#would have been piss easy but this is good

[amoristt]

the night falls like heaven

「 ✦nam-gyu/reader ✦ 」 tags: sfw // hurt/comfort, pining, nam-gyu's pov, lots of angst in an edgy way, very light drxg mentions,

a/n: this'll be a 2 part mini series! so excited to get this started ugh tysm to anon who requested this word count: 9.2k | songs i listened to (x) (x) original request (x)

・❥・Nam-gyu was not a man of many regrets. 

If he had to count, he could fit them all on one hand. Mostly from when he was a teen. Younger and somehow even more impulsive than he was now, drinking through money like water and getting into fights he’d never remember. The worst of them all, however, was one he hadn’t thought would really eat at him. It was unlike himself to get hung up over a girl of all things, but good lord, he was hanging. Strings and all, like a marionette, bleeding and sore at the joints. 

Tough to swallow couldn’t even compare to the feeling of when that specific regret suddenly pops up in the same room after years of abandon. If he hadn’t been so down bad, the sight of you would have only ruffled up his feathers enough to remind him of a better time, but in God’s honest eyes, those feathers of his had been ruffled since the dawn of the very instant you left. The door hadn’t even had a chance to hit you on your way out, nothing but dust and tears in your wake. He was stuck fast, left to his own devices, bouncing between wondering why he let it go so bad and whilst also begging God himself to make you stop being such a bitch. 

But the worst part, the worst part is that even now you still carry this aura of over it all around you. Self-respect colliding with the want to be loved was never an easy tango to dance, all steps just pulling and pushing and trying to snuff out useless feelings and red hot passion. But you twirled until he did what he did best and nudged you to the brink of your breaking point. All that sweet, sweet adoration drained from your face and he saw it- dignity. He saw it on you on your  way out of his apartment, storming past him with biting tears in your eyes. And now, years later, he gets to see it again from across the room.

You’re sitting on a high, high bunk you’ve claimed as yours, people watching. Other than the initial moment you’d seen him in the bubble of people, you haven't bothered sparing him a second glance. It was a beautiful moment- your eyes widening, stopped dead in your tracks before you were on the move all over again. He’s sneaking glances through the corners of his eyes, watching you over his shoulder, and you can’t even give him another second of your day. And the thing that really bothers him is that he knows he can’t stop. 

Out of everyone in this room, your distant presence is a fiery beacon in the darkness and he’s an angry, bitter moth. It’s in his very nature to circle and flutter one step behind, seeking the light, burning at its touch. Singed wings and an endless sneer. If only he could just stop touching the heat, he would surely move on. But he just can’t, and the fact that you can pisses him off so much it makes him lose his breath at times. 

He wished, with the very core of his entire being, that you were weaker. Or, at least, stupider. Maybe then you would have lived up to his expectations and showed up to his door, or at his club, teary eyed and lonely without his superior presence around. He could see it behind his eyes at night, the waver in your voice when you’d beg him to come back into your arms, and more importantly, back into your bed. 

I told you so, he’d say, with that shit eating grin and a hand on your waist guiding you out from the cold.

A forlorn, guideless sheep in need of your shepherd. He could be that for you. If only the word boyfriend didn’t make him shudder with every last fiber of his being. If only that specific little thing wasn’t your breaking point. Your face haunted him- that halo around your irises fading into something far away and charred when he’d had the nerve to actually laugh at you for it. You were grabbing your things and leaving, and he sat watching every moment in clips. It wasn’t anything, back then. You were just mad, in a few days you’d be right as rain climbing into his lap and peppering kisses along his throat. You’d be back, he was sure of it. 

But then the days turned into weeks. And then, to his distaste, those weeks faded into months of silence. He started to catch himself looking for you in crowds, visiting places you’d frequented at just to linger around like an awkward ghost in case he spotted you through the shifting crowds. But you were gone- vanished.

Fine. You’ll never see me again, asshole. 

Those words had been etched into the very walls of his cranium since they’d left your lips in a scathing hiss. Such nasty words, but they shook with every consonant. 

Among your pride was a healthy blend of honesty. You had been true to your word- he really did never see you again. Wiped your slate spotless of anything Nam-gyu.

And it drove him fucking crazy. It made him sick to his stomach in a way he did not think was possible. It was out of control- he couldn’t stop thinking about you, you, you. He missed you more than he didn’t, and he was angrier at himself than he’d like to admit. So instead of admitting, he funnels all that anger into the very shape of you. Drags in the idea of you, his memories of you and shoves them down, down, down, until he truly did think he hated you, after all. 

Until he’s clenching his fist so tight he’s drawing blood and telling himself he’s better off now, without some whining bitch in his ear begging him to stick that boyfriend pin into the thinness of his skin. Thinks that without you hanging on his arm all the damn time, he could really go out and have some fun. He thinks, and he thinks and he thinks until he’s thought too much and suddenly he loves you again and he misses you so bad it’s crushing him under the sheer weight of your absence. 

So, Nam-gyu does what Nam-gyu does best once again, and he drowns himself out with the bitter taste of drugs on his tongue and the sear of alcohol in his blood. 

It all stops.

For a time, anyway. 

You always found ways to seep back into his mind one way or another. Songs that would only make it a second in before he was mashing the skip button. A tv show you’d watched together surviving on the screen roughly a whole minute before it’s switched off. Sometimes it was when he saw something he knew you’d like- a shitty video or meme. Other times you came to him in whispers while he laid out on his own living room floor, out of his mind watching the blank ceiling above him twist and writhe under his spotty vision with a needle poking out of his arm. 

But, most times… Most times you would slither your way to the forefront of his mind just before bed. The touch of you, the smell of you. 

The shape of you underneath him. Hands and quiet breaths. He could still hear the noises you made ringing in his ears, stored away in his memories just to taunt him when he was indisputably alone. Soft skin, even softer thighs. Always so warm, and so wet. So willing. You would come to him while he curled over himself in bed, drunk on porn and memories. 

And afterwards, when Nam-gyu had finished, he would throw his head back onto his pillow and ignore the way it felt like there was a lump in his throat. And that would piss him off even more, because fuck, you should be there with him. Laying by his side running your hands through his hair until he’s falling asleep balancing on the fine line of afterglow and dozing off. 

But you aren’t. You’re doing fuck all with who knows in places he’s never been to, places you probably begged him to go but he couldn’t even remember the name of. You hadn’t answered a single one of his texts, you hadn’t picked up a single call and everytime he hears the first couple seconds of your stupid voicemail he wants to crush his phone in his hands. Vexation was a slippery slope into the fires of fury- rage was like a parasite under his skin, eating away at what little rational thinking he had. 

Voicemail after voicemail. Text after ignored text. Anger was the hardest stage- rage grew horns on the crown of his head and it turned him into something he couldn’t recognize. Or, something he refused to recognize- desperate and heartsick. 

It was supposed to be you. Not him. 

He filled the endless gaps of you with drugs often and women when he could. For a short time it would work and he would wonder why he ever let someone else get him so, so low. But then the drugs would wear off. The random woman in his room that he never bothered to learn the name of would grab her clothes and saunter out the door. He stopped letting them stay the night. He could never sleep, stared at the ceiling until 5am wondering why he still felt like shit. He would be right back where he started, sitting on the couch, staring at the door watching you leave over and over again.  

You stopped updating your socials, quit hanging out with the few people that bounced between his and your crowd, successfully scrubbed him of your life entirely. After a year, he resorted to asking around if anyone had seen you. The answer, as always, was a firm no. It was a corrosive feeling, a constant churn and thrum within the cage of his ribs. It made him even more unrecognizable to himself. Made him invite women into his lap just to shove them away when they didn’t smell like you, or sound like you. Or laugh like you.

It had been so, so perfect before. It was fun, and it was hot all the time, and sex with you felt like heaven was a place on earth. Why couldn’t you see that? Why did you have to go and ruin it with your words and pleading eyes? Nam-gyu doesn’t roll like that. You knew that. He’s a free spirit, he tells himself. No chains, no labels. No holding him down. Even if it was at the feet of this gorgeous, gorgeous body and a honey sweet voice that just always seemed to know what to say. Beautiful eyes that always watched, a smile so saccharine, whispering words against his ear so dirty it made him shiver just to think about. 

The world was too vast to be held down. 

But, truth be told, he was held down. 

He is held down. 

When you walked out of his apartment those years ago, he never left that spot, chewing his nails and anxiously spinning the ring on his finger, watching you go. He started seeing it behind his eyes. Replays it, changes the course, wonders where he’d be right now if he’d just said something different. 

Finding you at the games was like divine intervention. It had to be. Some higher power had crossed his path and plopped you right in front of him. With rolling eyes and a deadpan stare at anything except for him, sure but you were there and you weren't going anywhere anytime soon. God had heard his drug induced prayers of stupor. 

Now it was all about waiting. Waiting for the right moment to dive in and recapture you within him and he’d be right back to drinking you in at every chance he had. He’d do it differently this time, do it right so you’d cling to him and wonder why you ever wanted to leave at all. Make you wonder why you were so stupid to have been so stubborn when everything you could ever need was in the palm of your hand. He was sure of it. That strong, bullheaded expression would blitz is something vulnerable in his hands. A lurch of excitement riveted under his skin among the nerves. 

For now, he waits, and watches. Your presence could never go unnoticed by his dark eyes. 

It’s unfortunate for him that Thanos takes a notice to you, too. It’s hard not to, really, when every time he follows Nam-gyu’s locked line of sight it always leads back to you- this little sweet thing perched up at the peak of the bunks alongside the back, watching the room with this bored stare between mundane yapping with other players. 

“Someone you know?” Thanos’s voice had this subtle drip to it, this underlining excitement that Nam-gyu picks up on almost instantly. His expression stays cool, mostly uninterested despite the way he can’t seem to pry his eyes away from you even as he answers.

“Yeah.”

“Who is she?”

And then he’s stuck. Because his mouth opens for a split second to say, my ex, but he can’t quite say that, now can he? But he also can’t say an old friend either, because you simply weren’t. What you two had was something else entirely- a new plane he struggled to navigate, lovely when things were good, a hellscape when they weren't. The lines were always so blurred, fuzzy with sex and warm laughter.

He decides on something mostly true. “Someone I used to hang out with.”

“Girlfriend?” Thanos’s brow raises with his chirp, leaning forward with clear interest. 

“No.” It comes out quick- too quick, and too heavy. Tinged venom with more baggage than even he could handle at times. Thanos catches it on impact and whistles. 

“I see. So you won’t care if I go chat her up? Hm?” 

“Don’t bother. She’s not like that.” Nam-gyu’s scoffs before he can stop himself, this unsettling seed of jealousy planting itself in his chest. 

“Hm… I guess we’ll see, huh?”

You’re dismounting from your bed and climbing onto the stairs when Thanos jumps to his feet, and Nam-gyu can already feel that itchy panic starting to blotch away at his skin. His hands, his cheeks. That seed takes its place within him bearing vicious roots. 

“Man, don’t bother,” He’s touching at Thanos’s sleeve, his shoulder, anywhere he can to try and gather his friend’s attention. “She can be kind of a bi-”

All it takes is a swat to Nam-gyu’s chest to stop him dead in his tracks, words dying his throat. Shut down, watching his friend take quick steps to you, Nam-gyu following close behind to witness.  If only he could be firmer, never demanding, always suggesting. Always rolling over and showing his soft underbelly at Thanos’s whim. Instead, he lets his lips press into a tight line and let’s it all happen right before him. 

You’re on the bottom step and taking a seat, and you see the rapper approaching before he gets a word in, but your eyes skip over him entirely and settle onto Nam-gyu’s. Distress is building in his muscles, but he’s making damn sure to keep himself in check. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone? You want a friend?”

Up closer now, sharing your space, he sees all the things he’d been missing so deeply throughout the years. You still look just as he remembered- still bearing this expression of bemused coolness, still having these all seeing eyes that seemed to cut right through him. 

“A friend?” you hum, and your voice threatens to pull him in like gravity. “You wanna be my friend?”

If jealousy could sprout through his skin, it’d be an ugly beast of horns and claws. But it can’t, so instead, it takes shape in the way Nam-gyu’s eyes are flicking between yours and the rappers, hands wrapped up in his sleeves. 

“Stick with me, yeah? I promise to keep you safe. My number one priority.” And Thanos is patting his chest, flashing those painted nails. Makes Nam-gyu’s chest tighten, his stomach growing sicker by the second. 

Damn, you can see it, too. There’s no denying the way he’s cringing behind that distant smirk, and he doesn’t think to hide the way he’s twisting his rings on his fingers. When you click your tongue, he knows what's coming. 

“Stick with you, hm… Sorry, but I try to work alone. Partner’s tend to, how do I say…” Those eyes of your slice through him all over again, honing into him when you finish your sentence. “Disappoint me.”

Fuck. Disappointment. Oh god, how that sears into Nam-gyu’s skin. The way you look the rapper up and down, visually sizing him up, would make his heart leap into his throat if he were under that same scrutiny. He never understood how you could always be this intense with such a sweet, sweet face. Kindness was certainly a luxury and he missed it, that never ending fire that kept him warm.

“I can change that for you,” Thanos sings.  “I’m a legend here for a reason.”

“Legend? I’ve never heard of you.” Your brows raise in amusement. 

“You will. Thanos.” He puffs his chest out and nods, a half cocked grin playing over his lips. “Guy’s like me, we don’t disappoint.”

The man actually finds the nerve to reach down and pluck your hand, bringing his knuckles to his lips. Nam-gyu feels red hot scorching through his face but he’s locked in place, watching it like a car crash. Relieved when you yank your hand free and shove it into your jacket’s pocket. It’s the only good thing out of this entire interaction, he finds, especially so when Thanos’s smirk falters into a tight surprised line. 

“Don’t go and do all that. Guy’s like you will always disappoint me.” You lean back against the wall of the step, vexation evident over your features. “How about you talk to me again after the next game, yeah? Maybe I’ll feel different. Thanos.”

You always were so good at slamming the door in people's faces, always brought Nam-gyu joy to witness you shut down the advances of some poor loser trying to gain your affections. Thanos knows he’s been hung out in the cold, too. Barking up the wrong tree in the wrong neighborhood in the wrong country. So, he takes a loose step backwards and shrugs. 

“Your loss.” He sighs, and Nam-gyu follows him all the way back to his bunk in brooding silence. 

Wringing his fingers, he can’t help himself when casts a glance over his shoulder to find you one last time before you’re obscured behind metal frames and moving bodies. When he does, he feels a rush of heat in his cheeks when you’re already stuck fast staring right back, watching him go. He’s silent when he sits down at his little corner of the dormitory, silent when Gyeong-su is harping praises at Thanos. Silent, even, when Thanos says he’s determined to bring you to his side of the map. 

However, he noticeably tenses when Thanos mutters, “What a babe, huh? I should go visit her after lights out.”

Almost immediately there’s hands on his shoulders, pushing and nudging him, demanding his attention. The deepest of sighs leaves the rapper, ducking his head to find Nam-gyu’s eyeline. 

“Come on, man. Don’t be pissed, it’s in my nature, boy. Be honest. You into her?”

“Me and her…” Nam-gyu swallows. “We used to mess around.”

“Lucky you.” Thanos’s is shoving Nam-gyu’s shoulders again. “You cut her lose?”

No, she cut me loose. But Nam-gyu can’t bring himself to say that, the words lost and barred at the tip of his tongue. In the silence, Thanos takes it as confirmation. 

“That’s so cold. If I had her, I’d never let her out of my sight. Sheesh.”

Nam-gyu can’t even form words at all, anymore, irritation and envy wrapping tendrils around his throat and snuffing him out. Your earlier words spin through his brain like a carousel- come find me after the next game. Were you being serious? Were you just saying that to mess with him? He knows you- he knows your tone better than he even realizes, but he suddenly can’t decipher what’s honesty and what isn’t anymore. Jealousy blinds him, thick lenses leading him in all sorts of binds. 

He should have talked to you. He should have made the first move and made sure the first time he was breathing your air was alone. Now he’s anxious, he’s resentful, and he’s humiliated for some reason he can’t quite place. It doesn't help when he can’t resist the urge to look at you one last time, just one for the road, and you’re chatting idly with a man lounging on the other side of the steps you’re currently sitting on. There’s a five foot gap between your bodies but Nam-gyu doesn’t care- the anger that rips through him is blind, you may as well have been fucking the man right in front of him. 

It’s all he can see, tunnel vision encompassing him all the way until the moment lines start to form for lunch. Stewing in his jealousy, a bitter taste blooming over his tongue, he doesn’t jump in line because he’s got an appetite, but simply because you were rather eager to fill your belly. He tails you, matches every step and still has to jump out in front of a random player from taking the spot directly behind you. 

You notice him with a fleeting look tossed over your shoulder, eyes darting from the corners of your eyes and then forward, still as a statue. Desperate to not interact. 

Nam-gyu can’t help himself.

“You into Thanos?”

You audibly laugh at him, and the sound makes him shred the inside of his cheek.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?”

Everything. It’s everything to me. 

You look up at him over your shoulder, watching him through your thick lashes with scorn written all over those beautiful irises. There’s a flash image of you- a memory, tangled between the bedsheets, looking up at him with those gorgeous eyes and tear stained cheeks with his hand wrapped around your throat. It’s quick but it hits him like a sucker punch right to the gut. He sucks in a sharp breath. He wants to touch you- he almost does, but the line moves forward a beat and you’re moving with it away from his hesitating fingers. 

“I’m just asking.” He’s trying to be coy, but you can see right through him. 

“You worried, Nam-gyu?” 

That hits him like a sucker punch too. He’d forgotten how his name sounded on your tongue, how it rolled off so perfect and pretty even when you were pissed at him. Sometimes specifically when you were pissed at him, this bubbling anticipation running through him in waves, your passion always the spark lighting the fire in his belly. 

“I’m not worried.”

“You are.” Clocked him, again. Peered into the windows of him and saw that angry ocean of spite and regret behind his eyes. “I know you are. I can see it on you.”

“Not worried.” Nam-gyu shrugs, but he can’t meet your eyes anymore. 

Another sigh ghosts from your lips, but it’s quieter, defeated, almost. 

“I’m not interested in your friend. I’m not interested in anyone.”

And then, he says it. Quietly, as if he doesn’t want you to truly hear.

“...You seemed interested.”

“So you are worried.” You’re crossing your arms and he stares down into your hair, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What if I was? You clearly had nothing to say about it. You were right there- you didn’t tell him we had history? Or did I mean that little to you?”

You’re mad. Holy shit, you’re still so mad at him. But then his brain scrambles to tell him the good side of things- anger is not indifference. So in some ways, maybe more than others, he’s still in that little dome of yours ratting around amongst your thoughts. Means that if he does this right, it would mean something to you to be better this time. 

His lips press into a tight line. He should have talked to you, and now it’s biting him in the ass. It seemed like everything always bit him in the end. And he always let it happen, watched and never interfered. You drive the nail you’d plunged into him even deeper when you throw his words, from all those years ago, right back in his face. That last thing he had said to you before you, or the idea of you, had become a black hole.

“You know what, Nam-gyu? What was it you had said? Oh- uh, why don’t you focus on yourself and I’ll focus on me, yeah?”

It stings. It stings so bad that he physically recoils from the sound of his voice on your tongue, words spilling that just don’t seem right coming from you. Bitter resentment rises in his throat, this reflexive coping mechanism to bite back overtaking his senses. He wants to say I shouldn’t have said that. He wants to say, hear me out. But what ends up leaving him is just as ugly as the rest of his feelings. 

“Jesus. You’re still a bitch.”

The very instance those words tumble from him, he’s already regretting it with every fiber of his being. Even more so when you pluck your bento box from the guard and spin on your heels to glare absolute daggers into the very pits of his soul.

“Get over yourself. I’m glad we had this talk, it was very refreshing.”

This time he does jump to stop you, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. “Just listen-”

“No.” 

He doesn’t hide the way he watches you scamper off to your little ledge, hopping up onto your bed and enjoying your vantage point above all else, focusing on your meal. The man you’d been chatting with earlier is in the bed next to yours and that’s just fucking great. The guard has to pry his stare off of you, and a bento box is practically shoved into his chest, urging him out of line. 

Nam-gyu hates the stone anchoring in his guts. Almost as much as he hates how his appetite never quite returned. All food tasted the same when you left, nothing compared to what you’d used to make him. 

The bento box was no different. 

That night, sleep avoided him. There was something keeping him awake- buzzing under his skin no matter how many times he’d rolled over and shifted himself into a new position. Of course he knew what it was- it never really left him, after all. The fact of knowing you were across the room, all alone in your bed, was this incessant knock in the back of his skull tapping him back into reality whenever he found himself comfortable enough to doze off. His mind was stuck on you, as always, wondering what you looked like right now. 

Did you sleep the same as before? Laying on your side, hair messed over the sides of your face and splayed over the pillow, those heavy lashes of yours kissing along the bone of your cheeks. He always told himself that it was you who was attached, that he was some great being and you simply touched the stars through him. How wrong he had been to think that, when the entire time he’d fit so perfectly against you, he a piece to your puzzle. 

How wrong he had been, because when he’s staring up idly at the ceiling, he thinks of the better days in his life. Always, always, it was you. Thinking of you sitting pretty in his passenger seat, watching out the window as the world blurred by in rushes. The wind blowing through your hair, your necklace catching the glint of the sun. You’d feel his eyes on you and you'd turn and smile at him so darling, so lovely, that he thought it could heal. Remembering when you’d walk into a room, shining like a beacon just for him. You’d find his lap, find his hair, find his lips against your own and you’d cry his name like a prayer. 

He was an idiot to have thought he was the something in the nothing- it was you. 

Even when he finally drifted off into sleep were you still infecting the very membrane of his mind. In his dreams, you were just as warm as you had always been. Bated breaths, hanging onto every word that left his lips, fingers that longed to touch and stroke and feel. His heart slowed to a peaceful beat, and his body curled into his pillow and blanket, trying to recreate the shape of you in his arms. For a time that evening, it worked. 

But then he woke up, and Thanos was leaning over his bed asking him if he was dead, and all those wonderful moments he’d relived were gone in a rush of bright lights and endless chatter bouncing off the walls of the dormitory. Like an addiction, the first thing he thought of when he sat up, was you. Thought about you all the way through the winding staircases and into a giant room with rainbow’s painted over the hard floor. So lost in thought that he almost misses it when the speaker starts instructing them- a 5 player minigame race. 

Teams of five. Okay, he could do that. Easy. Gyeong-su, him, Thanos. That was already three. 

It’s natural instinct when he starts to search for you in the bubble of people, his fourth member, even though he’s more than sure you’re all too excited to send him packing. The way you had looked at him at dinner the day before, he wasn’t sure if you’d even entertain a conversation with him at all, let alone join their team. But this is beyond an argument- beyond him trying and failing to lull you in, this is life and death. 

“Hey, there’s your girl again.” Thanos spots you first. He follows Thanos’s line of sight and sure enough, there you are, standing with your hands shoved into your pockets with this far away expression he can’t quite read. 

His girl. It would make him shiver, if he wasn’t already on the brink of tweaking. 

“Let’s go see if she’s changed her mind.” 

Thanos is running his hands through his hair and popping the collar of his tracksuit, a particular bounce to his step when he bounds right for you. Just as the first time, always on the lookout for yourself, you spot him coming before he gets to you. Already you’re annoyed.

By the time Nam-gyu slithers up beside him, you’re already turning Thanos’s first wave of advancements down, a snark to your tone and a glint in your eyes. 

“I’m good, thanks though.”

Thanos blinks, looks left and then right. “You’re good? I don’t see a team?”

“I’ll find one.”

“You got one right here,” He pats his chest again, before he slings his arm over Nam-gyu’s shoulder haphazardly. “Come on. You’ll be safe.”

The intensity in which you roll your eyes is fierce- an expression Nam-gyu really had only thought he could draw out of you. To make matters worse for his friend, you don’t even bother with saying no again. Instead you merely wave a dismissive hand and turn on your heels, meandering into the crowd. 

“You were right, Nam-su.” Thanos’s face drops and he unwinds his arm from Nam-gyu’s shoulder. “Not getting anywhere with that one.”

Nam-gyu is so focused watching you, that all he murmurs is, “It’s Nam-gyu.”

“Yeah. Nam-su, Nam-gyu. Look over there.” He has to force himself to look away, following Thanos’s point in the other direction you’d gone. A girl with short black hair stands off to the side, eyes traveling and sizing up all her potential team mates. Thanos pops his collar again, a hound dog chasing a brand new scent. “Let’s go see what she’s up to.”

For the first time, Nam-gyu doesn’t follow him. He says, you go, you go, and lets Thanos wind himself up all on his own before watching him go. He’s much more concerned with you and your team, this sense of anxiety starting to bud in his gut. 

He finds you like a moth to flame. Your shoulders slump at the sight of him, tired and irked. 

“Not this again.” You groan. “What, do you think you’re gonna come sweeten me up and I’ll say yes? I’m not playing on your damn team.”

Nam-gyu shakes his head and steps in front of you when you try to turn away again. His nerves are on the rise, and so is his temper. You draw it out of him like nothing else, he can’t stop himself. 

“Why not?” He asks, looking down at you with furrowed brows. You cross your arms, barring yourself from him. 

“Because I’m not.”

“This is no time to be stubborn. You don’t know what the next game is. You might need guys on your team.”

“I plan on it. There’s other men here other than you and whatever the hell his name is.”

Other men. Nam-gyu’s mouth dries up, his fingers already wringing in his sleeves. His jaw tenses with his temper, teeth grinding. 

You didn’t need other men, not when he would do anything under the sun to keep you safe. Anyone else may just let you die. Can’t you see that? 

“Why are you being-... Being like-...” He stops himself. Holy shit, his brain actually fires off the warning shot and he stops dead in his tracks staring at you in bewilderment. You adopt this expectant glare, a spiteful uptick to your lips that darkens your eyes. 

“Say it.” You sneer. “Go ahead, say it. I’m being a bitch, right?”

The word fights against his lips to get out. You’re waiting for it, at the edge of your seat, fully ready to take it in and chew it up and spit it out right back at him. But he bites it back and he swallows it down into his chest because this means something to him. Because it might mean something to you. 

“Being like this.” He stammers. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Your eyes widen just a fraction. “Keep me alive?”

“Can you really trust anyone here? You know me.”

“I do know you.” A flash of something provoked and somber rivets within your eyes. Anger mounting, your heart colliding with your brain in real time right before him. “That’s exactly why I won’t be on your side.”

If he’d had his foot in the door before, you were properly shoving it back outside. He doesn't know what to do, so he does the first thing he can think of as a creature of impulse, and unfortunately when it came to you that meant he was all hands. 

“Wait-” He catches you just as you’re turning away, tries to bulldoze over your defiance and smooth out all the harsh edges of your protests with the broad flats of his palms. Fingers clutching your tracksuit at your shoulders and then he’s realizing that he’s touching you for the first time in years. Your skin from underneath your jacket is just as warm he remembers, your eyes are just as doe-like at his touch too. Stubborn and ornery but overflowing with passion and static energy that settled into his bones. He needs it, he needs it. The obsession of you hits him in waves of yearn. 

He needs you more than air, he thinks. 

“Get your hands off of me, right now.” But you aren’t tearing him away- so maybe that’s progress. 

“Come on.” He ducks his head, shoulders slumping, and it physically hurts him to feel this desperate. “Stay with me.”

Oh, you don’t like those words one bit. They hit your eardrums and your eyes narrow in slits, and then yeah, you’re reaching up and catching his wrists in his iron grip before ripping his paws off your jacket. It takes a long moment for you to speak, but when you do, he swears he can hear the devil amidst the heartache. 

“You know that I can’t stay with you. Never again.”

His hands twitch to touch you again- anything to keep you there for a moment longer. 

“Come on.” 

Sadness like pits swirl in your eyes, drags your lips into a frown. “You gotta’ stop Nam-gyu. I can’t do it.”

An awful, awful mass grows in his stomach when you turn your back on him. Gets bigger with every inch you build between you and him, threatens to take over entirely and swallow him whole right in the middle of that room. If it did, and he was to be gulped up by the void, perhaps he wouldn't have to feel like this any longer. And he wouldn’t have to watch you disappear behind all the moving bodies. 

He was weaker than he was three years ago. You made him weaker. Back then, if you’d been so sure of yourself he found it rather easy to deter you. A beastly way about him when he would have just ripped you by the hand and brought you over to his team and made you sit the hell down and just stay with him. Something possessive, something under his skin at the thought of you sharing the same air as anyone other than him. You used to be so malleable in his hands- but he knows, now more than ever, that that was truly never the case. You let yourself be pliable. You let yourself fall to him. He could never, not even now, make you do anything. Not really. 

That’s the part that burns him to the peaks of his soul. That strength about you. You’re so much stronger than him, with an energy iron so it’s like running headfirst into a wall when you’d no longer graced him with your softness. Such a double edged sword, that will of yours. That attitude and the passion made him feel alive. Cold and disposed after you’d properly slammed the gate right in his face. No leverage, no space for him in your heart any longer. 

It’s cold, Nam-gyu finds. Lonely without you. 

And then Thanos goes and invites some random girl with a poor attitude (that isn’t yours) and an even weaker buddy. He tries to tell him- remind his friend of the potential disadvantage but like always all it took was a dismissive wave to get him to screw his lips shut. Rolled over, tongue caught in his throat, weakened. 

He spends a majority of his time waiting for his teams turn arguing with Se-mi and tossing gazes over his shoulder to keep a very keen eye on you, only to find a sneer growing on his features after seeing you chatting with the same player as earlier, the man with the bed next to yours. Laughter and smiles roll from your lips as natural as breathing air, and he’s nudging you with his arm and you’re letting him with this expression of pure amusement. 

That should be him. 

That ugly face of betrayal peeks through the cracks all over again, with guilt and anger and regret following in tow close behind. Sitting on his shoulders like little devils, spinning and racing through his body in waves. If you saw his face- you’d never suspect it, but his hands shake in his lap. His jaw tenses so tightly his teeth could burst into powder. Squared shoulders and an endless drag to his lips. Something in the sight of you enjoying that guys presence is reminding him of all these shitty feelings he’d been faced with when you two were together- well, no, not together, he remembers- and then he’s even angrier. Angry at you, angry at that random ass player you were talking up, angry at himself for letting it get here in the first place. 

Thanos pops open his necklace beside him and draws a fun little pill from its contents, and Nam-gyu makes it a mission to get his hands on one of those sweet little pick-me-ups. The pill is bitter on his tongue but he swallows it down in delight. And it works, too, because the moment the colors start to glow and fuse together and all sounds become this echoing fishbowl of noises, you’re vacated from the corners of his fuzzy mind. For a time, he’s at peace all over again, lost in the blurry joy. 

By the time he comes down, he’s already back in the dormitory. 

Though it takes a moment for him to realize it, he’s taking inventory of all the surviving players. One by one, watching them fill the room and find their creaky beds or their little groups. Most were distraught, though some were particularly perturbed. It takes a couple teams before he understands that what he’s really looking for, naturally, is you. He’s always searching for you, even when he knew you weren’t searching for him back. 

That’s the change, and it dawns on him like a rapture. He’d never had to care before- you were always this constant in his life, something that would always bounce right back if he tossed you aside. He didn’t give a damn if it upset you, he didn’t give a damn if it ate away at you like termites through wood. But now he does, and he gives so many damn’s they’re driving him crazy. 

Any moment spent sober and lucid were moments entirely taken up by you.

Any moment now you’ll come strutting through those doors, head held high and gunning it to make sure Nam-gyu knew exactly how much you didn’t need him. 

But then ten teams turn into twenty, and twenty five into thirty. 

“How many teams were there?” Nam-gyu asks with a voice steadier than even he expected. Thanos doesn’t need to question anything, watching the doorway all the same. 

“Fifty-six.” Se-mi hums from her spot, leaning back against the steps. 

Thirty eventually turns to fifty. 

Too much time has passed, and you’ve still yet to pop out through that doorway. He double checks those who’d already shown their faces, hoping to find you through the cracks of them, but you’re simply not there. There’s a shovel digging pits and moats into his stomach. Another wave of players trickles in and he scans them all over the same, only to feel that hollowness inside him grow once more. They saunter to their beds, to their little groups, taking up space and taking up air that should belong to you. 

Where the hell were you?

“Only two teams left,” Thanos hums. “Where’s that girl of yours?”

Nam-gyu can’t force himself to answer this time around. So, instead, he presses his nails between his teeth and nervously shifts his weight from left to right. Though he shrugs, the anxiety within him was palpable, all lines and tension that he tried to bury with nonchalance. But it wasn’t working, and felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out.

Mind racing, thoughts circling him like birds over fresh kill. The final team walks through the doorway, slow as zombies, shifty eyed and hurriedly rushing to their beds. His eyes sit on the door, waiting, waiting. 

No one comes through. 

His shoulders fall limp. 

You didn’t make it. 

“That’s a shame.” Se-mi sighs, the sound swimming in Nam-gyu’s ears. 

Loss, real loss was a foreign feeling within his chest. He’d seen it described in the movies, in songs, this soul eating all consuming weight that blanketed over bodies and crushed, but nothing could have ever prepared for the blistering moment it wrenches itself within the confines of his heart, within the deep ache of his bones. It didn’t settle properly in his throat- his body trying to force the alien ripple of dread stitching itself right between his ribs. It hurts- his lungs can’t take in air. His breath wheezes past his lips in shallow pants, unable to tear his eyes away, like at any moment you’ll suddenly materialize right before him. 

He presses his lip into a tight line and digs his nails into his palms, anything to release a fraction of the agony festering within his body. 

Brain on fire, shaking hands and the image of you dead in a thousand different flashes, a sting to his waterlines that has him scrambling to shove his fingers against the thin skin. 

Don’t fucking cry. Don’t fucking cry.

“Bad luck. Sorry, boy.”

All the skin on his body has flushed red and sticky. He ducks his head down towards his lap, desperate to hide within himself, even more desperate to hide this part of himself from the watchful eyes of his group. He should have just made you join them. Should have thrown you over his shoulder and wrapped an immovable grasp around your arm and held you hostage until everyone had a team and then you’d have no one else to turn to. No one else, nothing else except for him. 

He can’t even hear his friend’s counterfeit empathy over the swell of his heartbeat in his ears. His body is too heavy to hold up, his arms dragging as lead, his head even heavier on his shoulders. Uncanny urges to tear at the skin of his face overcome him and he has to bury them into his hair in release, roughly running his digits through the black locks, trying to breathe and breathe and breathe. A lump the size of a boulder burrows into his throat.

Cracking his eyes open to peek down at his lip, squeezing them shut when his vision is wet and blurry. His lower lip trembles until it’s caught in his teeth, biting hard into the skin. 

Don't fucking cry.

Why did you have to be so stubborn? If you’d have just let him take care of you this one fucking time, you would be alive right now. You should be alive right now- pissed and glaring fury in his direction but breathing and taking up space and existing-

“Ah, they made it. Here I thought they were all goners.”

Se-mi’s casual tone barely reaches him, but it’s got him frantically flicking his gaze back up to the archway, his hands falling from his face, trying to see through the blotches in his sight. A handful of players take soft steps into the room, all shaken up, all bewildered.

There you are. His racing heart stops entirely.

You’re sauntering into the dormitory like a wounded animal, all hands wringing out in front of you and lines drawn into your frown. For the first time, in Nam-gyu’s eyes, you look small. Frightened. Every step you take has a weight to it he’s never witnessed you bear. And even from across the room, even with rigid tears trapped in the corners of his eyes, he can see the grip of fear on the flat of your throat. 

All those jumping thoughts settle into a tunnel vision, you at the epicenter of his quaking nerves simmering down into stillness. He forgets how his chest had twisted as if a knife had been planted between his collarbones, and he forgets how he had almost lost his lunch right there on the floor. All because you’re standing there in the middle of the room hugging yourself, white as a ghost, even paler when you lift your head up and see the way Nam-gyu is trapped in your line of sight. 

Nam-gyu see’s it. No hate, no dejection. 

Relief- this instant where your widened eyes soften, your frown lifts into a slack-jawed breath of solace. It rocks his world when it hits him and it lights a flame so hot under his skin it’s burning through his veins. All the air trapped in his lungs leaves him at once and he can pinpoint the exact moment all the tensions in his shoulders and back melt away in nothingness. The tears dry, his lower lip released from his gnashing teeth.

The man you’d joined earlier pats your shoulder and offers you a pathetic, wavering thumbs up. You can’t seem to return his dull enthusiasm. In fact, you look worse than Nam-gyu’s seen you thus far. Changed, all wires sticking exposed and sparking. There’s this lifelessness to your body when you climb up the stairs and have to heave yourself up into your bed, crossing your legs and resting your chin on your palms propped up over your knees. 

When your eyes meet his, he expects some sort of sign of contempt, or perhaps maybe you’d refuse to meet his gaze entirely. Instead, for the first time since you’d arrived, you find him first. 

You offer him a pitiful open palmed wave. 

The pearly gates crack open and Nam-gyu feels it again- warmth. Even just a little bit, like lighting a match in a snowstorm, huddling around the flame. He half cocks a smile, and he waves back. 

--

Lunch came quicker than he’d anticipated, and much to Nam-gyu’s dismay, you weren’t exactly thrilled to hop into line. In fact, ever since you’d let him jam his fingers back into your closing door, you’d hardly acknowledged anything other than your lap. Even more so upsetting, that player you hung around tapped your mattress to gather your attention, pointing to the line, sighing in defeat when you’d shook your head. 

Jealousy seeps into his wounds all over again, quiet, but equally as simmering. Don’t act like you know her. Little devils tapping away at his psyche. She doesn't need you to check up on her.

But then again, he realizes, maybe you do. 

His mouth dries when the sound of his thoughts footsteps come running up on him. His greed. His innate ability to leave you unchecked and grappling. That was among the sea of problems Nam-gyu had been struggling to grasp. Here he was, trying to drag you back into the tar pits of his hold and he hadn’t even tried the basics of kindness. The step one of it all. Always taking, taking, taking and demanding more at every swipe. Always expecting, never building. 

So he jumps into line before he can second guess himself, and he takes his bento box with a grateful nod and he doesn’t waste a second before he’s chasing the trail of you to your bed. From your high point, perched and unmoving, all he can do is climb the stairs and rest his hands over the corner of your mattress. Your far away gaze lifts from your lap and settles down to him. 

The air is different. The landscape of you has changed. 

“What is it.” Your tone is uncannily flat, but it’s void of its bite, its drive. 

“Can I come up?” 

It’s a simple request, but it leaves a shake at the end of his sentence. It’s only natural when he mentally prepares himself for you to slap no onto his forehead, but you scoot over, and he takes the spot so quickly you wouldn’t even have the chance to say no if you thought about it too much. He hoists himself up and over, fills the gap at your side, just as he should have done days ago. He sits the bento box at the crest of your lap.

“What’s this?” Blinking down at the food, you make no effort to pick it up. 

“Fish and rice.” Nam-gyu shrugs. “Looks like an egg, too.” 

“I can see that. I meant, what are you doing giving me this?”

“...You didn’t get anything.”

As your fingers gingerly touch the container, eyes scanning over the contents, Nam-gyu feels he can breathe easier. This is a win for him- you aren’t fighting him anymore. Still on the edge, always ready to run, but the look in your eyes isn’t pure hatred or outright hurt. A swell of pride overcomes him when you pluck the chopstick and murmur, thank you. 

You’re pliable. Now, more than ever. 

You eat in silence. He lets you eat in silence, even though peace isn’t exactly one of his virtues.  Partly because he doesn’t know what to say to you, but mostly because he’s got this innate fear that he’s going to say something shitty and you’re going to hate him all over again for it. A million words are always shoving and pushing against his lips and he fumbles with navigating them. So, silence, it is. 

But it doesn’t bother him. Silence meant that you were simply just there, existing, the one thing he had longed for over the years. He knew, deep in his heart, he’d fucked up when he began to miss the very presence of you. No sex, no drugs, no push or pull, just you. And now he gets to take whatever you’ll give in micro doses, greedy and starved for you. Fighting the urge to pull you into himself where you could never climb out. He refrains- he forces himself to just be there. 

No longer could he be the creature he had been all those years ago. He had to be different- not all rough edges and clawing hands, ripping and taking. Or dark eyes watching your every move, or jagged words cutting your flesh with the highs and lows of his tone. Something better, this time. Something for you. 

Tomorrow would be a new beast entirely. And, in less than a few hours, the lights would flicker off and bask the dormitory into hues of red and blues. You would lay alone in your all-too-large bed and he would sink into his mattress drugged out of his mind thinking countless thoughts of you, you, you. The distance would feel like miles- he needed you right there, right then, always. Anything other than what he had sitting beside you was a vast ocean. 

The bento box appears in front of his lap, half eaten.

“You’re not going to eat it?” Nam-gyu’s brows knit.

“You should eat, too. What, scared of my germs now?” You murmur, and when he meets your eyeline, he sees something familiar in those hues. Something nurturing, sweet. Tender. 

Nam-gyu picks up the chopsticks, and he eats.  For the first time in years, his food tastes like food.

[thekeithmeister]

Being Trans In Southern Nature

Being a nature freak in the south as a well-passing trans man is a surreal experience. I live in north Georgia in a blue county in the suburbs. But as often as I can, I drive out into the middle of nowhere for hiking, camping, paddle boarding, or other outdoor activities. The drive there, in and of itself, is bizarre. Inside my car I’m blasting “This Is Me” from The Greatest Showman. But outside I’m driving by confederate flags, Trump signs, the Don’t Tread On Me flag, a sea of American Flags, and Christian billboards that literally say “you’re going to hell” with pictures of fire.

I often think if I ever get a flat tire on one of these trips, and anyone ever figures out I’m trans, I’d be hanged or shot. But I haven’t been clocked in years, so I push those kinds of thoughts to the back of my mind. I turn off the country back roads and onto the gravel drive leading up to a nature preserve. Pulling into the dirt parking lot there’s about a dozen other cars. Many have Trump bumper stickers. There’s no bathroom, so no concern about me being beat up for taking a piss. I always go in the woods anyway on these kinds of trips.

A full bladder is a concern for any trans person. But for this kind of trip I always take major precautions. They start back at home. After I eat breakfast and drink my coffee, I wait a full hour before leaving. I pee at least twice. I make damned sure my bladder is completely empty and there’s no chance any liquid is on it’s way there before getting into my car. I just described the kind of place I have to travel through to get to a good hiking trail. And I ain’t stopping. Not for anything. I’d rather pee my pants.

So when I pull into the lot I have my gear with me. A small backpack containing my rolled up hammock, a bottle of water, protein bars, toilet paper and my taser. When hiking, I drink barely enough to fuel my body. And if I do it just right, I don’t have to pee even if I’m out in the park the entire day. I don’t risk it. And if there really is just no choice, I’m going to go way off trail to do it. And I mean not just out of sight of the trail, but so far off the path someone would have to be crazy to come out there and spot me. Those are the kind of precautions I take.

But I just pulled into the parking lot and my dangerous bladder is empty. So no concerns at the moment. Backpack on, I start walking up to the trail head. There’s a sign there with a map of the trails on it. A blonde woman in a bright yellow shirt immediately approaches me.

“Excuse me!” she says. “Can you tell me if this is an easy trail?”

I’m used to this. Every time I go out hiking, people approach me. Everyone is friendly. Everyone smiles. And I think I must have a very approachable face. Or maybe I look experienced. Whatever the reason, complete strangers come up to me many times during any hike.

This is my first time on this trail, but I researched it beforehand, so I can answer her.

“Some of it,” I said. I turn and point at the map. “Make sure to take a right at the first fork. The entire eastern loop is easy. See, it’s marked green. You want to avoid the western loop as that goes straight up the mountain.” I pointed to the red part.

The woman nodded, “I see. And are there a lot of people on this trail?”

“From what I’ve read no. That’s why I came today. The reviews say you see hardly any body.”

“Thank you! You’ve been a great help! You seem like a really nice young man. Enjoy your hike!”

“You too!”

We part ways. I enter the trail head to begin my hike and I wonder the same exact thing I always wonder when I have these encounters. Would that nice lady turn mean and ugly and hate me if she knew I was trans? I think it every single time. There’s no way not to. I drove through Trump land to get here. I know what conservatives think of me. Or at least the idea of me. It’s not hidden. It’s not a secret. Trump has been president for 20 days at the time I’m writing this, and he has already signed 4 anti-trans specific executive orders. He is planning on discharging 15,000 trans military service members, possibly dishonorably and without their benefits. He’s planning on making it illegal for trans people to play sports. And he also wants to make it illegal for us to use a bathroom in a federal facility. He’s trying to make healthcare illegal for trans people under 19 years of age, threatening to throw parents and doctors in jail. And I watched as Trump signed these executive orders in front of a huge, cheering, smiling, clapping, crowd of conservatives.

They hate me. They want me to die. But when they meet me in real life, they all smile. They approach me. Ask me questions. Thank me for helping them. Many, especially older white men, seem to want to give me guidance, like a father figure. When I run into them on the trail, they are quick to tell me, “the river flooded that way so be careful,” or “the fishing is great at this pond! Bring your pole next time!”

I have never met an unfriendly person while hiking or camping. And I cannot help but wonder… what if they knew? What would those smiles turn into?

I choose the most difficult route on purpose to try and get out into nature alone. I want the peace and quiet it gives me. I don’t want to hear anything other than the birds, the wind, and the branches moving together. If I’m working hard enough, then my own blood pumping in my ears. For the first hour this is what I get. And I’m immeasurably happy. It’s early February and it’s 60 degrees on a sunny day. There are no leaves or greenery yet, but I’m smelling the warmth from the earth mix with the cool air. The pine trees give me plenty of green to be happy with.

But soon, as is always the case, the peace is interrupted. I hear voices from the trail ahead break the quiet. They’re loud. And there are many. Anxiety immediately kicks in. A prick of fear I can never quite control. It sounds like a group of men. And raised as a girl, I knew from a woman’s perspective just how dangerous this could turn out to be. Even having been transitioned and living as a man for the past 8 years, that was embedded in me. Possibly forever. But also having lived as a trans man for so long, my fear shifts from the possibility of being raped to being beat up instead. But again… that would only happen if someone clocked me. And that hadn’t happened in years.

I breathe in and calm myself down. I’m aware of the weight of my taser in my back pocket. I reach back and flip off it’s lid. But I leave it hidden for now. I’ve never needed it, and likely never would. After all, I have never met an unfriendly person while hiking or camping.

As the voices draw nearer, I suddenly hear a woman laugh. My fear immediately vanishes. This was a mixed group of hikers. I keep going and crest the ridge. I can see them now. There’s five, three men, and two women. And one person was black and another Asian. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I always found it interesting just how many other minorities I ran into in the middle of nowhere in the North Georgia Mountains. And how many foreigners for that matter. During this hike, I had run into two separate Germans. Where were they staying? And out of all the places in America they could visit, they chose this tiny trail? But that seemed to be the case almost anywhere I went.

I start passing the group of hikers, and as always, I’m stopped.

“Hi! Nice weather isn’t it?” The lead hiker says.

“Yes it is!” I reply.

“Are we close to the top of the mountain?” One of the women asks me.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s not far. You’re almost there.”

“You hear that honey?” She calls back to a man huffing and puffing as he comes up at the rear. “We’re almost there!”

“Uuugh!” He groans. The woman turns back to me. “Are there really good views at the top?”

“Kinda,” I said. “You have to look through the trees, but it is a good view.”

“Oh great, thank you!”

We part ways. I once again have the same exact thought. All of them were so nice. But how nice would they have been if they’d known?

At the top of the mountain I stop. It had been a tough hike. Steep the entire way. I go off trail a decent distance so no one would see me, find me, or bother me. I set up my hammock where I can be alone. Rocking myself in it, I look out to the view. I can see across two sloping peaks in the distance and it’s really beautiful. But I can’t enjoy it as much as usual. Nature always heals me and puts my mind right. But I’d found out just the day before that the Georgia Legislature had introduced a bill to strip away healthcare from transgender people. It would ban all gender affirming care, even for adults, from anything government or state related.

I was on a private insurance plan from my job, but I didn’t know if my nurse practitioner, who’d been treating me for over 5 years, accepted any government or state funding. If her practice relied on that kind of money, I would be in a lot of trouble. She likely wouldn’t be able to treat me anymore, or risk losing all her funding. Or worse. If treating trans people was illegal, she could potentially be arrested for helping me.

It had taken me years to find someone competent when it came to transgender health. I wouldn’t be able to find someone else. Or rather, I could, but it would likely take years again. And I might be in a situation where I’d be forced to drive out of state. But even then… Trump was targeting blue states, and trying to force them to stop offering healthcare too. So going to a blue state might not have even helped.

I lay in my hammock, wondering what on earth it was I could do. My best friend the day prior had suggested flying to Canada once a year just to get my medication and then coming home. That was a very expensive solution… but one I might have no choice but to consider. Could they even prescribe me a whole years worth of testosterone at a time? I didn’t think so. But maybe I could have it shipped from Canada? How expensive would that be?

I heard a mom shouting at her giggling kids coming up the path just out of sight. They wouldn’t be able to see me where I had set up. So I was free to lay in my hammock and try to fathom what kind of lives this family likely had. How wonderful it must’ve been to not have to worry about where you could legally take a leak, or how you would legally get your medications. That mom didn’t worry about her doctor being thrown in jail. Or if she and her husband would be thrown in jail for getting her kids the proper care they needed. That little family… had no idea that absolute and ruthless hell trans families had to go through.

I wait until I hear them leave. Then wait several minutes more. Then I pack up my hammock and other things and continue down the trail. I’m blissfully alone for another hour or so. But soon I hear voices again. This time it’s a couple: a man and a woman. As they start to approach I assess them. The husband is wearing a shirt with a huge American flag across the front and the Punisher logo on top of that.

I immediately tense up. I knew well enough that the far right wore the Punisher logo. It meant the same exact thing to me as a confederate flag, don’t tread on me flag, christian cross, American flag, or anything else of the like. All of those symbols were the same. And all of them sent the same message. The woman smiles at me as they approach.

“Hi! Have you seen the pond yet?”

“Yes, it’s just up ahead.”

The man doesn’t speak or smile. He barely looks at me. The woman thanks me and they move on.

If they knew, they absolutely would have killed me. I think.

I run into only one other person on the hike, a Korean photographer. We were both lost at the time we met, and his English was difficult to understand. But I made out that he was looking for the trail to the parking lot. I pointed and told him the way I thought it was, but that this was my first time on the trail and wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if he fully understood me. So I just pointed down the trail. After we parted way, I wondered again,

What if he knew? I knew nothing at all about Korean culture. Did they hate trans people too? Or was that just in America?

I wandered for some time, trying to find the right path back. I had 2 hours of daylight left so wasn’t too concerned and my compass said I was heading west, the direction I knew the parking lot was in. So I knew even if I didn’t recognize this part of the trail, I was heading the right way. I stopped by a little stream. Tired, I sat down on the small wooden bridge going across it. Letting my legs dangle over it’s edge and feeling my blood pound in my feet, I took out a protein bar and a bag of apple slices. As I ate my snack, I looked out to the scenery. It was so peaceful and quiet. So quiet in fact that I could close my eyes and listen to the leaves move through the gentle breeze. It was my absolute favorite sound in the entire world. The day was perfect. And it was exactly why I drove so far out of the suburbs to hike in a place like this.

I just wished…

I wished that…

I wished…

[shadow0-1]

Together once more

[6-epigraphs]

Have we ever seen this old man being affectionate with drivers or other juniors? Or just Yuki? I don't even think I've seen him this close to Max and Seb (off the podium at least)

Brother.

[forcedhesitation]

Man.

there's just something about the love between a woman whose impending death is inevitable and a man who's an immortal undead...

[dayurno]

what's your opinion on this phenomenon that's currently happening with jeanne, where ppl start acting like shipping a straight ship over a gay one is somehow brave or like disliking a straight ship is problematic? i like both pairings but stuff like this always ticks me off :/

i think it's a misconception of how misogyny works in fandom spaces mostly! because fandom is such an echo chamber we are bound to arrive to conclusions that sound useful to us, but don't actually achieve anything or make any discussions easier to solve or even have in the first place. to me it's very tone deaf that people think the problem with straight ships getting less rep is the problem of heterosexual couples being pushed aside for queer rep (and if the heterosexuality was the problem, then why aren't lesbian ships as widely cared for and expanded upon?) and not the active problem of people refusing to engage with women in media in any meaningful way! but it is misogyny and we get nowhere and achieve nothing by acting like this is an occurence specific to heterosexual pairings when your average aftgamer can't even describe the female characters without using some synonym of girlboss/"(andrew's/neil's/kevin's/jean's/whomever's) best friend/mom"/matchmaker (for a mlm ship, of course) or think of a f/f pairing dynamic that goes beyond holding hands in the backdrop of andreil's wedding

this is something that bugged me a lot a bit earlier in the year when a post going around said k/t would have been more popular if thea was a man. this absolutely negates the problem of racism in the fandom! thea's widespread hatred is very specifically misogynoir, but turning thea into a man still does not erase the fact that the aftg fandom is EXTREMELY anti-black and the male version of her would STILL be hated because the treatment she gets in the books is racist! honestly it drives me up the WALL because at some point it has to be willful ignorance. but we stay balling

[goldentigerfestival]

I love the vocal nuance in this exchange, but also posting this for my differences posts because this is one of the changes that infuriates me the most. Yuri didn't threaten Ioder, did not threaten him with a weapon, and just said he'd punch him in a lazy, half joking voice (half joking as in, he really doesn't want to hear that - that's just his way of saying so; but that's not the voice of someone who is super angry and threatening).

My other huge grievance is that this is a recurring issue between them in the dub. Yuri is pretty much always vocally rude to Ioder. Ioder has done nothing to wrong him or anyone and has only ever done good for the people where he's able to.

Yet despite Ioder being nothing but sincere, honest and polite with Yuri, in fact even happy to see him here and there, dub Yuri is outright tonally rude to him leading right up this scene where he threatens Ioder in this dark voice. Meanwhile he's actually just supposed to be… lazily telling Ioder he'll punch him in his Yuri Lowell way of saying "I don't want to hear that".

The dub really just wanted to turn Yuri into this dark edgelord and I hate that for my goofy, silly boy.

[milfbrainrot]

have always been a bit more neutral to timebomb but it has rly surprisingly grown on me so much ;-; i think i do see it more from the tragedy angle and maybe more one-sided. i'm not sure jinx has ever been in a place to reciprocate the feelings i'm sure ekko has, but it is nice to think about for years down the line and in terms of what could have been.

[leofrith]

the comb of champions world event has got to be one of my absolute favourites in the whole game because it's just really sweet and "burdened, decorated, and delicate" is such a big brained way of describing eivor.

but also because it's the first of several instances throughout the game in which eivor risks life and limb for pussy.

[ennuidays]

think im back in my Everyone is stupid era bcuz im mad at people for literally no reason

[milo-is-rambling]

Who was gonna tell me that reading is fun sometimes

[sepiasys]

I'm so scares of the volunteer roles due to lack of confidence 🫠

So the food serving thingy has two roles: cooking/prepping food, and writing orders and keeping track of who got food.

The first I'm not very confident in but would like to try eventually. The second one is compared to another kind of volunteer role, which is greeting ppls at the food bank and maybe serving stuff if requested and just helping ppl out in front of the building/outside. It says strong customer service skills are necessary for the role as well as being able to work with a diverse amount of ppl 🥺

And I would wanna do that if it's similar to the other one if it'll help me out, since the food serving thing is only two other ppl helping out the manager. But I have no experience with customer service and my social skills are SHOT! Also de-escalation and understanding of trauma are mentioned as helpful for the role 🥲 Idk if I'm good with de-escalation, best I could do was my family and even then they RLLY liked to NOT LISTEN to me when I gave em advice to calm down (like separating physically while they were both pissed off--I swear mom was rlly immature about it when I was trying to help my bro because HE IS A CHILD!!). And trauma. I mean I have *experience* but do I know how to handle **others** with trauma? No, no not rlly 🥲

Hhhhhh telling myself I just need to jump into it. Doesn't help that I watched a bartending video thing. Sink or swim. I'm so scared of sinking ;-; I'm scared of if they see me as pathetic and useless despite it being a volunteer thing!!

Fuck I just need to like. Work on the days that they're not serving ppl, not open to the public. So 3 specific days. And then I need to go from that to working on days that ARE busy, but I'm still not interacting with the public public yet. And then I need to ease into working with the public via the front of house roles. And then I can do whatever I want at that point ig-

God I want to start doing stuff now but I can't because I haven't been told if I need to do anything specific 🥺 I have shifts scheduled for after the event, bc it's in a week, and that's for the one role I feel like is probably rlly easy? Probably? And I just. Hhhh. The most info I have actually comes from a training video for a semi-unrelated role, bc it shows what I assume is made/left by the role I signed up for?

Hhhhh a lot. A lot is going on rn. A lot of serious planning and preparation and I'm trying really hard to not be a tight little ball of rubber bands (incredibly stressed out) about it. But it's hard not to. Especially when half of my stress comes from my roommate(s).

Fuck I just. Need to wait. Because that's what EVERYONE says. That things take time. I just need to wait for the time to do these things. Wait.

As if that hasn't been detrimental to me my entire life.

[webism]

pornstar!toji who is known for being easy with his scenes. he's there for a good fuck and an even better paycheck: it doesn't matter who, or where, or how... if he's being paid he will do it. he doesn't mind getting nasty, and so he's often booked for more exotic scenes. he fucks good, and he fucks a lot.

pornstar!toji who is strapped for cash one week after an unfortunate loss on the horses, and takes the first scene offered to him. a vanilla fuck with a new-to-the-scene pornstar with potential... at least that's what his agent, shiu, tells him. he's confused on what potential he's hinting at until he rocks up ten minutes late to the shoot and lays eyes on you, already naked and on the stage bed. you have a look to you that makes a man like toji feel obliged to drop to his knees.

pornstar!toji who is already harder than he has been in a long time when shiu clarifies that when he called you 'new to the scene' he meant it: this is your first porn shoot. and though you're not a virgin, toji has the honour of taking your first time on camera... and god does he love the thought.

pornstar!toji who is greeted with a small smile and a soft 'hello' from you, shy beneath his gaze as if you aren't naked and soon to be stuffed full of his cock. he watches your eyes shift, from his piercing eyes to his beautifully scarred lip to the gorgeous tone of his body, all the way down to his awfully large cock. he can tell you're nervous, worried about taking all of him on film.

pornstar!toji who isnt good with gentle comforts, but still wants you to feel at ease with him. so, despite his instructions for a simple fuck scene, toji attacks you with deep kisses first, gets you used to the burning heat of his body against yours. and when you're melted enough against his skin he trails down and eats you out for a long twenty minutes. production would try and stop him, but he's already tipsy on your taste and the moans leaving your lips are, frankly, made for porn.

pornstar!toji who revels in the way your back arches off the mattress—he'd accuse you of putting on a show for the cameras if your hips weren't bucking up against his face in an almost primal need. he can taste it on you, the genuine lust, the way you drip wet on his tongue and still grab at his hair for more. and when he gives you more—when he finally slips his cock into you—he can't help himself from groaning out something needy. he's the silent type, letting his costar take center stage, but god can he not keep quiet feeling your walls wrapped around him.

pornstar!toji who has never had an issue with porn before, but with your legs wrapped around his waist, your eyes locked onto his as he pumps in and out of you with white hot need, he finds he hates the thought of anyone else seeing you like this. he's not a possessive man, he shouldn't feel this way, but he does. even the watchful stares of the cameramen piss him off, and he finds his hips moving faster and his cock nestling deeper inside of you just to show them that he's the one pleasing you.

pornstar!toji who can't help but kiss you as you both cum in unison. he ruins the shot, the cameras cant see your orgasm face when he's swallowing your moans like they're sweet wine. he's surprised his pay doesn't get cut for it.

when pornstar!toji does get paid, it's the first cheque in a very long time that he doesn't blow the same night it comes through. because he doesn't have time to go out and waste his money: he's at home fucking his fist to the film you made together and mentally degrading himself for being so pussy whipped. he strokes himself in time with his own thrusts in the video, and tries so desperately to recall your taste on his tongue, but its fruitless. he's agitated and sexually frustrated and keeps reloading your personal pages to see if you've filmed with anyone since him.

pornstar!toji who becomes so lost in his own mind that he starts turning down shoots with other actors—shoots with good pay. he's done everything under the sun, done all the hardcore porn and weird fetish content but now that he's gotten a fresh taste of plain passion sex with you, he can't stomach anything else. he'd say your name, he knows it—and it doesn't help that he hasn't been able to reach orgasm for a week without thinking of you.

pornstar!toji who, after three weeks of pure misery, decides to make a move. he doesn't do dates or romantic nights on the town. he doesn't do flowers or sweet nothings or eye contact even, but he finds himself contacting shiu and threatening the poor man in hopes of your real name, your address, anything.

and you, late one evening fucking yourself on your fingers to the brink of frustrated tears because they're not his cock. even more disgruntled when theres a pounding knock at your front door, and after cleaning yourself up a little you swing it open to find pornstar!toji stood in the rain outside. and you can only take him in—his heavy build and desperate eyes—before he's crashing his lips against yours, walking you into your own home and kicking the door shut behind him.

[autism-corner]

of course as soon as i figure something out it gets taken away from me.

[cathnospam]

Bakugo makes you laugh, A LOT and it drives him insane.

“It was not that damn funny.”

You try to conceal the snickers from your mouth, but fail horribly. All he did was mutter something about Mineta being a punk ass and it had you giggly.

At first he used to take offense by it, maybe you were laughing AT him and not what he says, almost like mocking him, that wasn’t until Deku quickly explained in passing that you laugh very easily.

But you don’t laugh this damn much with anybody else but him. At this point he thought you had a similar quirk to Ms. Joke, and he nicknamed you Giggles.

You both were studying in the library like you both usually do during exam week, and Bakugo noticed you haven’t been Miss. Cackle the past few days. Not even a smile actually and you’d think it would have been some relief for him from hearing your laugh obxonious laugh, but he’s actually more annoyed.

He looks up from his book and glances at you across the table, you’re typing away, with a less that neutral look on your face. Lips somehow forming a pout and eyes looking droopy. He scoffs going back to his work, but it was an itch he needed to scratch with you..?

“Who pissed in your breakfast.”

“What?”

“You been looking like a sad lost puppy all week what the hell is your problem.”

The corner of your lips cracked upwards a bit, almost as if you were fighting to smile, but instead you shrug, “‘Nothing you needa worry about. Why.”

It was almost concerning how calm you sounded. Your voice was more tame that you didn’t even sound recognizable which make Bakugo crease his brows, “You suck at lying. Is it, because of that shitty boyfriend you have pissed you off.”

He was referring to Shindo, he wasn’t your boyfriend, but he was a guy you got close with after meeting him a few years ago, but Bakugo was half right he was part of the problem.

You had a small crush on Shindo , but overheard him tell his classmates how he isn’t into you like that mainly because you’re not his type and how much he can’t stand how loud you talk/laugh sometimes.

It hurt hearing it, when he found out you heard he tried apologizing but you didn’t wanna hear it, so since then you’ve turn self conscious about speaking and laughing too loudly for the past week to avoid anymore issues that you have caused with people.

After slowly explaining to the Blonde he rolled his eyes, “You’re ganna let the walking vibrator dictate your life too? So stupid.”

“You hate my laugh too. What does it matter.”

Bakugo stayed silent for a moment while you went back to work. Thinking how could he word what he wants to say without sounding like an idiot, “I never said that, besides you never stopped even when I did tell you your laugh was annoying. If you want to cackle like a hyena who gives a fuck—“

You break into a snicker but end up covering it with your hand. He cracks a proud smirk, he almost forgot what you looked like with a smile, “I don’t wanna be loud. Just can’t help it.”

“We know.”

You giggle at his deadpanned voice, it really wasn’t your fault, you’re just so easy to please and Bakugo knows that, “Giggly ass, and I seen you almost laugh when Denki tripped at the lecture today.”

“Becauuseee he is always so dramatic when he falls.” You whined into a chuckle, sharing a small one with him.

It was a start of many more shared laughs after studying, Katsuki even tried to be just a LITTLE bit more funnier than usual when walking back to the dorms. When you finally cracked a real loud one out he felt himself grinning at you.

“Katsuki Alexander Bakugo are you smiling?”

“Don’t you EVER say my full name like that again got dammit I will blow you the hell UP!”

You almost fall to your knees of how funny his reaction was to you, it felt so good to smile again. You missed it, and so did everybody else the next day apparently.

Mina and some others thought you were depressed, Deku assumed you were sick, Denki outwardly blamed Bakugo which got him smacked, and IIda actually missed your loud noises as well.

Your classmates enjoyed your presence more than you thought they did.

But Bakugo missed it the most.

Your laughs drives him insane, because he loves to hear them.

[dollfacefantasy]

clark kent x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, car sex, mating press a/n: ummm yeah i need him so bad it makes me ill <3

for as long as you'd known clark, you'd never known him to lose his temper. he was forever-patient, your boyfriend. understanding to almost a frustrating degree. especially with you, his little love.

he was already pretty easy to get along with, but on the rare occasion you did have issues, clark seemed to have a natural instinct for deescalating you. he never raised his voice, never spoke an unkind word about you, never gave you a look harsher than what could be described as stern.

all it took to calm you down was a glimpse of his natural puppy-dog eyes and pretty plush lips. his thick arms would circle around you and hold you to his chest. he'd sway back and forth with you a little, a small smile on his face as you melted into the embrace. whatever semblance of tension or irritation that had been bubbling up easily dissolved into a puddle between the two of your bodies.

so, all that to say, you didn't really believe clark possessed any kind of rough edge or combative instinct. despite his large stature, you couldn't really picture him ever being rough.

that was until tonight.

you and clark had planned to drop by some event at the talon, but your sweet boyfriend had warned you earlier that he found out there'd probably be some trouble there later. some potentially dangerous situation that he wanted you avoiding at all costs. it was for your safety. he just wanted you to stay home where he wouldn't be worried while him and chloe investigated.

but did you listen to him? of course not. you went anyways, not in the mood to listen to his vague explanations as to how he even discovered this information in the first place. you put on a cute little dress with some new shoes you bought specifically for the night and took off.

unfortunately for you, clark had turned out to be right. not even thirty minutes after you arrived, chaos broke out. people flew through walls and glass shattered everywhere, all because of some guy who looked like his body could stretch and bend like a rubberband. it totally sucked. but none of that was even the worst part. you survived the craziness of whatever that person's problem was. the real danger came when the dust settled and you saw clark across the room staring at you.

he looked pissed.

he was at your side in an instant, but closing the distance didn't soften him any. it kind of did the opposite since up close he could see a bloody scrape stretching across your cheekbone.

you could see he was worried first and foremost, but behind that concerned top coat a fire burned. as soon as your small wound had been tended to, his long fingers clasped around your bicep. he pulled you to your feet and all but dragged you out of the coffee shop.

"clark i-" you started in an attempt to explain yourself.

"save it," he said, voice as cold as you'd ever heard it, "i asked you for one thing. that's it. stay home for your own good. don't come out here and pointlessly risk your life."

"it wasn't that bad," you defend weakly.

"but why even take the chance?" he asked with true exasperation, "i shouldn't need to convince you that your safety is more important than whatever they had going on tonight."

he didn't continue the lecture beyond that. just walked with a clenched jaw and motivated stare in the direction of his truck. like always, he opened the door for you when you got there. though this time, he practically scooped you up and dumped you into the car.

he was silent as he drove, fingers tight around the steering wheel. you could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him. the urge to lash out for once was near spilling over. he pulled the car over, and you figured you were really in for it. in a way you were right, just not how you thought.

clark didn't bother yelling, didn't try to start a fight. he glared at you for a few silent seconds before leaning across the seats and crashing his lips against yours. he kissed you like he wanted to steal the breath from your lungs.

after a blur of clothing being shifted around and positioning body parts awkwardly in the confined space, you found yourself in the meanest mating press of your life.

you were folded in half beneath all of clark's weight. the points of your new heels scraped up the truck's ceiling while your knees squished against your chest. little squeaks and whines slipped their way out of you as his tip battered against your cervix. he was so deep you swore you could feel your insides rearranging to make room for him.

"clarkkkk," you mewled before biting your lip, desperately searching for some way to ground yourself. one set of your fingers gripped strands of his dark hair while the other held a fist of his flannel.

"what, baby?" he panted. for once, clark wasn't fawning over you between thrusts. he wasn't cooing or praising you for taking him so well. instead, he had his face against your neck and his hands wrapped around your waist, bucking into your dripping heat with enough force to rock the car.

you tried to force out words to convey what you were thinking. too big. too much. so deep. harder. faster. none of those made it though. only choked moans and then a sharp squeal when he rolled his hips and struck that extra-sensitive sweet spot inside you.

"someone's gonna see if they drive by," you whimpered, squirming underneath him.

"maybe you should hold still then and let me finish, huh?" he grunted, "no one's gonna see. everyone's in town dealing with the mess from tonight. the one i told you was gonna happen."

"i didn't think-"

"i know you didn't," he interrupted, "didn't use that pretty little head at all, did you?"

words of defense eluded you right now, his nonstop thrusts keeping your mind cloudy. instead you chose to whine, your lip quivering he rolled his hips deeper yet again.

"oh yeah?" he asked, as if you'd said something coherent.

you opened your mouth again to speak, to really argue back this time, but you were cut off by your own desperate cry when his hands tugged you closer and speared you even further on his cock. you could feel him grinning against your neck at the noise.

"i know, baby. i know you're sorry. you don't have to explain. thinking's too hard for you right now, yeah?" he cooed, his tone bordering on mocking.

your pout got more severe but so did the needy sounds escaping your mouth. you felt those long fangs of his scrape against your throat. his tongue then glided across the area, making you shudder.

"clark-" you tried to say something else, but he cut you off. he raised his head up and kissed you deep again, swallowing the words right from your mouth. when he pulled back for air, he rested his sweaty forehead against yours.

"you can be such a brat," he breathed, "so much whining even though i know you love this."

the truck creaked as his movements continued to jostle it. you felt his breath fanning across your face and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. you knew he was getting close, but so were you. your cunt squeezed around him rhythmically, coaxing him too the edge along with you.

"you gonna cum, baby?" he finally muttered against your lips.

you nodded eagerly, more than ready to release. it only took a few more hard thrusts to get you there, and clark followed along no problem. in the afterglow, he laid on top of you for a minute or so, trapping you in a cage of searing body heat.

when he finally did sit up, the two of you fixed your clothes and stretched your limbs. he looked over at you with more tenderness. your boyfriend's gentle temperament had seemingly returned with the relief his peak brought.

he cupped your jaw with his fingers, looking over that cut on your face. leaning in, he gave it a small kiss before starting up the car again.

"i'm just trying to look out for you, you know? just... please listen next time. i don't know what i'd do if you got hurt. you had me worried sick."

"i will. i'm sorry i scared you," you replied softly. your eyes studied the loving look in his eyes and the way his features seemed so at peace now that all his adrenaline was out of his system.

you grabbed his hand across the seats and traced little patterns on his knuckles for the drive home. he let you play with his fingers but shot you a glance.

"i'm serious. next time you get involved with something like that i won't let you off so easy," he teased.

you smiled and nodded, wanting to put his mind at ease. though in the back of your mind, a small part of you considered trying again some time, just to see what "not so easy" looked like to him.