#i do not know what is wrong and have much less reason to be Like This than many people i love right now so.

[nereidprinc3ss]

promiscuous

in which spencer reid doesn't like that flirty!reader is going on a date. he makes that known. (bandages universe)

flangst, 18+ for discussions of sex warnings/tags: gn!reader I think, mentions of going to a bar/going for drinks, very suppressed mutual pining, jealousy from Spencer, reader implied to engage in casual sex, reader calls themself a slut somewhat disparagingly but like as a joke, it all gets resolved, he is very sweet, he rambles when he's nervous a/n: oh God I love them so much they are like so in love and they literally have no idea at all because they're so dumb... but WE can tell.. turning point for them

“Penelope wanted me to confirm that you guys are coming to drinks with us tonight?”

It’s something of a standing tradition for the BAU on the last Friday of every month, and usually you’d agree, but tonight, you have other plans. 

“Raincheck for me,” you say, sliding some files into your bag which you do not plan on reviewing. “I have a thing.”

“What thing do you have on a Friday night?” Morgan asks skeptically. You don’t bother looking at him as you hide a smile. 

“A date, Morgan. You jealous?”

“You’re going on a date?”

You’d nearly forgotten Spencer was in the room until he spoke—he’s been in one of those quiet moods of his where he sort of floats around everyone else and makes himself insubstantial. As you cast him a sidelong glance, trying to figure out his tone of voice, you see he’s frowning. Nearly grimacing. His brows are drawn so tight you’re worried he’ll give himself a headache. 

“Uh, yeah. I am.” Suddenly, your parade feels a little rained on. 

“With who?”

You pause, looking back down at your desk with a new frown of your own and shaking your head as if you could clear it that way. “Just… some guy from OT.”

“Dalton?”

Ding ding ding. Somehow he got it right on the first guess, and for some reason, you wish he hadn’t. You don’t want Spencer knowing who you’re going on a date with. It feels wrong. 

“Does it matter?” You evade, shoving your things with a little more force into your bag. 

“Well Dalton is an idiot, so I guess I’m just trying to figure out why you’d go out with him.”

“And if it’s not Dalton?”

“Then I’d tell you all the guys in OT are idiots and you shouldn’t waste your time on any of them.”

“Alright—” Morgan passes between your desks, placing a friendly hand on your back as he does. “I’m gonna let you two hash this out by yourselves.” He gives you a look, eyebrows raised, unsmiling, that means, go easy on the kid. It makes you feel terribly guilty. And more than a little defensive. 

“Night,” you call halfheartedly. He only waves as the glass doors swing shut behind him, leaving you and boy genius alone in the bull pen.

Silence falls, cloistering you as you finish packing up together. It seems to magnify the buzz of the overheads. You notice him intentionally lingering, and you sling your bag over your shoulder with a sigh. 

“Okay,” you say, turning to face him with your whole body. He seems uncomfortable with that, but you’re not letting this go. “What is this? Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” he mumbles, refusing to meet your eyes. “I just think—”

“Yeah. You’ve made your thoughts abundantly clear. I don’t know why you’re judging me for going on a date.”

“I’m not judging you! I just think you deserve better than a guy who looks like he… snorts protein powder for every meal and has less capacity for intelligent conversation than a mealworm.”

“Okay. Do you have someone in mind?”

The words come out a little sharper than you’d meant for them to. A little louder. Spencer looks like a scolded puppy as he swallows. 

“Not specifically. Just—someone more like you.”

He just doesn’t get it. You fold your jacket over your arm. 

“Yeah, well, until someone more like me comes along and asks me out, Dalton is the best I’ve got. I know he’s not my soulmate, Reid. But he asked me to drinks, and I said yes.”

The room is mostly dark. Only a few fluorescents remain on to cast Spencer in an almost clinical glow against a dark grey background. You’ve been here before. It feels like an interrogation. An environment where you’re practically begging for the truth without saying please, but there’s only room for measured dishonesty. 

Spencer speaks under his breath, fiddling with the strap of his own bag. “He’s not good enough for you.”

“What do you want me to do?” It’s an exasperated, confrontational sigh. Your arms raise and fall heavily back to your sides. Another long grey hallway of silence that leads nowhere. When it becomes clear he doesn’t have the answer, or he’s not comfortable sharing, you straighten. “I’ll see you Monday, Reid.”

Your spirits are completely dampened as you trudge to the elevators. What once seemed like an exciting opportunity now only serves as a depressing reminder that you’re wasting your time with a man who isn’t what you want. Maybe you should just call the whole thing off. 

“Wait,” Spencer calls, half-jogging to catch the open elevator. His bag bobs with every step, pens and things jingling around inside. It’s endearing, even though you’re upset with him. Your arms remain stubbornly crossed, but he makes it anyway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your mood.”

You laugh dryly. “Yeah, well…”

“It’s just that…” he sniffs and looks down, hair falling in front of his face. He really is sweet, even when he’s kind of a dick. He’s full of so much sincerity he doesn’t know what to do with it all. “I know how you are—you’re special, and funny, and intelligent, and, and Dalton—all those qualities are wasted on him. He looks at you and he just sees a pretty face. It may sound trite, but… he doesn’t deserve you.”

You sigh again, heart squeezing. The glowing light on the panel of floor numbers flickers. “I know your heart is in the right place, alright? But it’s not about who deserves me or who doesn’t. I’m not a prize. I’m a person, and people like to feel wanted. Sometimes, it’s just—it’s about who’s there, and who likes me enough to say it to my face. Sometimes that’s all I need, and I know you didn’t mean it like this, but when you say he doesn’t deserve me, it really seems like you’re not considering what I might want at all. Maybe Dalton is what I want.”

God—this elevator ride is like, comedically long. 

“Is he what you want?”

At least he has the bravery to ask. 

You glance over at Spencer, washed out bloodless and looking like he’s prepared to flinch, like he doesn’t know if he’s ready for the answer. The doors ding and slide open, and stale air whooshes from the chrome compartment into the lobby like a held breath finally exhaled. You swallow. 

“I don’t know why it matters to you.”

“Because you’re my friend and I want to see you happy,” he insists, trailing after you as you speed walk through the lobby. Every click of your heeled boots echos. 

“Then shouldn’t you be supporting me?”

“I’m not going to support you in making the wrong choice.”

The conversation spills out into the bitter-cold parking lot. You turn around to face him. 

“Respectfully, you have no idea what’s right or wrong for me. I don’t like whatever this is,” you say, gesturing with a finger between the two of you, as if the conflict were a tangible thing—a phone line hanging between your hearts. “I don’t know if it’s, like, jealousy, or some misplaced feeling of possessiveness, or protectiveness, or—”

“It’s not like that!” He splutters. 

“Okay—so what is it like? If you want to see me happy, why don’t you support me in pursuing the things that make me happy? And if that’s meaningless sex with some guy from operational tech, so be it! You are not in a position to give your two cents on who I sleep with!”

“I wasn’t trying to—I wasn’t even thinking about—about sex! I don’t care who you sleep with!”

He’s turning increasingly pink. 

“Fine. But if you weren’t thinking about sex, if you thought I was under any illusion that Dalton was going to be my fucking Prince Charming then clearly you’re not equipped to have this conversation. I know he’s an idiot. I’m not looking for my soulmate—thank you, though, for reminding me that it’s completely fucking pointless to even pretend. I love you, Spencer, but grow up. And stay out of my business.”

And with that, you’re turning on your heel and marching toward your car. Spencer calls your name—once. Twice. The wind lashes against your bare arms and stings your eyes as you fumble with your keys. 

It’s just the wind. 

Nothing else. 

-

Maybe you’re simply not meant for love. 

It’s a narcissistic thought in the sense that everyone has it at some point in their lives—everyone falls victim to the delusion that they are so uniquely wretched, so singularly incapable of being understood by another person. It’s the universal illusion of solitude. And you’d thought yourself above it for a long time. In college, there was fling after fling. Your bed was never empty if you didn’t want it to be. In your young adult life, you have other priorities—but you rarely have to be alone. 

Now, though, as you sit on a rickety metal stool deep in the bowels of the Bureau’s records room, banished to sort through files in search of one that had been mishandled during a cold case and is now supposedly relevant again, (although you’re not sure it actually exists) you’re pondering the nature of those connections you’d been so sure your life was full of. Were they all artificial? Designed by you subconsciously to manufacture a sense of complacent satisfaction? To stave off the aching, gnawing loneliness in your gut that you’re only now becoming aware of and has been eating you away in bigger and bigger bites since Friday night?

Morgan was supposed to be just as arm-deep into a box of dusty manila folders as you are now, but he talked his way out of it, and you’re sitting in an awkward twenty-minute-long-so-far silence with Spencer. Which isn’t helping anything. 

The tension comes and goes like the moon pulling the tides. It’s like you can sense it wafting off of each other—you feel it in the prickle on the back of your neck and the buzz in your stomach when he’s about to say something, and you glance over, and he’s already looking at you with his lips parted, and then he doesn’t say anything after all, and the silence reinforces itself. 

It gets frustrating. 

Not to mention this task is equal parts mind numbing and infuriating. Maybe Hotch just hates you. 

Eventually Spencer clears his throat, and you welcome the distraction. 

“What year are you on?”

You give him a long look which he doesn’t reciprocate, because you want to say, really? But eventually you pick up the edge of the box you’re sifting through and double check. 

“Uh… June 1979 through August 1979.”

He nods matter-of-facts. “They should be making us wear gloves.”

Your incoming tangent spidey senses are tingling. It’s not exactly an opportune time, but it’s better than silence. 

Plus—you’re pretty sure this is his idea of a peace offering. 

“Why’s that?” You mutter, flicking through yellowed papers. 

“Wood pulp paper contains an alum-rosin mixture to minimize ink bleeding, but in the presence of moisture such as that introduced in trace amounts by our fingertips it generates a diluted sulfuric acid solution. They didn’t start adding alkaline buffers into paper until 1986, and the cellulose chains that comprise the structure of the paper inevitably shorten and break down over time, so we’re actively degrading these documents by touching them without gloves.”

“Did you say sulfuric acid?”

“I said a diluted sulfuric acid solution,” he clarifies, utterly missing the point of your question as he so often does in that disarmingly endearing way of his. “Sorry, by the way.”

You look up from a photo of bloodied bell-bottom jeans. He’s caught you by surprise. 

“For what?”

“For—”

He struggles with the words—you watch his lips form a few silent ones before he gives up on the nonchalant act and sets his file on his lap. He can’t seem to tear his eyes from it, but you don’t mind. 

“For everything on Friday. I… I know it was none of my business. I sometimes struggle with… keeping my thoughts to myself. Especially when it concerns someone I care about. But I wasn’t judging you, I swear. What you said about—about sex, I—” he sighs, obviously frustrated with himself, and pushes a bit of hair out of his eyes. “That’s not where my mind was at, at all. Whatever you… do, or don’t do, is none of my business. Obviously. You don’t need me to tell you that. You don’t need me to tell you anything. I just really wanted to clarify that I wasn’t shaming you or judging you for—”

“Spencer,” you say gently, cutting him off and reeling him in before he can dig any deeper. 

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He glows under the canned lighting, a soft aura of white blurring the edges of him. The stale room buzzes. It’s otherwise quiet down here. Peaceful, almost. 

From anyone else, you might consider it overstepping. 

You wouldn’t have been willing to forgive them in the first place. 

But it’s not anyone else. 

“Thank you, for apologizing. I really appreciate it.”

He glances up at you, sort of hunched—always trying to make himself smaller than whatever force created him had intended. The deep brown of his eyes is melted and swirling and sweet and nervous. He’s not naturally good at these interpersonal things, but he’s always trying. He’s always pushing himself for you.

Do you ask too much? 

Do you offer enough in return?

Struck by sudden insecurity, you look away. Go back to your files. 

Perhaps you made a mountain out of a molehill and told him to climb it. 

“I mean, I am kind of a slut. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking so,” you laugh airily. “Maybe it was a good reality check.”

A trailing silence. An air conditioner kicks on. 

“What? That’s not—that’s not at all what I was trying to say.”

“Spencer, it’s fine.”

His stool squeaks as he sits up straighter. 

“No, I really want you to understand. Even if I cared or thought about how many people you might sleep with—which I don’t—and even if I determined that you were… sexually promiscuous, I wouldn’t assign a moral value to that judgement. Sexual promiscuity is observed all the time in the animal kingdom, it’s biologically sound and justified and in less misogynistic cultures where bonds forged between humans weren’t socioeconomic arrangements dependent on women being viewed as commodities first and foremost, it’s completely unremarkable. But I haven’t made that determination. All I know is that… you’re you. And that’s all that’s ever going to matter to me.”

Silence falls. Your voice gets stuck in your throat. 

How does he so casually show you more kindness than anyone else has ever managed to show you in your life?

Spencer takes pity on you. 

“And… we’ve talked entirely too much about something that’s none of my business today.”

It’s wry and earns a chuckle from you. Even Spencer manages a chagrined smile. That same strand of hair falls loose as he looks down. Light bounces from his self-effacing smirk. 

You fiddle absentmindedly with the fraying corner of a folder, and you’re about to open your mouth, about to speak into the sparkling cloud that the easy laughter and the melted tension has left in its wake, and tell him how much you appreciate him and how kind he truly is and undoubtedly whatever you say will be made more beautiful because of it—because of the affection you have for each other—and then you stop, eyes catching on the case file between your fingers. You frown. 

“Wait—what’s the case number we’re looking for?”

“91 18 00063 7.”

You hold the file up, eyes alight. 

“I found it.”

Spencer frowns and takes it without asking. You watch as he reviews the number in tiny black typeface along the top of the document. His brow scrunches in disbelief. 

“I genuinely didn’t think we were ever going to find it,” he murmurs after leading through the photos and glances back up at you. “We had thirty years of boxes to look through and you found it in under an hour. You’re like magic.”

It’s impossible not to smile. You feel all warm and sparkly as you snatch it back from him and stand, straightening your jacket. 

“Will you tell that to Hotch?”

“I… will tell anyone who will listen,” he assures you, and you’re confident he’s following as you make your way through the maze of stacks. “Are we not gonna clean up our mess?”

“There are people who will take care of that later.”

“Yeah. Like me. During my lunch break.”

“Don’t worry. You’re going to be well rewarded for your efforts today.”

“What does that mean?” He mumbles, and you can practically hear his blush. 

You smile to yourself. 

Still got it. 

for more of these two, check out the bandages universe masterlist!

[arueshalaetablebuildingsociety]

Incorrect. For a couple reasons:

1. Less than half of Americans who could vote, voted.

2. It's not how Kamala ran her campaign. It's how She and Biden wasted their incumbency doing nothing.

3. Trump had 2-3 million LESS people vote for him than in 2016. The fact that Kamala had 14-16 Million less people vote for her is not indicative of a "swing right"; simple math says that Trump's numbers would have to be positive for that to begin to be the case.

4. The Democrats took NO steps to head-off Trump or Project 2025. There are a lot of things they could have done, COULD STILL DO, to make that as difficult as possible. Enshrining Trans Protections in Federal Law. Creating a law establishing an agency that exists to ensure Women maintain the right to Abortions, with mandatory budget allocation. Creating a law requiring all accused Undocumented Immigrants be afforded full Constitutional Protections, that they are tried individually, and ICE has to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are truly here illegally, knowingly and by choice. But they didn't. They wanted to tie all of that to a Democratic 2024, meaning that they saw a murderer wielding a gun labelled "Project 2025", and instead of stopping him, they whispered to us, "You know, if you keep voting Democrat, we'll keep him away from you."

5. If your Incumbent Party bungles an election against Trump, that is not a failure of the voters, it's a failure of the Party.

What did Democrats do to challenge the insane levels of power-grabbing from the Supreme Court? Well, they granted SCOTUS Justices extra Secret Service protections, of course!

What did Democrats do about the fact that the average rent in EVERY State is more than the average monthly wage? Did they introduce price controls? Renter protections? No. The FBI raided one office and then seemingly did nothing. This is not a new problem, and the Democrats have had four years with a solid, if not unshakable, Congressional control to do so.

What did Democrats do about the fact that a hurricane destroyed western NC? Did they send National Guard to establish Rationing, to ensure that people still had access to basic needs? No, they sent cops to threaten to beat anyone who wanted the food and water in the stores which had no power so all of that was going to go bad anyway.

What did Democrats do about the fact that Climate Change looms above all of us as a loaded gun pressed against the head of the Human species? Did they reactivate Nuclear Powerplants to create a massive source of emissions-free, too-cheap-to-meter electrical power, forcing Oil and Coal to break up their market hegemony? No, they decided those plants would EXCLUSIVELY go to AI datacenters so we could make really good pictures of Shrimp Jesus amidst all the intensifying mass digital surveillance.

What did Democrats do about the fact that we are currently embroiled in two major wars, one of which is deeply wrong and deeply unpopular? Did they pressure the aggressor, who is reliant on American-made weapons and technologies as a majority of their stockpiles, to back the fuck off? No, they made patronising statements to the media and

then sent Bill Clinton to go tell Lebanese Americans how it was good that Israel was bombing Lebanon and Gaza, actually, and they ought to be thankful.

Jesus fucking Christ, this isn't about Kamala's advertising like she's a commercial on TV. It's about the people who are sick and dying because Neoliberal Economics refuses to recognize they exist as long as GDP Go Up, Mr. Bond.

Remember when Biden arbitrarily decided Covid was over? I do! Is it over? No! People still are contracting it, getting sick, and dying from it. I see those people when they come to pick up their suddenly-much-more-expensive Paxlovid. I've seen people who can't afford it and break down crying because they don't know if they will live through their next paycheck.

[botchedsundoll]

L. KENNEDY, C. REDFIELD, C. OLIVEIRA X READER (SEPARATE)

ೃ⁀➷ sypnosis; christmas hc’s

ೃ⁀➷ warnings; none! pure fluff

ೃ⁀➷ author’s note; ho ho ho merry christmas idc if its nov its christmas time… do ppl drink on christmas? we do so idek? icl this is all like stuff i made up bcos i don’t celebrate christmas like this but wtv we roll #wesołychświąt

C. OLIVEIRA

do not let this man near the kitchen. everything that can go wrong goes WRONG

ask him to take something out the oven, he drops it. ask him to stir something in the bowl he stirs too vigorously and it goes flying all over the counters

he’s a pain. he’s distracting. constantly getting infront of you with the mistletoe, thinking he’s slick by trying to sneak in kisses. constantly sneaking bites of food whenever he thinks you’re not looking (you are, and you smack his hands away with a spoon)

one thing he’s actually good at and enjoys is cookie decorating. he’ll make little gingerbread men of you two and make them so damn detailed. makes one for jill too, though with less care and her face ends up a bit… strange

he’s THAT person which is always ringing everyone, friends and family, wishing them a merry christmas and sends them stupid gifs slavic babcias love so much (if u dont know what i mean then☹️)

LOVES the whole aspect of the christmas tree yet hates putting it together, it pisses him off to no end and half way through ends up calling you over to help him… definitely picks you up so that you can put the star on top

if he gets an ugly christmas sweater you best believe he’s wearing it for the full day, no shame

L. KENNEDY

depends which leon we’re talking about

younger leon puts in more effort, older leon genuinely can’t be fucked to do much

walks around with a trash bag when everyone’s opening presents so there’s no mess on the floor

your guys’ house is literally the christmas function. every year. mostly due to you inviting everyone round and deciding to host it, much to leon’s annoyance but he doesn’t mind THAT much since he loves you!!

definitely the best gift giver. for some damn reason he just knows what everyone wants, genuinely no explanation for it. he just does

he’s such a sweetheart, constantly asking you if you need help with anything in the kitchen or whether you need him to pop to the store for anything

he 100% sang carols when he was younger. just imagine 7 year old leon, hair gelled back, button up shirt, stood infront of the tv singing carols (lets pretend he didn’t have all that trauma okay)… get him to sing again, he might cave once he’s drunk enough with chris

on the topic of chris, something ALWAYS happens when the pair have had a few and aren’t sober any longer. something always gets broken for some reason

one year, they randomly got up and started dancing. leon went flying into the christmas tree and took it down with him.

i hc him as having a rather large sweet tooth, so he’s always down for some cookie decorating! it’s rather sloppy and they end up looking questionable most of the time, but he ends up eating half of them before he’s even fully finished decorating so that’s not much of a problem anyways

C. REDFIELD

santa. need i say more?

nag him constantly to wear a santa outfit or atleast a santa hat. he will cave eventually

DEFINITELY gets a wallet for christmas every damn year without fail, yet doesn’t even use the damn wallets

him in the kitchen helping you out is definitely… something. he doesn’t know how to measure - what the fuck is a cup?

you asked him to help you out and stuff the turkey. he walked out the kitchen.

gets claire shitty gifts on purpose but then gives her her ACTUAL gift. they’re siblings after all, he can’t help it, old habits die hard

hates decorating the outside of the house. it’s his nightmare. all the stupid lights, just no

goes CRAZY on your gift. it’s like a little reward for all the effort you go through every year, and it’s always something you wanted badly and doesn’t fail to put a smile on your face

he’s not necessarily a fan of sweet things, but hot chocolate? that’s a completely different story entirely, you end up having to send him to buy milk since he drank the whole damn carton and there’s none left by the time you get around to actually preparing for dinner

like leon, sits there with a trash bag. he gives such dad vibes i can’t stop imagining it

him and leon ultimate christmas duo after a few drinks. all of a sudden chris is in the biggest christmas spirit ever and can’t get last christmas out his head

best thing is? he’s not even too big on christmas. he actually celebrates it just because of you, what a sweetheart

[n0vazsq]

Way of the heart | OP81 x Reader

pairing . . . oscar piastri x racing!engineer!reader

summary . . . After a tough race, Oscar has nothing to look forward to more than spending time with (Y/n)

request . . . kind of?

word count . . . 1.1k

warnings . . . none!

alexavia yaps . . . i really hate this one for some reason like its not the best i could do but i wanted to write something so yeah!! the person who wanted this (im sorry i forgot your user), if you want another story i will totally write it!! tysm for asking <3

Oscar slumped into the chair in the back of the team garage, still in his racing suit, the helmet beside him on the floor. Today’s race had been brutal, everything going wrong until he finally crossed the finish line in a place he didn’t even want to remember. No matter how much he tried to forget it, the disappointment still clung to him.

As the crew packed up around him, you walked over, carrying a bottle of water and a quiet look of understanding. You’d worked with Oscar long enough to know when he needed a moment to think and when he needed someone to remind him he wasn’t alone. Today, he needed the latter.

“Rough day,” you said softly, offering him the bottle. He accepted it with a quick nod, cracking it open but not taking a sip.

“Understatement of the year,” he muttered, letting out a short, frustrated sigh. “Everything went wrong, didn’t it? Every call, every turn… feels like I let everyone down out there.”

You didn’t rush to disagree or to tell him it was all fine because you knew Oscar didn't want you to. Instead, you waited a bit, giving him the space to breathe.

“You know, racing’s a lot like life. Sometimes it’s out of our control, even when we do everything right. We all saw you fight today,” you said gently. “One tough race doesn’t define who you are as a driver.”

He glanced up, the frustration in his eyes softening as he met your steady gaze. “Thanks,” he said, managing a faint smile. “Not sure what I’d do without you, honestly.”

You laughed lightly, leaning against the wall beside him. “Lucky for you, I’m sticking around, win or lose.”

His smile widened a little, and after a few moments of quiet, he stood up, finally letting go of some of the weight he’d carried off the track. “Hey,” he said, glancing at his watch, “I know it’s late, but do you want to grab some food? Just… need to be somewhere that’s not here.”

The restaurant he picked was cozy, tucked away from the noise and chaos that followed you on racing weekends. He knew you’d love it, remembering how you mentioned your love for Italian food

When you walked in, his heart skipped a beat. You wore a smile that was both warm and teasing, the one that always seemed to make everything feel a little less overwhelming.

He stood, smiling sheepishly. “Hey, you look… great,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. The nerves of the race had melted away, replaced by a different kind of nervousness that he couldn’t ignore.

You grinned, taking a seat across from him. “Thanks, Piastri. It’s nice to see you in a non-race setting for once. And I have to say, you look pretty good.”

He laughed, glancing down at his simple outfit. “I tried, y’know, for you.”

The waiter took your orders, and as the evening went on, you two spoke about anything and everything but racing. The conversation drifted easily from favorite movies to random childhood memories. You two talked about wild stories and embarassing moments, laughing at every single thing.

But Oscar’s mind kept wandering back to you. How you’d been there every step of his career, how you’d seen him at his worst and still chose to believe in him. At one point, as you were laughing at a joke he’d told, he couldn’t help but stare a little, his heart pounding in a way that felt completely different from the adrenaline of racing.

The laughter quietened down, and a comfortable silence fell between you both. Oscar looked down at his hands, trying to think of what he wanted to say. “You know,” he began, a little quieter now, “you mean a lot to me. More than just… my engineer or friend.”

You looked up, your expression softening, and he felt his courage swell just a bit. “I think I realized that today, after everything went bad on the track. Just seeing you there, not judging me, not telling me what I should’ve done differently, just… being there. It made all the difference.”

You reached across the table, placing your hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’d be there no matter what, Oscar. You’re a brilliant driver and a good person. Bad race or not, that doesn’t change.”

His cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through him. He turned his hand to hold yours, letting the silence speak for itself. And for a moment, all the disappointment and frustration faded, replaced by a quiet joy that he hadn’t expected to feel tonight.

Later, you walked together under the night sky, the cool breeze a welcome contrast to the warm evening inside. He found himself wishing the walk could last forever, just the two of you, away from the chaos of everything.

Eventually, you both settled on a bench with a view of a beautiful fountain. The sound of the water filled the quiet spaces between you, and he reached over, slipping his hand into yours again, holding it with a confidence he hadn’t felt earlier.

“This feels perfect,” you murmured, leaning against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I wish every night could be like this.”

You let out a soft laugh, resting against him. “It’d be easier if we weren’t always at a race or in different cities every other week.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, looking out at the fountain. “But I think… I think it’s worth it.”

You turned to him, your gaze meeting his with a warmth that made his heart race. He took a deep breath, the words he’d been holding back finally finding their way out.

“Do you… maybe want to meet my family? Make it official?” he asked, his voice a little uncertain but hopeful.

You raised your eyebrows, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Oscar, I think we’re already there. You didn’t have to ask. And of course, I'd love to meet your family.”

He chuckled, feeling a weight lift as his heart swelled with happiness. “Then consider this official.” He leaned in, taking your lips in a kiss.

The kiss made butterflies fill your stomach, it was soft, but also made you crave more. It was something magical, like straight out of a movie. Oscar had his hands on your waist, and yours tangled in his hair. It somehow made it more intimate, more personal. You didn't want it to end.

When you finally pulled back, the smile on your face was everything Oscar ever wanted to see.

Hand in hand, you walked back to the car, and for the first time that night, Oscar felt a sense of peace, knowing that no matter what happened on the track, he’d always have you there, his biggest supporter, his steady presence.

And with you by his side, he knew he could face anything that came his way.

[heyheydidjaknow]

After a very long week of diving headfirst into this fandom I think it’s only right that the champagne bottle we smash into this here ship is a four thousand word Chuuya x reader. Here’s to what I’m sure will be another few years of this, everyone; hope everyone is down.

Candies

He was glaring at you.

You had no idea when he got on the train. You did not care enough to wonder. What you knew was that he— the man in the hat on the opposite side of the train car— had been looking at you for the past three stops, and while you were fairly certain that you had no idea who he was, you were almost as certain that whoever he thought you were had another thing coming from how intensely he was watching you. Sure, he had the decency to look embarrassed by his staring, but that in no way stopped him from looking at you like you had something to apologize for. It was disconcerting. It was borderline creepy. But neither of you moved, because it was a train, and the two of you would not see each other again anyway.

The train slowed to a stop. Most people filed off. You did not. Neither did the man. You checked your watch, head falling back as you considered the pros and cons of waiting for the next train. You would have to eat dinner late, but you would not have to wonder why exactly he seemed to hate you this much for nothing.

You heard the rustling of clothing next to you. “Excuse me.”

You opened your eyes to the man. You took him in, identified any features that might be helpful for a police report: cold eyes, reddish hair, too many layers. Pretty, but not reassuring. You pulled your headphones off, fearing the worst. “May I help you?”

A pause.

You smiled tentatively. “Is something wrong?”

“I’ll give you five hundred thousand yen if you’ll go out with me.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Reality seemed to catch up with him. “Shit. Uh.” He pulled his hat off, fiddling with the brim as he lowered his eyes. “Is that too little? I can go higher.”

“Do you think I’m a hooker?”

“Huh?”

You leaned away from him a bit. “What kind of thing is that to ask someone? ‘What’s your price?’ Seriously?”

The realization seemed to strike him like a baseball bat to the head. He immediately backpedaled. “That’s not— shit, I mean, that’s not what I meant to—“ he stammered. “I— no, I didn’t mean anything like that!”

“Yeah?” You raised your eyebrows. “That work for most people, asking them what they charge for a night? For fuck’s sake, man.”

“Hey!” He sat up, defensive. “I never said I wanted to take you home!”

You crossed your arms. “Then what exactly are you trying to do?”

“Ask you on a date!”

“You sure have a funny way of doing it.”

He huffed, face red. “Look,” he grumbled, “I don’t ask many people on dates; I’m trying my best here.”

“You could just ask me,” you pointed out. “You could ask me in a way that doesn’t involve offering me money.”

He rolled his eyes, seemingly— and audaciously— annoyed. “I can’t just walk up to a stranger and ask them on a date. Why would you go? You don’t know me; what if I’m a creep? How do you know if I’m worth the time?”

An incredulous smile crept onto your lips. “And you thought that offering me money would make you seem less creepy?”

“At least then you have a reason to show up! At least then I have a financial interest in showing you a good time!” He buried his face in his hands. “It took me a while to get this far and my stop is next and I do not have the time nor ability to actually woo you.”

The absurdity of this whole situation— the sight of an extravagantly dressed pretty boy bemoaning his romantic failings— was starting to get to you. “This all seems like a lot for someone you just met.”

He sat up quickly, steam practically pouring from his ears. “Well,” he explained seemingly in an attempt to regain some composure, “I may not know you yet, but I know that I’ve never seen anyone who looks as good as you do, and we’re on a train; I may never get the chance to see you again if I don’t do something right this second.”

You grinned. “Really?”

“Really. I am fucking this up.”

“A bit,” you agreed. “But you’re bringing it back around, calling me hot.”

He brightened. “I am?”

You shrugged. “More or less, yeah.”

His hands were shaking. You wondered how long they had been doing that. “Well,” he mumbled, “does that mean your answer isn’t a hard no?”

You leaned back in your seat. “I can be convinced,” you said. “Try again.”

He cleared his throat. “Hello.” He made eye contact with you again, the sharpness you had assumed was being weaponized against you seemingly inherent in his gaze. You tried, for a moment, to make out what color his eyes were, but the answer seemed to elude you. “My name is Nakahara Chuuya.”

“Hello, Nakahara Chuuya.” You crossed your legs. “See, this is better. Keep going.”

He gave you a confused look. You liked him, you decided. “Well,” he continued, disgruntled, “I couldn’t help but notice you. You’re easy to see.”

“Interesting word choice, but alright.”

He shot you a look. “You’re nice to look at. Is that better?”

Your smile softened. “Much. Keep going.”

He looked down at his hat. “I was wondering,” he continued, “if you were already spoken for.”

You snorted. “Spoken for?”

“Single,” he amended, irritated. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

You stretched out your legs in front of you, thoroughly enjoying this. “I am both single and without boyfriend,” you assured him.

He nodded sternly. “Then, can I take you out? On a date?”

You considered it for a moment. “Yeah, sure.”

He blinked. “Really?”

“Really.” You leaned back in your seat. “You’re cute, and I don’t think you’ll murder me, and those are my two big requirements, so.”

He chuckled. “High bars. No wonder you’re single.”

“What can I say? I’m hard to please.” You dug around in your coat for a pen, holding your palm up towards you. “What’s your number?”

The redhead paused. “I don’t have a number right now,” he said. “I’m having trouble with my provider. I can give you a time and place, though.” He held out a gloved hand. “May I?”

You gave him the pen and your bare hand. Quickly, he scribbled down an address (someplace in Yokohama), a date (the next Saturday) and a time (six o’clock). As he finished, the train came to a halt at the platform, doors opening with a quiet hiss.

Nakahara Chuuya stood up, fixing his pork pie hat securely atop his head before straightening out his clothes and giving you a stiff nod. “I will see you then,” he promised. “If you’re late by more than fifteen minutes, I’ll assume you stood me up.”

You gave the strange man a smile. “I’ll come early, then.”

He averted his eyes. “Thank you.” And with that, he left you on the train with a date, a time, and a great deal of confusion.

Foolishly, you showed up. You lived neither in nor near Yokohama. Getting to the address the man had given you— which he wrote with poor penmanship— took you some time too. You went through the trouble of dressing as well as he had been the day you met him— which was more formal than you would typically be for a first date with a stranger you met on a train— and went so far as to plan to be there fifteen minutes early. You had no idea why you were so interested in the man. You had no inclination as to what possessed you to show up to meet a stranger in the first place; after all, his assumption that you might think of him as some sort of predator would have been a reasonable one to make. But you had an inarticulable feeling that told you that this meeting would be worth your time.

Or you just thought he was pretty. You weren’t sure which it was.

The address he had given you brought you to a small restaurant close to the Tsurumi river which, if its sign was to be believed, primarily dealt in soba. Despite your planning, you arrived a mere five minutes early instead of fifteen which, in your defense, was still early, but apparently not so early that your date did not beat you there. As you approached him, a look of bewilderment briefly crossed his face.

“Damn,” you joked. “I thought I’d get here first.”

He looked over your shoulder. “You came,” he said, sounding surprised.

“I did,” you confirmed.

“Alone.”

“I was unaware I was meant to bring a plus one on a date.”

“No, I just mean—“ He stopped himself. “Whatever. I’m glad you came.”

You held your hands behind your back. “So am I, though I’m feeling a bit self conscious now.” You looked down at your clothes, then back to his. He had dressed much more casually than you in a loose, short sleeve button up, loose pants and a large dark jacket. He had kept the hat and the choker— which you had not until that moment realized you remembered— but you looked too formal next to him. “I thought you would dress the way you did on the train.”

He gave you a once over. “You look fine,” he said. “You look great, actually. Don’t worry about it.”

A smile spread across your face. “You've gotten more confident since then, too. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t look totally plain next to you is all; you look so stylish.”

He paused, eyes cast down towards his feet. “Thank you. I drank before I came.” He opened the door to the restaurant for you.

You walked past him. “Thank you. Did you drive?”

“Nah.” He shut the door behind the two of you. “This place is out of the way enough to make it not worth the trouble to park. I walked.” He nodded to the hostess, who sat the two of you in a corner away from the door.

The restaurant was a hole-in-the-wall: exposed crossbeams, warmly lit, nearly empty despite it being a Saturday. You took your seat across from him as the woman set a cup of water in front of each of you, leaving you to your conversation. She made no eye contact with either of you before she left. You picked up your cup, taking a sip as he draped his coat over the back of the seat and set his hat beneath his chair. The gloves, however, stayed on. “How long was the walk?” you asked.

“Not far. A couple minutes.” His elbows came to rest on the table. “I can walk you back to your car if you drove, or to the train station if you need. Just let me know.”

“Thank you.” You took a menu from the center of the table, scanning it absently. “To be honest, I’m glad you asked me to do something earlier in the evening; I’m not super interested in being on my own in the dark.”

He hummed in agreement. “Nobody does. I have work to take care of later, but I can’t imagine wanting to stay out past twelve alone otherwise.”

You groaned sympathetically. “Terrible. What do you do?”

He paused. “I… it’s complicated.” He laced his fingers together. “I operate a shipping company under a parent organization operating out of Yokohama. I technically and practically own the shipping company, but I can’t legally operate it unless it’s under the parent organization, so I have all the stress of a business owner with none of the freedom.”

Your lips twitched nervously. “Are you on a list or something? Why can’t you operate a business?”

“What do you– oh.” The brief look of confusion left his face. “I’m a skill user.”

“A what?”

“You know,” he repeated, “a skill user?”

You stared at him blankly.

���I have a gift?”

“Isn’t that a dog whistle?”

“What? No!” He crossed his arms. “I have supernatural abilities.”

You considered it. “You know,” you mused, “I’ve never been on a date with a guy who came out as being possessed to me.”

He opened his mouth to protest, blinked. “Well,” he conceded, “I guess that’s what I’m saying, but that would be a bad assumption most of the time; most gifted users aren’t possessed.”

“Wait, seriously?” Skepticism and deep curiosity battled for supremacy in your mind. “By what?”

He shrugged. “A god, I guess?”

“You guess?”

“It’s complicated.” To your– and his– surprise, he laughed. “It’s funny; I can’t think of the last time I had to actually explain what my deal was.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Do most people just know?”

“More or less.” He shrugged again, looking towards the door. “It’s practical. I use it a lot.”

“I see.” You sat up, taking your cup and turning it over in your hands. “What does it do?”

He did not say anything for a second, brow furrowing. He looked back in your direction, holding out his hand. “Give me your cup.”

You did.

He set the cup down on the table. Slowly, as though it had been set in a pool of water, the cup began to float upwards. “My ability,” he explained simply, clearly taking pride in the way your eyes lit up in excitement and awe, “allows me to manipulate gravity for any object I touch.”

You reached out towards the cup, moving your hand above and below it. If there was a trick to what he was doing, you had no idea what it was. “That is so freakin’ cool,” you gushed softly. “How can you keep it from flying away?”

He was practically glowing. “Basically, I’m counteracting the force of Earth’s gravity for just this object by creating a second center of gravity that only affects the cup.” He pointed to a spot near the center of cup. “It’s around here. So long as the force of the gravitational field I'm creating is greater than Earth’s, the cup will naturally try and be as close to the center as possible. If the gravitational pull were too strong, the cup would go through that point–” he pointed towards the ceiling, “-- and through the roof before coming back down. But if the force is weak, it’ll stay right around the center.”

You took the cup, moving it towards you before letting go. As if attached to a string, the cup moved back to its place, the water inside is sloshing.

The pure, childlike joy on your face was enough for the man across from you to forget, for a moment, the price of his gift.

The date continued on. The two of you went back and forth on a variety of simple, surface level topics. You learned that Chuuya was a dog person and that he enjoyed fashion. He said he had been in Yokohama practically all his life. He told you about his coworkers– no details, but enough to get a sense for the type of Motley Crew they were– and how that day was an anniversary for something, though he never got around to telling you what it was an anniversary of. At one point, before your food had gotten to the table, you asked about his gloves, which he had apparently not realized he was still wearing. He explained that he wore them all the time– he said it made work easier– but that he did have the good sense to take them off.

“I’m not a monster,” he had insisted. “I don’t want to get food on them.”

The conversation was surprisingly easy. He was nervous at first and clearly inexperienced– an observation that you chose to keep to yourself– but funny and over dramatic in a way that made the discussions flow jovially between the two of you. He was a sailor-mouthed, irreverent, sensitive man, you found, and he seemed to take great pleasure in your company and a surprising interest in the more tedious parts of your life: your occupation, your friends, your earlier life, all of which he found strangely fascinating. Though you knew little of substance about him by the end of the meal you shared, you could not shake the feeling that the sort of things you learned– the simple, stupid things most people gave out as icebreakers– held more weight than you could understand.

But you were grateful, nonetheless. You enjoyed talking to him.

Despite your protests, he paid for the both of you, and the two of you left the restaurant cracking up over some embarrassing story about school.

“Three days straight?”

You waved him off, laughter still bubbling from your throat. “I know; it was stupid!” you cried. “I swear I was possessed; by the end of it I thought there was a chance– assuming I didn’t have heart attack first– that I was immortal.” You sighed, trying to regain composure; you were gigglier than normal. “But I passed the class, so fuck that guy.”

He set his hat back on his head, pushing it down to rest snugly. “Fuck that guy,” he agreed, having about as much success as you did in wiping the stupid smile off his face. “God– being a teenager fucking sucked.”

“Dude, amen to that.” You looked in his direction, tears from the cold and from excessive laughter in your eyes. “Chuuya,” you sighed happily, “I am having an excellent time.”

“What a coincidence,” he grinned. “So am I.”

You looked up at the sky, which was significantly darker than you thought it would be; you supposed that you had spent more time in the restaurant than you thought. “I shouldn’t walk back to the station any later on my own, though.” You slipped your hands into your own pockets. “So–”

“Can you stand to be out later if I can get you back to the train?” He cleared his throat, apparently hearing the eagerness in his voice as clearly as you did. It was the same eagerness he had when he first asked you here. “What time is it?”

You took your phone from your coat, flipping it open. “Nine-ish.”

“Nine?” He pursed his lips. “Shit, I— no, I can make that work.” He leaned his weight onto one side. “I have to get somewhere at eleven, but it’s not a formal thing.” He looked away, swallowing. “If you want to, I mean.”

You held out your hand to him. “Nothing in this moment would make me happier than spending more of my time with you, Chuuya.” You wiggled your fingers in invitation. “Where should we go?”

He was staring at you, at your body bathed in the warm light streaming from the restaurant’s windows, at your face which betrayed nothing but pure intentions, to your hand which you offered him freely. He wondered if you knew how easy it would be to kill you if he touched you. He wondered if that was something someone like you considered at all.

“Chuuya?”

He blinked, clearing his throat. It did not matter. He took your hand. “Sorry.” He was breathless. “Lost in thought.”

You let him pull you closer, nudging him playfully with your side. “You’ll end up swallowing a fly if you keep your mouth open like that,” you teased. “Do you really like looking at me that much?”

He straightened up, heat flushing his cheeks. “So what if I do?”

“Well, I don’t imagine it’d taste very good.”

He snorted. “Shut up.” He nudged you back, looking forward. “We can sit by the river for a while if you’d like; the streets will be sketchy here pretty soon but nobody goes by the part of the river we’re by.”

“Really? How come?”

He shrugged. “It’s impractical. Nobody important goes to the river, anyway.”

“Nobody important?”

“Huh? Oh, right; you’re not from around here.” He looked back in the direction of the river, starting to lead the two of you there. “The Port Mafia doesn’t dump bodies into the rivers; they throw them out by the dock.”

“The mafia?” You started. “What, like La Cosa Nostra?”

“What you do and don’t know is really confusing.” He rolled his eyes. “The Port Mafia is a smuggling ring operating primarily out of the city; it has nothing to do with the Italian mob.”

“Oh.” You squeezed his hand, following close behind. “That’s terrifying.”

“It is?”

“To know that people are just chucking bodies frequently enough that you know about it? And that there’s more than one group doing it?” You tittered nervously. “I mean, I’d heard a little about Yokohama, but I didn’t know it was that bad.”

He squeezed your hand back, looking over his shoulder in your direction. A wry smile crossed his face. “Huh. That’s funny.”

You walked a bit faster to stay beside him. “What’s funny?”

“That you think it’s weird. I guess it never occurred to me that it was strange.” He tugged you to his side. “You don’t need to be scared, though; I’ll protect you.”

“Oh, will you?”

He shot you a look. “What,” he challenged, “you don’t think I can?”

“I never said that,” you protested. “It was just a very old-fashioned thing to say.” You lowered your voice to a growl. “‘Don’t worry, dollface; I’ll protect you.’ It sounds like something you’d hear in a noir.”

He opened his mouth to argue, considered it. “I guess if you found that weird, that would be an odd thing to say, wouldn’t it?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Because what would you need protecting from?”

“Exactly.”

A funny look came onto his face. “That’s funny,” he repeated. “That’s…” He trailed off, slowing to a stop on the road.

You looked back at him. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “Just that…” Startling eyes– they seemed to shine under the streetlamps– met yours. “You said you stayed up for three days straight,” he said. “Do you sleep well now?”

You looked away. “I don’t know if I sleep well, exactly; I don’t sleep as much as I should, at least.”

“But it feels normal, doesn’t it? To not sleep much?”

“I suppose.” You turned to face him properly.

His gaze shifted from you to the sky. “You know, I just remembered something.” He started to walk again, pulling you behind. “When I was little, none of us– none of the people I hung out with– had much pocket money, so we made a game out of stealing from the convenience stores in town. The competition was to see who could pay for as little as possible without getting banned from the store. I was never really good at it because I was an easy to read kid, but I remember always going for those… what do you call them? Bonbons?” He made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. “The little wrapped chocolates. I’d always shove one into my pocket because they were always left out and who’s going to give a kid shit for taking a piece of candy?”

You followed beside him quietly, watching him.

He continued. “The other day,” he said, “I went into a convenience store for the ATM, and I must have withdrawn twenty thousand yen or something like that– a good amount. I bought a pack of gum before I left because I didn’t want to be the asshole that just uses an ATM and leaves, and I realized– I think I’d walked a block away when I did– that I had one of those candies in my pocket.” He led you off the path. “I guess I must’ve picked it up while I was paying for the gum. They weren’t even the good chocolates; they were the hundred yen ones, and I knew why I’d grabbed that piece– because nobody’s going to lose their mind over a hundred whatever yen– but I couldn’t for the life of me remember why I’d grabbed it.”

The two of you came to a stop by the riverbed. It was quiet for a Saturday. The water shone under the moonlight, and the man beside you– whose gaze was now transfixed by the reflection– stood next to you, seemingly lost in thought.

You never let go of his hand. “Being a kid kinda sucks,” you said, running your thumb over his clothed knuckles. “You usually don’t have many responsibilities, but you don’t know enough to know what you should and shouldn’t get involved with.”

He looked to you.

“And you get so jealous of the Huck Finn kids– you know the type: no responsibilities, nobody to tell them no– until you get older and realize– too late– that the habits you picked up when you were left to your own devices probably weren’t the healthiest, but by the time you put that together they’re so deeply encoded in your being that they’re a part of who you are and part of how you got this far, so even if they’re unhealthy it’s not like you can give them up now.” You shivered. “It’s frustrating, looking back and thinking about what you could’ve been.”

The two of you stood there, staring at the water. Chuuya wrapped an arm around your shoulders, trying, in vain, to keep you from the cold.

Finally, he spoke. “I don’t think I’ve ever had this kind of conversation with anyone before.”

You closed your eyes, leaning against him. “It’s funny,” you said. “I don’t think I have either.”

His voice was soft. “I want to see you again.”

“So do I.”

“Then we should.”

“We should.”

You did.

[justplainlovely]

@northwest-cryptid’s explanation is great, but I have some experience I’d like to add as well as a plea for any men on the left

From 2016 to 2019, I got a tad lost in libertarian/right adjacent spaces. I truly believe the only things that stopped me from going further were sexism and racism from others.

I had a “come to Jesus” moment around early 2018 when I went from “Trump is just an idiot” to “Trump is a dangerous dummy who emboldens the worst aspects of masculinity and, especially, white masculinity”.

For various reasons, I have little problem admitting I am wrong and fixing that when I am. But in late 2017, when I started engaging in what I can now label derad work, I found that a lot of men in those spaces had completely different attitudes towards change. I spent a lot of time talking with these guys. I even invited a couple of them into my bed which, in hindsight, probably wasn’t a great idea. Lonely people make stupid decisions and whatnot.

Anyway, when talking to some of these individuals and trying to get them to see the world through my “female eyes”, they had a tendency to reject my stories; every moment I was SA���ed, every catcalling story, every time a man brushed past me, every time a man treated me like less than a person (especially moments that could be excused as “but he didn’t know better”) was invalidated.

No matter how much or how often I told these men my story, comforted them when they told me theirs, and been there for them when they needed company, the lack of respect was still palpable. I was 17-22 back then. Maybe it has something to do with my age, but in truth, I know it had much more to do with my sex.

American men have a problem that only American men can solve. And that is they don’t respect women as full beings. That doesn’t mean they hate women outright. It’s just the kind of patronization that leads to weird attitudes like “women are like children and should be preserved”. It’s the kind of attitude that leads to men, whether they observe it or not, treating women like property.

And all that said, my main call to action is for left wing and centrist men. You guys have a lot of work to do. So do I, as a white-passing woman (white women broke 53% for Trump, if I’m not mistaken). Based on my experience, men will not accept help from women when they see us as beneath them. A lot of men entering alt-right spaces, whether or not they realize it, do believe in that hierarchy and for that reason it is crucial that centrist and left men engage in the hard work of deradicalization.

Got any buddies that are getting a little too weird? Talk to them. Ask them what’s going on. See what they need. Do this before it’s too late and they become a “Q-er”. Your isolation is precisely the power the alt-right weaponizes.

“Your buddies may have left you, but we don’t care what you believe. There’s many more of us. Come hang out!”

It’s that and more, so please. I’m begging you. Do ANYTHING you can.

the idea that reactionary spaces are attractive to men because they treat them kindly unlike The Left is so odd because whenever I come across that content it's essentially the same dynamic as pro ana "meanspo". if you don't know what that is, it's "motivation" based on degrading the viewer to the point where they can't "make excuses" and not become anorexic, or in this case a true Alpha Male. I feel like thisis objectively worse for someone's mental health than The Left

[nevertheless-moving]

Jiang Wanyin's Dog Part Two (MDZS AU #7)

Part One

Jiang Feinman the diplomat is horrified that his sons were apparently actively training for war behind his back. And by all accounts, his worst fears are confirmed — he who trains for war trains to start war. He only believes half of what he hears of his boys actions at the Wen Indoctrination Camp (the Xuanwu Cave Massacre, some are calling it) but half is enough. Incredibly disappointed in both of them — also why demonic cultivation? Why? Where did he go wrong? But for some reason the more he tries to talk, to teach, to explain, the more he warns about the unrighteousness of striking first, the worse their conversations go. He's used to that with Jiang Cheng, but now Wei Ying, too? The more he pushes, the less they tell him, so eventually he stops pushing.

(They actually did initially intend to explain the time travel, but he was so disappointed by all the murdering that neither of them want to get into all the much much more worse things they did in their previous life so they just…don't. They don't explain shit.)

He still supports the secret Jiang war preparations cover story, pretending to have approved it in advance to other sects, because what else can he do. Really not thrilled about being backed into a corner on that, even though he does eventually accept and even admire the invention of the ghost path, once Wei Wuxian explains it better. Wei Wuxian maybe cries a little at his Uncle's approval.

Too much faith that the whole perfect servant/ master schtick is a front for brotherhood even before the actual reconciliation, but eh, they get there eventually, so he’s not wrong. Manages the homefront during the campaign mostly, though he has his moments of battlefield glory. Major diplomatic success in getting the Jin Sect to side more definitively with the sunshot campaign.

…Definitely dies. Not right away, but he's not meant for war, ya know? Maybe gets the actual time travel explanation on his death bed. Maybe. Touching goodbye either way.

Then, you know that scene in Good Will Hunting where Robin Williams says it’s not your fault over and over again? That, except Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin are both saying it to each other. Clinches the reconnection. It’s the worst sort of do over, but Jiang Cheng blaming Wei Ying for his parents first deaths was one of their lowest moments, arguably the point things really started to break between them, so having the perspective to very actively not do that is Big. I’m sorry — this au is about excruciating Yunmeng bros reconciliation, I’ve got to kill at least one family member.

-

Yu Ziyuan approving of the cool distance between the two, proud of her son’s obvious command over Wei Ying, but disgusted by the fact that her son seems to have completely given up on surpassing him. Flabbergasted that A-Cheng is now intercepting Zidian’s strikes on the shameful cretin — his to punish?? What the fuck does that mean? Who’s in charge here? How dare you speak to your mother like that.

Ultimately, Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to handle being around his mother. He recognizes many of the things he likes least about himself in her. He recognizes many of the things that made him a successful sect leader in her. I mean, on a certain level he already knew he had become his mother, but holy shit.

She's...mixed on handling her son's ascent, to say the least. The fact that his unquestionable power is so inextricably linked to his command over Wei Ying's even more unquestionable power fucks with her so bad. At least Jiang Cheng had some time to get used to the concept.

He's in his late 30s and bristles at any indication of being subordinate to anyone — Mom's included. He also wants to break down in tears and hide behind her, because that's his MOM, but he can’t do that. He’s sect heir. He's started a war. He's leading a war.

Ok, one (1) night crying into her robes that they never speak of again.

She tends to run battlefields and missions away from the duo. Serious pushback from Jiang Cheng about talking down Wei Ying in front of others, purely for pragmatic reasons, of course — that’s their sects best weapon. If she survives the war ("So what if he's not coming back? Can't I do anything without him?") then she spends much of her son’s rule night hunting away from the sect. Does NOT get told about time travel any time soon because they know she would press for details and then kill Wei Wuxian.

-

Jiang Yanli incredibly concerned about her boys after they come back from evil summer camp covered in blood and VERY CLEARLY WAY TOO FUCKED UP FOR A FEW MONTHS AWAY?? Excuse you both you are very clever but are you seriously trying to convince me that you invented a whole ass entire dangerous cultivation path while I was around without me noticing? A-xian, a-cheng are you calling me stupid? No? Good.

On a meta-level, she's built her life around parenting the two of them, there's absolutely no way she buys any story about keeping a long time secret under her nose. The first and possibly only one they actually explain the time travel to, even if they can’t bring themselves to tell her everything.

It's deeply distressing to not actually be the oldest sibling anymore, considering how much she defined herself by that, but her brothers don't actually seem to have noticed, so it works out fine.

Her role in the war is slightly larger than canon; the fact that she's bringing an entire support staff of cooks and medics and cleaners that report to her definitely elevates her status and influence. (Headcanon that she basically managed Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian's PR during the war — she's a lot better equipped to do so in this timeline).

She also would also get Instant Respect as one of a handful of people who holds Wuxian's leash, except Wei Wuxian tends to completely drops all necromantic activity when he's within 50 feet of her. It's actually kindof a problem. He's supposed to be passively maintaining some stuff but he's so freaked out about accidentally hurting her that a few perfectly good corpse armies collapse, meaning he has to raise them again from scratch.

They don't get too involved with it, but a few well timed words avoid the worst of the Soup Accusation Debacle and slightly accelerate the Zixuan/Yanli timeline.

Jin Zixuan is bewildered but mostly relieved by the fact that the lead Jiang disciples abrupt personality shift at the start of the war also came with an apparent rise in personal respect of him specifically? Is this because he obviously stepped to defend Mianmian, even though Wanyin and Wuxian did the real work? Jiang Wanyin is noticeably more courteous speaking to him than pretty much anyone else from his clan. Wei Wuxian is a bit harder to read, as he's stopped talked as much, which is bizarre and also fucking terrifying.

(There's a lot to think and feel in the Cave of the Xuanwu of Slaughter. But the fact that Wei Wuxian does not like him and absolutely could have killed him anytime he wanted is definitely up there.)

It's just — even further into the war, when Wuxian starts sometimes relaxing again during downtime, he still avoids Zixuan. Weird but also thank fuck.

-

Lan Zhan is living through a war, sure. But uniquely among his peers, he's also living through a Dark Romance novel! <3

The fun, mischievous boy who he fell in love with at first sight is:

1) the most terrifying powerful dark being who ever lived

2) mildly implied to have ALWAYS secretly been like this and the disobedient but good natured thing was just a cover for the dark truth. Or he might have been corrupted at some point. It's unclear.

3) already in an intense situation-ship with his shidi. (Jiang Wanyin snapping at Wei Ying to stop bothering Lan Zhan and he apologizes politely and then leaves. (Wei Ying definitely yells at Jiang Cheng in private for that but they did agree that he wouldn’t give any public evidence of division with the Jiang sect and publicly flirting with Second Master Lan could admittedly be read as split loyalties)) .

But IN PRIVATE —

(Once the yunmeng bros reconciliation starts getting underway Jiang Cheng feels a little bad about how obviously heartbroken Wei Ying is over losing his husband, and formally arranges with Lan sect for spiritual cleansing sessions after major battles as part of managing his first disciple’s cultivation. Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng are completely surprised when Lan Wanjii himself volunteers.)

— Well, when the two of them are alone together, Wei Ying is — not exactly the same person he fell in love with. But he’s still very much Wei Ying. Teasing, provocative, brilliant, righteous — and, and this can’t be stressed enough — OBSCENELY sexy.

(Yes, Lan Zhan has learned that his bad taste extends beyond what was, in hindsight, rather petty rule breaking. The whole 'One Man Army' thing is attractive alright? The flute is attractive. Gods help him, even the red eyes are attractive.)

But in private — I mean, the first few times Lan Zhan walks in to play Cleansing only to find Wei Ying tied up provocatively from a ‘binding talisman accident’ he takes it at face value. The man's been churning out one revolutionary invention after another, obviously that requires some testing. But it keeps happening, and Lan Zhan is increasingly panicked that Wei Ying can tell what its doing to his penis. He can’t tell, right? Lan Zhan is wearing extra layers to these sessions for that reason exactly and it’s not like his face is easy to read. He can’t know about what he's dreamed of doing with his ribbon. He can't know. He can’t know.

But shit like that keeps happening. Wei Ying casually mentions that he’s been working on a ritual that might make it possible for men to get pregnant, just as an idle experiment, but of course the only ethical person to test it on is himself. Lan Zhan’s dick gets so hard so fast that he almost passes out. Wei Ying, clearly mistaking the sudden lack of visible blood in his body for disgust (please let him think that, please, please) pouts and teases, “What, you don’t think I’d look good pregnant?” Gods be good, he’s holding his stomach and looking up at Lan Zhan through his eyelashes. Lan Zhan didn't even know he was into that! Does this make him more of a cutsleeve or less?? Very nearly goes insane and tries to breed him on the spot. Instead makes a looney toons style Lan Zhan shaped hole in the side of the tent to get away before he bends the man over

Even setting aside the...specifically affecting moments, Wei Ying is so exhausted and soft around Lan Zhan. It makes sense, he's been conquering battlefields, he's been reinventing cultivation, of course he's drained afterwards, that's why Lan Zhan is here — to help rebalance his spiritual energy. But he begs Lan Zhan to take care of him, to feed him, to help him into bed, and it hurts. He knows that it's at least in part a joke but he can't tell how much is him exaggerating his weakness to get Lan Zhan to react and how much is him actually needing help because Jiang fucking Wanyin is ordering him to destroy himself day in and day out, and the whole thing is doing terrible things to the inside of his stomach.

Worry and confusion and fear and anger choking his words even worse than usual, until all he can do is repeat rules about staying away from the crooked path. Lan Zhan scolds him for using resentful energy, sneers at him; he can hear himself and he sounds every inch the jade statue. But somehow, miraculously, Wei Ying understands what he means. He thanks him for being there, for caring what happens to him. Wei Ying tries to reassure him that he'll be alright, really, and how he got 'I am worried about your health' from "your way of living is an abomination" is a mystery, but Lan Zhan is so, so grateful.

Wait.

Fuck.

Wei Ying can either read his face, his words, or his thoughts. FUCK, HE TOTALLY KNOWS WHAT HE'S DOING TO MY PENIS.

In public, Wei Wuxian is obediently violent. He's heretical and hyper competent and the only thing that distresses Lan Zhan more than Jiang Wanyin's callous treatment of his undeserved loyalty and talent is the fact that he's starting to wake up in a cold sweat from dreams where Lan Zhan is his leader and Wei Ying follows his orders without hesitation. What does that even mean. He doesn't want to be a sect leader! That would mean that his brother was dead and he would have to talk to people all the time and he doesn't even want Wei Ying to kneel before him! Not like that — not at all — fucking hell, he should not be masturbating this much during a war.

(Not explaining the time travel/ marriage to Lan Zhan is definitely their worst argument after coming back. Difficult compromise says Wei Ying can explain whatever, marry whoever, leave the sect — but only after the war is won and Jiang Sect is secure. Jiang Wanyin does not need Lan Zhan trying to convince Wei Ying to give up demonic cultivation any harder than he already is. He doesn't need him weighing in on shit he doesn't understand with his more-righteous-than-you-attitude. Most importantly, he definitely doesn't need Wei Ying to be running of after his husband when he's supposed to be obeying Jiang Cheng's fucking orders. Wei Ying reluctantly agrees, but he can't give up on having something with Lan Zhan. The end result is maybe a little not great to Lan Zhan, but you know... what's Wei Ying gonna do? Betray his brother's trust? Not chase Lan Zhan's dick? It's an impossible situation and you should feel bad for him. Plus, Lan Zhan's having a hard enough time anyway, he's not good with chang. He would probably not handle having the 'died and then married' bombshells dropped on him particularly well. Yeah...

Anyway Lan Zhan is very much going through 'he's such a tortured soul...only I see the vulnerable, loving truth... unless the soft self is the lie and the darkness is the real him... which would be kindof hot... bad, but also kindof hot... because if he actually is irredeemably evil than everything he does in private is him seducing me on purpose, which would be good except it would be a lie which would be bad but maybe he would do things to my body before he did whatever dark demonic things hes planning ... maybe I could convince him to join the light in truth... no i should have more faith in him he clearly still believes in justice and protecting the weak... unless that actually is at Jiang Wanyin's orders but I'm 80% sure that's a lie and Wei Ying is actually the one insisting we don't take food from farmers without repaying them and I'm even more certain he's the one making sure we accept Wen surrenders... I'm a terrible person for doubting the moments we've shared...

Lan Zhan eventually has a minor emotional breakdown and goes to his brother for advice.

The straw that breaks the camels back is working himself into a panic that Wei Ying might be trying to get him to kill his own brother. It's just... he keeps having sect leader/loyal guard sex dreams. They've been getting more elaborate. There's leather for some reason. And then one time his spiritual energy is too depleted after a battle and Xiongzhang covered his cleansing session, and Lan Zhan had to lay in bed healing. Laying there for hours imagining Wei Ying call Xichen 'gege' and get all soft limbed the way he does in his tent after battle... asking to put his head in Xichen's lap. Wearing just his inner robes around Xichen. The intensity of the rage leads him to suspect a dark spell. (It's just vinegar and lust and the cain instinct, but again, Lan Zhan is going through it.)

Lan Xichen hearing the stripped down version of all this like... honey. Sweet child. What the actual fuck.

Yes, I'm sure he's different when he's with you but... Wanjii. Wanjii, please. Think with your brain, not — I am not the one bringing vulgarity into this, don't look at me like that. A-Zhan. No, brother, you can't 'fix' him. Wanjii why even ask me for advice if you're just going to keep doing the same thing.

Xichen really already had enough on his plate before learning that Wei Wuxian is playing psychsexual mind games with his little brother for nefarious reason.

To be fair to Xichen, he absolutely is doing that, even though it's only half on purpose. But those nefarious end goals are in fact sex and marriage, something he's CONFIDENT Lan Zhan would enjoy! Look, Wei Ying knows he could have sat on Lan Zhan's dick day one, even before establishing a real emotional connection, even before providing some evidence that he's not a literal demon seducing him into darkness. He feels he's showing an awful lot of unappreciated restraint in allowing Lan Zhan to come to him when he's ready to move past the whole 'raising undead armies' and 'upending the natural order' and 'my family will never approve' things.

(alright, it hurts more than he cares to admit to himself to see Lan Zhan look at him with fear, with disgust. He's sticken with worry and grief that without their experience in the Xuanwu Cave something fundamental will be missing between them. But it doesn't take too long before Lan Zhan says something so Lan Zhan that it assures him the care and love is still there. Its not the same but Lan Zhan still insists on following him around during the campaign, which means the chance to create New memories side by side and it's...good.)

Plus, younger Lan Zhan is so much easier to fluster and its INCREDIBLY fun to have the upper hand. The man has not finished developing his thick face — he misses his husband like a limb, like an organ, but the younger model squirms so good.

WAY too much of this is relayed to Jiang Cheng during their daily war strategy/ bro gossip sessions.

I actually think Jiang Cheng, in exchange for being the sole person who has to listen to Wei Ying’s (often graphic) pining over Lan Zhan, should get to out his brother.

He should get to out him a few times! For fun and for profit. It’s like wingman-ing, but bitchy, which is I think very in character. Wei Ying is either amused by the various reactions, or in the case of Lan Zhan, genuinely thankful. Sure ‘letting lan zhan come to me when he’s ready and more cool with the ghostly path’ is maybe the right thing to do, but it kinda sucks ass. Also Lan Zhan might actually have a lust induced Qi deviation if he doesn't fuck Wei Ying soon, though you would think that leaving a conspicuously large jade phallus laying around would be enough of a hint. Whatever, let's throw some black powder on that slow burn!

Jiang Cheng implies he might be open to marry Wei Wuxian out of the sect after the war. Sect leaders ‘causally’ asking what sort of girl his ridiculously OP and perfectly servile first disciple might be interested in. Jiang Cheng nonchalantly describing Lan Wanjii to a T (tall, strong in cultivation, musically talented, more inclined to listen than to talk...) while Lan Wanjii pretends not to have accidentally bitten through a spoon.

Someone trying to offer their daughter to the Jiang Clan ("I noticed your young master Wuxian couldn’t help but compliment her beauty—“ “He compliments everyone's beauty. Don’t take it seriously.”). Lan Zhan happens to be there, waiting for an unrelated meeting, and Jiang Cheng can't help but take the opportunity to fuck with him.

Jiang Cheng: Ridiculous petition, don’t you think. Lan Zhan: Mn. Jiang Cheng: As if I’d approve a marriage with everyone my shixiong flirts with. Lan Zhan: Mn. Jiang Cheng: (Pausing while he waits for Lan Zhan to take a sip of tea): He’s obviously a cut sleeve anyway. Lan Zhan: [choking]

After the immediate joy of watching the younger Jade lose his composure, there is later regret because Wei Wuxian is thanking him for giving Lan Zhan a push and. Ugh.

Jin Zixuan on the other hand accidentally gets convinced that Wei Wuxian is in gay love with Jiang Wanyin, while Jiang Wanyin sees Wei Wuxian as a brother, a dynamic Zixuan works very hard to avoid thinking about.

The two sect heirs are having a post battle drink (things weren’t bad between him and the peacock, at the end at least, and it might help things in the future (visiting future nieces and nephews) if they could at least be amicable acquaintances).

The evening's going well enough that Jin Zixuan works up the courage to awkwardly ask about rumors of a betrothal between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli. Wanyin surprises Zixuan by laughing, instead of getting incandescently angry. Sure, they’ve been drinking, but he didn’t even yell! At all! Jiang Wanyin, still laughing, leans it and confideds that Wei Wuxian has been in love with the same man for years.

Zixuan, shocked: "Wait a man? He’s —" Wanyin, taking another drink: "No sleeves." Zixuan, slightly confused why he’s even being told what's obviously a politically valuable secret: “Who—” Wanyin, forgetting that Wei Ying’s mooning over Lan Zhan is not actually that public, and Lan Zhan’s staring at Wei Ying just looks like glaring unless you’ve been unfortunately coached on reading his microexpressions. Also forgetting that people do not generally understand exactly what’s going on between the Jiang Sect’s heir and first disciple, except that it’s weird and intense: “Take a FUCKING guess” Zixuan: “Holy shit — you mean — oh man, that’s —“ Wanyin: “Yeah. You’re not the one who has to live with him.” Zixuan: “Couldn’t you — I mean does he have to be here — couldn’t he operate on different battlefields— Wanyin, suddenly enraged: the FUCK does that mean?? Zixuan: What? What did I — Wanyin: you got a PROBLEM with my cutsleeve brother?!? Zixuan: I thought — I thought you — did you say brother — Wanyin: FUCK YOU! Zixuan: I don’t — Wanyin: You think being a demonic rabbit stops him from being my brother?? Zixuan: I didn’t say — Wanyin: This is why your siblings are going to hate you! Zixuan: I — my — what do you mean siblings?? Wanyin: You don’t just — I’m not gonna — you don’t just abandon family! You don’t — you don’t send them away! You don't let them leave and face danger on their own! You don’t abandon them! It doesn’t matter if they’re a cutsleeve pervert or too into murdering people to solve problems! Got it? Zixuan: Alright, fine, sorry — Wanyin: GOT IT?!? Zixuan: Alright! Alright, I got it! Wanyin, sitting back down, muttering: Maybe if you were a better brother your half siblings won’t fuck everything up. Zixuan: what? Wanyin: Let’s get this straight — I get to make fun of Wei Wuxian. But until you marry our sister you don’t get to say shit. Zixuan: I — marry — no one said I — there’s no — Wanyin: GOT IT??T? Zixuan: Okay! Okay, I got it!

Jin Zixuan is extremely relieved to spend the rest of the night drinking in silence.

Close to the end of the war someone messes with their privacy talismans while snooping. So their daily checkin gets overheard and a bunch of people hear them bicker like children (threatening to pee in each other’s socks comes up) and laugh about someone's stupid hat, and trade jokes over a meal, which ruins their Untouchably Intense And Threatening Aura somewhat but honestly the aura was a bit much. Like, we’re allies, aren’t we?

Honestly a relief for a lot of people to find out they’re just teen brothers who are good at killing and putting on a very convincing facade (Wei Wuxian literally calls it his ‘scary face’). ALSO Jiang Cheng makes fun of Wei Ying for his super embarrassing crush, “So he actually greeted you in public! When should I expect a marriage offer?!’” which Wei Ying responds to by describing how lonely his butthole is and the various objects he’s been using to makes himself feel less forlorn, which Jiang Cheng responds to with wretching and throwing things.

So that’s some fun gossip.

(Xichen in particular is relieved that his brother hasn't wildly misjudged Wei Ying's true character, and that the Lan Sect probably isn't going to get subsumed by the Jiang)

The wider cultivation world eventually (post war) gets the explanation that Wei Wuxian can remember his past lives and that’s why he’s Like That.

Life One heavily implied to be evil warlord inventor with some connection to the burial mounds, possibly creating them, who was so reviled as to be wiped from the history texts, fracturing his soul to where Meng Po’s soup leaks out. So that explains a lot. Makes way more sense than someone inventing a whole new cultivation path at seventeen, haha.

Life Two heavily implied to be happy wife of a respected cultivator, which...huh.

(past life husband eventually revealed to be Lan Wanjii’s past reincarnation, who did not remember this but is unfortunately still in love. The public finds the story unbelievably romantic. His family is not thrilled. The cultivation world has mixed).

Timeline on all this unconfirmed. Amount of time in-between reincarnations indeterminate, he doesn’t remember. Will tell anyone who asks too many details about being an excellent wife — apparently he gave his husband a beautiful son but seriously don’t ask because he WILL cry and it’s very disturbing. Vaguely implies that he could be any number of people's grandmother.

Smaller number of people know that Jiang Wanyin also remembers his past lives to some extent, but he won’t talk about it. Wei Wuxian very solemnly whispering to fascinated cultivators that when he went insane in his first life Jiang Wanyin lead an army to stop him and that’s why he trusts him so much to keep under control as his leader now. I repeat: Jiang Wanyin will NOT be taking questions.

My MDZS AU Masterlist

[songmingisthighs]

Maudit

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. xiv - demerit

cursed!jongho × reader

genre : mythology!au, smau

rating : mature; crude jokes and filthy language

wc : 1.7 k

a/n : sorry that this is a bit late, i'm having some crisis irl ✌️

buy me coffee ?

so long i've been here, so long are the stories i've written. of what i gathered and lost, loneliness becomes me and pain refuse to depart from me. i've embraced that which ate me away so when you came along, i had no part of me left to give.

You always thought that Jongho was an interesting man. Since the moment you saw him at the supermarket, struggling in the self check out counter and then struggling with using his credit card, you knew he didn't belong.

Initially, you had assumed he was probably from the countryside. Or even Amish, that's why he seemed mildly perturbed with technology. It wasn't until you saw what you initially thought was a tattoo just a teeny bit lower on his neck that you realized that he was someone who had been cursed. Having been a history major, you got severely intrigued which was why you followed him out of the supermarket and eventually wore him down to the point of getting him to employ you by simply pointing out how much he needed you to survive the modern world. Being near someone who had been around during and through historical events, often hearing snippets of how it was in the past. It was worth all of the headache of managing his estate and personal affairs. To a certain extent of course, he still wouldn't let you in too deep, especially about the reason for his curse.

So seeing him wandering about in front of your campus, trying to peek in was almost equally intriguing.

"You don't seem like you belong."

Jongho snapped his head when he heard your voice and without him realizing, his shoulders relaxed and his chest felt less heavy.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, arms crossing in front of your chest to shield you from the evening breeze which Jongho mistook as you trying to seem tough. "I came to see you," he said, shoving his hands into his pocket, as if what he said was the most normal thing he could say. You nodded slowly in acknowledgment, "I can see that. You have been asking around for me to random people? Why?"

At your question, Jongho's fingers felt slightly tingly. He had prepared to say what he wanted to say after his talk with Hongjoong and he knew he needed to, it was just rather hard, to say the least. Jongho didn't know if it was pride, shame, or a sense of ridiculousness, but any or all of it made him slightly lightheaded and so he took a seat on a nearby bench.

Seeing this, you slowly sat next to him and waited.

"I... I don't think I'm human anymore," Jongho started, idly looking anywhere but you.

"What, do you think you're a vampire or something?" you joked, causing Jongho to give you a deadpanned look before he sighed, "No, nothing like that, it's just..." he paused for a moment, thinking of a way to share his point. "I've been living far longer than humans meant to live, I've seen more things than any other person has, and trust me when I say that it was mostly bad and I can't get out of this state. Trust me, I've tried. I'm human but I live as if I'm not and it still boggles me to this day so at some point, I decided to just... Not be. I decided, that the thing that made me human was emotion and attachment and they were the things that made it hard for me to move on, go forth with the long sentence I have to endure so I let it go. I let the human side of me go and it didn't occur to me until you came along that it was wrong of me to let that happen. However long I have lived, I'm still human after all, nevermind the company I keep. So... (y/n), I'm sorry for the way I have treated you. You were so patient and so understanding with me, not to mention very helpful and yes, while I reward you with a fair wage, I did not reward your proactive kindness whatsoever so please, please come back to me so I can prove to you I'm not a complete monster and that I can make it up to you."

To say that you were surprised was an understatement. You were flabbergasted because you wouldn't expect to receive such confession from Jongho. Out of all the things you imagined, this scenario would not even make it to the brainstorming session.

You shifted in your seat before opening your mouth, "Jongho, what... What made you say this?" you asked, genuinely asking and your voice conveyed pure curiosity, no hint of mockery or suspicion which Jongho didn't fail to recognize. "Not seeing you after leaving just like that made me uneasy. I hated the thought of me subconsciously hurting you and forcing you away and even pushing you to quit working for me because I was just... A big idiot," he stated, looking away from you so he could maintain his composure and not say anything stupid to preserve his... dignity?

"So... You thought that I wasn't gonna come back and the thought was so bad that you actually come here to hunt me down even if you don't know if I was gonna be here?" you couldn't help but crack a grin at the notion. Jongho sighed exasperatedly but there was a slight redness dusting his cheeks that was conveniently hidden by the dark. "Well, it wasn't like I didn't have any plan. You kind of announced your whereabouts on social media and I just... I had to try," his voice got lower and quieter nearing the end but you caught everything perfectly thanks to the quiet surroundings. "Uhuh, but you still came out here JUST to look for me, right?" Jongho seemed to be even more embarrassed and when he turned to look at you, you had to admit that his annoyed face was adorable, like a sulking bear cub. "If you're just gonna mock me, I'm just gonna let you be and find another history enthusiast to help me survive or something. Or maybe I'll just suck it up and ask Yeosang hyung or something because believe me when I say that it took courage and preparation to come here, you hear me? I didn't even-"

You knew that Jongho rambles when he's embarrassed and he tends to not stop until someone stops him so you had to take action. You grabbed his arm which effectively stopped his rambles. "Jongho, I never planned on quitting work. I left a note on your desk to let you know that I had to take some time off because I have finals. I initially thought about sending you a text or something but after our last interaction, I was feeling petty so I decided to just leave a simple note. I swear it's there, you must've not seen it," you pointed out. Slowly, Jongho's face changed to confusion and you could almost hear the wheels in his brain turning before he answered, "B-b-but I didn't see any note, at all! I checked my desk and hell, not just my desk, I checked everywhere because Wooyoung hyung went to Seonghwa hyung's library and I had to make sure in case he-"

The look on both of your faces was priceless as the possibility dawned on you two. For a moment you both could only stare at each other before you broke into a fit of chuckles as Jongho face-palmed himself. "I'm gonna kill him," Jongho muttered to himself, dragging his hand down before he stopped grumbling to look at you. It was odd, he was usually annoyed with your antics but this time, after he bore himself to you, he realized how much he liked the sound of your laughter. Even after your laughter died down, your smile seem to make him feel lighter.

"So... You were always planning to come back?" Jongho asked, this time seemingly less... Animated. You nodded at his question, "Yeah, of course." "So... I was worried for nothing?" he mumbled, cheeks feeling warm again. Luckily for him, you giggled and shook your head immediately, "Hey, it wasn't for nothing, Jongho. Had you not worried, you wouldn't be here right? You wouldn't have made the realization, conclusion, and determination, and we wouldn't have this talk which I'm so glad for. I've always wanted to be closer to you not just because you're an interesting person, Jongho. I also wanted to do it because I don't just consider you as someone I work for, I want to be on a more personal basis, you know? So I'm super glad this happened," you grinned, giving him assurance.

Hearing your response made Jongho glad and with the same determination, he nodded to himself, "I'm glad this happened too I guess. But, I promise, once you're back, I will try to be more open with you. I can't promise anything instant, but I can promise to try. Does that... Does that sound okay?" It came as no surprise that you enthusiastically nodded but the reassurance that you were okay for him to try with you felt really nice.

Remembering reality, Jongho cleared his throat and stood up, shoving his hands into the pocket of his pants, "W-well, I should let you get back to... The inside?" he glanced at the building. Realizing that you still had to go back to studying for your test, you let out a huff but nodded and stood up, "Yeah, I guess I have to go back now." Jongho nodded and motioned for you to go in. You nodded at him and waved as you walked backward to the entrance, "Bye Jongho, thank you for coming. If you have anything to say, you can text me and I'll make sure to answer you." Jongho didn't even notice that he was smiling when he nodded at your offer, "Sounds good. Good luck on your test, (y/n), I know you'll do great," he waved.

Truly, having the talk with Jongho made you feel giddy. So as you turned and jogged back inside the study hall, you felt even more ready to tackle your test. Maybe because you wanted to do well, but maybe because you wanted to get it over with so you could go back to work. Either way, you had Jongho to thank.

network :

@cultofdionysus @sandsofire @kflixnet @pirateeznet

taglist :

@dinossaurz @redzie02 @stayatinykatsy @tinyelfperson @allisonleannn @yukichan67 @phenomenalgirl9 @dawn-iscozy @aestheticsluut @krustycangrejo @teenyfinds @kirbrary @thedistractedwriter @gxlden-bxbyy @huachengsbestie01 @charreddonuts @that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict @velvetskize @do-you-remember-summer-127 @borahae-reads @domfikeluva

@roronoas-wife

[saltineofswing]

I’ll also say — as a Californian who is, maybe not aghast or surprised but definitely angry and disappointed about how sideways the voting went in California re: progressive outcomes on the propositions at play this cycle — a big problem with this specific instance is that there is a massive propaganda effort in this state, specifically, to trick people into thinking one way or another about progressive causes. I feel that in my experience, the ‘powers that be’ know that if the language used to describe an issue is too empathetic (or, honestly, just straightforward), a measure will quickly get a lot of support. So, advertising for propositions is severely curtailed in spaces where they know younger and more motivated demographics will be watching, and counter-ads often use extremely oblique and sometimes outright misleading language to make the progressive goal of the proposition sound like a Bad Thing, Actually.

This is the Associated Press’s google tooltip that I got from googling California Prop 6:

I’ll get back to this in a second. For now, here is a link to the full text on Prop 6. It’s kind of a fucking slam dunk in my opinion! The section at the end is particularly interesting to me.

Nobody even bothered to submit an argument against. Why? Because nobody reads this stuff, and the people who didn’t want Prop 6 to pass knew that. I bet if you look into No On 6 campaigns, the rhetoric is probably highly divorced from the reality of what the proposition actually does, and is designed to trick people into thinking that it’s something completely different.

(It’s also very closely connected to the ‘return to tough-on-crime policy’ Prop 36, and they work nicely together to subjugate petty criminals.)

But I think that it’s important to remember that a lot of people just. Didn’t vote. California has something like 38 million citizens, and even if you take the above numbers as 55% of counted ballots — as per the implication in the screenshot of the AP’s tallies — that still accounts for less than half of CA’s population having voted in the first place. So, realistically… like, a quarter of the population voted No on this. Yes, that’s one in four people being OK with treating criminals however the fuck they want… but it’s a dramatic minority of the overall population.

All that said: I agree with OP, that most people don’t think twice about it and allow themselves to be carried by the cultural current. Before I really dug into it with my dad, he expressed the basic sentiment of ‘Well yeah indentured servitude is bad, but they did something wrong, so I don’t know that I mind’; but it took extremely minimal effort to point out how fucked up the situation really is (which is partially because my dad is a reasonable man, but I don’t think that most people would be that much harder to convince.) I think that cultivated apathy is easily cut through, as long as the individual in question already has a decent ethical base.

And I do believe that when it comes California’s denizens, at large, apathy really is their biggest problem. It sucks so, so bad that so few people bothered to vote down-ballot, if they voted at all, but I would rather work with the apathetic than with the outright malicious.

i've been seeing a lot of californians aghast at the proposition to abolish prisoners being used as slave labour getting voted down and i have no idea how to fix this on a societal scale but after having enough conversations with people you really do start to realise that a massive percentage of the population sees prisoners as subhuman and therefore believes that once someone is in prison for any reason then everything bad that's done to them is simply their just desserts

[justme315]

Family 4/?

First part:

Previous part:

⚠️WARNING⚠️

Fear, mention of trauma, gore (in a memory!!), panic, curse words

-------------------------------

Mark sat there quietly, looking down at Lizzie, still thinking about her brother. It hurt him deeply to imagine a teen-, well barely a teen looking after his little sister all alone. Mark also had an younger sister and couldn't imagine the same scenario for himself.

James tried soft talking to Lizzie from the distance while making some food. He decided to prepare a salad, it sounded the most reasonable, since he didn't really know what Lizzie could eat - lettuce and some other light vegetables didn't sound like something that could harm the poor little girl. His head was filled with thoughts as well but he didn't want to make it obvious.

Lizzie didn't answer any of James words, as she held the plush toy tightly and raised her timid ocean blue eyes up to Mark from time to time, only to look away as soon as she cought eye contact with him.

She was really afraid of him. She liked James better.

She secretly prayed that her brother would come very soon to take her back home. Well, the humans didn't seem as bad as the stories made them look but she knew that must have been a trick! She was a big girl and she knew that she couldn't be fooled!

"Mark, please call my work and let them know I can't come today" James repeated his request to his husband.

"Oh, yeah, right" Mark mumbled as he was roused from his reverie. He stood up too quickly which triggered Lizzie and made her flinch and hug the toy elephant more tightly.

Marks eyes widden slightly and he looked down at the girl with pity.

"Sorry little one" he whispered in a soft voice. It sounded unnatural, he had such deep and masculine voice that when he tried to sound soft and gentle it just sounded so forced and.. fake.

Lizzies eyes never meet his, nor did she answer. He waited for a secound, hoping that she would acknowledge that it was okay or something but after a moment he realized that would never happen. He just looked at his husband, hoping for his support but James was too concerned on making the salad and didn't pay him much attention. It only made Marks heart sting more. The man left the room to go call his beloveds work and make up some lie about him being sick.

Lizzie held back tears as the bigger, taller, more scary looking (and sounding) man left. She didn't want the humans to see how scared she was. She was big and brave! She knew her brother would save her! Right..?

She couldn't help but let out a sob. She didn't like being anywhere without Cain. Where was he?! She was terrified of the humans and hoped that it was all a dream. Well, more likely a nightmare.

James whole body stiffen when he heard the incredibly quiet, tiniest sob. His heart shattered again. He turned around to look at Lizzie in less that a secound.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" He spoke in his usual sweet voice as he stepped closer to the table. Lizzie raised her tiny eyes filled with tears and looked up at him.

"Oh, honey.." he signed, as he sat down on the chair "It's alright, everything will be okay".

James tried to comfort her the best way he could but he had trouble doing so without wanting to reach out to her and hold her in his arms (or rather palms).

Lizzie felt so alone. So scared. So tiny. She just needed some comfort. Any comfort. Any at all.

James seemed friendly enough, she thought. He didn't seem like a monster. He was.. nice. And she needed to be comforted.

She reached her hands up like a toddler wanting to be held. She hoped James would understand the gesture.

He did.

James moved slowly, not wanting to startle her any more than she already was. His heart beat fasten as he reached down to the girl. She flinched once his hands touched her but she didn't back away. She stood still with the same gesture, obviously scared but non the less needing to be held and comforted.

The humans fingers slowly grabbed her small body and raised her up from the table. James mind was a mess, he was so scared that he would do something wrong, that Lizzie would be even more terrified, that he wouldn't be gentle enough and actually he could hurt her. It didn't change the fact of how happy he felt at that moment. He knew Lizzie was scared, he knew she thought of him and his husband as monsters and yet she trusted him enough to want to be held by him.

Lizzie tried not to let more cries out as she was raised from the table, being held tightly by fingers that were literally her size. She was scared to look down, the fear of falling growing inside of her. Her whole body trembled and she knew there was no point in hiding that - the giant must have also felt it. Her mind created scary scenerios, like from the stories Cain would tell her. She started to regret making the decision of asking to be held when-

James brought her to his chest, hugged and comforted.

"It's alright Lizzie, I've got you. You're going to be okay, I'm here" he spoke so softly that it was almost too nice sounding to be true. Lizzie remembered the same feeling, though she didn't remember where was it from. She remembered someone holding her just like that and singing her tunes. She snuggled closer into her fa- into James' chest and began to calm down. Before she knew it she was asleep.

James couldn't help but smile once he realized that Lizzie had fallen asleep on his chest. He was really happy that she trusted him enough and felt comfortable enough to let her guard down. He could have sat there, holding her for all the enternity. She was his little angel send from the heavens. She needed him. And now he was completely sure, since the first time he held her when he helped her get untangled - he needed her.

He was rushed from his thoughts when he heard Mark calling out for him.

"James! Help me!" Mark yelled form a different room just a secound after there was a bang.

"He broke the drawer again, didn't he?" James signed quietly with a tired expression. He stood up but soon realized that taking Lizzie with him would surely wake her up. He lowered her on the sofa. Once his fingers had to get away from her they felt empty. As if something, or rather someone was missing. James wouldn't have said that out loud but he started to care for the little girl way more than he should.

He left the room, going to help his husband.

Soon enough, this was Cain's chance.

The boy didn't really know what was happening outside, in the kitchen but he knew damn well that his sister was in danger. The human beans have left. This was probably his only chance at getting his baby sister back.

He rushed out from the walls and looked around, trying to spot Lizzie. As soon as he did his heart sank.

She was laying there, not moving, eyes closed on the sofa.

Cain's breath quickened, his hands trembled and his eyes widen with horror.

He immediately remembered the scene..

Little Cain and Lizzie were with their parents. They were happy.

"Take care of your little sister, while we go borrowing Cain" his father told him.

"We will be back soon" his mom said, while she hugged him.

"I will take care of her, I promise I won't dissapoint you daddy" Cain looked up at his dad with a smile. The man putted a hand on his sons head and messed his hair a little.

"That's my boy."

Hours passed. Mommy and daddy weren't coming back. Lizzie was crying from being hungry and tired. She never could fall asleep without her dada singing her tunes and without mommy's goodnight kiss.

Cain was starting to worry. Where were they? They never borrowed for such a long time. He didn't know how to handle Lizzie. He needed his parents!

Finally, when Lizzie was so tired that she fell asleep from exhaustion, Cain decided to go and check on his parents. It was still some time before sunrise, the human must have still been asleep.

Cain knew the tunnels. His daddy tough him already two times how to borrow! He was a big boy, after all. He needed the skill to help his parents.

He ran to the counter, but stopped as soon as he heard the humans voice.

"Fucking pests!" He yelled out angrily "If they weren't so damn struggling I could have sold them and now what?! I have to clean all this mess!"

Cain didn't understand what was happening. Why was the human up? What pests? There were no pests in the house. Where were his mommy and daddy? What the hell was this monster cleaning up after? WHERE WERE MOMMY AND DADDY?

The boy waited untill he heard the humans footsteps getting further away. His heart was racing, his eyes started to fill up with tears.

"Momma? Daddy?" He whispered, peaking out from the tunnel. What he had seen.. was undescribable.

The little boys eyes widen as he saw that the whole countertop was painted red. He knew that this wasn't no paint nor leftovers of some food. The countertop was stained with blood. His heart skipped a beat.

"Momma..? Daddy..? Where are you..?" He sobbed out. He thought he had already known the answer but he would have not accepted it. He had to find his parents. Lizzie needed them. He needed them.

He rushed to check if his parents were maybe hiding somewhere around the countertop. His body trembled and he almost puked once his shoes were stained with blood.

His parents were not there.

Finally, he went to the edge of the countertop. Maybe they hid on the floor? Away form.. whatever had happened there.

It was a mistake that he had looked down.

There was a giant trash bin just below him. It was filled with paper towels stained with blood. There was also..

"DADDY?!" Cain sobbed out as he was unable to hold back tears now.

"No, no, no, no, no!!" The little boy cried out as he looked at the crushed corpse of his father. The man was missing 3 of his limbs. His face was deformed. He was dead. Daddy was dead.

The scary part did not end there. Right next to the boys father there were parts of his mommy's body. It was not complete. Her head was missing. Her fucking head!! Her favourite sweater was all covered in blood and her own organs. I will spare you the terrifying and heartbreaking details.

Cain could have done nothing but puke and cry. How could that have happened?! How could they have been cought?! He needed them! They had to be alive! This had to be a nightmare! It had to be!

Looking at his daddy's, crushed, deformed, lifeless face he knew that it was all too real. That it was the humans that were responsible for.. this..

"I'm so-sorry d-daddy.. I won't d-diss-dissapoint you, I'll pro-protect Lizzie" he promised the corpse of his father, remembering their last conversation. Daddy was supposed to come back home. Mommy was supposed to come back with him.

The little boy heard the footsteps of a human reappearing into the kitchen.

"I l-lo-love you.. Goodbye m-mommy, goodbye daddy" he sobbed out the last time, looking at the devastated corpses, running away back into the tunnel.

He run as fast as he could back to Lizzie, crying, whimpering, occasionally vomiting. His shoes left red stains in the tunnel.

"I will protect Lizzie" he promised to his parents.

Cain stood there unmoving, his heart beating heavily as he started at Lizzies body, lying on the enourmous sofa. It couldn't have been too late. He needed to protect her. She had to be alright.

He rushed with his another hook onto the floor and run as fast as he could. He couldn't loose his sister. She was the only one he had left. He promised he would protect her. He fucking promised.

He was shaken. His head started to create scary scenerios as he ran. His eyes filled with tears but he couldn't loose hope.

He threw his hook onto the sofa and started climbing as fast as he could. He reached the top in no time. As soon as he did he ran to his sister.

When he saw that she was breathing a weight was lifted from his chest. He shook her to wake her up.

"Lizzie! Wake up! We need to get away from here!" He yelled out, scared that the giants could come back any moment.

Lizzie opened her eyes uncertainty and when she saw Cain she hugged him tight.

"You came!" She grabbed onto her brothers chest "I'm sorry I took your hook! I will never leave again!" She spoke.

Cain didn't have time for this nonsense now. He grabbed her onto his arms.

"Not now Lizzie. I'm not mad. Let's get outta here" he spoke to her, petting her head.

"Get on my back and hold on tight" he commanded.

As soon as James came back into the kitchen he knew something was definitely wrong. He didn't yet know what, but something was.. off.

Soon he figured out that it must have been two tiny children on a rope hanging from his sofa.

"Holy moly.." he whispered with wide open eyes. Lizzie looked at him for a second and them looked away with shame, while the bigger boy had fear and anger in his eyes. The borrowers got onto the floor before James could have had any reaction. They ran under the sofa.

Cain's heart was beating fast. That was close. They had no tunnels under the sofa. They had to get away quickly somehow! They had to get away before the humans get to them and they will spare their parents fate. He held his sister close to himself, trying not to show how frighten he actually was.

Soon enough Mark accompanied James in the kitchen door.

"Why are you standing like that? Where's Lizzie?" the bigger human asked his husband who was visibly shocked and stunned.

As Cain heard the humans voice under the sofa he looked at his sister with rage. His eyes showed her of how much he dissaproved of the humans knowing her name.

"She's.. under the sofa. With her brother, I suppose.." James answered his husband in almost a whisper, never taking his eyes away form the furniture.

"Then let's move the sofa and get them out form under it" Mark said, rushing to get closer to the sofa.

"Wait!" his partner had stopped him "Those are kids. They're hiding because they are scared. If we force them out we will only play into their fears more"

James' reasoning made Mark stop in his trucks.

"Yeah, your probably right.. So what's your plan?"

"You should go to work, I'll handle it, I promise" James kissed his husband's cheek, pointing out at the time. Mark was frustrated at the fact that he couldn't have an impact on how the story with the tiny kids continues untill 5 pm but he knew his husband was better with kids anyways.

"Love you" he said.

"I love you too" James answered.

James though for a couple of minutes before sitting down at the floor, still leaving plenty of space between himself and the sofa.

"Lizzie? Are you alright?" was his first question. He spoke in his soft voice, hoping that Lizzie trusted him enough to.. come back to him. Or at least answer.

Cain listened carefully to all the humans words before, but emotions blurred most of them out. He held his sister close as they stood next to the wall, hiding. He was still mad that the humans knew his sister's name. Once he realized that one of them left he signed with a little bit of relief. It was easier to get away from one human rather than two, but it still was a unfair fight.

As he heard the human speak directly to Lizzie his blood boiled. The human was cruel enough to joke about caring about the little girls well being. As if he wasn't a freaking monster.

Cain gestured to his sister that she can not answer.

James sat there quietly for a moment, knowing that it would be a hard day for him.

Winning childrens trust is a unfair battle.

"It'll be a long day" James signed.

---------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading and waiting for this part! After over a year, you get the promised update. I hope you enjoyed it and can't wait for the future parts!! Love ya 💙 (especially those who really waited for this for a long time (sorry for that))

[t1oui]

thinking about how living w regulus would affect harry like

he's such a fucking snob about everything. food, decor, fashion, you name it, he's got opinions on it.

he does ballet despite being the least graceful person on the planet. he's somehow pretty good at it, likely out of spite

speaks french

very much a cat person, has a cat named leo who is his baby

like yk how james and sirius are extremely codependent? that's how harry is w leo. both of them can not handle being apart from each other too long

reads a lot of stories

thinks seeker is the best quidditch position

on that note, lots of slytherin house pride. james hates it. harry refuses to put any gryffindor decorations up in his room

harry loves taking pictures just like reg so the house is filled with photographs

and ofc harry is snobby about what types of cameras he uses thanks to reg. james now just lets them deal with the cameras & photography stuff bc he's scared to get the wrong thing lol

harry is taller than reg but bc dysphoria all of reg's old clothes (like quidditch jerseys + hoodies and stuff) are his size so half his wardrobe is from reg's hogwarts days

definitely the type of guy to change his bedding & curtains & everything in his room based on the season. will anybody actually be in there other than him and his parents? not really, but he MUST redecorate

idk what this even means but snobby about candles. this is another thing james is scared to buy him

harry and reg speak french w each other more than english

since james doesn't speak french w harry (i hc he's only comfortable speaking it w reg) harry is used to having a conversation in two different languages so sometimes he'll be speaking french w his friends without noticing

he'll be in the middle of a rant and realize they don't understand a thing he's saying lol

reg and harry control the decorating for every holiday, every birthday, etc.

the one thing harry knows how to do that reg doesn't/reg didn't teach him is cooking. reg never cooked for himself as a child so james was the one who taught him

doesn't look like it most of the time but all of harry's clothes are very expensive... did i mention he's a snob

harry is such a dry texter/writer... he's such a dick about grammar when it comes to writing even tho he can barely string a sentence together when speaking

deeply sarcastic (look! a canon detail! we never thought we'd see that on this account, did we?)

will take his partners on the most expensive dates & whatnot like it's nothing... cedric the farmboy™️ is not prepared

writes sad boy poetry when he gets annoyed w someone... like harry will storm off all pissed and then he comes back 20 mins later with a beautifully written, very angry poem for whoever made him mad

has so many clothes & different curtains and bedding sets for different seasons that he also uses the closet in the guest room (reg takes up 99% of his and james's closet for the same reason)

has an inherent hatred of fake plants

bedroom is simultaneously tidy and so messy a hurricane might as well have come through

leaves a book behind everywhere he goes

secretly the worst sense of humor lmao

he may not have gotten his love of drawing/painting from regulus, but you def see reg in the way he is, you guessed it, a massive snob about art supplies

soooo indecisive. redoes his room at least twice a year

an asshole when he gets less than 10 hours of sleep... he's mildly tolerable after 3 cups of coffee (black, of course) but you might as well just ignore him until he gets a nap in

on that note is very good at making coffee and is, drum roll please, a massive snob about it. who would've guessed (somebody count how many times i've said snob in this post and comment it please and thank you)

if he doesn't like a gift he's horrible at pretending he's happy w it so people usually go through reg whenever they buy him something... this goes both ways too, people go through harry when buying something for reg

is visually james and lily's but in personality is really just reg's (and also lily's... he definitely inherited his spite from her lol)

is a crazy cat lady by age 20

at least 10 pictures of leo in his room... he has whole photoshoots for her and she poses for them

might as well not hang out w harry at his house bc he'll make out with his cat the whole time

loves going to art museums w regulus

he's a, surprise surprise, snob about art. james just doesn't comment on art altogether atp

his vocabulary is a weird mashup of french, english, and hindi that makes it very hard for anybody who doesn't know him well to understand what he's saying lol

looks angry until he smiles (he got this from lily but a life with reg has perfected it)

needs a golden retriever to his black cat in any given relationship (enter cedric and cho) (yes i'm going to push my rarepair on everyone reading this)

tl;dr being raised by/living w regulus has turned harry into a massive snob about literally everything and regulus is proud of it (blink twice if you need help, james)

[velvetvexations]

I'm censoring this URL because the OP is eighteen. Do not seek the post out and do not harass anyone. Teens are often wrong about things. It's fine. It's radfem bullshit but it's fine.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Let me be clear: The idea that t4t was invented by trans women for use betwixt themselves, and that "TME" people "gentrified it," is (a) holy fucking shit racist as fuck and (b)

takes a deep breath

WRONG INCORRECT UNTRUE EASILY VERIFIABLY FALSE

The OP is eighteen. That means that we did not do anything. They were not born when It came about on Craigslist and was being used by all trans people from the very start. I don't think they know what Craigslist is and probably more than half the people reblogging it don't either.

TME people fucking gentrified it? Are you fucking kidding me? Are these people tossing that post back and forth just fully playing pretend in fucking Tarabithia, what world do they live in where this combination of syllables makes sense and doesn't cause them to wither up in shame for even having the thought, much less vocalizing it?

Ohhhh but what really gets me is the assertion this was done because being with "TME" people meant there was a high chance you could b, "socially (or even physically) murdered."

No.

No, OP. If you were any kind of trans person in pretty much any time and place before the 2010s, and a relationship with a non-trans person went poorly, there was a very high chance you would be dead. There's no "or even" about it. That is what fucking happened. Your ex didn't go crying to your mutual friends telling them about how you hogged the blankets. Your non-trans ex would proceed to ACTUALLY FOR REAL MURDER you, assuming they even waited for the relationship to go sour and didn't just kill you the second you walked through the door like they were always planning to do.

That's how it was when I was growing up, denied transitioning but longing so achingly to be a girl in spite of the horror and misery that seemed to plague us. So I have a problem with the obsession with sOcIaL mUrDeR that keeps getting tossed around these days, because of how degrading it is not only to how bad things still are with death after death after death, but how it disrespects what we came out of. But to directly act like soooocial murrrrrder was the big scary thing trans women feared back then? That's heinous. That's sickening. The social consequences all trans people were deathly afraid of back then was being outed as trans and then being fucking stabbed within twenty-four hours.

Even in spite of the election and what's coming next, how good we have it would be nigh-incomprehensible to the first trans men and women and non-binary people to be brave enough to advertise themselves as t4t to strangers. Like, I need everyone to understand that. They could not have wrapped their fucking heads around it. It'd be like explaining a circuit board to a Mesopotamian. One could show them a video of the Blue's Clues episode about queer people and it'd just register to them as migraine inducing static.

We're in such a better place than we were. And this is what people do with it.

Make up bullshit reasons to be angry at their siblings and imply they also didn't get murdered for being trans on a regular basis, or that even just trans women cared about an irritating buzzword, even as cishetpatriarchal fascism is empowered and determined to drag us back to the the horrific dark age that scholars refer to as Literally All of Human History Up Until Now.

Amazing.

Why do I even try. Like, with anything. Why do I get out of bed in the morning. I could have stayed in bed all day listening to rain sounds.

Anyway, that's my thoughts on that.

[esoanem]

Regarding how we're able to do 2, there are a few different ways:

Sometimes the ancients tell us! We have grammatical texts that include phonetic descriptions. Granted the vocabulary used is often imprecise, or overly based on the Greek grammatical tradition, but it still gives us lots of useful information (this is the same way we know Greek used to have a pitch accent rather than a stress accent like it has today)

Similarly, the same way you get complaints or jokes about people pronouncing (or spelling) a word the "wrong" way

This leads into one of the other big ways: misspellings. For instance we have graffiti from Pompeii that replace Latin c with Greek kappa, a letter we know was always pronounced hard, even before i & e. We also do not have graffiti where Latin c is replaced with s. This suggests that the people of Pompeii did not pronounce the letter c the same as an s before e & i (like most modern Romance languages), but instead kept a hard k sound there

The structure of the alphabet also gives us some clues, although it is weaker evidence, as these sorts of quirks can stick around long after they cease to be accurate, and can even persist when the alphabet is borrowed into a new language. The fact we have words spelt with ci and words spelt with si, and which is which stays consistent for so long is suggestive of the fact they were pronounced differently (of course, this doesn't rule of ci being pronounced with a ch sound as in Italian, or a th sound like in some parts of Spain). Similarly, the fact that j & i are spelt with the same letter in Latin itself suggests that they were felt to be in some way similar sounds (the best candidate being that j was pronounced y) - likewise v & u (with v being pronounced w)

We also have evidence from poetry. In English, we're most familiar with poetic structure in terms of rhyme schemes, but in Latin it was mostly about rhythm. You have a metre which requires that syllables of certain "weight" fall in certain parts of the line. This allows us to determine things like vowel length, syllabification of consonant clusters between vowels, and that final -m was not actually a consonant, but instead marked nasalisation of the preceding vowel

We can also look at how words are borrowed between languages. We know that Ancient Greek gamma kappa chi were all stops for various reasons (chi and gamma later became fricatives) and that they were voiced, voiceless unaspirated, and voiceless aspirates respectively, and we also know that in borrowings into Greek from Latin, Latin c is consistently rendered with kappa regardless of the following vowel. This again supports c always being hard in Latin, as well as it lacking aspiration (this is often difficult for English speakers to hear, but it means it would have sounded more like a Spanish c than an English k)

These are all classic philological methods, and were well established in the 19th century. What began in the 19th century though was the comparative method of historical linguistics, as well as widespread appreciation of dialectology

The comparative method relies on looking at a variety of languages and carefully comparing their structures to deduce facts about their common ancestor, based on a few principles (one of the main ones being that sound change is, as a rule, regular i.e. that a given sound in the mother language will have the same outcome in the daughter language, when it occurs in the same environment)

This lets us do things like observe that Sardinian always inherited Latin c with a k sound, rather than ever with a soft sound. A change from a soft sound to a k sound is much less common cross-linguistically than a change from a k sound to an s sound, so on comparative grounds we should reconstruct Latin as always have a hard k sound for the letter c

Then, especially in the 20th century, we started getting extensive dialect data, drawn from many more dialects than was previously practical. This allows us to do more powerful comparison and be more sure of our reconstructions

There are still some open questions, but they're mostly over pretty minor phonetic details. Probably the only one that would affect the pronunciation in a way a layman would notice is whether Classical Latin had any difference in vowel quality between short and long vowels, or was it solely one of length (e.g. was i just like ī but shorter, or was it also pronounced more centrally in the same way the English vowels in KIT and FLEECE differ in quality as well as length)

How do we know/guess how Latin was pronounced?

I can't find the post where I talked about this before, but basically there are two ways.

1) Because Latin transitioned from a living language (in the Roman Empire) to the language of scholars and clerics (in the Middle Ages) without a gap, the pronunciation was passed down from teacher to student. It almost definitely shifted a bit over time though, due to human error and the lack of recording devices. This handed-down version is called Ecclesiastical Pronunciation.

2) In the early 20th century (iirc) scholars attempted to compensate for shifting pronunciation by reconstructing how Latin might have been pronounced in Ancient Rome. The version they came up with is called Classical Pronunciation.

There are valid reasons for choosing either pronunciation, and you'll meet latinists hotly in favour of each. 😜

[zeondraws]

It is 4AM in the morning, I should hit the bed asap. But I needed some time on my own tonight, because I've been supressing feelings way too much the past months. (Thought post about random thoughts, no clue if they make sense it's 5AM when I post this)

I found it really hard to talk to friends about my emotions as of recent. One reason might be, that I still suffer some pain I endured from the old work enviroment.

Somehow I often just want to be left alone, I feel very drained most of the time. But that often leads to a loop effect and I isolate myself further.

Like, at the old workplace I was expected to do something constantly, if I wasn't working on anything for over 3min I'd get scolded or yelled at. Or my coworker would become an adult baby and behave strangely. The other coworkers never saw anything wrong with him, so I was extremely afraid that everyone else had something against me. My old boss would side with him from time to time. The constant demand to stay productive was so draining.

In the end I got replaced, I mean I thankfully found a new job by then. But a new person came in, another inexperienced young person who seemed nice and all. Not sure how she is doing in that place, either she fits right in, or my coworker is making her endure the same pain, or he just overworks himself as he usually does. A person who had my job before I came, became extremely demotivated there and simply left to another workplace.

I try to explain this a bit to highlight some difficulties I am experiencing atm... I don't talk to family about my feelings that much. I tried but, they get easily offended if I vent too much. I have no called my dad back in a while, I already know when I call him back he will only be offended. Or maybe I am spiraling rn. My head makes things appear worse than they actually are.

You guys see how much stuff I have been doing on tumblr the past months or so. I don't remember how long it's been, but... I am still in this mindset of constantly working and staying productive. I rest when I can but I always get the feeling "I have to stay productive" and work on stuff, even when I am sick. In a way it helps to not fall into thoughht spirals, tho then I don't give myself enough space to rest.

I don't know what my end goal with this endless productivity is supposed to be, I want to be helpful in some way and feel like I belong somewhere. But even right now I feel like something is missing... I can't grasp this thought, I don't know what my end goal is. Been messing with fmodel so much to get the game work on this for datamining, I posted a thread on the fmodel server and they said the game is fully working with it. Which suprised me, that I was able to achieve that. Was I the first one to do so? I always thought there is someone better than me already. I often just think I will be some replaceable object, where someone else just takes my place. And this thought... spirals in a way- where I think very less of me. Stuff like I will be forgotten anyways or hmm someone better comes.

My family treated me like an object at times, not letting me decide what to do. Old coworker did the same and I am expected to just agree to everything they say. I tried extremely hard to fight back at the old workplace but I was always met with a wall.

Sometimes I would struggle venting to friends, because when I felt the lowest I get very clingy. I think when I saw Muir in game I noticed some similarity in him in me for example. Even tho I hate to admit that thought, but I have gotten way better at being less clingy. Maybe it's because I grew up a bit more. I definitely ain't the same like 4 years ago. But not to sidetrack too much... sometimes I would vent to friends and they'd bombard me with advice or, maybe some advice felt off for me. One friend once said that we're replaceable (job related) and that didn't sit right with me. Some of this advice would put me off so much that I would stop talking about my feelings with anyone, or just one small friendgroup. But I don't mention a lot there. I think... I think what I can see with myself is, I distance myself so much from everyone, I don't dm people to have a normal chat (I think I get very confused when I hear people dm each other all the time, what do people dm each other for...?I wouldn't know what to talk about), maybe I hang out on servers. I don't want to look at my main phone because suddenly so much makes me nervous again. I want to be alone the entire time and the meds stop some emotions from popping up.

So I have random outbursts where I would cry. and I really need to sit down after sleep and find a new group therapy.. today

I put ridiculous standards on myself sometimes, not wanting to appear weak and appear "professional". But my imagination of being professional is basically be emotionless and work without problems. Tho this doesn't make sense, perhaps I worry too much since I noticed some people really like what I do here. And I don't want to let people down in that regard. but I don't know how.

Earlier I was debating on wether it is strong if I show my weakness or if it's better to hide it. Tho hiding doesn't bring much for me, it's rather bad.

Yknow an earlier post where I mentioned I really like Roper? I get the feeling one of the reasons I find him interesting is, because the way he appears. He doesn't seem to show emotions that much, rather monotone and seems to be a hard working individual. Who sadly needs to do way more because Rennick makes things more difficult. Tho like, even if you see him in Marine Control later... he just suffers in silence. Ain't like Trots who went full bananas, or Muir feeling extremely anxious and all. Or Addair wanting to call his kids and Rennick just flat maniac. Roper just, sits there and tries to avoid saying much. Only thing he says is to keep Rennick away. Maybe the deleted soundfile of the scene says otherwise, but in my view it feels like idk he just ain't somebody who would talk about his feelings. Maybe Roper is some visual imagination of what I think a professional is, but I think he probably has different problems that could be way worse. Suppressing feelings is not good, I still have a lot to work on, on myself.

I am sadly getting too tired to continue this string of thoughts...I always feel very awkward posting my feelings on the web. I wouldn't know where else to thow them.

I will post something silly after sleep. I made some dumb screenshots ingame that literally made me giggle for half an hour ioudhwioeu. Okay, goodnight

[emeritusemeritus]

Heyy, do you think the Weasley twins would cheat on their s.os? Just curious what your take on that is:)

Hi anon! Please accept this essay about my thoughts on the matter, because apparently I have many 😂🖤

George would never.

Fred… maybe… but it would be a very specific situation like a prank gone wrong/ Polyjuice potion fail/ case of mistaken identity. Like he’d get carried away with talking about his inventions and wouldn’t notice the girl getting a bit too familiar until her lips are chasing his. He just thought she really liked what he was creating.

I think it all boils down to how you perceive them. I’ve read a few fics of ladiesman!Fred and though I could potentially see it in an AU, I never personally view him that way.

I tend to always write George as the shyer, more sensitive twin and i think that he is naturally a lot less confident than Fred, at least underneath. He uses humour as a deflective shield and falls into his role of prankster wholeheartedly because it hides his true nature that underneath the surface he’s a little bit insecure. He’s the second twin, always the other one, the other half of something bigger than him and quite often follows Fred blindly, having to explain and rationalise his slightly older brother’s ideas and words. SO, when George gets a girls attention, and it’s only him and not Fred, he’d be a bit of a mess and would probably plan what suit he’s going to wear to his wedding by the second date. I can’t see George ever cheating, it’s just not in his nature.

For some reason, I feel like George wouldn’t find love in his school years but would find someone absolutely perfect for him at the shop, like a meet-cute within their universe and the person would fit right into George’s life.

Fred however, he’s the more outgoing, more confident twin who seems completely unashamed and proud of who he is, both as a twin and in himself. I personally don’t write him as a fuckboy but he’d be quite a good fit if I did under certain contexts. I tend to write Fred as finding ‘the one’ young, probably in their school days and being certain right away that she’s the one. He’s a fiery guy, often quick to anger and doesn’t think of consequences of his actions so he’d need someone that balances him out, reminds him of what’s important and someone that he actually listens to when he needs to pull back a little.

Like he would get the attention of other girls but he’s completely blind to it because he only has eyes for his girl.

I always see him as being friends with the person before, a typical friends to lovers trope with a big event or a big realisation that it’s been her all along.

My own personal HC is that his love story would follow Arthur and Molly’s up to a certain point (being young, finding love, getting married early). I think it would be one of those ironic life twists that always seem to come full circle as he’s often quite anti-authority and against conformity, particularly when it comes to Molly’s expectations for him and George. So to see his life mirror his parents as hard as he’d tried to deny it would be ironically beautiful.

So I think with that in mind, I really couldn’t see cheating being an option. George likes having an easy life and if the relationship wasn’t right or he knew he couldn’t give it his all then he’d find a kind way of ending things, not cheating in any degree even if the relationship was rocky. If the relationship was happy, he wouldn’t even dream of it. The grass is never greener to George Weasley.

Fred wouldn’t dream of it because he knows he can’t do better than his long suffering girl. There’s too much history, too many inside jokes and his parents have practically adopted her into the family anyway so if he ever stepped a toe out of line, his mother would probably kill him. The length of his relationship is a mark of pride for Fred; being secretly sentimental he’d love to be able to say proudly how long he’d been with his girl to anyone that asks, knowing that even from a young age after so long together that you’d been together longer than you’d ever been apart in your entire lives.

The Weasley men just love their SOs okay?

Any one else have opinions on this?!

[randomthefox]

Why do so many Sonic fans hate the developers? Why do they think they are stupid? "Uuuh why is Chaos island here? It takes place in the future! Are they stupid!. Why are they trying to piss me off!?" Dude. These are Japanese people. The second country with the highest IQ in the world. Whatever the reason may be, it was was not done out of stupidity. At first, Sonic x Gen 'saved the franchise' but one week later it sucks because it didn't feature levels or elements that you SPECIFICALLY wanted to see? Wtf is wrong with you???

Oh but when Ian Flynn does something similar to this, it's not his fault. He's peak, and everyone that disagrees is stupid. Because SEGA ARE THE BAD GUYS

Wtf

"They're japanese people, they have a high IQ" is a bit much, but I understand where you're coming from and what you're trying to articulate. People have a bad habit of seeing something they don't like or agree with in a piece of art, and then jumping to the worst possible explanation they can think of for why it was included. Just being as bad faith as they possibly can, imposing malice or ignorance onto someone because of a personal subjective feeling they have to what was included in the artwork.

It's not unique to Sonic but since it's trendy to hate on the Sonic video games and Sonic Team and SEGA, it is amplified through that filter of culty mass hysteria.

I don't normally resort to doyalist explanations but in this case it really is the only one you can use - there weren't levels from Sonic Forces and Sonic Frontiers in the original Sonic Generations because those games hadn't been made yet. It's not like it makes any sense whatsoever to lump Sonic 2006, Sonic Unleashed, and Sonic Colors together as if they're a coherent era of Sonic. But that's a retroactive conclusion. Sonic Generations was made in 2011 (probably under a VERY short development time) and they worked with what they had. Shadow Generations was made in 2024 (also probably a short development time) and there were three whole new games worth to pull from in the time inbetween.

The idea of people being upset about its inclusion is so dumb and silly to me x3 For reference, this was my initial reaction to that level

When people ask why was Chaos Island included from Frontiers, they're asking the question wrong. They're asking "Why was a level from Frontiers included?" When the more interesting question is "why was THIS level from Frontiers included?" Why Chaos Island instead of any of the other Islands? There's probably multiple answers to that. I find it very conspicuous that they included the volcano erupting in the background during the level.

Meaning that during Shadow's level, Sonic was playing pinball. So the question of "why didn't Sonic see Shadow on Chaos Island?" is answered because we know where Sonic was during this part of Shadow's game. There's no lingering wonder about it. They didn't just throw Chaos Island into the game willy nilly, they spared the time to think about how they would make it make sense to say that Shadow was running around in that location during the events of Frontiers without causing a time paradox or contradicting what happened during that game. They didn't just throw an erupting volcano in as a set piece for no reason. They were not thoughtless in how they implemented this level.

The idea that Chaos Island being included took away a spot that could have gone to another level from Shadow 2005 or something like that is just silly. It reminds me of when people would get angry at Piranha Plant being added to Smash Bros. "THEY'RE TAKING AWAY A SLOT THAT COULD HAVE GONE TO DANTE!" That's not how it fucking works bro. This isn't the divine lottery. They're MAKING the game. Chaos Island being cut from Shadow Generations wouldn't mean that it would be replaced with a level from Shadow 2005 that you would want to be in the game. It would just mean the game woulda had one less level, lol.

But yeah I predicted people turning on Shadow Generations. I gave them too much time if anything, I predicted it would take at least a couple months. They didn't even make it one. Like I said and have said and will keep saying: these people HATE Sonic. The people who were saying "I've never been this excited for New Sonic stuff before! We are so back!" during the preview hype around Shadow Generations? They HATE Sonic. They are tourists. Scavengers who will pick daintily at the game and then leave it bleeding and gaping, unsatisfied.

And yeah naturally they are blatant hypocrites. More than half the reason they were initially so slavish about the game was because of Ian Flynn's name being in the credits. These people are absolute fucking cultists.

lunatics.

I have no doubt that the reason they're starting to sour on Shadow Generations is because Katie made a tweet which basically said "dude, this game isn't bloom fully formed from the singular mind of Ian Flynn alone" and then ABT had to latch on like a male anglerfish being absorbed into a disembodied pair of gonads saying that Ian Flynn didn't do nuffin and everything bad about the games writing is everyone elses fault and comparing Flynn to Jesus.

As soon as the memo started getting passed around that Shadow Generations isn't Ian Flynn's Sonic game after all, that's when the wave started to turn. It's very transparent.

They are a cult of haters pretending to be fans. Wolves in sheeps clothing. Naturally everything they say and do it insincere and psychotic.