#one i no longer talk to used to insist that i was british because of my not-british accent and would not believe me when i said

[ei-mugi]

one time i was talking to my american online friends about stuff and i was like "haha yeah people always say i look ambiguously european but cant place what i am specifically" and they were like "i dont think europeans have a look though." what do you mean. you dont believe different ethnic features exist...?

[hindulivesmatter]

Why Gandhi is a piece of shit and you should hate him.

Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi has been established in our history as a "Mahatma" which means "great soul"

This man is anything but that.

He is EVERYWHERE. He's on our currency, he's revered as a hero who saved India, and we have a mandatory holiday on October 2nd in honor of him.

If you didn't know, now you're going to get to know why he was a horrible human being. Let's begin.

This man managed to fool people Martin Luther King and Nelson Mandela (among many others) into thinking he was a good person.

Here is some of the shit he's done:

In 1903, when Gandhi was in South Africa, he wrote that white people there should be "the predominating race." He also said black people "are troublesome, very dirty, and live like animals."

 Refused to have sex with his wife for the last 38 years of their marriage. He felt that in order to test his commitment to celibacy, he would have beautiful young women (including his own great niece) lie next to him naked through the night. His wife, whom he described as looking like a "meek cow" was no longer desirable enough to be a solid test.

Believed that Indian women who were raped lost their value as a human.

During Gandhi's time as a dissident in South Africa, he discovered a male youth had been harassing two of his female followers. Gandhi responded by personally cutting the girls' hair off, to ensure the "sinner's eye" was "sterilised". Gandhi boasted of the incident in his writings, pushing the message to all Indians that women should carry responsibility for sexual attacks upon them.

He argued that fathers could be justified in killing daughters who had been sexually assaulted for the sake of family and community honour. 

Gandhi also waged a war against contraceptives, labelling Indian women who used them as whores.

He believed menstruation was a "manifestation of the distortion of a woman's soul by her sexuality".

On 6th April 1947, he gave a speech where he said, “ If the Muslims are out there slicing through Hindu masses to wipe out the Hindu race, the Hindus should say nothing and peacefully accept death”.

He hated the great Hindu rulers, especially Shivaji Maharaj. To please the Muslims, he banned the book named ShivBhaavani which correctly depicted Islam’s intolerance and fierce fundamentalism spread by it.

Refused his wife life-saving medication (for religious reasons), but those religious reasons all of a sudden no longer applied to him when he was in a similar position.

Started a fast unto death when Ambedkar asked for separate electorates for Dalits.

Gandhi left his ailing father on his deathbed, to sleep with his wife. The child born out of this copulation died in infancy. According to Gandhi, the death of this infant was the result of this evil karma.

Gandhi, even when he claimed to be the angel of non-violence, made no efforts to prevent the British from deploying Indian troops at various locations during World War II.

Kashmir was invaded by Pakistan in 1947, the brutal Pakistani army committed heinous crimes against Kashmiri Pandits including mass rape and mass killings consequently many Pandits were forced to flee to Delhi and other places. In one incident Pandits took refuge in an abandoned mosque in Delhi. Infuriated, Gandhi threatened to fast to death if the Pandits didn't leave. The Pandits were slaughtered in a communal riot as soon as they abandoned the mosques.

Criticized the Jews for defending themselves against the Holocaust because he insisted that they should have committed public mass suicide in order to "shame" the Germans instead of fighting back. His exact words were, "But the Jews should have offered themselves to the butcher's knife. They should have thrown themselves into the sea from the cliffs. As it is, they succumbed anyway in their millions."

And this is all from a simple Internet search compiled here. I wonder what else is hiding if I do a deep dive.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[sinon36]

Ghost x undercover!reader (HC) Part III

warnings: violence, blood, mistakes, badly written British speech, smooth Ghost

P.S. I loved Frenchie from The Boys and I just couldn’t help myself. Apologies 😊

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

- the third time you meet is in the small briefing room, you sit next to one another, in silence, eyes forward waiting for your MI6 handler begin his presentation

- the plan is similar but this time you’ll have a gun on you, that thought brings a little more than a smidge of comfort; when you make contact with the supplier and confirm that the merchandise is legit you give the sign: three nods, as natural as possible; at that alpha team and bravo team will breach

- you stand up for everyone to see what you’re wearing, cream coloured jacket and light blue jeans, you picked it yourself and you explain that you’ll be more visible to them among the black clothed guards

- when contact is made your job is to get out of dodge, because everyone expects a fight and you aren’t dressed in protective gear to survive being caught in the middle; you’ll make yourself scarce thus not even giving the impression of association with the black ops teams; just a coward that runs away at the first signs of a fight desperately trying to save their skin; this will save the work you’ve done in creating this fake persona for later use

- the hours before the mission gives you a déja-vu feeling: you read, he listens to rock music; you raise your head from the notebook and motion for him to take of the headphones; he obliges

- ‘Why rock?’ you seek the useless information, not from curiosity but a weird need of talking to him

- ‘Pumps me up…’ that’s what you expected of him, you know heavy metal is used in boot camp training to simulate the chaos of battle, when hearing is no longer a dependable sense and one must rely on his vision, gut feelings and training; it’s something he’s familiar with you conclude

- you ask permission to listen for a bit and he allows it, handing you the headphones; you place them on your head and listen to the disharmonic sounds emanated straight into your eardrums; you close your eyes and bob your head to the rhythm getting lost in the screams of the vocalist

- a hand firm on your bicep startles you; Ghost is tilting his head towards the door; you turn and see a general; in a swift move you are up, headphones thrown on the couch where you just sat; you don’t salute as you are not part of the army but you are straight as a plank in utmost respect to the new comer

- the general to you about your achievements so far and that keeping up with the work we’ll get you very far very quickly in the hierarchical structure; you reply that you like your work and wouldn’t give it up for a boring desk job; he chuckles and with a ‘Have it your way, agent’ he turns and leaves you two to your pre-mission coping mechanisms         

- Ghost smirks even more ‘A woman of action this one’ he comments, you turn eyes glinting in mischief, smirk unknowingly mirroring his ‘Bloody right’ your answer is met with a small chuckle

- ‘Would murder for a cuppa…’ you utter with a sigh

- ‘Understood’ he disappears out the door without missing a bit and you are left smiling to yourself like little schoolgirl

- in the car, you go over the plan one more time, you check the gun and the two magazine Ghost gives you; the Glock feels comfortable in your hand but its weight does little to ease your mind; you’ll be alone, surrounded by tangos, and now there is a new variable: the supplier and his men; they might open fire at the slightest misinterpretation of words, or worse, they might try to cross you over an try to kill your party and get away with the money

- everything is accounted for as much as not knowing the rendezvous location allows

- he makes sure to reassure you insisting on his position in relation to yours, in your made-up chess board scenario ‘I’ll look for yer’ you nod

- everything you’ve been through repeats like clockwork, this time the drive is longer; your gun is taken from you, and you feel your legs numbing from disuse where you sit on the hard van floor

- at your destination you get shoved around and put in the back seat of a limo; in front of you the buyer; you ask for your gun, motivating you won’t go win ‘without proppa protection this time ‘round’; he promises to give it to you when you get there

- he asks about you and your motivations behind switching sides; you tell him the fabricated story, how you got fucked twice, once by your commander and once by the government, when they threw you out without any means of survival while your commander got a pat on the shoulder and a laugh at another ‘young score’

- he understands a tells you a little bit by his motivations; you’ve heard this kind of talk and your sick of it, but you empathize with his hate for the British Government; he discloses to you that soon he’ll hit them hard, and all thanks to you, like being in league with him is something to be proud of; human filth

- after a short ride you get there, wherever that is, you don’t care; it’s just another job; your handgun is returned to you ‘a sign of good faith’ and you check that not even a single bullet is missing not as inclined to trust

- you are led to another warehouse this one filled with crates and random things strewn around; you are met with a gang of thugs, definitely not trained to properly hold a gun, or fight for that matter; you regard them with the superiority of an expert in guns and explosives, which is not an idle affirmation; you do in fact know what you’re doing not just faking it; the only thing that’s fake is the story behind it, the skill is there

- the supplier introduces himself as ‘Frenchie’ his French accent quite obvious; you request to se the merchandise; he comments to his thugs about the lack of manners in the British Isle; you stare him down unphased; he laughs;

- the buyer backs you up, voice demanding, reasoning along the lines of ‘pressing matter’ and ‘time sensitive issues’; Frenchie takes you to the back where crates full of C4 and more professional equipment, far superior than what you had to work with; everyone awaits your verdict in silence; you approach the crates to take a better look, and scrutinizing everything, though there is no need

- this is the real deal, military grade equipment, syphoned from somewhere where command is lax or corrupt; everything is brand new, though there is no flag, no insignia to indicate their origin

- you prepare yourself for the incoming breach; the signal this time a loud whistle of appreciation followed by a ‘got some hell of a gear ‘ere, huh?!’; Frenchie does not get the chance to brag about it as windows shutter, tear gas canisters fizzle, doors burst, shouts are heard, bullets start flying

- you duck and move to the side away from the crowd of thugs that try to return fire in vain as they fall like flies in a cacophony of screams and shouts of pain and terror

- you find the nearest door and burst out coughing having inhaled the bloody tear gas yourself; devilish contraptions you hated with a passion from your days in the academy when you first had tasted it; but as you struggle to regain your breath and get as far away without seeing where you are going a shadow follows close to you

- as your breath settles to a more manageable pace you hear a gun click and you slowly raise your hands in surrender; you turn around slowly as per the buyer’s demands; he clicks his tongue and wonders what a coincidence that black ops bust the deal right after you confirm the merchandise to be legitimate; you don’t deny it and he takes a step closer putting the gun to your head; but he takes to long to shoot you feeling more preoccupied with the villain discourse

- a gun shot is heard and he drops dead; wide eyed you watch as Ghost struts to you rifle shouldered in a professional manner and his figure the epitome of a perfect stance; he gives you a look over checking for any stray bullets you might have caught in your hasty exit

- and with a nonchalance at corpse that paints red the asphalt at your feet he calls in the kill over the radio

- the rest is a flash, you get checked by a combat medic for any signs of wounds, he dismisses you when he finds none, and your escorted away from the scene and to a black SUV to take you away to HQ now that your job on the field is done

- Ghost finds you again right as you climb in the back; he holds the door with one hand and the other is casually placed on the hood right above your head as he leans his tall frame to talk to you; but you beat him to it and a quick and sincere ‘Thank you’ escapes your lips

- ‘We even then, love’ he says quickly slamming the door shut; the first thing that catches your attention is the pet-name he used that makes the tip of your ears feel hot; and then his words hit you; you’re confused and a ‘What did ‘e mean by that’ escapes your mouth without volition

- ‘Huh’ the driver turns to you ‘You ok ma’am?’ he asks in mild concern; you didn’t even notice him, a young pale blond blue-eyed private regards you in confusion; your meagre answer comes in the form of ‘Yeah…, peachy. Just drive.’ A far away look takes over your face ‘Yes. Ma’am’

- you smile in thought; you’ll have to seek him out to ask for clarification; smooth bastard.

Previous part here.

Next part here.

[hetalian-veteran]

GUYS

Remember this post I made where I talked about my ethnicity estimate from an AncestryDNA test I took years ago?

Well, the app, as well as the ethnicity estimates for its users, will occasionally update. This is because the people at Ancestry are always refining their work to make things more accurate. However, through all the updates, my estimate hasn't changed much. It actually hasn't changed at all in the last two years.

Until its most recent update. LOOK.

THERE'S MORE!

Granted I lost Denmark, and I'm assuming Iceland as well, seeing as it's no longer lit up (sad day). But it seems like I have more Germanic Europe than I thought I did! Which is exciting to me, but not just because I love researching family history, and not just because I've been learning German for a while now.

But because growing up, my grandpa on my mom's side of the family insisted that we had ancestors that came from the Kingdom of Prussia. Which, as we all know, is Germanic.

Now, I'm not saying this update outright confirms this theory. Mainly because my grandpa, God rest his soul, really liked to spin all kinds of wild tales. So, it's wise to take some of his stories with claims with a grain of salt. But by golly, I feel like this might add a little bit of truth to it! And as someone who has loved both aph Prussia, as well as learning the real-life country's history since I was twelve, this feels like a big deal to me.

Also... Portugal? Which parent did I get that from?

Nothing against Portugal, of course. I'm just kind of floored as I was not expecting this. Like, The Netherlands is also a new one from this update. But seeing how close The Netherlands is to Germanic Europe, the British Isles, and Scandinavia, I get it. But Portugal? Granted its only one percent, but I am beyond curious now!

Also, I am still very happy to see not only the new additions to my ethnicity estimate as I explore my background, but I'm happy to see that the British Isles as well as Norway and Sweden have stuck around. I love them.

I have been seriously considering drawing a piece of art that includes all of the countries I've found in my background using the Hetalia characters. And I'm glad I didn't start that project before the update, because there's a lot more here than before. Especially when you look at the map and see what countries are covered by Germanic Europe.

For now, here are the flags of countries I know my ancestry is from. I'd post the aph characters, but Tumblr has a picture limit.

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿🇮🇪🇳🇴🇸🇪🇵🇹🇩🇪🇳🇱

And then here's where I think I might have ancestry from.

🇦🇹🇧🇪🇫🇷🇱🇺🇨🇭🇱🇮

I sorta just want to claim all of them 😆

Oh, and as always...

🦅🇺🇸I'M AN AMERICAN🇺🇸🦅

[baeddel]

I only ever see Americans calling it "IOF", frankly I feel like it's just unnecessary obstruction in making any given statement about the IDF's abuses wildly available/visible for the public and unlike the distinction between terms like "war" vs. "conflict" vs "occupation" it feels like the only purpose it properly serves is to mark the speaker as Ideologically Up To Date

is that true? where are you from? but yeah i mean there's a general discussion to have about political movements and using specialized lingo and so forth (you know i live in a country where this is so widespread even i don't know all the right names for things, LOL). but even if people can't stay up to date, correcting people the way anon corrected me is still serving the agitprop function the terms are supposed to, right? because i said IDF, someone objects 'it's the IOF!', and now we have a conversation about Israeli propaganda and how imperialist states frame their activites to the international community and so forth. then the next time i might say IOF and someone asks me what that is and we have the same conversation.

also i don't think you're quite right by saying: well the IDF's abuses are well known, so why insist on calling it an occupation instead of a conflict, etc.?—if we talk about the IDF's abuses, we tend to think that the IDF should be reformed and that the problem is one of mismanagement and overstepping (the Haaretz position). whereas if we insist that they're defending an occupation, and even the peaceful resolution of the conflict would not address the underlying mechanics of displacement that implies, then we're making a more fundamental criticism where we don't get dragged into internal policy discussions & the like. in Northern Ireland you no longer have the British Army setting up checkpoints and so forth, but you still have an occupation, and if we had merely been talking about the BA's abuses we would now be confused as to why the situation is still as it is.

[moorheadthanyoucanhandle]

MEAT PUPPETS

In theaters this weekend:

Stopmotion--The peculiar low-tech magic of stop-motion animation has always been one of the special delights of cinema for me; it's one of the reasons I became a movie lover as a child. Because of the work of masters like Willis O'Brien, Jim Danforth, Karel Zeman and the great Ray Harryhasuen, the labor-intensive, expensive technique is often associated with whimsical fantasy or science fiction. But it can be used for nightmarish horror as well, and this nasty, self-referential British chiller, directed by Robert Morgan from a script he wrote with Robin King, takes us to that dark side.

Ella (Aisling Franciosi) is the daughter of famous stop-motion animator Suzanne (Stella Gonet), and an animator herself.  Because she no longer has the use of her hands, Suzanne directs Ella in painstakingly manipulating her puppets; she refers to Ella herself by the affectionate--or maybe not so affectionate--nickname of "puppet," and she's quietly, passive-aggressively tyrannical toward her, constantly unsatisfied with her work, constantly demanding retakes. Ella would like to contribute her own ideas to her mother's work, yet when asked what these ideas are she's stymied, daunted by Suzanne's greatness. 

But when Suzanne falls into a coma, Ella meets a nervy little girl (Caoilinn Springall) in her building who talks her into abandoning Suzanne's project--a traditional tale involving a cyclops--and starting a new stop-motion film based on a storyline she suggests. It involves a terrified girl fleeing through the forest and taking refuge in a cabin, stalked by a hideous figure called the Ashman. She also insists Ella start using actual dead animal parts, and worse, over her armatures. Before long Ella is haunted by visions, some of them pretty hair-raising, of the gruesome characters in her film.

The live action side of Stopmotion has a strong streak of Cronenberg-esque "body horror," while the stop-motion sequences show the influence of Jan Švankmajer and the Quay Brothers. It's a potent one-two punch of creepiness. This is one of those movies where the line between dreams and reality isn't always certain, but Morgan keeps enough of a coherent narrative that this doesn't become tiresome, and there are freaky erotic touches, as when Ella is having sex, and fingers her lover's back as she would a stop-motion puppet.

Like many films of this sort, when Stopmotion shifts to overtly murderous, gory grapples in its last half-hour or so, it loses some of its macabre potency. But Franciosi, who played the stowaway in The Last Voyage of the Demeter, is a compelling presence, and on the whole, this is one of the more memorable horror pictures in a while. The only real complaint is the same one that applies to most films that showcase stop-motion: there isn't enough stop-motion.

[aethersea]

And We Danced and December

If you have energy for both.. otherwise dealers choice :3

Man I wrote up an entire answer and then tumblr ate it >:( Most disheartening. But! I can do better the second time, so there.

I’ve done december here, so we’ll do And We Danced! This is the Bridgerton au of Stranger Things, which I’ve been posting snippets of here from time to time because, frankly, I think it’s hilarious. There’s just something so funny to me about jarring register shifts, and I’m writing this whole fic in regular teenager vernacular except the dialogue, which is 100% in the Regency-era style of Bridgerton. Ah, I crack myself up. What a nerd.

It's named after the 1985 song by The Hooters, and it was almost called Liars In Love (after a lyric from that very song) because that's what Steve and Robin are! In this game of love, they're lying through their teeth! But it's a lot to expect readers to understand what I mean by that, and specifically to understand that I do NOT mean that they’re IN love. And I like the joy of And We Danced. These kids could use some joy.

I’m probably only ever going to actually write one scene, the one where Steve and Robin decide on their fake-courting scheme. But I do have a bunch of other stuff hashed out for this au, so I’ll just use this ask as an excuse to babble on about it, thanks anon <3

Mike and Lucas each have a title to inherit.

Dustin’s dad was a successful merchant, who upon his death left Dustin’s mom with enough capital and investments to keep her in comfort the rest of her days. She’s canny enough at maintaining the investments, and sensible enough to live within her means, so her funds stretch to send Dustin to a good school and give him plenty of opportunities. Dustin kind of wants to follow in his father’s footsteps, but he also loves science enough that he kind of wants to be a scholar. His mom is super indulgent and insists that he should do whatever he wants, the money will sort itself out.

Joyce runs a reasonably successful tailor’s shop – it used to be Lonnie’s, but when he ran off and left her with more debts than business, she took over and kept the place running by the skin of her teeth. Most of Lonnie's clients were willing to work with Lonnie's wife instead, but most of them also tried to bully her into taking worse deals. A few of the clients just refused to do business with a woman altogether. But the other boys' moms doubled down on hiring her for everything, and talked her up to their friends too. This was years ago now, and Joyce is no longer scrambling desperately to keep the bills paid. She doesn't need their support to keep afloat. But there is a – not a friendship, perhaps, but a camaraderie. They all know they can rely on one another.

The boys all played together when they were little, because social class matters less when everyone’s five. At eleven, they’re getting too old for it to be socially acceptable, but their parents are mostly turning blind eyes to it because, well, they like their sons. They like their sons’ friends. They don’t want to deprive them of this until they absolutely have to.

Max’s family is from The Americas. Her stepfather is a minor lord who’s here to settle some family affairs, and has timed it so Billy can experience the Season – practice for when he gets himself a wife, though Billy’s father scoffs in the same sentence that he’ll never be good enough to net an actual English lady. Max’s mother is of the American upper class, that New England elite that thinks highly of themselves and yet is thought so little of by the British. She might be (gasp!) divorced, or she and Neil might both be widowed. 

Max is too young to come out, so she’s supposed to stay at home all day doing nothing. Practicing piano or something, idk. She hates this, and instead sneaks out dressed as a boy to experience the city. This is how she runs into the other kids.

[omsdoortodoor]

OMS Door to Door Challenge – departure date minus 4 weeks

Food Food Glorious Food

I’ve been worrying about nutrition this week.  Before I met Ian, he cycled from London to Holcombe Rogus (which certain other individuals from the village) in one day.  Up at 4am, they stopped at Basingstoke for a full breakfast, pub lunch and then celebrated their finish with some champers.  Ian is 12 years older now and pub lunches, full breakfasts and champers at the end of each day just won’t cut it.  I can see him heaving himself onto the bike by day 10.

So this week, in addition ot sorting out the first aid kit, giving some thought to theming the blog for the challenge and planning the start and finish, Ian and I sat down and had a long talk about NUTRITION.

He’s done his research by looking at British Cycling which has a very useful nutrition section for professional cyclists.  Here I have tried to summarise what he told me.

Breakfast should ideally be eaten 90 – 120 minutes before he starts to cycle.  But we could go with 60 minutes before, if he is planning to cycle at an easy pace.  It should be a carbohydrate focussed meal, with things like porridge, oats or muesli.

During the ride, he needs to take:

2 gels

2 energy bars

3 mini pitta bread with nut butter or 2 brioche & jam.

So it seems to be to be topping up on carbs and fats, so he could also stop at a café instead of the snacks.

Liquids

He also needs to drink 2-3 litires of water per day.  And talking of water, if he waits until he is thirsty to drink, it is too late.  He needs to be thinking ahead for 20 miles down the road, so little and often right from the start is the way.  Something like 2-3 gulps every 15 minutes. I wonder whether he needs a reminder on this bike computer if that is possible.

He should also drink 500ml of electrolyte drink during the ride to replace minerals etc.  But at that quantity he will need some electrolyte tablets instead.

Lunchtime

On Ian’s longer rides, we hope to meet somewhere for lunch, whether that is eating in a café or just eating our sandwiches together with the motorhome parked up somewhere.  Lunch for Ian is ideally a wholemeal sandwich with some protein like tuna.

Half-time

At the halfway mark no orange segments, like at school. On days when he is cycling for five hours or more he will need to have an extra 20g of protein, which will be in the form of a bar.

Arrival / tea-time

When Ian finishes his usual cycle rides he likes salted nuts and a beer.  I thought the salted nuts were important to replace lost salts, but apparently it’s just because he likes salted nuts! And beer!  So the recommendation is UNSALTED nuts and seeds and or a banana.  Ian is insisting on keeping the cold beer in.

Dinner

The website says “don’t use the ride as an excuse for a full on blow out”.  Otherwise, he might have one of those on his tyres the following day.  Instead go for something nutritious like oily fish, broccoli and spiced potatoes or pasta.

Foods that are slow-release proteins such as hemp protein, houmous, nut butters and cottage cheese (not sure I can get that in France, although you can buy all things yoghurt). And finally, foods that are known for reducing inflammation are good, such as turmeric, ginger and garlic as are foods high in flavonoids such as berries.

And that’s it.

Have you spotted the big problem?

There is no recommendation of red wine, tasty French cheese, baguette or croissants let along duck.

What do you think Ian will do?

You will have to wait and see.

Thank you for reading our blog. These will be more of Ian's practice rides next time.

Jane & Ian

[emergingmediaculture]

Graphic created by Kiersten W. on Canva.

The speed at which our media landscape is changing is a topic that is always up for discussion, and rightfully so. In a landscape that is rapidly evolving, the topic cannot be brought up enough because there is always something new to adapt to. The Influencing Machine by Brooke Gladstone discusses the subject of our emerging media and its effect on a field that has no doubt seen revolutionary changes, journalism. Gladstone’s use of comic strips and illustrations to walk the reader through her book invites a bit of humor that she, herself, adds despite the discussion of some serious topics. In discussing the history of journalism and the technological advancements that have furthered its limits, I find it especially important to also talk about journalism's “controversial”, and I say that lightly, past with those who have hoped to suppress it. From the moment the American press, and even before that, was no longer under the rule of the British monarchy and able to freely distribute news of their choosing, there has existed hostility between those behind the news and those in power, even more so with the creation of investigative or “muckraking” journalism which set out to expose the corruption of those in positions of power. Something that I often think about when on this topic, something that I consider my Roman Empire, is Thomas Jefferson who vehemently pushed for the freedom of the press, believing it was a right that all American citizens deserved. Then I think of his time as president where he always seemed to be at odds with the press, insisting that nothing in newspapers can be believed anymore. Debates of ethics, truth-telling, and libel arose from such issues. Libel, as Gladstone puts it, is the issue that exists as the main point of tension between the government and the press. Meanwhile, libel, itself, is already pretty muddy water.

Historically during times of war, there have been instances of government attempts to suppress journalist in favor of releasing their own, approved forms of journalism that included various forms of war propaganda. This has been done by invoking the issue of “national security”. This form of abuse of power is a point of importance inGladstone's book. With the rise of television, though, a new visual was introduced to the public which allowed for a greater impact on the journalism front. I think of the Vietnam War, which is sometimes referred to as the “first television war”. For the first time, the public was able to see video from the front lines right from the comfort of their homes. No doubt this hit harder than simply reading about or even seeing pictures of the war.

With the controversy surrounding the Vietnam War, especially at the time, it is safe to say these new visuals allowed the public to see a different side of war, one they were not used to seeing. It further makes sense why this time was a great point of division in America.

Moreover, the point in the book that stuck out to me the most, the point that was filled with a lot of “exactly” and “yep” from me was Gladstone’s discussion on objectivity. The notion of objectivity in journalism is something that if you ask the average person, they would say is needed. But does true objectivity even exist? Despite how it is painted, objectivity is not a black-and-white concept.

“Even the most objective news is made up of subjective decisions”.

I read this quote a few years back in an article written by a reporter discussing objectivity in news. It changed my entire outlook on the concept of objectivity, so let’s break it down.

Let’s say there is a protest happening in your city. The assignment editor to a news station has to make a decision on who to send to cover it. They can decide to send someone who has covered an event like this before and has experience or someone who has not as a chance to give them that experience. That’s one decision that’s going to produce different stories. The reporter chosen goes to the protest and has to decide where to get video from. They decide to shoot from various areas to be able to show as much as they can. That’s decision two, the areas they shoot from. Now who do they interview? Most likely someone who holds some position of power in this protest, as well as those participating in it from both sides. There is only so much time in a news story, so the reporter picks maybe two or three people. Every person is different. What one person says will not be what someone else says. That’s decision three.

I can go on and on with this such as talking about the decision of how much time the reporter is given to cover this story, how many updates to the story will be provided, etc., etc., etc.

Does that still make it fully objective? Maybe as objective as humanly possible for the person covering it, but that also goes back to objectivity not being black and white. Everyone has biases, and a lot of those biases are unknown to the person who have them. How can you work against your biases if you are unaware of them? That’s part of being human. Gladstone discusses how the public sees the media as an entity working against us, when really, I believe that simply underestimates what humans are capable of.

Not to mention what one person sees as objective, another person may not. As Gladstone points out, people only want objectivity when it aligns with their values, otherwise, it's seen as “taking sides”.

[engbergeurovacay23]

Monday ... and our Departure from L'Estartit and Arrival to Ax-les-Thermes

Despite the fact that we were leaving L'Estartit by 11:15 in the morning on Monday, we had a leisurely morning and everyone got a good night's sleep. I'm still struggling a bit with some awake time in the very early morning hours, say, 3:00 a.m., and my legs just feel so wiggly and needing to stretch in the middle of the night -- perhaps I have Restless Leg Syndrome 😆 I mean, I don't actually think I have that and I know it is a real, serious thing for some people, so I don't mean to make light of it! Anyway, Eric and Rowan, after several spoonfuls of Nutella for breakfast for Rowan, went on another run, this time going about 2.3 miles. Before we left on this trip, I insisted Rowan get some actual proper running shoes (rather than running in his Blundstone boots!) since he wants to start cross country. So he brought his brand-new Sauconys on this trip and he's gotten some good use out of them already. They had a very nice run, followed by a dip in the pool for everyone, except me, as I was already in high gear with packing things up and tidying up and just generally collecting all of our odds and ends from all over the townhouse.

We managed to not leave the place looking like a tornado hit it, thankfully. Our hosts, Anna and I can't remember his name right now (Herbiert, maybe? Heribert? It was like Herbert, but spelled in a way I did not expect), came at about 11:15 to say hello before we left. They were just so lovely and nice. I asked them who typically stays in their place and they said it really varies in different parts of the summer season, British people at some parts of the summer and people from their part of Spain in other months. They said in the winter not very many people are there because it gets quite cold. I asked whether any people who lived in that area of town were their full-time, as it definitely seemed more vacationer-dominant than farther away from the central seaside area, where there were more homes that looked like full-time situations. They said there were a few people who lived in those townhomes full time. They also explained to us why there was so much security on the townhouse, as I discussed in a previous post. They said it was from the people from whom they bought their place. But they did also say, from what I understood in Spanish, that what we would call "squatters rights" in the U.S. are very to-the-benefit of squatters in Spain. If someone is in a place for 3 days, you can no longer turn off the electricity or water to the place and have to employ a lawyer to help kick them out and it can be very expensive, obviously. This is why there is so much security, as, when people aren't at the place full time, they make sure that no squatters can take up residence!

Anyway, after chatting with Anna and Heribert, we started our drive towards France. We were going to be going through Andorra, or just skirting Andorra, and we were not sure whether we were going to be stopping there. The roads were quite wide, by European small-town standards (which Eric bases exclusively on how narrow Italian mountain roads were: basically, like bike paths but that were expected to fit two cars, side-by-side), but, boy-howdy, the roads we drove yesterday were mountainous, once we got to the Pyrenees! We ascended over 3000 feet yesterday and the views were incredible! As were people's flowers in their flower boxes and gardens! I had such flower envy. My Grandma Rose loved hydrangeas, and so, I do too -- particularly the blue ones. I have seen so many here; I always also see them, and covet them, in Michigan. Here, there are also so many roses in people's gardens and just bountifully planted window boxes and pots.

We were close to crossing from Spain into France and we encountered a ski area called La Molina. This got Eric and I talking about how expensive lift-tickets are at U.S. ski resorts (for reference, a daily lift ticket for an adult at Vail is $255) and how he heard that some real ski-lovers in the U.S. are taking to traveling to Europe to ski because, when it all comes together, it's no more expensive to fly to Europe, get lodging, and buy lift tickets, than do the same for a resort in the U.S. For reference, a day ticket at La Molina is 43 Euros (so, less than $50). That is such a huge difference! Here is a recent article on the topic, if you are curious ;) But, I do know that many European ski resort had a super rough snow year this last year. Let's hope for their sake that the condition improve this coming year. But, winters are getting warmer for everyone and, then, there are freak snow years scattered about, like the year they had in Tahoe and Colorado this last year--where you could still be skiing as late as last month there was so much snow!

Anyway -- I digress . . .

So, we arrived to Ax-les-Thermes and did not stop in Andorra. If we had had more time, I would've loved to have done that. Such an interesting place, with a crazy, crazy ancient history (like, settlements --or "passing places"--dating back to something like 9500 BCE??). Anyway, Ax-les-Thermes is picturesque and was literally a breath of cool, fresh air for us, because it was about in the mid-60s when we arrived, and we'd been steamy as can be in Spain on the coast for several days. So, being in the high French mountains, with clouds covering the mountaintops, was just refreshing (like being in our beloved Cloudcroft is for us!). But, things got kind of odd after our arrival. It had been great being in Spain where, while we are not fluent, our Spanish was plenty solid to get us through all of our daily interactions. In France, we really have been struggling, because Ax-les-Thermes does not see many English-speaking visitors and is a quite small place and in a sort of out-of-the-way part of France, from what I gather. So, we arrived to our Airbnb, which itself is absolutely amazing and so scenic (on a hillside overlooking the town and the mountains across a valley), and we discovered that it had no toilet paper. Was this something I missed in the listing, I wondered? I mean, I know some Airbnbs do not provide sheets or towels, but no toilet paper? That was a new one. So, I did eventually asked the hosts via the Airbnb message function and they said they "forgot" to provide it, so they brought it over and left it for us when we were out to dinner. Also, there were linens folded on the beds, but they were not made. This was somewhat annoying, because who likes to make up three beds before hitting the hay? But, we did, even though for the King bed, the fitted sheet that was lying on it was actually a twin, so we had to go hunting on the linen shelf for one that would actually fit, and after five tries, we found one. It was almost comedic.

So, about dinner. Let me recommend you not go to La Cave when you come to Ax-les-Thermes. It had great reviews online and looked very cute. But, we popped in and they had no room and were very, how do I say, arrogant about that. I hate to sound so close to stereotyping French people. But, I mean, it was nearly clichéd how they treated us. Anyway, we moseyed around some more and then looped back and there was a table outside, so we sat. The server came back, rattled off some words in very fast French, so I used my handy dandy Google Translate, and it turned out she was trying to dissuade us from staying by saying the food was going to take a "very long time." I am not sure she ever put our order in, but she brought no water nor wine, even though some other seemingly irritated people (irritated by what I guess was honestly a long wait) did get wine refills (we got nothing, as I said) -- and at that point, I was like, we are outta here. So, we left. I was in a real tiff, compounded by the fact that I was starving. I do not do well in such circumstances. The next day (today) I wanted the kids and I to just go outside the restaurant and glare at them ;) We did not do that, just so you know.

OK, so while Rowan and I were waiting at La Cave for water to materialize, Eric and Cece walked around. I called them when we left and they said, we know a place to go. Rowan had wanted to pasta to start with, so we did go to a place called La Trattoria, and they indeed had pasta and a very nice server. I mean, what can I say, we are American, we do have two kids with us, we talk, we are tourists; heck, there are things that are facts. But we try to be gracious, interested, friendly, and polite. But, when that is not reciprocated and we are treated like annoyances rather than earnest (and hungry) paying customers, I get pretty furious myself. OK, so La Trattoria did right by us. Poor Rowan was so hungry when we sat down he was nearly crying. But, the kids ate huge bowls of pasta and ate every last noodle and then Rowan ate the rest of mine and was ready for more -- in the form of ice cream. All ended up going well, but I really could've done without the false start with eating dinner out.

Not much more to report about bedtime, but the kids did fall asleep hard -- what a long day it had been! Today was to be a big day, with mountain biking involved, so it is a good thing they slept so well last night! I do want to report in a future post on some other "different" realities we have experienced here and some things we do miss about home--and spoiler alert, one big thing I miss is my clothes dryer! We can dry so many things on the line in Albuquerque because our climate is dry as a bone and everything dries quickly and in an eco-friendly manner, but having a dryer is super handy, and it would be nice to have one here while traveling some of the time, but they are very rare in people's homes. Anyway, au revoir for tonight!

[bluebeerg]

if stanley and the narrator arent psychic, then what are they in comparison to the psychonauts world? the narrator def feels more than human if he's trying to pretend to be an archetype. what brings them to the motherlobe? I am enamored by your au and would love to hear your thoughts

I'm honoured that you want to know more !! I didn't think many people would, considering it's Extremely Self-Indulgent and I am used to my interests being Niche (reason why the things that I’ve posted have little to no context hgjfkghdfg)

Okay, so, I think it's important to note that, in this AU, the things in The Stanley Parable happened and are real. Stanley was trapped in an eternal loop. Stanley had died a million times over. The Narrator is... still his witty omnipresent self. These things do not change.

I had thoughts about making twisting TSP to be more cohesive to the world of Psychonauts, but ultimately thought against it. I think they are funny silly as they are :] A guy and his voice against the world

Alright, let’s get to explaining this bad boy a little.

So. What happened? Why are they at the Motherlobe?

This is just a rough and vague thought but, after being free of the Parable (when the Escape Pod and/or Freedom Ending is real and is here), Stanley and the Narrator are met with the outside world. Something something, run into the funny Psychonauts. They think something is up with Stanley, that he is strange, but insists that he is Not psychic, they bring him to the Motherlobe. Stanley keeps insisting his non-psychicness, but the Narrator convince him to just “humour them anyway”. Insert funny shenanigans where the Narrator and Stanley work together to do “psychic abilities”. Again, Very rough and Very vague. ghfdkjgdf

But, looping around to that first question: If not psychic, what are Stanley and the Narrator?

Well, they still are your classic Stanley Parable duo. A simple office worker and, like, god or something. But actually, since we’re on this topic...

Let’s talk about how the Narrator works.

Starting off with communication. This one’s easy. Stanley uses ASL to talk people, but, when speaking to the Narrator, it can be through mind thoughts. In the same vein, the Narrator can only be heard by Stanley. He is inside his brain :] This does mean, however, if someone did some mind reading, I guess they’d meet the funny man. the funny loud man. british

Here’s a big one: the Narrator’s power. In the office, the Narrator controlled, well, everything, because they were His creation. The office and everything in it was the extent of his power, and boy is that a lot of power.

But the Narrator is no longer In the office, he’s not even in The Stanley Parable anymore. This is not something he’s created (The Narrator is aware that Psychonauts is fictional and a game btw). However, he still has Some Sort of power in this new world - this is how they are tricking the Psychonauts, after all. So where exactly does that power come from?

As his OC, the Narrator draws his power from Stanley to exert onto the external world - but that, in turn, takes energy from him. Not a lot, mind you, but I guess it rather depends on size, quantity, and distance from him. This means that what the Narrator is able to do is limited and he has to be considerate about Stanley’s health and wellbeing (Stanley sleeps, and eats and drinks now? Fucking nuts, bro...)

I think the other limitation is that the Narrator can’t... Remove stuff was already previously there - that was already part of the world. He can summon things in, sure, and, while they may not stay around for very long, they are there (You guys sure do love the Narrator as an archetype ghdfjghf), and, he can still interact with the world, like opening doors or flickering lights, but to Truly twist, and manipulate, and alter it...  It’d take a Lot. 

Aaaand... That’s it. Probably. I have some other thoughts rattling up in this head of mine but... I think that that’s all the basics :] If you read all of this, thank you?? I love to say things about my funny thoughts, and I know it’s not exactly Fun to read Just text, especially when it’s this long, and I, uh, don’t know how much sense it all makes, but thank you :,] i am very grateful

[01solarsmiles]

synopsis: you’ve been at jaehyun’s “secret” flat for a while now. you’re not quite sure how long, he says time passes differently here. not that you mind. you’re healing and there’s nothing you have wrong with that. having been away form everything that was bad for you, you’re coming to realise that things really were better with jaehyun. and no matter how many times he tries to tell you, he knows you have to come to that conclusion yourself.

tl;dr: you heal under jaehyun’s caring gaze.

genre: fantasy!au, kind of domestic!au, magic!jaehyun, fluff, smut, fem!reader

warnings: smut in the forms of kissing, titplay, basically motorboats oc, brief nipple play, heavy petting/fondling, grinding (?), oral (male recieving), jaehyun can’t hold his load oops, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), creampie, brief cumplay lmao jaehyun is the teeniest bit kinky

other: jaehyun is my soft boi, wanna smooch and cuddle in his pastel coloured sweats, i’m british so he lives in a flat, soft smut… almost r*mantic,,, jaehyun is a boob man; do what you will with that B), jaehyun uses pet names bc i think it would be sickly sweet leaving his lips, time is relevant so i can do what i want with this thanks xox

wordcount: 8.5k

a/n: this is a continuation from the last chapter. i split it bc i needed inspo lmao so once again, not happy with how it ended previously so i had to write more. admittedly, it was origianlly one long piece but i realised i wanted to add more depth to when they’re living together (basically) so i split it therefore enabling me to write what i wanted about them being cute and stuff. yeah.

You had been given a wheelchair by the hospital but had refused to use it, wanting to prove that you were okay, to yourself and Jaehyun. He had convinced you to stay in it as you left the hospital to please the staff on your way out but you had point-blank refused when you made it to the small block of flats he said he lived in. After walking two steps from the car you let out a whimper and gave in to his incessant pleas to get you to sit in the wheelchair.

Oddly, there had been no one in the foyer and you hadn’t bumped into anyone in the hallway in front of the lift. He had helped you when you made it into the flat, moving you over to the sofa where you melted into the plush cushions of the seat.

On the way here, the two of you had already argued about where you were going to stay, him insisting on not leaving you alone and you insisting that you’d be okay at a friends place. In the end, he promised to contact your friends and family to tell them you were spending a little time away (you wouldn’t let him tell them you had been to the hospital). After all, he had saved you when you needed it most.

Your cracked lips remained tightly sealed as he folded the wheelchair away and tucked it behind a cupboard where it wasn’t in your direct line of sight.

You decide to look around, wanting to take up some time and to avoid looking him directly in the eye.

The flat was… cosy. It looked lived in, all the trinkets and small collages stuck up on the walls drawing your attention away from the shelves stacked with potted plants. Everything about the room seemed to tie together with another aspect of the flat. You couldn’t help but wonder why he had a place like this.

He notices your inquisitive look, “It’s supposed to be a secret. Though almost everyone important knows this is where they’ll find me if I disappear without an explanation.” Jaehyun moves towards the small kitchenette, fetching a glass of water befoer placing it on a coaster on the glass coffee table by your legs.

You wait for a second, acknolwedging the glass of iced water, then look up, meeting his hesitant gaze, “Everything’s green.”

It wasn’t a deep green either, more like a soft earthy green. Maybe a sage colour, but you were mostly going off of the presence of the plants and the colour of the sofa. Some of the counters in his one-person kitchen were a soft green, accented with wood countertops and a pastel fridge. It was soothing on your eyes, you had to admit.

He nods, unsure what you’re getting at, “Yeah…?”

“The first and second time I met you, you exclusively wore red. And it was glittery,” you point out, one wordlessly eyebrow raised.

He tilts his head, dimples appearing in his cheeks as he stuffs his hands in his jogging bottom pockets, rattling his keys in his pockets, “Just because I wear red doesn’t mean my whole life revolves around that primary colour.”

You roll your eyes and lean back into the sofa cushion, tenderly crossing your arms, “Well, no. I guess not,” you let your headrest on a pillow he slips behind your neck discreetly, “I suppose… I just assumed that you did,” you shrug your shoulders, “wasn’t something I gave much thought to.”

Jaehyun kicks off his trainers and throws his keys into a bowl on the kitchen counter. You could probably stick your arm over the back of the sofa and touch the pillar that separated the two areas if you tried hard enough adn weren’t brusied all over. He’s got a small smile on his face that brings his dimples out as he makes his way over to sit on the sofa with you, letting himself fall haphazardly onto the cushions. “So you thought about me, even a little.”

Ignoring his comment, you take in his flat to its fullest. You weren’t wrong, this man lived in a green, cottagecore aesthetic in his off-time. Admittedly you were a big fan of the wall of shelves stacked with different plants, mostly succulents and cactus -- the odd spine of a book eeking through -- and you even enjoyed the small desk that was home to a few depictions of watercolour flowers. Your eyes fall on the black figure, slinking under the legs of the glass coffee table pitched in front of you, making you flinch as you suppressed your reflex to jump; it was only a cat.

A cat man. Of course, he was.

Jaehyun’s eyes follow yours, “That’s Prim. She likes to keep to herself. Occasionally she curls up with me.”

“You made it sound like you rarely come here.”

“Mhm.”

“You have a cat.”

“I have a cat,” he affirms.

Prim disappears around the pillar into the kitchen. Jaehyun must’ve put down some food for her because you can hear her softly eating followed briefly by the sound of her lapping at a bowl of water.

“And plants.”

“Those too.” He’s not sure where you’re going with this, neither were you, but he was humouring it, seeing it through to the end if he got ot be in your presence longer.

Your eyes go back to wandering around the room, watching how the sun dips in between the curtains and cascades through the room. You had sat in the seat closest to the entrance, meaning Jaehyun’s back was to the window as he faced you while you were talking. He was still dressed in the outfit you assumed he slept in at the hospital. You were dressed in the same clothes you had gone in with, having had to change out of the gown they had provided when you left.

He looked so effortlessly pretty. It made you want to cry.

You suck in a breath and say, “I’m a little tired. Can I sleep… anywhere?”

He nods and jumpts to his feet before helping you to yours. Slowly, you make your way down the hall, almost all of your weight is beared on Jaehyun. He’s practically carrying you but neither of you mention it. It was only a small flat, something you couldn’t wrap your head around when he could probably have anything he liked, and so it only had one bedroom.

Initially, you had put up a fight but he simply said he wasn’t tired and there was a box room he could get a bed into if the sofa wasn’t comfortable enough (it was but you weren’t okay with the fact that he was giving up his bed). You lay on your side, a body pillow supporting your small frame. You were so tense, worried about Soobin and Dan-ah and Mina and your Mum and Dad and Hyejin as she was probably the only friend of yours who regularly checked in. There was so much running through your mind and you almost don’t notice Jaehyun’s soft palm gripping yours, his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. Unbeknownst to you, he had seen the anxious look on your face and had guessed that you were psychoanalysing everything in your head, cogs turning. He wanted to subtly draw you out from your thoughts... so he let a little of his power surge through his fingertips and into your palm, hoping it was enough to make you woozy.

Without much thought to it, you rested your head on his pillow and fell asleep.

Jaehyun stays, for a minute or two, holding your hand until your grip weakens, your breathing becomes heavier and your chest goes into a steady rise and fall. He watches, as you lay, unbothered by the world outside. You looked at peace. At home.

Was this the first time you had been able to wind down like this?

He sighs, wriggling his hand from under yours and gets up to leave before he pulls a brown monochrome blanket over your frame. A slight frown etches itself on your forehead as your fingers twitch, looking for the hand Jaehyun had slipped away, before you subconsciously grip the blanket and curl into it instead, the frown erasing itself from your face, leaving you looking at peace once again.

You wake up to the sun going down outside, a blanket covering your body and pillows squished underneath to support your body.

You’re tender. That’s safe to say.

The room was airy; Jaehyun had left the window on the latch and the door cracked open so as to not make it stuffy. Glancing around, you notice the simplicity of it. Bed, side table, lamp and wardrobe. It differed massively from the rest of his flat. Maybe he hadn’t gotten around to decorating substantially in here.

You get up, perching yourself on the edge of the bed before making your way out of the room. Shuffling along, you cling to the wall as you know full well you shouldn’t be venturing around by yourself and make your way to the living room, “Jaehyun?” you call. The calling stops when you spot Jaehyun with an open book lying in his lap while he snores lightly, passed out on the sofa. The corners of your mouth twitch, curling into a smile at the sight of him so peaceful.

You hold out your arm, inspecting the bandage on it. You sigh, “I need a shower.”

You turn back, headed towards what you assumed was the bathroom. The door creaks open; thankfully, you were correct. There are fresh towels hanging on the rack and a laundry basket sits tucked into the corner. Stripping from your clothes gingerly, you turn on the shower. While it warms up you unwrap your bandages and softly poke the back of your head. You’re probably not supposed to submerge it yet so you work with what you can. The shower itself was a standalone that had frosted glass wrapped around it, hiding what was on the inside if anyone were to look in.

The whole ordeal was a show in itself, you carefully moving things about, trying not to knock anything all while trying to do your best with what you’ve got. It wasn’t the best situation in the world but it was the best out of the hand you were dealt. Having not been back to your flat to get anything, you didn’t have any of your usual hair products so you used the products that were already there and a lemon body wash that had been sitting patiently.

Eventually, you finish up with half-washed hair and a mostly clean body. Your fingers had pruned long ago and you took that as a sign to get out of the shower to stop using all the hot water.

You stepped out, and grabbed the towel off of the rack, wrapping yourself in them. They were so soft against your skin. Holding it tightly against your skin you move to stand in the middle of the bathroom. It wasn’t big but it had an oval mirror hanging above the sink. Staring at your reflection for a little, you internally pick apart everything you don’t like.

Staring with the obvious bruises. “I’ll heal,” you tell your reflection, “I won’t degrade myself like that again.” Your fingers brush against your towel-covered ribs, making you flinch. “He won’t do this to me again; I won’t let him,” you pause before whispering, “I’m not going back to him.”

By now, your eyes are watering a little so you sniffle and wipe the forming tears away before they’re given the chance to fall. You deserve better. You know this. “I deserve better. I am worth better.”

In the middle of this, Prim slinks through the crack of the door, making you jump a little. With your hand on your heart, you take deep breaths, watching as she jumps onto the closed toilet seat and sits down on a pile of clothes. A pile of clothes you don’t remember putting there. Your eyes widen at the thought of Jaehyun seeing you naked but then you whip your head to the shower walls, reminding yourself that they’re frosted and he would’ve only been able to see an outline at the most.

Prim purrs, drawing your attention back to her.

She blinks at you. She’s so calm. You reach the backside of your hand out so she can sniff it. After a quick sniff, she turns her head and rubs it into the palm of your hand. You gratefully accept her and let her continue to rub herself on you as you alternate between scratching the underside of her chin and the back of her head. She purrs in content and you let out a quiet giggle.

Jaehyun had been awake for the past ten minutes or so. He’d dug through his drawers, pulling out an old pair of jogging bottoms that he’d bulked out of but never gotten around to throwing out, a pair of clean underwear and a jumper that was currently his size but probably oversized on you. He’d slipped them onto the toilet seat (thank god it was so close to the door) without peeping past the sink and must’ve forgotten to pull the door up all the way on his way out.

He listens to Prim purring and you giggling softly from the safety of his sofa in the living room, a smile making its way onto his face. He had flicked on the table lamp on the end table by the sofa, continuing to read his book – A natural history of Dragons. Not as accurate as he remembers but a little light reading never did anyone any harm.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, you looked fresh. Swamped in his jumper and bare feet padding across the panelled flooring. He looks up from his book, noticing you gradually making your way over to him, he jumps up, trying to help you. You looked cute with your sweater paw leaned up against the wall.

He tucks a hand under your armpit for leverage, you turn, a little surprised and open your mouth to say something but can’t bring yourself to when you realise how close your faces are. Jaehyun either doesn’t notice or pretends to not know, making you feel more embarrassed than you thought possible. His musk engulfs you, overriding your senses and you hesitate in your step.

“Oh,” you say, face hot to which you can only pray he doesn’t sense how he caught you off-guard, “you don’t have to–”

“It’s okay,” he whispers softly, hands pulling you into him so he can use his body strength to help too. You feel goosebumps from his caring touch and you wonder about the last time someone treated you like this.

Since when did he become so domestic?

You brush it off and he helps lower you down to the sofa and Prim follows suit, helping herself to your lap as she curls into a ball, letting you run your fingers down her back in a soothing motion.

You could feel the heat rising up your neck at how close the two of you had been, your mind running to months before when you had been close to him. Before, you had been embarrassed about yourself as he was helping you out of the hospital but he had reassured you that you had nothing to worry about – the gentleman that he was – he didn’t want you to feel ashamed. So, you let yourself relax on his plush sofa cushions while he went about making something to eat for the both of you with a grin on his face, knowing all too well what he had inflicted upon you moments ago.

That’s how the next month or so went by. You pushed yourself to your limits, all of your minor injuries healed (somehow), and followed Jaehyun around while Prim followed you. As promised, Jaehyun brought home a bed for the box room to which you insisted on sleeping in since you were the one who was the guest but he had none of it. In the end, he dressed the room up nicely and it ended up looking like it had been there all along.

At first, Jaehyun hadn’t let you do any of the things you offered to do, especially the cooking. He had a large repertoire of recipes up his sleeve and wasn’t letting you do anything to strain yourself.

Your phone had briefly glitched the first time you turned it on, which was odd on a good day.

“Time passes differently here,” he had explained, “Einstein was right about that one; time is relevant. He almost caught us out one time with his research into it but Yuta turned him around and set him back on track again.”

To which he then had to explain to you who Yuta was. He sounded nice, harmless but what got you was the fact that there were more people like Jaehyun. You had yet to meet more than the man who stood in front of you as he explained that to you.

Weeks into your stay, he took you round to your place, helped you pick up your things and also helped you leave a thick layer of red glitter all over your now ex-boyfriend’s penthouse. He deserved it. According to Jaehyun, your ex was in the process of moving out, as per Jaehyun’s convincing argumentative skills.

You rang some of your family and friends, asking after them and telling them you were okay after it was established between you that you and Soobin were no longer together but the most heartbreaking one was between you and your niece. She had been there, she knew now, even if you didn’t want her too, she knew. You could only pray that it slowly faded from her memory, for her sake more than yours, as she grew older.

According to Hyejin (when she rambled to you on the phone as she bawled, bless her), Soobin had been given the sack and lost most of what he owned. He’d also been sporting a black eye for two weeks after you got out of the hospital. She had been the first person you rang but the small detail had slipped your mind until later that night. You tried not to outright weep tears of joy, knowing that he’d had even the tiniest bit of his own medicine fed back to him, followed suit by you quizzing Jaehyun to which he hid his knuckles behind his back as he walked in with a tray of sushi that had been delivered tonight as a treat before your anime marathon.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I haven’t seen him,” he throws his keys into the bowl on the kitchen counter after toeing off his shoes in the entrance of his flat.

Having had time to heal, you pull yourself to tuck your legs underneath you as you look over the back of the sofa. “Jaehyun,” you warn. Prim materialises from the depths of Jaehyun’s bedsheets, where you had left her earlier, to greet her beloved owner. She purrs against his leg and he leans down to scratch behind her ear.

“Y/n,” he says back, trying his best to match your tone.

Your eyes follow Prim, closely watching as she jumps onto the kitchen counter and paws at the key-bowl. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth you nibble until you can form a sentence that wouldn’t betray you when it left the corners of your mind.

Thinking about it, you decide against arguing with him on it. If he was lying it wasn’t something that was going to stop you from hanging around him, so why push it? Because you wanted to know why. “You were out a while after you texted me you’d finished food shopping the other day, where’d you go?”

Jaehyun glances at you, his hair stood slightly on end as if he’d been running his hand through it, possibly one too many times. It was shorter than when you had first come into his care – you’d helped him one day to trim it. You’d also insisted that he let you do it because you used to cut your hair in the bathroom mirror. ‘Not the same,’ he had said but he had handed you the scissors all the same. He was still dressing for comfort, something that you appreciated when the evening came and the tv turned on. It was a small flat which meant a small-ish sofa. He wasn’t against wrapping an arm around you and the two of you had been known to fall asleep to a movie or two in recent weeks.

“Went to work, briefly. Gotta make sure everything’s on schedule; they’d practically die without me to ditto everything they’re already sure of,” he flashes you a grin that his dimples can’t escape, “it’s nice to be home.”

You murmur a response.

Scattering away, Jaehyun has a shower after being out and gets dressed quickly to return to you. He walks over to the kitchen, deciding to grab some things for the evening.

His back is turned to you now, he’s grabbing a couple of drinks from the fridge, the glow of the light illuminating his face.

“I missed you.”

You… what?

The pounding of your heart against your ribcage was deafening. Had you just said that out loud? He turns to meet your frantic gaze, waiting for your response. He can barely breathe out the response, “I missed you too.”

He grins, sinking himself into the space next to you and slings his arm over the back, his hand resting close to your neck. “Awh, did you really?”

Your body practically recoils, turning back on itself, “No. I just wanted you to bring ice cream; I’ve been craving it all week.”

Instantly you regret your choice as he frowns slightly and turns away.

You’re forced to think about the countless nights you’d spent curled up in his bed, some of them the result of you weeping into one of his many pastel sweatshirts you adorned about your failed relationship with Soobin, others about how you had neglected to tell your family and friends about the situation you had been in for almost a year by the time Jaehyun had pulled you away from it. Most nights, Jaehyun heard you, upset and alone in the dark. In the beginning, he wasn’t sure what to do about it, part of him knowing that he should leave you to heal but the other part of him screaming that he shouldn’t let you suffer alone – shouldn’t let you think you’re in this alone when you’re most certainly not where he’s concerned.

The first time he had left you, not sure he had heard correct when he came back from work, groggy from the use of his powers and feeling like he needed to faceplant his pillow from the exhaustion. You had stopped, little sniffles being masked by the vibrations of Prim’s purring against your body where she had hopped up on the bed to comfort you, when you thought Jaehyun was listening, hoping that he would leave you to hurt for a short while longer.

He had sensed your hesitation and made his way to the shower, deciding he needed to be fresh for the next morning.

He was oddly caring. Not that it was odd for someone to care but it was odd for someone to care this much and for the person to be Jaehyun was the cherry on top.

Turning back to face you, he grins, “Wanna watch that anime you were telling me about? I googled it last night and read some forums; apparently it’s good.”

Your eyes light up, “Sword Art Online? Yes please.”

Jaehyun shakes his head, chuckling to himself at how eager you are. He loved when you showed interest in things like this. His auburn hair falls into his eyes as he skims through whatever application he had pulled up (Netflix; no chill) while you weren’t looking and he breathes softly through his nose, concentrating on the screen in front of him.

Once again, you were studying him. It had been a long time since you had arrived. Time is relevant, true, but how much time is too much time?

The sun had set an hour or so ago now and you had already eaten some of the takeaway earlier as neither of you had been interested in cooking. You wondered if he knew how the table lamp accentuated his face, the soft hue acting like his usual haze when he was in his suit – which you learned was the reason he practical glowed as he had since told you there was magic twined into the thread it was sewed together with – and made him look angelic. You wondered if he knew the camel sweats he was wearing made you want to cuddle him and nuzzle your nose into his side, somewhere that you felt more than safe to be. You wondered if he knew how much you liked it here and how you were apprehensive about going back to the real world full time.

You’d been out, of course, he couldn’t confine you to his flat even if he wanted to but he always made sure that there were the correct precautions in place. He was always here, anyway, choosing you over everything else so there was rarely a time where you could go out without him. Smiling to yourself, you remind yourself that you don’t think you’d want to go by yourself when there’s a perfectly good Jaehyun waiting for you.

His hair fell in soft waves on his forehead, and his brow furrowed as he tried to figure out why he couldn’t find Sword Art Online for you two to watch. The two of you had fallen into a routine, he pats his leg, signalling for you to lay your head down on his lap as he pulls a pillow from behind him for you to rest your head on.

Shifting your body, careful of your ribs still, you lay down and wrap a hand under his leg for leverage, being sure to keep it closer to the back of his knee than his thigh as it was easier to curl your hand. He didn’t mind because when you sat and watched horror movies you would squeeze his leg in anticipation for a jump scare of sorts. He thought it was cute.

Eventually, he finds it, “Here we go,” he mumbles, clicking on the first episode. You settle in, pushing your face further into the cushion as Jaehyun lets his hand rest on your shoulder, somewhere safe for him to touch. His other hand plays with your hair absentmindedly as the episode begins, showing the people who had been waiting for the game to come out so that they could play it.

It remains like this, you making comments here and there, ooh’s and ah’s coming form both of you as you talk about the episode before it rolls over to the next one. At one point, he says something that makes you sit up completely, throwing him off as your warmth leaves his body.

“Did you just suggest that Kirito could be –”

His eyes widen, “I merely suggested that he –”

You scowl, pout and cross your arms, your cardigan falling off your shoulder at an angle, “No! You said what you said. It’s out there now, in the cosmos, for all to judge. You can’t take it back.”

He’s looking at you, first with shock but then with an expectant look. All you were doing was arguing over anime. You’re not sure you remember seeing him like this, eyes filled with something you cannot describe. Is this what being loved feels like? The flying thought catches you off guard and you hold your breath. He wonders if you know that’s how he’s feeling, how he’s seeing you. The rose-tinted filter settled in and he was determined to keep it that way for a long time.

Jaehyun had got dressed after his shower into a sweatshirt and sweatpants, and joined you on the sofa while you were watching the back end of a drama you had been meaning to watch for months before you had switched over to anime. It was your thing; watching anime together.

His hand reaches to rest on the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek and fingers splaying down to reach your neck and brings his face closer to yours, making your breath hitch. The last time you had been like this neither of you were thinking in coherent thoughts. At this point, you’d spent months with him, hiding from your family and friends – only partially as you had wanted to gain your confidence back again and go back with a real job.

His hair was still drying on the ends where he hadn’t bothered to towel dry it. It brushed against your forehead as he brought his forehead to rest on yours, savouring the moment.

Breathily, you manage to say his name.

He hums in response, eyes trained diligently on your lips, waiting for your response. He doesn’t notice how you watch him watching you, he’s enamoured. He loved when you looked like this. So carefree. So pure. So… pretty.

“Kiss me.”

He doesn’t wait any longer.

Lips centimetres form yours, he gives you the opportunity to change your mind but you bring your lips to his, not wanting to drag this out any longer. His fingers stay on your face while your hands have yet to find somewhere to be placed – something that Jaehyun notices – so he picks up your hand and curls it around the back of his neck before wrapping his own around the small of your back, a smirk finding its home on his face.

Feeling more confident, you bring your free hand to splay across his cheek, thumb mindlessly rubbing the dip where his dimple becomes prominent. His hair stands on end on the back of his neck, the sensation of your fingers brushing his face so calmly as he pulls your lower lip between his having caused goosebumps to form down his arms.

Secretly, he was glad he was wearing his sweatshirt so that you couldn’t see how sensitive he was to you.

Jaehyun leans gradually away and you chase his lips, not wanting to forget the feeling any time soon. All of the time you had spent with Soobin and yet none of the moments you had shared felt like this. It made your heart pound and the butterflies were making their way up, tickling your diaphragm as you struggle to breathe.

“Y/n,” he begins, lids heavy and forehead pressed to yours. He’s not really sure what he wants to say… how does one express the euphoria they feel from finally doing the right thing and knowing it’s the right thing? Because that’s how Jaehyun felt. You knew he wanted to say something so you lightly prompt him.

“Jae… what are you thinking?”

His lids close and he bumps his nose with yours, lips parted, “I want to kiss you like that more often.”

You giggle, which throws him off, “Do you?” He looks up to meet your wandering gaze through his lashes, “because I want to kiss you like that more often, too.”

He grins, tightening his grip around your waist, pulling you in until you’re straddling his lap. “Oh yeah? How about I do just that, then.” His lips return to yours. You noticed that Jaehyun’s lips tasted of cherry chapstick, and you loved that, deciding to part the seal of his mouth with your tongue to devour the taste further.

The subtle curve of his lips was something you didn’t want to forget – that was for sure. You work on memorising this feature and lightly tug at the tufts of hair at the back of his head, making him moan into your mouth ever so slightly.

“That was adorable,” you mumble against his lips, lowering yourself so your bum is resting on the heels of your feet either side of his thighs.

His face flushes but he pretends to not notice and instead lets his hands roam until they’re palming the globes of your ass.

This shocks you into action a little, the squeezing fingers forcing you to lift and lean on your knees, breasts pushed up against his chin as you continue to kiss him.

As you slipped your tongue to mingle with his, you decided then and there that you were absolutely in love with kissing him. Possibly smitten, just a tiny bit.

You had worn a tank top and a light cardigan for comfort around the flat, not wanting to pull jeans on and a blouse every morning and instead opting for leggings and light-tees regularly. You weren’t sure what kind of man Jaehyun was, an ass or boob man but something igniting inside you and hardening in his sweatpants told you that you were going to find out pretty damn soon.

Pulling away you offer a small smile at him, he grins, like he knows he’s about to get a present he’s been waiting for ages for. Ironic, considering his job profession.

You bite your lip and let your hands fall down to his arms, running your palms up and down his biceps. By now the episode had rolled over and was about 10 minutes into the next but you and Jaehyun were far too distracted, you figured it would have to wait. It would still be there tomorrow when you could rewatch it and continue your marathon.

His own hands rest below the curve or your breasts, thumbing at the swell.

You dip your head, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before letting your tongue peak out and swirl its way down to his neck. Peppering kisses against his tan skin you pick a spot where he makes the most fuss when you reach it and bruise it with your lips. He groans at the feeling of your lips tainting his skin so skillfully and thinks about how you went to waste on someone like your ex before him. His breathing grows heavy and his fingers run up and down your back in a soothing manner, toying with the hem of your tank top every time his fingers brush the bottom.

“Oh my God,” he breathes out when you’re finished.

You giggle, “What?”

You had slipped your cardigan off, letting it fall in a heap on the floor and hooked your fingers under your shirt before throwing it across the room.

Gazing up at you, you can practically see the hearts spinning around his head. You knew that if this was a Looney Toon cartoon, his eyes would’ve been pounding hearts right about now.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighs as you press a closed mouth kiss to his jaw, “…pretty girl.”

You were left in a dark pair of leggings and your t-shirt bra. It wasn’t anything fancy (you were here for comfort, for god’s sake) but Jaehyun looked at you like you had put all the stars in the sky yourself, something you were unfamiliar with. Pride swells in your chest and lust swells in your core.

“Are you going to keep staring or are you going to do something?” You tease. He merely smirks, enjoying what he hasn’t even done yet, and buries his head between your breasts.

You let out a small “Oof” noise and steady yourself on his shoulders. Leaning on your feet normally would’ve been enough but when he stuck his head between your boobs it had knocked you slightly off balance. Your fingers dig into his shoulder blades, pressing crescetn moons into his skin, but Jaehyun takes no notice as he noses his way to a fleshy spot and attaches his lips.

“Smell so good,” he’s referring to the perfume you had brought with you when you cleaned out your apartment. “Wanna taste,” he mumbles into your boobs. Your panties dampen at the confession, not knowing completely how to respond without crying out a moan.

Unshockingly so, this was one of the few tinmes you had felt like the only girl in the world, not to quote Rihanna, but it was truly a moment you had no desire to forget any time soon.

Instinctively, your hands retire to the back of his head, pulling him closer whilst he goes to town on a hickey he’s suckling into your skin.

Pulling back, he grins, “Perfect.” He’s admiring his handiwork but it still sends the stupid butterflies contained in your abdomemn stir crazy when his gaze meets yours, filled with lust, love, adoration – whatever you want to call it, his eyes contained it. Lids low and mind focused, his hand snakes behind your body to unhook your bra but you stop him.

In fear of pushing you too far he drops his hand and waits, eyes wide for what had stopped you.

“I-I haven’t – no – I don’t…” you struggle to find the correct words in front of Jaehyun, the cool breeze making you shiver in the slightest.

“What is it, angel?” He brings his hands to your waist, rubbing slow circles to calm you.

“Soobin,” you exhale. It was all Jaehyun needed to know so he took a deep breath.

He’s watching you as he says, “I don’t care. That was then… this is now.”

You nod. His features twist into a smile, images of that night coming back to him, “Plus I already fucked you against the –”

Your hand finds itself pressed across his mouth in the blink of an eye, praying he doesn’t finish that sentence, “I know,” you squeak before emphasising, “I was there.”

He tilts his head and offers a mischievous glint, “I thought you didn’t think I was real, simply a figment of your imagination, if I do remember correctly.”

Groaning, you roll your eyes, “Stop with that! You showed up, dressed in red and in the middle of the night after I’d written a letter that only I could know the contents of. Who’s to say you weren’t an incubus, huh?”

A single eyebrow is raised on his part.

“And you were gone before I woke up,” you mumble against his neck, now enticed by his scent again, “I never told anyone because it sounds wild, right? You have to admit that part at the very least.”

That made him take a second to process, “I never thought of it like that,” he mumbles, pressing feather-light kisses up your arm.

“It was something I thought about for a while,” you meekly replied to his unasked question.

“Well,” he begins, “you don’t have to worry any longer,” and presses his lips to your clavicle, fingers unclasping your bra behind you, this time you let him, sighing into his golden touch, boobs pressed against his chest. He groans at the feeling or your unclothed, hardened nipples cutting in on his pecs. You sling your bra across the room, not giving much thought or care towards where it ended up as there were more pressing matters you cared about.

Your neck is tipped back as his tongue dips to the valley of your breasts, he places an endearing kiss to your sternum and sets his sights onto your nipples.

Hand resting on the nape of his neck, you arch into the feeling of his wet mouth latching onto your nipple, peak caught between his tongue and teeth as he teases you, and tug on his hair.

He savours this, moaning before switching to your other nipple, not wanting to leave one without the same amount of attention. At this point, your panties are embarrassingly soaked from all of the stimulation.

“You’re so good to me,” you whine, not talking about just this very moment. You’re reminiscing about the past couple of months you’ve spent in his care too and something tells you that he knows that too.

He releases your nipple from his lips and glances up at you, “Is that so, angel?”

“Mhm,” you mumble, not sure what he wants you to say or what you should say to keep the mood going, “all the time. Miss you so much because of it,” you pout slightly, not wanting to draw too much from the conversation in case things went sideways.

You bring your hands to his cheeks, resting either side and pinch lightly, toying with him. “Keep me happy,” you state before leaning down to kiss him again. His eyes flutter close and you trail your hands down his abdomen, pressing harder with your nails as you slide them down to the hem of his jumper.

“Off,” you mutter against his lips. He gladly complies, you were topless and it was only fair he comes level with your nakedness. When you part momentarily to lift it over his head, your hungry eyes zone in on how constricted his hardened dick was within the confines of his sweatpants.

Jaehyun notices this, ruffled hair askew and mind now clear from the fog you had bestowed upon him when you had kissed him. He knew what he wanted, did you want it too?

Without hesitation, you palm the outline of his dick over the sweatpants, wanting to see his reaction. You were best pleased when he fights the urge to roll his eyes but bites his lip to stop himself from thrusting into your silky touch. Not that he’d felt that today, just yet.

You stifle a giggle, “Eager, pretty boy.”

One kiss is placed to his lips before you slip off of his lap, knees thudding as they land on the floor. You hook your index fingers around the waistband of his sweats and underpants, the tell-tale Tommy band staring back at you, knowing he would comply but you only pull them down just enough to free his weeping cock.

It springs up, slapping against his abdomen, veins prominent from the grining you had been doing earlier. Your mouth waters at the sight and you lick your lips, praying that it lives up to your expectations.

You give him a few slow strokes of your nails up him and one of his hands reaching up to push a few stray strands of hair form your face.

He groans when you finally wrap your slender fingers around his shaft, thumb wiping the leaking tip of his swollen mushroom head. It throbbed a pretty shade of pink, much like his lips, after you pressed a delicate kiss to the top.

“So, so good to me, angel,” are the words that leave his lips when you lick your own before dipping your head to lick up the underside. You offered a devilish smile and lowered your hot mouth onto his throbbing length slowly, wanting to savour every second and push Jaehyun to his limit.

You hum in agreeance to his statement, sending a shiver up his spine and eliciting a moan from him, his hands quickly tangling themselves in your loose hair as he makes a make-shift ponytail to keep your hair out of your face.

Once your jaw has adjusted to the burn of his girth, he helps you bob your head up and down, curling the ponytail around one hand and using that as leverage. Flattening your tongue, you press it to the underneath of his length. You experiment with seeing how much you can take as it’s been a long time since you’ve been intimate with someone like this. One of your manicured hands reaches down to tickle his balls – a trick Hyejin had taught you the last time you were having one of those conversations – and he all but thrusts up into your throat, making you clench your legs and rub them together for some friction as your eyes close tight, forcing tears to run down your face.

“Oh fuck, I don’t think I can ah-” he lifts you off of his dick and brings your mouth to his, pressing hard against your own.

You’re flushed from his abrupt actions but that doesn’t stop you from stripping yourself of your leggings when he practically begs you to. Unsure what he wants next, you fiddle until he instructs you, “Those too,” he gestures to your panties. They weren’t grand but, had you not been about to get it on with possibly the hottest and most caring man you’ve come across, you would’ve been embarrassed about him seeing them in any normal situation.

Once they’re discarded, he stands, shimmys out of his sweats and pants and brings you close to him and guides a leg to wrap around his waist, rock hard dick pressed between your two sweaty bodies.

He kisses you hard, a clash on tongue and teeth; it’s one of the messiest kisses you had ever been on the receiving end of but ultimately still one of the best you’ve been able to experience, and lowers the two of you onto the sofa.

Again, you’re perched on your heels. He breaks the kiss, looking between your bodies to align himself with your entrance. “I’m sorry, angel,” he mutters against the column of your throat.

“Wha-”

He waits no longer before slipping himself into your core impossibly easily, as he sets a killer pace.

Squealing, you let your head fall onto his shoulder as you try your best to thrust down as much as he thrusts up into you but it was proving difficult as he suckled sweetly on the juncture where your neck and shoulder met – sending your senses into overdrive.

“S-so tight,” he breathes out, trickles of sweat forming in his hairline. One of the few brain cells you have working tells you the clench on his next thrust, only making him moan louder than before. In response, he ups the pace, setting his sights on destroying your sweet pussy.

Knowing full-well that he hadn’t tasted your arousal like he had originally intended, he brings his finger to dance across your clit, stimulating the bundle of nerves until you were whining, hips stuttering as your vision hazes, unsure of how to control yourself. Still unable to match his deadly pace, you settle on tensing your legs and hovering above him where he pounds upwards, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing around the room.

You knew that by the time he was going to be finished, your ass was going to be tainted red from where his balls were slapping your underside as he pounds into you.

“Jaehyun,” you barely manage to breathe out, “fu… fuck.” Not what you were going for so you give it another try, “Jae… kiss.”

His eyes linger on your disheveled features. You open your eyes and look down at him, worried that he hadn’t heard you. His eyes meet yours; you pout, “Kiss me, p-ah–” one particularly strong thrust ignites inside you, the tell-tale sign of your orgasm about to snap through you; halts your half-hearted attempt at riding him.

He captures your lips with his, nibbling on your lip before licking it as if to heal it. His fingers are still rubbing tiny circles in your clit that send you over the edge and into complete euphoria, spine arching.

Within milliseconds, your vision is blurring and eyes unfocus, switching for white dots across your line of sight to pair with the white hot pleasure ripping through your core. “Ah,” you whine, “oh... Jae-Jaehyun,” your voice breaks, not being able to comprehend the possibility of more thanone thing happening at once.

As you clamp down on him unintentionally, he groans, unable to hold back any longer and empties his load inside your trembling pussy, cursing as he does.

Moments pass before he can bring himself to say anything, “You’re so perfect, angel. So pretty and perfect.”

You lift your head to look at him. At his fucked-out face you melt into him, swety bodies gradually becoming one and sliding off of his softening cock so you can wrap your arms around his neck and nuzzle closer to him. He brings his arms around your waist, pressing his face into the crook of your neck and breathing sharply through his nose.

“You’re so good to me. Can’t remember the last time someone fucked me that good,” you whisper against the shell of his ear. You have one hand raking your fingers through his hair. You breathe out a laugh as he shivers at the feeling.

Knowing that was probably an ego boost enough, you press a languid kiss to the side of his mouth, not really paying much attention to where your lips landed. Continuing to pepper him with kisses, he stirs slightly, not wanting all of this attention to go to waste.

“Hey, c’mere,” he says, holding you from your waist before slowly lowering you onto the sofa beside him so your back is flat.

You’re barely holding it together, Jaehyun’s cum trickling down the side of your leg from your sore hole. He pushes your legs apart, one falls haphazardly off of the sofa and the other is pressed between his side and the back of the sofa. He doesn’t care, though, bringing two fingers up to meet your quivering core.

“What are you doi – ah!”

A lazy grin spreads across Jaehyun’s face, his fingers now covered in yours and his essence as he stuffs it back into you. The overstimulation makes you quiver but he was determined about making you suffer. “So pretty with my cum stuffed inside you, angel, so pretty.”

By now, you’re convinced he’s drunk but you don’t put it past yourself to consider yourself just as drunk on him as he is on you. You squirm, not wanting him to continue as his fingers repeat their actions. “O-oh, too much,” you whimper, “sore, so fucking sore baby.”

You knew you probably could’ve handled a little more but he obliges, not wanting to scare you away (as if that was even possible) and finishes by pushing his fingers past your lips, coaxing you to lick them clean.

Gladly, you do as he was silently suggesting.

He groans, his dick twitching but he ignores it, knowing you’re still healing and by the state of you currently, you probably weren’t up for another round. Instead, he picks you up bridal style and takes you to the bathroom, feet wobbling a few times on the way before getting to the bathroom.

“Gotta clean up, angel.”

You mumble, putting your legs to use and absently moving to switch the shower head on, soaking both of you in the stall. The water is freezing but you make no complaints, wanting to settle the heat radiating from your body. Jaehyun says nothing too. He just helps you clean yourself as you’re making a half-hearted effort – this makes him chuckle.

Twenty minutes later, the both of you are laying on his bed (the one he gave up for you), snuggled into each other.

For the first time in a long time, you slept in the crook on an arm where you felt safe, possibly loved (that would have to be addressed another time).

While you lay, breathing slowly as you listen to his heartbeat, Jaehyun has his head propped up with one arm and his other arm rests on your side, t-shirt that he had lent you riding up on the side, fingers running up and down as he takes in the feel of your smooth skin under his fingertips.

Jaehyun was smitten.

a/n: hi hello. how, uh, how was it? feel free to leave me some feedback or pop in my ask box. you’re all my angels. i just like posting to post sometimes but interaction is p darn cool too. lyl <3

i follow from @00solarsmiles​

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copyright © 2021, 01solarsmiles on tumblr. please don’t repost or translate.

net: @neowritingsnet

[chanelsebbie]

Hi! I loved the stuff on your other account, and I wanted to see if you could write something with Tom being needy, but when you snap at him, he becomes all big, macho, and dominant?? Thanks!

Needy

➵Warnings: Smut, needy tom, suggestive content, dub-con but not really, degrading

➵Masterlist

➵a/n: I loved this, you want me dead, b?? I love you tho and thank you for the request 🥺

“Tom, stop,” you mumbled, trying your hardest to pay attention to the script in front of you. 

But Tom planned on doing the opposite, his lips still on your neck, sucking small pink and red marks on your skin, his fingers drifting up and down your inner thighs, too close to where you needed him most. 

“Come on, darling, lighten up a little bit. You’ve been staring at that script for hours, I think you need a break from it,” he argued, turning your head with his finger under your chin, leaning in to have your lips on his. 

“Yeah, because it’s my job,” you argued, “How I make money. You can’t always be the breadwinner,” you shifted away from him. 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he smirked devilishly, leaning over to your ear, whispering, “I can make you cum so hard you cry, darling, it would be all about you,”

He takes one of your hands, placing it right on his painfully hard bulge, “See what you do to me? Feel what you do to me?” he muttered. 

The shifting of your thighs didn’t go unnoticed by him as you swallowed hard. You wanted nothing more than to have him dip down between you legs and lick you until you passed out. But you really needed to finish this script before you started work tomorrow.

“Tommy, I can’t. I really have to finish this,” you said as politely as you could muster, knowing that you had been needy at times like this.

The eldest Holland brother scoffed at your dedication, even if he would do the same thing in your situation, seeing as you two had the same job.

“Just take a break,” he protested your argument, “the script will be there when you get back, darling,”

Now you were getting annoyed, Tom’s antics becoming a distraction rather than motive. You knew he wasn’t going to stop.

“Thomas. Stanley. Holland.” You finally gritted, his eyes growing wide at someone using his full official birth name besides his mother, “I said no,”

“Right,” he scoffed in disbelief, getting up and heading towards the bedroom before slamming the door behind him, not bothering to look back your way.

Something about the way he slammed that door told you that there was no more playful tone, and once you were done, you were going to be in for it.

You finished the script around an hour later, but stayed out there longer than necessary because you really, really didn’t want to see what Tom was cooking up in his devious little brain about a tit for a tat. 

Finally, you mustered up the courage to get up off the couch and set your script on the kitchen counter before finally slipping down the hall to the last door, hesitantly twisting the knob.

The first thing she was greeted with was Tom’s back to the doorway, most likely either pretending to be asleep or actually asleep.

You slipped into bed and under the covers, a warm lamp lighting the room as you scooted as close behind him as possible, wrapping your arms around him as you leaned in and kissed his neck gently.

If he wasn’t awake before, he definitely was now.

And yet he resumed in a dormant state, pretending you weren’t even there as he continued to stay in the same position.

“Tommy,” you silently whined, your fingers tracing his bare chest, trying to coax him to give in just like he did you.

“Tommy?” He scoffed, “I thought I was Thomas.”

You closed your eyes and let out a breath of regret, poking your head over him as you kissed under his earlobe, knowing it was his sweet spot.

“Come on, darling,” you teased, mocking his British accent.

Before you could think, Tom was grabbing you by the throat and hovering over you, a lustful sadistic look in his eyes as he searched your wide ones.

“I have half a mind to tie you to the bed and edge you all night, then leaving you there while I sleep on the couch,” he growled lowly.

You whimpered, knowing that was the last thing you wanted, and he knew it too.

“Or maybe I could just use you as a little plaything to get myself off and not touch you for the next week.”

“All this over me snapping back?” You challenged.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling merciful, princess, after all, it is your first time truly pissed me off, huh?” His grip tightened slightly, making you squeak.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to fuck you until I cum. And if you cum as well, so be it, but it won’t be my problem. Understood?”

Your face sported a look of annoyance, but in all reality, you felt like this is what you needed. To be put back in place. To be dominated. 

“Understood?” he gritted when he recieved no answer, snapping you back into reality from your diviating thoughts. 

“Mhm,” you nodded, biting your lip to keep from letting loose a smile that would surely get you in deeper shit.

Without another word, Tom released your throat, letting his hand drift down your body, and you shivered right as he got to your v-line, his soft, intentional touches driving you insane. And needy.

Soon enough, his fingers found your clothed clit, drinking in the reaction you were giving him, your eyes on his.

Even though he was insistent on only pleasuring himself, you knew that he just loved make you cum just a little too much, making his promise futile.

His mouth was propped open, small pants tumbling from his lips as he took control, shifting your panties to the side and inserting a finger, curling it, not giving you any time to adjust before he was thrusting at a fair pace.

You whimpered and whined, writhing under him as he did his best to stay concentrated on pleasuring you. Put your sounds were so heavenly.... so distracting.

His pace quickened as he soaked in your musings, your arms going around his shoulders, hands going to the back of his head, pulling him in and locking your lips with his as your moans were now muffled with his mouth.

Suddenly, he pulled back, panting, “See? This is all I wanted, darling. Now cum,” you nodded as he did the same, “cum all over my fingers, slut.”

Like a dog on command, your core tightened around him as you threw your head back, letting out long, breathless sounds of pleasure as he helped you ride it out, now grinding his painful hard-on onto the skin of your thigh.

He abruptly yanked out his fingers, then stripping you forcefully as he threw you around like a rag doll, and once you were perfectly bare for him, he stood back to admire his favorite girl.

“Stunning,” he sighed out, before stripping himself, now going to hover over the top of you, his patience for release thinning.

He lined himself up with you, your eyes meeting his, a wordless confirmation that this is what you truly wanted.

It was a stretch, it always was, but it felt amazing to have him inside you, slippin in centimeter by centimeter, making you feel every ridge and vein. His want and his need for nobody but you. 

You were breathless as he started to move, sliding in and out as he stretched you, his heavy breaths making you squirm on his cock. His eyes were locked with yours, his chocolate brown eyes staring into yours, a disagreement leading to such a romantic, passionate moment. 

He began to go quicker, adding to the pressure in your core, leaning down and kissing your neck, whispering soft nothings into your skin as he continued to move. 

“Just like that,”

“So good for me, my perfect girl.”

“Fuck, clench around me like that again, darling,”

“I love you. I love you so fucking much,”

The outpour of affection made you weaker and weaker as you slipped into another headspace, whimpers and moans the only noise you could make as his paced quickened and hardened. 

“Fuck, I’m close, darling, are you close?” he panted, and you nodded, letting out a small ‘mhm’.

You clenched hard around him, both of you plummeting over the edge. Both of you let out a symphony of moans and gasps as you both slipped into a state of euphoria, the both of you grasping at each other as you did. 

The both of you struggled to catch your breath, Tom pulling back and looking at your closed ones, smiling to himself, knowing that he made you feel as good as he did. 

“Fuck,” you sighed. 

“So. Still feel like talking back?”

[wolfstar-in-color]

July Colorful Column: Remus is a Crip, and We Can Write Him Better.

There is one thing that can get me to close a fic so voraciously I don’t even make sure I’m not closing other essential tabs in the process. It doesn’t matter how much I’m loving the fic, how well written I think it is, or how desperately I want to know how it ends. Once I read this sentence, I am done.

It’s written in a variety of different ways, but it always goes something like this: “You don’t want me,” Remus said, “I am too sick/broken/poor/old/[insert chosen self-demeaning adjective here].”

You’re familiar with the trope. The trope is canonical. And if you’ve been around the wolfstar fandom for longer than a few minutes, you’ve read the trope. Maybe you love the trope! Maybe you’ve written the trope! Maybe you’re about to stop reading this column, because the trope rings true to you and you feel a little attacked!

Now, let’s get one thing out of the way right now: I am not saying the trope is wrong. I am not saying it’s bad. I am not saying we should stop writing it. We all have things we don’t like to see in our chosen fics. Maybe you can’t stand Leather Jacket Motorbike Sirius? Maybe you think Elbow Patch Remus is overdone? Or maybe your pet peeves are based in something a little deeper - maybe you think Poor Latino Remus is an irresponsible depiction, or that PWPs are too reductive? Whatever it is, we all have our things.

Let me tell you about my thing. When I first became very ill several years ago, there were various low points in which I felt I had become inherently unlovable. This is, more or less, a normal reaction. When your body stops doing things it used to be able to do - or starts doing things you were quite alright without, thank you very much - it changes the way you relate to your body. You don’t want to hear my whole disability history, so yada yada yada, most people eventually come to accept their limitations. It’s a very painful existence, one in which you constantly tell yourself your disability has transformed you into a burdensome, unworthy member of society, and if nothing else, it’s not terribly sustainable. Being disabled takes grit! It takes power! It takes a truly absurd amount of medical self-advocacy! Hating yourself? Thinking yourself unworthy of love? No one has time for that. 

Of course, I’m being hyperbolic. Plenty of disabled people struggle with these feelings many years into their disabilities, and never really get over them. But here’s the thing. We experience those stories ALL THE TIME. Remember Rain Man? Or Million Dollar Baby? Or that one with the actress from Game of Thrones and that British actor who seemed like he was going to have a promising career but then didn't? Those are all stories about sad, bitter disabled people and their sad, bitter lives, two out of three of which end in the character completing suicide because they simply couldn’t imagine having to live as a disabled person. (I mean, come on media, I get that we're less likely to enjoy a leisurely Saturday hike, but our parking is SUBLIME.) When was the last time you engaged with media that depicted a happy disabled person? A complex disabled person? A disabled person who has sex? No really, these aren’t hypothetical questions, can you please drop a rec in the notes?? Because I am desperate.

There are lots of problems with this trope, and they’ve been discussed ad nauseam by people with PhDs. I’m not actually interested in talking about how this trope leads to a more prevalent societal idea that disabled people are unworthy of love, or contributes to the kind of political thought processes that keep disabled people purposefully disenfranchised. I’m just a bitch on Tumblr, and I have a bone to pick: the thing I really hate about the trope? It’s boring. I’m bored. You know how, like, halfway through Grey’s Anatomy you realized they were just recycling the same plot points over and over again and there was just no WAY anyone working at a hospital prone to THAT MANY disasters would stay on staff? It's like that. I love a recycled trope as much as the next person (There Was Only One Bed, anyone?). But I need. Something. Else.

Remus is disabled. BOLD claim. WILD speculation. Except, not really. You simply - no matter how you flip it, slice it, puree it, or deconstruct it - cannot tell me Remus Lupin is not disabled. Most of us, by this point, are probably familiar with the way that One Canonical Author intended One Dashing Werewolf to be “a metaphor for those illnesses that carry stigma, like HIV and AIDS” [I’m sorry to link you to an outside source quoting She Who Must Not Be Named, but we’re professionals here]. Which is... a thing. It’s been discussed. And, listen, there’s no denying that this parallel is a problematic interpretation of people who have HIV/AIDS and all such similar “those illnesses” (though I’ll admit that I, too, am perennially apt to turn into a raging beast liable to harm anything that crosses my path, but that’s more linked to the at-least-once-monthly recollection that One Day At A Time got cancelled). Critiques aside, Remus Lupin is a character who - due to a condition that affects him physically, mentally, emotionally, and intellectually - is repeatedly marginalized, oppressed, denied political and social power, and ostracized due to unfounded fear that he is infectious to others. Does that sound familiar?

We’re not going to argue about whether or not “Remus is canonically disabled as fuck” is a fair reading. And the reason we’re not going to argue about whether or not it’s a fair reading is because I haven’t read canon in 10-plus years and you will win the argument. Canon is only marginally relevant here. The icon of this blog is brown, curly haired Remus Lupin kissing his trans boyfriend, Sirius Black. We are obviously not too terribly invested in canon. The wolfstar fandom is now a community with over 25,000 AO3 fics, entire careers launched from drawing or writing or cosplaying this non-canonical pairing. We love to play around here with storylines and universes and races and genders and sexualities and all kinds of things, but most of the time? Remus is still disabled. He’s disabled as a werewolf in canon-compliant works, he’s disabled in the AUs where he was injured or abused or kidnapped or harmed as a child, he’s disabled in the stories that read him as chronically ill or bipolar or traumatized or blind or Deaf. I’d go so far as to say that he is one of very few characters in the Wide Wonderful World of media who is, in as close to his essence as one can be, always disabled. And that means? Don’t shoot the messenger... but we could stand to be a tiny bit more responsible with how we portray him. 

Disabled people are complicated. As much as I’d like to pretend we are always level-headed, confident, and ready to assert our inherent worth, we are still just humans. We have bad days. We doubt our worth. We sometimes go out with guys who complain about our steroid-induced weight gain (it was a long time ago, Tumblr, okay??). But, we also have joy and fun and good days and sex and happiness and families and so many other things. 

Remus is a disabled character, and as such, it’s only fair that he’d have those unworthy moments. But - I propose - Remus is also a crip. What is a crip? A crip - like a queer - is someone who eschews the limited boundaries placed on their bodies, who rejects a hierarchy of oppression in favor of an intersectional analysis of lived experience, who isn’t interested in being the tragic figure responsible for helping people with dominant identities realize how good they have it. Crips interpret their disabilities however they want, rethinking bodies and medicine and pleasure and pain and even time itself. Crips are political, community-minded, and in search of liberation. 

Remus is a character who struggles with his disability, sure. But he’s also a character who leverages his physical condition to attempt to shift communities towards his political leanings, advocates for the rights of those who share his physical condition, and has super hot sex with his wrongfully convicted boyfriend ultimately goes on to build community and family. Having a condition that quite literally cripples you, over which you have no control, and through which you are often read as a social pariah? That’s disability. But using said condition as a means through which to build advocacy and community? Now that’s some crip shit. 

Personally, I love disabled!Remus Lupin. But I love crip!Remus Lupin even more. I’d love to see more of a Remus who owns his disability, who covets what makes him unique, and who never ever again tells a potential romantic partner they are too good for him because of his disability. This trope - unlike There Was Only One Bed! - sometimes actually hurts to read. Where’s Remus who thinks a potential romantic partner isn’t good enough for him? Where’s Remus who insists his partners learn more about his condition in order to treat him properly? Where’s sexy wheelchair user Remus? Where’s Remus who uses his werewolf transformations as an excuse to travel the world? Where’s crip Remus??

We don’t have to put “you don’t want me” Remus entirely to bed. It is but one of many repeated tropes that are - in the words of The Hot Priest from Fleabag - morally a bit dubious. And let’s face it - we don’t always come to fandom for its moral superiority (as much as we sometimes like to think we do). 

This is not a condemnation - it is an invitation. Able-bodied folks are all but an injury, illness, or couple decades away from being disabled. And when you get here, I sincerely hope you don’t waste your time on “you don’t want me”ing back and forth with the people you love. I’m inviting you to come to the crip side now. We have snacks, and without all the “you don’t want me” talk, we get to the juicy parts much faster. 

Colorfully,

Mod Theo

[lucy90712]

Georgenotfound- cooking stream

wc- 1920

~ George woke me up this morning at around 9am which is unusual for him he is never up at this time let alone waking me up for anything other than for me to join his stream. I knew exactly why he was waking me up as well because today he is doing a cooking stream and he wanted my help.

We had already rented an airbnb so that people couldn't work out where we lived and now today we had to get ingredients and move his set up over to the airbnb for the stream. I told George to decide what he wanted to make and I would look up recipes and make a list of ingredients because I just knew that he would do something wrong and the stream would turn out awful, I also had a backup plan that I haven't told George about just incase things go south.

I was still recovering from my sleeping state when the warm covers were ripped off my body and I was pulled forcefully from the comfortable mattress underneath me by my own boyfriend. What a traitor. He dragged me somewhere else in the house I wasn't quite sure where because my eyes were still adjusting to being open and needing to be used but I soon worked out we were in the kitchen and George was getting breakfast for the both of us.

"You know you could have just asked me to get up instead of dragging me out of bed" I said

"I know but thats no fun and plus I never get to wake you up so I thought I'd have fun with it" he replied

Classic George. Any chance he gets he will try and annoy me or make fun of me for some reason but I love me him so I deal with it. He got two bowls from the cupboard and poured cereal into them as well as some milk and giving me one of the bowls without a spoon but I moved past that after all it was early morning and George doesn't function at that time.

I went into the cutlery draw and got two spoons for us because George had yet to realise he was going to have to eat his cereal with his hands. I found him sat at the table that we have looking around clearly wondering where he had put the spoon he was sure he had grabbed.

I decided to play a little bit of a prank on him by putting his spoon somewhere random in the room and sat down with mine to make him even more concerned. He looked at me and the look on his face was priceless he was so bamboozled about what he'd done.

"Are you alright?" I asked

"No I can't remember where I put my spoon" he said

"Wow you really aren't a morning person are you" I said

He looked at me as I got up and walked over to where I put the spoon and grabbed it giving it to him.

"Did I seriously put it over there?" He asked

"No you never even got them out the draw so I'll let you decided if thats better or worse" I said

We ate breakfast together before George went to shower and I got dressed for the day because I showered last night. George had told me that he got outfits for us for the actual stream so I didn't bother getting dressed up in any way I just put on some leggings and one of George's hoodies that I took from his wardrobe. Sometimes he gets annoyed at me when I steal his favourite hoodies but this one is one of his many versions of his merch so he won't be too annoyed at me.

George came out the shower as I was doing my makeup and he grabbed his grey merch hoodie that he wears all the time so we would be matching today. He didn't seem to notice at first but as soon as he was ready he came over to sit with me as I finished off my makeup like he often does and that was when he properly looked at me.

"Did you steal my hoodie?" He asked

"Yes I did what are you going to do about it?" I said

"Nothing because you look cute in it" he said

I smiled at him and he took my hand to take me out the door to go to the shops and get everything that he needed for his stream. George never let go of my hand the whole car ride and the whole time at the shops, he can be very affectionate when he wants to be like some days he won't want to let go of me and other days he will be so consumed with work that we barely talk. Today's stream is going to be difficult if he's this attached to me but we'll work it out.

While getting all of the things we needed someone came up to George while I was further up the isle getting the right spices. George can get kind of awkward around fans in real life but then he gets even more nervous when he's with me even though the fans know he just finds it weird for people to see us out together.

I left him to talk to the fan and just looked at the wall of various spices that really meant nothing to me but I didn't want George to feel too awkward. That was until I looked over and he had a look of desperation so I walked over to him and he put his arm around my waist, he squeezed me slightly for reassurance. He used me as an excuse to stop the conversation he was having and the fan left us alone.

He told me all about the interaction and said it was super awkward because they didn't really know who he was just recognised him and was asking all sorts of personal questions he wasn't comfortable answering.

After leaving the shop we went home to get most of George's set up before heading to the air bnb to set everything up ready for later. George went into the house while I sat in the car mainly because he said he didn't need my help.

We spent a good few hours setting everything up and starting testing streams to see if everything was working and if camera angles were good. Once it was all ready George went to get the outfits he had brought for us, he handed me mine and I went to put it on. He had got me a proper chef top with buttons and everything and some black leggings to wear with it as well as a chef hat of course.

George started his stream without me so that I could watch it just incase something had broken in the time between when we finished setting it up and now. When I decided that everything was working fine I went into the kitchen to go and join him and get this thing started.

"Chat we also have a special guest this stream" he said

I walked into the view of the camera and the chat started spamming my name and this ship name they have given me and George which kind of doesn't work but they like it so we go with it.

"Hey chat" I said

We got on with cooking and George grabbed what we needed and started preparing things as I read the instructions to him. He did keep getting distracted by various different things and people that were calling him but we managed to do most of it in the end.

First we made mozzarella sticks which was pretty easy and then we moved onto cooking a steak and making chips which wasn't as easy. I offered to cook the steak because I didn't trust George but he wouldn't let me incase I hurt myself which I thought was funny because if anyone was going to get hurt it was him.

Anyway the both of us survived that and frying the mozzarella sticks which was more dangerous and then we got made fun of by Sapnap, dream, bbh and Quackity for calling crepes pancakes even though they are pancakes. (I will not be taking criticism on this) they kept insisting that what we were making wasn't pancakes but we held strong with our argument and won in the end with the help of the British viewers in chat.

When everything was made and we had tried it all we just kind of stood about talking to dream who was the only one left in the call. By now George couldn't bare to be away from me any longer so he put his arm around me and pulled me into his chest, he was not about to let go anytime soon so I gave in and put my head into his chest settling in.

Dream got George to follow his instructions he gave him which involved taking off his hat and headphones then he told him to mess up his hair, as soon as he said this I knew what he was doing and I appreciated it. George always styles his hair when he gets up but I love it when its messy although he never leaves it like that.

George messed up his hair and then went to the sink to get it wet and then messed it up more, he looked so good like that I almost got scared that his stream would see me blushing over just how hot he looked.

"What? I've never seen your hair like that" dream said

"I mean I like your messy hair" I said

"Wait you like it?" George asked

"Yeah of course I do" I said

"Well I guess I'm doing my hair like this from now on" he said

I smiled ruffling up his hair more to make it look exactly how I like it which his chat also appreciated, they were loving this just as much as I was. George ended his stream after like 4 hours making it just past 11pm. We packed up all of George's set up and cleaned the place before starting the drive back home.

By the time we got boys back home I was super tired but I had promised George that I would help him take all of his stuff back inside and set it back up which was going to take a while and I was not looking forward to it.

It took us two hours to set everything back up, I thought I was tired before but now I was exhausted I could barely move I just wanted to be in bed asleep. I tried to get up from my position on the floor but my legs were too weak so George had to pick me up and carry me to our bedroom where he put me down on the bed and chucked a hoodie at my face for me to wear. I got into the covers and pulled them up to just under my chin getting comfy as George got in too placing his arm over me and hugging me from behind which is how we normally sleep. My eyes gradually got heavier as George whispered things into my ear until I couldn't keep them open anymore and sleep took over.

[jinmukangwrites]

@damianwayneweek Day 4 (6-16): Reverse batfamily | Hugs | Soulmate

Warnings: Canon typical violence, major injuries, background character death, ✨angst✨

Note: this one ran away from me. It got a mind of its own. If I had more time, this would be so much longer. I've always wanted to write a reverse batfam story with Damian's perspective. Please enjoy.

---

Damian has only spent a month living with his blood father, and he's felt nothing but miserable this entire time. Somehow, life has managed to become even more stressful and exhausting compared to living within the League of Assassins. He... understands why his mother felt he'd be safer here for the time being, but at least, back in Nanda Parbat he knew what he was doing and what the rules were.

He's not sure where he stands with his father. It's obvious that his father doesn't know where he stands with Damian either. Damian, his entire life, had grown up with the knowledge of Bruce Wayne being his father. Batman. Caped Crusader of Gotham. Hero. Bringer of Justice. His mother's dearest, most precious love after Damian himself. She spoke often of him. Highly. Only when alone and no one else to hear them. His father isn't exactly on high standings with his grandfather nor other high ranking members of the League.

Yet, his father knew nothing of him until the day they met. His mother brought him to the streets of Gotham, lured Batman to their location, and introduced them there. His father seemed visibly shocked under that cowl at the information of having a son, yet he didn't question it.

Damian didn't know what to expect after his mother left him for his own safety. He didn't know all too much about culture outside of the League. He was, of course, taught the basics to blend in with American society—as well as other countries—if the need so came, but other than that... He didn't know what to do with himself when he first stepped in the manor to find only one servant and a new home empty of anything to fill his time. The cave where his father operates was locked to him from the get-go.

His father doesn't seem to trust him. He explained the situation to the servant, and then sent Damian off with the servant to find a room with the warning that if Damian "did anything", he'd regret it.

Damian's hardly seen his father since. When he's not working as a CEO, he's out as Batman, and Damian sits in the manor all day and night running out of ways to keep himself entertained.

Sometimes he sees his father at supper, but he doesn't ever start any conversation. Damian doesn't start any either, thinking it's purposeful. He doesn't ask about Damian's stay, or if he's comfortable here, or anything. He doesn't update Damian on any new information about his mother and the league. The only words he speaks to Damian are gruff good nights.

Miserable. It's miserable. He doesn't understand why his mother is so in love with such a miserable man for company.

He doesn't speak up on it, however. If his father is anything like his teachers or his grandfather, questioning him or speaking out of turn will just get him in trouble. He'd like to keep his stay at a tolerable level of misery, thank you very much.

So he doesn't say anything to his father, even though he's itching to go out with him at night to... to do whatever he does. He's seen the television, Superman has a kid fighting with him in Metropolis. Why can't Damian do the same with his father as well? He can wear a mask and change his name. He can easily defend himself, even against this country's love for guns.

He still doesn't say anything, and he spends the days miserable.

-o-o-o-o-

It's the butler, Alfred as he has insisted many times during his stay (Damian humors him by calling him by his first name, being as he's the only one to speak to Damian in this drab house), who suggests school a few months after coming here.

"School," his father says blankly, looking at Alfred like he's lost his mind.

"He's a young, growing boy," Alfred says. "It's not good for the lad to be inside all day like this."

Damian sits at the dining table, stiff like he's stepped on a landmine and is now waiting for it to explode. However, he can't help but look up at his father through his lowered eyebrows to meet his sharp gaze. School... doesn't sound like something that would be any fun, but... but anything to get out of this manor sounds almost heavenly.

His hopes fall when his father shakes his head. "No. It's too dangerous."

And something inside Damian snaps just a little. "Dangerous for who?" He demands, slamming his hands on the table. "For me? Or for the other children?"

His father looks stunned, and Damian's stomach drops as Alfred's eyes widen as well.

He's running out of the dining room before anything else can be said.

He's messed up. He's definitely, royally, messed up.

-o-o-o-o-

Punishment for yelling at his father doesn't come like he expects it to. A week goes by, and there's not a single word of his outburst.

It sets him on edge. It fries his nerves. It makes him jumpy and paranoid and frightened at every shadow.

So much so that he finally decides, one day, to pull the sword hanging above the library entrance off the wall and practice with it. It's heavier than what he's used to back in Nanda Parbat. British history is in the shape of the blade, but he still wields it and practices rusty moves on it until he's sweating in the middle of the library. Usually training makes him feel better, but the more time that passes, the more frustrated he gets.

He gets so frustrated that he imagines enemies surrounding him. He imagines the warmth of blood splattering against his skin as he swings. The taste as it touches his tongue. Their screams of death. He gets so deep in this trance that he doesn't notice he's broken something until the sound of crashing glass reaches his ears; he's swung right through a glass display case, the unprotected remains of a signed classic novel resting inside.

His heart jumps when the door opens to see what the commotion is about, and he drops the sword like it's hot when Alfred is the one to poke his head through.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Alfred gives him a long look, and then he sighs. "Come fetch the broom with me, and we can clean this up."

"Will you tell father?" Damian asks slowly. He can tell it's a loaded question when Alfred pauses and purses his lips.

"Not this time," he says finally, after a few heartbeats. "But I do think it's time I speak with him about some other things. Come along, the quicker we clean this up, the quicker I can get you a cup of tea to stop you from looking like a frightened racoon."

-o-o-o-o-

A few days pass, and his father invites him to follow after dinner. Out of everything Damian expects to come from this, being led into the batcave through a grandfather clock in the study wasn't one of them.

"You can train here," his father said, showing him a massive room in the cave filled to the brim with practice tools of all kinds. Dulled swords, throwing stars, bo-staffs, and straw dummies to name a few. There's locked cases on the far side of the training room, of which Damian suspects are full of much more sharp, dangerous, and fun tools.

No matter. He's already feeling his blood shake with excitement at the thought of finally getting some proper practices again.

"You can come down here only when myself or Alfred are here to supervise you," his father explains. "Nothing here leaves this room, and if anything breaks you tell us immediately."

"Can I start now?" Damian asks, barely managing to hold himself back from running towards the closest, one-handed blade.

His father, surprisingly, nods. "I'm going out, and Alfred will be down to help me with the computer. He will be in charge."

Damian can't stop himself from smiling. Finally there's something to do in this house. Feeling hopeful, he decides to ask one more question.

"Can I go with you? One day?"

Silence is his answer for a few heartbeats, making Damian suddenly fearful that he shouldn't have asked that. Then, his father sighs.

"We will see."

-o-o-o-o-

A few more days pass before they do see. He suspects Alfred must have had another conversation with his father, because he approaches him one night and offers to spar.

It's done in full concentration, not a single word exchanged between the two. Both are too busy studying the other's fighting patterns to say anything.

It's now that Damian realizes what his mother meant whenever she spoke about his father's advanced martial arts. It's brutal and expertly executed. It's only a matter of time before he's pinned. He's disappointed in himself, but not surprised to end up losing.

But not all is lost. He can tell his father is impressed when he releases his pin and tosses Damian a rag to wipe off his sweat.

"We need to talk to Alfred about getting you a suit."

-o-o-o-o-

The suit Alfred makes him is made of the strongest, thinnest material Damian had ever seen. It cannot only be Kevlar, because it would be heavier than this. It must have been created by his father himself, or one of his associates.

Whatever the case, he's in awe by it. Alfred is a master of every craft, it seems. He's managed to create the suit to Damian's submitted designs to the T, only making subtle changes here and there where sketches don't match up with reality.

It's mostly black, because according to his father white isn't a good color to go with in Gotham. It's understandable, as much as Damian dislikes it. He's always liked wearing whites and tans for his outfits, accenting here and there with greens and blues to bring out his eyes. Black is such a boring and dull color, but this, he supposes, he will have to deal with.

And it's not all black, at the least. Just the bits around his shoulders, cape, hood, sides, and legs. On his chest, however, is a splash of dark maroon, as well his boots and gloves. His belt is yellow, like his father's, and filled only with smoke pellets, a grappling gun, and a hanging pair of sticks that triple as escrima, a bo-staff, and nun-chucks. Not his preferred weapon, but his father doesn't seem to be very trustful with him and sharp ones yet.

He goes out into the city, out of the manor, for the first time in what feels like forever. His father keeps a sharp eye on him, reminding him every two seconds to not kill anyone, but Damian doesn't mind too much.

He's just happy to be out, and to finally get glimpses of what his father is truly like outside of the stories of his mother and the silent dinners.

He's ruthless, but not heartless. Strong, but not abusive. He prioritizes justice, above all else, and teaches Damian that even the criminals deserve it. The victims get saved, and his father leaves the criminals to be picked up by the cops to be brought to rehabilitation or wherever else they must go.

Damian's careful to remember these teachings, even though he doesn't understand them. He's been raised to think the only thing bad people deserved was punishment, but after taking down a bank robbery, his father researches the names of the robbers and finds that the bank keeper was blackmailing them to give him money on top of the loans they already had with the bank.

The bank keeper was trying to pay off the gangs to protect the bank from other gangs.

So on and so forth.

Gotham seems to be a big cycle of abuse, with no one willing to end it.

Well, no one besides his father.

It doesn't make sense to Damian why his father would try so hard to stop it, but he can at least respect it.

For now.

-o-o-o-o-

Everything goes almost fine until it doesn't.

For the first time in almost half a year, Damian finds himself separated from his father and Alfred. There's a new big bad in Gotham, a man with half of his face burned off by acid. Two-Face, he calls himself. Harvey Dent, his father informed before he left Damian behind to fight him alone.

"This is personal," he said.

And Damian didn't listen. He wanted to see what a real fight was like in Gotham. These petty bank robberies and classic muggings were getting boring and repetitive. He didn't mean to get so close.

His father was in a standoff with Two-Face, and on a stroke of bad luck one of the goons spotted him watching.

"It's Red Bird!" Shouted the goon. Red Bird is the name Gotham had started to call him by in the papers.

A group of the goons charged after him, the rest kept by Two-Face and his father, sneering as they separated his father from helping with their guns and a baby hostage.

And maybe it was seeing the child in Two-Face's arms that made him see red. Maybe it was the disappointment in himself for being spotted. Maybe it was simply all the pent up frustration that's been building without his knowledge since he's gotten here.

Whatever the case, he fought back a little harder than he meant to. What he was supposed to. He brought most of the goons down to the ground, clutching broken bones and bloodied gashes. His old training kicks in, and he goes to hit one of his opponents in a specific place that would kill them.

"RED BIRD!" His father shouts angrily over the commotion.

And Damian stumbles, stopping in his kill-path. His father sounds disappointed and upset and- and Damian almost disobeyed his orders and his father saw it immediately.

Then, before he can be fearful or horrified or confused, his own skull is hit hard enough that the world fades to black.

He wakes up with his arms tied behind his back and his entire person disarmed. His father stands at a makeshift pair of gallows, another man besides him. Both are hooded.

Two-Face flips his coin and asks Damian heads or tails. He says tails, and saves his father, but the other man hangs.

Then, Two-Face beats Damian with a bat, to the point he can't see straight, and the pain drags him back into unconsciousness. The last thought he has is that he's failed. He's disappointed his father, and he must have disappointed his mother as well if she hasn't come back for him yet.

He's failed.

-o-o-o-o-

He wakes in the batcave's med-bay, his entire body numb. He can only lay there with a tube running up his nose and needles in his arm, listening to the machine besides him voice his heartbeat. Vacantly, he can hear arguing voices outside his door, one of a woman he doesn't recognize and the other of his father.

He closes his eyes when the arguing gets too loud, but opens them sometime later when it stops and someone enters the room.

His father stands in the doorway, his face looking more raw and vulnerable than Damian's ever seen it.

"I thought I lost you," is all he says before he runs to the cot and grabs Damian's hand. The one not in a sling, he realizes. He's so numb he didn't even notice he had so many bandages and casts on him.

Not that he focuses on that for long. In fact, all he can focus on is that his father is clutching his hand like a lifeline and whispering over and over how sorry he is.

"I should have been better," his father rambles. "You're not like Jon, you don't have powers. I'm so stupid for letting you out there- I almost got you killed- your mother is going to murder me-"

Damian doesn't even know what to say. He's so flabbergasted by the actions of his father, that he just lays there as his father continues.

"I knew I wasn't cut out for this. I'm not even in my thirties, and I'm a dad. I tried my best to keep you safe, make sure you didn't get yourself into danger- and I fucked it all up. I don't know what I'm doing, Dami. I don't know- I'm sorry-"

And this continues for a little while longer until the door opens again, revealing Alfred and the woman who must have been yelling at his father before. She has gray hair, curled up like a loose afro around her head, revealing her old age. Behind her glasses, her eyes are sad. Together, Alfred and the woman approach the bed, and the woman lays her hand on his father's shoulder.

"We need to check his bandages," she says.

His father nods, wiping quickly under his eyes before he stands up. She gives Alfred a look before she leads Bruce out.

It's only Alfred and Damian for a moment, and Damian releases a breath.

"He's not going to let me out again."

Silence.

Then Alfred comes to his side and looks at the bandages. "I will talk with him. First, let's get you healed up and properly introduce you to Miss Thompkins."

-o-o-o-o-

Red Bird does go out again, once he's healed up. Alfred's talks with his father do wonders, it seems, as life at the manor has gone back to lonely and miserable—what with his father avoiding him at every chance. But he goes out again, swinging into the night with his father silently beside him having just finished retelling him every rule he must follow.

Damian intends to follow them. He doesn't want to lose this. He's come so close to losing this.

He hopes... That maybe... If he follows the rules... Things will start getting better again.

They fight crime like normal, going their normal routes and working silently by each other. By the time it's time to go home, Damian's feeling more alive than he has since Two-Face beat him with the bat.

Before they can return to the manor, however, a familiar signal is lit in the sky by the police department. His father stills and Damian watches him carefully. His father has been careful to keep him out of the business that comes with that signal, even before Two-Face.

His father sighs, then gives Damian a hard look through his cowl.

"Behave," is all he says before they're on their way to the police station.

There's a man on the roof. Commissioner Jim Gordon. He gives his father a greeting, then pauses when Damian steps out besides him.

"Decided to finally introduce us?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. "Just when I thought Red Bird was off the streets for good."

Damian bristles, but his father sighs. "What do you need, Commissioner?"

"Apparently a college teacher went insane and poisoned his students with a gas that made them see their deepest fears. Professor Jonathan Crane. It sounds like something you'd handle quicker, and I can get you the files we have on him after you explain to me why you're still letting a child run around in tights. Especially after you told me he was quote un-quote, 'alive but out of commission'."

"I don't see why it's your business," Damian hisses before he can stop himself.

"Red Bird," Batman scolds, and Damian falls quiet.

His father looks at the Commissioner with a hard look. "He's my responsibility, and I will look after him."

"There were rumors he died, Batman," Gordon argues back. "Two-Face bragged about it all the way to Arkham. He had blood on his face."

His father stiffens his jaw, then says through gritted teeth. "I will never allow something like that to happen ever again. If you want my word, I will give it in saying if anyone like Two-Face tries to hurt him like that again, I will make sure they regret the thought before it can happen. Red Bird will continue to be with me where I can watch him, and you will respect that. Trust me, it's safer for all of us this way."

He looks down at Damian, then almost smiles.

"He will sneak out himself anyways, eventually. Or I won't hear the end of it from a mutual acquaintance."

Damian finds himself smiling back. It seems getting on the good side of Alfred was a good decision on his part. And he's right in the former statement as well. Damian is sure he'd eventually get bored enough of being left behind and go out to prove himself without permission. Red Bird... It's too good to give up. He can't lose it.

It's like a staring contest between Gordon and his father for what feels like an entire minute, but eventually Gordon gives up with a sigh.

"Don't know how you do it. The wife's starting to talk about having a kid... I can't imagine a little one of mine running around doing the things I do, let alone what you do."

He brings a cigarette to his mouth, then pulls out a file with his free hand. "Take the case."

Batman steps up to do as was told, but before Gordon let's go, he gives his father a hard look.

"You better keep your word," he growls, "because if anything happens again to that kid, I'm holding you responsible and I'll bring you in for child endangerment myself."

Batman nods. "I'm counting on it."

-o-o-o-o-

Eventually, the topic of school comes up again.

Which of course brings up the topic that no one actually knows about Bruce Wayne's son. Damian's been kept a secret this entire time, unknown to the public.

"We'll tell them that your mother and I met at the end of highschool, and we have kept you a secret ever since. Due to your mother's weakening health, we decided it would be best for your future to have your custody turned over to me and the mother wishes to remain private. Then, we can-"

"Wait," Damian interrupts. "You're going to let me go to school?"

His father pauses in his verbal plans, then nods.

And suddenly, Damians jumping from his chair with joy, wrapping his arms around his father's neck without thinking about it. However, the second he realizes his action, he attempts to scramble away with horror. He's never hugged his father before. But things have been so good, civil even, to the point where they can be in the same room and have conversations about the weather or the recent sports game or even about a new cartoon Damian found on TV.

But they never hugged.

Afraid he's pressed boundaries, he pushes away, but he doesn't go far before a hand wraps around his shoulder. Damians left halfway on his father's lap where he sits, looking at him with anxiety churning in his stomach and an unreadable expression on his father's face.

Then, gently, Damian's pulled back in so now arms are wrapping around his back. His father's hugs are soft and warm, Damians learns. The opposite of how he fights. Yet he feels so safe and protected that he doesn't resist the action.

"This is really happening," his father says in a whisper. "I have a son. I'm really a dad now. I... I promise I will be better for you. From now on. I'm sorry for how I treated you... In the beginning. I was scared. It's no excuse, but I promise you, I will be better."

And he is. They get ice cream after and then watch a movie before going out as Batman and Red Bird.

Time passes so Damian starts school and makes friends. He meets Clark Kent and his son, Jon, and makes a best friend. He grows older, and happier, to the point he no longer misses the League of Assassins. To the point when his mother does finally return to see him, saying the danger has passed...

Damian tells her he wishes to stay with his father. She smiles, and hugs him, and says that she's proud of him. She promises to visit him as often as she can after they share a good cry.

She leaves, and visits, and time moves on a little more.

Until one day, years later, they notice a kid with a camera following them around and taking pictures. Then, the same kid admits to knowing about their civilian identities when confronted.

His father searches the kid up when they get back to the manor, and after some digging it's revealed his name is Tim Drake and his parents are neglectful and strict.

Damian sees the same look in his father's eyes as when he first told the public he had a son named Damian Wayne, and he gets the feeling the manor is about to get a little more crowded.

This, he thinks, is about to get interesting. It's been awhile since life threw a curve ball. He just didn't expect this one to come in the form of a little brother.

And life goes on.