#I suppose the argument could be made that it applies to both of them equally

[clown-eating-pig]

I was telling my little sister about Gertrude Robinson the other day and she said something that kind of made my brain explode. I was explaining all of the terrible things that Gertrude did in the name of saving the world and how, on the opposite side, Jon avoided doing a lot of terrible things but ended up dooming the world anyways. She responded with the classic, “the road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

And idk it just really struck me. Bc, between Jon and Gertrude, which of them had better intentions? Which one of them ended up in hell?? Crazy crazy crazy to me bc I’m pretty sure it could apply equally to both of them.

[broodwolf221]

cole—spirit or human? 

this, like all my meta, is just my personal feelings or interpretation: I am not trying to claim any kind of objective correctness, or to dismiss those who feel otherwise. I remember conversations about cole being somewhat strained so I'm hoping ppl aren't going to be super weird on this post. 

so—cole. I've played both routes and I actually enjoy both of them, but I'm strongly inclined towards making him more of a spirit, and my reasoning comes down to three primary aspects: 1) respecting cole’s autonomy and his choices up to this point, 2) acceptance of an “other” way of being as equally valid to a “human” way of being, and 3) making him more human feels weirdly to me like asking him to replace the real cole in full rather than be himself

1—respecting his autonomy.

cole states early on that he became more of who he was and less human, and that it lets him help. that's a choice he made. on a personal level, even though he's just pixels, I find it deeply uncomfortable to unmake the choice he made about his nature. I understand that he's shown as happy and fulfilled regardless of which path you choose, which is part of why I like both, but this is why I prefer the spirit path: making him more human feels, to me, like the inky is making him more… palatable. or like the game is giving a “comfortable to the player” option. I felt this way when I first played dai when it was new, and I continue to feel this way now

he is happy in both and that's nice, and i like that there's no strong delineation of a right v. wrong choice. at the same time, i've always gotten the sense that cole wants to be more spirit—maybe not because it brings him joy or satisfies him, it could well be that he just believes he will be more useful/functional as a spirit, but even making "bad" decisions (which i don't think this one is, but for the sake of argument) is an individual's right and part of their autonomy

2—acceptance of an “other” way of being as equally valid to a “human” one

in a watsonian, in-text view (which does tend to be my approach), I think it's very important to accept the personhood of spirits, even when they're so fundamentally different. spirit!cole forgets things, can erase negative experiences, etc.—there's a lack of what we'd see as typical growth and maturity going on there, but I'd argue that we can't really effectively apply human (or “mortal” ig, bc elves, dwarves, qunari…) norms to a spirit. 

cole as a spirit of compassion is the way a spirit is supposed to be. the way a spirit is supposed to be is not the way a mortal is supposed to be. and to me, it does feel like his preference throughout the game is to act as a spirit. he stays "pure" and "clean," and that allows him to help without becoming corrupted or changed. it's tempting—and not wrong—to view this through a human lens and to find it unhealthy for him, but i tend to defer to solas' explanations of how spirits are in this case. they can easily be corrupted because they are a Single Thing. that is their nature. wisdom is wisdom; changed by perception, expectation, memory, or pain, it becomes something fundamentally different. spirits are malleable in a way mortals are not

3—replacing the “real” cole 

tbf, this one isn't really supported by anything in game, just a personal discomfort. but he “became” cole after the young man's death. honestly, I find that a little uncomfortable, but I can understand it: the textual “simplicity”/purity of spirits makes sense of that kind of reaction to compassion’s “failure,” its inability to help the real cole (according to its own standards where help=fix: it did help the real cole by being there) 

so, to me, it reads a little like you're confirming that direction when you have cole become more human. ik it's not presented that way, but yeah, personally just makes me uncomfortable bc it feels like I'm encouraging cole to view himself as a replacement of the real cole 

spirits can come back, but they are the sentiment that gave rise to it in the first place, not the individual being itself. compassion taking on cole's name in the first place feels like that to me, but becoming more human feels like it's taking it a step too far. bc then cole becomes a young man who's taken on the face and name of a dead man and it's… it's a lot. for him to grapple with down the line, for the people around him, for everyone. but as a spirit, that kind of behavior feels more like a way of recognizing and respecting the being that came before 

and of course, cole isn't 100% either—he's more human or more spirit. so it's fair to say that it'd still be a sign of respect and acknowledgement of the real cole even if he becomes more human, it doesn't turn automatically into a Bad Thing, and the complexity can honestly be fascinating to explore, bc i imagine as more-human he will develop some complex feelings about all of it

[balerionsblog]

let's discuss 'rhaenyra didn't do anything for women' and 'she is not a feminist' statements. now i think we need to establish it first and foremost that our current understanding of feminism cannot be applied in asoiaf universe so i am moving ahead with a kind of proto-feminist idea of female power and autonomy. [points from both fire and blood and HOTD are included though i am focusing on book canon more]

before rhaenyra, two women were named heirs to the iron throne - aerea and daenerys (by alysanne unofficially) but none of them took up official duties as heir. then we have king jaehaerys who dismissed rhaenys as heir along with her children laena and laenor thus setting a precedent that women could not inherit the iron throne. moving ahead we have king viserys who named rhaenyra his heir BY A WILL thus breaking the precedent set by jaehaerys.

now the common argument that people come up is that rhaenyra should have baela or rhaena inherit driftmark.

in the books, baela and rhaena were betrothed to jace and luke respectively when laena was alive and corlys was still healthy. additionally, both luke and jace were laenor's children (legally a velaryon) while baela and rhaena are targaryens. driftmark is the seat of house velaryon so targaryens in name cannot inherit the velaryon seat. baela is betrothed to the heir the iron throne so there's no way she'd inherit driftmark. rhaena is betrothed to luke who is older than her. nonetheless, rhaena would be lady of driftmark once luke would take up the seat keeping in with the velaryon bloodline (legally atleast from luke's side).

another argument people bring up is - why didn't rhaenyra let lady stokeworth and lady rosby be the ruling ladies of their respective castles but instead passed it onto sons?

rhaenyra's own position as the rightful queen was usurped and her younger brother aegon was coronated by the high septon as the king. a battle was being fought over succession (a settled succession mind you) - between a woman, a named rightful heir who was trained to rule since she was 8 and a man who supposedly didn't want to 'steal his sister's birthright'. yes, rhaenyra took the iron throne but did she have enough time and power to make changes in laws let alone succession laws? she barely sat on the iron throne for 6 months and those 6 months were not a secure period with battles still being fought amongst her loyalists and the greens.

when rhaenyra herself wasn't able to secure her seat as a ruling queen, how could she give other women their seat to rule?

arguments given by green council in fire and blood against rhaenyra's accession was that:

she was a woman period and because of jaehaerys precedence, a woman cannot inherit the iron no matter what.

rhaenyra had 'bastards'. how was she supposed to have children with a gay man? mind you both the king and laenor himself has defended jace, luke and joff's paternity and since line of succession follows from rhaenyra it doesn't matter.

daemon being king maegor 2.0 which is just paranoia from otto's part

casual homophobia from criston's part regarding laenor.

in the books we see no comment regarding how succession to iron throne would work once rhaenyra took the crown but in the show viserys clearly mentions that the eldest child of rhaenyra and laenor would inherit the iron throne irrespective of their gender.

now let's consider the faith of the seven. the faith considers women and mothers and wives essentially not rulers or warriors and except the north. more than half of westeros follows faith of the seven. making succession gender inclusive in all cases means another faith rebellion against house targaryen atleast to me. see what happened when maegor took more than one bride. so i believe rhaenyra would have made succession to the iron throne irrespective of the gender and maybe grant exceptions in other cases regarding holdings under lord paramounts.

rhaenys and visenya wielded equal power just like aegon. rhaenys herself had a special interest in women, children and smallfolk. alyssane abolished the first night and held women's courts, giving them a space to talk about their issues and problems. in the show, rhaenyra had both baela and rhaena in the war council. was this progressive? kinda yes when see the context of asoiaf.

so yes rhaenyra being the queen regnant without any succession crisis would have been proto-feminist atleast in asoiaf sense. it would have sent out the idea that women could rule just like any other man in westeros.

[hereforhalstead]

Showtime

*Gif not mine, credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader.

• Requested: Not this one! Just fancied writing a little jealous Jay piece as I thought it had been a while👀 hope you enjoy!

• Warnings: Swearing

• Summary: Voight asks you to go undercover with Adam in which you decide to tease Jay about it as the unit are unaware of your relationship.

• Words: 3083

****

You sat at your desk as Voight called everyone to gather round his office, he makes his way over to the whiteboard and swings it round to show the information on the other side, your eyes wander over the board and the sight of so much detail and CCTV stills. You can’t help but realise you never saw him write any that down, so dread to think the hours he was here until last night to put this plan together. 

He was clearly having one of his days where no options were wanted and or needed, he blitzed through the minor details and barely stopped to take a breath. You all stood watching as he reeled off information that you were all supposed to be taking in, you were secretly hoping someone else was paying more attention than you as it seemed to be going in one ear and out the other. You find yourself loosing concentration as you focus on a random spot on the board, you jolt as Kevin nudges your arm. You turn to see Voight raising his brows at you, jaw hung open with the corner of his lip turned in spite “Sorry, what?” you quickly straighten up and actually focus on what he’s saying. “Nice of you to join us again, Y/N” he shakes his head and continues to point out details on the board.

A few moments later you had pretty much got the gist of the plan but it then came to giving out roles “Halstead, you’re gonna be posing as a bar tender to keep an eye on movements inside”. He barked his order and Jay nodded in response, “Kim, you’ll be a drunk club goer who’s trying it on with Jay so you’ll both be near by”. She rolled her eyes at Jay who always seemed to be used in some form of flirtatious way during these things which suited him but didn’t sit well with you. You trusted your team and would never doubt their intentions but it still wasn’t ideal for them to throw themselves at Jay during these missions and you couldn’t even make a well natured sarcastic comment about how he was yours.

You and Jay had been somewhat of an ‘item’ for a few months, you found yourselves growing closer after becoming partners and soon one thing led to another. Unbearable tension built and Kim was the one to call you out on it, fed up of being put in the middle of your silly spats and childish arguments when it was clear how drawn to each other you were. You decided to keep it between the pair of you as Voight made it clear he wasn’t a fan of relations within the unit, Jay struggled at first but after seeing the way Voight laid into Kim and Adam he soon realised you had a point. It was all fun and games at first, sneaky glances across the room, little touches in the locker room but there was always going to be some negatives that you hadn’t planned for. For example, the way girls throw themselves at Jay was something you’d never get used to. I mean he truly was something else but the way they would do anything to get his attention made you cringe, what was even worse was how he would try and wriggle out of the situations but they would follow him around like a lost puppy. You’d watch as he’d get more frustrated with not being able to tell them he wasn’t single and how he looked to you for help but you couldn’t do much more. 

Jay found it equally as hard as he was quite a jealous and protective person, this was magnified when he was thrown into the deep end of men flirting with you and him having to just stand back and watch. He would step in every now and then if they really weren’t getting the hint but if he intervened every time he wanted, someone definitely would’ve caught on by now. 

Voight finished giving out instructions and demands of Hailey and Kevin taking roles of surveillance in the van parked outside the venue. He was quick to dismiss everyone which left you and Adam without direction, “What about us Sarge?” Adam questions and the group hang back, thinking they’ll be involved in a change of plan. “Oh yeah, how could I forget. The main stars of my show” he slings an arm round each of you as he pulls the pair of you to face the rest “Everyone, meet the new hot couple in Intelligence” he proudly announces and you see Jay’s face drop but you’re just as confused “Come again?” you question but Adam doesn’t need telling twice as he doesn’t seem to doubt Voight’s decision “Fine by me” he winks towards you. You look to Kim and cock your eyebrow with an unimpressed glance, she shrugs back at you and smiles which puts you slightly at ease as you didn’t want to step on any toes due to you knowing how it felt to be put in that position with a certain detective. “I’m putting the pair of you undercover, Adam as the big man and you being his not to clued up eye candy” Voight pats you on the shoulder as you notice Jay roll his eyes “Thanks Sarge, won’t take it personally” you sarcastically respond. 

“Go on, go get dressed up the pair of you.” he releases you from his hold as Adam receives a high five from Kevin followed by a “my man” in praise. “I sent Trudy out to pick up some outfits for you, go and get them from her and get your arses into gear. We leave in an hour.” Voight heads back into his office and shuts the door behind him, you make your way over to Kim’s desk and perch yourself on the edge “Why couldn’t he choose you? Surely he knows you have much better convincing power with Adam than me” you mutter but considering the room was in silence you knew everyone could hear. “You know what he’s like with me and Adam, he’s probably doing this in spite of me” she moans “Just remember to stay on his left side, he always favors his right” she adds and you laugh “he’s such a girl”. 

“M’Lady, shall we go and get red carpet ready?” Adam approaches and offers his arm out to you, you run your eyes up and down his body in judgement but he doesn’t move “Come on, it could be worse. You could be stuck with Halstead” he scans his eyes over to Jay who was already leaning on his elbow and watching the pair of you “Suppose you’re right” you respond to play along with his jokes. Jay tilts his head and a sarcastic grin flashes on his face before turning back to his paperwork “Let’s go you two, why are you still here?” Voight’s rough voice echoes through the room as he storms out of his office “Trudy picking outfits? If I come back in a bin bag just know it was better than whatever god forsaken mess she has picked” you whisper to Kim who chuckles as you take Adam’s arm and head down the stairs to Trudy. 

You’re taken by surprise as she pulls out the clothes from the bags, she’d picked out a nice white shirt for Adam with some tailored black pants and some black leather shoes. “A little magician like for me but I’ll take it” he comments as he takes the bag from her, she stares him down with her intense gaze and then turns onto you. You feel yourself dreading what she will present you with but your jaw nearly drops to the floor when she picks out a little satin black dress and when you say little, you mean little. The corresponding black heels soon get placed on the counter and you can see Trudy trying to conceal her smugness but failing “This the kind of thing you wear for Mouch?” Adam asks and laughs to himself but Trudy doesn’t mirror his humour “I rarely wear anything for Mouch” she winks and Adam clears his throat “I’ll leave that alone if you don’t mind”.

You take the bag into the locker room and slip into the dress, this wasn’t you’re normal attire but you were not mad in the slightest. The shortness of the dress would take some getting used to but once you got the heels on you felt incredible. Luckily, you always kept some make up in your locker due to plans within Intelligence being pretty last minute and you liked to make some touch up’s before you headed out to Molly’s for the evening. You took yourself over to the mirror and began applying your make up, a little heavier than usual as you wanted to match the aesthetic of your outfit but still nothing crazy and thanking yourself for washing and straightening your hair the night before so it was already good to go after a quick brush through. You studied yourself in the mirror and was quite impressed with the outcome and dare you admit, excited to see how riled up it would make Jay. You took out your phone and sent him a quick text message, simply saying ‘Sorry in advance’ so you could say you gave him some form of pre warning. 

Stuffing your old clothes back into your locker you head back upstairs and can feel your heart racing as you get closer and closer to the top of the steps. As soon as you come into sight, you’re met with wolf whistles and various comments to which you never know how to respond “Damn girl, didn’t know you had it in you” Kevin pipes up as his eyes roam your body “Not mad about it, not mad at all” Adam chimes in as Hailey coughs to interrupt “Keep it in your pants boys, you don’t see Halstead drooling over her. Be more like him” she adds and you laugh to yourself at the irony. Jay clears his throat and makes his way over to you, your heart thumping so hard in your chest that you’re sure everyone is bound to hear. He hands you a necklace and you stare at him confused, he picks up your hand from your side and places it in your palm with more force than you were expecting, taking you slightly aback “Voight wants you to wear this, something about how it can be a present Adam gave you but it will really be where your mic goes”. Adam peers over at the necklace and nods “I’ve got good taste, you’re very lucky” he suggests with a wink, Jay soon returns to his desk, avoiding all eye contact and turning his attention back to his monitor. 

“Are you not meant to have a bag of some sort?” Hailey asks and you check inside the carrier bag Trudy gave you but see nothing resembling any accessories “Nothing in here, might’ve left it in the locker room though”. You place the bag on Kim’s desk and head back down the stairs, passing Trudy’s desk as you go. She takes a double look as you stroll past and nods to herself “Not bad Y/N. You’ve got a great stylist” she compliments and you dramatically flick your hair in response, “What’s up with the mood Halstead?” she keeps her eyes on you despite her talking to Jay who makes his way down the stairs “I’m not in a mood?” he snaps back, regretting instantly as she widens her eyes at him “Tell your stompy feet that then” she looks him up and down and then smiles at you “Smash it kid”. 

You feel some sort of warmth from Trudy despite what people think of her, she always had a soft spot for you and you found comfort in seeing her as your ‘work mum’. God for bid she ever found out that you think of her that way though, she’d probably stop speaking to you all together.. 

You stand at Trudy’s desk and wait for Jay to leave but he doesn’t seem to be budging, you feel him staring at you as if he is waiting for you to make the first move “Sorry, did you want something or?” she asks and Jay shakes his head “Voight sent me down here to help Y/N look for something in the locker room” he is quick to respond but you knew it was bullshit, Voight couldn’t care less about you finding a bag let alone putting 2 people onto finding it. You push your thoughts aside and carry on walking to the locker room you had just been getting ready in. The sound of your heels clicking on the hard floor sure turned some heads and it was just your luck a drunk group of men were in one of the rooms to awaiting questioning. One of them leant against the door frame and wolf whistled, the other joined him and made some comment about how you looked but you didn’t give it any attention, Jay on the other hand couldn’t stop himself “Sit back down and shut the fuck up before I make you, we clear?” he slammed the door shut behind them but you kept walking.

“What are you really doing here Jay?” you question as you enter the room, holding the door open for him before walking over to your locker. You hear a loud thud as he shuts it behind the pair of you and leans his back against it, his knee bent as he picks off a bit of fluff from the thigh of his jeans “That dress new?” he asks, still not looking up at you and focusing on his jeans “You know it is, Voight only told the entire team that Trudy bought us outfits?” you huff as you fail to find any form of bag or purse that was intended for you to use. 

You begin to walk around to check other areas you had been within the room, the bathroom, the mirror but nothing seemed to jump out. Meanwhile, Jay was still stood leaning against the door and watching your every move intently “You gonna let me leave and do my job or?” you stand in front of Jay but he doesn’t budge. Instead he simply turns his nose up and shakes his head “Well then do something useful and help me put this necklace on” you hang the jewelry from your hand but he just stares at it “Or I’ll just do it myself then. Fuck sake” you mumble under your breath and walk back over to the mirror.

A few moments go by and it was no use, you couldn’t get the necklace on by yourself and Jay was still being as useless as ever and not moving to help, instead strolling over and sitting on one of the benches in the middle of the room. “Guess I’ll just get Adam to put it on for me, or Kevin. I’m sure they’d jump at the chance to help” you think aloud and strut past Jay who reaches up to catch your wrist before you can get any further “Come here then”.

He pulls you down onto his lap and you can feel his breath against the nape of your neck, a shiver run down your spine as he touches your skin and moves your hair to one side “Looking forward to being coupled with Adam? You look great together” he remarks and you roll your eyes at him for ruining what could’ve been one of your private moments that you were starting to crave. You stand from his grasp as he manages to fix the necklace round your neck and head for the door to leave but he is hot on your trail “Something bothering you?” you ask but Jay responds by looking down on you with that glint in his eye and mischievous smirk to try and divert your attention from how he is behaving “You don’t even have to say a word for me to know you’re lying if you say you don’t care" you chuckle but Jay isn’t amused. 

“Go and have fun, I’m sure I’ll have a great time watching the pair of you all over each other” he comments with gritted teeth “I’m sure we will have a blast, might even stick my tongue down his throat" you quickly add and curse yourself for not thinking before you speak “Go for it, gotta make it convincing” to your shock he agrees but the way his fists hang tight at his side and his nostrils are flared tell a whole different story “You really need to work on your lying skills detective”.

You can sense the rage running through him as the pair of you stand in silence, your eyes flick over to the clock and realise you’re meant to be leaving at any moment and they will be wondering where you are. You place your hand on Jay’s cheek and see him lean into your hand slightly, no matter how tense he is with you he can never stop himself from giving into your touch. “We best get going, I’ve got to see a man about a new boyfriend” you tease causing Jay to regain himself and straighten up “I dare you Y/N. I dare you to put on your little act as best you can because you know I’ll be watching and ready to remind you who you belong to when we’re alone” he threatens and you feel as though your legs could give way out of the weakness he causes you. You know him too well to know these weren’t empty threats and you were now set on going above and beyond to make him jealous “Enjoy the show, baby.”

***

Inbox and requests always open💃🏼

After popular demand, Part 2 to this is now up!

[arrowflier]

Since you fixed that trainwreck of the 87% comment in HoS, any chance you might apply the same magic to Mickey's comment on Ian's bipolar that episode? I know they were actively fighting, but I was surprised they had Mickey go there, angry or not.

Ooh, this is so much harder because there's just no way to make that line not hurtful without just...removing it. I can at least try to make it make more sense though?

Don’t Leave Me (Don’t Lose Yourself)

“Fuck,” Mickey muttered to himself as soon as Ian was out of his sight.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he repeated when the front door slammed behind him, echoing Ian’s abrupt departure across the house, and then he was spinning on his heel to barge right back in.  He barreled across the kitchen and flung open the back door, determined to catch up with his husband—still his husband, even when they fought, dammit.

He didn’t have to go very far.  The door opened to Ian’s tense back, right there at the top of the steps.

“Come to yell at me some more?” Ian asked woodenly, not bothering to turn around.  “I think you might have missed a couple of my greatest hits, the first time around.

Mickey winced, physically and inwardly, and raised a hand with the intention of placing it on Ian’s shoulder.  Ian moved before he could, stepping down onto the next stair and turning.  The change put them at an equal height, leaving Mickey staring straight into Ian’s eyes, and he didn’t much like what he saw there.

What he had put there.

“Ian, I—” he tried to start, but Ian shook his head and stared over Mickey’s left shoulder, eyes tracing some pattern on the house behind him that Mickey couldn’t see.

“You were right,” Ian said.  “Going off, causing trouble—that’s what I do.”  He shrugged, scratched at an invisible itch on his arm.  “That’s what I always do when things are going good.”

Mickey stared at him, and swallowed.  Ian looked antsy, and unsure.  His eyes darted everywhere but Mickey’s face, his mouth turned down, bottom lip pulled between his teeth tight enough to turn the surrounding skin white.

“Fuck,” Mickey said once more, this time a whisper, and Ian just laughed.

“Sounds about right,” he agreed, and made as if to turn and descend the rest of the stairs.  To walk away.

“No, hey,” Mickey said urgently, managing this time to grab Ian by the arm before he could leave.  “Don’t leave me here, man.”

“Thought you just told me to,” Ian countered, and Mickey grunted in acknowledgment.

“I did,” Mickey admitted.  “But that doesn’t mean I meant it.”

“You meant enough,” Ian said.  But he didn’t pull away, and Mickey took that as a sign.

“Yeah,” he said.  “I kind of did.”

He waited for anger, for an argument, but none was forthcoming.  Ian just let Mickey hold him there, hand clenched tight around his bicep, and stared a hole through the ground next to the steps.

“I get���,” Mickey started, then stopped.  He took a breath, then another.  “I get fucking scared, Ian.  When you talk about other guys you know, when you act like I’m too much.”  He took another pause, licked his lips.  

“When you try to leave,” he added, softer, and finally Ian met his eyes.

“You know I’m not leaving you,” Ian stated, but Mickey raised his eyebrows at the declaration.

“Do I?” he asked.  “Cause I know we’re married now and all, but our track record ain’t exactly great.”

“That’s not fair, Mickey,” Ian retorted, warming to the topic.  Gone was the quiet acceptance of Mickey’s mistaken words, replaced by a familiar spark.  

“I left you for your own good, every time,” Ian pressed on in the face of Mickey’s silence.  “At the border, in prison, right out there on the porch.  I left because you deserved better.”

“And was that you talkin’?” Mickey questioned back.  “Or was it your fuckin’ bipolar disorder, tellin’ you I couldn’t handle it?  Tellin’ you I didn’t fuckin’ love you, or I couldn’t keep up?  Cause fuck, Ian…,” he paused, blinked hard.  

“Every time you left, it killed me twice,” Mickey said.  “Once to think you didn’t love me, and once to know you didn’t trust me.”

Mickey relaxed his still-tight grip on Ian’s arm, stroked his hand down instead until he could wrap his fingers around Ian’s unresponsive ones.

“Don’t make me do that again, Ian,” he begged.  “I don’t care what I said; I shouldn’t’ve said it.  But I don’t wanna see you hurtin’ because of your goddamned brain again, and I don’t wanna have to think about the assholes that you were with when you were fuckin’ manic or whatever.  You talkin’ about ‘em like that…”

“I’m not manic, Mickey,” Ian cut in.  “That’s not why I’m upset about Ned, or fighting with you, or why I walked out the door.  You can’t just blame everything I do on my disorder.”

“I know,” Mickey agreed.  “I’m tryin’ not to, okay?  It’s just…you have your triggers, right?”  Mickey searched Ian’s eyes for understanding.  “Maybe this is just one of mine, right now.”

A faint smile touched Ian’s lips, thought it didn’t last long.

“What, I triggered your asshole response?” he asked, and Mickey laughed, a short sharp burst.

“I guess,” he confirmed.  “Told you I was scared, man, how the fuck am I supposed to deal with that shit?”

Ian’s smile was real, this time, and lingered.

“Not like that,” he suggested. “Never like that,” he added more firmly, and Mickey nodded.

“Never again,” Mickey promised, tugging Ian by the hand until he got the hint and pressed closer, their chests touching, faces inches apart.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Ian whispered, and Mickey held him even closer.  Pressed Ian’s face into his neck, pressed chapped lips to the edge of his ear.

“I’ll keep this one, Ian,” he murmured back, eyes closing as he breathed in the scent of his husband’s freshly-washed hair.  He rubbed a hand up Ian’s back, left it heavy between his shoulders to ground them both, and sighed at the soft brush of Ian’s lips on his skin.  

“I’ll find a way to keep this one.”

[hb-writes]

Warmth

1920

Tommy didn't quite understand how his sister was fast asleep at a pub, but she had been at it for near to two hours. Clara usually woke at the slightest of interruptions—horse hooves on the cobblestone, sunlight intruding through parted curtains, nightmare-induced muttering through thin walls—but the shouts and music and laughter of the Garrison hadn't stirred her.

The pub had been more subdued for about half an hour now, just family and a small group of Blinders left to celebrate the final minutes of Polly Gray's birthday, but with John and Arthur drunk, and the Shelby siblings, minus Ada, all confined to the snug, one could hardly call it quiet. 

Still, Clara slept soundly. Tommy had barely noticed when she stopped participating in the conversation, her sentences gently shifting from her usual witty banter to single-worded answers before those became mere nods or hums of acknowledgment, and then nothing at all.

Clara had rested on her brother in some manner or another for most of that transition, her head leaned back on the arm he draped on the bench behind her, and then against his shoulder or chest. He had barely reacted when Clara repositioned herself after a long bout of silence, resting her head against his leg with her body stretched out down the bench, his coat tugged over for provisional use as a blanket.

A handful of people had offered to get the sleeping girl settled at home when they extended their own farewells—Uncle Charlie and Jeremiah said they could drop her on their way, and even John, drunk as he was, insisted that Esme could take her when she went back down to their house. And though Tommy would have trusted any of them with the task, each time he spared a glance down at his sleeping sister and simply waved them off.

Clara seemed comfortable enough, and Tommy had no place else to be. It wouldn't harm her any to sleep on the bench for a few hours, so Tommy let his sister be, their laughter and conversation unchanged in either volume or content as she slept beside them. They stayed that way until it neared midnight and Polly voiced a desire for the celebrations to be through, and for everyone to head home to their own beds. 

Arthur and John both voiced a preference for simply carrying on, with the lot of them continuing to drink and sleeping at the pub, but it was Polly’s day, and she decreed that the kids needed to get home, decreed that a pub was no place for a couple of twelve-year-olds to spend the night.

Tommy nodded at Polly when she said it, their silent agreement overriding the argument John and Arthur were still voicing about staying the night. Their feelings on the subject didn’t truly matter. John and Arthur would eventually slink off to their own homes, but Tommy still lived above the shop on Watery Lane. It would be him making sure the twins got into proper beds. It most often was. In a twist that would surprise most of Birmingham, Thomas Shelby was the one most often responsible for seeing to the basic welfare of his youngest siblings, if only because he was the most convenient custodian. 

He supposed Clara and Finn mostly looked after themselves by this point though, able to adequately prepare themselves a meal or find someone to feed them, able to do enough chores to help keep the household running without him or Polly doing much prompting. And they were both kept busy enough that they didn't have too much room for causing idle trouble. Tommy supposed that was what had Clara sleeping in the pub. They were keeping her too busy. 

He moved his hand to Clara's shoulder and said her name along with a prompt calling her awake. She didn’t acknowledge his gentle shaking or his gentle words though. 

"Gentle won't work with her, Tom,” John said. “Have to be more forceful to get a reaction from our Clara." He balanced on the back legs of his chair, teetering back and forth. He cupped both hands around his mouth as he allowed the chair to slam down on all four legs. "Oi! Clara! Wake up!" 

Tommy snorted as Clara lifted the coat over her head, rolling over so her back was to John, Arthur, and Finn, and she faced the wall. 

John had gotten a reaction alright. 

"Let me wake her," Arthur said as he pushed himself up from his chair and plopped down onto the end of the bench, lifting Clara's legs and settling her feet in his lap. 

"Arthur," Finn warned, "I really wouldn't."

Arthur glanced at Finn with a dopey smile on his face, but didn't heed his warning. He grasped one of Clara's feet, his fingers lightly grazing the arch, applying only a small bit of pressure. 

Clara stayed beneath the coat this time too, but both of her legs jerked, the heel of one foot whacking Arthur square in the gut and knocking the wind out of him. He dropped his hold on her to hug his middle instead and Clara quickly tucked her body in on itself, curling into a ball as she moved even closer to Tommy. 

Tommy pulled the coat back to see his sister's face. He thought he heard a snort come from beneath it, a bit of a laugh in response to Arthur's predicament. With the sound almost entirely muffled by the thick fabric and Arthur's hollering, he couldn't truly tell.

Pulling back the coat gave Tommy little by way of confirmation. Clara's face was shielded by the hair fallen over her face, her body already rising and falling with a regularity that lent itself to a state of sleep. 

Tommy pushed the hair from her face and saw a small upturn at the corner of her mouth before she turned her face to hide against him.

"C'mon, Clara." Tommy fit a finger beneath her chin when her only response was to tug the coat up closer to her face. "It's time to get you home."

Clara caught her brother's hand before he could make contact with the sensitive skin of her neck. She held his hand close, captured within both of her own and then she stilled completely once again, the perfect picture of an innocent sleeping child. 

“Good luck with that, Tom,” John said.

Arthur clapped Tommy on the shoulder as he and John headed out into the pub. 

Tommy's breath deepened as he summoned a bit more patience to continue dealing with his sister’s act. There was no questioning the fact that she was awake now and the performance was quickly beginning to lose its luster.

"Well, if we can't wake her, I suppose we should just leave her then," he said. "Lock her in and hope she'll be alright until one of us can come to collect her in the morning, eh Finn?"

Clara still didn't react, so Tommy made to slip out from beneath her and stand up. Clara quickly shifted her hold in response, wrapping herself around him more completely.

"C'mon, Clara. Enough with the show," Finn said, standing up.

It was a bit of a performance, but also it wasn't. Clara was dead tired and resting against Tommy was the most comfortable sleep she'd had in weeks, even with most of her body stretched out on the hard wood of the snug’s bench. 

"Clara, let's—" Tommy grasped her arms and attempted to release her hold, but Clara simply gripped him tighter, her face crushed against his chest, facing up at him.

"No." 

"No?"

"You're warm," she mumbled.

Finn and Tommy's eyes met across the table and Finn rolled his eyes. 

"And you'll be just as warm tucked into your own bed," Tommy said. "Now, come on."

"No, To—" Clara didn't even get his full name out before Tommy looked away from her towards their other brother.

"Finn, find her coat."

Finn tugged her coat off the back of a nearby chair. He could have placed it in Tommy's outstretched hand, but he plopped it down on top of his sister instead. Then Finn picked her discarded boots up from the floor, tossing them at the lump under the coats as well.

Tommy sighed half a second before Clara shot up straight. "Finn!" she shouted, slinging one of the boots back across the table at him. It would have hit him square in the face had he not put up his hands to block it. 

Clara reached for the other boot as well, swinging her arm back to send it across the table, stopped in her pursuit only by Tommy catching her wrist.

"Put it on your foot," he warned.

"I'd rather toss it at Finn's—" Clara stopped as she turned to face Tommy's raised eyebrow. "Fine, but I'd like it known that I'd rather—"

"Toss it at my head," Finn answered. "Well, I'd like it known that we've all been wanting to toss something at your head for the last quarter-hour at least." 

"Just shut your mouth and give me my other bloody—"

Clara and Finn yielded the match at the exact same moment. Tommy smacked the back of Clara's head as he met Finn's eye and they both did as he wanted without a bit of discussion, Finn setting the previously flung boot down gingerly within his sister's reach and Clara pulling both shoes on her feet without another word. 

The pack tumbled out onto Garrison Lane within a few minutes and Tommy took the keys off Arthur as he struggled to lock up. By the time he managed it, the boys had already set off down the lane, but Clara stayed behind shivering as she waited. She quickly fit herself against Tommy’s side.

"It's cold." 

"Why didn't you go on ahead with your brothers, then?" 

Clara shrugged. "You're warm."

She’d already said it once in the course of the night. And it could be argued that the spaces against John or Arthur or Finn's sides were equally warm, but she hadn't settled on walking home with any of them so Tommy didn't question it further. He wrapped an arm around Clara and pulled her closer, making sure she felt the warmth too. 

-----

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

[arvinsescape]

Heartbreak

A/N: Based off this request that i recieved:  Hey is it okay to do a Tom imagine where him and the reader have been dating for two years they are at toms house having a famliy dinner with his parents and brothers but the reader has been keeping a secret from Tom and she finally told him that she applied to work in New York he feels hurt and upset that she kept it from him and they argue and she ends up breaking up with him breaking his heart and his famliy have to pick up the pieces when she leaves him. As always i hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Language, heartbroken Tom.

W/C: 2.2K

You’d been with Tom for a little over two years and this had been by far one of the happiest relationships you’d ever been in. You get along well with his family and saw them regularly, even when he was away. You had a beautiful little flat in London together and although things were going well, you couldn’t help but feel underwhelmed with your current job. You’d recently seen a job offer in New York and couldn’t help but feel intrigued by it, it looked interesting, so you’d sent in your application. You knew you should have mentioned it to Tom before sending in your application, but you hadn’t. The excitement you felt towards the job preventing you from really thinking about how he would feel about it, you knew he’d be supportive, he always is.

You were currently sat around your dining room table with Tom’s family, having invited them all round for dinner that evening, and conversation was flowing well. You’d not seen each other for a few weeks and there was a lot to catch up on, you’d all been relatively busy doing different things. You were currently engaged in a conversation with Sam, he knew that you’d been looking for a new job so naturally the conversation turned towards that.

“So, how’s the job hunting going?”

“Meh, I’ve applied for a few things over the last month but not had any luck.” You shrugged your shoulders as you answered him.

“That sucks! You’ll find something.” Sam said reassuringly. You quickly glanced at Tom before you said what you were going to say next. It didn’t seem like he was listening, talking to his parents, so you tried your luck before speaking. You knew you shouldn’t really have told Sam before you told Tom, but you’d tell him later, when everyone had gone.

“I actually saw a job that I found interesting this week.” You said as you turned your full attention back to Sam. You hadn’t realised that Tom had finished speaking and was now listening. You hadn’t mentioned anything new to him, so he was intrigued. “It’s in New York! But I haven’t heard anything back yet.”

“You applied for a job in New York?” Fuck! You thought as you heard Tom’s voice, hurt evident. You turned to him before speaking.

“Yeah, I was gonna tell you tonight! Like I say I haven’t heard anything back.” You said as you reached for his hand. He pulled back, mumbling a ‘whatever’ as he turned back to talk to his parents. His attitude continued to be cold towards you for the rest of the evening. It didn’t go unnoticed by anyone around the table, Tom usually being very affectionate towards you. You tried to grab his hand a few times but were met with the same response. You were aware you’d upset him, but not quite sure in which way. Was he upset you didn’t tell him? Or was he upset that you’d possibly be moving to New York? So many reasons ran through your mind and you started to feel angry with him.

He got up and started to clear the table, making his way into the kitchen. You looked at his mum and she just gave you a sympathetic smile. You huffed as you got out of your chair following him into the kitchen. He might have been upset with you, but he could have waited until his family was gone until he gave you the cold shoulder. You were angry with him at this point. As you made your way into the kitchen, you noticed he’d busied himself with the washing up.

“Have I upset you?” You asked, question directed at his back. He just shrugged and carried on washing up.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.” He huffed.

“Well I do.” You fired back. He turned around and dried his hands, eyeing you carefully.

“Please Y/N? My family is here, and I don’t want a scene.” He pleaded and this made you angrier.

“What? Like you’re not making it obvious something is wrong?” You asked sarcastically.

“Yes, you’ve upset me. Like I said I don’t want to talk about this right now.” He replied.

“Look, I’m sorry if I upset you but I don’t understand. I don’t know if I’ve got the job and I was going to tell you.” You replied, voice slightly raised. Tom huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Before or after you’d told the rest of my family?” He fired back at you. This made your blood boil further.

“So that’s what this is about? Because I didn’t tell you first?”

“If you want to make it that simple Y/N, then yeah I suppose it is.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You asked, well more shouted at him.

“I mean, you told Sam before you mentioned a thing to me. You mentioned you saw and applied for the job earlier this week, you’ve had many opportunities to tell me. So, I’m just confused as to why you didn’t.” He stated in a matter of fact tone.

“Seriously?” You knew deep down he was right, but you were angry, and it was starting to take over. “I don’t know what the big deal is. It’s not like I’m sat here saying I got the job and I’m moving away tomorrow. Does it really matter that I told Sam first?” You said, anger clear in your tone. You knew his family could probably hear but again, the anger had taken over.

“To me it does, yeah!” He shouted back at you.

“So what, you don’t want me to have the job or what?”

“I never said that, did I? You’re putting words into my mouth.” He hissed back you.

“Well you’re making it sound like that.” You knew he wasn’t; you were just trying to deflect the point. You were too stubborn for your own good and didn’t want to admit that in this instance you were wrong.

“I’m not and you know I’m not.” He challenged you. “I’m upset that you didn’t tell me because it makes it seem like you were hiding it from me, and I can’t understand why.” He reasoned.

“For fuck’s sake. I wasn’t hiding it! I just forgot to tell you. It’s not like you ever ask me about it anyway.” You shouted back at him.

“What the hell do you mean by that?” He asked defensively.

“You might have known about it had you asked me first, but you didn’t, Sam did.” You sneered back at him. “You don’t take any interest in my life.” Again, you knew that wasn’t true, but you were just trying to hurt him at this point.

“That’s not fucking fair.” He shouted back, nostrils flaring. “I do take an interest in your life so that’s just bullshit, and you know it. So what is that how it works with you now? If I don’t ask you about it first, I might not find out what you’re doing? You’d think that applying for a job across the globe would warrant my knowing.”

“Look. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first and I’m sorry if that hurt your feelings.” You said in a sarcastic manner and this seemed to offend him more.

“You know, it upsets me because now I don’t know what you’re keeping from me.”

“I’m not keeping anything else from you!” You screamed at him.

“How do I know. I might not have asked the right questions.” He replied sarcastically.

“Fuck you Tom.”

“What? You said it.”

“I wouldn’t keep anything else from you, you know that.”

“Do I?”

“What the fuck? Like what? What do you think I’d be keeping from you?”

“I don’t fucking know, clearly I don’t know all that much about what you’ve been getting up to recently.” You were both screaming at each other. Seemingly neither one of you cared if his family overheard your argument. Both equally as angry at this point.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, have you actually been going out to work this week?” This was the problem when the two of you lost your tempers, you’d start just trying to hurt each other for the sake of it, anger being an emotion the both of you struggled to grasp hold of.

“Of course I have! How dare you insinuate I’d cheat on you. How do I know what you do when you go away filming all the time. The rumours are out there.”

“Oh fuck you. We’ve been through that a thousand times now. It’s almost boring to bring up again.” He huffed as his dad made his way into the kitchen.

“Guys, I think both of you need to calm down. This doesn’t seem to be going anywhere and it sounds like you’ve both deviated from the topic at hand. Neither of you are making much sense.” His dad reasoned as he placed a hand on Tom’s shoulder. Tom sighed as he took in his dad’s words.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” His anger had seemed to subside but yours hadn’t, in fact his last accusation had left you angrier with him than you’d ever been before.

“No, I’m not doing this anymore.” You stated. Tom’s shoulder’s dropped at your words as he looked at you.

“What? Doing what anymore darling?” He suddenly said as he made his way past his dad and over to you. He was panicking you could see it in his eyes.

“This. Me and you. I can’t believe you just accused me of that.” You said, nostrils flaring. He was stood in front of you now and as he went to embrace you, you took a step back. His dad eyed the situation carefully, the rest of his family now making an appearance in the kitchen.

“Baby, we both accused each other, come one. You don’t mean that.” He tried to reason, tears now making there way down his cheeks. You were still angry, it was almost like you couldn’t be reasoned with at all.

“That’s the problem Tom! We get angry at each other and we say hurtful shit! We shouldn’t do that.”

“Couples fight Y/N. You know we don’t mean it.” He pleaded with you.

“Look, I’ll come back for my stuff next week. This isn’t working.” You sighed as you turned and made your way towards the door. Sam stared at you in shock as you made your way past him. Tom was following behind you, almost screaming at you and begging you not to go. You really wish that you weren’t so stubborn at times. You exited the flat and slammed the door on your way out before your tears made their way down your cheeks.

Tom stopped as you practically slammed the door in his face. He stood there in complete shock. Tears streaming down his cheeks. His mum was the first to approach him. She grabbed his shoulders and turned him round to face her.

“It’s okay Tom, she’s just angry. You’ll work it out. She’ll be back.” She said sympathetically as she embraced her son.

“But she’s never done that before mum. She seemed so angry.” He cried into her shoulder, wishing he could take back everything he’d said. Maybe you wouldn’t have left then.

“We all let anger get the best of us Tom. I promise it’ll be okay. You love each other, she’ll come home.”

“What if she doesn’t? What if that’s really it?” He couldn’t help it now, he’d completely broken down in his mother’s arms. He felt like a child again.

“Then we make sure you’re okay and offer you any support you need.” His mum answered as she rubbed his back.

“I love her mum.”

“I know you do.”

“I want her to come back.”

“I know you do.”

“Should I go after her?” He asked as he pulled back to look at his family who all had sympathetic looks on their faces. It was his dad who spoke next.

“I don’t think that will do much good right now son. She’s angry and she needs to calm down, you both do.” Tom nodded, his dad was probably right, he usually was.

“It’s all my fault.”

“You were both at fault son. You both let your anger get the best of you.” He gave his son a small smile.

“Look, I’ll make you a cup of tea and you should get some sleep okay? Call her tomorrow and I’m sure you’ll work it out.” His mum said as Tom sniffled and nodded, making his way to the room you shared. He got ready for bed and pulled back the covers, he moved to your side of the bed and grabbed your pillow. He stuffed his face into it as a fresh wave of tears came, he already missed you. He doesn’t think he’s ever cried so much in his life and the heartbreak he was feeling was incomparable to anything he’d ever experienced before. He fell asleep before his mum came back, face still stuffed into your pillow as his heart broken tears stained his face.

Part 2

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 11.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), big dick namjoon serving us tripod realness, dom!joon, and when i say dom i mean both dominant AND domestic : ), impregnation kink, daddy kink, praise, dom!jimin, sub!reader in both of these scenes, lingerie kink (m wearing), copious teasing, very light spanking, french kissing, lapdance, the jimin scene is filthier than the tags give it credit for ngl, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing/eating, aftercare (as always) 

banner designer @jamaisjoons​ | thank you everyone in the sfhs server, you bring me so much joy, motivation and good ideas | AND finally thank you to the anon that suggested [redacted] jimin i legit replanned everything just to make that his prompt

DAY TWELVE

The mattresses in the room of bunk beds are surprisingly comfortable. The metal springs squeak a little if you move too much, but you wake up feeling well-rested.

“Not too bad, right?” Hoseok chirps, swinging out on the ladder and jumping down onto the floor with a thud. Using his laundry from the day before, he unceremoniously swaps his sleep shirt and boxers for some deep green skinny jeans and an orange sweater. Namjoon, more modest and distinctly more sleepy, grabs his clothes and stumbles back to his own room.

“The beds? Better than I was expecting for sure.”

Hoseok smiles warmly as you hop down the ladder and arrive on steady ground again, toes curling into the carpet. He fiddles quickly with a chunky watch, doing up the links. “Breakfast is downstairs if you want it.”

You throw him a teasing grin. “Not if you’re making it, thanks.”

He has the good graces to pretend to be offended, before tugging you into a playful side-hug, ignoring your squeak of surprise. “No, you cheeky fucker, Jungkook bought pancake mix. He texted me saying there’s plenty for everyone.”

“Jungkook making breakfast?” you ask dubiously, but the warm image of pancakes for breakfast makes your stomach growl. “Let me get dressed real quick and I’ll come down.”

Jungkook, it seems, is starting out the day cheerful as ever. He gives you a big grin when you, Namjoon and Hoseok come down for breakfast, and he makes sure to dish up the biggest pancakes for you, before taking the second biggest for himself.

Jin raises a teasing brow when you come down accompanied by the two men, Namjoon still with his hair ruffled up awkwardly from his slumber. “Long night?” he questions with a cheesy wink.

Hoseok catches on to the teasing nature, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Sadly, Namjoon wanted a rest day, so we didn’t enjoy any funny business.”

Jungkook watches the three of you closely, lips tightening just a little bit before he breaks out into a cheeky smile. “I think Y/n would have been too tired out to do anything more anyway.”

You choke on air, a forkful of pancakes blessedly not in your mouth yet. Beside you, Hoseok chuckles awkwardly. “Goodness, JK, we heard enough yesterday. The gym walls are not as thick as they should be.”

Instead of blushing like you are, Jungkook puffs his chest up. “I’ve never heard Y/n scream like that with any of you guys. Then again; I bet you haven’t made her squirt like I did.”

This time you aren’t so fortunate, coughing on a mouthful that you’d anxiously stuffed in to keep yourself occupied. You send Yoongi a grateful look as he slides you a glass of water.

“Jesus, Jungkook,” Jin grimaces, “we’re trying to eat breakfast.”

You keep your eyes down, confused by Jungkook’s behaviour and more than a little embarrassed.

When you hear Namjoon speak up, his voice is strangely tensed. “That’s really not appropriate.”

A heated pause. “This is literally a porn show,” Jungkook states defensively, “sex is the whole reason we’re here. I think everyone’s forgetting this is a competition about being the best in bed, I’m just- You know what, never mind, pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“You just what?” Namjoon questions. It’s unlike him to be argumentative, and you shift in your seat, taking another sip of the ice-cold water. “Did you really make us all pancakes just so you could gloat? Y/n is a person, not a video game, Jungkook. Have a little respect.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, but when you glance up, the frustrated rolling of his eyes and furious stabbing of his fork in a pancake speaks volumes.

Yoongi pinches his brow. “Jin-hyung, can you pass the syrup? Thanks.”

Namjoon stares expectantly at the youngest Gentleman for a few moments, before letting out a light huff and returning to his food.

Silence continues for a moment or two before Taehyung pipes up, voice tiny in the oppressive tension. “How many people still have to do their prompts this week? I haven’t done mine yet.”

Yoongi sends him a lightly exasperated look. “Really?”

Taehyung gives a small shrug, glancing to the camboy sitting beside him. “I mean… I don’t think we need to be explicit but this show is about sex. I feel like it’s equally bad if we don’t talk about it at all, you know?”

“The kid’s right,” Jin allows with a wry grin. “I’ve done mine. Tuesday; though I suppose some of you saw.”

Jimin cocks his head, lost. “Saw? Uh, yes, I haven’t done my prompt yet. Actually, uh, if you guys wanna take part, stay in the lounge tonight. I need an audience.”

You send him an inquiring look. “What about me?”

Jimin lets out a short laugh. “Your participation is kind of mandatory. Please stay in the lounge too.”

You appreciate the slow brushes of conversation that ease the tension away. “Am I an audience member or a volunteer?” You grimace suddenly. “Wait, fuck, it isn’t like a circus act or something, right? You aren’t a magician?”

“Don’t worry, the show won’t be that kind of magic,” he promises.

You go to reply, but your attention is caught by the way Jungkook is openly glaring at Namjoon like he’s waiting for something. “Kook?” you question.

Jungkook’s eye twitches. “Why aren’t you saying anything now, Namjoon? So they get to talk about sex but I can’t?”

Jin sucks in harshly through his teeth, sending a look of alarm to the youngest. “Okay, break it up, that’s enough. Jungkook, any more smart comments and you can leave. We’ll talk privately if you need it.”

Jungkook lets out a bitter scoff, but Namjoon is already rising hastily, banging the edge of the table in his haste to get up. “I’ll go,” he urges, “you all can enjoy your breakfast in peace.”

Nobody seems to even breathe as the sounds of Namjoon’s footsteps fade away, a door upstairs shutting harshly.

Yoongi has his face bent, thumb and forefinger pressing to his forehead, like a headache is coming on. “What the fuck was that?” he muses tiredly.

Jungkook doesn’t answer, staring at his pancakes like he’s trying to make them burst into flames.

You bite your tongue harshly, unsettled by how tempers flared so quickly. Unsure of what to do, you stare at Jungkook for a moment. You don’t want it to seem like you’re picking a side, but he has five others around him, and Namjoon is upstairs alone. You slide your chair out, quieter than last time. “I’m just going to check on him. Jungkook; you’re fine, I’m not angry.”

He breaks out of his death stare at his breakfast to send you a look of bewilderment, but Yoongi is already clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Well, I am,” the second eldest declares, and you rush upstairs before the scolding begins.

Namjoon answers, albeit reluctantly, when you knock on the door and call out to him. He’s well and truly awake and alert now, hair combed down sullenly, the purple looking more faded than ever against the rich blue of his long-sleeved t-shirt. “Are you okay?” he asks with a tired frown.

Your brows lift automatically. “That is the exact question I came up here to ask. Can I come in?”

His bedroom is even more tidy than usual, now that he hasn’t been sleeping there. You sit down on the edge of his bed, feeling an unsettling swirl of dread.

“I’m sorry about Jungkook,” is the first thing out of his mouth as he sits down beside you, shoulders hunched like he’s making himself as small as possible.

You shake your head slowly. “You shouldn’t apologise on other people’s behalf. He’ll say sorry if he wants to.”

Namjoon pauses for a moment. “Then I’m sorry about contributing to the uncomfortable atmosphere.”

Despite the situation, your mouth quirks into a grin and your eyes soften. “Forgiven. I’m more worried than angry, you know? About the both of you.”

Namjoon lets out a sigh, eyes dancing aimlessly around the room, no doubt pondering complex concepts at the speed of light like he usually was. “This is probably to be expected, right? Tension. I didn’t think I’d be the one involved, though.”

“Ah, it wouldn’t be a reality show without some drama,” you allow, scooting back on the bed so you can tuck your feet up, crossing your legs. “We’ve just gotta move past it, I guess.”

“Didn’t it make you uncomfortable?” Namjoon blurts suddenly, cringing at the volume of his voice. “Him talking about you so publicly like that?”

You run your tongue along the inside of your cheek. “It took me off guard for sure. I don’t know; I guess sex is kind of our currency in here, you know? Him being so, uh, bold about it out of nowhere is pretty weird, though.” You shrug it off. “Maybe he slept bad last night.”

Namjoon searches your face. “I’m too much of a prude, aren’t I? Things like that bother me, so why did I sign up for a porn show?”

You turn to face him, brows knitted in sympathy. “Just because others are more open doesn’t mean being modest is a bad thing. Don’t let Jungkook’s bad mood make you believe that you don’t belong on the show or that you need to change. Okay?”

The two of you share a tender moment of eye contact, before Namjoon laughs shyly and turns his head away. You grin at him. “What?”

“It’s stupid,” Namjoon deflects, “it’s not the time.”

“Not the time for what?” you press. “Tell me; I’m curious now.”

Namjoon’s eyes dart up, pausing briefly at your lips. “I just… I really wanted to kiss you.”

Your heart swells, but you keep your face open, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “Then you should kiss me.”

All the breath leaves his lungs in a rush, but before he can inhale again, he’s propelling himself forward, wide hands cradling your jaw steady so your lips can join, a little uncoordinated but perfect nonetheless.

The small whimper of surprise is muffled by his lips, but you quickly melt into him, hands clutching at the front of his shirt for stability.

You can taste the remnants of breakfast, the sweet stickiness of maple syrup on his lips. You deepen the kiss to seek out more of the flavour, breaths escaping your nose as you don’t dare part for a second. Namjoon seems equally enraptured, shy flicks of his tongue making your head spin.

You lean in until your wrists are pinned between his chest and yours, and then lean in more, wanting to be close. Like oxygen to fire, the more contact you get the more desperate you become, and when his hands lower to lift you easily onto his lap, grinding you unconsciously against his erection, you feel ablaze.

“I need to-nm-do my prompt,” Namjoon murmurs out, teeth catching on your tongue with how deeply you kiss.

You swallow, leaning back slightly to take a breath in. “We don’t have to now,” you assure, moving your hands up to stabilise yourself on his shoulders so that he cranes his neck up to chase your lips. “Or have you graduated from Hoseok’s School of Sexual Prowess already.”

You smile down at the way his eyes flutter shut with a crooked grin, delicate crescent moon lash line a deep brown against his tanned skin. His lips are flushed and swollen, and he swallows like a man parched before he speaks, blinking blearily up at you. “I prefer to learn on the job,” he quips hoarsely.

You grin, leaning down to nudge him slightly to the side with your nose, giving you a better angle to leave a trail of light kisses from the corner of his mouth to the top of his jaw, tugging on his earlobe just enough that you feel his dick twitch against you. “What’s it gonna be, then? Am I a naughty student? Slacking receptionist? Do I need to sign for a package, delivery boy?”

The chuckle Namjoon lets out is pained and reluctant. “Was that what you were hoping for? It’s a bit more romantic than that.”

“Romantic is good,” you assure, letting his arms on your hips hold you steady as you lean back and search his face. “Do I get any more clues? Tell me something.”

When he blinks up at you, there’s something open and earnest in his gaze, like he’s left behind that shy boy that blushes at any mention of sex. “Let me show you, love.”

He cradles your back and lays you down on his bed so delicately it takes your breath away. Without speaking, he presses his lips to yours again, and once again you feel unanchored in an ocean, kept floating by the pressure of his proximity. Slower than usual, you move against each other; his hands bracing him up by the pillow, your leg hitched up over his waist to keep him close. Between the soft cushioning of his bed and the solid heat of his body, you feel secure and safe, eyes closed so that he fills your other senses entirely.

The sweetness of the maple syrup on his tongue and lips has long since melted away, but it leaves behind his natural flavour, one you think you prefer more. Aftershave still clings to his cheeks, tingling your nostrils, but past it is the bright candylike scent of his orange blossom shampoo, and they mix dizzily as the ends of his hair brush your skin.

Need begins to pool between your legs, but it doesn’t drive you, instead staying muted in the background like the pleasant heat of a bubbling jacuzzi, hips rocking lazily without any true purpose as you focus on the shocks of pleasure when your tongues connect.

It’s impossible to tell how long the two of you stay like that, no urgency or haste, just enjoying the intimacy and closeness of shared breaths and swollen lips. When he trails a hand down to slip under your shirt, even his slightly calloused fingertips running up your side is enough to make you whimper, sensitised to every touch.

Namjoon groans when his palm covers your breast, gripping it and swiping a thumb over your stiffened peak, arousing even through the fabric of your bra, his mouth only leaving yours for the second it takes to push your shirt over and off, connecting again with a small grunt of need.

Though Namjoon’s body is hot like a furnace against you, the open air still causes you to shiver, arching your back so Namjoon can blindly locate the hooks on your bra, able to slip it off you in no time at all.

This time, when his teeth tug at your lip and you feel the uninhibited contact of his fingertip tracing a circle around your nipple, it’s like a spike of electricity straight to your core, igniting that spark of full-blown arousal. Namjoon’s lips quirk against yours when you let a moan catch in your throat.

When he shifts down, you’re expecting his mouth on your breast, or perhaps him to sit up to take his own clothes off, but he doesn’t go nearly that far. Instead he presses your jaw up, exposing your neck but laying kisses on the underside of your chin first.

Perhaps it’s that you weren’t expecting that touch, or perhaps such a unique place isn’t used to that type of attention, but his swollen lips caressing just below your jaw feels magical, eyelids fluttering as he sucks so, so gently.

His hand never leaves your breast, massaging the flesh, tracing where your regular skin pebbles into the dusky areola, nail dragging teasingly over the bud, and your mind is working itself into knots trying to process all the sensations he’s stirring in you.

If his first time was thrilling, this was nothing short of electric, neon bursts of colour behind your eyelids the only thing you can see. As his kisses slowly venture lower, dipping to the base of your neck, pulse throbbing against him, you picture your nerve endings like purple strands of electricity in a plasma ball, lighting up with every touch of his fingers, lips and tongue to your skin.

“Na-Namjoon,” you gasp out, swallowing to ease the dryness in your throat, “don’t tease, I need you.”

Namjoon shifts lower, but not low enough, chin resting on your chest as he looks up at you with a pleased smile, clearly satisfied with his improvement from last time. “But love, there’s no rush. We have the rest of our lives, remember? To have and to hold,” he rumbles lowly, pressing  two light kisses to the top of your heaving breasts, “til death do us part.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

Namjoon’s lip twitches. “Oh,” he repeats playfully. Goosebumps break out on the tops of your arms at this sudden brazenness. He’d clearly been doing plenty of talking with Hoseok, and to see his hard work pay off in your pleasured reactions probably gave him a burst of confidence. “Are you going to be patient for me now, love? Let me savour you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, so you just nod shakily.

Satisfied with your response, Namjoon quirks a lip before using the very tip of his tongue to trail a circle around your nipple, just wide enough that the bud strains for his attention. Your fingers clutch his sides, annoyingly still clothed, as he moves to the other one, still giving your nipple a wide berth. “C-come on, Joonie,” you complain hoarsely, “I need more.”

When he looks up at you from below his lashes and sucks one nipple slowly into his mouth, tongue pressing it against his upper teeth, you hiss sharply, releasing the air in a breathy moan. Namjoon suckles at you gently, still languid but no longer avoiding your most sensitive areas, and the hand not propping him up begins rolling the other one between his fingers, making you shudder.

You’re so wet between your legs it’s growing uncomfortable, and so you cant your hips up towards him, hoping he gets the message. He tuts at you, but pulls off your nipple with a wet pop and sits up to undress further.

Namjoon shucks his own shirt without ceremony before his fingers find your waistband, and you let him slide off your pants and underwear as you lie back and enjoy the sight of his thick chest and smooth stomach, a trail of dark baby hairs disappearing past his jeans that you didn’t remember noticing the first time you slept with him.

He takes off those jeans, his boxers too, and joins you on the bed again, running a warm palm up your side. “I want to taste you,” he announces simply, carding a hand through his hair to keep it out of your face.

“Fuck, please.” You watch with wide eyes as he lies on his stomach, hands dipping under your thighs to lift and part them. The exposed air has you clenching instinctively, and you swear you can see his eyes dilate at the sight. “Namjoon,” you whine, back arching in impatience.

“Shh, love, I’ve got you,” he assures, peppering kisses from just below your knees, down your thighs until you can feel his breath on your core. “So beautiful.”

You can barely breathe, head propped up on the pillow to stare down the plains of your chest and stomach to the insanely attractive man between your legs. Though you’d grown fond of the kinkier, wild scenes - in fact, your dreams at night had taken a turn since joining the show - something about seeing Namjoon so at his element in this domestic atmosphere has you dripping.

Like he has all the time in the world, he locks eyes with you and blows a wave of slightly cool air over your folds. You breathe out a groan, sending him what you hope is a convincing-enough pleading gaze. He smiles placidly, licks his lips, ducks his head even further, and-

And blows another stream, this time narrowed and colder, directly over your clit. You shudder and buck instinctively in his grip, his hands on your thighs keeping you spread.

“Come on,” you gasp out, “Hoseok’s made you into a fucking demon!”

“Oh, trust me,” Namjoon murmurs, “Hoseok’s version was way kinkier than this. I’m trying to be romantic and sensual.”

You shift again, fruitlessly trying to wiggle your hips closer. “It would be really fucking romantic if you would actually put your mouth on my-ah!”

Just like you know Hoseok would (you don’t know whether to thank him or curse him for this), Namjoon strikes when you least expect it, and when you most need it.

Though his mouth is small, his tongue is no less nimble, darting deeply through your folds to collect your juices and using them to slurp harshly at your clit. You jerk, hand shooting down to latch in his hair, but he continues that constant, unyielding vacuum until you’re squirming hopelessly beneath him, finally pulling off with the slightest graze of teeth.

“Happy now?” he retorts, swollen lips glossy with your slick. His hands tighten on your thighs. “Hold them.”

Invigorated by his command, you rush to grasp the backs of your knees, keeping your legs up and spread for him. “Fuck, so good, Joonie, w-want more.”

Now with two hands freed, it’s no surprise when two fingers find their way into your wet heat, twisting inside you with every smooth thrust. His chin is smeared with your wetness when he lowers it to continue laving his tongue over your sensitive clit, but he groans sinfully into you, like he’s getting just as much pleasure from it as you are.

Once he really gets going, he’s merciless, his fingers so thick that you don’t even need a third one to really feel him filling you, hooking up to rub at your g-spot every now and again to hear the involuntary whimpers you give out.

You hold onto your own knees for dear life, writhing under him as a hot coil tightens inside you. “Fu-fuck, Joonie, I’m getting close.”

His mouth detaches from your clit for a bare moment, enough for him to pant out a groan and stare lustily up at you. “Don’t cum yet,” he instructs lowly, “you’re going to cum on my cock this time, love.”

You whine, biting your lip harshly to try and distract from the building pleasure. “Then you have to- have to stop, Joonie,” you shudder out reluctantly.

To your surprise, Namjoon is even more begrudging than you are, tugging out his fingers to chase a last few indulgent licks up your seam before he finally sits up to kneel, panting. “Are you ready for me?”

You feel yourself grow impossibly wetter at the sight of him grasping his length, slipping it through your folds to slick it up. “Yes, god yes, I need it, need your cock,” you garble.

Namjoon’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, before he presses his head to your entrance, sinking in barely an inch to test your reaction. “Can’t wait to fill you up, love,” he admits, abs clenching with the effort it takes to sink in slowly. “Fuck a baby into you, my perfect girl.”

Your heart races at his words, clenching around. “God, yes, Joonie, please.” Though all the Gentlemen were well aware you were on birth control, there was something wildly erotic about the thought of it. “Fill me up, wanna be good for you.”

Finally he bottoms out, and your thighs shake at the stretch. With your hips tilted up, it almost feels like he’s fucking right into your stomach, so deep your mind struggles to process the sensations. He heaves a few breaths, giving you a chance to squeeze around him experimentally and grow accustomed to him filling you so completely.

You mumble out your permission for him to move breathily, the air punched out of your lungs when he pulls out only to drive deep inside of you in one slick thrust. Your mouth drops open once he begins to thrust, holding onto your knees for dear life as they tremble uncontrollably.

“God, look at you,” Namjoon pants out, chest heaving with excitement or exertion, perhaps a mix of both. One of his palms presses against the top of your stomach, increasing the pressure of his cock inside you. “‘Be so beautiful with my baby inside you, love, tummy swollen. I’ll take good care of you, would you like that?”

You have to squeeze your eyes shut to put all your focus into speaking. “Ye-yeah, I want that, Joonie,” you manage to articulate, his length keeping your mouth watering whenever he’s inside you. “Gonna be such a good daddy, Joon.”

Like a switch being flicked, Namjoon suddenly jerks, going rigid. Your eyes open blearily when he stills inside you, and you moan openly at the fucked-out look on his face, his eyes lidded and hair wild.

“S-say that again,” he commands, and your mouth drops open at the desperate grate to his voice.

So Namjoon liked to be called… “Daddy,” you whine experimentally, grinning when his cock twitches, hips juddering. “Want you to fuck me, Daddy, please move.”

“God, love, so fucking perfect for me,” he makes out before he starts off again with a renewed vigor, hands kneading at your breasts, at the flesh of your hips, at your ass as he lifts you up to meet his every thrust.

The feeling of him fucking into you so intensely has you feeling delirious, unsure if the ringing in your ears is actually the sounds of your own cries, torn from your throat with every slap of his balls against your ass, the weight of his hips jerking you into the pillow more and more every time.

You feel the pressure of his body hovering just above you, the angle of his thrusts changing, then suddenly his mouth is on your breast again, sucking harshly at the nipple. With the way your body moves beneath him, he can’t help but scrape his teeth against you a couple times, but it just makes the pleasure soar higher, neon starbusts of colour behind your eyelids when you squeeze them closed.

“Close again,” you warn desperately, losing the grip on one of your knees due to the sweat gathering there. With one up and one down, the angle changes again, and you reach out blindly to latch onto his upper arm, screaming at the heights of pleasure. “Can I cum this time, Daddy, please let me cum!”

“Fuck, give it to me, cum for me,” he growls out around your breast, and you see stars.

The orgasm that rips through you is powerful enough that all your senses fade suddenly away, unable to feel anything expect a rush of pleasure all the way down to your toes, boneless yet convulsing as he pistons his hips into you once, twice, three more times until he’s taken by the way you clench tightly around him.

He laps clumsily, wetly at your nipple as he spills inside you, before the two of you are completely drained of energy. Panting, heaving, you don’t even manage to catch your breath before you’re falling into slumber, Namjoon still inside you.

--

“He told us to wait here, right?” you ask anxiously.

There are six of you gathered on the couches in the lounge. Television off, the silence is weirdly uncomfortable. Perhaps that’s just because you know that everyone is waiting here not only to see Jimin, but to see what Jimin is going to do to you.

Hoseok, tucked into the smallest corner of the couch on the right, huffs lightly at your question. “He’s Jimin, Y/n. Either he’s up there primping or he’s just making you wait to be obnoxious.”

Perched beside him with a glass of whisky, two fingers full, Yoongi sends a droll glare to Hoseok. “Bold words for a man who’s choosing to watch the show.”

“I’m curious, sue me.”

“I think we all are,” Namjoon adds, curled up beside you in the central position of the three couches. “I think the only one that knows his prompt is Tae.”

Taehyung turns to answer, propped up against Jin’s side on the left, but the eldest interrupts, a crease of worry between his brows. “Not all of us, it seems,” he points out. “Don’t you find it strange that Jungkook isn’t here?”

“Does he know?” Taehyung wonders, fingers dipping into his pocket to reach for his phone.

Yoongi frowns. “He knows. He asked me not to make him anything for dinner tonight. Said he wasn’t feeling well. Didn’t seem like he was sick, just… distressed. I think you should talk with him, Jin.”

Jin sucks in a breath, pauses, and exhales again, jaw flexing. “Sure.”

The six of you lapse into a slightly strained silence again, before Namjoon gets restless, shifting beside you until he finally clears his throat and looks up at Yoongi. “What is for dinner, hyung?”

“We didn’t really have much for lunch, so I’m thinking steak and pasta,” the doctor offers up. “There’s some carbonara sauce in the pantry that looks good.”

Taehyung coughs nervously. “Do we have steak? I didn’t think there were-”

“We had plenty this morning when I checked,” Yoongi cuts in evenly. “Should I be aware of any recent developments?”

The masseuse pouts, leaning further into Jin’s side like he’ll protect him. “Well… It’s just that I feel so bad for Mango! The kennel I bought online isn’t as insulated as I hoped it would be and I know she gets lonely.”

Yoongi groans, going lax on the leather of the couch. “So you figured she’d what? Cuddle with the steaks?”

“I just figured maybe if I gave her nice food she’d cheer up,” Taehyung adds, “and it was just two! Are you mad at me?”

“No, I guess I’m not. Jungkook isn’t eating anyway, and…” Yoongi grins. “As penance, you can have plain pasta and watch the rest of us enjoy our perfectly cooked steaks.”

Taehyung throws himself against Jin dramatically, but even as he moans in misery, a relieved smile crooks at his lips. “I suppose,” he drawls begrudgingly, and once again a light atmosphere fills the room, like everyone’s just sighed out a breath of relief.

You lean onto the arm of the couch, facing Taehyung. “Tae, Jimin’s prompt isn’t too, like, intense, right?”

He cocks his head. “What do you mean? For him or for you?”

“Uh…” Your mind whirls blankly, cheeks heating up as you draw the attention of the other guys. “For- for me. So far some of the scenes have been pretty taxing, and I guess I just didn’t expect such a jump up from Week One.”

Instead of laughing or teasing, the others go a little solemn, perhaps even bashful. “Jimin’s isn’t super crazy, Y/n, don’t worry,” Taehyung assures quickly.

Yoongi bites down hard on his tongue, jaw popping. “We didn’t go too hard on you, did we?”

You suck in a breath. “I mean- No, not individually. It builds up though, you know?” Something niggles in the back of your mind, something you’ve wondered for a while. “Do you guys talk about it?”

Hoseok hesitates. “About fucking you?”

Your cheeks are on fire as you curl up small in the corner. “Not- Not that specifically, but just… Do you guys discuss who goes when and who has what? I kinda wondered why you spread yourselves out, if it’s just a coincidence or if you- Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“We kinda do,” Hoseok admits freely. “Like, obviously we don’t all sit down in a room brainstorming or something-” You don’t miss the way Taehyung and Namjoon instinctively lock gazes, though you can’t quite read their expressions. Hoseok continues, “but we do chat with each other and try and give each other space.”

Jin shrugs easily. “Yeah, like, I’ll just say in the groupchat, ‘I’m planning on doing my scene outside, look outside at your own risk’ or whatever.” The eldest stiffens as he’s fixed with several glares of alarm, including your own. “What? Were we not meant to tell her about the groupchat?”

Your mouth drops open. “You guys have a groupchat without me? I wanna see!”

“That defeats the purpose of you not being in the group chat,” Yoongi points out, though his grin is more sheepish than mischievous.

You make a noise of exasperation, ready to protest further, but before you can open your mouth the doorbell rings.

Everyone freezes.

After a moment, the doorbell rings again.

“You should go get it,” Taehyung supplies helpfully, eyes on you. “Might be interesting.”

Your heart picks up with the cool thread of adrenaline. It’s time. All eyes are on you as you sit up and make your way out to the foyer, the tile cool under your bare feet.

Though the door is a rich mahogany, clouded glass panels on either side betray a dark figure, perfectly still. Even though you can barely see the outline, there’s no deny the expectant tilt of their head belongs to none other than Jimin.

By the time you pad up to the door and turn the knob, his hand is outstretched to ring the bell a third time, and his mouth parts in surprise before giving you a pleasant beam.

You’d been wondering if he was meant to be a delivery guy, a mechanic, something along those lines, but your first glance over him proves you wrong.

His blue hair is glossy enough to reflect the light of the lamp above the doorway, curled in graceful swoops on his forehead and temples. Though he always wore makeup, it was clear he’s set to impress, with a bold russet red lip, powerful black eyeliner and a spot of gold under each eye.

He’s taller than usual, and you glance down automatically, to be greeted with the most gorgeous black heels, stiletto points giving him an extra few inches of height. The shoes make his legs look a mile long, and you suck in a breath as you follow them up, realising they’re completely bare, the only adornment a sinfully tight pair of black fishnets that dig in to his thighs and calves.

In fact, all he seems to be wearing otherwise is a black trenchcoat, falling to mid-thigh and with the sash tied so tightly it accentuates his narrow waist.

All put together, he looks like sin personified, the kind sailors drown for. You can’t help but want to dive in yourself. Trying to go along with the roleplay, you play dumb. “Do I, uh, do I know you?”

Jimin’s smile broadens as his arm falls, hand resting snugly on his hip. “You will soon, sweetness.” Usually one for pinks, nudes and clear glosses, seeing him suddenly in a deep red makes you realise just how full his lips are. You miss the feeling of them on you. “Did Taehyung not tell you I was coming?”

“Did Tae-?” You clear your throat, unsure how to proceed. This Jimin was Amazonian; bruisingly pretty and intimidating in his grace. “I guess not? Was he supposed to?”

His eyes crinkle empathetically, darting past you into the foyer. “Let’s talk inside, shall we? I’m not exactly dressed for the outdoors.”

“Oh, fuck!” you blurt instinctively, and you swear his lip twitches before you’re backing away hastily, ushering him inside. “I’m so sorry, please come in! Do you want me to take your coat? I don’t- I don’t know what you need.”

Jimin steps inside and closes the door behind him in one smooth motion, punctuated only by the click of his heels on the tile. He reaches out to pat your cheek, only somewhat condescendingly. “No wonder, sweetness, you didn’t even know I was coming.” That isn’t quite true, but in the scheme of things, you may as well not have known he was doing his scene tonight at all for all it’s helping you. “Why don’t you lead me to Taehyung? I assume he’s here.”

“Of course he’s- I mean, yes, he’s here. Right this way.”

The two of you only have a short trip to the lounge, where no doubt the other five have been straining their ears to eavesdrop, but every strike of his heels against the floor behind you has the hairs on the nape of your neck standing on end.

In the lounge, the guys are all turned around in their seats to shamelessly ogle Jimin, Taehyung the only one without the gobsmacked look on his face - though even he takes in an unsteady breath at how gorgeous the man looks.

You make your way to him, standing awkwardly in front of the couch that him and Jin share. Turning back to face Jimin, you can’t help but match Taehyung’s reaction. Jimin looks even more radiant in the decent lighting of the room. You can see now his trenchcoat is a lush fabric, slightly thicker than silk, and deeply matte. Around the inside of the collar is a faint embossed silver logo, promoting Chanel as the designer of that piece.

Ignoring the stunned silence of the room, Jimin slinks immediately to Taehyung, tipping his chin up with his knuckles. “Did you not tell Y/n about me, hm?” he questions with a faux pout. “Kept it a secret, our naughty Taehyungie.”

The masseuse wilts pleadingly under Jimin’s gaze, and the responding wicked grin makes you think that Jimin probably told him to keep quiet, only to tell him off for it now. “Sorry, Minnie,” Taehyung mutters nonetheless. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Did you now?” Jimin lets go of him, stepping back. “I suppose we should get down to business, then. Are you all leaving, or do I have an audience tonight?” Glancing around imperiously, you watch as his eyes dart back and forth, smile faltering. His breath catches, eyes dull with disappointment that he quickly masks under a broad smile. “It’s just the six of you, then?”

Your heart aches as you think of the missing person still upstairs in his room. “Yeah, it’s just us.”

Always the professional, Jimin moves on without comment. “Well, then, sweetness; take a seat and get comfortable. You’re a lucky girl tonight.”

Your mouth feels dry even as it waters. Taking your seat beside Namjoon again, you watch in rapt anticipation as Jimin slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, fiddling with something on it as he strolls slowly into the center of the room, just in front of the television.

“We have a few rules,” Jimin announces. “No heckling, no getting drunk while I’m here, and no touching unless I give you permission. They’re simple, so I expect you to follow them. Got it?”

With his back to the group as he sets up his phone, you’re unsure who exactly he’s addressing, but some of you make general hums of confirmation, all the attention on Jimin.

When the music starts - a deep, thrumming beat with a sensual pace - you can see the change in him immediately, even from the back. His shoulders adjust, head tips back slightly like he’s letting it run through him, and his fingers find the knot of his sash.

You can barely comprehend the fact that Jimin is about to dance for you, breath caught in your throat when his hips begin to sway and the fabric of his trenchcoat loosens, slipping down just enough to reveal the tops of his shoulders, bare except two skinny black straps.

Following the groove of the music, he rocks his head back, hips shifting side to side, and lets the coat fall an inch at a time. A tight black bodice is revealed, structured leather with a soft velvet trim that covers most of his back. Sleeves dangling right at the ends of his fingertips, the coat dips just below the swells of his ass, which are clad in a racy g-string, a thicker band of lace low across his hips and a narrow one running down the middle of his cheeks. Letting the coat go completely, the last of his back silhouette is exposed, the leather garter straps that hold those fishnet stockings up.

“Shit!” Yoongi hisses under his breath, hands glinting in the light and whiskey glass significantly emptier than before. A dark patch spreads across one leg of his pants, evidence of him spilling his drink.

Though he was quiet, Jimin picks up on it, and turns smoothly, lightly surprised and heavily amused, watching Yoongi squirm in embarrassment as he approaches.

If the view from the back is breathtaking, seeing Jimin full-frontal is another level. The bodice has clearly been tailored for someone with a flat chest, but the shape no less speaks to the feminine style of a bra, roughly triangular leather covering the upper half of his chest to meet the smooth velvet straps. The whole piece is just short enough that it leaves a stripe of skin between fabrics, his hipbones jutting out gracefully and guiding your gaze lower, where the front of his lace panties strain with the size of his length, the tip threatening to peek out the top.

He’s hard, you notice with a start, and from the hazy look on everyone’s faces, they’ve noticed it too. Jimin likes this.

When he’s standing in front of Yoongi, towering over the other in his heels, he reaches out a hand silently, eyes darting to the glass in Yoongi’s hand.

The elder gulps, holding it up, blushing as Jimin wraps one hand around Yoongi’s wrist, and takes the glass from him with the other. In a graceful swill, he downs the last of Yoongi’s whiskey, not even wincing. Teasingly, he bends down to place the empty glass directly over Yoongi’s crotch, making him hiss.

Like he has all the time in the world, Jimin straightens up again and tugs the wrist in his grasp higher. Locking eyes, Jimin parts his lips and wraps them around the base of Yoongi’s thumb, sucking off the spilt liquor.

Yoongi groans lowly, cheeks stained red as his eyes flutter shut in a mix of pleasure and humiliation. As Jimin makes his way through all of Yoongi’s fingers, bobbing his head obscenely and swirling his tongue, you think you see the empty glass wobble on Yoongi’s lap, like his cock is twitching in his pants. Fuck. It’s not even you getting the full weight of Jimin’s attention and you already feel dizzy with need.

Once he’s done, Jimin lets go and Yoongi’s hand falls limply to his side. Satisfied, he moves to the center of the room again, hips fluid with the flow of the music.

A cursory glance around the room shows that you’re not the only one heavily affected. Beside you Namjoon is restless, shifting back and forth from spreading his legs to ease the pressure, and clenching them together to try and hide the bulge in his pants. Hoseok looks pale, eyes wide and locked onto Jimin’s ass as he walks away from their couch.

On the other side, Taehyung and Jin are significantly more shameless; Jin rests a hand on the back of Tae’s neck and tugs at the curls of hair there as the younger boy ruts against his thigh, curled into his side even as the two of them focus on the attraction in the centre of the room.

You can only imagine how fucked out you must look too, wriggling against the couch cushion seeking friction with your heart thudding in your chest. The effect is only heightened when Jimin locks his eyes to you and begins to dance.

One day, a few of you were gathered in this very lounge, having enough drinks to get a bit silly and uncoordinated. Jimin had told you all a little bit about his dancing career. From what he’d said, you formed this mental image of him in soft makeup and satin shoes, dainty but powerful in front of an adoring crowd. The way he spoke about music - too much of a heavyweight to be as incoherent as the rest of you - made it seem like it was his greatest love, a match made in heaven.

Though now pirouettes and grand jetés had been replaced by spread legs and lidded eyes, you could still see that passion he spoke of. It enchanted you like a snake charmer or a siren, and arousal entwines endlessly with awe in your stomach.

After what feels like the shortest eternity, the music of the first song fades out, and Jimin straightens up, exhaling a breath like he’s releasing its hold from his body to make room for the next.

The tune that fills the room next has a decently higher tempo than the first one, each beat punctuated by a clap, and he grins when he hears it, stalking forwards.

Between Jimin and the rest of you is a coffee table, and he makes his way around to Taehyung and Jin, eyes sparkling at how Taehyung straddles Jin’s thigh, blinking up at the dancer owlishly.

“Oh, baby,” Jimin coos, “enjoying the show?”

Taehyung nods, not shy but too wound up to speak.

At the lack of verbal response, Jimin grins, perching himself on Jin’s other thigh, making the eldest hiss. “Taehyungie,” Jimin calls in a sing-song voice, fingers winding into his hair, just above Jin’s, “you still haven’t paid me for my services, you know?”

“H-huh?” Poor Taehyung looks barely coherent, interrupted from his grind and staring weakly at Jimin’s glossy lips. You can’t imagine you’d be faring any better in his situation. “What- How do I pay you?”

Jimin faux pouts. “Normally I’m very expensive,” he admits lowly, but the room is silent apart from the music, and since it’s just playing from his phone, it doesn’t impede the rest of you listening in. “But I like you. I’ll take my payment tomorrow. You know what I mean, right?”

Taehyung nods dumbly, obediently, making the dancer grin wickedly.

Fixing his attention on Jin, Jimin trails his fingertips up his thigh and traces the outline of Jin’s cock in his makes, making him groan. “Take good care of my baby tonight, won’t you?”

Jin sucks in a shaky breath, eyes darting to Taehyung, but the curly-haired boy just whines and buries his face in the crook of Jin’s neck, a wordless display. “You got it, Min.”

From the other side of the room, a click of the tongue catches your attention. Hoseok is straight-faced, extricating himself from the corner of the couch to stand up and make his way out.

Jimin swiftly stands in front of him to impede his way. “Where are you going?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes with a shrug. “I came, I saw, I sated my curiosity. I’m not interested in waiting in line to be fondled, thank you very much.”

Jimin seems to have forgotten the music, eyes gleaming as he faces off the dom. “Poor baby too impatient to wait, hm? I’ll let you jump the queue,” he finishes in a husky voice, grinning.

Hoseok eyes the doorway behind Jimin, huffing impatiently. “Nice try. I’m not interested.”

Tipping his head to the side, Jimin’s brows lift in a mix of surprise and bemusement. “I’m inclined to disagree,” he says, taking a step closer so that only a sliver of air parts them. Hoseok stiffens, stubbornly avoiding looking at the dancer. “I’d venture a guess that you’re leaving so suddenly because you’re a little too interested.” Slow enough that Hoseok has plenty of time to refuse, Jimin runs his knuckles all the way down Hoseok’s front, brushing over his crotch. His grin widens, flashing white teeth. “Hmm.”

Hoseok scoffs and pulls himself away, neck and forehead slightly red. “Don’t get too cocky. It was from Taehyung, not from you, peaches.”

Even from the other side of the room, Jimin’s instinctual reaction is clear as day. His shoulders drop and his lips part, lashes fluttering before he can control the response.

If you didn’t miss it, Hoseok certainly didn’t either. He barks out a laugh, back in power again, and steps to Jimin’s side to pass him. “Knew it. Don’t miss me too much, then, peaches.”

Even as Jimin is shuddering at the petname again, Hoseok rears his hand back to smack Jimin’s ass with a sharp noise of impact, Jimin jumping forward with a startled squeak. “No touching!” the dancer hisses, one ass cheek already flooding with a sweet candy pink.

“Apologies,” Hoseok says with a teasing grin, already at the doorway, “I’ll see myself out.”

Jimin makes an indignant cry, but the older man is already bouncing up the stairs cheerfully. Determined to get the sexy atmosphere back, Jimin takes a deep breath and turns back to you all with a rueful smile, but it falters when the music fades out, the second song ending. “Ah,” he murmurs, “show’s over, kids.”

Namjoon, the only guy that hadn’t received any personal attention, sits up with a frown. “Wait, already?”

Jimin shrugs, smiling at him sweetly. “Sorry, Joon. Last song’s a private dance. Maybe another time.”

A private dance. Your breath quickens as Jimin turns off the next song that randomly came up on shuffle, collects his phone, and hitches his coat off the floor with the point of a stiletto, gathering it under his arm.

The others quietly start to stretch, sit up, Yoongi going to fill up his glass again. By the time Jimin makes his way to you, Jin has already lifted Tae up with a single arm under him, carrying the younger upstairs as Taehyung sucks shamelessly at his neck. Namjoon is slower to move, probably still a little worked up and edged from the show, but he joins Yoongi in the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone.

Once Jimin is directly in front of you, your breath stops. He’s gathered the lightest sheen of sweat from dancing, or perhaps that’s just the highlighter on his cheeks, and his eyes are hazed from the excitement of performing. He silently reaches a hand out to you with an enticing smirk.

You furrow your brow in confusion. “Not here?”

“I did say private. Unless you want me to fuck you where everyone can see?”

You gulp at the thinly veiled threat. “We can go.” You take his hand and let him lift you up with effortless strength, pausing when he looks at you expectantly. “Did I do something…?”

Jimin beams like you’re a cute but stupid pet. “I haven’t been here before, remember? Show me to your room, sweetness.”

“Oh!” You rush past him, hands catching to guide him out and upstairs. The thrill of excitement speeds your steps, and in no time at all he’s placing his coat and phone on your desk, guiding you to sit on the end of the bed.

The third song starts with the familiar smoothness of Beyonce’s voice, an older pop song that holds up still, and Jimin slips off the black straps of the bodice, another set directly below them. Arms tucking behind him, he begins to undo the clasps one by one.

“You were being very well behaved, you know, sitting there and waiting for your turn,” he muses, fiddling with the fabric behind him. “Now you get a reward.”

You don’t know what to say in response, just nodding wordlessly, but it seems he is content with that. After a moment, you notice the top half of the bodice pull away from his chest lightly, revealing not plain skin but more lace, matching the panties that struggle to cover his cock. He approaches you as he undoes the last few at the base, and slips smoothly between your legs, letting it fall to the side.

In front of you in all his glory, Jimin looks gorgeous, the inky swoops of his tattoo peeking out from under a sweet black lace bralette, the skinniest straps holding up the delicate cups. In the center is a tiny black satin bow, and you think you feel your heart give out a little at the sight of it.

Even in his pretty lingerie, he’s no less intimidating, and you shudder at the feeling of his eyes locked onto you, feeding on your reactions and pinning you to the bed.

“You like it?” the dancer asks, voice rough with arousal. You nod quickly, still too stunned for words. Jimin hums, winding a hand around the back of your neck. “Show me how much you like it.”

Before you can suck in a breath, his mouth descends on yours, and a shot of electricity runs through you as he spares no time for pecks and caresses. This kiss is nothing short of filthy, his tongue runs over your teeth, he bites your lips, he sucks on your tongue. You do your best to reciprocate enthusiastically, but there’s no question who’s in charge.

With how deep and primal it is, there’s no surprise when you feel your shared spit begin to collect in the corners of your lips and run down your chin. Jimin doesn’t stop, but lowers his mouth to lap it up, pushing it back in and continuing to fuck his tongue into your mouth.

You moan hopelessly into the kiss, hips rocking on the edge of the mattress fruitlessly and fingers holding on to his neck and shoulder for dear life. His teeth are sharp, nipping mercilessly at your bottom lip until your eyes sting, but it only serves to drive more need.

The music in the background livens up as it reaches the chorus, and suddenly the thought of the song finishing and him leaving you high and dry comes to mind. You tug yourself away from him, sucking the spit off your swollen lip. “Jimin,” you gasp out, “I want you.”

Jimin grins. Though his gloss is all but gone, the colour on his lips remains intact. “You aren’t gonna let me finish my dance, sweetness?”

“Wi-Will you still fuck me after the song ends?” you ask, feeling stupid for needing confirmation.

Jimin lets out a soft but condescending coo, hands squeezing your cheeks together so that your lips pout. “Poor baby just wants to get fucked, does she? Baby just wants a cock in her.”

Even as he mocks you, you can’t even defend yourself. “Please, Jiminie.”

He places a single light peck over your protruding and obscenely swollen lips. “Let’s make a deal; I’ll dance for the rest of the song, and if you can keep your hands to yourself, I’ll let you cum when I fuck you. Sound fair?”

At this point, you’d agree to anything, and both of you know it. “I can do it,” you insist even as your voice wobbles.

Instead of answering, Jimin begins to move, following the momentum of the music. Your hands lie at their sides, the duvet cool against your heated flesh.

He starts out easy, stepping back to give himself more space and slowly lowering into a crouch, the heels making his calves pop. Running his hands down his chest, fingers slipping under the lace, he sighs out like his own touch gives him unspeakable pleasure.

You grit your teeth. Watching him touch himself just makes you want to touch him more. He widens his legs, showing the place where the lacy band narrows down below his balls into a thin string. Whether it’s the angle or just the amount of moving he’s done, the tip of his cock has nestled up higher, poking out just to the side of his hip. Shamelessly, he runs a single fingertip over it, tapping so you can see the clear strands of precum that cling.

You let out an unsteady breath, relaxing slightly as the song begins to build to the final chorus. Not long.

Unfortunately for you, Jimin recognises the changing keys as well as you do, and he stands up smoothly, slinking towards you.

Instead of settling between your knees this time, he turns his back to you and bends down, folding himself in half to fully bare his ass. Hoseok’s handprint still pinkens the skin of one, and the sudden desire to reach out and see if it’s as warm to the touch as it looks overcomes you. You hiss and fist your hands in the fabric of the duvet cover, making Jimin stretch up with a laugh.

Merciless, Jimin widens his stance, choosing to sit on top of your lap, ass grinding on you. You can imagine this movement would be much more unbearable for a guy, but you still feel your resolve unravelling, taken by the fluidity of his hips, the lace accuentuating his slender waist, the pressure of his head as he tips it back onto your shoulder.

“This is so unfair,” you complain shakily, and are rewarded with the musical giggle Jimin lets out, bubbling from his arched throat right into your ear.

Luckily, the chorus ends, and the final notes settle down. Jimin’s hips still and he turns his head, lips just about brushing your cheek. “Good job, sweetness,” he praises warmly, “can I have another kiss?”

Your jaw jerks automatically before you catch yourself. Though it’s fading out, the song technically hasn’t ended yet. “Not yet.”

Shameless even as his ruse is exposed, Jimin just beams and twist around so that he’s straddling you face-on. He lowers his mouth to your collarbone, nibbling at the skin there as the beat fades and the overlaying instruments peter out. Though it must only be ten or fifteen seconds, it feels like forever as he rocks himself against you just like Taehyung had done to Jin - albeit less desperate and more strategic - and licks at the bite marks on your neck.

Finally, it goes silent, and you exhale deeply, hands automatically coming up to rest on his hips as he laughs lightly at your successful efforts. “I’m impressed,” he admits, “guess you get your reward after all, sweetness.”

So relieved that the heat between your legs will get some attention, you barely take notice of him standing up off you, at least not until he slips his cock fully out of the panties.

His cock, straining with being left unattended so long, is a far deeper pink than the mark on his ass, particularly around the head. He sucks in a breath through his nose as he strokes himself, before blinking down at you.

“Clothes off if you want me, sweetness.”

You could guarantee you’ve never undressed so quickly before, frantically enough that your hips are hot from the friction of tugging down your pants. You take no note, however, just spreading your legs wantonly as you eye up his cock.

“Fuck, look at you,” Jimin curses, bracing a hand on your hip as he lines himself up. “Don’t even need stretching, do you? Looks like Joonie opened you up for me already.”

Your cheeks burn, but there’s not enough time to dwell on the embarrassment, as Jimin holds you down with his grasp on your hip and bottoms out in a single thrust.

Even though he’s right, the sudden fullness has you gasping a moan, almost falling onto your back. You prop yourself up and widen your legs further, eyes locked on the sight of his cock, nestled underneath by the lushest black lace, buried deep inside you. “Fuck, please move.”

“My pleasure,” he coos with a sweet smile, before the smile drops to a slack pout of lust, snapping his hips with a deftness that you now know is due to his background as a dancer.

You fight to keep yourself sitting up, one hand around the back of his neck as he fills you with every stroke, but the angle isn’t quite right, and you find your pelvis shifting to find it.

Jimin notices your frustration, and wordlessly pauses, grips your thighs and tugs you forward so that you’re flat on your back, ass over the edge and held up by his upper body strength. Without you even processing the change, he’s returning to his ruthless place, and you sob from relief at the way your insides come alive with pleasure, so much stronger than before.

“Fuck, right there! Right- ungh, yes, Ji-Jimin,” you pant out, feeling unbearably hot all at once with the intensity of it.

Though part of you is still sore from the scene you had with Namjoon earlier, your swollen walls only increase the drag of him against your sensitive tissue, and you quickly turn incoherent, tongue so thick in your mouth that you open it, panting as your fingers clutch the duvet to anchor you.

“That good, huh?” Jimin notes with a laugh stuttered by grunts of exertion. Normally, you’d protest or retort, but with your ankles wrapped around him and back arching off the bed, there’s nothing on your mind but the enveloping urge to cum.

Rather than reply, you just let yourself drown in the sensations, vision going black as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Your orgasm comes so fast that you don’t even notice it approaching, can’t even warn him. It’s like a clap of thunder, making you go stiff with a scream before turning completely boneless, legs slipping down off him weakly.

Jimin curses as you squeeze around him, but fucks you through it thoroughly, only slowing down once you begin to fuss, shivering and wriggling away.

Dazed from the sudden onslaught of pleasure, it takes you a few moments for the fog in your brain to clear. Once you do, you glance down and realise Jimin is still achingly hard, dripping with your slick and the remnants of Namjoon’s cum, but none of his own. He strokes it lazily, gaze searching your face.

So exhausted from two intense scenes in one day, you don’t think you could manage to jerk him off or give him a decent blowjob, but to leave him hanging would be cruel. Instead, you fumble to slide yourself off the bed, landing a little too hard on your knees.

“What are you- oh, Y/n, fuck,” Jimin exclaims lowly as you blink up at him and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out. He gets the message easily, speeding up his strokes as his tip bounces on your tongue, brief sparks of the salty tang of your shared arousal.

He must have been close before, because it doesn’t take him more than a minute to fall over the edge, cumming into your mouth with thick spurts. A shame it couldn’t have been inside you a different way, but you nonetheless chase his cock, blade of your tongue dipping into his slit to make sure you’d gotten every last drop.

Jimin swears lowly, stroking your hair back fondly as you swallow, and helps you stand up on wobbly legs.

Leading you to the bathroom, Jimin sits you on the closed toilet seat as he runs a bath. Having slipped off his heels somewhere back in the room, he unhooks his garters as he waits for the tub to fill. With one leg resting on the high edge of the tub, rolling down the fishnets one at a time, you once again are silenced in awe of his beauty.

It feels unspeakably intimate to watch him unclasp the bralette, slip off the panties, and slowly take his makeup off, easily locating the makeup remover he’d borrowed from you that very first night.

Your eyes sting a little as you’re reminded of that time. It feels like an eternity ago, even though it’s just under a fortnight. You’d thought he was so intimidating back then. Though he still had the power to command attention, you’d seen enough of the kindhearted, thoughtful and sensitive man beneath that the Jimin two weeks ago felt like a very different man.

“Water’s ready.”

You blink yourself out of that train of thought, letting Jimin help you carefully into the tub, joining you on the other side, legs tangled. “Thank you,” you manage to say, still feeling a little out of it after a tiring day and a good orgasm.

Jimin beams, glancing away to obscure some of his face. It’s clear to you that the lack of makeup has him feeling a bit vulnerable. His skin is flushed red - either naturally or from exertion you couldn’t tell - and his brows were softer, eyes looking smaller without the shadow that emphasised them. He wasn’t any less beautiful like this, just more human. Comforting, in a way, as he passes you a washcloth and begins to lather himself up in strawberry-scented bodywash.

“Hey, Y/n,” Jimin starts, but his voice sounds weirdly stilted and unlike him.

“Mm?”

“My, um, my…” He lets out a light cough, avoiding your gaze with an air of forced aloofness. “Granny keeps asking about you. She’s convinced we’re dating, but that’s, uh, I’ve assured her we aren’t. She really liked you, and whenever we chat she asks to speak to you, and, um…”

You feel more coherent than you have in a good couple hours, sitting upright. “She does?”

Jimin laughs ruefully. “I never really knew how to ask you if you wanted to speak to her, or if I should even ask you at all-”

“So you thought now, while we’re both naked in a tub after you fucking my brains out is the right time?”

Jimin’s cheeks colour more as he splutters. “You can say no, I just didn’t want you to… I don’t know. You can say no.”

You beam at him. “I have one rule.”

“What?”

“I’ll hang out with Mrs. Park on one condition.”

The blue-haired boy stares at you warily. “Which is?”

You lean forward with a deadpan expression on your face, making him grimace in worry. “You let me sleep in your bed tonight,” you explain gravely, “I’m running out of options for this Bangasm Bomb thingy, and it’s only fair after you just took me out of commission like that.”

Jimin laughs in relief, throwing his head back with a joyous grin. “Deal! Don’t scare me like that.”

You return his smile, heart swelling from the fondness you hold for him. “Of course I’ll chat with your grandma, Jimin. I love her. She reminds me of you a lot.”

You may have said too much, but Jimin goes lax against the opposite end of the tub, smile never leaving his lips, and you don’t regret it for a second.

[redxblueihateloveyou]

Hiiii!!! 💫💕🌸🥳

Can I bother with a question... I was (re)watching that zhang qiling edit (not today) - 'cause it's so cool, btw- and I wondered if Reboot Xiaoge’s your favourite one...? And if you're up to answering, what do you think about the other adaptations? Especially (our small bean) xiao yuliang's interpretation of xiaoge?

🤗🌺💐🐰💕

Hey, my precious patootie hehe ILY it always makes me very happy knowing that you rewatch my vids <3

lol dang it, I was kinda hoping to avoid this question, just because I feel like I'd find it hella hard to explain some things, but I'll try my best and hopefully it'll make some sense xD

I'll start from afar bc I wanna try to explain my reasonings, since I don't want to go without arguments into such highly debated question lolz. I talked about this a bit in my previous asks somewhere, but not broadly as to why that one guy hit all the right spots.

So throughout the books Wu Xie always does this wonderful thing, where he very tangibly describes the feeling he gets when Xiaoge is near, I mean like the aura around him. And he always somehow does it so colorful, that this mix of safety, assurance, calmness, composure and some things I can't quite put into one noun, that he brings to him, I think everyone who've read the books can recognize as this almost magical "Xiaoge feeling". It's not just the way he acts in some dangerous situations or smth like that. It's just everything. You either have it or you don't. And here goes my first argument... to me none of them, except for Huang Junjie and Yuliang have it.

I mean it's not even the obvious stuff, it's like the way they move during the action scenes, the way they even stand and hold themselves, the way they touch Wu Xie, the tone of their voices (both of which are like soothing as fuck), little things you'd think wouldn't matter, but when you watch it and all the puzzle pieces are together, you're like... fuck yeah, thats him.

Also not really that weighty of a point, but to me there's always a joy to see that the actor who plays the character not only gets what's he's playing, but also loves it, bc it's always seen on screen. Usually when some asked about the character they play and what they have in common for example they answer with obvious things like if some character is introverted they're like "well I also don't talk very much" or smth like that, you know what I mean. When I was watching interviews of Yuliang and Huang Junjie I was just smiling so much, bc they've said such things that made me go "yeah, Qiling is safe in their hands".

In Reboot case working in such close proximity with the author definitely also played a huge role here. Bc it kinda gets complicated in some aspects since the books are written from Wu Xie's point of view and you can't only base your picture on his perspective, just bc it's coming from a person who after being basically told "you're my whole world" goes "I'm just a person he randomly passes by in his long life" in his thoughts. Not only he's utterly clueless and dumb when it comes to all this, that he wouldn't notice the way Qiling looks at him and other things, its also not that kind of book, that would go "I suddenly caught poker face looking at me like I'm his whole existence" (and I honestly don't want it to be that book lmao). So you have to take into the account here stuff like what author says to get the whole picture, bc if you look at that from the point of Qiling's view for example, this shit takes a whole wild turn. So I really loved that in UN and Reboot ways of showing Qiling's feelings were well thought out and fit the timeline.

Bc it also works both ways, when it comes to other adaptations. Like Qiling is very and I mean ETREMELY hard to win over. We all know that it was a very long process of gaining his trust and even longer for him to fall for Wu Xie to the point of him being his everything. So what I want in those interpretations is for them to get at which point of their relationships what Xiaoge's behavior makes sense. I do not need any fanservice if it ruins the character, I'll just hate it. The thing that their feelings didn't come out of nowhere is what I LOVE about this ship, bc I'm not the kind of person who believes in "we love for nothing" thing and love at first sight thing (only "got hots for each other" at first sight), bc thats bull. Wu Xie became his everything after a long LONG process of getting to know each other. At the beginning tho he was the same stranger to him as everyone else. So what Reboot Qiling feels for Wu Xie is not what UN's Qiling feels for Wu Xie yet and what UN's Qiling feels for Wu Xie is not what Lost Tomb's Qiling feels for Wu Xie (which at that point was nothing). And I feel like not everyone gets the fact that you can totally wreck the character if you make him behave not the way he behaved in that particular time. Like for example, if someone would make a MDZS adaptation where at the very beginning of their relationships LZ treats WWX the way he treated him after the reincarnation just because "who cares, it's still LZ", that would be dumb af, see what I mean. So Xiaoge having a weakness for Wu Xie in part one is automatically not a Xiaoge to me, bc a huge part of his character and the thing NPSS speaks a lot about is just how IMPOSSIBLE it is for someone to catch his attention and how long it took Wu Xie to get there. So let's just say to me UN and Reboot Qilings for the first time didn't feel like some mashup or character summary/parody, they were Qilings the way they are supposed to be in that part of the story, bc it was the only times someone actually bothered to coordinate it.

Now as to why I prefer one to another. Xiaoge has this thing... the way he holds himself with other people, that is sometimes intentionally and sometimes unintentionally suppressing.

Like everyone knows that if you're a passerby, Qiling genuinely doesn't fucking care and would in fact be pretty harsh about it in terms of treating people like they do not deserve their attention. He won't be like "please, don't bother me", he simply ignored them like an empty space. He is also like that with acquaintances who in his opinion do not deserve his respect like that girl who went hysterical, bc she was upset that he was the only one who wasn't drooling on her like all other men on the crew, Chen Wenjin, Wu Xie's uncles and etc. He's not openly disrespectful unless they trigger him in some way (usually by trying to act superior or later on for not treating Wu Xie right), but if they do, he will in fact remind them their place in sometimes a very rude way, at times humiliating them in front of ppl bc he looks younger than them and talking starts.

He's always doing things on his own terms and hates being told what to do. Like he legit scared Chen Wenjin just with a look and the tone of his voice when he said "let go", when she tried to command him on the mission and grabbed him trying to lecture him about what he should or shouldn't do. That's why Wu Erbai didn't even try anything like this and let him do whatever he needed to do and equally lead the mission in Reboot. And why the scene where Wu Xie 'commands' "Xiaoge, come back" and he immediately listens holds another special place in my heart. Bc he NEVER and I mean NEVER allows such things to ANYONE.

So here I came to a point of why despite loving them both dearly, my favorite Xiaoge is Huang Junjie.

I have this dissonance with Yuliang's version when to me in many scenes it felt like he and Wu Xie are the same age. Like if he was Xiaoge, but in his 20s. In his interactions with Chen Wenjin the dynamics was turned upside down, with him being okay with her telling him what to do and just in general the way she behaved with him. Same as like I didn't always quite believe him to be on par with older generation or even Pangzi, it just felt like he was truly younger than them. Some scenes that I do find extremely cute just don't fit book Xiaoge at all, I'm talking about some moments like his face when Wu Xie gave him food, or him pouting and many things he's done, when you were going "uwu he's a baby". He just never gives me this feeling in the books ever, not just bc he's 100 years old, but sad fact here.. bc he's simply unable to behave that way. Like in the books you'll desperately want to shower him with love, but he's just... I can't quite explain, it's very sad.

I guess it's just you know these characters, who are like hundreds years old, but look like they're 18? I think you have to be very careful with how you write those, so you could deliver that. And in UN because of some changed dynamics and scenes I straight up forgot about it, until Wu Xie threw some joke like "he's an old man" in front of a restaurant.

In Reboot Xiaoge could make Wu Erbai stutter with one move, put Yuliang's version in the same scene, I just don't think it would've worked. Like I'm trying to imagine him telling UN's Wu Erbai what to do and having troubles already haha. Same as I don't think he's capable to be genuinely mad at Wu Xie, and HJJ nailed it esp in one of my fav when Wu Xie was laughing at Pangzi's joke about him catching cold. The look he gave him and how ZYL just retreated was priceless xD. And boy could Qiling get angry with him in the books!

Otherwise I didn't have any drastic fall outs there, like with Joseph's Wu Xie and Ah Ning's death, because that was just too much of a difference, but there were still moments where it was once again this the same scene completely different emotion thing. He was more tolerable to ppl in general here, more pliable. And 50% of the time he gave me the cute lost kitten type, which I just cannot connect with the feeling he gave me in the books. His personality is a cat type 100%, but like seriously "cute baby" is the last word combination I would ever apply to book Xiaoge, but with Yuliang's version it's easily applied. So small bean he is indeed. With Joseph and in UN it works incredibly perfect to me, but the way he is in UN is at times too gentle. And there are lots of scenes where Joseph himself looked at him in a way "you're too cute, let me pinch your cheeks" kind of way, or the way he like sat down next to him on the coast, he was a bit babying him at times. I can't imagine book pingxie doing that. It's just a whole different vibe, the way he takes care of him, the way he lets him take care of him... it's...uuuuuuuuu another vibe (see, I'm so good at explaining lmao).

It's also kinda funny to me, bc HJJ who's the smallest and who irl truly a kitten never once gave me that feeling on screen for some reason. The one babied and loved by every crew and old ppl, who was cutely hiding behind ZYL's back on set, who won't sue an ex who almost ruined his career bc of how stupid she is, bc he "didn't want to hurt her", who according to staff can't even step on a fly, whom CMH was petting for several minutes after he had to hit him with a prop brick bc he didn't wanna do it lmao. I was just like.. ok, this is hilarious, bc I in fact didn't expect him to be a small bean, so watching all the bts made me go LOOOOL. Probably ZYL acting like a 3 year old helped him transform and the age difference problem got lost lmao

As for other adaptations. You know I can't watch seriously "Lost Tomb", I think some ppl probably have some nostalgic feeling about it, but I'm sorry, to me it's fucking hilarious. Like I've already said it looks like some type of twilight parody thing or smth. Soft damselle Wu Xie esp killed me, bc 1st when he ever was that, 2nd in the first book he's salty af, I don't even know this dude in this interpretation, I was like who's this. YangYang I know him from other things, I really don't think it's his role. I know the script and everything is bad. I know the costume and hair are horrendously funny, but it's just I was watching him in those action scenes and was like no... just I'm sorry but I'm not feeling it. I simply just don't know what to say about the whole thing seriously, bc I don't even know where to start. 10 episodes of some salad finished with one mutilated scene from book 6 for no reason the fact that characters are weird themselves also I can't quite tell, did they really just meet or they imply smth else lmao.. I'm sorry, but I do not get it.

I've given LT2 another try after finishing all the books and I've dropped it half way through, Cheng Yi wasn't even close to how I pictured Xiaoge in any aspect. He in fact didn't do anything OOC or off the book or anything, I just was like "not my Qiling". Happens sometimes.

Explore with the note you already know how I feel about this lol let's just forget.

P.S. To be fair here also maybe we should take into account the fact that some got luckier than other with "at which point" Xiaoge they're playing. Like for example, "Wrath of the Sea" and "Qingling Tree" books which is LT2 is not exactly you can say much about Qiling there, he trolls them there in the beginning (in a brilliant way that was totally lost in the adaptation) and he is there in "Wrath of Sea", but it's not the part that can make his character shine in any way, there's not much things happening there that would make you fall for him or get to know him; Yuliang grabbed the fattest piece bc it's middle several books, when they're always together and his character shines the most in terms of clues about past, opening up to Wu Xie and Pangzi, and there are many many events where you can get the picture of what kind of man he is; Huang Junjie grabbed my fav piece of utter devotion, where he's already fully and wholeheartedly belongs to Wu Xie, that I'm just weak for. So like... there's also that I guess xD.

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

Let’s talk: RUN Episode 131

by Admin 1

I know I’ve probably said this about literally every episode but this one was so fun! Admin 2 and I were honestly laughing almost the entire time while also trying our best to follow along their “debates” and just taking in all the chaos. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Quick recap: in this episode we’re at the pool that belongs to the same hotel at which they had lunch at the end of the previous episode and the objective is twofold--not get wet and win a debate. That’s basically it, it’s like the mint chocolate debate episode but even more hilarious and with the addition of wet Bangtan.

Something I truly love is how it took vmin exactly 57 seconds (which includes the 18 second long intro) to find some kind of ‘reason’ to hold/shake hands behind JKs back. Because of course they did.

After the whole “mess” that ensued after the Titanic preview picture was posted yesterday, I can basically just say one thing--there was literally no need whatsoever to get all anxious and uncertain about the picture, or anything the shippers made out of it. As always the best course of action, which is the one I usually apply, is waiting until we get the full thing so we have context for what we’re shown in the picture/teaser/scene. It’s like that scene at the end of one of the ITS episodes where Jimin goes to JK to tell him about a supposed leak in his room which was taken way out of context and proportions until we got the next episode a week later and the actual events were completely different from anything and everything that was theorized. 

So, what’s the lesson? Wait until we get the full thing, dear fellow vminnies, that way we can avoid making each other anxious and unsure.

Anyway, let’s get into it by starting with the ‘warm-up’ which consisted of one-on-one “battles” where the members stood on these floating foamy mats being held by two staff members and having to make each other fall into the water by playing the hand pushing game. 

Yoongi VS Jimin -- I like how the two shortest members went against each other, which I’d assume might’ve had something to do with Yoongi’s shoulder and how chances of Jimin hurting him due to his height/size/weight were the smallest as opposed to Namjoon or even Hoseok. Maybe I’m imagining/overthinking things but it seemed like Jimin was a little hesitant/careful in how he approached the game and in the way he touched Yoongi, which honestly is very thoughtful and cute of him if that’s true, considering his shoulder and all. In the end Yoongi, after they basically goofed around more than actually tried to push each other, offers a deal of just doing it once properly, ending in both of them falling in the water since Yoongi leans forward, hugs Jimin and drags him down with him.

Tae VS Hobi -- These two might’ve been the quickest, given how Hobi said he’s scared at least three times and Tae basically use a moment to ‘attack’ where Hobi was distracted by the fact that a moment prior he thought Tae almost would’ve hit him in the face with his forehead on accident. That lucky did not happen, but Hobi did end up in the water and Tae remained on the float and completely dry.

Namjoon VS Seokjin -- Now these two, how can I put my thoughts/feelings into cohesive words and sentences instead of just a long key smash? They were hilarious, and their round definitely took the longest out of all of them, both trying to make the other fall yet simultaneously seeming like they weren’t trying all that hard since neither wanted to land in the water? After all before the game started Seokjin did complain how the RUN crew told him they wouldn’t have to get into the water. And yet, in the end, after a visible moment of contemplation, Namjoon hugs Seokjin (who hugs him back) and they fall into the water together (when I tell you how much I love them, wow).

JK VS Jimin --Here’s where we get the Titanic moment while JK and Jimin stand on the float and are being pulled to the middle of the pool, the members immediately jumping in with Hobi going “Jack, come back” in a breathy voice while Yoongi (?) sings the melody of My Heart Will Go On and everyone is laughing. It was an absolutely hilarious and cute moment. What made me laugh the most during the whole thing were the Jimin heads used to hide whatever, which I as a joke called the “Victoria’s Secret Fantasy Bra (Head Edition)” while talking to Admin 2. During the game itself Jimin and JK are hilarious, slapping each other’s chests and trying different tricks to make the other fall, showing how amazing their core strength and balance is, but eventually Jimin shoves JKs chest and JK falls into the water, winning the game since Jimin “cheated” and thus lost.

Seokjin VS Tae -- Interesting to note is how Jimin remained in the water and close by while these two were playing. Seokjin and Tae though somehow seemed the most chaotic out of all of them, despite Seokjin offering that they should just do it in one go...which didn’t work out. They leaned into each other twice while laughing before starting to “wrestle” until Tae put his arms around Seokjin’s waist and basically threw him into the water while subsequently being pulled after him and falling in as well. Sometimes I think we forget how strong Tae is (though after his BE_log earlier today I doubt we’ll forget that again any time soon).

Once “warm-up” was done, the members were split into two groups of three while one person, the MC, sat in the middle in a glass box (though missing the front glass panel). The rules were established and we basically figured out that there are water canons in front of the seated members and a bigger one releasing water onto the member sitting in the middle. They got words and things they were not allowed to do/say since otherwise they would get splashed.

Safe to say they all fairly quickly looked even more like very wet puppies. I mean look at Yoongi and his cute curly poodle hair, adorable!

The debate portion itself was about “crunchy or soft cereal”, “eggs of peas on jjajangmyeon” and “firm or soft peaches” and truly more chaotic shouting than actually debating. The team members and the “MC” changed for each round, which lasted 11 minutes each. Who debated what was chosen by the crew (or the MC). My highlights for the cereal debate (besides Seokjin cutely complaining how he prefers his cereal soggy and Namjoon equally cutely telling him to just pretend he likes it crunchy) were Yoongi (who was team soggy cereal) and his argument that since Kendrick Lamar eats soggy cereal, that’s basically the winning argument, Namjoon arguing that since “cereal” and “crunchy” both start with a c that’s the only right answer, and Tae arguing that if you eat chocolate cereal it’ll melt and you’ll additionally get chocolate milk so obviously soggy cereal is better. The jjajangmyeon portion had discussions about prices, as well as Hobi (team peas) arguing he doesn’t like seeing animals in pain (which was quickly countered by JK saying he’d just eaten pork before the episode) and Tae generally being appalled by having to argue in favor of peas since he doesn’t like them yet used the argument that his dad likes them so if you argue against them...well. 

And finally the peaches debate had Tae and his galaxy brain using their Chilsung Cider ads as argument and how the peaches in it were firm since they bounced and thus they are better, which JK tried to counter by pointing out that those were just CGI to which Tae basically said he’s insulting their beautiful ads, how dare. I also love how Jimin, who was on Tae’s team, went along with whatever nonsense argument Tae came up with as though it was the most logical one in the world. Just lovely soulmate things, we love to see it. Speaking of nonsensical arguments, you have to give points to Namjoon for his ability to sound like he’s making perfectly sensible and logical arguments while doing, well, the exact opposite. Or Yoongi who just bs-ed his way through the entire thing while acting totally serious about it.

Can we please have a quick look at the following screenshot:

And now, can we please talk about how everyone is nicely sitting in their designated place with space between them...and then there’s vmin who are like magnets because “Space who? We don’t know her”. 

Admin 2 asked me to add their comment/thought about how it looks juuuuust a little as though vmin may or may not have been holding hands below the table, which, I mean, we’ll never know but, at this point (especially after the BE unit unboxing video) I wouldn’t even be surprised if it were true.

At one point when Seokjin became the MC the water kept on coming and coming and the members were desperate to figure out what was the thing they were doing that caused it. Jimin thought it could be the caps that some of them wore, so without hesitation or question, he took off Tae’s cap (bless Jimin for giving us another view at wet hair Tae, truly) and then, I swear, it looks like he wanted to ruffle Tae’s hair yet just a second before making contact he stops himself and instead turns his hand in like a “I’m presenting some kind of argument” way. Adorable.

A final note goes out to the fact that they are wearing white button downs which, I mean, makes perfect sense I guess? And also how the crew gave them bathrobes so they’d stay warm, I’d assume, yet very quickly those were drenched as well thanks to the water canons so it basically defeated the purpose completely. And yet, despite all the water etc they all look fantastic.

Overall it’s a hilarious episode that’ll give your stomach muscles and lungs an amazing workout. Bangtan were their chaotic, loud, and mischievous selves and honestly, I can’t wait to see what else they’ll debate in the next episode.

[rovelae]

Behind the Scenes of “Hologram”

           Today marks exactly one year since I posted arguably my most popular fic. “Hologram” is a postgame Saiouma one-shot about escapism, loneliness, and running away from the past. I put a lot of myself into this fic and I’m blown away by all the love it’s received, not only on AO3 but in Discord servers and other social media. All that excitement made me keep thinking about it, so I thought I’d share a (very self-indulgent) behind-the-scenes of sorts about how I wrote it, as well as what I think of the story.

           This essay will contain spoilers for the whole fic, so if you’d like to read it first, you can find it here. Of course, if the tags scare you off, that’s valid, but you might want to skip this post too since I’ll be quoting it throughout (so, just to be safe, expect the warnings I’ve posted on AO3 to apply here too).

           If you’re a Lorde fan you’ll recognize the lyrics in the fic summary – “Nothing’s wrong when nothing’s true,” from “Buzzcut Season.” The inspiration for this fic came to me while I was on my way to an early shift at work, and I needed a good song in my head to give me the will to live for the next eight hours. Not sure why I chose that song in particular, but maybe part of it is because I like imagining stories to go along with the songs I listen to, like AMVs playing in my head, and I’d never been able to pin down exactly what this song reminded me of.

           The mood of the music is really what compelled me – there’s something lonely about it, and the lyrics sound like the singer’s trying to convince herself that everything’s okay even when all evidence points otherwise. There are “explosions on TV”, and “The men up on the news / They try to tell us all that we will lose,” but “we live beside the pool / Where everything is good.” Despite everything going wrong, despite the notes of fear creeping into the pre-chorus, the character will “play along… in a hologram with you” and “never go home again.”

           From there, it was an easy jump to “postgame Saiou” and that was that.

             There’s a cloud of seagulls hovering in the air around him, and a dozen or so more standing just out of reach, staring him down with beady black eyes. Kokichi takes a slice of bread from the loaf he’s holding and tosses it to one of the birds, watches it catch it and stumble under the weight, watches its head bob as it tries to swallow the whole thing at once. It gets remarkably far before four other birds descend on it, shrieking wildly.

           “Mine, mine, mine,” he mumbles into his folded arms, wondering if Shuichi would get the reference.

           He really wishes Shuichi was here.

           Kokichi upends the rest of the loaf of bread onto the sidewalk and laughs at the resulting chaos until his chest aches.

             To start off, I wanted to create the same lonely mood from “Buzzcut Season” in Kokichi’s simulation. He’s not exactly trapped there, but he’s refusing to leave, because as long as he’s on the fake Jabberwock Island, he can pretend the killing game never happened. The trade-off to that escapism is that the only people he can talk to are the NPCs, who aren’t complex enough to be remotely interesting to him, and Usami, who… well, tries her best, but is more of an informational / moderation program and can’t offer him what a therapist could.

           The only thing Kokichi has to look forward to is Shuichi, who he’s convinced is an extremely lifelike computer program rather than the real thing, because the real Shuichi would definitely hate him for everything that happened during the killing game. He’s so locked into this line of logic that he doesn’t let himself consider that Shuichi has forgiven him – he doesn’t even have a good answer for why the Future Foundation wouldn’t just keep the supposed Shuichi AI on indefinitely, believing it’s their way of baiting him into leaving the simulation.

           It’s not a healthy or sustainable lifestyle in the slightest, but Kokichi stubbornly refuses to do anything but wander the islands aimlessly, passing the time with ice cream and feeding seagulls until the next time he can see Shuichi.

             He dreams that DICE is here in the simulation with him, smiling and carefree as they explore the weird music venue. One of them has gotten the karaoke machine working, and another found a box of kazoos and maracas in the back room. Kokichi already pities anyone unfortunate enough to walk by the building tonight.

           “Not going to sing, Joker?” one of his DICE asks (over the sound of their youngest member shrieking through seven kazoos at once), sitting on the bench next to him.

           “Some games are more fun to watch than play,” he answers, leaning back on his hands and sighing.

           “Like a killing game.”

           The warm dream-atmosphere turns cold then, and Kokichi’s head snaps over to look at him—but his brother is gone and Kaito’s looking back at him instead, blood in his teeth and face ashen pale.

           “You... we don’t have to do this, man,” Kaito says, but it’s a lie and they both know it, and he doesn’t want to look behind him because he knows the machine’s looming over him with its unyielding steel and slow slow slow descent—

           “You’re not real,” he snaps at dream-Kaito, who doesn’t respond except to lift him up again. “Nothing’s real, none of—PUT ME DOWN! LET GO OF ME! DON’T PUT ME BACK IN THERE!”

           “Death is more mercy than you deserve,” Kaito says, and Kokichi claws and bites and kicks his way out of Kaito’s grasp like a wild animal, only to end up in front of a prison cell full of—

           DICE, his beloved DICE, trapped and hurt and afraid, bloodied and beaten and helpless.

           “Why didn’t you save us, boss?” says his second-in-command, clutching the bars with bleeding hands. “Why didn’t you do more? Now we’re all dead and it’s because of you.”

             Moments like this are my reference to Buzzcut Season’s pre-chorus, where the not-okay starts to creep into the illusion. Despite Kokichi’s valiant efforts to forget, he’s still dealing with the aftermath of seeing his family hurt and in danger, watching his friends die, orchestrating the deaths of two of them, being killed himself— and then being told every bit of it was made up to entertain an audience who sees nothing wrong with that picture. Running away is not the way to heal from trauma, and one day soon it’s all bound to come crashing down around him.

             “Do you know what this … island paradise represents, Kokichi?” [Hinata] asks, and Kokichi’s really not in the mood for a lecture but he continues anyway. “Jabberwock Island … was the setting for the fiftieth season of Danganronpa. The golden anniversary, they called it. It was my season.”

           Kokichi hunches over, hugging his arms over his torso and stifiling a scream. He does not want to think about this right now—

           “They wanted it to be the best season of all, which, unfortunately for us, meant it was also the bloodiest,” Hinata says. “Twice as many participants, deadly traps hidden across each of the islands— they even changed the way the motives worked, like when they told Fuyuhiko to cut out his own eye so Peko could have a quick death instead of suffering for days.”

           “Do I look like your therapist, porcupine-head?” Kokichi hisses. A sharp pain is pounding into his skull, and there’s a bitter, metallic taste at the back of his throat. A taste like poison and blood.

           “There was so much going on that the simulation malfunctioned,” Hinata says. “When people died, their Ultimate talents downloaded themselves into me. I’m told that the stress of so many personality grafts came close to liquefying my frontal lobe. I’m lucky I woke up at all… especially considering more than half of the others didn’t.”

           “Why are you telling me this?” Kokichi grates out through the static building in his head. If he opens his eyes, will he see the beach or the dull chrome of the machine closing in on him?

           “Because I know how much you want to forget about what happened,” Hinata says. “Believe me, I get it.”

           ….

           “These things that happened to us… we can’t erase them, no matter how much we want to. Some things have to be remembered.”

             I’d mostly like to leave Hajime’s season up to interpretation, but there are a couple things I wanted to say about it. I imagine Danganronpa is like the Hunger Games in that it’d go all out for big anniversaries. So, there were twice as many participants for the Jabberwock Island beatdown that was probably subtitled “Bloodbath Bay” or something equally appealing. The game’s formula changed from a focus on the mystery and the trials to “look at all these kids massacring each other a la Lord of the Flies,” and since the VR system wasn’t equipped to handle that many people and their deaths, it malfunctioned, giving Hajime way too many Ultimate talents and putting half the cast into comas from which they never woke up.

           Viewers either absolutely loved or absolutely hated this season, depending on whether they were DR fans because of the “blood n’ guts” factor or the “mystery and psychological thriller” aspect. Team Danganronpa faced quite a bit of backlash for actually causing the real-life deaths of half its participants, but were able to weasel their way out of serious legal repercussions because of the waivers the participants had signed beforehand (plus a lot of bribery and falling back on their longstanding popularity). So, the cast of Season 50 failed to end the killing game, but helped provide great evidence for the “Danganronpa is morally wrong” argument.

           Hajime works as a victim liaison for the Future Foundation and has been trying to take down Danganronpa since he got out of it. He’s like that in a few of my fics, actually; I like the idea of Hajime acting as a big brother of sorts to the V3 cast. It’s especially entertaining to imagine his interactions with Kokichi— though maybe not so much in Hologram, since to Kokichi he’s a representation of the past he’s trying so desperately to forget and the future he refuses to acknowledge.

             “SHUT UP!” He launches himself at Hinata, his hands wrapping around the other man’s throat as he uses his momentum to slam him to the ground. “SHUT! UP!”

           “Ko— ghk—” Hinata coughs, eyes wide with surprise, but aside from moving his hands up to grip Kokichi’s wrists, he doesn’t seem all that worried about fighting back.

           The thought only fuels Kokichi’s rage until he’s choking Hinata so hard his knuckles are white. “If you want me out of this simulation so badly, you can kill me,” he snarls. “I’m never waking up! I’m never leaving, do you UNDERSTAND ME?”

           Hinata grimaces, the outline of his avatar flickering, but he still doesn’t struggle, and Kokichi hates him all the more for it, despises him with a seething malice that festers low in his stomach. He wonders distantly if he’d actually kill this man in real life. Or if he’d be able to stop himself, feeling like this.

             Kokichi’s breakdown here is more out of fear than anger. Like I mentioned, Kokichi sees Hajime as another piece of what’s hurt him, and no matter how Hajime tries to help, Kokichi will always remember Danganronpa whenever he sees him.

             Warm yellow-orange light casts a relaxed, cozy glow over the dining hall. It’s an ambience compounded by the flickering candles on the table, which seems overly idyllic, but Kokichi will let it slide because of the adorable way Shuichi flushed when he noticed them as they sat down. Well, if he’s being honest, everything about Shuichi right now is adorable, from the way his hair keeps falling into his eyes to the way he’s nervously fiddling wth his chopsticks. Kokichi wishes he could keep staring at him forever.

           Ah, not… not in a weird way, though, just… because Shuichi’s beautiful, and when Kokichi looks at him he can forget everything bad that’s ever happened, can create some new and brighter world to exist in.

             This is an idea I wish I’d had room to explore a bit more in the story— that is, just how far Kokichi will go to pretend everything’s fine. I thought about making him border on delusional, like having him talk to people who aren’t there or forget what’s actually happening around him because he’s so lost in his fiction-within-a-fiction. It would have creeped Shuichi out a whole lot.

           Unfortunately, there wasn’t much room for that past the plot I’d already nailed down, so I focused on his loneliness and escapism instead. I do touch on it later in this scene, though— the couple paragraphs where he slips into fantasizing about being a phantom thief having a surreptitious meeting with his detective under the not-so-subtle supervision of his DICE. There would have been a lot more of that if I’d gone with the ‘delusion’ stylistic choice, to the point where even the readers would be confused about what’s real. Maybe I’ll look into writing something similar in a future story.

             Eventually, Shuichi sets down his bowl and looks away with a little sigh, and Kokichi clenches his teeth because that’s the sigh he does when it’s time for that conversation.

           “Um… Kokichi?”

           Kokichi’s only response is to exhale the breath he’d been holding in a quiet hiss.

           “I-I know you don’t want to, but… but I really need to talk to you about something,” Shuichi says. “Please?”

           “My Mr. Detective can talk about whatever he’d like!” Kokichi says with a lilt to his tone that makes it sound more sarcastic than he wants it to. He takes the last bite of curry and wishes that it burns hot enough to hurt.

           “It’s about Kaito.”

             This more serious part of the date scene is meant to reflect the little bridge in “Buzzcut Season”:

“Cola with the burnt-out taste

I’m the one you tell your fears to

There’ll never be enough of us.”

        ��  It’s a part of the song that sounds especially bittersweet to me, a bit of self-awareness between the insistence that everything’s okay.

           Really all I think I managed was to reference it when Kokichi’s internal dialogue comments on his drink being “so sweet it tastes burnt” and then later not tasting like anything. But hopefully the mood’s still there.

             “Tell him… that I have nothing against him,” he says.

           “That’s … not a lie?” Shuichi presses.

           Kokichi shakes his head idly, still not raising his gaze. “I wanted to wreck the killing game and he wanted to save his friend. We both got what we wanted. I’d say the end more than justifies the means.”

           Was that a lie?

           (I don’t want to die Shuichi I’m sorry I’m sorry save me Shuichi please I’m sorry ithurtsmakeitstop—)

           His fingers tighten into clawlike shapes, nails digging sharply into his forearms.

             I really don’t think Kokichi would have anything against Kaito, even if here he’s not being completely honest with how much he’s affected by what happened. It wouldn’t make sense to him to hate Kaito for something he himself proposed, but I think there’d still be a subconscious barrier between them. Too much history.

             “Don’t go, Shuichi, I’m so sorry, I— that was so dumb, what I said, please don’t be sad anymore.” He’s not sure if he can’t breathe because of the exertion of running or because of the hysteria boiling over in his head. “Please don’t go, I didn’t mean to hurt you— please don’t leave, Shuichi, I’m so sorry.”

           “Oh, Kokichi….” Shuichi’s tone is strange, soft and pitying, like he sees something Kokichi doesn’t, and he shakes his head slowly as more tears follow the paths of the others.

           Kokichi goes to his knees, ready to grovel if that’s what it takes, but Shuichi follows him down, closing his other hand over Kokichi’s, and then they’re both crying and he doesn’t know why, and all he can do is repeat a mantra of I’m sorry and hold on as tight as he can.

           It’s horrible. Shuichi’s horrible. Shuichi’s wonderful, and kind and lovely and perfect and Kokichi hates him, Kokichi adores him, and it doesn’t matter because Shuichi’s not actually here but Kokichi doesn’t want to be alone, just let me pretend some more, please, please let me have this—

           “I’ll… I’ll stay,” Shuichi says at last. “I can stay a while longer.”

           You shouldn’t, Kokichi wants to say, but his mouth won’t obey him. You shouldn’t stay if you don’t want to. I don’t deserve having you here. I’m not worth your mercy.

           But there on the bridge, crying tears of relief, he soaks up as much mercy as he can get and hopes it’s enough to drown him.

             I wanted to create a contrast between them that highlights just how the isolation and trauma Kokichi’s experiencing has affected him. He has an almost unhealthy reliance on Shuichi as “the only thing that makes this world bearable,” and panics when faced with the prospect of being alone again so soon. Part of why Shuichi’s crying is because he’s realized the extent of Kokichi’s desperation. It’s not that he thinks Kokichi’s apology is insincere, but that he’s hardly heard him apologize for anything before, so Kokichi going this far has him realizing how bad things really are.

             The door rumbles and slides open when they approach, revealing the bright light of the log-out point that took Shuichi away every time, that would wake Kokichi up in his real body if he walked into it. Shuichi stops just a step away from it, biting his lip as if searching for something to say, but before he can find it, Kokichi reaches out to tug at his sleeve.

           “Shuichi?” he says, distant as the waves on the beach that he can still hear if he listens closely enough. Shuichi turns back toward him. “Before you go, can I be selfish one more time?”

           “Huh…?”

           Shuichi doesn’t move when Kokichi steps closer, reaches up to ghost his fingertips over Shuichi’s jaw and around the back of his neck. He lets Kokichi tilt his head downward, lets him hover inches away, close enough to feel their breath mingle in the night air. Kokichi pauses there to give him the chance to pull away. He doesn’t.

           So Kokichi closes his eyes and the distance between them.

             That last line is a ZEUGMA! It’s a literary device where one word refers to two more in a different way. A popular example is the hyenas’ line “Our teeth and ambitions are bared” from The Lion King. It’s my favorite grammatical trick and I’d love to see more of it in fanfic.

             Slowly, he slides his hand down to Shuichi’s shoulder, using it as leverage to push himself away. That hurts even more. He can’t seem to open his eyes, and he feels so weakened, breathless, fragile. Cracked open, hollowed out.

           When he finally does open his eyes, Shuichi’s are wide with some mix of astonishment and a dozen other emotions. Kokichi bows his head, taking a deep breath to ground himself. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I just wanted to know.”

           “Kokichi,” Shuichi breathes, like a bullet through his heart.

           “Goodbye, Shuichi,” Kokichi says, and shoves him into the light.

           Shuichi’s little yelp of surprise cuts off abruptly as he falls through the door, vanishing into the glow, and all too soon, Kokichi’s alone again in a dream that suddenly seems far too vast. Alone, with the faintest taste of Shuichi’s lips still lingering on his own.

           And he thinks, It was enough just to know you.

           It’s a lie.

             Nothing to say here except that this is my favorite scene and I’m so happy with how it turned out.

             Fake sun rises over fake ocean, fake seagulls glide through fake sky while fake wind tousles fake palm fronds. Kokichi lies on his stomach in the fake grass and talks to his fake family in the fake notebook. Gives them fake names and runs through everything he remembers about them. Apologizes, over and over, wishes he could hug each of them goodbye one last time. Wonders if it would be more painful to die or to never have existed at all.

           He leaves the notebook of his memories on the seat of one of the Ferris wheel cars on the fourth island, because one time he promised them they’d steal the London Eye together.

           He buys a can of fake soda from the fake convenience store on the first island and sits on the fake beach watching the fake waves. Wonders when he’d hit the end of the simulation if he started swimming, or if he’d drown first.

           White sand, blue sea, bluer sky. Washed out, like an amateur watercolor painting.

           He opens the soda can and raises it to his mouth, but … even the thought of drinking it makes him sick to his stomach. He sets it down in the sand and flicks it over, watching the bubbly liquid run down and sink into the sand. The color’s all wrong, like blood streaked against a metal floor.

           He walks the fake streets of the fifth island, passing fake skyscrapers and fake commuters and their fake conversations, until he finally stops outside the factory he’s never been able to bring himself to go into. Smells like oil, and metal and machines and he can hear the sounds and he’s immediately back in the hangar, dizzy on adrenaline and desperation and leaning heavily on Kaito so he doesn’t keel over and die then and there. Kaito says something about how maybe he should sit down for a minute, and Kokichi didn’t agree back then but he does now, goes down on all fours and dry heaves.

           When his vision solidifies and he can stop gasping for breath, he sits up and presses his back against the factory wall, covering his ears and hiding his face in his knees. Tries to convince himself not to imagine Shuichi’s there with him, holding his hand again, promising everything’s going to be okay.

           “I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you anymore,” or maybe, “Breathe with me, it’ll be over soon. You’re safe now.”

           I love you.

           He laughs until there’s nothing left in his lungs. He called these little daydreams obsession, before, but now they just seem sick and insane.

             I wanted to indicate throughout this scene that Kokichi’s gotten substantially worse. Instead of halfheartedly interacting with the NPCs or finding something to spend time doing, he’s aimlessly wandering the islands, focused on how fake all of it is. Not even talking to his sketches of DICE can make him feel better. The suicidal ideation starts to slip in even if he doesn’t realize it— a fixation on wondering what death is like, purposefully triggering himself by walking by the factory….

           The thing I want to talk about most though is the italicized I love you. I left it outside of quotation marks and dialogue tags on purpose because I wanted it to be ambiguous as to who’s saying it. If it’s Kokichi’s line, it’s sudden and almost out of place, like he couldn’t hold back from thinking it anymore. But it could be Shuichi saying it, too. Since it’s outside quotation marks, unlike the previous dream-Shuichi lines, it’s more vague, almost a whisper in Kokichi’s thoughts— like he can barely bring himself to imagine it and even feels guilty doing so, because there’s no way it could possibly be real.

           Which do you think?

           Eh, I don’t have an answer. When I hear it in my head, they say it at the same time.

             “How did you know?” he finally croaks.

           Shuichi’s breathing still sounds shaky, too. “Because you said ‘goodbye,’” he says.

           Kokichi finally looks up at him in a silent question.

           “You never say goodbye,” Shuichi says, rubbing his sleeve over his eyes. “It’s always….”

           “‘See you later,’” Kokichi finishes for him. Despite himself, a tiny huff of astonished laughter escapes him. “I didn’t even know, not until a couple of hours ago. And you figured it all out from one word?”

           Shuichi bites his lip at that. “You kissed me,” he says.

           Kokichi’s stomach twists and he looks away. “I said I was sorry—”

           “No.” Shuichi squeezes his hand into a fist and lets it fall to thump against Kokichi’s chest, like he’s trying to knock some sense into him. “It was so honest, and vulnerable, and… and I know how much you hate showing how you really feel.” Another tiny sob catches in his throat. “And so it felt like … like something you’d do if you weren’t going to s-see me again.”

           “Shuichi….” Kokichi trails off as Shuichi muffles his cries in his hand again. He’s so breathtakingly smart. There’s no one else in the world who thinks that way, no one else who could possibly be that attentive and that clever. Not a programmer, not a team of shrinks… how can an AI manage it? How is it that Shuichi always manages to take him by surprise? How can he see straight through him when he least expects it?

           Kokichi’s hand reaches up to Shuichi’s cheek. Reverently traces the path of the tears falling down it.

           “I wish you were real,” he confesses in a whisper.

             Kokichi’s stubborn. So, so stubborn. And he’s not used to being cared about, if the way he does everything by himself is any indication. So it makes sense to me that he’ll refuse to believe anything good can happen to him even in the face of convincing evidence. He’s pretty self-hating for someone so arrogant.

             Kokichi’s weak, deep down to his core, weak for this man. Already knows he’d do anything for him, and the thought is terrifying—that one person could have that much power over him, even if he doesn’t realize it.

           But what if he has realized it? Couldn’t this all be an elaborate ruse, a lie he knew Kokichi would be so desperate to believe that he wouldn’t bother questioning it?

           …Shuichi’s never hurt him, though. Only that one time, when he really deserved it. Shuichi wouldn’t … betray him, even for what he thinks is Kokichi’s own good. They’re… different from each other, that way.

           But still….

           “I’m so scared, Shuichi.” It’s barely a whisper. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

           “You won’t be.” It’s so hard to be skeptical, lost in his eyes. “I’ll be right there with you, for as long as you want. I won’t let you feel like this anymore.”

           Promise me, he wants to blurt out. Promise you’ll stay. Promise me you’ll never leave me, Shuichi, he wants to demand, but that’s wrong, that’s manipulative and selfish and everything he doesn’t want to be for Shuichi anymore.

           Shuichi, of course, says it anyway.

           “I promise, Kokichi.”

…        

           “Kiss me again,” he says. “Please?”

           Shuichi leans in close, then pauses, his brow furrowing the way it does when he catches him in a lie.

           “I’ll kiss you again in the real world,” Shuichi says. “Okay?”

           Kokichi shakes his head. “Shuichi, please.” Please, I don’t think I can do this. Please, I don’t want to wake up to a lie. Please, one last kiss for me to remember in case it was all fake.

           Shuichi reaches out to tilt his chin up and Kokichi closes his eyes, savoring every second, burning it into his memory.

           Shuichi’s soft breath ghosts over his lips.

           “Trust me,” he murmurs.        

           Kokichi’s eyes flutter back open, searching his face. Shifting him around on the white board in his head, seeing what categories he fits into this time. Weird, of course. Suspicious, maybe not. Trustworthy?

           Trustworthy….

           “I do trust you,” he realizes.

             Kokichi’s still hesitant to accept all of this— Shuichi kissing him didn’t magically fix everything. He’ll still doubt all the way to the log-out point, but at least now he realizes that this simulation is only hurting him— that if things are to get better they’re going to have to change, too. He’s got a long way to go before he’s all right, but he’s not going to have to face it alone anymore.

             And that’s a wrap!

           Once again, I’m really proud of this story, and I feel like I grew as a writer because of it. There are a few things I would change if I wrote it again, but for all its flaws it’s still my baby and I like how it turned out.

           Thanks again for all your support for “Hologram,” and thanks even more if you actually waded through all this nonsense of a director’s cut. It’s a huge confidence-boost to think that people liked what I wrote, and even wanted to hear what I had to say about it. If there’s any interest, I’d love to review some of my other fics here, or theorize or brainstorm or whatever else  you’re into. (Ask me what Byakuya’s Thing is in my superhero AU, I dare you 😉)

           I do have a WIP in my folder of bits and pieces currently titled “boy finally gets that kiss”, and it’s a post-Hologram scene from Shuichi’s point of view to just sorta… tie it all together, have them talk things over again… and kiss, of course. We’ll see if anything comes out of that.

           Until next time!

[tepkunset]

@avatarfandompolice​​​ is a blog that likes to misuse progressive language in attempt to make ignorant, racist posts sound more intelligent than they are. While most of their blog consists of arguing about ‘zutara,’ (which I recently learned is a ship name for Zuko and Katara from an anon), there is also a large number of posts and reblogs under the premise of being “hot takes” on how unfair it is to address racism in fandom and in media.

Avatarfandompolice is very sensitive about people pointing out that Avatar: The Last Airbender is not, in fact, flawless. That a show made by two white men featuring Asian and Indigenous characters and influences is fully capable of getting things wrong. That their western colonial views are influences all on their own, and it shows. Rather than listen to fans of colour point out things like these posts for example: [Link] [Link] [Link], avatarfandompolice has decided that such things must simply be fake, and has made multiple posts complaining it. This is not just regular ignorance, this is wilful ignorance. The dismissal of critique simply because they cannot fathom not everyone being able to handle the amount of issues they are freely educating others on, or people holding the ability to like something overall while also pointing out where it could be better.

It is my firm belief that you should never absorb media with an uncritical eye. If this was the case, if people just accepted everything given to them, then we would never see any progress. We need to be able to look back at something and say here’s what we did right, and here’s what we need to do better with.

The argument that A:TLA was made in 2012 and therefore should not be analyzed with a modern understanding of the world is downright hilarious, too. As if we aren’t taught to write literature analysis on books and plays that are centuries old in school. In particular regards to the whole cop thing... if anyone reading this seriously thinks that hate and fear of the police is just a 2020 trend, you can meet me in the pit. I was four years old when I learned how terrifying cops are. If your experiences differ, let me tell you that does not make them universal. And as for all the 20-somethings talking about it today, well, gentle reminder that as said by avatarfandompolice right here, the show aired in 2012. Little 10-year-old kids don’t have social media, (at least I hope they don’t,) and unless they grew up experiencing first-hand police terror, probably were not aware of it at that age. I do not know why avatarfandompolice insults people's ability to grow and learn. I can only guess it’s jealously from their lack of ability to do so.

Now let’s address their defences of whitewashing, which is easily the most backwards reaching I’ve seen on this issue in a while. Primarily their defence relies on four repetitive “points” —

Fake minuscule percentages to downplay the high prevalence and extremity of whitewashing in the fandom

Deflecting the addressing of whitewashing with rapid-fire fake scenarios and claims of “reverse racism” / “blackwashing”

Claiming whitewashing isn’t real because people only care about it with Katara

Claiming that calling out whitewashing in fandom is wrong because it hurts artists

I have only so much as dipped my toes into the A:TLA fandom, and even I have seen a lot of whitewashed fan art. If you do an image search for fan art, I guarantee within the first couple rows of results, there will be in the absolute least, a few examples. The idea of these artworks not substantially lightening skin is also just plain inaccurate. Just from a quick Google search, this is literally the first result for ‘Avatar The Last Airbender Katara fan art’:

Avatarfandompolice is also hyper-focused on the lightening of skin, and seems to be under the impression that this is the only component of whitewashing. I come to this conclusion because when someone pointed out the equal prevalence of depicting these characters of colour with Western European features instead of their actual eyes, noses, etc., they rip a giant turd out of their ass and scrawl the words “but stereotyping” over it. No, not all Asian peoples and Indigenous peoples look the same. The original poster made no such claim of this at all. Avatarfandompolice jumped to this conclusion all on their own... (which really says a lot in itself). It is entirely unrelated to the point. The point being the erasure of how these characters look, in favour of giving them whiter features. And guess what? This does hurt. But I’ll get to that below.

The lack of understanding of whitewashing is on full display when avatarfandompolice talks about “blackwashing”; the idea that colouring characters with darker skin is just like whitewashing. Firstly, there is no such thing as “blackwashing.” “Blackwashing,” “brownwashing,” etc. does not exist because it is a false equivalency to whitewashing. It is a false equivalency to whitewashing because white people are not even in the slightest loosing representation when a white character is re-imagined as a racial minority, whereas when racial minorities are re-imagined as white people, they are taking away from what is already very little representation for us. If we lived in a world where the statistics of representation were not so drastically disproportionate, then there would be something to talk about. But if you are really wanting to support equality, you should focus on equitably supporting those who actually need it, not white people. As for specifically depicting characters like Sokka and Katara with darker skin than what they have in the show, the same applies, (so long as it’s not racebending them as we really shouldn’t be taking representation away from each other, and the artist avatarfandompolice ridicules above has done no such thing,) because colourism also exists within nonwhite communities as well.

As for the fake questions about cosplaying, the answer is really simple: Cosplay however you want, but don’t make pretending to be a different race part of your cosplay. If you want to cosplay Katara, you can do it without painting your skin darker, aka brownface. If you want to cosplay Zuko, you can do it without editing yourself to look East Asian, aka digital yellowface. The racist history behind this is an internet search away, but I suppose that is too difficult for avatarfandompolice to do.

Avatarfandompolice has made multiple claims that people must not really care about whitewashing if they only call it out for Katara. It is laughable at best, and sad at worst, that this is the conclusion they come to, and not the fact that unfortunately Katara just happens to be subjected to more whitewashing than other characters. I assume this is from a mix of her popularity as well as being a WOC and not MOC. This is not to say that whitewashing does not exist with male characters—not in the slightest. Half the images on this “10 fan art pictures of Sokka that are just the best” list from CBR are whitewashed. Only that across fandoms, whitewashing is more prevalent in female characters, by my observations at least.

Finally—and this one pisses me off the most—avatarfandompolice claims that whitewashing is no big deal, but calling out whitewashing is too harmful to justify. How fucking dare you put the feelings of artists who can’t handle critique of their work (that they publicly share) over fans of colour, who are constantly subjected to seeing our identities and looks not being worth respecting. As if it doesn’t imprint on your mind from a very young age how only villains ever have your facial features, because they’re ugly and I guess that means you’re ugly. As if there is something wrong with you. As if respecting you is regarded as extra effort, and not just common courtesy.

Whitewashing is a form of colourism, which is a form of racism. It is the favouritism, unconscious or not, of white features and the erasure of visible characters of colour. It is not fandom drama. It is not being too lazy to focus on “real issues” because it is part of a real issue. It is yet another part of why fandom spaces are so uninviting to POC. We live in a society that favours lighter skin. Corporations make fortunes from selling products to bleach your skin, products to contour your features away or go as far as surgery, all to meet beauty standards set by and influenced by white colonizers. That does not exist in A:TLA, and that’s called refreshing escapism. But it’s hard to escape that when the fandom constantly reminds you otherwise. It is a perfect example of how the classic “just let people enjoy things” complaint is nothing but disguised racism, because it’s only ever said regarding white fans’ enjoyment, at the expense of fans of colour.

None of the characters in A:TLA are white. Redesigning them and recolouring them as if they are, be it out of accident or intent is wrong. If you get called out for it, apologize, learn from the experience and do better going forward. You’ll also improve your art this way.

Beyond excusing whitewashing, avatarfandompolice has overt racist posts as well. A Black fan said they like to headcanon Katara as being partially Black; “I swear Katara was a sister. Im convinced there ain't no way she didn't have some black in her.” Avatarfandompolice jumps in saying “She's literally an Inuit but ok” as if being an Inuk person means Katara can’t possibly also be Black. The OP never claimed Katara was not Indigenous, simply that they also saw her as Black. Black Indigenous peoples exist. Black Inuk peoples exist. It is overtly anti-Black to say otherwise. But what even is the point of talking to avatarfandompolice about that? You know, you would think in trying to put such a front up of caring about the Inuit, they would do the most basic learning of the proper grammatical use of Inuit and Inuk. (As is the case with a great many Indigenous Nations, Inuit is both the Nation and plural. Inuk is singular. “An Inuit” / “Inuits” as avatarfandompolice has used just makes their dressed-up racism all the more pathetic. It’s similar to as if you said “Chinas” instead of “Chinese”.)

But all this is nothing, nothing compared to the worst post I had the displeasure of seeing. In a single post, avatarfandompolice manages to squeeze in insult against low income people, Mexican people, Jewish people, and Black people in a mockery of financial help posts. Absolutely disgusting, childish behaviour from a place of privilege. As someone who has had no option but to make such a post before, more than once, let me fucking tell you that the embarrassment and desperation when in that situation is unparalleled. It is not done lightly. It is done when you are at the last resort of having nothing but hope that the combined generosity of others will be enough to save you and your family. And what adds a whole other level to the odiousness of avatarfandompolice’s post is that they specifically targeting low income minorities to boot. Because we’re all poor beggars, right?

All in all, for someone who prides themselves in calling others ignorant, avatarfandompolice has to be one of the most obtuse fandom blogs I have ever scrolled through. They are as vile as they are pathetic, and my sincere sympathy for anyone who has been unfortunate enough to interact with them. It has been a while since I so strongly recommend blocking someone.

[reigning-rhapsody]

Bittersweet

Strifesodos, past Gengeal; 2841 words

No TWs

The ear piercing noises of pots and pans and what sounded like now unusable plates briefly silenced the patrons crowding Seventh Heaven and let about everyone in the bar flinch in unison- all but one. Cloud merely quirked up a brow as his head shot towards the kitchen where the newest member of the staff, though it had been months since he’d joined and kept some work away from the ever so eager-to-work Tifa, had been on duty to cook for the evening.

I am, by no means, a great cook, he’d warned them at first, which turned out to be more than true, but his tastebuds didn’t lie, nor did his memory. He could tell what needed more salt and what had to stay cooking on the stove just a bit more until it was at its best, and he knew quite a few recipes for someone that, apparently, was no good as a chef. He wants to evade working any more than just as a bartender, Cloud assumed at first exactly because of that, but as good as the man was when it came to acting, as he had proven quite a few times, what he told was no lie.

Tifa insisted he should try cooking, and Gaia, it was worse than Marlene’s mud-pies from when she was younger. According to Barret, at least, who entered the establishment with a growling belly longing for a meal right as their chef in the making had finished his… attempt. A burnt pot and sore stomachs were the victims in the aftermath of Genesis Rhapsodos’ cooking despite everyone who passed him in the process paying attention to him wearing the glasses he was supposed to have sitting on his nose.

If one wanted to trust the promises given by Tifa, who insisted that teaching her new co-worker how to make some proper dishes was essential, he was a fast learner, and occasionally he even suggested to make a few meals he had memorized. No one knew as to why it was that he had recipes in mind, but no one bothered to ask either. One thing was clear though, the guy sure liked apples.

“Cloud, can you check on him?”, Tifa’s voice rung behind the blond addressed by it, barely able to be heard as the chatter and laughter picked up among the patrons again. She was busy, carrying two trays with food and drinks and a plate on one of her outstretched arms on top of it, so it was understandable she didn’t even wait for an answer and moved to the table that awaited their order. His next delivery would be in about twenty minutes and as slow as he could make himself walk, to evade whatever mess just occurred behind that door a few feet ahead of him would was impossible. Better get it over with quickly.

With a sigh, Cloud turned fully to face the direction of the kitchen and closed the gap that separated him from the door with a few swift steps slipping past filled tables. The blond swung the door open while his unoccupied hand rested in the pocket of his baggy pants. “Hey, the hell-?” He started, cutting himself off as his Mako infused gaze fell upon a kneeling Genesis staring at the floor like he was about to propose to it. Or rather, to the soup on the ground surrounding an upside down pot, porcelain pieces of what once upon a time were bowls circling the romanticized mess like ivory rose petals.

Genesis didn’t look up, nor did he answer, nor did he acknowledge Cloud and pretended the delivery boy wasn’t even present. He picked up the shattered vessels meant for the customers to eat what he begrudgingly prepared out of, seemingly doing his utmost to keep his eyes averted, or fully hidden to begin with.

Cloud narrowed his eyes and stepped forward so the door could fall shut behind him, swaying in and out of the room a few more times and allowing whatever curious mind sat in the much busier space of Seventh Heaven to catch a last glimpse of the scene playing out in the no-customer space, although who was sunken on the ground being covered by Cloud standing in front of him. He approached Genesis, both hands now in the confided space of his roomy pockets as he simply stared down at who he usually had to crane his head back for to make eye contact. Seeing someone who held himself so highly on the floor picking up shards with his own hands, it was amusing in a slightly sadistic way to say the least.

He knew that speaking up would only end in a discussion, then an argument and then a passive aggressive verbal fight that could break out into something physical at any given second. At least it sounded like that, anyway, but if it was the truth stood in the stars since the pair usually got interrupted when they got into another of their near daily banters. So he kept quiet and stayed put until the slender ginger would say the first word. And so he eventually did, pausing his task to exhale a defeated sigh and with what was left of his pride for the day.

And yet, he didn’t look up. “Not. A word.”, Genesis punctuated with a clearly irritated voice and Cloud just replied with an entertained huff. “Need help?”

“No.” “Uh-huh.” He didn’t have the time to put up with the mage’s stubbornness and crouched down, reaching out to grab the pot whilst his eyes remained on the culprit of the ruined meal. Finally eye-to-eye, Cloud noticed the missing black frame supposed to reach behind Genesis’ ears, “So, let me guess…”, the younger man started, turning the pot around and holding it by the handles, “You knocked this all over because you’re not wearing the glasses?”

That earned him a venomous glare, but an exposed one. Unlike Genesis’, his own vision was just fine, and thus not spotting the black supposed to be added to the color scheme around his face wasn’t just an illusion. “I don’t need them,”, the redhead barked back, “As I’ve told you before. You all are being dramatic over nothing at all.”

Hearing him out of all people judging what crosses the line of being too dramatic made Cloud snort and shake his head at how ridiculous that was, much to the wannabe-cook’s further annoyance. They locked eyes, three triplets and one glassy, milky-white outcast cataract.

The cracks scarring the porcelain skin roped themselves from his left eye over the same side of his cheek, shimmering through the applied makeup that attempted to hide them in vain as it had been vanishing with the sweat glistening on the man’s face from standing in a hot kitchen for hours on. Like veins dotted with thorns, they reached down his neck, reaching over the visible parts of his equally pale chest that was exposed due to the button up Genesis wore being partially undone. He could only guess how much of his body they tainted. They are what caused that vision problems too, as he’d been told by Genesis.

“I know I’m just mesmerizing, but make yourself useful if you refuse to let me handle this on my own.” An arrogant voice pierced Cloud’s zoned out thoughts and he blinked himself back into reality, not having the best experiences with anything piercing him. If it wouldn’t have been a vocal trigger that brought him back though, it would’ve been the smell of something burning.

“Agh- shit!” Genesis cursed under his breath and got on his feet again, groaning at his aching legs that fell asleep staying in the same uncomfortable position for some time. Cloud followed and watched the man place down the pieces of the bowls he’d already picked up next to the stove where a pancake was smelling like the victims of his flames- although it wasn’t on purpose for once.

Another swear muttered as he turned off the heat, or at least what Cloud assumed to be one since it was spoken in the ginger’s native language, and grabbed a spatula that rested on the workspace to his right to try and scratch the pitch blackness off the bottom of the pan. After some hard work was put into saving what could be saved, or what he hoped to save at least, that being the pan, Genesis put the inedible dessert on a nearby plate flipped over.

Both pairs of eyes in the room stared at it in silence, Cloud approaching with caution like what was sitting there was a Behemoth about to jump up and eat both of them whole whilst minding the puddle of broth, veggies and meat on the floor. He then stood next to the creator of the ‘food’ and stared it down. Roasted darker than his outfit, the smell was absolutely unappetizing and nothing looked appealing about it at all. It even took he blond a bit to figure out that there were apple slices mixed into the darkness, swallowed by it like stars during a cloudy night sky.

“Well… not that it was satisfactory, anyway.” Genesis admitted in defeat, much to Cloud’s surprise, although his ego must have been knocked down a few from their earlier confrontation. He might even go as far and claim he saw the slightest, embarrassed blush tinting the ex-SOLDIER’s pale cheeks, though mentioning it would only result in more than just a pancake ending up scorched.

“How the hell did you survive this long?”, Cloud asked with a wrinkled nose.”

“Thank you for your, as always, comforting words.”

“And what do you want me to say?”

“Nothing. It’s-”, Genesis took a deep breath, tightening his ponytail by dividing it into two strings in his hands and pulling, “There was never a need for me to learn how to cook. As a child, we had someone that cooked for us, and when I went to Midgar I first lived off of cafeteria food.. which I, eventually, resented and blatantly refused to eat. Then it was takeout, mostly, and once we became firsts we got an apartment together, so I had Angeal cooking for me.”

The drop of his name briefly silenced Genesis who still had his leer cast upon the failed attempt of a pancake. His lips thinned and he swallowed dryly, hands placed flat on the surface of the workspace. He exhaled a breath through his nose and his shoulders twitched weakly in a half-chuckle. “‘You’ll stay out of the kitchen when I’m cooking. You’re banned from the stove, Gen.’”, Genesis mocked a deeper voice to the best of his abilities, a bittersweet smile curling on his lips, “Sugar sweet, no? I never needed to learn how to make anything for myself. It was a thing I had done for me, and people never minded, either.”

“Not that that would have gotten me to start learning.” He added after another few seconds filled with nothing but the mechanical whirring of the fridge a few feet away from them. “Angeal, he uh… He loved cooking, but baking even more. The pie he made was to kill for, and whenever he made it, I would sit there and watch. Talk to him, sometimes even help. Providing he let me, that is.”

Finally, he looked up again and turned his head to look at the other swordsman. “No matter what I will make, it won’t live up to what he did.”, his head then hung low once more, “Nor would it satisfy him.” The normally so confident and boasting voice, teasing and preaching highly poetic metaphors nobody but him understood, grew lower in volume, quieter with every word vocalized and brought to live by it, although it sounded dead, unenthusiastic. It wasn’t a voice that fit Genesis.

“Or me.” His hands visibly gripped the edges of the big table harder, like he was trying to ground himself so he wouldn’t fall into a void that existed to eat him up from the inside, fill him with the worst of what life had to offer. His eyes fell shut, knuckles turning white and his fingers shook ever so slightly until he straightened his posture to one that equaled that of a candle and let out a shaky breath between agape lips, mismatching eyes fluttering open again. “I should clean this up now. Don’t you have a delivery to fulfill, hm?” Genesis ushered, his intent to get Cloud out and not show any more weakness than what just occurred beyond noticeable. It went under his skin, let the hair on the back of his neck rise and spread goosebumps across his arms.

It was… so damn depressing to witness.

“Ah. Ah- yeah, right.” Cloud reminded himself and reaches for the PHS in his pocket, flipping it open to check the time. He had a few more minutes. Watching Genesis move to a cabinet where a few kitchen towels were stored from the corner of his eye, the blond warrior pocketed his phone again, ran a hand through his artfully spiked hair, took a deep breath that let his chest puff out, counted his blessings and took off a glove with his teeth to grab the round little mistake sprawled out on the plate. Leather glove dropped in his lowered hand once it returned from brushing back the sunny mess on his head, he made sure the golden-brown side was the one facing the floor and placed it against his lips. He swallowed, opened his mouth and took a generous bite.

The first few times of chewing were experimental, eyebrows knitted together and eyes nearly pinched shut, though he discovered that keeping the part which wasn’t tainted by the lord of the Underworld and all evil himself judging by the pitch blackness trademarking it did make it a lot more bearable. Whenever some of the burnt bit brushed over his tongue he just gave it his best to swallow that piece, his tastebuds welcoming the sweet flavor of the apples dancing over it whenever he was lucky to have some in his mouth the more bites he took.

Two down, about two or another three to go. It wouldn’t be a chore to eat it if it weren’t for the burnt side, he had to admit, so Tifa wasn’t lying when she said he improved and was indeed a fast learner.

“You’re insane, Strife.”

Cloud nearly choked on the load of pancake occupying his mouth the moment Genesis caught him forcing down the food. He cleared his throat and properly swallowed what was left on his tongue. He ‘tch’ed, glaring at the dessert like it was his worst enemy. “I didn’t eat anything yet today’s all. Don’t want Tifa to get on my ass for not eating again.” “And how would she know?” “She… just does- you should be glad I’m making what she’ll say to you less worse.” The sunny haired man silenced himself by ripping another huge piece out off the pancake, so much it only left one last bite instead of a possible three. Although his angles eyebrows raised into a less hostile expression when he saw the slightest bit of a smile growing on the auburnet’s plush cherry lips. He stopped chewing for just a moment, taking in- no, admiring what he did by refusing to let someone sulk and keep self loathing. “Get out, or I’ll tell Tifa all of what just occurred was your and only your fault.”

Cloud playfully rolled his eyes, though did as told and moved towards the door, no intentions of a further exchange made- not on his side, at least. “Oh, also-”, he was stopped by Genesis speaking up once more, coming to an abrupt halt and half turning around, “You should pay me a visit when I am on cooking duty again sometime, maybe I have more blissfully tasting food for you to devour.”

Cloud snorted, “No promises.”

“Don’t you speak to me with a full mouth, learn some manners.”, Genesis retorted with a playful hum before truly dismissing the other with a flamboyant wave of the hand that didn’t hold a soup-soaked towel.

This time truly exiting, Cloud pushed the last small bite of the pancake into his mouth and chewed with stuffed cheeks, hands returning to his pockets as he eyed the bar counter where the delivery was stored. Forcing down the rest of the half-bitter-half-sweet mistake, he glanced over his shoulder one last time to see Tifa hurriedly moving into the kitchen. He exhaled in amusement at the distant chatter coming from behind the door swaying door before it fell shut completely and blocked out the conversation though. Cloud moved behind the bar to crouch down and grab the package that needed to be driven to Junon and set on his way out of the warm and cozy confinement to let the cold air hit him full on.

Genesis sounded more like himself again, he noted.

[heliads]

Doctor

When your best friend, Katherine Pulitzer, forces you to come talk to the newsboys of Manhattan with her, you’re sure nothing good will come of it, especially since you’re busy with work from medical school. However, one particular blue-eyed newsie just might change your mind.

masterlist

You stare at your best friend suspiciously. “You want me to do what?”

You had known Katherine for a long time. You can barely remember how the two of you met, probably some boring luncheon or other that both of your fathers happened to attend. Your father was a wealthy banker, hers the publisher of the New York World. The two of you bonded over tiresome social assemblies and harshly biased fathers, and had quickly become good friends.

The two of you also helped each other by supporting your careers. With a strong bank behind you, you had been able to sway the editors of the New York Sun into allowing Katherine to work as a writer. In turn, she had used her father’s influence to help you into your dream job: becoming a doctor. You and Katherine were equal halves of a strong friendship, and so you suppose it doesn’t surprise you that she would be turning to you now.

“Look, it’s just the one time, okay? All I need you to do is walk with me to wherever the newsies are so I can ask them for some quotes. It’ll barely be ten minutes!” You squint at her. “If it’ll take such a short amount of time, why don’t you just go yourself? You know I have a lot of work to do- medical school isn’t exactly easy.”

Katherine sighs. “I want you there for emotional support. I already spoke with one or two of the newsies today and they’re impossible boys. I can do anything if I know I’ve got at least one other person who wants me there.” You raise an eyebrow. “They’re that bad?” Katherine looks at you pleadingly. “Please, Y/N?” You groan and look away from her. “Fine, but you owe me.” Katherine squeals happily and pulls you into a quick hug before dashing away to grab her notebook and pen. “You’re the best friend ever.” 

It takes a little while to find the newsboys- they’re not in the refuge, and by now it’s late in the afternoon and so most of them have stopped selling their newspapers and retreated indoors. Finally, you spot them crowded inside a deli and so the two of you take a moment to prepare yourselves before heading inside.

The second the two of you walk in the deli, all eyes turn to you. The newsboys of Manhattan are a motley bunch, most of them scruffy or scrawny or both. They all stare as you walk in, although that may have more to do with the fact that Katherine just called them out for being afraid to go to Brooklyn instead of the two of you by yourselves.

One of the newsboys, who appears to be the leader of the group, calls out a response to Katherine. It’s amazing- you can already sense the cocky attitude oozing from his every word. Now you can see why Katherine wanted you here for moral support. If there’s one thing you know about Katherine Pulitzer, though, it’s that she will never, ever, back down from an argument. You can’t help but grin as you watch the two of them banter, exchanging witty retorts back and forth just as quickly as a pair of trained debaters.

You’re distracted from your friend when a voice comes from behind you. “I get why she’s here, but what about you? You don’t seem to be much of a reporter.” You turn around to see a blond boy facing you, arms folded questioningly across his chest. The other thing that you see is that he is very good-looking, almost too good-looking for a cocky newsboy.

“I, uh, am Katherine’s friend. She wanted me here and so I came.” The boy grins. “You got a name, sweetheart?” You force yourself to answer normally, praying that no one can hear the slight skip of your heart. “Y/N. What about you?” “Race.”

Race fixes you with a teasing smirk. “You know, I think it’s nice that you came out all this way to see us. We must have a pretty good reputation if you wanted to come with your friend.” You glare at him. “I’m not here for you, I’m here for her. Trust me, if Katherine hadn’t asked I wouldn’t be here at all. I’d rather be at home, finishing my work, rather than having to spend time with a bunch of newsboys who think they’re the coolest things on the planet.”

Race raises his eyebrows, still retaining that cocky (yet somehow still attractive) smirk. “Oh, you’se got a job? I thought you just sat around all day, wishing you could talk to a bunch of newsboys who know they’re the coolest things on the planet.” You roll your eyes. “Yes, I’m in medical school. I’m almost done, and then I’ll have a job.” 

Race grins, interested. “Oh, a smart goil! You want to be a nurse?” You look at him coolly. “A doctor.” Race just laughs, shaking his head slightly. It’s funny- whenever he laughs, his sky blue eyes gain this shine that make them look like stained glass. You shake your head slightly, forcing yourself to focus once more on Race, who’s still talking to you.

“-sounds alright. You coming to our strike?” Out of the corner of your eye, you see that Katherine has finished gathering quotes from the newsboys and is ready to go. You turn back to Race. “Well, I wasn’t planning on it. I’m not a newsie or a reporter.” Race takes a step closer to you, and you feel heat forming in your cheeks. “I think it would be nice to see you there.” You grin at him. “Then maybe I’ll be there. See you later, Race.” You wave goodbye and quickly head out of the deli.

Once you’re down a street or two, Katherine turns to you with a grin. “Looks like you found a friend.” You laugh. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Katherine has this look on her face like a cat that ate a very pleasant canary. “I’m sure it wasn’t. You know, you should be careful around him. I’ve heard that boy flirts with everyone. And, it sounds like you’re coming to the strike. So much for this being a one time thing?” You roll your eyes, but can’t help but grin. “Maybe it’s a little more than that.”

As you walk, though, you keep turning over what Katherine had said in your head. I’ve heard that boy flirts with everybody. As much as you hate to admit it, she isn’t wrong. You yourself have seen Race exchange a wink for a paper on the streets of many Manhattan mornings. You groan inwardly. What were you thinking? Of course Race doesn’t like you- he does that with every girl he meets. It means nothing. 

Tomorrow is the strike, though. You’ve already told Katherine as well as the other newsies that you’ll be there, so you can’t back out now. As you walk back to your home, you form a plan in your head: show up to the strike, but don’t seek him out. He was just doing what he always does, and it doesn’t mean anything. No matter how much you wish it did.

Once the two girls have left the deli, the rest of the newsies turn to Race. “What was that all about, Racer? I haven’t seen you falling over a girl that much in months. You weren’t even trying to sell her any papes!” Albert laughs. Race fixes him with a glare, shoving his friend but only making his grin grow. “It’s nothing. How ‘bout you mind your own business, huh?” Jojo joins the fray. “You were practically drooling.” Race swats him too, and the rest of the newsies dissolve into gleeful chatter. The strike is tomorrow, and they’re all too excited to sleep.

By the time the next morning arrives, you’re feeling hopeful. You and Katherine make it to the square by the time the newsies’ strike has begun, and you watch as she rushes off to take a photo of the assembled newsboys with a friend of hers from the newspaper. After the photo is taken and the rest of the boys disperse throughout the square, you feel a tap on your shoulder. You smile despite yourself once you realize it’s Race.

“So, you made it.” You smile. “Of course I made it. I hear it’s a very big deal.” Race spread his hands. “Well, maybe. I guess it’s a big enough deal that our very own resident doctor showed up.” The two of you laugh, and break into conversation. So much for not spending time with him.

However, the happy morning is interrupted when the goons start to arrive. Once the strike turns violent, Race rushes you out of danger. He makes sure you’re safe, and then runs back into the scuffle. You and Katherine are forced to leave so you’re not caught, but you can’t help a glance backward to make sure Race is alright. You’re not entirely sure that he will be.

The strike ends quickly, in a clash of blood and fists. Once the cops showed up, it was basically over. Even worse, Crutchie was taken away to the refuge and Jack disappeared. When you hear about how badly the newsboys were hurt, you immediately grab your first aid kit and dash over to the deli to help the boys.

Your feet pound on the cobblestone streets on the way to the deli. You’re moving far too quickly for a lady of your position, which attracts more than a few stares, but you’re too worried to care. Finally, you make it to the deli, and stand in the open doorway for a moment, shocked.

The boys look awful. Every single one of them has been injured, from what looks like a broken arm on Les to black eyes and gashes covering the others. You break out of your trance and walk briskly over to the boy closest to you- Les. 

He looks up at you through eyes clouded in pain. You speak to him slowly, trying to assuage his worries. “Hello, Les. I’m Y/N, Katherine’s friend. I’m going to fix your arm, alright?” Les nods, and you quickly apply ice and a sling, fixing the break and also bandaging up a few other cuts decorating the boy’s arm. Luckily, the break wasn’t that bad- just a minor fracture.

When you’ve finished with Les, you turn to the next newsboy, and then the next. You slowly make your way around the deli, helping fix up every boy who needs it. Some weren’t injured as badly, and others help bandage cuts after watching you. There’s one boy you haven’t seen a whole lot of, though, and that’s Race.

You can see the blue-eyed boy out of the corner of your eyes. It’s strange- every time you start to turn his way he quickly heads the other direction. It finally dawns on you- he’s avoiding you. Of course. He doesn’t like you, and probably never did. This is for the best. You force yourself to concentrate on your work, hoping that pouring your soul into bandaging up gashes can will away the breaking of your heart. It doesn’t.

Finally, you think you’re done. You stand up, stretching, and look around the room, checking for anyone who still needs you. You don’t see anyone, and so you start to leave the room, until you feel a hand wrap around your wrist.

You stare at the fingers encircling yours, and then back at the boy in front of you. It’s Race, finally willing to let you notice him. He opens his mouth, and the voice that comes out is cracked and quiet. “You got one last patient, Doc.”

You smile slightly and reach for your bag, pulling out your last bandage. There’s a cut on his arm (not too deep but not exactly a paper cut either), and so you gently clean it before beginning to wrap the bandage around it. You don’t dare to look up at Race, too afraid you’ll make eye contact with him and see the indifference you’re sure is there.

Once you’re done, you take a step back, still not looking him in the eyes. “Well, that’s it. I should probably be going.” “Wait.” Race’s hand gently lifts your chin, forcing you to finally look at him. “You want to tell me why you’se been avoiding me?”

You laugh bitterly. “I’m not the one who’s been avoiding me since I first stepped foot in here. It’s alright, though, I know I’m not exactly your first priority right now.” Race looks confused. “What are you talking about, Y/N?” 

You can’t stay here, can’t keep looking at him, so you force the words out of your throat. “I know you flirt with everyone, and I’m some girl you just met, and you have no reason to want anything to do with me, and that’s fine, and-”

You’re cut off when Race kisses you. “I do like you, Y/N.” You can’t do anything but stand there, stunned. “What?” Race grins. “I like you.” He kisses you again, and this time the newsboys around you take notice, whooping and hollering like they’ve never seen anything like it before. Race laughs against your lips, turning away to swat at the boys nearest him. You just stand there, a smile starting to spread across your face. He likes you. He honestly likes you. 

[jackoshadows]

Is it possible that Robb's will is a red herring? That it's actually a thing or be relevant?

I do think that it will play an important role in pushing forward Jon Snow as a possible candidate for KITN. Without that decree, Jon will not in any way be relevant to the politics of the North.

IMO, the only reason Jon even became King on the show is because that’s a book plot. Considering how much Benioff and Weiss wanted Queen Sansa, considering that there is no way the North would have made bastard Jon Snow king when Ned Stark’s legitimate eldest daughter was sitting right there, and considering that the show hand-waved away both of Sansa’s marriages,  I think KITN Jon Snow is a book plot that they inserted in there without the writing to back it up.

And then there’s the things GRRM has mentioned in interviews:

I have a question, since Robb actually  legitimized Jon and named him his heir for Winterfell and the North  before the Red Wedding (granted no one knows about this and is still  alive or free, the Greatjon knows as does Edmure, but I dont see them  getting out of the Twins any time soon and Catelyn would probably die  before telling anyone) does this make Jon's rejection of Stannis' offer  moot?

Edmure and the Greatjon are prisoners, true... but you are forgetting  the envoys that Robb sent to Howland Reed... Galbart Glover, Maege  Mormont, Jason Mallister... they are all alive and free.

As to what is and is not moot... the key point is, only a =king= can legitimize a bastard......

GRRM SSM, August 06, 2000

It is GRRM who brings up that Glover, Mormont and Mallister are still out there and alive and free and were witnesses to the will. I think this implies that this point is going to be relevant.

GRRM has also stressed that at the end of the day, might is right. Meaning, whomever has the most houses and armies supporting them is who gets to be King. Robert Baratheon’s will was torn up to make Joffrey Baratheon king. The same can be done to Robb’s will. And that is even without considering that Robb was considered an enemy traitor and not a king by the Lannisters and Stannis.

I had forgotten that all the others signed and  witnessed Robb's decree. Also, wasn't Robb a King when he signed the  decree? Granted not king of much, with the North lost but he was a King  wasn't he?

He was a king in his own eyes and those of his followers... in the  eyes of the Lannisters and Stannis and =their= followers he was a rebel,  traitor, and would-be usurper.

GRRM SSM, August 06, 2000

On inheritance in Westeros:

Well, the short answer is that the laws of inheritance in the Seven  Kingdoms are modelled on those in real medieval history... which is to  say, they were vague, uncodified, subject to varying interpretations,  and often contradictory.

A man's eldest son was his heir. After that the next eldest son. Then  the next, etc. Daughters were not considered while there was a living  son, except in Dorne, where females had equal right of inheritance  according to age.

After the sons, most would say that the eldest daughter is next in  line. But there might be an argument from the dead man's brothers, say.  Does a male sibling or a female child take precedence? Each side has a  "claim."

What if there are no childen, only grandchildren and great  grandchildren. Is precedence or proximity the more important principle?  Do bastards have any rights? What about bastards who have been  legitimized, do they go in at the end after the trueborn kids, or  according to birth order? What about widows? And what about the will of  the deceased? Can a lord disinherit one son, and name a younger son as  heir? Or even a bastard?

There are no clear cut answers, either in Westeros or in real  medieval history. Things were often decided on a case by case basis. A  case might set a precedent for later cases... but as often as not, the  precedents conflicted as much as the claims.

The Wars of the Roses were fought over the issue of whether the  Lancastrian claim (deriving from the third son of Edward III in direct  male line) or the Yorkist claim (deriving from a combination of Edward's  second son, but through a female line, wed to descendants of his fourth  son, through the male) was superior. And a whole family of legitimized  bastard stock, the Beauforts, played a huge role.

The medieval world was governed by men, not by laws. You could even  make a case that the lords preferred the laws to be vague and  contradictory, since that gave them more power. In a tangle like the  Hornwood case, ultimately the lord would decide... and if some of the  more powerful claimants did not like the decision, it might come down to  force of arms.

The bottom line, I suppose, is that inheritance was decided as much  by politics as by laws. In Westeros and in medieval Europe both.

GRRM SSM, November 02, 1999

I have seen some people state that no one can be disinherited and that legitimized bastards come after legitimate children. As seen above, GRRM has left all this deliberately vague. It’s very possible, that Robb’s will disinherits Sansa and legitimizes Jon, decreeing him as Jon Stark, KITN and Lord of Winterfell - directly putting him ahead of the rest of his siblings. People can be disinherited in Westeros - the question is if being disinherited will be recognized by everyone else.

Reasons for why this is possible - Robb Stark was adamant that Tyrion should not get Winterfell through Sansa. Even Catelyn was agreed on this. Robb would not have allowed for any loop holes for this to happen in his will. And second, Catelyn was strongly against Robb legitimizing Jon and naming him heir precisely because it would put Jon ahead of her children. I can see this as a plot point in the North in the next book.

Questions with the will:

Robb assumed that Bran, Rickon and Arya were all dead when it was written. Many houses like Manderly now know that this is not true. Rickon and Arya will both be back in the North in the next book. So will Robb’s decree still hold true if it’s drawn up with false information?

It all comes down to which house supports whom. I get the feeling that with GRRM’s SSM above, that houses Glover, Mormont and Mallister may push for King Jon Snow. Manderly and others may move for Rickon. And of course there is no way that Littlefinger and Vale Lords would acknowledge or accept Sansa’s disinheritance as valid. Littlefinger does not even acknowledge Robb as king.

All this deliberate vagueness regarding inheritance would also apply to when Daenerys comes to Westeros with a claim to the Iron Throne. Whomever has the most armies and support among the houses would have the better claim. With her dragons, Dany easily wins this one.

At the end of the day, who will become King/Queen is upto whatever GRRM wants for the story - that’s why he’s left it undefined and nebulous.

[arcticdementor]

Other possible Holocausts: why pro-lifers are lying to us, and why thats a good thing

…

Ive had a running argument over the past few years that the raw lack of anti-abortion terrorist action proves no one really thinks abortion is murder, ie. intentional 1st degree murder of a life equal to yours or mine.

Ive always gotten pushback to quote WillyWang:

The "revealed preference" of those that oppose abortion but don't firebomb clinics and kill doctors? It won't help, you'll be made an example of in the negative sense, and civilized norms are more important than a useless symbolic point. One clinic destroyed won't end abortion, after all.

From which this Effort-post got its Genesis:

Would you say the same about those who participated in the french resistance or Warsaw Ghetto rising to Nazi Germany?

Everyone of those claims applies there: they were likely to be made examples of, they were damaging civilized norms, and any given action had relatively little to no impact.

Yet the same people who insist abortion is murder, and thus that America is committing a holocaust, yet denounce any of the people who employed violence against abortion doctors or clinics, and can’t distance themselves fast enough from any call for violence... none of those people apply the same logic to the first holocaust. None of them say the frenchmen who bombed german police stations where dangerous terrorists who deserved their executions, none of them denounce the Warsaw ghetto rising as an attack on civilization.

…

If anti-abortion advocated genuinely believed a fetus was a equivalent human life to yours or mine or the little kids they see walk to school, and that this was an ongoing holocaust of American Children at a scale possibly 10x or more what was done to the jews... they wouldn’t need to come up with ad hoc reasons why they don’t resort to violence, their mind would be screaming at them to take bloody vengeance 24/7 in righteous outrage, demanding that oceans of blood and fire be unleashed that it might wash clean the horror, that nuclear fire would be be an acceptable emergency shut off to end such wanton and cruel slaughter... and if thinking through all the logic they concluded that no violence wouldn’t help and they must pursue some peaceful negotiation to stop the slaughter, then their minds recoil and call themselves cowards and the moment of coming to that conclusion would be an ongoing trauma they’d carry with them for the rest of their life, even if they knew they were 100% right. They would meet the “pro-choice” and barely be able to conceal their desire to see them dead or imprisoned... they would meet women who had had abortions and scream bloody murder at them and tell them they deserve the death penalty, the way many of the same people react when presented with women who’d murdered their children, but after their children had left the womb.

The people who were jailed for assassinating abortionists, or fire-bombing clinics would be folk heroes lionized in songs and crowd funded hagiographic documentaries and folk traditions, like John Brown, or John Wilkes Booth, or Louis Reil, or Saco and Vancety, or Huey Newton, or Malcolm X, or David Koresh, or Levoy Finecolm... or hell even just Jesse James, or Killdozer.

Americans abort on average 1 million plus babies a year... that means if abortion is murder and those are human lives, then the 50 years since Roe vs.Wade has been a worse crime than the holocaust, slavery, or the crimes of Stalin, and we’d have to consult a historian to see if they were worse than Mao (on a per capita basis, certainly)...

This would be the worse crime ever commited, the greatest mass slaughter ever perpetrated in human history, and 50 years later our society would remain committed to repeating it in the next 50 years.

If that does not demand violence, then nothing in human history ever has, no even defensive war has ever been justified, and only Jainists and Jehovah’s witnesses are morally acceptable actors. An extreme unexceedable pascifism we know the vast majority of anti-abortion advocates do not endorse, since they overwhelming supported or at-least did not conspicuously oppose the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan (over a mere 3000 Americans dead, and a less than a years abortions worth of Iraqis killed by Saddam) and continue to conspicuously “Support our troops” troops that exist to carry out violence, despite their moral commitments saying they can apparently never in human history be justified.

.

When i say this proves “Pro-lifers” clearly do not believe a fetus is an equal human life, thats me being incredibly charitable. That is me extending a overwhelming large olive branch, that is me expressing a stupendous care and concern and sympathy and brotherly love to rival the best 19th century dinner host, the dearest of friends, a benevolent older sibling, a lover, a parent, a mother who on hearing the taped confession of her son to serial murder, doesn’t hesitate once before screaming “you monsters you’ve drugged and tortured him! What threats have you made to my grandchild! He would only say such things to save his daughter’s life!”

My claiming they are full of shit and lying to themselves, to you, and to me, is an expression of love and faith in my fellow man which until now I did not realized I possessed nor was capable of...

Because if I merely took them at their word? If I believed that they believed what they say they believe? They would be monsters.

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Lets play a game called “Other Possible Holocausts”. Approximately 800,000 babies where aborted this year.

Lets imagine the US government has just announced that crime has gotten to cumbersome and that over the next 3 years it plans to execute every single one of the 2.4 million people in US prisons jails and Jeuvenile detention centres.

Lets imagine that to reform education, the US resolves to kill the bottom 1% of all 80 million students in the country based on an age adjusted standardized test every year.

Lets imagine hatred of the obese takes off, and a policy is passed to resolve America’s 30% obesity rate by the mass instituting of bounties on hunting and killing the obese... that every year 800,000 to 1.5 million tags will be issued for a fee to allow the hunting of the obese in return for monetary rewards on successful hunts and getting to keep the carcasses for meat base animal foods and the manufacture of fuel, or fat based household products. These bounty hunters become known a “whalers”.

Lets imagine the US announces its done with African Americans... if the problem hasn’t been solved since 1619, its not going to be... and so they’re going to genocide all 40 million African Americans at a rate of 2% a year, for the next 50 years.

Lets imagine opposing extremists get in charge and decide the racists rednecks have to go, and so they’ll be forming death squads to roam the South, Appalachia, and the rust belt, with the objective of killing 800,000 poor whites a year, “until the problem is solved”... with many happily stating 50 years of this would be acceptable, while others state it’d be perfectly fine to renew it another 50 years after that.

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These are all American lives, and according to pro-lifers of equal moral value to the babies aborted every day, no better, no worse.

By saying this and by saying violence is not and cannot be justified to resist it, they are saying that their reactions to any one of the above eventualities would be to continue to live their lives as they have lived the past 50 years.

I do not know how to respond to that. Even if Abortion is truly murder of an ensouled equal human life... The Pro-choicers committing the murders don’t think it is... hell the Nazis murdered 6 million jews and a further 5 million undesirables, but they didn’t think of them as human, they thought they were monstrous and “life unworthy of life”, like a burning man begging you to shoot him so he doesn’t suffer or hurt his fellows... a mercy in a way.

Pro-lifers on the other hand claim these are equal viable human lives of equal status to yours or mine or perhaps even greater.... They’re Children.

And their reaction to the greatest mass slaughter in human history, the reaction of almost half the electorate, who regularly talk about the need to resist tyrrany and defend the weak (as both left and right in the US do, in their way), their reaction is to vote every 4 years, and have it perhaps not even be the #1 issue if the economy seems bad, they have the opportunity to vote for the first black president, or the Orangeman says something crude about Mexicans... they won’t be single issue voters even when it comes to the greatest crime ever committed in human history?

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I refuse to believe it. Even I, cynical as I am, have to believe we are not that far gone, and the age of men has not come crashing down... i would believe the US capable of such a crime, but to believe that a double digit percentage of Americans could look at that, recognize the victims as their fellow humans,recognize their state and society as committing mass murder of their neighbours, future friends, and relatives...to recognize that they have a moral imperative to act on this... and then just go “welp them’s the breaks, gotta be civilized” because 9 people in black robes said it wasn’t murder?

Holy fuck. No that is not how people work, that is not how humans behave, I cannot accept that, and leftists who spent the summer rioting in response to fewer than a thousand police killings of black men a year, who remember the civil rights and anti-war movements, who kinda vaguely recall that they’re supposed to remember Huey Newton, or Saco and Vanseti, or those Rossen...something people... who like to imagine they’d have been abolitionists in the 19th century. They’re right to call bullshit.

They’re right to call the pro-lifers liars who don’t believe their own messaging, and instead just want to control women’s bodies, after a lie like that to their face, they’re right to treat them with scorn.

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Pro-life is rescuable as a sentiment and an activist movement...

But not while it claims a Holocaust is going on and somehow magically no violence could ever be justified to resist it, thus lining up all the arguments that will allow the next holocaust to be committed without resistance.

There have been a double digit, perhaps even a triple digit number of mass murders and genocides in the hundreds of thousands or millions of people, since the 20th century. America is enabling its ally Saudi Arabia to commit one against the Yemenis right fucking now.

We need to be very fucking clear about what it is justified to do to members of a regime that commits such a crime, and what it is definitely justified to do to the immediate perpetrators of the murder. And That we will back violent resistance to such a horrible crime by the state even if it serves only to make the resister a martyr we’ll praise, or it degrades “civilization” (what civilization could remain in such a regime?), or it ultimately has no effect (it is on the survivor to try harder)... The major members of the House of Saud deserve the Gallows under international law for what they’re doing in Yemen , as do their American attaches and core enablers... and if that comes from a Judge in the Hauge or from a convoy of irregulars in pickup trucks, or from lone assassins who manage to get through to them, It is justice, and i will praise it.

What we cannot do is pretend that genocides and mass slaughter on unconscionable scales are occurring and then come up with excuses for why we should do nothing and anyone who does resist is a criminal. Or else those excuses will be the ones that allow the next real genocide in the west or on US soil to actually happen.

If there is a genocide or democide or whatever you want to call mass slaughter. You must recognize the justice the violent resistance to it, even if you personally do not participate, or you must admit you were lying about there being such a crime... to say otherwise, to say a state can commit such a crime and still retain its right to your loyalty, to say a people up to and including its victims must obey such a thing, a creature made of bureaucracy that has set its sights on massacring humans by the thousands if not millions... it is to side against the human race in a war of extermination.

And as someone whose pro-choice as they come, I’d much rather, if the pro-lifers really believe its murder, I’d much rather they start a bloody civil war, than for it to become the norm that that is ethically acceptable.