#'women can do everything men can do except for when i feel specifically weak against them' fuck off

[snekdood]

i think ppl need to make more content emphasizing the relationship between white supremacy and the oppression of women. bc maybe. just maybe. all this shit w/ nazis siding with terfs and videos/articles about the connections between white supremacy and their oppression will make them snap out of it.

#i would but im not nearly educated on this stuff enough #i do what i can #ok now @ terfs. think about it for a second. if the white supremacists are siding with terfs. do you reaaallly think they're invested in #protecting women? #the terfs i mean. do you really think terfs are invested in protecting women when its nazis who are the most sympathetic to their message? #are you really gonna sit here and say 'the trans menace' is such a bigger threat and so much more important that you need to link arms #with nazis to eliminate people for *checks notes* wanting to be them fucking selves as they feel on the inside? #what ever happened to 'be whatever you want' #whatever happened to 'women can do everything men can do' #bc if you see me as a woman. why in tf cant i become a man if i can do everything they can do? #and if women can do everything men can do- y'know. the common feminist understanding you terfs seem to fail to remember- #then why in tf are yall so scared about the supposed 'men' in your sports? #aside from the fact that trans girls on e are evenly matched with you already in sports. ignoring that scientific fact for a second to play #around in your reality. how are you gonna call yourself a feminist if you dont think you're actually GENUINELY evenly matched? #even though the science literally says you're evenly matched. how are you a feminist and think women can do 'everything men can do' but #cant actually compete in a few instances actually #like you're not a feminist. you're a conservative. thats a conservative belief. any limiting beliefs about what women can do #is a conservative belief. #'women can do everything men can do except for when i feel specifically weak against them' fuck off

[ikeservant]

How would the ikesen boys react to an mc who is blind but can take care of herself?

This took forever but I finally finished! 

MC has been blind for a good chunk of her life. She adapted quickly though through her sense of hearing and echolocation along with vibrations, being able to detect walls, objects, and people around her. She got sucked into the wormhole and BAM! Sengoku era! 

Nobunaga: She could smell and hear the fire around her and also..someone coughing? She followed the sound until she found the source, remembering the path she took so she can get out, and dragged Nobu’s butt out of the flames. “Do you know who I am?” “Well I can’t see you so nope.” When he realized that she was blind he was very impressed. “Men with all their senses in tact don’t have the bravery that you have. You are indeed a lucky charm.” He took her to Azuichi and told her that she could just laze around and have others take care of her if she wished, but mc is an independent woman that is able to do things herself so she immediately tells him to give her a job and she’d be able to accommodate to it. He admires her ambition and sets her to work. When she isn’t working he invites her to sit with him and chat bc he wants to get to know her as a person as well as how she’s able to adapt to the world without the sense of sight, intrigued with the clever methods to manage on her own. He feels inspired by her to create an education program for his citizens affected with physical limitations and how to help them live a fulfilling life while feeling capable just like mc.

Hideyoshi: His suspicion of mc decreased dramatically when he found out, as a matter of fact, she is blind. Suspicion immediately turned into concern and pity, making him really hesitant of Nobunaga letting mc do chores since she wanted to earn her keep. He was silently watching her with her rag and bucket, ready to step in the moment he sees her struggle. Instead, he sees her stepping around the perimeter of the outside hallway, mentally mapping out the length and width of the hall. Then, picking up the rag, cleaned the whole hall without a problem. Afterward, he approached her and told her about his concerns and worries of her struggling. She reassured him that she was able to live on her own for the most part where she came from, and as long as she made a mental map of the castle and heard when she was getting close to a wall or object, she would be just fine. He’d still insist on going to the market with her since it’s hard for anybody to navigate by hearing and mentally taking notes when there’s a huge market crowd. VERY protective and VERY mama hen Hide around mc to the point where she nags at him to give her space bc she doesn’t want him to worry about her as much as he does.

Mitsunari: Very helpful while also being very curious about how mc strategizes her everyday life. While giving a tour of the castle, he could tell she was taking her time while using her other senses to get a feel for each area. When he talked about her possibly having a helper maid to take her from place to place, mc answered “No need. I now know the area. I’ll ask somebody if I get lost but I’ve got a good mental map of the area.” “Very impressive, mc!” Mitsunari would beam. Mc can take care of herself better than he can, making that the staple point that the others drive into Mitsunari so he actually starts taking care of himself. They often brainstorm of ways to help mc do errands. Like with delivering scroll letters, cutting off a small little square at the bottom in a certain area so she can tell who is getting what letter and travel accordingly (ex: cut in left corner is Nobunaga’s letter. Cut in right corner is for Hideyoshi. Square cut in the middle on the bottom of the scroll is Ieyasu, etc.) Thinks mc is smarter and has a stronger willpower than anybody he’s ever met (besides his “friend” Ieyasu) bc of how she’s able to think and adapt to compensate for her lack of eyesight to survive and be capable and on equal footing as everyone else.

Masamune: He found out when trying to flirt with mc. “Hey I’ve had my eye on you this whole time, lass.” “Wish I could say the same. But that’s physically impossible.” “Ha! I see you have a sense of humor. I would have said I had my EYES on you but that would be only half true.” Both would probably joke about their eyes and brush it off as no big deal. Impressed that by her second day he saw her in the halls carrying supplies by herself, already aware of the area. “Masamune, is that you?” “Yeah it is! I’m impressed! Your senses must be very on point.” “That or the fact that you always smell like spices and walk kinda funny.”mc laughed. Likes how free and independent mc’s spirit is, admiring how she doesn’t let her disability stop her from doing what she wants to do, finding ways to adapt to things. Since boi really likes to write letters but would have to have someone else read it to her while he was away, she taught him braille. Giving him a guide with a scroll listing the indents/holes that indicate different characters, he was able to give her flirty messages while he was away and imagine her blushy face while she’s reading the letter herself.

Mitsuhide: Could tell almost right away that mc was blind. Would secretly be watching over her to see if she was having trouble. Every time he would walk up to her with a “Are you lost, little mouse? It must be hard for you.” in a condescending tone to tease her while also being slightly concerned. “No. I know I’m in the right hallway to go to the cleaning supply room. Just two more lefts then a right and about 10 paces to the left.” He actually was shocked for a second but felt like praising her for having a sharp mind. Tries sneaking up on her but she can always tell he’s near due to just sensing his presence and hearing just the slightest glide of his feet on the hallway, calling him out. Sees a bit of himself in her, being mentally prepared and alert of their senses to adapt and compensate for their shortcomings. When deciding to teach her because he wants her to survive and thrive in this cruel world, he realizes he’ll have to read everything to her and verbally quiz her. However, she introduced him to braille, intriguing him and inspiring him to use it as a new secret code language to send info. Also feels like it’s a special bond between them.

Ieyasu: Would be against mc doing chores or going around by herself because she’ll just be an inconvenience (not because he just doesn’t want her to get hurt I write sarcastically). Would make him stand up and follow her as she gives him a whole tour of the castle, remembering every hallway within one week. He’s glad that mc can’t see how embarrassed his face is that she’s better adapted than he thought. He’d still lowkey be like mama hideyoshi, silently watching her and trying to tell her that she should still be careful. He draws the line at her planning on going to the market on her own because things are constantly shifting and changing there and the noisy crowd might throw her off, leaving him no other choice but to escort mc. As thanks, mc would buy him something spicy, using her nose and advice from others to get him the gift. Normally mc is able to go through the day fine, but sometimes she’ll accidentally tumble, causing Ieyasu to lightly scold her while checking her bruises and letting her see Wasabi. She was SHOOK finding out that she was petting a cute lil deer since she could tell it was a smaller 4 legged animal with lil hooves but didn’t know that it was a baby fawn. Ieyasu would also give mc a walking stick to help her navigate better, especially in unfamiliar areas or areas with possible obstacles in the way.

Kenshin: Was at the bar minding his own business when he heard a cane tap a seat next to him. Mc sat next to him, ordering something to drink. “If you were to try to find a woman, how long would it take to find her in this bar?” she’d ask, hoping that she could get some free time away from an overbearing escort. “Depends on the target. Why? Did you start a fight? If so, can I get in on it?” “Oh nah. I want a break from being smothered with attention and feeling like I need help. If I can go to this specific bar blind then that should be proof that I don’t need helpers for short trips.” He was surprised a woman, much less a blind woman, was confident in her abilities to get from place to place while being sure of herself. Mc and Kenshin met quite a bit after that and the more he heard her complain about her work, the more he realized she was working for the Oda. Not trusting the Oda and not wanting her to face a horrible fate if someone overtakes the Oda first, he convinces her to move into his castle. She memorizes the area quickly and feels less crowded with warlords, but the closer she gets to Kenshin the more he is overbearing and protective over her safety. She gives him several demonstrations of her doing tasks by herself to convince him that it’s very low risk and that she enjoys feeling independent and capable. Although overprotective, he thinks she has the most determined spirit of anyone he’s ever met and will cut down anybody that makes her feel weak or helpless because she’s far from that in his eyes, even if he still worries about her.

Shingen: Shingen was well aware that almost all the women at the tea shop were swooning over him, all except mc, who was eating sweet buns and drinking tea in the corner while waiting for some of the warlords to come back from their long in-town meeting. He tried winking at her, but she just kept staring off and making no expression change. He decided to walk up to her, feeling curious. “Whoever smells like woodchips and cologne that is walking up to my table, please state your business.” Since he’s very intuitive, he’s able to realize mc is blind by now. He decided to have a normal conversation with her, learning how she’s able to stay strong and manage w/o sight. When he saw the other warlords coming back he bolted, but realized she was working for the “terrible” Nobunaga. Since in his mind he thinks the Oda are going to hurt/take advantage of her, he makes an elaborate plan to take her away. When she got to Kenshin and Shingen’s place, she was FUMING bc of being kidnapped. However, Shingen explained everything about how the Oda overtook his homeland and all the horrors he’s seen them do and how he wanted to save her from facing that same fate. Mc pretty much told him that it isn’t his choice to make that call but understands from his voice that he’s being sincere so she decides to stay for a while. He’s very impressed she knows the whole layout of the castle and can tell when he’s walking up to her because he has a “flirty saunter”. When she does feel a little down about being blind he helps her find silver linings like how she’s been able to be braver and determined to adapt, and how she is able to look at someone’s character and words instead of being thrown off by physical appearances. Although he is chivalrous and offers to help her with tough tasks, he will ROAST anybody that calls her weak or fragile because she’s the strongest, most resilient goddess in his eyes. Would make a beautiful wooden cane for her so she can look stylish while walking around outside.

Yukimura: When mc freaked out and ran away, running straight for the cliff, Yukimura caught her. “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING RUNNING OFF A CLIFF LIKE A WILD BOAR? ARE YOU BLIND?” “Actually yeah.” Yuki went o_o before trying to scold her more for running aimlessly w/o knowing where she’s going until Sasuke swooped in, recognizing she’s the person from the present and offers they take her in. Yuki agrees, not wanting anybody to get hurt cuz he’s a caring boi. Since he didn’t want her to trip on anything and could tell she was exhausted and overwhelmed at the moment, he gave her a piggyback ride to the castle. When showing her around he keeps awkwardly asking if she needs help or assistance and gets more embarrassed when she says she can do most things on her own. “Of course I can feed myself. I have hands, dummy.” Is glad she’s capable of doing a lot on her own so he doesn’t have to keep worrying about her safety. Lowkey forgets she’s blind at times but is glad mc can laugh it off and says it makes her happy that she can go about life so normally that people don’t notice her blindness. When mc talked about seeing eye dogs being a thing, lowkey he’s thinking about making Muramasa a guide dog if mc ever wanted to go explore so he can guide her and pull her along. Also embarrassingly asks Shingen to teach him how to carve wood so he can make her a walking stick with their names carved on it and will blush like crazy when mc feels the names on it and tackles him in a hug.

Sasuke: Found her running in the woods the night she landed in the Sengoku era. Since she was overwhelmed and scared for her life, not knowing what the heck was going on, she was stumbling and tripped, making a branch snap loudly. Sasuke, who was nearby, used his ninja hearing and went to investigate. She could hear him approach and turned towards his direction. “I HAVE A WEAPON AND I’M NOT AFRAID TO USE IT” she threatened, gripping her walking stick while whipping out a pocket knife. He noticed the red band around the white stick, which was the noticeable sign of a blind person’s walking cane. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” “You sound like the guy from the temple before that big lightning strike. What the hell is going on?” He explained to her the current predicament and how they’re back in the Sengoku era. “I guess that explains why I teleported into a flaming building and just heard a bunch of warlord names and felt like I was in a historical reenactment.” Sasuke helps her go to Kenshin’s place, explaining to Kenshin her predicament and Kenshin agrees as long as Sasuke duels him every day for a month (RIP Sasuke). Is impressed how she’s able to remember how to get around the castle after just 2 days and makes Kenshin give her a job and proving that she’s plenty capable, earning Kenshin’s respect. He has faith that she is plenty independent and capable of living a decent life in the castle, but he still offers assistance in unfamiliar settings and will always come up with good ideas to help when mc asks for advice on how to get around certain tasks.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen headcanon #ikesen hc

[forgottenpasta]

Baby, You’re Bad | 01

Summary: A drunken, pre-debut mistake comes back to haunt Yoongi when years later you turn up pregnant from the sperm he donated when he was a broke, underground rapper. idol!au, pregnant!reader.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader, Taehyung x Reader

Word count: 9.5k

Warnings: overuse of the word sperm lol; graphic depiction of artificial insemination; this is an asshole!Yoongi au; Suga when he was Gloss; use of real-life instances for plot purposes; idk some people might not like that.

“Are you ready, Miss___?

No. Yes. No. 

Maybe the fertility medication they had you on was making you illogically sentimental, but you felt like bawling your eyes out. 

The thin pen-shaped catheter in the doctor’s gloved hands epitomized everything you’d ever wanted. Third time’s the charm, they say. God, you hoped so. 

You nodded a little too vigorously. “Yes, please.”

The kind nurse who’d been assigned to you since the beginning of your treatment chuckled from beside the ultrasound machine. If the doctor was amused at your enthusiasm, she didn’t let it show. She bent her head between your stirruped legs. 

You were beyond any kind of embarrassment now, no stranger to a doctor tinkering with your vagina to get you pregnant. This was your third IUI. If you could, you’d shout it from the rooftops. If climbing the Everest and planting a flag at the summit that said “I want a fucking child!” got you pregnant, you would. If could just blast off to space—

“This might feel a little uncomfortable.”, the doctor, Kim Yeri, warned, adjusting the speculum wedged down there.

“I know.” 

The nurse gave you an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up as she mouthed “Fighting!”. Feebly, you smiled back. In a moment of weakness, you’d spilled all your world woes to her when you’d come for the initial check-up. After two previous failed Intra Uterine Insemination attempts at two different clinics, you had been feeling like the most barren woman on the planet, despite the doctors assuring you that it wasn’t your uterus that was the problem, but “you know sometimes these things just don’t work, it’s all luck and probability.” 

Your bank balance wasn’t surviving on luck and probability though, it was suffering. Your money wasted on absolutely nothing, nada, nothing coming out of your vagina in the next nine months except more periods. You’d started to hate the sight of your own blood, associating with it the feeling of disappointment at your empty womb. 

You twitched slightly as the catheter entered you, willing yourself to not clench your pelvic muscles as the doctor had instructed. 

Ever since you could remember, you had wanted to be a mother. You absolutely adored children, lived for them. Literally. Your job as a children’s fiction writer wasn’t something that just happened, you had decided what you wanted to be during the summer vacation of junior year in high school, when all your aunts would leave you with their children as they went off golfing. That’s when you discovered that you had a special talent with mini people. You could spin intricate, sometimes nonsensical stories that put them in a trance and into a deep sleep in record time. Stories about princesses who turned into pirates, a little mouse’s adventures on other planets, a talking pebble who wanted to be a diamond and so much more. Kids loved you, even days old infants seemed to like being in your presence (their mothers’ words not yours). 

But as much as you couldn’t even dream about being anything else, writing children’s stories was hardly as lucrative as being a doctor or a lawyer. You did good enough for yourself but your job couldn’t support repeated attempts at artificially induced pregnancy. 

As the catheter breached your cervix, you closed your eyes and relaxed back into the examination chair. This was it. If it didn’t work out this time, you didn’t know what you’d do.

Try the traditional method like everyone else.

Internally, you snorted at the thought. One side effect of wanting your own child in your mid to late twenties, no potential partner ever saw eye to eye with you. Men didn’t want to be saddled down with a child this early. Your own pickiness with partners could also be blamed. You weren’t into men who weren’t good with children. One of your ex-boyfriends once scolded a 11-year-old kid for loitering around his new bike, checking it out. The next day you’d dumped him via text. 

Suffice it to say, at twenty-seven you were painfully single and the prospects of a serious relationship in your near future looked as microscopic as the sperm being currently inserted inside you. 

Looking down your hospital gown-clad body, you noted the transparent tube pumping “washed” cryopreserved and thawed semen into you. The clinic where you’d went for your first IUI had explained the procedure. The preserved donor sperm was “washed” off any impurities and chemicals to ensure maximum sperm count per mL. 

As the cloudy liquid travelled down the tube, you briefly wondered about it’s origins. When you were filling the form for donor specificities, Dr. Kim had presented you with the options of having sperm that could result in potential desired characteristics for your child. Such as a donor with green eyes or dimples or tall height or even a specific race. The whole talk had left a weird taste in your mouth and you had quickly dismissed it, writing only ‘healthy’ on the form. This wasn’t a pre-order and you’d love your child no matter how they turned out. 

Now, you let your mind wander off to the unknown person who’s child you would potentially (hopefully) bear. What were they doing right now? What did they look like? Did they have any idea they were likely about to have a biological child out there? You shook your head, anonymous donors sold their semen for money, they probably already had many children out there from women like you or infertile couples. You could never understand how a parent was comfortable knowing there was a child out there who would never know them, but you weren’t about to criticise someone you were directly profiting off of. 

“All done.” Dr. Kim smiled as she sat up straight, slowly pulling the tube out of you and placing it on the tray the nurse held out. 

“Do you think this might be it?” There was a slight wobble in your words. 

Damn hormonal drugs. 

Dr. Kim gave you the signature neutral yet evasive and unintentionally condescending smile all doctors seemed to master when their patients asked hopeful questions with no right answers. 

“If everything goes well from here on out, I can’t imagine why this shouldn’t be it. You have to take care of yourself and keep us informed about any changes in your body. I’m scheduling a check-up in two weeks. But you can take an at-home pregnancy test before that if you miss your period and feel like you might be pregnant.”, she explained, pulling out the speculum as well.

You stayed put, knowing from previous experience that keeping your pelvis horizontal for a few minutes was recommended after insemination. 

“Okay, thank you, Dr. Kim.” You smiled your gratitude at the cheerful nurse too.

“Good luck, Miss __. I’ll see you soon, hopefully with good news.”

Afterward, when you slowly made your way to your car in the clinic’s parking lot, you couldn’t help but caress your stomach. A tender, optimistic gesture. This had to be it. Having a child of your own was everything you’d ever wanted, the dream of being a mother one of the goals you had always been steadfast on. A dream which might finally be coming true. 

~•~•~

“What a nightmare.”

Yoongi’s hushed words seemed loud in the silent SUV. A complete contrast to the din and clamour outside. The car was inching at a snail’s pace, wading through a mob of fans gathered outside Charles De Gaulle. After landing, their private jet had taxied close to the VIP exit and they had left feeling like this might be a rare hassle-free entry into another country. But somehow, someone had been tipped about the cars they were leaving in and a horde of fans had greeted them as soon as they merged into the main exit outside the airport. 

“Shut up, they’re endearing.”, Taehyung griped, peering out the window when some armys started doing fanchants. “A little cringy, yeah, but cute.”

A loud thud against Yoongi’s side of the car made Taehyung and Hoseok flinch, snapping their gazes towards their hyung. In the push and pull outside, someone had toppled against Yoongi’s car door. 

The rapper cursed under his breath, immediately switching to an expression of indifference when phone cameras flashed too close, making him squint. He had thrown his face mask in his handbag and shoved it in the trunk and now he regretted it. The damn car didn’t even have tinted windows. Their jet lagged, irritated faces were going to be headlines in a matter of minutes. 

Ahead of them, the SUV Jeongguk, Namjoon, Seokjin and Jimin were in wasn’t faring any better, a swarm of fans surrounding it like bees to honey. 

Yoongi turned away from the window so they couldn’t read his mouth. “Cute, my ass. Where the fuck is the airport security? Someone’s gonna get hurt out there.”

As if on cue, three blue cars with the words Gendarmerie and flashing sirens atop haul in on the side road in a queue, the officers jumping out to contain the mob. As the fans start to disperse under harshly shouted commands, one girl pressed her hand to Yoongi’s window, gawking down at him with tears in her eyes, showing no signs of moving. 

Yoongi gave her a small smile, reaching up to align his palm with hers through the glass. Cameras flash wildly as he observed the girl hyperventilate. Soon enough the officers clad in dark blue manage to push back the crowd and the cars surge forward. The girl’s hand slipped away from the window and the rapper didn’t look back as he sighed deeply, leaning his head back against the headrest.

Their motorcade sped down the freeway in a line, heading to the Peninsula, Paris. 

His phone buzzed once in his pocket, but Yoongi didn’t care to check it, didn’t even open his eyes. 

“You shouldn’t nap right now, hyung. You’ll feel more tired when we leave for the magazine shoot as soon as we reach the hotel.”, Hoseok advised, not looking up from his own phone. 

“I don’t care. I’ll nap at the shoot too, they can take my photos with my eyes fucking closed. Nobody told them to schedule the shoot as soon we step foot in Paris.”

“Our management did.”, Taehyung supplied helpfully. 

Yoongi snorted. “Of course they did. When do they ever let us breathe.”

Their manager in the front seat cleared his throat. “I’ll be sure to relay that to the higher ups.”

“Thanks.”, Yoongi replied dryly. 

When they reach their hotel, the SUVs parked in the basement. Their keycards were quickly handed to them as they bypassed the front reception, to the private elevators straight to their rooms. Two master suites with connecting doors, four bedrooms in total. As usual, they Rock Paper Scissor it and Yoongi got to room with Namjoon. And as usual the lucky maknae won, sauntering to his room with a smug grin on his face. 

“You have half an hour to freshen up, we have to reach the magazine’s studio at 3 sharp.”, Sejin informed after them. 

Namjoon sprawled on the king sized bed when Yoongi called dibs on the shower, shucking his clothes haphazardly and placing his phone on the ornate bedside cabinet. 

His mind was blissfully blank when he stepped inside the walk-in shower, the control panel allowing him to set the perfect temperature and pressure. Because this was routine, getting to the hotel just to jet off somewhere else, his mind was on autopilot, his body long since adapted to the requirements of someone always on the move. Although he complained and grouched, he knew he wouldn’t change a thing. Couldn’t. This was what kept them at the top. 

He was out of the shower in five minutes, toweling his hair dry as he stepped inside the room naked. Namjoon didn’t even blink at him, they had been living together for the better part of a decade now, they’d seen all there was to see of each other. 

The leader stretched out his long limbs languidly, getting up sluggishly to head to the en-suite. “Your phone’s been buzzing.”

Yoongi wrapped the towel around his waist, snatching up his phone to rove a cursory glance over the notifications. He was about to throw his phone atop the bed, dismissing the vague emails, when something stops him short. He peers down at the sender’s address. 

Ajeevan Fertility & Gyne Centre. 

What?

He unlocks his phone, thoroughly confused. This was his personal phone and he only got personal emails on it.

When the email expanded to full screen, he realised something. It wasn’t send to his current email address, but the one he used to use pre-debut, the one he’d made in high school. The one which fell into disuse after they had to change all their contact information due to privacy reasons. He didn’t even remember it syncing up through all his phone changes over the years, he never got notifications from it anymore. And sure enough, the last email of import send to him on this address was from five years ago. The spam folder was full though. 

He opened the weird email again, finally deeming to read it. It was succinct, to the point.

Dear donor,

Thank you for your donation dated 2011/03/09. It has been successfully utilised to make our client’s parenthood dreams come true. You are eligible for another donation, please contact us if interested. 

Regards

Sperm Bank Office

Ajeevan Fertility & Gyne Centre

**This is an automated message, please do not reply.**

Yoongi’s eyes burned a hole where the phone displayed the date. 2011/03/09. His eighteenth birthday. He took in a shuddering breath.

No no no no no. 

Without conscious thought, he plopped down on the bed, his knees going weak. His heart beat spiked to triathlon levels. Putting the phone face down on the table, he rested his elbows on his towel draped thighs, head in his hands.

He had to think. But there was nothing but static in his jumbled brain, which was still trying to catch up to the implications of the email. 

They made a mistake. They must have. I refunded the money. I told them I didn’t want it used. 

But the date. 

“You’re still not dressed. It’s almost time.”

Yoongi almost had a heart attack at Namjoon’s abrupt voice. “Fuck, dude. Why are you sneaking up on me?”

Namjoon’s frowned. He took out a pair of jeans from his bag, pulling them on as he eyed the other rapper. “I’ve been out here for a few minutes. What’s got you so lost?”

Yoongi didn’t answer. He wasn’t lost, he was on the verge of a full blown panic attack at even the minuscule possibility of a stupid teenage mistake coming full circle to end his life as he knows it. 

“Hyung.” Namjoon came forward, now genuinely worried, jeans riding low on his shirtless torso. “What is wrong? Are you okay?”

Yoongi had only told one person about the time when he’d hit rock bottom in his life. Namjoon was not him. 

“Can you get Jin hyung for me, Namjoon-ah?”, he asked, his words clear and coherent despite the chaos inside his mind. 

The leader didn’t question it, just got up to do as asked, plucking out a shirt along the way. 

A few minutes later, Jin poked his head inside, immediately entering and closing door at Yoongi’s pensive countenance. He raised a brow at the younger.

Yoongi held out his phone. 

Jin took it, seating himself on the bed as well. 

A few beats passed. 

Jin exploded. “What the hell?! Yoongi?! Is this saying what I think it’s saying?!”

Yoongi ran a tired hand down his face. “ I gave them their money back. Explicitly told them I wanted my sperm thrown in the trash.” The anger which had been slowly simmering, now bubbles to the surface. “What the fuck is this, hyung? I don’t even recognise the name of the clinic. What the fuck did they do with it?”

Jin bit his lip, confused. “What was the name of the place you donated to?”

“I don’t even remember, but it definitely wasn’t that. I should have known they were shady as fuck when they refused to return my sample.”

Jin was surprised. “Yeah, that should have raised several red flags, Yoongi.”

“I was eighteen.”, Yoongi growled. “I was stupid as fuck. Shit, I agreed to donate sperm because my bank balance was riding the negatives, what does that tell you?”

“That you were desperate.”, Jin shrugged. 

“Yes but not knowingly-having-a-kid-out-in-the-world desperate!”, Yoongi was freaking out. “I realised I didn’t have the moral consonance to have a kid I didn’t know and have estranged parents I despised at the same time. It was a stupid drunken whim, which I regretted the minute after and it has been one of the most shameful moments of my life since.”

“Wait.”, Jin scowled. “You were drunk when you donated and they let you?”

Yoongi sniffed. “I was tipsy, yeah. I needed liquid courage to go through with it.”

“That isn’t just red flags, Yoongi, thats red blaring fucking sirens. What kinda third rate, illicit place did you donate to?”

There was a knock on the door before Taehyung pushed it open. Behind him, the rest of the members looked ready to leave. 

Sejin also came into view, frowning at Yoongi. 

“Why aren’t you dressed?”

Jin and Yoongi exchanged a glance. Here goes fucking nothing.

~•~•~

“What a fucking liar.”

Yoongi’s glazed eyes drifted over to his roommate, Jaehyun.

“Who?”

He didn’t particularly want to know, but if he didn’t give Jaehyun some sort of verbal response he would likely keep pestering him about “liars who lied about lying”. 

The blonde man took a deep inhale from his cigarette, blowing the smoke towards Yoongi. “That lying rat, Hyungwon. Did you see him strut in here decked head to toe in designer shit I can’t even pronounce the name of.”

Slowly, Yoongi turned around on his barstool, scanning the packed club with lazy eyes. He spotted Hyungwon among a gaggle of scantily clad girls feeling up his biceps.

Yoongi squinted. “Hyungwon? Wasn’t he asking you to set up a gig for him last month?”

“Asking? No, the bastard was begging.”, Jaehyun sneered. “Said he didn’t even have enough for his next meal. Now, look at him. The lying fucker.”

Yoongi chuckled. “Don’t tell me you actually took pity on him.”

“He was pretty fucking convincing.” Jaehyung signaled for two shots, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray atop the bar. “I even introduced him to our underground regulars, told them to give him a chance.”

“Is he any good?”

Jaehyun snorted. “Raps like a bubblegum pop princess.”

Laughing, Yoongi glanced back at the man in question, doing a double-take when he saw Hyungwon making his way towards them. “Ah shit. He’s coming here.”

Jaehyun blanched. “Hide me, quick.”

Too late.

“Hey, guys!”

Hyungwon hopped on the empty stool beside Yoongi, ordering a whiskey on the rocks, before turning towards the two men. “How have you been doing, Jay-T?” He wiggled his eyebrows a little. “And you, Gloss?”

Yoongi threw up in his mouth a little. 

Jaehyun groaned. “I told you not to call me that if I’m not on stage.”

Hyungwon grinned. 

Yoongi perused his attire. A gaudy jacket with square prints made up of the letter F, leather jeans that didn’t look like it came from a discount store where Yoongi got his from, ugly spiky sneakers with red soles. Although the outfit was hideous, he did seem to appear loaded all of a sudden. Usually, Yoongi wasn’t one to pry, but this bastard made him uncomfortable so he guessed he could return the favour. 

“Weren’t you broke last month? Did you rob a bank or something?”

Hyungwon smirked. “Nothing that extreme. I just happened to get lucky overnight.”

“So you won a couple games of poker, then?”, Jaehyun questioned. 

“Nah. Not that kind of luck.”

Both Yoongi and Jaehyun stared at him expectantly. The smug fucker just laughed.

“I paid off all my back rent, plus two months advance. Got presents for my three girlfriends and made the first deposit on my Royal Enfield.”

“You wanna rub it in?” Jaehyun scowled, his middle finger saluting him as he picked up his shot and downed it. 

“Jaehyun helped set up your first gig.” Yoongi guilt-tripped. Normally he wouldn’t care about some random fucker’s get-rich-quick schemes but these were desperate circumstances. “You owe him.”

The bartender brought Hyungwon’s drink. He paid for it in cash, noticing for the first time that Yoongi was neither drinking nor smoking. “Ah, why don’t you just admit it out loud? You need money. Can’t even afford a drink, can you?”

Yoongi flushed, squirming in his seat. 

Hyungwon raised a brow, feigning surprise. “Aren’t you one of the best underground rappers out there? The next big star?”, he snickered. “Dreams not quite panning out?”

“Shut up, loser.”, Jaehyun snapped. “He’s got a big audition coming up in a few months. When he gets in, we’ll see who’s laughing.”

“With what company? SM, YG?”

Jaehyun grit his teeth to stop himself from strangling the man. “Bighit.”

“Never even heard of it.”

Yoongi cut in, not liking the two men talking about him as if he wasn’t there. “Not your concern. Just tell us how you made so much in a month.” 

Hyungwon took a small sip of the whiskey, swallowing leisurely. He eyed the two men down as if they didn’t quite hold up to whatever judgments he was imparting in his mind. “It doesn’t matter anyway, you both are a bunch of pussies. 

Jaehyun, infamous for his short temper, bristled. “What the fuck did you say, you cumstain?”

Yoongi held his arm, halting him before he stood up. 

If they had put up with the asshole for so long, he was going to damn well make sure they got something out of it. Besides, he NEEDED to know how to get some quick cash. Jaehyun wasn’t aware of the extent of Yoongi’s destitution. What little money he made doing odd jobs and occasional gigs went to school fees and rent, whatever was leftover, if anything, went towards his music. Pretty soon even his daily diet of ramen was gonna go out of his budget. 

“What do you mean a bunch of pussies? Are you selling your organs or something?”, Yoongi pressed.

Hyungwon snorted. “Close enough.”

Okay. Yoongi wasn’t that desperate. “What the fuck, dude!”

Jaehyun’s eyes went wide and sorrowful. A complete 180 from his ire two minutes ago. “Bro. You don’t have to do that, there are always other options. Selling your body isn’t the answer. Let me set up something for you, spare your kidneys, please—

“Shut up.” Hyungwon scowled. “I’m not selling my internal organs.”

Yoongi was confused. “What are you selling then?”

Hyungwon took an unconcerned sip. “My sperm.”

Yoongi was shocked into silence, while Jaehyun scrunched up his face like he’d just tasted the sourest lemon. “That’s equally as fucked up.”

“It’s not. It’s just cum.”, Hyungwon defended. “I’m getting paid handsomely to cum in a plastic cup. If that’s not the easiest money, I don’t know what is.”

“Yeah and that cum is probably in some middle-aged woman’s oven, baking your fucking babies.”

Hyungwon shrugged, not in the least bit concerned. “They’re not mine. Biologically maybe, but I got nothing to do with them apart from that. I’m not an idiot, I read all the terms and clauses. Legally, I’m not gonna be a father until I fuck a baby into someone.”

Jaehyun shook his head, not convinced. “That’s still fucked up.”

“Whatever.” Hyungwon rolled his eyes, finishing his drink. “As I said, a bunch of fucking pussies.”

Yoongi was in deep thought as he listened to the two argue intently. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing out his opinion, “That’s gonna be on your head forever, always at the back of your mind. That you’ve got kids out there who don’t even know you exist.”

“They’re not my kids.”, Hyungwon reiterated, done with the conversation as he spotted a busty bottle blonde leaning across the bar seductively. “Now if you pussies are done, I gotta go dole out my thousand dollar cum for free tonight. Charity turns me on.”

Jaehyun watched him approach the blonde with a grimace. “What a sleazy asshole.”

“He is.”, Yoongi agreed. “But I hadn’t ever thought you could make so much selling semen.”

“I don’t think the government recognised sperm banks offer so much. He must be going to some back alley place.”

Yoongi hummed. “Must be.”

A month after the encounter with Hyungwon at the club, Yoongi had never felt more downtrodden in his life. If he had sinned in his previous life, karma was working overtime. His pity party had been going on for a week now. Right from when he’d been kicked out of his apartment for nonpayment of three months’ rent, to when he’d turned up at his usual hangout with the underground scene just to find out his upcoming gigs had been given to a new rapper he hadn’t even heard the name of, to his bank calling him for payment of pending bills, to here. In a line with the homeless for some free food at a soup kitchen and shelter. 

When he’d left home to chase his dreams, he’d never imagined that the road would be easy. He’d been prepared for ups and downs. But these weren’t just downs, these were never ending canyons that seemed to stretch on forever. He’d long since sold the music equipment he’d bought with his hard earned money to pay for school. With graduation so close, he hadn’t wanted to be expelled on top of being homeless. Jaehyun had offered to pay either his rent or tuition but Yoongi knew the guy was barely hanging on by a thread himself. He couldn’t ask for money from someone who barely had any to spare. 

He heaved a sigh when the line finally moved. The woman in front of him, who looked like she’d been on crack for decades, gave him a glare for the impatient noise. He wanted to flip her off. He hadn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday when the kind acquaintance who’s sofa he’d been crashing on had offered him a sandwich. Moreover, in about half an hour he had an interview with a pizzeria for a delivery guy position. He didn’t wanna pass out in front of his potential employers, his ticket out of homelessness. But if this line didn’t hurry up, he’d have to forego a meal, he didn’t want to be late. 

Which was exactly what happened. Twenty minutes and the line barely moved a few feet, the bored volunteers taking their time serving the cold soup and stale bread. 

After a few more minutes Yoongi cursed, his old wristwatch told him it was 3:56 pm. If he didn’t hightail it out of there he could kiss the job goodbye. 

Fuck it.

Breaking the line, he sprinted out. The pizzeria was just two blocks away, he could make it in time if he ran. He didn’t have the money to catch a taxi anyway. And if he jaywalked a little, he could even have a few minutes to spare to change into the button down in his backpack. It was just a delivery position, but for him everything depended on it. He wanted to make a good impression. 

And jaywalked he did. Right into the bumper of a speeding car. 

The first few seconds, the lights were knocked out of him. When he came to, he did a mental survey of his body as he lay there on the pavement, a crowd forming around him. He didn’t feel any wetness, no blood then. Not a lot of excruciating pain either. Could it be that his stupidity had been spared or was he in hell already?

The murmurs of the crowd registered. A kind elderly man’s voice spoke somewhere above him. “Young man, are you okay? The ambulance is on its way. We don’t wanna touch you in case anything’s broken.”

Ambulance.

A sudden electricity zinged through his body, and Yoongi sat up, flinching when his shoulder screamed. There’s the pain.

“No ambulance.”, he grit out. He couldn’t have medical bills on top of everything right now. 

As he reached up to push back the hair in his eyes, his watch gleamed. 4:09pm.

His shoulders sagged in defeat. 

That night he sat with Jaehyun in his former apartment, drinking cheap soju his friend had scrapped together for him somehow. He’d told himself he deserved it after the day he’d had. Hell, the week he’d had. But somewhere inside him was a feeling of self loathing for wasting precious seconds not actively seeking to remedy his situation and stop relying on others. 

Jaehyun had picked him up that afternoon when he’d refused any medical help. So now his arm was in a makeshift sling, painkillers and alcohol doing the job doctors were supposed to. He was pretty sure he’d torn a ligament or something. He didn’t know, he slept through all his biology classes. 

On top of it all, it was his birthday tomorrow. He was turning 18, a legal adult. Not that it mattered, he’d been on his own since 15. Why did his life feel like it was ending when it had barely just begun?

“What if I do it?”, he hypothesised out of the blue. “Its gonna be quick and I just need to forget afterwards.”

Jaehyun frowned. “What are you talking about, my man?”

“Sperm donation.”

Jaehyun choked on his drink. “Yoongi! No, what the fuck!”

“Why not?”, Yoongi asked, his mind working overtime to justify something he’d never thought he’d need to. It was a given. “Its not like anybody would know. Well apart from you and me.”

“That’s not the point. You wanna have kids so young?”

Yoongi scowled into his glass. “I’m not the one who’s going to be having them.”

“Look, man. I think its just the alcohol talking—

“I’m not drunk.”

“—but I’m not gonna stop you if you think this is the only way out. Just know that you’re gonna regret it later.”

“Later.”, Yoongi muttered softly. “How I wish it’d be later already.”

Later that night, he dialed Hyungwon.

~•~•~

“Jaehyun was right. I regretted it the second the hangover dissipated. That was one of the worst days of my life, not counting the string of shit shows preceding it. I rushed back to the place as soon as I could. I returned the money, I hadn’t even taken it out of the envelope. They said the sample couldn’t be returned to me, but they’ll make sure it was out of the system.”

“Well, they lied.”, Sejin deadpanned, eyes narrowed as if figuring out a thousand ways around this situation already. 

The rest of the boys, barring Seokjin, stared at Yoongi in awe. They sat around him on the living room couches, while he stood by the window, gazing at the Parisian skyline.

A far cry from the broken pavement, busted in windows and dilapidated buildings, the landscape of his late teens. 

The boys had known the rapper had struggled a lot before joining bighit, but for it to be laid out in so much detail. A new respect for him shone in their eyes. 

When Yoongi turned to face them, he was surprised to see no judgment on their faces, but he shouldn’t have been. 

“So,”, Jin straightened up, clapping his hands. “Let’s lay this down, shall we? Yoongi donated sperm to a shady place in 2011, but returned the money and demanded it not be used. Since this sperm bank was likely illegal in the first place, they didn’t care to actually go through with his request. Then it somehow ended up in the fertility clinic he got the mail from. Which leads us to now, according to the mail, someone is probably pregnant with Yoongi’s child.”

“No, don’t say that.”, Yoongi shook his head, refusing to come to the obvious conclusion. “Don’t even imply it. I don’t have a kid out there but I do want all traces of my sperm out of any kind of bank.”

Namjoon peered at Yoongi with sympathy. “Hyung, they’re saying you’re eligible for another donation. Your previous sample was used already. According to my guesstimates, there’s 50% chance the woman they put it in, is pregnant.”

“Fuck your guesstimates.”

Jeongguk scratched his head. “But it’s been years since Hyung was 18. How is it getting used just now?”

Sejin answered him, not glancing up from his phone. “Google says preserved sperm can be used for upto 20 years after donation.”

Yoongi cursed. 

Jeongguk was still confused, brows scrunched. “How? Won’t the baby be—“

“Don’t say it.”, Yoongi groaned.

“—20 years old then?”

A slap to the back of the youngest’s head sounded. Yoongi didn’t look to see who’d done the public service.

“What are you going to do, hyung?”, Jimin asked worriedly. “You could just let it be. Ignorance is bliss and all.”

Taehyung gasped in outrage. “How can you even suggest such a thing, Jimin? It’s his kid we’re talking about! He could be a parent!”

Yoongi growled. “Don’t say that.”

But Taehyung wasn’t finished with his sermon. “Even if there’s a minuscule chance of this actually being true, it’s his duty to care and provide for his offspring. Even if he or she is unwanted.”

Yoongi gazed at the darkening sky for divine intervention.

“Hold your horses, Taehyung-ah.”, Sejin stood up. “I messaged the magazine studio about a reschedule. The photoshoot will be before the concert tomorrow.”

No one said a word, everyone too preoccupied to be focusing on trifling things like photoshoots.

“As for this problem.”, Sejin continued, giving Yoongi a reassuring look. “Let me handle it. I’ll run a check on the place you mentioned and the fertility clinic. We can’t publicly sue anyone because one, donating to an illegal place would incriminate Yoongi as well and two, we can’t afford to have a word of this get out. But an anonymous tip to the police should do the job.”

“What about...”, Taehyung trailed off, not knowing how to mention the person who might be carrying Yoongi’s child. 

“I’ll pull some strings, find out who it is. First, we need to know if they’re pregnant or not. We’ll go from there.”

Yoongi sighed, nodding. He supposed he could only hope and pray now. 

~•~•~

“I can’t believe it. All your hopes and prayers came true. I’m so happy for you, noona.”

Taeyong gushed as he arranged his Staedtler coloured pencils on your desk, lining them on the upper edge of his sketch book perfectly. The illustrator was obsessive about having all his stationary in perfectly designated places before drawing. 

“It still feels like a dream. When the doctor confirmed it yesterday, I almost passed out.”, you grinned, lovingly flipping through your manuscripts to the scenes you wanted illustrated.

Your friend turned to face you with a pout, his ethereal face glowing from the sunlight streaming through your windows. “You should have taken me with you, noona. I don’t like that you went alone.”

“It’s alright, Ty.”, you addressed him with the nickname he loved so much. On cue, his cheeks flushed adorably. “I was fine, just jittery with excitement.”

Taeyong grinned, mischief in his eyes. His boyish youthfulness struck you and not for the first time you thought about basing a playful character on him. He was a college student, an art major. You hired him because you loved his whimsical sketching style and his watercolour realism. Also, because you didn’t have the money or the patience to get more “professional” artists. From your previous experience, they often turned their noses at any extra input from the author. Taeyong, on the other hand, loved to have you by his side as he set about bringing your characters to life. 

Most importantly, you hired him because he was kind of your muse, though you never let him know that. He teased you enough as it is.

“I will let you off the hook if you declare me his or her godfather.”

And you loved to tease him back.

“You’re 19 years old, you’re a kid yourself, Ty.” You giggled as he flew off into an outraged rant. 

“Noona, I’ve told you a hundred times, I’m not a kid! You’re not that much older than me, I don’t know why you gotta put on motherly airs already. It’s been a day since you found out you’re pregnant. Pump the breaks. And don’t you dare try to experiment your parenting skills on me, I’m warning you—“

The ringing of your phone from your bedside table cut him off. You stretched to reach for it, still guffawing lightly at your friend. 

It was an unknown number. You picked it up. 

“Hello.”

A man’s voice answered you. “Hello, is this __?”

“Speaking.”

“Good afternoon, Miss.__. I’m Park Beomgyu from Tangent Publications. You might have heard of us. We are a graphic novel and manhwa publishing company, but we’re starting to venture into children’s fiction as well. Your work has caught our attention and we’d like to partner up with you for your next project. That is, if you’re interested.”

You stared wide eyed at Taeyong, who was starting to look worried at your dumbstruck expression. 

Work had never come to your doorstep. You’d always had to go chasing for it.

“Miss, are you there?”

“Y-yes! I’m here. And yes, I accept.”

The man chuckled. “Not so fast, Miss. Let’s discuss it first. If you’re free tomorrow morning, can I set up a meeting with our editor at 10 am?”

You spoke before he could properly finish. “Yeah, totally. I’m free. Just let me know the address.”

“I’ll message it. Looking forward to meeting you.”

“Yeah, same here.”, you said lamely as he hung up, your heart beating crazily in your chest.

“Who was it?”, Taeyong questioned, coming to sit beside you.

You launched yourself at him with a squeal.

~•~•~

You weren’t surprised when the address led you to Gangnam’s busiest area, office buildings and corporate suits abound. Though you did feel nervous in your light blue tea-length chequered dress. You didn’t own any suits or even pencil skirts, always feeling a little insecure with figure-hugging attire. 

You had done your research last night, having never heard of Tangent Publications before. Sprawled on your couch with your all-time favourite animation, Finding Nemo playing on your tv in the background, you had set up your laptop on a cushion. Not perching it on your stomach like you usually did, paranoid about harmful rays reaching your baby. 

You were surprised at the search results. As the man on the phone mentioned, they did only publish manhwas and even webtoons, but these were about idols. Their most widely sold comics being about BTS’ concept storylines. 

A little further digging revealed that the company was partially owned by Bighit entertainment and STIC investments, which also had stakes in the entertainment sector. 

What mattered to you was that they were successful, which looking at their net profit, they were and they had good editors, which your searches confirmed.

You were feeling extremely lucky and happy that they chose you for their next venture. At the right time too, the first installment in your new series was almost done. 

The friendly receptionist greeted you with a smile, immediately telling you the right floor when you gave her your name. You checked your appearance in the elevator mirror, making sure there was no food stuck in your teeth or wrinkle in your dress. 

You alighted on the eighth floor, where another lady at the front pointed you to the right door. You knocked at exactly 10 am, feeling satisfied at your timing. 

The heavy oak door opened, startling you. You thought someone would call you in. 

A tall man in glasses smiled at you, opening the door wide. You stepped in as he introduced himself. 

“Good morning,__-ssi. My name is Sejin.”

“Oh, good morning.” Not the editor google mentioned, but of course, there would be others in a big publishing company. “Are you one of the editors?”

Sejin closed the door, motioning you to the seat in front of his desk, answering you only when you both had sat down. “Yeah.”

You smiled. “Thank you so much for offering me this opportunity. I’m so flattered you chose me for your first foray into children’s literature.”

“Your work speaks for you, __-ssi. You’re incredibly talented.”, Sejin praised, leaning forward to set his elbows on the table and interlace his fingers. You interpreted the body language easily, he was all business. 

“We’d like to offer you a 5 book deal. A complete series if you will. You can negotiate for more if you feel like 5 won’t be enough. We will leave the story’s concept, art and every other creative decision to you, except of course the editing and research help you’d require. As well as get you the illustrator of your choice.”

“I already have an illustrator, I’d like to retain him.”, you interjected though everything he said left you reeling. Was this a daydream?

Sejin nodded. “No problem. As a starting point, we’d like to offer you 100 million won per book, negotiable down the line and not including sales profits.”

Your jaw dropped. “Is this a prank?” You turned in your chair, looking for cameras. “Am I being pranked? If so, I don’t appreciate it.”

Sejin gave you a calm smile. “No, ma’am. You are not being pranked. You heard me correctly. 100 million won per book, not including profits.”

You laughed. A disbelieving sound. “I’m sorry but either you don’t know how to do business or you’re really sure these books are gonna sell like hot cakes. And although I do think I’m really good at what I do, children’s literature is no fantasy or science fiction. It doesn’t have a fanbase readership to buoy every new installment that comes out. I have learned this the hard way.”

“You didn’t have us before. With the right marketing, anything can sell well.”, he simply replied, dismissing your concerns. 

“Okay.”, you took a deep breath, a sudden pressure on your shoulders, something nagging at your brain you were too preoccupied to figure out. “I’d like to see the contract first.”

“Sure.” Sejin produced a thick document from the desk drawer, flipping through it as he casually spoke. “You can take it home, mull it over, take your time coming to a decision. You’re pregnant, so I wouldn’t like to keep you here for long.”

You froze, blood leaving your face. 

“What did you say?”, you whispered.

Calmly, Sejin looked up from the papers, briefly glancing behind you before meeting your eyes. He didn’t repeat himself, showing absolutely no reaction.

Goosebumps raised on your arms, your voice fearful as you asked, “How did you know that I’m having a baby?”

“Because it’s mine.”

Jumping out of the chair in fright, you spun around. 

A stunningly attractive and familiar face was leaning against the closed door. You hadn’t even heard anyone come in. 

Glancing back at Sejin, who’d stood up as well, you slowly extricated yourself from the tangle of chair legs, moving to the middle of the room to have direct access to the door, but the newcomer was blocking your exit. 

Sejin approached him, whispering something you couldn’t hear. The man nodded, not breaking the critical gaze with which he regarded you. 

He let Sejin leave, locking the door behind him. 

“Is there a reason why I’m alone in a room with you? I will bring this whole building down with my screams if you don’t unlock that door and step away from it right now!”, you threatened.

He rolled his eyes. “The room’s soundproof.”

“You—”, you paused your scathing diatribe before it had even begun, cogs whirring, memory catching up. “You’re Min Yoongi.”

“Congratulations.”

Bewilderment swamped you. What the hell was going on? “What do you want from me?

“Absolutely nothing.” Yoongi ambled towards you with indolent grace, his eyes never leaving your befuddled ones. “You have something of mine, unwillingly given.”

“I have never even met you before. I don’t even like your music.”

Maybe that add-on wasn’t necessary, but you were feeling caged and on the defensive. 

Yoongi pursed his lips, his censorious gaze roving up and down your form. “Yeah, we don’t make music for the likes of you.”

You bristled. What the heck did that mean? You didn’t want to ask. “Thanks for sparing me. I still don’t see how I could possibly have anything of yours.”

“You’re pregnant and it’s mine.” 

“I’m pregnant, yes, but what’s yours?”

Yoongi scowled. “You’re gonna make me say it, huh?”

“Say what?”

“I’m the father. You’re carrying..”, he seemed reluctant to continue but did, scowl deepening. “..my child.”

You faked a laugh, amused but more concerned for the unhinged man in front of you. “No, I’m not. Maybe you have amnesia or something, this is the first time I’m seeing you in person. Usually, your tetchy self only greets me from magazines and subway ads.”

“Don’t try to sound smart.__. You don’t.”, he parried. “The thing with artificial insemination is that the lonely women who get it, often don’t know who’s baby they’re carrying.”

For the second time, you tensed with trepidation. They had entirely too personal information on you. It didn’t make any sense, none of what he was saying did. “Why do you know that?” 

You glared at him when he smirked.

“Ran a background check on you. Single, 27-year-old, children’s fiction writer, who’s been trying for pregnancy at different clinics for a year now. Bank balance is at an all-time low, the previous publisher isn’t picking up any of your new work. A string of failed relationships behind you because of your desire to have a child so early. Most of the time you hang around some college-aged kid who also does artwork for you, apart from that you don’t have many close friends. You stay at—”

“Shut up!”, you fumed, feeling really violated. The nerve of this man. He didn’t look the slightest bit bothered with his words. “You’re a celebrity, aren’t you? Don’t you guys scream privacy at every unsolicited photo, every personal detail revealed to the public? Your hypocrisy is alarming.”

“I will let you know one thing. Guilt is not an emotion I feel. The two situations aren’t even remotely comparable.” He stepped closer, his all-black attire striking against the white of the room. He looked like an irritated bat who’d been disturbed from his hibernation. 

“Don’t interrupt me.”, he commanded. “I had to know what type of person my sperm had been,” he coughed, gaze drifting away for a second. “..used on.”

“Your...?”, you trailed off, still not connecting the dots. What he was implying was preposterous, it couldn’t possibly be that.

It was exactly that. 

His voice was dispassionate when he explained, his countenance inscrutable, he was a master at masking every emotion. “A sample of my semen which was sent for regular health checkups was misplaced by a lab technician, accidentally labeled for donation to a sperm bank. I got to know about it when your fertility clinic sent me an email.”

You swallowed harshly. “They put it in me?”

Yoongi scrunched his nose. “Unfortunately.”

Did he have to sound so repulsed? You stepped back, only speaking when you’d somewhat processed your predicament. 

You gave him a sympathetic frown. Best to go with understanding, you didn’t want a confrontation. It was a delicate situation which, if you wanted to weasel out of, you’d need some tact. 

“That is unfortunate. I’m sure you must feel very frustrated. But I signed very hefty paperwork, before going in for treatment. And it said that the donor would have no legal right over the child, unless there’s a mutual agreement. I’m sorry but I have no obligation towards you and this is my child only.”

Yoongi’s gaze flickered to the hand you placed on your belly. He bit the inside of his cheek and you had the sneaking suspicion he didn’t give a flying fuck what your obligations were. 

“I’m going to make myself very clear ___. I don’t want your apology. The people responsible for this mess are paying for it, don’t worry. But if you think that I’m gonna roll over politely and let you scamper off with what’s mine, you have another thing coming.”

Your blood boiled and you hurled towards him. He didn’t show any surprise when you poked his hoodie-clad chest angrily.

Fuck tact. 

“I didn’t ask for this, you asshole. I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire fucking life and no dickwipe with a huge ego just because he can spit some words is gonna fuck it up for me.”

Yoongi blinked. “You swear too much for a children’s author, no wonder your sales are tanking.”

“Shut the fuck up!” You dug the pointer finger deeper in his chest. 

He winced, clasping your wrist. “Okay, is this the right time to tell you that I was gonna suggest an abortion in exchange for the book deal?”

Panic swamped you, anger disappearing for a huge dose of terror. You clutched the fabric covering your tummy, a clawing need to run and protect your baby blanketing you. No one was going to take him or her away from you, not when you’d toiled your last penny and pinned your every hope on this baby. 

“Hey.” Suddenly Yoongi crowded you, gently grasping your shoulders. “Hey, breathe please.”

His words made you aware of your lungs screaming for air, short, staccato breaths making you lightheaded.

“Breathe in for me.”, he guided and you obeyed, looking into his worried eyes to ground yourself. “And breathe out. Again. Just like that. You’re alright.”

A hand at your back guided you to the chair you’d previously occupied and you flopped down on it gratefully. Yoongi hunched over you, roving his searching eyes over your face for more signs of panic. 

“I was joking. Partially.”, he bit his bottom lip, and strangely you found the action alluring. “I knew someone who worked so hard to reach this point, wouldn’t even entertain the notion.”

You glowered at him, annoyance dimming for surprise when you noted how close he was, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. He didn’t seem to notice it though.

“It’s very highhanded of you to even think about such a thing. No amount of money can replace a life.”

His eyes softened, the first genuine smile from him peeking through. If you didn’t know how much of an asshole he was, you’d think he was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. 

“You’d be surprised how many people would disagree.”

“I’m sure you would.”

He nodded, having no problem admitting it. “Can you blame me? I’m at the peak of my career right now, this has all the makings of my fall from grace. Besides, I didn’t want children, ever.”

“Didn’t?”, you questioned his use of past tense.

He shrugged, straightening up and letting you relax a little from his heady presence. “You gotta roll with the punches.”

You hadn’t unclasped your hand from your dress, the fabric covering your stomach wrinkling horribly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

You dreaded it, but what he said wasn’t unexpected.

“I want shared custody.”

Never.

“No.” You brought down the hammer.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“I’m not gonna be an absent father, __”

“That’s alright.”, you threw back, absolutely done with this conversation. “You don’t have to be any kind of father.”

Slowly, so gracefully you didn’t even notice it at first, Yoongi hunched back over you, now impossibly closer. You leaned back as far as possible but you could tell two things, that his cologne was expensive and it smelled delicious as fuck. 

“Then who’s gonna be the father?”, he asked quietly. You gulped.

“I- the- I mean no one. Single moms do just fine.” And because he started to move off of you and you were secretly a glutton for punishment, as well as for men who smelled mouth-watering, you added, “My future husband...”

You trailed off at the tick in his jaw.

He raised a brow. “How fucking cute. Too bad your domestic dreams are never coming true,__. What’s mine is mine. No other man is going to be the father of my child. Over my fucking dead body.”

You almost said, “then perish”, but he stood up, grasping your upper arm to help you up as well. He was incredibly gentle with you, a stark contrast to the verbal barbs he inflicted every time he opened his mouth.

For example:

“We’re also going to have to get a DNA test done.”

Before you could implode in his face, he interlocked your fingers with his, tenderly releasing your death grip on your dress. His other hand came up to push a strand of your hair behind your ear and hook your chin up.

You were blindsided. Rage and fluttering heart palpitations a weird combo. 

“Don’t lose a fuse over it now. I think you’ve got enough on your mind already. Go home, sleep it off, we’ll talk when you’re feeling more level headed.”

It really shouldn’t have surprised you that he’d turn this into some sort of reverse psychology “I’m only looking out for you” situation, making you the unreasonable one for feeling, very justifiably, enraged at his imperiousness. 

But you did really want to sleep it off, your newly changing body demanded you recharge from this draining encounter already. You sagged in his arms, letting him support you.

Yoongi smirked at your body’s compliance and you wanted to slap it off. 

“How did you get here? Did you drive?”

You shook your head. “Took the subway, then walked.”

Yoongi peered at the heels on your feet, irritation flaring on his face. “For someone so adamant on having a baby, you’re already putting your health on the line, huh?”

There he fucking goes again. 

“It’s none of your business.”, you said curtly.

He raised a challenging brow. “The baby you’re carrying is my business.”

His high handedness knew no bounds. 

He pulled out his phone. “I’m going to call a driver to take you home.”

“No need.”

“It wasn’t a question.”

You grit your teeth, biting your tongue as he led you to the door. Just a few more seconds in his presence, then TO FREEDOM. 

He opened the door.

And three men tumbled inside on top of each other, the momentum making them fall on the floor in a heap. 

You winced.

“What the fuck?!”, Yoongi growled, his resting death scowl back with a vengeance. “Were you three fuckheads eavesdropping?”

The men immediately stood up, fixing their clothing. The one at the bottom of the heap winced when the one above him used him as support. 

You recognised all of them. His bandmates. Although you weren’t their fan, you were still a little starstruck. The cameras didn’t do their faces justice. You shrunk behind Yoongi, a little intimidated at so much testosterone surrounding you. Prime specimen of the male species too. If you weren’t already pregnant, your ovaries would be tingling with primordial urges. 

Then they all spoke at the same time. 

“You wouldn’t let us come with you!” Taehyung.

“It’s all Taehyung’s doing hyung, we just wanted to make sure he didn’t get in any trouble.” Jeongguk.

“We?! What the fuck, don’t include me in your schemes. You guys dragged me here!” Jimin. 

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose and you prepared for another of his already infamous searing rebukes. You wanted popcorn to watch these three guys get thoroughly chastened. 

Taehyung just held up his hand, stopping the elder even before he began. “Calm down, hyung. We’re not here for you.”

Your jaw dropped. He shut Yoongi up with a hand. You wanted to worship at this guy’s shrine. 

Then he peered around Yoongi to look at you, giving you a shy smile. “Hello,__. I’m Taehyung.”

Wow, Yoongi and his bandmates were night and day. This guy reminded you of Winnie The Pooh while Yoongi was Cruella de Vil personified. 

When you didn’t say anything, Taehyung frowned with worry, turning accusing eyes at Yoongi.

“Hyung, you upset her.”

Yes, he did, Pooh.

Yoongi raised an unconcerned brow. “And? Why the fuck are you here again?”

“Would you stop with the swearing, there’s a child in the room.”, Taehyung reprimanded and your worshipful impulses grew. 

Jeongguk scowled.

Jimin nudged him. “Not you, idiot.”

Taehyung came towards you with a placating smile, likely sensing the damage Yoongi had done. “I can drop you home. There’s a really good gelato shop a block from here. If you want we can stop there. Ice cream fixes everything.”

You nodded immediately, letting your guardian angel lead you out of the room with a hand at your back. 

You didn’t spare Yoongi’s disbelieving face another look. 

A/n: Taehyung will make a more proper appearace in the next chapter. Do let me know what you thougt, feeback keeps me writing.

#bts smut #bts imagines #bts fic #yoongi smut #taehyung smut #yoongi angst #taehyung angst #pregnant reader #young x pregnant reader #taehyung x pregnant reader #sperm donation #baby you're bad #Indian readers did you get the shoutouts? #back from hiatus #writing is a little rusty

[alligaytorswamp]

yellow , green , blue, turquoise , onyx , fuchsia , cream , mauve ( also genshin) & plum B)))

hey hi hello >:)

green: do you have a favourite flower?

nah i dont differentiate them.. every flower is just a flower to me jkhasjkdhkj...

if the flower is purple it gets extra points tho

blue: preferred type of weather?

rain!!! thunderstorms!!! <333

turquoise: favorite sea animal?

penguins or turtles :p

onyx: do you still play Minecraft?

nope, never did

fuchsia: favorite land animal?

cream: any piercings or tattoos? do you want any?

i have a helix one but it got fucked up.. so it looks weird :(

would love to fix it one day.. or maybe get rid of it completely hhh

no tattoos but i want some yes heheeheh

some longer answers will be under the cut jkahdsjkad

plum: a food you've never tried

oi.. dats like a lot of things... ;;

well I've never had anything "Chinese"/"Mexican"/idk what else people mention in a similar manner... i hear English-speaking folks refer to these.. "types" and yep never had any of that. also like.. any food chains that just don't exist in Russia? obv nope......... there is probably an insane amount of stuff I haven't tried, I'm picky and literally just eat at home 99% of the time so-

yellow: name of an artist you think is underappreciated

gonna give a dumb ass answer but... i can't...? i don't really know how much one should be "appreciated", like what is the "right amount" and whether or not this person receives it. the amount of notes/likes doesn't always represent that and also i don't look there at all.. also this one random artist can have multiple accs on different platforms with different engagements and all that... so how do i really know what's up with them? and once again i don't think i sit around thinking Damn this person needs more likes !! .. i just like/rb whatever i want and it's epic lashdjlksajdlk also i'm not sure if i have strong attachments to certain creators.. (at this point that is. i used to and some of it backfired lmao) ... the only attachments i have r ppl i'm friends with which is U Know... considered the right answer to this question and an adequate person would do just that but damn none of yall getting a free promo wtf 🙄 and i feel like mentioning one friend could lead to upsetting another or like .. i could just forget to tag someone... or I would waste time trying to figure out if it would be ok to mention them in an ask like this one and probably would decide against it anyways just not to bother anybody ....

and is getting tagged in a post saying u r underappreciated even a compliment? because i for one am not too sure about that........... much to think about uh huh

mauve: any unpopular opinions?

we entered danger zone.................... beware :з

uhhh well first of all I think childe x zhongli is like the most pathetic and boring "default" pairing this fandom came up with. they have 0 chemistry and I just hate everything about it. as much as I headcanon both as queers... together romantically it feels like 2 straight men put together by ya*i fans............ also before i blacklisted to ship and voluntarily looked through the ship tag... every post felt like a hard ooc. i could not understand what childe or zhongli are supposed to be as individuals, what they have in common, what kind of dynamic they have. deadass most crack ships with 0 interactions have more flavor than this tragedy

eng VAs are great people and appreciate their work but whoever decides the voices ain't doing it right. every male character sounds like a middle-aged white man.. and most of the youngest characters sound like very obvious adults trying to pretend to be babies. all of it irks me so bad god.. and there are so many characters that lose their little spark in eng........ (yet in korean and chinese they're completely fine??)

all of the playable adult male characters are shitty people in one way or another. none of them are good. they have reasons and different perspectives, yes, but they suck. every single one of them. stop ignoring it or trying to say only some are evil. none of them are inherently terrible.. but they're not these precious and righteous individuals. they're men.................... that says a lot, actually. :\

and as for women? god i hate the idea that they're all so uninteresting and weak. lichrally just a bunch of girlbosses, morals of most could be questioned as well... anyways some of the girls not having extremely dramatic stories doesn't make them any less cool. let them be

also all archons suck it's ok. you can still love them while acknowledging that they've done some shit. ALSO stop demonizing venti .. and now baal, while praising zhongli- he's an old loser stop lying to yourself. i hate when people present him as the only good archon, the voice of reason who is just so cool and collected but also ahh so cutely silly about mora !!!............. bitch the story quest of liyue is just one zhongli-is-a-fucking-moron campaign idk did yall skip it or something............ and even then it's ok to like him, he does have his logic/reasons/beliefs that justify his actions... he is not a good guy or archon tho.

shipping archons/adepti/whatever the fuck that isn't a basic human with a basic human is super weird. i mean the power dynamic will be completely fucked and ages? lord almighty... basically mortals should stay with mortals... the rest goes to baby jail except maybe ganyu she's a good girl

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh idk what else.................

maybe.. ahha... well.............. with how people hype up any vague new character that is leaked and declare how they will skip every banner ever for them - even tho all we know is... how the character looks like? it feels a bit too much. like truly what's the point of going crazy and then screaming at mihoyo every 3 seconds over some character that could be fake for all we know, or maybe they'll be a support you don't need, or they have a weapon you don't like to use.... can't you just wait till we get official info? jesus lawd- but regardless.......................... where is the same energy for baizhu :)

the man is literally in the game and people manage to forget him even in conversations about dendro specifically- how the fuck is that even real-

thanks for watching everybody don't forget to subscribe smash that like button and hit the notification bell ^_^

#now this is a lot adlaksjdlk #SORRY #also thank u ahjskadhdjskahdjksahdkj #ask adry #rottfestt #ask game

[readerstories]

Those pretty lips - Tommy Shelby x male!reader

Inspired by @peakynsfw‘s blurb about Tommy that you can find here. If you see any typos, please tell me. (AO3)

Warnings: smut, swearing, also slight internalized homophobia (it’s the 1920′s mah dudes)

Wordcount: 3846

Thomas Shelby is one hell of a man. Just being in the same room as him can be breathtaking. He exudes a feeling of power, not in a big brash way, but in a quiet ever present way that could make many a woman or man feel lightheaded. 

It could make any person weak at the knees or sending their mind somewhere completely different and indecent. You belong in the latter category. You’ve put up too many barriers for our own protection for that to let it slip through.

So instead you settle for just looking at him when you think you can get away with it the few times you see him. You doubt he even knows really who you are. He likely knows that you are a friend of Micheal, Finn,and Isaiah, and a Peaky Blinder, but not much more than that. He has barely even given you a glance the times you have met, a contrast to all the times you have watched him. 

Most of the time when you see him, he’s not at the place to meet a specific person or you, like now, when you are watching him talk with some of the other Peaky Blinders that are more veteran. You are standing at the bar in The Garrison while he is at one of the many tables. You do not look at him a lot, every look you take carefully calculated as to not be noticed. You make it look like you are simply watching the room, and not him specifically. 

For once you are alone, both Finn and Isaiah have gone off to find themselves company for the night, while Michael is at home with his new girl. You are content with just standing at the bar, sipping your whiskey, stealing looks when you can. You occasionally talk to Harry, and turn away any woman that approaches you. 

If your friends were here they would have teased you relentlessly, while you would have mumbled into your glass that you simply wasn’t in the mood for the night. You rarely were for women, although some had shared your bed, some even more than one night. You just preferred men, although they were even rarer to find in your bed. Not for a lack of want, but more for safety. 

You sigh, taking a sip of your drink and glancing over at Tommy. You catch him licking his lips and grinning, probably in the middle of telling something about the business or a story to the men around him. You stare for maybe a second or two longer than you normally would be before you are able to take your eyes off his lips.

When you look back again, he is not at the table anymore. The other men are starting to scatter, so you gather he must have been done with whatever he was doing and left. You sigh. You wanted too see him more, but that will have to be for another time.

“You going to keep staring at me all night?” You heart nearly stops in your chest when you hear his voice as he joins your lonely silhouette at the bar. A simple show of power for anyone watching, but also an invitation when accompanied by the barely there curl of lips that only you can see.

“Is there going to be a problem if I do?” You don’t know where the bravery you felt that made that line fall from your lips came from, but you welcome it. Tommy hums, fishing out a cigarette and lighting it. He takes a drag and exhales, looking at you the whole time.

“Only if you keep that glass in your hand. Keep picturing something else that we both would look much better in those hands and even better with those pretty lips of yours.” If you had been drinking your drink, you would have chocked on it. Instead, you keep playing cool, pretending your heart isn’t threatening to beat out of your chest any second.

“So that is what is going through the infamous Mr. Shelby’s head. Interesting.” You definitely are going to blame that line on your liquid courage if anyone ever asks. You hope no one ever does. 

Tommy just quirks an eyebrow and keeps smoking. You take a sip of your drink in the silence, keeping eye contact with his heavenly blue eyes. It’s the longest you have ever interacted with him, so to say that this situation is unusual is an understatement. 

Tommy takes another drag form his cigarette and lets the smoke flow calmly into the air between you.

“You are going to finish your drink, go outside, wait for me, then we will go to where ever you live, and I’ll show you what is on my mind.” It’s said which such calm, like he was just talking about the weather, not him fulfilling one of your biggest daydreams of having him in your bed.

“Alright then Mr. Shelby, until then.” You take your drink and tip it towards him in a goodbye gesture before downing the rest of it and putting it back at the bar. A drop of whiskey escapes your mouth, you are quick to lick it away. 

You catch Tommy’s eyes following the motion of your tongue, and you are back to pretending your heart isn’t trying to escape your chest. You put your cap on from your pocket and walk out. When outside the pub, you light up a cigarette of your own.

You are nearly finished with your second cigarette when Tommy comes outside. He says nothing, but gives you a look that is clearly meant as a order to start walking. You stomp out your cigarette on the wall of the pub after a last inhale. 

You start walking, Tommy joining you. You keep the tempo low, as to not give away how eager you are. Tommy is smoking another cigarette, saying nothing. You too keep quiet. 

You think about lighting another cigarette to have something to do with your hands, but decide against it. You are not as heavy of a smoker like Tommy, so it would have done you no good. Instead you bury your hands in your pocket, one hand fiddling with the key to your front door.

When you finally make it your house, Tommy is on his second cigarette of the walk. While you unlock the door, he takes a final drag before stomping it out. You go inside, and he follows close behind.

“You live alone?” You nod at Tommy’s question while taking of your coat and hanging it up at the coat rack in the corner.

“Yes. My Father died in the war, mom long before that. So I’m alone in this house.” 

“My condolences.” You shrug while throw your cap on the coat rack as well, smiling when it swings back and forth with the motion.

“Well, long time ago, doesn’t matter now.”

“No, it doesn’t. What matters that we are alone.” Before you can think much about what those words mean, arms are going around your waist from behind and a pair of lips are going up your neck. You can’t help the moan that escapes from you, so happy for those lips finally on you. 

Your own arms grip Tommy’s, not knowing what else to do except to cling to them like your are afraid he will disappear if you don’t. He pushes you against the wall, grinding against your ass, letting you feel the hardening cock in his pants. You moan again.

“Where’s your bedroom?” You don’t answer him at once, to busy reveling in hos gravely voice so close to your ear. He nips said ear when you don’t answer him.

“Unless you want to doit right here?” He breathes, still grinding into you. You inhale sharply, trying to gather yourself enough to answer.

“No, not.... Up the stairs and second door to the right.” With that the pressure of Tommy against your back and ass is gone. You turn around to catch a glimpse of him. At some point he had managed to get his coat off without you noticing, yet his cap is still on. It cast alluring shadows over his face in the faint light that comes from the lamps outside. You can’t see his eyes, but his grin is mesmerising. 

“Lead the way then.” You start to walk up the stairs, when you can’t hear the steps of him following you look over your shoulder at him. He is just watching you.

 Deciding that some of your liquid courage is back, you slide your jacket off, draping it over the banister. You keep walking up the stairs slowly, starting unbuttoning your vest next, all while keeping eye contact as good as you can with Tommy still having his cap on. 

It’s hard to coordinate everything without falling on your face on the stairs, but it has the desired effect. Tommy takes his cap off, hangs it on the coat rack before starting to follow you up the stairs. 

By the time you have made it to the top your vest is in your hands, and Tommy has caught up to you. He pushes you forwards without saying a word. You throw your vest somewhere on the floor. 

You push the door to your room open, leading the way, Tommy right behind you. As soon as the door closes behind him, he is on you again, cock still hard against your ass. 

Another moan gets out of your mouth when you can feel his teeth right above your still buttoned up shirt collar.

“I think this should all go.” You feel his hand slip down towards the edge of your pants, your breath hitch. You start fumbling with your tie as Tommy untucks your shirt. 

When both those tasks are dealt with, you start unbuttoning your shirt. Tommy’s hands stay just above the edge of your pants, rubbing slightly at the newly exposed skin. 

You try not to let your breath go out too shaky, but by the breezy chuckle you hear slip out of Tommy’s mouth, you know you have failed. You unbutton the shirt all the way, and Tommy lets go off you so you can take it off completely. 

He doesn’t let you turn around, he’s back as soon as your shirt hits the floor. You can feel the rough fabric of his vest, and the cold chain of his pocket watch pressed against your back. 

His lips on your neck, then moving down to your shoulder. You moan loudly when he finds a good spot somewhere inbetween and you can feel his smile when he bites down on it hard.

 Your hands hover in the air for a moment, unsure of where to go, before you reach back and place them on Tommy’s hips. You drag him towards you, making him grind into you. This time it’s he who moans, and you can’t help but grin.

“Tommy, come on, let me turn around.”

“And why would I do that?” Is voice is gravely, barely above a murmur.

“Because, ahh, I feel that I’m at a disadvantage here, and I want more clothes off.”

“Is that what you want ey’?” You nod, keeping down a moan when he kisses behind your ear.

“I don’t know, I quite like this position.” As he says that, his hand slips under the waistband of your pants. You gasp slightly, stilling his hands just inches from your crotch and where you want them.

“Come on, you should be undressed too.” You know he could break your hold on his hands any second, but he does nothing, just letting his hands rest under your pants, making you feel like you are burning up from his touch.

“Okay then.” He pulls his hands away, and you can finally turn around. He’s standing there, hands in his pocket and with a smirk on his devilishly handsome face. When Tommy makes no move to undress, you gather what he wants you to do. 

He wants you to undress him, the cheeky fucker. You are more than happy to oblige. You step closer to him, pushing yourself as far as you can into his personal space as you can without actually touching his body to yours. 

You place your hands on his shoulders, letting them glide around his torso as freely as you wish. He watches you, saying nothing. You start to unbutton his vest, his jacket is still on, but since he doesn’t seem like he is going to take his hands out of his pockets, you leave it. 

As soon as the vest is done, you go for his tie. It soon joins your shirt on the floor. You start on the buttons of his shirt as you realise you haven’t done much to him yet. 

So, as soon as his neck becomes visible, you start kissing it. You don’t dare biting or sucking, not wanting to test his limits with you leaving a mark behind. 

But your try to make him make some sort of noise none the less. Your are successful when you lick a long stripe up his collarbone when you are nearly done unbuttoning his shirt. 

The noise he makes spurs you on, so as soon as the shirt is unbuttoned, your hands go on his hips, pulling him forward. You push your hard cock against his, peppering kisses and licks against his collarbone as you grind together. 

He finally takes his hands out of his pockets, putting them on your hips. He drags you towards him, letting you two find a rhythm together. You don’t stand there for long before he is pushing you away. 

“Bed.” He says before you can even open your mouth. He shrugs his top layers of, you ignore the dull thump you can hear from his clothes. You walk back towards the bed, watching him the whole time. 

It’s not a long way, but you feel like it drags on with the intensity of his gaze. When the back of your knees his the bed frame, you let yourself fall back on your elbows, sliding your shoes off in the process. 

Tommy soon follows, and before you can even process what is happening, he has dragged all of you into the middle of the bed, and is straddling your hips. He rolls his hips and you moan. 

This is something you have dreamt of so many times that admitting the number would have been shameful. Tommy on top of you is a dream come true. And then he is kissing you. 

For a split second you are frozen, too dumbstruck to kiss him back. But before it goes too long, you are kissing him back. One of his hands is in your hair, the other on your hip. 

You own hands are on his hips, dragging him down onto you, you yourself grinding up into him. You moan into the kiss and he does too. It’s perhaps the most wonderful sound you have ever heard. 

Before long it seems that grinding is no longer enough for Tommy, so he stills his hips while his hand on your hip finds it way to the button on your pants. You barely have time to react before your pants are undone and his hand is on your cock. The moan you let out is a lot louder than any that came earlier in the night.

“Like that do ya?” Tommy sounds so smug and you love it.

“Yes, of course, there’s a hand around my cock that isn’t my own, of course I fucking like it.” Tommy hums, dragging his hand up and down a few times, making you let out another moan. He starts kissing and biting your neck together with his strokes around your cock.

You summon whatever is left of your senses to move your own hands. They were still resting on Tommy’s hips, now they’re sliding down towards the buttons of his pants. 

You palm his cock with one hand as you unbutton his pants and he moans into your neck. Soon you have his cock in your hand. It feels wonderful, and big in your hand. You start to stroke his cock with the same rhythm as him. 

Another moan escapes his mouth, a sound you will remember forever. You wrap your legs around his ass and pull him closer, causing your hands and cocks to bump together. You moan in unison. 

At that you make a decision that you want to hear more noises from just his mouth. But vocalizing those thoughts are hard when Tommy’s hand is still on your cock and he’s kissing and biting his way down your collarbone. 

“Tommy?” He doesn’t answer, you push at his shoulder. 

“Come on, get off me, I want to suck your cock and I cant do it from here.” You can feel him grin against your neck.

“Not shy are you?”

“I didn’t get you into my bed by being fucking shy now did I?”

“No you did not.” He rolls of you, tucking his hands behind his head as he settles. You get up and straddle him. You lean forward, stealing a kiss since you didn’t get enough earlier. 

He kisses back slowly, almost lazily, seemingly happy to let you do whatever you want. You salivate at the thought. The most feared man in Birmingham and the man of many a sexual dream of yours (and others) in your bed, willing to let you do whatever you want to him. 

You try not to think too much about it, so you break the kiss to move down to Tommy’s neck. You kiss your way down to his chest, stopping yourself from leaving marks as you go. When you make it down to his chest, you take one nipple in your mouth, the other in your hand. 

Tommy moans. After a while you switch. You can feel Tommy’s cock twitch and leak against your stomach where you are almost laying down on him. You can guess he is impatient when you feel one of his hands slip into your hair and tugging you slightly downwards. 

You grin against his chest, giving it a last kiss before making your way down. You kiss down his stomach, dragging his pants and underwear further down as you go. Tommy lifts his hips so you can slip them off completely. 

You throw them on the floor somewhere, finally settling between his legs. You give him a quick kiss on his hips, and then you start kissing along his shaft. Tommy lets out moan and his hand finds its way back in your hair. 

You start sucking gently on the tip, barely letting it slip past your lips. You slowly take more and more of him in. 

You make sure to suck harder at random times, making Tommy let out more moans at the change in the feeling of your lips around his cock. You are honestly enjoying his sounds and the feeling of his cock in your mouth. You take ahold of his legs, pushing them further apart while you go down deeper. Both of his hands almost flies into your hair.

“Fuck!” He’s panting, and you look up, making eye contact with his cock almost down you throat. Another suck, another moan spills from his lips. You let him out of your mouth completely.

“Like that do ya’?” You say, mirroring his words from earlier.

“Of course I do, now get your lips back on my cock.” You grin, more than happy to oblige him. You lick up his shaft, then taking it back in your mouth. You suck hard, making Tommy gasp and his hips lifts off the bed. You grin as good as you can with his cock in your mouth and continue sucking.

It’s not long before you can feel and hear that Tommy is close to coming. His breath is shorter, he’s bucking up into your mouth, mumbling something. He tries to pull you off his cock, but you are having none off it, staying right where you are. 

You intend to save every bit of this time, including the feeling of his sperm going down your throat. So instead of stopping, you just keep sucking, fondling his balls as well. 

Just minutes later, Tommy spills down your throat. You drink down every last drop, sucking until he has to push you of since he’s too sensitive. You lick sit up, licking your lips.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Tommy sits up too, dragging you down for a bruising kiss. He then somehow flips you over so you are under him, hand going straight for your still hard cock. 

You break the kiss to moan, so he dives down to your chest as take one of your nipples in his mouth. The pace of his strokes as brutal, and before long, you are spilling yourself into his hand with a cry of his name. 

While you catch your breath, Tommy sits up, and with an almost awe, you watch him lick your sperm of his hand with a devilish look on his face. When he’s done, he flops down next to you. 

He reaches over to the night stand where you have another case of cigarettes.

“May I?”

“Yes, go ahead.” You answer, still slightly out of breath. He takes on and offers you one. You take it, letting him light if for you after he has done his own. You smoke in silence, you then notice you still have your goddamn pants still on. You take them of as well as you can without getting up or putting out your cigarette. Tommy chuckles next to you.

“Elegant.”

“Always.” You stretch, letting the cigarette hang in the corner of your mouth. Tommy says nothing, neither do you, letting the silence settle in between you.

----------------

You wake from your light slumber by the creaking of the stairs, unfamiliar footsteps making their way down unknown floorboards. You get up from your bed and stand at your window as you hear the door open and close below you. 

Outside your door stands Tommy, illuminated mostly by the moonlight and for a brief moment his own lighter. He walks away slowly, not rushing at all. 

You wonder if he cares that he might be seen leaving a lonely mans house at this hour of the night, or if he just counts on none one really giving a shit. 

Usually the men’s houses he leaves at this time of night ends up dead though. But Tommy Shelby can do what he wants and no one can say anything about it. 

You watch him until he disappears around the corner of your street in a cloud of cigarette smoke, then you draw the curtains and go back to bed. 

You will try in the morning not too think too much about the night that happened, but it will be impossible with how wonderfully sore your body is feeling.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x male!reader #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders #male!reader #peaky blinders fic #reader insert #reader #readerinsert #written #lemon #smut #3500

[hopesiick]

𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐃 // vice detective, thirty-three, red ridge native.

— unflinching, grudging, brainy, irreverent, plucky, mulish. loosely inspired by dominique dipierro (mr robot), laurie blake (watchmen hbo), eve polastri (killing eve), wendy byrde (ozark), and allie pressman (the society). this vine, too.

howdy, folks! i’m dev. 🤠 this is my dearest brain babie, jordan. normally, this is where i’d get all mushy-gushy on y’all, but the rest of this introduction is already too long as it is, and i’d rather not add insult to injury hehe. just know i’m happy to be here & even more excited to get to know you all + your brain babies, too! 🥳 @redridgeimp​​

— pinterest, stats + connections page.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑: bullet points marked with three asterisks (***) feature mentions of domestic abuse and unfit parenting. reader discretion is advised.

the toussards are old money. her mother’s side of the family have made their fortune off of hay farms scattered across the state of nevada, and her father’s side of the family have mostly been cattle and dairy farmers. together, they decided to venture into real estate, too, by buying up farm land plots and selling them at a higher price, along with residential plots, too. 

they’re not showy people, but they definitely make good use of their money. jordan’s childhood home is a plantation-style house on a big ole plot of land situated on the outskirts of town. they had healthy green grass with sprinklers and a full garden. inside, everything was real wood, ivory, and silver. they had a maid and gardeners and the whole nine yards. still, if you hadn’t seen that or recognized their family name, you might have expected them to be any other family belonging to red ridge. 

to many, they gave off the image of a picture-perfect, all-american nuclear family. it’s easy to pretend, seeing as they live so far away from all the glitz and none of them -- no matter how they feel -- are willing to shatter that golden reputation, but it isn’t real. elise, her mother, wanted a doll more than she wanted an actual child, and it was society’s pressure on women to give birth that forced her hand, not any sense of innate desire for expanding the family. joseph, her father, was too caught up in his wife’s every wish and whim to really pay attention to jordan in a deep way. he never turned his back on her, but jordan never felt any deep belonging to him either -- if anything, he felt more like a 2d stand in for the father she wished she’d had. 

*** that meant there was only one adult left to really pick up her parent’s slack, and that was corinne, her aunt. corinne, who had an awful habit of bringing terrible men home. corinne, who was bipolar and unmedicated, and often in charge of taking care of jordan from the moment she was in diapers to the moment she graduated college. corinne, who was manipulated by her own sister. corinne, who was helpless to protect jordan against her mother’s attacks, and unable to shield her from the rage her boyfriends spat. corinne is like a mother to jordan. she was the hand that rubbed her back when she was sick. she was the open arms that held her when one of jordan’s teenage dates went sour. she was the one to cover for her when she snuck out and the one to teach her everything her mother considered too immoral and dirty. corinne is her mother in the way elise never could be, but still .. jordan can’t help but feel anger towards her. 

*** jordan’s known how to use, fire, and clean a gun from the age of eight. she learned how to hunt at the age of ten. she knew and helped her father field dress a handful of animals by the age of twelve. you may think this was just a bit of heavy-handed bonding between a father and daughter, but it wasn’t. elise and joseph used to go away a lot, both for pleasure and business, which left jordan in corinne’s sole care. that wouldn’t be a problem, if it weren’t for the fact that a grand majority of corinne’s relationships were abusive, specifically physically. jordan was a child, but she was a child with a duty -- a duty to protect her caretaker if necessary. at the time, jordan didn’t think much of it. she liked feeling like she had an in with her father, liked feeling important. it was only when she got older that she realized how fucked up everything had been, and how that’s the driving factor behind the feeling of fear she just can’t drop, and the mistrust she has in others. the anger she feels towards corinne is rooted in that. she can’t help but feel like it’s corinne’s fault and she hates that her aunt -- a fully grown adult -- was the center of her childhood, instead of her own self.

skipping forward a bit, jordan went to college right after high school to major in criminal science. her lifelong exposure to such abuse left her with a taste for vengeance. see, jordan wanted to be a police officer to protect her hometown, sure, but she also wanted the badge so that she could finally dish out the punishment that so many of the officers she’d seen were unwilling to. the only way to stop that culture of turning a blind eye was to do it from the inside, and that’s exactly what she did. 

jordan’s been a cop for twelve years now. she started her career doing patrol and eventually working with the gangs and narcotics team for five years. after a lot of pestering and brown-nosing, jordan became a g&n detective. she was mostly in charge of surveillance, carrying out raids, and the planning of both. ( she had an opportunity early in her career to go undercover, but jordan’s too obvious for that. ) eventually, jordan switched departments over to the special victims unit, but that stint really only served as a segue into where she is now: the vice and support department. she used to specialize in community outreach, helping bridge the gap between the community and the precinct. she worked with groups focused on helping those affected by drugs and sex workers who have been abused. when one of the detectives assigned to missing persons cases left, jordan was quick to apply for it. needless to say, she got the job and has been doing that since.

she’s got the nose for it -- all the digging and reviewing and passion for the relentless pursuit. she doesn’t particularly like dealing with the families of those affected, but it’s part of the job. on most days, she genuinely enjoys it, but with the rise in crime and the amount of deaths at their feet, jordan can’t help but rethink her choices. she’s competitive by nature; she can’t handle these losing games. 

jordan’s a very cutthroat cop -- especially in her g&n days, when it was all heat, all pressure, all the time. she’s got an eye for weakness and isn’t afraid to exploit that on the job. she’s not above making threats -- promises, really -- and has always been the type to gather as much evidence as humanly possible, because she wants prosecutors to see justice through. she’s just really efficient. she wouldn’t be where she was at only thirty-three if she wasn’t. most of the time, you can catch her putting in overtime hours. 

that being said... jordan has a big heart. she doesn’t believe in institutions as a whole, but she does believe in people. the law is the law and rules are vital for a functioning society, but .. she may be willing to look the other way sometimes, if you’re close enough. ( i mean, she was married to a valencia member at one point, so. ) she may not agree with what some people do, but she’ll really only go after you if what you’re doing is truly heinous. ( but don’t tell her supervisors! 🥺 and don’t mention the hypocrisy to her face. )

outside of work, though, jordan’s pretty chill. she used to be a loudmouthed firecracker in her youth, but she’s calmed down significantly since then. really, she’s not so bad! maybe it's because she can't handle being alone, but she thrives from being in groups + will strike up a conversation with anyone and everyone. if she likes your shoes, she'll tell you. if you need a ride home then she’ll walk with you because she’s most likely equally as inebriated. kind of the person that you’re hesitant to approach, but when you do she treats you like you’re old friends -- even if you're not. you know that drunk girl in the bathroom that gives you sagely advice or tells you she loves your hair? that’s jordan, except she’s not drunk. 

when jordan makes her mind up on something, it’s almost impossible to get her to budge. it doesn’t matter if she’s in the wrong, she’ll trudge on no matter what. her flippancy in the face of danger – a prized act at this point – has landed her in trouble before, and it most certainly will again. she’s unyielding and unapologetic; not willing to change herself for anyone. getting her to talk about her emotions is like pulling teeth, except even that would probably be easier. she’s incredibly honest about some things as a way to hide behind it; it’s a farce that distracts people into thinking she’s being honest with them, when really she’s not -- not entirely, anyway. 

loves love, but she’s rotten at it. her anxiety gets in the way, tells her that she’ll mess it up somehow until she finally does, like a self-fulfilling prophecy. ( something-something abt the fact that she can’t comprehend someone loving her if not even her own parents could ). she’s a much better friend, and jordan thinks that’s more important anyhow. genuinely, if you’re her friend then she loves you endlessly and earnestly.

𝒇𝒖𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒓 !

jordan is that friend that gets a little bit too into car karaoke.

she’s also the type to order a screwdriver during an 11a brunch.

it’s a wonder that she doesn’t have tinnitus, considering she always blasts heavy metal music in her car.

makes jokes about getting married and divorced, because if you can’t laugh at your pain then you’re fucked.

if you ever visit her unannounced, you’ll spot her in t-shirts that say “milf in training”, “god looks like me”, and more.

if you’re mean to her she’ll give you a parking ticket.

she plays dirty in fights. used to bite a lot as a child and she still does. all is fair in love and war, babie! enjoy getting that tetanus shot and lovely hospital bill! 💋

pantsuits from monday to friday, and overalls without a bra on the weekend because fuck that shit. also extremely partial to shirts with low plunges. a lil bit of side titty for everyone. 

if you’re leaving a drink behind she’ll finish it for you because daddy didn’t raise no quitters.

has a lot of self-worth issues, but she’d sooner die than ever tell anyone about them or even confront them herself. 

don’t let the pantsuit fool you! there’s pure muscle underneath that two-piece, babie. 

𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄. 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔:

“i am the shape you made me. filth teaches filth.”

"can i be blamed for my efforts? all men are drawn to the sea, perilous though it may be."

"there is a place, deep in the heart of fear, where you trap yourself and claim that is safety."

"still, a great deal of light falls on everything."

"i hold a stalk in my hand. i am the stalk. my roots go down to the depth of the world."

“i always figured when i got older, god would sorta come into my life somehow. and he didn’t. i don’t blame him. if i was him i would have the same opinion of me that he does.”

“nothing washes off.”

“you cannot be stolen, ransacked, looted like an emptied bank account or a burgled house. you are the tough old tissues, the exquisite scars. you are the thing that would not die.”

𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚, 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒔 ! ( open to any gender ) 

jordan can’t function without a best friend, so.. gimme, please! 🥺🤲

i once read a passage talking about how the friendships you make in your childhood can never be mimicked in your adulthood, and you know what.. #true. where’s jordan’s childhood friends at? do they still keep in touch? did they have a massive fallout as teenagers where jordan told them to get hit by a truck because she was a very dramatic 16 yr old? were they frenemies? do they still have one of jordan’s things because she was terrible at remembering everything after a sleepover? did jordan’s parents help your muse’s family out? idc, just gimme!

exes / almost exes. remember what i said about jordan being a shit when it comes to love? they could’ve been serious at some point whether as adults or in their youth, maybe it was short-lived, maybe jordan never even let it get off the ground. could be on good terms or bad terms or no terms at all. 

neighbors!! jordan pulls some odd hours n sometimes plays her music a little too loud and burns her food more often than she should at 33 yrs old. she may or may not be the best neighbor to have is all i’m saying, but she tries!! 

friends!! platonic love is the most purest form of love there is and she’s got a lot of it to give!! come and get ya some! 

enemies / hateships because sometimes .. it just be like that. whether this has to do with a falling out of some sort, just straight up hate at first sight, or something to do with an encounter on the job, or something else entirely i’m here for it! 

one night stands / [old] fwb. i’m gonna be honest with y’all: if jordan likes you, then she can’t sleep with you. now, i’m gonna be honest with y’all again: jordan’s very much a yes-girl. she says and does things just to get a reaction sometimes or see what’ll happen ( something-something "sometimes if you let people do things to you, you're really doing it to them" ). that being said, she’ll sleep with just about anyone. maybe they don’t talk about it ever, maybe they only ever talk when they want something, maybe they regret it, maybe it’s all gucci, and maybe it was good until it wasn’t. idk! 

jordan has been shot twice in her career thus far. the first time was during a noise disturbance call and the second time was during a narc raid. if your muse wants in on that we can discuss the deets! 

and also literally whatever else your heart desires because i’m both here for the fluffiest deepest connections ever and also the angstiest makes-me-wanna-die type shit. i literally don’t say no to anything so if you have any ideas you think jordan can be a good fit for, i’m all ears!! 

#redridgeintro #did i really have to write all of tht? no. but did i do it anyway bc i love jordan with my whole entire heart? yes. yes i unfortunately did. #tldr is that she's just a messy ole scaredy cat with a big marshmallow heart !!!! #domestic violence tw #domestic abuse tw

[sontwine88]

Restoring A Residence.

National Building And Construction Code.

Content

Exactly How The Home Remodelling And Also Refurbishment Providers In London Job.

Rj Repair Providers.

Begin Your Project.

Little Orangery Conservatories And Glass Conservatories.

Let The Sunshine In! Whatever You Wanted To Know Concerning Sunrooms

Recently Constructed Homes.

With that in mind a number of specialists at the Federation of Master Builders have fed their insider expertise into the adhering to listing of problems you need to consider. At the end of the day, there are just some designs that click as well as others that seem excellent in the abstract but stop working to measure up to our expectations.

How do I find a good local builder?

1. Find a Builder Working Locally. 2. Find a Builder Other Tradesmen Recommend. 3. Find a Local Builder Through a Friend. 4. Always Talk to Previous Customers. building contractor . Find a Builder Online. 6. Ask your Designer to Help You Find a Builder. 7. Ask the Building Inspectors. 8. Beware of 'Too Good to Be True' Quotes.

Testimonials that have a score of fewer than 3 celebrities, a missed out on visit or if the trader is not recommended, will certainly not right away show up. This is to ensure that our issues group can check what has actually happened.

What is the NCC code for Australia?

The National Construction Code of Australia (NCC) was previously known as the Building Code of Australia (BCA). It is published and maintained by the Australian Building Codes Board (ABCB). It contains technical provisions for the design and construction of buildings and other structures throughout Australia.

Exactly How The Home Improvement As Well As Repair Solutions In London Job.

Clients' names and also addresses are never ever released, and we do not publish anonymous comments. We protect our participants against rogue customers or purposeful anti-competitive behaviour. Each month we intend to check and also validate 30%-- 40% of comments received. Credit Scores Look At Limited Business - we do a Credit Check on applicants that are Restricted as well as Minimal Responsibility Collaboration business to examine their economic history. " His van will most likely be unmarked as well as it's more probable that he will not look clever as well as professional."

Rj Repair Solutions.

How can I generate more work?

So, without further adieu, here's our top 10 ways builders and tradesmen can generate more work. 1. Website. 2. Social Media. 3. Flyers. 4. Email. 5. SMS. 6. PPC (Pay-per-click) Advertising. 7. Referral sites. 8. Partnerships. More items

A little planning at the start can go a long means toward reducing costs in the future. Understanding the square footage you as well as your family members need is the very first step in locating the ideal residence.

Beginning Your Project.

She says that once you understand who you are, you'll recognize why you're drawn in to particular people. Subscribe to our complimentary newsletter this October for your opportunity to win a ₤ 50 John Lewis coupon. With their considerable residence and garden collections you'll be spoilt for selection. For the most up to date information, suggestions and also special cash conserving deals. As soon as you have sent out your invitation to tender phone round to validate who is intending to place in a submission, welcome them to visit your website as well as verify your deadline.

As the name suggests, this type is excellent at handling individuals. Mediators intuitively understand what others are assuming and really feeling.

So they are reflective and self-analytical-- men and women that take pleasure in journeying right into their ideas and intentions. As a result, when they form a collaboration, they like to delve deeply into the toughness and weaknesses of the relationship. ( Oprah.com)-- According to relationship wizard Helen Fisher, PhD, there are four character kinds-- Explorer, Home Builder, Negotiator as well as Supervisor.

Little Orangery Conservatories And Glass Conservatories.

When you fit after experiencing a particular layout, that ought to suggest a whole lot even more to you than specifications on paper. The most effective way for room to be made use of differs significantly based on the circumstances of individuals and families, as well as also if we can't place those elements of the ideal home strategy into words, we understand it when we see it. It is impossible to locate a residence that has whatever you want and also absolutely nothing you do not, yet that doesn't mean you won't still enjoy. local architects require to do is focus on by selecting the functions that are most important to you and also accepting that even something you like might have its adverse flipside.

Skanska utilizes about 43,000 individuals as well as has a yearly income of $18 billion U.S. dollars.

The company employs over 135,000 people as well as has an annual revenue of around $45.5 billion UNITED STATE dollars.

Bouygues is one of the largest construction business in the world; thus, they work throughout the globe.

They use over 118,000 individuals with close to $37 billion USD in earnings.

Like the majority of the other companies on this checklist, they also function worldwide.

One of their forthcoming tasks will be the brand-new school for Cardiff College in Wales.

And also will be dealing with a big framework task in Kenya this year, along with others.

PowerChina is among the most significant building business worldwide as well as is among the biggest firms in China.

Some gorgeous layout will certainly be engulfed when paired with clashing surfaces, which decreases the beauty of the structure and its contents together. A vital active ingredient to any kind of fantastic home design is the cooking area format. Make sure that it has everything you will certainly require to enjoy this room. Shown is a lovely premium kitchen area from this luxury artisan home strategy. Seek POWER STAR/Green home plans supplied by business like Your house Designers to ensure you develop one of the most energy-efficient residence for your area.

The cost of your house building will depend greatly on the dimension of your residence, in addition to the intricacy of the design. Begin the search for the best desire home by selecting a practical size and also an idea of just how you wish to see it utilized. A terrific method to start searching for your dream home plan is to surf Straight from the Designers' collection of New Residence Strategies. This brand new craftsman cattle ranch home strategy includes great deals of flexible functions.

Taking specific pride in upholding social standards, several are traditional, and they typically have a solid ethical streak. Contractors do not get bored conveniently, which enables them to be methodical, dedicated, and dependable. Thanks to all these solid top qualities, they often tend to be considered as pillars of the community. Tranquility, affable, and also individuals oriented, the Builder's personality is influenced by the serotonin system.

When busied with work or personal goals, they can show up unresponsive, far-off, even cold, and also are usually not thinking about making social links, with the exception of those that are useful or amazing to them. Arbitrators have particular characteristic that have actually been linked with estrogen. Although estrogen is known as a women sex hormone, males have it, too, and also there are lots of male Mediators.

Decide what is nonnegotiable, maintain an open mind for the rest, as well as weigh the advantages versus the downsides of each residence plan. In some cases we get caught up in the smaller sized information of a house and forget that we can conveniently make tweaks. It's the design of the framework that ought to have your attention. The setup of walls as well as areas defines a home, not what fixtures it includes.

They artfully checked out facial expressions, poses, motions, as well as tone of voice. Their passion in identification extends not just to others but to themselves.

As soon as you make sure the area is what you desire, the matter of interior decoration enables you to really personalize the house. It might be in your best interest to modify a building as opposed to proceed trying to find one that fits your needs specifically. Ask a professional for assistance when making best use of the possibility of a home, as well as you possibly won't need to search as a lot. If your grandma's antique corner hutch absolutely has to be included in your new house, be prepared to gauge it and discover an area where it can be properly shown. Decorating a residence with furniture that you already have can both make the new property currently feel like house and also conserve an excellent amount of money, but it does need cautious preparation.

Social situations are often enjoyable as well as relaxing for Builders; they such as to network. Because obligation and also commitment are their fortes, they often acquire a committed pack of peers and also friends. As well as they hold true guardians when it involves friends and family. She or he usually picks to do an excellent task instead of please others. As a matter of fact, Directors are the least socially competent of the four kinds.

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[grindskull]

Shit that fucks me up #1 - Toxic Masculinity and being a “man”

Gotta have some way to organize my random thoughts here. I’m going with the obvious thing - Shit that fucks me up (STFMU). This is about me and my experiences. It is not my intention to discredit or question other human experiences. Sharing in the hopes of connecting with others who may have feel similar in their own skin. There are things here that others may define as triggers so read at your own risk (rape, abuse, and this fucking world). ---

Here is me being vulnerable.  I am putting myself out there by discussing masculinity and how I often do not identify with the larger concept of “being a man” in any positive way. You can call it toxic masculinity if you prefer. It’s acceptable shorthand for something that is just as nuanced and difficult to wade through as anything gender related.  I read this article on The Atlantic yesterday and there were some things that really resonated with me and my experience as a man/male (he/his/him). You can read it here (sorry there is a pay wall if you read more than 4 articles a month) but I will also be quoting some of the article below.  If you have time to read the article I’ll wait. It’s a bit long (many articles on The Atlantic are) and kind of academic at times. It’s okay if you don’t agree with everything in the article. Just read it.  Done? Okay let me set the stage a bit for how this shit fucks me up. ---

I’m male. I have always identified as a male/boy/man in my life. Unfortunately my experience with other males/boys/men has been mostly negative. It started at an early age when I had a hard time connecting with other boys my age. I was not interested in typical “male” interests like sports, violence, competition, and achievement. I had few (usually 1 or 2) friends at any one time and they typically had some kind of unhealthy power dynamic over me where I was subservient to my “friend” in some way.  I have some thoughts on reasons why this happened. The short version is I lived in poverty (often extreme) and I was searching for help and support in order to survive. At home I had abuse (mental, physical, verbal), drugs, addiction, and neglect. It was not a safe place to be so I did whatever I could to not be there. It was not unusual for me to eat maybe one meal during the day (typically what I could get from others at school or their home). Winter was the worst as we often did not have heat. Some of my “friends” used this as a way to hold power over me and make demands of my personality, time, and attention. Imagine finding yourself in this situation - you have to actively work to not be yourself in order to appease others for your very survival. Of course as a youth I didn’t identify it this way - my “friends” were just bossy or demanding. All of my male role models were basically assholes who did not give a fuck about anyone except themselves. This was a huge part of the 80′s zeitgeist in popular culture at the time as well. In some ways nothing has really changed. “... when asked to describe the attributes of “the ideal guy,” those same boys appeared to be harking back to 1955. Dominance. Aggression. Rugged good looks (with an emphasis on height). Sexual prowess. Stoicism. Athleticism. Wealth (at least some day).“ Under this common definition of “masculinity” I do not see myself. I am loyal, honest, caring, and sweet (to those I love). I love my body though I am non-athletic and have been most of my life. I am an attentive and talented lover but I have had very few sexual partners in my life and never saw them as moments of “conquest”. I was dirt poor most of my life but now live comfortably in my own home with my long term partner. So while not “wealthy” it is far beyond anything I could have imagined I would have in my life as a boy. Stoicism I have down. That one was easy. For me it’s just a nice way of saying “I have completely disconnected from my emotions and not having feelings or emotions is the best way to be a man”. I believed that for a very long time - it’s only in the past 2-3 years I have begun the work of breaking that down and reconnecting with my own emotions. It’s all tied up in trauma, depression, and anxiety so it takes a bit of fucking work but it’s very much worth it. If you are a man/male who thinks it is normal to not have emotions (or that emotions make you feminine/weak) please listen to me - THAT IS BULLSHIT. YOU OWE IT TO YOURSELF TO HAVE EMOTIONS.

“... young men described just one narrow route to successful masculinity. One-third said they felt compelled to suppress their feelings, to “suck it up” or “be a man” when they were sad or scared, and more than 40 percent said that when they were angry, society expected them to be combative.“

Emotions are not weakness. You are not weak for having them, feeling them, or connecting with them. There is great strength in connecting with yourself and understanding your emotions. Don’t let anyone tell you different. They are delusional at best and actively trying to harm you at worst.

“While following the conventional script may still bring social and professional rewards to boys and men, research shows that those who rigidly adhere to certain masculine norms are not only more likely to harass and bully others but to themselves be victims of verbal or physical violence. They’re more prone to binge-drinking, risky sexual behavior, and getting in car accidents. They are also less happy than other guys, with higher depression rates and fewer friends in whom they can confide.”

---

How did we get here!? Have men always been this way? What about the good ole masculinity of ye olden times? It was a simple time where men were men right? A man’s man? “According to Andrew Smiler, a psychologist who has studied the history of Western masculinity, the ideal late-19th-century man was compassionate, a caretaker, but such qualities lost favor as paid labor moved from homes to factories during industrialization. In fact, the Boy Scouts, whose creed urges its members to be loyal, friendly, courteous, and kind, was founded in 1910 in part to counter that dehumanizing trend. Smiler attributes further distortions in masculinity to a century-long backlash against women’s rights. During World War I, women proved that they could keep the economy humming on their own, and soon afterward they secured the vote. Instead of embracing gender equality, he says, the country’s leaders “doubled down” on the inalienable male right to power, emphasizing men’s supposedly more logical and less emotional nature as a prerequisite for leadership.”

Take a minute to read that and really take it in. Like many things in the US (and the world) the effects of industrialization and war shaped our current version of accepted masculinity. More specifically the leaders of this country (and leaders in other countries) used their positions of power to strengthen men and this new masculinity in our institutions. Then we were taught that this was the “right way” to “be a man”. FUCK. THIS. SHIT.

“Today many parents are unsure of how to raise a boy, what sort of masculinity to encourage in their sons. But as I learned from talking with boys themselves, the culture of adolescence, which fuses hyper-rationality with domination, sexual conquest, and a glorification of male violence, fills the void.“

Here we have the core of what I experience as a man when it comes to the current socially accepted version of masculinity and why it fucks me up. I don’t identify with any of this shit! It does not feed me. It does not make me feel fulfilled and happy. It doesn’t make the world better for anyone it simply dehumanizes us all. 

“In a classic study, adults shown a video of an infant startled by a jack-in-the-box were more likely to presume the baby was “angry” if they were first told the child was male. Mothers of young children have repeatedly been found to talk more to their girls and to employ a broader, richer emotional vocabulary with them; with their sons, again, they tend to linger on anger. As for fathers, they speak with less emotional nuance than mothers regardless of their child’s sex. Despite that, according to Judy Y. Chu, a human-biology lecturer at Stanford who conducted a study of boys from pre-K through first grade, little boys have a keen understanding of emotions and a desire for close relationships. But by age 5 or 6, they’ve learned to knock that stuff off, at least in public: to disconnect from feelings of weakness, reject friendships with girls (or take them underground, outside of school), and become more hierarchical in their behavior.“

I’m not going to get into the topic of my own father (that’s another post in this series for sure) too deeply but I will say I completely identify with these ideas. Emotional distance, only expressing anger, telling me having emotions was weak. This was reinforced societal norms throughout my youth through today. Don’t talk about your problems or feelings. Ball them up inside. Wall yourself off from the world. Connections = weakness that others will exploit. You must control every situation and hold power over others. FUCK. THIS. SHIT.

---

So when did I wake up? When did I start to see through this shit in some way? When my younger sister was born. It was really obvious to me that she was treated in a different way and expectations of her as a girl/woman were not the same as the expectations others had for me. Mostly I just saw the negatives in this. It took me time (and lots of communication and experiences with my partner and others) to recognize the root of this was more fucked up socialization. 

“Girlfriends, mothers, and in some cases sisters were the most common confidants of the boys I met. While it’s wonderful to know they have someone to talk to—and I’m sure mothers, in particular, savor the role—teaching boys that women are responsible for emotional labor, for processing men’s emotional lives in ways that would be emasculating for them to do themselves, comes at a price for both sexes. Among other things, that dependence can leave men unable to identify or express their own emotions, and ill-equipped to form caring, lasting adult relationships.”

Read this carefully. Nobody is responsible for your emotional well being but you. If you are a male/man this is especially true - females/women are not responsible for managing your emotions and your reliance on them to take care of this is a form of abuse. They are not responsible for your emotions. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN EMOTIONS.

It can be really hard to see this. It was a blind spot for me for way too long. Don’t let it be one for you. Connecting with and taking responsibility for your emotions is one of the biggest things you can do to improve yourself as a human being. If you are sad you can cry. If you are happy you can laugh. You have a wide range of emotions and they don’t all lead to frustration or anger.

“As someone who, by virtue of my sex, has always had permission to weep, I didn’t initially understand this. Only after multiple interviews did I realize that when boys confided in me about crying—or, even more so, when they teared up right in front of me—they were taking a risk, trusting me with something private and precious: evidence of vulnerability, or a desire for it.“

---

Okay so putting aside all of the reinforcement we get from our parents and institutions and our lack of emotional vulnerability why do we all buy into this dumb shit? Who convinced us all this is what masculinity is? And why do we listen?

“What the longtime sportswriter Robert Lipsyte calls “jock culture” (or what the boys I talked with more often referred to as “bro culture”) is the dark underbelly of male-dominated enclaves, whether or not they formally involve athletics: all-boys’ schools, fraternity houses, Wall Street, Silicon Valley, Hollywood, the military. Even as such groups promote bonding, even as they preach honor, pride, and integrity, they tend to condition young men to treat anyone who is not “on the team” as the enemy (the only women who ordinarily make the cut are blood relatives— bros before hos!), justifying any hostility toward them. Loyalty is paramount, and masculinity is habitually established through misogynist language and homophobia.”

Sounds familiar right guys? Don’t kid yourself. This is what being a man looks like in almost all situations in which we feel “safe” to express our self right? You are either with us or against us. Anything different or anyone questioning this behavior must be “othered” as they are clearly not “on the team”. FUCK. THIS. SHIT.

This was my entire experience as a youth. As someone who did not fit into this group (nor wanted to) I was immediately “othered” and deemed a “pussy” or “fag” or “homo” or “weirdo”. My friend group reflected this - mostly others who also were “not on the team” like women, gays and lesbians, and men who also did not identify with this version of masculinity. Which just made it easier to group us all together and identify us as the enemy. 

“Just because some young men now draw the line at referring to someone who is openly gay as a fag doesn’t mean, by the way, that gay men (or men with traits that read as gay) are suddenly safe. If anything, the gay guys I met were more conscious of the rules of manhood than their straight peers were. They had to be—and because of that, they were like spies in the house of hypermasculinity.” Without the ability to connect with and express my emotions I often reacted in anger. I started fights. I got violent (with words and writing mostly). I returned this “othering” and treated them all as the enemy. I had other reasons for this (being abused by men as a boy) but at the crux of the issue I had no trust for men. This helped me connect with women and my gay friends as they also experienced this distrust in similar (and different) ways. 

Years later I found myself in a job where I managed a group of men (100 or more at any time) working as a team (video game industry) and totally unable to connect with any of them as a human let alone a man. It was at this time that I realized this was a problem beyond my own experiences and when I started to understand my own participation in this system. 

I tried to question things as they came up. I tried to hear my teammates and help them navigate this murky sea of masculinity to find their own place in it. Most people didn’t want to participate. They learned to keep their mouth shut if I was within earshot of their typical “bro talk”. They learned to act differently around me so as not to incur my wrath (using my anger and position of power to punish them for being sexist, racist, or intolerant). I felt powerful and I tricked myself into thinking I was making a difference. I was wrong. 

---

“Recently, Pascoe turned her attention to no homo, a phrase that gained traction in the 1990s. She sifted through more than 1,000 tweets, primarily by young men, that included the phrase. Most were expressing a positive emotion, sometimes as innocuous as “I love chocolate ice cream, #nohomo” or “I loved the movie The Day After Tomorrow, #nohomo.” “A lot of times they were saying things like ‘I miss you’ to a friend or ‘We should hang out soon,’ ” she said. “Just normal expressions of joy or connection.” No homo is a form of inoculation against insults from other guys, Pascoe concluded, a “shield that allows boys to be fully human.”

It wasn’t long before my “making a difference” spread into our hiring, training, and management of the team. I brought in women who wanted to work in the game industry. I tried to shut down any of the bro culture bullshit that came up and used it as an opportunity to teach other men why it was fucked up. It worked for some (maybe 5-6 people out of hundreds) but the majority either quit or tried to get me fired. Most did not change their behavior in any way. 

The women said they knew what they were getting into. I don’t believe they knew what it was like to actually be in the middle of the situation. I assume women in the military probably have a lot of experience like this. In short - it’s fucking toxic and disgusting. Like other males/men they too have to fall in line and “become one of the boys” or risk being antagonized and ostracized for being “different”. It’s Lord of the Flies. It’s fucking mob mentality. It’s masculinity at it’s absolute worst. And this was in a “progressive” creative city working for a small company with a woman CEO. Men simply don’t give a fuck and it’s almost always easier to go with the flow. FUCK. THIS. SHIT.

My first experience with a trans individual in a work setting occurred was while I was managing this team. One of our long term employees made the transition and I had to watch how they were treated by the “bros’. Jokes were made, memes were shared, snickering and fucked up behavior was rampant. I had to talk to, discipline, and fire many individuals. These were men I thought were “on the team” and working to be good examples of masculinity. I should have known that was just part of the act - their way of surviving and showing subservience to me as a man in a position of power over them. My trust was further eroded in masculinity. 

Putting yourself over others is not power. It is dehumanization and it stems from hate. We can be different without being better or worse than someone else regardless of who they are. Not everything has to be a competition. It took me way too long to undo the damage done to me by these ideal of toxic masculinity. You can do it too - you just have to start today. 

---

Beyond the negative effects this version of masculinity has on us as males/men it also fucks up our interaction with women and sexual partners and it’s certainly done so to me. I’m actively working on unfucking my fucking and aware that many of my heterosexual ideals of sex stem from the same shit I have been actively fighting against most of my life. Connecting emotionally with your sexual partner takes things to a completely different level.

“It’s not like I imagined boys would gush about making sweet, sweet love to the ladies, but why was their language so weaponized ? The answer, I came to believe, was that locker-room talk isn’t about sex at all, which is why guys were ashamed to discuss it openly with me. The (often clearly exaggerated) stories boys tell are really about power: using aggression toward women to connect and to validate one another as heterosexual, or to claim top spots in the adolescent sexual hierarchy. Dismissing that as “banter” denies the ways that language can desensitize—abrade boys’ ability to see girls as people deserving of respect and dignity in sexual encounters.”  

This is the first thing that comes to my mind when I hear the term “rape culture”. As men we are taught that to be masculine is to claim “wins” in sexual conquest. Sex is property and we can collect it. Even if it’s with our long term partners or spouses. Ever tried talking to men about this? Ever questioned others on how it’s fucked up? You probably heard about how it’s all in jest. Just a joke! I’m just joking!  “When called out, boys typically claim that they thought they were just being “funny.” And in a way that makes sense—when left unexamined, such “humor” may seem like an extension of the gross-out comedy of childhood. Little boys are famous for their fart jokes, booger jokes, poop jokes. It’s how they test boundaries, understand the human body, gain a little cred among their peers. But, as can happen with sports, their glee in that can both enable and camouflage sexism. The boy who, at age 10, asks his friends the difference between a dead baby and a bowling ball may or may not find it equally uproarious, at 16, to share what a woman and a bowling ball have in common (you can Google it). He may or may not post ever-escalating “jokes” about women, or African Americans, or homosexuals, or disabled people on a group Snapchat. He may or may not send “funny” texts to friends about “girls who need to be raped,” or think it’s hysterical to surprise a buddy with a meme in which a woman is being gagged by a penis, her mascara mixed with her tears. He may or may not, at 18, scrawl the names of his hookups on a wall in his all-male dorm, as part of a year-long competition to see who can “pull” the most. Perfectly nice, bright, polite boys I interviewed had done one or another of these things.”

Let me be clear in case you are confused. This shit isn’t funny. Laughing at other people’s misfortune is a long standing human tradition yes - and it still dehumanizes everyone involved. That doesn’t make me laugh but maybe you are still amused? Why?

“At the most disturbing end of the continuum, “funny” and “hilarious” become a defense against charges of sexual harassment or assault. To cite just one example, a boy from Steubenville, Ohio, was captured on video joking about the repeated violation of an unconscious girl at a party by a couple of high-school football players. “She is so raped,” he said, laughing. “They raped her quicker than Mike Tyson.” When someone off camera suggested that rape wasn’t funny, he retorted, “It isn’t funny—it’s hilarious!”

The classic toxic masculinity force field present in my life has been the “just joking” phrase with the ultimate no consequence phrase “it’s hilarious!”. Say something you don’t want to manage the consequences for? Just a joke! People still question you or your morals after saying some heinous shit? No.. it’s cool... it’s hilarious! You just gotta laugh! FUCK. THIS. SHIT.

“Hilarious” is another way, under the pretext of horseplay or group bonding, that boys learn to disregard others’ feelings as well as their own. “Hilarious” is a haven, offering distance when something is inappropriate, confusing, depressing, unnerving, or horrifying; when something defies boys’ ethics. It allows them to subvert a more compassionate response that could be read as unmasculine—and makes sexism and misogyny feel transgressive rather than supportive of an age-old status quo. Boys may know when something is wrong; they may even know that true manhood—or maybe just common decency—compels them to speak up. Yet, too often, they fear that if they do, they’ll be marginalized or, worse, themselves become the target of derision from other boys. Masculinity, then, becomes not only about what boys do say, but about what they don’t—or won’t, or can’t—say, even when they wish they could. The psychologists Dan Kindlon and Michael Thompson, the authors of Raising Cain: Protecting the Emotional Life of Boys, have pointed out that silence in the face of cruelty or sexism is how too many boys become men. 

I feel like I may have already gone too far into this dark hole of shit that fucks me up around toxic masculinity. I hope I didn’t lose you. I hope you have questions and thoughts about how this impacts your life. Perhaps ways that you make a change today to fight against this bullshit. You may be asking yourself “what can we do!?” At the end of the day its up to males/men to change this culture. It’s not about self-hate or self-abuse. We gotta name this and own it. We need more men to step up and say ‘It doesn’t have to be like this”. Our collective mental health requires us to be more flexible and connected to ourselves and emotions. We need to find ways to deal with our anger, frustration, and desires in ways that don’t hurt ourselves and others. We need to teach ourselves (especially youth) that it isn’t enough to only talk about things we shouldn’t (and hopefully won’t) do. 

If this shit fucks you too you can do something about it. Start with yourself. Question these things when they come up. And not only when you feel “safe” to do so. Do it consistently in ways that are non-confrontational (they will probably lead to confrontations with most men anyway - sorry). Be okay with not always “winning’ in these situations. You’ll be surprised who you might connect with in the process. Hopefully one of those people will be yourself. 

#mental health #masculinity #shit that fucks me up

[queenamongstshades]

new way to love me | self para

No fear,

Don't you turn like Orpheus, just stay here...

A base hospital on the Western Front of France.

Summer, 1917.

If she was the generous sort, and she usually is, Caoimhe might compare it to sleep. But this near-endless night – it’s not so gentle. Not so giving, washing clean the slate of the day and allowing for a new start in the morning. The mornings of her life were certainly gentle, at least more recently. She’d taken them for granted, those dawns brought about by the feel of small hands against her skin, giggles in her ear that started soft and crescendoed with giddiness until she opened her eyes with a grin.

It’s quieter here. Wherever this is.

She’s alone most of the time, any passerby seeming as shocked and as dead as she supposes she now must be. Lonely, too, so they often share some words before one of them is inevitably beckoned by a vision, a distant echo of voices. The glimpses are usually brief – often quick enough to blink and lose them entirely. Then the conversation carries on as if the pain of these fleeting looks into living life isn’t enough to tear them asunder. It is. But there’s nowhere to go with the grief. Nowhere to travel.

Except this occasion. Daylight. She suddenly remembers its sensation thanks to the light that lies before her. The colored shards of a setting sun, specifically, not through a glimpse so much as a doorway. Though she’s never seen anything quite like it before during her tenure in this place, Caoimhe knows as soon as she lays eyes upon it that it’s meant entirely for her. And so her company is bidden farewell with what could be seen as rude hastiness, especially considering how she forgets the other woman’s face as soon as she turns away from it. But chances like this one certainly feel few and far between. In truth, she can’t be sure. It could have been mere hours since her eyes first closed to all of that red, those gasping, futile breaths, and opened instead to this inky blackness. Doesn’t quite feel that way, though, and she’s proven right by the surroundings she’s suddenly embedded in.

The air is hot. Caoimhe feels no urge to breathe it in, though if that’s due to the humidity or the general lack of need, it’s hard to tell. Crickets chirp relentlessly and the dry grass doesn’t crunch beneath her boots as it should – that much she notices with the first step forward. It should be troubling, maybe. Should be troubling, too, that the women near the doorway of this leaning frame building don’t bother to turn their gazes toward her, simply carrying on their conversation in urgent whispers. No matter. They’re not who she’s here for.

The children aren’t her intended visitors, either. Caoimhe hadn’t realized she’d been searching for them until she walks into the doorway of this place and knows it’s all wrong. This is war, she’s certain of it, and no place for her children at all. The terms of battle may look different now, but war-wounded always look the same. These men strewn upon their cots in various states of restlessness, their mutterings or moans near unbearable. Unlike his company, the man she’s seeking lies there quietly, eyelashes faintly fluttering against his skin. He’s worse for wear, dark stains upon the many bandages he bears making her sigh as she moves to his bedside. “Oh, Faolan.”

They both gasp as his eyes open wide, and Caoimhe immediately feels something mixed between deep regret and sudden euphoria. He’d never heard her before, and clearly only half hears her now, his eyes bleary with pain and sleep. But their gazes meet. It’s more than she’s ever gotten since she left him and so it takes everything in her not to go hurtling forward for an embrace. After all, what are the terms here? He looks closer to his grave than she’d ever seen him in their time together, even with all they faced. Will a touch from her be the kiss of death? Is she meant to be his guide into this uncertain damnation? Still, she yearns to reach for him, especially as a weak hand reaches toward her. Clenching her jaw, Caoimhe steps back.

“Afraid I can’t allow for that just yet.” How does her voice keep from trembling? Certainty, she supposes. He can’t go following her now. “It’s awfully selfish, I know.” She concedes, swallowing hard as she does. “We did make a promise to follow each other anywhere. ‘I give ye my spirit, 'til our life shall be done.’ You remember as well as I do, I’m sure. But if you’re willing, I’d prefer it if you didn’t make good on that promise. Because I don’t think you’re quite done. Not yet.” Is he hearing her? His gaze is alert enough, so she can hope for the best. Not sure how long it’s bound to last, her next words come tumbling out: “Go find family, my love.”

The phrase is carefully chosen as Caoimhe avoids questions out of both fear and a need for timeliness. Where are their children? Right now, she imagines she’d rather not know. “That was always the best of us, the family. So you heal for a while, then please, leave this damned place. I’m not sure what you’d like for yourself, but I’d much prefer a better life for you. That won’t be here, a grá geal. Not in this horrid place.” There’s so much to say, yet she swallows hard against the inquiries, prompted instead by what he deserves to hear: “I’m so sorry.” Her lip trembles, but she pushes through it. “I... if I had known, Faolan, that I would leave you like this...” She can only shake her head. “But your life shouldn’t stop short. Not for my sake.”

Oh, how she longs to kiss him. Lips against his forehead to soften the lines of pain there that she knows must be partially her doing. But she can’t. Can’t touch him, can’t soothe him – except with her words. “I’m always with you. All that you need... you have it. I swear.” It’s waning, this moment of clarity, for both of them. She can see his eyelashes fluttering once more, the change happening hastily enough to make her panic. Still, she tries for a level head. As darkness closes around the edges of her vision, she does her best to hold her husband’s gaze. “You go on, then. Take that love and use it somewhere else. Go on, and don’t come my way for quite some time. D’you hear me? Faolan?” But he doesn’t answer, and with her next blink, she’s submerged again in that unforgiving darkness.

The fear doesn’t strike until later, but when it does, it’s like a vice grip around her throat. Will he forget her now thanks to her own bidding? It’s selfish to want to be remembered, as selfish as asking him to stay, but what else is there? If she’s forgotten, will she be here at all? Will she be anywhere? By reconciling one fear and trying to soothe her husband’s solitude, she’s only awoken another. But there is no one here to console her. She’ll face this darkness alone. And she does, for some time.

The glimpses eventually come again, as they always do. In a way, they help her to breathe easier, given the sight of Faolan on his feet again, out of that dreadful bed and damned uniform. Alone, though, until another glimpse reveals him in a woman’s arms. For the first time, she politely removes her gaze, looking away from this window into life and toward the darkness by choice. He’s done it, then, or so it would seem. Taken that love and put it somewhere else. In a rare moment of envy, she wishes she could do the same. But there’s nowhere to put it down. Not here. For now, then, she’ll simply wait. Surely one blink or another will finally give way to another sort of oblivion. As much as it frightens her, she’d like to hope. To imagine, if she dares, someplace where she’ll play a yearning spectator no more. Something gentler.

Something like sleep.

#// cut mainly for length but also mentions of hospitals and injury #// i rly apologize for the length lol #self para #lethe: task two

[journeysintowebcomics]

Worm Liveblog #110

UPDATE 110: Healer in a Cage

Last time Skitter was getting the reward for her efforts: Coil would hold his end of the deal, agreeing to liberate Dinah without further discussion, since he’s so close to success. Just kidding, he backstabbed her after making her lower her guard. How will she get out of this? Let’s find out!

Or not, because it’s a donation interlude. What a terrible place for an interlude, can’t say I’m amused at all. It breaks the pacing and momentum, instead of capitalizing on it, he pretty much threw it away. It’s a shame, even when this situation is picked up again, it just...isn’t going to feel the same. Oh well. Let’s read the interlude and see if it’s worth it.

It seems the setting is the Birdcage in the present day. There’s Marquis, there’s Panacea, and there’s other people I don’t know. This interlude opens with Marquis trying to convince Panacea to do something, it’s not specified what it is, but apparently Marquis’ current status in the Birdcage is relying on it. Still, he’s not going to force Panacea to do anything, because she’s his daughter and he would never force his daughter.

He admits that although he has his own rules, he’s not a good man at all, he just follows his rules because that’s what he is. It’s not like he has any desire to be good, anyway. That’s just how he rolls, and he’s willing to give it all up if Panacea decides she truly can’t cooperate.

He let the words sit with her, turning away.  Lung stood by the door, arms folded, and Marquis smiled lightly at the man.  He’ll see this admission as weakness, but the right display of confidence will leave him wondering if it’s a lie, a ploy.

Honestly? I don’t think it’s a lie. I truly believe he would give it all up if Panacea decides she really doesn’t want to do whatever she’s being asked to do. However, it does seem to me like this is some sort of emotional manipulation. He’s using the real feelings I believe he has in order to achieve the result he desires, and given Marquis is the only sort of ally I imagine Panaeca has in this place, it may work.

Since Lung is standing right there, Marquis takes the time to think about how Lung did all he did because he was confident he had the raw strength to get away with it. Boy did he get away with it for a while, until Skitter came along and defeated him pretty badly. He’s a killing machine, stuck in the Birdcage, a force to be reckoned. On the other hand, Panacea here has none of that. In the eyes of everyone including herself, she’s just Marquis’ daughter. She has his protection, she has clothing borrowed from the block she’s staying it, and she has zero confidence and – I imagine – desire to interact with anyone except Marquis. She’s being left alone, pretty much. At least for the time being. That’s the problem, that sooner or later something would happen. Is that why he’s asking Panacea to do...whatever it is he’s asking her to do? Is it to prevent something?

I keep reading Cinderhands as Cinderella, and now I’m picturing Cinderella being trapped here in the Birdcage too every time Cinderhands speaks. Snap out of it, me.

It seems to me Cinderellahands is some sort of underling for Marquis, as he’s in charge of gathering the leaders and/or representatives of all the blocks for a meeting that’ll last for a while. This is a meeting he’d like Panacea to attend, perhaps that’s what he was asking her? To attend the meeting? Cinderellahands questions having Panacea there, for some reason, and Marquis pretty much tells him to do what he asked or get someone else to do it. What matters is that the reunion is made.

This should be interesting! What kind of people are the leaders of the blocks? The most charismatic, brutal, or clever people around, I bet. Maybe even all three. I’m curious, I admit!

It’s matter of time before Marquis is challenged for his leadership spot, and it’s all thanks to Panacea, since she’s the weakest link around. She was likely to be used against him somehow, so right now Marquis is trying to think of measures to avoid any future challenges. He considers provoking a mutiny, staging it as a way to goad others to join and try to overthrow him. Then he’d squash those, I imagine. Say, Marquis’ power is doing all that with his bones, wasn’t it? He has a power that makes strategy a possibility, I think he’d be fine.

Actually being defeated, it wasn’t really a consideration.  He’d only lost a fight on one occasion, and those had been extenuating circumstances.

The fight that ended with him being captured, I imagine. The one where Panacea was the extenuating circumstance. I wonder how the story would have been like if Marquis hadn’t been captured, if Panacea had stayed under his care. Since he doesn’t seem to have anything to do with Skitter, he would have been around while she had her adventures, no? How would that have changed stuff, hmmm...it is fun to think about alternate scenarios! The bad part is that I’m drawing a blank here, haha

The issue with Panacea is that she is...how to put it kindly...she’s borderline catatonic, seems to me. People like that were often used as a resource or as an easy puppet for ideologies. So far Panacea has been spared such fates because of Marquis’ protection, but unless she recovers anytime soon, there’s only so much he’ll be able to do. I don’t think she will, honestly. Not after everything that happened. Frankly, I’m not really expecting her to join that meeting, and Marquis is going to lose face.

She’s complying, though. Marquis suggests she go get a shower and put on a specific set of clothing, and she goes to do so. Maybe I’m wrong and she really will attend, but I stand on that she’s not going to contribute much to that meeting.

Seems like Marquis is keeping his block rather orderly. Not only all TVs work, he also has ensured his lieutenants have some favoritism but don’t inconvenience everyone else too much. It’s some sort of tense peace, I’d say. It wouldn’t take much to shake everything. The risk of mutiny does seem to be present, and since it’s just thirty people or so, numbers can turn the tides.

This was a gamble.  Amelia could be the excuse his enemies or more ambitious underlings needed to mount an attack.  At worst, he’d die and she would… well, she’d be a resource that was burned up, exhausted of anything and everything she had to offer.  If he was able to buy enough time, verify that she was beyond saving, then he could return her to the women’s cell blocks, cut his losses and take the resulting hit to his reputation as the only real cost of trying.

Would she fare better in the women’s cell blocks? It’s not like brutality and backstabbing conniving demeanor is limited to men only. I don’t think Panacea will be safe anywhere as long as she’s here in the Birdcage.

Still, he doesn’t want to chalk this up as a loss anytime soon. He wants to believe he can do something for Panacea, and the fact he has only fond memories of her strengthens that desire. I’m sure he thought more than once how it’d be like to see Panacea again and have her by his side, but I doubt he ever imagined things would go like this. I almost feel bad for him.

He’s running out of time to prove he’s not protecting Panacea uselessly. People are getting impatient; he has to show results of some sort. Oh boy, I’m sure this will be brought up in the meeting. And indeed, Lung proves right away the moods are souring, Marquis has to do something. What he does right now is invite Lung to the meeting, both because he wants to give an impression he’s aware of the threats in his block, and because if there’s someone he’d prefer killing him and taking over the block it’s Lung. For some reason. I’m pretty puzzled why Lung of all people would be his preference.

Marquis laughed.  “No.  But wouldn’t you rather be murdered by a rabid wild beast who happens to share your living space, than to have a onetime ally stab you in the back?”

Ah. So that’s why. He doesn’t want to feel betrayal. Pretty telling he doesn’t consider Lung an ally, even though they talk a lot and even have tea parties. Having said his piece, Marquis goes down to pretend to read and mull the situation for a while longer. We readers aren’t privy to his thoughts, as there’s a time jump to when Panacea finally gets out of the bathroom.

She followed his instructions, and also thought for a long while. Perhaps considering if she should listen to his request or not, whatever it was? All that’s needed is a demonstration of her power, that’s all that is required to stabilize Marquis’ position in the block and show why he’s indulging Panacea so much. She still refuses to do so, though. Welp! They’re as good as dead, Marquis thinks – paraphrasing. Seems to me his only hope is that she changes her mind at some point during the meeting, but I’m not counting on it. Meeting time!

There are twelve leaders, six from the men’s wing, six from the women’s wing. This doesn’t include the lieutenants that have come to the meeting. So, of course, the meeting starts right away with the topic of Panacea’s presence. It doesn’t seem like anyone here knows she is Panacea? Curious! Maybe they all have been here in the Birdcage before Panacea was a hero.

“Don’t waste my time with this male posturing,” Lustrum cut in.  “I have women to look after.  I delivered your daughter to you because you promised repayment and because she asked. I wouldn’t mind seeing that payment.”

“It was implied that I would pay you back in coming weeks or months, not in a week.”

So it has only been a week since Panacea was transferred to Marquis’ wing! Goodness, people get impatient real fast. I was under the impression it had been much longer than that, like a month! But no, it has only been a week.

There they go, they’re asking for a demonstration, one of the women leaders wants Panacea to heal. Panacea doesn’t say a thing, even though I’m pretty certain by now there are many eyes on her. Marquis covers for her saying she’s not healing anyone right now, and leaves up in the air if it’s because she can’t or because he’s rationing her ability. Dangerous! The longer this charade goes, the more everyone will suspect it’s because Panacea is useless as a healer.

“But there’s a great deal of demand, and you’ll have to forgive me for being a doting father, but I won’t exhaust my daughter’s mental or physical resources to parcel out her healing. We’ll hear terms, we’ll discuss the offers and counteroffers over the next several days or weeks, and then we’ll let you know our decision.”

“You are holding her power for ransom,” Lustrum spoke.

So he’s using her as some sort of bargaining chip – or at least she’s using her powers for that. Even if she snaps out of her despair, he intends to offer her power only when the payment and rewards are worth it. I see, I see. If she does leave behind her trauma – somehow – then she’d turn into quite the advantage for Marquis’ block.

One of the female leaders, one Glaistig Uaine, speaks with the voice of the legion, threatening with an army featuring her fairies. I really don’t think that’s metaphorical, because this is Worm and the powers in this story do a lot of crazy stuff. By army of fairies, does she means the women in her block? Either way, she’s threatening Marquis here.

“You’ve said as much before, noble Faerie,” he said, “Rest assured, you can have me when I’m dead.  In the meantime, I will keep your warning well in mind.”

Ah, maybe Glaistig Uaine’s power has something to do with dead people, and Marquis will be affected by said powers after he dies, someday. Alright.

“Your daughter, too.  Your faerie is kin to the one that sleeps inside the girl. I have no doubt this Amelia is a healer, but that’s only a facet of her true strength.  I have decided I will not bargain with you, Marquis.“

By faerie, does she mean the passengers? Those things that give the powers to the parahumans, according to Bonesaw’s terminology? Does that mean this Glaistig Uaine has been gathering passengers? If so, that’s pretty terrifying, because she has so many.

Glaistig Uaine has expressed interest in dealing with Panacea as if they’re equals, and in so, she extends a hand to Panacea. After a moment, she accepted the handshake and curtseyed. Was that the right move? It’s a show of respect, and didn’t seem to me like she was making herself dominant or submissive in any way, so maybe this can be interpreted as an acceptance about being equals. I hope so, at least.

Seems like Glaistig Uaine taking a shining to Panacea is advantageous for Marquis, as this should be some sort of protection against everyone else. Hey, Lung, you saw that? Either way, word’s going to get out about this, and with some luck, it’ll make those who are getting impatient in Marquis’ block start calming down somewhat. Now it won’t be just Marquis saying Panacea is worth the effort, now Glaistig Uaine thinks that as well, and I’m having the impression people around here are wary of Glaistig Uaine. Marquis himself says here she’s powerful enough to make people listen to her. I sure hope so!

Seems to me the tension has subsided a little! One of the other leaders asks if Panacea can heal toothaches. Oh, I’m pretty certain she can! But would she want to? Marquis confirms she can, and some guy named Teacher protests because this will take away business from one of his lieutenants. Then maybe he shouldn’t be charging a small fortune for that! Although I’m sure Marquis wouldn’t just let Panacea heal any and all toothaches, so I’m sure the dentist would still have business.

During all this, Panacea finally speaks up, and it’s to make the question I’m sure many readers – myself included – have thought before:

“I know the answer’s no, but nobody really talks about it outside, so I’m not sure why… but with everyone we’ve got in here, why can’t we break out?”

This could be interesting! If there’s an answer beyond ‘we just can’t’, I mean. I remember Bakuda many arcs ago was toying with the idea of breaking out, so I think it’s not impossible. Still, it has to be extremely difficult, and I’m sure Dragon would stop any serious attempts.

Turns out there’s going to be lore built here! And it’s stuff Marquis doesn’t know. Coolio!

“Size warping technology.  The device might be no bigger than a football, and that’s hidden somewhere in the middle of the rocky mountains.  The warping apparatus would be bigger, but there’s nothing saying it’s anywhere close to the actual prison.  Reason we can’t break out is because we’re in a prison no bigger than your fist.  And if all of this is only this small,” Teacher held up a fist, then tapped it against the nearest table, “How far are you going to have to dig or teleport to get through a surface this thick?  Or through something as thick as that wall over there?  Or a hundred feet of lead with gallons of containment foam on the outside?”

I see! So it’s possible they’re all preeeeeetty tiny right now? And the tiny prison they’re in is surrounded by layer after layer after layer is stuff that’ll stop any attempt to escape. I suppose even if they manage to break through the wall and then the obstacles in their way, they’d still be minuscule. I bet the size warping technology is at the entrance of whatever building serves as the entry point for the Birdcage. Interesting! This sure puts a very tough obstacle onto any theories I had about people breaking out of the Birdcage at any point during the story. It’s not impossible, but the size warping technology part is making it muuuuch more difficult now.

Okay, looks like things are going better than Marquis expected! Panacea isn’t fully recovered, but she is speaking with people, so that’s progress. The meeting continues, the leaders turning against one another, and Marquis feels some of his tension evaporate. I guess that means his ruling over his block will stay untouched for a while longer!

On their way back, the topic of Glaistig Uaine’s powers is touched. Neat, let’s see...

“No,” Amelia replied.  “I saw her physiology when I touched her.  I couldn’t see what she sees, but I see how she’s carrying them inside her, drawing an energy from them.  And there were three more, just beside her, and she was using that energy to feed them… but they weren’t active?”

“She collects souls of dead and dying parahumans,” Marquis replied.  “Or the souls of any living soul that gets on her bad side.  But they’re not souls, really.  Teacher says they’re psychic images, photocopies of a single individual’s personality, memories and powers.  She can have a handful active and doing what she wants walking around at any given time.”

I see, I see. So, what if her power is to take people’s passengers and make those psychic images with those? Would that make sense? If so, then she indeed is very powerful, no wonder she gets people to listen to her, and this is also why she’s one of the first prisoners of the Birdcage. She’s just too dangerous. Now I wonder how she got captured, hah!

The problem, though, is that if I’m correct then her power wouldn’t work on civilians, unless absolutely everybody has a passenger and it just simply stays asleep or something.

Panacea, having touched Glaistig Uaine, talks about the impressions she had. She doesn’t confirm or deny my theory, but she does confirm whatever Glaistig Uaine is referring as ‘fairies’ is sentient. Whatever knowledge this brings Panacea also brings her grief, as it may have given her a realization related to what she did to Glory Girl.

The words hit her like a physical blow. She hugged her arms close to her body, and her hair fell down around her face.  “My sister.  I used my power on her.  Unmade her.”

Ouch. I still get shivers when I think of what may have happened to Glory Girl, given the situation was oddly vague yet descriptive back then, but this sure makes it sound like it was very nasty. Which...isn’t really inaccurate, given Brandish and Photon Lady’s reactions.

Marquis is sympathetic, trying to be supportive for Panacea, listening to her when she says Glory Girl was her family, and...well, that he isn’t. She’s glad he is in her life, but he’s not family. I guess he’s more like...a friend. Understandable, it’d be pretty difficult to think of someone as your father after so long without seeing him, and then refusing to think about him after she found out who he was.

“And,” Amelia blinked tears out of her eyes, “Already, I feel like I’m betraying Victoria, that I’m already forgetting her.  For just a few minutes, thinking about what I just found out from that girl, I stopped thinking about Victoria.  It’s my fault she isn’t there anymore, that there’s only that thing I created.  If I stop thinking about her, if I stop hurting, then I feel like I’m wronging her.”

Ah, so that’s part of the reason for her current state. She’s intentionally trying to block everything so she can focus on thinking about Glory Girl, keep her memory alive out of respect for who she used to be. Bad news, Marquis: she’s not going to leave this behind. Ever.

In a rather nice move, Marquis realizes Panacea wants to preserve Glory Girl’s memory, and takes Panacea to go see a tinker who makes tattoos. He wants Panacea to get a tattoo related to Glory Girl? Hmmm...intriguing. I wonder how Panacea will react to that. Either she’ll be grateful and take it, or she’ll interpret is as an insult towards Glory Girl.

She’s kind of in the middle. She’s going to take the tattoo, but it doesn’t seem to me like she’s too excited about this. She won’t get Glory Girl’s face or anything like that, but she will get something.

Marquis turned to his daughter. “If you decide to get it, I would advise a symbol rather than a face.  He won’t get the description exactly right, and the image will distort your mental picture.”

“I couldn’t remember her face as it was when it counted, anyways,” Amelia said, a dark look crossing her face.

...great. I’ll now have to remember what Glory Girl is now either faceless or has a distorted face. Oh crap, here comes the goosebumps again. I’m sorry, it’s just that Glory Girl’s situation creeps me out a lot just from thinking about it.

After the tattoo, Panacea is taken back to her cell, where she talks aloud, to Dragon. Dragon’s systems will register the message and pass it along if it’s worth it. Judging by what I read here, Panacea is talking about the conclusions she reached from what she found out by touching Glaistig Uaine.

Sixty-two miles above the surface of the Earth, the Simurgh changed the course of her flight.

...ah. Well that can’t be good.

The Simurgh’s flight seems to have scrambled the message. Was that intentional or just a coincidence due to her movement? It’s already pretty bad that the Simurgh seems to have decided to go pay a visit to Dragon. This caaan’t be good.

The message has been received by Dragon’s many systems as ‘duly noted’ and just thrown away, pretty much. Whatever Panacea found out must have been gamechanging. I really wonder what it was! I hope somehow in the future I can find out!

And that’s the end of the interlude. I liked it! It was good to see the situation at the Birdcage, and some more of Panacea is always nice. All in all, it was a pretty worthwhile read! Nice done, Mr. Wildbow.

But it still was awful timing. I insist on that.

I guess the arc continues next time, since this was a donation interlude instead of a normal interlude.

Next time: in four updates

#worm #worm liveblog #webserial #liveblog #webserial liveblog

[burytherosemarysprigs]

Why the Caged Birds Still Sing | Pt. 2

A/N: I am sooo sorry that I haven’t been able to update this story, I had my finals and was going through some stuff (ugh. life) and wasn’t able to write!! Sooo, now here ya go 😊😊

P.S. Get ready for some angsty af fic I wrote as the second part and something for Tony’s bday. Sorry IT’S SO LONG and, Happy Birthday to my hero, Tony Stark 💖

Read Part 1 Here

My Masterlist

Tacenda

(n.) Things better left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence

…

Tony Stark’s dead. He’s shattered himself everywhere. Peter, Harley and Morgan and there to pick up the broken shards.

ii. The Flowers that Withered Away

“Mr. Stark,”

Peter began, his mask clenched tightly in one hand and the other limp against his leg. He looks up, words choking at his throat.

“Did you really have to go?” His voice barely audible, and it breaks of at the end, and he’s left standing alone in front of him.

Iron Man.

“I don’t know what I could’ve done… I – I should’ve stopped you… I should’ve… why didn’t I, Mr. Stark. – Mr. Stark… why did you… MR. STARK. WHY DID YOU GO?”  Peter snaps. His mask slips from his hands and he collapses onto the ground, muffled sobs violently rake his shoulders, and he mutters the words over and over again, until he’s numb to it.

I’m sorry, I didn’t do anything, I’m sorry

The statue watches him, crouched on the ground, whimpering and muttering, which has become inaudible as the wind whips harder against his body.

…

The door is suddenly opened, allowing a stream of harsh white light to spread across the room, where books are scattered across the floor, pages ripped out haphazardly, and clothes strewn around the bunk-bed and desk. The closet door is wide open, overflowing with trinkets – stuffed messily inside.

“Peter, buddy – w-what the hell?”

May’s voice slices through the quiet of the room, disrupting the figure resting in the bottom bunk, as he turns around to face May. His face is red, eyes tired and lips whimpering slightly.

“May… what – I – Can you go away?”

Peter replies, mumbling, while turning away to face the wall again.

“No,” May replies, stepping carefully into the room. “Peter, come on, just for today I need you to come out and just – just come to this party.”

He doesn’t move.

“Peter, she specifically asked for you, and – and you know what she’s been through Peter, you know it better than anyone. Peter, I know it’s hard, but I’m here, we’re all here to help.”

He doesn’t move; and May is about to move closer until he turns around and gets up, dropping the blanket that he was wrapped up in the process. Standing to his full height, Peter moves closer to May

“May. Please. Just – leave – me – ALONE! I DON’T WANNA GO TO ANY PARTY. I DON’T CARE WHO’S PARTY I – I – don’t wanna go May. Please. Just leave.”

She looks at him and he stares back, soft brown eyes – hard. His hair is ruffled and eyes bloodshot. She wants to reach out – touch him, hold him, anything. But instead, she gives him a tight-lipped smile, accepts defeat of this battle and she holds out a wrinkled invitation and pushes it to his chest and leaves the room. And with her abrupt leave, Peter is standing alone in the middle of the battlefield, reading the invitation with shaking hand 

TO ;

 PeTer PaRKer

(Aka SPIdeRMAN)

You are invited to Tony Stark’s Birthday memoriam!

Please join us this evening in memory of our beloved hero 

FROM ; MorgAN

p.S. I HOPE You CoMe :) 

…

Peter can’t breathe.

He can’t look up and see the Iron man statue staring at him, he can’t look up and see Mr. Stark staring at him. He knows better, he knows that he should be at Pepper and Morgan’s party in memoriam of Tony, he should be there for others.

But he can’t even breathe. He feels his heart pounding in his ears as his chest tightens – more and more. He keeps crying, the sobs are louder. He digs his nails into his palms, until his hands are numb. He can’t see anything; the sobs are louder.

“Ka – kar – karen… W – What – What’s happenin’?” Peter bursts out, his face glistening with sweat and his chest compressing further and further. He can’t breathe; the sobs are louder.

“It seems like you’re having a severe anxiety attack, would you like me to call May, Ned or any other person as it seems that you need instant care, I could call – “

‘NO – n – No Karen!”

“Then what else would you prefer for me to do Peter?” Karen’s voice rings in his ears, though he can’t comprehend anything around him; the sobs are louder.

‘Mr – Mr. Stark, I – I – “Peter manages to say between labored breaths.

‘Would you like to talk to Mr. Stark, Peter” Karen asks him.

Yes. Yes, that’s all I want

“Peter, as you not answering, I am going to play an old recording of Mr. Stark.” Peter doesn’t comprehend what she says.

He feels like he’s dying. The sobs are louder.

“Hey Kid, how’s it going? Pepper’s been going all tooth ‘n’ nail to plan this whole wedding thing, but it’s kinda her thing. Anyway, I’ve only got probably 5 mins? Maybe longer if I use my talents to persuade her, to talk to you,”

The sobs quiet down.

“Just wanted to say that Happy says your doing great and putting him on his last nerves, so the usual, he says that about me too, I think. But really, Kid, I – I hope your doing well and just don’t stress Happy too much, he just ends up complaining about it everywhere. I’m proud of what you do kid, so, yeah bye.”

 …

It’s like a ribbon unravels from around his chest, he can finally breathe. The knot in his heart seems to fade away

His blood stops pounding in his ears and he attempts to get up but falls on the ground, too weak to move.

His body feels detached from him, his mind still replaying Tony’s voice inside his head. Over and Over and Over.

While his body, lays limp on the cold, concrete ground atop of a platform beneath the Iron man statue. Staring up to see Tony’s face looking at everything except him. 

… 

He stays there for a while, listening to the rustle of trees and honking and hollering from distant cars. Lights twinkle in his peripheral vision and he feels at ease. Calm. Not dead. But definitely not alive.

“Karen, what time is it?” Peter asks, quietly as though not to disturb the unwavering silence that wraps itself around him.

“It’s 11:52 pm Peter” Karen responds

“Jesus Christ, what’ll May think, she’s probably worried I – I better – we – we gotta go now Karen… b-but first…” he runs his hand through his hair, messy with curls, while the other grasps to find something.

“Where did it go – uh, where is it – I can’t j-just lose it” He’s searching the ground for the object, hands grasping blindly in the dark setting of the sky, the moonlight doesn’t help and he feels like a child, who’s reaching for a candy jar that’s too high up on the shelf.

He feels his throat tightening again, his hands start to feel shakier, struggling to find anything on the barren ground.

“Karen, activate night vision mode.” He says barely keeping the fear of losing the object, inside of him, as his voice is shaking when he speaks.

“Sure thing, Peter” And as Karen responds, he feels like a veil has been lifted of his eyes, and he continues to find the misplaced object, while muttering under his breath. 

“Please… please don’t be lost… please,” his voice sounds like a child, one that is in desperate need of help, but there’s no one there to help him.

…

He’s not sure how long he’s been at trying to find the object, but when he finally finds it, he stays there, on the ground, clutching it to his chest because he’s not sure if he wants to give it away.

But when Karen says it’s 11:55, he reluctantly walks towards the Iron man Statue, one that has been set up in a plaza in New York, and Peter notices the bottom of the podium decorated in flowers and amateur drawings. The scent of lilies and lavender is in bloom throughout the air, the delicate petals wilting while others are waiting to bloom. He walks in front of the statue and the mass of colour sprouting beneath it.

He reaches out and places a small delicate flower – a blue dropping Iris – just in front of the feet of the statue.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Stark

…

Irises represent faith, hope, courage, wisdom and admiration.

A bouquet of blue iris blossoms speaks of hope and faith.

They were planted over the graves of women and men to summon the Goddess Iris to guide the dead in their journey.

…

He heads home. It’s almost 12:00.

May sits on the dining table, lights on and eyebrows furrowed. She’s anxious, and scared. He enters the room, ripping the mask of his face, exhausted, he stands in front of her.

“May,” He croaks out, throat parched and hurting.

“I’m sorry.” He pauses and whispers the last part and both are silent, they stay there, awake at 12:01 am in their apartment in Queens and restless – and the whole city feels like it’s fading away – slipping away ever so quietly from their fingers.

She stands up, scraping the chair against the ground, disrupting the silence. She walks towards him and wraps her arms around his body – gently, like wrapping a china set – he feels her warmth, like in a moment of epiphany he wraps his arms around her body – securing their unspoken apologies and promises – and Peter breaks, her china set gives in to the pressure and small cracks turn into big ones and he eventually just breaks, the sobs rake his body and her hands try to hold the pieces together. 

They sink to the floor, both trying their hardest to hold themselves together and not break away from their embrace.

The sobs become louder and the harder it is to hold the pieces together in her hands.

…

They’re both collapsing, trying to hold the weight of the world in their hands, forgetting that two hands will never be enough. Forgetting that the universe doesn’t always understand when to stop taking away, when to stop hurting.

So, they both collapse on to the kitchen floor in their apartment in Queens and they swear to god the city stopped.

The cars in the distance stopped hollering and honking, the lights stopped illuminating, dimming down. The police sirens – quiet and the beat of their hearts – forgotten.

And in that moment, they hope that the universe is listening.

…

Don’t ever be quiet

Don’t ever stop listening

Because the ocean is still whispering

When the shells aren’t listening

…

Part 3 ; It’ll feel better when it stops hurting 

Hope you like the story!!

#marvel #marvel endgame #marvel fandom #marvel fanfiction #tony's death #tony stark #tony and peter #peter parker #peter and tony #iron man #irondad #My writing #angst #mcufam #mcu #peter parker imagine #fanfic #mcuedit #morgan and tony #morgan stark #peter and morgan #ironkids #iron dad #avengers endgame #endgame spoilers #avengers endagme #spiderman #spider son #spiderman far from home #spiderman ffh

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 40

In which oaths are bent, bonds are formed, and Egwene is both awesome and kind of terrifying.

Chapter 40: The Tower Shakes

Siuan awoke with a start. Something was wrong.

Oh so very many things, Siuan. Where to even begin?

Gareth Bryne is a blademaster? Did we know this before? Also he’s shirtless, for those who appreciate such things. Siuan certainly seems to.

He’d buttoned up his high collar, marked with three stars on the left breast

I thought WoT military rankings were denoted by knots, not stars?

“Scout’s report. Something is going on in the city.”

“Something is wrong.” “Something is going on in the city.” Alright, we need to have a talk about what exactly constitutes a report. And also about specificity in general.

Bryne seems to agree, and the scout gets as far as ‘bursts of light’ and ‘dark shadows’ near the Tower. That’s…helpful to those of us with the benefit of foreshadowing, but not so helpful to the in-world layperson.

Though I suppose Siuan is among those who have had the benefit of foreshadowing, as Egwene did tell her about her dream of the Seanchan attacking.

“They could be Shadowspawn, my Lord,” the soldier said, trotting after Bryne. “Stories tell of creatures of shadow that fly in such a way.”

Stories like ‘The Nine Rings’, perhaps?

Either way, Siuan and Bryne know a plot point when they see it and figure that this must be Egwene’s predicted Seanchan attack on the Tower. Bryne’s confused about the lack of a ground assault, but as someone who’s adjusted his own strategies to account for instantaneous travel it seems like he’d be a bit more openminded. And nervous; tactics that don’t seem to make sense should be something of a red flag to a skilled general, I should think.

“Well,” Gareth said, “so long as they attack Tar Valon, they are no problem of ours.”

Except Tar Valon is a problem of yours. That’s the entire point. You can’t unify the Tower if you sit on the sidelines as it’s attacked and think ‘at least it’s not us’. This isn’t a ‘their issue’ versus ‘our issue’ – it’s all your issue, and treating it as anything else only reinforces the sense of division when there needs to be unity. Their entire purpose here is the Tower, one way or another; they can’t just sit back and watch it try to defend itself without their aid.

“I’m getting her out,” Siuan said suddenly, surprising herself.

Bryne spun toward Siuan, into the light of her globe. His chin was shadowed by evening stubble. “What?”

“Egwene,” Siuan said. “We need to go in for her. This will provide a perfect distraction, Gareth! We can go in and grab her before anyone is the wiser.” He eyed her.

“What?” 

“You gave your word not to rescue her, Siuan.”

Not only that, but how would it look to those in the Tower if the one who has so long claimed to be their Amyrlin and stood for Tower unity and tried to get them to see how Elaida was destroying the Tower around her just up and vanished when the Tower is attacked? How would it look if she were to disappear the moment the Tower needs all the help it can get defending itself? Surely that would undermine her efforts more than just about anything else could.

But Siuan and Bryne aren’t looking at this the way Egwene is. Their thinking is aligned with the Rebels, not with the notion of a unified Tower. They, too, are part of this division – hard not to be, given that they’ve declared war on Elaida and are camped outside the Tower and preparing for invasion and war…but it’s not division they need, right now.

“The Amyrlin is confident that she can care for herself.”

“I thought I could care for myself too,” Siuan said. “And look where it got me.” She shook her head, glancing toward the distant spire of Tar Valon.

Oh, Siuan. One can almost forget, sometimes, just how far she has fallen and how much she’s been through. Because she just keeps fighting, and doesn’t dwell on it…but then there are moments like these, where you remember alongside her.

And from that perspective, it becomes easier to see why she is so immediately determined to go get Egwene out of there.

“When Egwene speaks of the Seanchan, she always shivers. Very little upsets her—not the Forsaken, not the Dragon Reborn. Gareth, you don’t know what the Seanchan do to women who can channel.” She met his eyes. “We nee to go for her.”

Egwene is facing her worst fear right now; Siuan is right that very little upsets her, and there’s not much that can genuinely frighten her at this point. But now the Seanchan are attacking, as she’s known they would and dreaded they would and no one listened to her, and now they’re there and Egwene can’t even channel, and she’s effectively alone. Being treated as a novice and then a prisoner in the Tower, and embracing pain was one thing; there, Egwene had her sense of self and her absolute conviction that she was fighting for a necessary cause. This must be so much harder, to face the people who collared her and enslaved her and have haunted her nightmares. It’s not a pain she can just embrace; it’s a fear she struggles to even be rational about—and for good reason. But now she has to face even that, and somehow do so in a way that won’t undermine everything else she’s doing.

No pressure or anything, Egwene. Just face some of your worst fears and traumatic memories while effectively powerless and still more or less a prisoner in a hostile environment you’re trying to win to your side right after you’ve just been handed a massive shock in the form of a list of all the Black Ajah who surround you by a woman who died in your bed. That’s not too much to ask, is it?

“I will not be a party to this,” he said stubbornly. “Fine,” Siuan spat. Fool man! “Go take care of your men. I think I know someone who will help me.”

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Fine.

Egwene!

Maybe it’s because I’ve been sitting on last chapter’s cliffhanger for a few days now, but I feel even more invested than I should be in whatever is about to happen. I think it’s also because there are a few layers to this: on the individual character level, you have Egwene facing her worst fears and memories from probably the entire series so far in a very direct and immediate way. She hasn’t had any contact at all with the Seanchan since TGH but they’ve left a very clear impact on her psyche, and so there’s a lot riding on a battle with them at this point in the series, when character arcs are being wrapped up and the final stage is being set. It’s always exciting to see a character face and potentially even overcome their fears, or be confronted with and have to somehow deal with something traumatic from their past…but of course, that’s not all this is.

Because there’s also the level of not just Egwene’s own character arc, but her role as Amyrlin in the struggle for the Tower. She’s a girl facing some truly horrific memories, but she’s also trying to defend the Tower itself, and still trying to unify it from within, to win it over to her, to claim authority so that she can preserve the Tower and the Aes Sedai. And so she has to face this fight not just as herself, but with the additional pressure of having to face it as a strong Amyrlin, having to face it on the entire Tower’s behalf. To protect not just herself but all of them.

And to do so from a position of what should be no power at all.

So there’s…a lot riding on this; multiple arcs and storylines could turn on this one battle. It’s a critical point on several different levels, and they all feed into and play off of one another, so it’s this sense of hundreds of threads all being pulled into this one single point, this one climactic event around which everything will turn and on which so much depends.

I’m excited to see how this goes, is what I’m trying to say here.

“The Dark One!” Nicola wailed. “The Last Battle! It’s come!”

“Nicola!” Egwene snapped, straightening up. “Control yourself.”

Yeah, Nicola? You are really just not helping. That is absolutely the last thing Egwene needs to deal with right now.

But that’s part of what makes this so…I can’t think of a good word. It’s part of what makes it feel like the stakes are so high here, part of what drives the tension and importance up, part of what makes it feel like something that’s about to be monumental and very likely impressive. Is there a word for the anticipation of the particular brand of awesome that comes when a character comes well and truly into their own, against the greatest of obstacles? Because I think—at least, I sincerely hope—that’s what we’re about to see here. And this is the sort of thing that builds that sense of anticipation and…investment, I suppose.

It’s that sense of everything piling on top of Egwene, coupled with the belief in her that she will triumph.

Because there is so much being put on her shoulders right now.

Faced with one of the only things that has the power to upset or frighten her, she cannot afford even a moment or a semblance of weakness. It’s not fair, but there it is. She has to be strong for all of them; she has to be their strength, and reassure those who need it, and there is no one to reassure her. She has to help Nicola through her fear, and likely help others; she has to be someone they can draw strength from in order to face this…but all of that strength has to come from somewhere. And so she has to find it in herself, not just for her but for those around her; she has to not only find it but be able to give it away freely. While faced with one of her greatest fears, she cannot look to anyone else for comfort or reassurance, and on top of that she must provide it. It’s the price of the role she seeks to claim but damn.

Although…not to minimise the difficulty of the situation she’s in because it really is A Situation in every possible way, but I’ve always found it actually easier, perhaps oddly, to remain calm and in control and capable in a situation that’s difficult or frightening if others are depending on me to do so. If you’re the one who has to see everyone through something, there’s almost a kind of clarity to be found in that particular form of pressure. Not detachment, exactly, but the ability born of necessity to set aside your own sense of fear/stress/other immediate negative emotion and just…deal with the situation because someone has to. So maybe there’s something to be said for that.

Of course, this is taking that to an extreme—to put it mildly—so…there’s that.

Portions of the Tower’s wings below were alight with flames, and to her horror, Egwene saw several gaping holes directly in the sides of the Tower.

All of her efforts and holding it together and it’s like the Tower is just determined to fall apart around her in any way it can. In the way a three-year-old is absolutely dead-set on not eating their vegetables, and if that means throwing the entire plate on the floor then, well, that’s what’s going to happen.

Also I feel like this is probably not what the Aes Sedai were going for with the whole ‘flame of Tar Valon’ image. Like, WRONG METAPHOR. ABORT, ABORT.

Soldiers would soon follow. Soldiers and sul’dam. With those leashes. Egwene shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. The cool, seamless metal. The nausea, the degradation, the panic, despair, and—shamefully—guilt at not serving her mistress to the best of her abilities. She remembered the haunted look of an Aes Sedai as she was broken. Most of all, she remembered her own terror.

Oh, Egwene. It’s too much, to ask her to somehow face all of that and not be afraid. And none of those in the Tower even know; none of them have been subject to the a’dam and few seem to know or believe or understand what it means that Egwene was. There’s no one she can look to for the comfort and reassurance she could so desperately use right now, no one to draw strength from, but she has to. She has a moment to herself, now, to wrap her arms around herself and try to hold herself together, but she’s not going to get more than a moment, and she’s going to need to do so much more than simply hold herself together.

The Tower shook. Fire flashed in the distant hallways accompanied by shouts and wails of despair. She could smell smoke. Oh, Light! Could this really be? She wouldn’t go back. She wouldn’t let them leash her again. She had to run! She had to hide, flee, escape…

No!

She pushed herself upright.

No, she would not flee. She was Amyrlin.

And how much determination does that take. This is so much more than deciding to embrace pain, and succeeding at it. This goes beyond pain; it’s something that may as well have been specifically crafted to hit her at her most vulnerable point, to strike directly at her worst fears and make her feel at her most powerless—especially as, right now, she effectively is.

And to decide not to be, to decide not to give in to that, is such an incredible effort of sheer will and determination.

She is Amyrlin, even now. She is Amyrlin through pain and imprisonment and she will be Amyrlin even through this. That is not just her role; that is who she is, and she will not back down from it.

Nicola huddled beside the wall, whimpering. “They’re coming for us,” the girl whispered. “Oh Light, they’re coming!”

“Let them come!”

Egwene al’Vere is HERE and she is STANDING HER GROUND and anyone who tries to get her to do otherwise can FUCK RIGHT OFF, THIS ARC ENDS HERE.

Given just the facts of the situation, the bare bones of it, it could so easily be her own darkest hour. Her greatest fear, the ones who held her prisoner and tried to break her mind coming to destroy the Tower that’s already falling to pieces around her despite everything she tries, and her powerless to channel more than a trickle, much less stand up to them…and yet it’s as if through sheer will she decides that it won’t be her Darkest Hour, because She Says So.

Blessedly, enough time had passed to dull the forkroot slightly, and she was able to grab a faint trickle of the Power. It was tiny, perhaps the least amount of the Power she’d ever channelled. She wouldn’t be able to weave a tongue of Air to shift a piece of paper. But it would be enough. It had to be.

Like when she had to read Verin’s list by the light of a single candle, there’s a sense of contrast here with the immense power Rand used a few chapters ago that I really like. I’m not even completely sure I can articulate why. But the way it suggests that she…makes her own power, I suppose. Something about strength and where it comes from and what it really is.

“I will protect you,” Egwene said. “I promise.”

She’s facing her own worst fear but she just calmly puts herself in the role of protector, and despite her apparent lack of strength in the Power right now, there’s no sense of doubt. She has the kind of strength that can back up statements like that even when it seems impossible.

It’s a sign of how much she’s grown since she last faced the Seanchan. Then, she had raw power but little practice with it; she was just a girl still new to the world outside her village, unsure of her place in it and still stubborn and determined to fight this nightmare but what could she do against something that could break experienced Aes Sedai? And it left its mark on her…but now that it’s time to face that again, after that moment of panic and remembered pain, she finds this source of strength in who she has become—who she must be, and who she has chosen to be. She is Amyrlin in truth, and in that is a determination and a strength greater than her fear.

There’s this sense not that the fear born of those experiences and trauma has lessened, but that she has grown and found her own strength and self and so it looks diminished in comparison, when it comes time to truly face it again, because there’s so much else to her that can push against it.

Anyway, Egwene has found herself…a crowd of novices. Her first allies in the Tower…Egwene, what exactly are you planning, here?

“I’m going to teach you how to link.”

Oh. That’s…resourceful, certainly. Pragmatic. But just a little bit…not quite ruthless but something akin to it.

They’ll be stronger, linked. Perhaps more able to defend themselves. But as Egwene acknowledges to herself, it’s not something usually taught to novices; she is pushing them out of necessity…as was done to her. She promises to protect them, but she’s also aware that they will need to be able to defend themselves; she cannot realistically hope to keep them out of this completely. She went to the harbour chain herself and ended up captured because she didn’t want to send a novice unnecessarily into danger, but now she doesn’t have that option—at least, not as she sees it. And so she readies them to fight.

Hopefully, at least some of them would figure it out. 

What mattered was that Egwene now had the Power. A fair measure of it, almost as much as she was accustomed to without forkroot.

She’s preparing them to defend themselves, but she is also using them. Out of necessity, and because she’s trying to defend all of them and has to somehow make that possible when she herself is all but powerless, but using them nonetheless.

To weave a gateway?

She hoped that the gateway would open in the right location; she was going on Siuan’s instructions, which had been somewhat vague, though she also had Elayne’s original description of the place.

Oh! The angreal storeroom! That’s clever. So she’s using them to make the gateway, but perhaps just for that. She doesn’t seem to be sending them straight off to fight, or bringing them with her to where the fighting is happening; she’s using them as a source of power, but maybe only to make a gateway to a different source of power…interesting.

“Are you escaping?” Her voice was edged with fear, and not a little hope, as if Egwene might take her, too.

“No,” Egwene said firmly. “I’ll return in just a moment. When I come back, I want at least five good circles formed!”

Egwene’s not going anywhere, not while the Tower is under attack, but I wonder if maybe she should think about getting the novices out, via gateway, to somewhere they can be safe. But then maybe there isn’t enough time for that. Or maybe that’s the cold pragmatism: they can’t afford to weaken the Tower further. She doesn’t approach it from the same place as Rand, and she hasn’t gone in the same direction or nearly as far, but Egwene too will do what must be done, and sometimes that means making decisions she might wish she didn’t have to. She doesn’t want to put novices in harm’s way, but harm’s way has come knocking on their door, and it’s not just them but the whole Tower at risk, and she has to work with the situation she has.

I don’t think it’s moral event horizon material, but it’s definitely one of the more morally grey decisions Egwene’s made recently. And I love it, because that’s the sort of decision I like to watch characters make, but I will certainly not deny that there’s an element of harsh pragmatism to it.

And now she has her own absurdly strong sa’angreal. Which brings us to a different potential parallel.

She looked at the three novices, smiling broadly. “Now we’re ready,” she announced.

Let the sul’dam try and shield her while she was wielding one of the most powerful sa’angreal that the Aes Sedai possessed. The White Tower would not fall while she was Amyrlin!

There is still an element of fear, there, and while I don’t think it’s her primary motivator I think it does still play a role. Her first thought is that she has enough power to protect herself – let the sul’dam try and shield her. As if she has to take that second to reassure herself that she will not be taken again, that she will not be made helpless, that she can face them. Which is, you know, understandable. To not let her have even that moment of…need to reassure herself, need to touch that vast Power to feel secure in facing some of her worst memories, would I think take something away from this scene, because it would be making her too perfect. She’s human, and that’s the point; she’s human and she’s afraid and she’s able to do this anyway.

But her next thought, and the one she focuses on, is that the Tower will not fall. She is not just Egwene al’Vere; she takes a moment of thought to reassure herself on that front, and then she moves on to the bigger task: not protecting herself, but protecting the whole of the Tower, for that is her duty as Amyrlin, and there is no place in that for Egwene al’Vere’s own fears.

Does Gawyn have to be in this chapter? Can’t we just…not?

Bryne stepped up beside her, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He eyed her with dissatisfaction. Well. She wouldn’t let him be the judge of her honour.

A bit too late for that, Siuan; how much laundry have you done in the last few months?

And now too late to decide that going to Gawyn is a terrible idea.

“Are we being attacked?”

“No,” Siuan said, glancing at Bryne. “But Tar Valon might be.” “Egwene!” Gawy cried, hurriedly doing the last loops on his belt. Light, but the boy was single-minded.

YOU DON’T SAY. And he doesn’t exactly have a track record of strong decision-making skills where Egwene is concerned. It’s single-mindedness without perspective, which is a terrible combination on every level.

I’m not sure I agree with Siuan on the necessity of a rescue operation in the first place, and I think Bryne has a point, but I also have a reasonable amount of faith in Siuan’s ability to assess a situation and make the pragmatic decision based on what she sees. Gawyn, on the other hand…getting him involved means they’re committed to this, because he is not the sort of person who can take in additional information as it becomes available and adjust his decisions accordingly. Which means he is THE LAST PERSON YOU SHOULD BE INVOLVING IN THIS, WHAT ARE YOU THINKING.

Case in point: Gawyn doesn’t even take half a second to ask specifics of what’s happening, or to think about whether or not this will work, and the logistics of it – he hears ‘Tar Valon’ and is immediately 110% committed to this fool’s errand, and doesn’t seem to worry that they’re working on almost no information whatsoever. Because since when has that stopped him from acting as if what he ‘knows’ is a certainty?

ARGH.

It was so much easier to like him when he wasn’t tangling up the plotlines of characters I like more. Watching a character make bad decisions in relative isolation, when he’s the one who will suffer for them, is fascinating. Watching a character make bad decisions when the repercussions will most likely be felt by other characters is irritating.

Also one of my greatest pet peeves in fiction is when characters make terrible decisions Because Of Love, so that’s not exactly helping.

This would all be so much easier if she could create a gateway, but she didn’t have enough strength in the Power for that.

Well, you could always borrow some novices.

“Then come with us,” Siuan said.

“I will not be party to you breaking your oath again.”

“Egwene said we could do something if it looked like she was in danger of execution,” Siuan said. “She told me she’d let us rescue her then! Well, the way she vanished from the meeting with me tonight, I’m inclined to think she’s in danger.”

“It isn’t Elaida who put her there, but the Seanchan!”

“We don’t know for certain.”

“Ignorance is not an excuse,” Bryne said sternly, stepping closer to her. “You have made oathbreaking far too convenient, Siuan, and I don’t want it to become a habit for you.”

Of course, she would argue that she’s not breaking her oath so much as bending it, which seems like something you might appreciate, Bryne, given that it’s what Brought You Together, after all. It’s a sign of true love! Or something.

“Aes Sedai or not, former Amyrlin or not, people must have rules and boundaries.”

How adorably Lawful Good of you.

“To say nothing of the fact that you’re likely to get yourself killed attempting this!”

And that’s just adorably transparent.

Then again, everything about these two has been SUBTLE AS A BRICK, and yet they still haven’t managed to actually work it out between themselves. Schoolchildren, I swear. Schoolchildren who could run rings around you politically and militarily, and then throw you a paper aeroplane note with ‘do you like me? Tick yes or no’.

“Blasted woman,” Bryne said from behind. “You’ll be the death of me.”

…I worry. That gets rather close to Min’s vision, and is second only to ‘we’ll talk when I return’ for Famous Last Words in fantasy.

“I’ll come,” he said, hand gripping the hilt of his sheathed sword.

*raises eyebrow*

“But there are two conditions.”

“Name them,” she said.

“The first is that you bond me as your Warder.”

Awww. About damn time, too. Also, I think this is the first time we’ve seen a man make this request of an Aes Sedai, rather than the other way around. Granted, we’ve mainly seen bonding situations that are more anomalous than ordinary if the narrative statements about such things are to be believed, but still, it’s kind of…sweet. It’s nice to see that it can happen this way.

And then she just bonds him right there. Alright then. No sense wasting time, I suppose.

Emotions! Concern! Romance! So much sweetness I think my teeth are rotting!

“Would that I could give this to each man in my army!”

Siuan sniffed. “I highly doubt that their wives and families would approve of that.”

Once again there’s this dissonance between what we’re told about the relationship between Aes Sedai and Warder and what we’re shown.

Maybe it’s just because I am not really a fan of romance subplots in the first place, but I sometimes feel a bit cheated that we’re presented with this form of bonding that is meaningful and important and platonic – something all too rare in the genre – only to have it turn out to JUST KIDDING actually be romantic in almost every major-character instance.

But Siuan and Bryne are not a particularly annoying couple, and they’re even relatively sweet, so okay, fine, I’ll try not to hold it against them.

“You said you had two requirements?”

“I’ll tell you the second at a later time.” Bryne still sounded a little breathless.

That’s fair; bonding is one thing but this doesn’t seem like the best time for a marriage. Wink, wink.

That would actually be a kind of hilariously ironic second condition: ‘I’ll go along with what I consider to be oathbreaking but ONLY IF we can swear a different oath entirely to each other in exchange’.

“It’s odd,” he said, smiling. “I can sense your emotions now. For instance I could tell…” He cut off, and she could sense him growing just faintly embarrassed. He can tell that I half want him to demand something indecent of me! Siuan realised, aghast.

They even flirt like schoolchildren. The former Amyrlin Seat and one of the best living generals, and they’re basically pulling each other’s pigtails and giggling over what Siuan’s blank-cheque promise could be used for.

Luckily they are in fact adults, and can set aside their hilariously incompetent efforts at flirting because there’s something just slightly more important to deal with at the moment.

“What’s happening?” Gawyn asked.

Something about that just sent me into uncontrollable laughter. Like, that one oblivious question just sums up approximately everything about Gawyn’s entire character. We have Matrim ‘battles interest me’ Cauthon and Nynaeve ‘“I won’t shout at you!’ Nynaeve shouted’ al’Meara and now Gawyn ‘what’s happening’ Trakand.

Now if only you’d pause for maybe ten seconds every now and then to try to actually find an answer to that question, Gawyn, you might not find yourself in these situations.

“We don’t have to go in alone. […] That means our chances of surviving long enough to take Egwene just improved. Which is fortunate, since after what we’re about to do, she’ll undoubtedly want the privilege of killing us personally.”

I mean, you are probably not wrong there, Siuan. Not that that’s enough to make any of them reconsider, of course. And I suppose it’s not a bad idea to at least enable an option B should one become necessary, but…yeah, I’m still very unsure about all of this.

But! On the plus side! Maybe it’ll piss Egwene off enough that she’ll finally break up with Gawyn! (Shut up and let me dream, okay?)

And now we seem to be with Adelorna. Fitting, I suppose, that we get to watch a battle for the White Tower through the eyes of the Captain General of the Green Ajah. But you know what this also most likely means? Do you?

Outsider POV of Egwene motherfucking al’Vere. Also known as: precisely the sort of thing I live for.

Anyway. Yes. Adelorna.

Who is really not having a great day as she runs through the ruined corridors of the White Tower and I’m reminded, just a little bit, of the Prologue. Ruined corridors and horror and death…

Adelorna felt ashamed. The Battle Ajah indeed! The Greens with her had stood only minutes before being defeated.

I wonder if this will serve as a kind of wake-up call. There’s a lot about the Green mission statement that’s admirable, but for all that they don’t seem to have a lot of practice, nor do they behave like an organised, trained, cohesive military unit. The fact that they don’t train to use the Power as a weapon is an obstacle, but even more than that I think they struggle because they’ve fallen prey to the same tendency as most Aes Sedai: they act as individuals and don’t know how to set that aside and function as a group.

She froze; she sensed channelling coming from her right. That could mean invaders, or it could mean sisters. She hesitated, but gritted her teeth. She was the Captain-General of the Green Ajah! She couldn’t just run and hide.

This, though, is the admirable part. She’s watched friends and sisters die, and one of her Warders seems to have been killed, and the Tower is in chaos and under attack, but she’s not going to back down. She’ll face this and she’ll go down fighting.

It’s a similar determination to what Egwene herself showed: this is her role, and she cannot allow her own personal fear to hold her back. She won’t give up, even in the face of horror.

She rounded another corner and nearly stumbled out of a rift in the side of the Tower. She teetered on the exposed ledge, looking out upon a sky filled with terrible monsters and lines of fire.

Think there’s a metaphor in there, perhaps? Just a bit? Holes torn in the Tower, leaving it riddled with unexpected and sudden dangers that an Aes Sedai can find herself teetering on the edge of, looking out into vastness and danger because the Tower cannot hold against that as it is, and they are all at risk of falling.

And Adelorna’s reward for her determination to continue fighting is to be shielded and collared.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

This is the White Tower, aloof and untouchable. Except it’s not; it’s vulnerable and cracked and unable to unite itself enough to stand against these threats. This can’t be happening, because the Tower is meant to be invulnerable and all-powerful…but it isn’t. And for some of them, I think this is the first time where that realisation actually hits.

Then, shockingly, the collar unclipped from Adelorna’s neck and fell to the floor. Gregana looked stunned for a moment before she was consumed in a blast of fire.

Does being collared count as a life-threatening situation? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t exactly disagree with the actions here. But it seems to me that Siuan’s promise is not the only oath being strained to the breaking point in this chapter.

Especially as two more sul’dam are killed by lightning and fire here, not just the one who actually put the a’dam on Adelorna. It’s interesting that Adelorna doesn’t immediately wonder how that’s possible.

A woman in white stood atop the rubble a short distance away, a massive halo of power surrounding her, her arms outstretched toward the fleeing soldiers, her eyes intense. The woman stood like vengeance itself, the power of saidar like a storm around her. The very air seemed alight, and her brown hair blew from the wind of the open gap in the wall beside them. Egwene al’Vere.

HELL. YES. This is very much a Sanderson-style image but it’s also EXACTLY WHAT I’M HERE FOR . Egwene’s own I am the storm moment, standing surrounded by power like a…force of light.

And yes, there are absolutely some darker edges to this. She is killing with this power despite the oaths she has promised herself to live by, and she’s still surrounded by a group of novices. There’s definitely more of a parallel to Rand here than when she was reading a list of names by the light of a single candle, unable to summon enough of the Power to do more than that but also not needing to.

It’s a harsh image…but she is the Amyrlin in the midst of a battle for the Tower’s survival, against those who would kill or enslave them all, and it’s also an incredibly powerful image. She who should be a prisoner frees Aes Sedai from collars, she who is dressed and treated as a novice commands immense Power and has true novices achieving what the Aes Sedai seem incapable of: organised fighting, and unity, and success against this force that seeks to destroy them. She who has been beaten and disdained by the Tower stands to defend it when no one else seems able.

The Amyrlin Seat is not nice, and at this moment she’s certainly not gentle, but she is what the Tower needs right now. A source of strength and power and determination, someone who can stand against those who seek to bring the Tower down, someone who can hold it together and fight for it. Because she is fighting for something here, not just against something (though there is definitely an element of that, I think).

Blasts of lightning flew from Egwene’s open hand, flashing through the opening in the wall, and something screeched and fell outside. Adelorna stepped up to Egwene, embracing the Source, feeling a fool for having been captured. Egwene struck again, and another of those flying monsters fell.

“What if they’re carrying captives?” Adelorna asked, watching one of the beasts fall amid Egwene’s flames.

“Then those captives are better dead,” Egwene said, turning to her. “Trust me. I know this.”

Um…yikes. It’s not quite on the level of ‘forgive me for calling this mercy as well’ because for one thing this is in the middle of a battle and the Seanchan attacked first and while Egwene might be on the offensive in this particular instance, the whole thing is being done in self-defence and defence of the Tower. Also, harsh as it is, it would probably be…unrealistically idealistic to assume that they could rescue those captives and defeat the Seanchan without some collateral damage.

Some collateral damage is, perhaps, inevitable; both for the Amyrlin Seat and the Dragon Reborn. Natrin’s Barrow wasn’t horrifying because people died—that’s happened before, at Cairhien and outside Ebou Dar and at Dumai’s Wells, to varying degrees of horror—but because it was balefire and it was so calmly and coldly planned and because it wasn’t even a battle and perhaps above all because Rand didn’t care.

And that’s where Egwene gets a little dark here; she lets herself go a little bit into that colder place where those losses can be dismissed as better dead. It’s still not to the same extent or on the same scale, but it does feel a little bit like hardening herself to that fact in the moment so that she can keep fighting.

I think part of it is that, for all that she absolutely has grown since she last faced the Seanchan, and for all that she is fighting for something here, that fear does still exist, and she’s still not entirely capable of perfectly rational thinking where the Seanchan are concerned. Which is entirely understandable, but it does give her this colder, harsher edge here, because of that part of her that is reacting out of fear and vengeance.

But for all that, she has not lost sight of what she is fighting for; above all, she is standing in defence of the Tower, in a sense standing as the Tower, to protect it as much as she can. And I’ll be curious to see how she deals with all of this after the battle is done and it’s not a case of immediate necessity; as last chapter showed, she’s very capable of putting emotion aside for a time, and processing it later, which is a little different from shutting it off completely. I feel like that’s a little bit of what’s going on here; she does have to prioritise, and she has to be able to focus on defending as much of the Tower as she can, and so for the moment—combined with the fact that there’s a fair amount of trauma associated with the Seanchan even if she’s mostly handling it—that results in a somewhat harsh pragmatism. But I don’t think she’s treating that as a permanent state, and again, she is fighting for something here. It’s more a ‘that is an acceptable level of loss’ and she just can’t dwell on it right now, more than ‘I no longer care because I am completely dead inside and will do anything it takes to get to the end at any cost’. We’re still quite a ways distant from that, methinks.

Egwene marched down the hallway behind them, like a general at the battle lines. “Well,” [Adelorna] said. “You have done nicely to organise, Egwene, though it’s good that an Aes—”

Adelorna? Shut up. How can you think she looks like a general and in the next breath address her like a child? Also she is apparently the only one organising an effective defence right now, so maybe cut the bullshit.

Seems like Egwene is on the same page.

“I am in command until this threat passes. You will call me Mother. Give me penance later if you must, but for now my authority must be unquestioned. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mother,” Adelorna found herself saying, shocked.

Yeah. Right now is not the time to be fighting about who’s in charge, or trying to claim authority over the one person who’s actually getting shit done.

Egwene’s not trying to seize power here for herself; she’s establishing the chain of command in the middle of a battle because all around her is chaos, and there isn’t time for anything else. Someone has to take charge, and so she did, and for that to work it has to be recognised. Yes, she wants to be Amyrlin, but she wants it because she believes that is what the Tower needs…and right now, it certainly doesn’t seem like she’s wrong. Her first priority is the Tower; her own interests are secondary. First, they need to survive this.

“Where are your Warders?”

“One wounded,” Adelorna said. “One safe, with the other. One dead.”

“Light, woman, and you’re still standing?”

Adelorna straightened her back. “What other choice do I have?”

Egwene nodded. Why did her look of respect make Adelorna swell with pride?

It’s such an honest respect, and earned. Adelorna’s pretty damn impressive herself, all things considered. Her first reaction may have been to treat Egwene like a child, but she was also quick to understand the importance of a clear chain of command, and she’s still fighting despite the fact that one of her Warders was just killed and she was just collared. So yes, of course Egwene respects that, and doesn’t try to hide it. And Adelorna deserves it. It’s a nice exchange between them, I think because it’s so simple and honest.

“Well, I’m glad to have you,” Egwene said, resuming her walk.

It’s honest, and also very matter-of-fact. There’s no jockeying for power here; neither of them is trying to assert her authority excessively or argue about how to continue. It’s just…this is the situation, I’ve got it under control so right now I need you to work with me, but you’re also badass and I’m glad to have you here, now let’s get back to work. Simple, honest, respectful, effective.

“I’ll have one of the novices show you how to unlock the bracelets, but don’t take any risks. Generally, it’s easier—and much safer—to kill the damane.”

Again…yikes. Necessary, perhaps, but once again there’s a harsh edge to that. I’m also still very curious about the fact that Adelorna hasn’t at any point questioned—aloud or even to herself—how this squares with the three oaths.

Though of course there is the not irrelevant fact that the damane, horrible as it is, are either enemy combatants or weapons in the hands of enemy combatants, and they’re currently in the middle of a battle, and that means the options are a little…limited. Self-defence is a pretty key factor here.

But  it comes back to the same thing: they shouldn’t be fighting the Seanchan. They don’t have much choice, because the Seanchan are trying to kill and capture them, but this entire battle should not be happening. They should be working together, not killing each other; they should be preparing to face the Last Battle. But…events have made that all but impossible, and there are some pretty enormous differences of opinion and worldview and methods between Seanchan and Aes Sedai, and so here they are. Forces of the Light, fighting against one another.

I had hoped that maybe this battle could somehow lead to Egwene establishing the treaty Rand could not, but that’s…not looking particularly likely right about now.

Egwene’s openly using Travelling in front of Aes Sedai now; it seems like the days of that being kept secret are…limited. I’m honestly amazed it’s been kept this secret for this long.

“We need to stop them and destroy any to’raken we see, with captives or not. If there’s any chance of stopping them from returning to Ebou Dar with someone who can Travel, we must take it.”

I…get where you’re coming from, because Travelling is absolutely a game-changer, and in the hands of the Seanchan without a peace between them it’s a pretty terrifying concept, but…I also think it’s way too late for that. Too many know it, now.

It does create a very zero-sum approach on both sides here: the Seanchan have been told to capture as many Aes Sedai—marath’damane—as possible but kill the rest. Meanwhile because of this last attempt to keep Travelling from the Seanchan, Egwene and the Aes Sedai are now approaching this not just with the aim of repelling the Seanchan but killing or capturing all of them. So that can only end well…

“You could have run,” [Adelorna] said. “You could have fled at any time.”

Yeah. Take a minute to think about that. And what it means that she hasn’t. That she’s here, facing this same nightmare you are, when she doesn’t have to be. Fighting for all of you, who have treated her like a child at best and an enemy at worst.

Egwene turned back to her, looking through the portal. “Fled?” she asked. “If I left, it wouldn’t have been fleeing you, Adelorna, it would have been abandoning you. I am the Amyrlin Seat. My place is here. I’m certain you’ve heard that I dreamed this very attack.”

She is the Amyrlin Seat, and now Adelorna and anyone else who sees her here can see that she truly believes it, and is committed to it. It’s not just something she says; she’s not just in it for power. Here, when she could so easily have fled, she instead chooses to stand and defend the Tower, because to do otherwise would mean abandoning them. Because she is the Amyrlin, and that means fulfilling the Amyrlin’s duties, no matter how difficult or dangerous they may be. She is the Amyrlin, and she is fighting for the Tower, because that is what she has chosen.

Next (TGS ch 41) Previous (TGS ch 39)

#one does not simply fuck with Egwene #Wheel of Time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #The Gathering Storm

[h0nie]

Number 29 | Chapter One

11.25.18 

↳ m.list | prologue | 01 | 02

pairing: athlete!yoongi x photographer!reader

genre: drama, humor, au

word count: 8k

⌜ a/n ⌟ fun fact: the corgi part is based off an actual experience I had with my sister. Also, the mentioning of the football players is exactly what I saw one of them do, absolutely disgusting.

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Through your eyes, you viewed the world uniquely from others; a captivating place that men and women were given the privilege to walk on. 

Who knew, that observing through the clear lenses of a camera, anyone, even a living creature was able to experience the euphoric feeling that displayed in front of them; coordinating yourself within various of angles that you wouldn’t believe to envision that existed before you — just through the thickness of a lens. 

From the scintillating sun that dazzled beautifully off the reflection of the ocean sea to capturing the quintessential moment of the ombré mixture viewed in the hazy sky, changing elegantly within a split second; pigments of autumn leaves shrivelling, ere dropping softly — transitioning to the winter breeze.

Snapping pictures of practically everything, you treasured every piece you took. You saw the perfection of it all, obtaining peace and comfort. Dwelling in your own little world, your own adventure; happiness through every landscape you came across.

After taking an interest in your high school’s photography class, you learned everything about the lingering emotions and distinction behind every concept; following the year by begging your parents in buying you, your very own black digital camera.

The camera that you loved and held onto so protectively throughout your entire high school days; keeping it alongside you wherever you went — you hadn’t stopped since — joining the yearbook committee right after, leading you here; Ridgeview’s newspaper editor.

Outside on the team’s football field, where you laid. Your entire body sprawled out on the grass while you held your camera above your face. The glasses that were previously on your nose, were now settled on your forehead as you looked through the pictures you had taken from the recent basketball game; deleting the ones you didn’t like.

Concentrating and humming along to the music that blasted loudly out your earbuds, you were oblivious to notice a slim figure approaching. It wasn’t until you had accidentally clicked out of the pictures and saw a face pop up, focusing into view — smiling as they leaned down at you.

You violently shook, “Jesus Christ!” You shrieked, nearly dropping your camera on your face.

You took out your earbuds just in time to hear a faint laugh escaped from their mouth; plopping themselves next to you.

“You should have seen the look on your face. Like, you’ve seen a ghost or something.” She giggled, recreating the frightened face jokingly.

You propped yourself up, bringing your glasses back on your face and crisscrossed your legs. “Ha-ha. Very funny.” You were unamused and your voice made it obvious.

“You weren’t at the coffeehouse today, so I figured you’d be here.” Taking her hands out from her pockets, she rubbed her hands together producing a bit of friction before blowing into them.

Yuri Yen, a second-year student like yourself and was also your best friend. Before moving here, she had originally came from Hong Kong with her family at the age of 4. You met Yuri back in high school during your junior year, having not one, but three classes throughout the entire semester.

Since the significant convenience of having classes together, it was a great conversation starter for you — asking whether if she understood the homework or if she did the homework at all. 

The two of you even helped each other cheat on tests. Gradually, you seemed to talk to Yuri almost every day in class, instantly exchanging numbers and before you knew it, you two became close friends.

After graduating, you were excited and relieved to hear that Yuri was enrolling in the same college as you. Knowing at least someone, especially when that someone has been with you for years, put your mind at ease. You were thankful that you weren’t going to lose your best friend and be alone.

Her bangs shifted as the wind blew. A small smile crept up on your lips as you stared at her hair. She consistently kept her hair the same, even now. She never dared to get rid of her thin bangs that hung, along with her signature high ponytail that she wore every day.

Quite honestly, you had always viewed girls with bangs to be for preschoolers. You pondered, by having them at this age was a bit childish looking. But of course, your opinion had changed since learning that haircuts like these were popular in the Asian culture and after being around Yuri for so long, you realized that her bangs did as well, suited her well-rounded face.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” She re-adjusted herself, having now both her elbows securely on the grass as her face planted into her hands; legs up, swinging back and forth as if she were a little girl you thought.

“Well, for starters...” You drifted off, grabbing your camera and turning it on. You then handed the semi-heavy object to her.

“I’m now in charge of taking pictures for the basketball team. I had to take a couple during their tournament we had and I’m still debating which pictures I should submit for the papers.”

A constant beep came from the camera as Yuri clicked through. After a few moments, she stopped. “Woah, who’s that?” She turned, tilting her head as she looked up at you. Scooting closer, you peered over her shoulder.

It was the picture you had taken of all the boys together after they won. Her finger pointed at the screen, landing it right on top of a boy with dark brown hair. His expression was stone cold, showing no emotion. His eyes were dark, staring straightforward as if he was peering right through you.

“Apparently, that’s the almighty Yoongi.” You playfully joked. Yuri’s eyes widened in surprise, turning back to the screen, she clicked the button and zoomed in.

“No way, that’s who everyone talks about?”

You shrugged.

Why was Yoongi praised so much?

What was so great about him that people constantly talked about him?

He may be an athlete star in basketball, but that was all he really had and was known for.

“For a basketball player, you’d think he’d be a sasquatch. Thought he’d be a lot taller, to be honest.” You chuckled, nodding your head in agreement.

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You stood in silence, fiddling with your thumbs as you waited for your teacher’s approval. The room was quiet, with the exception of the ceiling fan quietly blowing; to your liking. Your eyes wandered around to occupy yourself.

Regardless, having been in this room for multiple occasions and knowing specifically what it held, you continued to stare as if you’ve never stepped a foot in the room.

Stacks of papers scattered around the desk as well as small photos of your teacher’s family members pinned to the small cork board he had. Your teacher, Kim Seokjin has been the head of the department since you’ve been here. You didn’t know too much about him, but overall, a nice man.

“Excellent job, _____.” Your teacher smiled, holding out your camera for your hands. You stretched out and grabbed it gently from him, letting the strap tug on the back of your neck as your camera dangled.

During your time out on the field, Yuri had helped pick out the pictures that were best for the newspapers.

“These will look fabulous once they’re printed. We also might frame some of your additional pictures around.” You couldn’t help but blush at the compliment. Adjusting your glasses, you looked up and returned a sheepishly grin after.

“You can start printing right away. The sooner, the better.” He clasped his hands together before placing them on his knees and got up from his seat. He grabbed a folder filled with papers from his desk and tucked it under his arm, “I’ll let you get to it,” as he made his way out.

You listened to the sounds of his footsteps distancing, although it wasn’t long until the sound echoed back. Presuming your teacher must have forgotten something considering he was a forgetful man at times, you saw his head peek back in the door.

“Say, _____. I recall you mentioning to me that you’d like to help out more, correct?”

You nodded.

A month ago, you had told Mr. Kim that you’d like to request something new to do, possibly join a new club perhaps? You’ve thought about seeking the art club, however, after one day in and compared your work to others, your untalented ass wasn’t going to cut it. So, scratch that off the list...

You had then asked for your teacher’s advice and he advised you that he’ll keep an eye out.

“Would you consider assisting the basketball team?”

“Me?” You gazed at him dumbfounded. “Helping the basketball team? By doing what?”

You didn’t know if your teacher had noticed at all, but your puny weak arms weren’t exactly capable of shooting a ball nor did you know anything about basketball.

He noticed the discomfort that was accumulating on your face and raised his hand towards you.

“Relax, they’re looking for someone who’s responsible and able to organized the binder’s spreadsheets, put away equipment, clean up — the basics.”

You nibbled the corner of your lip, hesitant about the offer.

“You don’t need an answer immediately, they aren’t in a rush. I think this would be beneficial and convenient for you, considering you're going to have to take numerous amounts of pictures of the team anyways."

He did have a point, though you still weren't convinced.

"If you do consider it and you have the chance, stop by the gym.”

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Your snug jacket sheltered around your body whilst the noisily sound of your laptop and binders shuffled in your backpack — within each step your fuzzy boots made against the pavement.

The weather was bitterly cold; fluffy clouds began to arise, cowling the blue skyline — unfolding itself to a grey-like colour above your head. Trees rustled against the wind, detaching several individual leaves as you crossed.

You heavily sighed steadily, scrutinizing as the frosty breath slipped from your lips, dissolving itself into the air.

Leaves from the ground swarmed as it spun in a tornado-like manner; as the gelid of wind whispered throughout the streets, its icy breeze slashing utterly through your layers. You gripped your jacket tight — the dangling of your hair dancing rhythmically to the Zephyr.

A red blossom tinged with pink faded, appearing subtly on the apples of your cheeks and the tip of your nose. You instantly nestled your face into your scarf as you felt the sharp shiver snaking its way up your spine. 

Still, you did not mind the weather in the slightest. The serene sound of peacefulness filled your ears, relishing your solus stroll.

As the outline of the coffeehouse came into view, you sensed the excitement pulsating its way through your body. When entering, you were immediately greeted by the lukewarm heat and smell of coffee beans; brewing deliciously, trickling in the inners of your nose.

You settled yourself in, taking your jacket off and planting it on your chair; ordering yourself, your beloved cinnamon dolce latte with extra whipped cream.

The coffeehouse to you was a perfect go-to place when needed to take your mind off things or on treacherous amounts of work. For you, you referred to it your safe place.

From the therapeutic aesthetic to the lightly lit fireplace; the amazingly tasting coffee — you found yourself coming here nearly every day, drowning yourself in the indie music that played softly in the background. All your anxieties, all your stress; swept away.

Removing the lid from the cup, the steam elevated beautifully as you took a straw, shredding its wrapper off and dunk the thin tube in. You sipped, savouring the flavour that awaited.

The hotness of the latte made its way down your throat; lifting the straw out before licking the cream carefully off. You were promptly filled with energy — motivated to work grind and finish your assignments.

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Approximately 8:30 p.m. The time radiated on the corner of your laptop. You had stayed in for a whole 4 hours, ultimately losing track of time.

You closed out of the tab and took your glasses off, placing them discreetly above your head. You rubbed your eyes and held them shut for a moment before opening them and drawing out your phone.

On your screen, text messages from Yuri. She had texted a few minutes ago.

⌜  Today 8:22 PM ⌟

Yuri: HeYyyyYyyYy, we’re friends right??  [8:22]

Yuri: and you know that I love you [8:23]

You: New phone, who dis? [8:34]

Instantly, Yuri replied back.

Yuri: omg- [8:34]

Yuri: oKAY, remember that time during English I let you borrow my pencil cuz I’M NICE [8:34]

Yuri: remember that time where I gave you my jacket when it was cold [8:34]

Yuri: remember that time when I bought you a juice box at the vending machine? [8:35]

You rolled your eyes and giggled.

Typical Yuri.

A pattern that you knew all too well. Whenever she was in need of something from you, she would unimpressively bombard you with things she’s done; like this.

You: Alright, shut up, I get it. [8:35]

You: What do you want? [8:35]

Yuri: can you get me food? [8:35]

You: Can you get off your lazy ass for once and go to the store yourself? [8:35]

Yuri: Blocked. Reported. Deported. Actually, block my number. You’re so rude ;( [8:36]

You: Yeah, yeah. Anyways, guess what Mr. Kim said to me today [8:36]

Yuri: which one? the one for the newspaper? [8:36]

You frowned at the text. You’ve only mentioned one Mr. Kim to her.

You: No, the janitor who cleans the girl’s washrooms. [8:37]

Yuri: MAY I REMIND YOU THAT THERE ARE SEVERAL MR. KIM’S IN THE SCHOOL [8:37]

You snickered.

You: He asked me if I’d like to help with the basketball team [8:37]

You: Probably not gonna do it. [8:38]

Yuri: WHY?! [8:38]

Reading Yuri’s text, you could practically hear her screaming at you for not wanting to go. 

Yuri: um, hellooo? Getting to see hot boys every day in their sweaty uniforms? YES PLEASE! [8:38]

Yuri: if you’re not going to do it then I will! [8:38]

“Ugh-“ You groaned, disappointingly shaking your head at her response. Of course, that’s the first thing she thought of.

Once again, typical Yuri.

Yuri: Seriously _____, I’d say go for it. You might even make some new friends ;D [8:38]

Yuri: It’s a nice change from you always having your face glued to your camera. Just try it out and if you don’t like it, drop it. [8:39]

Maybe Yuri was right.

Maybe helping with the basketball team would be a good change to your routine.

Your routine consists; waking up early every morning at the same time, going to your communal kitchen and eating toast with jam, head to your classes whilst Yuri annoys you, get back to your dorm, and then go to bed.

Pretty plain and boring.

Every day was the same repeated cycle so having miniature perks of having your daily dose of your desired beverage and you exploring out — taking pictures, you were undoubtedly grateful.

Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to have a slight change in your life... You were a little wary of the situation; though, you’d start deliberately thinking about it more.

Closing your laptop and placing it back in your bag, you swung your jacket on and grabbed the half-empty coffee cup. Your eyes fixated back down at your device, thinking of a shrewd reply to Yuri as you managed your way to the doors.

Your thumb tapped on the screen, unaware of your surroundings as you lifted your elbow that gripped the coffee cup to push the door. The door flew open from the other side, causing you to fumble — the chest of a stranger had thumped into you, stepping back in alarm.

You dropped the open cup, gasping at the unexpected sultry liquid that splattered on your chest. A brown puddle had now pooled; both your mouths hung open, processing what had transpired.  

“Shit! I- I um — I’m sorry! L-Let me get you some napkins.”

Tightly shutting your eyes, you pressed your lips together, taking in a deep breath. You held it; letting it out slowly, restraining yourself to remain calm.

My favourite shirt...

You mentally sighed, examining your ruined shirt — not to mention that the colour was white.

“Here.” A fist full of napkins held out in front of your face that the stranger had gathered. You clutched the napkins from their hand and comprehended who the boy was.

Face-to-face was undoubtedly one of the school’s supreme point guard basketball player, Jungkook.

His jet-black hair poked out from his baseball cap; having three silver ring piercings, dangling from its side. He wore an expensive looking jacket accompanied by his denim jeans and timberlands — he was pleasantly well-kept you had to admit.

You relentlessly stared, taking in his facial features. One thing that stood out; under his lip, a noticeable tiny black mole. How un-peculiar to have. You’ve never seen someone with such an uncommon dot before. Seeing up close confirmed what everyone said about him. He was unquestionably good looking.

Picking up the now empty coffee cup and disregarding it in the garbage, you began wiping the mess, in hopes to at least soak some of the stains from your shirt. Jungkook also helped clean the remaining mess on the floor and tossed the dirty napkins that you handed to him, including the cup.

“I really am sorry.“ His eyes avoided yours as he rubbed the back of his neck. You let out a sigh once more, “It’s fine, it was an accident. I should have watched where I was going anyways.”

The two of you stood stiffly next to each other. You weren’t sure whether to buy a new cup yourself or leave without saying a word. Fortunately, the silence was broken — clearing his throat, “I’m Jungkook by the way.” I know. Naturally, everyone on campus knew of him.

He smiled as he stuck his hand out towards you. Putting your hand in his, you returned the gesture, “_____,” giving him a professional firm shake back. 

“Let me buy you another one, wait here.” You promptly kept the grip on his hand, preventing the boy from walking away. “It’s really fine! Don’t worry about it.”

Now, we all know how these situations go; someone offers to buy something for you-you can’t accept it. It’s that gut feeling of guilt of not wanting to appear conceded rather than simply accepting — yet, many of us hope that the other pursues the offer.

“I insist. It’s the least I can do, please?” His voice; sincere and soft as his head titled adorably. Another cup would be nice, however, a new shirt would be greater.

“Okay...”

He instructed you to sit at a table as he went to order. When returning back, Jungkook carried a cup holder, carrying four cups of goodness. An eyebrow raised in confusion; passing your newly balmy cup of coffee in your hands. You didn’t question who the rest were for nor did he need to explain — wasn’t your business. Most likely for his friends.

“Do you go to Ridgeview? You look extremely familiar.”

“I do. I’m a second-year student. I’m mainly hidden in the college’s paper room, I’m their editor.” He mouthed an O shape; progressively, the two of you continued your discussion about school — leading towards the exit, allowing the fall gentle dust to whirl its wind, hitting you both. You watched as Jungkook’s hair moved with it.

The sky had darkened. Street lights flickered as well as the illuminating light that reflected from the coffeehouse, glistening on your bodies.

His index finger tapped on his chin, stopping himself as he hummed in a thinking state.

“I swear, I’ve seen you be-“

“Yah! Jungkook!” A yell hollered. Your heads subconsciously followed the sound. “What took you so long? We’ve been waiting for you!” From a distance, Hoseok and Yoongi emerged towards the well-lit frame.

“Sorry ‘bout that!” He lingers his eyes on you and simpers, “Got caught up.”

The lengthy boy shifts his attention towards you, “Caught up, ay?” Hoseok snickers, nudging Jungkook with his elbow prompting Jungkook to lightly bump into you.

“Who’s your friend?” He nods, acknowledging your presence. Hoseok’s notices the large stain on your shirt. Curious, he points subtly, wanting to say something but quickly seals his mouth and retracts his hand.

“Uh, this is _____. We just met actually. I accidentally spilt her coffee...”

“That explains the huge stain.” Hoseok chuckles.

A wave of heat flushed your cheeks, instantly shielding your chest with your jacket. How embarrassing.

You cough, shoving the encounter aside. “Nice to meet you, Hoseok.”

“Likewise.”

You gazed over at Yoongi. His dark chocolate-toned hair was styled messily; drooping forward — completely distracted by his phone.

A slap came across Yoongi’s shoulder. “Oi! Don’t be rude, say hi!” His nose scrunched, lifting his head to face you.

Hoseok gave him a look, “go on.”

“Hi.” Yoongi’s character and mood revealed he was uninterested. You gave him a tight smile. The tension was now becoming awkward.

Thankfully, Jungkook intervened. “She goes to Ridgeview with us.”

“Really?” Hoseok smiles radiantly. “Well, if we happen to see each other, you better say hi!” He taunts.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” As Hoseok kept the ongoing conversation, you tried your best to respond/listen to whatever he was saying.

You glimpsed over at Yoongi. He studied you, trailing his eyes, up and down at your figure — eyes matching yours. You immediately snapped away, staring at the ground. You shifted uneasily. You felt as though you were growing small, feeling Yoongi’s intimidating stare tower over you.

Hoseok checked his watch, “Crap, we better get going. We're already late as is.” You felt relieved. You all exchanged your goodbyes, except for Yoongi; who had already made his way. Hoseok apologized for his behaviour, jogging after him.

Disappointment stirred in your gut. You questioned yourself, presuming that you did something to irritate him to act so grim.

Interrupting your thoughts, Jungkook patted your back, “Don’t worry about him too much. He’s not usually like this. I promise you, when we meet again, it’ll be better.” You gave him a lopsided smile and thanked him for the reassurance and coffee.

Following his friends, the raven boy turned to you one last time for the night, waving, “I’ll see you around, _____!” Before sending you a wink as he walked away.

You watched the boy disappear and giggled, cute. Zipping up your jacket, you slipped out your phone and texted Yuri. You hesitated for a moment before pressing send.

You: Let’s stop by the gym tomorrow. [10:17]

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“Okay, hear me out,” a hand gently rocked your shoulder. 

You promptly finished writing your sentence and dropped your pencil down, directing your attention to Yuri — who was trying to contain her laughter as she held her phone incredibly close to her face, shielding her screen from your view.

“What if, the inspiration for the shape of bagged bread, was inspired… by a corgi’s butt,” she laughed, plummeting her phone on the table and sliding it over. 

The device’s screen unlocked, a full-blown image loaded. Sure enough, two pictures; a corgi’s bottom and bagged bread compared to side-by-side.

You glanced up from her phone, face kept neutral and lifted your glasses, massaging the bridge of your nose as well as letting out a low exhale of annoyance.

“Doesn’t that look like bread — ow!”

“Shhh!”

This was probably the sixth time the two of you-Yuri, had been constantly told, a numerous amount of times to keep quiet. You gave the old librarian another sympathetic look before turning back.

“Why’d you hit me?!” Yuri whisper-shouted, pouting while she rubbed her arm from your impact. 

“First of all, would you keep it down? How many times is that lady going to have to keep shushing you?” By now, both of you knew that this was going to be the last time coming here.

“We’re…” you gestured all around, “in a library.” You looked back at the screen, “And no, it doesn’t look like bread,” it did. 

You slide Yuri’s phone back, “Second, we’re supposed to be studying, why are you even searching that up? Put that away.”

She groaned, “Fine,” tucking in the small electronic in her pocket. “Good, now focus.” You opened your book and flipped to a page, Yuri does the same. 

Not even a second later, she stops and leans in close to you, “So, when do you plan on visiting the gym, hmm?” You ignored her and continued reading, moving slightly away from her in your seat. You were hoping she wouldn’t bring this topic up, you’ve been avoiding the gym.

“_____, it’s been two weeks.” No answer. “Come on, what’s the big deal?” You sigh, closing your book, “I don’t have time for it, that’s all.” 

The girl rolls her eyes and snorts, “Puh-lease, that’s bullshit and you know it.” She jabs her finger in your shoulder, pushing you back easily. You opened your mouth to protest, no, she’s right.

You did have the time, you simply didn’t want to see the boys, especially after your encounter — it was too… awkward.

Okay, maybe you were being dramatic over nothing, you still have exams to study and prepare for, not to mention, the newspaper committee as well. The other part of you was just, lazy.

“You do realize 2018 is coming to an end right?” You nodded, “What better way to start now, early — by helping the team!” She wacks your back, “Shhh!” Yuri’s eyes widen, forgetting that she was being loud, again and mouths a ‘sorry’, slumping in her seat right after.

You shook your head and pushed your glasses up, “You’ve been bugging me non-stop about this. Why do you want me to join so badly?”

Straightening herself, she took your hand into hers, “Listen, don’t take this personally, but you’ve changed a lot since high school… I just want you to try something new,” she pauses a moment to glance at your bag then back at you, “Something other than your camera?” You frowned, tilting your head.

Of course, there’d be a change. You didn’t think “changing” was a bad thing, it was you solely maturing as a person. The two of you weren’t high schoolers anymore, you were college students. One step closer to graduating and then, stepping out in the “real world.”

“What I’m trying to say is, you’ve limited yourself — more like isolated.” You kept your mouth shut, brushing off your best friend’s hold and picked up your pencil again. This time, it was Yuri’s turn to sigh, “Whatever,” and slipped out her phone.

You stopped writing and stared at the page. Were you isolating yourself?

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The entire time at the library yesterday was bothersome, you didn’t get any studying done. Yuri constantly kept disturbing not only you but the people who were studying nearby as well. Eventually, the librarian had enough and asked us to leave. Needless to say, neither of us are allowed back.

“Can’t take that girl anywhere, I swear,” you disappointingly shook your head and snickered. Checking your watch, it was still early, you didn’t have class in the next couple of hours. Perfect.

“Might as well kill some time,” shrugging off your bag, you unzipped your front bag’s pouch and pulled out your wallet; heading straight to the cafeteria to purchase some lunch.

You ordered yourself a regular sandwich and took a seat at an empty table. You peacefully enjoyed your lunch — stuffing your face full.

After finishing your meal, you decided that now would be the best to squeeze in a studying session, one that you should have gotten with Yuri.

Unfortunately, that studying session didn’t last long, having not being able to restrain yourself, you packed your things away and out came your camera; looking through your film for another deleting spree — a regular routine you’ve been doing so your storage wouldn’t be full when your next photo-taking adventure comes.

“Is that _____, I see?” That startled you, causing you to jump. The male‘s voice was low, you knew that voice. Steadily turning around, low and behold, it was none other than, Jungkook. “Oh, hey,” you say, watching him approach and then relaxing next to you. “Sorry about that, didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he lets out a chuckle.

He plants his head on the table and stares, his breathing is irregular; heavy puffs force their way, his nose flaring too. Must have worked hard during practice.

A baby blue coloured towel hung around his neck, wetness dripping from his forehead — straps and the torso part of his jersey clinging to his skin somewhat. He was remarkably sweaty.

Normally, when men produced large amounts of sweat, the odour that drifts from them was utterly putrid to the human nose. Having experienced the stench passing the football hallway; dear god, as if infrequent weeks of trash had been piling up, waiting to be thrown away but was stored in their lockers — by far, gut-wrenching to you.

That wouldn’t be the critical part — no. Arriving back from practice, the athletes would shove their revolting equipment in and would overboard spray their ENTIRE gear with the popular cologne, Axe.

Assuming the cologne would help the situation; the mixture of sweat and the manly fragrance did not go well together at all. Players would carelessly spray it, believing the Axe would neutralize it. Instead, the complete opposite — the smell worsens as if you’re being suffocated when walking through.

You’d have to admit, Axe itself is a pleasant, wonderful smelling cologne on men, particularly, for those who’ve applied an appropriate amount. You found it attractive — a turn on even; when a man’s scent smells astonishingly satisfying. You didn’t know how that was possible, but it was.

However, despite Jungkook’s current position, you didn’t feel grossed out or nauseated. He may be perhaps one of the sweatiest members you’ve ever seen on the team — that never stopped the acknowledgement of how remarkably charming he looked without trying.

“Saw you sittin’ here like a loner, so I decided to do my good deed of the day and accompany you,” he flashes you a cheeky smile, enough for his tiny left dimple to appear. “I’ll have you know, I do have friends.”

Jungkook raises his head up from the table, tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow, “Really?” Straightening his posture, he pans around the room, palm hovering near his forehead, “Cause I don’t see them.” You suppress a giggle and shove the male playfully.

Now that you consider it, you genuinely didn’t have friends, friends — real ones at least. There’s nothing wrong with you, it wasn’t as if you didn’t get along with people, you talked to almost everyone in the class. Except, none of them spoke to you outside of the course nor did you put in the efforts in carrying out another friendship that Yuri and you strongly had.

It also may be the fact that your social awkwardness got the best of you. You see, when wandering through the halls and seeing a classmate, coming to your direction, normal people would converse with them and walk with them even. You on the other hand? Oh boy.

Imagine this, a confused or concentrated expression, doesn’t matter who the person’s face you choose, think of that. Now, add several complicated math equations and questions surrounding them, as if their brain is clustered. That’s how you felt. Overthinking everything.

Should I say hi? Hey! What’s up, how are you? Is that too much? Am I coming off strong? What if my voice cracks? Oh god, I forgot their name.

By then, you wouldn’t even say anything. Abort mission. You’d take out your phone, doing the bare minimum to dodge any confrontation.

Example: sliding up your control panel to lower the brightness, going to notes and typing in some random shit or, your favourite, opening up Instagram to scroll through your already seen feed — something, anything to make it seem as if you were busy texting the friends you didn’t have.

“You’re right, you caught me. I don’t have any friends.”

Jungkook gasps and dramatically slaps his chest in a defensive-like matter. “Jheez, I’m only teasing you. I can’t believe you don’t consider me as a friend,” he begins to sniffle, wiping away his non-existent fake tears on his cheeks.

In all honesty, you didn’t see Jungkook as a friend to you, yet. Nor did you think that he thought about becoming friends with you too. Recurring back to the situation at the coffeehouse, you genuinely assumed that, that was going to be the last of it, but here you were, pretending to console Jungkook.

“Anyways, where’ve you been?” He said, “Haven’t seen you in a while.” You glanced away for a moment, then bit your lower lip and looked at Jungkook, “You know,” you scratched the back of your head and combed your fingers through your hair, “I’ve been, around.”

“We should hang out soon.”

“Uh-”

“Us and the rest of the guys, sometime this week, yeah?”

Without thinking, “For sure, yeah!” Your voice didn’t sound like your own, a bit higher pitched than usual, indicating your uncertainty whether or not to actually go or to bail at the last minute when the time comes.

“Hoseok has been complaining to me about not seeing you, he still wants that hi by the way,” he said, wiping his face with his towel and then giving you a wry smile. You nodded and smiled back.

Silence hung between you two, both mentally scrapping words to say to each other to keep the conversation flowing. You fiddled with the band of your black camera, Jungkook noticed, seizing the opportunity, “You’re always carrying that camera, huh?”

Tucking a large strand of hair behind your ear, you fixed your glasses and replied, “It’s kinda necessary when you’re doing the newspapers.” Jungkook opened his mouth and muttered an ‘Ahh,’ recalling the time you had told him when you two met.

“That’s it?” You stared down at your camera and switched it on, “No, I use it for my own personal use too.” The raven-headed boy scooted close to you, “Can I see?” Motioning to the camera. “What about your team? They’re probably waiting for you,” you said, showing him your watch.

“Nah, it’s fine,” and held the base of your camera, “Can I?” He repeated and you hummed in approval, reluctantly settling the thing on the table in front of him.

“You took all of these?” He voiced his amazement. Never in his life had he seen something so mesmerizing, so eye-catching. No words could describe what he saw. To Jungkook, it didn’t look real, as if all of them had been taken off the internet.

You leaned in next to him, shoulders now touching to see which one he’d stumbled across, “Mhm,” a sheepish smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

A picture that you caught last year of a frozen lake; beneath the mist that swirled, thicker than the pure white snowfall on the ground lies a naked tree, dwindled with budded twigs standing in the center of the overflowing cotton candy — sea-dwelling sky.

You could feel it, only remembering the coldness that you witness, kneeling down on your knee and snapping the picture, a picture you were proud of. The wind carried as you stood still, soaking it all in; just nature.

“You’re good,” Jungkook examined the photo repeatedly, never taking his eyes off it. “Like, really good,” he said, and you blushed. Finally lifting his gaze off the screen, returning you the camera, “You should teach me sometime, teach me a thing or two.”

You shook your head, “It’s not something you learn from, it’s something you experience,” you gestured with your hands, “Experiencing it will make you want to achieve more. See more. Feel more.” He pushed his lips together and formed a line as he nodded, not fully understanding but was willing to give it a shot.

Suddenly, you heard the noise of loud chatter emerging its way from the doors. The sound of, not one, not two, but Jungkook’s entire basketball team carrying their duffle bags and water bottles in hand. Jungkook had spent the majority of his time with you that practice had ended.

“Ay, that’s where Jungkook went!” One of them shouted, tapping Hoseok. The red-head nudged Yoongi and pointed towards you guys. He immediately marched over and waved, “_____!” Nearing closer, Yoongi just a few steps behind.

“Hey, Hoseok!” You beamed, imitating the wave. “Finally got my hi!” The three of you mustered a laugh, but Yoongi. He wore his signature stone-cold expression, hands were shoved in the pockets of his shorts as he shifted his weight on his left leg, peering down at you.

Hoseok and Yoongi were sweating, of course, however Yoongi; taken back, as if you’ve lost your ability to breathe — he was glowing. The tips of his brown hair, clumped together, full of wetness, sticking to his forehead, covering his eyes almost.

He ran his tongue along his bottom lip and you felt your heart squeeze. You were lost for words, oh my god. You couldn’t help it, he looked so, breathtaking — literally. 

If sweating and shining at the same time was going to look this good on someone, so be it; Min Yoongi was soon to be trademarking it as his brand.

You found yourself staring and tore your eyes away, nervously coughing. You collected your being before smiling shyly up at Yoongi. He beckoned his head, ‘Hey there’ and smirked. He knew you were staring at him just seconds ago.

Jungkook wrapped his arm around your shoulder, “Our friend _____ here agreed to hang out with us,” You weren’t so sure about going alone with the boys, though, they seemed harmless. Maybe you should invite Yuri, that way, you’d feel more comfortable.

Jungkook shoots you a bunny-like smile, “There’s a carnival happenin’ on Saturday, you guys wanna go?” Hoseok clapped his hands excitedly, “Yeah! We’d love to go, right Yoongi?” He shrugged and licked his lips, “I don’t care.”

Hoseok was trying his best, attempting to involve Yoongi in on the conversation as much as possible  — a way to lighten up the mood between you two from last time, but even you could see the frown starting to form on Hoseok’s face.

“Right… We should probably add each other.”

Yoongi and you were the last to exchange numbers. He quickly finishes setting up the contact and waits for you. “Done,” handing back his phone, he does the same and gently brushes his fingertips against yours as he retracts the device.

Your heart skips a beat. You glance at Yoongi to see, he was on his phone, clueless. It was an accident, relax.

A groan escapes Jungkook as he stands up and stretches, hearing the sound of bone cracking. Snapping back from your daze, you lifted your glasses and rubbed your eyes before checking the time.

“Shit!” The three boys stared at you. You’ve been spending so much time with Jungkook earlier and sitting here now, that you completely forgot about your class.

“I gotta go,” instantly packing away your things. “I’ll set up a group chat sometime this week,” Hoseok said. You gave him a thumbs up and made your way, “You should come to see us during practice!” Jungkook called, “We’ll see!” You turned and grinned.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The clicking of the bottoms of the shoes echoed on the hard surface. Yuri’s eyes observed as she leaned on the wall, following your figure pacing back and forth, left and right, over and over again. “So, do you ever plan on going in?”

You paused for a brief moment at Yuri’s words before continuing whilst chewing on your thumb’s nail; a habit that you’ve never seem to get rid of, a nervous habit that stuck with you ever since you were a kid.

“Never mind,” you finally said, shaking your head.

“What do you mean, never mind?” She cocked her head and pushed herself off the wall, both her hands now on her hips.

“Never mind, meaning I can’t do this,” you were still pacing, not as fast as you were before. You’ve been blowing this off for days until Yuri had eventually got fed up and basically drag you to stop by the gym and talk to the head coach.

You have been stalling outside the gym doors for the past 10 minutes, debating. Yuri’s expression changed, jaw dropped, dumbfounded, “You can’t do this?” She repeated, sweeping her hand over her bangs, now irritated.

“_____, we’re literally right outside the doors,” she grabbed at your shoulders, fully stopping you and spun you around, “Look, they’ve even made it easy for you,” her finger pointing at the gym’s direction, “The doors are wide open, just step in.”

“I know…” Trailing off, tip-toeing your way over. You peeked inside and scanned the room.

Not much to see, the team was warming up; two boys slacking off, your eyes averted onto the next one. Some guy picking his nose, next. One fixing his wedgie, umm? Your eyes then landed on Hoseok, he was practicing his shooting and then you saw Jungkook and Yoongi.

Jungkook’s knees were slightly bent, arms stretched wide, one arm somewhat higher than the other. His entire posture gave it away, he was playing defence against Yoongi. Jungkook attempted to steal the ball multiple times but Yoongi wouldn’t allow it.

A wide grin plastered on his face. He was having fun, enjoying himself, skillfully teasing Jungkook as if he had a chance. At that moment, it was the first time you’ve seen Yoongi genuinely smile, something other than a grave manner.  

Yoongi saw you at the entrance and brushed passed Jungkook naturally, the same technique he used back at the tournament. He dribbling forward, making direct eye contact and gave you a cocky lopsided smile as he shot the ball in the air.

Your breath hitched at the sight. It went by so quick, you almost didn’t even see it. You could feel your heart thumping, the common heart squeezes in your chest recurring.

Swish.

Yuri cleared her throat, “Quit your drooling. You can gawk about which one’s the hottest later,” you snapped your head up at her, her arms folded.

“I’m just — I don’t know,” this whole thing was more complicated than it should have been. You weren’t nervous, were you? Even so, what was there to be nervous about?

What if I screw up the organization? What if none of the other guys like me? I have to make a good impression or else-

“You’re overthinking things again.”

You sighed in defeat, you were.

You wanted to scream in a pillow. Why must you make things hard for yourself? You poked back in the gym, eyes wondering to search for Yoongi.

Yuri caressed your back, “There, there. All you need is a small little push-” and with that, Yuri had shoved you in. “Oh my lord!” A scream escaped you as you fumbled to steady yourself, almost face-planting the ground.

A couple of members had noticed you, directly howling and whistling at your grand entrance. Others didn’t bother, resuming their practice as if nothing happened. 

You sensed the embarrassment beginning to rise, burning away at your pink cheeks. You dusted and straighten your skirt, “Yuri, I swear I’m going to murder you-” you viewed back at the doors, she was gone.

The sound of your phone dinged. On your home screen, an unread text message appeared.

⌜ 1 New Message: Yuri ⌟

Yuri: good luck! [9:05]

You locked your phone, wait until I get my hands on you.

You shuffled your way in, the coach was nowhere in sight. Taking yourself a seat on the bench, you quietly waited and observed the boys. Yoongi kept his eyes on you from the moment the two of you made eye contact, watching from a safe distance — the opposite side of the court as you sat, hands neatly together on your lap. He couldn’t help contain the smirk forming on his lips, you looked confused.

“May I ask who you’re lookin’ for?”

His hair was blonde mixed with a shade of brown; a stunning colour, if you would-say-so yourself — harmonizing with the shone colour of his clear blue eyes and piercings on his ears. On top of that, he had flawless opaque skin, pinchable cheeks, and plump lips. He looked soft and elegant — an idol even.

He stood in front of you, wearing all black attire; black hoodie and black shorts. Nearly as tall as Yoongi you deemed. You’ve never noticed him before, a new recruit perhaps? Even so, he didn’t come off as the type to play basketball, but you knew better not to judge.

“I’m waiting for the coach. Do you know where he is?”

The male clasped his hands together and formed an ‘O’ shape with his mouth, “You just missed him! He left to take a call. I’m sure he’s in his office, want me to get him?”

“Oh no, no, no, no, I’m not in a rush! I can wait until he’s finished,” you assured him with a sincere smile.

“Suit yourself. May I?” He motioned beside you and you willingly scooted over to make room for the young boy. He took his invitation and sat pleasantly close to you, “I’m Jimin, and you?” He tilted forward, both elbows on his thighs as his head dipped a bit to gaze at you.

“I’m _____.”

“What a cute name for a cute girl,” he broke into an essence smile and you blushed, “You even have glasses, that’s a bonus,” shifting his posture, his head now resting on his hand. He’s definitely a flirt.

“What position do you play?”

“Hm?” He cocked a brow.

“I’ve never seen you before, are you new to the team?” You questioned.

“Actually,” he leaned back, “I’m their water boy,” he shyly spoke, stretching the hem of his black sleeves over and rubbed them together, formulating adorable sweater paws before hiding his shyness in his hands.

Explains why he wasn’t involving himself with the other members.

“I’d like to be on the team though,” he muffled — paws still covering his lower part of his face.

“Why aren’t you then?”

“Well, to be honest,” he combed his fingers through his hair and sheepishly smiled, “I didn’t make the cut…” You pouted, “It’s okay though! I like being their waterboy… It’s not that bad.”

Jimin averted his gaze to the court, “Sure, I’d rather be on the floor playing, but I also like my job. Even though, I only focus on keeping them hydrated and handing out towels,” he smiled.

“I really look up to these guys. Seeing them work as a team, picking each other up after a mistake and then, coming to me, telling me, that they appreciate what I do for them — they’ve made me feel as if I’m apart of them, part of the team. Especially Yoongi.”

You felt touched by Jimin’s words. You could see it, that he admired the boys. “Yoongi’s a great captain by the way. He may look tough, but he’s nothing but a teddy bear. You didn’t hear it from me though,” the both of you giggled.

You couldn’t imagine the way Jimin described him — maybe, just maybe, Min Yoongi wasn’t so bad after all.

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[secotm]

Getting ahead of some cartoons I expect to be made

So this will be the third post I do today that isn’t about a cartoon, despite the name of this blog. But so what? The actual intent of all this is to give me an outlet for my political views so they don’t fester in my brain, and I’ve got a lot of anger and vitriol built up over the past couple weeks especially that I need to unload.

But I’m not going to do that now, because it’s getting late and I want to sleep, and also because for all my rage I’ve also been cynically resigned to Kavanaugh’s ultimate confirmation from the start. A week ago I said the FBI investigation would really just be cover for the undecided Republicans like Collins and Murkowski. ‘Well, the FBI didn’t find anything, so I have no reason to vote no.’

Which is bullshit, of course. Character matters, and if nothing else comes out of all this Brett Kavanaugh’s utter weakness as an adult has been exposed for everyone to see. The petulant child that he is deserves to be immortalized in our collective consciousness, Matt Damon on SNL the go-to reference for how to lampoon him going forward.

And that petulance brings me to what I want to talk about here. I’m sure there’ll be several cartoons crowing about Kavanaugh’s confirmation, treating it as vindication of his innocence and the idealized version of him the cartoonist wants his reputation to be built on: resolute, stoic, level-headed and even-tempered in the face of slanderous accusations that boomeranged back on the Democrats.

It’s not for petty tribalism, though. It’s not just that Kavanaugh is the Right’s guy and they needed to see him victorious and the Left defeated as one more point in the endless game they think we’re all playing. There is a deeper argument being made here. The stoic Kavanaugh we’ll see in the cartoons from Benson or McKee or Ramirez in the next couple days (though, come to think of it, have the first two actually drawn Kavanaugh?) will, on the surface, play into the narrative of ‘Upstanding gentleman unsuccessfully smeared by partisan hacks,’ but what is actually being celebrated is ‘Privileged man avoids consequences for his actions.’

Kavanaugh needed to win because he is a petulant child who crossed one of the worst lines, not despite being portrayed as one by the Left.

Brett Kavanaugh is a walking embodiment of privilege, born into wealth and status and given so many opportunities people who work their entire lives for will never get a chance to seize. He was shielded from any sort of hardship or setback, his judge mother no doubt protecting him from legal consequences for whatever ‘spirited youth’/affluenza-induced transgressions he committed. He had doors opened for him that he probably expected to be opened for him, just by virtue of the family he was born into, the social class he has lived his whole life in.

He is American aristocracy, born into a special strata above not just the lower and middle class but so much of the upper class, the ones who don’t have fortunes going back several generations and legacies at the most prestigious universities and family connections to other, similarly-privileged dynasties.

And because he is an aristocrat, he has been entitled to whatever position he wants, whatever special treatment he wants, whenever, wherever. Never has he had to be denied something because he did not earn it or did not deserve it.

Which is why the Right framed the prospect of his confirmation not going through in such stark terms. His life will be ruined. His family will be destroyed. If you have all the privilege equality feels like oppression, and if you’ve been entitled to everything your whole life denial of something must feel like victimhood. Especially when it comes about because you are being held accountable for doing the wrong thing.

Every Republican senator, every conservative pundit or cartoonist, has that view of the world. That there is an elite, and they need to be given every deference.

The patriarchal view that men are sexual beings and women are there to gratify their desires plays into this idea, and don’t think I’m ignoring the gender and sexual aspects of this. But in a ‘big picture’ sense this wasn’t about defending Kavanaugh’s virtue against the slander that he would attempt/commit sexual assault. This was about making sure that an elite would not be held accountable the same way a prole would.

Just as how tax cuts for the rich are defended as egalitarian on the basis of ‘Well, anybody can become rich in America, so these tax cuts can benefit you some day,’ the idea that all men need, or even are entitled to, sexual gratification on demand was invoked to make Kavanaugh’s struggle ‘our’ struggle (if you’re a man). The Right knew they couldn’t just come out and say ‘Hey, this guy has lived his whole life in privilege. You can’t ask him to be denied something now, can you?’

But that was the real thinking. That’s what was really going on. Sure, all the Republicans on the Senate judiciary committee and a fair number (probably a majority) of conservative voices rallying to Kavanaugh’s defense did believe that the ‘boys will be boys’ defense was sound and even valid. Tradition must be upheld, after all.

But it wasn’t the main reason.

This is why they defended him so hard, even though there is a literal list of other nominees they could have gone back to after shooting Kavanaugh down. In terms of judicial philosophy and political leaning, Brett Kavanaugh is completely unexceptional. There was no reason to fight this battle, to have Republicans from Donald Trump on down step into the line of fire to defend this specific individual.

Except that he is who he is.

He is a privileged child who was accused of a heinous act. You could not come up with a better example of how the rich and powerful get away with everything, and that is exactly why Republicans needed to jump on the grenade for him.

That’s why they fought so fervently. He is the worst, and they needed to send a clear message that they are committed to maintaining a status quo that rewards and promotes the worst.

So when I invariably see the ‘Kavanaugh is vindicated’ cartoons rolled out, I’ll be linking back to this post, repeating what I said. This wasn’t about Kavanaugh’s honor and it wasn’t about sex; it was about the privileged being shielded from consequence.

That is what the Right will be celebrating. The powerful are still powerful.

#Brett Kavanaugh #Supreme Court

[pinkykitten]

Standing Up

The Greatest Showman

Three - Legged Man x female! reader

Warning: the mob being buttholes, bullies, violence

Specifics: romance, fluff, man vs man, fall, pumpkin, race neutral reader

People:  Francesco “Frank” Lentini (three-legged man), you, the mob, P.T. Barnum (mentioned), P.T. Barnum family (mentioned)

Words: 1,732

Request: By anonymously Hi there! I've been reading through your blog (mainly tgs tag you have) and love your writing! 💕 I was wondering if I could maybe request a story for Frank, the three legged man? Maybe where the mob finds out about the two dating and start to target her and it gets to her, so Frank comforts her? Hope that's a good enough of a description 😄 Thanks!! ❤

Authors Note: hiya! thank u so much for liking my tgs writing. im so happy that i write for this fandom cuz honestly it deserves to much luv. thnx for requesting and i hope this was good enough. btw i luv this character like i would point him out every time i saw him he looks so cool! im sorry this took so long pls forgive me! i hope you enjoy and pls feedback is much appreciated. thnx!

You and Frank have been dating for a couple of months, loving every single moment you both shared with each other. 

Intertwining fingers, overwhelming hugs, countless of kisses, and so much more is the love you both posses. 

Meeting Frank was the best thing that has ever happened to you. You and Frank had greeted through a friend, and a very known friend at that. It was through Ralph Krooner aka the elephant - skinned man. Everything was history. 

You did not at all mind about Frank’s extra leg. You knew he was self conscious about it and just knowing that fact made your heart ache in sadness.

Unfortunately Frank wanted to keep your relationship a secret. Not wanting even a homeless cat to know. 

His reasoning? “I don’t want people to find out, love, because I don’t want you to get bullied or hurt because of me.”

You understood and respected his wishes. You didn’t want him to feel like he couldn’t trust you. 

“Oh look at how big this one is Frank!” You called to him, waving your hand in the direction of the object you were wanting to show Frank. It was Fall, you were bundled up enough but not too much. You had wanted to go to the market so badly last Fall but Frank was not comfortable yet to go. This time he made the effort to attend the Fall market. All just to make you happy. 

Frank walked to you and as he walked people stared. Some children and some adults. Scoffing, whispering things to each other. 

You so badly wanted to tell them off, tell them how rude they were being and how they should teach their children manners. But again, you had to keep your relationship with Frank a secret. 

It was hard in public. You wanted to call him love, sweetheart, all these pet names but you couldn’t, you had to call him Frank. You couldn’t even hold his hand in public. It was a nightmare! 

“What is it y/n? Are you okay?” He asked concerned. 

You nodded your head, “yes silly I am alright, but look what I found!” You squeal in delight as you show him a huge pumpkin. 

With a struggle you picked up the orange fruit (if it got seeds then it a fruit, at least thats what ive heard) to show to Frank, closer up. Frank tried to help you the best he could.

He did help immensely. 

“I’m sorry I can’t be much of help,” he looked down ashamed of himself. 

You softly placed your foot by his and he looked up wide eyed, “Thank you good sir for helping me carry this. You are very strong.”

You bit your lip as you saw how his muscles flexed from the weight of the pumpkin. Frank saw you admiring his arms and he smiled with a little giggle. 

“You are very welcome, beautiful madam.” 

You grinned and asked him if he could carry it to the paying tent. 

As you and him walked there more people stared, more people whispered. Some even laughed. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the worst of these bullies. The mob. They tormented and treated people differently from them with evil acts. They spit, threw things at them, and called them names. You glared at the leader of the mob. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have done that. 

As you went to the paying tent, the mob came to his side. 

“Oh look another freak!”

Frank, still holding the pumpkin, pushed you behind him, setting and arm in front of you in case anything were to happen you would be protected. 

“Men, we don’t want any trouble. Please let us get on with our day with no confrontation.” Frank tried to avoid the situation. 

“No, I think we’re good here. You helping out this young woman?” They all started hooting and hollering at you, whistling for you to come over. “C’mon little darling, we can show you a good time.”

Frank placed the pumpkin on a nearby table with anger, “How dare you talk to a woman like that? You outta be ashamed of yourselves.”

The leader of the mob cackled, “All women are whores!”

At that Frank almost lunged at the man, but quickly you placed your hands on Frank’s shoulder. Stopping him. 

Frank took deep breathes and you saw his hands turned into fists. He was very irate!

The men laughed so hard, holding their bellies. “What kinda man are you? Can”t even protect your whore. I mean look at ya, god must’ve hated you when he created ya. I mean he gave you an extra leg.” They all laughed again. 

You could tell Frank was trying to hold back his tears. Feeling useless. 

You became furious! You, elegantly walked up to the men. They all hushed and the leader raised his brow, thinking you were coming for some alone time. 

Next thing you knew, you slapped the man hard on the face. His eyes went red and he looked so angry. 

“You don’t ever call me that again, you hear! I am not some toy that you get to play around with. I am a woman and I should, no I deserve respect. And you should go to hell for saying those mean comments to my love!”

Everyone seeing the scene and the mob gasped. 

“Thats right, I, a woman, love him,” you point to Frank who is standing there shocked at your words. “You do not have the right to bring people down and to hurt their feelings just because they look different. You have no right! He deserves the same respect as everyone else. He is so amazing and so kind, he shouldn’t be treated this way. So I think that is enough, and if you would like another slap, you know where to find me.”

You then took Frank’s hand in yours and walked to the pumpkin to buy it. As you almost picked it up the leader of the mob grabbed it first and with a snarl said, “I don’t like your little threats whore, you best be careful what you say now, or else.”  

He then raised the pumpkin high and threw it to the ground making the pumpkin splash everywhere. 

“I was gonna buy that you monster!”

You were so excited for this pumpkin because you had wanted to make so many dishes and desserts for Frank. But now it was ruined, you seeing the pumpkin patch was empty of pumpkins. 

“Too bad,” spit the leader, giving you a hard slap on your face as well. You fell to the ground, your cheek already swelling. Your dress ruined with dirt. And the people, the people laughing. 

Frank flung himself to the leader and started punching him with all his might. Lets just say Frank was winning. Not letting the leader out of his sight. 

Just then P.T. Barnum came out with his family in the back of him to break up the fight. He held back Frank and you can tell Frank was happy to see him.

Frank looked to you feeling like he wanted to comfort you but you just stood up and ran away. 

“My love, wait, please,” you heard Frank’s calls. But you didn’t want to, you couldn’t stay anymore. 

Tears streamed down your face, they were never ending. You felt this day and age people will never understand you. You felt lost. You felt weak. You were pretending to be this tough girl when on the inside you were fragile and scared. But you don’t regret any second of it. You got your point across, you showed the world that you do love Frank, and that you would take any slap for him. 

You went to your house and hurried with your keys to unlock the door. You sprinted inside. 

In your house you felt safe and protected. Nobody could see or hurt you. 

You sat on one of the kitchen chairs and just wept. They were uncontrollable. You felt humiliated. 

“Oh god, I’m so terrible. I even left Frank there. Well, at least Phineas is there.” You spoke aloud to yourself, sniffling in the middle. You grabbed a handkerchief and blew your nose. 

You then hear your doorbell ring. You try to regain your composure and make yourself look presentable.

You look through the blinds to see Frank standing there. His hair all disheveled, his clothes out in some places. He looked very worried. 

“My love are you okay?”

You stood there, leaning on the door frame. You smiled and the tears came back, you hugged Frank crying on his shoulder. 

“It hurt me what they said to you Frank.” 

Frank nodded and placed both hands on your cheeks, kissing the swelling of the slap. “Y/n, I didn’t want you to do that for me. You got hurt because of it. I knew this would happen.”

You looked up at him and shook your head. “I did what I was meant to do, protect you. Defend you. You don’t deserve to be treated that way. And I don’t care who sees anymore, I want the whole world to know that you and me are together, in love.” You laced your fingers with his, and kissed his hand. 

Frank looked at you adoringly, “are you sure, beautiful? You may regret it.”

You brought his face to you and whispered, “never.”

You and him shared a deep, emotional kiss. Some people passing by looked at you two. You didn’t care anymore, you wanted to shout to the heavens how much you loved this man. 

After the kiss Frank leaned his forehead against yours, “I am so sorry they hurt that perfect face of yours. Thank you y/n, for standing up for me today. Nobody has ever done that except Mr. Barnum. I love you so much.”

You smiled, Frank brushed your tears away. “I love you, my sweetheart.” You kissed Frank again. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Frank chuckled grabbing something from behind him. 

“What is it?”

Frank then brought out a huge pumpkin, bigger than the one you had earlier. You jump up and down in delight. 

“Oh my god thank you so much Frank! I love it, its perfect!” You hop to him, giving him a big embrace. “Its perfect,” you whispered to him. “Just like you.”

#the greatest showman #tgs #the greatest showman x reader #tgs x reader #x reader #three - legged man x reader #frank x reader #francesco lentini x reader #jonathan redavid #romance #fluff #man vs man #fall #pumpkin #race neutral reader #hugh jackman #zac efron #zendaya #keala settle #musicals #requested #my writing #standing up

[ganymedesclock]

I don't understand the permanent lion switch theory. Why do the characters need to grow into roles other teammates can already fullfill perfectly? and why are Pidge and Hunk excluded from such "important development"?

Honestly I’m not surprised Pidge and Hunk are left out?

Again, I feel like it’s less a support of the first switch formation and more this sort of… elevating Shiro’s importance to the team, but also not accepting that Shiro is also if anything ludicrously overqualified to be Black Paladin.

With regards to Keith: people want him to be black paladin because they want to view him as “the main hero”, and the idea is that Black is the “most special”

I feel like there’s some irony to the mentality because it basically frames Shiro and Black the same way- their actual qualities don’t matter. What matters is that Keith (or Lance) are good, have good qualities, and deserve recognition, and that recognition should be given to them no matter how Black or Shiro would feel about it, or even what Keith / Lance are shown in-universe to want.

With Lance, and Blue, there’s a particular angle to it that tangles in with Blue’s role as the Heart. Even within Voltron itself as a franchise, most continuities put Allura in the Blue Lion. And as much as I’ve heard many people complain that Lance “deserves better” than the Blue Lion, it’s comparatively almost unheard of for people to gripe about Allura being “shackled” to the Blue Lion even though they frame Lance deserving better as Blue being dead-end worthless drudgery.

Because the Heart- characters similar to VLD Lance- are often sorted into two categories. Both are looked down upon- emotional labor, empathy, and supporting the team are not seen as valuable heroic exertions, and they’re virtually always framed as coming at the cost of the person themselves- because obviously you’d never want to support other people if you could put your all-important self first, even when that self is being adequately tended to.

A female character in the role of the Heart is just seen as this is where she ought to be. It’s effectively considered a pink-collar job, and you can look at in the real world what’s considered “women’s work”. Of course she’s tirelessly going to tend to her team, of course she’s never going to pursue anything important for herself (when that sacrifice of self is not actually remotely necessary) of course she’s going to be the doe-eyed loving supportive figure, she’s a girl, that’s what girls do, live for all of the men around them, right?

Conversely a male character in the role of the Heart? Is seen as an absolute joke for the most part. Isn’t it funny he’s so weak-willed and sympathetic, isn’t it funny he’s not aggressive and macho, god he’s so pathetic. But don’t worry, though, since he’s supposed to want better than this lame old Heart job, he’ll inevitably “grow up” to be tough in a stereotypically macho way, even if this character development is completely at odds with everything else about who he is as a person.

At best, getting the character development that actually befits him as the Heart, you can count on him to be unaccepted until he proves he gained something from it in a sufficiently “manly” proactive manner.

The thing is, a lot of the tropes around the Heart aren’t remotely actually necessary to the role, and a well-written Heart character either deconstructs them or simply does entirely without them. There is no rule that emotional labor is the level that people stoop to when they aren’t man enough to chase their personal objectives. The role of the Heart is where we, as a society, dump our garbage- all of the hangups about this womanish kind of heroism- and the misogyny that says “well if WOMEN do it, it can’t be valuable!” and “real men don’t cry, what are you, a GIRL?”

It’s worth noting that the cry to take Lance away from the Blue Lion is probably the loudest and most passionate- Shiro, Pidge and Hunk are completely ignored for this (there’s basically no discussion where Shiro should go except “not in the Black Lion, because we need that for Lance!”) because their roles are very standard. 

Here’s the brainy one, here’s the brawny one, here’s the Leader, and there’s his Right Hand, we don’t complain about these things. Because we’ve already been conditioned through just about any five-man team show to consider those four the important ones, and Shiro the most important of all. When canon already can be viewed as “tempting” us with the possibility of Keith “surpassing” Shiro and stealing his important leader spotlight, it’s just understandable people salivate over that possibility- because we all know only the Leader will actually get the biggest slice of heroism at the end.

But the heart? There’s a reason TVTropes dismissively calls that role “The Chick”. Just look at that name for it- “oh, the designated girl, they threw her in there just because they had to have a girl so people wouldn’t complain about their sexism, so she can, y’know, stand out of the way and look pretty. Maybe we can give her a dainty little weapon and let her do some fighting but not that much. When the Leader is having his real, manly problems she’ll drop all of her petty girl issues to run over and support him.”

This is not what’s in VLD. But it’s in the cultural lens that we’ve been led to look to these kind of shows. It’s why, even in absence of canon support, people assume Shiro asserts so much more control and influence over the team- to the point of how many fanfics assume if Shiro disliked Lance, that Shiro could turn the whole team against Lance rather than the team would kick him to the curb, as we literally saw happen in motion with our secondary Voltron team, Sincline, and how Lotor vs. Narti ultimately ended. The generals gathered around the fallen Narti, and Lotor was simply cut from the team, without particular effort or fanfare. The hardest thing for the generals was feeling bad about it.

But Shiro and Lotor, they’re Leaders, so they have to be inherently stronger than their whole team, inherently in charge- except they aren’t.

People likewise assume that just pointing out Keith’s strength and intelligence mean that he should be the Leader- the idea is that he’s too competent to be a Right Hand, because every position besides the head is perceived as settling for less. (And Hunk- a fat black man, and Pidge- a young quite-possibly-written-as-trans girl with choppy hair, outside of occasional token “no, THEY should be the special one! I’m so revolutionary in praising them without thinking about them instead of insulting them without thinking about them!” largely are simply accepted that of course they’re settling, they’re lesser people)

Here’s the thing about Lance in VLD. None of that applies to him.

Lance has never been characterized as a weak-willed doormat. Nor has he been characterized as settling for less, or less thought of than his peers.

In fact, the roles that are shown to diminish Lance and leave him unhappy… are the stereotypically “manly” roles people would logically propose as a “fix” for Lance being “stuck” as the Heart.

Lance’s attempted James Bond impression is what makes Allura frustrated at him- while in s3, when, with growing confidence, Lance is his sincere, sweet self- that’s when Allura starts responding positively, starts telling him that he has “greatness” within him. That’s when he unlocks the Altean sword (sword from a planet of diplomats, awakened in a flare of blue light)

Lance taking Keith’s position at the Garrison features him being reminded he’s only here because Keith couldn’t be, and him blowing off the importance of the job, him acting at his pettiest. In contrast, in the same episode with no time for character development, Blue is framed as, from the start, choosing him first, ignoring everyone else there to stare only at Lance when nobody else is “taken” much less knowing there’s a Lion fitting for them… and Lance immediately settles comfortably into place.

Lance’s response to being chosen for Red is to first refuse it, try to pass it off to someone else, and then, when he does go for it, he comes back to grieve his connection with Blue. And Black? We see Lance uncomfortable and stiff in Black’s cockpit, trying to tell himself to feel good, because isn’t this what he wanted? Isn’t it?

People who are fitting where they were always meant to be don’t respond to it by grieving their previous niche, usually. Especially not there’s no particular ‘sweetness’ of “but I have Red now” or “but I wanted Red.” Lance wanted to give up the Red Lion back to Keith with no guarantee Blue would even be waiting for him. That’s a hell of a contrast to Lance yelling at Keith in s2e4 because Keith even said something about the Blue Lion.

Yeah, the wrong-colored armors is a continuity joke, but I can’t believe it’s just a mythology joke. VLD made a genuine commitment to base the characters off of specific colors, meaning that Lance in Red looks awkward. Our inner kindergartener goes “ha ha, no VLD, blue guy doesn’t go in red cat! Blue guy goes in BLUE cat!”

And proponents of Lance in somewhere else are aware of this- they’re very quick to change that armor color. Except canon has in every conceivable way tried to show us that’s not the case. They keep setting up material to frame it, more and more and more, as Lance belongs to Blue. Allura doesn’t have much in common with Blaytz or Ezor… but both of them have an awful lot in common with Lance.

And what are Lance’s good qualities, the things he really excels in?

Lance understands the team, and several times he’s singlehandedly pulled them back from disaster by his ability to read people’s emotions. Kuron? Going to be solved by Lance, is the framing we’ve gotten here. Team needs to connect emotionally? Everybody follow Lance’s lead. Shiro as Black Paladin? Acknowledged first by Lance before they even knew Black existed. Team needs to act out roles that aren’t theirs? Gape in awe of Lance’s absolute mastery of emotions. His nature is putty in his hands.

Compared to other incarnations of Lance that genuinely did write this character as Red Paladin, VLD Lance is noticeably more sober-minded, clearheaded and perceptive. He’ll never actually sacrifice something important for the benefit of a petty grudge. If anything, this is what we see framed as an absolutely jawdropping tactical asset for Lance- VLD is the first one to actually make Lance a sniper, with the clarity and precision of intent that make that useful. He can sweep an entire battlefield, check on all his friends, pick off targets and bottleneck enemies as needed.

Even his success with the Red Lion frames his Blue Paladin cooperation and malleability. Because Lance in Red isn’t driven really by ironclad loyalty the way Keith, Acxa, and Sendak are- Lance hooks onto Keith with “Right now, I’m in your corner, and that means I’m gonna be what you need me. If you need loyal support, I’m there, but if what you actually need is someone loudly reminding you that you left Allura behind, I’m doing that too.”

On the one hand, I’m touched by how much VLD really adores Lance, and loves depicting him as the Heart, and loves emphasizing the Heart’s importance to the team. On the other? I am frankly beyond pissed that I have to aggressively defend Lance in the Blue Lion by emphasizing that he can still do violence onto things in a fight. Yeah, it’s important to let all your characters have a piece of the pie and if your series is an action series that’s gonna mean action scenes, but rather than examine some of our deeply flawed relationship with gender and how much that serves as background radiation to anything we see as “womanish” and why, exactly, do we see Lance’s job as less valuable if it “seems feminine”, it feels too much like we’re wasting time trying to prove Lance is enough of a real man he can rock this “girly” job.

I think the whole “Lion swap should stick / they should push it further and never go back to original formation” if anything sets itself up to be breathtakingly meta because I feel like it’s ultimately rooted in not thinking through any of the roles very much. Because if you just look at them shallowly, Blue and Yellow sound the least “Cool” the way our culture frames things (again, the whole devaluing of support / prioritizing individual victory- if you’re not actively selfishly taking for yourself, you must not be doing anything for yourself).

Green sounds a little better, and Red sounds cooler (“Right Hand!” plus the self-satisfying narrative of “well, when Zarkon went bad, Alfor was the one who Defied Him” ignoring that all four paladins did, and Alfor was merely the more visible thanks to his connection with Allura and with Voltron- ignoring that it was almost definitely one of the other three, and likely Blaytz, that gave Zarkon that scar), but Black Lion, oh, that’s the best one, right?

So just grab whatever character you like best and stuff them into the Black Lion. This is how you appreciate a character! You want best character to get best lion. Now nobody can question how much you love them, even if you would be hard-pressed to actively identify what are their good qualities and how they align with Black’s explicitly stated qualities.

I’m not saying nobody who supports Black Paladin Lance thinks about it that much, but that the premise feels so congratulatory when it’s actually quite patronizing (it basically hinges on the idea that the Blue Lion can’t have recognized and mirrored any of Lance’s good qualities and the Lion that chose him first was basically putting up with him because he wasn’t her best fit and if Lance really belonged to Blue that’d make him a total loser) can help explain why its appeal is so widespread.

Especially when it feels like every time Lance says something in an authoritative tone people go “oh my gosh, Black Paladin Lance!” like… I was not aware that being Black Paladin hinged on only one virtue and that was your ability to angrily yell things. Last time I checked fandom was quite cross with Shiro’s authoritative yelling.

#voltron legendary defender #vld #Lance #Keith #Shiro #readmore #Anonymous