#another morning as an essential worker :)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Too big to care

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in BOSTON with Randall "XKCD" Munroe (Apr 11), then PROVIDENCE (Apr 12), and beyond!

Remember the first time you used Google search? It was like magic. After years of progressively worsening search quality from Altavista and Yahoo, Google was literally stunning, a gateway to the very best things on the internet.

Today, Google has a 90% search market-share. They got it the hard way: they cheated. Google spends tens of billions of dollars on payola in order to ensure that they are the default search engine behind every search box you encounter on every device, every service and every website:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

Not coincidentally, Google's search is getting progressively, monotonically worse. It is a cesspool of botshit, spam, scams, and nonsense. Important resources that I never bothered to bookmark because I could find them with a quick Google search no longer show up in the first ten screens of results:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Even after all that payola, Google is still absurdly profitable. They have so much money, they were able to do a $80 billion stock buyback. Just a few months later, Google fired 12,000 skilled technical workers. Essentially, Google is saying that they don't need to spend money on quality, because we're all locked into using Google search. It's cheaper to buy the default search box everywhere in the world than it is to make a product that is so good that even if we tried another search engine, we'd still prefer Google.

This is enshittification. Google is shifting value away from end users (searchers) and business customers (advertisers, publishers and merchants) to itself:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/05/the-map-is-not-the-territory/#apor-locksmith

And here's the thing: there are search engines out there that are so good that if you just try them, you'll get that same feeling you got the first time you tried Google.

When I was in Tucson last month on my book-tour for my new novel The Bezzle, I crashed with my pals Patrick and Teresa Nielsen Hayden. I've know them since I was a teenager (Patrick is my editor).

We were sitting in his living room on our laptops – just like old times! – and Patrick asked me if I'd tried Kagi, a new search-engine.

Teresa chimed in, extolling the advanced search features, the "lenses" that surfaced specific kinds of resources on the web.

I hadn't even heard of Kagi, but the Nielsen Haydens are among the most effective researchers I know – both in their professional editorial lives and in their many obsessive hobbies. If it was good enough for them…

I tried it. It was magic.

No, seriously. All those things Google couldn't find anymore? Top of the search pile. Queries that generated pages of spam in Google results? Fucking pristine on Kagi – the right answers, over and over again.

That was before I started playing with Kagi's lenses and other bells and whistles, which elevated the search experience from "magic" to sorcerous.

The catch is that Kagi costs money – after 100 queries, they want you to cough up $10/month ($14 for a couple or $20 for a family with up to six accounts, and some kid-specific features):

https://kagi.com/settings?p=billing_plan&plan=family

I immediately bought a family plan. I've been using it for a month. I've basically stopped using Google search altogether.

Kagi just let me get a lot more done, and I assumed that they were some kind of wildly capitalized startup that was running their own crawl and and their own data-centers. But this morning, I read Jason Koebler's 404 Media report on his own experiences using it:

https://www.404media.co/friendship-ended-with-google-now-kagi-is-my-best-friend/

Koebler's piece contained a key detail that I'd somehow missed:

When you search on Kagi, the service makes a series of “anonymized API calls to traditional search indexes like Google, Yandex, Mojeek, and Brave,” as well as a handful of other specialized search engines, Wikimedia Commons, Flickr, etc. Kagi then combines this with its own web index and news index (for news searches) to build the results pages that you see. So, essentially, you are getting some mix of Google search results combined with results from other indexes.

In other words: Kagi is a heavily customized, anonymized front-end to Google.

The implications of this are stunning. It means that Google's enshittified search-results are a choice. Those ad-strewn, sub-Altavista, spam-drowned search pages are a feature, not a bug. Google prefers those results to Kagi, because Google makes more money out of shit than they would out of delivering a good product:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/4/2/24117976/best-printer-2024-home-use-office-use-labels-school-homework

No wonder Google spends a whole-ass Twitter every year to make sure you never try a rival search engine. Bottom line: they ran the numbers and figured out their most profitable course of action is to enshittify their flagship product and bribe their "competitors" like Apple and Samsung so that you never try another search engine and have another one of those magic moments that sent all those Jeeves-askin' Yahooers to Google a quarter-century ago.

One of my favorite TV comedy bits is Lily Tomlin as Ernestine the AT&T operator; Tomlin would do these pitches for the Bell System and end every ad with "We don't care. We don't have to. We're the phone company":

https://snltranscripts.jt.org/76/76aphonecompany.phtml

Speaking of TV comedy: this week saw FTC chair Lina Khan appear on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. It was amazing:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaDTiWaYfcM

The coverage of Khan's appearance has focused on Stewart's revelation that when he was doing a show on Apple TV, the company prohibited him from interviewing her (presumably because of her hostility to tech monopolies):

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/apple-got-caught-censoring-its-own

But for me, the big moment came when Khan described tech monopolists as "too big to care."

What a phrase!

Since the subprime crisis, we're all familiar with businesses being "too big to fail" and "too big to jail." But "too big to care?" Oof, that got me right in the feels.

Because that's what it feels like to use enshittified Google. That's what it feels like to discover that Kagi – the good search engine – is mostly Google with the weights adjusted to serve users, not shareholders.

Google used to care. They cared because they were worried about competitors and regulators. They cared because their workers made them care:

https://www.vox.com/future-perfect/2019/4/4/18295933/google-cancels-ai-ethics-board

Google doesn't care anymore. They don't have to. They're the search company.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

#pluralistic #john stewart #the daily show #apple #monopoly #lina khan #ftc #too big to fail #too big to jail #monopolism #trustbusting #antitrust #search #enshittification #kagi #google

[oftenwantedafton]

Personal Space - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 4

Rating - Explicit

CW - none for this chapter

Also available on AO3

taglist @123124133

Steve Raglan’s work mailbox is overflowing.

He shouldn’t be surprised given how distracted he’s been lately. Case in point, he’s been standing in front of the coffee maker with absolutely zero progress made towards getting the machine up and running. Thinking about the wedding. Well, not the ceremony itself, of course; what happened after. Dancing with you. His scars touched. In the car outside your apartment. Leaning so close.

What hadn’t happened. That’s something he’s struggling not to imagine. There was no point in indulging in the fantasy of kissing you. He can’t. He won’t. It’s that simple.

“Good morning.” Your cheerful voice behind him, breaking his reverie. “I’ll go fill that if you want.” You remove the glass pot he’s still holding from his hands.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I don’t mind.” That smile that is his ruin.

Raglan begins sifting through the stack of mail he’d dumped on his desk earlier. Glancing over to find you setting up the machine. You’d been watching him closer than he’d thought. The routine perfectly replicated. Even the correct measurements of coffee grounds. He likes it strong.

“What’s all that?” You nod towards the pile on his desk.

“The first thing on the agenda today. A bit of mail backlog to get through.”

You hum thoughtfully, still waiting by the appliance. The scent finally permeates the air. The first drops settling into the pot set on the now heated burner. You fill his mug and hand it to him wordlessly before settling behind the desk.

“Thank you.” He takes a sip. It’s brewed perfectly.

The cup now secure on the coaster, away from the mail and any potential impending disaster. Some envelopes the career counselor immediately discards without even opening. There’s no escaping junk from solicitors.

“This one looks important.” You’re holding up a large envelope, the innards braced by some sort of cardboard to keep the contents intact. He glances at the sender’s address. “You can open that if you want. It’s nothing exciting.”

“What’s NASW?”

“National Association of Social Workers. An organization you should consider joining. There are a lot of benefits. Continuing education credits which you’ll need to keep track of for your licensure. Legal and ethical support too. A good resource.” He pauses midway through tearing the flap of the envelope he’s holding to watch you carefully prise the edge open. There’s a certificate tucked in between the protective layers.

“Steve, it’s an award.”

“Yeah, I told them to mail it.” He leans over to tug on the bottom drawer of the desk. “You can add it to the collection.”

You stare open mouthed at the stack of similar accolades. “Seriously? You just dump them in a drawer?”

“I don’t have room to hang all of them. I don’t like clutter. They’re redundant anyway,” he says dismissively, resuming the revelation of the contents in his own hands. More junk, essentially. Just better disguised. He tosses it in the barrel for the shredder, feeling you staring at him. “What?”

“I would be like, so excited to get something like this.”

“Well, of course. You’re just starting out. The novelty wears off eventually.” When he realizes you’re still holding the certificate he pulls it from your fingers and drops it into the drawer unceremoniously, sliding it shut again.

“So you were excited about them in the beginning?”

“Excited probably isn’t the correct word to use, no.” He lifts another envelope. This one an inter office mailer. He has his suspicions about what this contains.

“Do you like this job?”

Steve looks at you. “It’s a decent career. A comfortable way to earn a living.”

“That not what I asked.”

He leans back in the leather chair, unwinding the last of the thread and withdrawing a stapled packet of papers. Yes, he’d been correct. “Does it really matter?”

“Yes, it does. Why are you doing it if you don’t enjoy it?”

“I just told you.”

“Did you like what you did before this better?”

His eyes snap from the pages to your face. “And what would you know about that?”

You squirm a little but maintain his gaze. “Not much. Some people mentioned you were in the restaurant business or something.”

“Gossiping,” he says disdainfully. “Who told you that?”

“I don’t remember. It just came up. That night at the bar, maybe.”

“This is precisely why I prefer to keep work and private life very well separated.”

“But what’s the big deal? I don’t get it.”

“Of course you don’t. I can only imagine what the rumor mill is circulating about us going to the wedding together,” he mutters.

“You’re ashamed of me.”

“No.”

“Then what? You said you like me. Why don’t you…”

“Why don’t I what?”

“Let yourself be happy.”

He snickers and you blush. “That’s not what you were going to say originally. If you can’t even say it…”

Your chin lifts. “Fine. Why don’t you want me?”

The older man shakes his head. “It’s not a question of wanting.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’ve already answered that as best as I’m able. You continuously pushing me is not going to obtain a different outcome.”

You finally look away, worrying your bottom lip. He signs, glancing at the papers in his hand before setting them to one side.

“What’s that?”

“Your preliminary peformance review. To determine how much longer you’re going to need training.”

“What are you going to say?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m going to need to spend some time working on it. Later.” He massages the bridge of his nose, displacing his glasses. You’ve done it again. Made him feel guilty. All because he was trying to protect you. Doing the right thing and it felt completely wrong. “I don’t get any pleasure out of arguing with you. I know you think I’m being needlessly cruel.”

“I don’t. Not most of the time, anyway.”

“Would it make you feel any better if I told you I was doing it for your benefit?”

“Absolutely not.” Your fingers stop restlessly creasing the edge of the now empty envelope. “You really suck at apologies, you know.”

“Language.”

You glance over at him. A small twitch of his lips. “You’re a jerk.” He can see you fighting not to smile back.

“Never said I wasn’t. I don’t know why you put so much effort into befriending a bitter old man.”

“You are pretty old.” Openly grinning now. “I’ll let you make it up to me.”

“How?”

“Take me out to lunch? And then we eat outside.”

“That’s it? And then I’m off the hook?”

“Maybe.”

He nods. You’re learning. “Alright. Deal.”

***

“I’ve got it. The perfect apology. We’re going to this.”

You slap a piece of paper down on the picnic table beside Steve later that afternoon.

He quickly scans over the text, squinting against the glare of the sun on the glossy paper. An advertisement for a three day conference at a hotel in Vegas. “Oh, no. No, we’re not.”

“Why not? My parents will handle my share for the hotel until I can pay them back. It’s only a couple hours away. We’ll leave on that Monday night after work. Come back Thursday evening after it’s over. If, you know, you didn’t want to enjoy the sights a little longer.”

“You already missed a day for the other seminar,” he muses after taking a sip of his drink.

“But I’m sure I’d get approved. And you must have like a zillion hours of vacation time. Do you even go on vacation?”

“Even if that’s the case, I’m not into gambling.” He pushes the paper back towards you. “Vegas really isn’t my scene.”

“Okay, fine, I’m not into gambling either. The hotel looks really nice.” You take a bite of your sub.

He frowns. “Is this what you did during your morning break today? Where did you even get this?”

“It was posted in the break room.”

He bats your hand away from his bag of chips. You’d already eaten yours on the way back from the shop. “So you stole it.”

“Borrowed it. I’ll put it back.” Reaching again.

“The answer is still no.” At odds with his surrender. You drag the bag towards you, grinning.

“What if there was an extra incentive?”

“Listening. Very doubtfully listening.”

“You could call it a birthday present. Kill two birds with one stone, get off the hook for that ahead of time.”

“When is your birthday?”

“It’s…okay it’s not for a while yet, but still. It would count.”

“I will pass on a two hour drive in the torture mobile.” Nothing but ice left in the styrofoam cup now. He sets it down with a regretful sigh.

“Well, we’d take your car.”

“Now you’re volunteering me to drive, too.”

“I’ll pay for gas.”

“That not…” He sighs again. “It’s not about travel expenses or logistics or whatever.”

“So? Why don’t you want to go?”

“Because your motivation for going has almost nothing to do with the conference. Maybe nothing at all.”

You’re blushing again. “That’s not true. I mean, maybe there’ll be something interesting.”

“Nothing would happen. Between us. You realize this, yes? I can one hundred percent guarantee it.”

“I know,” you mumble.

“Two beds. Two rooms would be better, honestly,” he mutters, crumpling the paper wrapper and shoving it back into the bag.

“Of course.”

“Assuming you’d be able to get the time off.”

“Yes.”

“And you wouldn’t be advertising this around the office.”

“Nope. I won’t tell a soul.”

“I haven’t agreed to this yet, just so we’re clear.”

“I got it.”

You smile and he already feels himself giving in.

***

Steve Raglan is driving on Interstate 15 heading south towards Nevada two weeks later with you in the passenger seat looking incredibly proud of yourself while he inwardly curses. You’re entirely too good at wearing him down. Weakening his resolve. Eroding the barrier between you that he’s constantly forced to shore up over and over.

As expected it doesn’t take long for your attention span to wander. Fiddling with the radio. Rifling through the cassette tapes he has piled in the console. He makes the mistake of sliding his sleeves up and you’re instantly focused on the scars again. Touching in ways that go beyond curiosity. He shoves the fabric back down to conceal them once more and cranks the window down further. There’s no air conditioning. The weather is already getting to that unpleasant stage of summer he despises. Just endless heat and dryness that lasts even after the sun goes down.

The career counselor stops about halfway to the destination to refuel the car and grab you both drinks. A crack in the asphalt makes you spill soda on your lap. You reach for the glove compartment in search of napkins. None. But there’s an arcade token and an old photograph inside.

Steve’s only half paying attention, concentrating on returning to the highway when he realizes what you’re holding.

The image is of a man in a yellow rabbit costume, exactly like the one pictured on the coaster in his office. The same one you’d doodled for him. It’s him. Years ago. When he’d had a different name. Standing inside the restaurant he’d owned. Next to a young girl with blonde hair. The complete polar opposite from his own appearance, taking after her mother.

“Who’s this?” The spill already forgotten, you seem focused on the aged picture.

“That’s my daughter.”

“Oh! This is that place on the coaster. The Chuck E. Cheese knockoff.” You’re examining the token now, the image of a bear carved into the surface of the coin.

“The other way around. They stole the idea,” he says, scowling.

“Is this the place you used to work at?”

“Yes,” he admits. “Put it back, please. And I’ll thank you not to reveal that to anyone at work.”

“Okay. I mean, I don’t see why it matters.” You return the items to the compartment and swing the door back up until it clicks shut.

“No, you wouldn’t. Just…leave it, please.”

“Alright.”

“I mean it. Promise me.” His eyes shift to meet yours. “Your word.”

“Yeah, okay, I won’t say anything. I promise.”

Some of the tension seems to evaporate in his shoulders. He refocuses on driving. There isn’t much scenery. A long stretch of desert. A longer stretch of silence.

That all changes when Raglan reaches the outskirts of the city. Then it’s a mass of lights and colors and sounds. People everywhere. Thankfully the hotel is nearby. He stretches when he gets out of the car. He’s hungry, tired, a little stiff from sitting for so long. That tension between you over your discovery still there. He knows he’s only making you more suspicious, but he doesn’t really have much choice. The alternative…No. He can’t tell you the truth.

He checks in. One room, two queen beds. There hadn’t been a lot of options since the room had been booked so last minute. He hands you the key card. You’re staring around the lobby, a little wide eyed. Some of your enthusiasm returning.

“You can have the shower first.” He sets his luggage on the bed closest to the window, removing clothes and a bag of toiletries. “You want to go out to eat, or just get room service for tonight?”

“Room service,” you decide immediately and he sighs inwardly. He’d been hoping you’d choose that. He’s really not up for going out.

“Pick something out and I’ll order it.”

You flip through the laminated menu on the nightstand while he hangs up his dress shirts and slacks. The clothing you’ve chosen to wear after the upcoming shower—a distressingly small pile—is something he’s sternly avoiding looking at while he orders.

Steve switches the television on for background noise. He hears you start the shower. Emerge just as the food arrives. Shorts. Tank top. Well, it was summer. Of course that’s what you’d be wearing. Some pretty lavender shade. You smell good. That fruity scent again. He’s focusing very hard on his plate. The same order for both of you. Cheeseburgers, fries. Just something simple. You’re sitting cross legged on top of the comforter. Flipping through the channels. Home renovation. A survival reality show. A recipe for some seafood and pasta dish that you clearly aren’t interested in as you quickly advance the channel again. A car commercial before an old detective show from the eighties. You shrug and drop the remote, taking a bite of your sandwich. That awkward tension from earlier still there, and now this new one, too.

The bearded man escapes to the bathroom. Takes his time in the shower, trying to relax his nerves. Looking at himself in the mirror. Pajamas that cover him from neck to ankle, concealing the scars.

You notice, commenting as soon as he returns to the bedroom. “You don’t have to cover up. It’s just us. It’s summer. Even with the AC. Come on, Steve. I doubt you’re like that at home.”

“Of course not. I live alone. There’s no one there to see.”

“I don’t care. I mean, they don’t bother me. I already know what they look like.”

He hesitates. Decides maybe just the long sleeve shirt can go. It still feels weird. Being exposed like this. He can feel your eyes on him. “Don’t stare.” He tosses one of the pillows at you lightly and it falls short, landing near your thigh.

“I’m not staring,” you protest. The credits are rolling for the show. You return fire and miss completely, landing shy of the mattress.

Steve leans over to retrieve the pillow from the carpet. “Your aim is terrible.” The pillow lands on your lap.

“Yeah, well, I’m not really trying.” You exert more force this time. Too much. It hits the side of his face and his glasses tumble off. You’re on your feet instantly, standing between the beds. “Steve, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…I didn’t break them, did I?”

“They’re fine.” He sets them on the nightstand, looking at you. “I’m fine,” he says reassuringly, then smirks. “You hit like a girl.”

“Well, fuck, I am a girl.”

His pale eyes flash. “Language,” he cautions. Long legs swing over the edge and he’s suddenly standing in front of you.

“We’re not in the office.”

“That doesn’t matter. Nice young ladies shouldn’t use vulgar language in everyday conversation,” he reprimands.

“Maybe I’m not a nice young lady. What if it’s not everyday conversation?” You challenge.

He shakes his head, sensing the shift in the mood. Dangerous. Such a dangerous game you were playing when you didn’t fully understand the rules. “Don’t.”

“Or what? What are you gonna do about it?” You reach for his bare forearms. He slips free easily, grasping yours instead. Pushing you until the backs of your knees touch the edge of the other bed. Pressing you down onto it, beneath him. Your wrists now pinned on either side of your face. His grip loosening, fingers sliding up to lace through yours.

“I told you nothing was going to happen, didn’t I?” This whispered somewhere above your cheek. It would be so easy. So, so simple to just let his mouth go where it wanted to. Where you wanted it. Your eyes so dilated, so hungry. Lips parted. Waiting for capture.

“Maybe I was hoping you were lying.”

“Not about this.” Steve forces himself to release you, climbing back off your bed and returning to his, flipping the comforter and sheet back, then turning off the lamp on his side. “Don’t stay up too late. We have to get up in the morning.” Sliding into bed, turning to face the curtain shrouded window. The television is soon switched off. The other light following. A rustling sound of you getting underneath the covers.

He absolutely despises himself.

***

There’s a hand caressing Steve’s back.

You’re in bed. In his bed, with him.

“What are you doing?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you woke me up?”

“Don’t be mad at me.”

He turns over onto his back. “I’m not mad. Stop saying that all the time.”

“You are upset. I can feel it. I hate it.” Your voice sounds so small in the darkness.

He sighs. “Why can’t you just…behave? Just go to sleep. In your own bed. Please. I’m asking nicely.”

“You know why.”

His eyes dart to the alarm clock on the nightstand. “It’s one thirty. We really are not having this conversation at this hour.”

“I just want you to hold me.”

“That is most definitely not all you want.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

“So stubborn. Absolutely insufferable…”

“You don’t want to?”

“Of course I do. We’ve been over this before.” He forces his voice to be gentle. “I don’t know what you see in me. Why you’re so persistent. I’m hardly worth this fuss. I’m unkind to you.”

“Only because you’re pretending. That’s not who you really are. You’re afraid. Whatever happened to you. In your past. It’s over and done with.”

“You don’t know. You think you do, but you don’t.”

“So tell me. Or don’t. Just…be with me.”

“You make it sound so simple. So black and white. It isn’t.”

He feels you shifting beside him. Your head now resting on his chest. His arm curls around you. You fit so well. It feels…natural. Surely this was alright. Not too improper.

Maybe he can let himself have this.

***

Morning.

Steve’s forgotten to set the alarm and his internal clock is failing him. Pulling his arm through the sleeve of his shirt with the travel toothbrush still clutched between his teeth, the job half finished. Nearly colliding with you when he returns to the bathroom. You’re combing your hair. Attempting to get it styled but it’s refused to cooperate, frizzy tendrils dislodging from the gathering. You hastily tuck your sleeveless blouse into your skirt. “Toothpaste,” you say shortly, pointing to his shirt. Wetting a face cloth and scrubbing at the white stain. Making a large wet spot. Your zipper is stuck. He has to assist you. Standing side by side looking at your reflections.

“Yeah, we um…we look…” You turn to face Steve.

“Terrible. We’re so late.” He glances at his wristwatch.

“It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

He waves away your apology. “It’s okay. I don’t think the first topic was that interesting anyway. We’ll catch the next speaker.” He watches you slide into your shoes. Another piece of hair loosening. His fingers reaching for it. Tucking it behind your ear as you straighten. Dragging along your jaw. “Unless you wanted to skip it entirely.”

“And do what instead? Oh…” He pushes you back against the door.

Please don’t let this be another dream.

Your lips soft and warm against his. His hands wandering over your curves. Yours at his belt. He’s not going to stop you this time. He’s not…

Steve’s eyes open.

Damn it.

Automatically checking the time. Alarm due to go off in one minute. He hadn’t forgotten to set it. You’re still tucked against him. That part, at least, is real. He hits the snooze button the second the noise starts.

He’s going to enjoy this for as long as he can.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x you #steve raglan x reader

[lokiprompts]

Appropriate - Chp 1

"Introductions"

Summary: Loki x Female reader; Loki is banished to Midgard and he has to live an average life as penance...and you, a social worker, is there to help him along the way. Rom Com vibes. Pinning; emotional edging until we can't take it anymore.

Words: 5k (it's a doozy, but an important start).

Warnings: Some swearing, but otherwise fluffy, some angst.

Song to listen to while reading: Maestro

AN: I don't offer taglists anymore. Remember to reblog if you like a writer's work! Comments make my heart go pitter patter.

Next chapter here

“This is a prison, Brother.”

The Odinson brothers stood together in a nearly empty apartment within Stark Tower; Thor beaming with unbridled optimism and Loki with a scowl painted on his face. The very walls of the room made the youngest prince nauseated, the beige walls and cookie cutter interior design completely devoid of personality. It was a far cry from his grand chambers in Asgard. But this tiny apartment was now his to call home. He had arrived earlier in the day, fresh out of Asgardian prison to pay penance on Midgard.  Loki’s arrival was mostly due to Thor’s pleading, arguing to his dear father, Odin, that Loki would be punished thoroughly just by having to stay on Midgard. Thor thought he was doing his younger brother a favor and believed a stay at the tower was a lesser penance.

But what Thor didn’t know was that he was right. This was Hel for Loki.

“You’ll get used to it!” Thor said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, but his happiness didn’t rub off on his dear brother, “I have a feeling you would like it here more than you think.”

Loki had begun to absentmindedly rub his new ‘jewelry’, magic dampening bangles that kept his seidr at bay.  They were a brilliant combination of Asgardian magic and Stark Tech in the form of golden bracelets, the left engraved with ‘Reindeer’ and the right with ‘Games’. ‘A little razzle dazzle to make Loki feel pretty’ Tony said. Loki’s eyeroll was inevitable.

The feeling of being deprived of his magic was unsettling for the sorcerer, to say the least. Even in his cell within Asgard, he could use his magic as he wished. His magic became another limb to him, something that had become second nature to rely on. A muscle memory that he did not even have to think about to command. Even his strength and speed were affected by the bangles. Now his magic, his strength, and his speed were all gone, and he was in essentially trapped in this dull room to live in with his immortality the only thing separating him from the average mortal.

He rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck in a pointless attempt to try and shrug off the sluggish feeling the dampeners gave him. Loki’s morning was spent mostly with Stark, having the bangles placed and explained to him.

“Okay Reindeer Games, no one is excited for you to be here so this is how it’s going to go,” Tony sneered, activating the technology of the bangles with a few calculated taps on his hologram monitor, “No magic, no F.R.I.D.A.Y. – you can’t leave the building and you can’t access certain areas in the tower. If you try, there will be consequences.”

Loki quirked an eyebrow, “What consequences?”

Tony grinned, booping Loki’s nose with the tip of his pen and taunting a god as if he hadn’t been tossed out a window, “That is for me to know, and for you to inevitably find out.”

Thor slapped Loki right on his back, jolting his younger brother forward and out of his memories, “It will all work out, don’t worry. I have a feeling that you will like the Servant of Workers that will come see you, I am sure!”

That got Loki’s attention. “You get your own servant here?” Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here after all.

Thor grabbed Loki’s shoulder, giving it a gracious squeeze that made his younger brother grimace and roll his eyes, “She insists that she isn’t, but what she does clearly makes her a servant. You know, Midgard, everything is always so confused here. The Midgardian’s will catch on soon enough. Are you fine, Brother? I have a meeting with the team shortly, but I don’t want to-”

The god of mischief took a generous step away from his brother, cutting him off, “Yes, yes. I am fine. Now leave me be!”

There was a moment of hesitation where Thor’s gaze scrutinized his brother, trying to read through any potential lies. Eventually, he decided Loki’s proclamation of ‘being fine’ was good enough and he left the apartment, leaving Loki alone in the Tower for the first time. Still in his fine Asgardian leather, the sound of his boots echoed in the apartment as he took this time to give his new dwelling a proper look.

Loki was familiar with Tony’s penchant for finer things, each room ‘sparing no expense’, but the room he was in was clearly made on a budget. It made Loki wonder if Tony kept this room for people he hated. The living room was bare except for two beige armchairs and an end table, doubling as a coffee table in the center of the room. There were no books or a television. Attached to the living room was a kitchenette that had a humble stove and an even more humble sink that was large enough to hold exactly one plate, and that was being gracious. Loki turned down a short hallway to his bedroom if you could even call it that. There was a small full-sized mattress that was laid unceremoniously on the floor. Loki leaned down to gingerly touch the comforter that adorned the mattress and immediately scowled. The fabric left a greasy, gritty feeling on his princely fingers that were used to the finest of silks. Of course, the offending comforter, too, was beige. There was nothing else in the room, except for a closet that had a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie hanging up like they were the finest of suits. His ‘new prison uniform’, Loki thought with a scoff.

Seeing the set of repugnant clothes was the last thing Loki needed for the gravity of the situation to finally sink in. Tear started to prick at the corner of his eyes, and he slouched down to the ground, his back against the bare beige wall of his new bedroom. This life was a far cry from what he had in Asgard, even in the prisons. He always had the finest of meals prepared and dropped off to him. There was always a steady rotation of books and most importantly…. he had his magic. Without it, Loki felt like he lost his sense of identity. So much of himself was wrapped around his ability to use magic.

Growing up, he was always the smaller, weaker brother when compared to Thor. Even though Loki could hold his own in a battle, Thor’s brute strength always bested him in one-on-one combat, and it was their mother, Frigga, that took pity on Loki and taught him magic to level the playing field.

Frigga.

Loki let out a choked sob as memories of his mother teaching him magic as a young boy came flooding in. The quality time he shared with his mother was precious to him, even more so now that she has passed. Losing his magic felt like he lost her all over again, and it was enough to bring him to the point of breaking. Time dragged with Loki lost in his thoughts, tears now freely flowing, and before he knew it an hour had passed.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door of his apartment and Loki’s immediate reaction was to groan. Thor likely forgot something; the god was like a tick with its head borrowed so high in his brother’s business he couldn’t get out. With quiet steps, Loki stepped back out into the living room and listened, hoping that the guest would go away. Still, there was persistent, light knocking which was unlike Thor. But Loki certainly wasn’t up for guests and their questions.

“Go away, Thor! I may not have my magic, but I can still wield a knife!” Loki snarled through the door. Briefly, Loki questioned whether he even had knives in this dreadful apartment.

“Good thing I’m not Thor!” A voice called out from the other side. It was sweet, small, and charmingly melodic. The sound made his lip twitch up in a slight smile. It was the first time he smiled since arriving at the Tower and that fact was enough to catch Loki’s interest.

“And who are you, if you are not Thor?” Loki teased, inching closer to the door with each word until his nose almost brushed the wood grain.

“Um,” the voice giggled nervously. It rang clear and bright, despite being muffled by the door and it made Loki’s smile that much wider, “I am Y/N. I work for Tony Stark…well sort of. It’s complicated, but I am here to talk and help you, if that’s okay?”

The idea that anyone could help him was laughable at this point, and his dark mirthless chuckle was evident of that, “What could you possibly help me with?”

There was a shuffle behind the door, “Quite a bit, actually. Thor might have told you about me. I am the team’s social worker, and my job is to help you adjust.”

“Oh, the Servant of Workers? Yes, Thor mentioned you.”

Loki could vaguely here a curse, and a muttering of ‘damnit Thor’, making Loki bite his lip in amusement.

“Well, I am not a servant, but I can help you. We can talk if that’s okay? Can I come in, please?”

Even though he had been talking through the door these past few minutes, he suddenly became acutely aware of the dynamic of the conversation you were having and how rude it was – at least by his princely standards. He put his hand on the doorknob, but before he turned it and opened it, he flicked his wrist. When his intended magic did not come out to hide his still puffy and watery eyes, he considered sending you away. You seemed nice enough and gave him the option to decline meeting with you, but his curiosity was getting the best of him.

Wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve, he opened the door and finally laid his eyes on you.

All breath left the god when he finally saw you, time slowed down, dreams and love had new meaning – and if he wasn’t so utterly, instantly besotted he might have rolled his eyes at how utterly cliché he was being. Greedily, his eyes raked over your form and soaked up every detail.

Your eyes were as bright as your laugh, a bit wide with surprise like you hadn’t expected him to actually open the door. The next thing he immediately noticed was your height; or you lack of it. Your small stature landed you just below his shoulders and he had to look down to see you and look he did. Stared, actually, with his mouth opening and closing as his once silver tongue turned to lead. Everything about you was stunning, no radiant, no resplendent – you’re perfection.

You, however, didn’t seem to notice his momentary brain malfunction and cheerfully offered your hand to shake, your other hand clutching some folders and a large book tightly to your chest. Loki saw how you looked between him and the rogue hand whose presence became more and more awkward the longer it lingered. ‘Do something, Loki’ he cursed mentally, yet he did nothing.

Slowly, your hand lowered and just a fraction of a frown ghosted on your lips, and it was enough to break him out of his stupor.

“Apologies – Yes, Darling. Come in, come in!”

He quickly stepped out of the way, and you walked into the apartment, stopping just past the threshold, and looking around. Suddenly, Loki was self-conscious of his beige prison. Caring about other’s opinions was something he did not display too often. Deep seeded threads of jealousy was also held close to his heart when it came to Thor, and that same heart swelling with pride whenever Frigga praised his magical skill. Of course, Odin’s opinion is a whole other layer of anger and tears, but now he found himself wanting to be in your good graces. To impress you.

Loki sped by you and his large frame overwhelmed his tiny kitchenette and began whipping open all the cupboards.

“Can I get you something?” His voice pressed and anxious, “Tea? A biscuit?” He frowned when he realized all the cupboards were empty except for one can of chicken noodle soup and a dinning set for one person. Did he even have a tea kettle? He truly had nothing.

“No, no, that is quite alright.” Loki’s frowned deepened and he looked to you, who had opened one of your files and clicked a pen to scribble some notes down. “So, like I said, my job title is a social worker and part of my job is here, and the other part is at the hospital. Majority of my job is to help you get what you need to adjust to your life in the tower.

You looked around, motioning to the practically empty apartment you both stood in.

“So, you are a servant? You fetch things for people?” You giggled and pressed your papers closer to your chest again. Already, Loki couldn’t get enough of your laugh.

“I am sure some of the people I work with think so, like Thor who won’t let that go,” You flashed Loki a pointed look that was filled with mirth, and it too made Loki laugh, “But, really, my job is to help you get adjusted. I am not at your beck and call.”

Loki leaned on the small island in the kitchenette with his elbows and limbs going every which way awkwardly. When did casually standing become so difficult?

“So, you also work for the hospital?”

Instantly, you lit up, and Loki smiled at the joy on your face, “Yes. It is my main job, actually. I work with children who have special abilities, much like yourself, and help make sure they get the care and tools that they need to succeed.”  All your words were spoken fervently and the passion you were exuding warmed Loki’s heart.

“You’re kind then? To care for children like that.” Loki felt like he was stating the obvious. You were a radiant creature who loved working with children and now forced to help a monster – his spiraling thoughts echoed in sick repetition in time with his fingers that started to anxiously tap on the island counter.

“I would hope so,” You laughed again, your eyes darting to his nervous tick. You motioned to his small hallway, “Is it okay if I take a look around?”

Loki rightened himself quickly, “Right, certainly. Right this way.” He led you down the short hallway, to his tiny bedroom with the mattress and greasy comforter on the floor. The matching frown you both wore was telling. So, this wasn’t an appropriate living situation for Midgard either. Loki started to shift on his feet uneasily from side to side when you poked around in his closet and saw the only piece of clothing hanging, the sweat suit.

“So, you will need some clothes, for sure.” You turned to him and gave him a warm smile, a smile that held no judgement for his living situation. Loki, on the other hand, has his lips in a tight line. Oh, how far has he fallen.

“I can get you some clothes from Asgard if you’d like, but that will take some time. I would have to ask Thor.” Loki flinched at the mention of his brother, “Or we can go shopping tomorrow and get some clothes here. I just need to get some approvals first.”

This perked Loki up, “I thought I couldn’t leave the tower?” He recalled his earlier conversation with Tony.

You nodded, “That is true, but I have special privileges and if I get it approved, we can go.” Suddenly, you realized he might not want to expose himself to the world outside. The god wasn’t the most welcome in this city, “Unless you prefer to stay here? I could pick some things up fo-“

“No, no, no!” He cut you off, waving his hands, “I would love to go and get out of this infernal apartment.”

Again, your laugh rang throughout the small room, and it delighted him to no end. Did you always laugh so much – Loki wondered. Wordlessly, you walked out of the bedroom and back out to the living room and motioned to one of the beige armchairs, “May I?”

“Please do.” Part of him debated if you checking in with him constantly was out of politeness or fear, but you didn’t seem afraid of him. If anything, it looked like you made yourself at home when you perched yourself upon his chair. Your lack of fear confused him. Don’t you know what he did?

“Let’s address the elephant in the room, shall we?” You started and Loki’s breath caught in his throat, fully expecting his self-deprecating thoughts to come to fruition, “The horrid furniture.”

Loki huffed out a breathless laugh, “Yes, it is quite horrible.” You handed Loki the big book you had in your lap, finally giving Loki a view of your curves. The outfit you wore was modest – a pencil skit that accented your rounded hips and a demure blouse that had its top button undone, allowing for just a peak of teasing cleavage. Loki hadn’t noticed he was staring until you cleared your throat.

“That book there, that’s a furniture catalog. You can pretty much ask for whatever you want, and I will do what I can to make it happen for you. There are a bunch of options there, so hopefully you will find something you like. I know this place is a far cry from a palace, but I sincerely hope it can become home to you in time.”

Loki wanted to roll his eyes and scoff at the idea of this beige nightmare being his home, but the warm, sincerity that shone in your eyes stopped him. There was so much hope there, a brazen plea to give this retched tower a chance, to give you a chance. He turned the book over in his hands and let his thumb flip through the pages. For you, he could try. At least for now.

“So, now that we have that settled, the next thing is figuring out how much you know about life on Midgard. Would you mind if I ask you some questions?”

Loki leaned back in his chair, his legs spread wide and bursting through his leathers. There was a moment where your eyes flickered down to his muscly thighs. It was almost too fast that he might have missed it, but he didn’t miss it. With a smirk, Loki motioned for you to continue, and you opened one of your folders, pulling out some papers and clicking your pen.

“Some of these questions may seem ridiculous to you, so please be patient with me. I heard from Thor that you are very well read and are quite intelligent, so know that this is just standard procedure even with how silly these questions are.”

Loki’s face heated up with your compliment and keen observation. He hoped the pink on his cheeks did not show up as brightly as he felt them burn, “Go ahead, Darling.”

You flashed Loki and unreadable look after hearing the pet name but carried on as if nothing happened. “So, what is your experience with cleaning? Doing the dishes, laundry, vacuuming? Things like that?”

Several emotions flashed across Loki’s face – first shock, then confusion, and finally dramatic offense, “What?! Do I look like some oaf to you?!”

Your hands flew up in defense, “Remember, it is just standard procedure. I don’t think you are an oaf at all, or anything of the like, but I need to ask these questions to determine what you may need help with. You likely might not need any of my assistance, but I must ask these questions to figure them out, okay?”

You spoke calmly, clearly, and without judgement and that aura of calmness was almost a balm to the already anxious prince. Loki decided that your questioning was way worse than his time with Stark this morning. At least with the genius, he could hide behind his dripping sarcasm and cleverness, but around you he felt naked, vulnerable. It was unnerving.

He sat back as you repeated your question, folding his arms and essentially closing himself off from you. The prince took the time to ponder the question and he realized he never had cleaned a dish himself in all his thousand years of existence, let alone did his own laundry. If he did need to clean something himself, he had his magic to rely on. And what was a vacuum? If there was one thing Loki didn’t like, it was not knowing something and what made it worse, that fact was going to be made painfully obvious to you. So, he did what he did best.

He lied.

Everything you asked him, he exceled at. Cooking? A master chef. Cleaning? Meticulous to a fault. Midgardian technology? Child’s play. The whole assessment took approximately an hour, and it was the highlight of Loki’s horrible day. Conversation flowed freely between you two after he allowed himself to relax and be comfortable around you. The sound of your laughter bouncing off the walls and the soft smiles made Loki feel something that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. A flicker of warmth in his cold, closed off heart. Just a man, and not the monster he knew himself to be. At least for now, with you, he could pretend.

After your last question, you tucked your papers back in your folder and stood up with the smile that Loki had come to know and appreciate during your short time with him.

“Well, it seems my predictions are right, and you don’t need any help with anything here on Midgard.”

Loki smirked, “Of course not, Darling.” Again, you scrunched your nose at the pet name before making your way to his front door and spinning around, offering your hand that held a small card.

“It was great meeting you, Loki. It seems outside of getting what you need in this apartment, you won’t need my help at all. I will have some food and provisions delivered up to you later today and I will, hopefully, if the approvals go through, pick you up tomorrow morning to go clothes shopping. You can let me know what you decide on furniture then.” He gingerly took the card from your hand and looked at it. It contained your name, a phone number, and where your office was located within the tower.

“And then after that, you won’t have to see me ever again!” You chirped, meaning for it to be playful since it was obvious Loki hated this apartment, the tower, and you assumed, you as well. Little did you know that innocent statement had sent Loki’s reeling. These….feelings, feelings? Feelings for you were new, confusing, and Loki was convincing himself that they weren’t feelings at all, but instead an infatuation because of his recent forced living situation. Just something to pass the time. But he couldn’t ignore the panic that was starting to settle in his chest at the mere thought of never seeing you again.

Loki was so caught up in his emotional crisis of the heart to even notice that you had left, and you were already making your way down the hall and away from him.

“W-wait!” Loki called out, sounding a bit more panicked than he would like, but it made you stop in your tracks and turn. That made it worth it.

“What can I help you with?” You asked, after Loki’s long legs ran him straight to you in record time. For the first time, in well, ever, Loki felt slightly winded from the exertion. He placed a large hand on his chest as his breathing settled. Damn, these bangles!

“Well, Um..Well, you see – Here’s the thing…” Loki stammered, his hands stretched out and pleading while his mind tried to come up with a reason to get you to stay. You stared at him as he rambled on, not saying anything, with your ‘this man is crazy’ expression well-hidden underneath your professional mask.

“I lied.” Loki rushed out.

“What?”

The young god rubbed the back of his neck, and your eyes caught the stray curls that lived back there, free from his onslaught of gel, “I actually don’t know any of the things you asked me about.”

“What?” You repeated. Your eyes furrowed in confusion. Loki’s intelligence and cleverness was known by the Avengers, and you had believed every word he said when you went through the assessment. He even provided examples and lofty tales of his time in the kitchen or cleaning his chambers in Asgard when the maids were sick! And he lied?

You found yourself asking him about those very scenarios and if they were true or not in a tone that wasn’t as warm as when you first met him, Loki noticed. You didn’t like being lied to, that much was clear.

“I know, I know, I am sorry, Darling, but things have been….hard for me.” His voice lowered to a shame filled whisper, “I am a prisoner here, I know, getting the sentence I deserve, but I lost my magic, my home. The last thing I have is my mind, and I didn’t want it to be known that I couldn’t do, or understand, such simple things. I truly am sorry, Darling. Will you please help me?”

It was the sincerest Loki has ever been and it surprised and horrified him to know that all the things he said were true, and he was saying them to you. A stranger. But every time he looked at you, something deep within him told him he could trust you. It was a new feeling, a strange and confusing one, but one that Loki found himself welcoming with open arms.

“Okay, I will,” Loki let out a long, relieved exhale at your words, “But, no more lying, okay? We can’t work together if we aren’t honest with each other.”

The God of Lies gritted his teeth, instantly regretting his choice and feeling the first pang of guilt for lying to you, “Of course.”

“Do you have time to talk about some things now?”

“My schedule is wide open,” ‘Painfully open’, Loki thought. Again, he followed you back into his apartment and you walked into his kitchenette.

“Since you don’t know that much about cooking, we are going to do go over some basics. I will be ordering some food and other provisions for you, but it will all be very simple things. Canned foods, microwaveable meals, things like that until we have a more formal cooking lesson. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.” Loki’s heart fluttered at the mere prospective of even more time with you. The feelings of guilt for lying to you already a distant memory as he indulged himself in your radiant presence.

You walked over to the microwave that sat over the tiny stove, “This is a microwave. Have you used one before?”

Loki shook his head no and stepped right up to you, watching your every move. You turned your attention back to the appliance and started to explain the intricacies of using it. Loki, however, was not paying attention to a word you said. Instead, he was admiring all the little details that made you, you. First, he admired your long eyelashes, long and curled and they framed your eyes perfectly. Different colors floated about in your iris, little flecks that sparkled. There was also a slight flush to your cheeks, a rosy hue and he wondered if you could be blushing because of him. But his favorite part, oh his favorite part was your mouth. Loki’s eyes followed the curve of your cupid bow and around the edge of your soft, pillowy lips. Your mouth was moving, but he wasn’t listening.

“Most packages just show…..” Your sweet voice faded in and out of his ears as he watched you, “And don’t ever, ever put….”

Loki found himself leaning into you. His nose just lightly brushing against your hair for a light whiff, but that feather touch was enough to have you whip around to face him. Your eyes went wide at the realization of how close he was and how much he towered over you. You took a tentative step back and it made Loki frown.

“Do you have any questions?” You asked, your billowy lips now in a straight line.

“No, your lesson was quite enlightening, Darling. I shall become an expert of this…microwave…in no time.” He could feel the unease radiating off you. Why did he let himself get so close?

“Wonderful. I will see you tomorrow for clothes shopping, okay? Have a good day, Loki.” And with that you left, and Loki was alone yet again. The apartment felt empty, and cold now that you had left. The life bringing warmth that you brought followed you right out his door.

The rumbling in his stomach broke him out of his thoughts. He wasn’t sure when your food delivery would be happening, but he remembered the lone can of soup in his cupboard. He opened it and pulled the top off, unaware of how lucky he was since he didn’t have a can opener. The salty, savory smell of chicken noodle soup wafted up to his nose and he decided it was satisfactory enough. He dumped the contents of the can in his only bowl and stirred it with his only metal spoon.

He put the bowl in the microwave, spoon and all, carefully so he didn’t spill. Closing the door, he looked at the numbers on the appliance. It was then he realized he hadn’t listened to a word you said during your entire explanation of how to use this contraption. With a careless shrug, he punched in thirty minutes. He remembered helping his mother make a stew in the palace once and he thinks that is how long it took, but that was centuries ago.

For a few seconds, Loki watched the contraption light up and the bowl spin, but he quickly grew bored and sat down in his armchair. He ran his fingers through his hair and groaned. How was he going to live like this? Surely, he would waste away from boredom. Loki leaned back in his chair, letting his head fall back and soon the exhaustion from the day overtook him and he fell asleep.

Screaming smoke alarms woke him up with a start, and his wrists, they were burning. He cried out in pain and collapsed on soft carpet of his living room just as shield agents burst into his apartment, knocking the door right off its hinges.

“Get him!!”

#loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x you #loki #loki odinson #loki x female reader #loki fluff #loki fic #loki laufeyson x reader #loki of asgard #loki fanfiction #loki angst #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki laufeyson x you #loki x reader angst #loki x reader fluff #loki odison x reader #loki x female!reader

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for leaving my job in the middle of peak season and giving only an immediate resignation notice?

Apologies for the length on this one.

So, I work at a seasonal entertainment business. We're open for most of the year, but peak season is October when we're working literally everyday from the last weekend in September straight through to the second weekend in November, which is briskly followed by three events a day, essentially every day, until Christmas Eve.

I am, unfortunately and fortunately, a very strong, reliable worker, and this is used against me greatly. Someone call off last minute? They call me in because I live across the street. Something went wrong in a place I'm usually assigned? It's my fault despite the fact I wasn't there when the incident occurred. My guests are taken care of but coworkers can't be bothered to do their jobs? I'm the one they call on to do THEIR job ALONG with my own while they sit back and snap at me like I'm doing something wrong (and I can't say anything about it because they're cliqued up with the boss's daughter so nothing will be done).

It recently came to a boiling point that brought me to pose this question.

The night prior to one of our longer event days, at about 3-4 in the morning, there was an unexpected family emergency that required I rush off to the hospital. I had been staying with my significant other (who also works there) when I got the call, so I asked that he inform our supervisor given that A.) It was very early in the morning and B.) I had no way of contacting the supervisor that would be on shift. He did so, and I didn't think anything else of work as I went to the hospital, given that I received no sort of contact from their end through the day or afterward.

I was at the hospital for 12 hours, and the following two days I had my own surgical appointments to attend, so it was a very exhausting and stressful 3 days.

When I returned to work, a pair of supervisors cornered me in the office and maliciously asked why I hadn't called them. Clearly, they had been informed because they expressly mentioned me going to the hospital. I explained and apologized, but again, it was very early, I was in a hospital for 12 hours, and I had my own surgeries in the following days I was worried about. Their only reply was a very sarcastic "I'm sorry that happened" before they forced me to sign a write-up sheet for my no-show. (Which is the first and ONLY write-up they've issued to any employee in my 3 years of working here)

I realized I can no longer take the stress this job puts me through, but I can't outright leave until I have another job confirmed, which won't be until sometime in peak season. I'm the sole breadwinner in a house of 3 (myself, my disabled mother, and my younger sibling), so a lot rides on my income. I also don't want to give a two weeks notice due to the abuse they've put me though. I don't think they deserve one, and I have direct contacts to higher-ups that aren't the bosses and supervisors if I want a future reference for this job.

So, WIBTA for leaving my job in the middle of peak season and giving only an immediate resignation notice?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[newtthetranswriter]

Hair dye and Soulmates

Word count: 1431

Paring: Chifuyu Matsuno x Reader

Summary: Everyone has a soulmate connection, they come in all different styles, yours is you have a section of hair that matches your soulmate’s current color and changes if they dye it. 

Warnings: shit used once, other than that none that I can think of.

A/n: Hello peoples, This fic is dedicated to Chifuyu Matsuno for his birthday. Even if the theme isn’t about his birthday I thought it was cute so HAPPY BIRTHDAY Chifuyu. Also as I'm posting this for his birthday it will be part of my winter fic event even though it isn't wintery. Anyway I hope you enjoy and Remember to hydrate or diedrate.

    Having a soulmate was a relief for many, it gave people hope that one day they would meet the person that will love them unconditionally. Unfortunately the way to find your soulmate is a little less than perfect. It’s different for everyone, some have a timer counting down to the day they will meet, others can hear each other's thoughts, but for me, I’m stuck with a chunk of hair that matches my soulmate’s hair and vice versa. This would be fine if they didn’t have blonde hair. Hair color marks are fairly common but that just makes it difficult to find your soulmate unless one partner dyes their hair a crazy color to help notice each other in a crowd.

   Every morning I would wake up hoping my soulmate had gotten tired of the wait and finally dyed their hair to make it easier, but every morning I’m faced with the same blonde streak at the front of my hair. Around my last year of high school I got tired of waiting, so one Saturday I bought the stuff and dyed my hair bright blue. Sadly when I got to school on monday morning none of the blonde students at my school who had the color connection had a stripe of blue in their hair. Even though I didn’t find them that day, I decided that I would keep dying my hair crazy colors until I finally found them.

   A few years after high school, I got an opportunity to move to Tokyo for work. With no luck on the soulmate front in my hometown, especially after their hair changed from blonde to black, I figured why not, and accepted the offer. Within a month I was moving me and my dog into a small apartment in the heart of Japan. 

   While I was unpacking I remembered I needed to find a pet store nearby to get some food for  my sweet husky. After getting the essentials taken care of in the apartment, I sat down to look up pet stores hoping there would still be one open close by as it was fast approaching evening. To my surprise there was one just down the street called XJ Land, but they would be closing in about thirty minutes. Deciding this was the best option so I wouldn’t be wandering the city as the sun set, I quickly grabbed a coat and my keys before bidding my dog goodbye, and left to hopefully get dog food before this place closes.

   As I entered the shop I was greeted by the worker at the counter. “Welcome in, we will be closing shortly just so you are aware.” He said as he went back to looking at his phone. I smiled looking at him, noticing a large tattoo on his neck, thanking him I went to the wall of pet food.

  Reaching the wall I started looking for a food that would work for my dog. Completely lost in thought, I failed to notice another person in the store. “Hey Kazutora, you can head out, I'll finish everything up here.” A new voice called out from the end of the aisle I was on, making me jump. It seemed the person noticed me as they then spoke to me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we had a customer. Is there anything I can help you find?” The person asked as I overcame my shock.

   I took a second before answering, having turned back to the wall of food. “I’m looking for good food for my dog. I just moved here and can’t seem to find the kind I normally get. Do you maybe have any recommendations?” I asked, turning to look at the person next to me.  Before the person could respond we both froze. The young man had jet black hair except for a small chunk in the middle of his bangs that was currently bright purple. It was the exact opposite of my head full of purple hair with a black chunk in my bangs. “Holy shit” I was all I could say realizing what was going on.

   “I’m Chifuyu Matsuno, and I’m guessing you’re my soulmate.” The Green eyed man said, offering his hand for me to shake. I accepted it and quietly introduced myself. “I like the hair all though I do have to say the time it was pink, was not fun.” He said with a smile.

   “Sorry about that.” I said, still in shock from having met my soulmate in a pet store. “I was just trying to make it easier to find you. I thought my soulmate was just covering the piece with their hair and figured that pink would shine through your blonde hair and make it easier.” I explained my choice, receiving a chuckle from him.

   “It’s all good, the gang just liked to poke fun. Anyways about the food for your dog, I personally have a cat but many customers have said this is the best one for dogs.” The man named Chifuyu explained. I nodded before reaching to grab the bag from the shelf, only to be stopped by him grabbing iot for me. “I’ll carry it for you, don’t worry.” I was stunned, I came into this shop fifteen minutes before it closed and now my soulmate is carrying dog food to the counter for me. 

   As we got to the counter, he placed the food down and walked around it to ring me up. “So Y/l/n, what made you move here?” He asked as he pressed a few buttons on the till’s screen. 

   “I was offered a job at a local beauty school, teaching students how to dye hair.” I explained briefly. Before I continued talking he told me the total, though I was shocked to hear it was significantly cheaper than what the price listed on the shelf. “Ok, here’s the money but I thought it was more than that. Won’t you get in trouble for giving me a discount?” I asked hoping I wouldn’t be costing my soulmate his job, after just one meeting.

  He just smirked at me, about to speak before the man with the neck tattoo left the back room and interrupted the conversation. “He can’t get in trouble for giving discounts if it’s his store. Anyway, have a good night Chifuyu and don’t stay up too late or Keisuke will kick your ass if you’re late.” The man I think Chifuyu called Kazutora earlier said walking out. I just looked back at Chifuyu in shock.

   “You own this store.” I said in shock. “I can’t let you lose money just to give me a discount Matsuno.” I continued trying to get him to let me pay full price.

   “One call me Chifuyu. Two, If I want my soulmate to pay less than half price at my own store, my soulmate is not paying anything more than that.” He said finishing the transaction before I could give him any more cash to cover the full price of the bag. “Anyway, do you live too far from here? If you’re fine with waiting for me to close up I can walk you home.” Chifuyu offered, flipping the open sign to closed.

   I paused thinking for a second. “I live just down the road, I can get home on my own. Thank you though. Also if I’m supposed to call you Chifuyu, you can call me Y/n.” I said moving to grab the bag of food from the counter.

   I watched as he hesitated before nodding. “Okay, If you’re sure. At least let me give you my phone number and you can call me if you need anything ok?” He asked and I could hear the slight concern in his voice.

   Nodding I handed him my phone to enter his number, smiling when he handed it back. He saved his contact as ‘Soulmate 😻’. I sent him a quick text so he could save my number, before bidding him goodnight. With that I headed home to feed my dog and sleep.

   I knew moving to Tokyo would give me a better chance of finding my soulmate but I didn’t think it would be the first night. Anyway when I got home I sent Chifuyu a message letting him know I got home safe, and received a ‘great, have good night’ text in response. After feeding my dog, I decided it was time to sleep and I drifted off with the thoughts of how great my life will be now that I’ve finally found my person.

#tokyo revengers x reader #chifuyu x reader #matsuno chifuyu #tokyo rev x reader #x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers chifuyu #Newt's Winter Fic Event

[wesleyhill]

On Not Talking About Jesus

A homily on Mark 7:31-37 preached on the Friday after the Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany at Western Theological Seminary, Holland, Michigan

Some of you who are around my age, who went through your deconstruction experience a couple of decades ago or more, may remember a blog called Jesus Needs New P.R. Even if you didn’t read it closely, the title was a catchy summary of how you might have felt: Jesus has a public relations problem. He’s compelling and interesting and compassionate and inspiring, but His representatives — the church bureaucrats who pontificate about Him from pulpits, the politicians and pundits who use His name to promote their odious causes, the bigots who claim to follow Him but leave a trail of hurting people in their wake — are the problem.

Even if your politics differ from mine, each one of us can identify with these sentiments, at least some of the time. Have you ever winced when you saw a picture of Jesus draped in an American flag? Have you ever felt tempted to take “Christian” off your social media profile when someone invokes Jesus to support some movement or cause that you find abhorrent? An Australian New Testament scholar, Constantine Campbell, recently published a book called Jesus v. Evangelicals in which he voiced what a lot of us intuit: “The evangelical movement must be refashioned in Jesus’ image, rather than cast Jesus in its image.”

It's this propensity to cast Jesus in the image we want that explains a strange feature of our Gospel reading this morning. Jesus is in region of the Decapolis, and even in this faraway place, word has spread that he is a healer, a wonder-worker. So a group of people bring a friend of theirs whose hearing and speech are impaired. They want a miracle, and Jesus obliges. He ushers the man away from the crowd, so that it’s just he and Jesus. (Maybe Jesus is offering dignity to the man with this privacy, refusing to make him a spectacle.) In any case, He puts His fingers in the man’s ears, and He spits and touches the man’s tongue. He lifts his eyes up to heaven and sighs and says in Aramaic, “Ephphatha,” which means, “Be opened.” “And his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly.” And then comes the strange aspect of the story: “Then Jesus ordered them to tell no one.”

This happens again and again in Mark’s Gospel: Jesus charges His followers — and even demonic spirits — not to talk about His miracles, not to talk about what He does and who He is. Scholars usually refer to this as the motif of the “messianic secret” and then try to offer some sort of interpretation of it. Why would Jesus not want the good news about Him to be talked about? Why would He not want His fame to spread, so that more and more people could put their faith in Him?

One German scholar referred once to the Gospel of Mark as essentially a passion story, with a long introduction. And I think that’s our clue to the meaning of Jesus’ secrecy. Mark is telling a passion story — a story of Jesus’ gruesome execution and mysterious resurrection, which Jesus interprets as His gift of Himself to the world. And Mark knows that there is potential for misunderstanding Jesus at every turn. We may hear about one of His miracles and decide that He is basically a genie who can grant our wishes. We may hear about Him performing exorcisms and decide that He is available to fight our favorite enemies. And Mark’s point is that if we do that, we fundamentally misunderstand who Jesus is and what He aimed to achieve. Mark’s claim is that Jesus came for one overriding purpose: not to conform to our agendas and expectations but to give His life as a ransom for us, to rescue us from our self-absorption, our cruelty, our enslavement to sin and death. He came for love. He came to lay down His life for His enemies, to make His enemies His friends, and friends to one another.

And this is why, I think, Mark has Jesus refusing the boxes we want to put Him in. “Don’t domesticate Me like that,” Jesus seems to say. “Don’t use Me for your pet projects, your private theological agendas, your political ambitions.” As the Anglican priest and scholar Austin Farrer writes, “Christ does not encourage the spreading of ready-made formulae divided from living act, whether in the form of rumour or doctrine… Messiahship is not taught even to the initiate as a thing by itself, but as that which death and resurrection will express.” We understand the messiahship of Jesus, and the miracles and teachings and aims of Jesus, only when we follow Him all the way to the cross and to the grave and then hear the mysterious young man at His empty tomb telling us that He has gone on ahead of us.

Friends, we are about to enter the season of Lent, which is a time when Christians try to clear away some of the clutter that keeps us from seeing Jesus and being surprised by Him. By quieting ourselves and voluntarily letting go of some of our usual methods of coping with stress and anxiety, we try to see past the P.R. about Jesus. We open ourselves to considering whether we have a distorted picture of who Jesus is and what He wants with us and from us and for us. And perhaps we also keep quiet about Him for a bit. We don’t rush in to offer our preferred picture of who He is. Instead we listen, we watch, we wait. And we try to prepare our hearts for that great and holiest of weeks when we will keep vigil with Jesus as He goes to the cross and triumphs over death. Only then may we dare to speak about who He is for us.

Amen.

[motherfactorin-pi-face]

In which I speak a bit more on (NEO) TWEWY, Shinjuku's Reapers, and JP workplaces

So to add on a little bit more to some thoughts I had in relation to Challenges in Localization And Cultural Nuance and mageknight14's good analysis on Shoka Not Having Had The Best Family Life, both of which touch on Japanese businesses and how they're run, I'd like to expound a bit more on how the whole Shinjuku Reaper situation really is a series of two separate (and yet, as it turns out, somewhat related) cultural contexts. One of these is that Shinjuku, particularly Kabuchi-cho (which if/when we see the strongly hinted Shinjuku Interquel I fully expect to see that localized as "Kabuki Backstreets" or "Kabuki Alley" or something similar), has had a historical rep as a "red-light" district, and as a fairly major spot for Yakuza and similar organized crime activity. (And there are entire franchises that focus on THIS aspect of Shinjuku, as well.) The other context, which is probably not as familiar to Americans (who are more likely to have played one of the Yakuza games), is that Shinjuku is one of the areas that is a major business hub within Tokyo metro proper. (Square Enix actually moved their headquarters to Shinjuku around 2012 or so after having moved from Yayoi--a part of Shibuya we've never seen in a TWEWY game--and is ironically moving back to Shibuya next year in the Sakuragaoka area just south of Mark City.) And as it turns out, the Shinjuku Reapers and their situation are a MASSIVE parody of how Japanese businesses are run (particularly how certain trends culturally can result in a business--or a Game--becoming highly dysfunctional). So. Japanese businesses have (in comparison to US businesses) a lot of stratification and (although this is changing somewhat) there's still kind of the ideal that if you get into an actual business (versus, say, working at the Lawson or the Family Mart or 7-Eleven) where you're wearing a suit and tie, you're essentially set for Life as long as you don't rock the boat. Historically, this even extended to your prospects of a Forever Job being tied to what college and even what high school you attended (hence why there has been such an incredible pressure with kids being sent to cram schools to get into a good high school, and then get into a good college, as good employers tended to hire directly out of specific colleges). And there's not really the Layoff Culture there is in the US, and generally the main reason someone leaves a business in Japan involves retirement, involves (especially in creative fields) some irreconcilable differences with the board of directors, or some kind of a Scandal where one has seriously hecked up and been Removed. (Again, this is changing some, especially for younger folks, and in part the NEET culture (Not in Education, Employment or Training) is kind of a rebellion against this social pressure, but right now I'm focusing on how typical businesses are run once you manage to get into a suit-and-tie occupation in Japan.) So once you do get IN a company, there's a LOT of societal pressure to really devote everything to company success--not just in terms of working late/working OT, but even societal obligations of going to Company Dinners where you go drinking with your boss/supervisor, social events, morning exercise with the company, etc. that honestly has had a history of lending itself to abuse (karoshi, or literally working yourself to death, IS a phenomena in Japan to the point there have been workplace laws to try to reduce the abuse). Aggretsuko is actually another bit of popular media that explicitly calls out a lot of the more abusive practices like power harassment and the demands a company places on workers, etc. Cells At Work! Code BLACK actually depicts someone dying of an abusive workplace...as the stereotypical abusive "black company", the Japanese slang term for a particularly abusive corporate sweatshop.

#neo twewy #ntwewy #neo: the world ends with you #shinjuku reapers #cultural analysis #part 1 of 2

[thevoidscreams]

I want a little pocket sized Sanguinius that I can keep in a cage like a little birdy. Who’s a lil birdy? Chirp chirp!

(I'm not going to write him like an animal. He's going to be a human person. Not a pet.)

Also, no warnings really.

Turning the final screw you secured the mirror in place. The final touch in the converted porch that would serve as your newest family member's room.

After all he'd need his space he was a primarch. They were like the Astartes but bigger.

You were fostering this one after successfully applying at the local adoption center.

You'd gone down the same day you saw the wanted ad in the paper three months ago. You knew you had to be the one. Going down and waiting till they'd opened that day to ensure you be the first to meet him. Oddly you'd been the only there waiting for him.

But oh how you'd fallen for his magnificent visage and beautiful wings as soon as you'd seen him. His voice and everything just seemed to radiate perfection.

He reminded you of the angel sculptures on the roof of the church by your house. He was so elegant and eloquent, and even in temper.

The fostering process was officially underway, and you'd be bringing him home today. Your heart raced as you loaded up your other two family members. A Blood Angel, Kazarion, and a Lamenter, Aston. They were as excited as you were, if not more so.

They chatted the whole way there, eager to meet their gene sire.

As you stepped out into the warm morning air you felt your whole body trembling. Just inside was your soon to be new roommate and friend. It felt like just yesterday that you'd met him and now you were going to get to spend every day with him. After months of visiting him as much as the center would allow, you were finally going to be able to see him every day.

Your adoption councilor and social worker met you inside. She'd aided you in your adoption of both astartes you'd brought into your home.

"You look like you're gonna come apart. Are you okay?" She asked.

"Yes, sorry, I'm just really excited and the astartes are as well."

The two trailing behind you stuck close to your legs.

She waved down to them and spoke to them quietly as you all headed for the main desk to wait. Asking after their well being and was content when they expressed how happy they were to be living with you and that they did not want for anything under your care.

After the man at the desk had you fill out some final paperwork, the process was complete.

The doors to the right opened, and the little angel stepped out.

"Heya Sangy." You went down to a knee to make it easier to hug him. Which he did happily. "Good morning. I was very much looking forward to today."

"So was I." You admitted letting the hug linger a moment longer. "Oh, there's so people I'd like you to meet."

When you gestured behind you, the astartes looked awed at the presence of their gene sire.

Falling to their knees, heads bowed they greeted him with words of adoration, speaking over one another and tripping over their own words. Having lost their usual eloquence and poise.

The primarch swept his gene sons up in her arms and hugged them both. Excited to be in the presence of not only one, but two of his gene stock.

The counselor let you go with a packet and a small box of essentials.

At home, you showed the primarch to his room. He looked around and admired the space. It provided him all the room he needed to move around and even fly a little.

"Thank you. This space is more than adequate."

"I'm really glad, it's been a few weeks of constant work, so I'm glad it paid off. Once you're done unpacking, I'll show you the rest of the house."

You left him then, his sons waiting outside his door for him to be done.

Sanguinius didn't have much, just his armor and blade and some under clothes for sleeping. The room was truly more than he'd expected, but the concerted porch was perfect. With plenty of natural light and it had all the amenities he'd need. Including a primarch sized bathroom in the far corner of the room. He was certain he'd be far happier here than at the facility.

He turned to look at the door and smiled. "You may come in my sons. It is alright."

The two astartes filed in, Sanguinius looked them over. He was glad not to be alone. What few memories he had of the place he was before involved his sons. Although not of the varieties he saw now. That confused him, but he was drawn to these new gene sons none the less and felt his hearts leap with paternal affection all the same.

"Tell me, my sons, what are your names, and are you happy here? Are you cared for?"

His sons almost tripped over themselves to share their experiences, the awkward first few weeks getting adjusted but the happiness of the months to follow, and now this place truly felt like home to them. With their baseline bringing them places and allowing them to find their own hobbies and enrichment. About how their curses were far suppressed in this world and what cravings they did have were satisfied with blood powder added to their foods.

Sanguinius was satisfied that all would be well then. If his sons were this happy, then this must be a good place.

When you came back you found primarch and astartes deep in conversation and smiled.

"Wanna see the rest of the house now? Then I thought maybe we could make dinner and watch a movie or something."

"Thay sounds like a good plan." Sanguinius agreed, coming in to place a hand on your thigh. He was fully two feet tall, and it struck you just how much bigger he really was than his sons. Who were only an inch or two over a foot. And given how strong they were... Ah well, it was what you had signed up for. And you weren't backing out now.

That night, you felt your bed dip. Smiling your little lamenter, Aston came up to cuddle into your side. Even though he had his own bed, he liked to be close to you.

Then Kazarion, who had to make sure you were safe, was second. It was your nightly routine at this point. He'd stay at the foot of the bed. A blade close at hand.

What you didn't expect was the third dip in the bed as a warm feathery wing was laid over your chest as the primarch pressed into your side.

"My apologies, but I found myself unable to sleep and was hoping I could stay here with my sons and yourself?"

Your arm came around him and pulled him in close. "Of course, Sanguinius. You're always welcome here."

"Thank you." He replied and was out fast, his breaths even and deep.

Yeah, you could be just happy with this arrangement. With a bed covered in angels, you could be perfectly content.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer #Space marine husbandry #primarch #sanguinius #primarch husbandry

[certified-ni-ki-lover]

Chapter 3: Escape Plan

TXT Yeonjun Series

Series Masterlist

Summary: You never thought of yourself as special. To you your looks were average, academics were average, and you were pretty much an average, ordinary girl. But who would have thought you would have someone obsessed with you?

Word count: 780

TW: Mentions of yandere behavior, swear words

Disclaimer: This is all purely for entertainment purposes. I don't promote or support any Yandere behaviors

MASTERLIST

• ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .

You looked at him suspiciously. “& why should I trust you?” you asked. No matter how badly you wanted to escape this hellhole, you weren’t going to trust anyone so easily. That’s what got you stuck in this situation in the first place. “Then don’t. It’s not like you have another option” the man said. He was right, none of the other workers would dare to even look in your direction or talk to you, let alone help you escape. So, you decided to trust him since you had no other option. “Fine,” you said sighing. You weren’t going to trust him completely though, it was too soon for that, so you kept your guard up around him.

Speaking about him, you were curious to know about him. For starters his name, & then how he knew or met Yeonjun & why Yeonjun had decided to hire him to watch over you out of the blue. He seemed to read your mind because he gave you all the answers without you asking him. “Taehyun,” he said. It took you a minute to realize that was his name. “I’m Y/N,” you replied, “I know who you are,” you looked at him confused. “I go to your school. I’ve seen you around,” he said. You had never seen him around before, so you figured he just kept to himself most of the time. “How did you start working for Yeonjun,” “That’s none of your business” he replied coldly. “Ok then,” you said trying to change the subject, “So is there a reason you're helping me? Like is this some sort of trap or something?” you asked. “No, I just feel sorry for you,” he said. “Wow ok, so what’s your plan?” you asked. “I assumed you already had one,” he said with a black face. You sighed & just told him your plan & what was holding it back. “That’s fine, I have a better plan,” he said. “Then why didn’t you say so earlier??” you asked slightly raising your voice at him, “I just wanted to hear what you already had in mind, but since it’s going to be a total failure, we won’t be trying that,” he said. Wow, rude much.

***TIME SKIP***

You were laying on your bed wide awake; it was around 2 AM. Taehyun was probably fast asleep in his room by now. But you were still awake thinking about your escape plan. You decided to go with Taehyun’s plan. You had to admit his plan was better & much easier. He informed you that Yeonjun had allowed him to take you out for only one day, he informed strictly, before that day you both would pack some essentials, not too much though & Taehyun would place them in the car before morning, so the guards don’t suspect anything when they see you leaving with a bag. Then from there, you’ll have to go to a mall since Yeonjun had placed a tracking device in the car & if he sees that you are heading somewhere else you know he will send people after you. So you would abandon the car in the mall parking lot & now you had to get rid of your phones since he would track that later to find you. But to keep Yeonjun occupied after he finds out you ran away you were going to use them as a distraction. You & Taehyun would take a taxi to Busan. You’ll take a random subway to some town & place Taehyun’s phone in some alley. Next, you’ll go to Jeonju & leave your phone in some alley.

After you get rid of everything that he could use to find you. You both will travel to Mokpo & stay there till Taehyun can get all your new documents, new passport, new names, everything, so you can leave the country & go somewhere else to make sure neither of you ever meet Yeonjun ever again.

You wondered how he thought of such a detailed plan so quickly & why he was even helping you. From what you heard from a few servants around he was getting paid a huge amount just to keep you here. & The amount you heard so sure a lot, it could pay your rent for almost two years. You also wondered how he knew Yeonjun & started working for him. No matter how many times you asked him, he never told you.

But right now, that wasn’t your problem. You had to get some sleep for tomorrow. Tomorrow was the day. If everything went perfectly according to Taehyun’s plan, it would be your last night in this hell hole….

• ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .

Tag list: yutacchin (Send ask to be added)

#beomgyu #txt #tomorrow_x_together #moa #yeonjun #soobin #taehyun #heuningkai #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #txt x moa #txt yandere #txt yeonjun #txt ff #txt fanfic

[snapthistiger]

exercise 12132023

bike ride to my Mom's house, then the gym

8 x 10 incline sit ups

3 x 10 pec machine

3 x 10 lat raise

3 x 10 low row

30 minutes on the step mill

3 x 5 dips

bike ride to Kroger, then home

the gym workers received Hershey kisses

met with the substitute sitter at my Mom's house before 7am. she seemed very experienced with elder care and i showed her around. my Mom was sleeping so i just visited with the sitter and showed her the food and drinks and medicine for my Mom and other essentials

my internet router at home gave me an issue early this morning and then again later this morning. it seems like cycling the power on the router and the range extender have fixed the issue.

bottom = 2 young gym worker ladies painting the wall gray. i urged them to please be careful on the scaffold. i gave them some Hershey kisses and the young lady on the scaffold gave me a thumbs up for the photo

finished another section of the Microsoft cybersecurity course this afternoon

hope you have a peaceful afternoon and evening..

#fitblr #rfm #exercise

[gothic-thoughts]

Oddly Intriguing

Bucky Barnes x Black Gender Neutral Reader Fluff

MeetUgly, Drabble

CW: rude Bucky (plz he'd never🥰❤)

A peaceful walk down the street was interrupted by a tall man bumping into me so hard that I turn, box braids swinging over my shoulder. He huffs,

"Watch it."

“You watch it.”

My words make him turn to me with raised eyebrows while I stare back at him waiting for an apology or some half-assed one at least but upon further inspection of his face and body, my eyes widen slightly realizing that he was the fucking Winter Soldier, the scary muscular and attractive he was. Ugh, you're so lucky you're literally.... I quickly shake away my thoughts and continue down the street. I still feel his eyes on me, an intense stare into the back of my head as I made my way into the corner store.

I quickly find the breakfast aisle and saw the cereal that I ran out of this morning sitting on the top shelf, of course between two boxes to make it hard to grab as if height wasn't a problem already. just out of reach of my fingertips. As I lift myself onto my tiptoes and consider asking a worker for help, a strong forearm arm reached up from behind me and effortlessly grabs the box as I planted myself back onto my feet. I turn around to see the metal-armed man looking down at me with a neutral expression as he handed me the box.

"Here."

I take it, “You again?”

"You're welcome."

"Did you...follow me?"

"I didn't have to help you with the box."

"It's just that you crashed into me on the street a minute ago.”

"You didn't die, did you?"

So he's got jokes? I turn on my heel and walk away without another word. After a moment of silence from behind me I hear his boots stepping heavily from behind me as he caught up before he was in my peripheral, essentially walking with me.

"Sorry." I mock, grabbing a case of Oreos as I walk past, "I didn't like your apology; and you're a, overall, shit person.”

He sighs, “I'm not, okay?"

"Tell that to the girl you almost killed with your brute strength, Winter Soldier."

"Alright, I'm sorry."

I walk away again, stepping onto the line for the register with his footsteps following close behind as if he was getting something. I roll my eyes. God, he doesn’t quit, does he? He lucky he’s cute.

"This is a very off day for me." He shoves his hands into his pockets, "I was out of it while walking; I actually didn't see you and I'm sorry."

I look him up and down, feigning disinterest, "Hm."

"Come on; I'll treat you to a cup of coffee so we can discuss this."

I snicker, “Discuss what? I already decided that you're a dickhead,” I hand the cereal and cookies to the cashier, “That’s still following me for some reason.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that.” He chuckles, “But if we discuss this a little more, I think can convince you that I am not a dickhead.”

“Doubtful.”

“Let's start here; I'm Bucky."

"Bucky, huh?"

"Yeah, that's what everyone calls me since, well....you know..."

"1940?" I laugh.

"I was gonna say since the dawn of time but that's more specific."

 He actually managed to get a chuckle out of me before I grab my stuff and start to walk out the store and back the way I came. I adjust my box braids in a way so they’d hide the heat in my neck and face, just in case he somehow caught a hint of red under my dark skin.  Considering his offer, I hum while biting the inside of lip then shrug. He’s been pretty nice to me this far. And despite his potential temper problem, he seems pretty chill. Not like he’s not fine as hell too, not like I can go home anyway if he keeps following me like this.

"So, how about it?"

“Well, I can’t exactly go home anymore since this weirdo I met is following me.”

"That means your available. So coffee?"

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x black!reader #x black fem reader #winter solider x reader #winter soldier x reader #marvel #mcu x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #black reader #x black reader #black writers

[helloescapist]

Can you do romantic modern au HCs for daki and a female y/n the same age whos kinda nerdy and introverted but very patient and affectionate towards daki? Kind of like an opposites attract sort of thing, like maybe they met in class and get paired together for a group project, and things slowly escalate from there? Like Daki eventually grows a soft spot for y/n

-🐼

hello, hello, 🐼

I kind of love the idea of Daki falling for a shyer personality, one that struggles with socializing, and easily nervous. Specifically, when we consider that Daki was a oiran in her human life as a means of survival, and even continuing the line of work in her demon rebirth, Daki essentially is predisposed to considering other women as threats whether its status or financial. Oirans are terrifying--- just imagining Daki with a female she can actually grow to trust and love over time is wholesome fluff I need.

And all of a sudden—I’m just going to have to break this into two parts. That’s really all there is to it. Oh the wellllllll

Sincerely, | Daki

Word Count: 2382

Setting: Daki x fem!reader

Content Warning(s): suggestive, ecchi content, reader is a low key perv (but like, who isn't in their teen years), will have mentions of assault in parts to come, girlxgirl, yuri, modern AU

Summary: an unlikely train encounter, and questionable tutoring.

A/N: the amount of effort I put into calculating how tall Daki would likely be is just… why am I like this? Spoiler alert, she is likely around 5’2-5’4, but as she appears tall for her era when you take away her shoes, such as when you view her height in comparison to Koinatsu, but for the purpose of adapting her to a modern AU, I would put her height at 5’6, as statistics show the average female height to be 5’4. Part II , headcanons

The clench of your bag in your hand, as your other hand fought to reach the handgrip. The reach just escaping your grasp, the tips of your fingers brushed against pull. The sea of bodies that pressed against your form, jostling you to and fro despite the reach of your fingers. The cram of suits, the buttons threatening to break skin as it scraped across your cheek. Early morning commuters, businessmen and women alike operating on late hours, and caffeine. Dedicated to daily survival, murmured of yawns, dreary in their stark existence. Old men that sighed into newspapers, flipped through pages and drew exhaustion upon weary bones. Their fatigue met only by the civil servants that mentally prepared themselves for the hour to come. Laborers corralled next to office workers, college students shuffled between members of the workface, their discussions of lectures hollow against the weight of data, and meetings. Ironic in the experience against the new to the world; the rare high school student such as yourself lost amongst the crowd. Victims to the push and pull of the fluctuation of passengers, your low status upon the totem pole revealed by the flutter of your school uniform as you fought against the sea of bodies, the grit of your teeth before managing your weight to the tip of your toes, the thread of your fingers secured at the caught of the metal in your palm. The rattle of the train, the murmurs of the morning as you allowed the breath to release from your lungs Struggled to multitask holding your belongings, the train rail, and push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. The murmuring of giggling girls drawing your attention out of sincere curiosity. The press of the back of hand from one to another, snickers that fell pass distinct neckties, and khaki blazers. Pressed uniforms, meticulously maintained as their fingernails, hair styled and fashioned as their sneers fell upon glossed lips. Fresh faces that fell upon haughty glares upon a girl seated amongst the crowd. Having secured a rare seating opportunity though the lecturers glances of the older men that lamented near the seats hinted that the opportunity had not afforded itself. Yet, the group of onlookers merely whispered ideal gossips, painted a portrait of a whore amongst faculty members. Murmured poisonous accusations, and delved details shameless of their surroundings. The clench of your jaw, fumbling upon the bag in your hand as your eyes caught upon the victim of their scandalous discussion.

              Moonlight kissed hair that drew the breath from your lungs, threatened to smother you with its vision. The high of her ponytail reminiscent of the beauty of oirans of the past, intentionally placed hair pins that met the curls that formed at her hips. Thick locks that captivated every curve, danced upon ever trace of her silhouette. Shuddered the chill of winter down your spine. The reveal of her breast, openly exposed, the buttons of her white uniform blouse intentionally left undone, snug against the cup of her form, the peak of—lace? W-why?  S-she was clearly a high school student, was she not? Ah, n-no maybe it’s a costume. The small shift of her hips reflected the sheer material of her thigh highs as she rolled her pelvis into the seat. The adjustment having drawn a small scrap of fabric, a skirt, and its pattern that drew the heat of your cheeks in one swift strike. As though you had been slapped with the reality of its familiarity—n-nope. Not a costume, the telling pattern back and red plaid patterns, the thin strip of black that drew at the pleating of the skirts. Her brown loafers school issued as the very ones you wore. Though your uniform had never… left such a lasting impression as the one she adorned. The fairness of her skin that the peeks of her uniform provided despite the chilly weather February provided was delicate as though she was a portrait painted by Tsukuyomi-no-Mikoto. The celestial god the only one capable of providing such beauty upon the earth, the draw of her breast and the distinct hiss that rumbled at the base of her throat.  The meticulously draw of kitten eyeliner dipped into shades of crimson rouge, and the press of her lips into a disapproving scowl. Lush, summer grass that threatened the very existence of winter’s chill upon your spine. Rattled your bones with the press of her painted lips together as her eyebrows met a furrow.

“What, are you look at?”

Her beauty unescapable, deadly as delicate. Caught amongst her glare, the point of her sharp eyes, becoming aware of the ends of her Chrysoberyl hair that appeared as though it had captivated her hiss, and robbed you of your own voice. The small shiver that met at your shoulders as you dumbly found yourself drawing your finger to your face, “M-me?” The horrific realization that you had been caught ogling her, only amplified by the chuckles of the girls that had drawn you into this situation. The sharp tint of her eyelashes, long and lush as they captivated your own. Willing your glasses at the tip of your nose to shield you from her edged lour. The flare of her breast, i-it was not your fault that you gaze had drifted as you forced your hand from the pull, tucking your finger tips to fumble with your eyewear. Struggled to choke down the lump that formed in your throat, aware of her flaring temper as she pulled herself to her feet. Abandoning her seat, and ignoring the appealing way that older men traced her steps. The shameful realization that, perhaps she was accustomed to men leering at her, and found your wandering gaze a peculiarity. Though you had not the opportunity to rationalize why she had fault with yours, nor how horrified that you were on pare with perverted old man. Fumbled with your glasses, tucked awkwardly at the strands of your hair that fell to your ears, as you attempted to find any way out of this. The draw of her pointed glare down upon you, standing a few inches taller than yourself. The hint of osmanthus followed a spice you could not name tantalized your senses, the sputtering realization of how hard her perfume had hit you left you choking on your lips.

The ding of the station, hitched upon the knot of the track. The rock of bodies, pressed every which way, the shutter of the girl before you rocked backwards, pinioned against you as you struggled to find your footing. The slam of your hand into the window pain at her head. The bend of her knees, and the shocked quiver of her pupils. Rattled at the pinion of her body pressed beneath your own lsot amongst the shuffle of passengers. All of the shoujo-ai you had read in your lives could not have prepared you for this moment. K-Kabedon?! The internal screaming upon your heart, shattered your brain. Short circuited all thought presses, blissfully unaware of the growing wrath that seethed beneath you alongside the ding of the train doors. Foreboding, and impending the girl before you descent to the platform. The rattle of her skirt hiked up, the rack of your form pressed into her. Old men that chuckled as they rushed to their offices; college students that lingered far longer than you’d prefer. Prayed that none of the snickers, utilized cellphone cameras, nor instilled this moment for later purposes. The rattle of your heart, the spread of her hair beneath you despite the obvious seething wrath that immolated across her doll like features. The green strands of her hair that coiled beneath her, the scathing glower that caught amongst your own. The scream of fury that threatened the cull of her throat, quivered her bones as the veins began to pop in her forehead, only furthered by your insufferable, incoherent apologies. Fumbled over your belongings. Snagged your bag, shoved your glasses up the bridge of your nose, and retreated.

If there was a god, he was laughing. Delighting in your misery. Savoring the anguish, ignored the prayers you uttered in horrified internal screaming, begging him to allow the earth to swallow you whole as your teacher stood before you. Ignorant to your obvious apparel, all bartering from your swearing off meat to joining a nunnery intentionally ignored for sheer folly. No, no god must be a woman, it was the only explanation to the sight before you. Aoki-sensei’s clueless smile, eyes shut, and proud of his own suggestion. Tutoring, assisting another student’s preparation for college exams, and the very subject before you. D-daki, he had said with such delight upon introducing her. Absolutely blind to the turbulent forces that circled around him. The coil of a viper posed and agitated. Her green eyes flaring the grit of her teeth. The small slip of her canines against pursed rouged lips. Her freshly manicured nails rapped against the desk before digging into the wood grain. Twitching eyebrows, wrinkled nose, as the green mamba hissed, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

              No, no it appears not.

              Who says that the gods do not have a sense of humor?

It had been a few weeks of—could you really call this studying? Any attempt to navigate course material fell on deaf ears. Was muddled by the click of her nails against the desk, the pop of bubblegum, or the occasional flip of a fashion magazine. The evidence of her bubbling rage at each pointed glare she shot you when you attempted to stutter for her attention. The break of your voice, a higher pitch due to your duress than you’d like to admit, and yet despite the notable hostility, she had continued to attend the— “study” sessions. Her irritability having reached an all time high today as her bubblegum popped, the twitch of her lip-enhancer glossed lips quipped with the wrinkle of her nose. The vein in her head practically throbbing with each nervous fumble you could conjure. The chalk practically shaking in your hand as you attempted to demonstrate the proper algebraic equation. The searing lesions her vision threatened to brand into your back as the chalk nervously rattled against the chalkboard. An incomprehensible tapped scribble as you forced an awkward smile, attempting to find your voice. The cup of your hair cut off at your ears and utilizing the opportunity to press up your glasses in an attempt to avoid her eye. Each movement betraying your nervousness had only tempted her ire. The dodged glances when Daki sought your gaze, frail voice that lacked any resolve. She had even witnessed your knees clatter against one another, the height of her panty hose unable to shield the obvious state of tremors that rolled up your spine every time she watched your back diligently scribble incomprehensible. A flush guaranteed to kidnap your fatures, and your gaze from her own when the taller girl successfully met your gaze—what fucking help were you supposed to be to her?

              You couldn’t even help your fucking self.

              The knot of a mocked sticker—an immature attempt at humor from one of your female classmates that had escaped your notice. Successfully implemented when she had patted you on the shoulder before your tutoring session had begun, the smug grin and how boldly the little bitch had met Daki’s eyes had been enough to piss her off, but met face to face with the rainbow flag and homophobic slur stickered  to your collar had her boiling. The grip of her magazine crumbled between clenched fists; she had attempted to remove it. She had, but ever action had a reaction. Her close proximity regardless of how perfectly timed, or well intended, resulted in you trembling and babbling. It only pissed her off more. How were YOU supposed to help her? With your little insult sticker, and inability to even make eye contact—fuck how pathetic must she be to seek your HELP? The thought had dropped her brows to the point that they dipped at her enhanced eyelashes, threatened to simmer over as though she were a neglected pot. She could feel her temper boil, and her teeth scrapping against one another before she allowed it to steer her.

              “What the fuck is your problem?” Daki seethed, slamming her hands to her desk, forcing her chair back in a rattling screech of her chair across the floor. Tremored your bones and drew your attention to her in shock worthy of some B horror film. The click of her school issue indoor shoes clapped harder and harder with each step forward, as you attempted to position the podium between the two of you. “Are you screwing with me? Pisses me off seeing you worm around like this?”

              Manicured nails caught the collar of your school uniform, her height foreboding against your own as she leaned forward. Daring your averted eyes to catch her own, pressing her gaze against you as the vein in her forehead threatened to burst the longer, she glowered at you. The clench of her canine teeth against one another before shoving you from her sight. Exasperated pursed rogued lips that grunted dissatisfaction with your response, “Whatever, I don’t need this.”  Daki’s absence in the classroom marked only by the quite of an abandoned lecture, the most peculiar sticker discarded in the trash on her way out, and the sinking pit in your stomach that something, something was wrong.

#demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #daki x reader #demon slayer daki x reader #kny daki x fem!reader #kny x reader #🍡tsuyospeaks

[littlemspeachy]

I'll Sleep Later (Battinson x reader)

Summary: After the floods, you start taking care of people with your limited background in medicine. And one night Bruce walks in through your window.

Note: There's mentions of the reader wearing a bonnet and putting her braids into a ponytail, but outside of that reader looks is not mentioned. Also, sorry if this is a bit heavy, but it's Gotham and a massive flood occurred in a densely populated city.

Warnings: Medical Knowledge acquired from Greys Anatomy and Google. Arguing about the ethics of killing, cursing, mentions of drug overdoses, mentions of human trafficking, melatonin usage, mentions of bullet wounds and internal bleeding, drinking, mentions of people dying or dead.

Word Count: 3.8K

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You never knew why he came to you. You were no one, a nobody another working class body in a city where ultra rich people got wealthier. A part of you wished they got wealthier by just basic corporate exploitation. Underpaying workers and jacking up the prices of essential needs to rise profit margins. But nooo, it was through means of human trafficking and heavy drugs.

You lost your roommate due to those drugs. She was a dancer at one of the local clubs. It was good money, you used to bartend at the same place. Ran a token system so the men couldn't outright give girls drinks. They could claim it after their shift or just take the money if they didn't want the drinks. Unfortunately, a lot of men complained, and your job was gone.  

A part of you believed in the Riddler and what he was doing. They deserved to pay. Pay for their crimes and not just the monetary. But wiping out the city? Letting the disabled, elderly, and poor just be swept away into the rivers. Forcing the poor and working class to pay the already high insurance deductions to clean up his mess. If he was smart enough, he would've just assassinated those who he knew was responsible. But noo he had to think he was some sort of God bringing in the next big flood. Stupid. Your neighborhood was destroyed. Because you knew emergency medicine from training as a nurse before dropping out due to the rising cost of med school, you brought people in your home and became a small clinic. Stole from the local convenience stores and other houses that were abandoned for medical supplies and food. 

You took in small cats and dogs that came by your house. Young boys occasionally dropped someone off with medical supplied in exchange for some food. You barely got any sleep, making sure no one died. And luckily no one has. This was you and your life now. 

Which is why you were confused when he came through your window one night. You were attempting to get in a small nap before doing rounds on your patients. 

You stared at him and turned on a small light. Most of the water had receded but with you being so central the streets were still cold and wet. A foot of water still in the streets. Luckily the backup generators were held on the third floor, so two weeks after the flood you were able to use the electricity. But depending on the usage it goes out fast. Small lamp meant less electricity.

You internalized his helmet and ripped cape. "What do you want?" You asked cooly. 

"I need help." He whispered before beginning to fall sluggishly.  

You rushed towards him eyes wide. The last thing you wanted and needed was to operate on this man in your bed. Clean water was hard to come by in your part of time and the last thing you needed was dirty sheets. 

You dragged him carefully through your halls and into the guest room. Your last patient just left that morning, so the room was empty.

You internally cringed but turned on the main light so that you could see better. 

Blood pooling in his undershirt, making the black look wet and darker than usual. 

You took in a deep breath stilling yourself before walking over to your assorted medical cabinet and a cabinet full of vodka. You pulled a liter bottle of vodka and some gloves and scissors. 

A question on the tip of your tongue being cut off by the sound of a walkie-talkie. "Ayo (Y/N) we got an injury here should we bring them up?" A young male voice asked through a walkie talkie situated on a three-tier rolling cabinet next to the floor cabinets. 

You took a glance at the man on your bed before grabbing the walkie with your ungloved hand. "What the situation looking like?" 

"We got a potential drug overdose, a shallow breather, and one whose got a nasty wound." 

"Administer Naloxone to the drug overdose and bring in the nasty wound. Pick up any more supplies that you can find and ring the bell when you get in, we got a patient." 

"But what about the shallow breather." 

You let out a deep sigh. "It'll take around 20-30 minutes to bring anyone in unless your right at my door. They ain't gonna make it kid. I don't know what to tell you anymore." 

The line stayed quiet. You and the boy on the other line knew it was impossible to save everyone. Some days were better than others but, as time went on you knew you could only try to save those with the highest chance of living. And at the moment you didn't have any help. 

"Understood. We'll be back in 3o mins." 

You nodded in silent confirmation and sat the walkie down before going back to the situation at hand. 

"Ay, I need you to stay awake as long as physically possible." You said tapping his helmet lightly. 

You cut open the shirt too see three bullet holes and crazy bruising. Internal bleeding.

You laid your hands on his body and looked up at the ceiling before getting to work. You ran to your cupboards and pulled out some medical kits. A perk of the flooding was that the national guard was in and so your kids managed to steal medical supplies at night and at really busy times. 

You pulled out a tongue dampener and a numbing spray before walking over to the man. 

You pulled off a glove before taking off your bonnet and wrapping a braid around the rest to make a makeshift and tight ponytail before putting the glove back on. 

You grimaced slightly realizing what was about to occur. "Sorry, this isn't the most sanitary place. But based off of where the bruises and the bullets are you have some internal bleeding. I'm going to have to flip you slightly to make sure they didn't go through." You said softly, adrenaline kicking in. 

After loud groan and cutting through the rest of his shirt you noticed that the bullets didn't get through and that there were only punch marks on the back. You laid him back down and pushed him up enough to drink a shot. 

He looked at you, pupils blood shot and black surrounding his eyes slowly fading to reveal the white skin underneath. 

"Listen this is about to hurt, and alcohol works as a depressant." He nodded silently before you poured him a drink from an unmarked bottle. 

You passed him a shot glass before grabbing the tongue dampener and you bit back a small laugh while you watched the man almost throw up the liquid. 

You shrugged as his gave you a glare. "I'm sorry, that was moonshine. Not vodka." 

He laid back down and you sprayed the numbing spray on the first bullet before making a small cross over the first bullet and grabbing a pair of clamps to dig around and find the small piece of metal. Luckily that one wasn't that deep. Which was good for you but that means another one broke into something causing the bleed. 

You slowly took it out and dropped it into the trash before grabbing a suturing kit and sewing it shut. You ignored his groans and muffled screams while rolling your wrist and starting again. 

 You moved on to the next bullet and repeated the same steps. Spray,Cut, pull, sew. Unfortunately, like the other bullet, it was lodged right under the skin. Meaning the third one was deeper and lodged into something that was going to require much faster movements and quicker thinking. 

You let out a deep sigh before throwing down your supplies and ripping off your gloves. If the internal bleeding was due to it being lodged in the small intestine, then as soon as you cut it open blood was going to pour, and because you weren't an actual hospital you had no suction. So, the next best things were some tampons, a syringe, and some extra lap pads. You also dragged over a floor lamp with an LED light that you had before the flood for extra lighting. 

You sat the supplies down on him lap, before grabbing a new pair of gloves. "This is gonna hurt. I am so sorry but you're going to get lead poisoning if I leave this in you." 

He stared at you with blank eyes before nodding and grasping the side of the bed. You touched the massive bruise gently just to confirm that there was bleeding and when he let out a loud groan you knew you had to act fast. 

And acting fast you did. Stuffed in the lap pads and sucked all the lose blood that you could. Cursed to high hell and managed to do the best you could do with internal sutures and a tampon, closing him up and throwing your gloves and the bullet into the trash. 

You wiped the sweat off your head before roughly grabbing the bottle of moonshine and taking a deep swig. You collapsed in a corner trying to control your heartbeat before getting up and grabbing a big bandage and putting it on him. 

You took one last glance of him before leaving and going into the living room to deal with the people the young man over the walkie talkie picked up. 

The next time he came to you he wasn't injured, just with supplies. A lot of supplies. 

"What is this?" You asked watching him walk around your guest room and gently put away supplies. 

He stayed silence and brush past you on the way to your living room and to the kitchen before walking out of your house. 

A part of you wished he stayed, you could've asked him what he's doing here, how he's healing. But instead, it's just short words and more action. 

And that's how it was, for a while. Silent dropping of supplies and leaving without a word. A small note about updates on repairs. 

A part of you was deeply thankful, but another part was curious, almost too curious. So, you set up a small trap. Well not really a trap, you were just going to sit in your living room until he came. And come he did. 

He came in again, 4.30 am sharp. Bags of an assortment of things. He acknowledged you sitting on the couch and headed towards your guest room. 

"You can't go in there, someone there's some people grieving, and I want to leave them alone." You said to his back.  

He paused hand inches away from the door handle before dropping it back to his side. Silence filling the apartment before bootsteps made their way into your kitchen. 

"You need to get sleep, there's people out there that might need your help." He stated deadpanned. His voice rough and raspy sounding like it was the first time he used it all day. 

"Why did you come here that night. You're a hero to Gotham. You could've gone to anyone." You asked, eyes never moving from his dark figure. 

"I've listened to your conversations with the boy, Pedro, I knew you wouldn't ask questions. I know you still don't." He said still busying himself with the mix of supplies he brought. 

"I could've killed you." 

"Yet you didn't, you saved me. I healed. You have good hands; the scars are almost fully healed." He said voice softer. 

"You know some think it's your fault," You stated plainly. "Some think you caused it. You were working with the Riddler to get a name out for yourself." 

He stopped his movements and stared at you. He grit his teeth causing his jaw to flare but remained silent. "Do you believe that?" 

"No. But I do think you're hiding. No one around here has enough money to be walking around with that kind of armor. Because why would a crazy man be so obsessed over you? As far as I'm concern you've done no wrong. Except for not killing him." 

"Killing him and anyone else is not my job. It's not my position to do so." He responded.

"Oh, but he's in the position to do so. Why because he's angry at a couple of some dead rich couple?" You argued back, walking towards the bar counter in your kitchen. 

"He's mentally deranged, but ultimately he should be tried. It is not my judgement to decided that." 

"Oh, the same judges that have been bought out by the same fuckers in drug pushing and human trafficking. Get the fuck out of here." You said angrily. A part of you was happy that there was a kitchen island separating you two. 

"So do you agree with him?" He said slamming down a can of corn. His voice stayed even but the slam said otherwise. 

"No, I think he's some deranged lunatic white boy, who just like you are playing God, the only difference is one person is stupid enough to think that killing everyone was a great fucking solution and the other being some rich white boy believing in a system that put us in this situation in the first place! Do you know how many people have died in this house? That guest room belonged to my best friend that was killed because someone thought it would be funny to slip drugs into her drink. And now I-" You stopped quickly, your breath coming out in shudders and tears threatening to fall. 

You looked up at the ceiling to attempt to make the tears not fall. "She died due to the floods. We couldn't get to the Narcan in time, and she stopped breathing. We couldn't get her upstairs fast enough and I couldn't carry her and by the time I managed to get back downstairs her body was already under the water. We were supposed to make it, she was dancing to pay her way through nursing school. The only good thing about Gotham is the hospital, but it takes the most expensive schooling to get there. So no, I do wish that you killed him, I wished that you forced him to see all the suffering then forced him to drown the way many others did. You don't get to decide to kill hundreds if not thousands then get to see justice." You spat before angrily wiping the tears that came down your face. 

He stayed and stared at you before walking around the corner and doing something even unfamiliar to him and hugged you. It wasn't tight, it wasn't loose, but it was just enough. He gently grabbed a walkie talkie and a random bottle you had sitting by the door before leading you outside your apartment and up the stairs. A part of you wanted to protest but another part just didn't care anymore. So, you followed him up to the rooftop. The two of you walked to the center of the roof before sitting down. 

The brisk air filling your lungs and bones, the odd dark blue lighting up the sky and prepping for the day. 

Brue took off his cap and sat it on your shoulders before handing you the bottle.  You took it and glanced sideways at the man. 

"I can't I have people to deal with. Care never ends." You said shaking your head and placing the bottle down beside you. 

"You need to rest (Y/N). No one can heal that many people and stay sane or healthy." He said softly looking at you. Blue eyes somehow brighter in the light of the early morning. 

"And do you rest? Mr. Super-Hero," You asked back looking into his eyes, a battle of who would look away first commencing. "I see your eye bags, your bruises that have been there for weeks. You know if you rested properly, you would be able to heal faster." 

He continued looking into your eyes before breaking away. "Gotham never sleeps and neither do I." 

"Welp, I guess that makes two of us. Sick people don't stop being sick, and violence doesn't stop either." You said sarcastically. 

"It's not the violence anymore, it's just getting people to safety. The national guard has been clearing people out in dangerous areas. You would be a good help to them." He stated softly, his voice was so rough it dropped in and out of being a whisper. 

You shook your head in disagreement. "The national guard is just evacuating people. I help the people who can't access help. By the time the national guard rolls in, they would be dead." 

The two of you at in silence, the only thing heard is the gentle blowing of the early morning wind. 

Bruce pondered what to say to you. You were safe with your crew of rag tag teens running the streets and picking them up. Moving you, or recommending you move to the manor didn't make sense. He knew you would argue. You would've liked Celina he thinks. You were both strong, angry at the world. He was stupid to not see this all going on. What was the point of all this money, all the donations. Wasn't there someone in charge, someone to- Yes there was someone in charge. Him. He was Bruce Wayne. The last living Wayne member, if he cared this much, he could've checked and made sure everything was running smoothly. She was right. He was just another white guy that believed that the system could change, believed in the same systems that made Gotham this way. 

"I'm sorry." He admitted suddenly. Shocking the both of them. 

You frowned and looked over. "Sorry about what? What did you do." 

He let out a deep breath, a strange weight being lifted off his shoulders, a weird lightness in his heart he hadn't felt in years. 

"Do you really think I should've killed him." 

You moved your eyes to the sky. Thoughts swirling through your mind. You mouth opening and closing again. "No. I-" 

You chuckled at the strangeness of it all. "I would've probably beat the shit out of him. But you're not... You have a slight point. As angry as I am at all this, The guilt of knowing I have blood on my hands, that I'm no better. Not saying that killing can't be justified it very much can be. It's sometimes the only right thing you can do. But.. Killing some guy that honestly had nothing to do with her death. I wouldn't know what to do with myself." 

You stated to the sky. Your ego too high to look at him. 

"I don't sleep." 

You raised a brow at the admission not shocked at all. 

"I lied. I can't fall asleep. All I hear is crying and people looking for loved ones. I.. I only get a few hours a night. I haven't slept for more than 5 hours since the floods." 

"To be fair I usually pass out, I try to get sleep but it's never any good, too on guard." You admitted grabbing the bottle of vodka and twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a swig before passing it. 

He hesitated before taking several swallows. You looked at him amused. "Drink up babes, I got more than enough to go around." 

He winced and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

"I give you the supplies because I feel guilty. For so long I just assumed that everything was fine, and that this city was a dump because that's just what it was. But it's... everywhere.. And it's not just petty crime. It's everywhere." He gasped, a lump evident in his voice. 

You stared at him. Everything clicking into place. Bruce Wayne is Batman. huh.

"I wouldn't take Brue Wayne to be an optimist." You stated. 

He quickly whipped his head around, shock evident in his eyes. 

"I'm not stupid, who else would have enough money to be stomping around in that costume. Plus, all the wealthy people in Gotham are old. And you're obviously not. Plus, your parents got shot when you were younger and now you go around saving people." You said with a shrug. 

Bruce stared at you in pure shock and watched you roll your eyes. 

"I won't tell anyone. Not that anyone would believe me."  You said before chuckling and grabbing the bottle. 

"Stay," You whispered after two minutes of sitting in silence. "Just for the day. Eat something and I'll get some sleep meds for you, and you sleep. Take a shower and go sleep." 

"You need sleep, you actually care for people. You sleep, I can take care of people." 

"You can't take care of people looking like that." 

"Sleep with me." 

You stared at him with wide open eyes. Shock very evident. 

"I mean. In the sense that. I trust you, and I need someone I trust around me to feel comfortable sleeping. So, sleep with me. And before you argue, I've seen the streets before I came in, there's nothing going on out there, that Pedro can't handle." 

You closed and opened your mouth a couple times before his ask started to make sense. He was right, the walkie that he brought with him has stayed silent.

You nodded your head. "Sleep.. OK." 

You shrugged off his cape and stood up with a groan. Your legs cramped from siting on the cold concreate for so long. 

He followed your actions and headed back into the building. The heating warming up the building slightly. Bruce helped your guest bring their now deceased friend to Pedro before telling the young boy that you weren't taking anyone today and giving him the address for the coroner. The two of you watched the truck drive off before heading back inside. 

You gave him one of your oversized sweaters and a pair of pants that belonged to your father that you meant to tailor but never got around to before sending off to the shower.  Hotdogs, eggs, toast and a random fruit that hadn't gone bad was cooked. More food than usual but he was a grown man and you guessed he hadn't eaten in a white. You ate in silence before putting down two melatonin gummies in front of the man and going to take a shower. 

You locked your doors and turned down the volume of your walkie before slipping into bed next to him.

"Thank you." The two of you said at the same time before heading off to sleep. 

Anger and healing are non-linear and painful. But with goodnights sleep and a friend you trust, it's a bit easier. 

#fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #the batman #battinson x reader #reader insert

[nhasablogg]

A piece of writing advice

So I'm no expert of course, but I DO work as a book editor professionally and there are recurring things I've noticed that happens in a lot of early drafts that I'd like to talk a bit about! This is more aimed at longer writing projects, but could also work for fics.

How to make scenes smoother and more interesting:

I'm not sure if it's officially called this, but there's a concept that many people call "arrive late, leave early" which writers usually use in their scenes. Basically it's this idea that you enter a scene while it's already happening, thus arriving "late", and then make sure to leave while it's still interesting to keep a reader's attention.

This doesn't mean that you can't or shouldn't introduce what's happening, but instead of the classic "I woke up, I drove to work, my co-worker was mad at me" type of scenario you need to figure out ways to better use space and time in order to not put too much focus on unnecessary things. It's a given that the character woke up and drove to work if the scene starts at their workplace. The necessary information will be displayed to the reader throughout the scene. If the MC and their co-worker argue, it will either come up why the co-worker is mad or the scene will play on the MC's confusion, and the relevant information will come up later when the MC themselves figure it out. Essentially the importance of the scene lies in the argument. The MC waking up usually isn't important unless something happens to them in the morning before work.

When it comes to fanfiction I'm a big fan of building up a scene, as you all probably know, but it's easier to do that in short form than in something longer, where there's probably been many chapters beforehand which are already working at building and introducing and engaging the reader.

Another thing I've noticed is a character dipping into a place that will play no significant role in the story and is simply used to tell the reader more about them. I think this usually happens when people take "show, don't tell" a little too seriously. If a character's workplace is of no importance and won't be a recurring setting, the reader simply won't need to see them get up and drive to work at all unless something will happen at work that will be relevant. A scene which is half a page of the MC going to work works less well as opposed to a scene where the MC's life is being displayed through thoughts, inner monologues, references etc. I think a big weakness many writers have (myself included) is making the beginning of their books interesting while also sharing relevant information. It's simply better to make the beginning interesting and have the reader not know everything than to info dump. The background information will appear as the story proceeds.

If you have any other thoughts or ideas or questions about this topic I'd love to discuss! Again, no expert, but many scenes need to become more seamless. It doesn't mean the everyday type of things need to be entirely removed, as long as you know how to make it interesting and use it to your advantage.

#text #writing advice #advice

[muzzleroars]

What would Hell's and the Terminal network's relationship actually be? are they actually friends, neutral opinioned co-workers or would Hell try and make the network its own plaything if they weren't so essential to its fun? Or would hell have favourites among the different Terminals? (it does not care for 5-3).

I have a headcanon that the secret levels are the Hell and Terminals collabroating on new ways to torture, thats why they look like other games (terminals are gamers and copyright died with the humans) they are secret because they arent ready yet! and only beta testers are allowed (they like V1 so it is allowed to test them).

honestly i think about this as well....like what kind of relationship do they have, since for me it seems unlikely they're just moving in parallel with no cross-communication. i do tend to sort of think of them as collaborators in some capacity, as what they both want facilitates what the other does - hell wants more torture, the terminals want a good show, and these goals can easily align. i even think it's possible that the terminals assisted hell in learning how to modify husks and helped it track humanity's movements (to the point where i wonder if they helped end humanity in some way, to drive all the action to them after having been abandoned) however, with all that being said, i don't know how they might actually feel about one another beyond this partnership. i do genuinely like the idea that they're sort of "competitive", with the terminals quite proud of v1's accomplishments while hell plots how it can destroy their favorite machine, but in general i don't really consider them close in any way. they work together because it conveniences both of them to do so, and terminals prefer their own company or that of the machines they like.

BUT the secret levels idea is so cute...i love that these may be little simulations that the terminals are running with hell's help to perhaps collab on different kinds of entertainment. hell doesn't always quite understand the direction, but the idea that these are all attempts at unique kinds of torture is so good lmao something wicked being horror must be a favorite it's looking to implement more, while the witless is far too mundane as it presents frustration at worst (although it supposes it COULD be expanded out to a nauseating degree) it doesn't mind the existentialism of all-imperfect love song, but it thinks that's more effective on humans rather than machines. clash of the brandicoot is by FAR the most effective and is horrible, they both think they nailed that one!!!! i only say morning makes. zero sense to hell. the terminals try to explain it as the lost liminality of the world, a repetitive place that will never provide the one thing you're looking for (size 2.......), but that seems rather high-minded to hell. (the terminals secretly don't mind at all that v1 seems to really enjoy that place. it deserves a reward for being so cool :])

#genuinely that secret level headcanon is so good i am incorporating it!!! #to contextualize them all as torture outside of the realm of guts and gore works really well!!! #and that this is the terminals trying to 'copy' hell in a sense #but they make it like video games instead bc they're computers aaaa so neat #cake answers #terminals #hell

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

In December I got a job as a "park ambassador," which the description made sound like a desk job, an event coordinator, but actually turned out to be a manual laborer/groundskeeper. I got overwhelmed by the workload on my first day and quit the morning that would have been my second.

This month I got a job as a front desk clerk at a hotel. Those of you who follow me probably know that I had this exact job at a motel down in the Keys for years, so it was a lateral move, something familiar to fall back on, much easier than the suprise manual labor the park sprung on me. Well, turns out this place lied too because they're cross training me to be a housekeeper, which is ABSOLUTELY NOT worth my time and effort. That wasn't in the job description, and that was never brought up in the interview. Today was my first full shift, and it was horrendous from start to finish because there was simultaneously too much to do and not enough. What I mean is that every single task they gave me had ten or fifteen steps and substeps to follow in sequence, so even the simplest one was needlessly overcomplicated. There's a ton of shit to do, followed by long stretches of absolutely nothing. At my old job, my boss did not give one half of two shits what I did to fill the time; I could go on my phone or my laptop, I could read a book, I could draw, I could space out or take a nap, she didn't care as long as I immediately dropped what I was doing whenever the phone rang or a customer came to the door. No such luck here. I'm not allowed to read, I'm supposed to either sit there in silence or find something to do to look busy for the cameras. That's all it is, just pointless busywork. There are not 8 hours worth of tasks, but they expect you to do 8 hours worth of work!

Oh, and if the woman who's training me was really passive agressive all day about the fact that I asked her to go over the steps slowly so I could take notes and create a checklist. She made a really fucking annoying comment about how I'm the only trainee who has trouble retaining information, like I'm some drooling moron when it's literally my first day. She's younger than I am but she's already been married, had a kid, gotten a divorce, bought and sold two houses, and landed a career as a middle manager, so to her I'm lower than dirt, an abject failure, an example of how not to live your life. She made me feel about three feet tall, and the only thing that prevented me from calling it quits again was that I desperately need the money. This is the way it is: every day I'm scheduled is $100 dropped into my bank account. $15 per hour, 8 hour shifts, that's $120 per day before tax, something like $102 to $105 take home pay. I was hired to be part time, only two or tree days a week, but it pays weekly instead of biweekly so every Friday I'll get $200 or $300. This week they gave me a full 40 hours for training, so that's $500 if I can make it to the end of it without having another panic attack. If I imagine my boss handing me a $100 bill every day at clock out, I think I can get through this.

If they lied about the content of the job, I'm going to give it a solid 75% effort. I'm not gonna stress about meeting quotas or finding ways to look busy. I'm gonna keep using my checklists. I'm gonna keep them with me and go down them one item at a time in front of the customers because that's what I need to do, and if corporate doesn't like it they can fire me. This is just a job, not a career. I'm not an essential worker. I don't give a shit if a customer has a substandard experience. I don't give a shit if the elevator has scuff marks that need to be mopped. I don't care if someone leaves their laundry hamper next to the coin-op machines while they run. I am going to half-ass it all!

I have a disability and it has only gotten worse in the last five years. When I was in college I had good insurance and good medication, but now my plans have next to no coverage; the only meds I can afford are the msot common ones that doctors give away like candy. They don't work for me, but the good shit is too expensive, so i'm wallowing. I was barely able to function in the Keys, but I was driven by my goals of buying a car and moving out of my parents place; now that I've achieved both of those things, I have nothing to look forward too and have lost all motivation to even try. I am not alone, I know plenty of people who are in the exact same boat as me, but apparently none of them live within 500 miles. All my would-be peers up here are successful and functional. it comes easy to them. I'm the only one who seems to struggle. Surely I can't be the only one, but I never see anyone else like me in real life, only ever online. Are they just good at hiding it? Why can't I do that too?

#personal #might delete later #my job #work #job search #hotel #rant