#and i’m going to assume people will accept that. because there’s nothing else i can do

[scholarhect]

so last night i did half my phil midterm. i went to only one of my classes today, the phil class, and there i realized i had defined the difference principle as the whole second principle of justice when it’s supposed to be just the first part. so i came home and chilled for a few hours, as i figure i have the right to do, and then my friend said hi & said i look worse than yesterday, even though i had been feeling better, and now since then i’ve been very tired, but i looked at my midterm and rewrote my answer so that it only says the difference principle is that first part, but i didn’t really change any of the logic of my answer. and that’s all i did. and i’m thinking about going to bed soon

[itsmaferart]

That may well be a sensible move...

Spoiler warning ahead: I’ve noticed that many people seem to feel a disconnect with Twilight, especially because of his seemingly polite indifference toward Yor and her feelings. In the latest chapter, some interpreted that he’s considering replacing her with Fiona… but honestly, I’d like to offer a different perspective:

From the very beginning of the chapter, we see something unusual: Twilight can’t focus — not even on Handler’s orders. This is significant because, although he’s always been under pressure from Operation Strix, we’ve never seen him lose his composure like this.

Sylvia notices it immediately: Twilight is mentally somewhere else entirely.

It’s interesting how many people took his earlier reaction as indifference or a polite rejection of Yor… when in reality, Twilight isn’t even fully processing what Yor is trying to tell him. He doesn’t realize she’s sending subtle signals — that she wants their marriage to be real, that there are feelings involved. He just doesn’t get it.

This connects back to the "honey trap" moment, when Twilight hastily (but accurately) assumed that Yor was romantically jealous of him and — absurdly — tried to seduce her while she was drunk, only to receive a (well-deserved) punch.

Clearly, his spy logic was flawed and poorly executed, and that’s why he ended up being punished — because he was actively about to manipulate Yor’s emotions.

Back then, yes, Yor was feeling jealous, but she was also struggling with trust and self-worth — with her role as a fake wife, a mother, a woman, and her value within the household. Twilight was honest with her when he talked about his mother, and he also gave her the validation and support she desperately needed at that time.

But this time… things are not so simple.

Now, Yor is fully aware of her feelings — and her selfish desires — so any "right" answer Twilight might give her feels just as dissatisfying as Yor expect.

And I dare say that, between the two of them, Twilight is the one who’s been most affected by that conversation.

While Yor is —painfully, yes— reaching a certain clarity about her feelings, Twilight is spiraling into a pit of confusion and anxiety he doesn’t know how to escape.

Because yes, Yor is affected. She feels insecure, a bit frustrated, and she believes she doesn’t deserve to be loved in return. But she knows what she feels. She can name it, even admit it in front of her daughter. That gives her a certain kind of freedom — even if she has to keep it hidden.

Twilight no.

Twilight only feels that something is wrong, and his mind keeps alerting him that something is missing. That he said the right things, that the agreement is still in place... and yet, nothing feels right. Nothing feels clear. Everything has turned into internal chaos because Yor seems slightly distant.

And it’s precisely in this vulnerable state that Fiona pulls her classic move: “What if I became your new wife now?”

And the surprising part is… Twilight seems to accept.

This just confirms that Fiona is more attached to the idea of winning Twilight as a challenge than out of genuine love. The moment she gets what she wants, she’s both terrified and relieved that it didn’t actually happen.

But no — It’s not that he wants to replace Yor. The truth is, Twilight is suffering from mental fog.

He’s running on autopilot, and his mind is desperately asking for a break.

Even Fiona is thrown off. She clearly expected the usual script: he politely rejects her, and she silently repeats, “Someday, I’ll be your wife.” But no. Twilight responds with a soft, “Oh… well, yes…”

At that point, Fiona could have said:

"I’m going to parachute into a pack of grizzly bears — wanna come along and take a break from Strix?" And Twilight would’ve replied: “Oh, yeah… sounds like a good idea.”

In fact, the other agent present notices everything — that Twilight, like any man, is clearly being affected by being married.At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if Sylvia and he end up connecting the dots: Twilight is emotionally involved… more than he himself can see (if they haven’t already figured it out).

Because in any other scenario, Twilight would have rejected Nightfall like always — he’s not interested in replacing Yor.

She’s the one who’s truly thrown him off, who has awakened something real. He’s defended her as his wife more times than even Fiona can tolerate.

But now, he’s simply… overwhelmed. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, what Yor expects from him, what’s expected of his role, or even what he should feel.

And his defense mechanism is keeping him trapped in fear, anxiety, and exhaustion.

Because according to him, every problem stems from ignorance. If he doesn’t understand what’s happening to him, then it must be because he still doesn’t know enough. What he doesn’t realize is that, this time, logic doesn’t hold the answer.

And maybe — just maybe — this is the beginning of his true emotional growth. Whether it leads to healing… or to completely falling apart.

Tell me what you think

[michanvalentine]

Of course, Astarion wants to ascend. He wants it so much, it’s as clear as day. He has never hidden how much he ideally likes the idea of power—to elevate himself from his current position, to ensure his safety, to bend others to his will (instead of being the one who is bent). And if he can also walk in the sun and never feel the hunger pangs again, even better!

But let’s not forget that Astarion has a limited worldview. Cazador himself says it in one of his confrontations with Tav/Durge: "He is afraid. He is afraid because all he has ever known is you and me, and without us, he is nothing."

Astarion does not have a well-developed sense of self, and by default, he also lacks many of the skills that a well-adjusted adult should possess. So, to navigate life, he can either rely on the worldview presented by Cazador (power, power, power, and more power—to place himself above others) or the one offered by Tav/Durge, assuming they are a heroic figure. Otherwise, the only perspective left is that of power, and Ascending becomes almost natural in an evil playthrough (which I myself did in my villain run). Ascending Astarion in a good playthrough, however, seems completely contradictory to me, but whatever…

Let’s not forget that power is not Astarion’s driving force—power is only a means to an end. His real driving force is fear, as both Cazador and Scleritas emphasize. He would do anything to feel safe (like becoming a half-Illithid if scared enough by Tav/Durge—even though he rejects that idea with every fiber of his being, and yet…). The scene with the dryad, Naoise Nallinto, in Astarion’s origin run makes it crystal clear: when she uses her power on him, among all the possible choices (wealth, respect, power, etc.), Astarion’s personal wish is to feel safe, not power—even though power is explicitly one of the options. But it’s not his!

Oh, and Astarion himself spells it out, right before the final decision between Ascending or not. His exact words: "One final thrust, and I'll be free of you. I will never have to fear you again. And if I complete the ritual you started, I'll never have to fear anyone. Ever."

Everything revolves around fear, which is once again emphasized in the insight check—where it becomes obvious what is driving him and what is simultaneously holding him back from making a rational decision. Because while it’s true that he wants to ascend, he also wants to redeem himself. Well yes, it's shocking, folks, but two completely opposite desires can exist within the same person. They're called internal contradictions, and we all experience them every day or almost ("Oh, damn, I want to go out with my friends tonight, but I also want to just lie on the couch and watch TV").

Let’s not pretend this character is one-dimensional and that all these dialogue lines don’t exist when discussing Astarion. Of course he wants to ascend—he wants it so badly. The point is understanding why he wants it. And then questioning whether giving in to that fear is truly worth it, considering the consequences and what he would be giving up (because even Ascending comes with its own sacrifices, and I’m not even talking about his soul or the 7,000 people).

That’s why, if they choose to, Tav/Durge can intervene and make him reflect on the alternative (which, depending on how you play your Tav, could have been introduced to him from the very beginning of the adventure—it’s not something that just comes out of nowhere, unless you’re playing completely incoherently).

And it’s Astarion himself, in one of the most beautiful dialogues in the entire game, who explicitly states this lesson he has learned. When Durge is overcome with despair and fear—just like him—and tries to end the relationship, Astarion says: "This little adventure of ours has taught me that we can't let our lives be ruled by fear, or else we'll never truly live."

He has understood. He has grown. He has accepted that uncomfortable emotion and has decided not to be consumed by it—to choose for himself without letting fear dictate his actions. And I couldn’t be prouder of him.

One last thing, because I’ve seen it repeated a lot on social media: Ascending is not Astarion’s lifelong dream—it is Cazador’s dream. Astarion didn’t even know this kind of ritual existed until five minutes before it happened, so no, Tav/Durge is not cruelly ripping away his lifelong dream just for the sake of moral superiority. And above all, they are not forcing him to give it up—but I’ve already talked about this before, and I’m not going to repeat myself.

[salemlunaa]

Salem. Sorry for this ask but I am just heartbroken.

I honestly trusted pink

She was the void blogger

She got exposed btw

Her success stories are fake

I feel so heartbroken cuz I have seen many bloggers lie and the loa and void is my only hope. I want to fully revise everything about myself

I am just tired

Idk who to trust

Because I need some sort of assurance that I am not just a daydreamer and that I can actually change my whole life. I want to respawn.

I don't know who to trust

I am scared

I am fighting myself to not unalive myself but my hope that I can manifest a whole new life is the only reason I am still breathing.

I know that I have to just assume and not believe in loa but if I am manifesting a new life I need to know that I am actually right and it is possible

i’m just hearing about this, is it true?? where did you see this? because all i’m seeing is people saying it on my timeline without any proof, so let’s not believe everything we see first of all. And let’s not allow it to throw us off our game secondly

edit to add: i did some background checking and unfortunately the accusation does hold some weight, still this doesn’t matter, at all. And cannot affect you!!

whether it’s true or not it doesn’t matter. YOU are god. YOU call the shots, she is just mere human being, just like i am. Just like everyone else is in your POV. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do not let any allegedly fake stories or doubters get you into a slump.

It’s already done, creation is finished, all you have to do is believe you have it, not believing in someone else. I’m going to give you an analogy: Let’s say you brought a brand new Mercedes and You post it on social media, you gain an online friend who also has a Mercedes and you bond over your love of cars. If you found out that friend lied and never had a Mercedes, would that mean your Mercedes in your garage would immediately vanish? go poof?

What about if you and your friend got accepted into the best university in your country, you found out she lied and never even applied. Does your place in that university disappear? No. Of course it doesn’t

if it’s already done all this noise shouldn’t matter

Nothing can screw up your “I AM”, You either have it or you don’t. Please do not do anything to yourself, Why would you if you already have what you want. Enjoy the your success, because everything is mental, mental success = physical success. So if you imagine it, you have it. Imagine a totally new life, congrats it’s yours, you’ve “respawned”.

Don’t let all this delude you into thinking you don’t have what you want. No one can take away what you’ve already claimed as yours. Not even a trivial rumour 💝💝💝💝

if you put yourself on the same pedestal you put these popular bloggers on, you would have everything you ever wanted. let that sink in

[likelysobbing]

𖥻 the sun so bright. kk arnold x lowkey npc!reader

synopsis: you don’t know if kk arnold, #2 in jersey and #1 in your heart, likes girls. well, more specifically, likes girls like you.

notes: guys this is my humble offer to the fans. please accept it even tho it is lowkey dogwater i swear i do better with headcanons lmfao aslo MAJORLY UNPROOFREAD LOL

cw: reader’s a uconn ncp LMAOOO she’s an average student and thats gonna be a big part of the fic, readers down bad for kk but aren’t we all, reader and kk love eachother, established friendship, kind of friends to lovers and subtle sun & moon trope (subtle i say, subtle it IS NOT.)

you don’t know if kk arnold likes girls.

well, you can assume that she does, with the tiktok audios she uses and her tomboyish fashion sense (would that be the right word to use?), you can assume that she does.

but even then, you don’t know if kk arnold likes girls like you.

kamorea is the sun.

brighter than most, bringing her light toward select places and people, blinding them with her own smile—kamorea is the sun. she’s a bit more… out there; a complete social butterfly that just never seems to die out, always fluttering around and landing on people … worthy enough, if you were to describe it. she’s the sun, the burst of energy everyone needs—especially on the court.

kamorea shone bright, and when she dimmed, she did not do it for long. there’s a spark in her, one that refuses to go out. it likely never will. she would possibly always be like this; surrounded with the ambition to be the best she could be and the curiosity to match it, it was no doubt that kamorea— kk, would go far. nothing was holding her back.

so why did she choose to stop?

and why was it because of you?

uconn was what you made it.

it could be good, it could be so horrifically bad, and that was up to you. there was rarely ever a middle ground, apparently; you either had lots of friends, fun, and as a result a scary amount of school spirit— or you couldn’t stand the academic rigor—or, just, rigor—uconn threw at the back of your head, and you ended up face first in the abyss of burn out and loneliness.

there was rarely ever a middle ground, but here you were.

balanced.

good grades, a group of friends, a little bit involved in organizations and clubs, maybe you even went to a game here and there—there was balance. in the sea of university life, you did not stand proud at the prow of one of the bigger ships— you aren’t walking the plank, either, though. you are merely… keeping yourself afloat.

all this to say you are painstakingly average.

and yet, here you are, and here kk—the little social butterfly— is, sitting next to you because apparently when you returned her pen to her she started seeing you around a lot more and took that as a sign to land on you.

you look at here and you only really see light. nothing else; just light.

you listen to her speak about paige (bueckers, uconn’s #5. an… unnaturally big hit with the ladies—but you understand) and how the girl nearly ‘snatched her tru fru from her own damn hands’. you listen to her speak about basketball and the logistics of it all even if you know next to nothing about it and continue not to because you only ever absorb information when it’s the sound of her voice you hear.

you listen to her speak.

and your mind starts wandering.

you don’t know if kk arnold likes girls.

girls like… average girls. girls that aren’t all that to write home about. not because they’re insecure and just can’t seem to see themselves as ‘amazing’, but because they’re actually average.

you don’t know if kk arnold even likes you. you look at her and you see the sun, and she looks at you and she just—

“you good?”

you blink.

her hand is on top of yours, palm on your knuckle as you snap out of whatever you had been zoned in on (her; it’s always her). she’s smiling slightly, eyebrow raised. you don’t know if shes fighting a small, awkward laugh or just.. genuinely concerned. or both.

“yeah, yeah i’m good. just thinking.” you reply,

“what could you be thinkin’ about? girl, i been here yapping your ear off for like a good ten minutes…” kk trails off, a chuckle escaping her. it’s true, she has been. that’s exactly what you’re thinking about. she’s been here.

why is she still here?

there are better things to do. there is more she can possibly find interesting than sitting here yapping your ear off (eventhoughyoucan’thelpbutlookforwardtoit), there is more to her world than just these little moments with you— so why does she extend them? there is more to her. there’s more she should be doing. your eyes flicker to her for a moment, and she tilts her head, waiting for an answer—“what? you gonna keep staring or something?” she teases, that same lilt in her voice that has you pulling at the hem of your shirt. kk shrugs, smug, “yeah, i know, sometimes you just gotta stare thats coo—“

“why are you still here.”

it slips out of your mouth naturally, and kk’s smile? it doesn’t drop. it gets wider.

it’s odd. you expected a great wave of sass and attitude.

regardless, you jump to explain yourself, “sorry, that wasn’t—“

“nah, i know you ain’t mean it that way.”

“i know, i’m sorry, i—“ you pause. “wait.” there’s a beat of silence where you just stare at eachother—you not believing she’s not mad over it, and her just blinking at you with that dorky smile on her face. “what.” you say; you’re confused, obviously, because … well, what? what??

“why am i still here? mm, yeah, let’s think about it—“ she claps her hands together, rubbing them warm as she nods her head and pretends to think on it. she is not, infact, thinking on why she’s still here. she’s thinking about you.

but you? you don’t know that.

you’re out of your mind terrified under a newfound sense of scrutiny from her that isn’t like the usual friendliness she regards you with.

so when she opens her mouth, you open yours and you both speak at the same time:

“i like you.”

“i can leave.”

your eyes widen in disbelief,

“what?!”

kk nearly jumps trying to stop you from standing up,

“no, don’t leave!”

by then, you’re whisper-yelling at eachother.

“what do you mean you like me?!”

“what else would i mean?!”

“why would you like me?!”

“does there have to be a reason?!”

that stuns you.

does there have to be a reason?

kk looks at you, pretty features in a frown, eyes twinkling with a smidge of hope you don’t want to crush. a smidge of hope you … can’t crush at all.

“i didn’t—“ i didn’t know you liked girls, you want to say. i didn’t want to assume. kk doesn’t flinch when she interrupts you and says, “i do. if you’re thinking about that one live, i think it was pretty obvious i was bullshittin…?” she grins, referring to when she announced she had a ‘boyfriend’. as if.

you blink. oh. kamorea laughs and you feel warmth, and the hand on top of yours squeezes you tighter.

oh, you soften, okay.

your hand turns, your palm against hers, your fingers intertwining, your eyes widening slightly as hers crease with the impossible widening of her smile, and she laughs. again. as if this is the funniest thing she’s ever seen, as if your sudden shyness is amusing enough to acknowledge, and god bless her soul.

you want to hear that laugh forever.

kamorea is the sun.

brighter than most, bringing her light toward select places and people, blinding them with her own smile—kamorea is the sun.

you feel your skin warm at the sight of her and the feel of her fingers on your skin, intertwining with your hands—and yet, just as one does to the sun, you look for more of her light in the crook of her neck and the flutters you feel whenever she gives you a kiss.

you are the moon.

you don’t complete her. you complement her. that’s everything she wants.

without you, kamorea would continue to shine, but with you—she shines brighter. she completes you, brings you fullness, makes you whole, and with the way she giggles during kisses? the way she runs to you first after every game, win or loss? the way she keeps you close, especially when you try to pull away?

there is no moon without the sun.

—and there is no you without her.

@likelysobbing.

[fanfics-i-find-here]

Do I Know You? Part 15

Synopsis: You’re angry at Red Hood, not Jason.

Notes: so, this got really angsty at the end. I don’t know what happened. I knew ya’ll where so excited to have our boy back, and everything with Jason is fine, but Red hood… it's rough. Anyway, I guess, enjoy?

Masterlist

When you woke from your nap, you did a mild pick-up of your apartment (not really, just moved things around so it looked more organized), then you sat on your couch to watch TV. You hated it. Your mind would lose focus and wander to other things, things you didn’t want to think about. It led to you staring at your hands far too many times, picturing blood that was no longer there.

You noticed that your knuckles were dried out, cracking a little. It was odd. In the three years you’d lived in Gotham, you never had an issue with dry skin, considering it was an island on water. You rub at the chapped skin and realize you’ve been overwashing your hands without thinking about it. Neither the girls nor Jason had mentioned it, although with how you keep your apartment, you imagine they didn’t think anything of it. You were having a serious Macbeth moment that worried you, but what else could you do?

At the usual designated time slot, you unlocked your window and waited. And waited. And waited. Nearly three o'clock in the morning, you startle awake on your couch. You practically jump over to the window, having heard a noise on the fire escape, but you find nothing more than one of the neighbor's cat on the fire escape. It blinks at you before scampering up the stairs on the escape. You sigh and accept that he isn’t coming tonight.

The upset that had simmered over the past few days returns. You collect his jacket from where it hangs by your door and march to your window. You shove it open, shivering from the cold air, and toss the jacket onto the escape. There was no reason for you to hold onto it. If he wanted it, he could come and get it because obviously, he didn’t want to talk to you, so you didn’t want to talk to him.

You went to bed upset and tossed and turned for the rest of the early morning. By seven o'clock, you gave up on the idea of sleeping. You paced around your apartment before you came to an understanding with yourself. Cass and Steph were right, you couldn’t stay at home forever. That, and you really needed a distraction, even if it was only for four hours.

****

Jason had been worried on patrol all night. Steph and Cass had reported to him that overall, you seemed okay, if not a little overwhelmed in crowded places. He was shocked when they said they had taken you shopping, surprised you willingly left your apartment. He was mostly happy to know that you were on the up-and-up of your traumatic experience much faster than he would’ve thought. Or at least a little bit. They had told him that while you hadn’t rushed them out the door, there was a certain relief on your features as they were leaving, no doubt about finally having an evening for yourself after constantly having people around.

It’s the reason he didn’t show up that evening, at least that you saw. He had stopped by in his old way, across the street on the roof, around one in the morning. He could see your TV running and spotted the lump that was you asleep on the couch. White noise, he assumed. The TV would be better than silence. He didn’t even check the window, just threw a longing glance at your apartment before moving on his patrol, you constantly in the back of his mind. You clearly needed the time alone, which is why he was surprised when he received a text from you about mid-morning.

You: I’m going to work today walk me home?

He didn’t even respond; just picked up the phone and called you. You answered immediately.

“I only tease you about technology, I know you know how to respond to a text.” Is the first thing you say. Jason can feel the tension leave his shoulders just at the sound of your voice. He shakes his head and refocuses.

“Sweetheart,” had he paused, he would have heard the audible pleased sigh that escaped your lips at the name, “are you sure you're ready to go back to work?”

“I don’t really have a choice. I already called Jackie and told her I would come to work half a shift.” You're clearly making up a reason not to back out, dependable.

“I’ll call back and tell them you changed your mind.” He states, not wanting you to force yourself into it.

“Worry not, I haven’t changed my mind.” You tease. The lilt of your voice when you get like this was something Jason hadn’t realized he missed. You were doing better if your attitude was anything to show for it. After a moment of silence, Jason caught up in the sound of you getting ready for work, you repeat the question you had texted.

“Will you come walk me home?” He answers quickly, easily, despite how tired he was from his night of patrol and bad sleep (worrying about you).

“Course. What time do you get off?” There’s a clatter on the other end of the line (a surprised drop from how quickly he answered), and he’s about to ask if everything is okay, but you respond, rushed, about when you get off.

“And what time do you go in? I can walk you to work, too.” He offers. He hears you suck in a stuttered breath all movement stopping.

“It’s okay, Jay. Daylight hours, I’ll be fine.” You reassure him. Jason wouldn’t admit it aloud, but his stomach fluttered at the way you said Jay. You had never called him that before and even though it was just a shortened version of his name, you said it so sickly sweet that it got to him.

“Alright,” He concedes only because he knows you might berate him if he asked if you were sure about it. He manages to keep you on the phone until you're nearly to work, idle silence mostly filling the space between you two. He enjoyed learning that you talk to yourself sometimes as you get ready, and you will share whatever you see with him as you walk, a dog, some trash on the street, or a motorcycle that made you think of him. You had rushed a goodbye to him just as you opened the door to Jackie’s. He eyed the time. Four hours to waste.

Jason only lasted three hours before he showed up at Jackie’s. He parked his bike in its usual spot in front of your building and tried to take his time walking. It didn’t work. You were walking by with a plated muffin as he opened the door. Your eyes lit up when you saw him, and you greeted him happily.

“Jason!” You held the plate away from your body as you leaned towards him, and without thinking, he pressed a kiss to your temple, hand on your shoulder to steady you. When he pulls back to really look at you, he finds your under-eyes puffy and your eyes red, like you’d been crying. He’s about to ask you about it, but you were off to drop the muffin. He hesitates at the door, wondering if he should sit or wait for you to come back. You stop at the table and start talking to the customers. He takes that as his cue to sit down.

He brought his book like always, considering he was early anyway. He reads, periodically glancing up like you'll materialize right in front of him. He becomes focused on his book when you appear. You set his designated drink on the table and sit down in the booth next to him, sliding until your touching, thighs and shoulders pressed. You sag against the seat, and he nearly does the same. He turns his head to look at you, an odd angle, but he doesn’t want to pull away. Your hand wiggles where your thighs meet, and without a second thought, his fingers curl around yours.

“Hi.” Your voice is drained, but you look happy as you settle your chin on his shoulder to meet his eye.

“Hi,” he replies, and before he can ask you his question, you answer.

“I’m okay,” you say with a grin.

“Then why do you look like you’ve been crying?” He brings his free hand to press at your cheek, thumb rubbing at the delicate skin under your eye. Your eyes flutter, and you pull your face off his shoulder and out of his hand.

“Darla brought her granddaughter in.” Your eyes start to water again. “She was so cute and just so small,” your hand leaves his to show him, “Her little head fit in my hands.”

Jason nearly laughs at you for crying about a baby, but the way you pout at him makes him stop. He pats your thigh as a means to comfort you.

“Okay, but you seemed high-spirited when I came in,” he says. You roll your eyes and bring your hand up to swipe at a tear.

“Because Darla brought her granddaughter in,” you say it like it’s obvious, like he’s just being silly for asking the question. He gives you a look, and you shake your head.

“Between Darla and baby Claire, the girls, and you, it was a good reminder that life is long and not just the now. Not everything is bad, there’s still good in the world.” You add, picking at your cuticles. Jason understands now, maybe a little too much. He had spent a year trying to take over Gotham and get back at Bruce. A year with nothing good shining through the darkness. Focusing just on the bad will do that. You seem more even-balanced than he ever was. A silence settles between you two, it's not awkward, though. You stop picking at your hands and settle your head on his shoulder.

“I think I'm tired, too,” you murmur. “It’s making me a little sensitive, I think.” The silence returns, your hands threaded with Jason’s again, and he almost thinks you’ve fallen asleep until the door dings, and you’re up and out of the booth and in record time.

The next hour is spent easily. You’d return and sit for a little while and then leave to attend customers before coming back again. At the end of the work hours, you slide next to him, now apronless. You settle against his shoulder again, reading the book with him. At the end of the chapter, he closes the book and looks at you.

“Ready?”

 “As I’ll ever be,” you answer, sliding out of the booth and working to zip up your jacket. It's a new one, Jason thinks, having never seen it on you before.

“New Jacket?” Your hands stutter your movement at the question.

“I lost my other one, had to drag this one out of storage.” You mumble. Jason thinks for a moment, trying to figure out where you would have lost your jacket. He had seen you wearing it about a week ago before he remembers. When Red Hood pulled you out of the warehouse, he had given you his leather jacket because you didn’t have one. If you had been walking home, you would have been wearing one, which means it's either still in that warehouse or in a police evidence locker. Jason felt guilty for a moment, like he should have gotten you a new one so you didn’t have to drag one out for storage. One that had clearly seen better days based on the melted hole on the sleeve near your wrist.

You don’t give him time to question or offer because you're already headed for the door. He’s quick to rush ahead of you to open the door. You give him a smile with a scrunched nose like you might tease, but you keep your mouth shut. Once out the door and walking down the street, your gloved hand slips into his pocket where his hand was. Fingers curl together in the warmth of the pocket, and Jason has never been happier.

If he was completely honest, the almost two days away from you were ridiculously hard. You were like a drug to him, and his withdrawal made him antsy, waiting to see you again. Enough so that Damian had pointed it out while they were taking down an arms deal. Damian, who is so much like his father when it comes down to the mission. Jason had denied anything, but Damian had just given him a deadpan look that reminded Jason of when Damian was a baby in the league. He pulled himself together for the rest of the patrol.

Walking with you is much like walking with you on the phone, idle silence, and pointing at things of interest. The walk was slow, even though you looked tired and no doubt ready to be home. Once you reached your apartment building, Jason realized why.

“Thank you for walking me home, Jason.” Your touch slips from his, and you sway on your feet, unsure. You were really tired, exhausted even. It irked you that you only worked four hours and felt like you did a double shift. It probably didn’t help that you had practically bawled your eyes out when Darla brought in her granddaughter, a reminder of where life had started, how far you’ve come, and how far you have yet to go. She had shaken her head at you and let you hold the little girl longer than necessary.

Being so tired, you just wanted to sleep, but you didn’t want Jason to leave. During the time the girls were with you, beyond curiosity, you hadn’t really thought about him, but the moment they were gone was a whole other story. Without distraction, you had become conscious of a Jason-shaped gap in your chest.

You knew you liked Jason, that wasn’t news to you, but this was different. It was a tender, nearly guilty feeling. You felt like, perhaps, he was just indulging you and your affections in the last week because you had been through something traumatic. It's why you were not inviting him up to your apartment (and subsequently into your bed). You wanted to, desperately, having already come to terms with the fact that you sleep better next to him. But you can’t do it, not if he’s just gentle and sweet on you because that’s what you need right now.

He stares at you, and you shift on your feet. You feel like your old way of things are filtering back in. He turns without a word to his bike, same spot as always, and you think he’s going to leave without saying anything until he turns back to you. He holds a rectangular box, only a little bigger than your hand. He holds it out to you expectantly, a slight pink on his cheeks. He speaks as you take it and open it.

“I’m always more than willing to walk you to and from work, but if you're insistent about guilt-tripping yourself out of asking me, at least you’ll be able to protect yourself.” You glance up to glare at him for the guilt trip comment, but it falters when you see his knowing look. Inside the box is an unassuming smaller black box with grip grooves on the side. It kind of reminds you of an old Nokia phone. You pick it up and turn it over in your hand, confused.

“It’s a taser,” Jason says, your whole hand hold changes to two fingers holding it away from you. Jason laughs.

“It’s not a gun, sweetheart,” he takes it from you and edges into your space to show you how to use it. A button on the side to start the electricity startling you and he explains where to aim if someone grabs you and then he’s handing it back to you.

“And it’ll fit in your bag.” He adds like he’s trying to sell it to you. You glance at the said bag, then at the taser, then at him. He seems a little flustered, and it makes you grin; the tender, less guilty version of your feelings works its way across your body.

“Thank you, Jay,” his flush deepens slightly in a way that makes you want to tease him just to see how dark the red would get (or perhaps to see how low it would go), but you reel yourself in. You do stand on your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek that he seems pleased about.  He nods and pulls back to get his helmet.

“See you later?”

“yea”

He climbs onto his bike, and you take an appreciative glance, having forgotten how good he looked on his bike. He waves at you, and you return the gesture before he’s gone. You sigh as you climb the stairs into your building. You were in deep with this boy, and you had no idea what to do with it.

****

You did manage to take a nap, longer than you expected. Long enough to keep you awake in the middle of the night, which you had not planned. You’re sat at your island, sipping a warm lemon water trying to lull yourself to sleep when you hear the creak of the fire escape. Your whole body freezes. You know it’s Red Hood this time, the noise more obvious. You don’t know why you thought the cat yesterday was him. You hear a knock on the window.

You don’t move from your spot, instead taking another sip of your water, back still facing the window. You wait for him to leave. You had left his jacket out there the night before. There was nothing else he needed here.

He knocks, and you feel your upset and anger flare again. Why can't he just leave you alone? Can't he tell you don’t want to talk to him? You hear the squeak of your locked window opening, a cold breeze drifting in, and then the window closing. You finally turn to glare at him.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The jacket you had left outside is already draped on the back of a chair at the dining table. His helmet is off but still in his hands. You wish he had kept the helmet. His normal, hard-set features are that of a kicked puppy. Thank god his eyes were covered because if they weren’t, you would probably have folded at the sight of them. He suddenly seems hesitant, frozen mid-motion, to set his helmet down.

“What?” his voice is quieter than you think you have ever heard. Your chest aches. You missed him in the past four days, but you wouldn’t let that deter you. You were angry and rightfully so; he got you kidnapped.

“I said, ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I left your jacket outside and locked the window so you wouldn’t come in.” You regret the way you're speaking to him. This isn’t like you, but your outrage oversteps your regret.

“I just wanted to check on you,” he says, slowly setting his helmet on the dining table. You glare at the harsh red metal.

“I’m fine. Get out.” You say flatly. This was hurting you more than you’d like to admit. Red Hood was a friend, a good friend, but his presence led to the disaster that was that night in the warehouse. You got kidnapped because of him, and he didn’t even save you; you saved yourself, and you weren’t proud of it.

“It’s okay if you’re not. You killed someone. That’s not something you just get over.” He says. It wasn’t lost on Jason the fact that you hadn’t told anyone what happened with Ted Jackson. He had talked to Cass and Steph about it and had a long conversation with Bruce in Cave about it that Barbara had inserted herself into regarding what she knew from her father, unofficially, of course.

He takes a step forward, and you take a stunned half-step back. You press yourself against the island, despite him being nowhere near you. Your hands curl around the counter edge, and Jason can see your nails digging underneath. This had been what he’d been worried about. Every time he had badged you about how you were doing as Jason was him, trying to goad you into talking about this. He had worried that you had locked it away in your mind as something to deal with later, but he had already seen spurts of it leak into the way you reacted to things. Despite being hopeful that you would talk to Red Hood about it because he already knew, Jason is sorely disappointed when you just repeat your words.

“Get. Out.” Your words are hard, but your voice shakes as you speak them: “I want you to leave and never come back.” Your eyes are watery, but the rest of your features are set harshly. He’s surprised by it. He didn’t think you could look so…cold.

“Sweetheart,” he offers the name softly, trying to coax you into talking, but you cut him off, voice louder than before.

“You don’t get to call me that.” You point an accusatory finger at him, “You don’t get it. I want you out of my apartment, and I want you out of my life.” There’s a light streak of tears slowly moving down your cheek. Jason doesn’t like the way this conversation feels; his heart hurts in the way you speak to him, especially after knowing the blissful touch of your affection. He has to remind himself that you're talking to Red Hood, not to Jason.

“Listen-” He tries again, but now you’re wound up.

“No, you listen! A man is dead, and it’s all your fault his blood is on my hands.” You present your palms like the blood was still there. “I don’t want you here.” Your words are harsh as you yell, despite the tears streaming down your cheeks. Jason feels suddenly inept that he can't comfort you, can’t press into your space, and wipe away your tears. All he can do is stand there and watch you.

You were right, He thought to himself. If he had been quicker, gotten to you faster, saved you like the alleged hero he was, you wouldn’t have to be dealing with this. Regardless of his years of training, he hadn’t saved you. Sure, you were alive, but you had taken a life. Something you never should have had to do. And while he was proud of you at the time (part of him was still proud of you for it, but that was his secret), he’s upset with himself for even letting it happen.

“Okay,” he resigns as he digs a hand into his pocket, “but before I leave, I have something for you.”

“I don’t want anything from you.” Your voice is weak and choked, and he hates it. He pulls out the locket necklace he had Barbara make for you, and he presents it, holding it by the chain.

“Jewelry won't fix any of this.” You sniffle. He sighs at your comment. He wants to step closer to you, to hand it directly to you, but he won't. He pops open the locket to show you the button inside.

“It's an emergency alert,” he meets your reddened eyes, “you were taken, and I couldn’t find you fast enough. If something happens, press this button and someone,” he doesn’t offer himself, “will come find you and help you, one of the bats. We’ll all get an alert that you're in trouble.”

He places it on the table and picks up his helmet, sliding it on, pulling on his jacket. You haven’t said anything else, only staring at the gold locket.

“Wear it, please. If not for my peace of mind, then for yours. I’m sorry… for everything.” You still don’t say anything. He takes that as his cue to leave. Out the window and down the street, he doesn’t even wait on the roof to watch you lock the window.

He was genuinely hurt, if not a little surprised by how the evening went. He had planned to talk to you about what happened, to help you deal with it all, to give you someone to talk to. He hadn’t expected you to blow up at him like that, hadn’t realized how good you were at hiding your inner turmoil from the people around you. He understands, he thinks, why you are upset.

However, it just made his plans that much harder. He wanted to tell you about being Red Hood. Not yet, but eventually. But if you hate Red Hood, carrying a disdain for him, what would happen if he did tell you the truth? He had told himself before that if you hated him for Red Hood or his feelings, then that would be fine, but now, seeing the blank glare you had given him the entire time. He doesn’t think he could do it. It might actually kill him if you looked at Red Hood and Jason like that. Maybe it just won’t ever come out. Maybe he could hide it forever, right? That will work out just fine, he decides

****

The moment you see his figure disappear from the fire escape, you break down sobbing. You collapse on the floor and curl in on yourself. You hate this, you hate this. This ugly, complicated feeling, you hate it so much. Why? Why did you have to feel like this? You thought everything was fine, that you were over it, that you were dealing. It’s okay if you’re not. Both Jason and Red Hood had said something along those lines. Your stupid Jar rattles, and you wish it was real so you could chuck it at a wall.

As much as you hated the way you were feeling, you hated yourself more for how you spoke to him, hated the way you just let the words slip out. Words spoken in anger were the ones most regretted. You didn’t want him to leave your life forever. You wanted him to come back, to be there for you. Even if it was just to judge your cooking skills and tease you about your pickiness.

He was your friend, and you didn’t have a lot of those. Of course, you chased him off, letting your fear of loss hide under a shield of anger. You can't let a good thing last. Better to make it bad before it’s gone.

You sat on the floor, having your own personal pity party for longer than you're proud of. By the time you stood up, your hips ached from sitting on the hardwood floor. You throw a longing glance at the locket but don’t pick it up or go near it. You drag yourself into your bed and curl into a ball. You feel cold, sad, and ashamed. Ashamed for yelling and letting your emotions get out of hand. You cry yourself to sleep, wishing you could take everything back.

Additional Notes: I am so sorry about that ending. That was so rough. Anyways, next week is a filler chapter with Jason. Yay for complicated feelings. Thank you for reading. Let me know what you guys thought! <3 <3

Tag List: @little-miss-naill, @nikilolo787, @joonunivrs, @uzxotic, @qardasngan, @stormz369,  @g4bbi3xx, @iwatobiswimbros, @the-lonely-flute, @elz-xo, @gone-batty-fics, @princessesgarden, @notfckincreative, @love-theangel, @feyres-fireheart, @penguimlover23, @herodedicatedblog, @dearghostling, @automaticplant

[bimboficationblues]

Multi-step question, given that you're simultaneously more knowledgeable about law, and hate law more than, anyone else I know personally. (No pressure lol.)

So - when you try to imagine a future without law, what does it look like? At this point I'm willing to accept that if you could Thanos-snap the entire legal system out of existence and replace it with nothing at all, we would still by-and-large live better lives.

But I also don't think that's a fair answer to people who ask things like "how would we resolve disputes over killings etc.?" After pointing out that law doesn't handle these things well either, a lot of chains-of-reasoning seem to end. Most of the suggestions I've ever gotten on that point seem to identify the problem of law with codification, and seem to be basically okay with the concept of largely-unaccountable enforcers of moral justice (I'm including both the 'community accountability networks [i.e. groupchat with a goon squad]' people, and the 'replace prisons with asylums' people in this category.) To me, while I appreciate trying to have an answer, these answes completely defeat the point of getting rid of the legal system.

You don't have to have thoughts on this - but I'm noticing a dynamic where the people who have a thoughtful critique of law per se are hesitant to provide suggestions as to how to solve or at least equitably mediate serious interpersonal problems, and I worry about the consequences of forfeiting that question to the above weirdos claiming to have a better way.

I don’t think for me the problem with law is its codification, precisely for the reason you’ve identified here (inflexibility of a rule is a problem but so is overflexibility, for both enforcer and enforced). I’m going to try to not get too hung up on my critique of law in answering, because doing a generalized critique of law requires extensive genealogical work and I don’t have that kind of time right now. maybe if I commit ritual suicide apply to grad school. but the short answer is probably something to the effect of “reification and its consequences” and then rambling about security for five paragraphs

as far as a world totally without law, truthfully, I have been backing off of this at least internally. “[blank] abolition” as a mode of discussion has a tendency to get bogged down in arguments about conceptual semantics and comparative history and human psychology and competing moral intuitions. and those can be fruitful but they get increasingly distant from what was originally being discussed. I don’t think it totally matters if communist society were to have something that vaguely resembles a “state” or “family” or "law" or “gender” if you squint and quibble over what the supposed transhistorical all-purpose definition of these political formations are. what matters is what people are doing to, with, at, and around each other, what promotes their individual and collective flourishing, and what does not. I recognize that this comes with certain values assumed around humanism, “the good life,” ethics - I'm fine with that.

that said, I do not think an end to “politics” must mean the end of “deliberation and debate,” but rather the end of those things being the domain of elite specialists representing the interests of ruling classes or trying to balance class interests for the sake of perpetual reproduction. likewise, I do not think an end to “law” means the end of "rules" or more broadly "social expectations," even enforceable ones - but I would hope that there would be such radically different transparency of the relations, such radically different social roles and means of participation (ie no lawyers), that calling it law would be at least misleading or confusing from our current perspective.

I agree that people get skittish about writing recipes for future cook shops in ways that can be thought-terminating; I do this and truthfully, some of that is practical. being able to offer a completely coherent vision of social change that preemptively accounts for all hypothetical practical problems that could arise is both a fantasy, and matters less than people think in these discussions, a mistake that comes from confusing “politics” with ”speech and debate." the latter may still matter but it’s not the endpoint.

some of it is also personal - I think many people drawn to radical politics get frustrated, rightly or wrongly, at always being the ones who have to justify wanting things to be different while the mainstream basically needs no justification for its perpetual self-preservation (which is manifesting in increasingly depraved and cravenly inhuman ways on basically every front).

but some of it is conceptual! particularly with my view of what modern politics is, I think it’s pretty tough for us as “juridical subjects” (sorry to be pomo about it) to think beyond that kind of subjectivity. Consider what “law” is largely used for - punishing deviants, preserving property and trade, providing ~security~ of various kinds, providing general behavioral guidelines, maintaining day to day and long-term state administration. I think to reach the point of “no laws” (a thing I do not expect or really even plan to press for in my lifetime) a lot of other stuff would have had to change already. so it’s difficult to say in any way that isn’t nonsense what that world looks like, because the problem is too far downstream. I think this is the key insight of “commodity fetishism”: whatever our consciousness is, particularly about our participation in irrationalist or destructive concepts and systems, they still act as largely unavoidable conditions and constraints on our practical reasoning. so how do you get out of that? how do we think and act beyond law when it’s all we’ve ever known? I’m not sure, and maybe we can’t, but I think the question is worth asking so we can collectively try to answer it.

I think one difference between us on thinking about this is that I’m comfortable being a utopian and I’m comfortable in a largely negative critique without reasonably sure solutions. even if there is no better we can do as humans, every damning radical critique of our current world could remain true. if that’s a cop out, I will accept the label, but that’s my perspective.

[devious--muffin]

Development and Restoration

A one-shot for the @drarrymicrofic weekly challenge (and Summer Bingo!) Prompt: Rebuild

Bingo Squares collected with this fic: Pining, Roommates, Unusual Jobs (barely), Epistolary, and Fighting to Fucking

Dear Charlie,

I’m not saying you were right, but I should have taken you up on your offer. I thought I could disappear for a while and do some good, hide from the world while I help restore Hogwarts. While I am doing that, I’ve somehow found myself tied to Malfoy, of all people. He’s here too, probably mandated by the Wizengamot, and not only have we been partnered together on a project, but we have to share quarters. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t stand his pompous arse; it’s only been one night, and he’s already driven me out of the room with his bitching about cleanliness and order. How am I possibly going to keep my sanity?

-Harry

Dear Blaise,

I hope Italy is treating you well. I’m pleased to hear that you’ve made it safely, and I look forward to visiting as soon as my probationary period is up. You’ve likely heard, but I’ve been given the option to either return to Azkaban for six months, or assist in rebuilding Hogwarts. I’m sure you can imagine which one I chose. No, manual labor doesn’t appeal to me, but it certainly beats the alternative.

One thing I hadn’t considered when selecting this option was who else might be involved. Potter is here because, of course he is. He can’t keep himself from any philanthropic project, can he? We’ve been assigned to the same section, as well as the same quarters. If you don’t hear from me in a few weeks, please assume that one of us is dead and the other in Azkaban. (Though, would they really put the Savior of the Wizarding World in Azkaban?)

-DLM

Pans,

You won’t believe it. I’m living with Harry. Living with him! I can’t possibly express my enthusiasm in mere words. What if I see him in his pants? Merlin, I might have to AK myself, because my reaction will not be normal. I’m sleeping in the same room as him. I’m sharing his air, Pans! He’s a little messy, but I can fix him. Oh, and we’re working together to restore the Astronomy Tower, too! It’s just us, so we’re alone together basically all day every day. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.

-Draco

Dear Charlie,

The first thing I did was ask McGonagall for a room and assignment change. Do you know what she said to me? “We’re all adults, Mr. Potter. It’s time you two act like it.” What a load of bullshite. I’m sure she’ll feel differently when one of us kills the other in their sleep. Oh, did I mention Malfoy snores? Worse than a train! I can’t stand it.

What do you mean, “Maybe it’s the best thing for you”? Do you want me to lose my mind? We’ve already almost come to blows over a sock I dropped on the loo floor. A sock! If you see in the papers that I’ve been arrested for murdering Malfoy, please find me a fantastic solicitor. I’m certain, once I explain our history and these forced living arrangements, they’ll be able to get me off with a warning.

-Harry

Dear Blaise,

Not to worry, I’m completely unharmed. I’m going to ignore your comment about enclosed spaces and secret crushes, because not only was it crude but also completely inaccurate. Things have been going better than I anticipated, actually. Potter and I have had some verbal altercations, and there’s been a bit of shoving over his slovenly habits, but nothing unexpected.

I’m glad you’re enjoying your time in Italy. Do you have plans to return and finish your education here, or is there a program there that will allow you to complete your N.E.W.T.s? I’m still undecided on if I want to accept the offer Headmistress McGonagall has extended to us, to return for an Eighth Year. I don’t know if I can

-DLM

Pans,

I’m losing my mind. Certifiably. He leaves his clothing everywhere, and they all smell like him. I’m surrounded by the scent of Harry. Also, he’s adorable when he sleeps. I haven’t been watching him or anything; that would be creepy. You know I’m an early riser, and he sleeps until the last possible moment, so I’m treated to a vision of him curled up in a ball, hair wild and face soft, every morning.

He’s even cute when he’s trying to be threatening. I may have purposely riled him up over something insignificant, because he was attempting to ignore me. Ignore me, Pans. If I’d known how attractive he looked with that flush, or how hot his hands would be against my shoulders, I’d have done it much sooner. He pushed me against the wall! For a moment, I was completely at his mercy, and let me tell you, I practically melted. Merlin, I don’t know how I’m going to last these next few months. How far is too far to push someone?

-Draco

Charlie,

We’ve made some headway on the Astronomy tower. I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but Malfoy is actually kind of artistic. He designed this mural to stretch all the way up to the observation deck, and it basically tells the story of the war. You’d think he’d have skipped over his own involvement, or at least tried to downplay it, but he didn’t. I didn’t understand why McGonagall gave him such an important job, seeing as we have actual contractors on site, but I guess she knew he needed some kind of outlet. Someone else is going to paint it; Merlin knows if I tried, they’d have to cover it up immediately!

-Harry

Pans,

Something happened. I don’t know if I’ve just worn him down, or he’s being affected by something else, but Harry was actually nice to me today. I drew up plans for a mural for the Astronomy Tower (McGonagall asked me to. I bet it’s because she feels like I’m not contributing enough, but I like to believe it’s because she somehow knows I secretly like to draw), and Harry complemented me on it! He said, and I quote, “Wow, that’s actually really good.” Eeee! What do I do, Pans? Do you think he fancies me, too? Should I tell him how I feel, or would that be too much, too soon?

-Draco

Charlie,

I can’t believe we’re almost done. It feels like we’ve been rebuilding for years, but also only a few days. It was hard work, but I’m really proud of what we’ve accomplished here. I’ve learned a lot along the way; about myself, about others, about the castle. It’s been really healing to do something so labor-intensive and just be, instead of always feeling like I have to be careful of what I say or do in case it gets leaked to the papers or misconstrued by someone. I think all of us have sides that we don’t share with many people. Draco is very different from the person I thought he was. The war has changed him, as it has all of us, but he has a tender heart, which I never would have expected. The entire time I’ve known him, he’s always pretended to be this stuck-up git, better than everyone else and just a terrible person all around, but it’s all been an act. Every interaction we’ve ever had has just been a projection of who his family expected him to be, who his friends thought he was, and who he felt like he had to embody to be successful in life. It’s been really eye-opening to see all of that fall away and get to know the real person underneath.

-Harry

Pans,

What I thought was going to be the worst summer of my life has actually turned out to be, for lack of a better word, magical. He kissed me. He KISSED me! We finally sat down and really talked, got to know each other and peeled back all the layers of shite that we’ve built up between us. It’s amazing, but he’s exactly who I thought he was; selfless, kind, accidentally charming. Without the blinders of my father and his unyielding faith in the Dark Lord, I can see what practically everyone else already knew: Harry truly is a gift to this world.

It was freeing to finally show him who I am, and I guess he likes who that is, because he kissed me! We were chatting on the sofa, and I’d just told him a particularly difficult bit of my childhood, and he leaned forward with this look in his eye. It was fierce, like he was going into battle, and for a moment, I thought he was going to hit me. But, he reached out and grabbed the back of my neck, pulled me in, and before I knew what was happening, his lips were on mine.

It was fantastic, Pans. Best kiss I’ve ever had (don’t be offended). It was short, and he looked a tad embarrassed afterward, but I think we’re moving in the right direction! How soon is too soon to say ‘I love you’?

Just kidding! Also, did I mention that Harry Potter Kissed Me!?

-Draco

Dear Blaise,

Apologies for the delay in response, there have been quite a few new developments around here. It’s completely understandable that you would want to stay away from England for the time being; I can see why it might be difficult for you and your family. I’m still undecided on whether I will attend a second last year, but I think I’m leaning toward the positive. It would be nothing but helpful, to be able to say I finished my education even in the midst of a war.

I have to admit that you may have been correct about my and Harry’s interactions and potential relationship. We’ve both grown as people, and being forced together such as we are has really made us reconsider things. We’ve gotten on much better than I expected, and there may be some reciprocal feelings. Don’t go getting an inflated ego; this will be the one and only time I ever admit you were more accurate than I first suspected.

-DLM

Charlie,

I take back what I said at the beginning of the summer; I’m glad I didn’t go back to Romania with you. You’ll likely see this in the papers soon, but it wouldn’t be right not to tell you myself. Draco and I are together.

If you’d have told me a few months ago that we’d end up here, I would have laughed in your face, or possibly hexed you, but looking back on it, I feel like this was inevitable. We’re so different, yet so similar, and I think that’s what made us fantastic enemies. I hope it’s what will make us fantastic boyfriends, too.

I know what you and I had was casual, no labels or expectations, but I still feel guilty for moving on this way. Please tell me that you forgive me.

-Harry

[loviingpedri]

tasting blondies - mason mount and joe burrow

prompt: noticing a pattern in your love life.

joe b x reader

ex!mason mount x reader

warnings: grammar issues, cursing, arguing

click to help palestine

credits to owners for all images

sitting on the couch with you boyfriend, joe. you ran your fingers through his short hair.

“i can’t believe you did this.” you laughed as both of you smiled.

“yeah, me either. i decided to change it up for the summer. do something for the new season.” he held you tight, smelling his strong cologne.

“if it’s one thing, you look good. really good.” you clicked your tongue at the emphasis of the word ‘really’.

and that’s when the flashback hit you.

slowly touching his hair, admiring the white chocolate color. at the same time a few years ago, you would be ending a messy situation with a boy with a similar haircut, mason mount.

“is there something wrong?” joe asked you as your expression changed.

“no, nothing is wrong. something just came in mind.”

you love joe, seriously. the memories of june 2023 always come back to haunt you. meeting the famous other footballer, changing your life. you experienced so many things within a month. you were so attached, blinded by love, nothing would’ve seen it coming.

on mason’s summer vacation, he invited you to go to spain with him. of course you accepted, you wanted to see what this relationship could bring to your life.

in the end, it was pain, regret, and heartbreak.

joe was staring at your facial features and talking gently, “you can talk to me.”

“it’s nothing. just some old memories came back. it was never important anyway.” your cleared your throat, desperately wanting to change the topic on the conversation.

“is it about that one guy you told me about? mason mount, right?”

you looked at him, trying to find a good answer.

“yeah, but i don’t wanna think about him. he’s long gone in my life. i’m craving some brownies, what about you?”

laughing at you, “i think it’s funny, the guys sent in the group chat of him when i first showed my hair. they said it was funny how you’re dating another blonde now.”

“i never thought of that.” you laid your back on the coach, really taking in the information of the pattern you just figured out.

“you know, you never told me what happened with him.” you looked at joe, a lump formed in your throat.

————flashbacks————

“are you serious right now, mase?” you pushed him away from you as he was attempting to explain.

“it wasn’t like that!”

“you use that same fucking excuse for everything.”

“i’m not the one who followed someone else on this vacation.” he threw his arms up.

“everything is about you. isn’t it? i went on this vacation because i was in love with you. mase, you can’t be serious right now.”

“nobody told you to catch feelings, alright. i thought we both assumed this wasn’t gonna be serious.” you scoffed at him.

“so you took this as a joke? i am not a joke.”

“holy shit, you’re actually unbelievable. we were never official!”

“to you. you think mind games is funny?”

“i only thought this was a summer fling. i thought you were gonna see other people, like me. i wasn’t gonna stay in chelsea forever and i was sure you weren’t gonna stay.”

tears forming in your eyes. you were in disbelief.

“of course i was gonna stay with you. i was ready to leave everything behind to follow you. i thought we had something.”

“sorry y/n. you thought wrong.”

————flashback ended————

you cleared your throat as you poured white chocolate chips into the batter.

“so yeah, that was my lame ex.” you gave him a warm smile as you shared the most vulnerable part of your life.

“you didn’t deserve that, seriously.” joe stroked your hair as he ate a few chips.

“the past is past. the pain is healed, and i’ve got the best boyfriend ever.”

joe kissed your forehead as the oven beeped after it was done pre-heating.

-

sitting on the couch with freshly baked blondies.

“i think you have some sort of magic on men.” joe said, taking a bite after.

“what?”

“you start dating a guy, then all of a sudden, he goes blonde.” he shrugged his shoulders.

“i’ve never thought of that. i’m just really that powerful then.”

sharing a laugh, you were proud of the person you became. the pain healed, and so did your heart.

because, in the end, your feelings are valid. and you learned a lesson that no matter how much something hurts you, you can find happiness somewhere else, for the better.

[blaydie]

ᥫ᭡ HERE FOR YOU — “The only reason I sat here is because I assumed you weren’t coming today.” Aventurine x GN reader.

Word count: 2.0k

Contains: GN reader x Aventurine (reader is intended to be male but there are no descriptions/pronouns. View them however you want), set in high school, reader is bullied, new friendships, fluff, protective Aventurine + more!

High school was a nightmare. Everyone was so entitled, living as if they were the only people experiencing life. Anyone they see is simply a side character to them, completely oblivious to the fact that much like themselves, they also see the world through their own two eyes. 

Making your way to the rooftop, you held your lunch firmly while pushing open the door with your foot. Surveying the area, you were just about to head to your regular bench when a brutal force knocked you down from behind. Your lunch box burst open and your food spilt across the floor, followed by a mingle of laughter as a group of people walked past, cursing at you as they went by.

Pushing yourself up from the ground, you sit back against the wall and release a shaky exhale. Despite being used to their cruel behaviour, it doesn’t make it hurt any less—both physically and emotionally. Your already bruised knees ripple with fresh pain; it’s unbearable. When you went to reach for your lunch, the sound of the door squeaking scared you off. You retreated to the wall, keeping your head hung low as the new batch of people walked by.

No one tried to help. They didn’t even look at you. Your eyes swell with tears, abandoning your lunch since the insects have begun swarming around it. You rose to your seat and limped around the corner, only to be met with someone occupying your usual space. From the angle you’re at, you could only make out his blonde hair—nothing stood out about his features or gave you any distinct way of identifying him. 

Since half of the bench isn’t in use, you walk past him and slump down, now staring into the distance at the landscape which surrounds the school grounds. The blonde boy glanced over at you, pulling his bag closer to his side. It was then that he noticed the trail of blood trickling down your leg.

“Hey. You’re bleeding.” He states the obvious, pointing his index finger at your beaten-up legs. 

“I know.”

“Would you like a tissue?” His brow raises from your nonchalant response, hand already digging into his pocket. 

“No.” You didn’t even look at him while replying, eyes focused elsewhere. 

The boy slides a pack of tissues to you, but his gesture is left with zero reaction. You didn’t move. Leaving the tissues where they were, he turned his head and noticed your cracked-open lunchbox on the floor, slowly piecing together the puzzle of what could have happened to leave you this way. 

“You usually sit up here, don’t you?” He inquires. He’s sure he’s seen sitting here alone on a multitude of different occasions. 

“If you’re one of them, just leave me alone.” You sniffle, red eyes burning as more tears spill out.

“What?” He places his bag on the floor and scoots towards you. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you, but I’m only here because I’m waiting for my friends.”

His tone sounded sincere, and your guard was already down—you figured you had nothing else to lose. You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes as he passed you a tissue, nodding his head as a gesture for you to take it. Reluctantly, you stretched your jittery hand out and took it, accidentally brushing against him while you swept up the blood pouring from your injury. 

“You can keep the packet.” He pinches it between his fingers and drops it onto your lap, a small smile on his lips. 

“What’s your name?” Your features soften when you accept the fact he carries no hostility. 

“Kakavasha. Most people call me by my nickname though. Aventurine.”

“Kakavasha, that’s nice.” You tell him your name in turn, thanking him for treating you kindly.

“The pleasure is all mine. Say, you don’t mind me asking what happened, do you?”

“Oh. It’s nothing. Just these kids who pick on me.”

“How come? Did you do something to them?” Aventurine leans in, almost as if he were inspecting you. You felt your face heat up, not certain how to respond to all of this at once. 

“I didn’t do anything to anyone. I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Very well. Do you have anything else to eat? You can’t not have lunch. And you’re definitely not going to pick that back up. Not on my watch.” He points over to your food, then hands you the pack of chips he left out. “These were for my friend, but I think you need them more.”

“I can’t take it from you.” You wave your hands, but that only prompts him to launch the packet over your way.

“Take them from her then.” He chuckles, returning his attention to the sandwiches he had nearly finished before you arrived. “Do you know Jelena? —Never mind. If you don’t know who I am, there’s no point asking.”

“Jelena?”

“Does the name Topaz ring any bells?”

“Topaz…? The girl responsible for managing the student council’s finances?”

“So you know her but you don’t know me. Why’s that? Here I thought I had a great reputation.” Aventurine sighs dramatically, sneaking a glance at you from the corner of his gleaming eyes. 

“I think it’s better to not be known. Too much attention from the wrong people can make you miserable.”

“Not known?! You really—” Aventurine takes a deep breath, preventing himself from saying something he doesn’t mean. “You really know how to comfort someone’s terribly hurt ego, don’t you?”

You begin to chuckle, your lips curving upwards for the first time today. In all honesty, his name doesn’t remind you of anyone you know, but his friend is highly doted on by staff members and even some students.

“I’m sorry!” You continue to laugh, leading to him eventually joining in.

“Veritas is a friend of mine too. Well, sometimes he is. I’ll introduce you to them both when they get here. I don’t know what’s taking them so long.”

“It’s okay, I can go. I don’t want to make it awkward.” You snuggle your bag to your torso, only to have it yanked from your grip. Aventurine places your backpack beside him, out of reach from your current position. 

“You’re not going anywhere. Don’t even think about it.” Aventurine scolds you. After learning what you’ve been going through, he would have to be completely heartless to let you wander off alone again. “Do you have a phone?” 

“It’s really old but I do have one.”

“Can I have it?” He looks at you while you flutter your eyelashes, sensing your raised guards. “So I can give you my phone number. I’m not robbing you.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry.” You unlock your phone and pass it to him. Due to the embarrassment created by its overly outdated model, you turn your head aside, not wanting to witness his reaction.

“Don’t apologise.” Aventurine pinches his brows together while he figures out how to navigate it, eventually figuring it out and keying his number into your contacts. “I’m sending myself a text.”

His fingers swiftly press down on the keys, then a notification sound pings out a few seconds after he hits send. Taking your phone back, you read the message he sent himself and grin.

“You’re not irrelevant, Aventurine <3” — Sent from your cell phone.

“I doubt you’re irrelevant. I’m the irrelevant one. I didn’t mean for it to come across like that.”

“I’m just teasing. If you didn’t know me, it doesn’t affect me. What matters is that you know me now.” He lets out a sigh of relief, tapping his fingers rhythmically against his thigh.

“How did you know that I usually sit here?” You tilt your head slightly, now nibbling on the chips he had so kindly forced upon you. 

“When we’re leaving to head to class we always see you packing your stuff up. We sit on that bench over there but we’re not allowed to until the maintenance is done. The only reason I sat here is because I assumed you weren’t coming today.”

“I thought you would fight me for my spot.”

“Would you like to fight for it?” He raises his fists playfully, then drops them back to his lap. “I’m joking. There’s no need to fight when you can join us.”

“You’re so nice.”

“I’m not the kindest person ever, but I do understand what it feels like to go through something shitty when you have no one else to turn to. If anyone gives you trouble, you can tell me.”

“And you’ll go fistfight them?”

“Well, maybe not that far. Just a few hurtful words here and there.” He stares down at his hands. “Purely because we have more chance of losing if we go in for a physical approach—”

“That line is getting ridiculous!” A girl exclaims, clearly frustrated as her footsteps rapidly approach your not-so-secret corner spot. 

“Relax. I don’t need to hear you screaming after enduring fifty other Neanderthals doing the same thing.” The boy next to her raises his voice, then both faces come into view. 

“Aventurine!” She speaks in a cheery tone, then slows her steps as her gaze locks on you. “Who’s this?”

“My new friend. Be nice, especially you.” Aventurine points at the boy with purple hair and he grunts. After introducing yourself, they both sit down and join you in eating lunch. Topaz had given you one of the cupcakes she got from the cafeteria after she found out what happened, and you were sure to thank her thoroughly.

“I thought Aventurine was immature, yet there are still people who pick on others for no given reason. It’s disappointing.” Veritas speaks, giving his opinion on the situation.

“Excuse me?” Aventurine scoffs, about to defend himself until Topaz butts in.

“Well said, Veritas! It’s shameful to treat someone so poorly at this age.”

“It’s fine, really. I’m used to it by now, it doesn’t hurt as much.” You interject, not wanting to gather pity.

“But it still hurts. Right?” Aventurine pokes your shoulder, knowing the truth despite you brushing it off. After all, he witnessed the tears of the incident firsthand.

“A little. I’ll be okay though.”

“Yes, you will. I won’t let it happen anymore.” He rubs your arm and then turns to the others. There are five minutes before lunch ends, and he has his priorities set. “I’m going to walk this one over here to class. I’ll see you both later.”

“Ah, you don’t need to! I can walk—”

“Let’s go!” Aventurine jumps up, carrying your bag and his, dragging you along by the forearm. 

The hallways were empty—everyone else savouring the last few minutes of their break. His pace was fast, your sore legs struggling to keep up. When he notices you faltering, he slows down. You had told him what lesson you had, and like promised, he dropped you off. 

“I’ll stay until the bell goes.” He stands in front of you, beaming at you with his arms crossed. 

“I can’t believe you.” You giggle, closing your eyes from the overwhelming sense of relief. With him here, you feel secure. 

“I can believe me.”

“I can call you Kakavasha, can’t I?”

“You can call me whatever you’d like.” He grins, running a hand through his hair. “Unless it’s something hurtful. I already have one Veritas, and that’s more than enough.”

As the two of you were sharing banter, the bell blasted from the speakers, signalling that it was time for Aventurine’s departure. Part of you didn’t want him to leave, but it was inevitable. He’s not taking your classes. Judging by the expression on his face, you can tell he’s somewhat disappointed by how fast time slipped by.

“Meet me by the lockers at the end of the day. We can walk together. And I’ll text you when I’m home, so reply.” He walks backwards, his eyes remaining fixed on you. He’s weaving through masses of people, refusing to break eye contact with you.

“I will. See you soon.” You wave, then step into class shortly after. 

Pulling out your pencil case, you sit in the back with a giant smile plastered to your face. Your pencil traces many different shapes, writing down Aventurine’s name with a small heart beside it. His friendship meant the world to you. After being alone for so long, you had forgotten how pleasant it was to enjoy being around other people. People who understand—people who try. 

[madamewhistledown]

I’m going to say what you’re not supposed to say:

I believe it would be easier on everyone, on Luke and Nicola, on their families and friends, on the fandoms and their PR teams, if they are clear on what’s going on with them and their romantic connections. Just a short quick statement, and explain they won’t be discussing this further, and we move on.

And frankly, I know, this has nothing to do with my life, and it’s none of my business. (I know that!)

Here the thing about me: I’m a person with an open heart. A hopeful heart. A heart that wants to stop hurting over the pains of the world and the pains of people we know. I want goodness to rule the day. And if I have to grieve something, I want to be able to grieve it as I should so I can go about life again.

For some stupid reason that I can’t fully explain, I cheer Nic and Luke with an open and hopeful heart. I want them to be together. And I’ve been trying to understand what it is about them that I’m so drawn to. It’s their light, their energy together. I want that energy for our world.

I also want to find a way to walk away. Everyone has to be so tired of all the negative energy and misdirections. I’m so exhausted of the back and forth of this fandom and all of the breadcrumbs and cookie crumbles we’ve been given, wondering if they are true. The Luke-coded things that Nic posts. The Nic-coded things that Luke posts in his stories. We are so sure that they are together and…

A photo comes out. A comment is posted.

And the whole fandom flips out again.

You have the Occam’s Razor folks- the ones who believe based on only what they see explicitly, and nothing directly from Nic or Luke. Most of these are photos from paparazzi or just assuming that when friends get together, they must be dating.

Then there are the Big Picture folks, like me. Sure I don’t know what’s going on. The thing is - I look at the whole narrative, Nic, Luke, and what the people they trust have released. We use our critical thinking skills and know that many simple comments or photos don’t fit in with the big picture narrative. Many of us see how the pieces fit together. Nic likes puzzles. This is a puzzle.

So now we are at a moment when many of us believe they are together and some other private events are happening. And we are elated. We are waiting for the day that everything is confirmed—

But then one comment by someone who we believe has Luke’s interest at heart has mentioned someone else.

This doesn’t fit with the Big Picture. It just doesn’t. And maybe this is the confirmation we need. It makes us horrifically sad. We grieve. And I know this has nothing to do with our lives. But we grieve anyway.

In the past, we have been ready to accept that they’re not together… and then something gives us hope. We’ve gone through emotional whiplash over and over again. And we shouldn’t feel this way. This has nothing to do with our lives. Yet many of us are empaths and sense things and feel emotions greatly.

We’ve be happy. We’ve been upset. We’ve overanalyzed everything to death because we are puzzle people. We’re also romantics, and we want the happy ending we are ever-hoping for. We’ve grieved, told ourselves we need to leave this behind, and still, because of their light, believe in goodness, in light, and in love.

It would help everything if the bandaid would be pulled off. The people who need to grieve can grieve. The people who want to celebrate are able to. People will face the truth and stop blaming Luke or Nic or anyone else they are related to.

And we can get back to our pre-World Tour, “I can be the Ken for her”, days again whether we are grieving or celebrating.

[mullermilkshake]

Hi! 😊

Your writing is so immersive that it feels cinematic—like watching a movie unfold in real time. I love how you always manage to surprise me with plot twists that I never see coming! It’s such a refreshing change from knowing exactly where the story is headed.

I’d absolutely love if you could give Yandere!Reader another go with Nanamin. I think it would be fascinating since Nanami’s level-headedness might keep him from suspecting her. And if you're open to poly ships, it’d be thrilling to add Gojo into the mix with a twist—Yandere!Reader x Nanami x Gojo, but with Gojo secretly yandere all along. Maybe he’s been stalking both of them, planning for the perfect moment to reveal his obsession and orchestrating their “first meeting” to suit his agenda. I’ll leave the rest to your creativity, as I’m sure you’ll bring unexpected layers and depth!

Thank you for considering this! I’m so grateful for all the hard work you put into your stories. 😊🌸

Thanks so much for the kind words! It really means a lot. I love trying to write it all cinematic and doing things that go against the grain because my brain is twisted lol.

I can definitely do that, I hope you enjoy it!

PART ONE - Kento Nanami x Reader x Satoru Gojo

TAGS- Yandere!Reader,Yandere!Gojo,Stalking,Thoughts of killing people,Yandere!thoughts and motives,Masking,Graphic depictions of violence and mentions of damage to eyes.

One americano, two shots of espresso and two pumps of vanilla. Every day at seven thirty five. But not on Sundays sometimes because meetings run over. 

“Oh! I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going- oh god look at your suit, it must be expensive right?”

It was about time you made proper contact with Kento Nanami. You watched on in awe at his stance, brushing the coffee away from his suit in such a way it made the mundane action sexy. Lustrous. Like he was trying to make the way he allowed a strand of hair to fall past his forehead almost purposefully. With an intent to send you crazy.

Good thing you weren’t like those fangirls you often saw on television, crawling about the stage because a man gyrated over his mic. No, you were merely a coffee barista. A damn good one at that. Well, except for spilling coffee all over Kento’s suit.

But how else were you going to get his attention?

You were barely hanging on as it was watching the others make his drink to order. That’s why you made this one for him.

Jesus fucking hell Utahime It’s two pumps of vanilla. I swear I could kill that bitch right now. Shove head under the hot water valve and watch her eyes burn out the sockets.

It was a little drastic, even for you, but if anyone just saw the way Utahime was talking to Kento they would have assumed the two were dating or something. Kento Nanami was single. Definitely single.

The last girl he wanted to date just never made it to that coffee date on time.

None of his other dates did either.

“It’s fine, really.” The first sentence he spoke to you wasn't ‘thank you’ or his coffee order.

A formulated sentence.

Well, that was five months ago. Kento Nanami made the right choice that day to accept your invitation for a drink. Just like you planned. All seemed well and good for a time before you were noticing something strange when out in public.

White hair.

It was all you seemed to ever see. Out in the store or late night trip to the movies, hooked up to Kento’s arm during a scary or suspenseful part. It just seemed to be there, though you never knew who it belonged to. Never a face to linger for a second to make the connection. Just nothing. It tickled the back of your neck, putting you on the defense as though Kento was in danger. What sort of fucked up person would stalk someone? The idea of it was deranged, sick at the thought that someone was watching him, watching you with him.

White hair. You just couldn’t place it.

“Ken, love! What do you think of this dress?!” You called from upstairs, slipping on your shoes and smoothing down the hem of the fabric.

“I’m sure it’s perfect-” He paused, looking you up and down as though studying every inch of your body before he forgot what it looked like.

“Do I look pretty?”

He nodded slowly, stepping close to sit his hand on your waist. “You look beautiful.”

Hearing Kento say such kind and wonderful things made your night, heck, your entire week. Who gave a crap what anyone else thought? Just Kento was more than what you needed to prove that he liked you very much. You loved him of course, but that was love at first sight. Counting down the agonising days until he said it back to you, when you told him all the time in your head or whilst he slept. It took restraint not to slip up and make him doubt things.

So difficult not to say it for the man you loved.

“Thank you.” You giggled at his touch, planting a kiss on your temple with a husky growl in his throat.

“Maybe we should leave dinner tonight? I can’t possibly see how I’ll cope without taking you back to mine straight away. Too beautiful.”

“Restrain yourself, Ken. Someone might think you’re in love with me or something!” Your ecstatic grin sat just in front of your face as though to mask your brain away.

Say it… just say it please. Tell me you love me. I need to hear it. 

His attentive smile made your stomach flip when he pulled you close and spun you around to face the mirror. “If they saw your smile, they would understand what a lovely person you are. And see how I can’t resist you when you’re in a dress like this.”

Oh dear. Maybe some other time. 

“Well,” You kept that mask on and pulled away from him. “Should we get going then? Don’t want to be late.”

“Of course.” 

Kento drove straight to the restaurant, quite an upscale place for no occasion. Maybe there was? Perhaps Kento had something planned that you were unaware of, something spontaneous or quite the opposite. A planned surprise? It was practically the night of your five month month anniversary after all, two hundred wonderful days spent seeing each other and having astronomical sex. 

You didn’t get your hopes up and held your breath when he climbed out of the car and opened the door for you. So special. So dedicated to your comfort with the slightest touch from his fingers on the small of your back. Adrenaline made everything ten times more acute, aware of everything and anything you walked by and as you seated yourself at the table facing Kento, your heart beat so fast. Five months was a long time when you had waited longer to be with him.

You were basically in a relationship with him for well over a year by now it seemed, surely that was long enough to hear those three words?

“Can I get you any drinks?” The waitress grinned at Kento and then at you.

Why him first? He was the most handsome man you had ever seen, but what right did this bitch have setting eyes on him? You ignored the irritation and blinked it away for now, letting Kento speak for you and took a moment to observe the room.

White hair.

A flash of it and you would have missed it had you turned away to scowl at the waitress again. White hair like you were imagining it.

“Darling?”

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?” Kento slid his hand forward and offered it to you. “You seem distant.”

“I’m fine.” You were not, but took his hand anyway. “It’s a little chilly in here, don’t you think?”

“I’ll ask them to turn the heat up, will that be alright?” 

He’s so considerate. “That would be great, thank you.”

You played it off and ignored the itch on the back of your neck, being watched did not agree with you. Kento sat still and his head tilted to the side a little, studying you again whilst his free hand rummaged into his suit pocket.

“I have something for you.” He pulled out a little box. “I know we haven’t been dating that long, but I wanted to get you something I hope you’ll like. If it’s too early, please let me know.”

A box. A small little box. It was light in your hand, velvet to the touch and firm enough that it must have come from those places that sold rings for stupid money. One little box, something so small which held your heart right in Kento’s pocket.

Is he proposing? Please tell me he’s proposing. It means he loves me, right? 

“Ken… What-” A pair of earrings.

“I know you lost one from the pair you always said you wore, so I wanted to get you a new pair. I hope it’s appropriate.”

You forbid yourself to be disappointed, because it wasn’t about the hope that a ring sat nestled perfectly in this box. You put up your mask and smiled sweetly enough to satisfy him. “It is. Thank you so much, I love them!”

He’ll propose some day. 

“Here are your drinks.” 

The waitress took Kento’s drink off first and placed it right in front of him. Then she placed yours down off to the side. She was doing it on purpose, you were sure of it. The steak knife on the table looked pretty good to shove straight in her neck- 

She cleared her throat and placed the tray under her arm. “I’ll be back in a moment to see what you'd like to order.”

“Thank you.” Kento paid no mind to it and took a sip of his wine. “This is a nice vintage, I think we should go to one of those wine tasting evenings. It’s a good place to get to know each other more.”

You did not need to know Kento more. You knew practically everything about him in the four months he stepped into your life physically. 

He liked to drink, hence the wine tasting suggestion. Kento also enjoyed cooking, especially as he lived alone in his apartment, but he also enjoyed dishing up delicacies in your own kitchen. His birthday was July third and he had a particular interest in the arts, like music and theatre. A man of many tastes. 

“Hello there, can I get you something to eat?” A voice of a man you did not recognise came into ear shot.

“I think we might need a minute. Our waitress is taking our order.”

White hair.

You looked up and saw white hair, only this time it did not disappear. The white hair had a face, a blue eyed porcelain complexion with a smooth grin. The man stood taller than Kento dressed in a suit and staff ID.

“I’m sorry, she suddenly became unwell and had to go home. I’ll be taking your order tonight.” He smiled again and made eye contact with you. “My name is Satoru Gojo and I will do everything I can to make sure your night is perfect.”

Gojo. His gaze over you was the exact same distinct feeling of being preyed on. His cutting glare just behind the loose strands of hair over his forehead that looked softer than a cloud. You didn’t know what to make of this, but at least that waitress was gone. You really thought you were going to have to do something about her.

“Alright then. I’ll be back momentarily.”

“Ken, I’m just going to use the restroom, if he comes back before then, can you order me…” You took a brief glance at the menu and chose anything you first landed your eyes on. Gojo wandered off towards the opposite end of the restaurant, somewhere not where the kitchen was. “The steak? I’ll have it however it’s recommended.”

“Alright.”

You took off and made your way over towards the restroom, noting that he had disappeared. Crap. You wanted answers to why it seemed like that man was following you, stalking Kento for no apparent reason.

Would you need to do something about this guy? He was taller than you realised, so he must have been stronger too. You were not super strong by a long stretch, but when pushed enough to the limit, it drove you to do things you thought your body was not capable of.

Just look at the last waitress that brought the wrong drink and almost spilt it all over him just last week. So much blood and she was still wailing after you shoved your stiletto heel in her face.

People never learn. 

By the time you reached the restroom, the stalls were all empty besides one. The long wall length mirror outlined them all like little match boxes opened after use, showing the amber light inside for an ambient glow.

“How did I know that I’d find you in here, hm?” Gojo’s voice echoed throughout the restroom.

It startled you enough to move towards the door and lock it, backing away from the closed door and sitting your back flush with the slate grey tiles adjacent to it.

The toilet stall opened and he came out much less cheerful than he was outside, hands tight in his trouser pockets. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Who are you?”

“It’s funny, no one else ever seems to notice me when I don't want them to. But your instincts are hot on it every time, aren’t they?”

“Tell me who you are.” 

This wasn’t a show of weakness or a moment that revealed your vulnerabilities. When you glared back in his eyes, it was Kento you thought of. If this man was here to hurt him, well, you’d fucking kill him. Out in the back alley, no witnesses and back in time for your steak and boyfriend you’d do anything for. To kill for three times over already. Yes, you’d do it if the opportunity called for it.

“Y’know, I was so ready to come and kick the shit out of that guy when I saw that little box he gave you, but I see right through that little charade you got goin’ on. I've been watching' you a while now.” By now, he’d taken precisely four steps towards you, taking the opportunity to lean against the row of inbuilt sinks. “You’re exactly like me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you need to stop stalking me and my boyfriend. I’ll call the police.”

Gojo’s laugh made your stomach lurch. This guy was a whole new level of crazy you had never seen before. “That’s cute. You’re cute. But no, I’m not stalking him, just you.”

“Then stop doing that.”

“Why, aren’t you scared that I might do what I just said I was goin’ to do? He looks strong but when he has his hands all over you, it sorta drives me crazy.”

Gojo would not make it past the restroom door if he intended on hurting Kento. Yet, why did you contemplate that you’d rather take on the waitress instead of him right now?

Shaking the doubts away, you imagined the scenarios that may occur should you get hold of another steak knife or any other sharp object really. One of the heavy statues in the foyer could prove adequate to crush his head or even one of those little blow torches for creme brûlée right to his face.

For now, your mask dropped, and for a time you could breathe a little. Pretending to be happy all the time was difficult work and holding back on punching anyone who gave eyes at Kento took practice and great restraint. “If you go near him at all, I’ll kill you. I won’t just kill you though, it’ll be worse than torture.”

Gojo stepped closer to you and looked down as though you were a child to be patronised. “That’s my girl. Now, why don’t you introduce me to your little boyfriend so we can make this more official, huh?”

He’d backed you into a corner, right up against the wall. “I meant what I said. Don’t come near us.”

“And I know you have the same urges as me, you think no one sees, but I do. I see you. You won’t have to pretend around me. I’ll even do all your dirty work, that’s what I enjoy most.” He placed his palm on the wall beside your head, leaning in so his mouth was right next to your ear. 

“Lets get this fucked up little love triangle kickin’ hm?

[justwinginglife]

Soshiro Hoshina Welcomes You To The Cafe

Head back to the cafe entryway (main story)

“Is this the part where you admit I’m your favorite?” Hoshina teases as he settles himself into the seat across from you.

You’d been frequenting the cafe more and more each day, and of course, you enjoyed the company of all the staff, but over time you discovered that there was no one’s company you enjoyed more than Hoshina’s. Eventually, you worked up the nerve to make your first, official request for a host to accompany you to dinner and now here he was, the man of your dreams, sitting an arm’s length away. 

“You act like it’s a secret, when I’ve been nothing but obvious about it.” You shoot back with a playful smile.

He cocks a grin. “You could stand to be more obvious about it. I mean, Narumi’s miserable about it, but I think we could kick it up a notch to devastated.”

You laugh. “Unfortunately, I’m not in the business of devastating people, especially as I’m rather fond of Narumi. You just happen to be the person I’m most fond of.”

“I suppose your undivided attention will have to suffice then,” He declares with a cheeky grin.

And undivided it is, because at the moment, your eyes seem physically unable to look anywhere else but at him. Not that you want to anyway. You’ve come to accept just how enamored you are by the way his lips curl when he talks, or the way his throat looks when he swallows, or the way his hair sways when he walks. But even more than that, you’re addicted to the way he says your name instead of his usual “M’lady,” and you’re captivated by the way he laughs at your jokes like your humor was made for him, and you’re entranced by his gentle touches, whether it’s guiding your hands away before you touch a steaming hot cup, or tucking a strand of hair behind your ear so you can eat in peace. 

He must be enthralled by you too, because he’ll go along with just about anything you say. He thought he’d never laughed so hard than he did the time that you insisted his thirty minute lunch break was enough time for him to check out the arcade next door with you, and when you insisted he could eat and play Poc-Man at the same time, you proved your point by hand feeding him as he jabbed at the joysticks. He lost because he was distracted by the feel of your fingers in his mouth, but it was well worth it because when you gently nudged him aside so you could “show him how it was done,” he got to watch you proudly triumph and it was the most endearing sight he’d ever seen. 

Hoshina was the type to always know what he wanted and when he wanted it. If he couldn’t get what he wanted, he just tried until he got it or he knew when to quit. But with you, he never knows what you are thinking, what you will do next, or where you will lead him, and it excites him more than anything. And he knows he could never quit you. He doesn't know where loving you will take him, but he knows the view is guaranteed to be grand.

“I say we sword fight; loser pays the bill.” You declare suddenly.

His attention refocuses on you, on your confident grin, on your wild eyes. God, he loves you. “And how would we sword fight when we have no swords?” He asks, teasingly.

You produce a pair of chopsticks for him. “With these.” You grin.

He chuckles and takes a chopstick from you, assuming a “fighting stance.”

You ready your chopstick as well and soon you’re charging at him.

He doesn’t anticipate just how much enjoyment he’ll get out of watching you try to wrestle the chopstick from his hand with your measly weapon. When he lets you win, to his surprise, you declare a rematch.

He can’t help but laugh again. “Rematches are usually for losers, but you won. What would be the point of rematching?”

“You went easy on me. I want to try again.”

He leans in, smiling. “Well maybe I just didn’t mind paying the bill.”

You lean in as well. “Well maybe I liked the smile on your face while we were messing around.”

His eyes soften and he gazes at you fondly. “Well then, I guess we have a draw.”

You shake your head, pretending to be stubborn, and you cross your arms. “I don’t accept draws. We shall have to rematch in the form of arcade games. And if that’s not enough, we can try a dance off next. And if we still tie, we can see who finishes their bowl of ramen first. And if that doesn’t work-”

He silences you by pressing a finger to your lips. “I have a better idea.”

You mumble out a muffled “What?”

He grins, all devious and daring, eyes alight with mischief. “Let’s see who can hold their breath the longest.” 

You scoff, pushing his hand away from your mouth, undaunted by his seemingly meager challenge. “That’s easy. You don’t know this, but I was a swimmer back in the day and I-”

He leans forward to deliver a heated kiss, drowning himself in the depths of your lips.

Your heart stops. 

What’s breathing again?

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @ouiouimochi @inkytypewriter @minasfwoopyponytail

[madamejadex]

Hey Miss Jade, I’m going back on anon for this one and without my emoji because I’m too nervous to ask you this. It’s nothing too much compared to other things I’ve done but I know there’s still judgment out there surrounding it.

I have an oral fixation and in my last relationship something I found quite comforting was playing with my partners boobs, mainly with my mouth. She also enjoyed it as she had very sensitive nipples and that was a turn on for her, but I also enjoyed it both sexually (because it turned her on a lot and I knew that) and non-sexually (I guess it was comforting).

Now I don’t have an issue with it sexually because I know that it’s something many people explore and use especially as foreplay but I find it hard to feel okay about it non-sexually as a comfort. Just the repetitive nature of that time and the stillness/ closeness that brings feels soothing but the idea that people think it’s wrong/ weird or babyish bugs me because then it makes me feel weird about myself (for lack of better words). And I wanted to add, this is to do with the sensation specifically, rather than any form of lactation or breastfeeding kink specially I guess because those aren’t things that I have a strong pull too.

So basically what I wanted to ask, was your opinion on this, or if you’ve had experience with this/ oral fixation in anyway. Of course, you’re more than welcome not to answer, or to answer in your own way removing anything you don’t want to discuss.

I’m sorry if any of this makes you uncomfortable or if I cross any boundaries. Thank you for your time 💜

- She/her 21

Hi, my dear,

I want to begin by saying how much I admire how strong you are for sharing something like this. Questions and confessions tied to intimacy can carry so much vulnerability, especially when they touch on insecurities, comfort, or desires that might be frowned upon. So thank you for trusting me with it.

Now, I can only speak from the receiving side of this dynamic, as I’m usually the one guiding my partner or letting them know when I enjoy having my breasts touched, kissed, or sucked. And to be honest it's something I absolutely love, but most of the time it isn’t always about desire in the overtly sexual sense. Often, it’s something soft and tender. A way to feel connected while watching a movie together or curling up in a quiet moment. There’s usually a subtle current of arousal under the surface, but more than anything, it brings comfort. A feeling of being wanted, cherished, and loved.

I’ve never really felt embarrassed about having my ex partners sucking on my breasts in a non-sexual way. Perhaps because those moments took place in the sanctity of my private space. And what happens in that sacred space is mine. It doesn’t belong to the outside world, and it certainly isn’t for anyone else to judge or label. So I never really saw it as something to feel ashamed of. But at the same time, it’s not an act I’d engage in publicly. Not because it's wrong, but because some things belong to intimacy, not performance.

And to be fair, I don’t like placing too many labels on acts like these. From the outside, someone might assume what I’m describing fits into CG/lg or a similar dynamic, but I’ve never explored regression or age play with my past partners. For me, it’s never been about that. It’s simply something I enjoy. Something that relaxes me, connects me to my partner, and makes me feel deeply cared for.

So if I can offer you one piece of comfort, let it be this: What you enjoy in the privacy of your own space, is yours. You don’t owe anyone an explanation. And you certainly don’t need to defend or rename your desire to make it more palatable. Because the moment we let the outside world tell us what is and isn’t acceptable in our private intimacy, we risk severing ourselves from the softness we crave most.

So, I truly hope you find another partner who delights in it as much as your ex did. Because trust me, there are many of us who love oral fixations. Whether it’s to have our fingers, breasts, thighs, or anything else sucked… being cherished that way is something I for one have never taken for granted.

So embrace who you are, sweet one. There are women out there waiting for someone just like you.

xo Miss Jade

[delanokeay]

Drawing Conclusions

many people on here seem to think that Benson was molested or otherwise sexually abused by Mr Sheppard. this seems like a reasonable interpretation. but is it the only one?

I won’t argue one way or another about ‘what really happened.’ instead, I’m interested in looking at the conclusion that we’ve drawn in more detail. namely:

why did so many people reach this conclusion?

how does the story itself anticipate our expectations?

what else might have happened to Benson, and what are the narrative implications of our assumptions?

Examining the Evidence

in the few minutes Mr Sheppard appears, we learn very little about him:

he currently works for the school that Randy attended as a child

around thirty years ago he was Benson’s third-grade teacher at a different school

he barely remembers Benson

more significantly, we learn something critical about Benson: he fucking hates the guy.

it's worth noting here that, despite having a gun, Benson ultimately refrains from taking any action that could kill Sheppard. with his bare hands he beats him badly enough that Sheppard ultimately dies, but Benson doesn’t deliver a killing blow. his intention was not to kill.

we aren’t told what passed between them. when Randy asks, he is once again threatened.

but we have enough information that certain conclusions can be drawn: an adult male with authority over a child; a grown child who carries so much anger that he mutilates the man; Benson, later, locked in Miss Beard’s bathroom showing genuine distress for the first time in the movie.

looking at the evidence, many people concluded that Mr Sheppard sexually abused Benson as a child.  

But You Know Who Else Jumped to Conclusions?  

Randy and Benson.

for two decades, Randy has lived with the assumption he effectively ended Miss Beard’s life. this isn’t a conclusion that he reached from nothing: last he heard, her whole life was falling apart.

but this turns out to be wrong. Miss Beard went through a difficult time, but ultimately rediscovered herself and is now happy. she has her job back. she has a daughter, who she loves and who clearly loves her. when she sees Randy, rather than despise him as he expects, she’s happy to see him.

despite the evidence, Randy was wrong.

Benson is even more brazen, drawing damning conclusions based on less. based on nothing more than the fact that Marsha works at a diner (not unlike himself, until a few hours ago), Benson concludes that Marsha has wasted her life. I think it’s safe to say that there is some projection going on here, but this doesn’t matter to Benson: as far as he’s concerned, Marsha has no deeper thoughts and is destined to forget what he said as soon as it’s over.

despite his conviction, Marsha confronts him, disproving Benson’s entire philosophy: no one will take action.

But It Isn’t Just the Characters Playing With Expectations

the story itself regularly misleads the viewers, planting evidence in favour of one conclusion only to reveal something completely different.

I mean, who saw Randy’s backstory coming?

another example is Randy’s mother. like many people, I at first saw how overbearing she was and concluded that she was abusing Randy. I assumed that the reason why he lacked initiative was because she’d been so overbearing, micromanaging his entire life and denying him input.

this is proven wrong twice: the first time, immediately after she calls to check in with Randy, when he explains the real reason for his lack of initiative. no doubt Ms Bradley’s overbearing response to his trauma made his existing problems worse, but she certainly wasn’t the cause.

the second time is at the end, when he starts to gain independence and confidence. rather than double down on her micromanaging, she instead accepts that her son is changing for the better, even if it’s taking her some time to get used to.  

Interlude 1: Randy’s Mother

I will point out here that in a story that looks at, among other things, taking initiative vs being a passive witness to one’s own life, Ms Bradley has done nothing but take matters into her own hands. look at it from her perspective: her son went from being ordinary and happy, to being too afraid to make his own choices. like any good mother, she felt that she needed to step in. she took the risk of doing the wrong thing, and did – clearly, over-managing Randy was not the best choice, and probably did more harm than good. but judging by her willingness to step back once he starts to take control of his life, it’s clear that it was an error of judgement in a terrible situation, rather than a deliberate act of sabotage.

Interlude 2: Silence of Trauma

there is a line of thought that trauma is the unspeakable: something that can’t be articulated because the experience is too terrible to put into words. it is so terrible that its mere existence destroys what we know about how the world works.

in a movie where we see the graphic murder of Benson’s colleagues, his beatdown of Mr Sheppard, his physical abuse of Randy, and his shooting Randy and Marsha, the silence around his relationship with Mr Sheppard invites the question of what could have possibly happened between them that makes it unspeakable? what is it about their dynamic that isn’t present anywhere else?

one interpretation is that there is a sexual element, which is missing from the rest of the violence.

this assumption in itself raises a number of questions – is sexual violence inherently more unknowable than other types of violence?

I don’t think so, and I think the rest of the movie disagrees with this premise.

when comparing Randy’s trauma (explicit; known; something that he is able to put to words) vs Benson (implied; unknown; never articulated), it’s important to remember that Randy was only able to do so at gunpoint – against his will, in a traumatic situation where his life was in danger unless he gave Benson what he wanted.

the act of articulating is a violation: Benson drags something personal from Randy, then emphasises Randy’s powerlessness by mocking him. everything Randy told Benson is then used as inspiration to further subjugate Randy.

part of what makes trauma so difficult to discuss is the scope. no explanation of the traumatic events can live up to the traumatic experience.

when Benson forces Randy, this isn’t an example of Randy taking control of his narrative and finding a way to slot his trauma into his own personal experience of being alive. the disconnect between the life he should live and this aberration is blown up: an outsider has witnessed Randy’s trauma, and finds it hilarious. and so much of comedy is rooted in a deviation from expectations.

I would also like to point out that Benson’s silence around Mr Sheppard isn’t unique. other places where we're met with silence:

meeting Benson’s mother. although we see the woman, we’re given many contradictory facts. he cares for her, but there's tension between them. she’s unwell, but we have no idea why. this part of Benson’s life remains as opaque as the rest of him. when Randy reaches for the phone, Benson is there and ready to respond with violence; his mother seems unsurprised, and unbothered. while Benson doesn’t want her to know what just happened at the burger joint, he seems unthreatened by her seeing blood on Randy. all of this tells us a lot about their relationship – namely that it’s weird, and that whatever is going on between them is complicated and unsettling.

in Miss Beard’s living room, despite having told his story to Benson, Randy is unable to explain himself. she was there, and already knows the story; he wouldn’t have had to repeat to Miss Beard what he told Benson in the car. instead, he would have had to explain the experience from within: his own feelings at the time, afterwards, and now at present. and he’s unable to do this.

(Miss Beard, meanwhile, is capable of talking about her experience: how it affected her, and what her life’s like now.)

when Randy calls the police, he’s unable to explain anything about his problem. we've followed these two guys for the past hour and a half; we know everything that happened. there is, critically, no narrative benefit to the viewer for Randy not to be able to explain himself. yet already, the experience has joined his childhood trauma as something that he cannot discuss.

all of which is to say that Benson is hardly alone in not being able to talk about it.

So If Not CSA, Then What?

as in real life, there are many other ways that someone – particularly someone in a position of authority – could hurt a child.

Benson’s father was abusive; he reached out to Mr Sheppard, who either disbelieved him or deliberately chose the path of least resistance (inaction), leaving Benson and his mother to fend for themselves.

Benson was bullied in school, and similarly, Mr Sheppard chose inaction rather than using his authority to protect Benson.

(as suggested by my husband) Mr Sheppard and Benson’s mother had an affair; Benson discovered this after coming home from the zoo and catching them in the act.

Mr Sheppard and Benson’s father had an affair, resulting in Benson’s father eventually leaving.

Benson’s mother is sexually abusing him. when he tries to tell a respected adult, Mr Sheppard disbelieves him and belittles him for it.

Benson’s parents were going through a divorce. because of the stress, Benson’s performance in school suffers and he begins to act out. Mr Sheppard raises his concerns with Benson’s family, shortly before Benson’s father walks out on them. being a child, Benson wrongly concludes that his father left because he was a bad child, and, if not for Mr Sheppard’s involvement, would still be with them.

Benson went to the zoo and was abandoned by the class in the giraffe exhibit, where he was accidentally locked in overnight. no one noticed, and Mr Sheppard swore him to secrecy so that he wouldn’t lose his job for forgetting a student.

I don’t think that any one of these explanations is more likely than sexual abuse; only that each one is as likely. many would match the tone or the themes of the movie, especially considered alongside Randy’s trauma.

I only bring up alternative explanations to illustrate a specific point: what we know of Benson’s past is limited, and the options remain open and generally endless.

So What?

when I first watched this movie, I was bothered from a storytelling perspective by the fact that we don’t know Benson’s past. the only thing we know about Benson’s motivations are what he told us, however you choose to interpret that. it felt like something was missing.

this, I believe, is the point.

the most significant difference between Benson and Randy is that Benson has a gun and Randy doesn’t. Benson can force Randy to do whatever he wants – an advantage that he takes repeatedly. and after cleaning up his mess at the burger joint, after kidnapping Randy, what does Benson use this new power for? to get Randy’s story.

the greatest proof of Benson’s power is his silence.

but despite spending most of the movie at a profound disadvantage, by the end it’s Randy who has benefitted. despite the violation, the humiliation, the trauma, the gunshot to the shoulder – Randy walks away with every benefit.

this doesn’t lessens his trauma. the contradiction between the horror of Randy’s experience vs the benefit is what makes the story so compelling.

Benson, on the other hand, ends the story (and his life) cornered, powerless, in a situation of his own making. before walking out to face the police, he attempts to tell Randy something about himself – but the significance of this is never known, because he never manages to explain himself. his silence, and the choice to withhold himself, is the only power that he has left, and so he clings to it. his final two choices are choices defined by refusal: remaining silent; refusing to turn the gun on himself and putting his death in someone else's hand.

[boptothetttop]

I’m just curious. I don’t want to assume people’s sexualities but GD gives me major bi vibes, Taeyang and Daesung are definitely straight, but TOP? I can’t figure him out. He’s such an enigma to me. He could be bi could be gay, could be straight I just can’t wrap my mind around him. He’s probably pansexual tbh. Anyway, it’s just for funsies I’m just curious what you think?

oof, what a loaded question! Full disclosure, I didn't realise I was gay until my late 20s lmao so I'm maybe not the best judge of character when it comes to sexualities, however I do have some experience with general grappling-with-internalised-homophobia shite and with now being surrounded by queerness so idk, I'll just ramble for a bit

So yeah I agree with you about Jiyong, that man came out of the womb limp-wristed lmao - I think he's definitely a free spirit when it comes to sexuality and gender presentation, he clearly loves masculinity and femininity and is attracted to both, in terms of other people's presentations and his own, and I find his blend of gender so fucking cool and daring and refreshing! I think Jiyong is doing something so radical for Korean artistry and idk he's just the coolest. He's not shy with his support for the LGBT community, he clearly loves sex for the pleasure of it all regardless who it's with, he's an absolute bi icon

Taeyang is definitely straight lol but he's such a cutie patootie, he seems so safe and supportive and accepting, I cannot say a bad word about that man

Daesung is INTERESTING, man. The first time I saw him outside of like... music videos and that was in Weekly Idol and when him and Ji did the pick me dance, my gaydar was going crazy lmaooooo. idk he's a funny one because he's clearly very religious, very private, and also is the one that gets the most squirmy and awkward during m/m fanservice moments. At the same time, he's very camp and effeminate, he's got loaaaads of female friends and women seem to feel incredibly comfortable around him, and beyond the odd joke about him being a ladies man, I don't know any dating rumours about him 🤔 I can't tell if it's a case of "closeted man is constantly trying to run away from gay thoughts" or "straight lovely labrador man who is written by women". Jury is still out on him lol

Seunghyun..... ahhhh love of my life. He IS an enigma, in more ways than one, and I think like me he probably went through a lot of questioning and panicking about things. I feel like meeting Jiyong again in their teens probably brought a LOT of hidden stuff back up, as he went from having two long-term girlfriends to suddenly.... nothing, and if anything actively avoiding women. Like, he's talked about wanting someone who shares his interests, and who is polite, and who has sexy legs and feet lol - he quite deliberately avoids anything specifically associated with women, if that makes sense?

The thing that gets me most about Seunghyun is his interest in art, and particularly queer art - I'm also surrounded by a queer group of artistic friends, and there are zero straight men involved in our group lol. It takes a certain amount of sensitivity, empathy, compassion and joy to connect with so many queer artists and resonate with their work on a deep level that you simply just don't get with straight men 🤷 they can appreciate it, sure, but him literally devoting his life to the likes of Basquiat, Warhol, Haring, Bacon, Hockney, Mondrian etc... idk it just feels like he gets them in a way that only another queer person would, you know? The Pierre and Gilles piece was absolutely mind-blowing to me, like to appreciate queer art is one thing but to get involved in it is something else entirely, and Matt Carey-Williams wasn't exactly coy in his description of it either - I don't know ANY straight men who would be happy to be seen as the antithesis to Caucasian heterosexual Hollywood heart-throb masculinity lmao, but he's wearing that label proudly and it makes me insane with my love for him

I could get deeper into it with him in terms of his weird "I don't give a shit what anyone thinks of me" attitude compared to his "oh god I am so sensitive to what everyone thinks of me" attitude, and how 2017-now might have affected his relationship with himself, but that'd be PURE speculation and idk how comfortable I am with that hahahaha

But I hope that answered your question!! in conclusion:

Jiyong - absolute flamer, doesn't care who knows it

Seunghyun - quiet art gay just staying in his own lane

Taeyang - straight as a die but that's ok because someone has to be

Daesung - have not got a single clue what's going on with him but tbh I want him to be my girlfriend