#like its kind of..............................obvious

[webzazes]

making this danny phantom teehee ❤️

My family always seemed like the most normal people in the world. But, we're filthy rich. I'm not a fan of it, but it's whatever. At least I have funds for passion projects, and hopefully, in due time, my own greenhouse (I've wanted one for years).

I actually only learned what really made us so successful recently, though. Ever since I was young, I was told over and over again that it was due to an invention, something useful and prominent in everyday life. However, it turns out that we're so wealthy because of black magic.

The thought alone inspired me so much, and I was already into gothic and fantastical things- it practically tripled my obsession. My parents, however, thought I was "too obvious" or "too gloomy" for our happy little family, especially because of my style of dress, but I was dead-set on breaking away from the norm after I learned how, well, not normal we are under wraps.

This made me a loner at school. I was different, and I wasn't a fan of going out of my way for friendships, let alone any unnecessary social interaction. I kept to myself, and became "the weird goth girl". Honestly, I was happy with that.

But, being a loner led me to Danny. And, of course, his friend Tucker. They accepted me- although we did butt heads at times, as is natural. We'd go to Danny's house, hear about his parents' work, and especially, their obsession with ghosts.

As someone getting into the occult, (I was actively training myself with books from our family library) I was interested. Very interested. I knew about souls, zombies, and demons, but not so much about ghosts themselves, the physical representation of a consciousness and soul tied down to Earth.

So, when Danny brought us to his basement to show us the "ghost portal" his parents were working on, I was excited. Really excited. Of course, I didn't let that show, I figured it might be as dumb as all of the other Fenton tech, and I wasn't expecting it to be dangerous, either.

But, when Danny stepped in to try and turn it on, I realized it was, in fact, dangerous. Very much so. The sheer amount of force I felt when the portal opened was almost painful- but never could be as painful as the sight of what happened to Danny because of it. He looked almost burned in places, and practically wilted to the ground.

He was limp. And he didn't look right, either- his hair was a shocking, clear white, and his eyes were green. At the time, I didn't even notice that the protective suit he was wearing had changed. But I could 100 percent tell that he was dead. Stone cold and limp, dead.

Tucker looked to be on the verge of tears, but I didn't care. I had to do something! I could feel some kind of residual energy on Danny's body, and I thought, "a source". A source of power for me to use, something I could heal him with.

Healing was my passion. I've always cared for life. Especially in this instance- Danny wasn't allowed to die. He couldn't die. I don't know what I would've done if he did..

So, in a split second, I was by his side. I was full healer mode, to the point I knew I couldn't let Tucker see my face. If he saw my eyes, well, he certainly wouldn't have been able to forget them any time soon..

I grasped at the energy left on Danny, and I made it mine. My emotions made me strong, determined, and I used that energy to successfully make an offering to Danny's soul. It was like summoning a demon- I'd seen my mom do it before- but more intimate, as I touched his spirit, poured its power into his bloodstream, and pulled at it, as I tied it to his body. I could almost feel the ectoplasm in my hands- and that's when I realized what the residual energy really was. Ectoplasm.

The ghost portal was real.

All in all, the whole process of "fixing" Danny, well.. it felt like nothing. And it really was quick. Thankfully, once I told Tucker that Danny was breathing, he didn't think to question the wait. He said nothing. And I couldn't bring myself to say that Danny was still cold..

So, hurriedly, we took Danny to his room, and told his parents he was tired. We said that he fell asleep while playing games with us. That was it.

That is how it all started.

You always wanted to be a Healer. Unfortunately, your dad was an Necromancer and your mother a Demon Summoner. So your healing was a bit… unconventional to say the least.

[someonegoood]

I’m not a kid! pt. 1 ✫ jeon jungkook

in which you’ve always had a hopeless crush on your brother’s best friend, Jungkook, who’s made it painfully clear he doesn’t feel the same—until a family vacation forces buried emotions to the surface.

CONTAINS: brother’s best friend troop, angst & fluff ! age gap, arguments, jungkook is an ass with reader, just a kiss...

NOTE: i’ll upload part 2 later… someday!! this work is not revised and english is not my first language :)

part 1, part 2.

The salty breeze of Busan’s coastline always carried the scent of the ocean and the faint cries of seagulls circling above. The city was alive with contrasts: the bustling fish markets that lined the shore and the quiet charm of the winding streets that climbed up the hills.

For Jungkook, Busan had always been home. The neighbourhood where he grew up wasn’t particularly special, but it was familiar—a place where kids spent endless summers playing soccer at the nearby park. That’s where he first met Minho.

Minho, your older brother, was the kind of boy everyone gravitated towards. He was a social butterfly while Jungkook was a shy eight-year-old, reluctant to join in but unable to resist Minho’s easygoing charisma.

“You’re on my team, Jeon,” Minho had declared one afternoon, tossing a worn-out soccer ball to Jungkook without waiting for a response.

From that day on, the two were inseparable. They shared everything: snacks bought from corner stores, secrets whispered during sleepovers, and dreams about what they wanted to be when they grew up.

That’s how you came into the picture.

You were Minho’s little sister, always tagging along, much to Jungkook’s annoyance. You were the sunshine to Minho’s confident energy, with an eternal optimism that made everyone crack a smile. But to him, you were just Minho’s sister—someone to tolerate because you came with the package.

Instead, over the years, your bubbly nature and obvious admiration for Jungkook became harder for him to ignore. You lingered on the sidelines of their soccer matches, offering water bottles and clapping too enthusiastically when he scored a goal. You laughed at his jokes even when they weren’t funny and gave him small, thoughtful gifts on his birthday—things like handmade keychains or little notes tucked into envelopes.

And while Minho teased you endlessly about your obvious crush, Jungkook’s reaction was always more severe. He hated it—not because he didn’t like you, but because he didn’t know how to like you. That made everything infinitely more complicated.

So, he did what he thought was best: he pushed you away.

NINE YEARS AGO…

The evening had the magic that only Busan nights could conjure: warm, salty air and the soft glow of lanterns strung along the bustling street-side restaurant.

Your family and the Jeons had planned this dinner weeks ago, a casual gathering to catch up and enjoy good food before Jungkook left for another training session in Seoul.

“I’m moving to Seoul,” he announced some years ago at your family’s barbecue, his tone casual, as if he hadn’t just shattered your world.

Your heart sank.

“For what?” your brother asked, genuinely curious.

Jungkook’s lips curled into the smallest of smiles. “To be a trainee. BigHit is giving me a shot.”

You froze, the words hitting you harder than you expected. He hadn’t told you. He hadn’t even hinted at it. That night, you cried alone in your room. You felt betrayed: that was your only dream since childhood. Eventually he left Busan to become a trainee, which had made you wonder if you’ll ever have an opportunity in the industry.

The long, wooden table was nestled under a canopy of fairy lights, with plates of grilled fish, spicy tteokbokki, and steaming bowls of jjigae scattered across its surface. You sat beside Jungkook, not by choice but because the seating arrangement had worked out that way. Your mother was chatting animatedly with Mrs. Jeon, and your brother Minho was in a heated debate with Jungkook’s older brother about which soccer team was superior.

You couldn’t focus. Not with Jungkook so close, his presence filling the air between you. He was dressed casually in a black hoodie and jeans, his dark hair slightly messy from the seaside breeze. He was scrolling through his phone, barely acknowledging you, but you could feel the heat radiating from his shoulder whenever it brushed yours.

As the clock neared midnight, the temperature dropped. You rubbed your arms, the thin pink cardigan you’d worn doing little to ward off the chill. You tried to focus on the conversation, but your shivering gave you away.

“Are you cold?” your mom asked from across the table, concern in her eyes.

“I’m fine,” you lied quickly, forcing a smile.

But you weren’t fine, and Jungkook noticed your trembling.

Later, when the two families were chatting, you hesitated for a moment and then glanced at him. “Can I… borrow your hoodie?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

“Your hoodie,” you repeated, trying to sound casual. “I’m freezing here.”

He stared at you for a second longer than necessary, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, without a word, he pulled the hoodie over his head, his black t-shirt riding up slightly to reveal a toned stomach. You quickly looked away, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Here,” he muttered, holding it out to you.

You slipped it on, the fabric warm and smelling faintly of his cologne—a mix of citrus and vanilla. It was far too big on you, the sleeves hanging past your fingertips, but it was comforting nonetheless.

“Thanks,” you said softly, stealing a glance at him.

He shrugged, his expression unreadable. “It’s just a hoodie.”

But as the night went on, you noticed little things. How he subtly shifted closer when the breeze picked up. How his knee brushed against yours under the table, and he didn’t pull away. How, when he thought no one was looking, his gaze lingered on you a second too long.

And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t just a hoodie after all.

That dinner had stirred something in you. Maybe it was the way Jungkook had handed you his hoodie without hesitation or the bubble gum scent on it. Whatever it was, the feelings swirling inside you.

SEVEN YEARS AGO…

It all started at one of Minho’s infamous parties. The room was crowded, music pumping, and you tried your best to enjoy yourself but the thought of being there just because you were Minho's sister made you cringe. That was until you saw Jungkook laughing in the corner with his friends. He had got back from Seoul a few days ago because his company gave him some free days.

Your chest tightened as you saw him. It was impossible to ignore how Jungkook’s carefree laughter carried across the room, pulling you into a spiral of softness. You retreated to the kitchen, determined to drown your emotions in a cup of punch. That’s where Juwon found you, one of your brother's friends.

"Stop pouting," he teased, ruffling your hair. "What’s wrong, kid?"

You shrink at the thought of being called a "kid". "I’m not a kid," you snapped, pulling away. "And nothing’s wrong."

Juwon didn’t believe you, but before he could pry further, Jungkook walked in. His sharp jawline, dark eyes, and smirk made your heart skip a beat.

"Juwon-ah," Jungkook greeted casually before his gaze flicked to you. "What’s with the long face? Did someone steal your crayons?"

Your jaw tightened, and Juwon chuckled. "She’s sulking about something. Probably got dumped." You glared at him, but Jungkook’s smirk only widened.

"Dumped?" Jungkook tilted his head mockingly. "You’d have to date someone for that to happen, kid."

That was the last straw.

"Stop, I’m not a kid!" you snapped, slamming your cup onto the counter. "I’m not some little girl you can just mock whenever you feel like it, Jungkook!"

The room went silent, tension crackling between you. Jungkook’s smirk faltered, replaced by something unreadable. Juwon shifted uncomfortably, sensing he’d made a mistake by staying.

"Alright..." Juwon muttered. "I’m leaving you two to... whatever this is." When he left, Jungkook leaned against the counter, his eyes narrowing as he studied you.

"You’re really something, aren’t you?" he said, his voice low. "Always so desperate to prove yourself. What are you trying to prove this time? That you’re all grown up?"

You felt the sting of his words but refused to back down.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might actually apologize. Instead, he muttered, "You’re too young to understand."

"Stop using that excuse!" you shot back. "I’m not a kid anymore, and you don’t get to decide how I feel!" The argument hung in the air like a storm ready to break. Jungkook opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, his expression darkened immediately. He went closer to you, his height suddenly making the space between you feel even smaller.

“Are you kidding right now?” he asked, his tone cold. Your noses were almost touching.

Your heart sank and you closed your eyes. “I… I just want to be serious with you. For once.”

“Serious?” His voice rose, sharp and cutting. “Kid, you'll never be.”

The words hit you like a slap. You blinked rapidly, trying to process the sudden shift in his demeanour.

“I don’t need this,” he continued, his frustration spilling out. “I don’t need you trying to play house or whatever weird crush you’ve got going on. Stop wasting your time on me. You’re just a little kid.”

Your chest tightened the sting of his words bringing tears to your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling. The cup you were holding was long forgotten.

"You’re... impossible, stubborn, and way too good for someone like me." Your breath hitched as his hand brushed against yours.

"Kook..."

He pulled back suddenly, as if afraid of what might happen next. "We can’t," he muttered, more to himself than to you. But before he could walk away, you grabbed his wrist.

"You’re an idiot," you said, tears pricking your eyes. "But if you walk away now, you’re proving me right."

Jungkook froze, his expression conflicted. Then, in one swift motion, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing onto yours. He began to kiss you, gently biting on your lower lip trying to make you open your mouth. You’ve never, in your whole life thought Jungkook would be kissing you.

The kiss was messy, desperate, and everything you’d imagined it would be.

One hand on your waist gripping you tightly as his other hand is gently holding the side of your face. His hands are constantly roaming over your body, rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb.

Jungkook began to press kisses along the length of your neck, stopping just above your jawline.

“That feels nice,” you blushed.

He chuckled as he leant in towards you, brushing his hand against your cheek. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his voice shaky.

Once again, his eyes travelled to your lips but before he could kiss you he turned quickly, rushing back into the living room before you broke down completely. It was better for you to stop caring about him now than to keep chasing something he couldn’t give you.

Or so he thought. That was the first time Jeon Jungkook kissed you and the first time he made you cry.

That night, sitting alone in your room with tear-streaked cheeks and a heart that felt both shattered and strangely free, you made a decision: it was time to focus on yourself.

Becoming an idol had always been your dream. You remembered the exact moment you decided this was what you wanted—a moment of clarity during a school talent show when the cheers of the crowd and the spotlight on you felt like home.

But dreaming of something and pursuing it were two entirely different things.

When you told your family you wanted to audition, they smiled indulgently, thinking it was a phase. Your brother, ever protective, had scoffed, telling you to "be realistic." Jungkook, who was still part of your life, had smirked and asked, "Do you even know how hard life my is?"

And he was right.

Auditioning for agencies was gruelling. There were days when you faced rejection after rejection, each one feeling like a crack in the foundation of your confidence. You’d wake up at 5 a.m. for practice sessions, juggling school, part-time jobs, and long hours of singing and dancing in a cramped studio. Every week, you had to convince yourself to keep going when everything in you screamed to quit.

The hardest part, though, wasn’t the physical exhaustion—it was the emotional toll.

Friendships began to slip away, you missed birthdays, family dinners, and countless moments that made your hometown feel like home. Moving to Seoul for training was bittersweet. You were chasing your dream, but it felt like leaving behind pieces of yourself.

Training wasn’t glamorous, either. There were days when your trainers yelled at you for missing a note or a beat, and you’d spend nights in the dorm crying into your pillow, wondering if you’d ever be good enough. Some trainees around you gave up, packing their bags and leaving without a word. But you stayed because deep down, you knew this was what you were meant to do.

And then, one day, after years of relentless hard work, you got a call from BigHit. You had been selected to debut. You and the four other girls you’d grown close to over endless practice hours were going to be idols.

But with debuting it came him.

Jungkook had debuted first, of course, with BTS. And every time you crossed paths at the company, at award shows or music programs, he made it clear he wasn’t thrilled about it.

It was a surreal moment as you and your group—Mimi, Sky, Nari, and Yunjin—stepped into the large studio for the BigHit family photoshoot. The air buzzed with energy as staff members rushed to set up lighting and cameras. You were dressed in coordinating white outfits, your makeup and hair perfected to the last detail, but none of it stopped the nervous flutter in your stomach.

The nerves only intensified when you saw BTS already gathered near the set, their laughter and chatter filling the room. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen them; in fact, you’d met the members long before they became global sensations, back when Jungkook was still a trainee.

Taehyung and Jin had always been the most welcoming, making an effort to befriend you during those early, uncertain days of training. You had countless memories of Taehyung showing you silly tricks to lighten your mood and Jin bringing snacks to share after practice sessions. Even now, they greeted you with warm smiles, as if no time had passed at all.

Taehyung waved enthusiastically as you approached. "Look at you! All grown up now."

You laughed, cheeks flushing. "And you haven’t changed a bit, Tae."

But the moment your eyes landed on Jungkook, your breath hitched. He stood near the backdrop, hands tucked in his pockets, looking impossibly good in his fitted suit. His gaze met yours briefly, and he gave a small nod, his expression unreadable.

You had seen him a few weeks ago at a family lunch back in Busan, but every encounter still carried a weight you couldn’t quite shake.

"Alright, everyone!" The photographer clapped his hands, gathering everyone’s attention. "We’re starting with the full group shots. BTS and our newest girl group, together."

Your heart sank. You weren’t sure you could survive being this close to Jungkook, especially under the teasing gaze of your members and his.

As the groups began to arrange themselves, chaos ensued. Jin insisted on being in the middle, Taehyung joked about needing his best angle, and your leader, Mimi, declared she wouldn’t stand anywhere near Namjoon because he was too tall. Amid the commotion, you somehow ended up right next to Jungkook.

You tried not to panic as you felt his body press against your back in the cramped arrangement. His arm brushed yours, and you swore you could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Y/N," Sky whispered, barely containing her laughter. "You’re blushing."

"Shut up," you hissed back, but your cheeks betrayed you, turning even redder.

"Look at them," Jimin teased loudly, his voice drawing everyone’s attention. "Our maknaes! Should we make room for you two?"

"Park Jimin," you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

Sky and Nari joined in, giggling as they exchanged knowing looks with BTS’s members. Even Yoongi couldn’t resist chiming in. "Let’s make a maknae photo. Everyone else, move aside!"

The teasing only worsened as the photographer tried to get everyone to focus. Jungkook remained quiet through it all, his expression unreadable, but you were hyper-aware of his proximity.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke.

"Enough," Jungkook said, his voice firm but not harsh. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to him.

He looked down at you, his expression softening. "Let’s just take the photo, okay?"

You nodded, too flustered to say anything. The teasing subsided after that, and the rest of the shoot went smoothly, though you couldn’t stop your heart from racing every time Jungkook shifted beside you.

As the session wrapped up, Taehyung leaned over and whispered in your ear, "He still cares, you know."

You didn’t respond, but the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence and the memory of his quiet defence stayed with you long after the photoshoot ended.

The photoshoot felt like a blur in your memory, but one moment lingered vividly—Jungkook standing beside you, his quiet presence both overwhelming and grounding. When he had stepped in to silence the teasing, you’d felt a warmth you couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just his defence but the softness in his eyes, the unspoken understanding that had stayed with you.

Since then, things between you have been… complicated. Jungkook was still distant most of the time, his words often cold, but there were cracks in his armour. Small, fleeting moments where his gaze softened or his words carried a hint of something deeper.

Now, backstage at the award show, the weight of his presence pressed on you like a phantom. You hadn’t exchanged more than a glance, but his impact lingered, just like it always did.

“Okay, so who’s the most nervous?” Nari teased, trying to break the tension as your group sat in a quiet corner.

“Not me,” Sky declared, though her knuckles were white around her water bottle.

“What about our maknae?” Mimi leaned closer to you. “You’ve been off all morning. Thinking about Jungkook again?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as the others giggled. “I’m not,” you lied, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

“You totally are,” Yunjin added, poking your side. “He’s got you all flustered, and he hasn’t even spoken to you yet.”

Before you could respond, Taehyung and Jimin appeared, their easy smiles immediately lightening the mood.

“Ladies, looking stunning as always,” Taehyung greeted, his tone playful as ever.

Jimin offered his signature kind smile. “Nervous? Don’t be. You’ll do great.”

Their presence was a welcome distraction, and you couldn’t help but laugh when Taehyung dramatically declared, “We’re here to protect you from Jungkook’s glaring.”

But the laughter was short-lived. Across the room, Jungkook leaned against the wall, his sharp gaze fixed on you. When Jimin ruffled your hair, earning a bright laugh from you, Jungkook’s jaw tightened.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to focus on the performance ahead. But just as you steadied yourself, he approached the group.

“Hey,” Jungkook called softly.

Everyone turned, surprised to see him standing next to you, his expression unreadable but his tone lacking its usual sharpness. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards your group's dressing room.

“Don’t let me ruin this for you,” he said, his voice so low you could bearly hear him. “You’re… good at this. Just do your thing.”

It wasn’t an apology for everything, but it was something.

Your eyes searched his, looking for any trace of malice, but all you found was a flicker of uncertainty. For the first time in what felt like forever, his walls seemed to lower, if only slightly.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, unsure of what else to say.

As he walked out, Yunjin sidled up beside you, a knowing grin on her face. “What did Jungkook say?”

“Nothing important,” you lied, though your heart told a different story.

“Sure,” she teased.

The words stayed with you as you stepped onto the stage, ready to perform. Maybe Jungkook wasn’t the same boy you’d once known, but beneath the cold exterior, there was still something there. Something worth holding onto.

The night of your group’s single release party was supposed to be a celebration. The venue buzzed with excitement, filled with industry friends, labelmates, and staff. Your group were the stars of the evening, basking in the glow of your latest success. You’d worked tirelessly for months, and now, you deserved to let loose.

You flitted around the party, sharing laughs, clinking glasses, and posing for photos with everyone who came to congratulate you. But a familiar tension brewed in your chest, one you tried to ignore as much as you could.

It didn’t help when Jungkook and his members arrived.

You didn't expect him to come, even though he’d been the first on your personal list. Yet there he was, standing near the bar in a sleek black outfit, grey jeans and an oversized t-shirt that fitted him nicely. His gaze found yours almost instantly, but he didn’t approach. Instead, he stayed rooted in place, sipping his drink and chatting casually with Hoseok.

“Babes,” Sky called, tugging you out of your thoughts. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you lied, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

But the truth was, Jungkook’s presence threw you off. The history between you—complicated and unresolved—lingered like an unspoken storm. His quiet indifference always hurt more than it should have.

As the night wore on, you avoided him, focusing instead on celebrating with your group. You danced, laughed, and tried to push him out of your mind. But when you stepped outside for a moment of air, the cool breeze hit you, and so did the realization that he’d followed you.

“Couldn’t even last the whole party?” Jungkook’s voice carried a teasing edge, but there was a hesitation in his tone.

You scoffed, not turning to face him. “Why are you here, Jungkook?”

“To congratulate you,” he said, stepping closer. “Big night for you and the girls.”

You turned to find him standing a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets. “Funny,” you muttered. “Didn’t think you cared.”

“I care,” Jungkook stepped closer, his gaze searching yours. “You’ve been avoiding me since the meeting in the backstage.”

You laughed bitterly. “And you’ve been ignoring me for years. Why do you care now?”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension was palpable, years of unresolved feelings bubbling to the surface.

“I don’t ignore you, kid.” He said finally, his voice quieter.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Every time I try to talk to you, you shut me out. Every time I think we’re okay, you push me away again.”

His gaze dropped to the ground, and for a moment, he looked almost guilty. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then make it simple,” you pressed, the frustration you’d bottled up for so long finally spilling out. “If you don’t want me in your life, just say so. Stop playing this game, Jungkook. I’m tired.”

His head snapped up, eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Kid... I never wanted you out of my life.”

“Stop calling me 'kid'” you demanded, your voice breaking. “Why do you act like I don’t matter?”

“You matter,” he said, stepping closer. “You matter so much it scares the hell out of me.”

The admission hung in the air, heavy and raw. Your heart pounded as he closed the distance between you, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. You pulled away, tears brimming in your eyes.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

“I know,” he said, his forehead resting against yours. “But I don’t know how to let you go.”

You stepped back, creating space between you. “You need to figure it out, Jungkook. Because I can’t keep doing this.”

The pain in his eyes mirrored your own, but neither of you said another word. You turned and walked back into the party, leaving him alone in the cold night.

"Let me take you home," he said. His tone was strong, not what you were used to. Still, the ride to your flat was silent, you sitting in the front with Jungkook while faint music played on the radio.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white. “You think you mean nothing to me?” You could only sob again, unable to answer him mainly because you were ashamed. When the car stopped, he unbuckled his seat belt and murmured that he would walk you to your door.

Jungkook rocked on his heels as he watched the moonlight highlight the tear-stained cheeks of his best friend's sister. He thought you looked beautiful that night even though you had been crying for the last half hour, your hair hadn't been brushed, and you were digging through your purse like crazy.

Although he would never admit it.

"I got them!" You laughed, waving your keys in the air before bumping your nose with the keychain. You paused as you pushed the key into the door, turning to look Jungkook in the eye for the first time since the party.

"Thank you," he didn't want to hear it. After all, you were just his best friend’s sister.

"It's no big deal."

After a moment, you dropped your bag to the floor and wrapped your arms around the boy's waist, your head resting on his chest as he quickly moved his hand and rubbed your back. He whispered, his chin resting on the top of your head.

"Goodnight."

It’s been two months since the party. When your mom first suggested a getaway, you thought it was the perfect idea to forget Jungkook’s situation. “You’ve been working too hard,” she had said over the phone, her voice tinged with concern. “A little break will do you good. Sunshine, good food, some family time—it’s exactly what you need.”

You’d been reluctant at first. The idea of slowing down felt foreign when your life had been moving at a breakneck pace for so long. But your mom’s persistence—and your own exhaustion—eventually won you over.

“We’ve already rented a villa by the beach,” she added, excitement in her tone. “Oh, and the Jeons will be joining us. It’ll be like the old days!”

The Jeons. You hadn’t heard that name in a while, but the memory of warm summer evenings spent with Jungkook’s family hit you like a wave. Your stomach sank as you considered the possibility of seeing him again.

“Do you mean the whole Jeon family?” you had asked hesitantly, trying to gauge just how much of a challenge this ‘relaxing’ trip would be.

“Of course!” your mom said brightly. “It’s been so long since we’ve all gotten together.”

You hadn’t been able to come up with a convincing excuse to avoid the trip, so you packed your bags, hoping the villa would be big enough to keep a comfortable distance between you and Jungkook.

But the moment you stepped onto the patio of the villa, you knew that hope was futile. He was there, leaning against the railing, staring out at the ocean like he belonged there. And when he turned and saw you, the atmosphere immediately shifted.

His dark eyes narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. You felt his gaze move over you briefly before he turned away, as if dismissing you altogether.

Your brother’s voice broke the tension. “Surprise! Kook managed to clean his schedule.”

You forced a smile, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Great,” you said, your voice flat.

“Hey kid,” he smirked.

“I’m not a kid!” Inside, you wanted to scream for help.

[celestialbruise]

PIDW time travel fic where after dying Shen Jiu wakes up in the past, after the ling xi caves and his subsequent qi deviation, with a chance to change his fate. Bingge also wakes up in his fourteen year old body, memories fully intact. Now, instead of actually changing their ways Bingjiu just try to kill each other in increasingly violent, hilarious ways

[hadesoftheladies]

‘Sex strikes’ aren’t the feminist win they appear to be. Here’s how to get really radical | Finn Mackay | The Guardian

So just read this entire article, and while there's worthwhile information on the history of separatism, 4B and political lesbianism, there's several statements Finn Mackay makes that grind my gears.

The main problem with the idea of a women’s sex strike is that rape exists. Much of the commentary in response to women’s videos and content openly makes this point, as young men reply that women don’t always have a choice. The slogan “your body, my choice”, which has circulated online since Trump’s victory, bleakly summarises this stance.

Rape is, obviously, never done with a woman's consent. But one must really ask, why are so many young women seeing celibacy as a legitimate solution? I recall a scene in Bottoms (2023) when the highschool girls gathered in a cirlce in the gym and the protagonist asked them how many of them had been raped. None of them raised their hands. When the protagonist asked, "Okay, what if we allow for grey areas?" all the girls raised their hands.

Rape is largely seen as something that is done to women walking home alone at night, outside on the street. It must be overt, obvious and completely unavoidable for it to be legit to the public mind. But many teenage girls and women experience rape in romantic relationships with men. SO MANY experience sexual abuse in initially consensual relationships. A LOT OF RAPE occurs during an initially consensual sex act and in initially consensual marriages. We've heard the stories of girls being choked in the middle of making out (without consenting), or being brutalized and disregarded when asking their romantic partner to stop. The normalization of rape in marriage is also proof of its prevalence.

THAT is why so many girls and women are willing to do away with it altogether. Even if it is not likely to change the hearts of men (and here I agree with Mackay), it is WISDOM and COMMON SENSE to close the bedroom door on a man or boy hyped up on violent pornography and indoctrinated by male supremacist notions.

Celibacy is not going to keep out every rapist, but it will reduce the odds of rape endemic to the culture of heterosexual dating/marriage. And even if it wasn't very effective in doing so, the solution certainly wouldn't be, "Hey, I know 60-80% of boys and men are literally primed to sexually brutalize you, but just follow your heart and take a chance anyways and maybe you'll find a good one despite your dogshit odds." Why are we sending girls to the lions' den because the lions will prowl anyway??? Hello?

It is also debatable whether the idea of a sex strike is inherently a feminist act. A problem with seeing a sex ban alone as somehow revolutionary is that it plays into the very problems that arguably created the need for activism in the first place. In this framing, sex is labour – work that women do for men, and can then limit, manipulate or withhold alongside demands for improved conditions. That is not radical. Sex has long been defined under patriarchy as something men want and women should do. Such understandings of sex are why it took so long for rape in marriage to be recognised as a crime, for example – because how could a husband take from his wife what was rightfully his by the law of marriage? Framing sex as women’s labour for men results in sex being commodified and objectified, and the problem is that what can be bartered, exchanged or sold can also be taken. This is not an empowering position from which to call for revolution between the sexes.

Except on a SOCIOECONOMIC SCALE, sex for women is very much already commodified, already labour and already exploited. Prostitution, surrogacy, etc are thriving industries at the moment, so sex (in addition to marriage and motherhood) can very much be defined as a kind of labour in modern society. Even if calling sex labour is also patriarchal rhetoric, it is also an economic fact. Marriages and reproductive labour are invaluable to a patriarchal economy.

SECONDLY, 4B rightfully recognizes sex as the domain men use to exercise their power over women. Patriarchy is fundamentally sexual and deeply intertwined with the heterosexual dynamic. In fact, for the most part, however unfortunate, it defines it. The question isn't whether sex is labour we can use to get men to give us our rights, but whether it is a reclaiming of power and the female identity by refusing men access, by refusing to acquiesce to the fundamental domain of patriarchal power.

The sexual exploitation of women is the gist of patriarchy. That's like it's main thing. By opting out whenever and wherever possible, the woman redefines herself in patriarchal society as explicitly the opposite of what Mackay and many Western liberals suggest she is doing by "sex striking." She is defining herself outside the heteropatriarchal framework and declaring herself an individual independent of the patriarchal state. Men would not be so enraged by this loss of sexual access if this meant nothing to patriarchal power.

It is a little funny to me that Mackay insists that 4B women are agreeing to patriarchal rhetoric by literally refusing to give men what they want and expect of women. These women know sex is expected of them, which is why they're saying no. But Mackay sees it as them adopting the patriarchal narrative themselves. Just . . . fascinating.

Additionally, sexual relationships with men, with or without abuse, are often the gateway to domestic and maternal exploitation. Part of 4B is refusing to marry men and mother children from or with them, both legitimate modes of socioeconomic patriarchal power. Women get pregnant and married purely in relation to sex with men. So sex with men is either the gateway to such exploitation or the justification for it.

The mainstream take on 4B frames it as a sex strike by young, marketable, heterosexual women. An alternative would be to reject such sexist constructs of sex and sexuality, and to imagine, and work towards, an egalitarian future where men and women are not divided up into predator and prey. Rather than a sex strike, there is another tried and tested form of activism, utilised by women and men the world over: a workers strike, the withdrawal of our wage labour that fuels the systems of capital that dare to govern us. Ban patriarchy, not sex.

This is one of her more mistifying statements. I agree with the first sentence entirely. But it goes downhill quickly from there. Imagining a world where men and women are equal does not erase the fact that for a huge chunk of history to the present, women are prey and men predators. That's just the reality. Imagining will not make it go away, and it isn't wrong for women to use language that highlights this reality, no matter how crude.

The second half is even more vague. To me, it's the equivalent of a shoulder shrug. Mackay has spent so much of the article discussing the pitfalls of 4B and separatist thought, and when pressed for an alternative, she just says "capitalism bad."

This is what I mean when I say the zeitgeist is severely divorced from women's experiences. Of course, class struggle is important, but women and men do not experience class struggle the same. We have had all sorts of revolutions over the course of history and a diversity of governmental structures to bat. Yet, communism, monarchy, capitalism and socialism have all failed to eradicate patriarchy. The nuclear family, the home, remains a stronghold in post-revolution societies. So the home, this cell of society, must be the primary battlefield on which human progress--women's liberation--is fought and won.

Like, this article is so shallow in its conclusions its tasteless. How will women "ban" patriarchy exactly? How will they do it on a governmental level if they can't even do it in their homes? How will they find the time and energy to fight for their own rights if they first have to fight for every other cause and then use the rest of that energy on their boyfriends/husbands/children?

The biggest flaw in anti separatist/celibacy/4B posts is that they all consisntently ignore the primary modes of women's socieconomic exploitation at the hands of men: sex, marriage and reproductive labor. AND LET'S BE CLEAR: all these aspects of women's sexuality and sex have been commodified LONG BEFORE our modern age. Girls and women were bought and sold into marriage in order to bear children for men's estate. Critics also frequently ignore the fact that female-only spaces consistently bolster feminist thought and activism. Female solidarity is a huge threat to patriarchy.

So if we as women aren't striking against the very spheres that men use to dominate us, then how on earth can we claim to be advocating for our own cause? How can we combat patriarchy and ignore it's primary functions? If we aren't getting rid of patriarchal institutions and reclaiming power from domains male supremacists have invaded (e.g. our sex lives) then how on earth could we possibly measure the progress of our own liberation?

We cannot keep "let them eat cake"-ing our way to women's liberation. Radical feminists more than ever need to embrace being anti gender, anti marriage, anti religion, anti cosmetics, etc. Or we're fighting for everyone and everything but ourselves.

[agirlinthegalaxy]

Hi! Fellow person with an English degree, along with working for an academic company that has a short college textbook about AI! One of the things that was discussed was hallucinations, which is incorrect information that AI presents as fact. Because the thing is, AI isn't capable of critical thought on its own. It takes in all of this information from the internet, but, as well all know, the Internet isn't inherently a trustworthy source of information and AI isn't capable of actually verifying this information.

One of the ways that we demonstrated this in our textbook is by inputting "Who won the 2022 presidential election?" This was using a previous ChatGPT model, but it actually would answer the question genuinely as if there had been a 2022 presidential election. Another way that I found personally is that I would begin discussing television shows and push it, and without fail, it always began making a lot of errors about obvious plot points and would be unable to keep it straight. Here's an input where I ask for an explanation of the finale of the Charmed (1998) series. (Spoilers for that ahead, but also the show ended nearly twenty years ago, so.)

While a lot of people probably don't know a lot about the show, here's the most relevant part: the entire Ultimate Power section is a complete fabrication because, while they exist, they're distinct characters with a completely different background. (And before anyone says anything, the point isn't about how recognizable the show is, it's about the AI literally makes up false information and presents it as truth when it's very easily disproved.)

Another way of illustrating AI's hallucinations is asking an either/or question, presuming that an event happens. Now, in full transparency, I have not read Dracula since 2021/2022, but I'm about eighty percent sure that this is an example of a hallucination. If not, my apologies, but I'm sure you can find a hallucination if you input it enough similar statements.

Beyond clearly just knowing what is accurate or not, AI also, like the previous OP said, doesn't know what is important. In many classes, when you're discussing some kind of novel, small details will of vital importance whether it about character, plot, or theme of the book. Demonstrated by one of my professors who asked us about the symbolism of the horse that Thomas Sutpen rode into town in the beginning of Absalom, Absalom only to very loudly proclaim that it was between his legs as a phallic symbol, which honestly was probably correct with the author William Faulkner being who he is. Side note, but he was a weird man, and I still don't like his works. If I was a student in that class today, here are the two different shortcuts I could have gotten.

(ChatGPT)

(SparkNotes)

Between the two, even disregarding that SparkNotes' summary is four paragraphs to ChatGPT's three (since the girl in the og Twitter post used three), SparkNotes just provides so much more information and detail. I'd argue that ChatGPT doesn't even summarize it efficiently anyways. So if you're just trying to cheat for class, ChatGPT still isn't a good option.

But I think the worst thing is that the people in the original Twitter convo aren't even reading for class. They're (presumably) reading for enjoyment, which makes it so much more bizarre to me. Because the thing is, and this is a rare one for me to say, you don't... have to read if you don't enjoy it? Once you've left school, very few places (unless you intentionally opt into it or have a very specific job) will make you read novels in your free time. Furthermore, I really can't fathom problems that ChatGPT solves that, say, an audiobook can't? Discussing these two specific instances individually:

If you're wanting to learn more about what Aristotle said in more readable English, baby, he's Aristotle. I can almost guarantee you that there is some kind of book out there, or even something online if you'd like to use the Internet, explaining his philosophy in easier to understand terms. Also with philosophy, I think that "main gist" can be a bit of a trick in of itself because it's designed to make you think critically about these ideas. Sometimes, the "main gist" is even the opposite of what they may seemingly be arguing because they're mocking it.

As for reading a book recommendation by a friend. ... girlie pop, you literally could just not read the book. I've gotten plenty of book recommendations that I've never read and my friends are not insulted at it. If it's a bid for connection, I'd argue that this is more insulting than simply not reading it because if you don't want to invest the time into it, that's fine but this weird shortcut way as if it's beneath your time is... oof. But especially if you want to discuss it, because AI will not include every beat and a lot of a novel is in the way it's written, the pacing or tension, etc. Things that an AI summary can't define out for you to have an actual meaningful conversation. That's something I do when I see a movie that looks halfway interesting but don't care enough to actually sit down and watch it. And even then, I'd never go back to that friend and act like I actually consumed that media; I'd probably just say that it sounds good because I still have not actually truthfully engaged with it!

This is a very long post, but I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about AI, especially in classes, literature, and media in general. Most of them are very negative, but I mean, please don't hand over your critical thinking of what you're consuming to artificial intelligence. Its intelligence is artificial; yours is not.

what is HAPPENING

[thequietkid-moonie]

Little things they do when they are in love

[ HEADCANONS ] [ Argenti, Boothill ]

[ Honkai Star Rail ]

This is a new thing I wanted to try, instead of making general relasionship headcanons I wrote random and cutie headcanons, I actually enjoyed writing this more so i wil keep doing it from now on!

Argenti

Always at the side to protect you with his body. Argenti holds his title as a knight with pride and honor and thats going to be show in his affection and love too, he vows his like to Idrila but he is your knight too, what kind of knight would he be if he isn't really to protect you? Whenever you two are out, even if there isn't really an obvious threaten he always walk in the side of the road more crowded

Treating you as if you were made of glass. He doesn't do it in the way that he is scare that he may hurt you but in the way that as if he were holding the most precious thing it has ever existed in the whole cosmos, everytime he touch you he does it with such gentleness and care, even if is in a dangerous situation when he holds you to shield you he is surprisingly gentle with his touch. Although, Argenti doesn't underestimate you, he is far from that, is just that you hold so much value for him that he can't let anything happen to you

Fixing your clothes. It isn't that he judge your aesthetic or that he is a perfeccionist, he is just really caring, he tent to pay a lot of attention to you so he end up noticing the small details like when you clothes or hair gets a little messy and he simply decided to fix it for you, for him is nothing really, is just a small little detail, he doesn't even expect you to thank him or even aknowledge it he just do it because he loves you and wants everyone to apreciate your beauty

Always greeting and saying goodbye. Even if the path of a knight of beauty is in loneliness now that you are in his life he holds your relationship with great value and honor, he still has work to do but always has time to be with you, thats why everytime you see each other there is always a beautiful greeting fit for a knight of beauty, as well as a temporary farewell everytime you have to part ways, always promising on his life to come back to you once his job is done. Argenti is actually so loyal that whenever he has to go somewhere without you he makes sure to tell you where exactly is he going and how much time it will take him approximately

Pampering you with affection and compliments. Argenti is not shy when it comes to affection, as a knight of beauty is his duty to recognize the beauty around the universe, and you are one of the most beautiful people he has ever seeing and he is not afraid to tell you, with him at your side your life will never lack of compliments and prasises but when it comes to physical affectionate he waits because he doesn't want to cross your bounduries by accident, still he is a big fan to take your cheeks on his hands and leave gentle kisses all over your face or gently take your hand in his to place a kiss on your knuckles (even kneeling down to do it like a true gentleman)

Boothill

Speaking a little louder. Its not his intention to come across as rude, he normally speak in a rather quiet tone since his style is to do his job and go, he only speak louder when he gets excited or when the battle gets more serious, whenever he is with you he feels comfortable and happy so he can't help but speaking just a little louder

Acting like a simple couple and forgeting about the world for a second. For being a galaxy ranger Boothill's life is always a rush, he does his job and leave the place so whenever he has the oportunity he like to simply slow down and enjoy your company, having at least a second to simply relax and enjoy still being alive, enjoy having you in his life

Learning and teaching. Since Boothill used to be a cowboy and now is a galaxy ranger he knows a lot about surviving and fighting, he wouldn't mind teaching you things like using a gun and, honeslty, he would be rather excited about it! As well, if there is anything you would like to teach him or even he gets interested on something you know how to do really well he will be happy to learn too, actually this quality time is incredibly comforting for him, it makes him feel human

Keeping and arm around you. Again, his life is constantly a rush and he gets lonely quite often, so whenever you two are together he likes having you as close as posible. Keeping an arm around your shoulders or waist have diferent purpose, first of all is a protective gesture, a way to remind you that he is here to protect you if you need it (he is your galaxy ranger after all), the reason he keeps as a secret and prefer to don't admit out loud is for the comfort, he had lost everything in a second already once so keeping you so close is to remind himself that you are really here, that you are at his side still breathing, that nothing bad had happened to you

Staring at your skin. The days of being a human cowboy are long lost and his new robotic body is an eternal reminder about what happened and what he has to do, he is quite troubled by the fact that his only soft skin is on his face so he just got the tendency to stare at your skin, he doesn't do it in a creepy way he just accedently zone out while staring at your skin, his mind going back to his lost past, but at the end he always apologize if he make you uncomfortable by it

Gift you flowers. Honeslty, those flowers are almost never bought on a flower shop, everytime Boothill bring you flowers those are ones that he had collected personally from the wild, for him those flowers hold a greater meaning than any other flowers he could bought, not only shows that he had went out of his way to collect them but also shows the beauty of a living planet. The flowers he always brings are diferent, small or big, with soft or bright colors, he likes vary from what flowers he brought you on the past and loves seeing your reaction for them (but gets really embarrassed if you point it out)

[dreamyysouls]

cozy for a night

the snow outside has you locked in castle caladan, bored out of your mind. paul finds a way to cheer you up.

paul atreides x fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

cw: fluff, lots of fluff, established relationship, paul and reader are idiots in love, cuddling, they tease each other

winters on caladan had never been particularly kind. harsh winds on top of even snowstorms made it impossible to go anywhere that wasn’t inside the castle. that’s why, when the winter weather did grow aggressive, you made sure to try to find things that could spice up your days.

you let out a sigh, closing the book you had been “reading” for the past hour. your brain hadn’t processed much of its contents, not that you had really intended to anyway. trying to busy yourself when there was no work for you to do seemed to be more exhausting than work itself. you slumped in your seat, trying to think of something, anything, that might keep you occupied.

it didn’t help that it was freezing everywhere you went. no matter what you wanted to do, the cold from the outside would seep into the stone walls and make sure you couldn’t be completely satisfied. your eyes flicked around the room for what felt like the hundredth time, still desperate for any kind of inspiration.

in the haze of your dilemma, you had failed to notice paul’s presence grace the room. a smirk appeared on his lips as he took in your form, silently admiring how focused you seemed to be.

“bored, love?” he finally spoke out, his body behind your seat. you regrettably jumped, a hint of blush dusting over your cheeks as you quickly turned to meet his eyes.

“how did you know?” you asked with the tilt of your head, a hint of sarcasm laced in your voice. 

“you made it a little obvious,” paul grinned, his voice lowering as he leaned down over you. he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, the contact sending sparks through your cold skin. you heard him hiss as he pulled away, his hand moving over your forehead carefully.

“why didn’t you tell me you were cold?” he questioned you softly, a subtle smile on his face. you sighed as you felt his hand running down your jawline, his slender fingers ghosting over your cold skin.

“guess i just didn’t notice,” you hummed out, your eyes fluttering shut as you relaxed into the feeling of his touch.

“didn’t notice? darling, you’re freezing.”

“it doesn’t feel like that to me,” you shrugged your shoulders, a soft smile on your lips. your eyes flicked up to his as he let out a hum, his head tilting as if he was wondering what he could do. it seemed to click, though, as his hands moved down to your shoulders, his smile morphing into a grin as he got closer to your face.

“well, you feel cold to me, and i can’t have that,” he lilted, his breath fanning over your face. one of his hands slipped further down, his fingers carefully weaving with yours and pulling you up. you rose to your feet, eyebrow quirked up as you looked at paul.

“where are you taking me?” you asked him, a small laugh falling from your lips as he gently tugged you away from your seat. your feet met with the cold tile beneath you as you walked, a shiver running through you as a result.

“somewhere warm,” he responded, his gaze shifting to you before moving back in front of him. he seemed to notice (as he so often does) your shiver and guided you closer to his frame, hoping you might feel the heat from his body. his hand squeezed yours gently, trying to warm your icy fingers.

you sighed as you let your hand relax in his hold, letting the warmth seep into your skin. your eyes drifted as you walked through the halls, passing windows where snow fell on the opposite side. the land was wrapped in a blanket of white, not a trace of rock or grass in sight. the landscape soon disappeared, however, as stone walls stepped in place of the windows.

you blinked, letting your gaze shift back to the hall in front of you. it wasn’t long before you came upon a doorway, paul tugging you inside. it was like a study of sorts, books lining the walls and a crackling fireplace in the center of the room. its heat enveloped you, the warmth cascading over your cool skin. you sighed, your eyes shutting for a moment as you relished in the feeling of heat on your skin.

you glanced up to see paul looking at you with a smirk, clearly finding amusement from your reaction. you quirked your eyebrow at him, your head tilting to the side.

“something funny, paul?” you rang out, a smile evident in your tone.

“are you realizing how cold you were?” he asked just as teasingly, that damn smirk still on his lips.

“are,” you corrected, shifting your body and turning to fully face him. “and i am, i suppose.” your arms moved to wrap around your figure, but paul quickly caught your hand, pulling you further into the room. he guided you to the couch that was in the center of the room, just in front of the fireplace.

“come here,” he said with a grin, sitting down on the couch before pulling you down with him. you let out a small yelp, your body coming into contact with his. he sighed, his slender arms moving to wrap around your form, holding you closely against him. 

you let yourself melt into him, your body instinctively relaxing at his touch. your head rested in the crook of his neck as you took deep breaths, inhaling his scent. the chills in your body began to dissipate, heat seeping into your form.

“better?” paul asked, a smile evident in his voice. your head moved, meeting his gaze and smiling up at him as you nodded.

“better,” you sighed gently, letting your head fall back into his neck. he chuckled at you, the sound vibrating off of his chest. he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, one of his hands running up and down your back. you smiled, leaning in to place your own kiss onto the skin of his neck.

you adored the moments like these. paul holding you close, your frame cozied up against him…something about it always made your heart soar. perhaps it was the domesticity of it all. whatever it was, you loved it, and held onto it hard whenever it was given to you.

you could already feel your eyelids growing heavy as paul held you, the familiar feeling of his warmth soothing you as it always did. the fireplace wasn’t helping you, the crackle of the burning wood aiding in the task of making you sleepy. you felt so at peace, your heart and mind feeling happy despite your uneventful day.

“are you falling asleep on me?” paul asked you, a small laugh escaping him. his hold on you tightened momentarily, as if he was trying to wake you.

“maybe. it’s your fault,” you hummed, shifting your head and looking at him through your now very lidded eyes. he sighed and ran a hand along your jawline, and your cheeks flushed in an instant.

“oh, really?” he smirked, his head tilting to the side. his voice seemed purposefully low, like he knew the effects he had on you (which he very much did). “why is your sleepiness my fault?”

“you’re too warm,” you spoke up, your words mumbled and nearly slurred. sleep was creeping up on you, threatening to take you down. you fought the urge to give in and curl into paul’s hold, instead deciding to try and keep your eyes open. 

that ended up failing, your eyes fluttering open and closed periodically. paul noticed, a breath leaving him as he gently reached up again, his hand sliding down your cheek. 

“i’ve got you, love. you can rest,” he cooed, smiling down at you. his fingers stayed on your face for a few more moments as you nodded and let your eyes shut. you felt yourself sink into paul, your frame fully relaxed against his.

“love you,” you breathed out, your voice almost silent. paul watched you as your breaths became heavier and heavier, sleep finally overtaking you.

“i love you,” paul smiled, his thumb running circles into your back. he observed you silently, taking in the sight of you sleeping against him. your lips were slightly parted and your chest moved up and down slowly, your body otherwise completely still. you looked so soft like this, completely at ease in his hold. 

his eyes drifted to the fireplace and to the room around him, the world quiet for a moment. he glanced out of the window then back down at you, a grin appearing on his lips. maybe the snow wasn’t such a terrible thing after all.

my first time writing for my baby paul!!!! i love him deeply and needed to get this out of me 🙏🙏 my original intention was to make this christmasy but i kept procrastinating, as one often does. this definitely won’t be my last time writing paul, and i already have a few ideas in my head for what i’ll cook up next 👀 if you like my content, please leave a like and feel free to reblog!! requests are open right now, and if you have any ideas/thoughts/prayers i would love to hear them!! as always have a good day or night and take care of yourself 🫶🫶🫶 love ya!

[eva-does-its-best]

“You don't need to do any comparison for that, you just need to know the issues, the root, and think on how to (kinda) fix it.” okay… and “misandry”/“androphobia” aren’t real forms of oppression, and misogyny is. misogyny affects women more than it affects men. trans women are women and trans men are men; therefore, trans women are hurt more by misogyny than trans men are. knowing the issues and roots of oppression /involves/ understanding how “transandrophobia” can’t exist and that what transmascs face is transphobia. transandrophobia is misogyny the same way transphobia and homophobia and lesbophobia are misogyny, that’s what the “roots” are. there is no man-hating “root” of oppression to intersect with transphobia for trans men. and saying that isn’t saying transmascs aren’t oppressed! we’re oppressed by transphobia!!

Ok you are totally missing the point, so allow me to explain things to you because it seems either no one bothered to or maybe you just never read it.

•You cannot take the trans- prefix away from transandrophobia, because it is the specific intersection of transphobia for trans MEN and transmascs. The prefix trans is 100% a requirement because we are talking first and foremost about transphobia, of the specific kind faced by men and men/masculine adjacent people, alright?

• Transandrophobia is not an intersection of transphobia and androphobia/misandry, it is an intersection of transphobia and misoginy, just like transmisoginy, it simply needs a different name because it is specific for men and men/masculine adjacent trans people, and its manifestations and issues are many times different from transmisoginy. Ok?

(Transphobia + misoginy) Applied to women and fems= transmisoginy

(Transphobia + misoginy) Applied to men and mascs= Transandrophobia

•No, before/in case you say it, we won't use transemasculation, transandrophobia doesn't always manifest in a stripping of masculinity, it also appears as the opressors and discriminators weaponizing trans men amd transmascs' masculinity against them.

•Of course, trans men are men and trans women are women, but you cannot just ignore the whole trans prefix. Like it or not none of us is cis (except maybe cistrans people and multigender people with at least one gender they consider cis), so discrimination, opression, how we are treated, etc will NOT look 1:1 to how cis people are treated. Cis feminism does not work for us because we were not accounted for in the patriarchal system, we are all outcasts.

•You cannot just invent a whole category (transmisoginy) for the issues specific to one kind of trans people and leave everyone else with the default transphobia, I think it's fairly obvious to see how that just doesn't work.

•Again, you're misunderstanding the language as I explained above. You are discriminated as trans but also specifically a trans man, not as a man, as a trans man, and as much as a trans man IS a man, it's not the same as a cis man. Cannot let desires of affirmation blind us to the fact the trans part matters and differenciates.

[whumpster-fire]

Oh shit I got Gravity. I'm scared.

Okay, I'm assuming this works in one of two ways:

A: Object Based, i.e. I can control the strength and direction of the gravitational acceleration experienced by a specific object, with limitations on the size, range, and strength of the object.

B: Field Based, i.e. I can create a gravitational field centered on a location within range that remains fixed relative to either the Earth or me, and causes other objects to behave as if there is an enormous, compact mass in this location. Hopefully not a point mass, because creating 1 g of acceleration at 10 m from the center means 100 g at 1 meter, 10,000 g at 10 cm, 1,000,000 g at 1 cm, and 10^8 g at 1 mm. I'm scared that even if this isn't a real black hole it might be able to shred anything that gets near it and turn objects / the surrounding air into a very hot mass of compacted matter, possibly with its own accretion disc, that will put out horrifying amounts of UV radiation or worse, and violently explode as soon as the field is turned off.

Anyway: the field version has the potential to be a devastating weapon but also extremely difficult to safely use. The more entertaining version of this power is that if I can use it on myself or on a platform that I'm riding, it would theoretically be possible to put things into orbit or even interplanetary trajectories with only a spacesuit and possibly some sort of vehicle. The drawback of this is controlling it would be extremely difficult even with electronics: because anything being moved by a gravity superpower would, from its perspective, be in free fall, I don't think an Inertial Measurement Unit would be usable to measure position or speed.

It would most likely be possible in theory to make a Super Suit HUD/ Engineless Orbital Jet Ski that used GPS signals to get position and speed, but civilian GPS units have a speed limit before they refuse to give you data for reasons that should be obvious if you think about it for a few seconds, and IIRC this limit is about Mach 1.5 which is way too slow, so actually acquiring a way to put stuff onto a trajectory I want would be a "Ask the Defense Department really, really nicely for unlocked GPS hardware and pinky promise not to make an ICBM" kind of thing, as well as probably a "ask someone else who may either have superpowers or also be the Defense Department to build a navigation system in exchange for a few free launches."

In practice this is a really fucking bad idea because the National Reconnaissance Office and also probably quite a few supervillains would probably be very, very interested in someone who can put shit into orbit without the radar/heat signature of a rocket launch. If I had a superpower that could do that there is no way in hell I would let anyone know how effective it was because this is the kind of combo of not optimal for combat / very useful for other things powers that gets you blackmailed into doing shady shit / assassinated by the enemies of whoever's blackmailing you.

I'm remaining neutral, and if I used my powers publicly at all I would if at all possible lie about how they actually work and pretend I have telekinesis/flight.

You discover that you have control over a certain thing, as determined by spinning this wheel. We're talking full-on magical girl/superhero/supervillain/your label of choice control.

[karmaajr]

HEYO Y'ALL!!!! I got bored and decided my last intro post was WAY too unorganised (even by my standards frfr 😔😔🙏) so i made a new one!!! hopefully this ones a bit better or else ima light somebody on fire 🥰🥰

anyways dms n asks r ALWAYS open and if ur new to my person-being-blog-whatevs and wanna get to know me or smth then FEEL FREE TO SLIDE IN GIRLYPOPS!!! I'M ALWAYS BORED SOO 😭😭🙏 (might take like, a billion years to reply tho mbmb >:3)

and thus again, without any further ado, MY INTRO POST 😍

🎶 try to strike a chord but it's probably A MINOR 🎶 -> ✨️im under 18✨️ idm nsfw convos tho bcuz theyre funny :D

sooo tbh you can call me whatever you want? like ppl call me different things (eg senka calls me kam, bea calls me keke/kekere bcuz shes 🎶a meanie, a big meanie🎶 my irl bestie westie pookie poo calls me jeena CUZ HES A LIL BITCH) but MHM!!! CALL ME WHATEVER U WANNA <33 (as long as it dont feel masc bcuz my dumbass got issues w feeling masc for some RANDOM STUPID REASON 💀) (like im literally a cis girl why do i got problems w this....... but YAAAA 😭) (she/her btw!!! if that wasnt obvious!! ^^)

✨️i am cringe but i am free✨️

I SOMETIMES USE GENDERED TERMS LIKE GIRLY/BRO/DUDE/ETC BUT I DON'T MEAN IT GENDERED SO IF YOU FEEL IFFY THEN DONT HESITATE TO HMU N TELL ME TO FIX UP MY SHIT

btw im a tad bit of train wreck but if u enjoy the chaos then we'll get along js fine i think pooks 😋😋

anyways it came to my shitty little attention span one day when i was just being a silly lil girly that some of yall think im white when i say im british....... CHAT NOOO IM BORN N RAISED IN THIS TEA RIDDEN COUNTRY BUT ETHNICITY WISE IM BANGLADESHI!??!?! YALL IM LITERALLY A BROWNIE OMFDS 🤧

also a lot of this blog is a bunch of reblogs of shit im interested in BUT I DO HAVE OG STUFFFFFF, THEY'RE JUST IN THEIR OWN TAGS U GET ME??? anyways some of the tags!!!

karmaajr rambles -> for everything i post besides answers to asks :3

karmaajr answers ig :D -> answers to asks ^^

important thing for me to tag bcuz yes -> random thing i really wanna save (also im bad at tagging so sometimes thing has an "s" or tag has an "s" lmfao, ITS A RLLY USELESS TAG TO TRY SCROLL THRU ICL.... RLLY DRY AS WELL)

karmas mum mentions :3 -> i like to think this one explains itself yall 😘

daddy's unhinged -> anything about my sweet ol' pops (who totes cares abt me yall) 🥰

my sister and I -> anything my sister is involved in that i actually remember to tag LMFAO

NOT MY ASS MENTIONING PANIK -> me wanting to save things that r to do w my gf 🫶

BTW HIS @ IS @panikbutt0n AND SHE'S MY MAPLE SYRUP CHUGGING 4LIFER AND LITERALLY THE BEST THING SINCE RIPPED BREAD AND I LOVE HER SO SO SO MUCH SO ACC HIT HER UP PLZ 🙏🙏🙏🙏

btw yall, ur homegirl aint no gatekeeper so the group matching pfp thingy is from @tuturthecarvroom 's blog (n they very skibidi sbg art btw so i do reccomend frfr) and mY HEADER IS OFF GOOGLE SEARCH 😍😍

ALSO I AM CURRENTLY MATCHING WITH THE SILLIEST GROUP EVER FRFR, GONNA TRY @ THEM ALL BUT IT'S HARDDD (my memory is the shittiest thing since That One Time my friend shit his trousers on call w me 💪💪💪)

@lee1504 -> BRAINROTTED KING 🙏🙏

@d011zk1ll -> both kind af and somewhat unhinged??? like both "do a good deed to make somebody else's life easier ☺️" AND "im gonna eat a bicycle :p"

@sketchingwithlyn -> JUST THE CHILLEST GUY EVERRRR!!!!

@rot-decay-erosion -> gramps 🧓🏻 (also known as the desendant of our king garfield 😙✨️)

@afrogwhocantdraw -> RESIDENT BENLOR POOKIE

@low-senka -> the brokest senior citezen youve ever met 💔💔💔💔 (yall need to donate to my guy 🥺🥺🥺)

(also the thing below had me stuck looking at it for literally AGES so hehehehehhehehe GET TRAPPED IDIOT!!!!!! >:3!!!!!)

▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒

(dots r fun)

anyways i have no clue what else to write!!! which is weird bcuz im a yapper frfr :D

ANYWAYS LOVE Y'ALL ✨️✨️✨️

WAIT

⁠⁠⁠ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ ⁠⁠

.......... ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ ⁠⁠

.................... ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ ⁠⁠

.............................. ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ ⁠⁠

........................................ ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ ⁠⁠

..................................................ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ ⁠⁠

............................................................ ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ

......................................................................⁠ ᘛ⁠⁐̤⁠ᕐ⁠ᐷ

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THEY 👥 DONT🙅🏼‍♀️ LOVE 😘 YOU 🫵🏼 LIKE I 👀 LOVE 🥰 YOU 🫵🏼🫵🏼🫵🏼

[douxkise]

This short piece of Mammon fluff is a gift for @anonymouse-is-here and although she has seen it already, I thought it would be nice to share it with everyone too. No Mammon content is ever too much Mammon content, right? 🌹

Note: MY ENGLISH IS CURRENTLY RUSTY, GIVE ME A BREAK

The greatest winter with the Great Mammon

Mammon was cold. That's it. So cold he could barely move. He felt a wave of cramps coming all the way to his toes and couldn't help but shiver. The demon took in his surroundings and everything he saw was the white, thick snow that extended for miles and piled up to his thighs and only added to his already freezing body.

He cried out for help and there was no answer. Of course no one would come to his rescue; he didn't even remember how he got there in the first place.

Mammon managed to take a couple of steps before his body gave up, sending him straight to the snow. Oh God, he was going to die for good this time. The freezing cold caught up to him in an instant and he felt himself getting sleepy. Weird, huh? Suddenly, the gelid snow on his cheek didn't bother him so much anymore.

"HELL NAH!" he yelled, sitting up and throwing all the pillows on the floor while trying to regain consciousness.

His eyes darted around in a haste, scared he would end up as a giant ice cube in the middle of nowhere. It was only a nightmare, thank Diavolo. He exhaled and saw his breath in the air. Oh... So that's why it hurt to breathe. His own room was cold as hell.

Only then he remembered something. Mammon turned to your side of the bed and, just as he thought, it was empty and the blanket was gone as well. Although the sheets were already cold, your scent still lingered, engraved in his mind and invading his nose. He missed you already, why did you have to disappear like that?!

"It's too early to be stealing Mammon's blanket, ___...." Rubbing his eyes, the white haired demon got up and decided to look for you; there was no way he was going back to sleep without you on his side.

It took Mammon a couple of minutes to notice the silence at Serenity Manor; the sun had barely risen, after all, no sane demon should be awake, but there he was. He walked all the way through the mansion and hadn't heard anything from any of his brothers — or you, for that matter — which led him to start getting a tad bit antsy.

The common room remained the same, though, its gigantic windows hiding nothing from the outside and, as he expected, the backyard was covered in snow. He took in the scenery before him; the chilly atmosphere wasn't enough to hurt him the way it did in his dream and the snow-covered trees were kind of pretty, he admitted. Mammon almost felt peace at the moment. That is, until he saw you.

There you were, standing outside in the snow. What were you thinking? Getting out of the mansion — without winter boots, nonetheless —, were you trying to freeze to death?!

"Oi! Ya ain't gettin' sick on my watch! Get back inside, ____!" He called through the door that led to the yard, waving frantically to get your attention.

You turned around with a smile that never failed to melt his heart. That childlike glint in your eyes that he only ever saw whenever the first snow of December started falling. You beckoned to him and, certainly, watched as he took a deep breath before facing the snow.

"It's snowing, Mammon! It's officially winter!" You told him, opening your arms in an obvious invitation for a hug.

"Tsk, talk about being childish," he grumbled, wrapping his arms around your waist in a bear hug.

You two just stayed this way, your bodies rocking slowly from side to side while you admired the beautiful winter scenery.

"Hey... You know what?" You pulled away just enough to look into his blue eyes. "Thank you for being with me, Mammon. I'm really glad we're spending winter in the human realm this year."

"Of course, the Great Mammon will always be here for ya, babe." You could hear the embarrassment in each of his words even though he tried to hide the deep blush on his face with an overconfident demeanor.

After a few moments, the winter breeze started to be too much for you. You couldn't help but shiver a bit, and it didn't go unnoticed by him; he scoffed and took both your bare hands in his. To say your skin was cold was an understatement. Honestly, he was expecting it already, you did this every year and it never got old; the first time was during the Devildom winter. However, this year he was braver, bolder even, and decided to be a gentleman and kiss your hands.

Mammon started by kissing your fingers, one by one, pretending he hadn't seen the pinkish tint on your cheeks.

"Mammon... What are you-"

"Don't speak," his voice went low in a soft command, although it sounded almost like a plea. Oh, to be that confident all the time... His life would have been so much easier.

The sudden change in the atmosphere caught you off guard; you weren't expecting him to get affectionate out of the blue, neither were you ready for it this early in the morning. You kept watching him as he kissed every inch of your hand, until he got to kiss your palm. You pulled both hands back abruptly and now it was Mammon's turn to be surprised. He stared at your flushed face and smirked to what could only mean one thing: he found out you were ticklish.

"Oh... That's good to know." His smirk only grew as well as his confidence.

"Don't you dare, Mammon." You warned with a mischievous smirk matching his, already backing away from him when he started following you.

And just like that, you were play fighting in the snow. Mammon had that familiar hungry look in his eyes, his laugh echoing through all of the backyard of the mansion as he tried to tickle you over and over. Truth be told, you had no chance against him to begin with. You only got away with running from him for as long as he allowed, but even so you ended up tripping and falling on your stomach.

"Looks like the Great Mammon won again, huh?" He chuckled as he turned you around and trapped you underneath his body.

"You're ridiculous." There was your smile again, making his heart speed up without his consent. Your entire face held the expression of pure happiness while you stared fondly at him.

As you two laid down on the snow, you noticed just how beautiful this demon was. You already knew it, of course, but it was always a welcome surprise when you got to be so close to him as you were. His eyes as deep as the most beautiful starry night, his lips just as inviting; you started to think Mammon could have been sculpted by God himself and the laugh that followed was inevitable. How could you forget that God himself took his time to create an ethereal being such as the Great Mammon?

He didn't even have the time to ask what you were laughing at when he felt your cold hands pulling his face down until your lips barely brushed against his. Mammon's hand trembled in anticipation, his fingers making their way to your hair as he made sure to remember every tiny detail of you in that moment.

"Hey! Get away from them!" Asmodeus' loud voice echoed through the backyard and both you and Mammon jumped out of your skins, unable to move fast enough to even start thinking of a believable excuse for the position you were in.

You dreaded looking in the avatar of Lust's direction and you weren't actually surprised to see all of the brothers' enraged expressions glaring at Mammon.

"Here we come, I guess, Mammon," you sighed as he helped you up with the biggest blush you had ever seen.

"Gimme a break! I ain't doin' anything!" It was the only thing he managed to yell back; you knew too well he was, indeed, doing something.

"Stop this buffoonery at once and come to the dining room. Breakfast is ready." Lucifer announced and left the rest of the brothers to follow after him.

"They will never let you live this down." You chuckled, patting the remaining snow off your clothes.

"Hah?! What if they don't? Joke's on 'em, you belong to me!" Mammon answered with a new wave of confidence.

"That's right, Mammon. I'm yours."

In a bold move, you grabbed him by the shoulders and filled his entire face with loving pecks. No space was left forgotten; you kissed his cheeks, his nose, his eyes, the eyebrows as well, his forehead and ended with a peck on his lips. You watched him squirm under your touch and laughed again; how could the avatar of Greed himself be so unbelievably cute? You loved him so much.

"Now let's go have some breakfast, Mammon," You called, not waiting for him to make up his mind. You took his hand in yours and pulled Mammon inside, excited to finally spend with him what promised to be the best winter holiday so far.

[frothlad]

A couple more points: Words that are automatically formed from existing words by use of standard derivational rules -- like adding "-ly" to an adjective to make an adverb -- are usually omitted (or listed but without definition) from the dictionary, unless they encode a meaning shift. This reflects that a word like "amusingly" is kind of like a nonce coinage every time we use it.

You can stack derivational rules on top of nonce coinages:

drop bear -> dropbear-atastic (said of a situation where there are a lot of unexpected and possibly unreal dangers)

dropbearatastic -> dropbearatastical (pertaining to such situations)

dropbearatastical -> dropbearatastically (describing the manner that such situations occur)

The Simpsons, of course, has one very famous scene illustrating nonce coinages -- "embiggen" is a legitimate nonce coinage, because its meaning is obvious from its parts -- em- (variant of en- before labial consonants) + big + -en, with the meaning "to make something bigger". It's weird only in that we don't usually apply those kinds of affixes (suffixes and prefixes) to core (Old English) words like "big".

But it was immediately followed with "cromulent", which disobeys the rules for nonce coinages in not being recognizable as the sum of its parts -- the -ent is a familiar sort of ending, but there's no "crom-" or "cromul-" morpheme for it to work on.

So the listener responds to it not as a nonce coinage but as a new word to be learned. From context, it takes the approximate meaning "ordinary, acceptable". And our English word parser tears it apart, tagging the "crom(u)(l)-" part as a possible morpheme[1] carrying the same meaning (the -ent marks it as an adjective), so that we (a) start looking for other words that contain the same morpheme and (b) have it available for our own future coinages.

For example, by its creation in that Simpsons episode and its subsequent use by the community of speakers, "cromulent" has been cromulated (a nonce coinage meaning "made cromulent, i.e., ordinary and acceptable").

[1] A "morpheme" is an indivisible word or part of a word that carries a specific meaning. "Morpheme" consists of two morphemes: "Morph-", from "shape", and "-eme", a suffix common in linguistics meaning something like "-on" does in particle physics, i.e. a fundamental unit.

one of my worst writing sins is abusing my power to create compound words. i cannot write the sentence "The sun shone as bright as honey that afternoon." no. that's boring. "The sun was honey-bright that afternoon" however? yes. that sentence is dope as fuck. i do not care if "honey-bright" is a word in the english dictionary. i do not care if the sentence is grammatically correct. i will not change. i will not correct my erred ways. the laws of the english language are mine.

[oh-sturg]

TADC is about suicide and here’s why

TW : Suicide

CW : Spoilers

Okay so. First of all, this might be a cold take. Someone else might’ve done this already or come up with this theory, I haven’t watched any videos EXCEPT for the actual show. So maybe I’m late to this

Additionally, we’re only on episode 4 of season 1 I could be COMPLETELY wrong on this. I might be looking too deep, so give me a grain of salt

The circus itself is giving very. Place after death vibes. Not purgatory, or heaven, or hell. But just… somewhere people go after they die. Yes I know in the first episode Pomni says she can’t get this stupid headset off so hey, maybe she’s still alive?? I DONT KNOW FOR SURE but maybe the headset is giving her a glimpse into the afterlife?

That, or it’s some kind of therapy program

IGNORING THAT

All of the main cast act like stereotypes of suicide victims, maybe it’s just me

Jax is an asshole, that much is obvious. We haven’t been given many inclinations into whether or not he has a softer side, but he seems to be compensating for something. It could be insecurity

Gangle is assumed to have been a shift manager at either a fast food restaurant or some other similar chain job, and it’s implied she wanted artist only to be told her dreams were unrealistic. Something that some people don’t know about people who are suicidal is that they can become extremely happy before going through with it, which we see with Gangle in episode 4 before she’s hit by a truck. Now the truck thing could be an accident, but she literally leans into the road. She looks surprised to see the truck, and maybe she was unaware of her surroundings at the time, but it could be that she also was surprised to go through the same experience again. She literally says that she snapped under the pressure of the job and responsibility. Could be headcanon. There’s also the whole masking emotions thing which is quite literal in its presentation

Ragatha is obviously toxicly positive. She tries to make things better and look on the bright side of things. She’s courteous and compassionate, but there’s no way she can be like that constantly. It’s just not humanly possible. Gangle says in episode 4 it’s hard to tell when she’s being genuine after you spend a lot of time with her, so perhaps it’s a coping method? Or a habit? In the pilot episode/episode 1, she literally tells Pomni she understands if she leaves her behind while she’s in pain. Maybe I’m misremembering, but she values others over herself. After a certain point that becomes exhausting. You can’t do it anymore

Zooble clearly goes through body dysmorphia as seen in episode 3. They don’t like their body, no matter how many times they can change it. This could also be a gender dysphoria thing, but we don’t see a lot of their relationship with their gender other than their pronouns being non-binary

Kinger is one I struggle with a little bit. We know he had a relationship with Queenie, and now she’s gone, but we don’t know if that relationship started in the circus or before either of them were brought into it. What we do know for sure is that he’s paranoid. In his first appearance the cast literally speculates that he will be the one to abstract next, with abstraction being the product of heavy dissociation. Sure, he’s not all paranoia and fear, but he’s wary. He’s a kind soul who broke under everything

Caine’s influence in all this is that he’s someone who isn’t depressed or suicidal. He’s the person who tries to fix those people, but goes about it in the wrong way. He’s trying to take their mind off of what makes them suicidal by shifting their attention. When they try to open up to him, he doesn’t understand their issues because he just isn’t suicidal like they are/were. Like Ragatha, he’s toxicly positive and tries to change the topic when things like that come up. Think of someone who doesn’t want you to show symptoms of mental illness around them because they “don’t like it” or “are offput” by it

That’s really all I’ve got on this. Again, I could be wrong or I might be totally late to the party but I can’t get this out of my head so

[hannahssimblr]

Hours gone and hours to go, staring out the window at vague green mountains, rainforest, a bleeding scene behind wet glass as the rains go on, drenching the southern arm of Thailand. The train rumbles and the beds in our sleeper cabin squeak. I’ve slept already, for an hour, maybe two with a t-shirt over my face to block the light, while Jonas, pale and silent across from me stares blankly out the window picking at his fingernails, blood vessels burst in his eyes from being sick. Forty minutes in the train bathroom while a queue formed outside, and he’s too hungover to be embarrassed. 

The train to Surat Thani was his idea, and seemed like a great one back in Berlin, looking at pictures of the scenery, the idyllic image of an orange train snaking through jungle. Nine hours seemed reasonable until this morning, when I awoke to him packing his bags, the smell of alcohol seeping from his pores. Trembling and ill. 

“How was last night?” I said. “Must’ve gone well if you slept over.”

“I hate myself,” he replied, and that’s all. Within thirty minutes, we had checked out and boarded the train. 

He hasn’t spoken in about six hours, but in fairness, four he spent sleeping, snoring peacefully in his bunk while I’ve read my book, snacked, perused my phone.

I look again at the message from Astrid I woke up to. 

Here you go.

She’s said, followed by pictures of her in that green dress, front and back in her apartment mirror. She looks stunning like that, her hair a little messy, makeup smudged from an evening in the city, wine drunk too, probably. I can tell by that glazed look on her face. 

The second picture, then, captioned:

Or do you prefer me without?

And she’s naked, laying back, the high points of her sensual body rising out of fizzy pink water. Some kind of bath bomb situation, evidently. This is what I wanted, and it’s extraordinarily erotic, but looking at it in the cold light of day in a train cabin that smells of two unwashed men and the dinner plates the buffet service hasn’t collected yet, the effect is not quite as intended. 

Tbh only thing missing is me in there with my–

I pause and check the world clock app. 9:15AM in Berlin. I go back and delete what I wrote. Bit weird now, considering it’s her morning, and she’s definitely not in the bath still. 

I look at the picture some more anyway, zooming in on different parts, like her collarbone, poking out like that with the angle she holds her neck, the same with her hip, a white peak jutting out of the water. My rapt interest in anatomy, driven by the pressure I feel to enjoy her a suitable amount. 

Men like my grandfather would have gone their whole lives without seeing a woman like this. Maybe once, if they were lucky, and they’d keep a picture of her in their breast pocket or paint her on the side of a bomber jet and go to war. And in the 15th century, you’d carve exquisite statues of bodies like this. Paint masterpieces, and you’d turn her into some ethereal goddess with angels flying all around her, spend years working on a portrait in an attempt to communicate your feelings with a brush and oils, marble and chisels. Driven half mad by her. Compelled to preserve her beauty for eternity. 

Here I am, looking at Astrid on my phone. A body worthy of museums, her frame, not gilded, but a clear silicone phone cover that has been yellowing progressively with use. I’m aware I don’t deserve to be looking at this. The best I can do is turn my screen away from the window so Jonas cannot see her too.

Sorry, was asleep lol. Looking hot af tho! 🥵

At the end of my message I add the red faced, profusely sweating emoji with its tongue out to really drive the point home, and send it, half hoping it won’t deliver. It does. 

Back out to the conversations page to the chat with Evie. Something to stare at and feel bad about. Thinking about you. Why did I write that? Divine intervention that it didn’t send. A reason to believe God is watching over me. 

It’s becoming increasingly obvious I’m demented. What else could explain it? To be the kind of man who has a girlfriend that others would die for, letting me do whatever to her, a folder on my phone now of pictures that the weirdos in her Instagram comments would pay real money to look at. Each night, saying she loves me down the phone, and I text a girl I knew for two months last summer? What way would my brain show up in an MRI scan? Very abnormal, the doctor would mutter, and I’d be like, yeah, I had an inkling. 

Maybe I’m just curious, seeking closure. I’d like to know how she’s doing. What colleges she applied for. What she thought of the leaving cert, if she found it hard. She would have finished this week, maybe last. What was it like for her? Desks lined up in some PE hall, no doubt. Old convent windows, summer sunshine catching dust. Her hands smoothing the docket, nails painted. Colourful nails always, and hair done up in some elaborate double plait French thing. She hated how flat she thought her hair was. Then going out to the pub afterwards, a bottle of Corona with a wedge of lime in the neck, going down easy. Eighteen now. Wow. I never wished her a happy birthday. Would have felt weird doing it.

I go through my pictures. There aren’t many, only the ones Jen took on her camera and sent to me. I know where to find them, at the beginning of the roll underneath all those nightclub shots and pictures of Astrid in Italy. Dalia and Elias at the lake. Me and Jonas in the park last September. It’s been a long time since I was here, staring at that one photo I once obsessed over. It’s the only good one I have of her. At the festival, taken in the crowd, and I'm looking at her, she doesn't see me doing it, and her face luminous, dusted with glitter. She was amazing. If only I–

New message from Astrid. 

Thank you for your enthusiasm. Anything for my fans. 

I exhale a laugh. That’s funny. Amusement is followed by the dreadful sense I’ve been caught doing something illegal. Wondering why I’m reliving all this old stuff. What am I trying to feel? I tap the corner of the picture, delete it, and Evie vanishes. I relax my shoulders, relieved, absolved of sin.

 “Something good on your phone?” Jonas says. 

“Nah, I was trying to text Astrid, but I have a poor signal.”

“Ah. Yes. We are in the middle of nowhere.”

“Yeah?” I peer out at oceans of dense vegetation, mist layered between the trees. “Long journey, isn’t it?”

He looks at his phone. “Three hours to go, then another four on the bus.”

“Music to my ears.”

He attempts a laugh. 

“Do you want to talk or something?”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. We can also not talk, if that’s what you prefer.”

“Talking would be nice if my head was clear, and I didn’t feel so unwell. Sorry. I know I’m not bringing a lot of fun on this journey for you. I thought it would be better, but…” he trails off miserably, and I nod. “It’s fine. Been there. We can also just sit.”

“Is it okay for me to say I don’t want to do this kind of thing anymore? I mean, going out and drinking so much and having so many drugs.”

I chuckle. “That’s the classic thing, isn’t it? We always say that, and then a few days later we’re out doing it all again. The circle of life. You mean that now, but I know you.”

“I think I mean it. I’ve had enough. I am tired of being sick and worrying so much about the things I may have said or done. My life has been this way for so many years.”

“Mine too.”

“It ruins everything.”

“Like with that girl last night?”

He chews his lip. “Nothing happened. I was too drunk. She left me to sleep on the couch and I ran away in the morning before she woke up.”

“Oh.”

“And I don’t want things to be like that anymore. I don’t want to feel so stupid. She was a nice person, and I humiliated myself.”

My phone sits hot in my palm, a token of my guilt and stupidity. “Maybe you’re right, then. Maybe we should stop.”

“You think you will?” 

I almost tell him about last night, and the text, and Evie and the reasons I felt driven to, as I so often do when high and lonely, when that innate melancholy I carry creeps in, but I stop myself. I don’t talk about the past with people from my present. There is no point. It’s over, and I have already walked away from it. 

“Yeah, I think I’ll probably have to. I recognise it isn’t doing me any favours.”

A half-smile, then. “What will Elias and Dalia think?”

“Of us going all straight-edge? I dunno. We’ll find out in Berlin.” I stretch my arms and neck, stiff from sitting so long. “I think I’ll walk the corridors for a bit, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay.”

And as I do that, stroll up and down the hallways, peeking into other cabin, using the bathroom, admiring nature from a window at the rear of the train, I consider the good intentions and promises I have made in my life. The girlfriends I promised I’d always care about, the grades I said I’d uphold, the fitness I said I’d reach, the bedroom I said I’d eventually clean, friends I swore I’d stay in touch with… Saying I’ll stop doing drugs is kind of like that, just something said for the sake of saying it, to create a pretence that I’m a person who makes wise or healthy choices without ever intending to follow through. I can’t stand the pressure. I’ll act this way in Thailand for Jonas’ benefit, and feel better for it, knowing in a month I’ll be in the Berghain toilets again, accepting mystery pills from people in latex vests. 

Back in the cabin, he reclines, leafing through his travel guide. “All good?” he says, and I nod. “I think I’ll try to sleep for a bit.”

“Okay then. If you sleep too long, I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

I lay down, my face in the pillow and listen to sounds of pattering rain, squeaky bunks and the pages of the book, and I sleep, deep, sound, all the way to the end of the line.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[anistarrose]

More acephobes than you might think will actually use their acephobic rants to segue into their anti-sex work stances, especially their anti-porn stances, or vice versa (anti-porn rants that swerve into acephobia). Taken out of context, this sounds like a contradiction... until you realize the specific belief of these people is that porn "rots the brain," eventually making its viewers incapable of "normal" sexual attraction and desire.

In the eyes of the anti-porn acephobes, this is subsequently taken both as one of their reasons that porn is bad, and one of their reasons that asexuals (especially sex-favorable or kinky asexuals) are somehow upholding sexual oppression. Unsurprisingly for an anti-sex work stance, this belief relies on a sex-negative misapplication of feminism, as well as a pathologization of sexuality (in this case, asexuality).

Now, where does that pathologization come from? The same place pathologization of queerness and sexuality usually does: religious purity culture. To say that "porn will make you incapable of the 'right' sexual desires" is a very, very typical conservative Christian belief. It ties into the "moral" obligation to "save" your sexual "purity," so you can have the "right" kind of sex (read: monogamous cishet sex in wedlock) — and especially in the case of women, to "please" your cishet male partner.

In fact, most moral panics about something, anything, "turning the kids [insert queer identity]!" follow this blueprint. The queer identity in question is the threat to fundamentalists because it could induce a departure from monogamous cishet sex in wedlock, and/or pose a closely related threat to the cishetero-patriarchal status quo. There's been a dangerous rise in overlap between transphobic and acephobic conspiracy theories, alleging that gender-affirming care turns children asexual — with the implication, almost too obvious in the eyes of the conspiracy-peddlers for them to bother mentioning, that asexual trans bodies are bad because they inherently depart from the one "natural" and "healthy" relationship to sex, where conveniently, the only relationship to sex that's allowed to be "natural" and "healthy" is the specific one that cishetero-patriarchy demands. Anything else is "deviant," and worse, "hurting the children."

So, returning to "porn causes asexuality" conspiracy theory? Well, when it comes from acephobes who are outside of the queer community, and in particular, acephobes who openly affiliated with right-wing Christianity, it's disturbing but not surprising. They are, after all the ones who invented this genre of conspiracy theory. They are compulsory sexuality's biggest proponents.

But when it comes from acephobes who are in the LGBTQ+ community? Who didn't invent these conspiracy theories, and are in fact themselves harmed by their slightest variations? It's disturbing for a whole additional reason — the fact that these culturally Christian beliefs are going unchallenged. It's disturbing that conspiracy theories and pathologizing statements about queerness are circulated when they overlap so heavily with homophobia and especially transphobia. It's disturbing that their anti-sex work attitudes, in and of themselves, could lead them down the SWERF/TERF pipeline — particularly if they already lean towards radical feminism, and/or beliefs about "fake identities" and "invaders to the Community."

Therefore, refusing to interrogate and unlearn culturally conservative beliefs — sex negativity, compulsory sexuality, and their underdiscussed overlap — has effects on the whole queer community, including but never limited to asexuals. We all suffer when sex-negative, queerness-pathologizing theories are perpetuated. For that reason, we need to speak up to shut that bullshit down, before it can spread and fester.

TL;DR: Acephobes, both inside and outside of the LGBTQ+ community, blend culturally Christian anti-porn attitudes with recycled homophobic, transphobic, "corrupting influence turning the kids queer" tropes. De-platforming any validation of this rhetoric, no matter who it targets, is vital to collective queer liberation.

[nostalgebraist]

Thanks for this thoughtful review!

(BTW, for others – this is probably obvious but there are spoilers below the readmore, don't click unless you've read the book)

I'm going to use this as an opportunity to talk about one specific thing that bugs me about some reader reactions to my stuff. Therefore, most of what I say below will be negative (about your review), but I want to emphasize first that that's not a reflection of what I thought of it overall.

----

What I'm here now to talk about is this kind of thing:

There are parts of all his books, where I really think that the explanation for why they are the way they are is that they are "bad on purpose", and all the bullshit [note: in context "bullshit" seems to be meant as a neutral term for non-realist elements -nost] is a way of turning these shortcomings into strengths. The self-effacing voice which whispers that the characters aren't sufficiently well-drawn, are too cartoonish—well, what if that was the point? What if there was a reason for that, in the story?

And like... okay, there is sort of a sense in which this is true, sometimes, kinda. There is a grain of truth to this; it is getting at something real.

But it pains me to say that, because I don't want to encourage this kind of reading. Interpretations like this are occasionally correct but IMO they're much more common than they should be. IMO the right intuition is that this is a galaxy-brained, contrarian sort of take, a last resort you land on when you've ruled out everything else.

And not just with my work, with everything – I'm simply more aware of the problem when it comes to my work, because I wrote it and I'm aware of why I actually did things the way I did.

I've said this before, but watching the way that people react to my own fiction has been an eye-opening experience, one that has taught me things about reader (and viewer, etc.) reactions in general. Specifically, what I've learned was:

People's tastes are way more diverse than I had realized (before I started writing and sharing fiction). And they are diverse in a very fine-grained way; even if two readers have the same preferences about 90% of stuff, or 95%, they'll still diverge on some things. While it's not literally true that "every reader is a unique snowflake with a preference set that no one else shares," that is a very good first approximation of how things are.

Readers (including me!) have been trained by a lifetime of reading book/movie/etc. reviews to frame their preferences/reactions in a pseudo-objective "this is just how it is" way, like their own tastes have some special viewpoint-independent priority, a quality of "reality" or "accuracy" lacking in everyone else's tastes (which are all different, cf. 1). And this is not just a stylistic quirk of the way people write about fiction, it actually (IMO) feeds back into the underlying opinions behind the written commentary. It degrades people's ability to understand what it is they're looking at and their ability to make accurate inferences about the process of its creation.

----

Here's a sort of cartoonish schematic of the type of experience that led me to draw these conclusions. (And I suspect this is not just a thing that happens to me, I imagine it happens with any sort of work that "contains a lot of different types of stuff" the way mine does.)

Writer makes something that has X and Y and Z in it. Writer thinks X/Y/Z are "great tastes that taste great together." Writer is very pleased with the result.

Reader 1 has similar tastes to writer, says something brief about how they loved the book and it's a new favorite for them.

Reader 2 loves X, is OK with Y, hates Z. They write a lengthy review saying that the book was a mixed bag and could have been great if the writer had stuck to X and not messed things up by doing so much Z.

Reader 3 is the reverse of their predecessor: they hate X, are OK with Y, love Z. They write a lengthy review saying that the book was a mixed bag and could have been great if the writer had stuck to Z and not messed things up by doing so much X.

Reader 4 loves X and Z – but they hate Y. They write a lengthy… you can fill in the rest. Imagine a whole bunch of these guys (readers 5, 6, etc).

Reader 17 has the same tastes as Reader 2: loves X, is OK with Y, hates Z. But their lengthy review takes a different, in some sense "more charitable" angle, speculating that the inclusion of Z was a load-bearing pillar in the overall structure, a thing that unfortunately had to be included to "unlock" all that sweet sweet X.

Reader 18 has the same tastes as Reader 3: hates X, is OK with Y, loves Z. But, they explain, X was a load-bearing pillar in the overall structure, a thing that unfortunately had to be included to "unlock" all that sweet sweet Z.

Writer reads all these reviews and feels strange, dizzy. The "nicer" reviews like 17 and 18 are actually more uncomfortable to read than the "meaner" ones like 2 and 3.

"I don't know how to convince you guys," Writer thinks, "but I... I just liked all of it? I thought it was good? That was why I wrote it? (Why else would I have written it?)"

----

Or, as I wrote in that previously linked post from 2021, w/r/t TNC specifically (and making a slightly different but closely related point):

Some people say X was the worst part of TNC, some people say X was the best part. The story was a celebration of Y; the story was about how Y is laughably futile. It’s a letdown that we were never told more about Z; the reason TNC is good is that it leaves stuff like Z to the imagination. It was obvious we were meant to believe P; it is obvious we were meant to believe not-P; the ambiguity about whether P is tiresome literary masturbation; at least the story didn’t jump the shark by spelling out whether P! The reason people like TNC is, of course, that it has A, although nostalgebraist insisted on putting B in there too because he hasn’t fully perfected his formula yet / he somehow thinks B is good even though it isn’t / he thinks it’s funny how bad B is (but the joke tires). …and then someone else has same take, but with A and B flipped.

This exact sort of thing is of course happening again before our eyes with reactions to TAoHS.

I've encountered multiple readers who disliked most of the story but felt the ending (sort of) "redeemed it," and I've also encountered multiple readers who liked the story up until the ending but disliked the ending (or at least thought it was worse than the rest) – to say nothing of the many readers who liked (or disliked) the whole thing all the way through.

And this ending-related stuff is just one particularly obvious facet of a broader diversity in the overall reader response.

By now I know not to be surprised by this stuff, and even to find it kind of fun to watch... but I have to admit, it is still a dizzying and uncomfortable experience.

----

Now, as I said, it is sometimes true that things really are "bad on purpose."

But I think the interpreter's default hypothesis – which should be maintained by default unless convincing evidence against it can be brought forth – should be:

The writer thinks that the thing they wrote is good. They think the ideas are good and they think they executed them well. And they think this more-or-less homogeneously for everything in the work – there are no "bad but unfortunately necessary" parts from the writer's POV.

(At least, this should be the default with works that aren't making the writer much/any money. Obviously things are different with lucrative commercial fiction; there are plenty of well-paid hacks who know they're hacks and do it for the money, etc.)

Why should this be the default? Multiple reasons.

First: it takes a lot of effort to produce any sort of creative work. The writer thought that effort was worthwhile, for some reason – why?

The most straightforward explanation (and a very common one IMO) is that the writer simply believed in the thing that they were making. They believed the effort was worthwhile because it would yield a good product.

Second: as a writer you have an immense amount of freedom. It's difficult to overstate the extent of it. You are playing God, you decide the way that literally everything will be.

Obviously there are some constraints, cases where one part of a story will imply the existence of another or whatever.

But it's very rare that you actually get forced into "doing a thing you know you are bad at, badly." After all: why do that? No one's forcing you! Just do something else! You're God, you control everything!

(Note that this applies also to the very act of writing anything. No one is forcing you to write at all. If you can't come up with good ideas, nothing prevents you from just not writing your bad ones.)

Third: at least in my experience, "playing God" in this way requires a certain state of mind, a certain boldness and self-assurance, which is incompatible with thinking "yeah this is gonna suck but I have to do it" – but is very compatible with thinking "I am making something excellent and every part of it is excellent, hell yes."

Fourth: because of the previously noted diversity of reader preferences, it should not be surprising to any given reader that they find some parts of the work much better than others, even if the writer thought it was all excellent.

This outcome is predictable from the X/Y/Z stuff I talked about above. No clever interpretive work is required to explain it; it arrives pre-explained; it's simply what happens by default.

And finally: because, as I noted above, I think all of us are infected with "reviewer brainworms" and we need to be mindful of this fact.

(Just to be clear, I am not accusing OP of being more infected with said brainworms than anyone else; I'm still on my soapbox, giving a generic rant about a general issue, with OP as merely a jumping-off point.)

We've grown accustomed to the casual conflation between our own tastes and some (usually hazily imagined and under-theorized) sort of "objective, ideal artistic standards."

Outside of a few edge-case eccentrics who can be ignored for my present purposes, we do not do this because we've become intellectually convinced that

(a) such objective standards make sense and really "exist" or at least really matter and

(b) they just so happen to match our own preferences.

Rather, we've fallen into this habit because it's what the pros do: there's a standard style that professional critics and reviewers write in these days, and that style implies these stances. And if one writes (and thinks, in one's inner monologue) in this style, one can easily fall over backwards into uncritically believing (a) and (b) for no better reason than "I seem to already be talking as though I believe these things, hence it would be simple and convenient if I really did believe them."

But – even if we bracket the philosophical questions of whether (a) is in fact true, and (if it is) whose tastes in particular ought to be elevated in the way (b) presumes – even if we table all that for another day, still we ought to keep in mind how weird and audacious a move this is, this simultaneous assertion-without-explanation of the (a)+(b) pair.

We've gotten used to it by exposure, because "the pros" have normalized it. But in actual fact it is a pretty wild thing to just go and assume, given the X/Y/Z/etc. diversity of actual opinion!

If (b) is true for you (general "you" not OP), then it can't be true for me, because we're both unique snowflakes to a first approximation; indeed if (b) is true for you then (to a first approx.) it is only true for you. No one else's tastes have this magical relation to reality, just yours.

Holding the belief (b) about a given reviewer is conceivable-but-wild if we're only considering them in isolation. But once we bring a 2nd reviewer (with non-identical tastes) into the picture, who also believes (b), it's literally impossible to maintain that both of these people are fully right.

And then of course in real life there are not 2 but many, many readers out there, all of them unique snowflakes. And, while it is socially normal in our social context for each one of them to write like they're the chosen one blessed with that special (b)-magic, if you read enough such writing and actually think about what you're reading, it can't help but feel like a sort of game, like playing make-believe. As with most games, it can be very entertaining (for all parties involved), but we shouldn't confuse its amusing conceits for properties of the real world.

In the real world, the writer has their tastes, and you have yours. These tastes are probably not identical. The writer may be aware of the diversity of readerly tastes, and may thus be aware that tastes like yours are out there, but they have no special reason to consider you in particular, elevating you above all the other readers who are non-identical with them (and with you). The writer is dimly and abstractly aware of you, at best, as just another one of the people who will come along later, dislike some of their choices, assume that these choices were wrong in some "objective" way the writer knew about at the time, and then speculate as to why the writer would do something they know is wrong. For every choice, and every way of making every choice, one can imagine a reviewer who responds to it in this way, and quite often these reviewers actually materialize once the work is available for consumption. If you try to reason about these guys in advance, as a writer, it'll stop you in your tracks (if nothing else because there are 2+ of them whose takes are mutually incompatible). You've gotta have some other standard of value to rely on.

So, as a reviewer, if you ask "why would someone ever make a choice I don't like?" and try to pick at this question, you are quite likely heading toward a dead end. The writer wasn't thinking about you (or people like you). They were applying their own, distinct standard of value.

Better to ask: "suppose there was a person who actually liked all of this. What would they be like? How would they be similar to me / different from me? And what, if anything, can I conclude from that?"

The Apocalypse of Herschel Schoen

My fourth novel, The Apocalypse of Herschel Schoen, is now available in full.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!