#Neither side is even 60% white

[foreverisntenough]

- YOU’RE MINE -

Summary: While you daydreamed about his face an ocean apart, he had no idea what yours was about to do to him. With a twist of fate and the heat of summer, a new relationship would completely ransack his heart - Everyday heavy with the thought of one another, neither of you were going to let the unexpected love of your life go. You were going to be his, you were his, and you were going to stay his.

Warnings: This story will contain fluff; maybe smut and angst- not sure yet!

Note: I was planning on keeping this just for myself so please be nice. I hope you like it! There will definitely be more than this part (don’t know many just yet though)

Chapter 1 - ‘You’re Mine’

It was a warm morning in July. You pulled at your Nike crew socks to fix them after you’d tied the laces of your white sneakers. Popping your AirPods in before heading out the door. You turned the key to lock your apartment and navigated on your phone to Spotify. The volume was too loud, it always was but you wanted to check out for a little. Focus.

You began your run; across a few avenues before hitting 5th Ave. It was your favorite part of the run. The sidewalks were wide, the juxtaposed calm of the busy upper east side raced with your heart. The sun splashing in between scaffolding. You made your way from the 60s into the 70s. At 78th Street you needed to cross to round out the loop.

You stood on the left side, waiting to cross right. You felt as if someone was watching you for some reason, as if you had eyes on you. Your long sleeve Lululemon shirt stuck to your body in sweat. You pulled it up and wiped your forehead with the hem. The pull showed your toned stomach reflecting in the sun. You sponged up a bead of sweat that raced down your long tan legs with your Nike running shorts that slit high on the sides. You tried to breathe as slow as you could and turned the music down as you stepped into the crosswalk. Your Isabel Marant hat covered your eyes slightly blocking your vision as you gazed at the ground but found yourself staring at an odd amount of designer sneakers standing at the opposite corner. In what felt like hours of inspection, actually fleeting seconds, you got closer to them. You deduced it was a group of men, given the size, styles… You’d be lying if you didn’t judge men by their choice of shoes often. Style mattered to you. Not necessarily brands or the price of something but the care someone put into how they presented themselves was important. You glanced up quickly clocking a group of 6 or so men around your age. Your heart faltered at the image so you kept your head down. Like a child, you told yourself if you couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see you. As you stepped up onto the sidewalk, the group now unbelievably close, you snaked through the other people waiting to cross the street to go further uptown. You lowered your headphones volume again…almost to a pause. You overheard the group talking; they were loud. Not obnoxious, they just were goofing around with friends. You clocked the distinct accent almost immediately. It was so specific, it was also so random. What are the odds you hear a Liverpool accent behind you. Sure not 0% considering you were on fifth avenue in New York City but your interest definitely peaked. You had a soft spot for the English city. You loved the people in Liverpool. You went to Liverpool every year, maybe even more often than that with your dad. It was special to you.

The first time you went to Liverpool was just to go to a football game with your Dad. Was it a little frivolous to travel to another country for a game, absolutely, but it was a lot of fun too. You always had an amazing time visiting your Dad’s native country and over time, like he was, became slightly attached emotionally to Liverpool Football Club. You followed from the US waking up early on weekend mornings to watch. It didn’t hurt that the team was cute. Not bad people to follow on Instagram. You found it easy to develop a crush on people you didn’t know. You could build them up, make them apologize for things they never did, deliver on every whim of yours all from the comfort of your head, sitting on your bed. You’d listen to the team’s interviews and memorize the annunciation or stress placed on certain syllables in their varied accents. You’d be quick to zoom in on Instagram holiday photos trying to deduce if they were with women or where they might be. It was addicting. It was also harmless, they didn’t know you, you didn’t know them but god, would you want to. Although you wanted to know one particular player. Get to know his face in real life. You wanted to get lost in those dark brown eyes, wanted them to flirt with you. He was beautiful. Like genuinely and objectively beautiful. There were a lot of physical traits about him that made your head spin, your heart race, you just wanted to lick and yet… you’d never exist in that world, holding his gaze, his world.

The accents rang in your ears as you pulled one headphone out to eavesdrop a little, smiling at the familiarity and intricacy of words. You turned your head slightly back to the left looking to find the crosswalk counting down to see when you could start your run again. Before your eyes could land on the descending numbers flashing, your view was obstructed and found yourself looking directly into someone’s eyes. There was a glimmer in the strangers eyes, a warm honey hue. You snapped your gaze, looking back down at your sneakers immediately in shock. ‘What the fucks’ flew around in your head. You could feel he was still staring at you and you weren’t exactly sure what to do. Caged on the sidewalk; unable to cross as the cars proceeded to pass and unable to back away with the people waiting behind you. You laughed in your head at how ridiculous you were being about simple eye contact. ‘This is a complete stranger… relax’ you told yourself. When you mustered up the courage to pick your eyes up and your heart off the floor you got lost. Those eyes. You squint your eyes under your hat questioning what the hell was happening. There he was… in the flesh.. looking at you. He looked angel like. His skin soft, placing his hand on his forehead over his eyes to block the sun to take a closer look back at you. His amber smell wafted towards you. He was all consuming. You felt crazy. What honestly was happening. His plump lips pulled at the corner revealing the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen. It sank in your stomach that this stranger wasn’t a stranger at all. An internet obsession genuinely was stood in front of you. You couldn’t help but smile back. A panicked confidence came over you. It was innate, instinctual, you had to; you reached out your arm and lightly grabbed at his. He looked at you slightly surprised but also smug. He knew he had a gravitational pull on people and he was not particularly upset that it worked on people that looked like you too. You felt the words slipping out from your lips but a static fuzz filled your brain.

“Sorry, are you Trent Alexander Arnold?” You already knew the answer.

His smile got bigger, he seemed flattered. He looked at you with sincerity. And then he spoke…

“Yeah, and you are?” His voice laced with his accent was smooth, heavy, beautiful.

You started to question your decision. Why did you say anything to begin with, you had nothing to say to him. You realized quickly your hand was still on him as he stared down at it. You rolled your eyes a little embarrassed and slowly pulled it down his arm. He was intrigued. Despite the internal chaos ensuing inside of you, you presented incredibly calm, smooth, and as your hand brushed over his, pulling back to your side, sexy. He stared at your collar bones and the dip in your throat, a drop of sweat ran down your tan skin. He studied its path. Watching it trace over the bone and then over a little scar, he observed it absorb into your top. He was embarrassed in his own mind that he wanted to watch the sweat keep rolling down your body, sans shirt.

“Y/N” you spoke quietly.

“This is kind of mad to run into you here, you know?” You babbled and he looked amused at the speed of your words as you continued. “I have been in Liverpool a lot, I guess just England in general a lot and never could imagine running into someone like you and definitely didn’t think I’d ever be here.”

“Yeah? Someone like me?” He asked.

It was flirty. Suggestive. Was he flirting with you? Maybe he was just being nice but you couldn’t stop your thoughts from running wild staring at the veins on his hands.

“What you doing over in Liverpool” he questioned you with a raised brow.

“Oh, erm” you weren’t sure how to phrase this. You were a fan, nothing wrong with that but you also didn’t want to freak him out.

“My dad’s from England so we go a lot and I follow the prem, I guess…We usually go to a game or two up north every year..” you explained. He seemed calmed by your honesty.

“See anything of interest up north?” your breath hitched at his words and his eyes boring back at you. You laughed a little, he was more charismatic than you maybe ever gave him credit for. Definitely reserved and quiet but he was entertaining the conversation pushing it in a direction you thought that you must’ve been dreaming.

“Had my eyes on something at Anfield, sure” you smirked. He watched your pink lips curl. It was enticing, he licked over his top lip then his bottom in response and hummed.

“Where are you staying?” you stopped his thoughts. “Sorry, you don’t have to ans…” you awkwardly tried to not pry.

“The Plaza” he cut you off. You returned his smile at the fact that he had been staying in such close proximity; right under your nose, blissfully unaware.

“Best area.” You spoke again. “Upper East Side will always be it for me but I’m biased because I live here.” You held your hands up in innocence.

“You live near here?” he asked, taking a small step towards you. His body so close to yours.

“A few blocks down and over on Park Ave” you pointed ambiguously, telling him. His eyes traced your body intently. It very quickly washed over you how sweaty you were. This isn’t the way you’d ideally want to look meeting someone you fancied, let alone him.

“I swear I don’t always look like this” you paused, shaking your head “it’s hot” you laughed defending your appearance.

“It is hot” he echoed cheekily, not talking about the weather anymore taking in every inch of your body in front of him.

“I would’ve really preferred having you see me in something else.” Your words were unintentionally suggestive. You slowly shut your eyes hoping he didn’t take your comment the wrong way. His mouth gaped open a little as he laughed

“Oh yeah?” He mocked you. His tease was endearing though.

“How long are you here for?” You needed to change the topic before you passed out from his intense gaze on you.

“Few more days...” he spoke, turning his head up to look at the street. The crosswalk sign had changed to’ walk.’ You felt your heart sink as your little interaction with Trent was going to end. One of the boys from his group walked by you two pinching in between Trent’s shoulder and neck. He winced at the feeling and the boy gave him a knowing look meeting back with the rest of the group. The boys crossed the street, you were stuck watching them so you failed to realize that Trent hadn’t budged. He returned his eyes to you and smiled softly. It made your heart flutter that he maybe still wanted to talk to you. In a panic to keep the conversation alive you blurted out an unsolicited offer without thinking…

“While you’re here, if you need someone to go out with, or just even need recommendations you should hit me up” Your face pulled into a childish grin. His eyes widened at your forwardness. You honestly were surprised at yourself too.

“I don’t really know you though, do I?” He questioned back at you.

You felt a little sick, a little stupid for maybe misreading the situation and conversation. You shyly laughed and rolled your eyes again embarrassed. This whole thing was ridiculous.

“Yeah, well… I don’t really know you either do I?” You mocked his question.

“You do though.” He leaned in a little closer to you.

“No” you paused at his face's closeness. “I don’t know you, I know your name and your face. That’s not really knowing someone is it?” He smirked at your rational. “And honestly, with that, it's only to your benefit. You’re going into this with the upper hand. You already know I think you’re attractive.” You should’ve thought your sentence through a little more but you were caught in the moment.

“Really? I didn’t know I knew that” he quipped.

He was funny, you’ll give him that. Your faux confidence was already dwindling preparing for him to turn you down. Letting a stranger down, rejecting a pass must be awkward and hard for him to do. Although he probably had a lot of practice doing it, his response wasn’t what you’d expected. It just about stopped your heart.

“And what if you knew I thought you were attractive” he almost whispered. It was sexy. Your brow furrowed genuinely because you had believed he was about to reject you.

“Are you sure?” you asked so quickly looking up at him in confusion. He thought your ignorance was cute.

“Yeah, I’ve got eyes haven’t I? I can see what’s in front of me. You caught my eye across the street before you even snuck your way next to me” You blushed at the idea he was already looking at you before you even had clocked him. You felt like someone might’ve been watching earlier but you couldn’t have dreamed it would be him.

It felt like it happened in slow motion as you watched his hand come closer to you. The back of his knuckle traced your highlighted cheekbone. Goosebumps arose all over your skin. Before he could remove his hand he heard a loud familiar whistle and was thrust back into reality that he was standing on the corner of the street. He gestured to the group he was with to hold on a second.

“Let me take you out tonight” he ask calmly

“You don’t really know me though, do you?” You quickly hit back making a smug face he wasn’t impressed with.

“Let me get to know you then” he cooed. You looked around you as if people might overhear you, like your response was just meant for him.

“Yeah. I’d like that” you said hush.

“Gimme your number” he said as he forced his phone at you. Your eyes stuck watching the group across the street monitoring the situation. Were they staring because of you, because he does this a lot? Or rather never does this? The questions poured into your head but the harsh sun reflecting off his phone into your face brought you back down to earth. You typed your number into his phone, saving your name with a little ‘🗽’ emoji as a contextual reminder and gave him his phone back.

The gears in your mind were still turning. What honestly just happened that you were holding a Liverpool football player's phone. Trent smiled seeing your name and the little emoji.

“Y/N L/N” he repeated.

“That’s me” grinning back.

He placed his phone in his pocket and lifted his arm again and reached to stoke your arm. You shivered at the touch.

You blew some air out your mouth in disbelief at the events unfolding. You weren’t sure what to do with the lull in the conversation now but Trent seemed comfortable in the silence.

“If you’re still heading up fifth, my favorite view of the city skyline is up at the reservoir. You ever been?” You softly suggested. He dragged his hand back up your arm.

“Nah, should I?” he asked. Focused more on the feeling of your skin than your words.

“It’s nice if you have the time. Good for the gram.” You laughed.

“Important” he replied as you stared at his hand continue to stroke your arm

“Very” you confirmed. He rocked backwards a little

“So I’m gonna see you tonight, yeah?” He said looking at your face once more as he dropped his hand from you.

“Yeah, yeah” you responded not totally sure that would actually happen but you were happy with this little conversation to hold in your mind forever. His smell, his gaze on you, saying you were attractive. Even if he was lying, you’d still take it from him. You bite your cheek before speaking again.

“If I don’t see you ” you paused and he looked at you confused. “It was nice to meet you” you said sweetly. He started laughing and shaking his head.

“I’m going to see you, trust me” he winked at you. It felt like you could fall over. Your legs felt like jello.

“Go on then, finish your run” he said tilting his head, gesturing down the avenue you were at.

“Absolutely not. You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you watch me run down the block now” you were embarrassed by the idea of trying to exercise in front of someone who did it for a living.

“I like what I’ve seen so far, don’t deprive me of a nice view” his tone dripping with ideas.

You were shocked at the tone. You liked it. It was sweet and full of suggestion. You wanted to just listen to him talk for hours.

“I’m going to walk this way” you spoke up pointing down the street emphasizing the word ‘walk’ a little teasingly.

“See you, yeah?” He winked.

“Yeah, I trust you” you said, walking a bit away from him.

It felt like leaving a friend but also nothing like that. You craved so much more knowing he wasn’t one. You needed more of him. He was intoxicating, he felt like you took a shot of liquor. You felt light headed, the world blurred around you, giggling to yourself at the feeling in your chest. What the hell was wrong with you. You put your headphones back in and made your way down the street. You started to text your sister about the flirty encounter with the footballer but you didn’t want to jinx anything. Maybe you actually would see him later. That going to happen fell on Trent though; he was the one with your number, he was on his holiday. It didn’t seem likely to happen but he seemed so nice at the very least you’d hope he’d have the courtesy to tell you he couldn’t meet. You looked back towards where he was wanting to relive those minutes over and over again. Your eyes met again. He had his on you still. He squinted trying to follow your path and he smiled.

Trent crossed the street towards the group of boys nonchalantly, he was playing off how smitten he had just become with a complete stranger.

“What the fuck was that?” one of the boys looked at him as Trent embarrassingly bit onto his lip still watching you.

“Yeah, she was fit but like did you need to get the whole life story or…” another boy said.

“Did you know her?” The comments and questions came flooding in from the group confused at the interaction. To answer what you had wondered earlier. No, Trent didn’t do this a lot, igniting more of an inquiry. He kept to himself a lot of the time. Of course he’d get with girls back at home and on holidays and such but right now he was sober, it was in the middle of the day, on the street, and he seemingly was drooling over someone he’d never spoken to before. This was out of character.

“I honestly feel like I know her,” Trent spoke, trying to clear his throat. “Gonna see her tonight,” he informed them. The boys bustled with noise and confusion

“What about our dinner tonight?” Someone questioned

“You’ll figure it out. I’ll meet you after to go to that event.” Trent calmed the group still watching you as you looked back once more at him before turning the corner out of his view. He didn't like that he couldn’t see you anymore. He felt like he needed to study you more. The image of sweat dripping down your body had him down bad. It shouldn’t have affected him like that. He questioned why he was aching for you. He didn’t even know you. He exhaled confused. He could hear your voice replaying in his head. Soft and sweet, was it suggestive? Was he making it up?

“She didn’t even ask for a picture with me, ya know” he spoke quietly towards his brother in the group. Trent didn’t want to look like a melt to his friends so opted to confide in him. With his brothers he couldn’t really embarrass himself; they were so close.

“Maybe she doesn’t care about that,” Trent’s brother Tyler responded. Trent grunted slightly annoyed that you weren’t fawning and falling over him like he’d want. What he didn’t know was that you had actually been nauseous at the sheer idea of speaking with him. Tyler watched his face change.

“That bother you?” He asked. Trent looked back at him unsure.

“Don’t know… just not sure why I feel like this. Like I thought she was into me but the more I think about it” he paused reflecting “maybe I was just pushing a narrative in my head. She didn’t exactly seek me out, it was by chance, she was minding her business” his heart hurt a little at the thought.

“You just don’t stand that close to someone you don’t know and aren’t interested in” Tyler quipped back.

“Yeah?” Trent questioned his sincerity.

“She was grossly close to you. Made me a little sick not gonna lie '' a voice from behind them piped up. Their younger brother Marcel wanted in on the conversation, the gossip about the mystery girl was too good to miss.

“She from here?” His brother questioned

“Mmhmm, I felt like I was almost being played because she gave me everything up front. She told me her name, where she lived, about her dad, she follows footie, told me about visiting Anfield and that. Like I couldn’t build a more ideal woman, she’s a dream and she just stood there like she was somehow at a disadvantage.” Trent ranted.

“Oh” the brothers simultaneously echoed. Marcel looked at Tyler a little concerned about Trent’s vulnerability. Trent was independent and smart but it was often on everyone around him minds if people were trying to take advantage of or attempting to use Trent for something.

“She’s been to a game… of yours?” Tyler asked

“I assumed I was there playing. She didn’t really specify”

“The odds of meeting your dream girl like this on the street is mad but then again it’s you Trentski. If you really want to go find out more.. I guess shoot your shot.” Marcel tried to be honest but still support him…

“You think it’s bad to text now?” Trent cautiously asked. His brothers just laughed at him.

“Why are you being like this bro? You’re down so bad already and you don’t even know her. What did she do to you!” They exclaimed, clinging to each other continuing to give Trent shit for his lack of confidence.

“What am I doing?” Trent felt ridiculous; where did his conviction go? He needed to not let you get this in his head. Yet the only thing playing in his mind were images of you.

“What the fuuuucckk” he groaned.

“Relax bro, just go and maybe you’ll get to release a little” his brother joked about Trent’s obvious growing crush. The innuendo made Trent’s heads spin. His brothers kept talking but all he could think about was you peeling the sweaty clothes off your body at home. He wanted to be there for that. He needed the girl he didn’t know he would even meet an hour ago.

“This is embarrassing” he said despite hitting send on a text he was terrified of.

You sat on your bed after showering. If there was any luck in life for you he would text you. Your shower was long. The idea of you potentially seeing Trent tonight required you to look your best. The bathroom steamed, you washed your hair twice, exfoliating, shaving absolutely everything. You moisturized like you never had before. Your post shower routine was extensive and so was your skin and hair care. The idea of him even near your body had you giddy. You had to wonder if he was that clever and smooth with everyone. You felt the character you had built up in your mind from behind an on screen image had been torn to shreds by his unwavering confidence, his eyes glimmering, his composure. He wasn’t anything you imagined. He was much much better.

Your phone pinged, the screen illuminating with a new text. You tried to tell yourself to relax. It was probably going to be your mom to be realistic but there lied the unknown uk number on your phone. You squeezed your eyes shut, your leg now bouncing up and down a little. ‘What the fuck it’s just a text. You’re embarrassing’ you spoke to yourself. Your stomach dropped as you swiped to read the new message.

“The reservoir?”

It was so simple but you felt your heart racing. You wanted to be quick in response not knowing how he was with his phone and you didn’t want to miss your opportunity. You were trying not to think too much as you hit send.

“The reservoir.” You confirmed.

“Going to make me way there and let you know what I think” his response was quick in return.

“Please do 😉” you typed and deleted the wink emoji 1000 times but just said fuck it. Every moment exchanged with Trent felt like it could be your last so you decided you were going to try not to hold back.

A genuine full smile swept across Trent’s face.

“She responded I’m assuming” Tyler watched his brother’s expression change. Trent didn’t want to get into how excited he was feeling about something as small as an emoji.

“mmhmm” he hummed, not picking up his gaze from the wink you sent.

“Dinner with me tonight?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed”

“Got one condition though..”

You weren’t sure what the condition could be. As much as you two had joked, you really didn’t know him at all. You couldn’t predict anything he was going to do or say. It put you on edge but you loved the thrill of standing there.

“You have to pick the place because you’re the local” Trent’s message read. You smiled, it was sweet and more wholesome than you anticipated. You couldn’t stop trying to read into everything he has said though. Was this a date for him?

“Fine, I’ll be sure to pick something good then. 8:00 pm is okay, yeah?”

“All good. Also 8:00 pm… try 20:00?”

“No no no. None of that. You’re in my city now”

“Yeah? Going to show me a good time in your city”

He sent it and started to regret it. He still questioned if you were as into him as he was into you. He didn’t want to imply he was looking just a quick fuck. He definitely wanted to have sex with you, like embarrassingly so but might actually be a little disappointed in that alone because you peaked his interest. He wanted to listen to you. He wanted to watch your eyes flicker over him. He wanted to hear your accent accentuate words.

Contrary to his beliefs, you felt like you were going to scream. Like you were a 12 year old girl with a boy band obsession. Did he want you like that? What if you read his text with the wrong inflection? You threw caution to the wind at this point and you dove into sending him a response.

“Promise xx. Will see how you are on the date”

“Date, yeah?”

“Oh.. Is it not?” you immediately responded to him. You felt so nervous. Blood rushing to your face embarrassed you had misread everything.

“Nah, it definitely is. Can’t wait to see more of you later 🤤”

His response, especially the emoji, made your mind race with dirty thoughts. You understand he probably just meant ‘seeing’ you as meeting up again but you wanted him to literally see more. You wanted to have him drooling. You wanted his lips on yours. You wanted to have him thinking about you. You just had to get through this date successfully for that to even be an option.

•

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think.

Moving slow but we’re just getting started xx

Next part is up - Chapter 2

[dairyfreenugget]

NEW OC NEW OC NEW OC

Their name is Ray :3 long ass info about them under read more

They were a commoner immigrant to Hallownest, where they met a noble and eventually got married to him. On his request they left their job, as his family and friends would think he couldn't provide for them both had they stayed employed. They got anything material they could ever want, but the marriage itself wasn't a great one. Their husband was smart and generous, but thought very little of Ray; in his eyes they were naive and stupid, and only there to be his arm candy. A pretty face he enjoyed having around and having sex with but didn't take them seriously.

Ray had very few dreams in life. They were a simple person, though not in a bad way. They've always dreamed of getting married and starting a big family, being a parent is what they've longed for since their young adulthood. They were a bookworm, enjoying all kind of genera but fantasy, adventure, horror and mystery books were always their favourite. They thought about writing their own book one day plenty of times. That's all they've really wanted from life; a loving spouse, a big family, and to enjoy their hobbies on the side.

Their husband, though, wasn't interested in any of it. He belittled their writing and interest in books. He knew Ray wanted a family, but as his older siblings already had children of their own he had no pressure from the family to continue the lineage and neither did he had any interest in being a father, but he had no qualms about leading Ray on and promising them children he was never willing to give them. When that truth came out it was one of the many, many reasons why Ray finally decided to leave him.

After the breakup they took up their old job as a butcher to make ends meet and slowly saved up for a divorce. Eventually they spotted a job offering as a butcher at the White Palace and immediately applied, and to their delight they got the job. The higher pay finally allowed them to get enough money to divorce their ex and afterwards they moved to a better apartment; to make the divorce faster and less of a hassle they let their ex have everything he wanted, they just wanted to get away from him and were more than content in their simple life.

Ray was 38-39 at the time of the divorce, and found getting back into the dating scene very hard. They tried to date new people for a long while but it never worked out and they all but gave up their dream of a family by the time they were in their 40s. Even if they got married right now and had children immediately they would be about 60 by the time their kids were adults, they wouldn't have a lot of time with them left. Ray cussed themself out for letting their bastard of an ex waste nearly two decades of their life.

They'd continue to work at the palace for a few years, they found the job rewarding and made plenty of friends with the staff, though they were especially close with two of their fellow butchers.

(Brief mention of cannibalism in the following paragraph)

One day, the kitchen staff got a special order from the king; he wanted the meat of wyrms that he killed during their attempted takeover of Hallownest to be prepared for food. Many of the staff were weirded out by it and thankfully the king understood and let whoever wanted to to step away from this task. Ray was one of the few butchers that decided to take up his request. The Pale King also showed up on that day to help the kitchen staff, and showed the butchers how to prepare the wyrm meat. It felt a bit disturbing working on something that looked so human, even when they knew it was not. Ray, however, found themself weirdly intrigued and listened to the king intently as he taught them and was even kind enough to answer some of their questions about wyrms.

(No more cannibalism)

They couldn't help sometimes catching glimpses of the king himself, how his arm muscles tensed during work, glittering with sweat and blood. It wasn't often that the king showed off this much of his form, his second pair of arms were usually tucked close to his body and his hard, shiny wyrm scales hidden under layers of clothing, even his tail and legs were usually covered in robes, all to appear as human as possible. Now though, He was scantily clad, with only one sleeveless, short robe.

Ray really couldn't help themself and started whispering to their work friends how attractive he was, the two of them giggling as they did while the third tried to scold them. Only for them to freeze like deer in the headlights when the king spoke, not looking away from his work; "I hope you're all aware that I have much better hearing than humans." They scattered away like rats in that one scene in Ratatouille, and as they did Ray heard the king's warm laugh, though they were too embarrassed to look at him.

Later that day, as they were heading home, Ray would stumble onto the Pale King and decided to approach him to apologise. To their surprise though, he only smiled warmly up at them and gently brushed his tail against their leg. "Do not apologise. I'm flattered, really." And after a moment of pause, seemingly hesitating for a moment, he added; "It's a compliment, especially when coming from somebody as attractive as you." They froze, needing a good minute or two for their brain to buffer after that. Was he...flirting with them?

One thing led to another and they found themself having a sexual relationship with the king, and soon after that with his wife as well. A part of them really couldn't believe that they'd find them of all people attractive. But the two monarchs were sweet and so caring, showing interest in them beyond just their casual sexual encounters. They asked Ray out on dates to get to know them better, they wanted to learn more about them if their meetings were going to be a regular occurance. And, to Ray's surprise, they've found a lot in common with each other. The two listened to them, and did so intently, finding themselves enraptured in Ray's excited ramblings about their ideas for their own book especially. When they ran out of time to hear all of it, they'd ask them to continue the next time they'd see each other.

They frequently lost track of time in their conversations. Books were the main topic that brought them together, and the trio would talk for hours about their favourite novels and authors. But it wasn't the only interests they'd share. Ray loved to gossip with the White Lady, and she made them realise that they loved to be pampered and looking pretty and taking care of themself. The two of them took spa days together very often. She'd invite Ray to her gardens a lot, showing them her plants, and teaching them how to take care of them. Ray even started their own little garden on their balcony, and White Lady was more than happy to help them pick the plants for it. When Pale King talked about his work and inventions, Ray could listen to him for hours. He was so reserved when they first started talking, but now he could go on and on about his interests, and seeing him smile as he showed them something new...it was really no wonder his wife fell for him, Ray thought to themself. But hearing him talk about stories of his past, many of which regarded Hallownest itself, was their favourite thing. But the most surprising thing to them was learning how knowledgeable he was about the animals and how much love he held for them, he was especially excited about showing them his false wyvern Bellatrix and telling them of how he raised him back to health. Ray ended up perusing the royal library's section on fauna and flora for hours after. But of course, the two would also take part in Ray's hobby as well, reading the books they recommended and encouraging them to write their own. And of course, the two would be the first ones to read it. The Pale King even took Ray hunting once, and they'd chat and laugh together as they worked on butchering the kill, before taking it to the royal gardens to cook and eat together with the White Lady.

Their relationship evolved quickly from just casual hook ups to something deeper, though they hadn't put a label on it just yet. It was two years into this relationship that Ray told the two about their dreams of starting a family, and Pale King was more than happy to offer his help in giving them a child. They'd provide for them and the children, and would raise them together too. This pretty much marked them becoming official partners. Ray decided to leave their job as the royal butcher soon after and pursued their dream of being a published writer instead, while the king and queen helped them buy a house closer to the palace in preparation of becoming parents together. After Ray fell pregnant they finally decided to introduce them to Flower and Hornet, who were more than happy to meet them and learn they'll have a baby sibling. Or, well, siblings, as not long after that Ray would learn they were expecting triplets.

Ray bonded well with their partners' children, often spending time with them or all five of them together to get to know them better. Months later, Flower and Hornet would get Ray presents for parents day, and Ray could cry. They did cry. They were more than happy when the duo asked them if they could call them their parent, ren or renny.

Ray really became a part of the family, though that fact was so far kept a secret. They weren't in a hurry to announce it to anyone, knowing the nobility (and the rumours Ray's ex had spread about them within his circle) there certainly would be much discussion and drama about the commoner being welcomed into the royal family. Ray liked their anonymity and they all wanted to ensure a fairly stress-free pregnancy for them. The great five, being the king's and queen's closest friends, were the next to find out. Many of them were already from a commoner background so could relate to Ray's position and made a point to make them feel welcome and included. They especially became close friends with Isma.

But the truth had got to come out sooner or later, and after Ray had stumbled upon their ex and had an argument with him after he had accused them of baby trapping some poor fool, they decided it'd be best to do it now. And if any nobles had a problem with it, they could come to the king directly. So, Ray accompanied their partners to the next ball. They were nervous and felt like everyone was staring at them, especially when they saw their ex and his friends glaring at them, but White Lady, Pale King and their two kids stuck close by them and made them feel more comfortable. That didn't prevent an incident from occurring though, as Ray went to get something to eat they were ambushed by their ex and his group. Pale King would quickly put a stop to the argument, rushing over to defend Ray while White Lady pulled them away and stroked their back as Ray tried their best not to cry. Everyone was staring at them now for sure, so, seeing their state Flower and Hornet approached them and asked if they'd like to take a walk outside with them. It did help to put their mind at ease, and soon Ray was laughing again, the trio making fun of the stuck up nobility together.

When they returned to the ballroom, the Pale King asked Ray out to dance with him.

"Everybody's looking at us..."

"Let them stare. Don't focus on them, just look at me, darling," He tips them gently, "I want everyone here to know how much I love you..." And he leans down to kiss them.

They feel their heart flutter and wrap their arms around his neck, happily kissing back and still locked to his lips as he pulls them back up.

They share a smile together before he pulls them back into the dance, and Ray feels much more relaxed now.

"...Won't they notice my bump like this?"

"It's a good thing. I want them to know they're mine. I'm happy and honoured that you let me be the father, and I can't wait to raise a family with you, my love."

And he takes them into his arms and twirls them around, making them giggle.

After they leave the dancefloor they're immediately scooped up by the White Lady, asking where are her kisses, and kisses them both. Flower and Hornet call them gross and quickly evacuate the premises.

Months later, Ray gives birth in the palace to three healthy and strong baby boys with both Pale King and White Lady by their side. They look so much like them, but with their father's white hair and pale eyes; it's immediately obvious whose children they are. They're overjoyed to meet their boys, and Pale King curls up around the four of them and purrs loudly as he cries. Naturally, Flower and Hornet are the next ones to meet and hold their baby brothers. It's a happy day for everyone.

Ray moved into the palace for a few months before and after the due date so their partners could help them raise their kids. Once the babies are older they will move back to their home, but visit the palace every day to see their family.

When the boys are a few months old Pale King and White Lady decide to propose to Ray and start brainstorming on how to do it. They settle on asking them out on a late night date to a restaurant, they reserve an entire balcony overlooking the city just for the three of them, and at the end of the dinner they ask them the question. Ray is overjoyed and immediately says yes.

They plan the wedding for two years, they're not in a hurry and they want the boys to participate in a wedding. They eventually marry when their sons are 3, it's a very private event with just their family and closest friends, but the date itself is a kingdom-wide celebration. Ray's soul is bonded to to theirs, their life and feelings now forever intertwined together, and they re-cast the kingsoul charm into three segments to show it. Ray takes a moment to get used to being able to feel their partner's feelings and talk with them in their mind, but it's a very nice feeling.

I'll talk about their kids in another post later as this is already unbelievably long, but they have another son when the triplets are around 12 years old. Dewdrop, a little grumpy wyrm who's especially close with his father. And a few years later they have another, this time created through magic so that Pale King can carry this pregnancy. After their kids grow up, Ray decides to move into the palace with their husband and wife and their house is given to the youngest triplet to take care of. He later starts his own family there, and Ray visits their old home often.

[sparklingcid3r]

r u a darry/paul shipper like seemingly the rest of the fandom is becoming (good)? what are ur hc for them?

This is long, bear with me 🙏 I def think there was something going on in high school between those two and you can pry that hc from my cold dead hands. But here’s how I think their relationship goes, for better or worse (particularly, worse):

- They’re hardcore pining for each other in high school but never actually do something about it because it’s the 60s and both of them have reputations, albeit two different ones, to maintain. They aren’t exactly about to out themselves to their seemingly hypermasculine crush/best friend, no matter how attracted they are

- Eventually, though, they get drunk enough at some Soc party and Paul happens to have looser lips than Darry, and lets it slip that if Darry were a girl (a risky statement on its own but inhibitions are out the window atp), he would absolutely kiss him. He actually thinks Darry is real pretty and has always wanted to find out what kissing him is like

- Darry, still having somewhat of a head screwed to his shoulders despite the alcohol, drags Paul to the nearest bathroom with a lock and dunks his head under freezing shower water (not a foolproof cure to intoxication but it helps for clarity ig??). He asks Paul to say what he just said again

- Paul starts apologizing, saying he was drunk and doesn’t know what he was talking about

- Darry’s first kiss with a man is in the pearly white bathroom of a Soc he doesn’t even know the name of, surrounded by more Socs, of whom he only knows half the names of

- They go steady in private of course, but neither of them can shake the knowledge that they have the darkest blackmail on each other, even during their most intimate moments. Although simultaneously there is a sick comfort in knowing “If I go down, you’re going down with me.”

- If that’s the foundation, though, you know it starts to seep through. Paul’s always been a Soc, and what he forgets is that even though Darry can clean up real nice, he’s always been a greaser. When Paul’s laughing with their buddies about how some greaser freshman’s got tape around the toes of his converse, Darry’s silence is so heavy it’s tangible. It just brings the mood down

- What they have I think can only slightly be called love. But who else are they supposed to be in love with? That drunken accident was probably the best moment of their lives, finally realizing that they’re not alone. They have each other and no matter what, for better or for worse, they’ll always have each other.

- The dynamic changes when the Curtis parents die. Paul’s got money and suddenly Darry is poorer than dirt. The money came and went with the funerals, the gravestones, the bills. Suddenly Darry’s dipping into his college fund, then he’s draining it for the sake of keeping his brothers together under his roof. There’s no time for Paul anymore

- Darry knew immediately that he was risking not only his life, but Soda and Pony’s lives just by existing. If he got caught, it’s over. So he breaks it off with Paul, because he was never capable of loving anyone more than he loves his brothers

But honestly that’s just my immediate thoughts about them, I can totally imagine them being pretty happy together in some parallel universe. But the way the story portrays them, they fell apart and ended up on opposite sides of the tracks.

If you want some happy hcs hit me up I gotchu🤙 thanks for the ask! Sorry I went overboard, I got excited lmfao. They mean a lot to me🫶

[garymerlow]

Get To Know Your Mutuals

Pretending I was tagged by @starrybouquet cause I need the distraction and I love answering questions about myself in a non-therapy setting, LOL

What’s the origin of your blog title?

It’s a line from Mark Owen’s song “Come Back”, which has been speaking to me lately. (Actually, I think if I’d heard it in any of the time since it came out, it would’ve spoken to me the whole time, but that’s neither here nor there)

OTP(s) + Shipnames

Too damn many to name, seriously! I’m a bit of an equal opportunity shipper, it’d be easier to get a list of pairings I don’t ship. Sorry if that’s a bit of a cop out.

Favorite Color

Yellow 💛 , though I love red/black/white/gold together in any combo. Light blue also really speaks to me as well. I just love colors…

Song Stuck In Your Head

Hard to have a song stuck when I’m listening to music right now. What’s playing is U2’s “Crumbs From Your Table”.

Weirdest Habit/Trait

Can’t talk too much about eyeball stuff or even really look into someone’s eyes in person without my eyes watering aggressively. It’s fucking embarrassing as hell and has lead to a fair few awkward moments.

Hobbies?

Not even sure I’ve got a lot of what constitutes as ‘hobbies’ right now? I guess my occasional photo editing and rare bead bracelet making would suffice, though the bracelets especially have been solely for myself.

If you work, what’s your profession?

I sort clothes at a thrift store, pretty much. It’s a lot more physical labor than you’d expect, but I get to listen to music or podcasts or fic all day long, and I rarely have to face customers, so I’m pretty happy there even if it feels like I don’t exist in the eyes of my coworkers 95% of the time.

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be?

The dream jobs that always cycle back regardless of impossibility are: special education teacher, music journalist, drummer/bassist/singer in a band though not all at once, and fashion designer…what lofty dreams I have, huh?

Something you’re good at?

I pride myself at being a good listening ear, if nothing else. I’m also pretty good at identifying 80s hits, but that’s not helpful unless it’s trivia night.

Something you hate?

The complexity of romance/friendship/sex.

Something you collect?

What don’t I collect LOL? I’ll just say pins/buttons.

Something you forget?

I apparently forget people’s birthdays…so sorry about that!

What’s your love language?

Shared experiences, always. Call it a side effect of my lifelong loneliness, but I cherish experiences with people I hold dear.

Favorite Movie/Show?

Favorite movie is Ocean’s 11, favorite show is 21 Jump Street :^)

Favorite Food?

Red beans and rice first and foremost…but beyond that I’m pretty basic and just love peel and eat shrimp.

Favorite Animal?

River otters! Or platypi!

What were you like as a child?

I’m probably not the one to ask about this if I’m honest haha…I was dealing with not properly diagnosed autism and social issues stemming from not talking until I was 4.5 yrs old. I used to chase boys on the playground and threaten to kiss them if I caught them (I never did but once) because I thought being boy crazy was something everyone did but I went too far with it. I was obsessed with dogs and cats, obsessed over cartoons and animation history, listened to oldies music from the 60s-80s while my peers were obsessed with Disney Channel music and hip-hop…I was a bit of a bookworm but not in the way other neurodivergent kids were to my knowledge. I had noise sensitivity issues that made social situations in large crowds REALLY tough. I’ve been told I was caring towards classmates who didn’t have a voice when I was able to lend that support. I wanted to be friends with everyone even if I wasn’t good at keeping them. Besides the constant company of my older sister, my childhood was pretty lonely on the whole.

Favorite subject at school?

Anything with computers, then history/social studies, then English. Could take or leave everything else.

Least favorite subject?

Math, but turns out it’s probably because I have the math form of dyslexia (along with ACTUAL dyslexia lol)

What’s your best character trait?

I…I don’t know. You should REALLY be asking my mutuals about that, I can’t come up with anything besides my kindness, I guess?

What’s your worst character trait?

I’m self introspective to the point of obsession, and it kinda leaks out into other factions of my life, especially my self esteem/image.

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

I wish I had a more solid support system, but that’s something I should’ve been working on for years. But I think that would change my life/outlook on it more than anything short of systemic social change right now.

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?

There’s living people I’d like to meet right now (Robbie Williams and Michael Stipe spring to mind first), but if we’re speaking people who have passed, I’d say I’d either like to meet Michael Hutchence, or I’d like to have one more day with my late grandfather.

Leaving this as an open tag for whomever wishes to do this, I’d love to read your responses!

[uncannychange]

Jumonjied into "Mystery Date."

When college roommates Todd, James, William, and Bradly discovered, of all things, a silly old girl’s board game from the past called Mystery Date under some loose floorboards in the crusty old house that was home to their fraternity, they decided to play it as a joke.

None of them had even considered the possibility that they would end up being Jumonjied into the game and turned into the red, yellow, blue, and green themed “girl” player characters.

Two had already been dragged off on “Mystery Dates, " but they knew not where. Todd, no matter how hard she fought against it, was taken off on the arm of some '60s Alpha hunk in a white tux jacket that only said “Time for the prom!” as Todd found his female character self suddenly wearing a green gown and blood red corsage and pulled by her date into the outer darkness, her cries of "damn it stop!" and "What is that ahead of us?" fading to silence.

Then worse, after another “knock, knock” sounded on the other side of the door, Bradly said, “Look, if we don’t play, this will never be over.”

He opened the door to find what looked like a cross between a rebel biker and Charles Manson! “We’re going to the drag races in the gravel pit, Babe!” said the uncanny valley apparition as Bradly found herself in leather, fishnets, and way too much makeup compelled to follow. “Help me guys!” yelled the girl of apparently ‘ill repute” that Bradly now was. But there was no helping Bradly, and they went off into the swirling darkness.

Neither James nor William knew what to do next. Then the knocks sounded again.

Who would be the next to open The Door, and what would they find, and how would it all end?

[bittyfromquotev]

Second controversial take of the day, bc apparently we're on a roll

but just with how some of the way y'all be talking, I honest to God don't blame bitty for throwing out the fact that at any point some of you fuckers could be the gore anons (which is never out of the realm of possibility, it's not hard to hide typing quirks or mimic someone else's). you act the Exact same

'bu-bu-but we don't send gore we're just-' white knighting? yeah. exactly my fucking point. the whole, "doing it for the greater good" and speaking over the actual people that want you to shut the fuck up. The Exact. Same. Thing.

With the g-anons, they do it in the name for defending solarmoon shippers by running 'fake queers' off the internet. they speak over other shippers, that explicitly tell them to shut up and fuck off.

And here you are, trying to defend the gore victims by trying to control and criticize how others chose to cope with the situation. Even though Several people including some of the victims want you to shut up and fuck off.

This isn't assumption either, this is fact. Your actions speak loud and clear all on their own, regardless of how you may try to justify them.

Learn to take a hint, that your opinion is neither wanted or asked for. it is not your place to decide what bitty should or shouldn't do. better yet, ✨it's none of your business✨

Congratulations for being a hypocrite btw and contributing to another actual problem in general fandom spaces. I don't even want to acknowledge the toxicity of unsolicited criticism, but you're doing just fine indulging in that topic all on your own aren't you?

[side note: "To that anon? Way to completely not read what I said at all." you sure do like to pick and choose what you read and complain about don't you? awfully convenient to miss the point of the whole paragraph. ironic considering you then go on to complain about bitty not seeing your dozen of points that are explicitly unwelcome on this blog. And that's not ever addressing trying to side with a harasser anon, not a good look. dare I say, blatantly obtuse if not worse.]

Seriously tho bitty, you and anyone else getting this bs (bc I doubt you're the only one rn) really should just block them the next time they try to repeat themselves. Don't matter if it's the same person, or 3 different ones. People like these are the how and why g-anons exist in the first place. This mindset is explicitly Dangerous. Which sounds extreme, but as someone who's been in more than 60+ fandoms for over 7 years, I know wtf I'm talking about. It always ends the same. Twitterhead whiteknights doing bigoted shit in the name of the greater good, no matter how well meaning, is how petty callouts come about. And when it doesn't stop immediately in its track, it snowballs and gets even worse from there - ❄

Thank you so much! Lmao I almost thought you were them because of how this ask started off but I’m glad it’s you :)

Yeah they—

They don’t seem to want to listen to me. They keep telling me the same stuff over and over and it’s funny yet irritating because I’d explained myself already (I know I’ve said this like 15 times but I need to get this point across). I do plan on blocking them if they ever try something though.

But like ❄️ said, I am allowed to cope and react to things however the fuck I want. I do my best to comfort or be there for my friends and those affected more severely, but I’m personally not gonna cry about it.

No one should speak for anyone else. I let the “friend” who abused me for 10 years speak for me a lot and it doesn’t make people feel good. It’s very invalidating and no one wants someone to speak for them.

Once again, thank you so much anon. I greatly appreciate it :)

[horizon-verizon]

Herein lies the problem with liberal reformist feminism following the tradition of bourgeoise white Western women from Mary Wollstonecraft to Hillary Clinton. It mistakes the white bourgeoise woman’s (or upper caste/upper class women in whatever country or culture you’re speaking of) compliance with patriarchal hegemony, especially when compliance means gaining benefits at the expense of the exploited underclasses of working women, oppressed caste women, and racialized/ethnically oppressed women, with how women “in general” resisted patriarchy.

It has never been universally true that because bourgeoise liberal feminism saw compliance with and reform within the system as a way to free women that all women agreed with or continue to agree with this.

I’m Tamil and as far as India and the Indian diaspora goes, oppressed caste Indian women, working class Indian women, Indian Muslim women and other Indian religious minority women, Adivasi women, Indian women victimized by the sex trade, have all followed the traditions of militant feminism and a feminist praxis beyond simple “reform” of the system. This is precisely because they couldn’t succeed in a system built on brutalizing & excluding them. What does succeeding within the Brahminical patriarchal system mean to a Dalit woman, for example ? Such success was impossible.

A bourgeoise’s ability to “succeed within a system” is neither feminist nor any kind of success. Liberal feminism uses woke identity politics to reframe capitalist exploitation. “Succeeding within the system” is no resistance or feminism at all.

It has never been universally true that because bourgeoise liberal feminism saw compliance with and reform within the system as a way to free women that all women agreed with or continue to agree with this.

[...]victimized by the sex trade, have all followed the traditions of militant feminism and a feminist praxis beyond simple “reform” of the system. This is precisely because they couldn’t succeed in a system built on brutalizing & excluding them. What does succeeding within the Brahminical patriarchal system mean to a Dalit woman, for example ?

compliance means gaining benefits at the expense of the exploited underclasses of working women, oppressed caste women, and racialized/ethnically oppressed women

I agree with all of this. Working within the system & complying really only works for the group closest in proximity to the one holding the highest in the hierarchy precisely bc they are the closest and designed to be so. White women, in general, are going to receive more benefits under certain means of compliance that a brown/ black person can never access; white, "middle class" and rich white women have totally different privileges than the brown/black working classed woman; white working class/poor women, bc they are still white have it still better; middle classed white women have their benefits from the exploitation and oppression of brown/black people, but especially women. (Summation and "dumbing down" of anon's thoughts)

It simply doesn't make real sense for a white mid/rich classed woman (really mid-class, rich white women have their own bubble and less care) to think their experience as a woman is exactly the same as that of a PoC woman when some of their suburban/municipal neighborhoods do not come with many PoC folk or as many interracial/nonwhite pairings. This alone should clue one into something being fishy but then there is already an acknowledged Black culture/ethnicity in the U.S., which denotes a separation of experiences between white men vs Black men AS WELL AS white women vs black women. But again, when you don't have to think actively about how your race bars you from even being treated humanely AND you grew up thinking racial violence ended back in the 60s...., well.

I mean, it also serves white women to offer up the bone of being on the same side or to make an exact likeness between themselves and PoC women bc then they can ideologically claim themselves separate enough from white men that white men are the only person that should and could be held accountable, not them. It removes nuance so they can borrow the victimization they believe PoC people and women are playacting to draw sympathy just as some people claim the Palestinians are performing their own genocide, inadvertently revealing their own projection and means of generating power (hopefully) against white men and (surely) against PoCs who argue against their privilege. It is playacting or exaggeration to these people because: it is not their world, so they cannot imagine the depth of their own privilege; they beleive that these people are never really on their level of emotional/psychological clarity, or were "built"/predisposed for labor directed to them by higher-classed white people; white communities (mostly mid-upper class and at least in the U.S.) already have a culture of repressing their own emotions (ironically) that partially gives them the belief that this makes their emotions that much more strong or "real" & guides them to think the more expressive cultures lack self-control to direct their own emotions bc apparently showing emotion or passion implies exposure to licensed condemnation or the ambition of other "competitiors". Comes from the Puritans and their interpretation of what a "relationship" is with the silent, superior God AND the ideological separation/rivalry of body & soul. you prostrate yourself to God and to no other "man", but contradictorily, obedience to an earthly superior still matters bc it "proves" you using your free will to do the "right" thing of obedience to a force outside yourself without much contemplation outside of "perfectly" purging yourself of the contaminants of earthly pleasures, things you don't need to survive.

That element of self-prostration to the community/God is seen as a sign of strength bc you are acting against the body's desire which tries to negate your soul's likeness to the pure God. So to make yourself a victim or a beleaguered dependent is to prove yourself "noble" after all. What better way than to borrow from actual beleaguered or to align yourself with them?

Being perceived as helpless women without actually eschewing their whiteness, though, means they could always rely on white men to see them as their living property and therefore "defend" them against PoC attackers, to demonstrate/reaffirm their power over both white women and PoC people simultaneously (some crying rape when caught with a PoC man being the starkest and most violent example). White women, more than any PoC woman, can rely on their perfect victim status bc their whiteness allows them at least the security of being the white man's natural "helpmeet" (Genesis reference). And when it comes to class, it's pretty much similar but unique when factoring in race: white people gaining together to protect their resources and assets against those that outnumber them so they can pass on their wealth or whatever to self-sustain.

Momentarily, they try to suspend their whiteness for the woman-ness of that particular game of victimization.

[dont-call-me-william]

Billy shivered as he sound of the metal chair legs dragged across the dirty tile floor of the truck stop. He glanced at his watch, five more minutes till call time. He didn’t dare call early, as an unanswered phone would have sent him into a spiral. It was like this twice a week, and for the next several weeks it would be the only times he’d hear the blonde’s voice.

The partitions between pay phones offered only the illusion of privacy; still far more than the curly haired boy would have had at home. —Not that he dared risk a long distance call to California. He wasn’t sure what was worse; his father assuming he was in contact with her, or the truth. Neither would have ended well, and since his recovery from the massive injuries he sustained at Starcourt had progressed, his fathers temper began to flare again. His chest and ribs still hurt, and he had only in the last couple weeks been able to eat similarly to before. He was in not in any shape to dodge his fathers anger.

Just a few more weeks..

Another glance at the clock, it was almost time. Billy jumped slightly as the bells on the door clattered against the glass when the clerk returned from her smoke break. She was older, possibly mid 60’s though the lines on her face told of more struggles than one deserves for a woman who should be home snuggling grand kids. She flashed the boy a smile, disappearing only to return with a cup of hot chocolate, which she set beside him on the counter without saying a word. It wasn’t the first time. He thanked her quietly before picking up the phone, his knee bouncing nervously and making the thick heel of his boot rhythmically clap the tile.

“Hey baby..”

—Generic words safe to speak even in less than private accommodations. Surroundings melted away hearing the voice of the blonde on the other end of the line. Though hundreds of miles away, for the moment in that dirty little truck stop cubicle it didn’t feel quite so far, at least until the call ended. Long distance calls were expensive, and so was a move across the country.

Saying goodbye was the hardest. There were many things left unsaid screaming in the younger boys mind despite the sweet “I love you’s” and “Yeah I’m ok, I just miss you’s.”

“I’m scared he’s gonna find out.”

“I had that dream again”

“I wish it wasn’t like this”

“Please… please don’t change your mind”

Tears sometimes fell into the calloused hand that concealed his red rimmed baby blues. A quick exit ensured no one saw, but once back in the relative safety of the Camaro the floodgates opened. Of course.. the one person who held his heart would live across the country. Of course.. this person would find him when he felt like a shell of his former self.

Of course… he.

He.

Being anything other than white, religious, and straight was a recipe for disaster in a small midwestern town, and Billy wasn’t sure he would survive yet another disaster.

Just a few weeks..

Again the car rumbled down the highway; a few turns later and he was back at the prison that was the house on Cherry Lane. Xavier had answered, again. For now Billy could breathe. Curled in bed on his side, thick fingers groped for the thin wadded up white tank top, it’s owner hundreds of miles away. Billy tugged it close to his heart as he forced his eyes to close.

@futureinradio

[molsons112000]

In one way, it's good for black people, because they get into acting and music. In other places is attention seeking but also they focused on leadership and government, and it was more about fame than it was about doing the job! So, it wasn't really good for them as Thomas. The black economist mentioned seeking political office. Because they weren't seeking it for the best of the community, they were seeking it to fulfill their need for attention. They wanted attention, they wanted power, and they weren't focused on bettering the community.

Reddit · r/psychologystudents

20+ comments · 1 year ago

I feel like many people who claim to have a high EQ or emotional ...

Complaining is not a healthy way to deal with emotions, neither is attention seeking behavior or exaggerating for sympathy. It's also important 

So this is the pasta side of emotional intelligence below...

People with high intelligence can be too clinical, and that's a lot of times why serial killers have issues because of their high. Iq, they don't have as much compassion. And so you need to train compassion into these individuals... And that's why they were doing this with doctors, teaching them compassion in medical school, training that into them. So they give him a good balance between clinical and emotional...

CNBC

July 18, 2024 · https://www.cnbc.com

People with high emotional intelligence always do this when ...

The most emotionally intelligent people have an exceptional ability to weave questions into any conversation to spark and sustain interest.

And this is why black people tend to kill each other, whether it's here, or in africa or in the caribbean.... Because of their high emotional intelligence, they tend to be very sensitive.... And when they feel they have injustice done to them, they want extreme retribution....

Here is how pigment influences emotional intelligence....

Scholarly articles for How pigment influences emotional intelligence

… and mouth curvature influence perceived intelligence …

Talamas · Cited by 60

Pathways from trait emotional intelligence to factors of …

Barberis · Cited by 8

But they have to understand this a cover does influence emotional intelligence in individuals and this is why in these countries, they've had big issues....

Bookey App

February 15, 2024 · https://www.bookey.app

Unlocking the power of the color of emotional intelligence: a guide

Understanding how color influences emotional responses can be particularly useful in various fields such as marketing, design, and even

Scholarly articles for How melanin influences emotional intelligence

The correlation between blood oxygenation effects and …

Alkawaz · Cited by 15

Vitiligo: a psychologically influenced and influencing …

Hautmann · Cited by 80

This is why white people and Asians tend to be less emotional and have more rational intelligence.....

National Institutes of Health (NIH) (.gov)

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov

Human hypocretin and melanin concentrating hormone levels ...

by AM Blouin · 2013 · Cited by 279 — Human hypocretin and melanin concentrating hormone levels are linked to emotion and social interaction

So this has a lot to do with physical violence! We're not all created equal, and you think we should be seen as the same under the eyes of the law and that is untrue!!! And what you've been doing is a travesty of justice to me constantly provoking me, and no I don't react but verbally.... But you keep on thinking I'm going to react the same way a black eye would react to another black guy that is not true!!! A black guy is a more private length to physical violence against another black person!!!! And they have to understand they have a tendency towards being more violent!!!!! And you keep on saying the laws should ignore color it is untrue!!!! This is why when things go wrong, like people riot and destroy and kill and murder and rape and do all kinds of negativity!!!! They don't handle poverty well!!! And they always wanna be in the spotlight and they don't respect, and they do a lot of things, and this is all out of this desire that's built within them that they have to deal with!!! And if they don't start understanding this, it's a previous condition, it'll never solve any of their problems!!!

National Institutes of Health (NIH) (.gov)

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov

Human hypocretin and melanin concentrating hormone levels ...

by AM Blouin · 2013 · Cited by 279 — Human hypocretin and melanin concentrating hormone levels are linked to emotion and social interaction

So we have to understand this, and the law has to stop ignoring that color has certain genetic tendencies that drives certain genetic actions!!!!

So I keep on telling you those liberals 🙄 l g b t q those pro-abortion, those are all satanic people! Either directly working for the devil or indirectly...

So the court has to stop ignoring this and police officers when they respond have to stop ignoring this, knowing that these people are more emotional, and by being more emotional, they're more likely to resist arrest... And this is why black people do what they do and people of color Latinos and so on truly are more prone to violence... What did the Japanese do they blood it out. They did the same thing in ghana, did People that acted out killed them. They needed to do this and then pacify their society.. So it's not that Asians aren't, I think home went and so we're going to nurse the wind speeds a more emotional because of their skin color it's that they breaded out... This is where discipline comes in. And they bred in extreme discipline... Watch shogun...

So the black economist is correct and so is Stevie Wonder, failing to address the internal issues!!!! You need to work in a more disciplined society, so they're trained them harness emotions in the correct avenues. Painting in many other areas they excel....

So, white people, your problem is at times too little emotion.... 🙄 That's why you get the serial killers... That's why Josef Mengele Was able to do these horrible things, because of his lack of compassion!!!! So different races do crimes for different reasons even murder.... 🤔

[blue-opossum]

Library Visit, Floating to the Ceiling, Bumping my Head

        Library Visit, Floating to the Ceiling, Bumping My Head

        Friday morning, 1 September 2023

        2 minutes and 30 seconds to read.

        Dream #20,710-03.

        Sleep Proxy Casting and Staging:

        I am in La Crosse in the King Street mansion on the second floor, standing in the first bedroom on the west side, looking out the window. I never occupied this room in real life, which may be why the sleep proxy (Leonard S. modeling my sleeping position) appears outside on the ground below, as minimal current real-world recall integrates ambiguously into this segment. Because of natural virtual amnesia while not being conscious, the narrative does not make any sense. I perceive a false "realization" that appears as text, which I see and read within my mind. It says, "Leonard has replaced Crystal at the View." My dream self neither recalls that Leonard had died nor that Crystal has no association with America. The name of the newspaper that Crystal worked at was not called The View. Meanwhile, my dream self has no other associations with Australia, even though I have lived here since 1994. Leonard would have never had a job because of his microcephaly.

        Proto-Cognizant Casting and Staging (with the "Paper Technology" Fallacy):

        I am sitting at a round table in an unknown library, looking at a dream-related site on the Internet. The "Internet" is one sheet of A4 paper that I hold in my hands. The printed text (which is all the paper features) changes a few times when I rub my finger over the paper to "go to a different page" (even though it otherwise remains the same sheet of white paper). I cannot find any dream content. The "website" reports that they no longer have dream-related user content. The back of the sheet of paper is blank. I feel cheerful during this segment, not annoyed.

        Vestibular and Kinesthetic Casting and Staging:

        I walk through another part of the library with Zsuzsanna. My vestibular response to REM atonia occurs while I walk, and as a result, I allow myself to slowly fly into the air (as in every sleep cycle for 60 years). I play around with my natural and predictable cortical responses to dreaming by deliberately rising higher to bump my head on the ceiling. I cast another dream character to look up from his book and to find my antics amusing. I indulge in this silliness until my vestibular response to sleep subsides.

        Combined Somatosensory and Proto-Cognizant Casting and Staging with Personified Protoconsciousness:

        I want to find some books about dreaming. I recall that the Dewey Decimal System would place them in class 100 (which is correct in real-world terms). At this point, I am wearing a shiny copper jacket, otherwise in the style of Willy Wonka. My pants are also elaborate. I squeeze past a man sitting at a table and apologize for bumping him. I squeeze past a second man and reach a corner where I can only find class 400 books on all the rows. However, the implication (unlike my recall of class 100) is invalid, as they all relate to African history and geography, which, by real-world categorization, would be class 900. (It may be a vague but ambiguous correlation since this seems to be the last section of books, which class 900 would represent in real-world terms.)

        I continue to read the spines of various books as I sit in the corner on the floor on my knees, but they are all class 400. Protoconsciousness (including this dream's first auditory response) is an unknown black male sitting at the table close by, cheerfully talking to me about the books on African history, which he shows me pages from until my dream fades.

[cyberbenb]

National Military Manpower Breakpoints

Supporters on social media from both sides widely claim that the war is being waged “to the last Ukrainian” or “to the last Russian.” True, looking at the initial manpower strength of both militaries on the eve of the invasion and combining them with some of the more outlandish casualty estimates, it would seem that both militaries have been destroyed several times over. Yet, the same units continue to reappear…as do many new ones. The historical parallel that comes to mind is when Germany accounted for roughly 200 Soviet divisions in 1941; after two months, their intelligence had counted 360. 1

There are various examples in history in which a nation-state is considered to be “bled white” of its military-aged manpower, losing so many of its men that society losses its cohesion, industry no longer functions efficiently, and the demographical impact is felt for generations. For this exercise, I will call this a national military manpower “breakpoint” and I have selected four examples of when this point has been potentially reached, though even that is debatable. Is either Ukraine or Russia close to this hypothetical breaking point? Looking at the historical record, the answer seems to be a resounding no. Let’s explore why this is.

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For practical purposes, the mobilized military population for full-scale war tends to be about 18 to 60-year-old men. There is, of course, some variability in this. If a war lasts three years, those who were 15 at the outset would be 18 at the end of it. In some desperate cases, young boys, older men, and women are drafted. The prime military age is towards the younger end of the 18 to 60 age bracket; both the Ukrainian and Russian militaries are noted to be older than what might be typical in other countries.

In future analysis, it might be better to look at the 18 to 40 bracket specifically. Historic demographic data is not always available, especially during wars. There will be some variability in the exact age brackets I use in the below examples, but I tried to keep it roughly from 18 to 60. Additionally, not all men will be qualified for military service. Again for simplicity, I did not take this into account and assumed a roughly similar percentage will not be qualified in different modern conflicts. Anecdotally, I know that fewer men percentage-wise are technically qualified for service now than in previous major conflicts.

Current population estimates for Ukraine vary significantly due to the large number of refugees. Roughly 10 million men were in the 18 to 60 age bracket before 2022.2 Approximately 250,000 men turn 18 annually.3 There were also about 50,000 to 60,000 women in the Ukrainian military as of last year, so for every 10 or so males, there is about one female. This raises what we might consider being available for full mobilization to be around 11 million. There are approximately 8 million Ukrainians that have fled the country: about 90% of those are reported to be women and children. Russia’s male 18 to 60 age bracket is about 40 million4 and approximately 700,000 men turn 18 annually.5 Note that Russia’s male military-aged population is about four times as large as Ukraine.

At the high end of estimates for military deaths, you have people like Colonel (ret.) Douglas Macgregor, who is often cited in pro-Russian circles as being “authoritative,” claimed 300,000 Ukrainian servicemembers had been killed as of May.6 If we want to round that estimate up to 350,000 to take an additional month into account, we can. Without getting too side-tracked Colonel (ret.) Macgregor has claimed Ukraine has been on the brink of collapse since the war began so I do not think he is an authoritative source. Neither is Scott Ritter. Both of these figures have a certain target audience in the United States and their innate political biases result in flawed analysis. In the actual Russian pro-war community outside of the United States, there is a growing realization of this. There are only so many times you can claim Russia is about to finish Ukraine off any day now and still be taken seriously.

For Ukrainian estimates of Russian losses, we have their General Staff updates, which claim 220,000 “liquidated.” I have had many conversations about what exactly “liquidated” means. Most tend to think it does mean killed, so that’s how I will use it here. If that number included killed *and* wounded, I think it would actually be fairly close to accurate. In my opinion, the actual number of Russian war dead is probably around 60,000 (including DPR and LPR) while the Ukrainian number is perhaps somewhat less, but not decisively so, especially taking into account the population advantage Russia has. I’m definitely less confident about Ukrainian losses than I am about Russian losses.

Going into the first of our historical examples, we have the Confederacy (generally referred to as the South) in the American Civil War. The American Civil War is still the bloodiest in our nation’s history. The general historical consensus is that the South never had a real chance at winning due to its huge disadvantage in terms of industrial might and manpower. Almost the entire white Southern male population was mobilized, but it still could not hope to match the North’s manpower. If you have any male ancestors from the South during this time period in American history, they were almost certainly in the Confederate Army. Coincidently, I have ancestors from both sides, as most American families do that came to the United States prior to the war. A 2019 academic paper estimated the Confederacy’s white male population in the 20 to 54 age bracket to be about 1,052,000.7 About 290,000 Confederate soldiers died during the war, although more recent estimates put this number higher. This means about 28% of the military-age male population available died during the war.

For our second example, we have the two most heavily engaged European powers in World War Two, Germany, and the Soviet Union. Both nations struggled with manpower issues towards the end of the war. In 1939, Germany’s male population aged 15 to 65 numbered about 25 million.8 German military deaths in World War II estimates vary from 5.5 to about 7 million. This results in a figure ranging from 22% to 28% of the military-aged male population being killed, remarkably similar to the Confederacy’s figure. For the Soviet Union, the male population aged 15 to 65 numbered 52 million in 1941.9 Soviet military death estimates vary tremendously, most estimates seem to be around 9 million. The resulting figure of 17% is slightly less than the German and Confederacy numbers.

Our last example is the most recent I could think of in which a nation, by and large, fully mobilized its manpower and economy, and was reported to be suffering manpower shortages: North Vietnam in the Vietnamese War. A declassified CIA document estimated the male population of North Vietnam aged 15 to 64 was 4.9 million in 1968.10 Vietnam estimated the number of dead North Vietnamese and Viet Cong soldiers at 1.1 million.11 This yields a figure of 22%, although many of the Viet Cong members were likely from South Vietnam.

These historical examples result in a plausible manpower breakpoint at something around 17% to 28%. Assuming the worst case for both Ukraine and Russia, neither is close to this number. 350,000/11,000,000 = 3% and 220,000/40,000,000 = 0.55%. When you take into account that the worst case is likely highly inflated for political purposes, it's even further away from the breakpoint range. Linear growth would result in Ukraine reaching the manpower breakpoint in 5 or more years in the worst-case scenario, or indefinitely if it’s closer to my estimates. It likely not be linear, however.

Are modern societies less able to sustain the manpower loss rates that occurred in 20th-century high-intensity conflicts? Perhaps. There are signs both Ukraine and Russia are casualty adverse and trying to maintain some level of normalcy that countries in World War 2 for example did not. Currently, I think if either one was faced with strategic collapse, such as the loss of Crimea for Russia, or the loss of Kyiv for Ukraine, they would go to a full wartime societal footing, much as their 20th-century ancestors did in the Great Patriotic War.

To summarize, if the war ends in less than five years, I do not think manpower shortage will be the critical factor per se, it will be the lack of availability of that manpower to fill critical roles within the military, or something else entirely, like supplies or political will. Russian units appear to be undermanned, but the analysis above suggests they *should* have manpower available. Are they simply not trained yet, or is Russia so far unwilling to pull from its major cities significantly? If both Russia and Ukraine are not able to employ all of their theoretically available military manpower in war both claim is pivotal to its future existence, what does that say about other conflicts that might occur in the near future? How much of its manpower might China or the United States be able to employ for Taiwan? Questions for others or another time. As always, these posts are just as much to generate thoughts as provide definitive answers.

1

The German Campaign in Russia, p. 63. https://history.army.mil/html/books/104/104-21/cmhPub_104-21.pdf

2

https://www.statista.com/statistics/1006655/ukraine-population-by-age-group/#:~:text=Out%20of%20a%20total%20population,aged%2060%20years%20and%20older.

3

https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/2023/04/10/ukraine-draft-troops-reinforcements-training/

4

https://www.statista.com/statistics/1005416/population-russia-gender-age-group/

5

https://www.indexmundi.com/g/r.aspx?v=130&t=100

6

https://tass.ru/mezhdunarodnaya-panorama/17709383

7

https://journals.upress.ufl.edu/jpms/article/view/977

8

https://www.feldgrau.com/ww2-germany-statistics-and-numbers/

9

https://www.statista.com/statistics/1260605/soviet-population-changes-wwii-gender-age/#:~:text=Russian%20estimates%20suggest%20that%20the,of%20the%20Second%20World%20War.

10

https://www.intelligence.gov/assets/documents/tet-documents/cia/THE%20MANPOWER%20SITUATION%20IN_15472910_.pdf

11

https://www.britannica.com/question/How-many-people-died-in-the-Vietnam-War#:~:text=In%201995%20Vietnam%20released%20its,250%2C000%20South%20Vietnamese%20soldiers%20died.

[lastchancevillagegreen]

Things I Didn't Know I Have In My Record Collection Part 1.

I was looking at a photo of someone who had albums on the wall as decorations. Not album covers, mind you, but black vinyl, stuck up on a wall for reasons that were completely unclear. I always find that sort of decoration peculiar, but that's just me. I swore I recognized one of the labels (the photo was neither clear nor close) as one that is prominently used on old Taiwan pressings of popular US albums from the '60s and '70s. I knew I had at least one in my collection and I knew it was on a Taiwan pressing of Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits. I pulled this album out to compare the label with the one in the photo. Since the album in the photo was so far away I couldn't actually determine if they were one and the same. That's fine because in doing this I discovered an album I didn't even recall owning. More on that later. Let's finish up looking at this album in the top photo first.

Taiwan pressings back then feature flimsy album covers made of paper wrapped completely, inside and out, in plastic. Is it good for the vinyl? Who knows, I can assure you this album is in dreadful shape. Back in the early 90s when I was a fanatical Bob Dylan collector, I bought darn near anything odd and never gave a thought to the quality. You learn as you go along and there is no way I'd ever buy something like this today. Back then, just starting out collecting Dylan variants, it was a rarity and I believed it was a requirement to own! In the photos above you can see how poorly reproduced those album covers are. That plastic you see does not come off. If you open this album up (check out the photo below) you will discover the inside is a reproduction of Love's 1970 album False Start, albeit with a different color being used instead of the jet black of the US pressing.

Below you will see the yellow record label for both sides of the album. This is the label I thought I recognized on someone's wall in a photo. The name of the label, by the way, is Chung Sheng.

As I was pulling this album out to check the label, I discovered I have a second copy of Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits that appears to be on a different Taiwan label, one that I have zero recollection of ever buying. The photos below show the album cover and the back of the album in starkly different colors from the original US pressing (or even the above pressing.

The different colors were a hallmark of Taiwan pressings (although the back of the album is the standard look for the US pressing). These pressing were made specifically for US soldiers stationed in Taiwan but you can be certain non-soldiers and non-US citizens bought them as well. There is no surprise album cover inside this flimsy photocopied sleeve, it's pure white inside. The label is called Sun Shine Records and you can see both sides of the label below.

The surprise to me was discovering this was pressed on vibrant translucent orange vinyl. According to discogs many Taiwan pressing were found on colored vinyl. Check out both of my photos of this below.

I had no idea this existed, particularly in my record collection! I thank whoever it was who used old vinyl as decorations on a wall in a photo I stumbled upon because without that photo, I doubt I would have pulled out Taiwan pressings of Bob Dylan's Greatest Hits anytime soon.

I opted to do a new segment here (Things I Didn't Know I Have In My Record Collection) because I often go on about what I discover missing in my collection that I had forgotten I got rid of (or not ever recalling doing so) that it seemed only fair to talk about the opposite. I recently stumbled on a CD I had no clue I owned and was thrilled to discover it because discogs prices for this particular Deluxe Edition are outrageous! I'll get around to posting that CD some time in the near future. Maybe.

Below you can see what the original US pressing looked like. Both the front and back of the album comes from discogs.

[huskylluvr]

I'm hearing people say that staff deleted blogs just cause their owners were trans or black. I wonder if thats what happend to mine.

Tumblr deleted my blog.

I sent a support request and they reinstated my blog without any reply other than "oops".

And from that point on, my old blog @huskyluvr stopped showing up in tags.

[revasserium]

Can I request prompt 60 with Daichi? Thanks a lot

requests for haikyuu and naruto are open; send me a prompt pls!

60. home

daichi: 1,962 words

00. in this universe, you meet on the last day of summer vacation, across an entire baseball field of untapped potential — him with his friends, you by yourself, but never alone. the volleyball they’re tossing around bumps up against your leg. you look up, squinting against the fierce summer sunlight, pouring down over his back like liquid gold, and for a second, you can’t see his face, only the shape of him — wide shoulders and short hair and —

“hey, sorry —”

you blink, looking down at the brightly covered ball still nestled against your leg. and when you next look up, you find his eyes instead.

someone once said that there are some infinities that are bigger than other infinities.

neither of you knew really what that meant. until now.

“no, it’s okay — here, your ball.”

“ah. thanks. uhm —”

“uh —”

you speak at the same time as you both reach for the ball. your fingers brush; the world pauses, waits, holds its breath.

“daiiichiiii! c’mon! we’re waiting for you!”

he jerks up, blinking as if pulling himself out of a daydream. he looks behind him to his waving friends. when he looks back at you, you’re already turning back to your book, the pages lined and dogearred. something inside him cracks, ever so slightly, as he takes a step back, and then two, clears his throat and dips his head.

“thanks again.”

you chance him another glance as he jogs back to his friends. you look down half a second before he looks back at you.

01. in another universe, you meet over a spilled coffee, the autumn leaves falling around you both, the air just chilly enough to paint your breaths in silvery white, spiraling up towards a gunmetal sky.

“shit — sorry — oh…”

you look up first, sting of the hot coffee still nipping at your fingertips, him reaching out to hand you a wad of crumpled tissue before he realizes and jerks back, his cheeks flushing as he fumbles to grab a fresh piece. you feel the laughter bubbling out of you like freshly poured champagne.

“it’s okay — you can just buy me another.”

it takes him a second to process, and by the time he does, someone else has scoffed and stepped around you both up to the counter to place their order.

“oh. sure, yeah — but i’ve — well —” he glances down at his watch. you feel your heart sink inside you, ever so slightly.

“no, it’s fine. go, i can just get it myself —”

“no! no —” his voice is too loud, making a few people jump as they frown and look over, disapproving and uncertain of the two bumbling, awkward teenagers holding up the line in the middle of the coffee shop.

“please,” he says, “let me buy you another.”

you blush and nod, even as his phone buzzes with some kind of message. he quickly taps out a reply before shoving the phone back into his pocket and joining you.

“yeah, alright.”

02. in another universe, you grow up together, screaming and laughing and crying together, spending every birthday at each other’s house, every win and loss by each other’s side.

“ugh! this is so stupid! why can’t i just ask him out?!” you shove your face into daichi’s pillow, thumping your legs against his bed. it smells like him, you think, this whole place does. but then again, it kind of smells like you too.

daichi sighs, glancing at you from over your problem set, his mechanical pencil poised over the multiple choice answers.

question 4 — if a tree falls in the middle of a forest (if a boy like a girl and never tells), does the falling tree still make a sound? (does the boy still get his heart broken?)

“do you want me to do it for you?”

you turn your head to stare at him, your heart right on the tip of your tongue — what if you asked me out instead?

“no.”

daichi looks back at the problem set, “then, what are you gonna do?”

you lick your lips, “can i… practice?”

“practice what?”

“asking him out.”

daichi slowly circles option d (all of the above) before putting his pencil down and turning to face you.

“sure. why not.”

you grin as hop down onto the floor of his bedroom, the pair of you facing each other. you take a long breath and open your mouth.

03. in another universe, you are both heartbroken people.

“he wasn’t ready.”

“she had… someone else.”

you purse your lips, your cheeks pink from the three shots of shochu you’d just had. outside, the winter storm shows no signs of stopping. beside you, daichi swirls around his second glass of whiskey.

“well, she was an idiot.” you turn to grin at him, your body feeling warm and loose and ready.

he turns to you with glazed over eyes and cold-bitten lips and you feel yourself falling. not for the first time.

“well, he was too.”

the bartender refills both your drinks and you raise your glasses. the shochu stings; the whiskey burns. when you both set down your empty glasses, you cock your head at him and he flashes you a lopsided smile.

“uhm…” he bites his lips, still a bit too shy. you fight the urge to lean forward and bite it for him.

you flash him your most charming smile, “wanna get outta here?”

daichi hiccups, his eyes going wide. a second later, he slams down a bill on the counter and pulls you to him.

“y-yeah. let’s get outta here.”

03. in that universe, you stumble back to your apartment, but by time you get there, you are no longer strangers. his hands are cold, yes — but your skin is hot, and the way he groans against your lips sets your entire soul on fire. he’s a bit too gentle as he undresses you, but you nip at his lips, hiss against his skin, and tell him that you want him to show you everything she never got to see.

he growls in his chest, shoves you back against your bedroom door and tears your underwear from you with his teeth.

he makes you come three times before letting himself go, his forehead pressed to yours, your fingers laced, palm to palm, his hips bruising as he thrusts into you, panting, the moonlight spilling down over his back like liquid silver. and like this, all you can see is the shape of him, his broad shoulders, his short hair —

“d-dai-ichi! please!”

you feel yourself clench around him, the white-hot pleasure punching through you as he fucks you through your release, his breath hot against your shoulder even as you twitch around him.

“f-fuck… nngh —”

you puff out a breath as you feel him jerk against you, his arms shaking as he fights to hold himself up, before you wrap your arms around him and tug him close, grinning into the mess of his hair as he collapses over you.

“so…” you ask, after a few minutes of ragged breaths, a few seconds of collecting the scatted pieces of yourselves from across the twisted bedsheets, “what was she like?”

daichi shakes his head, turning to look at you with a crooked smile, “i… honestly, i don’t remember.”

you grin, turning to face him completely, “good… i don’t remember him either.”

02. in that universe, you sit across from him on his bedroom floor, your fists clenched in your lap, him sitting directly across from you. your multiple choice worksheets lay forgotten on the floor by the foot of the bed. outside, the spring sways on the barely blooming peach blossoms, collecting dew in the warming night air.

“uhm — so, i’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while…” you say, looking anywhere but at daichi’s face.

daichi feels his stomach clench, his heart skitter and thump, a raw, wild, bewildered thing, untamed and untamable as it tumbles inside his chest.

“yes?” he tries to keep his voice steady. he’s not sure if he succeeds.

you force yourself to look up at him, finally. finally.

(if a girl finally, finally, admits her feelings, does she have the power to heal a broken heart?)

“i — i know we’ve grown up together, and we’ve always been best friends —”

“mhm, yeah,” daichi nods, forcing himself through the paces. he has to do this, he has to do this for her. but —

“but if — somewhere along the line… i think — i think i started to have feelings for you — and i know, i know it’s weird — but… i don’t think i could forgive myself if i didn’t… if i didn’t at least try…”

you squeeze your eyes shut and lower your eye, bending at the waist till your nose is three inches from the floor of daichi’s bedroom.

daichi stares, his mind unwilling, perhaps unable, to process everything you’d just said.

(wait, i thought — i thought she was talking about someone else! i thought —)

“daichi… will you go out with me?”

01. in that universe, he writes his number on the coffee slip right before he hands you your brand new drink.

“thanks… you didn’t need to do that,” you blush, taking the coffee, letting it’s warmth seep through your fingers as you both walk to the door.

“yeah, but… i wanted to,” he says, grinning as he turns to look at you, his own cheeks dusted in the color of falling leaves.

“well… i’m glad you did.”

you take a long sip of your coffee, letting the sweet and bitter burn through you, letting the shifting winds blow loose your hair, kiss passed your own insecurities. but daichi’s phone’s already ringing again, and you content yourself with watching him fumble as he answers, stuttering into the receiver.

“suga! i’m coming, i’m coming! i just —” he ducks as he cover his mouth, hissing into the mic something that sounds suspiciously like ‘met a super cute girl and gave her my number’.

you laugh as he raises a hand to wave at you, half-skipping, half-jogging down the street.

“call me, okay?” he shouts, motioning with his hand, miming up to his other ear even as he almost smashes into a couple walking down the street in the other way.

“okay!” you call back, laughing as you look down at the hastily scribbled number on the coffee slip.

00. in this universe, you slam your book shut, jolting to your feet. somewhere in the distance, the cicadas are chirruping loud enough to drown out the rushing tides of destiny.

“u-uhm — sorry, excuse me!” you shout, so loud that he nearly trips over his own feet.

“h-ha?” he looks back at you, all amber eyes and sunset smiles and in the flicker of a moment, both of you wonder if you can see the stray strands of a hundred thousand universes playing out in the spaces between you.

“what’s your name?” you ask, your fingers digging into the flesh of your own palms. and somehow, you already know the answer.

behind him, daichi’s friends hoot and holler.

he blushes, clutching the volleyball to his chest as he takes a breath. he scratches the back of his head as he looks away and looks back.  this time, your eyes catch, perfect, shocking, present tense.

“sawamura… daichi.”

[here2bbtstrash]

birthday drabble 9 - kth

@gimmethatagustd asked: Soooo #60 and/or #100 on the list with either tae or our one and only suga daddy 🥺👉🏽👈🏽

jai forgive me bc i said this would be yoongi but i'm trying to keep somewhat of a balance and i needed another tae~ found a way to incorporate yoongs tho~ (don't kill me lmaooo)

pairing: taehyung x reader, ft. yoongi contains: smut!! bad first date, handsome stranger taehyung, eye fucking and finger fucking oop 👀, stranger sex (well, fingering), semi-public indecency (in an alley lmao.... nasty), kiiiiind of accidental voyeurism?, please don't do any of this IRL it's not safe out there y'all summary: you're supposed to be on a blind date, but the handsome stranger across the bar keeps distracting you.

want more? check out all my birthday drabbles here! requests for these are now closed 💜

You’re never letting your friend set you up on a blind date again.

“Bestie,” she swore up and down. “He’s perfect for you. He hates people and affection, just like you.” You’d rolled your eyes, and she’d shot you a look with hands on hips, as if to say: see?

“He’s introverted and passionate and creative, like you. I seriously think I found your twin flame. Just invite me to the wedding.”

You realize now, as you drain the last of your drink, that sometimes being too similar can be a bad thing. Because the last fifteen minutes of this date have been spent in excruciating silence, with neither one of you able to think of anything else to say. You’ve each tried a few times, but the pattern is the same: one of you will bring something up, the other will grunt a one-word response, and then you’ll return to your drinks as the awkward silence descends again.

Fuck dating, you think to yourself with a frustrated sigh. Across the table, Yoongi looks like he feels similarly.

Your eyes sweep the room, looking for any possible topic of conversation, or just something to look at, and– oh. There he goes again.

You’ve been watching this stranger all night, despite your best attempts not to stare. This bar is just really not that big, and he’s so damn handsome, it’s honestly hard for you to look anywhere else. Sorry, Yoongi. Your fingers grip the sweaty sides of your glass extra tightly as the stranger rests one elbow on the bar, his other hand reaching up to sweep his fluffy brown hair back. Strong, solid arm muscles flex beneath the fabric of his white t-shirt, and you have to hide an appreciative exhale in the rim of your drink. Oh, to be between those biceps…

“Know him?” The mildly annoyed voice of your date snaps you out of your stupor.

Your gaze shifts quickly back to Yoongi, and you blink a few times, trying to remember how to talk. “Hmm?”

His mouth is a flat line. “Do you know that guy? You keep looking at him.”

“I–” you glance back over at the bar despite yourself, and you realize the stranger is now looking at you, dead-on. His gaze is piercing even from the other side of the room, and he makes no move to drop eye contact when you catch him staring. In fact, he fucking winks.

Tilting your glass up for more alcohol as a reflex, you realize it’s nothing but melting ice. You flash Yoongi an apologetic smile. “I’m just gonna… Another round. Be right back.” Well, that was almost a sentence, you tell yourself as you scoot your chair out.

The stranger’s eyes track you as you cross the room, and you have to keep glancing away, overwhelmed by the way he has you fixed in his gaze, his magnetic pull. You set your glass on the bar as you approach, keeping a comfortable distance away from him and looking for a bartender to flag down.

He wastes no time, immediately sliding to close the gap between you, until his arm brushes against yours. “Hi.”

“H-hi,” you manage, hating how your voice shakes. You’re staring down at the wood grain of the bar, unable to look him in his dazzling face.

“I was about to go over there if I saw you look at me one more time. Glad you made it easy on me.” His voice is low and sweet enough to send a shiver through you.

“What would you have done?”

He shrugs, hand reaching for his glass of red wine to take a sip before he continues. “I don’t know. Probably ask something like: are you going to eye fuck me all night or are you going to do something about it?”

Your head snaps up to look at him, then immediately back down again. “I-I wasn’t eye fucking you.” Just admiring, you tell yourself: his face, his arms, his hands…

He brings one of those strong hands to your jaw now, long fingers delicately tipping your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Maybe not,” he admits. “But I wish you would.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol, but something overtakes you as you stare into his eyes. “I wish you would do more than eye fuck me.”

“Is that right?” A slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “What about your date, baby girl?”

Your pulse is racing, but your voice is no longer unsteady; he’s clearly teased some new side out of you. “He can wait.”

“Oh, I like you,” he nearly growls, thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip. “Step outside with me for a moment?”

It doesn’t take long for you to find yourself pressed up against the side of the building, brick wall digging into the skin exposed by your backless dress, as this beautiful man kisses you breathless and one of his hands starts to creep up the outside of your thigh.

He pulls away to murmur into your neck. “My name’s Taehyung, baby. Just in case you feel like saying it.”

You can tell he’s not expecting your response, because his eyes widen when you grab the hem of your dress and hike it up your thighs in one swift movement, exposing the black lace of your panties to him. “Make me.”

“So naughty,” he chides, but you can hear the excitement in his voice.

You don’t know what’s gotten into you. You’ve never done anything like this before. The fact that you know you shouldn’t somehow only makes it hotter.

As much as you’ve already admired his hands tonight (along with every other part of him), you gain a new level of appreciation for Taehyung’s fingers as he brushes them over your core. He exhales a laugh, low in his throat, and you know he can tell how turned on you are.

Even though you just asked for it, you still can’t help but gasp at the sudden, almost aggressive way he slips two fingers under the band of your panties to press into you.

“So wet already,” Taehyung says, clearly fighting to hide a smile. “How long were you thinking about this?”

His fingers feel too good for you to play hard-to-get. “All night— wanted you so bad, ah, fuck.”

“All night, huh? While you were supposed to be on a date with someone else?”

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, desperately trying to suppress the noises he’s working out of you, and can only nod in response.

“Could he make you feel as good as I do?” Taehyung’s voice drops so low in your ear you swear you can feel it inside you.

When you shake your head, still trying to stay quiet, it’s clearly not enough for him.

“I can’t hear you, baby. Say it.”

“N-no.” Your hips cant up, chasing his touch. “He can’t.”

“That’s what I thought.” Taehyung says smugly. He rewards the answer with a third finger slipped into you, and now you can’t keep yourself from crying out at the feeling of him stretching you open. He breathes into your ear again. “Yeah, gotta get you ready for it.”

The meaning of his words dawns on you, and that realization paired with the way his fingers rub firmly against your g-spot feels so good that you can hardly stay standing.

“Yes, Taehyung,” you gasp, “yes.”

“That’s it, baby girl,” he coaxes, his fingers unrelenting.

“Taehyung,” you moan, “I’m gonna, oh fuck, fuck–”

His mouth finds yours in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss, swallowing up the sounds you make as you come hard around his fingers. You tangle your hands in the soft curls at the nape of his neck as he kisses you through it, slowing the pace of his fingers but continuing to rock them inside you as you flutter and shake.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Your eyes snap open at the sound of a voice you recognize, and your gaze lands on Yoongi, who is staring at you and Taehyung with a truly bewildered expression. He must have left the bar and walked around the side of the building– probably looking for you, you realize dumbly, considering you disappeared and never came back. Oops.

You tear your mouth away from Taehyung’s and struggle to shove your dress back down, but Yoongi is already disappearing into the night, moving quickly.

“Yoongi! Yoongi, wait!” You attempt to follow after him, but you can barely remember how to walk thanks to the work of Taehyung’s fingers. With the speed at which he’s power walking away, you know you’ll never catch up.

“Delete my number!” Yoongi calls over his shoulder, and you groan internally.

Fuck. Your friend is going to kill you, you think to yourself, and then you feel strong hands come to cup your shoulders from behind.

“We don’t need him anyway, right? Can I take you back to my place, baby girl?”

You whip around at the question, squirming out of Taehyung’s grasp in the process. He’s cute, but you’re not stupid, especially not with a fresh dose of post-nut clarity setting in.

“I don’t fucking think so.”

His mouth drops open a little, and he stares at you, clearly dumbfounded.

“I don’t even know you! You could murder me!” You say, like it’s obvious. Leaning down, you grab your purse off the ground, where you discarded it in the throes of passion. “Thanks for the orgasm, though.”

With a final polite smile at Taehyung, you loop the strap over your shoulder and depart, doing your best to walk confidently despite your still-shaking legs.

[thisbluespirit]

Top 5 ( or 10) period dramas

Thank you! Also so tough! Classic Lit adaptations, general period drama, which period, films, tv series.... /flails about.

OK, so for the purposes of this ask, I'm going for 20th C Brit TV period drama series, so with the caveat that you need to be prepared for the style, pace and other hazards of 1960s-70s TV, I think these five are still unbeatable:

Upstairs Downstairs (ITV 1970s)

Upstairs Downstairs is a brilliant, compelling original drama about one upper class London house and its family and servants, and often a surprisingly hard-hitting examination of the class system, made in an era when they could still make use of living memory to recreate the Edwardian era. (Despite my gif, it is a colour production - a handful of s1 eps were hit by a strike at Thames TV and had to be made in b&w!)

2. The Forsyte Saga (BBC 1967)

The Forsyte Saga is an epic adaptation of Galsworthy's series of novels (covering the story of one middle class family from the late 19thC to the 1920s). It has a truly amazing cast and was a sensation worldwide back in the 60s - and a true passion project for its producer. It's complex, in depth and full of theatrical nuance and was the last hurrah of the Beeb's classic drama in black and white.

These two are probably the biggest Brit TV period dramas of all time. Purely because of the way TV is watched now, you will never get those audiences again - both were popular enough to get remade in the 21st C, but while both of those series are fine, neither can quite match the originals in terms of depth or cultural impact). Definitely not overrated - and the same is true of this next entry:

3. Elizabeth R (BBC 1970)

Glenda Jackson is awesome as Elizabeth I - what more needs to be said? This is another all-time famous BBC production that's stood the test of time.

4. Poldark (BBC 1975-1977)

Even if this weren't purely 20th C shows, I confess I'd have to plump for this adaptation rather than the more recent every time - while s1 makes a few changes to the novels, it consistently 'gets' the books and what Graham is saying in them in a way the 21st C one seems to be deliberately refusing to engage with (despite a very nice cast!) Plus, give me Angharad Rees and Robin Ellis together, Ralph Bates, Judy Geeson in fabulous outfits, Ross's fighter pilot leather jacket (see above re. getting it - even the costume designer got it), actually, everybody's colourful jackets, excellent treatment of class issues involved, Francis generally, and just that bit more fire and bite somehow. (Er. Literally in the case of S1, lol! Watch the 1970s burn down buildings that shouldn't be burnt!)

5. Enemy at the Door (ITV 1978-1980)

A less obvious choice, but this WWII drama set during the Occupation of the Channel Islands is just so well written, with complexity and compassion, exploring all the issues of the situation, with finely drawn regulars on both sides. I've come back to it so many times, and I know that other people who've taken the time to watch it have loved it, too, so it's not just me. It's not an action-drama, like a lot of WWII things - it's a show about people trapped in a situation where action is often limited - but if you like thoughtful and painful exploration of the greyer areas of humanity, it's sadly unfinished, but it's one of the best.

(And, I know, I know, where's I, Claudius? But it gave me nightmares about Brian Blessed dying, so it's not on my personal list!! ;-p)