just like the surface level analysis of he's a black man--is that Jordan Peele (who is also a black man) was able to write a black character with the realistic higher level of consciousness and alertness towards danger, that all black people have to move with. And that higher level of consciousness is a huge part of why most black people I know can't take white people's horror movies seriously anyway. It's because white people walk around throwing themselves into situations that are destined to create horrific scenarios; and when you are somebody who has to walk around going: 'I can't do that, I'm gonna die!' it's really hard to feel shocked and horrified and surprised when somebody does something that you know damn well is gonna end up with them dead! Black people--particularly like black women and queer folks--don't really have the privilege of walking around with the illusion that we are more or better represented than we are. And so you learn to look at things more critically, and that gets stereotyped as nagging or a bad thing! But it's not, because thinking about things critically, genuinely all the way through, is frequently what leads the black people I know to finding those kernels of good in stories, where most people are just like: 'No, I just think that's silly, it's just dumb.'" (4:10 - 6:02)

I've made four IWTV metas comparing the horrific experiences of Chris in Get Out and Louis in IWTV, cuz I noticed that the core themes of Black men in white spaces wrt vulnerability, exploitation, gaslighting & manipulation resonated between both horror shows in a way that directly reflects IRL experiences.

This is particularly the case when Black people are involved in toxic interracial relationships that end in horrific tragedy for the Black partner. The horror comes into even sharper focus when it's the Black victim who ends up blamed/lied on by their white abuser/murderer that tried to play the innocent victim, weaponizing White Tears to justify/get away with literal crimes--which I've also provided links to before, cuz this BS really happens to us (x).

It's especially effed up when you're dealing with victims of abuse who suffer from mental illness, and are blamed/attacked by the authorities/masses. IRL we see Bipoc mentally ill folk who call the white cops for help and are the ones who get killed (x x); yet the IWTV fandom is overrun with racists who REFUSE to put 2 + 2 together to save their biased AF souls. I felt so vindicated in 2x5 - 2x8 when AMC explicitly showed that Louis & Claudia were telling the truth about the Drop Scene in 1x5, and that Armand had lied the whole time, effing with Louis AND Daniel's memories; after so many racist AF white Lestans & Armstans said the Lou & Claudia were spiteful liars who just wanted poor uwu blorbo Lestat & Armand to look bad cuz they're not Black, like WHAT!? We saw a literal Black LYNCHING happen on screen, where Black!Louis was buried alive & Black!Claudia was burned alive by a bottle-blonde white man in front of a predominately white audience in a "play"/snuff film co-written & directed by 3 non-Black people (Armand, Sam & Lestat); meanwhile the fans INSIST that this show's NOT about race. 🤡 BUFFOONERY!

By race-swapping Louis & Claudia & heightening the abuse they suffered in the books to make their treatment WORSE, AMC was literally talking to the predominately white gaze of the audience that SALIVATES over fetishizing Black people on one hand but still perpetrates injustices against Black people on the other hand; and the racist IWTV fandom proves them right every effing day!

And I also LOVE what MouseAbolition's Tik Tok said about the careful & highly conscious ways that Black people (esp. Black queer people) have to move in society, BECAUSE they're more vulnerable to persecution & penalties & punishment than white people.

Black gay men are marginalized by white AND black people alike; there are Black fans who are also against seeing Louis as a female-coded character. Because this is a white world, the white gaze affects ALL of us, and the panopticon of censure & censorship forces us to police each other and mistreat our own sometimes even worse than white people will--look at emotionally abusive/negligent mothers like Florence who has a particular image to uphold amongst the conservative Catholic Black elite during Jim Crow (vs. white Gabrielle who CAN support her white son's eccentricities); and homophobic women like Grace (who herself is married to a man who's NOT "the man of the house," Levi coddled by Florence & financially supported by Grace's inheritance & Louis' money). But at the end of the day the problem still lies with white (wo)men who weaponize Othering by means of race/gender/sexuality/etc in order to isolate marginalized peoples from systems of support, so that they might be more easily exploited & abused--which I've constantly argued wrt to Loustat.

It grates on my effing nerves when white fans (esp. Lestans) hypocritically talk about gender, culturally appropriating Black queer terminology like "Mother"--which originated in Black gay drag, pageantry & ballroom culture, a la Drag Mothers as exemplified in Paris is Burning, and shows like Ru Paul's Drag Race & Pose--in order to prop up Lestat's femininity and dismiss Louis', all because Louis (as a Black man they've hypermasculinized) doesn't conform to their cis white paradigmatic bias of what femininity & motherhood looks like--which is informed by the white patriarchy to control the social hierarchies of both women AND men, straight & gay alike!

I've adamantly critiqued white female fans' surface-level discrimination against Louis as a female-coded character just because Louis doesn't crossdress--as if Lestat's Mardi Gras dress is the only indexical determiner of gender; esp. for closeted & conservative Black gay men who historically CANNOT safely & freely move in public spaces the way out white liberal LGBTQ+ men can.

Cis white women lusting after Lestat & screaming Yaaas Mother~!, or circling the wagons around Armand cuz they want AMC to move on to Devil's Minion (which not even AR GAF about, lol), just loooove to jump on Louis for being a pimp, for not being feminine enough, for fighting back in 1x5. Black men are hypsersexualized to the point that straight AND gay Black men are perceived as universal dangers to white/non-Black purity, and were lynched by the mob in DROVES whenever if it was even suggested that they stepped out of line; "Louis can sometimes act out."

So yeah, people act like I'm crazy cuz I call this ish out, when the facts are staring them right in the effing face. But I've already been explicitly told by white Lestans that they're deliberately ignoring the red flags cuz it's not fun to turn their brains on & look at their precious blorbos critically and that they'll casually dismiss negative portrayals of Lestat on the show as "poor writing"--

--then the same stans spin their effing tops when they actually pick up a effing book and read for themselves that we're telling the truth when we say AR's darling Lestat's a LEGIT abusive rapist p.o.s.--

--and that Hannah Moscovich was legit for pointing out that it's not character assassination when Lestat's abusive oppressive toxic behavior is effing CANONICAL.