#writing and managing are different things

[fractoluminescence]

I know I keep bringing it up, but the Neverending Story movies don't give the book justice.

(Little reminder, and also caredul bc lots of spoilers ahead, but for those who don't know: it's about a kid who reads this book and really connects with the main character, who is on a quest to save someone called "The Childlike Empress", on whose shoulders the world he is in rests, and who is very sick.)

Because the first movie is mostly the same, and at the end Bastian's fantasies of flying on a dragon in the real materialize.

But that's not how the book ends at all. In fact, that's not the end of the book in the first place.

At this point in the book, the world of the story is falling apart. To save it, Bastian has to give the Childlike Empress a new name. But he doesn't buy it. So she goes to some guy who is writing down everything in the book - the one with Bastian in it! - and orders him to start from the beginning. And he's like "um but if I do that this story will loop". And she's like "that's the point".

And so Bastian ends up having to give the Childlike Empress - the very embodiment of the story! - a new name (he doesn't call her by his mom's name btw. He calls her "Moon Child" I think). Things grow dark. Like in the movie, she tells him that it's up to him to rebuild the world they are now in.

Now, we've already had one huge difference here: Bastian being a hostage, and being practically forced to rename the story and make it his own lest it loop in his head forever. But the real changes start here.

Because the thing is, the second movie keep -some- elements of the book, but from what I remember of it, it's otherwise vastly different. The witch was an uninspired nobody of an OC that Bastian made as an antagonist to himself and who he crushes fairly fast, and while there is an element of losing your memories, it doesn't come into play until much later, and a lot more happens than just that. Where the second movie seems to merely warn against maladaptive daydreaming and/or fantasies of grandeur, the book, in its second half, is about creation.

Bastian creates locations, characters, pulls some he already knows into the mix. But eventually, things start not adding up - characters come after him for creating them but not giving them a purpose, and he gets tired of playing around - he starts wishing for kinship and community, then for comfort, twisting the environment and story to give him these things.

Then he goes out in search of his way back. Eventually, he makes it to the exit. He has to leave everything he acquired in the land of Fantastica behind, and has to finish all the stories he started there, unless someone promises to do it for him, which he entrusts to Atreyu.

When he returns, the Neverending Story (the book) is gone. The librarian doesn't mind though. And he says some interesting things:

'Yes, I know the Childlike Empress, [...] though not by that name. I called her something different. But that doesn't matter.'

And:

He passed his eye over the many books that covered the walls of his shop(...). 'There are many doors to Fantastica, my boy. There are other such magic books. A lot of people read them without noticing. (...) And besides, it's not just books. There are other ways of getting to Fantastica and back.'

And, more importantly yet, after Bastian mentions how you can't meet the Empress (reminder that she enbodies the story!) more than once:

'You can't visit Moon Child a second time, that's true. But if you can give her a new name, you'll see her again. And however often you manage to do that, it will be the first and only time.'

And then it's implied Bastian will take many more trips to Fantastica.

My point is: The Neverending Story is a book about a kid who takes shelter in a book for the first time, and when he gets to the end of it, the story grapples him, refuses to let him move on. So he's forced to be pulled into it, and to write more of it. And then, after his sense of selve goes to hell and back and he makes it out, he's told he can do that however many more times, that way the journey will never end. That way, he can always go there and back, and bring back the Water of Life with him (which I didn't go into but it's a very wholesome plotpoint).

It's a tale of how readers turn into writers, with some fanfiction spirit sprinkled in, and I just think that makes it so, so beautiful.

May we cheat our way back into our favorite worlds by renaming the Childlike Empress forever and ever :)

the insane experience of missing a fictional character . like you can always go back and reread the book , replay the game , rewatch the show or movie , you can always go back & see them , but you can never experience them & their story for the first time again . its absurd to miss them because they'll always be there , but you'll miss when there were still new things for them to say .

for a small time they were real & growing and changing and you hung onto every new word, but now all they can do is repeat the same story forever&ever & they're not real anymore because you know everything they're going to do. & you miss them. its fucked man...

[shen-jius-zoloft-prescription]

Modern AU equivalent of "bodysharing" scumcum where Shen Jiu is the Cang Qiong VP, director of the Qing Jing division, who fought tooth and nail to work his way up in the world despite a destitute childhood and criminal youth, and Shen Yuan is his useless rich boyfriend who spends all day reading light novels and getting into fights on the internet. (Hey, that's how they met! How romantic!)

One day, Shen Jiu has another qi deviation severe PTSD episode; what's different this time around is that, for once, Shen Yuan manages to convince him to take mental health time off work. He says he'll handle it, whatever that means! And Shen Jiu, for once, isn't suspicious, hypervigilant, distrustful enough to question it. He's having a really bad time, okay?!

But Shen Yuan didn't really think it through. What's he supposed to do, tell Yue Qi that Shen Jiu is out for a few days? Shen Jiu will kill him, and then Yue Qi will storm the preposterously expensive and exclusive mental health retreat Shen Yuan put Shen Jiu up in perfectly normal and reasonable outpatient facility, and then Shen Jiu will kill him again.

So, okay, he logs into Shen Jiu's work laptop (his passwords are all the same and so obvious, puh-lease) and he maybe starts just... pretending to be Shen Jiu. Just while he's away! Just to keep people from getting suspicious that Shen Jiu is gone!

And if he notices that Shen Jiu has been maybe... not handling some of his subordinates very well, then... Listen! There is someone who's on a really aggressive and punitive PIP that doesn't look like deserves it. (Let's remove that performance plan, and give him a merit bonus to make up for it... and let's put him on a better assignment, too, we're just making things right! Poor kid!) It also looks like a bunch of stuff in this division is being handled really poorly in general, actually. Figures, Jiu-ge is a brat at the best of times and really fucking mean and jealous at the worst. Maybe he'll have fewer qi deviations mental health crises if comes back this time to an environment that's not cultivating as much bitterness and negativity as possible, ah??

Meanwhile, at the most infuriatingly new-age uwu bullshit daycare for the richest of sad people, Shen Jiu sneaks away to where the cameras and automated surveillance systems (Hello, esteemed guest! This System must insist that you do not try sneaking out the marked emergency exit doors...!) to pull out the work phone he managed to smuggle in, and...

What the absolute fuck?! There is only on person who both knows his password (ugh) and knows his general writing style (ugh!!) who would be stealing his identity to meddle in his work!

The next several days are spent with Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu logging each other out in turns, and desperately trying to undo the damage the other has caused in their brief moments of control.

Yes, this does continue even after Shen Jiu returns from his mental health retreat. If nothing else, it keeps the Qing Jing division on its toes, and massively confuses one intern Luo Binghe. (The signals. are mixed.)

(Only Shang Qinghua knows what's up, but he's not saying jack shit because he is 100% committing identity fraud himself. “Shang Qinghua” is the name of a dead man with a good credit score, no debts, and no ties to the criminal underworld or warrants for his arrest, so, you know, “it's free real estate” or whatever. "He's dead! He's not using it anymore! It's fine!")

[layaispunk]

i don’t know if you can write something without smut but i want reader’s parents(or dad idc) organizing this barbecue party in their house and joel trying to hard to play it cool and to stay away from reader who wears skimpy jean shorts and top only to tease him, and they end up sneaking in the kitchen to make out and almost get caught by reader’s dad or smth, you can change it however you see right, i just want to feel a lot tension and risk, thnks<33

you better behave, darling

part two here

pairing: joel miller x female!reader

warnings: sexual tension, mentions of alcohol and cigarettes, age gap unspecified, dilf!joel

part two (tomorrow) | masterlist

you didn’t know exactly when your crush on joel miller had gone from “dad’s hot friend” to “i think about you when i’m bored, lonely, or drunk”

maybe it was last winter, when he came over to help your dad fix the leaking pipes and left the garage smelling like his cologne. or maybe it was that time he picked you up from a party because your parents were out of town. 

it didn’t matter anymore.

because now it was summer, you just graduated, joel was very much still single, and the tension in your chest every time he was near had officially passed the point of manageable.

it didn’t help that he was practically family. joel had been friends with your parents for over a decade. came to holidays, fixed things when they broke, gave your dad advice about tires and taxes, even helped put up the christmas lights last year. he was dependable, and masculine, and protective, and you …. you had a massive crush on him. and he’d never looked at you like that. which was…. fine. safe. understandable. and completely infuriating. 

you were stirring a spoon around in your coffee, half-listening to your parents chat at the table behind you.

“the weather’s holding up,” your dad said between bites of toast. “could be a good weekend for that barbecue.”

your mom nodded. “we haven’t done one in a while. invite the usual crew? tommy, joel…”

at that, your stomach flipped. you didn’t flinch, or turn around, you just kept stirring your coffee a little longer than necessary, like the silence might cool it down faster.

joel.

you hadn’t seen him in a couple weeks — not since he stopped by to drop off a toolbox your dad had left in his truck. he stayed for a beer, made polite conversation, asked how you’d been. you said fine. normal. 

you tried not to think about him too much. emphasis on tried.

“i’ll call joel later, tell him to bring that smoked sausage he always does,” your dad said. “man knows his way around a grill.”

you turned your back so they couldn’t see the smile on your face. 

ten minutes later, you were upstairs in your room. you shut the bedroom door with your hip and let out a slow breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

you opened your closet and started throwing every single summer dress you owned onto your bed. 

you stared at a faded red sundress with thin straps and a hem that rested above your thighs.

maybe you were overthinking it. maybe it was all in your head. joel probably still saw you as just a family friend, someone he watched grow up. there were a thousand reasons not to try anything . the age gap, the connection to your parents, the risk of looking foolish.

but even with all of that, you couldn’t shake the feeling.

it was stupid. delusional, even. but there was something about this summer. post-grad, the loneliness, the ache to feel something different … that made you want to stop tiptoeing around what you wanted.

what was the worst that could happen?

he says no? he laughs it off? you survive. you move on. life keeps going.

but what if he didn’t?

you flopped back on the bed dramatically, letting the red dress fan out beside you. your heart fluttering. you were tired of wondering. of watching him from across the street like he was just some living daydream. you were going to do something about it.

that night, you couldn’t sleep.

you tried, tossing your arm over your eyes, shifting under the thin sheet, but your body was still humming with something you couldn’t quiet understand.

maybe you could watch a rom-com, fall asleep to it. you got out of bed and padded downstairs barefoot, planning to dig through the kitchen for a snack while watching the movie. 

halfway down the stairs, you heard it. his voice.

oh god.

you froze on the last step, blinking like you’d imagined it.

“-nah, she’s got good taste, i’ll give her that,” joel was saying, voice smooth and warm from laughter.

you stepped into the living room, eyes flicking toward the kitchen where he stood with your dad, each with a bottle of beer in hand. joel turned when he saw you, his smile lazy, casual.

“evenin’,” he said.

“hey,” you replied, swallowing the sudden flutter in your throat. 

“joel brought over that old drill i needed,” your dad said, wiping his hands on a rag. “we got to talkin’, hope we didn’t wake you.”

“no, i was just… getting a snack,” you said, causally.

your dad looked at his watch and sighed. “gotta take a shower before bed. long day tomorrow. mind lettin’ him out when you’re done? make sure the old man makes it to his porch without fallin’ on his ass.”

you snorted. “sure.”

your dad clapped joel on the shoulder and disappeared upstairs.

and just like that, it was just you and joel.

the kitchen felt smaller. he leaned against the counter, nursing the rest of his beer, his eyes meeting yours with a little lift of his chin.

“remind me, when’s your graduation ceremony?” he asked after a beat.

you opened the fridge and pretended to look for something, keeping your voice even. “10th october. why?”

he took another sip before answering. “so i can get sarah to book a flight. she’s been wantin’ an excuse to come home for a bit.”

your head turned slightly, surprise flashing across your face. “that’s sweet.”

he shrugged, eyes warm. “plus i need time to rent a real nice suit. y’know, show up proper. make you proud.”

you turned your head to look at him fully now, your hand still on the fridge door.

“seriously?” you laughed.

he nodded, “wouldn’t miss it.”

your lips twitched into a soft smile. you were really looking at him now, the way the light hit the grays in his hair. at the soft creases around his mouth. at the strong, careful way he watched you.

joel tilted his head, voice quiet. “why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

you shrugged, mouth twitching. “no reason.” a pause. then, just barely above a whisper: “you smell good.”

something shifted in his face. his fingers tensed slightly around the neck of the bottle.

a beat passed. then he spoke again, casual but with something simmering underneath.

“you still seein’ that brandon boy?”

you blinked. “brandon?” you laughed softly. “god, no. he was… stupid. and immature.”

joel made a small noise of approval, almost a chuckle.

“i prefer older guys anyway,” you added, letting the words linger in the air.

his eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t say anything right away. just met your eyes with something unreadable and intense.

you cleared your throat, breaking the silence before it could swallow you whole. “you coming to the barbecue tomorrow night?”

“yeah, course,” he said slowly, like he’d just pieced something together. “you?”

“mhm.” you nodded.  “i’ll just have to look extra pretty, for you, then.”

joel’s brow twitched, and you swore you saw the corner of his mouth lift. “that right?”

you shrugged, playing it cool. “well, if you’re gonna go through all the trouble of renting a suit, i figure i should match the effort.”

“that dress you wore to mrs. adler’s party would probably do it,” he said, voice quiet.

you blinked. “you remember what i wore?”

a blush crept up on his neck. “i mean … i dont know. i guess.”

you smiled, “hm.”

he ran a hand over the back of his neck, “kinda hard to forget. you looked real pretty.”

you grabbed some snacks from the cabinet, trying to fight your grin. “you think you can keep your cool tomorrow?” 

joel exhaled through his nose, “you really tryin’ to start somethin’ right now?”

“maybe” you just tilted your head, all innoncent. 

joel leaned just a little closer, voice low and thick. “you better behave tomorrow, darlin’.”

the evening heat was relentless, sun hanging low over the backyard, making the sky look pink and orange, shimmering with heat. you could feel it sticking to your skin beneath the thin fabric of your dress. restless, you kept stealing glances toward joel. he was the center of attention as usual, leaning against the grill, a beer in one hand, chatting with his blonde neighbors who definitely knew how to flirt. it was clear why: joel was the hottest guy in austin. no competition. 

you twisted the hem of your dress nervously and slipped inside the kitchen, your steps light on the floor. your eyes landed on the bottle of tequila you’d been using to mix drinks for the guests. without thinking, you grabbed it and took a quick, rebellious gulp.

“hey, what the hell are you doing, kiddo?” your dad’s voice cut through the quiet.

caught off guard, you froze, then blurted out, “it’s summer, dad. leave me alone.”

he just shook his head with a smirk, joking about losing a brain cell, and walked away, leaving you to slip back out into the backyard.

as you rounded the corner, you bumped into joel. his beer nearly slipped from his hand, but he caught it without missing a beat.

“hey,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he looked you up and down.

you looked around, making sure nobody could hear you, “you didn’t say a word about the dress, joel. i thought it was for you.”

he chuckled softly, shaking his head. “you’re bein’ stupid. you know your old man would kill me. chop my head off and put it on a plate, probably.”

joel’s eyes softened, and his voice lowered just for you. “you’re real pretty tonight, darlin’, but we can’t.”

you bit your lip, stepping a little closer. “so what if we can’t? makes it more fun.”

he gave you a half-smile, and headed toward the fence, pulling out a cigarette. lighting it, he took a slow drag and exhaled the smoke into the summer air.

you followed him, leaning against the fence beside him. “mind if i have a puff?” you asked casually.

joel didn’t even hesitate, handing you the cigarette with a small grin. after you took a slow drag, you looked down at your dress and then back at him. “hey, can you help me with this?” you said, pointing to the strap sliding off your shoulder.

he glanced at you, smirking. “i know what you’re doing, dirty girl.”

you looked up at him, innocently. “just want you to help me with my dress, joel.” you stepped closer, right in front of him, your breath catching when his hands reached for the straps of your dress. his fingers brushed your shoulders, sending a jolt straight through you.

for a moment, the world shrank down to the two of you. the distant laughter, the grill, the heat of the summer evening, all fading into nothing. you could feel the heat pooling low, your panties already soaked from the tequila and nerves, and the touch of joel’s hands. 

he tightened the strap with slow care, his fingers lingering just a second too long. you swallowed hard, the backyard spinning just a little.

then, you did something stupid. you glanced over your shoulder, making sure no one was close enough to see what you were about to do. with a quick, reckless motion, you slid your light pink thongs down your thighs and, without a word,  handed them to joel.

his eyes widened just the slightest when he caught the delicate fabric.

you turned on your heel and walked away, heart hammering, cheeks burning. 

you didn’t see him again for about an hour. he was avoiding you.

the backyard was buzzing with bodies, laughter, and music. you found yourself stuck in the kitchen, nodding politely while your mom’s friend kelly launched into a drawn-out conversation about your post-grad plans. you tried to focus, offering half-hearted mhms and smiles, but your brain was still caught on what you’d done. the tequila was wearing off just enough for embarrassment to creep in.

god. you’d really handed joel miller your panties like it was nothing.  you shifted your weight, pretending to sip your beer, trying to inch toward the doorway when you caught something out of the corner of your eye.

joel. standing by the hallway.

he wasn’t looking at you directly, but his body was turned just enough that you knew he was waiting. his eyes flicked to the bathroom door beside him, then back to you. a silent message.

you didn’t hesitate.

“sorry-beer’s hitting me,” you said quickly to kelly, leaving the beer on the counter and flashing a small apologetic smile as you backed away. “need to pee before i explode.”

she laughed and waved you off.

you slipped down the hall, heart pounding so loud it felt like your whole body moved with each beat. joel stood there, still as anything, but the look in his eyes was different now. 

when you reached the door, he grabbed your wrist, pulled you inside the bathroom, and shut the door behind you with a click, and locked it. 

you were pressed against the door, chests touching, the very little space between you hot and electric. neither of you moved for a second. just breathing. you could hear the party still humming faintly outside the door, but it felt miles away.

joel leaned in, his mouth close to your ear, voice low and ragged. “you’re outta your goddamn mind.”

you shivered.

“the hell has gotten into you tonight, huh?”

your courage from earlier fizzled out, the reality of it all creeping in now that he was here, so close, and looking at you like that.

“i’m sorry,” you said, breath hitching. “i didn’t mean to pressure you. i just…”

his mouth was on yours before you could finish.

it was rough and desperate, his hand cradling the back of your head as his lips crushed into yours. you gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongues sliding, hands wandering. you felt him everywhere. his body, solid and warm, pressing you harder against the door. his grip firm and grounding.

you whimpered against his mouth, fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer like you couldn’t get enough. he tasted like beer and smoke, and it made your knees weak.

joel finally pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. “jesus,” he muttered. “you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.” his lips found yours again, hungry and desperate. he kissed you like he needed to memorize the way you tasted. 

you moaned into his mouth, your body practically vibrating with need. his hands moved slowly, trailing down your sides, fingers grazing your hips. you could feel the hesitation there, the weight of everything unsaid between you, but it didn’t stop him.

his touch slipped beneath the hem of your dress, calloused palms dragging up the bare skin of your thighs. your breath hitched, and you couldn’t help it, you let out a soft moan.

“joel …”

he groaned low in his throat. “fuck.”

then.. two knocks.

you both froze.

your heart jumped into your throat. joel’s hand clapped gently but firmly over your mouth before you could react. his palm covered half your face—god, his hands were huge. 

yep. dad was right. you officially lost a brain cell.

“hey, someone in there?” your dad’s voice rang out from behind the door.

joel’s eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights. he took a deep breath and answered with forced nonchalance.

“yeah, buddy. gimme a second. beer’s hittin’ me hard. think i just lost my goddamn bowels.”

PART 2 !

thankyou for reading ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

p.s the whole underwear situation was inspired by the fic we all read and love, fourth of july by jrrmint

[munsonify]

Hello! Since u write for Joaquin could we get a fic based on the song Moonlight bc Kali Uchis please 🥹 thank you in advance 💘

a/n. hi! absolutely, thanks for sending this in! ❤️ i love joaquin and i love kali uchis this is my shit. i decided to do this based off of lyrics and the vibes i get from the song. also i perhaps went a little to heavy on the setup of the fic but shhh. i hope you can see the vision i had for this! (click link on title to see song on spotify)

moonlight - joaquin torres x fem!reader

summary. you’re always joaquin’s plus one at events, and tonight was no different. this time around, however, after joaquin attended to what he needed to, you two were desperate to get away from the crowd and enjoy each others company

content warnings. so much fluff, sexual tension, established relationships, r in a dress+heels, secluded make out sess, joaquin being insatiable and absolutely adorable, very little alcohol consumption, pet names (pretty girl, baby, baby girl), thunderbolts spoilers

word count. 3362

———

it was important that joaquin and sam made public appearances together to keep up a good image. with everything that’d happened within the past few years - the snap reversal, sam taking over the responsibility of being captain america, several mishaps that had to do with superhero’s, ones that usually didnt give them the best rep - they needed to make sure the public knew they were on their side. that they are here to help.

and, while joaquin didnt mind attending these events, it was always nice having you around. with you around, the tension in his jaw and his shoulders eased up. he’s personable, charming, kind, and you know that of him very well. that didn’t stop him from becoming a little stressed during these sort of relations and the formality of it all. when you’re by his side, delicate hand placed on his bicep, a sweet, reassuring smile shining over at him, he remembers that it’s all okay. he remembers to loosen up a little, to breathe, that you always have his back.

more importantly, you help joaquin remember why he began doing this in the first place. people need someone to step in and protect, someone who’s dedicated and passionate. he knows he can be that person, it’s who he strives to be every day. and, despite making one too many lighthearted jokes to the wrong person, or nearly knocking things over from walking aimlessly, he still manages to charm people over. you admire every last bit of that about the man.

tonight there was a fundraising event sam thought was best for them to attend. fundraisers were always a little easier for joaquin, a little less tense. while government hearings had a lot more on the line, a little more difficult to navigate, fundraisers first and foremost required his compassion and empathy. easy. regardless, he was able to bring a plus one, a spot he filled without hesitation.

that’s how you, joaquin, and sam ended up in the back of a limo, riding steady through new york city to the venue.

“you think bucks gonna be here?” joaquin asked, leaned back and casual in his seat. you couldn’t help but admire how good he looked in his suit with his hair combed back out of his eyes, strands that curled slightly at the ends through the gel.

“now that he’s working with valentina, there’s no way in hell he’s not,” sam scoffed, head shaking slightly. he was right. while bucky might not be the best at public relations, valentina was, both out of necessity and desperation. she knew how to work and redirect a crowd. besides, he was there during the incident - crumbling buildings, cars gone airborne, people turned to darkened shadows-, it was only right he made an appearance. it wouldn’t be a surprised if valentina dragged the rest of the newfound “team” along with them.

joaquin couldn’t help but chuckle, his mind clearly fumbling through a long line of remarks to spew out. “poor guy can’t even articulate senate cases properly, there’s no chance he’s making it through trying to justify what happened,” he joked, earning another scoff from the man. the small smirk the played on yours and sam’s face was enough to egg him on. joaquin straightened up his shoulders as he began to impersonate bucky the vest he could, voice deepening slightly, trying his best to be brooding.

“the incident was… very bad, very unfortunate, ya know. it was a very bad thing that happened. i just so happened to be there when the very unfortunate thing occurred.”

a small giggle slipped from your lips, smiling wide at joaquin as he spoke. sam was pushing back a small smile that tried to force its way onto his face. even if he didn’t want to admit it, joaquin was amusing. only sometimes. the three of you didn’t get much else in before you’d finally arrived at the venue, pulling up as close to the entrance as the driver could.

sam was the first out of the vehicle, stepping out and immediately being hit with camera flashes, a few of the photographers shouting to get his attention. joaquin was next, though he stalled only slightly so you could give him a gentle, reassuring kiss on the lips. he ignored the camera flashes and the voices as he stepped out, immediately turning to offer you a hand, one you accepted gratefully. he helped you out of the limo, letting go only when you found your footing, the heels you wore a little higher than you were used to.

joaquin was quick to offer his arm up to you in replacement of his hand. your hand slipped right below his bicep near the crook of his elbow, throwing a smile his way as he begins guiding you up towards the entrance. he gave the photographers a few polite waves as you two followed sam inside. you realized during the flashes of the cameras that you’d accidentally left traces of lipgloss on his lips.

“baby,” you cooed quietly as you stepped into the building, giving his arm a small squeeze to get his attention. joaquin hummed a pleasant ‘yeah’, head turning towards you. “you’ve got a little lipgloss on you.”

all he did was give you a small smile and a shrug of his shoulders before he leaned in to whisper. “i think i’ll live.”

joaquin continued to walk you proudly through the venue, eyes wandering around to figure out where he should be. sam stopped him to give him some direction, a few pointers to keep him afloat for the night. be respectful, show that you care, be optimistic about rebuilding what was lost. he could do that.

many business were destroyed during the attack, apartments in shambles and cars wedged into poles. with you by his side, hovering in the vicinity as he spoke, or simply seeing you in the corner of his eye entertaining a government official in his boring, long drawn out story, he was able to keep pushing. a journalist had a few pressing questions for joaquin to answer, ones he was more than happy to answer. in regards to what the world could expect from him and sam in efforts to make sure that was a contained incident, he gave the best answer he could muster on the spot.

while they may not have a proper plan, they had spoken on a few occasions about it. this was his time to keep it short and simple, dodge the question a little, maybe even throw in a small joke.

“as we move forward with the relief team, our biggest priority is making sure everyone gets back on their feet. we’re closely monitoring any activity that occurs in the area, and so far we’ve been in the clear. have you seen yet? the dust finally settled.”

that finalized the impromptu interview, joaquin bidding her a goodbye with a firm handshake, before the journalist walked off. he’d been speaking with people for what felt like nonstop, the two and a half hours starting to bear down on him. right when the exhaustion threatened to sink in, he caught eye of you. the prettiest, most respectful smile graced your face, lips still shiny with lipgloss. you held a champagne glass loosely in both hands as you nodded along with the woman in front of you.

joaquin slowly found his way towards you, tuning in immediately to the conversation you were having. he was sure the conversation was nice, he realized quickly she was speaking of a book she published. she only stopped for a few seconds to shake his hand and introduce herself, eyes lighting up when she recognized who he was. she was quick to stumble back into the conversation, detailing a little more on her research.

for once, joaquin didn’t feel like he needed to take the lead in the conversation, or have much of importance to say. he let you finish out what you had started, watching as you nod along and add quips and responses at the perfect moments. he nodded along, too, despite being thoroughly distracted.

he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. you had your hair made up nice to accompany long, delicate black dress you wore. the fabric hugged your curves perfectly, sitting just right on your body. there was a slit in the dress that dragged up one of your thighs just high enough for joaquin’s mind to slip away slightly. it wasn’t until he noticed the glass in your hands shift to only one, reaching your free hand to give the woman a firm shake. he mindlessly followed your direction, shaking her hand right afterwards.

“it was very nice talking to you, ma’am,” you spoke, your polite smile still gracing your lips. she offered the same sentiment before she excused herself, walking off to greet someone she seemed to know. your shoulders visibly relaxed when she was far enough away, body turning towards your boyfriend for the first time in around an hour. joaquin seemed just as relieved to be by your side again without all of the formality.

a hand of his slipped to your waist, tugging you slightly towards him in a gentle, unprovoked sort of possessiveness. he simply missed having your attention and having you near him, something he made that very clear to you. you knew his tell signs, you were always quick to pick up on them. the gleam in his eyes as he looked at you made your heart flutter, even more so now that he’s speaking to you in a whisper.

“missed you, pretty girl. think i can steal you away for a second?” your nose scrunched up slightly at his compliment, humming out slightly as you began to think, a fake sort of contemplation that joaquin could see right through. you let your free hand move to smooth up his chest, fingers sprawled out slightly, feeling his heartbeat quicken just barely under your touch.

“i think so, handsome,” you finally said, hand moving to smooth the white button up you’d wrinkled slightly. joaquin’s large hand found its way to your lower back, before gently guiding you through the busy room. he helped you weave through people until he found a staircase to ascend. that’s when his hand moved to yours, walking you up the stairs all the way to the second floor.

joaquin didn’t stop walking you guys through the building until he found a narrow, empty hallway that didn’t seem to be of use. there was a lengthy window at the end of the hallway, one that let a sliver of moonlight shine through. gently illuminating the ground. the warm light from inside of the venue helped you properly take in your boyfriend in his entirety. he truly did look handsome tonight, he always looked especially good in a tux.

you always tried to take a moment to take him in when he was done up like this, something about him in formal making your knees a little weak. joaquin noticed every time you started to zone in on it, too, you gave it away easily. he was careful with the way he corned you against the wall, his hand grasping your glass and setting it on the ground, far enough away that it wouldn’t get kicked. he noticed the way your eyes were dragging along his face, your bottom lip being tugged between your teeth. your hands smoothed against his shoulders, feeling his muscles even through his tux.

“busy night tonight,” you spoke, filling the silence as joaquin’s hands found their way to your waist, his hold firm as he keeps you against the wall. you decided to wrap your arms around his shoulders, trying to discreetly tug him near you a little more.

“i know, barely got to see you,” he spoke lowly, eyes trailing down to your lips. his tiredness was evident, though he seemed a little more lively now that he had you alone for the time being.

joaquin gave into you happily, moving to slot himself right against you, broad chest against yours. he tried not to think too hard about how your chest felt against his, soft and in view, something he thanked himself for. he’d bought this dress for you, and even though his intentions were for you to have another formal dress to add to your collection, the plunging neckline was a very nice bonus. joaquin’s lips found yours in a soft, needy kiss, slotting between yours with a little pout.

your lipgloss clung to his lips again, this time making an audible clicking sound when you pulled away. when his eyes opened up again, eyelashes fluttering, you were already looking at him. your eyelids were hooded slightly as you admired his gentle features, noticing the stubble that was beginning to grow in. you brought a hand over to to reach for his jawline, fingertips dragging across the subtle hair with care.

“let’s get outta here, baby,” joaquin whispered just before leaning in for another kiss, this time a little slower, more intentional. you kept your hand at his jaw to cradle it, kissing him back with a desire that’d been pilling up since the moment you’d gotten here. between how good he looked, the way he took the lead and guided you around, and the multiple lingering stares you gave each other all night, there was no reason you wouldn’t be feeling this way.

“and leave sam alone?” you questioned breathlessly, lips parted slightly after the kiss he’d given you. joaquin smiled a little, shaking his head at your words. his arms moved to wrap around your waist, moving you away from the wall just a little. he gave you another quick peck on the lips before he responded.

“bucky’s here,” he pointed out, maintaining an eye contact that kept you just as breathless as before. “besides, he’s a big boy. he can manage the last 40 minutes alone. we’ve done our part.”

“i’m sold,” you told him, giving him a smile to match his. this time, you pulled him in for a kiss, a lot more forward than his had been, a deeper kiss, yet still slow. your tongue swiped against his bottom lip teasingly, as if trying to get a rise out of him. it worked the moment you pulled away, joaquin’s eyebrows knitting together at the loss of contact.

a hand of his found the back of your neck, holding you firm, guiding you back to his lips. that’s what kickstarted a slow make out session, joaquin’s lips warm against yours, coaxing your mouth open just enough for his tongue to find its way in. the kiss was a little wet and laced with need, so much so that you’d hardly remembered where you were.

only a few minutes had gone by with his lips on yours in a perfect unison before the two of you heard footsteps nearby, pulling you away from the moment. a small string of spit attached to your lips and broke quicker than you could process it. you glance over to see three men walking past you, not even noticing your presence as they continue on and talk. joaquin’s eyes, however, never leave you. he leaned in to place a kiss to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear.

your eyes finally made their way back to him, a loving, dopey expression on his face. you brought your other hand over to cradle his face in your hands, feeling his arms going back to wrapping around your waist again. you were both lovesick, giddy, tired. it was evident in his eyes, though filled with so much love, that he was worn.

“if we’re quick enough sam wont even notice we left,” you whispered to joaquin, watching his face light up. “you’re tired, i can see it in your face. it’s time to get us home.”

he nodded at your words in a silent agreement, letting you reach down to grab his hands, finally guiding him like he’d been doing for you. still, he helped you gently down the stairs, letting you steady yourself in your heels as you descended. you thought you were being stealthy, quiet, quick. clearly, it hadn’t been good enough, sam appearing behind you two just before you’d exited the building. you whipped around at the sound of his voice, stopping in your tracks like a deer caught in headlights.

“you couldn’t even bother to say bye to me?” sam asked, a little offended. his eyebrows were raised slightly as he stood there staring. joaquin stared at him for a split second before he raised a hand up, waving at him.

“bye, sam,” he said, a small smirk playing on his lips. all sam could do was fumble with his phone, moving to send a text.

“take the limo, i’ll find a way back,” he said as he alerted the driver, stuffing his phone away again.

“you sure?” joaquin asked, despite tugging you towards the exit. sam nodded, before shooing the two of you away. you both turned on your heels and scurried away before he could say anything else. your hand gripped his as you waddled your way to the sidewalk, stepping off to the side to wait on the driver to pull up.

joaquin took this opportunity to pull you into him again, arms wrapped protectively around you. this time, instead of kissing you, he simply kept you secured in his embrace. your arms wrapped back around his shoulders, tugging him closer to you. he hummed contently the moment you hugged him close to you. his cologne invaded your senses as you rest your head on his shoulder, his warmth engulfing as you wait.

“did i tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” joaquin asked against your hair, a soft kiss pressing against your head. you smiled against him, nodding gently as you thought back. even before you’d left the hotel room earlier in the day, he was showering you in compliments. even if he hadn’t, his actions spoke loud enough - his lingering eyes, heated kisses, slightly roaming hands -, he was a doting boyfriend.

“yeah honey, you did,” you told him, your voice slightly muffled against him.

“good,” joaquin replied contently, smiling as he continued to hold you close. and, as much as you loved being in his embrace, you were beyond happy when your ride pulled up. you realized quickly how feet were aching as you waddled some more towards the vehicle. joaquin held the door open for you, guiding your head down to help you into the limo, following close behind you, shutting the door. you watched with a small pout when he didn’t sit next to you, rather in front of you. it wasn’t until he motioned towards him, eyes trailing down to your feet that you caught on to his intentions.

you lifted a leg up to rest your foot on joaquin’s thigh, pointing slightly as he immediately starts to undo your heel. he was always so gentle with the way he grabbed ahold of you and treated you, you sometimes wondered what you’d done to deserve it all. the moment he slide your heel off, he ushered you to switch feet, undoing and sliding your other heel off just as gently.

“that’s gotta hurt your feet, baby girl,” joaquin said, concern itched in his expression, setting your heels in his lap as you rest your feet down against the floor. you grumbled out in agreement, playing up your pain just a little. you got what you were searching for, your boyfriend quick to coo out apologies and praises to you.

it was only right for him to play into it, even if he hadn’t quite realized you were over exaggerating a little. after everything you’ve done for him tonight, standing by his side and accompanying him, being his biggest supporter, tugging him out the moment he showed signs of exhaustion, it was the least he could do. joaquin appreciated you beyond words. it was only right to show his gratitude to you, his rock. he couldn’t have gotten luckier with you.

[flambeaufelid]

Okay. Project Gorgon, + Degrees of Lewdity.

This would be the greatest game of all time.

First of all, they already have a ton of overlap. Both are crude, sexual, go for a "classic" aesthetic, grindy, have an obsessive love of overly-dynamic skill systems, and are highly niche, but beloved by their communities.

Dol is a porn game, with surprisingly decent writing, a variety of interesting love interests, and fantastic character customization. It uses clickable links to progress through the game, with these cute little webcore sprite art symbols next to them to help differentiate at a glance. It has a huge emphasis on fetish content, like rape, bestiality, and prostitution- but has a surprising amount of soft and sweet moments as well, if you put in the effort to find them. And it does take effort- the game will kick your teeth in if you don't know what you're doing. It's all about the slow accumulation of mastery, as you figure out the most efficient path to becoming rich and powerful, while assembling kick-ass outfits, upgrading your home and the town infrastructure, and getting into the hearts and pants of the love interests.

(God DAMN the outfits are so cute. If I owned this hoodie in real life, I might wear it even when it's hot out. And I HATE the heat.)

The other day I figured out that jerking folks off at the glory hole with my feet raises my feet skill really quickly- which lets me walk in high-heels more reliably- which do extra damage when I kick people in fights. Incredible.

Gorgon is an MMORPG with some of the worst graphics you'll ever see in a game that manages to still be worth playing. There's no way to properly pitch it in short-form, because it does nothing particularly notable- it has exactly zero stand-out qualities. However, it's more than the sum of it's parts. The skill system is HIGHLY dynamic, encouraging you to do anything and everything, because it all feeds into everything else. Raising one skill often raises another, and the different combat skills often have weak spots that are covered by other skills. It is very had to convey how satisfying it feels by just explaining it like this though. It's like Cookie Clicker- just describing the game doesn't get across the psychological experience of playing it.

It also lets you play as animals. And have sex with some of the NPCs, albeit off-screen. But it DID acknowledge that I fucked Rappanel the elf while in wolf form.

(...Well, I thought it did. Checked the wiki to remember his name, and it turns out that's just the dialogue he has since my character is a Rakshasa (catfolk). But, he does acknowledge it if you fuck him in cow form, which is fully feral, so my point stands.)

Anyway, the devs seem to think very much alike.

Combined, I present to you: Project Lewdity.

A pornographic fantasy MMORPG. The closest thing you'll ever get to a playable version of The Erogame. I'm thinking turn-based erotic JRPG battles like how DoL already operates, but with the higher complexity, 3D graphics, and more monstrous foes, offered by Gorgon. But it's also a straight-up life sim. Both the games already have gardening and cooking, DoL has housekeeping while Gorgon has civic responsibility, both have relationship dynamic systems, etc.

It takes place primarily in one town like DoL, but that town is huge, full of little areas to explore, and characters to romance in a almost Harvest Moon like style.

Meanwhile, we keep the cute pixel graphics for the items and menus... maybe the characters, clothing, and monsters as well, but keep the 3D environments, like Octopath Traveler? (Never played that game, but I do like the look.)

...I'm having trouble describing this vision. Now that I've lain it all out like this, I see that they're so similar already- fusing them, all I can think is "Project Gorgon, but you fuck the monsters, and the skill system and cooking is even more expansive, and with actual characters, cute sprite art, and lots of clothing options." I guess that's what this really boils down to. And yeah, that would be like the greatest game ever basically.

[duvetchico]

requesting flirty xinyu pls pls pls we need more tripleS content on this app 😭🙏🏽

can u act normal for once

summary public flirting... that's all.

genre fluff / crack / secret relationship

pairing zhou xinyu x tripleS!25th!member

masterlist.

you knew dating xinyu meant signing up for a lifetime of minor heart attacks.

you just didn’t expect one of them to come in the middle of a fanmeet with fifty goddamn cameras aimed at your table.

“can you act normal for once?” you hissed at her through your smile, your hand discreetly reaching under the table to physically restrain her leg from bumping yours for the fifth time in two minutes.

“define normal,” xinyu said like a menace, leaning slightly closer, chin propped in her palm. “because if it means not flirting with my very hot girlfriend while we’re stuck here for four hours, then i’m out.”

“shut up,” you hissed again, eyes darting to your left where nien was absolutely side-eyeing the both of you.

“you love it,” she muttered under her breath, tapping her pen against your knee on purpose.

you did. unfortunately. so much that you wanted to throttle her.

the problem was you were dating xinyu. in secret. you two were in the middle of promotions. the company was watching. the fans were watching. the girls were watching.

and xinyu had not gotten that memo because she was busy trying to write i love you on the back of an objekt mid-signing.

“you’re literally—” you snatched the card before she could finish and shoved a different one into her hand, gritting your teeth. “we’re gonna get exposed and it’s gonna be your fault.”

she winked at you.

winked.

“worth it.”

-

the thing about xinyu was: she flirted like breathing. whether it was with her words or her dumb little smirks or the way she’d call you “baby” in the tiniest whisper while holding out your mic for you.

you hated it.

you hated how warm your ears would get when she’d toss you her water bottle and go “i made sure it’s cold for you.”

you hated how she always ended up sitting next to you on every couch, every car ride, every interview.

you hated how the fans started noticing the stolen glances and the shared jackets and that one time xinyu casually fed you a grape during a signal live broadcast like it was the most normal thing ever.

“you guys are so close!” one fan cooed, standing at your table now during the hi-touch.

xinyu beamed. “she’s my favorite.”

you choked on your own saliva.

FAVORITE??

you kicked her ankle under the table.

she barely flinched.

“she’s just shy,” xinyu added smoothly, grinning at the fan before turning back to you with a deadly glint in her eyes.

you were going to die.

you were going to kill her first.

-

during breaks, it got worse.

xinyu kept accidentally leaning into you every time she got up.

kept whispering dumb things like “your hair smells nice” and “i think you should hold my hand under the table just to test if anyone notices.”

kept looking at you like you were the only one in the room.

“stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, hiding behind your water bottle.

“like what?”

“like you’re about to kiss me in front of the manager.”

“wouldn’t be the worst thing i’ve done.”

you slammed your head onto the table.

-

seoyeon was onto you. sohyun was suspicious.

nien said “do y’all have something to tell us?” every three hours.

you pretended to be confused every single time.

xinyu?

“oh? no? we’re just close.”

bitch you were making out in the dorm hallway two days ago.

-

eventually, it happened.

you were mid-hi-touch, your cheeks already pink from xinyu’s latest attempt to write “mine <3” on your sticky note when a fan slid their phone forward with a tweet on the screen.

“I swear xinyu and y/n are dating. look at the way she LOOKS at her. that is not platonic behavior. that’s ‘i’ve seen her in my hoodie at 2am’ behavior.”

“oh that’s funny,” you said nervously, shoving the phone back with a strained smile.

xinyu leaned over to peek and immediately laughed. laughed.

“they’re not wrong though.”

“xinyu!” you elbowed her, face going red. the fan was now cackling with both hands covering their mouth like they just witnessed a crime.

your girlfriend just smiled, shameless and proud.

you were going to strangle her.

-

that night in the dorm, you sat on the floor, arms crossed, refusing to look at her while dahyun cackled behind the camera editing your vlog footage.

“you two are terrible at hiding things,” she said.

“you’re not even slick,” added sohyun.

“i think you should just soft launch already,” said nien with a knowing smirk.

you were fully about to give up.

“babe,” xinyu whispered next to you, nudging your knee with hers. “babe. i’ll buy you a pastry tomorrow. forgive me.”

you ignored her.

“okay two pastries.”

you looked away.

“three pastries. and i’ll shut up for a whole hour.”

your lip twitched.

she leaned in close, soft and smug. “you look really good when you’re annoyed at me. it’s kinda hot.”

you cracked.

“FUCK YOU,” you whisper-yelled, throwing a pillow at her.

she caught it and hugged it like it was you.

“you’re literally the worst,” you grumbled, finally facing her.

“but i’m your worst,” she said with a cheeky grin, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before running off like the menace she was.

you were so doomed.

and so in love.

and honestly?

you didn’t even care anymore.

[sircantus]

Im so slow in writing but im brainrotting about that one royal dragon riders au— how avian!phil lost his wings in the au because of hunters, but the thing is emduo still manage to get back the wings before theyre sold off. Phil can never fly again and he has his wings but they’re mangled and dead and he ends up using them to summon the dragons that they currently have. The dragons are technically made from phil, from the feathers that got torn off him. Which is so neat because that means the dragons are him, in a sense, like they’re very much a piece of him? He’s regained his flight just in a different manner and also while the dragons are technically their own creatures, Phil’s emotions influence them so they are very fond of Techno and thus its impossible for anyone to actually steal the dragons because they only like who Phil trusts

[thunderbolt-ing]

Three Roommates and a Loft [2]

PART ONE Summary: an ungodly amount of boxes, two helpful roommates, one damn couch, and a partridge in a pear tree. Warnings: none except for your loser ex. Otherwise, very lighthearted silliness. A/N: This is such a fun series to write, i can't wait to post the other parts and im so glad you guys like it too!! i love them so much, my dysfunctional loft dwellers. Not thoroughly proofread!! Word count: 4.6k <3

Today was move-in day, and honestly, you were dreading it. The sheer number of boxes and mismatched furniture you owned was enough to trigger a minor internal crisis. Worst of all, you couldn’t bring yourself to ask the boys for help, even though you had three super soldiers at your disposal (well, two… maybe? You still weren’t sure if Sam was enhanced or just naturally built like a Greek statue. Note to self: ask him later). 

Half of the furniture from your shared apartment with your ex-boyfriend was technically yours, which gave you a petty sense of satisfaction. You were leaving that man with next to nothing, you’ve basically stripped that sorry apartment down. You were now the proud owner of a one aggressively mid-century modern couch that was definitely larger than the one in the loft, two completely different nightstands, a custom-made bookshelf that you’ve DIY’d to resemble the ones you’ve obsessively pinned on Pinterest, a dozen potted plants, and a partridge in a pear tree. 

None of those pieces of furniture matched the loft’s current aesthetic, which brought you to your newest problem. 

You had no idea if the boys were okay with you bringing in your furniture, or by extension, completely redecorating their man cave with what could only be described as a Pinterest board chic. The loft was charming in that minimalist, exposed brick, bro-cave kind of way. It had a few battered bar stools, a couch that looked like it was going to fall apart anytime soon, and approximately one framed poster of Die Hard in the living room. They lacked a dining table, they had no rug, and there wasn’t a single plant in sight. 

To put it simply, the loft lacked a woman’s touch; there was no hint of a woman ever having stepped foot in that space. 

You took a deep breath and mustered up the courage to text Sam. He had become your unofficial point person during the entire moving process. He would respond promptly, didn’t leave you on read, and never made you feel stupid for asking a dozen questions. 

Sam didn’t seem to mind your questioning. In fact, he’d been almost suspiciously nice about the whole thing. Steve was still too intimidating to approach without rehearsing a script first. Talking to him felt like talking to a celebrity, if said celebrity had no idea he was famous and somehow managed to be so charmingly humble about it. Bucky, on the other hand, was completely out of the question. You were ninety-nine percent sure he didn’t like you, or anyone really. His usual expression bordered somewhere between mild disdain and ‘please leave me alone’. Honestly, you weren’t brave enough to test the waters with him.

You sent Sam a photo of your rented moving truck, fully loaded with neatly stacked boxes and carefully arranged potted plants. A moment later, you sent another photo of your furniture sitting pitifully on the curb outside your old apartment. Your ex had flat-out refused to help load any of it into the truck, you figured he was hoping you’d get frustrated and leave it behind. Joke's on him, though, because you were far too stubborn for that. 

You followed the photos with a quick text: 

You: Sam, is it okay if I bring all of this? 

He replied almost instantly. 

Sam: damn, woman

Sam: is that… a proper couch…???? Oh thank god, ours is ugly and flat

Sam: telling Steve rn to chuck ours out on the curb IMMEDIATELY. I want yours

You: I'm so glad you said that. It’s a comfy couch, i promise. 

Sam: im just glad the loft might finally look like adults live there

Sam: where are you? Steve says he wants to help lift stuff

You dropped your location without hesitation. You were relieved and surprised that you didn’t have to haul everything by yourself. You hadn’t even asked; they just offered, and after the week you’d had, that small token of kindness made you a tad bit emotional. 

About thirty-five minutes later, the sound of a revving engine pulled your attention to the street. 

Sam and Steve rolled up on a motorcycle like they were some sort of action stars in a low-budget film. Sam hopped off first, quickly approaching you with a grin on his face. Meanwhile, Steve parked the bike and pulled off his helmet with effortless cool. You expected the stoic man you’ve seen on television so many times, but instead, he looked genuinely happy to be there. 

That alone knocked him down from ‘intimidating superhero’ to ‘potentially huggable.’

“Hey!” Steve called out, giving you a wave and an easy smile. “Came to steal your couch. Sam’s orders.”

“You're taking orders from this guy?” you shot back as you gestured at Sam, your brow arched in mock judgment.

Sam let out an exaggerated gasp like you’d just deeply offended him, but the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away. 

“First of all,” he said, placing a hand over his chest, “I’m not just some guy. I’m a respected government employee who makes very important decisions. Occasionally. Like replacing that god-awful couch in our living room with this work of art.” He motioned at your near-perfect condition couch before moving to pick up a piece of furniture. 

Steve let out a chuckle as he moved to help with one of the heavier boxes you’d left on the curb. You did a double-take and picked your jaw off the floor when he casually lifted your entire mattress like it weighed next to nothing and slid it into the truck with ease.

“He’s been talking about this couch since you texted,” Steve said, straightening up with zero effort. “I had to listen to him ramble on about lumbar support and aesthetics.” 

“I know what I like,” Sam defended with a shrug, already heading toward the next piece of furniture. “And I like that couch. Nothing wrong with a man of taste.” 

You bit back a laugh. “Taste, huh?”

Sam turned back with a grin. “You’ll thank me later when the living room no longer looks like a frat house.” 

Steve nodded agreeably. “We don’t have an eye for interior design, unfortunately.” 

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out as you watched Steve and Sam move in perfect sync, like they’d done this a hundred times before. You tried to lift a single box, just to be useful, but they immediately shut it down with matching looks of disbelief. 

“Nope, do not,” Sam said, waving you off while he carried your lamps into the truck. 

“Sit down, go drink some water,” Steve added, already halfway up the ramp with your dresser like it was made of Styrofoam. 

So you resigned yourself to the curb, watching your life get packed up by two superheroes. 

A few minutes later, you heard the creak of the front door behind you. You didn’t even need to turn around, you could feel the smug, stale energy of your ex wafting toward you like cheap cologne. 

Adam stepped onto the sidewalk, pausing mid-stride when he caught sight of Steve carrying a part of your bedframe. 

He blinked at your two roommates, eyes narrowing with confusion. “What the hell is going on? Is that—?”

You didn’t even bother turning to face him. You just let out a long, exhausted sigh, the kind that said you were done dealing with him. Your gaze stayed fixed on Steve and Sam, watching as your bookshelf was handled with more care than Adam had ever given your relationship. 

“What do you want, Adam?” you asked flatly, arms crossed, and your tone devoid of warmth. “If you’re here to lift something heavy, great. If not, please go away.” 

Adam’s eyes darted from Steve to Sam, then back to you, his mouth pathetically opening and closing. “Is that…? Is that Captain America?”

“Just Steve,” Steve said, his tone noticeably cooler than it was before. He didn’t know the backstory, but somehow, without being told, he already knew enough. 

Adam shifted uncomfortably under Steve’s unreadable stare. 

Before the awkward silence could stretch any further, Sam—who still held onto one end of your bookshelf—turned to Adam with a look of unimpressed disdain. 

“Do you need something,” Sam asked, voice sharp, “or are you just gonna stand there and catch flies with your mouth open like that?”

Adam sputtered, clearly scrambling to put together a coherent sentence. “I just… I just think this is all a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” 

You let out a loud, bitter laugh before finally turning to face him. “That might actually be the funniest thing you’ve ever said,” you replied, voice flat as your laughter faded into silence. “Which is saying something, considering I’ve known you for six years.” 

It was classic Adam, minimizing the damage he caused while making you look like the overdramatic one. It was one last taste of hell before you were finally free. 

“You dumped me and gave me a week to move out,” you said, your tone sharp and unapologetic. “If anyone was being dramatic, it was you.” 

Adam’s expression twisted as if he were about to defend himself, but every possible comeback would only dig his hole deeper. Before he could try, Steve stepped forward, not aggressively, but solid enough to send a subtle message. 

“She’s got this handled,” Steve said coolly. “Thank you for your concern, Adam.” His tone was calm but final, leaving no room for argument. 

“Yeah, take your ass back inside,” Sam added sharply, earning a pointed look from Steve. “...Please.” he tacked on begrudgingly, rolling his eyes. 

Adam swallowed hard, muttered something about needing to get back upstairs, and turned on his heel without another word. 

You exhaled, surprised by how much lighter you suddenly felt. It was as if something invisible had finally been unclenched inside of you. When you turned back toward the truck, both Sam and Steve were already back to work like nothing had happened. 

It didn’t take long for the two of them to load everything into the truck. They moved with practiced ease, and before you knew it, the last box was secured and Steve was already climbing back onto his bike. 

Sam slid into the driver’s seat beside you, shooting you a small, reassuring smile as he started the engine. You turned back one final time, leaving behind the version of you who tolerated a bleak man and the small, dim life that came with him. 

And just like that, as the truck pulled away from the curb, you finally felt peace. 

—

The moving truck rumbled to a stop in the narrow alleyway beside your new building, a small space that connected it to the one next door. You hopped out, taking in your surroundings that consisted of a cracked pavement, weathered bricks, and a series of classic New York fire escapes that zigzagged up the building. 

On one of them, a few stories up, sat Bucky. He was perched on the steps, elbow resting on his knee, and sipping something from a mug. 

Your eyes met for a brief second. Then, just as quickly, he looked away as if you had just disrupted whatever fragile tranquility he’d allowed himself that morning. Still, you offered him a polite wave. You knew he didn’t like you, but you made a point to let the universe know that the feeling wasn’t mutual. Not your fault he was perpetually grumpy. 

In response, he stood up, took a long sip from his mug like he needed it to deal with you, and promptly disappeared back inside without so much as a nod. 

So charming. 

“That’s his way of saying ‘welcome,’” Sam said, glancing up at the now-empty fire escape before looking back at you with a smirk. “Real nice guy, once you get past the scowl.” 

“I doubt it,” You replied as you walked over to the back of the truck, “I don’t think I’ll ever be fluent in Bucky-speak… and honestly? I don’t think I want to try.” 

Sam chuckled, then rolled up the back of the truck with ease, ready to unload your things. Steve rounded the corner moments later, all smiles and a go-getter attitude, like helping people move was his idea of weekend fun. 

Between the three of you, the unloading began, boxes first, and heavier furniture saved for later. It was surprisingly efficient, aside from the four flights of stairs you fought to climb up. Steve and Sam handled them like it was nothing, practically jogging to the top without breaking a sweat. You, on the other hand, had to concentrate hard on trying not to wheeze. The last thing you needed was to pass out in front of two superhumans. 

Back at the loft, while Steve and Sam were still downstairs, you wrestled a box you’d insisted on bringing up through the doorway. Sam urged that you not touch it, but you needed to feel useful. You couldn’t just let them do everything, even though both he and Steve reassured you multiple times that they could handle it. 

“Are you trying to break your back?” a voice drawled behind you, equal parts exasperated and bored. 

You turned around and found Bucky leaning against the wall of the couch-less living room, arms crossed and judgment dialed up. So, Sam had been serious about chucking the old sofa.

“Dragging a heavy box builds character.” You replied, panting slightly as you nudged the box with your foot, “Something you could use.”

“I was tortured by HYDRA for seventy years,” he deadpanned. “I’ve maxed out my character development.” 

You paused, your hands on your hips as you stared at him in disbelief. “Wow, okay. We’re trauma dumping now? Cool, cool. So, when I was like seven—”

“Move,” Bucky interrupted, already pushing off the wall. Before you could get another word in, he lifted the box you’d been fighting with and tucked it under one arm like it weighed nothing. You had to fight the urge to gawk.

“I literally had that,” you insisted, though it didn’t sound so convincing. 

“Sure,” he said dryly. “I could practically hear your spine snapping.” 

You followed him into the living room, watching as he set the box down with zero effort. “You know, for someone who clearly doesn’t want to talk to me, you sure have a lot to say.” 

“I talk when necessary,” he replied without looking at you. “Like when someone’s clearly about to slip a disc over a box of…” he glanced at the label. “...’Books and more books’? Are you turning this place into a library?”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but he was already disappearing through the front door. 

You sincerely hoped he wasn’t planning on helping unload the rest. But, unfortunately for you, he absolutely was. 

—

Downstairs, all four of you stood in a loose semicircle around the back of the truck, silently staring at the couch inside. It was significantly larger than the loft’s old one, and it was quickly becoming clear that none of you had thought through the logistics of hauling it up four flights of stairs. 

The silence stretched, and Bucky exhaled slowly through his nose like he regretted coming down to help.

“I feel like we should’ve measured something.” Sam finally muttered as he squinted at the couch. 

“No, no,” Steve said as he shook his head with the confidence of a man who refused to be defeated by a piece of furniture, “It fits, we just need all hands on deck to push it up the stairs.”

He climbed into the truck, already taking charge. “Bucky and I could take the chaise section first. Then the four of us can handle the rest together.” 

“I could suit up and just fly the chaise up…?” Sam suggested helpfully. 

“Let’s not scare the neighbors.” You vetoed, patting Sam on the back as you moved aside to give Steve and Bucky some space to bring down the chaise. 

Steve’s plan had seemed solid at first. He and Bucky managed to painlessly haul the chaise up the stairwell with minimal fuss, while you and Sam followed with the cushions. 

When it was time to haul the main section, that was when everything fell apart. 

The stairs were narrower than anyone remembered, and the couch was bulkier than anyone admitted. The corners were too wide, the angles too sharp, and the laws of physics were actively working against you. Now, all four of you were wedged awkwardly into the stairwell with the couch jammed at a sharp diagonal between the third and fourth floors. 

So close yet so far. 

“Keep pushing!” Steve grunted from the top landing, shoulder pressed into one as he and Bucky tried to hoist it upward. Bucky let out a low grunt, his metal arm whirring under the strain. 

“Uh, hello?! It’s stuck!” Sam called from beside you, beads of sweat rolling down his face. “Like, stupidly stuck!”

“It’s not stuck,” Steve insisted, pushing harder and lodging it even more firmly into the corner. “It just needs to pivot.” 

“Oh my god,” you groaned, wedging your back against the couch to help. “Do not say pivot.” 

“I’m sorry, but we need to pivot left!” Steve yelled from the top of the stairs. 

“What does that mean?” Sam yelled. “My left or your left?” 

“Everyone’s left is the same if we’re facing the same damn way!” Bucky snapped, clearly seconds away from abandoning this entire operation. 

“Pivot now!” Steve urged, straining as he and Bucky pulled from the top. “Pivot! Pivot!” 

“Steve,” you gasped, “for the ever-loving god, you could just say turn!”

The couch groaned, and then miraculously, it shifted. 

With one final, collective pivot and an unholy amount of effort, the couch squeezed past the stairwell corner and landed with a loud thump on the fourth-floor landing.

“I told you it would fit,” Steve said, far too cheerful for someone who nearly died trying to get the couch to move a few inches. 

Bucky dropped his end of the couch with a thud and disappeared inside the loft without a word, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “I should’ve let it fall.” 

—

The placement of the couch sparked yet another argument. 

Sam was adamant it should go against the big window for ‘optimal feng shui’, a phrase you weren’t sure he understood but kept repeating anyway. Steve lobbied for the couch to be against the exposed brick wall for ‘aesthetic balance’ and something about creating a strong visual focal point. 

You, on the other hand, were too mentally and physically drained from nearly losing your life on the stairs to care. At that point, you considered lying down on the floor, but you didn’t trust it much and made a mental note to mop it down before placing your area rug. 

Bucky, wisely, had removed himself from the debate entirely. He disappeared into his room without a word, presumably to recover from what he now considered his yearly act of community service. You didn’t blame him, you could practically hear his voice echoing in your head: “Figure it out. Leave me out of it.” 

After a thorough scrubbing of the floor and some wrestling with the area rug, a compromise was made. The main section of the couch was placed against the brick wall to satisfy Steve’s vision, while the chaise was angled toward the window to appease Sam’s need for energy flow. Both men looked pleased, and you were just relieved that standing was no longer a requirement. 

One by one, the three of you dropped onto the couch like flies. 

Sam flopped onto the corner with dramatic flair with his arms draped across the back cushions. You claimed the chaise with a heavy sigh, slumping sideways with one arm dangling off the edge and the other clutching a throw pillow. Steve eased himself down with a satisfied grunt, hands on his knees, looking like he’d just completed a major tactical operation. 

“See?” he said, beaming as he leaned back into the cushions. “Teamwork.” 

“Worth the pain,” Sam muttered, letting out a relaxed sigh, “this couch feels like a cloud.” 

You grinned happily, sinking deeper into the cushions as you felt a warm sense of satisfaction settling in your chest. Despite the mess of the mountains of boxes, you’d officially contributed something good to the space. The loft still looked like a war zone from the move, but at least the living room finally felt like a living room and not the sad foyer of a glorified man cave. 

Bucky rejoined civilization moments later, water bottle in hand, looking like he’d just barely forgiven the three of you for making him carry a couch. 

He paused in the doorway, doing a double-take at the transformed living room. You thought, just for a second, you caught a flicker of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, quickly smothered before it could be considered an emotion. 

“What do you think?” Steve asked, grinning as he gestured proudly to the space. 

Bucky took a long sip from his bottle, eyes scanning the new setup. 

“Looks livable,” he muttered, which, coming from him, might as well have been a glowing five-star review. 

“You’re welcome,” you called out with a smug grin from the couch. 

Bucky didn’t respond. He simply turned and walked straight into the kitchen like he hadn’t heard you at all. 

“He likes it,” Sam whispered giddily, nudging your leg like a kid who just witnessed something scandalous. He looked far too pleased that you’d managed to extract any emotion from Bucky. You gave him an equally delighted smile, both of you sharing a silent victory like proud co-conspirators. 

“I think I’m just gonna lie here for the foreseeable future,” you mumbled, already sinking deeper into the cushions. “I physically cannot haul the rest of my stuff upstairs. No more stairs for me.” 

“You don’t have to,” Sam said casually, patting your leg. 

Your eyes widened. “Wow, Sam. That’s really kind of you. Thank you for—”

‘Oh no, no,” he cut in quickly, shaking his head. “I’m not bringing anything up. I switched rooms with you. You’re in the downstairs bedroom now—the one next to Bucky’s.” 

You sat up, throwing the pillow on the floor. “What?”

“What?” Bucky echoed sharply, his head poking into the living room from the kitchen with his eyes narrowed in displeasure. 

“What’s going on? Why are we saying ‘what’?” Steve chimed in, blinking like he’d just come back from where he’d mentally checked out. 

Sam shrugged, completely unbothered. “It’s the best case scenario. She’s a woman and she’s got, like, a lot of stuff,” he gestured at the boxes scattered across the loft. “That room’s bigger. Her junk fits. And I don’t have to listen to Bucky sleep-talk through the wall anymore. I’m a light sleeper, man.”

“I do not sleep-talk,” Bucky muttered defensively from the kitchen doorway. 

“Oh really?” Sam shot back. “Last week, you said ‘I’ll kill you where you stand’ at three a.m., and it scared me so bad I had to lock my door.” 

You held up a hand, trying to keep up. “Can we circle back to the part where you just moved me without asking?” 

“Door’s already open,” he added, completely ignoring you. “I already put your suitcases in there, and your bedframe’s already assembled. You’re welcome.” 

Bucky crossed his arms, glaring. “I didn’t agree to this. We had a bathroom system, Wilson.” 

“Okay, then come up with a new system with her,” Sam replied, clearly proud of his problem-solving skills and equally oblivious to how very against this idea you and Bucky both looked. 

Steve blinked between the three of you, finally putting it all together. “Oh, that’s why Sam told me to reassemble your bed in there…” 

You let out a slow, deep sigh. “Thank you, Steve.”  

Steve held up his hands like he’d just realized he accidentally committed a crime. “I didn’t know it was a bad thing! I thought I was helping!”

Sam patted your leg like he’d just done you a favor. “This is going to be great.” 

You weren’t sure if you wanted to strangle him or yourself. 

—

Night fell slowly over Brooklyn, the sunset casting a golden hue through the loft’s wide windows before the city’s glow took over. Boxes were still everywhere, potted plants were scattered in the living room, and takeout containers on the kitchen counter hinted that no one had the energy to cook. 

Despite the chaos, the loft was finally quiet as everyone retired to their rooms. You were the last to head to bed, lingering in the living room like staying there might somehow delay the inevitable reality that you were now sleeping next door to Bucky Barnes. Eventually, a little after nine, you reluctantly padded to your new room, thanks to Sam’s unsolicited relocation efforts. 

You had to admit, the room itself was… perfect. Annoyingly so. 

The room was bigger than the one you would’ve had upstairs, which easily accommodated your desk, bookshelf, and all the other ‘woman with a lot of stuff’ essentials Sam had so graciously cited as justification. Your suitcases were inside the closet, ready to be unpacked. Your favorite lamp was already plugged in and set on your nightstand (courtesy of Sam). Even your diffuser was thoughtfully placed on the windowsill. 

It took you a couple of minutes to get yourself somewhat settled. Now, you lay on your bed wrapped in familiar sheets, staring at the ceiling, surrounded by a half-unpacked mess and the distant hum of New York traffic. 

It almost felt like home, until the walls reminded you that they were roughly the thickness of a tortilla. 

From the other side, muffled but clear, you heard the sound of a drawer slamming. 

Then silence.

Then, a sigh. The long, exhausted kind, followed by the unmistakable clatter of something metallic. 

You rolled over and pulled a pillow over your head. You could do this. You just needed to adjust. 

Another beat of silence. 

Then, Bucky’s voice, low and muttered: “Where the hell is the other sock?”

More shuffling and noise followed, and you were trying your hardest to grasp at the last shred of patience you had. The noise continued for a couple of minutes, and you tried to ignore it by burying yourself in your covers. 

Silence settled for a few seconds, enough to make you think it was over, before a barrage of thuds, drawer slams, and muttering followed. 

You groaned and sat up, marching across your room to knock on the wall. 

It went quiet, then from the other side: 

“What?” Bucky’s voice was muffled, but it was clear that he was annoyed. 

You pressed your forehead to the wall and replied, “If you’re going to have a breakdown over a sock, can you please keep it quiet? I’d like to have a full eight hours of sleep.” 

“It’s nine-thirty. On a Saturday.” 

“Some of us have functioning circadian rhythms.” 

Footsteps followed. Then, under his breath, you heard: “God, they’re the same. Both annoying.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “What was that?”

“I didn't say anything,” Bucky grumbled, annoyed but backpedaling. 

You bit back a chuckle, lips curving despite yourself. 

With a shake of your head, you walked back to your bed and climbed under the covers. To your surprise, the noise actually stopped. No more stomping, slamming, or sock-related mumblings. 

Just quiet. 

“Good night, Bucky,” you called softly, not expecting a response from the grump. 

For a second, there was nothing. Then, muffled through the wall, you heard his voice. 

“...Night.” 

It wasn’t exactly warm, but at least he responded. You had little hope that this arrangement would work out, but maybe it would. 

Maybe.  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Endnotes: steve and sam are tied for roommates of the year btw.

tags (lmk if you want to be tagged!): @okbutiambabygorl

[chaaistained]

lola darling i miss you xx thank you for the tag bb <3

okayy five things i love abt myself (no particular order) :

1. my hair — i take great pride in the care i give to my hair, it’s long and voluminous and smells like coconut shea butter and i never get tired of seeing the way it waves so nicely when i put it in a half up do

2. my writing — i say this every time i mention this skill but i am meant to be a writer, i can’t see myself as anything else, even when i shift to have different careers, i always am a writer in those realities too, either as another job or a hobby. i have such an appreciation for my own ideas and creativity and i value my own mind so much in that regard, i always aim to put out my best work when it comes to writing, it’s part of my identity

3. my personality — cliche but i wasn’t the conventionally attractive kid growing up (especially as i went to schools that were predominantly white .. as a brown girl) so i realised pretty quickly that to be valued socially, i needed to bring more to the table than other people, and i think learning to find confidence and learning to appreciate my own personality helped me find the most incredible friend groups and i truly truly know, unwaveringly in my core, that i have a pretty cool personality and i make a pretty great friend. that kind of confidence is something that people can struggle a whole life to find, so i’m eternally grateful that i’ve managed to find it in me

4. my eyes — this one’s hard bcs i have like eternal dark circles from childhood allergies, BUT, my eyes are nice i’ll be honest. they’re big, almond shaped, deep brown irises, i like them, they’re kinda pretty in that doe eyed way

5. my idealism — it’s a double edged sword, this one. i was raised by pessimists and realists and that took a toll on my inherent optimism, so i still battle with my logical self every single day and probably will for the rest of my life. but, i think it’s incredible how i have an unmoving hope for success inside me, just a small part of that will never go away, that always believes that things will work out, that things will get better, not just for me but for everyone that i care about. it’s probably ridiculously naive of me, but i don’t think i can help myself, so why hate it when i can love it, right?

is this too deep? am i taking this too seriously? probably .. (shrugs) oh well !!

tagging : @faeriemarie . @hrrtshape . @kissmete . @bruisedswan . @withluvvenus . @laylasverse . @shaysplanet . @macknshift . @kerryshifts . @eddieisashifter . @viperrshifts + any one else who wants to join in !!

^ no pressure loves <3

Firstly, when you get this, you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool)

Tysm!

Okay, this is gonna be difficult BUT

1) I like my hair

2) I like my eyes

3) I like my writing

4) I like my aesthetic

5) I like the fact I'm a bookworm

Instead of sending asks, I'll just tag my mooties/friends here!! ;

The sweet and coolbeanz you, @izumi-miffy

The one and only @3thereality

The awesomesauce @stareyeofficial @chuchucharlie @itzzkaylaaa @crazed-transbian-lunatic and @saturnidiot

My dear @finnosaurusladiesman217

And the love of my life, @h0neybun-xx

That makes 9 people but I don't have any more moots, so that'll suffice I think!

[mariacallous]

In her new book, Bad Company: Private Equity and the Death of the American Dream, journalist and WIRED alum Megan Greenwell chronicles the devastating impacts of one of the most powerful yet poorly understood forces in modern American capitalism. Flush with cash, largely unregulated, and relentlessly focused on profit, private equity firms have quietly reshaped the US economy, taking over large chunks of industries ranging from health care to retail—often leaving financial ruin in their wake.

Twelve million people in the US now work for companies owned by private equity, Greenwell writes, or about 8 percent of the total employed population. Her book focuses on the stories of four of these individuals, including a Toys “R” Us supervisor who loses the best job she ever had and a Wyoming doctor who watches his rural hospital cut essential services. Their collective experiences are a damning account of how innovation is being replaced by financial engineering and the ways that shift is being paid for by everyone except those at the top.

In a review of Bad Company for Bloomberg, a longtime private equity executive accused Greenwell of seeking out sad stories with inevitably “sad endings.” But the characters Greenwell selected don’t just sit back and watch as private equity devastates their communities. The book is a portrait of not only how the American dream is being eroded but also the creative tactics people are using to fight back.

Greenwell spoke to WIRED late last month about what private equity is and isn’t, how it has transformed different industries, and what workers are doing to reclaim their power.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

WIRED: What is private equity? How is the business model different from, say, venture capital?

Megan Greenwell: People confuse private equity and venture capital all the time, but it's totally reasonable that normal people don't understand the difference. Basically, the easiest way to explain the difference is that venture capital firms invest money, usually in startups. They’re essentially taking a stake in the company and expecting some sort of returns over time. They're also generally playing a significantly longer game than private equity.

But the way private equity works, especially with leveraged buyouts, which is what I focus on in the book, is they're buying companies outright. In venture capital, you put your money in, you're entrusting it to a CEO, and you probably have a board seat. But in the leveraged buyout model, the private equity firm really is the owner and controlling decider of the portfolio company.

How do private equity firms define success? What kinds of companies or businesses are attractive to them?

In venture capital, VCs are evaluating whether to make a deal based solely on whether they think that company is going to become successful. They are looking for unicorns. Is this company going to be the next Uber? Private equity is looking to make money off of companies in ways that don't actually require the company itself to make money. That is like the biggest thing.

So it’s less of a gamble.

It is very hard for private equity firms to lose money on deals. They're getting a 2 percent management fee, even if they're running the company into the ground. They're also able to pull off all these tricks, like selling off the company's real estate and then charging the company rent on the same land it used to own. When private equity firms take out loans to buy companies, the debt from those loans is assigned not to the private equity firm but to the portfolio company.

And so what you end up getting is that private equity is really attracted to companies where you don't have to play the long game. In fact, you don't want to play the long game, which means that you have no interest in doing the hard, slow work of improving a company's fundamentals. It is just not about improving the company at all. It is about, how do we extract money?

How did we get to this point where private equity is now taking over relatively large and diverse swaths of the economy, including veterinary clinics, brick-and-mortar retail stores, and all sorts of other businesses. What was the promise of this model?

Private equity started pretty small in the 1960s with what were then called “bootstrap deals,” essentially acquisitions of small, family-run companies that maybe showed promise for expansion but didn't have the capital necessary to grow. So in some ways it was more like venture capital, although it targeted established companies and not brand-new startups. This idea of growth at all costs then just expanded and expanded and expanded and started swallowing more and more and more things.

When did private equity start to peak?

There was a huge expansion of private equity in the 2010s for the same reason that venture capital exploded: There was a lot of cheap money out there, and cheap money is great for investors. We’ve seen private equity explore more industries over time, and usually that's because some policy change or broader economic trend all of a sudden makes a certain sector look like fertile ground for them.

What are some of the strategies that workers have used to fight back against private equity firms? Have they been successful?

What was interesting to me was not prescribing solutions but talking about what people are doing. The four characters in my book are all trying to do something about this in very different ways, and those range from fighting for regulation, to just going head-to-head directly with the private equity firm that upended their own life, to really trying to reinvent their industries from the ground up, which is something that is especially inspiring to me.

Do you have one that has stuck with you more than the others?

One example that I’ll talk about from the book is from the Toys “R” Us section. Public pension funds are a huge source of capital for private equity firms, and they typically have worker representatives on their boards. So if they're representing teachers and nurses and firefighters, there will be one or more people working in those professions serving on the pension fund board.

Toys “R” Us workers had this very smart idea that those folks would be more likely to be sympathetic to their cause than a bunch of billionaires would. So they started going around the country, standing in front of these pension fund boards and saying “here is how these private equity firms that you invest in have blown up our lives,” talking in really specific detail about things like how they couldn’t find jobs and were worried about feeding their families. The protagonist of that section of my book tells a story about how the members of one board just started peppering her with questions after she spoke in front of them.

Some people claim that private equity firms are the primary culprit behind broad economic problems such as income inequality and the housing crisis. Are they putting the blame in the right place?

I think by putting all of the blame on them, you end up undermining the criticisms about private equity firms that are more truthful. This is something that I thought really hard about how to do in the book, because I do think it's a mistake actually, but also strategically for people who want to see this system change, to attribute too much to them.

Right.

The first section of the book tells the story of how the four industries I write about—housing, hospitals, retail, and local media—got themselves into trouble in the first place. In all of those cases, the problems are so fundamental. And in many of those cases, the earlier business decisions were so bone-headed that they essentially opened the door and invited private equity to walk right in. I do think private equity is a villain in terms of the way they have taken advantage of these industries for their own gain, but it is absolutely true that they did not cause the problems.

[seleneprince]

So, after going back to my reincarnations manwha phase and thanks to @la-patrona-magdalena's beautiful reincarnation au work, Don't Look At Me! (sí esto es culpa tuya pendeja) i'm afraid my head just got more ideas for drafts instead of finishing the ones i already have (i swear i haven't forgotten my other works, i write a little of each everyday, i just have the attention span of a fish hshshsh)

Anyway, to no one's surprise, my favourites are the ones about modern day people waking up as a novel's villainess or secondary character, and the ones where those same characters reincarnate in the past after dying. And so, to avoid that fate, they decide to take different decisions and sometimes atone for their mistakes against other characters, unknowingly changing the whole plot towards them.

Well...

Yandere! Batfam au where the former "villainesses" are Mrs Wayne, Batsis and Little Flower, Mrs Wayne's youngest daughter with another man. Stupid names, I know, but I can't exactly give them proper names yet. The plot about them is the same as my current au (because i love my ocs/reader-inserts too much and i always picture them when i imagine scenarios lol), except with a slight twist.

Mrs Wayne becomes known for being a snob, cruel woman who enjoys having power and uses it for her and her kids' benefit even at the expense of others. She has no qualms in enacting said power to humiliate others when she sees fit and even just to feed her ego. She's dangerous, twisted and too confident in her high-standing to realise her weaknesses. Her only redeeming quality in everyone's eyes is that she genuinely loves her daughters and has a good relationship with them.

Batsis, or the Wayne Heiress, is every inch of her mother's daughter. She acts like this stereotypical rich girl with everything handled to her in silver platter simply for being rich and pretty. She's manipulative and gets a kick out of treating people like pawns in her own secret games. A great actress who weaponises her looks and strong resemblance to Martha Wayne to twist the narrative in her favour and get away with anything she does. Her arrogance becomes her kryptonite.

And last, the Little Flower. Or just Flower. The youngest but not less dangerous. A spoiled and vain little brat used to being coddled and protected by both her mother and sister, growing up surrounded by luxury and a set of privileges that only belong to her through a stolen family name, which it's not actually hers. She charms grown ups with her innocent aura and cute smiles, but she hates when things don't go her way. And if determined, she can be as lethal as her mother. Her age is her allibi to avoid guilt for her acts. Until it doesn't work anymore.

Then surprise, the "protagonist" appears. It doesn't matter her name, for the fate is always the same. The Batfam become fond of her, obsessively so, and the villainesses, fearing their positions will be threatened, do everything in their power to get rid of the protagonist. Unfortunately, becaose of manwha logic, the girl survives everything and miraculously manages to get out by showing off how good and pure and so different she is from those three, slowly inserting herself in the narrative while they get pushed out away. Eventually, of course, the three of them meet their end. Mrs Wayne is murdered in a petty revenge plot, Batsis falls into a deadly trap because of her hubris and Little Flower dies in an accident. Their story seems over...until they come back, waking up in the past before shit went down.

Except it's not really them. The three new "villainesses" come from an alternative universe where they, well, they weren't great people either but things were definitely better than this one. Their memories are mixed with those of the real villainesses, and now it's up to them to prevent their horrible deaths and find a way to leave this forsaken family before the protagonist appears.

They do their damn best to avoid that fate, doing everything differently while also adapting to their new life and accidentally changing things. They're so focused on surviving that they don't realise their behaviour is drawing attention...too much attention. And the plot is going to change drastically as their family begins to notice them more. Will it be a good or bad change? The girls don't want to know.

But one thing they're sure of: This batfamily isn't the one they're used to...and they might not let them go so easily.

[pianocat0-0]

Wasting Energy, Stupid!

Yandere Idol x Manager Reader

Part 2

Words: 2K

(Basing this off of K-pop cuz I’m unoriginal and I love Tabi. He has nothing to do with this tehe)

(This is super unorganized, mind you. I kinda just thought of things as I wrote so like if there’s hardly any Yandere concepts at any point to it, it’s because I didn’t think to add much. Considering to do a part 2. Maybe a sequel or just like one where you can really see what he did in the background)

Tw: mentions of murder, stabbing, implied past homicide, somewhat controlling behavior, honestly this one isn’t that bad

——————————————————

Chaehyun had quickly become a successful soloist within a year of his debut. Considering how most people of his country didn’t turn an eye at solo acts, he was an amazement indeed. He was pretty good at singing, but his fiery raps got him even accepted by the company in the first place.

Chaehyun even composed his lyrics, with no help. He let the producers make any back track they wanted (for the most part), but he always made the lyrics. Never would he not make the lyrics.

Chaehyun was always kind of pissy around his manager though. He’d always get annoyed if his manager had to do anything but attending his schedule. Yes, his schedule. That included looking over tracks, photo shoots, and random fuck ass Cola ads.

Anything else other than that was not okay.

Sometimes that meant having to stay at his apartment because he would get so annoyed.

Today is no different. He’s shooting another ad.

What kind of ad?

Coca-Cola. Half of the things he owned was Coca-Cola.

You stand there with his lunch in an insulated bag. You looked miserable. Not because you were at his shooting, but rather you didn’t have time to do your brows or dab at least some foundation on. (He’d always get picky if you didn’t try to look professional beside him).

The 5 hours of sleep you had simply wasn’t enough today. Most days you could survive just fine til the end of the day. But you were feeling it terribly today.

When he finished with some of the shooting. You carefully handed him his lunch. “I got you some Kimbap, uh, Sausage, Bread. A salad. What else…” You trailed off midway. Your mind was kind of blurry today.

Chaehyun raised a brow, “What a weird ass arrangement. But is it convenience store food?” He took a bite of the small bun that was once in the bag.

“No. I cooked it, minus the bread.” You respond, combing your hair with your fingers, a bit anxious you look like a raccoon with your hair not obeying.

His frown slightly goes away. “Oh. Well it isn’t that bad.” He sits down at a nearby table and chair, unpacking the lunch. “Did you eat?” He questioned.

“No. I didn’t have time with how late I got out of bed. I just ate rice and some leftover meat this morning.” You responded, knowing he would probably hiss at you that you couldn’t care for him if you didn’t care for yourself.

He blinked before silently holding a kimbap piece with his chopsticks. “Eat. You can run to the convenience store once I’m shooting again.”

You blink in surprise. You never would have thought he would give you such a thing. He was quite a foodie. “Oh, okay.” You eat it. The carrots didn’t go that bad with the rest of the ingredients.

——————————————————

The next day, he was back in the studio, refining some of his lyrics. He was shuffling through his papers repeatedly until he held one out. “Here, read these, I’m thinking of making this one the main track.”

You take the paper within your hand. He was going with a completely new concept, that maybe was risky on his part. The new concept was because a horror drama series set to come out in 5 months requested for him to write a song for their opening. You mindfully read through the lyrics.

‘Who’s the one you’re thinking about that leaves you sleepless?

I can’t deny I kind of want to break into your house and hug you til you almost choke.

This pen I hold? Could have gone through your ex’s heart if you would just let me.

Just let me. Just let me. Just let me stab someone a little.

I find the blood on my hands hot. Do you think it makes me more attractive?

If I find someone stealing your attention away I’ll blacklist them

When they’re alone at night, I’ll cut their head off with the knife you gave me during lunch.

Only I get to be around you.

Who cares if it means it’s only you and I.

There only needs to be you and I.

You can manage me. Manage my love.

Stop wasting my energy and let me kill someone, stupid.’

As you finish reading the lyrics, you notice some odd details. You hesitantly mumble, “Am I allowed to give critiques?” You glance at him for a response.

“Sure.“ He leaned into his chair, staring at you intently as if awaiting for a certain moment.

You turn back to the lyrics. You suggest to him, “Well I think the organization is all over the place. I think if you keep similar topics together, it will become more of a cohesive song rather than random quotes.” You explain to him, although you were no songwriter, working in the entertainment field means checking and proofing a lot of things.

“Fair. What else?” He scribbled a couple words down onto a blank sheet. He adjusts his posture, as if remembering he wasn’t supposed to slouch.

“I think you could add more descriptive words. Maybe just sprinkle it in. Just in between the verses?” You didn’t know if you worded that right. But usually most songs had a series of random words that they sung like “La La La”, or “Yeah, yeah, yeah”.

He hummed and scribbled some more onto the paper. “Okay. I’ll think of something.” He clicked around on his computer for a bit before requesting, “Can you make some fried chicken? We can eat it together while we replay my shows from last week.”

“Okay. Wait does that include the variety show you almost…” You trailed off again, remembering the weird moment. It happened in a split moment. You could barely even comprehend what happened before they had to stop the shooting.

“…Attacked the announcer guy for making comments about me being in love with a random actress? Yes you’re right. We’re watching that too.” He didn’t seem to care that he almost got banned from the show and blacklisted from any acting.

——————————————————

A few months later, his new album came out; along with the horror series. It was surprisingly a huge hit despite the concerning lyrics and slightly descriptive scenarios. He was close to topping many charts, even being number one in a few categories.

Right after a show that got televised, there was a small press conference just to talk about the successes of the album and his continuing future. As the team (including you and him) took seats, Chaehyun held the mic as the first press member asked a question, “Some fans have speculated that you have taken an actual person to inspiration. Is this true?”

He was dead silent for a moment. Which was rare for him: he always managed to make a smug statement or nonchalantly shrug off anything that he didn’t want to answer. Despite this, he just sat there, holding the mic to his lips.

“Yes. I’ve taken inspiration on the fact that sometimes we want to do things that we can’t do. Due to many reasons. It doesn’t have to pertain with just murder, rather anything. Our family, friends, society, and our morals can stop us. So I took the time to express that into this album.” He picked out his words in a calculated manner. If you didn’t know him well, you probably would assume he was a well-mannered man.

The rest of the press conference went smoothly even if some of the questions were intrusive. Perhaps that’s why he was so successful. He was self-sufficient in many ways. Minus not being able to cook and being a very needy man.

Then, one man in the back asked, “The media has speculated that you’re attracted to actress Song Yeyeon because of your connection to the recent release of the drama. Some fans question whether or not you’re dating. What do you have to say to this regard?”

Once again, he froze.

Somehow, unlike before, the temperature in the room decreased a couple degrees. The tension between the press man and Chaehyun was high. You could see Chaehyun gripping the mic slightly harder. His hands shaking a bit. 

Then with no manners, Chaehyun laughed, “Stop wasting my energy, stupid! Why would I ever want to be with her? I already have all I need. Please, you’ll make me want to murder her.” The laugh was cruel, making fun of the press man. With no care in the world.

You panicked. In no way did he just say that. He was going to ruin his career in the next minute. You quickly grabbed a mic before the press could even scribble anything down. You hastily disengage the conversation, “Um, he’s very sensitive to any dating rumors. I-I think we should end the press conference.”

Just like that, Chaehyun immediately left the room.

——————————————————

Later that night, you were both sitting on the couch in his apartment. The plates of the food you made forgotten, the sauce still splattered on it. It was like a toddler’s artwork of red and orange. Chaehyun was watching the new horror series. Acting as if nothing was wrong with the fact he simply badmouthed the main actress of the very series.

Meanwhile, your eyes were glued to your phone. You were scrolling through every social media and press article. It was mixed opinions all over. Some criticized him for being unprofessional and threatening. Meanwhile his fans and others empathized that the question was way too intrusive on his personal love life.

You sign and turn your head to his direction. “Chaehyun.” You firmly state. There was no room for rage or panic.

He turned his head. He paused the show with the remote, and set it on the table. “Yes?” He scratched his head a bit.

“You do realize we might be screwed for the next few months right?” You wondered if he understood the consequences of his words.

“Yeah. But I needed to say it.” He sounded out his words slowly. As if it was a struggle that he had been keeping up with.

“That you hate Yeyeon?” You question, confused by what he meant.

“No. That I already have all I need.” He repeated the words from before. He leaned back further into the couch.

“Okay, that’s fine. Yet you mentioned the murder part. That- that’s gonna scare people.” You didn’t scold him, but you did really want him to think about what he said. There are consequences. How did he not get a police order for threatening someone with homicide?

“But it’s true. I already did anyway. Anybody who distracts me from my music and priorities is a nuisance.” He made a smile. A cruel smile. Just like that one he gave the press man.

“What?” Your heart pumped blood a little faster.

“Hm? Your ex? What was their name…eh, I don’t care enough. Trying to get back with you is not an option. You already have me. I should take up all your energy.” He chuckled, his eyes holding a glimmer when they shouldn’t be.

You could only stare at him in complete horror. Everybody said that your ex ran away and cut off contact. Not this. You hastily get up, backing away. You hold your phone, ready to call the police.

Just like that, he takes the signal and snatches your phone away roughly. He then yanks you back over to the couch, holding your hands to your side. He was much more in shape than you were. He hummed, “Now, now. Don’t worry about the police. I made sure I got a group to erase any evidence. Now just calm down…”

He switched back on the series. He gave your head a little pat. “I told you, they need to stop wasting my energy. I would rather spend it with you. Eat your cooking, complain about life each other, listen to music together…I love it all.” He made a giggle. It wasn’t high-pitched, but it was creepy.

You try to yank away, freaked out by the sudden change in his behavior. He only just yanked you back and cooed, “Stop running away. Now be good and waste all your energy on me. Don’t be stupid.”

——————————————————

Everybody wonders why Chaehyun’s manager suddenly diminished from Earth.

——————————————————

(Mkay. I have no fucking idea what bullshit happened. But I will say, I love Coca-Cola. Pepsi lovers I get you but I love Cola better.)

(Lowkey after briefly proofreading it, I was like is this cringe??? Or am I just goofy?)

- Celina

La versión española:

(Antes el cuento, necesito decir que no soy una hablante nativa, y esta versión es mi intento practicar mi habilidad y alcanzar fluidez. Porque eso, el cuento no estará correcto y por favor entienda mi español es malo. Fufufuf)

——————————————————

Chaehyun ha sido un solista exitoso rápidamente desde un año de su debut. Lo está considerando como la mayoría de la gente de su país no cuida sobre los solistas, él era un asombro. Él estaba a cantar bien pero sus raps ardientes permitió a aceptar en la compañía.

Chaehyun componía sus letras con no ayuda. Él se dejó los productores hicieron las pistas se quisieron (por la mayoría de tiempo). No hay veces cuando él no hacía las letras.

Chaehyun siempre se enojó alrededor su gerente. Él siempre se molestó si su gerente tenía que alguna cosa pero asistió al horario de Chaehyun. Sí, el horario. Eso incluía mirar sus canciones, sesiónes de fotos, y anuncios de Coca-Cola al azar. Carajo.

Cualquier cosa otro que sus actividades no es bien.

A veces lo significa tener que quedar a su apartamento porque él se enojaría mucho.

Hoy no es diferente. Él hizo un otro comercial.

¿Cuál tipo de comercial?

Coca-Cola. La mitad de sus cosas él poseía estaban Coca-Cola.

Te estabas parado allí con su almuerzo en un bolso aislado. Parecías miserable. No porque no estabas en su sesión de fotos, mejor dicho no tuviste tiempo te maquillas tus cejas o poner una base. (Él siempre no le gusta si no intentas parecer profesional al lado de él).

Las 5 horas del sueño has tenido, simplemente no son bastante hoy. La mayoría del días sobrevivirías muy bien. Pero hoy, te lo estás sentido terriblemente.

Cuando él acabó con un parto de su sesión, le diste su almuerzo con cuidado. “Te trajo unos Kimbap, eh, salchicha, pan, y una ensalada. Qué otro…” Dejaste de hablar a mitad. Tu mente estaba cubierto de nubes hoy.

Chaehyun levantó una ceja, “Qué un surtido extraño. ¿Eh? ¿Pero lo es una comida del abarrote?” Él mordió del pan pequeño que ha estado en el bolso.

“No. La cociné, aparte del pan.” Respuestas, te peinabas con tus dedos, un poco ansioso que pareces como un mapache porque tu pelo no obedece.

Su ceno fruncido desapareció un poco. “Ay. Pues no la es tan mal.” Él siente en una mesa y una silla cercanas. Él desempacó el almuerzo y preguntó “¿Ya comiste?”

“No. No tenía el tiempo porque me desperté muy tarde. Solo comí unos arroces y unas carne sobrantes esta mañana.” Respuestas, sabías él probablemente silbaría a ti que no le podrías cuidar si no te cuidas.

Él parpadeó antes está llevando en silencio un pedazo de kimbap con sus palillos. “Come. Puedes correr al abarrote cuando estoy haciendo la sesión.” 

Parpadeas en sorpresa. Nunca pensarías él te daría su comida. Él demasiada le encanta comida. “Oh, de acuerdo.” Lo comes. Las zanahorias no combinan malo con el resto del ingredientes.

——————————————————

El próximo día, él está en el estudio, está refinando unos partes de su letra. Él revolvía sus papeles repetidamente hasta mantuvo uno. “Oye, lee estos, estoy pensando este lo haré la pista principal.”

Llevas el papel en tu mano. Él usaba un concepto completamente nuevo, y quizás estaba arriesgando en su parte. El concepto fue porque un productor de una serie de drama horror estaba esperando a lanzar en 5 meses le quería componer un canto para la aperture. Leíste la letra con atención plena.

‘¿Quién estás pensando sobre que te dejas sin dormir?

No puedo negar quiero entrar tu casa y abrazarte hasta casi ahogas.

¿Este bolígrafo que mantenía? Lo apuñalaría el corazón de tu ex si me dejarías.

Sólo déjame, sólo déjame, sólo déjame le apuñalar alguien un poco.

Creo que la sangre en mis manos está atractiva. ¿Crees que lo parecerás más atractivo?

Si busqué alguien está robando tu atención, le pondré en la lista negra.

Cuando la persona está solo en la noche, cortaré su cabeza con la cuchillo me diste durante el tiempo de almuerzo.

Solo yo estar cercano a ti.

Quien cuida si lo significa solo tú y yo.

Hay solo necesitan ser tú y yo.

Puedes dirigirme. Diriges mi amor.

Pare malgastar mi energía y déjame matar alguien, imbécil.’

Cuando acabaste leer la letra, notabas unos detalles extraños. Mascullas con vacilación, “¿Permito dar unos críticas?” Le miras por una respuesta.

“Seguro.” Él está inclinado hacia la silla y te está mirando fijamente. Como si espera por un momento significado.

Miras la letra un otra vez. Le sugeriste, “Pues, pienso que la organización es completamente desordenada. Creo que si organizarías las temas similares, la será más cohesiva canción en vez de las quotas al azar.” Le explicaste, aunque no eres un compositor, trabajar en la industria de entretenimiento significa que confirmar y corregir muchas cosas.

“Claro. ¿Y además?” Él garabateó unas palabras en un papel en blanco. Le ajusta su postura, como si se acordaba que él no suponía andar encorvado.

“Creo que puedes añadir más palabras descriptivas. Quizás las espolvorearías en la letra. ¿Entre los versos?” No sabes si lo dijiste correctamente. Pero usualmente la mayoría canciones tuvieron palabras como “La La La” o “Yeah, yeah, yeah”.

Él tarareó y garabateó más en el papel. “Ok, pensaré sobre alguna cosa.” Hizo clic en su computadora por un momento antes solicitó, “¿Puedes cocinar unos pollos frito? Los podemos comer juntos mientras volvemos a poner an mis espectáculos de la semana pasada.”

“De acuerdo. Espera, eso incluye la programa de variedades casi haces…” Dejaste de hablar un otra vez, lo estás acordando. Lo pasó en un segundo. Podrías comprender apenas que pasó antes tuvieron que para la sesión.

“¿Cuando ataqué el presentador por decir comentarios sobre me enamorado con una actriz al azar? Sí, tuviste razón. Estamos mirando eso también.” Él no parecía cuidar que casi se prohibió de la programa y ponía la lista negra de cualquier actuación.

——————————————————

Hace unas meses, su álbum nuevo lanzó, con la serie horror. Sorprendentemente fue un éxito grande a pesar de la letra preocupante y los escenarios descriptivos. Él estaba cerca de rematar la lista de éxitos, y la número uno en unas categorías.

Después de un espectáculo televisivo, hubo una conferencia de prensa para hablar los éxitos del álbum y su futuro continuando. Como el equipo (incluido tu y él) se sentaron, Chaehyun mantuvo el micro mientras el primero miembro de prensa preguntó, “Unos fans han especulado que usted usó una persona real por inspiración. ¿Este es la verdad?”

Él estaba silencio por un minuto. Que es raro para él. Él siempre dirigía decir una declaración engreída o despreocupadamente ignorar alguna cosa que no quiere responder. A pesar de esto, él se sentó allí, estaba mantenido el micro a su labios.

“Sí, tenía inspiración del hecho que a veces queremos hacer cosas que no las podemos. Debido a muchas razones. Las no tienen que pertenecer a asesinatos, en vez de cualquiera cosa. Nuestra familia, amigos y morals pueden nos parar. Entonces, he llevado expresar eso en este álbum.” Él eligió sus palabras en una manera deliberada. Sí no le sabías bien, probablemente supondrías él fue un hombre educado.

El resto de la conferencia de prensa pasaba sin problemas, aunque unas preguntas fueron molestos. Tal vez eso es por qué él sería muy exitoso. Él fue autosuficiente en muchos aspectos. Aparte de no puede cocinar y sería un hombre quiero atención todos los minutos.

Entonces, un corresponsal en el atrás preguntó, “Los medios han especulado que usted se enamora con la actriz Song Yeyeon porque su conexión al reciente lanzamiento de la drama. Unos fans preguntan si ustedes están saliendo o no. ¿Qué dirás sobre esto?”

Un otra vez, él congeló.

De algún modo, a diferencia de antes, la temperatura en la habitación disminuyó unos grados. La tensión entre el corresponsal y Chaehyun estaba muy mala. Podrías mirar Chaehyun está llevando el micro más fuerte. Sus manos están agitando un poco.

Después, sin maneras, Chaehyun rio, “Pare malgastar mi energía, imbécil! ¿Por qué querría jamás estar con ella? Ya tengo todo los necesito. Por favor, te haré querer matar a ella.” Su risa fue cruel, se burló del corresponsal. Sin cuidado.

Te aterrorizaste. ¿Por qué diría eso? Él va a destruir su carrera en el próximo minuto. Llevas el micro rápidamente antes la prensa podrían garabatear cualquier cosa en sus cuadernos. Soltaste la conversación a toda prisa, “Eh, él es muy sensible con cualquier rumors de saliendo. Creo que deberíamos terminar la conferencia.”

Y eso, Chaehyun inmediatamente salió la habitación.

——————————————————

Luego la noche, ustedes se está siento en el sillón, en apartamento de Chaehyun. Los platos de la comida te cocinaste olvidado, la salsa los estuvo salpicado. Fue como un dibujar de niño con rojos y naranjas. Chaehyun estaba mirado la serie horror nueva. Él está actuando como si nada está incorrecto con el hecho él simplemente humilló la actriz principal de la serie.

Mientras, tus ojos estaban pegado a tu celular. Estuviste mirado todos los medios y artículos de prensa. Los opiniones fueron variados. Unas personas le criticaron por estaban poco profesional y amenazado. Pero sus fans y los demás le sentaron empatía que la pregunta fue intrusivo demasiado en su vida amorosa personal.

Suspiraste y doblaste tu cabeza a su dirección. “Chaehyun.” Hablaste firmemente. No hay espacio para furia o pánico.

Él dobló su cabeza también. Él paró la programa con el control y lo puso encima de la mesa. Él arañó su cabeza un poco.

“Sabes que quizás estamos jodido por unos próximos meses, ¿verdad?” Te preguntaste si él entendió las consecuencias de sus palabras.

“Sí. Pero necesité decirlo.” Él habló sus palabras despacito. Como si un esfuerzo que ha aguantado con.

“¿Que odias Yeyeon?” Preguntas, confundido de que dijo.

“No, eso ya tengo todas los necesito.” Él repetí las palabras de antes. Él estar inclinado hacia el sillón más.

“De acuerdo. Es ok. Pero mencionaste la parte del asesinato. Eso- eso irían a temer la gente.” No le regañaste, pero se sobre querría pensar que dijo. Hay unas consecuencias. Cómo no recibió una orden por amenazar alguien con homicidio?

“Pero es la verdad. Ya lo hice de todos los modos. Alguien me distraje de mi música y prioridades es un fastidio.” Él sonrió. Una sonrisa cruel. Como se dio al corresponder.

“Qué?” Tu corazón bombeó sangre un poco rápido.

“Hm? Tu ex? Qué se llama…eh, no cuido bastante. Estar intentando a regresar contigo no es una opción. Ya tienes yo. Debería absorber toda tu energía.” Él reí, sus ojos tienen un luz trémula cuando no los debería estar.

Solo le podrías mirar en horror completa. Toda la gente dijeron que tu ex salió corriendo y paró contacto. No esto. Levantas a toda prisa, retrocediste. Mantuviste tu celular, llamar listo la policía.

Y como eso, él entiende la señal y bruscamente coge tu celular. Después, él te lleva al sillón, está mantiene tus manos a tu lado. Él fue más físicos que ti. Tarareó, “Oye, oye. No te preocupas sobre la policía. Aseguré llevar un grupo borrar cualquiera prueba. Ahora cálmate.”

Él puso la serie. Él dio palmaditas tu cabeza. “Te dije, ellos necesitan parar malgastando mi energía. En vez de la pasaré contigo. Comer tu cocina, te quejar sobre vida, escuchar música juntos…todos los amo.” Él río. No lo fue chirrante, pero fue escalofriante.

Intentas jalar de él, sorprendiste por de repente cambio en su comportamiento. Él solo jaló de ti a le y arrulló, “Pare correr de mi. Ahora, pórtate bien y malgasta tu energía a mi. No ser un imbécil.”

——————————————————

Toda la gente preguntan por que la gerente de Chaehyun de repente desapareció del mundo.

——————————————————

(Usé unos vocabularios nunca he usado antes. Entonces no sé si mis palabras son correctas. Y…estar y ser? Imperfect y pretérito? No sé!)

(La traducción me llevé 9 horas…ayúdame ;-;)

[miiilowo]

@dog-bonezzzz hi im deciding to respond to your tags about disliking this idea and being unable to find evidence

I'm not responding in the tags just because they're harder to manage/edit/etc on my phone, but my brief argument in favor of the "William doing (some) of all that out of grief" thing comes from multiple different places. Ultimately it's because I think it otherwise makes him extremely boring and 1-note if his exclusive interests are killing Just Because and for the sake of immortality

1. Edwin/Henry did the same thing, it, To Me, feels like they're trying to set up a theme. Idk why this would be a pattern if they weren't trying to do it on purpose, and William fits into the slot nicely.

2. The funtimes read like the afton family to both myself and a lot of other people. I think funtime foxy could represent will, given the fact that they both have a very over-the-top showman persona, leaving Michael and Evan/CC/Dave/Whatever You Want To Call Him as funtime freddy and bonbon, but having funtime freddy be william and Michael being his wretched little sock puppet also makes sense. ballora and particularly BABY. BABY SPECIFICALLY are extremely obvious as to who's who and idk why he'd do that unless he gave some kind of a shit about his family. Not in a normal way, but this wouldn't be for the sake of keeping a good appearance like how you could write everything else off as

3. Why would he base baby off of Elizabeth and make her For Her if he didn't love her to some degree? He didn't have to do that, other explanations don't make sense to me

4. He has characterization in the books that show him demonstrating some level of caring about kids and other people. Given, he is still entirely morally bankrupt, but in the books he does sedate the kids before he kills them and is very focused on making them happy in the afterlife. This doesn't make much sense for the games since I don't think he sedated Charlie for ganking her outside Freddys, but it does show he is capable of giving some kind of a shit

5. I think it makes more sense if he kills Charlie not only out of jealousy over Henry and what he has animatronic-skill wise, but as a power thing to take away Henry's Perfect Family since he can't have his own anymore (assuming this is after the bite of 83). He seems obsessed with the idea of having a perfect family in the books which isn't the same as Loving your kids, but it's still some level of caring about them, and makes 100% sense as a motive over pure unregulated drunken sadism and being angry that his buddy could build robots better than him

6. The Springbonnie critter from Into The Pit isnt William, but it does specifically mimick his personality and behavior. It's 100% more violent in the game for obvious reasons (it's a game and needs to be engaging), but in the book it spends a large majority of the time just trying to act like a dad. Having breakfast with Oswald, trying to spend time with him, sending him off to school, etc.

I have a lot more than this but ive got somewhere to be today and genuinely should not spend more time than I already have talking about this. These aren't the most airtight points, but from a narrative perspective, it's Way more satisfying if William has more concrete emotionally driven motivations, and cares about his kids in some way/shape/form while still being an awful abusive neglectful asshole. Abusers almost never think they're the bad guy. Having him go on a bit of a downward spiral until he literally and truly cares about nothing else except himself and immortality is a lot more fun than him just Being Like That from the start imo, and there's enough evidence here & there to back that up if you want to find it. so there's a small handful until I can come back to Tumblr later

(books) henry: loses his child and replaces her with a robot out of grief

fandom: yeah alright

edwin: loses his wife and son and replaces them with robots out of grief

fandom: makes sense to me

william: loses his children and makes robots that suspiciously resemble his family

fandom: NOOOOO MAKING HIM CARE ABOUT HIS FAMILY IS STUPID !!! THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO THINK THAT'S A GOOD IDEA ARE SHALLOW FANGIRLS WHO WANT TO MAKE HIM SYMPATHETIC SO THEYLL FEEL BETTER ABOUT WANTING TO FUCK HIM

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Cant believe it took me this long to write something about the reader and water!

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Baths and water

★ Most things in Home were designed with puppets in mind, not humans. Because they don't like to get wet there's no baths. Except in Wally's Home, for some reason. Nobody uses much water. As it soaks into their felt and stuffing. 

★ You have to get creative with self care. Howdy doesn't stock his shop with shampoo and conditioner. So you need to make those things yourself. Maybe venture outside of Home to look for some herbs you can use. Like chamomile or mint. 

★ You buy the weirdest things from Howdy. Regularly purchasing epsom salt, baking soda, cornstarch and citric acid (ingredients to make bath bombs) and for some reason you won't tell him why. At first he assumes it's a strange recipe. But what dish has citric acid? Why would you need so much baking soda???

★ Poppy was shocked when she first saw you washing your face. "Oh dear! Are y- Goodness! You're soaked!" Scrambling to get you a towel. It took awhile for her to calm down and listen. Apparently, you're the only neighbor who can get wet. Other than Home, that is.

★ She watches from her window as you walk in the rain. You seem mostly unbothered. But she still doesn't like seeing you wet. Take a shower and she waits outside the door. Ready to hand you extra towels. Just in case.

★ Get covered in mud and Barnaby stairs at you. Bewildered you managed to get up. If that ever happened to him, he would feel too heavy to walk! Weighed down by the dirty water. It's moments like this that remind him how different you are.

★ Eddie uses glue to style his hair. You can only imagine what everyone else is doing. So you don't let anyone style your hair outside of brushing it. No matter how much Julie asks, you won't let her put any type of spray in your hair

★ The neighbors, and Julie especially, feel weird seeing you go in water. When you step in puddles she can't help but shudder. Even though she knows you'll be fine. "How do you even do that?" She asks you.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

I adore your writing!! You manage to balance comedy and angst so well, I don’t know how you do it, but it’s lovely <33

Could you tell me something sweet about your venus vampire trap au?

Thank you! Comedy is my passion, but I've had a lot of fun with angst lately, and mixing the two together is always fun.

Hmmmm. Let me think.

So Stan can eat human food, but it doesn't taste as good as it used to, and he can get sick if he eats too much (since his digestive track doesn't really work). He hadn't really noticed much, being homeless and not getting hungry anymore, but now that he's sticking with Ford, trying to get his brother out of the murder cult, he starts eating meals with them and, being Stan, commenting on how they don't really put a lot of effort into their meals huh :/ sure he'll eat it, but its kinda bland? And it always fills him up way too fast or makes him sick if he eats a lot :/ they should work on that.

So they do :) In true horror/denial here Ford starts harvesting vampire blood to make special Stan meals where he gives Stan, like, a burger that has 'ketchup' (vampire blood) is 'juicy' (Ford soaked it in vampire blood), has a special 'seasoning' in the bun (soaked it in vampire blood) and made him a cool drink! (its a cup of vampire blood).

And man! Thats way better! Stan's eating his vampire soaked meals and groaning whenever Ford tells him straight out that all he did was soak everything in vampire blood, and thats why it looks different than everyone elses. At this point Stan's starting to think Fords pranking him, not that Ford genuinely believes Stan's a vampire.

Stan's not an expert, but he'd know if he was eating blood Ford! (he says, slurping up his vampire blood and glaring at everyone). He's gotten enough blood in his mouth to know what it tastes like (he says, chewing up his spaghetti that has vampire blood instead of tomato sauce)! Stop it with the vampire thing and just tell him what secret seasoning he's using (he says, licking the vampire blood of the plate)!

Emma-May and Fiddleford won't let Ford do this in the communal kitchen, as the last thing they need is for Ford to poison everyone from accidental contamination. Fiddleford would love if he stopped doing it at all, but the alternative is Stan making himself sick off of food he can't really eat because he's convinced he still needs it. Plus Ford gets a dejected, kicked puppy look when they tell him to stop.

Instead he has to take everything into his lab and just dunk it before dinner. Stan watches him do this once, breaks in and drinks all the blood because he 'found Fords secret seasoning stash' and Ford finds him, face covered in blood and full like a cat that got into the pantry, too full to move. Food coma on the lab floor.

Stan's eyes also turn yellow and his fangs slip out when he eats Fords vamp blood dunked meals. It's kind of terrifying, but also hilarious watching him chew with the extra teeth.

[skyfallscotland]

I don't like, talk about it often (just kidding, I do), but I'm really struggling with the friendship aspect of life right now. I've been thinking about it a lot today because of the things that are coming up both in my personal life and online, and it just...really sucks.

I saw this morning that Ali Hazelwood deactivated her instagram account after basically being bullied off the internet for something she said kind of 'off the cuff' about the Hunger Games characters. I knew she'd said it because I saw her post on stories last night begging people to at least stop commenting mean things on posts other authors were tagged in, because she was concerned about them.

In her story she said that she'd thought they (her and an interviewer) were joking around and she hadn't meant it in the literal sense, and asked for people to be patient with her because she's really 'not good at this stuff' and for a moment I felt so seen because it feels like I can never get it right either.

Either I think we're joking around and I manage to offend someone by saying something stupid, or I think it's obvious I'm being literal (or not literal) and it apparently isn't, or my opinion offends someone when I'm not asking anyone else to take it on, I'm just saying literally how I feel. I don't know. If there's a happy medium, I just haven't found it.

Like I'm not saying I've never said anything thoughtless, or stupid, or even downright mean—I know I have. I'm just saying there seems to be an expectation now that in every interaction big or small, with one person or an audience of a thousand, that we consider how it might come across negatively when that experience is also dictated by the recipient. It just feels impossible. Communication isn’t a linear process. Other people’s experiences form their reactions too, not just what we say and how we say it.

It's worsened my anxiety to an untenable degree and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do besides not comment on anything, ever, and hold myself at arms length from everyone. Whatever happened to discussion? Because it feels like that's just...not a thing anymore.

I'm at my wits end with this. No one ever agrees with everyone on everything, no one ever goes through any friendship without thinking 'that was a shitty thing to say' at least once, but my philosophy has always just been to move on. I wouldn’t like, give someone the silent treatment over it or cancel plans or anything.

I don’t know, I feel like I can admit when I’ve upset someone and I always apologise because I really do think you don’t get to decide how you make other people feel, but I also think if you can’t have differing opinions on fictional characters, or writing, or celebrities then what’s the point? I know people attach a lot of meaning to the arts and fandom, but if you have to second guess what you say about those things as well as the serious things, all that’s left to talk about is the weather.

The real kicker to this is that I have a degree in this shit and I still apparently cannot figure it out, and all my therapist can say is ‘no, I think you handled that ok’ and I’m like???

Like I’m sorry we don’t see certain things the same way but I’m kinda tired of being treated like I’ve killed someone’s cat. Many people’s cats. One after another. (I’ve never killed any cats). Thank you for coming to my TED talk x