#and bring up the immigration code

[eugenedebs1920]

Politicians lie to get your vote. They bend the truth. They may even knowingly make a false claim. The Trump administration is the complete distortion of objective reality.

I am perhaps a bit too informed on current events, particularly the fall of American democracy. So far in this second round of Trump, I’m not sure if I’ve heard a single word of truth from him, those around him, or his propaganda networks.

It had been nonstop lies, corruption and criminality. Seriously! Not a single ounce of truth.

First thing he did was pardon the Jan 6th insurrectionist, claiming they had been treated very badly. Many of them beat the crap out of capital police, they stormed the capital looking to sting up Mike Pence and Nancy Pelosi. They stole documents, smeared feces all over walls, and defiled our nation’s capital. Many deserved the sentence they received.

Second thing was to blame all of Americas problems on people with brown skin, gay people, trans people, anyone who wasn’t a straight white man. Even when his stupid ass transportation Secretary had the first air crash in over a decade, that was because of minorities somehow. Funny. Pete Buttigieg is gay and not a single plane crashed during his whole time as Transportation Secretary.

Trump brings in the world’s richest man to make government efficient. Yet the first thing he does is dismantle USAID, a program that was less than 1% of the U.S. budget and gave food and medicine to the poorest people across the globe. Think of it! The richest man on the planet, taking food from the most impoverished people on earth. It’s unbelievably messed up.

The guy who spent almost $300 million getting trump elected then starts rummaging through every aspect of the federal government where, ironically, he starts dismantling and picking apart agencies that were investigating his companies. CFPB and SEC were looking into his electronic currency for X, dissolved or defunded. The FDA was looking into the brain chips he was working on, defunded drastically. The FAA was bringing charges against spacex for the rocket explosions that posed numerous dangers, massive funding cuts. You hear very little about this on “legacy” media.

Trump betrays Ukraine, goes so far as to call Zelenskyy a dictator but praises Putin! He has Jerkin Dicks Vance make some ABSURD speech condoning AfT rhetoric and berating our allies, we vote against condemning Putin’s war crimes, along with countries like, North Korea, Belarus, Iran, and of course Russia. WTAF!? And maga is cool with this? We joined the damn axis of evil! The just shameful ambush of Zelenskyy in the White House, it’s one of those things you can’t unseee. Just disgraceful…

The immigration enforcement is fascist to the core! Whatever you think about a country of immigrants immigration policies, a country which committed genocide against the native inhabitants, that made its initial fortune on the backs of enslaved peoples, that nation should have learned 250 years later that all people deserve to be treated with dignity and minimum respect at least. The only lawyer who spoke the truth in court over the administrative error which sent a Maryland man to a supermax prison in El Salvador, got fired by the administration for telling the truth! Lawyers are bound by a code of ethics (believe it or not) and swear an oath to uphold the law.

The tariffs. My god the tariffs. In 100 days America went from the best economic recovery of all developed nations after covid, to the stock market tanking and the contraction of the economy as a whole. Lie after lie about this too. Not simply about inflation or Wall Street, but telling us not to believe our lying eyes and empty wallets with claims that prices are actually down. I CAN CLEARLY SEE THAT THEY AREN’T! How dumb do they think we are!?

Then there’s the full on assault to the first amendment. It’s funny because the right has been setting the precedent that liberals have been attacking the first amendment for years now. (a good way to predict what corruption Republicans are planning is to listen to what they are accusing others of. Promise! It works every time) Why!? Because your Facebook post on how ivermectin cures covid was disputed and taken down? Cry me a river. Trump has attempted to dictate what university professors can teach and the curriculum offered. He has sued law firms for defending causes in conflict with his. He has instituted Christian defense orders. Sued and threatened multiple press organizations. We haven’t even seen the response to an enormous protest in DC yet. June 14th. Be there…

There is not enough time in my life to go over every lie that Trump and his administration have perpetuated, but I can tell you this. The proposed budget, the funding cuts, the degradation of constitutional rights, the immigrant hate, the installation of HIGHLY UNQUALIFIED loyalists in intelligence and defense agencies, defying the courts, discrediting the press, politicizing religion, going after universities, eliminating the department of education, using the DOJ as a personal retribution law firm, military parades, accosting our allies, aligning with autocratic regimes, ignoring due process, creating an alternate reality void from facts or data, where nothing one sees is what they’re actually seeing, distorting what’s real, what’s true, what’s objective, and not backing down from that fabricated story.

I could go on.

These are the actions of a dictator. These are the doings of autocrats. What is playing out in front of our faces is the destruction of the American democratic representative constitutional republic, and the inception of a fascist state. It’s been 100 days people!! This much damage has already occurred.

I posed a question the other day that stuck in my mind. Is it that maga believes the lies that are told to them, does nearly half the country lack the critical thinking skills to see past the propaganda? Or is it that their disdain and animosity towards liberals is so great they simply don’t care? The hatred towards their fellow Americans for having opposing political views is so strong, that they’re willing to burn the whole thing down just to “own the libs”?

I can’t answer that with clarity, but either way….

It’s not good

[nemesyaaa]

Seven days // Zach mclaren x female!reader

Summary ; After an injury from soccer, Zach is forced by his doctor to rest his feets at home which leads him to order food. It was just supposed to be one night, but it was before seeing how pretty you are. And this is how you end up meeting him almost every night on your shift because he couldn't stop himself from ordering just to see you on his door . The food is great but he's now looking for another taste...

Warnings : None. it's purely romcom coded with all the fluff plotline and the cheesy lines filled because i needed this <3 (the delivery trope is so much underrated.)

Author's note : This is dedicated to @nadvs because we belong in the same zach fanclub. but also it's for all the zach's girlies. ✨‼️

There was no one who loved winter more than you. you were always the first to look forward to this season of the year. From the month of November, you waited at your bedroom window for the first snowflakes, the first white trees, the first mist on the window, the first icy breath on the snowfall. You couldn't wait for the city to be immersed in the Christmas spirit with all the decorations in the streets, the lightened places, the warm outfits to alleviate the chattered teeth and the frozen hands stuck on the pocket. The sunny sky above the roofs of the houses completely covered in snow, the sidewalks buried under the ice, and the snow was so pretty to contemplate in the parks, northern lights and the winter landscapes.

You were definitely a winter girl. that night like all the others where you were not with your nose buried in your books or on the screen of your phone scrolling all your tiktok fyp, you were working as a delivery girl in a chinese restaurant a few meters away from your home. The old couple who ran the house had agreed to take you in, even without any professional experience, and you had always been grateful to them. They were friendly people with immigrant backgrounds like you. You bonded easily, and you were a bit like their granddaughter. It was crazy how the clash of cultures could bring people together.

Because you had been lazing around in your bed for too long, you had to take a fast shower, and leave the apartment quickly. you hadn't even been able to put on a coat as you were already heading to your workplace. the only thing you had time to do was get into the frosty december mood with an eternal classic of your playlist music in your ears called “Last Christmas” by Wham.

you didn't like being late, because it made it seem like you didn't take your job seriously even though it was currently one of the things that mattered the most to you. you had good bosses, nice colleagues and in addition to your salary, you received generous tips. you may not have been rich but life offered you countless things to make you happy.

the only thing she had never given you before was a boyfriend. you'd like to say you weren't desperate about it but you were already in your late twenties and had no experience. it shouldn't be shameful to be single and a virgin but you were starting to believe that you would never find the right person. However, you had crushes but you were just good at accumulating them, not collecting them.

a woman should think more about her studies than about guys. and you agreed, but it was terribly frustrating to see the whole world pairing up when you had never kissed anyone, or even discovered what true love was. it was completely ridiculous.

you pushed the door of the restaurant, your entrance punctuated by a shrill sound of a bell. you greeted your work colleagues, put on your outfit and apologized to the bosses. you were ready to return to service.

“I don't mind if you're late here, but don't be late for the customer " the grandmother behind the counter gently scolded you, with a compassionate smile on her face.

“There is no faster or more reliable delivery person than me. I remind you that I have five stars on the site.”

“think you can beat me?” Spencer, one of your work colleagues, had challenged you.

“i already did. but thanks you, you’re adorable but keep going, I love seeing you believe in your dreams.”

you giggled before grabbing the bag of food. when you looked up at the address, your eyes widened.

“ what's the matter ? ” he asked because of the sudden look in your face. “ Something's wrong ? ”

“ it's just…i already delivered this guy almost everyday this week…i'm just kinda surprised, you know ? ”

“ you doubt the quality of my food ? ” questioned your boss with a fake offended tone.

“ no, lady su. nobody makes better food as you in this town but isn't-it strange ? ”

"maybe it's not about the food that he orders so much." had simply commented on the grandfather who passed by with a steaming tray of delicious dumplings with a plate of Peking duck.

you rolled your eyes, not believing a word he had just said. but he replied with a wink. sometimes you wondered if they weren't your real grandparents.

you left the restaurant before starting your motorcycle. on the way, you began to regret not having brought a jacket or scarves because you were starting to shiver. the cold was terrible with the wind which literally felt like a blizzard. your body felt colder against the temperature and you had been sneezed on several times. your ears were icy, and you were sure your bones were frozen. at least your fingers were.

you parked in front of the building. you rang the bell for him to open the building door for you before going up the stairs.

you knew the place by heart now that you came there every day. even though you tried not to think about it, it gave you a strange feeling knowing that he ordered at the restaurant every day. it was quite curious. you recognized that the food was incredibly good, but so much so that he wanted to eat it every day?

no way.

impossible.

you weren't complaining about having such a good client, it was very cool but you had to ask yourself questions. you barely had time to knock on the door when it opened, as if he had pathetically and desperately waited behind until you arrived.

“hey” his voice was always so friendly, so eager to greet you.

“hey” you replied with the same intonation, before handing over the bag of food.

Usually, you never bothered to take a closer look at your customers. you delivered and left but this time, you couldn't help but observe him from the third time you came. he must have been the same age as you. he was easily taller than you, his size forcing him to look down on your frame. he had intensely blue eyes, even brighter in the light of the hall.

and you could tell by his athletic shape that he had a sports career at his college. but judging by the way he grimaced when he walked, it was on break. you could tell that he had recently had a problem with his foot. you didn't need to have studied medicine to know that.

even if he wanted to hide it from you, you could hardly ignore that he was in pain.

as he picked up his bag, you sneezed. three times in a minutes. you tried to appear completely normal but it would have been hard for him to act like he hadn’t heard anything.

“i’m s-sorry.” you apologized. “ i'm fine. ”

“don’t tell me you deliver in those clothes ? ”

"it's okay. it's not about the co..." you sneezed.

“what did you say already?” he mocked you softly. “hold on. can you wait just a second?”

“w..."

you couldn't finish your sentence as he already had his back turned to you. you sighed slightly. you couldn’t lie about how terribly cold you were. you were shaking, and your cheeks were frozen.

when he returned, he was holding a jacket in his hand.

“I can’t accept it, I’m sorry.” you politely refused.

“I’m not going to let you go without it.”

“It’s embarrassing. and it’s not mine.”

he placed the jacket on your shoulders, ignoring your words. “now it’s yours. ”

“ you're too kind. I’ll give it back to you after my shift.” you replied, thanking him.

“It can wait until tomorrow.”

"Are you sure? I don't want to take advantage of your kindness."

“you’re better like that…” he hesitated for a long time before answering. “It looks good on you, better than it does on me.”

“then I should keep it.” you joked.

your little moment was interrupted by the vibration of your phone. it was spencer. you smiled, and replied “sorry, I have to go.”

you came home around two in the morning, the night had been long but warmer with your client's jacket on your back. you felt so good in it that when you got home, you kept it on for a few more minutes. the garment carried his scent, it was soft and surprisingly light as a perfume.

the next night he ordered again. you had left home early so as not to be late for work. he ordered at the same time every day, and he was very conscientious about this detail. so he was always your first customer of the day.

you had picked up the food, and walked over to his house in a fuzzy coat and matching boots. you had opted for something warmer, and you were carrying three bags in your hands. Chinese food, coat and apple shortbread with an aromatic touch of cinnamon and spices. you had spent your free time cooking instead of studying in order to thank him for kindly lending you his coat because it had saved you.

you followed the recipe from a culinary influencer that you followed on Instagram. you hoped that would have an effect on him.

you rang the doorbell. and the moment he opened the door, you were about to greet him with your charming delivery girl voice, but the words stuck wildly in your throat. you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay calm.

you were by no means shy, but he had literally managed to shove all of your self-confidence down your soul with his half-naked appearance. a hot steam hovered his tonic body and a white towel loosened his sculpted hips.

his chest was hot and wet as if he had just come out of a sauna. you wanted to look away but how were you supposed to ignore the size of his biceps when he rubbed his hair, the shaking movements of his arm making splash some beads of water. how were you supposed to ignore the six-packs exposed under your eyes. this body was just full of sins and you were about to lose your job if you heard your thoughts.

you gulped loudly, before finally being able to speak your mind. “ hey ! here’s your jacket. and i… ”

his smile was huge and in a way so warm. but mostly, it was his gaze. the way his eyes were fixed on your face, and your opened lips to catch every word of your mouth killed you. you tried to avoid his piercing stare but you couldn't escape it.

“ i made you some shortbread. i just hope you like cinnamon and apples. ”

“ you really made this for me ? ” he asked, like he couldn't believe it himself.

“ it's my way to show you how thankful i am. ”

“ seems like you've got a lot for me today. ”

“ "It's nothing. And you're a loyal customer. It's very nice to order from us every day. My bosses appreciate it."

“my name is zach.” he replied, holding out his hand to you.

“y/n.”

“I should have known you had a pretty name.”

you smiled before giving him all the bags. he returned a few seconds later with the tip. and your eyes widened at the amount.

“ wow... that's nice but i don't think I deserve that much money. "

“ you don't want my money ? ” he teased you softly, a little smile curving his lips. “ what can I offer you that would please you ? ”

“ you don't need to. just stay safe, okay ? ”

“ it comes from the girl who makes deliveries on cold winter days without a jacket. ”

“ i was stupid, it doesn't count. and I was late to my job, I didn't think too much. but now can you see ? i've got a superb coat. ”

he stared at you longer than he should. obviously, you were pretty. you were coming back from a long drive in the wind. you still had snowflakes in your hair, the tip of your nose was damp from the cold, your lips were slightly chapped and your breathing was foggy. you also wore an earmuff on your head which made your hair sag.

but you still looked so beautiful to him. his eyes were sparkling under the lights of the hall of his apartment.

“ would you mind if i ask you why you are ordering everyday ? i mean yea the food is really great and i'm happy that you're enjoying it truly. but it can't possibly be this awesome ? and deliveries cost some money at the end of the day, so is it…just about the food already ? ”

you know it was a risk to ask something like that but you couldn't hold yourself to hide this thought. you kept coming back everyday to his place, it was kinda your right to want to know. and also, he was not forced to answer you. you were anxious and afraid because you didn't want to seem bothered by him. you started to play with your fingers, slowly biting nervously your lower lip.

a little chuckle came from his mouth, before answering your thoughts. “ you've got me. ”

“ you think i'm dumb, zach ? ” you lighty joked to relieve the tension.

“ oh no. i know you're smarter than me, ma’am. ”

“ it's not true. you're just obvious. ”

“ but the food is really good. ” he defended himself by pulling out of the bag the box of noodles. “ want a bite ? ”

“ i'm working. ” you said.

“ actually, you're talking to me. ” he corrected.

how silly.

“ to be honest, i need to go back to work. my bosses will not be happy if i took too much time with a client. ”

“ then let's see each other without you being the delivery girl and me being the client. ”

“ i don't think it's professional. ”

“ think the way you stared at me when i opened the door was professional too ? ”

“ you know what you were doing. ” you mumbled in your throat.

“ and you're just mad because it worked. admit it, pretty. ”

you rolled your eyes and he laughed. “ it's not like you've got the body of an old man. ”

“ i'm a soccer player so i need to stay in good shape. i'm working out every day. ”

“ oh i totally suck at this game. ” you admitted.

“ you just need to learn. ” he answered. “ because, i promise, it's easy for a sport. ”

“ i don't know if i can trust you when i look at your foot…it doesn't look better since i come here…”

you didn't realize what you had just said until you caught his intense and piercing blue gaze on you. you looked away and he responded.

you had observed him. and you had just exposed it.

“It’s just an accident. It's nothing serious. I just have to be careful for a month but then I can start playing soccer and matches again. "

“you have to really love it to want to pick it up after an accident.”

“I don’t really have a choice.”

you would have loved to finish this conversation and even chat a little more with him but the clock was ticking and you had other clients.

"Okay. We can see each other again as normal people."

you wrote your number on a piece of paper before greeting him. you felt a little sorry for cutting him off in such a serious moment like this but you didn't have time anymore.

you couldn't afford to lose your job. you needed it. you were a student and you didn't really have the choice of working if you wanted to enjoy life, which was quite ironic.

When you got home, you had your phone on. zach sent you a message.

zach mclaren: hey

zach mclaren: your shortbreads were perfect

you: maybe i should start a business :)

(you boost my ego. thank you.)

zach mclaren: you know how to boost my ego too when you stare at me for so long

you: i was just checking that you don't get cold...

zach mclaren: you're not good at lying

zach mclaren: it's a compliment

you: i'm going to sleep.

zach mclaren: are you working tomorrow? i would love to see you

you: you're lucky. it's my day off.

it had already been half an hour since you said you were going to sleep but you continued to text zach. you would probably regret it tomorrow when you were half asleep in class but for now, you were responding to all his texts every second.

after your day of classes, you came home to change. you were meeting zach at the christmas market in a few minutes and you wanted to look presentable. you had arrived early for the meeting for fear of being too late, you hoped not to seem desperate or in too much of a hurry. when you saw his silhouette in the crowd, you smiled.

he was walking towards you, his hands in his pockets, and his lips were twisted into an adorable smile that was only addressed to you.

It was so warm in places like that but it was even better when you had someone by your side. you would think he was your boyfriend but he wasn't. you were still sadly single in winter.

“did you find something you like? " he asked.

“i was waiting for you.”

“ did you wait a long time ? ” he was now worried, but you reassured him.

“ also last time you said that you didn't have the choice to continue soccer…and i was wondering why ? i mean, there are a lot of alternatives. ”

“ i'm just…good at it ? i always focused on soccer since i'm a kid, and i've got no other skills or passions so i can't really give up. ”

“ there is no other things that you're good at except that ? i don't believe you. yes, i don't know you but you can't tell me you're only skilled at just shooting your feet in a ball. ”

“ i really need to show you what soccer is. ” he chuckled out loud, looking at you're confused look.

“ what do you do when you're at home ? you're just watching TV ? don't you read ? ”

“ it's boring to read. ”

you tried not to wince at his comment but your mouth was pursed slightly. “Have you ever tried to at least read some?”

you chatted while walking through the aisles filled with small traders. there was everything: jewelry, food, scented candles, soaps and body care, clothes and scarves, local products and a lot of other things.

“ i want to look at the scarves. maybe, i will find another one to add to my collection. ”

he nodded. honestly, all your desires were orders. he couldn’t say no to your sparkling eyes.

he followed you to the stand run by a lady behind her counter. she was quick to greet you as if you were her first customers of the day.

you grabbed the white scarf before wrapping it around your neck in front of the mirror. the wool was so soft.

you turned around to ask zach’s opinion but he was already looking at you. all his attention was fixed on you.

“it looks very pretty on you. you should pick that one. “

you didn't need to look in the mirror again because his gaze was terribly convincing.

White was certainly an ordinary color but with the tone of your skin, it was the ideal layering. the glow of your features was what made this scarf look so good, and what made you so attractive. Zach was literally watching you with stars in his eyes, trying so hard to not exposing his feelings but you were just so pretty with that accessory and your smile was literally taking his breath away. “ very pretty ” he whispered before towering with his height, using his hands to adjust the scarf around your neck.

His touch was so gentle, cold because of the snow that fell from the sky and gave your bones little shivers. You slowly met his gaze as his face was across yours, his fingers still wrapped around the fabric of the accessory.

Your mouth was agape, filled with tiny breathing that was tickling the space between you and him. You felt every snowflakes on your hair, your face getting colder with time.

When he took a step back, you looked away quickly.

“ i'm gonna take it then ! ”

“ you should. ”

when you were about to take out your wallet, he had already taken out his card to pay.

“You’re lucky to have a boyfriend like that. ” the lady commented.

“ he's n…” for some reason you didn’t continue your sentence.

you had just continued on your way to turn towards a food stand.

"you shouldn't have paid. I'll reimburse you..."

“I know but I wanted to do it. ”

"ok, then let me buy you something in return. why not a smoothie? athletes like that, right? it's fruity, it has vitamins. it's nutritious. let me find the perfect taste for you. ”

zach was lucky that you couldn't read his thoughts because he was gonna explode. hearing you talking about his health like that, turning yourself into a little nutritionist was something irreal for him. you were like a dream.

you were smart, gentle, soft and calm. you didn't need anything more to make him under your spell. just the way you were was enough. he was not the type to be difficult in regards to love, he could fall in love so easily with anyone. but the way you were, all the beauty that came from your brain, your physic, your gesture, your mind.

“ think you can do that without knowing every single thing about me ? ”

“ i know that you play soccer. ”

“ and ? ”

“ yea, you're kinda right. we don't know each other. but this is why we are here together in that marketplace. you're gonna talk to me about your life, the things you love, that make you happy and i will just be here, listening to you and realize that you're in fact a sweet boy. ”

“ only sweet ? i'm sure i'm more than sweet. ”

you ordered a smoothie and gave it to him, waiting to know what his thoughts on the state. he catched the straw with his mouth, and started to drink a little of the juice.

“ pretty good. ”

“ i'm glad. there are strawberries, bananas and spinach in it. i know it's the end of the day, but when you start your morning, it's a good and rich combo. ”

“ do you want to taste it ? ”

“ can i ? ”

“ you're lucky. i'm happy to share. ”

“ oh zach, you're too good. ”

“ i can ask for another str…”

“ it's okay. ”

he handed you the juice, and at the moment, you didn't care about the way your lips literally shared around the straw. you were just focused on how good your taste was. it was delicious.

you and zach continued to walk under the snow.

you shouldn't do it but unconsciously you noticed the little attention of the athlete. like the way he held you closer to prevent you from bump into people, the way he delicately readjusted your scarf so it wouldn't fall off, the way he slowed down when he felt like he was walking too fast for you, the way he went where your gaze went, looking at you so often to make sure that you were okay.

he was also a very attentive person. he loved hearing you talk, as he enjoyed listening to you. you were so interesting that he felt terribly boring next to you. you always had something to say, anecdotes, facts, stories. you could convince him to open a book more often with your words.

you had a way of being simply attractive.

when it started to get late, he walked you home. you talked about absolutely everything about cinema, music, sports, activities. you had never had so much fun. and it felt good.

you had even listened to music on the way home. you shared a pair of headphones that connected to your phone while remaining next to each other.

you had arrived at the door of your house, and a long minute had passed.

“thanks for today, zach. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a great day in my entire life.”

“then we should do this again. i mean if you're okay. ”

"Would you invite me again? It would be a pleasure. We could go to the cinema, or to.."

“whatever you want. i just like to be with you honestly. ”

you smiled. and his lightened gaze already catched your smile, while you wisely kept your hands in your pockets.

“ Oh, I almost forget.” you replied, giving him back the jacket he had lent you earlier. “ this is yours. ”

“you can keep it.”

“I can’t accept it.”

“And I can’t get it back either.”

“zach!”

"I'm serious. I'd rather see it on you than on me…”

he moved closer, leaning just above you. you had started to feel chills throughout your body, like squirming in your stomach. the proximity was so close that you were frozen. when you thought he was going to kiss you because he was leaning over your face, staring at you with light in his eyes, he simply blew on the tip of your nose. you shivered before feeling a slight rush of moisture on your face. a snowflake.

for some reason, you were kinda disappointed.

his mouth was so close to yours that you kinda expected it, his features were over yours, his lips were so close that you could feel his warm breathing against yours, and his nose was literally brushing your skin. the way it was so cold outside but every time he stood near you, the temperature rose again. it felt like he was enough to warm you up.

you didn't realize that you closed your eyes because of the sudden magic you felt inside your tummy. it was so strange. when you fixed your gaze on him again, he was two feets away from you and you chuckled softly. “ you scared me. ” you admitted. “ don't do that again. ”

“ i just protecting you from getting cold again. ”

“ you're worrying too much about me. don't forget yourself. ”

“ i can't help it. ”

"i-i need to go, okay. thanks you so much for today.”

“ text me when you're home. i mean in your room. ”

“ i'm literally there. ”

“ i just want to be sure. ”

“ okay. ”

you had been thinking about this day for the past two days. it occupied all your thoughts. you had returned to work, you had become a simple delivery person again.

you made your deliveries and then went home. the routine was the same except for one detail. zach had stopped ordering. now you were friends.

today, you suggested to Zach that you meet at the mall. It was quite cold outside due to the winter wind and snow so it was better to stay warm. you hadn't waited long before seeing him in the middle of the crowd. you were starting to get used to his presence in your life, and it was crazy how much space he could take up so quickly.

“wow, you really came fast.”

“I couldn’t keep you waiting. I'm a gentleman. ”

“I’m not that special you know.”

“I think you are. ”

“ I think you should stop saying things that make me want to fall in love with you. ”

“ Why ? Is it bad ? I'm a good guy. ”

“ Being too good is suspicious. ”

“ Fair point. ”

“ Anyways, does your feets hurt ? I've always ask you for things that make you walk so I feel sorry. ”

“ Don't worry, it's starting to get better. ” in fact, Zach was really surprised that you care about it. you cared about him more than he thought.

“ Really ? I'm glad. ”

you had followed the athlete to the video game store, a place that was extremely foreign to you but it was perfect. you wanted to know so much more about his world because since you knew him, you had the impression of only talking about yourself, of being the only one to open up.

“I bet you’re lost.” He scoffed, watching you glance around. “ You look like a puppy. ”

"I'm getting acquainted with your world. Be nice, will you?"

“I should teach you how to play.”

“ Oh yeah, teach me how to kick your ass. ”

" So this is your only motivation. ” he laughed, taking place next to you.

“ you know, i already play some games. not your type of game but…”

“ which one ? ”

“ just dance. ” you replied proudly. “ and i'm pretty good at it so don't even start to mock me. . ”

“ i believe you. but you know, you need to show me those dance skills one day. ”

“ don't say it twice. out of subject, why are we here ? you want to buy something ? ”

“ yea for my little sister. she loves to play video games like me, and it's Christmas soon so I want to buy her a new game. ”

“ oh so you're a big brother ? that's why you're so good with girls. ”

“ i thought i already told you. “

“ no, because i would remember it. what's her name ? ”

“ avery. i think you would like her. ”

“ i would like to meet her. ”

you kept talking while seeking a present for his little sister. when you find a game, he buyed it before the two of you walk to the bookstore. it was his time to get lost, and your time to shine.

“ so, this is your heaven ? ” he asked, still staring at you.

“ isn't it the most pretty place in the world ? i would buy everything here if i was rich but unfortunately i'm forced to choose only a few books. ”

“ you can read online. ” Zach suggested.

“ i know but this is not the same. i want to feel the paper. and i need to have the book in my room, to add it to my collection. ”

“ so you want to be an author later or something like that ? ”

“ oh no, reading is just a hobby. i learn a lot by reading. i can't believe you don't like it, or maybe you just didn't find the perfect book. let me find you one. ”

“ you really took that seriously. ”

“ this is why you shouldn't joke with me. so now, you're forced to read. ”

The Bluest Eye By Toni Morrison.

“ I've read this one when i was younger and it's beautiful. I think it's one of my favorites ever written. ”

“ I'm sure you've got great tastes. ”

one day, the grandmother who was your boss stopped you while you were going on deliveries.

“are you okay?”

“yes. why?”

“you know that guy you were talking about last time. he doesn’t order from us anymore. is he sick?”

" oh so that's it. don't worry. he just got what he wanted. " you replied with a wink.

A month had passed, and his feet were already feeling much better. he was going to return to university, and especially soccer.

zach mclaren : i've finished the book

you : how do you feel ?

zach McLaren : miserable

zach McLaren : but it was worth it

you : i felt the same the first time

you : but congrats, you read a book !

you : i'm feeling proud

zach mclaren : now, it's my turn

zach McLaren : come over

you : i need to study

zach mclaren : this is why you're texting me right now ?

you : i will be there in few minutes

you left your house after a quick shower to spend the rest of the day with him.

before returning to classes, he invited you to his house.

It was crazy knowing this building by heart even though you didn't live there.

he opened the door for you and you couldn’t help but joke. “ shit, you're dressed this time. ”

“ and i still make you look. ”

“ one point for yot. i've got the food. my bosses are generous and wanted to make the food for tonight. ”

“ i'm starting to be the favorite. ”

“ in your dreams. ”

you entered the apartment.

it was big enough for a student. you wondered how rich he was sometimes. you had started setting the table with all the chinese food, and he had brought the drinks. he had even prepared cakes for dessert.

you decided to watch a movie.

“what do you want to watch? ” he asked.

“ the princess and the frog. i'm in the mood to lurk at Prince Naveen. Isn't he the best prince ? ”

“ I thought i was. ”

“ So, i'm your Tiana. ” you joked. “ You would love me if I turned into a frog, Zach McLaren ? ”

“ Yea. And you will still be the best and the most beautiful person i've ever known. ”

“ I can't believe a man like you is single. ”

“ I can't believe you're single too. You're pretty, you're smart, you're talen…”

“ continue and i will think that you're in love with me. ”

“ does it matter ? ”

you looked at him, turning your gaze in his eyes.

maybe it was obvious from the start. all these commands, the way he looked at you, the way he absolutely wanted to spend time with you, the way he was constantly trying to talk to you. it wasn't just friendship, this affection was stronger, more intense. he wanted more than to be your friend.

what was less so for you was when all these attentions began to charm you. when was the moment, he made a house inside your mind and made you think of him so often.

“ Zach. ”

“ You're important to me. I love everything about you. I thought i was good by staying your friend but i want more with you. ”

“ It's so funny…I was just that delivery girl who came to your place and now, we're just here together…i mean, i'm just surprised…i'm just surprised because your words make me feel so attractive and important. i Always thought that i would end up alone and you just came into my life, made it brighter and now you're confessing your feelings about how you love me just because i was myself. ”

you were too sensitive, and zach took your hand in his, gently stroking your skin with his thumb, before you lost your gaze in the blue fierce of his eyes. “ hey, hey. look at me…”

“ when you seek love all your life and you suddenly feel loved, it's just so warm. you make everything so much better… ”

your words were shutted by his mouth, his lips moved into yours crushing them in a passionate kiss, as he pulled you closer with his hand on your cheek. you were exploding, making yourself a way on his lips, letting his free hand slowly down your body to catch your hips. he stroked them softly, his fingers dancing under the fabric of your t-shirt. you were on top of him, controlling the kiss with your tongue, and biting his lower lips with your teeths. you were pleased by the sounds of his moans under your breath. he was deliciously hot, and you shushed him with your fingers against the wet stream of his lips, forcing him to keep his mouth shut.

“ maybe, it's better to do it slowly because we are just confessing our feelings to each other. we shouldn't burn any step. it's okay for you ?”

“ i think you're right. it's better if we're taking time to make things right. ”

“ sounds like we're understanding each other well. ”

“ i really want to take my time with you, and we're not in a hurry. ”

“ i appreciate you for this. you're my first boyfriend you know and what i mean by that is that i'm…very happy that's you. i don't care that i'm not your first girlfriend because I feel really loved and it's all that matters. ”

[scoutofmymind]

your anora au fic had my jaw hanging. at first i couldn’t picture it all from the prompt but once i started reading your writing……ma’am you truly are the luigi fic whisperer

Losing Dogs Pt. 2 — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: SFW, kissing, meeting-parents-for-the-first-time-anxiety, big emphasis on Luigi being Italian, familial secrets, reader is a sex worker, fluff, sorry for any inconsistencies I got too stoned writing this

Wc: 7,010 (woah)

Notes: Click here to read part one.

It’s not the condo in Manhattan that the dinner would be held — instead, the Mangione’s main homestead in Sagaponack, which after googling, you’d realized was the second wealthiest zip code in the United States.

Right behind Atherton, California, of which the Mangione’s own a vacation house.

You sit with Luigi in the back of the Flying Spur, driven by a man you’d met only a few times before, Paulo.

He drove for both Luigi and his sister whenever she was in the city, and since Luigi much preferred driving himself, Paulo had been sitting pretty on his salary with very little to do for the Mangione’s, except as of late.

"Your sister is making me loco," Paulo says, catching Luigi's reflection in the rearview mirror, though Luigi seems more focused on your tense posture beside him. "She wants to go here and there, bringing this boy and that in the car." He gestures at the interior with a sort of wounded pride, as if each scuff mark on the premium leather is a personal affront. "They all are dirty Brooklyn boys."

You massage your temples with two fingers, fighting back a wave of irritation.

The irony isn't lost on you — how Paulo, who fled Almeria with nothing but a threadbare suitcase and desperate dreams, now speaks with the practiced disdain of old money.

Twenty years of opening doors for the Mangiones has made him forget the taste of struggle.

"Nothing's wrong with Brooklyn," Luigi mumbles, making a dismissive gesture toward the front — a subtle but clear command for Paulo to hold his tongue. You can't help but think that without Mr. Mangione's intervention years ago, Paulo might well be hustling in those same Brooklyn streets he now sneers at.

The same ones you grew up in.

"Yeah, if you like murderers," Paulo snorts, his Spanish accent thickening with each syllable of his obnoxious laugh.

Usually, long drives soothe your nerves — the world outside becoming a peaceful blur through tinted windows.

But now you're trapped here for two hours, gnawing anxiously at your thumbnail while trying not to chip the pristine red French manicure that matches your dress perfectly.

"Paulo," Luigi's voice drops dangerously low, his dark eyes drilling into the back of the driver's head. "Do you ever think about going back to Almeria?"

"No," Paulo stammers, his knuckles blanching against the leather steering wheel. "America is my home now, Lui. I do not wish to ever go back to Spain — not for as long as I live."

Luigi reclines, arching one perfect brow as a cold smile plays at his lips. "Ah," he clicks his tongue, catching Paulo's nervous glance in the rearview mirror. His voice takes on that silky quality you've only heard whispered about — the tone that makes even hardened men remember their mortality. "Then perhaps we should ensure you remain grateful for that arrangement. Wouldn't want circumstances to change."

Paulo swallows hard, as he returns his full attention to the road. The remaining tension in the car feels like a coiled spring, and you notice his hands have begun to tremble slightly against the wheel.

"Mi dispiace, Luigi," he mutters, his accent thickening with anxiety as he slips into practiced Italian instead of his native Spanish. "I spoke out of turn. Your sister, she is a wonderful woman. The boys she dates — they are fine young men."

Luigi's smile doesn't warm, but he settles back into the plush leather seat, seemingly satisfied with Paulo's discomfort.

He isn’t a monster.

Paulo wasn’t an illegal immigrant, and Luigi wasn’t threatening deportation — rather, Paulo was a felon on borrowed time, one toe over the line of last warning.

It wasn’t often Luigi had to use this advantage, but when he did, he made sure not to drag it out for longer than need be. He wasn’t much a fighter as he was a silencer — arguing took up too much time, and Luigi had never initiated a fight he knew he couldn’t win.

So, that does it.

The privacy divider glides up with a soft hum — Paulo's preemptive gesture of self-preservation.

You've been lost in the blur of passing scenery, mind wandering through the early summer landscape, when Luigi's touch anchors you back to reality. His hand finds your thigh, warm through the fabric, and his chin comes to rest on your shoulder. "What are you thinking about?"

You turn your head slightly, meeting dark eyes that seem to catch every flicker of emotion crossing your face. "Nothing important," Luigi's fingers tighten fractionally on your thigh — a gentle reminder that he can always tell when you're deflecting.

The passing shadows from the trees dance across his features as he studies you, patient and unrelenting.

It's that same quiet intensity that made you first notice him across a crowded room at Sapphire.

The kind of presence that doesn't need to announce itself to get attention.

"Try again.”

You're not sure you want to dig into it before you face it — the scrutiny of his parents.

It hits you then, a realization that makes your stomach twist; you've crafted a world where adoration comes to you as naturally as breathing.

At Sapphire, your regulars wait in their shadowy booths like devoted disciples, wallets ready and eyes hungry for your attention — you know exactly how to move, what to say, how to make them feel.

Even at the bars, you've carved out your own kind of sovereignty. Whether it's hustling pool from cocky frat boys who underestimate you, or standing up for the pretty bartender when some drunk gets too aggressive.

You know how to command those spaces, how to make them yours.

But this? A sprawling mansion you’ve only seen on Google with its manicured hedges and courtyards decorated with fountains? This is different.

You can't dance your way through this dinner.

Can't rely on the carefully constructed persona that makes men weak in the knees and keeps you safe behind its glittering facade; here, in this world of pride and predjudice you'll have to be raw, real, like Luigi’s sister says you are — the girl beneath the eyeliner and confident winks into the crowd.

While Luigi has seen all sides of you — the dancer who owns the stage and the girl who snorts when she laughs too hard, his parents will be looking for cracks in your armor, for signs that you're not quite what they imagined for their son.

And the first time in years, you're not sure how to make someone love you.

Your mind wanders to another conversation with Julia last Thursday in the dressing room.

She snaps her gum, the sound echoing against the tall ceilings as you wage war once again with your liquid eyeliner. Your reflection grimaces back at you — fourth attempt at the wing and still not quite right.

"I saw him again at Paradiso," she says, tugging at her glittery, sheer periwinkle tights before adjusting her sparkly top with practiced precision. Your hand stills for a moment — yes, that Paradiso Casino — where old money goes to play and new money goes to be seen.

Where the minimum bet could cover your Brooklyn rent.

Your eyes meet hers in the mirror briefly before returning to your careful strokes.

"He's totally workin' for his Pops, babe," Julia continues, leaning closer to the mirror to check her contour. "I saw him for like twenty minutes just watchin’ tables." She pauses for a second. Applies more of her newly gifted Dior lipgloss. “Dean says they call people who just like to watch Railbirds.” She smacks her lips together, “I said I call them cucks.”

You tried then to picture it — Luigi in Paradiso's opulent interior, reducing hundred-thousand-dollar bets to patterns and probabilities, while wearing what was probably another one of those cashmere sweaters that hung down to his thighs — just an unassuming spectator.

"What am I walking into?" Your voice shakes in the middle, uncertain of yourself for the first time in a long time — you realize here and now that you've surrounded yourself with constant familiars, hardly pushing many of the boundaries of comfort zones until this very moment.

You'd figure once you begin dancing, bare from the bellybutton up, that there must be very little in this world that would frighten you — but that's devastatingly far from the truth.

Facing Luigi's parents over dinner suddenly seems more daunting than any stage you've ever graced.

Luigi presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, nipping at it gently. "Hmm," he hums, pretending to think. His voice is soft and soothing, gentle as it wraps around your throbbing heart. "You're walking into my childhood home, where my mom's probably stress-making her third batch of Maritozzi, and my dad's pretending to work while actually practicing what he thinks are casual conversation topics."

He trails his fingers down your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"You're walking into the place where I first learned to code, where I have embarrassing high school photos hanging in the hallway, and where, after tonight, they're going to love you almost as much as I do.” Luigi doesn’t stumble over his words, doesn’t stutter — he says what he says, and he means it.

Following his confession, there is no apology — no stuttering of clarification that he didn't mean to say love, no awkward cough to cover the weight of those words.

You even give him a minute to backtrack, but he doesn't, his fingers just continue their lazy dance across your skin, as if he hasn't just tilted your world on its axis.

You try to imagine the scene he's painted for you, but it's so far from the image you've already created — ballgowns, flashy diamonds, crystal champagne flutes, designer everything.

Your mind has conjured a palace where apparently there's just a home, transformed his mother into some intimidating socialite instead of a woman who stress-bakes desserts.

It almost feels royal in a way, this mental image you can't scrub away despite Luigi's depiction of it seeming so wonderfully, terrifyingly normal.

“Your mother doesn’t just have it catered?” You quirk a brow, surveying what looks like shock washing over him, or perhaps disgust at such an idea.

“Oh, wait till you try it. Can’t cater a Mangione Maritozzi.” He shook his head, holding your chin while he pressed a kiss to your cheek, your sudden turn toward him to catch his lips much needed on both ends, finding some sort of tension release in panting into each others mouths for a few minutes until Paulo slowly rolled down the partition separating the front seats from the back.

"Lui, your Papa wants to know—" Paulo nods as if he could be seen on the other line, stumbling through the conversation with the endearing awkwardness of someone trying to be both chauffeur and messenger. "Okay— si —I'll ask—uh—" He catches your eye in the rear-view mirror, his crow's feet deepening with genuine warmth, sunlight catching the silver at his temples. "Sweetheart, what kind of wine do you like? Signore Mangione said it's important there's a bottle for you tonight."

You eye Luigi, and then Paulo.

Oh.

You’re sweetheart.

You think of all the wines Luigi has shared with you — those expensive bottles from the club brought home on quiet nights, the careful pairings at Eleven Madison Park where he taught you to roll each sip across your tongue before you swallow; your mind particularly lingers on the Italian wines, as if some part of you had always known this knowledge would be currency one day.

Though, you never imagined it would be spent trying to impress parents rather than clients.

"I like a Gavi," you offer, aiming for casual while your heart drums an unsteady rhythm. The wine brings back one of Luigi's stories — him describing it as 'beach wine' while tracing patterns on your bare shoulder, telling you about sun-drenched afternoons in Sicily where his mother would polish off a bottle before their lazy walks back to whichever summer villa they were occupying that season. "Chianti, Nebbiolo, Brunello, I like all of it."

Paulo's lips curl into what can only be described as a knowing smirk, giving one deliberate nod before sealing the partition between you once again, the mechanical whir of the window leaving behind a weighted silence and the distinct feeling that you've just passed something you didn't know you were taking.

"Good job," Luigi says softly, trying and failing to contain his pride, as if you'd done more than simply answer a question the way you always do — with careful honesty.

You like what you like, but there's always room for something new.

"Good job?" The words echo back, puzzled.

You're not sure when wine preferences became an achievement worth celebrating.

Luigi's hand finds your thigh, giving it an affectionate pat followed by those gentle squeezes that usually comfort, but now feel like morse code tapping out a message you're just beginning to decode.

And then you remember.

Everything is a test.

•

Everything blurs into a soft-focus haze, your body operating on pure instinct — that same autopilot that kicked in during your first night at Sapphire.

Back then, the stage lights had felt like interrogation beams, the music a distant thunder, until your survival instincts took over and carried you through. Now, your senses are simultaneously dulled and heightened, catching fragments of reality like a camera taking random snapshots.

What pierces through the fog is the moment the door swings open; the air hits you with a wave of sweet almond and fresh bread, so rich and warm it feels almost tangible. Children's laughter echoes down the corridors, their small feet pattering against hardwood as they weave through the hallways like ribbons of joy.

The space unfolds before you — a carefully curated gallery of moments and memories. Family photographs share wall space with original paintings, scenes of rolling Italian countryside and explosive flower gardens.

And suddenly, you begin to realize that this is a wealth that whispers rather than shouts; the kind that's been around long enough to feel comfortable in its own skin.

You're eventually greeted by a woman in the kitchen who embodies casual elegance in a way that makes you realize where Luigi gets it from.

Her white sleeves are rolled to her elbows with the kind of precise messiness that takes years to perfect, the fabric expensive but lived-in, flowing just so. The pinstriped shorts, cuffed and high-waisted, cinched with a statement leather belt, speak of Milan runway shows adapted for a day of baking.

"Don't mind my clothes," she says, leaning in to brush your cheek with a kiss that smells of vanilla and Tom Ford. "I've fallen so behind, I've been fussing over Maritozzo for hours." There's a theatrical exhaustion in her voice, but her eyes dance with the satisfaction of someone in their element, a slight smile playing at lips that look just like her son's.

"And I continue to tell her that one-hundred is enough." A voice rolls through the room like summer thunder, thick with an Italian accent that hasn't softened despite what must be decades in America. The hand that extends toward you belongs to a man who fills the doorway with both his physical presence and his personality, and you accept his handshake, noting how it's firm but careful —another test, perhaps, but one you've had plenty of practice passing.

"Oh, it's so good to finally meet you Mr. And Mrs. Mangione, I - I'm—"

"Please call me Marco." He interrupts with a smile that seems gentle but doesn't quite reach his eyes — the kind of smile you've seen Luigi use with his professors. "That's Val." He gestures to his wife with a casual authority that suggests he's used to making introductions for her. Despite the warmth in the air and the Italian bakery-scented welcome, your guard remains firmly in place, each sense fine-tuned to the subtleties floating beneath the surface. "We've heard plenty about you."

A chorus of pleasantries swirl in your direction, 'it's lovely to meet you' tangling with 'so good to have you' — but before you can choose the right response, Luigi's fingers find yours, index and middle, tugging you deeper into the Mangione mansion where it all surprises you.

Not in its grandeur, which you'd expected, but in its soul.

It's not the cold showpiece you'd imagined, but something more nuanced — generations of memories wrapped in the warmth of early summertime Sunday dinners and children's laughter, comforts in tradition.

"This is—" Your voice trails off as you pause in one of the hallways, eyes drawn to the carefully curated artwork. Here, in this section of the house, there's no room for casual family snapshots or children's artwork. These walls are a carefully composed love letter to artistry itself, each piece positioned with deliberate precision. "The closest I've felt to being in Italy."

Luigi releases a soft snort-laugh through his nose, the sound both amused and knowing. "Well, those two can't stand being away from home." He gives a slight shrug, his fingers still loosely tangled with yours. "Everything they touch turns to the Roman Empire, or something." There's affection in his mock exasperation, the tone of someone who's grown up watching his parents transform every space they inhabit into a piece of the country they leave behind during the summers.

Luigi's style runs a different current.

Modern, eclectic, with just enough echoes of his heritage to show he knows where he comes from but isn't bound by it. The condo in Manhattan speaks of someone who studied the rules before choosing which ones to break.

Where his parents fill their walls with Renaissance masterpieces and classical scenes, Luigi's space (which, is owned by his parents, of course) breathes with contemporary Italian designers and abstract art.

No dramatic death of Caesar there, no Venus emerging from her shell, no tragic Dido — his rebellion is subtle but distinct.

The thought trails off as you follow him further down a hall that curves like a question mark, through what appears to be some unspoken threshold between the house's public face and its private memories.

He slows at a door, his hand hesitating on the handle for just a fraction of a second. "My old room," he says, pushing the door open with a mix of pride and something almost like embarrassment.

It's a time capsule of teenage Luigi, preserved with the kind of maternal devotion that makes you wonder if Val dusts in here weekly — trophies catching light on shelves, vintage Ferrari posters carefully framed rather than taped, and what looks suspiciously like a perfectly made bed that hasn't been slept in for quite awhile.

"God, she hasn't changed anything," Luigi mutters, running his fingers along the edge of his old desk — sleek, dark wood that seems too grown-up for the teenage bedroom around it. "Pretty sure these are the same physics notes from high school."

You drift toward his bookshelf, finding an unexpected mix of Eco and Calvino alongside car magazines and engineering textbooks. The room tells its own story —of a boy caught between tradition and ambition, between his parents' world and the one he wanted to build for himself.

"All those years of them pushing me to be a doctor," he says with a quiet laugh, coming up behind you. His breath warms your neck as he reaches past to pull something from the shelf — a small trophy, its golden shine dulled by time. "And here I was, taking apart every electronic device in the house just to see how it worked."

It seems to come in handy now, your mind wandering to Julia's words in the dressing room again, her voice carrying that particular tone she uses when she thinks she's stumbled onto something significant.

He's workin' for his Pops.

And here you are, standing in the carefully preserved shrine to his engineering curiosity, wondering if maybe his teenage rebellion and his father's expectations had found some unexpected middle ground.

Through the window, you can see the garden where dinner will be served later — string lights already hanging in anticipation of sunset, white tablecloths rippling in the breeze like sails. But for now, you're in this preserved pocket of Luigi's past, watching him navigate the space between who he was and who he's become.

"Were there any more tests I wasn't aware of?" You ask softly, sinking onto Luigi's old teenage bed, your fingers tracing absent patterns on the duvet. Every inch of this room holds echoes – first dreams, last goodbyes, all the moments that shaped him into who he is now.

"No," he laughs, but it's gentle, almost protective as he steps closer. His fingers thread through your hair with a tenderness that makes your chest tight. "You know how he operates now — he'll come out of the woodwork when we least expect it." There's something bittersweet in how well Luigi understands his father's choreography.

Though, that much would make sense.

Luigi has spent his entire life studying Marco Mangione like a cipher to be cracked — mapping his father's habits, his patterns, calculating the precise atmospheric conditions needed for a 'yes' versus a 'no.' He'd tested theories over the years, debunked some while others proved as reliable as sunrise.

Each interaction a data point, each response carefully cataloged and cross-referenced.

Luigi had learned to read code before he ever knew what it was, picking apart the binary beneath every casual gesture, every loaded silence.

Now he does it reflexively, automatically translating the language of human behavior — a skill born from necessity that's become as natural as breathing. Even now, you can see it in the way his eyes track every micro-expression, every shift in body language, processing information most people never notice is there.

"They're much nicer than I thought." You tilt your head back to meet his gaze, fingers circling his wrists, thumbs tracing the ridges of his knuckles. "They looked nothing how I imagined."

"How do they look?" His voice is soft, curious.

"Exactly how I should have imagined them." Your laugh is self-deprecating, but it fades when you catch the look in his eyes. There's something tender and almost nostalgic there — like he's standing in two realms at once, the successful young man he's become sharing a silent understanding with the dreaming boy who once pressed engineering diagrams to the walls.

His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, and you wonder if he's thinking about all the times he imagined bringing someone he loved into this room, someone who could see past the carefully curated family narrative to the truth of him.

“I love you.” You say, hushed and whispered, but he hears you crystal clear; you try to recall the last time you’d said those words to someone who wasn’t a friend or relative, but you draw a blank.

That might just explain the heaviness in your chest.

"I love you." The words slip out in a whisper, but they ring with the clarity of a bell. You try to remember the last time you said those words to someone who wasn't bound to you by blood or years of friendship. The memory refuses to surface, and maybe that's why your chest feels so full it might burst.

"I love you." Luigi echoes, and his smile – god, his smile. It's the look of a man who's found something he didn't even know he was searching for, contentment settling into the lines of his face like it's finally found its home.

You press your lips to his palms, trailing kisses down to the pulse point at his wrists, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin.

In his touch, you find an anchor, even as everything else feels like it's shifting beneath your feet. This mansion in its previously feared hallways couldn't be further from your cozy Brooklyn studio or the vibrant streets of the Bronx where you visiting your grandmother growing up. Those pieces of yourself — they're treasures you'll always carry.

But here, wrapped in the warmth of Luigi's hands, you realize something profound; this isn't just another world you're stepping into. This is the life that's been waiting for you all along, patient as a prayer, faithful as the tide.

It's the kind of fairy tale the other girls at the club whisper about between sets — finding their Prince Charming, their golden ticket, their happily ever after.

Like Julia and countless others who dance with stars in their eyes, hoping each night might grant their wish. But you — you had started dancing with both feet planted firmly in reality. Each shift was simple mathematics; rent, textbooks, tuition. Bills that needed paying, dreams that needed funding.

Love wasn't even a footnote in your business plan.

“Lui!” A girls voice rings from down the hall.

Luuuuuui!

The door bursts open with the force of an incoming tide.

"Hello!" Her accent sits lighter than her mother's, a ghost of Italy rather than its beating heart. You find yourself wondering when Luigi chose to plant his roots here in American soil — a detail that somehow slipped through the cracks of all your late-night conversations.

Her hair cascades past her ribcage in twin braids, artfully disheveled in that way that takes hours to perfect. Those distinctive Mangione eyebrows — perfectly sculpted arches — frame eyes that mirror her brother's. Identical marks dot her cheeks like constellations, an echo of Luigi's own that make you smile, a nod at nature's persistent genetics.

Then it hits you — that nagging sense of familiarity crystallizing into recognition.

You've traced these features before, fingertips skimming glossy magazine pages in the dressing room between sets. Amelia Mangione, the sister Luigi speaks of with such fondness, whose career soared while keeping her family name carefully hidden from the headlines.

“Oh, tesoro," she clasps your hands with the reverence of answered prayers, her rings cool against your skin. "I'm so glad I won't have to spend another summer drowning in testosterone." The relief in her voice is genuine — you can hear years of being the sole daughter amongst sons, of finding solace only in her mother's company and the fleeting visits of her fashion-world friends from Paris and Milan.

Unlike Luigi, who wove himself seamlessly into the American lifestyle, Amelia kept one foot firmly planted in European soil, treating America more like a vacation home than native ground.

Your smile mirrors hers. "Lui, I'm taking the boat out. I wanted to invite the two of—"

"They're letting you drive the boat again?" Luigi's eyebrow arches skyward, his gaze drifting to the tree line where you imagine water glinting beyond it.

"Well, yeah, obviously—" She rolls her eyes with practiced elegance, her hands tightening around yours like you're co-conspirators. "I already lugged the wine up there." The shimmer on her cheekbones makes sense now, summer's heat having painted her in its golden light. "Andiamo!"

You glance down at your carefully chosen dress – the one you'd agonized over this morning, imagining a formal dining room and judging eyes – then back to Luigi, uncertainty blooming. "I don't have—"

"You will borrow one from me." Giulia waves away your protest before it can fully form, already three steps ahead in that way that speaks of years orchestrating fashion shoots and runaways.

"But —dinner — I'll look awful."

"It's just dinner." Her playful scoff punctures your bubble of worry, and suddenly you're seeing everything through new eyes. All your expectations of stuffed shirts and starched napkins dissolve in the face of her casual radiance. It's just dinner.

Not an inquisition, but an invitation to simply be.

The transformation was quick and painless.

In Amelia's room, she helped you select a bikini from her collection, each piece chosen with a model's eye for detail. The white Prada coverup whispered against your thighs as you padded barefoot across the grounds, all pretense of formality abandoned in favor of simple summer freedom.

It reminds you of visiting your mother in California.

The garage housed three mud-splattered Jeeps of which you piled in among the Mangione siblings — Luigi, Amelia, and a teenaged Luca — as well as a golden retriever that seemed to materialize from thin air, claiming his usual spot with the entitled ease of a family member.

"This place is fucking beautiful," you breathed over some Charli XCX song you recognize from pop nights at the club, watching the world transform through the window.

Luigi caught your eye, a smile playing at his lips as Amelia navigated the gravel paths — paths that, as Luigi couldn't resist pointing out, he and Luca had laid one sweltering summer.

Well, mostly him, while Luca performed his specialty..

Supervisory work from the shade.

The landscape unfolded like a secret forest, all rolling hills, wildflowers, and dappled shadows. It was hard to believe this was still New York — but then again, the Hamptons had always existed in its own ethereal pocket of reality.

The Jeep comes to rest atop a gentle rise, and like a cork popping from champagne, everyone spills out.

Enzo — the golden retriever/ Fourth Mangione sibling — leads the exodus, a streak of gold against green as he bounds down the slope toward the waiting water.

The pontoon boat rocks lazily in the quarry lake, its surface shifting between sea glass and cobalt blue as bright white clouds drift overhead.

"Enzo!" Luca's voice carries across the water as he chases after the dog who's already making abstract art in the shoreline sand, transforming his golden coat into a masterpiece of wet fur and grit.

You stand transfixed, and Luigi reads the questions in your expression without needing to be asked for an explanation.

"They were digging for limestone and hit a spring," he explains, tying the drawstring on his swim shorts. You’ve already drooled over his thighs before piling into the Jeep. "If you can believe it, it'd cost more money to stop the water from filling up the quarry than they'd be making from the mined limestone, so they just said fuck it."

He’s info-dumping now, something you’d grown accustomed to, and you accept his offered hand as you step onto the boat. "I guess that's one way the universe can eat the rich," he muses, both of you watching sunlight fracture across the water's surface, turning the quarry into a sparking kaleidoscope of light.

Amelia claims her position at the helm with the easy confidence of someone who's spent countless summers in that very spot.

For better or for worse.

Her playlist fills the air as she calls out commands, “Everyone to the back!” the authority in her voice earned through experience rather than inheritance.

Still, the boat stubbornly clings to its sandy berth until Luigi drops into the shallows with practiced grace.

You watch as he pushes against the hull, sun-soaked muscles straining before vaulting back aboard in one fluid motion, “You’re welcome, captain!”

It's here, in this unguarded moment, that you see past the polished veneer of wealth and a computer science degree — you see him as simply a brother, a son, a young man shaped not just by privilege but by the genuine bonds of family love.

Water drips from his soft skin, and his laughter mingles with Amelia's music, and somehow this feels more valuable than all the limestone they never mined.

The Luigi you know moves through life like a metronome — the way he times his coffee to brew exactly as he finishes his morning shower, how he highlights textbooks in perfect diagonal strokes, the precise rhythm of his knife against the cutting board.

But here, those patterns dissolve into something wonderfully unpredictable. Something you’ve always feared suddenly being embraced.

"I've heard sooo much about you," Amelia whispers gently, her words nearly carried away by the gentle breeze.

You're both stretched out on the pontoon's cushioned stern, sharing the patch of shade, a secret hideaway from the blazing sun. Her tone carries no judgment or scrutiny — just the warm curiosity of someone finally meeting a character from stories they've grown to love.

You watch the brothers from where you lie, their athletic forms silhouetted against the sparkling water as they compete in increasingly elaborate flips off the boat's edge. "I'm hoping all good things," a laugh escapes you, but there’s an unspoken understanding in Amelia's presence — the careful way she's welcomed you into their world shows her trust in Luigi’s judgment.

"Never a bad word from that boy," Amelia responds, clicking her tongue with knowing affection. "You know him." And you do — you know how Luigi moves through life with a studied grace, how even his frustrations with difficult professors or unsettling clients at Sapphire remain carefully contained, expressed in subtle shifts of posture or the briefest tightening around his eyes rather than outright complaint.

"Has he always been that way?" You push your sunglasses up, surrendering your carefully styled curls to the inevitability of lake water and summer air, gathering them into a ponytail that's more practicality than style.

Amelia considers the question over the rim of her glass, the rosé painting sunset colors across her cheeks. "Yes. Papa hates it." Her lips curve into something too complex to be a grimace, the beauty mark above them emphasizing every nuance of the expression. "But found a way to work with what he was given."

The implications ripple outward — a father playing a long game of chess with his children as pieces.

Luca's youthful charm deployed like a pawn, Amelia's beauty advanced like a queen, Luigi's intellect positioned like a knight, each move calculated for maximum advantage. "Oh, with work?" Your voice emerges cautious and knowing, channeling Julia's ability to navigate delicate waters while gathering information.

"Mhm." Amelia clinks her wine glass against yours. "Lui is Papa's cash cow. Without him, his business would be somewhere in the bottom of this quarry." Her gesture sweeps toward the water where her brothers have hoisted themselves onto a dock floating out in the distance. "Luca is too young to make money for him like that just yet, and there's only so many of Papa's friends who will agree to business matters from the mouth of a twenty-two year old with a degree in fashion design." She gestures toward herself.

"Do you think he likes the work he does with your father?" The question catches in your throat, followed by a softer admission: "We don't talk much about it."

You watch realization cross Amelia's face like a cloud passing over the sun — the sudden awareness that she might have ventured into forbidden territory.

Still, she answers with a stark simplicity, "No," as she shields herself behind designer frames. "But Lui loves Papa, and has become too much of an asset to back out now." She reclines onto her back, empty wine glass balanced perfectly in manicured fingers, adding with quiet finality, “At least without any consequences."

•

The sun has left its mark in the pleasant heaviness of your limbs as you settle at the dinner table. Your arrival dress, that careful splash of red, feels like it belonged to a different day entirely.

Now you're draped in white cotton that catches the evening breeze, a piece of Amelia's artistry that she'd gifted with casual grace, claiming it found its true home in your wearing of it.

The moment you've been bracing for arrives with the setting sun, and you can feel the weight of possibilities — both wonderful and terrible — hovering over the set table.

If this is where your fairy tale shatters, at least you'll have the memory of Luigi's laughter echoing across the quarry, of Luca's backflips, of Amelia's conspiratorial wine-warmed confidences.

A perfect day to cushion whatever comes next.

"So," Luigi's mother begins, her attention settling on you with the precision of a gallery curator examining a new acquisition, "Luigi told me you're studying philosophy."

The conversation unfolds with an easy grace that belies your earlier anxiety. Under the table, Luigi's hand finds your thigh — an anchor point of warmth and reassurance. His thumb traces lazy circles against skin still holding the day's sunshine, while above the crisp white tablecloth, you weave your way through dinner conversation with an effortless charisma.

The harsh spotlight fades as conversations bloom around you like night flowers, a blessed reprieve.

Luca leans across the table, gesturing with his fork as he tells you about Italian high school trends, while Amelia's tales of Parisian fashion houses paint pictures of silk and scandal. Little cousins squabble over the last Maritozzi, their faces smeared with cream as they declare Zia Val the best baker in all the universe, while aunts and uncles trade stories of the Mangione siblings’ childhood, each memory polished smooth from repeated telling.

As sunset bleeds into dusk, fireflies begin their dance over the lawn.

The younger cousins and Luca — still bound by the unspoken hierarchy of family duties — clear plates from the long garden table with practiced efficiency.

Around you, the family disperses into familiar patterns; teenagers float on oversized loungers in the soft-lit pool once they’ve finished cleaning up, their phones glowing like stars; the older generation gravitates toward the stone fire pit where flames paint their faces in flickering gold; others drift between conversations, moving from plush patio seats to gently swaying porch swings with glasses of wine and limoncello.

"I'm gonna be right back." Luigi bends down, his cologne wrapping around you like an expensive promise as he interrupts your debate with Luca about Machiavelli's modern relevance in American universities. His hand brushes your shoulder — casual, proprietary — you catch something tense in the set of his jaw that doesn't match his easy smile.

You wave him off, drawn back into Luca's passionate defense of Italian philosophical traditions. It's only when you're thirty minutes deep into comparing Gramsci interpretations that you realize Luigi's "right back" has stretched into a conspicuous absence.

"Which door will take me to the closest bathroom?" You nudge Amelia, who's sprawled beside you on the oversized porch swing, both of your phones glowing with newly exchanged social media profiles. She's already added you to her close friends Instagram list and declared your birth charts "literally perfect" – Leo moon to your Scorpio rising, whatever that means.

The wine has made her affectionate; she giggles into your shoulder, her Cartier bracelet catching the garden lights.

"Oh — hm," she pauses, wine glass tilted thoughtfully against her lower lip. Her eyes scan the villa's facade until they land on a set of French doors, their elegant frame nearly hidden beneath cascading ivy that glows emerald in the garden lighting. Through the glass, you glimpse the lush interior of what appears to be a greenhouse. "That one. Go in and turn left. Just before Papa's study."

The last words seem to sober her slightly, though you can't tell if it's the mention of her father or just the wine catching up to her.

You fortify yourself with another generous sip of wine before crossing the starlit lawn.

The greenhouse welcomes you with a wall of perfumed air, and you pause despite your mission, admiring how Val has transformed this space into a jungle of orchids and climbing vines that seem to glow in the orchestrated lighting.

Through the leaves, crystal wind chimes catch the evening breeze, their soft music following you as you transition from the humid warmth into the estates air-conditioned interior, where maplewood floors and elaborate crown molding remind you exactly whose house you're in.

The wine has softened the edges of Amelia's directions. Left at the-or was it right after the — You pause, orienting yourself in the maze of hallways, when voices drift down the corridor.

Making an executive decision that human sounds are better than wandering lost all night, you follow them.

But three steps in, something in those voices. Their pitch, their intensity, turns your wine-warmed blood to ice.

You freeze mid-step, suddenly aware that you're hearing something you shouldn't.

Again.

The plush runner beneath your feet muffles any sound of your presence as the conversation from behind the study door grows clearer, more distinct.

"I can't keep doing this," Luigi's voice, stripped of its usual warm humor, carries a rare edge of desperation. "The risks are getting-“

"Non dire stronzate." Don’t talk nonsense. His father's reply cracks like a whip through the air. "The Paradiso matter needs handling. Their whale is getting too lucky, and you will take care of it. Tomorrow."

"He's not lucky — he's skilled. And I won't-“

"Do not dare to tell me no." The subtle shift in his father's tone makes you shiver despite the lingering warmth of the summer evening. Crystal clinks against crystal as ice cubes settle in what you imagine is his ever-present scotch. "Everything you are, everything you have. Who gave you all of it? Have you forgotten who paid for that degree you still haven’t finished?"

"I know." Luigi's voice sounds suddenly tired, hollowed out. "You never let me forget."

"The casino crumbles without these controls. You think Luca's art school in Florence, Amelia's little fashion dreams in Milan — you think any of this exists without sacrifice?" A pause, then softer, "La ragazza... She is lovely. Charming. But what does she bring to our name besides pretty smiles and trouble? Tell me, figlio mio, what does a sex working philosophy student offer the Mangiones except distraction?"

Another clink of ice, the creak of expensive leather, a sharp exhale.

"I'll watch the tables tomorrow." Luigi's submission comes quietly, defeat threading through each syllable. "But I beg you to remember that you cannot do this without me.” You hear him stand, and you can tell his jaw is clenched when he says, “And you will leave her the fuck out of it.”

[lebowskismoney]

yuu is EXTREMELY undocumented immigrant coded

For starters, they’re not just similar to undocumented immigrants. They’re best comparable to undocumented immigrant children. When their parents bring them across the border, there’s usually an unknown possibility of returning. They don’t have a say in whether they come along, that decision is made for them without their knowledge. All they know is “this is for their greater good”.

Now compare that to Yuu’s entry to twst. They literally don’t remember anything other than entering the world via horse-drawn hearse. They wake up in a coffin, symbolizing the death of their previous life and the start of a new one in TWST. They weren’t even aware of their transmigration until the deed was done. Upon transmigrating, they were told to make a choice and stick to it for everyone’s sake, not being given an out.

They’ve been transmigrated with literally nothing of use. They don’t have a valid ID nor currency. Their world is inaccessible. They are told “it is up to you to find a way back.” And the job they’re given to support themselves while they search for a way home? Custodian, one of the occupations most often associated with immigrant workers.

People are anchored to their new countries in different ways. That tends to be via each other. If someone marries a citizen, they have a pathway to obtaining citizenship, and someone has an anchor if they have a child during their stay. In Yuu’s situation, they’re anchored by Grim. Grim and Yuu both attend NRC as one student. They don’t have the means to attend individually, and Yuu has the risk of being cast out onto the streets if they don’t cooperate.

Speaking of cooperating, Yuu has more obligations than “attend NRC” and “find your way back” (supposed to be Crowley’s task but yk what he does). They are often tasked with things that are not their responsibility. Things like investigating/dismantling attempts at sport event sabotage, blackmail, overblots, that’s not supposed to be their priority. But if they don’t do that, they risk going without room and board, literal homelessness and no chance of finding a way back.

This is similar to another experience migrant children go through: having to support their families in order to remain afloat. Often times this includes translating documents with elementary levels of the language they're learning or working alongside their parents to bring food to the table. They have no other choice, these are things that must be done in order to survive.

Imma go into another tangent that is a bit of theory crafting but honestly really worth delving into:

There’s also the problem of whether they can even go back home. Asylum-seeking immigrants and those with similar situations don’t always have a place to go back to in their home country. Their countries are not safe anymore; they wouldn’t have left if they had the ability to form a safe and stable life in their homeland. However, children aren’t always aware of that. They are taken to the destination country without the possibility of return. How does Yuu know they’ll be able to go back to their world? They’re in the same situation: they made the journey, but their return is unknown. It could’ve been a one-way ticket to TWST, leaving them stranded and with a new objective: establish an actual identity or find a way to become a citizen from square one.

On a final note, this is another reason why I love their friendship with Ace and Deuce, especially after book four. Those two received ONE ping from their friend indicating they were in danger and dropped EVERYTHING to help them. They know better than everyone how hard Yuu has it and went out of their way to make sure they were safe and sound. They look after Yuu time after time just as Yuu gets them out of dicey situations.

[megabuild]

x is the perfect internet dad because just like a real dad he has some BONKERS ass opinions

dad coded not in the sense that hes an older paternal figure but in the sense that when he brings up immigration at the dinner table i start eating a little faster

[dumpingscreenshotshere]

Yim talks about Code Blue

Hello everyone, Yim is in touch!

Hopefully I managed to post this correctly to the right channel.

I was very busy the last few weeks preparing for the new story's launch and continuing to deal with immigration and get settled in, so I was barely around here. But I finally had some time to sit down and catch up. Thank you for all of the encouraging comments about the story announcement and on the first update!

It's hard to believe that my second story is out on the app. This one is very, very different from HHW, and I'm glad to see many positive reactions from many players. Everyone on the team has worked incredibly hard to bring it to life: the technical designer, all the artists, translators, editors, marketing and social media teams, QA testers, musician, the medical editor/doctor who helped me not to write anything too inaccurate, integrators, management, and even with this list I'm sure I'm still probably missing someone. (If I did and you see this, I'm sorry! 💗)

I will also offer a little information in response to questions I've seen popping up.

There will be romantic interactions available for Gutierrez and Malinowski, (and characters we haven't met yet) but they will not have fully developed romance branches. They'll end up more like Todd or Connor in HHW, where they get less time overall, and their romance arc does not have as great of an impact on the MC personal arc. There is a lot to manage with this story, and I need to maintain some limitations so that the episodes and narrative progress in a satisfying way.

With Eugen and Dakota, it is not possible to romance only one of them, as they're a couple. However, romancing them both does not require being physically intimate with both of them.

I have seen a variety of questions that essentially ask about Flint's genitalia. While I personally don't have an issue speaking about my own physical anatomy with people I'm not in an intimate relationship for educational purposes, this is not the case for most people, and it is not the case for Flint. Just as the specifics of my other characters' genitalia are not described in any real detail and not described at all outside of the story, I'm not going to describe Flint's here. I understand that anatomy matters to many people when it comes to intimate relationships, and this will be discussed respectfully in context by the characters when it is appropriate in the story and Flint would naturally feel comfortable discussing it with the MC. For players who are uncomfortable with the idea of their MC pursuing a relationship with Flint before knowing what is in their pants, it's probably best to wait for a walkthrough before making a decision about their route.

Wishing you all the best, and thank you, as always, for your support!

Source: Telegram

[comeonamericawakeup]

Big, if true. Elon Musk daims DOGE is uncovering all kinds of waste and fraud, outrageous scams perpetrated on the American people. These scams are so blatant and obvious that even youngsters untrained in forensic accounting can find them in moments. (The implication is that federal workers, who are experts in their fields, are either too stupid to have seen them or irredeemably corrupt.) Look at the Social Security Administration, for example. Musk posted that his minions had found more than 20 million entries in the database with ages over 100 years old, including millions of people listed as over 150. It's "the biggest fraud in history," he said.

Except, of course, it's nothing of the sort. Because of a coding quirk in the vintage computer program the agency uses, an unknown birth date defaults to 1875, 150 years ago. These people are listed in the system, but they aren't receiving Social Security checks - as a 2023 inspector general's report had already concluded. In reality, only some 44,000 centenarians are alive and receiving checks, a figure that jibes with census data. And while there are certainly some fake numbers, even the conservative Cato Institute says those are mostly illegal immigrants who use them to get jobs, which means they pay into the system but get nothing out of it.

What else has DOGE turned up? White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt was eager to tell us, saying last week, "love to bring the receipts!" But the only examples she offered were a few programs related to equity and inclusion, such as a $3 million Patent and Trademark Office program offering internships to minority inventors, and a $57,000 award for climate mitigation in Sri Lanka. Those may go against current administration priorities, but they certainly don't amount to fraud, since the money for them was duly appropriated by Congress. And cutting them will hardly engender significant savings in a $7 trillion budget. You know who does know how to find waste and fraud? The inspectors general in our government agencies. Alas, Trump fired them all.

Susan Caskie, Executive editor

THE WEEK February 28, 2025.

[sepublic]

I’m curious about the whole “Villain exposes a flaw in the status quo but is defeated anyway” trope. I’m not a comics historian, but I wonder if it can be boiled down to not just the Hayes code, but writers more sympathetic to these ideas than they were allowed to admit?

To bring up an obscure example, I think of how Kangaroo from Spider-Man is introduced as an immigrant being harassed by the police for this reason. Aunt May expresses disapproval at the treatment of immigrants, there’s some clear commentary here. But of course Kangaroo becomes a supervillain and Spidey has to defeat him.

It could just be me, but it feels as if this was writers’ way of getting around the code while airing controversial ideas. So even if the villains are still villains, their grievances are given sympathy to plant the idea in readers’ head that maybe this could’ve been prevented had the status quo not had this structural flaw. Obviously liberalism means neither the villain nor hero can address this directly, so it isn’t always just the censors’ problem, but it is interesting.

But of course; A lot of readers didn’t know the backdrop behind these writing decisions. So while they empathized with these villains, it led to them internalizing the concept of a sympathetic villain who goes against the status quo and is wept for… despite still being stopped anyway. And so this trope ended up repeating itself even outside of the original context.

So a lot of people think this is “nuance” when really it was a restriction of the time. I think of how some people online claim the best villains are the ones who arguably have a better point than the hero, but I always found that dumb because why should I root for the hero? Why is that character considered the villain? It works if you’re doing a story where you’re looking through the eyes of the actual villain but most of the time this isn’t the case. I think people are just being edgelords who don’t realize the history.

And as tragic and beloved as these villains are, as much as we resonate with them and how we also feel villainized by society… At some point, you have to admit that times are changing and so is censorship. And while it had value then, gee maybe we should abandon this trope of the downtrodden villain to instead address this social commentary in a more direct and dare I say effective way. Because we gotta grow out of it.

Clayface is queer-coded and as much as you can empathize with him for it, we can’t continue to settle for stories where the queers are villains and only that. We have the opportunity to move past that and I think we should, especially since this trope is obviously a vessel for propaganda in corporate stories like the MCU. We can appreciate how these stories were born of limitations while acknowledging that the limitations are ultimately still a problem, and that the villain who is an oppressed minority who doesn’t get to accomplish anything because they’re evil has been done enough. We still have those original stories to look back on if we need to, I feel.

[flieslikeamoron]

Proposed Rule Change will Suppress ACA Enrollment and Limit Healthcare for Transgender Americans

I kept thinking I would see a post that I could just reblog, but I haven't and the comment period for this one ends April 11. So here is my attempt to summarize. The Trump Admin is proposing rule changes for the ACA (Marketplace Heath Insurance). They claim it's to address the issue of improper sign ups and fraud, which is a real problem of brokers who have signed people up or changed their healthcare plans without their knowledge. In this proposal they're inflating the probable fraud numbers exponentially through some study done by a conservative thinktank, but I looked it up and through August of last year there were 275K consumer complaints about people experiencing sign ups or changes without their knowledge, so it is happening. But rather than focus on increasing security for the sign up process so brokers can't access customer files without consent or on higher punishments for brokers caught doing this or any other measures that would address the actual fraud issue, they're using it as a smokescreen to undermine the ACA by taking measures that would lower enrollment and also to target their favorite scapegoats: immigrants, transgender folks, and the poor.

Here's the proposed rule change. It's file code CMS-9884-P. (Use the code if you do want to leave a comment.)  

Federal Register: Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act; Marketplace Integrity and Affordability

My attempt to summarize is under the cut. And here are some other summary links and articles. If anyone within actual healthcare circles or government circles or trans/immigrant advocacy circles has resources or data that can be used to dispute what they're putting forward or comment templates or anything, please share them.

FOCUSED ON THE ANTI-TRANS STUFF: Trump Admin Moves to Prevent ACA Plans From Being Required to Cover Gender-Affirming Care | Them

IMMIGRANTS AND GENERAL ATTACK ON ACA: Trump admin takes aim at Obamacare - POLITICO

DETAILED SUMMARY OF HOW INSURANCE MARKETPLACE WILL BE AFFECTED CMS’s ACA Marketplace Integrity and Affordability Proposed Rule – What it may mean for Health Plans

MORE GENERAL (AKA SHORTER SUMMARIES) Trump Administration’s ACA Rule Could Limit Access to Coverage

Proposed rule would bring sweeping changes to Marketplace enrollment, eligibility

It's like a 300 page proposal and I don't have any legal background so that's why I was hoping I would see a post made by someone better qualified, but here are a few things that I thought were objectionable. Feel free to point it out if I get anything wrong.

1. They want to shorten the enrollment period. So basically it would be 45 days instead of 75 (Nov. 1 to Dec. 15 instead of Nov. 1 to Jan. 15). This will cut down on legitimate enrollment because it affects all eligible enrollees and is not a targeted measure to address specifically fraudulent enrollments.

2. The proposed change will exclude DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals) immigrants from being able to enroll in marketplace insurance or access premium tax credits etc. They're already barred from this in 19 states, but it will make the ban nationwide. This is basically undoing a rule the Biden HHS dept made in May of 2024 that allowed DACA immigrants to be eligible for marketplace healthcare. Before that they were not considered to be "lawfully present" as defined by the ACA. The Trump HHS doesn't argue that the benefits put forward by the previous HHS to support the inclusion of DACA recipients were incorrect, only that the residents are not "lawfully present. Here's the quote: To support the DACA Rule, HHS stated that the policy would increase insurance coverage, reduce delays in care, improve the ACA's risk pool, and make DACA recipients more productive members of society. However, these benefits the agency previously noted do not mean that DACA recipients should be considered to have met the “lawfully present” standard that Congress set in order to enroll in a QHP through an Exchange, to be eligible for PTC, APTC, CSRs, and to enroll in a BHP in States that elect to operate a BHP.

3. Removing the special enrollment period for people 150% below poverty level. So right now if your income status changes and you drop 150% below the poverty level, you're able to sign up for insurance in the marketplace outside the normal enrollment period. This would make it so people have to wait for the once a year normal enrollment period (which again, they're also shortening.)  They're using the fraud excuse and I don't have data on whether there actually is a disproportionate amount of fraudulent signups happening during special enrollment periods. But remember the actual fraud issue is happening through brokers and third parties making unauthorized changes. The bulk of these "improper" sign ups are not happening because individuals are signing up improperly themselves or abusing the special enrollment periods.

4. Prohibiting individual and small group plans from covering “sex-trait modification” (gender-affirming care) as an essential health benefit. An insurer can still voluntarily cover gender-affirming care, but it could not be as part of an EHB. This would ensure federal premium subsidies could not be used to offset the cost of that portion of the coverage. Just a blatant attack on trans people and an attempt to limit gender affirming care. They even include a section where they say they're seeking comment on whether they should define an explicit exception for "conditions like precocious puberty, or therapy subsequent to a traumatic injury, where items and services that are also used for sex-trait modification may be appropriate." So it's very clear this is about transgender people specifically being denied gender affirming care and not about the treatment methods themselves. They also mention Trump's executive orders aimed at trans people in the proposal. They're really not being subtle or trying to hide what they're doing here. The article I linked above also says that a lot of non-marketplace insurers use the EHB list to guide the coverage they provide, so this could possibly have a wider effect than just on marketplace insurance.

5. There are some things that are at least nominally directed at addressing fraud but they're directed at individuals and create administrative barriers that will lower enrollment. So for example, there are changes targeted toward things like certifying individual income eligibility that treat the fraud issue as if it's about individuals defrauding the government instead of an issue of brokers making unauthorized changes or doing unauthorized signups. The changes all basically make it harder to enroll or to roll over enrollment year to year so these things will create additional administrative barriers to enrolling in coverage and will result in lower legitimate enrollment. This article that I also linked above has a good breakdown of all of these changes. 

6. Increased maximum out of pocket limits just for funsies I guess.  

In conclusion, they estimate themselves in the proposal that these changes will result in enrollment dropping by 750K to 2 million. I don't know if that estimate is correct or if they're lowballing, but by their own admission the proposal will lower enrollment and increase the number of uninsured Americans. More uninsured Americans means an increased financial burden on individual Americans, on hospitals and on municipalities. And ultimately higher premiums and worse healthcare for everyone. In their impact statement they say they think most of the unenrolled will be "improper" enrollments but they're also like... Or they could be eligible enrollees  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

"Taken together, the provisions of this rule are expected to address errors and improper enrollments, which means that as presented in the preceding paragraphs, we would expect approximately 750,000 to 2,000,000 individuals to lose coverage as a result of this rule, if all provisions are finalized as proposed. This range may overestimate the actual number of individuals impacted, as we believe that this range includes many individuals improperly enrolled by agents, brokers, and web-brokers without their knowledge or consent, as well enrollees with multiple forms of coverage. Likewise, this range may underestimate the actual number of individuals impacted, as eligible enrollees may lose coverage as a result of the administrative burdens imposed by the provisions of this rule. 

An individual who loses coverage may be required to incur additional expense to obtain coverage or may go uninsured. An increase in the rate of uninsurance may impose greater burdens on the health care system through strain on emergency departments, additional costs to the Federal Government and to States to provide limited Medicaid coverage for the treatment of an emergency medical condition, and cause an overall reduction to labor productivity."

Anyway, I think they figured out the last time that going directly at repealing the ACA is hard so this seems like an attempt to undermine it by impacting enrollment instead. While also trying to exclude the scapegoat groups they hate from federally funded healthcare (and perhaps as a first step to making it harder to access gender affirming care across the board.) 

Here's that link again if you want to comment. The comment period closes on April 11. Federal Register :: Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act; Marketplace Integrity and Affordability Remember to put the code in your comment. CMS-9884-P

[gleephoria]

Watched Pixar’s Elemental the once. Thought it was so cute.

Did some reading on the internet. There were some vague things I was aware of, such as the story being Asian immigrant-coded.

Rewatched with a few different lenses floating around my brain.

Consider the story as an immigrant story.

–language being a barrier

–xenophobia and racism

–the struggle between first generation and second generation

–interracial relationships can be challenging, particularly for first generation immigrants to process

Consider the story as an Asian-coded story.

–parents do not necessarily openly express love

–sacrifice can only be paid with more sacrifice (this is deeply ingrained)

–respect for elders and cultural customs

–true names are difficult for those outside the culture to pronounce

Consider the story as one centered around disability.

–"the city wasn’t built for fire people.” (like me)

–the environment is a hazard to the people trying to navigate it

–Ember has to dim her light to accommodate others (masking)

–Ember might also cause damage to her environment, because it is not designed to withstand her heat

Consider the story as depicting an asexual/demisexual romance.

–nobody falls in love at first sight

–admiration and affection grows through shared experiences

–love blossoms as they see one another shining brightest time and again

–they are clearly already a couple and have been on several dates before they attempt to touch for the first time

Of course, you can accept all of these lenses all at once, they aren’t mutually exclusive, but it helps me to concentrate on what each one brings to the table before mashing them all up in my head. It’s not a perfect movie, but it has some really interesting ideas. Plus, plenty of moments where I wanted to cry. The animation is gorgeous with the lighting effects and the water effects.

Plus, Wade Ripple is the CUTEST BLOBBY WATER BOI I could have ever imagined.

Scenes that killed me:

--the elevator scene

--the vivisteria scene

--chasing down a narrow alley scene

--the fact that Wade cries when Ember shows up for their date

--the crying game

--"I love when your light does that." 🥺🥺

--touching

--Wade blocks the waterfall in his home from touching Ember by stretching out his arm

--Wade lights the incense

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

So this series of posts reminded me of something that really fucking bothers me. While the 442nd are rightfully lauded for their spectacular accomplishments, I’d argue that a different unit of nisei contributed even more to the American war effort.

I’m talking, of course, about the Japanese-American veterans of the Military Intelligence Service (MIS).

Let’s take a moment here and do a little exercise in military logistics. It’s the 1940s and you’re in charge of running the American war effort against the Axis Powers. You want to know as much as possible about your enemy, right? The more you know about their troop movements, strategies, supply lines, morale, etc., the better you’ll be able to counter their efforts and stage attacks. Now, you and your allies have some pretty sharp fellas working on cracking your enemies’ codes, so you’ve actually got a big ol’ pile of communications to go through. There’s just one problem: your enemies don’t use English.

But hey! You’re America! Land of immigrants and all that! Don’t speak German? There’s plenty of German-Americans who do! Don’t speak Italian? There’s plenty of Italian-Americans who do! Don’t speak Japanese? HMMM. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO FIND A BUNCH OF JAPANESE SPEAKERS???

These excerpts come from American Patriots, an anthology of stories from the MIS interpreters put out by the Japanese-American Veterans Association of Washington DC. I know it’ll take a minute, but I want you to read every goddamn word. I *NEED* you to feel the weight of those events:

The United States military was crippled by its lack of Japanese interpreters. They knew they were crippled even before Pearl Harbor. To fix that handicap, they recruited men from literal concentration camps. Not only did those men rise to the occasion, but other men from other camps volunteered to serve. This country did not deserve their loyalty, but they still served. And no one fucking talks about them.

Wow! That’s amazing! Surely there’s a bunch of movies and books and documentaries about these guys, right? America loves a good patriotic WWII story!

There's almost no media about the Japanese translators. American Patriots is the only book I’ve come across in real life, and that only happened because I stopped by the Japanese American Veterans Association's booth at the Cherry Blossom Festival. There's a few history books, mostly by Japanese-American groups, and a couple of articles, but that’s about it. They're all pretty old (American Patriots came out in 1995). Nobody fucking talks about the nisei translators.

The next time you bring up the heroic service of the 442nd Regiment, bring up the heroic service of the Japanese translators of the MIS. The next time you discuss the contributions of POCs to the US military, I want you to discuss the Japanese translators. The next time you get angry about how Asian-Americans are ignored by American culture, I want you to get angry about the Japanese translators. This is an important piece of American history, and it’s always overlooked, and I’m sure we all know why. Let’s change that.

Further reading:

Nisei Linguists from Washington in World War II

Military Intelligence Service

JAVA's compilation of nisei members of the MIS Hall of Fame

JAVA's research archive

[bumlets-appreciation-blog]

Newsies Characters as DC Characters Part 2: Sarah Jacobs as Supergirl (Kara Danvers/Kara Zor-El)

A/N: Like with my Bumlets as Nightwing post, this is a combination of canon and headcanon. I couldn’t have gotten started on this without @chaosfairy18, who helped me settle on Kara before I deleted my old blog so thank you for that! This addresses all three incarnations of Kara’s character in comics: Pre-Crisis, Post-Crisis, and Post-Flashpoint

Older female relative who struggles with the effects of immigration more than a younger male relative (it will never not be funny to me that Kara is technically older than Clark)

Animal person

A kind, gentle person who will one hundred percent punch you in the face if you hurt someone she loves

Surprisingly sarcastic

Kind of overlooked for her more famous/popular male relative

Should be friends with the Nightwing character (I could rant for hours about how if DC hadn’t killed her off during COIE and then refused to bring her back for TWENTY YEARS BECAUSE THEY SUCK, then Dick Grayson, Donna Troy, and Kara would’ve been their own Trinity. I love her friendship with Stephanie Brown but she was Barbara Gordon’s friend first and I miss them)

Has a hard time truly connecting with people but tries (this is actually something I think she shares with David)

Very family oriented

Underestimated badass

Craves a sense of normalcy and freedom (Sarah is restricted by the gender roles of her time and Kara is an alien)

Jewish/Jewish Coded (Sarah, obviously, is Jewish and while Clark’s Jewish origins are more well-known, there are a lot of parallels in Kara’s stories as well)

Multi-lingual (Polish, Yiddish, and English for Sarah while Kara speaks Kryptonian, and English, and can piecemeal other Earth languages)

Struggles a bit with feeling isolated

Girly girls who like fashion (Sarah has so many different outfits in the movie and Supergirl designs her own costumes)

Romantics (though Sarah’s definitely more pragmatic about relationships than Kara is)

Swifties who dragged one of the boys in their life to see the Eras Tour movie (Bumlets was happy to go and they wore matching outfits while Kon went and spent the entire time pretending that he didn’t know all of the songs)

I refuse to believe that either of these girls are straight

Have amazingly beautiful smiles

Misses their original home a lot but tries to tamp it down so they don’t cause problems

Will always stand up for others

Kind of headstrong

Artistic (Sarah does lace piecework and Kara has been an actress, done photography, almost interned with the Kryptonian Art Council, and has a guitar. They both like to sew)

They both like horses

Close relationship with multiple journalists (Denton and David in the future)

Highly intelligent (Kara canonically has a genius-level intellect across all incarnations and Sarah is curious, open to learning new things, and I think she did really well in school when she went)

Should be Disney Princesses (Look, I know that DC isn’t Disney but Kara is still a Disney Princess in my heart)

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s3 episode 19 "hell money" thoughts

was thinking about doing other stuff tn but truly i can’t resist scully and mulder time. it calls to me. i crave it. (<- wrote that last night in order to post the recap today)

i had to think it over for a bit, but overall i thought this was a good episode! it wasn’t very character driven, we didn’t have a lot of scully and mulder moments, but i found the plot SUPER interesting. and obviously some msr content would have made it delectable to me, a fan who enjoys fan service, but the concept was well-executed, very spooky, and really interesting commentary on how vulnerable populations are preyed upon by those who claw power into their own hands just to wield it over other’s heads.

so let us dive in, to an episode set in california!

lion dance!!! so cool. a guy is sneaking into an alley. we hear popping like guns, but it is just fireworks thankfully. 

this dude sees paint on a door and he goes in. someone with a flashlight approached him. they’re talking in cantonese which i sadly cannot speak. yet. who knows what the future may bring…

oh! a stabbing. and then people with masks…?

scene change. teeny tiny little blackjack game!!!!! i need it sooo bad. this game is being played by a security guard at a funeral home. he hears a noise that was not the gentle beeping of blackjack and pulls out a flashlight. 

music is creepy as hell. GASP! more people in masks are here and they have lit something on fire!!! it appears to be… a guy? is it the guy from before? that did the stabbing!??

now what in the hell is going on here.

dana scully……. i’m cheering just seeing her ID during the intro 

OH! and now she’s here <3 investigating the body with mulder. this dude was cremated alive! the detective says it’s the third time this year, but mulder is like um no it’s ACTUALLY number 11. all chinese men between the ages of 20 and 40. good to know he keeps up with the stats on these things.

the prop body is soooo gnarly again... as usual, big shoutout to the props department!

GAG! she’s cutting into the eye and tap taps it! oh it's glass! well. the cutting motion was still gross.

they ask a detective if there are any leads on the crime. apparently there’s a bunch of immigrants trying to get out of hong kong before 1997 which raises the question: did this season take place in 1996? or is he saying that they HAD a big influx and are still dealing with it? no seriously, when does s3 take place?

(sometimes i think about how these two don’t even know about 9/11 because it hasn’t happened yet. quite often tbh)

((author's note: this episode aired in 1996! man, they sure were making these seasons fast... given how long it takes to make a season of TV these days, i thought for sure we would be in the 2000's by now... guess some things really were better in the past))

they call over detective chao to try and read some writing and i’ll say it. he’s hot. maybe you could read chinese if you studied, mulder. 

okay so the writing says ghost! well, gui, but translation. is this related to the qingming festival…?

mulder finds a little scrap of something and it’s called “hell money” used in the chinese festival of hungry ghosts. ah, the hungry ghost festival! which is NOT qingming. the tale of the monk feeding his mother who was trapped in hell. yes yes i recall.

scully and mulder are rolling up to the scene of the crime. she says the guy who was killed was a recent immigrant. they’re with detective chao, who sees some writing he can’t read, and says maybe it’s a code of some kind. yayyy nonsense phrases! mulder asks him to copy it down.

oh, they are sleuthing, and scully says that the scene has been cleaned up. and they find new carpet! in an otherwise dilapidated apartment. VERY suspicious!

NASTY! they lift up the carpet and blood is there. 

cut to the camera of a guy from the carpeting company, who we later learn to be named mr. hsin. bringing someone some tea and dinner. IS THAT LUCY LIU??????

IT IS!!!!! three cheers!

lucy liu is sick and the person who brought her tea (i presume her father? yes, her father, mr. hsin) says he needs to earn money so they can go to the doctor. noooo, she says the operation would cost too much money :( this is so sad... he tells her not to talk like that :(

so he goes to a big crowded event, until some people in suits holding pots come out and everyone quiets down. oh, a very big suitcase of cash is shown. ah, so this must be the prize that has brought them here. a raffle of sorts...?

mr. hsin drops a tile with some writing on it into the vessel, as do many other people. 

a name is drawn and called and this seems to be a good thing for this guy who has a glass eye. he wins the pot of money!

NO. i was very very wrong. he does not win the money. he draws a tile. and then they lead the guy out. i’m a little confused, but i think it was not good for him.

(yeah. past me, it was seriously NOT good for him... i may have been a little slow to catch what was going on but believe me i caught it eventually)

at a traditional medicine shop. detective chao explains that these are mostly roots they are looking at. yum yum.

turns out the victim johnny was taking painkillers. then, he asks the vendor what those characters from the door meant, and she says it was labeled a haunted house. is there a code word for haunted house?

oh! hungry ghost festival explanation, for us, the audience! they leave gifts to prevent angry spirits from coming by. and we see the dude who pulled the tile earlier getting his heart ripped out by a ghost. hard to say if that was euphemistic or not.

(it was not euphemistic, past me)

this chao guy fits in well with our agents. add him to the group.

(filed under statements that aged poorly)

a random guy is pulling up to a graveyard and sees the three people in masks there... doing WHAT?

“i still don’t understand what anyone would want with an empty grave”, scully says, as mulder hops right in. the officer asks what the hell he is doing LMAOOOOO yeah he is just like that :/

and he starts digging down there with his hands and!!! he finds a body!!!!!

scully doing an autopsy :D with her hair pulled back n the white coat... okay, i see you doctor!!!

gasp! this body is covered in surgical incisions INCLUDING OVER HIS HEART!!! but she says nothing seems wrong with him!! she thinks he was selling his organs and makes a stupid joke and i love her so bad and i love mulder for giggling at it

BLECK she’s cutting him open. and it’s PULSATING GAG GAG GAG but it’s just a FROG that comes out?

well. i think that was the best possible ending to that situation. 

back at the gambling event. more jars are being brought in by men in suits. they pull a name and it’s the guy who is trying to save lucy liu, mr. hsin! so now he must pick from the jar. and i gather that now it means he will either lose an organ or win a fortune? pulling for you to win, king...

it is unclear what his result is…..

scully brings detective chao the frog in a jar from inside the dude who was autopsied. a new pet has been unlocked. he is like, ummm idk, maybe it’s a symbol or something?

scully is LOCKED in. she senses duplicity. asking about organ removal. the autopsied man had his kidney and cornea removed BEFORE his heart was removed after death. detective chao seems very confused. mulder is watching him intently whilst munching upon his seeds.

oh! she found stuff in the body that is used for preserving organs for transplants!!! well this is starting to add up...

they think he resents their presence... ohhh interesting. or that he’s trying to protect the chinese american community. and he is pissed off by this because the chinese community sees HIM as an outsider for being american born chinese. he is very mad, and tbh i don’t blame him. and he storms off after shoving a paper with the name of the carpet company from earlier into mulder’s shoulders. i thought his anger was deserved at this moment... but little did i know the detective chao lore

they go to the house of mr. hsin, who has lost an eye!!!!!! he says it was a work accident. and he introduces his daughter. lucy liu.

he’s denying knowing about the carpeting for johnny's crime scene apartment, and mulder finds the tile he pulled earlier on the shelf. gasp!!!! a clue!!!

mulder says they’re done and he pocketed the tile for investigation. chao and hsin were talking and the agents are suspicious, but he says he was warning him about a fire trap. anyway, mulder shows chao the tile. and it says “wood”. this is not very helpful.

lucy liu asks about her father’s accident and notices that his eye was fine when he came from work. he explains that he is worried about her and he is afraid the ancestors are mad for them leaving home, and maybe that is why she is sick, and he blames himself. it’s so so so so so sad :( it isn't your fault mr. hsin

chao is walking home but finds something written in BLOOD on his door? he looks around. no, don’t let anything happen, i like him!!!

NO THE MASKED MEN ARE IN THERE!

mulder is pissed because people are throwing firecrackers near the car. he’s very jumpy and with scully, watching mr hsin’s house, but gasp! scully breaks the news that chao was attacked at his house. off they go to explore. while a man in a suit comes and knocks at the door of mr. hsin. and his eyeball socket is bleeding!!!

suit man is let inside and asks for payment. mr. hsin says he wants to quit the game. but the pit is almost 2 million dollars if he stays in…. still, he says he wants out. but he cannot get out…

BUT LUCY LIU IS LISTENING TO ALL OF THIS GO DOWN!!

the rules “cannot be broken, or it’s said that the Preta and the fires of Ti Yu will consume you” says suit man <- OHHHHHH so it’s serious. but also who says this? how old is this game. it can't be that old.

mr. hsin begs to be released from the game but suit man STILL says nope.

NO! detective chao is GONE from the hospital! not gone as in dead, gone as in missing!! allegedly he went to go to the bathroom and dipped. where to, though...?

mulder checks chao's blood type and it matches the blood type on the floor of the victim’s carpet. well, i mean, there are a lot of people with the same blood type so… idk they might be jumping to conclusions here?

but they are brainstorming. they go to find mr. hsin and ask more questions, and lucy liu answers the door. only now do we learn her name is kim but i’ve called her lucy liu for so long i don’t see a reason to change it.

oh! she has leukemia. it’s a treatable kind, scully points out, but they have no money to afford it :(

mulder is sitting next to her and asks if she knows what the tile is. scully is pondering. realllly pondering.

OH! the tile that means wood also corresponds to the eye!! so that makes sense….. 

and scully notices paperwork that says mr. hsin had just had his kidneys and liver measured…. oh no...

mulder realizes they are playing a game where they gamble their organs. and mr. hsin returns to the game….

they go to the organ procurement organization. and the lady there says that a lot of asian men come in to learn about their organ types, but when they find a compatible recipient, they are told by their doctor that the men have left the area or disappeared. do they have a phone number for the doctor???

back at the game, they call mr. hsin’s name again!!!!!!! the suspense is very very very high!

the agents roll up to the outside of the place where the game is being played, because that is where they found the doctor’s phone registered. and who is walking in but chao! is he doing a sting???

mulder gets up to follow him as mr. hsin is drawing a tile. the drawing was clearly not what he had planned because he’s trying to run away. chao is watching all of this….

oooo, the agents break the lock and get inside the restaurant to investigate. so far it is looking like a normal restaurant. but gasp! they find something that could be the sterile ice used in organ transplants!

open da fridge to find many many many organs. many eyeballs!! very gross. other organs too but a LOT of eyeballs.

back to mr. hsin, who is getting his remaining eyeball inspected. NOOOO :(

OH! chao is telling the men in suits who run the game to stop, but he says that he was “warned once before”. he asks for mr. hsin to be let go, and the suit man refuses, saying that chao is just as responsible because he protects the game from the foreigners. GASP! so he WAS involved with all of this….

BUT HE KNOCKS THE TABLE OVER!!!!! and he realizes that ALL THE TILES SAY “EYE”!!!! it was rigged. 

the agents hear the stampeding crowd above going wild at this revelation, while there is surgery happening to mr. hsin. he is covered in something. 

mulder comes into the game room as the people start to riot. and mr. hsin sees his daughter as a ghost figure, and begs for forgiveness. but it’s really just the surgeon about to make the cut. 

chao bursts in and SHOOTS the surgeon! as scully and mulder come in to take care of the other surgeon! partial chao redemption arc.

when the shot surgeon says that chao should have killed him, he translates this for mulder as “the game is not over” so again idk why we are trusting this man after so much lying... he had ME fooled!

scully is talking to a ringleader of this game. she says he cheated these men out of life, but he says he committed no crime, because death is merely transition, but life with no hope is living he <- OHHH WOW. banger line. terrible thing to say but banger line.

scully is GLARING AT HIM LIKE WILD... WOW... when mulder comes in and asks to chat. apparently mr. hsin is doing okay and his daughter has been put on the organ recipient list. this is good news! but also something is wrong.

OH! everyone who was at the game that night claims it was a social club, and chao is missing. so they have NO CASE AGAINST THIS MAN!!

WHY WOULD THEY GO ALONG WITH THAT IF THEY SAW THE GAME WAS RIGGED?!?

cutscene to chao, who opens his eyes while being placed in an OVEN!!!! ANOTHER ALIVE CREMATION!

woah. this episode was spooky. i’m spooked. and the ending implies that the cycle will just keep going on and on. 

WHEW! it’s the terrifying nature of humanity that is far scarier than ghouls and demons and fat-sucking vampires. in terms of spookiness, this is definitely up there in my ranking. i think only the s2 cannibals and the fetishist compare. this one had a pacing that had me at the edge of my seat. how you wanted mr. hsin to pull through so badly, how evil the leaders of this game were for preying on people with no hope.

yet again, WHEW!

i was really hoping chao wasn’t going to be an inside man because i thought it would be a bit cliche. and yet, he had me fooled. despicable! that being said, i did not expect a barbecued ending for him.

i was so invested in how other people saw this episode that i started googling it and reading the wikipedia (which taught me it aired in 1996!) and it seems to have gotten mixed reviews, one critic saying that if mulder and scully were removed, it would have had nothing to do with the x files at all. which- i guess? i mean, yeah. if you remove them from any of these one off episodes, yeah, it would be a different thing. but with these monster or the week episodes, i find myself disagreeing that it makes it an inherently bad episode. obviously not every episode is going to dive deep into the overarching lore- most of them don’t. most of them propose the question, “wouldn’t it be fucked up if (insert thing here)” and then dive into that. and we do learn about our characters along the way, sometimes more than others.

we didn’t learn a TON about mulder and scully here, so i suppose i agree with that observation- i would have preferred to learn more about them. but the premise was really interesting and i was at the edge of my seat. i guess you CAN have both, but in many cases just one or the other will please me.

[minami97]

First Christmas With Bucky and Your Family

A/N: As per usual, Y/N will be Asian coded and this is a prologue to the interracial relationship imagines for Bucky

Merry Christmas to you guys!

- Y/N invites Bucky to spend Christmas with her family back in Malaysia, he tried to decline but Y/N persuaded him and he reluctantly agreed

- The flight trip was dreadfully long for Bucky, but Y/N had been chatty about her family and how they would spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day

- “I’m sure, you’ll like how my family celebrates Christmas. It’s different from yours.” “I’m sure sweetheart, I’m sure”

- Once they landed and gotten their immigration clearance, Y/N’s parents were nice and hospitable to Bucky. (He isn’t liking it one bit)

- Y/N introduced Bucky to her favorite food and she had a wide grin seeing him enjoying what she grew up eating

- Once they went home after lunch and unpacked, Y/N asked Bucky to help out in the kitchen

- “Why am I helping out?” “You have a vibranium arm, put that to good use. Also, you are just helping to marinade the steaks so sush.”

- Bucky broke into a smile as he watch Y/N work in the kitchen, the preparation took half a day and they were both tired

- “Ah girl, can you go out and buy some more things. We need to bring them to Popo’s place later” “Ok. I’ll go buy them”

- Bucky was left at home being awkward as Y/N went out to buy the things needed. “Come and help out James.”

- Around evening time, The L/Ns made their way to Grandma’s place for Christmas Eve dinner.

- “Popo, we’re here! This is James, my friend in America.” “Hi, I’m James. Y/N’s friend”

- Popo gives both Y/N and Bucky a look as she knew something, but she just gives them a smile

- Bucky helped out to cook the steak while Y/N made the sauce and prepared the fries and other snacks

- “Sweetheart, you are right. How your family celebrates Christmas is definitely different from how I did back in the 40s” “You’re welcome”

- Dinner was lively and Bucky had a great laugh entertaining Y/N’s cousins and nieces asking about his arm

- While everyone was gossiping about the both of them, “I’m sure they are dating. Why else would Y/N bring him to spend holidays”

- Bucky’s enhanced abilities made him unintentionally eavesdrop on the gossip, he just let out a chuckle

- Y/N just gave him a big smile as she watch her nephew trying to climb his arm and tried to bite it

[scarlet--wiccan]

What type of character do you think Wanda has the best dynamic with?

Women, mostly. I think Wanda is somebody who really likes being around other girls. I know it's not strictly canon, but I think about those backup stories from First Class, where she and Jean hang out, all the time-- Wanda appreciates female friendships. She has very easy chemistry with any character who is girly and feminine in the same way that she is, but it's also very easy for her to find common ground with other women of color, immigrants, and anybody who's had similar experiences. And while I hate to invoke gender essentialism, I do think that witchcraft and womanhood are very closely linked in Wanda's mind, so there's an immediate sense of sisterhood and community there, which she places a lot of value on.

In general, I think Wanda thrives under certain types of friction or contrast. It brings out a sort of wry humor in her, and generally speaking, she tends to charm most people she meets, which results in a fun sort of push and pull. She's good at teasing and ribbing people. Clint and Tony are really good examples, in terms of her Avengers teammates. There's something similar in her dynamics with Agatha or Stephen-- she respects them, but at this point in her life, she's not going to take shit from either of them. She's their peer, and she knows it, and that's a lot of fun.

I, personally, find that Wanda plays really well against tough, sort of bruiser characters. Wanda brings an extremely feminine, romantic, and emotive energy which provides an easy chemistry with anyone who is more gruff or stoic. Whether that chemistry works in a fun way depends on the writer. But, that brings me to my favorite thing about Wanda, which is that she's sort of a butch magnet. This is more of a recent development, but any time she's around women who are in any aspect masculine, gender-nonconforming, or lesbian-coded, I feel like there is just palpable gay tension. Unfortunately, I don't think she's had a lot of page time with, like, prominent, canonically gay women, but uhhhhhh... y'know, all the more reason for her to team up with Vicky Montesi.

[darthbreezy]

So today I effectively received 'the codes' if I chose my personal nuclear option to leave the US...

I'm not going to lie, as a naturalized immigrant I'm more than a little worried. I may not be high on the deportation list, but I'm not immune. So I've been putting out 'feelers', looking at housing options in the UK, getting my citizenship papers in order, deciding what I could take with me, what I'd leave behind'... Looking at how much it would cost to bring the cats over... Stuff like that. It's in part to help me feel like I have SOME control over my life. In the next three months I have to see a Nephrologist AND a Hematologist AND a fucking Oncologist because apparently having Heart Failure AND COPD AND Rheumatoid Arthritis (that has has given me nodules in my lungs, thank you very much! ) Isn't enough. It doesn't help that my roommate can't keep a job for more than a fucking week either, so 'we're' relying on my Social Security (HAHHAHAHA!) So 10 years of awesome credit has gone down the toilet in two months...

We're behind on rent, again.

I've managed to wiggle and wrangle the full amount every month, but it gets harder each month. Thursday, we got the dreaded 'reminder' notice, and today I took in the partial payment I'd scraped up. I just cried when I talked to our incredibly kind property manager, begging for a little more time and begging them not to evict us...

That's when she dropped the bomb and gave me the codes. Apparently eviction takes years, and it's insanely expensive (for them). There are people who owe thousands, and haven't said boo, they just squat... If I wanted to completely go scorched earth, I could just not pay - save every dime, not look back and leave everyone high and fucking dry... Yeah, there's a vicious part of me that loves the idea. I'd be a liar if I said otherwise... but I just... can't. *sighs*

Onward...