#and i do often fall into the ''we'' thing

[xavistarlight]

Meet me where the land meets the sea 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉

Rafayel sat in a chair next to your hospital bed, tracing the features of the little girl he was cradling in his arms

The little girl who he had waited centuries for

The most angelic thing he had ever seen lay in his worldly and tainted hands from the many life experiences he had faced

what an odd world we live in.

She adorned a little lace sleeved jumper with a matching bonnet, old timey sure but a relic of lumerian tradition he’d hand sewn himself even managing to thread the lumerian fish in the middle. It was perfect

Rafayel carefully tickled the sweet baby girls heel as her nose scrunched up, an exact replica of his down to the little freckle on her nose

But her eyes… her eyes

As they flickered open he felt he could die a happy man. his heart slowly but surely melting

One eye was all rafayel a beautiful juxtapose of blueish, pink and purple hues while the other eye was all you.

Rafayels chest fell forward in defeat

“oh little glubs , you just wanna break daddy’s little heart in two don’t you sweet girl” he said whining as if he was gonna start kicking his feet at any moment

“daddies a mess isn’t he seraphina” you replied tiredly through a yawn as you fiddle with the Polaroid in your hand.

Raf had asked one of the nurses to take a photo of all three of you shortly after seraphina was born and everything was settled

the photo capturing you holding seraphina angling her towards the camera and rafayel sitting next to you on the hospital bed, arms around you with his cheeks resting on the top of your head, you’re grinning from ear to ear showing your baby to camera while rafayel cries tears of joy

Raf carefully makes his way to over to you with baby seraphina in hand to get a glimpse of what you’re looking at

“you know, I had that photo taken cause I planned to paint it for the house but.. I dun think I can do it anymore” he says seemingly uncharacteristically calm as his focus flickers from the baby to the photo

“why’s that?” You reply as you shift over a bit in the bed and pat the open spot for rafayel to lay next to you

“Tyrian purple, takes tens of thousands of conches to get one gram, and the color I use for your eyes is made of seashells at the bottom of the sea, I’d be willing to explore the deep blue sea a thousand times over just for you but.. her” he sighs looking down at the baby who seems to be following his words intently

“she’s made up of colors that can’t be replicated, look at her eyes my love, the only ingredients that could make one as special as her is me and you”

As you play softly with seraphinas hand your eyes make there way up to rafayels taken aback by his words, but his eyes are already on you a soft smile gracing his face as his eyes are glassy brimming with tears

“in lumerian culture the land meeting the sea could only cause destruction. An eternal clash that didn’t account for the unity that could come out of it. Two souls damned from the beginning, when disdain becomes love and appreciation-“

“when opposites collide harmony is born” you finish of rafayels sentence tears now mirroring rafayels

At first he looks slightly shocked but his face settles into one of pure love and comfort as you rest your head on rafayels shoulder. he often wonders how your souls are already tied together eternally but he figures out a way to fall more and more in love with you everyday.

In rafayels exhibition hall now hangs a painting with a far deeper meaning than words could begin to explain.

one side rippling a soft yellow while the other side gleams the proud color of a calm sea, they both meet in the middle forming emerald green the exact color of seraphina’s birth stone

Another frame hangs right beside it but it’s not a painting it’s a photo, the photo of the day you and rafayel officially became a family

A little excerpt lays underneath the frames reading

“meet me where the land meets the sea, where opposites collide and create harmony”

Reblogs, replies and notes are always appreciated but never expected 🤍

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Taglist 🏷️

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@theoceanisas0up @rosiesluv @kiyadeleine

[bread-in-the-void]

Hey guys. Looked into this before reblogging just to double check, and yeah. I have zero reason to believe anything said above is untrue. I even found a response post from the guy whose post was taken down. I've linked his post at the bottom, if you want to skip my take, look for the bigger text. (his pronouns are listed on his profile as he/him)

Honestly, this kind of thing disgusts me. Trans men face feminization, neutralization (my term for being demasculinized without being feminized) hatred, erasure, and exclusion both in and outside the LGBTQ+ community.

I've also seen "men dni"s that specifically state that trans men don't count. Don't Fucking Count! "i don't want men reblogging my posts, so cis men dni, but trans men are fine." WHAT THE FUCK!!! It's fine if you don't want men on your posts. I don't care. But you can't call yourself an ally to trans people if you don't think trans men are "real" men! You can't say that your space is safe for trans people (yes, even if you're a trans woman) if you think that trans men don't count! as! MEN!!!

If we don't pass, we're typically seen as (at BEST) some kind of pseudo-boy. (No hate to nonbinary guys, demiboys, etc. this paragraph is about my experience as a binary he/him trans guy) Personally, out of EVERYONE I know in real life, there has been ONE PERSON (love you Z) who regularly uses he/him and my actual name when referring to me. Excluding everyone who deadnames me, I get nothing but my placeholder name and they/them.

If we DO pass, I've heard stories of men being ousted from LGBTQ+ "safe spaces" just because suddenly they don't look "non-threatening enough"

Honestly, I believe that the surge in transandrophobia is rooted in the surge of hatred for men in general. Republicans are anti trans women because "oHhHh ScARy mEn" and Democrats are anti trans men because "oHhHh ScARy mEn." I hate all this discourse.

Yes, there are evil men. No one is denying that. But there are also good men.

The thing people seem incapable of realizing these days is that everyone is just. human.

There are good men. There are bad men. There are also bad women. Good women. Bad blonds and good blonds. Bad people with tattoos and good people with tattoos. There are good and bad people of any demographic you can think of.

You cannot base your opinion on a person's character on anything other than their character. Every time, your argument will fall short.

So you think all men are evil. What about Bob Ross? What about little boys who like candy and have crooked smiles? What about Martin Luther King Jr? What about Mr. Rogers?

There is nothing wrong with being a man.

below is the unedited copy-paste of his response (in case it gets taken down) and a link to the post.

this was posted in r/trans by u/itsurbro7777, link, the post is titled "Hello everybody I am back. I have a message"

First of all thank you for the support.

I did get an apology from the moderator who made the "bitching" comment. I made her aware that term is used in an incredibly misogynistic manner, is often considered a slur, and is inappropriate to say especially to a trans man. She understood and apologized. That's all I have to say about that right now.

I disagree with the idea that trans men and trans masc issues are too divisive to be discussed. I strongly disagree with the fact my original post was taken down (and it seems r/lgbt has also taken it down which is disappointing). We should be able to talk about those things. But I believe the continuous posts about it aren't the best way to go about this discussion.

I hope this post can stay up. And maybe we can use the comment section of this post to have these discussions, mainly because it is incredibly difficult for anyone to keep track of all the posts coming in about this right now. I personally can't even keep up with it, and discussing it here might be more effective. For this to happen, the mods need to allow the discussion in these comments to happen without deletion. And Mods, if you haven't already (I've been typing this post for a long time so maybe it already happened) I do think there needs to be a public apology for what has happened. It was not handled well. I have been a moderator before and understand it's difficult when there's only a couple of yall moderating this huge subreddit. That being said, the time to truly address it is here and now.

I hope we can all find a way to move forward. Trans men should feel welcome here. There have been too many cases of similar things happening in other subreddits causing trans guys to leave and make their own subs, which causes even more separation and fighting in the long run. All trans people deserve to speak about what they go through.

I love you all and thank yall again. I'm sure I'll have more to say in the comments but I don't want to be typing this for an hour and it somehow becomes not relevant.

Editing to add: I am applying to be a moderator for this sub now. I hope something comes of this because I want to see this subreddit move forward in a way where we can all talk about our issues and a space can be made for everyone. Action must be taken.

Second Edit: Here is the mod response to my mod application for this sub. I was hoping there would be more of an apology to come and more discussion about what happened from the mods, so we could be confident of progress being made in the sub. This response does not fill me with hope.

"Your comment on r/ftm 's post 45 minutes ago about this does not give us much confidence in your ability to be a mod on our sub. You said you already unsubbed to trans subs, and you are still looking for another apology from us? You're also looking to be a mod of a sub that actively brigaded us."

Lol. Imagine doubling down this hard instead of trying to move forward and help trans men feel comfortable. Truly a shame. I will not be trying to mod for this community as I believe it is a lost cause.

So here's what happened on Reddit:

A transmasc posted about how transmascs and trans men are often invisible, how our issues are dismissed, and how resources, especially medical ones, are almost always written with non transmascs in mind. They posted this both to r/Trans and r/lgbt.

A moderator of r/Trans responded by telling them to “stop bitching.” That’s the word they used. That’s the level of respect trans men get. Transandrophobic by the way, don't call trans men bitches.

The comment was deleted, quietly, after backlash. Then the entire post was removed. When asked why, a mod responded that the post was “playing oppression olympics,” and took the time to go through and dismiss each of the original poster’s points, including saying that trans men being sexually assaulted isn’t “unique to transmascs” and therefore not an issue, and claiming that access to testosterone isn’t any more restricted than access to estrogen, which is a straight-up lie, because T is a tightly controlled substance in most places and E is not.

The original poster was banned for three days.

Then a separate mod made a post saying, “nobody asked us our side of the story,” which is wild because people absolutely did, publicly and repeatedly. Users also started reporting that they’d had supportive comments removed or had been banned after disagreeing with the mods, some of those claims are still unconfirmed, but given the general behavior, it wouldn’t be surprising.

Then r/Trans locked down entirely. No new posts. The conversation was forcibly ended.

Some people posted about it on r/FTM, many of those posts were mass-reported, automatically removed by Reddit’s automod, or quietly buried. Meanwhile, r/lgbt also removed the original post, with no explanation.

One of the r/Trans mods eventually posted an “apology,” which was really just a soft-scrubbed PR post full of noncommittal language and distancing. They said they didn’t mean to call a trans man “a bitch,” they just used it synonymously with “complaining,” and they didn’t think about the implications until later even though the first post was about microaggressions just like the mod committed. They did not apologize for anything else, not for wrongfully banning people, not for accusing a transmasc venting like any other user of playing oppression olympics, nothing at all. They said they’re on break and can’t do anything about it. They said, and I quote, “please don’t be mad at the rest of the team.” even though the rest of the team are just as culpable for not stopping their behavior.

They also added that trans men are “a welcome part of the community” and tried to point at moderation history as proof. Because apparently we should be grateful that people occasionally get banned, every so often, for implying trans men aren't oppressed at all, wow, thanks, that is like below the bare minimum, cool.

The current state of things is: r/Trans has over 600,000 members, and trans men and transmascs were silenced, banned, and told to shut up for bringing up their own oppression. And the subreddit is locked down. There’s a mass exodus happening to the new sub, r/trans4every1, but let’s be real, the damage has already been done.

Now let’s talk about what this actually means.

This is not “just more Tumblr discourse.” This isn’t some random blog saying they don’t like transmascs. This isn’t a Twitter reply guy. This isn’t a niche zine or a spicy personal take. This is a massive trans-focused subreddit with over half a million users. It's easily one of the largest public facing trans community online, maybe even the largest, I've certainly never found a bigger one myself. And the moderation team made it crystal clear: they do not want transmascs to feel safe or welcome there.

This is what transandrophobia looks like on a slightly larger internet scale. When it’s in the hands of people who get to decide who gets heard and who gets deleted.

And for anyone who’s still stuck on “well they apologized” listen: trans men are told all the time that we’re being too loud, too angry, too entitled, too manly, too feminine, too confusing, too “binary,” too "Nonbinary", too much. We’re told that we’re “oppression olympics-ing” just for talking about our lives. And now we're getting banned and locked out of the spaces that claim to represent a huge portion of online trans people.

This isn't just online drama. This is a bellwether. And if it isn’t setting off alarms in your head, it should be.

The way transandrophobia manifests in online spaces absolutely bleeds into real life, into medical gatekeeping, into poor data collection, into the erasure of sexual violence against transmascs, into advocacy groups that write us out of the picture, into educational materials that treat us like footnotes, if they include us at all.

And if you’re sitting there thinking, “well it’s not that deep,” you’re part of the problem.

We need to start being more honest about this: Transandrophobia is real, it is widespread, and it is growing. We need to stop giving people the benefit of the doubt when they’ve shown us they don’t want us in the room.

And frankly?

We need to start making TRFs [Trans Radfems & transmasc-exclusionary feminists alike] deeply uncomfortable being open about their beliefs. We need to make them afraid to be TRFs, the way they’re trying to make us afraid to exist.

The same way we don’t coddle fascists. The same way we don’t tolerate TERFs. We need to stop tiptoeing around transandrophobia.

Because this growing wave of transandrophobia is going to kill people. Full stop.

Protect trans men. Protect transmascs. Protect your siblings; all of them!

[theorphicangel]

here’s a thot… what abt husband sukuna finding the books u like to read in ur free time?? like smut n shit😭 then he gets jealous and tries to recreate it

I LOVE THISSSSSS ARGHH UR MIND

sukuna's always finding your nose in some book, whether it's early in the morning, breakfast, lunch, dinner or even him finding you staying up half the night to finish a novel you've always been a book nerd.

and that's fine by him, sukuna's the opposite of what one would call a book nerd but at least you're there to balance it out.

sukuna had no problem with you reading books but he got a little worried finding out that you were devoting all your attention to reading. you barely glance up at him from the page you were reading or listen to what he has to say.

the issue got even worse when he notices that you're always hiding the pages that you're reading, turning away from him so he can't see. he wouldn't have thought anything of it but the fact that you were neglecting him seemed to be pissing him off.

what was it about those books that just got you hooked to them, he wondered, often he finds you giggling away or even biting your lip in intense focus when reading. what is so good about those damned books?

one night, when you're busy doing another task around the house, sukuna finds your book strewn open on the couch. evidently you were going to come back to read the book after your task but this was the perfect time for sukuna to take sneak peek.

immediately reading the page sukuna is taken aback slightly at what he finds...

these pages are filled with nothing but smut.

okay, there is a lot of plot but sukuna can't help but flick through the parts you've highlighted which contains nothing but sex scenes. the actions, the dialogue and the description are so much more vivid than he had expected and he finds his own face getting hot at reading these words.

it finally clocks to him that you like this and it's no wonder he finds your toes curling whenever you flick a page. this shit turns you on.

placing the book down in its original position sukuna is left both traumatised but also successful in finding a way to get you to pay attention to him.

what you thought was just an average session of love making with sukuna suddenly shifted. he was rougher and more vocal than usual, his eyes fixated on you as he thrusted in and out of you.

you're excited by his energy wondering where this came from. It's not until you hear him repeat a line that you've highlighted in your book that you pause.

"where did you get that from?" you frown.

"what do you mean?" he asks, sweat dripping down his nose.

it takes a while before you figure out what he's done and your jaw falls open.

Sukuna smirks, a hand pressing against your lower stomach. "yeah, I know what you've been reading."

"kuna-" you don't even know where to start. was he proving a point? was he jealous of the fictional escapades that you imagine?

he cuts you off anyways before you can question his jealousy.

"Just-" he hesitates, drinking in your naked body laid spread for him. "Don't hold back from me if there's something you want to try."

you bit down on your lower lip, if you were shy before sukuna was inviting you to be more vocal in what you wanted out of sex. "well, there are a few things we could try."

by the time the two of you are wasted and finished, sukuna merely smirks at you.

"you should keep reading those dirty books, you can find some new tricks for us."

[purpurussy]

😶‍🌫️

[ohburgee]

I have something important to say. Please stop comparing creators.

We all have our unique voice, our taste, our own soul in the art we make. Creativity isn’t a competition; it’s a reflection of who we are. And we’re not meant to be the same. That’s what makes this community beautiful.

I’ve been quiet about this for a while, but my best friend recently pointed out something important. Someone has been comparing me to other writers not just the writer, but also themselves as writer too. And honestly? This is a bigger issue than just me.

Sometimes, a writer gets inspired by someone else, and that’s beautiful. But then, instead of growing from that inspiration, they start to compete. They begin thinking, “I’m better than them.” “I deserve more attention than they do.”

But here’s the thing: That writer you’re comparing yourself to didn’t do anything to you. They’re just creating. They’re just existing. Their popularity isn’t an attack on your worth. And the fame and attention they have is not from them because they are creating something that people love, and they just want their followers/people to enjoy what they create.

You don’t have to turn your inspiration into rivalry. We all write in different styles, stories, and creativity. And even if we’re in the same fandoms or genres, we don’t need to compete.

If you’re a creator who finds yourself falling into that mindset, please take a step back. You’re only hurting yourself. You’re burying your creativity under comparison and bitterness.

And for what?

This isn’t to shame or expose anyone. It’s just a reminder. I believe that people who fall into these negative patterns often do so because they’re struggling. I believe there's still kindness inside you, even if it’s covered by jealousy or insecurity. I hope you forgive yourself. I hope you heal from it.

And yes, I forgive those who act this way. But if someone refuses to change or continues to tear others down… maybe karma will take care of that.

Let’s just create without turning everything into a silent issue/drama. We can grow, be inspired, and support each other.

There’s space for all of us here.

an: I'm tagging these tags here because that's what I am writing for, and also for those other writers too, even though I'm not a forsaken writer anymore, but I want the other fandoms too. Yes, we know the fandoms are toxic, but some of the other side of fandoms still show kindness out there, silently creating what's peace for them

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Okay, let's see...

The Greenwood - my immediate thought is Glastir. Like a lot of languages, Welsh once used 'glas' to mean both green and blue, and while these days it firmly means blue (with 'gwyrdd' for green), 'glas' still retains the connotations of "nature-coloured". It's still preserved in a lot of old nature terms and placenames even today. So "Glastir" = natural land. Big nature implications.

But, if you want to lean more into the spiritual/cultural elements, maybe we could play around with 'awen' and 'hiraeth'? We've spoken about 'awen' before, but hiraeth, of course, is a very powerful cultural force and concept among Welsh speakers. There's a few ways it gets used, but the important elements here are that it speaks of a deep, profound, right-down-to-the-soul connection to the land, and that it forms a longing for a Wales long gone - and, in many ways, that never was. A sort of soul-deep screaming that what we have now is not what we should have, and is wrong, but... there's no real thing you can now point to and say "That's what we should have instead." Nostalgia without an anchor. It's an intensely Welsh-specific concept, and an intensely meaningful term if you're a Welsh speaker.

(It often gets put onto Anglophone websites giving lists of words from other cultures to describe emotions, and it's always translated as "a longing for a home you can never return to", and No The Fuck It Is Not, Sunshine.)

Anyway, let me know if that appeals, we can see what we can come up with.

ANYWAY HEDGEROWS

An area without has also lost a valuable resource, of course, especially if you're poor. That's a vital source of nuts, fruits and salad leaves gone. And medicines. Also much browner rivers and streams from the soil erosion, that's probably another good visual.

But ooooohh, okay, ANTI-HUMAN HEDGEROWS let's see.

So the design of a Welsh hedgerow is low and thick with dead stems woven in to protect new growing saplings, because sheep can get through holes easily and will eat the regrowth if they can reach it.

The design of a Midlands hedgerow is tall and tightly bound, because cows lean and rub and the hedge would otherwise fall apart.

So... what would a human do? We can get through smaller gaps than cows, but not the size holes in a Midland hedge, even, so you wouldn't necessarily need the thick, closed-off texture of a sheep hedge. I suppose a big issue is that we climb with our strange monkey hands and feet. We do sometimes allow mature hedges to be up to 2m, which seems a good anti-human height - I reckon a magic one could probably grow a bit taller if someone tried (and a bit denser if you think you've found a hole). But, the big thing would probably be the species.

Hedgerows are made of multiple tree species, of course, but

Hawthorn:

Blackthorn:

Aren't they so lovely! Such pretty trees. Lovely seasonal flowers, important edible berries. So lovely.

However, if you strip away the leaves and flowers and fruits and everything else and peer at the quivering naked twigs beneath, look, you can see how they got their names:

THOOOOOOOOORNS

And the surprises don't end there. Blackthorn actually has slightly softer thorns - of the two, I can confirm that it hurts way, way more to get stabbed by a hawthorn. Those thorns are solid, and sharp. They legit feel like needles. They are painful, and they also grow like crazy over the tree; anywhere a twig can emerge, it does so armed.

But blackthorn contains a toxic compound that causes septicaemia if a thorn gets lodged inside you for more than a day or so. Hawthorn may have sharper teeth, but blackthorn is venomous. They are, the pair of them, Not Very Fun to get in a fight with.

So, they would both be a strong discouragement to anyone trying to climb them. Plus, the branches aren't as strong as other species, so they would probably snap under the weight and then you'd be dropped through a lot of lower thorns on your way back to the ground, which would likely rip you open very nicely.

So, lots of those on the outside. An anti-human hedgerow would be super thick, so you could have oak and hornbeam in the middle for structure (hornbeam in particular is Not Easy to get a saw through, another advantage), but the thorn twins could go nicely along the user-facing side, as it were. But, the fun doesn't end there.

Climbing plants in hedgerows often include bramble and field rose/dog rose (closely related wild rose species), both of which manage to be even thornier. Brambles specialise in extremely sharp and extremely brittle thorns that will happily come off embedded in the skin. These will both grow up through the whole structure of the hedgerow (and again, both give good edible berries lol). Meanwhile, the herbaceous strip in front of the hedgerow can also be a powerful barrier - stinging nettles and thistles use acid and thorns respectively as very effective mammal-repellent, and we have common hogweed to truly fuck up any organism with exposed skin via a condition known as phytophotodermatitis (basically, the sap is a major skin irritant whose effects are activated by sunlight, causing major burns and blistering. A.K.A. it turns you into a vampire lol)

Of course... the plants growing in a magic hedgerow would likely have some enhanced or magical properties, one would think. That's worth a thought.

The corn crake: oh yes! Their main diet is insects, slugs and snails, so they can take care of a lot of agricultural pests over summer. There's a good page on their ecology (and current Irish conservation) here.

Grasslands and grazing: ah! okay, so, yes, wildflowers do improve the nutrient quality of the hay - unless of course you live in a world of synthetic fertilisers, in which case you get the most bang for your buck with those. This is why modern farmers don't tend to bother with wildflower hay anymore, because massive quantities of grass are cheap to produce and generate more tonnage than the alternative (and capitalism loves One Thing In Bulk, even when that's... actually not the most efficient way). Loads of grass hay means you're set over winter. Wildflower hay is a smaller yield, so you might need something else, depending on your herd sizes (which again are much much bigger now than they were even a century ago) - even though it's more nutritious.

Actually, I didn't mention it before, but a Welsh trick used to be that you'd gather a lot of tree leaves in autumn as they fell and dry them out. Both sheep and ponies would take those as forage over winter. A farmer once told me that she went back to her grandmother's system of giving the over-wintering sheep ivy leaves to eat as an occasional additive, because one of the nutrients in it is super good for a ewe pregnant with twins, and it dramatically reduced the number of lambs and ewes lost during lambing season. Make of that what you will.

Anyway - ponies and cattle are also good for maintenance, depending on the result you want. But yes, sheep are no good for restoration. Goats, by contrast, are. They eat ANYTHING. They do get used sometimes over here, but specifically for sites that are absolutely desperately overrun, and need thorough, fast clearance. Six goats and a week of uninterrupted roaming, and you have yourself a freshly cleared site lol. Not so good for maintenance though; though again, it's all in the size of the herd, the site, the vegetation, the conservation aims, etc. There are feral goats in Eryri. Sometimes in bad weather they break into Llandudno and get on people's roofs and that.

But, you're asking about ponies and haymeadows. So.

So; a Welsh mountain pony is 1 LSU (livestock unit). Let's say you have a field of one hectare in size. Your herd is six ponies. Your stocking target is 0.4 LSU per hectare per year.

You can therefore put the ponies into that field for two weeks of the year (2 / 6 = 0.333, which is lower than the target; three weeks would be slightly too much.) So, this could mean two weeks in April; it could also mean a week in April to suppress the fresh-growing grass, and another in August/September to encourage late blooming wildflowers like devil's bit scabious. (Not, of course, that people would have necessarily done that as a farming goal. That's Elanor The Conservationist talking, because devil's bit scabious is essential for the marsh fritillary butterfly. But that late summer/early autumn slot would be good late-year grazing to a farmer.)

If your field is bigger than a hectare, those six ponies can stay longer; if the herd is smaller than 6, they can stay longer. But the fundamental principle is you keep them out of haymeadows from about May-July, because you need a good long sward for the hay. Also, yes, you can have a haymeadow as part of the rotation if you choose - but, it'll yield worse quality hay. They do well with long-term management to develop the soils and seedbanks.

MOVING ON TO FORESTS :D :D :D

My favourites

So, yes and no, in Wales an old-growth forest can have incredibly thick undergrowth - lots of shade-tolerant specialists. It's another "it depends" answer - if it's a beech and yew forest, outside of springtime carpet-forming specialists like bluebells, there's very little in the way of undergrowth, like so:

But, of course, we don't have much of that in Wales lol. Beeches do not like wet feet, and this is a soggy place.

But, it's also all about glades. In really thick canopy bits, undergrowth will be a lot lower because of the light - but, all it takes is one tree falling, or even a few losing branches, for a glade to open up and deliver light to the forest floor. Also, some tree species have more open canopies than others. So, the above two images are from Mallard Wood in the New Forest - meanwhile, this is Coed Nant Gwernol:

It is, of course, a Celtic rainforest. Hence the GREEEEEEN effect. But, note the ferns, grasses and mosses. Other woodland undergrowth specialists of ancient woodlands:

Hard fern

Hart's tongue fern (my personal favourite)

Scaly male fern

These three are all very different-looking. The shade controls their numbers, and you find them more plentifully near canopy gaps and under dappled light, but they're fine with shade

Bluebells

Wild garlic

Springtime carpet-formers. They basically race the tree canopy before it closes over and shades them out, so they out compete everything from March to May and then bow out for the year

Red campion

Dog's mercury

Wood anemone

Pendulous sedge

Campion and anemone are pretty flowers, dog's mercury is a leafy green thing, and pendulous sedge is a very tall water-lover that crops up around Wet Bits.

There's also the normal stuff - dormant saplings, brambles, etc.

If we're talking a deep, thick, densely-canopied part of the forest - yes, the undergrowth will be very limited. Mostly mosses. But forests are almost always places of dappled light, to a greater or lesser extent, so, you generally get more than that.

Deadwood: yes, oak. Oak all the way. Oaks support ludicrous amounts of biodiversity; plus, they're very long-lived. Followed by willows. However, birches should get a special mention here, because they're pioneers - they live for roughly 120 years, much less than an oak, but the early senescence into deadwood prepares the land for the later, longer lived trees. They will take a barren site with profound biodiversity depletion, and they will lead the charge in restoring it to healthy forest. So, I think even the younger trees are still playing a beautiful role here. Though, side note: the wood used to make the distinctive gwarchiod pegs in Welsh harps were made of "thorn wood" - usually hawthorn. So, there's that. Also, if it helps, all surviving crwths we have were made of maple or sycamore, with cherry or other fruit-wood bridges - this is not to say that you need to do the same, but I do think there's an interesting pattern to using the wood of a big traditional tree for the body, yet swapping to a fruit-wood for the bridge. The bridge of a crwth is the most delicately carved part, too, and the bit that's actively played and handled; so, to me, there's something very personal in swapping to the wood of a tree that also provides an important and flavourful foot crop. Very much your choice, though!

Hydrology - yeah. Remember, too, if you know dick-all about land management, you actually won't know what the connections are. Every country in the world is actively building on floodplains right now. A great many are still straightening rivers to make them more navigable by ship, and reclaim the adjoining land. We're still deforesting the upper slopes of catchments for timber harvesting. And flooding is on the rise, and the average lay person does not understand why that is. So, an arrogant Marcher lord, on being told his lucrative timber operation and new grouse moors are to blame for flooding, is going to laugh at the very idea, all while the locals know damn well it's true.

Plus! If you have a trans-boundary river, it becomes a Real Problem. Even in a country that technically has all the advantages of internal cooperation. Years ago I went for a job interview working on the English River Teme, and they'd stressed that they wanted to focus on catchment-wide management. In the interview, they asked which organisations would therefore be important to me to work with, and I rattled off a load, and one of those was Natural Resources Wales; because, while the Teme is an English river, its source is in Wales, and it runs for a couple of miles before crossing the border.

And I shit you not, the interviewers told me "Actually, we don't work with them. They use different systems to us in Wales."

Now imagine how complicated that gets with major rivers that cross multiple country borders. The Danube in Europe, the Mekong in Asia, etc. You think the Teme is complicated because NRW manages its tiny baby source?? Try having China building hydroelectric dams upstream of you. You'd be begging for NRW.

And finally! Peatlands: ha, yes. Fuel has historically been the big reason for peat harvesting. These days, though, the second reason has become the biggest - fertiliser. Peat compost is the most fertile compost you'll ever get, because it's chock full of bio-available carbon. And if you want to get really, really angry about this, there are no laws against peat compost or peat harvesting in the UK. In fact, most countries are fine with it, this is not a UK-specific problem. The stuff is freely available in every garden centre. Here's what it looks like when harvested by hand, and on industrial scales:

The replacement monocultures are generally split by region - in the lowlands it's food crops, likely wheat, whereas in the uplands its forestry timber comprising a bunch of conifers that are not native and often invasive - larch, spruce and pine, but also firs.

Anyway! As ever, I hope that was helpful, and hmu with more questions if needed

Hello again! Its me, Jarl! The one with the questions and such.

I sent an ask about this recently but it might have gotten eaten by tumblr or lost, so just to hedge my bets:

I'm getting ready to start the last third of the Fantasy Wales book in March and I was hoping you could answer some more questions for me?

If not, that is perfectly fine! I'll make do with my previous notes and research

I'm so sorry I missed you, my inbox looks like this:

YES LET'S GO LET'S DO IT

[angelgraphica]

h.k; photoshoot, pose!

hueningkai x reader

synopsis:

because bsf! kai has a hard time saying no to you, he allows you to drag him into a photo booth— one that is a little too cramped for his liking.

warnings!!:

NSFW!!! p-in-v, not an established relationship, best friends, smutty, a little soft and kai is cute so beware. idk how to really warn so just enjoy hehe NOT PROOF READ!! sorry for mistakes or typos or sentences that don’t make sense xx

wc: 3.3k enjoy my angels!

kai could never say no to you. like seriously, he has a problem saying the word ‘no’ to you.

wanna go get something to eat? sure! he’ll pay. wanna come over to his dorm and start a movie marathon? the answer is yes. you want to pluck his eyebrows, or do makeup on him which you say makes him so pretty, he’ll sit on your vanity chair. almost falling asleep with how gentle your hands are.

which is why you’ve dragged him along to the mall with you. he stays alongside you while you walk through stores, or just window-shop, and listen to you exclaim about the things you see or the things that you wanna look for. ever since college started, you guys have both been best friends. even though now you don’t have any classes with him, the class you both shared your first year was memorable. the late night study seshes, pairing together for projects and leaning on each other when needed— had blossomed the friendship you both have now.

and plus, you both are pretty similar. he turned you into a stuffed animal fanatic, so much so you can’t even look at one without thinking of him. he’s a little nerdy but you always sit and listen to him geek out about a new anime he’s watched. he’ll help you with games he’s been wanting to play with you. overall, just two peas in a pod!

you point at a plushie through a shop window with big eyes, “kai, this is so you. hold on, i need to get this for you.” you seem more excited than he is, even though you’re not getting it for yourself. watching your reaction, he can only laugh. you’ve always seen him as this innocent little guy. even though he’s far from little. way taller than you and hands that could kill you if he wanted to. he’d never, mind you. you often called him a gentle giant, standing on your tippy toes to ruffle his hair as you teased him.

even though he very much would rather him pay for the plushie, you already swipe your card and grab the bag. “you know.. you really feed into my addiction of these things, you baby.” he says, taking the bag from out of your hand. adding it to the rest of the bags that he was already holding for you. you just smile at him, explaining how you don’t really care and he needs more of a collection anyways— like half of his bed isn’t cover with some.

he loves your friendship. after all, you both don’t have any other friends. you have your roommates and he has his, but other than that, that’s pretty much it. and vice versa. you constantly tell him how much this bond means to you. ‘soulmates’ you’d say. i mean, you both talked about moving in together after college. you talked everyday, slept over at either one of your houses at least once a week. you were in his daily routine. he knew pretty much everything about you, and he loves calling you a baby.

kai denied and disapproved anyone even remotely saying how this relationship was way more than just platonic. people would see your fleeting glances, then looking away laughing. or inside jokes and you brushing his arm after he says a funny thing. but that was just your dynamic. he never saw you anything more than his best friend. and he became uncomfortable at the thought or mention of anything more than that. it just didn’t feel right.

after a long day of shopping, for you at least— and him just following you around like a lost puppy, you point at a photo booth. it was almost required that anytime you both were out and there was a booth near you, you had to take pictures.

you gasp, “hey, a photo booth! we have to take photos together!” you say as you look up at him with pleading eyes. you both know he’d never say no to you.

but maybe, this time he should’ve.

the booth was situated in a far corner of the mall, he didn’t even notice it until you pointed it out. you open the booth curtain and walk in— he quickly joins in after you. and immediately he notices how cramped it is. he doubts this was made for two people, shoulders having to cave in a bit for him to fit in here. you both stay still for a bit, your lips pursed as you think about how to situate the both of you in here.

“ning, why don’t you sit down and ill just sit on your lap?” you ask. he didn’t see a problem with it at first and he plops down with an “okay.” you slowly settle yourself on his thighs, scooting up against him. as you get comfortable, he realizes what a grave mistake he’s made.

it’s usually not a problem for him. you’ve sat on him before, no reaction. but usually you have long pants on, you’re currently wearing just a skirt— one that he helped you pick out before you both left to be here. his jaw clenches as you use his thighs to lift yourself up and back on him just to adjust the way your sitting. or maybe to personally torture him and humiliate himself in front of you.

kai is a pretty reserved man. i mean, it’s not like he doesn’t do stuff other than the occasional jerk before bed. he’s not one to be poppin’ boners left and right.

the air suddenly became stifling to him, too hot to handle. unfortunately, all he can feel is you plush against him and smell the sweet perfume he likes. he makes sure his hands are no where near you, resting on the walls of the booth. you bend over on him to insert your card to begin the photos, and he has to look away to not even give himself the image of you against him. this was his biggest fear and worst nightmare happening at once.

he’s never had a reaction like this towards you. his pants suddenly becoming too tight for him, and he prays you don’t notice even though you are fully against him. not much separating you both other than his jeans and your flimsy skirt. the jeans that he’s currently twitching in. he’d give up anything right now that you honestly don’t notice the rock underneath you.

but unfortunately, you notice. he notices it in the way you look at him, the way you stutter your words after you ask him “are you comfortable?”

after paying for it, you nervously look back at him and see him looking away from you. his face scrunched with shame. “uhm, what poses should we do?” you ask, and he avoids your eyes.

“i’ll follow you.”

clearing your throat, you press the button to begin the photos. looking back at the screen, “get ready to smile!” the booth announces, and you begin doing a peace sign with a smile on your face. he follows you, looking at the camera almost painfully trying to cover the nervous look on his face. the booth begins to count down, and right before it hits three, he feels you move your hips against him— his breath hitches. he writes it off as a mistake, that you were just trying to move around with the little space you had.

*click*

you fix your hair to lay on the other side of your shoulder— neck now exposed to him. he refuses to look at you fully. quickly changing your pose, now your doing a pout. he does the same, one eye winking. as casual as possible. he just wanted this to be over. the booth begins the countdown again, and again, you grind against him. he lets out a low groan, covering it up as clearing his throat. now, he knows it’s not a mistake.

*click*

his face drops. he grabs the sides of your hips, plush against his hands. “stop doing that.” he mutters in your ear, stern but with a hint of plead. he feels you tense up against him.

you stay silent, obviously flustered with the way he called you out on it. “i’m sorry..” you breathe out, “just.. feel bad for you.” you say with a soft voice, embarrassed. he rests his forehead on the back of your shoulder, shuttering out a breath.

“we can leave if you want—“

“no.” kai cuts you off, and it returns to silence. the warmth in your lower belly begins to turn into fire, so much so that you feel perverted for feeling such a way for your best friend. the best friend that was just a baby in your eyes. suddenly, these things you’re feeling— you want to explore them and him so bad.

“is it okay if i..?” kai nervously asks, and when he says it like that, there’s no way you could say no to him. you hum out approval, allowing him to do what he wants.

he could feel his dick twitching and pulsating throughout his body. he gently pushes his hips up, and he hisses. you have to hold onto the cramped walls to help you balance yourself, the same walls that got you in this situation. when he brings you back down, you now experiment moving against him, the first rolls of your hips making him thrust up slightly— fingertips digging into you.

“shit.” he mutters your name against you. you rest your head back on his shoulder, lost in the moment. not paying any mind to how the booth *clicks*. he rests his lips against your neck, nibbling and kissing. the rolls of your hips become more apparent, both heavily enjoying the hotness, riskiness of it all. hands now travel around your thighs, squeezing the flesh and traveling to your inner thighs.

you open up for him, keeping your rhythm and listening to both of your heavy breaths. you turn your head towards him, nose bumping his forehead. he leaves your neck alone to kiss your chin before reaching your lips— his lips a bit wet previously. at first it was slow, suctioned kisses. teeth bumping occasionally from the grinding, but you both lean in a much as possible, quickly making it sloppy.

the fact that you didn’t know he had this in him makes the whole experience ten times hotter. never once have you guys talked about sex— there was no need. but as you feel his fingers crawl up your skirt and tease your bud, suddenly grateful that you didn’t wear shorts underneath. you wish you would’ve made moves on him earlier. you always had that slight feeling for him anyways.

you moan into his mouth, sweet and melodic as he uses his middle and index finger to rub your clit. bucking your hims up a tiny bit, messing up the momentum you both had.

“f-fuck kai. need you so bad right now. need your fingers.” you’re whiny and pathetic as his movements continue. panties soaked and your hole drooling onto his jeans. he kisses your cheeks, making circles on your clit faster and harder. he couldn’t get enough of your noises.

“take them off for me, yeah?” he huskily says near your ear with shuttering breath, you waste no time looping your thumbs around the band and pulling them off— a bridge of slickness following it until it eventually breaks.

your skirt now bunched up at your hips, kai’s enamored with the way you look right now: soaked and already got that fucked out look. “you’re so pretty baby” he says as he dips his fingers into your puffy folds, a slick sound emitting and you muttering out his name.

he first pushes in just one finger, feeling resistance with how tight you are. you almost whimper, legs shaking from anticipation and need. kai could get off from this scene alone, he works you out a bit— wet sounds everytime he pumps in and out. then he adds a second, and that’s when you almost break.

he curls up, and you moan as if you were in a porno. toes curling, “yes, kai, fuck—“ you drawl. “fucking love your fingers ningie,” his dick twitches from the nickname, one that you made long ago, and he realizes that he’s gotta open you up soon or else he won’t last.

his fingers start slow, in and out. leisure but still making sure to reach deep spots in you from his long digits. “tell me how much you love my fingers.” he whispers in your ear, and you clench around him. you open and close your mouth a few times, noises coming out everytime, before saying “fingerin’ me so deep,” you moan, “feels so m’good.”

thumb coming to your clit, working it back into a circle, your back arches. that’s when he begins to speed up, your climax coming soon. you breath out that your gonna cum soon, and that only encourages kai to go even faster. the knot in your stomach builds rapidly, until— it finally explodes.

you throw your mouth open in a silent scream, kai still going at it to the point of overstimulation. you cum hard on his fingers, even more slick than before. twitching, “kai, enough— sensitive, it’s too much” you whine out, before he finally stops torturing you. as you catch your breath, you watch him lick his fingers clean. i mean, he was sucking on his own fingers to make sure he got it all.

when he caught you staring, it turned him shy and made him even more red than he already was. your face turns into a smile, before you chuckle a few times. “you’re such a freak.” you joke at him, breath still heavy and he bites his lip as he looks away. before, his eyes are back on you again as you change your position to straddle him.

you kiss him first, he kisses you back, and your bare pussy is right against his aching bulge. “lemme help you,” you plead against his lips. “want me to suck you off?”

he pulls back, looking into your face. suddenly, he’s bashful and nervous— because now he’s speechless. your eyebrows furrow, “no? you don’t wanna do anything else?” you ask, a little concerned now that’s he acting like this.

he shakes his head, “no! no.. that’s not it.” he says, and you tilt your head. grabbing his jaw gently, you plant small soft kisses along his jawline. the grip on your hip tightens, and as you get to his ear, you whisper “then what’s wrong?”

again, he’s quiet as you pepper his cheek with kisses. “i just—“ he hesitates. “c-can we put it in? do you mind?” and you stop your kissing to let out a giggle. that’s what he was nervous about asking? your abdomen burns from his question, suddenly finding him even cuter than before for asking that question. he looks at you nervously before you answer, “yes ningie, don’t be scared to ask.”

he lets out a sigh of relief as your hand travels down to unbuckle his jeans. his hands help you too, quickly whipping out his easily seven inch cock. his belt and jeans are now at his ankles. you have to gasp once you see it, didn’t expect him to be packing so much— veiny and thick. “kai— this is gonna be hard.. gentle please?” you whine before you both align.

he could never say no to you, not with that cute tone and no matter how much he wanted to say no to you in that moment. “y-yes baby, i’ll try.” he says fervently. his heavy long girth rests on your clit before his tip teases your lips. you whine and he bites his lip. “‘gna stretch this pussy, my baby.” he mutters, before you begin pushing now on him. your hands come up to shoulders to balance yourself and to try and ease the stretch a bit. he coos at you as you wince from every inch being swallowed by your walls, telling you how tight you are, and how good you’re being.

once you reach the base, you both sit there so that you can adjust to the size of him. while you do that, he’s desperately trying not to cum in you right now. he kisses your cheeks and nose as if trying to distract himself. he needs to move now.

and once you give him a nod and the go-ahead, he immediately begins rocking his hips up and into you. both of you pulling out till his tip, before coming back down to the base. you felt heavenly, so much so that he forgets that you’re in public doing this.

you hum and whine in his ear, both of you listening to the sweet sounds coming out of both mouths and the sounds of skin colliding. with the occasional schlick sound as he pumps in and out of your wet hole. using your thigh muscles, you go up and down a little bit more— addicted to the stretch of him, wanting your pussy to be molded to the shape of him.

“fuck..” you both mumble at the same time, kai even moaning softly, high pitched. he sounded desperate. and you loved it so badly. you could’ve sworn it made you go faster absentmindedly.

“kai— fuck you feel so good. love your little noises ningie.” you manage to get out, feeling yourself becoming dumb on his cock. thighs jiggling erotically as you bounce on him, his hand travels from your waist to your ass, squeezing and molding. “nnm, you’re addicting—” he says, strained. his attention is fixated on you, eyes bolting everywhere. from your face, your boobs that bounced through your shirt, the way your back was so arched to where he can see your ass.

kai was addicted. he loved the way you were still wearing your skirt and the way he was pounding into you. his other hand leaves your waist and to your clit, circling to get you to orgasm a little faster, because he feels himself not lasting another minute. you yelp, clearly not expecting him to do that, twitching on him a little bit. but you didn’t falter with your pace, and neither did he.

“kai” you breathe out, skin-to-skin contact so loud and so fast that you’re sure whoever comes near the booth will hear it. “baby?” he says back, in a higher tone than usual. he feels you tightening, which makes him pump into you a little bit more faster. “kai! kai— m’gonna cum soon—“ you whine with furrowed eyebrows, closing your eyes as you feel yourself tear up. he feels himself cumming soon too.

“okay—okay. let’s do it, nnmgh, together.” he says, pounding even faster and harder into you, kissing your cervix. you both turn into a mess of moans and noises— wet messy and desperate. “i-inside? do i cum inside??” he asks quickly, and you reply with an ‘uh-huh!’ before he grits his teeth to continue with his pace. once he feels you clench around him, like you were trying to squeeze him to death, that’s when he releases his load into you. lots of it.

kai fucks you and himself through your orgasms, making sure that his cum reaches deep inside you. his load was massive, so much so that it began to leak out of your hole and once he pulled out some squirted out and onto your skirt.

you rest your head on his chest, catching your breath. you can hear his heartbeat go crazy, as he also tries to breathe. the small photo booth, that suddenly didn’t matter for a bit, now was noticeably hotter. both of you were sweaty.

he kisses the top of your head, “a.. are you alright? didn’t go too rough?” he asks breathlessly. you nod, “i’m okay.. swear you split me open.”

but once you lift your head up to meet him in the eye, his cheeks blushy and suddenly bashful, you kiss his cheek and then mutter in his ear “next time though, i’ll take care of you.”

masterlist 🪽

sooooo obviously there’s room for a part 2!! comment if you’d like another one so i know to get to work !!! hope you enjoyed this! it’s missing the italics but no way i’m individually putting in the italics..

[absolutebl]

Hey there, Wise One.

I've journeyed here to seek your wisdom. After being on a multi month long hiatus from BL after a bit of a burnout, Revenged Love has managed to pull me back.

Now, I'm not surpised that I've come back, but what I'm shocked by is *what* brought me back.

I have been firmly contemptuous of very strong, traditional seme/uke dynamics. I've always loved more switch-y/vers/seke/reversible type pairings as I've always personally been more attached to that feeling of mutual pulling, of mutual give-and-take.

But now, here I am. This show's core dynamic is to me, no different then say, the one between Rain and Phayu. Yet I LOATHE that couple still even after a recent rewatch, purely for their dynamic, where I found Rain annoying, and Phayu to be just awful for his boundary pushing.

Why is that? Why do I like the pushing and aggression in Revenged Love, but not when Phayu does it? Why do I react better to Suo Wei's whiny-ness than to Rain's?

I first noticed this happening to me in Tharntype, where I just didn't mind the dub-con or seme/uke stuff there either, so I don't think it's a MAME thing.

Is it the acting? Are they making different acting choices that you can notice?

Is it the broader tone? The setting? The script? The background context?

Is it the characters? Do Suo Wei and Type have more backbone than Rain despite all three being lawn chairs for their semes?

If you can identify anything, please do help lol.

Thanks!

I feel you because it's the same with me. I forgive China (and sometimes Japan) for dynamics I would NEVER let slide from Korea, Thailand, Taiwan, or the Philippines.

This show's core dynamic is to me, no different then say, the one between Rain and Phayu. Yet I LOATHE that couple still even after a recent rewatch, purely for their dynamic, where I found Rain annoying, and Phayu to be just awful for his boundary pushing.

Let's talk uke first:

Why do I react better to Suo Wei's whiny-ness than to Rain's?

Because Sou Wei's (and China's tsundere ukes in general) are conscious and intentional in what they are doing within the context of the burgeoning relationship. Even the ones who aren't as outright manipulative as Sou Wei, are always weaponizing their uke-ness. They are just that little bit more self-aware than ukes out of other countries. CBL ukes are often both a little bit (or a lot) special and especially clever.

Think about it.

Back to the beginning in 2014 with Mai Ding in Like Love or Bai Luo Yin in Addicted, China has a tradition of smart, even extraordinary, uke characters. More recently Sheng Wang in The On1y One (which had many of us in a similar chock hold as Revenged).

The Wuxias do it too.

Both the Untamed and Word of Honor featured ukes with special powers - abilities possibly beyond even the seme leads (who tend to fall into "the utra rich ultra special" masculine ideal of the time and setting).

There is an innate cleverness to Chinese uke characters. This gives them their own brand of power.

It makes them much more relatable and appealing and less whiny. It makes them a touch aspirational (we see ourselves and them, or want to) and also the archetype of bratty subs, rather than simply submissives with no backbone.

They are more active characters; stronger, with more autonomy and narrative agency. Thailand often has their ukes be too innocent and/or sunshine to the point it comes off as not just naiveté but weaponized incompetence. We find them way more annoying as a result.

Why do I like the pushing and aggression in Revenged Love, but not when Phayu does it?

Because it's met with actual (usually pretty successful) resistance.

In their very archetypal way the semes in CBLs are better matched to their ukes. There is no railroading possible (literally, figuratively, or euphemistically).

What we watch and enjoy in CBLs is that the power play is just that, play. It's cat and mouse, but in a Tom & Jerry way. There is a game going on between the leads in CBLs, and yes it's a game of sexual dominance but also wit.

I first noticed this happening to me in TharnType, where I just didn't mind the dub-con or seme/uke stuff there either, so I don't think it's a MAME thing.

Hum I think that's because Type is very much someone who gets his own back - often physically. You're probably responding to the uke's ability to forge his own destiny... character agency.

Is it the acting? Are they making different acting choices that you can notice?

Possibly, but I am tempted to say it comes more down to the characters as initially conceived.

Is it the characters? Do Suo Wei and Type have more backbone than Rain despite all three being lawn chairs for their semes?

In a word, yep.

Because the CBL ukes have so much cleverness and agency, the seme's claiming, yearning, and thirst is going to be much harder to appease (pun intended).

We know with most CBLs we are in for a push/pull battle. It's going to be hard fought. The push is going to have to be harder and more agro because the uke's defense is going to be tougher and better strategized. We enjoy watching that emotional (sometimes physical) battle play out on our screens, because both characters are such active participants in the romantic game of it all.

It's the same reason enemies to lovers is so popular.

The seme is going to be put through the wringer and pushed to the limits of his self-control, and since they usually set him up as the masculine epitome of Alpha reserve, watching him crumble on the alter of a delightfully smart brat is just that much more fun.

On the flip side, BLs where the power play is off or too unbalanced in the seme's favor, usually need to make the uke suffer needlessly for the seme's desire, and that can feel unfair and annoying.

I personally always prefer my semes to suffer. It's one of the reasons I like hyung romances where the younger character is the aggressor, from places like Japan, Thailand, and Korea. If the seme is, by default, in a weaker social position, he's going to have to work a lot harder.

A show like Korea's Love Mate has an extremely aggressive younger seme who edges into dubious consent and stalking but I don't mind it because it has this CBL-ish component in play: the uke being older, smarter, and the boss, actually holds all the cards. So our seme really has to work for it.

This kind of power match up (a dominant traditionally powerful seme versus clever rebellious special uke) is, simply put, one of the most fun dynamics to watch play out on our screen. And China is, regrettably, one of the best at it.

That's my theory and I'm sticking to it.

(source)

[sammy-bryant]

Newly minted Emmy nominee Shawn Hatosy has consistently injected heart and humanity into complex, often perplexing characters who thrive in the grey area throughout his career.

From starring as a serial killer on Dexter to a troubled police officer in Southland and Chicago P.D., and most famously, the mentally unstable and violent family man in Animal Kingdom, Hatosy looks for specific qualities in a character before taking on the role.

“I enjoy characters that have a lot of layers,” shared The Pitt actor with Deadline on Thursday while celebrating his first Emmy nom for Outstanding Guest Actor in a Drama Series on the critically acclaimed HBO Max medical drama.

“I think even when you’re portraying a character who may be perceived as the bad guy, such as Pope [on Animal Kingdom], it is important to identify the quality within him that is real. He doesn’t set out to ruin everybody’s day; he comes from a real place. So I always try to find a way to love my characters, no matter how awful the things they do are, and Pope certainly has a lot of those hidden in a closet,” he continued.

Hatosy revealed it was “really easy to find something to love” about Dr. Jack Abbot, the combat veteran and attending physician in emergency medicine at the fictional Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital, the setting of The Pitt. The series, created by R. Scott Gemmill and executive produced by John Wells, received a total of 13 Emmy nominations on Thursday, including Hatosy’s nom.

“The qualities that are inherent in him, like his ability to improvise in the face of chaos. And then when I saw him with that blood bag donation in Episode 12, while he was working on this procedure, I just knew exactly the kind of guy he was. It was very easy to fall in love with him,” he said.

Adding, “It’s interesting playing these characters, because you become, weirdly, me as Shawn, identified as them when I’m walking down the street. Pope is kind of an iconic character, and now the show is finding a new life on Netflix. It means so much to me when you see people who say, ‘Well, I hated [Pope] so much at the beginning, but by the end of the series, I was really rooting for him.’ That’s a well-written character. When picking a character, they have to have many layers and a lot of dimensions and things to sink your teeth into, or it can get boring doing 75 episodes of the same thing.”

The Pitt is the fifth series collaboration between Hatosy and producer John Wells; the other four are ER, Southland, Animal Kingdom and Rescue Hi-Surf. Season 1 of The Pitt took place across one day, while Season 2 is set 10 months after the events of the first finale on Fourth of July weekend. It was revealed in the first finale that Abbot is an amputee with a prosthetic leg, but no background information was revealed, leaving it for viewers and Hatosy to wonder about.

“I’ve been asked before about what I want to see [happen on the show], and it’s those little nuggets of information that you get through the other characters, too. With Abbot, we know he has so much hidden trauma, just by the way he carries himself. It’s also inspiring to see a guy on TV who is working on himself, and not afraid to talk about seeing a therapist because I have some shit that I have to deal with. We don’t get to see that on TV a lot, you know?”

Adding, “[Abbot] is just such a wonderful character, in the way that he leads, and how he talks to people. He and Robbie [Wyle] are a lot alike, but they’re also so different. The opportunity to dig in and see more about how he got there is very exciting. I hope to be carving into that for 150 more episodes.”

[theladyofbloodshed]

Chapter 13 - Sorry for the long wait and short chapter but life is kicking my ass <3

The sounds of the camp moving and rising like a great beast in the dawn woke them. Cassian held Nesta tight for a few moments, savouring their closeness before she was allowed to move. He kissed her gently then rose with her. In silence, they dressed. Cassian donned his armour then checked his weapons before sheathing them. The seven red siphons on his body pulsed in anticipation of the fight to come. The mud on the bottom of Nesta’s dress had hardened during the night and chipped off as she pulled it on. Cassian had well and truly ruined the back of it, although with a loose length of string, he did try to lace it together where he’d torn off the buttons. In the grand scheme of things, a broken dress was the least of her problems.

‘You can’t just fly us somewhere, Cassian?’ She twisted her hands together. ‘Just you and I. We can find a corner of a foreign field that will be forever ours.’

Cassian’s eyes closed and he swayed on the spot before he moved to her. His wide hands cupped her face. ‘I want that. You can’t imagine how much I want to run. This is my purpose, Nesta.’

It wasn’t right for her to crumble now. She had been through too much to break – but Cassian had been someone to lean on and it was so hard to stand alone. She couldn’t lose him. He could not be just another number sacrificed to the meat grinder.

Horns sounded.

‘I have to go.’

Nesta swallowed, unable to find any words.

He pulled her close again, an arm curving around her back. ‘Be safe. At the first signs of things going south, you get the hell out. Don’t look back. Don’t try to save anybody. You get yourself safe. Promise me that.’

Their kiss was not at all gentle. It was the sort of the kiss that devoured. His hands delved into her hair. Her hands grasped his leathers, groping his body to try and hold him for longer. Her pulse throbbed when Cassian let her go.

‘I love you.’

He tilted his head, black hair falling across his face as he offered up a grin. ‘I know.’

She watched him go from the tent but did not follow. Nesta needed that moment to compose herself before she fell apart.

‘I will not weep,’ she told herself, although her eyes were telling a different story. She wiped at them with the back of her hand, breathing steadily. She could not lose him. Nesta refused to start again. Her heart belonged in Iron Crest with him. In Iron Crest, Cassian had forced change into the camp so that it was somewhere better; a place where orphaned children had a chance to grow up safe and loved. Here, she could lead by his example and help where possible. She could do that.

The day was busy aiding the healers with new bandages and fresh water. Her arms ached from carrying the heavy buckets but it was the least she could do. There were older Illyrian females in the camp too who cooked so Nesta carried wood to their fires and dispensed food to healers to keep their energy up. She ran across the camp passing messages until her boots made her feet bleed. More than once, she slipped in the mud as rain lashed down.  

She had lost count of the number of males who were dead or close to it. Feyre and Mor were helping to organise the wounded at the various healing tents. Those directed to the left had the highest chance of living. Those with minor wounds did not even leave the battlefield and continued to fight until they received more serious injuries. Some passed through the healers’ tents in a matter of minutes and went straight back into the fighting. Those who were directed to the right were often carried because their wounds were more serious. Many of them were unconscious and were carried there by camp mates who wanted them off the field before they died. They had no healers for those. Only females – some Illyrian, some from the Hewn City – who held the males’ hands as they left the world to give them a small comfort.

Nesta could not think of the ones who had already died on the battlefield. Of the boots that were trampling their bodies. The families who would be waiting for the news of their deaths that wouldn't come until it was all over and discarded bodies were foraged for like shells upon the sand.

Throughout it all, the never-ending churning of battle sounded. Naively, she had thought her mind might block it out, but it remained there like a dark cloud. She could not think of Cassian - not for a single moment - or she would not be able to move again.

Amidst the chaos of more wounded flowing into the camp like the tide, Nesta spotted Balthazar. He struggled to fly with another’s arm slung over his shoulder. A third male was on the other side of the injured one to try and keep him upright.

A sudden lurch of pain made Nesta’s knees buckle.

It was Cassian.

Cassian was between the males, bloodied and unconscious.

Then she saw it. A gash across his middle that had torn open his leathers. Balthazar’s hands were pressing against Cassian’s abdomen, trying to keep his organs from spilling out. There was so much blood. She had never seen so much blood from a wound.

Nesta froze where she was.

Her heart was rupturing in two.

This could not be it. It could not happen this way.

The healer took a single look at him and directed Balthazar to the right. That was where the males were sent to die.

Nesta surged forwards but was met by her sister’s body. Feyre’s hands went to her shoulders, holding her still. ‘Nesta, he’s too badly injured. The healers need to focus their efforts on the ones who can be easily healed.’

She shook in Feyre’s arms. The mating bond felt as if it was fraying. Every thread was spreading further away, growing weaker.

‘He needs a healer,’ she gritted out.

There was pity in her sister’s eyes, but no real warmth.

Morrigan strode over. Mud and blood were sprayed against her leathers from the day. She moved to lay a hand upon Nesta’s shoulder then thought better of it. ‘The healers will expend too much energy on such a wound. We must think of the majority.’

How many times had she said such a thing today to grieving soldiers who’d demanded the same for their brothers and fathers and sons? How many had died because they had steered the hand of fate?

‘He will not last the night. I’m sorry, Nesta,’ Feyre said, her tone softer.

Fire boiled Nesta’s blood. It writhed through her veins, angry and potent. She pushed away her sister’s arms and stepped back. Nesta burnt. Silver flames wreathed her head like a crown. More slithered around her arms. It became her armour. Her whole body was devoured by it. The camp around them paused their workings to stare in horror at what she was becoming. She was a creature of rage and pain, one of loss and fury.

‘He is my fucking mate. You will send every healer to his side or I will burn this entire camp to the ground.’

***

Sweat beaded on Cassian’s forehead as he fought to kick off the mountain of layers piled on top of him. The movement had stars blazing across his vision while pain erupted across his stomach.

He was in his tent. Not his tent. This was smaller, too small for a brazier yet one burnt all the same there, smoking him out like a sausage. It wasn’t a healing tent as those were spacious enough for many bodies. Was he dead? Death wouldn’t smell so smoky, surely.

Cassian forced his weight onto one hand as he tried to sit himself up.

‘Don’t even think about moving,’ came a sharp voice.

Amongst the haze of smoke and pain, he made out Nesta’s shape. She was curled up near his head like a cat, eyelids almost closed as she peered at him.

‘Are we dead?’

‘Not yet,’ she replied, voice hoarse.

Cassian coughed and wafted his hand through the air, trying to disperse some of the smoke. ‘This tent is too small for a brazier.’

‘You were as cold as the grave. It was either the brazier or Balthazar pressing his naked body to yours to warm you.’

At his instruction, Nesta peeled open the tent to allow fresh air in. The night was crisp with its coldness but the camp remained awake.

‘Where do you think you are going?’ Nesta pushed up to her feet as Cassian did the same. A hand shot out to steady him as he swayed. ‘Get down. Now. You are injured. Gravely. You are being winnowed back to rest.’

‘I am the leader of Iron Crest. It is my duty to fight, but first I must see to my males.’

The words were easier said than done when it felt as though he was wading through mud. Each step had to be carefully thought about before he planted his boot then steadied himself. Even Nesta didn’t dare to tug him back to the tent for fear of toppling him over.

The battle returned to him in broken shards. They had called him Enalius. His blade had cut through Hybern’s soldiers like they were sheaths of wheat. Until one of their blades had slashed his stomach. The thin tunic that had been pulled over his body was backwards. Cassian pulled the collar away from his chest to peer at the wound. It was bad. Males had died from lesser ones.

The camp quietened as they moved. The armies of Night and Summer paused to gawp. Any pride that Cassian felt for his heroics in the battle soon dried up when he noticed that it was not adoration in their eyes, but horror and fear. They weren’t looking at him. No, all attention was on his wife.

Cassian raised his arm to beckon Nesta closer. She put her arm around his back to offer support, but he wanted her close for a different reason. If anybody wanted to lay a finger on his mate, they’d need to go through him first.

Shadows built up from the ground like sand being poured then the High Lord of the Night Court materialised in front of them. His eyes narrowed. ‘Why is he up?’

‘Because he cares for his males – perhaps you should try it,’ Nesta snarled before Cassian had a chance to open his lips.

This side of her was new. It was territorial and her vitriol was directed at Rhysand instead of him for a change.

Rhysand took a step back, wariness tightening his features. Not only him. Others in the camp who were immobile were backing away too. Some made a sign against evil.

‘What the hell have I missed?’

‘Your mate threatened to destroy this entire camp with her newfound killing power.’

Nesta folded her arms over her chest. In the moonlight, Cassian could see her better. Silver rimmed her irises. It was unnatural, but utterly beautiful.

‘Now, why would I do such a thing?’

At Rhysand’s silence, Nesta turned to Cassian. She was so tired. Her body wanted to collapse, but that spine held her upright. Cassian cupped her cheek with his hand. She deserved so much better than this.

‘They would have let you die,’ she whispered. ‘They were going to let you die. You weren’t worth the effort of saving.’

He’d have made the same call if one of his males had the wound too – and the thought suddenly sickened him. How many had died because they didn’t have a Nesta standing up for them.

‘I want you to count all of the stars, Nes,’ he murmured.

‘Why?’

‘Because when this is all over – when we have our time – I will give you as many kisses as there are stars in the sky.’  

[azure-arsonist]

Insane fucking take. There's something deeply wrong with you but thanks for giving me a reason to talk about it more. Ignorance and defensiveness can be a great canvas for learning. The lotus blooms in mud and all that. 🪷✨️

Now lets get to the fun stuff: what do I mean when I say Zuko and katara are functionally more Buddhist than Aang? I mean Zuko’s arc and kataras character actually deal with a lot of Buddhist themes beyond a surface level understanding of Buddhism as vegetarian pacifist enlightenment in robes. While Aang may be symbolically and esthetically Buddhist and has a lot of Buddhist themes in his arc, Zuko’s is pretty direct and grounded and does so without really advertising itself as Buddhist and katara embodies several nuanced Buddhist principles.

Let's start with Zuko first since you seem to have the most vitriol for him for whatever reason.

Early Zuko is a boy trapped in illusion (maya). He clings to his identity as crown prince, he clings to the idea that his honor is tied to his reputation and the approval of his father and nation. He clings to the idea that the fire nation's imperial ambitions are just.

But these are illusions, ego, identity, power, "being right".

Because of these illusions and his attachment to them, Zuko suffers. He's miserable, he,s full of shame and anger throughout his whole arc of chasing external honor. He clings to his identity, he clings to what he sees as his birthright, he clings to his father's approval and the idea of "belonging home". The more he desires these things,(craves them, tanha) the more he suffers. (Dukka) especially post crossroads of destiny while in the fire nation we see zuko get what he thinks he wants and feels dissatisfaction/ dukka.

His arc especially highlighted in ba sing se and the episode zuko alone. Is about him painfully, laboriously breaking his illusion of who he is.

Who is zuko when he has no identity, no crown, when he is just some guy? What does he choose to do? He learna the self is not fixed (anatta), it changes and grows. He changes and grows. From crown prince Zuko of the fire nation to just Zuko. He may not really be conscious of his change at first but he becomes aware regardless. Zuko begins the story existing in extremes but he learns to be less reactive and become more aware, of himself, of his values, of suffering and what causes it. He becomes somebody compassionate but not weak, who can assert himself without being cruel.

We see this especially when he rejects his father to help the gaang, not because he clings to a new destiny or identity but because he recognizes its the right thing to do. He begins practicing Right Action, Right Intention, and Right Livelihood. (Factors of the eightfold path) Not for glory but because he believes in accountability and doing right.

Now onto my girl Katara.

Where zuko grows into Right Intention, ego death, enlightenment, etc, katara embodies a lot of Buddhist principles from the beginning. Though she does go through an arc tied to Buddhist principles as well so lets touch on that first.

Kataras wound is loss, loss of her mother, father, and stability and she fills that hole up with control and identity. She becomes the caretaker, the responsible one, the healer, the protector. She's hard on herself when she can't fulfill those roles. Her arc is about learning yo let go of that need for control and trust that other people can handle it, that she doesn't need to be in charge all the time for things to not fall apart.

Now onto the embodiment part. Katara embodies a LOT of Buddhist principles. Especially Right Intention, Wrathful Compassion, and Skillful Means.

Let's break it down (EARTH BENDING STYLE!!!)

Wrathful or fierce compassion is a concept in Mahayana and Tibetan Buddhism and is the form compassion takes when softness doesn't get results. Its not cruelty or vengeance, its righteous fury. Its anger turned into wisdom and action. (fun fact, this is often represented by the color blue!) Katara doesn't practice detachment she is deeply interconnected to suffering. She fights for the voiceless even if its uncomfortable or inconvenient (ie, the episodes Imprisoned and The Painted Lady, and literally every time katara takes a stand against injustice). Katara, like a bodhisattva refuses to ignore suffering and she acts on it.

Skillful Means (upaya) is another mahayana Buddhist concept that ties into kataras wrathful compassion. It means choosing the method that best reduces suffering even if its uncomfortable or hard or breaks rules. Katara doesn't adhere to dogma or moral purity, she's focused on relieving suffering, justice, and accountability.

Kataras Buddhism isnt clean amd quiet, it has dirt under its nails. Its a form of Buddhism called Engaged Buddhism which is very action oriented and decolonial.

Right Intention is probably the easiest one here to talk about. Katara always acts out of care and compassion, even when she fights with fury or lies or gets upset, she does so out of compassion.

I want to also note that even at her darkest/ most morally ambiguous (southern raiders) Katara chooses not to kill Yon Rha not because aang asked her not to but because she realized on her own that it wouldn't give her peace.

That is deeply Buddhist like straight out of The Buddha's mouth actually since he says we shouldn't listen to teachers or lessons blindly but to test them out in life to see if they hold up. Thats discernment. Thats the dharma in lived experience.

Lastly I feel compelled to address your assumption that their Buddhism is somehow "more compatible with neolib messaging" as this is not only a bad faith accusation but intellectually lazy and rather ignorant.

I never said Aang was not Buddhist. Or not a "real" Buddhist or not a good Buddhist. But Katara and Zuko, while not being explicitly coded as Buddhist, live out Buddhist principles in a way that's more coherent, compassionate, grounded and messy when compared to Aangs Buddhism as presented on the show. That doesn’t mean Aang is a bad Buddhist. His attachment to identity, the concept of letting go, and his adherence to nonviolence even to the point of inadvertently causing harm. are all rooted in a very real, understandable trauma. Buddhism, especially Mahayana and Engaged, holds space for that.

However, in rhe shows writing, Aang's Buddhism is a very surface level western understanding of Buddhism, a fact that you do seem to acknowledge judging by your reblogs. And if we want to throw around accusations of neoliberalism then lets be fair here.

Neoliberalism in a political context is defined by privileging individualism over collective care, image and performance over substance and praxis, an avoidance of discomfort or systemic confrontation, and pretending systems are changing and suffering is being addressed while hiding behind aesthetics of peace and moderation. In simple terms it prioritizes passive tolerance over active justice.

Katara and Zuko’s Buddhism is quite often literally the opposite of that. Both act in compassion even when its hard, both challenge structures of harm and both sit with their negative feelings even if its uncomfortable.

Im not saying Aang never does those things but his Buddhism as portayed in the show is often passive, idealized nonviolence, rigid, emphasizes detachment without always practicing compassionate presence and gets handed spiritual and narrative shortcuts (lion turtles, the rock awakening his avatar state). Which...well to put it bluntly, is a very neoliberal form/understanding of Buddhism.

Anyway, this was a lot. You probably won't read all of this or care to. And that's fine. Im just happy for a reason to elaborate on my post. If anybody else read this all the way through, damn, that's impressive. Maybe drink some water? I'd appreciate a reblog if you made it this far.

My hot take is that katara and zuko are both more Buddhist functionally than Aang is. argue with the wall

[coconutjelly]

Crisis, Part 5b

Link to all parts

“I would apologize for his behavior, but that implies I have any control over it, whatsoever,” Tim drawls as he walks around the end of the couch like a normal person. 

“Sounds like his regimen needs an update, then,” he replies, letting a crooked grin slide over his face. “We can only fall to the level of our training, ya know.”

Tim rolls his eyes and looks at them both kinda fondly, Kon would like to think. That’s when he realizes that Bernard is still wrapped around his side like a koala. He goes to release the TTK keeping him there so he can get down, but Bernard digs his fingers into his shoulders for a second and shakes his head petulantly.

“Mm-mn. Tim gets to see you like, all the time. If he wants a hug, he can share.” Personally, Kon wouldn’t describe how often he gets to see Tim, much less hug him, as “all the time”, especially compared to his actual boyfriend. Before he can consider that or respond to it, though, Tim is shaking his head and stepping right up into his space, and his other arm raises without him deciding to do it, and Tim is there, and then…

And then he’s just sort of… got both of them tucked into his sides, one under each arm. His brain flickers through all the other times he’s been between the two of them for kisses and sex stuff and even falling asleep cuddling the TTK versions of them, and decides that this is his favorite kind of between them that he’s been so far. 

The other times, they were putting him between them, the same way Tim puts each piece of equipment in its proper place on the shelves in the training room, putting his things right where they’re supposed to be, so they’re ready for his next use. Standing in the rec area of the Tower though, it’s more like… like they’re placing themselves next to him, like ducking under an awning to stay out of the rain, somewhere to shelter from a storm. Like he’s somewhere comfy or safe or nice to be, he means.

They’re warm and he can hear their hearts beating together in that lovely way they do, and he can look down to see faint sparkles stuck to both their faces, even though the facepaint itself is gone. After a couple of seconds, Tim puts one arm around his back and the other around Bernard, and Kon sighs contentedly. He squeezes them both in closer for a second and inhales as subtly as he can, and they smell like home.

Which feels so fucking sappy for a second that he wonders where that thought came from, until he realizes - no, they literally smell like his home at the Tower. His laundry detergent, his soap, his bedroom, his–

“Did you use my shampoo?” he asks. 

Tim winces just slightly, as though he thinks Kon could mind. “We did, I hope that’s okay. You have a bigger shower than mine, and I was just feeling overstimulated when we got back and–”

“Yeah, of course–” Kon starts to say.

“We didn’ fuck in it, I promise,” Bernard interrupts urgently, ensuring that Kon will be haunted by that image until the heat death of the universe. 

“–that’s fine,” he finishes weakly, barely audible over Tim’s huffed, “Oh my god, Bernard.”

“Tim tried to put the moves on me, but I said that was a boundary of your violations,” Bernard tells him in a comically serious tone, and he doesn’t even need to be able to sense his heartbeat or adrenal system to know that he’s lying.

“That sounds completely believable and in-character,” Kon agrees in a matching tone. He looks down at Tim to ask him, “So, what’s the secret ingredient in the magic of Pride?”

Tim is already looking up at him and…pauses a bit before answering, just sort of staring back at him and…blinking in this long, slow blink that might be time dilation from how hard Kon is suddenly focused on the little specks of glitter dotted right along the part of Tim’s cheekbones that are freckled when he’s actually been out in the sun. A little peek of tongue at the corner of Tim’s mouth makes his breath hitch. Or maybe it’s that he suddenly realizes the thumb of Tim’s hand is looped through one of his belts like it fucking belongs there.

Before he can do or even think anything about it though, Bernard breaks through his thoughts by leaning back and tonelessly chanting, “Ba-da-da-da-da-da-dah. Tequila.” 

It takes Kon a second or six to remember what question is being answered. He takes the first two to notice that there are some real freckles mixed in with the glitter on Tim’s cheeks, even though they’re probably too faint for human eyes to pick up after just one afternoon outside. The third second goes toward an automatic little laugh, because he can tell that’s the right response even without really hearing the words. Then two are spent processing the way Tim’s expression closes off before being replaced with a generic amused expression. Kon’s seen him give that face way too many times while talking themselves out of all kinds of trouble to believe it for even one last second.

“You can keep him, if you want,” Tim offers blithely, poking Bernard in the sternum with his free hand - the one not currently looped through his belt like it belongs there. “He’s very low-maintenance, house-trained and everything. Great cook, hardly ever gets kidnapped.”

“Mm, yeah, this feels very low-maintenance,” Kon replies sarcastically, pointedly shrugging the shoulder that Bernard is snuggling back into.

“Dude, are you even aware of my weight right now?” Kon makes a gesture of eh around him, and they all share a laugh, and things feel…mostly normal, he thinks. The intensity of that one moment is gone, and he can’t decide if he wants to live in that moment or never experience it again.

[shrutikaushal]

Endings were never meant to be beautiful. People who romanticize sunsets are usually the ones who’ve never woken up early, travelled long distances, or climbed to great heights to witness a sunrise.

But every ending marks the beginning of something new. And beginnings, they come with two faces, they can either turn out better, or worse.

I guess everything in life is a double-edged sword. No matter how hard you try, there will always be days when things don’t unfold the way we hoped.

Does that hurt? The idea of death sometimes feels quieter, more plausible, than being repeatedly exposed to such pain.

There’s a very fine line between reality and a dream, yes, you read that right, a line so thin, it’s often invisible. And that line is crossed by just one trait: the willingness to act.

Some people dream relentlessly, wish endlessly, pray desperately, and hope constantly, yet they lack the will to pursue what they want.

But here’s my question: do they really not want to overcome that inertia? Or is something, or someone, holding them back?

I’d say they are people burdened by responsibilities, haunted by fears, and shaped by traumas. People who’ve never truly lived for themselves. And when life finally starts aligning with what they once longed for, they retreat. They walk away.

Because walking away is their only known escape.

They fear happiness. A person who has spent their entire life surrendering pieces of themselves to others is rarely ever taught that they, too, deserve to live for themselves.

Living with that mindset is suffocating ,it breeds guilt so heavy that it ends up hurting not only them, but also the people they love.

I occasionally dwell on the thought of being vulnerable around others, and how I keep trying to overcome it. But maybe… maybe vulnerability isn’t something we’re supposed to overcome.

We tend to overcomplicate our presence around people who affect us. And yet, there have been so many moments where letting go felt surprisingly painless.

It’s like asking a woman who’s quietly falling for a man to act unbothered in his presence,she suddenly becomes the most awkward version of herself, someone unfamiliar, almost foreign.

The more we try to remain unaffected, the more it consumes us.

And it always brings us back to the same aching question

Do we even deserve it?

[sleepynegress]

On MURDERBOT...

Honestly, it gave me more of what I expected from SUPERMAN with less feeling of the weight of effort onscreen. It feels more naturally weightlessly in that #KINDNESSPUNK vein. ...Empathy, kindness, realistically flawed but endearing human connections and just... really well-done organic inclusion. I almost feel like Captain Mensah deserves her own post... So, that may be coming. You know how much I treasure when a Black woman isn't a damn stereotype but actually is thoughtfully rendered. But one thing I will spotlight... because it's extra rare that media gets this right... They portrayed complex love with a Black woman that isn't romantic, without being weirdly patronizing about it or falling into obvious "we shoved her aside so we don't have to deal with her" tropes. As someone on that ace spectrum myself (specifically demisexual), but adores writing and watching romance in creative spaces, that is a big issue I too often see people get weird when it comes to showing connections with Black women. She's either hyper-sexed in an off-putting way and/or disposable not returned way, or completely asexual/invisible as a desirable person, aka the SBW magical negress. Captain Mensah, thankfully was none of those things...She is centered and over-loved. So adding her to the catalog along with Holly Gibney. Also, well-done to the symbolic, but explicitly nonsexual intimacy, in that spinal-nerve removal scene. **That** is how you do a "sex scene" for an Ace, for writers out there looking for a good media example. Anyway... Placeholder for now. I'm adding more here later, after wiping my tears for that damn season finale.

[polkadotaspinall]

Could you do something about Khamzat Chimaev young, who is in love with the reader but doesn't know how to express his feelings, so he annoys the reader and is even aggressive, but then apologizes and confesses his feelings? 🤭

Thanks.

young!khamzat chimaev x reader! (not sure how young you'd like him to be but I went with them being college students being home during break!)

warnings: annoying khamzat, aggressive khamzat, kissing, sexual tension

summary: khamzat has always disliked you- at least that's what you believed with how he acted toward you.

"y/n" your mothers voice rings in you ears "yes?" you respond not looking up from your work in front of you "clean up your room and get ready" she says gently peaking into your room and looking around you put your pen down and turn around quirking a brow at your mother signalling her to explain why "I know you're studying but your dad invited over the chimaev's" she says you instantly make a face before you can even ask your mom already knows "yes he'll be coming too- and you'll be nice to him okay? clean up dress nice" is what she says as she shuts your door you groan

studying for finals and having to entertain khamzat of all people you couldn't imagine anything worse. you'd actually rather be on campus taking this final than dealing with khamzat. I mean you had no real issue with him- he just didn't like you at all. which made no sense to you because you grew up together fine, but as soon as you guys were 12 suddenly he didn't like you. which hurt your feelings more than anything your father and his are best friends and naturally you saw him often due to that so after he told you blankly that "annoy him" after trying to chat with him you stopped trying to bother with him

which seemed to upset him even more?? which made you even more upset- you're the one who lost the childhood best friend because of his sudden and random cruelness but he assumed you'd pretend to be his friend after that? didn't help your parents couldn't tell you had a fall out just assuming it was because you were getting older that you'd naturally split off as you guys started having less and less classes.

khamzats behavior was truly odd to you if it wasn't his meanness he was aggressive with you at times. you still remember senior year with him it was weirdly hellish. your wrist was being tightly yanked by the taller man "ow-ow -ow what the hell?!" your roughly tugged to the side youre standing there holding your wrist a bit of shock displayed on your face he looks at you annoyed its khamzat. "stop that" is all he says roughly you look at him like he's some equation "what are you even talking about?" you ask growing upset red mark on your wrist "that guy- he's not good for you, stop letting him flirt with you" he scowls you're looking at him in shock almost stunned by his audacity "how would you know what's good for me? huh? we're not even friends!" his jaw tightens as he closes the distance between you too causing you to back against the wall as there's a very tiny gap between you two "all he does is talk about your body- we all hear it that's all he likes about you y/n I'm trying to be nice" he's angry now and all you can do is burst into tears and run off leaving khamzat to panic

that same day as you laid in bed now blocking that said guy khamzat was talking about you hear a gentle knock on your door your mom poked her head in "y/n you have a visitor" your mom seemed a bit too giddy for your liking and you realized why when she opened the door to reveal a pink faced khamzat holding a bouquet of flowers in his hand your favorite flowers actually. that same day he asked you to prom which both of your moms cheered for and your dads seemed approving even getting a cringey speech from your dad that if you dated khamzat he wouldn't be upset. which of course never happened because he ruined prom for you too.

you guys obviously did the whole thing and you assumed he did it just because your moms specifically always hoped youd get together however as sweet as the beginning of prom was it quickly went downhill you remember the argument you guys had at the end of the night "why do you do this!" he was angry and you didn't understand why you spent the night hanging out with your friends as you assumed khamzat wanted to actually hangout with his friends but apparently you were wrong. you stared at him dumbfounded "why are you mad??" you asked in disbelief "you my date and you go off and ignore me" you scoff at him which makes him more upset "be real you only did this to make your mom and mines happy" and after that he took you home silently you cried in the passenger seat- you had so many other guys asking you out for prom but you accepted your former friends proposal because of your mom and you came home with a fake weak smile saying you had fun you were tired but you cried yourself to sleep that night.

so the idea of having to see him after you haven't seen him since senior year- you're now a sophomore in college and have escaped seeing him but here you were mentally prepping yourself to deal with him putting on a simple dress it was just lunch with his family but knowing your dad and your mom they'd keep Mr and Mrs chimaev till nightfall which you dreaded because you just didn't want to deal with khamzat.

youre sat at the table quietly eating your lunch as your parents babble and catch up as khamzats mom asks you something "hows school been дорогой? (sweetheart)?" you finish chewing feeling khamzats gaze on you "its been good- I've been having fun, I'm studying for finals once breaks over" I say as I stab at my food "ah khamzat do you have any finals once you go back?" she asks her son he shrugs " I think I do" he says his mom sighs "khamzat never studies its a wonder how he passes!" you look over at khamzat who rolls his eyes your mom pips in "y/n why don't you guys study together?" she says cheery his mom calls yours a genius as they seem happy to come to this conclusion you're mortified but don't show it "ah hah okay sure!" you say khamzat is raising his brow at you surprised at your response

"any boyfriend?" your dad asks as you're outside with the dads and khamzat you stiffen up "no папа (dad)" you're shocked he asked "khamzat you have girlfriend?" khamzats dad asks him as he's stretching- he's always been fit but oh my God. what was his college feeding him?! he was wearing a shirt but it was tight on him almost like he never wears shirts since they don't fit it hugged his muscles nicely khamzat shrugs your dad smirks at him and pats his back "he must have 5 girlfriends huh?" your dad asks teasingly khamzat laughs but shakes his head "no girlfriend" youre surprised you swing your feet from where you sit suddenly interested in what he was saying "why not?" your dads nosey khamzat rubs the back of his neck shyly "she doesn't like me I think" both dads gasp and you almost do too- that seemed almost impossible you wondered who this girl was "no way" your dad says he shrugs as he bounces the basketball "its okay" is all he says

youre forced into a room with him- you're room specifically you're quiet as he's laying in your bed you hate how comfortable he is in your room as you're studying he's playing with one of your plushies you know why he's playing with it he's the one who got it for you "you keep this hm?" he says gently voice soft as his eyes drift over to you "yeah?" you say with a shrug as you keep writing you see him smiles softly at your words almost as if you of course were gonna keep it. you remember after this gift you got him a plushie too- a shark it reminded you of him "did you keep mine?" my voice came out smaller than I intended "yes its in my dorm- I forgot to bring him home I normally do" is all he said your breath hitched you turned and looked at him

"why do you hate me " you asked bluntly as he looked at you shocked "hate?" he repeated almost like he didn't hear you right you nod and he lazily sits up a bit leaning on his arms he's so tall he barely fits on your bed he looks so good as the sunlight shines through and hits him "I don't hate no" he says pausing he's staring at you intently

"I like you" the room became so quiet his face flushed you've never seen him like this "you like me?" you couldn't tell what he meant by like did he not mind you? did he like-like you??? you had so many questions before he could answer he paused and looked away you slowly inched toward him you sit on your bed near his legs he looks down at your legs now exposed your dress rode up a bit he sits up and leans toward you

and suddenly his lips are pressed against yours his eyes are closed as he kisses you hesitantly as if youd shove him away you kiss back gently as you cup his face he melts into you kissing you more he pulls back "I've-" he pauses "I've always liked you.." he trailed off looking at your lips "really?" you say breathless "be my girlfriend?" he said as he pressed his forehead against yours "I'm sorry how I treated you please?"

and that's how you became khamzats girlfriend

[authors note: I hope you like anon!! thank you for your request :D]

[yusufalkaysanii]

the horizon tries, but it's just not as kind on the eyes (as nicòlo di genova) | rated explicit

based on this post and the discussion it sparked

Joe has always taken pride in his observational skills. Back in his mortal days, it helped him to spot the right caravans to negotiate with. What shadows complemented a portrait better, and what linen would make the best paper. In his second life, this ability has, on more than a thousand occasions, meant the difference between saving a life or not. He sees things others can’t—or rather, the things others would take longer to notice. Patterns, colors, shapes, expressions, ill intent, and, more often than not, words unspoken.  There’s only one other person who can rival Joe on this, and it’s Nile. It makes him smile whenever he catches her lingering at something or someone a little longer than what’s polite. When she brings up the elephant in the room during meetings, pointing out topics everyone else is trying so hard to avoid. How she comforts others. Joe loves his new little sister and couldn’t be more proud of her. Which is why it doesn’t sting him when she approaches him that night. “Is something going on with Nicky?” she says, no preamble, as soon as she takes a seat across from him in the living room. It’s their last night in the Delta Safehouse, in Washington. Tomorrow, they’re all going their separate way for a well-earned two-week break, so everyone has already gone to bed.  Joe couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to wake Nicky up, which is why he’d escaped to read alone in the living room. Joe frowns at her. He closes his book and places it next to him on the couch. “What do you mean?” She scrunches up her nose and starts gesticulating, anxious. “He’s been acting weird lately.”

Joe raises an eyebrow at her. “Define ‘weird’, kiddo.”

Nile sighs, holding out her hand and raising one finger for each point she makes. “The other day, right? We were fighting those guys at the warehouse, and I caught him trying to pull down his shirt whenever it rode up?” She shakes her head. “At first, I thought it was a protection thing, like he was worried about his gear? So I let it go—but it was weird. Also, he kept sucking in his stomach whenever he caught me looking.”

“Okay…?”

“But then this morning, when we were hurrying to ditch the mission clothes and get new ones,” she sat up straight, leaning forward. “He insisted you went with Andy, like, way too hard—”

“That’s not weird,” Joe counters calmly. “Last time it was him, and the time before that, it was you.”

“No, I know, and I’m cool with that system, but it felt like he was afraid we’d say no, you know?”

“Hm.”

“Right, so we split up to get clothes, and he, like, bee-lined to the plus-size section. I didn’t see him pick out a single piece his size. And I asked him about it, he said something vague about disguises, even though it wasn’t part of the plan.”

Joe watches her for a second. Something pings in the back of his mind, his instincts kicking in.

“Did you ask him about it? Have you talked to him about thinking he’s acting sort of odd?”

Nile nods. “I did, but he said it was nothing,” she rolls her eyes. “He even thanked me for my concern. Who even says stuff like that, if they’re not in customer service or a lawyer?”

“Alright, thank you for that. I’ll talk to him about it, but maybe it really is nothing.”

The lines on Nile’s forehead smoothed for the first time since they’d started talking. She gets up, seeming jovial and light as ever. “You’re probably right! Sorry to bug you about it, it’s just that you know him better than anyone, so I figured if anyone knew if something was up, that’d be you.” She waves at him as she leaves in the direction of her room. “Goodnight!”

Joe picks up his book again and goes back to his reading. 

He’s read the same line four times before he realizes he can’t focus on it right now. Nile’s words keep swirling in his mind. The more he thinks about it, the more some pieces start to fall into place for him.

Nicky has been acting strange lately. The past few weeks, he’s been avoiding his touch in some places and insists on darkness when they’re naked.

Joe had assumed it was some kind of penance. Nicky had been praying for some miracle to protect Andy, and he’d explained it to Joe centuries ago. A penance was his way of paying his end of the deal. 

(He’ll never understand Catholicism and its bargains, no matter how long he lives).

However, it didn’t explain any of the behaviors Nile had him about. 

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Something’s been happening, and he hadn’t noticed it. 

Suddenly, Joe feels old. Heavy. Exhausted. He decides to go to bed and deal with it in the morning. He’ll ask him. It’s probably nothing. It’ll be okay.

—

He crawls into bed as quietly as he can. Nicky is deep asleep, his lips parted and breathing even. He’s wearing an old, soft green t-shirt that Joe got him in 1991. 

Nicky looks peaceful, warm, and inviting. No different than any other night. Still, though, Joe adjusts himself beside him in silence, a frown crowning his forehead, his heart heavy. Something’s gnawing at him, and he doesn’t want to name it. Not just yet, anyway.

He places a protective arm over Nicky’s waist, hooking his knees behind Nicky’s own, and tries to relax.

—

At some point in the night, he blinks awake and realizes his arm is over Nicky’s now, and not his waist. He didn’t move it, so Nicky must’ve done it.

The thing inside him chews a bigger bite of his heart.

—

Things move fast the next morning. Too fast. They barely get a chance to pick up their bags and leave before the CIA is whisking them away.

It’s a short flight to New York City, their split-up point, so they don’t really get a chance to talk.

—

“Can’t believe we’re actually getting a break,” Nile says, beaming, after they disembark. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m gonna wake up at noon every day.”

“Any special plans?” Booker asks, throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

“Nah, probably just gonna rent an Airbnb and sight-see the whole time.”

“How about you two? Where are you two off to?” Booker asks, giving Joe a knowing look. “Lemme guess: the Mediterranean.”

Joe punches him lightly in the arm. “No, we’re going to Disney World this time, actually.”

“It’s my lifelong dream to meet Pluto,” Nicky adds, deadpan. Joe laughs, pulling him by the waist. Nicky squirms away from him, though. “Stop, you’re tickling me.”

“No, I wasn’t. Nic—”

“Alright, everybody, gather up,” Andy calls them, and they all huddle around her. “You know the rules, but it doesn’t hurt to bring them again.

“Number one: get new phones. Toss these immediately and get new ones when you get to… wherever the fuck you’re going. If you need to contact any of us, if you need any help, follow protocol Zulu, and we’ll go from there.

“Number two: I can take care of myself, and if any of you assholes shadow me for the next two weeks, I’ll kick your asses.”

They all burst out laughing at that. Joe picks her up in a tight hug, twirling her around.

“Be safe out there,” he whispers in her ear. Kisses her hair and smooths it out. “I wanna see you in one piece next month, okay?”

She grins at him and gives a light slap to the back of the head. “Worry about yourself and Nicky, will ya?”

“I always worry about all of you.”

Nicky hugs her too, carding his fingers through her hair. “Nile will shadow you, you know that,” Joe hears him say. “Go easy on her.”

Her eyes gloss for a moment, but she blinks the tears away. Taps his shoulder and turns to leave. “Have fun, you two!”

“Will do!”

—

They were leaving for Turin in two days. The plan was to stay in and lay low in the meantime, and as soon as they got out of the airport, they’d take a train to a more secluded city.

Joe had plans to make the most of this time alone with Nicky.

“I was thinking we could go for a stroll in the city?” He shouts from the living room in the small Airbnb they rented for the weekend. Nicky is in the shower, adamant that he’d do it alone. “Maybe go to the Farmers’ Market after? Pick up some produce for a soup tonight, what do you think?”

“Sounds great,” Nicky says, as he walks out of the bathroom. Joe cranes his neck, trying to catch a peek, but he’s faster. The door shuts on his face.

Okay, that’s it, he thinks, part-worried, part-offended.

—

Nicky yelps when Joe yanks the door open, hurrying to pull his shirt down.

“What’s going on?” Joe asks, at the same time Nicky complains, “You startled me!”

“Sorry,” Joe mumbles. “I didn’t mean to. Shouldn’t have busted the door like that.”

“It’s fine,” Nicky dismisses him. He still has the towel wrapped around his waist as he pulls his pants up.

“But seriously: what’s this?” He points at the spectacle. “What’s going on?”

Nicky blushes, his shoulders tense up. After a second too long, he exhales a laugh, lowering his shoulders. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says. “I’m just cold.”

“It’s the middle of Summer and you’re cold?”

“Yes,” he says, dropping the towel on the floor, now that he was fully dressed. “You’re going dressed like this, or are you showering too? We should get going—”

“Nicòlo,” he says, and he hates how his voice sounds broken. “Che cosa sta succedendo?”

“Che cosa intendi tesoro?” He laughs it off and moves to leave. Joe blocks his way.

“Are you hurt?”

“What?”

Joe tries to be patient, but his anxiety gets the best of him. He reaches out to Nicky, grabbing the hem of his shirt. Nicky stops him.

“Did you get hurt? Is that what you’ve been hiding?” He asks, his throat closing up. Fighting the wave of nausea that washes over him, he goes on, softening his voice. “It’s okay if you are. I just need you to tell me. We can work this out together, it’s okay.”

Nicky stares at him for a second, brow furrowed. After a beat, he exhales, chuckling.

“Is that what this has been about?” He asks, pulling Joe into his embrace. “You’ve been so weird lately.”

Joe scoffs, but he breathes in deep, taking the scent of Nicky’s soap on his skin. “You’ve been weird.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Yeah, you have,” he pulls out a little, just enough to look Nicky in the eyes. “Even Nile noticed.”

“How do you mean?”

“How you’ve been avoiding us and been skittish about this area,” he points it out by trying to stick his hands under the hem of Nicky’s shirt, and he’s stopped once again. “See?”

Nicky shakes his head. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” He turns his back on Joe and goes back to the front of the mirror to comb his hair.

“Okay, now I’m worried and a half.” He steps up behind Nicky, hugging his shoulders and addressing him through the mirror. “Since when do you deny my touches?”

Nicky averts his gaze. “I’m just worried we might be late.”

“Late for what?”

“Didn’t you want to walk around and buy fruit? Stands close, you know,” he snaps.

“Caro.”

Nicky sighs. He sits on the bed. “What do you want me to say?”

Joe sits next to him and takes one of his hands into his own. “What’s bothering you, for starters.”

Nicky shakes his head. He looks away when he says. “I just don’t want you messing around with my stomach, alright. How’s that weird?”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he snaps again. Tears are welling in those green eyes, and Joe feels like throwing up again. Nicky is hurt, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. “Just drop it, please?”

“What’s wrong with your stomach, bello?” He pushes it, he knows he’s pushing it, but Nicky can be too stubborn for his own good. “Is it hurting? Do you think you might be sick?”

“It’s not about that,” he runs a hand through his hair, exasperated. “It’s just gross, is all.”

Joe frowns. “What is?”

“It,” Nicky mumbles, looking away.

It takes Joe a second too long to get it.

“Your stomach is gross? Is that what you’re saying?” Nicky’s silent; he wipes away a tear. 

Joe takes him in his arms. “Caro mio, since when?” He kisses Nicky’s forehead, rocking him in his embrace. “There isn’t a single part of you that wasn’t sculpted by God himself.”

Nicky scoffs and tries to squirm away from his embrace. “You say that, but that was before.”

“Before what?”

Nicky grabs his own stomach, pinching it with a cruelty Joe had never seen before. “Before this.”

Silence.

Joe watches the scene unfurl, but doesn’t say anything. He’s still confused. There’s nothing he can immediately see that would be classified as “gross”.

“I’ve noticed the way people have been looking at me,” Nicky says, his voice small. “And everyone’s comments about my eating haven’t helped, and I get it, and I’m taking care of it, so let’s just go, okay? Let’s go for that walk, and we’ll have soup for dinner.”

Realization dawns on him far too late.

“Oh, Nicòlo,” he says, grief in every syllable. He reaches for Nicky’s hands, but he looks away again, removing his hands.

“No, don’t,” he says, voice tight. “Don’t do that, don’t do the pity thing. I’m fine, I’m going to change back to how I was, and this will stay behind us.”

“Nicky, there’s nothing to change,” he says, desperate now. “How could you think I��d feel any different about you—”

“It’s not about you!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He licks his lips and tries again. “I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, but I promise you that all I see is the man I love.”

Nicky shakes his head. Says dismissively, “I know.”

“I don’t think you do,” Joe retorts, placing a hand over his husband’s thigh. “I have loved and desired every part of your body for over a millennium now, and I can’t remember a single time when you weren’t the sexiest person in the room.”

“Shut up,” he says, in a small voice, but he’s smiling.

“It’s true!” Joe exclaims, hopeful. Seems as though a wall between them is crumbling. “I wanted you in that desert, a thousand years ago, while you were covered in blood, piss, and shit. And your head was full of lice, remember?”

Nicky groans, covering his face with his hand. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“I desired you, even when we were lying in the mud, under the rain, no bath for days in those trenches in 1918,” he points it out by taking Nicky’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “I waited by your side and nursed you as best as I could when you got dysentery and shat yourself to death,” he laughs, wetly, letting his own tears fall now. “There’s nothing you can do, nothing you can say, no way you can change that would make me want or love you any less.”

“It’s not just that,” Nicky says, eyes darting up. He closes them as he goes on, “I know my weight isn’t just hard to look at. It’s been getting in the way of the missions, too. I’m not as fast or as spry as I used to be.”

“Hasn’t gotten in the way so far,” Joe corrects him. “But if it bothers you so much, we can work on it. I can help you with that, but don’t hide yourself like that anymore. You have nothing to hide. Especially from me.”

—

Later that night, Nicky is cooking for them when Joe walks out of his shower. 

“Hmm, looks good enough to eat,” he says, embracing Nicky from behind. He bites the back of Nicky’s neck, who melts under his touch, and adds, “The food looks good too, I guess.”

“Stop,” Nicky giggles. “You’re gonna make me burn my arm.”

Joe nuzzles his neck. “I’m not even hungry,” he says, voice dropping low. He cards his fingers through Nicky’s hair, flattening his hand against his scalp and pulling, just the way he knows makes him purr. 

“Joe,” Nicky breathes out. 

“Turn the stove off,” he tells him, between open-mouthed kisses at the base of his neck. “I want to christen that bed.”

—

They stumble together through the door to their room, giggling, kissing, cursing when they bump into things.

“Been too long,” Joe mumbles against Nicky’s mouth, a possessive arm around him. His other hand fumbles on the wall, trying to hit the switch.

He feels Nicky tense in his arms. Joe freezes.

“Are you okay?” He asks, searching Nicky’s eyes. “We can do this with the lights off if you want,” he places a soft kiss over one side of Nicky’s face. “But I’d like to see you, if it’s okay with you.”

“It’s not flat like you remember it,” Nicky says in a small voice. “You might not like it.”

Joe’s lips drag down, teeth scraping against Nicky’s jaw. “That’s impossible.” He toys with the strings on the front of Nicky’s sweatpants. “I’m sure you’re as appetizing as ever.” He hooks two fingers over the waistband and grins when Nicky’s breath hitches. “Let me see, habibi,” he asks, teasing the shell of Nicky’s ear. “Let me touch you, let me taste you.”

A strangled sound comes from deep inside Nicky’s throat, his hands grabbing Joe’s shoulders so hard, they’re probably leaving imprints. Good.

“You’re the worst,” Nicky whines, his body tensing up even further.

Okay, boundaries.

“That’s alright, habibi,” Joe lifts his head again, forehead rubbing against Nicky’s. “We’ll go on your pace,” he adds some pressure to his touch, walking them backwards against the wall. “Lights on or off, I don’t care. I just need to have you or I’m losing my mind,” he laughs, kissing his husband again.

Nicky relaxes. He’s the one who deepens the kiss, hand coming up to hold Joe’s face. His tongue licks the seams of Joe’s lips before diving in quickly, pulling back and biting his bottom lip. Hard.

Joe can’t help but chuckle. “Good, I thought it was just me,” he wraps his arms around Nicky, scraping his short nails over his smooth, expansive back.

“Not just you,” chin, jaw, neck. Anywhere Nicky can reach with his mouth, as if he’s drinking Joe in, after thirsting for so long. It unties a knot that’d been growing deep inside him. An insecurity, he realizes, that was hidden even from himself: that maybe Nicky didn’t desire him anymore.

He does, though, and the bulge pressing against his own is more than proof enough.

“I should turn you around and fuck you just like this,” he says, voice low and guttural, arms coming up to frame Nicky’s face. “Make up for all those weeks without.”

Nicky whimpers, his hands running down Joe’s back until they slide inside his shorts. He grabs Joe’s ass like he’s never had the chance to and wants to seize the opportunity before it’s gone. Joe grunts and bucks his hips against Nicky’s, making them both moan at the contact.

Joe has no intention to do it, obviously. It’s been too long since they’ve done anything, and healing powers or not, there’s no way he’d hurt Nicky like this. No, not tonight. They’ll have time for this in the upcoming days.

Instead, he distracts Nicky by sliding a hand down his sides, running his fingers over the waistband of his sweatpants until finally, finally, he gets to cup him through his pants. Nicky’s cock is hard, warm, and fills up Joe’s hand in a way that makes his mouth water. He rubs his hand over it, adding the kind of pressure he knows Nicky likes, and drinks in every moan, every sob, every gasp.

“I could never not want you,” he says without thinking, biting Nicky’s shoulder.

“Yeah?” Comes the breathless response.

“Absolutely, Caro Mio,” he purrs, dragging his teeth over his pulse point, then lapping at it with his tongue. “I wanted you badly before we even met,” his fingers trail lower, teasing Nicky’s balls as well. “Your scent, your voice, the sight of you,” he sinks to his knees, eyes locked with Nicky’s. 

Nicky, who’s staring him down like a tiger spotting its next meal. Joe smirks. “The taste of you,” he says, mouthing Nicky’s cock through his sweatpants. A grunt. “Hmm, I could never get enough.”

Nicky’s hands come up to comb through his hair. It’s such a soft touch amid their heated fumbling. “I love you.”

Joe smiles up at him. “Yeah, I love you too,” he pulls Nicky’s pants down with no finesse. “Almost as much as I love him, hiiii.”

Nicky’s boasting laugh is infectious. It’s the loveliest sound Joe’s ever heard. It’s a balm on his soul.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, trying to catch his breath.

“I’m ridiculous? You’re the one laughing your ass off with your cock out, at full mast, right in a man’s face!” 

Nicky giggles and sways his hips, making his cockle bobble a little. “And what are you going to do about that?”

Joe replies by smirking up at him as he wraps his hand around it, massaging it, his thumb pressing just under the head.

“Fuck,” Nicky gasps, hitting his head against the wall. “Fuck, Joe—”

“Yeah, that’s the idea, at some point,” he jokes, then licks a broad stripe from base to glans, lapping at the head, before taking it into his mouth.

“I can’t believe you’re moaning from this,” Nicky lets out a strangled laugh.

“Hm?” Joe lets it slide out of his mouth, but he keeps stroking the base. “I hadn’t even noticed I was doing it.”

“Don’t stop.”

Joe doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes Nicky’s cock back in, pressing his tongue on its underside as it slides in. He sucks in earnest, hollowing his cheeks, and is rewarded with Nicky’s hips bucking up.

Joe puts a hand to his navel to steady him and hold him back.

Nicky doesn’t freeze or tense, like before. He’s still pressing his head back against the wall, eyes shut, biting his lip. The hands in Joe’s hair have stopped petting and have moved on to pulling hard.

Emboldened, Joe continues to work the cock in his mouth like it’s the best meal he’s eaten all week. Meanwhile, he curls the fingers on Nicky’s navel, caressing the spot. He watches him, careful not to push those boundaries too hard.

Nicky opened his eyes, watching him. He hasn’t stopped him, though.

Joe sticks his hand under Nicky’s shirt, sliding his hand over Nicky’s belly. 

A gasp. 

Joe looks up—and how ridiculous he must look, all worried puppy eyes, while a long, thick cock fills his pretty mouth—, waiting for any signs that he should stop or proceed. 

Nicky nods, almost imperceptibly. It’s all Joe needs.

He stops his actions and hugs Nicky’s waist, pressing his face to Nicky’s navel. He kisses the skin there with what he hopes Nicky can recognize as nothing but love and devotion.

“Take it off for me, habibi,” he begs, lips still pressed to all that warm skin. “Lemme see you and love you completely.”

He half expects his husband might need further encouragement. To his surprise, though, Nicky removes the shirt in one swift move.

Joe grins and rewards him by biting him softly on the meaty spot. 

He has to blink and look away, though, when the room suddenly floods with white light.

“Ah, habibi,” he says, genuinely happy. He tickles his sides and gets up, taking Nicky by the hand. 

“Come on, let’s do this right.”

He helps Nicky out of his pants and underwear and sits him on the edge of the bed. When it’s his turn, Joe makes a show of removing his shirt and tossing it to the side, the way he knows Nicky likes to watch. His shorts go next, and his chest swells with pride when he catches Nicky’s hungry stare at his cock.

When he tries to reach for it, though, Joe puts his hand down. “We’ll have time for that,” he winks. “But it’s still my turn.”

He goes down on his knees again, between Nicky’s spread legs. They’re face to face, and the moment feels charged. Solemn, somehow.

Joe hugs Nicky, resting his head against his chest. The skin-on-skin contact feels amazing, and it nearly overwhelms him when he realizes how much he’s missed this. Just hugging his husband naked.

They kiss. It’s slow and lazy and says all the things they’ve both meant to tell each other these past few weeks. 

Joe tips Nicky down, who flops back on the bed, giggling. His chest rises and falls with it, his belly pooling over his stomach.

Joe lands open open-mouthed kiss, tongue first, over the flesh there. Nicky sucks in a breath, hands coming up to grab his face.

“You’re magnificent,” he says, biting just under Nicky’s belly button. On a whim, he runs his tongue there, knowing it both squicks and excites Nicky when he does it. 

“Thanks,” Nicky giggles again, swatting at his head.

“I mean it,” another kiss. “There’s so much skin and flesh to play with, I feel like I truly am at Disneyland!”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” and to make his point across, he sucks in a spot just above his left hip. He delights in the gasp Nicky lets out, the way he arches his back, giving himself in. “It’s not flattery, I’m just being a selfish asshole right now. Never hide all of this delicious flesh from me again.”

Joe continues his explorations, teasing, biting, and kissing, until he makes it back to his original destination. He stops just short of actually doing something about it.

“You know,” he says, trying to sound casual. “This angle would be perfect for something we haven’t done in a while.”

“We haven’t done anything in a while.”

“True,” he runs his nails under Nicky’s left thigh and gets his arm swatted for his troubles. Still, he scoops up that leg and hooks it over his shoulder. “But if angled it like this,” he kisses the inner thigh framing his face. “You could fuck my face, couldn’t you?” he finishes, wiggling his eyebrows.

“God, yes.”

Joe beams at him, adjusting himself in a more comfortable position. When he’s done, he leans forward and takes Nicky into his mouth once again.

He barely has any time to relax the muscles in his throat before Nicky is thrusting in earnest. It hits the back of his throat, hard, and he needs to concentrate on breathing through his nose. The Truth is, Nicky is almost too big for them to play like this, and tears start prickling his eyes from the effort to keep his gag reflex and breathing under control.

It’s blissful. 

Joe makes sure to encourage his beloved. Not only with the sounds he makes, but also with his touches. He caresses the sides of his thighs, leans forward when Nicky pulls back out, and braces him when necessary.

It’s not long at all before Nicky’s breathing starts coming out faster, stuttered, and his grunting gets louder. Joe relaxes his jaw, allowing him to pull gracefully, and closes his eyes in expectation.

He feels Nicky painting him on the cheeks, mouth, and hair. It’s exhilarating. 

Nicky drops his legs, letting them fall on either side of Joe’s, who’s climbing into bed with him. He tries to kiss him, but Nicky stops him, fake-horrified.

“Don’t,” he giggles, turning his face away. “Wipe that off,” he says, offering Joe the corner of the sheet. 

“Awww, you don’t love me,” he jokes, but wipes himself off anyway.

“How do you want it?” Nicky asks him, pointing at Joe’s still hard cock. 

Joe pulls his husband closer, spooning him. “I want to catch my breath,” he says, against Nicky’s hair. “But after that, I’d like you to ride me, if you’re up for it.”

Nicky reaches back around, tapping Joe’s hips. “Maybe not riding, ‘cause I’m exhausted. But this,” he says, wiggling his hips and chuckling when Joe whines. “This feels nice.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Joe’s almost drifting into sleep, absolutely wrecked from the day and recent activities, when he hears Nicky’s soft voice telling him:

“Thank you.”

He refuses to answer. There’s nothing Nicky should be thanking him for.

(Except for a mindblowing orgasm).