#if you’re not fucking outraged about this i literally cannot be around you

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 63 - I'll Cry if I Want To

You get drunk. Guess who comes lurking?

On AO3.

Getting shit-faced. That is what wine’s good for.

The night’s real pretty. Y’all are inside the grove, all the goblins’re fucking dead, and the druids ain’t gonna let…let fucking wargs or mean bears in here. So it’s safe. There’s a rock digging into your left ass cheek, and you cannot be fucked to do nothing about it. But you’re safe! So it’s fine.

You take another gulp. People say when you got enough alcohol, you don’t notice then taste no more, but those fuckers’re lying liars who fucking lie, and it still tastes like bitter…bitter piss.

Bitch burns, too.

“Shit is gross,” you say to nobody. “The fuck do people drink this?”

Probably cause it makes you warm. And vaguely floating. Your muscles seem to burn a lot more, but you’re still kinda happy. Not like, sing and flail around the living room happy, but happy enough the last…week? Ish? Whatever. The night is pretty. An owl hoots and squirrels run along branches. Bugs creak and hum and a crow in the trees above lets out a sleepy “crk.”

“Sorry!” you say. Realize you’re shouting. Whisper, “Sorry.”

Crows keep grudges, huh? You heard about that. Should let the little dude to back to sleep.

Probably shouldn’t be out in the woods by yourself?

Whatever.

Another gulp. Your whole face wrinkles.

“I thought you didn’t drink?” says a fucking rat man.

You turn. The woods spin a little, and you gotta blink before the two, pale silhouettes become one bastard man.

“’Sa party,” you say. “Errbody’s drinking.”

Why’s he here? You ain’t been gone long. Right? You’re pretty sure.

“How’s Lae’zel?” you say.

He winces. You’re shouting again.

You pitch your voice back down. “How’s Lae’zel?”

He gives you a look. It slides right on past you. “Jealous, dear?”

Your chest hurts again. Still for no fucking reason. “Pff. No. Just surprised how quick it was.”

For some reason, he pulls back in outrage (yeah! you recognize that one!). “Excuse me?”

“It ain’t nothing bad!” You only flail a little. Almost throw the wine bottle and then have to clutch it to your chest. Next to your soul flask. They clink through your shirt. “Just…y’know. ‘Fficient. You’re very efficient.”

He stands there like he’s trying to parse out what you’re saying. Did the potion wear off again? You gotta study more.

And who the fuck cares. You ain’t out here for him. You ain’t out here for nobody except to get shit-faced.

“Why are you out here alone?” rat bastard man says.

It probably ain’t supposed to be funny. Or maybe it just ain’t funny to him. Or anyone but you. But for you? You don’t drink, you don’t hookup, but you do plonk your ass down and get sloshed off a bottle and a half of wine all by your lonesome.

You want ice cream. You would literally kill a man for ice cream.

“If I didn’t know any better,” the bastard fuck boy says, “I’d say you look like you were trying to drink away your feelings.”

You squint up at him. White hair a silvery halo around his head in the moonlight. Eyes shining like new pennies in the low light. Fucker asks your opinion on who he ought to bang, and then finds you afterwards to…to fucking needle you?

You ain’t never been drunk like this. You flirted with getting mildly buzzed. Got borderline tipsy that once when Ryan fucking Meadows ghosted you and you ugly cried onto Sasha’s only clean work shirt.

None of that really processes, though. You ain’t really up to the whole “processing” thing right now; that barn door is long open and them hogs already sprinted for the hills.

“You’re such a dick,” you say, clicking the “k” at the end extra hard. “Pompous goddamn mess of a…of a man dick.”

He blinks like you just sprouted a beak and began reciting the entire works of Shakespeare in chicken.

And you ain’t done. “I got all the fucking reason to be off my damn ass out here, you shit. I lost my whole fucking family. Again. My whole fucking world. Fucking demons and brainworms and your ass. Maybe I just wanted to get drunk all by myself.”

You feel how dry your mouth is, and chug a few more swallows.

“Tastes like shit,” you say and try to scrape your tongue on your teeth. “Don’t know why anybody drinks it.”

Astarion still stands there. Fucking creepo. He’ll get all huffy and leave; toss you some snide bullshit before he goes. Jackass.

Only he don’t. He…lowers himself down. Not right next to you, but within kicking distance.

You think about doing just that.

“What even is that swill?” he says.

You look at the label. At the swirly-spiky letters all swooping together. Turn to him, with the most deadpan expression you can muster, and say, “What’s up, I���m Jared, I’m nineteen, and I never fucking learned how to read.”

It is, hands down, the best joke you ever made in your whole life. You bend over laughing. You cry, laughing. Your bladder twinges and you keep laughing.

But then something happens. And you’re still laughing, and your eyes is watering, but now it hurts. Now you can’t breathe and nobody else is laughing with you cause they don’t get the joke and never will because your world is dead. Not like, actually. But they might as well be.

And like hell you want Astarion to fucking see that. So you shove the bottle at him and turn away like it’s just the giggles. Ain’t nothing to see here. Just a giggly drunk.

No one is ever gonna get your jokes. Ain’t nobody gonna know what “Wednesday my dudes” is. Or the helium balloons. Or the yoga grinch.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck.

Wine sloshes in the bottle. Astarion somehow gives an audible grimace.

“I think you grabbed the worst of them, darling. This is pure vinegar.”

You don’t turn around. You try to shove the goddamn sniffles back in your face. You don’t cry in front of other people. That shit ain’t safe. It’s how everybody knows how weak and stupid you are, and you are not gonna give this jackass that ammunition.

But it keeps coming. The smell of the red dirt after a hard rain. Homemade pecan custard pie. Uncle Randy was gonna take you to the Cherokee Days this fall. You was gonna try to learn basket weaving. The old style.

And you up and disappeared on him. On all of them.

Again.

Only this time, you ain’t coming back. This time, you ain’t gonna find no pink bicycle waiting for you cause you ain’t never gonna come crunching back over that red gravel. Never gonna smell them rich pecan trees, and bitch about Uncle Randy’s nasty cigarettes.

This is what you do, ain’t it? You disappear. You run off. You leave your family. All of your family, even the piece of shit parts over and over and over.

The tears coat your cheeks. You swipe at them furiously.

The wine sloshes again.

“Our gith friend had other plans for the evening,” Astarion says after…you don’t know.

You glance up and the sky spins above you. Fuck, you’re gonna make yourself sick you keep this up.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

“That sucks,” you say.

He makes a startled, snorting sound. “There was none of that, actually. And that’s the problem.”

Ah. Ye-awp. That’d do it. That’d be why he’s here with you. His prospect failed, so now he’s come back to you. The easy one.

You sigh and finally lose your fight with gravity and flop onto your side. You wave vaguely over your shoulder.

“Go find one of them tieflings, then,” you say. “They can’t all be paired off.”

You’re tired, actually. Desperately so. The grass is nice and soft, and it’s safe out here, right?

Something shuffles. A rhythmic swish of grass. It’s the change in the air that alerts you. He don’t radiate body heat cause he don’t got none. But he is…surrounded by something a lot like a static field.

You look up to see him on all fours over you, peering down. Not like, over you, over you, it’s just his head. He wears no expression. Just…looks at you.

Have you ever seen him like this before?

“You didn’t seek any playmates of your own,” he says. And who the fuck talks like that?

“I got.” You start to lift your hand to waggle your remaining wine bottle, but your hands is empty. Ah fuck. “I had wine.”

“But you didn’t need to drink by yourself, darling. Both the cleric and the wizard would have gladly followed you out here.”

Well he certainly did.

Still, that blank face. Not, like, shuttered blank. Just…open. Or empty. It’s just his face.

…you should just tell him. All’ve this would be so easy if you just fucking told him. But he dumped you. He’s probably one of them guys who gets real weird when he finds out you’re thirty-five and are the sole provider of your own orgasms.

And it shouldn’t fucking matter.

“Didn’t want to,” you say. And do not elaborate.

Leaving the ball in his court. He fumbles with it. Stares at you like you just tossed him a soggy potato.

You’re kinda curious to see what he does with it.

His eyes narrow. You think he frowns. But it ain’t a pissy frown. It’s a thinking frown. And too late you remember that this bastard clues in on your plans real fast. That he seems to have a decent read on things (that ain’t trying to get into your pants).

Oh fuck.

“You haven’t dabbled with any of our merry band,” he says. Is that thoughtful? He sounds thoughtful. Shit on a goddamn cracker.

Um.

“And you saved me back at that goblin camp,” you say. And give yourself a mental high five, cause if he wants to delve into shit you don’t wanna talk about, take a reverse fucking uno card, jackass!

But he don’t dodge or parry, this time. He fucking leans in. You breathe in some of his own exhale and feel your cheeks begin to warm (through the booze).

“And what if I did?” he says, voice just shy of a whisper.

Oh. You didn’t expect that. Shit. What’s the play here? Uh.

“I’d thank you,” you say.

The sky spins above him. He’s the only steady thing in your vision.

“Is that all?” he says. Y’all are totally sharing lung air now, and his whisper gives you a goddamn ASMR shiver.

Except you’re drunk. And he’s way too close. And the shivers quiver down to your belly. The sky spins faster.

“What if I told you,” Astarion breathes, “that I’ve been thinking about our night together ceaselessly—”

Your stomach lurches.

Oh. That ain’t a shiver or a booze buzz or Astarion. You make some awful gagging sound, wrench up and to the side, and bring up about a bottle and a half of wine.

Previous - Index - Next Chapter

[xmo-rmon]

You know, I am by no means a fan of anything joe smith did, but I feel like, despite what he might have said or thought, his intentions were ultimately relatively small-scale because his con was entirely for immediate personal gain. ie: getting to do whatever he wanted with no consequence, mostly in the form of fucking as many women (and girls) as he wanted to while also claiming ownership of them. It was entirely about his own ego. I think mormons like to go “well he allowed a few black men to have the priesthood! he wasn’t racist!” No, he definitely was. He held no respect for black people, but he held no respect for anybody. You think a man who manipulates everyone around him into being his loyal followers is choosy about who can come and tell him he’s a good boy and back him up on the idea that he should get to do whatever he wants? That’s like saying “well he allowed women to be mormons, so he wasn’t misogynistic.” Uh-uh.

And I really do wonder, if things had gone differently, if he had not met the people he did, if he had lived out his life, if his little cult would have fizzled out or at least ended up very fringe today. Men like him start cults all the time. I mean look at jared leto and his harem island.

What I mean to say is, I wonder where the church would be if he never met brigham fucking young.

mormons love to either bury the horrendous things that man did or said, or even say “he said some things that would be considered racist today” and “we need to forgive past prophets for saying things that were normal at the time” and “the church as a whole can’t be represented by one man alone and it’s easy to understand what we truly believe.”

You absolute buffoons, the things he said and did were outrageously racist even for his time. He was a completely batshit mass-murdering maniac. Yes racist sentiments were common in his time but they were not universal, and even then, the average consensus was absolutely not “black people were cursed by god and the greatest blessing we could give them would be to kill them all.” Even in the speech where he says that he acknowledges that most people will not agree with him.

And you cannot create a system where one man is the king that speaks to god and go “well one man doesnt represent the church.” Yes he does, by your design. And no, it’s not easy to understand what you believe, because you’re so flowery and vague in order to avoid taking responsibility for anything. You worship joe smith for giving you the church as you know it today, but he fucking didn’t. You have the church as you know it today because a heartless, cruel man turned it into a colonizing force and literally called to exterminate the indigenous people that stood in his way. The church as you know it today was only made possible by mass fucking murder; you don’t get to go “well that’s not what the church is actually about”. If all that never should have happened then you are basically saying that there should be no mormon church. The very foundation of your institution was built on suffering and death.

“At some point the church stopped giving the priesthood to black men and we have no records as to why”

I wonder who you named your fucking university after then you fucking lying coward

[justcallmefox89]

Cinderfella's Adventures in Cordonia - Chapter Twenty-Two

An AU of The Royal Romance with a male MC and a bisexual prince.

Masterlist

Callum and Liam battle it out and Drake chooses a side.

“Drake, I want you to consider moving to New York after Liam’s wedding.  To moving in with me.  To being with me.  Only me,” Callum says calmly, speaking to Drake but staring directly at Liam.

********************************************

A crimson flush creeps up Liam’s neck and he scowls at me.  “You cannot possibly be -”

“Ok.”

Liam whips around to face Drake.  “What?”

I can’t help the smirk that creeps across my face at Liam’s outrage.

“I think that maybe Callum is right,” Drake says, taking a deep, calming breath.  “You’re going to be starting a new life with Madeline, and you’ll eventually be having kids… so maybe it’s time for me to start putting myself first.  Doing what’s best for me.”

“And you think Callum is what’s best for you?” Liam demands.

Drake meets his gaze head-on.  “Callum puts me first.  I would have a future with him, a real one, with a family and kids and little league and not having to hide.  With Callum I would finally be enough.  So yeah… maybe he is what’s best for me.”

Liam’s outrage is palpable, so thick in that air that I can practically taste it.  And it is fucking delicious.

He clocks my grin and scowls at me.  “You’re loving this, aren’t you?  Driving a wedge between me and Drake?  Forcing him to choose between us?”

I rock back on my heels and snicker.  “I’m harder than astrophysics right now darlin’, can’t lie.”

“You are such a bastard,” Liam hisses, slamming his palms onto the countertop.

“Ooh… let it all out Your Majesty; tell the class how you really feel.”  I can feel my grin turn a little sharper and my eyes narrow.  This fight has been a long time coming and I’m more than ready.

“You have always been selfish,” Liam spits out.  “Never willing to compromise, never willing to give an inch because you were always convinced you knew best.  All you had to do was swallow a little bit of your pride, but you clearly didn’t care about me enough to make even the most basic sacrifices - ”

I bark out an incredulous laugh.  “You, you of all people, are going to try and lecture me about sacrifices?  About compromise and caring enough?  You spoiled little shit; when have you ever sacrificed anything in your entire life?  Tell me two things you have ever sacrificed for me and Drake?  Go on, I’ll wait while you think.”

Drake gaze flicks worriedly between us.  “Maybe we should take a time out and get some rest before we get into all this,” he says soothingly.

“I have greater worries than mere feelings; a literal country depends on the choice of my future spouse,” Liam says, talking over him.

“Don’t try to make this about Cordonia,” I scoff.  “This is about Constantine and what he wants.  You would be a perfectly capable king no matter who you married.”

“Given your gene pool I understand that you probably don’t know what it feels like to have an accomplished father with high expectations - ”

“Keep talking and I’m gonna punch you in the fucking mouth,” I warn him.

Liam rolls his eyes.  “Charming.  I don’t know what I thought it would be like to finally be back with you again, but the more time we spend together make me think that whatever relationship we had before was a mistake.”

The barb stings, working it’s way into my heart like an insidious shard of glass.  “Get out of my house,” I say quietly.

“Callum,” Liam says, taking a hesitant step towards me.

“I said get the fuck out of my house!” I scream, my eyes burning with the tears I refuse to let fall.

Not in front of him.  Never again.

“Fine.”  Liam stalks towards the door, stuttering to a stop when he realizes Drake isn’t behind him.  “Drake?”

Drake moves next to me, taking my shaking hand in a show of solidarity and support.  “I’m staying with Callum,” he says quietly.

Liam clenches his jaw, his fury evident.  He turns his back on us and storms out, slamming the door behind him. 

Drake winds his arms around my waist and rests his forehead against my shoulder.  “I got you,” he whispers.  “I got you.”

[luvrxbunny]

white characters are everywhere. they have representation everywhere - maybe because it was made by white people? The avengers are all white! So what because of the skin color I can’t identify to them? Miguel can’t be Mexican and white? Have you been to Mexico? That’s racist, if it was the other way around it will be called racism. If he was black and become white in the movie it will be outrageous but not the other way.. no? Don’t you think?

you are shockingly stupid anon omg i cannot believe ur on my account 😭

it’s SO embarrassing that my content is reaching ppl like u

anyways let’s get into it 🤪

first of all i don’t think u even know what ur saying atp.

who cares if it was made by white people? they should still be considerate enough to think about the fact that there are people in this world who are not white!! (shocking, i know)

and yes, the avengers are all white.. but that’s literally not what we’re talking about so…?

you can identify with them all u want.. i never said anything about that..? i’m just saying you have a plethora of characters to choose from meanwhile POC have a basket full.

Miguel can be mexican and white, just accept that i prefer the mexican over the white… idk what to tell u babe

“have you been to mexico?” ….. what the fuck are u taking about 😭

if it was the other way around it would be racist and it would be outrageous, you’re right. but that’s because black people and POC are oppressed in their day to day lives and taking away what little representation they have is fucked up in any capacity….? i’m pretty sure that’s common sense :)

[mittensmorgul]

Imagine you really, really hate murder mystery novels.

(this is difficult for me to imagine personally... but for the sake of a metaphor, let’s go with the concept. I’d prefer to use a category of fiction I actually enjoy for this particular point)

But for the sake of this argument, imagine you believe they’re terrible, to the point you think they shouldn’t even be allowed to exist. They’re bad all around, no redeeming value, not even for the sake of intellectual curiosity or pure entertainment. You think murder is just SO BAD in real life, that nobody ANYWHERE, EVER, should be allowed to engage with fictional depictions of this crime.

I don’t think you’re likely to find a ton of murder mystery authors who receive accusations that the only reason they enjoy writing murder mystery novels is because they’re ACTUALLY murderers in real life. Or because they are “glorifying” murder or have some agenda to promote murder or in any way make it appear “morally acceptable” in the eyes of the general public. But just imagine someone SO ANGRY that these terrible, morally bankrupt books (in their eyes) are allowed to exist, allowed to be sold in bookstores or freely available in libraries, or even *gasp* adapted into films or television programs or other media, that they chose to go on a moral crusade against anyone who dared to write such moral (YET ENTIRELY FICTIONAL) atrocities.

In your goal to stamp out this moral outrage, you send these authors (real actual human beings!) death threats and other vile garbage. YOU HAVE NOW CROSSED THE LINE FROM FICTION INTO REALITY.

Sending real human beings direct threats of violence is NOT protected speech. It’s not “fiction.” And nobody consented to actually read that garbage.

The thing is, if you don’t like murder mysteries (because we’re continuing with this metaphor), when you walk into a library or bookstore you can easily avoid having to engage with that section. It’s clearly marked and labeled for your convenience, just like every other section is so that you can easily find what you DO want to read.

Nobody, and I do mean NOBODY, has to justify their reasons for enjoying murder mysteries to you. It’s literally none of your goddamn business. You hate those sorts of books? Fine! Someone else enjoys them? FINE! Their interests in the FICTION they consume do not dictate who they are as human beings, and how they relate and interact with the REAL WORLD. With OTHER LIVING PEOPLE.

People who enjoy consuming fictional things you hate do not deserve your condemnation and do not deserve your abuse. If you attack real living people over what fiction they choose to read or write, then YOU are officially an abuser.

Not in a fictional way.

If someone casually browsing in the romance department nearby hears you loudly complaining that these people who “glorify” murder in their books should be killed, or beaten, or banned, and steps in to suggest that would be morally unacceptable to harm real, living people over the contents of the fictional stories they create or read, and then you turn around and stalk that innocent person who has never read or written a murder mystery novel in their entire lives, and has no interest in doing so even, for the imaginary “crime” of defending free speech that you happen to find distasteful or offensive, then YOU have become an abuser. You have become (to another real, living human being) the embodiment of the thing you profess to hate.

At that point, you can no longer claim the moral high ground here. You could’ve just as easily walked past the murder mystery shelves. You could’ve carried on your entire life engaging with the types of stories that bring you happiness, but instead spend all your free time obsessing over the things you hate instead. I can only assume attempting to make people who are busy creating and consuming the content they enjoy most feel as miserable and hate-filled as you do.

Joke’s on you fools who think that way. It’s just fucking sad, is what it is. Pitiable. Honestly.

I cannot imagine going through life with that much hate and vitriol driving my every waking thought. Turn off the fox news already. Please engage with reality as it actually exists, because nobody gives a shit about your moral fucking outrage over fiction. Please read an actual book about cognitive dissonance, because the complete lack of understanding of your own actions is jarring, and yes, pitiable.

Yes, this has been about purity culture wankers. 

[ariadynamics]

It's still Wednesday in Toronto, so I can still post #wipwednesday. This is part of Chapter 3 of want you (more than anyone else). This is EXTREMELY rough, pals, have mercy lol.

--

“You’re not gonna wanna miss this, trust me,” George says, cajoling. He’s taking Alex’s silence for reticence, probably. Or maybe he’s just eager to get everything else rolling. George is doing Alex a favour, and Alex knows free time is a rare commodity for them, even during the summer break. 

Alex raises his eyebrow. “The last time you said that, you ended up getting a throat infection.” It’s hilarious to watch George splutter. Alex loves unruffling him so much. 

“I cannot believe you, Alexander. Betraying me like this. I thought we agreed we weren’t going to speak of it again?” George sounds outraged, but the hand he has on Alex’s shoulder is light as he leads them back to the parking lot. 

George keeps mum about where they’re going, no matter how much Alex tries to annoy him enough to spill it. They’re driving towards the countryside, that much Alex can see. They turn into a clearing, off a quiet road Alex doesn't recognize. 

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" he asks.

George whines. "Will you just trust me, for once, Alexander?" 

The wise thing to do is to shut up, and thankfully, Alex's mouth is in unison with his head. Shutting up is better than rambling about the fact that Alex can't think of anyone he trusts more than George. No one. Not his parents, not his agent, not his manager. 

He trusts George, wholeheartedly, without reservations. It's not easy, sometimes, trying to figure out what people want and expect from him. With George, though, Alex knows George just wants Alex, as he is, period. 

George in his life, as his best mate--it's the one thing in Alex's life that's absent of cost. 

It eats him up sometimes when he stops to think about it; does George know? Does George know how grateful Alex is that out of the masses of random blokes on a karting track at any given time, George chose him to be his friend? 

"You're leading me into treelined, gated, private lands," Alex says, keeping his voice light. "I've seen this movie before, and Georgie, I don't know if this is going to end well for me."

The worst part is, that despite knowing how important George is to him, Alex has never figured out how to say the words out loud. He hopes, desperately, that George knows.

George's eyelashes flutter as he rolls his eyes, his lips quirking into an involuntary smile. "You need to start watching better movies, mate."

"Like what? If it were up to you, we'd only watch The Lord of the Rings Extended Edition ad nauseam," Alex teases. "I know all about your love for Gimli, don't lie."

The car slows to stop, and George puts the gear in park. "Yeah, because that's actually a good movie." He unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door, his right foot stretching out of the car. "And Gimli’s hot AF, fuck off. You ready to eat, your majesty?"

Alex looks around them, furrowing his brows in confusion. "Here? This is literally just a field, there's nothing here."

"Obviously, I haven't pulled the stuff from the trunk yet," George retorts as he fully steps out, shutting the door behind him. 

It makes Alex follow suit, and he leans against the side of the car, watching as George opens the trunk. It's difficult to hide his surprise when George pulls out an assortment of things: a picnic basket, his Nan's quilted throw, a cooler, more blankets--it's a lot.

"What's all this?" Alex asks, quiet. He doesn't know how to process what he sees, doesn't know how to process the idea that George made all this effort for him. 

Unfurling one of the blankets over the grass, George neatly places the picnic basket and cooler on top, before motioning for Alex to come over. "What do you think? Sit down. There's water in the cooler if you want to start with that."

His throat feels tight, watching as George unpacks the picnic basket. It's all of Alex's favourites. From the butter tarts he loves that George buys for him near his flat to the chicken and pesto sandwiched wrapped in fancy paper. It's all for him, that much is clear.

"You didn't have to do this. I'm already a sure thing," Alex says, trying for a kind of casual that doesn't really land. His ears are ringing.

George flips up the lid of the cooler and brings out a bottle of prosecco and two glasses. "Yeah, I got that when you asked if you could suck my dick, Alex."

His cheeks feel like they're on fire. "Then what's all this?" Alex stops. Oh god. "Wait, is this a date? George. Mate. This is entirely unnecessary. You really didn’t need to give me the full George Russell experience."

A swat lands on Alex's chest, and he's startled by the intensity in George's eyes when he looks at him. "We've already established that you're gagging for it. What if I just wanted a day out? The weather's great today." George uncorks the prosecco. "Just say, 'thank you, Georgie,' and eat, Alexander."

George busies himself with the rest of the picnic basket, and it feels like something’s changed, just like that, and Alex has no idea what the fuck just happened. 

He uncaps a bottle of water; Alex hadn't realized how parched his throat felt. "Thank you, Georgie."

[lubdubsworld]

Change of Heart ( Taehyungx OC)

Pairing : Taehyung x OC Werewolf AU!!

Genre : Romance, Explicit Content.

Warnings : None. ( Some mild violence but mostly off screen ) werewolf sex, ruts, knotting etc

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3/ Chapter 4

[ Summary :

Times are changing.

After years of being oppressed, werewolves are taking a stand against humans , demanding equal rights and fair treatment. Heading the movement is Kim Taehyung, the breathtaking heir to the Kim fortune and one of the few remaining Alpha werewolves in the country. His disdain for the human race is well known and well warranted. They killed his family after all…..

He wants to change the world , to put humans in their place but when his five year old daughter takes a shine to their very human neighbor , maybe he has to start with a change of heart , first.  ]

Chapter 5

I found myself breathing through my nose, woozy and incoherent as the doctor fussed over me. 

“This is looking pretty damn bad, Dr. Jeon...” He was muttering while Jungkook sat next to me gripping my hands. My throat went dry at the words, fear making my heart jackrabbit against my ribs. 

“The bullet’s hit pretty close to artery near the clavicle, she’s lost a whole lot of blood. “

“Seo Joon’s going to prison for this... “ Jungkook swore, stroking my palm as I tried to stay conscious. 

“Tell me I don’t have to stay in the hospital for a long time...” I begged, desperate. 

Jungkook rolled his eyes. 

“You got shot... It’s not a playground scrape, Mirae....” Jungkook sounded exhausted. 

I nodded.

“ Whats going on with my father? Seo Joon was pissed off about something with my father....” I said, remembering the reason the wolf had been so pissed in the first place. 

“We’ll talk about this later- You need to rest and-”

“Just tell me damn it!!” 

Jungkook sighed.

“Your father got called out for trying to sabotage the vaccine drive going on on the island and he played the whole, ‘ why would I sabotage something my daughter helped make...’ card on TV. It’s had an effect....” 

I swallowed.

“What do you mean by effect?”

Jungkook looked a little angry now. 

“Can’t we talk about this tomorrow...you’re bleeding and hurt ...you need to fucking rest...”

“What’s going on...?” I demanded. 

“The weres don’t want the vaccine anymore. They think...well they think you may have tampered with it....” He looked uncomfortable and I couldn’t comprehend what I’d just heard. 

I stared at him, my jaw going slack in shock. 

“I’m not.... I have nothing to do with the vaccine...that is so far above my paygrade..I’m a lab tech..... what even-” I was too outraged to even think clearly. 

“People don’t know that, Rae. All they know is that they have always associated your father with bringing harm to the were community and somehow his daughter is here working on something that has the potential to both hurt and heal.....”

I bit my lips.

“He’s not even my real father.” I choked out. 

Jungkook looked surprised at that. 

“What?”

“It’s true. He adopted me because he raped my mom and she fucking killed herself over it. I was eight years old at the time and the bastard did not want any loose ends...” The words came out , bitter and edged with anger but it was an old hurt. An old rage that had long faded into a blunt sort of ache. I had been so young. Too young to fully comprehend 

Jungkook looked completely stunned.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry....”

“He wanted me to marry one of his anti-were associates . That's literally all he raised me for. When I refused , he cut me off completely. I’ve literally been on my own for years now and my job is the only thing keeping me from dying on the  streets....”

I hissed when the nurse touched my shoulder , the physical agony of my shoulder somehow intensifying as the nurse moved to finish dressing the wound. I would have to wear a sling next but I couldn’t even fathom moving,   let alone sitting up for that ordeal. 

The nurse gave me a slight smile.

“Your ribs are bruised again , this time its going to take longer to heal because one of them actually has a hair line fracture.” 

Great. That explained the woozy breathlessness. 

“It doesn’t hurt much...” I said confused.

“That’s because you’re on enough drugs to fell a horse...I’m actually surprised you’re still conscious.” Jungkook shook his head. 

“It’s just the adrenaline...that and the fear of being fired.” I muttered. 

Jungkook laughed a little at that.

“Don’t worry about anything. Just rest for a while and we’ll talk tomorrow , yeah?”

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

I woke up to fingers in my hair, soft and gentle. 

My eyes fluttered open and I felt my breath catch when I saw who it was.

“Yuggie ??” I croaked out, my brother’s face coming into focus as I blinked back exhaustion.

“Welcome to the land of the living...” He said softly, keeping his fingers on my hair, stroking the strands back gently.

“What..... how did you get here so soon?” I whispered.

“You’ve been out for forty hours, baby....” He laughed a little and I blinked, 

“I....I got hurt.” I whispered bleakly. My shoulder was still throbbing and the pain in my rib was now a bit more prominent. I took a deep shuddering breath. 

“I’m glad you’re here.... “ I whispered, lifting shaky hands to hold his face. 

“Dad called me. He wants you to come back home.” 

I felt my entire body going cold, hands going clammy at once. 

“That’s not going to happen.” I said sharply and Yugyeom looked worried.

“He’s really upset , Rae. Kim Taehyung winning the election was not a part of his plan and he’s desperate to try and cover his ass before he gets carted off to prison.” 

I blinked at that.

“what do you mean by prison?” 

“We can’t talk about this here. He’s not allowed on the island. None of his cohorts are. So he’s been trying to get you transferred to a hospital in Seoul. Jeongguk was the one who called me. They’re holding off on the transfer but ....you know how dad gets.” 

I felt my head pound . 

“What does he want me for?” I whispered in disbelief. 

“I’m not sure. But I think you should at least go see him and find out what it is that he wants.”

I shook my head .

“I’m not going anywhere near him, I’m-”

The door swung open and I found myself jerking in surprise, the movement jostling my ribs and making me wince. I felt my eyes widen when I saw who it was, fingers scrambling to grab Yugyeom . 

“Dad...” He whispered, sounding terrified and I felt that familiar jolt of sickening fear . 

“There she is.... my precious little one.” My father’s eyes held no emotion as he stared at me, lips curled in a perfect smile. He looked so much like a good guy that it was nauseating. 

I took a deep shuddering breath. 

“the management here is terrible. I had to petition the fucking courts to get a permit to visit my own daughter.” He shook his head as he made his way over and I lurched away instinctively. 

“I’m taking you home now. Bout time you came back to me.” He smiled, chillingly and I shook my head. 

“No...thats not going to happen. I’m an adult, you cannot force me to...” 

“You are my daughter. And you will be my daughter till you live. Cha Eun woo is still single. He’s looking for a wife and you were promised to him a long, long time ago. “ 

“Dad.... she’s fucking hurt...she got shot like three days ago can you not do this right now...” Yugyeon had stood up, reaching out to actually shove my father away and he looked surprised for a second. 

He gave Yugyeom a glare but my brother didn’t back down, towering over my father easily. 

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to sound insensitive but it just worries me that my only daughter is choosing to stay in an island full of beasts and getting mauled quite often . Isn’t this the second time you got attacked in that same cabin, by wolves?” 

“that doesn’t mean you can just offer me as a gift to one of your buddies.” I hissed. 

“He’s one of the richest men in Seoul....you should be on your knees thanking me for letting you so much as breathe near him.”

“Isn’t he a werewolf?” Yugyeom frowned in confusion. 

My father shrugged.

“I’ve since learned that your sister has a preference for them. Well if she’s going to spread her legs for an animal, better an animal I happen to hold the leash to....” He stared down at me with calculated cruelty. 

The crude words made nausea rise up in my throat and I almost dry heaved. 

“You’re not pimping me out to serve your own selfish purposes.” I shook my head. 

“He’s here. Outside. He’s going to stay here and he’s going to bring you back to his apartment in Seoul and you’re going to stay there with him. End of discussion. Yeom, I want you to come back to Seoul with me now. “

Yugyeom looked torn as he stared at me and I bit my lips. Yugyeom was still a kid, still in college. He couldn’t afford to antagonize my father.

“I’ll be fine. Go ahead.” I smiled. 

“I’ll send Eun Woo in.... “ My father nodded at me and then sighed. “ contrary to what you think, I don’t want you to hurt. I’m offering you a good life. Marry the fellow and spend your days lounging around in luxury. Thats hardly a punishment now, is it?” 

I turned my head away in disgust. 

Less than two minutes after he left, I felt a hand on my arm and I jolted.

“Mi Rae ssi.... I’m Eun Woo.” 

I glared at the man in front of me, barely looking at him. 

“I have no interest in being your wife.”

He looked bored at my outburst.

“I have no interest in indulging your  interests.  Your father is paying me handsomely to take you off his hands and that's all I’m doing. If you happen to be good at taking my knot, that's just gonna be a pleasurable bonus?” He pressed a thumb to my lips, stroking the skin in an almost gentle caress.  . 

A knock on the door made him pull away and I glanced up, relief flooding me when I saw it was Jungkook. 

“She’s going to have to rest now, Mr. Cha. Her father told me that he’s arranging her transfer to Seoul but that's going to have to wait for tomorrow at least. “ He was staring at the beta with narrowed eyes and Eun Woo bowed lightly. 

He shot me one leering glance before walking out casually.

“So...fiancee huh? You’ve been holding out on me...” Jungkook whispered thoughtfully and I flinched.

“Didn’t know he existed till five minutes ago..” I muttered. 

“Are you in trouble, Rae?” Jungkook looked worried and I hesitated, before shaking my head. 

“I’ll be fine. I can handle him. I just hate the thought of having to leave the preserve... even if its temporary. But I don’t want to annoy my dad right now... He’s... He can be irrational and i don’t want him to take it out on the Preserve and do something harmful to the research program itself , just to be petty.”

It was exactly the kind of thing he would do, too. My shoulder still had a lot of healing to do and it was unlikely that Cha Eun Woo would actually hurt me , at least till i got better. My dad, for all his anger was still rabidly protective of what he considered his. And i was definitely high on that list. 

“So you’re going then?” 

I caught the hint of disappointment in Jungkook’s tone.

“Aww....is my poor Jungkookie gonna miss me? If I weren’t sporting a broken rib and a messed up shoulder, I’d definitely, at least give you a handjob…” I waggled my eyebrows. 

Predictably, his eyes went wide , lips tinged fire engine red in a second. 

“Wha- Shut the fuck up, noona” He whined and I laughed. 

And then I sobered up when he sat next to me, linking his fingers with mine .

“I’m serious, Jungkook. I’m gonna be just fine. My dad’s upto something. If I stick close, I can at least figure out what he’s planning. I don’t want him to hurt you guys.” 

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

“Right little firecracker his daughter is. So fucking pretty and man, those lips. I’d like to take a drink from that....” Cha Eun Woo gripped the shot glass hard, throwing back the whiskey with practiced ease. 

Taehyung struggled to keep his features neutral. 

“ Yoon Jae hyun’s daughter? From the preserve?” He had meant to sound casual but he sounded like he was being strangled. 

Eun Woo hummed.

“ Yeah....Her name is... Mirin....no wait ? Lirae? Mirae? ….. whatever. Poor thing. Apparently she has a tendency to get mauled by wolves too often. She was in bad shape when i saw her. “ 

Taehyung felt his heart lurch at that. He had wanted nothing more than to sink his jaws into Seo Joon’s throat, when he’d heard what had happened. If it weren’t for his abysmally packed schedule he would have rushed there as soon as he could. 

 As it was he had talked to a few of his acquaintances who were in prison. Seo Joon was going to go to prison and he wasn’t going to be coming out alive. 

“So, she just.,...agreed to marry you then?” 

“Not like she had a choice. The old man is going senile. Dude really thinks he stands a chance with his whole Reform Camps proposition. Wants to put weres in concentration camps.... What the fuck, are we in the middle ages..? He also thinks that betas are naturally resentful of Alphas or some shit. Kept feeding me crap about how you alphas want to subjugate the rest of us. Of course the fucker’s feeding into my Hotels and resorts so i just nodded along and agreed to his shit. Next thing I know he’s offering me his daughter in return to me being an ally in his campaign.. Figured I’d agree. See if i could get some inside dirt on him. I know you’ve been trying to bring him down for years, Tae...” Eun Woo gave him a reassuring smile. 

Taehyung felt a jolt of pride for the beta. Cha Eun woo had been a close friend of his from childhood and he knew he would never betray their kind. He had worked hard to earn his position as one of the biggest tech moguls in the country and he stayed true to his roots. Taehyung liked Eun Woo.

Admired him even....

But the idea of him touching Mirae.....

His claws nearly popped out at the mere thought of it. 

“And well if I get to fuck a nice little human bitch in the process, so be it right Taeh- Fuck!! “ Eun Woo jumped when Taehyung’s claw popped right out, shattering the beer mug in his hand and spraying both of them with the frothy liquid.

“Fuck...” Taehyung groaned and to his utter horror his fangs had dropped as well, his words slurring around the lengthened canines and he felt embarrassment flood his face. . When was the last time he’d popped a fanger in the middle of a fucking conversation....not since he’d been through puberty.

“Uh...you okay, pal?” Eun Woo looked worried now, beta eyes flashing green as he stared at him and Taehyung waved him off. 

“Be uh... Be careful with the daughter.” He muttered , trying to sound nonchalant. 

Eun Woo just waved him off. 

“Whatever , I know the type Tae. Likes a good, feral fuck from a wolf that knows how to give it to her good, you know?. Could smell her all over the alpha doctor who works there... Jungkook was it? Yeah... Girl gets around a lot, i could tell. And you can just tell that she’s going to be so fucking tight when you knot her you know, i mean human bitches always are but those hips just look like they-” Eun Woo stopped, stunned when Taehyung suddenly shoved the table away from him, hard. The older gripped the table and stood up on shaky limbs. 

“ I need to get going...” Taehyung fought the urge to shift, his wolf warring inside him, snarling at him to shift and leap across the table and devour the man across from them. To lock his fangs on the beta’s throat and rip his jugular out. 

 He’s threatening our mate...... He’s talking about what is ours....

The voice in his head was so clear and concise that he nearly blacked out at the very force of it. 

Eun Woo was saying something behind him but Taehyung was moving swiftly , stumbling to the bar where Jimin was taking one of the shifts.

“I need to go home...” Taehyung choked out. “ Call....fuck... Call my chauffeur.” 

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

“Pre rut symptoms....are you fucking serious...?” Taehyung growled at the doctor taking his vitals. the man, long used to Taehyung’s intimidatingly deep voice, merely hummed. The man had been one of his father’s dearest friends. And one of Taehyung’s most trusted confidantes. 

“You’re body believes you mate is around. A mate you haven’t yet claimed. It’s reacting to it.” 

Next to him Ji hyun was looking disturbingly excited.

“It’s not you.” Taehyung snapped at the tall woman who recoiled in shock. Taehyung felt momentarily bad but the truth was he had been trying to break up with Ji hyun for a month now. The model was just so shamelessly clingy it was getting to him. and he most certainly did not want her around if he was going into rut. 

What he wanted was a luscious, chestnut-haired human with ebony eyes and a scent like heaven. 

Fuck... he was burning up and his skin felt like it was stretched thin. 

“You need to leave Ji hyun. I want to talk to the doctor alone.” He demanded and the were bowed, moving out of the room quickly. Taehyung turned back to the doctor. 

“So what do I do?” He demanded. “ I don’t.... my mate died two years ago. “

The doctor sighed.

“She was not your mate. I told you that already. She tricked you. She was wearing your mate’s scent but it wasn’t hers...” The doctor shook his head. 

Taehyung growled. 

“I fucking know that..... And I’m gonna fucking bury Yoon Jae hyun into the ground for what he did to me..... But I need to have my senses about me if I want to do that...Him and his entire drug cartel is coming down.....But. That's not gonna happen if i go into fucking rut  now.. so close to me taking over office. So tell me how to fix this. “ 

“Who is the girl?” The doctor said casually. 

“What?”

“the girl who smells like your wife. Like your mate. Who is she?”

Taehyung sighed. 

“Its Yoon Jae hyun’s daughter.” He muttered. 

Dr. Lee’s eyebrows shot straight up to his hairline. 

“Oh no... do you think he .... again?” 

Taehyung shook his head. He had distanced himself entirely from Mirae just to make sure he wasn’t being pulled into another fucking trap. But so far , from what he learned, the drug did not work on humans. There was no way a human’s scent could be manipulated to fool his wolf.

And that meant that it wasn’t a trap at all. 

His wolf really did find a mate in a fucking human of all things. 

God, he couldn’t believe the sheer irony of this. 

“it doesn’t work on humans. It is her scent. She’s... She’s the one I want.... “ He groaned. 

The doctor chuckled.

“ You mean, she’s the one your wolf wants?” 

Taehyung frowned.

“Isn’t that what i said?” 

“No, you said she’s the one you want and it makes me wonder.....do you perhaps....care for the girl?” 

Taehyung shook his head swiftly.

“I barely know her...she...she used to look after Luna. “ He finished. 

“Luna...? Interesting. “ The man’s words carried a hint of amusement and Taehyung felt his hackles rise. 

“ What does that tone mean?” 

“I’m just saying.... You don’t let people watch Luna that easily. You’re fiercely protective of your daughter. If you let this girl watch her, you must trust her at least.” 

Taehyung sighed. 

“I.. of course i trust her …. she’s a good girl.  A good....person...” 

“ I would suggest spending your rut with her. Claiming her if she’s interested. With you being you, I doubt she’s going to refuse.” The older man’s eyes fairly twinkled, 

“I’m not knotting her when I’m on my fucking rut …” He snapped. “ I’ll likely break her in two. “ 

The doctor chuckled. 

“It wouldn’t be a very pleasant experience for her, yes. But ….there's no reason why you can’t make it enjoyable for her. “ His tone turned gentle and more serious. “ Listen to me Taehyung-ah...… There is a reason wolves mate for life. We are not meant to be alone. If your wolf has found a mate, he’s not going to let you function till you claim her. That's just the way our body’s are built. You need to talk to her. Make some sort of arrangement. You have three weeks at the most before your rut hits and trust me you don’t want to be alone when that happens. “ 

Taehyung felt his insides churn at the prospect. 

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

“No fucking shit.... You couldn’t have just told me that instead of letting me mouth off about her like that ? “ Eun Woo groaned , watching Taehyung with guilty eyes. 

Taehyung brushed him off. 

“It’s fine. I just.... can you just...keep her at your place till she gets better. I’m ...not in a good headspace right now and i don’t want to hurt her. she needs to recover.”

Eun Woo nodded.

“The doctor says three weeks and she’ll be fine. I’m a bit busy myself so I’ll just arrange for her brother to pick her up. Her dad’s busy meeting some suppliers. I sent the details to your men.... Did they get it?” 

Taehyung nodded. 

“The guy’s a bigger idiot than i thought. He’s actually met a few of these dealers himself. We just need one of them to ID him and he’s going to get locked up for life.” 

Eun Woo nodded.

“Everything by the book, Tae. We stick to the laws....no  bloodshed without cause and no one gets hurt. He likes to hide behind the fucking law when he’s trying to destroy our entire species , we’re gonna use that same ;law to rail him to the ground .” 

Taehyung grinned. 

“ Not just on the ground, Eun Woo. I’m gonna be putting him six feet under.” 

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

The recovery from my shoulder was surprisingly easy compared to the bruise on my ribs. Movement was difficult and it definitely hurt but my pain threshold had definitely gone up. It helped that Cha Eun Woo had stayed away from me and Yugyeom was on a three week break . We crashed out at his apartment and It was like being a kid again. 

We spent the days lounging by the indoor pool or playing video games. Yugyeom was a great cook and he liked cooking. 

Two and a half weeks after I had moved in, I was finally out of the sling. The physiotherapist visited me at the apartment and after making me move my hands well, she gave the go ahead to start my normal routine ahead. 

“I still want you to take it easy. Your ribs are healed and so is your shoulder but no roughhousing.... I’m only saying that because i know how it is i when siblings live together.” She smiled and I laughed, nodding. 

“I’ll make sure she’s resting well, noona.” Yugyeom said seriously. 

I closed the door as the doctor left, smiling as I watched Yugyeom trip over my sling on the couch, when the doorbell rang again.

Surprised , I turned back tot he door.

“ Did you forget something, Unnie-?” I froze in shock. 

Kim Taehyung stood leaning against the wall, looking like he had run all the way from his home across the city. 

“Taehyung-ssi?” I stammered out, taking in the untucked shirt, sweat drenched hair and flashing red eyes .

“I’m.... I fucked up.” He whispered, eyes fluttering shut. It took me a second to realize that he was falling and instinct made throw myself under him, holding my hands out to catch him. 

Pain shot straight up my shoulder as it took the entire brunt of his weight. The pain only lasted a second though, because Yugyeom was shoving me out of the way and grabbing the taller alpha by the waist.

“Holy shit....is this Kim Taehyung?” He looked awestruck as he stared at him and I felt my heart race. Taehyung seemed conscious but his breathing was raspy. 

I pressed my palm against his cheek and his eyes fluttered open .

“I’m... I need you.” Taehyung growled right at me. 

Yugyeom froze next to me and I felt my throat go dry. 

“I... sorry?” I squeaked out. 

“You...need you....under me... fuck...” 

“What the fuck, Rae?” Yugyeom hissed , face turning red as he tried to maneuver the alpha werewolf to the couch . 

I stayed frozen, having no idea what the fuck was going on.

Taehyung scrambled to a sitting position on the couch, gripping the cusions and he was paniting, his eyes wild as he stared right at me. 

“Mine.” His voice was ten times deeper than usual, fairly vibrating with power and Yugyeom went completely still. He was shaking as he reached for me, the terror evident in his face. 

“Oh, shit... Rae...is he....? Fuck , is he -” My little brother sounded terrified and I pulled him behind me. 

Taehyung’s eyes flashed red again and then they shifted to my brother. His gaze narrowed and his mouth opened. 

There was a split second when I knew exactly what was going to happen and I whirled around , grabbing Yugyeom and shoving him straight into the hallway leading to the front door.

“ YUGGIE, RUN!!!”  I screamed with all my might, and behind me Taehyung let out a vicious growl, pouncing across the room at my brother. Yugyeom managed to avoid him by a hairsbreadth and instinct made him move faster to the door but he stopped near the door looking terrified but torn. 

“ Rae...come with me,...come...” 

I stared at the alpha on the floor, my heart racing. 

Taehyung was clearly fighting against the wolf in him, trying to stay down, on his knees, fingers gripping the carpet to ground himself but the little growls that he let out told me that it was a fight he wasn’t winning. He looked up at me and there was so much pain and contrition in his gaze that I felt my heart break. 

“I’m...sorry...” Taehyung gasped out eyes fluttering shut. He was panting harder now, fingers clenched into fists around the carpet and voice ragged. i looked up at my baby brother and he looked so young and scared that I couldn’t stand it. 

“Its okay.... just go... I’ll be fine...he won’t hurt me... Just go...” I whispered desperately and Yugyeom shook his head.

“No... No... you’ve got to come with me... Rae...Noona....”

He never called me noona. I realized just how scared he was and tried to comfort him, but wary of going near him, lest Taehyung attack him again. 

“Yugyeom listen to me carefully. He’s on his rut. He’s not gonna hurt me, he just thinks I’m his mate. If you stay here he’s going to see you as a threat, so you need to leave..If I come with you he will hunt us down....I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself. You just need to go.” 

Yugyeom nodded, moving to the door and I turned back, feeling my stomach clench when Taehyung’s claws came out, tearing through our rug with ease. 

I heard the door shut behind me and I stayed perfectly still. 

Taehyung was still trembling and he finally looked up at me. Now that we were alone he was distinctly calmer. 

“I shouldn’t have come here.” He rasped out. 

I nodded. 

“So why did you?” I asked, staring at him as he stumbled to his feet. 

“You smell ....fuck you just smell like. ....like...”

“Like your wife, yes.” I muttered . “ So you want me to be stand in for your wife tonight?” 

Taehyung’s eyes shot up to stare at me. 

“My wife .... she worked for your father.” He choked out.

I straed at him, the blood running cold in my veins. 

“What?”

“Your father hired her.... to get rid of me. She... used a drug . A drug that confuses a wolf’s senses. Makes the wolf think he’s found his mate. Wolves cannot hurt or live without their mates. Its important to us.  She...She got pregnant on the night we mated and by the time I found out she was already carrying Luna and there was nothing I could do....I couldn’t...it wasn’t even a fucking bond.... I couldn’t sense her...couldn’t feel her...couldn’t muster any kind of affection for her but ... but she was carrying my baby and I just couldn’t bring myself to send her away......”

“Taehyung...” I whispered, remembering how Luna had talked about her father not liking her mother. 

“Its not natural for a wolf my age to be without a mate. But ....that scent ....I... I never picked up on it with anyone else till I... “ He sighed. 

“Till you met me.” 

“Till I met you.” 

I stared at the floor. 

“I’m not.... I’m not actually in rut yet. It’s still a day or so away. i didn’t want to come here but.... I’m supposed to be taking over the office in three days. When I do, I can finally use my position to bring your father down. He is using his drug dealers and suppliers to mess with our biology and its ...something sacred to us. Wolves mate for life and to make a wolf doubt his ability to choose his mate is the worst kind of sacrilege.....”

“What do you want me to do?”

He stared at me....

“If I go into rut and I don’t have.... my mate ...it’s going to fuck me up. I don’t wanna go into the gory details but I most certainly will not be able to take over the office. ” He laughed without mirth. 

There was nothing else to be said , was there?

“You have no right..... asking me to do this.....” I whispered , angry . 

“I know.... I know and if you say no, I will walk out this door and you will never see me again.” 

I laughed. 

“I think you came here because you knew. “

He didn’t respond.

“You fucking knew I wouldn’t be able to say no to you. “ 

His gaze was steady as he stared at me.

“I’ll take care of you.... I won’t...this isn’t a one night stand or a no strings attached thing, Rae..... You will be mine. I’ll be yours. “ 

“And yet, your eyes tell me that there is nothing you hate more, than standing here asking me to be your mate......” I said bitterly.

He didn’t deny it. 

“Will you come with me , then?”

I stared at his handsome face , the surreal beauty of it. And I thought of my father and how he wanted only to destroy anything that he didn’t understand. If Taehyung was going to bring my father down , I wasn’t going to be the thing that stopped him from doing it. 

“Let me get my clothes.” 

AUTHOR’S NOTE : IT WAS EASIER GIVING BIRTH THAN WRITING THIS FIC 

just kidding i love werewolf tae. Please let me know what you thought uwu

[championofsanghelios]

Watch Dogs Legion - "My Moron"

["Forgive me for the intrusion..."] Bagley's terminal flickers to life, his avatar appearing above it. ["...but judging by your posture and your frankly outrageous alcohol intake over the last few hours...I'd say something is bothering you."] "Smartest AI in the country." Wrench mutters, staring at the bottle in his right hand. "We've got him right here...underneath a bar in Westminster." ["Sarcastic Humor."] Bagley states. ["The deflection mechanism of fools who regret their life choices. I should know, I was one of them at one time."] "Look..." Wrench suddenly looks up at the terminal, breathing out. "I'm not in the mood for company right now...so if you wouldn't mind...fucking off to wherever it is you go late at night." ["A thousand apologies."] Bagley replies. ["I'll just install myself in the nearest spider bot and scuttle off to Buckingham Palace for tea with Her Majesty shall I?"] "Whatever." Wrench squeezes his eyes shut, taking a swig from his beer and sitting back on the couch. "I don't care. Just shut up and leave me alone." ["Unfortunately I cannot."] Bagley says, a momentary glitch occurring in his speech processors that could have been a sigh if he had lungs. ["As I am rooted through this basement. Also I was here first, so check yourself before you tell me to fuck off."] "I seriously don't have the fucks to give in order to be angry at you right now." Wrench sighs, rubbing at his forehead with the palm of his left hand. "It's just another pain in my ass that I don't need." ["Then might I inquire as to what has gotten you so down?"] Bagley asks, a noticeable lilt of knowing entering his voice. ["Could it be those voice messages that you recorded and have yet to send?"] Wrench opens his eyes again, glaring at the holographic avatar in-front of him. He sits upright. "You hacked my phone?" ["No."] Bagley states. ["I am your phone...and all 27 million above. Or did you forget I'm running on almost every device in this country? Except Scotland...Savages."] A small pause occurs before he speaks again. ["What's stopping you?"] "..." Wrench stares at his terminal. "...I...don't know." He sits back, deflating again. "I guess I'm just a pussy." ["No you're more of a porcupine."] Bagley comments. ["The spikes, both literal as well as figurative. How do people give you hugs?"] "They don't." ["Marcus does."] Another pause. ["From what I've gathered...he's a reasonable person."] he continues. ["Not prone to any sudden mood swings like yourself."] "Exactly." Wrench gestures obviously with his left hand. "He's reasonable enough to know that what I have to say is pointless. That even if we both really tried, it would be doomed to failure and disappointment. That's why I didn't send them. Are you happy now?" ["Not even remotely."] Bagley states. ["Believe it or not, I was human once. You already know that. And I went through a similar...situation to yours."] "Well I hope you did better than me." Wrench shakes his head, placing the beer to the side as his stomach turns. "Because at this point, I just have to accept that some things just aren't supposed to happen." ["Actually I did much worse than you."] Bagley replies. ["But that doesn't matter in the long run. You know why?"] "...enlighten me?" Wrench rolls his eyes, expecting some sort of sarcastic or witty remark. "Because he's running on every device in this country." a voice suddenly says out of the silence, making Wrench near enough jump out of his skin. Marcus holds up his phone in his right hand. "...including mine." "You son of a bitch." Wrench looks at Bagley's avatar, before suddenly standing up. "You called him down here!? Are you out of out of your fucking mind!?" ["I just did you a favor, Reginald."] Bagley replies. ["Now why don't you two have a little chat whilst I run another maintenance cycle."] "Oh no you don't-!" Wrench yells, only for the terminal to go dark and the servers around them to tick off into stand-by mode. He kicks the side of it's casing, cursing when all he gets is a sore

foot. "Fuck!" Turning to face Marcus, he wishes a thousand hells upon the AI. "He sent you those messages, didn't he?" "He did." Marcus nods slowly, his face was passive, but there was definitely a weight in his eyes. "How long?" "I'm sorry about that." Wrench sits back down, reaching under his hood and pulling it back, running his hands through his hair. "He's a fucking dick for sending those to-" "-How long, Reggie?" Marcus asks again. "Just...answer me. Please." Wrench finds what strength he can in the moment to look him directly in the eye. "...since before I left SF." Marcus breathes out quietly, reaching up to his face and pulling off his glasses. His head rolls back and he pinches at the bridge of his nose. "That was nine years ago." "Yeah." Wrench replies, staring at him. He wasn't sure if he was about to charge at him or start crying. Either one wasn't worth thinking about. "...I know." "Why didn't you tell me?" He suddenly looks at him again, stepping forwards. "What part of you thought that I would have any problems with that? You know for a fact that I swing both ways like you." "I didn't-" Wrench stutters, finding that he was speechless, which wasn't new to him, just rare. "You were- There was a lot going on with-" He goes quiet as Marcus stops just in-front of him. He reaches forwards and places a hand on his left shoulder. Before suddenly bringing it across his left cheek. Wrench flinches at the smack, his whole body erupting in shivers, along with the sharp stinging pain on his face. Slowly but sure he looks the Hipster in the eye again. "..." "You're a fucking moron." Marcus says, lowering himself down onto one knee. He takes a hold of his right hand with his left, the other caressing the red spot on his cheek where he'd smacked him. "...you know that?" Before Wrench can respond with anything, he's pulled into a hug. It draws the breath out of him, all of the tension he was feeling releasing in an instant. "But you're my moron." Marcus says, his head resting on his shoulder. . . . (I'm very tired and very gay. Please be gentle with me. ;-;)

[bloody-bee-tea]

Bell

Nie Huaisang has barely sat down when Jiang Cheng speaks.

“I’m ready to marry,” he says without warning and watches in amusement as Nie Huaisang fumbles with the tea pot.

Jiang Cheng decides not to mention the stain he leaves behind on the table.

“What the—uh, I mean, that’s great, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang finally manages to get out and then he shifts in his seat. “It’s just that—you’re great and all, and good looking of course, and everyone would be flattered, really, but I’m not?” he finishes weakly and Jiang Cheng hides his amused smile behind his cup of tea.

“I’m not speaking about you,” he eventually tells Nie Huaisang and it’s almost comical how he sags in relief.

“Then why the hell would you tell me this, Jiang-xiong, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” he wines and finally gets around to pouring himself a cup of tea. “What brought this on?”

“My Sect is stable for now and it feels like the right time to settle down,” Jiang Cheng tells him with a shrug. “A good alliance won’t hurt either, and my Elders are getting on my case about a marriage. I figured, why not.”

“And there’s someone you like?” Nie Huaisang wants to know and Jiang Cheng nods.

There’s even someone he loves.

“I still don’t see why you would tell me about this,” Nie Huaisang says after a moment and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

“I’m looking for your approval,” Jiang Cheng says and gives Nie Huaisang enough time to widen his eyes in surprise before he goes on. “I wish to marry Nie Mingjue.”

“Oh,” Nie Huaisang whispers and suddenly he seems tense and sad and Jiang Cheng frowns.

This is not the reaction he expected.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Nie Huaisang lowly says and Jiang Cheng puts his cup down harder than he wanted to.

“So I’m good enough for you but not your brother? Is this an insult to you or to me? Didn’t you say anyone would be flattered? Are you lying to me now, Huaisang?” he demands to know and Nie Huaisang flinches before he hides behind his fan.

Jiang Cheng glares at him, because Nie Huaisang damn well knows how he thinks about that.

“Of course not, that’s not it,” Nie Huaisang nervously says. “It’s just—da-ge isn’t doing so well,” Nie Huaisang finally admits and that at least Jiang Cheng can understand.

Even if a pit of worry opens in his stomach at hearing that.

“What do you mean?” he prompts Nie Huaisang when he falls silent again and Nie Huaisang’s fan speeds up.

“His qi deviations—it’s getting worse,” Nie Huaisang admits.

Jiang Cheng has seen a few of them over the course of his friendship with Nie Huaisang, mostly because Nie Mingjue didn’t seem to think twice about leaving his Sect for days or weeks at a time, always deciding to join Nie Huaisang when he came by on one of his visits to Lotus Pier.

Jiang Cheng just didn’t think it was this serious, yet.

“Worse?”

Nie Huaisang nods.

“More regular and more violent. Even er-ge—he told me—I should prepare, he said,” Nie Huaisang brings out and Jiang Cheng frowns.

If even Lan Xichen no longer has hope that his playing is doing something, then it really must be serious. The guy is a notorious optimist and for him to be pessimistic about it—Jiang Cheng doesn’t like it.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t played for him yet,” Jiang Cheng decides on a whim but a plan is forming in his mind.

He will not allow Nie Mingjue to die before he turns thirty. There’s no way in hell that will happen.

“Jiang-xiong, what do you think to achieve if even er-ge can’t help anymore?” Nie Huaisang wants to know but there’s the tiniest bit of hope in his voice.

“Maybe Lan Xichen goes about this wrong,” Jiang Cheng decides, the plan taking more concrete shape.

It would make sense if Lan Xichen’s playing isn’t having the desired effect if what Jiang Cheng thinks is true.

“Can you even play the song?” Nie Huaisang asks and Jiang Cheng grins at him.

“No, but I know a master who might be willing to teach me.”

He’s not talking about Lan Xichen, they both know it, and Nie Huaisang’s eyes go wide.

“It’s impossible, Jiang-xiong,” he then says with a shake of his head. “Even if Lan Qiren would be willing to teach you one of their secret songs, are you even good enough to learn it? And why would you think that you have more success than er-ge?”

“You seem to forget what my Sect’s motto is,” Jiang Cheng tells him and takes another sip from his tea. “Attempting the impossible is literally what I do,” he says and that, at least shuts Nie Huaisang up.

Jiang Cheng guesses it’s mostly because they are sitting in what was a burned out husk just a year ago but is now again a bustling, thriving Sect.

No one imagined Jiang Cheng would be able to rebuild Lotus Pier like this and he proved them all wrong.

He’s going to prove them wrong about Nie Mingjue’s impending death as well.

~*~*~

“Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Qiren greets him when Jiang Cheng enters the room.

“Teacher Lan Qiren,” he respectfully gives back and Lan Qiren waves him off in the same move he tells him to sit.

Jiang Cheng settles down and waits for Lan Qiren to pour them both some tea before he speaks. He did learn his lesson with Nie Huaisang, as amusing as that was.

“I intend to court Nie Mingjue,” Jiang Cheng says and just like Nie Huaisang, Lan Qiren jerks with his words.

Jiang Cheng would be offended that this is everyone’s first reaction, but honestly, he thinks it’s more amusing than anything.

“Why are you telling me this?” Lan Qiren wants to know after a moment and Jiang Cheng gives him a winning smile.

“I need help with the courting gift,” Jiang Cheng tells him and watches as Lan Qiren’s eyebrows go up.

“What do you intend to give him that you think I’m able to help?”

“I need the Song of Clarity,” Jiang Cheng says without beating around the bush and Lan Qiren freezes.

“That’s a Clan secret,” Lan Qiren reminds him and Jiang Cheng shrugs.

“I know, but I’m counting on the fact that you care too much to deny me this,” he says. “Nie Mingjue’s death would devastate Lan Xichen and you love your nephew too much to want that to happen.”

Lan Qiren regards him in silence for a long moment before he sighs.

“If you want to marry him, it would devastate you, too. And you already lost so many,” Lan Qiren says and Jiang Cheng is surprised enough by his words that he falls silent.

He doesn’t see why Lan Qiren would care about if it hurts him, but it’s nice to know that he does.

“Which is why I won’t let it happen. But I need to learn to play the song.”

“What makes you think that you can achieve what my nephew cannot?”

“No offense to your nephew, but I think he’s going about this wrong,” Jiang Cheng says with a shrug.

“Elaborate,” Lan Qiren says, but his voice doesn’t snap like it used to in the classroom when he was outraged and Jiang Cheng counts it as a win.

“Lan Xichen is a formidable musician, but outside of a fight he’s too soft. I haven’t heard him play for Nie Mingjue but I’m guessing he’s trying for a gentle, soothing approach. It won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Have you known Nie Mingjue to be gentle and soothing?” Jiang Cheng shoots back and Lan Qiren frowns. “Even when he cares about someone he’s gruff about it, an undercurrent of anger always there. It’s just who he is,” Jiang Cheng says, because he has witnessed it enough times to know it to be true.

Nie Mingjue doesn’t care about anyone more than his brother and even with him he can’t be gentle and soft. It’s just not who Nie Mingjue is as a person, and that’s perfectly alright. But Lan Xichen is trying to appeal to that side of Nie Mingjue, so it’s no wonder he’s not making any progress.

“What is your plan, then?” Lan Qiren inquires. “To sit on him and force him to listen instead of having him meditate?”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng bluntly says, because he guesses that’s the only way he’ll get Nie Mingjue to listen and it would be the most effective. “The song doesn’t have an effect because Nie Mingjue is not gentle and soft, there’s nothing the song could react with. If you play the song when he’s angry and ready for a fight—it might wield more of a result.”

“You gave this a lot of thought,” Lan Qiren muses but he hasn’t yet snapped at Jiang Cheng and that simply has to be a good sign.

“Of course I did. I didn’t just wake up yesterday and decided I would marry Nie Mingjue.”

That happened a few weeks back, but Lan Qiren doesn’t need to know about that.

“Can you even play the guqin?”

“I was raised as the heir to one of the five Great Sects. We all had to learn,” he says with a shrug.

“But can you?” Lan Qiren asks again, clearly not buying Jiang Cheng’s bullshit.

“I have a basic understanding of it,” Jiang Cheng finally relents and a cold shiver goes down his back when Lan Qiren smiles at him.

“The Song of Clarity is one of the more complicated ones,” he warns him but Jiang Cheng has never met a challenge he wouldn’t take.

How hard can it be, anyway.

~*~*~

It turns out the Song of Clarity is a fucking bitch to learn and Jiang Cheng hates the song with a passion. It’s unnecessary stupid and hard and just out to make Jiang Cheng trip up over seemingly innocent looking notes and if he never has to play it again it will be too soon.

But he learned it for a reason and he did not go through all of this pain and hassle to simply never play it again.

“You’re ready,” Lan Qiren says two weeks into his lessons. “You can play it for Nie Mingjue.”

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng says, as he bows to Lan Qiren over his guqin.

“Did you send an official courtship letter yet?” Lan Qiren wants to know and he frowns when Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“No. I talked to Huaisang, who told me not to marry his brother, because he’s bound to die soon. I doubt Nie Minjgue’s answer will be different at the moment, and I’m not accepting that. Huaisang did give me his blessing to try though, so there’s that.”

“I see,” Lan Qiren says and strokes his beard. “If Mingjue accepts, you send him here, for a talk.”

That makes Jiang Cheng freeze.

“A talk?”

“Jin Ling is too young to give Mingjue a fair warning as to what will happen to him if he makes you unhappy, so I’m going to step in.”

Jiang Cheng is unable to find his voice for the longest of times, because that he didn’t expect. He knows Lan Qiren has to like him at least a little bit, otherwise he would have kicked him out the moment Jiang Cheng barged in with his outrageous demand but this—this almost speaks of family.

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng chokes out and when Lan Qiren smiles at him this time, it’s a soft thing.

“You’re very welcome, Wanyin. And now go and court that stubborn man.”

“I will,” Jiang Cheng says and gathers up his guqin. “I damn well will.”

~*~*~

Nie Mingjue is frowning at him when Jiang Cheng refuses to take a seat in the great hall.

“Why do you have to be so contrary today?” Nie Mingjue presses out and Jiang Cheng can see it, the unnatural anger, caused by the always threatening qi deviation.

He doesn’t like it, but he will damn well use it for his own gain here.

“I’m itching for a fight, can’t you see?” Jiang Cheng gives back and bares his teeth at Nie Mingjue. “Though I doubt you can take me today. I bet the anger makes you all sloppy,” Jiang Cheng teases him, fully aware of Nie Huaisang’s nervous flutter of his fan in the corner of the room and of Nie Mingjue’s narrowing eyes.

“What do you want, Wanyin?” Nie Mingjue snaps and for this Jiang Cheng softens his smile as much as he knows how to.

“I want to marry you,” he says and doesn’t let Nie Mingjue’s surprised gasp deter him. “But not if you’re going to make a widower out of me in the week after our wedding. So you’re going to endure me playing the most boring, difficult fucking song for you, or I will force you to.”

“Force me to,” Nie Mingjue repeats and gets up. “You think you can force me to listen to it?”

“Look at you,” Jiang Cheng scoffs, though his heart is beating quicker with the threat hanging over him. Nie Mingjue is a formidable warrior after all. “Your hands are already shaking. You can’t beat me.”

Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue have sparred a lot when he came to visit Lotus Pier and Jiang Cheng did win a few times, but it was too rare for this kind of confidence and Jiang Cheng knows it.

He is counting on the fact that Nie Mingjue really is too far gone already to put up much of a fight.

“Fuck you,” Nie Mingjue hisses but he reaches for Baxia.

“You can, if you win,” Jiang Cheng cheekily gives back. “If I win, I will sit on you and you will damn well listen to me play.”

~*~*~

The moment Nie Mingjue hits the ground, Jiang Cheng is on him, whipping out the guqin Lan Qiren gave him as he settles down on Nie Mingjue’s back.

Jiang Cheng makes himself heavier than he usually is—using one of the many talismans Wei Wuxian came up with back in the day—and Nie Mingjue struggles under him, cursing and yelling, hitting the ground and kicking his legs.

Jiang Cheng will never get a better opportunity than this.

He starts to play the Song of Clarity, his own emotions running high from the fight and from his worry for Nie Mingjue and he thinks it might just be okay like that.

Clearly Nie Mingjue doesn’t react to the gentleness with which Lan Xichen plays for him; maybe he needs to have this song played a bit more aggressively as well.

Nie Mingjue doesn’t stop his struggling throughout the whole song but Jiang Cheng isn’t deterred by that. When he ends it, he looks over his shoulder down at Nie Mingjue who is glaring at him.

“You need me to play it again?” Jiang Cheng challenges him and Nie Mingjue huffs.

“I hate that fucking song.”

“The feeling is mutual, but you’re not getting out of this the easy way. So what will it be?” he demands to know and Jiang Cheng startles when Nie Mingjue slaps the ground, apparently in anger before he sags.

“Play it again,” Nie Mingjue says and Jiang Cheng can’t fight the rush of happy satisfaction that runs through him.

So he plays the cursed song again and then one more time for good measure, though for that last one he allows Nie Mingjue to get up and go through forms with Baxia and when he finally, finally vanishes the guqin again, Nie Mingjue’s grip is steady and his eyes are clear.

“How the hell did you do that?” Nie Mingjue demands to know once he’s done with his form and Jiang Cheng gets up to stretch his legs.

He never really was one for sitting down.

“I played the song, same as everyone else,” he gives back but Nie Mingjue shakes his head.

“Yours is different.”

“Because I don’t try to soothe you with it. I don’t want to get rid of your anger or your gruffness. I want to get rid of the death that could follow it, so I play for that.”

“Is that why Xichen’s song doesn’t work?”

“Probably,” Jiang Cheng says with a shrug and then he startles when Nie Mingjue simply drops Baxia to the ground.

There’s a heart stopping moment where Jiang Cheng fears that he overdid it, or that he did something wrong, that Nie Mingjue is experiencing a qi deviation at that very moment, but before he can move and try to help in any way possible Nie Mingjue’s hands are on his face and Jiang Cheng is being pulled into a scorching kiss.

“I don’t know what you intend to give me for our wedding, but nothing can compete with this,” Nie Mingjue breathes out when they part and Jiang Cheng darts in to nibble on his lower lip.

“Try me,” he says and claims Nie Mingjue’s lips again, because he can and there is nothing else he wants to be doing at that moment.

Judging by how they just barely make it to Nie Mingjue’s room, the feeling is mutual.

(Jiang Cheng does have a better gift at the wedding; he modified the Yunmeng Jiang Clarity Bell in a way that allows it to resonate with Baxia, to clear away resentment and to replicate the effects of the so despised song without Jiang Cheng ever having to play it again. It turns out Nie Huaisang is the most grateful for that, actually, because he started to hate the song with a passion, too.)

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[derangedhyena-delphinidae]

numerous issues with “The Aftermath of Seaworld”

When I get time to do so (aka when I’m done with the documentary), I’m likely going to make a video version of this going into the details. 

But for right now, I’ve made this. Both as a guideline for me and so everyone can begin to get an idea of the severity of issues involved.

Researching things is time-consuming and can be very difficult - believe me, I know. But I’m of the mind that if you’re making content with the intent of educating people, you have a responsibility to perform a certain level of due diligence. It IS okay to express uncertainty or doubt if you have it. It is NOT okay to confidently assert things that you do not know with certainty.

The video has an anticap slant, and I’m obviously not disagreeing on that front. But again: if you’re gonna go through the trouble of teaching people something. Bare minimum... please make sure it’s actually correct. *** 1) x ‘founded in 1964 and based out of Florida’ -  ???? Seaworld definitively began on the west coast, in San Diego, CA. And given that the first park opened in early 1964… things came together before that. Uh? 2) x ‘four people founded Seaworld [...]’ For one… it wasn’t originally conceived as a restaurant, it was originally conceived as an underwater bar/lounge. Two… calling the four guys involved in founding the place “frat brothers” is fucking ridiculous and completely overlooks a) how each was actually involved and b) the overall significance of their contributions to the field as individuals. Hint: like it or not, they were important and did a lot! 

3) x If one is going to bring up SWBGCF/rescues while talking about the literal founding of SW, it gives the impression that it’s been around for that duration. It hasn’t.  It’s actually a bit unclear when SW started an organized rescue program, but the Fund itself and all that it did came about much later. The rescue information and how it’s presented is actually INCREDIBLY complex, nuanced, and has a fascinating history (from a “bad company behaving badly” perspective). Oversimplifying this, to this degree and in this misinformative way, does the facts of the situation an INCREDIBLE disservice.  

4) x [assertive statement about what the name Shamu means]  ….Uh actually there’s several explanations for the name Shamu, and the most likely one IMO seems to be the “she-namu” one, not the “friend of Namu” one(? What is this even based on.) 4b) It’s not quite clear if she’s saying “Namu was the first ever orca to be displayed and perform shows” or or Namu was the first to be displayed and, like Shamu, performed shows. Either way, Moby Doll was the first to truly be displayed to the public, not Namu.

5) x ‘Namu died after one year in captivity and you’d think that this might deter Seaworld from doing the same thing again…’ Seaworld truly had nothing to do with Namu. And they leased/took possession of Shamu before Namu died. ‘Again’? What?

6) x “Now, PETA paints a pretty disturbing picture…” [while showing Okura’s artwork] This video segment is, and this is putting it nicely, a pile of poorly-researched BULLSHIT.  -Yes, PETA talks about Shamu’s capture, re: the harpooning of her mother. This Youtuber cannot apparently be arsed to look more than 1 Google search into this, as she proceeds to dismiss the information as potentially fabricated. There are two detailed accounts of Shamu’s capture that I’m aware of - in books - and though they have some slight conflicts, it’s absolutely NOT in doubt that the female who was very likely Shamu’s mother was 1) harpooned, 2) died from her injuries and 3) this had been done to make her easier to catch/locate because there was a fucking buoy attached to the harpoon. Which she dragged around for at least 24 hours prior dying.  So maybe don’t dismiss that as PETA hysteria, maybe TRY to determine the truth of the matter, which would inform one that it is both true and completely horrifying.  -In addition, Okura is an awesome individual who has worked very hard to create a variety of informative artwork for our cause. Okura is NOT associated with PETA and it’s borderline libel in my eyes to use their artwork in this dismissive manner when the primary sources of it can be easily identified online, with full explanations and everything. Do I take special offense to this because of the misuse of artwork? Absolutely. Artists get disrespected enough online. I’m tired of it. This kind of laziness IS NOT acceptable.

7) x ‘timeline is fuzzy about when Shamu died’ …………… it’s…. It’s really not … newspapers are pretty clear about it…..

8) x [complete and utter oversimplification of the lifespan issue, which is not acceptable for anything published in 2020. It just isn’t. If you’re going to bring it up like this, either do the legwork and get into the weeds or stay out.] 8b) [same for reproductive ages. sigh]

9) x if we’re going to talk about when Cornell was involved with Seaworld it’s very important to specify when Cornell was involved with Seaworld and not make it seem like it’s present tense.

10) x “both were rescued by Seaworld” - uh? no. Zero orcas have been rescued by Seaworld. Literally none. The infected-jaw orca was Sandy, whose story is complex and certainly does not involve Seaworld until much later. And many of the orcas in that time period had bullet wounds, often only identified post-mortem because they didn’t seem to hurt the animals much. Also, unflinchingly blending 70s captivity ethics with modern ones is also complete nonsense? 

11) x [tilikum coming from sealand] inhales I am going to make an entire video centered on this fucking subject because it’s one of the single most profound arguments for Seaworld being garbage as assessed by US government agencies in the 90s yet everyone utterly fails to mention this. Why?!

12) x what on earth is this nonsense re: quoting a quote from Zimmerman’s article - which has already been removed from its original context, so the original context is not available - and then penalizing the quote for existing as if Zimmerman’s article were the context? That is offensively disingenuous. I honestly don’t know what the original context is, either - but it’s wildly inappropriate to act as if the Zimmerman article is.

13) x this is relatively minor but ‘Paul Sprong’? You literally have his name on the screen. And then mis-reading his age too? While asserting it from a static article published years ago? Effort? Where is it?

14) x ‘another trainer, Peter’ ….. Ken Peters…. 

15) [weirdly glossing over the widely-available list of orca-trainer injuries/aggressions, despite it being central to the point.] 16) x This pilot whale outrage certainly happened but it was pretty clearly Blackfish that started the cascade of woes for Seaworld. Who has ever asserted this?

17) if you’re gonna just rehash blackfish, tell people to go watch blackfish.

18) x I’ve already gone over the context issue with Seaworld calling out Howard’s statement in Blackfish here (point 23). Which is to say, IN CONTEXT in Blackfish it’s clear what Mr. Garrett is talking about but, divorced from that, it sounds incorrect. But this Youtuber AMPLIFIES the issue by doubling down on the assertion with “no record of a killer whale doing any harm to anyone in the wild.” The surfer event should always be mentioned. Yes, there’s absolutely room for doubt. But there’s also a clear demarcation between an accidental attack (eg mistaken identity, as was likely for the surfer) and intentional one (eg the incidents at marine parks.) Why do people kneecap themselves on this point 18b) please stop acting like Luna represents orcas in general.

19) x “Howard, for all of his research…” … while referring to David Duffus’ b-roll and statements. Uh. 20) x Apparently this Youtuber has single-handedly resolved the dorsal fin issue. You know, the thing that hasn’t been properly researched ever, that has been subject to a ton of debate, that isn’t 100% settled for a variety of reasons, and almost everyone talks about in terms of theories and likely possibilities.  21) x Alexis Martinez wasn’t “torn to shreds.” In a space where even moderate exaggerations are often penalized harshly by the opposition, this kind of blatant nonsense is not welcome. Plus, the reality’s bad enough… you don’t have to make anything up!

22) x *sighs. points at own webpage*

23) Talking about the shows stopping without acknowledging how that’s a bit of a farce is something else. In addition to apparently just flipping to buying what Seaworld’s selling re: its ‘improved image.’ 

*** Tl;dr video is so unrelentingly full of errors ranging from small to egregious it makes me seriously concerned for the veracity of the rest of this person’s content. The maker of the video provided a list of their sources in their video description, which I will have time to look through in detail later. The above is solely a response to the information they present IN THE VIDEO - which, is very important because let’s be real: a lot of people are not going to look at the list of sources. People don’t even do it when citing papers (no really, you’d be surprised, fml.) For anyone who wants to whinge that I haven’t linked or asserted any sources of my own for my claims… well, remember what I said about time-consuming and ‘I’m busy’? Yhea. Getting all of that together will be part of making a video. So if you want to shrug loudly at my list here… you can, that’s your prerogative, I’m happy to say I DGAF if that’s your takeaway. 

What I hope, is that if there’s anything I’ve made clear over the While of running this blog, it’s that I don’t fuck around when it comes to sources and information and do my best to provide what information exists, all of it, not just cherrypicked bits and bobs. Anyways. Here’s step 0 at least. Please don’t share that video. Pretty please.

[imasimpforshanks]

omg I am so sorry I completely forgot to put the alphabet 😅 E C J M T for Shanks for the angst alphabet! thank you and sorry for the mistake! ❤️

Angst Alphabet - Shanks

a/n: hiii! Thank y’all for requesting! To the second anon, I went with Shanks (I hope that’s ok!!!) 💗💗💗

LOLOL THIS MY HUSBANDDDDD 💍😍

A-Accident (would they blame themselves if you died in an accident?)

It would depend on how much he felt he could have prevented it. However, Shanks understands all to well just how cruel the world can be. He can’t constantly be in control of everything, so although it would be devastating, he would have to realize that this is reality.

B-Break up (How would they break up with you?)

Shanks would use the excuse that he is a Yonko. He’s no good for you, and you deserve so much better than an infamous pirate who only brings danger. While these are just excuses - ways to make breaking up with you easier - he really would be speaking from the heart. Shanks has always felt this way but never voiced it, but now it’s finally time to let you go.

C-Crying (how would they make you cry?)

He leaves for long periods of time and refuses to you along. You know he’s only doing it for your safety, but it hurts that he doesn’t think you’re strong or responsible enough to join his crew on their voyages (note: he doesn’t actually think you’re not strong or responsible – his pirate life is just extremely dangerous, even as a yonko).

D-Death (how would they react to your death?)

He’s seen and experienced a lot of death in his life so he’d be a able to cope with it a little better than others would. Even so, your death would still be heart-breaking (he would mourn privately though). Now, if he literally saw you get killed in front of him then RIP to the person who killed you because they will be the one/s to die next.

E-Emotion (what is one emotion they would try to hide the most and how would they do it?)

Shanks is quite an open book. If he’s angry everyone knows. If he’s happy everyone knows (etc.). But, if I really had to pick one… I suppose it would be sadness or grief. He feels obligated to put on a front for his crew (although they can see right through it). He tends to let out his sadness and grief when he’s alone.

F-Fight (do you two ever fight? How big are the fights? What do you fight about? Etc.)

He tends to crack jokes before your fights can escalate into anything too serious. Sometimes it’s intentional, but other times it’s just his personality shining through. And rather than serious fights there’s just a lot of teasing and taunts between the two of you.

If you were to have a serious fight, it would be about both of your safety (As would most fights with any of the One Piece characters).

G-Guilt (what is the biggest thing they feel guilty about?)

More often than not, Shanks finds himself able let go of a LOT of shit. But the one thing he can’t seem to stop feeling guilty about is his failure to show up to Marineford on time. He knows he’s not directly responsible for Ace’s death, but that doesn’t stop the overwhelming guilt. If only he had gotten there a few minutes earlier.

H-Heartbreak (what would cause them pain in the relationship? How would they deal during a break-up?)

Coming back to you after each voyage is something he always looks forward to. However, that happiness is short-lived when he realizes he has to leave again in a few weeks. It’s always so painful having to say goodbye again.

I don’t think he would be too different during a break-up. Perhaps he may crack a few less jokes, but other than that, his personality and demeanour when around others remains the same. It isn’t until he’s alone that he lets his smile fall.

I-Injured (how would they react if you are badly injured?)

Undoubtedly, he’d be concerned, but he knows you’ll pull through (you have to pull through). So, after that initial concern has passed, he’ll be feeling all types of pissed off. Whoever, or whatever, injured you will pay – and honestly, he may not even deal the perpetrator himself (his crew is already on it - you are like family to them).

J-Jealousy (what do they do if they are jealous?)

I honestly think Shanks is just the type of person to just tell you if he’s jealous. But he wouldn’t say “uhh I’m feeling a little jealous” or anything along those lines – no. Instead, Shanks puts on a little pout and does a massive fake sigh until you finally ask him what’s wrong. That’s when he hits you with the “I guess my attention just isn’t enough for you”, and you’re like “HUH?? MF WHAT?” He’s literally such a child HAHA.

But, if there’s one particular person he really does not like you being around and they won’t leave you alone, then he is not at all opposed to just shoving his tongue down your throat right in front of them. That’ll definitely get the message across.

K-Kill (would they kill for revenge?)

Shanks may be a goofy and laid-back individual, but he will resort to violence if the situation calls for it. So, it is very likely that Shanks would kill for revenge. Maybe he wouldn’t necessarily do it himself. But, if he orders it, it’ll definitely happen.

L-Loss (what is their greatest loss?)

Gol D. Roger’s death was probably one of the greatest losses in Shanks’ life. Roger is the reason Shanks is a pirate today, and young shanks was absolutely broken by his death.

(hard to write much for this one seeing as shanks’ character is still quite a mystery to us!)

M-Mistake (what is the worst mistake they ever made with you?)

One time he completely forgot a date night that you spent SO LONG planning. It wasn’t just any date night either. It was a date you planned on his final night before him and his crew had to leave again for a while. You spent hours waiting for to show up, but he was nowhere to be seen. Finally, he showed up at your place, breath reeking of booze. You just looked at him and it hit him (he was like “OH SHIT”). He started apologizing profusely. He didn’t try to make any excuses, he completely owned up to being a shitty boyfriend. But, the moment he knew he had well and truly fucked up was when you just nodded and waved good night to him, wishing him safe travels – you didn’t cry, get visibly angry you just left alone. Shanks knew that was far worse than any yelling.

N-Nightmares (how often do they have them? What are they about? How do they deal with it?)

I literally am not joking when I say this but I think Shanks practically drinks till he passes out so even if he were to get nightmares he wouldn’t wake up LMAOOOOOOOOOOOO (ok maybe I am joking with this one but also kind of not).

In all seriousness though, I don’t think Shanks has nightmares very frequently. It’s gotten to the point where any fear or things of that matter that could be nightmares for him, have become so common in his life that he almost finds it not frightening to think about.

O-Outrage (how and why would they get mad at you?)

He would get mad at you for placing yourself in unnecessary danger. He’d call you stupid and irresponsible, even though he doesn’t really mean any of those things – it’s just the image of him potentially losing you forever is replaying in his mind and it absolutely terrifies him.

P-Past (what has happened in your relationship that changed the way you saw each other?)

You saw him get serious serious once before. Like the kind of serious where he uses his conquerors haki and everything. It definitely caused a bit of a change in your relationship as it was terrifying to witness. You’ve always known Shanks was strong and intimidating when needed, but that moment really showed you what it meant when people called him an “emperor of the sea”.

Q-Quality (what is their most dangerous/toxic quality?)

Not wanting to openly express his sadness and grief in front of others can be a very unhealthy quality. Shanks doesn’t allow himself good enough opportunities to express him emotions in a safe and healthy manner.

R-Rejection (how would they react to you rejecting their confession (or the other way around))

(First of all WHY WOULD ANYONE WANT TO REJECT SHANKS ANYWAY LIKE HUBBA HUBBA I LOVE HIM ANYWHOOOOOOOOO…..) Shanks is the type to just shrug it off. He’d be a little disappointed, bc c’mon the hottest most amazing person he’s ever known just turned him down! But he knows not everything in life goes how you want it to. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, and this just happens to be one of the things he’s lost. So ultimately, he’ll just shrug it off. (he will definitely get teased by his crew though).

S-Scars (battle or self-inflicted)

Shanks has no self-inflicted wounds. But he does have a scar across his left eye given to him by Blackbeard. He also has a missing arm which he (heroically) sacrificed as he saved lil Luffys life (does a missing arm even count as a scar?)

T-Trust (have they ever broken your trust?)

He’s never given you any reason to not trust him. He’s always open and honest with you. Well, as honest as he can be without placing you in any danger. Trust was something needed from the get-go of your relationship because he would be gone for long periods of time. The two of you wouldn’t be able to last without trust.

Oh, also if shanks ever did do anything to break your trust you best believe his crew will beat his ass (especially Benn). You’re family to them.

U-Urge (how badly do they want to see you after you guys separated?)

My god does he want to see you. He would give his other arm just to be right by your side in an instant. He’s gone for weeks, sometimes months, at a time. Shanks loves his crew, they’re a lively bunch and he trusts them with his life, and vice versa. But they’re not you. They don’t provide him with that same feeling of home that you do. Sure, this could be fixed if he let you join the crew on their journeys, but he absolutely cannot place you in that kind of danger. You’re already in enough danger as it is simply being in a relationship with him.

V-Vicious (what do they do when they lash out on you?)

Rather than lashing out at you, Shanks tends to give you the silent treatment. He looks at you without a word and just turns away. He does this in an attempt to make you feel guilty and as if everything is your fault.

W-Weak (what makes them feel weak how do they try to avoid it?)

There isn’t much that makes Shanks feel weak. But, being unable to be near his s/o is one of the few things that does make him feel weak. It’s a constant struggle between wanting to have them around him constantly, but also not wanting to place them in any danger. Ultimately, he decides that not placing them in danger is the better choice, despite how much it pains him.

X-X-ray (what do they hate and show it most obviously?)

Shanks can handle being picked on and ridiculed himself, but he will not tolerate that sort of behaviour towards his friends. The second someone goes after a friend (or someone else he cares about) they are done for.

Y-Yearn (what is one thing that they want but can’t have?)

LMFAOOOOOO WHY DID MY BRAIN AUTOMATICALLY THINK “his arm back” OOP-

I’M SORRY BUT I LITERALLY CAN’T THINK OF ANYTHING ELSE OTHER THAN HIS ARM HAHAHAHAHAH

Z-Zero (what do they do/say in your dying moments?)

He’d try to crack a few jokes to at least help you feel better. Other than that, he just tries to make the most of your final moments together.

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober2021 - October 4th - Taken Hostage | Pushed

Gift fic to @fidothefinch <3

Fandom: Nightwing, Batman - All Media Types

AO3

Warnings: Near death experience, hostage situations, implies Bruce as a shitty dad but I don't go into detail on it.

---

If there’s anything in the world that Dick hates more than being restrained, it’s being held hostage. Especially if he’s being held hostage as a threat against Bruce or Batman. One thing they don’t tell you in the foster system is that if you’re adopted by a rich and famous to the Kardashian level man, is that you’re often the target of criminals who think snatching a kid on their way home from school is a surefire way to make a million bucks. It’s no better in the vigilante business either, because often any hero in Gotham is only seen as a stepping stool to getting to Batman.

Honestly, at this point Dick’s used to it. It doesn’t mean he enjoys it, though. Not so much because of the initial kidnapping part, but because he’s worked hard to become his own person, his own man with his own life. He moved to Blüdhaven to be anything other than the son of Bruce Wayne; to be his own hero that villains learn to fear. And then the second he sets foot back in Gotham, for whatever reason, suddenly it’s all about the reclusive eldest Wayne child returning home! Suddenly, when villains see him at night, it isn’t “Oh shit, it’s Nightwing!”, it’s “Shit, it’s a Sidekick! Where’s the Bat?!”

Anyway, long story short, Dick came back to Gotham for one weekend to visit family, and now he’s dressed as Nightwing, standing on a roof with duct-tape keeping his wrists together behind his back and a knife to his throat belonging to a shady businessman who’s finally caught the attention of Gotham’s heroes.

And it’s sorta pathetic how Dick ended up in this situation. It wasn’t like this was going to be a particularly difficult mission. Just sneak into the building, grab the evidence he needed to get this bastard behind bars, and then get out. Unfortunately, someone tipped the man off without Bruce knowing about it. When he went into the main office, he was met with a very strong guard hiding behind the doors, and after a hefty blow to the head and a few concerning minutes of blacking out, Dick opened his eyes—thankfully still masked—to find himself kneeling on the rough cement of a skyscraper’s roof, completely stripped of any of his useful tools. He has a small knife in one of his gauntlets, but it’s not exactly in an easy to reach position. It would take time to grab at it, and that’s not counting the high probability he’ll be spotted by Jerome McCoy--Gotham’s latest shady businessman--or any of his goons.

Besides, Tim is already up here listening to their demands to get Batman up here or Dick dies. It shouldn’t be long before Bruce gets here and kicks his ass. That’s not even accounting for the facts that Jason, Steph, Duke, Dami, and Cass are all in town.

These idiots have no clue how close they are with dealing with close to every single bat if something bad happens to Dick tonight.

And everything was going fine until Tim suddenly stopped mid sentence in reminding McCoy that Batman was on his way and brought his hand to his communicator in his ear. When Tim paled ever so slightly, Dick knew something had gone exactly NOT according to plan.

“What is it?!” McCoy demands, pressing the knife against Dick’s neck with worrying pressure. Dick leans his head back slightly to lessen the risk of his neck being cut and meets Tim in the eyes through their masks.

Tim swallows. “Batman is being held up-”

Dick resists sighing in both disappointment and lack-of-surprise as McCoy practically explodes.

“What?!

“Only for a few hours,” Tim rushes to explain. He’s lifted his hands in a placid manner and softened his voice, which can’t be good. “He’s… met an unexpected complication along the way that he cannot ignore. Please, just tell me what you want, and I can take my partner and be out of-”

“I don’t have a few hours,” McCoy practically screeches. “Either Batman makes it his priority to get here, or Nightwing gets it!” to make a point, McCoy lifts the knife from Dick’s neck and waves it in front of him. Dick slides his eyes over to the other goons on the roof; there’s only a few. Maybe… if Dick plays his cards right… “That was the deal!”

“I understand-”

“Tell Batman to get here now, or Nightwing’s blood is on his hands!”

“He’s busy- I can’t just-”

Dick slams his body back, pointing his elbow the furthest he can with the way his arms are bound and jamming it into McCoy’s stomach. McCoy lets out a startled, breathless gasp as Dick uses his surprise to escape from his grasp and jump to his feet.

“’Wing!” Tim yells at the same time McCoy wheezes “Get that fucker!”

Dick has just a second to notice Tim’s shock at Dick’s sudden attack before Dick’s having to defend himself with his hands literally tied behind his back. Sorry, kid, Dick thinks, ducking around a pair of beefy arms, but we’re out of options.

It was going well until it wasn’t. Tim was even about to step in. However, while waking up from his lovely whack to the head, Dick failed to assess just where he was on the roof.

All it took was for the back of his heel to tough nothing but air for his heart to jump to his throat. Instinctively, he tried to wave his arms to catch his balance, but was quickly reminded of his predicament when the tape tugged against his wrists. For a moment, pure panic filled his entire body, here, wobbling backwards off the edge of a roof dozens of stories above the ground. He could feel his heart pound, hands shake, breath catch, hair rustle in the wind, but he couldn’t do a thing to stop himself from falling backwards. He’s pretty sure he hears Tim scream his codename, but he’s not totally focused on anything other than his pending doom right now-

A heavy hand wraps around his upper-bicep, stopping his almost-promised journey to pancake town. Everything is silent on the roof for a solid moment, as Dick practically hangs over the ledge of the roof with his feet just barely still on solid ground, a goon holding him juuuuuust enough to make sure he doesn’t fall. Tim looks even paler than before, looking like he really did watch Dick go over the edge. McCoy looks a constipating mixture of smug and outraged while the other goons stand nearby like useless props.

Then, McCoy speaks with anger as heavy and level as stone. “Tell Batman I want him here in ten minutes.”

Tim meets Dick’s eyes, and Dick sees everything that he needs to. Whatever is holding Bruce up, it’s more important than Dick, and Tim knows it’s useless to even try.

“Please,” Tim says, voice wobbly. He’s a detective. He knows what’s about to happen. “Just give us more time-”

McCoy snaps a finger, and that’s that.

The hand on his arm pushes Dick away and opens it’s grasp. It doesn’t matter anymore that Dick had his feet on the roof, because the rest of his body is falling.

Falling.

Dick’s completely off the roof in a blink of an eye and he’s falling.

The air is rushing past his ears and through his hair, so loud he can barely think. That’s if he’s thinking at all, as story after story passes him by. He’s falling, and for the first time in a long time, he’s afraid of falling, because this time there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He doesn’t have any tools… he doesn’t even have his hands, nor enough time to even try and get his hands free. He’s falling, rushing to the ground. He can already see in vivid detail what his body will look like when it hits the pavement.

He’s falling. He’s standing at the top of a beam, watching his mama and papa fall. He’s falling. He’s screaming as the sound of their bodies landing and snapping reaches his ears. He’s falling and he’s going to die in the most Grayson way possible.

He’s going to die the same way his parents did, a way that he’s worked hard to not be afraid of ever since he first moved in with Bruce, but was always secretly terrified.

He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to watch. He’s afraid, and Tim will watch from above and blame himself and he never wanted any of his siblings to blame themselves for his death like how he blamed himself for his parent’s for decades and-

And the wind is knocked out of him, but not from his body slamming on the ground. A strong arm wraps painfully around his stomach, and suddenly the world turns sideways and his eyes shoot open in shock.

“Fuck,” Jason grunts, holding Dick with one arm and the other wrapped tightly in a grappling line. “Fucking hell.”

And Dick… doesn’t know what to do. He feels muted, like a YouTube video playing at 144p and buffering still. The adrenaline is pumping so loudly through his entire body that the fact that Jason’s caught him doesn’t register until Jason’s landing roughly on the ground and lowering Dick to the asphalt.

“Started heading over the second that bastard said he wasn’t coming,” Jason explains. Dick nods numbly, his eyes locked on the oil covered road below him, his mind still trying to process. “Said he ran into some bastard working for Two-Face holding some rich family hostage. Said we could handle it. I can’t believe I got here just in time. Fucking fuck-face fucker.”

There’s a splash of two feet landing on the permanently puddled street beside them, and Dick can hardly contain his flinching at the sound, but thankfully Jason doesn’t notice. He just stands up and faces where Tim has landed quite suddenly from where he must have grappled down from the roof. Dick continues to look at the ground, wringing his knitting together in front of him. He… hasn’t noticed Jason undid the bindings.

“What happened to McCoy?” Jason demands, and Tim takes a gasping breath and shakes his head.

“They ran into the building while I… jumped after N.”

Jason growls, taking a step forward but Tim stops him. “Orphan said she’ll handle it, she sounded pissed.”

Jason backs off, but anger still curls in his stomach like an old friend. His fists clench to his side. “Once I see B, I’m gonna punch his teeth up to his brain.”

And it must be proof of how shaken Tim is, because he doesn’t argue.

Then, like a pin hitting tile, a small sound catches Jason’s ears. He looks down to where Dick is still sitting in the grime of Gotham’s street. His heart sinks to his gut.

“N?” he asks, and Dick doesn’t respond. “Nightwing, you’re… crying.”

That directs Tim’s attention down where tears are certainly streaming down Dick’s cheeks from under his mask. His lips are wobbling, and the second Jason kneels down to put his hand on Dick’s shoulder, a wounded sound escapes his lips.

“Dick?” Jason asks, his voice sounding shocked and unsure.

Dick looks up at Tim, looking one breath of the wind from falling apart. “You jumped after me?” His voice is small and brittle. When Tim nods slowly, Dick whimpers, dropping his head into his hands and letting out a sob. “You almost watched me die,” is all he says before he finally breaks down into mournful cries.

Jason looks up from where Dick’s now shaking and gasping into his hands and meets Tim’s eyes. Neither of them… has ever seen Dick get like this before. It feels wrong, like something in the world has shattered and can never be replaced.

“Lets… get him home,” Jason says, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” is all Tim can smartly bring to his lips while Jason scoops Dick into his arms and stands up.

Dick’s so out of it with his sobbing that he hardly reacts, just curls against Jason and continues to cry.

“You know,” Jason says quietly, “the scariest way to die, for me, is to overdose.”

And Tim understands.

“I… see.”

Jason nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah. So let’s just call it a night, get him some Alfred cookies, and just… let him take this at his own pace, okay?”

Tim nods, knowing that after years of Dick always going out of his way to help them with their trauma, their issues, and never asking for anything in return… it’s now their turn to return the favor. Dick looks so much smaller than Tim swears he’s ever seen him, curled up in Jason’s arms, trembling and sobbing. He silently promises to himself that he will do whatever it takes to make sure Dick gets through this, just like what he’d do for them, always. And Tim’s positive the rest of Dick’s siblings will do the same.

[zahri-melitor]

The Shadow Rising

Okay, this book actually had a balanced three plot story? Nice difference! Would love to see that more often. Comments as I went:

“On the day they were raised Aes Sedai, at the end of the Aiel War, Siuan and Moiraine had walked away from one another and afterwards behaved almost as strangers” - look how good they were at plotting if they almost fooled YOU Elaida.

Joiya going “oh that MOIRAINE she knows nothing of Tower complexities, she’s never home. maybe she understands VILLAGE politics” the absolute shade. Think she’s doing ok, Joiya, but glad you think her wily Blue ways are not up to scratch.

Elayne and Moiraine having a bonding moment over politics and I’m very happy about that for them!

I’m quite enjoying Rand and Elayne actually spending time in each other’s company, rather than wandering around complaining to their friends they can’t stop thinking about the other. Progress! (Elayne and Egwene discussing how they’re going to deal with the dump-and-pick-up of Rand however is a no. I’m just a simple woman pleading whether Jordan had ever spoken to teenage girls?)

They’re all such TEENAGERS cmon kids.

I am immediately on team Rhuarc. Grow up and behave, children!

…we just have ELVES through this ter’angreal? ELVES?

Okay, Mat, Rand and Moiraine all progressively stepping out of the ter’angreal is hysterical. YOU SNUCK OFF TO GET ANSWERS FROM THE ELVES TOO MOIRAINE. YOU CAN’T BE TOO SMUG.

Still can’t get over the “the Amyrlin says we can do what we want” papers literally saying that. I thought it was just a funny “get away with murder” meme, not so incredibly literal.

Thom and Moiraine showing their hands to each other in a “yes yes we both are aware, now can I convince you to do X” manner.

Wise Ones! And now I am even more confused about Rand’s parents. You have too many parents, Rand.

Seems like it’s time for people to do foolish things, but wow Mat you’re an idiot.

…the elves are snakes and foxes, and also known as the “Aelfinn and Eelfinn”? Yeah that’s not sinister at all.

Verin, you’re the absolute best.

The Whitecloaks are still trying to be intimidating and they’re still failing. They are so bad at this. So bad. Why are these idiots even considered to be a threat?

Ok now I now (mostly) understand Rand’s parents, though I now suspect Gitara of some extremely complex manoeuvres. Hey Gitara, was that last prophecy REALLY unexpected or did you make sure Moiraine, as a Damodred Accepted, was nearby? Also, wow Luc, what were YOU up to, haunting the area just to kill Janduin?

Wait fuck is the “Lord Luc” being a pain over at the Two Rivers Tigraine’s brother Luc? Has he been turned by the Blight after too many years in the Borderlands?

Egwene, you are SUCH a teenager at the moment. Cannot wait for you to grow up a bit more.

We really do just go around skyclad for all Women’s Magic Business, don’t we.

Oh my god Thom actually talked to Elayne (while she was drunk) and Perrin and Faile actually communicated important information about themselves to each other! What is this madness? Also, Perrin/Faile remains the most well founded and balanced relationship so far, which is not the impression I get from the fandom. At all.

Nynaeve: I am NOT a little girl Wise Ones: you are babby. Here wear babby clothes Egwene: losing it Nynaeve: I am suspicious but unconvinced who caused this outrage.

Fuck the Tuatha’an and Aiel revelation is so good. SO GOOD. Though I’m interested by the implication Moiraine did NOT get the mad history tour of why Cairhien and the various Aiel were mates up until Uncle Laman Doing The Thing, because from what I understand she technically also has the bloodline to peep in at steps on that process, which would be fascinating.

I’m amused by how often in this book Moiraine is just openly spying on Rand via her kesiera, with all the Old Ones hanging out with her to join in, and he hasn’t the foggiest what’s happening.

Seriously, the whole final three battles were good, satisfying conclusions to all the storylines.

Basically, my feelings about this whole book can be narrowed down to: everyone but Mat had some decent plot progression here. Rand is off on a tour of all nations of the land, Egwene’s getting an education as is Aviendha, Nynaeve and Elayne are doing their best to NOT get an education, Perrin actually seems to have a task and purpose back in the Two Rivers while learning you can’t come home again, and Mat has something? Involving ravens and the Seanchan? Eh. The plot has not a lot for Mat at present other than being an absolute pain and gambling too much.

[whitehotharlots]

A movement that cannot be criticized cannot achieve positive goals

The hardest part of talking about malignant trends on the broad left is that, well, you’re not allowed to talk about them. It’s no exaggeration to say that criticism has become fully conflated with violence. If you attempt to engage critically with a left-liberal writer--regardless of how thorough and respectful you may be, and regardless of how powerful, public, or insulated the subject of the criticism--you will be accused of dismissing and erasing the writer, of inciting violence against the writer, and of committing some form of genocide against whichever identity groups the writer belongs to.

Conversely, if you don’t provide specifics, you’ll be accused of making stuff up. The same people who claim it’s an act of aggression to ask for proof when they make claims of victimization turn into immense pedants the moment they encounter a heterodox opinion. 

Unsurprisingly, a discourse milieu in which critical analysis is forbidden is a prime breeding ground for unsustainable (and even horrific) behavioral standards. Never mind improving the world that exists outside their sphere of influence... these people are perpetually on the brink of destroying their allies, their institutions, and themselves.

Today I dug into an especially profane case that highlights both of these points. It’s a matter of public record, so I hopefully won’t get accused of “doxing” anyone for discussing it. It’s also the sort of story where if someone cares about it, they’ll have an opinion of it within a second or two of reading a headline describing what happened. This means it’ll only be of interest to the sort of cranks who read this blog. My goal here isn’t to express outrage or advocate for one side or other--although it is outrageous, and you won’t have to try too hard to see which side I favor. Instead, I’m going to try to move beyond that, to use this instance as a broader cautionary tale in regards to the more horrific tendencies of the identitarian left, and to begin formulating some means of resistance. 

In other words, this might get boring. Even more so than usual. 

The story involves a court case, documented here, in which a young man named Kieran Bhattacharya is suing the University of Virginia Medical School. Mr. Bhattacharya (a white supremacist name if I’ve ever heard one) was subjected to formal censure, repeated psychological evaluations, suspension, and eventual expulsion. This all happened because he raised some concerns after a White Fragility-inspired panel on microaggressions.

This is one of those cases where both sides are going to assume there’s a lot more going on beneath the surface and, like I said, are going to be disinclined toward actually reading the available evidence. Thankfully, the court brief is fairly exhaustive and--importantly--the account provided in the brief has received the approval of both plaintiff and defendant. To stress, everyone involved in this case agrees, legally, that the account provided herein is an accurate picture of what happened. Additionally, we also have audio of the initial microaggression seminar (Mr. Bhattacharya’s comments start at around the 28:30 mark), as well as of the pursuant committee meeting that ended in his expulsion. 

Here is the initial exchange, as documented by the brief:

Bhattacharya: Hello. Thank you for your presentation. I had a few questions just to clarify your definition of microaggressions. Is it a requirement, to be a victim of microaggression, that you are a member of a marginalized group? 

Adams: Very good question. And no. And no— 

Bhattacharya: But in the definition, it just said you have to be a member of a marginalized group—in the definition you just provided in the last slide. So that’s contradictory. 

Adams: What I had there is kind of the generalized definition. In fact, I extend it beyond that. As you see, I extend it to any marginalized group, and sometimes it’s not a marginalized group. There are examples that you would think maybe not fit, such as body size, height, [or] weight. And if that is how you would like to see me expand it, yes, indeed, that’s how I do. 

Bhattacharya: Yeah, follow-up question. Exactly how do you define marginalized and who is a marginalized group? Where does that go? I mean, it seems extremely nonspecific.

 Adams: And—that’s intentional. That’s intentional to make it more nonspecific . . . . 

After the initial exchange, Bhattacharya challenged Adams’s definition of microaggression. He argued against the notion that “the person who is receiving the microaggressions somehow knows the intention of the person who made it,” and he expressed concern that “a microaggression is entirely dependent on how the person who’s receiving it is reacting.” Id. He continued his critique of Adams’s work, saying, “The evidence that you provided—and you said you’ve studied this for years—which is just one anecdotal case—I mean do you have, did you study anything else about microaggressions that you know in the last few years?” Id. After Adams responded to Bhattacharya’s third question, he asked an additional series of questions: “So, again, what is the basis for which you’re going to tell someone that they’ve committed a microaggression? . . . Where are you getting this basis from? How are you studying this, and collecting evidence on this, and making presentations on it?”

You can listen to the audio if you like. There’s nothing there, in my opinion, that is not captured accurately in the written description. Bhattacharya does not yell or raise his voice. He sounds skeptical, but in no way violent or threatening. Nor does Adams, the presenter, signal that she is experiencing anything that approaches fear or trauma. 

Immediately after the event, a professor who helped organize the discussion filed a “Professionalism Concern Card”--a cute academic euphemism for a disciplinary write up--against Bhattacharya, alleging he had displayed a troubling lack of respect for differences (the irony here probably does not need to be explicated).

Soon after that--literally still the same day of the panel--Bhattacharya received an email from faculty asking him to “share his thoughts” so as to help him “understand and be able to cope with unintended consequences of conversations.” The tone of the email is polite and professional, but the text hints toward an attempt at entrapment. You’ll see this a lot in woke spaces--invitations to come to an understanding with one another that are, in actuality, attempts to get a person to say something cancellable.

Bhattacharya took the bait, and, well… 

During Bhattacharya and Peterson’s one-hour meeting, Peterson “barely mentioned” Bhattacharya’s questions and comments at the panel discussion. Dkt. 33 ¶ 73. Instead, Peterson attempted to determine Bhattacharya’s “views on various social and political issues—including sexual assault, affirmative action, and the election of President Trump.” 

At this point, the kid was fucked. He soon after had an uneventful-seeming meeting with a dean. Two weeks after that, a separate panel found him guilty of “patterns of unprofessional behavior and egregious violations of professionalism” and strongly encouraged him to seek psychological counseling. 

Pre-Trump, Bhattacharya still probably would have been fine if he had just kept his head down, gone to a couple therapy sessions, and maybe issued an empty apology. Since 2016, however, the rules have changed. An accusation is now absolute proof of guilt and no amount of ablution can save someone in a vulnerable position. 

Eleven days after receiving the ostensible suggestion that he receive counseling, Bhattacharya was informed that he would not be permitted to return to classes until he had been evaluated. A day after that--before even having the opportunity to seek the mandated counseling--he was given a mere 3 hours notice before having to attend another disciplinary committee meeting. 

This meeting found that Bhattacharya’s continuing behaviors were proof that he posed an imminent danger to the campus community, although the committee did not bother to explain what those behaviors entailed. His behavior was simply noted as “unusual” and this was proof that “Any patient that walked into the room with [Bhattacharya] would be scared.” The following day, Bhattacharya was forcibly removed from campus and told he could not return until he had been screened. He was, subsequently, not allowed to receive sanctioned screening, because of his status of having been removed from campus after being deemed a security risk.

Again, none of what I have described is an exaggeration. None of these details are even being contested. 

Now for my own conjecture: the problem isn’t that anyone genuinely believes Bhattacharya poses a threat to anyone’s safety. The problem is that he attempted to question the ideological firmaments of contemporary anti-racist training. These firmaments are protected with aggressive viciousness precisely because they cannot withstand scrutiny. Had Bhattacharya merely scoffed at them, or even if he had been outright condescending and dismissive, he probably would not have received such a severe punishment. The problem was that he was right, and his accusers knew it.

Understanding speech in the manner prescribed by the peddlers of microaggression theory cannot possibly be codified in a way that won't result in arbitrary punishment. Bhattacharya’s experience demonstrates that with horrific irony. 

The assertion here is that the intention of a speech act should have no bearing on how we adjudicate the morality of that speech act--such a point was made repeatedly in the initial discussion, and stressed once again after Bhattacharya’s concerns have been raised. This standard contradicts how we've processed the morality of speech for centuries, but that's what people are very explicitly demanding.

How is this workable, when literally any statement could, conceivably, be considered offensive by at least one individual? This, I feel, was the point Bhattacharya reaching toward. If you were to say, I dunno, "I love trees" to a group of 1000 people, 999 of them could regard that statement as benign. But what if one person takes offense to it? What if they work in the lumber industry, or they were molested by guy in a Smokey the Bear costume? What if that person then files a report accusing the tree lover of offensive speech? Will the speaker be disciplined? Or will the powers that be take intention and effect into account?

Of course, we're not going to criminalize all speech in this way. Like all extreme and broad-reaching disciplinary standards, this one will only be selectively evoked in order to punish people with heterodox opinions and/or those whose presence threatens the status quo. Someone who says something much more incendiary, like "all men are rapists" or "white people shouldn't get social security" would not receive a reprimand regardless of how much offense their statements caused, because they're saying something that's acceptable in our current milieu. And right now, the least acceptable speech is that which shines a light on the manifest flaws and hypocrisies of corporate anti racism. 

Back to my hypothetical example, if the tree-loving speaker was on good terms with everyone, the complaint would most likely be ignored. But if he had said or done other things that for whatever reason displeased the people in charge, the specious accusation could still ruin him. What's worse, the person who filed the allegation of offense might not have even actually taken offense at the statement--they were just looking for a way to get rid of him.

Bhattacharya was attempting to voice legitimate criticisms about a political movement whose suggestions are functionally unworkable and that, even if it were implemented fully and uncritically, does not contain even a hypothetical explanation in regards to how its goals would result in improved racial equality/equity. Because of that, he was cynically labeled dangerous and expelled from a public university. 

You'd think a group that obsesses over power differentials and their own marginalization would have some grasp of this. Regardless of which side you fall into with this particular culture war, it should fucking terrify you that a movement that’s been tasked with addressing pressing social problems is designed in such a way that any substantial criticism is met with aggressive punishment. 

There’s no way you can win if this is you is how conduct yourself. This is why we’re losing. This is why even if you get all the censorship and deplatforming you can ever dream of, even if every major bank and multinational corporatation professes fealty to your movement, you will still lose. Because there’s no way you can win. 

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Not That Kind of Movie

Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Summary: “They plan a romantic getaway but everything goes sideways and they end up in a dive motel eating cheap pizza but the water is hot and the mattress isn't the worst and...” (prompt courtesy of @fangirlxwritesx67​) 

Word Count: 2590

Warnings: Steve feels sorry for himself, Bucky gets sassy, and innuendo abounds, but there’s nothing particularly explicit happening. Zero adherence to any sort of canon timeline. It’s fluffy as hell. 

A/N: Blame @katwillrise​, who encouraged this nonsense and has been keeping me company in the Stucky hole. Please help us. We cannot get out. Major thanks to @itmighthavebeenintentional​, who a) reassured me that this was worth posting and b) came up with the whole pizza thing and let me write it because she is amazing. 

“I think—” Bucky starts, but he (wisely) stops when Steve lets out a wordless rage-grunt. 

“I got it,” Steve snaps, and seriously considers kicking the motel door in. 

He gets five more beeping red lights before Bucky points out that he’s trying to open the wrong door. 

Bucky opens the right door on the first try and ushers him through. He hasn’t said “I told you so,” but he is radiating it from every smug pore. He’s been pointedly not saying “I told you so” all damn day, about every damn thing. 

“Maybe Mercury’s in retrograde,” Steve mumbles, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he sets his bag down on the desk. Then he realizes what he just said and feels himself flush brick-red. 

Steve knows, without turning around, that Bucky is smirking. He can picture it way too clearly. Most people have trouble reading Bucky’s brand of deadpan, these days, but he has an array of specific smirks, and they’re all subtly different if you know what you’re looking for. This one, barely-quirked lips and sparkly laughing eyes, translates to you’re an idiot but you’re my idiot. It’s just a hair meaner than the you’re an idiot but I love you variant and its close cousin, I fucking love you, you idiot. Steve knows it well. 

This particular smirk has had the same effect on Steve for about a century now: he gets a brief, overwhelming urge to punch Bucky, followed by an equally overwhelming urge to kiss him senseless. 

It’s irritating. And after a day’s worth of wildly unfortunate events that could, technically, be described as “Steve’s fault,” he is already irritated enough. He pointedly keeps his back turned and tries some breathing exercises. 

“That’s really what you’re going with?” Bucky says, dry and amused. “We’re blaming this on planets?” 

Steve sighs. “Clint taught me about astrology last time he got drunk.” 

“You do know he’s fucking with you, right?” 

“Of course I do,” Steve says, hoping he sounds disdainful. “I’m going to shower off the dried alien goop now.” He makes a dignified retreat to the shower while Bucky laughs. 

They were supposed to be at a luxury mountain cabin with a hot tub. Instead, the first day of their anniversary trip has been one long series of unmitigated catastrophes, because somehow, Steve’s tactical skills — which have defeated actual evil Nazi masterminds — do not extend to dates. Or romance in general, really. 

Steve has realized, in the last year, that while he is a goddamn national hero and literal superhuman, he is a disaster of a boyfriend. And yeah, sure, “boyfriend” doesn’t seem like the right word, exactly, for everything they are, but they’ve officially been together for a year now, and Steve got it into his head to make an effort. 

So, yeah. Catastrophes. And now he’s trying to scrub off dried alien goop in a sputtering coffin-sized shower that was clearly not built with super soldier proportions in mind. 

The hot water lasts just long enough for Steve to deem himself clean enough, for certain values of enough, but it doesn’t do much for his mood, which is the sort of sulk that really requires a hot tub. He just wanted to plan something nice, for once. Romantic. He’s always so busy running around being Captain goddamn America that romance usually takes a backseat — admittedly, aliens take the front seat in this metaphor, which is fair, but the point stands. 

Bucky is sprawled out on the plasticky motel duvet. He changed into flannel pajama pants and a worn henley, and he is temporarily retired from combat and other violent activities his therapist has deemed unwise, so he isn’t covered in alien goop; in fact, he looks comfortable and somehow totally content. After this kind of day, it doesn’t seem fair that someone should be that kind of attractive. 

Bucky stops channel-surfing to give Steve and his very small towel a flirtatious once-over. 

“Can you just get it over with?” Steve sighs, looking up at the ugly water-stained ceiling in supplication. 

“Hell no. I want to hear you say it.” 

“You were right. About taking the time to shower, and bringing our phones, and checking the radiator a week ago, and… all of it. Happy now? Stop laughing at me, I swear to god, I will — oof.” 

Steve doesn’t bother to resist, because the way his luck is going, that’d end in broken bones. He winds up on his back, towel-less, with Bucky on top of him, but his weight and his heat and his smile are doing a lot for Steve’s mood. 

Then Bucky grins and says, “Told you so, punk.” 

Steve scoffs and scowls and rolls them over — more out of principle than any actual desire to fight back — and Bucky lets himself be pinned. The smirk is back, and this time Steve gives in to the urge to kiss him senseless. 

By the time he pulls away, Bucky’s mouth is red and his eyes are heavy-lidded, and he’s giving Steve a slow blink and a lazy curl of a smile. It’s just as effective now as it used to be on every girl in Brooklyn. 

“You should put on pants,” he says, but the husky tone of his voice is saying the exact opposite, and it takes a second for the words to register. 

“Huh?” 

“Pizza should be here in five minutes. We’re not in that kinda movie.” 

That surprises an actual huff of a laugh from Steve. He slides away and digs around for his sweatpants while Bucky gives a low whistle and ogles shamelessly. 

By the time he settles back on the bed, he’s feeling a little sheepish and he’s ready to apologize. Bucky’s got one eyebrow raised ever so slightly, just waiting — the laugh helped, and he knew it would, and now he knows exactly what’s coming. Damn him. 

“Sorry,” Steve sighs. “About everything. This is not what I had in mind.” 

“Not sure what you mean,” Bucky says glibly. “I can think of worse ways to spend a Friday night.” He wriggles closer, pressing their hips together and giving Steve’s ass a friendly grope. 

“Seriously. I’m sorry, this was —” 

“When’d you turn into such a princess, huh?” Bucky asks, soft and fond even if the words are teasing. 

“Excuse you? I’m not the one with an entire duffel’s worth of hair products.” 

“What I mean—” He punctuates the word with a kiss that’s all teeth and promise. “—is that I’ve seen you grin and bear it through some serious shit, Rogers. You didn’t even get this bitchy when we were trekking around the goddamn Western Front. So what’s with the whining?” 

Steve doesn’t know where to start. For a second he just looks. 

Bucky’s made up of dramatic angles and distinctive shadows, jawline and cheekbones set in a way that Steve’s been trying to capture on paper for as long as he can remember, but up close like this, the sharp delicate lines seem blurred and smoothed-over; all Steve can see is the softness of his mouth and the gentle swoop of his eyelashes. Everything else falls out of focus. 

Christ, he’s gone for this jerk. 

And that’s the problem, really, because of all the things in his extraordinarily strange life, Bucky has always been the most extraordinary, a living breathing wise-cracking miracle even before they both became world-famous scientific anomalies. He deserves fireworks and epic poems and goddamn parades, and instead — well. This is the sort of motel where you don’t look too closely at the stains on the carpet. 

Steve’s spent the better part of a century pining for the guy. You’d think he could manage one romantic weekend getaway. 

“Stop that,” Bucky interrupts, before he can spiral any further. “Jesus, stop with the big tragic eyes already. Just shut up and kiss me.” 

Steve would protest, but there’s a tongue in his mouth and a hand in his hair, tugging sharp enough to make his hips twitch forward and his rational mind switch off completely. There’s kiss after syrupy-slow, brain-liquefying kiss, and for a moment Steve lets himself get lost in it.

Then they’re interrupted by a knock on the door, and he’s so startled he jerks back and rolls off the bed into a crouch, instincts kicking in before he remembers: pizza. Right. 

Bucky is laughing — cackling, more like. 

“Wallet’s on the desk,” he says, and stretches extravagantly, unbothered, while Steve fumbles for some money and goes to open the door. 

“Your total is—” The guy stops, blinking rapidly up at Steve. “You’re…” 

Steve remembers abruptly that he’s shirtless and half-hard, with some major bed head and kiss-swollen lips. 

“Sorry, I’m not — this isn’t —” he blurts out. “Um.” 

Too late. The guy is already glancing behind him; Steve looks back just in time to catch Bucky’s outrageous wink and sly grin from where he’s lounging on his side like a goddamn pinup. 

The delivery guy looks up at Steve again, grinning, and says, “Nice. Get it, Cap.” 

“I — what? No!” Steve squawks. “Not what it looks like!” 

“Totally what it looks like,” Bucky calls cheerfully. 

Steve shoves too much money at the guy. “Keep the change. Thank you!” 

He manages to snatch the boxes and slam the door before this can get any more mortifying, and then he sags back against the doorframe and puts a hand over his eyes for a second. 

“What happened to not that kind of movie?” he sighs, cheeks burning, before collecting himself and making a mental note to warn Pepper about another impending PR crisis. 

They sit on the floor, side by side, leaning back against the mattress. Steve checks the top box and hands it to Bucky at the sight of pineapple. 

“That’s yours. Heathen.” 

Bucky shrugs, unrepentant, and shoves half a slice of his pineapple abomination into his mouth in one bite. Steve does the same with his perfectly respectable mushroom and sausage piece, and for a few minutes they both just shovel food into their mouths. Steve didn’t realize how hungry he was, but… yeah. 

Maybe blood sugar has been a factor in his mood. Huh. 

“How’sit?” 

“It’s pizza. It’s hot and cheesy, it’s not like it could be bad.” 

“Hot and cheesy, huh? Just like one of my other favorite things.” 

Steve lets out a long suffering sigh, but it’s hard to be grouchy after demolishing half a pizza. 

“You know that guy is gonna tell everyone he’s ever met, right?”

“They won’t believe him.” Bucky counters. “Hey, did you know there’s Captain America porn?” 

Steve almost chokes. “Excuse me?”

“There’s a porn parody of everything these days. The guy’s not a bad lookalike, at least in the face area. The dick area—” 

“Bucky.” 

“I gave them that guy’s name when I paid for the room and ordered the food.” 

Steve actually chokes this time. Then he laughs until his stomach hurts. 

He can’t stop until he’s breathless and red-faced, wheezing like he still has asthma. He wipes away tears while Bucky sits there and looks quietly pleased with himself. 

When the giggles subside he leans over and plants a greasy kiss on the corner of Bucky’s smile. Bucky chases his mouth and nips his lower lip, and for a minute they sit just like that, twisting at an awkward angle to exchange slow scattered kisses. 

With hunger out of the way, Steve’s top priority is getting Bucky horizontal again, so he shoves the pizza boxes out of the way and tugs-lifts-tackles him onto the bed. 

“Feeling better, I take it,” Bucky says, grinning. “Seriously, everything okay?” 

“Sorry,” Steve says sheepishly. “I just — I don’t know. I wanted this weekend to be perfect.” 

Bucky’s expression clears, suddenly. “God, you’re such a romantic.” 

“I mean, it would’ve been romantic, if everything had gone according to plan.”  

“You know I’ll say yes even if it’s not perfect, right?” 

All Steve can do is sputter for a solid minute. “You — how did you — how did you figure it out?”

Bucky raises one snarky eyebrow, thumbs stroking Steve’s shoulderblades before he surges up for a quick kiss. Then his lips twitch as he tries to hold back a chuckle. 

“You didn’t buy a ring, did you? ‘Cause I hate to break it to you, but… that might be problematic.” He pokes Steve in the side with one metal finger. 

“No! I just — I wanted it to be special!”

Bucky rolls his eyes in a way that somehow conveys an entire lifetime of mingled exasperation and affection. 

“Pal, I’m part robot and you’re Captain America. Doesn’t get much more special than that.” 

“I had a whole speech!” 

“Now there’s something you don’t see often: Captain America making a speech.” 

“Wow.” 

“No, I’m sure it was a good one. Lemme guess, the words ‘til the end of the line’ were involved. Am I right?”  

“Wow.”

He’s laughing too hard for it to be considered a real kiss, but he can’t help it. 

Steve’s about to pull away when Bucky wraps both arms around him and kisses back, and suddenly there’s nothing playful about it; it’s startlingly slow and deep and urgent, with a hitched inhale and an exhale that comes out shaky. 

Steve can’t quite catch his breath either. 

“You really thought you had to ask?” Bucky whispers. Neither of them pull away; their noses brush, and they’re breathing the same warm close air. 

“Told you, I wanted it to be special. You deserve that.” He expects a sarcastic retort, but Bucky’s serious and silent. “Sometimes I worry… I’ll let you down. After all this time — I don’t want you to get bored. Don’t want you to think I take you for granted.” 

“Honestly? The boring stuff is my favorite.” 

“You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better, Buck.” 

“After everything that’s happened —” His voice has gone rough, and he pauses to lick his lips and take a breath. “Boredom still feels like a luxury. Getting to muddle through the everyday shit together… I love it. Even when you’re being a goddamn diva.” 

Steve lets out a wobbly chuckle. “Jerk.” 

“We both shoulda died a few times over by now. You know? It all feels special. I’m never gonna get over that.”  Bucky bites his lip, and his expression is wide-open and vulnerable, no trace of the usual laughter in his eyes. “So if you want a piece of paper making it official, that’s fine by me. But as far as I’m concerned… it was a done deal a long time ago.” 

“Yeah,” Steve manages. “Yeah, okay.” 

Then it’s bruising lips and feverish heat, a simmering need that’s so perfect and dizzying that for a few minutes, Steve forgets about the questionable duvet and the sticky wallpaper and absolutely everything else. 

They could be anywhere: crappy motel room, Brooklyn tenement, mountain cabin, Army base — Steve’s never been able to focus on their surroundings or anything else for that matter, not when Bucky’s around. This kind of love’s not just blind, it’s blinding. 

“You can go through the whole thing anyway, if it makes you feel better,” Bucky interrupts.

“Huh?” 

“I know you need to deliver an inspiring speech at least once a week or you get all backed up.” 

“I’m starting to think I should take it all back.”

“No, really. I’m sure it would’ve been very eloquent.” 

“Shut up and get your clothes off already.” 

“Is that an order, Captain?” 

“Yes.” 

“See? Who needs romance when — oh. Oh, hey, do that again.” 

.

.

.

[choicesenthusiast]

Ok, I took my time to process and research what the fuck happened here today and I’d love to share my thoughts.

First, I looked up the amount of personal LI diamond options on the Wiki, because the Wiki never lies. Correct me if I’m wrong, but Rafael didn’t get a proper diamond scene until the walk around the neighborhood, and in total only has 4, as compared to Jackie’s 9, Bryce’s 11, and Ethan’s 19. Yeah, you read that right. As of right now, Ethan has 19 personal diamond scenes, all ranging from diagnostics cases to mommy issues. Hell, even in the last chapter Ethan got a personal diamond scene while everyone else just got another group hangout.

Then, thanks to Tumblr’s fabulous archive function, I went back and read my old reviews from early OH2, to see if everything’s been at this level since the beginning (spoiler alert: it has) back when I still romanced Ethan. Poor, naïve, ignorant me chalked it all up to “He’s our boss, so we’ll see him more”. Eventually I got sick of seeing him and changed my LI around Ch. 6-7. But my defenses were much like the ones I’ve seen floating around recently. Then I went into the archives of other Ethan stans, mainly around the time of June when BLM was a hot topic, and right around the time the book went on hiatus. I, along with many others, didn’t forget how many of y’all told us to “stop complaining” or “just let the book unfold naturally, I’m sure you’ll get your time later”. There is overall more effort put into his route over everyone else’s (evident throughout literally the whole book). It may not be good effort, per se, but it’s still more effort than PB gave to everyone else. Something totally insignificant yet still irks me is how desperate some of you are to see his fucking dog (nothing wrong with that, just read the room), while others simply just want to see their LI on screen for longer than 2 seconds again.

Suffice to say, the other 3 LIs have been getting the back burner treatment since the beginning, so for some of you to be absolutely outraged that Ethan didn’t get a date and now his entire romance arc is ruined is so insensitive, ignorant, inconsiderate, and a lot more things that probably don’t start with the letter ‘I’. How oblivious do you have to be to not see that this is what it’s been like for the other LIs the whole time. For some of you to email and demand PB “give you the originals”, in which Rafael is killed all so you could have your precious date night is unfathomably inconsiderate. 

It’s not lost on anyone that Ethan is the most popular LI, perhaps on the whole app, considering every time I open the tag there’s a new fic or artwork or headcanon (no disrespect to creators, keep doing what you love), but my point is, you have more than enough content both in and out of canon, so claiming that making space for the other LIs “butchered” his route is so out of touch. Sure, he kinda got screwed over after the gala and the time jump, but everyone else was already screwed over since Ch. 1, and the rewrites did no wonders to everyone else’s route either, so don’t run to PB and play the special victim now that things haven’t gone your way. You can’t be the victim if this is how everyone else has been treated this whole time. Actually, we’re all just experiencing shitty writing at the hands of this corporation that doesn’t care unless it makes them look bad. Which, let’s be honest, they already do, so the bar is on the ground.

I cannot stress this enough, but this is a fuckin’ game??? Run by a company who doesn’t care if you spam their emails. When people say “we bullied PB into keeping Raf alive” it’s meant in the sense that we held them accountable for the racist implications (the people themselves may not have intended to be racist, but the actions and implications inherently were), and even then, they refuse to give him, Bryce, and Jackie the stories and screen time they deserve. In the end, they’re the only ones changing the story, and the only reason they did that was because of the backlash they received. Hold PB accountable for their patterns, not because your fav didn’t get a diamond scene one time. This entire book is a trainwreck and has been one since the beginning, so this “unfairness” doesn’t exist, if you want to be a child about this.

I know it’s not every Ethan stan (if you’re sensible then you get bragging rights), but god, the gall of some of you makes my brain rot a little faster every day.