#ship what you want(if its legal) but don’t make shit up to feel correct

[valewritessss]

We got five books of Percy’s pov where we could directly read how percabeth is a well-developed and good ship and some of y’all still have to go and say the opposite

[tobytheeggo]

Hopelessly devoted is such a cute ship name! I am one more problematic person who likes them…I stand for LGBTQ+ rights, legal abortion and I do not plan on waiting for marriage even though everyone I know off line believes different (my entire country is Catholic lol) I think that’s why I love bad guys so much, you don’t expect them live Godly lives. My question, I know Santino’s family is Catholic but France, more so in old days and esp Chile are also high Catholic countries…how do Vincent and Chidi feel about the Church and its teachings? Are there any that they try to live by in spite of the lives they live? PS I also think smoking is disgusting almost all men here do & I hate hate hate it lol

Ack okay so many things to unpack in one ask but we’re gonna get through it all!

1. The name!

I came up with majority of the JW ship names on here but with HopelesslyDevoted, I was actually thinking about the song from ‘Grease’! The original thought process was something noble for Marquis’ half and loyalty for Chidi’s half, but then I dumbed myself down and came to the conclusion of HopelesslyDevoted

2. Problematic Instances

See when I say problematic, I mean r4p3 and p3dophili4, which are two main problems with the users who write Marquis/Chidi fics on Ao3. What you believe in as stated is completely fine if not morally correct (of course, sex before marriage is a choice so no real morality there since it’s an option), so when I say there’s problematic people who like this ship, I’m alluding to those who have written these two in non-consensual context or in weird age gaps and very triggering situations for the purpose enjoyment (AHEM Laci.)

3. Views on Catholicism by the two

Now I’m gonna be honest, my family isn’t super religious, at least to the point where they’d take me to church EVERY Sunday. The last time I’ve been to church was when I was like 6 (which was a long time ago) and the most I’ve seen my family do as a whole is pray before food. So really I can’t go too much in depth with this, unless you’d want to wait days for me to do the research (I’d get distracted) considering that I’m neither French nor Latino and I don’t know how specific areas/cultures handle their devotion to Catholicism.

The only thing I can safely assume is that Chidi is very nonchalant about it now in his adult life, and Vincent’s probably ditched the whole ideology, maybe?

4. Smoking

I don’t want to offend anyone or start anything stupid, but I hate people that smoke or do drugs solely because it makes me uncomfortable knowing they’re destroying themselves so ‘violently’ (for lack of better words). I hate the fumes, I hate the rage with vapes, I hate that minors get influenced and shit (I’m a minor), and hate that I feel like I have to be chill with it even if I personally don’t like it. The same thing goes for drinking, however I feel less guilty with alcohol. This all boils down to the fact that people get addicted and it changes their lives; like I’m all for doing whatever you want as long as it’s not hurting anyone, but me personally I’m just not that person.

If anyone asks me to expand on this I will try my best to respectfully (not that I’d be mean abt it, just that I suck at wording things)

[betweendoctorsanddetectives]

usually i ignore your tjlc contrnt bc I enjoy following you for other things but I'm curious: as a casual sherlock watcher who has never even engaged with shipping characters from the show, pulling a "s4 was fake all along" thing to me (and likely most casual watchers) would just feel like a desperate retcon after the hate that the season got. Also, intentional borderline-unwatchable storytelling is still borderline unwatchable, expecially if it requires conspiracy threads and pages of analysis to make it anything other than bad. I just don't think a network/producers would approve something like that?

I'm not expecting them to pull "s4 was fake all along" in the slightest and I don't know how I've given that impression (though if you ignore my tjlc content normally then I guess you don't know what I think?)

the rest under the cut because i talk a lot

I never found it borderline unwatchable, I can see why people think it was but it by no means Requires conspiracy threads or pages of analysis to make it good - the analysis is inherent to watching, if you thought it was bad that's a Good thing because it exists as the antithesis to the correct adaptation of sherlock holmes as a character and a franchise. so it succeeded in that if it felt wrong to you. i know that it might be difficult to grasp but the fact that it was bad is why it was good. 

as to understanding it without needing lots of analysis: at the end of the day all the subtext is there for fun, for the select few who want to be part of the great game! the show reads perfectly well at a surface level, and the audience can go through the narrative to it’s fruition without knowing what is coming or understanding anything deeper. the experience of the show is similar to that of acd canon in that it can be read and enjoyed on one level but also has more to discover and enjoy at a deeper level. 

nobody is expected to read into it, but its there specifically for fans of the great game (the experience of solving sherlockian stories) to delve into, and there’s lots built in to have lots of fun with. it comes back to the idea of “warm paste”, which is how mark gatiss refers to bland and mind-numbing television that requires no brains whatsoever to watch and has nothing of substance to it. obviously we all love a bit of shit tv from time to time but thats just the exact opposite of what sherlock is supposed to be! the show itself teaches you how to solve mysteries and then gives you a puzzle: “you were told but you didn’t listen.” 

understanding s4 gets as complicated as you want to make it, but if you aren’t willing to apply very basic narrative ideas to it, then no, it won’t make sense. it requires very little to understand it in the context of unreliable narration (you don’t need to look deeper than that, that part is for fun for people who want it), but if the audience is unwilling to put any effort whatsoever into the media they consume then sherlock isn’t for them. some people think that’s snobby and bad but whatever, that’s what the aforementioned warm paste is for. it doesn’t mean tv shouldn’t be intellectually stimulating or have anything to say

what i actually expect them to do instead of “s4 was fake” is actually “s4 existed in universe as john watson’s writing”. unreliable narration is established in the show, particularly with the cover-up of magnussen’s death, and there are theories abound among sherlockians that within acd canon there were hidden snippets of the Truth and that what was published by watson in-universe is actually heavily censored for a number of reasons such as where they perverted the course of justice by running on their own moral compasses or for political/legal reasons (in the context of the wilde trials, of course neither watson nor acd could ever publish content including outright homosexuality). so s4 is essentially going to figure into canon in the sense that it is in-verse fiction written by john on his blog to cover up some unpleasant or unable to be revealed truth. there’s lots more evidence for this, often referred to as “blog theory” or “alibi theory”, if you’d like to look into this

as to the network/producers approving it:

1) the producer, sue vertue, is moffat’s wife, so I don’t think she is doing anything to stop their hairbrained schemes

2) there has been lots of exploration into how the series came to be what it is. to put it very briefly, there was an investigation by the bbc into LGB representation in the media, in the sense that the bbc is a publicly funded channel and is supposed to reflect the nation that watches it. (obviously there’s debate to be had about the extent to which this achieved, but that’s not relevant right now) the report produced was all about how the bbc needed to do better at making LGB content and representing LGB people. the big takeaway is that the bbc subsequently had the intention of representing such characters in realistic portrayals that didn’t rely solely on stereotypes, to give these characters meaningful storylines, and to create watercooler or landmark content. 

by watercooler content they mean something genuinely groundbreaking, like, say, a show that has the investment of the wider public revealing that the main character(s) are gay in the late game, where those characters are actually a preexisting symbol of britishness and to make them gay with a meaningful build up would be literally groundbreaking. the cherry on top here is that the gay pilot of sherlock (so lovingly named because it is much much more openly gay and camp than the final product) was created before this bbc report was published, and following the publication the commissioner of the report recommissioned sherlock into what it is today - i.e. the show was reshaped from something that could have reached its gay fruition within three episodes and existed solely as a miniseries of that length into a multi-series show with film-length episodes that would span years of storyline in order to give the gayness a more nuanced long and meaningful build up that would culminate in watercooler content.

3) there is precedent for “unwatchable” media with regards to absurdism, and i don’t see why absurdism would not be approved by the network

4) john yorke - if they had this fella behind them and vouching for their plan at the bbc then its obvious how it would get approved. even without yorke personally encouraging this move, the plan they had, based upon yorke’s structure, would have been enough to convince people at the bbc that this was a thing worth doing. and the bbc weren’t wrong to let them! sherlock has been wildly popular and no doubt made both hartswood and the bbc lots of money and awards and s4 was also critically acclaimed and got millions of viewers - in no way has this turned out badly for the bbc

i know i jumped between ideas here but that was the easiest way to answer without spending ages drafting something well written. if there’s any concepts that don’t make sense then they’re probably explained within amy’s metas that i mentioned earlier (medium.com/@toxicsemicolon) so i suggest you give them a read. have links so some other sources on specific things (such as the seminal text softly, softly) so message if you’re genuinely interested in understanding, because i’m not doing citations on all of this right now (i’m tired i’ve been writing essays all month but i really do want to share information when people ask for it so please do if you want)

[bossbex]

5x06 Reaction

JARCHIE!!! I missed their interactions so much... like honestly in S4 they barely spoke.  I’m loving the “roommates” dynamic.  

Ok the kevin/fangs/toni apartment(?) is... amazing!!

I love how they hired actual teenagers (or close to it) to play the high school kids... since all the “teachers” were playing high school students, what, 3 episodes ago?? 

Ok mechanic Betty is SO HOT

DORITOS I AM CRYING AT THIS PRODUCT PLACEMENT

Veronica’s taking over the Blue Velvet!!! Why not reuse that set lmao

Thoughts on this initial barchie interaction: 

I’ve seen all the discourse about it seeming like Archie doesn’t care about Betty’s problems, or not taking them seriously, and people comparing Archie’s “oof - that sucks” to jughead’s “white noise” speech in 1x08 (which I thought was cringy AF and I even liked b*ghead at the time) and here’s what I’ll say: 

His “oof - that sucks” comment as MATCHING Betty’s tone - she says it kind of matter of factly and with a bit of an eyeroll, she does NOT seem very upset about it, and she is a grown ass adult who DOESN’T need Archie’s condolences in that moment - and Archie knows that. 

She then brings up Polly, and Archie ASKS A FOLLOW UP QUESTION: “didn’t your mom say she does this? Takes off for a couple of days” which shows that he is referring to a previous conversation about this - they’ve BEEN talking about it and he DOES care (not to mention they showed that he had texted her about Polly at the end of the last episode)

She says she’s trying not to panic - because she knows this is something Polly does and may not actually be in danger - SO HE OFFERS A DISTRACTION during a time when she is basically asking for one, and then SHE COMES UP WITH THE IDEA OF WHERE TO GO HAVE SEX

Anyway I have argued with enough people on twitter about this lol.. I feel strongly.  Also, this scene was super cute and both Archie and Betty look so good in it.  

I love Tabitha.  Smart, enterprising, witty... I’m all for the Jugitha pairing. (seriously though, is a ship name decided for them? I’ve seen Tabhead and Jabitha as well, lol.  

Uhhhhh ok this car sex scene? It somehow feels even more explicit than the shower scene?? The moaning and breathing?? HOW DARE THESE STONEWALL KIDS INTERRUPT THIS

LMAO NIGHT JOGGING

Is it just me or is Sheriff Keller looking really hot? Silver fox??  

I have to note that Archie’s hair colour looks SO BAD in this whole episode but especially this football scene with the Reggie confrontation.  It’s like, almost burgundy? But somehow bright orange at the same time? I hate it.  

Ok Cole is absolutely nailing this “down on his luck, beaten down” adult Jughead.  His character is funny all the sudden?? I love that he kept the money in the tip jar like OF COURSE

Ok Chad coming into Veronica’s class HE’S THE WORST!!! And then SITTING AT THE BACK I HATE HIM SO MUCH FOR THIS

Alright, now we have another scene that has people talking, which is where Archie meets Chad.  My thoughts: 

Archie clearly sizes up Chad.  I mean, he dated Veronica for 3-ish years (in the show’s timeline) so yeah, it’s normal to meet your ex’s new partner and size them up.  It read more like “he thinks Chads a douche” as opposed to “he’s jealous of Chad because he wants to be with V”.  

They show makes a point of showing Betty’s reaction to them meeting.  THIS SHOT IS NOT RANDOM.  Yes, I’m sure the show will go there, she’ll get jealous of V at some point.  Betty thinking that Archie is jealous of Chad is not the same as Archie actually being jealous of Chad.  

I kind of loved how Chad just jumps in here to join in the karaoke night - he didn’t redeem himself from the previous scene where he SAT IN THE BACK OF HER CLASS WHILE SHE WORKED but I like how they’re not playing him completely evil

Next scene: BETTY AND TONI ARE TALKING!!! I REPEAT!!! BETTY AND TONI ARE TALKING!!! Seriously, it’s so refreshing that they’re actually letting all kinds of new dynamics and character interactions happen this season.  

Also, NEDSLIST!!!! THIS SHOW!!!!

I am living for Cheryl being completely beautiful whilst yelling at construction workers.  

So like... she actually doesn’t have that much money. She couldn’t really afford the donation for the school... I kind of wish that once she says “I can’t afford it” people would like, not keep pushing? I’m looking at you Toni, whom I absolutely adore, I just wish the writers didn’t make it like Cheryl’s being squeezed dry.  I get that it’s needed for plot purposes but I don’t love it.  

Kevin and Betty are friends again!!! Love it!!! 

Karaoke night thoughts: 

At no point is Jughead hanging out or interacting with the rest of the group.  He stays separate from them - with Tabitha, which I appreciate, but I am just noting this because I’m sure it was done purposefully. 

“She probably forgot it’s Gekko now” uhhhh didn’t Toni announce V as “Veronica Gekko” in the last episode?? LOL THE SHADE

I love Veronica’s voice

Ok so Chad actually comes off so great in this scene?? I guess this is part of his manipulation - come off as such a great guy in front of all her friends to get them to like him? 

Jughead’s reaction to the duet is so me every time I’ve watched people do karaoke lmao

During the “or do you need more? Is there something else you’re searching for” they cut to Archie’s and Betty’s reaction.  Archie is not thinking about V in that moment.  

I am not seeing one iota of jealousy from Archie.  He looks genuinely happy for them.  

This Chad and Veronica bed scene makes me uncomfortable.  But I’m glad they’re showing their softer moments! 

The Archie/football recruitment sequence... Chad in the back of Veronica’s classroom again??? HOW IS THIS HAPPENING I HATE THIS!! Also, this is another scene where Chad looks jealous of Archie... not the other way around. 

Britta!!! I love her.  And I feel like the writers inserted her in specifically for Britta Lundin, former Riverdale writer and acclaimed author (read her book Ship It, seriously, it’s so good), and I love that. BUT THE WAY ARCHIE LOOKS AT BETTY IN THIS SCENE IS THAT EVEN LEGAL

We get the first glimpse Toni’s “Operation Bring Cheryl Out Of Hiding” plan here, when Archie asks her for funding for the football team and says its earmarked for something else (hmmmmmmm... this plan has been in the works for a while... and I’m here for it) 

Ok. This scene where Archie goes to ask Cheryl for money is... a mess.  My first reaction is that it was so OOC for Archie to bring up Jason in that way.  Then I got to thinking... Archie probably would want to honour his dad in that way and was genuinely suggesting that as something that might actually be helpful to her, as opposed to purposely trying to manipulate her.  He knows what it’s like to lose a family member, he just didn’t realize that Cheryl doesn’t grieve in the same way. The boy doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body.  Anyway, now he’s been banished from Thornhill! But don’t we see him (and everyone) there in a bts photo from possibly 5x08? Isn’t that at Thornhill? Will this be addressed or will the writers just forget it ever happened?

I love Betty and Kevin investigating together. It’s so refreshing. 

Ok this place Jughead is going to is legit the creepiest shit I’ve ever seen.  I am having trouble making myself care about this “Mothmen” plot??

Betty’s “Straight to the Point” interrogation style is actually effective in this truck stop stakeout scene.  

Alice again with her wine... I wonder if there will actually be an “Alice is an alcoholic” storyline or is the wine just part of her personality now?

Ok like it’s so inappropriate for a teacher to be wearing an HBIC shirt BUT I AM HERE FOR THIS DRAMATIC VIXENS HALLWAY WALK!! And Toni is correct, Cheer is a sport so sit down, Archie.  Notably Toni adds in “not even Cheryl managed to do that” - I’m thinking she new Ms. Bell would be eavesdropping ;)

WHY IS THIS PORTAIT OF JASON WORTH SO MUCH?? 

Is this Minerva character going to be important?? I keep seeing people talking about how she and Cheryl are going to hook up but is that just because she’s a female character who interacts with Cheryl? I’m not seeing it yet but hey, it’s Riverdale.  

JUGHEAD BRINGING UP THE EPIC HIGHS AND LOWS OF HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL I SCREAMED

Seriously though, since we know Jughead wasn’t there when Archie said that, there’s two options: Either Archie told him he said it, or (my preferable theory) Archie used to just SAY THAT REGULARLY and has said it in front of Jug lmao.

Chad again seems legit supportive when she tells him about her jewelry store plan?? THEY’RE SO UP AND DOWN!!! 

Ok, so Betty is an FBI agent (trainee, whatever) and she JUST NOW THOUGHT OF TRACING POLLY’S CELL PHONE

This scene... when Veronica finds out Chad has been talking to Hiram behind her back... this is where she decides she’s done with Chad. 

Another scene with Archie - I am still getting zero vibes that he’s into Veronica? And zero vibes that Veronica’s into Archie? It makes complete sense that Veronica would want to help the bulldogs.  Chad is a total dick here and is definitely threatened by Archie... again, not the other way around.  Side note: Chad, if threatened by Archie, is a TOTAL IDIOT for suggesting Archie renovates the Pembrooke - like, he’s going to be working? All the time? Where Veronica is staying? And probably taking his shirt off because he’s sweaty from all the working?? WHYYYYY WOULD CHAD ENCOURAGE THIS

This little flirty scene between Jughead and Tabitha (and it’s the first that I would say has any flirty undertones whatsoever) is pretty cute.  

THIS BARCHIE PORCH SCENE I HAVE THOUGHTS

The fact that people are suggesting Betty showed up there because she wanted to talk to Jughead is SENDINNNNGGGGGG

Let’s be clear, she only asked about Jughead so she could make sure he wasn’t home so that she could bone Archie. There is no other interpretation for this. 

THIS IS THE BEST BARCHIE KISS TO DATE

They are playing the song from the porch scene in the pilot... DON’T TELL ME BARCHIE IS MEANINGLESS WHEN THEY ARE USING THIS SONG

I think the fact that this is the first time they had sex and we didn’t see it is meaningful - they are showing that the relationship is deepening and they are more than “just sex”

As Betty leaves, Archie looks like he wants to reach out for her and then stops himself - he is definitely falling hard and he’s afraid Betty isn’t feeling the same way

Ok, Cheryl is straight up wearing lingerie in Toni’s office!!! And the red lipstick is back - notably, throughout the entire show, she has worn the red lipstick as a kind of shield - she never has it for her “vulnerable” scenes.  Seems like that is still happening. AND this is where we see Boss Toni’s plan come into fruition - she started up the vixens and MADE SURE CHERYL FOUND OUT ABOUT IT because she knew that was the one thing that would make Cheryl come out of her Thornhill hiding spot.  Well played, Toni.  

Archie and Veronica announcing the bulldog funding... again, I’m not seeing ANY “romantic/attraction” vibes here? He does react when she says her last name is Lodge again but like, anyone would? 

MS. BELL YOU GOSSIP I’M OK WITH YOU REPORTING TO CHERYL BUT I DRAW THE LINE AT HIRAM

Is Reggie... filing his nails? Lmao

I really hope Polly isn’t dead?? Like I very much want a Polly redemption story!! 

Sooooo I guess Archie and Jughead are both going to die in this fire? Lol... well... they’re main characters so I’m sure they’re good.  

I’m doooone for this week! So far really enjoying the timejump? Obviously because of barchie but also, everyone is just - better. 

Well this turned out to be a novel.  If you made it this far, thanks for reading :) 

[maria-scribbles]

loyalty’s all i got | part one

summary: three years ago, you had it all: great friends, good grades, and an almost perfect relationship with your boyfriend, jj. it all came crashing down when your mom relocated your family to california for work and you were forced to trade the outer banks for malibu, leaving your broken heart behind in the place you were just starting to think of as home. now you're back in town for college and to pick up the pieces, hoping to make things right again with your friends and the boy you never stopped loving.

word count: 8.9k+ i'm legit incapable of writing something short 😅

ship: jj maybank x female!reader, pogue friendship

warnings: mentions of child abuse, non-graphic injuries, weed, swearing, underage drinking, learning to be vulnerable, trust issues, first love, jj getting the love and affection he deserves, underage sex (nothing too descriptive but it gets a lil spicy, just fyi), teenage heartbreak, failed long distance relationship, angst with a happy ending, references to some taylor swift songs 'cause she's a queen.

a/n: got a lil plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone so here we are lol. title and inspiration for this fic comes from train's song "rescue dog" that gave me 'jj x reader where they're both damaged goods' vibes the second i heard it. this is semi canon-compliant as the treasure hunt never happened but big john is still alive and kie and sarah still work out their issues and become friends again. i used the names daisy, daniel, deke, and mack as a tribute to agents of shield, one of my favorite shows that had just had its series finale (and i'm still an emotional mess). enjoy and keep an eye out for part two, coming soon!

~masterlist~

part one: when our love was young and easy

For you, having a traveling nurse as a mom was both a blessing and a curse. When you were a kid, you loved bouncing around the country to a new town every so often and finding new places to explore with your rebellious big sister. Back then, she was all you needed to be happy: you'd go anywhere and everywhere as long as Daisy, your best friend, was by your side. 

As you both grew older and started school, you slowly realized that packing up your life every few years sucked. Yeah, seeing new places was cool and all but the novelty wore off fast when you found yourself making friends with your classmates, kids who weren't your sister for once, only to lose touch whenever you moved again. You felt like a ghost, haunting a new school for a while and then leaving behind nothing but a memory, one that gradually faded over time until it was gone, as if you never existed at all. You wondered if anyone actually remembered you. 

It was hard. You gradually became more sullen and withdrawn, finding it more and more difficult to make friends when you knew they wouldn't last, while Daisy acted out even worse than usual and ended up being grounded almost every week. It took her getting arrested while graffitiing the school gym on New Year's Eve for your father - a bit clueless about being a stay-at-home dad to two girls but he tried his best- to put his foot down and tell his wife enough was enough. 

"Our kids need stability, Rebekah. They need a chance to make real friends and stay in one place for longer than two or three years. They need a home."

Thankfully by some miracle, your mother agreed and promised the next move would be the last until you graduated high school. You wanted to believe her so badly but you weren't sure if you could as you packed up your life once again and headed down south from Rhode Island.

That's how you ended up in the Outer Banks of North Carolina, finishing eighth grade at some fancy ass academy that you weren't sure your parents could afford. Daisy, a sophomore, seemed to have no problem fitting in on the north side of the island when she landed a job as a lifeguard at the country club and made fast friends with the rich kids that frequented the pool. It stung a bit when she eventually started ditching you for them (and some older boy named Kelce; you knew she'd snag a boyfriend eventually but you didn't realize it'd be so fast and with someone so...douchey) but you tried not to let it bother you too much, as you were okay getting by on your own and honest-to-God happy for your sister. Making friends was a scary thought when you remembered all the kids you've had to leave behind over the years, all the friendships that crumbled into dust in the wind so you tried to stay at arm's length from your classmates and told yourself you were just fine the way you were. 

The loneliness was hard to ignore though, and you soon found yourself slowly, reluctantly becoming friends with a girl named Kiara that sat beside you in algebra after she helped you cram for a test you completely forgot about, even as warning bells rang loud in your mind. It wasn't long before you started sitting with her and her friend Sarah at lunch, which led to being invited to the beach and the movies and sleepovers and just like that, you remembered what friendship felt like. For the first time, you felt like a normal teenager with a best friend that wasn't your sister and although you liked Sarah, Kiara was the one you were closest to, especially when you found out she hated the kook academy as much as you did.

"Fuck it," She said at one of your sleepovers, sitting on the floor at the end of your bed and rifling through your box of movies. "I'm done with acting like something I'm not, I'm done with being fake, and I'm done with rich kid politics." She tossed Legally Blonde in your direction and then joined you in leaning against the headboard as you slipped the DVD into your laptop.

"Yeah, this whole kook thing kind of sucks." You replied, tapping through the previews to the main menu. "That's why I don't give a shit."

"And that's why I'm so happy you're my friend, Y/N," Kiara said. "You're just yourself and don't try to change for anybody. It's cool."

Cursor hovering over the play button, you paused and glanced over at the other girl. "I'm happy you're my friend, too. I...I only really had my sister growing up so just...thanks, I guess. For being here."

Kiara pulled you into a fierce hug after your impromptu confession and you hugged her back, understanding for the first time what true friendship looked like. 

More kids get added to your posse -three boys named John B, JJ, and Pope- after a catastrophic falling out with Sarah over her fiasco of a birthday party and from the very first time you met them, you realized the south side of the island was where you belonged. The pogues were unabashedly, unapologetically real and you felt the freest you'd ever been when you were hanging out with them and from the way Kiara seemed so much happier, you knew she felt the same way. Those kooks and their status quo could suck it.

You vowed you wouldn't let yourself get too attached to your new friends (cohorts, as your dad jokingly called them), lest you get your heart broken when your mom inevitably moved on to the next job in a year or two; despite her promise, you just had a feeling that it wouldn't last and wished you weren't always waiting for that other shoe to drop. You didn't plan on them becoming your second family and you definitely didn't plan on falling in love for the first time, but life always found new ways to surprise you. 

You were fourteen when you started to notice that one of your friends was cute as fuck. To be honest, you thought all of your friends were pretty cute but there was something about JJ that made you flustered beyond belief every time he crossed your mind. You found yourself more than a little fixated on his golden hair, his bright blue eyes, and the way you always felt at your happiest when he was around; he lived like a wild, out of control hurricane and you wanted to get swept up in the eye of his storm, despite your brain telling you not to.

You never had crushes before, always too busy anticipating worrying about your family's next move to really look at anyone like that but you were definitely looking now while you tried to balance on JJ's surfboard in the gently bobbing waves, your trembling hands planted firmly on his -bare, tan, strong- shoulders as he held it steady.

"Lookin' good, Y/N," He looked up at you with a proud grin before glancing back down at your stance. "Just bend your knees a little more and you'll be perfect."

His praise, along with his calloused palms carefully adjusting your legs made your face feel hot and you shifted on the board to correct your balance, slowly raising your arms until you were standing, albeit a little wobbly, mostly on your own. 

"Holy shit!" You yelled, the smile on your face growing more ecstatic at the encouraging cheers of your friends as they watched from the beach twenty feet away. "I'm doing it! I'm actually doing it!"

"Almost," JJ gave you another one of his killer smiles, the ones that you quickly found out made breathing normally quite the challenge, then let go of your knees to give the board a solid push forward. "Now you are!"

Frantically, you recalled everything he taught you that afternoon and managed to make it halfway to shore before you lost your balance and fell into the surf with a giddy laugh. "Guess I need a little more practice," You giggled as he splashed his way over and offered you a hand, a teasing glint in his blue eyes. 

"Just a little?"

You flicked some water at him for that and your laugh grew when he wrapped you up in his arms and spun you around before flinging you both into the waves. The others immediately ran to join you and an all out war broke out, everyone splashing each other with no holds barred.  

When he casually suggested giving you another lesson the next day as you all laid on the sand to catch your breath, you were unable to say no and the soft, dimpled smile on his face made your heart skip a beat in a way you'd never felt before. For the first time, you told the warning bells in your head to just shut the fuck up and allowed yourself to think about the future, to dream about what you could become and where you could be in two, five, even ten years. You let yourself have hope.

The next morning, you put on your favorite bikini -the green high waisted one that made your butt look good- and caught a ride with Daisy and Kelce to the beach, ignoring the teasing looks and jabs your sister sent your way and the sly smirk on her boyfriend's face. 

"Hey, Juliet, looks like your Romeo's already waiting for you." 

You rolled your eyes and hopped out of Kelce's Range Rover, flipping them both the bird behind your back without a second glance. As they drove away, their laughter followed you to where JJ was indeed waiting by the walkway to the shore, surfboard under his arm, and his face broke out into a wide grin when he laid eyes on you, one that you couldn't help returning.

"Sorry I'm late, my sister was being a bitch."

He laughed at that and reached out to take your hand, sending warm tingles through your whole body. "I was kinda worried you forgot about me, Y/N."

In a sudden burst of courage you didn't know you had, you laced your fingers with his and started pulling him toward the water as you sent him a wink over your shoulder. "I would never."

You started your lesson on the sand, reviewing how to stand up and balance on the board, before moving to the ocean. You catch your first waves on your stomach to get used to the movement and when you get comfortable with that you move to your knees and then your feet; each time JJ was there to catch you when you inevitably bit it, hugging you close to his bare chest and speaking enthusiastic words of encouragement in your ear, and with every passing try you became more and more confident until you finally nailed a small wave from beginning to end without falling on your ass. 

"I did it!" In a flash, you jumped off the board and into his arms, your mouth curving into a joyful grin when he spun you in circles like yesterday with your own arms locked tight around his neck.

"Hell yeah you did!" The proud smile on his face made your stomach do a little flip and so did the way he held you close, his hands hooked under your thighs. "You're gonna be a pro in no time."

"Well," You said, twirling your fingers in the fine blond hair at his nape and hoping you didn't just imagine the shiver that ran down his spine. "I do have a great teacher."

His pretty blue eyes locked onto yours and you couldn't look away even if you wanted to (which you absolutely didn't). You'd been reading about moments like that ever since you were a kid, alone in your room with nothing better to do than drown yourself in overly sappy fanfiction until 2 AM, so you knew all about the magnetism, the butterflies, the invisible string tying two lovers together by fate, but it was just a fantasy, a pipe dream, something to yearn for when the loneliness became too much. Never in a million years did you imagine you would ever feel like that.

And yet you did. You felt it in your whole body, coursing through your veins like liquid fire, and when JJ started to lean in, you didn't hesitate to meet him halfway. It wasn't your first kiss -that happened two years ago when you were still living in Rhode Island, during a rare party you actually got invited to and with a pretty girl in your class- but it was the first that set every single one of your nerves alight. He held you tighter against him as your hands moved to cup his face, letting him deepen the kiss with a tilt of his head and the soft swipe of his tongue against your lips. You never thought you'd find yourself in the middle of a make out session in broad daylight and in full view of everyone on the beach but there you were, not giving a single shit about who was watching. All you cared about was memorizing every detail about the way he kissed you, the feel of his mouth on yours and the heat of his palms against your thighs, the rough touch of drying saltwater on his skin under your thumbs and that little noise he made low in his throat when you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist. You could've kissed him for hours (holy shit did you want to do that) and never run out of new idiosyncrasies to notice.

You pulled back some glorious time later with a breathless smile and swollen lips, heart racing against your ribcage and forehead pressed to JJ's as he smiled back, an endearing pink flushed across his face. 

"I've wanted to do that for a while." His quiet admission made the butterflies in your stomach go haywire and you leaned down to kiss him once again, no longer able to deny yourself the happiness you longed for for years now that you'd had a taste; he returned the kiss and you laughed against his mouth as he spun you around before gently setting you on your feet in the surf, his forgotten board -thankfully still tethered to your ankle- bumping into your legs with every wave.

"Me, too." 

"Good." He shot you a smile that make you weak in the knees and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind your ear, then it was his turn to lean down to press his lips to yours.

After that day, life was practically a dream. You had the greatest friends you could've asked for, your family was the happiest you'd ever seen them, and you had a boyfriend. A loyal, affectionate, chaotic boyfriend who somehow managed to keep you on your toes while being your guiding light all at once and you wondered how you got so lucky that a boy as wonderful as JJ wanted little old you, with all of your insecurities and shattered edges and tendencies to push people away when they got too close.

You told him that one day as you laid together on your bed, sharing lazy kisses in the warm late-summer sun streaming in through your window while Fleetwood Mac played quietly from your phone resting on the nightstand. Fall was in the air and with it came cool breezes and that nagging fear in the back of your mind that screamed none of it would last. It was the first time you cried in front of him -in front of anyone other than your sister- and he held you tight to his chest, hand running soothingly over your back as you let everything out in one massive, embarrassing flood of years of pent-up emotions. 

Another thing your boyfriend was good at, you found out, was comfort. He didn't say anything as he hugged you close but he didn't need to, the fact that he was simply there and listening was all you needed from him. You spent your whole life living in the shadows until then, when he made you feel seen, heard, and important, validated, all without saying a single word and after your tears had run dry and you pulled your face away from his damp shirt, you killed that urge to flee and buried it so deep you hoped you'd never find it again. 

That day, you poured out your heart for the first time to a person you knew in your very bones you could trust and received nothing but unconditional acceptance in return. JJ took you as you were, flaws and metaphorical scars, dark secrets and past mistakes, and you weren't quite fifteen yet but you wondered if that spark you felt in your blood when he kissed you was love.

It was less than a week later when he showed up at your door late at night, bruised and bloody, and the thrill of a clandestine meeting in your room faded the second you saw the small, pained smile he sent your way. Daisy, swapping roles with you for once, distracted your parents so you could sneak him upstairs like she did with Kelce practically every week and only when you were both safely hidden away in your room did you speak, keeping your voice as soft as your touch against his bruised cheek. "What happened?"

You cried in front of him for the second time when he finally answered, after you cleaned him up with the first aid kit your mom always kept under your bathroom sink and helped him change into some of your dad's old clothes your sister swiped from the laundry room ("if you need anything, just text me, 'k?" she said and you sent her a grateful smile before she left, quietly shutting the door behind her.). JJ was your echo as he spilled all his secrets, too, bringing his demons out of the deep blue darkness and into your golden daylight where they slowly burned to ash, little by little. You held him close, your legs tangled together and his head pillowed on your chest, and you ran your fingers through his hair over and over until he talked himself hoarse and his hands loosened their white-knuckled grip on your sweatshirt. 

Words had never been your strong suit so you let your actions speak for you and gently wiped the tears from his cheeks with your thumbs, leaning down to press your lips to his forehead, then his closed eyelids, his nose, all over his face until there was no inch you hadn't kissed other than his mouth; you saved that for last, letting each delicate touch linger against his slightly chapped lips like bright beacons of light guiding him through a storm in hopes that he'll make it to shore.

"You'll always be safe with me." 

You whispered it into his hair sometime later, through swollen lips that hurt in the best possible way and you felt his slow smile into the curve of your neck, his reply coming in the form of a soft and feather-light kiss against your heated skin. You fell asleep that night with your boyfriend wrapped up in your arms, safe and warm and far away from the father who hurt him in more ways than one. 

Your parents, on the other hand, loved JJ so much to the point you thought they'd adopt him if they could, especially your dad. They were constantly inviting him over for dinner, fishing trips, movie nights: you name it, your parents wanted him there, and you were pretty sure he was spending even more time at your place than at John B's. He won the 'favorite boyfriend' category by default because Kelce barely made the 'tolerated' list, much to your and Daisy's amusement. 

Despite that fact though, you still snuck JJ out your window that morning to meet him at the front door just as your mother was leaving for her shift at the hospital. Rebekah greeted him with her customary hug before touching his bruised cheek with a gentle hand and concern in her eyes.  

"What happened, hon?" 

He shrugged, expertly bullshitting some excuse about defending your honor when one of Kelce's friends started going off about how good your ass looked and it instantly appeased your dad, who reached over to clap your boyfriend on the shoulder.

"Good job, kid." Bill said with a pleased grin, then kissed his wife goodbye and headed back down the hall toward the living room. "Hear that, Daisy? Your boy needs to get better friends!"

"Dad!"

"Even better, just get a better boy in general!"

As your father and sister squabbled, your mother pulled you both into another fierce hug and whispered "You always have a place here," before she headed out the door; JJ looked a bit stunned at Rebekah's words and you reached over to give his hand a gentle squeeze, smiling softly when he slowly did it back.

Your parents weren't stupid. They knew your boyfriend didn't come from the best of homes but they loved him anyway, showering him in ordinary, everyday affection they knew he rarely got. You noticed it more and more as the months passed: your dad always asking him for help fixing Daisy's clunker of a car when it broke down and both would come inside with grease-stained hands and easy smiles, your mom keeping all the first aid kits fully stocked and hugging him a little tighter when he looked a little worse for wear, both of them making sure he was fed and safe and cared for like he deserved. Even Daisy had a penchant for leaving snacks on your bed like some sort of food fairy and offering to give rides to the beach or the Chateau, especially after she finally dumped Kelce and had, as she said, 'nothing better to do.'

And you? You fell harder each passing day, each moment you spent with him, each kiss that made your veins hum with white hot lightning. Of course, your friends teased you mercilessly but neither of you really minded, knowing that each joke was born pure joy at seeing you both together and happy (though you never missed an opportunity to be extra affectionate in front of everyone as revenge.). JJ continued to teach you how to surf until you could hold your own with the rest of the pogues and when you turned fifteen in late spring, they gave you the surprise of your life in the form of your very own board.

You stared in shock at the sea foam green board propped in the sand beside your friends,' gaping like a fish out of water as they all screamed "happy birthday, Y/N!" at the top of their lungs.

"You...you guys -are you for real?" You reached out to run your fingers over the smooth epoxy surface, the mounting pressure behind your eyes becoming harder and harder to ignore when you caught sight of your friends' identical bright grins. What did you do to deserve them?

"We figured it was time you had your own board instead of that shitty hand me down," John B said, ruffling your hair with brotherly affection that made your heart feel full. Pope nodded enthusiastically and added, "You're gonna improve so much with this -not that you weren't already, I mean!"

"She's already good 'cause she has me for a teacher," JJ said with an overexaggerated wink as he pulled you closer and planted a kiss on your cheek. "Taught her everything she knows."

"Oh, please, you just wanted to mack-"

"Taught her how to make out-"

"What they all mean to say, Y/N," Kiara interrupted, sending the boys a pointed look, then gave your shoulder a quick squeeze, "is that we love you. That word won't kill you guys to say, you know."

"I-I love you guys, too. All of you." You admitted thickly, hastily wiping away the tears you just realized were slipping down your face. It didn't scare you to say it. You didn't feel the urge to run or pretend you didn't care for them as much as they cared for you 'cause you loved your friends like you loved your sister, your parents, and the thought filled you with joy instead of terror. "I don't know how to thank you."

You suddenly found yourself in the middle of a colossal group hug, laughing and crying at the same time as four pairs of arms all tried to wrap around you at once.  "How about you start by getting out there and showing us what you're made of?" John B said with a nod toward the ocean and you wiggled your way out of the tangle of limbs, darting forward to pull your new board from the sand.  

"Come on, slowpokes," You called over your shoulder as you jogged toward the water, "You aren't gonna let the newbie have all the fun, right?"

The water was a bit too chilly for surfing but the five of you dove in anyway and you grinned so hard you were sure your face would split in two when you nailed your first wave to the rest of the pogues' cheers. You all surfed until the cold was too much to bear before packing up and heading back to your house, where you spent the rest of your birthday surrounded by all of the people you'd ever loved, making s'mores around the campfire in your backyard. 

"I meant what I said earlier." You blurted when JJ was the only one around to hear it, the others already headed inside for the night. The two of you laid together on a blanket beside the dying fire as you stared up at the stars and when you spoke, he tore his gaze from the sky to focus on you, one eyebrow raised in the cutest confused expression you'd ever seen.

"Meant what?"

Maybe it was the look in those pretty blue eyes of his or the feel of his fingers running through your hair or your brain remembering every single moment you'd ever shared with him all at once but something screamed at you to say those words, the ones you'd been thinking about saying to his face for a long time. Though you'd already said them earlier, this time was different -so, so different- and you took a deep breath, fighting away the nerves that made your hand tremble as you cupped his face and ran your thumb over his cheekbone.

"I love you."

The funny thing about words: once they're out in the air, there's no taking them back. These words, though? You never wanted to take them back. Ever. 

"I love you, too."

It wasn't like the movies. Fireworks didn't go off, the world didn't stop spinning on its axis, nothing magically clicked into place, but you did feel the most wonderful warmth you could ever imagine slowly sinking into your bones when he said it back, the soft smile on his flushed face snatching the very breath from your lungs. He loved you. You loved him. It was simple, uncomplicated, effortless and you smiled into his kiss with the moon and stars as your witnesses. 

Summer came again, setting you and Kiara free from the hell known as the kook academy and its rich kid hierarchy and the two of you ran wild -from sunrise to sunset- with your boys at your sides, like birds escaping their cages or horses let loose in the grasslands, untamed and thirsty for adventure. It had only just begun and yet you already knew it was the best summer of your life. 

Your dad, a man able to make friends with a rock, struck up a camaraderie with Sarah's father of all people during a deep sea fishing trip and snagged five invitations to some fancy party called Midsummers. 

Kiara nearly had a coronary when you shared the news, her face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Oh, thank God!" She breathed, sitting up on her towel and pushing her sunglasses up onto her forehead. "Maybe I'll actually have a good time for once."

The two of you were relaxing on the beach, taking a break while the boys surfed and you turned away from admiring your boyfriend's bare back to look her in the eye. "So what you're saying is-"

"-it fucking sucks. Just..." She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "a bunch of bourgeoise pigs throwing a party to stroke their overinflated egos."

You groaned and flopped back onto your towel, throwing your arm over your eyes. "Great, a night of rich people being rich people."

Kiara laughed and reached over to grab a bottle of water from the cooler. "You have no idea."

Despite her misgivings, the party wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. Sure, the general stench of opulence and wasted money -so much wasted money- was overbearing and quite frankly disgusting but you did your best to ignore it, focusing instead on having a great time with two of your best friends, making fun of the kooks and sneaking liquor when the adults weren't looking. One of those friends happened to be your boyfriend and you found it very, very hard to keep your eyes off him in that suit of his, with his hair slicked back in just the right way that made your knees weak; JJ couldn't stop staring at you either and you'd lost count of how many times you glanced over to find him already looking at you, something you'd never seen before behind his gaze. You wanted -needed- to find out what it was and you were hoping you would tonight, even if you didn't exactly know how. 

"Why don't you two take a picture? It'll last longer." Kiara said sarcastically and you flicked your eyes down to your lap, smoothing a non-existent wrinkle in your deep green dress to hide your embarrassment. What was it about that damn suit that made you feel so flustered?

"You know me, Kie," JJ replied, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the dance floor. "I like to live in the moment." He grinned down at you and you couldn't help smiling back, giggling as he twirled you under his arm before pulling you close, resting his other hand low on your back.

"I didn't know you were such a good dancer," You said, letting him lead you in a simple waltz across the cool grass. 

"Well, I'm not but I might've spent the last week practicing with your sister while Kie distracted you." He admitted casually, shooting a thumbs up over your shoulder and you turned to find Daisy grinning in your direction as she swayed with some guy (Daniel, you thought, or maybe Deke? You weren't sure.) you'd seen hanging around the pool a few times. 'You're welcome,' She mouthed before spinning under her partner's arm, her wine-colored dress fanning out around her legs and you smiled wider, twirling back into your boyfriend's embrace and surging up onto your tiptoes to press your lips to his.

He dipped you low as he returned your kiss, grinning against your mouth when you flung your arms around his neck in surprise, your fingers holding tight to the collar of his suit jacket. "You did all that for me?" You asked once your feet were firmly back on the ground and your heart skipped a beat as his hands brushed the skin exposed by the low-cut back of your dress. 

"Anything for you, Y/N." 

Later, after dancing until your shoes started to dig uncomfortably into your toes, the two of you snuck down to the beach, your heels in your hands and two stolen drinks in JJ's. You felt a bit guilty ditching Kiara but from the wink she sent your way as you passed by, you were pretty sure she didn't really mind. The sand was cool on your legs through the thin layers of your skirt and yet you felt nothing but warm, both from his arm around your shoulders and the alcohol burning down your throat.

"Shit," You coughed, regretting following your boyfriend's example by knocking the whole thing back at once and playfully jabbing your elbow in his side when he outright laughed at your struggle. "I'm not used to drinking straight...whatever this is." 

"It's bourbon, babe." He took the glass from your hand and set it aside before tucking you closer against him to ward off the slight chill of the mellow ocean breeze. "Don't worry, I still love you even if you can't take shots."

"Ha ha. Love you, too, you jerk." You rested your head on his shoulder after they stopped shaking with laughter, perfectly happy to sit in silence together and watch the waves crash against the shore. A pleasant tingle flooded through your body after the bourbon finally stopped burning and you realized you liked the feeling, even if it paled in comparison to the high you reached when he kissed you, when he ran his hand through your hair, when he made it crystal clear you were loved. 

"Hey, Y/N?"

JJ's voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you shifted your head to look up at him, hooking one of your ankles around his. "Yeah?"

"Gimme your hand."

You obliged, your confusion slowly melting away into something more closely resembling pure, unadulterated affection as he tied a bracelet around your wrist. And not just any bracelet, you noticed when you brought it closer to your face to examine it in the dim, distant light of the party: this one was obviously, beautifully handmade, woven with threads in shades of green, blue, and tan and tied off with two green beads on each end. You ran your thumb over a spot where the intricate motif was just a little messed up and smiled when JJ looked embarrassed, the tips of his ears turning red.

"Yeah, sorry about that, I was in a hurry and fucked up the pattern," He confessed sheepishly, spinning a similar bracelet around his own wrist. "I was gonna give it to you on your birthday but I kind of underestimated how long it took to make-"

"It's perfect." You interrupted, tackling him onto the sand with your arms around his neck as you pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, leaving a bright red lipstick mark behind. "I love it. I love you."

The smile he sent you was one of unabashed relief and he slid his fingers into your hair to pull you down for another kiss. "I love you, too."

For awhile after that, you let your lips do the talking in a different way and you made out on the beach for -surprisingly- only the second time until you rolled onto your back and accidentally got a little sand in your underwear (he laughed at that but you immediately got your revenge by stuffing a handful down the front of his shirt). You snuck back to the party hand in hand to drop off the forgotten glasses and wave a quick goodbye to Kiara, who just smirked at your smudged lipstick and the golden crown of leaves sitting crooked on your head, before walking toward your house a mile down the road. Well, JJ walked, you hitched a ride on his back when he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Babe, your feet hurt and you have sand in your ass. No way in hell I'm letting you walk."

You just smiled against his shoulder and let him carry you the rest of the way to your house and then even up the stairs to your room as you fired off a text to Daisy letting her know where you disappeared to. She sent 'check your dresser, thank me later' with a winking emoji back and you felt your face get hot when you caught sight of the small box tucked into the corner of the drawer, quickly placing the phone facedown on your bedside table before tossing your shoes onto the floor by your closet and carefully pulling the crown from your messy hair.

"Thanks for the ride, my feet and ass are in your debt."

"Let's make out again and I'll consider that debt paid."

You laughed but gave in 'cause hell, you really wanted to keep making out, too. You pushed JJ backwards until his knees hit your bed and you ended up on his lap, your hands pushing the suit jacket off his shoulders as you leaned down to kiss him. He slid the pins from your hair one by one until it fell around your face and he tangled his fingers in it, pulling your head back so he could trail his lips down the sensitive skin of your neck and you gasped, pausing in the middle of trying to undo the bowtie around his neck.

Something shifted in the air then and you knew that once you took that next step, there'd be no turning back but you were ready to meet it head on as you finished with his tie and tossed it behind you, then started on the buttons of his shirt. That look from earlier was in his eyes again and you nodded, smiling in anticipation when you finally understood what it meant and he languidly slipped one of the straps of your dress off your shoulder. 

You bared your body like you bared your soul and soon there was no part of you that he didn't know. You learned every part of him, too and together you brought each other to a high you'd never felt before. It wasn't perfect, of course, but it was perfect to you: every awkward, beautiful touch, when you breathed his name like that for the first time, the way your hands clutched his hair like a lifeline. You were burning up from the inside out, every single nerve on fire and blazing brilliantly under your heated skin and you'd never felt more alive when you came undone in his arms.

In the afterglow, you laid wrapped up together like the woven bracelets you both wore, JJ's fingers steadily tracing the curve of your bare hip as yours soothed the darkening red mark you'd left behind on his neck. The fairy lights strung above your bed cast soft, welcoming shadows all around, highlighting that wonderful look in his eyes, open and awed and oh so loving and you knew your gaze held the same.

"I'm, I-" He started, then shook his head and leaned down to place a lingering kiss on your cheek. "I just -shit."

"Whoa, you're speechless," You teased, sweeping a wayward strand of sweaty blond hair away from his forehead. "Guess I really blew your mind, huh?"

"Fucking fried it." He shook his head again with the dopiest, dreamiest smile you'd ever seen and you giggled as he pulled you closer, calloused palm flat against the small of your back. "I'm so fucking in love with you. Straight up head over heels, babe." 

You smiled even wider at his words and how they ignited that flame burning inside you once again. "Good thing I'm fucking head over heels, hopelessly in love with you, too." You replied and pushed him back onto the bed, swinging a leg over his thighs so you were the one on top this time. "And I'm gonna blow your damn mind again."

You weren't sure what you expected life to be like after you had sex for the first time. You'd always heard it was this momentous occasion, that you'd suddenly feel like a real woman or whatever stupid label society came up with to further control girls and their sexuality but honestly, you still felt like the same person. All those rom-coms and their jokes about having that look after getting laid were total and complete bullshit, you realized; to you, sex was just a different, more intimate way to show your love and you just happened to like showing it often (and luckily JJ did, too). You flaunted it in other ways, too, his bandanas tied in your hair and shirts in your closet, your necklaces resting against his collarbone and bracelets you learned to make around his wrists, but there was nothing like the marks you left on each other's skin -necks, inner arms, hipbones- when you were alone together in the dark.

Life went on. Months flew by and things were nearly perfect for you: great friends, good grades, a wonderful relationship with your loving boyfriend. The girl of your past, the one who kept to herself and avoided anything that had to do with being vulnerable like the plague was dead and gone and in her place was the person you always wanted to be. You were happy -ridiculously, deliriously happy- sixteen and so in love with the life you built that you'd almost forgotten about your mom's tendency to relocate your family every few years; that nagging thought was still in the back of your mind but you refused to let it control your life with fear of losing everything -everyone- you'd come to love.

But you knew how the saying went: the bigger you are, the harder you fall.

The higher you climb on an unstable mountain, the more it hurts when it inevitably crumbles beneath you. 

Your mountain didn't just crumble: it was violently torn apart, ripped into pieces by a devastating earthquake, a destructive landslide caused by the one person who promised she wouldn't hurt you anymore but the catalyst that unintentionally set it in motion came from someone you never expected: your sister.

Daisy graduated from the kook academy and got accepted into her dream school, UCLA, alongside her boyfriend Daniel (see, you knew his name wasn't Deke) but you didn't think too much of it. After all, you knew that day would come eventually, the day your big sister would head off to college and leave you, her shadow, behind but the thought didn't fill you with dread like it used to. You had friends, a found family to soothe the inescapable sting of the Daisy-shaped hole in your heart and keep your spirits high when she hopped on that plane to California in the fall.

You still had the summer though and you made it count, days spent with your friends and nights spent with your sister, doing all the things you used to do together when you were little; watching movies, playing games, making a total mess in the kitchen when you baked batches and batches of cookies that had both your boyfriend and hers always hanging around like dogs begging for scraps. You and Daisy started putting them to work the second they ate two dozen snickerdoodles by themselves (Daniel was an excellent cook while JJ was a total disaster) and those nights always ended with the four of you squished together on the couch, wrapped in blankets and cookies and warmth while a scary movie played on in the background. 

The day before Daisy left for LA, you met your parents and sister at The Wreck for what you thought would be your last family dinner until Thanksgiving break but it turned out you were the only one who believed that. You should've known something was wrong the second your dad didn't even make a joke about your friends dropping you off in John B's rust bucket of a van or when JJ pulled you back in for a kiss that was just a little bit too risque for the public eye (You'd laughed when John B and Pope both pretended to gag and just kissed him harder, not giving a single shit about who saw, even your parents.). You should've known when your mother's smile was a little strained or when your sister wouldn't meet your eyes. You should've known but you stupidly didn't see the signs and that made Rebekah's words so much harder to swallow.

"We're moving to California."

You dropped the loaded nacho in your hand back onto your plate as you stared at her, gaping like a fish. "E-Excuse me but what the actual fuck?"

"Language, Y/N." 

"I don't give a shit about my language, Mom, I give a shit about the fact that you broke your promise!" You hissed, roughly pushing your plate away and almost knocking your glass of water over. 

"Sweetheart-"

"You promised." 

Your mother winced at the tightness of your voice and how you snatched your clenched fist out from under her hand. "I know, dear, but I couldn't pass on this offer and I know how much you're going to miss your sister-"

"Yeah, I'll miss Daisy but I don't want to move across the country just to be near her! God, let her be her own person for once!"

"Y/N-"

"And what about me, huh? I'm happy here! This is my home! I have friends, a boyfriend -I'm not leaving!"

"Honey, I understand you're upset-"

"Do you?" You interrupted your dad with a bitter laugh, fighting the tears you felt pricking at your eyes. "Do you understand what you're forcing me to lose?"

Bill looked away as Kiara arrived with your food and set the plates down in awkward silence. You gave her a tight smile when she quickly patted your back and then returned to the kitchen, sending you a concerned glance over her shoulder before she disappeared through the double doors and you turned to face Daisy. 

"Day, did you know?" Your sister avoiding your sudden, sharp gaze was all the answer you needed and your heart dropped like an anchor, weighing heavy on your stomach. You felt sick. You felt furious. But most of all, you felt betrayed.  

Suddenly, the sight of your favorite meal in front of you wasn't so appetizing anymore and you abruptly stood, your chair scraping roughly against the floor. Heads turned to look in your direction but you ignored their curious stares as you snarled with all the venom you could muster across the table at your mother, "I knew I never should've trusted a word you said."

You turned away from her hurt expression -the sheer audacity she had, acting like she was the one whose heart was shattering- and ran out the front door of The Wreck before anyone could stop you, pretending not to hear their voices calling after your retreating back. You didn't know where your feet were taking you but you really didn't care, just as long as it was far, far away from your family.

You ran until your aching legs forced you to stop and you doubled over, hands on your thighs as you tried to catch your breath and it wasn't until you saw the water dripping onto the sidewalk beneath you did you realize you were crying. Footsteps slowed to a stop beside you and your braced yourself to hear Daisy's apology or worse, your mother's, but got Kiara's winded voice instead.

"Did you ever think about doing cross country? 'Cause holy shit," She gasped with her hands on her hips. "You can run." 

Despite feeling like your whole fucking world was falling apart around you, you still managed a snort of laughter at your friend's remark and eagerly returned her embrace when she wrapped her arms around your shoulders, burying your face against her neck. She held you as you cried, running a soothing hand up and down your back until the rest of your friends pulled up in the Volkswagen and you found yourself crying on a different shoulder, one you knew better than your own. 

The white hot fury had left your body and now all you felt was numb. Numb and empty and hollow as you quietly explained everything on the ride back to the Chateau, avoiding your friends' sympathetic stares by playing with a loose thread at the bottom of JJ's shirt. He ran a hand through your hair while you leaned against him and you let his touch slowly bleed life back into your heart. 

"You're not leaving, okay? My parents love you so you can stay with me." Kiara declared later as you all lounged around the bonfire, passing a joint back and forth.

"Or me. My dad would probably let you stay if you helped out around the shop," Pope piped up, handing it over to you without taking a drag as John B added, "Me, too. We have an extra room."

"Tijuana's always nice, too, babe." JJ suggested, grabbing your hand holding the joint and bringing it to his mouth so he could take a hit. "Just a thought."

You smiled softly and took your own hit, slowly blowing smoke into the air. "You guys are the best. I doubt my parents'll change their minds...but I guess it wouldn't hurt to try." It would definitely hurt if your desperate bid to stay didn't work but you tried not to think about that and focused instead on having a good time with your friends, forgetting all about your phone that was switched to silent and burning a hole in your purse. 

Later, after the others headed inside for the night and it was just you and JJ left, you were reminded of your fifteenth birthday. You'd laid like you were now, on a blanket under the stars beside a dying fire and you told him you loved him for the first time and as much as it tore you apart to know it might all come to an end, you didn't regret it. You didn't regret befriending Kiara back in eighth grade or letting the pogues become so important to you or falling so hard for the boy holding you in his arms. And right then, all you wanted to do was hold onto that feeling by showing him your love and getting loved in return. 

You propped yourself up on your elbow and leaned down to kiss him, your other hand slipping under his shirt in the flickering glow of the flames and you smiled against his lips when he immediately rolled onto his back so you were on top, his hand doing some exploring of its own under your sundress.  

"I don't want to feel anything but you tonight." You answered the question in his eyes when you broke apart some time later, both breathing heavily with your skirt hitched up over your thighs and his shirt tossed somewhere on the grass behind you. "Please."

"Here?"

You'd never fucked outside before but you figured now would be the perfect time to try and to be honest, you were too impatient to make it to a bed so you nodded, slowly rolling your hips against his. "Right here."

You lost yourself in the ardent touch of his calloused hands with the haze of smoke hanging in the cool night air, letting everything slip away until he was the only thing that remained. He was all you needed, tan skin slick with sweat and mouth searing hot, your nails trailing scratches down his back while your lips left smudged marks of blood red on his face. He took you higher and higher, doing exactly what you asked him to, over and over until you nearly forgot your own name and when you finally came back down, he held you close until your limbs stopped shaking and your heart slowed back to its normal rhythm.

"I don't want to lose you." You admitted quietly into the dark, wiping at a stubborn lipstick stain on the corner of his mouth and your thumb caught on his lip when JJ shook his head, then leaned down to drop a kiss at your hairline.

"You won't."

You wanted to believe him so badly it hurt but you didn't know if you could so instead you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled him down to press your mouth to his, his cheek, his jawline, everywhere you could reach, drowning yourself in the right now in hopes that the future would never come. 

"I love you, Y/N. Don't you dare forget it." He whispered it against the shell of your ear before trailing his lips down your neck and the light scrape of his teeth on your skin turned your voice into a breathless sigh as you repeated his words into the air, your back arching from the blanket when he hit a particularly sensitive spot and sent electricity racing through your veins. You may have spoken your love softly but you showed it fiercely, each touch a little harder than the last, each kiss a little rougher and together you burned through the dark like a funeral pyre.

Hope was a dangerous thing to feel; it was fragile and delicate, hard to keep but oh so easy to lose for someone like you, a girl who spent her whole life searching for a home, only to have it ripped away when she finally found it. It didn't matter what you said or how much you cried or even when Kiara and her parents advocated on your behalf, your time on the island was up and just like that, whatever hope you had left disappeared into thin air and left you wondering if you'd ever get it back again.

-

tagging some mutuals who might be interested: @sinkbeneathwaves​ @jiaraendgame​ @sunnypogue​ @alexa-playafricabytoto​ @maybanks​

[pomrania]

TMA Entities as Normal Horoscopes

(To clarify, the Entities from The Magnus Archives, as represented by horoscopes from @normal-horoscopes. Entities presented in alphabetical order, horoscopes in the order that I found them.)

BEHOLDING

Libra: Your eye for detail is one of your most defining traits! Most people only have two general purpose eyes.

Gemini: Unleash your curiosity upon an unforgiving world and dissect everything you are afraid of with an olive fork until you understand it so well it can’t scare you anymore.

Pisces: You are the last one still awake. What are you still doing up? This late at night, with only one pair of eyes. You might see something you weren’t supposed to.

Gemini: You’ll have to throw out or donate most of your novelty t-shirts when you awake to find several bonus eyes hovering around you in elliptical orbits.

Sagittarius: Careful not to blunt those sharp eyes on an unforgiving task. Passion for learning is all well and good, but you’re venturing into uncharted territory that may contain things that want your eyes.

Gemini: Most of us have spare eyes. You have far too many.

Taurus: I can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched. Wait, watched isn’t the right word. Watched and something else.

Cancer: Quit your peeping. Something is looking back at you.

BURIED

Virgo: The weight of the world will crush you into a diamond.

Virgo: Your horoscope today is just dust. That’s it. Buncha dust.

Libra: Pressure can be an excellent motivator in the right amount. Also, they meant social pressure, doing paperwork in a deep-sea diving bell will not improve the quality of your work.

Gemini: From dust to dust. You came from the earth and she wants you back.

Taurus: Cave buddies.

Capricorn: Spend some time huffing large amounts of dust to make your insides dustier.

Scorpio: As you lay on your back, head tilted to an uncaring sky, the very earth whispered to you. She reached up her hands and fingers and you gave her everything you could. Sleep now. Mother is here.

Taurus: It goes far deeper than you imagine. Talk about it.

Cancer: You’ve come across something you should not have interrupted. Run. Run now. Go, or the very earth will swallow you whole.

Scorpio: Your natural drive and ambition will lead you to some interesting places! Who knew a person could even fit in that small a hole?

CORRUPTION

Aries: Live in the level of filth that is comfortable to you. Just make sure you are practicing self-love.

Pisces: You will see a cool picture of a plague doctor this week. Hell yeah.

Pisces: Growth is simply growth. Gardens and cancers alike.

Ophiuchus: When she awoke to see the infection had taken her shoulder she did the only sensible thing. She cut off her own head. She holds it by the hair in her left hand.

Ophiuchus: Worms in your brain. Worms in your brain. There are very helpful worms in your brain.

Gemini: The discomfort you can’t seem to shake is likely due to the large nest of bees that have made its home inside your ribs.

Ophiuchus: The value of today’s fortune depends heavily on your opinion of rot.

Virgo: The position of Mars says the virus is spreading and soon you will be reborn ascendant to join in the virulent bacchanalia.

Leo: We can only hate what we see in ourselves. Consider that you may be full of mosquitoes.

Aquarius: A lavish and ostentatious estate. Empty and bare because the previous occupants couldn’t stomach a little plague. Wimps.

Aries: When she touched you she laid several eggs in your skin. Free babes! Nice.

Ophiuchus: Having trouble in an academic setting? Try lying down in a field and letting insects use their tiny voices to whisper the secrets of the world to you.

DARK

Scorpio: A ray of night from the clouds will darken the banks of the river. Look only. Touch nothing.

Capricorn: The massive black roadrunner that followed your car through Utah. You didn’t say a word the whole night.

Leo: When you see the black, many eyed owls, immediately turn around and snuff out any lights. Your light up sneakers will have to go. Sacrifices must be made.

Aries: Take their hand. They will guide you into the night. Finding your own way out will be its own task. Feel as your heart starts to quicken.

Pisces: There is so much the world has to offer. So much beyond this fervor. Steady your hands and rest in the gentle dark.

Leo: The Diminutive Beings of Shadow and Dread are raccoons. They are raccoons. Close your trash cans.

Aries: You visibly absorb light from the area around you, consider medication.

Leo: Something moves soundlessly through your neighborhood, avoiding the streetlights. Check on your pets.

Pisces: The night is a blanket over all of us. There is fear and comfort in the privacy of the dark.

DESOLATION

Scorpio: As much as the stars and I admire your zeal, human hair candles will not catch on.

Taurus: Ensure your friends sit next to you by burning all other chairs and eating the ashes to hide your trickery.

Virgo: Fire is a powerful cleansing force, but that doesn’t make arson legal. The one thing fire cannot purify is the law.

Gemini: It absolutely could hurt to try. Pain is just pain.

Aries: Today your horoscope involves fire and children. The stars wouldn’t clarify anything past that.

Ophiuchus: A chapel made from old shipping containers. The priest is setting herself on fire for the third time in the sermon.

Cancer: It will not actually solve anything, but you can put your problems into perspective by setting everything on fire.

Capricorn: You’ll look back on all of it and wish it to be burned. Start the fire as soon as possible.

Libra: Watch the fire dance between your fingers. You only have so long.

END

Aries: Look buddy, only one of us can leave this pumpkin festival alive, and I’m already dead.

Gemini: What’s the rush? Nothing has happened but you can feel your heartbeat in your ears, you can feel your eyes dilate. Literally nothing has changed but your body seems convinced that you are going to die any second.

Scorpio: No sense in arguing over the supposed opinions of a dead man. Dig him up and ask him why don’t you? It’s a once in a lifetime chance.

Sagittarius: Today you will be legally dead for about 140 seconds but you’ll come back with a complementary mint.

Leo: After selling your soul to the devil, the sheer negative value of your soul will crash the soul market, causing the dead to walk again.

Ophiuchus: The only permanent state of being is death and even that’s debatable.

Pisces: A good strategy here is to simply refuse to die.

Aquarius: Fuck it. Carry a scythe around. Who even gives a shit.

Capricorn: Statistically, there is a chance that something you do today, however small, will lead to the death of an innocent.

Ophiuchus: Death is only the beginning. The beginning of not being alive anymore.

Aries: Your obsession with death will be satisfied. Eventually.

FLESH

Ophiuchus: Have yourself a feast and invent a new catholic saint to justify it.

Taurus: The stars say to get of your high horse and quit genetically engineering horses to have such legs. Horses are poorly designed as they are. It’s irresponsible.

Aries: Your newfound ability to scale a brick wall in seconds flat is kinda scary. Your bones make weird noises and everything. Try not to do it around kids.

Virgo: Do you know what flavor you are Virgo? Well get ready to find out!

Capricorn: You know Capricorn, you’re really one or two big steps away from being a sausage.

Leo: There will be a distinct element of aggression to your emotions today, specifically towards chefs that are a member of the ancient secret society of cannibals who just murdered your science teacher.

Taurus: Money troubles Taurus? Try growing new bones and selling them to bone farmers for extra cash. If you get good enough at it, you can use wholesalers.

Sagittarius: Fear not, there is pulled pork aplenty for those with the courage to seek it.

Virgo: There is a mad little part of our heads that looks at a meat cleaver and says “just chop your hand off”. Don’t listen to that bit. It's a prick and it owes me $120.

Pisces: Your body is not a temple, it is a river. A river made of meat and blood and stuff.

HUNT

Aquarius: Speak softly, carry a big stick, hide a gun inside the stick just in case the bastard is outside of stick range.

Pisces: If you are being chased by something unearthly, go for the selfie. Life is short, especially when you are being chased by something unearthly.

Aries: Nothing evil stalks the forest. The wild is bigger than you could ever imagine. You are nothing to it. No skinwalker or boogeyman or revenant could ever aspire to the persistence and hunger of the wild untamed.

Leo: Allow fear to inform you. To accept fear as sovereign is sin against the self. Fear is very correct about the large hungry mammal chasing you. Run.

Aquarius: Those assassins from the meat of the month club have finally found your new address and are planting the explosives as you read this.

Scorpio: Dreams of chasing smaller weaker things through the woods. Waking aching to remember. You will remember soon.

Sagittarius: The hunt is on! No starbucks will escape your horn-blessed gaze.

Scorpio: You will get into a fight. Go on a quest for revenge. And know the true visceral feeling of the hunt.

Virgo: The blissful are being sold a lie. The only true bliss is the glory of the hunt and a slaked bloodlust.

Pisces: Nothing gets the panties wet like the sound of hundreds of spectral mounts crashing through moonlit woods while the call of the hunt echoes among the trees, striking fear into the hearts of your ghastly quarry.

LONELY

Ophiuchus: You can’t stop feeling just one thing. Stuffing down one emotion means stuffing down them all.

Aquarius: You may be stunned to find that the introduction of a new person into your life will make you less lonely.

Taurus: Spend some time outdoors today. Reflect on the state of the world. See yourself reflected in the world and try to fight the other person who is interrupting your reflection time.

Aquarius: Do you remember the seaside? That strip of sand that made you feel at home? Do you remember how quiet it was?

Virgo: Remember Virgo, you can click the control stick to go into stealth mode. Use this to avoid your problems easier.

Aries: You are beyond the pale, transparent really.

Taurus: It's not fog. It's a curse. A curse that looks like fog. Stay away.

Cancer: The stars and I regret to tell you that you will, actually, have to talk to people at some point.

SLAUGHTER

Capricorn: Some things cannot be prepared for. Who even uses flintlock pistols anymore? Especially in the parking lot of a grocery store?

Pisces: There is a number of knives that it is appropriate to own. It is quite high. Let’s say you need to curate your collection.

Pisces: Romantic bloodsport for two.

Leo: Nobody really cares that you’re not one for fighting. Preparation is its own reward.

Leo: Having trouble with your customers at work? Strike the head for critical damage!

Aries: When things seem confusing, just start swinging at whoever you see. At the very least, you’ll get some breathing room.

Capricorn: It may be that you fight for good, and your opponent fights for a love of bloodshed, all that matters is that you are fighting.

Virgo: Ruthless efficiency produces results but blind rage is more fun.

SPIRAL

Libra: Drawings of wildflowers that don’t exist. Diagrams and advice in a language that nobody speaks. Strewn about your room in impossible places.

Capricorn: Reject the concept of direction. There is no up, there is no down. Orientation is for losers.

Sagittarius: You are correct Sagittarius! That small wooden carving of a fox wasn’t there last night! Yes, it is cursed! Right on the money there.

Capricorn: There is no old woman following you around throwing small potted plants at you.

Scorpio: Relieve stress by planning a trip that isn’t a trip to a place that isn’t a place. Relieve stress by conceiving of time collapsed into a single semipermeable plane of events that anchors all the things that could be.

Leo: When the world stops making sense, play with the perspective. Go Escher on your problem’s ass.

Taurus: Two strangers meet in a Mediterranean country that does not exist. They discuss silver and poison and the nature of madness.

STRANGER

Aquarius: You are never done growing. It takes real effort, and for you, it will take many hours of prowling around the backs of hardware stores for stray screws to eat.

Libra: There is something in the wires practicing its voices by leaving spam calls in your inbox.

Sagittarius: Whoops! Something stole your friend’s face again! Get that ritual dagger and get to work.

Capricorn: Well lookee what we go here, a full shipment of mannequins that look exactly like you except with minor errors in body part proportions. Whoda thunk?

Sagittarius: Enough improvements and you’ll barely recognize yourself. Harvest the parts and avoid the authorities.

Cancer: If you’re gonna copy other people, don’t half-ass it. Ritual cannibalism is the only way to go.

Ophiuchus: The creepy carnival set up outside of town that only certain people can see is not to be trusted, not matter how cool the rollercoaster looks.

Cancer: She’s a fake bitch. Literally, she has a heart of clockwork and armored skin made of porcelain. Even unholy things like her shouldn’t gossip though.

Taurus: Beware the almost. The almost real, the almost breathing, the almost human.

Virgo: Keep a close eye on the puppets. One of them has no strings. 

VAST

Aries: The stars say you may find yourself falling from a great height. Remember to tuck and roll.

Virgo: Do not look down. There is nothing beneath you. Carry on with your day as if the world is sensible and solid beneath you, and it will follow suit.

Aries: The storm sirens wail, the sound of colossal footsteps thunder closer. A low mournful sound that seems to crack the sky.

Pisces: Today you might fall into a bottomless pit. This is not a metaphor.

Aries: Ever feel under the weather? You are lightning.

Aquarius: You can also see the stars if you’re not in a gutter.

Leo: A man on the roof of his home during a tornado warning, laughing.

Aries: The world seems to be getting smaller and smaller. One day you will be confronted with the magnitude of it all. The vast unexplored deep. The wild unknown, and all those that would build a home in its bosom.

Aries: The space between two mountains in the distance. The sky looks different. You can hear the beating of colossal wings.

Aquarius: Your desire for human contact can be satisfied by being struck by lightning for some reason.

WEB

Capricorn: Today you will finally locate and kill the college student with a writing credit on your life.

Capricorn: The stars say to make friends with the harvestmen in your bathroom. They are helping clean up all the lil bug corpses and would appreciate some recognition.

Aquarius: It’s time to make a nest. Don’t ask questions. No thought, only nest.

Gemini: You’ve got a productive day in store Gemini. Will it be on something you actually want to do? Let’s say there is some minor will enslavement involved.

Aquarius: You’ve done an excellent job so far of making friends with the spider people that live in the abandoned subway tunnels. Keep it up!

Gemini: People are depending on you to uphold your promises. The last thing you want to be known as is a trickster. Or is it? That’s exactly the sort of thing a trickster would do!

Leo: You are a puppet, you know exactly who is pulling the strings.

Libra: A tiny spider who has made a friend.

Ophiuchus: The spider lady would like her copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends back.

Aries: See how the cobwebs catch the light? Be sure to thank the spiders.

And some others that didn't necessarily fit with a particular Entity, but gave off such strong TMA vibes that I had to include them anyways:

Gemini: This week you will be faced with your greatest challenge yet, a twink with massive burn scars.

Libra: Preserve yourself for all eternity by outsourcing your aging to other people.

Pisces: One man’s panic inducing siren-song is what another man uses to fall asleep.

Virgo: Confused? Do not worry. Everything not saved will be lost.

Taurus: This week should be one of experimentation! Push the boundaries of what it means to be mortal!

Capricorn: Answer the Door.

Scorpio: Tomorrow will be the last time you dream of the crown of teeth.

Cancer: The thing that watches over the prison transport ships. It used to be two things but now they share a spine.

Aries: Trust your instincts Aries, your dead wife does have a new form made of dried paint and she is slowly hunting you.

Taurus: They died when the radio tower was bombed. Sometimes you can hear them sending messages before the sun rises, whispering over the unused channels.

Virgo: Your capacity for learning will come in handy today when you smash your head through an old Apple II and download the entire internet into your brain, along with several shards of glass.

Libra: Look, nobody said it would be easy, but at least now you’re suffering for something you love.

Pisces: There is a hole in the world where you cannot see, and through this hole there seeps the things that can never be.

Scorpio: Sometimes being too oblivious to even notice a problem can be an asset. Can’t sweat the small stuff if you don’t even notice it.

Libra: Financial problems? Try encasing your credit cards in a block of ice. Encase all money in a block of ice. Keep all wealth frozen in a block of ice.

Ophiuchus: Maybe your prayers would be answered if your god wasn’t such a pussy.

Gemini: Limited options make choices easier! There are only so many places you can get a human heart!

Taurus: Remember, now matter how many false eyes something might have, at least one of them has to be real. It boils down to a question of bullets over time.

Libra: When others can’t decide, you will be there to make the tough choices with your brave disregard for things like “Rational Thought” and “Basic Self-preservation”.

Virgo: Ribs are important. Make sure you have a good grasp on the importance of ribs.

Pisces: Your constant near death experiences may be putting you under some stress. Time for some light reading, or maybe some breathing exercises. Honestly the stars say you’re handling constantly being faced with your own mortality pretty well.

Aries: After hearing that cursed song today, you’ll only destroy 80% of the objects around you. Recovery is a slow process.

Cancer: There is an aggression to you today. There is an aggression to you all the time. There is an aggression to all things, it is simply your turn on the wheel.

Leo: The hunger you feel is not for food.

Capricorn: Woo her. She is terrifying isn’t she?

Gemini: You are hunting the guy down seven years later and bashing his knees in with a pipe.

Capricorn: What happens when you open a door marked “exit” and all you find is another hallway?

Ophiuchus: Nothing makes a friendship like shared intense suffering.

Taurus: Analog recording devices are surprisingly sensitive. Listen to your old tapes again and hear the tiny voices that whisper along with the song.

Taurus: Clawing your way back out has dulled your talons and blunted your fangs, you are a soft and gentle creature for it. You can buy a knife at most stores.

Sagittarius: When you needed patience, you thought of those who loved you. When you needed fury, you thought of those who hurt you. When you needed strength, you thought of yourself. When you needed just one more chance to get it right, you thought of that cat.

Libra: Keep a journal and write down everything you see, it may save the life of whoever finds it.

Libra: Did you feel it? Just now, the world ended. There's no going back. Saddle up and find a mask.

Leo: The night is long, the tea is hot, the eyes are plenty.

Ophiuchus: Your eyes can’t lie to you if you don't have any eyes.

Aries: Now is the time to try new things! Experience new forms of pain! Suffer in new and interesting ways!

Cancer: Someone is missing from that big social meeting you’ve got planned! Luckily they were just preoccupied with being suspended in limbo between life and death.

Libra: If someone says they have power over you, don't believe them until you see for yourself. Test those limits.

Aquarius: The danger you pose to others is dwarfed by your ability and desire to help. Nothing is without its dangers. You know this more than anyone.

Taurus: Turn some of your energy towards improving the space around you, especially if the space around you is bad and the energy is heat. Burn your house down.

Virgo: The stars say an authority member might be causing you some minor trouble. The important thing to remember during professional squabbles is to use your psychic powers to rip them apart with the strength of your will alone.

Taurus: It's a tough thing, allowing yourself to be known. The stars say the time may be coming up, are you ready? Too bad fucko, it's happening anyway.

Ophiuchus: Hiding under the covers actually works with some things. It is technically a threshold and so some things do actually have to be invited.

Cancer: Watch for a box that carries no address. Do not open it. It will be gone tomorrow.

Ophiuchus: Your choices are yours alone. This is important to remember, especially when not making choices.

Scorpio: Goddamit Goddamit shut the fuck up and tell a story.

Sagittarius: That could be you in a few years. Keep your feet about you.

Gemini: There is a deep and old power in that of the image. As long as cameras existed they have been a tool to tell what is really there.

[imaginethathaikyuu]

How did I find your blog? I was looking for soft Kuroo content on google. And your soft birthday hc’s for him came up. And that’s also how I found tumblr

What was the first story of yours that I read? That Kuroo piece ^

Roughly, how long have I been following this blog? Well I found that piece shortly after it was posted so…. Around the beginning of December 2019 I think. Got a tumblr a few months later and you were the first person I followed (had you in my bookmarks bar before that! (still have you in my bookmarks bar and when I share my screen in classes there are occasionally questions. I ignore them))

What’s something I’ve noticed about you personality wise? You’re really clever and funny. But you’re also sweet. But because you’re clever you have no hesitation in setting up and enforcing your boundaries, and I really admire that strength and confidence.

Have we ever interacted, either by PM, ask, or in the comments? What was my perception of you? YES!!! PM, SOOOOO many asks, comments, and you sent me an ask. And reblogged it. And I cried. A lot. My perception: you’re lovely and I want to h*ld your h*nd ….please.

What’s my favorite story of yours? Oh how to choose. Firstly, I’m a nb, biracial, bisexual. Honey, I’ve never made a choice in my life. But let’s try here. Anything you’ve written for Tsukki. Literally all of it is gold. Fight me. I was going to write “especially [piece title]” but I LITERALLY CANNOT CHOOSE ONE. Your Bokuto nightmare piece. Your Kuroo angsty fight. Your Tendou dealing with S/O with parents who yell piece. Your Kinktobers. Your Futakuchi and Mattsun pieces. And your Terushima pieces. Ugh. I CANNOT CHOOSE. OH AND YOUR STREAMER KENMA!!!!!! OKay just… all of it. I can’t choose. I tried, and I failed, and I’m willing to admit failure.

What’s a story I’d love to see you write? I don’t want to say this… because it hurts me… but I just KNOW you’d write brilliant angst. Some of my fav pieces of yours are pained beginnings with happy endings. That fight with Tsukki after a bad day at work. The pieces I mentioned above (nightmare pieces and fighting pieces and angsty home life ha.. ha.ha.ha.). That Oikawa one where the reader wakes up in bed without him and thinks he left. You write these gorgeous atmospheres and descriptive, visceral feelings, and if you chose to use it for evil…. You could get evil shit done. You’re SO powerful. So I want to read it… but also…. I don’t. I’d love to see you write ABO like you mentioned a while back or just see you explore a cutesy soulmate AU or something. I think you’d be really good at writing an AU where you hear what the other person’s listening too. I feel like you’d be so good at making me feel something for someone who was in another city. (think this would be cute with Tsukki cos he’s headphones boy, OR terushima because I like the dynamic of someone flirty, who clearly cares about looks, falling for someone he can’t see) ANYWAY….

Favorite pairing you write for?/fav reader insert? Tsukishima x reader. It’s my fav self-ship. (but also Mattsun, Bokuto, Oikawa, Tanaka, and Akaashi because you write them SO WELL!!!!)

Have any of your stories helped me through a hard time? Of course. Your self-harm piece came at a time I needed it. Iwaizumi’s in particular saved my life. But also your Tendou dealing with S/O parents who fight… came right when I needed it. Also starting college… was hard.. And reading and rereading your fluff really pulled me through it.

Have any of your stories hit closer to home? YES (see above).

Do I genuinely like your blog, it’s aesthetic or posts? It’s overall feel? It’s content? Yes. The aesthetic is, ngl, a wee bit basic. But I kinda love that. And the feel? It feels like home. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Your blog is my safe space. So, yes, I love. It’s content? YES. OF COURSE. Your personality probably could have kept me here even if your content was kinda shit, but I follow you RELIGIOUSLY because of your content. So yes. I adore.

Is English my first language? Kinda??? I grew up in a trilingual household so I kinda learned three languages at the same time while growing up. But no, I don’t need to translate it in my head. Because English was one of the three.

Anything I want to share? Yes. Please keep being kind to yourself, caring for your mental health, enforcing your boundaries, loving Akaashi, and just generally being you. You’re so lovely as you are, and I hope you continue grow, but never change. Also I’m sorry about all your work stuff…. It literally makes me feel sick. And I hope you find a job where that’s not tolerated, or that your work finds a better way of protecting it’s employees. I know you know this, but none of it is your fault. I just hope things improve. AND I love you… a lot. And I’m so proud of you hitting 9K and you deserve so many more followers because your pieces are just... GORGEOUS. I can’t wait until I’m at Barnes and Noble in a few years and I can pick up a hardback copy of your debut novel. I’m so excited to say “I knew Em Akaashi (which is your legal name as far as I’m concerned) before she was so popular among the masses.”

so ive been trying to figure out the correct and worthy way to reply to this ask since the moment i got it......because its so fucking sweet and kind and amazing and pure and perfect and i just dont know how to use WORDS to explain the way it makes me feel so.......i will just reply in bullet points in regards to every question u answered to make it a lil easier :D

- the fact that u found my blog on google ....... like this may be odd and a very specific thing but before i made this blog i always hoped that 1 day my fanfic would pop up in google searches bc thats ALWAYS how i found fics when i was reading them religiously and i felt so much ENVY!!!!! LIKE I WANTED TO BE THERE I WANTED MY FICS TO B POPULAR ENOUGH TO POP UP ON GOOGLE.....that may sound very selfish but its true......so thats just very cool to me... :]

- u’ve been here for so long omg 🥺🥺🥺🥺 if anyone in ur classes ever asks jus promo my blog like its nbd 

- thats so sweet what 🥺🥺🥺 i try my best to advocate for myself and be confident for myself.....ive spent far too much of my time being silently uncomfortable because i was afraid of pushing someone’s buttons seeming rude.....but NO MORE!!!! i know what upsets me, i know my triggers, i know what i dislike experiencing, and im never gonna let myself be anxious or uncomfortable for someone else’s sake, esp if theyre being rude 2 me. i would say its less strength and confidence and moreso me attempting to take control of my anxiety in the places i can (aka on the Internet) bc i am SICK OF ANXIETY ATTACKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

- BBY no dont CRY!!!! im racking my brain trying to think of who u are i wanna know so bad so i can thank u personally for being the kindest person in the world n so i can send u more asks >:(........MY HAND IS URS TO HOLD!!!!! dont tell akaashi tho 

- OMG my TSUKKI pieces.....hes so hard to write why ;-; thank u so much im so glad u enjoy my works<3333

- NOT ANGST NOT LIKE THIS!!!!!!!!! pained beginnings to happy endings are my specialty.....IMAGINE me writing a sad ending like i CANT!!!!!!!!! ive only done it a few times and it is so Difficult.....YALL ARE SO LUCKY IM NOT EVIL!!!!!! ive had this idea for an angsty akaashi fic that i think about and write in my head every night before falling asleep and it Hurts and i wanna write it but i also can’t make myself :D ABO would be very fun but i genuinely do not know how to explore the concept while making it feel like it’s Written By Me.....u know what i mean? same with soulmate aus, i really dislike writing them because theyre just boring to me like they all feel the same everything’s been done for them.....which is FINE!!! but i write enough cliche stuff as it is HAHA, a long distance type soulmate au could be fun and interesting but ldr’s trigger me bc of a past relationship so </3 but hey maybe someone else could use the idea!!!!!

- gotta love tsukishima <3

- im rlly glad my writing could be there for you friend, one of the biggest reasons i write fanfic (and write the kind of fics i write) is bc i know firsthand how much reading sweet stories abt ur comfort characters can help u through the shittiest times - i just wanna offer ppl some support and happy feelings and love cuz sometimes fanfic is the only time we can find those things (and theres nothing shameful abt that either if anyone bullies u for reading fanfic i will fight them)

- I KNOW MY LAYOUT IS LAZY AND BASIC AS FUCK AND THAT IS BECAUSE I DO NOT GIVE A SHIT LMAOOOO so im glad u think its ok...... like i dont have the patience to create a fancy ass layout that actually works are u KIDDING ME??????? I COULD LITERALLY NEVER plus i kinda like that its just the basic kinda ugly boring default layout like it makes it simple and easy and i feel like it brings focus to the only thing on this blog that i care about which is my writing, i rlly only care about the content here and not aesthetics jdbljdabsdk that blue background will be there til i Die......i adore u more btw 

- WHOA trilingual what the hell ur so cool tell me more 

- you have my word, friend, that i will continue to do all of that so long as you do the same. take care of yourself, be kind to yourself - i know u can do it, ur so kind to others and u deserve to be kind to urself, too so this is the part that genuinely brought me to tears because *sappy dumb shit ahead* ok look ever since i can remember the one and only thing ive wanted to do with my life is become an author ...... dreams of book covers with my name written on them and words in pages written by me and fanart of my characters and going into my local bookstore n seeing my book there....these thoughts all haunt my fucking brain because i want it SO BAD!!!!!!!! so bad that it makes me CRY!!!!!!!! ive never wanted something more and just!!!!!!!!!!!! idk how much u meant that part but holy fuck!!!!!! i hope so bad that one day i can send u a free copy of my book as a thank u for being the person u are. u have all my love friend, every last bit of it <333333333

[dialux]

Oh man I just finished your Booker fic and it’s making me feel so many things, its so good!!! Also Booker having nightmares post-Quynh around the others after not having any for like a century? Oof

!!! That’s the good shit there, nonny! Top tier angst!! Sleep deprivation!!! All the things that make for the best stories!!!!

He startles awake, heart racing.

The details of the dream is already fading, but the after-effects are a fucking bitch and a half to manage: Booker’s wide awake, and jumpy enough to probably break the neck of the idiot that’s sneaking up behind him-

“It’s just me.”

“No just about it,” grumbles Booker, but his voice is thankfully low enough that the other three don’t wake. “Why’re you awake?”

“I don’t sleep well,” says Andy carelessly.

Booker swipes a hand over his eyes and gets up. Stumbles to the kitchen. He feels like such shit, and it’s almost beyond him not to dial into the shipping company and just… re-direct some of the downers to the shores of sunny Lima. Blitz out his locus coeruleus with enough norepinephrine that even his swift healing takes about four hours to fix it. Add another two hours of passing in and out of non-REM and Booker can claim to a proper six hours of sleep: it’s enough to survive. With the alcohol numbing him further, he can stretch that sleep out to eight hours on the really, really bad nights.

Absent the drugs, though, he needs other things to focus on. Their bodies can function on less sleep- the same way they can survive on less food- and Booker’s been experimenting with that for the past couple weeks.

It is not, as Joe’s told him multiple times, going well.

“Doesn’t mean you have to be the same.”

Booker pours out the coffee, mixes it with concentrate of yaupon holly, and then adds a shit-ton of sugar to the brew. Andy watches him with dark eyes, but he doesn’t offer it to her; the last thing they all need is a jumped-up six thousand year old warrior high on the strongest caffeine that Booker can, legally, get his hands on.

“What was the dream about?”

“Fuck if I know,” says Booker, and hisses out through his teeth as he drains half the cup. Christ but it tastes terrible, too bitter and too sweet in equal measure. Still, the trembling ache in his shoulders, tight about his ears, softens. “You know how it is. It’s not like I’ve got a paucity of nightmares. None of us do.”

“You’re the one waking up in the middle of the night.”

“And you’re the one not sleeping.”

“I’m used to it, though,” says Andy. 

Booker rolls his eyes. “Dream diaries don’t work. Talking about them doesn’t help. I have tried to literally rewire my brain and it isn’t happening. Turns out that being depressed and missing your family when you die makes it impossible for you to feel anything else.”

Andy rolls her eyes. “Just because you automatically accept the most depressing possible theory doesn’t mean that it’s the correct one, Book.”

“If I could go back in time,” Booker tells her, “I would seduce Nile’s mother and ensure that she remained heartbroken over the handsome French baker who disappeared into the clouds and therefore could not marry Nile’s father.”

“I assume there’s a point to that,” says Andy dryly.

“I liked you a hell of a lot better when you weren’t this fucking optimistic is the point,” says Booker. “And I know that it’s all Nile’s fucking influence. So.”

“So,” says Nile, grinning at him from the bedroom she’s just walked out of, “if I don’t exist, you’d be happier?”

“Your mother doesn’t know what she missed out on,” says Booker, and drains the rest of the brew.

…

A bridge of gold and laughter. A bridge as silver as his wife’s grey hair. A bridge, shining as a gun in broad daylight-

Booker wakes, gasping.

Coffee. Holly. Bitterness down his gullet. 

It’s not really new any longer, is it?

…

He takes a knife to the gut, and then sees another soldier sneaking up behind Andy. There’s no time; he’s still barely standing, much less able to voice a proper warning. Instead, Booker lets the intestines he’s clutching inside spill out in a dark, bloody slither. Stumbles. The soldier slips on the sudden viscera: Booker’s yanking his guts back into his own body, mouth open in a silent scream because it really, really hurts.

He wakes up, gasping.

…

He drowns, and drowns, and drowns.

He wakes up, gasping.

...

“Right,” says Nile. “You need help, Booker.”

“Fuck off,” says Booker. 

He’s on mile twenty-one of a marathon-esque circuit, and his body’s pretty much hitting the wall; he does not want to talk about his issues right now. Joe and Nicky have gotten tired enough of his grumpiness to escape to the city for the day, and Andy’s off on one of her personal missions that nobody knows any details about.

Booker hasn’t slept in about forty-one hours, and it’s not getting better.

It’s why he left the house and went on this run! It’s why he’s trying to drive his body into- well, not an early grave, but a grave nevertheless!

Booker regrets many things in life. Introducing Copley to Nile ranks high among them, especially after the little shit went and learned how to hack phones from a fucking CIA agent.

“I’m telling you this because you aren’t going to listen to anyone else,” says Nile. “And this seemed like a good time to make sure you listened. Look, Booker, there are things out there- therapists- courses, if you aren’t going to talk to anyone. You really, really-”

Booker rips out his headphones, takes the little molten sun that feels rather like something has ruptured in his chest, and pushes the energy into his legs. 

He sprints the rest of the way home. 

He’s pretty sure he’s ripped one of the muscles in his thighs with it, and the agony of that is enough for him to focus on something else apart from Nile. Who does not look impressed.

“You need help,” she says quietly, when he finally stops clutching at his own thigh and drops back into the mud and mulch of the garden.

Booker laughs. He laughs, and keeps on laughing, and only manages to stop by rolling over and suffocating himself in the roots of a fucking- plant. 

Probably a Cycus aculeata, which means that either Booker’s in the wrong hemisphere or Andy’s been introducing invasive species again because she misses her fucking girlfriend too much.

“Yeah,” he says, and sits up, already planning the lecture and the following plant-removal that he’ll have to do. Then he sees Nile’s face, and Booker pauses, reviewing what he’s just agreed to. “No,” he says. “I mean. Yes, I need help. That’s, like, the fucking- understatement of the century. Past two centuries. But. I’m not getting help from anyone else.”

Nile folds her arms over her chest. With the sun streaming right behind her, she looks like a goddess come to life: haloed, beautiful, the slightest bit unreal.

“That’s fine,” she says. “I’ll just ask Joe to become a therapist.”

“Sure,” snorts Booker. “And I’ll ask Andy to become a pacifist.”

Nile points a finger at him. “Don’t be mean.”

“Ask Nicky,” Booker advises her. “I mean, I don’t think you’ll get anywhere, but. You’re less likely to be laughed out of the room.” At her questioning look, he elaborates: “Idiot was a priest, back in the day. And, you know, all those people- well, priests were as close as you’d get to therapists before all of this psychology stuff came about.”

“Right,” says Nile warily. “So why do you think I’ll be laughed at? Nicky sounds like he’s good for the job.”

Booker stares at her. “What did the man do, the second he had a chance to leave?”

“Er. Leave?”

“He went on a fucking Crusade,” says Booker. “He killed people. He- well, you know, did the whole invader thing. Liked it, too. He only really stopped because he decided he liked Joe more, and Joe was, like, I’m not going to let you kill my people for fun anymore, and they worked out their excess energy by fucking in sand, because both of them are absolute idiots.”

Nile blinks at him. “So. Not a therapist.”

Booker grins at her, and knows it’s more of a baring of his teeth than anything comforting. “I guess your best bet is Andy, then.”

“I cannot believe I’m going to have to get a degree in fucking therapy because of you,” hisses Nile.

“I thank you for your sacrifice,” says Booker, and pats her on the shoulder gingerly.

He gets an armful of a furiously emotional Nile a moment later, hugging him so tight around the neck it feels like a throttling. Then she backs away, and goes into the house, leaving Booker in leaves and mulch and a burgeoning headache.

Fucking invasive species, he thinks, and wishes he’d never studied botany. Really. If he was just like Nicky and purposely uneducated in all the ecological implications, he could ignore it. But Booker had to go and study plants and try to synthesize his own compounds and get tangled up in ecology legislation in the 1980s, and so he knows, goddammit, and he’ll have to face Andy’s hangdog expression tonight when he serves up roasted cycad beside whatever Joe’s preparing for dinner.

Fuck my life, he thinks, but it isn’t half so sour as it might have been just a month earlier. Fuck my life, he thinks, and heads back into the house, whistling the whole goddamn way.

[jyndor]

I swear, WHY are these people harassing MINORS. The atla fandom is mostly adults at this point, that they're SEARCHING KIDS OUT is just so absolutely disgusting. Those kids got to miss the initial ship wars, let them go through 2020 in peace.

Anon I feel you. Full disclosure, I have had a bottle of wine and spent four hours talking to my family on zoom so I’m heated. Okay, here we go. Let me say this. I am 29 and neurodivergent/ADHD so I prefer explicitly-stated social rules of engagement. Like I don’t always pick up on social cues and that has gotten me into interpersonal conflicts in the past with my peers.

BUT. I am 29 so I also understand that I am in a different place than I was when I was 15 or 12 or 17. I have different needs, different expectations, from those who interact with me than I did when I was a kid. Fuck, I know how it might have felt back 15 years ago to hear adults say “she’s a kid, she doesn’t know what she needs, her brain isn’t fully developed and she can’t legally consent” yeah that pissed me off and in some ways it wasn’t true but with regard to consent it was. Of course it was. But what I’m hearing from these minors, these teenagers who I don’t know if they’re 12 or 17, but they’re not asking to be treated like adults - they’re asking to be treated with respect.

Now all of what I am about to say is not me excusing this behavior, but analyzing why it happens. And yes, I am about to say that all of these anons are white I can smell the entitlement in the air.

I know why these fools are targeting minors and poc zutara shippers. I know why. You know why. We all know. They are EASY fucking targets. It’s sick, picking on kids. Absolutely sick. Harassment, predatory. And they are also acting in bad faith - if they were working in good faith, they would come off anon and say, “hey x I truly believe that zutara is harmful and I am confused as to why a poc would be cool with something that other poc say is harmful to them, can we have a discourse?” now granted, this is fucked up and essentialist garbage, and no one is entitled to discourse~ with random people on social media.

Now I want to make something clear before I get to my next bit: the zutara fandom is not the r*ylo fandom. First off, the zutara fandom has experienced hateful shit from TPTB since early on in fandom; we don’t have a lot of support from the creators. In fact, the creators have been outwardly misogynistic and hostile to us. Okay, Dante Basco and some of the writers MIGHT ship zutara but that’s like, not institutional support. And also there is a history of SOME fan creations being really fucking racist. That shit, the “dark enemies hate sex” shit that zutara is stereotyped as being about, is almost completely purged from fandom. Not that it doesn’t exist still. And not that it shouldn’t be corrected and that we shouldn’t try to grow as a fandom. Have I seen shitty politics from zutara shippers? Yes. And I cringe every time, but like I don’t expect every person to agree with my politics. We have grown so much as a fandom - and you can tell by the fan creations. Fanworks are not about non-consensual domination anymore (like they often were in the early days of atla), they are about respect and reconciliation. And they have been for YEARS, like I’m talking s2 onward, when zutara took off. *sips wine*

‘cause here’s the thing. Fandoms are groups of people. People, as a result of centuries-old imperialist/racist constructs, are racist. We have to actively unlearn so fucking much. And any fandom is going to have its shitty elements. This is not something non-zutara shippers are exempt from. Actually, the zutara fandom has done a lot of work to make the fandom safe for poc and minors over the years and I am so proud of it. I have never seen that in a fandom. Ever. It’s not to say it’s perfect, of course not.

We did that on our own. Not because kataangers or sokka/zuko shippers were like WTF RACIST lol no because poc in the fandom were like, HEYYY before you write capture fic please learn about x, y and z, and the white parts of fandom were like, oh shit let’s get educated, this ship is about reconciliation and growth, let’s live up to that. I mean honestly from what I’ve seen from the larger atla fandom, which has a hard time dealing with the criticisms about why atla is racist (lol shocking that bryke appropriating cultures for their financial benefit would be considered racist but /s) could learn from the zutara fandom. js.

Honestly I assume most of these anons are just fuckin white asshole anti-zutara trolls who have never actually interacted with the zutara fandom. As a white person I do think that we white people have a certain level of entitlement to spaces that are not ours. Like, I don’t see poc who have had to be in more collectivist or communal settings as a result of colonialism and white supremacy invading spaces they don’t belong to in the same way that white people do. This is a LEARNED behavior, not an essence or in our DNA. Like, many white people get pissy about not being allowed by social contract to say certain slurs, but like... A) it’s not a legally enforced LAW lmfao and B) those white people only get annoyed when they realize they aren’t allowed to say it. That’s an extreme example, but I think it’s emblematic of a larger problem - because of colonialist ideology, white people feel entitled to ALL spaces and ALL things. We get annoyed when things don’t work how we feel they should. I grew up expecting things to change when my social class put pressure on those things, so it is always going to be somewhat jarring for me to know that that isn’t the case for marginalized communities.

I know some of my friends who are black have said things like, “lol cait why are you so shocked and appalled that x is the way it is, that’s how it always has been.” Not always, and not all of my friends, but like it happens. In those instances it’s like, I see something happen that is racist or fucked up, and they’re like... yeah. Obviously. But for someone who is not exposed to something, they might find it hard to swallow. When it comes to fascists and capitalists, I don’t have any sympathy left to offer - just get fucking educated or have a fist to the nose. But ships are not at that level. And like people work with political bubbles, where they often get isolated to what discourse is happening in other bubbles, fandoms and subfandoms (like ship fandoms) also exist in bubbles. (I am not saying that fascists/capitalists are soul searching in their bubbles, but they do exist in clear bubbles on and offline and that is terrifying to me; their discourse cannot be GOOD and I hate not knowing what they are plotting).

Example. I don’t interact with r*ylo unless it interacts with ME, and what I see, I don’t like. (let me be clear, I am not comparing zutara with r*ylo because they are NOT equivalent; I would not be a zutara shipper if I thought they were similar). But I don’t go into shipper tags and harass children who support r*ylo. I hate it, I really do it fucking sends me up a wall, but I only ever interact with anti-r*ylo content. and in that way, I don’t know what discourse the r*ylo fandom is doing to correct its horseshit. I only know what I see, and I see r*ylo shippers being toxic and racist.

So I hate fucking r*ylo but you don’t see me going out of my way to interact with r*ylos about their ship. I can’t begin to tell you how much I am ANTI-r*ylo. It is antithetical to everything I believe. But again, I am not going into the tags, searching for r*ylos to harass. Maybe the r*ylo fandom is working on its toxic shit, maybe it isn’t. I have no idea, and I am not going to harass r*ylos about it in their inboxes unless they come into my inbox and harass me. And by the way, even then I am not going to have private conversations with shitty people - that’s all gonna be public, bitch.

Wow... IDK if this is coherent because like I said, wine. At best, these anons are racist white people who think that they are helping the anti-racist cause by attacking people who they think are pushing racist narratives... but are not challenging their implicit biases and so are picking on the most vulnerable people, who because of essentialist garbage, they feel like are traitors of the Cause or whatever, and also are minors so they assume are incapable of fighting back.

It’s racism, my friend. I’m drunk, but it’s racism. Hopefully I don’t have much to edit in this tomorrow morning lmfao. Please tell me if anything doesn’t make sense.

[yoonjinkooked]

lockdown | (m) - Chapter 2

moodboard by @flajka

pairing; jungkook/female OC genre; college au, strangers to lovers, smut and tiny bit of fluff too, humor ofc rating; explicit words; 6.209

— synopsis; Eunhee is in trouble and facing a deadline - in comes curly haired jungkook to save her life, make her laugh and maybe, just maybe, fuck her brains out. When the two end up locked in a building overnight, who knows what will happen? 

warnings (for this chapter): cursing, OC still really wants to murder Tae, banter, cute Kook, slightly cocky Kook, an abundance of sexual tension, mentions of sex, drinking, mentiones of an ex (Seokjin)

A/N: I didn’t think I’d finish this this fast. Next chapter will be more challenging but i’m ready for it - i’m not sure if you are. Next chapter will be pure smut. 

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

“So, this folder is basically… Your paparazzi photos?”

I have tried to rationalize it and sure, the guy does have a reason behind it but at the end of the day, he’s just a guy with a camera, taking photos of people who are not aware of it, more often than not.

He shakes his head at my words and chuckles. “You are making it sound a lot creepier than it actually is. I am the official photographer. Whenever a student enrolls our college they need to sign a bunch of papers. It has a clause about campus promotional photos or something like that, which makes this very much legal,” he explains.

“True, very true. Doesn’t make it any less creepy through,” I joke, mentally high-fiving myself when he actually laughs this time around. I needed this comfort prize after my miserable attempt from earlier.

“You know, boss lady, these are the only photos you have,” the stupid hood is covering his face too much for me to see his expression but he sounds… cocky. “I wouldn’t complain about them too much if I were you,” he adds.

“I’m not complaining,” I lift my hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying it like it is. Paparazzi.”

“Art.”

“Whatever floats your boat,” I say, laughing in relief when I realized he did not take me seriously. I was walking a dangerous line between joking with him and genuinely making fun of his profession, which is not something I want to do. The same way I wouldn’t enjoy being called a tabloid internet researcher instead of a journalist-to-be, I doubt he would enjoy being called a paparazzi. I did it in good humor and despite the earlier awkwardness, he was going along with it now.

“On a more serious note, I’m not sure how many of these can be usable,” he points at the monitor. “I hope you will have enough. You can just go through them and select the ones you deem usable.”

“That was supposed to be your job!”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Bless him for turning around. If only for a few seconds, I have a chance to actually see him properly. He is very good looking, that was obvious from the get-go. His facial features are either childlike or very manly. His jaw is as sharp as one of the knives I bought recently and yet his nose looks beyond boop-able. Jeongguk, with a hood covering his face and all, is a ridiculously good looking man.

He’s looking directly at me too and it feels like this is the first time tonight he had done so. It doesn’t last long enough for me to actually feel uncomfortable or alert but my heart went berserk once again.

Calm down, woman. He’s here and he’s hot and it’s not the end of the world.

“Let’s do this then,” I nod towards the monitor.

Jeongguk could not specify how many photos he has to offer but the folder told me it carries 3000 photos. Of course, some of them are far from perfect but with 3000 photos at our disposal, I can only hope we can select 100 or so decent ones, to go with the 24 he brought to me earlier.

Without much commotion, Jeongguk and I start working. He starts his laptop as I transfer all the photos to Hobi’s PC. Then, he transfers them as well and one by one, we go over them. As soon as I find one that I think can be usable, I read out the number, he finds it and goes down to editing. Soon enough, he is unable to keep up with me and I need to write down the numbers as he manipulates the photos to perfection. We work in silence and in about half an hour, we have 10 photos ready to go.

Knowing that my ass is most likely saved, I have a chance to relax and actually pay attention to his work. He truly does have an eye for it, that much is painfully obvious. Guilt takes over me as I realize I have never paid much attention to photography. It’s simply not something I would focus on unless it is closely related to my work. I’ve always known Taehyung and Jeongguk, or as he was known before this, G.C.F guy, were good but this truly is something else.

He has a talent to capture people in that moment, that one moment, when no masks are worn and no fake smiles are shared. Looking at photos of random students, some of whom are vaguely familiar, some of whom are my friends and others I am sure I’ve never even seen before… It’s almost scary how he can capture that one moment with such precision. I could never do that, I just know it.

“What?” Jeongguk’s voice startles me. I look at him in confusion and he points at the photo. “You have been staring at it for like a whole minute. What’s wrong with it?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I shake my head. “It’s perfect. I mean, look at her – she looks tired but genuine. The smile she has is genuine. No matter how little sleep she had the night before, no matter how many tests she had that day, she cracked a genuine smile and you caught it,” I keep my eyes on the girl in the photo. I know her face but her name escapes me – I doubt I’ve ever even talked to her. A complete stranger to me, yet I can imagine her entire story in this photo, this one photo, because Jeongguk was at the right place, at the right time. He is, very literally, capturing perfect little moments.

“Sounds like you understand photography better than you think.”

I turn to him, already expecting my heart to do its thing and sure enough, when I see barely a hint of a smile on his face, the bastard betrays me and starts beating faster.

This is what happens when the only men you communicate with on a daily basis are either teachers or friends whom you could never be attracted to, despite them being ridiculously attractive. It is high time I get laid. Maybe then my heart would stop overreacting.

After this particular moment, I decide it might be better to be quiet. Does that make everything awkward? Sure it does. But it’s pretty darn better than actually giving myself the chance to talk, only to end up blurting out something along the lines of ‘I think you’re hot’. My ‘for work’ spotify playlist is good enough to make the entire situation bearable, as we nod our heads to the rhythm.

On and on we go, until I am suddenly looking at myself.

“Oh.”

It’s a photo of me and Seokjin. I can’t be sure when it was taken, but my short sleeves and the fact we haven’t been together for months now tells me that it was probably at the start of the school year. We are walking hand in hand, both smiling. Jeongguk captured a beautiful, genuine moment.

“Well, you are the ‘it couple’ of our campus,” Jeongguk shrugs.

“Were,” I correct him. “This is obviously an old photo. Seokjin and I are no longer together. Haven’t been for months,” I explain and watch as he nods in understanding.

“That explains the recent lack of photos of the ‘it couple’,” he jokes and I roll my eyes, knowing that unfortunately, he isn’t the first person to give us that title.

Seokjin and I spent two good years together. We were in the same circle of friends. Both focused on our studies and not so much about party life. As a couple, we made sense. But time passes and feelings fade, one thing led to another and suddenly, after two years of being in a solid relationship, I was single. There was no drama, no hard feelings and no bad words. Just two people going their separate ways.

“Keep an eye on Namjoon,” I give him a knowing look. “If he plays his cards right, maybe, just maybe, he has a chance with Hyejin. They could take Seokjin and me any day.”

“Debatable, but I’ll keep that in mind,” he tells me. For reasons unknown to my sanity, I find this incredibly funny and of course, I let out the most embarrassing snort laughter I could have possibly mustered. I don’t even bow my head in shame – that ship had sailed a while ago. “Okay, I’m starving. I’m gonna go and buy us a pizza. While I’m away, you can keep on selecting the photos you want,” he tells me as he flings the backpack onto his back.

“Can you like… promise me you’ll come back and not just run away?” I ask. It’s stupid, I know it is. Even if he is planning to leave me to fend for myself, he obviously isn’t going to say it to my face. Sadly, I am the kind of person who needs reassurance more often than not. I really need it now.

“Of course I won’t run away,” Jeongguk laughs and finally, for the first time tonight, he pulls the hood away from his face. Despite the office’s shitty lighting, I can finally see him well. His face is stunning, absolutely stunning. Clear skin, beautiful round eyes, cutest nose ever, cheeks that puff up when he smiles, like he is doing right now. “Here. I’ll even offer this. Pinky promise,” he lifts his right hand and offers me his extended pinky.

“Shit just got real,” I deadpan and I think I melted a little bit on the inside when he started laughing. “Pinky promise for life,” I link my pinky with his own before remembering an important detail I have overlooked. “What kind of pizza are you getting?”

“Pepperoni with extra cheese, duh,” he says it like that is the most obvious thing in the world.

“I like you more with each passing minute, Jeongguk,” I conclude.

“Right back at you,” he smiles for what feels like the tenth time in the last minute. “I’ll be right back. Get those photos ready so we can fix this shit,” he tells me, let’s go of my pinky and off he goes.

I am left giddy, smiling like a fool and fighting an overwhelming urge to giggle. Tonight is making me feel like a teenager with a dumb crush and strangely enough, I don’t think that I dislike the feeling. I haven’t truly focused on an attractive male since Seokjin and I were in the flirting phase. Jeongguk is… interesting. Very good looking and nice enough to catch my attention. I don’t know more than that but I wouldn’t mind finding out. Or maybe we could end up taking a different direction, with him giving me a decent fuck before we forget all about each other. Would that be a shame or would it be worth it?

For the love of everything Eunhee, focus on your work. There will be time for flirting and fucking later.

“Hey,” Jeongguk startles me when he walks back inside the office.

“There is no way you are Flash.”

“No, the door is locked,” he laughs. “Could you give me your keys?”

“What door?” I frown, confused. He literally just walked through a very much unlocked door.

“This part of the building. The big glass door? Eunhee, why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, but I am already on my feet and running out the office.

“I don’t have a key Jeongguk,” I yell back as I run towards the door. I get to it and I try to open – nope, locked. I try to jiggle it open, which is as stupid as it is useless. The door remains there, unopened, as if it is mocking me, us. I don’t have the strength in me to ride out another wave of panic.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Jeongguk tells me. “We can’t get pizza but we have the vending machine. And by the time we are done, we can call Namjoon or Tae. They’re at Jimin’s party, so they will definitely be awake. They can come and get us out in no time when we are done,” he reassures me.

“Jeongguk, Namjoon doesn’t have this key either,” I sigh in defeat as I turn my back to the door to face him. “And seeing as none of us who work here all the time have the keys, I doubt Taehyung has them either. I suppose we can try to call campus security, maybe they have a spare key but if they don’t, we’re stuck here until the cleaners stop by.”

“When do the cleaners stop by?” he asks.

“Last time I pulled an all-nighter here, they showed up around 6AM,” I tell him before looking at the clock hanging on the wall right behind him. “That means we are stuck here for… seven hours.”

“Not the end of the world,” Jeongguk shrugs casually. “We have a lot of work to do anyways. A pizza would have been nice but we won’t starve in six hours. I say we focus on getting the magazine ready for printing and then just like… nap or something.”

If I wasn’t running low on energy already, I would have taken this situation seriously. If I were my usual self, the campus security guards would already be on their way here to lock us out. But at this point, at with Jeongguk being so casual about it, I no longer have any shits left to give. Besides, as he had pointed out, we have hours of work ahead of us. Chances are we would have been stuck here with or without the door being locked.

And maybe, just maybe, somewhere in the back of my mind is the thought that this might be the only chance I will ever have to spend an extended amount of time with this guy who is making me into a nervous, giddy teenage girl. Not the worst way to spend a few spare hours.

“I agree,” I sigh and force a smile at Jeongguk. “Let’s get back to work and then we’ll figure it out.”

Until 1AM, we are working mostly in silence, listening to music and occasionally chatting about casual things – usually the people in our selected photos, whether we know them or not and how if we do.

“What made you chose photography?” I ask him. I am slowly growing bored, seeing as my work was already done – I am now waiting for him to edit the selected photos. Of course, I’m not just sitting around doing nothing. Hobi’s design still needs to be finished and one by one, I am transferring the done photos as soon as he finishes them. Right now, however, I am waiting for the next one.

“I don’t know, really,” he shrugs, not even bothering to look away from the monitor as he does his editing magic. “I suppose getting a solid camera for my twelfth birthday was a turning point. Back then, I wasn’t so attached to it but I remember my parents insisting that I should be the one to take photos whenever we would travel somewhere. They said my photos always turn out the best. Then as I got older, I discovered work by other photographers. I suppose that was it.

“Are there any photographers in particular that have peaked your interest?” I ask.

“Well, Ansel Adams is an obvious answer,” he chuckles. “It depends on the genre. Testino is the best when it comes to fashion photography but that was never my thing – doesn’t make him any less brilliant. Annie Leibovitz too. I can throw out a few names but I doubt you’d know them – same way I don’t know if I could name a handful of journalists. Adams, Robert Frank and Cartier Bresson would be my favorites.”

“I feel uneducated,” I admit. “I know so little about it.”

“Hey, I just told you I doubt I could be able to name a few journalists,” he chuckles. “We all know the things we are interested in – that is very normal. But what about you? Why this? Why editing, journalism, writing?”

“I wanted to be a novelist for the longest time,” I confess. “Before I could really get into it, I realized that maybe journalism might be my thing. My dad is a journalist. It would be idiotic of me to say that I wasn’t influenced by that in some ways. I saw the good and bad sides of it and decided to go through with it anyways.”

“What are the bad sides?” he asks.

“Well, it depends on what one chooses to focus on. If you are an investigative journalist and dedicate your life to uncovering corruption and crime, it can range from death threats to actually being murdered in cold blood. My dad’s an expert in analytic journalism, which means no death threats but he was away a lot. It was never ideal but it could always be worse.”

“And what about you? Which area do you want to go in?” Jeongguk asks. It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen someone take a genuine interest in my soon-to-be profession. I feel flattered.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” I admit. “Ideally, I’d like to work in investigative journalism but the side effects of it sometimes just seem like too much for me. Not to mention that with how the media is evolving, I’m not sure that would put the bread on my table. By the looks of it, I am bound to end up working as a blogger for a fashion magazine or something like that. Maybe I’ll end up being an editor, if I work hard and have luck on my side.”

“You never know,” Jeongguk tells me. “Hard work will get you places. You seem dedicated and intelligent. Although your music taste is slightly questionable,” he adds. I am about to ask why he would diss my music taste but to my horror, I recognize the song that is playing – I can’t remember the name, don’t know the artist but the singer is singing about how she is horny, horny, horny, horny tonight.

I just close my eyes, trying hard not to laugh when I hear him laughing at my reaction. I struggle to keep a poker face, but I manage. “Let’s just pretend this did not happen.”

“Nah, I will remind you of it whenever I see you in the years to come,” he jokes.

“Whatever, it’s a solid song,” I roll my eyes jokingly, enjoying this kind of teasing. He’s getting more and more comfortable around me and I am enjoying it. The more he talks, the more I realize how funny he really is. “You’ve heard my spotify playlists – you know me better than most people do.”

“True, music can tell you a lot about somebody,” he agrees. “But if I’m being honest here, your playlists only raise more questions.”

“Such as?”

“Well, it went from heavy emotional damage with Lana Del Rey,” he starts counting on his fingers. “We had a callback to teenage emo phase with ‘Fall Out Boy’, took a quick turn with ‘Whitesnake’ and now we ended up with 90s dance music about horniness. The question that is practically jumping out is what the hell you were smoking when you created such a mess of a playlist?” he asks through laughter.

“Shut up,” I jokingly punch him on the shoulder. “I was running on coffee and a lack of sleep.”

“Whatever you say, boss lady,” he grins at me. “You’re weird but likeable.”

Cue the butterflies. I say nothing but I know, I just know, he can see the stupid grin stretching on my face. I am flattered and he knows it. We are inches away to full-blown flirting and honestly, I love it.

 “Done?” he looks over at me, eyebrows raised.

“Done,” I confirm, leaning back in my chair. “Four years of studying this shit only to have to finish my career as the school paper editor literally 30 minutes before the printing deadline.”

“You’re at the finish line, that’s all that matters,” he shrugs, looking like the textbook definition of the word casual as he makes himself more comfortable on the chair, folding and sitting on his legs. “I’m the only one who knows just how nuts you went these last couple of hours and I’ll never tell.”

“No way I trust you,” I roll my eyes. “We’ve met just hours ago – I’m going to need more than just puppy dog eyes to make me believe you?”

“Puppy dog eyes?” he questions but I just shake my head, positive that the blush in my cheeks speaks for itself.

“I just have one more thing to finish,” I mumble as I scroll down to the credits page, finding the photography section. “What’s your full name?”

“Jeon Jeongguk. Why?”

“Because all the photos we have used tonight are yours,” I tell him as I highlight Taehyung’s name and backspace it into oblivion – that’s the price he pays for nearly sabotaging me inadvertently. And also, I am allowed to do that, since none of the photos are actually his. So, I type Jeon Jeongguk, G.C. F.

“You don’t have to do that,” he shakes his head, suddenly switching back to the shy guy he was when he first knocked on the office door. “I’m okay with it remaining the same.”

“I’m not – it’s your work,” I say as I attach the file to the email addressed to our printers, who will probably murder me for doing this last minute. “And done,” I click send.

“Now we nap?” he suggests.

“Or we can just… I don’t know? Talk?” I suggest.

I don’t know how to say that I want to get to know him better, maybe flirt with him and set the foundation for a chance of a good fuck later down the road, without actually saying it.

“We can talk,” he nods and I could swear there’s a hint of a smirk on his face, but it disappears before I can confirm that it’s not just a product of my imagination and wishful thinking.

There is just something about him, something I couldn’t voice, even if I wanted to. A strange kind of appeal, the golden middle between shy and cute on one side and cocky and hot on the other. The changes between the two make my interest in him grow with each passing minute.

It’s been a while since I simply wanted someone to grab me and kiss me, hard.

And I can’t say it like that because so far, he hasn’t given me a single sign that he’d be up for it. That’s exactly why I want to talk. I want to talk and see where this can go and if I have to pull out some liquid courage to make it happen, I will not hesitate.

“You know, Namjoon has an emergency stash,” I smile when I see how he looks up at me in interest. “In normal circumstances, I wouldn’t dare touch it,” I say as I stand up and head for Joon’s desk, eyes on the bottom drawer. I crouch down; jiggle the drawer two times, like he always does. It’s still a little bit stuck but with one solid pull, I manage to open in. A grin grows on my face – there lies an unopened bottle of Absolut Citron – my safety net for tonight. “I don’t think these are normal circumstances,” I add, waving the bottle and giving Jeongguk a suggestive look. “You up for it?”

“Hell yeah.”

Half a mug of vodka later, I find myself laughing at Jeongguk’s fairly stupid story about how Taehyung once almost set fire to the apartment the two of them share.

“That guy is such a hazard,” I laugh.

“Maybe, but he’s also my best friend,” he comments. “You take the risks.”

“Tell me about it,” I snort. “Try being friends with Kim Namjoon. Not a month goes by without me driving him to the hospital because he injured himself in the stupidest way possible.”

“I always thought the two of you were a thing,” Jeongguk tells me, catching me completely by surprise because that’s just about the last think I expected to hear. “I mean, before I realized that Seokjin and you are a thing. Were a thing,” he corrects himself.

“Namjoon is the last person on this planet that would want to have anything other than friendship with me,” I laugh. “It goes both ways but I have a feeling the guy would rather walk barefoot on legos than have a fling or a relationship with me.”

“Why?” he asks. Simple question, complicated answer.

“He knows me too well,” I shrug.

“Oh no,” Jeongguk laughs. “No way I’m gonna let you cop out of that one. The conversation is finally turning interesting.”

“Thanks.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he laughs. “Now elaborate. Why not?”

Is this a can of worms I want to open? Probably not. “How honest do you want me to be?” I ask anyways.

“As honest as vodka can make you at 4AM,” he smiles and for the hundredth time tonight, I have to fight the urge to coo at him.

“Joon always calls me an overachiever,” I sigh before pausing to think about how to explain what’s fundamentally wrong with me as a person. Sadly, that’s not an easy task. “Even as a teenager, I’d always know what I wanted, I would aim for it and I’d get it. Dedicated, hardworking, obsessive – call it whatever. The problem occurs whenever I realize that I can’t have it all. No one can, it’s normal, right? Not for me. I still go for it, I hit the brick wall repeatedly but I make a crack in it, I pull the bricks out and I knock it down enough for me to pass.”

“That’s admirable, not bad,” Jeongguk interrupts me. “I wish I was more like that.”

“No, you don’t,” I chuckle, pausing to chug some vodka down because I am absolutely not drunk enough for this. “The problem starts when other aspects of your life start paying the price. For example, Seokjin. I could never put him before my work. Never, ever.”

“Isn’t that normal?” he asks, looking confused as he changes his position so that he is leaning on the wall. He is also a solid foot closer to me now and I am not complaining. “I don’t know how the two of you have functioned but isn’t it ridiculous to think that one’s romantic partner should be the center of one’s life?” he asks.

“Thank you,” I nod my head. “I tried to justify it like that. I still believe in that, too.”

“Is that why you and Seokjin are no longer together?” he asks.

“That’s even more complicated,” I let out a chuckle. “It just… it ran beyond the expiration date. I can’t explain it without sounding like a bitch because I was with him for two years and he really is an amazing guy but that just… that wasn’t me. He wanted me to invest more in the relationship and while that is completely fair, it’s not what I wanted to do. That is what made me realize that we were heading nowhere. When you don’t want to make the extra effort, that’s alarming.”

“It’s also the way life goes,” he shrugs. I am impressed and envious of how casual he sees the things that were absolutely not casual to me. “If you think about it, every relationship in your life will either end in a break up or with a happily ever after. Literally, every relationship.”

Shit, he’s right. “I never thought about it like that.”

“I have,” he chuckles. “Whenever I realize it’s going nowhere and it’s not my happily ever after, I end it. That’s why I’m single. It’s easier to just… not date anyone than to tell every single person that yeah, that’s not it. Sorry. Thanks for the time,” he adds and I laugh.

“True, that does sound wrong,” I agree. “I’ve been fighting the feeling that Seokjin’s not for me for a long time.”

“Not good enough?”

“More like too good,” I correct him. “He really is a great guy. Kind, smart, funny. He’s genuinely a good guy and I’d sing his praises for hours but it was just too… I guess boring is the word I’m looking for.”

“He’s a boring guy?” he asks. Wow, he is really interested in this.

“Kind of. Don’t get me wrong, I’m hardly the life of the party myself. But it was all just so… proper with him. Movie dates with an obligatory hand over the shoulder, flowers for birthdays, always red roses. Paying for everything, nice restaurants. If we had stayed together, it would go graduation, engagement, marriage, house in the suburbs and two kids – a boy and a girl. It wasn’t boring, not really. But it was just so… proper. Excitement-less. Always blockbusters, never indie movies. Always seats at concerts, never the pit. Dull conversations – about politics and the economy, never about conspiracy theories or the supernatural. The sex,” I suddenly stop, realizing I may have taken my rant too far.

“A bit boring too?” Jeongguk asks, a grimace mixed with compassion taking over his face.

“Yeah,” I nod my head. “Good but… same. All that I mentioned before, it’s fun, it’s nice but after a while you just… want something that will keep you on your toes a little bit. Not a fuckboy or anything like that but just a guy who can actually say something that might surprise me.”

“I like your way of thinking,” he mumbles, looking away from me and keeping his eyes directly in front of him. “You’re not wrong, about anything. And even if you were, on paper, you don’t need to follow the paper – you need to follow yourself. Yeah, many girls want exactly what you’ve just described but you’re not one of those girls and that’s okay. I have a feeling that you are looking at it as a flaw but it’s really not. If something doesn’t make you feel happy or content, it’s absolutely normal to walk away from it.”

“Thanks,” is all I can mumble, knowing that any other words may not be safe. This is not the direction I hoped our conversation would take but I can’t complain – it’s oddly therapeutic.

“You’re so hard to judge,” he chuckles and turns around to offer me a smirk. “I thought I had you all figured out even before we met. Then tonight, I realized I was wrong. And an hour later, I realized I was wrong again. And just now, I have to admit that I am wrong again. You don’t fit in the typical groups.”

“Okay, you gotta elaborate that,” he chuckles as I urge him to explain. “Come on. Elaborate.”

“Overachiever. I thought that too, at first,” he tells me. “A perfect girl, with perfect grades and a perfect boyfriend. Then I get here and see you panicking and hear your playlist and I figure you’re one of those ‘inner turmoil’ kind of girl who thinks the world doesn’t get her and listens to ‘The 1975’ and Banks and hates men and most women too and just wants to be left alone.”

“Hey,” I reach over quite a bit to hit him on the shoulder. “Don’t diss ‘The 1975’.”

“My point is,” he laughs as he rubs his shoulder jokingly. “You’re not one of those groups. You’re not any of the other groups either. You are… a healthy mix of a few of them. I can’t name them all – I don’t know you well enough. I can’t label you either and that’s kind of cool.”

“Okay, give me an unpopular opinion,” I change the topic in the speed of light, realizing that if he refers to me as ‘cool’ I will pull down his pants and give him the suck of his life. While that is something I would very much like to do, I still haven’t received any signs of him sharing the thought.

“Are you really at a concert if you’re not in the pit?” he laughs and I hit him on the shoulder again, this time simply scooting closer to do that and remaining in the same position.

“Yes, you are,” I laugh. “Pit is better but you can still enjoy a concert if you’re seated. Besides, that’s not an unpopular opinion. Give me something controversial.”

“Androids are better than Iphones,” he tells me and I gasp in fake shock.

“Oh no you didn’t,” he laughs at me. “How dare you diss the apple?”

“Your turn,” he nudges me with his arm.

“Flavored drinks suck,” I mumble as I look at my mug of vodka, my precious koala mug being used for such a shitty drink. “I’m not a drinker. I’m very much a lightweight but if I do drink, I want to taste the drink, not artificial aroma and sugar.”

“Not to mention it tricks you into thinking you’re not drinking much,” he adds.

“Next thing you know, you’re standing up and the world is spinning.”

“Eunhee, I hate to break it to you, but the world is spinning,” he tells me. Another hit on the shoulder and I realize that I am about two hits away from being considered extremely violent.

“Shut up. Your turn.”

“Mint chocolate chip ice cream is awesome.”

“YES!” I startle him with a yell. “Yes! Yes! Mint chocolate chip enthusiasts will rule the world.”

“Wow, if we keep this up you will probably start a revolution,” he laughs. “Do you want to continue with the unpopular opinions talk or do something else?”

Well, what I really want is to grind on him until he has tear in his eyes and is begging me to let him cum in his pants. Or for him to bend me over a desk and fuck me until I see stars – both works for me, really, but it’s not exactly something I can say. I don’t have enough vodka in my system.

“I have a shocking one for you – foreplay is better than sex,” I announce.

“Oh, that is an unpopular opinion,” he nods his head, looking pensive. “May I ask why?”

“Because people, and when I say people, I mean men, underestimate the value of it for a woman,” I tell him. “Some enjoy it very much, of course. But in most cases, they just wanna slide it in and get it over with and that’s not how it works for us, at least not for me. I need that kind of… mutual attention. It doesn’t have to be anything crazy or extensive but like… just making out. Just making out is such a fundamental part of foreplay and sex. It’s not that special – just a kiss with the passion amped up. But god, isn’t it important? Nothing beats that moment of lazy kissing, body to body, gentle touches and squeezes and subtle grinds, all while all the words are left unsaid between the two because they are too busy moving their tongues and biting lips and struggling to breathe properly because a good make out needs to leave your breath hitched and mouth open and… a moan stuck in your throat. A good, solid make out session is a preview into what kind of lover you will have and I’ll be damned but sometimes the trailer is more enjoyable than the actual movie, if done well.”

I stop talking with my mouth hanging open. I have no idea where that came from but I do know vodka fueled it. I stop my rant and struggle to think of a sudden change of topic, trying to ignore the slightly wide-eyed look on Jeongguk’s face that my rant had caused.

It sounded more like a political discussion than make out talk. I need to learn when to shut up.

“Yeah, that’s enough of unpopular opinions,” he lets out an awkward chuckle and I know that this is another moment I will regret in the years to come. “Don’t get me wrong, it was fun,” he chuckles when he notices the look on my face. “But I’d much rather make out with you right now.”

Oh. Oh. Okay. That’s… very convenient.

The tiniest of smirks that graced his face evaporates before my eyes and turns into a frown, caused by my initial lack of response – it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I wasn’t expecting the suggestion. “If you want to, that is,” he mumbles, turning into a nervous mess, nowhere near the hot, straight-to-the-point guy he was literally seconds ago. “If you don’t, that’s totally fine and we can just talk about music and-“

“I want to,” I interrupt him. “I… really want to,” I emphasize the really, knowing that looking a bit desperate is not only honest, but will also work in my favor.

“Get over here,” he chuckles as he grabs my hand and pulls me towards him.

[theexistentiallyqueer]

Okay so I’ve been thinking about that really bad Hot Take that’s been circulating about fanfiction. And it’s been kind of simmering in me. The root of the problem with it isn’t so much that it diminishes the quality of fanfiction so much as the way it characterizes two completely different genres of media.

Preface: at no point is this ever, ever, ever a diatribe or condemnation against fanart or the work fanartists put into their work. This is about the value that is ascribed to visual art vs the value ascribed to literary art. I am trying to talk specifically about the denigration of literary art in fandom spaces and the way it’s been recently, in a very popular tumblr post, martyred at the expense of queer and disabled writers and writers of color.

Fanart (as a collective genre, according to that post) - Good, artistically-driven, pure, wholesome. Fanartists draw for the sake of becoming better artists, and every work a fanartist draws or creates is made with the goal of becoming a better artist. Fanartists never draw anything that is base, silly, shippy, or smutty; if there is pornographic art, it isn’t pornographic but Erotica. There is no such thing as low- or middling-quality art, because all artists are striving to sharpen their skills and become better artists, and there are no fanartists who draw just for fun or shits and giggles. Fanartists achieve fame purely on the merit of their own artistic ability. There’s no room to criticize fanartists who attempt to cis-wash trans (or trans pesenting) characters, or fanartists who blatantly, frequently, and with frankly no impunity (as their art is reblogged, and reblogged, and reblogged) whitewash characters of color.

Fanfiction (as a collective genre, according to that post) - Smutty, ship-fodder, audience-pleasing trash. Fanfic writers write for the sake of expressing their inner boners or enacting their internal fantasies. No fanfic writers seek a sense of growth in their writing or work to improve their writing in any way. The only reason any works of fanfiction are popular is because they cater to the readership’s base instincts, and the True Authors, the Really Daring authors who write Real Literary Content, are cast the wayside.

It’s such a two-dimensional view of the situation--and it doesn’t even take into account edited content, such as gifsets, which makes up a huge portion of fandom content and has been a type of content, along with fanart, that fanfic writers have long voiced their (our) upset about getting more active & polarized attention than written works. It presents this dichotic view of fanart good/fanfiction bad. Which is also incredibly ugly and disturbing when you consider the fact that fanfiction is the earliest form of curated fan content, and fanfiction itself is inherently transformative in a way that fanart and edits are not, because fanwork in general, and and fanfiction in particular, is inherently in and of itself the public (fans) themselves overriding the corporate-owned landscape with their subversive interpretations.

Like, I have seen not-good fanart. I have seen bland, unimpressive, generic fanart. There is fanart from artists who don’t have their own unique sense of style. Fanart from artists who are just starting out and haven’t developed their skills yet. Fanart from artists who draw as a hobby, and damn they may be good, but they don’t give a fuck about contributing to The Body of Artistry because they have bills to pay and career interests outside of art, and damn, they’d really rather draw these two characters making out, or blushing at each other, or straight-up fucking, than they would create something of Great Artistic Importance. That art gets so many notes. It is liked and reblogged and shared.

And that’s all valid, because art ISN’T A COMPETITIVE SPORT. I embrace fanartists who draw just because they want to, because they don’t care about quality or artistic ideals or whatever, and just want to draw someone being happy, or sad, or angry, or getting dicked down, or whatever!!! It doesn’t matter. Draw because you want to draw. Because your art is an expression of yourself that speaks of your experiences and transgresses the definitions of the world you’ve been told to adhere to. You make art for yourself, to say fuck the system!!!! We’re just the lucky souls who get to appreciate it afterwards.

The complaints that come from fanfic writers--and yes!!! I am one, so proceed with the accusations of butthurt--are that fanart and edits get more social media attention (in the forms of likes, reblogs, retweets, shares, etc.) than fanfic does.

And it’s a valid complaint! It isn’t rooted in some alien reality that fanfiction is inherently more base and less artistic than fanart. I’ve seen some pretty aesthetically displeasing fanart get a high reblog count. And I’ve seen some incredible works of literary attention get no recs, no likes, no comments. I’ve seen works of middling writers who have a lot of fucking talent and show it in their work, and yeah maybe they write porn, but their prose SINGS, and no one comments, no one shares it, no one makes their love of it public the same way they do the fanart, the same way they do the edits and the gifsets.

It’s rooted in two things:

1. Literature (which fanfiction is a subgenre of) takes time to appreciate. You can look at a piece of art and reblog it without thinking about it. It could be a work on par with the Mona Lisa, and you could still look at it without any aesthetic or artistic sense and say, “Hey, that looks pretty.” But you can’t read without thinking; reading is an active mental pursuit you have to engage with. (If you try to pull out Twilight on this point to fight me, I’ll fight you back. I’ve actively read Twilight. Even reading awful literature takes effort; arguably it takes more effort than reading something good).

2. Literature is hard to market with words, because when you’re trying to encourage other people to read it, you have to use even more words. You have to use words to convince someone to read even more words! Some fanartists draw comics or fanart inspired by fanfiction--I love those artists and they do more for us than they could possibly know--but for the most part, you can’t use visuals to show someone why they should invest their time in reading a thing. And unlike fanart--when it’s a tribute, when it’s a showcase of the character’s or characters’ canonical attributes--fanfiction can’t be green-stamped by creators, because fanfiction is inherently built in narrative, and canon-compliant or not, that opens the legal owners of the property up to legal disputes.

So much easier, then, to focus on fanart, which distribution and publishing companies love because they see free advertising in sharing it, to complain that fanfiction is a dispirited genre of unartistic creators who just want to read the queer version of a bodice-ripper.

And then we get to the question of: why is the bodice ripper so bad? Are you willing to critique Jack Kerouac and Charles Bukowski with the same derision you have for queer writers? Are you going to hold the wish-fulfillment fantasies and introspective examinations of sexuality in relation to gender, race, class, and physical ability written by writers expressing their own experiences as inherently debauched and debased because pornographic fanfiction is popular, but not hold George R R Martin to the same standard? Are you going to criticize the prejudices and disparities and biases in publishing that prevent marginalized writers from being able to break into the industry? 

Are you ready to combat the enduring popularity of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, which is overwhelmingly a series of heroism tales about shitty and mediocre white men?

Are you going to take aim at HBO for taking a fantasy series that, while still written by a sexist author who has a disturbing fixation on female sexuality has uplifted its female characters as heroes in their own right, and then drove it into the dirt to end on a note with the male “hero” murdering his female lover, an abuse survivor, after engaging her in an intimate kiss?

Did you take issue with the streaming blockbuster Stranger Things only confirming a character as canonically gay--after planning to have her be a straight romantic option for a major character--because the actress is the one who repeatedly badgered the showrunners about how she didn’t feel her character fit that role?

Are you invested in the fact that video games continue to be majority white, majority male, majority able-bodied, and majority inaccessible to disabled gamers?

You want to complain about fanfiction having too much porn and somehow that deligitimizes fanfiction as a genre as a whole?

Fuck off. There are hundreds, thousands even more likely, of other authors of equal skill to you or greater, who are struggling to have their works recognized in fandoms that don’t want to put the effort in to reading them, the effort into sharing and appreciating them. It’s harder to make someone care about a fanfic. You can reblog a fanart, and your followers will see the art itself right away. If you reblog fanfic, they have to make the conscious choice to engage with it. And none of that is your fault, because you can’t control how other people engage with fan content, but you can advocate, vocally, for the fair and equal respect for fanfiction and fan-written content. You can remind people, again and again, how fanfic writers do so much for so little.

But you want to come into my house and compare fanart to fanficton and claim one is inherently better? You’re the Banksy to my Catherynne L Valente, to my N.K. Jemisin, to my Seanan McGuire.

Start understanding the system is built against us all and start understanding why your battle is uphill. What’s oppressing your creative success is a white, straight, cis monopoly on what the good story, what the correct story is, limiting your options, tying you to a narrative you don’t belong to. Queerness and marginalization exist beyond what’s depicted in mainstream media, and fans expressing that through their own written content?

That’s us taking back the corporate-owned narrative for ourselves. It’s self-liberation through the written word. And yeah, some of it is porn.

It’s porn when it’s a drawing too.

[worseandworser]

What doesn’t kill you

Chapter 1

This is a weird mix of ABO, chimera!Ed, and the werewolf!Ed, I guess.

Ship: RoyEd

Summary: “You were on a mission,” Ed turns to Alphonse, who carries on with the explanation, “There was this alchemist messing with chimeras, Brigadier general Mustang sent you there to check, and apparently you got caught up in a transmutation.”

Oh. That would explain why Edward can’t remember the basement.

Rating: Mature (chances of turning n/s/f/w)

Warnings/tags: AU, Post fmab, Pining, Scenting, Taller!Ed jhagdcfjh

read on ao3

When the day ahead is not that promising and the bed seems to be the only one who truly understands you, waking up is quite a bother. The sensorial deprivation turns into a safe space, in which you have no obligations other than to carry on shifting between the cadence of dreams. Will you remember them? All those fragments conjured to keep your brain working even when the rest of you doesn’t?

No. That’s the first thing on Edward’s mind when his eyes snap open.

He doesn’t need to look around to know where he is — the roof is white and his clothes are not wool; where the fuck is his underwear? — because the room reeks. Of antiseptic and bleach and whatever other cleaning chemicals and… blood? It sure smells like it. And it’s a weird combo attacking Edward’s nostrils, so strong that it makes him gag.

“Brother?”

Edward blinks, trying to get his vision to work properly, and inhales deeply.

And there it is, a significant change. The hospital’s scent becomes background, almost completely overcome by another. This is one is much more pleasing, however, and Ed takes it in gladly. Orange juice, he muses; not oranges but specifically the juice and in some part of his brain there’s the question if it makes a difference. Apparently, it does.

Its calming effect is instantaneous, reducing the uneasy feeling of being in a hospital to mild annoyance. Edward raises his head looking for the source, only to find Alphonse slowly approaching the bed.

“Hey, Al.”

His voice is hoarse, a bit weak; Alphonse smiles relieved.

“How are you feeling?”

The scent is stronger now, and it fills Edward’s chest with something… comfortable. Like a favorite song or that book he’s read so many times he decorated several excerpts.

“Kinda nauseous, but fine, I guess.”

“Nothing hurts?”

“Nah, I’m alright.”

The younger Elric leans in, pressing his palm against Ed’s forehead as if checking his temperature. His brows are lightly furrowed, but Edward is still too sleepy to curse himself for making his brother worry.

“I’m going to call the doctor, just stay here, okay?”

Ed hums in response and relaxes against the cushions. The scent is so… nice. Comforting, like a hug, and it almost makes him forget that he should be antsy due to his current location.

The door clicks close and he is wrenched to wakefulness. Because suddenly it’s not there anymore.

Correction: it is — but it’s like a shadow, a faint reminiscent of what was once enveloping. Edward’s nose is filled with the disgusting hospital odor, and this is the moment he realizes it is abnormally intense. He has never been to a hospital this stinky, who the fuck brought him here? Stuck between anger and anxiety, Edward scrambles to a sitting position.

“Alphonse!”

His brother’s face pops up through a slight opening at the door, “Yes?”

Orange juice. Edward squints his eyes, and motions for the other to come closer. And Alphonse does, with the questions he doesn’t ask written all over his face. As soon he is within reach, Edward hauls him down by the lapels and breathes. Deeply, only a few inches away from Alphonse’s cheek.

“Brother?”

Edward lets go of him but maintain the closure. Sniffing and sniffing like a dog trying to understand…

“Are you wearing some kind of perfume?”

“I… don’t think so?”

“Did you drink orange juice today?”

“Not that I remember,” Alphonse arches his brows, “Why…?”

Another unusual scent reaches his nostrils, and Edward’s head immediately snaps to its direction. A woman enters the room, checking what looks like a notepad.

“Edward Elric, right?,” she leaves the papers on a desk and pulls a stethoscope from around her neck, “I’m Dr. Becker, I’m just here to ch—”

“Don’t touch me!”

At Ed’s aggressive tone, she jumps back two full steps.

Dr. Becker seems like a good person. She’s young, probably around her late twenties or early thirties, and has a focused expression that surely should transmit security to her patients. Brown eyes and curly hair, the latter tied on a tight bun on top of her head, the white hospital clothes contrasting with her dark skin. She just stands there and slowly raises her hands, as if to show she’s not here to inflict harm.

Except that Edward’s whole body scream that she is.

The scent is… threatening. There’s no other word for it. It’s like coconut but with a salty feel to it, like the smell of the Cretan sea. Those things are not nasty — actually, Ed likes both — but their combination on this specific person in this specific place makes Edward cringe. His muscles are tense and he grips the linens with such strength his knuckles go white.

“Brother, what are you doing?!” Alphonse sound distressed, but Edward is too involved with glaring at the woman in front of him to care.

Dr. Becker intervenes in a low voice:

“It’s okay, he’s still in shock.”

The fear subsides, substituted by curiosity, “In shock?! Why would I be in shock?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really.”

“You were on a mission,” Ed turns to Alphonse, who carries on with the explanation, “There was this alchemist messing with chimeras, Brigadier general Mustang sent you there to check, and apparently you—”

Edward winces. Yes, he remembers it now. All of the guy’s experiments had been with animals and — even if the morality of it is questionable — that is completely legal by Amestrian laws. However, he was a major freak and Edward recalls the man squirming when Ed asked to see the basement.

“—got caught up in a transmutation.”

Oh. That would explains why Edward can’t remember the basement.

He’s aware that his lack of reaction is not very helpful to prove that he’s not in shock but, well. Alchemical disasters have been a constant in Edward’s life ever since... always, perhaps. If Alphonse still has got a body and Ed’s limbs are all there then there’s not much to—

“Excuse my language, Doctor, but where the fuck is my leg?”

Becker looks at him with a puzzled expression, “You mean the automail? It was really yours? We had it detached since it was obviously not fit for you, I’m sorry.”

“The hell you mean with not fit, I have the best mechanic in the whole fu—”

“Brother!”

“What I meant, Mr. Elric,” her lips twitch in amusement, “Is that it was more than five centimeters too short for your stature.”

The world freezes. He watches her, eyes wide and jaw slack, searching for the joke — at any moment now she will snap, sike!, and start laughing maniacally. Except that she doesn’t; she holds his gaze with equal intensity.

“You’re messing with me.”

“She’s not,” intervenes Alphonse, “It probably happened because of transmutation, but I can’t be sure. The Brigadier general didn’t let me see the array.”

Edward stares at his lonely flesh leg in disbelief. More than five centimeters. That’s significant, isn’t it? He’s taller than Alphonse now, and that is surely more than he ever thought of accomplishing.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t be that happy yet, Mr. Elric. We have no idea what was done to you or the side effects, so we need you to be very careful and to warn us if you feel any different.”

Side effects, uh.

“I can smell things.”

Alphonse snorts, “Nice.”

“No!” Ed hissed, “I can smell things in a deeper sense like… I don’t know, heightened olfaction or some shit like that.”

Becker takes a few steps closer to the bed. Her scent is tolerable now, mixing with the others and softening. Edward tenses up anyway.

“Well, that’s new,” she says, “I’ve got patients who came out of alchemy accidents with fewer senses, but you’re the first one that tells me you have more.”

Her tone is not even teasing, but some part of Edward takes this as a personal insult and he growls:

“Then I guess you’re not the best one for this job, hm?”

The doctor arches a brow, giving Ed an unsurprised look, “Please, keep your rudeness to yourself, I’m just doing my work.”

Edward’s mood turns to the foulest possible in a matter of seconds. He hates hospitals and everyone involved with them, it’s not even personal. And it’s not his fault if Becker stinks. He is about to tell her that, when he catches a whiff of someone else.

He looks around, but there are only two people besides him in the room; the obvious conclusion is that it comes from the outside. It must be a strong one because the door is closed and yet it still finds its way to Ed’s nostrils. Edward takes a long breath, trying to pinpoint the exact substance, but his brain seems to not be working properly.

It’s good, really good, delicious, even. It makes him dizzy and warm, and he closes his eyes to concentrate on that pleasant feeling. Alluring, that’s the word. Edward wants to know where it comes from, so he can sink into this person and—

Oh no.

“I see you are finally awake, Fullmetal.”

The instant Roy Mustang steps into the room, Edward covers his face with his hands. However, it’s too late; the scent is everywhere, overpowering the others to the point Ed can’t smell anything but that. He reacts with such intensity… He is burning all over, drunk in the man standing by the door.

He’s consumed by the need to touch. To walk to Mustang and press him against his body, until the two of them merge together. He squirms at the thought, feeling the ghost of Roy’s skin underneath his fingertips. He needs.

“Get out!,” he manages to growl.

Mustang blinks at him, confused, “What happened?”

Oh god, his voice.

Edward is dying. He wants to shove Roy against the closest wall and just… shit. There are so many things he wants, all at the same time, and Roy is the protagonist of each one of them. He keeps chanting nonono because there’s this small part of him that insists that he shouldn’t. That it’s wrong to force your commanding officer onto his knees and—

Alphonse is shouting something and so is Dr. Becker and the last thing Ed remembers is a needle on his arm.

[agapaic]

[fic] nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby [3/6]

he tian x mo guan shan

tags/notes: 1920′s au, new york au, reference to drugs and alcohol, gang violence.

links: read on ao3 | part one | part two

this fic was commissioned by @teanshan

part 3: patriotism

He Tian was sitting at the dining table when Guan Shan walked downstairs the next morning, his mouth dry and ashen from the liquor last night.

His pressed suit and concentrated gaze gave him the air of someone who’d been awake hours, and Guan Shan grew self-conscious in the teal silk nightshirt and trousers Jian Yi had given him, hair ruffled from sleep, sheet lines on his skin, eyes wandering blearily—sharp and alert as soon as he saw the man eating breakfast in Jian Yi’s dining room.

‘Good morning,’ He Tian said, blowing the heat from a spoonful of broth.

Guan Shan stood immobile in the doorway. ‘Why are you here?’

He Tian tutted. ‘Impolite,’ he said, and swallowed a mouthful.

Cigarette smoke mixed with salted soup, steamed buns, hot rice, and the tang of newly cut fruit, and Guan Shan’s stomach twisted with hunger. He’d spent too long snooping Jian Yi’s house the day before to use his kitchen, and his dinner at Zhengxi’s had been small and hurried between shifts. The last full meal had been in his mother’s kitchen, congee and fried tofu with greens and braised beef, swallowed down with his mother’s worry lines and the hand she wouldn’t stop holding.

He Tian said, ‘Did you forget? I said the attorney would be here with a contract.’

Guan Shan narrowed his eyes. ‘Yeah. I’m only lookin’ at you.’

He Tian smiled, all teeth. ‘Then you’re looking at my attorney. I don’t trust anyone else to carry out business I can do myself.’ He flicked his fingers across the table. ‘Sit. Eat. Jian Yi’s gone out, and you look wasting.’

The smell of food pulled him to the seat across the table, and Guan Shan cautiously picked up the sheaf of papers that rested beside the laid-out crockery. Stark paragraphs stared up at him, some terms Guan Shan knew and understood, and most he didn’t. He glanced up at He Tian, who was spearing a piece of melon with a fork.

‘What’s this?’ Guan Shan said.

‘What does it look like?’ He Tian said, chewing, helping himself to rice. ‘Your contract.’

The paper crinkled as Guan Shan’s fist closed around it. ‘I can’t understand this shit.’

He Tian said, ‘I know,’ and leaned back in the dining chair, as at home as if the house were his. Maybe it was. ‘It’s a farce,’ He Tian continued. ‘Just as you being my secretary will be a farce. Half of this is make-believe.’

‘You never asked if I could read or write.’

He Tian nodded. ‘Right.’ His head tilted. ‘Can you?’

‘Well enough,’ Guan Shan says sourly. He’d been educated in his village, taught to write mostly by his father from menus and pamphlets and newspapers. His mother would tell him stories as she worked in the house, Guan Shan acting as scribe, following her from room to room with a notebook and pencil. School had been too far from his village in Canton, and he’d never had the smarts or dedication to try for a university. There wasn’t much for his family to be prideful over.

‘I’ll take it,’ He Tian said. ‘Wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t. Eat.’

Guan Shan pushed down the desire to snap back at the command. Hunger won out, and he helped himself to broth and steam buns, peeled lychee and halved, sour-sweet pomelo.

He Tian watched him while he ate, tapped ash out into a cigarette tray, kept his gaze steady through the smoked haze, a lazed insouciance that left Guan Shan tense and nervous. He felt spiked with adrenaline, flashes of heat stabbing at the back of his neck and his thighs, and was grateful for the cracked-open window that let in New York’s cooling, damp autumn air, the chaotic acoustics of the city breaking stale silence.

One thing was abundantly clear to Guan Shan as he ate: dining with the enemy was as good as being in bed with them.

‘You’ve got better things to do than this,’ Guan Shan said eventually, sucking pomelo juice from his thumb, a thin sheen of spit layering his skin.

‘On the contrary,’ He Tian said, eyes on his. ‘I’ve got all day to do this if I choose.’

‘Must be real fucking nice,’ Guan Shan said. ‘That luxury.’

He Tian said, ‘On the contrary.’ He nodded to Guan Shan’s empty bowls, the abandoned fruit peel. ‘Go wash, if you’re finished. I have business I need your assistance with.’

‘Thought you could do this all day,’ Guan Shan said.

‘Thought you wanted a job,’ He Tian countered, smile polite enough to carry a threat.

Guan Shan left to shower.

He Tian drove them north-west through Manhattan in a black car called a Silver Ghost, which, as He Tian informed Guan Shan, was hand-built and one of only seven-thousand made in the world. Guan Shan told him he wasn’t much impressed by cars, sheltered beneath its collapsible fabric hood, eyeing the miniature winged woman made of silver that rose from the bonnet.

‘They’re an acquired taste,’ said He Tian, easing his way through the streets of Manhattan, away from Chinatown’s lower east side, where the bold, modernist buildings of Fifth Avenue and Greenwich Village and West Village rose higher, stretched wider, balconies bursting with flowers and a richness that was foreign and remote and western to Guan Shan, and billboards for cigarettes and Dodge and Ford motors clung to the building sides.

Jian Yi’s townhouse was a bungalow compared to some of the residences that filled the avenues of New York City’s Chelsea, Zhengxi’s restaurant a pale imitator of the glamour that lined the city streets up-town in Madison Square.

An acquired taste.

‘Yeah,’ Guan Shan muttered distractedly. ‘Acquired by people with money.’

He Tian shrugged. ‘Or people with determination,’ he said. ‘With fire.’ His glance towards Guan Shan was pointed, but his eyes didn’t stray from the streets long, pedestrians lining the pavements, decked in raincoats and hoisting umbrellas like rifles over their shoulders. The clouds were a rolling purple, eagerly gathering, and Guan Shan felt the air wait for its rainstorm.

‘Fire doesn’t do anyone much good here if they’re not white.’

He Tian said, ‘That’s what they’d like you to believe.’

Guan Shan went sullen as He Tian pulled the car to a stop. They were on a residential street on the outskirts of Chelsea. Guan Shan could see glimpses of the Hudson River through wide-spaced brownstones, the pier not too far in the distance, choked with ships and docked boats, and fumes from tobacco factories and steel mills soaked the air.

He helped He Tian pull a fitted tarpaulin over the Silver Phantom, and followed him up the few steps to the doorway of one of the residences. The door unlocked with He Tian’s palmed key, and the unremarkable exterior shifted as soon as it closed behind them.

He Tian’s penchant for disguises was becoming distinctly apparent to Guan Shan as he took in the space; normalcy on the outside, a dizzying parade on the inside, where men in suits and women in slim dresses hurried about the building like bees in a hive, spurred on by the smoke of cigarettes and hash, the ground floor open and absent of dividing rooms, like the stretched innards of a warehouse.

If there was music playing, Guan Shan couldn’t hear it over the shouting of back-and-forth voices, of wooden doors slamming and typewriter carriages pealing to a next line, of feet stomping up staircases and floorboards creaking with traffic above. Glasses of liquor and cordial sat like permanent fixtures on the rows of desks that filled the room, green desk lamps like pockets of jade that fit the main hall of the lower floor, and wooden boards stood sentry-like along the walls. They were decorated with profile photographs and typewritten posters stuck with drawing pins like some policing precinct, but there was nothing abiding in the building.

Almost, it had the illusion of a bank: high windows and suited employees and the nervous, commercial energy of professionalism. But it was too obviously apart from that legality. Guan Shan could almost smell the cordite from gunfire, could taste the white buzz of bloodshot eyes and cocaine breath, could feel the red-soaked paper of stolen hundred-dollar notes.

Men and women paused as He Tian pushed through the hall, nodding and letting him pass, glancing up from typewriters and thick stacks of documentation. Someone took his coat, another the key to the car. A stout woman muttered hurried sentences in He Tian’s ear as he nodded and moved ceaselessly towards the staircase, Guan Shan following, upwards and through another identical hall-like room packed with people, and then towards the closed door at the room. The power He Tian held in this building was palpable, energy shifting from harried to focussed as soon as they caught sight of his dark suit and the golden hilt of his cane, which clacked pointedly along the floorboards.

Most alarming to Guan Shan was that no one stopped him; no one questioned him or raised eyebrows at his red hair. He had arrived with He Tian, and that gave him an authority—an immunity—that was frightening.

Guan Shan had no idea who he was dealing with.

Like the bar beneath Zhengxi’s restaurant, the office at the back of the room was solitary and polished, and the sound of the rooms outside was muted as soon as Guan Shan and He Tian were inside, a blanket of cotton wool draped over them.

Guan Shan sat himself down before He Tian’s desk, its owner standing with his shoulder blades hunched back as he poured over an open manilla folder bursting with sheets of paper.

‘The bar under the restaurant isn’t where you work,’ Guan Shan said, running sweaty palms over the fabric of his trousers.

‘Correct,’ He Tian said, flipping through sheets, eyes scanning black and white text with a rabid kind of pace. ‘Farces, remember?’

Guan Shan remembered—substituted farce for disguise in his head.

‘What do you do here?’ he asked. ‘What were all those people doin’?’

‘This and that,’ He Tian replied.

Guan Shan bit the side of his cheek. ‘And d’you want me to do this or that?’

He Tian’s roaming gaze stilled, and with a careful steadiness, he looked up at Guan Shan. ‘What do you think, Guan Shan? What do you think someone like me does?’

‘Isn’t that why I’m fuckin’ asking?’

He Tian’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, but then he collapsed into his desk chair with a cultured ease that seemed planned. He rubbed at his temple with the fingertips of his left hand. With his right, he dug into his desk drawers and threw a box of Turkish Murad cigarettes on the the surface, plucked one out, and lit it with the lighter in his breast pocket.

‘We run betting transactions here, Guan Shan. We handle liquor and opium imports. We ordain the gentlemen’s clubs and the whorehouses and fund the churches. We work with those dirty cop friends you happily condemned.’ He said, ‘We run the city here, Guan Shan.’

Guan Shan remembered the conversation he’d heard last night in the little Chinatown watering hole.

‘You’re a Tong.’

He Tian didn’t blink. ‘That’s a part of it. But that’s China. I’m talking New York.’ He took a drag. ‘Do you know two of the oaths a man takes to join a Tong?’

Guan Shan didn’t.

‘Loyalty, and righteousness,’ He Tian said, holding up forefinger and thumb. ‘Loyalty to one’s people, and a promise to protect those people from outsiders.’ He Tian spread his hands. ‘How’s that going to work in our people’s favour if we shut ourselves off from those outsiders—whose land we live on and work on and shit on?’

It was barely nine o’clock, but Guan Shan thought about the drink He Tian had offered him last night, and he thought he might accept it now.

‘You want our people to—assimilate?’ Guan Shan asked, trying to think of the word. It tasted dirty on his tongue like poorly made cigars and the ash of burnt ginger left too long over a flame.

‘In their eyes, we’re all delinquents. Thieving foreigners. We’re disorganised and lawless and we all want to follow different rules according to our heritage. How can we work with other people if we can’t work with ourselves? Then there’s the Russians, the Italians, the Irish. I want a common goal.’

Guan Shan stared at He Tian. ‘So you want Chinatown to be under your rule? Everyone according to your rules?’

He Tian arched a brow, and tapped his cigarette. ‘Is it not already?’

‘I heard there were wars.’ You can’t rule something when there’s civil war.

‘Old wars led by old people. I don’t belong to that.’

Guan Shan swallowed this. ‘You think—You know you have Chinatown,’ he said, quickly correcting himself. ‘So, what, you’re going for the whole of fucking Manhattan?’

He Tian smiled thinly. ‘Guan Shan. I’m going for the East Coast.’

Something ran down Guan Shan’s spine like a spider, spreading coldness through every web of muscle and capillary and bone fragment. He looked at He Tian, nine o’clock in the morning and running half of New York’s underground, and knew that He Tian believed in everything he was saying.

What scared Guan Shan, scared him in its arrogance, was that he believed in everything He Tian was saying too.

A thought popped into his head easily, unbidden, and it chilled him: How long do you have to run with this dream before they put you down? He Tian’s death seemed like the death of a god, something invincible and winged and too-powerful brought down by the humanness of a bullet or a knife. But Guan Shan knew that men were only men, and as much as he feared He Tian—fuck him and his mortal weaknesses—He Tian was only the same.

‘You’re fucking crazy,’ Guan Shan said.

He Tian chuckled. ‘My brother would be happy to hear that.’

‘Your brother?’

‘He runs the West,’ He Tian explained, a dismissive edge to his tone. ‘He always called the East an untamable beast. It’d be a fucking pleasure to prove him wrong.’

He runs the West.

Fuck, Guan Shan was beyond this.

If He Tian had his hand in every pocket of every citizen in a thousand-mile radius, Guan Shan was a pauper with empty pockets drinking rainwater off the streets. He couldn’t do this. His father was lost to the untamable beast that Guan Shan thought was He Tian before it was the coastline, and Guan Shan was dreaming if he thought he’d ever find his father again. He was going to die here.

��And where do I fit in all this?’ he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady. ‘You saw me in a restaurant and took me as I was? No money and shitty education and a background you don’t really believe? You don’t seem like the kinda person who makes those kinda mistakes.’

‘Right,’ said He Tian. ‘So if I wanted you, what makes you think I’ve made a mistake?’

‘If you—’ The words shuddered to a stop. ‘Want me for what?’

He Tian shrugged. ‘Company. A second opinion. You interest me.’ He pressed out his cigarette. ‘You ask a fuck ton of questions for someone who just wants money, Mo Guan Shan.’

His full name on He Tian’s tongue was fearful; did He Tian remember Guan Shan’s father’s name? Had he made the connection? Was Guan Shan sitting here, waiting for a moment to strike, and all the while He Tian was waiting for him to do the same with some omniscient arrogance?

‘I don’t trust this,’ Guan Shan told him.

He Tian said, ‘That makes two of us, and I don’t care. You knew my name, where I was. What made you think you could?’ He held up a hand, fingers slender and exposed and silencing. ‘No more questions,’ he said, and tapped a finger on the desk. ‘Business.’

He threw the folder in front of him over to Guan Shan’s side of the desk, and Guan Shan picked it up the same way he approached anything offered to him by He Tian: tentative and cautious and waiting for it to bite. The same way he approached the man himself.

‘What d’you want with this guy?’ Guan Shan asked, leafing through the documented profile of some white politician, a black-and-white photo of the man staring up, his smile a stretch of white teeth that made Guan Shan’s skin crawl, light eyes leering and imposing through the paper.

‘We’re going to pay him a visit,’ He Tian said. ‘Mr Sauer’s parents fled to America in the eighteen-fifties after their pro-democracy politics threw them into government scrutiny. Sauer seems to be a fan of twisting his family’s beliefs to suit his own agenda.’

Guan Shan looked up, mouth twisting. ‘But you want to twist our country’s for your agenda? Fucking hypocrite.’

Wordlessly, immediately, He Tian leaned over and pressed his cigarette into the back of Guan Shan’s hand.

The searing burn was immediate, brief and gone within the second, but it was enough for Guan Shan to cry out and drop the folder into his lap, eyes watering with stinging, welting pain, the smell of burnt skin filling his nostrils.

‘You were saying?’ He Tian said, and relit the cigarette.

Guan Shan cradled his hand against his chest as his body trembled—and glared.

‘Don’t cross me, Guan Shan. Neither of us will like it.’ He reached over again, ignoring Guan Shan’s flinch, and grabbed the folder from Guan Shan’s lap. ‘I have most of Tammany, but I want more than that political machine. I need the right-wingers too if I’m getting this Exclusion Act out of my way.’

Mind reeling from the sudden act of violence, Guan Shan tried to piece himself back together and focus on the conversation. His skin had stopped searing, but it was sore and needed ice, the flesh already risen in a bubble the shape of a cigarette cherry. For some time, Guan Shan knew there would be a scar.

‘Sauer’s my answer to this problem,’ He Tian continued, ‘but if he won’t convert then he needs to get out of my way.’

‘Convert?’ Guan Shan asked, clearing his horse voice.

‘He’s an opioid addict, which is easy leverage. But he’s roughed up some of my girls a few times too many.’ He Tian ran a thumb along his jawline in thoughtful planning. ‘I’m half-hoping he won’t be easy to bait.’

‘It would justify you murdering him.’

He Tian’s smile is cold. ‘When one of my girls ends up in the hospital with her breasts cut open with a knife, we can talk about justification.’

Guan Shan felt his face twist at the starkness of He Tian’s words, undressed and barren. He spoke with a vulgar clarity that clashed with the low smoothness of his voice, an impression that was jarring and left Guan Shan feeling off-kilter. Really, he hadn’t felt balanced since the moment he’d set foot in New York, and He Tian’s character was threatening to throw him over.

‘Why bother with this Sauer guy at all?’ he asked. ‘If he’s such a piece of shit, why try and get him on your side? There’s other guys in government you could bait, right?’

Guan Shan couldn’t think about how easy the words were rolling off his tongue; how easy a concept belonging to He Tian’s world had suddenly become a standard part of his own.

He Tian nodded at him. ‘Many others, but this one’s already in someone else’s pocket, which means he must be worth something to the rest of the righters.’ His tone changed, went careful in a way Guan Shan hadn’t heard before, like he was testing waters. ‘You’ve heard of She Li?’

The name was unfamiliar. ‘Should I have?’

He Tian frowned and became pensive. Guan Shan couldn’t figure out what was puzzling him.

‘She Li wants his own Tong, and he wants to be sheriff.’

‘You’re worried about this guy?’

‘No. But I want to know what he’s selling people like Sauer that makes them want him more than me.’ He looked somewhere above Guan Shan’s head, seeing something Guan Shan couldn’t, eyes unfocused. ‘We’ve tapped his phones and cut through his telegrams, but there’s been nothing. None of my guys know anything, and if they did, I’d know. Whatever he’s doing, he’s hiding it really fucking well.’

‘What if it’s just the same as you? Buying Sauer with heroin and prostitutes?’

‘We’ve found his supplier and tracked it back,’ He Tian said. ‘It’s some big-timer from Chicago my brother knows, not She Li.’

‘And what if She Li’s giving him more than that? More than what he wants?’

He Tian shifted, looking at him blankly. ‘What’s your point?’

‘This—this Sauer fucker. He’s government, right? So what if She Li’s giving the government somethin’. Sauer’s just the in-between, and She Li’s not really giving Sauer anything.’

‘If that’s the case, then Sauer can be compromised. His duty to himself is more important than his patriotism.’

Guan Shan shrugged. ‘Guess you’ll have to meet the guy and find out.’

‘Guess I will,’ said He Tian. ‘And you’ll come with me.’ He rested a weighted gaze on Guan Shan, flipping his lighter in his hand. Guan Shan was growing used to the man’s stillness, his intense silences and dark staring. It made every motion, every rotation of the metal, captivating. ‘You know, you make everything sound easy,’ He Tian said quietly. ‘Simple.’

Guan Shan didn’t know what to make of that. Guan Shan made everything sound easy out of brutal honesty; He Tian was enigmatic and mercurial, except when he was cruel. It made him difficult to grasp, meant his mind must work on overtime, trying to make more sense of things than was needed.

A knock on the door interrupted their strange silence.

The senior woman who’d been muttering in He Tian’s ear when they arrived at the office poked her around the corner.

‘Your brother’s on the wire, sir.’

He Tian looked up, a clouded expression on his face. ‘It’s barely dawn there,’ he muttered to no one in particular, and then, resigned: ‘Give me a moment, Mei Fen.’

Mei Fen nodded, retreated. The door shut behind her, and He Tian had a finger pointed in Guan Shan’s direction as he stood.

‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘We’ll leave after I’m done.’ As he passed, he leaned down into Guan Shan’s ear, his voice kept to a murmur as if someone would hear him—as if it mattered who heard his threat. His breath was hot on Guan Shan’s neck, and Guan Shan caught a glimpse of He Tian’s leather shoulder holster, gun pressing forward on his jacket. ‘I’ll know if you try anything,’ he murmured, close as a lover, ‘and I will do worse than your hand.’

With He Tian gone, the pain from the burn Guan Shan had briefly forgotten now flared with a steady, stinging throb. He clenched his fist, unclenched it, skin shifting over his bones, the blistered flesh crying out with the movement, like pressing at a bruise, or twisting a loose tooth.

There wasn’t much of anything Guan Shan would be able to do while He Tian answered the call, but it didn’t stop him from wandering the perimeter of He Tian’s office barely seconds after the door closed.

Bottles of whisky and baiju and gin filled almost every cabinet, and cigar trays that He Tian didn’t seem to smoke were stacked in neat rows like the unread books. Boxes of documented reports filled the higher cabinets, sheets of paper that Guan Shan flipped through quickly, the listed figures a blur that Guan Shan couldn’t make sense of. Dates and names and locations were crammed into most of the reports, and Guan Shan skimmed them knowing he had no idea what he was looking for.

The drawers of He Tian’s desk were mostly locked, and there was no release switch that Guan Shan could find, fingers running over the smooth underside of the desk. Two pistols and a revolver sat neatly in one of the drawers, beside a box of gilded fountain pens and bottles of dark ink, and a serrated knife lay on a sheaf of starched vellum paper—the same He Tian had used to deliver the message last night.

I just need something, Guan Shan thought desperately, casting hasty glances at the closed door. Something that makes him culpable. Something that connects him.

But there wasn’t—locked cabinets and drawers barred him, and what was available to him—liquor bottles and expensive stationery and guns—gave him nothing. It told Guan Shan everything he already knew: that He Tian was rich, cultured, lawless, and violent. That, if he’d orchestrated his father’s arrival into New York, he wouldn’t leave a trail.

Guan Shan was thinking about the contract He Tian had given him that morning, head bowed over the open drawers of He Tian’s desk, when the door opened.

Guan Shan froze.

They stared at each other in silence, and He Tian shut the door without turning away.

He Tian stared at him. ‘Find what you’re looking for?’ he asked.

Guan Shan glanced down at the revolvers in the drawer, weighing, fuelled by the kind of chaotic, mad impulse his mother would warn him to watch. He’d never fired a gun in his life—didn’t know if they were even loaded. Carefully, Guan Shan pushed the drawer closed, no screeching of unoiled wood, just a smooth insertion, which He Tian watched from the doorway.

His watchful stillness could have told Guan Shan one of four things: none of the guns were loaded; He Tian knew he could pull a gun on Guan Shan faster than Guan Shan could on him; he didn’t believe Guan Shan would be capable of pulling the trigger; or he wasn’t afraid of death.

He would suffer a mortal wound with a smile on his face, and the knowledge that once a gunshot reverberated through the offices, Guan Shan would be dead within minutes.

‘No,’ Guan Shan told him, throat dry. His heart ached in his chest as it crashed against his ribcage. Maybe he’d be shot anyway, the cigarette burn on the back of his hand like a papercut. ‘I didn’t.’

You stupid fuck.

He Tian nodded, as if understanding. ‘Alright,’ he said, and Guan Shan waited for that quick strike of violence He Tian had employed in the office just before—a knife at his head, a pistol aimed at a kneecap.

But there was nothing.

He’s unpredictable, Guan Shan reminded himself. He’ll swipe one time and hunt for three days the next.

The thought did nothing to comfort him, made him only understand that if He Tian exacted no punishment now, then it would come later, when Guan Shan’s guard was down.

He Tian’s coat was draped over his arm, ready to go and find Sauer, and Guan Shan knew that He Tian was going to leave this office with him—or alone.

‘Grab one of those, would you?’ He Tian said, jerking his head towards the desk. ‘The Korovin would do. The blue one with the wooden side panels. Watch the blowback.’

It took a second for Guan Shan to catch up. ‘You want me to give you a fucking gun.’

He Tian smiled, propped himself against the doorframe. ‘I want you to give you a gun. I already have mine.’

Guan Shan had already called He Tian crazy. He was already bewildered by the man’s operations. Guan Shan had nothing to do but gape.

‘Something wrong?’ He Tian asked.

‘No,’ Guan Shan said. And then, as if experiencing some great, philosophical epiphany, ‘You don’t make mistakes.’

He Tian’s smile widened. ‘You’re learning, Guan Shan.’

One of He Tian’s men had been watching Sauer for weeks, trailing him from city hall to grocery store to whorehouse; it made finding his hotel suite at The Pierre easy, dressed in Turkish marble and Indian silks and overlooking the lazed movements of Central Park below, appropriately lavish for the bottles of champagne that rolled across Sauer’s marbled flooring and any sultan or rajah or English lady who wandered into the hotel’s ballroom or tea gardens or glistening lobby.

He Tian sat with his legs crossed in the alcove of an ornate window seat smoking a cigarette, while Sauer hurried to find his underpants and the two French women in his bed found a new residence in the bathroom and locked the door behind them.

Guan Shan stood at the suite’s front door, two of He Tian’s men standing watch in the hallway, and watched the scene play out before him, uncomfortably aware of the gun in his pocket. He Tian had given him a brief lesson on the drive uptown, his instructions matter-of-fact and trained, like teaching Guan Shan how to light a cigarette.

Guan Shan knew how to fight; he knew how to throw a punch. He’d bitten his lip enough times and broken enough teeth against his split knuckles to handle that—righteous kids from his village and thieves on the freight trains—but this was different. There was a detachment in pulling a trigger and ending someone with the sudden finality of a gunshot. It wouldn’t hurt Guan Shan to pull it. He wouldn’t risk bleeding.

‘You won’t even need to use it,’ He Tian told him, palming the keys of his car to a chauffeur with a five-dollar bill.

‘That’s a fucking comfort,’ Guan Shan had muttered in response, and followed He Tian, smirking, into the hotel.

Sauer was bigger than Guan Shan had thought from the photo, closer to He Tian’s height and broad in the shoulders, thick with muscle, but older too. His stomach was softening and the blond line of his hair was fading backwards, the leery glittering eyes in the photo He Tian’d kept now dull and watery. Guan Shan noted his sluggish movements and laboured breath, his light-haired moustache beaded with sweat. In part, Guan Shan could chalk it up to the champagne, to the sex, to He Tian’s casual entry—tell the girls to get the fuck out and get dressed—into his hotel suite. In part, Guan Shan recognised the signs of an addict.

Eventually, Sauer was clothed, shirt tails hanging untucked over the waistline of his trousers, his feet bare. He stood with a hand tight around the bronze rail of the suite bar, darting glances back at Guan Shan every so often, aware that he was sandwiched between the two men, window and door and bathroom barred, and drank deeply, shakily, from a glass of some clear liquid.

He Tian kicked his long legs out in front of him, and got to his feet.

‘Sauer,’ he said, finding the appropriate time for his introduction. ‘Mein Name ist He Tian.’

Sauer’s pallid complexion went translucent.

German, Guan Shan knew less than English, so the conversation that followed was a blur of guttural consonants and cutting exchanges that left Sauer stuttering and red-faced, and He Tian wearing a cool look of impassivity.

The sharper, more stressed Sauer’s responses grew, the lower He Tian’s voice dropped, the bass of each syllable rattling the base of Guan Shan’s throat. This was an interrogation of a hostage, and Guan Shan found himself shifting in discomfort with each question He Tian demanded, the gun growing heavier in his pocket with every panicked response Sauer threw out, arms flailing in defence of accusation. Questions were thrown back and forth, answers blunt and snappish, and Guan Shan only knew He Tian was getting nowhere.

He Tian never moved forward, didn’t shift his weight or make use of the cane in his right hand, a placid lake looked upon at night, movement mistaken for the shimmer of moonlight—so it must have been Sauer who moved first.

His glass smashed to the floor, shrill screaming echoed from the bathroom, and his nose was burst and bloodied before Guan Shan could make sense of any motion.

He stood frozen at the door to the suite as He Tian struck a fist into Sauer’s solar plexus, winding him and feigning to the right to miss Sauer’s strangled swing, and Guan Shan’s hands ached for a fight.

‘Don’t get involved,’ He Tian had told him. ‘Whatever happens.’

Guan Shan resented him for giving orders that were so hard to follow.

Sauer threw slow, heavy-handed punches like a boxer, glass crunching under his feet, his breath panting and shuddered. He managed to catch a fistful of He Tian’s jacket, the momentum causing them to stumble on unsteady feet towards the bar, and He Tian’s head caught on bottles as Sauer dragged him across its surface, hand scrabbling for a shard of broken glass to cut He Tian with.

He never found one, advantage not lasting long; He Tian brought a knee up between Sauer’s spread legs and the German was forced to release his hold on He Tian’s jacket, staggering backwards on impulse.

Guan Shan’s eyes widened as He Tian straightened himself. Blood from Sauer’s nose was soaking his white shirt, and more ran from a glass-made gouge in He Tian’s temple and down to his jaw line, which he wiped away with an impetuous swipe.

His movements towards Sauer were predatory, stalking, each click of his heels thudding with Guan Shan’s racing heartbeat, and he felt himself flinch as He Tian’s cane rose like an arm ready to throw a javelin—and swung.

The cane cracked across Sauer’s face, his shrill cry reverberating as he clutched at his collapsed jaw, and he collapsed backwards onto the marble floor with a thud.

Another swing caught Sauer’s raised hand across the knuckles, and Guan Shan swallowed at the nausea that was rolling in his stomach as the bones of Sauer’s fingers snapped.

He Tian wasn’t smiling as he stood over the man, showed no outward sign of pleasure at the slaughter, and Guan Shan didn’t know if that was better or worse—that he could do this, break a man, with such cold efficiency and feel nothing.

‘He Tian,’ he said quietly. ‘I think he gets the message.’

It would take weeks for Sauer’s jaw to work again, for a string of words to come out that didn’t make his eyes water, longer for him to be able to hold a pen or a gun or his cock. He Tian needed him damaged and warned and out-of-action. This wasn’t a necessity.

He Tian’s dark look could only be received as a glare. ‘I wasn’t here to threaten, Guan Shan,’ he said. ‘You knew that.’

Guan Shan knew. Convert or get out of He Tian’s way. Justifiable murder.

‘You could use him,’ Guan Shan said. ‘Use him as a mole.’

Sauer was left groaning on the floor while He Tian stalked towards the bar, found an unharmed bottle of gin swimming with dark berries, and took a swig. His chest rose even and strong, and his fingers tightened and untightened around the handle of his cane as he wiped his mouth into the arm of his jacket, spat blood on the floor, lit up a cigarette. Ineffective from where he stood in the doorway, Guan Shan caught a glimpse of He Tian’s split knuckles.

‘A mole,’ He Tian said bitterly. ‘He’s useless to me. Denies knowing anything about She Li. Either he’s telling the truth or She Li’s got him hooked tighter than I thought, and I don’t have the time to break him.’

Guan Shan glanced at Sauer, moaning over the warped shape of his right hand, clutching it to his chest.

‘You offered him opium?’

He Tian threw a disgusted look at the politician. ‘Offered him the fucking moon.’

He stubbed his cigarette out onto the bar and stretched his hands across his surface. Strands of slick-backed hair draped in front of his eyes like thin shadows. He was still standing, barely wounded, but he wore the heavy air of someone who’d suffered a defeat.

‘He’s the third one,’ He Tian admitted. And then, ‘Who knew these fuckers’ prejudices ran this deep.’

It felt strange to be having a conversation while a man agonised on the floor between them, but then maybe He Tian was right: all of this was about the Exclusion Acts. The Irish and the Russians and the Italians—where were the acts being placed against them? Where were their alliances for the Chinese when America had been birthed from foreigners and built on the back of its brown-skinned natives?

If the right-wing politicians wouldn’t budge while people back in Guan Shan’s village and neighbouring towns risked starvation and poverty weekly, risked travelling thousands of miles to feed their families, maybe this was the answer.

This rushed through his head in a few seconds, some burst of moral outrage that Guan Shan didn’t know what to do with—and then movement caught his eye.

He didn’t know where Sauer had gotten it from, how either He Tian or Guan Shan had missed the palm-sized pistol now held in Sauer’s left hand, but Guan Shan’s body burst into a cold-hot flame that was singular to fate-driven moments like these.

The gun was pointed at He Tian’s back.

Like the jerky, fast-paced movements of a movie star, there was a blurred sequence of events that Guan Shan would only recollect in agonising slowness later: Sauer lifting himself up from the floor with a strained groan, He Tian turning in response to Guan Shan’s silence, Guan Shan taking a step forward that seemed to take a lifetime, like trying to run from a monster in a nightmare, hand moving to the inside of his jacket, wondering who was the monster? Who was the victim? Who would get their throat torn out and their blood worn like a mask and—

Bang.

Guan Shan never knew how loud it would be, eardrums fractured from the sound so close and confined in a room made of marble and crystal and silk. He didn’t know how it would suck out everything until he was left with something deeper than silence, a vacuum emptiness that made his ears ring with shallow dissonance, how movement would blur and stumble in his vision, reason abandoning him.

But he learnt quickly.

He caught up with himself on the drive to Zhengxi’s, He Tian’s men leaning over their boss’ body with heavy-handed presses on his shoulder in the back of the car, He Tian’s face moon-white and sheened with sweat, brows drawn and lip curling in pain and irritation.

Sauer’s face swam in Guan Shan’s head as the driver took sharp turns that made He Tian groan, narrowly missing carriages and cyclists and other cars.

The German had worn a quiet look of surprise before he died. Oh, it said, red stain spilling across his back like the mistake of a clumsy waiter, pistol clattering to the tiles, head hitting the marble with a dull thud declaring lifelessness.

The hired girls screamed in the bathroom after the gunshot, and soon the suite doors had burst open, He Tian’s men cramming themselves into the room, piecing together the events—Sauer dead, He Tian wounded, Guan Shan holding a gun—in a belligerent rush.

‘He’s with me,’ He Tian had gritted out as they turned on Guan Shan, hunched over and clutching at his shoulder by the bar, and then it was a rush down the hotel’s back staircase, feet stomping against the metal, He Tian almost carried down the stairs, and into the car waiting among kitchen fumes and trash bags.

They were in Chinatown when Guan Shan refocused his eyes again. Zhengxi was already waiting outside the restaurant, which remained closed until the evening, and He Tian’s men were helping their boss to stagger inside before the car’s engine had even been cut.

There was a padded table laid out in front of Zhengxi’s desk that trembled as He Tian was lifted onto it, and beside it sat a metal tray of instruments and a bowl of water and rolls of bandages on what looked like a liquor cart.

‘No questions, just fix me up?’ Zhengxi asked impassively, already cutting away at He Tian’s clothing with a pair of scissors, his swift, steady actions and words like an echo of a previous time. Previous times.

‘I knew I’d hired you for a reason,’ He Tian managed to reply, humour ashen, drinking from a supplied bottle of vodka.

Zhengxi snorted. ‘Jian Yi hired me. Not you.’

He Tian tried to rise up onto his elbows. ‘And who hired Jian Yi?’

Zhengxi shoved He Tian back onto the table, unleashing a string of colourful curses from He Tian’s mouth, and peered pragmatically at He Tian’s bullet wound with a magnifying glass. He didn’t look at Guan Shan, but Guan Shan knew Zhengxi had seen him when they entered, marking Guan Shan’s presence with a soft frown that said, It didn’t take you long.

‘How close was it?’ Zhenxgi asked, picking up the necessary tools for extraction. He squinted. ‘At least it hasn’t fragmented.’

His remarks left He Tian lolling his head on the bench until his eyes met Guan Shan’s, who was standing before the closed office door, conscious of the weight of his limbs, the dryness of his throat, how quiet he felt—removed, and numb, stuck inside a goldfish bowl where the outside was misshapen and muted, head knocking dully against the glass, the skin of his hand still vibrating.

It hadn’t even hurt.

When Guan Shan blinked, he realised He Tian’s eyes weren’t glassy with pain, with the hazy clouding of the wounded, but startlingly clear, like pain was a crystalliser. It made him less murky, and Guan Shan could see the scars that littered his chest, some the neat lines of a knife swipe, others deep gouges that dimpled his torso, well-muscled and sweat-soaked, the mawling spread of a panther tattoo twisting across his skin, tail disappearing below his navel.

‘You saved my life,’ He Tian said, the last word marked with a wince while Zhengxi doused the wound and filled the office with the smell of ethanol.

Guan Shan had no honest answer. He could only think, I saved your life, and I don’t know why. Part of him argued that it was for his father, because if He Tian died then Guan Shan’s father died with him. But another part of him was clouded and voiceless, and Guan Shan had no reason to want to save the life of a man like him, whom he’d known barely a day. No reason at all.

‘Patriotism. Sauer was gonna kill you,’ was all he offered. You told me I wouldn’t need it.

He Tian sniffed at the lie. ‘He nearly did, if you hadn’t shot him first. Shame you couldn’t have done it before he pulled the trigger.’ He Tian gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, then said, ‘Felt some hesitation, did you?’

Guan Shan said, ‘What if I said yeah?’

Somehow, He Tian’s gaze was steady for a few moments as Zhengxi released the bullet, packing the wound with swabs of cotton. He hid drunkenness and agony well enough that it was frightening—and then he closed his eyes with a deep exhale.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he muttered. ‘You still did it.’

Right, Guan Shan thought, leaning back against the door, staring at the ceiling. The gun was a lead weight against his heart. I still did it.

If you liked my work, please reblog this post so others can find it, consider donating to me via Ko-Fi for a drabble, or commissioning me for a fic!

next >

[landofsomethingsomething]

It’s so god damn easy to tear people down. People do it every day. It’s simple, it’s satisfying, it’s cathartic, it feels like balm to people who have been wronged, to people who have suffered, to people who have to live their lives outside this virtual space in fear and in real danger, in abusive households and abusive communities and situations that do not foster kindness, empathy, or the extension of good faith toward strangers. Being able to lash out safely from behind a screen at people that are safe to lash out at and who feel like a source of your continuing oppression -- that’s novel, at first. It’s invigorating. It’s freeing. The ability to be angry, to say angry things, to express your hurt and rage at any number of nameless or unnamable things is so fucking seductive it’s no wonder so many lgbt+ people have spent time in that place, have had periods of their lives where they engaged in this behavior and said what they wanted and lashed out without thought and allowed others so similar to them to enable their behavior. 

It’s so easy to find lgbt+ people who are in pain. To take these people who are in pain and to give them targets. To mold young people and your peers and take advantage of their trauma (so like your own!) and whip it up, normalize it within your group, foster it on any number of available platforms. Focus it on whoever you deem deserving at any given time. Actions speak louder than words. Context is irrelevant. Dialogue is weak. Abusers are abusers are abusers, except when you’re the abuser, because the abuse you have suffered justifies your actions. Your abuse makes you relatable. Your abuse is more important, more valid, more meaningful, more deserving of the care and empathy of others regardless of your coping mechanisms. 

It’s so damn fucking easy to just say whatever you want on the internet. It’s so easy to paint a group with whatever paintbrush you like, because no one fact checks, no one cares about context, no one concerns themselves with nuance, no one views the words on the screen in front of them as coming from another human being with an entirely separate lived history full of its own tragedy and triumph and biases and triggers and needs and understanding and hard fucking learned lessons. 

We separate into teams and look for ways to score points against the other side. We make ourselves willfully ignorant so we don’t have to switch sides, or even better, remove ourselves from the game entirely. We busy ourselves with tearing our enemies down with unattainable standards, ignore our own hypocrisy, and look to our side to tell us we’re right, we’re right, this time we are right and we will not be silenced and we will not be bullied and we will not let them win. 

Our actual abusers don’t see any of it. They don’t care. They go on living their lives. We take our rage and our pain and our frustration out in arenas we understand, in the places we feel safe, and the people we lash out at are the people who should be our friends, our allies, our brothers and sisters and nonbinary siblings who have suffered so much in a world that denies our sexuality, denies our gender, denies our expression, denies our right to exist. 

We know our abusers won’t listen. We know our pain is nothing to them, a drop in a bucket. So we hurt the people that can’t help but listen, because our stories are so alike. 

I went through an angry phase. I spent a few years screaming at people I felt deserved it, too. Some of them did and some of them didn’t, and doing so brought me short term satisfaction and a deep sense of power that I had not experienced anywhere else. A deep resonance with my own identity that I was powerless to exhibit anywhere in my real life, because family is complicated, friends are the choir and speaking up about microaggressions at work gets queer people fucking fired every fucking day, and you need that god damn money to eat. to live. to pay for your fucking brain pills. 

So. 

When you have a platform and a fandom and you feel that thrill of being heard, finally -- I get it. 

But here’s the thing. 

Your abuse never justifies levying abuse on others, strangers, people whose context you do not know and whose stories you have not heard. 

Your emotions are valid. You are free to feel however you like. If you need to vent in private, among friends and colleagues and people you feel safe with, by all means. 

Your favorite characters and your favorite ships and your favorite relationships and your fanfiction and your fanart may be how you express yourself or vent or cope. Your Shit means different things to different people, and to some, it means nothing at all. Let it fucking go. Your shit is not the bar of lived experience other people in fandom must meet to be considered sufficiently oppressed to spare them your bullying. 

Your trigger and your context and your trauma is your own. It does not belong to anyone else. It is your responsibility to understand your limits and respect the rights of other creators, just as it is the responsibility of creators to properly tag and label their work to spare those whom it might upset the indignity of reliving their trauma within a space that is supposed to be safe for them. A space that for some may be the only safe space they have. A space that for some may be the only escape available to them. A space that, for some, may be the only way they can begin to express themselves, furtively, in stolen moments in an oppressive environment. 

Fandom is where so many of us found ourselves. It’s full of us, lgbt+ people in various life stages, expressing ourselves in communities dedicated to content that made us feel enough to find ourselves here in the first place. It’s where children currently are discovering labels for feelings they have never had the words to talk about before. It’s where adults go in the midst of their busy lives to contribute to a body of work motivated by nothing but emotion for the source, for the community, and/or for the hope of encouraging feedback from their peers, their fans, their heroes, all three. It’s where everyone goes and discovers there are people out there just like them, after all. 

It’s where people are picking their teams and suiting up and getting in line and hurting people just like them, every day. 

It’s where people are putting the feelings and wellbeing and sanctity and rights of fictional characters over those of actual human beings who committed the grave sin of enjoying a thing a different way, or for different reasons.

Fandom is full of amazing connection and moments I wouldn’t trade for the world. I wouldn’t be married to my amazing wife right now without it. But it’s also a battlefield in a bubble where I watch oppressed people tear each other apart every single day, while of course, in the meantime, outside the filmy fucking boundary between this world and the real one, the same privileged sorts continue to dominate every aspect of mainstream media, the white house is full of incompetent, hateful people, some of whom are literal nazis, white nationalists feel safe enough to wear swastikas on public transit in liberal epicenters, gay men in russia are being sent to death camps, the police are murdering people of color indiscriminately without fear of personal or professional consequence, the supreme court is one death or retirement away from setting back civil rights in the united states a century, trans people have to watch a nation of frightened pissbabies scream about the sanctity of public bathrooms while they themselves suffer from an increased rate of being literally fucking murdered simply for existing, gay teenagers ostracized from conservative families sleep homeless in the street with winter fast approaching, hurricanes devastate a dozen nations because this century has paved a political landscape where corporate profits prevail over basic human rights  -- and you know what, fuck it, let’s make it a little personal -- 

half my family has never acknowledged the fact that I have been married for a year because they don’t believe it is a legitimate marriage because I and my wife are both women, my wife and I went to the hairdresser the other day and when we checked in with the same last name we were asked if we were sisters (and upon clarifying, the woman who was to cut our hair loudly and incredulously gasped, “is that legal here?”), one of my best friends, a woman I have known since high school (that’s 17 years ago, for those keeping count) was told she would have to undergo a thorough and lengthy process via working with HR, her boss and the owner of her company before she could represent herself as her correct gender at work - and even after she jumped through all those hoops, she was told she was absolutely not allowed to use the women’s restroom under any circumstances - When I told my father about my engagement, he tearfully turned to me and said “but you’re supposed to marry a guy, and have babies” - and because this was my father, who I have always had a good relationship with despite remaining closeted most of my life, who I have always and still deeply love despite the shit that comes out of his mouth sometimes, who worked 12 hour days in construction to support me after divorcing my mother when he was nineteen years old - I actually fucking felt guilty. 

The memory of how I felt in that moment will follow me until I fucking die, and when I log on to this website at the end of the day and just want to fucking relax and spend time yammering about things I like with people who like those same things, when I just want to spend time in this space that makes me feel good, when I just want to create content for the joy of creating it and the joy of seeing others enjoy the thing I created -- the fucking last thing I want is to see myself, my wife, my close friends and fandom friends alike being put on blast by petty people leveraging a nebulous, ever-changing definition of purity, backed by a group of people I know have suffered and hurt and feel justified hurting others because of it. 

Fandom is where we go to escape the hellish fucking bullshit that is reality, for fuck’s sake.

I don’t fucking care who hurt you. Visiting pain upon others in the aftermath is your choice. Bullying others because a group of impressionable, hurting people looking for a leader will follow you into the trenches here on a battlefield where we should all fucking know better is your choice. 

Your feelings aren’t always your choice. That’s fair.

The way you choose to express and react to and process and deal with those feelings IS your choice.

Your actions are your choice.

So try to be kind. Try to be empathetic. Understand your feelings and understand when you are being manipulated and for god’s sake, when other queer people come out in droves to tell their stories, try to think critically, even if they are on the other “team.” Block content that upsets you. Use tools available to you to keep yourself safe! Blacklist tags. Blacklist URLs. Block people. Be frank about your triggers if you are able and try to give people the benefit of the doubt -- and if you can’t, put space between you and them, and then use the myriad of tools available to you to put a wall in that space. 

I know all about the kind of catharsis that comes from being a “mean gay.” I know all about constructing a set of rules within a group and then judging others outside that group by that context and punishing them when they fail purity tests they knew nothing about. I know all about fighting disrespect with disrespect and anger with anger and logging out at the end of the day to go cry -- not because I was sad, but because I was so fucking angry I couldn’t process the emotion any other way. 

I also know all about walking away from that life, that toxicity. I know about taking a break. I know about reading, a lot, for months and years, about experiences both like and very much unlike my own. I know about resolving to be better. I know about cutting out the people who made me worse, and keeping the people who encouraged me to be better. 

I know how much my life improved when I endeavored to keep my venting and negativity among friends who could actually support me, in places where I couldn’t hurt anyone, and present a positive force to the public, instead. To lift up the things I like and to block and move on with the things I don’t. To let creators have their space and their platform here in this one place where we can each carve out some small part for ourselves and feel like we are in control for once in our fucking lives. I know I stopped crying so much. I know my hobbies stopped making me so angry, all the time. I know that the only times I have been truly, deeply upset in my time in this fandom have been when I have been targeted or those I care about have been targeted. 

I know how fucking hard it is to tear yourself away. 

I know how fucking worth it it is. 

Take care of yourselves. 

[b-listbadboy]

Responding to negative criticism (A better way)

http://alexlayer.tumblr.com/post/156713684692/httpsb-listbadboytumblrcompost156712441719m

[I wanna start this off by saying that I personally apologize to @dashingicecream. Even though I hate the way she handled a very simple situation, that does not excuse me for going about responding to it like I did. In my eyes, she is still wrong for what she did and I personally would like for her to apologize to @botmj. But I’m just as bad for acting like a bit of a dick in my “Message to Dash” post. And for that, I regret my ignorant tone.

I hope she can forgive me for being overly aggressive. And if she does decide to block and ignore me, then I completely understand and respect her decision.]

However, I’m gonna have to disagree with you @alexlayer. And that’s not to say that you don’t bring up some good points, cause you do. But, I still have to disagree with you.

Why don’t we go through what you responded, piece by piece, to see exactly what I do and don’t agree with you on.

1. “What do you think she meant when she spoke about people thinking themselves “super edgy and unique” when shipping Straight Ships? There are actual shippers out there that think they can capitalize in the underdog reputation that the LGBT community has earned. You know, the admirable endurance to subsist over the years under discrimination, unrecognized rights and marginalization just because of their sexuality, sexual identity, lack thereof of either or both, or any combination of those. Those are real trials that these people have endured, and now some shippers act like they’re just the same because they’re the “underdog” in shipping straight ships in fandoms where LGBT ships are predominant, and act like they’re edgy or rebelliously defiant because of it.”

Right off the bat, there seems to be some confusion. Lets clear this up. I don’t have a problem with her saying that people are stupid for thinking they’re edgy and cool just by shipping straight couples in a, quote, “LGBT Predominate” series. Even though that probably might not the case for some who do ship straight ships.

I have a problem with her labeling all straight people in an ignorant way, and then immediately dismissing any criticism for it. I’d probably never would have said anything if she had responded to @sjelenkain and @botmj comments in a well mannered way. But, she didn’t. She instead makes a big deal out of it just to hype herself up by posting these really unnecessary follow ups. Saying things like, “If you don’t like it! then block me! You wont be missed! I never claimed myself to be perfect!” Only after she immediately blocked @sjelenkain for commenting. Not even letting him have the choice to unfollow and block her. Sorry to say, but that kinda attitude honestly seems pretty childish to me.

Dash didn’t have to agree with what they said at all. And she fully has the right to block whoever she wants. But she can’t then complain about getting criticism after posting something divisive to a specific group of people. And afterwards be extremely rude to an ask that was only trying to find a middle ground between the two. That’s not how you should go about people giving you their opinion. No matter how much you don’t agree. Cause meeting negative actions with negative re-actions is never gonna get anyone anywhere close to finding a proper solution. (Something that I wish our current US president would realize.)

And again, I’m just as much of a hypocrite for doing the exact same thing. But, look at what I’m doing right now. I’m admitting my faults and taking full responsibility for my words. If I, a smaller sized blog, am willing to accept my actions and apologize for it, why can’t she?

Regardless, let’s move on.

2.  And if that sounds ridiculous, it’s because IT FUCKING IS and Dash was just COMMENTING on it. Offhandedly and sarcastically, maybe, but she didn’t even through any insults or any of the sort. But of course, some entitled fucktoy went and got offended, as if a comment like that was the same as the government denying you the rights to love your loved ones, or wanting to pass a law that makes it legal for you to get electrocuted in order to “correct” your sexuality, and so one threw the first stone, and since the first one had been thrown, others followed suit, with you – @b-listbadboy – now throwing the biggest one because hey, now it’s cool to pick on her, huh?

You’re not necessarily wrong here. I did come off as a bit of a hateful “fucktoy” in my message and I, again, apologize for that. I let what was happening to me in my personal life influence how I think and write when seeing what Dash was doing. For that I am completely at fault. Even with the personal b/s that was going on with me IRL, its still no excuse for me to take it out on someone else entirely.

However lets talk about this whole “The Straights” thing that Dash said.

I know it was meant as a off handed sarcastic joke. But Just because Dash meant it to be a joke and wasn’t necessarily bashing anyone, doesn’t mean its OK to just ignore it and love her unconditionally. Saying that label, In my personal opinion, is a perfect way to accidentally cause a rift in your followers. Those who are “The Straights”, and those who aren’t. It gives off the impression that people who are straight or ship straight aren’t welcomed to her blog.

And I know she most likely didn’t intend for that, because she herself ships straight couples in a “LGBT Predominate” series. It was Sunflowyr (Yang x Ren) before, now its Strawberry Banana (Sun x Ruby).

You can joke about literally anything, as long as you make it clear that its all meant to be a joke and its only purpose was for fun. That’s what I believe Dash failed to do. If she did, there would literally be no need to overreact on @sjelenkain critique. Speaking of which…

3. And for the record, calling a person childish is NOT “genuine criticism”, and none of that people made Dash who she is today. She’s who she is thanks to her inspired art and her relentless will to draw what she likes, not because of someone adding +1 to her followers or count of likes. And she’s all the more amazing for enduring and sticking to her guns when even fellow LGBT shippers want her to stop drawing her OTP and instead switching to the more popular ships like White Rose and Bumblebee. Fuck it all, she’s already got more than enough shit to deal by herself like to have now people trying to act like she’s this toxic influence in the fandom. All of you are nothing but entitled bullies that need to shut their mouths and pick something better to do with their time to pick on the first person they come across to pick at and act like you’re delivering righteous justice, when all you’re doing is being a bunch of entitled assholes.

Sorry, but I have to strongly disagree….and agree as well? Let me explain.

His comment, while not being the best crafted or even the exact words I would’ve chosen, is legitimate criticism. Negative criticism, but still criticism none the less. I understand how she felt hurt by his comments, and I’m not blaming her for feeling that way. What I am blaming her for is claiming that he needs to unfollow her when she blocked him and took away his choice to even consider doing so. That, I believe is very hypocritical of her. But, I do get why and its not completely her fault.

And as for her sticking to her guns by not giving in to the hordes of demands by White Rose and Bumblebee shippers….yeah you’re absolutely right. Dash is commendable for enduring that kind of overbearing bullcrap that I often do see in the FNDM. I should know, shipping a rarepair like Knightshade (Jaune x Blake) can come with some backlash.

Something else I kinda agree and also don’t agree with you on is that the followers “made” Dash. Now, admittedly, I really could’ve used a better way of phrasing it. So instead of saying that the followers “made” her, lets say they “brought her up”.

I am almost 100% positive that Dash wouldn’t be doing what she does if no one supported or followed her. Especially if she is getting the amount of hate that you and Dash are both claiming. And, y’know what? Being encouraged by the reward of getting more followers isn’t necessarily a demonizing thing! Its almost completely natural on social media and its not something to fault her or really anyone on. I most certainly get excited to see people follow me and don’t see any shame in saying so. And looking back at dash before she was really any level of big that she is now, you can clearly she that not only her art but also her personality and influence has changed.

So, yes, I do think the followers brought her up as who she is now. Its most certainly not the only thing, but it is a big chunk. And again, its nothing to be ashamed about! However, its something that needs to be taken in consideration when posting anything on a public place like tumblr. A lot of people, like you @alexlayer (and believe it or not, myself included.), really look up to her and hold her to a high standard. So when she post something rude and divisive about a specific group of people, if that group of people have been following and supporting her since the begging and see that, they’ll definitely feel betrayed and offended. And they will for sure express that to her.

Final thing I wanna say before ending this post is that like you and I, @dashingicecream is human. And humans make mistakes all the time. But what makes those mistakes OK to make, is when we can see where we were wrong, and apologize for it. I’m not asking for her to change anything about herself at all. And once again, I do apologize for making my original post seem that way. But, I would love for her to at least apologize to @botmj, if anyone at all. I hope you understand where I’m coming from now that I’ve cleared it up better for you all reading this. And even though typing all of this for two days has been exhausting as FUCK, I believe it was worth it.

Thank you for taking your time to listen to what I have to say, and I hope something like this never gets blown out of improper proportions ever again.

@dashingicecream

@alexlayer

[sleepymarmot]

Twilight Mirage liveblog 3/5 (episodes 28-54)

28-35 

I'm very excited for a series of solo episodes!

Don't know how I feel about the new Grand Magnificent tbh… This concept feels more conventional than the original one, and I'm worried the aspects of his character I found interesting won't be in focus anymore.

I had my problems with the previous system and how it flattened down emotions into inaccurate categories, but so far I'm not excited about the switch… Blades in the Dark's mechanics were kinda hard for me to follow by ear, and being unable to keep track of the gameplay by myself is unpleasant; and the new classes sound really dull compared to the ones in The Veil. 

Iota's speech is strange… It sounds more like a simple copy-paste of real-life colonialism than the invasion described previously in the story. “They will ask you to give them a name like ours, they will ask to touch your bone” etc sounds nothing like Independence and its followers' modus operandi was, and, judging by the future tense, hasn't actually happened with the present time settlers yet – so where did that come from, in-universe? In fact, shouldn't her people have a relatively positive outlook on non-hostile outsiders, since they brought on the planet's golden age? Hopefully the following episodes will elaborate on this, because I've made peace with needing lore or plot points explained to me several times, but I need more clarity on big ideological question like this. 

Gig is such a Chaotic Good!!

Buying sex is legal, normal & common in the utopia and Signet is a regular customer?! Fucking seriously?! I couldn't even focus on the episode for the next half hour and eventually turned it off because my thoughts kept returning to this and I kept seething with anger. Way to ruin the episode after I was so moved and intrigued by the intro…

They've been pretty careful with past spoilers this season, here's I think the first example: talking at length about the Hitchcocks, plural. Sure, it was only an episode three spoiler, but it was such a good reveal! 

So, who actually printed out the ancient Quire people? Was it a political move from one of the sides? 

No Austin you definitely have not mentioned Earth building a giant Dyson spehere around themselves!!! What the fuck :D

Everyone got a nice inconsequential vignette and Fourteen's scene had actual high stakes…

I really, really don't get what Seneschal looks like

After half a season of two separate parties and seven solo episodes it's so nice to hear everyone together!

Signet's look is absolutely not the kind of thing I imagined her wearing…

Please tell me someone has made an animatic about Even's hair tendril high-fiving Gig's eye

36-45 

It's always cute when the first words after the intro are in that specific tone of voice that makes it obvious that at least 5-10 minutes before were spent in a lively conversation about some nonsense that finally was put to an end no more than two seconds ago (and then they talk about nonsense for ten more minutes lol) 

I love this show's dedication to describing everyone's outfits in extreme detail at every opportunity 

50k+ years later it's Art and Jack's turn to be the half of the party who walks right through the door and charm their way in lol. I hope they don't get shot or buy a bunch of torch units or something

I really like “finding a way to help a teenage community fit in the world” and “reconnecting a family and acquiring infrastructure for travel between planets” as the first projects; it really does convince you that these people have set out to make the world a better place (even if a lot of the time is actually spent pulling heists or fighting mechanical tigers).

Okay, the scavenger faction leader is literally a vulture, I get it.

What I don't get is why we are supposed to dislike that faction. There was some general “eh, they suck” said OOC during setup but we haven't actually seen them do anything bad! Show, don't tell! They need to, like, raid Big Garage and try to steal Gumption's arm if you want me to see them as an enemy.

Remember that nonsense I wrote about T. Rex in my C/w notes post? I can't believe they're doing basically the same joke on the actual show!

But how about… not capture or kill… but befriend the Axiom and/or release it into the wild… I know, I know, they can't travel far enough to move it to a safe distance from humans. But it just offends me on principle that after all that talk of diversity etc, when the characters actually meet a truly alien, unique species, they only consider the options of killing or capturing and exploiting them, and nobody even tries to ask “hey, shouldn't these creatures have rights, even if we are forced to disregard them in self-defence for the moment?” You know who I need to appear on screen ASAP? Bounty. Ask it everything! Does it remember being an Axiom? What did it feel like? What does it think about its transformation and new role? 

I thought Grand's special gun was just Even's gun?

Did Janine just call Belgard Signet's “robot wife”? Hell yeah

Me for an hour straight, not having read the description: Blease Do Not Kill My Alien Child I guess that's at least postponed now though… The situation did immediately get mildly creepy again, which makes me concerned. Is this just a different reason to kill a different Axiom – to Free Innocents from a Lotus Eater Machine? I'm getting serious September flashbacks. Honestly, between this, the other team's arc which felt like a crossover about the Chime in Marielda, and everyone getting a personal mech, this half of the season is starting to feel like Counter/weight 2, which is sad because at the beginning the atmosphere was much more original. Also I miss Primary and Satellite's correspondence, it was such a good framing device and a touching relationship at the same time!

Polyphony's powers and way of thinking are more similar to Quire than anything else

I feel very relieved and vindicated by the direction this story took!

Hell yeah finally more about the Waking Cadent!! I've been waiting for that for how many episodes now? Now that we've seen her in person I hate her actually Amend that, I hate both Cadents. A plague on both their houses!

46-54

Good on you Even, what's even the point of a military background if you don't pull rank on some jerks

Am I glad to hear from the Rapid Evening again! Bold of Austin to assume we could forget who Primary and Satellite were Okay, I first had this question a ton of episodes ago, but now it is relevant again: does Grey know the contents of the previous Satellite's final message? She knows about its existence because the numbers match up (yeah I went back and checked), but does she know that Crystal Palace either made a colossal miscalculation about Independence's route or lied on purpose for some reason?

Wait, characters still have beliefs? I don't remember this coming up since the game change

I completely forgot about Tender's cyborg legs and also misheard “I have a fake leg” as “thick leg” and was like “Uh good for you but how's that gonna help?!”

Once again, Team Exploration goes ahead and leaves Team Heist without resources lol. What do you mean they're using our ship for an orbital drop? What do you mean they've taken all axiom scanners? :D Seriously though, it's a shame that the sessions were played in this order because in-universe I see no reason why they wouldn't say “Hey before you go after Acre Seven, let's fly over Terncage and do a scan real quick” (the range on the scanners is far enough for that, right?)

I don't get how Ache works. For Quire, it made what it wishes it could be, but for everyone else it just made evil clones vaguely themed after their regrets?

TENDER IS A GAY DISASTER I haven't heard such a spectacular meltdown since Calhoun probably, holy shit

TENDER IS A DISASTER SQUARED she starts talking to a woman and just doesn't stop! This is a great episode

I like how Gig immediately says no to the devil's bargain

Oh Signet disregarding the digital Blooming, you clearly haven't seen/read (the future version of) Solaris :D

Oh no, it's the Smiling God! Came to visit another podcast that used to have a personification of capitalism as a big boss evil god

A crit at the last possible moment, after a long string of 1s… Ali's dice see through the fourth wall!

I… didn't fully understand the reveal of how it was all connected

Okay, so the Dark Day could have been prevented by keeping the gun dealer priest alive and allowing him to arm the NEH so that it could take over Twilight Mirage and wouldn't need to activate plan B i.e. come here and block signal from the Crystal Palace? Correct? It makes sense now, but Our Profit seems to be from such a far future that I just can't imagine how this plan was created and put in place

O….k… I actually expected Grand to leave the team and go off on his own (or become an NPC) as a consequence of the holiday special if he was the sacrificed character instead of the Chthonic. But now that's kind of strange to hear after all that talk of redemption and second chances?

You get a status! And you get a status! Everyone gets a status!

Wow having a near death experience out of the blue is so relaxing for Fourteen! :D NEVER MIND HOLY CRAP I'm glad that at least Fourteen kept their signature move from The Veil. I was wondering what it would be like, and honestly expected it to be just thrown out

Excuse me, “Omega in Mass Effect 2” and “cool place run by trustworthy people” are literally opposite concepts, have we even played the same game

Grand: Who likes Fourteen Fifteen? Tender, not even letting him finish: ME!!! 

Welp, my first guess about the Waking Cadent's identity was correct

Holy crap! I never realized Independence was in that one flashback episode of Counter/weight