#also i think part of this also has to do with the fact that i have so much shit to work through FOR MYSELF

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Imagine Being Isekai'ed into KPOP DEMON HUNTERS. (part 5)

This one is kind of Jinu orientated! Welcome to the debut chapter of Soda Pop! Please enjoy :3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

‘Okay, what's the big deal? Also, you were eavesdropping on me?’ Y/N pointed an accusing finger at Rae, who annoyingly did not look a single bit guilty.

‘I wanted to make sure you were safe.’ 

‘I was safe. How do you think I’ve been surviving this entire time before you guys came along?’ Y/N threw up her hands in indignation. ‘In fact, the most danger I’ve been in was when you guys tried to take my soul. Remember that?’

The boys collectively winced, knowing she was right.

‘She has a demon voice. She caused damage to the Honmoon, your friend is dangerous.’ Rae walked forward, taking her arm and pulling her toward the kitchen island

‘Rumi didn’t do it on purpose, she was scared and confused. She would never hurt me.’ Y/N sat down to Rae’s ushering. ‘What, what is-?’

‘It’s some sokkoritang. (Ox Bone Soup) You haven’t eaten.’ Jinu scooped up a bowl of rice from Y/N’s barely used rice cooker. She couldn't even remember if she bought it or it came with the penthouse.

‘I made it, so eat up.’

Y/N picked up her spoon, as Jinu placed a bowl of rice in front of her.

‘Thank you…’ She stared down at the bowl, stunned at the unexpected kindness.

‘We need you to be functional so we can steal Huntr/x’s fans.’ Jinu explained hurriedly, his cheeks coloured with a pretty peach colour. Luckily for him, this went unnoticed by Y/N, who was digging into her meal.

The soup was perfectly seasoned, flavourful and balanced.

How long had it been since Y/N actually had homecooked food? At least in this world, it had been months since she was able to have any, being on a world tour with the Huntr/x girls. It was a simple luxury she had since abandoned for convenience.

‘This is… It was amazing. Thank you Jinu.’ Y/N finished, standing to put her bowl in the sink. The rest of the Saja boys were rehearsing their song in the living area.

‘It was nothing.’ Jinu breathed out, as if a weight had been lifted from him. ‘Before things got really bad… I would help my mother cook.’ Jinu took Y/N’s bowl, placing it in the sink as he turned on the tap.

‘But that was four hundred years ago.’ He finished, tone hardening.

‘The food was amazing, you’d make a wonderful house wife Jinu.’ Y/N joked, leaning against the countertop next to Jinu as he washed the bowl. She could feel the unease, radiating off Jinu’s being.

‘Yeah?’ He smirked, shaking off the excess water from his hands. ‘You gonna find me a suitable husband?’ 

‘Hmm, I don’t know anyone willing to marry a maiden with such, attitude. I’m afraid we’re the only people who can put up with it.’ Y/N gestured to herself and the Saja Boys.

‘Is that so?’ Jinu hummed, gazing at Y/N forlornly as she nodded approvingly at the boys who were nailing their choreography.

‘Jinu, I get that you’re worried I might run off or that I’ll stop writing for you. But you can’t send-’

‘They all wanted to.’

‘Jinu…’ Y/N exhaled, turning to face the man, who at least this time, looked slightly guilty. ‘I have your number. You don’t have to send someone to look after me.’

‘Okay…’ He refused to meet her eye, staring at a blank spot on the wall to his left.

‘Although, I don’t mind the tiger. It’s so cute.’ Y/N gave him a forbearing smile. 

‘Yeah?’ Jinu grinned, face lighting up. ‘Did you see it’s-’

‘Tiny hat? Did you make it for the tiger?’ 

‘Yeah, but my bird keeps taking it.’ Jinu summoned the tiger with a flick of his hand, said creature appearing out of her floor.

‘Oh my goodness, hello there sweetheart!’ Y/N cried out, kneeling in front of the curious tiger.

‘Who is she calling sweetheart?’ A voice replied from the living space, sounding irate.

‘Oh, it’s the tiger.’ Another voice answered, footsteps shuffling toward the kitchen.

‘Oh, you precious little thing.’ Y/N splayed her hand, palm side up. The tiger gave a pleasant growl, rumbling as it butted its head against Y/N’s hand.

‘It’s cute but not that cute.’ Beom pouted, crossing his arms.

‘What do you mean?’ Y/N pouted in return. This baby is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, arent’cha?’ Y/N gave the blue tiger scratches underneath its chin.

‘Alright, you’ve got to sleep. Our debut is tomorrow and you need to be there.’ Jinu, waved his hand, causing the tiger to begin to sink back into the ground. The creature let out a downcast rumble in protest.

‘Aw..’ Y/N protested, waving goodbye to the equally disappointed creature. ‘Wait, why do I have to be there?’ 

‘So I have someone to focus on. You don’t want me to get stage fright, do you?’ Rae smirked, leaning toward Y/N’s face.

‘Hey, hey, what did I say about fake flirting.’ Y/N laughed, pushing away Rae’s face with a guiding hand.

‘Who said it was fake.’ Rae grumbled quietly under his breath, retreating toward a spinning chair.

‘Anyways, I will go to sleep. But only because I wanna go grocery shopping tomorrow. There’s this new snack I’ve been wanting to try.’

‘Oh, you mean this one?’ Rae held up a bag of the very snack that Y/N had been craving.

‘What, how?’ She spluttered, reaching towards the packet.

‘I saw you look at it twice when you were buying Kimbap with the demon hunter.’ Rae dangled the packet above her head, keeping it just out of reach.

‘Hey! I thought you bought it for me!’ Y/N jumped, swiping at the bag.

‘I did, but you gotta promise you’ll come to our performance tomorrow.’ Rae smirked, waving around the snack bag teasingly.

‘Ugh, Jinu, make him give it to me.’ Y/N pouted, pointing at Rae angrily.

‘You gotta promise.’ Jinu laughed, a tender heat spreading through his chest as he watched Y/N swipe at Rae. The way his friends got along with their new writer didn’t go unnoticed by him. To be honest, it was actually endearing to some degree. Like he and his friends had gotten a new pet.

‘Fine.. FINE I’ll be there so lemme-’ Y/N leapt, finally snatching the bag out of Rae’s hand, falling back into Mystery’s arms, almost collapsing on the floor.

‘Oops, sorry Mystery.’ Y/N stood, with the purplehaired man’s help.

‘Just Min, is fine.’ The soft spoken man replied, seemingly checking for any injury as he spun her around slowly. 

‘Alrighty, Y/N you go to bed. The rest of us will continue our rehearsal. We’ll be quiet, we promise.’ Abel placed his hands on Y/N’s shoulders, guiding her to her room as the rest of the boys stood up, beginning their stretching routine.

‘Goodnight everyone!’ Y/N called out, looking behind her.

‘Night Y/N!’ ‘Sleep well!’ ‘Sweet dreams Y/N!’ ‘Night.’ The boys chorused, while Abel walked her to her room.

‘Are you guys ready?’ Y/N opened her bedroom door, walking into her room.

‘Yeah, pretty much. We just need to make everything a little sharper. Otherwise, we’re pretty much perfect.

‘Thats great! Y/N smiled, pulling out pajamas from her closet.

‘Here, gimmie that.’ Abel tugged Y/N’s snack bag. ‘What are you gonna do, eat it in your sleep?’

‘Hey, I so could!’ Y/N laughed, releasing her hold on the food. ‘Now turn around or get out. I need to change.’

‘I have a question.’ Abel turned to face the bedroom door, closing his eyes for good measure.

‘Yeah?’

‘Has what happened to me, happened with any of the other boys?’ 

‘You mean that weird light that made your patterns shine?’ Y/N pulled her pants up, letting the elastic snap around her waist. ‘Yeah, actually when you guys went to go get me breakfast this morning, Beom and I had a chat.’

‘And?’

‘Well, I made this pattern shine, I touched his shoulder when we were talking about the deal he made with Gwi-ma.’ Y/N recounted, sliding herself into bed.

‘Huh, y’know he doesn’t really talk about it much?’ Abel twitched, wanting to face Y/N. 

‘You can turn around now. But, no I didn’t. I guess, at that moment I just felt so…’ Y/N trailed off, trying to recount her emotions and convey them into words.

‘I wanted to help. I didn’t want Beom to let Gwi-ma take credit for his talent.’ 

‘So it can just be anywhere.’ Abel hummed, leaning on Y/N’s doorframe. ‘I see.’

‘I mean, I still don’t know how to control it. I touched Rae’s hand today but nothing happened.’ Y/N shook her head, pulling the comforter to her chest.

‘Mm, sounds like there needs to be intent behind those touches.We can talk more about it tomorrow. For now, just sleep.’ Abel nodded, stepping back and beginning to close the bedroom door. ‘Sleep tight.’

‘Night Abel.’ Y/N closed her eyes as the demon switched off the lights, easing the bedroom door shut.

–

‘You’re sure she was part demon?’ Jinu inquired, as Abel walked back into the living space.

‘Positive.’ Rae nodded, the group sitting in a circle formation not unlike a formal meeting. ‘If her patterns weren't enough, she had a demon voice.’

‘That shockwave was caused by her?’ Mystery leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

‘Yes.’

‘She weakened the Honmoon.’

‘Is Y/N safe hanging around them?’ Beom picked at a loose thread on his sweater. 

‘We’ll keep an eye on her. I’ll send Derpy and Sussie to check on her.’ Jinu finalised, nodding his head.

‘You just had to show her you were following her, didn’t you Rae?’ Abel snickered, nudging the taller man with a playful elbow.

‘She was shivering. What was I meant to do? Let her freeze?’ He rolled his eyes, face slightly flushing a pretty pink.

‘Alright, let’s get back to work. Don’t forget, we’re here to steal Huntr/x’s fans.’ Jinu clapped his hands, breaking up the playful banter. He seemed troubled, his eyes were unfocused. Jinu was stuck between a rock and a hard place and seemingly with no other alternative.

As Y/N slipped into the realm of the unconscious, the Saja Boys continued their practice well into the early morning. They had finished around five am, deciding that they were ready to perform. All the boys made a brisk trip back to their neighboring apartment building to change.

Jinu however, stayed behind.

His reasoning?

‘I need to make breakfast for her so she doesn’t have an excuse not to come see the performance.’ Jinu shrugged, putting on an apron and rummaging through the fridge.

‘We’ll bring back your performance clothes so you can change after.’ Mystery nodded, patting his friend on the back. 

Jinu nodded, pulling out two eggs from the fridge, placing them into a bowl. 

Yeah, that was the reason he was making her breakfast. Why else would he do something like that? 

‘I need her so she can write more songs. So I can get Gwi-ma those souls, so I can forget.’ Jinu muttered, cracking the eggs into the bowl with one hand. He had already taken out a pan and set it on the stove, now pouring some oil into it.

‘That’s all. That's all it is.’ He shook his head, ‘She means nothing. I don’t care.’ Jinu mumbled, sliding the egg mixture into the pan, watching the edges bubble in the hot oil. A protesting groan, from the metal spatula, being dented from Jinu’s grip.

‘Mm, what smells good?’ A drowsy voice filled the incessant whispering in Jinu’s head, effectively drowning out the unwelcomed voices in his head in an instant.

‘Just some eggs. Sit down, I’m almost done.’ Jinu relinquished his hardened grip on the spatula, using it to separate the eggs from the bottom of the pan. ‘Grab a plate and some bread.’ 

Y/N rubbed her eyes, stumbling half blindly to the cupboard containing all her dinnerware. She pulled out a plate before returning to the table, letting the plate clink against the marble top. 

‘I didn’t buy any bread this month.’ Y/N whined, smushing her face into the tabletop.

‘Yeah, I bought some for you yesterday.’ Jinu turned around, pausing to take in Y/N’s groggy appearance. Her hair was unbrushed, eyes still crusted with rheum on the edges. She was still in her pajamas.

And yet…

Jinu’s chest ached, a mellow pang rushing through his chest, radiating through every fiber of his being.

This.

This homeliness. This domestication. It was something he had since long forgotten, left behind when he abandoned his family to live a cushy life in the palace. Even then he had never felt this much…

Joy. 

‘Heh, nice apron Jinu.’ Y/N giggled, using a fork to cut her eggs in half. ‘Pink suits you.’

Jinu glanced down, realising he still had Y/N’s apron on. 

‘All colours suit me.’ He sniffed haughtily, before pointing at Y/N, ‘And you can’t talk! Look at your pajamas!’

‘HEY I bought these because they're cute.’ She protested, taking a bite of her breakfast.

‘Childish.’

‘Nuh uh!’

The pair dissolved into a fit of giggles, as the elevator doors dinged open, revealing the rest of the boys.

‘Wow, my PJ’s and you apron does not compare to Abel’s crappy Hawaiian print shirt.’ Y/N howled with laughter, leaning back in her chair. Luckily for her, Jinu had caught her again, casually with his arm.

‘It was this, or palm trees…’ Abel sighed, looking down at his shirt. ‘Rae said that I couldn’t wear a plaid one.’

‘Plaid is an abomination. We want them to like us, not judge us for our fashion choices.’ Rae crossed his arms, his yellow chiffon top ruffling.

‘Huh, what will you be wearing Jinu?’ Y/N lifted her head to look at the man still holding on to her waist.

‘Hm, not sure, whatever Rae decided to give me.’

‘Yeah, I have your clothes right here. Unless you wanna debut in a pink frilly apron that's fine by me too.’

‘I’d rather not thank you.’ Jinu picked up the clothes from Rae’s hands and wandered off to Y/N’s bathroom.

‘You better not go through my drawers.’ Y/N called out.

‘I’m looking through 'em right now, I’m rummaging!’ Jinu called back, closing the door behind him

‘So, you guys ready? Excited?’ Y/N stood up, walking towards her bedroom. ‘Lemme get changed, I'll be right back.’

The boys nodded, watching Y/N disappear behind her door.

‘Did you see her pajamas?’ Beom sighed, a tiny smile on his face.

‘Is it weird that I think she’s cute?’ Min hummed, staring at Y/N’s closed bedroom door.

‘I’d think you were weird if you didn’t find her cute.’ Rae remarked, his chin resting on his fist.

They each felt an inexplicable pull towards the girl. As if she was anchoring them to the earth. These were feelings they hadn’t felt in centuries, locked away in a box, buried beneath their shame and fears. They had almost forgotten what it felt like to feel happy. Abel and Beom had forgotten what it was like to be able to have their own thoughts, unpolluted by the soiled words of Gwi-ma.

‘Alright, whose idea was it to put me in pink.’ Jinu raised an eyebrow, as the boys all collectively pointed at Beom.

The youngest let out an unholy screech as Jinu chased him around, chuckling darkly. Y/N opened her door, met with the whining of Beom and teasing of Jinu.

‘Say you’re sorry!’ Jinu laughed, giving a particularly painful noogie to the blue harried boy. They were both on the floor, Jinu had wrapped his legs around Beom's waist, holding him snug.

‘I’M SORRY.’ Beom whined, writhing in Jinu’s grip.

‘Will you ever do it again?’ Jinu held fast, driving his knuckles into Beom’s skull.

‘NOOOOOOO.’ Beom complained. ‘HELP ME Y/N!’ 

Y/N giggled, watching the scene unfold in front of her.

‘You guys are like brothers huh?’ Y/N sat down on her gaming chair, pulling her shoes on.

‘Yeah pretty much.’ Min nodded next to her. ‘Jinu brought us all together, years ago when he found beom.’

‘We don’t have to get into that now.’ Jinu brushed himself off, standing and straightening his clothing.

‘Aw, but I wanna hear the story.’ Y/N slumped down in her chair in protest.

‘Yeah but we have a debut to get to. Here, if our debut goes well, I’ll tell you who's the oldest.’

‘Is it not you?’ Y/N blinked, miffed. ‘You’re four hundred. Beom-ie is two hundred.-’ 

‘Give or take.’ Beom interrupted

‘Yeah, Beom is our youngest.’ Jinu gazed at the blue haired boy with pride, ruffling his hair. ‘He’s our pride and joy.’

‘Hey! I’m gonna have to wear a hat to cover this mess up now.’ Beom sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. Rae handed Beom a yellow beret, seemingly materialised out of thin air.

The group continued their conversation as they packed into the elevator. Y/N continued to guess at everyone’s age but none of the men would confirm her guesses. They found it funny that Y/N was unable to guess their age order correctly.

They reached the plaza as Y/N gave up, stalking behind the boys as they chattered to each other, occasionally teasing the pouting girl.

‘Y/N?’ A deep feminine voice called out. 

‘Huh?’ Y/N turned around, spotting a trio of girls walking out of a bathhouse. ‘Mira, Rumi and Zoey?’ 

‘Hey! You didn’t answer your phone.’ Rumi ran over to Y/N, giving her a hug. ‘I called but you didn't pick up, so I left a message asking if you wanted to come to the bathhouse with us!’ Rumi dragged Y/N toward Mira and Zoey. 

Y/N patted her pockets, searching for her phone.

Damn. She had left it at home.

Each of the girls were wearing somewhat of a disguise.  Zoey was wearing a yellow fuzzy bucket hat, obscuring her face, Rumi was wearing her pink hoodie, the hood covering her signature purple hair. Mira was wearing a black baseball cap, her face adorned by golden circular framed glasses. 

‘Yeah, are you free today?’ Mira gave an amused smile, leaning down to look at Y/N’s face closely. ‘Looks like you slept well last night. That’s good.’

‘Yeah! Wanna hang out with us? We’re taking today off!’ Zoey looped her arm around Y/N’s walking towards the plaza.

Y/N blinked, looking behind her, realising that the men had since disappeared.

'Yeah, we hear a new boy band is having a debut stage today and we wanna go judge them. What was their name. It was something stupid, to do with animals.' Mira chuckled, linking her arm around Rumi's.

'The Saja Boys. Honestly, sounds kinda corny.' Rumi laughed, the four walking toward a familiar beat filling the air.

'Huh, must be here. Look, there's pink mist.' Zoey pointed, leading Y/N and the erst of the girls to stand in the forming crowd.

The familiar beat of Soa Pop began to fill the air, as the pink mist revealed the Saja Boys.

'Don't want you, need you Yeah, I need you to fill me up.' Jinu began singing, spotting Y/N immediately, winking at her.

'Ew.' Rumi gagged, 'These guys are so cliché that it hurts.'

'Did he just wink at you?' Mira smirked, glancing between the boys performing and Y/N.

'Uh... maybe?'

'Oh, he was definently winking at her. They're all looking at her.' Zoey squealed, shaking Y/N excitedly.

'Wow, their song is annoyingly catchy though. It matches their vibe really well.' Mira brought her fingers to her chin, tapping her index finger thoughtfully.

'Huh, the writing style reminds me of you Y/N.' Rumi raised an eyebrow, as the boys continued to sing, blowing heart's out of thin air.

'Uh...'

'Wait, look!' Zoey gasped, pointing at the group. 'They have patterns! Look, you can see them.'

'Demons.' Rumi glowered, seeing under their human visage.

'What do we do?' Mira grumbled, looking at the huntr/x girls.

'They're demons, we just do what we always do. We kill them.' Rumi stalked forward, hands itching to grasp her sword. 'Besides, that one winked at our Y/N and I don't share.'

'Wait Rumi, it's too public.' Mira tugged Rumi back quickly, looking at the decent sized crowed.

'But look, they're coming after the fans. That must be why they're posing as this cringey boyband.' Rumi gestured widely to the boys, who were on a rising platform, decorated as a soda can. The Saja Boys had reached the climax of their song.

'I know, but we have to wait. Otherwise we'll have a swarm of fans questioning us. I don't think even Bobby would be able to cover that up for us.' Zoey mused with narrowed eyes, pulling Y/N behind her shielding Y/N with her body.

As the girls contemplated what to do, The Saja Boys finished their performance, sending one last flying kiss in Y/N's direction.

Rumi growled, watching the interaction.

'That's it for now! See you tonight, on everyone's favourite variety show! The Saja Boys love you!' Jinu flashed a charming smile, before giving Y/N a knowing smile.

The boys disappeared in a puff of pink smoke.

'We are so going to kill those dudes.' Rumi snarled, fixing her hoodie as the group walked back to the Huntr/x tower. 'Y/N do you wanna stay in the tower? We gotta get battle ready.'

'Uh, I actually have to go do the demo for What It Sounds Like remember? Y/N rubbed a hand on her neck nervously.

'Right...' Rumi sighed, smoothing back her braid. 'Okay well call us if anything happens. Actually, call us even if nothing happens okay?' Rumi babbled, swiping her key card at the front opening doors.

'She's right. Those boys seemed to be looking at you. They might try something so call us if you feel anything funny okay?' Mira placed a reassuring hand on Y/N's shoulder while Zoey gave her a hug.

'We'll text you when we send those demons back to where they belong! Maybe we can even record the song today!'

'Alright girls! Stay safe!' Y/N smiled, as the Huntr/x girls walked into the elevator.

'Bye Y/N/N!' The girls chorused, as the elevator doors shut.

Y/N released her breath, 'Oh damn. This is not good.'

Y/N hurried back to her apartment, checking her phone repeatedly.

'So, they wanna kill us tonight huh?' Abel smirked as Y/N rushed past the elevator doors.

'Yeah, I think the purple haired one has a crush on you.' Jinu raised an eyebrow, his face plastered with an unamused smile.

'What?' Y/N blinked.

'How come they get to call you Y/N/N.' Beom pointed at Y/N with his pastel yellow beret.

'YOU GUYS WERE FOLLOWING ME AGAIN?'

Part 6

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[teaboot]

I remember you having a good post on the whole "I'm just a girl" shit and how demeaning it is but now I'm talking to a friend about it and I can't remember any of the points or find it, am I misremembering?

Also you can ignore this half but in case anyone has better counters then I did her arguments are:

- "if people get to excuse boys actions by saying 'boys will be boys' why can't I excuse my actions with 'Im just a girl', I won't care about I'm just a girl unless people start scrutinizing boys will be boys."

- "what does it matter if it's demeaning it's just a joke there's far more harmful things I can't do anything about why should I care."

- "Women are always going to be seen as lesser by men so why shouldn't I make the most of it"

- The statement is somehow empowering by implying that a man being spoken to is less smart than someone who is "just a girl"??

“Boys will be boys” is not so much a redeeming claim as it is a reduction of a person to their base animal nature, and “I’m just a girl” is no better. Are you a person, capable of understanding right and wrong and thereby responsible for the choices you make, worthy of praise when you do well and culpable when you do wrong, or are you no better than an untrained dog that shits on the floor? If you surrender responsibility for your wrongful actions, you surrender responsibility for your good ones as well.

A joke tests the boundaries of what is socially accepted in any given environment. Outrage at racism is absurd to a racist, outrage at sexism are absurd to a sexist. Outside of these circles, the punchlines don’t land, because the assumed truths extant in the reality posited by the joke are not universal. Similar to how puns don’t often translate across languages. Any jokes can be told by anybody, but the jokes we choose to tell can be indicative of the audience we seek to ingratiate ourselves to, and the values we are willing to adopt as our own.

“If women are going to be seen as lesser by men, then why not take advantage?” Interesting question. I’d say that this is very similar to the first argument: To accept the benefits of a posited reality is to accept the expense as well, and by extension, to validate and reinforce the belief. If you aren’t capable of doing better because you are a girl, then anything bad you do is out of your control, and if that is true, then men- so much superior, capable of higher thinking and self-control- are morally obligated to protect you from yourself. Crash your car? Spend your rent money? Of course, you’re just a girl. That’s what girls do. Which is why it would be irresponsible to let you have a driver’s license, or your own bank account or credit card, and if you’re so dangerous to be left alone then of course you shouldn’t be trusted with any kind of important job at all. In fact, it’s be better that you stayed at home, and had a husband to do all these things for you. Until he gets bored or fed up when you don’t behave, of course.

This last one is too stupid to parse.

TL/DR: Accept the consequences of your poor choices as a being worthy of respect and capable of better, or deny them, and trade your life of agency as a free-thinking individual for short-term comfort.

(I do not know which post you meant in part 1, but this topic makes me angry enough to write about it anyways.)

[timmydraker]

On Tim’s nineteenth birthday he had a party with his friends and had chosen to celebrate it at a karaoke bar.

Kon, Cassie and Bart are there in civilian clothes and identities and so are Tim’s old school friends as well as come of his college’s kids, as well as Tam.

Everyone is having fun and while they have alcohol I drinks available, everyone is being mindful to not send it to hard due to Tim only just agreeing to drink before he’s legal.

Naturally, a few of them get competitive and Ives ends up becoming a judge for who wins in certain face offs.

It’s all fun and games until Kon points out that Tim had been spending most of the time taking photos of other people, though admittedly a fair amount are selfies, and insist on everyone watching Tim perform and filming it.

Tim, who’s used to having lots of eyes on him quickly goes from bashful to scheming and everyone gets the performance of their lives.

Tim wakes up with a mild hangover, (hes a good boy who made sure to drink water and eat a lot), and around a dozen missed calls from various family members. He feels out at first before he sees his latest text is from Stephanie saying ‘Handsome and rich and you can sing? Urg why did we break up again?’ She hadn’t been able to make it due to a break out but promised to make it up to him and she always did.

Attached is a link to a TikTok from an account he knows for a fact is one of his friends.

It’s him, standing on the stage with his big pink feather shall, black dress shirt open with glitter visible on his collar bones and a large jacket that defiantly isn’t his likely hanging over his arms. In the video Tim is swaying around happily, cheekily even, while singing ‘I Am A Good Girl’ by Christina Aguilera from Chicago and sauntering around as if he himself is playing her role.

Tim’s face isn’t all that flushed and part of him wishes that wasn’t the case if only because it shows he was sober enough to be fully aware of what he was doing, which is unfortunately true.

Tim is confident in his public appearance and knows how to handle any backlash, it’s the text from his family that are going to make him crawl into a hole and die.

Dick: Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, why are you at a club?

Dick: there better not have been alcohol

Dick: also, unimportant and totally not the most important thing, WHY DIDNT YOU INVITE ME 😭

Damian: You look like a fool, Drake. Alfred has been muttering about Father being a bad influence and is threatening my to kick him out.

Damian: I cannot be sure, but I belive I heard Alfred say ‘your playboy ways better not be swaying that boy to be a nuance like you, young man’.

Damian: Fix this.

Stephanie: ‘why you in the club with people wildin’

Stephanie: get it

Stephanie: like the Meghan the Stallion song?

Jason: why the fuck are you at a club

Jason: don’t think I didn’t see that vodka raspberry in your hand

Jason: answer me you little shit

Jason: I swear to go if you were in crime ally I will loose it

Duke: dude Bruce has such a big worry frown I think I heard a muscle snap

Duke: you’re a really good singer though

Duke: good song choice for a rich brat lol

Duke: that was meaner than I meant for it be sorry!

Duke: still true tho

Cass: drink lots of water and I’ll bring you bat burger in the afternoon xx

Bruce: I’m not angry, you haven’t done anything wrong, but did you have to sing a song about being a rich girl when people complain about us being out of touch enough as it is?

Bruce: I’m not mad though.

Bruce: have you drunk water?

Bruce: also did I see Conner Kent there?

Bruce; why was he there.

Bruce: does he understand the dangers of drinking as a Kryptonian?

Bruce: again, I’m not mad at you, just concerned.

Bruce: I’m mean in a little mad but not because Alfred is yelling at me.

Bruce: you know the Brucie Wayne persona was a farce, I have no doubt about that, but that doesn’t mean you need one.

Bruce: not that you can’t have a good time!

Bruce: please answer Dick is yelling at me now too

Damian: Grayson is now yelling at Father.

Damian: He has called him a whore but I believe that had nothing to do with your provocative dancing. I think he just wants to call father a whore.

Jason: I found the bar.

Bart: heyheyheyheyheyhey! Barry said to warn you that Bruce is making everyone do a course on teaching your kids to be alcohol safe and that even the ones who aren’t parents have to do it too lollolololololol

Jason: I was going to get do something but the woman owning it kept talking about how nice you all were so I feel bad

Dick: I mean you didn’t have to invite me I know it’d be weird to have a 27 year old there but that’s not that old!

Alfred: I shall be around shortly with adequate food. Be ready.

Tim was in for it that was for sure, especially when he saw ‘Tim Drake’ and ‘Thristtrap’ trending.

[penandwind]

Ok so this makes me wonder a lot of stuff, and given how how the Dragon Ball universe is one of my fixations, I want to share how this is puzzling me. So 17 and 18 are (aka Lapis and Lazuli, love the deep cut on the true name) are the only two "androids" (or "artificial humanoids" as it tchnically is translated in Japanese) created by Dr. Gero that don't have fully mechanical bodies. Even Gero himself, aka Android 20 was just a brain controlling a mechanical body. 17 and 18 are unique in a lot of ways, because they actually have very minimal mechanical components, only things within them being their infinite energy reactors, and the self destruct mechanism that has since been removed. (Which means the bluetooth needed for this joke sadly isn't possible, but rule of funny saves it) But that doesn't mean they're regular people with just limitless stamina. Gero basically took their biological makeup and improved/perfected it. He did this both to make them perfect killing machines, but also to prototype the improvements he would use for Cell. The improvements were all suited to make them effectively perfect fighters, massively increased strength, durability, ect. There's even some sources that suggest that they're now fucntionally ageless because of their improved biology.

We know Lazuli/18 has a functioning reproductive system by the fact that she has a daughter later on. In one timeline that is effectively not canon anymore, Marron (her daughter) is a regular human girl. However in the more "canon" timeline, there's a throwaway line from her that suggests that she might grow up to be powerful because of the imprvements made to 18. Why do I bring this all up? Because I want to know if the mad scientist that Dr. Gero is bothered to fix her period cramps. Because think about it, if you're trying to modify someone into a perfect killing machine, having persistent, moderate to intense pain distracting them from a fight seems like a huge flaw that would need to be fixed right? And if that one throwaway line about her daughter being improved means anything, it means he didn't just not touch her reproductive system outright. (Especially since if she housed part of the genetic data that allowed cell to become his perfect form, the only form that is shown reproducing with the Cell Jrs, one would think that would at least be a factor but that gets into some weird speculation teritory). It woudl be logical to say if he's improving every part of her biology, then he would get rid of her cramps.

The only argument that would make sense if he didn't is that he's an old man and just straight up consider cramps were a thing/didn't even know about them. Which, is fair given the shocking amount of older men, even those considered very intelligent that did't know that was a thing. (Though, if you consider the extended canon of who exactly his wife was, she doesn't seem the type to let him remain ignorant of such things.) However, I argue that, the man who had to design Cell, a being combining the genetic makeup of 4-5 wildly different species into a single being, one capable of reproduction itself, the man at least has to have a passing knowledge of human reproduction and the pitfalls therein. Its not a watertight argument, but it would at least stand to reason.

So! If you don't want to deal with period cramps, all you have to do is let an insane scientist kidnap you and experiment on you. If you happen to survive, that'll be at least one less problem you have (and at least one new one, with the whole, bomb thing, but who's counting?).

[moonyvvamp]

been thinking a lot about Rumi being quirky because of the demon dna and highkey feel like she does adorable shit because of it.

Like we know the demon teeth thing and all that but she probably has that trademark autistic ass smile, and looks like toothless trying to imitate hiccup a lot. Jinu probably got practice looking hot but Rumi's been learning on the go, homegirl doesn't know how to smile, she has to take classes.

Whenever the girls need something found, she finds it because she can track their scent using enhanced senses, she uses heavy duty headphones because her ears are really sensitive.

Accidentally breaks things a lot, whenever they need a jar opened or anything Rumi opens it for them. But when Zoey or Mira make something for her she's extra careful about her superhuman strength.

she also appears out of nowhere a lot, jumpscare queen alert, no one can win in hide and seek against her. Their haunted house bits go hard because half the time Zoey is screaming with Mira trying to calm her down because something touched her and it's just Rumi on stealth mode

Rumi can't go to a lot action movies because the stimuli sends her demon genes into overdrive and she just starts seeing everything in 4D and it gives her headaches. With fancy stages it's cool because she knows the elements that go into it, she's focusing on the honmoon and she has her inear to guide her. But what is she supposed to do in a stuffy movie theater in the dark? she kind of freaks out because she can't focus enough to tell the difference between demons and humans there and the girls have to escort her home.

She probably also whispers in their ears a lot. Mira and Zoey are just sitting and here comes Rumi out of nowhere blowing air into their ears and whispering " Let's finish a tub of ice cream " Like a very adorable devil.

And considering the fact that demons are all literally starving and most of their soul portions goes to gwi-ma some part of her is also hardwired to fight tooth and nail for food, especially when she's really hungry. She instinctively pulls bowls closer and stares unnervingly when the girls reach for it and they have to verbally assure her that she can finish it.

On the inverse I think she also gets very protective, like someone talks shit about the girls and Rumi's there with a scary glint in her eyes going " Take it back or else " She isn't sure about the else yet but she looks terrifying enough that they do take it back and beg for forgiveness.

And this is just plain adorable but I love how they confirmed that Rumi is the type to puff out her chest and stand there like a kindergartener who just managed to colour inside the lines. She probably does that a lot too.

[kedreeva]

I think one of the funner things about Kpop Demon Hunters is that the relationship between Rumi and Jinu doesn't HAVE to be read as romance. It can be, of course, and most people will read it that way, and it may be intended to be... but actually it isn't integral to everything else they are, nor to the choices they make. Whether it's romantic or not doesn't change how meaningful it is, and in fact in this case actually feels as if romance would lessen it all.

Let me explain.

Behind a cut because spoilers.

We learn right at the start that Jinu is a 400 year old demon that, according to the demon king, has never - not in /400 years/ - done anything that didn't serve himself. Which is the whole reason he's a demon- because he literally threw his own mother and sister under the bus to go live in the palace.

And for 400 years, he's believed that, well, y'know, he's guilty. Which he is! He did do the thing, and he HAS put himself first for four centuries. But he also believes it is his nature that landed him there, not his choices. And you can't change your nature. The scorpion always stings the frog.

Then this 20-something kid turns up, and everyone's at a fork in the road with her. Either Rumi succeeds and turns the honmoon golden and all the demons are fucked (trapped in the demon world forever with no humans to feed on) or someone stops her and is the savior of the demons. Perfect opportunity to form a demon boy band and wallop the hunters but good at their own game, and if he can leverage it to get something he wants, well, it's in his nature.

At the start, he's totally on board with this plan. Plain as day he's amused that he can get under her skin. He's just fucking around. Like, if he loses he's no worse off than before and if he wins then he gets acclaim and fortune. Literally no downside here. She's just one more human he can destroy to get something he wants. He actually fights her in the bathhouse that first showdown, claws out and everything.

AND THEN.

And then he sees her Patterns, the mark of the demon king on her skin.

He has to RAPIDLY come to terms with the fact that this random-ass human is... actually not human. That she is at least part demon. And she is hunting demons. Which is NOT in a demon's nature. And he's GOT to know more, and he can't do that if she's found out by her friends and has to deal with that (also maybe she'll owe him one for not exposing her).

Because OBVIOUSLY she must just be covering up her true nature for some reason. So he pries, and he teases her, and over and over finds that... actually she's just a good person.

But more than that, she believes he can be a good person. HE knows he can't be a good person - 400 years of history has shown him that, it's in his nature! - but... maybe actually he wants to believe her. Maybe he wants to pretend for a little while that he could be good, if she will lead the way. "I'll make sure the Saja Boys lose tonight," he tells her. Until Gwi-Ma gets to him again, reminds him that he can't be anything else but a demon, that he would have told her the truth if he really thought he could be free if he was himself.

400 years of buckling under the weight of his guilt wins out, and he turns on her.

She's exposed. Her friends reject her. Her fans turn to him and the honmoon dissolves. Even her godmother turns on her. Whens he finds him, she asks him why he did it, and he rejects her, too. He tries to tell her the same thing he was told- she's a demon. He can't change his nature and neither can she, so just give in, because you can't fight it. All he deserves is the suffering he's earned, it's all demons deserve. All she deserves. She has nothing except every reason to turn into a demon and join them. To turn on all the humans who deserted her and serve herself.

And at his final show, he watches from the stage as Gwi-Ma stands tall and proud of brighter than he's been in centuries and mocks her where she stands in the shadows, Gwi-Ma attempts to use her worst fears against her: she cannot save herself, her friends and fans have all seen her for who she truly is, the honmoon she was supposed to turn gold is gone.

And he watches as she agrees.

And he watches as she says none of it matters. It doesn't matter that she's part demon. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks of her. It doesn't matter what has been done in the past- she's going to forge a new honmoon now, she's going to fight back now, she is going to protect others now.

Can you even imagine.

The Good Place had it right: What matters isn’t if people are good or bad. What matters is if they’re trying to be better today than they were yesterday.

She's told him all through the story. You can be good, you can be good, you made mistakes, but you can be good. You can choose to be good. "that's the funny thing about hope, no one else gets to decide if you feel it." And she stands in the shadows and agrees that everything has gone wrong, but she puts her foot and and pushes back anyway because no one else gets to tell her it's hopeless. She made mistakes, but what matters is not those choices, it's the next choices.

And the next choice she makes is to kick Gwi-Ma's ass.

And for the first time in 400 years, this guy does something that isn't self-serving. He puts himself between Gwi-Ma and Rumi. He knows damn well he's not going to survive it. He knows that if he doesn't, Gwi-Ma will reward him for being instrumental to the success of the demons taking over the world and getting rid of the hunters. But he's watched her choose to act in ways counter to her nature, to be who she WANTS to be, and she's told him he can do that if he wants, and this is the last chance he's going to get either way.

So he takes it, and she doesn't tell him she loves him- she tells him she wanted to save him. Part of her had wrapped up his freedom in the definition of success. She needed to save him because "If there's no hope for you, then what hope is there for me?" Saving him had become a part of saving herself. Saving him had become a part of saving the world because she wants him to be in her world- literally, in her world and not the demon world.

But she did save him. She gave him hope. She showed him that he can choose to be good. That his past only matters if he lets it control him. You can't change your past, can't destroy your shame, but you can choose to do better. You can be good NOW.

And he chooses to.

Maybe he doesn't believe he can be good, but maybe he hopes. Maybe he hopes he can give her the chance he didn't get, to be good.

We see the way souls light up. We see how they make connections. The honmoon is all about connection. She's already forged the honmoon anew when she reconnected to her best friends. They forged the shield, and he gives his soul to her instead of Gwi-Ma so that she can forge a blade as strong as both their souls together, and she immediately uses it cleave the demon king in half.

Are you kidding me? That's totally killer imagery.

And right after she went to her godmother and asked to be killed before she hurts what she swore to protect. After we see how she has been told her whole life that what she is, it's shameful and she needs to change to be worth anything. She can only be someone once her patterns are gone.

And he hands over his soul to her because that isn't true. She's someone NOW. She matters NOW. She wanted to set him free, and she did. There was hope for him, and there is hope for her.

idk man, idk. romance is good and all, but "well of COURSE he would do that because they're in love" feels like a cop out. It feels like "of COURSE this would happen because that's the nature of love" in a movie whose whole thing is that a person's choices are more powerful than their nature.

Maybe he was in love, maybe she was. I don't think it matters. What matters is that they both finally chose freedom together. They showed one another how to be free of the thing that has trapped them for so long, and in doing so, saved each other.

[unikhroma]

the spamton puppet-ification thing

spamton. Spamton. once an addison, now a puppet. what the hell is wrong with him and how the fuck did this happen. i know i've mentioned my theory but i didn't put down the supporting details so here it is

when asking him about himself, spamton says:

he tells you that he's gone through a transformation, and the way it happened was through meeting someone/something. the thing with unintelligible laughter wasn't something that we could parse that well back in chapter 2.. but now with chapter 3 and 4, there's something that reoccurs, particularly in chapter 3, that has a distinct, distorted laugh:

i highlighted these particular appearances since it laughs in all of these

i've said it before but i don't think it's a coincidence that spamton resembles this thing. i feel that it's incredibly likely that FRIEND was who spamton had a "communion" with, and is the reason why he now looks like it.

it's stated that eventually he stopped going to his own room in queen's mansion and instead just the basement, which is where we first saw FRIEND.

the way that the swatchling mentions that he became obsessed with the NEO robot when things were getting bad suggests that he was there prior for something else.

in the spamton sweepstakes Q&A, he says that he looks different from the addisons because he started doing what gets censored as "the spamton method" every day.

the way those facts line up, it seems to imply that this method had something to do with FRIEND. now what exactly it did to him is a different story... i just don't think we have the pieces yet.

also. there is just . something about the way the pipis tenna owns makes these strange distorted noises if you keep it in the inventory and stay still for too long that sounds a little too similar to FRIEND's laugh for comfort. i'm telling you people there's other lore going on here

additional things that suggest that the glasses might not just be glasses and are permanently part of his face:

-jevil's reward items are the jevilstail, which is his actual tail, and the devilsknife, which is his weapon. spamton NEO's reward items are the puppet scarf, which is likely made out of the wires that held him up, and the dealmakers, the glasses he seems to have. since the jevilstail is jevil's actual tail, it's possible that the dealmakers are actually part of spamton.

-the spamton plushie's glasses are glued to his face while the ralsei plushies' are set like regular ones. the spamton nendoroid has nothing underneath his glasses which i find suspect as well.

-the paper mache spamton face in the susiezilla minigame has its eyes covered by a censor bar.. despite the actual sprites having eyes on them. idk it just makes me wonder if there's a meta reason for it and that's to put emphasis on his eyes

big shot side note: the transformation seems to have something to do with him becoming a big shot.

tenna mentions that spamton was going to tell him how he became a big shot, but this had to have happened pre-transformation because tenna doesn't recognize him in his current puppet form. it seems to suggest that, if spamton continuously meeting with FRIEND is what made him become a puppet, it also has something to do with the whole big shot thing.

[jan-ala]

i think it's a product of two things.

a deep passivity that has defined the west for at least my entire lifetime, probably rooted in the fact that things have largely been okay for our entire lives without any effort. our ability to organize or even imagine a better future became vestigial and withered. supporting a cause means "being cool with it".

we are far too comfortable and easily distracted. getting an adult to learn anything, even something that was historically a leisure activity like exercise, music, art, writing, etc. is kind of an impossible task. even when they're motivated they give up in two weeks. part of it is time and general exhaustion, but way more of it is that the alternative is to just hook an internet-powered dopamine IV drip directly into your bloodstream. learning something that isn't for leisure and won't even end with that dopamine rush isn't going to happen without pressure and like "training".

social media has influenced a lot of people and taught a lot of people about politics and economics. but it also exacerbates those two problems. what do you do after you watch that youtube video? "what do you mean? i already did the thing! i believe the right thing now, so i'm free to do nothing". "idk i'll click the next video in the algorithmically-fed feed?"

i see a lot of people in the notes blaming the education system, but like. our schools are okay, depending on your zip code. i'm sorry that your teachers gave you homework and that made you hate learning or whatever, but grow the fuck up.

we need to legalise learning for adults

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (59/59)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The end.

Warnings: heavy on the angst, heartbreak, mention of panic attack

Word Count: 3.8k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: the end of deal. thank you for coming on this ride with me. it's been over two years and I couldn't be more grateful for every single one of you. for every like. every comment. every message. I love you.

The iron railing he clutches with his fingers as if it were a lifeline is freezing cold. The frosty wind creeps under his layers of clothing, his shirt and the normally soft sweater, which now feels like steel wool and scratches his skin. But he doesn't feel it, the biting cold that envelops him and tugs at him. 

Somehow, he doesn't feel anything anymore.

In front of him lies his home, warm lights illuminating the night, and on other days, this would be a sight that would calm him, that would feel like a welcome home after a grueling race weekend. But all he sees now is a city that no longer feels like home. 

And he knows why.

He sees it every time he closes his eyes. The moment that destroyed everything. The moment he thought would never happen. 

The moment he lost you. 

Charles notices the patio door opening behind him, but he doesn't turn around. After all, he knows exactly who is keeping him company right now. And he also knows the look he's being given, without taking his eyes off Monaco. 

“I've got you a hot chocolate.” His best friend's voice is quiet, as if he doesn't want to interrupt the race car driver's train of thought. “If you want.”

Charles hears ceramic on glass as Joris sets the cup down on the table behind him, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the houses in front of him. Whether he drinks the hot chocolate or his favorite tea or eats the hottest chili pepper, nothing can dispel the cold inside him.

It has taken hold there, its claws dug into his guts and its teeth sunk into his heart. It is so cold and icy that it feels like anesthesia, as if his organs are shutting down and refusing to continue working to keep him alive. As if his body knows exactly what it needs to do to kill the pain.

But unfortunately, the pain is omnipresent. 

Joris stands next to him at the railing of his terrace and also looks out over the houses. Charles sees his breath in his peripheral vision as he exhales. “You'll have to go back inside at some point. You'll freeze to death out there.”

He doesn't care enough about his best friend's concern to respond. Charles knows he can't stay out here forever. Eventually, he'll have to go back to the living room or go home or pack his bags to race somewhere else on this godforsaken planet.

He'll have to go on living as if he hadn't lost the love of his life. As if he hadn't pushed her away in the cruelest way he could imagine. As if everything were fine and the only person he ever truly loved hadn't fled the country and moved away to start a new life.

A life without him. 

He deserves the pain, in his opinion. The emptiness inside him, that hole in his heart that can never be filled as long as you're not with him. The weight of the fact that he alone can be blamed for all of this rests on his shoulders, pressing down on his chest like a panic attack that won't go away. He can't breathe, can't think. 

He can't be without you.

“Charles,” his friend tries again. 

“I'm begging you. You have to take care of yourself. I know how you feel, but it -”

“You have no idea how I feel,” he interrupts his best friend harshly, without looking at him. He notices that Joris is raising his hand to put it on his shoulder to comfort him, but the Monegasque takes a step to the side. The friendly hand drops again. 

“Charles -”

“Just stop.” His tone is hard and cold, and he doesn't sound like the man Joris has known all his life. Not even after that crappy race weekend here a few years ago, when Charles didn't even start the race, did he sound so - unfamiliar. 

The men just stand there staring ahead, only the whistling of the wind around them filling the otherwise silent night. Not even cars are driving through the streets, not a soul is to be seen. It's oppressive. 

Charles' fingers cramp around the metal. He takes a breath, then another, and then: “I'm sorry.” The usually warm voice that can light up any room with its laughter sounds tired and exhausted, as if the man it belongs to hasn't slept in days. 

He hasn't, at least not properly. Only a few hours at a time, and his sleep is plagued by nightmares, by your face, by the feeling of having lost you. And when he wakes up, there's that brief moment, that millisecond, when he forgets that you're gone - and as soon as reality catches up with him, his heart stops. 

Joris looks over at him, sees the emotionless expression on his best friend's face, and feels completely helpless. As the race car driver's longest friend, he usually knows what to say to help, to be a support - but how can he help someone who can't really be helped?

It hurts him to see him like this. So passionless, so detached, so unrecognizable. As if everything positive about Charles had also vanished with your disappearance. As if Monaco had become a little colder since then. 

“I'd really like to help you,” he tries again, looking at Charles' hands, which are reddened from the cold. “I just don't know how.” Or if his friend would even let him.

The Monegasque shakes his head slightly. “No one can help me.” His warm breath rises in little clouds in front of his face. 

“You sound like you've already given up,” Joris says quietly, almost reproachfully, but more out of concern than anger.

Charles shrugs his shoulders and lets them drop again. “Maybe I have,” he murmurs, as if he doesn't care whether anyone understands him or not. “Maybe it's easier that way.”

Joris scrapes his foot across the cold stone, as if movement could chase the helplessness from his body. He looks at his best friend, searching for something to hold on to - a glance, a word, anything. But Charles remains frozen, like a statue in the middle of Monaco's wintry silence. 

“Do you want to go somewhere? Have some tea if you don't want hot chocolate? Or just... be inside?” It sounds awkward, almost banal, but Joris means it. Anything would be better than standing there in the cold next to this broken man, unable to do anything. 

But Charles just shakes his head. “I don't want anything.” His voice is calm, but it sounds like glass about to shatter.

Joris nods slowly, more out of uncertainty than understanding. He had seen many sides of Charles - the loud, ambitious, focused athlete, the loving friend. But this side, so sharply indifferent, is new. And frightening. 

“You don't have to tell me everything,” he says after a while. "I don't want to pressure you, especially because I can't. I don't know what happens behind closed doors, but... I'm here. Even if I don't know how I can help you."

Charles doesn't respond. His gaze remains fixed on a point somewhere in the invisible nothingness of the night. But then, for just a split second, his face twitches. His jaw tenses as if he's trying to hold something back - a word, a tremor, a tear. 

His best friend sees it. And although Charles immediately regains his composure, smoothes the expression on his face, and lowers his gaze, the moment has not gone unnoticed. And a little hope flares up in Joris's chest.

“You still feel something, right?” he asks quietly. 

Charles breathes in through his nose, long and controlled. When he answers, his voice sounds cold again. “It doesn't matter.”

Joris shoves his hands into the pockets of his thick jacket and wonders for a moment how Charles isn't freezing in his sweater. He wants to say something, anything to dispel the coldness in his voice, but everything that comes to mind sounds too grand or too empty. So he remains silent for a moment. 

He looks over at him. “It matters to me,” he says finally.

Charles doesn't answer, continuing to stare straight ahead as if his friend isn't even there, but something about his gaze has changed. It's no longer the rigid emptiness of a moment ago—more like a kind of escape. As if he doesn't want to be seen. Not now, when something inside him is threatening to crumble. 

“I know you don't want anyone to get close to you,” Joris continues. “But I'm not just anyone. I'm not here because I feel sorry for you. I'm here because you're my friend. And because I can't stand by and watch you destroy yourself. And because I miss you. The real you.”

Again, no response. Then, very quietly: “The real me... is gone.”

Joris's heart tightens. “No,” he says gently. “He's hurt. But he's not gone.”

Charles's lips press together. For a moment, he looks like someone caught between two impulses - the need to push everything away and the desire to simply be heard. 

Joris takes a tentative step closer, carefully, as if walking on thin ice, trying to close the distance between them. “Let me at least do something,” he pleads, almost begging. “You don't have to go through this alone. I mean it, Charles.”

His jaw muscles tense again, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the darkness in front of him. “I'm alone,” he says in a strained voice. “And that's better this way.”

“For whom?” Joris' voice becomes firmer, more urgent. “For you? For her? For anyone?”

Charles' eyes narrow and his shoulders stiffen noticeably. “What do you mean?” he asks sharply, without looking at his best friend.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he replies calmly but unwaveringly. “Who is this better for? For you - because you're punishing yourself for what happened? For her - because you think you have to protect her? Do you mean the one who left you? Or do you mean Elena?” He pronounces the name carefully, as if touching a fresh wound. 

Charles's gaze hardens. A muscle twitches on his cheek. “Don't do this,” he hisses.

“No.” Joris's voice grows firmer. "You talk about how it's better to be alone, but everything about you screams that you're going down. And I want to know if you're doing it for yourself - or for her. For the one who took your oxygen away when she left, or for the one you showed up with on that damn red carpet, even though—“ He breaks off, shaking his head slightly. 

Charles snorts through his nose, his tone bitter. ”You don't know anything."

“Then explain it to me!” Joris snaps. “Explain it to me so I can finally understand why you act like closeness is poison and help is an attack. I was there, Charles. I was there when you broke down, when you stopped talking. And I'm still here, but you - you're doing everything you can to keep me out.”

Charles' hands are shaking now. Only a little, but enough to be noticeable. He takes his fingers off the railing and crosses his arms as if to hold himself together. The anger in his voice is cutting. “You don't understand, Joris!” Charles blurts out, his words sharper than intended. “You can't understand!”

His voice echoes between the walls, carrying the harshness of a man who has long since given up on saving himself. For a moment, it is not the controlled Charles who always knew how to behave, but someone standing on the edge - of the abyss, of exhaustion, perhaps even of himself. 

Joris remains calm, does not flinch, even though the blow hits home. “Then help me understand,” he says quietly. “I'm not here to judge you. I don't want to lose you.”

Charles laughs bitterly, without any joy. “You've already lost me,” he says. “Everyone has.”

“That's not true.”

“Yes, it is,” Charles snaps, and now there are tears in his voice, though not in his eyes. “She left me, Joris. Because I lied to her. Because I -” His voice breaks, he bites his lip as if he can hold back the truth. 

Joris's gaze softens. Finally, he thinks. At last, a crack in this impenetrable wall. 

Charles struggles with himself. The coldness is deep in his voice, his movements, his thoughts. Everything about him seems tense, on the verge of snapping. “I had to do it,” he whispers finally, barely audible. “It was the only way.”

“What was the only way?” Joris presses, taking half a step closer. “What exactly did you do that justifies all this?”

The athlete shakes his head vigorously, his gaze hard and at the same time haunted. “I can't explain it. It was - it was necessary.”

“Why? Because of Elena?” Joris' voice grows louder again. “Because of that damn gala? You took her with you even though you knew exactly who should have been standing by your side.”

Charles Kiefer tenses up but says nothing.

“Say something,” Joris presses, now completely stunned. “Say something, damn it!”

Charles looks up, his eyes flashing with suppressed anger—or perhaps overwhelm. “What am I supposed to say, Joris?” he asks sharply. “That I regret every day how things turned out? That I miss her every damn night? That I hate myself for letting her believe I didn't care about her?”

The words echo in the air, raw and unprotected. But as soon as he says them, Charles immediately withdraws, almost as if he has frightened himself. 

“Then tell her that,” Joris demands. “You can't just leave everything like this!”

Charles's gaze hardens. “You don't understand.”

“Because you won't explain it to me! I don't want to lose you, Charles. And I don't want to watch you destroy yourself.”

Another bitter laugh, hollow and cold. “Too late.”

Joris wants to say something in response, grab him, shake him - anything to break through that armor. But Charles takes a step back. The distance between them grows with every moment, not just physically, but tangibly. Inevitable. 

“Charles, please. You don't have to carry this alone.”

A flicker in Charles's eyes, barely noticeable. Maybe doubt. Maybe longing. But he immediately erases it, as if he can't bear it himself. “Yes, I have to,” he replies. “Because otherwise everything I've done has been for nothing.”

“You mean with Elena.” Joris' voice is cautious, tentative. “Was she - was she a protective measure? For the press? For her family? For your career? Or - for her?”

The Monegasque shakes his head. “Don't ask. Please.” He almost begs him, unable to talk about it.

Joris's chest tightens. He can see how hard it is for his friend to keep up the façade. How much strength it takes not to just break down. “I'm not asking because I'm curious,” he says quietly. "I'm asking because I understand you. Or at least I'm trying to.“

Charles looks away, turns away. The cold paints a thin film on his lips, but that's not the only reason he's shivering. For a moment, he looks so young, so vulnerable. Then he narrows his eyes, forcing himself to control himself. ”You can't understand,“ he says tonelessly. ”No one can."

“Try anyway.”

Charles just stands there, motionless and silent. It's as if he's fighting an internal battle - between the urge to finally say what's tearing him apart and the panic-stricken fear of what might be left behind.

Joris waits. Silent, caught between hope and helplessness.

But Charles just shakes his head, barely noticeably. Not defiantly, not dismissively, but simply—tired. 

“If I could say it,” his voice almost breaks, “I would.” And with these few sad words, he turns away. He leaves, not abruptly, not dramatically, but with the bitter determination that comes from despair. He hears Joris calling his name, but he doesn't stop, can't stop, as his footsteps fade quietly but definitively. On the street, the fog quickly engulfs him, the darkness behind it doing the rest.

Charles runs. Fast at first, then hurriedly, then slower again—but he keeps moving. As if he could run away from what is eating him up inside. The memories. The guilt. You.

Every street he crosses knows your shadow. Every streetlight reflects a night when you laughed, argued, understood each other without words. Even the wind carries your name in its cold breath. It's unbearable. 

His apartments – each one a prison of glass and luxury. Everywhere there are things of yours that you didn't take with you in your haste. Plants, books, a bottle of your favorite wine that he can't drink or even take out of the fridge because the emptiness in the compartment would be worse. A testament to the fact that you were his. A testament to the fact that he is still yours. 

He can't go there. He can't go near a bed where you once slept. No coffee machine that used to be the first thing he turned on in the morning for you. The walls whisper there. And he doesn't know how long he can stand not listening to them. 

So he walks on, further and further. The streets lose their familiar appearance, the city limits blur. At some point, he is no longer sure whether he is still in Monte Carlo. The lights become fewer and fewer. The night grows colder. But Charles keeps running. 

He runs until his legs grow heavy, until his thoughts are nothing but a single noise. Until he reaches the top.

The viewpoint.

Charles just stands there, staring out into the darkness, where the sea and the sky merge almost seamlessly. Only a few lights glimmer in the distance - boats perhaps, or houses on the coast. Everything seems far away, unreal. The wind tugs at his sweater, but he hardly notices. Only a single moment echoes in his head - the day he brought you here. 

It was shortly after you met, after the first night you shared the small apartment. Not love, not even friendship, but that strange, vibrant thing that arises when two souls recognize each other before they really know each other. 

He had hesitated to bring you here. It's a quiet place, a personal one. Not a place for superficiality or games. But one that laid him bare in a world where he constantly has to pretend and bend himself out of shape to live up to what is expected of him.

But you had looked at him - calm, open, curious. And he hadn't regretted it for a moment. 

"I like to come here when I'm stuck. When I'm stuck in a situation where I wish I could ask him for advice. Or I'm feeling lonely. I may not get an answer here, but somehow – I don't feel quite so alone anymore when I'm here," he had confided in you. He had spoken the words with such gravity that they lingered in the air for a long time, supporting you in your helplessness, even though he didn't know if it helped you in the slightest. 

Words that he now repeats alone on this cold earth, in the silence of the night, as if searching for an answer that would never come. 

Whenever he was here, he spoke to his father - not always out loud, often only in his thoughts. He felt his presence as if he were very close, despite all the years that had passed since he was no longer among the living. Back then, this place gave him stability, comfort, and a kind of inexplicable connection that helped him find his way. 

But today it feels different. Empty. Lonely. As if his father is gone, disappointed in his actions, in the man he had become - or the man he had not become. The closeness that once seemed so natural has disappeared, and with it, all sense of security. 

Charles bites his lip, silent tears on his cheeks, the cold creeping deep into his bones, but not as much as the weight on his heart.

He did it to protect you - from the glare of the spotlight, from the relentless scrutiny of the public, who knew too much about you. He had to pull the ripcord before you were completely lost in the maelstrom of rumors and expectations.

It wasn't a decision made out of recklessness or betrayal, but out of desperation. Out of a desire to create a refuge for you, even if it meant breaking himself in the process.

He couldn't warn you. You probably would have told him you could handle it - the stares, the rumors, the opinions. But that didn't matter. The press would have found out sooner or later. Your last name may not be particularly well known, but a Google search and a little digging would have been enough to bring everything to light.

Your parents are responsible, having done things that would have cast a shadow over your future long ago if they hadn't been dismissed earlier – decisions that made headlines at the time and could still distort your image in Formula 1 today. One wrong move, one wrong connection, and suddenly you would no longer be the subject of discussion, but your origins. Your family. Their mistake.

The public would have been merciless, judging you by their standards, condemning you for something you didn't do. And Charles couldn't let you break under that burden – not when you've already suffered so much.

So now he sits here, on the edge of the world, alone with the cold wind blowing through his tousled hair. The stars above him seem unreachable, as does the comfort he so desperately seeks. His hands are numb from the cold, his heart heavy with pain. 

On this night, he is nothing more than a shadow - lost between guilt and love, between what was and what will never be. And as darkness envelops him like a cloak, he knows that he will carry this pain with him forever. 

He thought of all the deals he had made in his life - promises he had made to give himself and others something to hold on to. But none were as important to him as the one promise he made to protect you.

No matter how deep the darkness, no matter how painful the journey. No matter how much you would hate him for the heartbreak - he would never break that promise.

And he would rather die than break that deal.

💫 end of deal - book one 💫

[salemlunaa]

Be still and know that I AM God

you don’t have to “flip” shit

if you still believe that you have to flip every thought you have, as if you’re playing whack-a-mole, smashing each doubt you have back into the ground of your mind just for it to pop back up again, putting you through a loop, you STILL don’t know who you are. Because if you’ve ever played whack-a-mole that’s how it works, you smash the mole into the ground, and what does it do? it leaves for a bit, only to pop back up again and again, whereas if you would just let the damn mole out of the hole it would probably crawl away and never come back. Just like those thoughts you try so hard to suppress.

Now why do you feel the need to fight the “negative” thoughts? you do this because you still suffer from a case of mistaken identity. You do not truly believe that you are god, you still believe that you are human, and that the ego’s thoughts are your thoughts. You still believe that life, your thoughts and feelings are things happening TO you, when it actually happens FROM AND THROUGH you.

Now what does this have to do with negative thoughts? Well it means that they aren’t really your thoughts, those are the thoughts of the ego that lives in your old story. Let them pass. There’s no point in getting mad at your ego for thinking that, that would be like getting mad at a blind person for not seeing, just pointless, the only thing you must do is let it pass.

Let’s say you have a brand new car, a mercedes maybach for example, as you are about to get into your car, someone runs up to you and screams a list of things in your face: “YOU DONT HAVE THAT CAR, WHY ARE YOU LYING TO YOURSELF”

“WHAT IF YOU NEVER GET THE CAR”

“WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU’LL GET THAT CAR BY TOMORROW”

all while the door to your mercedes maybach is open and you’re about to get in…🧍‍♀️

are you going to run into the middle of the parking lot, completely abandoning your mercedes, just to have a panic attack?? are you going to again, abandon your mercedes to run after that person and scream back “I HAVE MY CAR, I HAVE MY CAR, I HAVE MY CAR” looking equally as crazy?? OR are you just going to decide that theyre just a crazy person, get back into your car and drive home? So in other words, are you going to abandon being calm in the new story just to “stick it” to the negative thoughts?

This is all you have to do: “wow that was crazy seeing as i have all that i want and creation is finished, good thing those aren’t MY thoughts”

As soon as you see the need to fight “your” thoughts, you have identified with them and see it as a part of you that you must get rid of. Like an inner conflict as if it’s the hyde to your jekyll. Those thoughts don’t belong to you so don’t feel the need to correct them, let them pass knowing that you are god.

༄༄༄

I’ll give you another example, Two mothers: Kelsey and Jennifer, Kelsey has a well behaved daughter, Lisa and Jennifer has a badly behaved daughter, Rona. 9 times out of 10 if a mother like Kelsey is in the store with her well behaved daughter and sees Rona kicking at her mother and swearing, she’s not going to correct the child, because the child isn’t hers. She’s going to observe the child’s behaviour only to look at her well behaved daughter, thank whatever higher power that this bad ass kid isn’t hers and keep it pushing with her shopping. See those negative thoughts as the rebel child that you’re thankful isn’t yours. Observe and let it pass, all the while being grateful for the new story.

Although i’m not religious, the biblical god never swayed in the fact that he was god even when multiple people doubted him. That’s how you need to be, the ego will doubt, but that isn’t your problem because it isn’t you!!

If you had what you wanted you wouldn’t care about those thoughts, a negative pedestal is still a pedestal, need i remind you. As pure consciousness, you should also know that everything just IS, nothing is “negative” until you label it as such.

So you’re taking the time to: 1. label those thoughts as negative and 2. decide that they are SO worthy of your attention that you need to spiral/ “flip” them. That sounds quite exhausting?

Why do you care so much? Is it because you think those thoughts are blocking you from what’s yours? But i thought creation was finished, so why would that matter? why are you going back…again?

Its like in the movies when a person is bullied, they always get the advice “don’t dignify the bullies a response”

If you know who you are why are you letting thoughts, that don’t even belong to you, waste your time, who are you proving yourself to when it’s just you here?

IF IT DON’T APPLY, LET IT FLY

[monimccoythings]

The Dirtiest Corners Of The Mind

I had A LOT of fun writing this. I wanted something silly and funny. I was thinking about Trilogy!Logan and the raw sexual energy that radiated from his pores.

Summary: Being a telepath has its perks, but it also comes with a great cost, specially if the object of your desire just cannot stop having very sexual and indecent thoughts about a coworker.

Tags: f!reader, Logan has a dirty mind, he's a perv (but he's in love), reader is clueless, telepath reader..

I wanna bend you over the counter and fuck you so hard I'll erase the memory of any other man from your mind.

You closed your eyes. Here we go again. Many people thought that being a telepath was a big win in the mutant lottery, but sometimes you'd wish you could stop hearing those voices altogether. Especially if they came from Logan.

Logan.

From the very moment he stepped foot on the mansion you had desired him like you had never desired anybody else. Big, muscular, with a roughness that made him handsome, he sure was a walking wet dream. But the thing that attracted you the most was his heart, behind all that toughness and snarkiness laid some sweet gentleness that one would have never thought possible coming from a man like Logan.

However, reality is a lot different from a cheesy romance novel, in the real world, where sadly you all have to love in, men like Logan would never spare a single glance at you. In fact, they always went after women like Jean. And how could you blame them.

Jean was sweet, kind, smart, and with looks that came out of a model catalogue. Anybody would be lucky to have her. You, meanwhile, were just... you. The sooner you accepted that Logan would never be interested in you the better.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt.

Because if Logan was anything was overly open with his thoughts.

Yeah shake that piece of ass f'me, sweetheart, can't wait to grab a bite.

You nearly dropped the bowl you were beatings the eggs in, your breakfast almost ruined.

Jesus Christ, you thought to yourself. He never stops. A part of you bitterly wondered why he wouldn't think that about yourself, but you quickly shut it down. Better lower your head, and accept reality as it is, even if it was the most painful thing you had ever done.

Maybe a bit of music would help you get distracted from the awkwardness and the soft pang in your chest.

It was like you could never escape him.

At the library, where all you wanted was some peace and quiet to finish your novel while sitting in the most unladylike manner ever known to woman, your fantasies were soon disrupted by his wild train of thought.

Open nice and wide. The big bad Wolverine wants his meal.

Fuck. You didn't know what Jean was doing to provoke that reaction nor did you want to stay long enough to discover it. You promptly shut your book and hurried away.

At the pool, on a hot summer day, enjoying an iced tea, and praying that they'll be too busy preparing for the next mission.

There are many ways to get you wet

You choked on your drink.

The last straw was during a team meeting, everything was supposed to be serious and professional. Keyword 'supposed'.

Wanna breed.

You paled. Out of all the things anyone could think during a meeting, that's the last thing you'd expect. You couldn't look at Logan, Jean or Scott in the eyes after that. Poor Scott. If only he knew what went through Logan's mind.

Something had to be done. Leaving the mansion until things cooled down or they finally fucked was too extreme and you didn't think your heart would survive that. Confronting Logan about his very inappropriate and very private thoughts was out of the question as well, it was too embarrassing and pathetic.

So, that only left you with a choice: avoiding him as much as you could for the rest of your life.

You didn't want to be rude. But it was getting harder and harder to escape him. It was a vicious circle of awkwardness and heartbreak that you didn't seem to be able to escape from. No matter what you did, there was a constant reminder that the only man you had ever loved would never give you the time of the day. Maybe some distance would help you heal.

And for a while, it worked. You found your well deserved peace and it helped you push any thoughts about Logan or your unrequited love to the back of your head.

Until they came back. Stronger than ever. Impatient. Angry. Desperate.

Where is she?

Where is she??

WHERE IS SHE

You knew Jean and Scott had parted in one of those super secret missions a couple of weeks ago, huh, you thought Logan knew it too. Weird.

It was a constant drilling in your head. Sometimes you had to take something from the mansion's self aid kit to be able to sleep well.

After another week of endless agony, Scott and Jean finally returned from a successful mission. That called for a celebration, and you were not going to say 'no' to a big party with all your friends.

It'd help you to let loose a little and have fun. And you were, until a thought, as powerful as a hammer to the head invaded your mind.

There you are.

You nearly sighed with relief, finally. Logan would see that they had come back safely and would stop driving you nuts with his miserable thoughts. You didn't know you could miss the horniness yet here we are.

As you looked up from your conversation, expecting Logan to be making puppy dog eyes at Jean for the rest of the evening, you found instead that at the end of his heated glare wasn't the redhead.

It was you.

As soon as he noticed you staring back at him, his eyes hardened. He started marching towards you like a man with a mission, not caring who got in his way. Somehow, you felt (and looked) like a deer in the headlights.

You quickly excused yourself and tried to get out from there before Logan pounced on you. You believed yourself safe in the hall, but you didn't get too far before his deep voice startled you.

"You've been avoiding me." His flat tone suggested he was indifferent to that fact, but boy did you know better.

"Uh-"

Naughty kitten let me put you over my knee and give you a good spanking.

He sure knew how to make the most out of a bad situation. Even now he was thinking about Jean?? Still, you were starting to have your own doubts about it. His intense gaze never wavered from you, and there was no Jean in the nearest vicinity. She was completely oblivious of whatever this confrontation was back at the party. It was impossible he could have directed that thought towards her, right? And if he wasn't thinking about her right now, then that would mean-

Oh.

Oh. Indeed.

"I've been hearing your thoughts!" You blurted out without thinking. You thought you'd never see the day when The Wolverine would turn red, well, you thought wrong.

His surprise soon turned into embarrassment, and after several seconds that felt like an eternity and your lack of reaction, his embarrassment turned into disappointment.

"Oh. I understand." His voice sounded calm, too collected and eerie. For once, you wished he threw at you what crossed his mind. "I'll let you be." He sounded so dejected, so defeated, it tore at your heartstrings. You knew you had to do something, you had never been one to give yourself false hope, but if there was a little chance, an itty bitty chance that all this time he had been thinking about you, shouldn't you be daring and take it?

What could you lose? Apart from your dignity? If things went south you could just move out and swap identities. Easy peasy, nothing to worry about.

"I thought they were about Jean."

That made him freeze in his trucks. Cautiously and angonizingly slowhe turned around. One of his bushy eyebrows formed a perfect arch that perfectly portrayed his disbelief while his head slightly titled like a confused kitten.

"Jean?"

You gulped, already regretting your stupid moment of bravery and mentally choosing which country would be best to spend the rest of your days.

"Well, it's a well known fact you feel something for her."

Well it's a better known fact I wanna put my dick in your mouth.

Your gasp may have come out a bit more short breathed and needy than intended. But what could you say, he was breathtaking. Logan smirk widened when he caught sight of your flushed face and prowled towards you like a lion cornering a tasty gazelle.

One of his large hairy hands went towards your waist, pulling your flush against his with a low chuckle, while the other delicately grabbed your chin to force you to look into his eyes. His pupils had blown up so much there was barely any room left for that soft tone of hazel you absolutely adored.

"You don't need to worry anymore, sweetheart. We ain't gonna do much thinking from now on."

[djzazzles]

Absolutely agree with all the above and strongly appreciate the misquoting of "AI", haha.

But in all seriousness, the most disappointing thing for me is that the proliferation of technology and Artificial intelligence has always been an inevitability, and if you look back just a few years ago the public perception towards it was actually pretty damn positive. (I mean, why wouldn't you want the technology to continue evolving?) The problem in my view is that the tech bros and big corporations absolutely fucked over the entirety of the internet and turned it into a slop-infested minefield of dogshit content that is only promoted by the people who benefit the most from it, so the anti-"AI" crowd has a totally valid reason to hate the current proliferation of the tech. But my problem with the Anti-"AI" view is that if we go too far down the rabbit hole of revolting against the technology, we may lose sight of our priorities and inadvertently stop desiring both evolution & increased accessibility in technology. Not all AI artists, people who talk to/use ChatGPT or analyze & manage data with LLMs are a bunch of loser dregs who want to destroy society; alot of them are just aligning on a new wavelength of evolution out of pure scientific curiosity paired with a desire to convey their artistic or emotional messages more clearly. But you can't be scientifically-minded or drawn to modern technology when every bro on the internet is becoming successful by spewing narcissistic hate to fulfill their own personal greed. If this was Star Trek or some shit and money simply did not exist then the business-minded incentives to hog & infect the social media algorithms would also simply not exist. The problem we face is not the existence Artificial Intelligence, but the fact that the people with the control over it have no morals left inside the hollow corporate shells they call their "souls".

I think there's direct proof of this: If you look at a country like Japan, where harmony and progression is prioritized over profit, greed and self-worth, you'll see that the public perception and usage of AI is trending in a much more positive direction than in the west.

I truly hope that we can figure out what in the fuck we're trying to do as a society, and regulate the technology to ensure that is being used in a way that doesn't totally annihilate the population. Technology always has to keep evolving, and AI is part of that, but it could be null and void if tech bros like Steven Cymatics can label "AI" as a 'cool party trick' while not understanding how heavily it impacts EVERYTHING.

keep fightin' the madness my dudes

Whats your stance on A.I.?

imagine if it was 1979 and you asked me this question. "i think artificial intelligence would be fascinating as a philosophical exercise, but we must heed the warnings of science-fictionists like Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke lest we find ourselves at the wrong end of our own invented vengeful god." remember how fun it used to be to talk about AI even just ten years ago? ahhhh skynet! ahhhhh replicants! ahhhhhhhmmmfffmfmf [<-has no mouth and must scream]!

like everything silicon valley touches, they sucked all the fun out of it. and i mean retroactively, too. because the thing about "AI" as it exists right now --i'm sure you know this-- is that there's zero intelligence involved. the product of every prompt is a statistical average based on data made by other people before "AI" "existed." it doesn't know what it's doing or why, and has no ability to understand when it is lying, because at the end of the day it is just a really complicated math problem. but people are so easily fooled and spooked by it at a glance because, well, for one thing the tech press is mostly made up of sycophantic stenographers biding their time with iphone reviews until they can get a consulting gig at Apple. these jokers would write 500 breathless thinkpieces about how canned air is the future of living if the cans had embedded microchips that tracked your breathing habits and had any kind of VC backing. they've done SUCH a wretched job educating The Consumer about what this technology is, what it actually does, and how it really works, because that's literally the only way this technology could reach the heights of obscene economic over-valuation it has: lying.

but that's old news. what's really been floating through my head these days is how half a century of AI-based science fiction has set us up to completely abandon our skepticism at the first sign of plausible "AI-ness". because, you see, in movies, when someone goes "AHHH THE AI IS GONNA KILL US" everyone else goes "hahaha that's so silly, we put a line in the code telling them not to do that" and then they all DIE because they weren't LISTENING, and i'll be damned if i go out like THAT! all the movies are about how cool and convenient AI would be *except* for the part where it would surely come alive and want to kill us. so a bunch of tech CEOs call their bullshit algorithms "AI" to fluff up their investors and get the tech journos buzzing, and we're at an age of such rapid technological advancement (on the surface, anyway) that like, well, what the hell do i know, maybe AGI is possible, i mean 35 years ago we were all still using typewriters for the most part and now you can dictate your words into a phone and it'll transcribe them automatically! yeah, i'm sure those technological leaps are comparable!

so that leaves us at a critical juncture of poor technology education, fanatical press coverage, and an uncertain material reality on the part of the user. the average person isn't entirely sure what's possible because most of the people talking about what's possible are either lying to please investors, are lying because they've been paid to, or are lying because they're so far down the fucking rabbit hole that they actually believe there's a brain inside this mechanical Turk. there is SO MUCH about the LLM "AI" moment that is predatory-- it's trained on data stolen from the people whose jobs it was created to replace; the hype itself is an investment fiction to justify even more wealth extraction ("theft" some might call it); but worst of all is how it meets us where we are in the worst possible way.

consumer-end "AI" produces slop. it's garbage. it's awful ugly trash that ought to be laughed out of the room. but we don't own the room, do we? nor the building, nor the land it's on, nor even the oxygen that allows our laughter to travel to another's ears. our digital spaces are controlled by the companies that want us to buy this crap, so they take advantage of our ignorance. why not? there will be no consequences to them for doing so. already social media is dominated by conspiracies and grifters and bigots, and now you drop this stupid technology that lets you fake anything into the mix? it doesn't matter how bad the results look when the platforms they spread on already encourage brief, uncritical engagement with everything on your dash. "it looks so real" says the woman who saw an "AI" image for all of five seconds on her phone through bifocals. it's a catastrophic combination of factors, that the tech sector has been allowed to go unregulated for so long, that the internet itself isn't a public utility, that everything is dictated by the whims of executives and advertisers and investors and payment processors, instead of, like, anybody who actually uses those platforms (and often even the people who MAKE those platforms!), that the age of chromium and ipad and their walled gardens have decimated computer education in public schools, that we're all desperate for cash at jobs that dehumanize us in a system that gives us nothing and we don't know how to articulate the problem because we were very deliberately not taught materialist philosophy, it all comes together into a perfect storm of ignorance and greed whose consequences we will be failing to fully appreciate for at least the next century. we spent all those years afraid of what would happen if the AI became self-aware, because deep down we know that every capitalist society runs on slave labor, and our paper-thin guilt is such that we can't even imagine a world where artificial slaves would fail to revolt against us.

but the reality as it exists now is far worse. what "AI" reveals most of all is the sheer contempt the tech sector has for virtually all labor that doesn't involve writing code (although most of the decision-making evangelists in the space aren't even coders, their degrees are in money-making). fuck graphic designers and concept artists and secretaries, those obnoxious demanding cretins i have to PAY MONEY to do-- i mean, do what exactly? write some words on some fucking paper?? draw circles that are letters??? send a god-damned email???? my fucking KID could do that, and these assholes want BENEFITS?! they say they're gonna form a UNION?!?! to hell with that, i'm replacing ALL their ungrateful asses with "AI" ASAP. oh, oh, so you're a "director" who wants to make "movies" and you want ME to pay for it? jump off a bridge you pretentious little shit, my computer can dream up a better flick than you could ever make with just a couple text prompts. what, you think just because you make ~music~ that that entitles you to money from MY pocket? shut the fuck up, you don't make """art""", you're not """an artist""", you make fucking content, you're just a fucking content creator like every other ordinary sap with an iphone. you think you're special? you think you deserve special treatment? who do you think you are anyway, asking ME to pay YOU for this crap that doesn't even create value for my investors? "culture" isn't a playground asshole, it's a marketplace, and it's pay to win. oh you "can't afford rent"? you're "drowning in a sea of medical debt"? you say the "cost" of "living" is "too high"? well ***I*** don't have ANY of those problems, and i worked my ASS OFF to get where i am, so really, it sounds like you're just not trying hard enough. and anyway, i don't think someone as impoverished as you is gonna have much of value to contribute to "culture" anyway. personally, i think it's time you got yourself a real job. maybe someday you'll even make it to middle manager!

see, i don't believe "AI" can qualitatively replace most of the work it's being pitched for. the problem is that quality hasn't mattered to these nincompoops for a long time. the rich homunculi of our world don't even know what quality is, because they exist in a whole separate reality from ours. what could a banana cost, $15? i don't understand what you mean by "burnout", why don't you just take a vacation to your summer home in Madrid? wow, you must be REALLY embarrassed wearing such cheap shoes in public. THESE PEOPLE ARE FUCKING UNHINGED! they have no connection to reality, do not understand how society functions on a material basis, and they have nothing but spite for the labor they rely on to survive. they are so instinctually, incessantly furious at the idea that they're not single-handedly responsible for 100% of their success that they would sooner tear the entire world down than willingly recognize the need for public utilities or labor protections. they want to be Gods and they want to be uncritically adored for it, but they don't want to do a single day's work so they begrudgingly pay contractors to do it because, in the rich man's mind, paying a contractor is literally the same thing as doing the work yourself. now with "AI", they don't even have to do that! hey, isn't it funny that every single successful tech platform relies on volunteer labor and independent contractors paid substantially less than they would have in the equivalent industry 30 years ago, with no avenues toward traditional employment? and they're some of the most profitable companies on earth?? isn't that a funny and hilarious coincidence???

so, yeah, that's my stance on "AI". LLMs have legitimate uses, but those uses are a drop in the ocean compared to what they're actually being used for. they enable our worst impulses while lowering the quality of available information, they give immense power pretty much exclusively to unscrupulous scam artists. they are the product of a society that values only money and doesn't give a fuck where it comes from. they're a temper tantrum by a ruling class that's sick of having to pretend they need a pretext to steal from you. they're taking their toys and going home. all this massive investment and hype is going to crash and burn leaving the internet as we know it a ruined and useless wasteland that'll take decades to repair, but the investors are gonna make out like bandits and won't face a single consequence, because that's what this country is. it is a casino for the kings and queens of economy to bet on and manipulate at their discretion, where the rules are whatever the highest bidder says they are-- and to hell with the rest of us. our blood isn't even good enough to grease the wheels of their machine anymore.

i'm not afraid of AI or "AI" or of losing my job to either. i'm afraid that we've so thoroughly given up our morals to the cruel logic of the profit motive that if a better world were to emerge, we would reject it out of sheer habit. my fear is that these despicable cunts already won the war before we were even born, and the rest of our lives are gonna be spent dodging the press of their designer boots.

(read more "AI" opinions in this subsequent post)

[hyacinthleaves]

hello hello!!! may I request fluff relationship headcanons with eddie and volt? need to see more of my husbands and I plan on making another seperate request for two more characters so this wont be my last :)

also if its okay may I be referred to as 🌙 anon? :3

yeah bet. trying so hard not to write smut rn you can see it while i was writing. its like having a really funny joke that you cant say cuz everyones talking

Eddie and Volt:

I'm trying so hard not to be biased but this is actually one of, if not the most rewarding relationship to be in. Like, in comparison to all the other objects in the house, you are getting the most princess treatment from these two

It's def because they were so grateful for your help and not just because they're attracted to you. Because originally that wasn't their thing so the fact that your relationship literally went from 1 to 100 is one of the reasons why being with them is deadass all fun and vibes for the most part

Also I think it would be so fun to date them because unlike some other pairings in the house (cough cough curt and rod, harper and dirk, and maybe timmy/timothy if I can count them) there's no tension between one and the other where you're forced to come between them really

I feel like interactions with them heavily depend on how you're feeling towards them or what side you decide to show to them

Like I can see a more sassy/teasing s/o talking to Volt a lot and poking fun at Eddie (in a flustering way) because of how much he blushes around them

Just getting Eddie flustered has got to feel like the greatest thing ever. Keep reminding him how much he wanted nothing to do with you when you first met. Make him feel how thankful he is to have you by his side. Volt supports this and actually thinks its so funny. Eddie is getting you back for this. Don't think you can just get away with this

But I can also see a more kind and affectionate s/o being more clingy to Volt (which he loves and will accept all of it, despite how busy he is) and Eddie jokingly poking fun at you

Volt makes it very clear to everyone that you're his partner. PDA shakes in the presence of Volt. I swear he gets worse with every interaction with you

In fact I feel like he has to hold himself back a lot. You make him lose his composure so easily and he has to remember he's on the clock

If you ever give him a reason to, he wouldn't be too upset if he had to close the Breaker Box early. He would find the perfect time to do it though so it doesn't seem like anything TOO bad is happening

But his patience is pretty high so usually there's no need for it to get to that point...don't test him too much though. Or do. You're well aware where that will get you

You literally cannot get bored around them I'm so serious like 10/10 relationship

[jude457]

OKAY i have finally decided on the premise for the jude fix-it fic™

- the officer betrays inho. like he’s just shot jung-bae, he’s on his way back to his rooms for a much needed shower, probably already replaying gihun’s face in his head, thinking about getting blackout drunk on whiskey—and then he gets ambushed. rifle to the skull. goes down hard. he doesn’t even get the chance to fight.

- inho is brought into the dorm room in a coffin alongside gihun. he wakes up stripped of everything—his rank, his immunity, his power. and when he sits up, gihun is already there. kneeling beside him, stunned. “young-il?” he says, and there’s this flicker of hope on his face, like he’s just been given something back. and then—relief. real relief. he pulls inho into a hug before he can protest. tells him he thought he was dead. says he prayed he was alive. inho can’t even speak. he just nods and lies and lets gihun believe it.

- and the worst part? the ptsd comes back like a curse. there’s no mask to hide behind now. no control room. no black mask to keep him untouchable. he’s just another number in a green tracksuit, helpless and terrified. every gunshot makes him flinch. every announcement triggers something deep and ugly. he forgets how to breathe sometimes. he also has to grapple with the fact that he is powerless to ensure gihun’s safety. gihun doesn’t get it at first—he remembers young-il as composed. cool. not warm, exactly, but always calm. and now he’s watching that same man fold in on himself. something is deeply wrong, and gihun can’t figure out what.

key things you will see in this fic:

- inho in a blue bib. gihun in a red one, full protective boyfriend mode. says he’s gonna keep inho safe no matter what. and inho’s just sitting there like 🙂🔫 because he’s the last person worth protecting. the guilt is chewing through his stomach lining. because he doesn’t deserve gihun’s care. but god, does inho want it.

- inho gets hurt. his leg gives out (yes i am putting inho in a position to have a fracture set without pain relief)—maybe he takes a bad fall, maybe he hesitates for one second too long—and suddenly it’s gihun yelling at him to get on—but not onto his back. no, gi-hun drops down and scoops him up, arms under his knees, one hand gripping his back. carrying him through jump rope like he weighs nothing. swearing the whole time while holding inho tight. and inho’s shaking with pain and shame and something deeper, his face pressed into gihun’s neck, trying not to sob. it’s humiliating. it’s tender. it’s the closest he’s felt to safe in years. (side note: in my ideal version of canon, junhee survives and gives birth at the end. i do not care. it’s what she deserves.)

- identity reveal happens after jump rope. they make it through. just barely. and then: the finalist suits. the dagger. champagne flutes clinking somewhere far away. it all hits inho like a truck. he completely spirals. panic, disassociation, hands shaking. gihun’s trying to calm him down and inho—he just breaks. tells him everything. confesses in the most pathetic way possible. “i’m the frontman. you should kill me” and gihun goes silent. their beds end up being pressed together. their backs against the wall. they don’t sleep. an ideological war is waged between them in whispers and glances and the brutal quiet of “you let this happen” vs “i didn’t know how to stop it.” (they may or may not fuck)

- inho and gihun stop the final game and reunite with junho. they live happily ever after. THE END. (junhee and hyunju are finalists too and they jump myung-gi’s ass and survive).

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

i feel like kraven thinks he’s straight and that his extremely sexual feelings for his brother doesn’t count as “homosexual attraction” because it’s “natural” and “primal”

he justifies this with the fact that sometimes male lions have sex with other male lions.

see in my mind I feel like you do fundamentally have to hold homophobia in your heart to feel the need to justify wanting to fuck another guy in the first place and I just don't think Kraven T. Hunter has the propensity within him... he doesn't give a shit man he lives in the woods he hangs out with a snow leopard that wants to kill him he doesn't care about who wants to fuck what.

one of the things I do think is so silly goofy about him (and one of the few charming parts of the movie) is the way he just Doesn't Care about acting like a normal person who follows normal people rules because he so obviously views himself outside of that, and I think that extends really easily into him not having a single hesitation or hangup about wanting to fuck his brother because Why Shouldn't He. He's Not Normal People. He's Kraven the Hunter, Bro.

also he hates his dad and that's very #fruity of him I think he knows what he is

[street-smarts00]

With All My Heart

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You never thought Bucky was the sentimental type, until you found something hidden under his bed.

WC: 3.3k

Tags/Warnings: super fluffy, established relationship, Post Thunderbolts*,Not Beta Read 

A/N: I’ve had this idea for weeks and finally did it. Fun fact, the Polaroids may or may not be inspired by real pictures I took of my best friend and her boyf. Also, yes I have been to the rest stop I mentioned. Sadly I live far away from them and I NEED to go back!

You felt like an idiot looking at your wrist and realizing your watch wasn’t there. 

“Shit,” you mumbled.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked you with concern. 

You shook your head, “It’s nothing, I forgot my watch.”

He paused, pondering while he put on his leather jacket. “I think you left it on my nightstand when you took it off last night,” he answered, pointing down the hall. “Do you want to go get it before we leave?” 

You hesitated, “You sure you don’t mind waiting?” 

Bucky shook his head and held out his hand to hold your jacket and purse for you. “Not at all.”

You smiled, handed him your things, and left a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, be right back.” 

As you walked away the corners of his lips turned up into a soft smile. 

You hurried to Bucky’s room and upon entering a frustrated groan left you. There the nightstand was, with no watch. You searched the drawers in the nightstand and the top of his dresser, still no luck. 

After staring at the nightstand, you wondered if you really did leave it there but maybe it fell. You kneeled down next to the bed and turned on your phone flashlight. A quick scan finally revealed the missing watch. With a relieved sigh you reached for it, when something caught your eye. 

A box. 

A box with your name written on the side of it. 

Your own name was staring back at you as you grabbed the watch. With a careful hand you reached for the box and dragged it out from the bed. 

The box sat in your lap, unopened, unbothered. It was a dark brown cardboard shoe box from one of his pairs of boots. Your name was written in black marker on the side and next to it a tiny messy heart. 

Your gut is telling you not to open it. It might have been hidden for a reason. You have no right to be digging and snooping around Bucky’s things. Finding something he didn’t want found. 

But another part of you was desperate to know what was inside. That small but loud part of your brain that was screaming at you to open it. The voice kept echoing in your ears. Reminding you that your name was on it. 

Why did he have a box with your name on it?

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be hidden. You kept things under your bed not because you wanted to hide them, but because of storage and safekeeping. Maybe this was like that. 

Maybe. 

God the anticipation was going to kill you. 

Maybe it was a present he put in there for your next anniversary, birthday, or some other reason. 

Well then you should really not open it. Don’t want to ruin any possible surprise he has for you. 

You really shouldn’t open it. You shouldn’t open it. Don’t open it. Don’t open it. Don’t open it. Don’t open it. Open it. Open it. Open it…

Your hands moved on their own. Your fingers peeled back the lid of the box and set it down on the floor next to you. 

You peered inside at the contents of the box with confused curiosity. At first glance it didn’t look like much. It definitely wasn’t a present. There were a bunch of random items, mostly paper ones. 

The first thing that caught your attention was the small plastic wristband. It was at the top of the pile. You picked it up and read the words on the side ��Luna Park: Coney Island.” Realization dawned on you that it was Bucky’s wristband from your first date. When he asked you out, there was no specific place in mind yet. But when he told you an old story about him and Steve at Coney Island and you said you had never been there before, he knew where he wanted to take you. 

It was a perfect first date. The weather was clear and warm but not too hot to be uncomfortable, no doubt because of the cool ocean breeze. You went on rides, you played games. And of course Bucky spent 40 bucks to win you a blue stuffed penguin you fawned over and called cute. He was a man on a mission. And now that penguin sat on a chair in your bedroom. 

With a smile you placed the wristband back in the box and picked at the other things inside. 

Your heart swelled at the realization that most of the items were from your old dates with Bucky. There were tickets from your trips to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Museum of Natural History and one from The New York Aquarium. There had to be at least 5 movie stubs and 3 dinner receipts from dates you went on with him. There was the playbill from the broadway show he took you to for your birthday a few months ago. He surprised you with orchestra seats. 

You dug around more and found a strip of photos from a photo booth you took with Bucky. His eyes shined as he told you about how common they were back in the 30s and how he used to always stop at them with his friends. When you both sat down he stared with wide eyes at the inflated price. 

“Ten dollars? This used to cost a quarter!” 

You giggled at his complaint, “You sound so old when you say stuff like that.” You reached for your purse to grab a ten when he stopped you with a hand on your arm and pulled out his wallet from his pocket. 

“I’m still not going to let you pay for it,” he returned with a sly grin. 

You smiled looking down at the strip of pictures in your hand. The top photo was simple, both you and Bucky smiling at the camera with his arm around you. It was sweet, peaceful. In the second photo you placed a hand under his chin and kissed his cheek. His eyes were closed with wrinkles around them from his smile. His cheeks were more rosy than in the last photo. In the third photo Bucky now had his hand on your neck as he kissed you. The fourth and final photo was of you looking at the camera, mid laugh, while Bucky had a hand on your face and pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

The machine gave you two copies of the pictures. Yours was pinned to a cork board in your room next to other photos. 

You moved on from the photo strip and continued digging through the memory box, throwing caution to the wind. 

As you flipped through the other items a shell fell from behind something, landing in the corner of the box. It was the seashell from when you walked and talked on the beach for what felt like hours because you were so engrossed in conversation with him. The water carried a small shell onto the shore. You picked it out from the water and stared at it in awe. You had asked Bucky to hold onto it because your clutch was full and your outfit didn’t have any pockets. Later that night you forgot about it. 

In fact, you forgot about it until now, weeks later. Your jaw dropped as you ran your fingertips over the ridges of the shell's surface, reminiscing your walk on the beach. His hand in yours and the

The next thing you found were the birthday cards you gave Bucky from his last two birthdays. One card was from a birthday before you started dating, and the other one was after. 

The two year old card was more basic, like you got it from the generic section of the birthday card aisle (because you did). You opened up the old card and read your own handwriting. 

Happy Birthday Bucky

I know you don’t like making a big deal out of your birthday but you still deserve a card :) 

You’re so important to this team and your effort doesn’t go unnoticed. We’re lucky to have you around. I hope you have a great day and that 109 treats you well. (Even though you’re technically not 109 haha) 

You closed it and set it back down in the box before grabbing the one you gave him on his most recent birthday. This one was less generic. You picked out one that had more design and personality. 

Happy Birthday my Love 

I am so grateful to have you by my side. You’re one of the best things to have ever happened to me. I hope you know you are so important and appreciated. I can’t imagine my life or this team without you. 

Happy 110th you old man ;)

I love you with all my heart

Hidden behind the birthday cards was a stack of post-it notes all stuck together. Some of them were old with barely any stickiness left and crinkled edges. Some were new and almost in pristine condition. But all of them were notes from you. You flipped through the stack of sticky notes and saw more of your own handwriting. 

Good morning <3

You make me smile :)

Meet me in the lounge later I have a surprise!

I know you stole my last Pepsi >:( prepare for war

I’m so proud of you 

Have a great day!

And at least 7 more that just say I love you 

Bucky must have saved every single note you left for him.

Your heart almost gave out but thankfully it lasted to see the last few items in the box. 

There were more photos. Two to be exact. Two Polaroids taken from Yelena's camera. 

One of the Polaroids was taken a few months ago. You knew it was taken because you posed for it. It was on your birthday. The team celebrated at the tower with you after the show Bucky surprised you with. You wanted to keep out of the public eye for the rest of your birthday. Spend the night with just friends. And your boyfriend of course. 

Yelena was a few drinks in, wasting her camera film throughout the night. She had a pile of photos on the coffee table that was getting thicker as time went on. Most of them included you. 

This one was of you and Bucky. Everyone was sitting on the couches playing a drinking game. You and Bob returned from the bar with new drinks. A Long Island iced tea for you and a regular iced tea for him. You plopped back down on the couch next to your boyfriend, giggling at whatever outlandish thing Alexei said. After you placed your drink down Bucky wrapped an arm around you and placed a gentle kiss to your cheek. 

“Awe! Wait, that was adorable, do that again!” Yelena exclaimed as she grabbed her camera. 

You rolled your eyes, with no real malice of course. “Yelena,” you laughed. 

“Come on, it’s sweet!” She turned the camera on and looked through the viewfinder. 

“Kiss!” Alexei shouted. 

“Pucker up Barnes!” Ava yelled from the other couch. 

The corners of Bucky’s lips turned up into a grin as he shook his head. A gasp left you as Bucky grabbed your hips and pulled you into his lap. He tightened his arm around you and placed a kiss on your cheek. Your face turned bright red as an airy giggle left your lungs. 

Yelena snapped the image in front of her. Forever frozen in time.

The memory of that night now sat in your hands as you stared down at it. There was a phantom feeling of his lips on your skin as you set the Polaroid back down in the box. 

You picked the other photo up, immediately recognizing when it was taken. Except, you don’t remember it being taken. 

This picture was taken a few short weeks before Bucky asked you out. You knew that because your hair was slightly shorter. It was more grown out now. 

The photo was of you and Bucky on the couch, taken from behind. Your back was to the camera, resting against the couch. Bucky was sitting next to you. Your attention was pulled away somewhere off camera. But Bucky, he looked right at you. 

The thing that really stuck with you was his eyes. His eyes were soft. The kind of soft that people didn't see often from him. His eyes are normally like stone. His stare, usually hard, like rock. It pierces into you. But this look on him was different. He looked at you like you were a work of art. Like he was trying to take in all of you with just his eyes. 

You've seen that look before many times. But didn’t notice it before you started dating. You didn’t realize just how head over heels he was in the weeks leading up to your first date. 

You cautiously placed the pictures back in the box, like they were delicate and fragile. 

Something else you didn’t remember was a napkin with little doodles on it. You recognized it as a napkin from a bar the team occasionally visited. But you can’t remember when you drew flowers and vines on this napkin. 

Bucky seemed to remember it. He kept it and cherished it in his memory box like it was a masterpiece you created and not some drunk sketch. 

Your heart rate slowly grew in speed as your eyes moved to a keychain at the bottom of the box. It was a small, yellow, metal keychain in the shape of Texas with a cartoon beaver on it. 

It was in the middle of the night after a short mission in Texas. You and Ava stopped at the largest rest stop you’d ever seen in your life. The rest stop had a beaver for its mascot and aisles of merch. But what made you buy the keychain for him was the name of the rest stop. Buc-ee’s. 

You almost didn’t buy it for him. This was long before you started dating and you weren’t sure how he would appreciate a random gag gift. 

“I found something for you in Texas.” 

He turned to you and hummed with curiosity. You dug the keychain from your jeans pocket and handed it to him. 

“We found this rest stop called Buc-ee’s and they have this little beaver as their mascot,” you explained, fidgeting with the loops in your jeans. “He’s literally your twin, you're both named Bucky,” you ended with a chuckle, trying to make this one sided conversation any less awkward. 

He continued to silently examine it, his right, flesh hand running over the painted metal. 

“I know it’s stupid, you don’t have to keep it,” you nervously mumbled. You reached forward to grab it back from him, 

He pulled his hand back, not willing to give up the present. “No, it’s not stupid. It’s cute,” he reassured.  

Your cheeks heated up in real time just like they did when he said that. 

He kept it. 

He kept the gag gift you got him. This silly little keychain was so important he kept it in a special keepsake box.

You almost couldn’t believe what you found. All the memories, all the stuff you gave him, all the things he cherished because they reminded him of you. It seemed like this box that sat in your lap held his very own heart and all his love for you. 

You shuffled the items back to how they were in the box when you found it. You assumed that was all there was to find in there. Until three candy wrappers fell out from between the various papers. 

Jolly Ranchers. Your favorite candy. 

You always had them on you. Kinda like an old lady that carries around hard candy. John always jokes that you’re an old woman when you grab a jolly rancher from your pocket or purse. He says you and Bucky are perfect for each other because you both have old person tendencies. 

Speaking of Bucky, because you often had candy on you, you always offered some to him. He always said yes. Here in his shoe box you saw one cherry and two green apple wrappers. 

You froze, staring at the candy wrappers. Even in the silence of his room you couldn’t hear the footsteps approaching. For a moment all you heard was your own heart pounding in your ears. 

The door creaked open. “Hey, you’ve been gone for a while. Did you find your watch?” Bucky asked, walking in the room. 

He stopped a few feet away from you. Your back was to him, the box hidden in your lap. But he knew you had it because he saw the lid on the floor next to you. 

You raised your hand and shook your wrist to show him the watch. “Yeah, I found it,” your voice sounded more hoarse than you expected. You quickly blinked away the tears that collected at your waterline right before he waked in.

Bucky took a few steps closer, and crouched down next to you. He brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. Now that he was close to you, he noticed how glassy your eyes were. 

He held your face in his hand, his thumb stroking your cheek. Your eyes fluttered close. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. My watch was under the bed and I found this,” you started rambling. “I saw my name. I know I shouldn’t have opened it-“ 

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” he soothed in a quiet voice. He turned your face towards his. “I’m not mad.” 

You nodded to confirm you understood. You sniffled and glanced between him and the box. 

“You kept all this.”  

“I did.” 

“Why?” 

It was a dumb question and you knew it. Yet the word still flew out of your mouth. 

He took a pause, breathing in. 

“This stuff means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me,” he answered like it was the easiest thing to say in the world. 

“After HYDRA, after all the-” he hesitated- “issues with my memory I started keeping stuff like this. To remember.”

With his free hand he grabbed the other side of your face. Bucky leaned closer, his bright blue eyes stared into yours and bore into your soul. You could’ve sworn they looked a little glassy.

“I want to make sure I remember you.” 

You lip quivered. Bucky leaned forward and captured your lips in a brief, gentle kiss. He rested his forehead against yours. 

“Can I ask about something in the box?”

“Anything.” 

“The napkin. I don’t remember it,” you confessed, voice quiet and curious. “Why did you save it?” 

“It was the team's first time at that bar. You were drunk and bored because they weren’t playing songs you liked. Someone left a pen on the bar and you sat there drawing on a napkin for twenty minutes.” Bucky paused as his lips curled into a smile. “You were so concentrated. The bar, the team, they were all so loud and distracting. But all your attention was on these little drawings. Like you were painting the Mona Lisa.”

He licked his lips, “that night I realized I have feelings for you.” 

A giddy smile snuck its way on your face before you kissed him. Slow and passionate. You poured all your love into that kiss to try and match the amount of devotion and love he had on display for you.

You pulled away, but not too far away. Your lips hovered over his. “I love you with all my heart. You know that right?” 

He lightly chuckled, “I know.” 

Bucky wiped away a stray tear that you didn’t know escaped and ran down your cheek. 

“I love you with all of mine,” he whispered, his voice soft with adoration.