#BD Next Level

[hometoursandotherstuff]

It looks like an ordinary 1910 apt. building in Brooklyn, NYC, but the ground floor condo has a secret Speakeasy. The 2bd, 3ba, 1,319sqft, condo is asking $1.65m.

The living area is really just one large room, and I've seen other units in the building- they look exactly the same, so the the building has been reno'd. It's a lot of money, but NYC is out of control.

It has a nice exposed brick wall, and column, plus stylish spiral stairs.

The kitchen space.

I took the video tour w/Samir from Zillow Gone Wild, and made a few screenshots. This is how he measures the kitchen. So, it's only 3 peach butts, which is small. (Note how well Samir has adapted to the American measurement system.)

There's room for 4 at the kitchen counter, but there's also plenty of space for a table in the corner.

Nice half bath.

So, this is a duplex and the spiral stairs access the 2nd level. The washer/dryer are gold in NYC.

The primary bedroom is fairly spacious and has a double closet.

It also has a 3pc. ensuite with a double sink.

The 2nd bd. is smaller and has a great old brick wall- look at the outline of the window that used to be there.

It also has a 3pc. ensuite. Love floating sinks.

The listing doesn't show the entrance to the speakeasy, so I took screenshots. In the main living area, next to the dining set, there was a bench on top of a throw rug. Samir moved it, b/c it bothered him, and there was the trap door.

I wonder how they discovered this- maybe they knew that there was basement b/c it's a ground floor apt. Anyway, this is the entrance to the speakeasy. (They keep a hook on the window still to open it, and when he pulled it open, the whole frame lifted, so the door isn't secure, it's just laid loosely in the hole.)

They didn't neatly break thru the floor- the opening is pretty jagged. But, it has a great shape- looks like it was a sewer and would also make a great rathskeller, should you want to do a German style theme, or a mead hall, if you wanted to do a Viking/Beowulf theme, b/c this apt. needs some color & character.

When you come the ladder, you're behind the bar. How did they get this seating thru that opening? Behind the red curtain there's a storage area.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/364-Manhattan-Ave-APT-1G-Brooklyn-NY-11211/83042835_zpid/

[robinminustherichard]

Non-homophobibc, valid criticisms of Tommy AS HE IS NOW that bds could easily use so they stop looking fucking awful everytime they open their mouths:

- He, like others have, made a choice for Buck without giving Buck a chance to push back or fight for himself and his feelings (the break up)

- He runs when he's scared or hurt, resulting in him hurting others

- He makes assumptions and jumps to conclusions too often, especially when it comes to what Buck says vs. what he means

- He is written EXTREMELY surface-level, which you could reasonably say that he chooses to keep distant in relationships in order to keep himself unhurt

- He was pretty judgemental toward Abby post-breakup considering he called her next boyfriend a "himbo" (and maybe a tad hypocritical, we don't actually know Tommy's exact age)

- He can come across bitchy, sarcastic, and petty (this isn't some people's cup of tea, and that's okay!)

The next time you want to criticize Tommy, really think about genuine criticisms instead of insinuating that he's dirty, gross, or unhygienic when it comes to sexual practices OR implying that he's predatory. And while you're at it, maybe watch actual queer media about queer men--not just the ones you wish were queer--or better yet, get offline, get into the world, and actually meet people that are queer. Just don't subject them to the shit you subject Tommy and Tommy fans to.

[lirotation]

Astarion in Cyberpunk AU

POV: How you met him in Night City =P

You’re just another low-tier merc in Night City's meat grinder, same as any other. Sure, you smoke, you chug whatever synthalcohol gets your synapses sparking, maybe pop a little Black Lace now and then for kicks. But one thing you don’t do? Pick up joytoys from Jig-Jig. Nah, choom. Not your scene.

Until tonight's clusterfuck.

You were on a gig, dressed to fool the corpo crowd—chrome hidden under slick, expensive synth-leather. Playing at being one of Night City's untouchables. Then your optics lock onto him.

A joytoy, but not just any joytoy. Lux-grade. The kind of beauty that made your targeting systems glitch and your tits perk up. Picking him up wasn’t the plan—never the plan—but here you are, trying to blend in, figuring if all these suits are doing it, maybe you should too.

Preem bastard had a silver tongue worth more than his chrome, smooth like pre-War whiskey. He leaned in close, casually dropped the very intel you need - an exclusive corpo mixer, one hosting Kong Tao mid-level procurement officer - your target - fresh from Guangzhou. The two of you hit it off, chatting over overpriced drinks at the bar, and one thing led to another. His place.

Then you wake up.

Your choom on the other end of the link, screaming. Your brain feels like it’s been through a shredder. You’re sprawled out on some piss-stained mattress, butt naked, weapons gone.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

You’ve been played. Conned. During a job, no less. Just your fucking luck.

Gotta escape before they rip you open, gotta figure out where the hell you are. But one thing’s for sure—you’re gonna find that pretty bastard, and when you do, he’s got a world of hurt coming his way. _______

Your head’s pounding, but you’ve been in tighter spots before. You force a reboot, running a quick scan. Typical corpo blacksite flophouse—The stink of blood, sweat, and bad decisions clings to the walls.

You find a rusted shard of metal and grip it tight. Better than nothing. You rigged the lock and slipped out of the room, the sound of your bare feet drowned out by the buzz of cheap fluorescents overhead.

The hall’s empty. Nobody watching the cams—amateurs. You find a storage room with your gear dumped in a corner like garbage. Your Militech pistol? Check. punknife? Check. Even your boots. Slipping them on feels like hugging an old friend.

Now clothed and armed, you should be bailing, cutting your losses. But the faint sound of muffled screams crawls under your skin, pulling you back into the fray.

You creep closer, the door half-open. Inside, him.

The joytoy. Astarion.

Strapped down like a Maelstrom test subject, neural wires spiderwebbing from his temples into some black-market brain-dance rig. The machine's whining like a dying cat, each pulse making him scream. Some chrome-headed ganger's working the controls, grinning like he's watching prime-time BD entertainment.

“Picked yourself a zero, didn't ya? No creds, no dirt—just a fucking merc with nothin’ to give. You are lucky boss is not in town.” the ganger sneers, twisting a dial, “What good’s a pretty face if it doesn’t deliver?”

Astarion convulses, tears streaking his otherwise flawless face, “I—tried,” he whispers.  "Please, give me another chance.”

Something snaps in your gut. You’ve seen people broken, but this guy? He’s built to endure. Still, this is next-level fucked.

Your blade whispers through the air, clean and silent. The ganger drops, and you catch the falling remote and cut the power to the rig.

Astarion slumps, breathing shallow. You free him, pulling the wires from his skin. He flinches but doesn’t resist.

“Can you walk?” you ask, dragging him to his feet.

He groans but nods. “I’ve had worse.”

The two of you fight your way out, bullets and curses flying. By the time you hit the street, you’re out of breath and out of ammo, but alive. Barely.

You lean against a wall, wiping blood off your hands. “I should fucking gut you for this,” you say, leveling him with a glare.

Astarion chuckles, though it’s more pained than amused. “I’m flattered. But I was under orders, if that softens the blow.”

“Doesn’t,” you snap.

Still, you don’t hurt him. Just turn to leave, figuring he’ll disappear back into whatever pit he crawled out of. But when you glance back, he’s trailing behind you.

“What are you doing?” you snap again, tired and still on edge.

“I have nowhere else to go,” he says softly, eyes downcast, his voice a quiet plea.

“Not my problem,” you grumble, turning to keep walking.

“Wait,” he calls out, stepping closer. When you face him again, the vulnerability in his posture is tinged with a familiar, deliberate charm. His lips curve into the barest hint of a smile. “I could… make it up to you.  I’m quite skilled at certain things”

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “That so? You think I’m just gonna take you in because you bat your lashes?”

“Not just because of that,” he murmurs, tilting his head just enough to catch the faint light. “I can be useful. I wasn't lying before, you know? the mixer? I can get you in.”

You pause, damn it he is beautiful. He shifts closer, his voice dipping into something silkier. “Let me stay, just for a while. I’ll keep out of your way. Or,” he adds, his smile sharpening ever so slightly, “if you’d rather, I could be very in your way. Whatever you prefer.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Fine. One screw-up, though, and you’re out. Got it?”

“Crystal clear,” he purrs, bowing his head slightly. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”

As he falls into step beside you, you mutter under your breath. “Already regretting it.”

His soft chuckle is barely audible, but it lingers all the way home.

[fantastic-nonsense]

I know it's cold comfort to everyone protesting and watching the protests against US funding of Israel right now, but the needle on Palestine has already moved further than I would have ever thought possible in so short a time.

For nearly 75 years, the conversation around sending money and weapons to Israel has remained staunchly ingrained in the American public imagination as something that is both good and uncontroversial. 2014 (the first time Israel's brutality against Palestinians truly went worldwide on social media) was the first time I believed that public sentiment change was possible. But that was a cracked door of genuine sympathy. Israel's behavior this time has blown the door wide open. I've seen more movement on the issue of American military aid and political support to Israel in the past 6 months than I have in the past 10 years.

When I did my graduate thesis on how to advocate for more effective international arms control against state actors who violated human rights, I was explicitly told by my client to stay away from Israel for the case study portion. They were an exception to every law and rule we had, so it was useless to talk about them. Fast forward two years, and we are having genuine conversations about Israel's ongoing, routine human rights violations and the need to condition their military aid that I would have considered impossible last year.

I never thought I would see AIPAC talked about in Democratic circles like they talked about the NRA. I never thought I would see people who work in the political sphere and aren't explicitly doing human rights advocacy talk about the Leahy Laws and the human rights conditions of the Foreign Assistance Act in relation to Israel. I never thought I would see federal politicians repeatedly call out Israel's brutality on the floor of Congress. I never thought I would see "normies" talking about the state-level anti-BDS laws that the pro-Israel lobby has advocated for and helped pass over the past decade. Hoped and wished it would happen, sure. But thought it actually would? No. But it's finally happening!

And if there's a silver lining in this whole awful mess, it's that it's clear Israel has lost the long-term war of public opinion. Every single poll of under 30s (and to a certain extent, under 40s) is pretty clear on that.

Regardless of what happens here in this moment, Israel's unique relationship with the United States is done the second the current crop of legislators retires or is pushed out of office. We're starting to see politicians who are willing to have that conversation already, thanks to everyone who has gotten involved in state and federal elections and helped support candidates who value human dignity and sympathize with Palestine. Within ten years at most—and more reasonably within the next five depending on how 2028 shakes out—the funding conversation will look VERY different (as long as you all keep voting, anyway). Progress is slow, but it IS happening.

[pumpkinstrawbrew]

What scares the Batman, I wonder?

(this my quick birthday gift from me to well, uh ... me lol. i rarely do stuff like this, but this year i thought hey, why not drawn smth special for myself. not in terms of composition or anythin', just smth that means a lot to me. thefore, this sorta / kinda redrawn was born!

i feel like pretty much all of my BTAS arts are connected. even if they depicting a different timelines, therefore slightly different vibes an' points of bats an' crow's relationships as well. that's in a way mirrors this. illustrating all the different ways one can go onto their knees in front of someone. scarebat really takes it on a next level.

i know, that stuff like this might seem hella small to someone, but as a person, who always loved playing out stories an' imagine alternative bits to episodes inside my head, suddenly finding myself back with btas an' most of all finding out the mystery behind my facination with 'nothing to fear' episode was smth big for me. so really, it's all about my sentiment an' thought that i would have actually loved to work on comics or cartoon that have smth to do with batman or spider-man. there are still so many-many amazing stories you can tell with those characters an' their villains. it happened a year ago, but it's like ohh, oh. i see.

but anyways, yeah. there isn't any story behind this art. just a tribute to that scene, that pair an' smth for me to look back an' giggle about. also there is a tradition from where i'm from to treat the guests with 'cake' or any foods on your bd. so here is that too, which is why i posted this to begin with. sure, it's tiny smth, but maybe someone will have fun with that one.

*anyho', happy birtday to me, i guess an' a very swell, nice day to you! whatever wacky, fun thing you wanna do today, you have my blessing!*)

[2kverrr]

JUDY ALVAREZ || Dating Headcanons

CYBERPUNK || 0.5k Words

On your first meeting, she was a bitch. You'd wandered down into the lower levels of Lizzie's and assumed she was Evelyn, you'd interrupted her editing to which she took the aggressive approach, "Who the fuck are you? You don't walk into somebody's office all dilly dally and shit on their editing."

She's a terrible cook, you know this and she knows this. So you tend to make sure she's eating properly when you have the time, boiling and frying a half-decent meal for her when she finishes a BD.

She's always willing to patch you up, her door is open to you any time you need care, and boy is she willing to give it to you. You'll sit on her kitchen counter while she scurries off to find any supplies required. And when she returns, she'll give you a quick, loving peck but then scold you for being so reckless while sorting your wounds.

She doesn't drink a lot, unlike you she goes for the strong shit that lasts her half an hour, like a malt or a whiskey. On the odd occasion, you ask to try some, she gladly raises the glass to your lips and purposely spills a little down your chin just for her own enjoyment. "Split a little." She giggles, slowly wiping your chin with her thumb, and dragging your lip down before licking her thumb clean.

She loves cats. When she comes to your apartment she immediately zooms past you to greet your momma cat and her kittens. At first, you were slightly offended but it's become the norm.

She struggles to sleep without you, it's like an addiction, after the first time sharing the same bad, holding you, digging her face into your neck, waking up entangled in each other, she needs it every night.

NAP QUEEN. She takes at least 2 a day, why sleep all night when you can do it in shifts? You feel more energised plus you get more work done. But when she does sleep, it's deep. Like you could throw a toaster across the room and she'd barely move a muscle. It's a pain when you need to get up and she's slung across you with more or less all of her body weight, it takes you a solid 15 minutes to get out of bed.

You love asking about her childhood in Laguna Bend, and she loved telling you about it. You never got tired of her stories, even if she sometimes repeats the same tales, you have a keen ear for her past life.

She's weirdly good at chess, she often tries to teach you but you prefer to tease her, running your leg up her leg while she's thinking about her next move, sit and stare at her instead of taking your turn, "You've got to move something at some point!" She complains, crossing her arms. "Hmm... I'd rather not."

You're her top volunteer for her implant, robotic and chrome experiments. Once, you tested a new combat implant for her and let one of her robots shoot at you, long story short, Judy's bathroom wall could do with some new plastering.

[guillotine-drop]

Rating POSTAL Dudes by how good they smell:

POSTAL - 9/10: I think his habitual reclusion and distrust of the world would probably mean he’s showering constantly, moreso than any other Dude, especially if he thinks there’s a ‘Hate Plague’ going on. I think he smells basic; very simple routine, just enough to make sure he feels clean, so at most he’ll smell like some generic 3-in-1 body wash and shampoo/conditioner, maybe something slightly nicer just for himself (some decent $15 aftershave for that menthol scent and cooling relief).

POSTAL Redux - 3/10: Exact opposite of his original incarnation, this greasy son of a bitch isn’t scared of shit he just wants to throw explosives at ostriches and parades. Barely showers, constantly stinks of stale sweat, old blood, cheap leather and cheaper cologne, punctuated with the scent of burnt gunpowder. Borderline noxious.

POSTAL 2 - 4/10: Smells just as bad as Redux Dude but gets the edge here because every now and then he goes outside and uses the neighbor’s hose to blast himself. Shockingly uses deodorant, still not enough to be perpetually leather and denim clad in the great state of Arizona. Almost constantly reeks of sweat and has the recognizable yet faint scent of stale piss wafting off of him, accompanied by the scent of even staler crack and pungent fast food. Almost pungent enough to drown the rest out. Almost.

POSTAL 3 - 2/10: If you were to raid the wash cart after a double overtime football game, steal every jockstrap in the place, wring the sweat into a bucket, and then bring it all to a boil, you’d have somewhere in the realm of what a clean P3 Dude smells like. On average, however, this man has managed to combine the overwhelming sensory nightmares of cat piss and cheap spray deodorant into an almost lethal concoction, ONLY made breathable by the strange and overpowering smell of gasoline that seems to seep from his pores. Approach with caution and for the love of god: do not bring bleach or matches near this freak.

POSTAL 4: No Regerts - 5/10: Despite looking like he crawled out of a dumpster after a bad divorce or a fantastic honeymoon, P4 Dude is shockingly passable in terms of being able to stand next to him for a prolonged period without gagging or killing him. Having learned the efficacy of not being encased in leather in the desert, he’s managed to bring his pungency down several notches. Still reeks of sweat most of the time, and the smell of burger grease and pepperoni follows him like a specter of death, but the piss scent stopped clinging on as hard. He’s also upgraded from hose showers with no supplies to sink baths with tiny gas station travel soaps. It’s an improvement, trust me.

Brain Damaged - 2/10: Take a look at his living space in the title screen, then watch the game’s cutscenes. Just soak it all in. Now that you’ve done that, you can understand that his rank ass smells exactly as bad as you might think it does. If it can come out of his body, it’s probably soaking some part of him. If you think any of the clothes on him have been washed, you’re wrong. This man smells like if someone firebombed an outhouse and pissed on it to put it out. The best thing for him would be getting blasted with a firehouse and a box of laundry detergent. Please.

The Other Dude - 1-10/10: Entirely depends on how the BD Dude would imagine he smells depending on the situation.

POOSTALL Dude - 6/10: Despite the name, this one actually smells pretty decent. The clearly larger coat with the rolled sleeves implies some level of understanding about how not to smell like swamp ass and sweat soaked leather, and truthfully, he looks like he bathes semi-regularly, a rarity amongst these guys.

POSTAL Doe - 9/10: I admit fully and entirely to my lack of impartiality to this one, but I’m willing to stand by it even if I lose my Stink Judge License: first of all, sleeveless leather trench coat AND a crop top mean less overheat which means less sweat. Second of all, visually cleaner than pretty much any of the dudes which implies some kind of self care regimen. Third, and most importantly, girlstink counts positive. I will not be turning in my badge or my gun.

Movie Dude - 8/10: This may be controversial, but despite the squalor he lives in and the fact that hems a cuckold and that his life sucks and that he can’t get a job and that he’s a loser- I digress. I think Movie Dude is in the top echelons of Dude Stink solely because I think he’d have a breakdown if he smelled bad. This man uses Dr. Teals. He stinks like a mix of eucalyptus and peppermint. If ever there was a Dude who had a skin routine, he still wouldn’t, but he’d definitely think about it one day. I think by the end he gets an extra point just because he gets a little hotter the more deranged he is. Overall very pleasant but I still wouldn’t give him $4.

John Murray - 2/10: Hasselridge seems to have a very… interesting relationship with what is and isn’t normal, so unsurprisingly, Johnny Boy would probably smell pretty rough. Considering how dingy, run down and shitty everything in that town appears to be, I can’t imagine anyone else is smelling like roses either. Just avoid the entire place, not least of all because of the zombie thing.

Shtopor - 0/10: Bad.

Nottem Portant - 5/10: Despite the misanthropy, dollar store Nathan Explosion thing and the absolutely abysmal gameplay, Mr. Hatred is actually extremely middle of the road on stink. Sure, he doesn’t smell great, but shockingly he washes his ass despite the whole ‘death to humanity’ thing. He does get point deduction for not washing his hair though, grease mop motherfucker.

[dragqueenstarscream]

Having S3 Knockout/Starscream thoughts because auuuuu they’re so doomeeeeed.

Like, you’ve got Knockout, who needs his aftercare, (and like, yeah, everyone does, but Knockout is especially dependent on it, plus he’s used to Breakdown who was the aftercare master, and ofc those two facts both amplify eachother), and Starscream, who is almost certainly going to insist on domming because by Primus he is not ready to be vulnerable, and is probably gonna be giving no aftercare after because 

A: He’s never really received it himself that often if at all, 

B: Receiving it itself requires that level of emotional vulnerability that low key terrifies him, 

C: Given that aftercare is generally a foreign concept to him, his preference of what he prefers his doms to do once they’re done is to just leave so he has space to dissociate (why is this man so tragic), he probably on some level figures that’s probably also what Knockout wants him to do, so he thinks he’s doing him a favor,

and D: He probably still needs to go dissociate himself, which he didn’t expect would still happen even though he wasn’t subbing, the deeply traumatized fuck he is.

And given that they’re both catty bitches it’s not like they’re gonna talk about this afterwards and try and work through these problems, Knockout is probably gonna just say “yeah, this was a mistake, let’s not do that again” the next day and internally Starscream will be like oh thank Primus because he was just not ready for all that.

And the thing about them is that under non-toxic circumstances while they’d still probably be friends, they would under most circumstances probably never fuck, because they’re really not sexually compatible. They’re just not eachothers types, they both are mostly into big hunky mechs and the only reason they, being a pair of twinks, fucked is because at that point in time they were eachothers only non-actively-hostile relationships, and they were both desperate for the idealized version of a (for lack of a better term) human connection that they both were deeply craving but not ready to deal with the real, messy, complicated version of.

As decent as the sex itself might have been, the overall experience was deeply unsatisfying for both of them, so in the end this whole situationship gets filed away as an unfulfilling rebound fling, so it's really no wonder that when push came to shove the prospect of aimlessly roaming the galaxy with this guy didn't really appeal to Knockout.

and it's just this deeply tragic situation where while someone (Optimus, it's Optimus) could have "fixed" (read: assisted in the healing process of) Starscream, Knockout was under no obligation to be that person, even if it meant the end of Starscream's story was him getting tossed around by dragons. It's just so unfortunate.

anyways, just so this post isn't a complete downer, I do see a few circumstances where things could have worked out between them, I could see Starscream getting thrown into KO/BD working out well, maybe in some universe where Starscream succeeded in killing Megatron in S1 and ended up leader of the Decepticons with Knockout as his 2IC. Not only because Breakdown is just the absolute sweetest and as stated before, the master of aftercare, but also because Knockout still having his stability in Breakdown and not being high key depressed would probably make him more likely to want to take on a "pet project" in Starscream, so to speak. I also remember a while ago you made a post about a OP/KO/SS (sidenote, its so funny to me how the moment Knockout enters a ship the names just get reduced to letters) fic you wanted to write, I don't think I mentioned it at the time but I absolutely would read that if you made it.

So yeah, Knockout and Starscream aren't inherently doomed, but boy howdy did it turn out that way.

ohhhhhh man, these two are another guilty pleasure of mine, but yes. they are absolutely doomed with the way the narrative played out.

the way you said it pretty much sums it up. these two are searching for something in each other that neither of them will be able to find.

knock out needs someone to take care of him. he needs someone to really love him the way breakdown did. he needs someone who's willing to take care of him and make him feel like he's needed, even if he's not that open about it. it's why ratchet being grateful for him was one of the big tipping points which led him to join the autobots, the way i see it. whether or not he was into ratchet, that's up to you, but either way, he was needed.

and starscream needs to heal. this bot has been through so much, from leaving cybertron to losing his trine, and that's not even getting into all of the bullshit he's had to put up with concerning megatron. he doesn't have the strength to be emotionally vulnerable because he's afraid of the consequences of opening himself up. knock out can be a release for him, a way to just forget everything for a while, to not be himself.

so, these two, being each other's only stable relationship aboard the nemesis, sought what they needed in each other. of course this was never going to end up healthy. if they were just back on cybertron, away from the war, they probably would've been those catty best friends who are practically attached at the hip and love to judge everyone together. but in a sexual relationship? aboard the nemesis? in the middle of a war? this was doomed to fail.

it could work, though. i can see where you're coming from with ko/bd/ss, especially if megatron either stayed gone or straight up died. starscream wouldn't have to put up with megatron's shit anymore, and, since breakdown was still there, knock out and breakdown would be able to have that stability. this might leave knock out with a desire to bring starscream into their relationship, should the three of them be into that.

and i'm glad you brought up ko/op/ss or knockstarop, because it's an underrated idea and probably my ot3! the way i see them, optimus and knock out would probably get together first, but the both of them have expressed interest in starscream, so they invite him into their relationship and now they don't have to pick and choose between each other. more love to go around!

but yeah. as much as i enjoy ko/ss, they were probably never gonna turn out healthy with how canon went.

[judesmoonbeauty]

Update

Hiiii, it's been a a couple months since I've updated about translations.

First, a thanks to everyone for their support of my blog and content! I really enjoy being here and engaging with you all. ♥️

Next, sorry for spamming my blog with random thoughts and about Jude, but please be prepared for more to come.

Now on to the real blog updates. It’s a lot, but please bear with me:

˚☽˚.⋆ As you may know, I've returned to using full-sized screen shots in my translations because there seems to be no further issues, yay! However, CGs will still be watermarked.

˚☽˚.⋆ Originally, I wanted to get back into Prince translations, but this isn’t happening anytime soon. I do have one expo story I may work on, but it’s not a priority right now.

˚☽˚.⋆ All available bond levels on JP server for Jude are still capped for me, but whenever CYBIRD releases new levels, I will start translating those. In the meantime, I’ll continue to translate Nica’s levels that are available as I progress with him.

˚☽˚.⋆ I’m planning to translate all upcoming Jude events in addition to his main story. It obviously will take time, but I will do it....somehow. I do have a plan for now. If others translate his route and/or events as well, that's cool with me, but I’m still planning to translate them also.

˚☽˚.⋆ On my main page I have a Translations WIPs master list. I update this on a regular basis (date included), so if you want to know what I am currently working on then please check it out. This link has been added to Jude’s Main Story Master List.

˚☽˚.⋆ I will be adding a link to his master list for a main story highlights post. This will feature key points of each chapter, his side stories, premiums, epilogues and letters. This will be very pared down, so don't expect full summaries because that's not what this is; but I do hope it will provide a basic understanding of what happens in his route, so that his BD event translation will make sense.

˚☽˚.⋆ Not that any of you have done this, but I kindly ask that you please be patient and not send me asks or DMs about the next update. I know we are excited, and we've had to wait well over a year for him, but Jude is not easy to translate and he takes time. There's literally been times that I've gotten a headache over his lines.

That’s all for now. Sorry, this is a bit more lengthy than my usual updates, but it’s been a while. Thanks again for your support and I hope you're all doing well!

(⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝) -Cici

[hometoursandotherstuff]

It's completely painted white in preparation for the new owner, but you have to see this historic octagonal house that was built in 1850 by whaling master Robert Soper, in Provincetown, MA. 6bds, 5ba, $6.1m.

It's been perfectly preserved. Look at that roof-top deck and Belvedere with a view of the Provincetown Harbor.

The property extends across the road, out to the water's edge.

It's like your own beach.

Isn't this a beautiful entrance?

It's got an open floor plan, coffered ceilings, and a light-filled living room with a pretty fireplace.

Dining area next to the fireplace.

Nice open, airy kitchen.

One of 5 baths. I like the tile- it looks like a basket weave.

There are 6 bds., and this looks like the guest suite on the main floor.

Adorable home office or craft space. It would make a wonderful little art studio, too.

Love the stairs with an original newel post and storage underneath.

Such a pretty primary bedroom.

Beautiful shower in the ensuite.

The bedrooms are so cozy. You could do a lot with them since they're blank canvases.

They all get beautiful natural sunlight.

Beadboard bath.

Oh, look at the stairs to the roof- they turn into spiral stairs. I wonder if they were always like that.

Here we are up in the Belvedere.

Isn't this wonderful?

But, that's not all this house has to offer. There's a ground level, too, w/a seating area and kitchenette.

Plus, 2 bds and a bath.

Outdoors there's a private deck.

And, a brick patio.

The home also has a lawn in the front and room for parking in the back on a 5,662 sq ft lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/74-Commercial-St-Provincetown-MA-02657/56787757_zpid/?

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #42] Hitting Where It Hurts

warnings: 'chess' :(, arguments, waaaa, jungkook is, once more, so painfully cewt :( perilla leaves! gasp... healthy... communication?? glitter koo! starluvrs <3

notes: im literally on a train back home from seoul as I schedule this, everyone say thank u korail wifi for being a bd enabler <3 but it's also why there's only one update again!! sorrryyy - I'll be better organised next week (famous last words)

wc: 8.7K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"Piss off," you hiss with lethal venom when Jeongguk chases after you.

Shaking off the light grip he has on your arm. You continue walking away, not really where you're heading to. Away. That's all you can think of. All you want. Space. Separation

The skies above you are grey; clouds hiding away the early evening sun that's due to paint the skies in pretty purple bruises to match the ones on your heart.

"Byeol-" He tries again, voice desperate.

You turn to face him, arms folded over your chest, and are greeted with the exact same Jeongguk you had just stormed away from.

"I said to piss off. "

Chest bare, shorts on his lower half, he's everything that makes you salivate - and yet you feel sick, now. Hair damp, the small sheen of red looks buffed out, as if she tried to smudge it away while in pursuit of you - but the stain lingers. It always does.

Jeongguk's arms outstretch, then slap back down to his sides. He shakes his head in a little disbelief, as if he's the one questioning you. Is agitated in his tone when he speaks.

"Whatever you think just happened, didn't . You can't just storm off-"

"Oh, but I can," you smile at him, as if your eyes aren't thinly veiled daggers.

Turning on your heel once more, you decide against giving him the time of day.

Blood running far too hot within you veins, you know you'll only do damage if you discuss things with him now - but Jeongguk knows he has to talk about it with you now, otherwise you'll just try and sweep it under the carpet when you've cooled down.

It's how you always do it; hot in your immediate fury and frightfully cold in the aftermath.

A defence mechanism taught and reinforced by past relationships, it continues to wreck your ability to deal with things healthily. Whenever your ex would fuck up, he'd refuse to speak about it, and frustrate you to absolutely no end. Would anger you, and still, nothing. So you'd mellow. Give up trying.

The process is so worn into your existence now that you don't even realise why you get so annoyed in the first place, only to act like it's no big deal a little while later. Think that is just natural; that hurt, like a bomb, just explodes. Is white hot, until it's not, and all you're left with is debris and destruction.

"Please," Jeongguk says quietly.

Doesn't want to draw attention to what's happening. Other people don't need to know your business. Wants that bubble you were both in earlier to remain protected - but the lock has been picked, and the steel reinforcements are starting to collapse. It's only a matter of time until it all comes crashing down.

"No," is all you say.

"It wasn't what it looked like."

"It doesn't matter," you say softly, trying to respond rationally - but it comes across as a little psychotic. You know damn well it does.

Casting your eyes down to the ground, a slight shake to your head. The air around you is cold, waves crashing against the shoreline. It's a sombre state of affairs; the skies just as grey as your heart.

Walking a little closer towards Jeongguk, it seems as if the chill in the air has settled the red-hot blood screeching in your veins. Comes as a surprise to you both.

You're learning, or so it would seem.

Just because he continually makes the same mistakes of the past doesn't mean you will, too. You've a point to prove.

You sigh. Shrug your shoulders. Fuck it.

"Look," you offer with an air of maturity, trying a more level-headed approach.

It gets his head tilting. Was expecting war, and was perfectly willing to battle against it just for you to hear his truth. This... this is new.

"I don't know what led to the scene I walked in on - but I do know that you made consecutive, considered choices to get there," you assert. "What I saw is a product of your own choices and your total lack of consideration for me, Gguk. So, I don't wanna hear it. Save it for someone who cares - cause if you don't give a shit about me, why should I give one about you."

Okay, so maybe that air of maturity is a little clouded with childishness. So what?

"That's not fair," he pleads, needy in his tone, eyes soft as he tries to convey just how painfully he wishes he could undo it all - not that he even thinks he's done anything wrong. "Let me-"

"Maybe it's not fair," you admit, cutting him off with a sad shrug of your shoulders. At this point, you're not willing to discuss it rationally in any depth, but you also don't want to argue. Not really. Will only cause you more hurt. "But it is what it is. I'll see you at dinner."

"B, c'mon just hear-"

"Chess."

Ouch .

He shuts up immediately. Looks at you with such excruciating pain you wouldn't be surprised to see the red smudge on his chest begin to trickle with blood. Doesn't understand how a day that started in him declaring just how much he likes you is ending like this.

Perhaps that's the issue. Maybe he was toying with the strings of fate a little too prematurely. They might just be snapping back into place. That's all.

This is exactly why you knew better than to make any admission of your feelings.

Jeongguk's intentions are never bad, but sometimes his decisions are. Sometimes the choices he makes are the wrong ones.

You wish he would have chosen you.

In that moment, regardless of what transpired, you wish he would have chosen you.

Taken a step back, and said 'no .'

But he didn't.

And so you don't care for his excuses or his explanations. You don't care for the truth, because you're already reeling in your own.

Jeon Jeongguk is too good to be true.

You've always known this. He's too kind. Too funny. Too handsome. There always had to be a catch, and you've learned it the hard way: he's too forgiving.

And so you'll take it upon yourself to be everything he's not.

You'll be unkind. You'll find no humour in his jokes. Won't forgive him for how foolish he's made you feel.

Scatter-brained, you can't make heads or tails of your emotions. Pangs of heat, of burning anger, flare up and cool instantly. You're shades of red and green, and looking at Jeongguk only gets them muddled. Murky.

"Can you stop being like this?" Jeongguk eventually sighs, exasperated by his own desperation. "You know-"

"I'm not being like anything," you say, voice flat. "I just don't want to have this conversation right now."

"But we need to have this conversation," he replies immediately. His eyes scan your face, trying to get a read on you - but you're stoic. Refuse to give anything away. Spent your university years playing poker with your housemates. Can keep this up all night, if you really need to.

"No. What we need, Jeongguk, is-"

"To talk," he interrupts. "You won't even let me explain myself."

"Because I don't need an explanation," you insist, indifference just as hurtful as anger. "Look, it's fine. Consider that little label we agreed on earlier on a free trial. Money back guarantee if returned within five working days."

"I don't want my fucking money back," he spits, finally raising his voice a little. Knows you've the ability to be unreasonable, but rarely ever has to deal with it. Is used to your brattiness, but normally only when in pursuit of gratification. This is different. There's no pleasure gained from this, for either of you.

"It's already been deposited into your bank," you say with a smile. "Shame."

You don't want anything from him right now. Not even this conversation. Just want him to piss off, exactly like you told him to earlier.

"Fine," he snaps back.

"Fine!"

"Oh, grow up," he snarls, turning on his heel and heading back toward the house you'd both just left.

Typical. Always goes back.

But then the reality of his words weigh down on your chest.

Words uttered to you in the height of your glitterless days, when your heart used to get toyed around with sharp claws belonging to a man who'd look at you with kitten-like innocence.

Grow up.

Jeongguk pauses. Turns to face you. There's a shock to his expression. Surprise, as if he wasn't the one who just uttered words that he knows will tear apart the now-healed wounds left by Seokjin.

Silence lingers in the air between you. Down by the shore, the waves crash and crescendo, fading out into the abyss until they inevitably repeat as they always do.

There's a comfort to the ocean.

It's vast, and terrifying, yes, but it's also ever predictable. The waves will always roll. The creatures will always swim. The current will always change. Predictably unpredictable is the ocean, and you like it that way.

You've always thought you liked change. Liked the excitement that came with it.

Sitting here now, you realise you hate change. Hate what you can't control.

You wonder what Jeongguk's thinking about. If he's thinking at all, or if he's just focusing on the sound of the waves, too. If his heart feels just as horrible as yours does. It's as if he's taken it and rolled it around in the sand. It's gritty. Grainy. Marred in remnants of lifetimes lived before you came to be.

You want it back. Want to rinse your heart out in the waves that are rolling in, and place it back in your chest. You don't care if it will sting. Don't care about anything else - you just don't want to feel so stupid all the fucking time.

This is exactly why you weren't supposed to fall for Jeongguk. This is why it was never supposed to elevate to more than what it was. This is why it was so stupid of you to indulge in the idea of what if.

Shaking your head, eyes warm with tears that you refuse to let fall, you feel like you have nothing left to give.

But you do have the ability to bite back just as hard. You know you shouldn't - but you're hurt, and you want to hurt him too.

"You sound just like him."

If you thought Jeongguk looked devastated before, then you've no idea how to describe the way he falls apart now.

Though he remains on his feet, body strong, his eyes sink into a darkness you've never known. His posture slopes. Everything about him reduces like wood to ash in the midst of a forest fire. 'Anguish' sounds far too violent for the gentle way in which Jeongguk quietly crumbles, but it's the only thing that's remotely apt for his current expression.

"Don't compare me to him," he says. Swallows. "It's not fair."

But love and war never is.

"Don't do the same shit he did," you counter. "Then maybe I won't."

No goodbye is offered as you turn on your heel and head towards the house that Danbi's been staying in.

Jeongguk doesn't try to stop you this time. For some reason, even though you don't want to speak to him, you find that it only hurts even more.

But no matter how hurt you may feel, Danbi promises to hurt him tenfold.

"That little git," she hisses, quite frankly shocked by not only the argument you've just explained but also the circumstances that lead to it. She thinks perhaps he's self-sabotaging now that things are too good. Thinks, more likely, that he's just a twat who thinks with his dick.

And as much as she could rant and rave about how much of a swine he is, and how little he deserves you, it's not a conversation you want to be having.

She promises not to shout out at him - "I'm only doing this for Seoyeon and Yoongi. Anywhere else and I'd curse him out so badly I'd get locked up." - and tries to distract you with false deliberations over what she wants to wear. She's had it planned all day, but lets you 'help' choose her dress regardless.

"Go for the green," you nod, when Danbi holds up two nearly identical dresses. The only difference is that once is a pretty mint green and floor length, while the other is black and cuts off midway up her thigh. "Tae got a shirt that could coordinate?"

"Not sure, she hums, looking across the clothing rail where he's keeping his clothes. There's a crisp white dress shirt, a little oversized and relaxed, but so perfectly Taehyung. You know that together they'll look like they're off to Monaco, or some place fancy like that.

It's nice how interwoven Danbi and Taehyung have become; so entirely different and complementary all in the same vein. Like olive oil and balsamic vinegar, they really are the perfect pair. Maybe you can just be a baguette. Be the third wheel for all of eternity. That'd do nicely.

When you think about it, you're not even entirely sure what you saw by Jeongguk's door.

The mark on his chest could have been anything. Maybe he'd had a scratch? And he wears shades of grey near constantly . Maybe it was an article of his clothing on his bed?

But then you realise you're gaslighting yourself. You know what you saw.

Shuffling into her dress, Danbi holds her hair up for you to do her zipper. The dress finishes midway down her calves, and is ever so slinky. It highlights her figure in the best of ways, and she really does look gorgeous.

"Is it too much?" she asks, but you shake your head.

"As long as you don't upstage Seoyeon, you'll be fine - but I think she said she's wearing white, anyway. You'll be fine," you smile.

Still in your clothes from the Jilympics, you know you need to get ready. Don't want to go back to the house - so Danbi runs over to grab your bag and brings it back to her room. Gives Taehyung his shirt and tells him to get changed in the bathroom. Priorities.

"Figured you'd want this," she says, hooking up a dress on the back of the door. It's already on a hanger, but isn't one you recognise. Nabi's maybe, accidentally picked up from the common area - or worse still, Hayun's.

It's not really Hayun's style, and is too short for Nabi. Her legs go on for days, and the dress would barely cover her ass.

"Not mine," you say - but will admit, it is gorgeous.

"Hmm?" she hums. "Judas gave it to me as I was leaving. Said you'd want it."

Standing opposite the dress, you tilt your head. It's a cowl neck mini-dress. Silver. Covered in sparkles. If you didn't know better, you'd think it was a replica of Paris Hilton's iconic 21st birthday dress - just a little more tailored to your body shape. Slightly higher neckline, just to preserve a little bit more of the parts of your body Jeongguk adores.

"Or," Danbi begins to suggest, sensing that this was a gift intended to be given under far different circumstances. "Wear my black dress instead."

It's rare for you two to share clothes, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Once Tae is finished in the bathroom, Danbi leaves you to get ready. The dress situation plays over in your head - and it only serves to confuse you even more.

You've no idea what Jeongguk is thinking. Is feeling. What he wants, nor who he wants.

The sad thing is, you think that might be the issue: he just simply doesn't know who he wants.

Doesn't want you enough, evidently. They never do.

And it's funny, 'cause Jeongguk swears he can hear how his heart breaks when you walk into the main house later that evening, body wrapped in black satin, the dress he got for you still on the back of Danbi's door.

There's a tiny peek of lace from your bra that accents the low neckline of the black dress, and he hates that he knows exactly which set you're wearing. Knows he packed the full set for you, and that there's a corset-style garter belt that fits snugs around your waist somewhere close by.

He's got no idea if you're wearing it - and has no intention of finding out, either.

You're not concerned with making an entrance, and head straight over to Seoyeon first and enthuse with her over her pretty white dress - "Look at you!" "No, look at you!" - You give her a hug so tight Jeongguk can almost feel it. He pouts.

There's a spare seat beside him, and he already knows you won't be sitting in it.

But there are appearances to keep up, you think. Know that if you sit anywhere else, questions may be asked. It will be less noticeable to the others that you won't exchange a single word with him if you're sitting directly beside him.

The physical distance would indicate an emotional one too, and you really don't want to highlight it.

And so you sit beside him.

"B," he begins, but you shake your head.

He could just be greeting you, but he says the term of endearment in such a tone that you know means a little more than just casual formalities. Now is not the time for such conversations.

"Don't," you say quietly, so that no one else hears.

From your peripherals, you can see him sit up a little straighter, adjusting the dress shirt he's wearing. You've deliberately not given much of a second look. Don't want to see what he's chosen to wear - though you know it's a white shirt.

You feel insecure about your choice of attire, aware that Jeongguk must know what you're wearing beneath it. He's got an eye for detail. Notices these kinds of things.

He included it in your luggage because he likes it. By all metrics - right up to the way your hair claw-clipped away from your neck, long wispy strands waving around your face - you're everything Jeongguk wants.

And you hope it crushes him.

To your left is Namjoon, and opposite him, Hoseok. You engage in conversation with them, paying no mind to the man beside you, even if the silage of his aftershave and deep hum of his voice pulls your thoughts away. You're incredibly good at nodding and smiling along. Have worked in customer service for long enough to perfect it - and Hoseok's too busy trying to subtly flirt to realise you've got your 'work smile' on.

Taehyung is to the right of Jeongguk, Danbi next and then Seoyeon is sitting at the head of the table.

Opposite Danbi is Yoongi, leaving the seats opposite yourself, Jeongguk and Taehyung free.

You wonder if Jeongguk is just as apprehensive as you are about who'll be sitting where. The last thing you want is Hayun opposite you, but you don't particularly want her opposite Jeongguk, either. Don't want her here, full stop, to be honest.

It's not your call, though - and as Jimin takes the seat beside Yoongi, you know that this night is about to get far more uncomfortable than it already is.

Jeongguk glances over his shoulder, down towards you.

Regretfully - instinctively - you follow suit. Meet his gaze. Say nothing. Nor does he. There's a billion thoughts that could be running through his pretty head, but you know he's probably just cursing repeatedly.

Sort of like you are, when you realise there's a few speckles of glitter on his cheekbone. Not the kind he gets from spending a little too much time in your presence, by the kind that's deliberately put there.

The worst part?

You know exactly which glitter it is. Know it's yours. Know it's one that he has guardianship over, from all the times you've left your wands of liquid glitter at his place.

Know that it's one you've got multiple wands of, 'cause it's one of your favourites.

So much so that it's the one you chose to wear tonight.

You wanted comfort. Had found it in your chosen shield. Are crestfallen at the concept of Jeongguk doing the exact same thing.

Your awkward and slightly confusing focus is broken by the arrival of the final two guests.

"Finally," Seoyeon beams as her closest friends enter the main house.

"Sorry," Hayun smiles right back at her. "Fashionably late."

And as much as you hate to admit it, she's right. Looks like she belongs in a magazine. Is wearing formal, high-waisted black pants, cinched at her waist with a black leather belt and brassy buckle. She's foregone a shirt and appears to be wearing a lacy red bodysuit in its place, topped with a matching, oversized blazer.

You're no stranger to the underwear as formalwear trick, but she's so much more refined than you are. Far more demure. Her tits aren't covered with glitter, for starters.

It's not like your tits are glittery today (although there are always specks somewhere). Chose to keep to respectable glitter application.

Your eyes are sparkly as always. The liquid glitter both you and the boy next to you are wearing is the same one that you'd adorned Jeongguk in on New Year's Eve.

Poetic, sort of, you think as Hayun takes the seat opposite you.

Lips now her signature shade of red, you're reminded that it doesn't matter how Jeongguk is choosing to brand himself now, for he was branded by her, right over his heart, a few short hours earlier.

Sure, it was just a smudge - not like she'd fuckin' kissed it or whatever. At least, you don't think she did. The memory is a little blurry, adrenaline playing its part in diluting the intensity of the horror you'd seen.

Nabi takes the seat opposite Jeongguk, probably because Hayun knew she wasn't welcome beside Jimin.

Hayun doesn't notice the look on Hoseok's face as she sits, and how body slightly curves away from him.

"Now that we're all here," Yoongi voices a little louder than normal to make sure your attention is all geared towards him. Decides that he may as well get to his feet. Lifts the champagne flute that has been fizzing in front of him. You've all got one, freshly poured by the groom himself just before you'd arrived. "I'd like to propose a toast - to my fiancé. There's no one else I'd rather battle against in the Jilympics. I hope we never stop living life together."

He raises his glasses and everyone follows suit. Jimin is very pleased with the mention of the Jilympics. Nabi kicks him under the table when she notices his smug grin.

A chorus of 'To Seoyeon' echoes out into the room, smiles evident in the tone of the cheers. Simple, sweet and straight to the point, Yoongi's speech was the embodiment of himself.

For now, amongst friends, this will do.

Come the wedding day, he'll make a proper speech. Will be so bloody poetic that even the staff working the catering will cry.

Downing the champagne in one, you're pleased to see that Hoseok does the same. Decided that he will be your drinking partner for the evening. Ignore the fact that Jeongguk, too, downed his.

You don't refill his glass when you refill yours and Hoseoks.

It's rude. Bad table manners. The least he deserves.

Silence prevails between you both. Conversations are had with other people, but never one another. The iciness is easy to ignore, given the warmth of your loved ones.

But something's gotta give - and a few too many drinks in, main course now being absolutely inhaled, you're the one who makes the first move.

"The meat is amazing," you nod, brows furrowing as you swallow it down.

It's kinda hilarious how much you look like Jeongguk when you appreciate foods these days. Have somehow adopted his expressions into your own repertoire. Glancing over to him, you ask, "is this what you'd do for the restaurant? This cut of meat?"

Nodding, Jeongguk tries to hide the relief he feels at the fact that you're talking to him. Even you're sort of surprised with yourself, and how easily you're able to speak to him, even when you're mad.

"Will be the signature cut and cook," he says of the meat. Keeps it simple. "It's my favourite. I'm glad you like it."

It's not hard to see why Jeongguk likes it so much. Tender and juicy, it's packed full of flavour all from a simple grilling.

"Here," he says, passing over a small pot of sea salt for you to dip the meat into. "Try."

It's not exactly a unique combination, but it is your favourite - and Jeongguk knows this.

He deliberately didn't set up a salt dish near you, just so that you'd have to ask for it - but finds himself relenting and making life easier for you regardless of the fact you didn't request it. Doesn't want you to ever miss out on the things you love, after all.

And as much as you hate yourself for it, you find yourself reciprocating, passing him the banchan that's a little too far from him. Fill up his stock of ssam leaves with your own when he runs out, 'cause he prefers wrapping his meat up, whereas you like eating it by itself.

Leaning over to lend a hand, an ease now established between you both, you think nothing of it when he's grabbing some perilla.

The fermentation process that the leaves go through make them notoriously hard to separate. Honestly, you never normally bother. Just take a few at a time - but it's clear Jeongguk is after just a single leaf. Trapping the excess leaves beneath your chopsticks, you aren't even really looking at him, as you do so.

Until he pauses his movements, and furrows his brows in that ever-so-curious fashion he always does.

"Hmm?" you sound, question his pause, then figure maybe he's after a wad of them after all. Pull your chopsticks away. "Oh, sorry. Thought you only wanted one."

"I do," he says quietly. "Just one."

Never before have you seen a man speak so carefully regarding fermented leaves.

"Okay..." you elongate your acceptance, posing it almost as a question. Leaning back over, you swipe your chopstick between the leaves. Get him two in one, so put it down in your dish and nod towards it. "You split it."

This time, he manages easily, even if he's barely able to take his eyes off of you.

"Are you, like, possessed by the perilla leaves or something?" you ask quietly, so that no one else will hear.

He shakes his head. Finally looks away from you. "No. Sorry."

You're no stranger to the superstitions that come with the sacred peeling of perilla leaves - you just had no idea that Jeongguk seems to be obsessed with them, too.

The debate regarding the leaves had been a hot topic for a little while. Everyone and their dog seemed to have an opinion on the matter. TV panel shows would spend entire segments discussing it. Even boy bands were weighing in and driving their fans crazy with their thoughts on it all.

What you'd found far more interesting was the psychological studies done in the wake of it all, aligning people's stances with their attachment styles.

Jeongguk, it would appear, has more of an anxious attachment style. Checks out, you think.

From across the table, Hayun stays focused on anything other than the pair of you. It's light relief.

"B," Jeongguk begins, but you shake your head, not wishing for him to forget that he's still very much in the dog house.

"No," you simply say, quiet enough so that no one else hears. You won't entertain him, but you won't embarrass him, either. "We're not having a friendly chat."

There's an uncomfortable discord in your chest; a sombre disposition that makes your lungs stutter a little.

You could cry, if you wanted to.

Could be a big baby, and let everyone know that you've got a big stupid crush on your best friend.

Could look Hayun dead in her eyes with your own (bloodshot) pair, and question why she insists on being such an insidious, vapid twat all the time.

Could ask Jeongguk why he lets her.

Could ask the rest of them why they let her bad behaviour slide, and why none of them give a fuck about Jeongguk and what he went through.

Could turn to him, a pathetically ask why he doesn't give a fuck about what you went through.

But he does .

All Jeongguk ever fucking does is care . He showers you in affection, and makes you feel like there's a world out there in which men can be good. Kind. Decent without the expectation of your body in return.

He looks at you with honest eyes, and laughs with you without reservation. He gives you the world, and in return, you give him the stars.

His world is forever changed by you, and you know damn well that whatever happened in the confines of his room this afternoon is incomparable to whatever stunts Seokjin used to pull.

And yet it just hurts so much more.

You're devastated by the idea that maybe he'll never let go of Hayun.

He's a hopeless romantic, after all. Probably thinks they're star-crossed, or some dumb shit like that.

But Jeongguk has never cared for Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet is only worth watching if it's the Baz Luhrmann one, as far as he's concerned - and he only watches it for the vibes.

Stars don't mean shit to him.

You're the only one that does.

No matter how fleeting, you're the shooting star that he'll wish upon day after day after day. Week after week. Month after year.

Of those wishes, none of them will be for him.

Shooting star? I wish B has a good evening.

Tossing coins at Yonggungsa temple? I wish B doesn't get blisters.

Spotting a rogue Yakult lady pushing her cart? I wish B has a delicious lunch.

Birthdays? I wish B knows how happy I am.

New year? I wish B achieves everything she wants.

Wishbones? I wish B this, I wish B that.

Horseshoes? B, B, B.

Eyelashes on cheeks? God, it's you .

Only you. Has been for fuckin' months. Can't remember the last wish he wasted on himself.

It's not even like they're the big wishes. Just tiny ones. Improvements for your day. Bettering your life. Easing your ailments.

If he were to be granted a wish right now, Jeongguk would wish for only one thing:

I wish B would hold my hand.

For once, it is a selfish wish. Something of which he knows won't come true. Something that would ease his discomfort. Would make him feel better.

As you adjust in your seat, mid-conversation with Namjoon, your legs crossed over, shutting Jeongguk even further out. Wine glass in the hand closest to Namjoon, your other hand strokes at the silky fabric of your dress, along the outer side of the thigh you've just crossed over. It's self-soothing. Something you don't even realise you do.

Jeongguk mirrors you. Twists his body away from you to face the conversation he's pretending to be interested in. Crosses his legs, 'cause he's closing off from you, too.

You know it's happening. Can see it in your peripherals. Feel it in the way your heart tugs. In a way, it's kind of nice for him to match your energy. At least you still match in some regards. Small victories.

Namjoon is telling you about some guy he was trying to track down for an interview. Something about baked beans, and world records. You're not really entirely sure, 'cause you're a little wine drunk, and you're only half invested, one ear listening out in case Hayun makes any snide remarks, or Jeongguk for that matter.

So subtle at first that you don't even notice it, you realise the soft brush of warm skin against your knuckles.

Fingertips.

A call to attention.

When you glance over to Jeongguk, ever so handsome in his white shirt and slightly messy hair, he's entirely focused on the conversation he's in. Doesn't turn to look at you.

Yet his fingers continue to stroke against yours. Refocusing back on your conversation, you don't pull your hand away. Instead, you let him trace your hand with his own. Let him toy with your fingers. Pretend as if your heart rate hasn't increased to a mile a minute.

And you know you should pull away, and that you shouldn't let him indulge in such simple pleasure - but you just can't help yourself.

You want the comfort that comes with being held by Jeongguk - even if it's just your hand beneath a dining table. Public yet private. A hushed declaration. Feelings yelled from the rooftop of a busy city, unheard to anyone but the yeller themselves.

You ease your fingers. Let them link with his. Take a deep breath as he intertwines with you.

Like an English rose up an oak pergola, the fit is seamless. Thorns count for nothing, the buds of how you feel blossoming with every stroke of his thumb against yours.

It's so painfully perfect. Hurts, and heals all in the same touch.

It wasn't what it looked like.

Your choice has been made; confirmed by how your grip tightens.

Maybe it's stupid. Maybe you should know better. Maybe you'll grow to regret it.

But for now, you choose to trust Jeongguk. Choose to believe that it really wasn't what it looked like. Believe that he does want to explain himself. That he will explain himself. That his explanation will be honest, and understandable, and reasonable.

Lord knows you've trusted others with far more for far less.

Even if the roses do wilt, and you're left with nothing but thorns in a hostile climate, at least you're somewhat comforted, now.

Glancing over to him, you're surprised to find him looking over at you, too.

Even more surprised when you both decide to linger for a moment.

There's an earnest nature to the way he looks at you. Big, round eyes, deep with affection. Full of stars. Always fuckin' full. So many for you to make wishes upon.

He tips his head slightly. You okay?

You reciprocate. I'm okay. Are you?

With a squeeze of your hand and soft, fleeting smile, Jeongguk nods. He's clearly not okay, but there's nothing more you can do right now. Both of you are lying, but you're both well aware of it, so it doesn't really count.

His eyes flick down your body, then back to your eyes. Lips move ever so gently. Silently express the word, 'pretty .'

It's accidental, the small smile that blooms on your blushed cheeks. You shake your head. Wordlessly mouth back, 'fuck off.'

And then he smiles, too. Lip ring flips in the corner of his mouth. Rids your heart of all heaviness, even if it does sorta look like you'll both cry.

"DB?" Your attention is pulled away from Jeongguk. Dropping his hand, you turn to face Namjoon. Hum a little in confusion.

"Sorry, I missed that last part. What were you saying?"

Jeongguk returns to the conversation he'd left, too. Runs the pad of his thumb against his fingers, savouring the way you felt. Is okay with the loss of your touch, for he's grateful to have had it all.

The evening continues peacefully. You're pulled into conversations that include Hayun, and act as if it's no skin off your back.

Get into the age old Peperro debate, and learn that she likes the reverse, nudes ones too, like you. Group yourself together with her, when you say "It's not our fault we're girlies with taste."

By framing yourself as an equal, you hope that she'll stop viewing you as a rival. Will make life so much easier if she just accepts the fact that you exist, and will continue to exist.

It confuses Jeongguk. Gets his hand on your thigh, tipsy eyes narrowing in your direction, as if to ask, 'what are you up to?'

If you were to think about it critically, you'd realise that you're trying to get her on side. Trying to make her like you - not because you want to be friends, but because you are certain she must have a moral compass hidden away somewhere. If she likes you, hopefully she'll be less inclined to fuck with Jeongguk. Respect boundaries.

"Come for a walk?" you ask quietly, a little tipsy and finally ready to speak to him.

He nods and gets to his feet without hesitation.

"Walking off some of this soju," he declares to the group, not even thinking about it. Wants to be out of the room, and out of the room asap. "Wanna still be able to out-perform you fuckers later."

The noraebang system is calling your names, like it always is after a few drinks, and it's where you intend on ending up come the end of the night.

"Oh, good shout," Jimin nods, about to join - and then realises the subtle shake of Jeongguk's head. "...For you. Good shout for you . We're all okay. Another round? Anyone?"

Danbi laughs, and begins to pour out shots, distracting everyone else as you get up to join Jeongguk. He's about as subtle as a siren, but you're both wine-drunk. Need to have this conversation before you've mixed too many drinks and it all gets a bit messy.

Leaving your shoes inside, you walk barefoot across the lawn, arms folded over your chest. Jeongguk had stepped into a pair of sliders that he's pretty sure belong to Jimin, given the fact they're a little too small.

"Stars look great from the beach," Jeongguk says, wanting to be as far away from the house as possible. Needs this moment with you to be uninterrupted.

You'll go wherever the stars shine brightest, and Jeongguk will follow.

There's a vast emptiness to the ocean at night. It's sort of terrifying, in a way.

Yet as Jeongguk comes to sit down beside you, the only thing that scares you is the potential for everything to fall apart.

He takes a moment to stall. Points out a constellation hidden in the twinkling abyss above you. Needs this conversation to happen, but fears it, too.

"So..." you whisper.

"So," he nods. Knows that over-explaining will open himself up to scrutiny, but needs you to know everything. "Can we talk?"

You take a moment. "You talk. I'll listen."

It's as good as he'll get. Inhales and sharply exhales. Is slow as he begins to explain.

"I didn't realise anyone was in the house when I got out of the shower. Only thought to put my shorts back on 'cause I remembered Jimin coming in unannounced earlier."

"Okay," you accept. Seems like he can learn from his mistakes. Wonder if the same can be said for his mistakes with Hayun. "Then?"

"S'gonna sound like such a lie," he laments. Knows what it looks like. Knows that you'll likely still be sceptical. Remaining quiet, you let him continue. Maybe it will sound like a lie, but that's up for you to decide. All he can do is give you his honesty. "You know how the stairs jut out a little? And the downstairs bathroom is kind tucked away?"

You silently nod. Hadn't really ever thought much of it - but he's right.

"Hayun-" he's careful not to call her 'Yun' - "was coming out of the bathroom, and I was sort of, like, skipping down the stairs? Going fast, you know how I do. Hands on either side of the bannister."

You know it well; how he just swings himself down flights of stairs, as if he's still a kid. It's sweet. Sometimes . Annoying, and really irritating when you're behind and he's gearing himself up to gain momentum - but also cute when he clears five steps at a time and has the hugest smile on his face after he reaches the end.

"Thought I was alone," he reinforces. "Cleared, like, six in one go. Was pretty impressive, actually."

"Well done," you smile, like the proud parent of their bat-shit crazy child.

"Thanks," he grins, but quickly resumes seriousness. "Anyways, had a little too much momentum, didn't realise she was coming out of the bathroom, and couldn't stop myself in time."

Doesn't take a genius to work it out. You can picture it all in your head. Him, her. The stuff of K-dramas. The collision you always thought would be between the pair of you happening with her instead.

"She uses, like, this stain stuff - the red. It's not like, the sticks," Jeongguk tries his best to recall the right terms, but honestly his brain is just full of glitter these days. "It's in a tube - anyways, not important." 

You hate that he knows this - but it makes sense. He's always been attentive. It kind of is important, but you let him go on. 

"Takes a while to dry," he continues. "And she'd just done her makeup, and like - I tried to stop myself, I really did, but you know it's like. Anyways -"

He holds up both of his hands. Keeps one in place, while the other slaps against it. The sound echoes in time with a crashing wave, the truth of the lipstick mark revealing itself.

"Literally nearly knocked her out," he says, then pouts a little. "If anything, you should be-"

"I'm not thanking you," you laugh, cutting him off before he gets the chance to demand it. "Still doesn't explain-"

"The door," he nods. "I know."

There's a pause, Jeongguk giving you a chance to say something - anything - before he continues. Instead, you just look out to the ocean and play with the sand a little mindlessly.

"Nearly wiped her out. Asked if she was okay, and she just... I dunno, she just sorta started crying and like - I didn't know what to do," he stresses. "Can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen her cry," he admits, and the statistic doesn't surprise you whatsoever.

She doesn't strike you as the type to wear her vulnerabilities on her sleeve.

In much the opposite fashion, it had taken Jeongguk by surprise when the water works started. He wasn't really sure what to do. Isn't an awful person, so didn't wanna just walk away when another human being was quite clearly in distress - especially as he seemed to trigger it.

"Things are just..." she had sobbed, exasperated with the state of her life. Nothing had gone to plan. Even her back up options were lost to her, now. The things she had been certain she'd achieve were hanging in the wastelands, and she had nothing to show for it. "They're shit, Gguk. Everything is shit."

The cynical side of Jeongguk thought she only had herself to blame.

But the side of him you adore endless - the compassionate, kind, gentle side - had taken pity.

"That's not true," he'd said. " You've got a good family. Good friends. Skills. This is just a blip. Things'll straighten themselves out eventually. They always do."

This only made her cry even harder.

Why he had to be so fucking nice to her all the time, she'd never understand. She'd been a cow, and was well aware of that. No matter how much she was trying to make right her wrongs, she knew that irreparable damage had been done. Many things, is Hayun, but naive not one of them.

Weak, is another thing she refuses to be. Refuses to let anyone see her cry. Asked to talk to Jeongguk a little more privately - and he was desperate to cover himself up. Was well aware he was half naked. Didn't really feel comfortable.

"Was a lapse in judgement," he admits to you. "Should have told her to wait outside, or go to her room, or something. Just sort of thought the quicker I get a shirt on, the quicker I could stop feeling so uncomfortable. I headed in first, she followed behind. Didn't even realise she'd locked it. Think she was scared of people seeing her cry."

You scoff a little at this. Refuse to think he thought the process was really that innocent.

"Anyways, you came in, she freaked. I went to open the door, realised it was locked," he explains, taking a deep breath. Shakes his head. Replays the memories.

"I don't want her to see me like this," Hayun had hissed.

"Yeah," he'd called out to you, rushing to unlock it.

"Don't open it. Please."

Furrowing his brows, Jeongguk had shook his head. Whispered, "I have to."

Was a no-brainer to him.

"Just gimmie a second," he had called through the door, now on the other side of it. Waved his hand in the air indicating she should get out of sight if she didn't want to be seen. In that split moment, it seemed like a logical compromise.

By the time he'd opened the door, your face was already contorted with confusion.

The realisation of how terrible it looked hit him quickly. Didn't even realise she'd tossed her jacket down. Just knows it was a series of unfortunate events that'd give even Lemony Snicket a run for his money.

"I know I'm a fuckin' idiot," Jeongguk says. "I do the wrong things and I say dumb shit, but Byeol I'd never fuck you over like that. What's the point in me making a big song and dance this morning about how much I don't wanna lose you, only to do something that would jeopardise that completely?"

You shrug. Sniff back little tears you didn't even realise you'd been holding in.

"Boys are stupid."

"I know." He reaches out for you, and you find yourself just melting into his touch as he drags you into his lap. Jeongguk wraps his arms around you - and you just let him. Lips pressing a firm kiss into your hair, he squeezes you tightly. "B, I meant everything . Love the way I feel when I'm with you. Don't wanna lose it."

Tepid as you turn your head to face him, your hands tentatively find their home beneath his strong jaw. He closes his eyes. Inhales. Feels so fucking at peace.

And when your nose nudges up against his?

Oh, he's home .

"I'm sorry," he whispers - and you punctuate his apology with a soft kiss to his lips, that have been longing to feel yours for hours, now. He shakes his head a little. Laments. "So stupid. So fukin' stupid."

But then you shake your head, too.

You were presented with evidence, and decided to take a pole vault to it. Jumped to conclusions that reached even greater heights than you thought were possible.

"I should have heard you out," you admit. Takes two to tango when it comes to the dance of miscommunication. "I'm sorry for not doing that."

He just shrugs.

"I get why you didn't... but B, I'm not him," he says quietly, still hurt by your earlier accusation. "I... Look, I know I didn't dress it up in flowery words, and that I sort of made a joke about it all, but I want this. Whatever this is. I want it. Want you."

And as his lips sink into yours, you know that lies are something he's no longer capable of.

"I'll give you a nice fuckin' label," he promises. "Tell anyone who ever asks, if you like. You're my best fuckin' friend. No one else comes above you. No one. Whatever you want to label us as, that's what we'll be. Whatever you want, B."

"And what about what you want?" You ask, forehead against his, the weight of his words light and yet incredibly heavy in the same fleeting moment.

Friends? Lovers? Partners?

Together?

The options are endless. Daunting.

And yet Jeongguk seems unphased.

But of course he is. Been so scared of losing you that he's been hesitant with his honesty, and now realises it's completely counterproductive.

"Told you already," he whispers. "Want you ."

"You're drunk."

"Doesn't matter."

"You won't remember this in the morning."

"Then remind me," he says. "It'll come right back."

"Confident, aren't you, Koo?" You giggle, and Jeongguk knows that he's done for. That name. Gets him every goddamn time. "Thought you were scared of rejection?"

"Don't reject me for the sake of the birds." He pleads, now. Begs . A kiss is pressed to your lips, heart swelling in your chest. "Rejection doesn't scare me anymore, B. Losing you does."

"I don't think this is on the birds, anyways," you whisper. "Don't think anything we do these days is."

Crazy how everything changes and yet Jeongguk remains exactly the same, in his own, strange way.

"You'd be surprised," Jeongguk smirks. Presses his lips against yours to stop you from immediately responding.

There's only a few birds left hanging above his bed - but there is a new addition. One he added the day he arrived home from Busan. One that gets his hands all clammy just thinking about it.

Pulling away, Jeongguk is so pleased to see you smiling.

"I'm scared," you admit. Sort of just blurt it out. Feel the need to let him know that you'll need your hand held.

"Yeah," Jeongguk nods. "Me too - but we've always been pretty good at facing our fears together, right?"

"Right," you say, biting down on your bottom lip, cheeks full, eyes sparkling even in the dark of night. "Seriously though - will you even remember this in the morning?"

"Never felt more sober."

"Okay...," you nod, not believing him in the slightest. "Well, ask me again about a label in the morning."

"So you are rejecting me."

"No," you laugh. "I'll say yes. I just want to make sure it's something you actually want to do."

"I'm sure," he insists - but you're still a little hesitant. Don't want to rush anything. Had been christened with a label earlier that day, only to revoke it a few hours later. Seems a little premature to assign another.

"Anyways, we've been on a 'walk' for ages," you hum, getting to your feet, dusting sand from your lap. The topic is being changed, and Jeongguk knows to let it. To respect your choices. Follows you as you lead him back to the house, where you can already hear the noraebang session has started.

"Let's face it," Jeongguk smirks. "Jimin's probably told them all we've gone for a shag."

He has.

It's confirmed when Jeongguk gets him in a headlock, and Jimin squirms away from the noogie he's receiving, saying, "You better have washed your hands, you nasty fucker."

And so, while Jimin is still trapped within the handlock, Jeongguk rubs his flat palm all over Jimin's face. It's only fair.

Jimin's like a cartoon character in the way he pretends to vomit - as if his hands haven't also touched a little less than appropriately. Boys. Idiots.

"Fuck off," you laugh at the commotion. "We were just down by the beach. The stars are super bright tonight. You should go look."

Danbi welcomes you onto the sofa with her, arms outstretched, pulling you in for a hug. Snuggling up to your best friend, you both squeeze one another so tightly you might burst.

"Nabi and Hayun just got 86," she quietly says of the noraebang system, just for you to hear. "We gotta beat them."

Nodding, you agree. "We will."

"You and loverboy okay?"

"So much to tell you," you laugh. Pull out of the hug and twist your back to click it. Consider how much you want to divulge. Decide that you'd much rather just get drunk. "But yeah."

"Did he grovel?"

"Oh yeah."

"Good. Explain himself?"

"Mhmm."

"Commit any sins?"

"Only the sin of being a big fuckin' idiot."

Danbi smiles. Notices you're sparkling again. Glances over to Jeongguk, and finds he's looking over at you, sparkling too.

"We can live with that."

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Eitan Fischberger

Conservatives have spent years warning about the threat of Islamism in American life: in schools, universities, media, and government. We’ve (rightly) called out the likes of Ilhan Omar and Rashida Tlaib for their relentless demonization of Israel and apologism for terror groups like Hamas. But while we’ve been preoccupied with rooting out Islamists from the left, we’ve failed to see them walking through our own front door.Subscribe

The uncomfortable truth is that Islamist figures and their enablers are increasingly making inroads into conservative spaces — not by force, but by flattery. They praise our "family values," nod along when we rail against wokeness, and strategically position themselves as allies against the progressive left. But scratch beneath the surface, and you’ll all-too-often find figures with long histories of antisemitism, terror apologia, and ideological allegiance to the very enemies we claim to be fighting.

Let’s start with the latest scandal.

On May 16, the White House announced the formation of an advisory board for the Religious Liberty Commission. Among the names listed was Ismail Royer, a man who served 13 years in prison after pleading guilty to aiding the Pakistani terror group Lashkar-e-Taiba and helping jihadists reach training camps abroad. Royer wasn’t some low-level lackey: he was a key figure in the so-called "Virginia Jihad Network," which sought to aid the Taliban and facilitate violent jihad abroad.

Royer’s inclusion in the Trump White House’s advisory board is more than just an oversight — it’s a flashing red warning sign. This isn’t a man who tweeted something dumb as a teenager or who got roped into a fringe group. He’s a convicted jihadist who worked to send fighters overseas to kill Americans. Perhaps Royer would say he repented for his past behavior. But still, the fact that he was tapped for a White House role should be cause for concern to anyone who cares about national security.

And he isn’t alone.

Another name on the advisory board is Shaykh Hamza Yusuf, co-founder of Zaytuna College—which he established along with BDS leader and American Muslims for Palestine Chairman, Hatem Bazian.

According to the Investigative Project on Terrorism, Yusuf himself has a checkered history: praising the pro-Hamas Turkish organization IHH, defending Sheikh Omar Abdel-Rahman (the "Blind Sheikh" behind the 1993 WTC bombing), and once calling Judaism "a racist religion." While he’s attempted to rebrand himself in recent years as a voice of moderation, his and Bazian’s college has continued to elevate apologists for terror and critics of Western democracy.

By the way, radical Islamist preacher Zaid Shakir, the third co-founder of Hamza Yusuf’s Zaytuna College, recently said in a recorded sermon that Trump could be flattered into creating a Palestinian state:

“Trump is so crazy, we might be able to sit him down and say: ‘Trump, do you want to be the greatest president in history? Create a Palestinian state. That’s all. Mount Rushmore is waiting for you.’” He added, “Man, he is so crazy, he might do it.”

This isn’t (just) mockery — it’s a strategy. To people like Shakir, Trump isn’t a principled ideological obstacle. He’s a volatile ego to be managed. And they’re already working on how to do it.

Next up, we have the case of Imam Husham Al-Husainy, who was nearly given the honor of delivering a benediction at President Trump’s 2025 inauguration — until it was revealed he had previously praised Hezbollah as a "people of God" and refused to label them a terrorist group. He even marched in a Dearborn rally holding a portrait of Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah. It’s still unclesr why was he ever considered for the inaguration in the first place.

These aren’t isolated cases. They point to a disturbing pattern: the willingness — even eagerness — of some conservatives to welcome Islamist figures into the fold, provided they say the right things about Trump, Christianity, or gay marriage.

[cyaniku]

I was playing a lot of Bomb Rush Cyberfunk, and have been rollerblading more now that the weather's gotten nicer, so now I've got skating on the brain 😛 Also I recently rediscovered my Sonic Rush obsession, it's been making me want to draw Blaze more often- she is very underrated imo, my favorite Sonic character deserves more love~ Anyway my two interests collided and now we have ourselves a skateboarding Blaze 😎🔥(and no, I've never played Sonic Riders before).

I was debating what kind of skating gear I should give her for this drawing (rollerblades, BMX, etc.), I settled on a skateboard since there's a level in SRA where she and Sonic use snowboards, it's the next closest thing. 

Also here's some fun trivia for you: Hideki Naganuma composed the OST for the Rush series, he also made a few soundtracks in Bomb Rush Cyberfunk (and of course the Jet Set series that it was inspired by, which is what most people know him from)- I just learned that Blaze is also his favorite Sonic character as well! It can only mean one thing... my girl was destined be a skater kid >BD

[defilerwyrm]

Hey Tom. After 4 years of self-discovery, questioning, and doubt, of having to prioritize other things and deal with external obstacles, I'm finally going to be starting T either this week or the next. I don't want transitioning to pass me by as just another tick on the to-do list. Do you have any ideas of what I can do to celebrate and/or memorialize the process? And any words of wisdom?

HELL! YES! CONGRATS!

Lemme think, lemme think. A common one is to take periodic recordings of your voice; the traditional line is "This is my voice n [days/weeks/months/etc] on T" so you have a chronological progression. But I'm going to be square with you, there won't likely be ay changes until right around the 3-month mark, so if you're going this route I'd recommend sticking to weekly recordings instead of daily, at least until your voice starts cracking.

Another fun thing is to host a little "late gender reveal" party with some close friends and get a cake or cupcakes with blue (or green, or purple, or whatever gender-indicating color of your choice) icing with "It's A Boy!" (or "It's An Enby!" or whatever suits you best) on it/them to share. Even better if you can rope a friend into cohosting.

Another idea, along the lines of the voice recordings, is weekly selfies from roughly the same angle so you can see the changes in your face over time — the way T changes your jawline, brow, and hair growth. Then after, say, a year, you can make a gif of them for yourself! :D

In terms of words of wisdom: if you're like most guys, the change in your body's scent might bother you at first, but this will become much easier to live with over time — it might even become pleasant. >_> But, for that hypothetical time frame, dye-free antiseptic skin cleanser is going to be your best friend. When regular deoderants and body soaps don't cut the smell, that stuff absolutely will. Just give it about 15 seconds of lather before rinsing and that smell will be GONE.

Also, about 3-6 months in you might start to notice whatever room you're in feels real dam hot all of a sudden. This'll be one of three things: the fact that testosterone moves your comfort zone of temperatures down a few (or many, in some cases) degrees, a hot flash due to the HRT suppressing estrogen and simulating perimenopause, or both at the same time. But hey, this means that if you have an office job, you won't be freezing all the time! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

The hot flashes eventually taper off to nothing, but if you get a total hysterectomy at some point (as in, ovaries removed too), they will come back stronger as your E levels bottom out. This may range from "huh. I guess that's happening" to "omfg I need an ice bath" in severity, but if you're on T for a year+ before the spay, chances are good that they won't be too bad. Those eventually go away completely.

Also: if you're going to be taking injections, an emptied & rinsed-out laundry detergent bottle makes a GREAT sharps box. One of the big ones will last you a couple years, and when you're done with it, you just tape it up, write "SHARPS" on each side, and huck it in the trash — PROVIDED that your local laws allow that. Texas is still a legal wilderness, we just kinda do whatever here, but your area might have stricter guidelines on how to dispose of sharps. Check with your HRT provider or local health administration to be sure!

Also: BD Precision Glide Luer-Lok needles are the best I've ever used. Wonderfully sharp (thus easier & less painful to use), secure once twisted on, and a box of 100 will last you almost 2 years if you inject weekly. I'm sure your prescriber has already told you, but you're gonna want to draw with an 18ga or 20ga needle and then switch to like a 25ga to give yourself the injection. Each box should run you about $20 plus shipping from someplace like allegromedical.com. You don't need a prescription to buy them, at least not in the US.

I also really like BD Luer-Lok General Use Disposable Syringes in the 1 mL model; they're slim so it's easy to draw the right amount, and they're very clear so they're easy to read. Don't do what I did back in '22 and accidentally order 10 CC (10 mL) barrels instead.

Wishing you all the best on this exciting new journey :D :D :D

[juxl25]

KUROSHITSUJI THEORY!

Spoilers for ch208 onwards

Will the whole circus troop be brought back? And will Doll end up siding with o!ciel?

As I’m sure we are all aware from the end of the book of circus manga, the undertaker had most of the circus troops bodies (joker being the accepted as he basically got cremated). And now with Snake’s death and Doll having his body, that they will likely hand over to the undertaker, will mean the the undertaker will have all the bodies of the first tier Noah’s Ark circus.

I suspect that now with all the piece (the bodies of the first tier) the undertake will bring back them back as low level bizarre dolls (think Derrick Arden lvl) and force them to preform.

Why do I think that? Well I have very little evidence from the manga (like nothing at all) however I believe in poetic irony and a theme with Yana’s writing style.

First let’s look at the evidence from the manga, this is mostly for snake getting brought back to life.

This is mostly just me grasping at straws for snake being brought back lol. But also with Yana known for always including bits of foreshadowing in her work. Wether that being the chess game in showing to Ciels during the emerald witch arc, as well as ciel lying about the true fate of the circus troop to snake, apron his first arrive at the Phantomhive manor foreshadow him finding out later on in the story. So this panel’s taken from the start of book of Atlantic hits towards Snakes and by extension the rest of the troops being brought back to life.

And now on to my poetic irony. As we know Yana like to play the hand of justice in the series. Specifically killing of semi important characters in the series in the same way they have killed other people. This is shown in Madam Red’s death, Madam Red kills women by slitting their throat and then cutting the stomach open, and madam read died from being cut open when Grell stabbed them in the stomach with her chainsaw. And snakes death as well, where he got he throat slit was in the same place that Phipps got bit by the black mamba. Now following this theme we would expect the circus troop to die in a way that mirrors the death of the children in they kidnapped, but this didn’t happen. Thats why I suspect they will be made in to bizarre dolls and forced to preform. Being made in to low level BD would mimic how the kidnapped children were after their lobotomy and forced to preform like the children where forced to for baron Kelvin.

This leads on to my next point. Why might doll ended up siding with O!ciel? Because of the bizarre doll circus troop. Doll would take the place of joker as the ringleader and be forced to witness their family preform this way; Mirroring how joker felt watching the kids preform. But the difference is unlike joker who wouldn’t betray the Baron because of him believing his siblings at the work house would be punished, Doll currently does have any loyalties like that except to her family. So when they see what the undertaker has turned them in to Doll will do everything in their power to save them. Leading to them siding with O!ciel in the end.

But what do yall think? Let me know your thoughts or if I’ve missed something in the comments :)

Tags: @abybweisse

[sharpen-your-hatchet]

Take My Nirvana - Judy x FemV [Chapter 2]

Desc: It's been over a year since V left Night City with the Aldecaldos. With Judy by her side, V's come to quite enjoy the "quiet life" that many of her past cohorts talked down upon. She's finished her merc life, and that suits her just fine. Unfortunately, even with 1000 miles between her and Night City - The merc life doesn't seem quite finished with her.

Rating: Mature Chapters: 3 (incomplete) Current Word Count: 9484

Chapter 1 on AO3 Chapter 2 on AO3

Or, you can start reading below:

Quick Authors Note: Please be aware I am not actually updating *this* quickly, I'm just sharing the first few chapters on Tumblr over this weekend, as I forgot to share alongside posting to AO3. Chapter 3 is already live there if you're eager for more :) x-x-x-x-x-x

The next few days come and go as normally as any other. Working, eating, sleeping, fucking. Life is simple, and life is good. 

V’s investigative work has taken her to an upscale cocktail lounge in some fancy corpo building on Mercer Island. It’s fancy - like, built for the 1% when America was still a functional country level of fancy, with the patronage to match. Frankly, she’d much rather be somewhere more central in the city, but with some clients there’s no arguing. Some corpos are just prissy assholes and that’s just that. For it being early afternoon, the lounge feels surprisingly busy… though, V doesn’t blame the people here for partaking in a bit of day drinking. Being caught in the exhaustive web of corporate affairs would lead her to a life on the bottle too. 

V’s here with her client: the woman from a few days ago who’s paranoid about her husband. V slides a shard across the table to her. The woman looks at her expectantly. 

“Is this it?” She asks. Her voice is cold. 

Fuckin’ Corpos, always talking to people like they’re pieces of shit. 

V bites back a snarky reply. “That’s it, Mrs. Bravoski” she confirms. “Chip contains a fully scrolled BD of your husband. He’s not cheating on you, but you might wanna ask him about his drug habit.” 

Mrs. Bravoski sighs, tapping her nails impatiently against the marble table. She picks up the chip, looking disappointed. V wonders if she wanted him to be a cheater… Wouldn’t surprise her, actually. The virtu confirmed he’s rolling in eddies - divorce settlement would be killer. 

Mrs. Bravoski places the chip into her purse. “Whilst I can’t say I’m not grateful for your diligent work, I’m afraid I still have my suspicions. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to do some further reconnaissance?” 

V looks at her blankly. 

Seriously?

“Sorry, don’t do that kinda work.” 

The woman quirks a brow. “Oh really? You’ve got that look about you…” she muses,  gesturing to V’s shuttered mantis blades. “You don’t find many mercs out here, and I know you’re always eager for eddies-” 

“- Gonna stop you right there.” V interrupts. She’s had enough now. “If you’ve got a virtu, a BD, maybe some security cam footage you need goin’ through? I’m your girl. Anything else? Go find a fixer.”

Mrs. Bravoski frowns at this, as if offended at the mere suggestion. V knows fixers and mercs are less common around these parts, and therefore are in high demand, but V’s made it perfectly clear what services she offers. It’s on them if they get snapped at for trying to ask otherwise. V continues, “Now we are done here?” 

Truly ruffled by this point, Mrs. Bravoski puts her hands up in defeat. She takes a final sip from the cocktail she had been nursing, and steps away from their table. Her jaw works for a second as she mulls over her words. “As always, I appreciate your discretion. I’ll be in touch.” She turns on her heel and walks away. 

V sighs, downing the last of her own drink and slumping against the table for a moment of respite. What a piece of work. Not surprising though, Corpos always are.

V heads back to the bar and chucks the bartender a tip, plus a few extra eddies to ensure Mr Bravoski never hears a thing about his wife and the mysterious investigator. Last thing V needs is some hotshot on an ego trip deciding to spread her name over the screamsheets… Would definitely ruin the whole ‘ lay low and don’t alert the megacorps’ thing she has going on right now. 

V hops in the elevator and emerges onto the streets of Seattle. She ambles over to her motorcycle parked on the sidewalk and clambers onto the seat before taking a moment to decompress. A moment to breathe: something her old life never afforded her. It’s almost nice if you ignore the air quality. 

Unfortunately, time marches forward, and V’s got one more pitstop to make before she can call it quits for the day - an important one at that. She clicks the starter and the bike thrums into life. V zips up her jacket, then kicks the bike off the stand, peeling away into the busy mid-afternoon traffic.

Fortunately, the drive to her next stop - the old cruise port - is a short 20 minutes. V swerves through the streets carefully, eager to escape the dense sprawl of corporate buildings and apartments. She skids round a corner; up the ramp to the highway, leading onto the bridge that leads back into the city. She takes a moment to enjoy the view of Washington lake stretching out parallel to the road, before locking in and continuing to snake around the other members of the road. No point in wasting time, after all. 

The drive comes and goes quickly. V rocks up to the port and is grateful to see the area is quiet, much unlike the roads she’s just come from. This part of the city used to be home to a part of the tourism industry - though, safe to say, that was a long, long time ago. Looking at this place now with its poorly maintained concrete and disused terminals, it’s easy to confuse the docks for something abandoned… Which is all the better for the various (perhaps less-than-legal) independent businesses that have found their home here over the years.

And well… V isn’t a merc anymore, but she’s still not about kissing ass and giving business to corps when there’s perfectly good alternatives.  

V comes to a stop outside one of the smaller warehouse looking buildings. She hops off her bike and leans it against the rusted metal wall, before sauntering over to the door. She knocks once, then twice in rapid succession to make her presence known before she pushes it open. 

“Ahh little red!” comes the booming voice of the shop’s owner. He’s a welcome friendly face after seeing nothing but corporate sheep for the last few hours. “I was wondering when you would come visit. Your package is here.” V nods in greeting at the man - a sizable European by the name of Vlad. He’s quite the character, as is the store itself. It’s a charming shithole of a place - half ripperdoc, half junk shop - and for what he sells the prices aren’t half bad either.

She grabs the parcel from him and tucks it into the inner pocket of her jacket. This parcel is something she’s been waiting a week or so for and with it finally in-hand she feels a flutter of anxious excitement in her chest. But she’s not about to acknowledge it, not yet anyway… And so, itching for a distraction she turns then to the shelf of secondhand cyberware stocked alongside the counter and begins picking through it. “Thanks Vlad,” she replies idly, as she investigates a few pairs of optics.

“Mm, anything tickle your fancy? Fresh stock.” 

Fresh is a generous word to use. The optics are recent gen - however clearly secondhand and a bit worse for wear… Though, the chrome itself is preem. Vlad sure knows his stuff. 

“Actually, just wonderin’ if you’ve heard any news about holo glitches lately,” V inquires. She turns a pair of Kiroshi optics over in her hand; they're the very same pair installed in her face right now. “Friend of mine got a new pair just over a year back an’ their holo popped up even when they closed the damn thing.”

Vlad gives a thoughtful grunt. “Glitches can happen… but any user who knows a thing never uses the soft’s latest patch. What version is your friend running?”

V places the Kiroshi’s down and moves on to a box of various ammo. It’s a shame she has no need for bullets like these anymore, because Vlad is stocked up on a bunch of rare types. Jeez, how the fuck did he even get these?! “Ehh they’ve been travellin’ for a bit… Probably got back into town 6 months ago? Haven’t had the eddies for a ‘doc appointment.” 

Another thoughtful noise. “Bah, optics have been stable since then. Perhaps he is using something non-standard? Making interference? I could not diagnose this without taking a peek.” 

V stiffens at the suggestion of non-standard chrome being the perpetrator of her holo issue from a few days ago. Her whole head is hosting a bunch of hardware she doesn’t understand, but chooses not to question on account of the whole ‘keeping her alive’ thing. Much to her frustration, V simply doesn’t know; can’t know if maybe Vlad is onto something. Maybe she needs to comb through the data concerning her new implants again…

V offers Vlad a shrug. “He’s not the kinda guy to trust shifty lookin’ shacks like this” She says, forcing a playful charm to her tone. “But I’ll let him know. Do I owe you anythin’?” 

Vlad hits back with a humouring scoff, waving his hands dismissively. “You have paid the scratch needed, no additional charges. Now get out of here before I start insulting your friends’ bad taste.” 

V makes her way towards the door. She throws Vlad a smile. “That your secret to customer retention? Insulting them?”

Vlad shoots a cheeky grin. “My methods are top secret, and some secrets are not for sharing, little red.” 

V smirks, before stepping outside and shutting the door behind her. 

Oh the fuckin’ irony.

V steps back into the sunshine. She sighs, happy for her tasks to be over, but ultimately feeling a little disappointed. The in’s and out’s of cyberware are not her forte so even finding the smallest hint to her issue from the other day would've been great. More interruptions are the last thing she needs. No matter, she'll figure it out somehow…

V reclaims her motorcycle and quickly double checks the package in her pocket is secure before kicking off the stand once again. Feeling the parcel crinkle beneath her hands makes her excited and nervous all over again. 

No time to think about it. Gotta get home. x-x-x-x-x-x

A short drive later and V is sauntering back into her and Judy’s apartment.

V finds Judy curled up in her editing chair. Judy’s face is ingrained with a deep set concentration and her gloved hand twitches robotically as she works away in her virtual editor. She’s in the zone and truly unaware of the world around her. V loves seeing her this way, intense and focused. Something about it fills her with a carnal warmth. 

V clears her throat quietly. Judy flinches, her eyes snapping open. “Shit, hi V!” She gasps. Her eyes blink rapidly as they adjust to the light. 

“Sorry,” V laughs as she leans around Judy’s BD gear to gently peck the other woman’s forehead. “Didn’t mean to scare ya’.” 

Judy’s tugs off her headset and snakes her hand round V’s neck, pulling her down into a proper kiss. V hums appreciatively, unable to stop herself sinking into Judy’s touch. “Working hard?” 

“You know me,” Judy purrs. “But I can finish up for now.” 

“Nova. Come find me in the kitchen once you’re wrapped up?” 

Judy nods. 

V smiles and traipses out to the kitchen area. She shrugs off her jacket, fishing the parcel out of her pocket, before settling at one of the stools that lines the breakfast bar. She turns it over in her hands. It’s neatly wrapped in brown paper, zero indication of its contents. All for the better really, considering what it’s meant to be: a surprise for Judy… 

Shit, guess it’s time to think about it now.

Surprises of the gift variety are something V’s never been good at. V’s skillset belongs more in the sneaking, murdering, and investigating side of things, so her kind of surprises are more like clambering through a window and surprising someone with a knife gifted straight into their eye socket, as opposed to finding gifts for her loved ones. With most of the former skills on the backburner, working on the latter has become a bit more relevant lately.

So, today she’s testing herself… 

A few moments later Judy is padding into the kitchen herself. She stretches, gently rubbing her neck and groaning; a small price to pay for her shrimp-like posture when editing. She eyes the parcel in V’s hand with a quirked eyebrow as she skirts past V to pour herself some coffee. “Whatcha got here?” 

V feels a flush creep up her cheeks. Ah fuck. “Oh, uh… Just somethin’ I picked up before I came back here.”

Judy settles on the stool next to V and sips at her coffee. Her smile is amused. “Always so mysterious, amor . You gonna open it?” 

V hesitates for a moment, “It’s for you, actually.” 

Judy’s smile turns into something warmer: a fond look that makes V’s heart jump. 

V continues “It’s a gift… to celebrate us bein’ here six months. I know we don’t usually do gifts or yknow, most sappy romantic shit, but I wanted to get you somethin’ that could help you keep buildin’ that career you’ve always wanted, ‘cause to be honest I’ve loved watching every second.” 

Judy looks at V softly. She takes the parcel as V offers it and presses a kiss to her cheek. “You truly are something else, Valerie.”

The use of her full name sends excited shivers down V’s spine. You’d think she was being held at gunpoint the way her heart is pounding in her ears. In fact, she’s been held at gunpoint, and it wasn’t this intense. At least this seems to be going well. 

Judy gently pries at the tape holding the parcel closed. She opens it slowly, glancing at V with suspicion when the paper is pulled back, and the item is wrapped in a further layer of protective packaging. She opens that too, eyes scanning then growing wide as the item tumbles into her lap. “Is this…?”

There’s no mistaking what it is. It’s a BD editing glove. A new one - three generations newer than the one Judy’s been using currently. Judy never mentions it but V knows she’s been wanting a new one, especially since her current glove currently needs electrical tape just to function - the downside of spending nearly a year travelling on the road with that sort of equipment… Unfortunately, the spare eddies just haven’t been laying around to justify the expense.

 Up until now, that is.

Judy looks at V, her mouth still agape.

“Is- Is that good silence? Don’t leave me hangin’ Jude,”

Judy grins then, joy spreading across her face like a kid on their birthday. She nods enthusiastically. “It’s good silence,” she assures. “Very, very good silence, holy shit. This is going to make my life so much easier.”

V is quietly elated. Thank fuck she did this right. 

Judy leans over to V, pulling her in for a soft, amorous kiss that speaks a thousand ‘thank you’s’ quietly against V’s lips. Judy's thumb brushes gently against V’s cheek as she lingers close, and V feels her let out an amused exhale. “Well,” Judy hums. “This certainly ruins my own surprise.” 

V leans back slightly. “You got me somethin’?” 

“You weren’t the only one paying attention to the date on the calendar. One sec. ”

With that, Judy hops off her stool and saunters back into her work den. She’s gone only a moment, returning with a BD wreath, a BD chip, and a somewhat coy smile on her face. Whilst V has no idea what to expect, she’s glad for the focus to be turned away from her own gift.

“A BD?” She asks. She eyes the chip in Judy’s hand. It’s plain aside from a simple white sticker, adorned with Judy’s writing. Though her thumb covers most of the words, V can make out that it says ‘ For my love. From Judy x’ .

“It’s a special BD, you’ll see.” Judy replies as she places the BD chip to the side and begins to fit the wreath onto V’s head. “How much do you remember from your surgery?” 

V tries to think back. Truthfully, the month prior and after her surgery are a bit of a blur, and painful to try and pry from her memory. What she knows is mostly recollections from other folks, or the very little her brain managed to keep hold of whilst she was occupied by trying to stay alive. “Not much,” she admits. “Jus’ that I was a bit of a walking corpse.” 

Judy tenderly adjusts the wreath so it’s sitting in precisely the right position. Her smile is soft, with the slightest hint something a little more serious hiding beneath it. “Mhm, and I would’ve killed you if you died, yknow?” 

“And I would’a haunted you.”

Judy hums amusedly at that. With the wreath nestled correctly on V’s head, She takes the BD chip and gets it hooked up. She looks pensive for a moment, though continues a moment later, ensuring it’s all connected to V’s interface correctly. “So this BD… about a week after your surgery when you were still high as shit on pain meds, you kept complaining that you were bored being carted about and resting 24/7.” 

“Sounds like me.” V agrees. 

Judy smiles again, finding humour in what seems like a pretty difficult story to recount. “So, one night when Panam and the others headed into the town to grab some supplies, you begged me to let you out of the tent. You wanted to look at the stars, and you were being so stubborn about it; wouldn’t let it go. You were being a real pain in the ass, to be honest.”

“...Yeah. Sounds like me.” V agrees again, though a little more sheepishly.

“And with me being the best output ever, I finally said okay. Managed to drag you slightly uphill and we laid down together and…Yknow, I don’t know how you knew V, but there was a meteor shower, like you had predicted it or something.” 

V stays silent. It feels like Judy needs to keep telling this story, and V is enthralled all the same. 

Judy continues, “And you looked at me with the first bit of clarity you’d had that whole time and said you never wanted to forget it… ‘Course I knew you would forget, so I recorded it. That’s what’s on the BD.” 

V is speechless - which is frankly, a very difficult thing to achieve. Judy has done something that no one else could do: give V back a memory that she lost. Whilst V will never complain about the circumstances surrounding her survival, she has only ever admitted to herself that finds it difficult to think about the near two month gap in her memory… But of course Judy knows. Judy always knows, even when V says nothing at all (which is unfortunately often). V’s prior curiosity is replaced now with something deep and burning, and unspeakable - but from how she’s looking at Judy, V has no doubt she knows what’s there. 

“You ready?” Judy asks, bringing her thumb and forefinger to V’s chin to tilt her head up. “It’ll be from my perspective, but I’m sure you can live with that.” 

V nods. “Yeah.”

With nothing else to prepare, V leans back against the kitchen counter. A moment later and the lights of the BD wreath blare into her eyes, obscuring her vision; making her senses go numb. Every nerve in V’s body tingles as the BD wraps itself around her consciousness and loads her into the simulated reality. She’s struck initially by humid desert air against her skin, the feeling of a rough blanket beneath her. V’s no stranger to BD’s, but it’s incredible just how difficult they are to discern from reality sometimes - V knows she isn’t in the desert, but it’s also nigh on impossible to not think it’s real. The visuals fade in now, and V watches her (Judy’s) eyes open. What she’s met with is… well, herself. She’s looking at herself through Judy’s eyes, feeling an associated warmth and happiness dancing somewhere in Judy’s chest. There’s a concern there too, hovering below it all, but it feels so purposefully tuned out that V can barely grasp it. There’s not enough time anyway, as seconds later Judy is turning away to look up. 

V doesn’t know what to expect but… Fuck, it really is magical. The sky; the stars, like a painting, with trails of light dashing across the inky blackness of the night. The whole sky sparkles like it’s been adorned with diamonds. It’s like nothing she’s ever seen before… She understands why her past self never wanted to forget it. If the visuals weren’t enough, feeling Judy’s emotions in real time is a whole experience in its own right. The apprehension that Judy had tried to tune away is long gone, replaced with excitement and elation. It feels good; light, and free spirited. 

V hears something then. The calling of her name - and her name specifically -  from a voice that doesn’t seem like Judy’s; not Panam, or Mitch, or any of the other Aldecaldos either. It’s faint; disembodied, barely legible above the gentle murmur of the wind… V wonders if it’s Judy’s voice from outside the experience, but it’d be louder in that case. An editing artefact, perhaps? V elects to ignore it. She’s far too enthralled to do anything else. She watches as Judy turns her head again, and the warm feelings return. V hears herself slur something, and feels the laugh bubble in Judy’s chest. Happiness, adoration; love. 

But then the voice again. Louder. Demanding. Impatient.

What the fuck?

V grows some self awareness amongst her haze. Something is wrong; she should probably pull herself out. The BD wreath is glitching... It must be, that’s the only explanation. She goes to command her body; pull off the wreath but… no luck. Her arms won’t respond. Her whole body won’t do a damn thing. 

Underneath the joy and happiness that Judy’s recording is flushing through V’s senses, V's heart quickens. She can’t move. Can’t speak. She can only watch the BD continue to play, becoming increasingly aware of a speck of darkness growing from the center of her vision. What follows is static; audio corrupting; the digitised space collapsing on itself. 

V’s heart pounds. There’s nothing she can do. It’s all changed so quickly. 

A computer window pops up briefly. Hundreds of lines of code flash past V’s eyes. 

She manages to catch a glimpse of an Arasaka logo before everything turns black.

Then, V feels nothing.