#Bus torched

[infocrazebyrepwoop]

Two Buses Torched Near National Press Club in Dhaka

On Tuesday at 8:25pm, two Trans Silva Paribahan buses were set ablaze in front of the National Press Club in Dhaka. Eyewitnesses reported that the buses were torched near the metro rail station following the explosion of several cocktails. Fortunately, there were no casualties as the buses were empty at the time. Police arrived at the scene shortly after the fire started, but no arrests have been…

[lokisis]

I miss my friends chat. I miss em a lot. I'll be back

[vessuna]

i've had a busy day today, i took my 12 and 13 year old sisters to see mean girls and then we got wendys, and then i got fucked over by public transport AGAIN because the trams stopped their services due to a fault + i had to walk home in the rain 😭

[elegyofthemoon]

At this point you've transcended those things and you're just Snow, but definitely the Oz Vessalius mutual. Hope/FFXIII, Leo/FE, Dan Heng and Sampo too, sure, but definitely the Oz Vessalius mutual. Also. I am biased but. Berkut lol

LMAO good! i think that's an honor if I can just be "Snow" to you but this is all honestly super fair XD

[rastronomicals]

4:02 PM EST March 7, 2025:

Us3 - "Tukka Yoot's Riddim (Bu's Riddim)" From the album Hand On The Torch (November 16, 1993)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

File under: Jazz Rap

[supercap2319]

Clark Kent and his childhood best friend, a wizard, Clark has a bisexual awakening and gives up Lana for the reader, something cute, I'm kind of needy

Best Friends

Y/N watched with an amused grin as his best friend fell down at the dainty feet of Lana Lang? Again? He couldn't help enjoying the entertainment value of Clark Kent making a fool of himself for a girl who was too needy and popular. Clark could have his pick of dozens older, and more importantly, legal girls. They all fell for that farm boy sweetness and Boy Scout charm.

Clark had been crushing on Lana since the third grade and while it had been cute in elementary school, now, it was just sad. Like a bad Netflix rom-com, where the nerdy guy gets the very pretty, and very unattainable popular girl. It just wasn't fair in Y/N's opinion. Lana wouldn't give Clark the time of day, no matter how hard the farm boy tried. He just wasn't what Lana was looking for. Probably a gay best friend or even a friend, but not a lover.

It didn't matter anyways. Clark always got sick and pale around Lana, and they both knew the reason for it. It was that damn meteorite necklace that she always wore around her neck. It was a green diamond, tied by a silver cord. Lana started wearing it after the meteor shower hit Smallville. It was around the same time that Clark came into their lives.

Clark was an alien from another planet, who arrived in Kansas in a spaceship. Mr. and Mrs. Kent adopted him as their son, and the rest was history. At least until Y/N found out Clark's secret. It was third grade, and Clark had accidentally hovered in front of Y/N. It had shocked him, but he understood what it was like to keep a secret. 

Y/N was from a long line of wizards with wands, spells, and magic. The whole nine yards, if you will. That's where their friend became stronger than anyone else in their friend group. Stronger than Pete's. Stronger than Chloe's. Y/N and Clark were an unstoppable duo, until it came to Lana.

“Hey, Clark. Hi, Lana.” Y/N said. He picked up a few of the books Clark had dropped when he was trying to act cool in front of Lana. He didn't hate but, man, he really wished he could portal her into another dimension. Clark would not be happy with him if he did that, but it was a comforting thought.

“Sorry, I didn't pick you up, man. I was up late last night finishing an article for the Torch, and Chloe will kill me if I don't have it in her snarky, dainty hands by the time the bell rings.”

“That's okay. I managed.” Clark gave Y/N a secret smile. An inside joke between them. They both knew Clark was referring to his super-speed. He must have used it to catch—beat the school bus to school.

Lana, was momentarily forgotten about. At least she was, until she cleared her throat, gaining both boy's attention. “Glad you weren't hurt, Clark. That was a pretty nasty fall.” Lana said, tugging a strand of hair behind her ear. Made her look so innocent and pretty, that Y/N wanted to gag.

Apparently, it worked on innocent farm boys, because Clark was grinning ear to ear, a slight blush on his handsome face. “Thanks, Lana. I'm fine.” Of course he was. He was Indestructible, until he got near that green meteor rock, and suddenly all Clark's powers and abilities were replaced by pain and nausea.

“I'm glad. See you guys around.” She turned on her heel and left, joining her friends in the social patriarchy that was high school. 

……

That night, at the Kent farmhouse, Y/N and Clark were up in the loft (Fortress of Solitude as Clark likes to call it) working on an assignment for school. After this morning's disaster of America's Funny Home Videos, Clark had begged Y/N to sign up with him and Pete for the football team. Football was Y/N's style, but he did it for Clark. True, Mr. Kent was gonna be upset when he found out what Clark had done, but hey, it was worth it, right?

Clark had been wanting to join the football team since 6th grade peewee league, but Mr. and Mrs. Kent was afraid he might accidentally hurt someone with his powers, so they forbade him from competing in any sports. It was kind of sad, really. Clark never get to experience the highs and lows of being on a team of meathead jockstraps, as Chloe affectionately references to them.

“This is boring. Let’s take a break and order a pizza. I'm starving.” Y/N tossed his math book on Clark's desk. The taller boy shot him a pointed look. “And who says you're in charge? It's my fortress, I decide what we do.” Clark grinned.

“I've been making the decisions since we were in diapers, Kent. You can't be insubordinate now.” Y/N grins back. It was nothing serious between them. Just two super-powered teenagers looking to unwind after boring algebra. 

“Oh, yeah? And who's gonna stop me? I have the phone right here.” Clark held up Y/N's phone with a grin on his face. Y/N waved a hand, and the phone came flying into his hands. “Checkmate, Clark. The guy with the wizard powers always wins. Just ask Harry Potter.”

In a blur, Clark had Y/N’s phone in his hands once again, waving it around in a teasing way. “I got the phone. Gonna order pineapple and anchovies.” He turns to walk down the steps of the loft, towards the ground floor barn. Y/N lifts Clark into the air using his powers and grunts. He's heavier than he looks. He turns Clark to face him. "You do realize there are about 6 different ways I can break free of this."

Y/N smiled interested. "Take your best shot, Kent.”

Clark smiles as he just starts spinning around in mid air thanks to Y/N keeping him up. At a human speed at first,  but eventually it picks up momentum until he becomes a red and blue tornado. Y/n stumbles and loses his grip on him, and Clark lands feet first on the floor.

“You cheat!” Y/N accuses.

“Nah, I didn't cheat. You just suck at magic, dude. Or just plain suck, if you know what I mean.” Clark's eyes wiggled in a teasing way. Y/N growls and charges before feeling his back on the plush couch. Clark was on top of him, pinning him down. He grins and leans downward. “You're all mine, tough guy.”

“And just what do you plan on doing?” Y/N asked.

“This.”

Clark leans downward and kisses Y/N. It was soft and sweet, like taffy. Clark tasted like the powerade and peanut butter sandwich he had for lunch today. It was a strangely appealing taste. The kiss was something and everything that Y/N imagined with Clark. He had a crush on his best friend! He was so screwed.

A few moments later, Clark pulled back with a blush on his cheeks, replacing the cocky guy, who was just pinning him down a second ago. “Y/N? I think I'm bisexual, and I have a crush on you. Please don't hate me.”

“Hate you? Clark, you're my best friend. I could never hate you, but I will admit that I've been crushing on you too.” Y/N blushed.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really, but what about Lana?” Y/N asked. This was definitely not the way to win her affections. Not by kissing boys, who are your best friend in a barn loft.

“Who cares about her? I got someone even better.” Clark leans down once again, placing a chaste kiss on Y/N's lips.

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 5 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇Pairing: Telemachus x Fem!reader

୨୧┇so far Aphrodites Gamble is the most popular name for this series but the poll lasts for a week so we’ll see if it actually wins. Also readers lowkey a bitch in this.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The palace grew quiet as night fell, the cacophony of the Suitors giving way to the soft rustle of wind through the corridors. In her room, Y/N sprawled on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep eluded her, as it often did. The day’s events still lingered in her mind. The discovery of the passageway, her brother’s antics, and, of course, the furious little wolf himself, Telemachus.

A sly smile tugged at her lips. She had rattled him, and the memory of his flustered face amused her endlessly. But amusement wasn’t enough to stave off her boredom. Her gaze drifted toward the statue of Athena, now slightly askew from where she had struck it earlier. The hidden passageway loomed in the back of her mind, tempting her. Y/N swung her legs off the bed and stood, grabbing her torch. “Why not?” she muttered to herself. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

The mechanism clicked again as she shifted the statue, the floor panel sliding open to reveal the dark passageway. Torchlight flickered against the stone walls as she descended, swatting away cobwebs with practiced annoyance. She moved more confidently this time, her steps quieter, her movements deliberate. The descent felt shorter now that she knew where it led. Soon enough, she found herself at the bottom of the passage, staring at the trapdoor that opened into Telemachus’s room. Y/N grinned to herself as she pushed the door open and climbed up into the room, careful to keep her movements silent. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of moonlight streaming through the window. Telemachus was fast asleep, sprawled awkwardly on his bed with one arm flung over his head. His brow was furrowed, even in sleep, as if his dreams offered no reprieve from the burdens he carried during the day.

Y/N took a moment to observe him, her smirk softening into something closer to curiosity. She didn’t often see him like this. Unguarded, vulnerable. It was almost endearing. Almost. But boredom was a powerful motivator, and Y/N wasn’t here to admire the young prince. She crouched by his desk, her eyes scanning the scattered scrolls and notes. Most of it was mundane lists of supplies, ship maintenance plans, a few hastily scrawled maps.

Then something caught her eye: a small wooden carving of a horse, tucked away in the corner of the desk. She picked it up, turning it over in her hand. The craftsmanship was rough, but there was something oddly charming about it. She glanced back at Telemachus, still sound asleep. “Little wolf,” she whispered, smirking as she set the carving back in its place. As Y/N’s curiosity got the better of her, she wandered closer to the bed, the soft sound of Telemachus’s breathing filling the room. He looked peaceful…Well, as peaceful as someone like him could manage. His messy hair fell across his forehead, and his mouth was slightly open as he mumbled something incoherent in his sleep.

She crouched beside him, tilting her head as if studying a particularly interesting artifact. “You really are such a dumbass, aren’t you?” she murmured to herself. The temptation to disturb his slumber proved irresistible. She reached out, running her fingers lightly along the curve of his jaw, tracing the faint outline of his features. His skin was warm beneath her touch, and she could feel the subtle flutter of his pulse at his neck “Soft,” she muttered, her smirk returning as she tapped his nose lightly.

Her touch, however, had consequences. Telemachus stirred, his brow furrowing before his eyes shot open. The moment he saw her leaning over him, her hand still hovering near his face, his entire body tensed.

“What in the name of Zeus?!” he yelped, scrambling upright and nearly falling off the bed in his panic.

Y/N burst into laughter, sitting back on her heels as she watched him flail. “Good evening, little wolf,” she said with a smirk. “You sleep so stupidly. Honestly, how do you even breathe like that?”

“What—what are you doing here?” Telemachus stammered, his voice loud enough to echo slightly in the room. His face burned crimson as he pulled the blanket tighter around himself, as if it could shield him from her audacity. “You—Flagitious woman! You’re unbelievable! Are you trying to kill me?”

“Kill you? Hardly,” Y/N replied breezily, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Though you do look rather dramatic when you panic. I might come back just for the entertainment.”

“You’re a pervert!” he shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “A—a man-eater! That’s what you are! Sneaking into my room in the dead of night, touching me while I sleep—gods, you’re deranged!” Y/N tilted her head, clearly enjoying his outrage. “Man-eater? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?” she said, standing up and brushing off her tunic. “And really, Telemachus, if you didn’t want people sneaking into your room, maybe you should lock your doors. Or, you know, not have a secret passage leading here.”

“That doesn’t excuse you!” he retorted, his voice cracking slightly. “I should call for the guards—or better yet, my mother! You wouldn’t be laughing then!”

“Oh, please,” Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Do you really want to explain to your mother why you were screaming like a frightened lamb in your own room? She’ll think you’re even more pathetic than the Suitors do.”

That shut him up, though his glare only intensified.

“Relax,” Y/N said, stepping back toward the desk. “I was just bored. You should be flattered, really—there are dozens of idiots in this palace I could torment, but I chose you.”

“That’s not flattering! That’s horrifying!” Telemachus snapped.

Y/N lingered by the desk, her fingers idly tracing over the scrolls and trinkets scattered across it. Telemachus, still beet faced and clearly overwhelmed, kept his wide eyes fixed on her as if she were a feral animal ready to pounce.

“What are you doing now!?” he demanded, his voice rising in pitch.

“Oh, just… exploring,” Y/N said airily, picking up a quill and twirling it between her fingers. She tilted her head, pretending to scrutinize his writing on a half finished scroll. “Hmm. Your handwriting could use some work, little wolf. It’s barely legible.”

“Put that down!” Telemachus barked, but he didn’t dare leave the bed to stop her. Y/N ignored him, turning her attention to a neatly stacked pile of notes. With deliberate slowness, she shuffled them out of order, flipping one upside down for good measure. “Stop touching my things!” Telemachus shouted, his voice cracking again.

“Why? Afraid I’ll find your love letters? Or maybe a letter to that father of yours who left your family high and dry?” Y/n teased, opening a small drawer and rifling through it. She pulled out a dull, half carved piece of wood. “Oh, what’s this? Another one of your little crafts? A hobby to pass the time while the Suitors mock you?”

Telemachus jumped to his feet, his frustration finally outweighing his embarrassment. “I’m serious, Y/n! Leave it alone!” But Y/n wasn’t done yet. She picked up a small inkwell, holding it precariously over the desk. “What would happen if I just… spilled this?” she mused aloud, tilting it ever so slightly. “Don’t you dare!” Telemachus yelled, lunging forward.

Y/n set it down with a grin just as his hand reached for hers. “Relax, little wolf. I wouldn’t ruin your precious plans. Not tonight, anyway.” Before he could say anything else, she moved to the bed and gave the blankets a playful yank, sending them tumbling to the floor. “You sleep like a mess, your bed might as well match.”

“Are you done?!” Telemachus shouted, his face now an alarming shade of crimson. Y/n stepped back, pretending to consider it. Then, as a final act of mischief, she plucked a scroll from the desk, unfurled it, and stuck it into the waistband of her tunic. “I think I’ll keep this. A little souvenir from our late night chat.”

“Give that back!” Telemachus cried, scrambling after her as she darted toward the trapdoor. But Y/n still wasn’t done. She moved back to Telemachus’s desk, her fingers dancing over his belongings with careless curiosity. She uncorked another small vial of ink and sniffed it before setting it down just close enough to the edge to make him flinch. “Would you stop already?” Telemachus snapped, standing rigidly by his bed. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble for one night?”

“Oh, little wolf,” Y/n said sweetly, grabbing another scroll and unfurling it with exaggerated care. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you don’t enjoy my company. Tragic, really.” She leaned against the desk, picking up a polished figurine a miniature of a ship. It was intricately carved, and its detail caught her eye. “This is nice. Did you make this, too?”

“That’s my father’s!” Telemachus barked, his tone turning sharper. Y/n’s smirk faltered slightly. She turned the figure over in her hand, her curiosity outweighing her sense of caution. “Your father, huh? The great Odysseus. Bet he never expected his son to spend his days failing to chase off Suitors and hiding in his room.” Telemachus bristled, his hands balling into fists. “Put. It. Down.”

“Relax,” Y/n said with a roll of her eyes. “I’m not going to break it—”

Her sentence cut off with a sharp crack. The ship slipped from her hand, striking the edge of the desk before shattering on the floor. The silence that followed was deafening. Y/n froze, staring at the broken pieces, while Telemachus’s face twisted in a mixture of shock, fury, and disbelief.

“You—” His voice shook. “Do you have any idea what you just did?!”

“It’s just a figurine,” Y/n said quickly, her tone defensive.

“It’s not just a figurine!” Telemachus shouted, his voice echoing in the room. “That was his! My father’s! He carved it himself before he left for Troy!”

Y/n opened her mouth, but no words came. For once, her usual confidence faltered.

Telemachus’s eyes burned with anger as he stepped toward her. “Did Antinous put you up to this?” he demanded, his voice low and venomous. “Did he think it’d be funny to send you here, to—to ruin the one thing I have left of my father?!”

“What?” Y/n blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “No! Antinous doesn’t even know about this passage!”

“Then why are you here?!” Telemachus roared, his frustration boiling over. “Why do you keep pushing and pushing? What do you want from me?!”

Y/n stepped back, her smirk long gone, replaced by something unreadable. “I didn’t mean to break it,” she said quietly, her voice lacking its usual mocking edge.

Telemachus stared at her for a moment longer before turning away, his shoulders tense. “Just go,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I don’t care what you think you were doing. Just leave.”

Y/n hesitated, glancing between him and the broken pieces on the floor. For the first time, she didn’t have a quip or a teasing remark. She simply nodded, slipping back into the passageway without another word.

As the trapdoor clicked shut behind her, Telemachus sank to his knees, gathering the shattered fragments of the figurine with shaking hands. His chest tightened, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to feel the weight of everything he’d been holding back. Telemachus sat on the cold floor of his room, his hands trembling as he tried to piece together the remains of the shattered figurine. The ship’s broken hull seemed to mock him, a reminder of everything that had been lost. His father, his home’s dignity, and now, even this small fragment of connection to the past.

His vision blurred, and he angrily swiped at his face, but the tears came anyway, hot and unrelenting. He clutched one of the larger fragments in his hand, the rough edge pressing into his palm.

“I hate them,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I hate them all.”

The words tumbled out in a torrent, each one weighted with years of frustration and grief. “The Suitors… those drunk, selfish bastards. They take everything. My food, my dignity, my mother’s peace. They treat this house like it’s theirs. Like I’m nothing. Just some useless boy who can’t stop them.”

His breathing hitched as he tightened his grip on the fragment. “And her,” he spat, the thought of Y/n igniting fresh anger. “She’s just like them. Always mocking, always taking. She thinks it’s all a game, doesn’t she? Sneaking in here, laughing at me, ruining the one thing I had left of him.” He choked on a sob, bowing his head as the tears fell freely now. “They all do. Antinous, Y/n, all of them. They don’t care about this place. About me. They don’t understand what it’s like.”

His voice dropped, soft and bitter. “What it’s like to wait. To wonder if he’s ever coming back. To hold onto anything that proves he was real, that he’s still out there.” The room was silent except for his ragged breathing and the occasional drip of tears onto the floor. Telemachus looked down at the fragments in his hand, his grip loosening. “I can’t do this anymore,” he murmured. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine. It’s not. It’s never been fine.”

He sat there for a long while, his anger and sorrow swirling together in the quiet of the night. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t try to push the feelings away. He let them consume him, if only for a little while.

[infiniteglitterfall]

Uggghhh, what is UP with Canada?!

In Vancouver, the Schara Tzedeck synagogue's windows were smashed on April 19th.

In Toronto on April 19, five windows at the Kehillat Shaarei Torah synagogue were smashed with a hammer.

In Toronto on April 26, someone set a sign on fire at Beth Tikvah Synagogue....

....And again on April 28.

In Toronto in May, Jewish community members started escorting a kid to school because he was being bullied by peers who told him, "We're going to do to you what Hamas did to Israel," pushed him, kicked him, threw stones at him, and told him, "we need to kill you." This had been going on for six months. (His family had gone to both the school and police repeatedly at this point and it had only escalated; the kids throwing stones at him on the way to school was new.)

In Toronto on May 17th, Kehillat Shaarei Torah's windows were smashed again.

On May 25th before dawn, two people shot at Bais Chaya Muska, a Jewish girls' school in Toronto.

On May 29th, in the middle of the night, someone shot at the Belz Yeshiva Ketana school in Montreal.

In Vancouver on May 30, someone poured fuel on the doors of the Schara Tzedeck synagogue, then firebombed them.

In an article on June 7, Rabbi Lisa Grushcow of Emanu-El-Beth Sholom synagogue in Montreal said people have yelled “Hitler was right!” and “Jew!” at her congregants as they arrive for Shabbat services and that Jewish kids are being bullied in local schools.

On June 1 in Toronto, a man smashed the window of the Anshei Minsk synagogue with a rock.

On June 3 in Kitchener, someone smashed the front door of Beth Jacob synagogue.

On June 19th in Montreal, three small bullet-like holes were somehow made in the windows of Falafel Yoni. (I don't know, all the articles go out of their way to say they don't know WHAT made the holes.) Falafel Yoni is owned by a Jewish man who was born in Israel, and has appeared on boycott lists despite the owner never having said anything political about Israel.

On the same day, down the street from Falafel Yoni, someone smashed the windows of a nearby gym whose co-owner is Jewish and had also been born in Israel.

On June 30 in Toronto, someone threw stones at the Pride of Israel synagogue, then at Kehillat Shaarei Torah, smashing windows (again) in the latter.

On the weekend of July 27th, a father and son in Toronto were arrested for planning a terrorist attack and murder on behalf of ISIL, which is wild.

On July 29th, someone torched a bus belonging to the Bobov Hassidic school in Toronto.

And smashed the windows of a DIFFERENT Jewish school in Toronto, Leo Baeck Jewish Day School, and set it on fire.

On July 31 in Toronto, guess which synagogue had three signs set on fire? That's right: Kehillat Shaarei Torah.

Plus one sign set afire at Toronto's Temple Sinai Congregation the same night, presumably by the same arsonist, who might even have been the stone-hurler of June 30.

There are probably ones I missed. Just putting this list together took like three hours, though. I kept having to go, "Wait, surely that can't be the same synagogue AGAIN" and "they only mention the closest major intersection, which one was this?!" and "that can't be a different one, how many windows did they smash??" and go look for more sources. Plus a couple of articles were giving conflicting dates for one of the incidents.

And nobody ever gives actual dates, they just say shit like, "Blah blah blah was reported Monday...." so I have to look at the article date and then look at a damn calendar.

I went back as far as April because everything I found was referring to earlier incidents. Back to April. February and March were relatively quiet, at least in the news. Although interestingly, February is when the most hate crimes in Toronto had been reported, at least as of ... oh, I see.

As of March.

On the bright side, I did discover that Kehillat Shaarei Torah consistently has great jokes on its sign.

[suiana]

I miss the time you used to make actual fics

(yandere! villain x gn! hero's sidekick reader) (idk what this is bruh i wanted to make it heroic but then it turned out like this)

when your world gets shrouded in ugliness and grime, a time will come when a person will light up the torch that guides you through even the darkest of nights.

if you had known that things would be like this, you would never have decided to take on the duty of being a hero. after all, with glory came the overwhelming loneliness of being the saviour.

you were never really the righteous type. always put yourself over others when a life-threatening situation would come. sure, you were a sidekick to the number one hero but you still had to save yourself first, right? well, no.

because for some reason when the gods decided to punish the earth, you had stepped forward to protect everyone when no one else would.

people called you a hero. with tears running down their faces as they thanked you for saving them and their families. the press recorded your selfless act and praised you as humanity's saviour.

you wished you could take your words back. to say that you didn't want to shoulder the punishment of humanity on your own. that if you could reverse time you'd hide in the crowd as god rained his fury down on everyone.

because at least then you wouldn't be alone.

the wind brushes past your face, hair flowing wildly in the cold of the dead night. the road to hell was a long one after all, and god's first punishment was to have you walk the cold path to your death.

it's okay, you told yourself. you're saving people, you tried to reassure yourself.

yet you had never expected the cost of other's freedom to come at such a great price. for here you were, trudging into the lonely night with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

humans are inherently selfish. the only reason they praised you was because they wanted to make themselves feel better for choosing to sacrifice one of their own instead of accepting the punishment. if they were truly grateful they'd have walked down this path with you together, wouldn't they?

but you were all alone. the city was alive as always, people going about with their daily lives. happy chatter and innocent smiles as they walked the streets. the city skyline was beautiful, buildings coloured in bright lights and advertisements. life was normal.

it's not fair.

it's not fair.

it's not fair.

why did you have to suffer when they could walk free of sin? they were the original sinners! why did you have to bear the weight of their actions all on your own?!

looking down at your shivering hands, you walk towards the edge of the building. how high up were you? 50 floors? 55? you couldn't remember. you didn't want to remember. because you knew that it'd be a long way down either way.

you didn't want to die yet. you still had so much to live for, still had so much you wanted to accomplish and do.

but everyone was counting on you to save the world.

so you took a trembling step forward, planning on embracing the cold embrace of death.

"ah... i'm falling."

your body felt weightless as you fell off the building, eyes shut as you tried to bite back the tears that threatened to slip past.

no, you couldn't cry. you had to be brave. that's what a hero does. be brave no matter what, right? even when you were dying?

"if only someone could save me, how nice it would be."

"what are you doing you stupid hero?!"

a shout snaps you out of your trance, his hands reaching out to grab you.

"you-!"

"do you seriously want to die?!"

his hold on your hand was tight, almost afraid as though you'd slip out of his grasp. you take in the way his normally cocky face was now full of fear, face scrunched up in a way that exposed all of his hidden vulnerabilities.

then you had realized he jumped off after you.

"you- you jumped off! now we're both going to die!"

you scream at him, eyes darting all over. no freaking way. you knew that the villain was always stupid but to jump after you after you were going to die? did he cook his brain in the air fryer today?!

"shit shit- no! you can't die too! please tell me this is a dream! only one of us needs to handle divine duty-"

"shut up! who said anything about dying?"

his sharp voice cuts through your thoughts as he wraps his arms around your body.

"i'm the villain, remember? how could i die just like that?"

time seems to slow as he brings both of you to a complete stop. attached to his back was a piece of dark matter rope, probably made with his ability so that it wouldn't break halfway. oh, so he had a backup plan.

you stammer, feeling your cheeks heat up as the man slowly brings you back up to the top of the building, his arms tight and secure all the way up. when he had ensured both of you were right back on solid ground, he exhaled sharply and shot you a glare.

"stupid hero. did you want to die that badly?"

he questions, flicking your forehead before scoffing.

"even your damn hero that you worked for didn't want to give up his life, why did you want to do it? don't you know that i like you?"

the villain's words are surprisingly soft despite the hint of anger in them. how cute, he was worried for you? and yes, you know that he likes you. how could you not? he literally shows it every time you meet up to fight with him.

making kissy faces at you, casually flirting while he tears apart a building, beating up random people who had the audacity to flirt with what he thought was his to court, inviting you out to dinner as he avoids an attack from the hero... well, you suppose it worked out in the end? he did save you from dying.

"look, all that god told us to do was to clean up the garbage. don't know why you decided taking on the sins of everyone was a smart idea."

he grumbles, running a hand through his hair before placing a hesitant hand on your waist to tug you closer. your breath hitches as he suddenly rests his head against your shoulder, his breath tickling your skin.

"we could clean it up, you know? i mean, what's stopping us? i know you don't really want to die after all."

wait a second, what was he suggesting? to become god's messengers

"after all... we're the strongest, aren't we?"

well, not really but you suppose so.

you stare at him, a conflicted expression on your face before you huff. you didn't really want to be a villain but... what other option was there? you sure as hell didn't want to die for the sake of people you've never met before. especially when some of them were literal criminals.

"how do we clean up the trash?"

the villain smirks at your words.

"great question, we'll kill them all!"

"no."

"okay, we beat them up and make them all repent. then we kill them!"

"no!"

shaking your head, you let out a sigh. damn it all. looks like you're no longer the saviour.

"hehe, don't look so down cutie. we're technically doing god's work."

you stare at him, eyes narrowing before you roll your eyes.

well, you suppose he's right in a sense... a smile creeps up your lips as you start chuckling softly.

"sure, we're god's messengers now then."

"that's right!"

he ruffles your hair with his other hand, a cocky smirk on his lips.

"so how do you want to start? shall we nuke them?"

"no!"

[resident-idiot-simp]

Passing of the torch

(x)

Getting blown up wasn't fun Laura would just like to state that for the record. -1000/10 would not recommend and all that. She didn't know who all got caught in the explosion with her but she knows at least they'll be ok.

She groans as she sits up and blinks away the black and looks around a field....what? She knew full and well she was in a warehouse with her dads. Beside her she heard a groan and she quickly turns and sees Logan. She quickly goes to him, "Papá hey." She calls as he blinks up at her.

"Wht's goin on kit?" He slurred out as he tries to sit up. "Not sure exactly." She says as she watches him worriedly. He eventually sits up with her help and looks around before sighing.

"It's limbo." He grumbles and Laura looked at him confused, "What?" She asks. He starts to stand as he answers.

"Limbo kit the place between life and death. Have you not been here before?" He asked confused. Laura shook her head while staying close to Logan. He looks down at her in amusement, "Kit this place is safe no need to worry." He reassures.

She relaxes finally and just looks around, "We're here because we got blown up? " She asked and Logan nodded, "Yep that's why I'm surprised you've never seen it. This is where we end up while we heal from extremely grievous wounds. Though I suppose I'm glad you've never been here."

Laura chuckles at that, "I've never gotten this hurt before, but do you have any idea how long we'll be here?" She asked and he shrugs. "None, don't know how bad it was could be a few minutes could be hours, but by how shit I feel I'm thinking it's going to be a while."

Laura does feel like she was ran over by a bus so he might be onto something. Logan pauses in his movements as he looks into the distance. Laura confused looks at what got his attention only to freeze as well.

It's another Logan undeniably but that's not what freezes her to the spot. No what does that is the scent she picks up now that's she's focusing. It's something she hasn't smelled in so so long.

Her daddy

She feels tears immediately well in her eyes as she sprints to him. He looked almost identical to the first time she saw him only this time he looks healthier. Still the same scars and grey hair but not like he was slowly dying. It just makes her cry harder.

She flings herself at him clinging like he might fade away. He clings right back shaking as he cries silently. She's sobbing now she can't help it she missed him so much and it seems mutual. "Daddy daddy daddy." She cries into this chest scrabling at his back to pull herself impossibly closer.

"Laura." He breathes as he buries his face in her hair. She doesn't know how long she's been clinging to him before she pulls back and looks up into familiar dull eyes. Both of them are a mess theirs no doubt about it but she couldn't care less.

"I've missed you so much." She tells him voice barely recognizable from the sobbing. He smiles down at her softly and runs scared fingers through her hair to push it out of her face. "I've missed you a lot too darling." He sounds so found it hurts.

She hears her Papá shuffling awkwardly a few feet away and she sighs. She turns and catches his eye and smiles reassuringly at him. She knows he is unsure of his place in her life even after she made it clear to him. He wasn't a replacement but his own person in her life. This definitely doesn't help his opinions on the matter.

She pulls back slightly to more easily look at her dad before speaking, "My only wish was to let you know your sacrifice wasn't in vain. Looks like I finally got my chance." She tells him tears still flowing. Her dad chokes back a sob at that. "I'm so glad your ok." He tells her earnestly.

She just smiles, "I might not have been if it wasn't for him." She tells him as she guestues to a startled looking Logan. Her dad just looks at him appraisingly. "Thank you." He tells Logan seriously. Logan just frowns at him, "I did what anyone would do." He dismisses.

Laura snorts at that and her dad just raises an eyebrow at his counterpart. "Really because we both know that's not true." He shot back and her Papá sighs. "It's our kit what else am I supposed to do?" He asked and her dad smiles at that.

"Ain't that the damn truth." Her dad huffs as he squeezes her to him for a moment. He then takes another breath before speaking once more his tone more serious. "I did what I could for her it wasn't enough, but it was what I could. I didn't want to at first but I did because she doesn't deserve our fate." Her Papá looks at her and nods his head in agreement.

"She's one of the few good things that have come from us and I did my part. Now she's your responsibility to protect and love. I have faith she's in good hands." Her father tells Logan who looks unsure.

"I'm the worst Wolverine didn't you hear? She deserves better than me hell better then all of us." He Papá argues and her dad just scoffs. "Yeah well she's don't got better she's got us. Besides if you were really that bad she wouldn't love you like she obviously does."

Logan has nothing to say to that for a few moments, "I can't be you." He whispers and the other man growls. "Your not going to be me. We both weren't as good as we could have been, but you can do better with her then I ever did. This is your kid as much as she's mine don't ruin that by wallowing in the what ifs."

Logan just sighed, "I promise I'll do everything in my power to keep her safe." Her dad just nods. "You'll wake up soon." He tells them and Laura starts crying again. "Will I ever see you again daddy?" She asks and he just pulls her closer. "I don't know darling." He whispers into her hair before placing a kiss on her head and pulling away.

Logan puts a hand on her shoulder to keep her grounded. "We will take care of her." Logan says confidently and her dad smirks seemingly pleased his counterpart took his request to heart. He paused a moment later however, "Wait who's we?" He asked skeptically and Logan just shrugged.

"Wade." He answered which just called her dad to furrowed his eyes. "Wilson." Her Papá tacked on.

"WAIT DEADPOOL?!" Her dad shouted incredulously before suddenly everything went black once more.

Laura choked awake on a laugh as she woke up abruptly. Logan too had awoke similarly both coughing and choking as they came back to consciousness. Besides them their was a sigh of relief.

"Oh thank fuck you both had me worried sick!" Wade shouted as he hurried over to their sides. "You guys aren't allowed to die without me that fucking sucked." He told them seriously and Laura just smiled.

[axelsagewrites]

Tormund*Real Man

Pairing: tormund x f!reader

Kinktober Day twelve: exhibitionism with Tormund – while wildlings talk freely about sex Tormund enjoys watching your blush at even the mention of it making it even more fun to tease you when you come to tend to his wounds

Word count: 2003

Warnings: this is actually technically not smut aka no sex but there is heavy teasing, mentions of sex, heavy flirting, flashing, and physical descriptions.

Masterlist Here

Kinktober List Here

When you escaped Winterfell, finally fleeing from Ramsay’s grip, you headed straight for the wall, straight for Jon. You had been close friends growing up, always lurking in the shadows with him or chasing after Robb. However, you were also trained in medicinal herbs by your mother, a servant who couldn’t just call for a maester when someone grew ill. So, despite his worries Jon agreed you should stay and help tend to the fallen.

What you hadn’t expected was being sent to tend the wilding. You had been locked away during the battle, for safety more than anything so you were shocked to learn when Jon fetched you that he had taken a hostage.

“He’s in pretty bad shape,” Jon warned as you walked the corridor with him down to a storage room that had been converted into a cell of sorts for the wilding. “I don’t think he could hurt you if he wanted but I’ll be every second,” he had assured you as you tentatively stepped into the room.

“Crow,” a hoarse voice came from the corner of the room. Jon held up his torch, revealing the wildling. He was big, that’s for sure, and his hair was almost as bright as the Tully’s. a scraggly beard covered his face and a grimace behind it, “Came to finish the job?”

“Not quite Tormund,” Jon said, stepping closer to the wildling who spat at his feet, “I brought help. She’s a healer, well the closest thing we have to one,”

The man looked passed Jon, his cold blue eyes looking straight at you leaving a strange feeling in your gut. A smirk slowly crept on his face, “She’s a pretty one alright. Guess if I have to die, I might as well go with a pretty face looking at me,”

You were grateful for the poor lighting, hoping it disguised your blush as Jon hushed the man. Jon turned back to you while you tried to ignore the way Tormund was staring at you, “Do you need anything?”

You glanced to the man before your eyes quickly met Jon’s again, “More light,” you said quietly, “I can’t heal him in the dark,”

“Great idea lass,” Tormund pipped up, his voice making you jump when you realised, he was listening, “Can barely even see you in this shit hole,”

His jabs were ignored by Jon who soon lit another couple torches in the room and finally you were able to see him properly. As you walked over you could see blood seeping through his clothes, leaving dark patches, “Um I need to see your wounds,” you said, your voice quiet and plagued with stutters.

Tormund grinned at your words, “Trying to undress me already? Your southern women are forward crow,” he teased Jon who was quick to remind him he was a prisoner here. Tormund rolled his eyes as his hands reached for his top, but you noticed his winces and knew it was no use.

“Here let me,” you said, pulling at the fabric, trying your best not to blush or embarrass yourself as you slowly manoeuvred the fabric over his head.

“Like what you see?” Tormund asked, his eyes glued to yours as you tried desperately to not show that you did.

Instead, you turned your attention to his wounds. The top of his arm was badly wounded, you wondered if an infection was already growing from the sight of him. A few more scratches covered his bodies, and a particularly nasty slice went across his stomach. “I’ll need to clean these,” you told him, pulling out a cloth and treatment for his wounds, “this might sting,”

“Fuck!”

--

You had to check on him at least three times a day to check his bandages and wounds since your suspicion was right and an infection had begun to creep in. at first Jon took you each time but when he was busy he would send another in his place but as he prepared for a greater threat you assured him you would be fine.

After all each time you went it was the same routine. You helped Tormund take off his top layers, changed his bandages, applied new lotions, then more bandages all while he shamelessly flirted with you. at first each sweet word or lewd suggestion was met with blushes and stuttering but it had oddly become a welcome routine for you though you never responded to his flirts.

“Morning Tormund,” you greeted as you unlocked the door and entered his cell.

He was sat on his bed, finally feeling able to do more than lay down, with his shirt already off, “I thought you’d forgotten about me,” he grinned as you moved to sit on the edge of the bed, pulling out your supplies.

while the sight of his bare chest had made you blush originally you had seen it so often the affects had worn off. However, as you were changing the bandage on his arm your eyes glanced down and you felt your skin heat up. At first you had thought he was only bare chested but as you looked down you could clearly see his naked hip, only covered by furs.

You glanced at Tormund for just a moment before your eyes darted back to the wound, trying your best to keep your breathing calm. Out the corner of your eye however you saw the cogs begin to turn in his head, a small smirk stretching onto his lips. “Are you alright little dove?” his voice snapped you back to reality.

You could feel your skin flush as you shot him a quick smile as you assured him nothing was wrong. However, his eyes watched you with fascination the whole time. “That one’s done,” you said, tucking the soiled bandages into a bag you had brought. “One second,” you told him as you went to shuffle back, allowing you to reach his stomach more easily.

“Allow me,” he grinned, shuffling up the bed slightly to give you better access to his midsection but also a new sight. you tried your best not to look but you found yourself catching a quick sight. the furs covered his manhood, but the new position meant it was all you couldn’t see. In fact, it was the most you had ever seen of a man.

As your hands moved to take off his next bandage you mentally cursed yourself for trembling, “Are you sure you’re alright?” Tormund asked, mock concern in his voice as his hand reached up to push the hair out your face making you shiver, “You seem very,” he paused thinking of a word before smirking, “flustered,”

“I’m fine,” you said again, trying to keep your voice steady as you reached for a damp cloth.

“Tell me something little dove,” Tormund said, using his favourite new nickname for you apparently, “Have you ever seen a man before? a real man I mean. Not just some crow boy,”

You paused for a moment, debating whether you should even answer his taunts, “No,” you finally stated as you reached for the ointment to apply.

You dabbed a cloth in it however as you pressed it against his skin you gasped as his hand wrapped around your wrist, “Do you want to?” he asked, a glint behind his eyes that only served to deepen your flush, “You southerners are so sensitive,”

“I’m a northerner,” you tried to say it firmly, but it came out like a child arguing about their bedtime.

Tormund chuckled, letting go of your wrist, “No little dove. Us northerners don’t even bat an eye at a little skin. Any free woman would already be climbing under these sheets. Whereas you,” he said, suddenly leaning forward to whisper in your ear, “you pretend as though you don’t want to see it,” he whispered, his tone taunting.

Your hand reached up to his chest, pushing hard back onto it. You knew he could’ve stopped you if he wanted to but he let himself fall back into the furs with a smirk, “I’m trying to work,” you stated firmly, reaching out to apply his treatment, “and if you don’t wish to have these wounds reinfected I suggest you let me,”

“Why do you care so much if I get better?” he asked, his head cocking to the side, “it’s almost as if you don’t want me to die. Tell me little dove, what is it you want?”

A thousand things came to mind but instead you only said three words, “To go home,”

The room was silent for a moment, Tormund nodded in agreement, “Aye, me too,” he said, and you wondered if for a moment he would be serious but yet again you were proven wrong, “But when I go home, which I will, I will tell all my men of the southern beauty at the wall,” he said, moving to sit up again but your hand shot up to push his chest back. His hand however just clamped over yours making it hard not to blush as he stared into your eyes, “and how I showed you how a free man fucks his woman,”

“I am not your woman,” you said, your voice quiet.

“Aye,” he agreed, leaning back into his furs, “but you could be,” he said, his hand gripping the edge of his furs, “don’t you want to know,” he asked, pulling the sheets down slowly, revealing more of his V line.

However, as your eyes wandered down his body, your mind racing as you tried to stutter out a no, the ointment pot suddenly clattered to the floor, slipping from your hand in your daze. You quickly turned to retrieve the pot, grateful very little had spilled however as you turned back you froze.

Tormund had pulled the sheets further down revealing his manhood to you. a heavy flush covered your face as your eyes stared at the unfamiliar sight. while you knew he was large you foolishly had not expected his manhood to match. It was hard, its tip red and desperate to be touched. Thoughts raced through your mind, but you had no time to act.

You tried to speak but all that came out was vague stutters until a knock at the door snapped your attention back and you quickly jumped off the bed. The door opened suddenly to reveal a very serious looking Jon, “I need you to take a look at Gilly,” he said, his eyes glancing towards Tormund.

You looked back at the wildling and released he must’ve recovered himself in your panic, “She’s not finished with me yet crow,” Tormund said, his voice far gruffer when he spoke to Jon instead of you.

“Aye well she’ll be back later,” Jon said, stalking across the room, “I’m sure you can wrap this around yourself,” he said as he tossed a bandage out your bag at him before he turned back to you with an expected look.

You nodded, quickly gathering your things as Jon moved to wait beside the door, “Goodbye pretty girl,” Tormund whispered as you packed your things, “If you ever want to know what a real man feels like you know where to find me,” he added as you finally were able to walk away.

Jon shot you a questionable look as you rushed out the room, your cheeks flaring up when you heard Tormund calling after you, “Until next time little dove,” he called making Jon slam the door, locking it quickly behind him.

“Is he bothering you?” Jon asked as he led you towards Gilly’s room, “If you feel you need an escort all you need to do is ask,” he said.

Jon looked at you with a mix of concern and confusion written on his face as you considered his offer before shaking your head, “I can handle him,” you said however you wondered if you were right, but you did know one thing. Tormund was officially stuck in your head.

Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy  @valeskafics

[buffetlicious]

Anyway, here were the dishes we ordered. The first to be served was the Rigatoni Alla Vodka (S$22++), penne in tomato and cream sauce with vodka added. The vodka emulsifies the sauce and enhances flavour. I got to try a piece of the pasta and alcohol was quite pronounced.

Two people ordered the Stone Age Burger (S$20++) with angus beef patty, cheese, red onion, pickles and coated straight-cut fries. Although I did not get to try the burger, I was given some fries and it was well flavoured and crispy on the outside and fluffy inside.

Both my two colleagues next to me had the Stone-Cut Schnitzel (S$28++) which is deep-fried tenderized pork loin cutlet with sour potato salad, cranberry compote and lemon. They finished every bit on the plate, so must be good.

Colleague’s family had this Cave Smoked Rib (S$36++) to share. 500 grams of pork rib barbecued to perfection and glazed with BBQ sauce. Came with a side of pickled cucumbers. She told me it was very good so you will have to take her words for it. :D.

My Charcoal-Grilled Spring Chicken (S$28++) was the last to be served, but it was worth the wait. A juicy and succulent whole spring chicken grilled to a mouthwatering goodness, covered in lightly spicy peri-peri sauce. Gave the lemon a squeeze to release the juice which helps to cut down the greasiness and add acidity.

Since we still have more than a hour to waste before the bus will arrive to ferry us back, colleagues suggested we go have a drink. We had exited the park and wander around the vicinity looking for a place to hang out. One colleague said she wanted to drink Masala Tea so we went to an Indian Restaurant. Other than the two of us who ordered Masala Tea, the others did not enjoy their tea which is either too sweet or tasteless or both. No tea pictures to show but we found many Torch Ginger Flowers (Etlingera elatior) blooming along the way and Waterfall.

To summarise the visit to Rainforest Wild Asia. If you are here to see the animals, you might end up a little disappointed as there aren’t a lot to be seen. Here, the landscapes imitate the rainforest of Asia with plenty of flora and most of the animals are not used to be up close with humans, so they tend to stay away from the open area. Overheard another group of visitors’ conversation, she was lamenting to another about having only seen tortoises. :D Poor girl needs to open her eyes big big to spot the animals among the trees, shrubs and brushes. On the other hand, if you are the adventurous type, there are plenty of hands-on activities to enjoy though not all of them are free. You can also venture off the beaten path (elevated walkway) and explore the streams and undergrowth of a tropical rainforest.

[valdomarx]

Roy’s first month of managing Richmond, he still wakes up at 4 a.m. every morning. 

There’s no reason for it; work doesn’t start until 8 and he doesn't need to do extra training sessions with Jamie any more. But his body can’t break the habit, so he lies in bed and stares at the ceiling.

4 a.m. is when night is over but morning has not quite begun, when the world is quiet and distant and there is room for thoughts which would otherwise be unthought and feelings which would otherwise be unfelt.

-

4 a.m. is Jamie flinging open his front door with a big grin and a stupid head torch, saying, “Morning coach!” and bounding off with such enthusiasm that Roy has to scramble to keep up with him.

-

4 a.m. is the team finally calling it a night after celebrating a tough win, Isaac and Colin with an exhausted Sam between them, Jan Maas giggling, and Dani coming tearing out of the club yelling “Back to the hoteeeeeeeeeel!” and everyone running joyfully after him. Everyone except Jamie, who is leaning against the wall of the club and watching Roy with a hint of a smile.

“Fucking what?” Roy growls.

“You’re doing good. At this manager thing, I mean. The boys like it when you come celebrate with us.”

-

4 a.m. is sunrise over Richmond Park, the trees swaying in the breeze, deer leaping away in the distance, a blanket of silence muffling London’s ever-present hum of traffic. It is Jamie’s contentment as he runs, the way he springs forward to meet every step, with the rays of the rising sun painting streaks of red and gold through his hair.

-

4 a.m. is the time the team bus breaks down and strands them in a field in the middle of nowhere, and most of the lads are asleep in their seats but Roy finds Jamie sitting a little distance away on a grassy bank, looking up at the sky.

“Proper good view of the stars here, innit?”

Roy cranes his neck to take in the view of bright white points splashed across the darkness. He hums and lowers himself to sit next to Jamie.

“That one’s Rigel.” Jamie points. “And over there, that’s Betelgeuse. About to go supernova and everything. It’s gonna explode and take out everything around it, but after that, it’ll leave behind a cloud of dust n shit which’ll make new stars. Mental, right?”

Roy glances at him sideways. “How d’you know all this shit?”

Jamie shrugs one shoulder. “Me mum used to take me to the observatory as a kid. Said it was good for my cultural development. But I think I just liked the view.”

Jamie is staring up at the stars, but Roy is looking at Jamie’s face, soft, open, and full of wonder.

-

4 a.m. is a stupid time to be doing this. Roy stands in front of Jamie’s door and hesitates before knocking. Who the fuck shows up out of the blue at someone’s house at this hour? But he’d woken up early again and the world had seemed grating, like something important was missing, and almost against his will his feet had carried him here.

He knocks and, much quicker than he expects, the hallway light flicks on and footsteps thump down the stairs. Jamie opens the door fully dressed and wide awake, and beams.

“Morning coach! You want a cup of coffee?”

Roy blinks. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here at this ridiculous time?”

Jamie's forehead wrinkles. "I'm sure you've got a good reason."

“I couldn’t sleep. Can’t sleep, I mean. I still wake up at 4 a.m. every morning."

Jamie nods. “Yeah. Me too.”

"I -" Roy squirms, hating feeling so visible. "I miss this."

Jamie looks up at him, surprised. 

"I miss you."

Jamie blushes, then fidgets with his sleeves. "You see me every day."

"It's not the same though. I miss starting my day with you."

"Oh." Jamie's cheeks are blotched with pink. "We could go for a run together? Do some training?'

It's tempting. Roy could say yes, and they could jog around the park, and it could be like it was before. A little piece of familiarity in a season of changes. 

But that's not what Roy is here for.

"I don't want to train," he says, and Jamie's face falls.

He steps closer, right up to the doorway, a mere few inches between them. He reaches out, stopping himself just before his hand lands on Jamie's chest. 

He looks up, meets Jamie's eye, makes sure he knows what Roy is offering. His hand meets Jamie's chest, solid and warm. "I want something else."

"Oh." Jamie scarcely moves, has to remind himself to breathe by the looks of it, and then one of those soft, beautiful 4 a.m. smiles spreads across his face and he steps back to open the door. "Then I guess you'd better come in."

[fragmentsofafracturedland]

Reports of the Rallies: No Kings

I haven't been this nervous for a march since the Women's March (people forget now that we didn't know then how safe it would be, and how we were prepared for danger).

I woke to the news of the assassinations. I wrote a friend's number on my leg, packed water, a sign, a mask. On the train on the way in, I heard others talking about going to the protest, saw others holding signs.

Overall, this went very similar to the Hands Off protest, though it felt even more crowded (even though it was drizzling even more than before). At the start of the march, everyone could barely move.

People lined the steps to the New York Public Library, filled the street, and the march inched along from there to Madison Square, organizers helping to let through cross traffic as much as possible.

My protest buddy brought a bunch of American flags and handed them out (it was flag day, after all). Briefly we started up a small chant of "Whose flag? Our flag!"

Common chants included:

"No hate, no fear, immigrants are welcome here!"

"Hey hey, ho ho, Donald Trump Has Got To Go!"

"No ICE, no KKK, No fascist USA!"

"Whose streets? Our streets!"

"Show me what democracy looks like! This is what democracy looks like!"

"No kings! No kings!"

I saw a several signs that were variants of "No kings, YAAS Queens!", various references to the founding fathers, and a bunch saying "No one is illegal on stolen land."

Favorite sign I saw was a Wee Free Men poster--Nae king! Nae quin! Nae laird! Nae master! I wanted to start up a chant of it, but figured not enough people would know it.

Another favorite sign was "Trump is the worst president since Trump."

A couple folks on a corner were holding signs for freeing Dylan, a student kidnapped by ICE, and a few marchers saw and chanted "Free Dylan."

The most arresting signs were a series of cardboard tombstones standing alone on the sidewalk with legends like "Age 3, no measles vax" and "Trump closed my dialysis center" and one referencing an AIDS spike after DOGE's cuts.

There were people of all ages. We gave flags to small children, and saw a grey haired man climb a tree, and two very old folks start up a chant. There was someone sitting on a truck, and an empty bus with signs pasted on the windows. Someone dressed as a handmaid, another as Luigi (the character), and others carried liberty torches or wore plastic crowns. I saw and heard a lot of pro-immigrant signs and chants, quite a few pro-Palestinian signs and chants, a handful of pride signs and flags, lots of American flags--some upside down or tattered. I carried a trans rights sign. I didn't see any counter protestors, and I only caught glimpses of cops. There were lots of people with cameras, some media and press people, and a drone above.

The march was peaceful, and dispersed near the flatiron building, damp protestors with signs and masks and crowns filtering into the city. A small group stayed on a side street singing "We Shall Not Be Moved."

Again I took no pictures till the end, where protestors had left signs in an impromptu monument to freedom:

[rastronomicals]

10:34 PM EDT June 23, 2024:

Us3 - "Tukka Yoot's Riddim (Bu's Riddim)" From the album Hand On The Torch (November 16, 1993)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

File under: Jazz Rap

[maybe-boys-do-love]

SOTUS Review: Engineering the Bridge To BL

I'm not exactly a sucker for teen dramas. Miss me with Gossip Girl and Pretty Little Liars. Even less soapy shows like The OC or Dawson's Creek that I checked out because of their critical status in the genre were not shows that I felt compelled to finish after watching a few episodes. However, teen dramas were a rare space in media where queer characters were allowed to exist as secondary or tertiary characters, so in my young gayhood I searched amongst less popular shows for gay storylines like in Canada's Degrassi. I binge-watched Australia's Dance Acadamy until they killed off the gay character and sought out lists about groundbreaking shows from before my time like My So-Called Life.

The latter is not simply exceptional for its gay representation but for aiming higher than its teen soap peers for realist complexity in its characters. Later, shows like Freaks and Geeks and the UK's Skins would take up that torch, then Friday Night Lights, which had the genius to bring in the institution of American football culture in the South of the the US to ground its commentary on American racial and economic politics. Norway's Skam arrived in 2015 using the "Russ Bus" tradition for similar purposes--and used the strength of its writing to depict a globally celebrated queer story the same year as SOTUS. These elevated coming-of-age teen dramas I count among my favorite series ever in any genre.

I bring up all this TV history because I found no review yet that adequately conveys SOTUS's equivalent storytelling goals and prowess, nor do they fully indicate that SOTUS is one of the most compelling BLs to this day. Historically important, they read, but mediocre production values, primarily for straight women and homophobic, with a hazing setting that might be triggering for viewers, all implying its a relic of a less enlightened time in BL history that later shows will improve upon. While I'd recommend reading them to learn more about the history of the series that I'm less interested in covering here, these are not exactly rave reviews. What a surprise to begin the series and witness right out of the gate precision, complexity, and depth to its queer depictions that's equal to any Thai BL that followed in its groundbreaking wake.

The series manages to engineer (wah wah) bridges to blend the naturalistic elements of those other elevated teen drama precedents with the tropes and styles that populated Thai BL novels (like the pink milk from 2Moons2) and will define Thai BL series in the years to come. In Thailand, the series Love Sick came first in its BL focus, but, as lovely as Love Sick is, it sprawls across flatter characters in its focus and fails to celebrate the breadth of queerness in some harmful ways. On the other hand, SOTUS, in pacing, casting, characterization, and theme development, links BL to a plot-driven Western style and decidedly queer perspective. There's a reason it was the show to begin the more intense global interest in BL series.

Below the cut, you'll find my review about the qualities that made SOTUS so outstanding to me.

SOTUS initially struck me with the tightness of its dialogues and cuts, especially compared to many other Thai BLs that I've seen, which have a bawdy theatrical spaciousness in their tempo, more in line with broad comedy or soap opera, telenovela, and Thai lakorn. Not so in SOTUS. It gives time enough for its actors to emote but orients toward storytelling precision. Plot-forward Thai BL comparables I've seen so far might be Not Me or Moonlight Chicken. Unlike those series, SOTUS won't be any cinematography nerd's dream, clearly limited by its budget in this matter, but it works hard to keep the limits of a small budget from distracting. The cheaply licensed scoring music, for example, is surprisingly effective, its repeated pulsing dread adding to the momentum ignited by the SOTUS initiation of the freshman at Thai universities.

Senior year of high school, I selected universities for application based on my fear of hazing. No fraternities near campus for me. The gendered organization and reputation for homophobic cruelty were existential threats to me as a closeted teenager. For many gay men, including myself, frat houses and initiation ceremonies were also sites of homoerotic fantasy. Thus is the duality of gay experience.

The Thai hazing context differs from the US (no gender segregation, for example), but the series mines the same psychological tension between danger and eroticism with its controversial use of the real-life SOTUS hazing induction system--the abbreviation stands for Seniority, Order, Tradition, Unity, and Spirit--to ground its queer romance. The actual implementation of it at Thai universities has more issues than the show depicts and, while the series' hazing is a form of bullying that can trigger some, the mildness of the abuse depicted ought to be stated, especially when compared to American ideas about hazing abuse and queer media's depictions of homophobic violence. SOTUS portrays shouted verbal instructions and physical endurance trials as the means of degradation, with no physical violence and reprimands with consequences when its believed seniors have disrespected their charges or put them at risk.

Rather than a critique of the SOTUS system itself, the system provides the organizational hub for the series' broader societal commentary, and itts treatment elevates the show to the likes of Friday Night Lights or Skam. Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice title was taken from a line in Fanny Bruney's Cecilia about the two faults being both the cause of miseries and the reason for their termination. The series treats the SOTUS system and everything else within in the same manner: with complexity rather than binary keep-it-or-leave-it moralism. The S.O.T.U.S. values parallel the confines of a deeply imperfect society that when seen as strictly authoritarian pass down rules and pain from the elder generation to the the next. However, when viewed and practiced as the series encourages by the end of its story through a more nuanced understanding of the Asian filial philosophies at play, the values of seniority, order, tradition, unity, and spirit also invite compassion and affinity flowing in both directions across the generations.

The slowly emerging slight but significant age-gap romance between righteous freshman Kongpob and head 'hazer' Arthit is the central device for this exploration, but every element and scene, from the side couples to the food orders, develop our sense as viewers of the social order that the show wants to address. And the scenes move like well-lubricated assembly-line machinery toward their final purpose. It's obsession-inducing.

Despite the machinery of SOTUS's pacing, it delicately fashions its character and an environment gently permeated by homophobia and misogyny. Celebratory moments occurred to highlight themes without drawing attention to themselves, heterosexual coupling and marriages, for example, or a classmate coming out. Slurs surfaced casually, too, and old-fashioned masculinities were performed not as major plot points, spectacles of violence, or lessons for characters to immediately learn from, but to illustrate how inherited ignorance and constraints bear down almost invisibly on the characters. No one was demonized or ostracized for their ignorance, not because the writers view their actions positively but because they view their ignorance as a product of systematic failings, failings each generation can and will attempt to improve upon as they inherit the reigns. No one generation will make it all perfectly right. They are only human.

You can feel that humanity in the way the characters are written. All of the characters are distinguishable and interesting. They're written well and performed with heart. We have actual girls just chilling and being friends in a BL series, which was historically novel. Ingenues and horny girls and shy lesbians. The guys are recognizable guys, which is another feature Thai BL does exceptionally well. There are some dorks, some bros. The best friend in the freshman group is shy with strangers but open with his friends and fierce on the basketball court. I've known people like these. They are characters that are broad enough to recognize from a distance (or less screen time) but not simple stereotypes.

Then, on top of this you have the casual trans, gay, and nonbinary inclusion of bit parts and side characters that, to this day, only Thailand is doing in its shows to this extent. Its just impressive to see that their BL industry started off from the get-go at this level. But in SOTUS its not simply casual inclusion, either. These characters, unlike comparable characters in Love Sick, delineate moments of queer kindness that blur the understood hierarchical order of the initiation system and the heteronormative order holding our romantic leads back. In subtle ways they offer queer guidance and a model to Kong on his journey.

Then there's Kongpob and Arthit at the queer center of it all. Ugh! These two characters! These two performances! In Singto's watery sphynx-like eyes, in Krist's clinched jaw, in the electrified space between their bodies that the characters must restrain themselves against crossing, these are the heights of longing the romance genre can reach at its peak. There's an inner pain in these characters. That pain is old-school romance and its old-school queer pain.

I've read complaints about the physical intimacy in this show that I realize after watching the series are ignoring the characterizations of repression and inexperience that impact every interaction between Art and Kong, even their kisses. They aren't on the het timeline, instead having their first kiss and relationship in college, which is why SOTUS aligns with the teen drama genre so well despite its university setting. The greenness of their physical affection (we see it grow more competent and comfortable as the show progresses), however, belies an emotional chemistry that's intense, erotic, and intimate. Many more explicit BL scenes feel tame compared to Arthit grabbing Kong's shirt in rage or whispering in his ear in front of a waiting taxi.

I'm looking forward to SOTUS S and its Our Skyy episode to see more about KongArt's partnership, because their characters resist the seme/uke categorization of the BL genre they emerge from (which are also basically the stereotypes of top and bottom that gay men placed on themselves lol). Their ages and behaviors are reversed from the expected, first off. Kong, the younger, pursues, making him technically the seme and Arthit the uke, character definitions that also indicate sexual preferences of top and bottom. This wasn't unheard of in BL texts from what I've read, but less typical. Then there's the matter of Arthit being the one who initiates physical affection, partly due to Kong's regard for his challenges with internalized homophobia. Apparently, even the pronouns used between the pair are an intimate negotiation rather than an accepted order, returning us to the more complex ways the S.O.T.U.S. acronym can be enacted.

Plus, Kong's played by Singto with impressive power and confidence that's still soft-spoken, slippery, sibilant. To my trained eyes, its a character with mannerism and speech that are legibly gay. Not so legible that all his peers will notice, but he's clockable for queer eyes and worrisome for those afraid of deviation from the norm. For me, this is Thailand's biggest BL breakthrough (and its persisted down this path*) because, for many in the LGBT+ community, challenges begin well before anything to do with sexual attraction.

Gender deviance is the key issue. I was teased by a classmate at 8, well before I had a sexuality, that when I walk I move my hips like a f*gg*t. Don't worry. He wasn't totally wrong. I have a killer strut and I own it now. His antagonism wasn't about who I liked; it was my swish, my non-masculine behaviors. The hatred of gender deviance (and its misogynistic reasoning) is the underlying bogeyman for much of homophobia. Even plenty of men who are perfectly happy to have sex with men, at least where I live in the US, take issue with effeminacy. (Try finding the most overt lesbians on tv outside of OITNB, too!) That applies to audiovisual media, too. Unless comedic, consumers have tended to be more excited about queerness when the bodies and expressions appear in-line with gender expectations. The power of Thai BL and Singto's performance of Kong is how it opened space in the market and audience's minds to take queer affects seriously in young adult romance.

It's no surprise, then, that Kong forges friendships with the characters who are overtly LGBT during the series. The associations made between Kong and the fullness of the LGBT spectrum provides a more complex context for the show's choice to include him expressing the BL trope of 'only gay for you.' While it's a harmful concept broadly, the show seems to be using it subversively. How much more regressive it would've felt coming from Arthit! With Kong and all of his queer associations, it plays as the words of a gay romantic. With the diversity of coming-outs and identity-naming we now have in BL, Kong's moon-eyed statement made on the night his boyfriend comes out for him holds less of a harmful influence on the whole.

Context is just as important to the oft-critiqued scene where Kong says that he'll make Arthit his wife. Based on what I'd read and how impactful and problematic people felt it was, I thought the statement had been a romantic declaration late in the series. Imagine my surprise when it occurred in the first episode as an attempt by Kong to disrupt the patriarchal power of the seniors. Rather than illustrating the show's belief about gay relationships being the same as straight relationships, the scene points to the patriarchal assumptions the series intends by its end to disrupt. The exchange gets reenacted when the freshman decide to act it out at the faculty beach outing for everyone. The seniors interrupt, and the freshman fear they're about to be punished for disrespecting their elders only to find out they're being invited to finally celebrate their inclusion into the faculty. It's denied fruition as a tool to dis-empower and a true testament of Art and Kong's relationship.

It's at the beach where the freshman are given their gears, one of the many examples of how the series used symbols with significantly more depth than the copy-cats that tried to make bank by using the exact same motifs later. The proceeding BL engineers owe not a debt but an apology to SOTUS. The engineering faculty fit perfectly with the show's questions about systems and how individuals fit into them. We have these gears, which could simply be cogs in a machine that forces you to fit in and lose your humanity, but SOTUS envisions the gear as a heart, something unique, attempting to find its place and fit its grooves within a greater purpose. Its a symbol of authentic belonging.

The pink drink, which could've simply served--and has served in other series since--to be a symbol of pink gay girly tastes, is more fully used to emphasize Arthit's stubborn desire for familiarity, his inexperience (in trying other drinks), and a certain childishness in his preference for sweetness, a childishness that humanizes him to his freshman paramor. A trade even occurs with the drink, shifting all these meanings onto Kongpob as he begins to face his own prideful assumptions about his own righteousness.

Beyond all the English teacher symbolism and queer value, though, SOTUS is just the kind of well-told romance that will make you swoon. Despite a low budget and simple plot, its performances, editing, and most of all its script mesmerize. People shouldn't watch it as a history lesson. Its too entertaining to be relegated to that. Labeling it as simply historically important doesn't do it justice.

SOTUS stands tall among teen dramas, a literary work in a genre that doesn't require those heights; SOTUS stands tall among queer media peers, paving new lanes for queer storytelling and performances to walk down; and SOTUS stands tall among its BL peers. Clearly many of the greats in Thai BL, like 1000 Stars, Bad Buddy, and Until We Meet Again, aim to evoke their predecessor, more out of love and awe than an apology (as has been suggested by others). The ways they differ seem to be additions and diversification of queer narratives rather than a critique. SOTUS is simply one of those Great Stories. It inspires binging, revisits, investigations, and, most importantly, the biggest feels. Watch it now if you haven't. Watch it again if you have. Its not a piece of history. Its the kind of story that doesn't get old.

*Thank goodness for LITBC bringing Korea some overtly gay characters. Japan's got a few options--KENJI!--but not enough for my liking yet. I haven't seen enough of the other country's output to make a judgment.

Tagging @dropthedemiurge for being the biggest supporter of my new-found SOTUS obsession and @respectthepetty for the petty watch that got me over my lack of motivation to watch this series! Petty was half-joking but also so right about the kink undertones to this relationship!!!

There are certainly more versed BL history experts so feel free to let me know about any mistakes I made with my history! I'm just a broad and casual tv history and queer fiction and history fan tryna share my new-found BL joy.