#as unfortunate as it is - this is the reality

[supportgaza]

Another Talk at my Irish College About Gaza and my Family There Reopened My Wounds

Note: Vetted by:

1. @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi # 151 on the spreadsheet of Vetted Gaza Fundraisers List].

2. @riding-with-the-wild-hunt Here .

Giving a recent guest talk at my Irish college about the horrors my family and I have endured, the war, its aftermath, and the hellish conditions of life in Gaza, was beyond heart-shattering. Speaking about it felt like performing surgery on myself without anesthesia, reopening wounds, and bleeding in the process.

What pains me the most is the unimaginable suffering my family continues to endure—living in constant fear and uncertainty, unsure whether the war will resume or if the people of Gaza will be forcibly displaced from Gaza.

Some of the slides I displayed:

I also spoke about how the war has left Gaza in ruins, where the bones of Palestinian victims lie scattered across the land. My family, like so many others, has been living without a single hour of electricity for months, their lives completely shattered.

As I spoke to Irish students, my heart ached for my family. All I wish for is to reunite with them here in Ireland, where we can finally live a peaceful, normal life. And I remain determined to make this dream a reality.

But I cannot do this alone—I am only human. I urge you to support my campaign in any way you can. Whether by donating, sharing, or simply spreading the word, your help can save my family’s lives and future. That is my ultimate number one mission.

As of 15/2/2025, we are almost at 70% of our final fundraising goal, and we expect the Rafah crossing into Egypt to reopen in the coming weeks. This could be our last chance.

Unfortunately, funds have slowed down at a critical time, and the future of Gaza looks bleak and uncertain.

Please share, donate, reblog, and help us reunite in Ireland where we can Finally live safely.

Tagging for reach! Please reblog my post and help reach our final goal and finally reunite. <3

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@mangocheesecakes

[takes1]

oh my lord i love your writing it literally has me geeked every time. any possibility you write more for my man asahi? i’ll take anything you have to offer but i can’t stop thinking about something similar in premise to the wrestling where, instead, it’s 7 minutes in heaven? possible details about the closet they’re in being too small for him, perhaps~ because what asahi fan doesn’t appreciate some size difference goodness

asahi azumane x reader w/ size kink

i literally said, out loud, "ohhh!!!" and started writing it as soon as i saw this ask - you have a gift for ideas my love. thank you for sending this in!!!

warnings. heavy nsfw. minors DNI

details. fem!reader / 7 min. in heaven / heavy size kink / heavy claustrophilia / soft top!asahi / mutual?crushing / manhandling / thigh riding / making out / hickeys and marking / semi PDA / rough but sweet!asahi / 2.3k words / oh lord another maybe? two parter

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. my imagines. my request box

"Well, it's not a closet per se," Suga cocked his head at the half-done, dusty, crawl space the group chose for this game, "But it'll do, right?"

Asahi glanced down at you and didn't stop. You were taken by a big wave of chills, crossed your arms, looked away, then back up-- and he was still looking down at you. Any hope of subtlety was over.

He nodded, despite being the most effected by the size problem of this unfortunate reality.

"Well, there's nothing in it."

A fair point. The other closets were filled with closet-like things. Towels, cleaning supplies, pantry items, tools. The group, consisting of mixed-up members of Karasuno volleyball teams, had a fun treasure hunt with that stuff, but this was what you were after. A closet to play your thirsty game in.

'Unfortunate' was just one mode of perception. Less room meant more contact, but nobody was saying that aloud.

"Can you even fit in here, dude?" Nishinoya clambered out with relative ease, albeit sideways.

Every girl except you looked away as Asahi tried, embarrassed at the way the boards creaked, how he wouldn't be able to enter normally because his shoulders were too wide for the space. He had to bend at the waist because he was far too tall. You scanned the empty space in front of him, warm and tingly.

There was some room! You could fit there and you would, maybe, die trying.

Ever since Daichi retired to his room for the night, nobody had taken up the burdensome mantle of responsibility. His dad-like severity had a strong influence on the types of activities that were 'allowed' to happen.

7 Minutes in Heaven would have never been brought up with him present.

As long as the Karasuno teams were quiet enough to not wake him, you could carry on.

It's not that a game of spin the bottle, or some truth or dare, was necessarily scandalous, but it was enough to get everybody giggling and generate the who-has-a-crush-on-who type of conversations. Since everybody left downstairs were the interested ones that hadn't gone to bed already, it left this smaller, more intimate group to carry out some otherwise repressed desires.

You weren't the first to go in, but it was clear that the first pairing didn't do anything. That was fine and all, and a good reminder that you didn't have to kiss, if you didn't want to.

When Asahi was asked who he wanted to spend the time with, he returned your previous admission from a different game.

"I mean- why would I not say (Y/n)?"

He looked from Suga, who had taken the mantle of 'fun-mom' in all of this, being the bottle-spinner and card-holder and question-maker, back to you.

You realized the time he took to look at his friend was probably the only instance in the past 30 minutes that his eyes hadn't been locked onto you, ever since you admitted your little crush for him.

Getting in was about as easy as you imagined.

It had you both packed so tight that you had maybe an inch to move, at best. It forced you to put your hands on each other, just to stay oriented in the pitch black, and not trip.

"G-od," He sighed, and you earned a centimeter of space for two seconds. Then he had to take another breath and you were immobilized again, "We gotta- gotta adjust, or somethi-ng."

A strained, "Y-eah," was all you could get out. This was not a space meant to fit two people.

"I think, if... I..."

In the darkness, all you could see was some vague shadows move as he stretched down. His palms swallowed up your sides, and you desperately tried to keep your excitement down when you felt for his shoulders. He curled you up and threaded a strong, wide thigh between yours.

Most of it was genuine adjustment, but that didn't mean that it felt any less erotic. Just having to wrap your arms around his body and pull, so that you could sit higher up on his leg, was making your heart race.

"That feel better?"

His grumbly tone forced your thighs to tighten, the way you sat becoming more arched.

You could only give him a whisper, voice strained, because of how nervous you felt, "Yes."

Asahi chuckled right away, his breath ghosting right past your temple.

It was impossible to tell if he was bent to purposefully be close, or if there was no space to straighten more. You assumed the most polite option.

"You, uh- you... comfortable?" He muttered, more against you instead of anywhere else he could've possibly spoken, "Comfortable enough- I guess?"

You laughed, "Sure, yeah."

His thumb started rubbing against your side as he laughed with you. You could feel yourself getting wet, and tried to suppress any automatic squirming.

"You're- a... a nice seat--," Your face scrunched, your innocent words unsuccessful at trying to make things silly, and easy.

"Oh?" He chuckled at you.

"I- didn't--," You looked up in the dark, but couldn't see anything, and tried to pray away your embarrassment, "I did not mean it like that."

His grin spread, and you could feel his stubble really clearly against your forehead.

A tiny kiss to your hairline made your fingers grip his t-shirt, your spine straighten, your poor heart work even harder.

"It's okay if you did," The smile in his voice was so sweet.

Kissing him was shockingly simple. You felt like you had lots to say, things to explain, but they were so unimportant when his lips were soft and reading you like an open book.

The only crucial detail needed, for the moment, in this closet, was that you were super into him, and he was at least entertaining it.

For minutes, he couldn't decide where, how, he wanted to hold you. His arms would trade off between pulling you against his front in a hug, so he could feel more of your body on his.

Or, he would take more of a direct route of using his hands to pull you in for kisses, by the back of the neck, with his other palm keeping you pressed hard against his thigh.

The switch would happen any time you weren't heavy enough on his leg, or when your back wasn't arched enough to stay smushed against his chest.

"M-mh-," He was rolling your hips for you, weighing you down more on his thigh, flexing it just so.

You squirmed, having to part, at his lewd sounds.

He searched for you, huffing, in the dark, "Does that feel good?"

The tone he used with you was genuine, despite how dirty the phrase felt. For a moment, he stopped rubbing you against him.

You swallowed the mixture of spit in your mouth and tried to wipe the drool off of your lips, trembling, "Y-eah, it-- it's--,"

When your hand dipped to fix the seam of your shorts, you accidentally grabbed something warm, and stiff, and just off of where he had you grinding.

"Oh-! Sorry," You retracted your hand, face radiating heat, "I'm sorry."

His chest swelled in a restrained gasp through his nose. His voice was higher, and different as he reassured you it was completely fine.

"Was- that--? Mmh--," Before you could finish your tentative question, he wrapped one arm around you, palming half ass, half hip, while the other yanked you against his torso. It seemed he had realized a good middle ground between his holds.

Another partial moan at how he was able to pull you further up -so that you were trapping his cock between your bodies- got cut off by another clumsy kiss.

He bit you, at your bottom lip, and it throbbed for the rest of the time you kissed him. It made you shove a hand down the back of his shirt, give him an otherwise embarrassing sound, that he ate right up.

What you could feel of his print throbbed against you. A weakness radiated down through your fingers and toes as you scratched lines into his bare skin. It didn't do shit. It was like he didn't even feel it.

Actually, you wanted that shirt off.

It took just three seconds of pitiful tugging for him to let off, pull it over his head with one hand, and swing it to the dusty floor. Forgotten.

He was rough when he put his hands back on you, when you returned it, tugging, wanting to be closer however possible.

"Fuck-!" You sighed, breathing hard, fast, at his busy sucking down your neck.

His nails dug into your skin, his breathing characterized by needy groans that sounded a lot like he in the middle of a workout, if anything.

Since when did he like you back? Was it just because you were available? Would he have done this with any of the girls on your team? Not that it was much of a competition- none of them thought he looked 'civilized' enough to entertain him as an option.

Your legs were jelly, your thoughts heavy, but it didn't matter.

His shoulders would stretch further with every huff, expanding and resetting, and you couldn't stop yourself from scouring every inch while he was over you. It was getting hot in here. He was getting tacky, a little slippery in some areas.

He bit you too hard in a soft spot and you cried out, barely stuffing the sound into his bare shoulder. It was loud and you both knew it was audible through the other side of the door.

Asahi slowed, as gentle as he started, again, with an apologetic hum in the crook of your neck.

"Sorry," You could hear his smile, "Too much-"

He sighed and collected his nerves for a second as he readjusted his grip on you. More palm, less fingertips. It didn't sting as much and you missed it.

He said definitively, mostly to himself, "That was too much."

"I liked it!" You reassured him quietly, palm moving from his shoulder, to his neck, to the side of his face.

"I liked it. I liked it," Got repeated, in a tiny giggle, as he stilled.

You were delivering multiple little pecks across his face, craving his intensity as soon as you lost it. You tried holding him tighter, but it wasn't the same when he wasn't pushing and pulling.

That tingly sensation of his breathy laugh, his skilled tongue, was back on your neck, closer to your ear.

You melted at once with a whimper, the need to rock your own hips short-lived because he pushed his own against your heat.

"Ahh-!"

He grinned, sucking another bit of skin in an obvious spot, "Shhh."

The heartbeat between your legs was strong. He could feel it clearly against his thigh, wishing it was better placed and put to good use.

His fingertips were digging, pushing past the waistband of your shorts, further down, palm against your tummy. Maybe it was that feeling, maybe it was your enthusiasm, or maybe the fact that you were so wet he could feel that, too, but something possessed him to start getting greedy.

But he paid for it. While you were encouraging him, a hand around his thick forearm, guiding and pushing it down, a gasp already on your breath-- you were both completely blinded.

No courtesy knock. Just a bright light and a loud screech. Asahi retracted his curious hand in a flash, but there was not much else to do to make this look less provocative.

Though the sound was higher-pitched, it was not made from anyone on your team.

Nishinoya dropped to his knees, slack-jawed, and that's all you were able to register before the door slammed shut again.

Suga scolded him from the other side, others were shushing incessantly.

"You were supposed to knock, Noya!!"

"Now Daichi's gonna wake up! Nice going, dumbass!"

It gave you both enough time to try and separate. However, without opening the door, you couldn't get fully off of one another.

You were shaking, beyond nervous, and forcefully sobered. Not exactly happy.

"Um- that was great. Thank you," It was a short, and curt, way of telling him you didn't expect much after this. You had one hand on the door.

Asahi grabbed you by the waist and dragged you back. "C'mere--,"

His rough, messy, desperate last kiss was enough to leave you dizzy. He readjusted himself during it with one last rub.

"We're not done yet," He told you. Another hasty peck to the top of your head, and he was leagues lighter in tone, "Uh, sorry- As far as I'm concerned. Do what you want, though!"

He turned the knob for you and pushed it open a crack. You stumbled out, wiping your mouth.

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco @screamin-abt-haikyuu

potential for part two but i need to refrain from making promises. lmk if you're interested and i can make a taglist if i revisit!

my masterlist. more haikyuu. my imagines. requests open.

[theboredasexual]

wh- sobs- rude i project more onto adult shauna than teen shauna 😭😭😭.

although. i will say. fair. in some parts.

ANyways time for my shauna yap.

Yes, absolutely, Shauna wants to be loved as imperfect. She wants to be loved as broken and scared and messy because she knows that the perfection she craved, that Jackie had (in her eyes) was never going to be her reality. Shauna is not perfect. Shauna is jealous, she is angry, she is bitter, and above all she's self-loathing - obviously, Jackie is not perfect either but to Shauna she is and therefore she's a shining image of what Shauna could lever be. She's the 'tragic saint' the statue of Jesus in the church that one aspires to be but can never achieve. So of course Shauna wants someone to love her at her absolute fucking worst, because that means that she can be loved without being perfect (that she can be loved, period).

This also feeds into what OP mentioned about Shauna's expression: shocked, but also sad. She see's Melissa as something she needs, but just like everything else she's loved in any way, especially post-Jackie's death, that makes Melissa something to be lost as well. Lost or broken or both. When Shauna reciprocates that kiss, she feels she's accepting the devotion Melissa will give her but also the guilt. Unfortunately, Shauna is also selfish and she will take the high of being loved over the hurt the other person will inevitably experience from it. And the guilt she'll experience from it.

Also, like OP says, I think a common shaunahat misconception is that Shauna wishes Melissa was Jackie. Yes, Shauna wants to kiss Jackie. 100%. But she wants to kiss Melissa, especially at this time in her life, specifically because she isnt Jackie. Here, Melissa is the nobody. Melissa is the one that will hide in Shauna's shadow, Melissa is lesser-known, the one who bends into the background and barely even had a personality until Shauna gave her a spotlight. And so, Shauna can play Jackie once again.

I feel like a lot of people are kind of missing the point of Shauna and Melissa if they don't like them. Here are my thoughts on why I do really like the ship!!!

1. Clearly Melissa is very much into Shauna. In both of the episodes we've seen it's clear that Melissa wants her

2. Shauna wants to know she can be loved the way she is. We saw it with Adam, at least a little, and we see it with Melissa. Shauna looks absolutely shocked and almost sad when Melissa kisses her. In that moment she realizes that, oh, one person likes her the way she is. Moody and brooding and completely insane. Shauna wants that.

3. While Melissa may vaguely look like Jackie, they're completely different people. Jackie would have never kissed Shauna like that, and Melissa is more of a sidekick than Jackie could ever be. We've seen it time and again that Shauna wants control. Melissa gives her that.

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: You vs. Their ex

Hello and welcome to this new reading! I will tell you the differences between you and their ex. I hope you all enjoy it!

Masterpost > Paid Readings > Patreon masterlist

The extended version of this reading can be found on my patreon, the link of which is here

pick a card

Pile 1:

The ex of the person you are thinking about (if not thinking about anyone in particular, your future spouse) was someone who was very emotionally controlling. They wanted a lot of their attention and wouldn’t allow your person to do anything other than giving them attention. Their presence was absolutely draining for your future spouse, and not something they ever with to experience again. Your person would often get guilt tripped and forced into doing certain things in order to please them, not ever really getting something in return. Often times this person’s ex also wanted to be part of their life completely; be there when their friends are over, especially when it came to the opposite gender. The ex of this person was incredibly jealous and insecure, something they projected onto others.

Extended reading

Pile 2:

The ex of the person you are thinking about (if not thinking about anyone in particular, your future spouse) was someone who was incredibly hyper. Someone who jumped around from one wall to another in a room, and could never sit still. They were always doing something, and due to how incredibly hyper their mind was they were also incredibly chaotic and pretty clumsy. They were too much for themselves to handle, let alone someone else from time to time. Of course, they were charming and most definitely a good person. But sometimes that hyperactivity, to that degree, was something that could cause rifts and make your person feel like they weren’t being taken seriously, that they weren’t prioritised when they should have been.

Extended reading

Pile 3:

The ex of the person you are thinking about (if not thinking about anyone in particular, your future spouse) was someone who was very much a nerd. An introvert who kept to themselves and didn’t often talk to others. They adored to read and were really able to find their escape from reality in those pages. Sometimes they were even a bit of a know-it-all, although never in such a way it would annoy people. This ex was someone who was incredibly kind to everyone, often times too kind for their own good. They had a hard time standing up for themselves, often letting themselves be pushed away, assuming other people’s feelings in certain matters had a priority. They were very insecure, and unfortunately many people called them a doormat.

Extended reading

[sunseed-fandump]

owo! Now i wanna know what the bad batch think about the ancients individually, (mostly dad vanilla, he’s gonna be so stressed)

Hollyberry Cookie The kids had actually plotted to try stealing her Soul Jam first, as her son and daughter-in-law had already gathered a good portion of the Soul Jam’s fragments. Thus, Wild Strawberry Cookie reluctantly entered the Princess Contest in an attempt to get close to the shield and snatch it during the ball. (She actually got really far!) Unfortunately, the Dragon went berserk and the Lost Queen-mother returned to her Kingdom and took up her shield once more.

While Gingerbrave enjoys the general rowdiness of the country itself, he can’t help but wonder why the royal family even bothers ruling if the Queen-mother and its fair princess are never around. King Royal Berry Cookie is a total pushover and Queen Jungleberry Cookie is competent, but even she can’t hold an entire country together by herself. From the kids’ outlook, the Hollyberry Royal Family value their power over others and take it and their subjects for granted. Clearly, a family can’t be that good if they’re always abandoning each other, and a ruler can’t be that good if they’re constantly leaving their kingdom behind. Wild Strawberry especially does not appreciate the seeming lack of loyalty.

Dark Cacao Cookie He’s definitely the biggest tyrant in the kids’ opinions, due to his country’s strict traditions and laws. They saw how he was letting his country wither in favor of bolstering the Wall, and weren’t impressed with the many ruined villages they saw. Combine that with his habit of social exclusivity towards outsiders, Dark Cacao hasn’t exactly painted the best picture of himself.

Even though he’s since taken up his sword once again and has rid himself of Affogato’s influence, the kids still don’t regard him highly. After all, what kind of king restricts his own soldiers from eating sweets?! He’s depriving his people!!! And he calls THEM evil? Ridiculous. Unfortunately, their plan to steal the Soul Jam was sabotaged by Licorice Cookie and Pomegranate Cookie’s interference, what with calling forth the horrors of the Licorice Sea and Pomegranate cursing the King. However, Dark Choco earned a few points with them by leaving Dark Enchantress behind.

Golden Cheese Cookie It doesn’t matter if greed is considered a good thing in her kingdom, Golden Cheese Cookie is so terribly selfish! Their trip to this Kingdom infuriated Gingerbrave, who views her actions as no better than his Witch. He’s been broken to pieces and brought back over and over, and sees the Golden City as a twisted version of what happened to him on a massive scale. How dare she not allow the dead to rest. How dare they have to be subjected to a fake reality at the whim of a self-proclaimed goddess, just because she’s too childish to mourn and move on.

And what would she do to those who acted against her? Reprogram them? Erase them? Well the kids definitely saw how well Smoked Cheese’s attempt at a coup went. Even now, she refuses to let “her” cookies go as her Kingdom sleeps in Soulcheeses. Golden Cheese sees her subjects as objects, something to hoard and do with however she pleases; even to deny them the peace of death. Gingerbrave can’t stand her as a result.

White Lily Cookie As the only Ancient to not have an established Kingdom (at least up until the events of Beast-Yeast), the kids didn’t really know what to make of her. At least, that’s until Wild Strawberry informed the boys of who White Lily Cookie eventually became in other timelines, Dark Enchantress Cookie. The so called Hero of Freedom, becoming the very tyrant they’re rivaling within the race to obtain the Soul Jam.

The kids see White Lily Cookie as a weakling and hypocrite as a result, though they remain ignorant as to how she fell to Darkness in the first place. She must have decided the world didn’t deserve true freedom, and turned into a controlling maniac as a result. Thus, they don’t trust her as far as they can throw her.

Pure Vanilla Cookie Hooooo boy PV. The kids are especially prickly with him. Gingerbrave doesn’t like the fact that a single healing spell from the vanilla king could turn him to ashes. Azure Wizard doesn’t like that his Light magic and high skill level allows PV to dispel a lot of his dark spells. Wild Strawberry doesn’t like his gentle demeanor and kind personality, as she thinks it's just a farce.

They had sought out the Vanilla Kingdom to learn its secrets and advanced magical knowledge, and wound up inadvertently mixed up in the Waffle Bot attacks. It was Healer Cookie who had saved them and brought them back to the Raisin Village for treatment. Despite the villagers’ clear distrust and distaste for the kids, it was Healer who defended them and allowed them to stay. It wasn’t until he was revealed to be Pure Vanilla Cookie that the kids grew hostile, as it was his actions during the War that caused a lot of problems.

He strives for “truth” and “happiness” for all cookies. Well, too little too late, in the kids’ opinions. The truth is the world is a deeply hurtful and terrible place, and Pure Vanilla is willingly blind to it. 

Everyone is so quick to sing the Heroes praises, to show them kindness, understanding, and love. Well where was “kindness” when Gingerbrave was treated like a freak? Where was “understanding” when Wizard had to resort to dark magic to save his own life? Where was “love” when Strawberry was abandoned to rot in a random timeline with no way of returning? Where were ANY heroes when the kids called for help?

There’s no such thing as heroes. Just really good liars propped up on pedestals of fool’s gold.

[the-fluffy-folio]

Nightmare Fuel – Tiny ooze, chaotic neutral

“…but this tiny ooze couldn’t possibly the reason for all our misfortune, right?” – but it was the very reason indeed. The nightmare fuel is a cosmic creation hailing from realms beyond reality. On the edge between night and day it literally oozes into the material plane just to find itself lost and confused. In fact, it means no harm at all and usually tries to stay as close to whatever or whomever it feels comfortable with. Above all, it is a shy creature and although it seeks the company of others it simultaneously does its best to hide away from them. Unfortunately, the nightmare fuel causes excessively horrifying nightmares denying its unaware ″friends″ any kind of rest. That’s why most of these gooey beings end up alone again or stay stranded forever…

🔮 If you like my work, kindly consider to support me on Patreon to gain access to monster pages, tokens & artwork of over 300 quirky creatures as well as dozens of potion & item cards based on their lore.

[imthatpowerful]

this reminded me of the times i was closest to shifting, esp the one time i was closest. i was listening to a sub and then i stopped and was tired so i took a nap i didn’t set intention to shift and i didn’t do a method i js wanted to take a nap. i started having a strange dream and in that i started having insane symptoms. i knew this wasn’t my body falling asleep cuz i was already asleep and it wasn’t itching symptoms it felt like i was being shot through reality. but unfortunately it was all a shock and so sudden and i got scared so i kinda stopped myself like i was like thinking wait im not ready and i woke up. but that opened my eyes and made me realize how easy it is. all that happened when i didn’t pressure myself to shift how others shifted.

When I shifted for the first time, I wasn't doing anything special.

I didn't embody my Dr self, I didn't affirm throughout the day, I didn't pretend to be somewhere I was not. I didn't visualize, I didn't script, I didn't even set an intention.

I put on a subliminal, took a nap, and woke up in a different reality.

I'm not saying this to tell you to stop everything you're doing, I'm not saying your methods are wrong or your reality checks are an overkill... I'm only saying this because I too have tried literally everything under the sun for years before I shifted and all it took was a nap.

Shifting is a simple or as complicated as you want it to be. If you assume that you don't have to do anything to shift, and you hold that assumption near and dear to your heart, you will shift without doing anything. The funny thing is that at the time I didn't even have that assumption, but every time I shifted after that I wasn't doing anything special. Yes my shifts have not lasted as long as the first one yet, but the point is:

I shifted.

And so will you.

And lastly, I would like to share with you this beautiful success story that I got under my subliminal yesterday:

Happy shifting ❤️

[forthestarsx]

please note that as i am writing this i am sleep-deprived, depressed and, most importantly, sick. so this may seem a little passive aggressive. or not. i dont really know, reality is a sham and we're all going to die anyways. ... moving on.

the black brothers. everybody fears the times where they get sick. and, thanks to sirius's stubborn veiwpoint on always wearing his hair up in that goddamn bun with the wand going through and regulus's overall petty character during the winter months, it unfortunately happens quite a lot.

(i had to reduce the followng to bullet points because the paragraphs were so fricking long)

first there comes... the hormones. every day is an emotional rollercoaster

it's kind of like going through the five stages of greif

except it's happening on both sides

remus and james are regretting their life choices

'moons... would you still love me if i was a worm.'

'NO NOTHING IS REAL YOU DON'T ACTUALLY LOVE ME JAMES YOU'RE JUST SAYING THAT-'

it really shows how even the tiniest sneeze has the biggest chain reaction

and don't even get me started on the overdramaticness of it all

'MOONY I SEE A LIGHT'

'i don't even care what society thinks, im going to kms'

[sgiandubh]

In which the Music Manager strikes again

I very honestly think it's time to try and sort out a very complicated question, that bothered this side of the fandom for a long while.

This comment summed it up perfectly and I promised a separate post to discuss some of it, bearing in mind that this is Just My Opinion:

I think the early days on this side of the fandom were the best of times and the worst of times, too. The best of times, because shippers had daily receipts and renewed confirmation. The worst of times, because fanfic or just wishful thinking did find a way to sometimes overlap with what obviously already was a very complicated reality.

By the time the Dreaded MC reached our shores, the shockwave was cosmic. People cried. People quit. Former friends started bitching on and about each other. But once the first shock was taken full front in, some tried to make sense of it, as I have already written. I maintain my position which is to never judge or discuss anything I was not a direct part of, and so I choose to remain silent on all the things that were done to that extent. It is not my call and it is not my intention. My intention is to try and correct some fantasies and plain untruths that have been taken for granted for many, many years, in here.

I have already explained here why the Ibiza marriage is, at worst, fanfic and at best, some sentimental-binding handfast ceremony on the beach, possibly: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/772076510404395008/hola-hola-pregunta-de-novata-asombrada-de-veras?source=share

To back it up, here are the applicable regulations, as per the UK Government itself:

[Source: https://www.gov.uk/world/organisations/british-consulate-ibiza]

The only problem is, you can get married in a British consulate if and only if the host country's legislation gives permission for it:

If you click on the link below, you will not find Spain on the list of the countries where a consular marriage can be arranged. The reason for it is that Spain does allow same-sex marriage (which is the main reason this type of ceremony is still being performed as such, in a handful of British consulates across the world) and also because it does allow two foreign citizens to marry on its territory, provided certain requirements are being met.

[Source: https://www.gov.uk/guidance/getting-married-at-a-british-embassy-high-commission-or-consulate]

This is where things become impossible for that Ibiza marriage scenario, because there is no way they could have arranged a Tijuana marriage of sorts. While Spain does allow foreigners to marry on its territory, it leaves to the provinces the power to set the criteria of doing so. For Ibiza, you have to be a legal resident (which means, to have a residence permit issued by the Spanish authorities) there for at least two years prior to the date of your marriage:

This leaves, in theory, the possibility of a legally binding Catholic marriage, celebrated only in church, since C is a Catholic herself and, unlike the case of Anglicans (Presbyterians, in the US) not needing a prior UK civil marriage certificate (something which in theory, would have extended also to S):

[Source, for both of the above: https://www.hitched.co.uk/wedding-planning/organising-and-planning/getting-married-in-ibiza/]

But we know that never happened, unfortunately. And we know it because on that damned Marriage Certificate both C and McGill wrote and signed, is that horrible little word: 'single'.

Sorry for hurting your eyes with this. Some say the best way to overcome your greatest fear is to face it - I wholeheartedly agree with them:

[Source: https://www.tumblr.com/hurleyburly/649158609642618880/arrived-this-morning-april-22nd-by-post-from-the?source=share - I used this particular one, because the legal watermark is very obvious on it and also, because it is the easiest to look for and find].

Before the 2004 reform of the UK marriage and civil partnership legislation (enforced starting December 2005), the appropriate mention on a marriage certificate was either 'bachelor' or, accordingly, 'spinster'. That meant none of the two future spouses were married before. This has been further clarified by the Registrar General of England and Wales, acting as sole competent authority in that field, in September 2005:

[Source: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/4141996.stm]

Therefore, all of the above beg the question: which scenario applies?

1. SC got married in Ibiza, the USA, or Atlantis (doesn't matter, legal case in point is entirely the same). In that case, C would have been already married to S, on August 10, 2019. That would make her a bigamous woman. The punishment for bigamy, in the UK, is 6 months (convicted) to 7 years (indicted) in prison and a fine of £5,000, according to the Offences against the Person Act 1861:

[Source: https://penmansedgwick.com/bigamy/]

On top of it, writing 'single' on that paper without it being legally true would also qualify her as a perjury. In the UK, the punishment for perjury, in the special case of marriage procedures, is 2 years in prison if convicted and up to 7 years in prison, if indicted, plus a fine of £100, according to the Perjury Act 1911:

[Source: https://www.legislation.gov.uk/ukpga/Geo5/1-2/6]

Does anybody seriously (I repeat: seriously) think C or anyone else involved, for that matter, would have risked that? Now, I know the integrity of the Authorized Person and/or the GRO people has been questioned. I am not going there, because I was not involved in that entire business. Corrupt officials exist everywhere, after all, and that is not entirely out of the question. However, without the misdemeanor being denounced as such, you can bet no investigation has been conducted on that particular point. As such (and one last time, for I shall not discuss this anymore, lest we'd have news about it) the Dreaded MC is still a legal paper, producing legal effects. You can choose to ignore it and go your merry way, but you cannot tear it apart in a fit of rage and hide the shreds under the carpet. It is there and it happened. What possessed her and why exactly, we might never know.

Finally, if C would have been (secretly) married to S (in Ibiza, the USA or Atlantis - legal case in point still the same) and divorced before August 2019, the appropriate wording would have been 'previous marriage dissolved', with no mention of any other specifics. The same we'd have if... but I'll stop here.

2. Second scenario and what I think might have happened (in Ibiza, the USA, or Atlantis - doesn't matter): a symbolic blessing ceremony, with no legally binding effects. There is an entire thriving industry of it, yes, in Ibiza:

[Source: https://www.hitched.co.uk/wedding-planning/organising-and-planning/getting-married-in-ibiza/]

Again, you draw your own conclusions. I am not here to fuck your Sunday evening chamomile/Monday morning coffee to shambles. But I am here to tell you and all those idiots across the street that we are not naive and the fantasy, as wonderful as it might be, is exactly that: a dream. In real life, that horribly dull place with mortgages and taxes and responsibilities, things are infinitely more complicated and possibly even dirtier. And that is exactly what makes their story more interesting and endearing to me, in fact.

Many of you will probably be upset. If so, feel free to unfollow, by all means. I cannot and will not lie. I never did, because I think it is useless and idiotic. What bothered me the most is to see this witty community becoming the laughing stock of a bunch of brutal cowards, just because some thought it was easier to make believe than take the bull by the horns. And yes, accept the crooked reality of a paper that does not translate by any stretch of the imagination into a genuine relationship.

A relationship where the two spouses would publicly be glad for each other, celebrate their closeness, act like Mr. Tweedledum and Mrs. Tweedledee, invite the press to see the Taj Mahal, have joint interviews or at least offer some fucking snippet of normality. Because no, 'he is shy' is borderline insulting to McGill, who is a 48 year old man, by now. Because no, acting like deer in headlights every single time a more focused question is asked will only fuel further speculation. Because no, gaslighting in the mainstream press hundreds of people who questioned this entire mess is akin to PR suicide. And because no, you can't really hide forever a ridiculous arrangement, backed by a single piece of paper where the groom wrote himself, under oath, he was a 'music manager' (remember, BIF? you recently wrote a PhD thesis about it, isn't it ironic moronic?).

[pneumaticshift]

i have been plagued by thoughts of star sapphire hal and by god it kills me and would absolutely kill bruce to see him in the outfit carol wears in most runs she's in

Ooooh, this is a fun request. Thank you for the wonderful mental image.

----------

For a very long moment, Bruce just stared. 

There were a great many things he had prepared himself to encounter tonight. A high-speed chase across Gothams rooftops. Explosions in the streets he’d somehow end up getting blamed for. A concussion he’d insist wasn’t a concussion while Alfred stared at him like he was the biggest disappointment to ever wear body armor. All scenarios that were perfectly reasonable for a man like him to expect. 

This, however, was new. 

Bruce prided himself on his ability to remain unshaken in the face of the bizarre. He had shared into the abyss, stood beside gods and monsters alike, and had endured all the spectacular shit the universe had thrown at him. He’d even suffered through Green Arrow’s attempts at philosophy while stranded on a mission together, and that alone had to count for something.

Now he was standing in the Watchtower, taking in the full reality of what was standing before him, and he knew with absolute certainty that his life had gone completely and irrevocably off the rails. Really, he should have seen it coming the moment he decided to devote his nights to dressing as a bat.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed that Hal Jordan was attractive. He was one of the most infuriating men Bruce had ever worked with, but he was also objectively good-looking. When a man flounced around in a skintight suit with an ass like that, even Bruce was bound to notice. It was a completely manageable distraction in his day-to-day experiences with the League. One of those minor observations you’d acknowledge, catalogue and then brush aside. The sky was blue, grass was green, Hal had a great ass. 

But now he was making a very solid effort at testing the limits of Bruce’s restraint, and it had everything to do with how Hal was currently standing there in a Star Sapphire uniform.

Or, to be specific, a Green Lantern construct of the uniform. And, because apparently this was a test from the Gods to specifically screw Bruce over, the ring had chosen accuracy over modesty.

Bruce knew this because the boots were there. Knee-high, heeled, and glossy in that very specific way that suggested Hal’s ring had spent far too much time on the details. 

The rest of the outfit clung to him indecently. Obscenely. The intricate filigree was vacuum-packed to his tanned skin, high-cut at the hips, plunging at the chest, with goddamn gloves that went up and past his elbows. It should have been impossible for anything to be both skintight and flowing, but the ring sure did make a good go of it.

The tiara really brought the whole thing together nicely. Or insanely. Bruce hadn’t decided yet. 

For the longest moment, Hal didn’t even notice Bruce was there. 

He was too busy flailing his hand around to notice. The ring was glowing in fits and starts as he tried, and ultimately failed, to dismiss the uniform. The man was practically bordering on desperate as his own willpower betrayed him. 

Bruce, for his part, wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

He could enjoy the show, he supposed. Hal was stumbling gracefully in those ridiculous heels, cursing under his breath and trying to lock his knees in place for balance. He had been to alien planets, fought cosmic horrors, survived all the shit of the universe, but apparently walking in heels was where he met his match. 

Alternatively, Bruce could walk away and pretend he wasn’t going to think about the image for a very long time. Because unfortunately, he was.

He had appreciated Hal’s ass in the usual Lantern uniform many times before. (After all, he wasn’t blind.) But the Star Sapphire costume didn’t just highlight his assets, it was parading them. Utterly salacious, utterly unfair. Definitely a matter that warranted further rumination later.

Unfortunately, Bruce didn’t have time to decide which course of action to take, because right as he was mentally filing away this entire moment for later analysis, Hal’s entire scantily clad body froze.

Bruce saw the exact moment his instincts kicked in. His back snapped ramrod straight. The energy of his flailing vanished, replaced by something almost eerily still, and slowly, so painfully slowly, he turned his head.

He looked confused at first, like some part of him knew something was wrong but hadn't fully processed what yet. His brow furrowed, his mouth parted slightly, and for a brief, glorious second, Bruce could see the gears in his head struggling to turn. Then his gaze met Bruce’s. And his brain caught up.

Bruce had never seen a man visibly lose the will to live so fast.

Hal’s face went through three separate stages of emotional devastation. Shock, realisation, and existential despair. His pupils dilated. His breath hitched. His entire body seemed to shrink into itself like he was experiencing ego death in real time.

“It’s not what it looks like!” he spluttered.

Bruce tilted his head ever so slightly, letting the silence stretch. He could see Hal floundering, the sheer panic in his eyes as his mouth opened and closed, his brain scrambling for some kind of explanation that didn’t immediately collapse under scrutiny.

“Oh?” Bruce finally said. Partly to be a dick. Partly because he was truly at a loss for words. 

Hal’s hands flew up in immediate defense, then just as quickly shot back down when he remembered he was barely wearing anything. “No—shut up!” he snapped. “I swear to God, this is not what it looks like—”

“It looks like you’re wearing the Star Sapphire uniform.”

Interestingly, Hal made a noise that could’ve been a whine if it wasn’t also fifty percent death rattle. “I— No, wait—” He looked down at himself and cringed. “I can explain!”

“I’d love to hear it.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’d love to laugh at me. There’s a difference.”

Bruce couldn’t deny it. He’d also love to do a few more things too, but that probably wasn’t entirely helpful. He let his gaze drag deliberately from the top of Hal’s ridiculous head down to the heeled boots and back up again. He tilted his head, taking in the very specific details of the construct. It really was a very well made piece. 

“God, you’re an absolute—” Hal cut himself off to drag a hand over his face. “God. Okay. Look.”

“I’m looking.”

“Not like that, you asshole. I got hit with some weird energy surge and it scrambled my ring's templates. I was thinking ‘armor’, this is what came out!" Hal gestured to himself in exasperation, the movement making the construct shimmer. Good Lord. There was a sheen. "I am working on fixing it!"

Bruce hummed again, completely unhelpful, entirely entertained.

“It’s not like I chose this, alright? This is just some kind of ring feedback. It’s not, like—"

“Subconscious?" Bruce supplied.

Hal scowled at him “No.”

“So your ring just happened to manifest this design, with those proportions, entirely by chance?”

“Yes,” Hal hissed. “Obviously.”

He crossed his arms, which did nothing to make the situation better for him. Or Bruce. It called attention to the way the construct moved with him, emphasising every flex and shift of his muscles. At this point, Bruce was fighting the deeply unprofessional urge to drag him closer and haul him over his shoulder like a caveman

He didn’t. Because he was a professional.

But goddamn.

Hal shifted. The boots squeaked when he did. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“I don’t know. I think it has potential.”

“I’m gonna fix this, you’re going to be very discreet about what you definitely didn’t see here today, and we’re both going to just go ahead and pretend this never happened. Got it?”

“Hm. Shame.”

“Don’t test me, Spooky, I am so close to committing a crime.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly. “In that outfit?”

Hal lunged for the throat.

Unfortunately for him, the boots were still heels and Hal was still incapable of walking on them. The moment he put too much weight forward, his ankles twisted, his balance wobbled, and for one wonderful Bruce watched him go down. 

He really didn’t have any intentions of catching him because he always took great pleasure in the Green Lantern eating shit, but that outfit must have triggered some kind of neolithic instinct in him, because before he could think better of it, Bruce’s hands shot out and caught him by the waist.

Hal crashed into him gracelessly, all flailing limbs and deep personal shame. He scrambled for purchase and ended up gripping the font of Bruce’s suit, and for a second, Bruce was treated to the utterly incredible experience of Hal Jordan, fully wrapped up in his own humiliation, realising that he was now draped across Batman. 

It was beautiful. 

Bruce could feel the exact moment Hal’s soul left his body. His entire frame went rigid, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a dying wheeze, and his hands twitched against Bruce’s chest like he wanted to push himself away but had lost all motor function. Bruce, meanwhile, was noting things.

Specific things. Like how Hal’s waist was bare thanks to the cut-outs, and how it fit suspiciously well in his grip. Or how his bare thighs, lovely, tanned and toned, had pretty much tangled themselves up in Bruce’s cape. Or the way Hal’s entire expression had gone somewhere beyond horror, like he was experiencing a deeply spiritual crisis.

Hal froze.

Bruce froze. 

The tiara glinted in the light.

Bruce wasn’t sure if it was because Hal had ascended to a higher plane of mortification or because his own brain had completely short-circuited, but neither of them moved. He could feel the tension locked up in his muscle, could see the deer-in-the headlights look Hal had, and, worst of all, could feel some primitive part of his own brain straight up celebrating these turn of events. 

The part of his brain that still thought in terms like mine.

The part of his brain that had already acknowledged Hal’s body against his.

The part that was now, alarmingly, imagining many, many, many things.

Bruce forcibly shut that particularly thought process down.

But then Hal exhaled. Not just any exhale. A shaky, uncertain, what-have-I-done-to-deserve-this kind of exhale. The kind accompanied by one of those thousand-yard stare typically reserved for people who had just walked in on their own funerals.

There was barely time to dissect that before Hal was speaking.

“... So, uh. You come here often?”

Bruce decided to drop him.

[someonegoood]

THE CORPORATE EQUATION sweet epilouge ✫ jeon jungkook

the company heads out for a corporate retreat, where tensions run high and personal boundaries blur. During a casual evening event, the HR team inadvertently discovers the secret relationship between you and Jungkook.

CONTAINS: corporate!au, ceo!jk, headofhr!reader, grumpy x sunshine, slow burn, accidental vulnerability, mutual pining, emotionally unavailable jk, bickering turned bonding, fluff & angst :)

NOTE: this will be a mini series. thanks so much for reading!! this work is not revised and english is not my first language :)

miiini taglist @haru-jiminn @parapiop7 @radcustoms @minniejim @jeonzll @vantelover1306 @bgfdcvbnjk @mar-lo-pap @lmaothv @jksusawife @thatgirliehan @rayyrayy10 @lovingkoalaface <3

my main masterlist! ❀ the corporate equation masterlist!

The private resort was a picture of luxury—secluded, sprawling, and nestled between mountains and a crystal-clear lake. It was meant to be a “corporate retreat,” a weekend of bonding and strategizing between the HR and PR teams, with the CEOs in attendance to ensure productivity.

In reality, it was an excuse for overworked employees to drink expensive wine on the company’s dime while pretending to network.

And, unfortunately for you, it also meant being stuck in the same space as Jungkook for an entire weekend—with no desks, boardrooms, or email chains to act as a buffer.

The HR and PR teams were already packed onto the large charter bus by the time you arrived, hurrying down the aisle in search of a seat. Unfortunately, it seemed every spot had been taken—except one.

Right next to Jeon Jungkook. Great.

Jungkook, dressed in a black hoodie and ripped jeans, barely spared you a glance as he scrolled through something on his phone.

“Uh… there aren’t any other seats,” you muttered, gripping the headrest beside him.

He exhaled through his nose, then shifted slightly, gesturing to the open space next to him. “Sit.”

You hesitated for half a second before sliding in, careful not to brush against him. But the space between seats was too small, and despite your best efforts, your thigh pressed against his.

Jungkook stiffened but didn’t say anything. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from his body. This was ridiculous. It was just a bus ride.

Minji, sitting a few rows ahead, turned and wiggled her brows at you. You shot her a glare. The bus rumbled to life, and soon, the city blurred into the countryside. Conversations hummed around you, but in your little corner, silence stretched.

Until Jungkook spoke.

“You’re fidgeting.”

You glanced up, caught off guard. “Huh?”

He tapped his thigh. “Your leg. You keep moving it.”

Heat crept up your neck. “I—Sorry.”

You stilled, but then the bus hit a bump, and you really didn’t have a choice but to press into him. Jungkook tensed. His jaw ticked.

“Relax,” he muttered after a beat, voice lower than usual. “It’s not a big deal.”

Not a big deal? Easy for him to say.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as your heart pounded against your ribs. It was going to be a long ride.

The night was warm, and the resort’s pool was dimly lit, the water reflecting the soft golden glow of the nearby lights. Jungkook leaned against the edge, half-submerged, the cool water doing little to dispel the heat curling in his stomach.

Because you were there. Laughing. Smiling. Completely unaware of the effect you had on him.

You had arrived late, dressed in a sleek black swimsuit that made his throat dry. The HR team had cheered when you finally joined them, and he had tried—really tried—to keep his eyes off you.

It didn’t work.

Especially not when you waded into the pool, water gliding up your body, trailing over your skin in ways that made his fingers twitch.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, forcing himself to look away.

“Bro, you’re staring.”

Taehyung’s voice snapped him out of it. He turned to find his friend floating lazily beside him, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Jungkook scowled. “Shut up.”

Taehyung chuckled, but before he could say more, a splash of water hit them both.

“Oops,” you said, all faux innocence, blinking at Jungkook through your lashes. “Was that too much?”

Jungkook raised a brow. “You did that on purpose.”

You smirked. “Maybe.”

Something hot and dangerous curled in his chest. Oh, so that’s how you wanted to play this?

Without a word, he lunged—water sloshing as he grabbed your wrist and tugged, sending you tumbling toward him with a yelp. The movement was quick, effortless.

Suddenly, you were pressed against his chest, eyes wide, breath hitched.

Jungkook smirked, voice low. “Still feeling playful?”

Your lips parted, but before you could respond, Minho’s voice rang out.

“Hey! No making out in the pool!”

Laughter erupted. You pushed away from Jungkook, face burning, while he merely leaned back against the edge, looking far too pleased with himself.

Yeah. This weekend was dangerous.

The resort’s garden was quiet, the scent of blooming flowers lingering in the cool evening air. You strolled along the path, enjoying the peace—until you spotted Jungkook leaning against a wooden railing, watching the koi pond.

Alone. You smirked, perfect.

“CEO Jeon,” you drawled, stepping beside him. “Brooding again?”

He didn’t look away. “Thinking.”

“About?”

“You.”

You blinked. Heat flooded your face. “What?”

Jungkook finally turned, lips twitching. “You’re easy to fluster.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. "I hate you."

Jungkook smirked, the glow of the lanterns catching the sharp curve of his lips. "No, you don’t."

You huffed, crossing your arms. "I came here for peace, not to be bullied."

He tilted his head slightly, dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Funny. I thought you came here looking for me."

Your stomach flipped. The way he said it—low, teasing, dangerous—made heat creep up your neck.

Before you could retaliate, a voice cut through the still night air.

"Jungkook!"

You stiffened. Eunji.

She walked toward you both, poised and effortless, her form-fitting dress swaying around her thighs. She wasn’t out of breath, wasn’t rushing. No—Eunji never rushed. She moved like she owned every room she entered. And worst of all? Jungkook didn’t immediately tell her to leave.

Your stomach twisted.

“I was looking for you,” she said smoothly, barely sparing you a glance. Then, with a practiced smile, she added, “Didn’t expect to find you here.”

With her.

The unspoken words lingered, thick as smoke in the air.

Your mood soured instantly.

Jungkook, oblivious—or maybe just indifferent—to the sudden shift in energy, raised a brow. “What do you need?”

Eunji stepped closer, closing the space between them. Then, as if it was nothing, she laid a hand on his arm.

Your breath hitched.

“Just a quick chat about the PR strategy,” she murmured, her fingers grazing his sleeve like she had every right to touch him. Like it was normal. Casual. Expected.

Something bitter curled in your chest. Seriously? She couldn’t have waited? You clenched your fists at your sides, willing yourself to stay calm.

Forcing a tight, polite smile, you cleared your throat. “I should go.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed, his focus snapping back to you. “You don’t have to—”

But you were already turning away. And when you glanced back, Eunji was still touching him.

Still smiling up at him like she belonged there. Your chest ached.

Jealousy was an ugly thing.

The scent of burning wood curling into the cool evening air as the flames from the bonfire flickered against the dark sky. The corporate retreat had been filled with structured team-building exercises and tedious strategy meetings, but this—this was the first moment that truly felt alive.

People gathered in clusters, some perched on wooden benches, others sprawled out on blankets across the grass. Laughter echoed around the open-air patio, the sound of clinking glasses blending with the low hum of conversation.

You glanced across the bonfire-lit patio, where your HR team—Soojin, Dohyun, Minji, and Minho—were deep in conversation, laughing over something Minho had said. Further down, Hajun, Jungkook’s ever-efficient assistant, was nursing a glass of whiskey while keeping a watchful eye on his boss.

Jungkook, for his part, had claimed one of the large wooden logs arranged in a circle around the fire, lounging with an effortless kind of ease that contrasted sharply with the tension you felt coiling in your stomach. He was surrounded by his cousins, Seokjin and Yoongi, both looking equally relaxed.

Seokjin, as usual, had taken up the role of storyteller, gesturing wildly as he spun some exaggerated tale from their childhood, much to Yoongi’s quiet amusement.

And then, of course, there was Taehyung. How he had ended up at a corporate retreat when he didn’t even work at the company was beyond you. But when you’d asked, he’d merely smirked, claiming he was an “unofficial consultant” before pouring himself a generous glass of whatever expensive liquor had been set out.

“Someone had to make sure this trip wasn’t completely boring,” he had added with a wink.

The fire crackled, sparks dancing into the night as the alcohol flowed and inhibitions loosened. Someone had brought out a speaker, soft music blending into the conversations. The warmth of the flames mixed with the lingering buzz of the drinks, and for a moment, the lines between colleagues and friends blurred.

But as you watched Jungkook from across the fire, his jaw tight as he laughed at something Seokjin said, his gaze flickering to you for the briefest second—something told you tonight was going to be different.

Then there was Eunji—your not-so-subtle rival from PR—who had been eyeing you all evening with barely veiled suspicion.

"You're being weird," Soojin murmured beside you, nudging your arm.

You blinked. "What?"

"You keep sneaking glances at CEO Jeon." She wiggled her brows. "Got something to confess?"

Minji, overhearing, gasped. "Wait—no way. Do you have a thing for Jungkook?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, an all-too-familiar voice cut through the conversation.

"She better, considering they’ve been secretly dating for months."

Every head at your table snapped toward the source—none other than Seokjin, who had the smuggest expression imaginable as he leaned back in his chair.

You choked on air. Jungkook, seated beside him, tensed but said nothing, his gaze flicking toward you as the words registered across the firelit patio.

Silence. Then—

"WHAT?!"

Chaos erupted.

Soojin nearly spilled her drink. Minho swore. Dohyun clapped a hand over his mouth. Minji, ever the dramatist, gasped so hard she nearly lost consciousness. Hajun, sipping his whiskey, merely raised an eyebrow, completely unsurprised.

Eunji, on the other hand, looked delighted. "You and Jungkook?" She leaned forward, eyes glinting. "So that's why you've been so smug lately."

"I— No, we-" You turned to Jungkook, expecting him to deny it, but instead, he sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered something under his breath.

That was all the confirmation anyone needed.

"OH MY GOD, IT'S TRUE!" Soojin shrieked.

"Wait, wait, wait," Minho interjected. "Since when?!"

Yoongi, who had been silently sipping his drink, finally spoke up, deadpan. "Since forever."

"Why are we just now finding out?" Dohyun demanded, looking genuinely offended.

Jungkook sighed. "Because it was none of your business? We're not dating."

"Wrong answer." Minji shook her head. "The correct answer was, ‘Because we were waiting for the right time to tell you, our dear and beloved friends whom we trust deeply.’ But no, you went with ‘None of your business.’ Unbelievable."

Soojin turned to you, still in shock. "Are you seriously dating Jungkook? As in, our CEO Jungkook? Grumpy CEO Jungkook? Will-fire-you-with-one-look Jungkook?"

Your face was on fire. "Yes."

The reaction was instant—cheers, dramatic gasps, and a round of mock applause. Even Taehyung looked impressed.

"I'm actually kind of proud of you," he told Jungkook, nudging his arm. "I thought you'd die alone."

Jungkook shot him a glare. "Thanks, Taehyung."

But before the conversation could spiral further, Hajun finally spoke, his voice calm and steady as always. "Alright, enough with the theatrics," he said, setting his glass down. "What matters is that they're happy. And if they wanted to keep it private, we should respect that."

A pause. Then—

"You knew, didn't you?" Minho narrowed his eyes at Hajun.

Hajun smirked, taking another sip of whiskey. "I know everything."

Jungkook groaned. You buried your face in your hands. This retreat was not going as planned.

The fire had burned low, embers glowing faintly against the darkened sky. Most of the group had dispersed—some retreating to their rooms, others lingering near the patio, finishing off bottles of wine and whiskey. But you had wandered away, needing space, needing air. The cool night breeze off the lake did little to calm the turmoil in your chest.

You were still thinking about earlier. Jungkook and Eunji.

Eunji’s hand on his arm. Her effortless smile. The way she had looked at him—like she had a right to be there. Like she had a right to him. And worst of all? The way he hadn’t immediately pushed her away.

You exhaled sharply, arms crossed as you stared at the water, your reflection rippling under the moonlight.

Then, footsteps. Jungkook.

He approached quietly, hands shoved into his pockets, his usual confidence tempered by something softer. Something cautious. "You okay?" His voice was low, just for you.

You let out a breathy laugh, but it lacked humor. "I mean… our secret kind of... relationship just got very public, so I’d say I’m still processing."

Jungkook’s lips twitched. "Seokjin is never going to let me live this down."

You scoffed. "Seokjin? Jungkook, none of them are letting us live this down."

"True." He tilted his head, watching you carefully before adding, "Are you… mad?"

That made you turn to him fully. "Why would I be mad?"

Jungkook hesitated, his jaw tightening for just a moment. "Because of earlier. At the park."

Your stomach twisted. Of course he knew.

You swallowed hard, shifting your gaze back to the lake. "I mean… you didn’t exactly stop her from touching you."

Jungkook exhaled sharply. "You think I wanted that?" His voice was firm now, edged with something frustrated—like the idea of you doubting him genuinely bothered him.

You bit your lip, but before you could speak, he took a step closer, his warmth chasing away the night’s chill. "I only have eyes for you," he said, voice quieter now, more certain.

"I don’t care about Eunji. Or about my ex. I never have. And if I didn’t shut them down fast enough, it’s only because I was too busy watching you and trying to figure out how the hell to make it right."

Your breath hitched.

"So let me make it right now," he murmured, closing the last bit of space between you.

You reached for his hand first, lacing your fingers through his. "I don’t mind," you admitted. "If anything, I think it’s kind of a relief. I hated pretending you weren’t—" You swallowed, cheeks warming. "—important to me."

Jungkook’s grip tightened slightly, his gaze locked onto yours.

"Good," he murmured, tilting his head. "Because I’m done pretending, too."

And then, under the soft glow of the moon, with the sound of the lake lapping against the shore, he kissed you—not in secret, not hidden away, but out in the open.

For the first time, it wasn’t a secret. And for the first time, it didn’t need to be.

previous

[jzprncess]

to love and to let go 𓇢𓆸

pairing : george russell x reader

oneshot

word count : 2,143

main summary : Years after their breakup, Y/N attends George's wedding, hoping to find closure and say a silent goodbye to the man she once loved. But as old feelings resurface amidst the celebrations, Y/N and George are forced to confront the bittersweet reality of what they had—and what they’ve lost. A story of love, heartbreak, and the unspoken words that linger long after goodbye.

note : the coincidence that im posting this on george’s birthday (or around) is mind blowing fr. i dont keep track on their birthdays and i found out when the f1 insta account posted about it. but here’s a short oneshot unfortunately.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

Y/N had always known this day would come. From the moment she’d walked out of George Russell’s life, she’d understood that one day he would move on. He was too kind, too handsome, too remarkable not to. But knowing it and living it were two entirely different things.

The plane ride to Spain had felt endless, every hour stretching into what felt like days. As the plane began its descent, Y/N’s stomach twisted in knots, her nerves gnawing at the edges of her composure. She stepped off the plane, the heels of her shoes clicking softly against the polished airport floor. The air here was warmer, softer, carrying the scent of orange blossoms and saltwater. It felt alive, vibrant in a way that London rarely was—a reminder of how far she was from the life she had built and the man she had once loved.

The invitation had been in her bag for weeks, folded and unfolded so many times that the once-crisp edges were now soft and worn. She’d stared at it late at night when sleep eluded her, her mind drifting to memories she tried so hard to bury. The elegant gold script still felt like a dagger: You are cordially invited to the wedding of George Russell and Carmen Mundt.

What had compelled her to come? Curiosity? Guilt? Some masochistic need to see him one last time, even if it broke her heart in the process? She didn’t know. All she knew was that staying away felt impossible.

The taxi ride to the venue was agonizingly quiet. Y/N stared out the window, her mind racing as the city melted into sprawling vineyards and sun-dappled hills. She tried to focus on the beauty of the landscape, but her thoughts kept returning to George. She could still hear his laugh in her memories, feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, and see the way his eyes would light up when he talked about racing. He had been her everything once, and now he belonged to someone else.

When the taxi pulled up to the venue, she almost told the driver to keep going. The sight before her stole the air from her lungs. The courtyard was a dream, with flowers blooming in shades of pink and white, their delicate petals swaying in the breeze. Fairy lights were strung between the trees, casting a soft glow that made the entire space feel like a fairytale. It was perfect. It was painfully perfect.

Y/N stepped out of the car, smoothing the fabric of her dress with trembling hands. She had agonized over her outfit for weeks, finally settling on a deep navy gown that felt understated but elegant. She didn’t want to draw attention, but she also didn’t want to disappear entirely. As much as she tried to steel herself, she felt like an imposter in a place she didn’t belong.

The ceremony hadn’t started yet, and the courtyard buzzed with the chatter and laughter of the guests. Waiters moved gracefully through the crowd, balancing trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres. Y/N slipped into a quiet corner near the back, her heart pounding as she scanned the sea of faces. She wasn’t ready to face him—not yet.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne glass as her gaze drifted toward the altar. And then she saw him.

George was standing with his groomsmen, his head tipped back in laughter. He looked radiant, his smile brighter than the Spanish sun. His suit was impeccably tailored, and his hair was styled just so, but it wasn’t his appearance that made her heart ache. It was the happiness radiating from him, so pure and unguarded. She had always loved his smile, but seeing it now, knowing it wasn’t for her, felt like a cruel twist of fate.

Y/N turned away, her chest tightening as she fought back the tears threatening to spill. She had thought she was prepared for this moment, but nothing could have prepared her for the sharp sting of seeing him again.

When the music started, signaling the beginning of the ceremony, she slipped into a seat near the back, keeping her head low. The bride appeared moments later, a vision in white. Carmen was beautiful in a way that felt almost effortless, her dress simple yet stunning, her every step radiating grace.

Y/N’s breath caught as she watched George’s face light up. His eyes were fixed on Carmen as though she were the only person in the world. That look—it was the kind of love people wrote songs about, the kind of love Y/N had once dared to dream about. She pressed her nails into her palms, willing herself to stay composed.

The vows were everything she had feared they would be. George’s voice was steady, filled with so much love and reverence that it was almost unbearable. He spoke of Carmen as though she had saved him, as though she had filled a void he didn’t know existed. Y/N blinked rapidly, her vision blurring as his words cut through her.

When the officiant declared them husband and wife, the crowd erupted in applause. Y/N clapped along, her movements mechanical as her world crumbled around her. And then, as if fate had one last cruel twist to deliver, George’s eyes found hers.

The noise of the crowd faded into nothing as their gazes locked. His smile faltered, just for a moment, and Y/N felt the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. She lifted her hand to her chest, her fingers trembling as she pressed them lightly over her heart.

George mirrored the gesture, his hand resting over his heart as his eyes softened. There was something in his expression—a mix of regret, gratitude, and a love that had once burned so brightly but now flickered like a dying ember.

Y/N forced herself to smile, though it wavered under the weight of her emotions. She nodded at him, a silent acknowledgment of everything they had shared and everything they had lost.

As the crowd rose to their feet, cheering and celebrating, Y/N stayed seated for a moment longer. She watched as George turned back to his new wife, his hand slipping into hers as they walked down the aisle together. They looked happy, and that should have been enough. But it wasn’t.

Y/N stood slowly, her legs unsteady as she made her way toward the exit. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

But as she walked away, she felt the weight of George’s gaze on her, heavy and lingering.

And he was watching her, his heart aching in a way he couldn’t explain.

For a moment, Y/N thought about stopping, about turning around and saying something—anything. But she knew it wouldn’t change anything. George had moved on. It was time for her to do the same.

As she stepped into the quiet evening, the sun dipping low on the horizon, she let out a shaky breath. The ache in her chest was sharp and unrelenting, but she knew it would fade with time. It had to.

And yet, as the sound of the celebration echoed behind her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that a part of her heart would always belong to him.

Y/N kept walking, her heels clicking softly against the stone path leading away from the ceremony. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the weight of the past was trying to pull her back. She didn’t let herself stop—not when her chest felt like it was caving in, not when the distant laughter and music threatened to drown her.

The car that had brought her here was still waiting by the curb, the driver leaning casually against the door as he scrolled through his phone. He straightened up when he saw her approach, but Y/N shook her head. “Not yet,” she murmured, her voice barely audible even to herself.

She turned instead toward a quiet garden off to the side of the venue. It was empty, secluded, far enough away from the celebration to muffle the sound of joy that felt like it didn’t belong to her. She sat down on a bench, the cool metal pressing against her back, and let out a shaky breath.

Her hands trembled as she pulled out her phone. She didn’t even know why she bothered—there was no one she could call, no words that could fix the way her heart felt like it had been shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces.

Her fingers hovered over George’s name in her contacts. She hadn’t deleted it. She thought about it once, right after they’d broken up, but some part of her couldn’t do it. It felt too final. Like deleting him from her phone would mean erasing every memory they’d shared, every laugh, every touch, every whispered promise.

Her thumb moved to the call button, but she stopped herself. What would she even say? Congratulations, I’m so happy for you? A lie. Or worse, I miss you. I still love you. The truth, but one that had no place in the world he lived in now.

Instead, she opened their old text thread, scrolling back through the messages she hadn’t looked at in years.

George : “Drive safe. Let me know when you’re home. Xx.”

Y/N : “Stop worrying, I’m fine. :)”

George : “I’m allowed to worry. It’s in my boyfriend contract.”

She laughed softly, bitterly, at the memory. She’d forgotten how easy it had been with him, how natural. And maybe that was what hurt the most—not just losing him, but losing the version of herself that existed when she was with him.

The sound of footsteps pulled her out of her thoughts. She looked up, startled, and froze.

George was standing there, hands in his pockets, his tie slightly loosened as if he’d been in a hurry to leave. He looked at her the way he always had, with that quiet intensity that made it feel like she was the only person in the world.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Y/N’s heart dropped. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. What could she possibly say to him? That she hadn’t expected him to follow her? That she wished he hadn’t? That part of her was glad he had?

“I saw you leave,” he continued, stepping closer. “I… I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

His voice was gentle, familiar, and it made her chest ache even more.

“I’m fine,” she lied, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. She glanced down at her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “You should go back. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“I don’t care about everyone,” he said quietly. “Not right now.”

Her head snapped up at that, her brows furrowing. “George, you just got married. You can’t be here.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know. I know I shouldn’t. But when I saw you…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if he was trying to make sense of his own thoughts. “Y/N, why did you come?”

The question hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to answer. She wanted to tell him the truth—that she had come because she needed closure, because she needed to see for herself that he was happy so she could finally let go. But now that he was standing in front of her, every reason she had seemed insignificant.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He nodded, as if he understood, even though she wasn’t sure she did herself. “I never thought I’d see you again,” he admitted, his voice tinged with something that sounded like regret.

“Me neither,” she said. And then, after a pause, “You look happy, George.”

His expression softened, but there was something behind his eyes—something that looked almost like pain. “I am,” he said, but it sounded like a question more than an answer.

Y/N smiled, even though it hurt. “Good. That’s all I ever wanted for you.”

She stood up, brushing off her dress. “I should go. I don’t want to ruin your day.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” he said quickly, taking a step toward her. “Y/N, wait—”

She turned to face him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Goodbye, George.”

And with that, she walked away, her heart breaking with every step.

George watched her go, his chest tight with the weight of everything he hadn’t said. He knew he should go back to the celebration, to the life he had chosen, but in that moment, he couldn’t move.

Because a part of him—the part he thought he had buried—was still walking away with her.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

taglist : @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey @alex-wotton @ssarqhxo @rainy-darling @mymilkshakefun @hs2016 @linnygirl09 @rawr-123s-stuff @meadhbhcavanagh @coral7161

[riovidql]

i thought that i was dreaming when you said you loved me — AGATHARIO

“Honey, I’m home!” Rio said as she walked through the door, getting out of her shoes and losing her coat. “God, you will not believe the day I had. I swear, one of these days it will be proven that stupidity can kill. Then I will finally have pea- Agatha…?” She stops, because Agatha is nowhere to be seen, or felt, for that matter. What the fuck?

“Uhm, Agatha? Scratchy?” She shouts. No answer. Fuck. “Fuck, did I walk into the wrong apartment again?” But then a little ball of fur comes running down the hall, stopping precisely in front of her. She kneels down. “Hey, bunny. Where’s your mama?” She, funny enough, scratches behind Scratchy’s ear as she picks him up. He looks like he knows, but won’t tell. Well, of course he won’t tell me where she is, he can’t talk.

“Okay… Scavenger hunt it is then. And you,” she looks directly into his eyes. “Are coming with me. Agatha won’t murder, burn, bite or whatever she’s… We’re… Uhm. She behaves when you’re around! You’re my shield, is what I’m saying. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Agathaaa! Where the fuck are you?”

She looked everywhere. Even under the rugs. A woman could never be too safe. And honestly, it’s Agatha. And Rio could, obviously, try her phone. But one thing about Agatha Harkness is she absolutely, completely, despises phones. And technology over all; (some will say it’s because she doesn’t know how to use it, she will deny profusely, she just is above it).

Rio was tired. She had a long ass day at work, and she needed sleep, and no one could argue she did not look for her wife, Señor Scratchy was witness. Though that rabbit always chose her wife’s side anyway. Useless, traitor bunny. But she did send her a text, though.

As she laid down on the couch, with the little pet comfortably under her chin and the low, background noise of the TV, she dozed off. She wouldn’t know what time that actually happened or how long she was napping for… People were taking longer to get to the fucking point, traffic was ass, the elevator was broken so she had to take the stairs, and this nosy neighbor stopped her for unsolicited advice, boring gossip. And she still had to go look for Agatha. If you asked Rio, she would say that day had approximately 87 hours. And counting.

And as if it couldn’t get worse, she woke up from her sleep with a killer headache. National Fuck Rio Vidal Day, fuck me. ‘Did Agatha at least get home?’ was her second thought, but as she was regaining her consciousness and taking in her surroundings, the smell caught her senses. “What the fuck?” It smelled like…? Chicken? And bechamel sauce? And was that Agatha moving a spoon on a pan? Wait. Was Agatha cooking? Just for how long, exactly, had she been out for and did she or did she not mistakenly alternate realities? “What the fuck.” She says a little more loud this time, making Agatha look over her shoulder with a smirk.

“I thought you were dead.”

“And then you decided to cook? Aren’t you just the most romantic thing in the world.” Rio scoffs.

“Unfortunately, I was wrong.”

“Charmer.” Then Rio remembers. “Where the fuck were you? And why didn’t you call, or text? Or left a fucking note stuck on Scratchy?”

“Out.”

“Out? That’s all you have to say after disappearing for hours and making me turn and toss and destroy this apartment looking for you?” Rio crosses her arms, mildly annoyed by her wife’s nonchalant responses.

“It didn’t look like you were turning and tossing and destroying this apartment when I got here.” Agatha was smiling big now and oh, Rio fucking despised her. Fuck Agatha, was what she was going to do later.

“Fine!” She rolls her eyes, lying down on the couch again. “Just be quiet. Someone decided it was a good idea to play drums inside my head.” And just like that, she dozed off again.

When she rose, it was to a glass of water and two ibuprofens placed on the coffee table in front of her, which she gratefully took. Maybe she didn’t really despise Agatha. Or maybe the water was poisoned. Either way, she looked around and she saw that her wife was on a stool leaning over their countertop, her back facing Rio as her body looked like it was focused. Was Agatha writing hate letters to Jen, again? Standing quietly, she made her way to her wife, not wanting to startle her. Fine, she didn’t want to make Agatha aware she was snooping around her business.

That was when she saw it. Agatha was drawing. Drawing plants, elaborate ones. The pages on display had four different kind of greens, each one with their own description and functionality, all painted and shadowed, except for the one she was just starting to work on. Rio was actually, maybe for the first time in her life, stunned. Well, except for when Agatha climbed on top of her in bed and-

What was even weirder was that Agatha was so focused on her task that she didn’t even notice Rio lurking behind her. Or that Rio was actually shedding real, big ass tears. Cry baby. “What is that?” She finally spoke, which she wished she didn’t ‘cause now there was a hand coming to slap her and Rio was caught off guard and there was no way she could react fast enough to dodge a very loud, and painful, slap on her face. “Are you fucking crazy?” She shouted after a few moments.

“If you didn’t stand there like a freak for God knows how long and scared the shit out of me, all of this could’ve been avoided.” Agatha continued to draw.

“And somehow it’s my fault.” Rio wasn’t finding the situation cute anymore.

“Yeah, it is. Good girl.” You could hear the smirk in her voice.

“Oh, fuck off.” She continued lurking. “What are you doing.”

Agatha actually blushed. “What I was doing was dinner, but somebody decided to sleep. Again.”

“Quit stalling, Agatha. What is this?”

“I’ve found a hobby.” She said simply.

“You’ve found a hobby? And it has something to do with plants? The very same thing you tease me about every single day and call me a nerd for?”

“Just wanted to know what the hype was all about. So I’ve been taking a few classes, going to some lectures, you know how it is.” Rio has no idea how it is.

“About plants?” She deadpans.

“Obviously.”

“Right.”

Agatha turns to look at Rio and says, “Dinner is ready.”

Rio is speechless, dumbfounded, stunned (again), blabla. What the fuck was wrong with her wife? Maybe she shouldn’t have got up today.

“Wait a minute.” She grabs Agatha’s arm as she stands. “You? Made dinner? And it smelled good? And we’re still alive?” Rio wasn’t so sure about the last part.

“Sue me for wanting to make something nice for my wife?”

Huh. “Am I missing something here?”

“God, Rio. You’re so annoying. I fucking made you dinner ‘cause class ran late and traffic was awful and I got here after you and felt bad. And your ass was sleeping so infuriatingly cutely with Scratchy, and you looked so tired. I am taking botany classes and going to approximately a million lectures a week about plants because you do so much for me and I just wanted to show you that I care too. Was that what you wanted to hear?” Agatha made her best to look annoyed, but Rio knew her and could see just the tiniest spark of insecurity in her eyes. She pretended she didn’t see. Or she would be feet deep buried.

“My love.” Rio said weakly. God, she loved, hated, her wife. Agatha eyes softened at the two words.

“Can I go back to my drawing now?” Leave it to Agatha to run from any type of emotional moment. Even after years married. This bitch.

“Ah yes, and you’re gonna tell me all about those classes of yours. How long have you been keeping this from me? And what is up with that draw game. I did not know you had it in you.”

“I have very skilled hands, I think you of all people would know that.” Agatha winked at her. Show off.

“Debatable.” Then Rio started running for her life. This time she had a good reaction time.

HEY! i just love these witches so much it really got me back to writing after YEARS. if anyone see this, i hope u enjoy it :)

[hiyukikagari]

i made another post last sunday that briefly clocked the framing of chihiro from the perspective of the corpses, but when you lay the entire sequence out that way, it mirrors a lot of the framing of monsters in horror films.

a lot of horror runs on the unknown/unseen, allowing the imagination to fill in those gaps with an image personalized to the individual viewer’s metric of “scary”. this is employed not only against the viewer, but often the characters is the film as well. depending on the movie, we either never see the monster/killer (blair witch project, 1999), or are built up to a big reveal via quick glimpses/hints throughout the film (predator, 1987).

hokazono did the latter a lot during the vs. sojo arc, when chihiro was infiltrating the lab where char was being kept, and he does it a little bit here through iori. we only get to see what she can see, the mere signifiers of violence, until he gives her the all clear. the monster is revealed, and we see chihiro for the first time again, re-contextualized into the killer that iori sees in him to great effect, like you said.

to your point about how it affects her decision: it’s likely the most violent act she’s been a firsthand witness to, and by now she understands it would be the perpetual reality of her life going forward. i can imagine someone like iori internalizing that, seeing it as her responsibility to forget, so that nobody else has to die in her name. unfortunately it probably won’t be that easy.

SHUT THE FUCK UP THIS IS THE COOLEST MANGA OH MY GOD

[climbhighsleeplow]

Strange, how many people still won’t accept the realities of our rapidly changing climate.

Unfortunately, climate change is not going away because we don’t believe in it or vote against it. It’s not that kind of issue.

Yes, climate scientists keep moving the goalposts. They keep moving them closer. That’s the nature of geometric progression.

[lair-of-the-white-worm]

Pappy Gus is a Mud of constant sorrow. Born into slavery, he was one of the Mudokon workers that was forced to build the railroad tracks leading out west. After a horrible accident he unfortunately lost his legs and was basically forgotten and abandoned by the slig patrol that was supervising his crew. Nowadays Pappy Gus rides the rails in secret, plucking his makeshift "banjer" as he calls it, writing songs about workin' 'till he dies unless a saviour comes by.

The songs he writes are like folk songs among slaves. His existence is kind of an urban legend as well. Not many young muds know about him but older workers do, and his existence is only known/speculated by word of mouth. Pappy is very much still alive, still hopping from train to train across Mudos neither slave nor free, banging out his songs hoping people hear them.

Pappy Gus is also a bit of a legend in his own right in that he's actually managed to make it to age 100, even though he was born a slave and is fending for himself. He should have been dead half a century ago, but he prevails. Some say he's immortal, when in reality he's just getting more fresh air than factory workers.