#how about no please stop judging people based off one experience you had with ONE person

[pluralhottakes]

Nah but system with OCD solidarity for anti-endos doing way more harm. We realized we were an endogenic system as a teenager and the amount of gatekeeping, harassment, and manipulation we experienced for it really fucked with us. It took us years to undo the damage.

We were harmed by endogenic systems too but at least they never made us have full on existential and identity crises at the age of 15 or tried to convince us of having memories that didn't exist. Or manipulated us to make us into a lolcow.

Our endogenic abusers weren't abusers because they were endogenic, but our anti-endogenic abusers sure fucking were abusers because they were anti-endogenic.

.

[distantdarlings]

BY THE FIREPLACE // t. nott

RATING: PG-13 / 2.9K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader

+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* You have been an Animagus for around a year now. You have quite a knack for learning everything you need to know about it quickly and Professor McGonagall really likes you. However, a fellow classmate, Theodore Nott, does not like you. And you couldn't care less. Both of you are in for a surprise when you accidentally meet in the library. (Fluff?, sort of Comedy)

+ WARNINGS - Language, nothing else really

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Fantasy - Mariah Carey (don't judge me)

---

“And, ladies and gentlemen, please remember: ten inches of parchment on the side effects of incorrectly transfiguring a toad back into a human!”

Professor McGonagall’s voice pierced the slight murmuring that had started amongst the crowd of students. You suppressed a groan at the assignment, knowing well enough that you’d be putting it off as long as possible. It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful to be here, it was just rambling on about the properties of toad warts left over on humans after unfortunate experiments didn’t really get you going, at least, not like they did Professor McGonagall. 

You had found a kind of special liking for her after you had put yourself through the very exciting—albeit brutally difficult—process of becoming an Animagus. It had been your absolute dream since accidentally discovering that your mother was also one. You had been wandering around the garden during the summer between first and second year and had come across an absolutely beautiful doe. You had stopped in your tracks, taken aback by the creature’s beauty. Just as you were going to hold your hand out to the creature and offer it some of the grass blades clutched in your fingers, the creature before you changed entirely. Its long, graceful body curled into a small flash of light and then, without so much as a breath, your mother was back. Standing in the place of the deer. You could hardly believe your eyes.

Your mother was an Animagus and you thought you should be as well. She had warned you of the difficulties and hardships of the process and how annoying it was to have to get registered with the Ministry of Magic but you didn’t care. The wonder that had been in your eyes when you’d seen your mother transform surpassed all the cons of becoming one. You were going to be just like her. And now you were. Well…sort of. You were an Animagus but, much to your disappointment, you did not transform into a beautiful doe. You were a cat. Not a sleek black cat or a graceful Sphinx. No. You were a large, overgrown, long-haired European Maine Coon. At least, that’s what you were pretty sure you were. You hadn’t exactly performed a DNA test on your Animagi identity. You wondered if that would even work. 

The crowd of students urged you towards the door and out into the grand hallway just outside the Transfiguration classroom. The light poured through the gorgeously carved stained glass windows along the stone walls and illuminated everything in its wake. You absolutely adored the castle and its beauty and reckoned you didn’t stop and admire it as often as you should. 

A body bumped into you roughly, nearly making you lose the books clutched in your arms. You gasped at the sudden shock that went through your body when you realized you’d nearly missed a step down the staircase, your heart dropping through your ribcage.

“Hey,” you shouted. “Want to watch where you’re bloody going?”

The culprit turned with an annoyingly charming smile printed on his lips. His darkened eyes found yours amusedly and sent you a single wink. Your blood boiled.

“Sorry, darling, I’m in quite a rush,” he smirked.

“Doesn’t mean you can break through crowds like a giant,” you retorted, rolling your eyes. “Maybe you should take a second to think about the other people in this school and not just yourself for once, Nott.”

“Bite me, love.” 

Asshole. You watched the back of his head disappear amongst the rest of the students as they waded around you as if you were an island in the midst of an ocean. You could not stand that boy. He and his stupid friends had been nothing if not the most obnoxious people you’d ever met. Even from your first day, he was rude, loud, and annoying. No matter how handsome he was, he couldn’t just steamroll over people. And yet, because he wasn’t ugly in the slightest, everyone just let him do whatever he wanted. Him and all his friends. It made you so angry. 

Your eyes found your watch. You probably—erm, definitely, needed to get started on the paper for McGonagall’s class. That’s what pointed your feet toward the direction of the library. The thoughts of the warm hearth and those plush green chairs that hovered around it were calming the worries for this assignment. The library was—in your opinion—one of the most comfortable areas in the entire castle. It oozed comfort and warmth, much like your dorm room. It just felt soothing. You had noticed the amount of time you were spending in there was increasing as the days got colder. The fireplace in the dorms and common room were just as warm, of course, but those areas tended to be more populated during the day. And if you were going to get this paper done, you likely shouldn’t be surrounded by friends. You could be quite talkative when it came down to it—especially when it came down to procrastinating an assignment.��

One of the large wooden doors to the library came into view slowly as you sauntered down the stairs just before the entrance. You could practically feel the warmth radiating from the vast room. Sweetened chills broke out over your arms and a small shudder passed down your spine. You clutched your books a bit tighter to your chest as you pushed past the threshold and felt the warmth on your skin. 

You smiled gently as you made your way toward your usual fireplace. The smile on your face seemed to grow exponentially as you realized nobody was even in the general vicinity of your favorite spot and…thank Merlin…the tea cart had been brought around. The silvered, intricately designed cart that the librarian left out for wandering and cramming students sat right beside the fireplace. On it sat a few tea cups, a large, enchanted teapot that filled itself back up as soon as it was emptied, two sugar bowls, a large cream pitcher, and a few crumpets and cream horns. You might have died and gone right to the afterlife. 

You set your bags and books in your favorite armchair—the one on the left—and made your way over to the wonderful cart. You shivered in delight as you prepared yourself some tea, just the way you liked it, and grabbed a cream horn—or two. Wandlessly, you conjured the wool blanket that sat upon the foot of your bed and snuggled in amongst the cushions. This was absolutely delightful. Between the tea, the snacks, the warmth, and the dim lighting, your homework was the last thing on your tranquil mind. Your books and bag remained untouched. 

Once finished with your snack and beverage, you found yourself closely watching the curls of flames dance in the fireplace. Soon enough, absolutely without your consent, you were gently lulled to a deep sleep. Your eyes fluttered shut and your breathing stilled, your hands were curled against your chest and your knees were brought up against you. 

-

Theo rounded the corner of the main stairway just before the library. He had an enormous amount of work to do and figured he wouldn’t get anything done if he stayed with his mates. He watched his feet as they jogged down the stone steps, his bag jostling on his shoulder every few moments. 

Once past the doorway, his eyes found that set of green armchairs in the corner just in front of the fireplace. There appeared to be no one in them and he smiled a bit. Hopefully he’d be able to complete all of his work without any interruptions. 

He set his bag down beside the armchair on the right. He reckoned he should start on the paper for McGonagall’s class since it was likely going to be the most difficult way. He should probably just get it out of the way, then everything else would be a breeze. 

As he began to rummage through his bag for the appropriate materials to get started, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A white wool blanket lay spread across the other armchair and an empty tea cup, plate, and school bag were discarded beside it. He figured someone had been working there only moments ago and had slipped away for a quick bathroom break or something of the like. A groan began to build up in his throat as he realized he likely wasn’t going to be alone after all. Whatever…as long as they were quiet. 

Finally, his fingers brushed his quill set and the Transfiguration book. He pulled everything out and settled himself in the chair, preparing to get to work. A thought popped into his head as he spread everything out comfortably. He wondered who had been sitting there. If it was someone he didn’t know, he’d likely have no issue ignoring them. He kind of hoped it was none of his friends, though he could have sworn he’d seen that bag before. Maybe it was Enzo’s?

An hour or so of straight working went by before Theo came to a pause and set his things aside. He stood from the chair and pulled his body into a sweeping stretch that popped a few joints along the way. He groaned at the pleasurable release, grateful that he wasn’t so stiff anymore. His hands shoved in his trouser pockets and he began shuffling in place to try and work some feelings back into his legs. 

The person who had been there previously, he realized, had never come back. Being as curious as he was, he glanced around the library, spotting only a few fully concentrated students with their heads down. Whose stuff was this? He nonchalantly wandered over to the items and squatted down next to the bag. He picked it up gently and rolled the fabric around in his hands. He wasn’t trying to be too nosy, just wanted to see if there were any embroidered initials or names. Quickly, he flipped the top flap open only to discover a messily scrawled name imprinted over the white tag near the top of the bag. It was, much to his dismay, your name. That obnoxiously uptight girl in his Transfiguration class. Every day, in and out, rubbing everyone’s nose in the fact that you were bloody awesome at McGonagall’s class and everyone else was just shit. He wondered if you were cheating or doing some favors for other students. No way you were that good at that boring class. 

A slight movement out of the corner of his eye shocked him away from the bag. His hands frantically dropped the material and he backed away quickly, not wanting to be caught snooping. Yet, he saw nothing. He glanced around wildly trying to find the culprit of the movement but not seeing anything. He could’ve sworn he—

Another movement. From the center of the white blanket. A cat. A rather large one, at that. Yawning slightly and stretching its little limbs out. His heart nearly melted. 

“Aw,” he smiled, “hello there, love. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

He slowly slid his hand over the edge of the chair’s cushion and rubbed the back of his first two fingers over your head. Unbeknownst to him and your sleepy state, both were blissfully unaware of who was touching whom. You yawned once more and curled into his touch. He laughed softly at the movement and began petting your head with a full hand. A deep rumbling purr radiated from your chest at his movements. 

You weren’t sure what about this dream was so real, but bloody hell was it comforting. An unknown character in your dream was ever so gently sliding a hand over your head and occasionally scratching under your chin. Maybe it felt odd for them to do that, but it was so relaxing you didn’t care.

He stood back up and gently scooped your curled figure up, keeping the blanket wrapped softly around you. He took a seat in your armchair and placed you on his lap. His fingernails ever so slightly scratched over your head and smoothed the hair along your back. Your thick, bushy tail curled lovingly against his chest ever so often. 

Something that you didn’t know and something that Theo didn’t know, either, was that you had the subconscious tendency to transform into your Animagi identity when sleeping. Whether as part of a dream or mumbling in your sleep, every once and a while, you would slip down to your smaller self and remain curled up as such. It had been going on for a couple of months now and you had yet to notice it. Your roommates most definitely had but they had said nothing as they assumed it was a purposeful action. They figured it would be nice to sleep as a cat as well. 

The purring emanating from your soft chest rolled against his leg as he continued to brush his fingers through your fur. Your head occasionally curled further into his stomach at these gentle actions. This might have been the most relaxing dream you’d ever had. 

“Hey, man, been looking everywhere for—”

“Shush!” Theo berated the loud voice. Mattheo came around the back of the armchair with a look of confusion plastered on his face. He glanced down to see the feline stretched across his lap, an eyebrow raised.

“The baby is sleeping,” Theo whispered, smiling gently. His hands never stopped brushing you. 

“Did you find him—?”

“Oh my god, shhhhh!” Theo repeated. Pansy and Enzo followed the same path that Mattheo had. And just like him, their eyebrows cocked awkwardly. All three of them glanced at the other.

“I told all of you I was going to the library to get some homework done,” Theo whispered.

“Yeah, it sure looks like you’re getting a ton done,” Pansy rolled her eyes.

“I was...,” Theo insisted, “before this baby wandered up. Isn’t she just the cutest?”

“Yeah, adorable,” Mattheo mocked, a smile building its way onto his face. “I’d love to have McGonagall Jr. sat on my lap, if you know what I mean.”

Enzo and Pansy’s faces blended from blank to confusion to realization to stifled laughter. Theo was extremely confused and becoming a little irritated. 

“Ew, what is that supposed to mean? I don’t think all cats are related to Professor McGonagall—wait, she’s not even really a cat, she can turn into one. I don’t think she’s really related to any cats,” Theo argued.

“Yeah, man—not what I meant,” Mattheo laughed. His two companions began to laugh with him. “Whose bag and stuff is that?”

Theo glanced down at the bag and snack plate that had been left behind as he refrained from rolling his eyes. He probably shouldn’t admit he knew who the stuff belonged to as he totally figured it out by snooping, but they didn’t necessarily have to know that.

“That’s that really irritating girl that’s in McGonagall’s with us, you know? The one I ran into this morning and was like ‘Why don’t you watch where you’re going, blah, blah,’ do you remember?” Theo spoke.

“Yeah, I remember,” Enzo giggled. “It’s almost like she's still in the room with us.”

“I know, that’s her stuff,” he nodded in the direction of the things left behind. “I was wondering when she was going to come back and get it but it’s been like an hour and she hasn’t come back.” Theo shrugged and returned his focus back to you who still remained curled comfortably in his lap. His thumb brushed over your closed eyes and ears. 

“Did she ever leave?” Pansy laughed. “Maybe she's still here.”

“Maybe so, I didn’t go looking for her, though,” Theo responded, brushing a finger down the slope of your nose.

“Yeah, she was acting kind of catty earlier,” Enzo spoke. The three students burst out laughing, clutching their stomachs and flicking tears from their eyes. Anger rose up the side of Theo’s neck.

“What is your deal? Is something funny? Anybody want to fill me in on the joke?” he asked. They remained laughing as hard as they could, almost as if they wanted to annoy Theo further.

“Whatever, me and my new friend are going to study elsewhere. At least she doesn't laugh at me,” he harrumphed and grabbed his things, keeping you cradled tightly in your blanket in his right arm. The three students didn’t stop laughing the whole way as Theo stomped off, taking you with him, and touching his nose to yours with a smile. 

“Oh, Merlin,” Pansy chuckled, a tear falling from her eyes. “So we all knew that she's an Animagus, right?”

“Yeah, she told me last year when her acceptance letter from the Ministry came in. She was pretty excited about it.” Enzo struggled not to start laughing again. “She's really nice and really smart, I think Theo can be a bit much sometimes.”

“Yeah, I agree with that….” Pansy responded. There was a few moments of silence before Mattheo tilted his head towards the other two.

“So, we’re sticking around for when she wakes up and realizes she's sitting on Theo’s lap wrapped up in a blanket like a child, right?” he laughed. The other two chorused a variety of ‘yes’ and ‘absolutely,’ as they made themselves comfortable at a table near the one Theo had assigned as his. This was quite possibly going to be the best thing that ever happened.

Part Two!

[randombush3]

you're not sorry to go

ona batlle x reader

summary: ona and you are best friends, but it's a bit more complicated than that

words: 4.5k

notes: this one is based on true events x

also let's ignore the result of my poll because i want the next part to have smut and it wasn't fitting with the vibe of this part

oh and the title is a quote from 'this side of paradise' by f. scott fitzgerald

January, nine years ago. 

Nothing about today has been out of the ordinary. 

The weekend is starting, winter drags on, and Ona is all set to train later on in the evening, provided you confirm whether or not you are willing to accompany her to the local pitch. 

Barcelona B usually allows for Fridays off, but Ona isn’t stupid. No one becomes the greatest footballer of all time by not playing more. School is beginning to bore Ona to death, and she knows that she wants what she always has: to go professional. 

“I have a plan,” she tells you confidently, glad you don’t mind sitting on the uneven, grassy sideline as she sets up her cones with determination. You hold the ball between your hands, though Ona is amused by how foreign it looks to you, and you seem to be holding her prized possession hostage so that she spills. “It sounds simple and obvious out loud, but it’s that I am going to play for Barça while you go to the university. You can introduce me to your smart friends so I can meet my wife, and you’ll have all the boys after you anyway so–” 

“Ona.” Her monologue has led her eyes to the ground, but your voice makes her head jerk upwards, not needing much authority to get her to look at you. “I’ve actually had a… realisation, of sorts,” you say with a bashful grin, chin jutting out the way it does when you are gearing up to tell her something that no one else will get to know. “Your cousin is really pretty.” 

“I’ll tell her you said that.” It’s a nice thing to say, and you are partly aware that Ona’s cousin knows who you are because she doesn’t shut up about you ever, but you can’t help the frustration that begins to bubble up inside of you.

“No, Ona,” you try again, “she’s really pretty. Like, I would kiss her.” 

Ona frowns, then. “Don’t be one of those.” She means the girls who experiment, who toe the line of liking girls but don’t, not really. She has been warned about them by her older teammates, the ones who go out for drinks and kiss girls in clubs. The budding footballer really admires them, because their advice is always good and she gets to explore her sexuality without feeling like a creep. No one in Vilassar de Mar cares much that Ona does like girls, but it doesn’t stop her from feeling judged all the same. 

You are one of her best friends, but Ona isn’t sure she can forgive you if you become someone like that. 

“I’m not! I wouldn’t do that.” Your offence is suspicious, and you have been so caught up in destroying her worries that the ball has been dropped and is now rolling towards Ona’s feet, where it is instinctively flicked upwards and caught. “I wouldn’t, Oni, because I know it’s unfair to you guys.” 

“But you want to kiss my cousin? That makes you interested in girls in general too, you know.” 

You bite your lip. 

“Ona, I think I’m gay.” 

The ball is dropped, along with her jaw, and you shift uncomfortably in your seated position, not enjoying how big of a deal she is making this out to be. 

People realise that they’re gay all the time! Why should it be any different for you? 

“Oh,” is all Ona can manage to breathe out, wondering what to do next. Although your friendship cracks the padlocks of most secrets, there is one that hasn’t ever been shared. One that now means substantially more than it did five minutes ago. 

“Say something, please,” you groan in mock annoyance, moving aside your textbooks so that you can grab Ona’s hand and pull her down on top of you. She is much stronger – she trains every day – but something about your skin touching hers injects a surge of patheticness into her well-earned muscles, and she falls, of course she does, because she always falls for you. 

…

A year passes. 

You kiss Ona’s cousin, as intended, and Ona knows the breakup is going to be rough but nothing prepares her for when it comes. 

She’s conflicted, and she’s older now. No longer left behind by her teammates, Ona gets to go out with them when they don’t have football; she gets to talk to the girls about their sex lives, she gets to be involved in it all. She has met Alexia Putellas and been treated like an equal, and she made out with her fourth ever girl last week, this time progressing past tongues and confidently letting her hands roam. 

Ona would say that she has learnt a lot since you dropped your nuclear missile, and she has managed to forget the initial hope she had felt. The secret had been near-faded. 

Until you are calling her, sending her a text when she doesn’t reach her phone quick enough.

‘Ona, I really need you.’ 

She hears nothing from her cousin – they were closer when they were younger – and that, she reasons, is why she is by your side in an instant, meeting you at the windy beach you go to when you are sad, hair damp from running and eyes a little wide as she tries to wake herself up. 

“She said she can’t do it anymore,” you whisper, voice cracking under the strain your sobs had put on it. “She said that she really likes me but that it’s not enough, and she doesn’t want to break my heart but she knows she has to.” 

Ona doesn’t get a chance to respond, because you have flung yourself into her chest before she can think of the right words to say. 

Your shoulders shake as you cry, devastating howling joining the whistles of the wind and the thrash of the waves. The sand is unsteady beneath your feet and you stumble, but Ona holds you firmly, as though she has only ever trained to hold you up. Though you feel her biceps, hard and significantly larger than the last time she had held you this way, you are too caught up in your first heartbreak to acknowledge the tiny, tiny spark between you. 

As you cry and cry and cry, Ona can’t help but feel a little bitter towards her cousin. Clearly, your affection wasn’t false and, though it was working towards the severance of your friendship, you actually cared quite a lot for her. 

Ona chooses to abstain from her jealousy because she is embarrassed that it is possible. 

She is there for you the next day, ensuring you have eaten and allowing you to sleep, but the sun soon sets and Ona vows one thing to herself: she will not take advantage of it. 

“I’m going home,” you mumble when you wake from your restless nap, rolling over into the empty space in your best friend’s bed. The sheets there are cold and unused. Ona must not have moved a muscle since you fell asleep. “My parents must be a little confused, and we have people coming over for dinner. Thank you for looking after me.” 

“No problem.” Ona nods and you awkwardly stand up. “I think I’m going out with the team tonight, but don’t hesitate to call me if… Well, if you feel sad again.” 

“It’s going to feel shit with or without you.” 

You are trying to distance her, to tell her that she can have fun. It might be an issue that your friendship only seems to work when the two of you discuss your recent conquests or latest flings, but it is not one that either of you wants to address for now. 

“I’m just making sure you know I’m here,” she defends indignantly, rolling her eyes at the glimpse of your happier self making its return. 

“Are you going to be drunk?” Your question is pointed and you should really cross your arms and tap your foot impatiently to match your tone. “Don’t you have training tomorrow?” 

“Maybe, and not tomorrow, no. I’ve been asked to join the first team the day after so they’ve given me an alternative rest day.” 

“Ona, if you get drunk, you won’t be there for me at all. You’ll have your tongue down some poor, poor girl’s throat and your phone will be dead.” You laugh from experience, having grown accustomed to how she behaves under the influence. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I swear that alcohol is what fuels your hormones. I’m not going to burden you with my fucking pathetic crying, and, well, you know me, I’ll just find a boy to talk to. I am going to be fine.” 

No one in the room is convinced. 

You swat the air between you two, telling her to get on with getting ready. “Now, enjoy your night, and tell me all about it tomorrow morning!” 

Ona wonders if you are over-compensating by insisting to hear about whoever she has gotten off with, but you are practically flying out the door the minute you have said goodbye to her family and she is stumbling around her room trying to find a clean bra. Life goes on. 

If time did not tick on its own, one of you would task yourselves with turning the hands of the clock manually. 

You try to recover from how much it fucking kills to have a girl break your heart by reminding yourself of your worth in the best way possible: male attention. They hound you, but you enjoy it. You crave it, most of the time, even if the feelings are never quite believably reciprocated. 

It annoys Ona to no end, the way you play with the boys chasing after you. She hates the push and pull, fed-up with the constant complaining from your end. Often, because Ona speaks her mind when she can, she tells you that it’s not fair on the ones who hand their hearts to you only to watch you pierce through them with sharp, I-was-never-a-lesbian nails. 

You don’t talk about her cousin. At least, not to Ona because you have been informed by some other friend that blood is thicker than water.

Or maybe it’s because Ona begins to avoid you, begins to spend more time with her teammates, who don’t hide their sexuality and who like the things she likes. (Once, in a hateful frenzy, Ona thinks to herself that the only thing the two of you have in common nowadays is that she likes you and you like you too.) 

“What happened to your best friend?” Laia Aleixandri asks thoughtfully once after training. Ona is helping her collect the water bottles the other girls had left lying around on the pitch. There have been more injuries than what’s comfortable within the first team, and maybe some of the reserves have forgotten that they are not yet professionals. “You’ve stopped talking about her.” 

“We’ve fallen out,” Ona answers, settling on that because she doesn’t know how else to describe the shift in your relationship. 

“Over what?” comes Laia’s obvious sequential question, more a due dalliance than genuine interest. Laia is one of those girls who plays to play and can sometimes be too busy to spend time with the team outside of training. Because of this, she is largely unaware of Ona’s growing reputation within the squad. As Ona has grown up, her confidence has increased. Girls like that, and they are in plentiful supply to her. She no longer needs to be drunk, but something almost certainly occurs if she is. 

“She dated my cousin and, I don’t know, the way she acted in the fall-out was horrible. She likes girls, I know she likes girls, but I think she has been scarred and her ego has been bruised. No boy has ever made her cry like that, and I think she’s traumatised. And it’s valid! I understand, completely and totally, but she is acting as though she never had a thing with my cousin and it’s annoying. It’s as if being gay is a joke to her.”

Laia senses that Ona’s not done, and she is correct to think so. 

The next wave is this: “Laia, I really don’t agree with it, and it is hurting me. It hurts to see my cousin be messed around by a straight girl, it hurts to see my best friend hate part of herself, and it hurts me because, well, it just– it just does! I can’t explain it.” She can; she doesn’t want to. Her secret is still heavily guarded and it is going to take more than Laia asking about you to get her to confess. “I just want peace for everyone involved,” she says after taking a deep, diplomatic breath. 

“Peace,” Laia repeats with a giggle. “Ona, the things I have heard about you are the opposite of ‘peace’. Aita’s been keeping me in the loop, and she says that–” 

“Okay, Laia, I don’t need a lecture.” 

What probably would have been very helpful for Ona to know is lost to the devastating final blow of her eye-roll as she jogs to the water cooler to return the bottles and head home. 

…

The reconciliation of a decade-old friendship is fast and natural. Things do not quite go back to normal, and the two of you are not as close as before, but your group of friends at school breathe out a collective sigh of relief when the ice thaws and Ona starts to turn up to their gatherings instead of the ones held by her beloved blaugranas. 

It’s a camping trip. 

Their first year of bach has ended, and someone – Ona doesn’t know who – has suggested a camping trip because her grandfather’s brother owns a farm and the farm has a field and the field is far-removed enough for the smell of cigarettes and red-label whiskey to dissolve before reaching the house. 

“Are we really going?” Ona asks, making you all laugh as you haul your bags and tents along the tractor path. 

“I do think we should’ve gotten in the tractor,” you agree. Ona nods at you, thanking you for your support. 

Everyone else says it’s good fitness, and then hurls insults at Ona for the remainder of the trek because she should be the last to complain if she is going to become a professional athlete. 

It’s not as far as it seems, and the tents are set up quickly, along with some chairs, a foldable table, and a hefty stash of various bottles of alcohol. 

You start smoking the minute someone flashes their lighter, and Ona uses that as a reason to stay on the other side of the small campsite for a good hour or so. 

She stays away from you no matter how much you stare, but you watch her all the same. 

The boys you talk to are not satisfying. Some may have innocent intentions but the majority don’t, and you know that you are pretty but you are not shallow like that. You don’t even meet the boys half the time unless they corner you at school and demand a slot of your in-person attention.

The boys you talk to explain football and the gym and why they have to play FIFA until the sun rises because it will definitely help Barcelona win on the weekend. They take you for an idiot, and they hardly acknowledge that your best friend (sort of) plays for their darling club so of course you know the rules and the positions. You know that Ona is a defender, and that she is good at it. You don’t want to be patronised and you don’t care about this kind of thing unless it involves Ona. 

Therein lies the issue, actually. 

You don’t care about much unless it involves Ona. Ona, who sways to the music bursting out from the speakers just as stiffly as she always has, not exactly blessed with dancing talent but not for lack of trying. Ona, who declines alcohol tonight because she is following a summer strength and conditioning programme with the hopes of playing in the first team’s preseason matches. Ona, who looks beautiful. Always. 

Smoke billows from your cigarette, right towards the point of your focus, and, suddenly, doe-like eyes are staring back at you with a small, small smirk. She waves, as if to say that she has caught you, and you lean back on the camping chair you are slouched in, pretending to laugh at whatever your friend has just said beside you.

Later, when everyone else is knocked out from the bad quality of the whiskey, snoring comfortably in the other tents, Ona and you kiss. And once you start kissing, you don’t stop. 

Ona is good at this, you assume, because she knows exactly what to do. Contrary to popular belief, you are far more active in theory than in practice, and she surprises you a little bit. Or maybe she doesn’t, because it’s Ona and Ona is good at everything. 

You strive to match her, and you do by the time you finish school. 

Sporadic, non-committal, and in complete disregard for your friendship, the arrangement of hooking up when you feel like it sees you out of Catalonia, with Ona naturally in tow. 

Madrid CFF is happy to have her, and you quite enjoy the challenge of the Spanish capital. It’s not Barcelona, it’s not ideal, but change is good and you need space to explore who you are without watchful eyes and nosy gossipers. 

Homophobia isn’t quite a thing in your family. Your parents are not radically against gay people. In fact, you’d say they are relatively supportive. However, that doesn’t stop you from feeling some discomfort. You lived through Ona’s struggle to come out, and her parents are ever more care-free than yours. 

Madrid is a brand-new place, and word about how you are doing is easily controlled. Updates come from either you or Ona, and that means there is a filter easily applied to all anecdotes. 

Your friends know about the sex, more or less. They know, they don’t approve, but they let you guys sort it out yourselves because everyone agrees that that is just how you and Ona are. They won’t understand it and they have given up on trying to.

Both of you make half-hearted efforts to separate the arrangement from your friendship. You don’t talk much afterwards until the other has left the realm of I-am-in-love-with-you. It’s nice to be in Madrid together, but you find different social circles soon enough and then you are reaching out more for sex than friendly activities and… You stop sleeping with each other upon the footballer’s request. She wants to focus on her career, on her success. She tells you over the phone because she cannot bring herself to end whatever occurred over the last two years in person, knowing that she’d take back her decision in a heartbeat. Ona really, really likes football, and she knows that she has to become obsessed with it to get to the top; more obsessed than she is now. How can she do that if you are distracting her? 

You’re disappointed, but you respect her wishes. 

Girls in Madrid stop seeming as shiny. The world is a bit duller, because although there had been no exclusivity between you and your best friend, there had always been that guarantee that the other would be ready and waiting. Your growing misery makes studying boring, and you find answers for your emotions in a science textbook, desperately running away from the obvious truth. Less sex means that you are unhappier. It’s biology. 

It’s not a crush. 

Not on Ona. 

No. 

And it’s certainly not this not-realisation that flies you to Milan the minute a modelling agency inquires about whether you have ever thought of, well, modelling. They scout you someplace random, and your mother claims that she could have helped you start your career earlier if only you’d have been interested. 

When you explain to your best friend what you are moving for, she is oddly unsurprised and uncaring. Her reaction is sickening, because you’d have rathered her get an ego boost from having slept with a model than be so fucking apathetic. 

“I’m going to Milan, Ona,” you repeat, just in case she has not heard you. “I’m moving. We did the trial shoots last week, and they loved me. They want me to update my social media and work on building up a following, and they said that I should start learning English because I might end up in New York.” 

“That’s good. I’m happy for you.” She doesn’t sound like she means it, and you grow annoyed about how she is not even trying to sound enthusiastic. 

“Can’t you be happy for me? Or is it only acceptable for you to have dreams?” 

“I am happy for you, I just said that.” 

“The words left your mouth, but they definitely did not come from your heart.” 

“You’re being dramatic.” Ona rolls her eyes and the pent-up sexual tension builds and builds until the bottle it has been shoved into can no longer withstand the pressure. You haven’t argued since you moved to Madrid, which makes no sense considering you literally broke up – even if it absolutely wasn’t dating. Neither of you has processed your broken heart, and you’re pretty sure you are still too traumatised from the first girl you fell in love with to be capable of revisiting those kinds of emotions. 

Ona hasn’t had sex in weeks, and it is affecting her performance. She can’t sleep if she has the energy she does, and she can’t get through her workouts because not sleeping makes her lose her appetite and then she does not have the energy to complete them. Her coaches are worried, but they know that she is young and though almost idiotic, they mostly assume that she is repulsed by the idea of playing for a club in Madrid. They get that a lot with the Catalans that come over from La Masia, whose dreams have been delayed because the first team had thought it necessary that they gained more experience elsewhere. 

Ona has wanted to shout and scream every minute of every day, and so have you. Therefore, everything explodes. 

…

You inhale deeply, exhaling when it feels as though some of the stress has dissipated. This casting is one of the more important ones of the week. It’s odd to be judged on your appearance, to be paid for it, but it has been almost a year since you moved to Milan and you are enjoying yourself. 

You don’t miss university, and you don’t miss your parents. Your friends visit you lots, loving the idea of your career, loving the excuse to escape their dreary weekends in where they have always been. 

Milan is great. You make friends with a few other models, though they come and go depending on work, and the more experience you get, the more your following count goes up. Brands send you things, nice things, and events start extending invites to lure you into the glamour of the industry. 

Milan is great, you tell yourself on repeat. 

Milan is great, but it would be better if Ona were here. 

Milan is great, but you regret the way you left things and want to take it all back. 

Milan is great but– 

“Your fitting is tomorrow,” says the assistant, reading off her iPad. You suppress your wandering thoughts, nodding. You need this job, you need the money to pay for a flight. The agency has given you some advancements – an impressive thing, apparently – but not enough to cover the cost of the ticket to New York for the start of Fashion Week. This show will fluff out your experience, and increase your chances of walking at one of the bigger shows. 

You’ve been told that you are quite a good model; attractive, funny, with just the right amount of personality to be both a mannequin and an interesting figure. 

The lifestyle is different but good, and you realise that you’d never wanted the mundanity of studying and then working and selling your soul to some kind of tall office building. Not everyone gets the concept of living away from home, especially not those from your tight-knit community who think the city is stretching the distance slightly (the train works, you can live with your parents and have a good job – you’ve been told that a few times), but you don’t mind. You can explain it as much as you want and they would still be confused. 

You stay in touch, but you don’t stay present. 

As your career snowballs over the next two years, you pull away from your home, always on a flight, always busy. You go to LA and Paris and London, and you rent your flat in Milan out as an Airbnb whenever you’re not there. You love the city, you start to think of it as yours, and slowly but surely, everything else fades into the background. 

Apart from Ona, of course. Your friends still visit, or you meet up with them if you ever find yourself in Barcelona, and they continue to affirm just how proud they are of you. They talk about her a lot, too; about where she’s playing now, about injuries and fame and representing Spain. They know you are too stubborn to search it up for yourself, but these are the people who have grown up with you: they know you would like to be informed. 

When you hear that Ona has moved to Manchester, you don’t quite think your actions through. 

You have had enough. You miss her terribly.

Her number has changed, but someone passes it onto you. 

You: I saw that you’re playing Arsenal next week. I’ll be in London then. Do you want to get a coffee? 

Ona takes her time replying, but that is only because she wants to delay the inevitable. 

Her eyes shine and her hair is damp, but the kick-off had been early and you don’t have anything to do today. You meet her in the carpark, picking her up in a black BMW that’s sleek and shiny and 100% not yours. Her laugh is light and free as she knocks on the driver’s window and juts her thumb out, instructing you to swap. 

“I’m not getting in a car that you’re driving,” she declares seriously, though you know she has forgiven you because she would not have agreed to meet if she hadn’t. “Come on, I checked on Maps and there’s a place not too far from here that looks nice. And it’s empty, so don’t worry about the paparazzi.” 

“The paparazzi are not after me,” you shut down quickly, not wanting her to think you are a bigger deal than what you are. Successful, yes. Famous? Not so much. “One day it’ll be you worrying about them, when you’re all grown up.” 

“I’m twenty-one!” 

It comes out so whiny and childish that you burst into a fit of giggles. Ona is proud to have made you laugh. 

You don’t kiss her, but you’d like to. Then again, maybe it’s better to just be friends. 

[yutasbellybuttonpiercing]

- canine, but mine (pt. 1: acquaintances)

pairing: huang renjun x reader

au/genre: hybrid!au, fox hybrid!renjun, human!reader, virgin!renjun, smut, fluff, angst (?), the au is kinda unserious

don't like it, don't read it, okay... *sighs*

also, don't publicly shame me for any inaccuracies. i admittedly do not ready many (read: any) hybrid fics...

word count: 2860 words

warnings: HYBRIDS!, bullying, comforting, petting (not the sexual kind), semi-public diddling, mentions of virginity, cumming untouched, the base of renjun's tail is very sensitive......., sub!renjun ig

a/n: happy renjun day! 🦊

taglist: @jaeminnanaaa17 @i6renj

Ever since Renjun remembers, life has not been kind to him. Born not out of love between two people, but created in a laboratory for scientific research purposes, born not to be a part of society, but as an experiment for a potential weapon; part animal, part human, but not really part of either of those worlds.

Only after hybrid-rights-protests forced the government to take action against hybrid experiments, he was freed; free, but not really free, because that he'll never be. Instead, unloved by his creators that he could never bring himself to call parents, he continued growing up in a foster home, surrounded by kids that were nothing like him, kids that looked different than him, and kids that did not believe in the concept of "thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself". The days he was not kicked by them, he was at least laughed at, mocked, or judged.

Renjun, objectively, knows that it's not his fault that he looks different, that he is different. He was just born, or rather: brought to life, with a set of orange fox-like ears on top of his fluffy, brown hair, a soft, bushy tail, tiny little fangs, and claws that he always keeps neatly trimmed to not accidentally hurt anyone.

The bullying did not stop when he started going to school, nor did it lessen the older he got. Kids are mean, Renjun knows that by heart, and he's never even had a friend. When he was 14, the girls in his class dared each other who would be brave enough to "kiss the freak", when he was 16, people started inviting him on dates only to laugh at him with their friends when he showed up all excited, and when he finally finished school and started going to university, he thought it would all be different. To be fair, he was no longer pushed into lockers, he was no longer spat at and people stopped pulling at his tail for fun, but the mocking did not stop. And even when he met another hybrid, a popular, big white tiger hybrid, he didn't receive any sympathy. God how he wishes to at least be a cool, strong hybrid, like a lion or a bear... or even a wolf! Why did they have to make him a stupid fox...

Ever since that day, he's told himself one thing: you're going to work hard, get through university and get a good job in the big city... where there are lots of hybrids and lots of supporters.

At this point, Renjun is fairly used to the bullying. With his goal in mind, he doesn't fight it, he just lowers his head, his ears laying flat against his fluffy hair as he waits for it to be over. He guesses that people are just not ready for hybrids yet.

One can only imagine his upmost shock when on the first day of the new semester, someone willingly sat down next to him. Admittedly, you were 5 minutes late and there were no other seats available, but you didn't beg anyone to please scoot over just so you didn't have to sit next to the weird guy with the tail. Renjun vividly remembers this day in philosophy class, as the professor went on and on about Henri Bergson and how the sand wasp instinctively knows where to sting the caterpillar to paralyze it, while Renjun was just smitten by the girl sitting next to him without gagging.

Unable to talk to you, he was just sitting there, smiling shyly to himself at this small act that seemed so big to him. He remembers almost falling off his chair in shock as you "psst!"-ed at him and awkwardly asked for a pen since you forgot yours. He remembers having to pinch himself as you smiled and thanked him, and told him you thought his shirt was cute. He remembers looking around in case you weren't really talking to him as you said, "see you next week!"

And when in the following weeks, you kept sitting down next to him even though there were other seats available, he was almost sure this had to be a dream. But it wasn't, and when during the third lesson, you softly asked for his name, he was this close to bursting into tears.

A few weeks into the semester, Renjun is currently sitting at the library, trying to memorize the different forms of utilitarianism. As always, he's sitting in a separate study room that he booked just for himself – a precautious attempt to not get made fun of as he's trying to concentrate. He crosses out his second attempt of trying to spell deontology correctly as he notices someone passing by the glass door to his study room. A moment later, the person backs up and looks inside, and he realizes it's you.

His heart stops for a moment as you begin smiling and waving at him, and he slowly lifts his hand to mimic the action hesitantly. Of course, you take that as an invitation to come in.

You close the door after slipping inside, still talking in a low tone as not to disturb anyone outside.

"Hey~" you say and sit down across from Renjun. He smiles and bites his lip nervously, "hey."

"You here all alone?" You ask softly, "is it okay if I sit with you?"

Renjun blushes. He knows you didn't think anything of it, but mentioning his lack of acquaintances is a bit of a sore spot for him.

"Sure... if you want," he says shyly, still not completely trusting that you're not going to turn this all around and make fun of him.

"Only if it doesn't bother you," you smile, "I'll be super quiet, promise!"

His smile is getting more genuine as you talk so casually to him. He just starts feeling a bit more comfortable, when sudden movements in front of the glass door make his head lift up.

A group of guys is standing there, pressing their faces against the door, clearly mocking his fox ears with their hands behind their heads. His heart sinks, he should've known this was going to happen today, it always happens when he's out in public.

"What-" you ask, noticing the pained look on his face and the way his ears are pointing down as he feels a wave of shame overcome him. You turn around, taking in the group of guys who're still silently making fun of the fox hybrid. "What the fuck..."

Renjun's ears twitch in surprise as you stand up, and he waits anxiously for what's about to happen. You rip open the glass door, lifting your finger into their face before speaking to them, hushed but still loud enough for a few people to lift their heads. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Did your mom not teach you manners? You should be ashamed of yourselves, you're university students, cut the crap with your preschool bullying, you fucking assholes," you tell them, and Renjun's eyes widen comically. You... you're standing up for him? For him?!

"If I see you doing this one more time, I'll get you kicked off campus... Now go back to being worthless idiots somewhere else. Leave him alone, I swear to God..." you say before closing the door, flipping them off, pulling down the blinds, and heading back to Renjun. To Renjun's upmost surprise, the guys actually left, and looking embarrassed at that, possibly because you just made one hell of a scene – and it's probably the sexiest thing Renjun's ever witnessed.

You sit down again, this time next to him. "You okay?"

Renjun breathes out shakily, ears twitching, tail swaying back and forth nervously. He's not sure what to make of this, someone standing up for him, it has never happened to him before. And before he can stop himself, he blurts out the question he's been asking himself since the moment your ass cheeks touched the surface of the chair next to him in that first philosophy lesson. "Why are you so nice to me?"

You halt, furrowing your brows. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He seems even more confused by that answer. "Um... You know, I'm a hybrid? Maybe you find that weird?"

You blink at him, "why is that weird?"

"Don't you... think I'm weird?" He asks. "Odd? Repelling? Freaky? Off-putting?? Anything???" He keeps listing adjectives as you keep shaking your head no. "Why... would you stand up for me?"

"I just don't like bullies," you state nonchalantly, "plus you're really cute."

Renjun's eyes bulge out of their sockets, tail curling up so suddenly that he feels like he's almost broken something in there. Maybe you're an animal friend, maybe that's all he is to you? "Cute? Like the fox parts or...?"

"Everything about you is cute. The fox parts are cute, but you'd still be cute without them."

Renjun just stares at you. This can't be real. He pinches the palm of his hand several times without you noticing, but he's just not waking up. If this is a dream, which he's almost certain it has to be, he could do anything he wants right now... like making your head explode- just to be sure! He concentrates greatly on it, but your head stays intact. He gives up. "You're not disgusted?"

"What?!" You look utterly confused, then your features soften into a look of concern. "Are people... usually disgusted by you?"

He nods without hesitation. "Usually, they just point and laugh, sometimes it even gets worse than that..." Renjun can't even bring himself to cringe as you put on a brave expression and tell him you're going to protect him from now on, because this is honestly the best thing that's ever happened to him. His heart melts at your words and it's hard to believe he's actually being comforted. There are no jokes being thrown around, no mockery, not even any pity. For once, Renjun feels like there's someone who wants to protect him. His lower lip quivers slightly as he holds back tears, and without thinking, he leans forward and places his head on your shoulder.

He hears you coo quietly, lifting your hand to his back and pulling him closer. "Is... is it okay if I stroke your hair?"

Renjun closes his eyes and nods. The warmth of the hug is comforting, the touch of your hands is gentle and soothing. His tension quickly dies down as he melts against you as he realizes that he has never felt like this before. And as you begin gently scratching and massaging his scalp, his ears begin twitching and relaxing at the feeling of your nimble fingers. He tries to hide the innocent pleasure that's shooting though his body, not sure if you would think it's odd, but his heartbeat is increasing rapidly. Your fingers feel like magic as they brush against his ears and scratch the base of his scalp. Suddenly a little too unhinged for his liking, he begins purring and nuzzling your neck, enjoying every single bit of your touch.

"God, you're adorable..." you say softly, making sure to pet him behind his ears and Renjun's entire body fizzles with pleasure at the feeling. As if it has a mind of its own, his tail curls around your legs. "Is this okay? Have you ever been pet like this?"

Renjun hums in delight, "I've always dreamed about getting pet like this..." Your fingers begin gently playing with his ears. At first, they twitch nervously, but soon, he relaxes into the touch. He notes that his ears are very sensitive when being touched by someone else that isn't himself, and he loves the sensation.

"They're so soft... I could pet you like this all day," you say softly, making Renjun smile.

"Do you...," he hesitates for a bit, "want to touch my tail too? It's even softer..."

"Do you want me to?"

Renjun nods shyly, lifting his tail a bit for easy access. The moment your fingers begin brushing over his fur, he shivers, whimpering slightly. Every other time, whenever someone's touched his tail before, it was rough and mean, but the way you oh so gently run your fingers through his fur makes him almost lightheaded.

"Your fur is so soft...," you whisper and he hums in response, eyes already closed as he gets lost in the feeling. His tail makes small circles behind your leg when you brush over the fur, he whimpers softly as your fingers move further up towards the base of his tail.

Your fingers feel so good, unlike anything he's ever felt before. He keeps questioning if this is love, or if this is what it feels like when someone really cares, but all he knows is that he craves more and more of this all consuming feeling, when suddenly, he lets out a short, loud moan. The tips of your fingers have unknowingly reached the base of his tail, causing a jolt of pure, white, hot pleasure to shoot through his body.

Shamefully, he buries himself into your shoulder, his tail curling around your leg. He's mortified as your movements pause for a second, he's sure he's messed up now, but then your scratching picks up again and he breathes out shakily, body twitching at the feeling.

You keep going and going, and he begins moaning softly.

"Is this still okay for you?" The softness of your voice makes his heart melt.

"Mhm..." is all he is able to bring out at the overwhelming sensation of being touched there for the first time.

"Have you been touched here before?"

"N-never..." Renjun whines softly. He's feeling himself harden in his pants, cock straining against the fabric of his jeans and he's sure you noticed.

"Are you a virgin, Renjun?"

The question catches him off guard, but honestly, he's too far gone now to feel shy about it. It seems that you have picked up on how sensitive he is, and he can't really blame you for your assumption. You seem so open and accepting of him that he doesn't even hesitate before slightly nodding his head, "yeah..."

"And you're sure that you want to experience... this with me?"

The feeling of your fingers on his tail intensifies with every second, Renjun feels dizzy, there's barely any blood left in his brain at this point, all of it damming up in his cock and every other sensible part of his body. "yes.. yes...!"

It seems like this is all you needed to hear to speed up your movement, fingertips scratching and petting him in the most arousing way possible, forcing whimpers and moans from his mouth. "Aahh... Ah..." He tries to hold back, but the sensation is too much for him. Your touch is too nice and it's making him lose control as he bites his lip to keep himself from letting out a vocal response, but it's not enough. He's starting to tremble, breath getting heavier as he begins panting harshly. This sensation surely feels very close to how he feels when he's about to cum.

And just the attentive person you are, you speak up about it. "Are you gonna...?"

"I... Aahh... I think so..." He says, his voice shaking as he speaks. "It feels so nice..."

Experimentally, you move your fingers to the underside of his tail, and Renjun's body jolts in pleasure, his whole body jerks as he moans out, mouth slightly open while keeping his voice down as much as possible given your current location. He reaches up and grabs your wrist to make you keep touching him there. "Please..." He says in a thoroughly pleading voice. "Don't stop.."

As he forces his eyes to open, he notices your eyes on him, your face so close to his, and his eyes inevitably dart down to your lips as he gasps for more.

Of course, you take it as an invitation to kiss him, and as soon as your soft lips merge with his, Renjun knows that he's going to cum. He feels like he's actually going to faint as the pleasure reaches new heights, your kiss building the tension up and up, his head spins as he feels himself tighten up.

Your movements quickly send him over the edge. The intensity of the sensation is making his body shudder as he pulls you closer toward him and he lets himself go, muscles tightening even further as he releases into his pants with a high-pitched moan.

Your hands carefully stroke over his tail again, your unoccupied hand coming back up to his hair to help him calm down. He's breathing heavily, body feeling fuzzy inside at the attention and from his intense release. "O-oh, God..."

"That was so hot...," you whisper, gently kissing the top of his head. He lets out a soft giggle. You successfully have made him blush once again. But just as he's really, fully calming down, he inevitably notices the sticky feeling between his thighs and cringes.

You chuckle softly as you notice the look on his face. "Maybe we should get you to a restroom..."

© 2024 YUTASBELLYBUTTONPIERCING all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works.

[lunarfleur]

Earth 42! Miles Morales with Autistic s/o hcs!

Tagging: @juneberrie @sluggmuffin @nagi3seastorm @hiyaitssans @enchanting-violet @luvjunie @milesmolasses

A/N: I did this for my own enjoyment, okay? This is based on my own personal experiences with autism, but I tried to keep it as friendly as possible! Not everyone’s the same, you know?

This is x gender neutral reader!

I’m gonna start this out by talking about how easy it is to feel comfortable in Miles’s bedroom.

He always has his normal lights turned off and LED lights turned on because it’s more comfortable for him

So he’d let you adjust them to how you like it.

He likes lighting candles so it always smells good in there

It’s always clean so there’s no mess to overwhelm you (just bc sometimes messes overwhelm me)

And he has a small space heater so it’s pretty easy to get the room to the right temperature.

It’s quiet in there and his bed is so warm and so cozy

Would recommend.

There’s no need to mask with him. I mean it. He wants you to be comfortable with him and open about yourself.

He won’t judge you.

With your permission, he did tell him mom before you met her

In case things got overwhelming, or something just didn’t go right, he wanted to make sure she understood. (She did.)

Miles was already the kind of boyfriend who has notes in his phone dedicated to information about you

So he has one with any and all of your sensory issues typed out

He had them memorized, but it was just in case.

If you need them, he always has a pair of noise canceling headphones in his backpack for you (he’s one of those kids who carries his backpack everywhere).

Please please please let him listen to you talk about your special interests and hyperfixations!

Bros invested

It’s his favorite thing, listening to the people he loves talk about the things they love

Shows, books, movies…

I know when I’m hyperfixating on a show or movie it’s the only thing I’ll watch (I’ve seen The Mighty Duck movies at least 25 times EACH) he will watch and rewatch them with you

He doesn’t get bored either. He likes getting to enjoy what you enjoy. It makes him feel closer to you

Would definitely subconsciously memorize any signals you may give off

If you have bad habits for when you’re overwhelmed (idk if this is an autism thing for me, but like when I’m overwhelmed I scratch my skin and bite my nails a lot) he’d calmly just like…stop it?

Like pulling your hand away and letting you fidget with his fingers or clothes

He’s a very patient guy, you know? And he loves you.

And he’s so good with meltdowns? Or panic/anxiety attacks. All of the above, basically.

He’s so quick to realize what’s happening and is even quicker to get you away from what’s making it worse (I.E: leaving the room/building to take you somewhere quiet, etc.)

He doesn’t complain or get upset about anything during a meltdown because he knows you can’t help it

Asks for permission before touching you, gives you as much time and space as you need

And is absolutely there for aftercare, too.

He knows it can be exhausting. He’s definitely extra careful with you after a meltdown because he doesn’t want to make anything worse

He keeps things at his house for you, too. Fidgets, comfort foods…bro keeps a weighted blanket on his bed just for you.

He does his research. You’re not going to find any gray areas in his brain

Now, he’s a pretty touchy, feely guy

He likes holding you and loving on you, having you close to him..

So I can see him getting disappointed when you let him know that you don’t want that

But he gets over it pretty quickly

He lets you do things at your own pace and is completely open to a compromise about this kind of stuff

And Miles isn’t afraid to ask you questions, either. But if you don’t have an answer, it’s okay.

If you’re overstimulated and/or going through sensory overload, he’s gonna do his best to get you what you need

He gets that, in times like that, communicating can be hard. That’s why it’s so good that’s he’s so patient. He keeps his voice gentle and his tone doesn’t change

He’s extra straightforward with you to avoid any miscommunication

Overall?

10/10. Would recommend.

[glamorous-astrology]

So your a Witch and you have a problem with routines or suffer from chronic overthinking

Listen when I say my executive dysfunction and anxiety can be quite devastating to any form of action I mean it from the bottom of my ✨soul✨ but when it comes to a witchy routine... Oof. These are some tips and tricks I've learned and figured I'd share it with you. Remember this is based off of my personal experience, what works for one person does not automatically work for another!

So first piece of advice in the fight against these unfaltering foes!

Don't fight em.

WAIT!! Hear me out!

Somedays you just can't do ✨the thing✨ i promise you your spirit team loves you and understands and while procrastinating is the enemy of achievement taking breaks and rest are it's allies. Now don't put if off for too long, maybe set a specific date or time to do it and stick to your word. If you make a promise to yourself you must endeavor to keep it. Life happens, it's unfair but you must at least be fair to yourself and to quote Mister Meeseeks "Follow Through!!" This doesn't just apply to witchy based activities either. Sometimes the urge to just not, is your bodies request for something else.

I have so many unread books I don't even know where to start and depsite all the unfinished books on my shelf I want to have more and I really shouldn't be buying more but -

First step when things get overwhelming is to breath.

Secondly you don't have to read all those books today, tomorrow or ever.

It's also okay to just have books and not finish them. I love to collect books. They may call me a horder(they being the anxiety based court that constantly judges my actions) but you'd call me a librarian if I let the public read borrow em, sooooo. Some people collect teapots that aren't even useable but I don't judge them for it. (I kind of do but only a little bit! But that's because I like my teapots pretty yes but you see-)

Speaking of Libraries!

I love the library so much guys! Please please please support your local libraries! They have so many helpful resources, I honest to Gods could make a whole other post about why libraries are important but! ✨ Focus is a must ✨

Your local library may already have that book you wanna buy, if they don't libraries are connected to a network and depending on where you live your local library can actually get books from pretty far away, sometimes they can even go out of network and into another and the cool thing is in the bookstore I can check of my library has it and save my self a pretty penny.

✨ IMPORTANT! ✨

Maybe despite how well written it is, or how enjoyable you find it you find yourself stopping halfway through. Maybe the stopping point isn't the end of the book. The knowledge you'd sought and needed might have been found and who knows maybe later you will finish it but beating your own ass about it ain't going to help. Take your time, knowledge is power but unused knowledge is a precious waste of time and space for your beautiful brain.

I have this spell I wanna do but there's so much I need to do in order for it to-

Pause

Make the spell simpler.

Yep! Not every powerful spell needs to include sage and cinnamon in order to work. Sustainable witchcraft is important. If you don't have the energy, time or money to make your spell all fancy smansy then don't. You're creative and wise, the intent behind the spell is most important and creating your own method using what you have/can afford is not only creative it shows intent. Witchcraft is not there to stress you out or be judged. The only standard for witchcraft is intent. For example! My first spell changed my life and I made it all fancy smansy, I'm talking the full nine yards I had a special knife, fancy fruit, candles, chanting, moon water, I went big sense I refused to go home. My last life changing spell included my tarot deck and a piece of paper, while I drank my morning tea. It's not just the what you're doing when it comes to spells and rituals it's about mindset. Life's already hard enough, have fun with your spiritual practice!

I feel so weighed down, and tired and I just can't find the energy to do a daily ritual but I really want to start one!

That's okay!

I'm exhausted too and also wish to have more routines but you gotta start.

My ideal routine is morning tarot, cup of tea, and meditation. Some weeks I'm up every morning, drinking tea, doing a quick tarot reading, going on walks, just taking in the day before getting started.

Some weeks I sleep through all 6 of my alarms, don't have time to pack a lunch let alone do some tarot and go on a walk!

Routines are there to help build structure in your life, not rigid cages you must appease.

Some weeks, some days, some times you honestly can't be bothered. That's okay but that just means when you can be bothered you do. My tarot decks are sassy as hell to me about it tbh. I'll do my morning tarot or I won't but they understand. But if I have the time and energy later on in the week and just don't? That quick three card reading I was gonna do with my coven mates just become 26 cards plus two Oracle decks (I'm exaggerating a teenie bit but it feels like a lot sometimes) and you know what, that's okay. Your deck is just catching you up on all the knowledge you've missed! You'll make time for tarot, it's not a scheduled appointment, it's supposed to be a meeting between equals.

I'm pretty sure I've gotten off track but to show you the sum my knowledge or TLDR as you young whippersnappers are saying these days.

Basically, be kind and patient with yourself as you establish your routines and find what works for you. Remember your best today might not ne your best tomorrow. Some days the best I can do is drink my cup of tea as I drive down the highway, other times its that nice meditatve walk.

Find what works for you, day to day, hour to hour and remember be kind yourself. You're not just a meat suit who needs to accomplish everything and anything right here right now, your stardust that deserves to enjoy and cherish those happy experiences that can find you if you step out of judgement and into self love.

Remember this is just my personal experience, and you can take it with a grain of salt, a speck of sugar or just toss it over your shoulder.

I'm exhausted since sleep is a elusive mistress that likes to come and go but I hope this makes sense and maybe helps you enjoy your day a little bit more.

~Admin Cryptid

[mistymeow69]

This is your reminder that my account was created to share my "alternative" personal views. I will take little to no criticism, I will not change based off of what the majority tells me to, even if it's already a minority. I will always honor myself and what I believe in. This account is to talk about the things that normally wouldn't be socially acceptable to.

I'm getting attacked for my last post, but honestly idc lol. (Rant kinda)

if you wanna be a safe space for creeps, baits, and overall people who mock our community and diminish our struggles so they can use a label they don't understand, go ahead, but not everyone wants to be associated with that. Just proves what kind of person you are, someone who doesn't understand us at all.

Paralleling me to transmeds is crazy. Just because transgenderism and other transids are similar, doesn't mean they're not completely different in many other ways. Gender is a subjective thing. You can't be hypothetically disabled.

Things such as gender and race ARE social constructs, so you can interpret your identity with them as you please. It's not real, after all. Things such as transabled, however, are based off of real things that people struggle with daily. I'm not saying it's wrong to transition to it, but it's not something to be taken lightly. There's a very thin line between minimizing disabled peoples experiences and mocking them vs. actual transabled people who know what they're talking about, and I'm sick of people mixing them up and referring to them both as the same.

Disabilities are a VERY real thing. You can't just transition to it for the labels and an inner feeling that doesn't even match the transition like you can gender and race. There's literally no way to host an identity like that WITHOUT feeling at least a little dysphoria and wanting to transition, even if you can't. I don't care how much you ostracize me for this, we need to stop being a safe space for bad people. This is why the respectful radqueers still get judged so heavily.

Transharmed is one thing, it's your body so it's your choice as long as you know what you're talking about, doing, and respecting people who were born with it, but transharmful? I genuinely don't get it. Like transna/zi and transgro/omer? Do people seriously think these identities are okay? Identifying with ra/cism and eu/geni/cs and overall harming others goes COMPLETELY against the original rq ideology.

Call me a fake radqueer, call me a transmed, call me an exclusionist, but I will never ever support people who are harming anyone intentionally.

Transitioning to anything isn't something to be taken lightly. It's not a joke, it's not something fun, it's not aesthetic. It's a grueling, painful experience that, if any of us had the option to not have to go through it, we wouldn't. It hurts. So I wish people would stop pretending like our suffering is just something they can do for a week for fun.

We're a community that was built off of our unusual dysphoria and being ostracized out of our own communities. Please don't continue the cycle by ostracizing people who have their own views.

Anyway, because of all of this drama, and a lot of my personal ideologies and morals not fitting the standard radqueer ones, does anyone know of any similar labels? Should I make my own?

[soft-pine]

I'm not the one doing ghost notes, but I did want to point out that your methodology is very heavily biased to paint Dean in a favorable light. Ex: saying that Dean threatening to kill Jack is just him "threatening to stop Jack." You also give wildly different actions the same weight. Ex: you put Sam training Jack how to hunt in the same category as Dean threatening to kill Jack. I LOVE Dean, but he's pretty much just straight up abusive towards Jack. imo that makes him a very interesting character with a lot to analyze, but it also objectively makes him a terrible parent.

okay these are the two main criticisms of the "Parenting Jack" tab of my notes doc and I want to take them seriously because I think there's good points here even if I don't totally agree.

so, starting off, I said within that tab that judging "good" or "bad" parenting is subjective and that I'm trying my best and /open to specific feedback/! but i think samfreak has a point that a list of criteria would be good to include in terms of methodology. so i'll be working to update it to include that!

i think anon brings up a good point (and i've seen it in the reblogs as well) that things that have wildly different impacts are weighted the same. unfortunately, doing quick number-based summaries can have that effect which is why i tried to include descriptions of the events so 1. people can make their own decisions and 2. reference specific moments when they talk to me about my notes. i apologize that my somewhat glib addition to the pole seems like im trying to make that the whole story; i'm not!

now to the places where i disagree. i think anon's claim that dean is "abusive" is one of the most frustrating ones that gets thrown around fandom and honestly as a survivor of domestic abuse, it really bums me out. when people make this claim, they often point to episodes 1-5 of season 13 and episode 20 of season 14. Others have gone into far, far more detail than I'm going to right now but I want to be clear that by the time Dean met Jack, Jack had already been responsible for two deaths (and indirectly responsible for another supposed death). These actions seemed conscious and intentional. Dean's previous experience with a being who came into the world as a powerful baby and grew up fast and brainwashed and controlled people (including Dean) was Amara and she was deeply harmful to the world and to Dean personally. I just simply cannot get on board with the idea that Dean was somehow supposed to witness all of jack's actions in 12.19, 12.23, and 13.01 and not be incredibly worried. Go back and watch what Dean says in 12.20 about feeling like Cas was being brainwashed and please tell me how Dean is just supposed to turn those fears off. there is also no argument that will convince me that telling a very, very powerful being that you will be the one to stop them if they start hurting people is abusive.

the refutation i have for 14.20 is much shorter. dean didn't want to kill jack. he didn't want to kill jack because he killed mary. he didn't want to kill jack but god was telling dean jack would end the world. and dean wants to save the world. people flatten it like it was all petty revenge and anger and not like a desperate, desolate last resort (and one he's been willing to with for sam too if it came it it (5.22, 6.11, 9.10)). and if you look at the notes on that pole, you will see the common issue that people also like to forget that sam also wanted to lock jack in the malak box or that cas wanted to lock him in the cage etc etc. that wasn't a situation any of them felt equipped to handle and there was violence in all of their responses.

finally, samfreak brings up character's attitudes in general and not just one of moments. that was actually one of the most interesting parts of doing these notes was realizing just how much sam's relationship with jack is based in training him to hunt. from his initial moments trying to teach jack to use his powers (so they can go save mary and despite jack not wanting to), to telling Jack that doing a good job on the hunt will be what impresses Dean, to having him train with AU Bobby once Lucifer takes his grace, to that haunting line in 15.18 when Sam tells Jack he has to drive cause Sam has work to do and Jack says he's only driven one time. I found it all a little gutting to be honest.

I think people are focusing a lot on the "good" vs "bad" columns (thats my bad on the framing for sure) and not enough on the pushing jack to hunt column. because as soon as dean realizes jack is just a kid (and i've talked beofre about this the moment this shift happens), his whole attitude changes and stays very consistently aimed at treating jack like a kid and not pushing him to hunt.

the dichotomy of those two attitudes is what most informs my opinion of their different parenting of jack.

[welcometothelairofthebitchking]

Ooooooh, WIP game!!

I love getting these asks myself, so now I'm sending one your way!

I'm curious about Let Your Belief Kill You (sounds suuuuper interesting!!!!) and the Worst Friends Forever fic (I am so on board with Boston and Ray actually being friends and prepared to go down together, and if you want to write something about how it would tie into wine-stained as well then please do!!)

Omg I have hardly ever gotten any asks so I'm so glad to get this!

So Let Your Belief Kill You is about a world where the apocolypse is slowly starting, different people and different areas reporting the signs, only reports of what happened widely differ from person to person even if they were together the whole time in the chaos. The thing is, the kind of apocolypse you experience depends on what you believe in. If you believe in a god that speaks about the end of the world as floods, that's what you choke on, if you believe in another god who says the world ends in flames, fire would be what you feel. But it's not just religion, because even if you don't believe in any god, you still believe in something. You believe in science and technology? Enjoy your robat take over. You think medicine will be the future of the world? Oh look zombies! You have no choice but to believe because humans need something to guide their life, and that belief will kill you. Enjoy dying by the hands of your god :)

The story deals with a group of people in this world who are trying to stop the apocolypse from full on happening (or are they?) And also the powerful people of this world, such as gods' preachers or businessmen, who try to reach their goals by manipulating people's beliefs.

Worst friends forever: my shitty babies! I love this story so much. So basically this was born out of one conversation in the bl server. We were discussing how Boston and Ray just got eachother in a way the others could, and that unlike others their friendship wasn't based on pity or judgement. Ray didn't give a fuck if Boston liked to sleep around and Boston only cared about having to drop Ray off, not about him destroying himself. They both got that the other had stuff going on, so they just co-existed without judging eachother for their 'bad behaviours'. Also, in the show we got the info that boston often drove Ray home and that boston told Ray everything about his hook ups. My fic was born out of the desire to see these two have a wholesomely toxic relationship where they have eachother's back while also enabling bad decisions. It's definitely a very dark and even grossly graphic fic I'm writing, but it's a challange and I love it. So I give to you: worst friends forever, a fic where boston is Ray's emergency contact!

Wine stained will no longer be mixed into this, although Sand will have a very important part and is the other major player. However it will be another work where Sand and Yok are kinda the same person, and Sand gets his newest project which is to design something the opposite of his last one, which was showing the pain and scars in the nude body of the poor. What will it be?? Portraying clothes as a way for the rich to hide those pains and scars (also, clothes as a veil. Clothes as a disguise to be something you're not. Clothes as armor)

[miscelunaaa]

flurious | ksj

pairing: seokjin x female reader

genre: college au ig. slice of life?? really I have no idea tbh

summary: it's fine, you're not mad at your best friend at all! in fact!! you're so fine that you're going to work off some steam just to prove how fine you are!!

rating: T for too much swearing

word count: 3k

warnings: Based On Real Events™️ (at least in part). Reader can’t ice skate. Lots of swearing. Reader is a stubborn piece of shit (affectionate). Himbecile Namjoon (derogatory). Unrequited crushes if you squint. Very cold winter environments. Small college vibes. Lots of talk about falling on one’s butt and bruises and common impact injuries associated with learning how to do coordinated things like ice skating for the first time; reader’s a tough nugget, she’s doing great. She might also have a slight pain kink oops. Vague prejudice against tenors I’m sorry. Crack if you squint. Angst if you squint. The only thing fluffy about this fic is Jin’s coat tbh, it’s intended to be more of a slice of life than anything else.

notes: Hi. It's missing Seokjin hours in the emothy household so have a short oneshot that I started months ago and randomly finished last night when I couldn't sleep. This really is actually based on a real experience I had, but that's all I'm going to say about the matter alksjhfalsjkdh

For once, I’m not feeling super long winded, so we’re going to leave it at that! Enjoy <3

my masterlist | my disclaimers | read on ao3

The student union is vacant when you walk into its warm, welcoming arms. It’s perfect. No one can judge you for what you’re about to attempt and that’s exactly what you want.

“I’d like to rent a pair of skates please,” you ask the student worker at the desk. 

She blearily looks up from a thick textbook and asks for your shoe size before standing to fetch them from the equipment closet. In return for the skates, you leave your student I.D. The entire exchange takes mere seconds. You haven’t even regained the warmth in your nose before you’re stepping back out into the cold night and stomping off to the shabby, makeshift ice rink on the quad. 

It’s a clear evening. The stars flicker coldly above, making the eerie yellow light of the campus’s many lamp posts seem warm in comparison. It’s a Saturday evening; no one’s wandering around the tiny college at this strangely late hour, not with a foot of snow pack on the ground, so there’s no one around to watch you angrily try to teach yourself to ice skate. 

Anger comes naturally to you. It’s easy, if not outright comfortable, for you to just sit and stew in the emotion. Yet still it’s all to your detriment, making you feel frazzled and out of control. Times like this call for full body distractions, and what’s better than teaching yourself something you’ve literally never done before?

Falling on your ass is the perfect distraction from your asshole best friend’s bullshit right now. It’s fucking perfect and nothing is stopping you from doing this, least of all him. After all, he’s the one who came back from winter break with a fancy new hair cut and now allll the girls are like “uwu Joonie you look so nice without the perm.” While he’s getting all that attention there’s nothing to stop you from sneaking away, because why on earth would he pay attention to you, his fucking best friend, when he could be paying attention to girls far cuter than you even if they’d thought he was gross when he had the perm? God he’s so fucking stupid. 

It doesn’t bother you at all. You don’t really see the difference anyway. He’s still a total freak even without the perm so you don’t really get the hype. It’ll take five minutes for the fawning to cease because in that time he’ll open his big dumb mouth and anyone with two brain cells to rub together will see how much of a dweeb he still is. Even so, the people continue to come in flocks and crowd you out. There’s alway someone new who wants to look at the newly pretty boy. 

Fuck ... being ignored like that (to your face!!) fucking hurts. Anger is always preferable to the sting of being ignored. The anger means that you’re at least trying to be productive, even as you hide yourself away from the world. The cold is as good a shield as any. 

You sit on the rickety edge of the rink and kick off your boots. Carefully, you pull on each skate and lace them up tight, making sure that your ankles have no room to roll. You find yourself swearing angrily as your gloved hands struggle with the laces, but your anger bolsters your persistence. Nothing can take you down from this high, not even the threat of absolutely biffing it like you know you’re going to.

It takes a moment to talk yourself into standing once you’ve set the blades to the ice. “Just stand to start” is what you tell yourself. After a few moments, and a flash or two of dimples in your mind’s eye, you get yourself to stand. 

With arms flailing, you stay upright for a good ten seconds. Your fatal flaw, however, is hubris. In your hubris you thought you could take a tentative step forward. 

As it turns out, ice can smell fear and has an impact play kink. 

You stare up at the sky for a moment after your first fall. Your ass hurts and will probably ache like a bitch tomorrow, but honestly you’re kind of a masochist; you’re not not into this. Why else would you be in this situation, so angry with your annoyingly cute freak of a best friend that you can hardly function? You knew he was handsome underneath the questionable aesthetic choices, and you knew he was dumb enough that he’d start ignoring you to talk to people he was more romantically interested in as soon as he fixed his appearance. You always knew this would happen, and yet you invested time in him anyway. You always rate last; experiencing this pain was only a matter of time. 

And yet, the seconds tick by. You steel yourself and carefully stand, avoiding a second slip, but only just. You narrow your eyes at your goal: the rink wall opposite of where you started. You’re going to fucking do this, falls be damned. It’s like ten yards. You can totally do this. You’re going to make this stupid ice your bitch.

Eight seconds later, you’re on your ass again. But hey, you made it a few feet forward. Progress is still progress in spite of accrued costs.

And so you stand again. You try doing that pushing thing with the blade of the skate, but something in your body doesn’t expect to move, so you wobble unsteadily for a moment. A breath, and then another push, more gently this time. Ah, you’re doing it! Yet another push and—

Well ... At least the stars make good company. Your elbow hurts this time; you must’ve whacked it in the fall. Feels like it’ll bruise but that’s just the cost of doing business with this rink and your own stupidity. You carefully scramble up, and try again. 

When you finally make it to the other side of the rink, you’re so excited that you trip into the little wall. At least you can catch yourself with your hands this way. And hey, moving to a sitting position isn’t so hard! The cold soothes your achey butt as you let yourself relax for a moment. 

Maybe this was a stupid idea. You can feel the high of white hot rage beginning to cool. You’re not sure if it’s the pain or the exertion. Maybe it’s time to pack up and return the skates. It’s getting late after all, you probably need to at least try to sleep. 

You’re so mired in your thoughts that you almost miss the backlit figure appear, exiting the student union. Whoever it is is wearing a big puffy coat, and they have something odd looking in their hands. After a moment you realize, heat crawling up your neck, that the item in their hands is a pair of skates, and they’re walking across the quad to the rink.

You stand quickly, albeit unsteadily, as if to show that the rink is occupied, but alas, they seem undeterred. Shit. The only thing that could make this worse is if you were to suddenly loose your balance.

Lo and behold, fate has a sense of humor, and you do just that before you can think to do anything else.

You grimace as you sit up. You weren’t expecting an audience for this. As the figure approaches, you see that it’s one of the guys who works the student union’s cafe some evenings. He’s always seemed nice enough and ugh, he’s cute too. He’s got these broad shoulders that your friends love to stare at while they wait for their drinks to be made. Definitely not the audience you’d prefer if you must have one. As you scramble back upright, he sits at the edge of the rink and starts to unlace his boots. 

“Hello,” he says quietly, glancing up as he pulls on a skate. His voice is low, with a rich timbre you didn’t expect. He sounds like he might be a tenor. You hate tenors. You hate musicians. Namjoon’s a musician too, the bastard.

“Hi,” you reply flatly, trying not to grit your teeth in frustration. You don’t even look at him when he looks at you; you don’t need his approval, and looking at him will just make you shy. You don’t have time for that shit, damn it. With care, you try to push forward again, before stopping, arms flailing. You only just manage to preserve your balance and straighten up so you can try again.

The intruder watches you warily as he starts to pull on his rented skates. You can feel the press of his curiosity on the back of your neck and you don’t know how to politely ask for him to simply not.

You’re pretty sure you see him flinch when your skates suddenly, but inevitably, slip out from beneath you, leaving you sprawled out on your ass, the ice beneath cold yet soothing for your bruised buttocks. And yet, he says nothing as he pushes off from the side of the rink, gracefully no less. He says nothing as you pull yourself up again, only to fall again as well, just as you were finding your balance. You take a deep breath, fog slowly coming from your lips as you let it out. Once you’re to your feet again, and without falling this time, you can’t help but let yourself smile, just a little, just to yourself. 

Giving up whomst? You could never. 

For a moment, you just stand on the ice, breathing and letting yourself feel the skates wrapped around your feet and ankles. Just a small push now. Can’t let this rando see you sweat now, can you?

The stranger watches, his handsome face blank but for curious eyes, as you make it a whole fifteen seconds before slipping and falling again, this time onto a knee and your hands. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch him grimace as you look at your hands and dust them of with a huffed little “fuck.”

He’s literally skating circles around you. It’s fucking obnoxious, but damn it, you want to be able to skate like that too. So you stand up again, and vicious cycle begins anew.

“You okay?” the stranger suddenly asks. It startles you, the wobble almost sending you to the ice with a crack yet again. 

“I’m fine.” Your tone is clipped with frustration. You sure as shit don’t sound fine.

He drifts across your field of vision, going fucking backwards on his skates. It’s like it’s nothing! Fucking show off. What a fucking d—

Alright. That fall kind of hurt for real. Your poor elbows. They might be having a worse time than your knees. Did you just knock the wind out of yourself with that one?

His words come from a little closer this time. “Are you sure you’re—“

“—I’m fucking fine.”

You didn’t mean to snap. You really didn’t. Everything was fine until this dude just joined you out here out of the blue with his stupid face and his stupid talent and—

“You’re really scrappy, you know that right?”

You glare at him as you push yourself back to your feet. His plush mouth splits into a heart-rending smile. Fuck, he’s cute. Bitch, do not do this to yourself.

He keeps talking as you struggle aright. “I mean it. I’ve never watched someone keep falling like that just to get up and try again.”

You’re not even sure what to say to that. You’re glad you’ve got the built in focus of trying to do something out of your comfort zone and skill set, so an immediate reply isn’t expected. But you do have to say something in reply eventually. The comment was just ... kind of unexpected. And honestly, you think he meant it well, and it’s hard not to let the pride push a smile to your face. You fight it, of course, because you’re supposed to be angry, not pleased.

“I’m too stubborn for my own good,” you finally grit out. “But thank you.” Ah, that was good. Keep that shit up, and maybe he won’t think you’re a total freak by the time one or the other of you leaves. 

“There are worse things to be.” His smile is warm enough to melt the ice beneath the blades of your skates. Cold? What cold? You feel nothing but blistering heat creeping up your neck. You’re not used to this kind of attention from anyone, if you’re being honest, let alone cute barista boys in puffy coats. “Tenacity isn’t a bad thing.”

“The bruises on my ass say otherwise.”

When he laughs, it’s low in his chest, velvety like the milk he steams for the cute folks that come to him for lattes and London fogs. You’d be swept away by his charms completely as well if you weren’t too busy being swept off your feet by your own stupidity. 

You hardly feel the thump when you hit the hard surface of the ice this time. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re cold or if it’s just you’re used to falling now. The numbness of either is the same after a certain point; that’s the point of numbness, after all.

For a moment, you stare at the sky. It gives you a moment to catch your breath. Watching the stars twinkle and flicker as if they’re laughing at something reminds you that, right, you’re not alone out here on the ice. You hope the stars aren’t laughing at your shitty attempts to flirt with this stranger. 

When you pull yourself up to sit, you see that the cute stranger is carefully skating backwards, his head turned and tilted so he can see where he’s going. Good lord, he’s handsome, even like this. In the grimy street lamp light, you can see that his face has been kissed by the cold, but it doesn’t do much to make him look less attractive. The focus on his face makes it almost look suggestive as he bites down on his plush lip. For a moment, you allow yourself to watch, thankful that he’s not looking at you.

When he glances at you, still sitting on the ice with your legs spread haphazardly, your eyes meet his. He smiles at you. Suddenly, the air leaves your lungs as if you’ve fallen again, the wind knocked from them like you’ve taken a blow. And then as soon as it happens, it stops, for one moment he was smiling at you, and the next he was sprawled on the ice with a thud and the smallest, cutest “fuck” you’ve ever heard in your life.

The look of surprise on his face is so aghast that you can’t help but laugh. 

“I’m so—“ wheeze “—s-sorry, I shouldn’t—“ fuck, that’s hilarious “—laugh b-but the look on your f-face!” 

The shock fades, only to be replaced by a pout that cracks at the edges as he tries not to laugh with you. 

You start to push yourself forward him, half crawling, half crab-walking. Soon the pout breaks into a smile as you sit beside him and poke his cheek with a gloved finger. Where on earth did that fucking come from?? You’re poking strangers now?? 

“How does it feel to be a mere mortal?” you ask. Maybe the question will distract from the ... random face poking? Maybe the cold really is getting to you. 

“Never said I was good at skating,” he says, still smiling at you. “Though I can’t say I feel like getting up and trying again after that.”

You scoff. “You’re giving up too easily. What’s the opposite of tenacious?” 

“Cold.”

“That’s fair. I’m not even sure if I can feel my ass at this point.”

He laughs, and the deep sound seems to rumble in his chest, just like it had when you’d first heard it. But then he does the unexpected, and holds out a hand to you. “I’m Seokjin, by the way.”

You shake his hand and introduce yourself in kind. “You work at the cafe right?”

“Yeah. It gets hot back there, I like doing something in the cold after a shift if I can.”

You nod. “I get it. I’m out here because a friend pissed me off and I needed to work through it.”

“Can’t kick their ass so you’re letting the ice kick your ass instead?”

Not even the heat of embarrassment can heat up your cold cheeks at this point. He’s read you like a book. You’re poking strangers, and he’s reading you like he probably reads his homework. 

“Alright, it’s getting really fucking cold out here,” Seokjin suddenly says. He pulls himself towards the nearest sideboard and sits on top of it. “I’m calling it a night.”

You don’t expect his expectant look. “What?”

“You’ve been out here longer than me. Can you even feel your fingers at this point?”

“Um.” There’s some small part of you that doesn’t want this to end, but lying about it feels futile when you know he’s going to see right through it. “No.”

“I think it might be a good idea for you to head in too ...” he says, and then: “I could sneak back into the cafe for some hot water. Want to have some tea to warm up? Maybe you could talk about this friend who pissed you off.”

It’s late, if you’re being honest. You should probably go home and lick your wounds. But as you pull yourself up onto the sideboard with Seokjin, you decide that staying out might be worth it. Staying out in the first place is what got you on the ice. Staying out kept you here, which in turn meant you got to meet Seokjin. Staying out meant you got to talk and have this moment. It’s a relief to just be able to talk, rather than fight for someone’s attention.

What’s another few minutes?

“Sure, I’d like that.”

Thank you for reading! Drop me an ask and tell me what you think. Find me in various places at my carrd :)

©miscelunaaa 2022. My work is only found on this blog and under my ao3 pseud. Do not, under any circumstances, copy or repost my work. Thank you.

posted: 12.6.2022

[dontpetmeibite]

Ravage, how did it feel seeing Tarn perish at Megatron's hands for...literally ripping you in half? Or at least a version of you, I should say.

I know that wasn't the main reason, but I feel like it was what drove o'l Megs to go "fuckit mode" and kill Tarn like the mistake he was.

I have actually not seen that, and I don't want to. Is this the manner in which you normally ask people you've just met about their traumatic experiences?

If I put myself in the position of that Ravage, seeing that incident, I think it would piss me off, because it would have been better for me if he'd chosen to do that before I died, not after.

But I don't know. And I don't know what any of those people went through, whether it was the same as me or not. I mean that Ravage was still using he/him pronouns and maybe he liked them, maybe he was a masculine person instead of a person who didn't want all her enemies to know she was a girl until the war was over.

Here is what I do know based on what happened in my own timeline.

Megatron was subjected to a partial "personality adjustment" on Messatine. At first I didn't know that and I was pleased to see my amica finally accepting that we were not going to be able to go to Iacon and politely ask the Senate to vacate the premises and allow us to craft a functional and just government without giving a few people Rossum's three shots.

But it just kept getting worse and worse. Soundwave and I were never accused of treason or taken out and shot because Megatron loved us as people, but he also stopped listening to us when we said we thought things were going too far.

Then we had

(yes glit I borrowed your gif)

and at the end of it he went Autobot and abdicated and abandoned us and that totally aided the cause of peace because Galvatron and Soundwave coming to blows was not anything that anyone could have ever seen coming given their respective personalities, and I ended up on the Lost Light for reasons and you know.

After I left the LL, Megatron got attacked by a rogue mnemosurgeon who could fuck with people's brains without touching them and mysteriously recovered the pacifism of his early youth. Which would have been very convenient for that guy (seriously, fuck that guy) if Tailgate hadn't ruined his day by dropping a shuttle on him.

Shortly after this completely normal and unforced moral 180 Megatron tried to bash his brain into a wall and told his doctor that he'd never been happier with a huge grin on his face. Because that's not suspicious or anything.

So far as I can tell the only purpose my death served in that timeline was to make Soundwave utterly miserable (and result in him ending up with that idiot Cosmos) and make Megatron get up off his aft and blow up the guy he turned into a raving mad serial killer at least partly on purpose with antimatter. But I don't know. I didn't live that life.

Charlie, Marissa and Miko told me that this is called "refrigeration" when it happens to female human characters in stories and that if I were a fictional character they would be pretty mad about that.

My point is I'm not judging anyone here in this scenario because Trepan and Sunder both fucked with Megatron's head and in the intervening time period Megatron fucked with Glitch's head and made him into Tarn, although I do not think we can blame all of that on Megatron because the guy was the commandant of Grindcore at one time, while my brother was there, so.

Our history is enough of a sideshow in the timeline I'm actually in. Would I be glad to know I was avenged? I guess so. But on the other hand if I died because of his fucking vow of pacifism and he didn't keep it that's not exactly wonderful either. And on the third one (good thing I have four paws) maybe it's really the fault of all those needlefuckers who thought they had the right to open up his cranial vault and redecorate!

I'm not blaming a Megatron I never met for the exigencies of a situation I was never in. Megatron is my amica, Soundwave is my conjunx, Tarn did horrible things to people in my universe too, I just wasn't one of them. and it didn't happen.

My point is, you're asking me how I feel about people I don't even know that are actually NOT the people I love the most in this universe. They look and act a whole lot like those people but I have no idea if they're the kind of people they were in my own universe.

I mean I could also say "Minimus Ambus needs two whole sets of armour so that nobody catches him impersonating a vertebrate" which is a thing that I actually said in my own universe once.

But if I did say that, I would be talking about the one in my universal stream. And that would cause no end of needless offence, because there could be five different people reading this post who are also named Minimus Ambus, but none of them did any of the shady shit the Ambus brothers I knew in my own universe did.

Or maybe they did but since I don't know them I'd possibly rather not know.

[asirensrage]

I posted 6,726 times in 2022

That's 4,168 more posts than 2021!

1,793 posts created (27%)

4,933 posts reblogged (73%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@asirensrage

@vixenofcourse

@twinkly-lights-shine

@chickensarentcheap

@residentdormouse

I tagged 5,832 of my posts in 2022

Only 13% of my posts had no tags

#lol - 1,218 posts

#other people's ocs - 935 posts

#other people's manips - 480 posts

#asks - 436 posts

#other people's stories - 345 posts

#anon - 234 posts

#my asks answered - 232 posts

#darth caillic - 194 posts

#stop being a dick - 193 posts

#thanks for asking! - 161 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#add in the issues i have were the gov wants me to pay them another 1000 despite the fact my notice only says 1 (which i already paid)

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Of course, I want to write! That's why I'm reading a different fic, looking up how to peel tomatoes for dinner, blasting music and playing with my dog while considering having a nap. I'm totally not procrastinating....

102 notes - Posted January 22, 2022

#4

Wrong Number - Dark!Billy Russo Oneshot

Title: Wrong Number Rating: M Fandom: The Punisher Warnings: Dark!Billy. Stalking. Breaking in. Kidnapping. Summary: When the burner phone rings, Billy expects another job for Rawlins. What he gets is someone calling the wrong number and Billy wants to know who.

Notes: Please READ THE WARNINGS. Happy Friday the 13th! This came to being today when @vixenofcourse and I were talking while at work about having to phone people and calling the wrong number. This was quickly developed to be done to celebrate today lol. I hope you enjoy it.

See the full post

115 notes - Posted May 13, 2022

#3

The Choice

Title: The Choice Fandom: MCU Rating: M Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Word count: 1891 Warnings: serial killer!Steve, choking, violence, use of a knife, threats, swearing, implied kidnapping, dark fic! (don't worry, the cat lives)

Summary: Based on the scary story prompts from @darkpromptsyouneveraskedfor. Prompts include: 11) "You're so pretty when you sleep, so peaceful." and 18) 'After a horror marathon, you check under the bed only to find out that you should've looked sooner.'

Horror prompts masterlist

Notes: This is a dark fic. It's violent. There's no redemption in this. The reader is not described in size and/or looks (but does mention wearing a bra). I don't usually write reader fics but this is how this one turned out.

Heed the warnings.

See the full post

176 notes - Posted October 10, 2022

#2

OCFA here 👀 We are so glad your childish smut writing campaign has tailed off. Let this be a lesson now it is over. There is no room for smut on here. There never was. You are an interloper so you still have time to amend your ways. ☝

Good afternoon,

Thank you for contacting asirensrage, newly proclaimed the Totem of Obscenity, Writer of Smutt, Promoter of Unsanitary Behaviour, Enticer of Others and Corrupter of Morals.

We are unable to process your request at this time. Please see the menu for your available options:

Press 1 for the history of fanfic

Press 2 for the article Fandom has a Purity Culture Problem

Press 3 for blocking of this blog and regulating your own experience

Press 4 for coming off of anon and speaking to people like adults

Press 5 if you desire to join others doing their own thing and be offered a place on the totem of obscenity

It is recommended that you proceed through 1-4, if not all options available and leave people alone.

Others are not responsible for your erratic behaviour or your disapproval over their likes, nor should they be subjected to it. If you are unable to control yourself, it is recommended that you take some time offline.

Thank you and have a nice day. *click*

239 notes - Posted March 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Me: Your Honour, I love him.

Judge:...

Judge: He killed people.

Me: Yeah. It was hot and he should do it again.

262 notes - Posted April 22, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[yourlocalarabgirlie]

Wth are you going on about? First of, I don't have a child with autism, I have no clue how you came to that conclusion but let's not assume things we don't know about, ok? Its ignorant. Also i don't need to experience this to know killing babies is wrong, just like I don't need to be raped to know it was horrible. You were taking my comment completely out of context. I never gave my economical outlook on anything, and I also don't believe people should be forced to pay for services they don't want, i never even implied such thing so stop straw manning. You are creating your own caricature of my arguments and attacking it so how about we stick to what we're talking about. Also, she wasn't the one who terminated it, it was the gay couple who withholded healthcare because they still had legal ownership of the child and soon the baby died. They murdered the baby.

And what do you mean "it was a fetus without heart" ? You don't know what you're talking about here, she had already conceived the baby, and then it died. So it was very much alive and had a heart lol! If it was just a fetus then explain how the homosexual couple managed to cremate it? I already went into detail on this in the comment section of the post so if you're interested, go read them because I'm not going to repeat the same things again. Though, if you refuse to read what I said previously and just go off based on why you believe my beliefs are wrong then I simply won't respond back to you, because you are not willing to engage in the discussion but just take the conversation off the rails and putting words in my mouth.

Also how am i judging the mother, please explain?because I clearly said she was a victim of this too but as a surrogate, she played a partial role in all this. I am against surrogacy because children are not for sale. It's nothing more than an inhumane exchange that uses women's bodies as objects and treats babies as a commodity. In the comment section, i mentioned something like: the mother is a surrogate, she gets paid to do this, her participation and actions also lead to the death of the baby boy, she sold him to a homosexual couple without morals and then she regrets it. This isn't to say she didn't love him or care for him but it's her job, she knew what she was getting herself into. Once you sell your baby away, you don't know what those people will do to it.

She tried adopting but they denied and they even blocked her from trying to adopt him to save his life. They said "as soon the baby is born, its property" they saw the child as a product to be discarded at first signs of defect. They threatened the mother to kill the child and pressured her to get an abortion. They were not obligated to care for the child nor were they forced to take care of it, they had the option to, but refused and asked to withold healthcare from the child and it died because of this. They CHOSE to kill an innocent defenseless baby, they wanted him to die so stop kissing up to them just because they're pro-choice liberals like you, they're merciless killers. It is never justified to take away a life! Ever! Just because you think their expenses will be too much to handle doesn't mean you should just delete them from existence, even if your baby comes out healthy, they can develop illnesses and diseases later in their life, they make get into an accident and get a defect because of it and severely affects their way of life, does that justify killing them just because you don't want to be apart of services you don't enjoy or be a part of?

So you bringing their income and how they shouldn't take care of a baby if they don't want is not an excuse to kill a baby because they could've given it up when someone wanted to adopt it but they refused because they had murder on their mind, THEY HAD OTHER OPTIONS, but they demanded it to be terminated anyway and when that failed, they withheld healthcare so it can die. You didn't care to mention that now, did you? because that would go against your entire narrative you're trying to push. You also forget to add that they had ownership of the kid, so why withheld healthcare and not take care of your own child, why kill it? And we can both agree that money wasn't an issue for them. Do you now see how inhumane this situation is? They're evil and you are more concerned about whether they should be able to take care of it even when they don't want to?!

I also don't know why you're bringing up miscarriages, the women was able to conceive the baby normally even though her son came out ill because she had to birth him at 25 weeks due to the couple pressuring her to abort it. Brittney received a breast cancer diagnosis during her pregnancy and decided to deliver the baby early at 25-weeks so that she could receive the lifesaving chemotherapy required for herself and give the child the best chance of survival. The couple put their foot down and said that they'd rather watch the baby die than allow it to be saved and given to a family. The fact you would go far to still defend these two demons is beyond me and honestly says a lot about you as a person. You have no values and morals!

I also don't understand what sentiment you're referring to and what does women bleeding out from miscarriages have anything to do with this topic? Can you elaborate?

Lila's thread

[xximperioxx]

All Those Sleepless Nights

Aether Ghoul x GN! Reader

I love this beefy ghoul with my whole soul

Warnings: none! Just angsty and fluffy , mentions of depression , I mention picking at fingers really quick like super quick (just adding this as a warning just in case)

Word count: 1.3k

I had a fem reader in mind but I guess I didn’t use any pronouns or anything so it’s now a GN reader! Yay!! If you do notice anything pls let me know and I’ll change it right away!

Also when I was writing this, I wrote based on my experience with depression so please understand everyone has different experiences when dealing with hard times.

Anyways! Much love to everyone and I hope you enjoy! <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had tried so hard to not let the ghouls absence get to you. You took walks, helped out in the kitchens, helped with events, and even asked Sister Imperator if she needed help with anything. You were desperate at this point and Sister Imperator could easily see what was going on and decided to give you some tasks to complete around the abbey. They were meaningless tasks but the Sister wouldn’t dare tell you that right now. You appreciated them as it allowed you to keep your mind off of the ghouls. You missed all of the ghouls. You missed how Swiss would sneak around and scare you or pull pranks on Dewdrop with him. You missed how excited the ghoulettes were every time they saw you and how all of you could talk for hours. You missed running into Rain in the library and talking about your favorite books. You missed Aether. Oh satan how you missed him. You missed his gentle kisses as well as his rough kisses, his hugs and cuddles. How his body melted with yours. Granted, you were much smaller than his beefy body and he towered over you but he felt like home. You missed how you could be your true self around him and how he felt comfortable to be around you. You loved him for the ghoul he is. Horns, claws, and all - he was your ghoul. You kept telling yourself it was just a couple months but it was starting to feel like an eternity.

You started to feel the toll. You could barely sleep. Each night was getting tougher to fall asleep. Sure, you had plenty of friends in the abbey but you felt so alone. It was like you couldn’t shut off your mind at night. And the one ghoul who would know how to cheer you up wasn’t here. Your roommates began to notice your sleep schedule and gave you nothing but sympathetic looks. Frowning, as they noticed when you did fall asleep, how you would stir and whimper. Like a nightmare was constantly haunting you.

It wasn't until Sister Imperator saw how dark the bags under your eyes were getting and forced you to go back to bed, you finally realized. You felt embarrassed how much the ghouls' absence was getting to you. After that day, you developed the lack of motivation to get out of bed and be productive. Sister didn’t ask for your presence as she knew what it was like- not having the love of your life around and the damage it can cause but the older woman didn’t like to speak of it, so she left you be. You were afraid people would judge you for the way you were acting. Over dramatic. Depressed. Clingy.

You had lost track of the days.

One night you couldn’t ignore the ache in your stomach any longer and forced yourself out of bed to go to the kitchens. You snuck away quietly, not wanting to wake your roommates. The abbey was still except for Papa’s rats who roamed at night.

Munching on a banana you stole, you found yourself wandering the halls. With eyes wide, you had noticed you nearly finished the fruit. Stopping, you laugh at yourself as you imagined Aether telling you how proud he was of you for finishing it and how he would make a stupid comment about there actually being bananas in the kitchen since he wasn’t there to eat them all. The thoughts bring a smile to your face. A real smile, not a forced one you had been using around your roommates.

You looked up at the stained glass window in front of you. The silence was deafening but calming. The moon’s glow seeping through the colored glass puts you at ease. You allowed yourself to take a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. You decide to keep walking to hopefully tire you more.

Without realizing you had found yourself at the stairs to the dungeon where the ghouls live. The thought of Aether’s bed had suddenly become very appealing. You look around you to ensure no one was watching before you ascended down the stairs quietly. You appeared at the quintessence ghoul’s room with ease after going there so much. You had avoided the thought of coming to Aether’s room for some time because you were unsure how it was going to make you feel but it didn’t matter. How worse was this going to make you? The answer was it didn’t matter. You were already sad enough.

You immediately felt a sense of comfort wash over you as you entered the room. You take in the ghoul’s musky,foggy scent. You can’t help but smile. A yawn escapes your mouth as you kick off your shoes and crawl into his bed. Your mind barely had time to begin to overthink as you had fallen asleep, curled up under his blanket.

You had spent the last few days in Aether’s room because quite frankly, it made you feel better. You felt yourself getting better. You even took a shower which shouldn’t be a big deal but it is!

You sat on the bed, brushing your hair as you hummed a tune that your ghoul often played for you on his guitar. You were so caught up in yourself you didn’t hear the door open or hear the guitar case hit the ground.

“Darling?”

The voice causes you to stop what you were doing and look up.

Your eyes widen with joy, “Aether!”

Without thinking, you crawled over to the edge of the before leaping into his arms. He grunts at the force. You can’t help the tears that escape as you hug him tighter. He lifts you up from the bed fully causing you to wrap your legs around him. His hands lay on your ass as he gives it a gentle squeeze. A smile hasn’t left your face.

He hears you sniffle and lets out a chuckle which you can feel against his chest. “I’m here now, (Y/N). I promise I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

You pull your head away from his neck and wipe some of the tears away with a smile. Looking down at his lips, you give him an urgent kiss which he responds to immediately. You pull away after a few moments before remembering he still had his mask on. You gently take it off before tossing it on the floor. You didn’t care what if Papa yelled at you. Your grin widens as you caress his face, “My handsome ghoul,” you whisper as you press kisses all over his face and finally his lips.

“Ugh, that’s disgusting.” The voice of the fire ghoul comes from the doorway before he walks away.

Your smile turns into a scowl, backing your face away from Aether’s face, you both yell out, “Fuck off, Dewdrop!”

Aether let you down slowly after that and shut the door but not before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He guides you back to the bed and pulls you on top of him and immediately wraps his arms back around you. He rubs circles into your back. Sharing a few more kisses, you beg him to talk about the tour. You dismissed the question about yourself and said that you could talk about yourself tomorrow when all you wanted to do is listen to him. He began to run his fingers through your combed hair, talking about the amount of times dewdrop threw guitar picks at him on stage. The two of you laid like that for hours only you had fallen asleep on him after the first story. The ghoul beneath you could tell from the bags under your eyes and your picked-at fingers that the last few months were rough on you. It had been rough for him as well and decided that for the next tour, he would ask Papa if his mate could tag along. For now, he was just going to hold you close.

It had been the best sleep the two of you had gotten in months.

[akookminsupporter]

This is a Jikook blog, so I apologize for the slight off topic. But you always provide interesting and insightful thoughts on various topics, and Tae is ATM trending worldwide after posting a picture of himself on the scale...where it is obvious how severely underweight he is (his declared height is 179), and people are praising him for starving himself.

This is SO WRONG on so many levels, esp. bc in recent days he's had an IG update saying how tired and spent he's been feeling and how he hates being on a diet.

Jimin and jk had done the same at different moments in their life and even tho I feel like jk is the one with the 'healthier sense of self' (he's the only one who openly shared he never let his weight drop under 70kgs despite popular demand) all of them without exception are so conditioned by the idea of 'being thin' that it's freaking scary.

Can't we all stop praising people who are loosing too much weight, pretty please? I am asking this as sb who recovered from an eating disorder and knows very well how shitty and dangerous it is.

And I know how severe the environment is in south Korea if you are overweight, but fuck that shit. We have to start changing things by changing our perspective first. Thin does not equal powerful or good looking ffsake. The fact that BTS - the biggest artist in the world - feel the need to be alarmingly thin saddens me and sickens me to the core.

They are all so naturally good looking humans, I'd just like them to be happy and healthy and free.

TW: weight, diets, extreme diets.

This is a topic that is a bit complicated to deal with from personal experience. My body weight is something I've struggled with my whole life so I don't know if I'm the one to talk about it anon, but thanks for the vote of confidence.

I did see the picture obviously.

I don't know if saying he is 'severely underweight' is correct. You don't know that and I think experts have spoken out that it's not correct to base your weight on your height. You can't determine your "correct weight" by how tall you are alone. Many other things must be considered as well. I think you are judging without knowing.

It's true that BTS members often go on extreme diets that technically don't sound healthy at all but it's also true that I don't know their diet plans and I don't know if they do that with medical supervision, which they have hinted that they do.

We have also seen that they have workout routines that an 'extremely underweight' person would not be able to cope with for long and not to mention their choreography and practices.

I think all or many of us have been exposed in one way or another to that part of Korean culture which is not healthy at all although for them it is "normal" but it doesn't mean that it is something we should do as well. I think here it's more about understanding that what others do doesn't mean that you should do it too, we all have to understand that our bodies are different from each other.

Celebrating extreme dieting is not good, celebrating disproportionate eating is not good either and respecting but others is.

It's easy to criticise something from the outside but just because it's easy doesn't mean it's right.

The only thing I can say is that everyone should do what they think is right for their body and respect but not always imitate the decisions of others over their own.

I am so glad to read that you recovered from an ED, anon.

[orlothegreat]

Starting to wonder if Orlo's not in season 3 anymore? They're filming right now and elle's makeup artist (who's on set all the time) replied to sacha's post saying "Miss you being around." It kind of makes me think they killed him off :/ Idk, maybe Orlo left the palace or something? Or left and will be back next season? I don't see how they'd kill him off so early in season 3(like two episodes in) after his character development/exploring his sexuality last season. Also wouldn't think they'd kill off one of the only POC in the main cast? Plus what about his family/uncle/etc?

I really and genuinely doubt that Orlo is going to be killed off, because of the symbolic purpose he serves. He is more than just Catherine's best friend and most loyal confidante (even when tested by his own family, he didn't sway nearly as much as Marial or Elizabeth and never ever treated her the way Peter has). He is also still the (relatively) young man who sat weeping at Descartes and the idea of free thinking and progress in a royal library that was so old that it was covered in dust and cobwebs.

What do I mean by this? Well. ALL of the main cast stand for something more than who they are as historical individuals, which is why the show is justified in only being loosely historically accurate, While Marial stands in for Machiavellian selfishness, Archie for the corruption of virtue or principle, and Elizabeth as disillusionment and pragmatic survival. Meanwhile, ORLO is still the Conscience, capital C, a distinctly Russian archetype of the tortured intellect who Still Believes. One of my followers (please speak up if you see this!) is a Russian viewer who wrote a compelling analysis of Orlo AS Count Pyotr "Pierre" Kirillovich Bezukhov from Leo Tolstoy's iconic War and Peace: down to the point of being asexual-coded, having a conscience but also a very pragmatic fear of the repercussions of too-fast, too-drastic change, and wearing spectacles: which are also an archetype, of seeing but not acting. When the spectacles come off, after he has killed a man, Orlo changes, and so does the method by which Catherine acts: it becomes more violent, direct, and extreme.  

Orlo, as a character, is a SIGNAL. He is the externalization of ONE SIDE (the honorable yet level-headed side) of Catherine’s internal struggle.  And the ACT OF LOOKING is the primary way, literal and metaphorical, that he signals: hence the focus on glasses or no glasses. 

So I think it's reasonable to judge Orlo's viability through the rest of this series BASED ON what he REPRESENTS, metaphorically. Do we still have a narrative NEED for "The Conscience," or perhaps better put, "The Original Hopes and Dreams of the Heroine"?

I would argue YES.

This show really relies on the Bakhtin Carnivalesque (basically, almost farcical vulgarity in order to democratize, humor as a weapon, a form of satire) to confer its message on viewers, but I think it also knows when to tether itself to more serious moments (which almost ALWAYS involve Orlo, or, if they're vulgar and humorous, ORLO is the one to look upon these actions aghast and disgusted).

A prime example would be in season one, when Catherine, previously promised efforts at variolation (early vaccination science, which ORLO suggested) to stop smallpox among serfs, stands watching in horror as their bodies are burned en masse across the field from Peter's palace.

Another example is when ORLO gets lost in the woods and had to face killing another human being for the first time, and how that action directly tarnished his principles, posing the narrative question to the audience: when is this violent act justifiable, if ever?

Still another, in season two, when ORLO tries to talk Catherine down from freeing all the serfs in a single day, knowing that even positive change must be incremental if it will last.

Season Two tested MY faith, both in Catherine and in the writers of The Great; I thought, LIKE ORLO, that there was going to be at least a brief moment of reveling in Catherine's victory.

Instead, Catherine was proven to be what she genuinely is--still a child, with ambition but no experience, making the fatal flaw of never listening to people who have valuable insight to offer, highly educated but still relatively sheltered, a player in a much bigger game of politics and rhetoric in a country that was never good at changing quickly for the better. We are shown unequivocally that Catherine is not yet ready to become the famous, lol, girlboss empress of European history whom we all know.

It's worth noting that The Great also uses a style of historical narrative that straddles the eccentricities of an unfamiliar epoch AND social issues that still echo with resonance everywhere today (censorship, misogyny in the "media," religious intolerance and bigotry, the danger of certain cultural hegemonies, etc etc). Another famous franchise that does this is Lin Manuel Miranda's Hamilton: which also never claims to portray these historical figures accurately (hell, Alexander Hamilton owned slaves!) BUT which uses them as--again--archetypes, larger-than-life caricatures of themselves, who stand in for ideas. They're almost allegorical that way. Orlo is no exception.

At first, like you, I was REALLY angry (I kinda still am LOL), and I couln't tell if this was deliberate, or if we were meant to be convinced, like Catherine, that Peter had really changed, and was really intent upon being a good husband and father. I was horrified by Catherine pulling AWAY from Orlo, who is, to me, Peter's narrative foil AS AN ARCHETYPE, not just as a character/individual. I was sad when Orlo said "I am for you, always, even when you don't realize it," and left.

However, I think that, by the end of Season Two, we're meant to see Catherine's slip into the illusion of domestic bliss and true love AS A VAST MISCALCULATION (the thing with Peter and her mom.....yeesh.... lol) and I think we are meant to see Orlo's absence BOTH literally AND symbolically, as idealism, conviction, and hope for positive change temporarily thwarted by a (well-meaning but headstrong and arrogant) young woman's very HUMAN need for someone to love and support her.

But he WILL be back, because the show is, after all, called The Great, and they don't mean Peter. And Catherine needs her conscience and her hope back to incarnate her own highest potential.

And if he dies, well, then, it’s possible, always, on any show, but what a bleak signal, or portent, that will be for the show’s endgame.