#how I function and why I feel the way I do

[imaginaryf1shots]

Starved | Max Verstappen

WC: 1.9K

Max x gf!reader

Summery: Max is touch starved and your love language is physical touch.

Warning: Jos and Christain horner, ilusion to a tough childhood

AN: I just saw a ticktok and I had to write this.

Masterlist

Max Masterlist

Max never knew how good physical touch is as a love language, he didn't grow up with hugs and gentle touches, none of his past girlfriends were overly touchy with him. That all changed when you came into his life. You grew up smothered in love and affection, and it's how you function, how you show your love. 

Max remembers the moment he realised you're not like his other girlfriends in that aspect.

It was after your first date, and you were having a walk around, neither of you wanting the night to end. Max was telling you a story about something that happened that week, your hands brushing, and he kept thinking if he should take your hand or not. You didn't leave him with a choice.

“-and he ran straight at me, bit I saw him-” Max stops talking when he feels your hand move around his and you lace your fingers through his, he looks at you, and you just smile up at him, leaning closer to his side. Max couldn't help but smile just as bright as yours. “So I dodged and he still bled and fell down, everyone was…”

He kept on talking, you were listening attentively, adding things when needed, and squeezing his hand when you wanted him to look at you. 

Max felt like holding hands with you is the best thing ever. 

But boy was he wrong, because every new tech became his favourite. 

Max never knew he was the cuddling type, until you wrapped yourself around him.

“Oh god.” You whined as Max flipped himself onto the bed beside you, the room filled with your heavy breathing. “That was…”

“Amazing.” Max finishes for you, he turns his head to look at you, even the Formula 1 driver is out of breath but he's smiling nonetheless. You grin at him and turn around placing your head on his shoulder and your arm on his stomach. Max freezes for a second, you press your lips to his skin in a few pecks, making him relax instantly. Max moves you a bit so you're closer with his arms around you. You're both naked with your kin touching his everywhere. You can hear his heart beating fast in his chest and try to not show him your smile. You know why he is the way he is. Without him having to tell you, you picked up on his reactions whenever you touch him affectionately. 

“You don't want to shower, or get dressed?” Max asked you after a moment of silence.

“In a bit, I just want to hold you for a few minutes.” You mumble feeling overly relaxed. Max kisses the top of your head, and lets you hold him while he holds you as long as you want.

Max always thought it's his job as the man in the relationship to have his hand on you in public, show his dominance and all that nonsense. And as much as he just likes having his hands on you, he loves you having your hands all over him. Makes him feel wanted, loved and needed. 

Max is driving you both to a new restaurant that you wanted to try. One hand on the wheel the other on the gear stick. You were looking out the window when you suddenly got the feeling that you want Max closer, want to touch him. So you just move your hand to his thigh.

“Schatje.” Max says and you hum, turning to look at him. “What are you doing?” 

“Just suddenly wanted to be closer to you.” You tell him with a smile.

“I'm right here.” Max glances at you.

“Not close enough.” You say and stay silent for a moment. “Do you not like it?”

You start to move your hand when he stops you with the hand on the gear stick. “I didn't say that, you can touch me whenever you want.”

There are many pictures of you and Max in the paddock or out and about, but more in the paddock. They're all of you lacing your hands with Max, hugging his arms, someone commented once how you're always the first to touch Max, but he never lets go of you. So, to those that tried to hate on you and call you clingy, could never really find anything to hate you for. It’s clear that you’re the instigator but Max’s smile is always undeniable.

“Max, what do you love most about y/n?” Max was signing hats on his way into the paddock, when a fan suddenly asked.

“Her hugs.” The crowd all awed, Max didn’t even realise what he said, it just came out naturally, he loves everything about you, but if there’s one thing that he misses the most and looks forward to when he’s away, it’s your hugs. They feel like home, as cheesy as that may seem.

And hugging you do. You take every chance to pull Max in for hugs.

You’d be eating with the other WAGs or maybe Victoria, and Max would be walking through the paddock and seeing you, he’d walk up to you, and you’d stop everything and give the man a hug as if you didn’t see each other yet that day.

“How’s your day so far?” You ask him, still in his arms.

“Good, how’s yours?”

“Good.” You’d be the first to let go, knowing that if you don’t he’ll never let you go. As much as you want to stay in his arms, he had work to do.

Max would be away on a triple header out of Europe, and you wouldn’t be able to join him for the first race, but no one is surprised when Air Max flies back to Europe and then to the race destination and there’s pictures of you exiting. Max will be damned before he sees you flying in anything but his plane, only the best for you.

You’d get there later than expected, so Max is already on track. His team meets you to give you your passes and get you in. They lead you to where Max is, he’s having a moment break before he has to go to a Red Bull club event thingy in the Red Bull hospitality. Max is on his phone with a Red Bull in his other hand, he looks up when he hears you walk in, he doesn’t see his smiling team behind you, once you’re here everything else ceases to exist.

Max just folds himself around you, he never cares who’s around. Your hand runs up and down his back. Your head in the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in. 

“Hey, my love.” You greet him and kiss his neck softly.

“I missed you schatje.” Max responds to your words and you smile.

“Missed you too, like crazy.” You stand there for a few minutes, everyone knows to just let you have your moments, a much calmer Max is always there thanks to your presence.

There’s a hug that all the fans remember, it went down in the history book for being loving and sad at the same time.

Max has been having a bad time this season, struggling with the car, and not winning, even though he’s leading the points, it’s a very close call. And after 2021 he never hoped to go through such a tough battle again.

Alas here he is, doing the best he could with what he has. Max and Jos have been butting heads lately, mainly because Jos thinks that Max should leave Red Bull and go to Mercedes, while Max wants to stay with Red Bull. The dynamic between the two has always had its highs and lows, and they’re going through a tough low now. So, when Max finally won a race and thus winning the championship, after struggling the majority of the season, and he saw his dad standing in the crowd he was happy. But Jos being the a-hole he is, he wasn’t happy. He didn’t want this race to give Max hope for any future with the team.

Max noticed the look on his father’s face when he was just about to go and hug him, he knew that look, he knew what it meant. And it upsets Max to see it when he’s just won and should be celebrating.

“MAX!” You shout and gain his attention, you’re behind the barrier. Everyone in the team knew what was going on between Max and Jos, and they knew how much having your support no matter what meant for him. So they did not hesitate to raise you over the barrier, you squeal in surprise. The moment your feet touch the ground, Max’s arms are around you, his helmet still on and everything. It’s a much needed hug, it wasn’t you who wrapped your arms around him, it wasn't you that instigated this, this was all Max, he needed this. He’s clutching you, having you flush against him, letting himself feel your presence.

Once he has his arms around you, he's clutching you, holding you close. Your arms wrap tightly around him, the force of the hug, has you staggering slightly back, Max's legs move with yours, until you're stable. 

“Congratulations, my love.” You say, and Max can barely hear you over the noise surrounding the both of you. “I'm so proud of you Max, so incredibly and completely proud of you.”

Max holds you tighter and if it becomes painful he doesn't say. The hug seems to last forever, and everyone just lets you have this moment. You're barely visible from Max's back. Your hand moves over his back slightly trying to give him all the love and comfort he needed. 

“I love you.” The words come out choked up, but you hear them and it breaks you. You force yourself out of his arms and meet his eyes through the slightly opened visor. His eyes are slightly wet. Max doesn't cry, his life was too tough for him to find a reason big enough to cry.

“I love you too Max, more than anything, more than anyone.” You tell him earnestly and full heartedly. 

“Fucking hell, I'll marry you one day.” Max says and his eyes crinkle slightly as he smiles. 

“Well go get your trophy first before we see about the whole marriage thing.” You patt him and Max then goes to his team, they're all shouting and cheering for him.

“You're good for him.” You look to see Christian now standing next to you.

“He's good for me.” You reply and watch your boyfriend with loving eyes.

“I have a feeling that by next season you'll have a ring on your finger.” Christsin whispers in your ear, and he slinks away, you can't help the smile on your face.

You watch as the top 3 do their interviews, Max's face is flushed red, hair messy, and his eyes are a bit misty. Your eyes well up seeing him, Max catches your eyes as he's finishing his interview, the smile on his face widens, he’s looking to the side when the interview ends. And Max races back towards you, your eyes go wide, not expecting him to come back to you. Max pulls you closer and crashes his lips against yours, before you could even place your hands on him, he pulls away, smiles and runs off to the cool down room.

“I take it back, give it a couple of weeks.” Christian amused says, the cameras flashing around you catch your insanely blushing face.

Christian was right, because arriving at the last race of the season, there’s a big rock on your finger.

Main Taglist: @gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03 . @schniti-is-in-the-house . @lottalove4evelyn . @eywas-heir . @glow-ish . @lilypat .

[iamgonnagetyouback]

Jess Mariano taking care of sick reader? They're not together yet so she's confused because wtf why is he taking care of me? But he shows up at her house with food, medicine, blankets, etc. and just kinda lets himself in when she answers the door.

Inspired by the episode where he brings Rory food when she's home alone and also by the fact that I stayed home from school sick today 😔

𝟷𝚔 || 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Jess was the person you least expected to take care of you when you were sick.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Jess Mariano x sick!Reader

You groaned as you shuffled your way to the door, wrapped in a blanket and feeling like absolute death. Your head pounded, throat raw, and the world seemed a little fuzzier than usual. You were barely functioning when a knock echoed through your small apartment, a sound that made you groan louder.

You weren’t expecting anyone—definitely didn’t want anyone to see you like this—so you contemplated ignoring it. But the knocking persisted.

With a resigned sigh, you unlocked the door and cracked it open just enough to peek out. Your eyes widened when you saw none other than Jess Mariano standing on your doorstep. He was holding a bag of takeout in one hand, a plastic bag full of what looked like medicine in the other, and a blanket slung over his shoulder. His usual expression was one of bored disinterest, but you could see the subtle flicker of concern in his eyes.

“Jess?” You rasped, blinking at him in confusion. “What are you—”

He didn’t wait for you to finish. Before you could protest or even think, Jess slipped past you, letting himself into your apartment like he owned the place. “You look like death,” he said, shutting the door behind him, his tone casual but with a hint of something softer underneath.

“Thanks?” you muttered, feeling both bewildered and slightly offended, though you couldn’t deny he was right. “What are you doing here?”

Jess placed the bags on your kitchen counter, glancing at you over his shoulder. “I heard you were sick.”

“I—how?” You leaned against the doorframe for support, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Jess Mariano was in your apartment. With food. And medicine. “Who told you?”

“Luke mentioned it.” He shrugged, as if this wasn’t a big deal. “Figured you could use some help.”

“I—” You trailed off, completely unsure how to respond to that. Jess? Showing up at your place to help? It felt like you’d entered some kind of fever dream.

“Sit down,” Jess ordered gently, his hands now occupied with unpacking the takeout containers and organizing the medicine on your counter like he’d done this a hundred times before. “You’re supposed to be resting, not playing twenty questions.”

Your brain was struggling to keep up with what was happening. “I… you didn’t have to come. I’m fine.”

Jess shot you a look, raising an eyebrow. “You look fine,” he said sarcastically, but his eyes lingered on you a second too long, and you caught that worried edge again. “Sit. Seriously.”

You shuffled over to your couch, plopping down with a huff. You watched as Jess moved around your kitchen like it was nothing, grabbing a spoon for the soup, pouring a glass of water, even pulling out a bottle of cough syrup.

“Are you always this bossy?” you muttered, half-annoyed, half-touched by how much he was doing.

“Only with people who don’t take care of themselves.” He smirked, bringing over a steaming container of soup. “Here. Eat.”

You blinked up at him, still not fully comprehending why he was doing this. “Why are you—why do you care?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

Jess didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sat beside you on the couch, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, but still leaving enough space to keep things from getting awkward. He glanced at you, his expression softer than you were used to. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t pass out alone in here.”

His tone was teasing, but you could hear the concern laced in his words, and that only made you more confused—and flustered. Why did he care? You weren’t… you weren’t anything. Not yet, anyway.

“You’re acting weird,” you mumbled, taking a hesitant sip of the soup. “This is… nice. You’re not usually nice.”

Jess chuckled under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t get used to it.”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, the only sound being the clink of the spoon against the container as you ate. Jess glanced around your apartment, making small talk here and there, but you couldn’t help but notice how he kept sneaking glances at you, like he was checking to make sure you were okay.

After a while, you broke the silence, your voice soft. “Thanks. For, you know, all this.”

Jess shrugged again, but there was something different in the way he did it this time. “Don’t mention it.”

You stared at him for a beat longer than necessary, your heart doing something weird in your chest. He wasn’t the type to fuss, wasn’t the type to show up with soup and medicine for anyone—least of all you. But here he was, doing exactly that.

“You’re really weird, you know that?” you said, trying to break the tension, but your voice came out more affectionate than you intended.

Jess gave you a crooked smile, his eyes twinkling. “Takes one to know one.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to suppress. Maybe this fever was making you delirious, but suddenly, you didn’t mind Jess being here. In fact, you kind of liked it.

Who knew Jess Mariano could be so… sweet?

[transformers-synergize]

Can Smokescreen fly with those wings?

(if that's what they are. Love your art btw)

No, he can't. He doesn't have flyers or seeker modification. He could have gotten them if he wanted back on Cybertron, but he can't now since the earth-stranded bots don't have the proper resources to perform that type of modification.

No cybertronian can naturally fly and require modifications to do so, there are two main types of flying modifications. Flyers who can only fly in their alt mode, while seeker/root mode flyers that can fly in root/robot mode and their alt mode. Flight is also not a natural instinct for cybertronians, and even if a bot is given additional code to help with flying, they still need to learn how. It's not second nature like driving or walking alts 

Already had the stuff below written down, but feel like this ask a decent enough excuse to share my flyer and seeker lore

The process is very unintrusive for gaining a flying alt mode, only requiring a few modifications depending on frame type. Most require an engine change modification to the t-cog housing and additional metal that can be used for wings or blades. Not all bots are compatible with flying modification, but most can be it just requires different levels of modifications.

Seekers, otherwise known as root mode flyers, are able to fly not just in their alt-mode but in their robot/root mode. It requires several extreme modifications, and only certain specific frame types are even viable to be converted into seekers. A Failed seeker modification is usually deadly, but all Seekers are prone to malfunction, often related in some way to overheating, Even with successful upgrades. Seeker frame upgrades require several intrusive modifications. Their engine is replaced with an extremely powerful one; these engines burn an extreme amount of fuel and are known for constantly overheating, which leads to seekers having to have most of their proto-metal removed along with adding a lot of extra vents and upgrading their cooling systems legs are restructured and given thrusters nonvital parts to functioning get removed even if they do serve a purpose if a bot can function without it gets removed to both bring down weight and fuel consumption another reason why most the proto-metal is removed, Bots with flyers modifications can still take on a ground base alternate mode while tripled changers with flying mods are able to take on both a ground and flying alt at the same time, bots with seeker modifications can only take on flying alts  . Seekers can't take on ground alt modes, and triple changers with seeker upgrades can only use two flying alt modes.  The decepticons sizable seeker units are often credited with their success in the later half of the war, and complete domination of aerial combat to the point most autobots avoid any form of air confrontation. seeker are able to dominate the skies in way a that regular flyers simply cant along with Decepticon habit of combining powerful experimental weapon modification with seekers it no wonder why these bots haven been referred to as flying death. It's no quintessence that most of the remaining Autobot strongholds are underground titans or in locations that make flying difficult. "I'm not a fan of heavy modification unless absolutely necessary, especially when it comes to modification for war, but the seeker modification has to be one of the worse out there other than flying in root mode, and a little extra flight speed it's got no real benefit to the bot themself while carrying all kinds of side effects, with how much energy their frame burns it cut their lifespan in half, that's if the various complications don't kill them first, whenever I get one these bots on my table I always question who would allow something like this, especially something like this to just be an accepted part of life thank to the war  At least the ones who were modified early in the war or by autobot look somewhat functional on the inside  I have had ex decepticons come to me with interiors that look more like mutilation than any kind of upgrade" Ratchet's thoughts on seekers.

[clairedaring]

Compilation post of my favorite Nadao actors (Nonkul Chanon, JJ Krissanapoom, Tor Thanapob) & Bright Rapheephong giving some interview answers on why they decided to star in queer/LGBTQ+ coded series/roles, some of their takes on being in BL (Y)/Queer series.

note: if you find this post familiar, it's because i've posted this on Reddit before. reposting here for archival purposes

TOR THANAPOB

Tor Thanapob interview in April 2023 when being asked about starring in Midnight Museum (a queer-coded GMMTV series) - (translation by infinitygraph_)

Tor: I think nowadays we should stop talking about gender. It doesn't mean that I have to act with women all the time or I can't act with men at all. I feel that I have proved to everyone that, work is work, and everything is about art. Even my team who are staying with me all the time has all kind of sexualities. It's not strange if someday we want to try telling story of other sexualities that we feel that we might be able to help them telling. If you ask me if today I am like that, today I might not, but I have a chance to understand them more, so I want to do it. Q: Is it because of the spoiler that [Midnight Museum] might be a series Y (BL)? Tor: Nothing to do with it. I tell you, sincerely, it has nothing to do with the spoiler. I just want to say that you don't have to overthink about it because nothing is fixed. Actors are actors. These days there are some award shows don't divide genders into categories anymore. I think this is a great step. Actresses also don't have to act with men all the time, they can act with women. And they both being the main characters Right. Because not all the main characters from every project have to come with the word 'love'. Even if there's 'love', there're many kinds of love. It's up to the audience what kind of feeling they have. Do they feel the same as me or they even feel more than I do? Q: So that means these days you can accept the work without any limit about what you are, which genders... Everything is about the story/script-writing? Tor: Right. I admit that I was afraid before. I wasn't afraid about my image, I was afraid that I would tell the story without understanding it, because I didn't have any experience at all. But at some point I found the chance to be more open-minded, brave to act it out all the way, such as Midnight Museum...

Tor's Vogue Interview in February 2024 on Spare Me Your Mercy as another important milestone as an actor (all translation by saltymarbles on twitter)

Tor: As for Euthanasia, I’ve been interested in it just from its name. If we were to go back in time to the period of the Prime Ministerial elections last year, there was some talk regarding the laws about euthanasia. As such, I know the meaning of it but if I had to explain it, I wouldn’t dare to because I don’t know that deeply about it. Tor: Up to the day that this drama happens, the owner of this project told me he wanted to set this question before anything changed in society: ‘Actually, are humans capable of choosing their death?’. Tor: This question shot through the core of my brain and immediately, i was like: ‘I need to tell this story’. And the role that he hoped to give me also served that function too. It’s a character which sets up the question of ‘what is right?’.(t/n: "this question" likely refers to a more philosophical kind of question regarding morality which asks what does being ‘correct’ mean — what is ‘objective morality’ (if it exists)) Tor: Do the people who are really suffering have the right to ask to leave? (t/n: "leave" is just a polite way of saying die (Thai people usually don’t use directly use the word die when talking about humans, usually use a more polite way like how we say ‘passed away’ or ‘xyz has left us’) Tor: Thus I decided to play along with knowing that the timeline of Euthanasia will remain with one in a hundred (people), so I like shades of the polar opposite. If the first story is navy blue, the other will be red — not close at all.

NONKUL CHANON

Nonkul's response to the question “If you have a chance, would you consider playing in a BL series? If accepted, who do you to co-act with?” in a Facebook Q&A video in 2021

Nonkul: If that series is an interesting storyline for me, I am always open to any kind of genre. I never categorized BL series as an BL series, I just think of it as a series with another plot as part of my work. It is a normal series that can have any of the plots which I will categorize as Romantic Comedy, Drama or whatever. Thus, when I choose the BL series I want to work with, the love preference of the character does not affect my decision. If the plot of the series is interesting, of course I’m gonna do it for sure. Every work that I chose, I personally think it at least enjoyable for me. Of course, if in the future, there are BL series with plots that I find interesting, that I enjoyed the script. “Like, wow, that’s my type!”, I will definitely selected it to be my future project. A good written series is a good series. This is what I believe as an actor. For BL Series, I think I can work with everyone. I don’t think I have anyone in particular. One thing! I desire the character of that person/actor? to be close to the character in the series. At that point I will be satisfied. Sometimes, I as an actor have a chance to work with people who don't have a lot of acting experience. I will still discover something new from him as well. And there is a BL novel which I really like! [Nonkul explains the plot of his favorite BL Novel ‘Peremo’] I would prefer to choose the “heroine” role because it will be a new experience for me as an actor because it will be a new experience for me as an actor. Because basically I only play as a hero role for the main character or support character in my work, but a “heroine” role in a BL series is the only chance for me to play a character more feminine. So it is a new experience for me. [Nonkul continues raving about 'Peremo’]. But if you think that you can make [an adaptation of Peremo], please do not forget me, Nonkul! Pleaseeeeeeee, I will do my best, I promise!!! However, I’m not only fixated on this novel. I’m also open for many more BL series if there is an interesting plot.

Nonkul's response to being ask if he's worried about filming NC scenes in IFYLITA (translation by saltymarbles)

Nonkul: I have to say when I had finished reading [the novel] and it’s made me want to act (in this series). I am probably worried more about the CG because if it’s a fantasy story with time travel, if the CG isn’t good, people will feel that it’s ‘off’. Because CG is something we don’t know anything about until we see the final product. One of the reasons that I accepted this role is because for some series, when I’ve read (the script/novel) for homework, I don’t accept them because there are some scenes that are forced in just for the sake of fan service. And I’m not really into that. If it’s a natural NC scene, then I’m not bothered. I’m a person who places a lot of importance on the story in series making sense. So to me, if an NC scene is reasonable, I won’t be bothered by it. But if it seems forced, I’m not into it. It’s important to show human-ness.

Two clips of Nonkul being asked what he thinks about doing NC scenes in IFYLITA (Clip 1 and Clip 2). Nonkul said that he places great importance on the character's actions. If an NC scene is reasonable he wouldn't mind but would if it's not reasonable. For Nonkul, understanding character is very important, especially for himself as an actor. Nonkul also said previously he had rejected some BL series offers because he can feel when NC scenes are put in just for fan service, which is also a reason why Nonkul accepted to play Jom in IFYLITA is because the love scenes are natural and make sense.

JJ KRISSANAPOOM aka JAYLERR

JJ's interview in February 2024 on Spare Me Your Mercy and his chemistry with Tor (translation by saltymarbles)

JJ: The pilot of ‘Euthanasia’ has been received well since the novel has many fans already who are excited about it. JJ & Tor are similarly excited and are committed to doing their best. The chemistry between Tor & JJ need not be questioned according to JJ since they are already close with each other. The series is in the phase of pre-production currently.

One of my favorite fictional characters of ALL TIME (not just in Thai or BL series) has got to be Tangmo from Great Men Academy (2019) (the series that a lot of BL audience refused to admit it's a queer series). The character Tangmo (played by Jaylerr) was questioned by the press about his gay crush on the protagonist: "Do you think being gay affect your chance of winning the competition?" to which his reply was a stellar "Well then let me ask you something, Does being gay make my good deeds meaningless?"

This isn't the first time JJ has played a queer role, JJ has played a gay character in TWO seasons of the LGBTQ+ series Diary of Tootsies (2016 and 2017). JJ plays Gus, the love interest of the main character.

So even though many BL fans consider Spare Me Your Mercy to be JJ's "first" BL series (which I don't agree with this strict interpretation of BL series), it is definitely not his first QL (Queer Love) series nor queer-adjacent roles as shown through out his filmography.

It is also noteworthy that even during the airing of these series, JJ was already in a public relationship with his fellow actress girlfriend Thanaerng (who has also played sapphic roles). You can see that the real life relationship of JJ or Thanaerng do not influence how/what projects they take on because work is just work :D

BRIGHT RAPHEEPHONG (all translation by saltymarbles on twitter)

Bright at Mono29 Lineup event

Bright: I think that, as I’ve previously said, BL series are just like other ordinary series or movies. Like IFYLITA can be changed to be said to be more like a period drama. I feel that BL is just about two people loving each other, not about whether it’s about male-male or female-male. This series is a period drama and it’s a romantic comedy and the other series is an action drama.

Bright's Interview with LIPS Magazine

Q: What if one day, we’re sucked in by the ship? Bright: I think fans in this day and age don’t need actors to do fan service to that extent. For myself, I’ve never intended for it to be the foundation (of his work). I think it’s a matter of being partners and working together. As such, it’s somewhat good in every aspect because it’s not forcing it. But in some moments, there may some actions that may just be the result of being friends. So even if fans ship, it’s cute to me. (smiles) Q: Do you feel a sense of “newness” stepping into a full-fledged BL? Bright: I feel that BL series are another branch of acting. I don’t think of it as being a specific form of male to male communication. It’s just another type of series just like action dramas, comedy etc, it’s just another kind of role that we can play.

Bright's Interview with Praew Magazine

Q: How is it working with Nonkul? Bright: Nonkul is a person who already does a good job at his work. He does his homework and he is also good at delivering and receiving emotions when on set. It isn’t just Nonkul who is great but the other characters in this series too, this includes P’Tee, the director. We can always talk about ideas which made the work even better. If asked whether entering the scenes with Nonkul made me shy, I would say that BL series are just another branch (of acting), it is just another role. I don't think that when acting with another man, that there’s a need to feel anything. I feel that it’s just another form of work. Another thing is that our workshops were very complete. When we work together I know what level and extent I can go to, what I should do and also trying my best in how I should feel. Thus, I felt at ease working together.

Bright’s Interview with NineEntertain

Q: Are you happy to do “ship” activities like this? Bright: I feel that if there’s an opportunity with regards to being an actor, I don’t want to be stuck in ships like this. I accepted this role with the status of an actor and I want to accept various roles too. It doesn’t always need to be BL or a specific kind of series. I will have another series next year which is ordinary boy-girl relationship and not a BL series. I feel that BL series are just another category of series — not like BL series are just BL series. It’s another category like action, romcom, or drama. It’s just another category. Q: There is still the possibility of coming to act as per usual. (unclear of what the interviewer said) Bright: I feel that with every work opportunity, it’s more about the script and storyline of the work that I were to accept. For example, I accepted the role of Khun Yai in IFYLITA as i felt that it was a script that was suitable for me. I didn’t think of it as “oh it’s a BL series, I need to accept it” because to be honest, I have been contacted for various BL series but because [IFYLITA] storyline is really good, I wanted to try acting in it. Q: What is the difficulty of acting in BL as an actor? Bright: I feel like there isn’t any difference compared to regular series. I feel that when two men love each other or kiss, I don’t think of it as (me and) a man, I think of it more as each of the characters or persons. Q: Does that affect the trend of being a ship? Bright: Hmm… Actually I am not able to answer that because I feel like it depends on people’s perspectives. Because some people may prefer that (an actor) has a (onscreen) gf/bf but some people may be upset about it. I feel like the trend depends on the people’s perspectives as people have different ways of thinking (about it). I think that I am open to listening to all different opinions on this. I feel that working (in this industry), you should be able to explore different things and you should not be fixed in one thing. We need to continue moving onto the next thing. I feel that Non has his own work and I also have my own work, and other actors too have their own upcoming work. It doesn’t mean that coming to act in IFYLITA means that you stay in IFYLITA forever. Q: Some may feel that it’s sad their their ship is coming to an end and that they are gonna work with different people. Bright: Actually, there are still some upcoming pair events but as I’ve said earlier, everyone needs to continue to do their own duties as an actor. Q: What if people change their minds about shipping your ship in the future? Bright: I think it’s a normal thing. I feel that when someone (likes us), they also like our work. I feel like our fanclub likes both Yai and Jom, and they also like Bright and Non. They like the characters and that Bright and Non play these characters and they so they like us at this point. I feel like people who came to like us are also fans of other people. I feel that they are a source of encouragement for me when they like me but I am also glad if they meet someone new or support another person. I feel happy when they come to meet me and if they’re happy when they meet other (celebs), it’s a good thing for them. If there’s a new person, an older person, a regular person or a person they just met that they are happy to meet, I feel that it’s nothing to be stressed about. Let’s say a fan comes and likes me and is following my work and there’s someone new who enters and they like their work, I am glad for them to go support that other person because that person can bring happiness to the fan.

Wow, I really got carried away with this compilation but as a fan who's followed Nonkul, JJ and Tor since their Nadao days, watching them star in queer-coded series/roles like Bangrak Soi 9/1, Hormones, Diary of Tootsies, Great Men Academy... (or in Bright's case a gay character in lakorn Rivalry), I'm just so proud that they have been able to receive "BL" series script offers that they would like to take on.

I've never sat well with the difference in the treatment of the press to "BL actors" and "non-BL actors". I wish there weren't such a distinction because it feels like the notion itself holds a lot of prejudices baggage with it, to both "BL" and "non-BL" actors. To quote a friend on Reddit, "I believe most actors would feel more fulfilled if they knew their fans loved/respected them as individual artists, instead of only seeing them as one part of a unit whose value is lower when 'separated' from their official partner."

[maowives]

this isn't a coherent thought yet but I'm like fairly certain that the proliferation of the framework of fictionkin is rooted in the fact that for many people (in particular, children who have not been given the language to identify and articulate the underlying phenomena animating their experiences), these identifications with characters provide a mythological scaffolding upon which they can start to build a way to make sense of the difficult interpersonal and intrapersonal experiences they've undergone. this may seem trivial to some, especially to those who participate, as it's clear that part of the draw of "Fandom Culture" broadly is that it affords an (ostensibly) unified theory of analysis and engagement for intimate interpersonal and intrapersonal experience, by way of storytelling and the curation of particular fictional experiences which resonate with the reader. it feels evident to me that this is more often than not, designed both as a method of communication, seeking to provide (relatively) broadly legible shorthands and handholds for articulating painful or otherwise important personal experiences which would otherwise be complicated or simply emotionally difficult to express, as well as a form of identity-crafting, in which these characters form the building blocks of an internal symbolic language that, when rearranged and ordered in a particular manner, enable the user to understand their experiences and their internal responses to those experiences. frankly I think it's quite an elegant solution, and one which I understand the utility of. in particular, I think it's relevant and understandable that these kinds of frameworks arise in the particular political contexts in which they do. further, it seems clear to me that many of the more reactive and reactionary elements of these kinds of contexts frequently arise from a deeply felt defensiveness about the sanctity of these internal frameworks and spaces, not because of the sanctity of the thing itself, but rather the ways that these symbols act as placeholders for particular individual experiences of particular and deeply felt narrative relevance and importance. said in another way, the sanctity of the particular reading of a character or a story are not valuable in and of themselves but rather for how they act as stand-ins for The Self. an example might be in the ways that "Fandom Discourse" tends to produce heated conflicts between different people who interpret different characters as having different kinds of essential moral qualities, as these characters do not function as characters in a text but rather as placeholders for either the reader or other people relevant to the reader's life, whether they be loved ones or agents of harm, or both. it becomes easy to understand why contending understandings of a particular character's "moral quality" become very high stakes very quickly, as the coherence of the individual's particular meaning-making system, and therefore, the integrity of a particular narrative about one's own life, depends on a particular reading of that character.

and, while, as I mentioned above, I do think it makes sense for this framework to function the way it does, and while I do think it is, broadly, an elegant solution to a difficult problem, I think it is hobbled by a few factors.

Using other people's fictional characters as a mythmaking device requires necessarily having inconsistencies and misalignments as well as implementing an active practice of Character Curation.

Conversely, using one's "OC's" as a shorthand for personal experience and expression requires other readers to be heavily invested in, and acquainted in, this particular idiosyncratic mythology.

These frameworks, while undoubtedly valuable for their legibility to others within the shared fandom space, are both imperfect, in that they never are able to communicate exactly what an individual sets out to communicate, as well as incomplete, in that their explanatory power borders on nil.

Because of the previously discussed contending interpretations of given individually relevant characters, these frameworks tend to promote intense and heated conflict between contending camps who, all in all, are most likely fighting over some relatively inconsequential quibbles of personal idealist moralism at worst, or just simple miscommunication and misunderstanding at best.

Because of this fact, ingroup compliance is heavily, heavily policed, and the space becomes more and more encouraged to adopt increasingly draconian and reactionary methods of control.

these observations are not intended to be a moral condemnation of these practices, as savvy MaoWives readers will know that OP does not traffick in idealist moralisms or other such quibbles. however, I do think that identifying the particular gap of where a unifying theory with explanatory power may come in handy for encouraging people to make sense of their own lives in terms that they have more control over, and which have more robust analytical tools. again, savvy MaoWives readers will be able to see the predictable turn to articulating the value of using a dialectical materialist and Marxist-Leninist analytical frame for these kinds of things, but further, perhaps more particularly, I could see a place where family abolition as a framing device may be significantly more helpful in encouraging interpersonal abuse survivors to make sense of their experiences, rather than the readily accessible, but inevitably incomplete, frameworks of using particular characters as social signifiers of experience, and mythmaking devices for intrapersonal awareness.

[I apologize for the length of this post. I did not have the time to write a shorter one.]

[nocturnesanomaly]

Chapter 7: Keep watching the skies

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - chapter 7: Keep watching the skies

Wordcount: 6.4k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, Grooming, Implied sexual assault/rape, non-consensual drug use,

Description: You follow up on your own lead, convinced it's the only way, leading the rest of the 141 on a hunt to find you.

A/N: Not sure I got all the typos, let me know if you find any <3

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

If Price was ever going to grant any of their wishes, Johnny prayed to the lord that it would be to get better beds. Even if he and the taskforce had slept in worse places than this, on the ground in half fallen buildings, in bundles of hay or random items, it didn't keep Johnny from being grumpy about the lack of space and stiff mattresses.

He wasn't sure why Laswell hadn't accounted for the one missing bed. Sometimes he thought that she expected one of them to take the janky couch, but she couldn't really, could she? It was what Simon did most nights, or at least Johnny was pretty sure he did. He typically didn't come into the room during nights, letting Johnny snore away on the little space there already was. Then again, that man never truly slept much on missions.

Simon got the optimal amount of sleep he needed to function for a day, and not a second longer. It was a habit that was hard to coax him out of when he and Johnny went back home. When they had first bought an apartment together, it even took a few weeks before Johnny managed to get Simon into a somewhat normal sleep rhythm.

One thing he found that worked, was letting Simon listen to his heartbeat. It seemed to calm the man for whatever reason. Johnny supposed he understood, it was something consistent, a lifeline in the most literal sense. It assured someone that the other was still alive, that their heart was still beating and their lungs still breathing.

They had both spend a lot of long nights like that. Nights after missions with too close calls, nights fuelled with terrors and horrid images on their minds, nights where it was as simple as the fact that one of them couldn't fall asleep.

Johnny didn't know when Simon had moved from the couch to laying on top of him and squeezing half the air out of his lungs, but he was sure woken up by it. The first rays of the morning sun peeked through the blinds of the window, and highlighted the dust particles floating around in the room.

Simon was a steady weight on top of him. His breathing the only thing inconsistent from his otherwise still form. He reached out, smoothing his hands over the muscles of Simon's back, feeling him sigh further into his hold.

He was still awake then.

"Mornin' wee lad," Johnny whispered teasingly into Simon's ear, conveniently placed right next to him from how he was hiding his face in his neck.

Simon grumbled something unintelligible against Johnny's skin. "Shut it MacTavish..." was about the only thing he could make out of it. It was enough to incite a round of his personal infectious laughter.

The sheets were jumbled between both of their legs, creating an odd display of tangled limbs probably resembling some deformed eldritch horror from an outsider’s perspective.

"Didn't think ye would actually join me...thought ye didn't want affection when spider's around," Johnny mumbles cheekily yet still pulls the massive man even closer. He closes his eyes again, enjoying the weight on his chest, the comforting assurance he'd been craving for all too long.

"They're not here..."

Groggily, Johnny opens his eyes again to catch a peek of the other bed. Surely enough there was no form occupying it, the bed made with military precision. "Mh...got an early start then..." a way too early start even for his own standard.

"They barely sleep..." Simon grumbles and let's out a long huff, resigning to the fact he isn't falling back asleep anytime soon.

"Ye alright love...?" Johnny reaches up to rub his hand through Simon's short hair. A rare occasion for him to take off his mask, even here. Johnny would enjoy every second of it. With gentle movements he guides Simon's head a bit further up so he can place soft kisses to his face. Over his scars, his nose, his cheeks, his lips.

Simon let's out a sigh, lazily kissing him back. "M'fine...jus' exhausted," he did sound it.

Johnny nods quietly, pressing another kiss to his forehead. It had been a long time since they'd taken time just for themselves, their apartment was practically just sitting back collecting dust from how little they managed to actually use it.

"We should take a vacation when we're done here," Johnny suggests.

Simon doesn't get any time to reply before the door is thrown open. Johnny shoots an arm over his shoulders, to shield his face with his arm just in case. The both of them relax seeing Kyle's face linger in the doorway, he looked around the room settling on the two in a pile with a sigh.

"Would you two lovebirds get a move on," Kyle huffs and crosses his arms.

Johnny groans dramatically, making a show of how exhausting Kyle's request really is. "You could always just join us Garrick," he suggests instead, wiggling his eyebrows long enough to make both men groan.

"I'm good," Kyle shakes his head but can hardly hide the smile on his face, "any of you seen Spider? We can't find 'em."

"The fuck do ye mean ye can't find 'em, they can't have gotten that far out," Johnny paces around in the kitchen. His usual energy spiking at the odd occurrence of an unpredictable event. The facts were staring him the face. You were nowhere in the house, nowhere around the house, told nobody and left no note. You were just gone.

You wouldn't just have run away, would you?

He looks over at Simon. He'd put his mask back on, his eyes closed behind it. He still seemed half asleep, nursing a cup of hot tea in his hands.

"They could have gone to town, taking a look around and forgot to tell anyone?" Kyle throws one option on the table. He'd prepared breakfast for himself, sitting opposite of Simon munching down on it.

"We need tae go find them," Johnny says and rubs his nose. There's something uneasy settling in his system, not knowing where you are, what you were up to. He was sure you were capable, that you knew what you were doing, but you had told no one. Even if you were fine, there had to be some stern talk to make sure you wouldn't pull a stunt like this again. Not even Price was liking this at all.

And speaking of Price. Johnny's attention sharpens when the captain comes back into the kitchen. "Laswell heard nothing either, but she mentioned they talked of the mountains" Price shakes his head lightly. "They likely went for them, but we have the town to look into as well."

"We'll split up, cover more ground, they are likely fine on their own but I’d like to have a talk with them so bring them back. Ghost, Soap you take the surrounding area, follow the trail towards the foot of the mountains. Me and Gaz will take a visit to the town, sniff around and see what else we can figure out about this community."

Simon is already on the move, abandoning his still steaming tea at the table. Johnny is hot on his heels, refusing to let him go and make some stupid choice in the heat of it. He still didn't fully understand it. The lingering connection between the two of you, but he knew that it was important. He wasn't going to let him down.

"Listen up My Angel, this is one our newest members. My very own brother, Graham," The Father introduces you to the buffer man standing in front of you. He's taller than him, keeps a short buzzcut you've come to expect from anybody here. It didn't take long before it was enforced on both the men and women, didn't matter what anybody said to it.

The collective has grown significantly and fast. Michael even insisted on being called The Father. You didn't quite understand why. He never explained himself, merely enforced it like he enforced the haircuts. You guessed it was to keep a resemblance between him and God, but you found it more creepy than holy.

His connections expanded a lot more over a very short time. People from far and wide was informed about what you all did here, and they travelled all the way to join you. It was a great feeling. You quickly received a lot more responsibilities for the younger sheep, but you found a lot of the exercises were more cathartic than anything.

"It's good to meet you," Graham speaks your name with a cold indifference. He wasn't very interested in anything that wasn't his brother. He crossed his arms over his chest, looked expectantly at The Father.

You're distracted. That much is obvious to both men on either side of you. Despite doing your best to keep your focus, you keep drifting towards different thoughts. Your gaze continuously looking towards the gate where the mail picked up from town would usually come through.

It's been several weeks, almost two months.

Simon still hasn't answered you.

You felt The Fathers hand gently push against your back, guiding you forward. "Graham trains more unorthodox K9's," he explains while making sure to place you between the both of them, "he specialized in dogs and wolves before he transferred here."

"Don't oversell it Michael," Graham grumbles. He looks off to the side, observing the newer recruits running drills around a makeshift obstacle course.

The Father clears his throat. In all the time you've known him, you've never seen him even close to nervous. "Point remaining...he's going to...train you...afterwards you're going to help him train up the rest," he sounds as if he isn't sure. The final details not yet decided.

Your eyebrows furrow at that. You already have the formal training; you're learning rapidly from shadowing The Father and you don't think you're doing half bad. Still, you needed more training? What else did you have to learn?

"Don't worry your pretty head angel," his hand finds a firm grip on the back on your neck, "just be good, follow orders and everything will turn out just fine."

"Good, again."

Your head was spinning from the pain. He'd had you going for hours at a time, didn't let you stop till you lost consciousness. Your thighs ached, your heart pounding out of your chest. The objective was simple. Shoot the targets he'd set up.

You'd finally completed a full round, and Graham's expression hadn't even changed a bit. He didn't care.

It's not like he was making it any easier on you. Whatever medicine he'd shot into your blood at the start was starting to make your head throb. You could still see the broken glass of the syringe laying amidst the sand and dirt. It glinted in the lowering sunlight.

The wooden targets were starting to get this bad habit of taking form, of looking more and more like moving people. People with angry faces, people with hurtful words, people with guns and ill intent. Around them the shadows crept, licking up against the figures and swallowing them hole. You weren't given much time to question as you were flung through the obstacle course another time.

In the beginning he put on a song on a speaker. An older one, slow and rather beautiful, a love song you think.

It's been on loop ever since. He seems obsessed with it, humming along with the tune for the hundred time as you run through the course. You hit your targets with a shake in your arm, making you miss a few a couple of times. It staggers your progress, and it's like you can feel his displeased look in the back of your neck.

You keep going, shooting at the shadowy figures that remain stationary. He's not saying anything you don't think, but still, you can hear his comments in your ears.

Do better

You're better than this

Wrong

Follow my orders

You miss the last target, by a stroke of bad luck. The ground comes closer all too rapidly when your body decides to give out. It refused to remain standing, to continue the strain that could no longer be received properly.

You heave for air, your grip on the gun all too lose. It falls to the ground and you just manage to push it out of the way before you collapse all the way onto your back. The air is too warm for this, your body already drenched in sweat.

He comes to hover above you.

You don't have time to squirm away.

Graham pulls up your shirt, takes his knife and adds another cut next to the other five. Your scream falls on deaf ears. He was ruthless in his violence. He knew exactly where to cut, knew exactly how deep to make it so you'd lose blood without dying. He timed the seconds in your blood loss, he kept an obsessive eye on your movements, your expressions, until he knew your tells better than you did.

He was lethally precise.

Graham hauls you back up to your feet, shoving the gun back in your hand and turns you back to the obstacle course.

"Cull the herd."

Somewhere along the way, the vials became less mandatory. Mr. Graham stopped forcing them on you one random night. It should've relieved you, no longer being woken up before you normally did with violent movements and a syringe pressed into your skin, but the abrupt change dysregulates you.

You still didn't sleep easy, expecting to be unnaturally woken up by either Mr. Graham or The Father with whatever they had decided they needed from you. Not having the altering substance in your system started feeling weird. You began to crave it again, the precision you had with it, the strength and clearness in your mind. You missed how clearly your targets would be highlighted for you.

So, you started injecting it on your own.

Mr. Graham never objected to it. He supplied you whenever you were low with nothing more than a knowing smile and a strong hand on your shoulder. Whether he ever regretted it, he never told you, but he did notice the change in your mental state. The rapid decline like falling down a ladder, you'd grab unto it, try to save yourself, only for it throw you off once again.

At first, he didn't mind it, even gave you an extra length of patience whenever you'd start to space out outside of fighting, or when you'd take longer to process his words when things were too calm for you.

But then you started to get snappy, too eager for the fight your body ached for.

You hadn't even realized it was the wrong thing before you had done it. Maybe the day had been too long, maybe you were overworked, too tired. It didn't matter, it was you that fired the shot. You had taken the injection earlier than usual, double the dose so it would last until training.

As always, Mr. Graham had met you on the field but he wasn't alone this time. The Father, being ever so gracious, decided to observe you both this time. You had stood dutifully next to Mr. Graham, your head bowed, posture straight, your mind a strange mix of muddy and sharp. Shadows crept at the corner of your vision, making you twitch.

You felt unsteady. Your trigger finger twitching with an odd need to hunt, to expel the uncomfortable energy swirling in you, an energy that needed to be used. All the excess adrenaline seemed to even be noticed by The Father.

"Are you alright, My Angel?"

Mr. Graham gives you a look that's hard to discern. Like he's trying to figure out where on the scale you are from collapsing and going rabid. He gets his answer in the worst way he'd have wanted it.

Something too real moves in your vision, rounding the corner of a building. A small shadowed figure, too stark in the contrast of the white wall. It smiled cruelly, moved erratically and it triggered every sensor in your brain. You act without thinking.

A loud squeaking sound comes from the creature. It collapses to the ground like a dying animal. The shadows slink away revealing the silhouette of a dog, laying gasping on the ground, whimpering and clinging to the life you took from it.

None of them react at first.

Three pairs of eyes watching the life drain. One shocked, one calm, one furious.

You don't even hear the angry words coming out of Mr. Graham's mouth. Your world is spinning, your head is buzzing and you still haven't quite recognized what you had just done. Which of them you had just killed.

He grabs your arm, drags you along to no protest from The Father. You don't remember the way, or where he took you. You only remember the pain of being thrown into the dark room of stone walls. There's no window, no light, and nobody else.

"I'll come get you once you've learned to calm the fuck down."

Those words are all he leaves you with before closing the door. Your breathing is unsteady when you lean against the cold wall and slowly lower yourself to the ground. It's unnerving. You know they're there. They're always there. Watching you, taunting you, baiting you into doing something.

They didn't make noise before; they didn't talk before but now in the darkness they still feel the need to make their presence known.

Calm down calm down calm down

You don't know whether it's you or something else that keeps repeating it. Your heart rate elevates, your body starts to shake. You try to scream out for help but your lips don't move. You don't even hear the little whimpers coming from your throat.

They creep around in the dark. They inch closer. They caress your skin. They fester inside your head.

Spider?

You freeze up in your corner at the familiar voice inside your mind. You don't want to look because you know who you'll see.

"No no no no no no."

Your hands clutch around your head, pulling at your hair.

"Go away!"

I brought food

"No go away! Please! Don't- don't do this."

Go on, I could hear your growling stomach from the gate

"Please!"

I made it

"You're not- you're- not- not-"

Did you hurt yourself?

"Leave me alone! You're not real!"

Whenever you're ready, little Spider

The snow has a blinding purity that's always mesmerized you. It stains so easily, the slightest touch disturbs the perfectly laid coat, creating chaos in the pillows of comfort and sanity. You'd spent most of the morning, most of the day, trekking through that purity and soiling it with the dirt underneath your boots.

There had always been a specific kind of thrill in your chest when you defied orders directly given. A small part of you taken back in your own hands, for better or for worse. You used to thrive so well under watch and order. Even if that's not the case anymore, you'd really ought to listen to the words of your betters.

At least then maybe you wouldn't be here. Standing as still as a statue, having a staring contest with a wolf and its red eyes. They're terribly vibrant. Reminiscent of the blood you could spill now.

Your hand clutched around your gun, ready to move at the order of a split-second decision. You're not here to hunt, you have to remind yourself. Never mind the wolf, never mind your thoughts. It doesn't matter that you used to hunt with them, that they used to sniff out your target for you.

It doesn't matter It doesn't matter It doesn't matter It doesn't matter it does-

The thing isn't even full grown. You'd have been more inclined to leave it alone if it wasn't for the bleeding cross running down it's snout. The red mixed with its fur in a beautiful symmetry. It's growling at you, you think. It makes you wonder if this is what your old targets used to feel when the wolves would corner them. Unlikely. They usually kept a face mixed with fear and hopelessness. Runaway members of the collective never lasted long under the knife.

There's a part of you that doesn't dare look away from it. The fatigue in your eyes almost do it for you, the snow around the creature makes it melt into the surroundings. The wolf was too focused, too interested in the way you looked, in the way you smelled.

He's still training them

They were likely right. If Mr. Graham was still alive, still with the collective, he'd be doing what he'd always been doing.

Cull the herd

Be the guide, the cold example

Cull the herd

And if that was the case, it wouldn't only be wolves lurking around out here. You'd need to relay this to Price, or Laswell, without rousing too much suspicion. It was a mere hunch, a feeling in your gut, but one you'd learnt to trust long ago.

You start to slowly move backwards, if you were tactical about it, you could still come out of this unscathed. Something flickers in the corner of your vision. All it takes is a moments distraction and the creature lunges at you.

The gunshot echoes in your ears. Your instincts took over, fired for you, and in a rare moment of luck you actually manage to hit. The wolf falls to the snow, its left eye is half gone and blood oozes out of it. The snow becomes dirty in its blood.

You take a step closer to it, observing the dead creature. The cross is gone. Something else flickers in the corner of your vision, something bigger and a lot faster. Luck doesn't strike twice, favouring others in a moment of misfortune.

Sharp teeth sink into your shin. You cry out, despite the second wolf only managing to hang onto more clothes than skin, it still penetrates. Scalding pain shoots up your leg. A second gunshot sounding out. You're not sure how you managed to hit it properly this close, but the wolf falls to the ground next to its mate.

You sink to the ground next to them, breathing heavily as if you'd run half a marathon. Your brain runs loops around itself trying to understand what had happened, why both of them had attacked like that, and why the bleeding crosses on their heads were no longer there.

Was it a trick from him? A trick of your mind?

It would take a lot for you to even attempt to call yourself sane any longer but this felt out of hand. Despite your own distorted reality, when it came to the cult you could usually rely on the rampant voices in your head. Were you really turning this paranoid?

With groans and sputters, you manage to move yourself around enough to take a look at your leg. It could've been worse; the damage wasn't deep but you wouldn't be making it to the mountains like this. You let out a curse to the heavens. You'd been so close to achieving your goal before somebody came looking for you, and now you'd have to backtrack.

You had the two options, and you knew you had to choose the boring one.

A higher pitched scream in the distance catches your attention, followed along with a loud splash and arguing not that far from you. The snow carried the sound a bit further than normal but it wouldn't be more than a minute’s walk from your location.

And just when you thought you could make your way back with no complications.

You hoist yourself back on your feet, letting out a hiss as your leg protests to the movement with more pain shot up all the way to your thigh. You lean on a nearby tree, perking your ears to listen to the nearby voices.

At first you can't make out what they're saying but...they're familiar.

Simon and Soap.

Your stomach drops.

Price must have sent them out to look for you. Part of you scolds yourself for not leaving some sort of note or message. No matter how elusive. At least then they might not have come out for you. You could've gotten further, if it hadn't been for the sake of those pesky wolves.

You run a hand over your face, the gloves taking some of the fallen snow off your eyebrows. You walk in the direction of their voices, using their argument to steer you in the right direction.

There was safety in numbers now that they were out here. You weren't keen on being mauled over by another pack of wolves.

"For fucks sake Johnny, I told you to watch where you're placing those feet of yours!"

"Not my fault the bloody stones are so slippery in this weather!"

"Bloody hell just get your arse up!"

You peek out between a set of bushes, the thicket giving you enough cover to observe the situation before you approached them. You tilt your head, your eyebrows turning a bit up in surprise at the sight.

Soap, coming out the water from one of the deeper creeks, completely wet.

Your lip twitches, and you feel the urge to bubble up with laughter. You don't know how he fell in, and you don't really need to know to see the entire event as hilarious.

"Bloody river, stupid weather, stupid snow" he grumbles angrily as he tries to dust off the water like it was a simple speck of dirt.

Simon sighs heavily, his entire gear moving along up and down with him. "You need to go back, gonna get hypothermia if you stay out here," he says sternly. There's concern laced in the order, but it's an undeniable order nonetheless.

"No way...am not letting you stay out here alone, Price told us tae look for 'em together," Soap protests.

"Don't need to look much further," you sigh and speak up.

You emerge from the thicket, startling the both of them at the same time. They're drawn guns are trained on you in an instant, and in return your own gun is trained on Soap. Force of habit and all that.

Simon relaxes when he gets a proper look at you. Soap following soon after.

"Good, you're not dead then" he speaks in a relieved manner. Did he really think you'd act that recklessly? Probably.

"You really think I'd let myself get killed over something that idiotic?"

He looks at you for a moment, but not because he needed to give it any thought. No, his eyes aren't displaying a complex need for that, because he knows the answer. He's giving you the chance to take it back, to explain the limp in your walk. You don't.

"No," he says just as sternly in the crass voice of his.

"Ghost is right," you say and turn towards soap and his half assed attempt at squeezing water out of his gear, "we need to get you back home...get you warmed up."

"Aye."

The entirety of the town is already giving Price the creeps. He's seen his fair share of things in his time, the awful, the creepy, the monstrous. But the feeling this town gives him? Unlike most things he's encountered.

There's no hostility, nothing but the purest of hospitality even for mere tourists. There's something wrong with the smiles, their incessant need to accommodate practically anything he asks for.

He opens the door to the car, holding the two coffee cups against his chest. Garrick reaches over, takes them from him when he gets himself comfortable in the front seat. "I think I got your order right...don't kill me if it isn't, got a bit distracted in line," Price grumbles and leans back in his seat.

Garrick takes a sip of his own, then handing back Price's cup to him. "It's just fine cap, thanks" he mumbles and drinks some more. He let's out a satisfied groan and relaxes back into the seat. "Despite how weird this place is, at least they know how to make coffee."

"Hm that we can agree on," Price takes a sip of his. It's not bad, but he's definitely had better. The shop he went to would do better serving tea on the menu as well.

He'd parked the car in one of the open parking lots, not many seemed to come here. Most of the day it remained practically empty except for the few people coming to and from town. They'd spent the last two hours walking through town, posing as the tourists they undeniable were today. They hadn't learnt much, except for the fact the locals remembered faces too well for comfort.

Though it was to be expected, the town wasn't too big.

"Walked by the church..." Price says with a sigh, "struck up conversation with a few of the locals changing up the sign outside."

"Got anything useful out of them?" Garrick asks as if he'd conducted a whole interrogation.

"They've got daily mass...but most people come on Sundays as to be expected," he tells him before taking another sip, "a few of us should attend on Sunday."

Garrick let's out a louder groan, likely already picking up what he's putting down. The man clearly didn't want to, but like anything else they'd do here in this town, it was all work. Just work.

Price takes another long gulp of his coffee. The energy barely ever worked for him these days, the stress getting to his bones. He looks out towards the bustling little market a bit further up the long road. There wasn't many, but most of them would come through the market at least once a day. Garrick had mentioned a few familiar faces he'd spoken to in his other trips to town.

"Captain, do you think they'll...." he goes quiet, hesitating to finish his question.

"They'll find them," Price says assuredly.

"That's not..."

The captain doesn't bother looking at him, gives him a moment to think his question through. "Speak your mind, Garrick," he urges.

"How much do we actually know about them?" he knows why he's asking. Price had his own doubts, his own concerns, when Laswell first presented your file on his desk and insisted this was the only way.

He hadn't fully shed his doubts yet.

"We know enough, sergeant" it's not the answer he wants nor the answer he needs but it's the answer Price has for him. He'd have to do more digging, for the safety of the team, for the prosperity of the mission itself. You were too big a mystery, one where the only thing he could rely on was Laswell's word.

"They've been helpful, they'll continue to be helpful, it'll have to be enough for now." Price adds on shortly after.

 Garrick says nothing in return, simply continues to drink his coffee dissatisfied.

Price starts up the car, intending to have the rest of the way home in silence. And it was, much to his admiration. The sergeant could have a talkative tongue when he got excited about something, he'd think this whole situation would give him a few things to say.

Instead, it leaves him a quiet contemplating mess. Much like the rest of them.

He only ever speaks up in a low grumble when he sees the tip of the house revealing itself in the distance, only to render himself quiet once again.

The silence stretches on until Kyle sees the three figures bickering at the front door. "Isn't that..." he trails out as he realizes they probably don't have the key for the home. He does his best at holding back his laughter. It earns him a side glare from Price.

"Seems like they found 'em."

Price turns the car around and parks it in its usual spot next to the temporary home. "The fuck happened to you?!" Garrick says bemused by the sight of Soap.

Price does raise a questioning brow as he exits the car after Garrick. They were only supposed to go get Spider, why the man was wet as a dog was lost on him.

"Fell in the river..." Soap grumbles.

Garrick fails to hold in his laughter this time around, snorting on the spot. "I know you like water but maybe you should stay away from the literal ice water mate," he claps Soap on the back a few times.

Soap pushes him away annoyed, "agh away n' bile yer heid!"

Price rolls his eyes, pushing past the two to unlock the front door. As soon as it's open, you dart past him to head inside in the warmth with a surprising urgency. He looks to Simon, coming to stand beside him to move inside as well.

"They're fine...mostly fine...we're all fine," he assures him.

He eyes you suspiciously. His boys might've said you were fine, you might've said you were fine to them. Little observation told him that your limping leg wasn't all that fucking fine.

He followed you out back, the rest remaining in the living room to keep MacTavish warm. "Spider, slow it up" he spoke up causing you to freeze in place. He walked with steady steps until he could place himself in front of you.

"Come, I need to talk to you, and we need to take a look at that," he gestures to the leg that has a stained pantleg. He turns back around to walk to his and Garrick's room. He doesn't bother looking back to see if you're following, he has a deep-rooted feeling that you will.

You may be a rulebreaker when you get the confidence, but there's still obedience in you. From where he doesn't understand just yet, but it doesn't take all of his wisdom to gather a lot went down when you were hunting the cult on your own.

He holds the door open for you. Your eyes meet as you make your way inside, there's that stubbornness he's used to seeing in Simon. "Sit," he points to one of the beds pressed into the corner while he closes the door.

You do as he says, your voice stuck in your throat. He rummages through the cabinets, finds the first aid kit he always saved a few of. He didn't even need to tell you to roll up your pantleg, you'd taken the hint way before.

The wounds weren't deep, but whatever you'd been bitten by had been out to be vicious. "You'll need to get a doctor to look at this...lucky for you the town's got a local practice."

You tense up at that, dodge his touch as he tries to keep your leg steady enough to clean. "It's fine..." you say hastily, "It just needs to be cleaned I don't need to see anyone."

"Yes you do and that's an order," Price is stern in his voice.

One thing was to go out of your way to disobey the laid-out deal between the two of you, to run away to look for clues on your own, but this? He wasn't about to let you walk about with an injury that'll make you hurt yourself even more.

You go quiet at that. It's enough for him to grab your calf and put a wet rag against your wound. You flinch but make no sound. Your muscles are tense under his grip and your eyes shut tight.

He allows you the moment of silence, understanding the discomfort of it. He doubted you'd be able to answer anything if he even asked you right now. He cleans off the excess blood, checking the toughness of the teeth punctures. It wasn't as serious as it looked, but you still needed a checkup, he wasn't changing his mind about that.

He removes the rag, and binds the wound. "Did you find anything?" he doesn't look at you as he asks, merely focusing on cleaning up the opened supplies.

"No..." you speak in a low whisper; he wouldn't have heard unless he was this close.

You don't elaborate, and he doesn't find the energy in him to ask.

"Next time you want to go on an adventure like that you take someone with you, or at the very least inform me," he's back to speaking sternly, the voice of a captain that's been carefully crafted over the years in service.

"I can't have rogue soldiers running around, is that understood?" he looks up to catch your eyes.

You hold his stare with an uncomfortable intensity, trying to be as intimidating as he is.

"Yes sir."

He pats your calf, tugging down your pant leg once again. That time you held back your flinch, but it was obvious in your eyes to him. He takes a moment to observe you, trying to dig through your rougher exterior, to see if you were really softer under in it all.

Had you been soft once?

He calls your name in a quiet voice, makes a point to use a softer voice with rounder edges.

"There's parts of your file not even I have access to," he starts slow, careful, then pauses. You're wary of him, more than the others. He chalks it up to his authority over you, the one you can't quite find your place underneath.

"What's haunting you that much...that you won't even let me in on surprise plans...we're all a team here we-"

You rise from your seat with no warning. You're quick to make your way around him, careful to not step on any of the scattered things on the floor. He doesn't stop you nor does he continue what he was about to pry out of you.

He understands in some underhanded way. He'd dealt with Simon a lot longer than he'd dealt with you. There were undeniable similarities yet still something entirely different between the two.

"You'll go to town first thing tomorrow morning, I'll get Ghost to take you" he speaks up from his seat on the floor. You stop somewhere close to the door, listening to his words, his order. You don't answer him, but he knows you heard him, that you'll heed him this once.

You leave the room, closing the door with a care for potential noise.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @chickennn-soupp @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @lilynotdilly @spicyspicyliving @kaoyamamegami @ellabellabunny123 @woodlandgirl22-blog-blog @haipasa

[infiniteko]

Q: "I have tried very hard to get into a state of non-duality. But that doesn’t work for me, why?"

by Being_is_IT / Twitter

BeingIs: When you work so hard to try to reach a special state to feel comfortable, such a state is imaginary. All seemingly state is SELF and SELF has no idea of states. Uncomfortable state is SELF and comfortable state is the same SELF, there is no actual difference. Your effort to establish a special state is itself an illusion. Feeling uncomfortable? It’s a great opportunity to see the interpretation of the Mind. Feeling comfortable? It’s the same opportunity to see the interpretation of the Mind.

All conclusions you reached are none other than the interpretation of the Mind. And without exception, all interpretation of the Mind is not valid. So, you don’t really know what is going on. When you realize that you don’t really know what is going on, congratulations! You know SELF directly. Let us look at your imagined state of non-duality. Does such a state exist? No, it does not!

Because the present moment is already non-dual by default. There is nothing for you to do, all present moment is already non-dualistic. However, only that the Mind interprets the present moment as multiplicity and diversity. The Mind’s interpretation is not actually established. The Mind mistakes a perfect SELF as seemingly multiplicity and diversity.

The Mind’s interpretation is harmless, not a problem. However, taking the Mind’s interpretation as your reality, you will get into suffering seemingly. Let me put it in a different way, seemingly diversity is not actual diversity, it’s just a seeming only. SELF can be analogized as Infinite Radiant Energy. Such infinite energy can appear as infinitely diverse, but don’t be fooled by the appearances, SELF remains as SELF no matter how it looks.

Please see that the images of other people as your very own energetic texture or patterns, do not take them as independently existing people. Please see that the seemingly events that’s happening as your very own energetic texture or patterns, do not see them as actual or concrete events happening. Such direct seeing is very subtle because the Mind will keep claiming that it’s seeing concrete “people, events and objects”. You will also directly see the Mind is making all kinds of assumptions. When your sensitivity is not keen, you will mistake the Mind’s assumption as your reality, and fall into the Mind’s assumption as if it’s your reality.

When your sensitivity is increased, you will be able to discern that none of the Mind’s assumptions are actually established as valid. When you see energetic patterns as energetic patterns rather than “people, events, objects, world, space, time”, does such change of perspective cause trouble in your daily life? Not really. You are free to function as if you are a person while profoundly knowing that you are Infinite Radiant Energy itself.

You are free to work with others. You are free to enjoy a seemingly good living condition. You are free to try to avoid a seemingly terrible living condition. You are free to make money or lose money. You are free to get married or stay single. Please notice, they are all energetic patterns that don’t matter at all as long as you don’t mistake such energetic patterns as actual story and events.

When you realize that dream is just an insubstantial dream, will it harm you? Even if you see that a body is being beaten up by gangsters in a dream, will it actually harm you? A best example is dreaming. In dreaming experience, the dreaming Mind assumes that it’s seeing “people, events and objects”.

Are there actual people, events and objects inside a dreaming experience? Of course not. But the Mind obviously can see “people, events and objects” inside a dreaming experience. It takes sensitivity to see that the Mind’s assumption is incorrect. The seemingly “people, events, objects” in a dreaming experience is just a seeming only. Nothing more than just a seeming.

[thefirst3chapters]

Thinking about the car accident aftermath in "Teach Me Tonight" again:

Luke is understandably all over the place in the episode where Jess is sent to town. He's simultaneously buying Frosted Flakes and explaining to a skeptical Lorelai that all Jess needs is someone to "give him a little space" and "treat him like a man." Luke resists Lorelai's overreactive but not entirely unreasonable questions and advice until he responds to Jess's defiance and declaration of not wanting help by pushing him off the bridge. Then, he goes right to Lorelai as he panics about not being cut out to raise a kid (he's made a big mentality shift here!) because of having "no patience for jam hands." She reminds him that Jess isn't a toddler, but this situation is going to take work.

Fast forward to "Teach Me Tonight." The first two things Rory tells Lorelai over the phone in reference to the accident are "I need you to be calm" and "I'm alright." Rory has already buried her own reaction and is trying to put Lorelai at ease as much as she can; for not the first or the last time, she has to be the more mature person in their relationship. Lorelai demands that Rory have extra tests that the doctor didn't recommend, and then she leaves Rory at the hospital to hunt Jess down. It isn't Lorelai's intent to make Rory carry both their emotions by herself, but that's what ends up happening even though Lorelai is extensively focused Rory's physical injury. It says a lot about how Lorelai and Rory function as each other's peers and as each other's parents. The only person who will offer advice that matches the injury Rory actually has, listen to how she feels about the accident, and validate her perspective is Luke.

When Luke finds Jess hunched over on the bridge, Jess doesn't say anything about his own safety or ask Luke to stay calm. He just says, "I made sure she was okay." This is of course reflective of how much Jess cares about Rory and how devastated he is about her getting hurt, but it also strongly suggests that it doesn't even occur to Jess that his own well-being would matter to Luke. One could understand why Jess might've thought that way; Luke is openly, sometimes extremely, protective of Rory and continues to be when Rory is years older than Jess is here. He confronts both Dean and Logan unprompted on Rory's behalf. He wants to intervene when Rory decides to leave Yale and maintains a warm relationship with her even though he avoided addressing Jess's school/work situation directly until he kicked him out and later yelled at him for returning for his car. We know what's in Luke's heart here, though, because he just explained it to Lorelai at the cost of their relationship. He won't rest until he knows both kids are okay.

Luke could've in this moment screamed at Jess for being reckless with Rory, damaging property, smoking, and throwing a wrench in his friendship with Lorelai. He could've demanded that Jess be a man and stick around to repair the damage and face the wrath they both know is impending. He doesn't do any of those things, though. He sees how anguished Jess is and realizes now that he shouldn't have to be a man quite yet. Luke offers the precious comfort of immediately believing that Jess took care of Rory with "I know you did," and that's that. Of all the choices Luke could've made here, he chooses a quiet sort of mercy, so there they are in calming silence with their matching postures and green jackets and emotional repression in the same place where Luke shoved Jess into the water months earlier. Yes, there's an argument to be made that Jess going back wasn't the right way to handle this, but at the same time that choice has incredible compassion behind it.

The variety of parent/child relationships on this show is just so fascinating; it's a snapshot of families living in the same time and in the same place, and no two dynamics or perspectives on how a child should be raised are the same. These relationships are all deeply flawed and are sources of immense harm at times, but they're grounded in so much love.

[distort-opia]

What do you think of how recent DC writers view and have been writing Joker?

Ah. Well, depends on your definition of "recent". I haven't fully engaged with comics published in the last year, to be honest-- not to the extent of keeping up with every issue and story arc. When it comes to Joker, I feel that Rosenberg was the most promising writer in the past couple years, what with The Joker Presents: A Puzzlebox and The Man Who Stopped Laughing... he actually wrote Joker as a mix of hilarious and terrifying, with depth and glimpses of vulnerability. But then Zdarsky made a whole-ass mess of him.

You could argue it wasn't his fault. Technically it all started with Geoff Johns (I say, through gritted teeth) and whoever in editorial also thought it was a good fucking idea for three Jokers to be a thing. Johns continued to hack his way through Joker's character by giving him a canonical name, because why not screw up one of Joker's fundamentals (a lack of a certain past). And then Zdarsky had to try and force all of it to make sense somehow... which, I guess, he could've done in worse ways. But it was still bad, and I still disliked the Zur-en-Arrh arc and Joker: Year One. DC keeps pushing Joker as an entity that's almost inhuman, a boogey-man only defined by a hollow obsession with Batman; giving him the backstory Zdarsky did robs him of so much agency and choice, of so much that used to make the character interesting. (Alas, I spoke about my opinion on this elsewhere in much more depth, but I can't find the damn post. All hail the tumblr search function.)

I haven't kept up with Ram V's stuff though, and whatever's happening in Detective Comics. I do know Joker shows up there, but I don't know if it's in a well-written way or not. Needless to say, I am a bit burnt out on Joker comics as of late. I'm still waiting for the stars to align so I can get back into things.

[queerweewoo]

my hand slipped and i wrote 2K of About To Be Cheating Cheaters buddie (sorry tommy!). here's one half of what i've gotten down so far.

.

“That's why I'm here, hermano. To make your drunk ass drink lots of water, and to stop all that spiralling shit in its detrimental tracks. If you haven't figured it out by now, I don't much like things that hurt my family.”

Eddie's head is still spinning. 

“Hermano? Really Buck? I've only ever been a brother, never had one. But I'm pretty sure any brother of mine wouldn't look a lick like you.”

Dios, Eddie is so, so drunk, and such a horrible person for being so, so glad that Buck is here, with Eddie, instead of someplace with his boyfriend that Eddie definitely does not want to be thinking about.

Eddie needs Buck like oxygen right now because Eddie is a pathetic mess. What the fuck would some perfect pilot that's built like a brick shithouse know about being a pathetic mess? Screw you, Iceman—Buck and Eddie are the Maverick and Goose of this movie, fuck you very much. Always have been. Always will be. 

Buck's eyebrows are trying to migrate and join up with his hairline. “Oh, really? What, I'm not good-looking enough to be a Diaz? Is that it?” 

That is very much not it. 

Eddie teases, “Aw, guapo, you worried you're not pretty enough for me?” because he clearly left his last bit of sanity in the hook and ladder down on Main. He feels like he's having an out of body experience, looking down on himself from up on the ceiling and can practically see his blood fizzing beneath his skin like someone injected popping candy into his veins while he wasn't looking.

What the fuck is he doing? 

Buck isn't as drunk as Eddie, but he suddenly looks stone cold sober, blinking furiously through whatever emotions are gripping him right now. Eddie can usually tell what Buck is feeling without having to so much as look at him, but there's currently so much candied rum in his system that it's numbing his higher brain function.

“Uh, that's, uh—it's—that's not exactly what I was getting at, Eddie,” Buck stumbles, trying to right himself from the suckerpunch. 

“So what exactly are you getting at, Evan.”

Eddie never uses that name. Not once before telling Buck about changing his will, and never since. He'd only opted back in that hospital room to call Buck by what is printed on his birth certificate to get his full attention, so he understood that what Eddie was telling him was really fucking important. Back when Eddie had very almost told Buck how he feels about him, before bailing on the notion at the last millisecond like the chicken-shit he is and always has been. 

Tommy calls Buck Evan. Only ever calls him Evan. As if he knows the first fucking thing about Eddie's best friend! Eddie thinks that at this exact moment in time, regardless of how the guy is supposed to be his shiny new pal, he might just despise Tommy Kinard with every fibre of his being. Who the hell does he think he is, flying in on his helicopter like every day is leg day, with his stupid, funny fake-mouth-static and those stupid, handsome cheekbones, pissing all over Eddie's territory with his probably Incredible Hulk sized dick and trying to take Eddie's Buck away from him?

You're mine, he thinks. Almost says it, too. And he might say it yet, if Buck keeps on squirming as beautifully as he is right now, the raging heat of his twitchy body searing into Eddie's side like a branding iron that states If Lost Return To Evan Buckley. 

And I'm yours, he thinks, and knows it to be true. Knows he could make it true, that it could maybe be everything, potentially, if only Eddie stopped being such a yellow-belly. 

Fuck Kinard. Fuck all of them that have come before and after Eddie. None of them have loved, or love Buck the way he does. None of them. Eddie knows this because he loves Buck so much it somehow fortifies his heart to make it able to force its way through the spaces between his cracked rib cage and break free to beat wildly in double-time, bleeding, bleeding, bleeding. 

Eddie, feeling drunker by the second, hasn't looked away from Buck in a hot minute—Buck who now looks like he might be having a minor stroke. Stretching across to plop his glass clumsily onto the coffee table and missing the coaster by a Texas mile, Eddie then dries any possibility of lingering water droplets from his moustache with a clunky swipe of his thumb and forefinger, before turning to face Buck with a lot more cock-surety than sense. 

Buck is Eddie's best friend. His partner. The man who loves his kid. The man who Eddie gave his kid to because they both love his kid that much. He's the lunatic who has unofficially moved in with Eddie—because Eddie has driven their kid away with his epic levels of bullshit—even though he currently has a boyfriend.

Buck, Buck, Buck, who Eddie is now positive should be his boyfriend. 

Licking his lips, he feels like he's forgetting something. Like maybe all of the reasons he's steered himself clear of this iceberg for so long—only he's far too drunk, and far too selfish, to try to remember that or care. 

Buck swallows, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and Eddie wants fervently to get his teeth and tongue around it. Then he's muttering, “Eddie, I just meant—” 

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, begs, demands. 

His fingertips have found the soft fabric of Buck's deep blue waffle-weave shirt, where it's covering the expanse of his chest. He's trying to get to his heart, he realises, feeling blindly for any sign of double-time, wanting to taste the blood in its chambers the way Buck has tasted Eddie's.

“Yeah,” Buck breathes, mirroring Eddie which doesn't make a lick of sense apart from the fact that it makes perfect sense, to Eddie. 

Eddie's cheeks are burning but he thinks fuck it, throwing the both the extinguisher and life ring overboard and going full steam ahead. 

.

[thealternatemind]

after realizing I’m autistic my whole life makes sense

[paradimeart]

prowl has 0 idea what goes on in protoform development these days

(V.S. = vector sigma)

[biblically-accurate-dca]

it's your/our/my special day!

[yarrowleef]

I was skimming part of code of the clans today where the Leafpool narrator goes over proposed code rules that were struck down. I was curious why this StarClan rule wasn't implemented because it seems like something the zealot clan cats would go for. The guide does not rly answer my question lol

This is such a weird paragraph. It's like. In one breath Leafpool-narrator is saying they didn't make it a code rule because clan cats can think for themselves, but in the next breath implies that belief in StarClan is in fact necessary for living in the clan, because to live in a clan means you have to follow the warrior code, and belief in StarClan is what makes them follow the code (apparently). If you don't believe in StarClan, she seems to imply that must mean you are planning on leaving the clan? ("it's not a law to stay in the clan" + you can "choose a different path"?) There is not actually any room being made here for a clan cat to peacefully not believe in StarClan---at least not a good code abiding clan cat. And the alternative of leaving the clan obviously means you are no longer planning on following any of the code, so like...how is this meaningfully different from making it an official code rule?

[onebizarrekai]

I've been playing beta minecraft for reasons

bonus: windowed mode obliterated color glitch

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

there are too many thoughts inside of me at all times.