#i left some stuff intentionally vague

[desertsportshipping]

"So, what do you want?" Leon asked, still holding his hand. "I can't just not get you something."

They were on the edge of the piers in Hulbury, watching the sun set over the waves. Leon had insisted on dragging them out to the port for a festival, but after a while, the crowds had gotten overwhelming for Espeon (and Wes, although he wouldn't admit it), so Leon brought them to the pier.

He didn't remember how the conversation wandered to holidays and traditions, but Leon was insisting that he was gonna get Wes a Christmas gift. Christmas was foreign to Wes: the only 'celebration' he had was a larger haul for Team Snagem from tourists on vacation.

Wes wasn't one for gifts. Usually if he got something, it was payment for a job, attempted bribery, or attempted assassination (sometimes multiple at once). He'd been slowly acclimated to Leon sharing food with him, but actual gifts was still weird to him.

"You don't have to get me anything," Wes grumbled, gently tugging on Leon's hand so they were pressed closer together. The breeze from the sea was cold and his boyfriend(?) was warm, sue him. "If you really want to get something, get something for the bastards. Spoiled brats."

At hearing their names, Espeon and Umbreon both hissed at him.

"But I want to get something for you too!" Dear Arceus, Leon had already planned gifts for his Pokemon.

"You really don't-"

"Wes." Leon cut him off, squeezing their hands from where they were twined together still. "I know there's something you want. Let me get it for you."

He looked away, out towards the open sea. It was frustrating how Leon could read him like an open book.

They haven't really talked about whatever their relationship was becoming. It had taken Wes a while to accept that Leon was a friend, and now they were doing a bunch of stuff that resembled a couple. Despite him pushing the man away, Leon insisted on sticking around him, and Wes had to realize that not only is Leon honest when he says that he cares about Wes, but that Wes feels the same way.

In the past, it's been the people who said they'd cared about Wes that had hurt him the worst. But maybe Leon's proven that he wouldn't hurt him. Maybe Wes can take a leap of faith for once.

One of the first real arguments he and Rui had was during their stay at Phenac City. Wes had failed in his attempt to break into the Phenac Museum, but Rui was still pissed. She insisted that he wasn't a criminal anymore, and if this book was so important to him, he should've gone through legal channels instead of breaking and entering. Wes tried to tell her that the only legal channel was buying it from the museum for an arm and a leg, and he can't do that because she dragged him to the Phenac Hospital and probably signed his soul over. It ended with Wes sleeping on his bike, and in the morning they never spoke of it again.

As much as Wes can say that his and Rui's relationship recovered after the incident at Realgam Tower, he was lying. It's why they never brought it up again, even after Cipher was mostly dealt with, and why it took so long for Wes to try and trust Leon.

"If you really want to try, there is something," Wes finally said, leaning closer to Leon as it got colder. "But there's some shit you've gotta know first."

Leon used his free hand to wrap part of his cape around Wes, arm resting over his shoulders. "Tell me."

Wes sighed. "Fine. Remember what I told you about the mine collapses?"

"Yeah." Leon furrowed his brow, tongue sticking out a little as he tried to recall. "A bunch of the underground mines collapsed, killing most people and the wild Pokemon, and it caved in a bunch of the Under Network."

Wes nodded, giving Leon's hand a reassuring squeeze. "There's a museum in Phenac City-" He wrinkled his nose at the mere mention of it, "And they've been working on excavating the collapsed towns. Displaying things they find for the rich assholes, like the stuff of dead poor people are some sort of exhibit for them."

Leon cut off the rant that Wes was beginning. "You want something from there?"

"Yeah. A scrapbook. It should be labeled something like 'Smithson Family Memories.'"

He could see Leon trying to figure out why. But instead of asking, he gently unclasped their hands, and Wes could see that he'd been unconsciously digging his nails into Leon's hand.

"I won't ask why, you can tell me when you're ready. Maybe when I get that book to you."

Not if, when.

Wes let a little bit of the warmth he was feeling out, giving Leon a small but genuine smile. He was rewarded with a beaming grin, brighter than the sun that had just finished setting behind them.

He let Leon pull them back to town, now that the sun was down and the night was cold. Despite the chill settling on his skin, he was still warm from the genuine promise that Leon had made him.

If this is what love really felt like, he could get used to it.

[dandelark]

OPEN.

“you should eat something.” he’s stern, but his voice is still gentle. they may be sitting down, (because he had gotten them a chair and asked), but he isn’t. he’s moving around cabinets, trying to decide on what to offer them. he defaults on a new loaf of bread. so he cuts a piece off, offering it out to them. when they take it, he can then finally sit. “are you alright?”

[snekdood]

so august 2018 is when my peak being-crazy-made art craziness happened, huh

[st-just]

ive seeeen you mention listening to history podcasts before, are there any that youd recommend? I have looked at whats out there but a lot of the popular ones I saw seemed to be rather dubious if you get me

So an assortment off the top of my head

Mike Duncan's stuff is both generally very good and also the inspiration of 90% of the history podcasts I listen to, so useful for cultural literacy if nothing else. (He podcasted his way into being a bona fide public intellectual for a moment there!) History of Rome is exactly what it sounds like, a narrative history from the mythical foundation of the city to the fall of the Western Empire (getting much more detailed and in depth as it gets into the imperial era). Revolutions is an anthology on what can be called the great revolutions of the modern western world, with series on the English, American, French, Haitian, Spanish American, German/Italian/French again (1848), French round three (Paris commune), Mexican and Russian (also includes a semester-length intellectual history of 19th C europepan leftism) revolutions. First two series are fine but it really gets good with the French Revolution and the Haiti series is some of the best pop history I've listened to or read. Also doubles as just a decent history of the long 19th century in Europe.

Tides of History is the only one of this list that feels like it has an actual production budget and more than one person working on it as part of their actual job. The host is the other guy whose podcasted himself into being a bit of a public intellectual (would rec his substack!) The downside of having a budget is most of the older stuff being locked behind a paywall, which is a shame because the early seasons are some of the best approachable history on the late medieval and early early modern period in Europe I've heard or seen. The current season is about the late bronze age world, and continues to be excellent.

History of Byzantium is explicitly an attempt to pick off where Duncan left off and follow the Eastern Roman empire from the fall of the west to 1452 (it's still in progress, now well into the 13th century). Also much like History of Rome, it starts off fairly general and vague but gets much more detailed as it goes. The general narrative history is intercut with semi-regular interviews with academic historians about the subject of their expertise for more in depth and probably rigorous discussion.

Speaking of Byzantium and Friends is hosted by one of the more prominent working byzantinists and consists of absolutely nothing but that. Much, much more academic - there's a level of assumed background knowledge to get much of anything out of the episodes, and and a level of academic inside baseball, but accurcy-wise this is the podcast I trust most out of all of them.

History of Japan is, again, what it sounds like. One of many podcasts begun by a grad student probably procrastinating working on his thesis that has lasted long enough for him to graduate, get married, and settle into a full time job. Vast majority of episodes are 20-30-minute mini-histories on, say, the biography of a particular political figure or part of a mini-series on the spread of Buddhism or something (plus a few much, much longer series on e.g. the Meiji Restoration). Currently in the middle of remaking/expanding a series that's a general high-level survey of Japanese history to celebrate hitting episode 500.

Criminal Records shares a host with it, but is (intentionally) less rigorous and much more bantery (having two hosts helps, them being married presumably good for the chemistry), also technically a true crime podcast - specifically about weird crimes and legal cases throughout history. My favorite episode is the one on the oldest surviving court case in the record from ancient Sumeria.

The History of the Crusades and it's sequel Reconquista continue the trend of admirably self-explaining names. They're nearly-entirely narrative and political histories, so if you're not interested in crowns, marriages and wars probably give them a pass, but very granular and detailed as they go. Crusades finished after the fall of Jerusalem and then a follow-up about the Albigensian Crusade, Reconquista currently still ongoing (in the 11th century at the moment, I believe).

Pax Brittancia is the one I just finished binging as depression-ameliorating background noise and what I've been posting about recently. Another begun by a grad student avoiding their thesis who has since become a doctor (who had previously completed a podcast on the history of witchcraft, which I have not listened to). It's ostensibly a history of the British Empire, beginning with the Stuart Dynasty (and personal union with Scotland) and moving forward with sufficent attention to detail that after five years and change it's objectively just a very in depth history of the Wars of Three Kingdoms (incl. causes and aftermath). Includes many, many interviews with established historians, including a whole series on Covenanter Scotland and whether its rise should be considered a Scottish Revolution. The narrative just reached Cromwell's inauguration as Lord Protector.

[ganondoodle]

you know, i had a totk thought (uh oh)

soemthign thats really bothering me about the whole "actually, ganondorf didnt like the guy appearing out of nowhere marrying a hylian and just saying yep das our kingdom now and we can mine it barren under your nose and also i got laserbeam pebbles that i totally wont ever use on anyone come join me or die just bc of all of that but mainly bc the guy brought some weird tech with him that he dont like" - thing is that ......... we see almost not a single tech thing in the past (and for that matter see nothing of the oh so perfect and peaceful paradise hyrule was before big evil desert man didnt want to join our paradise- like what is the point about making the whole point of the game be -we need to restore hyrule to this paradise it once was- when you dont even see it or get to care about anything of it)

it might sound like a weird hangup but no really, the most we see is like two servant constructs, thats it, when they 'prepare for war' im pretty sure all you see is some lightly dressed ( ... is it just me or does their whole get up look alot like native american/other indingenous people too ... i still dont know how to feel about that- kinda adjacent to some of the sonau armor, the battery one i think??, also having that look...) hylians with spears, where the heck is all that tech?? is it implied to be all down in the mines hollowing out the underground (for no real reason either bc .... theres only two sonau left and no one else seems to want use nor need the tech otherwise there should have been more traces or soemthing left of it -unless it all just magically appeared out of nowhere in mostly prime condition while all shiekah tech jsut vaporized for bs non reasons just for it to be in tha game but oh dont you see its always been there lmao- so whats the point really????)

or up in the sky as most battle constructs are and they cant get them down in time bc *gestures vaguely*

or is it intentionally kept out of view bc idk seeing an army of robots on raurus side he can send out on a whim might not make him look as oh so good and perfect as they want him to look when he already got laserbeam pebbles (most of which hes been hoarding until ONE falls into hands not under his control) ?? like it just ... feels weird?? so many battle constructs that can even be a threat to link are jsut fully functioning strolling around in the present still, why wouldnt you want to use any of them to battle gan and if they DID why wouldnt you show that (no the 3 second unicorn cutscene doesnt count bc its just .. gan and his monsters isnt it) ?? (also ... why isnt there a big like battle ground , like fine you dont have to animate an army of monsters and robots clashing but... wouldnt it be cool to have you discover a giant flat plain in the underground (that magically got put under ground like gan just decided to stroll down there to get sealed lol) and its the only mostly empty field in the game littered with thousands of monster bones and dead constructs intermingled?? just to give it all a bit of weight?? evidence that it happened?? cool ass discovery????)

(also also i cannot let go of ganondorf apparently being sooooo anti tech but then clamgan uses the shiekah stuff??? shouldnt he also be against that then or is that suddendly fine bc- oh woops sorry, forgot clamgan is actually just something, not connected to gan at all actually, i mean why else would miasma turn into malice only to turn into miasma again haha none of that is connected actually what is a calamity anyway? also im sorry to bring this up again but i just cannot let go of the ppl in the present being so obsessed with using sonau tech in every part of their life now- they just lived through an apocalypse of a barely understood strange tech but CLEARLY this other even less understood strang tech is not dangerous at all lets make CARS OUT OF IT and what theres no danger in miasma and that tech existing at the same time LIKE SOMETHING ELSE BEFORE THAT IDK SEEMS LIKE A BAD COMBO--- oh sorry forgot that ceased to exist in both the world and peoples minds for *gestures vaguely* plot reasons- why why why are monsters mining the sonanium?? they dont even work with the yiga no that is also completely disconnected we dont wanna draw and interesting connections after all- whats the point if it means nothing but to be a loot box for the player-- actually, so much of totk is just a so built around throwing you into a box of toys with no substance to it- listen i know games are kinda like toys but if it doesnt make sense and offers you nothing interesting to think about even slightly whAT IS THE POINT)

[phyrestartr]

HOUND | Miguel x M!Reader

Geneticist!Miguel x Guard!Reader Part 1 W/C: 2.5K | Part 1 of 2

Slight NSFW, zombie AU, apocalypse AU, mentions of exploitation and abuse, body horror, gore, immoral research and experiments, power imbalance, reader is a criminal, miguel is a scientist, dark themes, part 2 ends on a positive note, reader is morally grey, bottom!miguel, top!reader, sorry there's lore lol

Note: Wanted to post this bad boy in full, but the second half sorely needs some revising T-T It should be finished and up fairly soon, though! I hope this is ~intriguing~ for those who like darker stuff! Also I did a light edit on this part, but I really just want to get it out so lol sorry if things sound stupid/don't make sense asdjkf;l

--

There exists a cure.

That's what Alchemax declared. And it was the truth, just not the full truth. Not something the public would be happy with, anyway. 

The so-called "cure" was…unreliable, only recoding the RNA of select individuals for a reason that Alchemax's geneticists struggled to identify for the longest time. But after combing through the files of each expendable inmate and finding similarities, it became clear: those who'd been in the presence of nuclear energy, or high amounts of radiation, were suitable candidates for the vaccine. 

"Guess it's a good thing we didn't shut down those mines," Aaron had sneered at the board meeting. "Otherwise we wouldn't have the army of immune mutants running around for us." 

Miguel rolled his eyes. Sure, the idiot wasn't wrong, but he was taking it too far; plenty had died because of their experiments, and plenty more of the "immune" were sure to die with the unknown side effects of whatever the vaccine was bound to show in a matter of years (or in mere months, if they were unlucky). 

"It's a start," Miguel begrudgingly added. "But intentionally damaging civilian RNA with radiation, and then repairing it with S-2099, especially when we're not aware of any side effects yet? The UN won't have it. Can't imagine civilians would love it either." 

"Well, it's either get bit and die, stay afraid and die, or get painlessly exposed to a blast of radiation and then maybe die if 2099 doesn't fix them like we think," Liv offered with a shrug. "I, for one, would be honoured to die in the name of science." 

Miguel coolly looked over at her. "Thanks for volunteering." 

Liv's expression twisted. The energy in the room would've exploded if it hadn't been for Stone's interjection. 

"We will not be commencing civilian trials. Not until success rates increase with approved subjects provided by the state." The man spoke so steadily, so reasonably, like sacrificing the lives of orange jumpsuits meant nothing. 

They were dismissed soon after. Screens flickered out, holograms faded, and Miguel found himself alone with the other few scientists left at their Nueva York location. 

He stayed seated, vaguely aware of the others filtering out and murmuring amongst themselves, but his thoughts demanded his attention–he knew, even if the government didn't approve of essentially soft-nuking colonies of survivors, that Tyler Stone would find a way to do it, and would label it an accident. The man, his birth father, was ruthless, cold, calculated– 

"Sir?" A voice, your voice, cut through the silence. Miguel looked over his shoulder and found you still waiting, standing perfectly still by the door. 

"Sorry, I was just…" Miguel sighed and rubbed his face before standing. "Nevermind. Don't worry about it." 

Of course, you didn't say anything, instead nodding wordlessly and following your ward out of the room. Each step you took was punctuated by the shifting of your firearm against your thigh and the heavy thumps of your boots against the polished floors. Miguel used to hate your presence, think it unnecessary, but soon he grew to feel comfortable with you as his shadow. 

You, his powerful, mutant guard dog. 

"I can't fucking believe what this is turning into," Miguel muttered on the way to his quarters. "Too many unanswered questions, too many risks. And they don't care? We haven't even run further simulations yet–and we can run simulations with different alpha rays and different subject samples. It'd be harmless." The door hissed open and Miguel walked in, sorely wishing he could slam the door for once. Why did everything have to be automated? 

"In. Now," Miguel called when you stopped short of his residence. You obeyed, wandering inside before the door slid to a close behind you, and locked. 

You had reason to be nervous, Miguel knew that, too. Each key scientist in the building was assigned one of your kind, one of the immune mutants, and were free to do what they wanted with them. Sex, torture, chores–all of it was on the table. All of it had been asked of your kind. Done by your kind. Miguel figured that was why you kept a wall up. You hardly spoke, didn't request anything, never complained–all in an effort to keep the peace between you and your owner.

Miguel threw his white coat aside before stalking up to you. "Let me see," he mumbled as he held your jaw and tilted your head as he shone the light from his phone into your eye. 

Your pupils reacted at twice the speed of a normal human's, growing into the tiniest of pin pricks when the bright white flare assaulted your senses. Your eye twitched the slightest bit, but you remained still for Miguel. 

"Reactive. Not dead. That's good." He put his phone away, and examined the scarlet blotches contrasting against the natural hue of your iris. It was a relatively new side effect experienced by most of your batch, but you were amongst the more severe cases, if not the most severe case. Most of his peers didn't seem concerned by it, and Miguel could understand, seeing as it appeared to only be cosmetic, but the increased reactivity of your pupil accompanied with the bloody colour intrigued Miguel enough to keep tabs on it. 

"Any changes lately? To appetite, sleep, anything?" He asked as he let go of your jaw, nearly smiling as you tried to follow his touch for a moment longer like a sleepy cat. "Maybe neediness?" Miguel teased. 

You huffed lightly through your nose and looked around the main room of Miguel's living space. "Tired, I guess." 

Miguel's nerves smoothed with the sandpaper scratch of your voice. "Tired. Might be the anemia again. We'll draw blood tomorrow, see if you need supplements or another infusion." Miguel found himself mumbling now, going on about your health and your changes, wondering out loud what the best course of action would be to help you adjust to whatever was happening to your body, but you didn't say anything. You never did unless provoked. 

Miguel decided to provoke. He needed to speak, to be spoken to, to hear someone else’s voice right now. "What do you think about all this?" He called from the bathroom after washing up for the night. He poked his head out a moment later when you didn’t comment. 

“I know you were listening,” he prodded again over the toothbrush jammed into the side of his mouth. “The other ones don’t, but you do. I can tell by that look you get.” he waited for you to respond while he brushed his teeth, but you didn’t. You hadn’t moved from your post by his front door, actually, stood against the wall, arms crossed and staring forward like you were listening to everything beyond the door. Miguel wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen you sit down. He didn’t know if you’d ever laid down before. 

After he finished washing up for the night, he decided to try again. 

“You really gonna keep me in the dark?” Miguel asked as he walked up to you, arms crossed as well. He couldn’t help but feel smaller and smaller the longer he waited in silence, waited to hear your gravelled voice. He couldn’t grasp why he was so desperate for a friend suddenly, but he was. He really was, and he wasn’t finding it in you. 

“Forget it. Doesn’t matter anyway,” Miguel mumbled, turning away from you and rubbing his face tiredly. 

“Don't have much of an opinion.”

“What?” Miguel turned back around, brows raised as he waited for you to continue. Your gaze peeled from the ceiling and fell to him, like you were waiting for a reprimand of sorts, but Miguel wouldn’t, not when he tried so hard to get a peep out of you.

You shrugged and looked elsewhere. “Don't care what happens to civilians. Not my problem.” 

“It's the world's problem,” Miguel suggested. He didn't want to start an argument, but he didn't want you to feel so blasé about the fate of everything. “The more civilians that get infected, the more the world loses.” 

“Thought that was a good thing. Last I heard, the world was pretty overpopulated.” You said it so easily. Miguel would have shrugged it off if he didn't know about the blood on your hands, the crimes you'd committed, the evidence that you really, truly, did not give a shit about humanity. 

Miguel scoffed, a bitter, bewildered sort of thing. “Y'know, I used to pity you for this,” he started, gesturing to the soldiered-out state of yourself, “but you might be less human than those things out there.” 

“Probably.” 

“You don't even care,” Miguel laughed again. “Did you care when you killed that family?” 

“An eye for an eye,” you replied. 

“Right, right. Then what about your daughter? Did you care when–” the world spun before his back cracked against the wall. He grabbed your wrist and squeezed when your hands fisted in his shirt, ready to trigger your kill switch with one click of a button on his ring, but he didn't need to; you simply held him there, boring holes into his skull with your diamond-tipped stare. 

“You jokers don't know when to quit,” you said. “Always have to drag a kid into the equation, ‘n then act so fucking shocked when you end up dead ‘cause of it.” A sigh slipped past your lips as you leaned in. Miguel wanted to meet you halfway. “Fuckers like you make murderers out of men like me.”

Oh. The violence rippling through your crackling voice went straight down, into the pit below Miguel's stomach and coiled into something frightfully decadent. He wanted your hands around his neck. He wanted you to mutter more threats into his ear. He wanted–

He wanted you. 

“Let me touch you,” Miguel blurted. “Your skin.” You gave a reaction then, eyes blinking away shock and throat clearing with a strangled grunt, but you didn’t say no. You didn’t reject him. In fact, you looked him up and down in question, curiosity peeking through piercing eyes. 

“You're a deranged fuck, aren't you? Getting all hot ‘n bothered from a threat.” You reached for the straps of your kevlar vest, then, and Miguel’s nerves jolted with the sound of the buckles clicking loose. 

He scrambled to you and held your hands. He wanted to do it himself, to unwrap your bindings and see what laid beneath. Your hands fell, and Miguel took over. 

The warmth bleeding from your clothes intoxicated him. He fumbled with your gear, eager to get to the base of your tight, black shirt and rip it off, but you didn’t try to take over for him–you watched, patient like a dog, letting your master doff your armour at his leisure (or, rather, his frantic, desperate pace). Miguel appreciated it. He wondered if you knew he'd snap if you tried to interfere. 

Soon, your chest was bare. Exposed for him, dotted with memories of cruel bites, bullets, knives and surgical scars all over taught, humming skin. Man shouldn’t be allowed to touch you, Miguel thought. The imperfections were so gloriously human. You were so perfectly alive, standing here with him, breathing, emanating heat, allowing him to do what he pleased–he was the luckiest man on Earth. 

Miguel couldn’t look you in the eyes as his broad palm pressed against your chest, right over the rhythm of your soul. His pants strained and tightened more as his touch wandered through the valleys of firm muscle; what did the rest of you look like? What did you look like when you fought, or when you fucked? 

His hand slipped down to the tight adonis belt cinching your waist, and then lower, following the trail of fine hair disappearing beneath the waistband peeking above your cargos. The bunching and folding of thick material melted Miguel's mind in a vat of suggestion and insatiability–were you really that big, or was that fabric just making it an illusion? 

He didn't need to wait to find out, though, not when you guided his hand down over the very real curve of your goods packed away. And, yes, you were big. Miguel's eyes snapped up to yours. A smug look greeted him.

“Looked like you needed some encouragement.”

Miguel might have laughed if his heart weren't suffocating him, climbing up his throat. Your clothed cock under his hand was ruining his cognitive functions too, to be fair. 

His fingers, long, clumsy things, hurried at your buttons and the zipper keeping everything in check. Miguel's ears filled with the rhythmic drumming of desire when he finally got the damn thing undone, but you grabbed his wrist. You stopped him. 

Miguel scoffed out a held breath and tried to wrench free, but your grip held firm. “You can't back out after–” But when he looked at you, he froze still; your expression electrified the senses, the slightest narrowing and shifting of uneasy eyes freezing Miguel colder and colder by the second. 

“Bathroom. Now.” You popped just one of those buttons back into place before turning to the door. 

“Wh–” But you shoved him, hard, and sent him stumbling into the sterile white space as explosive carnage rippled through the room in his wake. The thing collided into you seconds after you'd gotten your charge out of the blast zone. 

It was big. A mass of human features and flesh and maybe something else weighing on a hulking frame. You barked a name, maybe the name of one of your fellow watch dogs, but it didn't change the thing's trajectory as it tore towards Miguel on all fours like a hound out of hell.

But you were quicker. You grabbed it by the nape and ripped it off its warpath with too much effort, just narrowly avoiding it barreling into the attached room by seconds. Its momentum, forced toward the wall, threw it into a dizzied tantrum; limbs flailed, mouths gnashed, and a symphony of mismatched voices wailed from their putrid prison. 

Miguel's body locked. What ifs plagued him, suddenly. If it got him. If it bit him. If you hadn't been there. What if–

“Close the damn door,” you demanded, and your voice sounded a bit shaky, too. Miguel looked at your broad back as you stood bravely in the way of the beast and its target. “Doctor–” 

“I–but you–?” Miguel stumbled and choked on his words and his reasoning. He didn't want you to fight. He didn't want to die. He didn't want you to die. Miguel hit the button to make it closed, but the door stalled halfway.

“Fuck it.” Barbs burst from your fingertips and dug into the door, forcing it to bend to your will and close. Miguel didn't like how you disappeared inch by inch. He didn't like seeing that thing behind you get up. He didn't like that look you gave him just before the door snapped shut. 

The next few minutes passed like years.

[writingwithfolklore]

When to Reject Feedback

              Last post I talked about taking suggestions from editors, so today I'm talking about when not to take their (or other readers') suggestions. While your readers may have a lot of experience and wisdom, ultimately you know your story best and you know what you want it to be.

This is also the first step, know your work, know exactly what you want it to be before you reach out for feedback. This way, you know what suggestions are helpful, and which are leading your story to a place you don't like.

                I’ll start with a story. I wrote a short creative non-fiction in one of my creative writing classes about grappling with my family dynamic before and after my Grandma (and our matriarch) was hospitalized. I intentionally left parts of it vague—how was I supposed to distill all my thoughts and feelings and the history of my family in a simple enough way for others outside of my family to understand, when I was in my family and hardly understood it? I thought the vagueness gave room for a conflict of love and rejection. Alienation and belonging. I didn’t want to force the reader to feel anything concrete or specific about my grandma, I hardly knew how I felt about her.

                I took this piece to my prof, and she advised me that it would benefit from more specific details. Some things she suggested adding were histories I wasn’t privy to—either I hadn’t been born yet, or I hinted to knowing but only really from context; I wasn’t in the room.

                I took her advice and rewrote it with these more specific details. I had to make up some stuff, which I didn’t really like, but she loved it.

                Next semester, I took the same (edited) piece to a different creative writing prof in a different class. She read it, told me she liked it, but that it could benefit from a bit more room for interpretation—from some vagueness.

                I laughed and told her that I agreed, and pulled up my original draft. She was in far favour of the original.

                TL;DR, this is all to say that I don’t believe in taking all advice as gospel. Some people will absolutely love the way you’ve written it, others will think it needs changing. These two profs were both incredibly experienced, published authors who had won awards, gone through masters degrees, etc. etc. They were both very credible people to go to for advice.

                But they had slightly different sensibilities when it came to writing, and while I didn’t agree with everything my second prof said, I did err more towards her way of writing than the first. Emphasis on the ‘not agreeing on everything’, that little part of me that disagreed is my unique writing sensibility.

                So seriously, reach out to people for feedback and advice, but that by no stretch means you have to take all of it. If there’s a part of your writing that you really love, that you did intentionally, and that you feel is integral to your work you’re allowed to keep it. There will be readers who like it as it is.

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave you (Pt.53)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: A snippet of the future- a flash forward- in which you and jimin reach an agreement.

Tags: Pleasure dom Jimin, pillow princess m/c, oral (f. receiving), fingering, pussy spanking, excessive squirting, knotting, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia, Breeding kink, Jimin gets a little mean once he tastes her slick, slick-drunk minnie, talks of safe words but no safeword usage, talks of gender and sex, murder, talking ill of the dead, assassin! jimin, implied autistic! jimin, Flash Forwards, intentionally vague moments, brief mention of mommy/daddy kink, brief talks of clothing control

W/c: 10.0k

A/N: please be patient with me regarding the rut chapter ie the chapter after this one! i’m visiting my brother next week in LA so!!! please recommend me some stuff to do in la! i’m hoping it’s going to be a restful trip but ngl…it’s not looking great…. i don’t like planning things that other people are going to potentially not enjoy 😠 i’m meant to be a passenger princess threw and threw

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

(Flash Forward, 6 days after Namjoon’s rut, Jimin)

Jimin lays out the plastic sheeting with a ripple. Making sure it covers most of the corners and the baseboards of the back room of the house. Taking more effort than usual not to be messy.

It would look normal to anyone else as you watch him work from the hallway. But you have a lurch in your stomach as Jimin fucks with the plastic, making sure it lies flat. 

Jimin setting out plastic sheeting would look totally normal to you if you didn’t have an inkling of all the other times he’s probably done it. How many times has he watched blood and viscera soak plastic? How many times has he melted it after at high heat to destroy DNA evidence?

You watch him work, feeling like you’re witnessing something you shouldn’t.

But today, if you happen to have an accident and drip paint onto the floor, Yoongi will refinish them anyways. You’re just glad you’re not painting the sunroom red. 

That's the plan for the day. Primer, paint rollers, the whole shebang. They litter the 10 x 10 room like fallen soldiers. At this point, you've helped Yoongi paint just about every room in the house. This will be the last one for a little while. 

The sunroom at the end of the hall is the last unfinished room in the house. Mostly unused due to its decrepit aura until now. The space is sunlit in the afternoon light, no longer dampened by the old dirty windows. 

Today is the first day since Namjoon’s rut that everyone’s been out of the house. It’s just you and Jimin here. The quiet feels overfull, like something is lingering overhead, a storm or a fever yet to break. 

Jimin straightens when he sees you through the mottled windows- not quite frosted but ripply, like looking through water. Yoongi put the doors back on finally yesterday after the workmen left. Hobi and Jin helped him hold the doors in place while he put them back on their hinges and you and Tae and Jungkook cooked while Jimin and namjoon opened all the windows to rid the house of the smell of strangers.

He was mindful of the strangers, as had the rest of the pack been yesterday with no less than 5 of them here. Tae’s hand had been practically glued to your lower back, herding you towards a secluded corner in the library room for some cuddling and a nap. Yoongi had been worried about them possibly breaking his labour of love. 

They’re similar to the door he put in for Tae’s library only this one is varying textures of mottled glass, most opaque, but some clear with white ribbons or rainbow films like bubbles. 

Yesterday was a little bit hard for Namjoon especially with his post-rut pheromones already elevated. But the windows are finally done, and no more strangers need to set foot in your house for the foreseeable future, and that’s something. 

It’s been a race against time. As the temperature begins to plummet the windows have finally been tended to, the drafty space transformed into a sunlit puddle that captures the afternoon light like a suncatcher. Hopefully, it will help the pack wait out the winter months and fend off any seasonal depression which more than a few packmates are prone to. 

Yoongi doesn't like to name names but Tae and Hobi are vulnerable that way. Like stout magnolia trees and pink echinacea their happiness is prone to bouts of dormancy.

You wandered in here with Yoongi and Jin last night after dinner to talk colors. A glass in each of your hands full of Sweet pink wine, the kind that Tae likes. She would have joined you, had the pack alpha not pulled her and hobi and a dejectedly shy Jimin into some alpha bonding time upstairs.  

“We can’t paint every room in this house varying shades of pink hyung, even if it’s for Tae.” The word sounds especially sweet on Yoongi’s tongue; Jin is the only one Yoongi can ever call ‘hyung’. A special sort of pet name between the two of them. 

The pack omega had curled especially close to your mate with you happily sandwiched between them. Your fingers hooked into Yoongi's pocket and Jin's sleeve. He'd pressed his pink button mouth to Yoongi’s easily, the way he’d kissed the beta a thousand times. And replied stubbornly “Why can’t we?” 

Yoongi always aquiecess, even if he is a little stressed, “Remember Jungkook’s already chosen lilac for the outside. you’ll hate it if it clashes”

"I want to paint stars on the ceiling with glow in the dark paint and maybe the outside too!"

Jin had saved another special kiss for you, just as soft as the one he gave your mate. "Of course you do sweetheart." Yoongi had only sighed, and pulled out his phone to look it up.

They’d settled on a shade of salmon pink this morning when they went to home depot (and coffee, because any outing with the pack omega is sort of a date). the color is so light it looks almost white in the morning and honey in the afternoon. Not quite as dove slipper pink as the upstairs closet, or as muted terracotta as the pack’s bedroom. 

There are several different colors of pink and red sitting by the doorway, mini bottles that the pack used for swatches. Not just pink but yellow too (the color you thought you wanted to paint your bathroom once upon a time) and dark teal blue (the color Yoongi had chosen for your bedroom).

Of course, no painting can happen until the ceiling is fixed. (Yoongi started peeling back the paint, intent to fix it before you started, only to find that the whole corner was rotted out. If Yoongi gets back from Home Depot with a drywall patch by a reasonable hour, you might be able to start tomorrow. until then, you and Jimin will prime the living daylights out of the trim. 

Jimin spots you and flushes- a light pink on his cheeks a shade redder than  the color in the paint buckets. “Hey,” he says, soft, pausing. Sheepish at being discovered.

 “That’s not-“ you gesture to the plastic sheeting, leaning up against the doorframe. “For me, is it?”

“Yes,” Jimin says. Then he bobs, urgent when he realizes what you mean, what just the two of you in the house means. His grip on the screwdriver goes slack. “No! not in that-“ but then he sees your grin and realizes that you’re just teasing him.

His plush lips pout. Round and glossy like he kissed Tae earlier and hadn't remembered to wipe away traces of her lip gloss. Seeing that is enough for you to get a bit of pep in your step. “That really isn’t something we should even tease about-“ You drum your fingers on the doorframe smiling nonetheless.

He opens his arms, and you fold yourself closer to him, stepping over the layer of plastic and drop cloth, and- is that canvas? It’s pleasantly rough beneath your bare feet. His hands smooth up your tank top to your upper back. Your tank top hides very little of you- but Jimin supposes that’s half the draw. The thin straps don't give you too much support. He tries not to get distracted by the faint squish as you press your whole body up against his chest.

Before, he might not have really mused on the slight differences between hugging you and the others but now Jimin’s gotten used to calculating the differences in gender the last few weeks, more important now because it affects Tae. You nuzzle into his chest and then pull back, Jimin’s eyes are puffy, his scent is normal and his hair is washed but- 

“You look...“ Jimin scrubs a hand across his cheekbones, trying to banish the slight haunted look in his eyes. Not like there's something weighing on him but weighing on his soul. 

“I know I look like shit.”

“It’s okay, I like my alphas a little bit ruffled.” You tease, but your eyes flash from his face to his chest and back again. “Is it about Tae?” Jimin looks away rubbing his cheek. And you know that’s a yes without having him confirm it. Jimin's anguish and happiness can always be boiled down to her.

Especially given what happened during Namjoon's Rut. 

“I wanted to ask you for something. A favor.”

You wait. Through the window you watch the trees bob in the wind, the train chugs passed, its lights as limey yellow as the ginkgo trees that lay interspersed with the pine trees on the edge of your property. Not quite as orange opulence as the tall maple tree that plunges your backyard in shadow. You watch as some of the oak leaves are tossed onto your narrow back lawn, a space that any of you rarely venture to because it’s steep and because it tends to be a little mossy and muddy. 

Jimin tugs you to the floor, helping you sit cross-legged without teetering. The layers of plastic and cloth on the floor make it a little slippery and a bit squishy. It's a little bit more comfortable than it might be ordinarily.

Jimin hesitates and his scent goes sour, not exactly angry or overstimulated sour (the kind of scent you’re more used to when it comes from him) but more scared sour. Sharp and grating to your senses the kind of angry alpha scent that once upon a time would have had you ducking for cover. 

You shuffle closer to him smoothing your hand over his knee. "Minnie, what's got you so spooked, why are you so nervous? You know you can tell me anything. Literally."

Your attempt at being funny does little to soothe him. Jimin talks quickly when he's nervous. A habit he definitely picked up from Tae.

“Like with you and Namjoon- like with his rut. I don’t want our first time to be in the heat of the moment. I don’t want to do this without thinking because I feel like- when I do that I fuck up, and I might fuck it up with you. If there are two things I’m most scared of it's fucking it up with you and Tae.”

But it's more than that. Jimin knows that since Namjoon's rut, Tae has pulled you into her favorite secluded corners of the house more often than not. That you've chased those hidden moments of pleasure with love confessions. 

Is he surprised that you've begun to fuck like rabbits now? A little. Not because he's been excluded from it (Not excluded intentionally, it's just that you spend most of your moments together late at night or in the afternoon before he comes home, and he comes back to the house to find you both smelling sweet and sated.)

You haven't stolen his soulmate from him. It's more like you've uncovered a layer to her that Jimin hadn't even known existed. A flower that he just thought was a bud, a dandelion turned puffy-wish. Only more spectacular than that, because if Jimin could choose one flower to represent Tae it would take fields and fields of them, and probably Hobi's help to make the levels of pretty match properly.

Is it Tae's hormones? Tae has never been the most sexual creature, at least not compared to other packmates. Jimin practically wanted to live inside her skin. To consume his lovers again and again until their pleasure became a part of him.

It's not that Jimin's love language is sex (at least not the way Kookie might consider it his) It's just that there's something about the way he loves that's all-consuming. Perfectionistic almost. Jimin will love them well, and learn how to fuck them well- because he simply won't compromise for anything less.

Tae would say that there's something about the way that he loves that's all poetry. Not at all Plath or Service but maybe Wilde if Tae is feeling particularly sentimental for the person she’s doing her best to leave behind. In Tae's words- and she's written books and books of poems about Jimin at this point- Jimin's love is all: 

Let me press my lips to your skin and make every inch known, my lips the pen and your moans the ink, let me show you how good 'good' can feel. Let me do it again and again until bliss feels boring. Let me claim your pleasure as proof of how much I am yours and you are mine. Let me make you hope for nights quiet. For afternoons spent in sheets. Let me make you scorn the morning.

But then again, you're the only one who's read Tae's poetry; so really Jimin has no idea. 

Tae has always been the least sexually active of all the packmates, even compared to Yoongi. Jimin knows it’s a bit prejudiced; to think of Betas as being less sexually active especially when he knows the kind of kinky shit Yoongi liked to get up to before you. But there was a time when Tae's sexual activity outside of rut was few and far between. Jimin knows because he and Jin tracked it one year.

Which is why your cries of "Mommy! Mommy please" That Jimin has overheard on more than one occasion over the past two or three weeks- even before Namjoon's rut- coming from the library room- is so strange.

He'd noted the subtle sound of a chair creaking back and forth and a wet slap every now and then and had not had the strength to peer through the more translucent sections of the glass door. But the encounter had left him with his cheeks hot and his pants uncomfortably tight. A hot shower and the warmth of his own fist had left him feeling only guilty, not satisfied. It was the first time that Jimin had ever felt... unwelcome in the pack's escapades.

Maybe he's a little hurt too- because you hadn't come to him and asked to call him Daddy too. That special pet Name remains reserved for the pack omega. 

The packs dynamic is also something that tae’s been mostly left out of, in the hierarchy somewhere in the middle in only the barest of terms. because tae has never been interested in the dominant and submissive shit the rest of the pack gets up to. 

And yet Jimin doubts this is something you forced on her, doubts that anything about your relationship isn't organic and natural. Which leaves only one possible conclusion; 

Jimin simply cannot fuck Tae the way you can. There is something more, that you do better when it comes to loving her that Jimin lacks.

It's stupid to feel insecure, Jimin has loved Tae for almost his whole life. But jealousy is only a secondary emotion when it comes to you and tae- the primary one Is relief. (and also guilt, but Jimin feels sort of guilty about everything so that’s barely a blip in his radar).

You can’t be scared of change forever. He can’t be scared of change when it’s staring him right in the face when you’re sitting pretty and cute and representative of everything Jimin wants not only for Tae but for himself too.  Of course, just because you know how to give Tae what she needs doesn't mean Jimin should be complacent.

Jimin puts down the screwdriver, and the last bit of paint cracked open.  “After this last week, It’s clear to me that I don’t know how to love women right.” You read into his words. And suddenly standing there feels a lot less normal, your back straightens, mouth falling into a little ‘oh’. There is a stain on the edge of your checkered gingham shorts, the kind you like to wear when you sleep. Suddenly it feels like it matters that you're not put together.

It's okay, Jimin's going to take you apart today anyways.

Jimin's eyes are intense and focused when he stares you down. “I want you to teach me- I want you to teach me how to make love to Tae properly- the way you do.”

Your breath comes in one stuttering gasp and-

Jimin promptly takes one of the tubes of paint, a light blue- the same light blue that you ended up painting the upstairs bathroom, and squishes it out onto the canvas below you. Near your hand but not on it.  

The breath you were holding rushes out in a single jagged laugh, “Okay, now I’m lost- I thought the whole point of the plastic and drop cloths was not to get paint on them.” 

The look he shoots you asks you to suspend your disbelief and tugs you closer by your knee, "Sit closer so that I can spread more around you." He starts dishing out the other colors. Enough careful drops of paint that it would take a lot of concentration to get out of the room without tracking dark blue or pink or yellow or red halfway across the house. 

You wonder what exactly Jimin plans to do to you. Paint included. He puts out a spurt of yellow paint on your side and then another. 

Surely sooner rather than later, noodle is going to wander in here in search of a pool of sunlight, track his paws or tail through the paint and leave pawprints everywhere throughout the house. Yoongi will probably complain about them, but you might make him keep them instead of washing them away.

When he’s finished, Jimin turns a yellow tube over in his hands. Back and forth, the cap flashing like a rising and setting small yellow sun. Jimin’s voice is low when he speaks, near reverent. “You’re the first woman I was ever with- that I ever knew I was with.” 

It’s an admission and an admonishment, one that you and the rest of your pack have been tiptoeing around. Even though Tae’s a woman now she hadn’t always been. While new lines in the sand are drawn that doesn’t mean the old lines totally fade away. It will take a few more cycles of low and high tide to completely grow used to this.

Jimin fiddles with a small red tube of paint. “I’m a rigid person, I know I am. I don’t like change most of the time and I know, I know things shouldn’t be so planned, I know that’s not the way things usually go but-” You nuzzle close to Jimin, and his words extinguish into a sigh. His hands cradle your sides, the same place he always likes to hold, between your shoulder blade and your ribcage.

You peck under his jaw, “But you need them to be this way sometimes. Planned? So you can make sure everything’s done right?” You press. Mirth playing at the end of your sentence. Jimin is terribly fun to tease. 

He bristles, “If you’re expecting me not to make loving you guys perfect when I can make it that way then-”

“You’re such a control freak Minnie.” You say it with a smile, playing your fingers through some of the milky pink white, feeling the tackiness between your fingers.

“You don’t hate it?”

You shrug. “Jin’s that way too sometimes. So no, I guess I don’t hate it. Maybe it’s just because I like- really fucking hate making decisions- so.”

He grimaces, but Jimin’s eyes dart from your face down to your crossed legs. settling on something. “Do you care if those clothes get dirty?”

“A little- I like these shorts.”

“Then you should take them off.” 

Your heart thuds as Jimin leans over you, tugging on the strap of your Tank Top with his teeth, lips pressed to the bare skin of your shoulder, dragging them down. He plays at being sexy but decides not to be, settling for leaning his cheek on your shoulder and watching you. 

“I had this stupid idea, if you don’t want to do it just say so. But this is every shade of pink that we ever painted the house. Tae’s favorite color is pink- and the canvas- I thought it might be nice to have like- some art in her library room- that’s what I meant about making it planned.”

“Are you saying you want to make sex art for Tae or something?” Jimin blushes yet again. You should be keeping track of how many times he has and use them for leverage. 

"Her favorite color is pink." He says, like that justifies it. “And you know gift giving is like, my second love language if that bullshit is to be believed and-”

“-Oh my god you actually do want to make sex art!” your playful shove at his shoulders almost sends you spilling into a splotch of blue. But Jimin is as immovable as ever.

He leans over, growling, nipping at your throat- an alpha tired of being teased. “Do you really think it’s so strange that I want to remember this later, or do you just think it’s odd that I want to treasure you specifically?”

You lean, you’re awfully close to a splotch of yellow that he poured out. You don’t have a good answer for him, or at least- one that will make him stop looking a little sad. 

He shouldn't be so surprised that you kiss him to avoid answering. And yet his hands hit a splotch of blue to support himself when he's suddenly made dizzy. Your laugh tastes sweet pressed to his mouth, and the quirk of your lips says ‘That’s what you get,’

You guess the floors need to be replaced anyway, and he's a trained professional when it comes to clean up so it’s not like it will matter if you and Jimin get a little messy here. If Jimin really wants to learn (and you have no doubt that he does) you’ll gladly teach him. 

Unhurried kisses become your hands pushing his flannel off his shoulders. Laughing when you look down and realize you've definitely left pink all along the collar. Jimin has the perfect lips for kissing, soft and strong in all the right ways, his hands go to your hips then up to your waist and back again, and his kiss goes sloppy- like he’s distracted by the feel of you.

He separates briefly, to very carefully and neatly, take off your shorts and place them near the edge of the room where there is less of a risk of them getting ruined. Leaving you in just your little panties, you wonder if Jimin knows this is one of a set- that Tae has the other ones and is wearing them today.

(You might have decided to match today, getting ready in your bedroom. She might have liked picking out your clothes a little bit too much, heart fluttering at the idea that you’d be wearing what mommy wanted you to wear all day).

But then he surges forward, pressing a kiss to your lips gently except for the way that you can feel him get jumpy and nervous, and when he pulls back, he’s uncharacteristically shy. “I-“ Jimin is blushing, his cheeks rosy pink, like the buckets of paint have jumped up and left splotches there. “I wanted to come find you once I was done setting up- to kiss you and then-“ he tucks his face down not meeting your eyes.

 “You love Tae so well,” Jimin sounds sick with it. A confession maybe, that you love her better than he ever could. How is it that you’ve mastered it? Jimin’s world begins and ends with Tae, and Tae’s world is all you colored these days. And yet, you love her better- love her more. 

He leans forward holding your hip, hand hovering on that space between love handle and stomach. It's the first time in the night that you push back, covering his hand with yours and sitting back. “I don’t know how that feels on men but on me, that’s kind of ticklish and kind of anxiety-inducing so-” 

“Sorry,” Jimin takes his hands off of you, flexing them, “Wait how should I do it then-” you make him sit back, straddling him, narrowly avoiding putting your palm in a puddle of pink paint. 

You slide your hands up his waist to cup his ribcage, and you feel the frantic thudding of his heart under your fingers. “Like this, if you had tits, I’d be just barely touching them, right? Boobs on their own are not like- the most sensitive things to be honest, but if you don’t touch them strong at first and kind of tease around them- it makes it feels better.” 

You sit back again, letting Jimin touch his fill, letting his hands rough in all the right places. His fingers skimming up your ribcage, cupping underneath them with a blush on his cheeks, pulling back carefully to watch your expression and make sure he's doing it right. “Yeah- like that” you ignore the way that your breath goes heavy but Jimin’s smile goes a little feline. Like he knows how affected you are but won’t call you out on it. 

“Did you know- until you I thought I was like- truly only into men?” you shrug, as Jimin slips off your tank top reverently. The dusky rose of your nipple is so similar in color to one of the pinks he just placed, or is it closer to the rose brown purple that comes when you mix the swatch from the upstairs with the pack's bedroom? Jimin couldn’t tear his eyes away from you if he tried. There’s a fleck of it on the shorter baby hairs near your face too.

You tap your fingers across Jimin's shoulders, narrower and comparatively more feminine than Tae's. You don't like thinking of any part of her as particularly masculine, but her shoulders have always been particularly dysphoria-inducing for her.

It's sad to think that maybe if she looked a little bit more like Jimin and had his proportions some parts of her transition might be easier on her. You can only tell her she's got the proportions of a victoria's Secret model so many times before it starts to feel a little disingenuous. 

“It always seemed a little bit nebulous to me- women, men- gender- secondary and otherwise." You shrug, and maybe that's not what Jimin expects from you. Especially with Tae- that you'd have more keen answers for the differences. Not that there were none between the secondary and primary sexes. 

His fingers slide down your hip, petting over your hip bone. his touches exploratory, uninhibited as you talk. Waiting for you to check him. He leaves his fingerprints- yellow blue and pink, over the cusp of your hip, and you can tell you're smearing some color beneath you as you shift to let him have his way with you.

Your breath gets heavy as Jimin's touches get bolder and bolder. Petting up and down your thigh as he kisses softly down your chest, hair tickling your skin. He gestures to your boobs, “No biting?”

“Yes but also no. It depends.”

Jimin sighs, pulling himself closer to you, face level with your chest, nudging your nipple with his nose. “That’s frustrating, I’m used to penis rules. No teeth. not ever.”

You bark a laugh, and Jimin touches your chest softly, your nipples pebbled against his palms, a little heavy as he feels their weight. “They’re so-“

“Squishy? Soft?”

“I was going to say weird, why do you have pillows attached to your chest?” you slap his shoulder in retaliation but Jimin’s smiling. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay” You mean it too- you don’t expect Jimin to adjust instantaneously. Maybe it’s too honest for you to confess it, but you understand how love and sexual attraction can be two different things. Jimin might love you because you’re you and might want to show that love in the way he knows how but that doesn’t mean your body won’t at first be very new and very odd to him. Sometimes it takes a second to properly enjoy the people you love.

Tae is the way you find yourselves back to each other. “Did you ever love a woman besides Tae? Before her?” A flash of red lips and a short black bob of hair runs through your mind, but you shove it down and away because no- desperation isn’t the same thing as love. 

Jimin continues to touch your chest, his hands moving from cupping them to teasing at the nipple gently, probably the way he’s done to Jungkook before. You can’t say it doesn’t make your tummy start to tighten, the way he does it- unsure but eager.

“Yes and no, I think I had like- crushes maybe? In high school? But never like Tae.”

"Maybe that’s only because I started to love your soulmate after I knew. I never had to change the way I loved her like you did. You've loved her for a long ass time Jimin." Jimin flushes with that- the acknowledgment of it never feels any less lucky. Tae could have been loved by anyone- yet she chose Jimin. Tae has always felt like Jimin's own personal slice of heaven, the only piece he might ever touch.

Jimin looks at you and sees a second sliver, a second chance at salvation. “I've only ever loved her as Tae- not-” You don't say Tae's deadname. To utter it here among all this pink feels sinful when it's done in the name of loving her.

Jimin touches you so reverently, fingers skimming up and down your slit, finger pads pressing against your clit, gentle but explorative. 

He watches you, watching your lips part in a soft gasp. The wet glimmer of slick builds, wetting the tips of his fingers. You're so soft and silky down there. knuckles pressed to your mouth to try and keep the sounds in, eyes fluttering shut. Very very pretty in the sunlit room where Jimin can see all of you, the soft fold of your stomach, the freckle on your hip, the one just under your chin.

If freckles hold all of the places that you were kissed in a past life, Jimin thinks you’re going to be covered in them for the next.

You're breathing heavy, but you still find the air to instruct him, “You're doing well- ah- soft touches like that make me feel- Tae likes to feel pretty.  I don’t know if it’s like that with all women but-“ You grab his wrist but don’t tug it away, so Jimin keeps drawing endless circles on you, “B-but it’s like that with her. I called her cock pretty once and she came all over me on accident. Said it was just the hormones but-” 

“She is really pretty” Jimin’s eyes go far away like he’s thinking about it. And you laugh to bite back a moan. You reach over, pawing at his pants and his belt, making him pull back to take them off not only to make your positions more equal but also because Jimin's all-black outfit is honestly being ruined by all the paint. 

You lean back and watch him lift his shirt over his head. “I know! It’s honestly so annoying like- how is it that she was so pretty as a boy and as a girl- I’m honestly so jealous of her sometimes if we’re like-“ you break off. Going quiet wondering how much is normal to reveal. “Talking about gender and stuff.”

Jimin grips your knee, “If I keep going, are you going to tell me when I do something right and when I do something wrong?”

“Of course, but take off your pants first.”

He huffs, but it's all put upon "What a demanding little pup I've got. As you wish." 

You’d forgotten that Jimin a quite frankly unfairly pretty cock. Pink at the tip and well-manicured. All of your packmates keep their downstairs area mostly trimmed- the furriest of the bunch being your mate and Namjoon. Somehow you thought Jimin might want to keep it wilder and yet he's smooth. Perfectly manicured. 

“Her, but not you,” Jimin says, needing clarification but knowing the answer. your foot hits something wet smearing.  The mess gets messier when he jerks you up into his lap, sitting you across it with an impressive show of strength. His cock is wet and hard and pink where it’s pressed against your thigh.

To be mean you arch your hips forward, dragging your clothed cunt across it, Jimin's lips part, and his scent goes thick, like melting vanilla ice cream or baking sugar cones.

The hair on his happy trail tickles your tummy, his hands supporting you as he sets you back against the drop cloth, making sure you don’t bang your head. Jimin holds himself over you, crouching low. “You don’t like to be called pretty- you like to be called cute,” he nips at your collarbones and makes your pulse quicken.

You squirm, but he settles you with a hand on your stomach. “You will get red paint in your hair if you’re not careful.” 

He's telling the truth, you know you have to be half-covered with paint by now. You're doing a good job of making the canvas all pretty. He catches your hand, covered with different shades of pink and white spread across your fingertips, and kisses them anyways, a tiny splotch near the edge of his lips. 

You’re worried. Of course you're worried about the effect your slick will have on all of them, especially Jimin- who's already at the mercy of his instincts on a good day. And yet, you let him pull himself down, knees sliding through pink and yellow and blue. Tossing your panties into some forgotten less paint splatter corner because they’re actually really fucking cute. 

It’s like before Namjoon’s rut, the day you sub-dropped. When Jimin looks up at you to check that this is okay you have the same look on your face; half afraid and half nervous. Like you don’t want to say anything. 

Loving Jimin is very good for you because he doesn’t let you stew in those emotions.

“You don’t have to be nervous. I want to do this, I’m not doing this just because I think you’re more likely to suck my dick later, or because I think you deserve to have your pussy eaten- that's last part is like 1/3 of it.” 

"Are we describing love with fractions now?" you tease, trying to make it lighter. but your heart hurts, Jimin is so very good at making you feel comfortable.  “I always have a hard time believing that.” You confess because today seems to be about honesty. Jimin kisses his way up your inner thigh. Leaving splotches of pink in his wake. “You guys are all so giving, it makes me feel selfish.” 

Jimin presses a first slow kiss where you're sensitive. Slowly, Waiting, hurting for you to push him off. You don’t. 

“It’s not like that,” he struggles with his words for a second but you’ll wait as long as he needs. “You know how sometimes when you eat food and it makes you full but it tastes so good you only want more?” 

“Oh, great now you're comparing me to food" Jimin cuts off your words by pushing your knee to your chest. Unwrapping your pussy for him, the most sensitive part of you wide and open.

“Shut up you know what I mean.” He pales, “I didn’t mean like- shut up literally-“

“Minnie I’m just teasing. I’m not actually upset.” he huffs, but lets you laugh, back against the canvas. "Honestly, I’m just surprised. I didn’t think because of your whole 'I’m a gay alpha thing' that you'd ever want to fuck me. Or if you did we'd at least be with Tae.” 

Contrary to what might be believed, the idea of Jimin only wanting you with Tae doesn't hurt you. The truth is that you have so many people now to please; you were sort of okay with Jimin and Tae being a package deal in the bedroom. If only because it makes things on your end slightly easier.

Jimin presses a kiss to your knee, “I want to do more than fuck you- I want to make you cum so many times you cry.” 

Your stomach swoops, in a way that might just be you clenching a little at the idea of it. “I don’t think anyone’s ever fucked me till I cried, at least not in the good way.” 

Jimin’s growl is a dangerous thing as he pulls himself up to look at you. There’s paint drying on your inner thigh and a whole puddle of it by your hip. And you know you must be a sight. Jimin’s eyes go cold, a little unforgiving at the thought of it and his scent darkens, almost imperceptibly.

You wonder how many people have seen him look exactly like that just before they’ve died under the same touch that makes your heart race. Jimin skims his fingers along your hand, gripping it after a moment, hard, tangled fingers stained with pink and red. Your love for Tae and your other, darker secrets.  

“Remind me to piss on your ex’s grave next time we go into the city.”

Your laugh is a bright thing, and you miss Jimin’s smile when he pulls himself back down to your cunt. "In case no one's ever told you, I'm proud of you for killing him. I know it couldn't have been easy.”

You swallow, you don't want to think about that right now, probably the least sexy thing you've ever done. You don't want to think about any of that right now. “You really want to like- Make me cry?”

“Yes,” he says, and even you have to admit that you don’t find any ulterior motive or any sort of underlying motivation in his eyes. Other than wanting, something dark and roiling- an alpha with something to prove. A shaft of daylight cuts across his face, his body.

Jimin’s so pretty. You wonder if he’s this pretty in every universe.

“You’re welcome to try I guess,” Jimin’s fingers brush over the front of your pussy. Keeping his eyes locked with yours as he softly- ever so softly- pets over your pussy. Your breath hitches.

With one hand braced against you Jimin uses his other hand to brush back the top of your cunt, pinning your clit to your pubic bone. Your lips parting around his thumb, his other finger that just barely, teases the top of your hole. You grab his wrist, cursing low.

Every ounce of your self-control goes to keeping yourself from letting out so many embarrassing noises as Jimin draws light circles over your clit. Touching you firmer than before. “You get so wet so fast- it’s precious.” You squeak, jerking when he presses a little harder. Hand flinging out to grab onto something.

It sends a bit of pink paint splattering, and Jimin’s laugh bounces off the high ceiling. A little gets on the wall. You hope Yoongi won't get too angry at you. You and Jimin are going to make the canvases lovely, probably all blotchy and blended together, by the time you're finished here.

It’s hard for you to concentrate, Jimin’s fingers work so diligently, pushing against your hole even as his thumb digs into your clit, you grab his wrist, “gentle” you say, and he slows his pace, “the estrogen makes Tae-“ Jimin slowly drags his thumb down your clit then back up- the hard nub twitches under his touch. “Sensitive. You have to be gentle. Tae likes it gentle, and so do I sometimes.” He remembers the guise of this, you teaching him.

“Sometimes, but not all the time.” You nod, and Jimin continues his slow, torturous circles. “You can be a little bit rough. If it's too much I’ll tell you.” He nods obediently. “Safeword rules still apply?” you ask, because although this isn’t a scene, you can’t help but feel like you might need them.

You don’t know when you started to need them like a safety net. When it started to feel important to have them, But Jimin nods, agreeing. “Of course. They always do with me. I’ll hold you to them.”

The gentle small slap he lands over your cunt has you jumping, cursing, the skin hotter under his touch. "Jin told me you liked that."

"I do- fuck" Jimin alternates, loving the way your whole body jerks when the sensitive part of you is tapped. They're not even rough slaps but you bet the sound of slapping is sounding through the whole house. juxtaposed with the slow pressure that he rubs against your clit, your heartbeat is just under your skin. The slaps make your pussy more sensitive and especially hot when he begins to press kisses there too. 

He draws his fingers into a pinch and then drags them up and down your clit, making your legs kick weakly. He does it again just to see you shake. figuring out the best way to toy with you, the quickest way to rile you up.

With cocks- Jimin is used to it being fast and wet and hard, but the slower he goes with you the more it seems to rile you up and push you to the edge. You shouldn’t be so surprised that someone so kissed by Cupid is so good at lovemaking too. (Tae has a thing for people touched by love, you should know by now to trust her judgement.)

His fingers press into your hole gently, crooking up with gentle pressure at the same time he lightly circles his fingers over your clit, fingers glossy with your slick, the glide of them wet and easy. “Do you belive I want you yet? or do i need to spank you cute pussy a few more times for the message to get across?”

You cum on Jimin’s fingers like that, clenching down on them as they press up. With him just sitting there, just watching, eyes transfixed on you. he taps over your clit once, twice, and then a third time before you’re arching away with a jagged exhale. You pawing at his hand to get him to stop or at least slow down.

but he’s true to his word, he doesn’t let you get far. His fingers grip your thighs the chub there dimpling like dough. “I was serious,” he says, eyes bright, “about making you cum so many times you cry.”

You wheeze, and he laughs again. You’ve never heard a laugh that sounded so hot, it’s kind of funny how it goes that way; the more you love someone the hotter the little things about them get.

“Lie back-“ he says, “just let me-” You do- because you’re honestly too boneless to protest right now. He pulls you by the hips through the mess of paint, getting it all on his elbows but he doesn’t care when confronted with you, stretched out like a meal before them. Clit pink from cumming, pussy lips hot under his touch from the spanking, wet hole twitching in invitation. Even though he’s seen you take Namjoon’s cock, it still looks so cute and tiny. 

You've come back to yourself enough to tease him. Threading your fingers through his hair as he brazenly watches you. Dismissing the heat in your face as just a conciquence of your orgasam. “If you get paint in my pussy, you better help me clean it later.”

“I’d clean you with my fucking mouth.” He growls against the skin of your inner thigh.

Your retort gets stolen from your throat when he presses his mouth to you.

If you thought Jimin was good at kissing, it’s nothing compared to how he kisses your pussy. Making out with it, his tongue darts out, shy at first. Sending hot licks of pleasure up your stomach. his palm presses flat, against your hip spreading pink and red there. His hand smooths down your knee, and Jimin-

The thing about jimin is that even though he loves giving oral he's never explicitly liked the taste of cock. It was more the fact that it was Tae’s dick that made it good, or Namjoon’s or anyone else’s, that made him love the act of oral so much. Enough to beg for it during rut, to spend countless hours on his knees. To fall asleep during a rut with a soft length in his mouth, mostly Yoongi's, Jungkook's, or Jin's because they're on the smaller side. Happy to have them make his jaw sore.

There is no more complete show of devotion than an alpha getting on their knees for their pack. by comparison, kissing your pussy feels selfish.  

At the taste of your, the grating buzz that’s always in his brain- the mental background noise of overstimulation. Like His awareness of the feeling of his knees sliding against the rough cotton drop cloth, the tacky feeling of the paint on his back drying, the tickle of his too-long hair brushing his ears. The vague soreness and hunger in his stomach from eating something that wasn't right earlier. All of that which usually grates on him, that which usually takes from him- all of it goes quiet when your slick hits his tongue.

Jimin's scent thickens, goes so thick it smells just as potent as it does when he's in rut, vanilla cloud covering you, making you leak more.

The second that your slick hits his tongue, the world fades into bliss. The bliss of clean black sheets, the bliss of fuzzy socks on a cold day, of Hobi's sweatshirt that's worn just right at the cuffs or Jin's nest after everyone's slept in it exactly 3 nights after changing the sheets, just enough for it to smell like them and not enough for it to feel dirty.

Your slick tastes like the buzz that fills his head when he touches Tae's hair, like comfort incarnate, when he touches her skin. He leaves his tongue in soft licks, licks that are more about tasting more than giving you pleasure. You don't really notice the difference.

You try to squirm away, clit still sensitive from cumming earlier, but leashes a snarl. Fisting your love handles. His nose brushes your pubic mound, eyes rolling back. Purely animal when he holds you and pin’s you. Fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises later. 

Maybe they shouldn't have underestimated what 'addictive slick' really did meant. Because this jimin- is another monster entirely. 

His senses, usually friable and bright, like sour candy- go sweet and soft and blissfully quiet. consumed with the quiet of you you you, your slick, hot and sweet on the back of his throat, your warmth, your skin your everything. 

jimin wants to keep you right her, right under his tongue, forever. 

he pushes your knees up roughly keeping you open and prone for him. You yelp, his teeth teasing at sensitive bits, “Minnie- fuck-”

The growl he lets out is possessive, loud, and echoic in the quiet house, vibrating pressed against your clit. It doesn't end, echoing until his voice goes hard and small.

Your clit is so hard and small. The perfect little nub for Jimin’s lips to toy with. they circle and mouth at it mindlessly. Sucking with gentle pressure just to feel it squish against his tongue. It twitches a little again.

Dicks and clits, they’re not all that different. Only this one- this one doesn’t make Jimin’s jaw ache, doesn’t cut off his breathing. This one's so small it lets him let out soft huffs pressed to slick skin, his hands go hard around your fluffy thighs, spreading pink. When he sucks again your hand goes from a puddle of white paint to his hair, painting it.

 “Fuck- Jimin-”

All too soon you’re shaking, Jimin’s soothing growls making your pleasure spike wildly, especially when he looks up from between your thighs, eyes wild and hair messy, 

You cum against his mouth. But this time when you try to squirm away Jimin pulls you back by your hips. You try to twist away, but Jimin doesn't let you go, yanking you back by your knees to bend over his face, keeping your cunt right where he wants it. His voice sounds darker, rougher- than you've ever heard it, "squirmy little omega, let alpha taste you. don’t you want to be good for me?" 

Maybe you should have been more careful, but even at the rough treatment you drip onto the canvas, and you wonder if your slick will stain it too. You can do little more than rest your face against a piece of dry canvas and try not to cum again so soon. You don’t have the brain cells to respond, not when Jimin licks you like that.  

Jimin continues to snarl, throat raw, “Poor little thing, like alphas tongue so much that it made you a little fucked out huh? A little dumb omega? You don’t have to worry pup, alphas got you. Alpha doesn't mind if you're a little messy, I'll take care of you.”

It takes you another orgasam before you're squirting. Your pussy's hot beneath his tongue, ravished and licked so much you can hardly keep your knees under you. Half supported by Jimin's hands as he keeps you on his mouth even as you try and squirm away and save yourself from the embarrassment. The hot gush of slick misses his mouth, trickling down his throat and wetting his collarbones. You'd be embarrassed if you weren't trying so hard not to pass out. 

Jimin is going to turn making you squirt into a fucking art form. 

But surprisingly, you’re just hiccupping not crying yet. So he keeps going. One orgasm bleeds into another, as one hour becomes two. Sometimes when you squirt, it's just a trickle, other times, it's wet and messy and almost /loud/ for the way that Jimin snarls. He tries every angle, palm pressed to your stomach, fingers inside of you pressing up just under his tongue, lapping at your clit like a lollipop, all of it. 

even pressing in deeper, rubbing gently at the spot where namjoon bread you barely last week, a spot so deep that only your alphas have touched, that jimin strokes over just to hear you squeek. his mouth runs an endless trail of filth, sometimes it’s “you’ve got such a cute little breeding hole, so sweet i have half a mind to keep you plugged and full all the time, such a cute hole deserves to be kissed and fucked” other times it’s "give it to me, fuck- please- i need it-"

Your legs are jelly, trembling uncontrollably and Jimin's fingers are Pruny by the time it truly starts to get too much. He’s slick drunk and crazy on the drive to wrench one more orgasam from you. His cock lying hard and unattended against his thigh, dripping thick white cum. The pleasure fading from good to painful, one orgasm wrenched from your body after another, unyielding. 

our clit is so sensitive that even his pressing the flat of his tongue and lapping at your clit makes you see stars, makes you scrabble against the paint-colored floor and try to get away.

"Can't take anymore," you whimper, "please alpha- s'too much." 

Jimin pulls back, giving you a second to catch your breath, before he presses a hand to your lower back and forces you back down. "That's not a safeword pup. If you really want me to stop. Say it." 

You hiccup, but you can't you can't safeword because you know deep down- you really do want him to make you cry. You really do what to see what lies over the next cup, the next minute he spends taking you apart. 

It's the pussy spanking that finally takes you over that edge.

He's unrelentingly diligent with taking you apart, alternating between rubbing tight circles and tapping your clit as he suckles at your hole, wrenching another few drops of slick from you with every tap, until he pauses, and drags his teeth over you. You're already jerking away from sensitivity when he pulls back and lands a hard spank over your sensitive clit. 

You think you actually might pass out for a second. 

When you come too, there's not only a puddle underneath your hips- but also wetness on your lashes, your mouth, hiccuping sobs as the pleasures finally stopped, and Jimin, wet cheeks and all, licks your tears from your face too. “good omega, alpha loves you so much, such a good little pet for me.”

Jimin licks your slick from his lips, wet and messy from you, glossy almost, he bends down, prostrate, kissing the pink splotch on your tummy, “I swear to fucking god-”Jimin does swear to God, in the confines of his own head, that unless Tae gets that surgery in particular, your pussy will be the only one he ever tastes. 

He pulls himself up to your level, answering the weak twitch of your arms with his own around your middle. You’re hiccupping too much to speak and shivering too hard to stay still. Your alpha is hot beneath your touch, the mess of your body and his body, not just paint but slick and sweat and tears, all pressed together like a balm to everything. The tightness in your chest released, you sob and it’s a good thing. 

Something wretched and broken slips out, Jimin presses a kiss over your heart, covering you with his body, with no foe as witness, when there is nothing to protect you from.

The kiss Jimin presses to your mouth is just as soft as the ones he pressed to your pussy. You grimace at the taste of your slick, but Jimin is having none of it, cupping the back of your neck and soothing your cries with a few more kisses. 

“Can you give me one more sweetheart?” His cock is pressing up against your hip, hot, dripping, and insistent. You sniffle but nod. You just want him close.

He pulls your hips through the mess of your slick, turning smudge of red paint all pastel-ly and more watercolor than acrylic as it bleeds. 

He feeds his cock into your hungry entrance, still clenching hard around nothing. It feels like you’re still cumming. You don't know if Jimin kept track or if you could put a number to your orgasms if you tried.

You sniffle. And he tugs you along the warm line of his body. Nosing along your cheek. Keeping your bodies pressed close as he rocks his hip deep. Jimin’s stamina must be endless, each roll of his hips is punishing and firm, grinding the head of his cock in deep. He grinds more than thrusts, nudging the sensitive spots he explored with his fingers. 

Jimin pulls your hands away from your face, looking down, fixing you with a look as he does it again, encouraging another weak pulse and hot clench.

Jimin gets more and more mouthy the closer he gets, he almost talks like Namjoon did in rut when he gets slick drunk. “Gonna fuck you so deep you feel it for days, gonna fuck you so deep there's no way it doesn't take, fuck- you’re mine- you’re fucking mine.” you let out a broken mewl and Jimin tucks his face into your shoulder. 

Jimin doesn't need any schooling, he just needs to love Tae just like this, and they'll be fine.

Jimin grinds his hips in at just the right angle and it forces a rough brutal noise from your throat. A sob that he kisses away. He holds your hips using them for leverage as he breeds you. Hair hanging over his eyes and tickling your brow as he works you closer and closer. The canvas slides against the plastic, but even if you have rug burn later- it will have been fucking worth it. 

“Fuck- I’d do anything for you.” You know it’s true. Despite what happened before. You know now all of that has changed now. 

Your fingers leave red splotches against his stomach, and Jimin trembles. His body over sensitive from all the pleasure, from keeping his orgasam off for so long 

“Would you kill for me?” You ask quietly. Jimin doesn’t stop his pace, doesn’t stop his movements.

You think about Yoongi and that night more than you’re willing to admit; You think about his face, bruised and screwed into a snarl, holding the gun to Geumjae but unable to pull the trigger. You know he couldn't for more than one reason; both because killing him could have killed you and because it was his brother.

But at the same time, You don’t know if one day the memory will ever make you feel anything but emptiness. A bleak almost disappointment. Sure- he’d been willing to bind his soul to yours to keep you alive. He’d devoted himself to you wholly and completely since but-

But maybe that was partially to ease his guilt. Guilt and love. Love and guilt. Are they really so different? Yoongi loves you. You know this as surely as you know that the sun will rise tomorrow. But even he hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. You had to do it instead. 

"I'm proud of you for killing him, I know it must not have been easy"

Watching Jimin fuck you within an inch of your life, you decide you don’t know if that makes Yoongi a better man than Jimin, or a worse one. 

Jimin leans his body low over yours, grinds his cock in deep, and presses his lips to your ear. “Kill for you? I’d do worse.” Jimin drives his cock deeper. Chasing his own release now, not just yours.

 “For you and Tae, I’d do fucking anything.” 

You squirt around his knot, just a trickle of it as it starts to inflate. He doesn’t stop fucking it back and forth, simple millimeters that tug more squirt from you as it fills you up and tugs at your sensitive entrance.  You wet the red on his stomach with how hard you clench down making it dribble. 

There’s even a splotch of red on his shoulder, milky white and crimson. Both of you are absolutely covered in paint. 

 Jimin doesn’t think he’s ever going to get tired of it as he takes a bit of your slick and presses it to his tongue. My sweet pup. our sweet pup the voice devoted to Tae reminds him in his head. Of course, she deserves the most delectable omega in existence, of course, this sweetness is worth protecting.  

Of course, I’d kill for you.  

It's your taste that drives him over the edge that makes his knot twitch and cum start to fill you up, locked deep inside of you. Your abdomen tightens against his as he cums. You’re so warm and wet, so comfortable as he rocks into you. knot too inflated to yank it out.  

The instinct to breed and claim there as he drags his teeth up the Column of your throat and makes you keen. Your hand buried in his hair, the other resting between his shoulder blades, nails resting against his skin, tired of scratching although you’ve already left your marks on his skin. Up and down his back 

Afterward, it’s comparatively quiet.

He flips you over so that you can rest against his chest. He’s warm and hot underneath you. Warm enough that you don’t feel the cold or lack of covering. Knotted together as close as you can be Jimin lets your sniffles quiet. His fingers paint mindless circles over your lower back as your breathing slows. Pressing kisses against the top of your head, your cheek against his chest, listening to the rapid thud of his heartbeat slow. 

Even though you’re quiet, your mind races. Slowly treading toward dangerous territory. Tae’s voice, the memory of Tae’s words- “Minnie. I don’t think I want you to touch me right now, please just- please don’t”

It’s you who dares to punctuate the quiet. “Did you want to do this because of what happened during Namjoon’s rut?”

“Maybe.”

You lift your head, “Have you and Tae talked about it yet?” Jimin tips his throat up towards the ceiling, the cracked plaster that Yoongi hasn’t yet fixed. Avoiding your gaze. He just ate you out, but he can't look at you when you ask about this.

Jimin’s hand continues its endless circles across your sternum, winding down and down.

“To be honest, I don’t know if we’ll ever talk about it.”

 ~-~

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[sayammm]

a bit of a rant to some weird Farcille shippers (those who has read the manga. Anime onlies, I can understand) but it's absolutely funny and weird that they would intentionally reduce the whole point of the story and Marcille's character growth as just the "elf who wants to save her girlfriend"

No. Just no. I'm not saying there's no chemistry between Falin and Marcille. There is. The same way she has chemistry with Laios (this needs pointing out bc some weird Farcille fans are trying to convince Laimar fans that their ship is wrong. Yes, I've seen the convo on DunMesh discord, shut up) Marcille isn't just the "elf who wants to save Falin bc she is in love wih her". Marcille is the elf who wants to study how dungeons works blah blah blah because she has a dream. Because she has trauma and she wants to find the solution to what scares her the most. Marcille studied black magic for Falin

Wrong. Marcille studied that for her dreams.For her own goals. It so happens that what she knows is the solution in reviving Falin. It wasn't just specifically for Falin, per se. Marcille left the academy for Falin Wrong. Marcille left the academy to find Falin who went with Laios. This action is not exclusive to romantic love oh it's bc she's in love with her thing. Mikan of Alice Academy went after Hotaru, her bestfriend, after the latter left for the Academy. Marcille went after Falin to take her back, but the real reason why she decided to stay with the Touden siblings is because they showed her around the dungeon and she realized she can do a field study. Let's not forget that Laios being honest to her about the purpose of their dungeon dives convinced her to stay and study dungeons. Marcille only cried for Falin Bruh. Marcille is one fo the most expressive elf girl I've ever seen. She even threw a tantrum bc she doesn't want to eat monsters in the first episode. Open the manga again and look at the panels where Marcille has shed tears and snot for other characters, not just for Falin. Im not against Farcille because I really believe Marcille has chemistry with Falin. Plus, Trigger's scenes of Marcille smiling softly at Falin is such a nice boost for Farcille shippers.

But I absolute hate how some toxic Farcille fans are reducing someone's whole character into "lover girl". She's not just the elf who is inlove with Falin. She is the elf who will go to the extremes for her loved ones, and will make a deal with the devil bc she is scared of being left behind in the walk of life, and the elf girl who learned that death is a part of life and she has to accept that. Stop over romanticizing stuff to the point that you ignore the whole point of the series. I intentionally made some terms as vague as I can just to make sure I dont give out a lot of spoilers.

[manheeiim]

Nothing Lasts Forever - Slowly but Surely

ᥫ᭡ link to nothing lasts forever masterlist

After the graveyard "adventure"- according to JJ- they went to drop me off back at my house. John B shut the headlights off as we pulled up and he parked the van.

"It was nice to meet you guys." I say.

"Nice to meet you." Kiara sweetly says.

"Nice meeting you." Pope says.

"Bye, JJ." I say as I look over at JJ with a small smile.

"How about I stay with you?" He suggests making John B raise his eyebrows.

"H-huh?" I respond as I look into his eyes.

"I could stay with you for a bit. It'll be fine. My place isn't far from here." JJ says.

"Uh... sure." I say, I wasn't sure if he wanted a hook-up with me right now. I just wasn't that type of girl though.

He opens the van and we get out. He shuts the door and goes up to the passenger window, "Well, yonder ye. We'll be uh-going." JJ tells them before turning around and walking with me as we head sneakily to my bedroom window.

I open it carefully and sneak inside before JJ follows, but of course, he trips a bit as he gets in. We both freeze after the noise, and I pray it does not wake anyone up. Luckily, we heard nothing after a few moments and I let out a relieved sigh before going over to my bedroom door and making sure it was locked.

I take my shoes off before getting in bed. JJ gets in bed as well, not really waiting for an invite or anything. I don't mind though as we lay side by side.

"So, what was tonight even all about?" I softly ask, my voice having to keep quiet as to not wake anyone up.

JJ sighs, "John B's dad died a while back and... he's kind of in denial about it. He thinks that his dad is out there and that he's for some strange reason left clues for John B to find him. Like... a treasure hunt or some shit."

"Well, that sucks." I say. "But it's nice that the three of you are going along with it."

"Yeah, I mean, he's my bro so..." JJ trails off, shrugging a little.

"That's sweet of you." I softly say.

"You think so?" He asks in a teasing tone, his hand going up and resting on my hip. I blush a little at his touch as I nod.

"I still feel a bit bad about... about how I reacted at Lana's house." I admit.

"Why?" JJ asks.

"I should've comforted her... not- not walked out." I say.

"It's fine. You were fine." JJ says. "I... didn't exactly want to be there either." He tells me.

This side of JJ was much different from what I was used to and I was honestly shocked that I was even seeing this side of him so early into knowing him but it was comforting. I hadn't felt this comfortable around anyone else in a while and honestly, this was just the beginning of me opening up.

"Just... it brought me back to.. a time that I don't want to go back to." That is all I say. I was intentionally being a bit vague, to be honest. Though, even saying that was a lot for me.

JJ's eyes glance over my face for a moment before responding. "I get that." Is all he says before looking away. Obviously, there was stuff neither of us were ready to talk about. Not yet.

I sigh as I take a shaky breath, wiping a tear that seems to be forming in one of my eyes. Honestly, everything that happened was quite fresh so I was still dealing with... coping with it, I guess you could say.

"You good?" JJ asks.

"Yeah." I sniffle as I wipe the tear, taking a deep breath in.

Neither of us said anything and all I wanted to do right now was be hugged but I was scared. I knew that things were moving fast, in a way, or at least it felt that way to me. I refused to initiate that type of affection despite how much I wanted it.

Suddenly, JJ is pulling me in against him, his arms wrapping around me as my face rests against his chest. We just lay there in silence for a while before eventually, I drift off to sleep, JJ following shortly after.

[adachimoe]

Adachi's Mistake

One of the things that is never explained and seemingly left intentionally vague is Adachi's mistake.

After you hear his stupid bullshit on December 7th, he invites you to come find his real self, and you find him inside the TV. While he certainly says a lot of bullshit, I think this line is actually true. Adachi not taking his job seriously (implication being to the extent of messing up) is a recurring thing in the game, so much that him preparing Namatame to be transferred is something Dojima finds out of character or too serious for him.

Some of the meta text about the game (e.g. Adachi's character profiles) also mention him being transferred due to a mistake he made. So, while he does say a lot of bullshit, I think there's some truth to his mini-rant about this.

But what's the mistake he made? Hmm. I've read a lot of interviews and other meta stuff, and... I dunno lol. It doesn't seem to be in any of the stuff I've read. It seems fun to headcanon and speculate about. Maybe he did the exact same shit he's been doing in Inaba but his old boss was less tolerant than Dojima?

It seems that when this topic comes up amongst westerners, people automatically assume Adachi shot someone? That feels more like being American and assuming every country is America lol. And if we're being painfully realistic, he's a plain clothes detective so he wouldn't be carrying a gun to begin with unless it was a situation where it was deemed necessary that he should have one. (Also, I think I've posted about this before, but if Adachi is really just a gun nut, why the heck did he even become a plain clothes detective? Uniformed officers who work in the field would be more likely to carry one.)

I also think about the situation surrounding and reaction to Abe's assassination 2 years ago. Part of why that was such a huge spectacle is because gun violence there is very different (a lot lower). It gives me the impression that "a police officer accidentally shoots someone" would've been seen as a more major thing. In contrast, Adachi believes the mistake he made was something small, and the meta descriptions written about him in booklets seem to agree with this.

As far as civil servant transfers go in general, I am an idiot and went to read up about that on some Japanese websites. They occur every year around March/April and maybe again in the fall (matches up with Adachi saying he came to Inaba in the spring). It also seems pretty normal for civil servants to get transferred every 3-5 years, though things like "causing problems" can justify why you would get transferred.

Given that it's Adachi, maybe he didn't go drinking after work with his coworkers enough times and he gave them bad vibes so he got transferred, bwaha. Though he did go to New Year's Eve parties, so maybe he was actually a bit more social than I'm thinking...?

Random: I have learned that these "unexplained events" are called "noodle incidents", and I am shocked I recognized the reference... my older brothers used to read Calvin and Hobbes!

[markantonys]

Was talking with a moot and they were saying how they don't feel like the show is doing a good job of explaining the lore. How right now we don't know what being the Dragon actually means, what ta'veren are, what the Dark One even is, what does he want, why does the Dragon fight him, how all of these mythologies are built into the worldbuilding in the books but aren't as clear in the show/feels disconnected. Idk I feel like the show is just introducing these things at a slower pace than the books did and that's not necessarily a bad thing

i just don't get these arguments because most of these lore points literally have been explained in the show???? do these book fans just miss it when lore is incorporated via natural dialogue or via Showing Not Telling instead of via somebody sitting us down to do an infodumping monologue for 5 minutes? i swear to god so many readers just don't pay attention to the show and then whine that it's missing stuff it did in fact include.

dragon stuff: this has been abundantly explained in both seasons, meanwhile in the books the concept of TDR wasn't even introduced until book 2. we will get more specifics at the same time rand does in upcoming seasons, just like in the books. at this early stage we don't need to know any more than "the dragon is a chosen one figure whose purpose is to fight the dark one and lead the last battle."

what the dark one is: a bad guy (duh) but otherwise left intentionally vague to build up mystery, just like the books did. we don't have the slightest conception of what TDO actually is until his first onscreen "appearance" in book SIX.

what does he want: to break the wheel and end existence. ishy's literal entire season 2 storyline was about this, and it went into way more detail than books 1-3 did. i'm not sure we got much of this stuff in the books until moridin came on the scene.

ta'veren is the only one i'd agree the show hasn't gone into much (though it DID explain the concept in 1x08), but, again, do we need to know that much about it right now? we know that our EF5 are Special, and that's enough if you ask me.

(i also wonder if the show might go a bit lighter on ta'veren than the books. idk, some of the stronger Main Character Energy stuff like plot armor and convenient coincidences and people blurting out secrets around them might come off a bit silly, and as for the stuff relating to the pattern controlling ta'veren's paths, it's interesting but it's pretty deep lore and the story doesn't really change whether or not we're explicitly aware that the events that happen to our gang are predestined. like, we'll obviously get plenty of predestination stuff with rand's dragon prophecies and min's viewings and likely the finn, so how necessary is it to also go into great detail on ta'veren predestination?)

having watched both seasons with my show-only non-fantasy-literate mom, i can attest that there is SO MUCH information for newcomers to wrap their heads around and i think her brain would have exploded if these seasons had tried to squeeze in any more than they did. she made me take down notes she could review between episodes! you should've seen her poor eyes glazing over at all the lore & worldbuilding stuff getting thrown at her in 2x05! this also goes for stuff like the whining about the show not yet using the words saidar & saidin - if they'd been throwing those around constantly since day 1, my mom would've had no fucking clue what they were talking about because she really struggles with remembering fantasy jargon, whereas consistently referring to it as "the male/female half of the source" in these early seasons is way more intuitive and way more effective at teaching her how this magic system works.

at the end of the day, the show simply is not ever going to flesh out the lore and mythology as deeply as the books do due to limitations of this different medium, and people need to accept that. it will explain as much lore as is necessary to understand the story and not much more than that, and that's absolutely fine. show-onlys are understanding the story just fine with the information the show is choosing to include, and lore nerds can knock themselves out rereading the books anytime they want.

[koboldfactory]

Is there any chance you could give a short summary of Rad's lore please?

There’s not a lot I can say without spoiling plot stuff for a story I want to tell in the near future (probably via a comic), but I’ll give the simple version. Just know this is very very surface level stuff.

Lore below ⬇️ ⬇️

Rad grew up in a town of scrappers who made a living off of fishing ancient artifacts out of stasis fields in the area

A stasis field is a large glowing orb where time has slowed almost to a stop. Their origin is unknown

Rad’s mom Rea was the head of said settlement and was a master scavenger. Her dad (who I have yet to design) would repair and repurpose the ancient relics into useful technology to help with agriculture, defense, and many other things.

Eventually some catastrophe (which I am intentionally leaving vague right now) separated Rad from her mother and left her hometown utterly destroyed. She found herself in the care of a strange robot for some time before ending up in a relatedly strange scenario that ended in her activating her bizarre abilities and radioactive properties.

She then wandered the wastelands for a few years before being picked up by The Director’s lab crew, where she currently lives and does recon work out in the wastes for from time to time.

That’s all for now! Hope that was informative!

[conundrumoftime]

Rhûnic

Leith McPherson, who's the dialect coach for Rings of Power, talked in an interview a while ago about Rhûnic language the show uses:

For Leith, the challenge was a welcome one. “This season, we journey to the land of Rhûn,” she says. Rhûn is largely a mystery in Tolkien’s published works, a vast expanse of Middle-earth left intentionally vague by the author. But for the series, Tolkien scholars working with the show have unearthed some of Tolkien’s unpublished notes and used them to build out the beginnings of a language for Rhûn. “Never heard before, never worked with before,” Leith says, her voice practically glowing with enthusiasm. “That was just a gift this season.”

Bear McCreary has since talked about it on his blog, and included the 'Rhûnic' lyrics he used and their English translation:

Rhûnic: Fú nimžil, nimžil-feg, aibesjar balan taugun. Dunšig Lún, ligrám lihiš bódi aišäd bil. Dyúl hez ní, feč Šigór. þabul nädo naþa-feg je. dyúl gileg anže þurfeg jai. Dyúl hez ní, feč Šigór. gorul arkädfeg go, þur če žilid-feg bil. I Raib-aišäd. English: Under moonlight, moonlight thine, Our sister carried far. Dark Magic, White wings beat in sacred shrine. Command her, thou Istar. Grant flesh to thy servant. Bring her forth with your might. Command her, thou Istar. Rise from thy throne, In thy power and splendor. The border shrine.

And in this article on Fellowship of Fans this month, someone's speculated that the language in question is 'Magol', a language Tolkien played around with in the 1930s:

I am not a specialist in Hungarian, nor indeed in any Uralic language. Nevertheless, after comparing the phonology of Hungarian with the phonology of Rhûnic (as used in The Rings of Power), I am virtually certain that Rhûnic may be identified as an extension of Mágol, Tolkien’s Hungarian-based language. However, I suspected this to be so even before I heard a word of Rhûnic, so it may be a case of confirmation bias. If not directly based on Mágol, Rhûnic may instead be an extrapolated mother, aunt, sister, or daughter language, created by applying regular sound changes. Of course, given that the material on Mágol is as yet unpublished, it is difficult to say how much of Rhûnic derives from Tolkien’s work, and how much had to be invented by linguists working for the show.

Tolkien's notes on Mágol remain unpublished, but Tolkien linguist Patrick Wynne has seen them and has previously talked about it a little:

"Tolkien's Hungarian-style language is actually called _Mágol_. In the earlier of the two texts on this language it is called _Mágo_ and more closely resembles Adunaic than Hungarian; this same text also says that 'Old Mágo' was the language of the children of Húrin. "In the later text, the language is called _Mágol_ and seems clearly modeled after Hungarian in phonology and grammatical structure, while retaining a strong Elvish influence as well -- it reminds me of something that might have been spoken by a lost tribe of Avari who had taken up residence outside Budapest for a few millennia.

A lost tribe of elves living in the east you say? Curious. Curious...

(I didn't even intend this to be yet another post about TROP Celeborn being part of the Rhûn storyline! I swear I started writing it before seeing that Patrick Wynne post!)

(also it is so very Rings of Power to do something very cool with depth and care about one of Tolkien's languages as a throwaway part of worldbuilding and then not mention it at all in favour of concentrating the publicity info on monster special effects or yet more detail about how they filmed the Big Epic Battle, despite the Big Epic Battle stuff being so much less interesting than this.)

[miaountainmama]

heaven

characters: chuuya, gn!reader contains: endless yearning

wc: 1360

a/n: yes this is based off of the new mitski song

He was never much of a coffee drinker.

Today was different, apparently. He needed the caffeine, he said, and you wasted no time in brewing him a cup using the sparsely used machine in the corner of the kitchen, yawning in the early morning darkness. He insisted that he could do it himself, but he did enough for you. You could, at the very least, help him in small ways.

He entered the kitchen just as you were pouring it out for him. The dark liquid flowed from pot to cup like the low curses that flowed from his mouth, cursing Mori for bringing him in so early, cursing Mori for making him leave you.

Now, in the emptiness of your shared flat, you pick up the still half-full cup, long abandoned, and swirl the dark liquid around. It’s still warm, barely, and you take a sip, chasing after any residual taste of him.

The cup clinks quietly as you bring it to the sink and place it on the counter, not quite washing it yet— a reminder that he had been there. And you did as you always did when this happened, when he left you early, before your own work took you, while his presence still lingered like the bitter coffee on your tongue: you curl around the empty space in the bed, the sheets still mussed, bending around his shape as if he was still really there.

The day came and went, the imprint of him ever clear in your mind, and as you came home from work, the thought of him adjusted into such stark focus that it was almost painful. He had told you that with him, you would never have to work a day in your life, but you refused, wanting at least some semblance of independence. You knew it was well within his means, but still, you insisted. Once again: help in small ways. 

You hurriedly dig through your bag for your keys as you approach the door, eager to see him, but as you kick off your shoes in the hallway, you are struck with the sound of nothing, the sight of darkness. Nothing but the rain on the windows and the occasional flash of lightning.

Of course, you thought bitterly. Mori was a slave driver.

Putting your stuff on the counter, you pour yourself a drink, using the cup from the morning. If you couldn’t have him physically, you could at least pretend.

The cushions of the couch dip down as you climb onto them, flicking on the low, warm light of the lamp beside it, and settle in for what would probably be a long night of waiting, nothing but your book to keep you company. You wouldn’t lie to yourself and say it wasn’t a lonely life, this routine. But you would endure it. If not for yourself, then for him. 

You’re nearly falling asleep by the time the lock clicks, the sound of raindrops lulling you to slumber. Immediately, you awaken, a rush of energy surging through you, and you hastily put aside your drink and bookmark your page, throwing the book on the coffee table haphazardly.

Chuuya has barely any time to put his hat aside before he’s in your arms, chuckling lightly as you meet him in the doorway.

“Hey,” you murmur, smiling slightly, and he moves his head to press a kiss to your neck, swaying with you gently.

“Hey,” he returns, and you separate from him reluctantly, allowing him time to get situated and step into your flat. You catch his gaze lingering on you as you finally move to wash the cup from the morning— he leans against the counter, watching. You turn to him questioningly, smile still on your lips. 

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he says, voice unusually soft, and you tilt your head as you put the cup in the dishwasher.

“Of course I am. Why? Did something happen?” you question. At this, your boyfriend sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“There’s something that’s been causing a lot of trouble at night for us. Haven’t found them yet,” he says, intentionally leaving his words vague, and you know better than to question it. Sometimes knowing is more dangerous than ignorance. You smile lightly at him.

“Then I’m glad you’re safe, too.”

His eyes soften, his expression so loving it’s almost criminal, and your heart skips a beat. He steps forward, taking you in his arms, and you giggle as he presses kisses on your cheeks and down the sides of your neck.

“Chuuya, what’s gotten into you?” You laugh, and though there’s a slight smile on his face, his eyes look unusually serious. He presses another kiss to your collarbone.

“Just… let me be selfish for now. I need you.” He murmurs into your skin, pushing you backwards so you’re sandwiched between him and the kitchen counter. You squeak as your backside hits the cold stone, but you’re quickly silenced by a kiss to your lips. It’s desperate, desperate and full of longing, and your stomach twists into knots as you return it, threading your hands through his beautiful orange hair. His hands find your hips, his breath heavy, and as you separate you barely have any time to gasp for air before his lips are on yours again. You’re taken aback by how urgent his movements are, and you find yourself becoming worried rather quickly. Something must have happened while he was gone.

“Chuuya,” you manage to say between kisses. “What’s wrong?”

Your boyfriend exhales loudly, pulling you closer, and he shakes his head, pulling back just enough so he can give your neck attention again. You angle your head so he can reach it better, letting out a sigh of contentment.

“You deserve better than this,” he breathes. “Waiting for me to come home night after night.” He punctuates his sentence with a kiss to your jaw.

“It’s fine, Chuuya,” you say, intending to pacify him,  but his eyes quickly fill with desperation instead as you speak.

“You don’t understand,” he says, voice cracking, and it’s so full of emotion that it shuts you up immediately. “You need someone that can give you all of them.”

At this, you lean backwards, studying him. He moves to chase your neck, but you gently stop him. “Do you not do that already?” you question, and you try your best not to mention the silence that follows.

He’s quiet for a moment, and that’s all the answer you need.

You knew he could never give you all of him. Bound to the Mafia as he was, you knew that sometimes, you would have to be the second choice. You knew this. 

Even so, when it came down to the most important matters, you knew you would always be first.

You sigh, closing your eyes for a moment and listening to the rain on the windows, and when you open them, Chuuya is staring over your shoulder guiltily, unable to meet your eyes.

“It’s okay, Chuuya,” you begin, and he finally makes eye contact, giving you a disbelieving look. “I knew what I was signing up for when I started dating you. And I’m still here, and I will continue to be here. I love you, and you love me, and that’s enough for me.”

You reach out to cup his face, and he leans into your touch, still looking guilty. He gently grabs your wrist and kisses your palm.

“I don’t know what I did to get someone as good as you,” he confesses, and you smile, moving closer to him. He lets you, and you hold him tenderly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. It lingers, both of you moving slowly, and as you pull away you look into his eyes.

“I love you, okay?” you reassure him, and finally, he smiles back.

“I love you, too. More than you could ever know.”

The morning would steal Chuuya away from you in time, but for now, for the night, it was just you two and the storm dancing outside. For the rest of the night, you had each other.

[ganondoodle]

i was so happy that ganondorf was a character in totk when it was announced but now i am just sad about it honestly, i get that the older games had the trio as a good kids VS evil old guy thing, but i sincerely hoped that how much botw revolutionized(?) about the zelda principle in terms of gameplay they would now have the chance to do so, at least a little bit, in totk with the story

and then, as much as i like his design, hes again just an already very old evil guy that appeared out of nowhere for all we know that needs to be stopped by some kids/really young people and all the crumbs of personality or well ... not even crumbs but pure idea of a backstory we have to interpret into it all from things like manner of speech, animation and design elements bc all he does is some evil monologing that doesnt even serve well for interpretation

like, he was already so old when we first see him, what did he do all his life?? like even if he only turned aggressive once rauru founded this version of hyrule he had to have lived idk 50 years before that, was he just a regular leader of his people before that?? was he just .. some dude?? all we actually know is ... old evil guy shows up and attacks the perfect and good kingdom (tm) dont we? maybe some vague, arbitrary you denied me *generic villain thing like power, rule etc* line but thats it?

(i dont mind having to read between the lines, it can be very fun, but it also depends on if you are reading between lines and theres something intentionally left there or if you are trying really hard to see something but theres nothing actually there for you to find; to be clear, i also like creating your own ideas around stuff, but when you get to know some people from basically birth to their prime time and then theres a guy thats just there to be an endboss and even now in modern games doesnt get anything beyond a neat design and fun bossfight its just ... so flat?sad? i love interpeting but i also wouldnt mind to see something more for once ..)