#it used to be if you spread a rumor about someone you got sent to the principal and were forced to write a letter of apology

[thestrangestthing89]

It's not an apology, it's a clarification. He very directly says "you misconstrued what I said" a thing multiple people around here have been trying to say for months. He said this exact same thing in an Instagram post he made a few months ago but people lack the reading comprehension skills to follow something like that. So he said it in a TikTok video again only some people are still not understanding. And it's because they don't want to. (He has recently taken his Instagram post down, I'm guessing because he is getting relentlessly harassed.) The truth of the matter is that many people didn't take the time to understand basic facts about this situation (like what the word Zionism actually means) and the result was that a lot of misinformation spread because people were desperate to make sure their followers knew they were The Most Progressive and The Most Anti-Racist. They did not talk about this issue in a way that was culturally sensitive. They made assumptions about Noah based on anti-Semitic stereotypes and I don't even think they realize they are doing it because, again, they aren't well-informed. But every time someone twists the word Zionism to mean "pro-genocide" and makes the flying leap that anyone using that word is laughing at people dying they are falling into the stereotype that Jews are bloodthirsty. Anytime people say that any Jewish person has the wrong information in this situation and needs to education themselves about their own culture, they are believing that Jews can't be trusted. They did all of these things to Noah and they did it very easily because they are ignorant. These people essentially turned into an angry mob. I can't even count the amount of comments I saw that were basically "I hate Noah too!!! Wait, what did he do? Someone tell me!" They piled on because their peers were doing it and not because they had any clue what the problem was. It was the cool and trendy thing to do so they did it. And they deluded themselves into thinking they were saving Palestinians in the process when they actually didn't do shit for anyone. The only problem is that the people who did this didn't take the time to inform themselves before piling on. Noah didn't apologize to them because he doesn't have to. They owe him an apology though and I think the ones with larger followings are responsible for a lot of this and imo are lucky they didn't get sued for defamation. He didn't do any of the things they are accusing him. They decided for themselves what he thought and believed based on very little information and they have no right to do this to anyone. They seriously think Noah is responsible for single-handedly killing people. He's not in the military or a politician. He didn't even endorse anyone who did. This whole situation is the stupidest fucking thing in the world. They are more outraged over the bullshit they made up about him the actual political situation and it's because they don't actually care. They are using Palestinians as an excuse to say hateful things, but they aren't helping them at all. I don't think Gen Z-ers are realizing that everyone older than them is getting increasingly more concerned about the way they go about their political activism. It's a serious problem and this current political situation only highlighted problems with them that had been occurring for a while now. Relentlessly harassing any Jewish person online for not speaking exactly to your liking isn't activism. Threatening to kill people who disagree with you isn't activism. Trying to ruin someone's career because they didn't act like your parasocial bestie isn't activism. Spamming the comments of everyone's posts with Free Palestine isn't activism and it sure as hell isn't what spreading awareness looks like. That requires being well informed first. Not to mention learning how to have difficult conversations without screaming hysterically at people and shouting that they must be pro-genocide/racist/misogynist/homophobic every damn second just because they said something you didn't take the time to understand.

They need to learn to ask for a clarification before assuming the absolute worst about people. They do this to people in the fandom constantly and it's why no one decent posts here regularly anymore. They are ignorant, plain and simple. But they are so desperate for peer approval and for people to think they are the best activists ever that they don't realize how much damage they do when they behave this way.

The people still pissed at Noah were always going to be. They were always going to pick him apart because they are anti-Semitic and they made that very clear. All he is saying is that people need to understand that both Jews and Palestinians are human and stop taking sides. A thing that anyone with a shred of human decency has been saying for months. The people who haven't been saying this tend to be very young (teens and early 20s) and it's because they fell for a lot of unverified information on TikTok - something that is concerning a lot of people given that it is an election year in the US. All anyone had to do here was listen and they didn't. They are too busy trying to be morally superior to anyone to bother having an actual conversation. They still aren't listening. There was nothing wrong with what Noah said here either. But people are determined to believe that he was laughing at people dying when he wasn't. This literally never happened. They just heard a word they weren't familiar with a jumped to awful conclusions. It's not their place to educate anyone on anything. They are not qualified to do so. And I wish people were smarter about who they were reblogging and weren't so desperate to get more followers by jumping on the bandwagon. They cause so much drama in the fandom constantly by acting like this. This is just the latest example.

The people who think it's now suddenly ok to be violent and homophobic towards someone just because they perceived that person to do something they didn't like, were waiting for an opportunity. They wanted to be horrible and they think they got a reason. They didn't and there is never a reason to behave like this. But it did reveal just how many people in this fandom are horrible human beings. The people who weren't saying this directly were still agreeing with those people and were not better than them. It should have set alarm bells off in their heads that the only people who agreed with them were being vile. That should have been the first clue they were on the wrong side. I wish people learned to think for themselves better. They were clearly jumping on the bandwagon and didn't understand what was going on. And I stand by my comment from a few months ago, we would not be dealing with relentless drama in the fandom if the show had a higher rating. And I do think they need to focus more on their original adult audience again. Most of us do not feel comfortable posting regularly in this fandom when it got taken over by kids who don't understand any of the things they are upset about, but they are upset with everyone and everything constantly. No one came here to babysit.

[halo-chainsaw]

Shut up i'm talking patreon only 7$!!!!!

The patreon podcast is out, and I have just finished listening to it!

I decided to write down some notes for those who are interested but do not have the patreon. It's a long one, but I picked out what I thought would be important + silly moments here n there

Podcast is recorded the morning of Dream's video (I'm sorry but not to Tommyinnit)

Tommy called his mom about the situation first, discussing about how it was awful (pre reddit post)

Harry wrote the "you can call me anything but do not call me poor" LOL

Tommy didn't watch the dream stream but read a synopsis, and he said that was enough

He's spoken to Dream privately several times (starting 2023), all his friends told him that dream was taking advantage of him, but he wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt

He has told dream to change how he acts, and dream has refused. Has had conversations like this multiple times.

Told dream in a conversation he was no longer speaking to him and was no longer talking to him after he talked to his mom. Was previously ignoring him but blocked him outright.

After his dream v quackity sketch dream sent him awful and mean messages.

Jack and Tommy are pissed off about people saying to "resolve it privately". They have tried multiple times to solve things privately, but Dream will take things public.

Jack had a 2 hour long call with dream on jack's DADS BIRTHDAY??? and it was about why he didn't like dream, and about dream's allegations.

the "Jack mentions Dream" account bothers Jack since its a bunch of indirect things, and him responding to messages rather than him just bringing Dream up.

Dream says Jack spreads rumors about him.

Jack does not think dream is a p*dophile, but he finds the situation(s) he was in wildly inappropriate.

Dream showed everyone his evidence against the grooming allegations in the DreamSMP discord. Jack said he told Dream it weirded him out, because either way, he was still messaging a fan, and it pissed Dream off.

Jack flat out calls Dream "stupid".

He's very pissed about the "unfaithful" rumor, and he's very vocal about it for a minute.

Jack reiterates the editor story with the 50 quid

They point out how the Dream ignores the George and Caiti situation, along with clipping Tubbo out of context.

"I can't believe he thought he could win by just lying. Especially when you've got a reputation of lying." -Jack (paraphrased/two different sentences put together)

Tommy says the video were for him, not everyone else. Makes a jab about Dream unable to use media literacy.

Tommy says Dream knows what he's talking about when he refers to misogyny. That there's so much more behind the scenes, that it's miserable.

Tommy says he doesn't want to do any of this anymore, that it's pointless. He says Youtube doesn't make him happy, that he doesn't fit in, and he wants to be done. He will still be posting to Youtube because he loves making videos, but he doesn't want to be part of the Youtube sphere/culture. He wants to be a proper comedian.

"I might as well go down sayin' what I fuckin' mean." -Tommy

brings up the "putting others down", Tommy reiterates how he's been very kind/warm to everyone, but if someone famous is being an asshole he's gonna make a joke about it. "That's what I've done with Logan, done to you, and what I'm going to continue to do."

Tommy calls him one of the most self indulgent and exhausting people he's ever met.

Brings up Dream calling him the internet police, he says that he's just sick of the bullshit. "When I see it, say it."

Tommy reiterates he can't do this much longer, that it's all pointless. Dream is just doing what he's been doing for years. He is not proud of dream and he doesn't respect him. Tells him straight to "Fuck off".

Tommy would talk to Jack, unsure if what was happening with Dream was odd/bad or not. He's a little relieved that it's in the public eye now.

Jack talks about how everyone on the server is talking against him, that no one is defending him. They've all known he's awful.

Tommy says he felt close to Dream, so he struggled with seeing the bad actions he had done. He felt skewed/manipulated.

Tommy tells a story about back when he was 14, he would annoy people in Hypixel by lobby spamming. One day he heads into a streamer's chat that he looked up to and said hello. the streamer, who was about 20 at the time, tore into him, calling him the R slur and many other horrible things. He said he felt heartbroken and shaken up. "Shit like this just happens along the way, and it's miserable, but like- for me, I just keep remindin' myself "this isn't the first time I've done this"."

Jack tried to make his disassociation as public as possible, he had told Dream to his face (during the allegations) in the DreamSMP discord that he did not want to be associated with him anymore.

Talks about how people still group DreamSMP members with Dream, and how they think every member is bad due to Dream's actions, and he's tired of it.

He doesn't like how public everything is, but he's glad people can finally see that they don't like Dream.

Tommy, from now on, is telling everyone how he feels. He's going to be blatant. (if that's what i understood from a comment he made)

Jack is still shocked that Dream chose that moment of all things to jump in. They have made comments here and there but Dream never said anything.

Jack talks about a part in his stream where he says something along the lines of "I'd understand this type of outburst if we had been bullying im for weeks and weeks. But we haven't been. Nor would that make it okay." And then someone on twitter said "Jack just admitted that they'd been bullying Dream non stop for weeks and he's proud of it!!!!" Jack says he can't believe people's ability to misinterpret.

Tommy saw Tubbo dissecting Dream's stream for 7 hours and knew that was the point it was becoming ridiculous.

Jack blatantly calls out how Dream uses manipulation tactics in how he speaks to the public. Tommy calls it painful for him to watch because it's what Dream had done to him and others in private.

Jack goes back to Dream's stream, talking about their phone call together, about how it was disingenuous and weird to bring up publicly. He says there are things he can't talk about publicly that formed his opinion.

"I just think he's like an impossibly self-indulgent, selfish man, who thinks everyone's on his own time." -Tommy

Jack thought Dream was purposefully being negligent in the way he would speak, and while he still is, he is seeing that a lot of it also comes from Dream not being able to pick up on social cues and norms. Though, he also reiterates that it doesn't excuse his awful behavior.

"I don't get how he can't listen to anyone else." -Tommy

Both of them have talked to Dream multiple times about how he acts and he never listens. Not even just them, they say "We all have really tried", which implies more members of the SMP or other personal friends.

"He doesn't seem to feel very much empathy for the pain he's caused, and if I was in his shoes- I don't know where his guilt is." -Tommy

They talk about his inability to apologize and how they can't understand it. Tommy gets a little heated. Dream has given them empty apologies and goes to do the same things again. They talk about how he doubles down over and over until no one sides with him, that's when he apologizes.

Jack calls Dream dismissive, and how its obvious that he doesn't care.

Tommy implores the audience to not imagine these dramas as Youtubers doing it, but to imagine their friends doing these things. Youtubers are not above others, there's no difference. The only difference is responsibility.

Jack points out how it's odd that they decide to post these things. It shows that they just double down on their awful actions.

Tommy ends by saying he doesn't want to continue this, but if there are things that need to be said then they will be, but on the Patreon.

Jack says he is done as well, that he's done with all his serious points, but he will be making jokes here and there. He won't be joking about rumors, but things that actually happened.

"Anyway, back to writing!" "Guys, let's all get back to coding."

[yndrgrl]

bullies! kiribaku x reader headcannons <3

headcannons for your azz. fem! reader. soft! yandere, hardcore! fuckers. college! au.

warnings: nsfw, threesome!!, degrading, praise, blackmail, sending pics, possessive, lowkey cnc???

a/n: so i originally had this as a long one shot, but i ended up straying too far away from the actual "bully" trope, so this is just to reel it back & get my thoughts all in one place :) lemme know if i should make this a longer fic !

-

✩ bullies! kiribaku were notorious around campus; if you came across them, know not to look into their eyes, keep your head down, & do whatever they say. those are the rules when you see the duo wandering around.

★ they were shocked when, while bullying one of the pricks that decided to spread rumors about them, you appeared out of nowhere. you shoved bakugo off of the shaking boy & put your body between them & their victim. "what the hell do you think you're doing!?" you shouted at them. you put on your bravest face & puffed out your chest. they've seen you around before, always silently admiring from afar until now.

✩ their first thought was, "how stupid is this chick?" they were -at least- twice your size & could scoop you up with one hand. then they took you in; you were ethereal, like a guardian angel sent from the pearly heaven above. kirishima looked at bakugo, & bakugo glanced at him. kirishima gave him a fang-filled grin. they were nothing more than demons who were feigning for a chance to taint your sweet charm.

★ bakugo, expressionless, responded, "what does it look like? i'm teaching this little asshole a lesson-" you cut him off with your hands clenched in a white-tight fist, "you're pathetic! picking on someone so much smaller than you, have some fuckin' self-respect." god, you were irresistible, they thought.

✩ kirishima, who is nothing but an instigator, snickered & whispered in the blonde's ear, "i think she's the one we have to teach a lesson to, don't you think?"

★ kirishima turned towards you, his grin would've been unnerving given any other circumstance. his sharp teeth were on full display as he teased, "well aren't you a good samaritan? it makes me wonder how far you'll go to stop us."

✩ "i'll do anything! you people make me sick," you shouted at them, & that's when the realization sunk in. shit... you've made a mistake.

★ the guy you were so-desperately trying to defend was just a coward who ran away without looking back. now you were in the hot seat, & your heartbeat was thumping in your ears. it felt like there was a drum in your head. adrenaline was flowing through your veins. you swallowed the lump in your throat. they were just staring at you with their sharp ruby eyes, piercing straight through your facade. "so what now? gonna beat up a girl 'cuz you have nothing better to do?"

✩ everything after that was a blur. you somehow ended up in their shared dorm, your throat fucked by kirishima & your pussy filled with bakugo. tears streamed down your face as you felt a whiplash of emotions all at once. they were such assholes, but, god, you felt so good. while kirishima sang you praises, bakugo gripped you so tightly, spanking your red-flushed ass. "you like that, huh? dumb slut," bakugo growled. he kept thrusting in & out of your dripping hole harshly. you hummed in disagreement, but it only made kirishima fuck your throat more.

★ "aww, bakubro, be nice to her. she's being so good f' us," purred kirishima, it seemed like he was on your side, but the tight grasp he had on your hair told you otherwise.

✩ by hour two, your pussy was still stuffed, this time with kirishima. a mixture of your climax & both mens' cum seeped out of your overstimulated hole. you sat in kirishima's lap, bouncing yourself on his thick cock reverse-cowgirl style. bakugo flooded your mouth with his cum, & he demanded, "don't fuckin' swallow, got it?"

★ he pulled out of your mouth, & you listened. your obedience didn't go unnoticed because, while bakugo went to go fish his phone out of his pants that were on the hardwood floor, kirishima groaned, "so perfect, you know that, don't you? just such a good girl, takin' us so well. you're too pretty for your own good, we're just gonna keep you to ourselves~ you'll be ours, won't you, sweetheart?" you were lost in foggy pleasure, so you nodded your droopy head.

✩ bakugo came back & held your chin. his touch was gentle for the first time. he guided your face to look up at him with your pretty, teary eyes. his phone camera was pointed at you. "open up, angel," he said, stroking your lip with his thumb. he was so soft spoken that it shocked you & kirishima, you felt obligated to listen. he was so sweet all of a sudden. you opened your mouth, his hot, white load dripping onto his wrist. he snapped a picture then told you to swallow & clean him off.

★ "you got him all pussy-whipped, (y/n). can't really blame him though. you're too good~" that night, an arrangement was made. bakugo's gentleness must've run out because, when you went back to your dorm, you received an image from an unknown number, the caption read, "if you know what's good for you, you'll listen to us."

✩ bullies! kiribaku who are so intimidating that they somehow got you, the campus' fire cracker, to not only turn a blind eye to their antics but also do their bidding. what dirt did they have on you, everyone wondered.

★ whatever you did, their other victims were thankful because bullies! kiribaku have left them alone. instead, they now target any man who thinks they can hit on you. a guy at the club is sauntering towards you? kirishima grabs you by the back of the neck, turning your face towards him & captures your pouty lips in a steamy kiss. a man on instagram starts talking dirty to you through dms? all you have to do is tell bakugo, & he sends them a mirror selfie of him sitting on his bed while you're on your knees in front of him.

✩ at some point, everyone knew that you belonged to bullies! kiribaku, but you were just as bad as them. oh? someone's trying to seduce your bullies? not on your watch. they found it so fuckin' sexy the way you'd immediately rush to their side. if a woman tries to feel bakugo's bulging muscles while he's at the gym, you'll be there, marking his neck & glaring at her. kirishima's fan girls are getting too close? you'll sit on his lap & whisper how much you wanna beat them up.

★ "you're not gonna tell anyone about this, right?" kirishima purred, as if everyone was unaware of your guys' relationship. it added to the fun-- sneaking around & pretending like you have no other choice. you were sucking his cock while your skirt was flipped up, your thong down by your ankles. your legs were spread, & bakugo buried his face in your juicy ass. bakugo responded between pants, "'course not, don't be stupid. we got those cute lil pictures of her, she's not gonna do shit."

✩ bullies! kiribaku who will throw you into the nearest janitor's closet & fuck you so hard. their fingers in your mouth to act as a makeshift gag.

★ bullies! kiribaku who are never hesitant to treat you to whatever you want, but they're always so awkward about it. after all, they're not used to having such a graceful angel by their side.

✩ in the end, bullies! kiribaku corrupted you, not that you cared. you loved their nasty teasing, the manhandling, & the secret touching moments shared between all of you.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Unexpected Trip

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: Some people think you're too good for Bucky, who they see as just a nobody. Little do they know the backstory of both of you from 5 years ago.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you!" The cheery chorus filled the sunny garden as friends and neighbors gathered around. Balloons bobbed in the breeze, and the table was adorned with a colorful array of treats.

Your son, Tommy, was wide-eyed with wonder at the commotion, his little hands clapping together with glee.

You knew he was too young to remember this day, but the joy on his face was enough to make every moment worthwhile.

Bucky, your husband, stood beside you, a proud smile on his face as he watched Tommy's excitement. "Can you believe he's already three?" you said, leaning over to Bucky, who nodded, his eyes never leaving Tommy.

"I know, it feels like just yesterday we were bringing him home from the hospital," Bucky replied, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "Time really does fly."

As Tommy blew out the candles on his cake, the guests cheered, and Bucky wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. "I'm so glad we decided to have this party," he said, planting a kiss on your cheek. "Even if he won't remember it, we will."

You smiled, feeling grateful for this moment of togetherness. "Me too," you said, watching Tommy's delighted face. "Here's to many more birthdays filled with love and laughter."

As you, Bucky, and Tommy were lost in your own world of celebration, the neighbors, known gossips of the neighborhood, couldn't resist whispering among themselves.

"I heard she got promoted to become the Director," murmured Mrs. Jenkins, a woman known for her keen interest in everyone's business, her eyes darting over to where you and Bucky stood.

Mrs. Thompson, a perpetually nosy neighbor, chimed in eagerly, "Wow, I knew she's a career woman since the first time I met her." Her voice carried a tone of admiration mixed with a hint of envy.

Standing nearby, Mr. Wilson, a retired gentleman with a penchant for spreading juicy tidbits, leaned in conspiratorially. "And she has a perfect house-husband," he added with a knowing nod in Bucky's direction.

The fourth neighbor, Mrs. Patel, a woman with a sharp tongue and a love for scandal, couldn't resist joining the conversation. "I don't want to sound rude, but she's too good for Bucky. He's just a nobody," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Mrs. Jenkins leaned closer, her eyes widening with exaggerated shock. "And guess what?" she whispered, drawing the others in.

"What?" Mrs. Thompson asked eagerly, her curiosity piqued.

"I heard a rumor that Bucky used to be a driver, like a courier," Mrs. Jenkins revealed,l.

Mrs. Patel gasped dramatically, her hand flying to her chest. "Omg! And he met Y/N? He hit the jackpot!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening as if she had just uncovered a scandalous secret.

Mr. Wilson chuckled, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "I think in Bucky's previous life he saved a universe," he joked, adding to the whimsical nature of the gossip.

Meanwhile, you and Bucky remained oblivious to the whispers behind you, too engrossed in Tommy's joyous laughter as he played with his friends. Bucky had his arm around you, pulling you closer, unaware of the drama unfolding in the background.

Little did the gossiping neighbors know, they were 10% right, at least when it came to the part about Bucky saving someone.

You see, Bucky wasn't just a nobody. He wasn't just a regular driver. To be precise, it all goes back to five years ago.

5 Years Ago

You had just arrived in Russia, alone and shivering from the cold. This wasn't a holiday trip; it was for business.

Unfortunately, your luck had run out, and you were the chosen one sent by your less-than-friendly manager, who knew the bid was a long shot. You were the scapegoat.

It wasn't until you were on the plane, reading the documents, that the truth hit you like a ton of bricks.

Shaking with cold, you reached for your phone and dialed your colleague. "Is there someone to pick me up at the airport?"

"You've arrived? I almost forgot. I suppose someone should be waiting for you. Check to see if there's a sign with your name at the exit gate," came the reply before the call abruptly ended.

"Huh?" You couldn't believe it. The company had tossed you out like yesterday's news, leaving you stranded like a lost child in a foreign country.

"I swear, if I had a lot of money, I'd buy the company's shares and fire every single one of them," you grumbled to yourself, dragging your small suitcase behind you toward the exit gate, uncertain of what awaited you.

As you approached, you spotted a person holding a sign. You gathered your resolve and approached them, saying, "Hi, it's me."

You finally took a good look at the person holding your name sign. He was pretty tall and muscular for a driver, more suited to be a bodyguard.

With a swift motion, he crumpled the paper and tossed it into a nearby trash can. When you finally caught a glimpse of his face, you couldn't help but think, "Damn, he's fine."

He pointed towards your suitcase. "Is that all?" he asked, his voice firm but not unkind.

"Huh? Oh yeah," you replied, momentarily distracted by his good looks.

"Follow me," he said simply, then turned and walked ahead.

You hurried to catch up, feeling a mixture of confusion and intrigue. This wasn't the welcome you expected, but you followed him nonetheless.

After a quick walk, the two of you stopped in front of a black BMW. The design of the car felt straight out of the '90s.

"Get in," Bucky said, opening the backseat door.

You complied, noticing that your driver seemed to be a man of few words. "Um, what's your name?" you asked as you fastened your seatbelt.

"Bucky. Bucky Barnes," he replied, his eyes scanning the surroundings as he started the car.

Then, glancing at the rearview mirror, he added, "Always watch your back."

"What? What do you mean?" you asked, a hint of unease creeping into your voice.

Bucky shifted gears and increased the speed. "Just in case," he said cryptically, his focus on the road ahead.

You couldn't shake off the feeling of mystery surrounding Bucky. As the car smoothly glided through the streets of Russia, you couldn't help but wonder what kind of business you had genuinely stepped into.

Bucky glanced at you through the rearview mirror as the car continued its swift journey through the city. "You came here without knowing anything?" he asked, his voice serious.

"I knew that other countries also put a bid on this project," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the growing unease.

"True," Bucky acknowledged. "Do you know what kind of representatives the other countries sent here too?"

Your voice turned into a whisper, barely audible over the hum of the engine. "Not like me?"

Bucky's eyes flicked to the side mirror, noticing a few cars trailing behind them. " And they've arrived too," he confirmed, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly.

Feeling a surge of panic, you turned around to look out the rear window. "Oh, shit," you muttered under your breath.

There was a group of cars following behind you both, and their windows opened. Someone appeared with a gun pointed at your car.

Bucky shifted gears again, the car picking up speed. "Don't bite your tongue, Miss Y/N," he said calmly, his focus unwavering on the road ahead.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you realized the gravity of the situation. The cars following them meant trouble; you were right in the middle. Gripping the door handle tightly, you braced for whatever was to come, grateful that Bucky knew what he was doing.

The chase was like something out of a movie, but the fear gripping your heart was all too real. The car Bucky drove was bulletproof, a small comfort in the chaos unfolding around you.

"KYAAA!"

Yet, despite the safety of the car, you couldn't shake off the primal fear that clawed at your chest. This was the first time you had ever found yourself in such a dangerous situation, and the adrenaline surged through your veins.

"Oh god, oh god," you muttered, your voice filled with panic as you clutched onto the door handle, your knuckles turning white.

Bucky, on the other hand, remained surprisingly calm. His hands moved expertly over the steering wheel, navigating through the narrow streets with precision. "Hold on tight," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos outside.

You could hear the sound of gunfire, bullets ricocheting off the car's armored exterior. The world outside seemed to blur as Bucky weaved in and out of traffic, the pursuing cars hot on your tail.

"What do we do? What do we do?" you pleaded, your heart pounding in your chest.

Bucky glanced at you briefly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Trust me," he said cryptically, before reaching for a button on the dashboard.

With a click, the back of the car transformed. Panels shifted, revealing an array of weapons hidden within. Your eyes widened in disbelief as a gun turret emerged from the rear of the car, whirring to life.

"Oh my god!" you exclaimed, both terrified and amazed at the same time.

Bucky didn't hesitate. He maneuvered the car expertly, aligning the gun turret with the pursuing vehicles. With a press of a button, the turret unleashed a barrage of bullets, hitting the cars behind you with precision.

The sound of metal tearing and tires screeching filled the air as the pursuing vehicles swerved and crashed, their drivers no match for the firepower of Bucky's car.

You watched in awe and horror as the scene unfolded behind you, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. "I can't believe this," you whispered, your eyes wide with disbelief.

Bucky remained focused, his eyes scanning the road ahead. "Welcome to the world of high-stakes business, Miss Y/N," he said, his voice calm despite the chaos around you.

As you both sped away from the gunfire, the intensity of the moment left you breathless. The adrenaline coursing through your veins made you wonder how Bucky could remain so calm, and how his car seemed to be designed for situations like this.

"Bucky, are you really just a driver?" you asked, your voice filled with astonishment and curiosity.

Bucky, focused on the road ahead, replied without missing a beat. "Most of the time I work as a getaway driver."

"What?!" you exclaimed, unable to hide your surprise.

Bucky glanced at you briefly, a small smirk playing on his lips. "I have a few skills up my sleeve," he said cryptically, his eyes returning to the road as he expertly navigated the streets.

You panted heavily, trying to catch your breath after the intense chase. "Huff... huff... I have to win this damn bid. I almost lost my life. If I win, I will demand a promotion, and for you too, Bucky."

Bucky chuckled. "Thank you," he replied, his laughter mixing with relief as the moment's tension dissipated

Bucky glanced at you, a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. "You know, Miss Y/N, I'm impressed," he said, his voice tinged with respect.

You looked at him, surprised by his words. "Impressed? Why?"

"Because even though you were scared out of your mind back there," Bucky explained, gesturing vaguely to the chaos that had just unfolded, "you still have the drive to win this bid. That takes courage."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, touched by his words. "Well, I don't want to go through all of this for nothing," you replied, a hint of determination in your voice.

Bucky nodded, his expression serious. "I understand. And I believe you have what it takes to succeed."

As the car continued on its journey, you felt a newfound sense of confidence swelling within you. Despite the danger and the unexpected twists, you were determined to make this business trip count. With Bucky by your side, you felt like you could take on anything that came your way.

"Thank you, Bucky," you said, gratitude evident in your voice.

He smiled, a reassuring presence beside you. "Anytime, Miss Y/N. We make a good team."

And at that moment, as the city lights blurred past the windows of the car, you knew that this business trip would be far more than just a bid. It would be an adventure, with Bucky as your unexpected ally.

🚗

After you won the bid, you demanded a meeting with the CEO and threatened to sue the company if you weren't promoted.

Asserting your worth, you stood firm, and the CEO eventually relented, granting you the promotion you rightfully deserved.

As you stood in the office, your evil manager and colleague before you, the air was charged with tension. They both wore expressions of surprise and disbelief, clearly caught off guard by your sudden assertiveness.

"Good afternoon," you began, your voice steady and firm. "I requested this meeting to inform you both that your employment with this company is terminated, effective immediately."

The evil manager scoffed, a hint of arrogance in his voice. "You can't do that. You're just a new employee."

You met his gaze, unwavering. "Actually, as of today, I've been promoted to a position where I have the authority to make such decisions."

The lazy colleague chimed in, who answered your call at the airport. Her voice laced with disdain. "This is ridiculous. You're letting power go to your head."

You shook your head, a steely resolve in your eyes. "No, this is about accountability and integrity. Both of you have demonstrated a lack of professionalism and ethics that is unacceptable in this company. And you make me go alone knowing that the trips was a high risk."

The evil manager tried to argue, but you held up a hand to silence him. "There's no need for further discussion. Your actions have consequences, and now you're facing them."

With that, you handed them their termination letters, each neatly printed with the company seal. The evil manager's face turned red with anger, while the evil colleague's eyes widened in shock.

"This is unfair!" the evil manager shouted, his voice filled with outrage.

You remained calm, unfazed by his outburst. "It's the consequences of your own actions," you replied firmly.

Othrr colleague tried to plead for another chance, but you stood your ground. "I'm sorry, but this is non-negotiable," you said, your tone resolute.

As they gathered their things and left the office, the weight of their absence felt like a burden lifted from their shoulders. You watched them go, feeling a sense of relief and empowerment.

🚗

One day, the memories of Russia tugged at your heartstrings, and you found yourself longing to return, this time for a personal visit to see Bucky. With determination, you booked a flight and arrived at his apartment.

Bucky greeted you warmly, a smile spreading across his face. "Miss Y/N," he said with genuine happiness.

"Bucky," you replied, matching his smile. "I couldn't resist coming back to see you."

You smiled, feeling a rush of excitement and nervousness. "I wanted to thank you," you began, gratitude filling your voice. "For everything. You were there for me in Russia, and I couldn't have done it without you."

Bucky's expression softened, his eyes reflecting genuine warmth. "It was my pleasure. You showed courage and determination. I was just glad to be a part of it."

"I wanted to ask," you continued, gathering your courage, "if you would consider coming with me. With my promotion, I have the opportunity to lead new projects, and I can think of no one better to have by my side."

Bucky's eyes widened in surprise, clearly caught off guard by your offer. After a moment of contemplation, a smile slowly spread across his face. "I would be honored," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I believe we make a good team."

Bucky smiled warmly, a glint of excitement in his eyes as he grabbed his car keys and jacket. "To celebrate, let me pay for tonight's dinner. My treat," he said, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm.

You couldn't help but feel gratitude and happiness at his offer. "That sounds wonderful." you replied, a smile spreading across your face.

That's how the love story between you and Bucky started.

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Petals and Blades (Ronin x reader)

Author's note: I got really into animes that talked about flowers and their effects(apothecary diaries and snow white with red hair), wrote this out of my own indulge, hope you enjoy! o/

Tigger warnings:

Murder/killings

Poisons

Cringe?

Garden full of flowers. Bright, beautiful, but deceiving. Each one has a role in your garden, a role in your future. Deceiving your victims just like your own garden, dressing up like something else, deceiving them as something to be gawked at. Before their untimely death. But even some flowers have good medicinal effects. 

Finalizing your outfit for one last time, brushing out any wrinkles, pulling your hair a bit away from your face. A chime from your phone pulls you away from your thoughts, it was the server. Reminding you of the mafia game you were supposed to be at. A little guilty for not joining, but you have other things to do. A murderous party that will leave some six(6) feet under. You sent a quick ‘sorry not able to join’ text. Before you were able to clicking off the app, Ronin sent a dm.

goreboy: so whats keeping You away

goreboy: is it the Flowers

You never told any of them the reasons for your flowers. Nor what you do. 

User: No, I got a party tonight

User: Last minute

User: I’ll send pictures

goreboy: alright

goreboy: show How gruestic you Can be Darling

You see him joining the vc, joining everyone else in the server, leaving you alone to your own thoughts. You know he meant to show pictures of your outfit and excitement, not what's going to be the result of tonight. First you have to join a reunion with one other person. Someone you knew. 

They do say ‘karma is a bitch’ for a reason. 

-

You look at your ‘friend’ as they drink the tainted drink, they were horrible to you, toxic. Your relationships with your other friends were destroyed because of them, spreading lies about you. That you were the black sheep in this group, unable to gain another friend because of the rumors that followed you everywhere.

They turn their head towards you, continuing talking about their job. The dream job you wanted, but they took it from your hands, your now deathly tainted hands. Watching them cough, spitting out blood, their hands went to their shirt, clutching as if that could help. Falling off their chair as they continue coughing up blood, then giving out their last slow breath. It would be written off as a medical issue, as the flower you used had medicinal attributes so they say it was heart medicine gone wrong. Or that they stole and took them. After all, they have a friend that takes those types of pills, so they could have written them taking those away from her. 

Such a ‘tragic accident’. You step over the body, taking one last glance of your tormenter. You snap a couple photos before leaving. The first kill under your belt. And there should be another tonight, a task given to you. Passing a reflective glass, you fixed yourself, looking like you just left your place. 

Originally, you sold poisons to people. Allowing people an easy way to kill others, but the off chance people would ask if you could instead of them. You never accept it until tonight. A special case. They tripled your sell price and would buy more plants for you. So how could you say no. Especially to get your hands on harsher poisons. Hemlock will be in your hands, and you are ready for your money to skyrock after this plant. 

Lily of the valley, beautiful flowers, a plant of dangerous features. Poisonous even when touching uncarefully. You look at the bottle you have in your hands. A man will die from taking this. Might be slower than the one before you, but it will get the job done. Trick him in order to take this then in about 48 hours he will fall. 

And surprisingly it was easy. All you had to do was pretend that you were a worker and bring it to him. They all turn a blind eye, probably thinking you were a new worker. You at least made sure he took the first bite before you left. Turning away from him and leaving the building, you checked the server, they were still playing. Maybe by the time you got home, you would be able to join in for a game or two.

—

As you join the call, you hear Luca and Misaki fight with each other if Feli was the mafia. Luca was defending her while Misaki was trying to say she was. It was a bit entertaining after what you did today, something needed. You leaned back into your chair as you listened. 

“Oh come on, you can’t tell me that she isn’t, Luca!” Miskai yelled out again.

“Like I said, how could she, tell me Miskai!” He shouted, leaving Feli to laugh again. 

“To put a pin into that fight, I say it could be V. He’s awfully quiet.” Angel hummed, pausing both Misaki and Luca. 

“I told you before, I am not the killer, I am the doctor.” V spoke out, “I didn’t think whoever was the killer took out Ronin first.”

“Such a tragic death over all.” You could tell Ronin was enjoying the chaos. 

“Ronin, you are dead. You can not speak.” Vince spoke, “Now is everyone ready to vote?”

“It’s Luca and Feli, it has to be!” Misaki slapped their desk as they yelled. 

Everyone was quiet as you can assume that you were thinking. Interrupting their thoughts, “I say Luca. He seems guilty.”

Luca did a yell and a gasp, Misaki screamed from the surprise voice, and Ronin was laughing that you scared Misaki and Luca. Angel was laughing with him. 

A chuckle leaves Vince’s mouth, “I see you are back, do you want to join us this round or the next?” 

“This one, and I vote for Luca.” 

Luca groans again, “Not you too!”

You laugh as you join the chaos in games. Basking in the usual night of game night, with a bit of poison. 

–

You hummed as you watered your flowers, picking a few for a new idea and creation of poison. You played with petals with your new plant, the announcement of their deaths should be soon. Putting the watering can down and walking inside, putting the flowers into a cloth then onto your mini table near the door to your garden. Taking your garden apron and gloves off, placing them onto a hook, then getting your desk. Looking onto the news, and sure enough there it was. 

‘Food Nightmares: The Fatal Feast That Claimed a CEO’

So they claim it was food poisoning. Interesting… You hummed softly and you looked into your ‘friend's death.’

‘Thief's Fatal Dose of Stolen Medicine’ 

So they also wrote the way you thought it would happen. You copied the links and sent the photos of one kill into killer_shit. 

User: [link that goes to ‘Thief's Fatal Dose of Stolen Medicine’]

User: [photos of the corpse and one of a selfie with you standing in front of the body, winking and sticking your tongue out]

User: [link to Food Nightmares: The Fatal Feast That Claimed a CEO’]

User: Never trust your food with me XP

hitmeuppp: HUH?! READER?! 

hitmeuppp: JUST GONNA DROP THIS AND NO EXPLANATION?!

Ai Hua444: Poison? 

User: Yup, a garden full of them :)

User: I’ll send photos of my garden of poisons

hitmeuppp: YOU MAKE YOUR OWN?!

You laugh as Misaki raids your dms, messaging you so many questions. That they were shocked you killed people with plants and to teach you. Ronin was next to dm you. 

goreboy: shocker Darling

goreboy: poison Is your way of doing Things?

goreboy: no wonder why You are so attached To flowers

goreboy: make Me a delightful Drink then

You laugh at his text. 

User: I do make good tea, one that make you rest for days on end

goreboy: then Make me a cup

User: I’ll make you my best cup then

You lean back into your chair as he invites you into a call. You click accept as you watch him sitting there smirk, delighted.

“There’s the killer, so spill your guts, darling. Tell the devil your sins.” His head was on his hand, relaxed but he was captivated. He truly wanted to know. And you did, you told him how and why. He didn’t seem disgusted by it, more interested as you told your way of murder. “So it seems why your flowers are important, so dainty but murderous.”

You chuckle, “If it makes you like your favorite flower more, white lilies are a poison, causing at least digestive system issues to seizures, maybe comas, but important death if there's too much. The leaves and bulbs are what are important to poisoning.” 

“So knowledgeable, so poisoned, are there other ways plants affect others that aren’t so known?” He leans in, with so much glee. He wants to know what makes you favor flowers more than anything. Not just poison. 

Through the night, you brought flowers names and what they did. How they affect others, and even brought up that you sell the poisons. Ronin was interested in what flowers you grew and what flower that you got from your hefty paycheck. And if you sent him a bouquet of flowers to his purgatory, that was for only you to know.

[beans-core]

Some batkid reactions to being hassled by the press and other PR related shenanigan (inspired by this post by @timdrakewhump, it got the brainworms shmoovin)

(edit: added a cut here because DAMN this post is fucking LONG and I know it’s clogging up other people’s pages too)

Dick: the humble founder of the batkid “troll the press” train, so he has a lot of experience and stories. As a kid, he charmed the pants off of everyone but was a handful to interview because he kept going off on random tangents. And it was just. the most unrelated and weird shit ever, like his favorite species of beetle or how he used to think when he was little that all clouds were pollution so he hated cloudy days. Things so off-topic it was practically unusable material. Bruce once asked if it was on purpose, and Dick responded “sometimes!”. He’s also the king of petty but ultimately inconsequential pranks because of growing up where he did, a place where the job was bringing joy and entertainment. If someone was an asshole to him (or anyone really) in his presence, they’d better prepare to be on the receiving end of the most manipulative, career-devastating smackdown delivered by a pink-cheeked, gift-to-the-world, curly-Q babychild— who’s now got tears running down his face because of them. It’s joever. This performer stuff helps when he’s trying not to get caught (ex: the pranks). As an adult, he wears the most butt ugly outfits (even to “important” events) but can dress stylishly if he wants. That’s usually how the press will notice which events Dick actually cares about, and Dick utilizes this to get better coverage on the more meaningful events. It’s fucking hilarious when ppl can't even really comment on the outfits because even if the clothes aren’t great, Dick somehow manages to make it look decent. When he’s out casually in public, he’s notorious for wearing shirts with puns and dad jokes on them. The shirts started ironically, but now it’s a whole thing. He gets them as presents too, Tim giving him shirts that have horrible brainrot on them. Additionally, when someone is more comfortable talking in a language other than English and Dick can speak it, he’ll switch over. But the flip side is that he knows the best insults in that language too, so if you piss him off, his roasts are both more accessible, personal, and devastating.

Jason: Snuck books to read into boring events like clockwork, and Bruce never really tried to stop him. (It’s hard to be upset at your kid for reading of all things, especially when you’d rather be doing the same too.) But Jason’s favorite activity was spreading lies and slander. He dragged everyone into it whether you were kind or bitchy, and had barely any limits. (Dick was really proud, even of the particularly wicked rumors, but tried not to show it too much else Jason go wilder.) Jason has the most fun with the gossip-distribution method of old-rich gossips who are just incapable of shutting the hell up— it’s like one big maze traversing the social cliques and making a plan of action. He gets to map out how it all works and then find the best way to wreck it, and he lives for it. Overall, he made up such an astronomical amount of bullshit that photographs were practically the only thing the paparazzi could reliably use. And even then, Jason still trolled them by wearing the same type of common plain hoodie over every outfit out in public (when he wasn’t at some special event). Present day (post-death), anytime Jason goes into the manor (not often if possible), he sneaks in. Absolutely refuses to use a door. One time, someone gets a blurry picture of Jason sneaking in, and the figure is visibly packing heat. The person who got the photo went to the police immediately, and it sent the media into a frenzy. Bruce had to make up some story about an attempted robbery and how the (non-existent) security guards he’d hired were able to take care of it. Jason thinks it’s the funniest thing ever, and can barely keep his face blank whenever he remembers it. Tim got the articles/papers printed and framed as a gift, and Jason begrudgingly accepted it (it’s proudly displayed on a shelf). He’s also secretly pissy that he can’t blatantly make up rumors for the gossips anymore because of the whole “being dead” thing.

Tim: holds grudges to hell and back if you’re not a loved one. If you happen to be more than just an average-everyday amount of douchebag and mess with him or someone he cares about, he’ll make sure you know he dislikes you by basically passive-aggressively harassing you back (when it won’t have immediate/future bad-time consequences). It’s obvious he’s being unkind only to the person/people it’s directed at, and it’s an art form Tim has been honing since the age he first understood what ‘passive aggressive’ meant. One example: once, some person said how odd it was for Mr. Wayne to keep taking in children who looked like him and “forcing them” to take the Wayne last name. The man said it in that condescending tone of people who try to imply something’s “wrong” with you without actually saying it (you know what I’m referring to). Even though Tim was visibly disgruntled in the video, it was still published. (Tim hacked the site, unpublished, and deleted the recordings out of spite… but it’s the fact that they did it in the first place!) So now whenever he sees that news station he refuses to answer them until they address him by “Timothy Wayne” (his last name is hyphenated and he doesn’t mind answering to either— usually). When Tim’s not in the mood to be passive about his aggression, he’ll just fuck with rude ppl anonymously. Hacking to mess with files/programs, deleting important info, digging up dirt and publicizing it, recruiting Jason’s help to concoct a fake scandal (Jason tries to pretend that he doesn’t love the chaos but he really obviously does), and other ways to constantly annoy/inconvenience them. Tim also accidentally adopts Jason’s habit of scoping out and analyzing the famous gossips of Gotham. It was something he’s been proficient at as a kid out of necessity, but he actually gets into it when he becomes Robin, beginning to view it like one big puzzle he can solve and use to his advantage. As a child, he’s not in the immediate focus of the news as much as you’d think. The Drake’s keep him out of the way unless he can be useful somehow (PR mostly— the Idealistic Loving Family tactic and Cute Kid Distraction are utilized often). (This becomes Pretty Boy Distraction and Desirable Man Distraction as he gets older.) They think that controlling his media presence is easier than doing damage control if he makes a mistake, as all children tend to do, which inadvertently ends up protecting him from some of the more despicable side of modern media… as long as he doesn’t seek it out himself… but as we know, Tim Drake is a very curious kid.

Damian: the perfectly behaved Wayne child, but rude without realizing (of course he realizes, but the press doesn’t know that… or won’t mention it, at least). The Wayne family PR team has long-standing beef with this kid and has had to put up with him repeatedly for PR training and other PR nightmares of his creation. He refuses to act childish in front of the media unless it’s for a mission or some other gain. (He can look like the cutiest patootie on command now, but it’s something he had to work on in his PR training, unlike some of his other siblings who have charm oozing from their pores.) The only thing that reveals Damian’s discomfort to those who know him is how he’ll stay near his family members' side, following them around like he’s stuck with glue. Once he got overwhelmed by a sudden crowd, and didn’t notice one mic coming his way until it was shoved in his face— he reacted instinctively, punched the mic (it goes flying), and ducked low into a fighting stance next to Bruce. The others poke fun until they realize he’s genuinely upset he couldn’t stay calm, so they don’t mention it again. Even though Damian loudly rebukes and scoffs at his family’s shenanigans against the press, he still secretly wants to be included. So, when he doesn’t want to be talking to someone, he’ll slowly shift into speaking Arabic and pretend not to notice. More than half the time, the listener will feel too awkward to point it out and will find some way to leave the conversation. Dick takes him to his favorite dessert place when he does this for the first time, and brags about Damian finally joining in on the family tradition all day, so he keeps doing it.

Cassandra: leans heavily into the “can’t speak” thing that she’s been mistakenly assigned just so she doesn’t have to talk to the press as much or be a center of attention. If someone does approach her she just stares at them with wide unblinking bug eyes until they back off and/or are distracted by something else. But really, she isn’t even approached that often because she sneaks around everywhere. When she is found, it’s because she feels like teasing someone that day. (It’s a bonus when her family gets all giggly seeing her mess with the press because yeah, it’s practically a Wayne family tradition at this point.) Also, everyone knows by now that Brucie will unabashedly raise hell to defend his loved ones, so even years later, when media people are like “okay wait shouldn’t she be able to talk by now??” they keep their ignorant mouths shut lest Bruce Wayne descend upon them with the power of a thousand suns lawyers. Misinformed media-people assume she’s deaf or hard of hearing all the time because of her use of sign language, and sometimes, in the spirit of trolling, she’ll feed into it indirectly. Because if you’re calling over to her for a comment and she happens to not answer, it’s your fault if you “connect the dots” and assume she didn’t hear you because she’s deaf/HOH. This also leads to her getting away with absolutely everything, because she’s a (assumed) deaf woman which means she gets infantilized, meaning she can obviously do no wrong! /s It would piss her off more if she gave a fuck about what the media thinks, but she really doesn’t, so she just uses it as another tool when she wants to cause havoc.

Duke: doesn’t get bothered too often compared to most of the others, and subsequently doesn’t give a fuck. Was offered PR training just in case by Bruce and he took it, but he could hold his own just fine before. Sometimes he’ll get approached by those sidewalk interviewers as Signal, and if he has the time he’ll stick around to quickly answer a few questions because he finds them funny. He’s always terribly vague though, and taken out of context you just have no earthly idea what he’s on about. Clarification? Duke doesn’t know her. As someone who hangs out with a family consisting of some rich white people who are often in the public eye of other rich white people, he likes to make the annoying ones squirm by interpreting everything they say to be offensive, just. Fucking with them until they’re panicking, having mini heart attacks thinking of the PR nightmare they’re gonna have. “So young man, do you think you’ll go to college?” “Why do you ask? Think a black kid wouldn’t be able to?“ “I didn’t—” “Think I’m not as capable as anyone else?” “NO no no of COURSE NOT—” Damian, Cass, and Dick think it’s genius so they take inspiration from him and do it too in their own ways. Duke usually goes straight from Bat Business to the manor, entering from the batcave but when he does visit normally, he’s pretty discreet. All that to say that when he’s first noticed hanging around the batkids + co. it’s in public areas. There are definitely some rumors going around because Duke hangs out with them like all the time. the media are left wondering where the fuck another kid came from, why Bruce hadn’t introduced his new kid, etc. Bruce comes out with a vague summary story to get the majority of the press (the ones who didn’t bother to do more research) off dukes back, and after a while, they go back their normal level of invasive.

Stephanie: will get pissy if someone calls her Bruce’s child but won’t deny being part of the family. Loves to spread misinformation like Jason, but it’s only ever fake news about herself. At one point, half of Gotham is convinced she’s some estranged Wayne (some third cousin, or was it second?) and the other half thinks that she’s the secret affair child of Martha Wayne (even though the timeline zero sense). She drives the celeb-focused conspiracy theorists bonkers by introducing herself by different names, bringing up fake relatives, sharing absurd fake stories, etc. Then, she’ll throw in an absurd truth, someone will connect the dots about that one thing being real, and it’ll start another conspiracy frenzy because wait, if that’s true, what else is??? She's also mastered how to use makeup to make her features look different for undercover missions, but will wear it out in public too so it makes sneaky pictures and videos look doctored/fake. One time, she applied some fake facial prosthetics too for fun, and a paparazzo got into hot water for trying to pass off a picture of ‘some random woman’ as Stephanie Brown. She decided to frame the best of those articles written (framing “best-of” incidents is kind of a thing now). She’ll always be excited when one of the bats comes to her asking her to disguise them for a mission because they all know that the price of her work is that she gets free reign of what the disguise looks like (as free as you can be within the mission parameters, but she finds a LOT of little ways to entertain herself).

[corishadowfang]

            One of the Foretellers had come for Mary’s daughter, today.

            It wasn’t often that they did; most children were sent off to Daybreak Town on the promise of sending money back to their family, or of getting a better future, or because the village had no magic users to protect them and they needed someone.  There were no big ceremonies or flashy goodbyes; there were small farewell parties, sometimes, or tiny little familial blessings, asking that Light may guide them safely and Darkness hide them from all that would do harm.  But a Foreteller had come, for Elaine, for Mary’s little girl, and the town had scrambled to put something together.

            It was—an honor, really.  Mary knew this.  It was why she’d set the table with the finest dinnerware they owned—an old set, heirlooms, from a time when there had been less strife—and asked her mother to help her prepare a large dinner, and had wrung her hands as she’d tried to stay polite and proud and keep her wringing hands underneath the table.

            Master Ava had been a polite and accommodating guest.  Mary had thought, at first, that she’d seemed almost awkward at the attention—but that seemed an absurd thought, when Master Ava was a Foreteller.  Everyone had heard the stories—of the heroes who had risen from a town on the edge of daybreak, wielding weapons borne of themselves and slaying the monsters that had so long seemed impossible to defeat.  She was more than human; how could Mary expect her to feel something so normal as uncertainty?             (She’s young, some part of her whispered—some part of her that could not quite stay quiet—and she did her best to hush the thought.  It was dangerous; she could not afford to think it.)

            “I’ve heard that you’re interested in magic,” Master Ava said, turning her focus mostly to Elaine.

            Mary’s skin prickled, and across the table, her mother shifted, like she wished to interject but thought better of it.

            Elaine either didn’t notice or didn’t care; she beamed, eyes brightening as she said, “Yeah!  I’ve been studying.  Mister Gavin says he thinks I might replace him one day.”

            Mary squeezed her eyes shut.  They are not taking our only mage, she thought, and it was close enough to the truth that she didn’t have to think about the consequences.  Gavin was old, but alive; they would not be left defenseless if Elaine became a wielder.  If anything, this was a better opportunity for her; she would go and train with some of the best mages in the world, and then she could bring back her knowledge here, to fend against the shades that encroached on their borders.

            (Elaine was still losing her baby teeth; Mary could hear the lisp.  She tried not to think about that, too.)

            “That’s good; I’m glad to hear it.”

            “Keyblade wielders are good at magic, right?”

            Mary could not see Master Ava’s face, and it chafed.  “Some of us are.”

            That was a lie; all of them were, compared to the average person.  Most mages trained for years, and even then, they might only be average at best; a newly-fledged wielder could use magic on par with the best almost instantly.  ‘Some’ was only relevant in comparison to other wielders.

            “So if I go with you, I could get better?”

            “Yes.  Good enough to keep your whole village safe.”

            (“You heard about Marty’s kid, didn’t you?”

            Mary hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but she’d stalled, hesitating just out of sight as she’d come to collect Elaine from Gavin’s shop.

            Gavin’s expression had hardened, and he hadn’t said anything.

            “Went off to Daybreak Town—that’s what he said.  Got letters for a while, and then things slowly just…stopped.  They haven’t heard from him since.”

            “I think,” Gavin had said, glancing back toward the shop—toward Elaine, who was still studying inside, “that you’d best stop spreading rumors.  All you’re going to do is scare people.”)

            It was a given, that Elaine would go; Mary couldn’t reasonably deny a Foreteller (even if Elaine was a child, even if they needed as many mages as they could get, even if things were dangerous), and Elaine was too excited to even consider turning down the invitation.  But still, a pit opened in Mary’s stomach as she knelt in front of her daughter, tangling a stained glass pendant around her neck.  It was one they’d made together, and Mary was only willing to part with it because she hoped it would grant her daughter some sort of protection.  “May Light’s blessings fall on you,” she said, because if she said anything less formal, she might sweep her daughter back into her room and refuse to let her go—even at the demands of a Foreteller.  “May Darkness guard you from the eyes of all who would seek to do you harm.”

            And may the Great Heart welcome you, should you find yourself in need of rest.

            She couldn’t bring herself to say the last part.

            Elaine’s nose scrunched, like she thought it was funny that her mother was saying such things, but Master Ava’s hand landed on Elaine’s shoulder and tightened, and Mary, strangely, got the impression that she understood.  “I’ll take care of her,” she promised.

            Mary didn’t know if it was true.  She didn’t think it mattered.  In the end, she still had to watch her daughter walk down the road, bouncing excitedly as she chattered to a stranger in elaborate robes.

            “It’ll be alright,” her own mother said, even if she didn’t entirely sound like she believed it.  “The Foretellers are blessed; they’ll protect them.”

            (They did not hear from Elaine again.)

[airandyeah]

Footballplayer!Sukuna X Toughgirl!Reader Who Do You Think I Am? Pt.13

My Masterlist Series Masterlist

Campus looks the same, but it feels different.

The moment you step off Sukuna’s motorcycle, the air is thick with whispers. Not the usual curious glances you’d grown used to—these are sharp, biting. A few girls clustered by the fountain whisper behind their hands, barely bothering to hide it. Someone else pretends to scroll on their phone but clearly snaps a photo.

Sukuna swings off the bike like he doesn’t hear it, slipping off his helmet and offering you a hand. You take it, ignoring the sting of every stare that follows.

“Keep your head up,” he mutters under his breath, jaw tight. “Let ‘em talk.”

You do—but it’s hard not to hear the words that slip through:

“Did you hear? She’s only with him for the attention.” “Bet she’s after his family money.” “You know he got in a fight at a bar over her? Psycho much?”

Tiffany bounds up out of nowhere, her usual sunny expression tight at the edges. She loops her arm through yours like a shield. “Ignore them. People are just jealous,” she says, voice lower than usual. “Trust me, half of them were planning their own moves on him before you left.”

Sukuna shoulders his bag with one hand and slips the other into yours, his presence a wall of quiet fury against the noise. “I’ll deal with it,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

You swallow hard, glancing up at him. “No. We will.”

The day drags. Everywhere you go, the whispers follow. Even in class, you catch the occasional not-so-subtle look, the quiet tap of a text sent under a desk. By the time the last bell rings, the weight of it presses like lead on your chest.

Sukuna notices. He doesn’t say anything until you’re both walking toward the bike, Tiffany trailing behind.

“You okay?” he asks, softer now.

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah. Just… feels like everyone’s waiting for us to mess up.”

Sukuna smirks faintly, a flash of that unshakable confidence that first drew you in. “Then we won’t.”

He squeezes your hand, firm and certain, and for a second the noise of campus fades to nothing.

You and Sukuna exchange a look before both turning toward Tiffany, who’s unusually quiet for once.

“Where’s Gojo?” Sukuna asks, brows pulling together. “You two are usually attached at the hip.”

Tiffany’s face goes bright pink. She looks anywhere but at you. “Uh… he’s… around?”

You raise a brow. “Around where?”

“Busy!” she blurts, way too quickly. “Really busy. Super top-secret business.”

Sukuna snorts. “What, did he finally get detention or something?”

Tiffany fiddles with the strap of her bag, her cheeks deepening in color. “Not exactly…”

You stop walking, forcing her to meet your stare. “Tiff. What’s going on?”

She winces, then mutters, “Okay, fine. He said he was gonna find out who’s spreading the rumors. He… kind of got mad about all of it. Said he wasn’t about to let anyone trash his best friend’s name.”

Sukuna blinks. “He’s out there playing detective?”

Tiffany nods sheepishly. “Uh-huh. He said if anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from me.”

A slow grin spreads across Sukuna’s face, sharp and dangerous. “Good. Because when he finds them, I want first crack.”

Tiffany groans, smacking a palm to her forehead. “Why am I even telling you two? Now I’m an accomplice.”

You can’t help it—you laugh, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see what he digs up.”

Sukuna squeezes your hand, expression darkening. “And when he does, we make sure everyone hears the truth.” ~~~ Your refurbished dorm is warm and softly lit, the faint scent of the candle Tiffany insisted on burning lingering in the air. Sukuna’s stretched out on your bed, one arm draped lazily around your waist as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck.

Tiffany’s sprawled in the desk chair, swinging one leg idly and scrolling through her phone.

“So…” she starts, tone far too casual to be innocent, “have you two talked about baby names yet?”

You feel Sukuna tense against you before he groans dramatically, nuzzling deeper into your shoulder like he can block her out. “Not this again,” he grumbles, voice muffled. “Why is that the only thing you ever want to ask?”

Tiffany grins wickedly, locking her phone and leaning forward on her elbows. “Because it’s cute! And don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.”

“Not happening,” Sukuna mutters, squeezing you a little closer. “Not while I’m conscious, anyway.”

You laugh softly, running your fingers through his hair. “You’re making it sound like we’ve got a list stashed somewhere.”

“You do,” Tiffany fires back immediately, her eyes narrowing in mock accusation. “Don’t tell me he hasn’t mentioned at least one.”

You bite your lip, fighting a smile. Sukuna peeks up at you, his glare half-hearted and more flustered than annoyed.

“Don’t,” he warns.

“...Maybe one,” you admit quietly.

Tiffany gasps. “Ha! I knew it! What is it?”

Sukuna groans again, dragging the blanket up over both your heads like a sulking kid. “Nope. Conversation’s over.”

Under the blanket, you can’t help but laugh, your forehead pressed against his. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but I’m your ridiculous,” he mutters, pressing a quick, soft kiss to your lips before tugging you even closer, like that’s the only way to drown out Tiffany’s relentless giggling from the other side of the room.

The cozy quiet doesn’t last.

Your door bursts open so hard it smacks the wall, and Gojo’s tall frame fills the doorway. His grin is all teeth and trouble, his sunglasses perched carelessly in his white hair.

“Bingo!” he crows, striding into the room like he owns it. “Guess who found your rumor fairy?”

Sukuna groans, still half under the blanket with you. “You better have a good reason for kicking my door in, Satoru.”

Gojo plops into Tiffany’s desk chair, spinning lazily. “Oh, I do. And you’re gonna love it—turns out our little whisper campaign was run by none other than…” He draws out the pause, savoring it. “…Yorozu’s cousin.”

You stiffen. “Of course.”

Gojo leans forward, smirk widening. “Apparently, Yorozu’s been pulling strings even after she transferred. Little family loyalty project. But don’t worry—I’ve got receipts. Screenshots, voice messages, the works.”

Sukuna sits up abruptly, the blanket sliding off his shoulders. His expression darkens, that sharp, dangerous edge back in his crimson gaze. “Send them to me. All of them.”

Gojo shrugs, pulling out his phone. “Already did. Figured you’d want to be the one to set the record straight.”

Tiffany frowns, arms crossed. “So what now?”

Sukuna swings his legs off the bed, cracking his knuckles. “Now? We make sure everyone on this campus knows exactly who’s behind the lies. And then…” He glances at you, softer for just a moment. “We end this for good.”

Gojo chuckles low, spinning the chair once more. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

You meet Sukuna’s gaze and nod. “Let’s do it.” ~~~

The quad is buzzing, students clustered around as word spreads like wildfire—Sukuna and Gojo had called for “a little gathering.” You stand slightly off to the side with Tiffany, heart thudding, as Sukuna and Gojo face Yorozu’s cousin and her gaggle of friends near the fountain.

Gojo’s phone is in hand, speaker on. Screenshots, voice messages, and a string of undeniable receipts echo through the air, every lie laid bare: the forged stories about you, the rumors about Sukuna’s family, the whispered slander meant to turn the entire campus against you both.

The crowd murmurs, restless.

Yorozu’s cousin stammers, trying to save face. “T-Those were jokes, everyone knew—”

“Bullshit,” Sukuna cuts in, his voice a low growl that silences the quad. “You tried to ruin her. You wanted people to think she was using me, that she didn’t belong here. Guess what? You failed.”

A tense hush falls over the crowd.

Then Sukuna turns, scanning the sea of faces before his gaze finds yours. Something shifts in his expression—a mix of fierce determination and something softer, deeper.

Before you can process what’s happening, he steps forward, pulling something from his pocket. A small, delicate ring glints in the sunlight.

Gasps ripple through the crowd.

“Since everyone seems so invested in us,” Sukuna says, voice steady but loud enough to carry, “let me make one thing clear.”

He drops to one knee.

Your breath catches.

“This is my grandmother’s ring,” he continues, holding it up for you to see. “I asked my mom for it while we were back home because… I already knew. I’ve known since the day you yelled at me in the hallway and made me feel like the biggest idiot on earth. You’re it for me. Always have been.”

The crowd is silent now, phones up, whispers buzzing like electricity.

Sukuna looks up at you, all the sharp edges in his crimson eyes softened to something unbearably earnest.

“So, what do you say? Will you marry me and shut all of them up for good?”

Your hand flies to your mouth, heart hammering in your chest.

Tiffany squeals behind you, shoving at your back. “Say yes!”

For a long, breathless moment, the world holds still—just you, Sukuna, and the weight of a hundred curious stares.

Your throat works, trying to find words through the lump that’s formed there. Finally, you laugh—a shaky, watery sound—and swipe at your eyes.

“Yes,” you manage, voice breaking. “God, yes, you idiot! You didn’t have to make it a whole thing—”

Sukuna’s grin blooms wide and utterly unguarded, a flash of pure joy that steals your breath. He surges to his feet, sliding the delicate ring onto your finger with hands that tremble just slightly.

The crowd erupts—cheers, whoops, and scattered applause breaking like a wave. Tiffany shrieks beside you, practically vibrating with excitement, and Gojo’s obnoxious whooping cuts above the noise:

“Finally! About time he locked it down!”

You barely notice any of it, too busy being pulled into Sukuna’s arms, his lips finding yours in a fierce, breath-stealing kiss. The world around you blurs into a haze of noise and light as he holds you close, his forehead pressed to yours when he finally breaks away.

“You’re mine now,” he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. “Officially.”

You sniffle, still laughing through your tears. “I was always yours, idiot.”

Tags: @nina6708 , @sherrieblossoms , @charlie-xo , @iloveredwineee , @kyo-kyo1 , @clp-84 , @book0fdr3ams , @enhasrii , @sanzuhoe , @strangelovedream , @keiva1000 , @tsumoorin Perm tags: @thenightperson , @makingtimemine , @nina-from-317

[dtupdating]

DREAM replied to another Reddit post!

Transcript under the cut!

Ludwig slightly misremembered, and didn't explain in a super fair way imo it makes me sound way worse than what actually happened

tldr;

I dmd ludwig suggesting he make a video, and offering myself for questions

ludwig replied and eventually said that I jokingly called one of his friends a whore

Due to the fact that a friend of Nicolas Cantu's had recently falsely said that "I got slapped at a party for calling a girl a whore", I asked him if that's what it was about.

He said no, and that he can't tell me more information because he doesn't think it's worth resurfacing it for her sake

I replied with a message about that, and then said I'd also provide context to the other situation just in case he was just telling me it's not about that situation (to "protect" the person's identity) even though it was, because I had no idea about any other situation.

Here's the important parts of that message that I sent him:

oh well unfortunately I guess I can't talk about this because I don't know what you're talking about at all, but I will say this as a general statement; A lot of people spread false stuff about me, or exaggerate, and have done it a lot ESPECIALLY during all of this stuff going on, as it's easy to sensationalize things because of how "hated" I seem. Intentionally, OR unintentionally. I have had to clear up so many different false stories of me being weird, or just a total shit bag, because the rumor mill runs super fucking strong when you're getting shit on 24/7. And every time it's just "oh okay that makes sense". It's not always someone lying, but it's almost always someone not realizing that exaggerating and mischaracterizing what they're saying can be a big deal, and isn't something they should do. I have never randomly called someone a whore, I have never called someone a whore derogatorily, and I would never do that.

I will completely and fully say that I have called friends of mine jokingly whore's / sluts / whatever, GUYS ANDS GIRLS, but only with people that joke along with it, or have expressly said they don't care, and again, only with friends of mine. This situation has been a lesson to just never say it at all though, because it's being used to make me out as a bad person. I would never use it that way, never ever meant anything negative when I've ever said it, and never have used it to insult or demean anyone, in any way.

I don't know the situation you're talking about, and obviously it's seemingly a bad look to have "multiple instances" where I called a girl a whore lmao, but I just cannot fathom that I called a stranger a whore, even jokingly, regardless of whether I was drunk or not. If I actually did, I would absolutely want to apologize and clear up anything that I possibly can with them, because it's upsetting to know that I made anyone upset or made them feel badly. I would like to say though, that it's not unreasonable to think that it is a misrepresentation of what actually happened, or is being looked at through a negative tint given recent events, when if this wasn't all going on, it would've been viewed as "oh that's obviously a joke". Given the fact that I have been a bit of a punching bag for a bit online, and you never know what motivations people have to spread things. Idk when this would've been as well, because like I said, the Nicolas stuff was pretty eye opening in a lot of ways, including specifically how people feel about those words in general. Which I never really thought about, and again, I've always been extremely careful and delicate with how I interact with anyone I've just met.

I NEVER would demean or speak down on someone like that. If that did actually happen, it was naivety on my part and not malice, and it's a word I'm removing from my vocabulary, and I hope I get a chance to apologize to them. But again, I have no idea what you're specifically talking about, so I probably won't get a chance, or even confirmation that it happened.

Either way, I understand why he didn't reply (I sent walls of text) and don't fault him for it. Although, the way this was said is annoying!

[sweetstwawbewwymilk]

Imagine with me.

Imagine an Agency that understands the danger of its work, and has become desensitized to it after many brutal years. Imagine an Agency that, while having noble intentions, is just as guilty of using their Agents as chess pieces as its enemies. Imagine an Agency that's staggeringly hesitant towards changes to the status quo, as deviation had been synonymous with death for nearly their entire lifetime. Imagine this stagnation driving away their brightest and bravest, turning them towards independent ventures... or much darker pursuits.

Imagine Reginald Crane. Imagine being on the front lines of the battle against seemingly insurmountable evil. Imagine time or tragedy wearing on you. Imagine being unable to engage directly like you've always loved, but being unwilling to abandon the fight. Imagine being given the opportunity to become a support agent. Imagine losing your Agent. Imagine losing your Agent. Imagine losing your Agent. Imagine with horror as you realize, with every dying gasp, every plea for help, every flatline, that you were one of the lucky ones. Imagine building up walls of snarky comments, of cold indifference, of "Don't get attached", so you never feel the pain of being The Lucky One. Imagine burying your hurt deep. Imagine putting up a facade so that your judgement isn't clouded. Imagine doing everything in your power to make sure the next one doesn't meet the same fate. Imagine losing the Agent. Imagine losing the Agent.

Imagine Dr. Roxana Prism. Imagine possessing a brilliance so great it practically possesses you. Imagine dreaming, studying and working your entire life to leave a legacy that will outlive you. Imagine finding The Agency, being thrilled, overjoyed, that you finally had the resources and support to pursue your research. Imagine discovering Kinesium, and it's immense, nigh-reality-bending powers. Imagine discovering your legacy. Imagine inventing a device that gave people mastery over gravity itself; inventing Telekinesis. Imagine your invention being used everywhere on the field, creating an entire Division of the Agency. Imagine being held in such high regard, you're made the Head of Research and Development. Imagine that not being enough. Imagine your Agents still dying, even with your "best work" behind them. Imagine an Artificial Agent - metal body, electric mind, perfect and whole and deathless. Imagine becoming attached to your new creation. Imagine becoming extremely attached to your new creation Imagine being so proud of what you've made; a device that could eliminate the danger of the world's most dangerous job. Imagine the humiliation when, somehow, it all goes wrong. Imagine being told your best isn't enough. Imagine being more betrayed than you ever had before. Imagine leaving the people you thought could help you behind, swearing you'd never make the same mistake again. Imagine making the biggest mistake of your life soon after.

Imagine all that? Good. Now imagine someone else. Imagine being assigned another Agent. Imagine putting your walls up. They likely won't last the day. Imagine them being chaotic Imagine them surviving. Imagine them surviving. Imagine them surviving. Imagine your walls being chipped away at, one mission at a time, as you find yourself forming something resembling a Bond (heh) despite yourself. Imagine being drawn closer with each quirk, each eccentricity, each brilliant solution that is anything but orthodox. Imagine sending them on the most dangerous mission you've ever sent any of your Agents on. Imagine them surviving. Imagine rumors spreading about them. Imagine people saying they're immortal, they're invincible....

Imagine your Agent gaining a Name. Imagine remembering when you got yours; strong as stone, they called you. Imagine them surviving. Imagine being more afraid than you ever had in recent memory. For the sake of the world, or the life of your Agent, you can't tell anymore. Imagine you're about to see them off again. Imagine committing your Agency's biggest taboo. Imagine calling them by their Name. Imagine watching as they heroically trade their life for the world's. Imagine, against everything, that Agent Phoenix somehow survives. Imagine mourning them so much, you nearly leave the Agency you've spent nearly your whole life serving. Imagine being so overjoyed at their remarkable return, you don't care about your old walls anymore. Imagine the rumors growing into legend. Imagine one of your own becoming a hero. Imagine your goofiest, most chaotic, most unorthodox Agent being the best thing for your recruitment efforts in recent memory. Imagine the Agency's best asset fall into your lap. Imagine seeing the perfect opportunity to prove them all wrong. Imagine seeing them disarm your every trap, dodge your every attack, outwit your every plan. Imagine them not giving up. Imagine your old friend trying to get through to you. Imagine as you keep improving your work. Imagine making your robots stronger and stronger. Imagine them not giving up Imagine them both following you to your factory. Imagine preparing to cement your legacy as a brilliant scientist - as the one who overcame even the Great Phoenix. Imagine being well and truly betrayed. Imagine losing what you've loved the most. Imagine telling them you never want to see them again. Imagine seeing them again anyway. Imagine them not giving up. Imagine dying. Imagine not. Imagine, despite all logic, despite all sense, Phoenix saves you. Imagine working together to save hundreds (thousands, now) of lives. Imagine remembering that this is what you started inventing for: to leave the world a better place than when you found it. Imagine dragging the person who saved you to safety. Imagine leaving with a renewed sense of purpose. Imagine not giving up.

Imagine Agent Phoenix. Imagine joining the Agency. Imagine being told, very early that you are "A spy. Not a hero." Imagine thinking that's stupid. Imagine doing things your own way. Imagine threatening the status quo. Imagine being told you won't last long. Imagine burning through every handler assigned to you, until you find one who can keep up with your bullshit. Imagine the politics of The Agency shift and churn behind the scenes while you're off saving the world. Imagine the "orthodox" being questioned. Tested. Imagine Agents, who were told that they were small parts of a much bigger collective force, who were told their job is risky and they will need to lay down their lives for the greater good, seeing you survive. Imagine becoming a symbol of hope and heroism entirely without your knowledge. Imagine more Agents coming home. Imagine your Handler getting slaps on the back and congratulations from other support Agents. Imagine your Creator becoming far more invested in your exploits. Imagine coming back to the office from Babadag, being looked at in awe by your fellow Agents, being greeted with awe and reverie, with being confused as to why. Imagine the halls becoming so much livelier. Imagine coming back to a different Agency than you left. Imagine, little by little, Agent by Agent, life by life, you've been changing things more than you'll ever know.

[raccoonface]

New Bodyguard

Part 2 finally (a little short like Jenna)

Jenna's POV

"Hey Sophie" (her agent)

"Jenna."

"That's me..."

"What is about this photo, and isn't that the new bodyguard I sent out...?!"

"Yeah"

"JENNA."

"The photo only showed us sitting on the couch plus you can barely tell that's me"

"Exactly the press with come to a conclusion that it is you in the photo and rumors will spread"

"We didn't even do anything"

"That doesn't matter, people with make shit up and you can't do anything about it."

"I don't know Soph"

"Well you kind of have to do something about it you can't have Americas 'it girl' have something with somebody and not come out about it"

"Why can't I have a relationship with somebody, why can't I keep it a secret?!?"

"Because people will find out, and will expose you anyway so you might as well come out now."

"What if I don't have a relationship with anyone"

"Then you tell everyone that, just figure it out then come to me."

"Ugh.... Fine I got to go bye"

"By-"

I hung up on my agent because I was pissed, but I had to tell Y/n about this.

“Hey everything all right Jen?”

“Yeah, Y/n everything’s good… other than this photo being out to the public.”

“What photo?”

“This one”

She looked like she just saw a ghost after she saw the photo, but I couldn’t blame her I did too. I couldn’t believe someone would just randomly take a photo of me and her,

Yet again it’s not that suprising because I am Americas ‘it girl’ right now.

“Who did this?!?”

“Idk.. but I think we should talk Y/n, about us”

“About what? About me sleeping over, we didn’t even hold hands or anything..!”

“I-.. I know but I want us to be something”

“Jenna-.. I don’t think that would be professional of us. I mean think about it, I’m your bodyguard”

“I know but you could protect me more efficiently now, you know like day and night type of job”

“I-I…. Let me think about it”

I smiled and ran to give her a hug, before she had to leave. I loved the way she smelt, but it didn’t last long.

“I gotta go Jen”

“Okay…”

———————————————————————

I wanted to stay in bed and forget what happened yesterday but I needed to face Y/n for the answer

So I got up and got dressed just to change again when we get to the studio.

I walked out my door to Y/n standing there by her car waiting for me

“Hey Jenna,”

“Hey Y/n,”

We both greeted each other then she opened the door for me, such a gentleman Gentlewomen

We were both in the car, and she was driving normally but then another car came out of no where and hit us

I was knocked unconscious and the last thing I heard were sirens

———————————————————————

.

.

.

.

.

I woke up in a hospital with my mom beside me

“Oh my god, honey, are you okay”

“Yeah, I’m fine… where’s Y/n? Is she okay?”

“Oh honey I don’t know but I’m sure she’s fine.”

I got up with my mom protesting me to lay back down

“Jenna you need to sit back down you’re gonna hurt yourself more”

“I’ll be fine mom I just have to find Y/n”

I left the room to go to the front desk to ask where Y/n was

“Hello ma’am do you know where a girl named Y/n L/n is?”

“Sorry give me one moment.. are you family?”

“Uhh… yes I’m her wife”

“Okay room 128”

“Thank you”

“You’re welcome honey”

I ran off to where Y/n’s room was hoping she was okay

When I found her room I ran into it and she was asleep laying down

So I went to her bedside glad she was okay and I fell asleep knowing that she was

———————————————————————

Sorry for taking three years on this I was having terrible writers block plus I’ve been dealing with a lot of school stuff. I hope you like this

Btw sorry for lying in the spicy part. It’s the next one that will anyways have a nice rest of your day raccoon faces..!

[usedtobeguest123]

Some one word Encanto prompt ideas for your perusal :)

candle, jaguar, forgiveness, hugs, rats, arepa, vision, embroidery

I feel ya on feeling like you've forgotten the 'how' and 'what do they even sound like' of writing. I only recently got myself to write something after 4 months of NOTHING so like it's possible for it to come back. You've got this! (Also I love La Traes and I may have grinned like an idiot when I saw your post about the Encanto writing bug coming back)

You are wonderful!!! Oh man, it is always so encouraging to know someone is still reading my poor dusty old thing. I worked a bit on a chapter today, so it's coming along!

I love these prompts. Let's start with....embroidery.

***

“What are you doing?”

Bruno’s eyes shot up, his head lifting slightly from where it had been bent, inches from the green fabric in his hands. He blinked in surprise at the small round face before him. 

Mirabel stood with her hands tucked sweetly behind her back, her head tilted to the side inquisitively. Her little blue dress was creased with wrinkles and her curls splayed wildly out of the ribbon that was trying and failing to hold them back from her face. 

A face, he noted, that was smudged with dirt across one cheek. Huh. All evidence of a child who has escaped containment and was loving every minute of it. 

Bruno exhaled his held breath and relaxed his shoulders. If Mira was a fellow escapee, la familia was likely still in town. The house was still empty…for now. 

“What are you doing?” he volleyed back, voice quiet nonetheless. When she stared at him blankly, he bounced his eyebrows playfully at her. He watched the realization spark in her expression, and she narrowed her eyes at him haughtily, even as a smile spread across her face. 

“No, I asked you first, Tío!” 

He grinned, despite himself, then considered his response.

What was he doing? Well. That was a loaded question. What he was doing, was hiding behind a chair in lesser-used corner of la sala with a stolen sewing kit and torn ruana. What he was doing was trying to mend the tear’s rough and fraying edges before either of his hermanas saw the damage and descended on him with questions that he didn’t want to answer. What he was doing, was catching his metaphorical breath after another terrible, bungled vision, one that sent him skulking into town to try to patch a holed fence before the chickens within escaped and scratched up the newly sprouted seedlings in the nearby field. Big surprise!... it hadn’t worked. Why did he think it would work? All he’d managed to do was get caught by the farmer just as the chickens made a break for it, likely solidifying in el Señor Cabrera’s mind that he was in fact cursing the chickens and his land—aaaand probably bringing down a famine upon the Encanto, just as an added bonus.

Cabrera had shouted ¡Oye! ¿Que estas haciendo?! and begun to stride toward toward the coop, and Bruno had stumbled backwards in alarm, snagging his ruana on the bent wire. Ooooof course.

Sweating, stumbling, feathers flying everywhere, he’d managed to flee without having to face the farmer…but only barely. He’d limped home, kicking mud from his sandals as he went and berating himself under his breath for even thinking he could somehow solve this. Had he not learned his lesson by now? Tonto. Certainly the rumor mill was already packaging up the story for Ma. Caray, why did he even leave his tower? 

He’d managed to sneak into Julieta’ s room and grab Gus’ sewing kit before hunkering down in the shadows of a place where he would least likely be found these days—which was pretty much anywhere except his room. 

There he sat, poking and prodding at the fabric with the vain hope that he might somehow mend the morning’s tonteria along with the ruana. Unlikely.

So…so… what was he doing? 

“I’m…sewing,” he said. 

Mirabel’s eyes widened with interest, and she proceeded to crawl without hesitation into his lap. Bruno quickly sat up straight and pulled the fabric up and out of her way, huffing out a puff of breath to chase her springy curls away from his mouth as she settled in expectantly. Once she had somewhat stilled, he lowered the ruana back down, splayed across their legs. 

Mirabel spread her small hands over the rough fabric, her fingers wandering curiously across the woven landscape until they reached the place where the ends frayed in an ugly cut. Her chubby finger poked at the couple messy stitches he’d managed to accomplish thus far. 

“Can I watch?” she asked, her now voice quieted in imitation of his. A chuckle escaped him at the belated request. 

“Sure, kid,” he whispered warmly. And he began again. 

It was a little harder, with her in his lap. Half the time, he couldn’t even see past her head, as she leaned as close to the fabric as she could manage to watch with crossed eyes as the needle weaved in and out, in and out. After a few passes, he let her take turns holding the needle and pulling the thread through, stretching her short arm as high as it would go to tighten the stitch. He kept having to jostle her with his knees to make her lean back so he wouldn’t accidentally prick either of them with the needle—an act that made her giggle with delight. 

She was loud. Someone would probably hear her and discover his makeshift hiding place—-but, but somehow, suddenly, he really didn’t seem to care. 

“There!” he pronounced, lifting the finished product into the air before them. “Good as new.” 

The stitching careened down the crooked tear like a dropped pile of sticks rolling down a hill, graceless and stumbling. He winced. At least it wasn’t torn anymore.

“Wow!” Mirabel exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “You fixed it, Tío!”

“Yeah,” he smiled. Huh. It felt good, to fix something, as haphazard as it was. Fixing wasn’t really in his wheelhouse, after all. Breaking was more his thing. Messing. Ruining. Eh...the change was nice. 

Or–or maybe it just felt good to have someone else to share in the mending with. Could be.

“Will you teach me?” she asked, breaking him from his thoughts. She twisted in his lap to look up at him, through round rims and sweet brown eyes. 

He opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, he heard Casita creak open the front door from across the patio. Casita’s doors didn’t normally creak. A warning. 

“Uh,” he stammered, suddenly rising to his knees, clumsily lifting Mirabel back to her feet as he went. He kept his hands around her small shoulders, pathetically half-hiding behind her as he looked desperately around for his next hiding spot. “Uh, yeah, kid. Yeah. I’d love to. Not right now, though. S-soon…”

“Soon?” she prompted, spinning in place to follow him as he inched his way toward the shadows of the stairwell. 

“Y-yeah. Soon. Maybe after your birthday, huh? After your…your ceremony.” 

“Okay,” she replied politely, but the disappointment was evident in her voice. He paused, escape cut short, and looked down at her. She was still staring at the fresh stitches in his ruana. 

You fixed it, she’d said. 

You fixed it, he thought.

In hindsight, perhaps it was not the best decision, to give an almost-five-year-old a sharp sewing implement. Maybe she was too young to wield the needle and thread, maybe she’d prick her finger, or poke her eye, or hurt herself in any number of (un)foreseeable ways…all things that occasionally haunted him in the weeks that came, when he no longer had the choice to take it back, or to make good on his promise to teach her to sew, for that matter. 

But…as time passed along, within and without the walls of Casita, his worries about the issue gradually faded, almost without his notice. If she did prick her finger, it didn’t seem to deter her. If her padres took issue with the sudden appearance of messy stitches on her neat little dresses, they didn’t voice them. 

On occasion, in years to come, he’d hear a chair scrape out from the table in the kitchen beyond. Eye to the crack in the wall, he’d see her sitting there, feet propped up on a yellow chair, tongue out the side of her mouth, as she embroidered this or mended that. 

“Good as new,” she sometimes muttered, as she finished.

Spanish translations:

Tonto - dummy

tonteria - idiocy

Caray - sheez! An exclamation

¡Oye! ¿Que estas haciendo?! - Hey! What are you doing?!

[dykecubes]

h.how many ex dsmp streamers got dragged into this why am I hearing about hannahxxrose and badboyhalo nsfw art????

ok. I’m ngl to you I literally only know about this because I had to wake up at 3am to go to work, mind you dream lives in the same state as me and is in the same time zone as me and was already live for TWO AND A HALF HOURS before I woke up so I missed the first two hours of his deranged ramblings and I’m ngl I do not have the patience to sift through and make sense of most of what he’s going on about, but here’s the best summary I can give:

Dream went live at roughly 1am in Minecraft in his detective dream skin for some fucking reason

he decided he was going to watch tubbo’s vod and respond to it but skipped almost all of the context (this was very frustrating to watch on tubbo’s reaction stream)

he name dropped like. Everyone, Tommy, aimsey, Hannah, Quackity, Wilbur, Ludwig, a6d, tubbo, punz, pyrocinical, jack, I’m probably missing like. Half of twitch here but point is he name dropped a lot of people for no damn reason

he also spread unsubstantiated rumors about most of the people he name dropped

he showed the texts messages he sent to Tommy and his mom and they are every bit as weird and manipulative as you think they’d be

he was being weirdly cagey about the trump supporter thing but denies being a trump supporter

HE DIDNT ADDRESS THE FACT THAT HE USED THE R SLUR

he chose to end the stream on a high note by describing a specific situation where someone (not him, I misunderstood this at the time) had sent skephalo porn in a discord call with minors on the dsmp and dream defended this fact

anyone else feel free to correct me if I missed something or got something wrong

[bigbadbatch]

Reputations-Fives x Reader: Chapter 10

So fluffy. Much needed. Please enjoy.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Chapter 10 : King of My Heart

You wish there was time.

 Time to grieve. Time to breathe. But war doesn’t grant luxuries. It only takes.

You and Fives have been stationed on opposite ends of the galaxy for what feels like a lifetime.

He was sent to Umbara, a planet shrouded in darkness both literal and figurative. A cursed place, if you believe the whispers. And after what little you’ve managed to hear from the front, you do.

You stayed behind on Coruscant, anchored to strategy rooms and glowing holo-tables, monitoring supply lines and coordinating smaller ops like someone moving game pieces on a game board. Every report feels like a shallow breath in your lungs. Every comm from the field feels like a heartbeat too slow.

And still, your mind drifts to him. Always. You count the days by the ache in your chest. The hours by the empty space in your bed.

You tried everything to get to him. Filed reassignment papers. Submitted encrypted requests through back channels. Plead your case to command. Even tried getting a moment with General Skywalker himself. Every request was denied. Without reason. Without explanation.

You didn’t understand…until you did. Fives had intervened. He made sure you were kept off Umbara’s deployment list.

Pulled strings, called in favors, maybe even lied. All to keep you away from the front.

Away from him.

You should be furious. But you're not. You're just tired. Tired and hollow in a way you can’t explain. Like some part of you got left behind the moment he shipped out.

You replay the last message he sent so many times, you’ve memorized the static. The frayed edge of his voice, worn thin with exhaustion. The slow blink of his eyes as he forced out one final line: "Stay safe, cyar’ika. I mean it."

You whispered it back even though the transmission had already ended. Even though he couldn’t hear you.

And now, now all you can do is wait.

He hasn’t checked in. Comms have been dark for too long. You tell yourself not to panic, not to assume the worst. But it creeps in anyway. 

You’ve heard rumors about the general leading the Umbara campaign, Pong Krell.

A Jedi, yes. But not the kind you're used to. Cold. Dismissive. Maybe even cruel. You wonder what kind of man it takes to lead soldiers into hell and not flinch. You wonder if Fives is okay. If he’s safe. If he’s still himself. If he will come back to you at all.

Losing Echo had left an emptiness behind, and writhing in that emptiness was a dark undercurrent of fear, one that whispered what ifs and worst-case scenarios whenever the comms were quiet for too long.

And now, the thought of losing Fives?

Kark, it’s too much.

The galaxy could split in half tomorrow and you’d survive it, but not that. Not losing him. 

You’ve come to a decision.

You’re done waiting. Done letting the war decide when you get to feel something.

Fives needs to know.

He needs to hear it from you. What you’ve known for weeks now but couldn’t say. Not yet. Not when he was being deployed, or recovering, or smiling at you like you were too good for the mess he carries inside.

You love him. It’s terrifying. But it’s true. And you're going to tell him.

Reports say he’ll be back in two days. Two whole days to turn your feelings into something real. Something he can hold.

But how?

A meal? Too small. A holo? Too impersonal. Besides, Fives has never been one for passive gestures.

No, if you’re going to say this, if you’re going to finally cross that line, you want to do it your way.

And suddenly, you have an idea.

Two days. Two days to get everything together. You check your savings. Working for the GAR doesn’t pay much, but it’s enough. You’ll make it be enough. 

The plan begins to unfold in your mind, and a smile spreads on your lips. You aren’t just going to tell him. You’re going to show him. You’re going to give him as much as you can, though it can never be close to what he deserves. 

—

The days speed by in a blur, nights short, lists long, and your nerves stretched thinner with every passing hour. You dart across the city tying up loose ends. Planning and preparing and worrying.

You want things to be perfect. Or at least close enough that he’d feel it, that he matters.

Then, a notification.

Just landed. Can I come over?

Your heart launches into your throat.

Already?

You freeze for a half second, your hand still gripping a datapad, before snapping back into motion and shooting a message in return.

Always. Ready to see you.

Butterflies churn in your stomach as you rush to your room.

You stop in front of the full-length mirror, bracing your hands against the frame as you take yourself in. Your hair’s pulled back into a loose braid, strands soft around your face. Comfortable. Familiar. The kind of look he always seemed to like, nothing too polished. Just you. You check on the fit of your clothes.

Dark jeans. A dark top. Casual. 

You steady your breathing and adjust your necklace, pulling the pendant so it lays just right over your shirt.

The "5" charm catches the light.

Your fingers rest on it for a beat too long.

You glance at the time. Not long now.

You light the candle by the door. It’s small and simple, but the scent reminds you of him, warm spice and clean musk. You didn’t even mean to pick that one. It just felt…right.

Then you pace.

Back and forth.

To the kitchen. Back to the mirror. To the door. You sit down, stand up, check your reflection again. The light of day has slipped into afternoon, casting long shadows on the floor of your apartment, the light heating the room.

And then a knock.

Your breath catches. Everything stills.

This is it.

You open the door and there he is.

Fives stands in the threshold like a shadow of himself, armor gone, civvies loose on his frame, dark circles etched under his eyes like bruises left by sleep he never got. There’s a slope to his shoulders, defeated and heavy, as if whatever weight he was carrying on Umbara has followed him back to Coruscant and fastened itself to his spine.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, pulling him in by the arm, guiding him inside like he might break if left out in the cold too long. You shut the door behind him and the air between you stills.

He doesn’t answer. He just looks at you.

For a moment, he’s unmoving, eyes scanning your face as if trying to memorize it, no sharp grin, no teasing remark, no fire behind his gaze. Just something unreadable and raw.

And then he steps forward and folds you into his arms.

His arms wrap around you like he’s trying to hold you and keep himself from falling apart all at once. His hand slides up your back, gripping the fabric of your shirt like he needs the grounding. His chest is warm and solid against yours, his heart beating hard enough for you to feel it through your ribs.

You hold him tighter.

Whatever he went through, he’s not ready to speak it yet. But his body is speaking volumes.

So you let him hold you. And you hold him back. Wordlessly. Fiercely.

“You’re here,” you whisper into his shoulder.

He nods against your temple, just once. You feel the exhale shudder out of him.

You hold him tighter, then pull away to look at him. He seems so tired. You place a gentle hand on his cheek and he leans into it, longing for the touch. 

“Missed you, mesh’la.” He mumbles, and turns to plant a kiss on your palm. You lean up and give him a soft kiss on the lips, mind spiraling. 

This changes things. He clearly needs to recuperate, rest, probably vent about this mission. Your mind drifts to the dark building a few blocks away, your plan lying in wait. 

Not now. 

You pull him to the couch and he sits heavily. You don’t ask questions. Don’t pry. You pick up your comm and place an order for his favorite local place, delivery. 

The soft whir of the cafmaker fills the kitchen as you pull out two matching mugs. You pour the caf, and the steam curls around your fingers, the scent warm and grounding. 

You carry the mugs to the living room, setting them carefully on the table before turning back toward him.

He’s already sunk into the couch, his elbows on his knees, eyes on the floor like he’s somewhere else entirely.

You hand him the mug.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice rough. He takes a long drink, cupping the mug in both hands. “I needed that.”

You offer him a soft smile and settle down beside him.

“Dinner’s on the way,” you say gently. “Shouldn’t be long.”

He lets out a quiet sigh, one that sounds more like release than relief, and shifts down on the couch. Without a word, he rests his head in your lap.

You bring your hand to his hair, fingers weaving gently through the dark strands, nails scratching softly at his scalp. He exhales again, deeper this time, and his shoulders finally relax beneath your touch.

His eyes drift closed. A long silence stretches between you, comfortable but taut with your nervous energy.

Then, he speaks.

“It was awful.”

Your fingers pause only briefly before resuming their careful rhythm.

“Krell…” he starts, then swallows. “He hated us. Wouldn’t even look at us half the time. Just sent us out, wave after wave. Like we were nothing.”

His voice gets tighter with every word, and he nestles closer into your lap, like he’s afraid saying too much will make it all real again.

“He tried to send us on a suicide mission. Had us fighting our own brothers before it was over. We had to take him down. Had to fight him.” His brow furrows. “It wasn’t good.”

You keep your hand in his hair, your touch steady, grounding him the only way you can.

“You’re home now,” you say softly.

He lets out a humorless laugh, a quiet huff against your thigh.

“Home.”

Another beat of silence passes.

Then he says it, voice low and aching.

“It was the first mission without Echo.”

Your throat tightens.

You don’t say anything. There’s nothing you can say that will ease that particular ache. So you just keep your fingers moving in his hair, hoping he can feel everything you mean in that small gesture.

But something gnaws at you. It’s been there since before he arrived, sharp and aching behind your ribs. You didn’t want to bring it up, not now, not when he’s finally here and safe. But it claws its way out anyway.

“You blocked me from going.”

He stiffens. Slowly, he sits up and turns to face you. His expression is unreadable, but you can see the tension rising behind his eyes.

“I had to,” he says, more tired than defensive. “I’m glad I did. That place was a bloodbath, mesh’la.”

You hold his gaze, trying not to let the hurt show too much, but he sees it anyway.

“You can’t do that again,” you say, your voice firm but quiet. “This is my job. I chose this. I trained for this. I want to be beside you. Beside the boys. Let me do that.”

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“I was trying to protect you.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But you have to trust me to choose that risk for myself. Just like I trust you every time you step on a ship and leave.”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees again, and stares down at the floor like it holds all the answers he’s been searching for.

“I’m sorry.”

You reach out and place your hand gently on his back.

“I’m not mad,” you say. “I’m just… scared. I don’t want to spend another night not knowing if I’ll ever see you again. Not because the war took you, but because you wouldn’t let me be there.”

He turns toward you, the anguish in his face replaced with something softer. Something that looks suspiciously close to guilt.

There’s a knock at the door, and you spring to your feet, half-relieved for the interruption. You open it to find the delivery droid standing there with its arms full. You take the bags, your hands barely managing the weight of them.

“Smells like heaven,” Fives says from the couch, already craning his neck to see what you’ve brought.

You carry the bags over and set them on the table in front of him. The second you release them, he dives in like a man starved. His stomach growls audibly, and he groans at the first bite, eyes fluttering closed for a second.

“You’re the best. Seriously,” he says, mouth full, pointing a chopstick at you like you’ve just saved his life.

You sit down beside him, close but not too close. Your heart’s still beating too fast. He’s here. He’s safe. The plan you’ve worked so hard on isn’t totally ruined. Not yet.

You watch him for a moment, the way the color starts returning to his face, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders with every bite. He looks more like himself now, though still not all the way there.

“Want me to throw on a holo?” you ask, already grabbing the remote.

He nods between bites, a grateful look in his eyes as he chews. You flip through the channels and land on something light, some rom-com you half-remember liking. No war. No death. Just jokes and awkward flirting.

The holo’s soft glow lights up the room. You sink into the couch again, pulling your legs up beneath you, arms crossed, pretending to focus on the screen. But you can feel him beside you. His warmth. His breath.

Your nerves make it hard to sit still. You want tonight to be right. You want him to laugh. To feel okay. To know what he means to you.

There’s still a chance, you think. A chance to save the night.

A few moments later, his food is gone, devoured like a soldier who hadn’t eaten in days. He lets out a long, satisfied groan and stretches his arms above his head, muscles flexing under his shirt as he leans back into the couch.

“You not eating?” he asks, glancing at your untouched plate on the table.

You shrug, forcing a smile. “Maybe later.”

You rise and begin to gather the takeout containers, giving your hands something to do.

He shifts like he’s going to get up too, but you wave him off immediately.

“No. Sit. Rest. Watch the holo,” you say, more stern than intended. “Tonight’s about you.”

He freezes, blinking at you. “Me? What’d I do to get a whole night?”

You pause, hands full of empty boxes, and offer him a small smile over your shoulder.

“Consider it your birthday,” you say, teasing. “Because I said so.”

That pulls a real laugh out of him. He sinks deeper into the couch, clearly not about to argue.

You head into the kitchen to toss the trash, the laughter echoing softly behind you. Your heart’s still pounding, but there’s something different in it now. The weight of the his exhaustion still lingers but so does the hope that maybe… maybe this night can still be everything you wanted it to be.

You sink back into the couch, your side brushing against his and without hesitation, Fives lifts his arm and wraps it around your shoulders. It’s a casual gesture, easy and natural, but the way he pulls you close, like he needs you there, sends your heart into a flutter.

You let yourself lean into him. For a moment, the holo washes over the both of you, its soft light and background chatter filling the space. You're not even watching. All you can feel is the steady rise and fall of his chest, his hand resting warmly on your upper arm.

Somewhere in the quiet, you find the courage to speak.

“Fives,” you say softly.

“Hm?” He turns to look at you, tearing his gaze from the screen. There’s a soft smile tugging at his lips, eyes already half-lidded with the comfort of food, warmth, and you.

You hesitate, but press on. “Have you ever had a birthday present?”

His brows lift slightly, caught off guard. Then he grins. “Clones don’t have birthdays, mesh’la. Just batch numbers.”

You shake your head gently. “Well, today’s your birthday, remember?”

He chuckles, nudging you with his shoulder. “Right. Because you said so.”

You nod, holding his gaze. “So… you get a birthday present.”

That pulls him up short. For a moment, he blinks, confused. Then the corner of his mouth quirks up with a familiar glint of mischief.

“Are you my present?” he asks, voice dropping half a register. “’Cause you’re all I could ever want.”

You laugh, swatting at him. “No. Not me. But…” You trail off, heart kicking up again. “Do you want to see your present now?”

He watches you carefully, curiosity now full in his eyes. Then he shrugs, playful. “Alright. Hit me with it.”

You rise and offer your hand to him. “It requires a field trip.”

That gets both brows up. He takes your hand easily and stands, your fingers lacing together without a second thought. 

“Well now I’m intrigued,” he says. “Do I get blindfolded too?”

You laugh again, a little breathless from the butterflies taking over your ribcage. “Maybe later… if you play your cards right.” You shoot him a wink as you tug him toward the door.

You catch the way he stops for a half-second—like that caught him off guard. His ears are tinged with pink, the blush creeping up the sides of his neck.

“Maker,” he mutters under his breath, smiling as he follows you. 

—

Afternoon melts into evening, and the skyline of Coruscant begins to glitter under a soft violet haze. The shadows grow longer at your feet as you guide Fives down the walkway, your fingers still loosely laced in his. He follows without question, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement, casting the occasional glance your way like he’s trying to figure out what you’re up to.

After a few blocks, you stop in front of a low, nondescript building tucked between a row of taller structures. The durasteel door is industrial and heavy, the kind of thing that usually leads to storage units or old mechanical shops.

Fives looks around, confused. “Uh… is someone meeting us here?”

You shake your head, heart pounding. “Nope. Just open the door.”

He lifts a brow at you. “With what?”

You grin. “Your identicard.”

His confusion deepens as he reaches into his belt pocket and pulls it out. “My identcard?” he repeats. “You… got me a building?”

You let out a small laugh under your breath. “Just trust me, Fives. Open the door.”

He gives you one more bewildered look, then shrugs and walks to the panel. As he scans his card, the light shifts from red to green, and with a low groan, the door begins to roll upward.

It’s pitch black inside.

You step through the threshold first, flicking your hand out to find the switch you memorized earlier. “Come on,” you say softly, and Fives follows you in.

You find the panel and press it and the room floods with light.

It’s a compact, private garage, clean and well-stocked. Tool chests line one wall, wires and paint cans arranged in organized chaos along the sides. The air smells faintly of fuel and fresh paint. But at the very center, stealing the show, is a gleaming, bright-blue speeder, sleek, aerodynamic, the newest street model you could afford. White flame decals dance up the sides.

For a few seconds, there’s nothing but silence.

Then Fives blinks, slowly stepping forward. “Wait. What?”

He walks around the speeder in awe, trailing his fingers over the smooth, polished frame. “Is this… is this for me?”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. “It’s all for you. The garage. The speeder. The tools. All of it.”

He turns to you then, and for a moment you can’t read his expression. Shock, joy, disbelief, they’re all tangled together. You half-expect him to leap onto the speeder, or start digging through the toolboxes, but instead…

He runs to you.

Without a word, he wraps his arms around you, lifts you clean off your feet, and spins you around in a circle, laughing with tears glinting in his eyes. The sound of it echoes off the garage walls, rich and real.

“You shouldn’t have, cyare,” he says as he sets you down, voice catching as he wipes at his cheeks with one hand. “This is…it’s all too much.”

You hold onto him tightly, hand gripping his arm like he might disappear if you let go. “It’s not nearly enough.”

His hands find your waist, then your back, then your face, he doesn’t seem to know where to hold you, like he wants to touch every part of you at once. And then he pulls you into a fierce kiss.

It’s not soft, not tentative, it’s overwhelmed, urgent, bursting with everything he’s never said. You feel the press of days of waiting pouring into you through that kiss. You can’t help but smile into it, laughing softly even as you hold him close.

When you finally break apart, breathless, he rests his forehead against yours.

“Want to take it for a test ride?” you whisper.

He grins wide, boyish and flushed. “Mesh’la,” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth again, “I thought you’d never ask.”

He steps towards the speeder, taking it all in once more.

You take it as your cue, darting toward the corner of the garage where you stashed a weathered backpack the night before. You sling it over your shoulders just as Fives swings a leg over the speeder and slides into place like he was born for it. His hands dance over the controls, flicking switches and tuning the balance, fingers confident and eager.

He revs the engine a few times, and turns to flash you a grin so wide and brilliant it nearly stops your heart.

“Hop on!” he yells over the rising growl of the engine.

You don’t hesitate. You jump on behind him, arms wrapping tight around his middle. The moment your chest presses to his back, he’s off, no countdown, no warning. Just motion.

The city blurs.

Light spills across your vision in streaks. Blues, golds, and reds flashing past in long arcs as the speeder roars through the streets. Fives is a man possessed, laughing like a kid, taking tight corners with reckless ease and weaving between vehicles like he’s dancing through a battlefield. You clutch him tighter, your laughter carried off by the wind. Your cheeks hurt from grinning.

He zips through alleys and shortcuts, each turn more daring than the last. You lose all sense of time. All that matters is the wind, the blur, the weight of him beneath your hands.

Then you spot it.

“Take a left here!” you shout over the din, tapping his shoulder.

He nods and banks the speeder sharply, obeying without question. The alley spills out onto a smaller street, narrower than most, climbing steeply toward the skyline. At the far end, the incline grows near vertical, disappearing into shadow and sky.

Fives slows to an idle at the base of the slope. “You sure about this?” he calls, glancing back at you.

You lock eyes. “Do you trust me?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Always.”

Your smile turns wicked. “Then floor it.”

He doesn't even blink. The engine roars to life beneath you as he slams the throttle forward. The speeder lurches and you scream as the world tilts beneath you, the machine eating up pavement as you shoot skyward.

Wind tears at your clothes, your braid whipping behind you as the buildings drop away. Then you’re at the top. You see it, a flat rooftop just beyond a narrow gap, nothing but a gut-churning drop beneath.

“Faster!” you shout.

Fives whoops in response, the sound wild and electric. The speeder hits its limit, and then the road disappears.

You’re flying.

It’s barely a second of air, but it feels infinite. The weightlessness, the stillness of the moment suspended above the city, your arms around him, the stars above, the streets far below. Pure freedom.

Then with a hard jolt and a squeal of friction, you slam down onto the roof, the durasteel thrumming under the impact. Fives controls the slide effortlessly, spinning the speeder in a tight arc before kicking out the stand and killing the engine.

Silence.

Then laughter, both of you, breathless and wild, stumbling off the speeder like you just won a race you didn’t know you were in. Fives turns to you, eyes sparkling, adrenaline bright on his face.

He kisses you, still laughing. And above it all, the city glows, quiet now, watching.

You shrug off the backpack and drop to your knees, pulling at the zipper with fingers that tremble, whether from excitement or nerves, you can’t tell. From within, you unfurl a thick blanket, warm and worn, and spread it over the cold durasteel rooftop. 

Fives watches you with curious amusement, his brow raised, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

You softly pat the blanket beside you.

He doesn’t hesitate. He drops down beside you and watches as you reach back into the pack. Out come two lukewarm cans of Corellian beer, a couple of crinkled disposable cups, and a small sleeve of snacks you’d tucked in last minute. 

Fives chuckles, that low, warm laugh that always makes your heart leap. “Now this is my kind of picnic.”

He pops both cans open with a satisfying hiss and pours the foaming drinks into each cup, handing you one before tapping his to yours in a lazy cheers.

“To the best birthday I’ve ever had,” he says, voice soft with mischief.

You clink cups. “And to many more to come.”

The city stretches out before you in all directions, a galaxy of lights. The air has cooled, but not too much, and the night is just beginning to wrap its arms around you both.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. It’s comfortable. Still. You sip your beer and feel the tension slowly drain from your body. Another piece of your plan falls perfectly into place, and you smile behind the rim of your cup.

Almost as if he hears your thoughts, Fives breaks the silence. “This reminds me of the night I first kissed you.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you take a long drink to hide your smile.

“I hoped it would,” you admit. “That’s how I found this place. I spent hours searching rooftops, trying to figure out where we ended up that night. Never quite found it. But this one… this felt close enough.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at you, his expression soft and open, then gently takes your hand in his.

“Close enough,” he echoes. Then he leans in, and kisses you. A kiss soaked in memory and gratitude.

When he pulls back, there’s something heavier in his eyes.

“Truly, mesh’la,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “This is too much. The garage, the speeder… this whole day. I don’t deserve any of it. I never did. All I ever wanted, all I want, is you.”

Your throat tightens, but you keep your voice steady.

“You do deserve it, Fives. Every bit of it and more.” You squeeze his hand, looking right at him. 

His eyes shine just a little, though he blinks it away. He pulls you into another kiss, a little deeper this time. Then he leans his forehead against yours.

You know it’s time.

This is the moment; now, here, under the open sky with the city spread below you, the faint buzz of traffic, and his warmth beside you. Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. But the words are right there, burning the back of your throat.

You turn to him, just slightly, enough to see the soft edges of his profile in the dim light. He feels your gaze before he hears your voice.

“Fives,” you whisper.

He looks at you instantly, fully, eyes locking on yours like they always do.

You hesitate, breath catching.

“Fives…” 

You swallow, hard.

 “I love you.”

The words leave you in a whisper. You’ve rehearsed them a hundred times in your head, and still they sound so small, so fragile now that they’re real.

Your eyes dart away from his, your courage flickering in the space between his silence and your racing thoughts. What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if it changes everything?

Your hands start to shake.

Fives doesn’t speak. Instead, he reaches out and gently takes your hands in his. You let him, the trembling steadied by the strength of his grip.

He squeezes your hands once. Then twice. Then a third time.

You blink.

And then it clicks. Every moment before this one falls into place like a puzzle snapping into alignment.

He’s been saying it. Every time he’s squeezed your hand like that; once, twice, three times. 

I... love... you.

It was never just a squeeze.

Your breath hitches, and when your eyes meet again, there’s no doubt. No question. Only everything you’ve both been holding back for far too long.

Fives leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath fan against your cheek. His voice is quiet, barely more than a breath, but it carries the weight of everything in his heart.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

Your eyes search his.

It’s not the first time he’s said it. He’d said it twice before. The words had always wrapped around you like a song you didn’t know the lyrics to, but now, now you understand.

You look into his eyes, wide with realization. “You’ve said that to me before.”

He nods, his smile soft but sure.

You draw in a breath, steadying yourself as you try the words for yourself. “Ni kar’tyal… gar…”

“Darasuum,” he finishes gently, squeezing your hand once.

You try again, this time more confidently. “Ni kar’tyal gar darasuum.”

Fives’ face breaks into something beyond a smile. The kind of joy that makes your chest tighten and your eyes sting.

It’s like the sun has risen behind his eyes.

“I will know you forever...that’s how we say it. That’s how we say ‘I love you.’” he whispers, voice thick now.

You’re breathless.

He pulls you into him again, burying his face in your neck as he exhales, shakily, like he’s been holding this breath forever. His arms wrap around you tight, grounding and desperate and full of everything he’s ever wanted to say.

“I love you.” He breathes.

You stay that way for a while, tangled up in warmth and night and love spoken in three languages.

And in that moment, everything else fades away.

Just you and Fives. 

‘Darasuum’…forever.

---------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! It was so fun to do some call backs to the first few chapters and how their love blossomed. This chapter really went through alot of iterations, but I hope you like what it landed on!

Taglist: @ct7567329 @vaderxvibes

[web-novel-polls]

WN Rarepair Tournament

Please consider each rarepair and vote for the ship you like the best / find the most interesting / that compels you the most / etc.

[Please be kind and respectful in the notes. Anti-Propaganda is NOT allowed.]

🔽 Propaganda below 🔽

NieWangXian from Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (MDZS)

Characters: Nie Huaisang x Lan Wangji x Wei Wuxian

No propaganda submitted

NingSang / SangNing from Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (MDZS)

Characters: Nie Huaisang x Wen Ning

Submission: Pair the spares, yeah, but I think they'd be adorable together. Wen Ning needs someone to talk to so he's no longer the sad third wheel to Wangxian (thankfully he has A-Yuan and the juniors, but still) and Huaisang needs someone since he's now completed his revenge and that often leaves people feeling empty inside.

SangXian from Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (MDZS)

Characters: Nie Huaisang x Wei Wuxian

Submission: They were already bestie in their teen years and i really love the headcanon that when everyone had forsakes the yiling laozu, nhs had looked after him, squashed rumours, spread some to keep wwx safe, sent supplies, kept in touch via letters... lets also not forget if he wanted revenge for nmj, he couldve gotten it another way...bringing his long dead friend to life and making sure the resurrection terms were easy to fulfill, making sure the body oferre to him had potential to cultivate...yea i love that ship!

Fic Recs: heresy of the sun by tunnelOFdawn, when the caged bird sings by Laxruar

SangYu from Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (MDZS)

Characters: Nie Huaisang x Mo Xuanyu

No propaganda submitted

WangSang from Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (MDZS)

Characters: Lan Wangji x Nie Huaisang

Submission:

NHS uses LWJ's birth name to refer to him when introducing him.

“Not that old man,” Nie Huaisang replied. “The one you have to be careful of is his favorite disciple, Lan Zhan.”

Excluding him and Wei Wuxian, no one uses his birth name to refer to him. There's always a chance that they knew each other before they got their courtesies, perhaps due to the shared friendship between NMJ and LXC.

NHS brings that friendship up when explaining the Sabre Hall where he focuses most of the conversation in referring directly to LWJ, since it is his word he requires so that his clan secret does not get leaked. It implies a show of trust in him, considering his words that Lan Wangji has always been a man of his word. Feel free to imagine what other promises he is keeping for him!

It also bears true that it was also Lan Wangji who first recognises the scrap of clothing to belong to Nie Huiasang when they were investigating the Man Eating Castle rumors and it was in fact Lan Wangji who brought him to the inn for interrogation.

Nie Huiasang's plan for starting the investigation for his brother's death involved endangering Lan disciples when they would be out helping the Mo Manor to take care of the walking corpse issue. Obviously, this was to bring Lan Wangji into the fray. His reputation of going after all cases without prejudice, and of being ruthless in executing his own ideal of justice are all well known. Nie Huiasang planned for him to solve the case and gain the ear of Lan Xichen and the wider cultivation world, so that they would side against Jin Guangyao and hopefully end him, effectively completing his revenge.

Outside of that, the personalities are more of opposites at first glance. Lan Wangji is diligent in his cultivation training while detesting laziness and has a very straightforward approach to how he approaches problems. Nie Huiasang fools around all the time and doesn't seem to care about the values Lan Wangji holds close, and has a twisted way of solving things.

Yet, when their loved one is harmed, they would go to all lengths to right the wrong as they personally see fit. Lan Wangji fights 33 elders to keep Wei Wuxian safe, and later in the present time he always sticks to him and stands against the world out of love and faith. Nie Huiasang brings down one of the most powerful people in the cultivation world by years of methodical planning, not caring about the wider consequences of his actions.

They are deeply selfish people, who when they care for one thing, the world ceases to exist for them.

Narrow minded focus, and a case between them and a ruthlessness in their actions and an implied past—I think they could have great chemistry if explored further.

XiSang from Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (MDZS)

Characters: Lan Xichen x Nie Huaisang

No propaganda submitted

[radical-revolution]

From Radio Free Asia

"Zhang Xianling, 88, is one of the founding members of the Tiananmen Mothers group that represents the families of victims of the 1989 crackdown on pro-democracy protesters at Tiananmen Square that left hundreds if not thousands dead. The incident is expunged from the public record in China.

Zhang told Radio Free Asia that although she is old, has difficulty getting about and needs a wheelchair, as long as her physical condition allows, she will definitely go to Beijing’s Wan’an Cemetery on June 4 to pay tribute to her son Wang Nan who died in the crackdown - as a group of mothers does each year.

Last year, on the eve of June 4, her phone line was cut and she lost contact with the outside world. This year, starting from April, she said she has been under close surveillance.

“They (the authorities) keep a close eye on me,” Zhang told RFA Mandarin, recounting how on a recent trip outside Beijing she got home around midnight and state security agents called her to say they would post someone outside her door.

“At 6:00 the next morning, they sent someone to guard my door. I don’t know why they are so afraid of me. I am 88 years old and I have to use a wheelchair if I have to walk 200 meters. Am I that scary?” she said.

The annual gathering of the Tiananmen Mothers at the cemetery is a defiant act. Public commemoration of the massacre is banned in China. An annual candlelight vigil that for three decades marked the anniversary in Hong Kong’s Victoria Park has also fallen silent for the past five years amid a crackdown on pro-democracy activists there since Beijing tightened its grip over the once semi-autonomous territory.

While China has never made public the numbers who died or were injured on June 4, the Tiananmen Mothers published a detailed map in 2009 showing where some of the victims died. Estimates of the death toll have ranged from a few hundred to several thousand. June 4 is also a forbidden search term on the internet in China.

Zhang’s son Wang Nan was a 19-year-old student at Beijing’s Yuetan High School when he was shot dead by martial law troops in the wee hours of June 4 at an intersection north of the Great Hall of the People, according to a record of victims curated by the non-government group, Human Rights in China. The bullet entered the left side of his forehead and came out behind his left ear, leaving a bullet hole at the back of the motorcycle helmet he was wearing.

Troops buried Wang Nan’s body with others in a shallow grave west of Tiananmen Gate but heavy rains washed the soil away a few days later. His body was taken to a hospital morgue and was initially mistaken as that of a soldier as he’d recently returned from military training and was wearing an old military uniform. His family was only able to recover his body on June 14, and his cremated remains were interred at Wan’an Cemetery.

Thirty-six years on, and the anniversary of Wang Nan’s passing still looms large in Zhang’s life and remains politically sensitive.

Zhang said that she had protested against the authorities’ frequent deployment of guards at her gate. She said a policeman she had contacted about this had urged her against seeing journalists.

“They asked me to promise not to see reporters and not to say anything, I said, ‘I can’t do that.’ I said that if I spread rumors and you arrest me, I have no objection. I said everything I said is true. You (the Chinese government) don’t tell the truth, and if people come to ask me, won’t I tell it? If people come to me, whether they are reporters or not, I will tell them about June 4,” Zhang told RFA.

Zhang said she feels very sad every year when the anniversary of her son’s death approaches, and that the pain of losing him will not be diluted or erased by the years.

“Between April and June, if the current government didn’t say it was a sensitive period, I would (still) be sad,” she said. “As a mother, it is impossible for me to forget, especially such a sudden death.”

“The pain is deeply engraved in my heart. This is different from the original grief. It is a kind of pain. One is the pain of missing (him), and the other is the pain of not having resolved this matter.”

Zhang said that the members of Tiananmen Mothers are scattered and cannot meet often, but judging from the number of people who sign the open letter every year demanding answers, many of the victims’ families are as committed as she is, which has strengthened her belief and determination.

“I will not stop fighting,” she said. “We want to seek justice for those who died in the June 4 incident. We have this firm belief, so we have persisted up to now. I just want to tell my children that Mom is still persisting, and also to tell the authorities that we are still persisting.”

Zhang added that no matter how powerful the regime is, it cannot completely erase what has happened.

“The (June 4) massacre took place in full view of the public, so it is not something that will be easily forgotten. Although the candles in Victoria Park (Hong Kong) were blown out by the strong wind, the spark of justice is still burning in the hearts of every person with a conscience,” she said.

“As long as there is a spark, and one person commemorating, it is meaningful to our family … No matter how many people there are, it is a kind of comfort and support to us, and it also gives us spiritual strength."

♦️

Edited by Mat Pennington.

"Radio Free Asia and its digital brands BenarNews and 歪脑 | WHYNOT provide independent, uncensored and accurate local news to a weekly audience of nearly 60 million who lack access to a free press or live in media environments vulnerable to authoritarian disinformation."

© 2025 Radio Free Asia

➖➖➖

（天安門母親歷年講話： https://shorturl.at/HL8GN ）

「天安門母親」群體成員張先玲「六四」36周年講話

尊敬的朋友們、女士們、先生們：

感謝大家來到這裏，一起悼念36年前在北京天安門慘案中遇難的人們，共同譴責北京當局慘無人道的暴行。

我是「天安門母親」成員張先玲，我今年87歲了。我的兒子王楠就是在離天安門幾十米遠的南長街南口遇難。當時醫院的救護車已經停在南長街的口上，但戒嚴部隊不准許醫生到長安街上救人，以至王楠和另兩位平民因流血過多而死亡。即使在戰爭中也不能不讓搶救敵方的傷員，因為，那是最起碼的人性。可是，那次的天安門屠殺，就是如此的沒有人性！

1989年，中國大陸剛剛開放，而貪污腐敗就隨之滋生，民間怨聲載道。為了國家能正常的發展，為了社會的公平、正義，學生們和一些民眾站出來，為民請命，舉行和平示威，要求政府踐行民主、法治，反對貪污、反官倒（官倒就是利用職權謀取經濟利益的腐敗行為），要求政府建全民主法制。但執政者不但沒有接受學生和民��的要求，反而利用國家權力，調動幾十萬野戰軍，配備槍枝、彈藥和裝甲車，血腥地鎮壓了手無寸鐵的學生和平民，造成至少上千人死亡。這是一次政府指使下的對公民的刑事犯罪。

36年過去了，政府對「六四」天安門慘案，仍然諱莫如深。對內控制輿論，封鎖消息，掩蓋真相。對外就用一句「這件事國家和黨早就有了定論。」的荒謬言詞來搪塞記者的提問。要知道天安門屠殺是在全世界眾目睽睽之下進行的，現在網上有大量的資料和現場照片，還有學者用翔實的材料寫下了數百頁的實錄。所以謊言是掩蓋不了歷史真相。

當年的劊子手已相繼死去，但作為執政黨的連續性，現在的政府有責任對「六四」慘案，作出回應和處理。你們說早就有了定論。請問你們是在甚麼時間？甚麼場合？有哪些人參加的甚麼會議上，根據甚麼證據做出的結論？政府必須對死難者家屬和傷殘者有個明確的交代！

「天安門母親」們本著和平、理性的原則，每年都向執政當局提出我們的訴求：

第一：公布「六四」屠殺真相，並公布死難者名單。

第二：賠償、道歉。

第三：追究責任者的刑事責任。

我們曾多次提出以與當局對話的方式逐步解決「六四」的問題。可是36年過去了，當局從未做出回應，反而用盡一切手段，對「天安門母親」成員進行監視、監聽。我們不會被這些卑劣的手段嚇倒。我們抗爭了幾十年，砥礪前行，就是要為親人們討還公道，要為「六四」死難者討還公道。維園的燭光雖然被狂風吹滅，但正義的火花會在每個有良知的人們心中燃燒。我們會永遠踐行我們的諾言：說出真相、拒絕遺忘、尋求正義、呼喚良知！

2025年6月4日

（「天安門母體」群體網頁：http://www.tiananmenmother.org）

Speech by Zhang Xianling, Member of the "Tiananmen Mothers" Group, on the 36th Anniversary of June Fourth

"Dear friends, ladies and gentlemen:

Thank you all for coming here to mourn those who lost their lives in the Beijing Tiananmen Massacre 36 years ago, and to jointly condemn the inhumane atrocities committed by the Beijing authorities.

I am Zhang Xianling, a member of the "Tiananmen Mothers". I am 87 years old this year. My son, Wang Nan, was killed at the south entrance of Nanchang Street, just a few dozen meters from Tiananmen. At that time, an ambulance was already parked at the entrance of Nanchang Street, but the martial law troops did not allow doctors to go onto Chang’an Avenue to rescue people, which led to the deaths of Wang Nan and two other civilians due to excessive blood loss. Even in times of war, you cannot refuse to rescue wounded enemies, because that is the most basic humanity. But during the Tiananmen massacre, there was no such humanity!

In 1989, Mainland China had just opened, and corruption quickly followed, leading to widespread public grievances. For the normal development of the country, for social fairness and justice, students and some citizens stood up and spoke out for the people, holding peaceful demonstrations, demand that the government to improve democracy and the rule of law, opposing corruption and official profiteering (official profiteering refers to corrupt acts of using official power for economic gain), and calling for the establishment of a democratic legal system. However, the authorities not only refused the demands of the students and citizens but also used state power to mobilize hundreds of thousands of field troops, equipped with guns, ammunition, and armored vehicles, to brutally suppress unarmed students and civilians, causing at least a thousand deaths. This was a government-orchestrated criminal act against its own citizens.

Thirty-six years have passed, and the government still shrouds the June Fourth Tiananmen Massacre in secrecy. Domestically, they control public opinion, block information, and cover up the truth. Internationally, they brush off journalists’ questions with the absurd statement: “The state and party reached a conclusion on this matter long ago.” But the Tiananmen Massacre took place before the eyes of the whole world. Now, there is a wealth of information and on-the-scene photos online, and scholars have written hundreds of pages of detailed records based on solid evidence. Therefore, lies cannot cover up the truth of history.

The executioners of that year have passed away one after another, but as the continuation of the ruling party, the current government has a responsibility to respond to and address the Tiananmen Massacre. You say a conclusion was reached long ago. May I ask: When? Where? At what meeting? Attended by whom? and based on what evidence was this conclusion made? The government must give a clear explanation to the families of the victims and the wounded!

The "Tiananmen Mothers" adhering to the principles of peace and rationality, have put forward our demands to the authorities every year:

1. Disclose the truth of the June Fourth Massacre and publish the list of those who died.

2. Compensation and an apology.

3. Pursue criminal responsibility for those accountable.

We have repeatedly proposed to resolve the issue of June Fourth step by step through dialogue with the authorities. But 36 years have passed, and the authorities have never responded. Instead, they have used every means possible to monitor and surveil members of the "Tiananmen Mothers". We will not be intimidated by these despicable tactics. We have struggled for decades, persevering, to seek justice for our loved ones, to seek justice for the victims of June Fourth. Although the candlelight in Victoria Park has been blown out by a fierce wind, the spark of justice will burn in the hearts of all people of conscience. We will always keep our promise: to speak the truth, refuse to forget, seek justice, and call for conscience!"

June 4, 2025

("Tiananmen Mothers" group website: http://www.tiananmenmother.org)

#六四 #天安門母親

#6436 #張先玲

#真相 #賠償 #問責

#説出真相 #拒絕遺忘 #尋求正義 #呼喚良知