#and i intended to earn three dollars

[laudofthedeep]

thinking about the time in 6th grade when my classmates were like “would you kiss a boy for $200” and things like that, always the same gender as whoever was being addressed, price going down as people kept discussing. some of them were getting real bashful about it, which was probably part of the whole social game.

i, however, had no particular understanding of social cues nor sexual attraction to EITHER gender, so i flung myself into the conversation with a cry of “Cowards! id kiss one for $3!”

this, of course, led to the subsequent restraint of the nearest available victim, a call to my parents, and a plea deal that forced me to split my hard earned money with the unwilling party

[donatellawritings]

tella!!!!!! how does rafe feel about sweetheart reader doing coke with him like would he allow her to?/????? to me I don't think he would give a fuck as long as he is with her ty tella

idk he’s so tricky i think he’d be against it ngl …

since he started dating you, rafe had drastically cutdown on his cocaine intake - he had caught on to how scared you’d become at his frantic behavior and induced outbursts, so he decided not to do it as much, limiting his indulgence to maybe once or twice a month. he usually kept you away whenever he’d be high, not wanting to have your high and positive perception of him to be fucked with by the white powder. however, as time and your relationship progressed, rafe found it harder and harder to be away from you, i mean you wore his initials around your neck, and found solace on his lap, more often than not. you were his and he was yours. so, you accepted all of him, as he did you.

the obnoxious boom of trap music vibrating through topper’s house muffled your hearing as you carefully made your way through the crowd of people. your body was hugged tightly by the pink strapless dress that clung to your every curve, your supple breasts pushed up just right as you made it to the backyard. your pink gifted louboutin heels clicking against the cobblestone pavement as you lightly swayed your hips to the music. you were about three drinks in and it was safe to say that you are tipsy, not even one-hundred percent sure as to how you managed to convince rafe that you didn’t need him to accompany you while you grabbed another drink.

you earned envious stares and inappropriate ogles as you found your way back to rafe, who sat with topper and kelce, a shit-eating grin on his face as he carefully cut the white powder into three neat lines. something strange had switched within you and left you biting into your bottom lip as you watched your boyfriend snort the line through a rolled dollar bill, before throwing his head back with a smile. maybe it was the fact that you were borderline wasted, or maybe your curiosity about the drug had finally gotten the better part of you - all you knew was that you were turned on and wanted to experience the same blissful high that rafe was currently riding on.

deciding to make your presence known, you took a long sip of your drink, your glittery gloss leaving a stain on the rim of the cup as you sauntered over to rafe, before taking a seat on his thigh, your plush ass clashing with the fabric of his khaki shorts while you ran a hand down his firm chest, “are you high?” you asked, your pearlescent nails now aimlessly toying with rafe’s chain.

looking at you with pupils that were blown to hell, rafe let out an amused laugh, bringing an arm to rest around your waist as he nodded, “yeah, y’want to try it?” he retorted, initially intending for it to be received as a lighthearted tease.

you beamed with an eager smile, “can i?”

rafe’s eyebrows furrowed as he internally fought with the idea of whether or not he should let you try it. a part of him was secure in knowing that your first high would be with him, under his supervision, yet a different part of him remained deadset on never letting that happen. rafe’s hand made its way to the back of your neck, clasping around it gently as he took a quick look of the partygoers who paid to get high on his supply. he couldn’t have you, his sweet girl walking around looking like the rest of these young adults who couldn’t even put a proper sentence together. you were pretty, pure, and smart - he refused to be the one who fucks that up.

pressing his lips to your forehead, rafe shakes his head, “maybe another time, mama - y’too pretty for it,” rafe declines, his grip on you slightly tightening as your face fell, his eyes watching closely as you took another sip of your drink, before sinking back against his chest. you were spoiled rotten by him and he knew it.

rafe hated saying no to you, but it was his job to keep you safe.

“but you do it, rafe,” you quipped with a roll of your eyes, leaning forward to stand up, before rafe pulls you back against him, his hand firmly rooted around the back of you neck, “leave me alone,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes away from rafe’s as he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look directly at him.

topper and kelce continued their conversation, without missing a beat, they knew better than to cut in while rafe spoke with you, let alone, put you in your place, “watch your mouth,” rafe stiffly tapped your jaw with two fingers, “don’t fuckin’ embarrass me, a’ight,” he scolded, his peaked high now coming to a low point as you remained silent, your face twisted with a bitchy attitude.

completely influenced by the alcohol that coursed through your veins, you shifted your weight, licking over your dry and swollen lips as you ran your nails through your hair with a childish shrug, “you’re not my father,” you muttered, your words now ringing in rafe’s ears as he let out a huff, his body falling tense as he stood up, nearly knocking you over.

“m’gonna take her home,” rafe spoke, his tone a bit too calm as he grasped ahold of your hand, silently pulling you along with him.

your heels unevenly clicked against the pavement as you silently followed rafe, his hand nearly crushing yours as he pushed his way through the crowd of people, dragging you as if you weighed nothing. your beasts bounced with each step you took as you made it out of the house, the chill of the crisp midnight air hitting your exposed shoulders as rafe dropped your hand. the tall man remained silent as you continued to approach his truck, your chest radiating with warmth as he made it a point to open the passenger door for you, despite your bratty behavior.

you parted your swollen lips to speak, before rafe raised his hand, silencing you, “get in the car,” he spoke sternly, you quickly nodded, entering the car quietly as he slammed the door shut. you knew full and well that the moment rafe entered the car, you were absolutely screwed.

rafe was uncharacteristically quiet as he entered the car, his eyes focused on properly pulling out of the parking spot as you fiddled with your gifted chain. rafe knew upon meeting you that you were a sweet girl, yes, but a complete pushover? absolutely not. you were submissive enough in the relationship, to where he felt it perfectly balanced his naturally dominant demeanor, but he would be lying if he said that, you didn’t get under his skin when you played the role of a spoiled little girl.

he would never hurt you though, despite his past track record of becoming loose with his hands towards his former partners - you made that crystal clear when you started dating. so, you didn’t care if he roughed you up a bit, as long as he didn’t go too far with you. yet, you sat tense in the passenger seat, subconsciously grinding your teeth together as you mentally prepared for one of his repeated lectures, your lashes damp with awaiting tears as you waited for which selection of harsh words that rafe would hurl at you.

deciding to break the uncomfortable silence, rafe lets out an unamused chuckle, keeping his eyes trained on the road ahead, “m’not your father,” he nods to himself, his tone mimicking yours from earlier, “no fuckin’ shit, but i’m the man who takes care of you, the one who-who makes you happy — keeps you safe, yeah?” he rambles, more so to himself, his hand lifting off of the leather steering wheel to motion towards you.

you licked over the fat of your bottom lip, parting your sticky lips to speak, before he raises his hand to silence you, “i don’t even do that shit as much as i used to, ‘cause last time i checked, you didn’t like how it made me big bad rafe, right?” he continued, taking a quick glance at you, ignoring the small pang of guilt that he’d felt, seeing your eyes welled with tears, “so tell me, princess, why the fuck would i let you try that shit?” he questioned, his eyebrows raised as he returned his hand back to the steering wheel, awaiting your answer.

you took a breath, quickly wiping your eyes, “i dunno, rafe, i just saw you do it a-and i was drunk, so i asked,” you cried, your voice thick as you struggled to steady out your shaky breathing. you hated confrontation, especially when it came to your boyfriend, he knew how deep his words could cut. “i just don’t know why you’re so mad at me,” you squeaked, tears falling onto your flimsy pink dress.

“m’upset because you act like a spoiled fuckin’ kid whenever you don’t get what you want,” rafe retorts, his voice stern as he pulls into the driveway of tannyhill, hastily parking the car, before exiting, allowing the door to slam closed as he made his way to the passenger side, opening the door for you, “lets go, m’tired and i have shit to do tomorrow,” he coaxed.

ꪆৎ

you decided to take a shower and do your obsessively thorough skincare routine, as means to kill time and think about just how you were going to get back in rafe’s good graces. he was stubborn, yet consistent, he hadn’t spoken to you since you entered the house, leaving you to do whatever you pleased as he silently made his way to your shared bedroom. so, you decided to pretty yourself up, you cleaned face, glowing from the array of serums and oils that you’d spent obnoxious amounts of money on, your swollen lips glazed from your gisou lip oil, freshly detangled hair falling down your shoulders. your body butter-nourished skin was clad in one of rafe’s t-shirts, nothing underneath as you were freshly shaved.

shutting off the bathroom light, you padded your way into the bedroom, where rafe sat quietly, resting with an arm behind his head as he kept his tired blue eyes focused on the random netflix show he’d selected for the duration of the evening. “hi, papi,” you called out softly, a pout pushing on your lips as he looked over you, before returning his gaze to the television.

with a roll of your eyes you walked over to the side of the bed where rafe laid, letting out a breath as you you straddled his hips, your bare slick sitting perfectly atop his exposed pelvis.

“s’not good for couples to go to sleep mad at each other, papi,” you cooed, arching your back as you laid against him, batting your wispy lashes at rafe as he looked down at you, bringing his hand to rest on the curve of your back. “i think you should be nice to me, i miss my sweet rafe,” you smiled cheekily, earning a low groan from rafe as you lightly bit his bottom lip, before quickly pecking his lips with a kiss.

your boyfriend sits unhumored, his face blank of any expression as he brings his hand to sit atop of the curve of your back, “yeah, well i miss when my girl wasn’t such a spoiled brat and spoke to me like she had some fuckin’ sense,” he countered, blinking as you let out a dramatic gasp, tilting your head to the side.

“i’m not spoiled, you treat me like i’m a kid,” you rolled your eyes.

“‘cause you act like one.” rafe sighs, lowering the volume on the television, leaning his head back against the sturdy headboard with a sleepy huff. truth be told, rafe could easily fall asleep in this position, but he knew that you wouldn’t leave him alone until he was ‘nice’ to you, “go to sleep, i have to wake up in a few hours,” he muttered, lightly patting your ass.

you didn’t give up, biting down into the swell of your bottom lip as you brought your face closer to rafe’s with a devious grin, “okay, but y’should know that i just shaved and i’m not wearing any panties,” you sang, to some avail as rafe slid his hand underneath your shirt, cupping the plush skin of your bare ass and exhaling through his nose as you cutely wiggled your hips.

“okay, y’know what since y’claim to be such a good girl — you could sit on my dick while i watch this show,” he smiled, lowering the waistband of his boxers just enough to allow his semi-hard cock to be freed, his mushroom tip hitting your lower abdomen as you smiled with delight - a win is a win.

“and you won’t be mad at me anymore?” you questioned, neatly spitting down onto rafe’s hardening cock, evenly spreading out the slick over his shaft, before you guided him inside of you, a low hum vibrating through you as his full length swallowed into your achingly wet pussy.

“nope, now just sit and go to sleep, okay mama?” he cooed, pulling you down to lean against his chest, letting out a groan as your hips shifted around him.

now full and content, you pecked your lips to rafe’s jaw, mumbling a low ‘love you’ before resting your head on his shoulder as you allowed the sound of his heartbeat to lull you into a dreamy nod. completely oblivious to how rafe would sneak kisses all over your face while you fell into a deep sleep, his large hand fiddling with your empty ring finger. he was tempted to fuck his hips up into yours, but he figured he’d saved that for when the sun decided to rise, relishing in your leaking warmth suctioning around his cock.

[courtingchaos]

A/N: This is a dumb little thing I wrote because I’m trying to claw my way back into writing. I’ve also been having a pretty rough go of it mentally and watching old Loony Toons is actually like, really fun. So just take this.

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

No warnings, it’s just fluff, however:

18+ No Minors

In the top corner of a paystub:

Edward E. Munson.

“Edward E. Munson.” You repeat it under your breath the way Mel Blanc would and it makes you giggle.

Edward E. Munson, genius.

The man in question appears and leans on your desk, the elevated portion keeping him above your head.

“What are you teeheeing about?”

“Nothing.” You look at him quickly and glance down the same, his brown eyes brimming with mirth. “Just…the cartoons.” You point over his shoulder and he turns, his locks spilling down to hang over your line of sticky notes on the desks ledge. He watches for a moment while the Road Runner gets through the mural and when Mr. Coyote slams face first into it, Eddie snorts and tilts his head back towards you.

“I wouldn’t let that bird go, either.” He says out of the corner of his mouth and you giggle again. That earns you a smile from him, one of his big ones, all teeth and dimples. “See, what I’d do is create a screw up that he’d run into and then have the real trap at the end of that.”

IQ 207, super genius.

“I’m sure you could catch the Road Runner Ed, no problem.” You give him your own small smile and look back down at the time cards for the shop. His government name peaks out at you from under the stack of paystubs you were filing and you have to suppress another giggle. It wasn’t that funny, but having seen him move around the shop like a cartoon on occasion gave it some precedence.

“Oh yeah I’d catch him.” He leans back on the ledge, propped on one elbow to keep watching the episode. “Make a Sunday dinner out of him too.”

“Hey Eddie?”

“Hey whattie?” He answers from under the car he’s working on, peering up through the engine block to see you leaning over it with a smile.

“I’m taking lunch orders.” You wiggle the pencil and notepad so he can see the list. “I’m going to the diner, what do you want?”

He grins, only the briefest of glances at the way your chest presses up against the body of the car, and keeps screwing the nuts back in place nonchalantly. “I don’t know, do the fries come with the shake?” He peers up through the frame to see you frown and start to unfold the paper menu before you pause.

“Eddie?”

“What?” He asks innocently. From under the bumper he can see your toe tapping and he reaches his boot over to wiggle it against your ankle.

“For you, it’s an up charge.”

“Oh just for me?”

“Yeah it says right here ‘in the instance that one Eddie E. Munson orders a shake with fries and is making an innuendo, it’s an up charge of three dollars’.” You ‘read’ out loud and run your finger along pretend words. He laughs again and misses your grin when you turn to leave, tripping on his outstretched leg and shouting at him to keep his limbs secured.

He doesn’t get to his food until almost closing but he finds his fries bagged up in the microwave, ‘Eddie E. Coyote’ written in your hand across the folded over top. When he opens the fridge he doesn’t expect to see the styrofoam cup with the crudely drawn outline of a curvy lady and a strawberry shake contained within. His fingers stain the white cup but he keeps looking down at your little drawing while he picks up his station and waits for Wayne to finish his paperwork.

It’s a Friday morning before anyone else should be in, sun barely over the horizon, your time to get paperwork finished that the techs have conveniently forgotten throughout the week. You’re still sleepy, a little unaware, so you don’t realize the coffee pot already has coffee in it until you pick it up intending on filling it with water. You stare out of the big window in the office that opens into the shop and finally notice one of the bays open. A quick look at the clock on the wall and a snap of your wrist to check your watch and they’re both right, 6:30 AM. The whir of a pneumatic drill pulls you out into the shop, coffee pot still in hand.

“Hello?” You know it’s gotta be one of the guys but you still freeze in place when you catch movement behind an open hood, right until Eddie’s head pops up.

“There you are!” He yells over the hiss of the air compressor. “I was wondering when you showed up.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Like an hour, had some stuff to catch up on.” He rounds the front of the car with one hand tucked behind his back and the other held out in front, a clutch of papers in his fist. “I figured I could not be a piece of shit for once.”

You can see the invoice numbers along the top of one paper and your gaze goes soft. “Oh Eddie, you’re not-“

“Don’t excuse me, I’m bad with homework. Lifelong issue.” He shakes his fist for you to take the stack and when you both head back into the office he takes the coffee pot from you to pour your cup you’d left out. He points at your desk chair and sets your mug down next to your purse. “Sit.”

“This is just a present because I thought you’d like it.” He rolls his wrist out from behind himself, a little cylinder of tissue paper that he hands you.

“You got me a present?” You feel silly even saying it because why would Eddie do that? You’re just the front desk girl Wayne took on when he couldn’t handle his own paperwork anymore. The errand runner, the paperwork finisher, the sometimes maid when no one else remembered how to use a trash can.

“Not just any present.” Eddie shakes a finger at you admonishingly before he folds his arms over his chest and leans on the doorframe. “I got Wayne to part with a cup. That’s like…worse than battlefield surgery.” He laughs and gives you one of those big smiles that makes you feel shy. “In fact, I think he would have rather had his arm sawed off in the mud.”

You tuck your face down so you can maybe hide your stupid little smile, especially when you peel the tissue paper away to reveal a short glass with a cartoon coyote on it.

“Oh my god, I used to have one of these when I was a kid!” Your shocked laughter rings in the empty office and Eddie doubles down on his smile.

“See? Knew you’d like it more than him.”

He watches you tuck it up under the ledge next to the typewriter and finally leaves you alone to do your work. When Wayne comes in at 8 Eddie watches him as he leans in and you hold up your cup, big smile plastered on your face. He can hear Wayne laying it on thick but when he finally comes out in the shop he waves Eddie off when all he gets is a big grin.

“Well Ed, told you she’d like it.”

A terrible afternoon through and through. Half the shop lost power and three Semi’s sit unfinished while a very angry manager finally stomps out of the front door.

“Prick.” Eddie curses behind you while you unclench. You handled him fine, but having a grown man yell down at you for 30 straight minutes left you feeling anxious. “You okay?” Eddie lays his hand on your shoulder, careful to wipe his fingers off on his shop rag before brushing them over your sweater.

“Oh I’m fine, I just hope he knows he can go fuck himself tonight.” You shuffle the guys folder around and shove some receipts in there while Eddie laughs. “Come in here and yell at me like I’m the fucking power company.” You huff and yank open a middle drawer on the tall filing cabinet next to you, tossing the folder into the back.

“You wanna go out for a smoke?” Eddie holds up his pack and jerks his head towards the back door. When you don’t immediately get up he wiggles his eyebrows at you and pulls on your sleeve. “C’mooonnn.” He whines and you relent, turning the sign over on the front door for the lunch hours.

Out back is a row of crates and a bench seat taken out of an old Ford and Eddie presents the cracked leather to you like a throne. “Madam.” He flourishes and after you drop down onto it he hands you a cigarette, lighter already lit when the filter hits your lips.

“That guy was an ass.”

“Yeah well he can take it up with the county.” You make a vague jerk off motion and lay your head back against the wall.

“I wish acme stuff was real.” Eddie says, kicking a stray bolt around between his feet. “Put dynamite in his glovebox so he opens it and gets that banana peel face after.”

“Well you’re a loony toon, I’m sure you can figure that out.”

“Still haven’t caught that Road Runner yet.” He looks up from under his fringe and you don’t catch him staring. “Probably should do that first before I move on to explosives.”

Eddie is ready to call it quits and walk out on this job. Wayne is still hashing it out with the Semi guy, something about how he doesn’t owe the shop for anything, and Eddie is hanging around just in case. This guy keeps pointing fingers closer and closer to Wayne’s face and half the shop is just watching and waiting while Wayne remains calm as ever. Eddie knows you’re watching from the front desk, saw you overfill your mug when you got too caught up staring at this guy going purple. He wants to laugh but he knows that wouldn’t end well so he hides his mouth behind his fist and waits for this to blow over.

The yelling has quieted down but the snide remarks remain and Eddie catches your eye, your eyebrows raised high in question. He’s about to come in and tell you but he thinks of something funnier and grabs an old invoice to scribble on the back of it. He holds it up out of sight of the shop, just below his shoulders and you squint and laugh in silence behind the glass.

‘How about ending this cartoon before I hit?’

He grins at you while you turn away and hold up a finger for him to wait. He’s glued to the way your lip tucks into your teeth when you concentrate, your own scribbling happening before you whip the sign up against the window, a dull thud that only he seems to hear.

‘Road runners can’t read.’

He feels a slight drop in his stomach when you shrug dramatically, your lips forming around what he knows is a quiet ‘meep meep’.

Normally Eddie is in the shop Monday through Friday but it’s Wednesday and you’ve seen neither hide nor hair. Everyone’s been busy and you haven’t felt like interrupting Wayne and his welding so you sit alone in the office during your lunch, cartoons playing softly in the background. The book you’ve been trying to slog through is making you sleepy but the bell ringing on the front door snaps your head up. You could have sworn you’d locked it like normal. “Hey, sorry we’ll be-“

Eddie dangles his store key from his middle finger and smiles at you. “Is Wayne in?” He sounds breathless, asks you that even though he’s already bounding into the shop and yelling for his Uncle. Funnily enough you couldn’t have answered him anyways, struck dumb by his new attire.

You’ve only ever seen him in his coveralls and his stained undershirts but the Eddie that just breezed past you is a new creature. Hair down and washed, fluffy waves bouncing behind him where you can see him jogging across the shop floor. His wallet chain clinks against tight light wash jeans that show off most of his thighs, dark ink showing through the white threads keeping the shredded pant legs together. You’re afraid if anyone looks at you they’ll know you’re staring dead at the slice of his midriff shown off under his cropped black tee, but you can’t peel your eyes away. He’s tanner than you expected and when he makes a big gesture over his head it pulls that shirt up and you make a small sound to yourself and the four walls. His shoulders roll under his laughter and you catch the glint of the overhead lights on his rings. He’s in a brand new costume and you’re feeling insane watching him through the thick glass like you were ogling a shark at the aquarium.

You stare until he starts to turn back towards the office, gaze snapping down the worlds most boring book. His boots fall heavy and that chain clinks into the metal door when he pushes it open with his hip. You expect him to dip right back out to the parking lot but his movement has come to halt beside you and you slide your eyes over to see the bottom half of him, hands on his hips like he’s waiting for you to look. You gather whatever will you have left and take a deep breath before putting on your brave face.

“Don’t you look nice.”

“Oh you think so?” He tilts his head and does a half turn so you get a good side view.

“Mhm.”

“I’ve got a show tonight.”

You forgot he was in a band and shake your head. “I forgot about that. Is it in Indy?”

He nods and his smile lights up the room when he talks about the stage they’ve got. It’s a real venue not just a bar and they’re openers for another local band but his drummer has been talking to other guys and he thinks they’ve sold at least 150 tickets and he’s just nervous now because they’ve never played for a crowd bigger than 50.

You’re listening but you’re also watching this chain dangle from his shirt more and more until a red pick falls out and hangs over the edge of your desk.

“Oh you guys are gonna do fine.” You reach over and pat his forearm, a gentle touch that you play again over in your mind when you notice how soft his skin is. “Seriously! I’m sad I’m missing it.” You pout a little to get your point across and Eddie’s face goes through a series of scrunches before he finally speaks.

“I didn’t even think about asking if you’d be into that.”

“That’s okay! Don’t feel like you have to invite me.” Your neck is hot from embarrassment and you hope he doesn’t think you’re trying to invite yourself along.

“No it’s not-“ He glances at the clock on the wall and sighs. “I’d lo-it’d be cool if you came, but I just need to remember to tell you when.” He says lamely. You watch him seem to struggle with leaving so you give him a break and make a shooing motion towards the door.

“Go catch that road runner, genius.”

For the next two weeks Eddie talks about this show. He tells everyone everything but you specifically some stories over and over. He talks about the actual real photographer that was there, and he talks about the venue and he talks about the girls.

“I’ve never seen so many women going crazy for a man from Indianapolis.” He shakes his head, a blank look on his face while you yet again stare holes through the papers in front of you. There’s no reason to be jealous you remind yourself, because there’s nothing there. Barely a friendship built off of shared chuckling at cartoons most days, but he brings up these bleached blondes and their corsets and you sigh at your small town outfits.

“I mean, it’s the attention really. That’s what’s exciting.” He says quietly over his sandwich, a sandwich that you made for him in a weaker early morning moment.

“You do have a pretty big personality.”

He winces a little and waves his food at you. “You remember how it was in high school. I didn’t get a lot of that attention.”

“I barely remember you, that’s when you got sick right? When we had that big earthquake.” You know it was his third time but then he’d been missing for almost two months and then suddenly was a graduate. He stills for a moment before he flashes you a smile.

“Yeah I forget about that sometimes.”

There’s quiet between you two while you mark in the ledger and Eddie seems to stare at the side of your head for too long. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” His half finished sandwich stays forgotten clasped between his hands. “Like, about those girls. At the concert.”

You don’t look at him when you frown deeply and shake your head at the work you’re so intent on. So concentrated on that you’ve forgotten how to add ten and two together while the jealousy slithers in. “I don’t think anything about it Ed.” The TV in the lobby shows you coyote hovering in the air and then plummeting off a cliff for miles and you can definitely relate to that right at this moment.

“No, I mean I don’t want you to think-“

“Eddie, it’s fine.” You do look up then, wide eyes imploring him to shut the fuck up. “One night stands aren’t gonna ruin my opinion of you, I promise.”

“Did you ask?” Wayne doesn’t even look up from his coffee when he senses Eddie in the doorway.

“No.” Eddie sighs and droops like a wilting lily against the door handle. “I got my foot caught in my mouth, as usual.”

“Mm.” Wayne takes an obnoxiously loud sip and Eddie narrows his eyes at him. “I suggest you fix that then, I can’t take much more of your cartoon jokes. It’s too cute.” He shakes his head like he’s actually disgusted but Eddie knows, Eddie’s heard it all since the concert. Had heard about you timidly asking about his band and then when Wayne mentioned the board games it’d turned into a three hour conversation that his Uncle had regaled him with.

“She’s probably feeling a little hurt, son. You’ve talked about the groupies a lot.”

“I know! I keep trying to not bring them up but they were everywhere.”

Wayne rolls his eyes. “Oh woe is you.” He lets Eddie rot around his bench until he actually needs to get some work done and he shoos Eddie off to his own project.

Most of the shop is empty by 7 but you can still see Wayne’s lights on at his workstation so you know Eddie is probably still floating around. You’d been kind of avoiding him since lunch, still not ready to talk about whatever it was he was trying to talk to you about. You’ve got everything filed and piled for the morning when you hear a soft tap on the window into the shop, Eddie’s forehead pressed to the glass.

“It’s unlocked.” You say loudly, gesturing at the door. He just shakes his head and holds up a piece of paper he’s written on in grease pen.

‘Magnus Stultus’ with an arrow drawn to point at himself. He watches your face scrunch in confusion and he turns the paper to scribble again quickly ‘Big Idiot’.

Edward E. Munson, certified genius.

You think about having this whole conversation in signs is a fun idea in theory, but you open the door slowly anyways and lean your head around to look at him. “Big idiot?”

“Yeah. Huge.” He rolls his forehead so he can see you clearly. “I was trying to ask you something earlier and I didn’t.”

You think about lunch and try to remember any questions asked of you and all you can see is the glaring green neon of your jealousy. “Yeah? What do you need?”

He breathes deeply against the glass and leaves a big patch of fog before finally lifting his head. “I was trying to say I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea about them because I wasn’t interested. I was trying to say I’d wished you’d have been able to be there.”

“Oh.” That definitely sounded better with the context and you’d love to go and see him play, if nothing else to see him in his crop top again.

He can tell you haven’t realized yet and he finally just comes out and says it. “I’d like to ask you if you’d like to go to the next show. With me…together.”

“Oh.” You smile behind the thumb nail you’re chewing on. Everything shifts again for you and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you.

“If you’re laughing at me, I understand, but could I at least walk away first if that’s the case.”

“I’m not laughing at you!” You finally walk over to him so you can lightly tap his shoulder with a mock punch. “I’d love to.”

“We’ve got another show next week but it’s on Friday.”

“Oh now that’s when I get a lot of work done so I’ll have to ask my boss first.”

From across the shop Wayne yells ‘yes!’ at you before you finish your sentence and Eddie looks like he’s turning into a strawberry.

“So do I also need to wear a crop top or is that just a you specific thing?” You try to be cute to break the tension and give Eddie a smirk but the exaggerated up and down he gives you makes you feel shy again.

“Did you like that outfit?” He gives you a little satisfied grin. You roll your eyes at him and nod slightly, another push at his shoulder when he clicks his tongue and gives you a terrible wink.

“I’ll see what I can dig out for you.”

“Oh you do that.”

[emo-batboy]

Fan pages on Twitter with Bruce are making me think of one thing. Kpop Twitter. Do u think they would be making fancams of him too? Photocards? Posters? Buying 10 copies of vogue just for different cover with him?

*takes off glasses* now I cannot reveal the secrets of my Twitter au BUT you came to the right person :DD

NOW CONSIDER

BRUCE WAYNE AS A FORMER MODEL (idk if this has been done before with Battinson? Let me know so I can read it)

So maybe Bruce did some covers for a business magazine in his late teens or early 20’s and it went really well!!

a few luxury brands asked if this fresh-faced Bruce Wayne would consider being an ambassador. Maybe a brand of watches, suits, sunglasses, something business-like or old money

He agrees to work with some suit company cuz his dad loves the brand and he likes them too now

This earns him his first ever taste of A-List Celeb Status. He is on the cover of magazines, not just business and fashion: Gossip magazines. Tabloids. People recognize him and want his autograph. Paparazzi follow him to lunch dates with friends.

They want to know his favorite color, cereal brand, ice cream flavor, and not because they want to be billionaires like him (poor little nepo baby) but because they love him so much they want to know every little detail of his life.

He is given the title of heartthrob over and over again (and I mean look at him, ofc he is)

He despises it with every cell in his body.

BUT he keeps working for this one luxury tailor brand until his contract ends. Maybe two or three years?

He has a good relationship with them, still. Wears their suits mostly, recommends it to friends if they need a new one. But he’s decided it’s not for him anymore.

Now. Every year, during New York Fashion Week, Bruce is invited to walk in their show. (This brand gives all of their ambassadors the opportunity.) Sometimes, he says yes. Sometimes, he doesn’t.

He refuses for a few years (during his vengeance era) until Bruce Wayne changes and decides to make more appearances. NY Fashion Week comes around, and Bruce returns for one (1) show.

Oh lordie the stans

They arrive in droves

EVERYBODY AND THEIR MOTHER SEES THE CLIP OF BRUCE WAYNE WALKING AT THE FASHION SHOW!!

He tears up that fucking runway! He’s a seasoned veteran of course he does

THE BRAND BEGS BRUCE TO COME BACK

And ya know what?

He says yes

Cuz he wants to be personable, likable, approachable, a role model (no pun intended)

His bitterness is slowly dissipating, and he’s grown stronger after the stress of his early 20’s and the hatred of his late 20’s. He’s an Adult TM who can handle it.

This is when he learns about the new emergence of stan culture :)

The edits are EVERYWHERE

Some are from his new collections and looks

Others are made up of early 2010’s Bruce Wayne

Imagine like those sparkly ones with cute music in the background and it’s just Bruce smiling

(And then there’s the thirst trap ones, you know those one)

Pretty boy billionaire Bruce Wayne and his army of fans could declare a nation. They’re your cousin, your friend, your teacher, your goddamn accountant.

Old posters from Tiger Beat 2009 go up on eBay for thousands of dollars

And those old “vintage” fashion magazines where he’s on the cover, those could cost you rent

Bruce walks some new shows and agrees to pose for some magazines (fashion AND business, among others)

Vogue offers him the cover, which he accepts

They run out of stock.

(How is that even possible?)

Fancams of him walking down the street and attending press conferences crop up? That’s what surprises him the most.

He is still very camera shy but the more he gets to know the regular fansites, he feels more comfortable waving and talking to them. (And hopefully they don’t suspect a thing. PLEASE don’t suspect a thing.)

There are a lot of events where they’re not allowed in but if it’s a public event, they will be there

(There are some creepy ones tho, and Alfred handles them accordingly) (with a call to the police) (and occasionally a hose)

It’s fun tho, allows Brucie Wayne, Billionaire Nepo Baby Extraordinaire, to become separate from his nightly persona

This is how Bruce becomes very familiar with Stan Twitter

But he still refuses to make an account for his own sanity

It’s for the best

[hyuckbeam]

hit or miss

you’re given a bet by your own best friend to finally earn you some kissing experience at the ripe age of 18, but what if he’s the one you’ve been wanting to kiss all along?

pairing | bff!haechan x reader

genre | fluff, just a bit of angst

warnings | y/n uses she/her pronouns, both y/n and hyuck are dumdums! kind of slow burn, curse words are explicitly mentioned, cousin!winter, i think that’s all but lmk if i missed anything!

wc | 4.3k words

note | this is pretty inspired by the webtoon “the kiss bet” because i currently have a hyper fixation on it and i absolutely love all the characters ;0; this is also way longer than intended but anyways,, i hope u enjoy! all rbs and likes are appreciated, thank you <3

D-15.

“in three, two, one, happy birthday, y/n!” your best friend, haechan announces aloud for everyone in your apartment complex to hear at 12 in the morning.

“come on! make a wish before the candles blow out!” winter, your cousin, urges you with a big smile on her face.

having just finished your night time routine and prepared yourself for a night's worth of sleep, you were rather shocked to see them with one of those trendy bento cakes and rainbow colored party hats adorning their heads.

despite your confusion, you walk up towards them with a grateful smile resting upon your lips. “seriously, when did you guys plan this?”

“oh, it was all my- ow, hey!” haechan gets cut off midway through his statement because of a nudge from winter’s elbow.

“what he was trying to say was it was all my doing. you’re welcome bubs!” your cousin beams, eyes creasing into crescents. “though i’d wish you’d hurry up. this cake isn’t holding itself up for you, y’know?” she adds on rather playfully but you can tell she truly meant it.

gathering a deep breath, you blow out the candles and cheers erupt from the people you deem closest to you. winter then sets down the cake on your coffee table in relief as your best friend slings his arm over your shoulder.

“sooo y/n, got anything planned for the year? a small resolution or something like that, i don’t know.” he rambles off, suggesting the idea of having a goal to work towards now that you were deemed an adult (though, haechan kept referring to this as the year that marks your jail-ability era).

you feel a little tingly from his touch, even when you know the two of you are just friends and nothing more. what you’re feeling is probably just a phase. it’ll go away.

“i’m not really sure, got any ideas for me?” you ask the two instead, eyeing them both in a back and forth motion.

“we can always work on that dating experience of yours- last i remember, it was up to the high number count of… zero.” your cousin chips in from the side as she slices the cake for the three of you to share, her tone sarcastic while she teases you.

it’s true, you didn’t have a lot (re: any) of experience in the dating sector, but perhaps that could change starting this year. “that… might not be such a bad idea.”

haechan’s interest seems to have been piqued — he’s making that look. that specific expression where the corners of his lips turn upwards, a brow raised, and that glint in his eye. oh, you know it all too well.

“come on.” you urge the boy. “start sharing your idea. i can practically see your mind ready to explode.”

“well, since you’ve asked me ever so kindly. how ‘bout a bet?” he starts, taking a few steps towards you with that cocky expression of his. “i bet you 10 dollars to kiss someone in two months. not that hard, right?”

“what- you want me to kiss some random person for 10 bucks?” you gawk out in surprise.

he only shakes his head, “i never said it needed to be a stranger. just, someone in general.”

you processed the idea thoroughly, running all sorts of possible scenarios in your head. wouldn’t it be much easier to kiss… haechan himself? that just seemed like the most plausible approach for you.

he wasn't a stranger — the furthest from one. you were comfortable with him. the kiss didn’t have to mean anything (though it might mean a tiny bit more to you), and in addition, you’d be making some cash.

everything seemed to check out. the only problem was that you had to ask him to kiss you. still, surely this was better than any other alternative, right?

“i’ll do it but… can’t i just kiss you and get it over with?” you finally voice out your thoughts, pretending to make your question sound playful in case the request backfires on you.

“you’re my best friend, that’s a little odd, don’t you think so?” haechan replies in the same tone, lightly ruffling your hair before going over to retrieve a slice of cake from winter.

ouch. way to have your first bit of “dating experience” be your best friend… friend zoning you. what a lovely start to your 18th birthday.

D-13.

a few days had passed since the bet you made with haechan had been established, but not one ounce of progress had been made.

to be fair, how were you supposed to kiss someone else when all you’ve ever wanted was for that kiss to be with your best friend? that’s tough luck.

you attending classes today doesn’t really help with your thoughts either, especially when both haechan and winter had been asking about said progress one after the other.

you’d be lying if they weren’t starting to give you a headache.

as if on cue, winter approaches you, some lecture books in hand and her bag slung on her shoulder. “y/n! how’s your progress?” here we go again.

“just as i told you yesterday, nothing yet.” you reply with a small sigh.

winter senses the frustration behind your words, encouraging her to suggest ideas to help you. “how about finding someone you like? it might make it easier for you know… to kiss them.”

“i don’t think that’s still a good- actually, you might just be onto something, minjeong.” your gears start to churn in your mind. in order to wash haechan off your mind, you might as well find someone else and maybe get an actual relationship out of it.

the idea was just perfect for you.

“have i ever told you how much i love you? i gotta go but i’ll see you after class, winter!” you excitedly bid her a goodbye, rushing to your classroom so you could better plan out your new gameplan.

though the most ideal situation was long gone, you now had a back up plan and you weren’t going to back down so easily from the bet.

you were now busily scribbling on your notepad, forgetting that a new student was to transfer into your class today. the teacher calls upon your attention and as you look up, your eyes land on a boy with great resemblance to a cute bunny.

apparently he’s the new transfer student.

the teacher gives him a moment to introduce himself. “hello everyone, my name is na jaemin. i hope we all get along!” so that’s his name, you thought to yourself.

surprisingly, he was told to take the seat in front of yours, offering you a small smile and a curt wave, one that you gladly return, before he takes his seat.

actually, maybe you really could forget haechan for just a teensy bit.

D-6.

a week goes by without haechan seeing you once. an entire week. was he always this eager to see you? to bask in the warm sight that is you? he thinks he must be going crazy.

the only time he ever gets updates about you is through winter which aren’t much to go on. he does remember a key detail she mentioned previously about how you’ve been spending time with that new student, jaemin.

what was so special about him anyways? well, he was surely going to find out soon.

as the bell rings to signal the start of recess, he dashes out of his classroom, taking big steps towards yours.

there, haechan finds you in his seat and he’s about to approach you until he sees you’re in the middle of a conversation with the one and only, na jaemin.

“this is how you do this, right?” jaemin asks you, directing your sight to a piece of paper that has a bunch of math formulas written on it.

“yeah! i’m surprised you got that rather quickly.” you compliment the boy in front of you with a small laugh.

your thoughts on jaemin have changed drastically since the first time you met him. he’s a sweet boy, someone you could never take advantage of. it just felt wrong to you so you just dropped your entire plan as a whole.

it was alright to lose the bet. at least you kind of made a new friend out of it, right? you smile to yourself at that thought.

to haechan, however, your smile is so bright in jaemin’s presence, it’s practically blinding everyone in sight. have you ever smiled at him like that? wait- why does that matter?

he doesn’t like you, no way.

you’re best friends, yeah. his love for you is as platonic as can be — at least that’s what he tells himself.

for someone as bold as haechan, he can’t seem to find the confidence in him to walk towards your table and steal your attention. instead, he steps out of the classroom, unnoticed by you.

D-5.

“JAEMIN DID WHAT!?” haechan yells into his phone, winter being on the receiving end of the call.

the girl tuts, “scream one more time and i’m hanging up on you. and yes, i heard he confessed to y/n. i don’t think she gave him an answer though.”

“sorry, look, i was just really surprised.” a deep sigh comes out from haechan before the call goes silent. he takes the time to process the situation, but the idea of you and jaemin being together just rubs him off the wrong way.

“doesn’t she see how bad he is for her?” he finally reasons out.

“uhuh, in what sense exactly?” winter retorts.

“he’s probably just using her to gain attention or something! can’t i look out for my own best friend?” the response is laughable, even to haechan, but he goes along with it.

winter laughs into the call, “are you even hearing yourself? that’s pretty baseless, even for you haechan.” she replies shortly afterwards. “seems to me like you’re jealous.”

“are you hearing yourself, winter? no i’m not! get your head screwed on properly!” haechan answers back in the same incredulous manner as she did to him just a few seconds ago. “who would i even be jealous of?”

“jaemin. who else? i think it’s pretty clear to most. you aren’t that great at managing your feelings, y’know-” the girl’s voice cuts off for a second, “-oh, i’m being called to dinner now but seriously, get yourself together haechan. i know you like my cousin. bye!”

the line goes beep and haechan tosses his phone onto his bed. she really did just leave him hanging like that. how could she after bringing that idea up?!

jealous? not a chance. haechan never gets jealous.

D-4.

haechan wakes up the next day feeling tired, having not slept a wink after winter’s words kept replaying in his head.

i know you like my cousin.

you like my cousin.

you like her.

and these same words follow him as he makes it all the way to school. perhaps seeing you in school would help him understand his feelings better.

he really just wants this to be over with.

with trudged steps, he makes his way to your classroom and luckily enough for him, there you were already in class before the first bell rang.

he blames it on the lack of sleep but you look so ethereal sitting down in your chair as you bop your head lightly to the music that’s presumably playing on your earphones.

the sight is something to behold- that is until he pivots his head ever so slightly and sees jaemin accompanying you. god, why does he have to be there.

so maybe haechan does get jealous. sometimes.

maybe that’s why he acts without thinking, swiftly dragging you from your chair and out to the school courtyard despite your protests.

“hyuck let me go-” you grumble, tugging on your arm but he doesn’t budge one bit. it’s only when you reach a bench in the furthest part of the courtyard he decides to get go of your wrist.

“seriously, what is wrong with you?” you scoff out in disbelief. “this is the first time we’ve spoken in days. i think you could’ve just asked me if you really wanted to talk.” with the addition of those words, haechan finally realizes what he’s done. he knows it was wrong but he isn’t going to back down from the argument that was brewing between you two.

“me? how about you? you’ve been so lovey dovey with mr. perfect all this time! don’t you have yourself to blame on why we haven’t seen each other in so long?” he spat out coldly.

your heart sinks, and yet, you can’t help but feel even more enraged. its true, you’re part of the reason for the lack of communication between you two. after all, communication is a two way system. but doesn’t that also mean he’s also to blame?

“i enjoy jaemin’s company a lot! is that so wrong?” you shoot back, biting your bottom lip before mumbling the latter part of your statement. “at least he isn’t as grumpy as the person standing in front of me.”

ouch.

the boy hears this and gets ticked off even more. maybe it really is the lack of sleep but he seriously can’t understand her reasoning anymore. instead, he assumes she’s just doing all of this for the bet.

“do you really want to win the bet so bad? if that’s what you want, just kiss me and be over with it. i’m literally letting you win. you can stop seeing jaemin now.”

and that’s when it hits you a little.

why is he bringing the bet up all of a sudden when you just want a genuine relationship with jaem- oh. he couldn’t possibly see you as someone like that right? he said it himself! he doesn’t like you and even denied your request to kiss him a few weeks ago.

but, if that were all true, what other explanation would there be to his actions?

he takes your silence as a no, prompting him to leave you in the courtyard all alone.

you couldn’t seem to understand him at all no matter how hard you tried.

as soon as you got home from classes that same day, you rushed yourself back home and into the comfort of your bed and pillows — treating them as if they were your closest confidants and cried while you shared your troubles.

it wasn’t productive on your end but it was much needed for you to at least think straight. you’d been bottling your contemplations all day long after all.

here you are laying lifeless on your bed, using all your braincells to dicern what the fuck happened earlier this morning.

you know haechan doesn’t like you. you’ve said it to yourself so many times now.

maybe he’s just jealous you’ve been spending more time with jaemin because, although you have different intentions before, you realized you couldn’t see him in that way nor had the heart to just use him for your own gain.

haechan was a different story though. you feel flushed just thinking about him, knowing full well the both of you are in the middle of an argument between each other.

remembrance of the frustration hits, making you groan at the thought of having to remedy it. if you and haechan had anything in common, it would be the stubbornness you both share.

the last time you both got into an argument this big was back in junior high. neither of you spoke to the other for an entire month. it got so bad that both your parents had to call each other up to devise a way to get an apology out from the both of you.

though it would make the entire situation much easier, your parents no longer delve into these types of problems — and neither do haechan’s. you’re both all alone to fix this one yourselves and you wish you’d been more grateful to your parents for mending your relationship with haechan.

deep down, you already know the both of you will struggle to find the right timing, but you certainly hope that day would come soon. you didn’t exactly like being away from him either (even if he made you feel like shit for the rest of the day).

you decide to sleep off your worries for the night, hoping and praying that tomorrow would be a better day for you.

D-3.

tomorrow is not any better of a day.

jaemin and haechan both invited you to eat with them for lunch which quickly escalated into a light argument between the two. you couldn’t even bring yourself to butt into their conversation, seeing how they were fighting over something so silly.

“i’m her best friend, we do this pretty much everyday!” you hear haechan yell at jaemin, his frustration for the other getting the best of him. “plus, i need to talk with her. without you.”

“if the two of you are just best friends, then what gives you the right to dictate her answers?” jaemin fires back, keeping a calm and collected appearance throughout.

this shuts haechan up and the entire cafeteria goes dead silent. oh boy, did you want to curl up into a little hole. everyone was staring and you didn’t like that one bit.

nevertheless, you decided to be the bigger person — uttering a small apology to jaemin before walking off to the table you usually sat at with haechan — the latter following you a few steps behind.

neither of you speak as you begin to eat your separate meals, another sign the relationship between you two was starting to fade out into dust.

winter joins your lunch table shortly after witnessing the drama unfold, she looks at haechan with an unreadable expression and the boy stays quiet during the whole meal.

didn't he say he wanted to talk? an apology for the day before would have been nice.

you get fed up by the silence, placing your food back on the tray before picking it up. you mutter a quiet “i can’t seem to understand you at all.” directed at hyuck before leaving and switching over to the table where jaemin and his friends are sitting.

it all happened too fast and haechan didn’t realize you were leaving until you already did. he really did want to talk but how was he supposed to do that after having that situation with jaemin?

he wanted to calm down first but you had other plans. you really left him in shambles this time.

winter can’t help but sigh at the ongoing conflict. she silently wishes she wasn’t involved this much if it was going to turn out like this.

D-2.

haechan knows he truly has to make it up to you (including a long overdue explanation of why he’s been acting weirdly the past few days) but doesn’t know how to do that. apologies never came easy to him. his mind couldn’t help but go blank everytime he tried thinking of a way to approach you without making things more complicated than they already are.

the sheer amount of times he’s hit a brick wall has him calling the only person who probably knows more about you than he, himself, does.

he picks up his phone, searching through his contacts before landing on a single person, now waiting for the phone to ring.

“hello?” winter’s voice reaches him through the call. “i knew you’d call after what happened at the cafeteria.”

it takes a moment for haechan to answer, “maybe if jaemin wasn’t so aggressive–”

“you both were. now spill, have you gotten your feelings sorted yet?” the girl pushes his dramatics aside, getting straight to the point.

“i… think i do. you were right all along.” haechan finishes. although it was hard for him to admit at first, now that he’s actually said it out loud, it might be the first time he’s been feeling a sense of clarity after so long.

winter hums at his confession. “at least you’re finally taking a step in the right direction. now, to win her back…” she smiles to herself, already having a plan in mind.

you, on the other hand, have been seeing haechan and winter together often for the past week. naturally, your mind begins to wonder if your own cousin is the reason why haechan rejected you way back during your small birthday celebration.

the evidence matches up pretty well — he probably couldn’t reject you directly because she was in the room with the two of you that day. he isn’t spending as much time with you anymore because he’s spending time with her.

they look good together.

those words linger in your head more than you’d like to admit.

you feel cast aside by the people you’ve known practically your entire life but you don’t have much of a choice but to return to jaemin’s company. after all, you chose to eat the rest of your lunch at his table instead of the one that brought familiarity to you.

D-DAY.

day after day, the two of you just seemed to grow even more distant and you wondered if the end of your long-term friendship was nigh approaching. you barely saw him roaming through the halls of campus anymore, much less your cousin.

you didn’t dislike the new friend group you had (jaemin introducing you to his friends after you finally told him about your situation with haechan, but you couldn’t help but feel… dissatisfied with your current situation.)

as your class ends, you prepare yourself for another silent walk home. despite having those new friends, you felt lonelier than you ever had. you missed them. you missed him. and yet, life seemed to have other plans for you.

even trudging down these halls filled with other students made you lonely.

truthfully, you would do anything to have them back- a pain to your forehead snaps you out of your thoughts. you had bumped into someone. well, not just someone, but the person you’ve been longing for the most.

haechan. he was right in front of you after who knows how long it’s been.

you felt like crying on the spot but held in your emotions to appear like your life was anything but lost. haechan knew that look on your face, presuming you haven’t been well ever since the two of you have spoken. he takes your hands that have slumped to your sides into his, and the small gesture reminded you of the warmth he’d bring into your life.

“are you up for a short conversation perhaps?” you only nod and he takes that as a signal in the right direction, though, he isn’t used to you acting around him like this. oh boy, this was going to be more than a short conversation.

haechan leads you into the gymnasium and the two of you sit down by the bleachers with no sight of other students in the area.

“before you get mad- i wanted to apologize first. i shouldn’t have acted the way i did. i was childish.” he begins, holding eye contact with you to show his sincerity. “frankly, i was jealous. jealous you spent more time with jaemin, and you seemed to enjoy you time with him more than the times we hang out together. i shouldn’t have made you feel sad in any way, but i did and that’s completely my fault. i’m sorry.” you know his words hold both his feelings and the truth.

he wasn’t going to lie to you. he never once did during the time you knew each other.

however, what he admitted to had you flustered.

he was jealous of you and jaemin? it was a little hard to believe until you remembered the latter confessed to you the past week. oh god, did word of that spread out? nevermind that, what happened between you and jaemin was the least of your worries, the boy in front of you was. what if haechan got the wrong idea from the rumors?

“it’s not completely your fault. we both were pretty stubborn.” you reply, a soft chuckle leaving your lips to ease the tension between you two. “and if… if you’re curious, i never returned jaemin’s feelings back.

haechan gets pretty taken aback by your statement, now wondering why you brought it up. “oh… i know.”

“you knew? did winter tell you?” you question in anticipation. “i guess the both of you are pretty close now.”

“she did but i swear our friendship is nothing like that!” it was his turn to get flustered. “she could never replace your spot in my life.”

“i’m a little confused though after all of this…” you gesture out, referring to the situation that has just recently moved past you two. “what spot do i even have?”

he pauses, taking his time to think of the right words he wants to tell you but they all get stuck in his throat. the expression on your face showed how you took his silence negatively, prompting him to speak. “i like you. i couldn’t admit it even to myself for the longest time and-” having enough of his rambling, you inch a little closer and give him a kiss on the lips.

it’s brief, and yet, it continues to linger on his lips. “you kissed me.”

“why do you think i never gave jaemin an answer to jaemin’s confession?”

“so you were really saving it for me? i’m honored.” he chuckles out, playfully holding his hand to his chest.

“well, you should be.” you add on with the same bright smile he’s seen you flash at jaemin, except this time, it was absolutely for him.

“i guess that also means you won the bet?” he recalls, a brow raising at you.

you give him a light nudge on his shoulder while suppressing a giggle, “oh, shut up and just kiss me. you owe me 10 bucks by the way.”

tags !!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for embarrassing the trainer in front of everyone?

Where I (24F) live English is not our first language, I'm not perfect myself but my fluency in it is considered above average compared to everyone here. I take pride in it because it give me more job opportunities but don't brag about it. I'm also Autistic.

I once thought about taking some random courses to enhance my resume, and chose a random institute I found. This course costed about 150 dollars and had three different subjects, English, Computer and psychology. I wanted to opt out of English because it wouldn't benefit me but that wasn't an option.

The first class was to test our levels and we had to answer a paper sheet in groups. I discussed with my group members that one question didn't make any sense and was grammatically wrong- [What are you look like?] They were all confused because they were beginners and had no idea what I was talking about, our trainer [60+F] was a retired public school teacher who had a British bachelor's degree so I thought there's no way someone like her would make such a simple mistake which made me suspect that it was a trick question. I told the other members that it must be a trick question and to beat the other groups we must answer it as intended, I asked them if they thought it was a good idea to tell the trainer about the mistake and they were all reluctant, however I was confident and convinced it was a trick question and the trainer is waiting for one of us to speak up.

I did it anyway told her that the question was supposed to be [What do you look like?]

The trainer brushed me off and started beating around the bush that the two questions mean something different and continued the class as if nothing happened, then brought up that some of her former students were unnecessarily rude and assumed they knew more than her despite being younger, and gave us examples from the middle school she used to work at. I thought perhaps she was indirectly criticizing me but I couldn't know for sure.

Later I assumed if the English course was this bad then maybe I wouldn't benefit at all from the other courses so I contacted management and voiced my complaints while sugarcoating it as much as possible so the trainer doesn't get fired, I claimed that the class was below my level and earned a full refund despite the contract stating we are only entitled to a partial refund. To make it clear I didn't ask for the full refund but I hoped I'd get it.

My relatives think I'm right for what I did but have commented that maybe I embarrassed them which resulted in the full refund, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[batmanfruitloops]

Been a while since I did a long text post, so let's discuss Harvey some more!

Harvey was always a polite and energetic boy growing up. He had a lucky silver dollar he kept to flip "heads or tails" for little decisions, like stepping over or onto cracks in the cement, or silly little bets with Gilda or Bruce, who he met at a young age through school and the three became fast friends.

His father was an angry and abusive man, oppressing his power over Harvey and his wife, enforcing a skewed set of rules. This instills Harvey with a strong sense of fair judgment and wanting to right wrongs, even at such a young age. When Harvey was 6, his parents got into a fatal car crash and died, and from this point on the Wayne's did everything they could to help Harvey, now guardians to him.

This incident was hard at first since Harvey felt conflicted about whether or not to be happy that his parents were gone, and he could become angry and aggressive when upset, similar to his father, although Harvey had plenty of support to help him calm down and cope better with stress.

When Bruce's parents were murdered, Harvey comforted him as best he could, mourning his loss and trying to help Bruce continue to take care of himself and talk about how he feels.

Bruce is still fine for the most part after that, if not more distant in word, but good with spending time with Harvey and Gilda.

Over time, Gilda and Harvey spend more time together, as they click better. Bruce participated when offered, but as he was also fine being alone, the two began to see each other more often without Bruce there.

This is how things stay until Bruce leaves at age 18, Harvey having no idea. One day, he tried to call Bruce, then the manor only to find out from Alfred that Bruce had left a couple weeks ago. This cuts Harvey deeply. Had Bruce really not intended to let his best friend know that he was leaving, especially if it was going to be a long trip?

Alfred offered to give Harvey Bruce's current contact information, but Harvey declined, not wanting to bother Bruce and fearing what he might hear if he did call.

At age 22, Harvey and Gilda finally decided to get married. They'd been dating for a few years, and even before then, it was like they were joined at the hip. They're very good at communicating with one another, and as touch is one of their main ways of showing love, that makes it all the easier to express care for one another.

Harvey was quite distraught about Bruce not being in attendance, but again, he didn't feel like he could bother Bruce on his trip. Although had he attended, he would have been Harvey's best man.

After his marriage, Harvey would also get his job as an attourney, something he'd have had as a dream job for years. Over the next 6 years, Harvey earns his way to district attorney, and the hearts of many Gothamites, given he's an easy person to root for; charming, well-spoken, kind, and takes everything and everyone into account.

When Bruce returns, the news is sudden, with him showing up at the Dent's house with no prior notice. Harvey would be happy to see him, if not confused by the odd situation. He'd be happy to catch up, but he's quickly disappointed when Bruce asks more about how Gotham has been since he left, instead of how Harvey and Gilda have been. He doesn't even bring up the bizarre nature of his trip starting and ending so abruptly. He seems perfectly content, as if nothing happened. Bruce is also more physically distant, not trying to hug Harvey or anything while he's over.

Harvey has a hard time bringing up everything that Bruce is doing to hurt his feelings, so he decides to change the subject. He'd be considering running for mayor at the next election, and he'd like Bruce's support. He, of course, says yes and they discuss in detail plans for Harvey's campaign.

Changing Gotham to a better city is a goal that they share, and so fixing things like the Mob run corruption is a main concern, along with the justice system. Most of the police force works with the mob, and one of the few options besides prison to send those mentally unwell is Arkham, which uses outdated treatments and doesn't help anything. So making a proper replacement is another goal that they start working on.

As I hinted at in an answer post, Harvey is a threat to Hill and Falcone, so they plan to take him out of the picture. While not the first rogue to enter the crime scene, Harvey will be the first to appear in some of the comics.

- Sarsee

[ramadoodles]

Buckle up kids, we're talking about

Excessivism.

(Apologies if this is a bit unfinished- I didn't have much time today.)

I only found out about Excessivism yesterday- a post about Ai Weiwei’s Breaking a Han Dynasty Urn showed up on my For You page on Instagram. This artwork contains a set of three photos, showing the artist dropping and breaking a 2000 year old Han Dynasty urn. Our first instinct is to be horrified at something so unethical, but with knowledge of the Excessivism movement, his actions do make sense.

According to Wikipedia (the relevant page of which has been flagged with multiple issues), Excessivism is defined as “a reflection, examination, or investigation of every aspect of life in excessive state with particular consideration of areas that have real and consequential effect on members of society.” so in simple English, Excessivism shows the excessive use of resources (both material and labour) in an exaggerated manner. As far as I can tell, Excessivism is usually intended to be a commentary on capitalism.

A couple of examples:

Ian Davenport pours innumerable lines of paint down a wall using a syringe, such as this one called Everything.

Artists like Andrew Dadson and Michael Villareal make paintings by layering far too much paint than they actually need, emphasizing the role of the material as the carrier of the Excessivist message.

Now to talk about the broken urn and how it came to be:

Ai Weiwei bought a large group of Han Chinese urns for tuppence in the 90’s, back when Chinese history and art wasn’t much in vogue. Eventually he started painting them and converting them in other ways into contemporary artworks.

Since he broke the urn in 1995, you’d think that the urn would still not be very valuable. But even with this context, the photograph generates quite a bit of horror and outrage.

Also considering the fact that this set of photographs sold for nearly 1 million dollars in 2016, and the original urn would have never earned that much money, it raises several questions (at least in my head).

Did breaking the urn add more value to the urn than keeping it pristine ever would?

Would breaking the other urns add more value to them, or was the real value only in the first urn? And why?

Can this concept be translated to other objects? Is it better for something to die in a blaze rather than being perfectly preserved for all time?

Where is the line drawn between breaking things for art and just straight vandalism? (People have tested this! Other artists have broken Ai Weiwei’s painted urns and taken photographs in his style.)

My personal favourite Excessivism artwork is Sunflower Seeds by Ai Weiwei. He hired a bunch of people to hand-sculpt a million porcelain sunflower seeds, and displayed them in a room where the visitors could walk on them and interact with them. (Sadly, this exhibit is not interactive anymore, crushing my dreams of making snow angels in the sunflower seeds.)

Anyway that’s all for today! Sorry this is such a short one with no images. I’ll try making something better on the weekend!

[jackheathwriter]

There's a scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where Indi (Harrison Ford) and his father (Sean Connery) are tied to chairs, having been captured by Nazis after Indi's girlfriend betrayed them.

Indi quietly asks his father, "How did you know she was a Nazi?"

His father replies, "She talks in her sleep."

Indi does a double-take.

When I first saw that movie I was about 8, sitting cross-legged on the carpet in my parents' house, way too close to their CRT television. I thought, "Nazis talk in their sleep? What an interesting piece of trivia."

I watched that movie a lot of times over the next few years. When I was about 12, and old enough to realise the idea that Nazis talk in their sleep was absurd, I interpreted the double-take differently. I thought, "Ohhh. Indi has suddenly realised his father has lost his marbles."

It's been more than 20 years since I've seen that movie, but having watched it over and over back when my brain was still spongy and malleable, I don't need to see it again. I can watch a highlight reel in my head whenever I feel like it (although while fact-checking this piece I noticed that Ford and Connery weren't tied to chairs, as I remembered). This scene popped into my head recently, and I finally, finally, understood why Indi was so startled.

It made me laugh.

I'm sharing this story because I've been thinking about how many metrics are involved in the consumption of art these days. When Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade came out, there weren't many ways of measuring its success - just the number of dollars it earned at the box office, the quality of the reviews in the newspapers, and the number of Oscars it was eventually nominated for (3, winning 1). If it were made now, the distributor could track not only how many people watched it, but at exactly what point viewers were most likely to stop watching, which scenes got paused and replayed, and how likely viewers were to tell their friends about it on social media. All this extra data seems like it should help filmmakers tell better stories.

But how do you track which jokes will make people laugh, when they're thinking about it 20 years later?

You don't, I guess. Algorithms can track your behaviour, but they can't actually spy on your thoughts (yet). So, creators optimise for the data they do have. This creates an incentive to tell stories which keep people watching, listening and sharing, but which are quickly forgotten. Engaging, but evaporative. I'm sure there are many reasons for the effervescence of contemporary film and television (the sheer amount of content, pressure to compete with social media, the fact that 45% of us are watching our phones and our TVs at the same time) but this is definitely one piece of the puzzle.

I don't have Spielberg's genius, but I am lucky enough to be working in a medium that isn't quite so quantifiable (although that is changing). This means I'm free to tell the stories I think readers will remember for years to come, even if I have no way of telling whether my instincts are right.

 Speaking of which...

In 2014 I wrote a book called Scream: The Human Flytrap.

It was translated into French, adapted for audio, and spawned three sequels. And now, ten years on, it's about to be re-published.

Warning: the book was intended for kids and teens, but when I asked my publisher how scary I could make it, her response boiled down to "as scary as you want, so long as there's no sex or drugs in it." I took her at her word, and wrote a book which gave nightmares to a generation of kids, who are now deeply traumatised adults.

Preorder it from your local bookshop or below - if you dare.

[mightyflamethrower]

VICTOR DAVIS HANSON: The Unhinged Among Us

VICTOR DAVIS HANSONCONTRIBUTOR

November 30, 202310:42 PM ET

October 7 should have been an open-and-shut case of moral condemnation

During peace and holiday, invading Hamas gunmen murdered, tortured, mass raped, decapitated and mutilated some 1,200 Israelis. The vast majority were unarmed women, children, infants and the elderly.

The cowardly murderers proudly filmed their atrocities and then fled back to Gaza — to cheers from the Gaza street.

Before Israel even retaliated, the mass murdering of Jews earned praise from the Middle East, the international hard left and especially the faculty and students of elite Western campuses.

When the Israeli Defense Forces struck back, the killers dispersed to the safety of their multibillion-dollar subterranean cities. The cowardly elite architects of the mass murder fled to Arab sanctuaries in Lebanon and Qatar.

From its headquarters burrowed below hospitals, mosques and schools, Hamas bartered hostages for a reprieve from the IDF and the release of its own convicted terrorists in Israeli jails.

Hamas shot any of its own supporters who refused to shield Hamas gunmen.

It continued launching rockets at Israeli civilian centers. It serially lied about its casualties, expropriating intended relief food and fuel for its underground tunnel city of killers.

Abroad, Hamas supporters also emulated the methods of the pro-Nazi demonstrators in Western cities of the 1930s. Unlike their pro-Israel critics, the pro-Hamas demonstrators in the U.S. and Europe turned violent.

They took over and defaced private and public property. They chanted genocidal antisemitic slogans calling for erasure of the nation of Israel.

They interrupted shoppers, blocked highways, attacked businesses and swarmed bridges. They assaulted police.

The majority wore masks to hide their identities in the fashion of antisemitic Klansmen.

Why did the doctrinaire left, the youth of the Democratic Party and the campuses outdo each other in their antisemitic venom toward Israel?

For the first time in their lives, many of the ignorant protestors suddenly professed concern about refugees, colonialism, disproportionality, innocent civilians and the rules of war.

But none could explain why the Palestinians who fled Israel in 1947-48 still self-identify as victimized “refugees” when 900,000 Jews ethnically cleansed from Middle-East Arab cities about the same time do not.

The 200,000 Greek Cypriots driven out from norther Cyprus by Turkey apparently do not warrant “refugee’’ status either.

Few protestors knew that Jews have lived in present-day Israel for over three millennia. The longest colonialist presence there were Muslim Turks who brutally ran the Holy Land for 300 years until they lost in World War I and were expelled.

How exactly did it happen that the eighth-century A.D. Al-Aqsa Mosque was built within King Herod’s earlier Second Temple enclosure?

The pro-Hamas crowd has little appreciation that colonizing Arab Muslims have one of history’s longest records of “settling” other countries far from their historic birthland.

They “settled” and “colonized” the Hellenistic, Roman, and Byzantine Middle East, Berber North Africa and southern Spain. Millions of Middle Easterners migrated to — “settled?” — supposedly infidel European cities, where they often self-segregate, and do not assimilate fully with their magnanimous hosts.

As far as “disproportionality,” it is the goal of every power at war, Hamas included.

What protestors are furious about is that Israel is more effective at being disproportionate in retaliation than Hamas and its Iranian supporters were in their preemptive mass murdering.

Targeting innocent civilians? Hamas is among the current greatest offenders in the world.

It rockets Israeli cities without warning. It mass murders Jews in their beds during peace. It exposes Gazans to mortal danger by impressing them as human shields. Hamas shoots those who refuse.

The “rules of war” are violated by Hamas daily. Such protocols require combatants to wear uniforms not to blend in with civilians, not to use them as shields, not to murder noncombatants, not to rape them, not to mutilate them and not to execute civilians without trial.

Why then would millions ally themselves with this odious reincarnation of the SS?

Are they ignorant of the history of the Middle East?

Are they arrogant since few challenge their hate and threats?

Are they opportunists who feel mouthing anti-Western shibboleths gains them career traction in leftist-run media, academia and popular culture?

Are they bullies who count on the Western silent majority remaining quiet as they disrupt lives, trash Western tolerant culture and commit violence?

Like Hamas that they support, do they despise Jews? Why else do they express an existential hatred toward Israelis that they never display to any other group?

Those now on the street utter not a peep about the Sudanese Arab mass killers in Darfur, Chinese oppressors of the Muslim Uighurs, Russians targeting civilians in Ukraine or ISIS, Syrian and Yemeni murderers of fellow Muslims.

Yet all of these terrorist killers are guilty of the very charges the protestors falsely attribute to Israel. But they are all not Jewish — and that explains the pass given them by our antisemitic, pro-Hamas street.

[clairelsonao3]

Happy STS!

What's a bit of dialogue or a scene that you're really proud of, but hasn't found a home yet in any of your stories?

Happy STS! Thanks for the ask!

Well. I did NOT intend to exhume this today (or ever), but since you asked:

CW: Minors living alone and committing nonviolent crimes, mention/implication of parental loss

Above the Chinese fireworks shop was where the pickpockets lived, multiplying like mouselings in the garret. All that summer, they slept on flour sacks and in milk crates, half-naked on the bare metal roof; they drank sawdust whiskey and ate black bananas and melted moon pies; they cussed out old ladies and bet on the horses and smoked cheap cigars and dumped rotting garbage over the heads of passersby, howling with laughter at the screams below. 

They were all orphans, or might as well have been. The street was their mother, their sister, their sweetheart, and their friend. They were all boys, except for one. 

Each one plied his racket. Swing did the glim drop; Fisheye the quick-change; Avenue the pigeon fold. Popcan, just five, as curly-headed and big-eyed as a cherub on a Valentine card, cried until some society girl came to wipe his tears, and Swing could slit her reticule with his jackknife, raining pennies from heaven. For a good three-week run in July, Polo Grounds was king of them all, making two whole dollars a day flipping cards between two milk crates on Cherry Street — find the lady, find the lady, find the lady — until the bulls clubbed it to smithereens and he had to start from scratch next to Mr. Alberelli’s banana cart on Mott. 

Dodger, the tallest one, with the most artful hands and grayest eyes, had earned the right to climb up on the fire escape every night alone, to watch the schooners roll into the India docks, their masts shrouded in clouds as purple-black as amethyst smoke, leaning toward a place and time none of the rest of them could ever reach and knew better than to try. 

But even he looked skyward when Mr. Chung tore the hot air apart with his purples and reds and yellows, testing his wares, Shanghai-style, bang-bang-boom, as if it and all the Lower East Side, and all New York City, and all the world, was a nickelodeon playing just for them. And those swells on Park Avenue, they all said, couldn’t be living half so good.

This was meant to be the opening of my Oliver Twist-inspired YA historical romance I conceived of IDK how long ago. There are a couple more scenes written, but it didn't get much further than this. I guess it’s now my first official Tumblr fiction, since it doesn’t currently live anywhere else and I'm not sure it ever will.

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to Too Much Information Tuesday.

People who are in love get fewer colds.

On average, 12 new-borns will be given to the wrong parents daily.

By 2050, about half of the world’s population will be short sighted.

A zoilist is someone who gains pleasure from finding fault.

Women who snore are more likely to struggle to orgasm.

About one person in twenty can't visualise images in their head.

Until 1899, the list of official diseases at the Royal College Of Physicians included nostalgia.

In 2002, actor Vin Diesel saved an entire family from a burning car wreck.

The annual awards ceremony of the UK porn industry is called the SHAFTAs.

According to a recent study, procrastination can be a sign of poor physical health.

750,000 tons of cigarette butts are dropped on the ground around the world each year.

The phrase ‘pipe dream’ originates from the fantasies induced by smoking opium.

Many Japanese bathrooms have a button that, when pushed, plays the flushing sound to mask the sound of you doing your ‘business’.

A single share of Coca Cola stock that was purchased in 1919 for $40, would be worth $9.8 million today.

To try and be a better person, Tolstoy wrote a list of rules for himself that included, “Visit a brothel only twice a month.”

Scientists have observed male bottlenose dolphins masturbating by wrapping a live eel around their penis.

A 99 year old man divorced his 96 year old wife after having been married for 77 years because he discovered an affair she had in the 1940's.

In 2014 Margaret Loughry won the Northern Ireland lottery jackpot which consisted of £27 million. She donated 26 million of it to her own hometown to help transform it into a tourist destination.

In 2013, a man in Michigan whose house was set to be demolished, switched his house numbers with his neighbour. The demolition crew never realised until it was too late.

A 2009 study found James Bond has had ten times as many lovers as the average British male has in a lifetime, with a doctor reporting that, “the likelihood of him having chlamydia is extremely high.”

The African Union intends on having a single, continent-wide currency modelled after the euro. The most popular proposed name for the currency as of right now is the afro.

Edward 'Boy' Jones was known in the Victorian era for getting caught breaking into Buckingham Palace when he was 14 years old and stealing Queen Victoria's underwear.

In 2013, the 'Breaking Bad' team were offered $75 million to produce three more episodes after the final season concluded, which was estimated to be more than their earnings in 5 years. They declined.

The Hanover Country School Board in Virginia tried to ban ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ in 1966. When she heard about this, author Harper Lee sent a letter to the school board asking if they were literate and offered some money to enrol them in first grade.

In February this year, at an art exhibition in Russia, a security guard ruined a painting worth $1 million by drawing a pair of eyes on it with a ballpoint pen because he was "bored". It was his first day on the job.

In 2012 a man sued Pepsi after he found a mouse in his Mountain Dew. However, Pepsi fought and won the case. They knew the can was 74 days old and could prove that any mouse would have easily dissolved in Mountain Dew after 30 days.

How do farmers party? They turnip the beets.

Sadie Renee Johnson from Oregon started a wildfire in 2013 in order to give her bored firefighter friends some work, except that it spread to 206 square km and cost nearly eight million dollars and two months to bring under control.

In the late 1900s, Howard Hughes bought an entire casino named Silver Slipper just so that he could tear down their neon sign. It was visible from Hughes' bedroom and apparently it was keeping him up at night.

In 1988, a woman named Jean Terese Keating disappeared while awaiting trial for drunkenly killing a woman in a car crash. She was arrested 15 years later after bragging at a bar about having gotten away with the crime.

In 2012, a nineteen year old teen secretly lived in AOL's headquarters for two full months in California. He ate free food, used the gyms and showers and even slept in the conference room while working on his own startup.

And, finally, a quiz. What does this list of acts have in common? Loose Ends, Doug E. Fresh, Steely Dan, Lee Dorsey, Otis Redding, Sly & The Family Stone, Hall & Oates, The Turtles, The Detroit Emeralds, The Monkees, The Emotions, Sly Stone, Funky Four + 1, Johnny Cash, Syl Johnson, The Fatback Band, Eddie Murphy, Run DMC, Cymande, The Commodores, Bo Diddley, The Real Roxanne, Five Stairsteps, Michael Jackson, Richard Pryor, Jefferson Starship, Gregory Abbot and Cerrone. If you know the answer, well done! Keep it to yourself!

Okay, that’s enough information for one day. Have a tremendous and tumultuous Tuesday! I love you all.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Roland Fryer

Published: Jun 20, 2022

I have spent hundreds of hours in diversity training over the past two decades–from descriptions of federal anti-discrimination laws to academic-style seminars on the perils of implicit bias, microaggressions, or misgendering.

Advocates of this kind of training have their hearts in the right place. We are all familiar with comparisons showing that Black people earn 50% less than white peers and women earn 70 cents for every dollar that a man earns.

However, the most popular tools used to combat disparities in the workplace have produced almost no measurable results.

The average impact of corporate diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) training is zero and some evidence suggests that the impact can become negative if the training is mandated.

“Statistical Snapshots,” which describe how employee outcomes differ by demographic group, are another popular tool. These numbers cannot provide proof of bias. Simple averages often mislead and, importantly, crafting strategies based on misleading data often does more harm than good.

Some business leaders, in their determination to increase diversity, leap directly from observing raw disparities to removing some information from application forms, another common practice meant to make workplaces more equitable. However, hiding information on applications often leads to worse outcomes for those it was intended to help–likely because hiring managers use race itself as a proxy for the information they’re no longer allowed to see.

Our intuition for how to decrease race and gender disparities in the workplace has failed us for decades. It’s time to stop guessing and start using the scientific method. Remember when we thought that the Bubonic Plague was caused by a triple conjunction of Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars in the 40th degree of Aquarius?

Here is a three-step approach that can turn earnest intentions into good science.

Understand disparities

For decades, social scientists have shown that raw gaps in employment outcomes like hiring or wages–the type of data typically provided to C-suite executives–misstate the amount of actual bias in an organization. This data omits many factors that are key to personnel decisions, factors that often vary by group, owing to disparities in society at large. Business leaders can and should work to address inequality in their communities, but they should not mistake society-wide gaps for bias by their own employees.

One of the most important developments in the study of racial inequality has been the quantification of the importance of pre-market skills in explaining differences in labor market outcomes between Black and white workers. In 2010, using nationally representative data on thousands of individuals in their 40s, I estimated that Black men earn 39.4% less than white men and Black women earn 13.1% less than white women. Yet, accounting for one variable–educational achievement in their teenage years––reduced that difference to 10.9% (a 72% reduction) for men and revealed that Black women earn 12.7 percent more than white women, on average. Derek Neal, an economist at the University of Chicago, and William Johnson were among the first to make this point in 1996: “While our results do provide some evidence for current labor market discrimination, skills gaps play such a large role that we believe future research should focus on the obstacles Black children face in acquiring productive skill.”

Recently, I worked with a network of hospitals determined to rid their organization of gender bias. The basic facts were startling: Women earned 33% less than men when they were hired and their wages increased less than men once on the job. Yet, accounting for basic demographic variables known about individuals prior to hiring, these differences decreased by 74%. A problem remained, but it was an order of magnitude smaller than the unadjusted numbers implied.

Find the root causes of bias

Social scientists tend to categorize bias into one of three flavors: preference, information, and structural. Preference bias is good old-fashioned bigotry. If company A prefers group W over group B then they will hire and promote them more even if they are similarly qualified.

Information bias arises when employers have imperfect information about workers’ potential productivity and use observable proxies, like gender or race, to make inferences (gender stereotypes are a classic example).

Structural bias occurs when companies institute practices, formally or informally, that have a disparate impact on particular groups, even when the underlying practices are themselves group blind. Employee referral programs can fall into this category.

Over the past fifty years, economists and other social scientists have developed brilliant ways of statistically distinguishing between different types of bias. Gary Becker, in his 1993 Nobel Prize acceptance speech, outlined one such statistical procedure known as the “outcomes test.” It operates by comparing the success rate of decisions across groups and then inferring whether different decision rules were used for different groups. For example, if women CEOs statistically outperform male CEOs, all else equal, that would suggest that a higher standard was applied to women in the selection process. This type of statistical test can be used for hiring, promotions, and attrition across an organization.

In 2013, collaborators and I developed a similar test to detect information-based bias. Our approach uses the insight that if employers have information-based biases at the time of hiring, but then learn more about an employee’s productivity once they are on the job, one would expect to see the returns to tenure within the company to be higher for the group that faced the initial bias. Using a nationally representative dataset of thousands of individuals, we found that there was a significant gap at the time of hiring for Black candidates relative to white peers but that, as predicted, Black candidates experienced a 1.1 percentage point higher return to tenure.

With the aforementioned hospital network, the data pointed to a structural bias in scheduling. Women and men who worked the same number of hours earned exactly the same wage, but men worked more hours due to how the company assigned schedules, not women’s desire to work less.

This is the key step that is missing in every DEI initiative I have seen in the past 25 years: a rigorous, data-driven assessment of root causes that drives the search for effective solutions. In other aspects of life, we would not fathom prescribing a treatment without knowing the underlying cause. Hiding information on resumes when information bias is present is as effective as using alcohol baths to treat fever.

Evaluate

We must rigorously evaluate what works and what doesn’t. The old cardiac test–where you “feel it in your heart”–is not good enough. Once we know where potential biases exist, determine what caused them, and curate a set of solutions to test, we must meticulously evaluate what’s working and what’s not.

Solutions that yield measurable results can be substantiated into company policy, while those that don’t should be discarded. In the case of the hospital network, once a small change was made to the structure of their scheduling, gender differences were reduced. Despite countless hours spent in training and seminars, their results were unchanged for years. The solution was hidden in plain data.

This will seem heretical to some–but it barely scratches the surface of what’s possible with a data-first approach to diversity, equity, and inclusion. More corporate leaders should be trying to solve diversity challenges in the same way they solve problems in every other aspect of their business: through intelligent use of data, rigorous hypothesis testing, and honest inference about what is working.

Roland Fryer is a professor of economics at Harvard University, founder of Equal Opportunity Ventures, and a senior fellow at the Manhattan Institute.

==

It cannot be overstated that ideologically-driven trainings, such as those derived from the mental diarrhea of Robin DiAngelo and Henry Rogers (Kendi), not just don't substantiate or quantify their effectiveness, but can't.

It's much like measuring the effectiveness of prayer. Not only is there nothing to substantiate any kind of effectiveness, but you're not allowed to "test god." Similarly, actually expecting definable, measurable results from "White Fragility" or BLM training makes you an istaphobe, too focused on white empiricism and not on the presumed feelings and trauma of PoC... even if they've expressed nothing of the sort.

It's a faith.

Fryer has defined what we could regard as a "scientific" approach. In addition to actually understanding and solving problems, it has the side-effect of weeding out ideologues, as their priority is not actually improving anything, but creating converts. It's better if you can't measure it, because they can keep selling you more of their useless snake oil.

[kariachi]

Who wants pokemon au fic? It's not exactly happy, but...

Have an Argit starting on his Journey. Circumstances are... less than ideal.

Warning for very implied child abuse.

~~

“You know, Ma won’t be happy.”

The tension in the room was palpable as Argit froze mid-movement. Fuck, of course if anyone was going to catch them out it would be Veas. Was half of where they’d learned to sneak about in the first place. Every inch tight, they threw on a smile.

“Robbing her and running? It’s the proudest she’ll have been of any of us.” Veas snickered.

“Figures it’d be you to do it.” Something twisted sour and rotten in Argit’s gut, still locked in place as they stepped closer. Only when they began carefully picking loose quills from their mane did they let themself relax, if only a little. “It’s dangerous to go running around alone.”

Something traitorous, childish tired to flare in their chest, a vain hope that maybe that meant Veas would come along. But no, they knew even as they turned to look them in the face, even more similar in appearance to their mother than Argit was, that wasn’t going to happen. Not when Argit was the first of their litter to run, not when there was a younger litter still to look after. Even Argit felt guilty about leaving them behind, but there was no way they could take them with them and after-

“More than staying here?” Face contorting in still-raw pain, Veas made an aching noise in their throat. With a sigh, they shoved Argit’s loose quills in a pocket, ears swiveling.

“Get what you need,” they said, “but don’t leave this room.” Argit tensed again, watching as they turned to their whirlipede- the one they’d gained too many scars earning- sat guarding the door. “Nobody comes in.” The pokemon made an affirmative clicking noise, and with a nod and another quick look back Veas slipped out into the hall.

There was a short wait as Argit listened to the barest sound of their footsteps heading away, before they turned back to what they’d been doing. The past week had been spent preparing for this, stealing supplies that wouldn’t be missed. Dried meats and fruits carefully stowed where no one would find them. Water stashed just off the path they intended to take. A basic first aid kit. An old-fashioned paper map, not as accurate as GPS but far less likely to be tracked by. A compass. An old blanket and a change of clothes. It was at least two nights’ walk to the next city over- because you couldn’t pay them to stay in the one they were in- probably more like three or four, and everything they could get their hands on that they would need for the journey they had.

Except money. Oh it wouldn’t do them any good on the journey itself, but it would when they got to their destination, and would help to get them even farther away. To that end they stuffed a few of the empty spaces of their bag with a hodgepodge of items. Only one or two of each of the valuables kept in the room, so as to not draw any more suspicion than necessary, but still as many as they could fit without running out of room for if they found something valuable on the way. Evolution stones, star pieces, leaders crests, a pearl string. Easily a couple hundred dollars worth of goods, harder to carry but easier to grab than the actual money kept more tightly secured. If they could have gotten into the space where the real valuables were kept, stowed away a few of those old coins…

They were paying more attention time, managed to catch the sound of footsteps on the floor before their older sibling slipped inside. Again, Argit tensed, slipping into a more shadowed spot just before the door opened, just in case. It was Veas, still alone. With a quiet sigh, they slipped back into view. A bit of weight seemed to lift from Veas’s back.

“Here-” They stepped forward and pressed a pokeball into their hand. “-I don’t care if you grabbed one already or not, take it.” Argit stared down at the ball, flexing their fingers around it. It was hit or miss who among their siblings had pokemon. Their mother expected them to pull their weight, to prove they could before they allowed one. Even catching one for yourself wasn’t a guarantee- she’d snatched an arrokuda from Kekri as soon as she found out about it, and even when they’d earned the right to have a pokemon partner they hadn’t gotten it back. She’d given them a venonat instead. Meanwhile Argit…

Argit had always done their best to avoid playing her games. Better no pokemon than destroying themselves to earn one of her choice. One that’d be held over their head, that would be hers more than theirs. They weren’t stupid, they knew she used them as a way to control the children that got them, that always stayed under her thumb. There’d been plans to get one of their own, on their own, at a later date. Get a license, since they would be free to do so, and catch themselves something.

“Thanks, Veas.” They would have to think over their plans on the road, figure out how much had to change.

“It’s my job. And if you find Ruarsu-” The words were bit back, both throats tightening. Veas shook their head, gave a deep, shuddering breath. They reached out, took Argit’s hands in their own, holding tighter than they had in years. “Stay safe.” Argit’s stomach twisted as what they were doing sunk in. Abandoning everything they knew, everyone they cared about. Running off into a cold, uncaring world, alone but for a single pokemon. They took a deep breath, couldn’t stop the shudder in it.

“Stay safe,” they said, squeezing Veas’s hands. The two stood together like that for a heartbeat before Argit pulled away, shoving the pokeball in a pocket. For the last time they exchanged a sad nod before they slipped around them and out the door. With everything on the path or in their bag, it was time to leave.

They were getting out.

[xtruss]

Case of Mystery Ice Hockey Cards Found in Canadian Basement Fetch $3.7m at Auction

— By Chloe Kim & Jessica Murphy | BBC News | Monday February 26, 2024

An Unopened Case of Ice Hockey Cards Found in a Basement Office has Earned a Family in Canada $3.1m USD ($4.2m CAD; £2.4m) at Auction.

Inside there could be more than 20 "Rookie Cards" of Wayne Gretzky, one of the sport's greatest ever players.

The family who discovered the case hidden in their Saskatchewan Office were "Ecstatic" at the sale, an auction house spokesman said.

The winning bid was made by a Canadian who is choosing to stay anonymous.

With a 20% premium on top of the purchase, the final amount the Canadian bidder will pay is about $3.7m.

Heritage Auctions, which is based in Dallas, called the discovery of the Pristine 1979-80 Cards from the Now-Defunct O-Pee-Chee Candy and Trading Card brand, "The Greatest Unopened Find of the 21st Century".

That characterisation is based on the valuable trading cards - Mr Gretzky's Rookie Card, in particular - that could be inside. Rookie cards are the first that depict an athlete as a professional player, and many collectors will pay a premium for them.

An individual Gretzky card can fetch anywhere from a few thousand to hundreds of thousands of dollars. Heritage Auctions Dold One 1979 O-Pee-Chee Card For $3.75M Three Years Ago - A Record.

Heritage Auctions said in its lot description that because there are 396 Cards in the set, there could be about 27 Physically Pristine Gretzky Rookies inside the brown cardboard case.

"And, I mean, there's no guarantees, but it would be a pretty big statistical anomaly" for it to deviate greatly from that number, said Jason Simonds, a sports cards specialist at Heritage

The family who had discovered the case "hosted a small viewing party with close friends to watch the bids come in", Mr Simonds said.

The dusty case was discovered when the father was clearing out his office in Regina with the help of his son, Mr Simonds told the BBC.

The father was an "Old-School Collector" who had bought the sealed case years ago intending to open it and build sets of cards to sell but simply never got around to it, he said. The family have asked to remain anonymous.

Cases like this one, which contain 16 boxes with 48 packs per box and 14 cards per pack and over 10,000 total cards, were originally intended to be sold to large stores who would open them and sell the individual packs to customers.

Before going to auction, all 16 wax boxes within the larger box were authenticated.

[globalhint]

Sam Bankman-Fried says he made "mistakes," but he didn't mislead anyone in his statement.

Sam Bankman-Fried says he made "mistakes," but he didn't mislead anyone in his statement. Sam Bankman-Fried, the creator of FTX, stated during his self-defence testimony on Friday during his fraud trial that "many people got hurt" when the cryptocurrency exchange failed last year, but he maintained he did not swindle anyone or take billions of dollars from clients. On his first day of testimony with the jury present, Bankman-Fried took questions from his own attorney and acknowledged making "mistakes" like failing to establish a risk-management team. He also attempted to place the blame on Caroline Ellison, the former CEO of his hedge fund that focused on cryptocurrencies, who was a crucial prosecution witness. The 31-year-old former billionaire's responses supported his long-held belief that, although he started a rapidly expanding firm from the ground up, he neglected some areas of his business and never intended to steal from others. "We believed we could create the greatest product available," Bankman-Fried stated throughout his six-hour testimony in federal court in Manhattan. "It really worked out the other way around. Numerous individuals were harmed, including workers and clients, and the business filed for bankruptcy." In response to two charges of fraud and five counts of conspiracy, Bankman-Fried has entered a not-guilty plea. He might spend decades behind bars if found guilty. Bankman-Fried is accused by the prosecution of utilizing FTX customer cash to support Alameda, engage in risky venture capital investments, and contribute over $100 million to American political campaigns. In addition, he is charged with plotting to defraud FTX investors and Alameda's lenders. In a composed response to defence attorney Mark Cohen's inquiries, Bankman-Fried stated that he thought the money spent for real estate and sponsorships came from the company's earnings or capital obtained from equity investors rather than from FTX's consumers as the prosecution claims. He alleged he used money he held in Alameda to make political contributions. In an attempt to disassociate himself from certain acts he claimed three of his closest former coworkers—all of whom entered guilty pleas to fraud and testified against him in court—had taken without his direct consent. Although they claimed that he gave them specific instructions to carry out the theft of customer monies and to falsify to lenders and investors, Bankman-Fried presented himself as a detached CEO who had faith in his staff. "SEEMED POSSIBLE TO ME." Ellison, Bankman-Fried's ex-girlfriend who came and went, testified on October 11 that he gave her instructions to fabricate Alameda's balance sheets in order to scare off lenders in the event of a June 2022 cryptocurrency market meltdown. In her testimony on Friday, Bankman-Fried stated that although Ellison gave him a spreadsheet that she was thinking of sending to a lender, he did not thoroughly review it. During her testimony, Bankman-Fried gazed from time to time toward the jurors. "I remember looking over it and saying that it seemed reasonable to me," she said. In his testimony, former FTX chief technology officer Gary Wang claimed that Bankman-Fried gave him instructions to alter FTX's computer code so that Alameda would receive special treatment and not be automatically liquidated in the event that its positions lost value. This change made it possible for money to be stolen. Bankman-Fried stated in his testimony that he requested Wang and FTX Chief Engineering Officer Nishad Singh to stop Alameda from inadvertently becoming bankrupt. However, he was unaware at the time of what his colleagues had implemented, which enabled Alameda to have a negative balance. After FTX filed for bankruptcy in December 2022, amid a surge of withdrawals from clients worried about the security of their money, Bankman-Fried was taken into custody. Bankman-Fried attempted to hold Ellison primarily responsible for Alameda's downfall on Friday. In her testimony, he expressed his concern that Ellison had not taken precautions against downturns in the cryptocurrency market and stated that although she was an excellent manager, "risk management" was not her main priority. He also refuted her account, saying he believed a big portion of FTX's reputation came from his signature dishevelled appearance. While running FTX, he claimed to have worn T-shirts and shorts because they were "comfortable," and he refrained from getting his hair cut because he was "busy and lazy." The Bankman-Fried wearing a dark suit, giving the jury a polished appearance. Without the jurors present, Bankman-Fried was questioned by both sides on Thursday as the court determined which portions of his testimony would be allowed. Next week, during their cross-examination of Bankman-Fried, prosecutors will have their first opportunity to grill him in front of the jury. Cohen stated that he would wrap up the direct examination early on Monday. source credit ALSO READ: Trump’s campaign cash bigger than GOP rivals. fundraising Tips. Read the full article