chaiwithmybeloved

[chaiwithmybeloved]

I’m not even an anti-internet person like I love the internet, I just get so frustrated with the passive way people have become accustomed to using it now. not actively seeking things out or engaging with communities, just turning their brain off & letting the algorithm feed them whatever it wants. & I can’t help but feel like that’s partially to blame for the current state of things (anti-“woke” backlash is easier to digest if you turn your brain off when online)

[chaiwithmybeloved]

Favorite green pages from my gouache sketchbook 🌿🌼

[chaiwithmybeloved]

i honestly prefer to kick a man when hes down. its the easiest time to do it

[chaiwithmybeloved]

Btw, this is how conservatives keep getting to claim that trans people are a new thing no one has ever heard, because our history and existences have continually been erased or obscured systematically through out history.

The most famous example was 92 years when the Nazis raided the library of the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, the medical practice where the term transsexual was first coined and the first gender affirming surgery was performed in in 1931.

What did the Nazis do after raiding the library on May 6th, 1933? You may be familiar with these images

It is happening again.

[chaiwithmybeloved]

sakusa kiyoomi x reader.

"need help?" a low voice startles you. the mirror holds a reflection of a blurry figure approaching you.

you should have put your contacts in, first thing.

it isn't until he's standing right behind you, adjusting a lock of curl that falls above his delicate right brow, you finally recognize the man.

his gaze falls south, "may i?"

"yes, please."

sakusa brushes your hair away, cold fingers inadvertently tickling your neck.

he pinches the fabric at the top, sliding the zipper up in a smooth motion. "all done."

"thank you." there is no space to move. no where to look except in his dark twinkling eyes and nothing to breathe but cedar and...ocean?

atsumu's impatient yell from the living room grounds you. something about the restaurant's closing time.

with a quick roll of eyes and spritz of perfume, you check your final look in the mirror, "how do i look?"

the man retreats towards the doorframe, leaning against it. "gorgeous. black suits you,"

you frown, grabbing a purse from your bed, "it's a red dress, sakusa."

sakusa likes the way his name rolls off your tongue. he pulls up his mask, hoping to hide the creeping color of your dress on his face. "i know."

you turn towards the mirror, shimmying the skin tight dress lower, but stop as a band of black lace peaks under your arms.

maybe it was going to be an interesting night afterall.

[chaiwithmybeloved]

when i die ill go to heaven and the real gun emoji will be there waiting for me

[chaiwithmybeloved]

the most fun a girl can have is finding parallels, noticing patterns, making connections, contemplating

[chaiwithmybeloved]

"I kinda want to cut my hair."

You swipe your finger up the screen of your cellphone, a new selection of hairstyles filling your screen as you scroll through photos searching for possible inspiration. 

Kenma makes a sound halfway between a grunt and a hum from his place at the kotatsu, eyes fixed to the television where he's trying to beat his best time on a particular Mario Kart track.

"Shave it."

"Shove it."

Kenma snorts at your hostile reply to his facetious suggestion.

"I just worry it wont suit me.” You sigh, saving a few photos to your own camera roll for future reference. Your eyes flicker towards the back of Kenma's head, his attention still turned away from you.

"How short do you wanna cut it?" 

"Not that short," you murmur in reply to his question, sliding a little close to him, "shoulder-length maybe—“

You reach out and trace through the ends of Kenma's hair gently, twirling the grown-out bleached ends between your knuckles.

“—like yours.”

You don’t miss the way Kenma shivers, nestling down a little further into the collar of his hoodie, as you rake your fingers through his hair.

“Oh, yeah?” he replies after a moment.

“Will you still like me even with short hair?” you say, mostly joking. You scratch your nails gently over his scalp, your hand slipping up towards the crown of his head.

“Yeah,” Kenma says simply, leaning back against your touch. He shivers again.

“Even if it’s really short?”

He shrugs a little. From the angle you sit at behind him you can see the corner of his cheek lift slightly.

“As long as I still have something to pull.”

You laugh as you swat at him, but the sound is strained—like it was half knocked out of you. The ministrations of your fingers halt for a moment as you try to bring the sudden rolling-boil churning in your core down to a more manageable simmer.

“Didn’t you just tell me to shave it?” you ask accusatorially, fisting the hood of his sweatshirt in place of his hair just for something to hold on to.

Kenma sets his controller down as his game concludes, and he throws you an indolent, self-satisfied smirk over his shoulder.

“I could always get you a leash.”

[chaiwithmybeloved]

[chaiwithmybeloved]

to die for(1995)

[chaiwithmybeloved]

me being so normal when there’s only vague plans to hang out for the day nobody is texting back with specific times or what we’re doing

[chaiwithmybeloved]

The whole "boy cat" thing is so annoyingggggg your cats gender has nothing to do with how they feel about you i literally cannot imagine being so brain rotted by patriarchy that you somehow think your neutered male cat has special male love for you that female cats don't have the capacity for. Is there something wrong with you

[chaiwithmybeloved]

It's gonna work out. It's gonna work out. It's gonna work out.

[chaiwithmybeloved]

[chaiwithmybeloved]

[chaiwithmybeloved]

my favorite conspiracy theory is that they regret what they did to me

[chaiwithmybeloved]

Pairing: Nanami Kento x reader.

Description: Hitting (on) a stranger with a shopping cart was not on your grocery list.

Word count: 1k

The lights in this grocery store are too warm for your liking.

Too warm, too dim. You suppose it goes well with the aesthetic of the brand but it's almost fucking impossible to check the fine print on the imported pistachio spread that you've been holding for the last 15 minutes.

You cannot risk buying something so expensive without knowing when it expires. You grimace at the amount of produce in your cart that's going to cost a chunk of your paycheck and put the jar back on the shelf saying a silent goodbye.

Steering the trolley to the front of the store, the angel on your shoulder scolds you for thinking it was good idea to visit a gourmet grocery store.

In your defense, this place wasn't your first choice either. The regular grocery store was 5 miles closer to your place and handed out amazing discounts too, but—

"You're not going to believe who I saw at S-Mart."

"Was it..." Adjusting the phone between your shoulder and ear, your frowned as the layer of purple nail polish smeared on the skin of your toe. "...your biochem crush?"

Your friend sighs, "I wish. It was your ex-situationship, though. Anyways, I hope you've blocked him..."

Her voice fades and the carpet is stained purple.

No. You couldn't risk running into him, even if that's all you've wanted. So, you drive— 20 minutes out of your way— to be as far as possible from the bittersweet memories of the ice cream isle.

You almost hit someone with your cart. Panic sets inside you. What if it's some rich snob who would set their lawyers on you like a pack of dogs? It wasn't your fault the wheels were wobbly!

"I'm so sorry," you bend quickly, to pick up the fruit that had slipped from their hand. As you stand straight, a pair of formal shoes, khaki pants, a half tucked blue shirt and a loose tie meets your eyes.

"It's alright," the smooth voice has you looking up faster than your brain can process. "No harm done." Thin lips, gentle crook of his nose where a pair of spectacles rest, hiding his beautiful brown, maybe a little tired, eyes.

The devil on your shoulder calls you an embarrassment. You hold out your hand and he takes the apple, adding it to his cart. "Thank you."

A number of wooden carts are arranged before you, each containing different colours and varieties of apples; Fuji, Gala, Honey crisp, Kashmir—

Reaching out for the Granny Smith, you're impressed with how big they are. Instinctively, you smell them: sweet yet tart.

You add one to your shopping cart, eager to go home and taste it. The last batch your vendor had brought were pathetic—

"Excuse me, would you mind picking them out for me. I can't tell the good one's apart." The man asks, showing you his selection. Small and weirdly round with red streaks.

"Calville Blanc?"

He nods, "I've read that they have a high amount of Vitamin C."

You try not to fall on your knees. Beautiful and intelligent? Maybe gourmet grocery stores weren't so bad after all.

"They do," you select a few from the paper bag and replace them with better quality ones. "But if you're looking for Vitamin C, citrus fruits are the best."

He doesn't reply. Not for a whole minute. "My son—"

Oh. OH.

The angel slaps her forehead. You wanted to suck off a married man!

He doesn't have a ring. The devil makes a fair point.

"—doesn't like oranges. Or anything orange flavored. I've been trying to get his Vitamin C levels up."

"Does he like lemonade?" You try to maintain a normal conversation. He looks pretty young to have a child.

"Yeah," The stranger nods. "Will that help?"

You nod and hands rest on the handle of your shopping cart, feeling dirty for lusting after a married man. "It would be more pocket friendly than spending...5,499 ¥— shit, that's pricey."

Great, now he thinks you're broke. Clumsy and broke.

The man laughs and you get a warm feeling in your stomach. "That was my first thought too."

Two of you make it to the check out counter, standing behind an older, definitely richer, woman. Her cart is full, to the brim and the cashier looks like they're in pain.

"How old is he?" You ask. The blond falls for the marketing gimmicks, taking a cartoon keychain off the rack.

"Turns six, soon."

"If he's fond of apples, you could buy regular ones and squeeze some lemon juice on them."

The man nods, "Thank you. He's a picky eater but—"

"Every child is."

"Exactly."

You move ahead in the line and the cashier is relieved to see your minimalist cart.

"You should try Golden Plate on 5th street." A shameless self promotion. "They have customisable kids menu."

"That would make things a lot easier. Apparently, he hates everything nutritious," He sighs. A notification on his phone goes off and you get to see a glimpse of a pink haired child, smiling brightly with a floating tube around under his little chubby arms.

"You seem to know a lot about kids," The man clears his throat, unsure how to phrase his words.

"I know a lot about food," you correct him, looking back. "Sometimes I make meals for my colleague's daughter, so I know how to hide the greens."

The word tumbles right out of his mouth. "How—"

The cashier clicks some buttons. "Your total is..."

It physically hurts you to pull out your wallet and hand over the card. A quick swipe and you're being handed your paper bags.

The cool AC air greets you at the exit doors. Should you wait for him? The stranger has an unfairly gorgeous side profile as he unloads the cart items. You almost smile at the heart eyes the cashier gives him.

He doesn't look your way and you walk towards the parking lot.

The sunset looks prettier, the air seems lighter and like some cheesy sitcom lead, you hope that you get to see him again.

(Spoiler: you do.)