#and that's kind of reflective of my own early experience wondering if I was just afraid of intimacy or if i was really ace

[starpros-sunshine]

I exist in this weird personality limbo where i somehow have so little sense of an individual self that that over time warped into. whatever this is. I have something going on here i'm sure but I am 99% sure that it's either indescribable or just very difficult to define beyond "Nice with an interesting sense of humour"

[starlightomatic]

Hi! I saw your tags on unlearning zionism and I was wondering if you've ever spoken about that/the kind of processing you had to do? I think it's... Interesting (for lack of a better word) how this is a sentiment I've seen reflected on pretty much all explicitly non-zionist Jewish blogs I follow, and how much that reflects both how closely entwined the concept and Jewishness has become and the fierce zionism in some people.

Obviously you're free to not discuss this at all, I also understand it's deeply personal. (I'm also not intending to make anyone change their mind, I believe this is a process Jewish people should be afforded on their own terms; I'm really just trying to understand where they're coming from). ♥️

The tl;dr was through talking to people, breaking my rigidities, and being lucky enough to encounter people who were kind, committed to dialogue, and not dismissive.

Longer version under the cut.

In winter 2019 I started dating a non-zionist, so a lot of the early stuff was through conversations with them.

Here are the specific things I recall through them:

They validated my experience of having felt traumatized by a negative experience I had at a protest. I felt very on the defense, and dismissed, as a zionist who wanted to be in leftist spaces and they validated that. I don't know if they were faking it or not, but it felt real, and being heard and not dismissed was super important to building trust and safety. Ultimately, building trust and safety was the most important thing.

They would sometimes patiently poke holes in things I said. Matter of factly, not confrontationally. For example, once I said I didn't like the separation wall dividing Israel proper from the West Bank but that it was necessary to prevent terrorist attacks, and they were like "no, that wasn't the wall, it was a change in PA policy." Another time I was like "I don't understand [West Bank] settlers, if they want to be pioneers and settle more land they should settle the Negev, where they're not encroaching on Palestinians!" and they explained to me more about the situation between Israel and Bedouins and how that actually still would involve encroaching/displacement.

They're very religious, and so they had the tools to poke into my "but just open a siddur! you can see all the references to returning to Jerusalem!" and discuss how that differed from and predated zionism the political ideology. They were able to break through my dismissiveness/derision of Chareidi antizionism and help me understand that it has legitimate religious underpinnings. (They're not Chareidi though.) They affirmed for me that they do feel connected to Eretz Yisrael and they love Eretz Yisrael.

They also explained that indigenous doesn't mean "from a place" but rather describes a relationship to colonialism. It still didn't totally click for me, and they and I have both since come to understand that there are a lot of definitions of indigenous, but what it did help me understand was that when people push back against "Jews are indigenous to EY" they're not always trying to say we're not from there.

In general it helped me break down what I thought an antizionist was. I thought that an antizionist was someone who didn't think Jews had a meaningful spiritual and communal connection to EY, thought we weren't from there, didn't give a shit if all Israeli Jews ended up pushed into the sea, hadn't opened a siddur to see references to return to Jerusalem, etc. I was also pretty rigid in my thinking and had collected a bunch of talking points, mostly that I'd co-created with other members of Jewbook (Jewish facebook). They helped me break out of that rigidity and once I'd done that I was open to learning more.

What happened next is that in fall 2019 is I did a fellowship that, while unrelated to the topic, put me in contact with other Jewish antizionists.

There was one person whose project we visited during an outing on the fellowship, who had discussed their project's antizionism. I was bothered by it and asked them one question: Did they feel Jews were connected to Eretz Yisrael? Did they feel connected to Eretz Yisrael? They responded yes of course.

Another person was my roommate on the fellowship, a leftist antizionist Syrian Jew. For a while one of my sticking points had been Mizrahi support of Zionism -- my thought process here had a few pieces. One, it seemed like white privilege to go against what most Israeli Jews of color believed and wanted. Another was that I felt that a lot of antizionists were dismissive of and racist towards Mizrahim and don't understand or care to understand their needs, history, or motivations (I do still think that's true). I also saw the expulsions from SWANA and the fact that Israel took in the SWANA Jewish refugees as proof of the necessity of Zionism.

So, I think that interacting with a Mizrahi antizionist both taught me expanded perspectives on the issue, and taught me that it's possible to be antizionist and still in solidarity with Mizrahim. I learned more nuance, for example around Israel's taking in of the refugees; I knew they had been mistreated, but I think it helped me connect the dots about what that meant about the entire Zionist project. That was also the year A-WA's album Bayti fi Rasi came out, and when I listened to Hana Mash Hu Al Yaman, I think that's when it clicked for me that Israel taking them in was not some sort of miracle or blessing in disguise but rather a last resort for people who did not want to go but had no choice. The main characters in that song wanted to stay in Yemen which is I think something that hadn't clicked for me before. That may not be the majority Mizrahi perspective but it is a perspective and one I hadn't previously considered.

By the same token, my partner at the time (the one I talked about at the beginning of the post) was raised as a Yiddish speaker, and we talked about Yiddish suppression during the early days of the state, as well as Ben Yehuda's disdain for Yiddish, and the general early Zionist disdain for Eastern European Jewry and "old world" Jewish culture. I was already aware of the New Jew concept (the idea that the old Jew was studious and unathletic, but we should put that behind us to become strong and agricultural). They helped me frame this in terms of antisemitism, connecting it to the vitriol Chassidim receive from other Jews, antisemitism directed towards Jewish men and the ways it's about gender and goyish and Jewish constructions of masculinity, anti-circ rhetoric that depends on the Hellenistic idea of the body as perfection, and Naomi Klein's analysis of the dislike of Yiddish by Ben Yehuda et al as sexist due to their association of it as "feminine" and therefore lesser.

We also talked about the ways that Zionism devalues diaspora culture. I definitely see this in the ways that eg Jewbook zionists used to see the Ashkenazi past in Eastern Europe as simply a time of pogroms and violence with nothing generative or valuable. It seems that zionism posits Israel and Israeli culture as the "right" or "completed" version of Judaism, and discourages us from mourning the loss of culture we experienced during the Holocaust and our subsequent exodus.

I think there is nuance here; there are Israeli Yiddishists, there are people practicing all kinds of diaspora Jewish cultures in Israel, etc. I think this is a case where antizionists take something real and over emphasize it to sound bigger and more harmful than it is. It's not Israel's fault that European Jewry got destroyed and it's not Israel's fault that A-WA's family had to leave Yemen. Sometimes it feels like antizionist project those harms onto Israel and Zionism.

At the same time though, there is a kernel of truth in the way at least that many North American zionists view Ashkenazi culture, thought I can't say how much of that is their Zionism and how much is the legacy of American assimilationism (even among religious Jews).

In any case, 2020 is when I started on my journey to deepen my understanding of old world Ashkenazi culture and history. I started with a day spent in the kids' section of the Yiddish Book Center using the beginner education resources there to start teaching myself Yiddish (I had a lot of familiarity because my extended family speaks it, but I didn't yet). About half a second later the pandemic started, and the chaos from that took all my attention for a while, but by the end of the summer I did a deep dive on my genealogy and spent two weeks tracking down documents and names and towns. At that point my family history was no longer abstract, and I started wondering more about what their lives were like in the old country.

I started watching Yiddish plays on zoom, including a production of the Dybbuk that I fell in love with. I got involved in the shtetlcore movement, which was a social media aesthetic fad that was basically the shtetl version of cottagecore. That spring the duolingo Yiddish course came out and I did a six month streak. The following winter I went to a virtual Yiddish conference. I went again two more times in person, and last summer I went to a week-long retreat where we were only allowed to speak Yiddish. I also do Yiddish drag and burlesque.

With this emphasis and knowledge it's hard for me to accept any framing that the only "right" place for Jews to live is Israel, or that diaspora cultures are lesser-than. At some point I encountered a belief among some zionists (though I don't think most believe this) that the Jewish people's differentiation into a myriad of different cultures was a bad thing, and constituted negatively picking up pieces of non-Jewish culture, and that it's good we're back together in Israel so we can become just one culture again. I obviously strongly disagree and I while I wish we had not had to experience the trauma of Khorban Beis Hamikdash and the ensuing displacement, I think the variety of different cultures we split into is beautiful.

Ironically, Israel is actually a place of great cultural exchange between those cultures. And yes, I do worry there will be cultural loss if everything blends together melting pot style, but that's more of a function of how societies work as opposed to official state policy. And I also think the Jewish subcultures will endure. Also the cultural loss is the fault of the Holocaust, the Soviet Union, and nationalist SWANA countries way way more than it is Israel's.

At this point I've come to view the idea that Zionism is detrimental to Jewish culture as weak, but I still am not a Zionist, and that's because the issue with Zionism is not that it harms Jews but that it harms Palestinians.

In early summer 2020, I, along with many other white people were called to reckon with the realities of white supremacy in the US, and our part in it, far more deeply than we had before. I learned to understand how racism functions as a pillar of the US's underpinnings, how white supremacy morphs to sustain itself, how I as an individual and Jews as a group were being used to maintain white supremacy. It fundamentally shifted how I view these topics and how I understand the way that states function.

It was impossible not to apply these concepts to Israel-Palestine. While it is obviously not a one-to-one comparison and I am frustrated with folks who seem to think it is, the concepts and analyses I learned in June 2020 were very elucidating in understanding Israel as a state, and how white supremacy and Jewish supremacy operate in Israel-Palestine.

One of those concepts is a deeper understanding of power dynamics and the oppressed-oppressor relationship. While that is not the be-all end-all, and it is still possible for an oppressed group to do harm and commit war crimes (as they did on Oct 7), it helped me understand the ways it makes no sense to view Palestinians and Israelis as equal parties or to view Palestinians as "the aggressor" as many zionists do. Riots are the language of the unheard and, yes, so is violence. Do not imagine that I excuse, condone, or celebrate Oct 7, but I understand why it happened.

These past seven months have forced a magnifying glass on Israel-Palestine and I have spent a lot of time thinking and talking about it. I have had many experiences and interactions that have illuminated different things to me, but I'll leave you with this one.

In 1956, a young man named Ro'i Rothberg was killed in Kibbutz Nahal Oz by Palestinians who lived in Gaza. Moshe Dayan came to give a eulogy and in it, he said:

Why should we declare their burning hatred for us? For eight years they have been sitting in the refugee camps in Gaza, and before their eyes we have been transforming the lands and the villages, where they and their fathers dwelt, into our estate.

Which is to say, he is stating point blank that the Nakba happened, and that Nahal Oz -- and in fact Israel -- is built on land that had been farmed and inhabited by Palestinians. The hasbarist canard of "we didn't steal their land" falls away when Moshe Dayan himself admits it, doesn't it?

He is acknowledging, also, that he understands why the people of Gaza are enraged, and why some of them express this rage as violence. He gives his solution: That the Israeli people, and especially the people of Nahal Oz, must always be on their guard. Must never become peaceniks and forget the rage of the people of Gaza. He says "we are a generation that settles the land and without the steel helmet and the cannon's maw, we will not be able to plant a tree and build a home."

His vision is of an Israel that is always militarized and militant, always on its guard, never to know peace. A people who will send their children to the army generation after generation after generation. Never to rest. Never to be able to lower their guard.

And that is awful! Not just for Palestinians, but for Israelis! Dayan lays out here that if the Nakba is not redressed, this will continue forever. He wants it to continue forever; I want the Nakba redressed.

He knew Nahal Oz would be attacked again. And he was right. On the morning of Simchat Torah of this year, 5784, twelve residents of the kibbutz were brutally murdered. A family that my family knows hid there in their bomb shelter for ten hours with their small children until they were rescued. The kibbutz was destroyed.

And Moshe Dayan knew it would happen, all the way back in 1956. And yet did nothing to change our trajectory. I cannot forgive him that.

In the months since the destruction of Nahal Oz, we have seen Gaza pummeled with a terrifying vengeance. For years I have encountered, albeit few and far between, people who have clammored for Gaza to be "turned into a parking lot." I was horrified by them, but did not take seriously the threat they represented. Yet now, their genocidal flowers have borne fruit. Gaza lies in ruins. 60% of the roads and infrastructure are destroyed. The descendants of refugees are refugees again, chased from their homes by the descendants of refugees. The live in tents, they scrabble for water and food. They live under threat of bombing, or being shot, or dying of illness and malnutrition.

And still Nahal Oz remains destroyed. The Jewish dead of Europe remain dead. The synagogues of Tunis and Algiers remain empty. Nothing is fixed, only more and more broken.

Is it to continue this way? Is this the world we want?

I say no. I say another world is possible. And on a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.

[feyhunter78]

Pink Pastels Pt 17

Description: It's a three-day weekend, so you go out dancing, run into Miguel, and Gabi does her own investigating.

Pt 18

You’re really not sure how you didn’t make the connection between Miguel and Spiderman before. They have the same build, similar voices, they do that same head tilt thing, and they call you cariño, along with a few other heart-stopping petnames.

“Y/N, y/n, earth to y/n.” Janey is waving her hand in front of your face, her bag on her shoulder.

You snap back to reality and scroll past the news footage of Spiderman saving a bus full of senior citizens. “Yeah, sorry, I’m listening.”

“Are you? Because Principal Alan just emailed us saying a water line broke, so school is canceled tomorrow, and I was trying to tell you about it.”

“Really? So, we get a three-day weekend?” You set down your phone, face down, so you aren’t tempted to pick it back up and obsessively search for more footage of Spiderman.

“Yeah, so I’m thinking we go out tonight?” Janey suggests a mischievous expression on her face.

“Oh no, no, are we going to one of those weird clubs where all the drinks aren’t called what they actually are, and the DJ wears a mask or something weird like that?”

Janey rolls her eyes playfully. “I take you to one speakeasy that’s a little weird—”

“A little? Janey, people were having sex just like, on the floor.”

“That is not usually a part of it, that was really weird.” Janey admits, giving you an apologetic smile. “But still, I know this new club, it’s really cool, and not weird at all.”

Janey is a liar. The club is super weird. All the employees are dressed in an odd sequined fabric, the drinks are dirt cheap, the DJ keeps switching up the songs halfway through, and the whole place is housed in an abandoned hospital.

“Janey, this place blows, can we please leave?” You shout over the music, trying to pretend you’re not grossed out by the couple making out on a decades old hospital bed.

“It’s an experience, y/n, just relax, have another drink, if the music doesn’t get better by the time, it’s midnight we’ll leave.”

You look at your phone, it’s eleven thirty now, you can tough it out for thirty more minutes.

“Okay, but you get my drink, and I’ll save our spot.”

Janey smiles and thanks you, then disappears into the crowd.

You sway to the music, watching the others around you. Everyone seems to be having a lot more fun than you. Then the song changes, the bass so loud you feel it in your chest.

Janey returns and hands you your drink. You both clink your plastic cups together and down them.

“Oh, that is so bad, ew, ew, ew, what the fuck was in that gasoline?” Janey crinkles her nose, coughing into her elbow.

Yours was pretty bad too, but you’re used to drinking shitty drinks from your time with Todd.

“Let’s just dance, I kind of like this song.” You say, holding your hands out to Janey and pulling her further into the crowd.

You leave the club right at midnight, pleasantly buzzed but not drunk, and you two share a cab back to your apartments, with Janey promising that next time she’ll pick a better place.

You wave goodbye and take the elevator up to your apartment, smoothing out your dress in the reflection on the doors. Tight, low cut, a gorgeous color, you love this dress because you just look so damn good in it.

Part of you wonders what Miguel would think of it. You toy with the idea of knocking on his door, pretending you need his help with something but think better of it. It’s midnight, Gabi is most definitely asleep, you don’t want to accidentally wake her up and have her see you in a clubbing outfit.

The elevator doors ding, you step out, and run straight into Miguel.

He looks you up and down, then cocks an eyebrow. “Night out?”

You try to subtly tug down your skirt. “Yeah, but it was kind of lame, so we left early.”

His eyes flicker behind you. “We?”

“Janey and I.”

He visibly relaxes and stretches his arms behind his head. “Can’t sleep, thought I’d go for a run.”

Your eyes drink in the bend of his arms, the flexing of his muscles through the long sleeves of his form fitting gray shirt.

You want him bad, so bad you start to open your mouth to say something you’ll blame on the alcohol flooding through your system, then you remember Gabi’s face. How she clung to you crying, how scared she was that you’d never come back.

You can’t mess this up, can’t throw yourself at Miguel just because he’s kind, smart, handsome, a good dad, and he eats pussy like a fucking champ. You have to be smart about this, it’s not just you and him, but you, him, and Gabi. And you will never do anything to hurt Gabi, and you’re sure neither would Miguel.

“That’s too bad, hopefully it’ll tire you out.” You say, forcing yourself to meet his eyes and steady your breathing.

“And what about you? Up for a run?” His voice dips low, and you know exactly what he’s asking.

“I can’t.” You say even as you scream internally, the parts of your brain fueled by lust cussing you out six ways to Sunday. “I’m so beat, and I’ve been drinking, it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Miguel scans you once more, then nods. “Take an Advil before you go to bed, I’m making you breakfast, I’ll see you at ten.”

You buffer for a moment. Is he asking you out on a date?

“If you’d like, no pressure.” He backtracks, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression sheepish and nervous?

Is Miguel O’Hara nervous?

You step closer to him and brush your painted lips across his cheek, leaving a perfect imprint of your lips, the pink of your lipstick complimenting his tanned skin. “I’d like that. I’ll see you at ten.”

Then you slip into your apartment, flop down onto your couch, and scream into the nearest pillow.

“Lyla?”

“Yeah, Gabi?” Lyla pops into the room, her form dimmed to match the low light of her room.

“Is Papá here?”

“It looks like he’s in the hallway with y/n, do you want me to tell him you’re awake?” She’s sitting beside Gabi’s bed now, a concerned look on her face.

Gabi turns onto her back, staring up at the glow in the dark stars on her ceiling. “No, it’s okay.”

Lyla hums in response. “Anything else kiddo?”

“Can you see if Ms. Y/N is single?”

“Sure, one second.”

Gabi hugs her bear tighter as she waits.

“She is, and it looks like…oh, ya know what, maybe your dad should tell you this stuff.”

“Lyla, come on, I thought you were cool.” Gabi pouts, sitting up in her bed and staring at Lyla’s shifting form.

“Ugh, okay but, promise me you’ll tell your dad you heard about this on the news or something.”

“I promise.” Gabi says, rubbing at her eyes, sleep already pulling at her, beckoning her back to dreamland.

“Todd Jameson, twenty-six, found dead in the Brooklyn River. Apparently, he was pretty scratched up, but that was probably from the stuff that was in the river.” Lyla bites her lip then continues. “Anyways in other news, a water pipe burst in your school, so you get a three-day weekend! That’s super exciting, congrats, kiddo.”

“No school tomorrow, yay.” Gabi yawns and lays back down, snuggling closer to Oso.

“Yep, no school, so just get some sleep, okay? Don’t think about anything but how much fun you’re gonna have with your dad on this three-day weekend.” Lyla urges, her tone soft as Gabi drifts off to sleep.

“Promise me you’ll tell Papá that Ms. Y/N is single.” Gabi insists, fighting sleep like a wild honey badger.

“I will, I promise. Now sleep, three-day weekend.”

“Three day weekend.” Gabi whispers, her head drooping, and her breathing evening out as Lyla dissipates from the room.

Miguel checks his watch to see a message from Lyla.

You couldn’t have been any more subtle with his death, could you?

He chuckles and dons his suit. Looks like he needs to get rid of a body.

Posting this while I wait for my flight bc I couldn’t wait any longer to get it to y’all!!!!

Tag list: @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia, @witchy-lizard, @cxmeiloorun7, @justrandomlolidk, @chimpkinnuggies, @alicefallsintotherabbithole, @loser-alert, @wwwellacom, @ryantryan6969, @lollipopin, @blakeaha, @a-cult-leader, @verexi, @purpleskiesandroses, @they2luv1naia, @sophiaj650, @idolautism, @rheannajrs, @merakiq, @rexs-wife, @sukaretto-n, @twilight-loveer, @f1shb0nez, @callsign-blue

[grapejuicestyless]

But I’m Kind Of Green

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: April showers bring May flowers. As the warm spring air carries in a warmth you and Harry haven’t felt for months, you spend the day basking in the sunlight and admiring the things you couldn’t really see in the dark winter.

The grass underneath my fingertips tickles my skin as I wrap my knuckles around the roots a tug. Soft sounds of squeaking filling the silence that lingers between us. The silence is never awkward, nor is it heavy. Our eyes flicker between each others faces and our hands narrowly avoid the others in the freshly cut grass.

“Did you wear sunscreen?” Harry smiles with his front teeth before shaking his head, and his eyes flicker down to my nose for a moment.

“I can tell.”

“Yeah?” He mumbles, scooting his hips closer to mine and tucking his hands beneath his head like a pillow. He rests his hair in his palms.

“You get burnt under your eyes real bad, I can see that coming in. But you’re also getting freckles again.” Harry laughs.

“Anything else?”

I think about it for a second, but decide to just move impossibly closer and place my own palms beneath my head to rest.

“No.”

Harry hums.

“Well, I like being in the sun, we haven’t had weather like this in a while.” He begins, “and I think it’s my favorite kind of weather because it’s easier to see you.”

“How so?” I smile, still searching around his own face. I can feel the heat not only radiating from the sun above but also bouncing off of his body onto mine. It’s a warm blanket of love and comfort wrapping around us in the early may heat.

“In the winter your eyes are brown.”

I raise my brow, blinking more rapidly subconsciously.

“Well, my eyes are brown.” Harry smiles smugly, “Says so on my license too.”

“Well then your license is wrong. Your eyes are hazel.” He smiles proudly, his leg throwing itself over my knee to link us together in yet another way.

“Are they?”

Harry hums, smiling sweet at me and turning to the side completely to admire the way the sun beats down on us. He has a dopey look in his eyes I wish I could capture forever in my memory. A lazy haze that he only gets at this time of the year, when the harsh winter is transitioning into a breezy summer.

“Yep. But you can only tell in the sun. They look plain brown in the dark, but when we lay out like we are now you’re green all over. Not to say I don’t like your brown eyes, but I just think it’s interesting because I don’t really get to see the green for that long.” His thumb swipes over my cheek slowly, tracing my cheekbone down to my chin. He sets his hand back under his ear with a shuffle.

“Well, your eyes are just kind of green in the winter but they get really green in the summer. I think that’s pretty cool too. And your hair, it’s darker in January than it is in June.” I laugh under my breath, melting into every lingering touch of Harrys skin to mine.

“I guess we’re both kind of green then. That’s something else we have in common.”

Sometimes when Harry talks to me like this I wonder if I’ve done anything in my life good enough to deserve this. All the love the that pours out of him reflects back onto me so I can send it back over. We sweet talk and laugh like we have no stress in the world and if I cry I know he’ll be the one to hold me. I wonder if there are other people out there who experience the same kind of love we have, if the little things make them feel as giddy as they do for us.

I can feel the laughter bubbling up my throat and through my body with the realization that we both share a but of green in ourselves. I never really noticed the green before Harry pointed it out, and I would have never have known if he hadn’t told me.

In moments like this I wonder how I survived in such a grey and dreary world without Harry by my side. I think back on all of our adventures and think about how boring everything must have been without his warm presence and soft laughter in my ear.

“But I’d still love you if you weren’t.” He adds with a cheeky smile, his hands gripping my waist to lift me over his hips. I lay my head near his and bathe in the may breeze with the people around us and the bees in the leaves.

I think I whisper to him that I love him, but I’m not really sure because now I can only focus on him and all of his greens.

I once lived a life of total winter, darkness clouding my eyes, but now I see the world the way I think I should have always been seeing it. Because summers are more fun and the winters are shorter. Brown eyes are nice, but I’m kind of green and so is Harry.

[aether-starlight]

Sunrise - Rafayel

Pairing: Rafayel x Reader

Warnings: none.

Summary: You visit Rafayel in your day off, and he asks you to watch the sunrise with him.

Word count: 1k-ish?

It was a warm day, uncharacteristically clear and sunny. There were no energy fluctuations and you were off duty —at the cost of the stitches on your side and a sore back, but you wouldn’t look a gifted horse in the mouth.

It must have been the strangeness of it all that made you visit Rafayel of your own volition, a quick call to let him know before leaving your house.

“Aw, miss me already?” 

“More like missing your absurdly expensive sofa.”

You could hear his smile from the other side of the line.

“What if I sold it? Would you sit on the floor with me?” 

“Maybe. Would you lend me your shoulder to rest my head on?” 

“I would lend you my heart if you asked nicely,” he flirted, playful and infuriatingly charming. 

You laughed, accommodating the take out bags in your free hand.

“Right now I only need your hands to open the door. I come bearing gifts.”

-

Once your bellies were full with Frutti Di Mare and a cup of Rafayel’s wine from half across the world and double the aging, you found yourself sitting by his side on the beach.

He was thankfully wearing a light, white shirt and loose navy pants, hair tousled in a way that felt oddly domestic.

The breeze was kind against your cheeks, and it wasn’t too crowded, nostalgic with the occasional laughter from children over the crashing waves.

“I woke up really early today,” Rafayel commented after a moment of contemplation. “Like, unnaturally early.”

You huffed, still admiring the horizon. It was close to sunset, and the sky was an explosion of yellow, orange, and lilac.

“Congratulations?” 

His following sigh rivaled the one of a martyr, or perhaps a saint bearing the burden of knowledge. 

“What I’m trying to tell you, Miss Antagonistic, is that I awoke just in time with the sunrise. As I opened my eyes, the sky was like a field of fire. 

“Anything could have been hiding there, a dragon whipping through wheat, or a mischievous fox hiding amongst golden bushes.”

Your full attention was fully on him now.

You’d never say it to his face, but you especially liked how he spoke. It was both whimsical and authentic, something rare.

It awakened a reflective side of you, validated questions formulated years and years ago in your childish mind.

He called your name, playful.

“Watch the sunrise with me?” 

You smiled. What a hopeless romantic.

“Mmm,” you tilted your head to the side, observing him from your shoulder. “I don’t know, what’s in it for me?”

“Beyond the pleasure of my company, you mean?” 

“You must have gotten some seawater in your brain if you think that your company is anything but trouble.” 

He pouted. 

“Don't come then, I’ll watch it with Ren.”

“You mean your pet fish?” You laughed.

Contrasting emotions bloomed in Rafayel’s features, his lips were twisting at the edge of a smile, but his brow was furrowed in annoyance.

“You are a bad, bad woman.”

You just kept on laughing, arms pressing into each other as you leaned against him for support. 

Without knowing why, he felt himself beginning to laugh too.

“What’s so funny?” He complained, irritation crumbling halfway as he felt your warmth seep into his side, chased after the creases forming at the sides of your eyes.

“How would you even get Ren to see, anyway? Were you going to bring his aquarium outside?” 

You leaned closer to meet his gaze, holding back your laughter for the sake of his dignity.

Rafayel felt his breath stutter, drunk on the scent of your perfume—the one he gave you. Even then, it still carried something uniquely yours.

He wished you’d only laugh that way with him, that he could hold on to the sound like a secret. He wanted to hide you from the world, so only he could experience the wonder of being with you.

He was selfish like that.

Your pupils were dilated, mirth dimming into something more as you realized just how close you were. He wasn’t wearing perfume today, so he smelled faintly of oil paint and his face lotion, fresh and almost floral.

“I have my ways,” he murmured.

You smiled again, but there was something different about it, unguarded.

“Liar.” 

“Seriously,” he promised, feeling much too out of breath for someone resting. “I could even show you if you’d like.” 

His hand was pressed to the small of your back. Close like this, he could count the flecks of color in your irises, and study the curve of your lips, the dip of your jaw.

With a mind of its own, your hand rose, pressing a finger to a dot of paint on his cheek. Once it faded, you traced a path from his undereye to the crest of his ear.

“It’s so red,” you teased. “Not so cheeky anymore, are you?”

There was a dazed look in your eyes that made something dangerous flutter in Rafayel’s stomach.

He held your chin between his thumb and his index finger.

“Likewise, Miss Bodyguard. I could get a sample of Perylene Red right out of your face.”

“Oh yeah?” You asked, just as out of breath as he was. “What about my lips?”

Rafayel found himself laughing at your boldness.

His eyebrows raised and dipped in a gesture that was uniquely his, both attractive and aggravating.

“I don’t know, I’d need to have a taste.”

Your blush deepened. 

You closed your eyes and tilted your chin—a silent invitation.

The first kiss was nothing but a peck, tentative and surprisingly sweet. 

“Carmine?” He wondered, lips touching yours with every letter. 

He kissed you again without waiting for a response, deeper, more than a hello, your mouths memorizing the shape of each other. 

He had been wrong. Kissing you wasn’t like floating, it felt like sinking. He was slowly diving, until he couldn’t tell up from down, surrounded by you.

Your hand cradled his jaw, your hair swayed with the wind, brushing against his cheek. 

His world had been reduced to every place your bodies met.

Coming to Linkon City had been a matter of perception, he had thought once. That was before getting to know you again, banter around, touch you. 

With his hands buried in your hair, reveling in the stands sliding between his fingers, everywhere he touched you burned. It stung in a way that made him want to come back for more, run the tips of his fingers through every inch until they became numb.

Now, it was a matter of compulsion. 

“Cadmium Red,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth, already curled into a smile.

“Ultramarine.” He pressed his lips to your cheek, rounded, heated by sunlight.

“Pthalo Blue.” Your eyelids closed only for him, a quiet trust that he vowed to return.

“Burnt Sienna.” The bridge of your nose.

“Lavender.” Your mouth again.

“Rafayel,” you whined. “Stop teasing me.”

He smiled like a cat who had gotten the canary and its whole family too. Somehow, you had ended up on your back, with his arms framing your face.

Your hair, spread like a halo around you, and the color of the sand created a harmony that made his fingers itch for a paintbrush.

The hue of your skin beneath the sunset was romantic and dreamy.

“Never,” he promised, nosing at your neck.

[tgmsunmontue]

Caring, Keeping and Collecting Transformers - A Guide 1/?

Maverick is unknowingly surrounded by Transformers. He knows something is up though. Just not quite what it is exactly.

Bradley and Jake, having never met, are embarking on their own journeys and will have to learn to deal with the fact that they've both been adopted by Transformers.

Despite having years more experience, Maverick is no help at all.

PROLOGUE 1978

                He’s sitting at the table, dragging a spoon through his oatmeal when Nick staggers into the room, scrubbing at his face with one hand and stopping his pants from falling down with the other. His chest is covered in little red bite marks and not so little scratch marks and he raises an eyebrow.

                “Good night?”

                “Wild. Absolute hellcat. Amazing in bed. But man, I really need to cut back on drinking, you know what I thought I saw last night?”

                “What?”

                “You know that new hoover I bought? I swear I saw it change into an insect, like a butterfly, but then I blinked and it was back as a hoover.”

                Pete laughs, points to the hoover standing completely inanimate in the corner of the room.

                “You mean that one?”

                “Yeah… the bag was unfolded into these big wings…”

                “Man, your mind must be a weird and wonderful place and –” he’s about to say he should lay off other stuff as well when he catches movement in the doorway and there’s an attractive woman standing there wearing nothing but one of Nick’s shirts and what he assumes are her own underwear. “Good morning. I can’t believe Nick hasn’t offered you coffee yet. Or introduced us. My name’s Pete, it’s nice to meet you.”

                “Carole, nice to meet you too.”

                Nick’s spluttering about not having time to do introductions, how he was just about to bring her breakfast in bed, but Pete just laughs and decides to make himself scarce for the rest of the morning.

…            …            …

PART ONE – the coming together

                Pete runs his hands over the body work of the Kawsaki Ninja. It’s body is in solid shape, but it’s been customized in some way, the internal bits not like the standard engine, but he can figure it out. He’s good with engines.

                “You’re beautiful… shall we go for a ride?”

                “Oh, we can’t get her to start up…” the mechanic says, walking over and wiping his hands on a rag before shoving it into his back pocket.

                Pete turns the key and the engine immediately thrums into life and he grins.

                “Must have the magic touch.”

…            …            …

                A week later, out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees his bike standing upright, like some kind of robot but when he turns to look properly it’s just his bike and he shakes his head and he convinces himself that he needs to get a proper night sleep. Maybe stay where the sounds of Goose and Carole having sex don't wake him up in the middle of the night.

…            …            …

                The wedding and Bradley being born are highlights for Pete in the early eighties. Carole and he get on really well and he’s so happy, feeling the reflection of joy from his little adopted family. Happy for years so when he loses Goose the sharp and sudden contrast is crushing. The darkness, the guilt, the missing piece… it drags him down. He tries, he really does, knows that the people around him are worried but he can’t bring himself to care.

                He is certain, that the crash, when it happens, should have killed him. He’d been drinking again, not caring about anything much, but instead of dying his bike seems to wrap itself around him like a protective casing and rolls down the hillside. He can hear the scrape of gravel and snapping of branches; he fully expects to never wake up from the injuries he is surely sustaining. A voice close to his ear mutters this is a stupid fucking way to try and die and he lets out a wet laugh. People saw him go over the side, stopped to help and he’s taken to a hospital where he is cleared from anything other than some grazes and bruises. He’s told he’s very lucky, that he must have a guardian angel and he knows that some people are thinking about Goose, but he’s starting to think about his bike.

                When he gets out, his bike is in his garage waiting for him. No one mentioned getting it for him. It’s only been twenty-four hours and his bike is in pristine condition, not even a layer of dust. Like he didn’t even take it out. There is definitely no evidence of the same fall that he experienced, no scratches or scrapes in the body-paint and he runs his hands over the body reverently, not understanding what or how, but knowing that there is something definitely special about it. And for some unexplainable reason it’s chosen him to be with.

                It’s a turning point, he stops drinking so much, squares his shoulders and takes a deep metaphorical breath and begins living his life again. Carole and Bradley are still there. Flying is still there. Weirdly and a little confusingly Iceman is still there, along with Slider, orbiting him like they maybe expect him to explode, touching base regularly but never getting too close.

                Work too settles back into a sense of normalcy, although he makes a few changes to his will to make Bradley his sole beneficiary and Carole his emergency contact. They combine households, his own deployments making it pointless to have his own place when all he wants to do with his leave is spend it with them. He comes back from one deployment to find the old hover in the garage beside his bike and he frowns, carries it back inside to Carole.

                “This was in the garage…”

                “I swear I threw it away. Maybe I was just meaning to throw it away…”

                “Does it not work anymore?” Pete asks.

                “You know, it really does, it’s just so heavy and I can’t be bothered carrying it up and down the stairs so I bought a lighter one.”

                Pete just looks at it, remembers Goose’s grumbling about imagining it turning into something and his fingers tighten around the handle.

                “I’ll keep it in the garage to clean up after myself.”

                “Okay, I’ll believe that when I see it!” Carole teases, but Pete knows she’s teasing because he’s a neat-freak, his years in the Navy not allowing for mess to just lie around. Everything has a place and it needs to be tidied away back to that place when he’s finished with it, whether it’s on a carrier, in his plane or in his garage. He’s had to relax with regards to some of that with Bradley and the fact he’s simply a kid that leaves his things everywhere, but his own bedroom and garage remain safe spaces.

                More years pass and he catches more glimpses of both his bike and the hoover in forms that are definitely not a bike and hoover. He doesn’t mention it to anyone else, doesn’t even know what he could begin to say. He does talk to them though, just quiet murmurings under his breath while he cleans them and studies the internal workings, and the fact it’s so different makes him feel justified that he’s maybe not meant to have seen these types of inner workings. So while he keeps them and talks to them, they never talk back. Never do anything more out of the ordinary and some days he forgets that they are simply not a standard motorbike and hoover.

                He ends up being deployed with a squadron that has both Iceman and Slider and when he ends up in the shower with Iceman, his hand wrapped around both their cocks, some of their previous interactions suddenly make a lot more sense. He has to ignore Slider’s knowing looks for the rest of the deployment, but he also gets the heavy intense gaze of Iceman watching him whenever they’re in the same room and he’d put up with a lot to have that apparently.

                When he gets back Bradley has finished his first year at school and he and Ice have struggled through a talk. About them. And their feelings. It had been horribly awkward, and he’d once had to explain to Goose about why he enjoyed anal sex, but this conversation with Tom takes the new first place in his list of awkward conversations.

                He hopes they never have to have another one.

…            …            …

                Jake is ten when his uncle first brings home the old beaten-up cockpit of some type of plane and gifts it to him as his tenth birthday present, despite his parents’ grumbles about it taking up precious space in the barn. It’s not a cockpit that he recognizes at all, not one anyone recognizes when he asks around, but he doesn’t care. He sits in it and pretends he’s flying, runs his hands over the dials and wonders what they’d look like all lit up. It’s his favorite place to sit and do his homework, to sit and listen to music and also hide away from the world when it gets to be too much.

                He starts doing it up, sanding away rust and buffing the metal to a gleaming shine. When he’s around thirteen he goes out the there are a few parts sitting in a pile just outside the barn door and he takes them inside, has to drag some of them they’re so big. He doesn’t know how to weld, but he knows who to ask to teach him. He can already see how some of the parts are meant to fit together.

                “Where did the spare parts come from?” Jake asks that night over dinner, and his father frowns at him.

                “What parts?”

                “Uh, there was just a… small pile near the barn this morning. I tidied them away,” Jake says, know as long as he keeps the space contained and up in the lofted part out of the way his father doesn’t really care what he does in there.

                “Huh. I don’t know, maybe your Uncle Andy dropped them off?”

                Jake doesn’t think that’s the case at all, but there’s no other explanation that he can think of. As years pass more parts turn up and he no longer asks. There’s something… weird about it. Not bad weird, but definitely odd. He’s older now, knows the inner mechanics of the ranch trucks and his pick-up. He’s visited the airfield and spoken to some of the pilots, asked questions and been interested enough for them to show him the inner workings of the engines. This is nothing like anything he’s seen before, and yet it feels and looks older. So. Weird.

…            …            …

                His mom passes away a week before he turns fifteen. He doesn’t think he will ever be able to have a birthday in the future without remembering the grief of his mom dying. Pete and Tom are great, but they’re not his mom.

…            …            …

                Sally stretches her wings out and basks in the sun, she doesn’t transform much anymore, enjoys staying in the plane form which Maverick seems to enjoy the most. Not that she’s ever shown him her alternate form, she’s old, but she’s not lost her mind. Plus the paint and oils that Maverick uses are top of the line and she’s not felt this good in years, won’t be letting go of this lifestyle in her twilight years if she can help it. When she’s too tired to fly, or doesn’t feel like flying she simply doesn’t, which she’d first thought would cause anger, because humans do seem quick to anger. But not Maverick, instead he’d run warm hands over her nose, murmuring quietly under his breath and asking her what was wrong, then given her a complete overhaul, which she can only liken to a spa pamper day she once heard some humans refer to.

…            …            …

                “Name’s Bronco,” the blue car introduces himself, voice gravelly and the plane doesn’t transform, but he can feel that he’s being judged.

                “Original,” she says dryly. “You a friend of Bumblebee’s?”

                “I know him. Wouldn’t say we’re exactly friends,” Bronco mutters, because there’s no point in lying. The old plane hums and he wonders if she’s going to say anything else.

                “Let me tell you how it works here.”

                She describes the humans, explains that Maverick is their human, the one that all the other humans around here seem to defer to, even when he does something that no-one else can make sense of. There is Iceman, who isn’t here very often, but occasionally turns up. Then there is Bradley, who Bronco is already familiar with. Ninja is surly, doesn’t seem to care about anyone other than protecting Maverick and only seems to tolerate Sally because she’s the only one who can protect him up in the sky.

                Then there are all the others. Dozens of the fuckers. Minbots who take on the forms of everyday human appliances which he himself would find incredibly demeaning. Except for the fact that there are so many of them, and they’re not all old, but they do range wildly in actual usefulness. Sally says that many of them just turn up, and he raises one of his eyebrows at that, hears the crunching of metal at the movement but he’s yet to allow Maverick to touch his innerworkings.

                Bronco doesn’t particularly like Maverick, instead likes the kid he often has with him. Bradley. He’s got more of a fun streak and Bronco likes that. He knows refusing to work for Maverick annoys Sally, but he doesn’t care. He works for Bradley and that’s more important to him, the way the kid laughs and runs a hand over his hood and dash, like Bronco is a treasure rather than a beat-up old relic. As Maverick shows him how to oil his pieces, explains how things should work, but how Bronco is special in some way he can’t explain, he finds himself warming to the older human a little. Just a little.

…            …            …

                It’s been a while since he’s been out to the hangar and he’s impressed, the outside still looks old and like a strong wind would blow it away, but inside there’s a new coat of paint, there’s a large well-lit work bench, a line of about five bikes, the Mustang and a car. Well, an old blue Bronco. Mav’s never shown any interest in doing up cars before, and he didn’t mention buying one.

                “When did the Bronco arrive?”

                “Oh, are you admitting you actually organized that one?”

                “No. I’m not admitting to anything. Who’s going to be driving it?”

                “Well, no-one at the rate I’m going. It won’t even turn over for me. Don’t know what Bradley does, but he must wiggle the key just the right way but it turns over for him perfectly each time.”

                “Are you teaching him to drive?”

                “Yeah, he’s seventeen. Of course I am.”

                “God, when did he get old enough to drive…”

                “When we weren’t watching.”

…            …            …

                The yelling and screaming is short lived, no-one shifting an inch, Pete refusing to say anything as to why he pulled the papers. Bradley’s feeling of betrayal apparent with every shouted word.

                When he drives out to the hangar both Bradley and the Bronco are gone.

                Pete hopes like hell that the Bronco is actually like his bike and the hoover, not that the hoover ever saved his life, but Ice still denies all knowledge of the Bronco, and the Bronco only ever started for Bradley, so he has to hold onto the hope that it will keep him safe.

…            …            …

                When Bradley leaves, Bronco goes with him.

                He doesn’t ever show himself to Bradley, not yet.

                But he does listen as Bradley talks to him.

                Asks him questions.

                Like why his gas gauge never changes despite the miles they travel. Bronco knew he was a smart kid, but he still doesn’t say anything.

CHAPTER TWO

[daily-hanamura]

I kind of wished that the persona 4 cast wasn’t stuck in a narrative where the main theme is ‘always accept the role thrust upon you and if you don’t like it, just force yourself to like it’. Yukiko actively wants to leave Inaba and create her own life, but is portrayed negatively when doing so, with her character arc involving her accepting the role thrust upon her. Don’t get me started on Naoto. I know you’re the Yosuke guy, and was wondering what are your thoughts on this when applied to Yosuke?

I want you to know that being called "the Yosuke guy" is now my greatest achievement you've made my day everyday for the last week

I do agree with you, and I think it was one of my initial issues with P4 where, for a game whose entire narrative is about being true to yourself, it sure falls back into that tired sense of social conformation a lot. It's grating, right, because it feels like what they really mean to say is "be yourself! but not too much and not in a way that makes other people unhappy and make sure you're still living up to other peoples expectations because that's the real reason why you're unhappy with yourself, you haven't accepted who we want you to be (which is the real you that we've decided) etcetc" and it just undercuts the emotional impact of their self-acceptance (see also kanji and rise). (dw I know P5 also kind of has the same problem, and I can go into a whole thing about the limits of transformative narratives written by capitalist corporations but i wont. today-)

I think with Yosuke though, it's really interesting because his character arc is more so tied to his relationship with Inaba as a place, rather than his fundamental self-perceptions. It's established early on that Yosuke hated the town for various reasons; he's a city boy who wants excitement and connection, but most of the town hates him so he's shit out of luck and it gives him little reason to like the town back. As the game progresses, he starts to like the town -- "it's not about where you are, but who you're with", so it's his friendships (and having people who accept him for who he is) that makes the place meaningful for him. And, at the end of the day, Yosuke did get what he wanted - excitement and connection.

But he's not tied to Inaba.

In P4AU, it's revealed that Yosuke's struggling to figure out what he wants to do in life, but by the end of it he tells Yu that he wants to leave the town and go to college with Yu in the city, and that he wants to see the world and experience more things for himself. It fascinates me because it very strongly implies that Yosuke's arc isn't complete as we're very expressly told that he's still developing. It stands in contrast to the other characters who have effectively been fixed into some role or position (Yukiko as an inn manager, Rise as an idol), and unlike them, Yosuke hasn't been permanently relegated to the things that he starts off hating. He hasn't been written to stay in Inaba or even to continue working at Junes after graduation, instead he gets the opportunity to try things. imo this makes his arc more situational (and therefore layered) - Yosuke's perspective on his circumstance matures, but who he is as a person doesn't have to change, and he's not forced to make a trade-off with the wishes he had at the start.

This might be because Yosuke is Atlus' favourite character of the contrast between Yosuke's city background and the rest of the Inaba folk. There's a guy in the school who talks about how most people who finish high school in Inaba just go on to get jobs, and very few actually leave for college and beyond. It's something deeply realistic and reflective of human geography IRL, because that's very common in small communities. A fear of the outside world because of how isolated they are (and Inaba kind of is - remember how Yosuke said they barely had cell connectivity up until recently) means they tend to look inwards instead of out, so there isn't as strong an awareness of what else there is out there and a belief that your options are basically just that (it also makes it all the more impressive that they have surprisingly well-traveled teachers). Yosuke, on the other hand, is very much connected to the internet and the outside world, and he also tends to think about the things that he's missing out on more tangibly.

It makes for a very interesting parallel with Yukiko, who had grown up in Inaba all her life and also expresses that same interest in wanting to go out and see the world. Yukiko's idea about the kind of options that she has is weirdly limited for someone who is supposed to be at the top of her class. When you meet her at the bookstore, she talks about getting a job license so she could leave town, and her first thought was interior decorator (do you even need a license for that? it's not a chartered profession unlike an architect or interior designer, but things might work differently in japan). And maybe she does have a genuine interest in it so I'm talking shit, but it also feels like it's a job that she's aware of only because of the ryokan. As far as I could tell, we don't actually see her express any interest in, say, furniture themes or colour swatches and fabric textures in the way Kanji very clearly does. Her world view, like everyone else, is bounded by the reach of her experience, but because Inaba is so small and cloistered it impedes her ability to imagine beyond that. Even when she's thinking of leaving, her options are still limited to her experiences at the inn. I'm still really salty about how she decided to stay at the ryokan in the end, because something much more satisfying in my opinion would have been for her to get the opportunity to try different things elsewhere in the world, and if she decided that the ryokan was the right thing for her, then, well, fine, I guess? Or some cliche like exploring other inns elsewhere so she could bring that knowledge home. Especially since she had the support of her family and the inn staff, it makes her narrative feel more like an acceptance of her lot in life, rather than a genuine realisation that yeah, this was what she wanted, which was what the game wanted us to think, except it's not convincing. Instead, it just feels like a weird stagnation because her initial wish of wanting to see the world beyond the ryokan was not satisfied.

But hey, guess who does!

Yosuke gets to learn how to make the best of a situation, but ultimately, he's not beholden to it. He - and his writers - understand that he's not done growing, so he doesn't fix himself to a role that he doesn't like. AND IT'S GOOD. I just wish everyone else got that opportunity.

[sorcerous-caress]

Can we hear more about girldad Wyll 🥺🥺

Girl dad Wyll

[Fluff, wholesome, married au, nb!reader]

[Last part of the Wyll's Week event, it's been an amazing week <3]

Early morning

The bed is warm, the air slightly chilly. You cuddle further into the bundle of blankets, pretending not to notice the two little figures sneaking into your room.

Even when one of them giggles as the other shushes her, you feign ignorance as your daughters ready themselves to surprise you.

As they approach you, standing right in front of your side of the bed. You suddenly pull them into the bed with you, smiling at their screams of suprise that melts into laughter.

Your husband's voice calls out from the kitchen, the delicious smell of breakfast and fresh coffee following.

The gang of two toddlers keep you hostage on the bed, demanding to stay with you under the warm covers, how it's too cold outside.

You have half a mind to realise they just want to use you as an excuse to eat breakfast in bed, you oblige and tell wyll to bring it here.

There's amusement on his face when he arrives with breakfast, "and you say I'm the one who spoils them." He says, just as your two daughters suddenly wake up from their pretend sleep, courtesy to the two cups of warm chocolate.

Sleepover

"How come you're invited to their tea party but I'm not?" Crossing your arms, you eyed your husband with envy as he adjusted his clothes in the mirror.

"My love, it's their loss that they couldn't afford to have you," Wyll met your eyes through the reflection on the mirror, before his lips curled into a smug smile,"and I have better table manners, also I'm their favourite parent."

The knock on your bedroom door halted this conversation.

"Fine go on, your fans awaite you, your highness." You laid on the bed.

Instead of answering the door, Wyll joined you on the bed, swiftly getting on top of you. His lips so close to yours, you felt his hands caress your body, longing in his eyes.

A small gentle kiss, the soft touch of his lips against yours.

And just like that it was gone, he was gone as he got up and answered the bedroom door.

You could see your two little girls hurrying their father to come join their pretend teaparty with their friends. Wyll smiled at them as he picked them up in his arms, agreeing to whatever they demanded as they left for their room.

Oh well, someone has to go make the actual tea and bake the cookies for the said tea party, you might have not gotten an invite but you're sure not about to give up on being the favourite parent, just you wait and see your highness.

Treehouse

He built one with his dad before, he tells you, it was one of his most treasured memories. And so no wonder he got excited when the oldest of your daughters approached him with a crayons drawn map of her dream castle ontop of your backyard's tree.

And so you were ropped into it too, while you knew your husband wasn't above breaking a nail or two like a certain past friend you two had, he did lack a lot in upper body strength.

His lean athletic build did help him a lot in dodging around attacks, swiftly riposting swords, almost dancing around any battlefield.

Not so much when it came came to carrying to planks of wood, that's where you came in.

"My hero, what would I ever do without you." He sang your praises with practice, lifting the other end of the wood plank as the two of you moved it to the tree. You didn't have the heart to tell him that you were doing most of the lifting.

Nonetheless, the experience was as equally tedious and exhausting as it was memorable and surprisingly fun. Something about your two daughters cheering you own and bringing you their half-drank juiceboxes motivated the both of you to finish this tree house no matter the cost.

And the cost just happened to be your spine.

Dancing

He's gentle with them, patient and kind, even when they step on his foot by accident, even when the younger daughter gets overwhelmed from all the complicated steps while the older ones gets fed up with having to slow down for her.

Wyll diffuses the situation seamlessly, as if it was magic. He always knew how to be gentle with them and win their hearts.

You're sitting on the couch watching him guide them into dancing with each other, correcting their forms and helping them to keep trying.

Eventually, they get the hang of it, dancing with as much grace as two toddlers in pyjamas can manage. There's excitement and pride in their voice as they call for you, telling you to watch them, showing you what they learnt as if you weren't sitting there the whole time.

You compliment them like any good parent should, amazed at their fast progress and how adorable they looked. Wyll is clearly waiting for some compliments, too, from the way he has been clearing his throat and stealing glance at you.

Playing hard to get, you pretend not to notice his subtle hints. Crediting all of your daughters' newly found skills to them being natural at it rather than having a good teacher.

And just like their father, they visibly gleam at the compliments and let it inflate their egos.

You're not a bit surprised when your husband extends his hand to you next, asking you for a dance, in an attempt to bask in your attention for a while, hopefull you'll shower him in compliments after.

Maybe you will.

Under the stares

The two of are in your daughters' shared bedroom, bidding them goodnight. You just finished telling them a story and Wyll is tucking them.

There's only pure love and adoration in his eyes as he makes sure the sheets are nice and secured around them, fluffing their silk pillows and adjusting their bonnets so they don't slip while they sleep. Giving each one a kiss on the forehead as you wait by the doorway.

You knew him well enough to know that this was his favourite part of the day. When he gets to know his little girls are sleeping peacefully and protected, watching them grow up each day with pride.

It's the little thing that mattered, and to Wyll, there was no heaven greater than this little home with you and your daughters.

[chattercap]

MindMindMind Postmortem - Exploring Social Anxiety (with a hot British ghost)

Hello everyone, it's Chattercap!

I'm honestly flabbergasted and incredibly touched that so many people have not only given MindMindMind a try, but also left such kind thoughts and comments! (The game has been out for just over a month and has received well over half the plays and ratings of my most popular game, which has been out for almost a YEAR at this point…)

I first came up with the idea for the game last year, when I was working my 2023 Otome Jam project, Karamu! I was chatting with my friend lenlen (who is a wonderful dev who makes games that are even more heartfelt than MMM, please give them a try!) when I came up with the idea of "what if anxiety…was a yandere?" (I mostly proposed this because len is not the biggest fan of yans, haha!) It was mainly a joke, but the more I thought about it the more I liked the concept.

At first when I thought about anxiety, I thought I would make him a very creepy, scary person. Maybe someone like Sadako from the Ring: someone who just tries to terrify you for no reason. But then I reconsidered the concept. After all, we don’t feel anxiety for no reason, do we? Anxiety isn’t just out to make our lives harder. In fact, it derives from gut instincts that are supposed to help our survival: fear about fitting in, fear about the future, etc. So I came up with Geist: a well-dressed, well-intentioned, over-protective man that ruins your life with his presence. He’s cruel, but he “means well”—after all, if he’s not a little mean, you won’t really understand, will you?

As a definitive answer for “what is Geist?” Geist is, of course, at least partially a metaphor for anxiety. However, he’s also meant to reflect an abusive relationship, one where the abuser isolates you and makes you dependent on them. He’s somewhat based on toxic friendships that I’ve had in the past with people who casually put me down and encouraged my isolating behavior (maybe because it made them feel better about themselves, or maybe because they wanted to make sure that I always had time for them, and no one else).

However, if you do want a “not strictly metaphorical answer,” here’s the canon one: Geist was a child who attended your middle school many years ago. At the time, he was socially awkward and ostracized from his peers, and he died at an early age. Since then, he haunted the school, not quite able to overcome his regrets of never experiencing real friendship—and when he saw you, he recognized a kindred spirit. He grew attached to you and started haunting you, offering you “advice” based on his own experiences. He’s convinced that being alone is better for you (and he’s afraid that you’ll no longer need him).

As for Kalei, I really did want him to be the perfect guy to get the MC’s anxious butt out of their shell. He’s chill and outgoing; he never judges you or takes things too seriously. He’s rabidly nerdy about the exact same things that you’re nerdy about. But at the same time, he has anxieties of his own. He grew up on the islands, and college is the first time he’s ever spent a long time away from home. He quickly found a close friend group at university, but he doesn’t quite click with them, not completely. He worries about how he acts sometimes, and he doesn’t want to come across as overbearing. I think that when you’re anxious, it’s easy to focus on yourself: you’re the weirdest one in the room, everyone is looking at you because of how strange you are. But everyone gets nervous, even outgoing guys like Kalei. Everyone struggles sometimes. (You’re not alone, even if it feels like it, haha!)

MindMindMind is a little different from what I usually put out, partially because it's so mired in my own experience. It’s obviously not a 1:1, and the protagonist differs from myself in some fairly significant ways, but a lot of the thoughts and insecurities presented are thoughts that I’ve had in the past. It was a little strange, delving into my “old self” like this. In some ways, it was like standing in the mind of a stranger, but in other ways, it felt like I hadn’t changed at all. Writing Kalei’s ending was quite cathartic—that’s what I wish would happen. I wish that anxiety was a guy, standing in front of me, so that I could tell him to leave me the hell alone. But it’s not, and the process of overcoming anxiety isn’t that clean. Some days are good, and some days are bad. Some days you can see how far you’ve come, and some days it feels like you’ve been standing in place for months. But…it gets better. And it’s going to be all right.

I’ve got quite a few projects lined up this year! I’ll admit that my games are pretty varied in terms of genre and concept, but they’ve all got my “flair” to them, so I hope they’re enjoyable nonetheless! My next project is Actala: The Hero’s Shadow, a big fantasy/mystery romance game set in a magical world rife with political strife. After that, I’ve got 3-5 projects lined up for the rest of 2024 (fingers crossed that I can get most of them done). I have two yandere projects, Hanasu - the last part of the Karamu trilogy about a girl’s clingy ex-boyfriend, and an unnamed fantasy themed game featuring…a female LI this time! Get ready for some toxic yuri shenanigans! The project that is most similar(?) to MindMindMind is planned for winter! It’s a contemporary drama that also deals with issues of mental health (and particularly with suicidal ideation); it’ll center around themes of mortality. It’s a ways off so I’m not quite ready to formally announce it, but if you’re interested in seeing updates (about this or any of my other projects), I post most of my major announcements on here and Twitter. I also post frequently on my Patreon with sketches, writing snippets, sneak peeks, high resolution art, and weekly devlogs.

Thank you again to everyone who supported this project - the beta testers, the VAs who collaborated with me, my game dev friends, and, of course, the players. I hope to see you again for another project!

Chattercap

[keeperofthebox]

I thought it would be fun to try and capture what I think the ninjas’ music tastes would be in playlists. So, here are 5 playlists of 20 songs each for Lloyd, Kai, Zane, Jay, and Cole. My goal was to make these painfully realistic, so be prepared for a little nonsense!

LLOYD // KAI // ZANE // JAY // COLE

(Warning for explicit lyrics in Lloyd, Kai, and Cole’s playlists. See notes under the cut.)

These playlists are generally meant to be enjoyed in order, but I forgive you if you can’t do that. It's only that I jumped between a lot of different genres for these guys in order to give the impression that they’re well-rounded, so I tried to make the transition smooth. I don’t want you to get jump-scared if you have it on shuffle.

I didn't repeat any artists except for Daft Punk (because I had to for Zane, like, legally), and I tried to stick to each artist's most popular music. I want the average listener to recognize a lot of these! I think that makes it more fun to listen to.

The covers are inspired by those iPod commercials with the silhouettes from the mid 2000s. :)

LLOYD: This playlist is inspired by my experience being a tween/teen in the early-to-mid 2010s. Thank you to all my classmates for your unintentional contributions. And you may be wondering, friend, why did you put so much moody rap music on Lloyd’s playlist? Well, in response I raise my own question: have you ever met a real 16-year old-boy?

KAI: I tried to make the playlist flow with his arc. It starts out with edgy rock music, moves into emo, then J-rock (yes, there’s a Naruto opening in there, it’s Kai, why wouldn’t there be), then scene, then horny dance-pop—just like Kai starting out super angsty, but eventually chilling out to the idiotic flirty mess we know today.

ZANE: I mostly just wanted to capture that he’s really weird. He gives me an oldies vibe. It’s also fun to imagine him trying to figure out wacky song lyrics—I think they would mystify him. I wanted to put “My Kind of Woman” by Mac Demarco on there, but it was the only song from this century on the whole playlist, and it stuck out like a sore thumb. :(

JAY: Thank you to everyone who helped me with the video game OST choices! RIP Jay Walker, you would have loved the Portal games. Other than that, I just went for a mix of Tumblr-y lovey-dovey pop rock and glam 80s pop type junk.

COLE: I think Cole is probably the only one who has a good sense of music. He gives me a music bro vibe. I tried to give him some variety to reflect that, but with a focus on grunge and older metal.

Anyway, enjoy!

[parishthethought]

I occasionally get amused at the whole "men are all one-pump chumps / women all take three hours to come and require you to no-scope a one mm square area on the side of the clit" stereotype, given how little it reflects my own experience.

I (AMAB, flitting between GNC cis and some flavor of not interested in taking hormones about it nonbinary) have a good deal more trouble with not coming at all than I do with coming early, which is useful in some cases but isn't a whole lot of fun. And similarly most of my female partners have gotten off easily and frequently (with partners in general and not just me, though I do think I'm better than most at getting to know people's bodies in a way that helps with that). Like one of the more difficult cases was my first girlfriend, who only came from clitoral stimulation, but did so relatively easily - we eventually figured out that the way to make this work with PiV was a vibrating cock ring. But like it's kind of gotten to the point where I wonder if I'm doing something wrong if I can't get a regular partner to come at least once within the first minute.

[big-coyote]

Hi! I've been relating more and more to the experiences I've seen from therians and was wondering how you realized you were a therian/otherkin? And do you know any good resources for researching them? Thank you!!!

Hello! I’m so glad you found my page and asked! I am sorry for how long it took me to reply.

I’ve always been very drawn to animals and nature since I was a little kid. I was lucky enough to be raised near plenty of wildlife and having the opportunity to learn about all kinds of animals. I’d run around through the woods and beaches for hours just howling and barking. To be completely honest, I didn’t know what therianthropy or being otherkin was when I was younger, I just thought I was a weird little guy.

When I was older I ended up finding the Therian side of YouTube in the early 2010’s, though at the time it was much more niece and mostly just AMVs from popular shows and movies. But regardless I related a lot to the Therians on there and I did plenty of my own research, self reflection, questioning, etc till eventually I came to the conclusion: I’m not human. What a shock.

I’ve identified as nonhuman for almost 12 years now, and truthfully I wouldn’t have it any other way. As for my actual identity as a species, that is always a mystery! Pin pointing an exact species or type has never been a super big focus for me, I tend to say “I’m a therian” as an all encompassing identity rather then a specific species. I am a coyote and werewolf, but perhaps that might change! I might realize I’m wrong or my identity might grow!

As for resources, talking directly to other nonhumans is a great start! It’s good to met new friends and understanding other’s identity’s, they can give you insight or even help you discover who you are. The best website I’ve found that has information has been Therian Guide, they have a full dictionary and a forum board where other therians and otherkin talk. Though I do warn that some of the boards can get overwhelming and some people on there like to stir up trouble. As for YouTubers I recommend Therian Territory, they post a lot of informational videos as well as good introduction to the culture and identity. I’d also recommend PD! PinkDolphin, they’re a Swiss Therian who has been in the community for a while and I used to enjoy their content back in the day. There’s plenty of therians on tiktok as well as a r/Therian and r/otherkin subreddit, though I haven’t directly interacted with either community before. My advice is to always double check your sources and make sure you keep yourself safe in the online community, some individuals can spread a lot of misinformation or be incredibly dangerous.

I hope some of this information can help and I’ll add more websites or sources in the future. If you have any further questions or need someone to talk to, my DMs are always open! Thanks again!

[ave-immaculata]

Helloo,

What is your advice to give to someone who’s never prayed or repented before but wants to start? I have no clue where to start and am feeling discouraged. I know there’s not a right and wrong to follow but i’d like some advice if you wouldn’t mind.

Thank you so much! Your blog is very inspiring.

Ahh that is so exciting!! Honestly, getting to a point of desiring it is already so wonderful. I wish I had better advice and I'd love for people to chime in. My first ever prayers were really awkward and casual and I think that that's okay! You can tell God that you're not sure what you're doing, but that you want to pray. Ask Him to teach you and ask Him to make your prayers fruitful!

Personally, I also remember finding "vocal" prayers really helpful to supplement more conversational prayers (i.e. prayers that have rote words like the Our Father, the morning offering, etc., not necessarily just prayers spoken out loud)

Using the Psalms as prayers was always really nice (more on this below, some faves are 86, 91 and 116). I didn't grow up around Christians so formulating my own thoughts and words was (and is) challenging. It's okay to experiment with different types of prayer and see what sticks. If it starts to feel burdensome, stop. Thank God for the time you did spend in prayer and keep going about your day. Although it seems counterintuitive, especially for those early in the spiritual life this seems to be the perennial advice of the Saints. You don't need to stack on a big long list of prayers, what counts is that the Holy Spirit prompts you, and you respond to that call even if only with a smile meant for Him.

As far as repentance goes, it sort of depends! If you were baptized as a Catholic and have just been away for a long time, you can make a Sacramental Confession. If not, I'd recommend starting off with some other quick prayer, and asking God for His love for you to be present, and to help you make a good, sincere confession to Him. Take a bit of time just letting Him love you (it might feel awkward, that's okay!), and then, just let out what's burdening you. Even if you forget things or miss something, know that every sin imaginable is just a drop of water against a raging fire of Mercy. If it helps, you can also google an examination of conscience beforehand to help you reflect on what you want to repent of. A favourite Psalm for repentance is 51.

Basically, it's a lot of trial and error, and the way you pray will naturally evolve over time. Ask Him to help you and He will. It's okay to grow discouraged. A good structure to follow is "Thank, Ask, Rely." Thank the Lord for something (getting to work safely, His kindness, the weather, having food for lunch, soft blankets, your guardian angel, etc.), ask Him for what you want/need, and rely on His wisdom and generosity.

Okay, I rambled a lot, but here's like... a sample?? Of something to try, and see if it's sustainable or enjoyable or fruitful:

"My Lord, in your presence I want to prepare my heart for this moment of prayer. Send your Holy Spirit to enlighten me and open my mind and heart to everything you want to tell me today. Thank you Lord, for nourishing me with your word." Read through a Psalm once or twice, and then take a couple of minutes (literally, no longer is necessary) to reflect on what passages stood out to you, confused you, or that you really enjoyed. Maybe ask God a question you have.

Before bed, tell God for something you're grateful for and ask your Guardian Spirit to pray for you throughout the night.

Praying for you, and don't let your discouragement overwhelm you; all of Heaven is rejoicing seeing you try and learn and grow!

[astrangetorpedo]

Reeling From Substance Abuse and Questioning God, Julien Baker Sings Through the Pain

by Ilana Kaplan | 1/25/16

When you’re speaking with Julien Baker, it’s easy to forget she’s 20 years old. She communicates about her music and her life with a humble confidence; she describes her favorite songwriters and the experiences she had as a teenager with as if she’s written novels about them. “I want to speak well and be an intelligent person, but not to the degree of being condescending,” says Baker. “I think I accrued a lot of experiences early on.”

With an eloquence beyond her years, you’d be forgiven for wondering if Baker’s ascension was the final act of some strategy, but it’s an accident that her debut record took off at all. The Memphis singer never intended for the songs on Sprained Ankle to go further than Bandcamp. But the music gods had something else in mind for Baker. “I didn’t plan any of this,” Baker tells the Observer. “The fact that this album was released in a formal way was kind of contrary to how I’m used to releasing music, which is sadly limited.”

Baker was used to performing in the band Forrister with her friends, but heading off to college allowed her the freedom to focus on writing her own music. Following a road trip with a friend and a recording session at Matthew E. White’s Spacebomb records, Baker put the record on Bandcamp as she did with her previous work. Soon after, 6131 records asked Baker to pull it down so they could release and promote the record. Baker had never done a structured release—she was accustomed to sending a bunch of random emails and printing out handbills.

‘I acknowledge substance abuse, doubt, fear, sadness and despair in the songs because they’re real emotions that are worth talking about.’

However, Sprained Ankle triggered success for her within the indie music scene—something she never expected. “It’s been a little difficult to acclimate to this world,” says Baker. It’s safe to say Baker’s life since her debut LP’s release has been a bit of a whirlwind—all the while simultaneously studying at Middle Tennessee University.

Sprained Ankle serves as a metaphor for a difficult period of Baker’s life. Dealing with the emotional turmoil that surfaced from a romantic relationship and her separation from her band, the album title came from a joke as Baker’s friends encouraged her to confront her pain. “When you’re a kid and you scrape your knee or sprain your ankle, you have to walk on it to make it better, because if you coddle it, it’ll stay sprained,” explains Baker. “I was like, ‘That’s a great metaphor for my entire life right now—running head forward at pain to assuage the issue.’ ”

Listening to Baker’s music, it’s easy to think you’ve known her your entire life. Her words read like diary entries, which makes sense—the songs were originally just catharsis. It’s a quality she learned from songwriting idols such as Death Cab For Cutie’s Ben Gibbard, mewithoutYou’s Aaron Weiss and Elliott Smith. Gibbard has been a particularly looming influence over Baker’s lyrics. “When I heard the song ‘Title and Registration,’ it totally changed how I thought about songwriting because it’s not overly poetic—he’s having this very mundane experience getting pulled over having to get his registration out, and he sees pictures from an old lover or something,” explains Baker. “All of a sudden it becomes this very relatable, human experience. Then it hurts you.”

That sense of personal connection changed the way Baker thought about songwriting, influencing her to draw from her own life while shaping her music. Baker’s experience with God mirrors that of Weiss—something she’s reflected in her own music and lyrics. “He talks about God in a way that’s not alienating,” describes Baker.

Baker used that vulnerability as a template for recording as therapy: it wasn’t an easy record to write, and it’s certainly not an easy record to listen to, lyrically speaking. But Baker’s heartfelt vocals shine through the confessions she makes about dealing with substance abuse, religious doubt and sadness. “I acknowledge substance abuse, doubt, fear, sadness and despair in the songs because they’re real emotions that are worth talking about,” says Baker of her album.

Substance abuse plays an important role thematically on Sprained Ankle. “I wanna go home, but I’m sick/There’s more whiskey than blood in my veins/More tar than air in my lungs/The strung out call I make,” she sings on “Go Home.” It’s something that’s easier for her to sing about, than speak about, but she does so with a refreshing raw energy. “To admit that substance abuse is something I’ve dealt with in my past baffles a lot of my friends and people I’ve met in the past few years because I’m always the DD, and I’m 100 percent sober,” explains Baker. “It’s something that was a very real issue for me and continues to be because when you have those experiences, I don’t think they ever go away.”

It’s that kind of unrelenting honesty alongside the intimacy of her guitar and haunting vocals that make her storytelling incredibly relatable and hypnotic. She’s used Sprained Ankle as a catalyst to help better herself and help others who may have endured the same experiences. “Choosing to make yourself better and never addressing those issues does a disservice to other people who aren’t there yet and prevents an open dialogue about [substance abuse],” says Baker. “I think it’s necessary to acknowledge those parts of yourself.”

Substance abuse, however, is just one of the topics she covers on Sprained Ankle. Through songs like “Rejoice” and “Go Home,” Baker also sings about her trepidation when it comes to faith.

“One of the reasons why I became disillusioned with God early in my life is because people would be like, Just pray about it and you’ll feel better,’ ” says Baker. “That’s not necessarily how it works. I believe there’s a God that’s listening, but I think that we owe it to ourselves as people who believe in love and compassion to do more than a trite ‘God is listening.’ ” For Baker, it’s about really understanding someone else’s struggle and journey.

Heavy songwriting and dark lyrics aside, Baker maintains a sense of humor about it all. “I saw someone recently, and they said, ‘You quit drinking? You’re not even 21 yet,’ ” says Baker. “I was like, ‘I crammed a lot into a few years.’ “

(x)

[foreverisntenough]

i feel like a background or flashback on y/n struggles would have clarified a lot of what she was feeling in the recent chapter because it all felt too sudden and didn’t make much sense

Totally fair! I get that entirely! Thanks so much for your message 🫶 I wonder if anyone else reading felt that it didn’t make sense?

If you were curious at all… personally, the sudden crash of it all was the intention. Her hardships linger but it just took this little shove to tip her over the edge. That said, I didn’t want it to be too intense or too focused on real life health logistics. Kind of like her pregnancy. For example, I mention of morning sickness but I didn’t want to harp on the real occurrences that probably would go on day to day. It was intentional to glaze over it all. Y/N struggling was always apart of her character arch in my head.

I kept it tight lipped in the two series for two reasons. One, I think it is reflective of the experience a lot of people around her are having. She’s fine and functional and then can just fell apart easily. It’s sudden and feels unexplainable to them as well. She puts up a good front but she’s soft. It’s not an uncommon experience especially with someone as sensitive as Y/N. Secondly, I didn’t want to overload on a sad story totally focused on her. Obviously this is a Trent fic but it kind of took on a life of its own lol. Y/N struggles have been sprinkled through the two series. It starts as early as Chapter 2 when she’s rejecting Trent’s compliments, panicking that he only wanted sex, when he gets the phone call etc… her insecurity kind of helps guide Trent’s perspective and personality in the fic IMO.

I do have a more concise reason that might give an explanation for this most recent break though. Maybe I should include a little blurb in the next chapter for more clarification though. What do you think? Do people want to know more about Y/N 🤔

Ooff! Sorry that was a long response 😅

[halliescomut]

Tadaima, Okaeri Ep 4

Now that I'm fully caught up, I might start doing a weekly thing for this show because I am really enjoying it. This week I thought was really cute, but also very well-balanced in touching on Masaki's struggles. So much of the story is about Masaki, their past, their experiences, particularly as an omega in this world. And I was honestly kind of surprised at how surprisingly deep things got this episode.

Omegaverse has been regarded pretty often as a way to perpetuate heterosexual relationship stereotypes in a homosexual romance, and I kind of agree with that take. It's why if I ever partake in omegaverse stories, I don't care for the tropes of having omegas be extraordinarily feminized. I generally skew more towards reading stories where the omega is just as "masculine" as the alphas, and generally in those stories as well you'll see the alphas being very emotionally competent...if that makes sense. The way Tadaima, Okaeri has chosen to present their universe sets omegas as an 'inferior' race, and so in many ways it feels like Masaki's struggles more directly reflect racism and the struggles of an interracial couple, versus struggling against homophobia.

I can't personally tell if this is intentional, I don't have much information about the creators of the manga or the anime. I would hazard a guess that it is not, but I can't know for sure.

But where this all stems from is a scene early on in the episode where Masaki is still pregnant and Hikari is talking about the baby, and there's a conversation about how Hikari seemed to know about the pregnancy before anyone. Masaki contemplates if Hikari being so aware could mean that he might be able to tell if the baby is an alpha or omega even in the womb. Now they don't give a full biological rundown on how that works genetically. I always kind of processed being alpha or omega as something more like a secondary sex characteristic, or something that would present in puberty, but not be obvious at birth. In this universe it seems to be something almost like a recessive trait, or a gene that someone might carry, but would only be present/possible if both parents carry the gene. Because it seems like Masaki is an omega born to alpha parents based on the flashbacks we've seen.

But back to my point, Masaki in the moment wondering if Hikari could tell if the baby is an omega or not puts them in a place where they consider terminating the pregnancy, because he knows the struggles of being an omega in the world at large, but especially in the family that he has married into. While Hiromu's father seems to have had a change of heart, and is determined to reconnect with his son and his grandchildren, if that means that they will eventually have a more regular place in Papa Fujiyoshi's world, that increases chances of more direct bigotry. While Masaki has very much come into their own, very few people would choose to regularly have to deal with that type of behavior, and no good parent would want to subject their child to it.

But to why this particularly makes me think more of the struggles of an interracial relationship and mixed race family is because as an American, one of the things that is fairly widely known is that it is very common for African American people to have some percentage of white ancestry dating back generations prior to the legalization of interracial marriage. This is, as one could guess, not the result of starcrossed lovers, but the result of the subjugation and abuse suffered by black women during the time of legalized chattel slavery, as well as the immediate aftermath of the Civil War and emancipation. The presence of European based genetics in a portion of the African American population would occasionally lead to some African American people looking very 'white'. Due to the overt and horrific racism of the time, it was not uncommon then for 'white-passing' African Americans to separate themselves from their families, and basically pretend to be white to escape basically daily racism. (And who could blame them.) Colorism in the Black and Afro-Latino communities, and the prevalence of increased discrimination towards darker complected member of that community both from inside and outside of it, often leads to parents hoping their child will 'take after' a lighter complected parent, or even grandparent, as it will likely indicate a life of less discrimination.

That's kind of what Masaki's story feels like to me. It feels like Masaki is from a 'white' family (I know obviously all of the characters in the show are both ethnically and culturally Japanese), that perhaps had an ancestor who was not, and that those genes showed up as prominent in Masaki, leading for him to be discriminated against in his childhood and life overall. Now, as an adult and in his relationship with Hiromu, they present as essentially an interracial couple, with Hikari 'favoring his father' and appearing 'white'. This is further supported by the intentional character design of Hikari, to have dark hair like his father, the small mole by his mouth (something that generally would not be a genetic trait).

I honestly can't tell if I'm overthinking this, but I just feel like the parallels are so consistent. {Also, I know the gifs aren't really a perfect representation of my concept, but I suspect I am one of few who is more interested in the existential struggles of Masaki, then just allowing the show to be sweet, fun fluff.}