#wheres accountability come from if not enough people like/trust you?? you're fucked!

[unlimitedbutchworks]

im saying this with love but this shit is why a lot of people will never take anarchism or anticiv seriously. if you literally refuse to answer people or take their concerns seriously you're just going to look like a paternalistic know it all dickhead. we know the state medical apparatus sucks shit; but having to rely on whats essentially a local fucking alchemist to make the meds you need to live also sucks shit. and i dont even think that this (imo relatively adventurist) individualist stance is that big of a deal, and honestly probably would be better than a lot of our current medical shitshow, but why are YOU afraid to conceive of something better, a workers state that distributes medicine and resources to people who need it with the strength of centralization? when shit hits the fan, do you really think that formless affinity groups are the best way to recover and provide for other working class people everywhere? so fucking obtuse

[actual-changeling]

Welcome back to Alex's unhinged meta corner - although today it is less unhinged and more of a watertight analysis.

What I am about to present you is something most people have probably already noticed, but it has been three months and I still lose my mind while going through the final fifteen frame by frame (which is a normal thing normal people like us do, right? right).

You literally cannot convince me my following meta is wrong, and the only person whose criticism I will accept on this post is Michael Sheen and Michael Sheen ONLY. If you're not Michael Sheen (hi Michael Sheen who probably has a secret tumblr account) then your guess is as good as mine, though again, I think mine is solid.

So.

We all love and hate Aziraphale's "I forgive you", but what I find even more painful is the fact that before that he almost said "I love you". Then he stops himself and changes it, and the amount of micro-expressions on his face as he makes that decision is my current cause of death.

Here's the clip as evidence #1, and while it can definitely support itself, let's dive into the pain a little more, shall we?

One important thing I noticed is that Aziraphale doesn't look at Crowley while he stutters his way through his initial reaction. He blinks up at him for a few frames before averting his eyes again and only holds eye contact after the almost-confession (from here on referred to as IL-).

This is Aziraphale holding eye contact with Crowley (left) vs. him looking away (right):

The frame on the left is from the I forgive you (IFY) part of the scene, the other one from right before IL-. If we go through the above clip little by little we will find that he avoids Crowley's face the entire time and his gaze slips further and further down, which I interpret as him overthinking/trying to come up with something to respond to this entire situation.

He is overwhelmed and surprised, caught between his two main desires: Crowley and being a Good Angel.

Combing through the frames, we can actually nail down exactly when Aziraphale first makes eye contact before the IL- and when he stops. Keep the above comparison in mind! The angle is slightly different because his chin is lower and he straightens up throughout the scene.

So! This is where he starts looking at Crowley:

And this is where he stops:

Hard to see? Let's zoom in on his eyes (numbers are the file names):

Now, you might ask me "Alex, this is all fine, although a bit insane, but why is any of this important?"

Because, fellow tumblr user and good omens enthusiast, I think that looking at Crowley is what changes his mind about what to say.

He doesn't look at him -> about to confess his feelings.

He looks at him -> says the absolutely worst possible thing.

Partly to hurt him because they're both lashing out at each other during this argument, but he looks at Crowley, looks at the person that just kissed him, that told him they could have been an us, that wants him and has always wanted him, screw everyone else.

He looks at Crowley and he wants to say l love you but then what? Once he says those words, he can't leave. He just can't.

We have to remember that they have existed within a complicated dance, a game that they have been playing for centuries without ever telling each other what that game actually is, what the rules are - because they couldn't. It was based entirely on trust and knowing the other person well enough to play it safe.

Crowley just flipped the playing board. Nothing is the way it should be, he is refusing to do their dance, refusing to play. He is looking at him and daring him to stop trying to put the pieces back on the board. The only thing neither of them has done yet is actually say I love you out loud.

Saying those words would mean stepping away from the playing board and acknowledging the room they have been playing in. It would mean saying fuck you to heaven, yes, but it would also force Aziraphale to finally define himself outside of the role he has been playing for both Crowley and heaven, and he isn't ready for that yet.

Additionally, there is the fear and/or knowledge (depending on what else the Metatron might have said or done that we did not see) that heaven will retaliate against him and Crowley if he disobeys them now, and he does not want to risk that either.

All that is what, in my opinion, happens in his head when he averts his eyes and interrupts himself. I do kinda what to make a whole different post about his facial expressions leading up to the IFY, so I will end this one with one more bit of pain.

Ready?

Firstly, the face he makes when he makes his decision.

Look at the tight line of his lips, the pain etched into his face, the pure pain in his eyes.

This is the face of someone who knows exactly how badly he is going to hurt Crowley and himself. This is an apology, an I'm sorry for what I'm about to do, this hurts me as much as it hurts you. I'm sorry but I have to.

And then he winces afterwards. I don't know about you, but this is exactly the kind of face I make when I'm emotionally torturing myself with my own thoughts. For the final blow, please look at the picture very, very closely, especially the last frame, because Aziraphale isn't just sorry and he isn't just in pain.

Aziraphale is scared because he knows* that he might lose Crowley over this. He knows that saying I forgive you is (almost) unforgivable. He KNOWS.

He does it anyway because he will lose Crowley either way but he'd rather have him alive and hating him than dead.

With that I am concluding today's unhinged meta corner, thank you for your attention and you're welcome for the pain.

Also: If you want to call me a 'tin hatter' or insane or otherwise make fun of me - this is very much a girl, what were YOU doing at the devil's sacrament moment because you read my meta post all the way to the end. <3

-

*authors note: what Aziraphale thinks he knows and what is actually real is not the same thing but that's a different post

[itsbeeble]

Chapter 1: Big Ego, Slightly Bigger Bank Account

SUMMARY: Choi Chanhee has a hard time trusting others, and when his mother ropes you into a favor, he makes it clear that he doesn't like you one bit. After a few tense run-ins, Chanhee realizes that he needs your help to get his...persistent ex-girlfriend off his back. The problem? You're not exactly in a forgiving mood. But for his mother's sake, you're willing to play along— just this once.

GENRE: Angst, fluff

PAIRING: Choi Chanhee x fem!reader

WC: ~8k

THE BOYZ Masterlist EWO(TYRA) Masterlist

PERM TAGLIST: @winterchimez @juyeonszn @flwoie @captain-brie

FIC TAGLIST: @sanaxo-o @from-izzy

WARNINGS: Chanhee's mom is kinda weird, for the sake of the plot his parents own a shoe store, chanhee openly mocks the reader's social status, stalker accusations, mentions of toxic and somewhat abusive relationships, swearing, Changmin playing peace keeper, chanhee is actually a total douche he is like the entire warning the warning is just CHANHEE, mentions of blood and bodily injuries but very brief

18+ MDNI AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

A/N: I'm not late I was just edging you (totally definitely wasn't at a birthday dinner)

Her eyes burning into the side of your head is all you can think about. Dark, determined eyes that haven’t left your figure since you’d stepped onto the train. You’re sure you look a mess— hair falling out of the bun you’d carefully pinned up at the crack of dawn, mascara smudged from rubbing at your eyes repeatedly, shirt untucked from your skirt and entirely unflattering on your body, feet shifting uncomfortably in the well-worn heels you’d worn practically every day since starting your job in Seoul two years ago. Maybe she’s judging you. People like to do that. 

It’s starting to bother you, however, and you can’t seem to distract yourself hard enough from how she stares almost unblinkingly. You’ve tried to distract yourself by staring out the window, putting on your headphones and blasting music, playing game after game of Sudoku on your nearly dead phone, but nothing seems to work. 

You huff, your body sagging a bit as you finally cave and look at the woman, expecting her to be where she had been for the entire twenty-minute train ride so far. 

She’s not, and you’re becoming more confused by the minute. I could’ve sworn she was right—

“Jesus fu—” you cut yourself off, slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your yelp when the woman appears directly to your left, that same determined look in her eyes but now with a bit of…is that…is that mischief? You aren’t sure, but it’s creeping you the hell out. Heads turn to look at you, but you shoot them a look that tells them to mind their own business. Nosy bitches. “Can I help you?” 

The woman clicks her tongue. “Let me look at you.”

You blink. “Excuse me?” 

“Let me look at you,��� she repeats and grabs you by the arms to turn you fully toward her.  

“What is your problem?” You try to pull away from her, but for such a small woman she is incredibly strong, holding you in place as she looks you over once, twice, three times before humming. “Hey, ma’am, I don’t know what your problem is but—”

“I have a son your age, you know,” the woman interrupts with a charming smile. “He’s very handsome, very single.”

“That’s…great?” You shuffle away from her as best you can, which is quite difficult when there are dozens of people crowded into one subway car trying to get home. 

“You’re single, aren’t you?” 

“I—I mean—”

“What am I saying,” one of her hands slaps against her forehead. You look up, praying that the next stop is yours. “Of course you are! Look at you, no ring, no light behind those eyes.” 

Your eyes bug out of your head, your jaw dropping. What the fuck? 

“I— who do you think you are?” 

Her eyes meet yours briefly, the mischief overtaking the determination. The way she looks at you is unnerving, and you can only thank god that your stop is coming up next. 

“I’m sorry, dear. I can be a bit too direct sometimes. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” She squeezes your bicep and pulls back slightly as the doors open. You walk toward them. She follows you, and your eye twitches. “My husband always says it’s my biggest flaw.”

“There are worse flaws to have,” you dismiss, glancing around quickly to try to find a quick escape route. There is none, the crowd funnelling you and this woman toward the only exit to the station. 

“You’re correct,” the woman smiles at you, her arm looping with yours like you were her child. “You look like a hard worker. My son would like that.”

“Is that so?” 

“Mm. He’s famous, you know. You might know him!” 

“I don’t think I do,” you tell her, “I don’t keep up with media that much.”

“Ah, you like to disconnect?” She nods approvingly. Why are you letting this woman figure you out? Maybe you’ve been single for a bit too long if you’re letting a desperate mother try to set you up with her “rich, famous, handsome son who happens to be about your age.” She could be spewing total bullshit for all you know. Her son could be forty years old. She might not even have a son! “He would like that about you.”

“Do you…is there something I could help you with?” You turn to face her, stopping just outside of the train station and enduring the nasty comments you get about being in the way of everyone. “Is there a reason you keep bringing up your son?”

“My son has been horrifically single for a very long time,” the woman admits, tugging you along so you aren’t in anyones way. “His friends are all starting to date now that their company is allowing them to, but he’s been struggling. He’s very particular about the people he goes out with.”

The setting sun casts a warm glow over the two of you, and you squint when the light hits your eyes. “And that’s my problem because…” 

“I think you would be exactly what he’s looking for.” 

Oh?

You look down at her curiously. She’s looking straight ahead.

It’s another moment before you speak, the sounds of the city echoing around you but somehow they feel muffled in comparison to your conversation. 

“You don’t even know me.” 

She smiles.

“Oh, but I think my son might like to.” 

Your heel catches on a crack in the pavement, and time seems to slow as you fall. The shoe fully comes off your foot, and pain shoots through your knees when you hit the ground. You don’t yelp or cry out. You barely make a sound save for the pained whimper you can’t catch. The woman practically cries for you, dropping to her knees next to you and shifting you so you’re not pressing the fresh wounds into the ground any longer. Your tights are ripped, slowly soaking in a thin layer of blood. Your palms are covered in scratches, not bleeding but raw and stinging. 

“Shit,” you mumble, looking helplessly at the shoe that had come off your foot. The heel is completely detached, the leather torn and entirely impossible to fix at this point. “Shit.”

“Are you alright?” The woman holds your hands in her own, examining your palms and pulling a small packet of tissues out of her purse to help clean your knees a bit. “I’m so sorry, dear. I shouldn’t have distracted you—”

“It’s fine,” you tell her and take the tissue from her hand with a little smile. You’re dying inside, sure, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I promise, it’s all good. It wasn’t your fault. I was the one careless enough to not look where I was walking.” 

She frets nonetheless, scolding herself and helping you stand. A smile, oh-so faint, crosses your lips. That boy, her son, is lucky to have her. Anyone would be lucky to have her in their lives— as a mother, a daughter, a sister, wife. You don’t know much about this woman, hell you don’t know shit about this woman, but your friends have always said you were good at reading people. 

“Even still—”

“Ma’am,” you put your hand on her shoulder as both a reassurance and a stabilizer as you remove the destroyed shoes from your feet. The relief is immediate, as is the ache in your tendons from suddenly flattening your feet. “I promise you, you did nothing wrong. Thank you for helping me.” 

She smiles back at you, kissing her teeth a bit at the sight of your heels. “You better have another pair of those at home.”

Your smile becomes a grimace and she gets her answer. Her forehead creases as she frowns again. 

“How often do you wear these?” 

You almost don’t answer her, too embarrassed. “Every day.”

“These are at least…” she examines the shoes— the leather wrapping them, the heel, the soles, everything. She looks like a professional. “These are at least from the spring of two years ago. They’re practically worn down to the nub. How are you still comfortably wearing these?”

“Just don’t have the time or money to get new ones, I suppose.” You shrug your shoulders, and her frown deepens. “It’s fine. I have, like, super glue at home that I can use and get them fixed.”

The woman gasps and clutches her chest as if you kicked a damn puppy, her eyes going wide and her jaw practically hitting the sidewalk. 

“Absolutely not!” She holds the shoes close to her chest, ensuring that you won’t be able to grab them back from her. “You will never be wearing these godforsaken shoes again, not if I have anything to do with it!” 

Your shoulders slump. “Then what am I supposed to wear for work?” 

“My husband and I own a shop a few blocks from here. What time do you work tomorrow?” 

“I don’t. Fridays are my day off.” 

“Good,” she nods approvingly. “A good work week, hard worker— no, that’s not what we’re focusing on now. Come to our shop tomorrow morning, I’ll get you fitted with brand new shoes— two pairs, even. On the house.” 

It’s your turn to gasp. “I— I couldn’t ask that! That’s your shop— your income! I could never take two pairs, let alone one without paying—”

“You forget that my son— again, your age— is famous. We won’t be missing much. We mostly keep the shop open to keep ourselves busy.” The woman (you still don’t know what her name is. It’s bothering you just a bit) beams at you. “Please. Let me do this for you. I can even introduce you to Chanhee.” 

Ah, so that’s her son’s name.

You bite down on your tongue, thinking carefully about her offer. The shoes, not meeting her son. 

“Let me pay for one pair at least,” you bargain. She goes to argue, but you hold up a hand to stop her. “One pair, or none at all. Take your pick.”

A smile laced with…—is that pride? You’re almost certain it’s pride— causes her lips to curl. “One pair of free shoes, and one paid for. Sounds like a deal to me.”

The sun has set and the street light above you flickers to life. There’s a bit of a breeze now, goosebumps rising on your arms. 

“It’s dark out,” you murmur. “Let me walk you to your shop. I’m sure your husband is worried about you.”

The woman nods. “He’s been calling me since we got off the train.”

Silence for a moment, and then the air is filled with bubbles of laughter. You laugh until your cheeks hurt, until they feel as if they’ll be trapped in a permanent smile. 

“I like you Missus…” you trail off, your feet padding lightly across the ground as you walk.

“Choi. Missus Choi,” Mrs. Choi finally tells you her name, and you almost hit the ground in relief. Why wasn’t that the first thing you asked? “And soon that’ll be your name, too.”

Chanhee deemed himself to be a lucky man. Loving parents, good friends, his dreams being achieved left and right at such a young age. 

Yes, he certainly was lucky. 

Most days, that is.

Today, unfortunately, it seemed his luck had run dry and likely went down the drain like most of his coffee. Or, perhaps, it went wherever Eric brought his only good umbrella, leaving him stuck with the shitty leaking umbrella. Or it was in the nearest trash bin alongside his favorite shoes having torn the sole clean off. 

“I don’t understand how you managed to do any of that.” Changmin clicks his tongue, his head rolling back as Chanhee vents his frustrations. Only 8AM and Chanhee was already sick of this day. “The coffee I get, but the umbrella and your favorite shoes? Someone has to be out to get you, I fear.” 

“Tell me about it,” Chanhee scoffs. “Honestly, I feel like it may have been Taeha.”

Jung Taeha, his most recent…ex of sorts. Chanhee had met her outside his parents’ shop which, in hindsight, should have been a bit of a sign for him. She’d been there, almost as if she was waiting for him, and introduced herself in a manner which was most definitely rehearsed.

My name is Jung Taeha, let’s go out for coffee some time!

A smarter version of him, in some other universe, would have spotted the red flags from miles away. Alas, this universe’s Choi Chanhee was dumb as a rock on occasion. On many occasions, in fact. 

After six months of temper tantrums, his bank account being slowly chipped away, constant phone calls, and many attempts at dragging him away from work under the guise of “being lonely”, Chanhee finally snapped. Six weeks ago, he had broken things off as gently as he could. He couldn’t stand her, couldn’t stand how demanding she was. 

This isn’t working out. Get your things and leave.

She’d destroyed his apartment on her way out. She threw lamps, knocked over tables and his dresser (a fact that still stunned him), broke plates, cut holes into his Gucci shirts. Chanhee wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if she had cut his shoes apart. 

“You sure they weren’t salvageable?” Changmin asks, his hand wrapping around the handle of the little shoe shop on the outskirts of Seoul. “Maybe, like, buy some gorilla glue or something.” Chanhee’s jaw nearly hits the ground, his hand coming to press against his chest in dismay.

“I can’t believe you would even suggest something so…so…so…” 

Chanhee stutters over his words, inevitably falling silent as he lets his eyes fall on a figure laughing with his mother. A woman, likely his age, gripping the seat she was in and tilting her head back as she laughed unabashedly. He could see the way her eyes wrinkled at the edges, a smile curling over her face and nearly reaching her ears.

The door Changmin had been holding open closes on Chanhee, forcing him to stumble forward and tripping the motion sensor above the door. A bell chimes and startles him out of the trance that had been placed on him. 

“Chanhee!” His father beams, rounding the corner and clapping him on the back. “What are you doing here so early? Or at all, really. Shouldn’t you be at the studio? And you, Changmin. Shouldn’t you be there  as well?”

Changmin rubs the back of his head sheepishly, tucking into his chest a bit. 

“My shoes broke,” Chanhee says, mourning the loss of the sleek black Dior loafers. “I need to pick up a pair to hold me off for the rest of the week at minimum.”

His father hums, turning to look at where his mother had finally risen to her feet, the woman with her rising as well. Chanhee locked eyes with her, and noted how quickly she became red in the cheeks, turning her gaze to the ground. Great, he thought and kissed the back of his teeth, another stalker trying to get to me through my parents.

“I can help you in just a few minutes, darling.” His mother promised, grinning widely as she led the girl to the counter. “Now, Y/N dear, I know we discussed you paying for one pair rather than the two, but—”

“If you try to get me to pay for anything less than what we agreed on,” you say with a teasing lift in your voice, “I’ll walk out of here with nothing at all. Alright, Mrs. Choi?” 

Chanhee quirks an eyebrow, his lip curling with disdain. So you’d hunted for his family, then?

“Dear,” his mom places a gentle hand over yours, “I can’t help it if suddenly there’s a deal on this particular brand that says you get a free pair with every pair of socks you buy.” 

What?

You seem to echo Chanhee’s thoughts, hardly able to process what was happening before his mother had rung in the socks and marked both shoes as free, taking your card and swiping it. You jump forward, practically bending over the counter to try and grab her before she can finish processing your purchase.

“Mrs. Choi!” You exclaim defiantly. “I told you that I wanted to pay!”

“And you did,” Chanhee’s dad jumps in gleefully, “just not for what you expected.”

“You both are terrible!”

“What’s going on?” Chanhee finally jumps in, having enough of this interaction. He couldn’t fathom how his parents were just…letting you use them. “Who is this…girl?” 

His lip curls, and you flinch. Good. Know who you’re messing with. Changmin jabs him in the side, shooting him a nasty look. 

“Oh, Chanhee darling, this is Y/N!” His mother chirps, grinning and ignoring the clear attitude he was flooding the building with. “I met her last night on the train home!”

“And she’s here for…?”

“Shoes, clearly.” Changmin rolls his eyes. “God, Chanhee. You’re so dense sometimes.” Your shoulders sag with relief, but Chanhee hardly gives you time to breathe. 

“Did you really have to manipulate my parents?” It goes so quiet that you could likely hear a pin drop from across the store. 

“Excuse me?” Your eyebrows furrow, your lips parting slightly with your confusion. Chanhee hates to admit it, but you play the part of the fool rather nicely.

“If you wanted to get my attention that badly,” his words are icy and Chanhee sees you curl in on yourself a bit more, “you should’ve just stalked the company. Why did you manipulate my parents into your little scheme?”

“What company?” The confusion on your face is so close to genuine that Chanhee is almost impressed. 

“Choi Chanhee,” his mother hisses, taking a small step toward her son to knock some sense into him, but you stop her with a small motion of your shaking hand. 

“Don’t act dumb,” Chanhee’s nose curls and you nearly bark out a laugh. “We both know you’re just here to score my number or something.” 

Your whole body is trembling, not just your hand. Your body is shaking like a leaf, your lip quivering to hold back words that could make this situation far more embarrassing and hurtful than it already is for you. Chanhee sees the well of tears in your eyes and how you blink rapidly, tipping your head back or to the side in order to keep them at bay. In normal circumstances, he may have offered comfort, however he was far too aggravated to bother. 

“Mrs. Choi, thank you so much for the shoes.” You finally tear your gaze away from Chanhee, pressing your hand into her arm. “I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” 

“Y/N, dear,” the woman starts, but you just shake your head.

“I think your son would prefer if I left. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” A meek smile, and you start to make your way to the door. Chanhee’s narrowed eyes are on you the whole time, his arms folded across his chest. 

“It was nice meeting you!” Changmin calls out as you push the door open, grinning and waving like you’d been the best of friends. Something about that creates an irk in Chanhee, his teeth grinding together and his lips twisted into a scowl. You don’t turn around or do anything to respond to the man, just letting the bell chime above you as the door swings open. When it shuts again, there’s a tense silence between the four. 

“Did you have to be so rude?” Chanhee’s father grunts, shifting behind the counter to organize a stack of gift cards and receipts. “She was a lovely girl.”

“She was stalking you guys!”

“She was not!” His mother snaps, shutting down any chance of him arguing with a nasty look that sends shivers down his spine. The last time he’d seen that look, she had been about to punish him for sneaking out in the middle of the night when he was fifteen years old. “If anything, I was basically stalking her.”

“Mom, what are you talking about?” He can feel a headache coming on, his head tilting back with a heavy sigh. 

“She has no idea who you are, Channie.” 

“That’s bulls— that’s not true! Otherwise, she wouldn’t—” be here is what Chanhee wants to say, but he catches himself. “She wouldn’t have been so close to you if she didn’t!”

“I befriended her last night,” Mrs. Choi folds her arms across her chest, matching the attitude her son can’t seem to put away. “I met her on the train, thought she was pretty and sweet, and maybe good for you. I befriended her so I could introduce her to you, but she ended up falling and breaking her shoes because of me. I told her to come here today so I could get her some new ones—”

“What, she couldn’t afford to get her own?” Chanhee scoffs, and a newspaper hits the counter with a loud crack. He jumps, dipping his head at the nasty look his father gives him. 

“Don’t interrupt your mother, Choi Chanhee.” Chanhee bites down on his tongue and Changmin clicks his tongue, expressing his clear disappointment in his friend. 

“That girl has worked her tail off day and night in this godforsaken city just to hold onto the job that, quite honestly, she is too qualified for. She had been wearing the shoes I broke since she first moved to Seoul, and she told me she was going to glue them back together because she couldn’t afford it. Don’t you dare say anything about what people can afford, Choi Chanhee. You should know better.” 

He can practically hear Changmin’s thoughts. He just knows that the man is laughing to himself, practically screaming oop, we got him! A small part of him feels guilty about the accusations he had senslessly thrown at you, but the larger part of him is too prideful to admit to his wrongs, forcing him to stand his ground even under the murderous look from his father and the disappointment from his mother. 

“What do you want me to do? It’s not like I can apologize now. She’s already gone and we’ll probably never see her again.”

“Well,” Mr. Choi smiles coyly, “you better hope you find that girl again. Otherwise you’re cut off from family dinners.”

“Yeah, right.” He scoffs. “Like you guys would keep me away from family. Your whole thing is that family is the most important thing.”

“Is that so?” 

“You’re joking.” Chanhee’s eyes bug out of his head when his brother blocks him from getting in the door. 

“Sorry, dude,” Dongmin shrugs, seemingly apologetic but there’s nothing but pure mischief in his eyes. “Ma wasn’t kidding when she said you were barred from dinners until you found that girl and apologized.”

“She can’t be— ugh,” Chanhee groans loudly, stomping his foot on the stone steps below him. “How the does she expect me to find this girl and get her to accept an apology from me? I was a total jerk and I definitely don’t feel bad about it.” 

Dongmin frowns. “That’s kinda shitty, Chanhee.”

“Well, it’s true! I was trying to protect my family from— from— ugh!”

“Chanhee,” Dongmin steps forward and purses his lips. “I get that your relationship with Taeha kinda ruined you and you still aren’t back from that, and we get it. We really do. But the thing is…not everyone is like that, and not everyone is out to use you and your rich boy credit card. Some people are just living their lives.”

“But I didn’t know that!”

“And that’s your problem.” Dongmin’s hands find his younger brother’s shoulders, shaking him gently as he speaks. “You just assume the worst in people now. I miss the old Chanhee who loved every stranger he met whether they knew who he was or not. Whatever,” Dongmin hesitates and scowls, “this version of Chanhee is, we don’t like him. Do whatever you have to do to fix it. Fuck, hang out with this girl once you find her. Take her on a date. Just…just fix this and yourself.”

For two days now, Chanhee had received reality check after reality check. The first had been from his father. The second from his mother. Then from his members, and now from his brother. Each one said the same. Fix your shit, we don’t want to put up with mopey bitch Chanhee anymore.

Well.

Not exactly that, but it was implied. 

So, when the door shut in Chanhee’s face, he had no choice but to stomp back to the sleek black sedan he’d parked along the side of the road in front of their house. The neighborhood they lived in was quiet enough that he didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing him mutter profanities to himself. 

The shoes Mrs. Choi had gifted you fit practically like a glove, far better than your previous pair and still more comfortable. No amount of thanks could truly show the older woman how grateful you were. You felt more at ease with the worry of your shoes finally breaking in the past. 

Unfortunately, not all of your worries can be solved with a simple gift from a funny old woman.

No, some of your problems came in the form of that woman’s son, Choi Chanhee. The knowledge that he seemed to hate you more than anything in the world had scarred you. His words were imprinted into your brain like a tattoo, replaying over and over again throughout the next week. 

Immediately after leaving the shoe shop that day, you’d googled his name and immediately felt your heart drop to your feet. She hadn’t been joking about her son being rich and famous. The more you think about it the more you wish you had never stepped foot onto that train, let alone into that shop. 

“I can help whoever is next!” 

The barista calling out from behind the register startles you out of your thoughts. There’s still about four people in front of you, each of them looking about as tired as you feel at 7:25AM. You drum your fingers against your purse, your skin making a quiet tapping noise against the cool leather. 

“And here I thought I would be getting out of an apology.” A voice behind you makes you jump. It had been so quiet in the line, most people just wanting to get their coffee and be on their way. “Guess I’m not that lucky anymore.”

You turn your body around fully, taking in the face of the one person you’d been dreading seeing again. 

Choi Chanhee stands behind you dressed in a white button-up shirt and slacks with a black mask covering most of his face. There’s no mistaking those eyes, however. They’d caught your attention while at the store— before they’d narrowed at you and filled with nothing but malice. They were soft. All of his features were soft and you can see why he’d become so popular. If his hatred wasn’t pointed at you, maybe you’d have grown to love him like his mother wanted. 

“Do I know you?” This time you truly play the fool, wanting nothing to do with him if you can help it. His eyes roll, and he tosses his head a bit to move the short strands of black hair out of his face. 

“Don’t play dumb this time. I know you know who I am now,” he scolds lightly. There’s a lightness in his voice now and you wonder if it’s because you’re in front of people who might know who he is. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, toeing at the ground like a child who was about to get punished. “I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, me too.” Chanhee sighs, shifting slightly closer to you so he wouldn’t have to talk so loud. The less attention drawn to the two of you, the better, you supposed. You certainly don’t want to be in any of those damn tabloids. What a nightmare that would be to explain to your family. “Let’s get our coffee and talk somewhere else, alright?” 

“I can help whoever is next!” You step up to the register, Chanhee a step behind you, and smile at the barista. Her eyes flash with recognition when she sees the celebrity, but she doesn’t say anything. “What can I get for you?”

“Medium iced latte, please,” you murmur and reach into your purse to pull out your wallet. Chanhee clears his throat and presses his hand against your arm to lightly push you to the side. You frown at him and open your mouth to speak but he’s faster than you.

“Add a medium americano to that order please.” The barista nods, her fingers moving quickly over the buttons. Most likely a symptom of her nerves. 

“You’re—” the barista’s voice cracks and her face flushes red. You can’t help but smile. “You’re New, right? From The Boyz?” Chanhee smiles beneath his mask, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he does a total personality flip for this girl.

You watch the brief interaction, the smile still on your face as he talks animatedly with this young girl and pays for the drinks. He pulls down his mask so he can be seen in the selfie she takes, his plush lips curling into a sweet smile that part of you wishes was aimed in your direction.

“You interact really well with your fans.” You comment, still smiling a bit as you make your way over to the opposite end of the counter. Chanhee tugs his mask back over his face, eyeing you cautiously. 

“I’m a nice person, believe it or not.”

“I’d like to believe it,” you shrug, “but I haven’t seen that side of you so I can’t really trust you.” 

Chanhee sticks his hands in his pockets, tapping his shoes against the ground. “That’s not my problem.”

Your smile drops and you turn away from him to watch as drinks slide across the counter for customers to grab. Your eyes are stinging and you manage to convince yourself, just barely, that he was joking. 

“Iced latte for Y/N!” You step forward, almost too quickly to seem normal, and grab your drink. Chanhee’s comes out a moment after your, and you don’t wait for him to get it before you’re walking out the door and into the brisk morning air of mid-October. You walk quickly, admitting to yourself that he most certainly wasn’t joking and that these stupid comments from a stupid man with a stupid fucking ego are truly starting to get to you. 

Your office is only nine blocks from this shop, a walk you can do in a bit under ten minutes. You pick up your pace when you hear Chanhee call out your name. 

Unfortunately for you, Chanhee has longer legs and is very determined. 

“What was that for?” He whines, and there’s another brief moment where you want to smile.

“What do you even want, Choi Chanhee?” You spit out the words like venom, and Chanhee flinches back. 

“I already told you I wanted to apologize.”

“So do it and go away. Better yet,” you hold up a finger. “Don’t say anything and just leave. I can tell Mrs. Choi that you apologized and then we never have to see each other again.”

Chanhee looks at you, his eyebrows knitting together in thought. “Is that what you really want?”

You take a shaking breath but don’t answer him. Seven blocks until you reach your office. You merge with the crowd of people waiting for the sidewalk light to turn green. Chanhee turns your body so you’re facing him with his hands on the sides of your arms. It feels like he’s scorching your skin, his hands warm despite the cold weather. 

“Y/N,” his voice is quiet now with the noise of the city around you. “I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you. It was inappropriate and unnecessary. I apologize.”

For a moment you stare blankly at him, something that makes him a bit nervous.

“You’re just saying that because your mom wants you to, aren’t you?” Chanhee scoffs. 

“Well, yeah, obviously. She banned me from family dinners until I apologize and she has this sixth sense about if we do what she says or not.”

You bite your tongue, nodding your head. Of course, that’s why he’s doing it. Not because he actually wants to apologize, but because he’s going to get something out of it. 

“You know what, Chanhee—” Someone slams into your back before you can say anything and you yelp. 

Ther sound of plastic cracking fills your ears, and a pair of arms wrap around you to keep you from hitting the ground. Cold liquid splashes against your shirt, brown standing out against the white fabric. Someone swears loudly. 

You pull back from Chanhee, and a knot forms in your throat. Your coffee is all over his front, soaking into the fabric and dripping the excess onto the filthy pavement below you. 

“Chanhee, I’m so—” your voice betrays you and tears well in your eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Let me— I have napkins in my purse—” 

“It’s fine,” Chanhee waves a hand to stop you, but you don’t listen and continue reaching into your bag for a bundle of napkins. “Y/N, I’m telling you it’s okay. It’s just some coffee.”

“But— but it’s all over your shirt, and this was probably insanely expensive, and I just—”

“You’re right,” Chanhee interrupts you with a roll of his eyes. You look up at him, the napkins in your hand soaked with coffee and pressed against his shirt. 

“What?”

“I said you’re right,” he shrugs. “This was your fault. And this shirt was incredibly expensive.” He takes the napkins out of your hand, leaning down a bit so only you can hear him. There’s a glint in his eyes that you don’t like it. “More expensive than you could ever hope to afford.”

There’s a new found anger in your eyes now. 

“Go to hell, Chanhee.”

“The fuck happened to you?” Changmin lounges against the couch in the studio with a dumbfounded expression on his face. Chanhee just shakes his head, unbuttoning the silken fabric of his Dior shirt. The coffee had dried on his walk to the company, fifteen blocks in the opposite direction you’d been walking in, thanks to the sun and some cold air he hoped he would never have to walk in again.

“That girl from my parents’ shop spilled her coffee all over me.” 

“What girl?” Hyunjae questions, spinning slowly in another chair. 

“A couple days ago,” Changmin pushes off the couch to get closer to the conversation. “Chanhee was visiting his parents at the shop and there was this really pretty girl there talking to his mom. The girl had met his mom last night and they had talked on the train and then the girl broke her shoes because of his mom so they went to the shop and she was gifted two free pairs of shoes just because his mom felt really bad.”

“That’s sweet,” Hyunjae coos. “I love Mr. and Mrs. Choi.”

“Yeah, me too,” Changmin sighs and shakes his head. “Too bad Chanhee thought she was a stalker fan and went completely ape shit on the poor girl. She looked like she was about to cry!”

“I did not go ape shit!” Chanhee exclaims, folding his ruined shirt and tucking it into his bag. He’s pulling another shirt out, a loose black tee shirt this time, while Changmin mocks him quietly. 

“Then why did she spill coffee on your shirt?” Hyunjae counters.

“She— it was an accident,” Chanhee huffs and throws himself down on the other couch. “I went to apologize, someone bumped into her, she spilled her coffee, and then…I ruined it…again…”

“What did you do this time? Kill her dog? Kick her while she was down?” Hyunjae asks, only half-joking. 

“What?” Chanhee’s jaw drops. “Why on Earth would I do that?”

“Because apparently you’re a piece of shit to hot women now.”

“I wasn’t a piece of shit! And she was not—” Chanhee stops himself, catching the raised eyebrows of his group members. “You two are the worst.”

“What do you even have against her anyway?” Hyunjae asks. Chanhee, for once, can’t find a good answer. You weren’t a stalker, something he’d learned a bit too late. However, he can’t exactly say his pride is getting in the way of a proper apology. He also couldn’t use Taeha as an excuse, knowing that they would lecture him about that whole relationship and how he knows better now that she’s gone. He also knows that if he used nerves as excuse, they would mock him for days and claim that he was in love with you.

Which he most definitely was not.

“I swear, she’s gonna come after your ass for defamation soon enough,” Changmin rolls his eyes. “Should we send her, like, a fruit basket as an apology? With a cute little note that says something like—”

“We’re not sending her a fruit basket.” Chanhee interrupts. Changmin pouts. Hyunjae smirks. 

“You’re right,” the older man agrees. “We aren’t. You are.”

You see Chanhee again far sooner than you would’ve liked to. Two days have passed since the incident and you’d somehow managed to push it to the back of your mind. You would’ve liked to forget about him altogether, however, that clearly isn’t an option for you. You realize this when you come back from your lunch break to find him leaning against your desk scratching at the cheap material and doing anything but look up.

“Is that your boyfriend or something?” Sungchan is leaning against his cubical, gazing curiously at the handsome man. “If not, can I have him?”

You laugh quietly and Chanhee’s head snaps up to look at you. He looks absolutely horrified, his cheeks darkening the longer he looks at you. 

“I think he wants you to go over to him.” Sungchan sinks back into his chair, smirking widely at you.

“Die lonely, Sungchan.” 

He feigns hurt, waving you off. 

From Sungchan’s desk to yours is about fifteen steps. On this day, you make those steps the longest you could possibly make them without it being awkward. You take a step and stop to chat with another coworker across the room. Another step and oops! You’ve dropped your pen to the ground. Thirteen more long, agonizing steps just to avoid talking to Choi Chanhee.

What has your life become?

“What can I help you with?” 

You pretend you don’t see the giant fruit basket behind him on the ground. He pretends that it’s not there at all. 

“I, uh,” Chanhee’s hand slips off your desk and he almost goes crashing to the floor. You don’t help him, your eyes widening at the loud, sudden, disastrous motion. “I just— I was, you know, just in the area. I wanted to check—”

“Channie!” A grating voice makes the two of you cringe, and the dull sound of heels hitting the carpeted floor catches your attention. Jung Taeha.

Chanhee’s face goes white, and your frown deepens. Do they know each other?

You hope they don’t, but the way she calls his name is so sickeningly sweet that you’re positive they do. Something in you breaks a little. 

“Jung Taeha,” the words are forced out of Chanhee like someone performed the Heimlich maneuver to get food out of his throat. You bite back a laugh at the pain in his eyes, turning your gaze to the ground instead. “You…what are you doing here?”

“I work here, silly!” Taeha beams, practically shoving you to the side and grabbing the man by the shoulders to pull him in for a hug. He manages to keep her away from him, his soft eyes begging you for help. You step back, letting him handle her. You won’t risk your job for a man who already doesn’t think you can afford basic luxuries.

“Oh,” Chanhee says dumbly. “You do?”

The fakest laugh you’ve ever heard comes out of Taeha. It’s sharp, piercing your ears and making you wince. Honestly, to you, she sounds like a dying horse. 

“Did you come here to visit me? You never visit me at work anymore! I miss you, Channie…” Taeha pouts, ignoring his hands pushing her away from him and trying desperately to wrap her arms around Chanhee’s waist. 

“No—” Taeha gasps and cuts him off when she sees the fruit basket on the ground. 

“Channie! Is that for me?”

“No it—”

“You really shouldn’t have! Gosh, and at work too! I’m so—”

“It’s not for you.”

In an instant, the office goes quiet. Keyboards fall quiet, conversations stop, heads pop up from their desks. Sungchan lets out an exaggerated gasp, the only sound in the entire office. A company phone rings and someone mutes it. Taeha’s face twitches. Not just her eye, not her lip. Her whole face twitches and suddenly her eyes are meeting yours. She looks angry. Angrier than you’ve ever seen her since you began working at this godforsaken company.

“What do you mean it isn’t for me?” She questions with a scoff. Her hands plant on her hips and she takes a step back. “Who else would it be for?” 

Taeha says that while holding eye contact with you. The obvious implication is that they can’t possibly be for you. Why on Earth would someone like him get something like that for you?

“They’re for my girlfriend.”

You smile, glad to see Taeha put in her—

What?

“What?” Your mouth drops open and Chanhee looks at you with a playful smile. 

“Y/N~” he playfully whines, draping his arms over your shoulders and pulling you into him until his cheek is resting on your head. “Stop pretending we’re not together! I know that the argument was my fault but this is a bit harsh, even for you!”

 Your heart pounds, and you can feel his as well with your face pressed into him. He’s warm, you realize. His body is warm, and he smells sweet. Your brain tells you to pull away from him, but there’s a comfort in his embrace that you don’t want to leave. 

“You’re…” Taeha’s teeth are grinding together. “You’re with…Y/N? Y/n, you’re with Chanhee?”

“Well…” you reluctantly pull yourself away from Chanhee, smiling just as playfully as him. “Of course. Why else would he be here?”

“I’m just— this is unexpected!” Taeha beams at you, but there’s maliciousness behind every blink and smile. “I’ve never seen you date anyone, so I was a bit surprised about this.”

“Oh, yes,” you nod and grasp Chanhee’s hand in your own. “I was a bit surprised as well, but it’s true. He treats me well. Spoils me, really!” 

“Is that so?” Taeha’s eyebrow twitches and you fight a fit of laughter. 

“Yep!” Chanhee places a large, noisy kiss to the top of your head.

“Been together for…how long has it been now, Channie?” Maybe mocking the nickname was a bit too far but you couldn’t help it. Everyone knows that when you see an opportunity, it needs to be taken.

“About…four weeks?” He hums and Taeha physically recoils, her eyes widening and her body jerking as if she’d been shoved. “Just had our first argument. Guess that means the honeymoon phase is over.”

“That’s great for you!” Taeha comes over and takes one of your hands. “I am truly so happy for you, Y/N!” She squeezes you so tight that you’re afraid she may break your hand if she holds on any longer. You can tell she wants to say more just by looking at her. Her mouth opens a bit and she inhales as if she’s about to say something, but it just as quickly shuts again and she forces a smile onto her face. “And you, Chanhee. I’m happy for both of you.”

“Thank you, Taeha.” Chanhee beams. “That means a lot.”

“What the fuck was that?” 

Chanhee leans against your desk, watching you work. For the past fifteen minutes, he’d been standing there in silence with a dumb look on his face. You’d returned to your work, heart pounding and the encounter replaying in your head over and over again. Girlfriend. Dating. 4 weeks. Taeha knows him. 

Why did it feel like you were the only one who never knew what was going on?

Your sudden question jerks Chanhee out of his stupor. A phone rings in the cubicle next to yours and Chanhee sighs. 

“Come with me, we should talk somewhere quiet.” 

You want to say no. You want to tell him to go fuck himself or, better yet, go fuck Taeha aand leave you out of whatever stupid drama is happening. It has nothing to do with you. You just wanted him to leave you alone. 

Unfortunately, Chanhee is grabbing your arm and the stupid fruit basket that started this whole situation and is guiding you to the exit of the office to find somewhere that doesn’t have wandering eyes. His grip on your arm isn’t tight, his fingers barely brushing the sleeve of your shirt, but it’s enough to guide you along with him. 

He takes you to the parking garage, to a secluded area with few vehicles. Part of you thinks he might kill you. Part of you wishes that was the case. 

“We’re away from people now,” you pull your arm out of his grasp and scowl. “Why did you tell Taeha that we’re dating? You hate me, I don’t necessarily like you either. I thought we were done with this.”

“That was before you spilled coffee on my shirt,” Chanhee frowns. “I liked that shirt too. Now it’s stained.”

“I’ll buy you a new one if it bothers you that much.” 

Chanhee laughs quietly. “I wouldn’t make you do that. It was way too expensive for you, no offense. Besides, it isn’t that big of a deal. Just a quick trip to the laundromat and it’ll be good as new.” 

“So then…why did you come here? If it wasn’t that important, why do you keep showing up where I don’t want you to be?” You pick at a loose string on your blouse, pulling on the thread until it comes loose. Chanhee exhales heavily, folding his hands neatly behind his back. 

“Because I felt bad.”

You blink. “You…what?”

“I felt bad for how I treated you. I didn’t want to leave things off that way, you didn’t deserve that. You haven’t deserved any bit of how I’ve been treating you.” His cheeks are flushed, his eyes cast to the ground. “I’m sorry. Really, this time. I’m not just saying it to get it over with.” You laugh quietly, your lips curling up into a smile. 

“You came all the way here for that?”

“And to give you this stupid fruit basket.” He kicks it lightly, the plastic wrapping scrunching with the action. “Changmin’s idea. It’s stupid, really. But he’s embarrassed for how I’ve been treating you.”

“And Taeha thought it was for her, right?” You crouch down next to the basket, examining the contents. “Why?”

Chanhee is quiet for a few moments, and then he huffs. “I dated her for a while. It was a shit relationship. She’s the reason that I thought you had been stalking me.”

“Are you serious?” Your head snaps up so fast you fear you may have given yourself whiplash. With wide eyes, you rise back to your feet. “Chanhee, that’s illegal. Why is she not in prison?”

“Because I didn’t have any solid proof,” he says as if it’s obvious and your teeth grind together to hold back a furious remark. “And, anyway, it’s in the past. What’s done is done.”

“And you…you told her I was your girlfriend to keep her off your back?” 

“Exactly. I’m sorry.”

You scoff at the apology, “this is not something to apologize for. If anything, I’d have done the same thing. She’s fucking psycho.” Chanhee laughs and it’s a real, genuine laugh that makes your stomach churn with a warm feeling you haven’t felt before. His pretty eyes shut as he laughs, tilting his head back. It brings you to laugh as well, your hand rising to muffle the sound. 

“Does this…” Chanhee hesitates, finally looking you in the eye. “Does this mean we’re okay?”

“Oh, no definitely not.” You frown. Chanhee’s face drops. “We can share laughs, yeah, but you still have apologizing and groveling to do. I’ll help you with Taeha but that’s because I owe it to your mother for helping me when I needed it.” 

“I understand,” Chanhee murmurs, dipping his head a bit. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you sigh and lift the fruit basket off the ground. “Thank me when Taeha finally leaves.”

© itsbeeble. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

What To Get A 19 Year Old Boy For His Birthday...

Pairing: Platonic! Peter Parker & Reader; Reader x Bucky (but that's not really plot relevant)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: none as usual, you yell at Strange lol

Genre: super fluff

Summary: You happen to be the only person who still remembers Peter Parker exists and you are not about to hang him out to dry. So what happens when you take Peter in and basically become his guardian? Well- nothing is simple where super-teens are involved, but you and Peter can certainly handle whatever comes your way. Right?

***

You from to yourself, feeling like you're forgetting something even though you're just watching TV with Bucky. There's nothing to forget that you can-

"Oh shit-" You gasp sitting up suddenly. Bucky grabs the remote and turns the volume down.

"What?" He frowns shifting to look at you.

"I just realized Peter's birthday's next week and I haven't even thought of what to get him or what to do or-"

"Take a breath y/n. You still have a week." Bucky reminds you with a hand on your shoulder.

"What do I get a nineteen year old boy for his birthday?" You turn to him.

"Why are you asking me?" He blinks.

"You're a guy!"

"I'm a hundred and seven?! I haven't been nineteen in like eighty years, do you really think I would have any idea what a modern teen would want? I can guarantee my interests at nineteen were far different." He scoffs.

"Well what did you want at nineteen?" You ask.

"To avoid another world war?" He shrugs and your mouth drops open.

"I can't fucking stand you." You laugh shoving him lightly.

"Oh come on, how could I resist?!"

"You're so irritating! Be serious." You say fighting giggles.

"Alright, alright, what's the kid interested in?"

"I dunno, comic books, video games, nerdy stuff?" You shrug.

"I've never seen him play video games before." Bucky frowns.

"He plays them on his computer."

"He doesn't have a gaming system of some sort?"

"No?"

"Do you own one?"

"No."

"So get him one of those and a couple of games." Bucky shrugs.

"That's a great idea! And you said you wouldn't know what to get him." You smile.

"I'm sure you could've figured that out."

"You'll come shopping with me won't you? I have no idea what games to get for him honestly."

"How about you take care of the system and I'll worry about the games. Split the cost of this birthday thing."

"What do you mean you're going to worry about the games?" You frown.

"Just trust me. How much is the system anyway?"

"Probably three, maybe four hundred dollars. Depends."

"Sheesh. That's- pricier than I expected honestly." He hums.

"Yeah they can get pretty up there." You shrug.

"Alright then if you buy the system I'll take the kid out and get him an equivalent in games."

"You really wanna spend $600 on his birthday?" You blink.

"I mean he's lost his entire family and he never goes anywhere or talks of friends, we're probably the only people he's going to get gifts from. We can take some of the money from the Stark account." Bucky says. When Tony died there were a couple of accounts set up in your name to take over Avengers related expenses. One to be used for the team's avenging related tasks and one to help the team with personal affects- mostly Thor since he'll likely never have a job here but he's not here that much these days anyway.

"I don't want to get into the habit of using that money, in case of an emergency." You say.

"Baby, you're a witch and I'm a super soldier I can't imagine there will be many emergencies where that money is our only solution. Stark died and we ended up with enough money to change our tax bracket. Six hundred dollars would hardly make a dent and if ever we're in a situation where we do have to use that money for an emergency and we find ourselves $600 short I'm sure neither of us will look back and say 'if only we hadn't given that kid we're responsible for a great birthday gift he loved'." Bucky says.

"Very well, we'll use the Stark account and do it big for him." You say.

"There- now you can stop panicking about his birthday." Bucky pulls you back into his side and turns the volume back up on the TV. You don't point out to Bucky how it seems he's bonded with Peter a bit. At least to some degree since he's suddenly advocating for a big birthday gift for him. You know he'll deny it if you bring it up so you simply smile to yourself at the thought and settle back into his chest. You'll head to the store tomorrow to pick up a console and some birthday supplies.

*~*~*

"Bucky can you grab the candles from the bedroom please baby? They should be in the bag on my desk." You shout while carefully removing the plastic covering from Peter's birthday cake.

"On it!" Bucky calls back from the living room. Moments later, he hands you the opened candles.

"Thank you for opening them." You kiss his cheek and carefully stick the 1 and 9 on the cake without disturbing the Happy Birthday Peter written in blue frosting.

"How long do you think it'll take him to come back?" Bucky asks.

"I only asked him to get some salt, he should be opening the door any minute now." You shrug. "Do you think he suspects anything?"

"Nah, I'll bet when you didn't wish him happy birthday this morning or make anything special for breakfast that he assumed we didn't know or weren't going to make a big deal about it."

"Oh- I hope he's not moping through the streets thinking we forgot." You frown.

"I mean I don't-" Bucky stops suddenly. "He's coming down the hall, light the candles." He tells you. You grab the lighter and quickly light the candles, lifting the cake just as the handle turns.

"Hey. Got the salt you asked for-"

"Happy Birthday Peter!!" You shout when he enters the kitchen.

"Happy birthday kid." Bucky nods.

"You remembered my birthday?"

"Of course I did sweetie! Make a wish." You walk the cake over to him and hold it out for him to blow out the candles. He looks between you and Bucky a couple of times before closing his eyes and blowing out the candles quickly.

"Yay!" You say setting the cake on the counter.

"Thanks guys- I- I kinda thought you'd miss it."

"Nonsense! How could I? Oh and before I forget, your gift." You float the prettily wrapped box from behind the island, into the Peter's hands.

"What is it?"

"You know the point of wrapping a gift is for you to unwrap it in order to find out what's in it." Bucky tells him.

"I know- but I thought maybe you'd tell me anyway." Peter shrugs.

"No way! That ruins the surprise! Open it." You clap excitedly.

"Alright alright." Peter says. He quickly tears off the wrapping paper and his mouth drops open when he fully reveals the box. "You got me an Xbox?" His voice is full of disbelief but you can't say for sure if that's good or not.

"Do you like it?" You ask.

"A-are you kidding?! This is like the best gift I've ever gotten!" Peter says throwing his arms around you. You hug him back relieved that the gift was a success.

"I'm glad! Bucky and I had no idea what to get you." You chuckle.

"You did great." He says.

"This is only the first half of the gift technically. A console needs games, so I'm taking you out to buy some." Bucky adds.

"No way- you don't have to this is already plenty I-I mean these things aren't cheap I don't wanna take advantage of-"

"It's not a question kid, we're going. After lunch." Bucky cuts him off.

"Really? Today?" Peter blinks at him.

"You wanna be able to set that thing up or not?"

"We'll go after lunch." Peter nods. "Are you coming with us y/n?"

"I can't hon I've got some errands to run." You say.

"I hoped we'd all be together for my birthday."

"Don't worry, we'll all be back for dinner together."

"Oh, okay, that's fine then."

He's probably nervous about spending extended time alone with Bucky but you think it'll be good for them to find common ground that's not contingent on you. Obviously, they're capable of coordinating if your anniversary is any indicator. You want to give them the chance to build on that.

In the meanwhile, you have something of equal importance to take care of. You push open the heavy doors to Stephen Strange's lair. He doesn't call it that, and he rather hates it when you do, but that's basically what it is.

"Strange!" You shout.

"Y/n! Hello, to what do I owe this visit?" He asks floating down to meet you. You walk up to him and smack your palm against his forehead. "I guess this isn't a friendly visit then." He hisses rubbing his forehead.

"Not quite." You roll your eyes. A quick succession of hand gestures completes the spell that unlocks Stephen's memories of Peter. He takes a sharp breath as his memories return.

"You know- there are less painful ways do that spell." He says after a moment.

"There are also more painful ways to do that spell be glad I just tapped your forehead." You say.

"Tapped is a bit of an understatement, don't you think?"

"I wanted to beat your ass. Count your blessings I didn't come in here and do that."

"I assume this is about Peter, then?" Stephen sighs.

"Help me with the math here, a 17-year-old comes to you and says 'I want to alter reality' and you don't consider- not doing that?"

"Well hang on I definitely warned him it was a bad idea but he was insistent that it was ruining his life."

"Dude he was 17. A 17 year old will think the world is ending because his best friend moves away before senior year of high school. Granted he's dealt with some pretty intense adult troubles but he's still just a kid and you're like pushing 50 he isn't the responsible party in that situation." You say.

"Watch it, pushing 50 is an exaggeration." Stephen points.

"Not. The point. You altered the very fabric of time and space not once, but twice at the behest of a child."

"It wouldn't have been twice if he hadn't totally screwed up the first one."

"You're the sorcerer not him. It was your spell. Your responsibility." You say.

"Hey he kept adding caveats in the middle of my casting and magic is tricky enough as is without that."

"I know how tricky magic is, which is why I wouldn't have an untrained teenager be part of casting a spell of that magnitude in the first place! It was a bad decision on your part and in the end you got to walk away as if it never even happened. And that might be even more egregious, you completely abandoned the kid after all that chaos."

"Well not completely, I knew the probability of you being unaffected by the spell and thus stepping in was almost 100%."

"Almost 100 isn't 100 and that's still abandoning. The moment you decided to do that spell for him you took on a responsibility." You say.

"So what was I supposed to do? Simply take him in?" He scoffs.

"Well when you take away his entire support system with a spell that is the least you can do Strange."

"He knew the consequences, and it all worked out fine. He's got you now." He shrugs.

"I wonder if you just don't hear yourself speak or if you truly struggle with emotional intelligence so severely." You take a moment to really look at him as if the answer will come to you if you stare at him for long enough. "Whatever, I didn't come here just to yell at you."

"Really? I couldn't have guessed that."

"Today is Peter's birthday. I came to fix your memories so you could send him a birthday card." You say.

"Why would I do that?" He frowns.

"Because your botched spell resulted in the death of his only remaining living relative? We're all he's got."

"Hey I fixed that situation to the best of my ability."

"And it didn't bring his aunt back. It also cost him every relationship he's ever developed. Send him a damn card. Today." You spin around and walk back towards the door. "Be glad I won't drop him on your doorstep. He doesn't deserve that punishment." You scoff, waving the doors open and heading back towards your own apartment to get started on dinner. 

"So how did game shopping go?" You ask Bucky and Peter once you're all sat eating dinner.

"Oh we got way more than I would've expected. Mr. Bucky was overly generous I just hope it's clear how greatful I am."

"You've thanked me at least 10 times in the last hour. You've been more than clear kid. It's your birthday so you can stop now."

"I'm glad you had a nice time." You chuckle.

"What did you get up to while we were out baby?" Bucky asks.

"Just some errands nothing interesting." You shrug.

"Nothing interesting?" He raises an eyebrow.

"A little of this a little of that. My to-do list never ends really. Some shopping, I hit the bank, made some visits. You know how it goes."

"I dunno about you but that sounds rather suspicious to me Peter." Bucky turns to him.

"Definitely." Peter nods.

"I clearly made a mistake letting you two spend the afternoon together." You roll your eyes grabbing yours and Peter's now empty plates.

"We will discover your secrets y/n." Bucky warns.

"Good luck with that." You chuckle kissing Bucky's temple before walking the dishes over to the sink.

"Oh no you don't, you cooked, I'll do the dishes." Bucky wraps his hands around your waist and moves you from in front of the sink.

"Fine fine, Petey you want help setting up your Xbox then?" You ask.

"Sure! Is it okay to set it up in my room?"

"Of course it is. It's your thing. Plus if you end up playing all day long I don't want you taking over my living room." You tap his shoulder.

"Cool." He chuckles.

It doesn't take you long to set up the system in his room, it's just a matter of plugging in it and then the rest is for him to do on his own, make an account and such. You're just about to leave his room when a small portal appears in front of him.

"Peter. Happy birthday." Strange says reaching through with a card. You hold back a smile as Peter takes the card with obvious shock on his face.

"T-thanks Mr. Strange." Peter says. Stephen nods and closes the portal without another word.

"I didn't think he remembered me." Peter blinks at you.

"The world works in mysterious was huh." You ruffle Peter's hair. "I'll leave you to get used to your new toy." You add before exiting his room and joining Buckyin the living room.

"Okay, so where did you go today? Really?"

"Honestly I had to go yell at Strange for some magic related things." You say.

"What did he do?"

"It's complicated. Let's just say it'll be a while before I leave our timeline in his hands if ever again." You muse.

"Ah is that why you didn't bring it up at dinner? So the kid doesn't ask about Strange?"

"Yeah basically." You shrug. You're sure Bucky means in terms of Peter not knowing that you're an Avenger or whatever but seeing as you can't explain the real reason you didn't want to talk about it at dinner you see no reason to correct him at the moment. Eventually you'll give him all the details, but today has been good for all of you, you'd like to end on a high.

***

Tagged Users: @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @buchi91

[thatdisasterauthor]

Delete your Threads account. You know what Meta as a company has done, you know the kind of person Mark Zuckerberg is. You've lived through Gamergate, the elections, covid, the fucking lot of it, and yet you're still willingly making an account on Threads. How can you possibly justify that?

Second ask: Scratch that, I hadn't read your most recent posts. Sorry for being so rude.

Third ask: "Still going to keep an eye on it" For what exactly? For it not to be as bad as it is? For it to get even worse before you decide it is wrong? You know who Mark Zuckerberg is. You know what Facebook is. Be up front: you don't actually care or stand for anything, you're only afraid of losing business. Have some dignity.

So you decided to be rude as fuck, "apologize," and then come back and be more rude?

I was incredibly clear in that post of why I am going to keep an eye on Threads, despite the concerns: Twitter was a valuable source of live news, especially during natural disasters, and Threads is the first potentially viable replacement for that. IDK if you actually follow me, but if you do you'll know I do a lot of work around natural disaster communication. Twitter was invaluable as a communication source during natural disasters. Full stop. It is not up for debate. But hey, if you want a source with more authority than a random tumblr blog, here, have a nice shiny research paper:

Mind you, that was written in 2010 and the importance of Twitter as a communications tool during natural disasters has only increased since then. There is no other tool out there, no other website--news or otherwise, that can provide such granular, specific updates when shit hits the fan as Twitter did. The only better, quicker source of information I have found during natural disasters is listening to actual radio chatter from the departments involved in whatever problem, and that can be very tricky to do if you don't know where to look or have the right equipment. There is no other site where I can go specifically follow so many of my local fire departments, my local emergency services, my local National Weather System stations, and get live pushed updates from them every single time they post.

When Twitter DDOSed itself last week and put a limit on the amount of tweets people could view and forced people to be logged in to view anything at all, the effect was immediate and BAD. People suddenly couldn't view things like missing person alerts, or weather alerts. I had people messaging me because they were trying to check the National Weather System autoalerts for their area on Twitter due to being caught in a sudden storm, but they couldn't get on to check.

Love it or hate it, Twitter had an immense amount of value and it got that value--at least in the case of natural disaster communication--because the stubborn ass government decided it was big enough to be trusted with official lines of information. Very, very few other social media sites have ever had that trust from the government. Look at how they banned TikTok on all government devices. But they DO trust Facebook, and Instagram, and Meta. Which means their chances of trusting Threads and migrating over there when Twitter finally takes its last breath are ASTRONOMICALLY higher than expecting them to go anywhere else.

We can debate the privacy and moral issues of the Metaverse and those involved until the cows come home, but it does not change the fact that if my mountain is on fire I'm gonna get information about where that fire is from wherever the fuck I can. I'm not going to wait around for it to maybe show up in a "live" updates news article from CNN from some reporter half a continent away in New York who doesn't know anything about where I live and gets the roads wrong because they just don't know. I'm going to go to the website full of my neighbors and local firefighters and see what's happening right that second.

Do we need to fix the privacy and moral issues? Yes. But we can't throw the baby out with the bathwater either. Not using Threads or any other Meta product isn't the answer here. Using them with extreme caution and only for very specific needs, for the time being, is. Long term, we need to be focusing on privacy based legislation that would finally put these companies in their place. But until then, again, I'm going to keep following my local fire departments wherever they go.

P.S.: If you're going to keep the shitty attitude, fuck right off and unfollow+block. You're not wanted here.

[lovecanbesostrange]

Please know that since yesterday I am mentally trapped in these two panels. There is actually a lot I will miss Krakoa for, but I also felt a bit of resentment throughout the era and this family is a big reason why. NOW that we are in the last stretch of burning it all down and the new X-launch is in reach, we'll get this wedding special. And we finally have all four together in a panel. NOW?! I bought X-Men Unlimited #4 in either fall of '94 or spring '95, solely because of the cover. 30 years of waiting. Let me live in this moment for a bit.

Look at what they are doing with the art! Oh sure, Mystique and Nightcrawler are the blue ones. Pair up Destiny and Rogue next to that to make them look similar enough as well. Only for my brain to scream "but the personalities are the other way around!!!!!!!!". Irene and Kurt work on faith and believe in possibilities and reaching out to be better. Raven and Anna Marie typing this out makes me feel weird are the ones who will kill a bitch and say they will darken their soul so others don't have to. Plus there is the element that they both have lived more than one life and their sense of self is distorted .

They've come a long way, okay?!

Yes this is exactly what it looks like. For plot reasons Nightcrawler was too weak to teleport and dangling off a cliff next to Mystique. And of course Rogue could only save one and before she made a decision Mystique said "I make this for you" and let go. I still like to believe she flipped them the bird when she fell. Because she is Mystique. "HaHa! Take this, you think I'm the worst mother ever, but you will have to live with a moment of nobility from me!" (Also Destiny knew this would come, and she fucking knows there is something good inside of Mystique. It just comes out... different. And needs very specific circumstances.)

Apart from X-Men Evolution (and the X-Men Forever alternate history comic with its very special vibes), we have never gotten any bigger acknowledgement of this family. And Irene has been cut out. Either conveniently on account of being dead, or because she's an old lady and clearly just a gal pal, ahem. (It's also very funny to me to go back to their first appearances, where the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants has the biggest Three Stooges energy ever. I needed Mystique, Destiny, Rogue, Pyro, Blob and Avalanche to have a drinking contest on Krakoa. That is what Krakoa was supposed to be about!! You needed to give us 200% domestic nonsense, fun and games. So it would hurt everybody when it was inevitably taken away. EVERYBODY needed to find happiness in that place in unconventional ways.)

Sadly not my original thought (I don't have those), but recently I read some comment where somebody said that with Irene being his bio-mother, Kurt should have inherited a type of precog-sense, a sorta spidey-sense for teleportation. A natural ability that he won't teleport into an obstacle. And I would be so on board with that. (Also funny, because Ms Marvel had that type of sense and I could pull up panels where Nightcrawler tried to trigger that in Rogue.) Would it be weird to add that now? Sure. But also super cute and helpful.

My deepest gratitude goes out to the fanartists who have doodled and sketched and painted cute family moments for them out of time. Now canon can catch up. Imagine their dinner conversations. N: "Logan is my best friend." M: "Oh, that reminds me there is this blue furball running around with his and my powers. I don't even remember if we ever had sex or not, we're so close in age and have these memory gaps." N: "Mutter, nein!" D: "You should ask him out, you two would make a cute couple. Trust me." R: "You're setting up Nightcrawler with Wolverine and keep giving me grief over Gambit?" M: "He speaks too much French! Wolverine might be Canadian, but at least he's not a Franco-Canadian!" N: "So I couldn't date Northstar?"

Do not get me wrong though. Mystique and Destiny are horrible people and they will stab others in the back. They have worked for the government, they have plotted assassinations of government people. They have fought alongside and against the X-Men. I don't want them tamed or be reasonable. I want their mess. I want them as anti-villains. Because they don't do heinous things for nothing. They like to create less horrible murder events than what could be... some writers just liked to go overboard with the scheming and forgot the sympathic undertones, which I want to cling to. And we deserved a time of peace on Krakoa. Truly imagine a Mystique who was happy on Krakoa. And the absolut batshit villainous energy when it's burned down against her will... now THAT would have been something. Instead of baking resentment into the foundation.

[thedomesticanthropologist]

A comment you said on your last post really hit me as a good point of development/angst, please take or leave as you'd like and apologies if I've mischaracterized your Tav at all, but still hope this helps turn some wheels. "As a Cleric of Ilmater Mira is no stranger to Suffering for the sake of Faith." Has Mira considered that Astarion suffered for nothing?

Ultimately Mira's suffering gets her a cool connection with a god and awesome powers. Would that not make Astarion bitter in that respect? To me it seems like Mira is constantly pushing back against Astarion with a lot of "why is he like this" and "you have to be better because it's the right thing to do." At what point does Astarion share his story with her about that boy he tried to spare from Cazador's wrath? I feel like with this dynamic, that would be something he'd bring up as proof that she just got lucky that her god gave a shit about her in particular. Like he did the right thing, was horrendously punished for it and as far as he's concerned, Ilmater was sitting around twiddling his godly thumbs.

I feel like that would be a good point to develop some better mutual understanding between the pair of them that would make Mira maybe not forgive Astarion in the Act 2 confession, but at least understand where he's coming from, rather than just pushing her worldview.

So! You gotta keep in mind that the story you're referring to isn't told to the player character until Act 3, well after his confession.

By the time he confesses, Astarion has (depending on how many cut scenes you've managed to snag/long rests etc) Only told you that he lured victims back to Cazador, and that Cazador is a monster.

He's told you about his scars, and how he pities the other 6 of his "siblings". Plus a few small anecdotes, but *none of them* about anything he's ever done for anyone else.

He has however:

- Been extremely racist towards the Gur based on being attacked by them, likely having been hired by Cazador based on how the story was told so Mira explained that you can't hold an entire race of people accountable for the actions of the few. Astarion said he absolutely can, and fuck you

- Assaults you in your sleep then begs for blood and if you do trust him enough to let him bite "I'll be as gentle as a babe! I only need a little" but u don't pass the checks he will murder you

- Tried to abandon the Tieflings to their fate and told Mira they should move on not because of the tadpole problem, but because killing goblins "would take hours" and he's too lazy to bother

- Repeatedly and loudly stated that he desires power over all else, but has NOT yet told her its because he's scared/desires to feel safe

- Asked to be left out of the Nere quest because he didn't want to ruin his nails and would prefer to move on. Mira said Nere isn't the point, the gnomes are and he was EXTREMELY racist towards deep gnomes in general. He has NOT yet explained to the PC / Mira why he is against digging through rock (the crypt for a year thing) by the time he does this

- Tells you if you get in the way of what he wants he will go through you if necessary (denying him the tadpoles) and to stay out of his way

- Snaps at you about how to deal with Yurgir if you try to figure out what's going on instead of immediately killing him, even if you plan on killing him, and also rails against PC loudly in many other instances as well

And much much more, I won't go on. The point is that by the time he confesses, you have no back story. You have nothing to go on. There is nothing to trust. And the ONE thing Mira and Astarion had together where she thought they were making headway, their physical relationship, has now just been revealed to be a huge scam from the start.

Not ONLY that, but he doesn't regret doing it. He is proud of his simple plan and upset that it fell apart (at least that's how he presents it) and does NOT apologize for trying to use her. He instead says because he fell in love and she is so incredible he feels he can trust her enough to confess his deception without fear of being kicked out of the party.

You must remember that while Astarion has reasons, he hasn't revealed them. And if you judge a man based on his words and actions, at the point of the confession scene, he's not got a lot going for him besides puppy dog eyes and a backstory of admittedly horrific slavery that has only been lightly touched on because he wants you to know Cazador is Bad, but he's not about to spill his guts on what really all happend to him yet.

TLDR: Faith is just about all Mira has to give at this point, and Astarion has made her suffer by gaining her trust through manipulation and then only messing up because HE caught feelings.

In other versions of the game, if you don't finish his quest, he breaks up with PC very cruelly.

If you make it to Act 3 with Caz and you don't make the right dialogue choices or pass the persuasion and instead just say you won't let him ascend, he says he hopes you die screaming.

This man is my fave, don't get me wrong. But without the knowledge of his entire character, when you go in blind or you play a character that you don't give High Insight to, you have to see that he is a very difficult person to navigate. Especially a Lawful Good Cleric of Ilmater who's life purpose is to help and alleviate suffering.

She feels called to him because of his suffering and she *does* have faith she can help, but that faith is majorly BLIND right now and it hurts to know the man who proved time and time again that he isn't trustworthy just confessed his love by explaining that he has been extra untrustworthy

[splendsay]

COD FF // Callsign: Sunshine // Ch. 30: I Wish I Knew What the End Is

hi babes. this one felt like a diary entry so...apologies in advance. I hope it resonates.

..................................................................

Callsign: Sunshine

Chapter 30: I Wish I Knew What the End Is

!!MDNI!!

Chapters: 30/? WC: 70,433 Pairing(s): TF141 x Reader (You) Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, exploration of identity and personal growth (may potentially be heavy for some readers) Chapter Excerpt:

You have a choice in front of you that you don't know how to make. Time taunts you. Holds the answer just out of your reach, all the while coming close enough to sting you. 

Two people need to go on the supply run. You can't bear to part with Simon. But to leave Gaz here alone with Alex...you don't trust him.

You still haven't talked to him. You want to. But you can't. Something holds you back by the neck of your shirt -- let's you flail about like a windmill, kicking and screaming in place -- never moving forward, but exhausting yourself anyway. You can't even bring yourself to look him in the eye, which is just as well -- he avoids you like the plague. You would too, you want to tell him. You'd avoid yourself too. 

Your beliefs shift by the hour. Sometimes you feel defiant -- insistent that you're right, you're righteous, that you have every reason to be angry and upset and that, if anything, Gaz should apologize to you first. But then you feel -- wretched. Wretched because -- here you are again. Embroiled in an argument that centers on your pride. Your own sense of self-importance -- and why? You don't even know.

Who are you? 

Not just to the Task Force, though that's a heavy, unanswerable question in and of itself. But who are you? What's important to you? What do you stand for? Where are your lines, your boundaries? What counts as crossing them? What happens if and when they're crossed? 

Are they the same as they were? You think the answer is no.

How can you hold Gaz to a moral standard you can't even articulate? 

You're just so fucking angry. You're tired and you're restless and you're angry. All the time. It's relentless. Like lead in your veins, dragging you down to the earth, anchoring you to a time between the past and the future that never moves -- limbo.  

If you were really honest with yourself, you'd admit that Gaz has just become a scapegoat for it -- that anger.

In another, simpler life, it wouldn't have been difficult to forgive him. Hell, you already had, you'd thought. You'd thought...

But this life is hard. Too hard. It isn't simple. And you're selfish. Selfish people survive. And survival has made you an asshole. You don't know how to feel about that. You can't hardly admit it to yourself. 

So you stay quiet. You stay quiet and aloof and callous.  

Simon tries. Has been trying -- to form a bridge between the two of you. But something -- your ego -- keeps you from walking it. He badgers you every night. 

"Did you talk to Gaz today?"

"You already know the answer."

"Ace..."

"Don't 'Ace' me, Si, I'll talk when I want to."

And he always lets it drop. Part of you wishes he'd push you. Demand some accountability. You deserve it. Deserve to be pushed harder. You might even need it. You don't know. You don't...you don't know anything. 

And the guilt -- it eats at you. Mostly because Simon can't stand it. You see it in the tension in his shoulders. The perpetual furrow of his brow. The increasing frequency of his bouts of silence. The little nudges he gives you in Gaz's direction. 

He can't stand to have so much tension between teammates, though that's his classification, not yours. You still don't see yourself that way. As part of the team.

Hence the problem.

But the fact is, Gaz betrayed you. Prioritized his own feelings over what the team had agreed was the greater good -- not just you. And had threatened to do it again with Alex. You can't abide that. Can't...you can't...

That's not what friends do, you insist to yourself. You insist on it, because, if you didn't -- you'd have to contend with the fact that you would hurt Simon to protect your own feelings. You'd willingly cause him stress in order to avoid the reality that -- this problem is yours to solve. That you might be wrong. And not only would you do those things...you are doing them. Actively. 

Asshole.

.....................................................................

Links to:

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[poppyandzena]

The most recent anon is so right. Every accusation they make is an admission. I wish that meme someone made of Poppy that said "It's okay when I do it" had gotten shared more.

It's just constant:

Poppy: "every single person who is against me is all the same entity all coordinating on their efforts and they are all accountable for every single action that anyone else takes! They're all complicit because they are a PART OF IT"

Also Poppy: "*I* didn't write the NightWyld doc. *I* didn't create the picture of Noeh with the word r*pist on it. That was OTHER people. I only shared it and pinned it and shouted it out from my 6 different twitter accounts! But that's NOT ME YOU IDIOTS. You can't hold me responsible for the bad parts of that!"

Poppy a few months ago: "I WAS DOXXED! Using my name IS a doxxing effort! I'll make a whole video about it to make money and get attention!"

Poppy now: "well I was wrong about that before so THIS isn't doxxing, now. GOD YOU IDIOTS. Just because I said it was BEFORE because it helped me doesn't mean that it counts ANYMORE"

Poppy for months: "you HAVE to believe victims! How dare you doubt me?? You're just an SA apologist"

Poppy now: "here's a bunch of tweets that Milena CLAIMED were harassment for absolutely no reason! I mean, sure, most of the people in these tweets literally came out and said that they FELT harassed, and posted multiple tweets about how uncomfortable they were, but YOU CAN'T BELIEVE THOSE PEOPLE. They only claimed that they were harassed because they want clout and likes! You can't believe EVERYONE! Some people are just doing it for attention! Not like me, who said that I started using the r*pe word because I wasn't getting enough "traction" with regular assault claims. That's DIFFERENT YOU MONSTERS."

Poppy for months: "here are 50 tweets a day about why these 200+ page documents are impossible to read and completely out of context. YOU CAN'T EVEN TRUST THOSE - THEY PROVE NOTHING!"

Poppy now: "omg, this 286 page doc that is mostly just hand-written text and opinion from one person is the SLAM DUNK PROOF that everyone was just lying! WOW!"

Poppy for months: "anyone who even LOOKS at KF is a farmer and is a fucking monster"

Poppy and Saige, also for months: "and here's another thing that I read on the KF thread that is just fucking bullshit... everything those KFers say is so stupid"

(this next one is my favorite because it shows just how much Poppy doesn't even know how much she admits out loud)

Poppy for months: "anyone who just believes those docs and doesn't come talk to me is a fucking traitor. I've lost all of these friends and my job because of these fucking LIES"

Poppy in regards to Loomie: "omg they didn't even READ the docs! They just literally just left for NO REASON before the docs even came out because of their personal interactions with me and how awful I was to them. It was literally just "vibes". I'll even show you the DMs where they won't be a friend and support my delusions about r*pe. It had NOTHING to do with their very real and clearly communicated concerns about how I was treating an unhoused person! It was literally just fucking VIBES. what a LOSER"

Poppy for months: "Noeh is a r*pist and awful and terrible and here's 1000 tweets about it. So many tweets that my boss and most of my friends tried to stop me and finally ended their relationships with me because they thought it was too much"

Poppy now: "Milena STARTED THIS WHOLE THING. SHE started a harassment campaign against me! It all started with her original doc! None of this ever would have happened without it! Everyone is harassing ME and I haven't harassed a single person at all ever!"

(Poppy, remind us again how Milena's original doc had ANYTHING to do with your behavior around Noeh and your month's long online campaign to label her as a monster?)

BONUS PETTY: how come all of your tweet replies are always restricted to "followers only", Poppy? Are you a wee bit afraid that your few remaining followers will see the hundreds on comments against you on every tweet? Worried that the negative comments will outweigh the likes and retweets from YOUR OWN ACCOUNTS?

I hope people just keep resharing that Narcissist's Prayer on everything she posts.

^🧡

[indig0trolls]

Do you have any tips on how to sell adopts?

This might get a little longwinded so I put this under cut but tldr: it's really really complicated, there are no shortcuts, and make sure you really know your market.

This is a difficult question to answer, because there are a LOT, i mean a LOT of factors that go into what makes things sell, why some artists are successful and others aren't, and there's no real like. Guaranteed success method?

I've been making adoptables for a long LONG time (since I was 17! Which is 12 years, for those who don't want to do the math) and I can say beyond reasonable doubt that I've pretty much always seen only mild success until the last couple years when I started treating my adoptables/designing work less like a hobby and more like a business. Which... It is! It IS a business.

I started designing simply because I liked it and it originally felt like a good way to get out ideas i had that I had no use for myself, that I could use to supplement my income at a time when I was making 7.25 an hour. So I never really took it seriously, because I was selling to people who were largely just. people in my friend circles (and my friends' friend circles), so it always felt weird and presumptious to be anything BUT casual with it, because these were people I knew, and often knew well enough to BE casual with.

But. It also gave this... impression of being too informal with people I didn't know very well and that was uncomfortable for me, and I can only assume them too. Especially when I started designing for communities OUTSIDE of the tumblr fantroll community, where I got my start as a freelance artist.

So I started trying to streamline processes and make sure I was making things not only easier and more professional for myself, but also a little bit easier on any clients/customers I might have! And I'll be the first to admit I can still be a little bad about informality, but the implementation of my Ko-fi shop has DEFINITELY helped a lot with that, especially on the professionalism front.

Approaching my work from a business standpoint also meant I had to do a couple of things to ensure not only protection for myself in terms of legal rights as an artist, but also buyer protection. It's not enough to protect my own work, I need my clients to feel reasonably secure in purchasing from me, otherwise what's the point? Your clients need to trust that you're not going to come after them about a nothingburger interpersonal problem the same way that you need to trust that they're not going to profit unduly off of your work without at least giving you adequate compensation. So I looked into what makes a good solid artist TOS and implemented it (though, I'm sure everyone remembers my TOS in the FTC used to be a LOT shorter, as I trusted people to not take advantage and therefore didn't feel the need to enforce the protections I enforced elsewhere.)

You also have to be willing to accept that sometimes people are going to do things you're not gonna like with your work. If that's not something you can accept, you have no business running an art business. You, quite literally, cannot control people, and... Reclaiming designs people have paid for (even with refund) without real... justifiable cause on the contingency of a flimsy "i can reclaim this whenever I want" is. Legally? From a business standpoint? Shady as fuck. We all agreed that Amazon and Itunes deleting paid-for media from people's accounts wasn't okay. It's the same thing with designs, guys. Maybe it's just because one of my first design sales, I got told the buyer was. Going to use the design they bought to cope with the catastrophic grief of miscarriage, which is something i DEFINITELY didn't need to know nor was I comfortable with knowing. But like. That was her business, not mine. I sure as hell wasn't going to tell her not to do that.

Like. babes. This goes back to buyer protections. It's not professional. If you're not comfortable with someone doing something you might find weird and uncomfortable with your designs. Adoptable making is REALLY NOT for you.

Additionally, from a business standpoint, it meant I also had to understand the market(s) I create for and sell to. This meant keeping a close eye on what sells well and what doesn't, taking notes when certain designs don't move even after edits, being willing to edit designs or mark things down as needed and yes occasionally selling things for a minor loss.

Basically, I look at designs people like and try to make designs with similar vibes without making the same 3 designs over and over again. There is NO shame in reusing elements, obviously, but you want each piece to stand apart from your other pieces JUST as much as your clients want unique designs they can call their own. And that doesn't just mean looking at my own work.

Obviously don't go around ripping off other artists in your community, but you can (and should!!) learn from the other artists active in your community for an idea of what works and what doesn't! It's not a guaranteed recipe for success, but it does lend a level of clarity to it.

On the flip side, it's important to make sure you're making work that you're not only proud of but that you enjoy making. And sometimes these things can conflict. Sometimes I like things that are really, really niche and can only count on one maybe two people to ALSO enjoy those things. And that's great! I still make those designs for myself and people who also happen to like those things! But it comes down to... what do I want to prioritize? What can I AFFORD to prioritize? The niche things I like but might not move, or... designs that probably will?

The trick, I've found, is to find a balance between the two. Hence the. Learning to understand your market! It can be really, really difficult to see around your own interests and through the eyes of those around you, I know I've DEFINITELY gotten tunnel vision about concepts in the past and been really disappointed when they didn't resonate the way I thought they would. But that's just part of the process too!

And in the same vein of knowing what your market likes you... also have to know your market's budget constraints and learn how to balance that against making sure you're pricing your work fairly enough to you. Like. We all want to be paid fairly. All of us. But you have to keep in mind what your clients/customer base can afford. As a broke ass bitch myself, I can say the majority of us in this community are. Broke as fuck. And the same is true for most art communities you'll find yourself in. I agree that no, you shouldn't charge pennies for your work just to be affordable. But you CAN prioritize work that is easier, takes less time, and that you can afford to sell for less. That's why I make as many tinies as I do and can sell them at their price points. They make fun designs people like more accessible to people who might only have 20-30$ to spare on something as frivolous and fun as pixels on a screen without having to sell my time for chump change.

Then, there's the thing no one likes to talk about when it comes to breaking into a market. Which is that, unfortunately, people are always going to gravitate to established artists first. So breaking into a market can take a lot of networking. I mean a lot of networking. That means actually making friends with other artists, doing collaborations with friends, uplifting artists you're not necessarily friends with without expectations (networking and building friendships cannot be transactional, you have to learn to care about and really see others' work!!) or strings attached! It's a lot of work, it is. It can be really really exhausting and might (as in my case) take years. But ime, generally... you become a stronger artist for it! And it's the kind of skill you can take to other aspects of your life! And if none of that feels worth it.... Design work isn't for you!

You also have to accept that there's no special sauce in designs that sell from artists you admire. There isn't. At the end of the day, it's just that they're making designs that resonate with themselves and their community. It's not a special base or color set or brush or weird niche technique. It's just an artist making work they like in a way other people also like. And I realize that probably sounds like a load of hogwash from someone who DOES sell designs but I'll remind you that like. Up until like. 2019, it was a struggle for me to make money on art in general, nevermind regularly create it with enough consistency to feel worth selling which. Probably also had an impact on my sales. To be completely honest. And then it took another few years to actually feel any modicum of successful.

And lastly.... You do just have to accept that. Making adoptables is a gamble. Nothing is guaranteed sell. Sometimes you're gonna put hours into something and it's going to sit unsold in your folders on TH for 4 years (I have 3 designs like this currently!). But it's a learning experience. If you want things to move, you need to be willing to take that leap of faith and make things that are finished. And if they don't move, it's not wasted effort, it's an opportunity for growth. I make designs that don't move all the time. (I know you've all seen my attempt to get that last D-Ject design sold. I went through 3 designs and add-ons to get him into a good home, and even then it wasn't a guarantee!!) If that's not something you're interested in, find something else!

People often make the mistake of thinking adoptables are easy money, and they're not, they're really not. The markets are often oversaturated (for the aforementioned reason of the "its easy money" myth), and it's really, really difficult to get a foothold in new places. I like making adoptables because I don't have to worry about the pressure of commissions and getting those just right and meeting deadlines (which is extraordinarily difficult when you're mentally ill or chronically ill or neurodivergent or some hellish combination of the 3 AND unmedicated like I was for. Most of my life thus far), but it's by no means easy money. And I didn't get good at them until I'd been doing mostly only commissions and occasionally adopts for many many years. Trust the process, don't rush yourself or beat yourself up or compare yourself too much to the other artists in your community.

I probably have more thoughts on this but. I can't think of anything else and also this is now hellishly long and I've been typing for an hour and half so I'm cutting this off here.

Sorry it was so long winded or if any of this sounds pretentious, but I hope it's at least SOMEWHAT helpful

Also. Please be advised this is just from my experience as an artist. Its not the be all end all of it.

[jupiterwrites99]

You're On Your Own, Kid

Chapter 3

Waking up alone in the quiet room wasn’t exactly what the young girl had expected. Sage thought that they would have a guard dog on her at all times after she had tried to escape. She sat up, noticing the chair Paul had been sitting in was still in place beside her bed, but he was no longer there. A full glass of water, however, was next to it on the side table.

The wolf cooed at the gesture.

Sage made her way into the living room to find Paul's sleeping figure on the rustic couch. He looked so peaceful. No angry lines, or locked jaw. He looked much younger asleep, though she had a tough time deciphering his age.

Clenching her fingers at her side, her inner turmoil worsened. As much as she wanted to leave, to be on her own again where it was safer, she can’t leave him. Not with the way her wolf was whining so loudly. If it trusts him, then she should too. They’ve never been on the same page on the topic of trust, now's a good time to start considering her wolf hasn't let her down yet.

Listening to the soft sounds of his breathing, Sage sits on the floor next to the couch. She had decided that sleep wasn’t needed, she had practically slept all day anyways. But there was no way she was going back into that room where she could easily be locked away at Sam or Sues account. She didn’t trust them. She couldn’t.

It's better than the bed, she decided as she laid down. She pulled her knees to her chest, curling up into a ball.

Another thing she had to learn quite quickly, don’t let your weak spots be exposed when relaxing. One claw to the stomach and she’d be a goner. That, she knew from experience.

She purposefully listened to the sound of Paul's heartbeat, the steady rhythm providing more comfort than she could understand. She enjoyed knowing he could relax and sleep peacefully, even if it meant being on a couch that was two sizes too small for him.

Though, the wolf made it clear why it wanted to stay, humming one word she never thought she would hear again.

Mate.

Blinking her eyes open, the morning sun stunned her eyes.

Sun? Here? In La Push?

She stretched her limbs only to be tangled up in a blanket. She noticed she was now on the couch and Paul was nowhere to be found.

Great. He left me alone, she thought.

Sage could hear Paul and Emily bickering on the other side of the wall, though she was confused at the context of their conversation. She tiptoed around, if she’s quiet enough she can sneak out the door without either of them hearing. Or so she hoped.

“Don’t be an insensitive klutz, is all I’m saying. That's the last thing she needs right now.” Emily mused, it didn’t sound like an insult. Whatever an insensitive klutz is. It sounded like a mother reprimanding her son. 

Emilys so young though, there's no way she’s his mother. 

Sister, maybe?

She could hear as Paul scoffed in annoyance, “I’m not.”

Emily was quick to put him in his place again, “Paul, you know you’re intimidating, you revel in it most days.”

“Not with her,” He stressed out.

Who is he talking about?

Sage tripped over her feet and put her hand on the wall to stop herself from falling. A small thud sounded on the impact she had made.

Fuck.

I can still make it, she thought.

She moved quickly in the direction of the open door. Do they always leave it open? 

A large figure rounded the corner, causing her to stop in her tracks. Looking up at Paul, his hair dishevelled and tired eyes. She let her eyes continue to travel down, still no shirt and sweatpants that hung low on his well defined hips. Very low.

Was she purring or was that the wolf?

Looking at her amused, Paul purposefully blocked her exit before he asked, “Hungry?”

Sage shook her head no.

He sighed, running his fingers through his black, cropped hair, “You barely ate yesterday, come eat something.”

Growling, she dug her heels into the ground like a little kid. All she wanted was to go outside and breathe some fresh air, away from these people who refused to let her leave. She could tell from the open windows that the sun was shining, a rarity in Washington. She didn’t want to be stuck indoors.

Taking a deep breath to clearly hide his annoyance, he muttered, “Sage,”

“Air,” She croaked out. Not knowing what else to say, she had never been much of a talker. Talking always got her in trouble. His intense stare made her nervous.

“Air?” He looked confused. What was so confusing about needing air? Everyone needs it.

“Fresh air, Paul.” Emily chimed in.

“No.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest, “Not after what you pulled yesterday.”

Sage frowned at his response. He’s gonna lock her back in that tiny, suffocating room.

Panic mode, activated.

Sage whipped her head around the room, looking for an alternative exit. Her breaths began to become shallow as she realised he truly was blocking her only real exit.

Try hurling yourself through the window, the wolf taunted.

“Calm down,” Paul said, placing a warm hand on her shoulder which she immediately jerked back from.

Now he’s frowning, “Fine. But just know, I am faster and stronger than you if you try to run.”

Wasn’t planning on it, buddy.

She sighed in relief as soon as the sun hit her skin, a smile gracing her face at the warm feeling. She hadn’t felt the sun on her bare skin in years. In wolf form, she liked the sun in small doses, overheating was easy and when you can’t find a consistent water source, it was deadly.

Sage was aware of the older man watching her every move, with each step his eyes followed.

She crouched to the ground to touch a small flower that had grown in the grass, or maybe it was a weed. Plucking it with her fingers, she used the pad of her index finger to feel its texture. Everything felt so foreign.

She wished she had pockets to stuff the tiny wildflower in.

Pauls got pockets, maybe he’ll -- Her thought was cut off as Emily began speaking to him in hushed tones. She turned to look at them and realised he was no longer watching her.

She watched them interact curiously as Emily handed him a piece of paper before scruffing his hair and heading back inside. Definitely his sister.

“Emily suggested I take you grocery shopping.” He said to her, his eyes flicking down to the small flower in her hand before looking at the paper in his, muttering,  “If you’re up for it.’

She walked towards him as she made a sound on content. Though she really just wanted to scope the town. Which roads lead where so when she did decide to leave, it wouldn’t be that hard.

Paul's eyes travelled down her body, making her squirm before he brought his eyes back up to hers, “You’ll need some pants.”

----

“What about these?” Paul asked, shaking a box of sugary cereal. They had been doing this for nearly ten minutes. He would point out a food item, ask if she wanted it and when she said no, he would bite back a groan while putting it back.

Sage shakes her head,

“Okay” He stopped abruptly, leaning against the card that was still empty even though they had been down nearly every aisle,  “What did you eat before you phased?”

“I don’t know.” She mumbled, looking away from his hard gaze.

“Come on, kid, give me something to work with.” Paul muttered.

Sage scowled at him, “I’m not a kid. I ate whatever I was given, I didn't have a choice.”

His eyes scanned her face as if he was thinking before looking down at the list in his hands, “I don’t know if you’ll like any of this, Sage.”

“I can find my own food.” Sage brooded, “I always have.”

“Always?” He asked shocked.

“Well, yeah.” She started “We’re wol--”

Paul's eyes widened as he realized what she was about to say. He quickly reached over and covered her mouth with the palm of his hand to cut her off. Sage glared at him before roughly pushing him away from her.

“What is your problem?!” She asked, annoyed by his actions.

“What is my problem? We’re in public, Sage. Keep your mouth shut.” He snapped back at her.

The younger girl huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, “You’re a fucking jerk.”

“Yeah, I’m a jerk,” Paul jeered, shaking his head with a laugh of disbelief, “Nothing new there, princess.”

“Fuck you,” Sage sneered before turning on her heel and walking out of the aisle. She could hear the string of curse words that left his mouth as she rounded out of the aisle, beeling it for the exit of the small grocery store. She ignored her wolf's voice in her head, pleading with her to turn around and go back to him but she had promised herself five years ago to never be somebody's doormat. She was stronger than that.

Stepping outside into the fresh air, she only made it a few steps before a warm hand grabbed her wrist, stopping her. Sage turned to see Paul. She couldn't read his expression, angry lines framed his already dark features but she could tell it wasn't just anger, there was something more.

“I think I liked you better yesterday.” He started.

Sage scoffed, “The feeling is mutual.”

The older wolf's jaw shifted at her response and she smirked, she liked that he was on edge around her. He was so much bigger and intimidating than she was but she was the one in control of her emotions making her less predictable.

“I'm sorry, Sage.” He apologized, though she could tell that it left a bitter taste in his mouth to be the one conceding, “Can we please finish grocery shopping before Emily wrings my neck?”

“Only if you stop calling me stupid names. I’m not a kid, and I’m not a princess.” She spoke harshly. She was a runt, she knew that. She had been told it for years by her own father. Sage wasn’t going to let her own mate treat her like one, not after how hard she fought to survive out on her own.

He nodded in response, “Won’t happen again.”

The two wolves walked silently next to each other as they re-entered the grocery store. Paul asked for a second time what she liked to eat, and to stop him from questioning her again, she picked the first thing she saw off the shelf and tossed it into the shopping cart. A bag of marshmallows.

Satisfied that Sage had picked out something that wasn’t on the list Emily had given him, he dragged her back down the aisles to fulfil the list. Grabbing heaps of vegetables and fruits, before stopping in the meat section. Though she didn’t understand why. They were a house full of wolves who could easily go out and catch a deer and she told him exactly that, “Why are we buying meat? We can just catch it.”

“That's true, but we don’t know how to skin it or whatever butchers do.” He said placing the different meats from Emily's list in the cart.

“So?” She squinted her eyes, looking at the weird meat.

“Humans can’t digest raw meat.” He told her softly. The softest he’s spoken to her since finding her in the woods. She liked this side of him.

Right.  Forgot about that.

Paul crossed off that last of the items before ushering her in the direction of the cashiers. As they waited, the sounds and smells around her began to become overwhelming. One smell in particular nearly made her snap the handle on the cart from how tightly she was holding it.

She knew that smell.

“We should leave.” Sage spoke quickly and quietly to Paul.

“Hm?” He mumbled, looking down at her, His face turned from confusion to concern quickly at the now antsy girl beside him.

“I need to go.” She rushed out.

He grabbed her hand as she let go of the cart, telling Sage in a hushed tone, “You're okay.”

She calmed at the touch but shook her head, turning her body into his so that all she can sense is his cologne and scent. Breathing deeply as he rubs soothing circles on her back. She was so comfortable in his arms it made her nervous, though she had bigger issues to avoid at the moment.

To the average person in the grocery store, they looked like your typical young couple. Unaware of the fact that the trembles running through her weren’t from the frigid air, but the cusp of a panic induced shift. Sage wasn’t sure what scared her more, the familiar scent that she loathed to catch a hint of again or the fact that she might get stuck on four legs again if the cashier didn’t hurry up.

Sage admired Paul for keeping his composure as he paid for the groceries before whisking her away and out of the store underneath his arm, tucked into his side. She can’t help but feel guilty for making such a mundane thing so difficult for him.

They crossed the parking lot together and as he opened the trunk of his SUV, he glanced at her, their eyes meeting for a split second before she turned away. Shame and embarrassment written all over her. 

Paul placed his hands on her shoulders and she instantly relaxed into him, as he whispered, “Breathe.”

Sage grimaced. It’s not like she's not trying. She focused on the warmth emitting from his palms and onto her shoulders. Warm and cosy like a blanket. She acts before she thinks, wrapping her arms around Paul's torso. A sigh escapes her lips as her entire body is enveloped in his warmth. Breathing feels easier as all the panic subsides.

“You’re okay,” He reminds her, bringing a hand up to her hair and holding her against him.

“Can we go?” Sage pleaded quietly.

The drive back to Sams was quiet. Sage was acutely aware of his hand on her hand that she had resting on her thigh as he drove back to Emilys. Sage fought the urge to slot hers completely into his much larger hand. She can’t help but wonder how he knows exactly how to comfort her. She barely knows what comforts her. Sunsets were her only true comfort for the last five years. It meant the hunters were leaving, very rarely did she come across any during the night. She could sleep through the night without the lingering anxiety of human threats.

“Hot chocolate.” Sage said out loud, almost as if she had a revelation. And maybe she did. Her grandma would always make her hot chocolate, for any occasion, happy or sad. It was a comfort.

“Hm?” Paul hummed, glancing at her before looking back to the road.

She smiled softly to herself, looking out the passenger window as they passed a bunch of little shops,“I liked hot chocolate before.”

He squeezes her hand gently, “Sue’s got a great recipe. We can make some tonight.”

A blush formed over her cheeks at the gesture, before she gingerly said, “I want to go to the beach.”

A smile formed on his face, softening all his hard features, “Yeah, whatever you want, Sage.”

[archivalofsins]

I like all the Milgram characters. So I switch up favorites a lot. Right now, my favorite (character I focus the most on currently) is Yuno. Even still still Mikoto is always on my mind because that man will never get better. I can't imagine how pissed he is right now. Like he can only get worse. I'd be fuming if I was him.

If a bunch of people found me guilty than found another fucker wearing my skin innocent. I'd actually do the same shit again.

"Oh its fine when someone you don't even refer to as Mikoto does it but when it's me I'm guilty and a liar. Bet I got something for you it's gonna be great."

I would literally be losing my shit dissociative identity disorder or not. Mahiru was out here like why is it fine for everyone else but not me in I Love You and that was just comparatively to the other prisoners. I can't imagine a future where Mikoto isn't upset about this,

Mikoto: Es what changed? Why did you find me innocent I don't even remember our last interrogation.

Es: I talked to a more honest party and decided to believe them instead.

Mikoto: . . . (They're fifteen violence is wrong- It's not worth it. It's not worth it. Just trust that I'm an honest- It doesn't matter how we got there we're there. Why aren't I ever honest enough for people on my own? What am I doing wrong?!)

Es: Mikoto?

Mikoto: Ha-haah, ah, okay then...

Es: ???

I'd want to kill Mikoto (John) like,

Mikoto: This is the same thing I said, but they seemed to have just believed it because it was coming from you.

Mikoto (John): Well... I also blatantly admitted to killing someone instead of denying it. Then, I gave them a reason why that may have happened. Something which you kind of couldn't do... One could say this change of heart is due to me actually taking accountability for our actions. Unlike someone who may have thought keeping a pristine reputation was more important than if we died. Even if you had to make me out to be a scoundrel just to make your hands look cleaner than they are- That was fine, but you're complaining now. You know what; I think that you just can't take it that they forgave me and not you.

Mikoto: AND YOU'RE FUCKING RIGHT- It's driving me fucking insane why couldn't they just believe me?!

Mikoto (John): Can't you ever just be happy? Can't you just be satisfied- Like none of them think you had anything to do with this. Can't that be enough?

Mikoto: ... yeah, you're right...... It's enough. It's more than enough.

Mikoto (John): Wait, hold on- I don't like the way you said that. You're not going do something during the intermission are you? You better not we are almost home free. Neither of us should do anything- We should just mind our business keep to ourselves and wait for this to all blow over.

Mikoto: Mm-hm you're right. You're completely right.

Mikoto (John): *head in hands* Oh not again- *the instrumental of MeMe starts to play*

[ladythornofrivia]

Endless Reds and Blues

(Here's the link for the synopsis and the chapter list--read chapter 1 first before reading current chapters I uploaded)

Pair: Kakucho x Reader (Warning: Inappropriate jokes and dialogue that includes bullying, gossiping and other things that aren't appropriate--dark content--for people under 18 (if you're under 18, I'm sorry but you can't read this)(Yes, I have to say it twice XD)

Author’s Note: If you read the update version of my bio, at the bottom, this series is only going to be in twelve chapters. Let me know if you want me to tag you whenever I write a new chapter (post a new chapter, I mean). I'm so pumped on getting another chapter out, and it's not even done yet. (Note: Report if someone decides to steal the synopsis and my story. And notify me. Thank you) ❤️

Chapter Four: Dolls in the House of Tenjiku

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

"We're almost there." On the passenger's seat, the large man announced during a phone call. "Yes, we got everything you asked."

While you were listening to the conversation, you deleted every pictures and messages regarding to the previous discussion you had with your mother. You didn't want to add problems into a pile, so you had to make sure you leave no traces. And you made sure there were no spy cameras inside the limo.

With paranoia, you lower the brightness of your phone screen to dark, and thankfully, you have a screen protector on your smartphone that is also capable of anyone not invading your privacy.

Whoever these people are, and wherever they’re going to take you, there’s no point of backing out except to be five steps ahead on outsmarting these people by deleting traces regarding to your personal information. You log out from your social media accounts, and you deleted the apps. Thankfully, the path you’re heading was slightly long; you can hear the large man talking to the driver of the girl’s naked pictures that the large man kept bragging in the maximum of 2 minutes.

If only you’re extremely brave on jumping out of a moving vehicle, but you’re not part of Fast & Furious franchise or able to have skills like Tom Cruise when doing stunts.

And more importantly, what would you say to your parents? At this point, you feel as if death is coming to your door for trusting the person you don’t even know. You protested, but protesting doesn’t have as much of effect.

Basically, you did absolute idiotic.

“Where are we heading?”

No one answered.

“Fucking answer me, dammit!” Your hand slammed against the empty seat beside you.

“Quiet!” The driver said, steering the wheel.

“Just be a good girl, and you’ll find out soon enough,” the large man with weird angular brows and at the passenger’s seat said with a grin.

To your disadvantage, you whispered in English, “Fuck this shit,” as you angrily slumped back down at the brand-new leathered seat, peering at the glittered stars on the limo’s roof.

When the limo finally halted, the large man got off from his seat as you quickly—and quietly—shoved your phone away after you lower the volume to mute and silence the ringing mode, in case anyone calls.

You wanted to be clever—twice as clever, in order not to get caught by strangers who are trying to get you into their fancy limo. You were hoping that you’ll be alright in the end, that they’ll let you go.

You wanted to be in one piece, minus the trauma.

So you have to be clever and be strong. Giving away too much of your personality, and they’ll soon find out about you and what you do and what you like, even your parents.

Stay cool, (y/n), you said to yourself. If they get what they wanted, they’ll toss me aside. Yeah, they’ll just toss me aside. I mean, it usually works in superficial relationships and businesses, this is the one time where something positive comes in handy—they’re going to find out that I’m just a party-pooper—a boring, lame person—and they’ll get tired of me in 1.2 seconds and find other girls who are more interesting in everything in socializing.

The large man opened the side of the limo, signaling you to get out.

With a huff of steady breath, collecting your bag, you dismounted off of the limo with a fresh air breezed onto your face.

It’s still a bright afternoon.

In front of you, there’s a high-rise apartment, all stained with black glass and silver metals gleaming. It seems like you’re in the movie. Except it’s not.

“Get a move on, short lady,” he said, slightly shoving you, but not that kind of shove where you get bruises on your knees or dislocating your bones.

You huffed, feeling your lips dry and chapped, but licked your lips because wasting time wasn’t an option, as much as you wanted to kick the guy’s ass.

Stepping into the lobby, the receptionist’s bowed at the large man as he walked beside you. Even though you weren’t being held hostage by the grasp of one’s hand, you feel as if there’s an invisible shield between you and the large man that if you step out from the shield, he’ll grab you with no hesitation.

Ushering inside the glass elevator, you looked anywhere but the large man.

If only you also have a pencil with you to jabbed into his grubby hand if he’s tries to do anything funny. At this moment, you wanted to be as a good fighter as John Wick.

“Just tell me where we heading,” you said.

“Sorry, little lady, orders are orders,” he replied.

What a hypocrite. These are the kinds of people that you hate. They don’t fulfill their promises even when they said they’re going to do it.

Fine, I’ll find it out myself, you thought.

You’ll definitely bring a pencil next time.

The elevator announced that you’re in the 75th floor.

The doors opened, and before he could shove you again, you gave a glare into his eyes as a warning not to touch you.

He, of course, backed off. But keeps an eye on you.

Stopping at the 8 feet double doors, the large man in front pushed them open, revealing the maids with provocative designs on the frills—with so much skin showing—cleaning the designated rooms.

They all stopped at once and bowed to him before they resume on continuing their work once you and the large man are both gone.

Stopping the the grand wooden doors, and the large man knocked, as if angrily. But his serene face was the complete contrast.

“Boss,” he said.

The doors opened, revealing the people you weren’t expecting to see—given the circumstances, it all makes sense now.

It’s them, the one Himiko told you about.

Tenjiku.

Doors shut with a loud clang, and the silence proceeded; they were watching you with fascination.

“Take a seat,” the large man said.

Though you wanted to smack him in the face, you have to be cautious and smart at the situation you’re in.

With your eyes lowered on the ground, watching your steps, you climbed onto the short staircases, but a hand outstretched at your direction by the end.

Looking up, you caught the eye of the taller man with long, two-braided hair, violet eyes glistening to your grey ones.

“You must be (y/n) (l/n). I’m Ran Haitani, I’ve always wanted to meet you.”

“Hi,” is all you said.

“You have lovely eyes, especially your hair,” he commented. “Is it real?”

Behind him, you could see the man with the same hair color as Ran palmed himself over the face, groaning.

“It’s real—not a wig. Or a hair dye,” you told Ran.

Ran hummed, as if he’s purring. His eyes glued onto yours, watching if you’re going to react in your sheepish ways. You didn’t falter.

But it didn’t stop there.

Ran kissed your knuckles first, then your wrists, bopping his kisses and nose at every chance he gets.

“Ran,” his younger brother scolded.

“Oh, I almost forgot about you guys.” Then turned his attention to you. “Right this way.” He walked you with your hand atop of his, as if you’re in a ballroom, but he lead you to the seat.

“Why are you putting her at your favorite seat?” The young man with long silver hair asked.

“Because she looks good on my chair,” Ran explained in the most casual way.

“Why?”

“Because she looks good on my chair.”

“That doesn’t justify anything.”

“You guys are treating her as if she’s a criminal.”

Funny how you said that, Ran, you thought grimly.

“Ran, you never put any girl in your favorite seat,” another young man with violet eyes said.

“Not just any girl, Rindou,” Ran remarked with a smirk.

“Sorry about my brother,” Rindou said.

“Yeah, no problem,” you answered, crossing your leg over to the other.

The not-so tranquil silence came again. The air condition buzzing through the ceiling.

“So, are you guys going to kill me?”

Ran bewildered at your next words.

The rest of Tenjiku were still.

“Kill?”

“If you want to do it, do it quickly. I got nothing to lose.”

“What makes you say that?” The silver-hair man asked.

“Why don’t you go ask your fans,” you suggested, arms crossing. “They’ll give a thorough explanations to you. I’m sure they’ll come up with creative ways about how I’m the bad guy and they’re the hero, wanting to avenge their future husband.”

“Future?” the guy who smoked said while the one with large man with weird angular brows said, “Husband?” in unison.

“I’m sorry, husbands,” you corrected.

While Ran gave you a sympathetic look, the rest we’re still, still as a rock.

“You don’t deny, then,” you continued. “That you’re having a good time on me getting harassed by your future wives?”

Another silence expanded. Taking at each and everyone of the young men. They’re resembled as dolls—all sophisticated and well-cared for.

“Seriously, why the hell am I here? Oh, wait, let me guess, I have to keep talking until I slip something out? Or let me take another guess, you want to beat the shit out of me, just like how every girl in the school wanted to happen?”

Not a sound came from them.

Creepy vibes are coming through. If you’re in a horror, you want to be excluded from the narrative.

“Silent treatment, huh? So be it.” You stood up from Ran’s seat. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going now. You guys are wasting my time, looking all dolled up and shit. If you want to stand there and daydream about something, go do it in your personal time, not when a person is talking to you.”

Ran clapped his hands, as he threw his head back with laughter. “There she is! I knew she’d say something great!"

Behind the mahogany desk, finishing up the dorayaki, he uncrossed his legs from the large office chair, and strode by. The group of men parted for the short man to cross and went over to you.

Before you get to walk away, the man with dread-colored in his eyes, his white locks swayed munched the second dorayaki in his left hand, he placed his left slipper at Ran’s armchair as you sat down.

He take a good look of you. Swallowing, his right hand reached your hair, gradually his fingers trailed it downward to your jawline, then the tip of your chin, elevating you gaze higher to his.

Taking one last munch, he said, “Have we met before?”

This shocked the members.

“What the hell are you implying,” you uttered, scooting back. But you caught the pink-haired man putting you still with the katana raised.

“I advised you to respect the heavenly king,” he said.

“I’m sorry, did I hear you say, ‘Please hit me again with the book?’”

Ran and his brother snickered, which caused Sanzu’s anger flared.

“Speaking of which, where’s my book?” you asked, directing your eyes at Ran. “My bookshelf was completely missing its piece. And I don’t want to buy another copy.”

“I told you she’s going to expect you to give her book back,” Ran’s younger brother scolded, nudging Ran with the elbow.

“Well,” Ran said. “can you blame me, Rindou? I like her when she’s not in angry mode.”

You smiled underneath the gritted teeth. “You know you could’ve just return it to me instead of me going all the way here. Unless someone wants to volunteer on buy the exact copy of my book—better yet, another cover edition of the book. I don’t mind. You break my belongings, you buy it. You guys are gonna have to go somewhere far and fetch it.”

Sanzu pressured the katana at your neck, but not enough to draw the blood.

“Go ahead, kill me,” you said to Sanzu.

“Don’t pull that shit on me,” he said.

“Pull what? I’m just giving you a chance to spill bloodshed here.”

“I wouldn’t encourage him, if I were you,” the man with a blonde mohawk and a large tattoo on his left face said.

You said nothing, focusing back onto Sanzu.

“Stand down, Sanzu,” the king said.

At once, Sanzu shoved the katana in the sheath.

Ah, there it is—the mad dog.

“Tell me why I’m here? Am I here because you want me to become as your servant?”

The men all looked at their Boss in anticipation.

“No,” the king said. “Because we’re here to make an offer.”

An offer?

“What kind of offer?” you said.

“You’re going to associate with us.”

You shook your head in confusion. “As your servant?”

“Not as a servant, as an extension of associating with us.”

“Meaning?”

“Those rules you heard your classmates were talking about—the no touching or stand near other than 3 inches.”

“And?”

“Since no other girl has an extension of privileges of going near us, we’ll give you one.”

“As an exchange to what?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Don’t say a bunch of crap you don’t mean. If it’s money, fine. I’ll go work on that.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“What then? You can’t put cryptic words for me to figure out or manipulate me into thinking that you’re on my side,” you said, as you followed the king, who went back sitting on his office chair, munching the third dorayaki.

Sanzu blocked you from going at his king’s desk, though you scoot over to the side and saw Izana drinking juice.

“You’ll just have to associate with us from now on. From now on, you’re my new friend.”

Sanzu looked at him with shock.

Bewildered, you choked. “Come again?”

“Mochi, bring her the book she asked for,” the king said.

“Yes, Izana.” Mochi went outside of the personal office as the maids offered you a drink, but you refused.

“Mochi? As in a name of a dessert?” you said, ludicrous. “Fine, I’ll do it,” you said, sitting down across from Izana. “But on three conditions.”

“Three?!” some of the members are shocked.

“That’s too much.”

“Not as much as a billion conditions—this isn’t an iPhone’s terms and conditions,” you said.

“Name them,” Izana said, somewhat dared, and it’s Kokonoi’s turn to do the negotiations. After all, he’s good with them besides with money and deals.

Thinking about the conditions, you grabbed a pen and a paper nearby you and wrote them down.

You cleared your throat. “The first condition is you got to tell your precious fangirls to stay away from me and my friend, Himiko—and no threats, scheming, and ransacking my shoe locker, my desk or my other belongings.”

Kokonoi’s brows furrowed. “Himiko?”

“The one who accidentally spilled a drink on Sanzu,” you clarified. “And your other associate.”

“Continue.” Kokonoi anticipated.

“Whenever there’s an english test and lesson coming on each day in the school hours, I don’t wish to partake on giving them answers or help them.”

“Why’s that?” the man with the cigarette asked.

“Because they want to cheat by using my english skills—they want an easy way out, after they constantly harassed me.”

He nodded at your reason in agreement.

“My last condition is…whatever I say and do, please understand why I chose to do it. To give an extension, if I said that I don’t want to associate with someone who hurts me or anyone I befriend with, I want to walk out from this. But don’t be petty and take revenge on it. Don’t stalk me, don’t try to get even and don’t try to threaten me. Don’t hurt anyone I knew in my life. Being civil is what you can do.”

The members looked at Kokonoi in anticipation.

“Okay,” Kokonoi said. “But on one condition…”

“Go ahead.”

“When it comes to lunch, we want you to be with us. And study with us with English subject—we won’t give away your credibility and hard work to your classmates or anyone else in the school.”

“I think you already mentioned that beforehand—you know, the whole “you must associate with us schtick.’”

“And you’re going to be with us whenever we have a new party coming up.”

“I dislike parties.”

“Your negotiations are going to be retracted,” Kokonoi said.

“Fine, I’ll go, but I want to have certain food at the party—ones that I haven’t eat before. So try to surprise me. And if any girl or guys tries to bully me or harass me, I need someone to be with me and that guy has to take them out, no matter what. And I least want to have a show or movie night sometimes. And I hate pool parties, so I wanted an extravagant, fancy party like one of those films I kept seeing. Those sophisticated parties is what I liked.”

“Okay, then,” Kokonoi said, typing. Printing and signing the contract, Kokonoi provided you with the 0.5 ball pen for you to sign also. He had two copies; one for you and one for him. “I also put in here that you never hit anyone with the book. It might ruin your property. Just a slap on the face will do.”

“I wasn’t expecting this,” you said, lifting the paper.

Kokonoi threw a perplexed expression. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“I thought you’re going to make me have to swore an oath by doing a blood oath.”

“Yeah, our hands are too important,” Rindou said. “Sanzu wanted to do the whole blood oath because it looks cool.”

“But we objected it,” the man with cigarette said.

“Takeomi did the right thing. Besides I don’t want to see your pretty skin bleeding,” Ran said, winking at you.

“Okay,” you said, turning back to Kokonoi.

“So do we have deal?” He asked.

“It’s a deal.” Once you signed, your hand outstretched for Kokonoi to shake. He took yours and ended it with a kiss on the back of your hand.

“In the morning, Kakucho will pick you up on the way to school.” You looked at Kakucho, who looked at you back almost softly. You almost forgot about him since he kept quiet throughout the whole conversations and negotiations between you and Bonten.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him being shirtless talking to a girl who barely wears anything than a tank top and a thong. And he knows where you live now, so there’s no point in hiding.

You gave him a smile; Kakucho gave a slight bow with the inclination of his neck in return.

“Good to see you again, (y/n),” Ran said, giving you a peck on the cheek.

One glanced at Kakucho, his eyes dimmed.

Mochi gave you the book back—all in a pristine condition.

“Thank you,” you said.

Mochi acknowledged with a soft grunt.

“Is there anything else regarding to the conditions?” Kokonoi asked.

You look back at the paper, and said, “I want free lunch. And I want an Iron Throne to sit on.”

Kokonoi squinted his eyes.

“Just kidding,” you added with a cheeky smile.

Kokonoi dipped his head and it’s a signal for you to go.

You got up, and Shion followed you. “I’ll take you back to the elevator.”

Before you exit through the opened grand doors, you said, looking back at them with a slight giggle. “Have I ever told you guys that you all look like cats?”

*~~*~~*

Shion escorted you to the elevator, gave you and Kakucho a wave of goodbye before heading back to the group.

“What do you think of her?” Shion asked.

“I’m in love,” Ran said, and Rindou slapped him on the back. “She smells like strawberry.”

“But Boss, what you said earlier,” Kokonoi said, “where have you seen her?”

“I didn’t know you guys know each other,” Takeomi said.

Izana turned his back on everyone and gazed at the window where he could see you getting in front of Kakucho’s Porsche, and the atmosphere gloomed when he uttered, “Emma.”

“Emma?” Some members questioned. But Sanzu knew who Mikey was talking about.

For the first time, Izana’s hollowed eyes are filled with gleam and blur.

“She came back to life as a different person.”

Taglist: @colored-tr-panels and @galactict3a

[uglynavel]

Edit: I added more tags because I'm trying to reach everyone

This has gotten ridiculous. I'm tired of the death threats, harassment and fucking doxing of Billy fans.

To the Billy antis who think they're good people for not liking him and harassing the people who do. What have y'all done to actively support black people IN REAL LIFE?

Y'all say liking the character perpetuates racism in real life but yet antis are the ones stooping low enough to call black billy fans coons and other racist slurs?

As a black person it's fucking condescending when non black and white antis think they're protecting and standing up for black fans by hating on Billy and his fans.

Do y'all donate money to blm movements? If you're able bodied, do you go to protests? I've seen y'all's accounts. You barely even reblog awareness posts.

Even if you reblog those posts I bet that's all most of you do and then you go about your day because you have the privilege to do so

Do you do anything other than make your useless posts about Billy and then pat yourselves on the back for not even doing the bare minimum?

Do yall really think Caleb gives a fuck about Billy fans that much when he has to deal with actual racist fans? and I can tell you right now I've seen more racism towards him come from fans of every other character more than Billy fans. He was dealing with racism far before s2 and even after Billy died.

Don't get me started on the Eddie Munson stans who got mad and turned on him for saying Eddie's death made sense.

If y'all were actually mature enough to listen before making judgement you would see most Billy fans like Lucas and don't excuse Billy's actions

Trust me the right winged asshole who makes multiple videos against black people is doing far greater harm then the people who write fanfiction and make edits about a fictional character.

And to the black billy antis imma need y'all to be so for real. Most black ppl who aren't into fandom culture would look at you like you're crazy for getting this heated about a fictional character and calling your fellow black people coons.

That word has serious weight to it and for y'all to throw it around like it's nothing shows how mentally immature you are.

How privileged some of you must be for your biggest worry to be a fictional character who was taught racism by his abusive father then real life racists whose actions actually effect people

You antis need to touch grass. I hate this term but y'all are for real chronically online. BILLY ISNT REAL. That's the god-damned point. It's fiction.

I live in the deep south Louisiana and deal with dangerous racists in real life. I've seen my friends and family be hate crimed by REAL racists and rarely face justice cause the cops here are just modern day slave catchers. It's hell here. I don't have the privilege to give a fuck about people who like problematic FICTIONAL characters.

I don't give a rats ass about the fictional ones because they can't hurt me.

Take your performative activism and shove it up your fucking entitled asses. Stop cross tagging your bullshit and stay on your side of the fandom

And yes there are racist Billy fans but they are a small minority who the rest don't associate with

Also I'm ignoring the "he's homophobic comments" cause no where in the show does it show him being homophobic at all.

[salty-cs]

hey guys! crowfood here.

first off, fuck you

with that out of the way, i'd love to adress some of the issues here if you can stay after that statement.

about my adopts: i can understand where some of your points are coming from, but what's happening is hiding behind "genuine concern" as an excuse to bash on my design skills, which i do not appreciate, and i get enough bashing from my family already, thanks. if you do have genuine concerns, please message them to me! i'm cool with discussing any issues you might have. you can also dm these issues to other staff member if you don't want to talk to me

about jay's raffle: it wasn't rigged. i was not around to see it, i was in the ER, but trust me when i say jay is not skilled enough to rig a bot. she had never used it before which, mind you, is pretty clear in the proof screenshot. the old raffles weren't rigged either. you people just hop on any excuse to say it was unfair that you didn't win. i'm happy with my marumi which i did not expect to win, thank you ❤️❤️❤️❤️

to that one guy who keeps misgendering jay: block her and move on. it's just sad what you're doing.

and again! please message me if you don't like something i'm doing! i won't be mad if it's a genuine concern

i'm doing this anonymous as to not risk my account. no matter how you try you can't say for sure this is me.

.

[thatstormygeek]

"And I think there’s more Republicans still out there that perhaps don’t want to speak publicly. They don’t want to get the backlash or the retribution that the former president has talked about if he’s reelected."

Huh. Sounds an awful lot like how they've been describing cancel culture all this time. But I thought only the "left" did that to people.

“And just because someone disagrees with your opinion, on a policy matter, or something like that, doesn’t mean they’re a bad person. And so I think a lot of times these days, people take things so personally, or they make it personal, when it doesn’t have to be. And I think that’s the way we move forward is being civil, allowing for discourse, especially discourse from the other side. And we can find common ground.”

The problem is that common ground has to include respecting the rights of people to live in ways you don't agree with. And Republicans are horrid at that. So y'all can opine about the need for common ground all you like, you're going to have to show us something, prove that you can do that, before we can begin to think about where that common ground might lie.

Personally, I don't know that there is anything they can manage that will make me trust it's not just a ploy to get us to let our guards down. YMMV. In my experience, the only time the right is decent is when they are forced to be.

Clay Wirestone practices what he preaches in that piece. He is willing to extend the benefit of the doubt to Representative Howe, ready to meet him partway.

Me? I'm not so nice.

I can appreciate the effort Howe spent laying out Trump's history of lying about elections being stolen long before he was even in the running for office. And I get the desire to weasel out of your own responsibility, especially when writing a public opinion piece. But my dude...come on. You lay out how your guy was an obvious liar and openly vindictive, then make a big deal out of how y'all were lied to, but then you tell everyone you voted for Trump twice.

So the lies and overt grudges weren't enough to turn you off. I guess I'm glad open insurrection is, but jesus fucking christ the bar is in the deepest level of hell and most of the GOP still can't clear it.

"Every Republican, with hindsight as a gift, needs to thoroughly examine the actions of the former President, and determine whether or not you think he exemplifies the virtues and values we hold dear as Americans."

If only. I mean, I think the values and virtues Republicans hold dear are kind of shitty a lot of the time, but it would be nice if they'd at least try to pretend to care about those.

"Several years have since passed, and with hindsight and a willingness to accept the facts, I decided to write this article for my fellow Kansas Republicans. While we may have different perspectives and analysis of what happened on January 6th, and what happened leading up to that day, what actually occurred that day must be accounted for and fully addressed by Republicans and the Republican Party."

Overall, I'm glad he wrote this. We are going to need more (a LOT more) in that party willing to openly hit the brakes if there is any chance for this nation at all. And I hope he stands by his declaration to not support Trump.

But I also wonder what his options are otherwise. Who is running on the GOP ticket that he feels he can vote for? If open insurrection truly is the line, there are others he can support, but if he's being honest about wanting the direction of his party to change, well...good fucking luck with these primaries.

And that's where the weaseling I mentioned earlier comes in. Ultimately, I don't give a shit if this guy experiences any consequences or whatever if he's truly committed to changing things and willing to actually investigate his own biases. But it's hard to know if the dodging accountability is just ego protection or if it's a sign he really doesn't see what the issues are.

Time will tell, I suppose.