#which means I’m even worse in French

[waugh-bao]

Bordeaux: Days 1-4

[lilgynt]

i’m gonna blow my brothers up with my brain

[loveinhawkins]

Steve grabs the bag before Eddie can. “No, I’ve got it.”

Eddie glances at the transparency of the plastic bag: the outline of his battle vest pokes through it, neatly folded.

He sidesteps the rest of the group as they troop out of the RV. Steve’s still standing his ground by the driver’s seat.

“Uh, Steve, I can see what’s in there. That’s mine.”

“Yeah, but—” Steve huffs, still holding the bag tightly, and he almost seems… embarrassed. “Like, just. Don’t look at it right now, I’ve got it. I’m gonna dry clean it. Later, I mean.”

Eddie laughs. But Steve remains deadly serious.

“Uh, that’s nice and all, but I don’t think dry cleaning gets out… um, blood and…” Eddie pokes his head out the RV door, to where the kids are hauling weapons and tanks of lighter fluid with Robin and Nancy—a sight he steadfastly tries to ignore before he panics ad nauseam—and asks, “What’s your word for, uh, Upside Down related, uh, you know—”

“Slime?” Lucas offers.

“Sludge,” Erica corrects.

“Goop,” Max says decisively.

“Shit,” Dustin says.

Eddie nods. “Helpful, thanks.”

He turns back. He’d intended for all that to get Steve to crack a smile at least, but if anything, he looks worse; the expression on his face has shifted into evident guilt.

“Steve,” Eddie says, caught between being amused and… honestly, touched. “Relax. It’s fine, man.”

Steve keeps frowning. “But it was—”

“—not important.”

Steve huffs again, like he’s saying don’t lie.

Eddie changes tack. He hasn’t missed the fact that Steve’s change of clothes from The War Zone means that, sure, less skin’s on show, which is probably better for Eddie’s heart but, more importantly, his bandages are ‘conveniently’ concealed—which is decidedly less good for Eddie’s heart, so maybe they both cancel each other out.

If ever there was the time for sincerity…

“Maybe I care less about the damn vest, and more about the person wearing it.”

The pinch in Steve’s brow lessens. “Oh,” he says, soft, and then a little of his usual bravado comes back when he asks, “you sure?”

Eddie waggles a hand back and forth. “Kinda. It’s borderline.”

Steve chuckles. He puts the bag down on his seat, very carefully, as if it’s breakable, and Eddie’s heart does a little skip.

“Well. I still feel bad,” Steve insists. His tone’s light, but he fixes Eddie with a pointed look, don’t test me on this, Munson, ‘cause my stubbornness will win.

“Okay,” Eddie concedes, hands up in surrender. “Tell you what, Steve. What if I wore something of yours, to make it even?”

Steve wrinkles his nose, but he’s smiling. “What, and deliberately mess it up?”

Eddie nods gravely. “Like, it’s not quite Upside Down conditions, but whenever I cook, it gets pretty close.”

Steve’s smile grows. He makes a show of turning around in search of something.

“Huh, I must’ve forgot to pack my wardrobe.”

Eddie clicks his tongue in theatrical disapproval. “Yeah, that’s a pretty big oversight, dude, should’ve thought it through.”

“Guess it’ll have to wait for next time.”

And yeah, they’re joking, but still. Eddie doesn’t want to tempt fate.

“Next time? Nah, I’m praying all this shit is a one time thing.”

“No, I meant—” Steve hesitates, like he’s inadvertently stepped out of the joke, and he doesn’t know where to go from here. “Like. Whenever you come round.”

“Is that an invitation?” Eddie says; he hopes the quip is enough to cover his surprise, the long-buried thought—ridiculously high school, but true in spite of it: no-one’s ever invited me to…

Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, sorry, did you want it hand-written? The red carpet treatment?”

“Well, if you’re offering…”

“I’ll go get my quill,” Steve deadpans.

Eddie laughs. Says, only partly kidding, “It’s just, I’ll need some time to think it over.”

“The… invitation?”

“What item of clothing I’m taking, duh.”

“Right, yeah,” Steve scoffs, “major decision.”

“It is! You have whole ensembles, man.”

“Ensembles,” Steve echoes, but it’s got more of a French accent to it; Eddie suspects it’s a by-product of Steve helping Robin study, ‘cause she seems to be the only one who’s a polyglot in their contingent. “Get out of town, Munson.”

“Oh, like you don’t know. I swear, in winter, there’d be actual bets placed on what sweater you were gonna wear each day.”

“Uh-huh.”

Eddie hams it up, “Didn’t you wonder why so many girls were waiting to see you drive into school?”

“You’re an idiot,” Steve says, and he waves Eddie aside, about to jump out of the RV. “Lemme know when you’ve made your selection.”

Eddie knows he should leave it there. They’ve had their laughs, and it’s made to be forgotten about in the face of much more important things.

But that’s always been his problem, really. He can’t bite his tongue in time. He can’t help—

“The red one?”

Steve turns around, one foot off the step. “What?”

“The, uh…” Eddie clears his throat. It’s either say nothing or go all in. Fuck it, the shire’s burning. “I’ve decided what to—um. The red sweater?” Steve just keeps looking at him, so he adds, tentatively, “The one you’d wear near winter break?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I know the one you mean.” He falters on the verge of speech, his lips twitching into a surprised little smile. He drawls, “You sure you weren’t placing those bets yourself, Munson?”, but it doesn’t sound mean, and his ears suddenly look a little pink, and maybe, maybe—

“No comment,” Eddie says, aiming for comically flat, but Steve’s smile is contagious.

“Okay, it’s a deal.” Steve steps outside—throws over his shoulder, “It’s yours,” oddly sincere; and Eddie wonders if they’ve really been talking about clothes at all.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

shorn the sheep (a.d. x t.d.)

Pairing: art donaldson x tashi donaldson

Summary: the origin story of Art's shorn sheep haircut.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: just family fluff really, art is a puppy but whats new, pre-canon (or in between canon timelines ig)

Notes: my first arttashi fic! Life is crazy but I was inspired enough to write this in two sittings sooooo enjoy! please comment, reblog, talk to me and tell me what you think about it! Happy reading!

**i do not have a taglist. Follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass andd turn on the notifications to be alerted for new fics and updates!**

Art Donaldson likes routines.

He eats the same breakfast every morning –eight eggs and a bowl of oatmeal. Takes the same shower stall in the locker room and does the same pre-match routine down to which shoe he puts on first. He has had the same team behind him for most of his career, from coaches and physios to his lawyers and publicists. He generally goes to the same guy for his haircut too, but he’s in Tokyo for the Japan Open. And while his outgrown curls are starting to piss him off, flying his barber halfway across the world just seems excessive.

Although… looking in the mirror now, he can’t help but wonder if he should’ve done that instead.

Maybe it’s the language barrier (which is more of Art’s fault for his general lack of knowledge in hair-related terms, because the hairdresser speaks English just fine), but what he asked for was definitely not what he got. Then again, maybe he wasn’t being super clear on what he means by ‘tidying it up a little.’

So with a polite straight-lined smile, Art nods and pays and ducks out into the busy Tokyo street. Out of courtesy (or so he convinces himself), he waits until he turns the corner to put his hoodie up over his head.

Ever the drama queen, he only takes it off when he enters the hotel suite, finding his wife sitting on the dining table.

“They fucked up my hair.”

Tashi looks up from her laptop, and the first thing she notices isn’t even the hair. It’s the same pout, same tone she normally sees in Lily at bedtime, which only makes her chortle.

“Goddammit…” Art groans. Is it even worse than he thinks? He pulls the hood back up and tugs at the string until the fabric scrunches around his face.

He turns around towards the bedroom, but Tashi stops him, grabbing his arm and turning him to face her. She loosens the tight strings on the hood, so she can see his new hair properly. Her French manicured nails cards through the short locks, scratching his scalp the way she knows he likes. Her eyebrows furrow in focus as she scrutinizes the length and texture in relation to his face.

“It looks fine to me,” she eventually decides, pushing the top part to the side towards his natural part.

“No it’s not. It’s too fucking short.” Art huffs, resting his forehead on her shoulder. 

Tashi hums, feeling the buzzed ends on the nape of his neck. She’s never felt it this short on him—she’s been there through it all; the mop when he was younger, the swoopy Prince Charming look he had just before this, and even that one year where he grew his hair out past his shoulders. She can definitely say that she doesn’t hate this one.  “It’s just shorter, is all.”

“Makes my ears look even bigger than they already are,” he murmurs into the skin of her shoulder, his annoyance dissipating into sulking petulance in the comfort of her scent and general embrace. 

“Maybe it’ll make you more aerodynamic, Dumbo.” Tashi fiddles his earlobe playfully.

He bites at her shoulder in gentle warning, earning a little laugh from her. “That’s not funny.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it.” She grins and shrugs. “Art—”

“Come on, this is serious.”

Tashi laughs incredulously. “What is?”

“I’m playing in my Uniqlo gear for the first time tomorrow, and the only thing people are gonna talk about is my hair.”

“I sure fucking hope they’re gonna talk about your game more than your new hair or clothes.”

There’s always a very subtle shift whenever Tashi is talking in coach mode. It doesn’t happen often, but it ticks her off whenever his attention strays off of what’s important. But Art pulls his head up and shoots her an unamused, almost defiant glare. He’s not having it.

He’s been trying not to stress out about it, but his new endorsement deal with Uniqlo is so well-covered (and for good reason—he signed a ten-year deal worth $30 million.) and wearing the brand for the first time on their home ground is a big deal. She knows that.

Art will gladly say it as often as he needs to (and he feels like he doesn’t say it often enough), but he loves Tashi. Her beauty is a no-brainer, but above all, he loves her tenacity and efficiency in her work. It’s why he listens to her, and it’s why he’s been playing better than ever since she joined his side.

Tashi sighs a little, realizing that maybe he doesn’t need a coach right now. “And look, it fits into the clean-cut, preppy aesthetics you got. I don’t see how this can be bad press for Uniqlo, either.”

She does so much for him —eats, lives, and breathes him— and sometimes he feels bad for asking. But he eats, lives, and breathes her just as much as she does, and he craves her constantly. Her firm chides, her sharp wit, her soft side, her fury… Most of the time, he needs a combination of at least two of them, even though he doesn’t know how to ask for it.

“Can we like… not make this about work?”

He doesn’t need to. She knows. 

Tashi softens, rubbing his arms up and down as he pulls her closer. “Baby… it looks good on you.”

Art rolls his eyes skeptically. He can’t help but feel like she needs to say that now.

“It really does! What do you want me to say?” She chuckles, nuzzling his face with her nose. “Hey. You know I’ll be the first one to tell you if it looks stupid, right?”

Art sighs. Tashi has never been very generous with compliments, and he actually likes that about her. She knows how to really make it count. “I know, but—”

“But it doesn’t. You actually look really good. And I… I like that I can see you better this way.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have hair flopping over your eyes like a sheepdog anymore.”

Art gives her a playful smack in the butt, but at least he’s smiling now. And despite pushing him physically and mentally for a living, Tashi likes making him smile.

“But you like it?”

Her hand returns to his head, getting the hang of caressing it. “Baby, it’s your hair.” 

Art relaxes into her touch. He’s gone beyond seeking validation, and has fully entered clingy territory at this time. “Yeah, but you’re gonna be looking at it all the time,” he pouts dramatically. “I don’t want you to hate it.”

“I already told you. I like it.” Tashi cups his face, her thumb drawing faint circles on his cheek. The hair is cropped short enough that it doesn’t even curl anymore on the crown. But the patch of brown in his blue eyes is out in plain sight. The line of his nose is knife-sharp, and she can’t help but remember how it parts her thighs right open. “I like looking at your face like this.”

Art’s mouth quirks to the right. He likes coaxing sweet nothings out of her like no other. “So you just like my face?”

Tashi bites the inside of her left cheek. “I do. I like your face.”

Art pulls her into a sweet kiss, and Tashi happily meets him halfway. He wonders if the butterflies would ever cease one day, but until then, he’s gonna relish in it entirely. Wholeheartedly. Selfishly.

Until…

“Daddy, you’re back!” the unmistakable squeal of their 2-year-old cuts through the quiet, followed by the pitter-patter of her little feet.

Art reluctantly lets go of his wife in exchange for their daughter, throwing the former a fond, knowing look. “Hey, Lilybug!” He scoops her tiny frame up into his arms and peppers kisses all over her cute face.

Lily giggles, arms flailing and pushing him around until Art lets up. It’s only then that the little girl manages a good look at him. She gasps. “Daddy, your hair!”

Art’s heart stops. He never thought a toddler’s opinion would mean so much to him, but he plasters a faux-oblivious look for her. “What about my hair, baby?”

“It’s so… little!”

Tashi chuckles. And so does Art, although he does so in surprise. Of all the adjectives in the English language (that they’ve taught Lily anyway), he didn’t expect it to be little. But in a way, he’s glad. It takes the edge off a little.

“Do you like it, though?” Art turns his head side-to-side and lets Lily assess him, and his heart stutters a little.

Lily has a habit of picking up Tashi’s brutal honesty. Truth be told, she is the spitting image of her mother. She tilts her head the same way, sports the same thoughtful pout too. He may have been off the hook with Tashi, but it would be stupid to have his confidence crushed by the miniature version of her.

Eventually, though, Lily grins and nods. Art breathes out a sigh of relief, while Tashi looks at him like, see?

Lily puts her tiny hands on Art’s cheeks the same way her mother does, fingers flicking on her father’s earlobes. She giggles again. “Daddy looks like my sippy cup.”

Tashi laughs out loud this time. Art is not amused.

But he’ll take it. He scowls playfully and makes a face, pretending to be the sippy cup in question, eliciting more laughter from his girls.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

hii!! could a ror family with a 9 year old reader that is like William James Sidis(but they don't know how smart he is)

until some of his family members was called to his school(Nikola, Beelzebub, Hades & adam)the principal wanted them to know how much potential y/n had,as y/n was found multiple times easily solving harvard level math questions even lecturing teachers about his theory's about 4th dimensional body's as if it was common knowledge, even correcting teachers answers,

and was found writing a book with an unknown language which y/n revealed that it was a language he created called vendergood The language is based on Latin and Greek, but drew from German, French and other Romance languages... after that meeting Nikola would spend even more time with y/n ,taking the child with him every time Thomas Edison, Issac newton, Galileo Galilei, Albert Einstein, Marie curie & Alfred Nobel would visit, Nikola & the others would try & figure out why y/n was so smart.

-When your school called your massive family, none of them could ever imagine why they were being asked to come in as quickly as possible.

-You were a good kid, albeit a bit quiet, but you never got into trouble or did anything that warranted any sort of disciplinary action. So why was your school calling?!

-They immediately thought the worse, thinking you had gotten into a fight, as in someone else beat you up, as anger quickly filled many of them as they were quick to descend upon the school.

-To their surprise you weren’t in the office when they arrived, you were in the library, reading contently, as that’s what the office staff told them, but it was the principle who brought them into a meeting room to have a discussion.

-He had in his hands all your recent tests, all with perfect scores, which your family was proud of, but it was the next test he pulled out that was shocking, “This is a mock university entrance exam that we gave to Y/N just to see how they would do, and they got a perfect score.”

-Your family was stunned as Nikola took the packet, seeing the difficult math equations, science diagrams, and foreign languages, each section with a perfect score!

-They knew you were smart- but this smart?!

-Your principle nodded, “Y/N is a prodigy- they were even able to prove to several university professors that this wasn’t a fluke or a result of cheating- they gave Y/N several questions in the different areas of this test and Y/N solved all of them!”

-Nikola was beaming with pride, hearing how smart you were, but it was also unusual, why were you so smart? How were you so smart and they didn’t realize this?!

-Your principle brought your family in to not only share this revelation, but to recommend you being taking out of elementary school and go straight to university, as many of the professors wanted you to learn under them!

-Adam was all for this idea, however, “We will need to discuss things with Y/N first. This will be their decision.” The principle agreed and directed your family to the library, where they found you with several, very advanced, books on Latin and other difficult language books.

-You were confused, seeing your family, “It’s not a family day, is it?” Nikola quickly swept you into his arms, spinning you around, making you squeal with delight, “I’m so proud of you!!”

-You were confused until you all sat down, after the librarian yelled at Nikola for causing a ruckus, and they explained why they were there.

-Your eyes were wide, hearing that the university professors you met wanted you to come to their school instead, as they wanted to nurture your intelligent mind, but it would be your decision if you wanted to go.

-You were a little hesitant, not wanting to leave this school as you enjoyed the fun you were having there, despite many of the other kids being mean to you for being an ‘egghead’ which you learned was a mean word for someone who was smart.

-You asked for some time to think, which they agreed to, and they took you home for the day, since you did all the classwork for the day.

-Nikola kidnapped you away to the research facility he shared with all the other scientists like Newton, Einstein, and all the others, with Beelzebub following you two.

-Nikola held you up like the Lion King to the other geniuses, “Y/N is one of us!!” you were a bit confused but when he sat you down, getting an empty whiteboard and put down an insanely complex math equation before he turned to you, handing you the chalk with a bright smile.

-You looked over the equation, after Issac got you a step ladder as you were a little short for your age, and you got to work, calculating the equation within moments before you circled the answer.

-A roar of cheers escaped the scientists, spooking you just slightly before you beamed, feeling happy that they were so happy before Edison picked you up, spinning you around, praising you which made you beam brightly.

-Beelzebub then brought up the big question they were all wanting to know, “So Y/N- how is it that you’re so smart?” you looked over at him and you tilted your head to the side, a bit confused, “I dunno- I just read what’s in front of me and I remember it. I started looking at new stuff when I learned all the stuff everyone else in my class did and… yeah.”

-Instantly you were sitting on a large plush chair as the scientists were all around the lab, writing down equations and theories as to what could explain this phenomenon- shouting across the lab at one another and talking about things you were able to understand with ease.

-You decided to read over the brochures of the university that the professors gave to you so you could do a bit of research on your own, to decide if you were going to take up their offer or not.

[popfizzles]

I’m sorry if this has been asked before but what do the card suits and numbers mean for each cuphead character?

Don't apologize, I'm ALWAYS down to talk about the cards when it comes to Cuphead characters!!!

When I write lore and character details for Cuphead characters (both ocs and canon characters), I like to attach a Minor Arcana tarot card to each character, but I use the French-suited version of the deck. You know these cards as the standard deck of 52 playing cards!

The four suits represent four different ideals:

Diamonds (Pentacles) represent Value.

Spades (Swords) represent Action.

Hearts (Cups) represent Emotion.

Clubs (Wands) represent Knowledge.

Attaching a suit to a character is easy; think about what they care most about in life. Are they worried about being able to provide for themselves and the people they care about? Are they a hard-worker who refuses to wait for change to happen? Do they let their heart guide them, whether for better or for worse? Are they striving to learn more and more about themselves and the world around them?

Ace cards are perfect paragons of their suit. Cuphead is the Ace of Diamonds, so every single decision he makes, he makes based on whether or not it would result in added VALUE for him. Usually, this results in greed, and a want for more. But "value" can mean many other things! The value of a home-cooked meal, or the value of a meaningful relationship. These are all very important to him!

Finding a more specific number for a character can be a bit more difficult. I like looking at the meaning behind each individual card, and finding one that helps drive a story for them.

For example, Mac is right next to Cuphead in the Arcana, the Two of Diamonds. The Two of Pentacles represents the idea of ebb and flow. Being adaptable, and flexible. But it can also represent chaos, finding difficulty in balancing responsibilities, even buckling under pressure and experiencing financial hardships. I think this describes the way I've characterized Mac very well!

Jacks are a fun one. Because where the normal Minor Arcana has two different cards to represent the learning and mastering of an ideal (shown in the Page and the Knight), the French-suited deck has combined them into a single card, the Jack.

So, it makes a fun dynamic, where Jacks (like Smith the Jack of Spades) are either slowly learning their ideal and finding their footing, or have already mastered it and are ready to teach others. And it can be fun to try and figure out which the character ACTUALLY is.

Like I said, I'm always down to talk more about the inherent cartomancy of Cuphead. It always intrigued me that Cuphead and Mugman's Super Meters were represented by playing cards. It really ties their whole gambling man motif together. :)

[jazziejax]

𝐈. 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

Pairings- Priest!Art Donaldson x Reader, Priest!Patrick Zwieg x Reader

Summary- Odessa and Antoinette get a creepy letter in the mail

Warnings- religious talk, swearing, inside thoughts, not well written…

Jazzie’s Notes!- I just wanna preface this with saying that I don’t really know how to write this style of writing. I have to learn to write well in first person, but then if I do that, I would have to switch person to person all the time. Let if know if this is good or not, don’t be afraid to give feedback. Also, this isn’t meant to offensive to a religious group, I am religious myself. Sorry for any spelling errors!!!

Word Count- 5,313

Antoinette’s life was far from perfect. She lived in a crappy apartment in a sketchy part of New York with barely any money to afford to live. But she tended to find the bright side of most things. She shared said apartment with her best friend, and she always dreamed of living in New York. Plus, her job was a cute diner with a surprisingly stylish apron. She felt like one of those girls in the rom-com movies. Life could be worse.

“Hi, what can I help you guys with today?” The chipper voice of the young lady said as she pulled the notepad out of her blue apron pocket. She looked expectedly around the group that sat at the diner booth.

“Uh, can we get two French toast meals with the strawberry and whipped cream on them, no bacon or eggs on one of them? And two chocolate chip pancake meals with no whipped cream, just the bananas and blueberries. Four milkshakes, one chocolate with no cherry no whipped cream, one strawberry with the cherry and whipped cream, one vanilla with just the whipped cream, and another chocolate with the cherry and the whipped cream.” Said a blonde woman in one go, before looking up to smile at the waiter.

What a…hearty breakfast. Is it even breakfast time?

The girl squinted, caught off guard by everything that was thrown at her so fast, and didn’t write anything down past the ‘no eggs no bacon’ part. “Um, okay, yeah. I totally have all of that. I’m just gonna repeat it back to make sure it’s correct.” The curly-haired waiter smiled, looking down at the small amount of words scribbled on the yellow paper. Before she could even start talking, the blonde girl spoke up again.

“Oh, no need.” She smiled sweetly, which was obviously fake and condescending by the way she then waved the girl off before continuing the conversation she was in with her friends. Antoinette's eyes darted from one person to the next, utter shock but not surprised at how they all just continued to ignore her presence. She offered a small smile, whispering a small “Okay.” Before walking off to tell Lonny what she remembered of the order.

Which also didn’t go in her favor.

“Why the hell didn’t you write it down?” The older man asked, his New York accent thick on his tongue as she looked down at the small piece of paper the girl handed him.

I totally didn’t even think of that.

“I tried, she was going too fast and wouldn’t let me stay any longer to get it correct.” The girl whined. “I can tell you what I remember from my brain.”

My brain, what am I, seven years old? I need to expand my vocabulary.

“I don’t need what you have in your brain, I need the order on paper! I’m running a restaurant here, curly fry, not a school!” The grump yelled, before moving around the kitchen to continue to cook. Antoinette just stood there, arms stiff at her sides as her eyes drifted towards the open box where the orders got dropped off to see the more than half-empty restaurant. Her brows furrowed inwards only a smidge as she looked back over at her boss.

“Lonny, they’re the only people here.” She stated. All she got in response was the slam of the man’s fist against the metal table out of frustration. Not caring, or rather not paying attention, Antoinette continued. “I mean, them and the homeless guy that sleeps in the booth at the very back. And the occasional person with a laptop to charge.” She shrugged.

Lonny then turned, glaring from afar at the girl who was at least a foot taller than him. Granted, he was a short man.

“You’re lucky I like you curlyfry.” The man grumbled. “Now write down what you can remember then get back to work.” He hissed, turning to the batter he had before him. Antoinette was almost tempted to ask, what work? but refrained from making the situation worse. “Okay.” Was all she said before starting to scribble what she caught of the order on the paper.

My handwriting is atrocious, I need to work on that. Ooh, that’s a big word. Maybe my vocabulary isn’t so terrible. Hey, they do say bad handwriting is a sign of intelligence.

“Also, can you go kick out that homeless guy?” Lonny started, talking to the girl over his shoulder.

“Why can’t you?” She immediately asked, not even thinking over the statement. The older man threw his head back, letting out a deep sigh. “Because I’m working. Ya know, the thing you don’t do.”

Antoinette softly gasped in offense, placing a hand over her heart. “I work. I’m getting this order to you right now.” She said, tripping g the paper from the bit pad and sliding it over to the order station. “Plus, Joey’s gonna be here any second for my shift to end. Although a little late. He can handle it though.”

“Yeah, but I asked you, and I want it done now.” The man spat, never once looking back at the girl as he continued to make the dough for his bread at the cooking station.

“Well, I can’t because I have to wait.” She said, starting to take off her apron. Lonny screamed in annoyance, turning to face his employee. “What did I tell you about that word?!” He screamed desperation and anger in his tone.

“That it’s only used by stinky European teenage boys.” Antoinette related like a mantra at this point. “So stop it!” He yelled as she then tried to walk out of the kitchen, actually having to pee. “And what did I tell you about telling me when you have to pee.”

“I just thought you should know!” Antoinette yelled back through the closing kitchen door. She sighed, starting to continue her way to the bathroom before briefly pausing when she realized the table from earlier was now looking at her in irritation and confusion.

Great, they probably heard me talking about having to pee.

She smiled at them, her dimples being the cherry on top of her adorable face. “Your food will be out shortly.” She said as she encapsulated one hand in the other, voice now calm in contrast to her previous yelling. She went to walk about before stopping once more. “Hopefully.” She said before continuing, taking her apron off in the process and laying it on a hook in the back where her bag and coat were.

She wakes in the dingey bathroom, pulling down her pants and squatting over the bowl. Finally, in some semblance of peace, she had the same thoughts she had every time she used the bathroom at the diner.

My calves have to be extremely strong after doing this for four years. Can they hear me? Gosh, I hope they can’t hear me. I think I’d kill myself. Well no, I wouldn’t because that’s a sin.

Finished, the file looked over next to her for the toilet paper, seeing the roll bare but the sake of two thin sheets stuck to the adhesive. “Aw, man. No paper.” She said to herself. She then tried forward, scouring her mind for a solution to such a predicament. Here she was, leaning forward with her rosary handing in her face, squatted over the toilet seat with urine dripping from her privates.

Today couldn’t be any worse.

Just then, the door shot open and slammed into the girl's head. Antoinette yelped at the harsh contact, not even paying attention to the scream let out by the man above her as she focused on her now throbbing head and tried not to fall into the toilet bowl. “Dammit, Antoinette, lock the door next time.” The man groaned. Antoinette held her head as if her hand would bring some sort of red to the area.

“Ok, Joey can you go grab me some toilet paper? We’re out.” She said, trying to focus on how embarrassing this whole ordeal was.

“Uh, yeah, give me a sec.” He said through the door before drifting away.

Antoinette sighed, her head flopping down as she was once again left in that weird position, now even more embarrassed that someone saw her and that she was hit in the head. And it was her coworker.

Lord. I’m sorry but I must die today.

Joey then came back with a new roll of tissue, handing it to the girl through a crack in the bathroom door, even though he could see the girl in the small bathroom mirror. A few seconds after a flush and the sink running, Antoinette emerged with an awkward smile on her face to see Joey standing in front of the bathroom door.

“Hi.” Was all she said, looking everywhere but his eyes.

“Hey.” The taller olive-skinned man said back. They stood in front of each other for a few moments in silence.

“You should go—“

“Sorry about—“

They stared at the same time, pausing before awkwardly laughing.

“I was gonna say sorry about your head. I kinda just barged in.” Joey continued, smiling down at the girl in front of him.

“It’s fine, I was sitting there very awkwardly. Squatting rather.” She stared, brushing it off. “I was saying that you should head on in there and…do whatever you were going to do.” She shrugged. She could feel her heatwave pick up just being in his presence. And the longer she looked at him in those sultry brown eyes, the feeling of a hot pool started to rumble in her lower stomach. She might’ve been a virgin, but she wasn’t stupid.

Well, not entirely.

She knew she found Joey attractive, but the feeling she got when she stood too close to him was not okay in her book. It triggered her fight or flight, but instead of running away or throwing fists at him, she wanted to jump into his arms.

Yeah, I can’t do this. It’s time to leave.

“Well, it was nice speaking to you Joey, have a nice day. Oh, and Lonny wants you to remove the homeless guy from the booth in the back.” She spat out in a hurry as she grabbed her bag from the hook, along with her coat, and walked back to the front. She passed the table on her way out, seeing that they were now eating. “Oh, you guys got your food. Great.” She said with a small customer service smile as she continued walking.

“Yeah, our order is actually wrong—.” The woman from before couldn’t get out much more before Antoinette was cutting her off.

“Sorry, I’m off the clock. Bye.” She cheesed on her last words and walked out of the door, a bell ringing above her head. She scurried to the alley on the side of the building, to see her bike still double-chained to a random pipe in the next building over. It was basically a little game at this point to come around the corner and see if her bike was still there. Sighing in relief, she rushed over to the baby blue bike with a wicker basket in the front. She unclasped her key from her wrist and unlocked the heavy-duty chains she bought with her last few dollars when she moved to New York. This elderly couple had given her the bike when they saw the girl walking in the rain, saying it was their daughter’s old bike. But since the girl was lost and confused in a very nice neighborhood, she had to buy some chains so she didn’t get jacked before she could get to enjoy its labor.

The girl opened the basket in the front of her bike to place her chains into when she paused at the sight of something wrapped in the large bin. The thing was moving underneath the black cloth and Antoinette was just frozen. She glanced around at the alley to see if anyone was watching her but spotted not a single soul. Sighing, the girl reached out and pulled back the back fabric, being sure to keep her head as far away as she could whilst also being able to see within the basket. Seeing that whatever it was didn’t violently react to her movements, she eased forward to see a tuft of sandy white hair.

What in tarnation is this?

Now confused, the girl leaned forward and pulled the cloth back more to see two small kittens in her backseat, one was this sanely blonde color, the darker part of its body being its nose area and its tail. The other kitten was a mix of colors, mainly orange and black with white spots here and there. Antoinette’s heart immediately melted at the sight of the two kittens.

“Awww!” The girl said, pouting at the creatures who lay in her basket. Well, one creature lay while the other moved around in the basket as best as it could. “Well, aren’t you two just the cutest?” The girl gushed as she lifted the blanket with them two in it to place the chains at the bottom of the basket. Once placing them back down, she looked at the cats, who eventually acknowledged the woman above them with tiny meows, as if they were speaking to her speaking voice. Antoinette nearly cried as she continued to fawn over the cute little animals.

“Yeah, you two are coming home with me.” She said as she mounted her bike and washed her way out of the alley. “Des is just gonna love you two!” She said excitedly, closing the top of her basket and riding off into the New York City streets.

“Why the hell are there kittens in the kitchen?” The light skin girl said as she walked into the small flat and hung her keys and coat near the door before turning to her right to see two kittens in the kitchen licking at a bowl of milk on the corner. Antoinette smiled at the girl as the light from her laptop reflected off her large glasses.

“Hello, Odessa.” The girl said formally laying one hand on top of another as she sat straighter in her seat. The lighter girl furrowed her brows, eyeing her friend across from her in the small kitchen.

“What do you have to say?” The girl demanded out of her rather than asked, already tired from a long work day and knowing Antoinette had something up her sleeve.

She’s sneaky for a catholic…Well, aren’t they all? According to history.

“Well, to answer your previous question, these cats are here because some holy being left them in my basket on my bike.” She started. She could see Odessa was about to speak again but she interrupted before she could. “And before you say anything discouraging, I’d just like to say I did some extensive research. The multicolored one is a calico kitten, and did you know that approximately one calico in 3,000 is male? And guess what? He’s male!” The girl with glasses said, faking her shock again to add to the dramatic value in front of Odessa. The leather-clad girl just leaned against the kitchen archway with her arms folded, face stoic. Seeing that Antoinette was waiting for some sort of reaction before she continued, the woman slightly opened her mouth to let out a small gasp, glancing over at the kitten near her feet.

Antoinette smiled before continuing. “And that quiet and mysterious beauty is a ragdoll kitten. They have an above-average life span, fully grown at 4 years old, quiet by nature, as you can tell. And they are one of the largest cat breeds out there, which is also kind of confusing because you’re supposed to mix other breeds to get a ragdoll cat.” She said, trailing off at the end as she looked at her laptop in confusion, those two facts not making much sense in her mind. Shaking off the thought, the spec-wearing girl looked over at her cooler friend, who just stared at her. Antoinette put on her best smile.

Well, not her best. She was sort of anxious about the whole situation so the smile was kind of awkward, the girl showing all of her adult teeth while her eyes waited on an answer, her brows giving away her concern.

After a moment of silence, the two just looking at one another, Odessa cracked first.

“We can’t keep the cats.” That was all she said before all hell broke loose.

“But, I did so much research on them! I could probably work as a veterinarian with all the knowledge I know now.” The girl in pink whined.

Odessa just started, moving to put her hands in the pockets of her leather pants, the tattoos on her arms showing.

“It was basically a sign from God- well the universe that I’m meant to keep them. They just appeared in my basket, begging for my care.” She continued, changing her words when she saw the girl's brow spike at the mention of the guy up above. That still didn’t get a reaction out of the girl, Odessa just moved across the small kitchen and past the tiny table to the fridge. Antoinette followed her moments within her seat, desperation etched into her face.

“I mean, it won’t cost us much. I can use the bin we use for our socks as their litter box and just use sand from the cigarette pot downstairs.” I’m grasping at freaking straws here.

Odessa turned around once she had the beer in her hands and used the counter to pop the lid off. “And for now we can just give them milk, ya know since we always have some that go bad and we’re lactose intolerant anyway.” She continued, taking her glasses off her face to look at her friend.

Odessa cringed at her words, and leaned against the counter now, which was only about three feet away from the other girl. “That sounds like a terrible life for these poor kittens, Antoinette. And us.” She said before taking a swig of her beer. “We can’t afford them.”

“I mean, it's not like we’re poor. We can take care of them.”

“We have a box television in the year 2023…” Odessa started, “And it’s not even in our living room, it’s in the kitchen and it’s the size of a basketball.” She finished, pointing over to the small television on the corner of the table that softly played reruns of old television shows with the antenna that aimed at the small kitchen window. “We don’t even have fucking cable.”

“Language,” Antoinette muttered. “I mean, at least we get to watch Sex & The City and Living Single for free.” She smiled over at Odessa, who gave her a simple stare. “We can’t afford them, Bennie.” She said softly.

Antoinette then deflated, shoulders sagging as she leaned back in the old wooden chair. She had lost all hope as soon as the girl said that name, Odessa only calling her that when she was serious about something. Mainly because Odessa hated nicknames. “Okay, I’ll find them somewhere tomorrow.” She softly whined before putting her head in her hands. Odessa pursed her lips in sadness, patting the girl on the shoulder for comfort before making her way out of the kitchen. It only took her about three steps before she was in what most would call a living room, but Odessa liked to call it her room. Since it essentially was her room.

The far wall was made of brick, with a green couch in front of it that let out into her bed and a small back circle table in the middle, on top of an ugly carpet.

The girl sighed as she turned and dropped down onto the couch, letting her back hit the seat cushions. The old ceiling light hurt her eyes and made her already terrible hangover headache worse, so she threw her arms over her eye, placing her face in her elbow. Getting home late last night from one of her small concerts, she liked to call them, at the bar she worked at, she got a little too wasted. It was a recurring theme for her honestly.

Get up, go to work at the bar, wait till 10 to start performing, do that until about 2 am, get drunk afterward and either go home with whoever she decides to lay with that night or go to her humble abode. She didn’t perform every night, but when she did, that was usually the routine. And now she was suffering the consequences of getting drunk and staying up until 5 am when she had to work only hours later. At least she didn’t perform tonight, now she could stay in longer since it was only 6.

Her head becoming too much, the girl sat up from the couch to head to the bathroom to see if she could salvage some pain pills. But before she could, the sight of a pile of letters caught her eye. Reaching over, she grabbed the small pile to sort through.

Bill, bill, bill, creepy letter, postcards, bill, rent, perfume samples…What the hell?…

Odessa paused at the sight of the letter, the off-white paper wax-sealed with a red stamp. She squinted, looking at the seal to see if she knew the symbol from somewhere. Looking at it in just the wax form, she couldn’t quite make it out but she knew it looked familiar. Standing up, she kept her eyes on the letter as she walked back to the kitchen.

“Did you see this creepy ass letter in the mail?” She asked, standing the the archway and turning the letter to face Antoinette, who had her head propped on her chin as she sadly looked at places where she could drop the kittens off. Speaking of kittens, they now lay in the girls’ lap, curled into one another in almost a yin and yang symbol.

Antoinette looked up, squinting at the girl who was blurry since she didn’t have on her glasses. Odessa walked forward, placing the letter in front of her roommate.

Placing her spec on, Antoinette inspected the letter more, immediately recognizing the symbol. She furrowed her brows, glancing up at the even more confused Odessa. Gliding her long bare nails under the wax seal, she popped the envelope open and pulled out the letter. “Ohh, handwritten.” She said to herself as she looked at the unfolded paper.

She was silent as she read through the letter, causing Odessa to just stand before her and wait for the girl to speak. She watched Antoinette read the letter, her face going through a mix of emotions. First, her brows raised in surprise in the beginning as she hummed in contempt. Then her eyes widened as she continued before she got to the end of the letter and gasped.

“What is it?! You’re making my blood pressure rise.” Odessa said, watching the girl intensely.

“It’s from Saint Mary’s.” She started, not looking up to see Odessa cringe at the words. “They said a lot has changed in the last four years. Mother Agnes died, and they refurbished the church and built it. And they even have new staff, but the community is failing. They sent letters to all the kids that grew up in the foster home to see if they’d come to work there to improve their quality of life. Pay and free housing included.” She finished, looking up at the girl before her.

Neither of them could look each other in the eyes at the news, both of them still processing everything. Mainly the information about Mother Agnes dying. There was a sense of relief as if the girls had been haunted by everything that woman did to them. And in a sense, they were. They’ve endured too much pain at the hands of Mother Agnes. So much pain that they had to live with their whole lives, and leaving there didn’t help as much as they thought it would. They just now had a place to express such feelings out loud. Although they never did. Conditioning at its finest. Just thinking about their youth made Odessa want to break down and cry after so many years of pushing those memories away. And Antoinette…she could have a panic attack just being back at such a place.

After a moment of silence, Antoinette read over the letter again and again while Odessa just started in thought, someone finally spoke.

“We should do it.” She said softly, not looking up in fear of Odessa’s reaction.

“And why the hell would we do that?” The other girl asked harshly, offended that Antoinette even thought of such a possibility.

“Because it could help.” She answered softly. “We could use the money.”

“We have money. You and I both work.”

“You said it yourself, Des,” Antoinette said looking up, her hands slightly shaking as she played with the letter in her hands. The thought of going back wasn’t doing her psyche any good, but she felt as if this was a good opportunity. Maybe this could be good for us. “We don’t have the money.”

“I said that about your cats. Me and you are living just fine.” Odessa spat, her words harsh as she looked down at the darker-skinned girl. Antoinette subtly flinched at her tone, looking back down at the letter in her hands. Odessa saw her small movements and immediately felt bad, she wasn’t making the situation any better.

“It could be good for us.” Antoinette started again, not looking up this time. “We could go there and help out. Make it a better place than it was when we were there. Be nicer to the children so they…don’t end up like us.” She said. Her words hung in the air for a moment. “I mean, what other place is gonna offer us free housing and a job?”

“We go back just so we can be in debt to those people?” Odessa stated, ignoring what the girl previously said about helping the children. “So they can treat us like some charity case? Like they did when we were foster children?” She continued to ask, staring at the top of Antoinette’s head since she refused to lift her eyes from the wax she was ripping off the paper envelope. “I’m not going through that again, not for some people who didn’t give a damn about us then.”

“There’s new people.”

“Yeah, and who do you think taught them what they know?” She asked, folding her arms. There was a thick silence between them.

Antoinette nodded, never looking up. “You're right.” She closed her old laptop and adjusted the kittens into her arms. She then tucked her laptop under her arm and stood up. “I’m gonna go to bed now, good night.” She said softly, walking past Odessa and into the small room on the other side of the living room. Odessa sighed, placing her head into her head as she heard the girl's door softly close from her place in the kitchen.

Antoinette didn’t come out of her room after that, but Odessa could hear her shuffling around in the very small space. She now lay on her bed couch, looking over at the skinny door every time she heard the slightest moment from the room. She would wait to see if the girl would come out in the middle of the night like she always did to ask her random questions, say a random fact, or go to the kitchen to get some water and get caught up in the small television. But none of that ever came.

As soon as Odessa thought sleep was about to finally meet her halfway, she got caught in the words Antoinette said earlier. About helping the children.

Now, Odessa was far from a children's type of person. She was far from a people person, honestly, but she had to make a living somehow. So, for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why she was so affected by the girl's words as soon as they left her mouth. But deep down, she knew why. And so did Antoinette.

Even in the foster home, Odessa would always protect the younger kids from punishment. Taking all their lashing so she didn’t have to hear the cries of children being hurt. Antoinette is one of those kids when the others would blame things on her. And she would take their pain with no words since the age of fourteen. She never vocally expressed the pain she felt emotionally, mentally, and definitely not physically. That mentality infuriated Mother Agnes to the point she would single the girl out and beat the girl harder to see if she could make her break. But Odessa only let tears slip when she was alone.

Now Antoinette didn’t know the severity her words would have on Odessa’s mind, so she couldn’t blame the girl. But she knew that the girl was right. Odessa would do anything in her power to make sure no other kids ended up like her. She would do anything to not hear the cries of pain from children who busted and wanted to be accepted and loved.

And with that thought, she got up from the bed and walked over to Antoinette’s room. She opened the small door that led to the tiny room to see the girl’s back facing the door, looking out the window at the city as she lay in bed and petted the two cats.

“I changed my mind.” She said softly.

Antoinette glanced over her shoulder. “About the cats?” She started. “Nah, I think you’re right. I don’t think I can care for them properly.” She said sadly, turning to look back out of the window.

“No, not about the cats,” Odessa stated.

There was a pause between the two, Antoinette processing the girl's words. She then sat up in her bed and turned to face the girl at her door, five feet away from her. “What made you change your mind?” She asked softly.

“You were right. About everything.” She shrugged, biting her lip. She was anxious about the whole situation. Coming to such a conclusion about her feelings and the thought of going back to the town brought more bad memories than good. But also to how her best friend would react. But that was all washed away when she saw the girl smile.

“Can I bring the cats?” She asked, pointing to the sleeping kittens in her bed. Odessa giggled, looking at the pleading smile on her friend's face.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, they’ll have more space to grow. Its a better life than here.” She said shrugging.

Antoinette then gasped. “Oh! Now I can get one of those cute wax melt sets so I can’t write back to them.” She smiled excitedly. “Oh, this is gonna be so great!”

Odessa smiled at the girl's excitement. “Now get some sleep, we have some things to sort out before we head up.” That was all she said before she closed the door behind her and made her way back to bed. She let out one final sigh before closing her eyes and letting sleep take her away.

Antoinette smiled at the door as it closed before looking down at the animals at her side. “Ya see, prayers do get answered, guys.” She said, holding up her right hand that was wrapped in her rosary, showing it to the sleeping cats. “Oh, you guys can’t hear me. Or understand me. Or understand religion. I need to go to bed.” She hugged before plopping down onto her pillow with an anxious smile and closing her eyes.

Let me know if you guys like the story and if you’d liked to be added to the taglist!!!

[obsessedwithspiderman2099]

Wisteria

Part two

Pairing: fem!reader x Miguel O’Hara

Word count : 1,209

Synopsis: Someone joins you in your walk home.

“Who are you…”

the words stumble out of your mouth as if they were legs that couldn’t walk. Though you were both terrified and confused by what just happened, you manage to stand tall before the almost Spider-Man that’s just a few feet away.

“That’s...classified.” He responds, his voice both deep and rough. It seemed forced, like he was trying to cover up his natural one or something.

“What do you mean classified? Cause you look like a weird cosplay of Spider-Man, not to mention you just beat up that….. whatever that was, like it was nothing!” The words fall right out of your mouth, the shock taking away your filter. He mutters something under his breath in Spanish, and now you wish you chose that over French as your language to take in high school. A simple Bonjour can’t help you right now.

“Look-“ He begins,pinching the bridge of his nose for a second. “It’s dangerous out here Ma’am, you shouldn’t be out in the streets.” He takes a step closer, to which you take a step back. Noticing the action, he stops.

“I wasn’t even in any trouble, I was just getting home before that…thing came over!” You say. “You walk home alone?” “….yeah.”

The spider man dupe mutters something else under his breath. “Do you even have a taser? Pepper spray?” He says, concerned. “I take self defense classes (You took two in high school) I’m fine.” Although you definitely weren’t, at least the delusion was there.

“Let me walk you then.”

You scoff, “and let you know where I live? Absolutely not.”

You clutch your bag a little tighter, looking up at him. The height difference is comical. Usually meeting a man this tall would send butterflies to your stomach, but that’s in different circumstances.

“I can’t let you walk by yourself here.” “I’ve done it before. Why are you concerned about me? You don’t even know me.” To be honest, he didn’t know. You were a stranger to him. Just another citizen in a different universe. Normally he would just take the anomaly and leave, but there was something about you….

“Look, I’m not asking for you to trust me or anything else, I just want to make sure you end home up safe.”

You stare at him, debating whether or not to let this man walk you. If he wanted to hurt you or worse, he would have done it already. You sigh, “fine. But just a block away from it.” He nods, “Alright. You lead the way.”

The walk was normally just ten minutes, but it felt like thirty with the extra company.

The two of you walked with silence. Not awkward or uncomfortable, but not exactly comforting either. You could not help but almost stare at him, taking notes on his appearance. Although you couldn’t see his face, the suit doesn’t really leave anything else to imagination.. The dark blues and reds were completely different then what your Spider-Man wore. His whole message was saving the people and the environment, something you agreed with.

On the sidewalk, you spotted a small patch of purple. One tiny purple flower was trying to grow. Something it’s ancestors thrived at. Mind completely focused on the flower, you don’t notice the small step on the concrete, something you always avoid. You trip on it, and almost faceplant when, of course, ‘Spider-Man’ catches you.

“Thank you…” You say, already cringing in embarrassment of what just happened. You always notice that step! Why did you have to forget about it when you have eyes on you??? “Of course.” He replies, and a deep hue of red covers your cheeks as you suddenly remember you're still in his hold. Awkwardly stepping out of it, you two continue on your walk.

You still can’t help but wonder who he is, and why would he ever want to help you in the first place? If he’s really like Spider-Man, then of course he’d defeat whatever kind of reptile monster was back there. But take the time to actually walk you home? That was new. The question lingers in your mind, but you shrug it off when you look back at him and notice something that catches your attention.

“What kind of watch is that?” You say, gesturing to the confusing piece of tech on his wrist. He looks down at you. “It’s nothing.”

You scoff, “Doesn’t look like nothing to me.. Is it a thingy to help with your webs? I saw you use them.”

“What? No- it’s… it’s to..help me with my steps.” He says. Coming up with lies was usually so easy for him, especially in his line of work. Why did it feel so hard to do in front of you?

“Oh…ok, well we’re here.” You say, stopping in front of a dark blue door with some gold numbers on the top of it. You turn to him.

“Thank you for…. Well, for a lot. You didn’t have to walk me.” Although you couldn’t see his actual face, or eyes, you tried to make eye contact. Staying polite was always something you tried to be.

“Of course, it was no problem.” A small smile appeared on your face at that. He saw it, and immediately he felt like his stomach was doing small flips. He tried changing the subject, more as to give a distraction to his current stomach issue.

“Do you always walk home?” “Yeah, that’s my routine.” “Then I’ll be here tomorrow .”

Another wave of blush hit your face at the kind action, “Really? No no you don’t have to do that-“ “ I insist.”

You sigh, the smile still remaining intact as you look down to grab your keys to open the door. Why would you want to say no to that?

“Ok then, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Good night.” He said.

Looking up to say it back, you were met with nothing but the cold Brooklyn air.

Confusion struck.

How did he do that?? And how so fast??? You knew he wasn’t your Spider-Man, but he wasn’t exactly just human either.

Getting inside to your apartment, you set your bag down on the counter and was immediately greeted by a puff of fur. Your cat was always happy to see you. Gently pushing her tail away from your face, you pick her up like a baby (She is one to you ) and pet her little white head.

“I’m sorry for leaving you for a whole six hours Zinnia. Hope you can forgive me.” Giving a small kiss on her head, you then started your night routine.

While putting on more comfy clothes, brushing your teeth, and feeding Zinny, the whole time you couldn’t help but think of one thing.

Him.

Something about the way he was just couldn’t stop running around your head. Why were you thinking about him? He was just a stranger.. someone who just did a good deed and helped someone out.

Oh who were you kidding, he literally beat up a villain like it was just a high five. Not to mention he acted so nonchalantly about it. Like it was just another Tuesday. That’s definitely not normal. And the things you were thinking about him definitely weren’t either.

So why couldn’t you stop?

A/N: AAAA!! Thank you so much for reading! I had no idea whether or not this would be a good plot or idea to post, but I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know if I should make a third part!

[sofs16]

just give me a reason

from this request :)

charles x reader

sorry this is late and really bad😭

charles pining over a woman for 4 months was quite unusual to his friends, aside from the fact it was yn.

the one who was there through it all, and maybe even sometimes dropped everything for her friend charles.

on the 4th of july charles admitted his feelings to her, which she reciprocated. those months were their ‘honeymoon phase’ where everything was well and they were too in love to spend a day without each other.

after 2 years, their months have been rocky, for her at least. the days, even weeks, lack of meet ups to seeing each other, the lack of conversation, and the lack of time together others was catching up to her.

charles was too busy to work to notice. yn was fine with sleeping with her back faced to his back, wondering when the breaking point was, until tonight. charles knew her like the back of his hand, he knew overthinking was her weakness. yet tonight, he chose sour words against her.

“it’s all in your mind! you and your overthinking can never give me a break!”

it started with charles on the sim in their living room. he was on stream with the guys, unbeknown to yn, when she slipped her heels off, entering the living room where she saw charles on the sim.

“HAAAAPPY BIRTHDAY LOGAN AMERICA! Oh, hey che-” “do you know what day it is?” yn asked, slipping off the french clip that held her curled hair together, soft curls now cascading.

”it’s july fo-oh… cherie, i’m so sorry-“ he was up on his feet now, headphones and mic down, stream still on.

“charles, i’m really getting tired here. this is like the seventh date you’ve missed this year, you barely talk to me, you’re always at work-”

“so this is what this is about? You want me to quit the job i’ve been working so hard on?”

Normally, yn would soften down at this, but not today. “Don’t you turn your words on me now. I knew what I signed up for while dating you but it’s like you aren’t even trying anymore!”

“it’s all in your mind! you and your overthinking can never give me a break!” the room fell silent after that. the ringing in the ears of yn could not have gotten louder, tears started to helplessly fall.

just then lorenzo called him “mate, your stream is on, we can’t hear much but we can see yn crying.” charles rushed to turn it off before this got worse.

“i didn’t mean tha-“ ”just give me a reason to keep going because it’s starting to hurt” you whispered

“our love’s enough, please” “i think- i’m going to go. we need to go on a break” charles’ chest was pounding now “no, please don’t leave me please don’t leave” he got to his knees, holding her

“can you just give me time?” she whispered

at some point he let go of her, fully believing he had the ability to change, and that they could love each other fully again, someday.

[mariacallous]

Ticketmaster has a dream. A dream that one day, it will be “pleased to have partnered with” your child’s school, making it “easier for you to buy tickets” to the nativity play. Which will henceforth be known as the nativity experience. But listen – Ticketmaster wants to make the whole process run more smoothly, freeing you up to connect with the performers you love (your kids) while being “gifted” the paper cup that forms part of the package in these platinum seats (the tiny chairs from the classroom).

No, none of the standard seat tickets are still available. But you can upgrade to the ultimate VIP package, meaning you have access to the Bethlehem lounge (the reception reading corner) an hour before the event. If you want to experience magic this Christmas, do remember to clear all cookies, have only one tab open, and prepare nevertheless to be ejected from the queue four hours in after being accused of being a computer, by a computer.

So yes: Ticketmaster. After the Oasis tickets horror show last weekend, the row about the ticketing website this week developed into such a horror show that you could probably sell tickets to it. And if you could, Ticketmaster surely would, having previously handled ticketing for such fan-facing events as the crucifixion and French Revolution guillotinings (mandatory purchase from one of our knitting concessions). Sadly, the Competition and Markets Authority (CMA) doesn’t seem to recognise that rich heritage, opting to launch an investigation into Ticketmaster over Oasis ticket sales, “including how so-called ‘dynamic pricing’ may have been used”. Sarcastic scare-quotes: the CMA’s own.

I’m not saying the ticketing websites are quite simply the worst people in the world, even though I’d quite like to provoke Ticketmaster’s lawyer into writing a cease-and-desist letter listing much worse people from the 20th and 21st centuries. Listen, I already love this notional lawyer. Like a lot of people who draw a salary in his stratum of reality-laundering, he possibly tells himself he works in respectable business, but may be better off informing his parents he works in a more popular trade, like puppy-drowning or journalism.

Now, there are some companies in this world of ours that love to be talked about. But a feature of ticketing companies is that they don’t want anyone talking about them, because if people are talking, the talking is always bad. Nobody goes through a ticket purchase these days and wants to sing its praises. They get to the final scene of an absolute ring quest of an attempt to see an artist/show/ballgame they like, are faced with the last-minute news that, actually, their ticket is going to cost nearly three times as much as they thought, cycle through the five stages of grief while a little counter threatens to time them out, decide to pay the extra, and are left staring at the success screen thinking: “Fucking Ticketmaster.”

Obviously, it’s better if they say this on their own. Unfortunately for Ticketmaster, more and more people are saying it out loud, some of whom are the UK culture secretary, others of whom are the CMA, and the last of whom is the US attorney general, who in May launched a lawsuit against LiveNation-Ticketmaster seeking to break it up on grounds of “monopolisation and other unlawful conduct that thwarts competition in markets across the live entertainment industry”.

What its Department of Justice detractors don’t love about the firm is its ability to dictate to every part of the entertainment supply chain, from venues to artists to promoters, and that’s before you get into its role in the resale market. Unsurprisingly, this is not the vibe you get from the Ticketmaster website, which is a masterclass in that very particular self-pitying corporate tone. “The fees we charge,” it quavers, “are often the only revenue we get for making sure you can get the tickets to the events you love.” Oh no! Who’ll spare a thought for poor old Ticketmaster, simply trying to connect fans with their beloved artists, and surviving only on the coins thrown into its begging bowl? Counterpoint: this is a vast international firm headquartered in Beverly Hills, currently worth an estimated $22bn.

That’s enough cash to make you the proud licensee of some ultra-high-end euphemisms. “Processing fee”, “service fee”, “delivery fee” – truly it has 100 ways of saying “because-we-can fee”. If that feels like you accepting a wage for your job, then charging your boss a supplementary “doing my job” fee each time you feel you’re doing your job … try it, see how you get on! The fact is, Ticketmaster fees can be as high as 75% of the base price of the ticket. Arguably the worst euphemism of them all is “dynamic pricing”, which sounds buzzy and energetic, and something we’d all like to be involved in, until you realise that it means the £148 ticket you queued for hours for now costs £355 – and your favourite artist agreed it all via their management. Whatever they may now say (“Shut up”, in the case of Liam Gallagher.)

In the end, like most things with the word “experience” tacked on to them these days, the “fan experience” has become a soul-swallowing submission to getting rinsed and having to look grateful. But with so many hares now running on Ticketmaster and the practices of the wider ticketing industry, it would be nice to think we might be closer to better regulation in the interests of the customer. Record numbers of fans would buy tickets to that.

[radioactivewisdom]

Do you think that so many women are dumb because they can afford to be? Since so many women hide behind their "hubbies", and are 9 times out of 10 the collaborators, not the pioneers, there's not that much at stake for them, so they can cruise through life avoiding bigger responsibilities?

I mean, I am not the only who sees how allergic many, many, many women are to accountability, right? Even calling them out on the most basic things, like making the observation that a woman's position in sexual intercourse is risky (pregnancy, disease) and dangerous (male violence) leads to being shit on by them, apparently that makes those of us who point it out into misogynists, and all sorts of other evil labels that they can vaguely apply. It's quite a mindfuck, pardon my French, to be denied basic truths viciously by basically any woman I attempt to confide in.

And many people have this image of motherhood that it's overly caring, involved, the protector from the father's violence, but in my family and acquaintance circles, the women are not the dependable, but the dependent, dependent on their husbands, ofc. When I was a little girl, I used to feel ashamed to be female due to how humiliating they made it look. It's a bit ironic, because people nowadays say that it's men who lack role models, but in truth it's always been women whose "role models" were limited to upper class prostitutes and mentally-deficient tradwives. Idk, it really unnerves me that women are painting themselves as good people, when all they are is spineless, and would be doing the exact same things their husbands are doing if they weren't so cowardly. The mentality is certainly the same, but the wife lacks the willpower, and the job falls on the person who has just a bit more reason to self-assert, the husband, I mean, his "masculinity" is on the line, is it not? Just something I've been thinking about lately.

And as a last note: thank you for your blog, radio. It's probably one of my favorite corners on this website, I always check back in whenever I find the time <3 :)

Absolutely. Despite all of the complaining, embodying this world’s ideals is the easiest route to take. There are social benefits and rewards to being a “feminine” woman, which includes marriage and motherhood. Many women are just envious that they aren’t allowed to be as openly degenerate as men, and much of the “equality” they’re after is behaving just as badly. This is why they want consequence free sex because men get to just walk away from it, so why shouldn’t they? Anytime a terrible mother is brought up, they’ll chime in and say “but men are worse parents! why are we held to a higher standard?” An accountability free life if what they’re after, even though they’re supposedly superior to the sex they claim isn’t held responsible enough. I LOVE what you said about women being the ones who lack role models. So true, we’re surrounded by women who try and encourage us to be just as dumb as them. I understand why many girls are upset in youth and even fear womanhood because of what they’ve seen. Women can only have the moral high ground because they’re comparing themselves to the lowest of the low. Funny that they’ll chatter all day about how men are so beneath them because of their bad behavior, but don’t you dare think you’re better than them for choosing better. Thank you for sending me this and allowing me to share it. There’s so much wisdom in your words! I’m glad that my postings are ones you look forward to :)

[the-himawari]

A3! Spotlight Event Translation - Spotlight (Secret): Ikaruga Brothers & Hyodo Brothers & Shadows in the Moonlight (3/19)

*Please read disclaimer on blog

---

~Shadows in the Moonlight Side~

Chikage: So, what are you thinking about?

Hisoka: You see, for Christmas at Guy’s bar—.

-pause-

Chikage: I see. And your idea right now is?

Hisoka: My first choice was to choose a concept and serve the customers like the Actor’s Café. By the way, I’ve already rejected the idea for poetry reading.

Chikage: I can… tell easily whose suggestion that was.

Hisoka: You work for a trading company, so you’ve met a lot of people and seen a lot of different plans. Do you have any good ideas?

Chikage: …You should start by thinking about why they chose Journey for their Christmas plans.

Hisoka: The reason they chose Journey…

Chikage: It’s because they like Journey they way it is, right? They purposely chose it because they like the atmosphere, customer service, and the drinks there. Making a huge change would miss the point.

Hisoka: …I see. I guess you’re right.

Waiter: Thank you for waiting. Here is your hot chocolate.

Hisoka: Thanks.

Waiter: And here is your seasonal special blended coffee. Right now we’re serving La Magie du Noel… We only serve this during the Christmas season. Please have these with your drinks as well. I hope you relax and enjoy your meal.

Hisoka: It’s gingerbread. It’s not covered in sugar, so even you can eat it, right?

Chikage: It still looks sweet though. And the smell of your hot chocolate is making it worse.

Hisoka: What was the name of your coffee again?

Chikage: La Magie du Noel. It means “the magic of Christmas” in French.

Hisoka: The magic of Christmas—. … “If the falling snow was warm like the sun, and the chimes of the bells ringing through the town were words of love—"

Chikage: “The world would be a kinder place.”

Hisoka: …You remember?

Chikage: Of course. I was told not to forget.

Hisoka: That brings back memories. …Remember, back then—.

*flashback starts*

August: Welcome.

Child A: Hello!

Child B: Which one should I get~.

December: …There’s a lot of customers today even though the Halloween season is over.

April: It’s his fault for making up that “cookies that grant your wish” thing. Who knows when he’s going to get sued.

Child C: Misha! Are you still selling the cookies that grant wishes?

August: Yep. Which colour would you like?

Child C: Pink!

August: Alright, here you go. Do you have a love you want to come true?

Child C: Fufu. I only have eyes for you, Misha!

August: Oh my. What an honour. But alas. Apparently I’m a bad guy who’s going to get sued someday, so it’s better to give up on me.

Child C: There’s no way you’re a bad guy, Misha! Who said that about you?

April: …Don’t go off and exaggerate.

December: …Marshmallows…

April: Oi, how many pieces is that now? It’s your fault that the shop is going to run out of marshmallows.

Child A: Ah~, someone’s angry~.

Child B: He tried to eat them secretly, but he got caught!

August: He has to do it better next time, right?

Child C: Ahahaha.

-pause-

August: Thanks for your help, you two. We had a super busy day again today.

December: Zzz, zzz…

April: *Sigh*… I’m sure it’s not a good idea to stand out this much.

August: Well, I guess that’s true. But—. A life spent solely stealing, hiding, and being hated gets lonely. Even we can make someone smile, right?

April: Make someone smile, huh… …But more importantly, how long are we going to be this freaking busy?

August: We’re entering the holiday season, so I guess it’ll continue being this busy until the new year.

April: You’re kidding. This is a hindrance to our mission…

August: It’s Christmas already~. What if we go out on a limb and sell cakes this year?

December: I’m down.

April: Oi, you were listening? In any case, customer don’t come to all the way to a candy shop for cake. They’d buy one at a cake shop.

August: You have a point… hmmm…

April: Give up and just sell candy as usual.

August: Oh, I know. That would sell, wouldn’t it?

April: …I have a bad feeling about this.

December: *Yawn*…

---

previous | next

[henswilsons]

lafd updates kissing booth scene 😙

hi hi hello !! i was fortunate enough to get featured on an episode of @dispatchpodcast with the simply wonderful @burnthatbridge and had a truly delightful time, cannot recommend enough. i mentioned i had a few deleted scenes from lafd updates 2 and said “hehe maybe i’ll upload them during christmas”, and then as soon as rachel and i hung up i immediately forgot i’d said that so did not in fact upload them on christmas. anyway so better late than never? hope u enjoy hehe

this is lafd updates 2.5: kissing booth. aka will mia ever stop milking this verse (probably not)

Eddie has served two terms in the army. He has fired guns; he has killed people. He left his wife and his newborn son to do a military tour in the Middle East; he has lost countless people on the job.

And yet, somehow, this is his lowest moment: standing behind a kissing booth, wearing an LAFD shirt two sizes too small and a $5 FOR A KISS! badge.

It makes sense, he thinks resignedly to himself as the next woman steps up the booth. This is probably just karmic retribution for all the terrible things he’s done in his life. He’d thought he’d paid it back, by moving himself and Christopher to a new state where they’ve both thrived, taking a job that focuses on saving people instead of milling them down, but apparently not. Just when he thinks the universe has finished taking its turn laughing at him, he falls through another new, impossibly worse trapdoor of shame.  

He just didn’t realise this one would mean potentially contracting Covid or beard burn.

“Hello,” he says, anyway, because he’s nothing if not a diligent protector of state. Also Buck has promised him the mother of all blowjobs if he cracks eight hundred dollars. “What’s your name?”

The latest woman blinks at him, a little owlishly. “Um, Alice,” she says with a blush. “Hi, sorry, I just can’t believe it’s really you. You’re so handsome in person.”

“Ha, really,” Eddie says, as though ninety percent of the tax-paying public willing to spend their daily latte budget on a smooch haven’t said the exact same thing to him. He’s honestly starting to get a little offended on behalf of his station portrait; he didn’t think it was that bad. At least not the point where people are insultingly surprised by his apparent good looks. Maybe it’s the hair? “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Alice. I’m Eddie.”

“I know,” she says. “I’m a big fan.”

Eddie reiterates: he posted about traffic and sandstorms. “Well, let’s give you your money’s worth.”

Behind manning a kissing booth, probably one of the more mortifying experiences of Eddie’s life had been discussing the parameters of what constituted a five-dollar kiss with his coworkers and captain. It’s good to know that at least two of his top five most humiliating moments have been solidified within a day; economical, probably, even if it means he needs to go into hiding for at least a week. Chimney had begun the team brief with, “Okay, but do you use tongue?” which was how Eddie knew he was in for a long afternoon. Or, the big banner outside the station with MR LAFD UPDATES MAN KISSING BOOTH INSIDE!! had been an inkling, but he’d been mostly optimistic.

“Like French kissing?” Bobby said.

“No one calls it French kissing anymore, old man,” Buck said. “It’s making out.”

“I,” Eddie said, “am not making out with people. I’m going to get the kissing equivalent of rug burn.”

Chimney had looked concerned. “A peck isn’t worth five dollars.”

“I didn’t tell you to charge five dollars per kiss.”

“Uh, if we want to beat out Station 19 for biggest donation, we’re gonna have to pull out the big guns.” Chimney then gestured at him, as though Eddie was in danger of forgetting that the culmination of the rivalry between the 118 and their biggest rivals rested on his shoulders. And tongue, apparently. He’d been having stress dreams for weeks.

“Yeah, you’re probably gonna have to use tongue,” Ravi said, not sounding apologetic at all. “Everyone in my mentions is talking about it.”

Maybe today would also encapsulate the third worst moment of Eddie’s life. If he played his cards right he might be able to hit all five. “About my tongue?” he said, tiredly. Three months ago, he would have been dismayed. He’s older and wiser to the whims of Twitter now; he’s resigned to his fate.

“#LAFDKissingBooth is trending,” Ravi said. “You better mint up.”

Eddie sighed anyway. “I liked it better when you were riding the coattails of my fame.”

“Oh, I still am,” Ravi said, and flashed his phone screen. “I run an LAFD Updates Man Updates account where I mostly just report on everything you’re doing.”

Hen was pretending not to find this deeply hilarious. It was fine; Eddie was used to being betrayed at this point. “Why?”

“Because I’m at, like, sixty thousand followers,” Ravi said. “By the way, everyone sends their best wishes about your defeat in Mario Kart yesterday.”

Buck said, “Ha!” like this was tremendously funny. “Update-caption.”

“Don’t you have anything to say about this?” Eddie said. “We’re dating.”

“And you’re about to make us hundreds of dollars,” Buck said kindly. “If you kiss them the way you kiss me we could probably charge eight or nine dollars for a kiss.”

“Oh, gag,” said Hen, at the same time as Chimney perked a finger up and broached, “Now, that’s not a bad idea.” There had also been a talk about Covid protocols and the implications of a kissing booth in the metropolis of California, as well as an agreed-upon number of seconds a kiss should last (six seconds, which Eddie had fought tooth and nail down from fifteen, what the fuck, Chim) and a loose script Eddie would follow, because apparently money in a box and then a smooch was “unromantic”, or whatever. “It’s the Mr LAFD Updates Experience,” Chimney said, emphasising the words in a way that they probably all started with capital letters, like a board game or bad dating simulator. God, it’s only a matter of time. “We need to generate good press for our charity auction in Christmas so hopefully we can sell off a date with you for over a grand.”

“We could start a farm in the mountains,” Eddie said to Buck. “Raise goats.”

Buck, who was an asshole for still sniggering at him, but also the love of Eddie’s life, said indulgently, “Goats are cool. Do you think we could make our own cheese?”

Their hideaway in the mountains where Eddie does nothing but spend time with his son and boyfriend making cheese and babying goats has kind of been the thing keeping him going through the afternoon. Even now as he leans in to kiss Alice, counting to six in his head (and keeping his tongue in his mouth, thank you), he lets his mind wander a little: pictures Buck in overalls and nothing else, milking cows and chewing on wheat. Mm.

It's not until she pulls away that he realises to his mortification he’s sprung to half-chub. Quickly he quickly slides the donations box in front of him.

Alice wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, looking a little dazed. “Damn,” she says. “If I pay another twenty what will that get me?”

Eddie tries for a smile. “Probably several rounds at Whack-A-Mole and maybe one of my captain’s smash burgers.”

Alice leans forward across the booth. “Just a smash burger?”

Eddie coughs. “Um, well. And Whack-A-Mole.”

“Lady,” someone loudly says in the queue behind her. “You got your turn. Stop holding up the line.”

Alice scowls, but drops twenty dollars in the donations box anyway before disdainfully swanning away. Eddie is sort of pleasantly surprised by this; he busies himself smoothing the bill down, does a rough estimate in his head with the amount of people he’s kissed across the afternoon and reckons he’s probably very near his eight hundred dollar goal, then looks up for his next customer.

And smiles.

“Well, hey there, cowboy,” Buck says, which is a poorly timed choice of words considering the trestle table they’ve got set up is only just covering Eddie’s boner at the thought of Buck murmuring yeehaw into his ear as they slow-fuck against a haybale. “I heard you’re giving out kisses?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. Goat-rearing fantasies aside, he hasn’t forgotten it was Buck’s big mouth that landed him here. “It’s gonna cost you, you know. Five dollars.”

Buck pouts. “I don’t get a boyfriend deal?”

“You’re right. Ten dollars.”

Buck barks out a laugh, but pulls out a ten-dollar bill anyway. “Deal,” he says, tucks it into the box that only yesterday he and Christopher had spent an hour decorating at the kitchen table as Eddie fried gorditas at the stove. He leans forward, bracing his weight on the table with both hands. “So?”

“Well, let me give you your money’s worth,” Eddie recites dutifully, and it’s worth it for the way Buck laughs when he closes the distance, tasting his smile. Kissing Buck is familiar; grounding in a way, amidst the probably hundreds of strangers he’s kissed today. Buck tastes of the candy corn he’s definitely been sneaking behind Hen’s back, of the protein shake he and Eddie had shared on the car ride in; Eddie counts six seconds, but keeps a hand around the lovely curve of Buck’s face, where he can fit his thumb against the pulse in his neck. Buck bites a little at his lower lip; Eddie is on second twelve of fuck it and opens his mouth enough that he can lick his way in, chase out the bubbling laughter.

Behind them, someone wolf whistles.

Abruptly, he pulls away. Buck is still leaning forward, looking kinda dopey, mouth curved in that indulgent little smile of his whenever Eddie fucks up flipping pancakes or holds his hand in public. “Wow,” he says.

Eddie wipes his mouth. “Come again.”

“Oh, I will,” Buck says, who is predictable as the day is long. “Best ten dollars I’ve ever spent.”

He’s such a piece of shit. There’s no one Eddie wants to escape to the mountains to more. “Go help Bobby with his burgers, slacker.”

“And after I’ve made such a generous donation.” Buck leans away, and Eddie catches a glimpse of the people in line behind him, all gaping. Half of them have their phones out. Eddie altruistically lets this be tomorrow-Eddie’s problem. “How much have you raised?”

“With this?” Eddie flaps the latest ten-dollar addition. “I think this makes it eight hundred dollars.”

Buck grins. “Well, how about that, hey.”

“How about that.” Buck still doesn’t move away. Eddie sighs, but it’s mostly (read: all) for show. “What, Buck?”

Quick as whip, before Eddie can blink, Buck leans back in again over the table and pecks him, soft and slow. “Love you,” he says, and then darts off, leaving Eddie blinking after him.

The next person in line looks impressed. “Damn,” they say. “If I pay you ten dollars will you kiss me like that?”

“Sorry, boyfriend toll,” he says, and they good-naturedly snap their fingers. “But hey, nice to meet you. What’s your name?”

[tigreblvnc]

BLUE LOCK MATCHUP EXCHANGE — @waffledforbreakfast

Your match is...

— Charles Chevalier

✦ I'll be honest, there was someone else on my mind, but since your love languages are NOT AT ALL compatible, I quickly dismissed them.

✦ That said, I'll get back to that at the end of your matchup.

✦ SO.

✦ I didn’t hesitate for long, and Charles' face quickly came to mind.

✦ Our little French imp :)

✦ (It always makes me happy to assign characters from my country to people.)

✦ Your relationship in three words: partners-in-crime.

✦ One of my favorite tropes.

✦ So not a love interest. At least, not directly. I see the relationship more like a younger brother and older sister. Like best friends who end up doing all sorts of crazy stuff together because chaos is your definition of fun.

✦ You know Shidou? Well, Charles is like him but smaller, younger, and very French.

✦ (The anecdote about French arrogance is real)

✦ (Sorry, I won’t uphold our alleged elegance any longer)

✦ The main reason I chose him is that when I read your bio, I thought you needed someone who could keep up with your pace, or even be the one to set the pace, while maintaining your interest and knowing how to introduce new things.

✦ And at the same time… it couldn’t be a people pleaser, you know? I think there’s nothing worse for people who need intellectual stimulation. On the contrary, such people tend to seek out original partners who can stand up to them.

✦ So I was looking for a character with enough bite, and who could be more capricious than Charles when it comes to deciding what to do.

✦ Whether he’ll do it or not.

✦ So we have an ENTP x ENFP duo, which is a very interesting combination because these are among the two most introverted extroverted MBTI types. That is, they can easily be mistaken for INTP and INFP, as their cognitive functions drive them to a need for solitude that can be unusual for an extroverted profile.

✦ A quick MBTI note since I don’t often get ENTPs requesting matchups: ENTPs have a fascinating ability to generate a large number of ideas at an insanely fast pace, making them exceptional brainstormers. They excel at challenging ideas, spotting flaws in arguments, and taking an interest in a wide variety of topics that might seem unrelated. By nature, an ENTP is curious, drawn to intellectual challenges, and unafraid to express their opinions, no matter how caustic. You're also independent, often the jokers who enjoy countering others' arguments, sometimes just for the sake of debate.

✦ On the flip side, all these qualities can be hampered by one of your biggest weaknesses: commitment. By definition, an ENTP cherishes their freedom above all else and particularly dislikes feeling confined by contracts or rules. This often leads you to start a million projects but rarely finish them; once a subject loses its novelty, it also loses its appeal. Like many P-type MBTI profiles, you’ve likely considered dozens of different careers, and your resume is filled with varied experiences that seem to have no connection to each other.

✦ The main difference between an ENTP and an ENFP lies in their auxiliary cognitive function, their second: Introverted Thinking (Ti) for the ENTP, and Introverted Feeling (Fi) for the ENFP. For the ENTP, this means they make decisions by asking themselves, "Is it true? Is it rational?" while the ENFP makes decisions by asking, "Do I like this? Does it align with my values?" This is what sets these two seemingly similar types apart, as they function very differently.

✦ And this will also translate into your relationship with Charles! Because, to get back to the point, you will be together for this matchup.

✦ Clown to clown, basically.

✦ "Relatives tell me I’m 'mature for your age' (which I am aware sounds cringe—bear with me here) or that I worry too much for my future." I think that’s the opposite of Charles, who is very focused on the present and enjoys making the most of what’s happening in the moment. I don’t see him as someone who likes to dwell on the past or think about the future. This might sound like a disadvantage between you two, but it’s actually what makes me think that with him, you’d find it easier to focus 100% on the present. "I like to put myself in/create an environment where I can be a bit more impulsive/reckless without having to worry about large-scale/long-term consequences." Overall, it’s with Charles that these opportunities would arise the most easily.

✦ "I’m well aware that I may hurt some by valuing reason over their emotions or thoughts, but that’s not something I intend to change." And that’s great because I don’t think Charles is the type to like a big people pleaser. On the contrary, he matches better with those whose intentions align with their values, even if it’s at the expense of others. This is very evident in his partnership with Shidou, which works incredibly well on the field.

✦ "But enjoying someone’s company is very much a plus, so as long as they don’t get too close, I’m more than happy to keep them around." As I said earlier when explaining how the ENTP works, I sense a fear of commitment because you don’t want to lose your independence or waste your time. You want to keep your options open, to be free to do what you want at any moment—something you think you’d lose by committing significantly to someone.

✦ To me, Charles is a bit of a free electron… until he finds someone he really clicks with; then he can become super clingy, wanting to be with you all the time to do stuff, have fun, pass the time. I don’t see him liking being alone for long, or if he does, he needs to be deeply engrossed in something. He’s kind of the representation of the arrogant little brother—endearing yet stubborn. A miniature version of you, and I think your independence could serve as a model for him to follow. To put it simply, he imitates you in being free.

✦ Well, he doesn’t listen much to Loki either, who’s supposed to be his coach.

✦ But maybe he’ll listen to you.

✦ Maybe.

✦ "Although I think I’m capable of being a good person, I suppose it depends on how happy I am in the relationship… I’m still figuring things out :’)." I wonder if this phrase is also related to your dislike of committing to a relationship: you’re afraid of giving too much and the other person not giving as much in return, being less invested. I don’t think that would be much of an issue with Charles. Honestly, I see him being able to reciprocate everything you mentioned in the actions you take to maintain your relationships, and I’m especially thinking about sending silly memes at 3 a.m., sharing IG reels, TikTok videos of people dancing in their bathrooms, and that sort of thing. Typically, when you see something dumb on social media, you send it to each other.

✦ "OMG I was just about to send you the same thing!!!!"

✦ Honestly, I think Charles is a big SMS spammer, even at the most ungodly hours of the night.

✦ 30-minute voice messages that make no sense :)

✦ Stickers and gifs.

✦ He’s the first to suggest a night out. In fact, I think staying cooped up at home deeply bores him, you know? He’s the kind who needs to be kept busy 24/7, or else he makes you pay for it a thousand times over.

✦ A gremlin, basically.

✦ "His hobby is surprising anyone or saying something weird just to see the reaction to it ('Doesn't matter if you hate me!')." It speaks for itself.

✦ "I do like straightforwardness." Can we please remember this panel and the fact that Charles bluntly says to Loki, "I’m bored, let me out of here." There’s nothing more direct than Charles. In fact, from the moment he’s bored, it’s like he loses all his skills.

✦ He needs structure, but not just any structure.

✦ Charles is still young, so he needs a figure who can serve as a role model and mentor, someone who has enough interest in his eyes to push him to give his best, which he tends not to do even under the supervision of Loki, who is a world-class player. I don’t think it’s a matter of skill but rather of mentality. Charles doesn’t thrive under constraint but under freedom.

✦ Considering this meme, which I (love) see applying to the two of you, Charles is clearly a pocket-sized kitten capable of scratching at any moment.

✦ "Festive holidays! Seeing all the Halloween / Christmas / Valentine’s /etc. decorations makes me happy :3." It’s still too early on my blog to post Halloween and Christmas headcanons, but Charles is typically someone who prefers to have fun rather than work, you know? A day spent without having fun is a wasted day for him. I also think his taste in decorations can be questionable at times, but that’s what makes decorating together so much fun. Even if people tell him, "Those colors don’t go together at all!!" he doesn’t care—he likes it, so he does it anyway. And it makes him laugh even more if you approve of his particular tastes.

✦ "Heavy on Acts of Service (both giving and receiving). Like receiving physical affection too." Now we get to the part where I eliminated the first contender that came to mind :D To me, the ultimate love language of someone is the opposite of how they present themselves to others. So someone like Charles, who does whatever he wants and hates following orders from others… would do the opposite with someone he really loves.

✦ That is, he’d be the one wanting to do things with and for you. He doesn’t ask because it’s embarrassing, but he has a great memory when it comes to things that really interest him. And because there’s this need to be validated by the person he holds in high esteem (somehow), he always wants to succeed in his goals to show off in front of you, to show you he’s got what it takes and that he’s just as strong as you.

✦ Beneath the sibling rivalry airs, there’s a mutual desire to prove your worth to each other, and that’s also how you show each other your respect. It’s never very direct, but your actions speak louder than your words.

✦ And because words aren’t Charles’ thing at all, he much prefers to show you what he thinks of you with surprise hugs, shoulder taps, and innocent, childish pranks. He’s still just a kid, and there’s nothing more sincere than them when it comes to showing affection.

✦ Typically, he climbs on you to get your attention and blocks your view of the TV because "PLAY WITH ME, EGG!!!!"

✦ So yes, physical contact 100,000%. And Charles loves head scratches in his blond, well-coiffed hair. He doesn’t let others touch him because others are boring, you know? But you’re not boring. On the contrary, you’re actually really awesome to him. And when others try to convince him otherwise, he either jumps at their throat or throws rotten tomatoes at them. France loves you guys.

✦ But there are also other things on which you are particularly compatible.

✦ "Cancer" I have good news! Charles is a Pisces. This is a combination that works like magic, as it often does with signs from the same element. To put it simply, your way of functioning is similar—there's a deep sensitivity behind your insolent and carefree exterior. In fact, you've both developed a shell of indifference to only grant your trust and favor to a very select few. Since Charles is still young, he isn’t fully aware of this yet, and it’s funny how his growth reminds you of your own.

✦ I’m not quoting the more personal parts of your bio because the blog is public, but I like to imagine that Charles' family situation isn't necessarily stable, like maybe his parents are pretty lax or don't realize their son's potential, you know? His relationship with Shidou makes me think he needs an older brother or sister figure around him to offer that chemistry, that joy in playing that his parents can’t quite inspire in him. It even seems like football bores Charles a bit, as long as there isn’t someone on the field who pushes him to blossom because they understand his way of playing, his way of being. Charles is a character who needs a partner.

✦ So… Yes, clingy, but that's because without it, he has no motivation to grow. To improve and become a better person.

✦ We all know that children evolve differently depending on their surroundings: the fact that your presence has a major impact on his growth, both morally and psychologically, gives you a responsibility that you might not like. You might even outright deny it, judging by some parts of your bio, and at the same time… Well, it's the same for you: if someone hands you a significant project that requires investment, as an ENTP, your nature might push you to decline the offer because you value your freedom too much to commit. But by breaking this well-oiled defense mechanism, you too can experience exponential growth. It's by stepping out of your comfort zone that you create something massive and impactful.

✦ "I see no problem in arguing with my parents (not the scream yelling stuff, the 'ur wrong' stuff)." And I think there's little that amuses Charles more than watching your verbal sparring with your folks. Like… He's hidden behind the couch, giggling into his hand, you know? And once you're done fighting, he jumps on you, laughing and saying, "Nooo way, you didn't!!!" But yes. You did.

✦ Actually, I think you two have known each other since childhood, and that you're the older sibling Charles has always dreamed of.

✦ Football probably came into his life naturally to fill the boredom, the emptiness, the school he never liked.

✦ And you arrived in his life like magic, and it clicked right away because he quickly realized you wouldn’t put up with his arrogance and the fact that he never listens to anyone.

✦ Charles listens to rebels.

✦ The people who are said to be bad.

✦ Naturally, he started following you, wanting to replicate your habits. Dressing a bit like you, adopting the same tastes... And then completly denied it because it was cringe. But the fact that everything you did was cool: so he wanted to do it too.

✦ What motivates him to play? Knowing you’re in the stands watching him.

✦ He acts like he doesn’t care or like he hasn’t noticed, but his eye regularly glances at the stands to see if you’re watching.

✦ And when you disappear, even just for two minutes to get something to eat, all his motivation evaporates, and he switches to "I’m bored" mode.

✦ Then he lights up again when you reappear.

✦ Actually, Charles clearly has two modes of functioning: when you’re there, and when you’re not.

✦ He’s skipped far too many classes to be with you.

✦ Pretty much all subjects bore him at school; in fact, there isn't a single teacher who can make him want to learn. That said, I like to think that because it’s you, he listens more often. He looks at you. He shows some interest, even if it fades too quickly. But the fact that he tries a bit harder when you’re around is already proof of growth.

✦ He tries.

✦ He tries sometimes.

✦ Typically, when he doesn’t get something in class, he asks you first.

✦ Which can lead to certain issues, like relying too much on you and no longer trying to understand things on his own because it doesn’t interest him enough.

✦ I imagine at that point you might brush him off, and he gives you those puppy eyes to convince you to do things for him.

✦ You bounce the ball back and forth to each other.

✦ "I don’t get it." "I don’t want to." "How about we go play instead?"

✦ There’s also something particular about Charles, and that’s the fact that he likes his unpredictability. He’s not someone who seeks to be understood or to have others empathize with him. On the contrary, it’s the fact that no one can predict his movements and thought patterns that makes him so good at football. I think it’s a quality in him that he loves and that you can nurture.

✦ It’s something that Loki tries to do…

✦ … but, well.

✦ Rebel without a cause, as they say.

✦ "Can I copy your homework?"

✦ Deep down, he’s still just as insufferable.

✦ Okay, I'm going to write Halloween headcanons anyway.

"Chaaaaarles!"

"What, Egg?"

"Don’t call me that!"

"It’s your name, EGG!"

"Charles? Halloween is coming up. Do you want to carve a pumpkin with me?"

"Huuuh? Why?"

"We’re going to put them in front of the house and around."

"Why not inside?"

"We’ll put some inside too, but I’ve got other things planned."

"Like what?"

"A cauldron with skulls."

"Cooool. I’ll watch you do it."

"We’re going to do it together, Charles."

"Egg?"

"What?"

"Are pumpkin cakes good?"

"I don’t know, I’ve never had any."

"I want to make them. Make me some food."

"Charles?"

"What?"

"What are you doing to your pumpkin?"

"A smile! It’s a cat, but in a pumpkin. Isn’t it cute?"

"It looks like you."

"EGG!!!"

"WHAT???"

"LOOK!!!!!! They’re selling waffles over there!! I want some, I WANT SOME!!!"

"What are you getting on top?"

"With chocolate, lots of chocolate, and whipped cream, and strawberries."

"Not bad."

"Yeah. It looks like you."

A word about your match: The first contender was Nagi, and you probably know as well as I do that act of services isn’t really part of his love language. That said, the fact that he’s lazy makes him capable of clinging to the first person who comes along; you could say it’s a way of showing physical contact. But clearly, I didn’t see him as capable of providing enough stimulation, even though Nagi is the least people-pleasing character in the entire series. I think Charles offers more twists, complicity, and challenge for you.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | INTERESTED IN A MATCHUP EXCHANGE? CHECK THIS.

[archivalofsins]

Me at Kotoko's third interrogation question-

"Reading comprehension is piss poor."

Q.02 Can you speak any languages other than Japanese?

Kotoko: English. If just a simple conversation level counts, then also Chinese and Korean.

Boy howdy I wonder what she could be using simple conversation level Chinese and Korean for? It defintely can't be for what it says on the fucking tin.

Let's ask,

Q.03 What is the reason you learned Chinese and Korean?

Kotoko: Chinese was simply because a lot of people spoke it. Korean was because I had learned taekwondo prior to that.

Oh at least we know Kazui was right and she does know taekwondo I guess.

20/07/09

Kotoko: Kazui, you do martial arts right. ……what type? Judo? Kazui: Ah, my main is…… judo, and kendo. I also know a little bit of karate. You must have some martial arts experience too, right, Yuzuriha-chan? I can tell by looking. Hmm… probably a combat type…… I’m guessing not karate…… is it taekwondo? Kotoko: ……I’m not telling you. Stop ogling me like that. It’s gross. Kazui: I-isn’t that a bit unfair?

But Gunsli shouldn't you be happy you're the one who brought up the whole Chinese and Korean being languages people training to be cops in Japan learn. Along with Taekwondo being a form of martial arts that could fall under other martial arts that one could learn to become an officer and Kotoko said she learned Taekwondo prior to beginning to study Korean. Which would align with-

Look I just want to know something new not get confirmation for things I could have and did just see with my own eyes. Far before this.

Then to make the situation worse English a language she admits to having a better grasp of than both Chinese and Korean just goes unquestioned. Like oh well knowing English is normal of course she would want to learn English. That's only reasonable. No, it's not. Even though English is taught in some schools within Japan it's about the same as most schools in the US teaching Spanish or schools in the UK teaching French.

Just because it's taught doesn't suddenly mean the populace has a fluent grasp of that language. So, I find it difficult to not be like why were Chinese and Korean singled out? When she knows a whole other ass language that is just as unnecessary in the area in which she resides?

ClassTracks- How Many People Speak English in Japan?

World Population Review 2024

I really want that at any level part of the second image to sink in. Which means out of those estimated to speak English in Japan not all of them would be considered fluent in it or even at the same level Kotoko reports herself being at with Korean and Chinese.

So, why was English excluded from this question? Despite it being the language, she states she knows without any hesitance and better than the other two she's asked about here. Why the fuck were Chinese and Korean singled out exactly? Why did she learn English. Who knows that wasn't in the question so who cares honestly.

Not even going into this Nippon article that explains the English proficiency in Japan is on the decline. From December of 2023.

So, pushing to the side that her answer when she was asked what languages she knew already implied she learned Chinese and Korean to speak to others. Why the fuck does she know English- Why not ask for clarity on all three languages she has stated knowing instead of singling out the other two. This question is so fucking weird. On top of not really telling us anything that we didn't already know or wasn't already heavily implied.

While somehow being incredibly iffy on top of that. Because asking about her learning these other two languages but not English implies that learning English is implicitly normal and should not be questioned. When it isn't and it never has been, especially when it is not the native language of the country one lives in.

Learning a language is expensive, difficult, and time consuming. Especially when it's not one that is actively used within one's environment. Her knowing English should not have gone unquestioned because it's a privilege to learn a language outside of one's native one. It's a privilege to have access to resources that allow you to do that. Especially taking into account literacy in general isn't that good globally.

Like I don't know what's not understood about this but being able to read in itself is a privilege. Being able to read a privilege what no everybody can- Here's the US statistics on that.

On average, 79% of U.S. adults nationwide are literate in 2024. 21% of adults in the US are illiterate in 2024. 54% of adults have a literacy below a 6th-grade level (20% are below 5th-grade level). Low levels of literacy costs the US up to 2.2 trillion per year. 34% of adults lacking literacy proficiency were born outside the US. Massachusetts was the state with the highest rate of child literacy. New Mexico was the state with the lowest child literacy rate. New Hampshire was the state with the highest percentage of adults considered literate. The state with the lowest adult literacy rate was California.

The National Literacy Institute

Illiteracy is a problem everywhere.

NHK World Japan Why linguists are worrying about literacy in Japan (2019)

For a plethora of reasons at that. So, of course I find it odd for one of these languages to just go unquestioned like that. Even as someone who only speaks English, I find that incredibly weird. Plus, as we've shown it's not exactly common to know English fluently in Japan either. It's not really common for people without a certain level of privilege or connections like family to teach them to know more than one language. Especially for a language as difficult and finnicky as English but that went unquestioned.

Like what the hell is up with this question. I can't even find a silver lining to this. This question is just... Well, it's a question that was asked, I guess.

[onekeii]

9:28pm. lee felix

pairings: lee felix x fem!reader

genre: romance, fluff

warnings: mentions of food, reader struggles to eat, reader is having a bad day, not proofread

word count: 900

a/n: my friend was feeling a little down today so i quickly wrote this for her <3 we all need a little lee felix in our lives

masterlist

reblog if you enjoy!

It was Monday again. You followed the same routine you do every day. You hit snooze two times, finally growing sick of falling in and out of sleep and rolling out of bed on the third ring. Your morning shower doesn’t wake you up like you thought it would, only making you miss your bed even more after you step out into the cold. Not just your bed, but Felix’s too.

You wished you could stay there all day, wrapped up in his arms as he pulls the blanket over the two of you, hiding you from the harsh world you would soon have to step in to. As you pass him on your way to the kitchen, it takes all your strength to lightly nudge him awake.

“Felix, wake up, I’m going to make breakfast,” you coo, wincing when he scrunches up his face.

You hated doing this every morning, pulling him out of his peaceful slumber. But if you didn’t, he would be late for work. It was just another Monday – you both had lives to get on with. Groaning, he stumbles out of bed with his eyes shut, mumbling a quick good morning before disappearing into the bathroom.

Breakfast was just another variation of French toast. You both ate in silence, mentally preparing for the day ahead. Prodding at your toast with your fork, you eventually let it fall to the plate with a clatter and take it away, scraping what you didn’t eat – most of it – into the bin.

“Are you not hungry?” Felix asks, eyebrows furrowed with concern, “You’ve got a long day.”

“I just didn’t feel like it today – I’ll grab a snack on the way there.”

He’s still suspicious, but trusts your judgement. He doesn’t say another word on the matter. When he’s done, he walks you to the bus stop, kissing you goodbye on the cheek before heading for his stop, which was in the complete opposite direction. You always reminded him that you could make it to the bus stop on your own, but he insisted on walking with you anyway.

“If it means we get to spend an extra few minutes with each other, I’ll take it,” he pointed out.

Those extra few minutes were usually enough to prepare you for the day. Not today, though.

Your morning was spent staring at your unread emails. There were always so many on a Monday. Why do people email over the weekend? You held your head in your hands. Four hours later and you still hadn’t responded to a single one. When your boss checks up on you at lunch, she smiles at you pitifully and allows you to take the rest of the day off, believing your lie about having a migraine.

You did not have a migraine. You still felt like crying, though, and you almost did on the bus home. The bright lights of the office and the ticking of the clock only made you feel worse, reminding you of every passing minute that you spent staring at your screen.

When you finally got home, you crawled back under the bed covers almost immediately. You had been thinking of this all morning, but it didn’t feel right. The covers were cold, and your boyfriend’s body next to yours was missing. You check your phone, wondering if he’s updated you about his day, eager to feel his presence even a tiny bit.

[Felix] i’m sorry, but i have to work late today

[Felix] i was really looking forward to your cooking tonight, too

[You] it’s okay, i came home early anyway

[You] i didn’t feel too well

[Felix] i’ll be back as soon as i can

[Felix] take care of yourself. for me, okay?

Putting your phone down, you decide to pass the time until Felix’s, now postponed, return by sleeping.

When he finally returns, it’s already 9:28pm. You’re sat up in bed, in the same position you have been for hours, biding your time by watching any random video that was recommended to you. This one was an analysis on a movie you had never even heard of before.

The door slowly creeks open, his head popping out from between the crack to check on you. He says nothing, only sticking his tongue out and pulling a silly face. You laugh for the first time all day. Satisfied, he shuts the door and returns a couple minutes later with a mug in his hands, hot steam escaping from the top. He waits for you to sit up before carefully handing it to you.

“Hot chocolate?” you ask, trying to make out what the drink was from the smell, your vision hindered by the darkness surrounding you.

“For the prettiest girl in the world,” he smiles, closing the blinds, which you had been meaning to do since you came home.

He crawls under the covers from the bottom end, peeping his face out from the top with a boo! You scoff, but he just grins.

“Made you smile.”

“You always make me smile.”

He rests his head on your chest and wraps his arms tightly around you, careful not to nudge you too much that you spill your drink. Your day ends with everything in your world put right – Felix’s restful figure snuggled up to you, his head rising and falling on top of your chest with every breath you take.

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