#I hope I interpreted that part correctly

[goodwitchycaro]

the fact that Glinda couldn't sleep well the night Elphaba died, even though she didn't know she was dead, that she light up a candle for reasons she couldn't articulate.

they were soulmates. you cannot convince me otherwise

[maxthesillyy]

thinking about. i dont know how to phrase this really but. chloe and frank.

like. when Chloe killed Frank i (, personally,) feel like her guilt from it was less because she killed Frank, and More because she Killed Someone (and their dog).

but!!! thats not to say she didnt feel guilty for killing Frank. because she definitely did. because on some level. despite everything. despite all of his shitty behavior. a part of her still cared for him. that tiny 15-17ish year old part in her still cared for him.

because that 15-17ish year old with intense abandonment issues in her only had. a small handful of people in her life that actually cared for her, and when THOSE few people aren’t even doing the best job at it— it’s no shit that Chloe’s standards for Good Friends are going to be Immensely dropped.

and so. it’s kind of like what happened with Rachel, but WAY less intense. when she found someone who didn’t hate her, and was willing to hang around her—after so so long of people hating her and not wanting to be around her— it makes sense that part of her would kinda latch onto them a little bit.

and so, even after all of the shit she’s learned he did— even when Frank starts to hate her— even when he threatens Max and her’s lives— part of her keeps remembering him as one of the few guys who stuck around when no one else did.

it’s just that. no matter how bad the person— if you’ve known someone for years, and they were one of the only nice people to you in a town where theres like. four people that are nice to you— it’s gonna hurt if you kill them. even if it was self defense. even if it was entirely their own fault— even if you two aren’t on even remotely good terms anymore.

ESPECIALLY for such a sentimental person like Chloe. taking that in consideration it makes me wonder. maybe she didn’t feel bad for killing Frank. maybe she felt bad for killing the person Frank used to be to her. but maybe she realized that That Frank already died long ago.

but yeah. im mentally ill. take everything i said with a grain of salt considering it is 12:07 AM.

[toxifoxx]

doodle of @glitch-1983's god henry cause why not. yayy :)

[icezeebee]

I’m really excited for this project that @shiny-jr is doing! These were some of the scenes that I really liked from the sneak peak, Damnation Vil’s part. There were some bits that I added that was just how I felt while reading it.

[shencomix]

Recently I decided to go to my local fighting game tournament.

Here's how it went.

I had been getting pretty good at Guilty Gear over the past few weeks, to the point where I was getting the input correctly for the Potemkin Buster 1 out of every 4 or 5 times I tried it. So I thought "I might not be the best yet, but, surely good enough for my local" -- and I decided to go.

It took place at a the comic & games store in the town center. The venue was full of people 10-15 years younger than me and even more drastically cooler. They all turned to glare at me as I walked through the door, but as I stood completely motionless like a gazelle hoping to blend into the grassland, their gazes slowly returned to each other and they continued to banter friendlily.

I sat down next to me first opponent, and reached out to shake their hand. They looked down at my hand, and then up at my eyes slowly.

"You're supposed to do that at the end of the match."

"Oh, s-sorry"

I got perfected twice and lost the match. At the end, I reached out again to shake their hand, but they just stood up and walked away.

Because I lost, I got moved down to the loser's bracket, which was literally below the main tournament because it took place in the basement of the comic shop. I could hear footsteps, cheering, and happy conversation in the floor above. Here in the loser's bracket though, the mood was a lot more somber.

My next opponent reminded me a little bit of me. They were equally nervous and disheveled looking. They said "Um, h-hello" and reached out their hand for a handshake as they saw me approaching. I said "you're s-supposed to do that at the end of the match." But as a look of deep sadness came over their face and they slowly put down their hand, I pulled them in for a hug.

I'm not sure why I did that.

I think that some part of me knew that, in this dark, dank, alien place, illuminated only by a single failing ceiling light and the neon glow of a few arcade machines, I had at last found a friend -- someone I understood, and who might understand me too.

They hugged back.

I lost that match by a very narrow margin, and as they jumped up and began dancing around and cheering ecstatically, I began to hate them. This was no friend of mine. A friend would not do this to me. After they were done dancing, they reached out to shake my hand. After a few seconds of pause, I stuck out my hand too, but didn't look at them and refused to close it around theirs as they grasped it. They shook my karate chop.

I thought that at that point, since I had lost and then lost in loser's bracket, I was free to go home. But one of the tournament organizers approached me and informed me that I was going down to sub-loser's bracket in the sub-basement of the store, and pointed me towards a descending staircase.

The people there were fewer, and it was darker. I could faintly hear sobbing in one of the corners, but as I went to investigate, another participant put his hand on my shoulder. He furrowed his brow in a look of pain and shook his head slowly.

"You can't do anything for them."

In sub-loser's bracket I went up against a man in a suit whose face was cloaked in shadow. He spammed May's dolphin move. I lost.

As I went to go back upstairs, one of the tournament organizers held out her palm to stop me, and pointed towards a staircase leading further down instead.

Going down through the levels, I lost to many interesting participants. One player played exclusively by bashing the controller against his face. One player was a mushroom with a few circuit cables clipped onto it, that I later learned was able to play because its bioelectrical signals got sent to a machine that interpreted them as fighting game inputs. One player didn't touch their controller at all, but instead just told me their life story, which was so tragic that I picked up their controller and won for them.

Finally, at the very bottom floor, where construction standards were long abandoned and the stairs and walls were just messily carved out of the earth's stone, I faced my final player. It was a small bit of metal framework, with a controller nestled in it. On it was a tiny piston that just pressed the jab button exactly once every second. I lost.

I hung my head for a moment, then said "close game" and stuck my hand out for a handshake, before remembering that I had played against a metal framework cube with a piston in it and retracting my hand slowly. Then I heard a slow clapping from the darkness.

"No neutral. No footsies."

Out of the darkness slowly walked a woman about my age, clad in a decorative poofy dress that looked more expensive than my entire life savings. She smiled at me warmly, continuing to clap slowly, but there was a hint of mischief in her eyes.

"No meter management. No mixups. No spacing. No learning. No strategy…

…You're perfect."

"Wh-what?"

"You're perfect. I absolutely must have you."

"Have me for…um…for what…"

(Her eyes went wide as her smile grew more manic.)

"WHY, MY MORON FAILSON HAREM OF COURSE."

"Um, I-I"

"Tell me, what do you do for a living? Let me guess, you work at a fast food restaurant? Or, retail?"

"No, I'm a--I'm a comic artist."

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Oh my god, you are PERFECT. What will it take to get you."

"To-to ge--"

"You would be well taken care of, of course. 3 Michelin star dining for every meal. Only the finest, softest sweatpants and sweatshirts, pre-stained with whatever flavor of Takis your little heart desires. You would have access to the entire mansion except for the main foyer when I'm in business calls, and you could make all the comics and play all the fighting games you want."

"I'm uh--"

I knew that I had to think fast here.

"I'm already i-in a moron failson harem."

"Oh, DARN IT!! TELL ME, WHO IS IT??? WHO GOT YOU??"

"I-I think I'm not allowed to s-sa--"

She stomped her foot petulantly, her shoe clacking against the stone floor.

"WAS IT SHUXUAN?? IT'S ALWAYS SHUXUAN HOGGING ALL OF THE GOOD ONES."

"I-I'm sorry," I blurted out, shuffling along the wall to make a wide radius around her and then running up the staircase.

As I got home and began making my standard dinner of Trader Joe's microwave falafel, I thought about her offer. Maybe I should have taken her up on it after all. A 3 Michelin star meal right now wouldn't be so bad.

Then I hopped on Guilty Gear and lost 22 matches in a row.

[solxamber]

can I request a twst males (maybe females)and nrc staff with a reader who kinda likes deforms when their stress , they could be like a human slime who 'slops' around , she's human enough but some parts of her are slimy (maybe like a human magma slime from minecraft) , they stresses a lot and one day they just blob into their hands (the twst males ans staff) whilst they start crying , if this is too complicated u can ignore this.(my English is not too god)

Slime! Reader with All NRC + Rollo, Neige, Najma Viper, NRC Staff

hi! i hope I've interpreted your ask correctly! and your English is totally fine don't worry about! also I added najma because i didn't know which twst females you wanted.

Riddle Rosehearts:

When Riddle first sees you start to "slop" around, he’s at a loss for words. He's usually composed and strict, but seeing you melt in his arms—quite literally��throws him off.

“Y-You're not following the rules of physical form!” Riddle stammers, attempting to keep calm, but inside, he’s panicking. His need to control the situation is overridden by concern when you cry softly, slimy tears soaking into his uniform.

He awkwardly pats your head, trying to keep himself together. “There, there. You can cry as much as you need to, but please… maintain some semblance of form.”

Trey Clover:

Trey, with his calm demeanor, isn’t too fazed by the fact that you’re half-human, half-slime. In fact, he’s probably the most accepting.

When you melt into a puddle of stress in his arms, he just holds you close, gently massaging your shoulders (well, where your shoulders should be in slime form). “You know, stress baking helps me,” he says soothingly. “Maybe once you’re feeling solid again, we can bake something together. Or… we can make slime cookies?” He smiles softly as your sobs slow.

Cater Diamond:

Cater's immediate reaction is to whip out his phone for a picture—but then he stops himself because this moment is actually serious. When you’re upset and melting all over him, he adjusts quickly.

“Whoa, hey, hey! No need to puddle-up on me!” Cater jokes lightly but holds you tightly, letting you feel safe. “You know, I’ve heard slime baths are all the rage on MagiCam! How about we figure out how to make this slime stress into a #trend?”

Despite his attempt to lighten the mood, his grip is firm, and he lets you cry it out.

Ace Trappola:

Ace, being Ace, doesn’t know what to do when you start to melt into slime. His first instinct is to make fun of the situation, but the second you start crying, he feels a little bad.

“Okay, okay! I didn’t mean to stress you out that much!” Ace protests, awkwardly wiping your slimy tears. “You know, some people use this stuff for beauty treatments, so really, you’re just giving me a free face mask.”

Even though he’s flustered, Ace sticks by your side, not moving until you feel better.

Deuce Spade:

Deuce’s first instinct is to panic when he sees you melting. His problem-solving brain kicks into overdrive, but there’s no quick fix for slime stress.

“I-Is this normal?! Should I be calling a healer?” he blurts out while cradling you, his heart racing. His protective instincts take over as he holds you close, even though you’re all slimy. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out. I’ve got your back, okay?”

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona looks down at the slimey version of you with a raised eyebrow. He wasn’t expecting to literally have you melting in his arms.

“You’re a mess, herbivore,” Leona grumbles, but there's a warmth in his voice as he holds onto you, preventing you from dripping all over the floor. He doesn’t let go, even when his tail gets a little slimy too. “Don’t worry about it. Just stick close, okay?”

Ruggie Bucchi:

Ruggie is caught off guard by your sudden transformation, but he’s adaptable. He scoops you up into his arms with a quick grin.

“Hey, hey, don’t go melting all over the place! I’ve got things to do, y’know?” Ruggie jokes lightly. But his tone softens when he sees your distress. “But I guess those can wait. C’mere, I’ll help you get back on your feet—or whatever you have when you’re not slime.”

Jack Howl:

Jack is momentarily stunned when you melt in his arms. His first reaction is to try to lift you back up, but, well, you’re slime, so that doesn’t quite work out.

He huffs, blushing a little. “Just… take your time. You don’t need to worry about anything. I’ve got you, okay?” Jack's protective nature shines through, his arms gently wrapped around what solid parts of you remain.

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul, ever the strategist, watches you melt with wide eyes, calculating all the ways to “fix” the situation. However, when you start to sob, his business-like demeanor cracks.

“Ah… There, there,” he says, awkwardly patting your head as you slime down his pristine suit. “I assure you, we can handle this… strategically. No need to cry.” Despite his words, Azul’s genuine concern for you is obvious as he holds you.

Floyd Leech:

Floyd thinks your slime form is hilarious. The second you start to melt, he bursts out laughing.

“Whoa! Shrimpy, you're all gooey now!” Floyd teases, poking at your slimy form. But when he sees you crying, his mood shifts in an instant. “Aww, don’t be sad, Shrimpy. I like this version of you, too!”

He wraps himself around you, squeezing you tightly—slime and all.

Jade Leech:

Jade is intrigued by your stress-induced slime form. While he finds it fascinating, he’s also quick to comfort you when you start crying.

“Quite an interesting phenomenon,” Jade muses, wiping away your slimy tears with a handkerchief. “But please, don’t distress yourself. There’s no need for that. I’m right here.” His gentle voice soothes you as he helps you reform.

Kalim Al-Asim:

Kalim is both shocked and amused when you start melting in his arms, but he quickly recovers, hugging you tightly.

“Oh no! You’re turning into slime! Is there something I can do? Wait, I know—let’s throw a ‘Feel Better’ party!” Kalim’s enthusiasm is infectious, but he holds onto you as you cry, offering endless reassurances.

Jamil Viper:

Jamil tries to remain composed when you melt into his arms, though he’s secretly panicking on the inside.

“I suppose this is a normal reaction to stress for you?” he says calmly, even though he’s not sure what to do. He strokes your hair (or, well, slime), patiently waiting for you to calm down. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll help you through this.”

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil’s immediate reaction to your slime form is a mixture of shock and mild horror—at first, he’s concerned about you, but also a bit put out by the mess.

“My robes…” he sighs, but his voice softens as he holds you, tears and slime alike. “You’re allowed to cry. But I refuse to let you stay in this state of disarray.”

He brushes the slime from your face and helps you regain composure, all while managing to maintain his usual grace.

Rook Hunt:

Rook is enchanted by your unique form. The second you melt into his arms, he’s already waxing poetic.

“Ah, mon cher! Even in your most vulnerable state, you are truly magnificent!” Rook exclaims, holding you tenderly. “Worry not, I will be your steadfast support, slime or not.”

Epel Felmier:

Epel is confused when you start to melt, but his protective instincts kick in fast.

“Whoa, whoa! Hang on there!” Epel says, panicking slightly as he tries to keep you together. “You don’t have to be all stressed out around me. Just breathe, alright?”

His attempts to soothe you are clumsy but genuine, and he won’t leave your side until you’re back to your usual self.

Idia Shroud:

Idia’s first instinct is to panic. You’re melting? This is definitely not something he can handle without freaking out.

“Oh no… oh no… this is bad,” he mutters, but when he sees your tears, he stops. “Uh, hey, don’t cry! I mean, sure, you’re all gooey, but… you’re still cool.”

Idia awkwardly pats your head, unsure of how to handle the situation but doing his best to comfort you.

Ortho Shroud:

Ortho doesn’t panic like his brother. Instead, he’s immediately analyzing the situation with his scanners.

“Are you alright?” Ortho asks, his voice full of genuine concern. “Don’t worry, I can help you! Maybe a temperature adjustment will help stabilize your form?” He hovers near, ready to assist however he can.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus finds your slime form fascinating, though he’s more concerned about your well-being. When you melt into his arms, he cradles you gently.

“There, there, child of man,” Malleus murmurs softly, his voice like a calm lullaby. His powerful arms hold you securely as your slime tears drip onto his cloak. “You need not fret. I will ensure your safety, no matter your form.”

His dragon-like gaze watches you intently, the smallest smile forming at the corners of his lips as your sobs quiet. "Even in your most... fluid state, you are still precious to me."

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia finds your slime form to be amusing, but he’s quick to adapt. When you start melting in his arms, he lets out a cheerful laugh.

“Ah, how adorable! Don’t worry, my dear. I’ve seen stranger things in my time.” He pats your head reassuringly, not fazed at all by the situation. “Cry all you need to. I’ll be here when you’re ready to solidify again.”

Lilia hums an old fae lullaby while he holds you, and his mischievous side takes a backseat as he comforts you through the tears.

Silver:

Silver blinks slowly when you start to melt in front of him, but instead of panicking, he gently wraps his arms around your slumping form, not minding the slime at all.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice steady and calm, “it’s okay. I’m here.” His hand moves to stroke your slime-morphed head with gentle care, his touch soothing despite your current state.

“I don’t know exactly how to help,” he admits, “but I’ll stay with you until you feel better.” He pulls you closer, letting you rest in his lap while he hums softly, his presence grounding you. “You don’t have to hold it all in. I’ll keep watch.”

His quiet, reassuring demeanor slowly makes you feel more at ease. He may not say much, but the safety you feel with him speaks volumes.

Sebek Zigvolt:

Sebek is utterly baffled when you start to melt into slime in his arms. For a moment, he just freezes, wide-eyed, trying to process what’s happening. Then he bursts out, “WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE YOUNG MASTER—!!”

His voice is loud, but as he sees the tears in your slimy state, his tone shifts—just a little. “H-Human! Cease this display at once! You cannot fall apart like this!” But even as he says that, he’s awkwardly attempting to gather your melted form without dropping any of it, his hands trembling slightly.

His frustration shows, but underneath it, he’s worried. “I—! Ugh, fine! Stay like this if you must! Just know I... I shall remain by your side, no matter what form you take! So, compose yourself, human!”

His stubborn loyalty shines through, and despite the bluster, you can tell he’s genuinely concerned. It’s a chaotic kind of support, but it’s Sebek, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Rollo Flamme:

Rollo is startled and somewhat appalled by your sudden transformation into slime, but he masks his discomfort with a dignified air.

"This... is highly irregular," he mutters, though his hands remain gentle as they hold you. "But I suppose even someone like you has their moments of weakness."

Despite his words, there's a hint of warmth in his actions, and he stays by your side until you're feeling better, his cold demeanor melting just a bit.

Neige LeBlanche:

Neige’s reaction is pure concern when you start to melt. He immediately wraps his arms around you, holding you close despite the slime.

“Oh no, are you okay?” Neige asks, worry etched across his face. “Don’t cry, please! You’re still beautiful, no matter what!”

His words are sincere, and he strokes your back soothingly as you sob, not caring one bit about the slime soaking into his clothes.

Najma Viper:

Najma is quick to comfort you when you start melting in her presence. She’s a bit surprised but reacts with ease.

“Whoa, that’s a neat trick! But hey, no need to cry, okay?” Najma smiles gently, holding you close. “You’re safe with me. We’ll figure this out.”

She’s calm and reassuring, her warmth helping you regain your composure faster than you thought possible.

Dire Crowley:

Crowley dramatically flails his arms when you start melting into slime, completely unprepared for this turn of events.

“Oh dear heavens, my precious student! What calamity has befallen you?” He panics, trying to scoop up your gooey form in a very uncoordinated manner. “No need to cry! Your benevolent headmaster will, um, fix this! Somehow!”

He’s more focused on not getting slime on his fancy coat than actually helping, but he makes a grand show of being concerned, which is as close to comfort as you’re going to get from him.

Divus Crewel:

Crewel’s eyes widen, but he quickly regains his composure.

“Well, this is... unexpected,” he says, eyeing the slime dripping onto his pristine coat. “But emotions, pup, are not something to be ashamed of. Even if they do involve... melting.”

He carefully wipes the slime from his hands, his tone softening. “You’ll pull yourself together soon. We’ll make sure of it. And once you do, we’ll work on controlling that stress—there’s no excuse for letting your emotions ruin your wardrobe.”

He pats your head in a surprisingly gentle manner, his usual sternness fading in the face of your distress.

Mozus Trein:

Trein, with Lucius perched on his shoulder, looks down at you as you begin to melt into a puddle of slime.

“Hmm,” he muses thoughtfully. “This is not something you see every day, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

He crouches down, his expression surprisingly calm. “When one is overwhelmed, their emotions can manifest in unusual ways. It’s important to take a moment and breathe.” He offers a hand, which Lucius bats at. “Compose yourself. You’ll recover, just as we all do from difficult moments.”

It’s unexpectedly wise advice, and his steady presence helps you feel grounded again.

Ashton Vargas:

Vargas is completely caught off guard by your sudden transformation into slime. He stares at you in disbelief before quickly scooping you up with a burst of energy.

“Whoa! That’s some serious stress! But don’t worry, we’ll get you back into shape in no time!” he says, flexing a bicep as if that will somehow solve your problems.

He awkwardly pats your gooey form, his optimism unshaken. “This just means you’ve got some inner strength waiting to burst out! Once you pull yourself together, we’re doing a killer workout to blow off all that steam, okay?”

It’s hard to stay upset with his over-the-top enthusiasm, even in your slime state.

Sam:

Sam chuckles when you start melting, entirely unfazed.

“Well, now, ain’t that something,” he says, leaning on the counter of his shop. “You must be feelin’ all sorts of stress, huh? No worries, I’ve seen worse.”

He grabs a cloth and gently wipes your slime tears. “Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll brew up something that’ll help you feel right as rain? Stress is just like a storm—it’ll pass, and you’ll be stronger for it.”

His easygoing nature and the comforting atmosphere of his shop start to calm you down almost immediately. It’s impossible not to feel better in his presence.

Masterlist

[pretty-circa006]

I guess your bio clearly states you write for Negan, but it doesn't explicitly state you write only for Negan. So I'm thinking I should just ask. Are you open to writing a dadsbsf!Rick and dadsbsf!Negan x reader fic, they have a rivalry and are always trying to one up eachother to get in the readers good graces, but little do they know you already want them (both) and you get them (both). Ik this isn't something you normally write and it's totally fine with multiple partners. But you're clearly a great writer and I just had to ask. It's totally fine you don't take this request or even ignore it. But if you were to write could do something with an age gap and a minx reader and mean Rick and Negan but only during steamy, but otherwise they sprinkle their lives on you.(Maybe this could be series or something it doesn't have to be oneshot and you could your time exploring the idea, idk why I'm so passionate about this lol)

Thanks, for hearing me out, believe me ik this a tall order. Again it's totally fine if you ignore this!!!

P.s idk why I added the photos I'm sorry 😭😭😭😭(them trying to mark their territory trying to make the other back off of you???)

dadsbsf! Negan x F! Reader x dadsbsf! Rick

summary Negan and Rick are over at your house, joining your dad for a game of poker. tags gambling, mentions of smoking and alcohol consumption, age gap (reader is college aged and Rick and Negan are kinda old...like late 40s early 50s?)

wc 2.3k

note i really liked this request and i hope i interpreted it correctly, if not, i sincerely apologize! just fyi, i plan on making this multiple parts, which is why there's no smut....YET! :P

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

She loves summer. It's more so what comes with it, rather than the season itself. Being back home from college and finally having her own space in her own room and her own bathroom with her own shower. Most of all, she loves the late nights in her backyard, swimming in the pool beneath the bright stars, cicadas buzzing and crickets chirping in the background. 

Tonight's one of those nights. The dark, starry, cloudless sky accompanies her she floats on her back around the pool, enjoying the peace of the summer night. All she's missing is a nice midnight snack. The warm, humid nighttime air feels good against her wet skin as she climbs out the pool. She forgot to bring a towel with her when she came out earlier, but that doesn't matter since she's getting right back in anyway. Barefoot, she saunters across the soft grass to the sliding glass door that leads into her house. 

"Honey, where's your towel? You're dripping all over the floor," her dad complains as soon as she steps inside. Feeling the freezing air conditioning on her wet body also has her wishing she brought a towel. 

"Sorry, I forgot, but I..." She trails off, finally noticing that her dad isn't alone and that he's at the dining room table with his best friends, Rick and Negan, in the middle of a game of poker. 

"Hi, Rick...Negan," she awkwardly greets, folding her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling naked in front of the two. 

"I'll be right back, gonna go grab her a towel," her dad explains, excusing himself from the table. 

"Late night swim?" Negan teases while shamelessly eyeing the freezing girl's half-naked body. Her face grows hot as she feels his hazel eyes undressing what little clothing she has on. 

"Why don' you join us for a game?" Rick suggests with a pat to the seat beside him. 

"But I dunno how to play." Despite this, she takes the seat anyway. Rick pulls the chair closer to him until he can't anymore. 

"I'ma teach ya how." This earns a scoff from Negan. 

"Doll, you don't want this fuckin' prick teachin' ya how to play poker." 

"This comin' from the idiot who lost five hundred dollars last time we played," Rick fires back. Negan rolls his eyes and flips him the bird. 

She bursts into a fit of giggles at their rivalry. "I think I'll stick with Rick. I don't have much money to lose." 

Her dad finally comes back into the room, towel in hand. He tosses it at her and it lands over her head like a ghost costume. 

"Hey!" she huffs as she fixes the towel properly around her shoulders. Her father just huffs a laugh at her plight. 

"Rick's gonna teach me how to play poker," she tells her dad excitedly. He grimaces which earns a snicker from Negan. 

"If ya want any chance at winnin', you'll have your ol' man to teach ya, but hey," he raises his hands in mock surrender before taking his seat. 

“I’m stickin' with Rick.” Rick gives her a soft smile and places his large hand on her thigh. Shivers run down her spine, and she’s sure it’s not from the air conditioning. 

“You can jus’ watch this game and we’ll deal you into the next.” She nods in agreement and leans over Rick’s shoulder to look at his cards -a three of clubs and a three of spades-, ignoring the water droplets dripping from her hair onto his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind either. She has no idea what’s going on since she joined in mid-game, but by the looks of everyone’s faces…she still can’t tell what’s going. Her father’s face is blank and Negan’s has an air of mischief to it, but then again, it almost always does. Rick looks calm as his eyes move from his cards to the three that lie in the table’s center. 

“Wha’s goin’ on?” She whispers in his ear. He leans down to her level and explains to her that the three cards in the middle are the flop and that things are looking good for him. She nods and leans closer to get a better look. The three men all slide more chips into pile. Negan reveals another card next to the three, which Rick informs her is called the turn. They bet again and Negan reveals one last card - the river, Rick tells her- before they all reveal their hands. 

“Two pair,” her dad dejectedly reveals. 

“Three of a kind,” comes Negan’s reveal. 

“Full house,” Rick calls out smugly as he takes the pile of chips

“See, I knew Rick was gonna win!” She cheers, causing the two other men to groan in annoyance. Rick squeezes her thigh, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Negan who’s glaring daggers at the blue eyed man. 

“You playin’ this round, hon?” Her dad asks, shuffling the cards. She happily agrees and deals her in. 

“Ya sure ya wanna stick with Rick? He was just fuckin’ lucky last round,” Negan bargains. 

“Lucky and four hundred dollars richer! I’m stickin’ by him.” Rick flashes Negan the smuggest look ever before wrapping his arm around her, pulling her closer. 

“Got my good luck charm right here.” 

“See if you get so lucky this time ‘round,” her dad challenges as he deals out two cards to each player. She looks at her cards, still not fully sure on how to play. She slides in a chip alongside everyone else, which Rick explains is the ante. Her dad reveals the flop and she looks from it to her own cards, not knowing what plays she has, if any. She glances over at Rick who’s immersed in his own cards. 

“Rick, what do I do?” She whispers. 

“C’mere, I’ll help ya out,” he offers with a pat to his lap. She climbs onto his lap from her own chair, leaving her towel behind. Her dad doesn’t bat an eye. Rick is one of his best friends, basically a brother to him, and in turn like family. At least that’s the way he sees it, like a simple loving action between good family friends. 

But Rick can hardly focus on either of their cards. Having her on his lap is distracting. Her plush ass sits directly on top of his crotch and he can feel himself getting hard as she shifts around to get comfortable. If she can feel it too, she doesn’t move away or say anything. He rests his chin on her shoulder as he looks at her cards -an eight of diamonds and an eight of hearts- his beard prickling against her soft skin. 

“See that eight of spades on the table, you’re close to havin’ a four of a kind,” he whispers. 

“Is that good?” 

“Very.” Nobody’s looking, so he presses a quick kiss to her shoulder. She stifles a giggle at the ticklish sensation of his beard against her skin. They all bet again and the next card is revealed. She shifts around excitedly once she sees another eight on the table.

“Keep still, sweetheart,” Rick warns, growing harder in his pants. She doesn’t say anything, but Rick can see her shoulders shake with more stifled laughter. Everyone places another bet before the river is revealed and they all show their hands. 

“Full house,” Negan says as he reveals his cards. 

“Flush,” her dad reveals. 

“Two pair,” Rick shows his hand. 

“Four of a kind,” she apprehensively says, showing her own hand. 

“Maybe she is some kinda goddamn good luck charm,” Negan grunts. 

“Did I win?” She asks, noticing the proud but somehow simultaneously disappointed faces around the table. 

“You did, sweetheart, good job!” Rick says, hugging her from his position behind her. She gets up and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to his lips before skipping into the kitchen. 

“That was fun, but I’ma head back to the pool now.” Negan watches her struggle to reach a snack in one of the cabinets. She jumps a few times, her ass jiggling a bit each time she lands. He stands up and joins her in the kitchen, watching her pathetically try a few more times before standing behind her and effortlessly grabbing the bag of chips. He even opens it  before handing them to her. 

“T-thanks,” she says turning to face him and taking the bag. Her whole body feels like it’s on fire as she stares up at him. He’s standing so close to her, basically pinning her against the counter. His tongue glides across his bottom lip as he hungrily eyes her up and down, eyes lingering on her tits that her bikini top could hardly contain. 

“You’re welcome.” She doesn’t know what to say or even if she should say anything. Her eyes wander down to his strong arms that are folded across his chest, his tattoos on full display. She bites her lip when her eyes graze over the slight bulge in his pants. She can’t tell if he’s hard or just big, but either way she desperately needs to take a dip in the pool to cool the heat building up inside of her. 

“I’m gonna go back out now, bye!” She slips away from him and hurries out to the backyard before jumping into the pool. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

She had about thirty minutes alone until she hears the sliding glass door open. Out comes Rick in nothing but his swimming trunks and a beer in hand. He doesn't seem to see her as he makes his way to the hot tub. He gets in, letting out a sigh of relief as he feels the hot water relaxing his muscles. He rests his arms around the ledge and tilts his head back, relaxing and the sight is delicious. She climbs out the pool and carefully steps into the hot water beside Rick. 

"Hey darlin'," Rick greets once she's sitting beside him. 

"What're you still doin' here? Isn't it past midnight?" she asks. 

"Me 'n Negan wanted the hot tub for a bit, but your old man's done for the night." 

"Oh. Okay." She's looking at Rick in a way he can't decipher. Her eyes hungrily trail across his body as she scoots closer and suddenly, she's in Rick's lap like before. 

"I can still sit here, right?" 

"Of course," he reassures, his hands resting on her thighs, fidgeting with the waistband of her bikini bottoms. He rests his chin on her shoulder, just relaxing and enjoying the feeling of her against him. 

The sliding glass door opens again, a jarring interruption to their peace. She flinches, scared one of her parents were about to come out and see her and Rick in a compromising position, but Rick, seeing that it's only Negan, holds her tighter. He joins them in the hot tub with a beer in hand and cigar between his lips. In nothing but his swim trunks, his hairy chest and tattoos are on full display, taking all of her attention away from Rick. If looks could kill, Negan would have murdered Rick with his hazel colored death glare. The tension in the hot tub is so thick, it's almost suffocating. Negan being there somehow makes her feel guilty for being so close to Rick, but leaving his lap isn't something she wants to do either.

"Hey, Negan," she says in a weak attempt to relieve the tension and kill the awkward silence. 

"Hey doll," he takes a drag from the cigar before blowing out the smoke, "congrats on winnin' your very first poker game." 

"Thanks...couldn'ta done it without Rick, really." She subconsciously leans further into Rick and he presses a few scratchy kisses to her shoulder and the back of her neck. Negan rolls his eyes at both her and Rick. 

"C'mere," he commands with a come hither motion. She swallows nervously, looking from man to man. Rick can feel that she wants to get up so he unravels his arms from her waist so she can, which she does, albeit apprehensively. Even though he didn't tell her to, she sits on Negan's lap, her cunt right atop his growing boner, the only barriers between them being his swim trunks and her bikini bottoms. His beard tickles the side of her face as he leans down to whisper in her ear.

Rick watches the two with an intense gaze, almost as if he was daring Negan to try something with his girl. Negan's arms are around her now as he whispers something in her ear. Rick is sure he's just talking shit  but jealousy still twinges in his chest. 

"Anything that asshole thinks he can teach ya, I can do it better," Negan whispers. Rick sees her giggling and she turns her head to whisper something back to him. 

"Yeah? Then why'd ya lose both games earlier?" she teases. He lets out a laugh which catches Rick's attention. His blue eyes glare daggers at Negan who only spares him a smug glance. 

"Didn't wanna embarrass poor Rick over here by beating his ass in front of ya," he says loud enough for Rick to hear. His voice returns to a whisper. "As for the other game...you just got pretty damn lucky." 

"Mmhmm sure," she replies sarcastically with an eye roll. She stands up and wades her way to the hot tub's stairs. 

"G'nite y'all," she wishes them as she exits the tub. 

"Goin' to bed already? Night's just started?" Negan complains, already missing having her on his lap. 

"It's almost three in the mornin'," Rick comments looking at his watch. "Night, sweetheart!" 

"See you both at the barbecue tomorrow!" She blows them both a kiss before skipping off toward the house. She can feel their gazes boring into her, particularly her ass as she does so. 

[elfolfenburg]

There’s this theory that Shadow may be shattered across the universe bcs of what happened

So like imagine shadow’s like “shut up u aren’t alone this can’t get any worse” and then he fcking dies in front of sonic

Bro died minekrapt style rip gay edgelord

Also bro hope i interpreted it correctly cus i lowkey feel high asf but i like thkught as in th me shattered part, like diff versin of the edgy bitch yknow like how raven gets split into diff version of herself ykwim

[summer-princess]

Far From Angry: Hardersson x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: You meet a stranger and her girlfriend at the bar. Things escalate quickly. Pairing: Hardersson x Reader Warnings: 🔞Smut. Mdni🔞 Disclaimer: Obviously fiction Words: 2778

Pt. 2

Ever since you entered the bar, the pretty blonde sitting a few stools away hadn’t taken her eyes off of you. 

You weren’t normally one for going out, especially without your friends, but the sound of music and unseasonably warm night air had drawn you out of your apartment, walking downtown to your favorite bar, ready to enjoy the evening. 

You were certainly enjoying the sight of the beautiful woman in the flowy white top, her sweet smile as she looked across the bar at you.

Her eyes didn’t leave you as she finished her drink, sliding her glass back across the bar. You blushed as she looked away, and you caught a hint of white teeth scraping across a pair of ruby lips. 

Fuck.

Taking a deep breath and gathering your courage, hoping you were interpreting her glances correctly, you hopped up from your stool and walked the few feet between you, hoping you looked more confident than you actually felt. As you sat down on the stool beside her, the pretty blonde tucked her hair behind her ears, turning her head to smile at you again. 

“Hi,” she said, and you caught the slightest hint of an accent, one you couldn’t quite place. 

“I’m Pernille,” she said, turning her stool to face you. She leaned forward, toward you, giving you the same  brilliant smile that had drawn you over in the first place.

You introduced yourself, pleasant shivers running up and down your spine as she made eye contact with you, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows, clearly waiting for you to continue.

“So, Pernille,” you said, matching her posture, hoping to convey just how interested you were in getting to know her and her pretty smile a whole lot better. “Can I buy you a drink?” 

Before she could answer, another blonde appeared over Pernille’s shoulder. Her hair was darker than Pernille’s, and the hand she put on Pernille’s shoulder was attached to a muscled arm.

“What’s going on over here, love?”

Love?

It was like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over your head as you processed the words.

Love.

She had a girlfriend.

Of course she had a girlfriend.

As the other woman, just as blonde and just as gorgeous, claimed Pernille’s lips with her own, you felt a humiliated blush rising to coat your cheeks. 

You wished that someone would break one of the legs off of the barstool and beat you over the head with it. Or that a freak sinkhole would open beneath the floor, somehow burying only you in the dirt. Because this was beyond your worst nightmares. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, not sure which one of them you were talking to as apologies began to spew from between your lips. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I didn’t mean… Fuck, I’ll just-”

You made to stand up, charting the path that would get you to the exit quickest, but before you could make your escape, Pernille reached out and grabbed your hand, clasping it in hers. You let out a tiny gasp, still on your stool, at the contact, your eyes flickering back and forth between your skin touching hers and the woman whose hand had moved from her shoulder to her waist, possessively gripping her flowy white top.

“Don’t go,” she said, voice somewhere between a command and a plea. Even though your heart was racing, your legs longing to carry you far away, it was enough to make you pause.

You looked back and forth between Pernille and her partner, beyond confused. There had been no mistaking the look in your eyes as you approached her, or the undertones when you asked to buy her a drink. But there was also no mistaking the fact that she had a girlfriend, a very pretty and very strong looking girlfriend who had, out of some miracle, not yet put you on the ground. 

“B-But,” you stuttered, trying to make sense of the increasingly odd situation in which you found yourself. 

“Y-You, your girlfriend- She’s already angry enough at me, I-”

You didn’t have time to finish your runaway train of thought before you were unceremoniously interrupted. 

“Do I look angry?”

You didn’t think you could stand looking at Pernille’s girlfriend any longer without wanting to light yourself on fire, so you didn’t. Instead, you stared at your nearly-empty drink, trying to think of how to escape this humiliating and bizarre situation with some of your dignity still intact.

You didn’t see the look they gave each other, but you definitely felt it when a hand grasped your chin, forcing your head upward. A pair of blue eyes met yours, clouded by mirth and something else you couldn’t quite place. Your eyebrow crinkled in confusion at the absence of anything identifiable as anger, a confusion that only grew when she spoke again.

“I’ll ask you again,” she said. “Do I look angry?”

Answering wasn’t optional this time, you could tell. So, trembling a little, you shook your head.

“N-Not really.” 

“Clever girl.”

Her voice, smooth and seductive and just a bit condescending, hit you like a jolt of electricity, and you couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through your body at the tone, from the tips of your fingers to between your legs. You quickly lowered your eyes again, hoping that she wouldn’t notice. 

The self-satisfied smirk on her face made it clear that your hopes were in vain.

“Magda, baby,” said Pernille, standing and taking her place at her partner’s side, tucking herself under the taller woman’s free arm. “I think she likes it when you talk to her like that.” 

Your mouth was slightly open, gaping in shock as you pressed your thighs together, unable to deny the arousal beginning to pool in your core. No matter how embarrassing Pernille’s words might have been, they were undeniable- the condescending tone of Magda’s voice made your mouth water, the need for the two of them to do what they wanted with you taking over your mind. 

“Oh, she’s so cute,” said Pernille, relishing the way you shuddered as she placed her hand on your thigh, fingers sliding upward and creeping closer to the hem of your panties under your new skirt. Magda nodded in agreement.

“Her face is all red,” she said, the two of them exchanging comments as if you couldn’t hear them speaking. You had an idea of where this was going, one that you desperately hoped was correct, and the thought of it made you press your thighs together with need. 

“I wonder what she’d look like all spread out on our bed.”

You gasped quietly, initial arousal only amplifying as they confirmed the thought that had been solidifying in your mind. With a squeeze of Pernille’s hand, Magda took a step forward towards you, her gaze piercing through you and making you whimper again. 

“Do you want this?”

Magda’s breath was hot against your neck as she whispered the question into your ear, and you were sure that she could hear your pulse pounding. 

You nodded so quickly that you could have given yourself whiplash, still gaping in disbelief even as she smirked, helping you to your feet and throwing a wad of cash behind her, payment for the drink you had tried to buy her girlfriend.  

This was actually happening. 

Their apartment was only a few blocks away from the bar, and when they guided you through the door, you had barely kicked off your shoes when you found yourself pressed against the wall by a pair of strong arms.

You hadn’t noticed Magda’s muscles back in the bar when you were refusing to look at her, but now that they were being used to pin you against the wall, they were difficult to ignore. You bit your lip, letting out a little moan, one which she immediately swallowed with her mouth. Magda’s tongue pressed insistently against your lips, and you didn’t waste any time before granting her access, letting her dominate the kiss. 

You weren’t normally this submissive- typically, you would have made at least a token effort to take back some control, but something about these women made that seem like a concept far too difficult and complex to grasp. So you let Magda devour your lips, her hands on your waist as you started to move again.

Guiding you backward into their bedroom, Magda’s hands migrated downward to your ass, giving it a hard squeeze. You could vaguely sense Pernille nearby, a few steps ahead of you, but you couldn’t see the way she’d already shed her top, tossing it carelessly aside as she flicked on the light switch in their bedroom.

When Magda stopped moving, hands on your ass stilling you as well, you felt the other woman come up beside you, but still shivered when she whispered in your ear.

“You gonna do what we tell you, baby? You gonna be a good girl for us?”

The coaxing voice in your ear made you tilt your neck in the opposite direction, exposing the soft skin to Pernille as Magda broke your kiss, releasing you from her hold.

“Uh huh,” you said, and were rewarded by a new pair of warm lips pressed against your own. Pernille’s kiss was dirty and tender at the same time, her pink tongue gentler than Magda’s had been but with a similar level of control and the identical result of making you crave more of her touch. 

“Let us give you what you need, honey,” said Pernille, voice saccharine as she pulled away from your lips. “Let us fuck you like you need to be fucked.”

Your nod was desperate, her words only adding to the copious arousal between your thighs.

“Good. Then strip for us, pretty girl,” she whispered in your ear before releasing her hold on your body, raising an eyebrow and fixing you with a coaxing smirk.

Blinking a few times to regain even a modicum of composure, you blushed as you pulled your shirt over your head, both of the women’s eyes locked on you predatorily as you set the garment atop their wardrobe, revealing your lacy bra. 

“So pretty,” said Magda, as you reached for the hem of your skirt. You had to wiggle your hips to slide out of the slightly-too-small fabric, a sight which made both pairs of eyes locked on you darken, the couple exchanging a look full of hunger. When the garment finally dropped to the floor, leaving you in just your bra and matching panties, you looked back over at them and found the pair exchanging a heated kiss of their own. Sensing your gaze, Magda pulled away from Pernille’s lips to raise an eyebrow at you.

“All of it.”

Your flush deepened as you undid the clasp of your bra, shrugging it off your shoulders and letting it join your skirt and top in the haphazard pile on the floor. With your breasts exposed to their hungry gaze and nipples beginning to harden, unprompted, into peaks, you reached for the waistband of your panties and let them slide down your legs, stepping out of them when they pooled around your ankles. 

You had somehow missed Pernille approaching you, the lighter blonde woman reaching out a hand and slipping it between your legs. You gasped at the sudden contact, unable to stop your hips from jutting forward, seeking friction against your throbbing cunt. 

It only lasted for a moment before she turned her head back towards Magda, giving her a smirk and a nod.

“Get on the bed, pretty girl.”

You nodded quickly, scurrying across the room and seating yourself on the edge of their sizeable mattress. One look from Magda told you that that wasn’t what she had meant and so, still blushing, you laid yourself carefully back against one of their pillows, hyper-aware of their eyes on you, gazes locked on the curve of your breasts and the copious arousal gathered between your pretty thighs.

You could tell what the order of things would be when Pernille walked toward the edge of the bed, lingering beside you without sitting down, and Magda climbed up immediately, her large hands pulling you just slightly further forwards to where she wanted you. 

“Open your fucking legs.”

Magda’s words weren’t a request, but the order was one that you were all too happy to obey. Letting your thighs fall apart, you watched, unbreathing, as the other woman pulled a hair elastic from her wrist and tied her blonde waves up into a careless bun. 

Feeling the bed dip beside you, you heard Pernille’s voice against your neck as she left a trail of kisses across the sensitive skin. 

“Magda’s going to taste you now.”

Barely had the words left her mouth then Magda’s tongue connected with your core, the woman wasting no time before licking a wet stripe over your soaking hole. You gasped, fingernails digging into your palm as you clenched your hands tightly, and the sound must have pleased the other woman, because her soft chuckle vibrated against your core. 

She took a minute to explore, warm appendage tracing a path up and down your cunt, unmoved by your breathy pleas for her to go faster, or to put her mouth on the one place you needed it most. 

“Patience, honey,” crooned Pernille, noticing your gyrating hips. “Stay still. Let her enjoy you.”

You sobbed in pleasure as Magda’s tongue swiped through your pussy again and again, Pernille’s soft hands tugging at your nipples. The woman between your thighs was talented, the wet muscle of her mouth lapping and kissing all the right spots, finally running her tongue across your swollen clit, even letting a hint of teeth scrape across your thigh once in a while.

You couldn’t have closed your legs if you wanted to, a combination of Magda’s shoulders and her hands combining to hold them open.

“Stay still,” she reminded you with a gentle smack to one of your thighs.

Still, you couldn’t help but buck against her tongue, trying to get her mouth back on your clit.

“I told you to stay still,” said Magda with a growl, strong hands pushing your hips back down to the mattress.

A shudder ran up and down your body at her harsh tone. Pernille, you noticed, now had one hand on each of your tits, the strength in her arms a warning that, if you moved again, she wouldn’t hesitate to use that muscle to keep you pinned down with no choice except to take what her partner gave.

Your body shook with the effort of keeping still, of not allowing your hips to rock against Magda’s tongue, but you were rewarded by attention lavished on your bud, able to feel the other woman’s smile against your cunt.

You shuddered, feeling your muscles tighten as your peak began to grow closer. Apparently Magda could sense it as well, because she pulled her mouth away from you and reached for her girlfriend.

Pernille obeyed the summons, leaving you writhing on the bed, whining pathetically at the loss of contact as Magda pulled her in for a deep kiss. Your eyes went to the two women, unable to stop a groan as you watched them, Magda’s hands wrapped around Pernille’s waist as their tongues battled. As hot as the sight was, it only made you wetter as you realized that they were sharing the taste of you between them. 

Even through your haze, you knew that, no matter how desperate your cunt was for their attention, you couldn’t let your fingers drift down between your legs. They had made it clear since you met that they held the reins of control, that you were their plaything for the night.

“Pernille,” said Magda, rocking her hips subtly as Pernille pressed a line of wet kisses along her neck. 

“Look at her.”

Pernille’s eyes drifted back toward you, wriggling desperately on the bed, twisting your hands in their covers as you fought not to touch yourself. 

“God,” said Pernille. “She’s desperate, isn’t she?”

You made no move to deny her claim, rather nodding in confirmation. Any shock or disbelief you had felt at the situation you were in had certainly vanished, replaced with pure, undiluted need. 

“Please,” you whimpered, soaking pussy still perfectly visible between your spread legs. “Please, I need…”

You trailed off, the blush that was quickly becoming a familiar companion returning once again to your cheeks. Luckily for you, Pernille was able to translate the low moan which replaced the words you couldn’t find.

“I think she needs your cock, Magda.”

[grimesproperty]

“ FRIENDS “

part three.

jj maybank x reader

—

JJ's eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat. He had not been expecting that. For a moment — he was speechless, his mind racing to process your confession amidst the adrenaline and confusion of the situation.

You raised your hands in frustration and shook your head slightly before letting them fall back to your sides.

Tears were about to spill from your eyes as you observed the expression on his face, afraid of what he might say next.

JJ watches you, still in shock. The words "I love you" keep replaying in his mind, but he doesn't know how to respond. He's unsure if he heard correctly or if this is just a reaction to the chaos of the moment.

He stands there, his usual confident demeanor replaced by something more vulnerable and open.

Pope, seeing the stunned silence, stepped forward awkwardly breaking the tension. "Well, that was unexpected, " he said to John b who was clearly amused by the turn of events.

JJ, still reeling from your declaration, looks between Pope and John B, his face a mixture of confusion and shock. He glances at you, his usually witty mouth unable to form words.

You took his silence as an answer and glanced back at him one last time before walking away from all of them.

As you walked away, JJ watched you leave, his heart hammering in his chest.

His mind is a whirlwind of emotions — shock, confusion, and a growing sense of hope. He doesn't know how to interpret what you just said, and now you're walking away.

John B and Pope sensing the shift in the atmosphere, exchange a glance, clearly understanding the depth of the situation.

Pope looks at JJ, who's staring after you silently. “JJ? You okay, man?" He asks him.

JJ's gaze remains fixed on your retreating figure. He's uncharacteristically silent for a moment before responding.

"Do I look okay?"

John B lets out a snort of laughter, clearly amused by the situation. "Well, you look like a deer in headlights, if that counts" He jokes.

Pope hits him lightly, giving him a reapproachal look. "Come on, man not the time. He's clearly in shock," he says, John B looks at JJ, and his laughter fades into an empathetic smile. "Dude, I get it. It's a lot to process." John B says to JJ.

JJ finally tears his gaze away from you, turning to face his two best friends. "Yeah, it is... I mean, she just said... I don't even know what to think right now."

John B shrugs his casual carefree demeanor back in place. "Well, how do you feel about it? I mean deep down, how do you really feel about her saying that?"

JJ takes a deep breath, running his hand through his messy blonde hair. "I don't know man. It's just a lot. I never thought she'd actually say those words. It's messing with my head."

Pope, always the voice of reason pipes up. "Maybe you should take some time to process it man, figure out your feelings before you do anything rash."

JJ nods, still processing the emotions swirling inside him. "Yeah, you're right," he replies to Pope. John B gives him a reassuring slap on the back, the familiar twinkle in his eyes. "And hey, if you need a wingman to help you figure things out, we’re here for you."

Pope nods in agreement, a smirk playing on his lips. JJ lets out a huff — a hint of a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm not just going to sit around and do nothing. But first, I need a joint right now. My head is spinning way too much."

John B grins, his eyes lighting up. "Now you're talking! Let's go, man. We'll find some weed, figure out your love life, and blow off some steam."

Pope rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure, I'm in. Let's go get high and help JJ sort through his feelings. It's not like we have anything better to do," he says sarcastically.

JJ grins, a flicker of his usual confidence returning. "That's the spirit, Pope! Let's go get high and figure this out. After all, what's a little weed-induced introspection among friends, am I right?" he jokes.

As Kiara and Sarah observed the boys, they looked at them in disbelief, not taking them seriously.

John B noticed the girls' expressions and shrugged sheepishly. "What? It's just a harmless way to unwind and help our boy JJ clear his head."

“Are you serious?! You guys are just going to get high, and JJ, you're just going to let Y/N walk away like that?” Kiara said, her anger evident in her voice.

"I didn't let her walk away," JJ retorted defensively. "She stormed off before I could even process what was happening. Besides, I wasn't going to chase after her when she clearly wanted space."

"What the hell is wrong with you? All of you! You guys completely are oblivious to why she's been distant from us because of you JJ! You're too much of an asshole--

You need to accept your feelings for her instead of taking it out on her because she’s with someone who’s a kook and not you!” Kiara yelled at the three boys.

JJ looked taken aback by Kiara's outburst — he faltered for a moment. "Jealous? You think I’m jealous?" He tried to scoff and dismiss her words, but a hint of vulnerability lingered in his eyes.

"Yes! But you haven't even tried to talk to her since she started dating him. Do you know the real reason she gave him a chance? It was to get over her feelings for you!" Kiara said to him.

His eyes widen at Kiara's revelation. "What? She has feelings for me? But why hasn't she told me all this time?" he says, sounding dumbfounded.

"because like I said.. your too much of an asshole to admit when you love someone," Kiara shook her head, tired of JJ's actions. "I'm heading out," she said and stormed away from the group.

--

A few weeks later, the Pogues were hanging out at their usual spot, the Chateau. The mood was laid-back and friendly. JJ was playing with his lighter, a habit he had developed when he was lost in thought.

The other pogues were lounging on the front porch, chatting and feeling weary after a long day at the beach. You hadn't spoken to any of the pogues in a while, except for Sarah and Kiara, with whom you always kept in touch.

You arrived at John B's house and quietly came onto the front porch. You brought beers and snacks. None of the Pogues had noticed you yet until you spoke up.

“Anyone thirsty?” Their heads snapped up at the voice, seeing you. They exchanged surprised glances, but quickly, grins formed on their faces. Kiara smirked. “Oh, hell yeah. Just what we need right now!”

John B chuckled, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the food and drinks. "You're a lifesaver! We were just debating whether to go out and get something ourselves."

You laughed at John B's words, playfully asking, "Did you miss me?" The group burst into laughter, their smiles growing wider. "Of course we did! Who else would bring us beer and snacks?" John B replied.

JJ — who hasn't said anything yet, has a smirk forming on his face. He is happy to see you and has missed you a lot. He longs to see your face and hear your voice more than he would ever admit.

His eyes are locked on you, taking in every detail of your expression.

"Yeah, we really missed you, Y/n. Life's been boring without you around, sweetheart." JJ says to you.

jj's words hit harder than they did, you just gave him a small smile. The pogues noticed the subtle interaction between you and JJ — their gazes flickering between you both.

John B tried to keep the mood lighthearted, sensing the tension between the two of you. "Yeah, JJ's right. We missed your smart-ass remarks. Life is a lot quieter without them."

You smiled at John B. as you set the remaining beer and food on the coffee table in the middle of the room. "I've just been working a lot—nothing special. I finally ended things with the kook," you said to them.

The pogues exchanged surprised glances at your news. Kiara threw a surprised look at you. "Wait, what? You dropped the kook? What happened there?"

You shrugged. "I just wasn't really feeling it, I don't know if I ever really even liked him," you said, taking a sip of your drink.

John B nodded with a sympathetic expression on his face. "Ah, I see. That's understandable. Sometimes things just don't work out, no matter how much you wish they would."

“I’m glad they didn’t,” you said as you placed your beer down in front of you. At your unexpected response, JJ looked up from toying with his lighter, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. He studied you for a moment — a hint of interest apparent in his gaze.

“Anyway,” you said, eliciting chuckles from the others as they shifted their focus back to the snacks and beers. “Regardless of why you were gone, we’re just glad you’re back with us now,” John B said. JJ, leaning back in his chair, nodded in agreement with John B’s sentiment.

his eyes still on you, a subtle tension in his voice. "Yeah, we really are, sweetheart."

You gazed at JJ for a moment as he looked out at the water by the dock.

You took another swig of your drink as you turned to Kiara, who handed you a snack, raising an eyebrow as she glanced at you and then at JJ.

Kiara looked at you, a chip halfway to her mouth. "So, you’re really done with the kook, huh? No more dating or anything?" You nodded in response. "Yep," you replied, emphasizing the 'p' as you popped it. "Besides, you know why I ended things with him if it wasn’t already obvious to everyone else."

Kiara's expression softened as she leaned in closer. She spoke in a hushed tone, her eyes flickering between the boys and back to you. "Yeah, I guess there was more to it. Your secret is safe with me," she said with a smile.

You return her smile, but it fades quickly. "I just can't get over JJ, no matter how hard I try," you say to her. "He's my best friend."

Kiara nodded with understanding, her expression full of sympathy. Her tone was gentle as she spoke, "I understand. It’s difficult to have feelings for someone who has been a part of your life for so long. When that person is your best friend, it complicates things even more."

Meanwhile, JJ silently observed the conversation between you and Kiara, pretending that he wasn't listening. His expression remained neutral, but his heart pounded in his chest as he overheard the conversation.

he clutched his lighter tightly, his mind racing with a flood of emotions. He had been so close to confessing his feelings to you that night at the Boneyard. But he had chickened out, convincing himself that it was for the better. He tried to push the thoughts away, but he couldn't help but wonder-

Was it too late now?

The conversation continued around you, but JJ found it difficult to pay attention. The realization that you were still not over him tugged at his heat. He glanced at you a mix of hope and insecurity.

He wanted to express his feelings and confess his emotions once and for all. However, the fear of rejection and the potential consequences held him back. He knew he needed to find a moment alone with you to talk, to finally reveal his true feelings.

"I'm gonna use the bathroom real quick, be right back," you said to them as you got up and headed for the bathroom. The Pogues nodded at you.

As you walked to the bathroom, JJ's mind was racing. Should he follow you? Should he wait? Should he say something now? The thoughts swirled through his head. He fidgeted with his lighter, his gaze fixed on the floor, and his heart pounding in his chest.

John B observed JJ and noticed his internal struggle. He nudged him and said, "Go on, dude. Take the chance while you still have it."

For a brief moment, JJ hesitated. But the gentle nudge from John B was the encouragement he needed.

“Yeah, alright,” JJ said with a mix of excitement and nervousness. JJ rose from his seat. The Pogues exchanged knowing glances as JJ headed for the bathroom, his intentions clear.

You were currently inside the bathroom, blissfully unaware of what was happening outside. JJ hesitantly reached for the bathroom door.

He could feel his heart racing, as he gathered the courage to gently knock on the door. "Who is it?" you spoke from against the other side.

jj took a deep breath, his voice slightly shaky. "It's just me, doll. Can I come in?"

"Sure."

JJ gently opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him. The room suddenly felt more intimate, and the air was thick with tension. You looked at him while standing in front of the mirror.

JJ leaned back against the wall, his eyes fixed on you. he took a moment to study your face, the way the light caught your features, he let out a shaky exhale, the words he had been wanting to say for so long on the tip of his tongue.

You turned around to face him, placing your hands on the edge of the sink. JJ's heart skipped a beat at the sight of you looking directly at him. The silence that hung between you was thick with expectation, making his nervousness even more intense. He pushed himself off the wall—

and took a step closer to you, the distance between you shortening. His eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips, his heart pounding in his chest. This was the moment he had been waiting for, yet he was terrified of saying the wrong thing and ruining everything.

He took another step forward, closing the space between you even further. The tension between you was palpable, and the air felt electric. jj let out a shaky breath, his voice barely a whisper.

"Can I say something, princess?"

"Anything," you said, maintaining his gaze as he neared you. He paused, searching your eyes for any hint of your reaction. Finally, he spoke.

"i cant stop thinking about you. every day, every night, you occupy my every thought, and I can't seem to shake it off. I've tried , but the truth is — I can't."

He took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. He continued, his voice growing more vulnerable and sincere with each word.

"I've been afraid to say something, to ruin what we have between us, But standing here, with you in front of me, I realized I can't keep it inside anymore. I need you to know how much you mean to me. I love you… I am in love with you."

The words hung in the air, and his heart beat so violently he thought it might burst out of his chest.

He waited anxiously for your response, his entire being on edge, with the future of your friendship hanging in the balance.

His hands trembled slightly as he clenched them into firsts, his eyes flickering to yours. The silence between you was defeating, and JJ could barely think straight.

His mind raced with a thousand different scenarios. He had just laid his heart out bare.

"I don't know what to say," you said to him. You had longed to hear those words for so long—the words you desired most -- for him to simply tell you that he loves you and that your feelings had been reciprocated all this time.

jj stomach dropped at your response, the three words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to hide his disappointment.

"It's okay, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I just... needed to get it out there,” he said, his eyes darting to the ground as his heart felt like it was being squeezed. He had never felt so vulnerable and exposed.

"Other than 'I love you too, Jayj,' you said as you grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss. The words hit JJ like a tidal wave, and before he could process them, your hands were on his face, bringing him in for a kiss.

His mind was blank, and all he could focus on was the sensation of your lips against his. He froze momentarily, caught off guard by the unexpected turn of events. Then, all at once, he melted into the kiss, his arms wrapping around you -- pulling you closer.

His lips eagerly responded to yours, his heart still racing in his chest. He couldn't believe this was happening, that you were actually returning his feelings—after all this time, all those unspoken words and suppressed emotions.

You were finally in his arms, kissing him back with the same intensity he longed for.

He ran his fingers through your hair, his body pressed closely against yours. He deepened the kiss, his hands exploring the curves of your body as if trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

He paused the kiss for a moment, pulling away just enough to gaze into your eyes. His eyes were filled with a mix of love and disbelief. His voice was soft, laced with a hint of wonder. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

He leaned in again, his lips finding yours once more in a series of intense — passionate kisses. His hands explored your body, holding you close, his touch both gentle and desperate, as if afraid this moment would slip away any second.

He pressed you against the wall, his body pining for you in place, his kisses growing more urgent and unapologetic. He was drowning in the sensations, in the taste and feel of you.

This is what he had been missing for so long, what he had dreamed of for what felt like an eternity.

"Mmmm.. jayj," you let out a low whispered moan as his lips moved from yours down to your neck, his hands began to roam under your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

He pressed his body against yours, his breaths heavy and labored, his voice a low murmur against your skin. "Say my name again. I want to hear you say it."

You felt one of his hands trail down your thigh, gripping it in and slowly spreading your legs apart for him to get in between you, earning a small gasp from you, "jj.." you let out a shaky breath.

His teeth grazed your collarbone as you obeyed, and a low growl escaped his throat, the sound almost primal —

He continued to suck on your neck, his body grinding against yours, his hands impatiently tugging at your clothes, desperate to get you closer.

"We should probably get back to the others..." you said to him while placing your hands on his shoulders. JJ groaned in frustration as you pulled him back to reality. He was so caught up in the moment and lost in the feeling of you that he had forgotten where you both were.

“Yeah, you’re right. But the last thing I want is to let you go right now,” he said reluctantly, pulling himself away and running his fingers through his hair to try to compose himself.

He wanted nothing more than to stay in the bathroom with you, to keep kissing you, to keep exploring every inch of you, but he knew you guys had to return to the others.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and looked at you. His eyes filled with a mixture of desire. "Alright.. let's go out there before they start sending out a search party."

He stepped back, giving you room to move past him. he ook one last greedy look at you, mentally willing himself to keep his hands o himself.

"right..." you said letting out a heavy breath as you tucked your hair behind your ears. He followed you as you walked back towards the rest of the group, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

He couldn't resist stealing a few glances at you as you walked side by side, his mind still reeling from what had just happened. The feel of your lips against his, the taste of you, the way your body fit against his... it was all seared into his memory.

As you reached the group, the others looked at you curiously. The pogues picked up on the on subtle change in JJ's demeanor, sending something had occurred in the bathroom. Pope tried to hide a smirk, while John B raised an eyebrow, silently questioning JJ with a knowing look.

jj avoided their gazes, feigning nonchalance. He casually leaned against a wall, trying to act like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. His flushed cheeks and disheveled hair betrayed the inner turmoil he was feeling.

Pope, being the perceptive person he is, decided to tease jj a bit. he flashed a sly grin and spoke in a teasing tone. "So, how was the bathroom?"

JJ shot Pope a withering look, a warning in his eyes. He wasn't quite ready to talk about what had gone down in the bathroom, especially not in front of everyone.

"Mind your business, pope," JJ says to him.

part four here

[moony-2001]

The real-world impact of Lore Olympus

i.e. do your research Rachel

Trigger warning: racism, fetishization, appropriation, mentions of SA

Long post ahead

A while ago, someone told me that Lore Olympus was just a silly little comic written out of boredom. That it was made to be "funny". They told me that "[I] can't hope [for] an extremely [well-written] story when it was just made with the intention to make something goofy" and that if Rachel actually wanted to make something serious like I had, she would write a book and not a comic.

At the time of this exchange, it was past 1 a.m. and I was exhausted. I did not want to argue with this person and it simply wasn't worth my time or energy in the moment.

But looking back at that (mostly one-sided) interaction, I can't help but think that there is so much wrong with that point of view. Of course, everyone is entitled to their opinion about Lore Olympus, whether good or bad. But Lore Olympus isn't just some silly little nothing comic about nothing important. It is a comic that actively appropriates and erases Greek Culture. It is a comic that has no respect for the actual stories that have been passed down over thousands of years whether by word of mouth or written text. It is a comic that perpetuates a false narrative and harmful stereotypes about characters or certain groups of people. So, no, it's not just a silly little comic.

Incorrect information

Here’s an example of what I mean:

When I was doing research for my post about the 10 year time skip, I looked up Leuce to reconfirm the little information I knew about her. Wanna guess the first thing that popped up about her?

A Lore Olympus Wiki article.

Okay. How about Minthe? Hundreds of pictures of her from Lore Olympus and a LO Wiki article as one of the top 3 results. Both character are horribly represented in LO and unfortunately there isn’t really any documented stories or records that can refute how LO paints them. Because of this, other characters in Greek Mythology like Leuce and Minthe, whose stories have little to no documentation, stand to suffer the most harm from deliberate misrepresentation on Rachel’s part.

Of course well-known and better documented figures in Greek mythology face slander as well. What about Thetis or Leto? How about Apollo? All of their portrayals in LO are HORRIBLE. I have seen people online absolutely drag them to filth not because they're upset about how the character is portrayed compared to their mythological counterpart, but because they have no knowledge of how they are actually portrayed outside of LO. They just assume that's how the characters are. Similarly, people who have either very little or no prior knowledge of Greek Mythology and Culture would look at the comic and go "Yep, sounds legit. It must be true." and go about thinking that what is portrayed in LO is accurate to what was transcribed thousands of years ago.

Creative interpretations and racism/fetishization within LO

Don’t get me wrong. Creative interpretations and artistic liberties can be great. When they’re done tastefully. I personally think if done correctly, a Greek myth spun in a modern way has the potential be very good. But that's not what we were given.

Characters like Minthe, Leuce, and Thetis (all nymphs btw) are portrayed as trashy tramps who put out and are used as a foil sabotage Persephone and/or her relationship with Hades. Compare that to Greek Mythology where in the Iliad, Thetis is very well-respected by the gods, particularly Hera. Unfortunately, other similar characters like satrys (and basically any character that isn’t a god) are usually portrayed as a low-class POC that can be easily exploited, manipulated, or used as a temporary villain/lover/pawn to “get back” at Persephone, our white-coded protagonist who can do no wrong.

Additionally, there is a clear race/class bias against characters like nymphs in LO. We see many cases scattered throughout the comic of gods like Hera or Aphrodite referring to nymphs as "trash" or "low class" or the idea that nymphs do not belong with gods being heavily implied if not outright said. I cannot tell you how often I've seen Minthe be called some variant of "cheap" by the readers of LO. Even Persephone (who created the flower nymphs) treats them with such disrespect. She frequently calls them some variant of "stupid" or "simple" like saying how they're not the sharpest crayons in the box even though she's the one WHO MADE THEM. However, it's so odd not really to note that nymphs like Echo, Amphitrite, or Psyche (who was previously disguised as a nymph) are not discriminated against. This is because they are liked or trusted by the gods they are around and ergo are often portrayed as the "good ones", which is a disgusting mindset to have.

We also see the fetishization of nymphs in the comic that is disturbingly similar to the fetishization of women who are Black, Asian, or Latina. It is a known fact that Hades has a flower nymph fetish. Not only is this implied in the comic, but Rachel stated it outright in an old Patreon post. Nymphs are also generally treated as sex-symbols, disposable, and as a lesser-than. Zeus frequently displays this behavior by abandoning nymphs he knocked up in the mortal realm.

For example, when Persephone finds out Apollo is dating Daphne, she isn't upset he's dating her friend. She's upset he's dating a flower nymph, beings that are generally considered to be "rare", "dumb", and objects of sexual desire. Ew.

Even on the Lore Olympus website (loreolympians.com) nymphs are regarded as "beautiful", "desirable", and "very exotic". And when they're not described in a sexual manner they're say it with me now regarded as "low class" or "workers" for some kind of god/goddess.

Final thoughts

So not only is the characterization of characters like Minthe or Thetis harmful to Greek culture and the stories that are so ingrained in their society, but it is also perpetuating harmful stereotypes about people of color and women who are confident in their sexuality.

Of course, the characters within Greek Mythology had their own issues. Zeus was a serial rapist, many of the goddesses deemed to be "feminist" by today's standards were actually horribly misogynistic looking at you Athena. But 1. that's just how things were back then (but that does not make it right) and 2. all of the good, the bad, and the ugly is still there in Greek Mythology. They're not denying how fucked up it is, but they're also not changing their history to better fit their own narrative or the narrative of the modern world. It exists, it happened, but now it is studied and called out by historians.

Rachel, on the other hand, is doing exactly that. She is actively changing the Greek's cultural history to better fit her fic's narrative. She is constantly sweeping things under the rug or going "No this is how it ACTUALLY happened". Lore Olympus is marketed as a "feminist retelling" yet somehow, it takes allllll the ugly parts from Greek Mythology (rape, incest, problematic age gaps, dubious consent, etc.), mixes it with a majority of the issues we have in the modern world (white feminism, rape-apologists/rape culture, grooming, fetishization of certain minority groups, etc.) and then amplifies the concoction to 20. Lore Olympus cannot be a "progressive, feminist, retelling" and also have characters that are morally apprehensive/come straight from the ancient myths. It does not work. In fact, IMO it makes all the problems from both eras worse.

News flash: actual cultures that are still thriving today are not your toys. They are not "made up". They matter. Do better.

[suosgirl]

Keeping It Cute (& Dangerous) - Hayato Suo x Reader | Ch. 1

Word Count: 2644

୨ৎ Read me before interacting!

୨ৎ Pairing: Hayato Suo x Reader feat. Haruka Sakura, Akihiko Nirei, Taiga Tsugeura, Mitsuki Kiryu

୨ৎ Warnings: mdni, f!reader, manga spoilers (?), blood, broken bones, harassment, misunderstandings, violence, fighting, grief, loss of a loved one, swearing, ptsd – if I’ve missed one, I apologize + please let me know!

୨ৎ Note: Hi! Ah – my first work! Ever since watching and reading Wind Breaker, I can’t stop imagining the idea of them running to stop a fight – only to find out it’s a strong, tough girl who’s ready for all the smoke (incredibly self-indulgent, as you can see). I plan to create 4 parts to this, so this is currently in the works!

୨ৎ Keeping it Cute (& Dangerous) Masterlist

Were you … okay with getting beat up by this gang? You considered it — genuinely. Perhaps, to love is to feel pain? For every punch they get in, you could take that chance to stare into their eyes. Every throw could be interpreted as a passionate hug. Every kick an extreme game of footsie.

“Looks like even pretty girls like you need to be taught a lesson,” his gruff voice spits out. He does his best to look intimidating, but all it garners from you is a low chuckle and a roll of your eyes. You throw your hair in a bun – tight and secure, before gently removing your jewelry.

You can feel the worried eyes of onlookers staring straight at you as you drop your bag on the ground - the soft thud causing the tension in the air to thicken. Pushing the sleeves of your sweater up to your bicep, you assess his frame. He’s 5’5, which would be useful for him if he knew how to use that to his advantage – but you highly doubted that his mind was as calculating as yours.

Although he seemed to have a good idea of how to position himself for a fight, you could see the uneasiness behind his actions. He kept glancing down at his hands as if deciding whether or not they were placed correctly. His legs were subtly swaying as he tried to ground his weight. It was clear – he was an amateur.

“I’d really love to see you try,” you say, tilting your head to the side with a smile on your face – if this wasn’t an invitation, you don’t know what is. 

And you were hoping that he would take you up on that offer.

You’d been trailing him since you caught him trying to take an up-skirt photo of you a couple of stores down the street. Idiot, you thought bitterly, the safety shorts underneath proved to have been a smart choice when you dressed for the day. But… the fact that you had to even prepare for situations like this by dressing “appropriately” made the annoyance you felt bloom into anger. 

When you noticed his actions, you immediately grabbed his wrist in a tight hold – your manicured nails digging into the soft skin. 

Although the store wasn’t packed, you didn’t want to bring attention to the situation. This wasn’t your first time experiencing a degenerate like this, and you weren’t sure if it would even garner a response from anyone around you.

You were used to dealing with this on your own. This time would be no different.

“I was just in here to buy some pens -you perv,” you muttered as your eyes flashed dangerously into his. You could see a sheen of sweat on his forehead and the slight quiver of his bottom lip.

Pathetic. Did he really think you wouldn’t notice his constant presence behind your back, or the fact that the brightness of his screen allowed for a clear view of the camera app he was on?

As a result of your grip, he had dropped his phone. You grabbed it before standing up, making sure to scan his camera roll for any other indecent pictures and permanently deleting them before shoving it back into his chest - a firm grip still holding him close to you. 

You pulled him even closer, forcing him to bend down a bit so that you could speak in his ear.

“Cut that shit out,” you said softly, but the warning was still there. The grip on his wrist was tightened even more - and you were sure that if you were to look down, you’d see small spots of red forming underneath your nails. 

Once released, he simply scoffed as if you had inconvenienced him, and stormed out of the store. 

You had thought that was the end of it and continued on with your shopping. But, as you made your way down the street, you saw him in another store doing the same thing to another unsuspecting victim. 

Sighing, you waited until he left the store to confront him - but he was fast and efficient as he weaved his way through the foot traffic on the street. 

Eventually, you were able to catch up to him - with a firm kick to the back of his knees.

That all leads to the present — you’re surprised by how quickly the once bustling street has cleared out. But, you notice warily that you’re not alone. The people of the town are watching you, and you’re not sure why.

You can faintly hear the whisper of someone on the phone, and you’re just able to make out “…come here now…” before the street falls silent. 

“I’d better get started before those Bofurin punks get over here,” the man sneers, and you cock your head to the side in confusion. 

You knew that moving to a new town would require some adjustment, but it was your first time hearing the name — Bofurin. Were they another gang? You’d heard about the rumors of the violence that occurred in the town of Makochi and their dislike for outsiders, so you were always careful to keep your head down and your responses to a minimum when you were outside of your apartment.

“Bo-who?” you try to ask, but the man has already started charging towards you, his right arm raised above his head and his hand in a tight fist.

You take in his fast approach and easily sidestep him. 

“Oh… you’ve never been in a fight, have you?” you taunt, faux concern on your face as he stumbles to a stop and whips back around to face you in confusion.

“Lucky break,” he huffs out, spitting on the ground next to him before raising his fists again.

You nod in agreement, though your eyes tell a different story. They’re narrowed and icy, observing every little move he makes. 

“You’re probably right… why don’t you try again?”

That gets a reaction out of him - he charges again, somehow even faster than before, but this time you race to meet him halfway. He goes to punch for your head, but you’re faster — immediately ducking under his arm and instead getting a good hold underneath his armpit and shoulder as you swing your body onto his back. You use the momentum of your run to raise your legs up and around his neck, crossing them at the ankles behind his head.

He stumbles under the sudden weight and desperately tries to grab at your back to get you off. 

Lucky break my ass, you think bitterly.

With your legs tight around his neck, you let go of the grip in your hands, bracing your core and swinging yourself around again before ultimately using that same momentum to flip him over and throw him to the ground on his back.

You’re not dumb — this definitely won’t be enough to render him unconscious. But, with so many witnesses, you’re afraid to do any serious damage. You didn’t want to get driven out of another town again because of your violent streak, and while it was simple to fight one-on-one with a weak opponent, you weren’t keen on pushing your luck with a whole gang. 

So, ultimately, you decide that this is a good enough scare for the poor guy — because you were capable of doing so much worse. You leisurely walk up to his gasping form, all the air in his lungs effectively pushed out when he landed flat on his back.

Looking down, you can see the fear in his eyes and the pain on his face. You note the way his body tenses and the way his fingers shake once you crouch down closer to him — as if he was willing for his body to move but simply didn’t have the strength to do so. 

“Have you learned your lesson?” you ask — but this time you drop the facade. No smiles, no taunting — your question is direct and your face is devoid of emotion. 

You were giving him an out — any fool could see that. But this guy just simply couldn’t take the blow to his ego, and you felt exasperated when he answered with, “What lesson, bitch?”

Figures.

You tutted your tongue as you stood up. Fine, to hell with the people and the town and the Bofurin gang. You could move towns — you’d done it once, you could do it again. But this guy — he needed a rude awakening and you were more than happy to serve it to him on a silver platter. It’s what your brother would’ve done anyway– that thought reassures you.

“I see,” you sneer, “In that case, I’d love to do a crash course with you, motherfuc-“

“Oi — what’s going on here?”

Damnit. You were really looking forward to beating this guy down — but now you have to admit defeat and retreat because no way are you taking on a whole gang by yourself. 

“Do you … need some help?” the voice presses on, and you feel your body heat up at the mere question.

No way – did this guy have backup? Perverts stick together, you suppose.

When you turn to face the unknown voice, you’re surprised it’s only a group of 5 guys. 

Right away, you note that this group couldn’t possibly be with the man currently gasping by your feet – if the way he’s trying to inch away is anything to go by.

Still … you warily take in their appearance and note the matching uniforms that they have on. Do gangs in Makochi wear uniforms? Is that, like — a thing? Also — why are they so … good looking?

For a split second, your brain fizzles out. You are, after all, just a girl.

Were you … okay with getting beat up by this gang? You considered it — genuinely. Perhaps, to love is to feel pain? For every punch they get in, you could take that chance to stare into their eyes. Every throw could be interpreted as a passionate hug. Every kick an extreme game of footsie.

You size them up again, this time not as threats but instead as potential love interests. 

They’re all fairly taller than you — perfect. 

Muscular and strong? Seemingly so.

Great personalities? Um.

You would have to put a pin on that one.

Your eyes are immediately drawn first to the one with pink hair and a brightly patterned shirt. The piercings on his face make you blush – they look so good on him that it quite literally takes your breath away. The way his hair is clipped back makes you wonder what other hairstyles he’s capable of doing – and, as an afterthought, you wonder if his hair smells as good as he looks.

The next one is tall, with his orange hair secured by a white fabric headband. You note his wrist wraps and the kneepad on his leg, as well as the slippers he has on. What kind of fighting does this guy do? His face, though, strikes you as good-natured – and now you’re confused because what is a guy like this doing in a gang? 

You breeze over this minor question and move on to the next. This guy — whoa. Black and white hair split down the middle, with heterochromia eyes. This guy is so cool. But his face is all — pink? Maybe it’s a skin condition? And he’s in a gang too? You begin to worry about his health – unaware of the exasperated looks he’s throwing at you.

He says something to you. Was this the guy who spoke up earlier? You’re way too deep in your thoughts to register anything he said. You do notice, however, that his eyes are still on yours. 

Is it — is it you? Is there something on your face? For a split second, you worry about your complexion — completely forgetting the fact that you have the body of a wheezing man laid out on the ground next to you.

Slightly behind him, you notice a guy with blonde hair and worried eyes. Like a golden retriever — cute. Weird though, this one seems more frantic than the others. Maybe he’s just joined their gang? You ponder on this as your eyes flit to the next person in line and — 

Oh. Oh.

Who is he? One eye is covered by an eye patch — the visible one, though, is warm brown in color and painted with curiosity. Your gaze follows down his long tassel earrings to his calm smile, and you’re pretty sure that your eyes have glazed over.

The lights are on but nobody’s home.

Him — I want to be pummeled by him. 

“What’s your problem? Hello? Helloooo?”

“Maybe she’s not talking … on purpose? Is it a strategy?”

“... I don’t think that’s it, Nire-kun.”

The cherry blossoms surrounding your vision and the romantic tune playing in the back of your mind come to a screeching stop. 

Monologue = stopped. 

Dreams = shattered. 

You flush at the realization that you’d probably been staring at them for a good minute or two — in complete silence. If the ground were to swallow you up at that moment, you’d gladly let it happen. No way in a thousand years did you ever think that you’d stop mid-fight to daydream about your opponents. 

You can almost feel the flick against your forehead that your brother undoubtedly would’ve done – along with his nagging about not being focused and present during a fight.

God, what is this town doing to you?

You blink your eyes back into focus and your lips part as you draw in a quick breath to quip back, ”I’m BUSY right now — I can’t FIGHT you until I educate this guy firs-“

“BEHIND YOU, HE-,“ the blonde one yells out frantically, finger-pointing at the shadow that just breached your peripheral vision.

Damn.

You’re immediately pulled into a chokehold, one of his arms wrapped tight around your neck, and the other holding your head in place. 

From the close proximity, the man is just barely able to hear you muttering under your breath.

“What was that darling? You askin' for forgiveness?” he laughs out, his hold tightening even more and his spit hitting the back of your ear.

You can see that the Bo-something guys are moving towards you, but that infuriates you. How dare they join forces with this pervert to attack one single girl? No way were you letting that happen — not on your life. 

You would rather die than let a man get the satisfaction of beating you. 

You reach your arms up, locking your fingers behind his neck. Just for shits and giggles, you dig your nails hard into the soft skin, leaving red-dotted crescent marks in your wake.

“I said I wasn’t done TALKING!” you yell, before swinging your legs up and bringing them down fast to plant your feet square on the ground. The momentum causes him to stumble and loosen his grip around your neck and head, and with the strength in your thighs and your arms and good ol’ gravity, you flip him again.

He lands flat on his back once more, and you take that chance to finish him off — by slamming your foot down onto his hand. The same hand that started this whole ordeal. The hand that, at that moment, you decided would serve as his lifetime reminder of the consequences of his actions. 

You hear his yowls of pain before you feel the give in his wrist. 27 bones are in the human hand — you had to have broken at least one. You release your foot, and he immediately curls into a fetal position — his hand limp and hanging from his wrist as he cradles it into his chest.

Correction — you definitely broke more than one.

You glance up and see that all 5 guys have stopped in their tracks, varying levels of shock displayed on their faces.

No more games and no more daydreaming – it was time to get serious.

You drop into a fighting stance, your arms raised and your hands in fists. You crack your neck and roll back your shoulders, a dangerous smile on your lips.

“Who’s next?”

-

୨ৎ Chapter 2

[jimin-bangtan]

Jimin, A Man of Messaging 📝

Throughout the time that I have been watching and, dare I say, studying Jimin, I have noticed that he has been executing an extensive messaging plan. BTS is a group that leans heavily on messaging through their songs, videos, and album series (which is part of the fun in being their fan), but Jimin takes it to another level on a personal front.

The job of an artist is to express the feelings in a song, dance, or painting, but Jimin’s messages are often more personal. He often also shares information about himself.  It is as if he wants to share who he is or what he believes, so people can know him better or understand him better. He is often accused of making himself too vulnerable to haters by sharing so much of his heart, but I feel it is in Jimin’s nature to want to reveal his heart to people.

During the pandemic quarantine, Jimin really struggled as a person and an artist because he wasn’t able to interact more directly with fans.  He is an emotionally-intelligent extrovert who has a great need to connect sincerely with others. In order to connect in this way, he likely feels he should be seen for who he really is and not just the facade that’s been created as an idol. 

Being an idol, Jimin likely cannot directly say most of what he wishes he could, so he often indirectly expresses himself intricately through visual & musical means, such as images, numbers, melodies, and dance. It is a clever way to express himself to those who want to know him, while those who don’t want to know him are simply unaware.  He could choose not to share the information at all, but I feel Jimin has things he wants people to know about him, so he uses images that reveal information, or messages, to those observing.

Another reason for the indirect messaging could be that Jimin has said that he does not feel he is good with words, so his chosen methods of expression may be more comfortable or clear for him.  He may also just find pleasure in expressing himself through art - and by art, I mean through his music, presentation, and dance.

What started me thinking of this topic right now is Jimin’s current solo exhibition that is called The Truth Untold. 

Credit: Hybe Insight

This exhibition is a tribute to and display of the efforts, products, and achievements of Jimin’s solo projects: FACE and MUSE. The exhibition, as well as his entire MUSE theme, is centered around the fictional smeraldo flower from BTS’s Love Yourself series from 2017.  At that time BTS’s vocal line sang a song called The Truth Untold, which is a heart-wrenching, emotional song that speaks of the anguish of not being able to tell the truth about something in your heart. The flower represented that hidden truth. These ideas must have really touched Jimin because he remembered that concept and pulled it from the past to use it in his current solo project. (Jimin said it almost became the name of the album.) He had something he wanted to express in line with that idea, so he used a symbol and story that fans already knew, and were connected to, in order to express his message and make it more impactful. [For more specific information on what I feel Jimin’s message may have been for MUSE, see my Muse album post.] 

Those who are not steadfast fans would still see beautiful displays and expressive images. In other words, “If you know, you know.”, and if you don’t know, you’ll learn or just be visually impressed anyway. This is true of all the messaging Jimin does. Much is missed by some and those who have paid attention and know Jimin pick up on a good deal of the content, feelings, and ideas he is attempting to share. He’s hoping fans will make connections and hear the complete story he is laying out with all the clues.  Those of us watching may not always interpret the conclusions 100% correctly, but we do know there is detailed purpose in what he is doing.

There are many different ways Jimin displays messages. One way that I’ve already posted about is Jimin’s tattoos and how each one has a specific meaning to Jimin. He has chosen tattoos that also allow fans to make connections to other familiar things related to Jimin, BTS, and his life.  His “13” tattoo is for his date of birth and BTS’s debut.  “NeverMind” was inspired by Suga’s song (Intro: Never Mind)  that expressed the plea to push on even when things are difficult. “7” is, of course, his friendship tattoo shared with the other members of BTS.  His remaining tattoos are for other purposeful meanings as well. They are also mostly connected to BTS themes that impacted Jimin in some way.

Credit: Alexia Martinez

When BTS was tasked with individually creating their own photofolios, where each member got to design the theme and concepts of their photographs, Jimin was deliberate and meticulous about every detail, so it would clearly portray what he intended to communicate through the pictures.

Notice he has words and symbols drawn on his neck, chest, hands and arms for this photobook shoot, just like he did years ago for an ARMY membership kit photoshoot (2019).

Based on the words and symbols seen in both projects, observant fans can tell that Jimin himself chose these related drawings. Jimin is very consistent with the information he has been sharing, and those who pay attention can develop an understanding of what it is he is trying to ‘say’, reveal, or express. It is also a very good technique of messaging: Have a consistent message that you share repeatedly to ensure the message is picked up on and perhaps heard and remembered.

There is also Jimin’s Filter Performance in 2020, where he wrote words that meant “alluring” and “enticing” on the palms of his hands. These words fit the message of the song, which was explaining how idols’ images are created by the fans and for the fans in order to delight and satisfy them.

Jimin’s use of writing or tattooing actual words and symbols on his body to convey messages has gone on for a long time. Early in BTS’s career Jimin also had “NeverMind” and a Chinese expression drawn on his body for performances too. He eventually got “NeverMind” tattooed in place. It would stand to reason that the messages Jimin chose to permanently tattoo on himself are the most significant ones to him. 

If you’re still not convinced that Jimin is intentionally messaging, consider that Jimin’s tattoos are mostly placed in areas that can be seen by others so the messages can be viewed. Since we saw Jimin several times wearing only swim trunks during the Are You Sure? travel series🤭, we can be mostly sure that he has no other hidden tattoos. He wanted these messages to be seen often, even when wearing clothes.  In spite of the frequent use of this direct method of having specific words or images on display, Jimin uses several other ways to more indirectly express ideas and information too. 

Jimin pays attention to details in order to manage the information he wants to share. He takes the opportunity to use his clothing, jewelry, hair colors and cuts, and makeup to make an impression that helps to draw attention to his additional message. He sometimes wears clothes that have pictures, words, and colors to express some sort of information or connection. These items tell ideas, display emotions, and show something (or someone) he feels is relevant. They also create a tone that adds to the artistry of the performance as well as adding to information about Jimin and his beliefs.

Jimin trained in contemporary dance, which is perfect for a man of messaging. It is a form of dance that uses abstract body movements to express emotions and feelings. However, Jimin had to learn to adjust his training to the type of dance that was required as an idol, and the combination of all of these dance forms became Jimin’s trademark dance style that mesmerizes but that truly captures and transmits the meanings of songs, feelings, and information that are intended.

I have really only highlighted Jimin’s intentional messaging throughout his career and personal life.  He is so detailed that it would be overwhelming to list all the connections and items that Jimin purposely put into his work and actions. I can’t imagine the time and thought it takes for him to continually and consistently include these details.  It is no wonder Jimin’s solo project took longer than he feels it should have; While I’m amazed he was able to do it all in that short amount of time.

Jimin has always been involved in crafting his own BTS solo songs & performances, as well as some BTS group songs, but in his current solo work, he fully participated in writing, producing, and composing the songs and designing the performances down to small details.  Each of his solo albums was created to tell a full story from beginning to end. He had a definite narrative he wanted to reveal.  I have said before that Jimin has a way of writing lyrics that allow different listeners to hear different, sincere messages from their own perspectives.  The lyrics and visuals certainly included many connections to his past and present but that also weaved a story that revealed more about Jimin and highlighted the emotions he wanted to evoke. 

Jimin also includes messaging when simply posting comments to fans or BTS members or during his Lives.  He sometimes uses repeated numbers for specific purposes. While I don’t get into the details of the numbers theory, some of the numbers, by way of dates and times, show up so often that I believe there has to be something to it.  (If you’re interested, @KanMom51 does very detailed reports on how the numbers are repeatedly and consistently used.) Jimin is very intentional and often nothing is accidental or coincidental in his work or life.😉 I always say the proof is in the repetition for Jimin’s messages. Through the years he has been very consistent and repetitive about certain messages he shares.

If you’re still in doubt that Jimin is mindful of messaging, Jimin recently confirmed that he is well aware of the fans’ attention to his messages. In a photo shoot sketch for MUSE, Jimin said he was intrigued to see what we (the fans) would interpret about what he had left behind while he is away serving in the military. He said he was hoping that we would get the wrong idea and misunderstand some of the contained messages. (I’m still sorting out that comment.🤔) Jimin has nothing to worry about because BTS’s fandom is so fractured now that the different factions can’t agree on much these days and often have vastly different views after watching the same footage.  Still, I feel people, who have watched Jimin for years, will get a good amount of what he intended, even some of the items he hoped we’d misunderstand. 😏

In any case, if you pay attention, Jimin has so many layers of art and communication going on with all that he does, in work and in life. He uses what some would call “coded messages” to share information about himself, his thoughts, his relationships, and his beliefs. Consider watching or rewatching, listening or relistening to his work and actions, on and off the stage, and look a little closer.  Even if you feel you discovered an idea or meaning the first time you viewed the performance, video, photo, or Live, you could likely get new information each time you take another look or listen. Jimin really has messages and meaning in every crack and crevice. He is a true man of messaging. What has his work and life said to you?

Bonus: Jimin is so focused on messaging that the Smeraldo Garden Marching Band was created to also help message for others. During the behind the scenes footage for the making of MUSE, PDogg (Veteran BigHit producer) explained the SGMB concept to the featured artist, Loco.

PDogg is speaking the words on the photo to share Jimin's vision of the song. Aw.  Thanks, Jimin.💜

[edenfenixblogs]

hey, gentile here. just came across this post of yours and, first of all- it's SUPERB. it showed me a perspective on being a jewish ally that i really wouldn't ever have considered by myself, made me more confident in my choice to put combating jew-hatred above the friendships I've recently lost, and gave me a really useful direction on where to go as an ally to jewish people onwards. that being said, there's a few details about it I'd like to press you about, if it's not too much trouble.

this point is probably worthy of an eyeroll as i'm a culturally christian atheist (making a concious effort to not be *that* kind of atheist), but: when you refer to G-d as the creator of all things, you stress that that includes evil- but that, in so doing, G-d is not evil themself. now, I'm asking this with the express purpose of you correcting me, so: why does this G-d- as a G-d fundamentally distinct from the Christian conception of God as a Super-Mega-Ultra-Perfect God Who Can Do No Wrong Ever- create evil? i, personally, have been led to believe by @/spacelazarwolf that it is simply because G-d, too, makes mistakes just like any human being, but the way you worded it in this paragraph (which I've included as a screenshot below) had me interpret G-d creating evil as a concious, intentional action. did i just not read it correctly? and, if i didn't, then is the reason G-d creates evil part of this central struggle you went in detail into in the same paragraph, and as such, a very individual part of Jewish belief that no two jews agree on? and if that is so, would you be comfortable with sharing your version of it?

a few paragraphs after that one, you dedicated many words to make it absolutely crystal clear that, in the process of unlearning and combating jew-hatred in the society around me, i should, in spite of the vitriol that they propagate, love the former friends i lost to antisemitism. how- and *why* should i love the people who, on an early october 8th morning, actively celebrated the news of a massacre of Israeli civilians? who mocked- and still mock- the survivors and the families of hostages? who wield the memory of the holocaust as a baton against Jewish people's right to self defense? who deify terror groups who are up to their necks in atrocities? who make an active effort to spit on the face of *reality?* How could i possibly look at the face of a friend who chose allegiance to a terrorist group she did not even know existed four months ago over me- who she had actively interacted with for much longer?

would you rather we called ourselves "gentiles" or "goyim?" I've been calling myself a gentile for the longest time because i see jamming a word from a language i don't speak at all in an otherwise english sentence to be disrespectful and constitute appropriation, but you and other jumblr blogs have given me the impression that that is not the case. furthermore- i believe it was @/bambahalva who pointed out the usage of the word "gentile" in antisemitic segregation policies.

that is all- i hope this message finds you well. oh, yeah one more thing- what do you think of The Forward news network? i came across them by chance and next thing i knew I'd gotten into their newsletter.

WARNING: I HAVE FINISHED WRITING THIS AND IT'S LONGER THAN I EXPECTED AND ALSO MORE JEWISH THAN I EXPECTED LOL! I have done the most Jewish possible thing I could do and answered all of your questions with questions. I'm sorrryyyyyy! This is what happens when you grow up surrounded by rabbis and future rabbis! LMAOO

Oooh! What a good ask! I love this ask. OK, so! Let's go in order.

First of all, thank you so much for your kind words. And thanking you for backing your words with the action of prioritizing kindness over hatred. It matters. More than I can ever explain. Thank you.

You know, it's funny. People ask me a lot of questions about i/p that they think will have simple and straightforward answers that just don't. And I end up writing a lot of essays because of this. The questions you wrote me seem like they should be complex, but feel relatively straightforward to me.

Now, to your first bullet point: I don't know. I truly do not know. I think that G-d is fundamentally just...G-d, and in so being, G-d is truly unknowable to me. I think many Jews have many different interpretations on why G-d creates evil. I'm no rabbi, but one of my BFFs is and so is her mother and great grandfather. That doesn't give me any kind of authority. It just means I've spent a lot of time thinking about theological questions like this. As for my perspective, I'm a progressive/reform Jew, not a humanistic Jew. I do actually believe in G-d, but I vibe with the community philosophies of Humanistic Judaism a lot. So that's the perspective I'm coming from here:

I'm not a particular fan of the Book of Job, because I think it gets twisted and interpreted in Christian ways more than most Hebrew books and it can too easily be twisted into a "Don't question G-d, because G-d is perfect" narrative that I find to be fundamentally at odds with how I practice Judaism. Also, it's just a very sad story about how a good and kind man lost everything, and it makes me sad to think about. HOWEVER, that traditional "Don't question G-d" narrative is not how I learned to think about that book. The way I learned it, I believe the Book of Job describes this issue most explicitly. After Job loses everything he holds dear and talks to all his friends and begs again and again "Why? Why did G-d do this to me? Why would G-d do this to me when I'm a good person?" And basically G-d hears everyone answering for G-d with various reasons, "Maybe you were bad." "Maybe you should make an offering" Maybe this. Maybe that. And eventually G-d responds from within a storm (paraphrased of course) 'Why the fuck do you think it's your business to know? I made the whole universe! I made everything you see. I made the world that gave you your family in your first place. Why do you think you get to question my motives?'

The way I always interpreted that is: I don't fricking know! It's not really my business. What am I gonna do? Stop G-d? How does my knowing why G-d creates evil help anything? It doesn't mean we don't question G-d. It means we should instead focus on what we CAN control. I can't make 10/7/2023 not happen any more than I could stop The Holocaust or form an ocean. That's divine business, not human business. What I CAN do is make the world better now. What use is it challenging things that we cannot change? Things that are in the past? What's the point of asking why bad things happen when we can instead focus on stopping more bad things from happening. G-d named us his people when Abraham fought with G-d to stop the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham repeatedly asked, "But are you sure? But what if there are 100 good people? 50 good people? 10 good people?" And G-d kept responding, basically, 'I mean, there aren't. I know this cuz of how I'm G-d and know all the things. But knock yourself out looking.' My interpretation of this was that G-d doesn't get mad when we do our utmost to help our fellow human beings. G-d gets mad when we waste our energy that we could be using to help our fellow man to instead be angry and rage futilely against the past. I say this as someone with PTSD as someone who attempted to stop a tragedy from occuring and failed and can never understand why. What informs my trauma and what makes it so hard to get past isn't that G-d allowed it to happen. It's that people did. It's that I begged for help before it happened--over and over and over to dozens of adults in various positions of authority in order to prevent this terrible thing from happening (no, I will not now or ever disclose what that thing is). And all the people who could have helped failed me, and now two people are dead. Because someone did an evil, evil thing. And a bunch of other people let it happen. I'm not mad at G-d. I'm mad at people. And yet, I also know that hating people and finding reasons to dismiss them and despise them is what leads to more tragedies like that happening. So, despite my rage, truly the only thing to do is to love people. It's the only that helps. It's the only thing that repairs the world. It's the only thing that we can control. So, in short, my answer to "Why does G-d create evil?" is "Why should I spend my valuable time on earth trying to answer that question when, instead, I can spend that same exact amount of time asking millions of people, 'How can I help? What's wrong, and how can I help make any part of it better?'?" We don't need to understand G-d to make the world a better place. I'm fine leaving G-d stuff to G-d and spending my time on the human stuff.

Now, your second bullet point. Love their souls. You don't have to love what they've done. But they are human beings, as are we all. I think this can also easily be twisted into the Christian framework of "Hate the sin, love the sinner," but that's not what I mean at all. People's evil deeds are a part of them. They need to take responsibility. There is no divine absolution for crimes that people do unto each other in Judaism. If you harm a person, G-d cannot forgive you for that. Only the person or people you harmed can forgive you. And to a certain degree, we are all defined by our actions toward others. And so, no. I do not forgive the terrorists who woke up and decided to kill a bunch of Israelis and Israeli-adjacent humans. I do not forgive those who celebrate the deaths of Israelis because of some misguided sense of justice. I do not forgive the people who continue to send me hatred and death threats day after day after day after day. And I do not love the parts of them that did and do those horrible, unforgivable things. But my goodness. They were babies once. They either had parents who love(d) them, which is so sad, because they have this life of love and they chose instead to fill it with so much hate. Or they didn't have any parents or loved ones or anyone to guide them and, my goodness. That is so sad. How terrifying and alone that must feel. Maybe they have friends and family who love them and are instead wasting their precious time on this planet directing their energy at raging against me and 15 million other Jews they've never met. Or maybe they don't have anyone who loves them and they think that hating me and harming me will bring them some sense of purpose and joy. What a horrid way to live.

My Grandpa died last year. I have a wonderful family for whom I'm very grateful, and I even have good memories with my Grandpa. But he was not a good person. He came from an abusive home, and weaponized that abuse on his loved ones until he drove them all away. He was a narcissist. Not in the pop psychology sense. But in the actual clinical sense. He ruined every relationship that ever mattered to him--personal and professional. And in the end, because of his own actions, he died alone. He had pushed everyone so far (often with legal threats and action) that when he died, he laid on a slab for weeks because nobody could figure out who to call, because he had no one left. (For reference, Jewish burials are supposed to happen rather quickly and two weeks is...not good.) He was the only person in his generation who was not born in Israel--my family on his side has lived in Israel since looooong before even the British Mandate and he was the only person in his family born and raised in the US. As far as we can tell, the family on that side has been in Israel for as long as Jews have existed. He was religious. And while I've never been to Israel or met any of my family there, he did go. And he kept in touch with his relatives there before driving them away too. He was a wealthy man, but convinced himself that everyone only wanted him for his money and then decided to horde it instead. He left nothing to his children or to me. He left all his money in an endowment to his university--a place that uses that money to fund anti-Israel organizations now. He died alone, without his family that lived nearby, and with a legacy that will now cause active harm to the family that lived far away. He could have died surrounded by the loved ones from around the world who wanted nothing more than to be near him and loved by him. His story is a tragedy. The story of every person who chooses hatred over love is a tragedy. The story of someone who woke up and chose to murder others or to delight in the death of others is a tragedy. I love the soul in the center of these people. I loved my grandfather. I could not be around him. I cannot forgive some of the things he said and did. But I love the person he could have been. I love the part of him that gave me some good memories. I love the family he gave to me.

No, we do not all need to love or forgive those who have wronged us or terrorized us or murdered our loved ones. But that is different from mourning a human soul. From loving the potential of a human soul to do good in the world, and mourning the loss of that soul and its potential. Every human being--every single one no matter what they have done in their lives--has the potential to create goodness and make the world a better place. Every moment of every single day is a new chance to meet that challenge and do our best. Sure, not all of us have it in us to try our best every single moment. Sometimes life is hard and we're sad and tired and hungry and angry. And that's ok, because we have tomorrow, and an hour from now, and a minute from now. But the moment someone chooses to take action and decides that action should be to cause another harm or celebrate the harm that was caused? That's a tragedy. And when a life is extinguished, that is a life that loses its potential to try again and do better. We shouldn't love people because we deem them worthy of love. We should love people because they are people. And so are we. And how wonderful is that? I could choose to hate them. It would be so easy! But why should I do that? What do I gain? What do they gain? And isn't it so wonderful that I chose to love instead? And isn't it so wonderful that you can, too?

As for your final bullet point: I have no preference. I say goyim cuz it's easier for me. Goy/gentile/non-Jew are all fine to me. I have some icky feelings about the word gentile for a variety of linguistic reasons I won't bore you with. But some other people don't like when non-Jews appropriate Yiddish words. Others (including me) find it wonderful when non-Jews call themselves goyim. All my closest non-Jewish people call themselves goyim, including my sister! Non-jew is the most neutral in English and least likely to offend anyone. But it still separates Jews as an other whereas "goy" is a way to distinguishing yourself from Jews while also being an acknowledgment of our culture. As far as I'm concerned as long as a goy is being a goy (ally, positive) rather than a goy (derogatory) I don't mind that they call themselves goyim. LOL! Idk, friend. Do what makes you happy! What do you prefer?!

Regarding The Forward news network: They are a reliable Left-Center source with a high credibility and reporting rating and only one failed fact check in the past five years for which they issued a correction. I would consider them a reliable source. They cover legitimate issues of people who support Palestinan self-determination ostensibly being punished for their stances. They publish Op-eds critical of Netanyahu, who is terrible. And they address how antisemitism is harming diaspora Jews. They seem to consistently emphasize the humanity of everyone, which you can tell based on the rest of my post is very important to me, but they also avoid over-editorializing on news that is not in the Op-Ed section. I'll never endorse any source as perfect or guaranteed to be free of problems or harm or bad takes, but they do seem to make a genuine effort to be factual, clear, and wholly truthful. Note: I highly recommend that everyone installs the Media Bias/Fact Check extension on their web browsers. Get in the habit of checking and evaluating sources critically. It's a skill that will serve you your whole life.

@clawdia-houyhnhnm I hope this helps. And thank you for your thoughtful ask and commitment to intercultural understanding. <3

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hello! Recently read your latest Rin piece and fell in love with your writing style :)

If you’re up for it, could I request childhood friends with Hiori? Sorry it’s a little vague, but I love the direction you’ve taken other pieces and wanted to leave the details up to you! My only suggestion on a detail would be maybe sprinkling in some light angst about his parents/backstory.

Thank you for considering!

── WHITE BUTTERFLY

Synopsis: You spend the years of your youth with Yo Hiori, in a field that’s almost lonely as the two of you.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Hiori x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k

Content Warnings: childhood friends, hiori is vaguely suicidal and also vaguely homicidal, uhh i feel like i know nothing about him as a character so popping that sexy little ooc warning in there jic, open ending, lots of #nature, almost the entire story takes place in a field so idk, hiori is like. madly in love w reader but he’s nonchalant abt it

A/N: thank you so much anon that means a lot!! cherry tree rin and y/n are so silly (<- affectionate) i’m glad you enjoyed that fic 💖 one thing about me i love a good childhood friends to lovers trope especially with angst…hiori is another character i haven’t written a ton for so i hope i interpreted him correctly and that you like what i decided to do with your prompt!! ty for requesting 🫶🏻

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

The field across from your house was melancholic and desolate, an acre or so of rolling green that bled into trees at the edges. Although by all rights it should’ve been considered a picturesque place, no amount of beauty could take away from the abandoned atmosphere which had long ago settled over the land.

According to your parents, there had been plans for a grand mansion to be built in that location, but before drafts for its construction could be drawn up, the owner had died. The son who had inherited it had no use for the plot, but neither could he be brought to sell the place of his father’s dreams, so the land had sat empty and unused for years upon years. 

People thought the area was cursed, and the general consensus was that it ought to be avoided, but your parents did not believe in things like curses and bad luck and whatnot, so they told you it was fine if you wanted to play there. You were a lonely child, prone to wandering off on your own anyways, and you supposed they must’ve reasoned to themselves that it’d be easier if you were close enough that you could run home should something happen. 

You would sit in the middle of the field, far from any prying eyes, and you’d admire the blooming plants beneath your feet. It was not just grass — there were a million and one varieties of things growing in that wild place, and you would run your fingers along their leaves, doing your best not to frighten the animals and insects which called that field their home.

They grew accustomed to you with time, and instead of shying away, they invited you into their own world. The squirrels and chipmunks would dash out from their trees to scuttle around your feet and splayed hands, while the dormice would peek out of their burrows without fear, nibbling on whatever seeds they had gathered before settling in for the day. The larks would warble to you, and if you were in a particularly cheery mood, you’d whistle back to them, trying to imitate their melodies but always falling a little short.

The third time you went to the field, you found that someone had arrived before you. For a moment, you thought that he must be a ghost, for he stood in such stark contrast to everything you had come to know that there was no other reasonable explanation for it. He was spindly and pale like a skeleton, and his shaggy hair and eyes were the color of winter, such an unnatural shade compared to the viridian he was surrounded by.

You were contemplating running away when he turned around, his eyes widening when he saw you. In his hands was a soccer ball, and resting on the soccer ball was a large white butterfly, its lazily flapping wings shimmering like a whisper in the sunlight.

You were both silent for a moment, a soft breeze rustling through the field and sounding like a song that urged you towards him despite your misgivings. Tentatively, he held the ball out towards you, but the motion startled the butterfly, which abruptly took to the air, fluttering away before either of you could react.

“Who are you?” you said.

“Yo Hiori,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Y/N L/N,” you said. “I live in the house across the street.”

“We’re neighbors, then,” he said. “My house is a few doors down from yours. Do you come here often?”

“Yes,” you said. “Do you?”

He shook his head ruefully. “This is the first time. My parents think I’m practicing soccer right now.”

“You shouldn’t do that here,” you said, frowning at the thought of him kicking up dirt and slamming a ball around carelessly through your sanctuary. “Go somewhere else if you want to play something so reckless.”

“I don’t,” he said. You furrowed your brow. “Don’t want to practice soccer, I mean.”

“I see,” you said. “Well, this is a good place to run to if that’s the case. No one will come looking for you here.”

“Is that the truth?” he said. “Really?”

“Really,” you said. “Everyone thinks it’s cursed, but in truth, I think that that just means it’s blessed.”

“Ah,” Hiori said. “But do you mind?”

“Do I mind what?” you said.

“If I keep coming here,” he said. “When I want to run away.”

“It doesn’t belong to me. I suppose you could say I belong to it, but that’s neither here nor there. No, I can’t stop you, so why would I mind?” you said.

“Are you some sort of woodland fairy?” he said. You laughed aloud.

“I wish. Are you a ghost?” you said. He shook his head.

“Nope,” he said.

“Then I guess our claims to this place are equal,” you said. “Anyways, as long as you don’t disturb it too much, I won’t be angry. I’ll do the same for you, don’t worry.”

“I don’t care what you do to it,” he said. “I just want to go somewhere that’s quiet and I can be left alone.”

This much you could understand, and you thought that perhaps Hiori would grow to be an exception to your loneliness, or an addition to it. Not a cure, because that did not exist, but a person who could relish in his own solitude and share in that inexplicable sensation which was your greatest joy.

You never saw him anywhere but in that field. You weren’t sure if he even existed outside of its context, or if he was like the dormice and the larks, a skittish creature who made his home in those grassy divots and only appeared to greet you before running back off to hide once you were gone.

At first, he was even more reserved than the animals had been. Neither of you spoke, but somehow, it happened that you were always in the same place at the same time, and eventually, little by little, the two of you became dependent on one another’s presence. Your life before meeting Hiori was pale and lifeless in comparison to your life after, and the first time you both spoke as friends instead of strangers, you thought to yourself that you could never go back to the way you had previously been.

No longer did you whistle at birds and play with squirrels; instead, you sat across from Hiori and listened to him explain things like soccer and video games. You were not particularly interested in either of these subjects, but as long as it was Hiori, you didn’t mind hearing about them. It was the cadence of his voice you were concerned with, the rise and fall of his words, the soft inflections of each syllable. 

You had never had a friend before. It was a personal choice rather than a failing; every person who tried to engage with you was met with the same disdain, for you found no appeal in any such clumsy attempts at camaraderie. In your childish mind, friendship ought to be hard-won and delicately kept, and so it remained that of all the people in the world, Hiori was the only one whose honest company you could prefer.

He was a forlorn and low-spirited boy, the winter to your bursting summer, but his coldness was the inviting sort, like a dusting of snow on a cluster of berries or frost on a forgotten bird’s nest. It did not ward you away but drew you in, your breath fogging in the air as you lay beside him and listened to him ramble on and on about whatever topics struck his fancy.

Sometimes he was prone to muteness, and on those occasions you took it upon yourself to intertwine your fingers with his, pulling him along behind you and naming every plant and tree and flower you passed by, greeting the tittering chipmunks and the cooing larks and the peeping rabbits. He would not say anything, but you knew he was listening, for he would smile slightly whenever you pointed at something he found particularly pleasing.

Every day, he would bring the soccer ball with him. He refused to put it down, but neither did he play with it or even acknowledge its existence; you sensed it vexed him, that it was the source or a symptom of the gloomy undercurrent which ran through his life, but he could not let it go, just like he could never truly be happy in any way that lasted.

“Y/N,” he said once, when you and he were lying on your backs in the grass and watching the clouds drift by. “If you could be any other creature, what would you be?”

“I don’t know,” you said, considering the question seriously. “Maybe a songbird. What about you?”

“I’d be one of those,” he said, pointing at a butterfly floating past. It was a common variety, nondescript and plain and white, but somehow made more beautiful by the ubiquity of its kind.

“Why?” you said.

“I’d live a short but carefree life, and then I would die before anyone could demand anything from me,” he said, smiling slightly and closing his eyes. “Plus, if I could be something as small and pretty as a butterfly in our meadow, then I would be able to spend my entire existence resting on your finger.”

Your meadow. You weren’t sure when it had gone from being a place you visited to a place you owned, but yes, the shift had definitely occurred. You and Hiori loved it, and so it was yours by that right alone. You reached out your hand, setting it on his heart and then closing your own eyes in a mirror of his position.

“I wouldn’t prefer that,” you said. Something cool and soft curled over your fingers; you knew without looking that it was Hiori’s own hand, which would always come to rest against yours like a magnet.

“Hm,” he said.

“I’d get used to you being there,” you explained. “And then one day you’d vanish and I’d be alone again.”

“Would you miss me?” he said.

“Very much,” you said. 

“Nobody else would,” he admitted, though he still spoke in an even monotone. “I’d be replaced quickly. Someone just as talented or even better would take my place, and then it’d be like I was never there in the first place.”

“I’d miss you,” you insisted. “I don’t care about talent. You’re someone who’s irreplaceable to me.”

“I see,” he said. “Then I guess, if not a butterfly, I would also want to be a songbird. Like you.”

“We could fly around the world together,” you said. 

“Yes,” he said. “The countries I’ve seen in my video games…we could go to them. If we were birds, we could.”

“Maybe we still can,” you said.

“We can’t,” he said. “My parents would never let me.”

“What about when we’re adults? They can’t tell you what to do then, so we can leave them behind and travel wherever we want,” you said.

“It’s a nice dream,” he said.

“Hold onto it,” you said. “That’s the only way it can ever come true.”

“Okay,” he said. “I will.”

Even as you and Hiori became older and made friends outside of one another, there was a sort of solace which only he could provide you and which in turn only you could provide him, so neither of you ever outgrew that field. The moment you got home from school, you’d drop your bag on the counter and run there as fast as you could, hoping to see him before he had to leave for soccer practice. And every time, without fail, he’d be there, waiting where he always was, his small smile widening when he saw you racing towards him.

The contents of your conversations changed, moving from games and plants to complaining about schoolwork and updating one another about your respective social lives and dramas — he went to a private academy for soccer, while you attended the public school that most kids your age went to — but the familiarity never diminished. If anything, it only increased, as any inhibitions you had had in your youths gradually fell away.

“Hiori! You’ll never believe it,” you said, moving his abandoned soccer ball aside and sitting across from him. He did not look up from the pieces of grass he was braiding together, but he nodded to indicate he was listening. “Remember those two guys I was telling you about?”

“The ones who had a crush on the same girl?” he said.

“Yup, those two,” you said. “They finally got into a fistfight over her! It was crazy.”

“Who won?” he said.

“The principal, because he broke up the brawl and suspended them both,” you said. “Thereby ruining their brief romance-novel-moment entirely.”

“That’s a pity,” he said with a snort. “I can’t imagine what possessed them to do something as stupid as beating each other up on school grounds.”

“Love makes people crazy,” you said dramatically, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead and collapsing backwards into the dirt. “You’ll understand when you feel it yourself, silly Hiori.”

“Huh?” he said.

“I mean, one day, you’ll fall madly in love with someone, and then you’ll be inclined to beat another person up for them,” you said.

“What if I already have?” he said. You shot up with a gasp.

“And you didn’t tell me? Who is it? Who, who? You can’t hide stuff like that!” you said.

“It was only a hypothetical,” he said. “There isn’t anyone. What about you? Are you madly in love with someone?”

“You’ll be the first to know when I am, but at the moment, I don’t find myself able to even tolerate any of the boys I go to school with! They’re all disgusting, immature, and insensitive. Just looking at them is enough to make me gag, so forget about falling in love!” you said.

“That sucks,” he said.

“Maybe I’ll be single forever,” you said. “I’ll live alone, with pets and a porch swing and a backyard just like this field, somewhere faraway where no one can find me.”

“What about me?” he said, taking your wrist and tying the braided grass around it like a bracelet.

“Well, I’ll tell you where I am, of course,” you said. “You’re the only one I would want as a visitor.”

“I’ll come every day,” he said.

“At that point, you might as well just live there with me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’d save you the time spent traveling back and forth.”

“Would you like me to?” he said. “I thought the point was for you to be alone.”

“If it’s you, then it wouldn’t be so bad,” you said. “Being with you is even better than being alone.”

The sun hit Hiori at the exact moment that he grinned at you, and in the back of your mind, where things were understood but not known, you recognized that of all the beings in that lovely place, he was far and away the loveliest.

A distant and rumbling thunder portended a storm on the day you learned who Hiori really was. He never went to the field if it was raining — there was no excuse for him to escape his home, and so, though you did not much mind the weather, you tended to keep to your room on those days as well. Today, though, the rain was still only a blot on the horizon, which meant you would have a precious few minutes with him before it began to pour and you had to leave again.

“Hey, Hiori,” you said. In an uncharacteristic move, he wasn’t holding onto the soccer ball; instead, it was on the ground, his foot resting atop it, his head bowed towards it and his hands balled into fists at his sides. He glanced up at you, and you were surprised to see that there was a dead, hollow quality to his eyes, which, though always placid and still, were never this shade of dark and dreary. “Is everything okay?”

“Have you ever wanted to kill someone?” he said.

“No,” you said immediately, taken aback. “Have you?”

“No,” he said. “Yes. I’m not sure. I don’t want to do it, but somehow, I want my parents to die.”

Another crack of thunder. You approached Hiori slowly, like he was a deer that would leap away the instant you were close enough to touch him. But he was not a deer, and he stayed preternaturally immobile, his harsh panting the only signal that he was a person and not a statue.

“Do you mean that?” you said when you were near enough to him that you could’ve embraced him if you wanted. “Is that really how you feel, Hiori?”

“Yes,” he said vehemently. “Yes, I mean it more than anything. Everything would be better if they would just die and leave me alone.”

He drew his leg back and slammed it into the ball. It streaked through the field, leaving a muddy rut in its wake, tearing up the grass and the flowers before crashing into a tree with a groan. You stared at the path of devastation it had wrought, wondering how such an innocent object could create such havoc, how such a simple act could have such irreversible consequences.

“That’s what soccer is,” he said when he had caught his breath and noticed your silence. “A tiring game you play to ruin yourself.”

“I thought you liked playing soccer,” you said. “You always told me how good you were at it.”

“Just because I’m good at it doesn’t mean I like it,” he said. “I hate it almost as much as I hate the people that make me play it.”

“Then why do you keep going?” you said. “Why don’t you quit?”

“Because I have to,” he said. “My parents gave birth to me so that I could play soccer and be the best at it. That’s the only role I know how to conform to, so how can I do anything but accept it?”

You wrapped one arm and then the other around his torso, leaning your temple against the dip of his collarbone, turning your back to the blight he had caused and holding onto him as lightning split the sky.

“Don’t ruin yourself,” you said. “Don’t betray who you are because other people tell you to. If you don’t want to play soccer, then don’t. Quit and leave it behind. Maybe everyone else will mock you, but would it be enough if I didn’t? If I alone swore not to think any less of you, then would you be able to do it?”

“No,” he said. Something dripped onto your head, and you thought it had started raining early until you realized that Hiori’s voice was catching on nothing, his heart beating as fast as a mouse’s. “No, it wouldn’t be enough. I have to play soccer.”

“Why?” you said.

“My parents,” he said. “If I don’t play soccer — no, if I’m not good at soccer, they’ll divorce. They’ll divorce and it’ll be my fault, so I have to keep doing it, because no matter how much I hate them, I can’t be — I can’t be the reason that they — that anything bad happens to them.”

The droplets came in quicker succession, but with a final clap of thunder, the sky opened to let the rain out, blurring the line between his tears and the natural precipitation which would’ve occurred whether or not you were there.

You didn’t know what to say to him, so you opted to say nothing, pressing into him for as long as you could before you both had to go, leaving one another behind as you were always forced to. Now, though, there was a proof of your existence in the shape of that ugly gash that his soccer ball had torn into the field, an alteration which was directly a consequence of your actions. In a season or two, it would be grown over, but for the time being, it cheered you to think that the world could no longer avoid acknowledging you, acknowledging that you and Hiori were real, that you were alive and belonged.

In your second year of high school, a boy in your class came up to you, stopped you in the hallway in front of everyone and thrust a bouquet of supermarket flowers into your hands. He asked you to read the attached card, and you obliged, though you had a feeling you already knew what it said.

As you had predicted, it was an invitation to have lunch with him sometime. His cheeks were red and his smile was wide as he waited for you to say yes, but all you could think of when you looked at him was Hiori. How would he feel about this turn of events? Would he be amused or jealous or unfazed entirely? Would it even matter to him? Why were you thinking of him at a time like this?

No, that last question was one you knew the answer to already. The reason why you were thinking of Hiori was the same reason you still went to that field to see him, even though you were far too old to play with mice and birds and clovers now. It was the same reason that you recoiled from any other boy who tried to talk to you — because they were not him, they could never be him. It was because — it was because —

Much to the consternation of the audience you had unwillingly gathered, you handed the card and flowers back to the boy, shaking your head as politely as you could. There was a demand for an explanation on the tip of his tongue, but you left before he could make it. The explanation was not one you wanted to share, so you covered your ears with your hands to drown out the insults he shouted after you and strode away before he could say anything worse.

Hiori was always the first to arrive and the last to leave, so it was no surprise that he was waiting for you where he always was. Today, though, you did not bother with formalities or welcomes or lighthearted questions. You paid no mind to his antsy demeanor, instead catching his hands between your own and squeezing them.

“Y/N—”

“Hiori—”

You both called out each other’s names at the same time, with the same urgency, though there was a layer of despair when he said Y/N, just as there was pleading infused into the way you murmured Hiori.

“You first,” he said, though he looked over your shoulder, staring towards the road instead of at you. “Quickly.”

“Okay,” you said. “A boy asked me out.”

“Oh,” he said, and when his gaze slid onto you, you noticed that for the first time, there was something flaring to life in the blank depths of his irises, a veritable maelstrom of unreadable emotions twisting together and blending into something entirely other than the stillness you had come to expect from him. “What did you say?”

“I refused,” you said. “I couldn’t date him, not in good conscience. Not when I like — not when there’s someone else.”

“Someone else?” he said. “Y/N, please hurry.”

“What’s the matter?” you said, letting go of his hands so that you could instead hold his face. “Hiori, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you in trouble with your soccer team? Is that stupid crow boy causing you problems?”

“What? No, no, Karasu’s not done anything worse than usual. It’s my parents, I think they’re growing suspicious of me, I’m afraid they’ll—”

“It’s you,” you said, cutting him short, his haste rubbing off on you. You weren’t sure whether it was his anxiety or your own or some sort of divine premonition, but you suddenly felt an impending doom, as if you had to speak at that exact instant or give up the chance to ever say it again. “Hiori, you’re the reason I said no. It’s because I like you.”

Hiori, who had carved his way into your heart on the very first day you met, who was fond of butterflies and songbirds, who was bashful like winter and gentle like dusk. How could you help it? Of course you liked him. That boy who had reached into the lonely chasm of your soul and ripped it out, turned it into something lighter and warmer and whole…how could you help falling for him?

“Me?” he said in disbelief. “But—”

“So this is where you go, Yo,” a stern voice said. Hiori inhaled sharply, and then he yanked away from you, shoving you behind him, though it was far too late. You knew who had finally found the two of you, and furthermore, there was no way she hadn’t seen you. “This doesn’t look like practicing soccer. How much time have you been wasting in this dump, with this fool of a girl?”

You peered around Hiori’s back, holding onto the hem of his shirt. Fear constricted your throat when you saw a woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to him standing before you, her hands on her hips, a dour expression on her face. Whatever had been sparkling in Hiori at your confession had abruptly disappeared, replaced by an even more severe version of himself.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “We just met recently.”

“Not a big deal? Think about how much better at soccer you would be if you actually spent this time practicing instead of messing around! A few minutes every day is the difference between starting for a team and being a substitute, because a few minutes every day turns to hours every week, which turns into days lost every month! You should be ashamed of yourself,” his mother said, marching over and grabbing him by the collar, wrenching him away from you. “From now on, I’ll be supervising your additional practice time. As for you, young lady…don’t even think of coming near him again. He doesn’t need distractions like you getting in the way of his ultimate goal.”

“His ultimate goal?” you said, your audacity surprising even yourself. Without Hiori’s shadow to hide you, you were entirely naked and exposed, but somehow, you found the strength in you to speak up. “What, of being the world’s best soccer player? Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe he doesn’t want that anymore, if he ever did?”

His mother scowled at you. “You are a poison of the worst sort, if you have him doubting what he’s been aiming for since he was young. Stay away from my son. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

She dragged Hiori away before either of you could manage so much as a goodbye. It was the first time since you had met him that you found yourself alone in that field, which suddenly felt so vast that you finally understood why people thought it to be cursed. It had to be, because why else would it have given you Hiori and then taken him away with such a swiftness that it left you reeling?

For a week, you continued to go to the field, just in case he would magically be there, but it was a foregone conclusion that he would not be. Still, you waited, and though the larks sang their songs and the dormice chittered at you sweetly, nothing could set your spirits right when Hiori remained missing.

On the eighth day you spent without him, you didn’t even bother with the field. Instead, you knocked on every door of every house in your small neighborhood, continuing on until the one who answered was the same woman who had stolen Hiori from you. 

She remembered you, her expression turning sour at your appearance, like you had shoved a lemon into her mouth. Shockingly, though, she did not slam the door in your face. She only cleared her throat before speaking in the most abrasive voice you had ever had the misfortune of hearing.

“What is it?” she said.

“Hiori — Yo, is he around? I just want to see him one last time. I’ll leave him alone after that if you refuse to budge, but at least let me say goodbye. I won’t ever distract him again if you give me that chance,” you said. 

“If I gave you even the slightest leeway, you’d pounce upon it, won’t you? I’m not so daft. I’m sure that, if I let you in now, you’d never leave. In the end, though, it’s irrelevant. Yo’s gone,” she said.

“Gone?” you said. “What do you mean?”

“He’s participating in a soccer training camp called Blue Lock,” his mother said. “The way they raise their players is what his father and I been trying to impress upon him from the start, so we’re glad he made the choice himself to go. Now, he can focus on his own self-improvement instead of brief dalliances that would never last.”

Hiori was gone. There was a deep ache in you, and those words were its source, yet nonetheless, for him, you could only muster up pride. He had finally done it. He had flown somewhere free of the burdens his parents placed on him; to be sure, it was defined by the soccer he despised, but nonetheless he had made the decision to do it on his own. It belonged to him, and he had spent so long without anything to his name but a deserted green that you laughed as you sobbed, leaving him behind for good.

A long time passed before you saw him again, though you watched all of his matches on TV. He had become someone different and yet still familiar while in the Blue Lock program — he was sharper now, sharper and quicker, his eyes constantly burning in the same way they had on the day he had left you. Most notably, you thought that that childish love for soccer which he had had and then lost had blossomed again, now into a stable, unshakeable passion which no one, not even his parents, could take from him.

You had probably also changed, though of course it was harder to recognize it in yourself than in another person. But you were not so sparing with your offers of friendship anymore, and neither were you harsh to every boy who approached you. With Hiori gone, the only reservations you had were feeble and pointless, so you stopped saying no quite as often.

Nothing ever came of these school-type romances. Inevitably, you’d walk home and your eyes would stray to the spot where you had spent so much of your childhood with Hiori, whereupon you would pull out your phone and send a formulaic apology message. Sorry, but it’s not working. There’s nothing wrong with you, but I don’t think we’re a good match for each other. Thanks for taking me out. I really appreciate it.

The longer it became, the less frequently you thought about him. He turned into a memory, fuzzy around the edges with nostalgia and tinged with gold. He was someone you claimed to know around those with a more vested interest in soccer, but deep inside, you had accepted that your path had diverged from his a long time ago. You and Hiori weren’t meant to sit beside one another for eternity; he had been there when you needed him, but it was time for you to stand on your own, as he was clearly doing all of the way over in Blue Lock.

“I can’t believe you’ve finally graduated high school!” your mother said, sniffing as she took a million photos of you standing awkwardly, your diploma in your hands, your gown hanging loosely on your body and the pins holding up your cap jabbing into your scalp. “We’re so proud of you, dear.”

“Next stop, Tokyo!” your father said, swiping at the tears which rolled shamelessly down his cheeks.

You had been accepted into the University of Tokyo, and at the end of the summer, you would move into your own apartment, leagues away from everything you had known for your entire life. It was exciting, but it was also terrifying, because the thought of being all alone in the bustling metropolis still made you break into a cold sweat.

Now that you had officially graduated, it all seemed so much more real. Going to Tokyo, attending university, getting a job and supporting yourself…these were not dreams of a distant future but immediate and pressing concerns that weighed on you.

Once you became a university student and then an adult proper, you visited home less and less. You hardly had the time, and anyways there wasn’t much to do in that town, so instead your parents would take trips up to visit you when they missed you terribly — which was often. They would update you on the happenings of your neighbors, and you would take them to your favorite restaurants and attractions, like they were foreign tourists coming to the country for the first time. 

“You know, they finally finished construction on that plot across from our house,” your mother said to you on one such visit, taking a sip of bubble tea to punctuate the outrageous statement. There were streaks of gray in her hair now, and far more lines on her face than there had been when you were younger, but she wore the signs of age with grace and dignity, so that they were weapons instead of faults. 

“You never told me someone bought it,” you said. So that was that, then; the last remnants of your tender friendship with a boy you had not spoken to in years was all but destroyed now. It belonged to another person, who would make their own memories on the land, and the thought of two other people standing where you and Hiori once had caused a lump to arise in your throat. It was as much grief for the idyllic days of your childhood as it was for your former best friend. Both were lost to you now, and both you mourned in equal measure, though you knew no amount of crying would ever bring them back.

Perhaps there had been a window of time in which you might’ve been able to reconnect with Hiori, but the idea hadn’t crossed your mind until it was far too late, and you supposed it must’ve been the same for him. Or maybe he had, upon joining Blue Lock and becoming an international celebrity, forgotten about you entirely. It was a possibility, and no matter how much it stung, it was one you did not resent him for.

“Yes, it was a while ago. Apparently, he lived in the area when he was younger, but he left to pursue some athletic career? Anyways, now that he’s rich, he wanted to invest in some property close to home, so as soon as the previous owner died, he swooped in and bought the entire field up. You know, considering how much money he has, the house is downright quaint in its design,” your mother said, shaking her head. She had a penchant for gossip, and you could not count on two hands the amount of days you both had spent giggling with each other about silly, inconsequential matters. This, though, crossed the line — it wasn’t dumb gossip but legitimate news.

“Athletic career? Do you…do you happen to remember what sport?” you said. 

“No idea,” your mother said. “Why?”

“Was it soccer?” you said. She choked on a pearl of boba. Absently, you leaned over and slapped her on the back to help dislodge it. She coughed and dabbed at her face with a napkin before nodding.

“Ah, yes, that sounds familiar!” she said. “I think that might be it.”

“I’m going to take the next few days off and visit you guys,” you said. It was a spur of the moment decision, but you could afford it, and something told you that what you would find would be far more valuable than another day at your boring, if not well-paying, job.

“Really? That’s wonderful! You’ll love how things have changed. The place has really come to life in the past couple of years,” she said.

The train ride home from Tokyo was just over two hours, and it ran through a familiar countryside, which you watched for the entire journey, smiling slightly whenever you rushed by a landmark you recognized. By the end, however, it seemed every sight was a landmark of some sort — not the nationally important ones, but the type that was personally significant. The many little places you had visited when you were young…even now, you recollected them with startling clarity.

Your father was delighted that you had returned home with your mother, and the whole house smelled like his cooking when you walked in through the front door. He must’ve begun preparing as soon as you had mentioned that you were coming back for a bit, and the grumble of your stomach warned you that you would regret it if you did not hold off on your investigation until after dinner.

You sat in the same chair you had once sat in and ate the same food you had once eaten. It was your favorite as a little girl, and your father served it to you personally, his lower lip trembling as he ladled two portions onto your plate instead of one. Hardly even a month had passed since he had seen you last, but he had always been an emotional man, bawling like a child at every reunion and separation alike.

The sun was setting when you excused yourself, placing your dishes in the sink and ducking outside under the pretense of needing a walk to digest your food. Well, it was only half a pretense — your father truly had fed you until you thought your stomach might split open, as was characteristic of his affection. You really did need to walk around so that your insides could settle, but more importantly than that, you wanted to confirm the theory which had been brewing in your mind since your mother had brought it up.

As she had said, there was a brand new house across from yours. It was nothing like the grand mansion that the original owner must’ve intended to sit on the land; it had a winsome yet unassuming charm to it, and it only took up about half of the field, while the rest of it had been left entirely alone, still green and wild like you recalled it to be. You were sure that if you looked close enough, you would find the dormice and the squirrels and the chipmunks and the larks exactly where you had left them as well, but you did not have the time nor the patience for that at present.

When you climbed the porch steps, you noticed that to the left of the door was a cushioned swing, atop which a tortoiseshell cat was dozing. At the sound of your footsteps, she opened one champagne-colored eye, but she did not seem to regard you as worthy of her attention, for she promptly closed it and returned to her rest.

Your fingers hesitated on the doorbell, resting on the button, too scared to press down. You didn’t know what you had to be afraid of, but for some reason, you were nervous, a pit forming in your stomach as you deliberated over what to do. Before you could make up your mind, the cat meowed at someone in greeting, jumping off of the swing with a light thud.

Spinning around, you saw that the owner of the house was standing at the bottom of the steps, the cat rubbing against his legs as he beamed up at you. Any lingering doubts of yours dissipated into nothingness at the instant you once again made eye contact with Yo Hiori; like a reflex, the corners of your mouth curved upwards in a fond greeting.

Like always, in his hands was a soccer ball, though more prominent than the ball itself was the butterfly which lay on it in repose. Its white wings were thin and quivering, but curiously, when Hiori held the ball out to you, it did not fly off, instead remaining stationary, waiting for you to reach out and take it.

[leandra-kinard]

On Oliver's social media behavior regarding Bucktommy vs. Buddie

Kind of in line with many of the good points raised by @bbbuckaroo in this ask response, but I wanted to make my own post about it.

I, too, have seen posts that prompted this ask - from more well-meaning people remarking that Oliver could/should maybe say something against the toxic Buddie shippers and promote Bucktommy more, to more critical voices saying he's essentially ship-baiting with Buddie because he keeps posting about them.

As the referenced post says, Oliver "knows how important and pivotal the Buddie FRIENDSHIP is".

So let's look at that from Oliver's (and in connection also Ryan's) point of view for a moment here.

You're an actor who's been playing one half of what is one of the most integral relationships on a very successful show. That relationship has textually always been a friendship, but with elements that make it richer and deeper than most regular friendships; it's a sort of family dynamic.

It could be read as having a potential for romance, and you're open to that, should the writers ever decide that's the direction they want to take it. You have said so multiple times, not just to appease a large group of fans, but because you genuinely mean it. You're open to it, but you don't know if it's ever going to happen, nor do you have any power over it.

You do love the way fans are celebrating this relationship though - whether they highlight the canonical platonic aspects or take it a step further. You "love the love" (as Ryan has put it). It's great, it's heartwarming, it's moving because the potential of that romance and your character figuring out he's bisexual means so much to queer fans who are looking for good queer representation (which your show already has, but there could always be a bit more, right?). You see and want to acknowledge all the creativity people pour into it.

But you're careful after a while, because, so far, that relationship has only textually been platonic, and some fans are accusing both the writers and you of queerbaiting.

So you take a step back, do less social media for a while. You don't want them to think you're confirming anything just because you see value in certain fictional interpretations of the text.

But then you are told that your character is supposed to come out as bisexual; he'll have a romance with a background character they're bringing back for a couple of episodes. While that's not exactly the relationship many of the fans hoped to get, it's still amazing. It's the right representation of bisexual characters that is very rarely done right, and it'll confirm that they always read your character correctly as bisexual. It'll be so validating to the fans to know they didn't misinterpret that, and you're very happy about that.

But you still love the family-like, platonic relationship you've built with the other character for 5 whole seasons before this. And you love the relationship your character has with his son, too. (In a way, Buck is to Christopher what Bobby is to Buck - a father figure).

You want to keep celebrating that because your new romantic relationship doesn't replace the year-long friendship with Eddie. You want to show fans that 'hey, even though this isn't exactly what you hoped for, it's still great; it's important. Eddie and Chris are still and always will be a huge part of Buck's life. Don't worry. Buck will not abandon them. I still see you and acknowledge you, but let's focus on the textual friendship and platonic love here. Which is also very, very important, and very dear to me personally."

And there isn't that much to share about a romantic relationship that's just begun yet anyway, especially with the season being so short and packed with multiple story arcs around the main characters. It's all still at the start, and while it's great, exciting and has the potential to become something lasting, nothing's set in stone yet. You probably also don't want to have people get their hopes up that Bucktommy is 'confirmed' as endgame; and you don't want to put a main character who has his own, very complex story arc going on this season on the backburner.

You've obviously 'done it wrong'. But no matter how else you could have done it, it would have been wrong as well. You probably know this by now, because no matter what you did in the past, there were always people who interpreted your actions and words in bad faith to confirm their own agenda.

So what the hell are you supposed to do other than what feels good to you while applying a little bit of caution?

---

Oliver CANNOT get it right. It's simply impossible. If he didn't post at all, some fans would be mad that he doesn't say anything. If he only or primarily promoted Bucktommy, they'd be mad that he ignores Eddie and Chris entirely. If he only promoted Buddie (platonic) and Chris, they'd be mad that he's ship baiting. And if he goes for the balance of putting his character's 6-year history with Eddie+Chris and the newly developing romance with Tommy in perspective, i.e. what he's doing right now, they're still mad.

In any potential scenario, the loud and obnoxiously entitled portion of the fandom would find a reason to criticize. It really does not matter what he does.

So, where does that leave us? Personally, I'd say leave the man alone. Let him post and say what he feels is best, and don't try to look at it under any 'bad faith' lens. He's probably given it sufficient thought and does what he thinks is best and feels right.