#there’s something to be said about fragile things solidifying

[bruciemilf]

Thoughts on Vic (from the penguin)?

Fantastic give me 14 of them right now

[genderqueerdykes]

So like, I see a lot of trans men/masculine people complain about there erasure within queer spaces, particularly in queer analysis and I wanted to know how that relates to cis men. Like I know how that sentence reads, but like a friend of mine were talking about masculinity and they said something like “do you think that like Jeff bezos experiences friction from the patriarchy” and it’s like “yes nobody is immune from the patriarchy”.

I don’t really know how to talk about the things I experience under the patriarchy because it’s either “your not oppressed for being a man” or it’s like “you can’t singularly be oppressed for your manhood” when I bring up my queerness or something. It’s frustrating when people reduce something like homophobia down to misogyny.

But even more than that I struggle to convince people that men are specifically isolated because they are men. Even as we know that men are vulnerable to cults because they target socially isolated people. Or how comedy points out that male friendship is like barely functional. When comedians point out how little men know about the other people in their click. And trans masculine experiences on the topic have only solidified my position.

And there are a few posts circulating about gendered violence and when they focus on men specifically people would be like that’s just men experiencing misogyny and I don’t really know how to feel about it, because they aren’t wrong, but like I don’t think you can look at toxic or fragile masculinity and be like yeah that’s just internalized misogyny. Like you can do it that way, but it feels wrong?

it's column A, column B.

transandrophobia is a real thing that is independent of misogyny.

trans men can experience misogyny, including transmisogyny.

it's both, but people just outright refuse to acknowledge that queer men can suffer under patriarchy. especially trans men. it's exhausting.

it comes from the rad fem ideal that trans men are just transitioning to benefit from patriarchy and "Escape" womanhood and misogyny. these arguments are touched upon lightly several times in Alison Bechdel's Dykes to Watch Out For comics. so many man hating lesbians love to say that trans men are transitioning to benefit from patriarchy, not because they actually identify as men. some say you just *can't* identify as a trans men and that this is always an appeal to patriarchy.

there are many men who suffer under patriarchy. patriarchy benefits white, abled, cis, heterosexual, privileged men. there are many men who are absolutely crushed up by patriarchy. men of color. all queer men. trans men. gay men. bisexual men. pansexual men. genderfluid men. bigender men. two-spirit men. agender men. asexual men. aromantic men. feminine men. men who do drag. men who crossdress. men who refuse to conform to gender roles in any fashion. disabled men. neurodivergent men. mentally ill men. chronically ill men. the list goes on. it benefits fewer men than it helps. only very few specific kinds of men can ever benefit from patriarchy. it's not all of us. it's not even most of us

people can treat men with misogyny, it just depends on the context. however it's not right to say that trans men don't experience specific transphobia in the form of transandrophobia. it's not always misogyny we're being faced with. sometimes it is specifically because we are men, not because we are what's being perceived as a woman. sometimes the hatred comes from when we actually are being seen as men.

[garbinge]

JUICE + SHY GN!READER HEADCANON

First ever headcanon, and this really pushed me out of my comfort zone! Juice is a character that I'm still learning and shy characters are always a little tough for me in these universes. Honestly would love anyone else to drop in any additional thoughts because this one really got me thinking through so many scenarios on how things would play out with these two :) Headcanon is under the cut!

FIRST MEETING: 

Juice isn’t exactly the most outspoken or outgoing either, so the process from meeting you to dating you takes time. Slow burn for suuuuuure. 

I think it’d start out with Juice being more shy than the reader for sure but your shyness is what draws him to you. You’re also not exactly jumping out of your seat to talk to him either, but to you, you’re just ignoring him while Juice is being shy to you. 

You’re the opposite of his life right now. The club is rowdy and chaotic and you were calm and observant. 

There’s tons of stolen glances whenever he gets the chance when you’re around. His eyes jump away in seconds the minute you catch him looking at you. Whether it’s peeking over his laptop, or fully staring at you when he catches you downtown. 

Those glances would eventually turn to awkward smiles, the occasional wave or head nod.

When he gets the nerve to actually come and talk to you, there’s a lot of fumbling on his words until he realizes you’re just as nervous as him and it somehow makes him feel a little less nervous.

Just enough that in some fiddly way he manages to ask you out and you agree. 

The first date is a lot of him asking you questions because you’re still very reserved. A lot of what are your favorite things; food, movies, places to go, where  do you work, do you like it. Just trying to learn more about you.

He goes off on a lot of tangents about tech, it’s what he knows and loves so it just comes easy to him. You take it all in, every word, picking up on the details in what he’s saying and what he’s not. 

You definitely bring things up that he’s said earlier and it drives him mad. Someone who pays attention to the things he’s saying? That’s new. 

Somewhere along the conversation you mentioned something about your car and he eagerly offered to fix it for you at TM which ultimately solidified your second date. 

It’s obvious you’re a fish out of water at Teller-Morrow. Your voice is comparable to a mouse in comparison to all the guys, club and mechanics combined. 

While trying to explain to Chucky and then Piney that one of the guys said they could help you out, Juice appears with the biggest grin on his face when he sees you and offers you an energetic “hey” and it completely melts you. 

You sit next to him while he tinkers with your car, him mostly taking up a lot of the conversation but you’re chiming in here or there a little bit more than on the first date. Everything around you kind of fades away in those moments, you’re just enjoying the time passing with Juice. 

When you get home that night, you break something else on your car, purposely, so you can bring it back the next day. Too nervous to just ask him to hang out on your own. 

After he catches on, you’ve brought your car in 3 times in one week,  he decides to blurt it out. Do you wanna be my girlfriend? And he’s immediately mortified by the prepubescent way of asking you to be his but in your eyes it's perfect. It’s direct and leaves no room for misinterpretation. BEGINNING OF YOUR RELATIONSHIP: 

Then, things are a bit different once your relationship is a bit more established. You both geek out together, and you feel a bit more comfortable coming out of your shell around him. 

He definitely becomes protective over you, knowing how fragile he can be because of his sensitive side and how people are eager to take advantage of that, the thought that someone could be like that with you makes him want to follow you around like a guard dog. 

He's constantly stare at you, lovingly + adoring but also curiously, just picking up on the things you do and why. But now, instead of looking away when you catch his eyes, he just smiles, maybe lightly touches your face, places a soft kiss on your lips, still smiling through each interaction.

But the real kicker is when he tells you he wants you to come hang out at the clubhouse and meet the guys. 

Now, he’s not an idiot, he knows that they can be a lot and you aren’t a very extroverted person, but he reassures you a lot that they’ll love you and you’ll have a good time. He also lets you know he’d never let anything happen to you. And once the guys meet you, neither will they.

When you show up, you’re feeling exactly how you felt when you first met Juice. Flighty eyes, absorbing the environment, taking in everything. 

The commotion of the group by the pool table and then the group by the bar was starting to make your stomach turn. 

Juice spots you immediately and is by your side within seconds and never leaves it. One, because he wants to keep his word of being there and two, he feels so happy just to have you here with his family. 

The guys tease Juice more than they tease you, and when anyone gets a little too pushy before you’re able to even feel uncomfortable Juice is handling it. 

OVER TIME: 

I think he’d be able to anticipate your needs and vice versa. 

When he comes home from a rough day, you’re there to pick up the pieces and he lets you. 

There’s toons of physical affection behind closed doors. Cuddling, all types of kisses, very sweet and passionate love. 

In public and in front of the club, it’s not as prominent but there’s definitely arms wrapped around you, sitting in between his legs, casual pecks on the cheek and fingers intertwined. 

He’d also trust your opinion on things because when you are at the clubhouse you’re not looking to fuck-around. You’re taking in everything and it gives you a really unique perspective on situations. 

He’d take you on so many long rides and road trips because he knows the quiet of the rides are your favorite.

He’d leave breakfast for you when he had early mornings and you’d leave dinner for him on those late night runs. 

Juice would use his skills to make your life easier, just like when you first met. Fixing your car, your computer, making sure you were upgrading all your software, getting you things that you didn’t even realized existed that just made every aspect of your life easier. 

Ultimately, I think a shy partner is exactly what Juice needs, someone who understands him, and is patient with him. They both would be able to respect and love each other because they see each other. There's so much understanding because they get one another, their quirks, their preferences, their mannerisms.

Dividers by @cafekitsune ❤ // Requested by anon ❤ 💀SOA Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989  (Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

[luxlightly]

Fragile ch 6

@personostient Moved this chapter to new post because the other one was getting really long. 1-5 are [here] --- Ch.6

Morning light filtered in through the living room window and Webb cracked open an eyelid.

He chuckled softly at what he saw.

“Well isn't this a familiar sight?” he said, voice rough with sleep.

The spider creature’s eyes flew open and it got to its many feet with a startled hiss.

Webb laughed.

“Sorry. Sorry. Didn't mean to spook you,” he said.

He raised a slowly raised a hand, making sure his movements were clearly visible, and reached towards the spider, pausing when it leaned away from him.

“It's alright,” he assured.

The spider tentatively relaxed again, allowing Webb to touch it.

He ran his hand along what served as its back, marveling at the strange sensation. A shifting jumble of smooth chitin and bushy setae, firm like the bristles of a toothbrush.

He smiled as the spider leaned into his touch, rubbing its body against his hand in what he hoped was intended as an affectionate gesture.

He glanced at his watch.

6am.

Later than he usually got up, but not by much. Even without an alarm, he was hard wired to be an early riser after years of getting up at the crack of dawn for work.

He yawned.

The motion seemed to startle the spider creature and it bolted off of his chest and back up the wall to the corner of the ceiling.

“Jeez, you, uh, work fast, huh?” Webb noted, looking at the woven structure that now took up a large portion of his ceiling.

He tilted his head. The shape seemed familiar to him in some way.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he typed “tunnel spider web”.

His search results filled with images of similar webs and the name “funnel web spiders”. Scrolling through, he saw a number of different types of spiders, but mostly a black tarantula looking spider with a reddish underbelly.

The spider, seeming to have decided his yawn was not any kind of threat display, had crawled back down the wall and up onto the couch, staring at him.

“Is this you? A funnel web spider?” Webb asked, holding up his phone screen to the creature. “One that fell in radioactive waste or something? Because I gotta tell you, with my last name, I'd never live down being Spider-Man.”

The creature stared at the phone for a long time and Webb began to wonder if, perhaps, its eyes couldn't make out the screen.

Then its form rippled, legs curling in on each other, eyes melting together, the formless mass condensing and solidifying until the shape of the same spider on the screen formed out of the shifting darkness.

Uh. More or less.

It was significantly larger than the real thing, and extra limbs still branched out in every direction, surrounding the now far more spider-like spider, as if it was surrounded by a web of its own body.

“…wow,” Webb said, amazed.

He pulled back his phone and hastily typed in another query.

“What about this? Could you look like one of these?”

He held up a page full of images of black widows.

Again the spider studied the images. This time, it was easier to tell what it was looking at, given the more defined shape.

Again its body writhed and twisted before settling on a familiar shape of a black widow, though, again, not all of it was contained in the neat package.

“That's incredible…” Webb breathed. “Is it just spiders, then? Or could you look like anything?”

The spider just stared at him for a long time.

Webb was about to accept he was getting no answer when, once more, the shape of the spider began to change.

Features stretched and interwove, its entire form coming together to try to form something clearly larger than the two arachnids it had copied.

Legs tangled into smooth, shiny limbs, two -clawed feet split into five thin, pointed digits. The head grew rounder, the mouth disappearing and the eyes bunching together until something was almost recognizable about the shape in a way that made Webb's heart skip a beat.

Then, all at once, the form collapsed in a heap.

The spider let out hiss like a huff of exhaustion as it slowly drew itself back together like a sponge absorbing a puddle.

“Ah, takes a little too much energy for all that, huh?” Webb noted. “Sorry. That's quite the parlor trick, though.”

He took a deep breath and stretched, causing the spider the flinch back, but not flee completely.

“Speaking of energy. I'm going to start a pot of coffee and see if I have any food that isn't expired. Probably not…”

Webb got to his feet and headed to the kitchen section of the apartment.

The spider scurried along to follow him, climbing up on the counter and tapping, insistently, on the counter top.

Webb looked to where it was tapping and saw two bundles of silk that clearly contained some kind of insectoid corpses.

“Ah, for me? That's sweet, but uh, I think I'll stick to coffee,” he said.

The spider hastily ate its attempted offerings, no offense seeming to have been taken at the rejection.

Webb rooted through the cabinets in search of unspoiled food stuffs with a minimal ratio of ant to food.

He noted there seemed to be far fewer of his unwelcome insect roommates than the previous night, however. It seemed that his new house guest had been making itself useful already.

With a defeated sigh, Webb closed the cabinet doors.

It was very rare that he cooked at home. Take out and hospital cafeteria food formed the majority of his meals. The few he didn't replace with coffee and the occasional ibuprofen, that was.

Interestingly, he didn't really feel the need for any pain medication this morning. Odd, given the fact that, the day before, he almost died and was stitched up by what may or may not be a radioactive or otherwise unnatural spider creature. Even with his wounds sealed, he had still been bruised and battered. He should feel like he'd…well, like he'd fallen through the floor, down a story, and into a concrete basement.

Instead, he felt…fine, really.

Which was an “anomaly” at the least.

That's probably fine, Webb, a man who graduated from medical school, decided.

“I guess I should take a shower, while this is brewing,” he announced. “Don't touch the coffee pot while I'm gone. It's hot.”

The spider eyed the coffee maker, warily, jumping when it made a sudden noise.

Webb grabbed the splint cover he’d been given and made his way to the bathroom. Luckily, the hospital had had some replacement clothes for him, so he hadn’t had to wear his torn up and bloodied clothes home, but he still had blood caked to his skin in places.

He turned on the water. It took a while for the water to start warming up sometimes, thanks to the unreliable water heater, so he often turned it on before he got out of his clothes. That way, he wasn’t just sitting, naked, in his bathroom, for several minutes.

This proved to be a good thing, as a wriggling black form squeezed itself under the door, apparently uncomfortable with being left alone with the coffee maker.

“It’s polite to knock, you know,” Webb said. “I’m gonna want some privacy here, in a minute.”

The spider eyed the shower with obvious distrust, slowly skittering towards it, a few inches at a time.

“It’s safe,” Webb explained. “It’s just water, see?”

He held his hand under the shower head, letting the still chilly water run over his palm.

The spider crawled up the side of the tub, leaning over the edge to get a better look.

“Be careful, though, it might be a little slip—”

Webb’s warning came too late as, leaning just a bit too far forward, the spider’s legs lost traction on the wet ceramic and it slid down into the tub and under the spray.

With a panicked screech, it flailed its countless limbs, flinging water across the entire bathroom before managing to get enough footing to launch itself out of the tub and against the far wall.

Webb doubled over, laughing.

“Sorry. Sorry. You okay, little guy?”

The spider shook itself off, form rippling in agitation but seemingly no worse for wear. It hissed at the shower, then scrambled back down the wall and under the door.

Chuckling to himself, Webb checked the water again. Getting warm enough, now.

He whistled the tune to “itsy bitsy spider” as he pulled off his shirt.

[emma23]

Unspoken choices :

Jake Lockley x reader

The bar was loud tonight, filled with the kind of laughter and music that Jake usually loved. But as you sat in a booth in the farthest corner, watching him lean casually against the bar, chatting with some brunette, your stomach churned. His smile was effortless, his body language relaxed, but something about it felt pointed—like it was meant for you to see.

Your fingers tightened around the glass in your hand. Jake always had a way of doing this, of dancing on the line between affection and destruction, dragging you with him like a moth to a flame.

“Hey,” his voice broke through your thoughts, and when you looked up, he was sliding into the booth across from you, his dark eyes assessing. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Maybe I didn’t have much to say,” you shot back, swirling the drink in your hand.

Jake’s brow arched. “That’s a first.”

Your jaw clenched. “What’s her name?”

Jake blinked, surprised, then leaned back against the booth with an amused smirk. “You jealous, muñeca?”

“Don’t,” you warned, your voice low.

“Don’t what? Talk to other women?” His tone was light, but the underlying edge was impossible to miss. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t exactly tied down.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you refused to let it show. “Funny, I didn’t realize that’s what you thought this was.”

Jake leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his gaze sharp now. “What do you think this is? Because you sure as hell haven’t told me.”

“I shouldn’t have to spell it out,” you snapped, setting your glass down harder than necessary. “You know what this is—what we are.”

“Do I?” he countered. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s a lot of almosts and maybes. You never choose me. Not really.”

The words cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

“You fucked her, seriously?” you blurted, your voice breaking at the last word.

Jake’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “What if I did? Would that matter?” He tilted his head, his tone dripping with challenge. “It’s not like I’m not single. It’s not like you’ve chosen me, or ever plan to.”

Your breath caught, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “How could you even say that?”

“Because it’s true!” he snapped, his voice rising. Heads turned in your direction, but neither of you cared. “You think I don’t see it? The way you hesitate? Like you’re waiting for something better to come along?”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered, your throat tight.

“Fair?” Jake let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing about this is fair, Y/N. You get to play it safe, keep me at arm’s length, and I’m supposed to just wait? For what? For you to decide I’m worth it?”

The silence between you was deafening.

“You don’t mean that,” you said finally, your voice shaking.

He stared at you, his expression unreadable, before leaning closer, his voice softer but no less intense. “Yes, I do.”

Hours later, the motel room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Jake sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped, his head in his hands. You stood by the door, unsure whether to leave or stay.

“Why do you do this?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Do what?”

“Push me away.”

Jake looked up at you then, his eyes filled with something raw, something that made your chest ache. “I’m not pushing you away,” he said quietly. “I’m just tired of being the one waiting.”

Your heart twisted at his words, and without thinking, you crossed the room, sinking onto the bed beside him.

“I’m scared,” you admitted.

Jake’s gaze softened, and for the first time that night, his hand reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. “So am I.”

The tension between you was palpable, a fragile thing that could either shatter or solidify. Slowly, carefully, Jake leaned in, his forehead resting against yours.

“We’re a mess,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. “But we’re our mess.”

You both laughed then, the sound more bittersweet than joyful, but it was enough to break the tension.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly.

“So am I,” Jake replied.

It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t fixed, but it was a start.

As you lay tangled together in the dim light, Jake’s voice broke the silence.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said, his tone dry, “if you ever accuse me of fucking someone again, at least pick someone hotter.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, swatting at his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he teased, pulling you closer.

And damn it, he was right.

[smolwritingchick]

Just Another Smol Preview :)

Author's Note: Literally a smol preview of the beginning of the MAMA Awards 2016 chapter. Always brainstorming and switching it up so the final product may vary.

I have been thinking a lot of this idea that I have for the MAMA Awards chapter and I'm excited to write about it and see it come to life.

Like I addressed before after MAMA Awards 2016 in the story, this should be the last time I write about Hyuna. This idea came up recently and I rolled with it. I also find myself getting this chapter done faster than anticipated so I am aiming to try to get it out in June and not later than that along with the 3rd Muster chapter. Hopefully not late June.

-----------

'BREAKING! MAMA 2016 Collaboration with Cube's Hyuna and Big Hit's Jennie scrapped!'

Jennie frowned at the article as she sat by her desk in the Smartie Factory. It was crazy how things abruptly changed. Lately, Jennie and Hyuna weren't on speaking terms and issues have been occurring for a while.

It all started with the sneak dissing that Jennie had found out on her Tumblr. She loved scrolling through the tag of her name and came across a fairly popular post regarding Hyuna attending a few variety shows and interviews.

Statements such as, "Unlike the others, I don't need to repeatedly say I'm the best from head to toe. You already see it," which ARMY thought about Jennie's War of Hormone lyrics.

"Some rookies can be a bit much and try to overshine a veteran,"

"Some girls in this industry are a bit too fragile. I don't need to call myself bulletproof,"

"You mean the original version of How's This,"

Were just a handful of statements and ARMY immediately speculated she was throwing shade at Jennie.

'Uhhhh did Hyuna just sneak diss, Jennie? Am I freaking out over nothing? That bulletproof and glass line was SUS,' one comment said.

ARMY went on to do more research and they immediately figured out that there was some sort of animosity in Hyuna's words and it caused confusion in the fandom.

"The hell...?" Miss Bangtan murmured as she read about it and even saw her and Hyuna trending on Twitter.

Her stomach dropped and she felt hurt by the words. It confused her as to why she would say these things. Deciding to go straight to the source, she messaged Hyuna on KakaoTalk.

Jen: Ummmm what's going on sis? We got a problem or something? If so let's address it now. Call me when you're free

But hours later, still no reply. What officially solidified the fact there was an issue going on was when Jennie facetimed Hayoon about it.

"I'm trying to contact her so we can settle this shit now instead of over the internet. But I haven't gotten a response. I don't know how this happened. I didn't even do anything. I know we haven't talked in a while, but damn,"

And that was when Hayoon informed her what was going on from what she heard. She and other people have been overhearing her talking about how upset she was that she would be sharing the stage with Jennie for How's This. She wanted to perform it alone and on top of that felt bothered by the fact that the duet music video with Jennie started to get way more views than the original video.

"I mean it got more views because ARMY loves to support every member of Bangtan. They were bound to have the views boost," Jennie exclaimed on Facetime while Hayoon nodded. "That's one of the amazing things about them. They watched that video for me and I'm grateful but damn, is it that deep? So, she doesn't want to share the stage with me and is feeling some type of the way that her original music video didn't have that many views? Ma'am, if that was a problem, instead of throwing shots, why not talk to me face to face and express yourself? All this childishness for what?"

"I know. It's ridiculous," Hayoon said with a frown. "I had to distance myself from her. I didn't like the things she was saying. And I even talked to her about it but she blew me off and said she didn't care,"

Jennie sighed and shook her head. "Annoying...thanks for telling me...wow...the switch up is crazy...I just don't understand,"

"Of course. Still no reply?"

Jennie went to check back on the app and scoffed. "Did this bitch block me?!"

"What?! No way!"

"Wowwww. So, it's like that? Okay. I can't even contact her anymore...this is making me start to have trust issues a little bit. Like we were so close and would hang out and talk often and I trusted her with a lot of shit...I hope she doesn't spill anything personal. Because now I'm thinking about my relationship,"

"As much as I dislike her attitude, I don't think she'll spill anything especially when she is dating E'Dawn privately,"

"Yeah...I'm not going to air her dirty laundry and talk about how she got a rookie boyfriend and shit. That's unfair to E'dawn and his future career as an idol,"

"Agreed. No need to get him involved. I believe she won't involve Jungkook as well, so no need to worry,"

Jennie sighed. "When I see her at one of these award shows I'll confront her. This is ridiculous,"

"Some kind of girl's girl she is. So close to award season, too? She should not be trying to paint you as this bad person,"

"Yeah...I just don't know how long it's going to take for the public to understand how grimy she is,"

As the news of her performance with Hyuna wasn't happening anymore, Cube Entertainment and even Mnet made the excuse that they felt like Jennie was not ready to perform with Hyuna and was a bit difficult to work with. Which was a load of bull and lots of fans saw through the BS. However, Big Hit responded in defense to her saying that she was ready, she was very easy to work with and it was their loss on the collaboration.

It warmed her heart to see the company come to her defense and say she would prove doubters wrong on BTS' stage at the MAMA Awards. Hearing the news that the collaboration was scrapped made her feel down since she had been so excited to perform with someone she looked up to for many years. G-Dragon's words still rang through her mind that not everyone is your friend in the industry and the switch ups be crazy.

Now back to reality, Jennie continued to sit by her desk, deep in thought about the situation. All she wanted to do was speak to her like an adult and squash whatever issue she had with her. But with her being blocked, it was clear she wanted nothing to do with Jennie.

It had been days since the first set of disses, along with lyric changes to throw shots at her and the lack of response from Jennie had everyone talking.

People commented:

'Unbothered. I like that,'

'Hyuna cooked you!'

'Everything she said about Jennie was true,'

'Rookie! Hyuna is better than you!'

'So, are you going to respond to HyunA?'

'Damn, still no response?'

'Jennie is known for her impressive stage presence at MAMA. They could have been a powerful duo if egos didn't get in the way. Something ain't right,'

'LOL Hyuna won by default. She is taking forever to respond. Is she scared?'

'Get in the booth, Jennie. Or are you taking the L?'

'So, you just gonna let her talk shit about you like that?'

'Jennie doesn't have to respond to anything.'

'I hate how you guys are instigating this drama.'

'No response is a response, Jennie!'

'Does Miss Bangtan need her bulletproof boy scouts to help her with this one?'

'I bet Jennie is the problem. Because she and Hyuna were great friends and she must have done something wrong...'

'Time to stop hiding behind your boys, woman up and respond to your senior.'

'Respect queen Hyuna!'

'You should be lucky she even asked you to collaborate.'

'ARMY gets on my nerves. They like to spam and stream everything for bragging rights. That music video didn't deserve to get higher views than the OG!'

'Yikes...going after one of the chillest people in the K-Pop industry is not wise because if Jennie responds I bet not hear shit that she was disrespectful when Hyuna started this first. And don't try to say respect your seniors.'

'Y'all are a little too comfortable being rude to Jennie on her page...'

'Hyuna started it and Jen will finish it. Watch!'

'Hyuna is being a bit too bold running her mouth.'

'Of all people when you have Bangtan backing her? And other idols who are close friends with her? I don't understand the logic.'

'Hyuna is untouchable in the industry, no idols will come to her aid,'

'I doubt any idol will defend Jennie from Hyuna. She should handle this herself.'

'Bangtan shouldn't always have to fight her battles. She should handle this by herself,'

'Jennie handles business. She'll respond,'

Still, on social media, she saw herself getting tagged in a lot of Hyuna stuff. Come to find out she was still sneak dissing and her stans were eating it up and defending her. However, ARMY was not too happy about the abrupt attitude change and shade thrown at Miss Bangtan.

"Do you want me to say something?" Yoongi asked, who sat next to her, ready to defend her honor.

"Yoongi...no," she firmly said as she turned to him.

"The situation is so grimy. Like damn, the bitch can't share the stage with you on her song that she wanted you to be on in the first place? Why bother asking to collab?" Angelina spoke up, sitting on the couch with Namjoon. "Did she think it wasn't going to go well? She underestimated the power of ARMY's support and your talent as an artist. Those comments on that YouTube video were mainly about you, Jennie. You outshined her in the music video and she was mad about it and has been holding it in for a while. The bitch is jealous,"

"I'm just confused and thrown off by everything. Like I thought we were friends—"

"Well, she's not your friend," Angelina firmly cut Jennie off, getting upset about Hyuna. "A friend doesn't sneak diss. Fuck her,"

"Are you going to let her just bash your name like this in public?" Namjoon asked.

"She is South Korea's IT girl. Everyone loves her. And if I respond...I have a feeling I'll be public enemy number one. You know how the media is gonna twist this and make me the bad guy," Jennie reminded.

"Jen, I love your calmness, right now because you know I'll be ready to fight somebody," Angelina added. "I wish I had your calmness. But stop being nice,"

"I'm not trying to be! I'm not! I'm getting annoyed, now..." she sighed out of frustration.

"Good. Write about it,"

"Listen, I shouldn't cause Bangtan any drama. Award season is coming up...I can't be taking the attention off of us at the award shows. Like I don't even want to be involved in this drama...why can't I just have some genuine celebrity friends, that won't get mad over petty shit, like this? I'm getting PTSD from Hailey and that took a while to heal from,"

"Munchkin, you're not causing drama for us," Hobi spoke up as he leaned against the wall, next to the couch. "I know you're thinking of the negatives but the positives outweigh it. You should respond,"

"And you know that people love you, too. She is not the only beloved K-Pop idol, in the world. You've been making a positive name for yourself with us as BTS. ARMY and us will not stand for the slander. I want you to write about it all," Yoongi affirmed.

"Turn this negative into a positive," Namjoon reminded.

"Diss track incoming?" Angelina smiled.

Jennie let the rappers' words sink in as she glanced at all of them. They had a point. She couldn't just let her bash her name like this out of nowhere. On top of that, she didn't want to hear anything about being respectful to her seniors when she was getting disrespected unprovoked. It bothered her how people think they can talk to younger people in any type of way. Respect should be a mutual thing.

"For now, don't bother engaging in the drama on social media. Don't respond to any of it online. Continue to go about your day like normal," Namjoon suggested.

"Yeah...okay. You're right. All of you," she replied. "I really can't let her just get away with talking shit and not saying it directly to my face. Especially when she didn't even want to respond to my messages and blocked me. She needs to get checked,"

"Good. I'm looking forward to this," Hobi smiled.

"You and I both," Yoongi revealed his gummy smile.

Jennie chuckled and turned to Namjoon. "This reminds me a little bit of the Bobby situation and your diss at MAMA 2014. But yours was more of entertainment. Unlike this,"

The leader chuckled at that and nodded. "Yeah. Well, what are you going to do, now?"

"Handle it," she firmly responded and grabbed her notebook.

"Best news I've heard all day. Get writing," Angelina broke out into a big smile, as the others agreed.

"Mama Awards 2016. Speak your truth, there. Let's talk to the staff later about everything," Namjoon recommended.

"Okay," Jennie nodded, liking that idea. "I'll show you what I have when I'm done. Can I be alone, please? To work?"

The boys respected her decision and left her to work while Angelina stayed behind with Namjoon waiting for her outside the studio.

"Word of advice? Try the 8 Mile method. The stealing thunder strategy. You remember the movie and the final rap battle with Eminem?" Angelina asked as she got off the couch.

"Yeah. I've watched it a few times. That's not a bad idea. I'll work on it,"

[blackjackkent]

After the unexpectedly painful showdown with He Who Was, the last thing Rakha really wants to do is go back to Last Light, where Isobel waits, taunting the murderous urge in her head. But... they have Art Cullagh's lute, and if it helps to wake him and points a path towards lifting the curse, that would qualify as by far the best thing that has happened to her in weeks. So she steels herself and walks back in the inn door.

Cullagh is still stretched on the bed where she last saw him, humming feverishly to himself and surrounded by an anxious-looking group of Flaming Fist. Halsin is there too, seated on a nearby bed, and he looks up with an eager smile at Rakha's approach.

"It's true, then," he says, nodding. "He's met Thaniel. There's no other way he'd know that name. This is just what we needed. Well done." He paces a few steps up and down next to the bed. "We need to wake him. He must know something about where to find Thaniel."

It startles her a little, how comforting those words are. Well done. How jarring it is to be greeted with that eagerness, even if it it's just for the news she brings. The encounter with He Who Was buried her deep in a sense of self-loathing hopelessness, but this - like Wyll's fingertips which are resting gently against her elbow - is a flicker of contrasting light.

"I found a lute," she says. Reaching to her shoulder, she unstraps the instrument from her back. (Another interesting thing - she's grown used to the weight of Alfira's, which is of some solider wood, and Cullagh's is smaller and lighter and feels fragile by comparison.) "It seems to have belonged to the Flaming Fist."

"Good," Halsin says, nodding vigorously. "Its music might help restore him. Show it to him."

Pull out the lute you found and play a little.

Rakha brushes her fingertips across the strings. She's suddenly acutely aware that every person in the room is looking at her. She has never performed for an audience. She does not know any songs; the music she produces, if it can be called that, is only sounds that tug at the Weave in specific ways.

And it is different with Cullagh's lute than with Alfira's, like starting all over again. It is tuned wrong, or at least not precisely right; there is a hint of dissonance on the highest notes. It is older, smaller, beaten by use; even its lowest notes have a shinier resonance to them that she is not used to.(*)

She closes her eyes, shutting out the staring eyes, focusing on the sounds, the way the Weave shudders with the chord. The highest note in the chord is slightly too high. She slides her index finger back along the fretboard, listening to the way the chord wavers and shifts with the motion, until it clicks into place--

Light bursts around her as the chord solidifies, and something about that wailing shiver of sound before it found its place seems to call out to the man, for he starts up into a sitting position and his eyes come open, wide and frantic.

"Thaniel!!"

He looks around wildly, blinking at Rakha in the halo of light surrounding her. "He's still trapped there," he says urgently. "He needs help."

"Breathe." Halsin crouches at the man's side, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You've been trapped in the Shadowfell for a century. Take a moment to clear your mind."

(A/N: I get that we're trying to be efficient here, Halsin, but I might have maybe waited a few sentences before dropping the century bomb if you want him to calm down. XD )

Cullagh shivers violently and looks down at his hands in his lap. "A century..." he whispers. Rakha can see the urge to panic struggling up in him - but it loses out to his inner strength, or perhaps to his exhaustion. "You're... Halsin," he says. "Thaniel said to find you. You must help him. Please."

Halsin stands slowly, his eyes bright with eager hope. "I will," he says, nodding. "But I need to know where Thaniel is. If I venture into the Shadowfell blind, I will never find him."

Cullagh swallows uncertainly. "I'm...not sure I can put it into words. The landscape there shifts and changes."

Slowly Rakha sets down the lute, leaning it against the edge of the bed. The glow of the spell she cast with it fades slowly from her skin. She feels somewhat calmer now after the moment of connection with her own magic, and she tries to focus on what the two men are saying.

The Shadowfell. Halsin and Shadowheart have both mentioned it before. The domain of Shar. The source of the power behind the curse - although not, Rakha suspects - behind its corruption. That is Ketheric's by some other means, for He Who Was (it seems) was also a creature of the Shadowfell, and his magic was dark but pure.

Nevertheless... that power is certainly dangerous, corrupted or not.

Let Halsin handle this.

She watches the elf, deeply curious to see what approach he suggests. Is it possible that they are truly on the trail of a way to clear the taint on this place?

"Lavender," Cullagh says slowly after a little while. "Whenever I saw Thaniel, I always smelled lavender."

Halsin smiles. "I can work with that." Suddenly energized, he lifts his eyes to Rakha. "Meet me by the lakeshore. I have what we need to proceed, but I'll need your help. Be ready... this may prove perilous."

----

(*) Credit to @rhysintherain for some ideas I played off of a bit here around Cullagh's lute and Rakha's unique approach to bardic magic. :D

[squiishiichaos]

Nest Fellows Ch. 5

A KevRiko Collaboration with @noomyart, posted in 6 parts.

Summary: Kevin Day and Riko Moriyama have been the Sons of Exy for as long as they both can remember. They've always been one & two, King & Queen, master & pet, future founders of the perfect Court, but what if there's also something more hidden beneath the surface? What if, when push comes to shove, instead of veering down separate paths, they summed up their parts to fight the system meant to contain them?

Trigger Warnings for:

Graphic Depictions of Violence

Mentions of Jean's abuse

Sexual Content

Tetsuji Moriyama being the absolute piece of shit he is

Chapter 5: Go

Anxiety was an old friend growing weary in Kevin’s back pocket, getting heavier and thicker with every day Riko remained distant in an unnervingly fake sort of way. Kevin hated every reporter and face on the television who preened and plucked since Tetsuji’s announcement about their upcoming face-off–blaming each and every one of them for the impenetrable wall Riko solidified between them. Because he was used to being the one thing that could get through to him. Riko could hate the entire world with every merciless bone in his body, but there was always the tiniest crack Kevin could slither through and reach him. It was a byproduct of being thrust together into the spotlight like two dolls displayed on a shelf since they could walk, he knew, and it was his only lifeline through most of his short life.

Now that Riko was actively pulling away, it was almost funny how hard Kevin was fighting to get back into his good graces. He would almost rather be under his knife and pleading for mercy than whatever this was. Pain he knew, but being routinely ignored and denied connection? He would prefer torture.

His only saving grace was Jean. Their number Three was a static force in the Nest–a sweetheart who was too good for the hand life dealt him. His door was open every time Riko went away with the Master for extra practice, and Kevin was no longer shy about kicking Zane to the curb any time he walked in unannounced.  Kevin withstood his hard shoulders and snide checks with the comfort of a man plagued by far worse fears than a scorned anklebiter. In turn, Jean favored him with the exhaustion of a saint who knew the inevitable collapse of the world was coming and could do nothing but wait out the end with a hand on his back and patient French in his ears. 

Kevin knew the worst was on the horizon, but he was also happy to ignore it. Jean was doubtful of his plan from the start. “Letting him win,” he said in French, “is not all you can do.”

Kevin favored him with a fragile glare. “I know what he will do if he loses.”

They both did. Everyone did.

Exy was Riko’s everything, even more than it was Kevin’s. “You have a father in South Carolina,” Jean had told him one night, and the knowledge that he did tore organs out of Kevin one at a time, flaying through every part of his being until emptiness was all that remained. Oblivious to this, Jean said, “You have somewhere to go if it happens.”

“It won’t,” Kevin pushed, because it couldn't.

“Why not?” Jean asked, voice small and fears real. “Why will you not choose yourself just this once?”

Because , Kevin couldn't say, I've always chosen myself . It was all he could do to survive, picking survival over loyalty and a future. His mother warned Tersuji what could happen if all he pushed them to achieve was victory, but dying from exertion on the court was favorable to losing the only person on this planet who actually understood him. The only person in this Nest who actually loved him.

But “I can't,” was all he could say, and he left it at that.

The days ticked down like numbers on a bomb, falling lower and lower with terrifying speed. Kevin still performed in practice, but a lack of sleep and the gnawing dread of the future before him made him a loaded gun with a finger heavy on his trigger, ready to blow the instant someone on the team pushed him. The other Ravens attributed it to the stress of the upcoming duel and Kevin’s fear of being completely destroyed on live TV.  He wished that was the worst thing that could happen. Even as the Master spared the rod to leave them healthy for the upcoming spectacle–keeping his scathing remarks to a minimum–none of it made Kevin feel better. It only delayed the inevitable and increased his longing for Riko’s attention–a feeling denied him by Riko’s insistence on spending every waking hour practicing and getting better in time for their challenge. It rubbed every inch of Kevin raw with coarse, scratching salt and doused the resulting wounds in high-proof alcohol.

But no amount of begging was enough to convince his number One to show him favor. Try as he might to make himself a problem and give him a reason to put him under the knife, Riko shook him off with a distant smile and the departing image of his back. 

The increasing frustration left Kevin insane with a mix of grief and longing. The next time he ended up in Jean’s room, he slammed the door behind Zane and turned fury red hot on Jean. “Why is he still being obstinate?”

“Why have you,” Jean accused, “not given up on him?”

“I can't!” Kevin complained. “What will he do if he loses, Jean?”

“Probably die,” Jean answered with the indignation of a man scorned.

“And I would die right alongside him!”

“No,” Jean argued, getting off his bed to tower over Kevin, “you would not. The Master would hardly let you once you became number One.”

Kevin nearly collapsed beneath the weight of those words–the promise in them. The responsibility. “I'm going to be sick,” he crowed and rushed past Jean into the adjoined bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before his stomach emptied its contents into the bowl. He dry heaved above the porcelain goddess several more times, unable to stave off the flare of heat that lanced behind his eyes and the pain that braced his lungs. He didn't even realize he was sobbing until Jean was right behind him, washcloth cleaning spittle off his mouth and resting a hand on his shoulder, squeezing periodically to keep him upright and whole. 

When that hand dropped down to his back, Kevin turned to cling onto Jean for dear life, desperate for anything to ground him where he sat. 

Jean sighed and muttered French words–a prayer, maybe? Kevin didn't try to decipher it. His head was too heavy, pressed on by the weight of fresh tears that just wouldn't fall and the endless, massive weight of guilt. It had him cuddling back against Jean, ignoring the deep silence that fell upon them and how hesitantly arms slowly closed around him.

“I'm sorry,” Kevin eventually said, minutes–maybe hours?–later. He didn't have the capacity to care anymore. Not like this. “You’re all I have,” he added, “you know that, right?”

“Yes,” Jean whispered, “I do." Kevin heard the no I’m not he didn't say in every word. 

Silence remained between them after that, lingering like a weighted blanket across them both. Kevin couldn't bring himself to say a word that was true and Jean didn't need any to know what he was thinking. Four years in this fucked up place together, hiding their lessons and orbiting together, made them a different type of telepathic from Riko and himself. It was an empathetic kind, only drawn more close by every tragedy and loss, solidifying their tenuous relationship one scar at a time. It was a friendship built on trauma and one with a power imbalance Kevin didn't dwell on long. If he did, he feared what might happen if he did become number One, but the pain of even that singular thought brought back every bit of his waning nausea.

After a time, when they both grew tired of laying half-propped against a bathroom wall, Kevin managed, “I can't lose him, Jean. He is everything. I–”

“No,” Jean stopped him with a hand over his mouth and ordered, “do not say it. Riko is your King. He is your number One. He is your collar and he is your leash. But you are better than him. You are, and you deserve that.”

Kevin moaned pitifully and silenced his protests, ducking his head against Jean’s chest and letting his heartbeat slowly lull him back down. He fell asleep like that, pained and annoyed that no one came looking for him, especially the one person who should.

-

There was only one more day before the big face-off, so it was apropos that the Master pulled each of the contestants aside and read them their rights. Riko went first because it was his due for being number One. Whatever was said between Uncle and nephew was kept under wraps as one of the best kept secrets in the Nest. Riko merely smiled at Kevin when he walked by, and Kevin nearly short-circuited when his partner came to a stop right in front of him. Riko wore a haughty grin.  His eyes were hungry for him–like the last few weeks never happened. It was both jarring and alarmingly relieving, leaving Kevin staring at his partner in wait for his next order, eager to please.

But there were no orders to be given. Riko merely touched the number on his cheek and let his fingers slide down his skin to slowly curl around his chin. Angling his eyes down to meet his own, his smile curled devilishly and he said, “Did you miss me, Kevin?”

“Of course I did,” Kevin growled exhaustedly, “you’re my partner.”

“Then do as I say, Kevin. Show me where your loyalty lies and I will return my presence to you." Kevin knew his mother was likely rolling over in her grave when he nodded, but he couldn't help it. He gave in with nearly zero consideration of the consequences. Riko favored him with a softened grin and rewarded, “The Master wishes to see you now. I will be in our room–waiting.”

“Wait,” Kevin’s lips pulled into a frown and the hands fisted tightly at his side unfurled just long enough to close in Riko’s practice jersey. “What about afterwards? What then?”

Riko’s gaze was a miserable, infuriating thing. “After what, Kevin? Be more specific.”

“You know what,” Kevin hissed, narrowing his eyes and using every ounce of his desperation to draw Riko across the distance and right into his person. He saw it–he saw how Riko’s eyes widened and pink flushed just beneath the black ink of his number on his cheek. “What if,” he swallowed and asked, “what if it didn't need to be like this?”

“Like what?” The suspicion in Riko’s voice almost deterred Kevin entirely, but he held on tight, soldering through. 

“What if,” he asked, “we could leave?”

Riko’s laugh was a bark of pure cynicism. “ What ? And go where ? For what reason ?”

“We are number One and number Two,” Kevin said with purpose.  “we are the Sons of Exy. Our place is on a court. That doesn't mean it has to be this court.”

Riko’s frown deepened. “What are you suggesting , Kevin?”

“Let's run,” he blurted out, nearly collapsing behind the words. “We can go to the foxes–or Jeremy –or anyone but him .”

Dark eyes stared blankly at him for several long minutes before Riko tightened his jaw back into place and drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Do not make him wait any longer,” he grumbled before he shook Kevin off.

Riko retreated without so much as another look and Kevin watched his back disappear all the way down the hall before he dared look at the corridor leading toward Tetsuji’s office with an unfathomable weight on his chest. 

Even if it was meant to be a neutral place for all members of the team, Kevin didn't have many great memories of this office from his years here. It was a private location for a reason, owing to how much violence happened behind its closed door. The black wood of it didn't so much as welcome Kevin when he arrived as it did order him to stand just on the threshold, waiting to be invited inside by a booming, authoritative voice. When no such word came, he finally moved forward and knocked three times in slow succession. Rather than a voice welcoming him into his final prison, the door swung inward and Tetsuji met him at the threshold, gesturing him inside without a word.

Kevin went in without complaint, walking to stand before Tetsuji’s desk.  The Master kept his office immaculate and regal, perfectly staged to mimic the importance of a Monarch while at work. The only mode of comfort within the chamber was the two chairs plush around the monolithic desk dominating the space. Tetsuji stood behind it, staring back at him, with no mementos or personal effects between them, preferring things stay neat and tidy. The only picture he allowed himself was a photo of himself and Kayleigh from their time together in Japan–framed and standing lonely at the very far edge of his desk, turned away from visitors and for his eyes only. Kevin only knew it was there from the time Riko and him had gone snooping through here as children, emboldened by childish mischief and invigorated when they found Kayleigh’s letter hidden in one of the drawers.

Even though the Master didn't catch them, they never went back after that, possibly because Riko was too afraid of what he might find if he dug a little deeper and Kevin never pried. It was easier to remain blissfully ignorant, pretending for all these years like he knew nothing, hoping Tetsuji might one day spill the truth of his own volition.

He half expected that now, but when Tetsuji addressed him, it was with an unreadable look that struck far too deep for his liking. He sat back against his desk in an almost casual posture, crossing his arms over his chest with an appraising once over. “You've grown up quite a bit,” he commented, as if it was simply an observation and not as soft as the look in his dark eyes suggested. “Kayleigh would be proud of your height and build. She always worried about you remaining small and timid.”

Kevin swallowed and merely nodded his head with a plain, “Thank you, Master.”

“She would be less proud,” Tetsuji went on, “that you have not been playing your best. You have the talent, you have the height, you have the reach and the skill to be the best. You do not need to lower yourself just to keep my nephew happy.”

Kevin glanced up at him and tried, “But–”

Tetsuji raised his hand and Kevin went quiet. “All these years, I have raised you two together with the goal of you pushing each other to be the best, bolstered by your rivalry and synchronicity. What I did not expect to come from your partnership is Riko's dependence on your support to hold his rank. All of us know you are better. Statistically speaking, physically speaking–even mentally. You have always remained logical in the face of adversity, determined to get better and push through all trials at your best. If Riko is to surpass his current potential, he needs to know what it feels like to fail. He must lose and be forced to crawl back from the bottom.”

“Sir,” Kevin tried, “but I can’t–”

“You are the only one who can,” Tetsuji urged him. “Do not fear what punishment he might have prepared for you. I will not let any of it come to pass. Am I understood?”

Kevin wanted to raise his voice and argue with him that Riko would not survive a defeat before the eyes of millions. He wanted to push Tetsuji and give back every nasty word and hit he ever dealt them their whole life. But he couldn't. All he could do was stare at the ground by his feet, hands curled into fists by his sides, and say, “Understood,” with a curt and rebellious Master. 

He didn't storm out of the office in fear of what retribution he might bring upon himself and his partner, but he made up for it by storming into his shared room instead.  He stopped just inside their private space when he spotted the fresh marks on Riko’s skin. Kevin fumed his way across the room in three strides, grabbing Riko’s shoulder to hold him in place while he inspected the fresh welts and bruises gaining an angry red color by the second. “He hit you,” he stated with fury lacing every word.

Riko easily turned out of his grip with a vicious, “Do not forget yourself, Kevin.” 

Kevin’s eyes flew wide and startled for a moment before anger took hold again. “Is this what all the extra practice has been doing to you? How the fuck is that fair , Riko?”

“Do not ,” Riko growled dangerously, “speak to me in that tone.”

“I'm allowed to be angry for you!” Kevin yelled and watched how Riko recoiled slightly from his raised voice only to double down on his growl. Riko could absolutely destroy him in a fight, but Kevin was ready for it if it came this time. “He wants me to beat you on live TV in front of millions , Riko!”

“What?” Riko snorted and returned, “I would not be doing all this extra work–”

“To tire you out?” Kevin interrupted.  “To keep you weak and sore and off your game?" When Riko glared at him, he said, “Can't you fucking see it ? He is picking sides! He’s rigging the match in my favor!”

Riko swallowed and countered, “Then you should be happy.”

“I am not happy!” Kevin yelled again, “You really think I want to see you ruined? Is that what he’s been telling you?" When Riko just stared at him, Kevin deflated with a groaned, “Of course. How thoughtless of me to assume he could have a single ounce of decency.”

“Hey,” Riko reached up and touched his cheek with a tenderness that was lost in the confusion on his face. “What's gotten into you? I've never seen you like this.”

“I want out,” Kevin said and he grabbed at Riko’s wrist before he could pull away. “I want to be with you. I…" He swallowed and tried again, but Riko pressed the flat of his palm to his mouth to keep those words unsaid.  Kevin peeled his fingers off one at a time and closed them into his palm. Riko glanced at that connection a moment, then raised an eyebrow in scrutiny. 

Kevin told him, “We are an equal match. We are the Sons of Exy. We don't have to be One and Two.”

Riko snorted. “You see? You’re already–”

Kevin interrupted him, “One and Two are numbers in a sequence, Riko! You came first–yes–but we do not have to be first and second. We can be one and two. And three, four. However many we want to add to our line. The number doesn't have to be what we define ourselves as. It can be our mark of where we are going and what we survived. It can be our ticket out of this place.”

Riko ducked his gaze to Kevin's cheek and raised his other hand to brush his fingers over the dark mark there. “We’re already on the court team.”

“We’ve already proven ourselves,” Kevin agreed.

“We hardly need a college degree with our skills.”

Kevin nodded. “We can go pro and leave our academic years behind. NHL and NFL players do it all the time. Why not us, too? We can show them what the true future of exy looks like–together. You and I. Jean, if you’ll allow him.”

“And Jeremy?" Riko teased him. A tightness in Kevin’s chest loosened at the smirk directed toward him. “I suppose you'll want to recruit him, too, what with your obsession and all." Kevin didn't give a clear answer, but his silence was enough to leave Riko sighing and dropping his head against his shoulder. “You want to do it alone." 

“We have our pro contracts to pay our way.”

“We’ll need to switch teams ,” Riko argued. “And the Master isn't going to just roll over and let us go.”

“Riko,” Kevin touched his chin and lifted his gaze, “if we don't leave soon, he’s going to ruin us. He’s willing to choose one over the other. He doesn't care which of us lives or dies as long as his legacy lives on.”

Riko bit the inside of his lip and cheek a quiet moment before he took a deep breath and said, “What was your plan exactly ?”

Kevin grinned with hungry relief and led him over to his– their bed to sit down and discuss his thoughts. 

[mistype360]

mbti/enneagram typing for 🎀 anon

enneagram - 127 1w9 2w3 7w6

let's start with your first question: your biggest fear. the part about not wanting to be isolated or abandoned definitely gives e9. you also describe how you don't feel that you are very driven, but you also oftentimes feel "empty," which is usually how e9's feel about themselves and their emotions. enneagram 9 is pretty notorious for feeling that they are detached from themselves. however, i don't think this is the core of your type (more of a wing to your 1), since it's not really that basis of your answers.

now, onto your core type. at worst, you find yourself lonely, fragile and intense - all of which are emblematic of an e1 disintegrating into an e4. even the part about being "kind of a bad person" shows how your e1 shines even when you display unhealthy e4 traits. something that really solidified your e1 for me was how you said that even when you feel angry, there's a part of you that thinks you don't really deserve to - which is very much how an e1 might find themselves internalizing their anger. from what you describe, anger isn't something outward to you. it's not that you struggle with expressing it (as a 9 would), but more that you feel it internally but choose not to express it. if you do, you might feel shame or even regret afterwards, which could be a way an e1 internalizes this emotion.

onto the head triad - you seem to want to be satisfied with yourself and life, something you value to an extent. this def indicates to me that on top of being a 1w9, you have a 7 fix. not as strong - but present enough to explain why you aren't fully focused on security or gaining resources.

then, "to love and be loved strongly," definitely screams e2. even how you say that you hate having the "bad" side of you shown to others is likely why you have a 3w2 to in your tritype. some of your answers about your relationships to other and your emotions can be attributed to this type, which is why i placed it higher than e7.

mbti ?? (isfp, isfj, infp - possibilities)

since it was a short questionnaire, it was hard for me to infer things about your mbti, but i tried my best to narrow them down. from your adjectives (humanitarian ideas, philosophical things, brainstorming, making up things), you are mostly likely high in intuitive and feeling functions.

through solving problems you say you like to "talk it out" through "metaphors, similes" and etc etc. this is definitely indicative of a higher intuition, most likely ni-se. imo metaphors are more of ne-si and similes are ni-se. what solidified ni>ne for me was how you describe that uncertainly unsettles you, which is often uncharacteristic of an entp or enfp.

the part about preferring when your memories get richer and experiencing nostalgia don't necessarily conflict with having ni. in fact, they probably are more connected to your feeling function, which might be the true motivation of these feelings. from how i interpret this, you like the feeling of nostalgia, and how it adds meaning, which is more a combination intuition and feeling (and maybe enneagram) rather than full on si.

finally, onto your feeling function, the part about feeling as if you have no moral compass but still disliking when your ideas are questioned seem to be fi. it's hard to find where exactly it would be placed, but it's up there on your stack. imo, your fi>ni, which is why if i were to type you, it would be either an isfp. if my analysis on your sensing or intuition functions was pretty limited, then i would say it could alternatively be an isfj or even infp.

[distant-velleity]

"My Answer Is..."

Summary: Love and fear are deeply intertwined, aren't they? (Basically, FloYu angst.) Word count: 600+ A/N: So @nahelenia and I are driving each other insane, Shakespeare is driving us insane, and thus this was partly written both out of spite and as a request. I desperately need to go to sleep because I have a test tomorrow. Enjoy <333

-

Floyd arrives too late.

The grass beneath his feet is all black and withered, like seaweed washed up on the beach and left only as a nuisance to others. Akin to blood in the water, a strong stench and a darkly visible presence, blot collects on the ground and in the air in a smog-like form. It’s nothing like the sweet crimson that the injured leave behind for predators to give chase, though; instead, Floyd feels suffocated, as if he was the predator duped by what seemed to be prey. 

Prey?

Maybe, just maybe, you could view the inky Phantom—all gossamer fins spun in midnight black and golden scales glowing with the cruelty of sunlight—as that; dancing in the air around its host as it does, it looks delicate. It’s an ornamental fish, after all.

Pretty, like the sparkle of jewelry within a shipwreck. Fragile, like reefs adored by royalty. Flighty, like a school of fish darting about. And yet guarded, like an oyster protecting its singular pearl.

Pure, with the promise of more beneath the surface.

Something to chase. Something to be adored. 

By all means, something like that should be prey.

But—

“Just as I've interfered with everything before, why don't I undo my mistakes starting from the very first?”

—everything has changed. It’s finally decided to show its true colors.

Illuminated by the glow of frantic magic spells, Yu is—like always—at the heart of it all. Although blot drips like tears down his face, ashen and deathly pale unlike its usual flushed liveliness, he smiles. Freed by anguish, saved by pain. Serene in the midst of his other Phantoms confronting their former hosts.

He looks happy in a way that Floyd has never seen before, stepping on a fallen Phantom’s melting corpse without care as he walks forward. His steps are delicate, held in the air as if he’s levitating on clouds, and yet they hold the weight of the world in their importance.

“You’re just on time,” says Yu, voice overlayed with what feels like audible darkness. And yet, it’s bursting with hollow, meaningless joy. “So? Shall I fix you a ‘happy ending’ without me in it, too?”

“Koi-chan…”

Floyd doesn’t normally feel scared. He can count the number of times he’s experienced fear on one hand: once, for when he had just emerged into the world and none of his senses had solidified. Twice, for when his father first taught him what squeezing felt like. Thrice, for when Azul succumbed to an Overblot as nightmarish as this one.

And this fourth time…

(“Did you know,” Yu said idly, tapping an unfamiliar rhythm on Floyd’s closed textbook, “that the number four represents ‘death’ in my parents’ culture?”

Floyd looked at him, lifting his chin from where he’d been about to go to sleep on his crossed arms—interest piqued. “Why?”

“‘Cause in their first language, the characters are read the same way with the barest of differences.” Using his finger, the TA drew foreign but interesting characters on the hardcover. “‘Si,’ with the fourth tone, meaning ‘four.’ And ‘si,’ with the third tone. If you hear them, well… they’re almost the same, aren’t they?”)

Everything is wrong. So, so, so wrong.

Yu, anxious and walled yet vulnerable and sweet, once his ‘prey’ from another world—as it turns out, has always been the one in control. Ornamental koi may be, free for the killing in their open-air enclosures, but beautiful things have the strongest sway over the heart.

It just took Floyd too long to realize that he’d become prey to ‘this feeling.’

And now, if he doesn’t act, ‘these feelings,’ along with him—will be lost before they can even blossom.

“I’m waiting for your response, Floyd.”

“Some happy ending that is. I don’t need it.” It wouldn’t be happy without you in my life.

Something snaps. The smog thickens, impossible to breathe in. 

Floyd gasps for air, seeing only the chilling glow of Yu’s eyes ahead of him.

“Wrong answer.”

[tk-duveraun]

Lian and the Capitalist Fuckboy AU 4/?

1. 2. 3. 4 (here) 5.

She will have terrible scars for the rest of her life, but she will have a life to live. 

Once the white mages clear the grounds of the Feng’s Kugane house, the entire family descends on (ascends to?) it. Hancock is made to sit in the dining room and eat until Mingtao is satisfied he’s had enough.

Lian’s mother and twin brothers take her to bathe while her father and twin sisters strip the bed, remake it and thoroughly clean the room. Hancock isn’t really thinking clearly, mind mostly buzzing with the fact that Lian will recover and live and be okay. But even in his distracted state, he has a moment of disjointed confusion. Shouldn’t Lian’s sisters be the ones helping with the bath?

But then he remembers the twin boys are strong white and black mages respectively, which make them much better bath attendants for someone only half-conscious. They were also large enough to carry her and move her around without aggravating the lingering wounds and new scales. It was only his Uldan-Hyur sensibilities that found it strange.

As he mechanically chews a fresh meat bun, Hancock remembers Lian mentioning that gender wasn’t really a concept for her people. Some people were large, others were small and that didn’t particularly affect anything other than procreation and even then, she’d said, there were workarounds. 

Mingtao pushed another bowl of soup at Hancock.

He wasn’t too, too familiar with Lian’s sandi. Mingtao didn’t really care for business and his Hingan was about as broken as Hancock’s Shuiwen. So the two sat quietly in the dining room.

At a stunned kind of distance, Hancock watched the Feng servants bring in more tables and seats to fill the dining room. Despite knowing Lian’s family was large, he’d always taken the size of the manor to be a symbol of the family’s affluence more than a practical purchase. Hancock mentally tallied the rooms against the number of family members and found it a much tighter fit than he’d previously thought.

Hancock remained at the table even once the food was cleared by the servants. He took his cue from Mingtao to stay out of the way. His choice was solidified when Mingyun joined them with a pile of papers and Lian’s assistant.

Mingyun greeted his brother with a clap on the shoulder before sitting next to him. Across the table, he shot Hancock a long-suffering grimace, though his posture was still loose with relief.

“Work’s built up,” Mingyun said in Hingan. “Sakurai-san’s a great asset, of course, but too much of our work requires direct family approval.”

Sakurai Mikana, sat on Mingyun’s side, nodded. “There was only so much I could do communicating everything via linkpearl.”

“The benefit of being, myself, a proxy,” Hancock said.

Mingyun didn’t look up from his papers, “Well, if Nanarito doesn’t appreciate you enough, we’ll take care of that.”

Mingtao asked something in Shuiwen and they had a short back and forth before Mingyun snorted and looked up at Hancock just to roll his eyes.

“A-Tao thinks I’m getting ahead of things, but he hasn’t been subjected to the matchmakers yet.”

Mikana made a comment in Shuiwen that had Mingyun chuckle and pat his brother’s thigh. “See? I know what I’m talking about.”

Mingtao made a sour face, and got up, saying something dismissive with the word kitchen in it.

Before Hancock could parse all of that, Lian’s mother entered the dining room and gestured for Hancock and her son to follow her.

She took them to a different room than Lian had been using before. The bed was visibly larger and made Lian look tiny and fragile. She was wrapped in an orange, silk, sleeping robe to protect the fragile, new scales. The still-healing wounds on Lian’s face were free of bandages, but covered in a green paste. The largest splotch was on her left cheek, which, at least, no longer showed signs of infection.

Lian was asleep, but her skin, though still pale from long illness, had a flush of life that had Hancock’s heart in his throat.

Hancock was ushered into the seat at the head of the bed by Lian’s mother. He wasn’t ignorant of the blessing that was and gave her the most polite thanks he knew in Shuiwen.

“Enough of that,” she replied in Hingan. She had an accent, but was clearly very practiced in the language. She sat on the opposite side of the bed and ran her hand over the crown of Lian’s head. Lian’s hair had been dried and braided after the bath. “That’s your place. We’ve known that for a long time.”

“We’ve known way more than that for a long time,” Minghong chimed in. He was leaned against the wall at the foot of Lian’s bed. Both he and his twin held complimentary staves.

“Be nice,” one of Lian’s twin sisters said. “You don’t want to scare off dage now.”

“If her smothering hasn’t done it by now, nothing will,” Minghong said.

“See? I told you a-Tao was in denial,” Mingyun said.

Hancock smiled helplessly. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Oh. He doesn’t know,” the second of Lian’s sisters said.

“Sh, sh, no one tell him,” the first sister said.

“You were just telling me not to bully him!” Minghong shot back.

Lian’s parents burst into laughter. Mingyu followed, then the rest of the siblings. It was probably the first time they’d laughed in days. The catharsis of relieved tension hit Hancock like a physical force and he found himself joining in even if he didn’t quite understand what was so funny.

...because it certainly couldn’t be that...

[greersarchive]

Remember, ignore everything Freud said. Just... like, all of it. Yes, even the stuff about the subconscious. Especially the stuff about the subconscious. There may be subconscious processing in your brain, but it's got blown *way* out of proportion. Right now the top theory on WTF a dream is basic boils down to your brain solidifying shit in long-term memory (LTM). See, contrary to popular belief, long-term memory doesn't have to be that long. Short-term memory (STM) is generally thought to last for about 30 seconds or so, tops. STM is when you try to remember a phone number long enough to dial it. Anything longer than that is LTM. So why do some things in long-term memory not seem to stick around for... well... the long term? Well lots of reasons! Sometimes it's just because you can't access the memory. To retrieve a memory, you basically need to look it up somehow. It's kinda like Tumblr. Your brain might tag a memory with anything it's remotely associated with. You gotta access the tag to get at the memory. But what if you post on Tumblr every lunch you ever had, and they're all tagged "lunch"? Well searching the lunch tag is going to get you all the lunches in no particular order. They all blend into each other. Hence, unless something specific, with a better tag happened, or some combination of tags, you can't retrieve the memory you want. This is one reason why people advise studying in multiple environments. The more retrieval cues you can associate with a memory, the more likely you are to be able to access it later. Related to this is the idea of consolidation. That's when your brain takes the relatively fragile memories in your hippocampus and solidifies them. How? Mostly through those sorts of associations! Rather than being stored in your bitty little hippocampus, they get woven in with your other memories via association and memory traces become spread throughout the brain. Over the course of months and years, these memories can become more and more stable this way. This is also why, when people suffer a head injury, they sometimes forget what happened in the hours or days proceeding. Those memories weren't consolidated yet and were more prone to loss. Dreaming is thought to be related to memory consolidation. There's a common saying in neurology: what fires together wires together. This is great for forming associations in real-time. When two things happen together often enough, it makes sense to think they're related and so physically relate them in your brain. But it's also what happens when you consolidate memories. So your brain is trying to take your memories from the last day/week/year and associate them with... well whatever else in your memory makes sense. So you have a lot of different memory areas in the brain firing at once trying to form and solidify associations. It's no surprise the end result is... weird, given these thoughts, memories, and ideas don't have any real connective tissue besides what you apply trying to make sense of it all. And, yeah, sometimes it can be disturbing. There's disturbing shit out there you've seen, heard about, or, regrettably, experienced. That's gonna be part of it. It doesn't mean anything except that you are aware disturbing things exist.

Former Cog Psych grad student... away! *flies into the air and into a ceiling fan*

idk what traumatized or mentally ill person needs to hear this but dreams (especially the really disturbing ones you dont want to talk about to anybody) arent some deep peek into your psyche or a sign of your True Desires or whatever theyre quite literally your brain making fruit salad with whatever it can find on the shelf. just putting all that shit in a blender and hitting obliterate. its fine, youre fine, youre not a weirdo for it

[isledolon]

in the desert || interstitial

After the trial, you eventually make it back into your room and your bed. There you lay, left to consider the day’s happenings. Are you pleased with how it turned out– or, rather, are you at least confident in what you did? What about what you said or didn’t say? Not like thinking on it changes anything now, but you can’t help it, until you finally drift off to sleep…

And then you stand in a wasteland. The first sensation you feel might be that of sand blowing past your face, stinging your cheeks. Or the sun, maybe, burning overhead. There’s nothing for miles and miles except scrubby trees and the occasional tuft of grass or rock.

You are alone. No one is here to save you from the wind and the heat. You will always be alone, you feel suddenly. The thought that “this is a dream” doesn’t exist in your mind. This is your reality, now. This place is too hostile to maintain life. You are the only thing that breathes for miles. 

Your bare feet dig into the sand, warm for now but gradually heating. Soon, it will burn you to stand. Soon the sun will beat you down into nothing, a great overbearing force that you can’t escape from. Or soon, the sand blowing around you will consume you, and you’ll never be found again.

And the wind is picking up. You realize this with an overbearing sense of dread. 

It’s not safe for you here. Nowhere will ever be safe for you again. You must simply embrace it and walk. So you do, picking a direction. None are any different from any others, after all. There is nothing everywhere, and everywhere there will only be you. 

You walk, feet digging laboriously into the sand as you push yourself forward. They burn as the sun heats the ground. Worse, maybe, is the burning of your skin. It forces you to be aware of yourself, the way your flesh feels like it fits poorly over your bones. The weakness of your legs. The way sand blows into your mouth, choking you. You’ve never been so acutely aware of your own existence… or maybe you have? Maybe you think about it even when awake. Your own inadequacies, brought out, burning, by the sun. Spread over the sand for everyone to see, if there was anyone else around. If only you were stronger and faster. You could be out of here already.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been walking for when you see something shimmering ahead of you. Your whole body burns as if you’ve been cast out of molten glass into this fragile form, now beaten down by the sandstorm that bludgeons you. Soon, you’ll shatter into pieces. But you feel suddenly, strongly, that if you reach whatever that is you’ll be safe. Something is waiting for you there.

So you run, despite your exhaustion.

It solidifies into an oasis, a bright paradise full of shade and with enough trees to block the wind. It feels like you run for hours to reach it, but that only makes the relief of the cool sand under your feet sweeter. In the center of the ring of green, flourishing plants is the source of their life– a crystal-clear pool of water. 

It feels familiar to you. Not just familiar, inviting. This whole place does, compared to the suffering you’ve just endured. In the desert, certainly, but also in the trial. On the island. Outside of the island. You could stay here for a while, escape the struggles of your everyday life, you think. Drink deeply from the water before you, be soothed by its cool waves on your aching feet. Why would you ever go back out into that storm? There, the only person you have to face is yourself. The thought is horrifying. Here, there’s…

Someone else, you realize. 

A figure stands in the shallows of the water, looking at you. It’s humanoid, certainly, but it’s difficult to make anything else out because its surface is so bright that it blinds you. Like with the sun, you feel that uncomfortable sensitivity of your own skin, like something is struggling to find its shape beneath it. But this time, you feel like there’s relief, just ahead of you. The warmth doesn’t burn. It will help you, if you only reach it. 

Your feet step into the cool water alongside them. Your hands reach out, clasping around the arms of the figure. 

They feel familiar. Like when you curl your hands to your own arms and grasp tight to yourself for comfort. Despite the bright light, the warmth of them is pleasant. It’s so bright you can barely see, standing this close. Your vision fills with white, and you grip tighter– no! Don’t take me away from this place that is safe, this person that is…

Your eyes meet, and they’re familiar. Identical, even. The eyes you see when you look into a mirror. The mouth is your mouth, forming around words you can’t hear or make out as your vision blurs. No matter how tightly you hold, you feel yourself drifting away into that bright white light. The last thing you make out is that the person you cling desperately to…looks happy. They look at peace. They look how you wish you could feel.

And then you wake up, in your dark room. Just like last time, the dream ends and leaves you with the lingering feeling of missing something that was never real to begin with. You turn your head to take in the mundanity of your room and its lack of burning sun and sandstorms and…

A figure stands in the corner, faintly glowing with golden light. It looks familiar. It stares at you, the way you would stare into a mirror, and then it disappears.

[onebigerror]

@allourinsides asked: "i can't believe he would do this to you…" (vi & jinx)

'why do you act like you don't want him back?' that question spoken from jinx's purple lips was what had started it all. the confession's spilled from vi's lips like a poison that threatened to infect her sister the same way it had her all those years. once she started she couldn't stop. 'i can't believe he would do this to you...' was the last thing jinx said. then there was silence and it was deafening. the tension in the air was thick and she felt like she couldn't breathe. vi was terrified that she'd made a mistake in opening up about such a painful subject. she'd said too much and now it was going to ruin the fragile peace the sisters had found with one another. but it was something she'd held in for far too long. a secret that she'd carried with her all those years, vi desperately needed to let it out. now everything was awkward and wrong and she cursed herself for even trying. if there wasn't a very real possibility of having vander back in their lives she might have kept it pushed down and buried forever. but that wasn't the case. they were close and she had no clue what he would remember if viktor actually succeeded in healing his mind.

they were so close that their heartbeats combined into a single study rhythm. vi would usually find comfort in this but not now. all she could feel was anxiety and the sting of rejection. jinx didn't believe her. she thought she was a liar. it was written all over her face. that made vi want to clam up and just never try to open up about the subject again. maybe that would be for the best. she was literally stripping another layer of comfort away from her sister by telling her that their beloved, adoptive father wasn't always the saint that everyone perceived him to be. sometimes the anger had to come out - the ugly side couldn't stay hidden forever - and it been vi that was always on the receiving end when it did. she knew that she hadn't always been the easiest teenager to deal with - she was defiant, stubborn and always causing some kind of trouble - but she didn't feel she deserved the entirety of vander's wrath. she was a kid, she'd needed guidance and understanding. it was something that she took and kept to herself to protect the others. especially powder. despite it all she loved him. vander was a good man. he just had his demons. they all did.

"i...i shouldn't have told you. i knew you wouldn't believe me." the words were choked out. she untangled herself from jinx's body and sat up. shoulders slumped but she didn't cry. she was too frustrated for tears. "and why would you? why would anyone?" not that she'd ever told another living soul. not even caitlin. telling jinx made sense. she thought it would solidify that bound and bring them closer. a step towards what they once had. instead she'd just fucked it all up and put yet another wedge between them. "i needed you to believe me..." it was rare that vi was vulnerable with anyone but this was jinx. her powder was in there somewhere and she desperately needed to bring the two sides of that same person together. maybe she just needed to accept that she couldn't.

[bllsbailey]

Kinzinger Says J6 Was a ‘Dark’ Day, Thought He Would Have to ‘Shoot As Many Americans’ As Possible

Former Representative Adam Kinzinger (IL) revealed that his transition to a Democrat is nearly complete and recalled the protests at the Capitol in 2021 as if they were worse than a war zone, even revealing he thought he'd have to "shoot as many Americans as bullets as I had in my gun" to protect himself.

Kinzinger made the comments in an interview with Forbes that was published on Friday. In it, he describes filming for a documentary called "The Last Republican" as if it were therapy for his incredibly fragile psyche.

"I realized at that moment the damage done to me and that I had been putting this off," he said, discussing a sit down for the film. "That interview was probably psychologically the most healing thing, even over talking to somebody in counseling for a year, just to be able to unload all that."

Wait, did he just admit to having to go to counseling over the relatively mundane protests at the Capitol? The guy is basically AOC with less testosterone.

Adam Kinzinger Solidifies His Position As the Democrats' Favorite Political Prostitute

The former Congressman, now reduced to being a CNN commentator, suggested the Republican Party's backing of President-elect Donald Trump is such a massive change in ideology that he realizes he's basically part of the resistance party now.

"The thing that surprised me most with this, and here's a funny thing about the last couple of years, I've built these new alliances, like I've realized I'm probably closer to a Democrat now because of how the Republican Party has changed," he admitted. "The Democrats are now the party that's defending America's role in the world, defending Ukraine, which I'm really passionate about."

You're the one who changed, Adam. Not being able to grasp that concept — that you abandoned every conservative principle you may have ever held because the big, bad orange fella hurt your feelings — is why you're currently suffering psychologically.

Need evidence of that? Listen to his latest account of the events that transpired on January 6th. From admitting he went to the Capitol that day looking for violence, that he was armed, barricaded himself in his office, to contemplating shooting as many people as he could.

The guy is a textbook case of a mental breakdown.

WATCH: Elon Musk Has Gloriously Broken Kinzinger and Dems, and Their New Tactic Is Next-Level Dumb

"I knew there was going to be violence. I predicted violence, and so I went in with my gun for the first time," the broken shell of a man told Forbes, later noting, "I remember walking around the Capitol and seeing these MAGA hats out and walking around."

The dude was scared of MAGA hats. Which he probably could have only seen if he had been standing on a milk crate to get at eye level with these folks.

"I heard all this commotion, non-lethal munitions being fired, screaming, and yelling, and I remember feeling this sense of darkness. I've never felt it before. I've been in war, and I've never felt this feeling of something dark happening," Kinzinger recalled. "At that point, I had to barricade myself in my office, and I was sitting there in absolute disbelief."

Lest you think he wasn't seriously petrified of those people in MAGA hats walking slowly through the Capitol and pausing occasionally to take a selfie, you'd be wrong. As he said, he clearly felt he was now at war.

He pondered this. Alone. In the darkness. Under his desk.

"I was sitting there for about 30 minutes thinking I might have to shoot as many Americans as bullets as I had in my gun to protect myself," Kinzinger confessed. "I still don't really feel like it happened, but it's one of those days for me that stands out, like 9/11 and the day I took the Milwaukee stabber down."

Just like 9/11, eh? Congratulations, Adam; your transition from male to Democrat is complete.

Adam Kinzinger Stomps His Little Foot and Insists He’s Not Afraid of Trump’s Jail Threat

This isn't the first time "cryin'" Adam has used the 9/11 analogy. He once fancied himself a hero in the war against Trump and his MAGA supporters. A hero on the level of Todd Beamer.

Kinzinger, in an interview with Wolf Blitzer, said people need to stand up to Trump much in the same way Beamer and the passengers of United Flight 93 did to terrorists on 9/11.

“If you think about heroics on Flight 93 that saved the Capitol in 2001, it wasn’t Todd Beamer alone,” Kinzinger said. “It was everybody standing up and saying we’ve had enough.”

In his latest interview, Kinzinger, who actually has a biographical book titled "Renegade," laments how so many people in his life are ashamed of him for pretending to be a bada** when it comes to fighting Trump.

From a co-pilot in Iraq who texted him "saying he was ashamed to have ever flown with me and fought with me" to his extended family sending him a certified letter saying he's "part of the devil's army."

Through it all, though, Kinzinger says he at least knows his son, unlike the rest of America, won't be ashamed of the family name.

"I'll get choked up if I say it, but I know that when he reads about this time in history, he's not going to be ashamed to be a Kinzinger and that makes it worth it."

I don't know, man. Being a paid prostitute for the Democrat Party who thought he'd have to start playing Duck Hunt with MAGA hats at the Capitol doesn't exactly inspire pride.

[wxndswept]

"...on. .... Fan..." I opened my eyes to the sweet familiar voice. Lifting my head and blinking the weariness away, I let out a puff of smoke from my nostrils and licked my chops before looking over to see sweet Eitri.

"Daydreaming again?" She giggled, holding up the Origin Wing. The Origin Wing? No, that's not right. "It's only a prototype, made to be used by me. But when I can collect more materials, I can use it to reshape your lost wings."

"I see. It's truly impressive, Eitri. But..." I leaned close, sniffing the small blade. Small? Why is it so small? "Is this... solidified phlogiston? Fascinating. Where did you-"

"No. No, this isn't right. I never did this." A sound similar to crystal shattering reverberated through the air, and Yuuki found herself standing at the entrance to a large cave. Just further inside was a young woman who looked nearly identical to Moon and a dragon—a silver dragon with green eyes.

"Am... I..." The words of this dragon became muddled as Yuuki tried to piece things together. But it carried on its conversation with this Eitri. neither of them noticed Yuuki's presence. This wasn't real, it was a vision. No, it was a memory. A memory belonging to this dragon. "Is that what these are? Memories of this dragon from long ago, bana?" Yuuki paused, watching a banana drifting past her immediate vision. "Huh? Bana? When the bana did I start... b-bana?!" Suddenly the walls of the cave cracked, threatening to burst open, but Yuuki's vision suddenly went black.

And just like that, she was back in Penacony.

"Sorry, kiddo! I'm pulling you out of this dream!" Flori had pulled a dazed Yuuki to her feet, staring her in the eye. "I gotta force wake you up before this slumbernana craze takes over. According to your friends, it's infecting a lot of people and you're too mentally fragile. Just stay here, okay? I'll be right back."

"Ba... bana...?" While she spoke gibberish, or bananese, she still could understand her teacher. Yuuki closed her eyes as Flori disappeared. Putting her hands over her ears in order to attempt to drown out the tune of the monkeys.

"Banana nana na na~ Banana nana na~" But before it could overwhelm her, she woke up.

"AH!" Yuuki jumped up from the hotel's water bed and looked around in a panic. "Where... what... why were there monkeys?"

"Good, you're awake. Something about Dr. Primitive. Lyza said she and your friends are looking into it alongside those Galaxy Rangers. As for you, we should go somewhere quieter, if you're to make any progress."

"Quieter..." Yuuki folded her arms in thought for a moment. "How about the Loufu?"