#i am not good. i am taking too much space. i am not worth saving.''

[inkskinned]

you were raised in comparison.

it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.

you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.

you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.

what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.

it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.

you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.

you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?

a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.

you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.

it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.

something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.

#writeblr #warm up #my dad was actively doing bad shit to us and we STILL were told we were lucky . and to a point i do think im lucky #i just think also there's somethin to be said about like. how about we stop using comparison to dismiss ppls individual struggles #yes there are people who have no perspective. for the reference tho having perspective actually made me really unwilling to get help #for what was a serious and debilitating mental health issue. bc i thought i didnt DESERVE IT #and i would rather have 600 ppl who aren't THAT bad get help and get heard and get seen #than make any 1 kid. do the math that i did: look at the world that is dying and the people who are hurting and say #''oh. okay. others have it worse. they are probably better people than i am. i am being unreasonable. i cannot ask for help #i am not good. i am taking too much space. i am not worth saving.'' #bc our WHOLE lives we are taught a scarcity mindset - that you can 'steal' from someone. so that instead of changing a system that doesn't #actually offer fair support to everyone #we put the impetus on the individual to just... demand less. #and here's something - there are probably ppl who think i DIDNT deserve to get help #bc i DID have it better than other people #and something about that is ... so sickening. bc i think all of us in some way at some point WILL need help. #we were supposed to make communities. we were supposed to offer our hands. we were supposed to raise the barn #instead we said: it could be worse. now handle it yourself

[ugh-yoongi]

the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. <3

#jimin x reader #jimin smut #bts x reader #bts smut #jimin imagine #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfic #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x y/n

[thatgirlie-diaries]

Academic tips that work for me

Hello girlies! This is a post that I have been delaying for like 2 weeks, but now it's time or me to post it. In this blog I will give you all the things I do to keep myself getting high grades and maintain the "intelligent" persona I have worked for since I started studying my college career and fortunately others see me this way now.

I do not study hevy or know a lot about studying methods, I am more into "smart work > hard work" kind of thing

My personal tips

This are my tips being an auditory person focused on being effortless

Understand your learning style: Are you visual? Auditory? Or kinesthetic? By knowing this you can apply studying methods that are efficient for you.

Pay attention to your classes!: I think the main reason I slay effortlessly my exams is because of this so I only need a quick study. You will be saving future time since your study sessions will be lighter because you will remember lots of the things.

Participate / Ask questions: It's easy, you will get points with your teachers as a great student, plus you will get your questions solved.

Put your on a place you can't see it so it doesn't distract you, for classes or when you need to study / get work done.

Study in a place when you feel comfortable, it can be at an cafe or at the library, even in your bedroom at a desk, what matters is that you feel comfortable and that you get the feel of "this is a place where I can study / do my assignments" and not feel lazy or uncomfortable by "x or y" reason. As a plus, keep your space clean and only with the necessary at sight.

Use music that doesn't distract you and you vibe with: Listen to music that doesn't have lyrics, but that's a basic by now. What I recommend you is to listen to music that you just vibe with to get your desired mood and motivation. In my case, I listen to videogame soundtracks since it makes me feel relaxed or to classical music because I fee like "that business girly", either way music helps me concentrate.

Romanticize your studies: This can mean different things to all of you reading this post, I am talking about making your academic journey fun and pleasing rather than streesing! Some ideas are having cute stationery, take cute notes, act like one of your fav academic characters, have study playlists, drinking coffee, go to the library or to cafes, dress cute for school, read, light candles, watch "study with me" videos and study vlogs, create a pinterest board, stablish academic goals, etc.

Do your homework when you have free time at school / college or do it as a first thing after your schedule, this will help you save time. Think about it, if you do it while having free time at school / college you don't need to do it at home. And if you need to do it at home, if done as the first thing, you will either way get so much free time and can focus on other tasks or activities freely.

Be organized: Have a bullet journal or use an app to keep track of your subjects and assignments. By this you will remember and keep in sight upcoming deadlines and events.

Take care of your academic relationships: I make sure that the people inside my circle of friends are girls (mainly, but boys too) who I feel comfortable, have fun with but also are similar to me in the sense that they take seriously her studies and are good teammates. Outside of them I also focus on other potential classmates that are intelligent and have similar values. There is no need to bother on the ones who don't attend classes, are irresponsable and don't even know what are they doing in the course.

Take care of yourself: Ask yourself? Will it be worth it while not sleeping enough, having a poor diet and exercise? By not letting yourself rest or have fun from time to time? By not practicing self-care? By not practicing any hobby or taking the time for your interests ? Please take care of yourself, girl, this is the lowest part of the pyramid. The reason to care is not only your wellbeing, but also because having a poor lifestyle can have bad effects for you that also affect your performance, and we won't like that.

Now go and slay your academic year / course! 𑄽𑄺ྀ

#clean girl #coquette #dream girl #girljournal #hyper feminine #it girl #motivation #my diary #pink aesthetic #pink blog #pink #pinterest girl #pinterest #study motivation #study blog #student life #studyspo #self improvement #self care #self love #leveling up #motivateyourself #get motivated #that girl #girlblogging #just girly things #girly tumblr #just girly thoughts #just girly posts #girly blog

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - lots, just LOTS

I thought I would be pretty lean reporting for Oct 2023 but then (for reasons relayed here) the weeklies got saved by a drunk avenging hacker in a hotel room.

Oct 2023 Wk 1

Except I still can't watch IFYLITA, because I use my other computer for it.

Gotta say though, watching tese mostly all in one day (for travel reasons) is beyond even my BL superpowers. I did my best tho.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Dangerous Romance (Fri YT) ep 8 of 12 - Sailom, sweetie, Kang is never sleeping alone again. It wasn't really translated, but Kang's way of speaking in that opening stinger was VERY cutsie. Also the gay sheets have made another appearance. I do have to say that "rich kid problems" is not my favorite story arc, but I still think this is a great Thai BL.

Naughty Babe (Sat YT) ep 6 of 8 - I love that they are finally talking to each other but Yi’s whole personality is shifting. Honestly, this pair is great at kissing and casual touches, but the friendships are the best thing about this franchise. Also Mr Chenne remains my fav character. But where did Diao's baby superhero team come from? And why? This show is very confusing... It’s also not very good.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) You Are My Soulmate ep 7 - This was the one of the series I was looking forward to the most, because silly, pretty, and v BL. It is, in fact all those things and nothing more. So I'm enjoying it, of course.

Absolute Zero (Thai Weds iQIYI) ep 2 of 12 - I like it, but it feels like it's gonna be so sad. I'm having Promise and Dew the movie flashbacks. Plus 12 eps seems too long for this narrative thread. I am worried.

Venus in the Sky (Tues iQIYI) 6 of 10 eps - This show is so slow it's hardly worth the bandwidth, but we attained "baby is a floppy drunk" and thus a finger bite frustration scene, which was nice.

Only Friends (Sat YT) ep 9 of 10 (not a BL but I'm watching it anyway) - Ray is so mean to Sand. The not-a-thing with Sand & Nick was cute. I’ve had several experiences like that. All my queer friendship groups tend to be incestuous, but sometimes they're just too much of a sibling and trying to sleep with them is the most unsexy thing in the universe. To be fair, I’ve also been in Ton’s position (this ep). Jojo sure makes queer shizz. But also, Ton must have a magic rod with everyone wanting a repeat. (I'm so glad they put Neo in this role, no one else at GMMTV could play him as complex or sympathetic.)

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

You Are Mine (Taiwan Fri Viki) eps 5 of 10 - now officially known by me as "I'm too sunshine for this seme" where our boss is being hella obvious but our cinnamon roll is just too ooey-gooey to notice. Al.though, baby boy, he takes you home, sleeps on top of you, feeds you cookies (IN HIS BED) and keeps you in his space? Surely even this sunshine is catching a few rays of truth?

Gaga's *unintelligible gay murmuring* is my favorite caption EVER.

Also the name of my new ASMR YT channel.

Bon Appetit (Korea Weds iQIYI) 3-4 of 8 - ah gay panic, also what is Korea's obsession with 7 year separations? Is it only true love if you wait 7 years? Dohoon is SUCH a flirt, it's kinda great! Also, since it's Korea, we got us a bit of a love triangle with 2 hyung romances, so I (of course) am torn. Either way Dohoon is going down. I do love how much time we are spending with the food in this drama, finally one that lives up to its name. On an entirely different note, Korean camping is the most bizare thing to me. It's SO damn civilized. There will be NO DIRT. They pack blow torches. And full dinner sets. Every time I see it in a drama, I'm amused.

My Personal Weatherman AKA Taikan Yoho (Japan Sat Gaga) ep 7 of 8 - OMG these 2 are so in love with each other, and so ridiculous about it. They're tiny idiots but I love them.

If It’s With You AKA Even If I Fall In Love With You AKA Kimi to nara Koi wo Shite Mite mo’ (Japan Gaga) ep 1 of 5 - from MBS a live action adaptation of Kubota Maru’s manga ‘君となら恋をしてみて���. Amane has stopped loving people due to trauma until he meets Ryuji. At first Amane just wants to play with Ryuji but… feelings.

I like the odd Japanese mature-childishness in this one. Plus a broken sunshine who is out in a kind of aggresive way and an instinctive caring seme. What's not to love? Well, it's Japan I'm sure it will surprise me one way or another.

Mr Cinderella 2 (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 3 of ? - the cray cray step brother quazi incest is a bit much for me. Why does VBL just suddenly get so unhinged like this?

Kiseki: Dear to Me (Taiwan Tues Viki & iQIYI) ep 9 of 13(?) - resumes next week

It's Airing But...

I Feel You Linger in the Air (Fri grey) ep 8 of 12 - I will try to watch 8-12 and do a series review when I get back in November but... not sure I will be able to. Fingers crossed.

Love in Translation (Sat iQIYI) ep 8fin - I will complete and drop a review in Nov.

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - 4th installment in this series (1st series, 1 special, 1 movie prior) about a lawyer who lives with his boyfriend, a hairdresser, and cooks for him. I find thie series more fun to binge, som I'm waiting until it completes its run.

I Cannot Reach You AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai (Japan Tues Netflix-Japan & ????) - in classic JBL fashion, I Cannot Reach You could not be reached. 

Can I Buy Your Love From A Vending Machine? AKA Sono Koi, Jihanki de Kaemasu ka? (Japan cinema release in-country only) - This one is a movie from Japan so in customary fashion who tf knows when (or if) it will get international distribution. Salaryman Ayumu Koiwai just can't tear his eyes away from the strong, muscular man as he checks on the stocks of the vending machine in his office.

In case you missed it?

Crazy Handsome Rich (Sun Gaga) Apparently ended its run I DNFed this at ep 3. So no review from me.

My Beautiful Man: Eternal AKA Utsukushii Kare Eternal (Japan movie Viki & Gaga) - Play it again Sam, only I'm kinda tired of this song. I was v dramatic tho. And it's always nice to be reminded JBL can kiss when it puts its mind to it. 8/10

Next Week Looks Like This

Upcoming October BL

10/31 SHADOW (Thai VIU ????) - this is a horror BL featuring ghosts and other paranormal elements in a high school setting. I'm not wild about Thai horror (or horror at all, but if it must be done in BL let Japan do it). It features Singto (who did paranormal BL He's Coming to Me) opposite Fluke N (who's done a couple horror's before). Also Fiat. Dan suffers from sleep paralysis, and in his dreams he sees a shadow that suffocates him. It gets worse when he transfers schools.

10/? Bump Up Project AKA Bump Up Business (Korea ????) - BL staring OnlyOneOf that released(??) as a movie in July but is now being recut and reissued as a series. Stars NineMill and from Idol Romance bulled as a love story between a trainee who is about to debut and a celebrity from the same agency (based on a webtoon). OnlyOneOf have been auditioning for this since Libido IMHO. You can watch me chronicle their BL MV work in this post. Idol Romance will do sad but can do good kisses (Wish You, Nobleman Ryu, Once Again, Kissable Lips, Poongduck 304, Tasty Florida, Tinted With You) but I don't think we will get any in this. After that OmegaX Shoulder bullshizz buisness I am very wary of this show.

2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED).

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

I've seen this Chinese drama like... no wait... okay it's like EVERY Chinese drama ever.

(both Mr Cinderella 2)

I only got to watch this scene and the bath, but bot were pretty darn good! I Feel You Linger in the Air

There's only one bed but they slept together on the floor anyway. One of BL's oddest tropes.

I do love a finger bite. (both Venus in the Sky)

Good advice

(Naughty Babe)

(Last week) 

#this week in bl #bl updates #bl reviews #My Beautiful Man Eternal Review #currently airing bl #new bl #utsukushii kare #bl 2023 #Thai BL #Taiwanese BL #Korean BL #Japanese BL #live action yaoi #I Feel You Linger in the Air #Mr Cinderella 2

[sirfrogsworth]

I'm still slumping 2 weeks after my last movie outing.

I've been reconsidering going to movies as my way to escape the house.

It requires about 40 minutes of driving plus 2.5 hours at the theater. It's just too much time upright for me. And I feel the consequences are only worth maybe once a month. Once a week was too much. Though I feel like I still need to get out of the house more than once a month to keep sane.

My other idea was to take little photography trips. I could find a location that might make for some cool photos. I can limit myself to 30 minutes or something. And then I head home.

It's possible I might be getting some backpay if my disability increase is approved. I'm probably going to save most of it. But I am considering getting myself something that I normally wouldn't be able to. I miss photography almost more than regularly making comedy. So maybe I'll get a nice camera and a lens.

I've always had to get mid level APS-C cameras. They were the best I could afford. Which were great and I was able to get professional results. Some people think if you get a better camera your photos will magically be better. But better cameras do not automatically give you better image quality. They make it *easier* to get better image quality, especially in challenging circumstances.

For instance, on a fancy camera with really good sensor stabilization, you can take photos in dark environments without a tripod. That is a huge convenience, especially for a disabled photographer.

Or eye-tracking autofocus can assure you get perfect focus on every shot. I used to have to take dozens of extra photos for safety because it was difficult to check focus on that tiny screen. That added a lot of time to my sessions. Now I could take fewer pictures which helps save time while photographing but also at home when I am editing.

A bigger sensor makes it easier to get background blur and you can be closer to your subject in cramped spaces. And you don't need expensive prime lenses to get the same blur as an f/2.8 or whatever. So I can have smaller, lighter, and more affordable lenses that achieve similar quality.

So a better camera doesn't make you a better photographer. It is more like changing a video game's difficulty from hard to medium.

The only bummer is that I loved working with artificial lighting. That was an art form on its own. Shaping light was so fascinating and the resulting images just looked unreal. But it requires a ton of extra time and energy. So I will probably have to become a natural light photographer. But that presents a lot of fun challenges too. There is no photography I don't love, so I'll be okay. I just miss my lights.

I may not be able to afford a new fun thing at all. So I am not getting my hopes up or anything. But if I could do photography again and improve my mental health, I think that might be a worthy investment.

[vastpotato]

I write a crazed crack theory/hope for The mag protocol at 3 am… you wanna hear it?:):):)

Jon and Martin survived. The plan worked just as Jon had theorized it would. With Jon gone, the tether was cut and the fears sent away. In the explosion, jon was able to protect Martin (his own connection and domain of the Lonely also most likely saved him) and they were sent to another universe (Somewhere Else)(most likely with all the other fears just greatly weakened and on the edges once more)(they never found bodies)

Martin came through in much better space than jon, (because protected by Jon and Lonely powers) still with powers to some degree and now in a new universe, he has no true ties and doesn’t truly care. What he does care about is Jon. Jon has barely survived through his power in the eye. Not even remotely human anymore, Martin knows the only way jon could possibly survive or grow strong enough to Be once more is through the power of stories. He doesn’t want another mag inst again though so he plans carefully. Two men are out looking for a bit of fun and a good place to tell spooky stories. Martin is able to scare them enough into knowing they MUST come back every year or so with new people to share true stories. Martin takes this as a mercy and some kind of hold still on humanity. (Hence why we hear there is no ‘Martin or jon’. Because there isn’t. Not really anymore anyways. Just husks of the men we knew and loved.) they’re not human anymore. Neither of them. Jon practically IS the Beholding now and martins only true link to humanity still now, is because of and through the husk of the man he loves and his want of him back.

In the “huh. Are you still listening?” We can hear that it’s obviously Martin. (Ofc duh, no one could forget the huggable voice) but. The tone has changed slightly. It’s more confidence, you can obviously tell he’s smirking behind the recorder (is that because he knows with the recorders coming back, things are once again set in motion? Or is it that Jon’s finally come back enough to be of interest to the Web once more?) but there’s something coy in his tone. He knows this recorder showing up means something is coming and in his voice seems to have lost the stutter, teddy bear tone in exchange for something much closer to that of a timbre jon took on in s5. Martin now has a confidence to him that we almost never saw in TMA

In TMP we might just see the duo as the villains or fears plaguing the new mcs lives. The crew come in contact with them in some form of way but we now -have- nothing- to -lose duo. They’ve already killed each other, watched their world burn. And all without knowing if what they did and sacrificed was even worth it or did anything. That’s enough there to break any person. But even Martin in the new world-is alone and growing stronger with his own power because of it. He’s bringing stories for Jon to get stronger with. The two are growing in power. Maybe not quickly. But growing nonetheless.

(Please let us see an absolute crazed jon. A jon who hasn’t even truly Been in the world for an unknown amount of time. A jon who’s been driven mad from teetering on the edge of existing and nothingness. A jon who can hear the voice of the man he loves. Heard how he cries out and grows frustrated at his own attempts but can do nothing to soothe him. A jon who’s finally been brought back enough to embrace the one he loves but it’s too late and the man’s grown bitter from his time alone and failed tries. A jon who has had to listen to these mortals blab on and on over things that don’t truly feed him. A jon who had so much power and walked his world as a god only to have fallen so far. A jon who used to be able to See nearly anything and everything at will only to be unable to see his own hands in front of him. A jon who can see the way the love of his life cries for him day after day after day. A jon who was so mighty and all Seeing who now can see nothing. Who is forced to survive off of hearing moments alone. A jon who is so broken by his past actions and unknowing if his own world is safe. If the people he fought so hard for are even alive. A jon who goes mad because he doesn’t Know anything anymore. Give me a jon who is so simply broken he does not care for the humanity in front of him. A jon who stares down at the vermin at his feet who dared to keep their stories from him and forced his love to suffer longer. Give me a mad broken jon. )

#the magnus archives #the magnus institute #jonah magnus #magnuspod #jonathan sims #the archivist #tma #jonmartin #martin blackwood #tmp #the magnus protocol #magnus theory #this is only a hope and want and I know it won’t be real but I miss them ok #I have a real theory I can post later if you want it #please Jonny hear my cry

[donniesexceptionalmind]

salutations good sir- Er- Turtle-! I’ve been fluctuating between over- and under-stimulated all week, unfortunately. I was curious as to whether or not you had any tips to accommodate/cope? On top of that, how the heck do I get these bees in my skin to stop. Stimming isn’t enough and I don’t have a weighted blanket >:(. I also share a room with someone, so it’s hard to get alone time or peace and quiet at all.

Greetings, apologies for not answering sooner. /g

Sharing (private) space with a person, especially when they aren't autistic, can be difficult because masking will become your best friend if you are able to mask. But masking is not good for your mental health so ! We try to not do that here.

Does the person know you are autistic? If not, would they be accepting if you told them? Usually, awareness is key - they do not have to understand why you need certain things, but they have to respect you.

If they do not respect you, you shouldn't share your private space with them.

I know the "bees in the skin" very well & a shower that cooks me alive is the only way to relieve it.

A weighted blanket is worth its money - there are also weighted pillows & plushies that are a bit cheaper than blankets. I'd definitely save up money for either.

Ice cubes can distract quite good as well.

The coping mechanism truly depends on what is causing the "bees".

As for over- & understimulation: make a list of stimulating things & soothing things to help in either of the two scenarios.

Create a plan, that way, you are prepared.

I made meltdown & shutdown plans, too.

They consist of a few questions with possible answers like - what am I feeling? What might that feeling tell me? Etcetera.

That way, I am able to check what I might need in times of distress without having to think too much about it. It takes work, but it pays off!

I just struggle to use those plans.

I hope I was able to provide input & you are always welcome to ask!

#donnie answers #donnies exceptional mind #turtle net #autism #sensory overload #understimulated #neurodivergent community #autistic community #adhd #neurodivergent stuff

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {sneakie peek}

hey, y'all. i'm home from work today with my hip locked up. going to try and get some more writing done but tbh i've been feeling a little lost with my fics lately. i think it's a combination of the shift back into working full time, the semester wrapping up in a month, the holidays, the death in my family, and all of the truck issues that have been endless lately. but rest assured, i am working on things. just a bit slower than normal. i love y'all, here's some din and san to brighten the day:

“You’re allowed to ask questions, Din.” You reached out and took one of his hands in your own, squeezing it in reassurance. A small smile aimed at him. “That’s part of the…courting process, no?”

He was quiet for a moment, but the visor of his helmet was tilted just a bit as he regarded you, letting you know he was thinking something over and not ignoring you. You waited on him, not pressuring him but giving him the time he needed to think over his next words. This…new dynamic was all foreign to you, having never sought out a connection with anyone in such a way. But Din…he was worth it.

The things you’ve both done for each other speaking volumes when words weren’t either of your strong suits. You saving him and risking your wellbeing while still under his transport, him allowing you space in his ship and giving you the opportunity to make your own life. The softness he’s let you glimpse at that makes up the man that he is, so unlike the other side of him that hunts and ensures his livelihood. The same side that inspired him to turn on the Guild to help save a child who had no one else, a good manat his core. Someone you wanted to get to know, to be with, to connect with.

He shifted, his helmet taking in the remnants of the drink in his hands. Taking in the way you were holding onto one of them. When he spoke, his voice was careful, as if he was worried he was asking for too much of you despite wanting to know as much about you as possible. The woman who he hadn’t expected you to turn out to be back when that tracking fob first burst to life on Arvala-7. The woman he wanted to connect with despite feeling as if he didn’t deserve it, couldn’t be worthy of such a good thing in his life for all the bad he’d done.

“How is it that…you know so much about my culture?”

#dev talks #fic: of beskar and kyber #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x ofc #force sensitive reader #jedi reader #jedi survivor #order 66 #order 66 survivor #mando and grogu #grogu #star wars #star wars universe #angst #fluff #soft din #enemies to friends to lovers

[grasshopperdoingdogpaddle]

Hello! I like your blog a lot and I am being anon because I am a coward and I don't want to sound rude or judgmental in any way. I wanted to ask why do you like Omi so much? Like, yes, he's the protagonist, but I myself don't like him that much. I would like to understand your point of view!

There are so many elements I love about his character, I really can't fit it all in one post, a lot of it is spread out through my musings throughout the blog.

But I'll just list off 10 random reasons why Omi is my favorite character. Essay under the cut.

1. His relationship with Chase

Everything about Chase and Omi is so fascinating. It's singlehandedly what pulled me back to this series.

Most aspects of this series are things I've since seen done better in other series that followed in years to come. Some much better.

But Chase and Omi's relationship is something that still feels unique. I haven't seen anything else quite like it in anything else I've read or watched.

They spend time together, they fight together, bring out new things in each other, make old things resurface in each other, like each other even when they know it's dangerous to. They see each other as a mirror, they want to be together, they'll tear apart space and time for each other. They grow close in secret, that have things they can only share with each other. They trust each other despite both of them having deep-seeded trust issues. They respect and acknowledge each other. They show each other affection, they have fun fighting each other. They're worthy allies and best friends.

The fact that they navigate all these complicate mind games against each other is a testament to how well they know each other.

It's Omi who comes to save Chase when no one on the Heylin side ever would. It's Chase who's able to make Omi learn things he needed to learn but just wasn't understanding. It's Chase who comes for Omi to get him to return to the temple in Omi town. It's Omi who tears apart time and space to try to be with Chase.

80 years in the future, Chase still brightens up instantly when he sees Omi. 1500 years in the past, Chase feels deep in his soul that Omi is already someone he knows and loves.

All the secrets between the two of them, all the private conversations, all the underlying things they know they can't say, all the things they'll say to each other that they wouldn't dare speak to anyone else.

They provide each other with something they can't get anywhere else. There are so many reasons why they're fixated on each other.

It's something I can and have gone on about for ages, so I'll cut it there before it takes up my entire list.

2. His defiant, subversive self-love

I've come to really admire self-aggrandizing humor. I admire characters who can love themselves, even with everything else they have going on.

Self-hatred isn't a virtue, and I'm tired of relating to its self-perpetuating, myopic poison.

I want to love myself so strong that it can be my foundation, too. It's a good thing to know your own worth and never let others shake that, while still being a loving, caring, curious person who wants to connect with others, and that's what Omi is.

I love it even more in Omi because you can clearly intuit where it comes from.

No one at the temple really praised him growing up, they didn't really acknowledge him on a personal level, and despite what were probably their best efforts, they were distant and cold.

Omi didn't feel outwardly loved from the outside-- in fact, he grew accustomed to the idea that unconditional love isn't something he'll ever get, that all he can ever hope for is to earn acknowledgement, because he's not a person the same way the others are.

And in response to that, instead of growing bitter or jaded, he decided he'd love himself unconditionally. He'd acknowledge himself and praise his own efforts and choose himself where he grew up expecting that no one would.

3. His very nuanced, personal belief in redemption and willingness to reach out to others

Omi has an unshakeable belief that Chase still has good in him, despite everything. But Omi's also very aware of where Chase stands, and he takes that into consideration in their interactions.

Omi is not only willing to believe in Jack and invite him to their side several times with open arms and praise for his skills, he's also willing to give Jack second chances and a type of trust that he doesn't really exercise with anyone else. Omi goes against the other monks always telling him not to, he'll give up his bedroom and share his clothes, he happily compliments Jack for stopping Katnappe.

Omi knows that Katnappe stands more firmly where she is, but he still argues that they should take her in and help her heal up her injury that she got from trying to rob their temple.

Omi is the only one who was against the idea of letting Wuya and Jack die in cold blood.

Omi is the first to argue that Master Fung should Raimundo another chance, but Omi is also firm in drawing boundaries because of how traumatized he was that Raimundo deliberately manipulated the trust they used to have in him in order to hurt them all.

Omi repeatedly argues that Clay and Jessie should try to reconnect, and that Jessie could come to the side of goodness. He deeply believes in her and in the bond she and her brother have.

Omi doesn't extend the expectation of redemption to everyone, and he's very measured where he does, even if he's willing to show them all sympathy. He's very deliberate in who he reaches out to and thinks has it in them to change, and that's a fascinating take on this type of character.

It's not quite a simple naivety. Omi can read certain situations better than he's given credit for. It's something more nuanced and complicated and case-by-case, and I love that.

4. His adoration for his friends, to the point where he's willing to go so far to protect them

Omi is so scared of squirrels that he'll freeze up at the sight of them. The only time he's ever overcome that was when he had to jump into the fray and fight one to save Kimiko.

That's the moment that stands out most to me as an example of how much Omi loves his friends. There are so many times he shows it, but this is my favorite.

When Omi loves, he loves with his whole chest.

And Omi's loyalty is directly tied to his love. Omi's willingness to sacrifice himself and push himself is tied to his love.

In Judging Omi, they've just had an argument that makes Omi feel that they don't respect his culture and beliefs and the honor that he stakes his everything on, but when he comes back and sees them in danger, he neither does the petty thing of turning against them, nor the reckless thing of thinking he can just run in alone guns blazing and handle it himself.

He takes a risky deal, because the thing he's risking is himself. And he'd happily risk himself to save his friends and his Master Fung. He always does, and he always will.

5. The mentors he adopts throughout the series

Omi learns from Dashi, Chase, Klofange, ect. The lessons themselves are very cool, and Omi is able to being out a mentoring side of characters who otherwise don't show it.

It's adorable, and it leads to some deeply heart-warming and heart-wrenching moments.

Dashi playing the first Xiaolin Showdown with Omi, until Omi finally learned to go at it from a different angle.

Klofange smiling for the first time since we've seen them, and bending over to pet Omi and thank him.

Everything about the side of Chase that Omi brings out.

6. His complex exploration of the concept of trust as a personal boundary

Omi initially trusted Raimundo more than anyone else did. Omi trusted Raimundo unconditionally in a way no one else at the temple did.

He watched Raimundo clearly turn against them, and he still believed that it must be a misunderstanding, because trust and love were so intrinsically tied in Omi's mind, and he couldn't imagine someone he thought cared about them being genuinely willing to hurt them all like that on purpose.

And then he did. And Raimundo took it very far before he eventually changed his mind.

Omi still argued that Raimundo still had a right to be there and keep being a Xiaolin dragon. Omi stood up against Master Fung to tell him to let Raimundo come back to the temple and have another chance.

But Omi also maintains his right to redraw his boundaries, because he was deeply traumatized by that whole affair.

Omi gets screamed at for even thinking in the back of his mind that he's scared to trust Raimundo as much as he did before, but Omi doubles down and stands his ground.

He's the embodiment of "Apology accepted, trust denied." The embodiment of "Forgiveness doesn't require that same reconnection." The embodiment of "a stab in the back isn't rectified until it's been pulled out completely and healed by the one who put it there, and sometimes, the person who stabbed you refuses to even acknowledge the knife is there."

And I truly respect Omi for having enough self-respect for that. It's so easy to just buckle when people try to force past the boundaries you try to set. But you have to forfeit your self-respect to let someone walk over you like that, and Omi would never.

It's especially admirable since Xiaolin Showdown's narrative clearly takes the odd stance that "if you firmly reset the boundaries of trust you're willing to have with someone who deliberately chose to hurt you and your loved ones, that makes you a bad person".

Omi is so strong-willed that he won't just go against time and space, he'll go against the narrative itself.

7. He's adorable and he's a water type

That's my exact strike zone.

He's tiny with a youthful exuberance. He's sheltered and naive with bright eyes. He's stubbornly innocent with precocious hope. He's clumsy with words and has a built-in water gun. He's adorable, and he knows he is.

I love cute things, the little kid characters tend to garner my sympathy, and I always chose the water starters in pokemon.

8. He's suicidally self-sacrificial, not out of any self-deprecation (again, he loves himself), but out of seeing himself as a tool

Omi jumps to sacrifice himself surprisingly easily.

And glory has nothing to do with it.

When he thought he might grow up into someone who would become evil and hurt his friends, Omi walked off to freeze to death alone.

When the temple was taken over by Jack's evil army, Omi didn't run into a situation he clearly couldn't handle alone. He went to Chase Young for help, fully prepared to sacrifice whatever Chase was going to ask for in exchange for his help.

When Dojo was about to eat Master Fung, Omi jumped in the way as bait and begged Master Fung to run away.

The whole reason Omi jumped into the Yin-Yang world despite the danger was because nothing it could do to him was bad enough for him not to risk it for Master Fung's sake.

But he's very against his friends sacrificing themselves for him, and he tries to leave them out of it when he offers up himself as a sacrifice. He values himself, but he's willing to die, because he thinks his purpose is, ultimately, to be a useful weapon for others.

He argued against the soccer game for his freedom, because he didn't think it was worth it to wager their lives for his. Omi's willing to gamble his own life like a poker chip, but never theirs.

It's this fascinating contradiction. Omi highly values himself, but he doesn't seem to value his own life.

It's this self-dehumanization that doesn't come from self-hatred, but instead from this very peculiar way of thinking.

9. His lonely upbringing and the way it shapes his wants and desires

Master Fung doesn't really reach out to him. The most he did was back in episode one, calling Omi in from the rain.

Omi has watched his mentor and the person he loves more than life itself grow more and more distant towards him, while Master Fung is fine showing affection to the other dragons-in-training.

Literally all he wants is Master Fung's love, and since Omi doesn't think he can ever get it unconditionally, he tries so hard to prove himself and earn Master Fung's respect and acknowledge instead.

It's heartbreaking but also fascinating, and it informs Omi's character arc, especially the way he clearly feels less and less at home there at the temple.

He already never felt like it was an unconditional home he could stay in.

Omi loves Master Fung more than anything. Omi would die for him, and more impressively, Omi would kill for him. There's this one-sided adoration and affection and devotion that's so painfully, delightfully tragic.

10. His watching his former hero Guan fall from a pedestal

Guan was one of Omi's biggest heroes. The journey that watching the pedestal break was very interesting.

I loved that Omi personally browbeat Guan into being embarrassed enough to come help them get back Dojo and fight Chase after Guan was going to be perfectly content to just leave now that he had what he wanted.

And it was heartbreaking how Guan later came back with a plan to gaslight and set Omi up to be beaten black and blue, but seeing Guan fall so far from grace in Omi's eyes with those questionable things he kept doing to them is a nice contrast to how Omi gradually comes to love and admire Chase more and more all the while.

#xiaolin showdown #omi #chase young #chase and omi #kimiko tohomiko #clay bailey #jessie bailey #master fung #jack spicer

[thatthirdtriplet]

This account is for Batfamily fic recommendations :)

And here’s the listed fics:

Typical solution | Days I have held | Exit strategy

And if you wrong us | Just a moment in time

Happy napping-day | six months of Alice

insecurity | the strongest fort of all | A Revelation

the one thing | Damian Drake | Liminal space

impression | some common ground | Saudade

in the end | unexpected | Juneberries

a bespoke tuxedo his only armor | invisible sickness

just like the movies | the loneliness in worth

Ashes, ashes we all fall down | The Study of Birds

No one deserves to be lonely | MICE ON VENUS

A Brief Interview | Cradle Robber | you can be too

Everything’s better with Strawberry Ice cream

To grieve is to admit I have a lost ( I cannot lose you )

A pitter patter bitter batter brother | let’s be brothers

Saving face and taking the blame | day by day

farthest you’ve ever flown | tell them I am home

late night encounters | easy as pie | Last request

Stepping on landmines | big brother’s love

Say uncle | My school’s local mafia boss

Hero worship | I’ll always be here to catch you

Word on the street | Unexpected Guest

Take my hand | 'Cause you all try to keep me down

Calling in favors | A Meditation on Railroading

Love is violence | The Long Way Home | geolocation

seventeen going under | Blood of the covenant

Someone that hates to see me go | Picking Up Strays

Betting Warmth against the Cold | On To Plan B

New lovers are nervous and tender

Every Night My Teeth Are Falling Out

how easily we turn into those we hate

If life gives you demons (make a deal)

How to accidentally acquire a brother

What you’re longing for (you claim to abhor)

Hasn't This Kid Ever Heard of Stranger Danger?

You’re a knife to my throat and shield to my back

Of house and home | a small nest in no man’s land

flood | darling boy | *sluuurp* Mmm, Good Soup.

First Steps | baby Robin | the best of both of us

first priority | under a parent’s wing | Accismus

Just don’t give up | Wayfinding | Robins on a Rooftop

In from the cold and into the nest | Wayward

little brothers and stupid ideas | The return

how to feed your local demon | The Gala

there’s a monster under my bed | Love Languages

Protecting the Batbrothers | Project W.I.N.G.

You're On Your Own, Kid | A Robin's Flight

Never Lose A Bet To Nightwing

only you will have stars that can laugh

unleash the beast (with a kiss on the cheek)

like an unattended child you can’t quite trust

The Grayson Home for Escaped Child Vigilantes

the picture frames have changed and so has your name

Runs in the family | Running with the 90s (kids)

Duke finds his place

Best friends | Untrimmable lights | Love Languages

A watchful kind of love | Summer’s in the air

it hath made me mad | Na Na Na Na Batdad

coming out to the farm | so much you don’t know

there’s a new me coming out | not your son

still feel your teeth around my organs

the wind sits in the shoulder of your sail

Banshee In A Well / you can swear in my hoard

Cause You're My Brother /

/ A Gentlekid Thief / signed Red Robin

I don’t belong here (I wish I was special) / zugzwang

We make our own demons / Into the brighter night

Can he cook? / The greatest gift is family

Learning how to live / A nest torn empty

Missing bird / Obedience / Bats in the Belfry

sorry not sorry (sorry) / Break / Unknown mistakes

Sharing is caring / A canary’s song / Tractors

Explosions and little brothers / Rise of Cardinal

Tim’s longest con / Repeating Old Habits

Hand in unlovable hand (a chokehold) / In service

Baby Birds and Bat Caves / our favorite Timmers

The Ouija Boy / Coal to Diamonds (sold to fools)

The Dragon's Keep(ing Us Sane) / Cards on the Table

The French Mistake / Purple Kush / Mona Lisa, Baby

fire that’s kept closest burns most of all

Don't You Want to Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang

That One Time Tim Adopted The Wayne Family

Something Funny Happened on the Way Home

My baby, you were a gift, one i have never regretted

Here's a Reminder (That You Haven't Fallen Through the Cracks)

5 Times Tim Spends the Night at Wayne Manor + 1 Time He Comes Home

Good men don’t need rules (today is not the day to find out why I have so many)

Hold me, love me, touch me (you’ll be the first who ever did)

All hands on deck / the bat way / Finding the line

Who let you on the moon / Have you seen my kids?!

The birds and the nest / Where bats and birds roost

Dangerous and noble things / From the shadows

Time will explain / Proof / We’re Moving Where?

Lavender blood / The things learned by watching

Words in silence spoken / Time's Arrows

The sweetest vein/ A revelation in the light of day

Kadokuna Shojo (a lonely girl) / Be there

Die a hero (become a villain) / Eyes on you

A Bat and his Birds / Provenance / A Strange Family

'Think I've Flipped / their faces turned to sunset

Little menace / Dead Air (don't let me fall)

sallow skin (and they can’t look away) / Cuphead

I request the honour of your presence / Gotcha

Little Red Robin / New Age Furry Therapy

I'll Stand By You

The best aunts and uncles of the world

What if I told you he was always alone

Philosopher’s stone (but this ain’t abt Rowling)

Ps: Please, please read the warning and tags, some topics may be triggering and uncomfortable for some readers to read. Please keep that in mind!

This list is just for me to keep track of all the fics i post, but, If the name of a fic interests you and you want to read it, I’ve written all their names as tags, so all you need to do is search the name and it’ll show up.

Also, if the name doesn’t show up when you search for it, it either means 1) I haven’t posted it yet, 2) you have to have an ao3 account to read it; so I can’t post it.

#fic rec #fic list #batfam #batfamily #please read the tags #please read the warnings #sorry #but most of these are Tim-centric #anyway #these are colour coded #Green is for Damian #Red is for Jason #Blue is for Dick #Orange is for Duke #Purple is for Cass #Pink is for Bruce #White is for general Batfam fics #the last red ones are for tim #lol #not me realising I’ve read too many tim fics

[dearsholmes]

Autism movie/show deep dive and my very general thoughts on them!

(everyones different these are my own opinions as an autistic woman please watch for yourself and share any additional thoughts you have on them!)

Music (2021)

Enough said.... had to get this one over with 0/10

Adam (2009)

I found most of these movies to be outdated BUT I actually really appreciate Hugh Dancy's recreation of an autistic character (those who know him as Will in Hannibal would probably also agree). Even though originally I wasn't a fan of the ending I came to appreciate it that he wasn't 'saved' by romance and that it proved he was able to be independent and had great character growth while still respecting himself and his passions. I think it offered a decent insight to the different aspects of autistic joy, passion, while still including the difficult aspects with socializing, navigating relationships, grief, and meltdowns but now being overshadowed by them or 'becoming a problem'. However, I do love space so that could've also been responsible for my love for this movie. 8/10

Heartbreak High (2022)

I absolutely love Chloé Hayden who is autistic herself so her character in the show feels real and more relatable. Pretty much what I said about 'Adam' but to an extreme I think the script and character interactions are such a fantastic and understandable demonstration of what being an autistic women is like (granted everyones experience is different). Cannot wait for the next season! This show is such a great modern day representation and not based in stereotypes like others are 10/10

Big Bang Theory (2007)

I will never not defend this show - I know people tend to hate this because Sheldon is heavily stereotypical but I find him incredibly relatable as I do fall into a lot of these stereotypes myself. Once again everyones experiences are different so I don't understand why people write this show off completely. Love it 10/10

Atypical (2017)

Unfortunately I don't have much to say about this show in regards to his autism because the constant inconsistencies during scenes deserve their own post and were too distracting to focus on anything else. Another thing that upset me about this is that the show is meant to take place in Connecticut yet they filmed in one of the most recognizable aquariums in the west coast. This show probably could've been good if it was just made better/had quality control. The only thing I remember liking was the pros and cons list because I also do that. 4/10

Mozart and the Whale (2005)

I'm going to preface this one specifically that I know everyone's autism presents differently but I almost found her... offensive? I think this is because it was made in 2005 and is just outdated but I felt like a lot of the characters especially hers were more caricatures than characters. Sheldon being stereotypical is one thing but this felt kind of insulting? I'm having a hard time putting it into words. There were moments I liked though - it was a weird back and forth. 5/10

What's Eating Gilbert Grape (1993)

Other than the mistreatment/beating/abuse I actually am pretty fond of this movie. Once again, outdated. But almost... endearing in a way (minus the mistreatment once again). I hope anyone who has seen it will understand what I feel. I did find the love interest annoying but that is unrelated to this post yet I felt the need to warn you all, I don't like her. 7.5/10

My Name is Khan (2010)

I watched this movie six years ago in school before my diagnosis and I didn't even remember or realize he was autistic but I do remember having generally positive thoughts on this movie ?/10 (someone let me know if its worth a rewatch.

A Brilliant Young Mind (2014) ((also called X+Y))

There is a lot of downtime in this movie so it can be kind of boring but it is honestly one of my comfort/go to movies. Of course its the whole "autistics are math geniuses" thing but the movie itself I think is sweet. It shows his diagnosis, he loses his father, he has almost a fill in father who coaches his math, his mother is really supportive of him but not in a savior kind of way, he experiences going out of the country for a competition, struggles with socializing/overwhelm, romantic interests, and there is another character who is autistic and his struggles are also shown in a relatable way, nothings (in my opinion) is annoyingly over exaggerated like it sometimes can be in movies. 9/10

The Good Doctor (2017)

I never actually finished the show because the person I was watching it with kept making fun of me by relating myself to him. Since then I also haven't seen much of a positive reaction from other people either but please let me know your thoughts on it! ?/10

The Imitation Game (2014)

Alan Turing himself was autistic and so even though it's not a main focus of this movie I still wanted to include it because I love this movie! 9/10

Sherlock Holmes (timeless)

I have to also through him in here, obviously some versions are more autistic coded than others but I'm going to generally say all of them are great autistic representation <3 10/10

Not Dead Yet (2023)

Like in Heartbreak High, Rick Glassman an autistic actor plays an autistic character and I think its another great modern day representation. It obviously isn't the main focus but they honestly do a pretty good job being educational in regard to social situations/difficulties and explain it in a way that people can learn from. 10/10

Bones (2005)

I honestly can't remember if they ever say it but Temperance is 100% autistic and I think this is a very endearing show. Since its not the main focus I don't have much to say other than sharing my recommendation 9/10

Criminal Minds (2005)

I mean... enough said. I love Reid with my whole heart. He is very much the 'autistic genius' again but you can't not love Reid! 10/10

Community (2009)

Abed. Another one that doesn't really need much to be said about it. Abed is great 10/10

Dr Who (timeless) ((quite literally and figuratively))

Now this could be considered a reach or projection but Dr Who... autistic! simple as that 10/10

House (2004)

I had to just throw this one in at the end because its really just another version of 'Holmes' and 'Watson' now as 'House' and 'Wilson'. Sherlock, previously said as autistic means House is also autistic 10/10

#music #sia #sia music #sia movie #adam #hugh dancy #will graham #hannibal #adam 2009 #heartbreak high #chloé hayden #chloe hayden #big bang theory #young sheldon #sheldon #sheldon cooper #the big bang theory #atypical #mozart and the whale #gilbert grape #whats eating gilbert grape #johnny depp #leonardo dicaprio #my name is khan #a brilliant young mind #x+y #the good doctor #shaun murphy #the imitation game #bennedict cumberbatch

[norefs]

Gen fic recs

Ooooh @genuaryficrecs is asking for gen fics recs! rolls up sleeves, hits up bookmarks I am so ready.

If I Knew You Were Coming I'd've Baked a Cake, by OddityBoddity ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/2227905 ) 19/19 chapters, 27,271 words T, Chose not to use archive warnings (I can't see anything other than canon-typical violence than would need to be warned for, but take care of yourselves and read the tags, I guess?)

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers, Hawkeye comic

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton

Type of gen relationship: Two unrelated human beings forced to cooperate.

Official summary: They’re the broken ones. That’s what Clint figures the rest think about him and Barnes. Clint with his eardrums trashed, Barnes with a regiment’s worth of trauma and a psychotic cybernetic arm, put in the same room and told to make nice while the others get to go on missions and do important things and save the world. Well they're not broken. So of course they got bored and tired of being sidelined and decided to entertain themselves. And of course they ended up wanted, running through the streets of Paris with bananas down their pants and gendarmes in pursuit. Of course they did.

Why I love it: It's just… well-written and with very good relationship development. Objectively hilarious. Contains way over-the-top competitiveness, which is the best kind of competitiveness. Sometimes rips your heart out for balance. (technically canon-compliant if you choose the right bit of canon, don't listen to what the tags say they're just cowards) Also (gen rant on): Okay, so I think this is my fave gen fic. As a gen fic. Because, look: there is no reason for this fic to not be romantic. It is heavily focused on two specific characters and their interaction and how it develops and changes, those characters' sexual orientation are compatible (they're both gay men), there's no widely-spread squick associated with their relationship if it were a romantic one (not the same family, no unbalanced power dynamics, etc.) and still! I get 30k words of relationship development that don't end in a kiss, and you have no idea how much that means to me and how rare it is (I mean… if you follow @genuaryficrecs you might know). Because relationships don't need to turn romantic to be important! Because any relationship that could turn romantic doesn't have to. Also: they're both in a relationship with someone else. It 1) means you know from the start they won't end up together so you can relax in how you read their interactions and 2) is mentioned and treated as unimportant. In the space/time/context of this fic, their romantic relationships with their respective boyfriends are less important than the gen relationship between them. (okay, rant over)

Excerpt: So he’s lying on his belly. Lying on his belly in an air duct that, let’s face it, was too small for him when he wasn’t in the radiation suit. And he’s lying on his belly in the air duct in a radiation suit and there’s a weight on his back, and there’s a metal arm around his neck and Clint Barton knows that there are times there’s just nothing you can do about the way things go, that there are, well, there are just some times you lose. There are those times when you find yourself with a super-soldier sitting on your back with his arm around your neck and your favourite paring knife poised to cut open your radiation suit and you know you’ve been had and you, well you find yourself thinking, Okay but seriously, seriously this was not how it was supposed to go.

#genuaryficrecs #genuary fic rec fest #fic recs #bucky barnes #clint barton #marvel #avengers #oddityboddity

[the-fiction-witch]

The Rat P2

Media - The Maze Runner Series Character - Newt Couple - Newt X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - cute + Sad Word Count - 2631

Part One

I sat on the bus, holding Y/n close to me. Her head was resting on my chest, and her legs were over mine. I wanted to let her have more room, but we were short on space. I knew she must have been uncomfortable after being locked up in that cell for who knows how long, especially with our little one. I just wanted her to be as comfortable as possible. As I held her close in my arms, I couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and comfort. Her soft Y/h/C hair, which had grown long and unkempt during her months of confinement, was now in my hands. I took my time, slowly running my fingers through her hair, gently untangling the knots and matting that had formed.

With each stroke, I could sense her body relaxing, as if the simple act of being cared for and tended to be enough to soothe her soul. It was a moment of tenderness and intimacy that I will always cherish. As I leaned down to kiss her forehead, I could feel the warmth of her skin and the softness of her hair. She looked so peaceful, her chest rising and falling gently with each breath. It was a long bus ride, and almost everyone else was asleep, except for Frypan who was focused on the road ahead. Thomas, on the other hand, was wide awake and buried in the phone, scrolling through the countless conversations they had had with Teresa. I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking as he read through each message, his face scrunched up in concentration. The hum of the bus engine and the occasional sound of someone shifting in their seat were the only sounds that filled the air. It was a moment of quiet reflection, and I couldn't help but feel grateful for the stillness, even amidst the chaos of our journey.

"You okay?" I asked,

"...Yeah," he nodded flipping the phone closed, "I just... feel like such a dick,"

"You didn't know Tommy," I told him,

"I imagine you feel like shit too?"

"Ohh you have no idea... how much of a dick I feel, I didn't believe my own girlfriend. I let them take her away. I didn't believe her, I thought she betrayed us, thought of her as a rat. The woman I love. I let them drag my pregnant girlfriend away screaming and crying thinking she betrayed us. I feel like an utter asshole."

"Yeah, I am so sorry for how I treated her. And for accusing you."

"It's okay Tommy," I nodded,

"I can't believe I never noticed." He sighed, "All this time, she was telling them everything."

"I don't get why, why would she sell us out like that? Why throw Y/n under the bus?"

"Teresa doesn't like her, never has."

"There a reason?"

"I think... differing opinions and mentalities." He chuckled, "Y/n has always been about making our life the best it can be, giving us the best future we can have."

"Even in the glade," I nodded, "She's always known that's what matters, those of us who are left, the price of one person is never worth it no matter what."

"Teresa is the greater good, that one person is worth the price if it buys something else." He sighed, "She would throw us all into the grinder if it would save that city. I just thought the girls didn't agree but I never thought Teresa would...."

"Neither did I." I sighed, "She ratted us out, to get us back in their clutches." I explained, "Let them know every plan just to let them pick us one one by one."

"She is going to get a talkin' too." He said putting the phone in his pocket,

"Can I watch?" I chuckled,

"Ohhh trust me it will be public,"

When he expressed his idea, I couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. However, I didn't want to interrupt his train of thought, so I decided to remain silent and let him continue expressing his thoughts.

When we arrived back at the camp I kept Y/n close giving her tummy lots of little kisses, watching as Vince sorted places for the new kids.

"How are you feeling?" I asked her,

"I'm okay Newt," she nodded,

"You sure honey?"

"Mhm," she nodded,

"How's little baby?"

"kicking away,"

"Did they take care of baby while you were with them?"

"Sort of, had me on a lot of vitamins a lot of tests."

"Okay... can you tell me... what they did to you?"

"I don't want to talk about it Newt," She buried her head into my neck,

"You don't have to tell me, honey, It's okay. So long as you're safe now." I told her kissing her sweet little head, "I promise I will believe everything you tell me, I will never doubt you again for a moment, and I am going to take the best care of you." I told her kissing her tummy,

"Everything I say?" She giggled,

"Okay maybe not 'Everything', I do not believe you if you tell me the ocean is purple or you need to have bacon every day,"

"Awww," she pouted,

"Sorry honey I am not that foolish,"

"Fine," she giggled nuzzling up close,

"Do you... know about the baby?"

"At seven and a half months now, supposedly it's a little boy,"

"A little boy? Awwww!" I cooed, "Our little baby boy," I smiled kissing her stomach,

"TERESA!" Thomas yelled across the camp,

"Ooohh firework time." She giggled nuzzling into my neck as we got cosy and ready to watch,

"You! You were the rat!" He yelled as he walked up to her, of course, everyone came to gather and watch,

"Tom, what are you talking about?!" She protested,

"You were the rat! You've always been on their side!"

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are don't lie! You've been trying to convince us to turn around and go back, the moment we left."

"Yes, becuase this is not safe for us!"

"Safe! Safe!"

"There are cranks! There are insane men! There is so much out here none of us are safe out here! what sticking around in tents waiting for a rust bucket seems safe to you!" She yelled,

"Safer than with them!" He yelled, "They experimented on us! locked us in a maze! tried to drain us for some dumb cure for some old fart to live another two days! They tortured Y/n!"

she shivered and moved closer so I held Y/n even closer kissing her cheek,

"It's okay honey," I whispered,

"They didn't torture her! she's their daughter and their rat they never hurt her!"

"LOOK AT HER!" He yelled, "You say she isn't tortured!" He yelled, "But you're the rat!"

"I'm not!" She yelled,

"Yes, you are! I have your phone!" he pulled the phone from his pocket and immediately her face went pale and nervous,

"Wh- where did you get that?!"

"So you admit it's yours?!"

"It is my phone but where did you get it..."

"Newt found it!"

"Well, Y/n must have been using it,"

"No, she didn't it's your name in the conversation,"

"You can't prove It's me,"

"You're phone. You're name. You're conversation Teresa!" He yelled, "Admit it! You're the rat!"

"Fine! Yes, I am! We should go back thomas! there are so many people we could help if we just go back! All of us!"

"You want to sell us all out for them!" He screamed, "Fine you wanna go back to them GO!"

"We should all go thomas-"

"NO! We are staying here, anyone who wants to go back to wicked can go with you but we are staying here. You! Are not welcome here!"

"But thomas-"

"NOT Welcome here! GO!"

"Fine!" she yelled as she turned and headed to pack up her tent,

Thomas sighed and came to sit down with us,

"How are you feeling Tommy?" I asked,

"... Like... I did something good for once," He sighed,

"I think you did do something good, if she wants to go back to them let her go, You can do way better than a rat Tommy,"

"yeah... at least now we'll all be safer."

As I stood on the boat, I was deep into my work of welding with my torch and wearing a pair of protective goggles. I was concentrating so intensely that time seemed to pass by slowly. Suddenly, I heard someone calling out my name. It took me a moment to register before I realized it was Thomas. I quickly finished what I was doing, turned off the torch and safely put it down. I walked towards the edge of the boat, still wearing my goggles, and looked down to find Thomas standing at the bottom of the stairs. I removed my goggles and greeted him, curious as to what he needed from me.

"YEAH!"

"IT'S Y/n!"

"BABY!?"

"BABY!"

"COMING!" I yelled,

With an urgency that could not be ignored, we bolted down the stairs as if our lives depended on it. We both ran across the camp as fast as we could, our hearts pounding with fear and anticipation. When we finally made it to I and Y/n's tent, we burst inside to find her lying on the makeshift bed we had sorted for her given we needed the space for both us and her bump, surrounded by Sonya and Harriet, who were holding her close and whispering words of comfort to her.

As soon as we saw her, we could tell that she was in the throes of labour. Her face was contorted with pain, and her breathing was coming in short, sharp gasps. Without hesitation, I rushed to her side, taking her hand in mine and kissing her forehead tenderly. At that moment, I felt a surge of love and protectiveness for this woman who was about to bring new life into the world.

"Are you okay honey?" I cooed,

"You think I'm okay!"

"That's fair," I nodded, "I'm here Y/n I promise you I am here," I told her kissing her sweet little face,

As she lay in the bed, writhing in pain, I held her hand tightly, trying to offer any comfort that I could. The sound of her screams reverberated through my chest, and my heart ached to see her in so much agony. I whispered words of encouragement and love, and planted soft kisses on her forehead, hoping that they would ease her discomfort.

Meanwhile, a stern-looking nurse who was Ex wicked but had come to the right arm came to help out, I felt grateful that she was there to take care of the medical aspects of the situation, as I didn't have the faintest clue about what was happening down there.

Suddenly, a loud noise overhead made us all jump. I felt a surge of panic in my chest, and Thomas, who had been pacing nervously outside, rushed out to investigate. A few moments later, he returned, looking relieved but also a little puzzled.

"Newt. We got a problem."

"Which is?"

"They're here."

"Now!"

"yeah..."

"...Shit," I sighed, "Y/n I promise honey I'll be right back okay," I told her kissing her sweetly before I headed out with thomas as the berg landed and out came Ava, Janson and Teresa.

"Tom-" she began,

"Nope." He snapped to her,

"Where's our daughter?" Janson demanded,

"She's kinda busy right now," I told him,

"Let us see her that's all we ask," Ava offered,

"She's busy." I snapped,

"Doing what!" Janson demanded,

"Giving birth!" I yelled, "To our baby so you can get back on your berg and fuck off!"

"She needs real medical attention," Teresa said,

"She's right, she needs real medicine she needs to come with us," Ava explained,

"Y/n is not going anywhere with you!" I told them, "Neither is our baby,"

"We swear we only want what is best for her-" Ava began,

"What is best for her is here. Away from you. That is what she wants to be here, with me."

"Hand her over!" Janson demanded,

"NO!" I yelled,

"Please... she is our daughter, we promise there will be a safe place for her, the baby and for you. Just do the right thing and come with us that is best for her and best for the baby."

"she may be your daughter, but you threw her into the maze, you tossed her away, you tortured her, you. Have. no. right. to see, hear, or be anywhere near our baby, after what you've done to her you think for a moment I would allow you near our baby."

"Give us our daughter!" Janson yelled as he grabbed a gun which he pointed at me but I grabbed my own and pointed it at him, "You think I won't shoot you after you knocked up my daughter,"

"You think I won't shoot you after you tortured the woman I love." I warn him, "You ripped me from my home, you tossed her away, you have tortured all of us, killed my friends, took away any sense of life worth that I had, You took the woman I love from me, you tormented her, and you kept my baby from me. You think for a moment I will let you destroy the only family I have in this world."

"It's the greater good the good of your child and Y/n!" Ava offered,

"...No. There is no greater good anymore, not after what it has already cost us." I told them, "I would let the world burn for her. I could very Very easily pull a trigger." I warn them,

"So could I," He warns,

"And you're keeping me from witnessing the birth of my son, and I am losing my patience." I warn, "So turn around and get back in your berg and fuck off."

"I've had enough of this!" Janson snapped but before even thinking about it I pulled the trigger and he dropped to the ground with half his head missing,

"I am not asking again. Get back in your berg and fuck off!" I demanded,

"Is this really your decision?" Ava asked,

"Yes, it is. And it's final."

"Very well." she nodded heading back into the berg,

"I'm sorry Tom..." Teresa said,

"You are not forgiven." He snapped to her,

She turned around and the two left in the berg, so I quickly gave him the gun,

"Anyone comes back again, shoot them," I told him,

"Understood," he nodded,

As I rushed back into the tent, my heart was racing with fear and anxiety. The sight that greeted me was one that filled me with overwhelming joy and tears. Y/n was lying in bed, her face pale and tired, with the little baby wrapped in her arms. It was a touching and heart-wrenching sight. The girls had left by the time I arrived, so I went over to the bed and sat down beside Y/n. I could see the exhaustion in her eyes as she looked at me, and I knew that she needed someone to be with her at that moment. I put my arm around her and whispered words of comfort, reassuring her that everything would be alright.

"Hi, how are you feeling honey?"

She glared at me,

"Fair enough, sorry." I nodded, "You're safe, you and our little one. You get some rest honey,"

"I need some rest," she nodded, "Thank you newt,"

"You're welcome,"

"You want to hold him?"

"Can I?"

"Of course you can." She smiled handing over our sweet baby boy, I cradled him in my arms, he was so small, so cute, with cute Y/e/C eyes like Y/n's and the little bits of blonde hair like my own,

"He's so perfect, our little baby,"

"Our little boy,"

"I love him already,"

"I do too,"

"ohh uhh, bad news... I shot your father,"

"Oh... I'm surprisingly not upset about that,"

"Good, we have enough to worry about." I chuckled giving the little boy's head a sweet kiss, "He's so beautiful," I cooed, "You have any more ideas about names?"

"I did have one,"

"Ohh?"

"little George,"

"Little George, I think that's perfect Y/n." I cooed kissing his little head and her sweet cheek, "I love you so so much,"

"I love you more," she cooed,

"You rest I'll look after George, I promise I am keeping you both safe for as long as I need to." 

#tbs smut #tbs imagines #tbs imagine #thomas sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomasbrodiesangster #thomas sangster #thomas brodie sangster smut #thomas brodie sangster #tbs #tmr newt fanfic #tmr newt #newt tmr #tmr newt smut #tmr newt imagine #tmrnewt #tmr fandom #newt maze runner #newt #maze runner newt #newt imagine #newt imagines #tmr newt imagines

[shedidntevenswear]

It’s my 30th birthday!

which means i’ve had this exact tumblr account for literally half of my life lol embarrassing

Because I am my mother(Taylor Swift)’s daughter, I decided to take a page from her book and share 30 things I’ve learned in my 30 years of life so far:

It’s the people, it’s the people, IT’S THE PEOPLE. In anything you do, any space you inhabit, the people around you are what actually matters, not the dogma or the process or whatever. Act accordingly. 

Some things can go to the group chat instead of out on the internet.

Listening without trying to fix things is an important skill, especially when talking to yourself. 

Therapy is worth the money. 

Not everything that is great or meant for you is meant to last forever. Embrace ephemera.

You really can find everything you need on NOT Amazon, it just takes a little more work. Generally the work is worth it. 

Different things work for different people, you don’t need to apply whats best for someone else to yourself and you definitely don’t get to decide that what’s right for you is how everyone should be living. 

I read so much more after embracing audiobooks and 2x speed. 

Liking things is so much cooler and more fun than hating things.

WEAR SUNSCREEN EVEN WHEN YOU DONT THINK YOU NEED IT.

The best way to live in community is with a soft front and a strong back. 

Getting outside and moving my body actually does make me feel better, damn it.

Take the Uber sometimes. Don’t be a hero.

You can’t always believe everything you read on the internet. 

Relatedly, you don’t always have to believe the opinions of people on the internet about you or the things you care about. You don’t always have to give the same weight to the things internet people say as you would to people who know you. 

Feelings need to be felt. 

Things you enjoy doing are worth doing even if you aren’t “good” at them. 

I’ve learned how to be alone with myself without descending into crippling loneliness immediately #justextrovertthings

Check the weather before you leave the house.

Certainty isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. The vulnerability that comes from uncertainty is where connection happens. 

It’s actually totally fine to eat the same thing every day if you are getting the fuel you need and you like how it tastes. Not everyone has to be a chef.

Opinions are not facts. 

You’ll enjoy life so much more if you just let yourself have a little treat every day. 

You can have fantastic, budget-friendly European vacations if you simply don’t care about the quality of where you sleep. (aka I’ve slept on a lot of overnight buses and in the most basic BnBs)

Nine times out of ten, it’s not personal. People are thinking more about themselves than they are ever thinking about you when making the decision to do or say something. 

There are so many things out of my control. Wisdom is realizing what I can control, and satisfaction comes from concentrating my effort there and letting go of the rest. 

There *are* good men out there, they are just exceptionally hard to find. Very few of them are single though. 

The goal of life is not to be a “good” person, it’s to be a person who does good and acknowledges and apologizes and improves when they’ve done something bad. 

Nobody notices or cares if you wear the same shirt two or three days in a row when you work over Zoom. Save those laundry coins. 

It’s never too late to start something new. Discovery and learning new skills and trying new things has no age limit. 

#amanda please #my birthday #30 things

[soullikethesea]

More parts stuff

I woke up still feeling connected to Fox, and with a book in mind. Remembered that Fox really loved that book. The theme of the book is grief and wondering about being bad.

"Why am I made the way I am? Why do I care about all the wrong things, and nothing at all for the right ones? Or, to tip it another way: how can I see clearly that everything I love or care about is illusion, and yet – for me, anyway – all that’s worth living for lies in that charm

A great sorrow, and one that I am only beginning to understand: we don't get to choose our own hearts. We can't make ourselves want what's good for us or what's good for other people. We don't get to choose the people we are.

...

A self one does not want. A heart one cannot help."

(From The Goldfinch, by Donna Tart).

It connects to Fox, but to younger parts as well. I felt that conflict so strongly, that who I was was bad. And that, at the same time, there was no escaping it. I could try and try and try, control as much as I possibly could, but my real self would still shine through. I still cared too much, cried too much, loved too much. The best I could do was hide it, but I could never change it - no matter how much it disgusted me.

Fox carries that sense of being unable to escape it and being rejected by adults. Longing for people to please, please care. Please be kind. Please love me. Please welcome me with open arms. Please tolerate me.

I was lucky that my sister tried to help me when she got older. I could feel that she felt sorry for me, that she realized something unjust was going on. She was constantly nauseous, which later turned out to be psychosomatic. She must have been super stressed out from how unsafe things were. My brother was too small too understand. He was very much in his own world.

When I feel connected to Fox, I feel connected to those heavy feelings of badness. It is a responsibility that does not belong to me. It does not belong to you, dear Fox. You don't have to make yourself as small as possible in the hopes of not being offensive. Yes, you are a teenager and teenagers can be difficult to connect with for adults. But perhaps you can think of your sister - she saw something in you that was worth helping? And our mom's new boyfriend, he also connected to you, didn't he?

He must have seen *something* in you, right? And was it hard to connect with him? No, it wasn't. So were you *really* that hard to connect with? What did it take? It only took him showing you where constant snacks were available, that he had a very shy cat that he still loved nonetheless, that he had a gay daughter who was still more than welcome, that he asked questions and read a book you mentioned, that he asked you if you wanted to join for activities. Those things felt threateningly nice. Heart-meltingly, devastatingly, terribly nice. It still makes me cry to think of it. *Someone* saw you and didn't think you were terrible, too much, needed to be reduced. Most adults in your life, Fox, they were overwhelmed. They had no space in their hearts to connect - and that was not your fault. You could have been much happier in different circumstances and much more loved. I'm with you in this shame and grief that was not your fault. I'm with you in the anger about how much it still holds you back. I wish I could scoop you up and save you. You're not too old to be saved, darling. I think you might like to read another book. It's called "A Closed and Common Orbit".

A quote:

"In that moment, she could feel a bridge stretching between her as she was right then – giggling and gasping in a spaceship kitchen – to her at four years old, sucking algae gunk from her nails in the dark. She felt as though she could reach out to that little girl and pull her through the years. Look, she’d say. Look who you’re gonna be. Look where you’re gonna go."

I'm not saying that life is perfect now, but we are more comfortable now. More accepted. Less scared. And you are welcome here as well, Fox. You don't have to carry the pain and bury it along with yourself. I'm sending cozy blankets and hot chocolates and hugs and caring looks and peace and quiet. I'm sending the message along that in this moment, right now, things are alright.

[konigenblobbity]

Prompt List

Hallo Meine Lieben! I need more inspiration and requests so I decided to make a prompt list! Feel free to request them with any of the characters I write for!

Max two characters, and three prompts for one request! Mix and match the prompts as much as you want but please max 3. Feel free to include the general idea/concept you had in mind as well.

Scenarios

They think you’re dead / you’re dying

Sharing a bed

Trapped in a small space

You save their life / they save your life

Kissing in the rain

Going out for a date

Teasing them from across the room

You / they have a nightmare

They warm you up

Coming home late

Missing an important occasion

They / you lose focus - lost in their eyes or in a daze

Accidentally see you naked

Making the other person jealous

Change of control

They want to try something new

They help you fall asleep / you help them

Saying ‘I love you’

They find something normal very hot

Late night cuddles

Someone hits on you / hits on them

They / you need comfort

Accidental confession

Taking care of your / their injuries

Accidentally harm you

Text

“Look so pretty like this”

“Do that again.”

“If you don’t kiss me right now”

“Don’t look at me like that”

“Shut the fuck up”

“Fuck. You’re hot”

“You wanna get out of here?

“How can I prove it to you?”

“What. You scared?”

“I couldn’t stop myself”

“Such a mess for me…”

“That’s just mean”

“I need to tell you something”

“Take a photo. It’ll last longer”

“Quiet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What’s got you so riled up?”

“Don’t say something so stupid”

“Watch your mouth”

“Bet they can’t do it as good as me”

“Be mine. Even just for tonight”

“I promise. They won’t get away with this”

“Before I make you”

“You’re just gonna act like it never happened?”

“Is that a challenge?”

“I just said that aloud didn’t I?”

“Am I too late?”

“You look so stupid right now”

“I won’t let that happen”

“You’re playing with fire”

“You totally want to kiss me right now.”

“This is nice. Just this”

“Stop. I’m trying to concentrate”

“I’d like to see you try”

“Was it worth it?”

“That’s just pathetic”

“Obviously it’s because I love you!”

“Seriously? Would it kill you to say something nice?”

“Don’t be such a prick”

“You have no idea how much I needed this”

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise”

“You’re so cute when you’re mad”

“Watch me.”

“You have no idea what I have planned”

“You think I wanted this?”

“Stop it. Or you’ll regret it”

“Why are you always like this?”

#prompts #romantic prompts #romance prompts #prompt list #word prompts #scenario prompts #konigenblobbity