#we only matter and we're only deserving of respect as long as we say the right things

[telperinquaar]

Me, a nonbinary person: Stop using "enby" as an umbrella term.

Tumblr user @bookerbluedragon:

Well gee, I wonder what kind of person would use a label for someone that they explicitly asked not to be called?

Oh, the blog's dead? Well, maybe I'll go check out one of these other ones!

"DNI if you're in anyway queerphobic"

So, the TLDR of it all is that it's okay to disrespect a queer person's preferred terms if they don't agree with you! Thanks @bookerbluedragon! It's so good to know that my experiences and preferences as a queer person don't matter to you simply because you dislike what I say. It really makes me feel like I belong here.

Microaggressions against non-binary people that you might be saying without realizing it

"All of my trans brothers & sisters"/"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Every man, woman, and child" (referring to all people)

"Are you a boy or a girl?"/"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Both men and women"

"The opposite gender"

"Boys and girls! Settle down!"

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen"

"He or she"/"His or her"/"Him or her"

Pleeeeeease stop saying these 🥰

Add your own if you have any <3

[bakahimesama]

The Allmother: An Entirely too Long Analysis

In the whole demo, we only get one completely missable set of dialogue on this potential deity.

But that is more than enough information for me to start speculating. The two important parts to break down here are her supposed connection to the hearth and thus fire, and her title of Allmother.

A hearth is the part of a house where fires are made and kept (a fireplace is the modern day equivalent). Traditionally, before the advent of stoves and furnaces, this fire was used both for heating the house and cooking meals. It was considered one of the most important parts of the home, and so by extension, the spirits and deities that lived in the hearth and controlled the hearth fire were the most important beings to the household and its survival.

Hestia, Greek goddess of the hearth, was given the first offering of every domestic sacrifice, and at feasts she was granted the first and last sip of wine.

Gabija is the Lithuanian spirit of fire, who was offered bread and salt to feed her. If you did something to disrespect the hearth, like spitting or peeing in it, she was known to burn the house down. Later she would become known as the hearth goddess Matka Gabia.

The Ainu people worship Kamuy-huci, who lived in the hearth and controlled the gateway between humans and the divine. Deceased souls would reside in the hearth alongside her, and so keeping it clean was vital to ensuring those souls could eventually reincarnate properly.

Jowangshin is the hearth goddess of Korean shamanism, and relayed to the heavens the going-ons and behaviors of each household's inhabitants. She is described as vengeful towards those who do not respect their hearths, and actively works against such individuals.

The pattern between all of these deities is clear. The hearth is controlled by a woman who is deserving of the utmost respect. And it is pointless to think on the hearth without tying it to the element it is tasked with controlling and maintaining, fire. Hestia is sometimes described as a living flame, Gabija is originally a fire spirit, in some myths Kamuy-huci is born from a fire producing drill, Jowangshin is the goddess of fire alongside the hearth. To say that a hearth goddess is also a fire goddess is no great stretch of the imagination.

But why does the Allmother's connection with fire matter? Because we're all rather familiar with a certain being who is constantly being associated with fire, flames, and especially warmth:

Right from the beginning, before we even know what he looks like.

In non canon events.

In teasers for the game.

And of course, in the demo itself.

Kuras is a furnace, and we're not allowed to forget it. And wouldn't it just make sense, that the angels of a hearth goddess are themselves related to fire? Kuras is an angel, which means he responds to a higher being, why not this one? What that means for his route, I can only image.

Back to the original text, the traveler is praying that the Allmother will be forgiving of sins, implying that part of her domain includes the right to judge lives and morality. She is also believed to guide lives "unto her hearth," likely at the time of death considering the context of when the pray is being uttered. Which leads me to believe that she is responsible for helping souls pass on peacefully, but only if she deems them worthy of her fire. Since in many cultures a "good" death is a very important end goal to pursue, staying in her favor would be considered paramount to those who believe in her.

Moving on to her title, the name suggests that she is either the deity of a monotheistic religion and thus naturally all encompassing, or a major deity in a polytheistic pantheon. Either way, there are only so many interpretations one can dissect from a title that implies an all encompassing claim of maternal jurisdiction.

If nothing else, I suspect she is considered a mother to her angels. Whether or not Kuras will even bring her up is debatable, since I could just be seeing connections that aren't really there. But as an angel I'm sure he'll at least drop the name of the being he's serving penance for.

Maybe she won't be mentioned ever again. Maybe she'll be an integral part of Kuras' route. Maybe she'll be a passing mention that isn't nearly as important as such a name suggests. Regardless this break down has helped me better understand Kuras' themes, and has made me even more excited to play his route.

[gnohomotho]

Just a game (part 2) 𝄞⨾

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Pairing: Hwang In-ho / The Frontman x fem!reader

Summary: We're getting there, folks. (☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞ ☜(ﾟヮﾟ☜) Mostly fluff, need, imagination, fantasy, slow burn. Focus on the f!reader, because you deserve nice things. She's home, receiving odd gifts, some sweet, some...quite the not sweet, the game and plot and trouser legs thicken (I'm so sorry, it's literally 2 a.m. here). In-ho definitely isn't obsessing over you, hatching elaborate plans, thinking of you so hard he'll break another turtleneck. Not saying the f!reader has any specific issues, but if you recognize any, I hope to be nothing but respectful. ♥ Oh, and we have a dream sequence, Freud would be proud.

(This was mainly meant as a "put your feet up and be cozy, read about yourself and feel good" read, the action will come later. Among other things. I'm so sorry, my thesis is driving me mad.)

Warnings: It's the god damn Front Man The usual Squid Game warnings, mdni, stalking, spying, voyeurism, touching, self-touching, sexual themes, sexual almost-intercourse, descriptions of anatomy and body parts, blood, yearning, some terrible references and Slavic folklore. Privacy? In my fic? It's less likely than you think.

Word count: 4.2k

Link to previous Link to next

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A cup of tea. A cup. You were watching the cup. Steam rises from it and folds into nothing. Your stomach is churning. Is it stress? You ponder. Seeing the liquid close in on itself as you stir it. Again and again.

"It'll get cold." You say, to no one. You try to breathe. Heart pounding. Head a bit spinny. You look around your room. Dimly lit, warm orange light from a salt lamp. You check your blinds - still closed, still safe. Noise from other people you try to filter out. Why do you jump at every single sound? Why does white noise blaring its head off make for the only atmosphere you can stand? You wonder. You get up. The world spins. The phone lies on your bed. As it has for the last three hours. Unchecked. Your sound is off. It always is. You turned off everything this time. It's just black. You try to think, ground yourself, poems float through your pounding head. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the tall mirrors of your wardrobe. An oddly shaped form stares back at you.

"Jesus Christ…I look…like shit." The mirrored lips curl around your words - but it might as well have been a stranger speaking back at you. You don't recognize yourself, and what you do, you dislike. Like a funhouse mirror. Without the fun. Your long hair falls across your shoulders, curling towards the ends. Your exposed skin is cold and giving a nice exposé of every vein under your neck, driving rivers of blue across your collarbones, your shoulders, your chest. You won't look further. They seem to be drawn to your middle, pooling across your skin. People often referred to you as pale, no matter your actual skin tone. When things got a tad too heavy, you became transparent. It was calming, sometimes. Calming that so much was trying to keep you alive to the point of exhausting itself and sending highways of signals through every vein to keep at it. Your head spins again. More poems. Try to drink the tea.

"Light your candle, one, two, there's a moth…" You know the rest. But the lips fail to speak. You pick up the phone. And almost knock over your tea. Then proceed to fight an urge to fling it into a wall and watch the stains roll down like fresh blood.

Seventeen missed calls from a blocked number - your now ex-companion. A worried message from your friend, no doubt spurred by said ex-companion with an entirely different story to reality. Frowning, you adjust your dressing gown and tie it down to hold everything in and hold you together.

"Hey, Y/N…I know you probably don't want to talk, but I'm sorry things went so badly. I'm here."

You hate yourself a little more. Clara has always been a darling, you…cared for her. A lot. You wish to say "loved", you squint your eyes and wish to say you love her. People are kind. People are always so very kind. And you can't drink a cup of tea. Nor reply. There's also an email. From a set of numbers, no name. You open it, against your better judgement. No subject, only a photograph. Of your door. Your door inside your flat. Which is locked. You didn't ring anyone in. You, of all people, didn't hear any steps on the stairs. You live at the very top floor. And still?! What is wrong with you lately, now of all times?

And still, there is a photograph of your door. With…things? Your shoes were gently placed beside your mat.

"Um…" You knock on your housemate's door - how grateful you are for the economic situation which doesn't permit you to live alone now, you think bitterly as his steps approach.

"Oh, Y/N, how are you? What can I do you for?" Ever the cheerful voice and visage stands before you, half dressed, always flooded with work and hobbies. The room behind him is full of papers and candles, manuals and scripts, and information that probably shouldn't be lying around covered in bird photography snaps. It calms you a tad. You breathe out and uncross your arms. In the back of your mind, you wonder what he's always so entranced with.

"I'm getting there, thank you, Lubo." Your chest falls a tad, you really do feel a bit better, but very on edge. You fidget with your fingers as you speak. "Would it be alright to ask if you could open the main door with me? Something is there and I've been listening to too many IRA anthems to trust it." Because making a joke out of a very serious situation never failed you yet.

"Sure!"

You notice one of the birds on the ground behind him. Gazing at one photograph a little longer, you smile at the birdie and its soft grey feathers, little black dash across its little eyes...you realise you're looking at a shrike. The universe really is sending her best.

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You open the door as Lubo endeavours to rummage through the things on your doorstep. It seems to be a very neatly wrapped black box with a pink bow. With a little token of a crow embossed on its side. Heavy, by the looks of it. You half expect your ex-companion's limbs to be soaking its insides.

"I'll take it indoors and disinfect it, ok? Just so it doesn't feel like you've contaminated the flat." You nod, thank him over and over, and feel very grateful for him remembering your slight fights with obsessive cleanliness and parasites. But this looks…clean. You take a knife from your room, the knife that's been under your pillow for good reason. Kneeling, you gently unwrap the box altogether and distance yourself from the thing for a little bit. Breathe. It's just a box. Those never go wrong.

It's…full of…gifts?

Your…favourite flowers, perfectly preserved. No one knows your favourite flowers that well. Under them, resting under jewels of crimson poppies, lies a book of poems, the ones you use to calm yourself down; the ones that make you feel less alone. In the correct languge, even. Next to the poppies, hot water bottles, wrapped, fluffy, still warm. Under them yet, medication you couldn't get from your doctor for the entire month due to disagreements and never being heard, half of them aren't even sold in the country. Bath salts, dark chocolate, tea…there seems to be so much. Your face is caught in a mixture of attempting to frown, being swept off your feet, and deeply uncomfortable with what is basically an encyclopedia of you in a box. You carefully lay the items to the side and begin to notice things you truly need your housemate to not see. You lose your breath for a moment and blush so hard you almost forget both the kindness and terror of the rest of the package. It seems to be divided into care for you and…some other forms of urges. As if. As fucking if.

"Google, remind me to photograph this tomorrow in good light," you say to nothing, "to use as evidence either after this person manages to kill me or before, if the courts move faster than an asthmatic ant with heavy shopping."

Against your better judgement, you carry the box to your room and watch it for a while, as you do other things, but can never quite relax. Surely he can't be serious. Your name isn't Shirley.

There was also a note you now keep flinging on your table and crunching in your hands, neatly written, with no name.

"Dear Y/N,

should you wish to meet someone qualified to help with the attached records, it has been arranged. Be at the coordinates listed between the red and white gift and you will be taken care of. No harm will come to you. You are safe. As right as rain."

Right as rain…that's a part of a poem, that absolute…dear God, fuck, the thoughts in your head are tumbling down at you and you collapse onto the bed, staring at your knees. It's a good thing he somehow didn't include your most loved flowers, since they're all poisonous. One of them you like specifically because it is elegant, sharp, snowy, and beautiful - and all of her body, leaves, and seed pouches scream "don't fucking touch me, if you do, you will die and wish for death the entire time you are doing so". You would very much like to be the flower now. Make someone else hallucinate.

You search the box again and find the beautiful gown, in red, and the gentle white lace undergarments - as kind and gentle and revealing as they are elegant. A little QR code is nestled between the lace.

"Nope. Nope nope NOPE. Absolutely not," you say out loud. Fighting the fact that the nightgown under the two other garments is cozy and light and so very beautiful. And it smells…oddly familiar. With a hint of something else. As if someone knew you loved scents of sweetness, vanilla, caramel, honey, and skin combined with darker, heavier tones that don't usually mix with feminine perfumes. Something lovely and gentle to draw you in, with something far more potent, enveloping, and enthralling to drag you down the lake to drown. And yet. Still. Something else. Something more. You decide to put on the gown and stare into a little crow's eyes. Such a pretty little statue, you don't even remember where you got it from.

"I'm going to be alright. Water is fine. This is just water. We've been here, we've been in the mud up to our noses." You are whispering to yourself, trying to sooth your mind. Metaphores, poems, sooth sooth sooth. You close your eyes, think of beautiful women, barefoot, in the dark of a forest. Glistening lights in their long hair, lights in their gorgeous eyes. Light on their feet, as they dance upon the water and through the marsh. You cannot drown a forest spirit of a woman scorned. They will mesmerize you, dance you, dance you to the end of your love and tether, and pull you into the depths. Then kiss you as you gasp for air.

You undress, eyes still closed, holding the long white gown. You slowly slide into the fabric, which clings to your skin as a lover's touch at the first sign of morning light. Still trying to be as unbothered and confident as a forest Rusalka. You aren't. But the gown smells nice. And it's quite light. Long sleeves, fabric that reveals but doesn't scream. Lace around your chest and stomach, falling down your hips and thighs.

…Kiss you as you gasp for air.

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In-ho was pleased with his gift. Not only the gift, but the message. Upon message. Upon message. He wondered, quite hopeful - yet reserved - if you understood them all. No matter.

You will. Oh, you will. Every word. Even if he has to cling them to your skin, one by one, with his own lips.

To the surprise of absolutely no one except you, perhaps, the small bird brought him all the feedback he could desire. Rather low quality feedback, he thought, as he watched you ponder, watched you crunch up the note, and watched you dress. Instinctively, he looked away as you began to slide your own clothes down. He glimpsed perhaps a strap, perhaps more skin than he first saw…light reflecting off you, sliding down, further down, caressing your tenderness…yet he looked away, calmly resolute to not look back. His gaze remained firmly in the corner of the room, he certainly wasn't fighting - or imagining himself being the photons of light resting on your supple skin. No. It would be unbecoming to watch a lady undress, so vulnerable, so unknowing. Never mind the rest. If you looked up the word "hypocrite" in the dictionary, In-ho's face wouldn't be next to it. It would be on the next page, because he would never be caught. As he looked back, you were dressed, not looking at yourself.

In-ho frowns for a moment, before he sees the rest of you. Even though it's just a phone screen and the picture quality truly isn't doing you justice, his breath is caught. He shifts and looks around instinctively, only a flicker of the eyes and a small movement of the neck. But he's nervous, nervous to be so exposed. He chuckles to himself just as unnoticeably - he's spying on you yet he's the one feeling exposed..was the chuckle to ease tension? This is just a game to him and you are nothing, after all. No one. He shifts once more and uncrosses his legs, one hand slowly combing his hair firmly away from of his forehead. Nothing. Just as it is nothing that is making the jacket around his neck feel tight. He sees you stand, further away now. He sees your entirety in the white flowing fabric, the lace, the…entirety…of you. His coat needs to come off, and is discarded to the side in haste. The remaining turtleneck isn't much help, but he goes in, now fully enthralled. Positioning himself, he endeavours to enjoy you. Slowly. From the tip of your head to the soles of your feet, remaining fully in control, admiring, never taking, never grabbing. Never…needing. But as he moves down your face, your cheeks, your chin, along your neck all the way to your hair resting on your now exposed shoulders, back to your mouth and lips - he leans into the screen - those supple yet reserved, tender lips whispering gently and curling around words as if speaking to a sleeping lover in the night who is caught in a bad dream, the eyes - damn the picture quality - the eyes that glint, yet resemble dark pools amid features that are…that mean…his heart is fast. His eyes pools of reckless abandon. They flicker to the movement of your hips and tick fast, fast back up top, stopping at the almond curve the nightgown begets your breasts - In-ho's hands twitch as his fingers yearn with a mind of their own, to hear you gasp and squirm and melt under their touch as he teases, cups, and caresses in the gown's place. Tender flowers, waiting to be kissed. As you move, for him, for his eyes only, his mind floods through its inhibitions and begins racing on instinct - yet does so wrapped in cotton; barely subdued. Algorithms, scenarios, plans - ten a second - gather in his mind - resting on nothing but your features, spurred into existence by you, your lips, your form, your movement. He's watching the last flame dance before him in a sea of suffocating darkness, and it is his. Tension grips The Frontman's trousers as he digs his fingers in to feel something, anything, as if to drag himself back, painfully if need be - all this…for a low quality moving picture of you.

You. Your self before him. No adjective does it justice to In-ho, no painter could stroke its surface, nobody could own this moment. Nobody but him. And he cannot reach, reach through the screen, for you, for you mean…you in your entirety, before him, vulnerable, bare, unknowing, both a deity to be worshipped and a form to be devoured and left pleading, barely breathing under him, his grasp, his hot breath, you, you mean…

…nothing to him. In-ho leans back again. He breathes a bit faster, containing himself. As his breath slows and features fall back into place, he straightens the trouser leg and exhales. Your name is on his lips as he does so; he whispers it to himself. A name that doesn't seem to leave his tongue, no matter how many times it wraps around every syllable.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N…you are nothing."

He turns off the screen with one click. "Nothing." He gets up, leaving the phone behind. He is back to his true self - unbothered, cold, empty. A statue of stone. It was fun while it lasted, but the shell he wears gets tired of the falsity imbued in it during these little sidesteps. Little adventures to ease the monotony. Your records lie on the table, next to his glass of dark liquer. He walks over slowly, cradles it, sipping with restraint, and puts it down just as slowly in the exact same place. He goes on with his evening, thinking, it must be said, of nothing. He continues his work, thinking of nothing. Nothing replaces the drabble of his underlings as they update him on the latest games. Nothing is on his mind as he showers, nothing is in the water that glides down his own body. Nothing is in the warmth that he doesn't imagine being replaced nor coming from a different source. The voice of nothing is in the hiss and humm of the shower, nothing sings to him sweetly as it envelops his form. Nothing is woven into his satin sheets, nothing still smells of the perfume he picked for you, nothing is in his bed and pillows and nothing is slowly, invariably, fatally invading his mind. The cologne he uses, the same cologne he rubbed upon certain parts of the gown you now rest in, isn't combining and wildly interweaving with your gentle, warm, sweet, yet heavy scent. Nothing is everywhere and nothing is driving him absolutely stark, staring mad as he lays there - naked, exposed, amid satin sheets, it is nothing that invades his dreams and wraps him in sensations he can still only dream of.

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Barren lands and dusk. No flowers. No life. In-ho is alone. As far as the eye can see lies nothing. He cannot feel his mask. A shape is in front of him, laying there, incredulous. Unfitting its surroundings. As if guided by an unseen hand, he walks up to her slowly and kneels beside her. She is dressed in white fabric, falling across her skin, exposing more than is becoming of such a form. Her hand is resting next to her head, her other at her side. She is peacefully asleep. A gentle humm escapes her lips - she must be dreaming. In-ho glides the back of his hand everso carefully across her cheek, guiding it down her neck and stopping at her collarbones. Her chest lifts in a slow rhythm as her skin touches his. She is his. Is she not? He could...open his hand, and his hand opens. He could place it around her neck, and he does. As he feels her warmth and blood pumping into his hand, he thinks he could squeeze and hold down. He doesn't. The form reacts to his intentions, seemingly, her face frowning in the most unnoticeable way, lips falling from their previous peaceful expression to a worried frown. As if caught in a bad dream.

No, no, no.

In-ho releases the pressure and merely rests his hand on her neck, pushing errant strands of hair away from her skin. They fall around her shoulders and between the fingers of his other hand, which lifts instinctively to cradle her head. Her expression relaxes, and he smiles almost on instinct. Suddenly, her eyes flutter open and gaze into his own, almost unblinking and holding his gaze. The pools of comforting darkness set in an innocent visage drive electrical current through his entire body and In-ho almost has to steady himself against the ground where his hand is holding her head, still. She isn't scared, she only gazes and studies, lays, and rests in his own dark eyes. Her smile mirrors his. As if the two of them were already familiar, already far beyond anything novel. She whispers to him.

"Darling, this isn't your place."

In-ho doesn't think, he knows the voice. The gentle, slow, melodic whisper that he wishes to hear before he goes to sleep himself. Putting more strength into his grip, he places his dominant palm in hers as it still lays beside her head. He squeezes her down. Without thought, his body shifts to move above hers, holding her gaze, now directly on top of her, without touching her body with his. His hands no longer gentle, but firmly holding down. His thumb caresses her cheek as his other hand pushes her palm into the ground.

"It doesn't need to be."

As the sentence barely left his lips, he connects them with her neck, firmly kissing the skin and pulling her into his bite. The taste is intoxicating, and beckons for more. Sweet, tender, pure, intoxicating. Down her neck he plants kisses and barely restrained bites, gliding his touch, gripping her hand and moving his other to her neck once more. He hears gasps and timid moans, and he moves down, lips brushing against her chest and resting upon it. He lets go of her hand and finally grips her, under the small of her back, caressing and squeezing her waist, lifting her body into his. Now he feels her. Now he feels her being react and pressure and squirm, now he feels the pulse of her body directly under his and melting into him. Every movement, every gasp, every beat of her heart - in his control, under him, sinking into him. Her waist lifts against his and he eagerly helps it up, feeling his need against her body, finally, all he needs to do is tear off the gown, take her, make her fully his and hear her cries and moans as he takes what is his. Still in control of himself, he fully recognizes his itch, his need, his voracious hunger. He recognizes it and fully gives into it.

But the dream does not let him.

Something is wrong. The body is colder now, her breathing is slow, her voice no longer caressing him, her being no longer reacting to his touch. The current fizzled out. Pulling away, he sees the damage done - even as her eyes are wistful and her smile still there, it is sorrowful and soft, gazing down at him although broken under him. He sees her neck and chest, her breasts exposed, her skin red with bite marks, red with his signatures. Lines where his grip failed to falter rest on her tender flesh, her pallor a canvas for his need and depravity. For his destruction. He does not want this, he does not want her like this, his mind races and tries to get back in control but cannot. The canvas before him begins to soak through in crimson, blood pools into the white fabric where he lay and pushed and tried to take her. As he watches the gown cling to her stomach with blood, fear drives cold daggers through his back. He is no longer the Front Man, he is himself. Himself before a Front Man ever was. And he is...scared. Still her voice reaches him, doing nothing to alleviate his state, doing nothing to destroy the damn invisible barrier that keeps him from holding her close, holding her together, holding him together.

"Not like this darling, not like this again."

How is she still smiling? How does she seem so cold yet encompassing an utter lack of proximity? Holding her now seems like the most sacriligeous, repugnant thing he could do. His hands shiver lightly, how is he afraid to touch her now? After all that? She is his, his, this is all so incredibly wrong! He doesn't care, he doesn't have feelings for such frivolities, she is a dime a dozen, she is worth nothing, and she is nothing to him; nothing.

And she's still smiling, a little laugh escaping her lips as if she can hear his inner turmoil and has seen it thrice before.

"Taking what you want, never what you need."

In-ho looks down at his own body, which begins to feel cold and wrong. As if missing something vital. He smells copper, his hand feels hot as he touches his chest yet his body grows colder. The last thing he remembers before waking up in a freezing sweat is looking down at his own body, now filled with open chasms wherever it touched hers - gaping empty holes that can be filled with nothing, bleeding him into the ground as she watches on.

In-ho gasps, springs up into a seated position and touches his chest, his stomach - and breathes in relief. As he is composing himself, a new manner of play begins to form in his mind. Between hurried breaths and elevated pulse beats, he plans a new way to play this game and win.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes. Please look at tags and warnings on ao3 before reading.

Merlin

The Walls of Camelot by spqr

"Camelot will fall tomorrow,” Arthur says, on the first day of the eighth month of the siege.

DC

IRIS Log #1548 by deadchannelradio

Disclaimer From Your Friendly Neighborhood Oracle:

The following is a transcript of Patrol Communications Audio written by state of the art transcription technology, IRIS (Interpretation of Recorded Intelligence Software). IRIS was created to provide easily searchable records, automatically, and eliminate the need to transcribe each patrol audio log manually. That being said, IRIS is still experimental, and may not always be entirely accurate. - (01:25) Red Hood: (Mild static) (Out of breath, slurred) You motherfuckers. Put some fuckin-

(01:25) Batman: (Shaking) Red Hood-

(01:25) Red Hood: Shut up. Put some fucking respect. On my name. Start fucking copying me. I just got thrown fucking. Um. 40 feet. Into a fucking uh. What's it. Ditch. I'm still fucking conscious.

(01:25) Batman: Red Hood, do not move, we're en route-

(01:25) Red Hood: What'll I win if I stand up.

(01:25) Batman: (Loud) Do not stand up.

we shall be free; we shall find peace by mediant

Clark has accepted what it means to be Lex's prisoner - the pain of the Green, the experiments, the hands on it. The long years buried in its containment cell, let out only to act as Lex's weapon, as Lex's tool. It had fought back at first, but years have ground it down and away to almost nothing.

Then Lex hands it a baby. And Clark realizes that while it may have hurt humans, and lied about what it is, and it may deserve to be locked away - Kon deserves to be free.

Untamed

The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli (+ podfic)

Wei Wuxian’s hand jolts, spilling a drop of wine onto the tabletop. “Love?” he croaks, then clears his throat and tries again. “Lan Zh— uh, Hanguang-jun, in love?”

“Have you not heard the story?” the other young woman asks, looking pitying. “You must, it is a truly heartrending tale of star-crossed romance and mutual pining — go to any storyhouse in town, everyone has been requesting a reading of this book.”

“There’s a book?” Wei Wuxian says blankly.

-- In which the junior disciples (namely, Lan Jingyi, Ouyang Zizhen, and a reluctant Lan Sizhui) turn to RPF in an attempt to rehabilitate Wei Wuxian's reputation so that he and Hanguang-jun can get together and get married and live happily ever after. It's... surprisingly effective.

Clone Wars

patron saint by spqr (+ podfic)

Funerary practices? Master Ti writes back. I’m not sure what you mean, Master Kenobi. Used biomass is the property of Kamino and thus is recycled into the cloning process.

So that’s how the revolution begins—with dead brothers, but not the way you might expect.

Miraculous Ladybug

drowning (in plain sight) by buggachat

Everybody had expected Monarch's defeat to be a moment of triumph. Nobody had expected Gabriel Agreste, unmasked and mind frayed from continual abuse of the miraculous, crying out to all who would listen and making Paris certain of one thing:

His son, Adrien Agreste, is one of his sentimonsters.

And now he's missing.

Nobody can find him— not even the superheroes, and not even his closest friends. But Marinette, Nino, and Alya aren't ones to give up so easily. They'll find him, no matter what it takes.

(But, geez, would it kill Chat Noir to lend a hand?)

[wordsofelie]

Chapter 8

🌅Don’t you dare run away (A Phoenix and Ashes Sequel)

Miya Osamu x f!reader

Summary: Miya Osamu thinks some things will never change— Atsumu will always be annoying; his Ma’s food will always be the best and you will always be his favourite sunrise.

Content Warnings: Timeskip Setting, Manga Spoilers, ex!Suna, Swearing

Words count: 5k

chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4 - chapter 5 - chapter 6 - chapter 7

Osamu doesn’t talk about what happened.

The main reason is that he wants to believe it was only a one-time thing. You were simply surprised to see your ex after who knows how many months or years; your relationship with Osamu is only starting even though you’ve known each other for a long time. Osamu wants to respect your boundaries; he wants to give you the time you need to get used to this new life. He’ll be patient (for once, his mother would say).

But that one-time thing lasts longer than expected.

Four months pass, you’re well settled in Tokyo, well integrated into your new team and Osamu has become a regular on the Omiya-Shin Osaka shinkansen line. He alternates between his shop in Osaka, where he has taken on a new full-time manager (Sato and Nagisa love her), and his new premises in Tokyo, which are still in the restoration phase. Osamu opted for a smaller place close to a university and a business district (strangely close to Akaashi's offices), the goal being to focus on takeaway food rather than a familial restaurant. Kita is getting ready to supply twice more rice and he’s just waiting for his former teammate to open the new shop.

By the time the Olympics end, everyone is aware that you’re dating. Bokuto couldn’t help but tell Hinata and Akaashi, Hinata couldn’t resist sharing the news with Kageyama during their game against Argentina, claiming it just slipped. And, from there, the secret practically ran itself through the team. By the time it got to Atsumu, he’d almost passed out from shock. The setter had cornered Osamu one evening. “Are ya serious? My own twin, my own flesh ‘n blood, and ya didn’t even tell me?”

But as soon as he finished his tirade, he sighed heavily and clasped Osamu on the shoulder. “Ya know, ‘Samu, I’m glad it’s ya though. She deserves it. Just... don’t mess it up, alright?”

And Osamu promised he wouldn’t. They went out to have dinner that night and Atsumu’s eyes got wet when the waiter served the plates.

“Yer leavin’ me again,” he whines to his twin.

Osamu groaned, “Stop bein’ such a crybaby for fuck’s sake. How am I supposed to beat ya if I get stuck in the same place? It’s like we're runnin’ a race but with our shoelaces tied together. One of us has to get past the other.” Because it sounded too serious, or maybe because his eyes also got wet, Osamu stretched out his arm on the chair and his voice turned to tease mode again, “and I guess, I'm just better with women than ya.”

Atsumu got mad and they acted like themselves again, as if nothing happened, as if they weren't on the verge of tears at the idea of being away from each other. 

His mother, of course, was over the moon. She’d even sent a few of your favourite treats because according to her, this announcement warranted a full family celebration. “We always hoped, ya know,” she’d told Osamu with a soft smile, “that you’d end up with someone just like her. Maybe even her, actually.” She winked, and before Osamu could stop her, she was already planning the next family gathering (and a wedding.)

No need to mention Umi who was the first to know. Osamu received a text from her early one morning, saying how happy she was for you and hinting at his potential murder if he ever broke your heart. He didn’t know whether to laugh or hide.

The only person still completely out of the loop remains Suna.

For some reason, the thought doesn’t worry Osamu. Wordlessly, you both agreed to let things settle naturally. It’s only a matter of time before you tell him, or at least, that’s what Osamu believes.

But it’s now almost November and the guys from Inarizaki High have organised a team reunion in Tokyo when Osamu officially opens his new restaurant. Your boyfriend tries to ignore the feeling, but it does sting when you seem to avoid his gaze whenever Suna is nearby. At some point in the night, Gin—who’s the only other person not aware of your situation—wraps his arm around Osamu’s shoulder and asks him, “So, what about you, man? Got anyone special?”

Osamu pauses, his hand lingers just a little too long on his glass. He catches your eye across the table, but you look away. Something twists in his chest.

That evening, you fight for the time.

When you return home, Osamu is quieter than usual, barely meeting your eyes.

“Are you mad?” you ask, watching him from the doorway as he sits on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap.

But he doesn’t look up. “That you acted as if I didn’t exist in front of yer ex, again? Huh, nah.”

You move closer to him. “Osamu…”

“Look, it’s fine,” he replies, and it breaks his heart not to look at your face. You’re probably hurt right now, but if he lands his eyes on you, he will probably just want to apologise and kiss your lips and your eyes and your cheeks to make the sadness go away, “I’m just tired.”

“Let’s talk about it.”

He huffs a sigh through his nose, “I said it’s fine.”

Then he gets up, his back is facing you now. Osamu feels his blood rushing through his veins, both out of frustration and guilt, “I get it if yer disappointed in this relationship.”

The words cut deeper than either of you expected, and for a second, you stay silent. A bitter laugh leaves your mouth.

“Disappointed? You’re not the one who’s felt neglected these past few weeks,” you reply, and your voice raises just slightly higher. “Whether you’re in Osaka or here, it’s like I barely exist to you. I mean, at least when we were just friends, I felt like I had some part of you. Now�� I don’t know, Osamu...”

Your shoulders slouch and your brows furrow. When he takes a glimpse at you, the frustration is fully replaced by guilt. 

“My love…” he begins, reaching for you, but you cover your stomach as if to shield yourself from him.

“No, I… I guess I should’ve seen it coming. Maybe it was a stupid idea to let you follow me to Tokyo. I was selfish. And if you want to leave me, I understand-”

Miya Osamu has heard some stupid things in the past (especially coming out of his brother’s mouth), but leaving you has to be the craziest one. How in the world could he want someone else other than you? Now that he had a taste of what it’s like to be by your side, how could he ever think of leaving?

It’s been a decade, ten full years, that Osamu has been watching you from the sidelines. He saw you being almost chosen, half-loved by Suna. He watched you break and then pick yourself up before falling into the arms of your good-for-nothing ex again. It was unfair, it was infuriating to see you look at him with stars in your eyes when you obviously deserved so much more—the whole universe even. And then, without trying, he fell head over heels for you. He started yearning after you, desired to be the one you go home to every day, the one who makes your heart flip in your chest.

Now, in all modesty, Osamu can say he is no longer on the sidelines; he’s with you and he’s yours.

But words aren’t enough thus, he moves toward you, so quickly that it startles you. His hands find your neck delicately, his fingers get tangled in your hair and before you can pull away, he says, “Hey, I’m not goin’ anywhere. Ya understand? Yer it for me.”

You can’t help the tears that well up in your eyes. “But I don’t want to be a burden,” you respond in a murmur. “You work so hard, and I’m so proud of you. I don’t want to be just one more thing you have to worry about.”

“But that’s exactly my role.” His forehead meets yours, “listen here, sweetheart, I would burn down the restaurant for ya.”

“But I don’t want that.” He makes you smile wide through your tears.

“No, me neither.” He chuckles but after, his voice softens, “What I mean is that startin’ today and for all the days that come, yer the one I’ll choose over everything. If I had to relive my life, I’d choose ya again and again, I’d probably choose ya earlier. Please, now tell me when something is wrong because nothing could ever make me fall outta love for ya. I’m not him.”

You put your hand over his, and squeeze tightly, “And I don’t want anything else, Osamu. Just you.”

“Then that’s what ya got. And promise me one thing.”

You nod and he brushes a tear from your cheek. “Anything.”

“Let’s just tell each other when something’s wrong. It’s shit to argue like that. I’m sorry if ya felt like I wasn’t here enough, I’ll make it up ya, okay?”

Your arms wrap around him tightly, as if letting go would make all of this disappear. “You don’t have to, I didn’t mean what I said… I was just hurt, and I guess, I just miss you. We don’t see each other as much those days, but I know it’s for the better. As for Rin,” you look up at him and Osamu realises he forgot what the argument was about in the first place. He gulps loudly. “I’ll tell him, soon. But I just need a bit more time. I guess I'm just worry it'll make things awkward between you too...”

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Take all the time ya need. And ya know, we're grown men, okay? No one’s gonna punch the other... he’d get hurt anyway.”

You laugh, (and avoid reminding him that Suna Rintarou is a professional athlete, probably for the sake of his ego) and only hug him more.

Feeling your skin against his as you slip under the sheets, is the only thing that matters now. You chose him, not Suna, and the thought is enough to make his whole body shiver.

You fall asleep first and Osamu, in an unusual moment of gratitude, wants to thank the gods for being able to see your pretty face everyday. Make it last forever, he wishes to ask them. When he closes his eyes later, he is convinced that they heard him.

The gods are funny entities. Maybe they did hear him and maybe they’re trying to impulse your relationship on the right path.

At least, that’s the conclusion your boyfriend comes up with when on a calm Saturday morning, as he is making breakfast while you’re taking a shower, someone knocks at the door.

Osamu sets down the bowl of batter he is holding, turns off the stove to prevent the baking pancakes from burning, and walks to the door.

The door swings open, and he has to take a step back in surprise when one Suna Rintarou appears in front of him.

“My mum wanted to give you – Osamu?”

Both men seem to be equally surprised. Osamu tries to hide his displeasure. He just wanted to spend a quiet morning with you, eating breakfast and cuddling, so why the hell is your ex in front of him right now?

“Oh Suna, hi… hm…”

“Dearest are you-” your voice chimes in but stops as fast. “Rin?”

Osamu widens his eyes and looks at you, he scratches the back of his neck nervously. “I’m- hm- thank you for letting me sleep here yesterday. I’ll leave now.”

His excuse doesn’t seem to ease Suna’s doubts as the man with his usual sharp-eyed self, throws Osamu a side-eye. But soon enough, his attention falls on you and he crosses his arms, waiting for an explanation.

Osamu’s face swings from you to him a few times. It’s clear that you’re speaking to each other without words. Whatever space he takes in your heart now, Suna has been here before and the string that once led you to him could never truly be severed.

“Osamu lives here.” You take his hand, “we are dating.”

There’s a long silence. It’s awkward and heavy. Osamu suddenly wants to pinch his arm, hoping none of this is happening. The man understands why you kept putting this moment off for so long.

But you’re brave enough to continue, “Did you come here for something?”

“My mum found that bracelet you lost.” He takes the jewellery out of his pocket. It’s discreet but Osamu and Suna gazes meet, probably to prove to your boyfriend that he didn’t just come to see you out of the blue.

You take the bracelet from his hand, thanking him a several times and claiming you were still hoping to find it, even after all those years.

“Please Rin, enter.” 

Suna is quick to take his shoes off and step into your living room, “She also baked you this.”

Your eyes shine when you see the box he is handing you, “Auntie’s cookies? Gosh, they’re the best. I’ll warm them up.”

You turn to your boyfriend with a smile. “I can’t wait for you to try them.”

Osamu clears his throat, “Yeah, me too…D’ya want a cup of coffee or-”

“I’m fine,” Suna replies with nonchalance as he passes past Osamu to follow you in the kitchen. The latter has to hold back a groan. It’s a good thing he started meditation because right now, he really needs to keep his calm.

Suna only looks at you as the three of you stand in the kitchen, waiting for the cookies to be savoured, “my mum didn’t put any peanuts in the cookies, you still think it tastes like soap, right?”

Osamu raises an eyebrow.

“Yes, I do, it’s so considerate of her.” You give Suna a cup of tea.

“Lemon tea, my favourite, you remember.”

You smile gently at him in response, but Osamu can see that your lips tug into a thin line after. Suna is acting out of character, and it’s confusing you as well as your boyfriend.  

“Angel,” Osamu starts and from the corner of his eyes, he can see Suna’s shoulders tense. “I also made pancakes; we can share it together if ya want. I went to the market this morning to buy raspberries. I’m sorry, I know ya love blueberries more but- ”

“She prefers strawberries.” The middle blocker mumbles, though it’s unmistakably aimed at reaching Osamu’s ears.

“Wait, wait, guys, what are you doing?”

The boys look at each other and just when they both open their mouths, ready to justify their actions, your phone rings.

“I have to take this, it’s for work – Hi Kuroo-senpai.” You say as you escape to your bedroom.

Osamu wishes he could follow you, but instead, he sighs. He, who waited all week to spend this morning with you, now wants it to be over.

He turns to Suna, but your ex doesn’t move even with those two eyes staring at him, as if deadpan. He’s not going to talk first and Osamu summons up all its courage to start the conversation.

“Listen man I-”

“I’m not really surprised.”

Osamu blinks a few times.

“You guys always had that weird relationship. Ever since high school, I tried to keep her away from you, when we used to walk home together, she wanted to wait for you, but I often said you wanted to stay to practice more. I never told her that but when I moved to Hiroshima and she started spending all her days with you, I hated it. I tried hanging out with girls to make her jealous-”

“That’s a shitty move.”

“Oh, shut up, we were nineteen.” Suna’s voice sounds frustrated, it’s a first, Osamu thinks. He never saw that look on his face before, even when they shared defeats together. Maybe, he did truly love you? “And I regretted acting like that… anyway, she dumped me in the end. I guess that’s what you call karma.”

“Yer the one who dumped her first.”

He rolls his eyes in response, “I know. Biggest mistake of my life. But I’ve moved on now. I’ll go.”

Osamu is taken aback by his last words but realises he heard it right when Suna makes his way to the genkan again.

“Dontcha wanna wait til her call is finished?”

“You want me to stay?”

Osamu hesitates and it makes Suna chuckle. 

Once he’s done putting his shoes on, he looks behind his shoulder at his former teammate.

“You’re a lucky man, don’t you dare run away.”

A warm feeling spreads through his stomach, and something clicks in his brain as if he just remembered a happy memory from his childhood. He has no idea when and where, but Osamu feels like he heard those words before. Maybe from a dream.

“I won’t. I really love her.”

“The first match of the season is next week, I’m playing against Atsumu, if you guys want to come.”

“We will.”

“Don’t be jealous if she supports me though,” Suna smirks slightly and it pisses off the other man who can’t help but grin wider.

“Ya? Against the team she works for. When her brother-in-law is playin’, I didn’t know ya were so delusional dude.”

“Brother-in-law.” Suna laughs, but it’s scornful this time, “Don’t act like you’re engaged man. I’m going now, see you.”

This is the last thing Suna says before he gets out of your shared apartment.  

Engaged?

For the second time, a warm feeling hits him. It feels good, even if the thought sends a rush of nerves along with it. He doesn’t have the time to analyse it because you go out of the bedroom and scan the kitchen.

“He left,” Osamu explains as he wraps his arms around your waist. His nose finds your neck, breathing in your scent as if you’d been gone far too long—as if he’d been waiting for ages to feel you again.

“What was that about?”

He knows exactly how you’re looking at him right now, he doesn’t even need to meet your eyes. That's why, instead, he stays nestled in the crook of your neck, pretending to be oblivious.

“Hm?”

“With Rin?”

“Suna.”

“Rin.”

He clicks his tongue and finally looks at you, “Rintarou.”

“Alright, with Rintarou.” You’re holding back your laughter at his childish jealousy, “Why were you acting all ‘I know her more’ like two prepubescent teens?”

Your impression of him only makes you look cuter. His fingers trace light circles against your waist and with a side smile, he replies, “What can I do? I’m a weak man sweetheart, I love ya so much.”

“I love you too.” You kiss his cheek and just when you’re about to get away from his grip, he pulls you closer, “I have to work a little bit.”

“But it’s Saturday.” He pouts.

“Kuroo needs me for a project,” your phone rings again. Before you can reach it, Osamu puts his hands under the back of your thighs and lifts you.

“Osamu, put me down, I need to take this call.”

“Mister bedhair can wait.”

“That’s rude.”

“But I wanna take care of ya.”

He starts kissing your neck once you’re sat on the counter. You don’t stop him.

You spend your first Christmas as a couple at his parents’ house. You insist on helping his mother prepare dinner, pushing Osamu away every time he dares sneaking into the kitchen to ensure everything is going fine. “It’s better to fry the chicken like that,” he says, or “I’d recommend a pinch more salt in those mashed potatoes.”

Finally, his mother sighs and shoos him away. “Osamu, let her breathe, for gods' sake!”

You can’t help but grin as you catch his eye, pleased to have his Ma’ on your side.

The dinner is great. Your relationship with his mother is clearly turning into an effortless connection. So, when dessert is served, and she starts telling you awkward moments of his childhood, that Osamu would rather leave forgotten, the man eventually excuses himself to “go to the restroom.” (Even if you both know he’s just escaping the spotlight.)

As he wanders down the hallway, Osamu glances into his old bedroom and spots Atsumu fiddling with an old suit. “Ya don’t want dessert?”

“Am on a diet,” his twin says.

“What’re ya doin’?”                           

“Am tryin’ on one of Pa’s suits. Got Meian’s wedding next week.” He gives the blazer a tug to smooth it out.

Osamu leans against the doorframe, “Didn’t ya just buy a new one like a month ago?”

“Yeah but…” The blond grins as his gaze meets his brother’s reflection in the mirror, “I’d rather keep the new one for yer wedding.”

Osamu is left speechless; he doesn’t even try to contradict the setter—why would he anyway? Wedding isn’t something the man even thought about in the past, but when it comes to you, it seems evident, right—like something he didn’t know he’d wanted all along blossoms in him. He can’t pinpoint why, but loving you always feels new, like he’s constantly discovering pieces of his heart he hadn’t known were there. He’s so in love, and maybe this love does deserve a proper ceremony.

The idea doesn’t leave his mind, even as you’re on the doorstep, ready to go home. You’re bidding goodbye to Atsumu when his mother tells him to drive safely.

“Ma’?” He tries to pipe up with confidence, but his mother discerns his discomfort with ease, “Would ya…I mean- d’ya still have yer mother’s ring?”

A smile blooms on her lips, it’s almost as wide as when she congratulated them for winning the Nationals a few years back. In a subtle move, she disappears inside and comes back with a bag.

“She would have adored her,” she simply declares in a murmur and it’s enough to create a wave of emotions in the man’s heart—sadness, nostalgia, pride, and above everything else, happiness.

So he takes the bag claiming later that inside his mother put “her favourite cooking book”, when you ask what she gave him. He’s not lying though, the older lady did put a cooking book in the bag, to avoid arousing suspicion, but what you don’t know is that it is accompanied by a small, black box tucked discreetly at the bottom, and that it contains a delicate gold ring. Later that night, before going to bed, Osamu opens the box in the soft light of your bedroom lamp. The ring is beautiful, but it’s also intimidating, even for a guy who has never shied away from a challenge. He’ll ask you one day, but it’ll take courage, more than he’s ready to muster right now (a little voice inside of his brain also wonders what he’ll do if you reject him).

For now, he’ll keep it safe, hiding in his nightstand, under an Onigiri Miya cap (you never asked questions on why there was a cap in there, much to Osamu's relief), so it’s close enough to reach whenever he finds himself ready to shut down the little voice. It's easier said than done, but someday—he hopes—he’ll find the right time to make it real.

And just like that a year passes and the box remains hidden.

It’s winter again when Osamu decides that if he doesn’t do it now, he’ll just keep on delaying the moment. He’s in Osaka for work when he calls to ask you to spend the weekend with him in Hyogo. You are quick to say yes and buy the train ticket.

The cogs can be set in motion and the first knot in his stomach releases.

You arrive the next morning with a packet full of cannelés to offer Sato, Nagisa and Tano, their new manager. Everyone’s excited at trying the pastries but Osamu refuses to try one.

“We should go,” he informs you and takes your hand. You’re confused but follow him inside the car anyway.

The three other employees’ wave at you with wide smiles, it’s a good thing that their enthusiasm to see you leave doesn’t alarm you. Only Osamu knows why they’re so eager to see their boss get out of here, after all, they know what he’s about to do since they have been his trusted confidants this past week. In truth, Osamu has been practising his speech for days, first with Tano, the calmest of the three, who listened quietly as Osamu stumbled through his words. And then with the other two, who were more than happy to help him prepare for the big moment, his private rehearsal quickly turned into a bit of a group affair. They even spent the entire morning insisting that never in a million years you will refuse his proposal.

You spend the first twenty minutes of the ride trying to guess where you are going.

“Kobe?” You first ask, “Or Kyoto? Oh, that would be so nice, I’ve not been in Kyoto in ages.”

You seem convinced that it will be a city, but instead, he drives you to the countryside.

The road becomes familiar, Osamu can see in your eyes that you’re starting to recognize the landscapes; the fields of rice or matcha or flowers (he still doesn’t know which one it is, even in the daylight).

“Are we going to Kita’s farm?” You finally figure. “Don't tell me, I know it is Kita's farm. See, told you I’d guessed.”

You look so sure of yourself, cute, he thinks, and it makes him want to leave kisses on your grin and all over your face.

But the surprise only begins and when he pulls over to the side of the road, near a cliff, you start assaulting him with questions again. Osamu doesn’t answer, he just gets out, opens the passenger door and gently leads you out of the car.

“D' ya know where we are?” He says a few minutes later.

You glance around to look at the view and open your month, but he trails you off.

“This is where I feel in love with ya. Well- I guess I feel in love before, though I was very slow, but this is where I realised I was in love. Since then, I’ve not stopped falling for ya and for … well, everything about ya.”

“Osamu?”

He keeps going even though his heart threatens to explode in his chest, “I’m kinda nervous, but I really wanna do this. Yer the one for me, and I know I don’t always give ya the time ya deserve and I’m jealous sometimes… but I love ya and I’d like to laugh with ya for the rest of my life. So…”

He takes a little box from his pocket and gets on one knee (a little bit too harshly, he'll probably get a bruise tomorrow). The look of surprise—or rather shock, to be completely honest— on your face tells him you hadn’t realised what was happening until this moment.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about this for like a long time, and I really hope ya would accept to become my fiancé and perhaps my wife someday… if you’ll have me.”

You jump into his arms and Osamu fears he’ll fall down—not that he would mind. He would drown in oceans with you, get into a tornado, jump off a cliff, just to feel you against him.

“Dummy, idiot, argh you-”

“Why’re ya insultin’ me woman?”

He looks at you, there’s tears in your eyes, in this light, they look like stardust.

“I really want to be your fiancé and your wife and your everything.”

You already are, he wants to say but you shut him up with a kiss and he thinks you’ve never tasted so good. All the knots in his stomach can relax (because you said yes!)

The colour of the ring on your finger, golden, suits you. It reminds him of the sunrise and of the promise that you’ll be here next morning, and the one after, and the one after.

For the rest of his life, Osamu can fall asleep at peace because he knows you’ll always be the first thing he’ll see when he wakes up.

The wedding is planned for the following summer. You opt for something small and intimate, with family and close friends. His mother and yours help with the preparations, Umi chooses your dress, Bokuto does his bit too by ordering a cake from the patisserie  that's just opened next door to Onigiri Miya (this is entirely out of friendship for you, and not because he has a huge crush on the shop's owner), and finally Atsumu helps his brother find the wedding venue.

Everything is perfect, except for…  

“You said you wanted to invite the guys from high school.”

A sigh escapes from his nose and he avoids your gaze, “I know but-“

“The guys from high school that also means Rin.” He raises an eyebrow and his jaw clenches, “-tarou.”

“Alright, alright… Let’s invite Suna. It’s just, ya know, I want a very small weddin’, I’m not like ‘Tsumu.”

You cup his cheeks, “My love, I’d feel bad if I invited your team and not him. Don’t tell me you’re afraid I’ll leave with Rintarou just before the wedding, huh?”

His ears suddenly feel warm, and he tries to hide the shade of red that invaded his face by lowering his cap, you burst into laughter.

“Oi!” he barks, offended, “stop makin’ fun of me or ya'll never hear my vows.”

Your teasing smile turns into a pout, and you look at him with puppy eyes. With that face, Osamu knows he’s screwed. “I’m goin’ to bed now,” he informs.

But before he can run away, you grab his arm and with your other hand, you trace a line from his cheekbone to his jaw. He can feel the coldness of the golden ring against his skin. He closes his eyes for a second and lets you whisper a few sweet words in his ear.

"You make me happy,” you tell him in the end.

“So do ya,” he breathes. His lips find yours; you quiver helplessly beneath the touch. He smiles, “And it’s only the beginnin'.”

a/n: I may or may not have shed a tear haha

I hope you guys are happy with this ending, if you're interrested to read more I can always write some short extra stories about them

thank you for reading, liking and commenting, it means a lot to me <3

taglist: @wolffmaiden, @teyvatsunsets, @obibiwan, @sugacor3, @sunahsvt, @iluv-ace, @cinnamonruts

[marsprincess889]

Me getting political

🇬🇪🇪🇺

So, I know I mostly only really talk about vedic astrology here, but I'd like to speak to the very same audience who found and followed me because of that about what's going on in my country. So, followers, dear mutuals, those couple of ppl I know irl who are on here, or someone who randomly found this_please, read and interact. (!!!please)

For context, the vast majority Georgia, mainly gen z, has been protesting a "foreign agents law", which is almost identical to the law that russia passed in 2012 and that has resulted in significant restriction of the freedom of its citizens. So, eurovision, met gala, whatever.... this is the reality my country lives in.

I had no idea so many people from other countries were this misinformed about georgia(in general)? People thinking photos from our massive protests were not from here because we have "police" written in english and not "policija"(which is not a fcking georgian word??????)?

People thinking america funded, I repeat, MASSIVE protests that have been going on for a month(and have also taken place in the march of last year for the same reason), just because some of the protestors wrote signs in english? Like, the sheer idea of that is honestly infuriating.

I don't think anyone who has not lived in Georgia will understand the situation clearly. The government is ordering to beat up peaceful protestors, is using pepper spray on them.... and most of the protestors are teens and young adults, trying to make a better future for themselves and for generations to come, tired of fighting the same fight that their parents and grandparents have fought.

When you are born georgian, patriotism is instilled in you like vow. I was born in 2002, a decade after my country exited the soviet union, fresh out of the notoriously hard and dark 90s(full of poverty and crime), six years before I started school and russia invaded the city of Gori. We learned all the poems and novels of our great writers, learned the stories of them fighting for freedom of speech, for the freedom of our country, our teachers would explain every detail of their astristry and their importance. At some point I think we all got tired of it, no matter how loving and full of care they were, but then I remember the presentation my class did in sixth grade about february of 1921, how Georgia exited the russian empire in 1918 and how the brand new(at the time) constitution was implemented just a few days before the red army came in 1921... MY PARENTS were born when Georgia was in ussr, my mother had to spend her years as a young student in the 90s in constant fear of danger on the streets, our parents saw the worst of it and did everything in their power for us to live in a better environment. But we're first generation in georgia who grew up with internet, who is fluent in internet slang and is way more informed, with a completely different mentality, for whom the decades of oppression is more distant. We know russia is an enemy, we know what our country has gone through, but we are the first gen with the freedom to speak up when yet another attemp to control is made.

We have a very long and rich history and one thing that is clear from it is that we are supernaturally resilient, and our refusal to be subdued has protected not only ourselves, but countries that lie west from us, the countries that make Europe, that we consider ourselves a part of.

My friends know I'm the quickest to say that I feel like I don't belong here(georgia), that I never really connected to what I saw, generally, in my country, but maybe there are thousands like me here. Maybe(100%) the men in power haven't been paying their due respect to my generation and how persistent we have been in our actions and convictions. And maybe, the rest of the world(western countries) have significantly undervalued our importance. We deserve our due, and to me, the least that others can do, is to educate themselves before typing or speaking about us.

We are not a "former soviet country", we are an ancient civilization with an extremely unique culture that has survived to this day, that has protected its customs, identity and the right for freedom, and has been under almost constant threat for losing them. And, once again, if there was any doubt, we are not our government.

I sincerely hope for this to get as many notes or possible, or at least, to reach the right people.

[mywons]

៹ bf!hyung-line enha when they're jealous.

▸ ִֶָ tags est. enha x fem!reader + hyung line being super duper cute + jake pouting + really just fluff & cuteness. warnings! && mentions of possessiveness, jealousy. REQUESTED : how the members act when they’re jealous? ✿ 0.7k words —

## HEADCANONS UNDER THE CUT !

lee heeseung !

hee doesn't really get jealous easily

so if he is, it's more than likely something serious

you guys met up with a few of your mutual friends for lunch one day

one of them suddenly decided to be . . . less than respectful of your relationship with heeseung

it isn't like you guys weren't openly together either, everyone there knew and if they didn't—well, with the way heeseung was clinging to you now, they definitely knew

he's not sad, there's not even the slightest inch of a frown or pout on his face

he's genuinely & absolutely mad

not only is it disrespectful to be making a move on you at all, right in front of him??

this 'friend' leans in closer to you at one point, whispering something about how gorgeous he found you on this particular day

heeseung would usually let you handle something like this, but he was already annoyed

he almost immediately inclines towards you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you into his lap. barely giving the intruding presence a glance, his head rests on your shoulder. "comfortable?" he'd whisper, fingers gently pinching at your hip

and you would tell him yeah, you're fine. once the douchebag gets the hint that he's not needed nor wanted, you'd probably hum, getting his attention "what was all that?"

"he was all over my girl, 's all."

heeseung's pretty confident in himself & with good reason. you're all he wants and he knows the feeling is mutual, no one else fits in the equation and if someone doesn't understand—he has no problem helping them do so. you're his, and he leaves it at that.

park jongseong !

literally the sweetest ever

he's not gonna get involved unless you're uncomfortable. otherwise, he lets you handle situations that make him jealous because he knows you're capable + he trusts you in every way

however, today you're accepting the affection of a man he doesn't really know

you told him that he's an old high school friend, and you seemed eager to see him, so jay happily dropped you off

when he comes back to pick you up a few hours later, the sight of you & this old friend walking with your arms interlocked immediately catches his eyes

when you get in the car, you aren't greeted by his usually-happy-to-see-you-self. you don't say anything, but when he pulls out of his parking spot, still all without saying a word to you, it worries you

"bad day?"

he just shrugs, tense with his jaw clenched

you guys get home with him barely saying two sentences, then he asks

"was he really a friend?"

you don't catch it at first. "what?" then it hits you—oh. that's why he's acting weird. "we were never anything other than friends. i promise."

jay doesn't need anything else after that. he can tell when you're lying, and you're genuine now, so that's all that matters. he would just hug you, "okay. i trust you, baby."

your reassurance is really all he needs

sim jaeyun !

his jealousy rarely ever gets to the point of anger

and if it does, it's never directed towards you

"literally how would he not know we're dating??? do i not act like your boyfriend???"

he lets the stupidest things bother him, and gets so clingy afterwards. it's bothersome but you can't help but just wanna smother him in all the love he absolutely deserves

some dude would probably just respectfully ask for your number and immediately back off once you make it clear you're in a relationship

jake? oh, he's sulking

it'll be on his mind for so long. is he not affectionate enough? does he seem inadequate? not good enough for you?

really, all he's aching for is for you to tell him that you only want & need him

it'll still bother him, but you can make it better. give him kisses and he's all better

park sunghoon !

this boy :( he's so so so shy.

he wants more than anything to constantly touch you in public, but his insecurities creep up

he's more comfortable being affectionate in private, and you completely understand that

the only problem is . . . you two pass as friends, or even siblings, depending on what you look like, in public

the admirer whom confidently made his way to you both, completely ignoring sunghoon's presence, didn't expect it when you claimed you two were dating. he also didn't seem to approve of it.

he pushed a little further, but sunghoon eventually got him to walk the hell away

afterwards, he's all

can we go home :( i'm not in the mood to be out anymore :(

all pouts, and i'm sorry no i'm not but you're gonna have to kiss them away

he'll get over it pretty quickly, but definitely use it as an excuse to get all your love & attention<3<3

mywons © 2023 ## please do not plagiarize my works.

[r0-boat]

Possessive

Cat hybrid! Ingo x reader x Cat hybrid! Emmet

Cw: slight yandere, jealous, and possessive Behavior.

They owe you their lives for rescuing them. Ingo I'll never forget the day it was a cold snowy night him and his brother, who had been surviving outside for as long as they could remember seeking refuge in an old abandoned train tunnel. Emmet being stubborn, refusing his brother's torn coat no matter how cold he was. Him and his brother were tired cold and starving this town was unforgiving too wild hybrids and they were not cute kittens anymore and nobody was willing to bring home two strange men.

Thats when Emmet, trying desperately to huddle into his own clothing for warmth, noticed a bright light coming down the tunnel. As the bright light approached they noticed a figure, a human. Emmet hissed at the figure, all day they had been running from mean humans and other hybrids just to find a spot to sleep but Ingo did not want any trouble he understood his brothers frustration but responding hostility would only brew more hostility. The human had a green uniform and the light came from a lantern they were holding. They came to inspect the old railway tunnel as their boss was hoping to remodel and refurbish for future use. But they did not expect to find two hybrids cold and dirty looking glaring up at them. The one with a smile was growling at you, his tail fluffed and his ears flattened. The one who had a frown his voice scratchy husky as if he was suffering from a cold spoke quietly

"Please we do not want any trouble if we're trespassing; we'll leave immediately."

Your heart broken too technically they were trespassing but you couldn't just kick them out like this.

"Do you need help? Here come with me."

Ingo with speechless, unable to answer this was a random human who offered their help normally he wouldn't trust strangers but they are in no shape to decline help of any kind Emmet was confused. Surely this was some kind of joke? But seeing his brother take the humans offered hand, he was still wary, but he would have done the same.

Now, their lives have changed. Ingo smiles fondly, seeing his brother now practically begging for the human's attention.

Emmet hated you at first; he would stay respectful and cordial, but other than that, you'd always keep his distance. If he weren't with his brother, he'd be somewhere else. Now he's attached to you to the hip, insisting on following you around anywhere. And he can't blame him. You are as kind and gentle as your heart, taking in two strange hybrids, opening up your home to them and your heart. And their mind has saved their lives. They are indebted to you, and they'll happily do anything and be anything you desire.

Now they walk side by side with you, your scary "dog" privileges. You like they keep the creeps away, but sometimes…

"Ingo… I told you we were going to have a guest tonight. Why did you throw him back out?" You were sad and Confused. You brought home a date, and for some reason, you are normally polite and well-mannered. Hybrids started acting strangely, cold, and childish, squishing themselves in between you and your date. Literally and figuratively, as they squeeze themselves in between the two of you or cut into your conversations, anything to steal your attention until your date who has gotten fed up with their shenanigans and leaves your home.

"My dear, I don't know what it was about him, but he didn't feel right to me," Ingo said.

"What are you talking about? He was great, perfect even. Emmet ?" Looking over at his brother for his opinion Emmet who had a triumphant smile on his face, bluntly stated, "Good riddance, I'd say. He did not deserve you."

You sighed in frustration, resting your head in your hands. This was the third date they had chased off. It's not like going somewhere would stop them the last two times you tried; they were conveniently in the same place you were.

"Guys, please. If you don't stop chasing people the way I might actually get a partner. And not die alone."

Emmet wiped his head around, walking toward you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. "don't say that; you are not alone because you have us."

Ingo agrees, taking your hand in his, steel gray eyes staring into yours. " That's right, you already are a part of our 3-car train. You don't need anyone else."

[lennadanvers]

Pride Month just started, and I wanted to take this opportunity to say something I think is implicit but that everyone should be aware of:

You are a person and that's what matters.

There shouldn't be a discussion on whether or not it's okay for people to be happy, live, have rights or have those rights be respected. Every human being (and every being, for that matter) deserves respect. Unless they are harming someone (harming meaning abuse; not just existing), they can and should do whatever makes them happy. No one needs permision to exist.

The only people who can give their opinion about your relationship are you and your partner. The only person who decides what you can and can't wear is you. The only one who knows your gender is also you. How or who you have sex, kiss, marry, live with or love is nobody else's business.

The LGBTQIA+ community is for people who aren't allo-hetero-cis. That means that if you aren't all three, allo, hetero and cis, you belong here. This is a great time to show support, because the attention is on this topic. Take this chance to educate (yourself and others) about sexual and gender identities. Do your research, talk to people in the community. Always be respectful. Ask if it's okay to ask questions, always making sure what you're asking about is something you wouldn't be uncomfortable answering to yourself. Go for general questions ("what does it mean to be [insert identity here]?", "why is [insert topic/person/action here] problematic?", "what can I do to show support?") instead of personal ones, unless the other person says they're okay with it. Remember that everyone (LGBTQIA+ or not) dresses, has relationships, talks, looks, feels and lives differently: we're all just people. If it is not your business when talking to an allo-hetero-cis, then it's not your business when talking to LGBTQIA+ people either.

It is okay to not know. As long as you're willing to learn and educate yourself, to be respectful, and to acknowledge past mistakes, it's okay. I don't know everything, but if you have any questions, I can try to answer them. Send me an ask and I'll do my best.

To any LGBTQIA+ person reading this, I know this month can be complicated. Keep in mind you don't owe anyhting to anyone. The most important thing is for you to be safe. The next most important thing is for you to be comfortable. You deserve to have both and so much more. Yes, the Industry takes advantage of Pride Month to sell stuff and look good. We can use it for visibility anyway. This is your chance to speak up if you're in the right place to do it. If you can't, or you don't feel comfortable doing it by yourself, you can send me an anonymous ask and I'll post it. If there's something you want to talk about, you can send an ask too. This is a safe space (as long as you're being respectful).

Also, this is Pride Month. It is very important to use it for activism, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy it. Have fun. Make art, memes and jokes about it. Wear rainbows and pride flags. Have a good time. Feel pride, happiness, excitement and whatever else you feel. You can be angry, hurt or sad too. You can be all at once, or none.

This blog is a safe space for everyone. If you can't find it in you to be respectful, you don't belong here. Otherwise, you're always welcome.

[akookminsupporter]

New year, same shit. Will it ever change?

What is the problem this fandom has with Jimin and Jungkook TOGETHER? And now it's not only this fandom and the subgroup but also their supposed Solo Fans. What is the fear, the problem these people have with Jimin and Jungkook being together in the same shot, picture, or moment? Why does it bother them that Jimin and Jungkook just like being together? Why do they keep ignoring or denying that their decision to join the army confirms the bond between them? Why so much damn hatred, so much rejection towards the friendship, the bond that they OBVIOUSLY HAVE? I've seen posts from Jungkook-centric accounts covering Jimin's face. I've seen posts from Jimin-centric accounts covering up Jungkook's face. I've seen posts from the subgroup and Solos "celebrating" that Jungkook is super close to another soldier because he's next to him and Jimin? He doesn't exist. It's ridiculous, I know, but at the same time, it's disturbing how the fandom in general keeps allowing such things.

And then we have the OT7 fans. The ones who have always denied the importance and magnitude of the relationship between Jimin and Jungkook and who reduce all the hate they receive for that relationship to mere 'ship wars' and thus wash their hands of a problem that could have been over long ago if they did something. These are the worst fans anyone can have. They are the ones who celebrate your victories because it makes them feel special, but abandon you when you need them. That's what happened with Jimin and Jungkook. The OT7 fans abandoned them on this. Obviously not all, but those who see the hate they get and decide to keep quiet. They decide to do nothing. And the funny thing is that the few times some of them have said something, it's to insult jikookers. The bloody irony.

It's pathetic, sad, funny and annoying all this. It's not about jikookers wanting others to think like them anymore. It's never really been about that if we're honest. It's about people, supposed fans of Jimin and Jungkook HAVE to respect Jimin and Jungkook. They have to respect their bond. Their friendship and decisions involving each other. And they don't. No matter what Jimin and Jungkook say or do.

This situation will never change? And now, Jikookers are the only ones fighting a battle they can't seem to win. Jikookers are the only ones demanding respect for Jimin and Jungkook. They are the only ones reporting everybody. They are the only ones doing something and yet they are the most hated. The most ridiculed. The most excluded in this fandom.

Jimin and Jungkook don't deserve that. This isn't about whether you think they have a romantic relationship or not. This is not about you becoming a jikooker. This is about respect. It's about accepting that Jimin and Jungkook have a great relationship. That they like to be together. This is about accepting and RESPECTING the fact that Jimin and Jungkook DECIDED to join the army TOGETHER. This is about being a decent human being. Is that so hard?

If you hate Jimin or Jungkook simply because they are together you are a piece of shit. Jimin and Jungkook would be ASHAMED OF YOU. They would NEVER give you the time of day. Jimin and Jungkook will always choose the other over either of you. And that's a truth that I know deep down inside you, you know too.

I'm excited to see whatever Jimin and Jungkook filmed for us, but I'm also terrified of how this fandom will react when it's finally released.

[reverssentiment]

What are the salient features of Asriel, post-canon, that keep us from "saving" him from life alone in the Underground?

He's soulless (a practical problem),

he'll soon return to being a flower (a practical problem) and would prefer that you think of him like this rather than Flowey (a personal and interpersonal problem), and

he's decided to stay and tend the grave of the fallen child (and this is not really a problem at all; rather, a decision, which the boundary conditions of Undertale require us to respect).

There is a lot of UT post-canon fic out there which treats all these as practical problems. Frisk can just get a soul from somewhere, throw Alphys technobabble or soul arcanobabble at the body issue; get Flowey in therapy; and... also get Flowey in therapy for that last one, because his decision isn't really legitimate, in save-the-goat stories. It's self-harm. Which, personally, is both understandable and missing the point of one of the game's core themes: no matter how many times you restart the story, there are things you can't do; you are not getting a 100% Complete Perfect Pacifist where even Asriel is saved, and it's okay to be wistful about it, but you still need to put down the controller eventually. Getting him to the surface happens a lot in fic, because we all want the goldenest ending, but it could never happen in canon and we just have to live with it. It's thematically potent and I'd lose a lot of respect for Undertale's commitment to its story if you could circumvent it.

(Incidentally, this feels to me like it stems from the same ideas as making "* I have places to be" the wrong answer, a giving-in to Frisk's self-sacrificing, self-disregarding nature which must be corrected. Sometimes, you have to let people live and make their own decisions, outside the boundaries of the story's frame. Your perspective only goes so far.)

...now, fluffier, more sympathetically-traumatized Asriel, on the other hand...!

Ralsei's woes in Deltarune are very visibly the same kind of isolation as what Asriel's dealing with at the end of Undertale, but a) it's worse (a whole lifetime of waiting in a very deliberately empty, lifeless, three-screen-long kingdom) and b) he's stuck there for purely practical reasons. Darkners can't enter the Light World without becoming objects. He never made a decision to be here.

It's not something we can technobabble our way out of right now, but we're only in Chapter 2, right? We can save him, in a way we can't save Asriel: the deadlock we can't resolve has been removed; we don't really have to think about his preferences any more, because the preferences that kept us from helping him and left him stuck in the Underground I mean Dark World are just gone.

His issues are also much more obvious from the get-go, and seem designed to be something we talk him out of – not Asriel's decision to stay by his lost friend's grave, with a weight of meaning and feeling behind it, but hero worship, subservience, religious dedication to the Prophecy and self-image issues, all clear and visible dysfunctions. Giving Asriel therapy has left the realm of fanfiction and wish fulfillment and become part of canon... and the real disagreements we had with UT!Asriel over what he was and meant and deserved have become simple roadblocks for DR!Asriel whoops I mean Ralsei, things we have to help him through. Practical problems where the solution is friendship speech + therapy.

To make a slightly heavy-handed comparison, Ralsei saying we exist to serve Lightners and gratefully referring to himself as Kris's lackey is Anthy saying I'm the Rose Bride because I like it. It's the kind of reason we're inclined to reflexively overrule without working to deal with it at its root. Ralsei is Asriel, minus the irreconcilable and bittersweet parts, someone whose objections to being helped have either been removed or simplified down until we can feel good about disabusing him of them. He's our wish fulfillment in the way that candy on trees might be Susie's and a city of shining lights might be Noelle's and Giant Arcade Consoles might be Berdly's: an Asriel you can help, who you can make go to therapy and deal with the problems that keep him from caring for himself; who'll shut up, comply and let himself be saved.

...so the fact that Kris – whose personal issues are opaque, complex, and frustrating; who appears to be actively hiding parts of their life and motives from us; who clearly doesn't want our help or an improved social life at the expense of their agency – finds him so distasteful might not just be because he's a parody of their brother or Secretly Evil or whatever. If Ralsei is "the kid they're supposed to be" it's not just his fluff and horns!

[helenstudies]

Burmese/Myanmar 1st Person Pronouns

Talking about burmese yet AGAIN. I promise I'm not a nationalist, it is just a deeply interesting language and no one else is talking about it.

Let's talk pronouns. Burmese is a status-centered language. Who you are and what you do is incredibly important in conversations. I'm here to talk about first person pronouns. (btw if you're a mandarin chinese speaker, these rules might be very familiar to you!)

Equivalent of "I" (1st person singular pronoun)

ငါ (ngar) - informal. Used only for friends or people younger than the speaker. Incredibly rude to refer to yourself like this to older people or strangers. ကျွန်တော် (kya-naw) - formal. Mostly used by men or masculine people but it was very commonly used by women from Mandalay or upper Myanmar. Now women from other regions use it as well. Age of the person you're speaking to does not matter but it is implied that the speaker thinks you're older or deserving of respect. ကျွန်မ (kya-ma) - formal. Used by women or feminine people. Queer men or effeminate men will use this ironically or sincerely. Age of the person you're speaking to does not matter but it is implied that the speaker thinks you're older or deserving of respect. ကျုပ် (kyote) - formal. When used by older people, it's neutral but if it's used by people of your age or younger, it's only a little bit less rude than ငါ (ngar) ကိုယ် (ko) - formal but intimate. It is a gender neutral pronoun but if you're a masculine person, it hints you really care about the other person and sometimes have romantic connotations. If you're a feminine person though, it is similar to အိုင် (I). This is pronounced the same as ကို (ko) which means older brother OR someone's male/masculine lover but it is not the same word. အိုင် (I) - informal. Yes, the English word "I" has been adopted into the language but it is only used by women who are talking to people of their age or younger. As you can see, masculine pronouns are actually also gender neutral pronouns. Now, we're gonna talk about status-centred 1st person and 2nd person pronouns. Like I said, it is important to be aware of your own age and your status or occupation when you're conversing with someone. Burmese people will use family pronouns or their occupations to refer to themselves. And the person you're talking to will repeat the 1st person pronoun you used and also use it as the 2nd person pronoun during your conversation. The family pronouns can be used even on complete strangers. It's just a way to be polite.

သား (thar) and သမီး (tha-mee) - it means "son" or "daughter." သား (thar) or son is used by both masculine and feminine people but သမီး (thamee) or daughter is only used by women or feminine people. Instead of "I'll do that" they'll say "(this) son/daughter will do that." It is implied that the speaker things the other party is older than them, if not as old as their parents at least as old as their aunts or uncles.

Just like son and daughter, any role of a family member can be used here. You can call yourself many words including but not limited to အမေ (amay - mom) အ‌ဖေ (aphay - dad) အန်တီ (aunty) အန်ကယ် (uncle) အစ်မ (ama - older sister) အစ်ကို (ako - older brother) ညီ/ညီလေး (nyi/nyi lay - younger brother) ညီမ/ညီမလေး (nyima/nyima lay - younger sister) and so on. And yes, just like mandarin chinese, we do have words for uncle on mother's side or aunt on father's side et cetera but it's mostly in Upper Myanmar regions.

So then how does occupational 1st/2nd person pronouns work? It is exacty what you think it is. If you're a teacher or a mentor you use the word ဆရာ/ဆရာမ (sayar/sayarma - teacher (male)/(female) for yourself. တီချယ် (which is pronounced teacher and meand teacher) is a word solely reserved for female teachers and educators, and by that I mean school teachers. But ဆရာ/ဆရာမ (sayar/sayarma - teacher (male)/(female) can be used in any occupation as long as you're a mentor or a boss of the person you're speaking to. There are occupational and personal pronouns for monks/nuns as well.

So let's say you're going up to a stranger to ask for directions. You have to look at a person and decide how old you think they are, what gender you think they are and how polite you think you need to be before saying anything. Because you can be saying "older brother, (this) younger brother wants to know where x is" or "uncle, (this) niece wants to know where x is." As you might have guessed by now, it is easy to offend people in Burmese, intentionally or not.

And another feature of Burmese language: you can use your name or your nickname for yourself. It would be like speaking about yourself in 3rd person if you're in another language. Since my name is Helen, I can say "Helen's not hungry. Helen just ate" and it's completely normal. Although using your own name as a 1st person pronoun is a statement in itself. It is normally used by younger people talking to an older person.

I can go on and on about pronouns, especially the way it interacts with queer community at large. You can immediately get someone's personality by just hearing the pronouns they use for themselves in various settings. People will change their 1st person pronouns at a whim to better suit the situation at hand. It is amazing to see people code-switching pronouns in real time, and even more so when they come out. This is also why "pronouns are who you are" thing never made sense to me.

On a personal note, I use ကျွန်တော် (kya-naw) for myself on nearly all occasions except at home where I use my nickname instead. In English, my pronouns are they/them/he/him but in Burmese, my pronoun is simply my name. I always tell people to call me "Helen" instead of "You" or other gendered/status-oriented terms. Calling someone by their name is considered rude so people struggle with this a bit because they feel like they're being mean but I always insist on it because I don't wanna be called gendered pronouns.

[yakool-foolio]

Ngl the tweet “Sister and Brother in the main cast of a Kodaka game” killed my interest in this game. We probably didn’t get the whole context, but if it’s gonna throw in a single piece dialogue that would imply….that. Why should I expect much better from the general writing?

Call me crazy, but I think people maaaaaayyyyy be throwing in the towel way too soon. We don't know jack about the characters right now, as far as only knowing two or three names outta the whole cast, so how're we to say with certainty that the two characters mentioned are even siblings? Context is everything, and we have none, so we gotta hold our horses or else we're gonna fall off and get trampled.

I also think this whole too-soon debacle is just plain ol' bad faith. Let's not forget that Kodaka isn't the only writer for this game, as this was also a team effort with Uchikoshi (for transparency, I've only played AI: Somnium Files, so I'm not aware of Uchikoshi's writing practices as much as I am of Kodaka's). If we wanna focus solely on Kodaka's involvement with his writing for this game, I know everyone's getting war flashbacks of the Monokubs from V3, and I do think that part is deserving of all the heavy criticism it gets cause it was done so poorly. However, let's also not forget about Korekiyo's whole deal as well, and in my opinion, I don't think it was handled poorly. There are of course ways the reveal of Korekiyo's relationship with his sister could've been delivered better (such as not hiding his sister's abuse behind his FTEs), but overall I think it respects the topic of incest.

AND THIS IS ALL JUST ASSUMING THAT THOSE TWO CHARACTERS IN LAST DEFENSE ACADEMY ARE SIBLINGS WHEN THEY VERY WELL COULD NOT BE!

Regardless, I am a firm believer that dark topics of all kinds can and should be told in stories, as long as it's done respectfully and not romanticizing/glorifying it. All that matters to me is if a heavy story is told well. So IF those two characters really are siblings and really are in a romantic relationship (and somehow saying 'dear brother' is supposed to be an indication of this???), I am okay with that as long as it's done tastefully. Including such a relationship in any media will obviously turn some people away from it, but that's all a part of consuming media. People will scout out what appeals to them and will avoid things that don't. If a story isn't written for you in mind, then don't let that get you down. There are plenty of similar medias that don't include things you dislike and may give you the same enjoyment. Ya just have to look!

[exoticalmonde]

LUNDInium Outskirts /but it's her insane doodles/ PART VII

I see that a lot of you have been enjoying me posting about our silly Arknights shenanigans, aided by my wonderful company of sillies. So, while we're waiting for me to not be dying from my schoolwork and post more Babel, have some long-awaited doodles.

This time there are just going to be a lot more memes rather than art, because we love all our artists and they work on their own volition.

Me: *Complaining about not having Gnosis* Lundi, a Sankta: *Pushes Gnosis down the stairs* Gnosis: *Falls* Me: *'Just happening' to pass by so I catch him right before he hits the ground* "Oya? Did an angel send you to me?" Gnosis: "…….." Lundi:

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The context was lost for a little, but Dr. Lundi is here with me as I am making the post to remind us all that this thing Zamboni-looking thing exists on one of the Laterano maps:

And that she, as a Sankta, can't, in fact, drive.

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(I drew this one personally now that I have my tablet again)

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After this conversation, I immediately requested it and Dr. Lundi being the devoted horse-respecter can't let an old man sleep just anywhere, he's going to get cramped up 6 knots to Sunday.

Yes, Hoederer has a tail. In my head, but he has to have a tail because I love him and he deserves to have one.

The Aegir in our group however got uh---

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This is just funny on its own, no silly doodle here.

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HEY I WANT TO SAY THAT I REALLY DESERVED THAT STAR

Not only did I do the ENTIRE CC on my own without guidance, I thought for my own and used my own characters no matter how powerless they were (Thank you, Totter, for being the MVP of this map and letting me get dinner AND eat it while you were working on the coral freaks) AND I ALSO HELPED DR. KRYO WITH IT WHILE HE WAS STRUGGLING, SO THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY 'your did it' AWARDS, IM GLAD TO BE HERE!

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He's coming soon, almost less than two months??? GO DR. LUNDI, HE IS SO GUARANTEED FOR YOU I SINCERELY HOPE SHE GETS HIM 10 TIMES IN A SINGLE 10-PULL IT'S SO DESERVED.

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Ela and Doc appreciation doodle.

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'Today' means 24th of October. Why am I being messaged this unprovoked?

Because it's ... National Throw Short People Day and Dr. Eve is the shortest of the group.

DURING THIS WE ALSO CELEBRATE DR. KRYO GETTING HIS TABLET. Everybody chap.

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Dr. Kryo's tablet actually unabled him to do a lot more doodles and he has been making AMAZING progress. To say that I'm proud would be an understatement, I can't wait for him to surpass us all in passion and dedication. That also means +1 person to make memes.

Speaking of which,

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Although I am not French, I have a great appreciation for the language and from a previous post you might gage that I like the idea of it existing.... Despite all facts proving in the opposite direction.

And that passion of mine was unlocked when Doc hit the world. However, ulterior motives and hidden opinions were revealed during those times.

Like whatever

THIS THING IS---- DR. PLEASE STOP, YOU'RE MAKING A 39 YEAR OLD CRY IN THE OPEN!!!

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Dr. Lundi: "…" Młynar: "..."

Later Młynar: "So it all started the day my brother was taken away…" Dr. Lundi : *Nods enthusiastically in the patient's chair*

[my-mt-heart]

NYCC 23 Thoughts

I know Caryl fans are more than ready to celebrate. I am too for what it's worth. Believe me, I'm so ready, but I also have concerns that some may not want or need to hear right now. And I get it. Fandom is supposed to provide a space for us to enjoy our favorite shows and characters without real life obstacles bleeding into it. My blog has really pushed those boundaries over the past year and half, so if that's not what you're looking for, feel free to scroll on by or block. If for some reason my rants are of any use to you, however, then here goes another one. Ahem.

Four middle-aged white men walk onto a stage...

…And proceed to make complete asses of themselves.

This is my biggest gripe with TWDU right now. It perpetuates the same tired, limited perspective of the upper class, middle-aged white man in not one, but all of the new spinoffs. TOWL is supposed to be about Rick and Michonne, but it's no secret Gimple favors Rick. Dead City is supposed to be about Negan and Maggie, but the showrunner only goes on and on and on about Negan/JDM in his interviews. S2 of le spinoff is supposed to be about Daryl and Carol, but...well, I'll get to that. My point is, representation offscreen matters because it affects what we see onscreen and which viewers will be drawn to watch. Personally, I didn’t feel drawn to anything during that panel, not because Melissa finally being announced isn’t exciting, but because the people speaking on her behalf always find ways to ruin the moment.

If Gimple wasn't going to talk about his show, I don't understand why he needed to be there. If it was a tradeoff, I would've rather seen Melissa up there and hear what she had to say about her own return and her own character in her own voice. If that still wasn't possible, I fully respect that, but there has to be some other way to deliver news besides constantly relying on male EPs who don't understand what her fans value about her. I worry this is how it's going to feel when I'm watching S2. I want Carol, but not a misrepresentation of her. Greg Nicotero is directing the premiere. Okay...and what about the other two blocks? Any women/POC directors? Anyone who's going to honor Carol the way she deserves instead of treating her like an extension of Daryl's story?

So, yeah. About that title. First of all, “The Book of Carol” is an odd choice in itself. The biblical allusions are annoying because they don't speak to who Carol is as a character. I’m not mad that it implies we’re getting Carol’s POV—quite the opposite—but I don’t like the confusion it’s causing either. Let’s be clear, Carol is not a short chapter in Daryl's story. She is Daryl’s story. Calling Melissa a "series regular" is extremely poor wording, and a sincere fuck you to whoever approved it for the announcement. She is a lead with EP credit and creative input. I am so sick of AMC leaving it up to the fans to debate her worth. Tell us she’s vital to the show, tell us it’s her show, and use clear language. Stop giving her haters more ammo they don't need and stop giving her fans more anxiety they really don't need.

Honestly, it would’ve been easier to accept if S2 was formally called TWD: Book of Carol. The problem is "The Book of Carol" is not the title. It's a subtitle of a (sub)title, and it's bullshit. It feels like a scam, another way to try to convince us we're getting what we want when we're not really getting much of anything. I don’t know if they're worried about false advertising since S2 won't be a Daryl and Carol story—more like a Carol story which, again, I’m not mad about as long as it leads to a reunion and canon by the end. Or maybe they’re stubbornly clinging to the belief that Daryl’s name is what sells despite the atrocious ratings suggesting otherwise. Daryl AND Carol do sell though, so why not lean all the way into it? Why risk turning the show into a laughing stock with obnoxious titles? These characters don’t deserve that.

Another thing that worries me is how it'll be promoted. As "The Book of Carol" or Daryl Dixon S2? Is it going to vary based on who AMC is trying to placate? Is "The Book of Carol" going to be smaller than Daryl Dixon on all the key art? Including Carol in the title was supposed to show that Daryl and Carol are equals. That way, Norman and Melissa would also be treated as equals by viewers and by co-workers. This doesn't look very equal to me...

Why —why 😩— do they need to keep rehashing the filming location's origin story, and by rehashing, I mean lying about it and dragging Melissa and her fans through the mud when all we want to do is move the fuck on? I don't like that Gimple (savagely) threw Norman under the bus, and I don't like that Norman, whatever his intentions were, threw Melissa under the bus. Again, this is why we need to hear Melissa's thoughts on the show, specifically what Carol's (and Caryl's) journey will entail not just plot-wise, but emotionally. It's not fair to put all that responsibility on her to make everybody else look good, and I hope it won't come to that, but the people on that panel yesterday really weren't doing themselves or the show any favors. I was pretty unsettled by the number of times I heard the phrases "I wanted this" or "we wanted that." Has anyone ever taken the time to understand what their audience wants? Or has the show really just been a vanity project all along?

I was wary about Zabel pretty much from the start, but finally getting to hear him talk about Daryl cemented how poorly he understands who he is and more importantly what he means to fans. A man being torn between his former way of life and his new one is nothing groundbreaking. It's actually a pretty standard formula that can fit a lot of conventional heroes, but it does not work for Daryl Dixon. Daryl Dixon is not a conventional hero. Daryl Dixon is the most loyal character in TWD history, and it's been well established his loyalty is to his found family of over a decade--Rick, Michonne, Maggie, and especially Carol. We will never buy that Daryl could be torn between them and people he's only known for weeks/months. Someone who tries to force that should not be showrunning. Period. I am terrified to learn more about how Zabel views Carol because so far, it sounds like he doesn't think much of her at all. If he did, maybe he would've written something more substantial for her in the finale.

We'll see what happens on Sunday. Hopefully they'll release the S2 teaser. Hopefully it’ll provide more reassurance. Hopefully something will. At the moment it just doesn't seem like AMC is capitalizing on Melissa's return as much as they could, and they're definitely not capitalizing on Caryl yet. That being said, and I can’t stress this enough, I do trust Melissa’s judgment. If she chose to come back—and she did—it’s for good reason. The wait is going to be difficult, but next year we’ll have six full episodes of Carol trying to find her soulmate. Nobody is taking that away from us no matter how many times the men put their foot in their mouths.

[just-otter-thoughts]

Walter was following Sam out of Bob's place, when suddenly he bumped against something. He looked up, and then sighed in frustration.

Sam noticed Walter was no longer following him, and turned around.

"What's wrong? Come on!"

Walter pointed up.

"That's a devil's trap, we use it to trap demons... wait, you already know about those. You're not..."

"I guess this is a good time to tell you a, uh... fun fact about myself."

"You've been a demon this whole time?"

"Can you be quiet? Listen, I-"

"Shut up, I'm calling Dean."

"Come on, man! If I wanted to kill you guys or whatever, wouldn't I have done that already? Huh? I've been up while you guys were asleep countless times. Driven Baby for hundreds of miles. Don't I get some slack?"

"Oh, so that's why you never sleep?"

"I do sleep, man. This vessel, it's weird-"

"Is that what you guys call it? A vessel? You don't even have the respect to call them bodies?"

"Body, whatever, it doesn't matter, man! You guys are after Azazel, aren't you? The demon with the yellow eyes?"

"Yeah, how'd you know his name? We never told you."

"He screwed me over, man. It's a long freaking story but he played me for a goddamn fool and I want him dead. We've got the Colt, all we need to wait for are the omens, Ash's on the lookout for them, come on!"

"I have no reason to believe anything you say! Dean was right, we should've NEVER trusted you! We should NEVER trust anyone but each other!"

"I don't care about your stupid symbiotic mutual-destruction over things that happened decades ago! That's the most boring part about being with you people all the goddamn time."

Dean finally picked up the phone.

"Hey, Dean? Yeah, change of plans. You need to get here. Oh no, we've got an even bigger threat sleeping under the same damn roof."

"Look, can you at least bring me a chair? I don't wanna be exorcised while standing. You can send me back to hell, whatever, I trust you'll find Azazel and give him what he deserves. You guys always find everything."

"Yeah, yeah, it's Walter. Look, just get here, okay?" Sam hung up.

"Why do you need him to be here to exorcise me?"

"He's got the journal," Sam pulled a gun on Walter. "This won't kill you but it'll sure hurt."

"Come on, man! I'm unarmed!"

"I don't know that for sure."

"How much freakin' shitty diner food have I shared with you and your hottie brother? Huh? How many drinks?"

"Shut up."

"I'm not gonna kill you, man! I told you, I'm looking for Azazel!"

"SHUT UP!" Sam shot Walter in the stomach.

After catching his breath, Walter continued:

"I'm not gathering information on you, either. You don't see me slitting throats left and right, do you? Look, can we postpone this? We find Azazel, kill him, then you exorcise me. Okay? You won't even need a devil's trap, I'll stay still. But you gotta get me to a hospital first, this guy will survive but only because I'm in him."

"That used to be a person. What was his name? Huh? Do you even know it? Do you know his family? How much they miss him?"

"They're all dead!"

"Did you kill them all?"

Walter stared at Sam in awe for a while.

"What? No! He didn't tell me how, all he did was say they were all dead, that no one would miss him, and that I was free to possess him."

"You want me to believe you asked for permission?"

"Guy summoned me, dude. I don't know how you summon a normal-ass demon like me either, but he did. Told me I could do whatever I wanted, I took the opportunity."

Sam scoffed.

"I knew your kind were liars, but wow, this is a new low. I'll get you your damn chair."

After a while, Dean arrived. He was going so fast before parking, he almost crashed through the house. He barged through the door.

"What's going on, Sammy? Why are you pointing a gun at Walter?"

"It's a demon, Dean."

"Woah, so we're calling me 'it' now?" Walter said.

"What? No way." Dean said.

"Look up. I'm trapped."

"No, no, no, you can't be a demon, you've never killed anyone. Or done the eyes thing."

Walter looked at Dean and flashed his real eyes.

"I'll be damned."

"Come on, get dad's journal, we can exorcise him and bring the guy to a hospital."

"Hospital? What do you- oh my God, Sam, you shot the guy!"

"He's a demon!"

"Well, what if he wasn't? Huh? Aren't I the one who's okey-dokey being violent? What happened to you, man?"

"I'm not gonna let some demon fuck with our plans again, Dean. Get. Dad's. Journal."

"Woah, language," Dean said. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"This is not the time, man! Get the damn journal, the guy's still alive, we have a chance to save him!"

"Alright, alright!"

Dean quickly went outside, to the car, and sourced John's journal.

"Here."

Sam handed Dean the gun.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te... cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque æternæ perditionìs venenum propinare... Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis... Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei; contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine... quem inferi tremunt... Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos."

Walter opened his mouth and the demon flew out. He immediately collapsed to the floor.

"What?" he said, weakly. "Where am I?"

"Shh," said Sam, before grabbing him and looking at Dean for help, "you're gonna be okay. We're taking you to the hospital, it's gonna be fine, just hang on"

They carried him outside and placed him on the backseat of the car. Wordlessly, Dean started driving.

"Where's the nearest hospital?"

"Couple miles away. I'll tell you when to take the turn."

A short silence followed. Dean quickly looked away from the road and to his brother's lap.

"You can put that away, you know. Jeez, you were carrying that while helping a wounded man to the car? Could've shot me, dude."

"We are in deep shit, Dean."

"Man, did you hear what I just said? You could've shot ME. Your brother. Dean Winchester. Not a Dean-mon Winchester."

"He was lying all along, Dean. Who knows what information he spread about us, and to who. He could've killed us, dude!"

"Yeah, but he didn't!" Dean yelled.

"Who knows how many throats he slit talking to Azazel? How many people have died because we trusted him?! This is how it always ends, trusting anybody. It happened with Gordon, it happened with Walter, it'll probably happen with Ellen and Jo and Ash and everyone!"

"None," the man whispered.

"What?" the two brothers said in unison.

"He didn't slit any throats," he caught his breath. "He didn't kill anyone."

"How do you know that?" Dean asked.

"I saw everything. He was moving my body but I was awake the whole time. He would talk to me, in my own head. What he said to you was true, Sam."

"Great, so you shot an innocent man trying to piss off an innocent demon. This is just perfect. What are you gonna say at the hospital when they ask who shot him?"

"Just say it was me."

"What?!" they once again asked, in unison.

"Just say I shot myself. They already know me at the hospital you're going to. Just gonna be another one of my bad days around there."

"What the hell is going on here?" Dean asked Sam.

"The demon said this guy summoned him and let him possess him. I thought he was lying."

"He wasn't. I didn't really have anything to live for. So instead of doing to myself what you did to me - which is totally not as fun as I thought it would be - I just found some old book on how to summon a demon and let it happen. Whatever would happen to my body, would happen to my body and I wouldn't have to kill it myself."

"And it just happened to be a demon that had beef with Azazel?" Sam sarcastically asked. "I'm not buying it."

"Jesus, Sam, stop interrogating the guy while he's bleeding to death."

"He's not gonna die. It's the next turn. Right."

Dean turned, and a couple miles later was a hospital. They carried the man to the ER, and before the doctors took him away, Sam asked:

"By the way, what's your real name?"

"Walter," he responded.