#and they have to read it and then answer four questions

[seventeenpins]

new rules

pairing: ex!Worst!Logan Howlett x f!reader word count: 2.7k summary: You've been broken up for long enough. It shouldn't be this hard to stay away. content/warnings: smut, angst, Logan's a disaster alcoholic, suicidal ideation, unhealthy relationships, big dick a/n: I didn't expect the Logan bug to bite me, but here I am, horny for this old man, writing a songfic in the year of our lord two thousand twenty four. Dua Lipa's "New Rules" came on shuffle and I needed to make it about our big boy. Thank you to the loml @ozarkthedog for being the best human alive and also for hyping me up, reading it thru, and telling me "it made me actually want to try to fix him" 😅

You’re in your pajamas, toothbrush in hand and moisturizer shining on your face, when the screen of your phone lights up. You wince when you see the contact name.

DO NOT PICK UP

You watch as it rings out, and you exhale when the comfort of the black screen returns.

And then it lights up again.

Just ignore it. Just ignore it.

As you’re spitting your toothpaste into the sink, the screen lights up again, DO NOT PICK UP flashing across.

It’s a bad idea. It’s always a bad idea. 

But as it lights up a fourth time, you hit accept. As you bring the phone to your ear, you already know what you’re going to say; you need to stop calling like this; have you been drinking?; this isn’t going to happen again–

And then you hear his voice. It’s just a single word, and comes out more as a croak than anything else.

“Hi, baby-”

Just like the first time. The third. The five hundredth. It makes you fucking melt, makes your body heat and your stomach flip.

“Hi Logan.”

—

“It’s been too long, sweetheart-” 

“Yeah, well-” you sigh. You know how this always goes. “I told you not to call.”

“But you answered.” 

Even over the line he sounds smug. You wish you could punch him, god, if only. But you knew from past experience that his adamantium bones and entirely unfair regenerative powers would leave him perfectly unblemished, while you nursed a broken hand.

“Sooo-,” you venture, “Is there something you need?”

It was better to play clueless, you reasoned; You weren’t gonna jump the gun. You would make him spell it out.

"Just you, hon,” his voice is low and dangerous and you think you might really hate him this time.

“You know it’s nearly midnight, don’t you? Are you ever gonna call me when you’re sober?”

You hear a noncommittal grunt on the other end.

“What do you want, Logan?”

He takes a deep breath.

“Can I come over? I’ve just been missing you. Been a rough day.”

“No.”

“Please, baby? I need you. Please?”

You close your eyes and exhale. Ten calls ago, you might have tried to hide the frustration, but you’re well beyond that now.

It’s always a bad idea. Always makes you remember the bits of him you miss desperately. Your nights together. How you still fucking love him.

“Can take care of you, princess-“ he pleads.

“I hate when you call me that. And no, you can’t. You can’t even take care of yourself, Howlett.”

He huffs a laugh. “Been doin’ alright a couple hundred years. Keepin’ myself alive.”

You don’t want to say the question neither of you will acknowledge.

Is this really living?

“Fine. You can come over.”

“I’ll be there in five.”

“Motherfucker-! Have you been on your way this whole time, Lo?”

With a snort, he ends the call.

He’s on you before you can even get the door closed behind you. His hands are cradling your head as he kisses you deeply. You were right; he tastes like cheap whiskey. And cigarettes, you realize. Fucking cigarettes. And then you remember– he’s all but abandoned his cigars, as though the pain of losing a vice was part of his penance. 

With an awkward foot you try to hook the bridge of your foot along the edge of the door, pull at it, but instead of closing it you just overbalance, tumbling further into him.

He catches you as if it was nothing, as if he were so innately steady he’d always be there to break your fall.

When he has you back on your feet, he gets right back to it, tearing at your clothing and his, pulling your top over your head, fumbling with the drawstring of your bottoms. He cups your breasts, pinching and teasing, and walks you backwards till the backs of your knees hit the foot of your bed and you tumble. 

Logan tumbles with you, his hold on you never ceasing, and now you can feel how hard he is against you.

It sends a shiver down your spine.

You’ve missed this. Fuck you’ve missed this. What kind of self-destructive dumbass judgment were you letting rule you? 

You need to gain some control back.

“Condom,” you tell him. 

He rolls his eyes.

“I’m not joking, Logan. Should still be in the top drawer.”

He exhales with a chuckle, but pulls his beater over his head and lets you get an eyeful of his toned chest before leaning over and sliding the drawer open.

Then, he rummages around, pulling back with a shit-eating grin. 

In his hand is a roll of condoms, classic fit.

“You got a little boyfriend?” he asks, and you feel your face heat.

“Shut the fuck up, Logan.”

“Now I’m not seeing the Magnum’s in here. You sure you still have them? Or are you so busy fucking dumbass boys with little pricks that you can’t even bother to pick up the phone?”

“The condoms are just in case– better to be prepared– and besides it’s none of your fucking business if I’m sleeping with anyone else!”

“You know I can’t get STIs, right?”

You do know. You remember that first conversation years ago. You grit your teeth.

“And if you’re so worried,” he continues, “I’ll buy you Plan B.”

“Move,” you tell him, and he scoots back so you can look in the drawer yourself. Much to your chagrin, he’s right. Not a single gold packet in sight.

You groan, and he laughs.

You should tell him no. Should tell him that if he wants to fuck you, he needs to go out and get some. Because it’s not even the risk of any sort of transmission, or even the risk of pregnancy that gives you pause. It’s the intimacy. The way you can hardly bear it when you can feel him dripping out of you. The love you still have for him, even after everything. 

The way you know he still needs you, too. More than you need him. But after everything he’s done, everything he’s been through, everything he’s lost– you can’t bear to be another thing he loses, not fully.

But now he’s straddling you, scooting you backwards towards the head of the bed. His cock presses heavy against your thigh, and you’re so overwhelmed by the way he’s pressing kisses along your jaw and nibbling behind your ear, you barely notice as he lifts your hips to pull your panties down. His nails scrape down your back and the angry scratches start to bloom with heat. 

You don’t realize you’re both fully naked until you feel the heat from him press against you, the slick of his weeping cockhead dragging a trail just below your navel, down down down-

He strokes himself twice and lines himself up, pressing against your opening. You wait for the feeling, for the way he always slams inside you, but he surprises you. Presses the tip in and rocks himself gently, easing you open.

After a moment (and hardly a single inch) he pulls out and sits up.

For a gut-wrenching second, you think he’s changed his mind, and how fucking dare him? He’s not the one who gets to back out of this. Fuck.

But then his cock is replaced with his hand, and he pumps himself with his left, while pressing inside of you with his right, scissoring his fingers open, pulling whine and moan and gasp out of you, coaxing you along with his filthy mouth the whole way.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighs, letting out a groan when you squirm against him, “You’re tight as the first time I fucked you. Clearly no one’s been takin’ care of this pussy, huh?”

Two fingers become three, and you’re overwhelmed with sensation, pleasure taking over any rational thought.

“That’s it, honey, open up for me. Such a shame no one’s been fuckin’ you right. Would make you feel good every damn day if you’d let me.”

He rubs against your clit in unyielding circles and pulls you right to the edge. You feel yourself dripping, thighs trembling, and tears rolling down your face, but just as you’re about to cum he stops. He guides your arms upwards and pins you down by the wrists with one rough hand and leans over, caging you against the bed. In a second beat, he knocks your legs wide, baring you fully, and he presses himself in. You’re beyond slick and the glide is exquisite. The feeling of his bare cock pressing into you makes you shudder with arousal. The wiry hairs at the base of his cock grind against you, making you shake. 

He fucks you deep and slow. The drag is exquisite. He pulls almost the whole way out, before rocking back in again, his foreskin adding to the delicious glide. With every thrust he’s burying himself so deeply you’d swear you could feel him in your belly.

“You’re openin’ up so nice, takin’ it so good,” he growls, and you feel a thrill of pleasure bloom through your body at the praise. “Been missin’ this. Miss how soft you feel around me. Have you been missin’ your old man, too?”

You don’t even register he’s asked a question till his palm is swatting your jaw. It’s not painful, it doesn’t even sting. And it does exactly what he’d hoped; it refocuses you on him.

“Wha- What?” you ask, coming back to him, whilst feeling your peak build and build and build-

“Have you been missin’ your old man, princess? 

“Fuck you, Logan.”

“Use your words.”

“Yes-”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes I’ve been missing you. Stop looking at me like that, Lo. C’mon now, fuck me like you mean it.”

You can’t deal with him being sincere right now. You need it rough and you need it mean.

It takes him a moment to pull himself away but then he does, obliging as if he can read your thoughts. He pulls out, leans back, hooks your legs over his shoulders, and makes you moan as he folds you in half. He’s pressing so much deeper now than he had only a moment ago. Any gentleness that had been there disappears immediately.

He’s panting, letting out heavy grunts as he slams into you and sweat drips down his temple. 

As he fucks you, he drives into you cruelly but you match each thrust. Every time he knocks you back, you press against him harder and heavier. Make sure it hurts, for both of you.

He’s never been a selfish lover and makes you scream on his cock, cumming three times in rapid succession, each peak that little bit higher. Each peak is a little bit harder. 

You’re boneless and spent. When he cums inside you, his claws shoot out, angrily splintering existing notches on your headboard. Blood trickles down between his knuckles. One drop lands on your lips, the perfect kiss from this mess of a man. Another drop lands on your new linen pillowcase.

At least you got those tide pens. 

You want to tell him off about the headboard–the splintered edges are ugly and ragged. But the fact you hadn’t gotten a new headboard is kind of on you. It may as well be an invitation.

You add a note to your shopping list. Plan B.

—-

You wake up alone in a dark room. The first thing you see is your bedside alarm clock, red blinking numbers telling you it’s 3:12 AM. Then, you hear a rustling in your living room.

You step out to investigate, bleary-eyed, to find Logan silhouetted in front of your liquor cabinet, bottle of amber liquid in hand. He raises the bottle and takes a swig.

Back to this-

"Go home, Logan.” You tell him, and he startles at your voice.

"Baby- I been havin’ bad dreams-” 

You cut him off. "I’ll call you a cab. You’re not staying here, trying to drink yourself to death on my sofa-”

"Sweetheart,” he cuts in, “You know it never sticks-“ 

He says it with a grin like it means nothing, and it’s mean. Makes your stomach flip.

This is the closest either of you had ever gotten to the depths of it all. You’d both been pretending for so long.

You leave the room.

A minute later, you’re back, and Logan has emptied the bottle.

"Get dressed.” You toss his shirt at him. It smacks him in the face and falls unceremoniously to the floor. “Cab’s on its way. You owe me for the whiskey.”

He nods. His movement is loose, and you can see the booze is finally affecting him. More than just making him gutsy, it’s making him sloppy. Every movement is sluggish as he redresses.

"You wanna know why?” He asks, and it comes out slurred.

You ignore him. “I’ll walk you down. Get home safe, okay?”

He nods again. Looks like he’s trying to put on a show to prove just how sincere he is.

You kick his shoes towards him, and help him with his jacket when he struggles.

A horn honks outside, and you both look to the window. When you turn your head back, though, he’s only inches away from you, whiskey-breath across your cheek, and a wearier frown than he’s ever let you see before.

"When I drink I don’t dream-,“ he tells you, “Claws don’t come out.”

Then he kisses you on the cheek, turns on his heel with an unsteady sway, and leaves your home.

You struggle for hours to fall back asleep, the bed suddenly much too big.

You ignore his calls for a week. They come through later and later. Nine PM, ten. Midnight. Two.

And then one night you get a text. 

He’s rarely one for texting, so to see the notification makes your heart speed up and your stomach flip.

DO NOT PICK UP - Attachment: 1 Video

With a single, hesitant tap, you open it.

You’re not sure what you expected. Something dramatic, maybe? Something miserable? You hope to god he’s not figured out some way to make himself an adamantium bullet. It’s a fear that’s bounced around in your head for a while now, but you’d never ask just in case he hasn’t thought of it yet himself.

Whatever it is, though, it has to be something that will make your heart ache and your head spin and–

It’s anticlimactic. Kind of.

It’s just a video of him, phone angled to show him in his steamed-up mirror.

There are dark shadows beneath his red-rimmed eyes, but besides that, he looks as perfect as ever. You can’t see below his hips, but you know Logan and you know he’s fully naked. His body hair is slick, his skin glowing from being freshly showered.

This fucking asshole knows exactly how to get you.

You hit play. 

At first, you can barely tell it’s a video. And then you see the way his arm is moving. He’s holding his phone with one hand, his other casually stroking himself just below the frame of the video.

“You gonna stop ignoring me?” he asks, his voice a throaty purr. “Quit playing games. Get your ass over here and let me take care of you.”

AND, you realize with a twinge, you text with him so rarely, you never turned off read receipts.

Three dots appear and you know that he knows you’ve seen it. 

A moment later, the text comes through.

“Ready for you, princess.”

God, if only it would take more than that.

As if overtaken by a horny ghost, you’re already slipping your panties off and putting on your favorite skirt. 

You’re at his house an hour later. 

You let him guide you. Taste you. Fuck you. Fight with you. 

You let him devour you, and let yourself fall in with him, in with the guilt and the anger and the hate and self-pity.

And fuck, it’s the love, too. It never went away.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nik gets caught playing his favourite sport: Price Watching.

cw: sad Nik is sad; pining, wingman Laswell.

"What're you smiling at?"

"Hm?" Nik dragged his eyes away from where the captain was giving his briefing to the rapt attention of the gathered operators to give Laswell the side eye.

She raised an eyebrow.

"He did the thing," Nik said, unhelpfully.

"The thing."

"Da, the thing he does."

"Nik, Price does a lot of things..."

"You know," he grabbed the straps of an invisible carrier vest, rolled onto his toes and thrust his hips a little at the air, the movement rippling up the length of his torso in a perfect imitation of the captain currently gesturing over a map table at the front of the room, "the thing."

She smacked a hand over her mouth to stifle the guffaw and ended up blowing an undignified half-raspberry into her palm. Sergeant MacTavish raised his eyebrow at her before returning his attention to Price's briefing. She glowered at Nik.

"Laswell, that was very unprofessional," Nik breathed, amused.

"That's rich coming from you, I thought I was the only one who had noticed that," she hissed back in the practiced method of a woman used to keeping her voice hushed in the earshot of others.

Nik hummed and let the conversation lapse as John continued to walk them through the jump and intended target. Nik had read the file four times over and already forwarded his questions ahead of time. As they progressed onto assignments, he leaned towards Laswell again. "You are right. There are a lot of Price things."

"Oh?" She smirked. "Go on."

"When he finishes, he will tap the lieutenant twice on the chest with a flat palm as he is standing closest."

She shook her head at him, her smile soft. "Nik..."

"I am right, you'll see."

"What else?"

"He blinks rapidly when he smiles. It is..." He trailed off, but Laswell had the creeping suspicion that the word 'beautiful' or even 'cute' had been about to come out of Nik's mouth. "And he twitches his nose before he drinks his coffee."

"Have you thought about asking him out for a coffee rather than watching him drink it from afar like a peeping tom?"

"He would say no."

"To a coffee?"

"Not to the coffee."

"Somethin' to add Nikolai?" Price called over from the front, and the sternness in his voice made both of them snap to attention.

Nik cleared his throat. "Nyet, captain. Only explaining the exfil to Laswell in simpler terms."

"Leave it 'til I'm done, I'll take any questions at the end."

Laswell nodded tightly and then kicked Nik's shin when Price returned to his explanation. "Asshole."

"Da."

"I'll tell him, you know."

"No you will not."

She sighed. They lapsed into silence again.

Nik continued to watch Price with the same open, adoring expression he thought was camouflaged by the crowd of soldiers around him. Laswell had seen that look on him so many times and yet Nik had never tried to progress his adoration beyond pining from afar. She couldn't understand it; they were perfect for each other. Whipsmart intelligence, bloody minded, grumpy in the morning, mischievous, scars behind their eyes... the list could go on.

"You should ask him out," she whispered.

"I am too old for him."

"Now you're just making excuses..."

Someone had the audacity to shush her and she turned to give them the stink eye only to come face to face with the colonel. Alejandro raised an eyebrow and she gestured her apology with two raised hands before turning back to face the front.

The briefing concluded and Price... did exactly what Nik had said he would do; two pats on Lieutenant Riley's chest as he dismissed the gathered operators to their assignments. Nik raised both eyebrows and pressed his lips together at Laswell in the most comical 'told ya' expression she had ever seen.

She watched as Nik went to receive the written answers to his enquiries to review before the flight, and waited for Price to head off to his office before she approached Nik again. He was studying the note closely, far longer than necessary. "Handwritten," she said meaningfully, her eyes darting over the notes in Nik's hands.

"Da."

"You can't torture yourself like this forever, Nikolai."

"Lucky for me that I do not have forever."

"Macabre, even for you."

He sighed, folding his note from Price carefully so that he could tuck it inside his jacket. "Everything beautiful in my life is taken from me, Laswell. My family, my country. If I keep him at a distance, then there is a chance I will not lose him too. Let me have... this."

"This is yearning and agonising from afar while he's oblivious. It doesn't seem like much."

"It is enough."

"There are no guarantees, not in this life."

"This is true."

She stared at him in hopes of more, but he only looked back placidly. "Coward..."

"Da."

She sighed and threw her hands up, exasperated. "One coffee, Nik. What's the worst that could happen?"

"He could fall in love with me."

"Jesus."

This was going to be a project, wasn't it? Well, what was it that Price said? In for a penny, in for a pound.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Virginia Woolf: On Words

Listen to the only surviving recording of Virginia Woolf’s voice.

A transcript of Woolf’s broadcast, ‘On Craftsmanship’, BBC, 29 April 1937.

Words, English words, are full of echoes, of memories, of associations.

They have been out and about, on people’s lips, in their houses, in the streets, in the fields, for so many centuries.

And that is one of the chief difficulties in writing them today — that they are stored with meanings, with memories, that they have contracted so many famous marriages in the past.

The splendid word ‘incarnadine’, for example — who can use it without remembering also ‘multitudinous seas’?

In the old days, of course, when English was a new language, writers could invent new words and use them.

Nowadays it is easy enough to invent new words — they spring to the lips whenever we see a new sight or feel a new sensation — but we cannot use them because the English language is old.

You cannot use a brand new word in an old language because of the very obvious yet always mysterious fact that a word is not a single and separate entity, but is part of other words.

Indeed it is not a word until it is part of a sentence.

Words belong to each other, although, of course, only a great poet knows that the word ‘incarnadine’ belongs to ‘multitudinous seas’.

To combine new words with old words is fatal to the constitution of the sentence. In order to use new words properly you would have to invent a whole new language; and that, though no doubt we shall come to it, is not at the moment our business.

Our business is to see what we can do with the old English language as it is.

How can we combine the old words in new orders so that they survive, so that they create beauty, so that they tell the truth?

That is the question.

And the person who could answer that question would deserve whatever crown of glory the world has to offer.

Think what it would mean if you could teach, or if you could learn, the art of writing.

Why, every book, every newspaper would tell the truth, or would create beauty.

But there is, it would appear, some obstacle in the way, some hindrance to the teaching of words.

For though at this moment at least a hundred professors are lecturing the literature of the past, at least a thousand critics are reviewing the literature of the present, and hundreds upon hundreds of young men and women are passing examinations in English literature with the utmost credit, still — do we write better, do we read better than we read and wrote four hundred years ago when we were unlectured, uncriticised, untaught?

Is our modern Georgian literature a patch on the Elizabethan?

Well, where are we to lay the blame?

Not on our professors; not on our reviewers; not on our writers; but on words.

It is words that are to blame. They are the wildest, freest, most irresponsible, most unteachable of all things.

Of course, you can catch them and sort them and place them in alphabetical order in dictionaries.

But words do not live in dictionaries; they live in the mind.

If you want proof of this, consider how often in moments of emotion when we most need words we find none.

Yet there is the dictionary; there at our disposal are some half-a-million words all in alphabetical order.

But can we use them? No, because words do not live in dictionaries, they live in the mind.

Look once more at the dictionary.

There beyond a doubt lie plays more splendid than Antony and Cleopatra; poems more lovely than the Ode to a Nightingale; novels beside which Pride and Prejudice or David Copperfield are the crude bunglings of amateurs.

It is only a question of finding the right words and putting them in the right order.

But we cannot do it because they do not live in dictionaries; they live in the mind. And how do they live in the mind?

Variously and strangely, much as human beings live, by ranging hither and thither, falling in love, and mating together.

It is true that they are much less bound by ceremony and convention than we are.

Royal words mate with commoners. English words marry French words, German words, Indian words, Negro words, if they have a fancy.

Indeed, the less we enquire into the past of our dear Mother English the better it will be for that lady’s reputation. For she has gone a-roving, a-roving fair maid.

Thus to lay down any laws for such irreclaimable vagabonds is worse than useless. A few trifling rules of grammar and spelling are all the constraint we can put on [words].

All we can say about them, as we peer at them over the edge of that deep, dark and only fitfully illuminated cavern in which they live — the mind — all we can say about them is that [words] seem to like people to think before they use them, and to feel before they use them, but to think and to feel not about them, but about something different.

They are highly sensitive, easily made self-conscious.

They do not like to have their purity or their impurity discussed.

If you start a Society for Pure English, they will show their resentment by starting another for Impure English — hence the unnatural violence of much modern speech; it is a protest against the puritans.

They are highly democratic, too; they believe that one word is as good as another; uneducated words are as good as educated words, uncultivated words as cultivated words, there are no ranks or titles in their society.

Nor do they like being lifted out on the point of a pen and examined separately.

They hang together, in sentences, in paragraphs, sometimes for whole pages at a time.

They hate being useful; they hate making money; they hate being lectured about in public.

In short, they hate anything that stamps them with one meaning or confines them to one attitude, for it is their nature to change.

Perhaps that is their most striking peculiarity — their need of change.

It is because the truth [words] try to catch is many-sided, and they convey it by being themselves many-sided, flashing first this way, then that. Thus they mean one thing to one person, another thing to another person; they are unintelligible to one generation, plain as a pikestaff to the next. And it is because of this complexity that they survive.

Perhaps then one reason why we have no great poet, novelist or critic writing to-day is that we refuse words their liberty.

We pin them down to one meaning, their useful meaning, the meaning which makes us catch the train, the meaning which makes us pass the examination.

And when words are pinned down they fold their wings and die.

Finally, and most emphatically, words, like ourselves, in order to live at their ease, need privacy.

Undoubtedly they like us to think, and they like us to feel, before we use them; but they also like us to pause; to become unconscious.

Our unconsciousness is their privacy; our darkness is their light...

That pause was made, that veil of darkness was dropped, to tempt words to come together in one of those swift marriages which are perfect images and create everlasting beauty.

But no — nothing of that sort is going to happen to-night.

The little wretches are out of temper; disobliging; disobedient; dumb. What is it that they are muttering? ‘Time’s up! Silence!’'

Source Virginia Woolf: The Censorship of Books

[corkinavoid]

Fiance to a Star News

I have given up on trying to force myself to keep working on it. But, hold on, it doesn't mean I'm abandoning it.

I'm looking for a beta/editor/co-author, I'm really not sure what to call it. Let me explain this a bit.

[Update: help found! Thank you!]

I've written that fic in its entirety almost six months ago, in my native language. Then, when I decided to post it, I ran it all through Google Translate. Which is great at translating things word for word in their literal meaning, but not great for sentence structure, idioms, and some minor grammar mishaps. So, since I've posted the first chapter, I've been tideously going through every sentence and either correcting or rewriting it while keeping the meaning.

I am now in the middle of chapter four, and I'm officially so done with it that I'm starting to think about just deleting it all. Which would be a great waste since I do still love that fic.

So I'm looking for someone to help me out here.

More explanations and stuff under the cut.

Let me first show you what I mean by helping me out:

Example of what the text is now:

Tim is silent for a while. The prospects are clearly not rosy, and he, to be honest, doesn’t really understand what to do next. Until now, all he had thought about was how to get out of here, so now that that possibility was gone, he just...

While it is understandable enough, it is not exactly good sentence-structure and grammar wise. Also, it's as plain as white bread.

Example of what the text should (to my best abilities) look like:

Tim pauses, taken aback. The situation does not look very promising, and, if he is being honest, he has no idea of what to do now. Until this moment, all he had thought about was how to get out of the woods. But now that it was not happening and the last chances of escape have all slipped through his fingers, he just...

You see what I mean?

It's extra confusing for myself since when I see the unedited text, my brain automatically reads it in another language and making myself switch manually is draining as fuck, and I'm at my limit.

There's also the issue of some names that translated wrong/did not translate properly/translated as a wrong word. For example, the head of the Academy would be called Headmaster in English, but it translated to Director, or the fact Google Translate keeps translating Sam's pronouns to he/him for some unknown reason, and many more little details.

So I desperately need help.

Perks: co-authoring, access to all the chapters, naturally, as well as all the random notes, pieces of lore that I have, but that have not made it into the fic, any question regarding the fic answered, random thoughts, permission to rewrite literally anything how you see fit (while keeping the general line of plot). Is it co-authoring or adoption at this point? I have no idea, really, but whatever you prefer.

If you're interested, just message me for any other details <3

P.S. Please understand that there are 10 (maybe 9.5) chapters to be edited. And also that I will be giving you a sort of test piece of text to try it out. If, at any point later, you decide it's not your cup of tea anymore, that's totally fine, I'll understand. I just really, really want to post this fic, but I don't want to throw the plain unedited version there.

Thanks in advance!

[arcticwolfpaws]

Chapter 9: Father's love

here's your link lovelys!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56481082/chapters/143531686

P.O.V: Bruce Wayne.

I had just finished a meeting when I look at my phone, I was expecting a call from Alfred telling me that he was home with the boys, instead what I saw was a missed call from Jason, as soon as I got another call from Jason.

“Jason?” I asked as I picked up the call, he sounded out of breath as he spoke and I could hear the concern in his voice.

“I can’t find Faraj. I went to talk to his little Friend from the Gala but they haven’t seen him since lunch.” He stated, I felt my heart sink. Had I done something wrong? Had he run away? I worried, “Shit.” It was soft but I knew it was Jason, I stepped into my office.

“Jason? What’s going on?” I asked feeling the panic starting to rise, despite that I took a deep breathe, I couldn’t panic no matter how much I wanted to. I had to keep my head on straight he was a kid and if he was trained like I suspected then he wasn’t going to be hurt without a fight.

“I just found Faraj’s backpack… Kinda looks like someone kicked it.” He had mumbled the last part and I heard the fluttering of paper and the sound of the plastic glasses case on the concrete.

“Is there any sign he was hurt?” I asked as I paced around my office, the pause that followed made my heart sink but Jason spoke again.

“No, there’s no blood nothing that suggest… odd.” He trailed off, I sighed heavily before shaking my head, I knew that didn’t mean a lot drugs wouldn’t have left a trace of a struggle. “Is Croc out of Arkham?” I was jerked back to the call by Jason’s question.

“Yes I believe he is, we’ll see if he’s turned over a new leaf.” with my statement Jason hummed, “I’ll be down to the school in fifteen.” I told him hanging up before calling Alfred, he was quick to pick up but sounded a bit winded.

“Hello sir, I was just about to pick up the boys.” I nodded at his statement giving the phone a soft smile.

“Thank you Alfred, however something came up and I’ll be handling it today.” There was a pause after I spoke before Alfred cleared his throat.

“Did something with Faraj?” He asked sounding suddenly worried and I sighed, of course he’d figure it out after all Alfred always could read me like an open book.

“Yes.” as short as my answer was Alfred knew me well, as I stepped into my car and turned it on my phone was switched to the radio.

“I suspect that this isn’t a simple fight.” He stated I sighed before shaking my head before remembering I couldn’t be seen.

“I wish it was that simple,” I stated, and with that I hung up as I pulled up a teacher stood looking nervous, Jason was be leaning on a wall his arms crossed I was hopping that he had some more information on what happened.

“Mr, Wayne.” She stated I nodded not thinking there was much going on with it however she started to speak again. “You’re youngest… We had a problem some… boys seemed to have carried him off..” She sounded worried but I perked up someone knew what happened to my son. How ever knowing that other kids were involved worried me,

“Boys?” I asked and she seemed ti wince before clearing her throat,

“Yes Sir, they have been pulled aside and the police have been called, The camera's show the four boys carrying your son off school grounds and coming back without him.” I felt my anger rise, Had they handed him to someone? Had my imposer shown up and taken him? I took a deep breathe, I had to stay calm even if calm was the last thing I felt. I frowned at the women,

“I was made aware that I was missing a child,” I stated nodding to Jason, she looked nervous and turned starting to walk inside.

“Please follow me.” I followed her waving Jason to follow as well, as we passed the principles office I saw the 4 boys sitting there heads down, I was quick to note that one of them had a cast on his wrist. This had been planned this was revenge wasn’t it. I frowned at the thought but shook it away quickly as I stepped into the office, I spoke before the principle could.

“And what are you going to do to prevent this in the future?” my tone was sharp, I didn’t take the safety of my charges lightly and the school knew this as I had been through something like this with Jason except that Jay could and had fought back and made enough noise to get someones attention.

“I well more camera’s for one.” They stated quickly I raised a brow, “And of course we’ll have more then one teacher at the gates to ensure this doesn't happened again.” I nodded that was better, beyond that I’d have to talk to Faraj.

“That’s a start, but I’ll be speaking to the cops about this if I find my son has been injured.” I informed him and he nodded swallowing hard he spoke.

“Of course and they have been called, the commissioner said he was going to come out himself as this involved one of your boys.” I nodded at that before walking outside and waiting on them. I was pacing Jason was leaned against the wall, I should be out there looking for him, I needed to find him… my son… Jim’s personal car pulled up and I looked up as another cop car stopped as well 3 more drove past and seemed to be spreading out. I stopped as Jim stepped out and walked up to us.

“Mr, Wayne we’ll find you’re son, I’m going to go inside and talk to the boys and see what they know.” I nodded he started to walk past and I had to speak up letting him know what I had noticed.

“Faraj had gotten into a bit of a fight previously and broke a boys wrist I’m worried this is some kind of revenge.” I stated, And I heard Jim sigh heavily,

“I’ll look into it.” He stated before walking out of sight the other officer trailing him. I had things to do and I needed to get Jason home, I sighed I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to find him and we still had a few hours before dark and I wanted to look for him myself.

“We can go.” Jason stated and I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose, “I can start looking, I might be able to find him faster then-” I raised my hand and he stopped talking.

“We’ll see, right now I need to get you home and you need to get you homework done.” I stated firmly as I lead him to the car opening the passenger door, I sighed as I closed it once he was in, I wasn’t leaving him, I’d come back do my own look, I told myself as I got in the car.

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When we were half way back I got the first call from Jim, Jason was quick to pick it up for me while I kept my eyes on the road.

“Jim, Have you found him.” There was a heavy sigh and a long pause, my stomach dropped as my mind cycled to the worst out comes, he was murdered or those boys had essentially sold him to someone like the joker for some sick experiment.

“Those boys managed to pry open a man hole cover…. They said they wanted to scare him that they knew croc was in Arkham.” I was quiet, that was a hell of a lot better then what I was thinking, Waylon had never hurt a child before and I didn’t think he’d start with Faraj. Jason seemed to pick up on the same thing and relaxed himself.

“They did what?” I was still angry depending on how he was thrown in he could have been hurt badly, However I knew if he was all I had to do was ask Waylon.

“I have my man looking but all we found under the man hole was some blood.” My heart sank again, I hoped he wasn’t badly hurt but the fact that he wasn’t there told me that he’d either wandered off likely in a daze and blindly or that Waylon had found and taken him.

“I want charges pressed.” I stated not leaving room for argument, I doubted I would get any however, I knew fully well if it had been Barbra he would have done the same thing.

“Already done,” He stated and shook his head. “At the very least I hope to scare those boys straight.” I caught the implied but if he’s badly hurt it could be much worse for them. Any other day even with Jason I hadn’t pushed for action with Jason or Dick as they had Handled it themselves. Four boys… Faraj was fairly small I couldn’t Imagine how intimidating that might have been for him.

“Good,” I was going to add more but there was some shouting and Jim sighed before speaking.

“I have to go.” He hung up quickly, I sighed and Jason spoke in an almost small voice,

“I gave him ear plugs… maybe if I hadn’t he’d have heard them sneak up on him.” I frowned and shook my head before speaking,

“I don’t think that would have changed much Jason, there were four of them and even if one of them wasn’t doing anything he’s still smaller then all of them. Even if he has training I wouldn’t expect him to be able to take more then two of them out before the other two caught him.” I stated but I could tell it was little comfort to him, I sighed Alfred was waiting and had opened the door as we walked up to it he frowned after he didn’t see Faraj.

“Where is the young master?” I took a deep breathe,

“Jason home work.” I told him and watched him walk off, “A group of boys pulled open a man hole cover and threw him in.” I wasn’t sure how Alfred would react but he very quickly didn't look pleased.

“Those roughens,” He scoffed, “Should I start dinner? Or will you and master Jason be looking for Master Faraj?” His question brought up a good point I didn’t know how long it would take to find the albino, if he was scared he might not listen to anyone… not even batman… I paused I had to think about that for a long moment. How did I want to handle this?

“I… I don’t know, I might have to call, Clark or Diana. They won’t be as intimidating to him.” If I ended up resorting to that then I’d have to find some way to explain to Faraj and the rest of Gotham why they were here. I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up at Alfred,

“We will find him, He doesn’t know the city well if he has made it out of the sewer he is likely looking for something familiar and safe if he sees a cop he is likely to try and speak to them.” He pointed out, and hearing someone else say that soothed my nerves a little.

“Jim has half the force out looking by now, an eleven year old who doesn’t know the streets well is bound to find trouble…. That in mind please do start dinner, I’d like him to come home to a warm meal and a safe bed.” I stated and Alfred nodded walking past me to the kitchen, Once I was alone again the worry started to creep up again, I knew he wasn’t sold but if he walked into the jokers gang, I sighed heavily I didn’t really want to do it but calling Harley might be the best thing that I could do, That was If she was staying true to her word and staying away from the joker. I started to pace again, the last thing I wanted was to put him at risk. I was holding my phone when it started ringing Lucius Fox the caller I.D read, I sighed shaking my head as I picked it up.

“What’s up?” I asked and there was a long pause, before Lucius spoke.

“Well I was going to say I finished that sonar gear you wanted however you sound… Stressed?” I sighed, it was good to know that the sonar was working but that wasn’t my concern right now,

“That boy that I was telling you about… He ran into some trouble.” I started and took a deep breathe, “And I’m starting to doubt that he has extensive training like I thought before.” There was a pause and something shuffling in the back ground.

“But… the Al ghouls wouldn’t have left there child to be raised by someone else would they?” He asked and I paused thinking, There was no way in hell that Talia would let someone raise her child, I knew her well enough to know that she’d see him as the next head of the family however… Ra’s wouldn’t, He’d see the Albinism as a flaw a genetic impurity.

“I don’t think it was a choice Talia made.” at that statement more things felt like they clicked into places, Faraj had called his care giver Willson, the only Willson I knew of that might end up with a child getting mauled…

“I think I’ll be visiting Slade tonight.” I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of that sooner, If Slade raised him it made sense he would have some level of training but not enough to handle four opponents at once.

“Slade?” Lucius asked and I hummed softly,

“He might be able to tell me more about my son, things he wont tell me.” I had paused to let Fox give his two sense but I started getting another call, “I have to go Jim’s calling me.” I told him hanging up before he could reply. “Bruce here.” I stated as I picked up Jim’s call,

“Mr Wayne, We found you’re son he’s being brought to my office as we speak.” I breathed a sigh of relief, he was safe. I needed to get him still but he’d be safe with Jim.

“I’ll be there right away.” I stated hanging up as I grabbed my keys I paused and circled back to tell Alfred what was happening, he was chopping vegetables when I walked in,

“Alfred they found him, I-” He cut me off as he started making a shoe motion,

“Go retrieve him sir,” He insisted, before getting back to the cooking I sighed and headed out before heading to the car.

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As I pulled up to the station my head lights shined on Jim who was out smoking, I shut the engine off and stepped out.

“Is he alright?” I felt silly for asking seeing as If he wasn’t I would have been told to meet him at the hospital, Even still Jim was very calm about it all.

“Yes, He’s a sleep in my office right now, had one of the medic look at him, he’s got a decent goose egg but he’s not concussed.” He stated and I sighed nodding, “He was also willing to confirm the boys who threw him into the sewer.” He added, I was glad to know he wasn’t going to lie about that. Gordon started to walk and I followed him,

“That’s good,” I mumbled, if he had been trained by Slade I wondered if he was even scared while he was down there.

“You might want to see about replacing his glasses as the ones he has right now are pretty badly cracked and one of the arms broke.” I nodded it was better to have broken glasses. As we got to Gordon’s office I spotted the thin blanket laid over the boy, I knelt next to him and tried to pick him up, he slowly woke up squinting at me as he tried to register what was going on.

“Hmmm, Dad?” He mumbled clearly not fully awake but my heart warmed hearing him call me that.

“Shhh, go back to sleep Faraj I’ll carry you.” I told him softly as I picked up, he whined softly not fully awake, “I best get him home.” I told Gordon softly, as I made sure Faraj’s head was on my shoulder, Gordon nodded and held the door for me as I carried him out, as we got under the bright light he tried to hid his face in my shoulder, I tried my best to move quickly as I tried to let him sleep. I set him in the car and Gordon closed the car door and spoke,

“Those boys are in quite a bit of trouble. However… I would like to know how he managed to walk all the way here and remain unnoticed but I couldn’t get him to tell me.” I nodded before taking a breathe,

“I’ll see about asking him but a doubt I’ll get anything beyond dumb luck.” I didn’t actaully know if he’d tell me about Waylon if he met him. However that would wait until he was settled back in at home.

“Of course. I’ll let you be on your way.” I nodded at Gordon’s words as I got in, Faraj didn’t move at first and when he did I saw those pale blue eyes peaking out of the blanket at me, I guess that despite my efforts the lights had fully woken him up,

“Are you alright?” I asked as I turned the engine on, he paused for a long moment and let out a heavy breathe.

“Mostly, I cut my head and broke my glasses.” I had been warned about the glasses and as I came to a stop I reached out and put my hand under his chin pulling it up to stop him from trying to look at the ground,

“This wasn’t your fault, I wouldn’t ever have excepted you to fight 4 boy on your own even if you can fight and those boys were bigger then you, one of them looked like he was a class above you.” I told him as the light changed I brought my hand back to the wheel, he didn’t drop his head I watched from the corner of my eye as he watched me,

“I did make a friend today.” I smiled even as he spoke softly, It was good to hear he could make friends that he had some social skills,

“Glad to hear it who are they? Is it possibly that young man you were talking to at the Gala?” I asked, I had to pull more of my attention to the road,

“Well, that’s one of them. But the other’s named Janie… she didn’t have lunch today.” he stated I frowned hearing that I’d talk to Alfred I didn’t think a child should go hungry.

“Well, I’ll have Alfred make you a spare lunch.” I told him the conversation seeming to come to it’s natural conclusion, and the car filling with soft road noise before we got caught in traffic, Batman was going to be out late tonight, I sighed and glanced over at him again Wrapped up in the thin blanket, I never thought I would have a child it was one thing when Dick and Jason needed me, I was there ward not there father I can’t replace there fathers. But I was his father he had no one else to learn from and right now? He looked so small to me, So innocent it made me wonder even more how Jason’s father could have been so cruel. The ride was mostly quiet and due to traffic it took us another hour to get home.

The manor only had a few lights on but I was still well aware then Alfred had dinner waiting, as we walked in Jason was by the stairs and he perked up seeing us.

“Faraj!” He chirped I stepped aside and let Jason get a good look, but I had noticed when Jason had yelled that Faraj had flinched, had that been due to the sound? Was that something I needed to worry about? I took a breathe and decided that I would ask Jason if he noticed that as well.

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Bat files

James (Jim) Gordon

Date of birth: November 19th

Job: Police commissioner

Jim is a good man and a better cop having worked hard to handle the corruption within the G.C.P.D, I trust the man with my life and If I thought it was a good idea h would know how was under the cowl but now more then ever I feel it’s better the less people know the better however his daughter is well aware, I might have to ask for her to help me keep an eye on Faraj.

[that-was-anticlimactic]

friends!!! what is a writing skill you wish you learned in school? like... it could be something specific in grammar/grammar-related, maybe about how to revise, maybe you wish you learned about different/specific genres, maybe how to write setting... whatever it may be!!! i'm doing a thing on tuesdays and would LOVE y'all's opinions on what kind of stuff to find to add for them to choose!

[raycatz]

I'm not including a situation where someone might be injured because in that case I'm thinking the bed goes to them by default or they are nominated for it. anyone who wants to be chatty goes to join the living room floor gang.

What are your thoughts and headcanons? Do you have thoughts on how the boys tend to approach assigning beds in inns? Who do the chain choose to sleep near when camping and why? What are their dynamics like when settling down for the night and getting ready for the day?

In "Mirror Vs Open Closet Door: Fight!" by Gintrinsic (here) Four refers to the chain's decision on how to split up between inn rooms as the "Link-per-room ratio" which I find very funny. He, Sky, and Time also talk about their thought process behind why they do or don't want to sleep in a room with some of the others which I find fun and interesting.

So! If you have thoughts and want to share them! *gestures to the post!*

[wooltoesocks]

things i want to get answers to in the remaining episodes of four leaf: a very comprehensive list that must be missing some things i just cant remember at the moment (also soilers for up until ep 139):

just in general evrything about the bells, and more especiall like how is lina giving lupe her bells (because that is 100% gonna happen i think) gonna affect them, for example if they'll get lina's bell as like their own, and if that bell being kinda broken is gonna be any problem

will that be a permanent change, is lupe gonna give the bell back to lina after they deal with the wolf

what's gonna happen to cricket if they really do deal with the wolf? or how will tehy come to some wsolution that doesnt harm anyone

CARLA!!! is she gonna be okay? that wound looks very nasty. i hope they'll be able to cure it somehow, and if not, then chopchop there goes a leg :/

talking about carla, is she gonna give er bells to someone like she mentioned in 138? that is only in case she wont be able to continue, but it loks very bad rn, so my question is, is it gonnna be mercy? or in general, who is it gonna be?

also about the bells, i really wanna know how many bells each witch has!! it''s just something i think would be interesting to analyse. (i looked through all the episodes where a witch has their bells out buut i still now only know for certain the number of bels like 7 witches have (before 137 and emma giving up her bells): Erica 1, Emma 2, Socks 2 (most likely, unless she got mor after the prison break, that's when she at least shows only 2), Alishba 3, Linda 3 (both of whose bells were shown during the prison break), Carla 20, Lina 21.

also also (i use that word so much), the names of the witches! we now know there are 17 witches in the red hoods (+lupe +lina so maybe 19 but oh well) and of those 17 we know the names of 12 (episode 133)

what i wanna know too is like which bell belongs to which witch? we've seen some, for example in the flashback of when they first appeared, and also in the festival of roses we see some, but like i wnna knowww (ye sit's very trivial but that's what makes it fun i think)

the mom. what happened with her in the 8 months that have passed since lupe was last in their original world? did she just continue on like normal, or did she actually regret some of the things she's done? will lupe go see her again?

the inevitable. the thing i've been waiting for for like 2 years. the KISS! alvar mentioned the witch loking very mad and the also saying he's the kinda guy to ask twice before a first kiss and what i think will happen is that he is gonna ask. like he's just the kinda guy. but the thing lupe (most likely) will be "mad" about is just that al didnt tell about it (even tho he was gonna tell you lupe, you just didnt want him to). or they arent mad, but just like very confused/fristrated and Al just interpreted it wrong? i dont know. we'll see (hopefully tomorrow in 140 but at the evry least in 141?? like i dont think it will take so long that it would be 142? (i am delusional). also looking at the future chapter thumbnails (not a fast pass reader), it looks like someone is using some kind of reddish/pinkish magic / teleporting right next to him)

okay this isnt a theory or anything, i just know lupe's dad is gonna be so smug learning about lupe and al's relationship when they do get into one like judging from ep 116 and the "crush" i jut know

okay wow this is a long post but i need to get these out of my head and scream into the void and wait if it screams back

back to the bells, they'r gonna give everyone their own one back right? if they deal wit hthe wolf, there shouldnt be any need to hoard all the power, and i dont think it would be very fair to let 72 people just go on about life without really even knowing what's going no just because you wanna levitate. i know it's probably more complicated than that but yeah

also (fuck, this word again) what's gonna happen to the witchs' craving of gloom? is it gonna go away if there is no wolf (okay this is assuming that it's dealt with and they wont come to a peaceful comclusion but if that happens i just really hope cricket will be okay)

are other witches gonna wanna get rid of their bells and become human like emma?

i would like some more information about the different worlds, although i think it's unlikely tha will come up in the chapters themselves, but maybe as some bonus content somewhere?

okay so i already wrote about like if Lina's bell being broken is gonna have any effect on lupe, but will it affect Lina herself? i would assume not, but you never know

just in general, i cant wait to see how everything comes to a conclusion and how the ending is gonna be (even tho i would love for it to go on for longer). are we gonnna see another time skip?

man i just remembered there are alaso civilians in Garua at the moment too like the redhoods are gonna get the to safety right? maybe that will also help a little with the public's fear of the witches, the news that hey maybe they're not bad through and through (even tho that was never the case but most people still thought that so)

fuck this is long how many words even is this... 1005???? man that's like 2/3 of the essays we had to write in high school. yea it's easier to just put stuff from your mind into bullet points but this has taken me like maybe 45 minutes where as those essays took at least 5 hours. i bet i could make one from one of my interests in like 2 hours and i would be much better than any of those monstrocities i wrote

anyway back on track

actually those are the main ones i remember now, maybe i'll update this once more come to mind, but for now this is enough for today

pictured above is me falling for this series

wait one more thing: is it stated anywhere how much the bells weigh? i would assume they're more like incorporeal so they wouldn't hve any mass, and i fell like should know this i've read this series 5 or 6 times. but if they do infact hve mass, do the witches have to actively levitate them or are they jsut funky like that

[asexualbookbird]

i knew this bone season project would be slow going but UGH its AGONISING shes already a wordy author and i have to read everything TWICE. I'm only aboht 120 pages in each book which feels like NOTHING but i have to remind myself thats 240 pages if i was reading One Normal Book

and it doesnt help that really i JJST want to be reading the updated version, regardless of my feelings on the book itself, the changes ARE good and the writing is more readable. The plot just SUCKS!

Still, I want to read the updated version of the Mime Order because there's less of the Rephaim which means I might actually ENJOY it in some way but WHY AM I LIKE THIS

[sanstropfremir]

I might just go on a huge tangent on here so I sincerely apologize, but I think this is something you've slightly touched on before, so maybe it's interesting to you? About the fact that literally Nobody on the staff/people who work behind the scenes of everything in the kpop industry are credited, mentioned or acknowledged for their work (other than, for example, the surface level “the designer deserves a raise!!!” that i so often see in mv comments :/). What I wanted to talk about specifically though is the company’s complete lack of crediting of these people?? I wanted to look into who directed this new mv that just dropped that I really liked the artistry, editing, and general composition of, but I found absolutely nothing across the group’s yt videos or their pages of who the director is, perhaps the set designer, editor, etc. Utterly taken aback, I checked the descriptions of other kpop music videos, from the most popular to more unknown groups (Twice, Dongkiz, to name a few), and again, nothing. I thought I was going insane, so I looked at mvs for like Amercian bands, and their video details are completely filled with the information of the producer, the recording studio, mixer, master, etc. etc, my point is: so much more than just the group’s twitter or merch page??? I’m like what is going on?? I noticed the kpop mv's only list licensing info at least, but so did the american ones? Idk. It’s either me not knowing where to look, or maybe I’m late to the fact that that is just how things work with kpop group companies or the industry as whole, just giving you no details as to who the hell else worked on this mv or song. I love my biases and appreciate their contributions, but I do not buy for a second that, more often than not, they wrote or produced or mixed absolutely nothing. I think it’s a huge shame that this is done because it reinforces the false idea that the idols are the ones responsible for everything we’re seeing and listening to. Maybe that’s the point, and that’s exactly what the industry wants you to believe, which that just makes it really sad. (Wait also maybe it all gets hidden because its work for hire or the companies buy ownership copyright...)

so i want to clarify some things for you, from the perspective of someone who works in the arts industry. firstly, and most importantly: visible credits exist in western filmic media because of unions. and there are still a LOT of fields that are not unionized. for thousands of years it was fundamentally understood that no performance based art form was done singularly by an individual, so there was often not a reason for there to be 'credits' in the first place. the whole assuming the face of the project is the person who did the most work thing? that's a very new phenomenon in the history of art, and it's capitalism's fault.

secondly: um. you are definitely not looking in the right places bc people are ABSOLUTELY credited? especially music production staff? i guess if you only look at a music video then sure yea there's not always credits there, but companies literally release tracklists and highlight medleys on their main social medias AS PROMOTION that have LISTS of their arrangers and composers. hell, tan's most recent tracklist has their fucking midi programmer on it????

also..............the fucking ALBUMS HAVE CREDITS IN THEM. i can't believe i have to say this but THE ALBUMS ARE THE MAIN PRODUCT AND THEY HAVE PAGES OF CREDITS IN THEM. i...????

like???

i got addy (@hoforwonho) to send these to me, these are from a lucy album and nayeon's album, and they literally have pages of credits???

lastly, and most importantly: the only people who are being 'fooled' into thinking that idols are 'producing' most of the content are western fans. because that is the stereotype promoted BY THE WESTERN MUSIC INDUSTRY. so that is the lens through which you view the korean music industry. koreans and korean fans are well aware that idols do not produce their own artistic content, there is quite literally a stigma around idols in sk about how they are not viewed as artists SPECIFICALLY because of this. gdragon and jonghyun were HUGE deals for being some of the first idol producers + songwriters. music is a huge part of the korean entertainment industry and people who make music are very much a visible part of it. kim eana is a very famous lyricist and she has a popular radio show. kbs just did a whole competition show featuring producers as the contestants. companies are not required to put credits in music videos because music videos are only one part of a kpop cb, and they are also not obligated to put those credits in english. just because you can't find something doesn't mean that it doesn't exist and the whole industry is at fault for it.

[fionnaskyborn]

there's something to be said about the very specific feeling of frailty you feel when you come face to face with just how little you've experienced. twenty-odd years on planet earth and you haven't really watched all that many movies. an unlived life facing an uncertain future. i do not know where to point the finger of blame because i live untethered from my past, floating in the present with no clear point of reference no clear definition of who i am or what happened to me and how i turned out the way i am (fucking. can you guess why five is my favorite game. insert that one lyric from that one modest mouse song.) but you're still here, and you can still learn, and you can catch up, but it still feels like you're a pitiful little nobody looking for excuses trying to explain why you're still new to the whole being alive thing. i've got a good head on my shoulders, though, for all that's worth, so i think i might be fine.

in other news, i watched scarface tonight. it was certainly a movie. don't really understand how the movie made it big, but it did have some damn good music. i mean, i don't know. i'm still learning about the world i live in. maybe it really is as much of a masterpiece as people make it out to be and i'm too dumb to see the reason why it's considered a classic. maybe i'm right. i can't tell at the moment. it's kind of a beggars can't be choosers situation - if you ain't watched that many movies, then you can't really be a good judge of quality. but, oh, well. it's one more movie watched. it's a win because i watched a movie. and i'll watch more movies.

[bramblemouth]

coworkers read my writing CHallenge!!!

or at least don’t Admit you don’t to my face

[lakecountylibrary]

We don’t have a uniform, why do you ask?

Inspired by our friends at Rapid City Public Library (link goes to TikTok). Music only - sound not needed.

[Video Description: A librarian with glasses wearing a polo shirt and shelving books answers an unheard question from someone offscreen. His words are inaudible but the caption reads "The librarian wearing the cardigan and glasses will be able to help you." Video cuts to an information desk where four librarians wearing cardigans and glasses are working. They all turn and wave as four more librarians wearing cardigans and glasses pop out from behind the desk and wave. The librarian from the beginning walks on screen and puts on his own cardigan. And waves.]

Music credit: George Street Shuffle Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/

[fingertipsmp3]

I really need to get a proper job so I’ll be too tired to have insane ideas like “what if I learned 5 romance languages all at once”

[gallusrostromegalus]

I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.

-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a

~*Spiritual Experience*~

I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.

Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.

He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only BARELY enough space for the fireworks and certainly none for his truck.

So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand. This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.

He begins, and this is crucial to what happens next, by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it unsecured on his lawn.

Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.

His process for unloading the fireworks is to 1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls. 2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things. 3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed 4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup. 5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her. 6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house. 7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too. 8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate 9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed 10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.

Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man? Answer: Absolutely Not.

There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else. (This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual) Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally. Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.

I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.

However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up. and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop" And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."

For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."

I move under the eaves. "Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled." "Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not." "Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."

Sometimes, the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.

The Gods were not merciful today.

It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this, But I got to see it today. Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before. Oh. I realized as it got closer. That's RAIN.

Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say, five to tent square miles, is instead concentrated into an area of say, my neighborhood exactly.

So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.

The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel. Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge. Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.

My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp. They do not have a tarp. They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.

Which is when the hail begins.

"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy. "HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!" "OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"

I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic. The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor. Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.

So. I was raised Agnostic -but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.

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[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

coming out as an academic victim good lord I cannot do this anymore