#this is like I cannot LOOK at this anymore

[theminecraftbee]

Grian sits on the edge of a desert cliff, watching the sunrise. His knuckles are bloody. He's had this dream before, and he's lived this moment before. He's awfully tired of it, honestly. He's not even particularly sad anymore. It's hard to be particularly sad, this long after, this much more between them.

But his knuckles are bloody again. There's someone sitting next to him.

"Joel?" he says, baffled.

"Yeah, hi, really weird bloody dreamscape you've got. Literally and figuratively: bloody hell. Like, Scott, he's got this pretty cottage and all these flowers and the single most terrifying version of Jimmy that I've seen in my life. Which serves him right, since he's a bastard, and I told him that. Or, uh, Pearl. She's normal. She's got dogs and... shit, I don't know--"

"Why are you here?" Grian asks.

"Oh, right, I was tasked with asking you if you regret it," Joel says.

There's a long moment of silence. The wind blows.

"I mean. No?" Grian says.

"Right? That's what I said! Blumin' stupid question, that!" Joel says.

"Wait, you mentioned--are you asking everyone that?" Grian asks.

"Yeah! It was all, oh, you've got a car, you can travel, it'll be all poetic like. You've had a 'character arc'--like I'm some, some fake guy--and grown as a person, everyone else has to, would they do things differently now? And I said, man, that's stupid. That's really stupid. But the glowing purple eyes guys--"

"Wait wait wait wait, the who?" Grian interrupts.

"Sorry, do you not know the glowing purple eyes guys? Martyn was acting like you're all buddies or something. Then I punched him. Because it was funny," Joel says.

"No, I know the--they asked you to do this?" Grian says. He takes a moment to try to imagine it. He has some trouble. Joel and the Watchers don't really belong in the same place at the same time for so many reasons that Grian doesn't know where to begin.

"Apparently, I'm not being serious enough," Joel informs Grian. "I kinda get it, actually. Like, everyone but Cleo has been somewhere like..."

Joel looks out over the cliff. It is tall, and Grian knows he cannot see the ground from the top. He had been able to during the actual games, of course, but these aren't the actual games; these are the memories of what brought him to victory, made manifest.

"So I guess I kinda wondered, since you lot always seem so blumin' sad about it," Joel finishes.

"I'm not really," Grian says.

Joel raises an eyebrow.

"I mean, maybe once, but--nah. Not really."

"Cool. That's the last one then," Joel says. "Hear that, weird glowing eyes guys? You act like I'm all weird or whatever but none of them regret it either. Not a single one of them."

Grian looks over the cliff again himself.

"None of us?" he asks, very quietly indeed.

Joel sighs. "All of you asked that too. I'm getting back in the bloody car."

Grian doesn't watch Joel leave. He rubs the blood off his knuckles and watches the sky instead. When he's tired thinking in circles about how he didn't really expect that he would be telling the truth, just then, he starts trying to imagine the trouble Joel might be giving everyone else instead. It's much more fun to think about than the sand that's getting in his socks. He's never able to get sand out of anything, these days, and it leaves him always just a little bit uncomfortable. Oh well; the price of being in a desert. He wouldn't be anywhere else if he had the choice, though, grit in his socks or not.

[kurohe]

Things you can do to actively participate in the revolution

Here's the list !

I know some of those will look really silly, i promise they are not. And obviously, this is not a checklist, you don't have to do everything. But they're steps that you can absolutely take if you wish to, and they WILL help.

(under the cut !)

1) Let's start off with a very easy one you can do right now: stop using Chrome. It's a google owned browser, and it sents all of your data towards it. Mozilla is a very good replacement, but almost anything will do, really. This may sound a little dumb, but you are revolting against capitalism as a whole, and this is a good first step !

2) Start stealing things from supermarkets and malls. I am not kidding. Little things, that aren't really monitored: a can of food, a lighter, a pair of socks. Condiments are particularly easy to hide in bags or pockets. Steal hygiene products, steal food.

Remember that you should have access to those for free, and you don't because a few rich guys don't want you to.

Additional tip: train station stores are very easy to steal from, because they're so busy. But don't put yourself in danger. Check beforehand if they check bags at checkout, look out for employees that might notice what you're doing. Don't be reckless.

3) In the same line, if you see someone stealing anything from a big store, no you didn't.

(this used to also say airports, but i've been told it's way too high risk as it's considered a federal crime. Thanks for letting me know)

4) I know a lot of people are scared of disrespecting rules. By fear of being caught, or by guilt. My advice is: start disrespecting stupid, meaningless rules. I don't have specific exemples, but you'll encounter them and wonder why you're doing that. Stop doing it. This will train you to be able to disobey autority way easier.

5) Put stickers everywhere. If you already have them, go ham. Especially on public property (lamposts are amazing). If you don't, buy them from artists or independant stores, not big brands. If you cannot afford them, remember that you can simply write stuff on an A4 paper and plaster it to walls. Or even post its !

6) Carry a sharpie with you at all time, the big black ones. If you see propaganda, scribble it out. Keep a look out for terfs stickers, maga posters, etc. Also good for getting rid of transphobic and sexist stuff written on public restroom stalls !

7) Buy locally. This means going to the market or small stores, and thrifting your clothes. If you can't for money or accessibility reasons, try trading with your friends, family and neighbours. Get communication going in your circles, and you'll realise there are a lot of things that you can simply trade with or buy from people around you. Like a jar of jam against some eggs, or a pair of socks for a t-shirt you don't wear anymore !

8) Learn how to sew. I know, that sounds dumb ! But i promise you, not only will it be amazing to trade with other people ("i'll sew back ur shirt and in exchange, you give me a can of peaches !"), corporations also haaaate when you know how to fix your clothes. Because they want you to buy more. You'll spend a lot less money if you know how to fix em

9) If you have the space and the money, grow your own food, and share it or sell it around you. Be careful, some assholes will call the FDA on you. Do that with people you trust.

Additional tip: growing vegetables and fruits can be a real nightmare. You can absolutely start by just growing some basil or mint :)

10) Organise. Join leftist groups online, even if it's just to see what's being said, you don't even need to interact. Follow creators, repost and share their content. By doing that, you'll stay informed on group movements like strikes, protests and boycotts, which you can then participate in. It's very important you're connected to other ppl and the movements that are started !

11) Unionize. I'm very sorry I don't know the exact way unions work in the US, but if you can, join one. They will help you in times of needs, especially if you're a student or a worker. If you're not sure how to do that, absolutely ask around to people you know are very active politically, around you or online. People will help.

12) Stay. Informed. Follow independant papers and news outlet. If you can afford it, give them a dollar or two. They are fighting everyday for access to unbiased information for all, and sadly, their independance means that they rely almost entirely on donations and people simply engaging with what they put out.

If you can't access those: do not get your news from TV. Ever. Or anywhere else that has been bought by the far right. Sadly, the majority of TV channels are just the worst.

And, most importantly: fact check. All of the time.

13) Share that information. Talk to those you trust and who are ready to listen to you, and tell them about what's happening. Get angry with them. Revolution stems from people coming together and realising that they're being used and profited off of. Share videos and posts relating to politics, especially informative videos.

14) Go to protests ! If you've never been, i know it can be scary. But you can stay in the middle (don't go all the way to the front, that's where stuff can get heated) and scream and walk with everyone else. You'll meet people who, like you, want things to change. Capitalism wants you to stay as unconnected to others as possible, and that's a great way to fight that.

Sometimes, there are sites that have a planning for all protests happening in a city. Look up if one exists for yours

15) Create and strenghten community. I know i really struggled with this one, because it's so vague. But here's a few places you can start:

-Go and introduce yourself to your neighbours, if you deem it safe. Give them a little gift if you can afford it, like a pack of pasta.

-Make new friends, even if they aren't deep friendships. You need connections. Online or irl, both are fine- don't stay isolated.

-If you already have community, go check on them right now. Ask your friends how they're doing, and if they need anything- ask how they're being impacted by what's happening right now politically.

16) Look for ways to fuck over the institutions in easy ways. One example that went around tumblr a lot is letting dandelions grow in your backyard, because landlords fucking hate it. If you work in retail or fast food, cheat. Accidentally forget to scan the diapers. Put in 7 nuggets instead of 6.

17) Engage in art. MAKE art. Music, shitty paint drawings, craft, anything as long as you're being creative. Share it. If you feel like you can't do that, then support artists. Make a point to look up cool illustrations, and new music. Go to the cinema.

If you're an artist currently in an underpaid office job, please, by the love of god, be creative during office hours. You're underpaid, they do not deserve your full time and attention. Take 30 minutes to write that snippet you've been thinking about.

(and actually, if you're underpaid at all: do the minimum required. So that you can't be fired, but that's it. Any more effort is not worth it. Companies will never be thankful for what you do.)

18) Look up books that your state banned, and go read them. You can get them secondhand, or as pdfs online. (if anyone needs ressources, i will glady look for and share them.)

And, actually, read books in general if you can. Yes, fanfics count !

19) Seek education. There's a lot of youtube channels out there talking about educational subjects in a fun way. Some things the rich assholes who run the country specifically don't want you to learn more about are: biology, history and archeology, social and economic sciences. GO LEARN ABOUT THOSE.

The people in power don't want you to be educated. It's why they eviscerated the education system.

20) PIRATE. I cannot stress this enough, anything you can pirate (that isn't from small, indie creators, except if you absolutely can't afford it) do it. Download music illegally, torrent movies and games. If you want access to academical studies and papers, some writers will give them to you for free if you email them about it. There are also ways to go around paywalls.

21) Don't fall for the traps of "progressive brands". Lately, i've seen a lot of praise for Ben and Jerry's for openly supporting lgbtq rights and being globally anti-trump. They are still a brand. Avoid buying from any big names when you can. That being said, if you have to, check beforehand which ones and what their history is. Some are more evil than others.

Additional tip: a lot of brands you see in stores are actually owned by bigger brands. One prime example of this is Nestle, who are fucking evil, but they own a shitload of other big names. Be careful what you buy.

22) I hate to say this, but be prepared to defend yourself. Revolutions are never peaceful. You will get in danger. If you can, get in ok physical shape. If you can't, buy a gun. (Remember Alabama has a 99% acceptation rate, you can get one in 10 minutes.) I hate firearms, but the enemy will have them too. Arm yourself.

If none of those are available options to you, please, make sure you have someone around you that will be able to protect you, or a place where you can be safe. Whether you are disabled, a minor, or anything else. Don't put yourself in more danger than is necessary.

23) Last but not least, be kind. When someone cuts off a woman speaking, interrupt and give her the floor back. Shame those who think it's right to say bigoted shit in public. Listen to those around you. If you can't act, then remember to always have empathy for the homeless, for drug users, for immigrants. Understand they are people just like you. You are not immune to propaganda and prejudice, no matter who you are. Always question yourself and your biases.

(if you've read this far, please repost. We need this to reach as many people as possible)

I want to remind you that you're not alone. I know things seem hopeless, but the simple fact that you're reading this is proof it's not. I don't live in the US, but i'm supporting you as best i can from where i am, and sending you strenght.

If you have any questions, do ask away. I'll end on this image that's very dear to me:

[persicipen-archive]

𑑛 “ARMOUR-CLAD HEART” ﾉ MYDEI. HONKAI STAR RAIL

gn reader ﾉ words 0.9k ᯽ mydei teaches you some self-defence. reader is not made for fighting and rather weak. an awkward display of affection from mydei’s side lol ﾉ no proofreading, we die like kremnoans ᯽ FLUFF ﾉ GENERAL CONTENT ᯽

You hear a displeased click of his tongue — nothing surprising given your stance and previous pathetic tries at blocking his fist — and take a step back with your face embarrassingly hot. His fake hit was nowhere near fast nor strong, just a mere presentation of where such an attack would come from and land at the end.

“You’d be dead within a second on the Strife’s battlefield. Or perhaps should I even say that a mere thug would get through your defence with little to no preparation?” Mydei’s gaze moves all over you in a judging way, and it takes your every strength not to look away.

“I’m not made for battle! You wouldn’t see me anywhere near it. It’s just way too hot today to focus.”

Another loud “tch” escapes his lips, now much more annoyed and agitated than before, as if he has already completely given up on any hope for you. A blazing sun over the terrace is no excuse to stop the lesson, or perhaps it’s precisely because of its presence.

“Surely someone with an ill intent would wait for you to be comfortable and well prepared for their arrival, am I correct?” He snickers in a sarcastic tone, leaving a short pause to give you another opportunity to oppose him.

But again, this time not only is his attitude towards you harsh and insulting, but his words make complete sense, and they burn with embarrassment even more than the scorching heat that surrounds both of you.

Maybe you’re simply spineless and will forever be even under his tutoring. You bite your lip, trying not to appear weaker than you already are, knowing very well that there will be absolutely no use in defending yourself anymore. But it doesn’t matter now. What does he plan to do next?

Your body tenses up out of reflex only seconds before his warm palm wraps around your arm, turning you around effortlessly while pressing your back against his own chest. An uncontrolled gasp leaves your mouth as you are left immobilised in an instant and the forced proximity feels even hotter than midday, yet the one behind you pays no mind to it, completely focused on keeping you in place.

“Most people would assume you cannot get out of this hold unless you’re physically stronger than the aggressor.”

You feel every slight breath he makes pressing harder on you. Not to mention how his voice sends pleasant shivers down your spine by being so close to your ear. All the discomfort disappears the second a faint memory reappears in the most unexpected of places. The way he holds you reminds you of something entirely different from sparring.

Curse your mind, it doesn’t help to focus at all and it’s especially shameful when Mydei’s not affected; calm and composed, with a fiery spark running along the red marks on his body.

“You’ll most likely always have a free hand or two. Instead of wriggling them mindlessly, use one to press on the bottom of your opponent’s nose or even punch them. The nose is always sensitive, even under the slightest pressure.” He eases the grip around your body and demonstrates what he just said and although he doesn’t apply force at all when bringing his knuckle above your cupid’s bow, you squirm involuntarily in an attempt to escape.

But since he never lets go of your other arm, there’s nowhere to run.

“Now, try it yourself.” Yet instead of waiting for your move, his hand — armoured in golden claws, a trap for your smaller palm — grabs yours and brings it behind towards his face. You peek over your shoulder, a little afraid.

To add on top of everything, he is as serious about this sparring lesson as ever, not paying attention to the closeness between your bodies. The red lines decorating his chest seem brighter than usual, with sweat glistening along his collarbones and hair dishevelled by the breeze.

Your heart skips a beat in anticipation when you are almost certain he’s about to kiss your fingers instead, but in the last second, he inches away and brushes them against the underside of his nose. “Here. Remember this.”

“I’m sure that my enemy won’t navigate my hand towards their weak spot.” A shaky sigh of disappointment escapes your lips.

He chuckles lowly at your comment, raising the corner of his mouth in a sardonic smile.

“You’d rather aim blindly than focus on where and what to attack? You’ve just earned the disapproval of the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos.” He moves in front of you, abruptly pausing all physical contact. “Be thankful that I’m not only willing to teach you how to defend yourself but also for that I will protect you with my own strength as long as you’re near.”

He pushes a damp strand of hair out of your face, the lightest touch of his bare finger causing more tingles to travel down your spine. At the same time, he flinches when realising what he has done and lets his hand drop to his side; the victorious glint in his golden eyes changes to bewilderment. His armour rattles at the subtle gesture of humanity and betrayal of his emotionless posture.

“We’ll practice again until you gain the approval from me. Do not expect me to be lenient.” The heat spreading on your cheeks becomes a problem only after Mydei finishes the sentence and moves away with haste, surely caused by his discomfort.

A gentle breeze runs through the illuminated terrace and cools your skin. You watch him walk away without turning around (you wish he would). This feeling of shame mixes with admiration and unadulterated curiosity to stir up something completely bizarre in your heart.

A pomegranate-sweet infatuation with the prince.

[genderqueerdykes]

"it's easy for trans men to pass, whereas it's harder for trans women to pass"

and if i'm 5'0"? if my facial features are soft and "baby"-ish? if the deepest voice i can reach isn't deep enough? if i can't afford a haircut? if i cannot obtain testosterone?

even if i did pass, i would look like a 12 year old boy. i am 18 and i am already treated as a 12 year old *girl*, and contrary to popular belief that is not something that i want or enjoy.

literally though. you're right and you should say it. thank you for stopping by to send this message. i'm sorry you are dealing with this but you are not alone. trans men and boys struggle to pass just as hard as any other trans person. we do not magically somehow pass better because we stopped wearing makeup and women's clothing.

i'm not letting people say this anymore. it's not easier for trans men to pass. not at all. many trans men are short, as you mentioned. height plays a massive role in how people interpret men. if you're really short people will start questioning if you're "Actually a girl".

the #1 thing that people completely avoid and forget about when it comes to this argument is voices. i'm bolding this because y'all really need to understand that just because you quite literally cannot hear a trans man's voice does not mean that other people can't. many trans men have very light, soft or high p itched voices and may not be able to easily lower the tone of their voice. it's very hard to speak with a deep voice for many people without testosterone. you can't assume that all trans men have deep booming voices- remember tranny voice? remember how people mock trans men and transmascs for "sounding like a tranny" because their voices may be higher pitched or softer than cis mens? remember that time where everyone was calling us trannies, but then now we can't call ourselves that because somehow, tranny somehow doesn't apply to us ... ?

YES i know it's hard to raise a very deep voice. i HAVE a very deep voice, and i understand that trans women and transfemmes and other people with naturally deep voices struggle with this, too, but people just straight up ignore that it is equally as hard for trans men, mascs and other queer people with high pitched voices to be gendered correctly and pass. voices are usually what give trans people away on ALL fronts and sides. no matter what. it affects trans men and mascs too. people are RUTHLESS if they hear you have a "girl's voice"

trans men and mascs struggle greatly with passing, too. it's not easy. like you said, not everyone can afford haircuts. not every transmasc or trans man wants one. some have large breasts or wide hips. some can't afford binders or packers. some can't hide their curves. some don't like wearing masculine clothing. some don't like trying to make their voice sound deeper. some will just never be able to pass and it's not their fault. a lot of trans men struggle to pass. we have to stop pretending it's easy and effortless for trans men to pass. it's not.

[pmpmyread]

Content Warnings: 18+/MDNI, suggestive themes Pairing: Nanami Kento x fem!Reader Summary: "It’s just way too tight, Kento. I really don’t think you’ll fit.” You deliberately punctuate your statement with a lilt of your voice, which implies far more than your words convey, a shift that does not go unnoticed by Nanami. It’s what finally earns you the view you’re fishing for. Word count: 3.4k

It’s a bright, frigid winter afternoon, the kind that sees the sun casting a dazzling light off the patches of the morning’s snowfall with near-blinding intensity. Your breath fogs slightly as you bring your hands to your mouth, pretending to warm up the fingers that conceal the chuckle you simply cannot contain anymore.

You’re sitting in your car, parked just outside Nanami’s apartment building, watching in quiet amusement as the sorcerer emerges through the automatic door and approaches you. His eyes are narrowed in a sharp, assessing gaze as he glances first at the front and then at the rear of your car, undoubtedly taking stock of the cramped space and the less-than-ideal angle you’d managed to maneuver into. When his gaze briefly locks with yours, it is a small shake of his head that acknowledges your sheepish smile before he crosses in front of the car ahead of you to reach your side.

Oh, how you love to play the game.

It’s a game that owes its inception to a spark ignited within you one evening, several months prior. Your second official date with Nanami Kento was a memorable one; a wonderful outing together comprising delicious food and delightful open conversation, which allowed you to discover an unfiltered side to the otherwise reserved colleague you’d grown so fond of. You’d learned so much about him in the space of a mere few hours.

After which you'd also learned something about yourself.

“Damn, they really boxed us in like this…” You’d said as Nanami opened the passenger door to his car for you.

You’d just wrapped dinner at a quaint and charming restaurant whose only drawback was the inconvenience of only having street parking available on what was a rather narrow street. It now appeared that since your arrival, two vehicles had parked so closely, both behind and in front of Nanami’s, leaving it with hardly any room to exit.

“That is rather bothersome,” Nanami said before gently closing your door and squeezing his way over to the driver’s side.

He took a moment after pushing the ignition, and you sensed he was making a mental calculation in his mind as he thought through this conundrum. You reached into your handbag, taking the opportunity to quickly reapply a thin layer of your tinted lip balm, which you damn near bit off when Nanami abruptly draped his arm over the back of your seat as he looked over his shoulder, assuming a new position that saw him leaning both backward and towards you. The combination of his sudden nearness, the faint woody scent of his cologne, and his warm breath on your neck was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” He murmured, more to himself, his confident words a low rumble that tickled your ear and sent a warmth spreading through you.

When you finally dared take a sidelong glance at Nanami, you were gifted with a breathtaking sight. You took notice of the way the setting sunlight illuminated his strong jawline, of how it enhanced the sharp features of his face, and of the subtle radiance emanating from his profile.

You watched his eyebrows furrow in focus, his eyes narrow in calculation, averting your gaze just as he faced forward again, shifting your focus to where his fingers gripped the wheel as he turned it with the same practiced precision he carried when out on the field, exorcising curses.

The sleeves of his blue dress shirt were rolled back, revealing strong forearms that flexed as he brought his right arm from the steering wheel to the gear stick. In just a handful of dexterous maneuvers, he found the right angle and effortlessly managed to glide out.

Just like that.

Heat sluiced through the air, through you, and suddenly it was warm, far too warm, even for an early summer evening. The low buzz of excitement that had hummed just below your surface all evening had now reached its fever pitch. The air in the car was charged with a quiet intensity. Even today you wonder what you must have looked like in the moment, what kind of expression you had on your face as your eyes remained fixed on Nanami as if he was the first person to ever reverse out of a damn parking spot, what he might have seen in your eyes when he finally glanced your way and caught your lingering eyes, prompting him to ask, in a tone tinged with earnest curiosity:

“Is something wrong?”

“No, uh… You didn’t even use your backup camera.” It’s the desperate substitute for a coherent reply formulated by your slightly panicked mind.

“I didn’t, no. I find that leaning on the traditional way works best in a tricky situation like that. In fact, I usually don’t use the camera at all.” He paused a bit before playfully adding, “Is this a deal-breaker for you?”

“Well yes, Nanami, I perceive you so differently now…” You buried your genuine sigh of relief beneath one of mock concession. “But since I really like you, I guess I can learn to live with your lifestyle.”

“Thank you for accepting my cavalier ways.” Nanami’s lips curved into one of his warm smiles that you’ve grown to live for, distracting you, only for a brief moment, from the fact that you’d almost gotten caught flagrantly ogling him.

I have got to be careful with this, you’d thought to yourself at the time.

And for a while, you did; you discreetly savored in the rare opportunities you were offered, and keenly watched Nanami engage in the skillful displays that were his reverse maneuvers.

But now, it’s several months later, and time and familiarity have long since dulled the edge of caution.

Now, you’ve shed some of your inhibitions, and you allow yourself to be a bit bolder, more brazen.

Now, you don’t always want to wait for opportunities, so sometimes you manufacture them.

The distinctive clicking sound of your door latch snaps you out of your reverie as Nanami opens it, and the frigid winter air finds your face again, bringing you back to the current moment.

One quick look at him, at the tousled blonde locks freely cascading over the reading glasses he didn’t bother removing, at the black sweatshirt peeking through his unzipped puffer jacket, at the comfortable gray sweatpants emblematic of his peaceful weekend détentes confirms what you’d suspected a few minutes ago, as you texted your SOS regarding your precarious parking job.

You imagine the soft glow of his reading lamp and you can almost hear the light rustle of pages from the book he was likely reading before you interrupted him. For a moment, you feel the prickling sensation of guilt crawling up your spine. But then a second picture, even more alluring than the first, fills your mind, a vision so enticing that it relegates any and all thoughts of retreat to the far back corner of your mind, and you find yourself back on task with renewed motivation.

“Hey, thanks for being my hero again.” You cheerfully say, springing out of the car and landing on your tiptoes, your arms encircling his neck as you brush his cheek with a light kiss, feeling the warmth of his skin against your cool lips.

“Your knack for finding the trickiest spots on this street is unmatched, truly remarkable.” The bright sunlight reflects off his glasses, but you don’t need to see his eyes to detect the affection underlying Nanami’s exasperated tone. This isn’t his first rodeo, this is not your first time pulling this stunt, and you’re not new to this careful plotting of the conditions that would grant you the otherwise rare view you enjoy so much.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I always prefer this side for the convenient view I get from your place. I saw the spot and I really thought I could hack it.” You point back at the high-rise towards Nanami’s window, the one that faces this street some twelve stories above you, intent on feigning innocence by leaning onto the plausible excuse you’ve employed time and time again.

“You know, if you’d told me you’d be available earlier, I could’ve picked you up myself,” he says as he gently taps his boots to the side of your car, carefully ridding himself of the snow clinging to his boots before taking the wheel.

“I didn’t want to disturb you… Though I realize that I sort of am right now.” Your reply is apologetic in its tone but unapologetic in its objective to obscure your true intentions. You start on the path Nanami just took to get to you, following into the fresh footprints left by his boots in the snow to find the sidewalk again, expertly dodging the “you never disturb me” he undoubtedly has ready at the tip of his tongue.

Because you are disturbing him, deliberately so.

In theory, parallel parking never was your forte. Technically speaking, you could use his help. It is a stretch of a rationalization, something you know very well, being the architect of your premeditated predicament, as evidenced by the self-satisfied smirk that tugs at your lips once more.

You try your best to school your expression back into neutrality as you re-enter Nanami’s field of vision and as you move to enact the next step of your little scheme. Once you finally reach the car, it is in the back that you slide into, rather than the passenger seat.

Nanami uses the edge of his shirt to wipe the fog from his glasses before he wears them again, and only then, through the rearview mirror, does he seem to register your unusual decision to sit where you do. A slow arch of his eyebrow betrays his amused confusion.

“I’ve already made peace with being your valet, but am I to be your chauffeur as well?”

“Ah, you know, all of my things are on the front seat. I figured this is simpler,” you say in the most persuasive tone you can.

He glances down at the passenger seat, where you’ve indeed ensured, before driving here, to pile your handbag over the three hefty grocery bags holding the ingredients for your shared dinner, the ones you’ve deliberately left out of your spacious trunk.

“I see…” he says, finding your gaze through the mirror again, something unreadable briefly crossing his eyes. “I know we just discussed this the other day but I do wish you’d just let me rent you a spot in the indoor parking lot.” He adds, finding his train of thought once more as he shifts the gear into drive and begins his maneuver, moving a few inches forward.

“There’s no need, Kento. We’ll be moving in together soon, and besides, I rarely bring my car around here. It only amounts to a couple of times a month, if that.” Your rehearsed responses are a refrain from a conversation you’ve already had countless times.

“So you take my spot then, and I’ll park on the street. My car is smaller, and it will be easier this way.” His hand stills over the gear switcher, awaiting your feedback on his proposed alternative. Incorrigibly pragmatic, this man is; always so logical, constantly looking to make your life easier, all things you utterly love about him. But this is not a problem you want him to solve, at least not in the ways he’s thinking. The seconds tick by, each one a hammer blow against your carefully crafted plan.

So you quickly decide to shift tactics.

“I guess you’re right.” You slowly say. “You should get us out of this spot and park us elsewhere. I don’t think it can be done.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it can’t—”

“It’s just way too tight, Kento. I really don’t think you’ll fit.” You deliberately punctuate your statement with a lilt of your voice, one which implies far more than your words convey, a shift that does not go unnoticed by Nanami, who responds instantly with a lift of his head up as he anchors his gaze to yours. The signs that betray the successful effect of your instigation are nearly imperceptible but they are there; in the minute narrowing of his eyes, in the slight lift of his eyebrows, in the subtle hitch of his breath.

It’s what finally earns you the view you’re fishing for, today’s at a newfound angle; Nanami finally reaches behind the passenger seat, places his hand on the headrest, and takes his usual position to reverse.

“Well, I’m certainly not one to back down from a challenge,” he says, defiance laced in his tone.

You mentally give yourself a pat on the back, but your triumph is quickly replaced with another sentiment. Because for some reason, as he maneuvers the car a few inches backward, Nanami holds your gaze, and you hold your breath. He doesn’t waver as the car slightly jerks under the audible tap of his foot on the pedal, and now you’re nervous. You are acutely aware of the ridiculously small space left between the cars, making his blind attempt at the maneuver seem irrational.

“Hey, shouldn’t you actually be keeping your eyes on the road?” It comes out of you, more a breathless utterance than a clear question. You watch Nanami shift back to drive and give a few light taps to the gas pedal, before switching back to reverse, his amusement now increasingly evident as his eyes find yours once more.

“Hey, shouldn’t you actually be seated next to me? Or is this the new best seat in the house?” His gaze does not waver, and he punctuates each of those last three syllables with a tap to the pedal, each producing a short, jerky backward jolt of the vehicle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nanami.” You mumble this, and you don’t even bother to sound convincing at this point, you’re still reeling at this unrelenting teasing. Here you are, having scored something even better than the mere view you were after, and somehow you’ve still lost the upper hand.

“Ah, so I’m just Nanami, now?” He says with what is now unmistakably a smirk.

A nervous scoff escapes you and you attempt to avert your gaze to something, anything other than his sly, piercing hazel eyes. You’re not left with many alternatives, so your eyes find purchase on the hand he’s placed on the headrest right in front of you, and you hope it will suffice to bring your heart rate down, to lower the increasingly warming temperature in the car, and to help you find your footing again in this repartee.

He must notice your newfound anchor and he must be determined to sink you because Nanami’s fingers begin to move in a light rhythmic tapping of his index finger and you now find yourself somewhat distracted again. His hand disappears momentarily as he grips the wheel to move forward, and when it returns, it is both his index and middle fingers that are moving again, together, this time.

What begins as a seemingly random, lazy, circular motion quickly transfigures into a slow, deliberate up-and-down rubbing motion; the minute squeaking sound of fingers against rubber, an audible evidence of a nebulously steady rhythm. Suddenly, it’s a pattern you recognize all too well, a motion you’ve watched him, felt him enact far too many times, one that causes a familiar fizzing of your stomach and compels you to instinctively squeeze your thighs together.

You find yourself unwittingly transfixed, the subject-changing retort you so desperately want to wield in self-defence, never quite making it to your lips. Did seconds pass? Did minutes? It is only once Nanami pulls his hand back to himself, and breaks the tense silence that you realize that the car has long since stopped moving,

“Now, tell me how I did.” He says in a commanding but gentle tone.

“How you… what?” You are decidedly disoriented and you don’t even know what he’s asking anymore.

“Check the curb, my love, and tell me if I’m aligned properly?” His abrupt flip back to his usual kind and even tone after engaging in the most egregious display of pettiness is dizzying.

You open your door to find your car perfectly positioned, your dicey position long since corrected.

You shut your door to meet a gaze that betrays the mischief simmering just beneath Nanami’s surface.

“You’re good,” you mumble, still pulling yourself back to reality. You would marvel at this masterclass in hand and eye and apparent finger coordination if you could think straight. Instead, your mind is a mix of hot and bothered and confused and you think to yourself that perhaps this time, you bit off just a bit more than you could chew.

“It was a tight fit, but as usual, I made it in.” He says these words in such a casual tone, and you know that he knows that he doesn’t need much more than this, that you’re already riled up.

Decidedly eager to vacate the car and get a breath of fresh air, you lean over the center console to reach for your handbag. Unbeknownst to you, Nanami sees this as an opening, an advantage to exploit.

By the time you feel Nanami’s arm draping just behind you as he reaches for the passenger seat once more, it’s already too late, and you find yourself stuck in your awkwardly bent position on the other side of his arm.

“Actually,” you feel more than you hear his voice rumble just behind your left ear, “I think I could back up a bit more.”

You watch him shift the gear into reverse, and he moves to look over his shoulder, but he can only really make it halfway.

Your faces are so close that you can see your reflection in his eyes, pupils and irises now indistinguishable. This is beyond impractical; you know it and he knows it. You look down to find something to grab onto, using the center console to brace yourself against the next anticipated jolt of the moving car.

It’s one that never materializes.

After a few moments of inertia, you finally lift your face to level your eyes with his, and by now it is a full-on, mischievous smirk plastered on his face.

And this ignites you. Because you, too, are not one to back down from a challenge.

You decide to make the most out of your newfound position by moving your left hand to grab onto his right leg. There it is, the shift of his expression, the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth now nothing more than a memory. Slowly but surely, you glide your hand up his leg, maintaining your eye contact, inching closer and closer up toward his lap. You watch as his breath hitches for a moment, as his gaze wavers, as a brief dark flicker crosses his eyes, telegraphing in advance the question he’s about to blurt out in a disquiet of his own, one you’re now more than willing to answer.

“What are you—” He breathes out.

“Well, Kento, I need to hold on to something, don’t I? You wouldn’t want me to fall, right?”

Nanami reaches down to switch the gear to what you assume is ‘Park’, his first gesture of concession. But you don’t relent, no, you double down.

You shift some of your weight off the console and onto your offending hand, gliding upwards, up towards his lap. Moving inwards, in towards his—

Your movement is abruptly halted, but you don’t miss the small audible groan that melts into the gulp he swallows as he closes his free hand over yours in a grasp that is both as gentle and as firm as his tone when he finally chokes out, “Upstairs.”

“Oh. Is this capitulation I hear from my beloved valet?” Your voice does not come out as even as you intend, your breath hitches, and frankly, it’s a miracle that you’re still holding your own, that you still manage to speak because the truth of the matter is that witnessing the effect of your anticipatory torture on him only serves to exacerbate your own conundrum.

“Let’s call it a temporary truce,” he says as he gently interlaces your fingers, cautiously moving your hand away from the danger zone all the while bringing his face as close to yours without touching, as if to spill his next words of promise directly into your mouth, words that come out as a deep rumble and that travel straight to your core.

“Capitulation is what I’ll pull from you real soon.”

[vaguely-concerned]

severing the connection of the titans to themselves, each other and their children, to the world, and with it severing the connection of the dwarves to their true nature, the basic state of love and belonging that should be their birthright. ("our children, orphaned".) severing the connection between rook and the reality and true memory of varric, and thus from themselves and their own healing grief AND love. (do we spot the echo, perhaps?) severing (mostly accidentally this time, I'll give him that) the connection between the fade and the real world, dream and reality.

the scale we're operating on varies from the mythic, the cosmic and existential, to the individual and deeply, nauseatingly intimately personal, but it's the same pattern every time. solas keeps committing the same act of enforced dissociation, of creating orphaned pain that cannot even know itself, estranged from its own history, origins and coherence, unhealable in being impossible to recognize for what it is and thus unreachable. (hello lucanis in the minrathous saved route btw. this theme echoes everywhere when you look for it. I do love this game.) making others strangers to themselves for his own purposes and being surprised when it blows up in his face horrifically once more even when it's his same indelible original sin repeated, again and again and again. dissociation is a natural process the mind uses to protect itself from unbearable pain, but to knowingly cause that in someone, to play around with their connection to themselves and reality so fundamentally, to further your own cause... yeah, I'm not surprised the fabric of the world keeps tearing apart in protest in response to that, there's something so unspeakably insidiously wrong about it. forget snacking down on apples and knowing yourself to be naked or whatever, that sounds like a perfectly blameless if presumably slightly chilly afternoon to me -- force-feeding someone else their own fragmentation for your own gain, however ostensibly worthy your final goal, feels much closer to what real sin would be to me. and even worse because *buries face in hands* he just keeps doing it!!! he should know better, but he keeps doing it!!!!!!

I know I keep joking that solas only has the like three basic moves he keeps rearranging to invent new and spectacular ways of doubling down on making the same mistake yet again, but looking at it like this it's almost not even funny anymore haha. (almost. there is a hysterical amusement and affection that rises within me every time I see his smug little face, we cannot choose who we love only what we do about it.) and the worst thing is that I think he could learn! I do believe he has the capacity, the depth of empathy and soul and intellect, to learn from this, had he chosen to do so, had he let himself pause and truly listen at any point. but at the end of the day, even all these thousands of years later and with the mountains of guilt he lugs around, he chooses not to. and I suspect it's because he fundamentally does not actually understand what he did wrong. on his way to, ostensibly, fix one of these splits he caused, that of the veil, he basically goes and does to rook's mind what he did to the titans, and without the hand of mythal guiding it or anyone else culpable in it with him this time, as if to underline twice that in all these thousands of years he has learned absolutely nothing! almost to an impressive degree! does he even recognize that it's the same thing he's doing? does he even actually afford rook and their internal world that much thought to begin with, aside from what purpose they can serve for him? I'm not so sure. and to do it all with varric's face, with the person he took from them, making them feel complicit in it when they find out, the same way the dwarves will have to grapple with the fact that their whole economy is based in unwittingly selling the blood of like. god. their parents. themselves. solas. babe. what the fUCK. what the fuck. what the fuck.

perhaps part of the blind spot comes down to the way it's the inverse of his own trauma. solas knows exactly what happened to him because it's the endless ache at the center of his existence, the thing -- the first mistake -- he can't escape or undo or forget, nor bring himself to accept: he became real, one coherent set self, with no way back to what and who he was. and what he does with that pain, his one move, is to make others not-real. to himself, and more alarming still to themselves. he makes them forget, as he cannot forget. does he think it's mercy, in some way? does he realize how and why that makes it all so much worse??? and... not quite the same thing, but when mythal dies the structure of his own inner world falls apart catastrophically, and in his vengeance for that, even unintentionally, he imposes that same unravelling on the world. we've all heard the lines about spirits mirroring the real world and what you bring into your relationship with them being what you get in return, but how about the tragedy of the inverse -- the world being brought to mirror you, despite what your intentions might have been going in. no one should have that power, but you claimed that power yourself to do something else and now you have to look into that mirror forever. no such mercy as forgetting yourself for you. you are everywhere now, this broken mirror of a world will reflect yourself back to you no matter where you look. perhaps it would feel easier to simply close your eyes and walk on willfully blindly. AGH it's all so delicious and fucked up and makes me feel absolutely nuts

dissociation is something that's also central in iron bull's character and internal conflict, so presumably this is simply a deep theme trick weekes keeps returning to/is interested in exploring in their writing! and the elegance with which it's done and how inextricably yet subtly embedded in the narrative it is both with bull and overall in veilguard means it's not always engaged with or recognized as I feel it deserves, but to me personally it is Everything and gets at it in ways that feel weirdly real and authentic.

[theactualsunshinechild]

If Castorice is cursed to kill whoever she touches and Mydei is cursed to be immortal, do you think Mydei ever goes to Castorice on a really bad day and is like, hey can you put me down for a bit please? I'm having these phantom pains from fatal wounds and injuries that don't exist anymore and they're keeping me up, I want a nap.

And obviously at first Castorice is like "L-lord Mydei, please rethink this, death is not something to be trifled with! Even with your condition, I cannot guarantee your safe return..." and Mydei takes the time to reassure her that, no, he's sure about this, and yes he is willing to bear the risks, no he doesn't care if it will hurt, please euthanize him. It takes a bit of convincing but eventually she agrees to risk it, and, fear in her heart, gently places a hand on his shoulder.

Mydei wobbles and collapses dead on the spot. Castorice lets go and starts fretting internally, stepping back and circling around, frantically searching for any sign of life. How long does it usually take for Mydei to come back? Will he come back at all? Her own curse is clearly effective on him after all... To her relief, it only takes a few seconds for Mydei's eyes to flutter open again to find himself supine, with limbs bent at various awkward angles from the way he ragdolled.

It was a very peaceful few seconds, no pain, no blood, just an pleasant floating sensation as the familiar dark waves of the Styx rocked him side to side gently, before a bright guiding light forcibly pulled him right back. If not for the uncomfortable position he came to in, he'd even say the experience did some old aches a lot of good. The slight relieved smile that comes across her face as he explains this belies how many years of uncertainty and grief she's experienced over the many deaths she had enacted prior. She must have had no way of knowing for sure, until now, whether or not the deaths she delivered were as gentle as she hoped, Mydei realized.

It takes slightly less convincing to have Castorice try again. This time, they arrange more comfortably, Mydei sitting down against a wall, Castorice taking his offered hand in hers. As his hand goes limp in hers, his skin slowly cooling, she draws comforting circles on it with her thumb, more for herself than for his unfeeling body. After several minutes this time, each feeling longer than the last, she lets go and backs away once more, waiting with bated breath for the moment he shudders back to life, taking air back into empty lungs, eyes bright again, fierce, lively and visibly well-rested.

They agree to never exceed 15 minutes, Castorice explaining he would likely not enjoy coming back to the discomfort of gravity having caused all of his stilled blood to pool and settle inside of his body, let alone his body having cooled. Mydei agrees easily and assures her that he will keep his requests for deathly repose infrequent.

Castorice often passes the time Mydei spends dead trying to occupy her hands, the nerves never quite leaving her alone. Knowing logically that Mydei will come back and fearing that maybe he won't come back this time are two separate things after all. She tries many things, from bringing a scroll to read, to embroidery, shoulder pressed to his, trying to ignore how much bolder the red tattoos look against the pallor of a dead man. When Mydei wakes to Castorice's fingers pricked and bleeding for the third time, he frowns and offers for her to braid his hair next time if she wishes.

The next time, a month later, they arrange slightly differently, Castorice sitting on a bench, Mydei lowering his head into her lap, his hair an offering she wills herself to accept. Having assisted with many a funeral rite, Castorice is able to lose herself in the process of carefully weaving the messy soft locks into shape. The texture is strangely soothing, despite how unnaturally still Mydei remains, and Castorice imagines that this must be similar to what it feels like to pet a lion's fluffy mane. When the sand stops flowing, Castorice moves Mydei's head out of her lap to walk five places away once more. He comes to, gasping for breath as usual, and reaches up to feel at the new braids he sensed in his hair. A ghost of a smile graces his face when he finds them to be satisfactory, and he wears them for the rest of the day as a sign of appreciation. Castorice fiddling with his hair while he is dead quickly becomes the standard for their little meetings. Sometimes he wakes up with no new braids, but he doesn't question it so long as Castorice doesn't appear to be in any distress.

The first time Phainon spotted Mydei with his head in Castorice's lap, Castorice gently running her fingers through his hair as if he were a very large cat, Phainon almost passed them by with how peaceful they looked...

Then did a double take and panicked.

Anyway, that's my headcanon at least for how Castorice can say that the death she brings with her touch is peaceful. I think discovering that killing Mydei with her touch grants him what is essentially a banger nap from his perspective, probably helped her find an amount of peace in those early years. Truly putting the rest in "putting to rest"with this one.

Obviously she'd still prefer to be able to touch people and creatures without having them die, but at least she has learned that it isn't painful when she kills this way.

Additionally I like to imagine that while being killed by Castorice feels soothing, getting killed normal ways feels like shit, painful the whole way through, and then you get dunked violently into the Styx. And for Mydei specifically, it's more like he gets dunked into the Styx only to get yoinked right out, soul still sopping wet and cold, and forced back into a body that is fully repaired but it's happened so fast to him that his nerves have him feeling the aftershocks of the injuries that are already gone.

[bluestrawberry7]

definitive height ranking of the main ten bg3 characters

im right they told me themselves

10. last place is minthara lmao she's 5'3" (161cm) max. I love her being tiny and feral. still absolutely ripped, don't get me wrong, just... on a smaller scale. also drow are canonically the shortest elves (drizzt is 5'4"/162cm), and I know women are taller than men, so she'd still be a little under average, but its more middling in menzoberranzen. and she's still above goblins and stuff. but then she joins the party and is just towered over by all these men and surface elves and she is compensating

9. shadowheart is 5'6". she is the physical embodiment of y/n. I guess this is a little short for elves, because of the gender thing, but I just cannot see her being defined as "tall" or "short". like she's short, in comparison to the other companions, but that only emphasizes their enormity because she is so perfectly average.

8. I like wyll being 5'8"/173cm or so bc he just so thoroughly embodies short king energy. think of that marcello hernandez bit where he's like short kings put in the work, not because we wanted to, but because we had to. I'm sorry but wyll is just way too kind and good at dancing to have lived his whole life over 5'9". bro is tom holland. (his dad is comfortably over six feet. this is definitely not a source of contention)

7. astarion, I think, is canonically 5'9"/175cm, which is tall for male elves, but not by a ridiculous margin. i think it fits into him being like, default-ly desirable, where he sort of fits into a lot of different relationship molds without it looking weird, because its a whole part of his character than he's conventionally attractive. like the vampire stuff is the interesting part, but without that he looks averagely, disposably pretty, which is why so many people see right through him.

6. gale is exactly one inch taller than astarion. I like him being a kind of remus-lupin tall, where he like slouches a lot and doesn't super recognize it, which is amplified by the fact that he spent the majority of his adult life exclusively around tara and a literal goddess. he doesn't really grasp the social implications.

5. lae'zel ends up around gale-height (5'10"/178cm). I know some people swear by shortzel, but I like the idea of githyanki being gangling and alien. her in-game model doesn't look like it should be that tall, but her limbs are just a bit too long. I like her walking around camp in an uncanny valley way, where she looks so clearly 5'6" until she's standing right next to you.

4. I picture jaheira in her prime as taylor swift with elf ears. she's just under six foot, or ~181cm. its that whole thing about presidents/authority figures tending to be taller, because people like to literally look up to their leaders for some reason. she just has that confidence. she's not like outrageously tall, and she's totally comfortable with minsc etc being taller than her, but she's just. six feet tall.

3. karlach!! is 6'2"/188cm!!! (not including horns). I've seen people say she's a little more than that, but I don't think most people are grasping how tall 6'2" is, especially if you're like fully built. like, rhea ripley is 5'7". karlach is a UNIT. anything above 6'2" is reaching freak-of-nature status, where height is like. the only thing you see when you look at them.

2. speaking of freaks of nature, minsc is 6'4"/193cm, and he has been since he was like 13. he has lived his whole life being taller than 97% of people he meets. he had to be pulled aside in gym class and warned that he couldn't wrestle the other kids anymore because he might crush them. and he was heartbroken!! because he's like!! a great dane!!!! and he just wants to play!!

1. halsin is comically large. ≥6'5"/196cm. he is a statistical anomaly. i think he canonically assumes he's part orc, but I think it's funnier if he's literally just an elf. his parents are 5'6". he's never even worked out. doctors hate him.

the only race-related halsin theory i'll accept is that he's a bear who turned into a human and not the other way around

[weirdthinkingdragon]

Stay Close

Slight yandere Dan Heng x reader

warnings: a bit of awkwardness? Slight fluff

Yandere Dan Heng using his Lunae form to keep a "dragon lover" reader close to him. You being from a world they're nonexistent to now seeing one that shouldn't be possible when you joined the express.

Like a moth drawn to a flame the first time you saw it you were beyond fascinated to the point everyone could tell. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to question him about it feeling it would be disrespectful since he seems so avoidant of talking about it after just a few questions you tried to ask him.

That also lead you to feel unbelievably awkward around him for a while since you've already talked about your love of dragons to the express... If you knew then you would have never said a word. How were you supposed to know there was a draconic type of human??

That lead you to research in the archives a lot to make sure there isn't anything else you should know about before it was too late.

With time things got back to normal and you started to drift away from Dan Heng. He's a guy who likes his space. Why bother him when you have Trailblazer and March to bother? Plus you're pretty sure you learned everything you wanted to know by then and your visits became less and less often.

Little did you know at that point Dan Heng didn't really like that. He grew rather used to your previous frequent presence in the archives.

What he really didn't like is when you got separated on visiting another planet. That alone wouldn't have been so bad if the person you were with trying to help the world didn't try to stab you in the back. Literally. He saw it happen and nearly lost his cool. He threw his spear just in the nick of time and punctured the person's leg, causing them to stop and scream in pain.

Obviously that startled you to turn around and see them running up and what happened.

After that there was a shift in his actions with you. Almost always in the same room especially if no one else was. Another thing you noticed was him more often in his other form. Man you want to touch his tai- no. Bad. That's weird.

It's like a train wreck no matter how hard you try to stop looking, you can't.

He knows you want to touch it. It's not hard to tell. Quite frankly, it's the opposite. It's to the point you don't even have to say it. But that's what he wants. He's willing to show this part to you alone just to keep you near if he has to. He knows you don't think he sees you looking while he's reading.

"You can try touching it, if you want."

You're shocked for a good minute, then apprehensive. You wonder if he only is saying that because your looking is pressuring him so you can stop, or maybe another bad reason you don't want to try to think about. "...Are you sure?"

Aeons, please just do already! This is more of a delicate situation though. If he wasn't as level-headed he'd have already impulsively pulled you to him with his tail and made you stay close as much as possible. "if I wasn't, I wouldn't have offered."

You cave and carefully do. It wasn't what you were expecting. it was more smooth, airy to the touch, and rather cool. Not cold, but definitely not warm either. Maybe airy wasn't the right word? Felt more like water itself but a bit more solid. So like soft ice and not nearly as cold.

You didn't want to stop touching it but didn't want to push your luck. That alone was enough for you to be happy with.

But it didn't stop there. More frequently you'd go to the archives again and he kept offering. Eventually one day he pulled you to his lap and rested his head on you while you held it. He wrapped his arms around you as well and let a mental sigh of relief. He's glad it's this way now.

This is where you belong with him. Whatever happens or comes for him, he cannot leave the express anymore. Not with you. Not with something as great as this.

He's never been more glad to have his other form than now. If it helps make you stay close, well then he might just have to start staying in this form more often. Even if around other people too.

[losingmygrasponreality]

SOOOoooooo

Part of this might be based on a irl experience………………………..

Imagine this:

-been flirting back to back texts with Eddie all day at work since your heated make out sesh this morning in bed.

-pressing your thighs together while trying to make it through the day, get home and jump his bones.

-so once you get home, you immediately shower and lotion your entire body, even adding your scented dry body oil to your chest.

-deciding to wear his favorite underwear of yours since he’s still not home to surprise him.

-when he finally arrives home, you both sort out dinner, choosing take out, and decide to decompress while waiting.

- this included Eddie playing a few rounds of Overwatch with Gareth, Jeff, and Grant; while you sat across from his console on the couch reading your newest dark romance novel.

-inbetween matches you’d find Eddie sneaking looks over at you from your peripheral vision, so you act like you didn’t notice and slowly bend your knees up while spreading your legs, so he’d finally realize you were not wearing sleep shorts under your big pj shirt and had his favorite silk panties on.

-after the food arrived and you finally ate and cleaned up, you were exhausted, Eddie opted to night shower while you got comfy in bed waiting for him, to finally relieve the ache between your legs.

-though it’s a quick shower, once you’re both in bed it’s hard to stay awake and focus on anything other than each others warm bodies.

-you slowly wake up realizing you both fell asleep so early into the night, and that Eddie has been trying to wake you by giving light kisses all over your face and caressing your entire body.

-you melt into his touch, “what time is it?”; he hums, still half asleep, “I love you so much, sweetheart. It’s 3am.. but I couldn’t stay asleep knowing I didn’t make you cum one time yesterday; and I had been dying to ever since I saw those silky soft panties you wore just for me.”

-he slowly glides his hand over your cunt, your legs automatically opening wider for him, and with one swift motion he’s slipped his fingers under the waistband of your panties sliding them off while he slips under the covers and makes himself comfy between your legs, devouring you like it’s his last meal..

And then proceeds to fuck you senseless 👉🏻👈🏻 teehee idk how to write smut so that’s all I got….. but I mean FEEL FREE TO UTILIZE THIS IF YOUD LIKE, WINK WINK…

I cannot be writing stuff like this anymore cause this is me now realizing I’m clocked in and losing my mind:

[noihavenosanitythanksforasking]

thinking about how milevens tend to assume that bylers want mileven to break up just because we want byler to happen.

no love

wanting byler to be canon and wanting mileven to break up are two separate wants.

Mike and El have their own story outside of will. Even if Mike wasn't queer and Will wasnt around this story would still be their story. Will may be a character in their story but the story is still about mike and el. Mike and Els story line is the marriage of the two of their two individual character arcs.

El's story arc is based around the fact that she was abused as a child and was dehumanized to an extreme level that no child should ever experience. She does not have an identity of her own. She wasn't raised to even expect to have one in the first place. Her story is learning to be able to her own person. To just be herself and learning who that person is.

When she met mike she created an identity around him. and identity of being the super powered mage who saved the day. that was El. then she became mikes gf and suddenly she was now "mikes gf". It wasnt until she met max that someone actually tells her that she is allowed to be her own person. "theres more to life than stupid boys" "what feels right" before Max she was just existing trying to play a role of what she was supposed to be rather than figuring out who she was or who she wanted to be. What she wanted. El is not raised to have wants. El was raised to be a weapon, a lab rat, a tool that does what they are told.

When this story intersects with a story arc like Mike has you get the disaster that is Mileven.

Mikes story arc is actually very similar. Mike is a very codependent person. He wants to feel needed. he wants to feel useful. If he doesnt have a use to someone he thinks he must be a waste of space. Mike doesnt know who he is outside of other people. He has never explored what he wants for himself. He is for other people. As a codependent person myself i can relate to this a lot. It can be hard to know what YOU want for yourself, outside of people you care about. Mike puts his loved ones before himself so much to the fact that it tends to get him into trouble more often than not. The issue with being codependent is that you become almost blind to who YOU are and what YOU need. you suppress your emotions for other people and these emotions only tend to surface when you realize that holy shit. i cant do anything here. This is the situation mike is finding himself in during season 4 and continuing into season 5. there is nothing he can do anymore. it is clear that him putting el above his own feelings and giving her what she wants in his attempt to help is not working. In fact its HURTING his relationship with el. Now mike doesnt know what to do. so he's drifting. El was his trauma partner. when things get too hard and too confusing he retreats into "el mode" where his only thought is what El needs. This is not a healthy mindset AT ALL. no matter how much the media romanticizes that sort of thing. IT IS NOT HEALTHY. you cant live like that. but now El has communicated "i dont want that. stop lying and get your shit together".

so mike is stuck. and el is stuck.

because theirs is a coming of age story. however not all coming of age stories are romantic. Mike and El cannot communicate with each other. they are both selfishly selfless in the way they treat each other.

I am going to be who you want me to be because i think thats what you want and it makes me feel secure.

this is not something you want in a relationship. a relationship is based on trust and vulnerability. being able to be youre rawest and truest form of yourself for another person. and feeling seen and loved despite it.

this is not present AT ALL in mileven as a couple. they are both discovering who they are still and are not space to be doing that in a relationship where they feel the need to hide themselves from each other. you cant find yourself that way.

wow look how much nuance i pulled from mike and el without mentioning will once. wow its almost like will is not the reason their relationship is failing

[noahs-blue-jeans]

Unspoken Moments

Desktop means title! this is a long one btw

I've been thinking about the unspoken moments between Byler which brings to mind that, for Season 5, they've cast young versions of Mike, Will, and Jonathan. I'm not the first to speculate that we'll be getting some Lonnie scenes, nor the first to probably suggest this, but I wanna parse it out anyway.

I think Mike and Will may have done something gay without realizing it, and Lonnie and Jonathan found them. Lonnie first, even. What could they have done? Any innocent thing lonely young gay boys would do: caught holding hands, sharing a space very closely (looking at Will's drawings in bed together perhaps). Any number of things that a fuck like Lonnie clocks as fag behavior.

And I think this could be the inflection point in both boys' sources of trauma, in regards to their internalized homophobia. A trauma that Mike took further to heart which didn't break until seasons 3 and sort of 4, when he becomes the way he is in those periods.

Parents are also, despite popular belief, not often stupid when reading their children. Lonnie is horrible and Ted Wheeler is a lame ass bitch, but they are still correct in clocking their sons' queerness the same as Joyce and Karen, who of course have a loving and accepting approach. Joyce is most explicit in accepting Will, and Karen gives Mike The Speech that many queer kids get from their well meaning parents, a big signal that she knows Mike loves will as more than just a friend.

Alongside this moment at 8 years old, I think both boys have become increasingly aware of how they behave with each other, and other moments may have happened off screen that we could see in S5 flashbacks.

Even in the 80s, little gay boys knew they are gay and liked their best friends. I have no doubt Mike--as much as Will--is aware that he loves his best friend romantically. You know how you feel about people, even at a young age, and in the moments of Mike's solitude, after spending time with El and playing at kissing, you cannot tell me he doesn't instead think about Will. That he doesn't think about when they'd play together, or watch movies just them, or when they would sit close and look at Will's drawing together. That fingers or knees would touch and they're too young to really notice the implications, but they know they like it and each other.

This, to me, adds to the many explanations for Mike's behavior in seasons 3 and 4, and why he begins to come around by the end of the latest season, since he's old enough to be physically unable to deny it anymore, and beginning to accept that he and El won't work because of how he feels about Will. I like to imagine that those few times Mike's calls got through, he and Will would exchange a few pleasantries but then they'd sit there in silence, not even realizing they're listening to the other's breathing. A tension felt across the continent, sure as the sun sets in the west.

This freaks them both out, we don't see it, and instead we see Will coming to terms with his feelings as best he can by way of The Painting; Mike, in contrast, puts on a false persona to hide from these feelings.

In conclusion! I think these two shared some unspoken, unseen moments that we will soon get in flashbacks and Vecna Visions, and we will see these boys go on the journey of accepting them and finding power in the love they've always shared.

[genderqueerdykes]

i'm sorry that happens to you as well. it's so common the second someone finds out you're intersex they invalidate your identity immediately. honestly it seems like most people think that "intersex" means "quirky cis girl invading the trans community". like can we talk about this? because it's painfully obvious. whenever i tell people im intersex i sometimes get an eyeroll, but ONLY in queer spaces. its unreal. i legitimately get people rolling their eyes and going "cis girl looking for attention" because of my body composition. something i quite literally cannot control, much like trans people.

like whenever i talk about being a trans woman & a trans man people try to figure out my agab so they can misgender me and say i'm not a trans woman/transfem or that i'm lying about being transfem because of my genitals. people forget that intersex transfems exist and transfems who have gotten vaginoplasties. people are so obsessed with transfem meaning penis haver that they'll gladly forget intersex people exist in a mad dash to attack anyone and everyone with a vagina they can find.

i was literally assigned male at birth before having it "corrected" to female, but i guess people who are were literally assigned male at birth can't be transfeminine or trans women anymore. pack it up, i guess nobody can be trans women anymore and everyone's lying to be transfem for attention.

It’s so hard for either to pass, it’s like I dunno. Just that people don’t want to accept that we’re trans.

What I think would make this even worse if a cis person is constantly told they aren’t their gender and that has a knock on effect for all trans people

agreed, people refuse to see trans men & mascs as trans. like. that's literally it. & they just clam up about it n don't acknowledge it

there are cis people who don't pass for cis, it's a common thing. "transvestigators" on twitter love 2 try to figure out if someone is trans or not by just lookin at pictures of them and its dumb as hell. people genuinely do misgender cis people in the cross fire. sure the transphobe thought that person was a trans woman. they werent but someone still got injured in the process. this also creates tons of problems for intersex people. it fuckin sucks

[hollyhomburg]

Prey Animals (8)

—  Pairing: Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader

—  Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, enemies to friends to lovers, Healing & Themes of trauma,

—  Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

—  Words: 6.4k

—  Warnings: Reluctant allies to lovers, Implied/referenced sexual abuse, implied non-con, physical abuse, spousal abuse, stalking, violence, Angst

—  Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! — 

(Yoongi, 113 days before)

When Yoongi first being taught the ropes of the family, the last beta, now dead- took him aside and taught him the ways of business.

She taught him how to think and how to breathe, how to manipulate and most importantly- how to lie. Her hand digging into his neck, her scent dulled by age but still stinky in his nose, something metallic, something like silver that he struggled not to pull away from. Her lips brush his ear. Yoongi never understood why she needed to get so close.

“Name the facts of the situation, and order them by level of importance, the solution should reveal itself to you without you having to do much more work.”

“What should I consider most important?” he’d ask, childlike eagerness, a willingness to be good- a weapon in her hands.

Her voice had gone low. “Whatever you want to consider important is important. Say what you want and the others will follow.”

Now, sitting on the bed in his hotel room, Yoongi thinks should count himself lucky. He’s the one person that your husband cannot refuse a request from. The one person from whom Geumjae cannot keep you.

Even Yoongi cannot deny that it sends a good message to the rest of the family. He can almost imagine the words that Geumjae might say. See the beta is checking in not only on me but on the people closest to me, she’ll vouch for my character because my wife knows best.

She’s a pretty thing your wife, your mate to be.

No, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s all in good fun dude, don’t take it too seriously.

Yoongi insists over texts that the two of you go alone to look at jewelry. Yoongi wonders if you know that it’s just a simple ploy to learn more about you, to figure out the newcomer, and that he’s not really interested in anything beyond that. Geumjae need not waste his time with the affairs of an omega, he surely has more important things to do than go with you and help Yoongi pick out pretty things that sparkle.

He taps out the message on his phone, looking out over the city in the hotel room, bag packed on the bed a mess of torn through clothing that hardly smells like the pack at all. Not anymore.

New Number (11:32am): Thank fucking god, you know how boring all that frilly omega shit is to me.

New Number (11:32am): What’s mine is yours little bro

New Number (11:32am): Just not her.

Yoongi looks at the text for a long time, and then tosses his phone away.

The city is always rainy in the fall. The towering skyscrapers pierce the metallic clouds like a knife, and the rain hangs low. The rain is the only thing he can smell when he steps out of the taxi and into the street where you’ve agreed to meet. The scent of rain, cold and humid. You are already there on the sidewalk waiting. Peeking out from under the edge of your umbrella.

Yoongi did not bring one, he stands underneath the deluge of rainwater until you step close.

The heals you wear do little to provide you any real height, Yoongi still has to look down at you, but they do keep you out of the puddles, dark and reflective. You look every picture of a rich socialite. Designer bag, gaudy jewelry that clangs together when you reach to shake his hand. Your wedding band cold against his finger. Your introductions routine, formal. Your drop waist dress billows out from your hips gathering rain splotches.

It looks so out of character, so ill fitting, the dress several sizes bigger than would look flattering. You can’t be warm in it.

You’re still wearing the bracelets too; Yoongi wonders if you ever take them off- if Geumjae ever lets you. You smile at Yoongi when you see him, slow, it does not show your teeth.

Just not her.

“Did you have anywhere in particular you wanted to go, or is just the Cartier on 5th avenue fine for now Mr. Min?” You say, idly, your tone gentle, your words perfectly pronounced an enunciated. If you have any sort of accent, Geumjae has trained you out of it.

“Yoongi, you can call me Yoongi, I don’t mind.” Water drips onto the back of his neck. Yoongi feels like he’s under a microscope even though he’s only just next to you. You have your hair tied back again this time with a silk scarf- red with a dark blue boarder. Tiny cherry blossoms speckling it in an indistinct pattern. The only splotch of color on your entire outfit. The only thing that isn’t black.

Everything but your lips. There is a ridge across your bottom lip where you must have bitten them and bitten hard. Yoongi can see it through the lipstick, the family’s usual shade of crimson. Presented to all omega’s after presentation- or in your case- your marriage.  Yoongi wonders if it’s an anxiety tick or otherwise. But there is a tiny imperceptible gash there where it’s split, at the corner.

Your eyes widen, the perfect picture of coquettish surprise. Yoongi doesn’t believe it for a second. Yoongi knows you know better. He pauses on the sidewalk. He is not sure that he can trust you.

He offers his arm, and you are in no position to deny it. You wrap your arm around it gently, like you’re warry of putting too much of your body within reach. You fall into step beside him and Yoongi keeps his tone mild-mannered.

“Tell me, what’s it like being married to a psychopath?”

You pause, looking up at him, making eye contact without fear, Yoongi watches you breathe, watches you force yourself to make it slow.

“You’re the one who grew up with him. Why don’t you tell me?”

You step up to the front of the store and hold open the door for him, the front steps have red velvet on them, and a doorman holds open the interior for you. If you didn’t know what he’s like- you wouldn’t be asking me.

Yoongi steps past you.

“Don’t say it’s all bad.” He says, once a sales associate has been properly greeted and immediately dismissed. Your jewelry all but guarantees you entry and allowance here. Yoongi feels a little grubby by comparison in his ripped jeans and jacket. He gestures to the diamonds on your wrist, the one on your finger. The designer bag on your waist that costs more than what most people make per quarter.

You hold out your wedding ring to show him. You are not smiling. “I guess it’s not bad if you like expensive things.”

From anyone else, it would sound bratty, but you just sound tired. Yoongi takes it in, the ridge on your lips that must be from where you dig in your teeth, the bags under your eyes dotted with off color concealer, a similar discoloration he can see on the back of your hands and your throat when you look to some of the glass cases.

Yoongi moves with you, staying at your side. Gazing down at the things in the cases, the miniature serpents crafted into necklaces, bracelets, the flowers carved into earrings. All of it the finest that money can buy. All impressively ugly.

“Expensive is one way to put it.”

You breathe, and Yoongi watches it hitch. You look up at him, Yoongi sees the impulse to look away when you meet his eyes, sees you give into it.

“I don’t like it, not anymore. You don’t seem like you like fancy stuff either you’re not-” you cast an anxious glance at him, as if you realize who you’re talking too. Someone the family talks about with a hush under their breath. Both a myth and a man. But you do not have to look to far to see that Yoongi is not like his brother. “Like them.”

His fingers tap against the glass, the rhythm on it, a song in the back of his head, “Why would you say that?” He should be asking, if not out of curiosity than to make his mask better. You’ve barely been in his presence what? 3 hours? 4? And yet you’ve figured him out easily.

A little too easily.

You shrug and turn away, “call it a hunch.”

Yoongi has never been able to quite temper his gentleness, he might sneer and scowl like them, might curse like a sailor and walk like one too, but he’s never able to touch things with violence. Everything, everything since he’s stepped foot Infront of you- has been gentle. Yoongi should be more surprised that you’ve called him on his bluff, but he can’t feel anything other than impressed.

His hands move slow, dancing across the glass cases that hide things far rarer and more beautiful than you. You should know, your husband has told you it time and time again hat putting you in diamonds is like putting a tiara on a pig. Yoongi looks at you, his eyes asking you to explain.

“You don’t come home often; you don’t like it. You didn’t do-” You sniff hard, mimicking it instead of saying it, “-after dinner. And you don’t like my husband. Even though he’s your blood.”

Yoongi sucks a breath through his teeth and wonders why he feels a willingness to be honest with you.

“No, I do not.” 

Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice that your jewels are quite so ill fitting, he does not polish his words sharp. Just like at the dinner the other night. He speaks slowly and gently, the sound of rippling waves or the feeling of warm water.

You like the way he speaks.

The door jingles, Yoongi looks over your shoulder. Your hang grips his wrist, hard and cold fingers. Making him turn back out of the very shock of it. You wrap your arm around his elbow and look up at him, your expression almost coquettish. But Yoongi can tell that you’re shaking.

“You have a pack? Across the city?” Yoongi does not comment on your change of topic.

The man in the doorway taps off his umbrella on the marble floor, getting water everywhere. You notice the bulge of something under his arm, the way his eyes slide over you and Yoongi, the leather shoes. Expensive. The way he speaks to the attendant, softly- so as to not draw attention to himself.

Yoongi sees your spine straighten.

“Not across the city, up north. Just outside of…” He knows better than to make eye contact with the man, his hat pulled low.

“Would you tell me about them?” Yoongi closes his eyes just briefly. The memories of them rush over him like a tidal wave.  

The feel of Jin’s hands on his abdomen, splayed wide. The sound of Hobi’s laugher, the tuck of Jimin’s chin when he falls asleep during movie night, the listless way his hand tangles in Tae's sleeve over and over again the same sensation until it goes slack with sleep. The spiky feeling of Namjoon’s hair- shaved short in summer and the sound of Jin’s voice as he counts the grey hairs. The clack of plates at dinner time and the smell of the apartment when they’re all happy. Sugary and sweet. 

But he opens his eyes, and it’s raining outside. No- it’s not the outside that smells like rain- that is your scent. Rainy, wet. Like petrichor only a tad bit sweeter. It’s a melancholy scent, one that doesn’t quite fit your soft practiced smile.

“I’ve got 6 packmates.” Yoongi swallows past the lump in his throat.

“Two alphas and four omegas’?” You guess, walking from glass case to glass case barely pausing from one to the next. The man follows, mirroring your and Yoongi’s position on the exterior of the store. You see him through the displays of cut glass. Yoong passes a chandelier that’s polished so perfectly that he sees a hundred reflections of you and him in it dancing as they twinkle.

“No, the other way around actually.”

“So many alpha’s,” you comment. Whistling low. “They must give your omega’s a run for their money.”

Yoongi snorts and you turn, not expecting humor, not expecting the honesty that Yoongi offers. “No actually they-” Yoongi should remember who he’s talking too but it’s surprisingly hard to resist the urge to talk about them, his pack. Missing them pulses dully in his chest, a deeper wound than any knife could carve. A deeper danger than being honest to you.

You’re hardly the most important person in the family, what harm could honesty really do?

“The idea of anyone giving Jin or Jungkook a run for their money is laughable. They’re-” Yoongi should be more careful, he shouldn’t even be telling you their names but-

You look up at him, eyes brighter than they were at the dinner or at the start of today. They reflect the rainbow of the chandelier. Your scent warms, sweetens, loosing it’s damp edge.

“Disobedient?” Your finger dances across a dangle of crystal.

“No, Jin’s our pack omega, he keeps us all in line, but he also likes to laugh. He takes good care of us and Jungkook,” Yoongi hums. “Jungkook was raised by alphas, practically acts like one himself. He’s the one who gives us a run for our money, sometimes literally.”

You huff, and Yoongi sees real confusion on your face. “So he’s disobedient but you like it?” He knows what it’s like- being in the family where ‘good’ and ‘obedient’ and ‘pretty’ are practically the only thing that matter when it comes to omega and the gold standard. The fact that Jungkook is only one of those things doesn’t make sense to you.

You turn, and the light catches your face, youthful cherub cheeks, not hollow, not yet. Yoongi is reminded of how young you are. How little you understand and how the family must have twisted your mind so to parrot these ideas and yet doubt them.

Geumjae is 35, you can hardly be older than 20. Something about the math, you being married two years ago, doesn’t add up.

“No- Jungkook’s sweet- he just likes to have fun.” Yoongi pauses, then can’t resist adding. “He smells like honey.”

You look up at him, drinking in his soft smile. How is it that he’s smiling. You wonder, who are the people who have charmed this brother’s heart? The better brother. Geumjae and Yoongi look so much alike, so alike that they could be identical where it not for the scar marring your husbands face. You know Yoongi is a few years younger than your husband. He doesn’t have the crinkles by his eyes yet.

Of course you chose the wrong one. That this man, an unseen Jungkook gets what you so desperately want but are denied, safety and a gentle man. Yoongi is surely gentle; you could smell it the second you met him. like blood to a hound, gentleness beacons to a heart as needy as yours.

But perhaps there are still choices to be made.

Your nose wrinkles, but then the man in the hat steps closer, behind the two of you. And Yoongi remembers that he’s being watched and followed. Remembers to be careful with his words.

“I think his style is a little different than this. Less gold. Less diamonds. Jungkook already sparkles enough.” You don’t look behind you, pointedly. He holds out his arm for you to take. Trying to be a gentleman.

“Should we try Tiffany’s?”

You and Yoongi keep your pace slow until you’re out the door. Yoongi grabs your elbow and tugs you along at a quicker pace. You immediately struggle to keep up with due to your height and your heels. The weather has gotten worse, it’s coming down so heavily now. The kind of rain that soaks you through in just a few seconds.

“We’re being followed.” You hiss low, Yoongi doesn’t say that’s obvious. He pulls his hood up but your coat doesn’t have one and you left your umbrella back at the store. The rain comes down hard, catching in your hair like a constellation of little diamonds, little stars. You turn one way than the other, deliberating, but Yoongi is still holding your elbow, tugging you, quickly now.

“Come on, before he spots us.”

Yoongi knows this area well- knows it by the back of his hand because the family has several fronts on this block, these are his alleyways and backstreets. He can pick out the business that the family owns from the sidewalk.

Rent is hard to make. And any real type of protection is even harder to come by. Yoongi’s family provides it for a reasonable fee that quickly becomes unreasonable once minor requests like money laundering or selling drugs out back door come due. But Yoongi does not concern himself with the petty squabbles of the underclass- not in this city, not right now.

His hand fists in the sleeve of your coat and he tugs you along.

Yoongi learned the ways of the family better than Geumjae or the omega tailing the two of you. Because Yoongi was offered an unaltered view of the scope of their operations. No family lines that needed to be maintained. No secrecy separates him from the truth.

He tugs you into the restaurant that he’s brokered many a back deal in, pulling you past bowing chefs, an angry man in a puffy hat that pulls a smaller looking woman down and says, “stay quiet,” voices hushed with the kind of deference offered to gods and not men.

You knock over a pot, and it sloshes, spilling dark bubbling liquid. Narrowly managing not to get it on your coat. “Sorry.” You say, but Yoongi Is already pulling you.

“It’s no problem Mrs. Min,” says the bright-eyed sous chef, all but trembling in her shoes.

You pop out into a back alleyway, tripping over your heals and the uneven step and old cobblestones but Yoongi’s hand goes from your elbow to your waist under your coat. You breathe, and your ribs push against his fingers, he lets go of your waist but not your arm, ignoring it as he pulls you. “Come on.” 

Yoongi doesn’t stop, aware of distant shouting. “I’m sorry sir but customers aren’t allowed back here.”

You sink out into the alleyway and slow your walking, only because it’s raining, and you’re quickly soaked. Yoongi watches as you catch your own eyes in a reflective pein of glass, watches as you tuck your hair back behind your ear, eyes flickering over your cheeks and down.

He scoffs, and you turn to him.

“What?”

He rolls his eyes, turning away to walk down the street, quicker. “Omega’s and their preening.” It’s scornful, and it’s out of character. But Yoongi has not had the easiest week.

You turn, a sharpness on your face that Yoongi hasn’t seen so far.

“If you haven’t figured out that beauty is currency by now, then there’s nothing I can do for you.” Your gaze is so intense that Yoongi has to look away, a tightness in his chest that he cannot name. Shame, or maybe embarrassment.

That’s because you weren’t just checking to see if your makeup was undisturbed, no- you were checking to make sure the bruises on your face weren’t visible. But they are now- wiped away by the rain. They’re a conflagration of purple and blue over your cheek. Pretty like spread ink. They’re going yellow on the side. They must be a few days old. Yoongi watches the rain melt away the makeup.

Yoongi hates them the second he realizes. Hates himself a little too for calling what you were doing ‘preening’. 

His hand comes up, fingers pressing into your cheekbone, it must be tender. It must hurt to put makeup on.

“Does he beat you?” You flinch. Moving your face away from his hand. For the first time you don’t say anything. You just keep fussing, turning back to the window and untucking your hair so that it hides the left side of your face.

“Yoongi” you say softly, almost chiding. It’s the first time he’ll ever hear you say his name. But he’s going to hear you say it thousands of times more in his lifetime. Countless times until the word feels less like his name and more like a promise (If only promises weren’t dreadfully easy to break.)

You look almost sad as you regard him. Pitying. Shoe scuffing on the cobblestone as you step up to him. “Don’t you know by now? There are worse things an alpha can do to an omega than just beat them.”

Yoongi hates the way that there’s pity in your face for him. He doesn’t know why it bothers him but he’ll stay awake thinking about it for hours after. Later tonight once he’s dragged you both across the city to the beta’s residence. Once he’s solidified it in his head the two facts he learned from today.

One, that you are not a bad person.

And two, you need help.

Yoongi stands there in the downpour, looking at you. The two of you spend a few breaths like that. Looking at each other. Sizing each other up. Yoongi watches the bruises become more and more visible; the cloudy water tainted with makeup dripping from your temple to your chin.

“We’re both soaking wet.” Just speaking makes the water move from his lips, like he’s spat it. At least the mascara you’re wearing is waterproof. “We need to get out of the rain.”

There is a yellow cab on the side of the street, and he pushes you into it, you slide across the seat to let him in after you. The cabbie in the front hardly looks up until you’re settles. Yoongi watches carefully. Looking for even a fleck of recognition in his face.

He can never be too careful.

Your wet hair drips onto the leather seat, and Yoongi reminds himself to leave a hefty tip. You lean forward and give the cabbie the address for your and Geumjae’s brownstone and finds his stare similarly blank. The timer on the meter says you’ve got 30 minutes until you reach your destination. Yoongi wonders if Geumjae had instructed you to bring him home to talk.

Yoongi’s long hair tickles his forehead wet, and he slides the partition between you and the driver shut with a shlick of plastic against plastic. Your eyes dart from him to the cabbie, and he keeps his voice hushed.

Your phone slides across the seat and hits him in the thigh, when he hands it back to you it’s faintly warm in his hands. Like the flashlight has been left on in your pocket.

Yoongi doesn’t let his suspicion show. The screen stays dark.

“There. Now we’re not being followed or listened in on we can talk about what matters.”

You eye the driver warily. “There are 1,305 people in our organization, not including law enforcement on payroll, give or take a few, you can’t possibly know them all by name.”

Yoongi blinks, “I do not,” he admits after a careful moment. He glances once again at the cabbie. He makes eye contact with Yoongi before quickly glancing away. “You know an absurdly large amount of information about my family.”

“Am I not supposed too?”

Yoongi chews his words before he says them. “Careful.” You don’t reach to buckle yourself in, hands tight in your lap. Wary again, in a car with this man, in a car with someone whom you do not know, if you can trust yet.

Yoongi reaches over and does the buckle for you, hand brushing your hip. It’s the softest touch- the tenderest touch that you’ve known in weeks, months maybe. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so gently.

Your hip burns from it. Yoongi clicks the buckle closed.

Instead of acknowledging it you ask. “Why did you help that omega the other night? The one at dinner? The server.”

“Was I not supposed too?” Yoongi raised his eyebrow, “if you haven’t figured out that kindness is currency by now then there’s nothing I can do for you.” You roll your eyes at him, at having your words thrown back at you. Yoongi sees the bravery it takes in you, the way you watch and wait for him to get violent.

Violence with words has always been easier for Yoongi so he changes the subject. “Did you leave the other night because you knew something would happen to Jongho?”

“No, I didn’t know for sure.” Yoongi reads beyond your words.

“Was it Geumjae?” 

“No, it wasn’t.”

“But you won’t tell me who?” Yoongi feels more and more like he’s bickering with a child, compared to him you probably are. You must be 10 years younger than him, maybe more?

“I have my suspicions, as I’m sure you do.” An enigmatic answer.

“There are 1,305 people in my organization, there’s enough suspicion to go around.”

“And yet, you agreed to meet me.”

“In public, we’re not in private yet.”  

He leans forward opening up the plastic partition, now dewy with condensed air. He opens it.

“Actually, I think we have to change our final destination.” When he flops back against the seat, he watches the way your mouth moves, the corners lifting up a little at the edges.

Trust or no trust, Yoongi can’t imagine that he’s making a bad decision.

~-~

Not much has changed at the Beta’s lodgings. It’s less of an apartment and more of a safehouse carved out from the city, a slice of suburbia among the concrete. It’s probably worth fucking millions because of its location- but Yoongi’s never been quite sure who owns it. It’s always belonged to the beta in charge, always. 

And now, that beta is Yoongi, so it’s his.

The small yellow cottage has been owned by the family for almost longer than the city has been a city. Shoved between two apartment buildings and a 7/11. Hidden in an alleyway that’s barely wide enough for a car; most people wouldn’t even know it was a driveway with all of the shrubbery and the high cinderblock wall. The decorative potted plants that line the driveway are cracked in places- no doubt from the late beta’s poor driving.

Yoongi makes the taxi pull all the way up, just so the two of you (and your bruises) won’t be spotted. Yoongi knows the beta’s residence is constantly watched, constantly minded, constantly protected. It doesn’t feel like protection. To Yoongi, having the eyes of the family close feels like a threat.

At night, the street has a large amount of foot traffic, perfect to disappear into if you needed it, It feels like the cottage barely exists on the same plane as the rest of the city. Set far enough back that the sounds of people and cars just seem to melt away.

It’s considered as good as hallowed ground in the gang world. No blood can be spilled there or else an instant hit will be ordered on the person who has. It’s law, people need a safe place to come and seek council. The beta’s safety needs to be preserved.

Most of the late betas belongings have been moved out already, put in storage for however long it takes for someone trusted to go through it and burn anything that might be telling. There isn’t anyone to inherit their things nor much value to them otherwise. Their beta wasn’t a fan of designer clothes or fanciful trinkets that were paid for with blood money. Anything of value and any secrets have died with her.

A small shred of crime scene tape gets pinned to the slate pathway from the water, soaked and strewn about within the dying garden. Once lovingly maintained, it has already started to show signs of neglect in the form of heaps of leaves strewn about. One of the shutters hangs off it’s hinges and Yoongi wishes someone would repaint the whole building. A darker color maybe.

The yellow always shows the mold.  

If you have ever been inside the beta’s residence, you don’t show it on your face as Yoongi leads you inside. They’ve left most of the furniture at least. Yoongi would hate to have to furnish it himself. It’s only got one bedroom, but combined kitchen and Livingroom space has a bunch of windows. Yoongi tells you to sit and is unsurprised to find the bedroom clean with fresh sheets. A whole new bed and an open linen closet full of bright fluffy towels. Someone probably knew he was coming and set the place up for him. The heat’s even been turned on.

You were right not to trust the cabbie.

There are shadows on the wall where pictures hung, stripped of almost everything in the bedroom and bathroom. All of the clothes and trinkets collected in a lifetime stripped from the place. Yoongi wonders if the late beta would be disturbed or pleased. She was always picky with her evidence.

Yoongi’s going to have to get some shampoo from the hotel when he goes back to collect his things. And then maybe pilfer or borrow a bug sweeper from one of the families to double check that there’s nothing amiss here. From the bedroom, Yoongi can just see the neon lights from the street, the glowing seven just over the trees. It’s an interesting mix of quaint old world and blinding toxic neon. It has drafts under the windows and bad heating, the green velvet couch in the living room sags from the weight of years of use.

Yoongi retrieves two of the new towels from the bathroom ripping off the tag on the way through the house. He rubs the first one over his own head, mopping up some of the water and hands the other out to you. You’ve parked yourself on that green sofa, looking out the window at the rain. Your jacket discarded nearby on the back of a chair. Water dripping slowly out of it and seeping through the cracks in the uneven floorboards, warping with age.

Yoongi doesn’t sit down, even after you tentatively take the towel from him and start to dry your hair. Taking it out of its fastenings. Your silk scarf, once colorful. Sits on the nicked coffee table. Flaccid and soaked. The colors dull.

“What did Geumjae tell you?”

Your hair makes a gentle squish noise as you dry it. “About you? Or about the situation?”

About me, did he tell you to be afraid of me? I don’t want you to be afraid of me. Yoongi quiets his tongue around the words and focuses only on the necessities. The thing that will get him out of this city and back to the pack as soon as possible. That’s his priority.

“About the secession.”

Your eyes flicker up and down Yoongi’s body.

“He told me he’d do whatever he had to become Don. That the secession is up to you but that he can’t kill you because you’re on the no kill list now. And-” Your eyelashes are sticking together because of the rain, big globs of it. Yoongi looks at it instead of your eyes, intimidated by your beauty even though he’d sort of scorned you earlier. Your eyes are too open, too vulnerable, too pretty.

“-The next beta in line is like 4 years old and fucking hates his guts. You’re by far the better option.”

Yoongi huffs, as close to a laugh as he can get these days and sits back against the couch.

The kill list is an old and informal piece of information. There are only 3 names on it as far as Yoongi knows, his name, the past Beta, and the past Don. All current and past packmates of the ruling Beta and Don get put on it, to prevent extortion and retribution. The family doesn’t have many rules, but to kill someone on the kill list is as good as suicide.

The list is handed out to everyone connected to the family at the start of every year. Every assassin, even the low-level drug smugglers. Yoongi knows for a fact that Namjoon and Jin and the rest of them are not on it yet- because he hasn’t officially become the beta and he hasn’t announced them as packmates. After he names Don this will change. Yoongi slumps in the couch, sinking into the cushions.

He thinks of bringing them here, thinks of Jin and Jungkook in black with their lips painted red like you. Thinks of gentle Joonie and anxious Hobi. He thinks of Jimin stuck in a room with so many scents making his instincts go haywire. He thinks of Tae holding a gun and cannot stomach it.

Yoongi tamps down on it, cutting to the chase. There’s no real reason to beat around the bush. “Are you going to do whatever you have to do to see your husband on the throne?”

“No.” You reply with a snap, then sigh, tired, leaning your head back against the seat. So much about you is that- tired. Yoongi wonders what about that exhausted you so and why you replied as quick as you did. “You don’t seem like the kind of person to be manipulated without finesse.”

“And would you say finesse is something you lack?”

This is feeling more and more like a job interview. Your bracelets tinkle against each other as you reach up to tuck your hair behind your ear. And your wedding ring catches the light. It’s a true monster; three carats and glittering under the light, more stunning than half the pieces you saw back in that shop. Pretty due to its simplicity but ugly due to its size.

You look too young to look so sad but too old to look so scared.

“What I lack” you choose your words carefully because you don’t know how to not be careful- just like you don’t know how to not be afraid. “Is the motivation.”

Yoongi can’t help but laugh at that. A real laugh, deep and chuckling. And he misses the way you turn away. Hiding the smile on your face is harder and harder with every moment. If you’re not careful- your smile might be used against you.

You and Yoongi. You remind yourself. You’d hate for something bad to happen to him just because you can’t keep your expressions tamed.

“You might be the only person in this whole fucking city that doesn’t want to manipulate me.” If I believe you.

Now it’s your turn to laugh, and it makes Yoongi quiet, it’s high and clear- it’s a pretty sound, the kind of sound that makes the birds pause. The kind of tone that makes intro’s good and outro’s sentimental. Yoongi cannot stop the traitorous flutter of his heart.

You avoid his question and cock your head, and Yoongi thinks you’re angry until he sees your lower lip quiver.

“You act like I have a choice, like I’m like them- this isn’t-” you gesture between the two of you. “Even important. He told me about the succession and the only thing I thought was ‘If he’s got his throne maybe he’ll finally forget about me. Manipulation isn’t anything I’d do if it wasn’t necessary, I don’t like it.”

“Where would you go? If he did forget about you?”

You turn away, looking out the window at the rain, your face leaning on your hand. “I don’t know. Probably somewhere quiet.”

Yoongi’s answering hum is that- quiet. And he lets the silence still for a moment. The inside of the cottage is warm, and the two of you are no longer shivering.

“What do you like to do anyway, plan parties? Shop? Or is fancy jewelry and polite scheming your only hobby?”

“You don’t think I’d take these off if I could?” you hold out your wrists, the bracelets jangle against each other. So they actually are shackles then. Yoongi hadn’t been sure. You swallow, looking down at them. “If I had to choose one thing though, I like to-”

Before you can say anything else. Your phone dings, A different ringtone, a loud one. Yoongi doesn’t mean to look down at it but it’s hard not too since your phone sits between the two of you on the couch.

Yoongi doesn’t mean to catch a glimpse of the text on your phone, the contact at the top is devoid of any emoji’s or hearts. He finds his blood going cold at the sight of the message he sent through.

Husband (5:54): If you don’t come out here in the next 30 seconds, I’ll slit your fucking throat and use it as a new hole to fuck.

The silk scarf you used to tie your hair up still lies wet on the dinged coffee table, so your hair stays down as you bolt to your feet. And grab your jacket, heaving open the door without even putting it on. “Sorry I have to go- I have to-”

There is someone standing at the edge of the driveway underneath the bleed of the neon sign, the purple neon light bleeds onto the wet concrete. The light behind the man turns red. Silhouetting his figure. And Yoongi doesn’t have to look twice to know who it is.

You hurry out the door without offering him much of a goodbye. And Yoongi doesn’t know what to say, even less what to do.

Geumjae waits there at the end of the driveway. And Yoongi takes him in. His pursed lips, the umbrella he holds- the same one you left in the shop, and his hawkish eyes as you hasten in his direction. The black car is non-descript, but Geumjae still shoves you into it, uncaring of your comfort or who might see him do it.

You hit your head on the metal frame. And Yoongi see’s you gasp in pain from far away, clutching your forehead.

His fists tighten at his sides. Geumjae gives him one long look and then walks around to the driver’s side. Yoongi walks out onto the patio, the slate steps, not running but half jogging, bare feet smacking against the wet slate. Re-drenched in the downpour.

But by the time he’s gotten to the end of the driveway. The car has already pulled away.

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

Notes:

- Tbh, I don’t think Yoongi will ever realize that he was groomed. I’m trying my best to show that his worldview has been skewed a little, I think it’s very telling that when we first see him with Jin he calls omega’s docile and then when he comes home- it’s pretty evident that he doesn’t view omega’s quite that terribly anymore.

- Omega’s that are not in the family that is, the omega’s in the family still get his derision because they uphold the same values and reinforce the very structures that subjugate them- but as the m/c says in this chapter. Beauty is the only way for any of them to gain any safety and she especially is in the position where safety is more important than freedom. I feel the need to unpack this because I think at face value you could easily think that Yoongi’s just an asshole. But he’s not- he’s just hyper critical of the systems that his family imposes.

- Yoongi and the m/c’s dialogue in this chapter is some of my favorite additions to the story that I’ve made with this edit. To me it feels like we really get to see her character before she goes quiet. Like obviously this doesn’t change what happens to her or how traumatized she is when the pack sees her, but I think I did a good job of building up her character a little.

- I know it’s stereotypical, but the scarf that the m/c has in her hair is actually one that I own. I’ve had it forever and I love it a lot. I can’t remember where I got it but!! I have pictures if people really do want to see <3

-The first ever girl I had a crush on had that ridge on her lips, the same one that I describe the m/c having in this. I remember looking over at her during class and just being hopelessly crushed, hopelessly in love. I wish I’d been brave enough to understand it. Jenny, if you ever read this, Ni hao!! 你好 and I hope you’re still making 3 pointers! I am still very bad at Chinese but thank you for letting me practice <3

- In my mind, the m/c and Yoongi Walk through the restaurant in the bear! that’s just what my brain does! Tbh, I think the ‘bright eyed sous chef’ could be Sydney!

- I do think it’s up to interpretation if the mc is manipulating Yoongi or not BUT If we’re getting into the nitty gritty of it, I think that the m/c purposefully wore non-waterproof makeup so that Yoongi would see that she has bruises. Her intent is to make herself a sympathetic character and every so subtly try to manipulate Yoongi to see Geumjae in a poor light. A subtle way for her to make sure Yoongi knows, that someone knows what he’s doing to her.

- Is the m/c’s phone recording them or is it being tracked? What do you think? Why is it warm? I personally think it’s being tracked by Geumjae- but Yoongi in the moment is unsure what’s going on. Like even he’s confused if he should trust or if he should suspect the m/c.

- (tw) When she talks about the ‘worst’ thing an alpha can do to an omega, that is rape. She’s talking about rape.

- (SPOILER) When Yoongi says “he thinks of Tae holding a gun and cannot stomach it.” Yeah, that’s a direct reference to how the story ends and the fact that Tae kills the assassin.

- The bracelets she wears are the cartier love bracelets, if that wasn’t clear! They run about 7k a pop. I do think Geumjae has used them to tie her down before. They are small enough that she can’t pull them over her knuckles and can’t take them off or remove them. They were some of the first gifts Geumjae ever got her.

[jingooism]

lee dongsik’s fear of the passage of time is something so poetic. he’s lived forty plus years saddled with the weight of unbearable grief and false accusations, trying and failing to cope with both in his everyday life. time has gone by incredibly fast for him and he’s lost so many on the way and then BOOM. han joowon with his cutting words and justice seeking tendencies.

and were they at odds from day one? yes. did joowon relentlessly accuse him like the rest of the people in manyang? of course he did. but, he can forgive him for it because dongsik knows he did it all in the name of finding the true killer.

time passed like it always does in manyang and they bring everyone to justice at each other’s side, and those cold cuffs are slapped on dongsik’s wrists. and weirdly, he feels freer for it. the year in prison is quick, unsurprisingly no calls from han joowon. dongsik knew him well enough to figure that would happen. the man’s need to self flagellate over honest mistakes is one that never goes away. that doesn’t stop dongsik from asking through the grapevine about him, though. he keeps in touch with jaeyi and jihwa religiously, and jihoon always visits him on his free days. they all let him know how joowon is doing.

i’d like to think that joowon, like he normally would, goes through a harsh period of self isolation after dongsik goes to prison, only to be dragged back to manyang by the only people he can really call friends. he thinks about dongsik every day too, asks after him, hopes he’s doing okay. he’ll never call him, because in his head he’s convinced he’ll have nothing dongsik would want to hear.

even after the canon end of the show, joowon isn’t entirely sure how to navigate their relationship. and i think by this point, dongsik just absolutely aches to see joowon, but doesn’t want to impose. the pining of post-show goes absolutely crazy, i’m convinced. and there comes a point, maybe months later maybe a year later, where dongsik just cannot take it anymore.

it’s probably at one of their weekly dinners or maybe on a walk around manyang at sunset and he just looks to his side, where joowon has made himself a constant presence. he notices the small changes in his features, even from the first day they’ve met. maybe the hair that’s longer, maybe the way his eyes are softer now, and dongsik just can’t not spill his guts to his beloved inspector. because he’s aging, time has already wrapped around both of them, and while they now grow together instead of apart, they’ve still wasted so much time.

and so under a golden sun, i like to think dongsik would gently take joowon’s hand in his own (inwardly cheering at the lack of hesitation on joowon’s part to wrap his fingers around dongsik’s) and say something that’s just so simply beautiful. maybe it’s not even an ‘i love you’, maybe it’s something different that holds those words just below the surface.

[lavaringx]

My thoughts on Palestine

I haven't made a post about Palestine yet on Tumblr, but I feel I need to speak up on all my social media because things can't go on like this anymore. Israel's goal, or at least the goal of the governing far-right, is to deport all Palestinians to Jordan. That's why they don't see West Bank settlement expansion as a demographic threat to their country. If you've ever seen any memes by pro-Israel people that say "Jordan is Palestine," that's what they mean. Currently Palestinians live in segregated West Bank islands with no rights in Israel and no state of their own. Yes, I'm aware that there are Palestinian citizens of Israel, but there are also 3 million West Bank Palestinians and 2 million Gazans who do not. Israel cannot annex the West Bank unless it either a). Gives up its Jewish majority, b). maintains the current system of segregation with Palestinians as second class citizens or c). Orders a mass expulsion of Palestinians, which is the goal.

The only solution to this that doesn't involve the destruction of Israel is the two-state solution, which I support, but the U.S. government does not. With the exception of a few brave souls on the left end of the democratic party, most U.S. politicians are perfectly content to allow the status quo to continue, with some Republicans even openly calling for Israel to just annex the West Bank, destroy the Al-Aqsa mosque and build the third temple, Palestinians be damned. I haven't forgotten how Biden disgustingly vetoed a U.N. resolution that would have granted the Palestinians full U.N. membership, and we all know that Trump is going to be even worse. The U.S. wants a one-state Israel, regardless of what the politicians lie through their teeth.

I understand the Israeli position, I really do. You are afraid that, if given the chance, Palestinians will launch another, even bigger October 7th against your people. But you must understand that Palestinians have human rights too, and those human rights are currently being violated by Israel. I have no love for Hamas or Hezbollah. They are backed by Iran's tyrannical theocracy, which, because I am consistent in my belief in human rights, I too oppose. But Palestinian human rights are routinely violated on the dime of the U.S. taxpayer, and that's the difference. The Palestinian situation represents a moral failure on the part of the West, much like the Vietnam War and the Iraq War, that makes it hard for the rest of the world to take us seriously when we (rightfully) call out the human rights abuses of Iran, Russia or North Korea.

Things look pretty bleak right now. The only way to make Israel accept a two-state solution is to deny them aid unless they end West Bank settlement expansion, but neither party has the moral fiber necessary to make such an ultimatum. Even if we get lucky and a progressive is elected President at some point, a future Republican or Centrist Democrat could undo it four years later. It is entirely possible that under Trump, the Israeli far-right plan to expel the Palestinians in the West Bank will come to fruition, snuffing out the Palestinian cause forever. But somebody has to take a stand. Perhaps it's the Irish blood in me, but I can't just sit by and watch my country commit a gross injustice. My conscience wouldn't be able to take it if I remained silent. If the worst comes to pass, at least I tried.