#the bare minimum known other than it was in the works . and i remember talking with him about it and being So Excited

[thefunniestguy]

hang on i'm gonna yell about season2 in the tags more bc now i'm . thinking so much

[gureumz]

come to me, make it right

rating: explicit

member: heeseung

notes: fem-bodied reader, backup dancer!reader, slight dom!heeseung, canon-compliant (?), dirty talk, semi-public sex, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, cum-eating, reader breaches professionalism lol

a/n: let's give heeseung a break and let him have his (your) cake 😔 so here i present the backup dancer fic! don't lie to me i know y'all wish it was you bc i do

"he's really something, isn't he?"

the question catches you off guard, your head turning abruptly as you give your friend a look. sion, dressed nearly identically to your all-black get-up, scoots closer to where you're seated on the floor, shoving her shoulder right up to yours.

"what are you on about?" you question before taking a big gulp from your water bottle.

"heeseung," she whispers, gesturing with her eyes to the tall figure standing across the practice room. he's typing on his phone, back turned to you.

"what about him?" you ask.

"he's good. like really good. one of the better idols i've worked with," sion explains, hooking an arm around yours.

"oh, please, you wish you could work with him personally," a different voice whispers from your right. serin, another one of your co-backup dancers, slides up to where you're sitting.

"too bad _______ got the gig first," serin adds, nudging you. you roll your eyes as the two of them collapse in giggles.

it's been two weeks since you were onboarded onto this project for enhypen's comeback. today was the dance practice filming and you can say that so far, it's been smooth sailing for the most part. the company was generous enough and the performance directors were easy to work with. the members themselves gave you no problems whatsoever, though you could only truly speak for one of them.

heeseung was nice enough, extremely polite, but also tremendously serious when it comes to performing. you've only known him for all of the two weeks, but you know better than to get in his way. you stepped on his foot once and you remember wanting to disintegrate right then, but to your surprise, heeseung merely smiled, reassuring you that it was fine.

it was rather easy to fall into rhythm with him. you don't know if it was your doing, or his, or both, but it's like the two of you spoke the same dance language. there were barely any words uttered, but understanding passed between you effortlessly.

he was kind of sweet too, always asking if you've eaten, if you need any more water, if his hand placement was too much. you appreciated it, a far cry from some other people you've worked with that barely spared you a glance. you'd be fine with the bare minimum of friendliness, if it was all out of courtesy that heeseung asked you all these questions. but the way he stares down at you attentively has your stomach churning. whether that's a good or bad thing, you've yet to decide.

your eyes draw towards heeseung as he pockets his phone, his gaze somehow finding yours in a split second. before you could look away, he smiles, waving rather cutely at you.

you wave back politely, quickly signing a 'have you eaten?' to him. heeseung shakes his head and points back at you as if to ask, 'how about you?'.

you reply no and heeseung pouts.

'eat soon, okay?' he mouths to you. you hold up the 'okay' sign and heeseung nods, satisfied.

sion and serin fall silent as the three of you watch heeseung gather with the rest of enhypen, all seven excusing themselves to go eat. heeseung locks eyes with you briefly one more time and smiles, eyebrows raised.

and then they were gone.

"what was that?" sion asks, grinning like a feline.

"he's being nice," you contest. "doesn't jungwon tell you to eat when you should?"

sion balks at that, clearing her throat. "he does. he's very considerate."

"but that," sion continues. "that look is different, ________, i'm telling you."

serin nods enthusiastically in agreement. "right? do the two of you talk outside of practice?"

"you guys are so unprofessional," you complain, though a smile creeps onto your face.

"and, no, we don't."

---

"did you see my kakao request?"

you peer up at heeseung, eyebrows knitting together. it takes you another few seconds to register what exactly he was asking.

"you added me on kakao?" you finally ask back.

his hands are in his pockets, a fluffy blanket wrapped tightly around his frame. the weather in poland is more than a little chilly this time of year, a struggle for you all as you drag yourselves through the music video filming.

heeseung chuckles, his eyes squinting down at you. "yeah, last night."

"sorry, i must have missed it," you reply sheepishly, pulling your own blanket tighter around your shoulders. "i have about a dozen requests at any given time."

"ooh, someone's in demand," heeseung teases, nudging you lightly. you laugh nervously, scanning the set around you.

the members and their respective dancers have gotten friendly over the course of the comeback preparations. nothing too chummy, but all of you are comfortable enough to strike up conversations with each other on and off schedule. it was nice, getting to know the guys of enhypen a little better.

but the way heeseung caught up to you in this dark, secluded part of the set where you were merely looking for cell service makes it look a little too suspicious.

'what do you want?' is what threatened to come out of your mouth. you often think you would rather be dead than be caught in a dating scandal with an idol. not that you're assuming anything, but you've seen this behavior before, and heeseung really is just a man at the end of the day, so who's to say that—

"um, is everything okay?" heeseung asks, waving a hand in front of your face. you blink, your surroundings coming back into view. you look up and are met with heeseung's grey-colored lenses. you stop a shiver from running down your spine at how hard he's staring down at you.

"yeah, sorry," you respond hurriedly, clearing your throat. "what i meant to say is, i have messages from people asking for dancers for a program or shoot or what-have-you, all those stuff."

heeseung nods before looking away, eyes scanning the staff as they arrange the set. before neither of you could say anything more, jake's head pops out from behind a stack of equipment boxes.

"hyung? oh, there you are," jake says with a start, noticing you at the last second.

"hi, _______!" he adds cheerily.

you smile warmly at him, slightly relieved that someone is there to interrupt.

jake turns back to heeseung. "jungwon says to drop by the hair and makeup tent for a bit."

heeseung nods at the younger, brushing past you to get to jake.

"see you in a bit," heeseung says, fingers lightly curling around your forearm. you tense up but nod in reply.

"see you," you return weakly.

you wait until the two of them are gone before sighing, stalking off to the other end of the set to where the dancers' tent is set up.

---

studio choom is one of your favorite parts of being a backup dancer. the staff was nice, the set was wide and airy, and the lighting was amazing. your excitement concerning the last part was evident in the way you couldn't take your eyes off your phone as you held it in front of your face.

"i look so good," you comment with a laugh, surveying yourself on the camera display. "even with the mask and all."

"right?" serin agrees from behind you, getting into frame with you. you quickly snap a couple photos.

the director barks out an order to get into blocking and you quickly hide your phone away, silently thanking in your head one of the other dancers for bringing in the large tote to hold all of your devices.

you walk under the bright multicolored lights onto the actual filming set, hovering over the general area of where you're supposed to be blocked. you wait for the members and other dancers to find their places, eyes downcast as you try to find your exact spot.

a hand brushes your arm and you look up to see heeseung smiling down at you.

"you look good," he mutters quietly before walking to center, getting on his hands and knees as he settles into his starting position.

serin passes in front of you, eyes expressive enough that you instantly get what she's saying despite half of her face being obscured by the mask.

'what was that?!' her eyes seemed to cry out.

you shake your head. 'i have no idea,' you respond as best as you can with your own confused gaze.

the director calls out another command and everything else is dropped as all of you fall into performance mode. autopilot takes over you, every take passing by quickly, much to your surprise.

an hour and a half later and on the last take of the chorus, you find yourself restless, stomach already grumbling. you pick at your long black gloves, wishing for this day to be over.

enhypen are in formation in front of the camera, with the dancers at the wings, ready to approach for the chorus. somehow, despite blending into the shadows of the set, heeseung finds you, tilting his head to the side in a sort of greeting.

you mirror his action and heeseung instantly smiles. you can't help the grin that breaks out behind your mask.

"last take, everyone!" the director calls out.

with a little more difficulty than you'd like to admit, you rip your gaze away from heeseung's, a tingling feeling settling in your stomach.

---

almost all thoughts of heeseung disappear from your mind as you get home later that day, too exhausted to pore over every interaction you have with your dance partner. you lay sprawled out on your bed, having just finished freshening up, eyes heavy as you feel drowsiness creep into your consciousness.

the keyword is almost.

you hear a notification ping from your phone and your sleepiness is immediately replaced with pure adrenaline. your read the notification over and over again just to make sure you weren't imagining it.

이희승 (lee heeseung): hi

you sit up, your heart pounding. leaning against your headboard, you watch as another message comes in.

이희승: you up?

you snicker, opening your kakaotalk app. heeseung's name is at the top of the chat room, easily indicating just who you're talking to. you quickly type a reply.

너 (you): ooh he finally messaged ㅋㅋ what an opening tho

you chew on your lower lip as you send the message, the 'read' sign immediately appearing. you watch as heeseung types out his reply.

이희승: lol sorry did that come off too creepy?

너: not at all. why the sudden message tho? was my performance that bad that it has you staying up at night?

이희승: oh no nothing of that sort. just wanted to say thank you for your hard work today

you blink, cheeks growing warm. he messaged you at ass-o'-clock to thank you?

너: thanks! you did super well today too

이희승: don't i always? (pouting face)

it's at this moment that you realize, without a shadow of a doubt, that lee heeseung, a member of a globally renowned k-pop idol group, is flirting with you.

you lock your phone, laying back down on your pillow, contemplating on what to do.

you could always flirt back, then act as if nothing happened the next time you see him. see how far the two of you can take it. you might end up sneaking around green rooms and closets, but, hey, half of the fun is the thrill of getting caught. or you could shut it down now, rejecting him gently because what kind of unprofessional loser would fold at the slightest display of romantic interest from an idol?

you sigh.

you would.

you're a (slightly) unprofessional loser that would fold at the slightest display of romantic interest from an idol.

you open up your phone, fingers moving at lightning speed.

너: my bad. you always do well (wink)

a whole minute passes by, heeseung typing then stopping then starting up again, before he stops once more for a few seconds. you feel anxiety seeping out of every pore on your body.

이희승: good girl ㅋㅋ that's what i like to hear

you gape at your phone, a strange tingle spreading all over you.

you take a moment to scream into your pillow.

---

you're waiting for it to boil over. to culminate into something. for shit to hit the fan, as you would inelegantly put it.

you left heeseung on read last night, at a total loss for words at his reply. he doesn't press further, either. in your mind, he's probably thinking one of two things: 1) that he deeply offended you, or 2) that he's achieved the desired effect.

you don't have to think too hard about which one of those is true.

you enter the assigned green room to you and the other dancers, poking your head in first, eyes landing on your coworkers lounging about.

"oh, _______!" sion calls out excitedly. the rest of them turn their heads to you, erupting into similar squeals.

"close the door!" serin orders. too stunned to protest, you do as you're told, leaning against the wall as all of your friends talk over each other.

"heeseung was looking for you," sion's voice rises above the rest and your eyes unconsciously widen, your heart rate picking up.

"yeah, he came here himself and asked where you were," serin adds, nodding.

"what's going on with you two?" another dancer, yeeun, asks in a singsong voice.

"n-nothing's going on," you say with a laugh, waving them off nonchalantly.

"like we'll believe that," sion retorts. "we'll keep it a secret, promise!"

the rest of them agree, sounding like a chorus of schoolchildren hearing about their teacher's boyfriend. you sigh, setting your things down on the floor.

"we're messaging on kakao, that's all," you admit, shrugging.

"sexting already?" serin chides with a laugh. you give her a look as the room erupts in laughter.

"you guys are hopeless," you say with a shake of your head, but you can't help but laugh along.

"we're not sexting. not...yet," you add. there's a pause before the laughter grows louder, all of them throwing jokes around about being safe and dating scandals.

"luck you," yeeun says with a sigh. "it's taking jake forever to make a move."

the whole room shifts its attention to her and you breathe a quiet sigh of relief. your phone vibrates and you feel your whole body grow hot as you read your screen.

이희승: come out for a second

before anyone can stop you, you quickly slip out of the green room, looking down in both directions of the hallway. to your right, you see heeseung standing outside enhypen's own waiting room, eyes staring at you intently.

with a nervous glance back behind you, you make your way to him. the hallway seems empty at this time, with most artists and staff in their respective rooms, the early prerecording hour hanging heavily over everyone.

"hi," heeseung says with a grin the moment you're near enough to hear him.

"hi," you respond, fidgeting with your hands. you scrape over your knuckles with your nails, waiting for heeseung to continue.

"about last night, i'm sorry if i went too far," heeseung begins, voice dropping, eyes looking around nervously.

oh.

so he's thinking option number 1.

"oh no, not at all," you reassure him. "i appreciate the gesture. i know you were only trying to be friendly."

heeseung raises his eyebrows as you say this. he purses his lips before speaking.

"friendly isn't the right word, exactly...," heeseung says, trailing off. he bites down on his lip, eyes momentarily flitting up and down over your figure.

it's your turn to be surprised.

"i see," you reply.

there's a long stretch of silence after this, both of you avoiding each other's eyes. an awkward laugh escapes you and heeseung follows, scratching at the back of his head.

you finally look up to meet his eyes, his pupils blown wide as he seems to consider his next words.

"i mean, i'm down if you are," heeseung says, stepping closer. "i won't hold it against you if you aren't, though."

you don't need to be told what his words meant. with the way he's staring at you right now, eyes unmoving but filled with something you can only describe as desire, you know full well what heeseung is implying.

"i am," you say after a moment. you're still fidgeting, hands clasped together in front of you. heeseung notices, his own hand coming up to lay on yours, stilling your movements. his fingers curl around your wrist.

"are we waiting after the recording or...?" you ask, letting heeseung pry your hands apart. he grips you firmly and you feel yourself practically igniting from his touch.

"i could use a pick-me-up right now" heeseung throws out casually, as if merely suggesting that the two of you get coffee. he jerks his head towards the door right next to their waiting room.

"this one's empty," heeseung informs. "i checked."

you can't help but grin up at him. he licks his lips as if he's looking down at his next meal, which you know, isn't that far from the truth.

"and no surveillance cameras, either," heeseung says, leaning down to whisper next to your ear.

without replying, you walk backward in the direction of the empty waiting room. heeseung follows, still gripping your arm, letting you pull him along. you never break eye contact, even as you reach behind you to turn the knob, pushing the door open.

only now do you avert your eyes away from him, stepping into the dimly lit room, a single weak lightbulb turned on in the farthest corner. with heeseung right behind you, you hear the door close, and without missing a beat, heeseung tugs you back, hands grabbing you by the waist.

he shoves you against the door, his face impossibly close to yours, your breaths mingling as you practically pant in anticipation. heeseung reaches down, locking the door, the click of the mechanism deafening in the silence.

"you can still say no," heeseung whispers.

"why would i do that?" you say before leaning forward to kiss him.

heeseung sighs against your mouth, his hand holding one side of your face to keep you steady. you're both still in your casual clothes, and you thank the heavens for this because your hands slip easily underneath his oversized hoodie. your palms smooth over his toned stomach and up his chest where you lightly rake your nails back downward.

you gasp when you feel heeseung roughly grab one of your boobs through your shirt at the same time he pushes a knee between your legs. you belatedly realize that it's today of all days that you've decided to wear a miniskirt.

"making my job easier," heeseung teases, as if able to read your thoughts. he smirks at you, planting a brief kiss on your lips as he angles you better on his thigh.

"your job...," you say in between labored breaths. you feel yourself growing wetter as you grind down on the taut muscle. "...is to fuck me before anyone notices we're gone."

heeseung grunts, pulling his leg away, ignoring the way you whine at the loss of friction. he pulls your skirt up roughly, letting it bunch around your waist. you gasp as you hear the sound of ripping fabric.

"heeseung!" you say in disbelief as he pockets your now torn-up lace panties. he merely chuckles, leaning in to kiss down from below your ear to your conveniently exposed chest, a feat made possible by your skimpy tank top.

"turn around, baby," heeseung whispers, planting another kiss, but this time, on your nose.

you stare at him for a moment, eyes bleary. are you really about to do this?

"please?" heeseung adds, eyes wide and round as he utters this one word so sweetly.

with weak knees, you do as you're told, letting heeseung press his chest flush against your back. you mewl when you feel his rough fingers slip between your slick folds, rubbing up then down, circling around the relative area of your clit. he finds it a second later, pressing down and working it expertly.

"fuck," you say, voice trembling. you let out a startled noise as you feel heeseung press a large hand over your mouth.

"no one can see us here but that doesn't mean they can't hear us," heeseung says against the shell of your ear.

"so i need you to be quiet for me, baby, okay?"

melting at these words, you could do nothing more but nod. heeseung kisses the back of your head tenderly. you hear him tugging his sweatpants down, letting it pool around his ankles.

you whimper when you feel a hard poke on one of your asscheeks, anticipation bubbling in you. you wriggle around, spreading your legs slightly apart and sticking your hips out.

"good girl," heeseung praises you, pressing his tip right against your hole. "doesn't need me to tell her what to do."

heeseung keeps his hand pressed firmly on your mouth, ensuring to muffle any sound that escapes you. and it's a good thing, too, because you're tempted to sob when you feel him push in, filling you in one swift motion.

"god," heeseung grunts as he bottoms out. "spent so long imagining what it would feel like to fuck you like this."

heeseung lets go of your face in favor of bracing himself against the door. you gasp out, the feeling of him quickly overwhelming you. and to think he hasn't even moved, yet.

"tried so hard not to let my hands wander but, fuck, you make it so difficult," heeseung says directly into your ear. he gives his first thrust and you decide to take on the responsibility of covering your own mouth because the stretch from his cock threatens a scream out of you.

"those goddamn stylists putting you girls in those tight dresses," heeseung continues. "and they expect us to keep our eyes and hands still?"

your eyes roll back at the filthy admission. heeseung grips you harshly by the waist and the whole world falls away from view when you feel him hammer in and out of you.

it's unknown to you how you could keep yourself upright, your knees feeling as if they could give out any moment. heeseung fucks into you roughly, your words about finishing quickly before your absence raises any questions seemingly spurring him on.

"so good, so fucking good," heeseung blabbers on, surely lost in his own pleasure. you lean back against his large frame for support and heeseung is quick to wrap a hand around your throat.

"yes!" you gasp out, blood rushing loudly in your ears as you feel heeseung squeeze down around your neck.

you wonder what you must look like right now. if anyone on the off chance would walk in on you and see your clothes and hair disheveled, your already short skirt pushed up even further, back arched in pleasure as heeseung fucks into your throbbing, drenched pussy. as if reading your mind again, heeseung prods against your mouth with two fingers, slipping them inside, leaving you no choice but to suckle on the salty skin.

at this moment, the two of you are possibly the very image of sin.

"squeezing me so tight, babe," heeseung breathes out against your neck. you gasp when you feel his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, soft moans escaping his own lips.

heeseung pulls his fingers out of your mouth and drool drips down your chin. he grabs at your neck once again, tighter this time, his other arm wrapping around your midsection as he picks up the pace.

"fuck, i'm getting close," heeseung practically growls, maneuvering the two of you away from the door.

"help me out, baby," heeseung pleads in your ears. "tell me how good you're feeling."

you finally let out the sob that's been fighting its way out of you.

"h-heeseung you feel so g-good," you comply, voice breaking from heeseung's vice grip around your neck.

"want you to ruin me like this every day. need you to f-fuck me in front of the practice room mirror," you continue, trying to find the right words despite the growing haziness in your head.

heeseung lets out a noise. "yeah? wanna watch yourself get split open like this? every day, huh?"

you nod frantically. "yes, yes, yes! d-didn't know i needed you this bad."

heeseung grows quiet as he holds you against him, hips snapping up erratically. you're sure that you've made a mess on the floor by now, seeing as you're absolutely drenched. the thought pushes you closer to your own release.

"c-cum for me please," you implore, feeling yourself shake at the thought of your impending orgasm.

"yeah, angel, gonna cum for you. g-gonna cum in this tight, gorgeous pussy. so good for me, letting me fuck them in s-some dark room right next door to m-my manager and members and all the staff, fuck—!"

heeseung abruptly stills, hand falling away from your neck. you take in a gulp of air, your fingers frantically reaching down to rub at your clit. you feel heeseung twitch and spill himself inside of you and you squeeze your eyes shut, coaxing yourself closer to euphoria.

finally, the floodgates open and your whole body seizes up from your orgasm. heeseung's face is buried in your neck and you can vaguely register him encouraging you through it.

you relax after a few seconds, leaning hard against heeseung as you feel your body nearly give out. heeseung pulls out but quickly replaces his cock with two of his fingers. you whine weakly, head lolling back against heeseung's shoulder.

"i got you," heeseung coos, working his fingers in and out of you at a languid pace. you twitch in oversensitivity, complaining how it's too much.

heeseung retracts his fingers and you catch him licking them clean just as you turn to face him. your eyes have adjusted in the dim lighting, heeseung's features coming into focus.

"you just tasted yourself," you say in half surprise and half bewilderment.

heeseung breathes out a laugh, letting his fingers out of his mouth with a soft pop.

"had to keep it in somehow," heeseung says nonchalantly. "seeing as i, ah, compromised your underwear."

you roll your eyes, giggling. "i think you more than compromised my underwear. you tore it in half, heeseung."

heeseung shrugs, donning an unapologetic expression. you swat at his chest playfully but you stop mid-laugh when you feel something drip out of you.

"oh god, fuck—," you start to complain, but before you could get another word out, heeseung drops to his knees, doe eyes peering up at you.

heeseung prods your legs apart, sticking his tongue out just in time to catch his own cum dribbling out of you.

"i'll clean you up, baby," heeseung says, mouth already pressing against your leaking hole.

all you can do is grab onto his shoulder, eyes rolling back as you feel your clit twitch with newfound arousal.

[strangeandoff-putting]

why I'm happysad that they let Numa be the narrator in Society of the Snow.

So if you, like me, have been more than a little obsessed with the story of Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571 for a very, very long time, your stomach probably dropped like mine did when the narrator introduced himself as Numa Turcatti. (My immediate thought was, "why would you do this to us?!") If you went in blind, I feel for you!

But while the film gave us a version of Numa, since it's from his perspective what it doesn't really give us is the group's perspective on him. He comes across a bit like an outsider, and although, yes, his only surviving friend was Pancho Delgado, he wasn’t an outsider for long at all. On the contrary. So, here are a few excerpts from the books that tell you more about what he was like and how much they all loved him, because I feel like that’s important.

From Alive, Piers Paul Read:

Next to Parrado, Numa Turcatti was the most generally beloved of the boys. [...] Since he had known few of the boys before leaving Montevideo, it was proof of his strength, simplicity and complete lack of malice that he became so loved and respected by them.

On celebrating Numa's birthday while trapped under the avalanche:

The boys gave him an extra cigarette and made a birthday cake out of snow. [...] Many would have liked to give him a better time on his birthday, but instead it was he who improved their spirits. "We have survived the worst," he said. "From now on, things can only get better."

From Society of the Snow, Pablo Vierci:

‘When I talk about Numa, I can’t help but cry,’ says Coche Inciarte. ‘He’s the best person I’ve ever met in my life. However tenderly I cared for those who were losing heart, Numa did it much better because he never got tired. He was constantly aware of everyone else’s distress. He radiated peace, he never gave up, and when he came near me, I felt like Jesus Christ himself was among us, with such mercy and compassion in his eyes. I don’t know where he got his strength.’ ‘I could never imagine him living in everyday life, because I met him and I loved him in that torment of the Andes,’ says Coche. ‘He had a hard time eating, like I did. We ate the bare minimum in order to survive. I lost one hundred pounds, he lost more. And just like me, his leg became infected after the avalanche. We operated on our legs together with a razor blade. But he deteriorated more quickly than I did, because he had given so much more; he had been too generous.’

Moncho Sabella:

Numa taught us about the anonymous heroism of giving more of himself to others than he reserved for himself. In that balance between solidarity and selfishness, which decided whether you lived or died, he tilted the balance in favour of the others to the detriment of himself. [...] And when the avalanche came and covered the plane, the one who worked the hardest, the one who removed the most snow so that we could come back to life, was Numa. Again, he was exceeding his own limits. [...] In the end, his immune system was so devastated that he got one infection after another. We gave him antibiotics and the doctors on the mountain attended to him every day, but finally he left us. And with him, we all died a little more.

Gustavo Zerbino:

I always remember Numa up there, full of despair, when he told us that he would rather die watching the sky, walking, instead of ending life immobilised in a cave of broken metal. For that reason, after the avalanche, he kept digging and removing snow without rest until he burned himself out with exhaustion. He always thought that his time had come but he wanted to work until the final moment, doing whatever he could to help. I cared for him all those days; I saw how he was hurried to the brink of death, with no defences, getting one infection after another. I went up to him and first I gave him a kiss on the cheek to greet him and asked him how he was doing. He just stared at me with a kind of infinite peace. He never complained. But Numa was quickly deteriorating: from that physical strength and vigour he had had at the beginning, he finished as a skeletal dying boy. He held on to his characteristic qualities until the end though. He was that same stoic guy when he was strong and when he was wasting away.

‘Gustavo Zerbino didn’t tell us the whole truth [about the expedition] because he didn’t want us to be discouraged. When I asked Numa about it, he couldn’t lie and he told me: “As far as we went, all you could see were more mountains.” But even so, he always wanted to be an expeditionary. “I want to go,” he told me, even though I knew at once he could never go, he was too exhausted and too hurt.’ So Numa approached Daniel Fernández, knowing that he had influence over the others, and he tried to convince him: ‘I can do it, Daniel, please believe me. I can do it.’ Daniel recalls, ‘When I told him that his injury made it impossible, he started working even harder than ever, like a bull, shovelling snow to unbury the plane after the avalanche to show that yes, he could do it.’

Finally, from Alive, after Numa died:

On this particular afternoon, Javier Methol lay at the back of the plane. "Be careful," he said to Coche as he rose and stepped over Numa's body. "Be careful not to step on Numa." "But Numa's dead," said Parrado. Javier had not realised what had happened, and now that he understood his spirits dropped completely. He wept as he had wept at the death of Liliana, for he had grown to love the shy and simple Numa Turcatti as though he were his brother or son.

I'm not sure the Numa we see in the film is quite the same person that he actually was on that mountain, but I'm so, so glad that he got a voice. He fought so hard for them all.

So, yeah. In the immortal words of Jake Peralta,

[mamapyjama]

Thought I ought to bring this over here for the Tumblr crew since it’s making a little buzz in the other place and I want to gather all my thoughts in one place.

So, back in 2022 I was in my feelings about Izuku (when am I not?) and wrote the following little sad headcanon on twt:

Made myself sad thinking about how the original Japanese word for Quirk is ‘kosei’, which means ‘individuality’ or the unique part of a personality. It’s no wonder Deku thought he was plain and useless. Everyone has literally been telling him since he was 4. 😓 Like, there’s no way at that age he could separate people talking about his lack of meta-ability from his own unique value as a person when they’re using the same damn word. That’s the kind of stuff that’s going to stick with you. 🥺

Sad to imagine, eh?

Fast forward to 2024 and chapter 412, and as always, I was browsing the jp fandom tweets for reactions after the official release. They often pick up on things we miss like Katsuki’s childlike language, the NTR implications of the kudoichi plot etc.

As I scrolled, I realised there was a HUGE disconnect between what we in ��The West” were experiencing (mostly rage at yet another translation ‘choice’) and the existential questioning that was occurring among Japanese readers.

This is just a tiny glimpse, but you should know that every single one I saw was doing the tweet equivalent of staring into the middle distance with a haunted look.

It’s all about the panel below, which was mentioned by the incomparable Pikahlua, as it is unusual in writing ‘mukosei’ without the speechmarks that signify ‘quirkless’ (to use the English term) rather than ‘lacking individuality’.

Horikoshi always uses speechmarks around “Kosei” when talking about quirks, so the implication here is that Izuku never believed he had actual individuality/personality.

Using this interpretation, Kudou observed that Izuku held the hope that even people who were detestable (Katsuki) and those who had no individuality (Izuku) still had human hearts.

Read that again. Izuku hoped that both he and Kacchan, despite their shortcomings, had human hearts. He thinks his only worth is as a vessel, a holder of OFA, and without that he’s barely human.

Ever noticed how some parts of the fandom complain that Deku is a boring MC, that he’s just ‘nice’, and we never get his opinions on things? Yeah.

Remember how hard he cried when All Might said he could be a hero? That was the first time in his life that someone acknowledged him as someone with potential, with worth. (In ch2 he also says “I have no reason to refuse!!” when offered OFA, which always struck me as slightly anticlimactic but makes way more sense now).

And remember how he cried in a similar way when Ochako told the world that he wasn’t special but that he had a special power? She couldn’t have known she was reinforcing his deepest held insecurity, and for a moment his mask slipped. Or maybe he was touched by her assertion that he was just a ‘regular high school kid’? We don’t know, but it’s worth taking a look at these moments in this new light.

You staring into the middle distance with a haunted look too yet? I know I am.

If you’re interested in the bright side (I needed this, I hope it helps):

Narratively speaking, this is the angst section that will lead to Midoriya Izuku: Rising and the happy ending they all deserve.

And the person most likely to disavow him of this sense of inherent worthlessness is the one person who added to it the most in their childhoods.

✨KACCHAN!!✨

No one else can reassure Izuku that he is special, that he’s worthwhile and—crucially—that he always has been, because he’s the only one who knew that all along.

If you need more reassurance, remember that their Origin and Rising chapters so far have all involved each other and have mirrored the emotional journey they’re both on.

Bakugou Katsuki: Origin: Katsuki struggles to accept Izuku and work as a team to battle All Might. Eventually does the bare minimum to cooperate by lending him his gauntlet.

Bakugou Katsuki: Rising: Katsuki coordinates the pro heroes and sacrifices himself to save Izuku. His body ‘moved on its own.’

Midoriya Izuku: Origin: Izuku is bullied by Katsuki, tries to save Katsuki from a villain—his body ‘moved on its own’, and is consequently told he can be a hero by All Might.

It isn’t a reach at all to pretty safely assume that Izuku’s Rising chapter will also be intrinsically linked to Katsuki, and it is his cooperation, faith and love (however you interpret it) that will finally save Izuku from his own sense of worthlessness. Closing the circle.

So yeah, this bit could be rough for the next few chapters, but I have faith that Horikoshi will wrap it up in a way that will be so rewarding and satisfying.

I’m gonna stop now because I’m ill and I need to rest my head, thanks for reading! 😮‍💨

[braxiatel]

An assortment of Grian appearance headcanons I’ve had on my mind lately!

(Obligatory mention that I’m talking about Grian the character and not Grian the youtuber, here’s your confirmation that this is not about real life guy Grian minecraft whose appearance is well documented, but rather it is about his minecraft roleplay character who is made out of pixels and blocks and whose appearance is very much up for discussion)

His eyes are that shade of brown that’s so dark it looks black

He wears glasses, and through experience he has learned that unless he wants to be replacing them about once a month he needs them to have a thick and sturdy frame

Grian has a whopping case of adhd and is extremely good at misplacing his belongings. His glasses are not exempt from this just because they help him see, and he has managed to lose every single pair he owns several times. At some point one of his friends (I'm leaning Pearl or Jimmy) got tired of hearing him complain about it, and got him a golden chain to keep them on. Grian pretends he’s just using it because it appeals to his love for shiny things, but in reality it actually helps him a lot and he would be very sad were he to lose it

Speaking of his adhd. This guy moves. He does not sit still, does not like to be doing nothing. He builds, he helps other hermits with stuff they don’t have time to do, and he is well known to do Grindy tasks. And you know what that means? Grian is strong. In fact, Grian is buff

This is related to some hybrid stuff I’ll get more into in a sec, but very specifically, Grian is a flyer and those natural wings need a lot of muscle around them to work. That means a lot of upper body strength, especially in the pectoral region. Yes, I said gritty rights.

I wish I could remember what artist originally drew Grian’s waffle as an undercut with a pattern because I love that headcanon so much. He varies what the rest of his hair looks like (he has a manbun in season 9) but the undercut stays no matter what

Tangentially, the reason Mumbo now has a waffle as well is that his hair just grows in that shape now. He has extremely specific alopecia, and it is unclear whether or not Grian is the same or if he just prefers to keep his hair that way.

Grian has clear and visible bald patches in his eyebrows. This is a product of him having had TNT blow up in his face one too many times, resulting in the follicles having been damaged

Along a similar vein, he is also missing somewhere in the realm of 1-3 fingers total on his hands

I don’t think of Grian as someone who is very particular with his hair or with stuff like makeup. Most days he’ll do the bare minimum of combing his hair to look presentable and that’s it

That said, he loooooooves shiny jewellery, and his wardrobe is by far the largest on the server. Due to aforementioned constant moving he need things that are practical to move in, but other than that he has no rules on what goes in there. You’ve got sequinned mini skirts next to permanently dirt-stained overalls next to rainbow bucket hats. This guy has it all.

He does sometimes wear a red sweater, but I am going to say something controversial here, guys. Look at that man's shirt. Look at that cleavage view. He’s wearing a v-neck

Okay so hybrid headcanons. I have several, mutually exclusive ideas here, but I will go with one I think is, frankly, very underutilised: gryphon hybrid Grian!

Want avian Grian for all of the historically present bird coding? Also want to acknowledge the fact that he has so much mischievous cat energy? Gryphon Grian! He’s half bird, half cat, half human, and all menace.

There are a couple of different bird species I think he could be.

House sparrow, for the noise levels, the tendency to travel in a pack, and the sheer gremlin energy these little bastards exhibit outside of my kitchen window on a daily basis.

I think he could definitely be some kind of corvid too. Maybe a magpie? Beautiful plumage (fight me), incredibly intelligent and likely to make that your problem, and with a call that lends itself very well to Grian’s screech-laughter

You all know my opinions on potoo Grian. It works, okay? Look into his horrible, haunted eyes, you know it to be true.

For a season 10 fisherman arc Grian I am very much leaning towards an oriental darter. There’s just something about the idea of Grian spearfishing for mending books, and sulking in the sun to dry his wings when he only catches fish that I enjoy very much

Owl for his cursed head movements

Okay so wings talk time! I headcanon that naturally avians simply do not have wings strong enough to fly with. They’re too short, and even for someone like Grian who flies A Lot the musculature to support a humanoid frame just isn’t there. That said, elytra are easily modified to function as a sort of wing extension/prosthetic, that allows them to gain much more power for less energy expended.

You would think, with me being the owner of three cats, that I would have some kind of idea for a specific breed of cat he might be. The thing is, my family have historically always kept the same breed (Norwegian forest cat mix c: ), so I know very much about those and no other cat breeds. He is simply cat :)

Biiiiig naughty tortie vibes. My sources for this is I have one of the latter and she is the same level of Problems a Grian

This is the little madam caught in the act of doing something dastardly. She commits one hundred crimes every single day and we love her. Tell me that is not big Grian vibes right there. You can't, right? he is a naughty tortie

Other Grian hybrid options I also like: avian, watcher, robot!!, cod, enchanted armour stand come to life!, and fey!Grian

[axelsagewrites]

Aegon Targaryen*Promise

Pairing: Modern Aegon x reader

TW: Alcoholism, addiction, mentions of abuse but not explicit

Summary: After being expelled and disowned for his drinking problems Aegon and the reader cross paths again as Aegon starts his path to sobriety

Sad vibes dudes but wholesome end

Word count: 3472

Masterlist Here

Aegon Targaryen’s reputation had not exactly been kind to him. Over the years he had made many high mistakes and drunk decisions causing him to be known around town as an alcoholic man whore. In school he had always shown up either high or drunk or both or on the rare occasion he was sober he was hung over with his head on a desk. His name could only keep him there for so long before one day enough was enough and Aegon was expelled from the Kingslanding University. 

You remember the day everyone found out and how the rumours flew. His family had down their best to keep the damage to a minimum, but students talk. Some said he had shown up to class drunk and tried to fight the teacher. Others were convinced he had been found fucking a teacher in the library. Someone even though he broke into the heads office and stole all his books. It was all getting a bit too extreme as you watched the other Targaryen’s sink into themselves out and pretend, he had never existed. 

You had known Aegon when you first arrived at the school but not very well or for very long. But he had been so kind to you that you were shocked how he turned out. 

You had met him outside the guidance office on your first day of university. He was already sat outside waiting for his appointment when you approached. When he saw you coming, he quickly took his bag off the other chair and gave you what after became a rare smile. "I'm Aegon" were his first words to you as if you couldn't guess from the white hair and lilac eyes.

You told him your name as you sat down and within seconds you had dove into a proper conversation with a stranger. You were almost sad when the guidance counsellor poked his head out and called Aegon inside.

It was one of the few conversations you had with him, but he had been sober, freshly showered, and genuinely interested in hearing your voice. You ran into him occasionally when you went to the guidance office, but you soon realised, he showed up at the same time every week and grew curious. One time when he was leaving, he admitted to you that he was going to therapy but asked you not to tell anyone. His family hadn't known about the appointments, and you could tell from his watery eyes that there was a good reason for it. You'd tried to comfort him, but he shook it off, telling you it was fine. 

However, as he started to drink more, and his reputation grew his appointments began less regular and eventually you only ever saw him in the corridors. You honestly thought you may never see him again when he got expelled. You had grown close with his brother Aemond but even he refused to talk about his elder brother saying he could be dead for all he knew. 

You might have believed him if Aegon had not just walked into your cafe. During the summer you worked in a cafe for the extra cash and suddenly you were faced with a hollow version of Aegon. He was skinner than before, his face appeared grey and even his white hair had dulled. He was wearing a hoodie that had clearly been worn to almost death and was covered in stains and tears. His jeans were just as bad. When he came closer to the register you did your best to ignore the smell coming off of him as your eyes watered. 

He barely even looked up as he dumped out a pile of change on the counter and began to sort it. "What can I get for uh $2.30?" he asked, finally looking up. His lilac eyes hadn't dulled but you could see that they recognised you as his grey cheeks became red at the sight of you. 

"Aegon?" you asked but you already knew who he was. 

"I'm sorry I didn't know you worked here, or I would've gone across the street. I'm just really hungry," he said as his eyes welled up with tears. He had clearly been hungry for a while, and you assumed thirsty by his chapped lips. 

In all honesty all he could really afford was some soup but that clearly wouldn't be enough. Not wanting to embarrass him further you smiled and began to scoop his changeup "Why don't you take a seat and I'll bring you over some of my favourites?" 

He nodded and kept glancing back at you as he started to shuffle away. He didn't say anything, but you knew he saw you dump the change into your tip jar, not even opening the registrar before grabbing a tray and grabbing his food. Your co-worker had come in at this point to take over from you, but you wanted to finish his order. 

You walked over to the boy who was now sat picking at the skin around his already bloody thumbs. You did your best to put on a smile as he looked up at you and he gave a weak one in return. "I just finished my shift. Do you mind if I sit with you? Or I can leave it here if you want?" 

His smile became realer when you said that, and he nodded profusely. You placed the tray on the table and took your place. "You have to try the soup" you said as you sorted the food out "and I couldn't pick one sandwich, so I picked the best ones. Some crisps as well of course and I figured water was best, but you look like a soda guy, so I grabbed some coke as well," 

He hesitantly began to eye up the array in front of him "this is a lot of food for a handful of change,” he said, and you smiled. 

"Don't worry about it. Dig in," you said as you picked up your own sandwich, so he didn't feel out of place.

He was quiet at first, the only noise between you both being him devouring his first sandwich. He began to gulp down his coke can after and you stopped him," If you rush, you'll make yourself sick," 

Aegon nodded and gave you a smile as he began to sip his drink instead. You felt the growing need to know what had happened to turn him into this shell. You cleared your throat and attempted to ask. 

He was reluctant at first but soon the truth came spilling out. He had been expelled for coming to a meeting with the principal and his parents drunk but he had insisted no one had told him about the meeting before showing up at his form to drag him there. His parents kicked him out of the house for it all and he had nowhere to go. He had crashed at his sister Rhaenyra’s house to begin with but with her new young children in the house she hadn't felt comfortable with him always being there. She had tried but the situation just wasn’t what was right for her family. You couldn't blame her though. He admitted he had been an alcoholic in school, and he was thankful he hadn't become addicted to worse though he admitted to trying out drugs. They had made his mind too active though and it was a numbness he had craved. He told you briefly about his parents and why he felt the need to detach from it all in school and you could only assume this was the cause for his therapy when you first met him. He was open and honest at every turn with nothing left to lose from telling you. 

"But I'm sober now," he said as he reached into his pocket looking for something and eventually pulled out a chip, "60 days," he said with a childlike smile on his face, "I never thought I'd even get to 30,"

You took his hand and squeezed it, "I'm so proud of you Aegon," you knew it was a kind thing to say but his eyes began to well up and he was on the verge of crying "what did I do? I'm sorry Aegon how can I-" you started but he cut you off. 

"Thank you," he checked out. "Everyone else. They've gave up on me. I don't blame them, but you've been so kind to me. I can't repay you for the food, but I'll do my best," 

"You can repay me by staying sober. I'm here for you. I promise. I'm far too stubborn to give up on you anyway," you said and this time he laughed. 

He wouldn't tell you where he was staying but you figured from his appearance, he was homeless or at the best couch hopping. You gave him all the tips you had made that day and while he tried to refuse, he accepted them eventually. You told him your shift schedule and every day you worked he would come in after his alcoholic anonymous meetings. He would wait for you to finish work and you would sit and chat over some sandwiches and soup which you never let him pay for. On days you weren't working all you could do was worried about him. 

Once you had been doing this for a couple weeks, he began to walk you home from work and eventually he began coming in for a shower and dinner. You managed to thrift him some new clothes and he finally looked more like his normal self. His skin wasn't grey and his cheeks less hollow. He actually smiled these days. 

Then it came time for you to go back to school. It was your last day in the cafe, and you asked Aegon to take a seat and wait for you when he came in. He seemed confused since he had been doing this for weeks but didn't question you. When you walked over your manager joined you both and sat down. "As you know I'm sure (Y/N) is going back to school next week," your manager started and Aegon nodded confused, "this is gonna leave us a man down at the cafe. So, I was wondering since you're here more than I am," he chuckled and you smiled knowing what he was already gonna ask, "How would you like to come work for me?" 

"Are you serious?" Aegon asked and your manager nodded causing Aegon to stand up and start profusely shaking his hand, "I won't let you down sir I promise. I'll work harder than anyone ever has I promise," 

"It's alright son I believe you. The pays shit and the customers aren't all as nice as you but it's something,” but that didn't matter to Aegon who was true to his word.

Now it was you every day coming to his work to visit him. He kept his meetings going and eventually made enough to move into his own flat. Well, his own room in a flat but his roommates were nice enough and finally he had his life back. Finally, he was Aegon again. 

The day he moved in you came over to celebrate and that's when he kissed you. His lips were far softer than they looked when he first came into your cafe and the kiss left your head feeling dizzy. 

You hadn’t realised you were drifting from your university friends until Aemond had pointed it out. Aegon had almost begged you not to tell his brother about your relationship, knowing he would not be happy to hear from him again, and despite arguing at first you agreed. All your friends knew you had a boyfriend but now Aemond was determined to find out who it was.

“I just don’t get it you’re always busy with this guy and I’ve never even met him,��� Aemond protested as you were sat in your dorm, trying to study with your little free time.

“You have met him,” you muttered as you copied down more notes.

“Okay so who is he?”

“Secret,” you said causing Aemond to huff and steal his notes back, “Hey!”

“No more help till you tell me who he is. You’re my best friend I deserve to know who keeps stealing you,” Aemond said, and you sighed.

You had been dating Aegon for around 4 months now and it was tiring not being able to talk about him because he was always on your mind. You knew he would be mad, but Aemond didn’t even know where he lived or his number to confront him, “You can’t be mad,” you started but it only made Aemond’s face contort into confusion, “Its Aegon,”

Aemond was silent for a moment. Like the calm before the storm. Then he opened his mouth, “Please tell me you’re fucking lying?”

“And if I wasn’t?” you asked, not able to meet his eye.

“Are you- Am I- “Aemond stuttered out, “Are you fucking stupid? You are, aren’t you? Is that twat even alive?”

“That twat,” you started with venom dripping off your voice, “Is my boyfriend. And he’s changed. He’s sobered now,”

“Impossible,” Aemond snapped, “that bastard couldn’t be sober for a million bucks,”

“Well, he is,” you snapped right back, “he gets his 6-month chip tomorrow. He goes to meetings all the time. He hasn’t touched drugs since he got expelled and he’s not drank the whole time we’ve been together. He’s got his shit together. He’s trying Aemond,”

“He always tries,” Aemond said, his anger mixed with sadness, “but it never lasts. Do you know how much money my parents spent on rehabs and treatments?”

“Aemond his story isn’t mine to tell but he has changed. I promise. He’s got a job now and his own place,” you said which caused Aemond’s head to snap up. Before he could even ask you stopped him, “That he pays for himself. He’s never accepted money from me. He’s trying Aemond he’s tried really hard, and he has changed,”

Silence fell over the room. You knew while Aegon had been through a lot so had Aemond and his sisters. Aemond sighed. “So, he’s sobered now?” he asked, and you nodded. Aemond cleared his throat. “Then I want to meet him. I need to see him. Can you ask him?”

you had agreed to at least ask Aegon for Aemond but the whole time you were at his apartment you were worried to bring it up. While cuddled up in his bed he paused the movie you had been watching together, “What’s up love? You’ve been acting funny since you got here,” Aegon said and you sighed, “is it something I did?” he asked with puppy eyes, and you realised there was no escaping.

“It’s what I did. I was talking to Aemond today and well basically. He knows,” you said and Aegon’s eyes that had previously were looking at yours turned to focus on the wall, “He kept asking about who I was seeing and I just. I didn’t know what to say. Im sorry,”

“Its okay,” Aegon said but he was now as stiff as a door. “What did he say?”

“He wants to see you,” you said and at that Aegon laughed. “He was being serious.  He wants to know how you are,”

“He wants to see if you lied to him. He wants to see if im sober,”

You sighed but took his hand into yours, “Aegon please. He’s your brother. He misses you,”

The room fell to silence as Aegon stewed it over in his head. “Just him. No one else,”

“Just him,”

The setting up process went easier than you expected but now you were walking Aemond to the café that Aegon was working in. Aegon had finished slightly early and was sitting at a table waiting for you as you walked in together. he hadn’t wanted to meet at the flat encase Aemond had brought their parents along and you couldn’t blame him for worrying.

Aemond froze when you opened the door. You waited for a moment before giving him a nudge. Aegon had looked up at this point and the brothers stared at each other motionlessly. Aemond eventually broke his silence by clearing his throat, “You promise he’s sober?” he asked, and you nodded which made Aemond let out a deep breath.

Finally, you three were sat at a table but the silence continued. “Would anyone like a drink or anything?” you asked but both boys shook their heads. “So…” you said, trailing off into uncomfortable silence.

“How long have you been,” Aemond started to speak but Aegon cut him off by placing down his latest chip on the table.

Aemond looked at it and finally Aegon spoke, “It turned 6 months last week,” Aemond nodded as he picked up the chip, turning it over in his hand, “It’s not fake,”

“I never said it was,” Aemond snapped before sighing and placing the chip down. “Im not here to attack you,”

“Why are you here?”

“Because I fucking missed you,” Aemond said and you could see the tears welling in his eyes, “You’re my brother man. I didn’t want to lose you, but I didn’t want to see you kill yourself day after day,”

Silence fell upon you all again as Aegon hung his head in shame, “You have no idea how much I regret what I’ve done,” Aegon started, his voice scratched as he tried not to follow his brothers’ watery eyes, “But I promise that I do. I regret every drink. Every shot. Every word I said. I regret it all,”

You sat with the brothers to begin with but moved to go behind the counter after 10 minutes to give them more privacy. Your ex-manager of course didn’t mind and was happy to see the brothers talking. Him and Aegon had grown close over the time he had worked there and Aegon never broke his promise. He worked harder than anyone you knew.

Eventually he brought Aemond over to his apartment which was a large step down from their family home, but Aemond tried his best not to show it on his face. It wasn’t long after that that Heleana began to visit Aegon who was now 8 months sober. She was reluctant to begin with, but the sibling trio did their best to rebuild their trust.

Over time Aegon didn’t have to go to as many meetings but made sure to go at least once every other week and whenever he was struggling you were right by his side to make sure he went to them.

When Aegon was 11 months sober he received a letter from his mother. Aemond had delivered it to him, promising that he had not given her his address. Aegon stayed in his room for almost a full day after he read it. when he eventually came out, he told you what it had said.

She was apologising for everything that had happened, explaining why she had become the way she had. Alicent explained how she took the abuse she had faced from her father and husband and took it out on her children. The day Aegon had left their home she had her own private breakdown and had to be admitted for a week. She apologised over and over again in her letter, promising to do better, saying she understood if he never wanted to see her again. A week went by before Aegon sent a letter back saying he wouldn’t see her till she had left his father.

Aegon was 11 months sober when Alicent left his father. She sent him a copy of the divorce letter she had served him and another letter praying for his forgiveness. He never replied to this. However, when Aegon got his final chip at 12 months sober he decided to have a small dinner party to celebrate in his flat. He invited his mother to that.

For the first time in nearly 2 years Alicent hugged her son. There were so many tears, so many smiles, so many promises made. She hugged you, thanking you for being there for him and helping him along. You told her it was Aegon. Aegon had done it all.

he kept counting the months even after his last chip. It helped his mind stay clear. He was 15 months sober when you moved in together after you graduated university. he was 19 months sober when he had saved up enough money to start his own café. And he was 24 months sober when he proposed. And in all the months and all the years he stayed sober he never broke a single promise he made again.

A/N: If word corrects Aemond to Almond one more time imma give up and rename him

[azullumi]

ayato and alhaitham — boyfriend messages ☆彡

summary — phone calls and messages exchanged between you two.

characters — ayato and alhaitham (w/gender-neutral reader)

tags — fluff, modern au, established relationship, no use of emojis in text ; headcanons

word count — 736

note — i fell asleep early yesterday so i couldn't write anything. ignore the mistakes bcs i didn't proofread this yet.

KAMISATO AYATO

He's formal when it comes to his typing, always making sure to have the proper capitalizations on his texts as well as punctuations and grammar. You barely see him—actually never see him using emojis nor emoticons to add more feelings on his messages as he reasons that he could just call you to show you what he's feeling. He did, however, try it once but it didn't go quite well as the emojis he used often didn't match what he was saying.

On that note, he prefers calls with you than texts, especially when the camera is turned on for the both of you. It makes him happy seeing your face especially when he works and it makes it easier for him to talk to you as he doesn't have to hold the phone the whole time and struggle with finishing his tasks. He also loves hearing your voice—he could listen to you talk for hours even when everything that you are saying is just pure nonsense and he can't process anything inside his head.

It is clear and obvious that he wakes up earlier than you because of the fact that the first thing you see in the morning when you open your eyes and check your phone is his good morning messages sent at the time the sun is either still down or is still just rising, he's always the first one to message you each day as if he's having a silent competition with others to see who messages you first. You never want to guess what time he wakes up—or wait, does he even sleep?

Always expect to have messages from him to hangout, go out on a date, or anything—he always comes and picks you up, insisting on it when you denied at first but was persistent so you just got used to it— and honestly, the majority of your messaging history with him is just him inviting you out as conversations are mostly held when the two of you are face to face together. He prefers to talk about everything while you two are having a meal or taking a stroll instead of having a screen in front of your face.

ALHAITHAM

Sarcastic remarks being said, banters exchanged to one another, and teasing that leads to small fights or arguments and ending up with either of the two of you apologizing only after 12 hours—minimum— to 2 days later at most. Can't stand his personality? Just sit down, he tells you. Sometimes, you question yourself: does he even care? But then you remember how he always makes sure to text you every day and check on you once in a while or how he never replies late to your messages despite being known for not even reading or answering to others—only when he wants to.

However, despite all of those banters and arguments, there is still affection in your messages—no matter how small or simple it is, no matter how obvious or subtle it is—like him calling you and willingly helping you with your research and projects after calling you stupid in text, at times you'll ask him to accompany you to somewhere and he'll go with you without asking, or when you'll tell him about how you're stressing about your essay and how you will print them because you're busy and you might end up forgetting it, but then he'll show up to your class with a cup of coffee and your papers in hand even when you didn't ask him to.

He's not a fan of calls or facetimes but he wouldn't mind it—when it's you—to be honest. He doesn't talk a lot though and would prefer just listening to you and responding to your rambles from time to time, making comments and asking questions especially when it's about gossip and tea—you probably don't know how his interest always gets piqued whenever you tell him about those stories. He's a gossip guy, you see.

However, even when you and he aren't talking on call and are just doing their own thing, he doesn't complain because he gets to watch you as you go on complete focus, either because you're studying or finishing something that is nearly due already. Your eyebrows scrunched, eyes narrowed or squinted while reading, as you purse your lips into a thin line, he's amused by the expression on your face and couldn't help the light chuckle that emits from his throat.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[denaliwrites]

Something Good to Celebrate

Cale Erendreich x GN!Reader

Summary: It's your birthday.

Soundtrack: Birthday by Katy Perry

Requests: Open!

Warnings: It's Cale Erendreich. Y'all know the score by now.

You were pretty sure Cale had forgotten your birthday.

Not that you did all that much to celebrate it, anyway. But you at least expected him to say just the two words, "happy birthday." It was literally the bare minimum. Yet he said nothing as he passed you your morning coffee with a peck to your lips -- your daily routine now that you lived with him.

He continued to say nothing, also your routine, as the two of you got ready for your respective day at work, and even as the two of you parted ways, entering your respective cars and driving off in opposite directions.

Your coworkers remembered.

They awkwardly sang the song, you awkwardly blew out the candles on the cheap and no doubt dry-as-bone storebought cake, and you all awkwardly milled about the meeting room making small talk until your boss declared the party over.

You returned to your desk, and the rest of your day went as it always did. Uneventful. Boring. A little lonely, despite being surrounded by people.

Despite the "party" at your office, the fact it was your birthday meant very little to your boss, who ended up keeping you late -- much later than you'd anticipated.

It was dark when you finally entered your home, something that was unusually reflected in the interior. You wondered if maybe Cale was late too, but that thought quickly died as you realized that there was light -- dim as it was -- coming from the dining room.

You kicked your shoes off and padded into the room, finding the table set for a romantic candlelit dinner. In the center of the table was a vase full of your favorite flowers, surrounded by lit candles. On the end of the table you were nearest to, two place settings for dinner, and on the other a veritable collection of gifts.

Cale was nowhere to be seen, though noises you were sure were him emanated from the kitchen.

And, sure enough, he stepped into view holding two plates, which he set down before greeting you.

You weren't sure what you expected, but him pulling you into a luxurious kiss wasn't it. You were left breathless as he pulled away with a smirk.

"Happy birthday, babe," he all but purred as one of his arms circled your waist and he led you to the nearest chair. You dazedly took your seat, staring at the meal before you.

It was your favorite. You hadn't even known Cale was aware of your favorite meal.

"C-Cale," you whimpered, taking it all in, "this is... it's so much. It's..."

"Ssshh, babe," he told you quietly, taking the seat next to yours, where the other plate sat. It wasn't packed nearly as full as yours, and you couldn't decide if it was due to Cale's usual eating habits, or if it was so there'd be more for you.

"I... thanks," you finally managed, fighting tears. "It's perfect."

"I know," he admitted with a loving sigh. "This isn't even half of it. Wait until you open your gifts."

You couldn't even think about that right now -- you were still reeling from how thoughtful your meal was. If you thought about what waited for you in the mass of boxes and bags and wrapping paper, you'd probably actually cry.

"Thank you, Cale," you said quietly, looking at him meaningfully. "Really. This is... probably the nicest birthday I've ever had."

"I know," he said again, more somberly. "I wanted to give you something worth celebrating this year."

[ladyhindsight]

I dont remember if you've talked about this yet, but what are your thoughts on the whole family tree debacle after CHoT came out? It's obvious that CC wasn't originally planning on writing TLH when she made that family tree because it makes no sense now.

I’ve talked about the family tree a couple of times on the blog but never really went into it in detail, because once it became a point of discussion (after I made a comment about it as to Alastair and Thomas’ relationship working out) it was already known to have been an “inaccurate” one at that point. I was told that, essentially, the fake family tree included “fake marriages, secret adoption, people being secretly dead, people being secretly other people, faked deaths, or people marked dead when they became Downworlders/mundanes. Clare said that the Carstairs records were destroyed on purpose & Silent Bros make the family trees. It seems the implication is the family tree is inaccurate b/c Jem is covering stuff up. He has motivation to do this for the Carstairs & Herondales, if not the Lightwoods.” (Most likely refers to this answer given by Clare.)

Then we got The Last Hours (that was over 10 years in the making) and Chain of Thorns that barely made the family tree make any more sense than it did before. It resolved something, at least revealed the inaccuracies of the found one, but also added more to the pile of bullshit that was the whole mess with it.

When complaining about discussing Chain of Thorns, I wrote that Esme Hardcastle “was shoved in there in order to explain the “found family tree”, which at some point, I have no doubt, was how things were supposed to be, until Clare had more ideas for the Edwardian kids. No other characters in whole of TSC have gone through so many changes as these characters have. And as such, to keep the predictability at minimum—which isn’t a lot—the old family tree is made up by Esme, so Clare can spin this tale why it wasn’t accurate. Grace didn’t marry Christopher, Alastair didn’t have children (probably?). Then Clare had all these surprise babies coming because the way she chose to end the story for the Edwardian kids would mean no Emma, no Clary as we know them. So new Carstairs baby, new Fairchild twins.”’

And then she messed up the Lightwoods also. Clare’s insistency on everything including Herondales, Carstairs, Failchilds, Lightwoods, and Blackthorns has always been and always will be the core reason why everything goes to shit. Clare rides on the wings of nostalgia and familiarity with these names every series she writes and is incapable of letting them go and writing a trilogy about some other families. So, some points I’d like to bring up as to this (wholly based on my feelings and observations and are in no way factual but anyway):

THE FAIRCHILD TWINS. Originally (referring to the found family tree that had no reason to go under any change until Clare decided to write The Last Hours) Jocelyn and Clary were either Matthew’s or Charles’ descendants, I don’t remember which one was the assumed ancestor. In Clockwork Princess, the epilogue tells us that when Will was on his deathbed, “Charlotte, white-haired and upright, and the Fairchild sons and daughters with their curling red hair like Henry’s had once been” were present. Which, if Clare would cling to any consistency, would mean the twins should be girls.

Are these daughters ones that existed before or after Clare came up with Matthew’s mistake regarding Charlotte (Before Matthew was said to have golden hair because the epilogue states all of the Fairchild kids have red hair like Henry’s)? Right now it seems that there’s no definite answer which one of the Fairchild children are Jocelyn’s (and thus Clary’s) ancestor. Could be anyone but probably not Charles. Either way it all feels insufficient, because Clare was never interested in the Fairchilds beyond Clary, Jocelyn, Charlotte and now later Matthew. There were no other Fairchilds ever even mentioned, no other Fairchild line that existed beyond Jocelyn’s, no cousins or aunts or uncles or distant relatives. And now that it is ending with Clary eventually becoming Herondale, I feel like Clare is trying to backtrack and keep Charlotte and Henry’s line of Fairchild in existence some way or the other.

(Also already in 2015 Clare teased the connection between Jocelyn’s mother Adele Nightshade and Anselm Nightshade so I guess there is an avenue for that, but nothing to do with the Fairchilds.)

CHRISTOPHER LIGHTWOOD. Clare said on her blog that she knew from the very beginning Kit was going to die, but in Clockwork Princess, the epilogue, reads that “Cecy’s blue-eyed boys, tall and handsome” were present on Will’s deathbed. Mind you, the epilogue is Tessa's counting of events and nothing to do with some shitty family tree that isn't even accurate.

BARBARA LIGHTWOOD. Referring to the same epilogue in Clockwork Princess: “Gideon and Sophie’s two girls” were present on Will’s deathbed, meaning originally Barbara didn't die either. Unless Sophie will also have a surprise baby like Sona and Charlotte.

ALEXANDER LIGHTWOOD (the first one). Recently I noticed that changing Alec and Isabelle’s ancestor from Kit to Alex created a pretty huge problem. Having Alex continue the family line makes absolutely no goddamn sense because he was born 1900 and the next known descendant Isidore that is Isabelle and Alec’s great grandfather was born 1908. (Also are surprised that I mostly listed Lightwoods here, as if they were the least thought about...)

I get that Clare said like 10 years ago (at earliest, when TID finished, I had to go check when this thing actually originated because I honestly didn't know before this) that the family tree is a “found object” and not reliable. But what she wrote previous to this whole things doesn’t align with her earlier plans either and only creates a confusing narrative.

[strangledeggs]

Has Remix Culture Run Out Of Steam?

The short answer is "no". The long answer is...

A couple days ago, I was talking with @philippesaner about the failures of postmodern critical theory to come up with a viable alternative to liberal-democratic politics given all its critiques of the latter (this subject seems to inevitably come up at least once every time we meet in real life). The famous article he brought up that the title of my current essay here is referencing is of course Bruno Latour's "Has Critique Run Out Of Steam?" which if you haven't read and are at all mystified by why we would be discussing something like this in the first place, I'd recommend reading.

Anyway, around the same time (maybe it was even the same day?), my sister happened to show me Youtube music critic Toddintheshadows' 10 worst songs of the year list for 2023. A notable entry on the list that I hadn't heard prior to seeing the video was a song that was essentially a cover of Haddaway's "What Is Love?", kind of like that previous Bebe Rexha basically-a-cover "remix" of Eiffel 65's "I'm Blue".

That struck me as interesting, given that both songs seem exemplary of a current trend that takes the very simple approach of reviving an old song that was already a "proven" high-charting hit by doing the bare minimum work on it to get it considered a "new" song, then re-releasing it and watching it climb the charts again on the power of nostalgia alone. If it seems like I'm making this out to be a more deliberate process than you'd think it might be (instead of just a coincidence born of nostalgia for the 90s/2000s), that's because I have good reason to believe it is. This Pitchfork article from a few years ago pretty much predicted this exact phenomenon, as it details how venture capitalists started buying up the song catalogues of major songwriters with specifically the intention of marketing new songs based on the licensing of older, already well-known songs.

What does this have to do with Bruno Latour? Well, many of you may not remember this, but pop music (pop culture in general, I would argue, as we'll see through some other examples) went through its own moment of "postmodern theory" not long after the political theory took off mid-20th century. There were many different ideas tossed around for a while, some of them conflicting, but most of them centered on the deconstruction of the individual artist as a singular creative originator of things, much like certified post-structuralist Barthes' "death of the author" (actually, you could argue that Barthes' original essay was the first shot in this assault on the cult of the pop-star-as-creative-genius). This culminated in a fierce debate over what started happening with the birth of hip-hop in the late 70s, but especially the 80s and 90s. Early hip-hop was often heavily dependent on the DJ's use of "samples" of already-recorded music. This sparked accusations from more traditionalist musicians (nowadays we tend to call these "rockists", which isn't entirely fair because there are many rock musicians that appreciate the nuances of this debate and many outside the genre that don't) that hip-hop was a fundamentally unoriginal genre because it relied on playing "other people's music".

At the same time that early sample-based hip-hop was emerging, a new form of recording started to be sold, first in conjunction with hip-hop DJ culture but quickly expanding beyond these bounds. This was the format of the "remixed" song, which I won't bother to explain here because I'm pretty sure everyone is familiar with it at this point. Between the growing popularity of remixes and hip-hop, many of the traditionalists seemed to feel that we were heading towards a future in music where no one would bother to create new music again because we'd just plunder the same songs from the past forever, leading us into a creative dead end that would constitute the much-threatened, long-dreaded "death of music".

This is where the postmodern streak in pop music comes in. Speaking in response to these accusations of creative bankruptcy, the postmodernists pointed out that actually, all of music had been nothing but "remixes" from the start, since no one has a truly "original" idea and all new music can be traced back through the music that influenced it in a chain that only ends at our recorded history of music. This is obvious enough from genres like rock (which used the basic structures of the blues as its jumping-off point) and jazz (which often featured artists "quoting" other songs by playing their melodies mid-solo, a kind of proto-sampling when you think about it), but it could even be observed in how classical composers would take musical themes from popular folk songs and imitate each others' compositional structures.

The point of music, the postmodernists went on to argue, isn't to create something totally "original" anyway, since that's basically impossible. It's instead to simply create something "new", and "new doesn't have to mean that it isn't built on the back of some older work; "newness", in fact, comes from the new combination of older elements, which, placed in a new context, will now seem unfamiliar as a whole even if the individual parts are familiar. As Buck 65 says, and then re-constructs through a sample of someone saying the same thing at the end of his song "Leftfielder", "And you never heard it like this before".

The postmodernists were, I think, indisputably right, and for a while it looked like they had won this particular culture war. Hip-hop went on to experience a golden age of creativity through sampling and remixes (something reflected in reference-heavy lyrics too, as any hip-hop listener will notice). Pop music in general got a lot more explicitly self-conscious and self-referential. It was (and continues to be - we're not out of this era yet, despite what I might be implicitly foreshadowing here!) an interesting time for people like me who enjoy nerding out over "spot-the-reference" games, as well as debates over the relationship between form, content and historical placement of music.

But there is a dark side to the arguments the postmodernists made. If there is truly, as an ancient source claims, "nothing new under the sun", then maybe the answer to this is not to try and create new things (since this would be a waste of time) but to stick as close as possible to those things from past times that we know have already worked. This is an argument for aesthetic conservativism, which claims on some level that there are actually a finite number of "good" art pieces (songs, stories, poems, etc.) that we can create, and if we try and deviate from these, we will either end up accidentally reproducing a worse version of one of those "originary" pieces anyway, or produce utter nonsense that will be of interest to no one.

How deep this theory goes depends on who you ask. I would argue that the originator of this argument is as far back as Plato, who claimed that there were metaphysical "forms" constituting the "real" existences of all things in the world that were, in themselves, just defective imitations of those forms. This kind of thinking is reflected in psychoanalyst Jung's idea of "archetypes", different kinds of narratives that exist eternally in all human minds which can be seen as the blueprints for all other stories we tell each other. And this idea would be highly influential on comparative mythology scholars like Joseph Campbell, whose own book "Hero With A Thousand Face", which argued that there is only one real story humanity has ever told known as the "monomyth", in turn influenced George Lucas in the writing of Star Wars.

But it doesn't have to get that deep. To many who espouse some version of this view, aesthetic conservativism is simply a shorthand for commitment to "formula" in the arts. Many of these people wouldn't even go so far as to completely deny the possibility of entirely original art - they just think it's usually a waste of time, and that 99% of what's worth making is made by the use of a "proven formula" that works because we have evidence of it already working in the past. It's a kind of bastardized "scientific" approach to creating art, where you claim to create through "evidence-based" methods, but you only ever draw your evidence from historical data and ignore the possibility of current tastes changing. It's the approach of any screenwriter who's told you about how "Save The Cat" changed their life. What's kind of funny with these types is how many of them worship George Lucas; after all, they tend to value what's successful on the market over all else, and Star Wars is nothing if not that. So the ghost of Plato (and Jung, and Campbell) lives on in these "formulaic conservatives" even if most of them never get around to thinking that much about it.

Anyway, for the record, I think this philosophy of aesthetic conservativism is completely full of shit. I'll keep my own beef with Plato for the separate essay it deserves, but I will make my case for the pop postmodernists on this issue here: just because you can retroactively identify patterns of things that "work", doesn't mean those will be the only things that will ever function as art. For one thing, canonical tastes change over time, and what we considered to be a masterpiece 100 years ago isn't always the same as what we consider to be a masterpiece today. Further, I would accuse some of these aesthetic conservatives of a kind of reverse "forest-for-the-trees" view: they can't see the uniqueness of individual trees because they're too focused on the forest as a whole! While you can point out the similarities among different works across time, you can also point out their differences, which frequently lie in their specific details - combinations of which, I might add, come from the distinct circumstances of a sum of past influences that result in an ever-new "remixed" cultural product over time. You can, in fact, just produce minor variations on the same thing and end up with wildly different results as long as you know what to focus on. Case in point: though "Cool Hand Luke" might feature a similar story to that of Jesus in the Bible, no one would ever mistake it for the Gospels, and we certainly don't view those two things as equivalent.

This might seem like I'm nitpicking here, but taking the aesthetic conservative stance has real consequences for the kind of art that gets produced. Consider the movie industry, where this kind of thinking seems to have dominated for a long time; it feels like only now, we're coming out of a long winter of cookie-cutter superhero movies which, while certainly driven economically by IP licensing deals, were justified critically to many by the idea that they're constructed according to a certain "proven formula". It was a fundamentally backward-looking paradigm of culture, one that suggested that lazily regurgitating the same thing over and over again was not only all that was possible, it was desirable because it had already worked in the past! This is the same logic expressed in those interviews with the venture capitalists buying up song catalogues in the hopes that they can prey on people's nostalgia for already "proven" hits. And you might say they're transparently only in this for the money, so what does their logic matter anyway? But I'd argue that the financial victors of culture wars like this have a significant stake in people buying the logic of what they're doing on some level, because if everyone recognized what they were doing to be obviously bad, they'd stop consuming it and move on to something else.

I would contrast this aesthetic conservativism with a more "forward-looking" approach, one that uses the postmodernist cultural theory to look towards creating new combinations of things out of old things in ways that feel genuinely surprising. Think something like DJ Shadow's "Endtroducing.....", the first album constructed entirely out of samples, or more recently, 100 gecs bizarre genre-pastiches that leap from one sound to another with little warning. You'll note that neither of these artists sound like each other, or much else that came before them, despite taking obvious influences from the decades of music that immediately preceded them.

The change doesn't have to be that drastic, either. You could be a country-rock band playing in a 70s style, like the Drive-By Truckers, but you're experimenting with songform and subject matter for a change, or a rapper incorporating a slam-poetry influence into your flow like Noname or R.A.P. Ferreira. The point is that you can, in fact, make new music with a forward-looking approach, and there is something truly disturbing to the thought that the future of the industry might be several more years of covers of the already successful hits of yesteryear, like those of "I'm Blue" and "What Is Love?" If that's the case, then we might start to see a backlash against the postmodernist cultural theory, since those growing up in the current generation would only know it by means of this aesthetic conservativism which takes the conclusion that "everything is a remix" as a license to do the barest minimum of remixing possible for the safest return on investments. And what we might see then is a return to pre-20th century ideas of the sanctity of the individual artist's creation and "originality", which will simply throw more fuel on an already raging fire of support for devastatingly overreaching IP laws, which will ironically only make it easier for this phenomenon of re-animated Hits From The Dead to continue. Because you know who can afford to buy up that IP so that their own remixes are the only "legal" ones...

As a final note here, I wanted to bring up the original "Everything Is A Remix" guy, Kirby Ferguson, whose video essay series released under that title is still available in its original form here (it's just past the "updated 2023 edition", which I haven't watched yet). I first watched this series almost 15 years ago and I felt like the guy was basically summarizing everything I had been saying about the postmodernist theory of art at that point - nothing is truly "original", remixing isn't the same as "stealing", intellectual property law is a plague, etc. Anyway, I haven't kept up with what he's been doing these days, and taking a quick glance at the site, it looks kind of grim: he's got a dubious-looking course on using AI in art as well as several self-help-y looking ones on "unlocking your creative potential". I guess he had to make some money on his idea somehow (ironic, for a guy whose thesis kind of necessitated a destruction of the laws that allow people to profit off their ideas), but this is a bit of depressing direction to see him take. Anyway, check out the original videos if you haven't seen them, they make a compelling argument even if I think I would find it kind of oversimplified now (disclaimer: I haven't rewatched them at the time of writing this and am relying on my memory from almost 15 years ago, so I take no responsibility here if they turn out to actually kind of suck).

[infiniteglitterfall]

asdfkjaflkjasflkjasfkjafkjafljkasflkjasflkjasflkjgjkgjllkjgffff

Let's take a look at the original source.

If it seems solid, we can just fact-check it by seeing if any other reliable news outlets are also reporting this.

I've transcribed all of that and my notes in the alt tag for the screenshot if it's hard to read.

I'll also summarize the problems here:

this article is from what Wikipedia calls "a semi-official news agency" owned by the government of Iran.

state-owned media is propaganda, period. When you see that you're reading state-owned media, it's a good practice to stop and look for a story from an independent source.

We're continuing just for practice.

The headline is neutral-sounding which is good; the date is current, which is good.

The article's source for this info is, "According to Qatar's Al-Jazeera." This is another state-owned media outlet. That's bad.

Plus, they don't link to whatever article, tweet, video, etc. they're citing from Al-Jazeera. So you can't get more info, see if there is more info, see what they said....

And you don't need to know this in order to fact-check, but: one thing I've learned from fact-checking everything I see from any "side" in the past 11 months is that Al-Jazeera often tweets false statements that it never follows up on. I don't know if it just shoots out a tweet as soon as it hears a rumor, to get the scoop and follow up if it happens to be true, or what. But it really sucks if you want to know what's going on.

I forgot to put a note about "the target of the strike" there: this is mind-reading. They need to give any kind of source from someone who was there and/or has a reason to know what the target was. For instance, a military analyst looking at satellite or drone footage would work.

Most of the article is devoted to saying that Israel is currently on trial for genocide and saying that human rights groups have "blamed Israel's far-right cabinet and military for ignoring the order." This should link to or quote at least one human rights group doing that.

Seriously, NONE of the rest of the article says anything about the strike?! This isn't an article; it's not even a source. At a bare minimum, a source tells you what happened and how they know.

There's one more problem with this piece. I'm giving it separately, as an example of how people can fact-check things:

The article cites "more than 144,000 Palestinians dead, maimed, or missing." Numbers are great for fact-checking. Let's walk through it, using this as an example.

In this case, I threw "number of people missing in gaza" into google.

The numbers in search result previews were all over the place and I didn't feel like trying to figure out when all of them were from, so I hit the "news" tab. Time Magazine had a recent-ish piece and is reasonably reliable. A little over two months ago, it quoted a new report by Save the Children International as saying 17,000 children were missing, and 4,000 were missing presumed dead. I didn't see anyone talking about adults. A search for "'missing adults' 'gaza'" turned up nothing in either web or news results. A dead end there is also fine in terms of fact-checking, IMHO. But in this case, I remembered seeing a bunch of articles about how the Gaza Ministry of Health calculates the numbers killed. Some of them described how Gazans can fill out an online form to report those who are missing presumed dead, known to be dead under the rubble, etc. This article has a VERY biased headline, but the research is solid: it explains exactly what the Ministry of Health has said and done at different points, and links to different analyses of its data. Basically, its numbers for fatalities include people missing and presumed dead. So we're still at around 17,000 missing, 41,000 dead: 58,000 total.

That leaves about 86,000 Palestinians that Iran is saying Qatar is saying have been maimed. I threw 'number of palestinians "maimed"' into Google. Putting maimed in quotes forced Google to give me results that included that word. Still couldn't find anything that gave a number of people who were maimed. Then I tried "gaza casualties," because people sometimes include injuries in casualties.

That got me to Wikipedia's page on "casualties of the israel-hamas war," which did have an infographic from OCHR that gave numbers of people injured.

But it was a couple months old and didn't specify anything about injuries. The infographic was headed with "OCHA Gaza Reported Incident Snapshot" and the date." So I took one more swing at it, just in case this info really is out there, and searched for "ocha gaza reported incident snapshot." I did find a current one. It still only gave the total injured, which it said was 94,224. Higher than 86,000, but not a lot higher.

86,000 divided by 94,224 is 91%.

So the only way to get to 144,000 is if 91% of everyone injured in Gaza over the past 11 months was maimed. As in, had a body part amputated or lost the use of it. And while there are horrific stories about that happening, none of them imply that it was the majority of injuries. Much less that it includes almost everyone who's been injured. So I'm calling big-time shenanigans on the total of "dead, maimed, or missing" in this article. (On a personal note, I also think it's disrespectful and risky to the people of Gaza to play these games with data. Is the number of dead not enough? Are people not going to get frustrated and distrustful when they find out that the number of dead, maimed, and missing is far lower? Aren't the real experiences and voices of Gazans worth platforming?)

Now let's see if we can find a better source confirming this thing.

I'm actually going to START with the IDF. Because it does share a lot of detail about its actions, and if it says it did this, then I'm ready to just call it done.

Ok: this is the only tweet from the IDF today, or since the 1st:

Al-Jazeera did tweet about it, and doesn't mention anything else about it, even on its liveblog, which the tweet links to while saying "follow our LIVE coverage."

(It does have in-person reporting there on a strike in Gaza City that killed nine, which is just similar enough to confuse me for a minute. But it wasn't 8, or a bread line, or Jabalia.

It seems to be the same thing that the IDF is tweeting about, above? Al Jazeera says an IDF strike in this location killed at least 9, including 2 children. But it's entirely possible that more people died in this strike than Al Jazeera is initially reporting.)

The Jerusalem Post has a liveblog too, which also doesn't mention anything at all around Jabalia Refugee Camp.

A lot of accounts on Twitter have just repeated what Al Jazeera said, often without any credit. But the only actual news article about it is the one above, and an even shorter one, also citing Al Jazeera, from "TASS," which is...?

Oh yeah, this checks out.

It's a Russian state-owned news agency, and one of the largest news agencies worldwide.

Just yesterday an Israeli strike killed 8 Palestinians who were waiting outside the UNRWA agency for bread. These were people who were already displaced—who lost their homes, who were grieving the death of loved ones, who have been starving for months on end since Israel completely cut aid in February—and their last moments were waiting in line for bread before an Israeli strike killed them then and there

[golbrocklovely]

I really do think Corey does a lot of talking behind people’s backs. I remember Jake talking about (I believe this was on Trisha’s podcast) how he’s happier now that he doesn’t have certain people in his life who are two faced like that. And sure it’s vague enough that it could be about anyone but I always kind of got a vibe that he didn’t feel 100% comfortable in the trap house friend group (especially in some of the haunted videos they did when snc first started getting into it) Jake always looked like to me like he wasn’t completely comfortable in the group and I always wondered if Corey was partly to blame. Obviously this all just my assumption though 🤷‍♀️

this became extremely long for no reason, so my apologies

my opinion of corey has always been that he doesn't like working and would rather do the bare minimum and ride the coattails of other ppl than actually try and make a name for himself bc that's too much effort lol

and i think he feels that way bc he thinks he's too good to work for it. he should just magically be successful.

i mean, think of it this way: when the trap house first began all the way back in 2017, snc weren't even remotely as popular as they are now. if anything corey and elton were the more known ones. corey was relatively known bc of vine and elton was known bc he was besties with everyone in the vlog squad circle. snc were doing well for themselves, but they didn't even hit a mil subs until 2018. they were just starting to gain momentum in their careers.

corey benefitted from living with them and everyone else in that house bc they could all be in each other's vids and bounce ideas off of one another. collabing constantly got him well known amongst fans without him having to really try. then when they all moved into apartments, that's when snc's career started to really go up bc they were doing the haunted content with corey and jake. so corey was, again, becoming well known bc of snc. and mind you, dude wasn't posting that often. he's never been consistent in his content. which is so dumb bc the amount of money he would have been making if he was would have been crazy.

then when they all move back in together, again, he benefits. but a riff of some kind ended up happening in that friend group (i've always chalked it up to snc becoming landlords since this was their house and not just a place they were all renting and i think they may have laid down the law a bit too hard and that pissed off corey and jake) and so they all start to split ways. this is also when snc were losing everyone bc i think certain friends of theirs thought that snc were gonna start losing for the first time instead of gaining. snc were starting to switch their content over from haunted to 25x25. snc's old friends saw the writing on the walls, realized snc weren't gonna be collabing as much, and thus dumped them for knj's friend group.

corey claims that he wanted to move out and pursue dancing and music, since that's why he moved to la in the first place. he made like three songs and moved in with elton and immediately started doing tfil/overnight.

and around this time, snc weren't doing well. views were down, 25x25 was flopping hard. and this is when elton and corey weirdly start hating on snc bc they think they are copying them bc of tfil and 25x25 were semi similar. and then when snc start to shift back into haunted, i think corey got pissed bc here he was, leaving snc behind and shitting on them, but now they were stepping into their space once more and instantly doing significantly better than him and elton.

and as time has gone on, he's still this way. with all the shit happening between him and elton, i've basically been proven right: he doesn't like to work. he doesn't try, but expects fantastic results. it's hilarious.

what's funnier about all of this, if he wasn't such a shit talker, they could have all collabed and it would have worked out so well for him. but instead, he wanted to act like snc were lesser than (for whatever reason - most likely jealousy) and that sullied any collaboration that could have happened. and i wouldn't be surprised when elton has alluded to "ppl made me think snc were talking shit about me when they really weren't" he was referring to corey, but didn't want to outright say it. and if that's the case, that's also why snc don't fuck with him anymore either.

sure, they can all be cordial and whatnot, that's a given. but to be friends again? don't think so. i mean, corey couldn't even publicly wish colby well when he got cancer. fuck him. idc, that man can go the way of vine and have his career die off for all i care lol

as for jake, yeah… idk if he's referring to corey. but them not hanging out is kind of proof of that. but who knows. maybe something else happened that we don't know about.

[vanilla-voyeur]

Kinda annoyed with the assumption that all socialists are just economically illiterate dumdums who would realize the error of their ways if they'd just take an Econ 101 class. Well I have taken introductory econ classes. I've taken multiple econ classes. The university I went to has one of the top 10 economics programs in the US. I originally went into college wanting to be an econ major before I switched to CS. I got to the point of taking one upper division class right before we started getting into the calculus.

The problem with how economics is taught in school is that it takes an approach of capitalist realism that taints their interpretation of everything. Everything that supports the ends of capitalism is assumed to be good. Everything that doesn't maximize efficiency is assumed to be bad. Anyone who advocates for something that has been shown not to maximize efficiency is a big dumdum who doesn't understand economics. There is no question or discussion about whether maximizing efficiency is something we always want in every case.

We got taught that price floors and price ceilings and taxes and regulations cause deadweight loss. Deadweight loss is bad for maximizing efficiency. All those politicians who want rent control and minimum wage and increasing taxes on the 1% are big dumdums who don't understand basic economics. Are there any trade-offs where it's worth it to increase deadweight loss for some other benefit? Not considered.

I do remember getting taught that monopolies are bad. Monopolies also cause deadweight loss. Notably, it is incredibly hard to be a billionaire without being the CEO of a monopoly. Billionaires are causing deadweight loss. Any politician who's against trust busting is an economically illiterate dumdum. If you don't have a problem with billionaires then you hate the basic principles of capitalist competition. (Or alternatively you're an economically illiterate dumdum.)

There are many forms of economic efficiency, but the only one I was taught in school was Pareto efficiency. None of my professors mentioned any other variant. Pareto efficiency was treated as a law of the universe. It's just a theory by some guy. He made some pretty math equations that work under idealized conditions. What if he's wrong? What about all the other models that think he's wrong? What if he's right but he didn't consider things like institutions of oppression? (19th century white Parisian nobility are well known for taking into account how racism, sexism, classism, etc affect society.)

I think the order of classes is suspicious too. First you get simplified microeconomics then simplified macroeconomics then increase the math of each while still being simplified, all before talking about where real life capitalist countries are failing at approaching the idealized model. By that time, the capitalist realism has already set in. We should get to the differences between the graphs and the reality by the third class bare minimum. Perfect competition isn't possible. It's a utopia. Does that actually mean that we should be trying to get closer to it? What sort of trade-offs should we consider when we're departing from perfect competition? We never discussed it.

To the extent of my knowledge, my university never had a class on idealized socialism or communism or any other economic model but focuses entirely on idealized capitalism until upper division classes. The only classes that acknowledge socialism exists compares existing capitalist countries to existing socialist countries. By then, you've already drank the Kool aid of how capitalism could be at its best and it turns out theoretical capitalism is more attractive than existing totalitarian dictatorships. What would a socialist democracy look like? They never bother to ask.

You can't compare and contrast something you don't know anything about. It's all capitalist realism. Anyone who hasn't taken a Socialist Economics 101 class where they draw the simplified graphs and they explain the concepts is an economically illiterate dumdum too.

[locallixie]

first feelings — jongho

✦ genre ; romance, smut, mature, angst, choi brothers au, friends-to-lovers, older brother’s best friend love interest, best friend’s brother!jongho, san is older than jongho by five years, masc!reader, top!jongho, bot!reader.

✦ warnings ; include general sexual contents, protected sex, blowjob, cum swallowing, strong language, dub-con, degradation kink, hyung kink, anxious arousal, indirect voyeurism(?), exhibitionism, masturbation, immense sexual frustration.

✦ word count ; 5.6k

Every few weeks, San would invite you over to his house just to spend time together. You two were close friends ever since you were still back in high school. Now that you were both university graduates and were finding jobs and opportunities at the same time, the tradition was getting harder and harder to maintain. It wasn’t a surprise every-time where one of you had to cancel last minute on your plans, or the hours must be shortened because one of you had to attend your minimum wage job. It was tiring to say the least, and utterly difficult to arrange times for some best friends bonding time.

You lost contact with San after a while; you heard nothing from him, and neither did he. Your last text message from San was almost a year ago, he was talking about an interview at a fairly known publishing outlet. You hoped he did pass, he never updated you on wether or not he got accepted.

In your case, you had been working as a freelancer. Jumping from places to places, experimenting with different industries and businesses. Your income was questionable since you didn’t have a fixed occupation or were a ‘permanent’ employee at a certain company. Your line of work was somewhat of a mess if one could say as so.

Your reconnection with San was also like your career choices, odd, it was. You bumped into San at a marketplace, he was there to write an article on independent businesses. You could barely recognise San. Clearly impressed of how grown he was in the short span of a couple years.

He told you to come over like older days, stay the night at his home exactly as when you two were kids. San was still living with his parents due to the lack of nice living places that met his standard and budget. Also was because of his younger brother, Choi Jongho, who was a freshman in university. His parents were retired already, therefore, placing the burden of Jongho’s educational finances onto the first born.

“I see, can I do anything to help?” You asked San, being the kind-hearted and empathetic friend you were.

The car San was driving both of you in was his father’s, it looked old and almost broken-down but still did its job well. The exterior was covered in a layer of dirt and dust, something seemed like it had fallen off. Yet, the inside was cleaned and well-taken care of. The leather seats felt new, the carpets was also changed, much different from when San’s father was still driving you and him to school.

“It’s fine, [Y/N], I got it under control.” San reassured, his eyes stuck to the road as he held your conversation.

You were still worried even if San said he was doing fine. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust his words, you did, it was because you didn’t want to see him overworking himself until he was finally burned out like a half-finished cigarette.

San added, “Jongho is also working part-time to pay off his tuition fees, I’m just in charged of the major parts. There’s no reason for your assistance, but thank you anyway, [Y/N].”

You exited the car, arriving at the front door beside your best friend. San turned his keys; this type of lock was highly outdated ‘cause of people nowadays used fingerprints, or simply any type of lock that required advanced technology. His house hasn’t moved anywhere since the last time you’d been here, there wasn’t much that changed. A rush of nostalgia ran through your body, your adolescent years suddenly came flying back.

You remembered all the stupid, childish games you used to play with each other. You would play the role of a mage, Jongho would be a great swordsman who fought alongside you, and you both would take down San, who was the dragon. The sword and wand was made out of construction paper, which didn’t hurt when used as a weapon but has a high risk of a paper-cut if handled incorrectly. You missed the better days, when you wasn’t stressed out by the mature adult life. After university, you struggled to find a job, manage your new life as grown-up, and a purpose for your contribution.

You walked inside, your best friend’s living space felt a little different. Maybe it was the interiors, the house decorations did went through some modifications, you could tell. His parents greeted you, you were almost like their own child from how close you was to their actual ones. Back then you stayed over more often than you should, almost as if it was your second home.

“Hyung! Can you please stop stealing my clothes, I have nothing clean to wear now!” You heard a clearly annoyed voice rang down the stairs, and footsteps following behind.

San returned, “Oh, come on, I only took one shirt and you’re being dramatic over it.” The two Choi brothers shared a love-hate relationship of some sort. They fought and bickered with each other often, nonetheless, having a tight bond deep down between the two siblings.

The Jongho you once knew was small and a timid, he stood to your shoulders. And when you saw him again; from a shy boy that enjoyed diving into your embrace, he has grew up to become a man that could easily overshadow you. He could now make direct eye-contact with you without having to tilt his head, but you having to tilt yours.

Jongho expressed his displeasure, “Asshole, you could at least ask before you take my things?” His mother hit him, scolded him for talking in that level of informally toward his brother.

His eyes met yours, as if a switch was flipped inside of him. “Ah, [Y/N]-hyung, hey.” His tone of voice immediately changed when talking to you, definitely different from what he used to talk to his brother. None of the passive-aggressive speeches, or even overly formal. A soft, gentle voice similar to the one you knew of from most of his earlier years.

“Hi, Jongho, how’s university?” You asked. He has mixed opinions regarding education, and school as a whole. It wasn’t like he didn’t do well in school, in fact, he was close to a model student back in the days. It was that he had no interest, he only performed as such because of his family’s expectations for an average asian. It was a reoccurring joke that asians has incredible academic strength as a natural trait. Even if some asian parents didn’t have crazily unachievable expectations for their offsprings, it was still a norm to be above average.

He replied with uncertainty, “Well, I am in the engineering major, there is fun projects but overall nothing special. Either way, it’s still school.” You nodded to that answer, you were unsure of what you could say. San sensing the uneasy rising tension and silence between you and his brother, he offered you a seat on the couch to dissolve whatever that was.

After Jongho’s presence disappeared from the general living space, San turned to look at you. He didn’t want to offend the younger, only speaking when it was the two of you left. “What the fuck was that? That felt so awkward.” San giggled, pointing out the blatant discomfort.

You shook your head, “No idea.” You both had nothing to hide from each other, no secrets, no reason to. Plain truths and honesty; if something or someone was being weird, either one of you would speak up about it.

You spent your time there playing video games, catching up on current life situations, then as well as staying for dinner with the Choi family. Jongho was absent from most of the time during your visit, though, you met him when dinner came around. You sat next to San at the dinner table, and across from his younger brother. Mrs. Choi’s cooking was amazing like how it always was, rice, meat, vegetables, and a clear broth from whatever greens that were used.

San suggested staying the night over at his house, it was already late and pitch-dark as of this moment talking. You denied at first, but soon was persuaded by your best friend and his parents. You didn't want to disturb his family, but they were oh-so-insistent. Hence, not wanting to upset San and his parents, you accepted.

You were uncertain of how you should react when San asked you to borrow his brother’s clothes instead of his, even after their little back and forth with the whole clothes stealing situation. You had a hard-to-read expression on your face, not anger but more like confusion, or an unexplainable mix in between.

"Why do you want me to borrow his clothes?" You showed an arched brow, questioning one of his most bizarre requests out of your and San's two decades friendship.

San rubbed his temples, "None of my clothes are clean, and I'm a hundred percent sure that you do not want to wear my sweat and fried chickens oil stained stuff." He gestured toward the door across from him outside the hallway, "If you please, tell Jongho that you're borrowing his clothes for tonight."

You sighed, "Do your laundry, you fucking animal." San pouted, gathering the rest of his dirty laundry that was spread out all over his bedroom. The more organised one between the two of you was San, everything fell apart after graduation, including San's usual well-maintained habits.

To Jongho's room you went, knocking before you enter since you respected other's privacy. You waited until a sign allowed your access, you opened the door in. There you saw the younger boy sat, wiping dust off his old baseball bat. The memory of the two brothers playing baseball that once slipped your mind now returned. It was an uncommon sport, you'd say. Basketball and football was more developed and gaining popularity among the young children and teenagers, making baseball a forgotten sport to some.

You attended every baseball game that the two sibling contributed in, which was a lot to list down. San and Jongho was on the school's team; one was a center fielder, the other was a batter. Although, they did swapped roles around for some leagues and practice sessions.

Both being highly involved with sport, notably baseball, the pair shared outstanding physical attributes and fit bodies. San and Jongho seemed bulkier and much more muscular than ever before, hiding their true form under oversized clothing.

“Hey, Jongho. This sound weird but San told me, I could ask you for some clothes.” You told him as you leaned against the door frame.

You knew better to be comfortable then to sleep in discomfort with a pair of skinny jeans wrapped around your legs. The waistband hugged your hips a bit too well for your liking, strange lines that were bright red appeared on your skin. Should have worn much casual clothing if you knew you would be staying over at someone’s place. Your goal was to look good and presentable in front of the public’s eyes.

The younger answered, “Yeah, sure.” Putting the bat where you supposed it was its original spot, leaned up the small vacant space between his bed and bookcases. You admired his room while he was busy rummaging through his drawers for clothes. The first thing that hit you was the scent which lingered all over Jongho’s room. Citrusy, and a hint of sandalwood. Was it his cologne? Or was it the detergent for his sheets? It smelled wonderful, and very calming at the same time.

His bookcases and shelfs filled with bunches of books, mechanical catalogues, and a few random and obviously useless knick-knacks. Was that a pornographic magazine you discovered, sat half-opened on his nightstand? None of your business, absolutely no place for you to comment on. He was already an adult, and he was capable of making his own choices, wants, and needs. He was allowed to have his own desires, and wet dreams.

He was such a baby back then, you couldn't quite recognise him even when standing near him. The only feature that stayed with him and reminded you that this person you were looking at was Jongho, was his eyes, his eyes has a sense of familiarity to you. Big, adorable dove eyes, held the sweetest things. You loved the way its soul was innocent and mellow, lids folded a soft curve like a bridge to paradise. His eyes was memorable, it forced you to remember him every time you made eye-contact with.

"[Y/N]-hyung, here." Jongho handed you a pair of shorts and a graphic t-shirt with some music band on it. He looked up to see you staring at him, your reflection in his eyes. He came closer, inching forward bit by bit.

Half-lidded eyes, he gazed intently. As if you were a book, and he was reading you by each written paragraph. Only with his eyes, he peeled off every layer of your attire. It felt hot, it felt scarily sensuous. You weren’t sure if you liked or hated this feeling, you never had these specific thoughts surrounding your best friend’s younger brother.

You broke the ice, “I…should get back, thanks for letting me borrow your clothes. Goodnight, Jongho.” You returned to San’s room with his brother’s stuff in your hands, the other already changed out of his earlier outfit.

“What took you so long? Jongho is literally five steps away from my room.” San questioned, turning off his laptop. He probably was writing his article’s draft, the intense typing you heard in the background while at Jongho’s room must have been from him.

You grabbed the edges of your shirt, “If you’re going to say shit like that, why didn’t you go get it for me in the first place?” You replied sassily. Your conversations always sounded mean to outsiders, the usage of profanities, and the overall sarcastic tone. But you two were just good friends and knew each other since you were still both high-schoolers, therefore, the way you and San talked were much more personal and only comprehensible to the two of you.

You took off your shirt entirely, letting it dropped onto the floor. You changed with San still being present, you couldn’t cared less, you were used to it from the many times changing to gym clothes in the boys’ locker room. And no, nothing sexual happened there, at least not to you.

“How’s your little crush, San? Jung Wooyoung?” You asked, jumping on his bed.

San let out a laugh, he pushed you playfully. For the entirety of your friendship, San has these overwhelming feelings of admiration for a guy from the same year but different tutor group. Jung Wooyoung was the start of everything, a student across the corridor.

Wooyoung was the sweet, outgoing type. It wasn’t a big surprise to anyone that the guy radiated strong bisexual vibes. He did dated girls and guys, older and younger, he was popular to make a long story short. San was one of the many fews that was into Wooyoung, though, actually never gotten the chance to go out with him. Wooyoung was pretty, the school’s heartthrob, how could he ever pay attention to another one of his admirers? That was what they were, admirers.

“Nah, Wooyoung’s getting married soon. Too, I’m not into him anymore.” San told, leaning on the headboard of his bed.

Hearing so, it piqued your interest. “Married? Jung fucking Wooyoung is getting married? To who? And where did you find this?” You asked, sending a rapid fire of questions.

“To someone, he just wrote ‘Getting married to the love of my life’ on his status board with a picture of two wedding rings inside a box.” San explained, how vague. Wooyoung wasn’t one who sleep around, and had many long-lasting relationships before. It was that you never thought the guy was ever seriously devoted to someone, and look at him now, to be wed to the one who he presumed as special.

You rested your back up against the wall, “So…is there a fresh face you fancy?” You knew San as a flirty yet reserved person, getting a date wasn’t much of a problem to him. People adored San, good-looking and kind-hearted, the full package.

San shrugged, “No,” He looked to the side, to the night sky through the window panes. “I haven’t been that into courtships recently.” Added with ease. How out-of-character for him, not being interested in dating or romance. You wondered what troubled his mind for him to be so impassive towards love.

San laid down, pulling the covers to his chest. “I’m tired, let’s go to sleep, [Y/N].” He changed the topic, or was it evading himself from revealing something he wasn’t meant to.

“You’re no fun.” You laid down next to him, slipped into the covers. San seemed happy today, he probably missed your company. Despite not seeing each other for a long period of time, your unique bond and dynamic still as strong as ever. He bid you goodnight, and you did the same.

Since you were little; you would always wake up in the middle of the night without a reason, especially when sleeping at a different place beside your own bedroom. You slept over at San’s for years but the unwanted awakenings still stuck tight with you. Your problem has been in question for longer than you could handle.

Two options, either try to go back to sleep, or stay up ‘til dawn. With the first one, it was a hit or miss situation. Sometimes you succeed, sometimes you didn’t. The second one was simply stupid, you would only choose it as a last resort. You silently laid in your place, considering what could you do to fall back into your slumber. Nothing came to mind, a blank slate, your head was so clear that completely nothing showed up.

You closed your eyes, praying that you would eventually fall asleep. The sound your ears could catch on was the breathing of the person beside you, the wind blowing gently through every teeny cracks, and the soft, muffled moans from an unknown voice. You immediately opened your eyes, now very awoken. Moans, you heard? Its volume increased, louder and louder by each passing second. But you were the sole person that noticed its existence, as if it was making itself known to you, to exclusively you.

You stepped off the bed, quiet enough so you wouldn't disrupt San's rest. Your bare feet meeting the cold wooden floor, the temperature dropped late into the night. The breeze washed through you, hitting your back first which caused you to shiver violently. The voice was your guide, you followed it like Little Red Riding Hood following the track to grandmother's house. But like how the story told, the track led to the big bad wolf.

You covered your mouth with both hands, standing behind the door of Jongho's bedroom as you listened to his voice calling out for something, or someone. "Ah~ [Y/N]-hyung, you're doing so well. Riding on my cock like a fucking slut." Your eyes widened, hearing your name seeping through the door that separated you from the younger.

You cussed yourself internally, telling yourself that you should mind your own business and get the hell out. Even worse, you caught a glimpse of Jongho stroking himself through the crack-opened door of his. That was enough for you, and so you decided to return to where you were supposed to be. But your knees was shaking, your back not wanting to get off the wall. Before you could react, your back was now pressing on Jongho's floor. The door was opened wide, and you were there on the ground.

"Speak of the devil, were you enjoying the show, hyung?" Jongho said, looking down as he was standing before you. He walked pass you, to the door he locked it shut. He turned his attention to you once more, his eyes slowly trailing down your figure.

Oh how you looked so seductive wearing his clothes on your body, even if it covered the majority of you. The part he was most focused on was your exposed collarbone; due to his shirt being a bit looser-fitting on you, the shirt collar could easily dropped down. He would love to suck on it, leaving marks of his affection toward you.

The position you were currently in excited him, he would fuck you right there on the floor if you let him. You stood yourself up, staring at him. It felt like every time you see each other, the atmosphere all of a sudden turned hot and bothered. When did it started? When did you ever felt that way about Jongho? Your best friend's younger brother, for God's sake.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I…should probably go.” You passed him, pushing many thoughts out of your head. Before your hand could twist the door knob for it to unlock, Jongho was the one who came first place to unlock something in you.

His body pressed against yours, your body pressed against the door. Your breath hitched, you were caged between his strong arms. The growing bulge in his pant was rubbing up your backside, consequently, making yourself hard in the process. That sensation which grew more and more inside of you, your stomach, your crotch was filled with it.

"Jongho, I'm not sure if we should do this, what would San think?" You asked, you knew deep down you did felt some type of desire for him. However, you wouldn't explicitly state.

He always acted a little intimate toward you if you could put it into words. He was affectionate, which he wasn't known for. Jongho wasn't a 'physical-touch' person, he didn't enjoy people touching him in a certain way like hugs or joking cheek kisses. But for you, he would break all his principles. He liked wrapping his arms around your waist, even better when you jumped a bit as you were startled by his unanticipated embrace. Or when he kissed your lips out of the blue, and simply shrugged it off as a joke. Of course, you didn't think much of it. He was younger then, but you felt a shift in your relationship nonetheless.

You left to develop your career after university, and left him as well. Now that you were back finally, he couldn't let his chance slip. He didn’t care wether or not your answer would be what he expected, his sole objective was to let you know about these feelings that blossomed in him because of you. Now or never, he thought.

Jongho whispered in your ears, “Hyung, do you remember when I told you I would wife you up?” Such a childish claim, he told you so when he was seventeen and you were in your early twenties. Wife you up, he said. You laughed it off, thinking it was just another one of his stupid flirty sayings exactly like how his brother would talk to most people. But maybe he actually meant it with some sort of sincerity when he said those immature words.

You were in your mid-twenties by now, and still, he wanted you. The feelings should have started to become this way not long ago, correct? Not quite, at least to your knowledge. “You know I like you more than my own brother, right? I like you in such a way that he would disapprove of.” He told, fully aware that San wouldn’t be so happy if he ever found out.

Jongho placed his lips on the area that connected your neck and shoulders, from there, he made his way up. He has physical attributes that made him strong and somewhat intimidating, in opposite, his touches and kisses were gentle and calm unlike how lustful many people his age were.

You let out a quiet whimper; his hands, which was lightly coated with something sticky, felt up your bare chest underneath the shirt of his that you were wearing. Your head tilted back on its own as a respond when he touched your buds, kneading it in his fingers.

"God, Jongho, you didn't clean your hands? That's fucking disgusting." You whined, which made him laughed.

Jongho replied, "You're making seem like you're not going to be covered in it soon." You mouth agape as soon as those vulgar ideas entered through your ears. San was one to blame for sure, being a major influence all throughout his life. You get the flirty, but weren't used to the dirty.

One slid down your stomach to the nether regions of your body, the other kept its place on your chest. You moaned, his hand reached your already aroused cock. You would admit with every truths in you, he was great at pleasuring his sex partner. Even if he was a virgin or seemed inexperienced at first glance. You doubted that he had ever gotten laid with anyone; if he wanted you this bad, he would have saved himself for you. The years you spent away from him, pornographic materials must have trained him well for this very day.

He stroked you, up-and-down, occasionally running his thumb over your swollen tip. The sounds that escaped your mouth was lewd, you never knew yourself have the capability to produce such things. You could sense the build-ups coming, your pelvis jerking slightly. Your hot breaths hitting the cold surface of the door, unstable, shaky, it was.

A hand grabbed you by the jaw, turning your face to him. He leaned in to kiss you, shutting you up before you could make any more noise that most possibly lead to you two getting caught. Jongho pushed his tongue in, reaching out for yours. Although, he seemed like he know a lot and he did a great job proving so. But you could clearly tell that he still have much to learn, merely by the way he kissed you. Amateur, but he has the spirit.

You closed your eyes, biting his lips as you released your high. It sprayed onto his door, the white on white making it looked almost discreet under the sensual lighting of his room. An orange-red mix of some sort, the mood light by the corner illuminating his space.

"You're a filthy whore, hyung. You came all over my door." Jongho giggled. He turned you around to face him, then slung you over his shoulder in one swift motion. The bed, he brought you to. You laid there, half-naked, and only with his shirt that covered a sensitive part of yours.

Jongho removed his top, now you finally got a clear view of his torso. Under his bulky clothes, he was fit and fairly toned. He got close and personal with you, leaning into your ears as he whispered sinful things that has an unknowingly sweet undertone.

Jongho brought up, "Now that I've enrolled in university, can I perhaps...have a congratulation gift?"

Skeptical, you replied with suspicion in your voice. "And what in particular is it that you want?"

"Blow me." He said, with all the confidence he has. More like waiting to say those peculiar two words. You were caught off guard, taken back by what he just said. He has his hands on the waistband, slowly pulling it down before your eyes.

Dropping his pants and undergarment off the bed, where the most of your clothes rested. Already seen the silhouette of his cock, you were much surprised when you got a closer look. “Oh my— You’ve grown.” You commented. The pre-cum from earlier dripped and dropped, you gripped the rim of his shirt as you watched it inching to your lips.

His tip kissed your lips, you opened your mouth to take it in little by little. Your mouth was warm and fleshy, way better than using his hands or an unspecified toy for adults. You started going easy on yourself since you weren’t an expert on these things. The head, then halfway, then the entire thing. It touched the back at your throat, causing you to gaged slightly, tears brimming in your eyes.

You looked up at him, gluing yours onto his. Jongho covered his mouth, he held your head with the other one. “Don’t look at me like that, I might just fuck your face till you cry, hyung.” Your hair felt soft under his hand and between his fingers, the delightful scent of your shampoo lingered around his nose. He could sniff you all day, how could he ever resist you?

His cock slid deeper down your throat as his gently pushed his pelvis toward your face. He moaned and groaned, making known of all his hidden dark desires and sexual fantasies. With you sucking him off like that, sending him to cloud nine.

Your mouth, which overfilled with cum, leaking out from the corners of your pretty lips. It all ran down your throat and into your system in one big gulp, the taste wasn't as pleasant as some might say but tolerable. Jongho lifted your face by the chin, he licked your lips. "I hope I'm not terrible for your taste, hyung." He laughed, trying a drop of himself as well.

You wiped your mouth, leaning back into the soft mattress of his bed. You laughed, "Come and make me yours like how you wanted to do long ago." He crawled to you, having that heart-throbbing smile plastered on his face. How could he be so cute when he was preparing to do something so naughty.

Jongho put his lips on yours once more, soft and plump like peaches. As you laid down, those disobedient hands slid up your thighs. He easily overpowered you, he was the sky and you were under him. Your lips, cheeks, jaw, and neck all stained with his charming marks. Rumbling and fumbling on the side as he searched for the lube bottle from the drawer of his nightstand. It felt cold, and slimy as it slid down your hole.

Yelping, your face scrunched up in discomfort. He started with one, then two, then eventually three fingers. You spread your legs, changing to a nicer position. The more you got used to his fingers going in-and-out of you, the more all those euphoric feelings you have been missing in your life came creeping up upon you.

"Lower your voice, or do you want someone to catch us? Does that excite you, you slut?" You bit down on your bottom lip, holding back your voice. Never been this vocal in bed before, what a change-up when you started using your voice more. The noises you made was like music to his ears, especially when he was the conductor. As much as he enjoyed it, he needed to keep it down, he was fucking his brother's best friend after all.

You held the condom packet between your teeth, Jongho pulled on the wrapper as it ripped open. He slid the condom over his cock, now covered in a pellucid latex layer. He pulled you closer by your legs, his pelvis touching your backside, his cock rubbing up against yours. Slowly and steady, he slid it in you. Your heart pounding violently inside your chest, your heartbeat rang for everyone to hear. It picked up its pace when he entered fully. Relaxed thrusts at first, he was afraid that he was going to hurt you if he went all out from the beginning. But when your lips quivered and asked him to go faster, he happily complied.

Slamming into you without any mercy, and moving his lips with yours in an aggressive manner similar to animals. You felt his cock hitting area and cervices deep inside your body, more or less 'rearranging one's guts' like how they all say.

His sweat carried the citrusy scent of his cologne, dominating what would be the unpleasant smell of body oder. He held one of your thighs, going in-and-out at another angle. And with one more single thrust; you reached your high, coming untouched all over his bedsheets. His grip tightened around your hips, coming right after.

A daze, you were in. Your breaths was as unstable as his during his last baseball game. Chest ascending then descending, alternating for a while until you could calm down. Only wearing his shorts, he helped you clean up everything. Throwing a different shirt at you for you to change out.

He went back to bed beside your tired body, held you in his arms like how you once did back in the days. "San will go fucking crazy when he finds out." You told, caressing his sore shoulders. Despite how much you both tried, you knew you were being loud and obvious.

Jongho giggled, "Of course, he would. I basically slept with his best friend while he was sleeping." You could only imagine San waking up and finding you asleep in Jongho's bed, his expression would change and he would start going off on his brother—Who most possibly would wear a playful face and boast about having sex with you last night.

Jongho pecked your lips, "I love you, [Y/N]-hyung. I've never stop loving you." All of a sudden, the atmosphere changed to being intimate in a wholesome way. You rubbed his head, silently saying it back as he got the memo.

[hellsbeenbettersincehesplit]

aaand here's the cross-posting of ch2 of shifting vertebrae! it's under the cut :3

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Shifting Vertebrae

Chapter 2: An Old Bartender's Thoughts

Nobody got far as a bartender without being a bit observant. Not to mention that Husk was a gambler, and thus an expert at detecting the minutiae of facial expressions. The cherry on top was the amazing memory when it came to people. He found that this combination was a curse just as often as it was a blessing. Over time, Husk’s brain had become a filing cabinet of information, with enough to blackmail any resident if he so wished.

That’s why Velvette infuriated him. She was authentic and honest in exactly a way that revealed nothing she didn’t want you to know. That kind of fake authenticity was rare, in his experience. It was always often a sign to be cautious (although Husk had already known that part about Velvette).

Oh, she wasn’t faking the confidence, Husk was sure of that. Nor her bluntness, or her efficiency. The lie was the seamlessness, the lack of mess. Emotions were a tool for Velvette, never revealing what she wished would stay hidden. While Husk was biased from exposure and his soul being owned by Alastor, it didn’t change the fact that Velvette’s mask was better than that of the radio demon. After all, Alastor always smiled to show his control. It came from his unaffectedness, the way he didn’t care. 

Velvette expressed the full range of emotions, and there was always an underlying truth. Despite this, it was completely clear that Velvette was in control. 

Husk also noticed that she rarely drank  in public. Which was another aspect of her unknowability- people don’t tell the bartender their secrets when they’re sober. She’d been offered a few drinks, and she sometimes took one, but after that she’d sneer about the quality, regardless of what Husk poured.

In short, Husk knew just about everything about every resident besides the one he had the most reason to be wary of. And while he usually didn’t give a shit about whatever drama the residents were in, this was so little information to the point where he couldn’t help but be unsettled. He didn’t even know what her favorite drink was, which was the bare fucking minimum of information that a bartender should have gained by now.

And even then, it wouldn’t be this annoying if fucking Alastor didn’t keep asking about information. Apparently, a grumpy bartender was the perfect fit to spy on the demon avoiding the bar. Alastor had even tried to get Husk to give Velvette fucking truth serum. Husk was sure that he was only still alive because he had managed to convince Alastor that Velvette would recognize the truth serum produced by her own fucking company.

So here he was, polishing glasses and ruminating over his hatred for Alastor as he attempted to make conversation.

“Nice outfit,” he commented. That was a start, right?

“Thanks!” Velvette said, with that made-for-sinstagram influencer smile. “One of the only good things that one designed.”

Husk nodded. “How was work?”

“Just the same old.”

“Val being annoying?” These were normal questions to ask, right? Either way, he was sure he was coming across as awkward.

Fucking finally. A look of… almost shock? He’d call it panic if he didn’t know better. And then she relaxed within seconds. Back to the mask.

“Why would you think that?”

“Your phone hasn’t stopped going off. He does the same thing to Angel.”

Velvette chuckled. “Someone’s always texting me. I have a life beyond this hotel, remember?” Husk suppressed a sarcastic comment. “This is just managers negotiating brand deals for some of our influencers, and data analysis from Vox’s sect.”

“Interesting.”

Velvette sat her phone down on the bar counter and began to disinterestedly pick at her nails. “So, who put you up to this?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You haven’t given a shit about my day at any other point in time, or even wanted to talk to me. You usually don’t even look at me, actually. Not to mention, this isn’t the first time my phone won’t stop going off- that’s how it is most of the time. Lastly, you’re not exactly a chatty guy in the first place.” She met his eyes. “So? Was it Albert? Whatever his name is.”

“Alastor?” Husk’s eyes darted around the room- Alastor wouldn’t appreciate that comment.

“Yeah, Alastor.” She wrinkled her nose. “If you have to give him info, get him to ditch the bob and pick a different suit. If Vox needs to have this little obsession over someone it could at least be someone that matches the tower’s decor.”

Husk would not, in fact, be telling Alastor any of that.

Velvette picked her phone back up and went back to scrolling through her messages. She scrolled with impressive speed, occasionally pausing to type something.

“So,” Husk began again, “what did Valentino do that got a reaction like that out of you?”

Velvette’s eyes lingered on a message as Husk spoke. Husk had played more than enough poker to recognize that the eyes are the hardest thing to control, and he’d found that this principle applied to most hard-to-read people. Her typing speed had slowed down a bit, but more relevantly, there was worry in her eyes.

What the fuck could have a powerful overlord worried? She worked with Val- if anyone besides Vox could prevent him from doing something, it was her. If this brought trouble to the hotel like Mimzy did, Husk would be pissed.

“Same as always,” Velvette had responded after finishing her message. “He had one of his classic temper tantrums.” She groaned in exactly the right spot. Fake authenticity, just like Husk had noticed earlier. Had Valentino had a ‘temper tantrum?’ Maybe. Probably, even. But the sentiment itself seemed almost rehearsed. She was telling Husk a surface-level problem to hide the deeper one.

Still. Whatever the fuck this was, it was above Husk’s pay grade. He’d tried. Alastor could get his own damn information. Or have Niffty deal with it. Either way, it would be someone other than Husk.

Whatever the strife between the Vees was, it would make its way to Husk eventually. Everybody likes to bitch to the bartender, after all. Husk could wait.

Chapter 2 is up! In this one, Husk is a bartender and needs to get some information out of Velvette.

[pastxlscorp]

Bully! Mitsuya Fanfic (pt.1)

Chapter I: Inception

✿ Word Count: 2.1k

✿ Pairing: Takashi Mitsuya x reader

✿ Topics covered: (Eventual) Enemies to lovers trope, Y/N POV, tsundere-Mitsuya, bully! Mitsuya, fem. reader, minor manga spoilers, Bully! Mitsuya headcanons from last post

He lifted his large palm, coated in silver and black rings to match his attire. He was wearing a black mock turtleneck that matched his jet black hair. In his youth, he had lilac-colored hair that was either in a buzz-cut or grown out to a mullet. Now, he sported his black hair in his college-years. He was studying to become a fashion designer, a dream he had since his youth after his love blossomed for sewing. It had begun as a chore in order to keep his sisters satisfied and happy, saving money from buying toys by simply creating them himself. As he practiced it more and more, he began to realize how intricate fabrics were. How beautiful colors could come together and form the prettiest structures and designs -- how even the ugliest colors would look elegant if you paired them properly with the right colors, or carefully took apart the threads to create something new. You on the other hand were not studying to become a fashion designer, but rather a photographer. In your youth, you were a free-lancer in art and a quiet overachiever. You had many different career options open to you, but nothing really opened you up in the way art did. You participated in many different types of art, you loved painting, sewing, embroidery, name it, you’ve probably dabbled in it. One day, your class was introduced to your photography unit and all the puzzle pieces fell into the designated places, the pieces being lost and untouched for years. Nothing brought you more joy than snapping someone’s photo on the street to surprise them with the way the sunlight beautifully encapsulated their figure. Nothing brought you more joy than taking an eerily aesthetic photo of the rain pouring on the people below your building as a lady frolocked in the rain below, eager to rejoice in mother nature’s beauty.

Truthfully, your relationship had not started out the way it was now. With his palm ever so elegantly shoving you to the floor, your photographs spilling out of your portfolio as you hit the cold tile floor, protecting your chest by landing on your elbow and knee. Snickers, chuckles, giggles-- they all filled the hallway after seeing you collapse. Only a select few actually took pity on you, including one of his loyal followers, Hakkai Shiba. Mitsuya was usually followed around by two close-friends, Yasuda-san and Hakkai. Yasuda-san was also a fashion major, while Hakkai was planning to become a model. Mitsuya was very well respected amongst the campus for many different reasons. Firstly, he was gifted with the intellect of sewing intrigue designs that made everyone sigh in awe. Secondly, pretty-privilege. You hated to admit it but Mitsuya was a very attractive-looking man, his hair was always fluffed to the right extent, he was well-dressed, and leading into the third reason, he was smart. Despite being a part of the Tokyo Manji Gang, otherwise known as Toman, as one of the second division captains, he was able to manage schoolwork as an overachiever and was known for his intellect. Not to mention, keeping his division in check along with his two younger sisters AND the sewing club that he managed at his school? It was no wonder he was seen as the perfect boyfriend, he had all of his together. This was the reason why his disregard of you was seen as acceptable, everyone assumed you must have done something wrong for him to treat you this way, right?

Incorrect assumption. You have never done anything wrong to Mitsuya-- in fact… you don’t really remember doing anything to him, period. You both met by chance in his home-economics club, which he decided to suggest to the college board upon seeing there was not a club that actively encouraged sewing. At the time, most participants on campus were graphic designers, artists, not really looking to take the fashion industry by storm as Mitsuya was. However, he was able to persuade the board and even got petition signatures to seal it all off. He was the president of the club and upon seeing the posters taped in the hallways, you instantly took the opportunity to get any extracurricular activities on your transcript. He welcomed you into the club but it wasn’t like you got that much of his attention-- after all, the club filled up quickly with Mitsuya’s admirers. Although, shortly before he began his cruel treatment and behavior towards you, it actually seemed like you two were becoming friends. He would begin to check on you a little more frequently than the rest, tapping your shoulder with a warm smile, asking you how your project was going. You would show him your small projects, nothing too big as it had nothing to do with your major, but projects that you enjoyed and had fun doing nonetheless. He seemed most amused by the sweater you created for your dog by letting out a soft chuckle. In return, he showed you the sweaters he made for his sisters, who were now teenagers. It became a routine for him to walk over to you after checking up on everyone else and talk until club hours were over. He’d find anything to talk about and it made your heart swell with how he actually took the time out of his day to make sure you didn’t feel alone. You were sure he had picked up on how you lacked friends in his club, he was clearly trying to make you feel welcome and you couldn’t help but begin to admire him even more than you once had.

One day, however, it suddenly changed. His demeanor was suddenly cold and unwelcoming to you. You noticed when you walked into his club as you normally did, taking your seat. He did not visit you within the 10 minutes it usually took him to check upon everyone else. It took much, much longer, so you simply assumed everyone needed more help than usual. However, when he came over to your table, his words startled you so much that you pricked yourself with your needle, rushing your eyes to meet his own at his sudden harshness.

┃ “Looks like someone isn’t paying attention.”

The venom in his words made your cheeks flush with a tint of red, noticing some of the club members staring at you, also in surprise of his harsh tone. You open your mouth, quickly questioning his behavior, all of your words coming out panicked, in fear you’ve done something wrong-- something to disappoint, or upset him.

┃ “What do you mean, Pres? My projects have never been an issue before.”

┃ “Nicknames are a privilege. Call me by my proper title.” He snapped, your peers widening their eyes, for he never required anyone to call him by his last name.

┃ “...President Mitsuya, I apologize. However, you can’t just--”

┃ “Look around,” he motions his arm towards the surrounding students working at their tables, sewing much larger projects and others measuring their models for their designs. Your right eyebrow began to raise in confusion, he had never minded your small projects. Yet, here he was, embarrassing, no-- humiliating you in front of your peers about how minuscule your projects were in comparison.

┃ “Your peers all have their mind set on a big project or several larger projects. Yet, here you are with your small little trinkets. They’re working hard, and you’re doing the bare minimum to have your work completed for this club.”

Tears began to prick your eyes, questioning what his true motive was here. Surely, the projects weren’t the issue. This… this was too strong of a switch-up. Something had triggered this outburst of his, but you weren’t sure what. He was always stressed, all the time actually-- had he perhaps overwhelmed himself and he was taking it out on you?

┃ “(Y/N).” Your name so violently came out of his mouth, as if it had just crashed on cement. It wasn’t the silky and softer voice you were accustomed to hearing when speaking with him. “Get your head out of the clouds. Are you listening?”

┃ “Sir… I mean, President Mitsuya, with all due respect, you seem to be… unfairly targeting me. Some of these students are creating something as simple as a sweater for their friends, why is something for my dog any different?”

The rest of the club began planning your funeral. While never seeing him this upset on school grounds, they have heard about how foul he could get with his division members. Questioning him was bound to make him explode. They all froze, eyes drifting to Mitsuya for an incoming scolding.

┃ With a harsh grab, his fingers glide under your chin as he lifts it up to meet his face directly. “'You questioning me?”

┃ “N-no sir! I mean no disrespect, I just-”

┃ “You’ll be staying after club hours.”

┃ “B-but sir I have-”

┃ “I was NOT asking.” He half-shouts, dropping your chin from his harsh grip as he makes it back to the front of the classroom where he continues to work on his own projects. Your fellow club members pitied you at first, but after seeing how harsh he got later on with you as the bullying continued, they assumed this was the result of an external conflict.

You don’t remember what he told you after club hours. He was yelling something about how you were stupid, a dumbass, and well, you get the rest. Cruel words were thrown at you as if the day before he wasn’t so fondly helping you with the sweater for your dog-- helping you perfect the stitch of his name. Any time you questioned him or flat-out denied his accusations and heinous words, he would yank your chain and pull you so you were right in front of him as he stared down at you. It was enough to scare you out of ever providing a rebuttal, and you soon learned that as the bullying continued.

Now, here you are, on the floor, calmly collecting your portfolio photographs, not even phased by his now-normal harassment. Usually, a shove would be enough to appease him, but today it seemed like one of those days where he wanted more. He walked over to your kneeling figure as you collected your portfolio, your head turned away from him to avoid giving him any form of satisfaction.

┃ “What do you say after you bump into someone?”

┃ “I didn’t bump into you, dickhead.”

With a swift motion, he forcefully grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him, his lavender eyes piercing straight through you. He was clearly unsatisfied with your response.

┃ “What do you say after you bump into someone, skank?”

Every time you questioned him or talked back, you knew it simply made him angrier. You quickly learned that him acting out was his way of earning your attention, but for whatever reason it was, you couldn’t figure out why. What you did learn, however, from your many other incidents with him, is that he would praise you when you were obedient. Eager to get this over with and save yourself any more humiliation, you replied:

┃ “I’m sorry.”

┃ “I’m sorry…?”

┃ With a sigh, you continue, “I’m sorry, President Mitsuya.”

He smirks, now satisfied with your answer. He taps your cheek with his right index finger and replies:

┃ “Good girl.”

You swipe your face away from his grasp and continue collecting your photographs, along with your notebooks and planner that had slipped out. Mitsuya scoffs as you once more retract your attention away from him and walks away with Yasuda-sun snickering. Hakkai, however, stays behind and examines you for a few brief moments. He walks over to you and begins helping you organize your bookbag. You look up and smile-- despite his silence, his eyes offered every form of apology he could give you. You had learned Hakkai was afraid to speak up to Mitsuya because he was his best friend and was afraid any talkback from him would only result in a deeper hatred for you. You didn’t mind, however, you just appreciated how Hakkai kept you grounded. He helped you remember you didn’t do anything wrong, this was Mitsuya’s doing and his alone. Hakkai was always well-dressed as well, you noticed. He was wearing an incredibly long trench coat with beautiful shades of baby blue, ocean blues and a bright orange that made everything pop. It covered a black mock turtleneck that seemed to be matching the one Mitsuya was wearing and in fact, Hakkai also seemed to have an earring on one ear, similar to Mitsuya. It appeared that he deeply respected Mitsuya, his outfit seemed to be heavily inspired by his own. With everything settled in your bookbag once more, he offered you a pat on the head with a smile as you nodded and thanked him before running off to your first class of the day.

✿ a.n. // I finished this chapter while finishing my AP Psychology hw. I had started writing it and then idk why but I was re-reading the manga and went “wait, now what if we have Hakkai and Yasuda-san…” and ta-da, take my 2.1k words of pure a$$. If this chapter does well, I’ll be sure to upload it on my ao3, too. special tags for @the2ndl and @bren-heron because they both really wanted a fic out of this concept. I hope you enjoy loves <3