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#except way less niche

psychotrenny · 7 months

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I really do think this is the end for Israel. The beginning of the end at least. They're essentially a relic of an earlier time, a time when, through a complex confluence of factors, the military power of Europe was so far beyond the rest of the world that it could openly keep the world in shackles. The Imperial powers of Europe could do as they wished and respond to any resistance with overwhelming violence that, no matter how costly in money or lives or how many years it took, would eventually force open resistance to come to a (temporary) end. You saw exceptions of course, such as Ethiopia's successful repulsion of Italian invaders in the 1890s (although even that victory is somewhat undercut but Italy's more successful invasion about 40 years later), but in the majority of cases even the most brave and intelligent of resistance fighters would see themselves worn down and defeated. Just off the top of my head you have figures like Samori Toure, Omar al-Mukhtar, Samuel Maharero; all inflicted numerous defeats on their European Imperialist enemies but in the end couldn't overcome the sheer force that was arrayed against them.

Of course such supremacy was never absolute even at it's apex, and this height was so very short lived. Resistance never fully stopped; outbursts of violence were frequent and various forms of passive resistance like migration, tax evasion and industrial slowdown were ubiquitous. Resistance movements learned from past failures, acquired the weapons of modern war and soon proved a credible threat to the Imperialist forces that by the middle of the 20th century had exhausted themselves through in-fighting. Whether evicted through direct violence or choosing to leave under the inevitable threat of it, the European powers largely ended their direct domination over the colonised world. That's not to say Imperialism was over, far from it, but it mostly took on subtler forms; more soft power with only the occasional resort to hard. Imperial domination is now more than ever exerted through various local proxies and the broader forces that keep them in check as direct subjugation just isn't especially viable.

In the parts of the world without substantial settler populations this withdrawal was accomplished smoothly enough; most of the Europeans present either left without a fuss or found some sort of niche under the new order of things. But the liberation of colonies with large settler populations was a longer and bloodier process; just compare the French withdrawal from Indochina to that from Algeria or the fate of Northern Rhodesia (now Zambia) to Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe). A large number of Europeans were heavily entrenched in these colonies and had both their material wealth and sense of pride tied to the maintenance of white supremacy. Many politicians back in Europe were less willing to abandon such settler colonies, while with or without support from back home the colonists engaged in their own bloody wars of oppression against indigenous people.

But in the end they all fell. Algeria, Rhodesia, Angola, South Africa, the list goes on. Even as these places continue to suffer under the yoke of less direct Imperialism they can take pride knowing that the scourge of direct setter subjugation was defeated. Exploiting people is one thing; there are many ways you can accomplish this without the exploited truly catching on. But the sort of violence it takes to brazenly steal control of a people's land, settle yourself on it while keeping the original inhabitants as second class citizens is going to engender the fiercest resistance no matter what. The only remotely stable settler colonies are those where the indigenous peoples were already decimated by disease before being subjected to centuries of genocidal policies, reducing their current population to a small minority of the nation. And even then the survives continue to resist fiercely. In places where the settlers remained the minority there was simply no chance of such regimes surviving for long.

Israel as a state is among the last of its kind, and I see no reason why it shouldn't meet the fate of all other such colonies. The way I see it the end of Israel is inevitable. The only question is just how much bloodshed and suffering it'll take. The struggle has been ongoing for so very long. I truly hope that we're seeing the final stages of it, but I suppose only time can tell. All I know for sure is that from from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free

#stella speaks

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acey-wacey · 1 month

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Good morning!!! Congrats for hitting 2000 followers, I think you really deserve it! Also, I'm really glad that you've returned! I've been following your blog ever since last year, when I found your "Love Rivals" and "Meeting your future children", I really like how you portray the twst characters in your writings! There are times where I smiled For the 2000 milestone event, could I please request Idia with Lavender (Mind Reading)? You know how Idia usually think lowly himself, right? What if Idia has feelings for reader, yet he doesn't take action because of his low self-esteem/fear of rejection, but when Idia got in a potion accident where he can temporarily read minds, all he can hear from reader's mind are praises and thoughts of infatuation/admiration about him.

So that's the general idea of it, the rest is up to you. Also, I don't mind if you'll make a few changes here and there. That's all, thank you and have a nice day!

This is so cute! Thank you for hanging around so long!

I may have niche-video-game-referenced my way a little too close to the sun with this one. Hopefully, it makes sense to somebody.

...

Pairing - Idia Shroud x Reader

Prompt - Mind Reader

...

"Tuna, tuna, tuna, tuna, tuna, tuna, tuna, tuna..."

It has been 40 minutes since Idia had gained his powers of telepathy and already he wanted them gone. Grim hadn't had a single thought the entire class except a dumb song he made up about tuna.

The whole thing had been Grim's fault really. The mischievous cat had run away from you and invaded the 3rd year alchemy room. And of course he ran right into Idia just as the upperclassman was adding ground eye of newt to his animal comprehension potion, causing the vial to smash all over him.

You had apologized profusely and tried to wrangle Grim back to your classroom, but Crewel made you miss your class and clean all the dirty cauldrons as punishment, thus why Idia couldn't stop hearing Grim's

Everyone else went on with making their potion, but unfortunately for Idia and his tendency to get overstimulated, he could hear the immediate thoughts of every person in the classroom. He had been trying and failing to pay attention to the lesson due to the crazy noise. Serves him right for daring to venture outside his room.

"I think I put too much nightshade."

"When's lunch again?"

"Sevens, he's pretty."

Idia perked up in his seat. That last one was your voice. He looked over to where you were scrubbing grime off the rim of a black cauldron. Much to his surprise, he made eye contact with you. You looked away so fast, he almost thought he imagined it in the first place.

"Shoot, I hope he didn't catch me staring," you thought. Idia could see the embarrassment in your face now that he knew what he was looking for. He didn't know who was standing behind him, but whoever the guy was was maxed out in luck to get the prefect to like him.

Idia turned back to his cauldron and began to stir lethargically. He tried to block out the noise coming from everyone's thoughts but it was getting very loud. He just wanted to be back in his room playing video games!

"His little pout is so cute! Poor thing, he probably wishes he was back in his room," you thought. Idia's brows furrowed as he subtly looked around the classroom trying to find the person you were thinking about. "I wonder what he's looking for."

Idia snapped back to look at you, only to find you glancing at him again. This time, you were startled but you held his gaze and offered a hesitant wave.

Idia turned his face away as fast as he could so you wouldn't see the growing blush on his face.

"Hm, his hair is turning pink on the ends. I hope he's not mad at me for staring at him," you thought, turning back to the cauldron you were working on. "Though if he doesn't want me to look at him, maybe he should try being less nice to look at."

Idia let out an involuntary squeak. He felt his head start to swim and quickly sat down on a nearby stool. He was sure he looked absolutely crazy to the other students but he was so preoccupied by your thoughts that were apparently about him.

"Is that shallow of me to think that? I don't know. I mean, I don't like him just because he's cute. I also love listening to him talk about games he likes and his inventions are crazy awesome!"

Idia pulled himself deeper into his jacket. Your gaze had been fixed firmly on your work for fear of being caught staring again, so you didn't notice Idia's rapidly increasing fluster meter.

"I like how sweet he is to Ortho, even though he kind of hates everyone else." You sounded kind of defeated when you thought that, or at least you would if your thoughts sounded like anything. "He probably hates me too. I am just another normie. Though I don't know if he co-ops Untitled Goose Game with just anyone."

"No! I don't!" he wanted to scream, but he couldn't get a single sound out of his mouth. He thought he was the self-deprecating one, but you seemed to have convinced yourself that the boy who had a big fat, very obvious crush on you hated you. He even let you play the blue switch controller even though it was his favorite.

"I do wish he would stop being so mean to himself though," you thought, more sincere than Idia expected. "He's so amazing, but refuses to believe anything nice I or Ortho say to him. Maybe if he read my mind, he'd know I'm being sincere."

Idia froze. Did you know about the potion? Had you been messing with him the whole time?

"Well, that little brat better believe me when I tell him I love him even if I have to beat it into him with a Wii remote tennis racket attachment," you thought with a playful vengeance. "Do you hear that, Idia Shroud? I'm gonna make you believe nice things about yourself no matter how many niche video games references it takes!"

That was the moment you decided to glance at Idia, downright shocked when you found him curled up inside his hoodie on a stool with bright pink hair poking out the top.

"Idia, are you okay?" you asked. When he didn't respond, you went up to him and brought your face down to where his would be if you could see it. "Hey, are you alright?"

He jumped, almost falling off the chair.

"You actually said that?" he looked stunned which confused you.

"Yes?" you offered, unsure what he was talking about. "I did just say it."

"Uh, um, I'm, uh, fine," Idia tried to smile at you but it came off more pained than reassuring.

"I don't believe you. What's the matter? Is it too loud in here?" you asked.

"Shame he's always hiding his face. His blush is so adorable!"

"Yes!" Idia shrieked frantically, catching the attention of a few nearby students. "It's too loud. I can't think."

You nodded empathetically.

"You wanna step out for a minute?" you offered, gesturing to the door with a nod of your head. Idia nodded, desperate to get away. It really was very loud, especially with everyone's thoughts flooding his brain. Your seemingly-harmless sweet nothings were only the final nail in his coffin.

You followed Idia out of the room and shut the door behind you.

"Won't Professor Crewel get mad?"

You scoffed.

"Not a single teacher at this school gets to get mad at me after everything I've done," you leaned against the wall with a calming smile. "And if they do, they'll answer to the ghosts that live in my house."

That made Idia chuckle. You lit up seeing a smile on his face, no matter how minute.

"I love seeing you smile. If only I could be the reason more often."

"You're pretty much the only reason," Idia mumbled. Your easy smile dropped.

"What did you say?"

"What?" Idia averted his eyes, his mind filling with panic. "I didn't say anything."

"No, no, you said 'you're pretty much the only reason'," you questioned, your eyes full of confusion and shock. "That sounded like... I don't know, I was thinking something and then you said that and it sounded like..."

You squinted in confusion before scoffing at yourself and relaxing.

"That's stupid, Y/N. He can't read your mind."

"Actually, I can?" Idia squeaked, his voice getting higher with every word. Your eyes widened.

"Idia," you said solemnly, standing dead still.

"Mm-hm?"

"You can read my mind."

"Well, not usually, but there was a thing with a potion and it was with Grim and it messed with my head and now I can read minds and it's actually really loud but mostly I'm just nervous because of the stuff you've been thinking and I'm just really..."

You held up a hand to silence Idia's rapid rambling. He looked away sheepishly. You sighed and blinked a few times to process before laughing. Idia looked up in confusion.

"Aren't you mad?" he asked hesitantly. "I violated your privacy."

"I mean, you saved me the time of confessing to you myself," you chuckled, a giddy smile on your face.

Idia stared at you, trying to find traces of joking but you seemed to be serious.

"You aren't mad?"

"I'm in love with you is what I am."

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #disneytw #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #nyx's solarium

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setsugekka · 1 year

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❥hedonism (m)

↳ Spring break with your boyfriend Jisung was supposed to be relaxing, except for the fact that you desperately want to fuck his best friend, Changbin.

han jisung x fem!reader, seo changbin x fem!reader — friends with benefits, drama, porn with plot, explicit sexual content. [10,2k wc] cws: infidelity!! themes of sexual incompatibility, bad decisions, alcohol consumption, penetrative sex (protected), rough sex, dirty talk, praise, Changbin has a Big Dick, play possessiveness.

Jisung was kind.

Kind is enough, isn’t it?

Really, Han Jisung was so much more than the absolute, resounding kindness that he showed you, and everyone else, equally. He was attentive — so interested in you and everything that made you, you. All of your bizarre, niche interests, Jisung was always there to listen. In the early months of the relationship, many late nights were shared together talking about your goals, your futures, your dreams — both individually and in a potential state of togetherness. An almost blind, hopeful optimism that he showed that admittedly; you hadn’t shared, but being with Jisung changed you in small ways. Very particular ways. Ways that you thought made you a better person.

For yourself. For him, maybe?

A man that physically, perhaps strayed a bit from your usual type of interest. Not bad, far from ugly, but not the usual visual appeal that would have piqued your interest in an instant. You considered that this was perhaps a bit of the oil on the proverbial flame of your love for him, and you did love him — quite early on, at that. Only weeks into the relationship, that the L-word was dropped from your lips — holding hands and stargazing one humid, summer night. Jisung reciprocated with what felt like the absence of a second thought about it, as if he had already known long before you had, and still, only weeks into your partnership with him.

Within the throes of the honeymoon stage, everything seems surmountable — if even paid the smallest modicum of acknowledgment to begin with.

But you loved him. You loved the way he smiled at you and was tirelessly into you and all of the quirks that came with. It was easy to discuss the future with him; timelines for marriage, kids, careers…all of the future life goals that would result in the make or break of any relationship. The concept of “insurmountable”, never an issue with Jisung. He was on board with you, with anything that resulted in you.

And in the bliss of new relationship energy, it’s easy to miss the warnings — when someone looks at you with all of their love and adoration, sometimes it’s easy to tell yourself, “we can get past this,” about anything. Everything, even. “We can work through that,” “it’s not a big deal, I can live with that.”

You always want for it to be true, and we��ll do everything to make it such. Everything to compartmentalize our wants, our needs. We tell ourselves that no one will ever, truly, be perfect — that we will always have to give something up for all of the other shining attributes of someone.

Jisung could never make you come.

It wasn’t necessarily inexperience, at least, not based on his tellings. Not a lot of experience, but plenty — and the same for yourself, you knew how to make yourself come, and ultimately, that’s always what it would come down to. In the beginning, hours could be spent in the attempt; a ready and absolutely willing partner, trying to learn the ins and outs of your body and preferences, only to fall flat every time. Multitudes of failure eventually beginning to weigh heavy on him — not by his own admission, but you could tell — sessions began running shorter and shorter, with less emphasis on attempting to reach a place that was seemingly unreachable altogether, for him.

The two of you gave up talking about it, supplemented with toys. Both of you happy enough with the arrangement — but neither thrilled by it.

Spring break rolls around the corner and Jisung tells you that he and seven of his guy friends are renting a large home for two weeks — partying and lounging and other such debauchery to take place, you sigh and smile at him — Jisung’s youthful enjoyment of the world always being such a bright spot to your otherwise regular outlook on the world around you. It’s not that you were negative, or dull — Jisung just shone so brightly in comparison. It was a light that you never wanted to see go out, and to the best of your ability, this was your goal.

And you loved him, as he loved you — what else could there be?

Around the eight month mark of your partnership, Jisung invites you out to dinner with all of the guys he would be sharing a place with for the upcoming weeks. Most of them you had already met in smaller groups or circumstances; Jisung conning them into third wheeling a date of yours that you later had to apologize for, and your wonderful, hopelessly optimistic boyfriend having only realized the error of his ways after the fact. Naturally. It was so Han Jisung of him.

Gripping tightly to his hand as the two of you enter the establishment — a large BBQ joint halfway across town — a bit closer to where the shared home would be, but not far out from your own apartment, either, Jisung strokes your thumb with his own in an effort to share his positivity with you through contact. He pushes the door open and motions for you to enter ahead of him, only whispering “it’ll be fine, don’t worry, you know most everyone already, just be yourself” as you walk by him. Smiling at the words, you catch eyes with one of the friends you are familiar with, and thankfully, the one that you had gotten along with the best, as well.

“Get over here already,” Minho says, quickly standing upon seeing you and shouting across the restaurant, so loudly that it’s almost embarrassing. “We’ve been waiting!”

“You know Jisung takes forever to get anywhere,” you respond when you finally reach the large table, reaching towards the man and hugging him as a hello.

“Hey!” Jisung retorts, but unable to refute the claim. He instead opts for introducing you around the table. “You know most of these dummies already, but the two you haven’t met—” he pauses to point at them, as if you’re incapable of the process of elimination yourself. “Seo Changbin, Kim Seungmin”

“Nice to meet you,” you say, and the two of them allow for the same in response.

Everyone is kind, which you expect. You don’t take Jisung for the type of man who could involve himself with the type of people that weren’t — despite all of the varying personalities present, everyone was more than happy to welcome you — include you, invite you back to the house to show you around. You explain that you have work in the morning and thus can’t, but that you’re sure you’ll be over soon, and everyone begins talking amongst themselves about how to plan for the welcoming party, as if you were moving in, or something. It’s heartwarming, being so welcomed into a group of strangers.

Jisung’s hand moves to your thigh as he sits next to you, laughing with his friends, and squeezes it lightly — affirmation that he’s there and he’s proud of you, that you’re doing great and he always knew you would. It feels nice.

It also feels bad.

You hate to admit it, so you wouldn’t even consider doing such — gun to your head and all — but it’s the man sitting on the other end of the lengthwise table that unfortunately catches your eye a bit more than you had liked. The truth was, that all of Jisung’s friends were good-looking men; in fact, you wondered how he managed to wrangle up so many to begin with, but the thought is fleeting and replaced by the attention served on Changbin. Black t-shirt and short, brown hair, nice lips and even nicer arms. Certainly a man that works out, cares about the way he looks, and wants everyone to notice it.

And you are, much to your guilt.

But you figure — nothing wrong with looking. Everyone looks. A common and damaging misconception within a relationship that ones libido simply dies for all others upon entering a monogamous partnership with another person — that both parties are to never see, experience, acknowledge the existence of another attractive human being ever again; and if you do, that you’re wrong, you’re broken, you’re a bad person. It’s bullshit.

However, suppose it does become a bit trickier when the object of your admiration is one of your partners best friends.

The part that you do allow yourself to experience guilt over, is the subtle wishing in the back of your mind — that maybe Jisung had looked like that. That yes, all things considered, Jisung was the perfect match — and yet, you can’t help but yearn for more.

A starkly human flaw, the innate pursuit of perfection. Of pleasure.

You’ve lost count by now, how many times Jisung has been unable to get you there, without battery powered assistance.

And you want nothing more than for this to be enough, so much so that you’re willing to lie, and pretend — to him, to yourself — that it is, that you’re happy with this, that you’re fulfilled.

When Jisung asks in one particularly low moment, unable to deny himself of the desire to seek the praise that he feels deep down he does not deserve, you cave and grant it to him.

‘Do you miss it?’

The feeling of coming around hands or mouths or other such appendages that were not your own, and in these moments of complete vulnerability, what is one to do but lie?

Are you strong enough to bear the burden of the truth? Be the deliverer of it?

And you believe in the moment, that the both of you are simply agreeing to exist in the fairy tale of satisfaction, because the alternative is far too great to take on.

But you do remember what it’s like — a memory brought closer and closer to the forefront of your mind each and every time that your loving, wonderful, boyfriend fails. Each and every time.

“Hey uhh—” you shout into the front door of the home, seemingly empty despite you having been invited to be there. “Is anyone…home?”

You hear vague sounds akin to a television in the living room and take it upon yourself to enter — you were invited, after all. Kicking your shoes off and dropping your bag, you carefully tiptoe through the hallway entrance towards the sounds of people talking through a speaker — and turning the corner, you’re delighted to find someone, after all.

Not who you’re looking for, however. far from it.

“Oh shit, sorry, I didn’t hear the door,” he says, sitting up from the couch and fumbling for the remote to turn the volume on the television down. “Our door bell is broken, so—”

“It’s fine, sorry for just walking in, Ji—”

“Nah, it’s cool,” he says, waving a hand without a care in the world about who walks into their home, seemingly. “It’s spring break, we figure people are just gonna be coming and going anyways.”

Seo Changbin. He apparently only owns black shirts that fit his figure exquisitely.

You wish that you could be a bit more vague about your carnal interest in the man, however, when he catches the way you watch him. The two of you make eye contact for a moment and you can feel your ears pick up heat. Changbin doesn’t break eye contact first — peculiar — a game to him, perhaps?

You’re not happy about the way this situation is already beginning to get out of hand, either.

“You want a drink?”

Words so sudden, you barely even hear them over the sound of your thoughts of Changbin bending you over the back of the couch he’s currently seated on and turning you out. Guilt. You shouldn’t. You can’t. Stop.

You stutter for a reply, “um, water is fine, yeah,” and watch as Changbin chuckles to himself as he stands — walking towards, and then right by you on his way to the kitchen.

But not before flashing you a knowing raise of his eyebrows as he passes.

“Do you know when Ji will be back?” you ask, tone far more wobbly than you had wanted it to be. Pathetic.

You watch Changbin move through the kitchen, opening numerous cabinets in an attempt to find a glass before eventually locating one and heading into the fridge thereafter. “Probably like, 10-15 minutes? He and Hyunjin ran to the store for alcohol and shit, shouldn’t be long it’s not far.”

Raising the glass as if to inform you of it’s ability to be retrieved, you head over to the kitchen island and take it from his hand, sipping gently from the rim, attempting to ignore the way the man is watching your every move as you do.

“Are you staying the night?”

It shouldn’t be that jarring of a question — in fact, it’s a pretty normal one for a housemate to ask, but your thoughts running rampant in all of the directions that they shouldn’t be has you far more susceptible to the horrors of, well, Changbin saying anything to you at all.

“Yeah, think so,” you reply, sheepishly. Since when are you sheepish, you wonder?

“Cool,” is all he says, grabbing a sweater off one of the swiveling chairs and heading towards the staircase — presumably up to his room. You think for a moment, that you made it out relatively unscathed from this interaction.

“Y'all keep it down then, alright? My room’s right across the hall”

And it’s cheeky, based on his tone. Likely not meaning anything by it, but the thought of Changbin being able to hear Jisung fuck you makes your skin run hot. Would he listen? Would he want to listen? Would he…jerk off to it? Then the thoughts of him touching himself, hand wrapped tightly around himself at the sounds of you…not coming.

A bit of a damper on the impromptu fantasy.

But it’s just in that moment that you hear Hyunjin and your man barreling through the front door, with what seems like twenty bags of assorted alcoholic beverages, bottles and mixers, with more still in the car, as Hyunjin happily informs.

There’s a certain moment that night, when Jisung is grinding into you — lips pressed against your neck and a hand wrapped in your hair — that his pelvis hits just right and you’re so close; so, so, close that you just about resort to begging for him not to stop, to please get you there, please topple this one issue that grows and grows but can’t be spoken about. You think again, about Changbin telling you to keep it down, and in a moment of weakness you cry out louder, and it truly does almost get you there.

Almost, which unfortunately only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades.

Music booming, red solo cups littering the lawn like flowers on a cool autumn day, the nine of you arrive to the home of the party — with no idea who anyone is, including the host. Typical for spring break — almost an alternate reality that plays by completely different rules.

Quickly, everyone ends up off in different directions, the majority off to talk to someone that strikes their fancy, leaving you and Jisung together as the only couple in the “house.”

“Guess it’s just you and me tonight, babe,” Jisung says with a smile, “let’s get drinks.”

Unfortunately, one of the positives of Jisung being such a social butterfly, also tended to ring negatively in scenarios such as this. The type of man to make friends with any and everyone in his immediate proximity, and with alcohol added to the mix, meant that you often found yourself on your own and making due with the time. This wasn’t necessarily a problem — as a woman being entirely capable of taking care of yourself — but it was a tad bit frustrating, heading out into the back yard through the sliding glass doors of the massive home to find a makeshift dance floor, and dozens of people sloppily dancing to house music on the destroyed lawn beneath their feet.

Having not yet had enough to drink, dancing would not be in the cards for you.

…Unless?

“Where’s Ji?”

A familiar voice, not always welcomed.

“Last I saw, he was upstairs with a group of people discussing whether or not the US government has been hiding the knowledge of having found intelligent life on other planets from it’s citizens.”

You watch Changbin pause before raising an eyebrow and giving a sort of assured nod, “yeah, that sounds right.”

“What’re ya drinkin’?” you ask, and you think it’s the alcohol that allows you to play it so cool. Maybe you weren’t even that hot for the man after all, finding yourself perfectly capable of being normal in his presence now.

“Gin, you?”

“Straight?” you ask, stricken with horror. Visibly taken aback.

“Yeah, I’m cultured.”

“You’re insane.”

“I can be both. Want to dance?”

The abruptness of the question takes you aback again, because the two of you were not talking about this so where did it come from? But Changbin just watches you — completely straight faced, waiting for a reply.

“Yeah, I guess.”

You realize shortly after agreeing to this — reaching the dance “floor” and feeling Changbin’s strong hands on your hips, that this was a mistake — and all of that stuff that you thought not all that long ago about being totally fine about this man, were in fact, alcohol-induced psychosis, because you were not fine, and not even a little bit.

Changbin turns you around to face away from him, ass pressed up against his groin, and you know that realistically you can’t feel his dick, but you can feel the natural hardness of the bulge from wearing tight jeans, and you swear it makes you dizzy. Fingers digging into the natural divots of where your hip bones are and strong, tight chest pressed up against your back, you can feel the heat of his breath against the back of your ear — your neck, and your skin burns from the contact — from the closeness.

From how much you shouldn’t be indulging in this right now, because your wonderful, loving boyfriend is just inside.

And he feels you tense beneath his grip, leaning down closer to your ear, “are you alright?”

You consider it confirmation that you should pull away from the man, so you do. You apologize, citing how he did nothing wrong and you just need some fresh air from the crowd and quickly make way from it, nearly running off and to the side of the house — dark, much fewer people — only a handful there to partake in other such party substances not allowed inside of the home: hosts request.

Back up against the wall, and finally a moment to breathe, you gasp for the air that you feel you had been starving yourself of the entire time you were in Changbin’s grip, but it’s only moments later that you find the same familiar visage having followed you, slowly popping from around the corner to find you, but stopping quite distant from your own stature.

“Look,” he says, hands in the air as if surrendering to whatever fate you have in store for him and his misdeeds, “did I do something wrong? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

“No,” you cut him off, swallowing hard, “but we…we shouldn’t do that.”

“What? Dance?” he asks, surprise lacing his tone as he slowly steps closer to you again. “Is Ji that jealous?”

You don’t know the answer to that question, you don’t really want to have to find out.

“No, that’s not it,” and you pause, because you hadn’t thought the answer to this question through beyond this point, and are now left searching for it in the moment. Not ideal.

“We just shouldn’t.”

Watching Changbin watch you in silent response, you think that you can literally see him come to the obvious conclusion. Finally. Much to your disappointment. You had wanted to get away with this for a little bit longer; only exchanging hurried glances towards the man, his body, his build. Wasn’t thinking about him during sex with your boyfriend punishment enough, and for everyone involved?

And yet, he chooses not to say anything. Breathing heavily through his nose and dropping his head down with a smirk before raising it again only slightly to look up at you in the dark through his eyelashes — you can’t help but think of how unbelievably sexy he looks right now, in this moment. About how none of the other people here know who either of you are — or Jisung — how easy it would be to get away with something, anything. Just to scratch the itch. Just to get it over with. It could be enough, maybe, to never have to deal with this ever again. Would that be so bad? So wrong? To put this to bed…and not even literally.

You hate the way that you want it so badly — him to come to you, press you into the wall and lips into yours. To feel his strong hands on your body again, maybe even a little more. You know, just to get it out of your system, of course.

But Changbin remains firm in his stance, playfully pointing at you and grinning.

“Be good,” he tells you, before turning back from where he came, and leaving you in the darkened shroud of the side of the house, breathless and embarrassingly wet.

A couple of nights later, when the nine of you go to dinner again, it’s not intentional — you ending up sitting across from him, with Jisung to your right, but here you are, regardless.

It’s evident from a lack of change in the overall atmosphere, that Changbin had mentioned nothing to your boyfriend about that night at the party — of which you are thankful, not quite sure how to explain that one away, but your personal, and quite specific atmosphere with him, seems irrevocably different. Slouched in his chair carelessly with arms crossed, it makes him look massive for a man that all-in-all, is not that large in stature — but still, the positioning of his arms over his chest certainly makes aware all of the muscle and veins in his forearms. For your viewing pleasure, but likely not purposefully. 'Be good,' you remember. It echoes in your mind ever since that night. Be good. Be good. Behave.

But it’s the knowing glances that the two of you share over the table, eye contact that lingers a bit longer than it should — than it does with any of Jisung’s other friends — something shared only between the two of you. A secret. A longing, albeit, maybe only one-sided. Changbin knows that you want him, that you desire him. The word “crave” comes to mind, and you’re guilty just at that, with your boyfriend sitting just beside you, a loving hand on your leg — completely unaware of all of the ways that you wish it were Changbin’s hand — splicing together memories from the other night in your thoughts in an attempt to experience what it would feel like if it were him instead.

You tell yourself it’s normal, to desire others. It is. But you worry that everyone has a breaking point, eventually.

“Since you’re part of the group now—”

The words shake you from your fantasies, realizing that you’re being addressed, and your attention turns to the man speaking — Chan — reaching towards you in an effort to get your phone from you, and you recognize the gesture immediately despite having only just been lost in your own mind.

“Might as well add you to the group chat, so you know what’s going on at any given time, yeah?” he finishes, typing into the front of your phone as you watch him. You don’t respond, not much time to before he’s already handing your device back to you and you look at it; indeed, it’s a group chat, and everyone is there.

By phone number.

You want to be better, stronger than this, you think to yourself as you leave the restaurant, heading to your own home this evening with work in the morning. Jisung kisses you goodnight and thanks you for coming out and tells you how happy he is that you get on so well with his friends. How it means so much to him that all of the most important people in his life are good together.

You feel bad, but not bad enough.

Sitting in the drivers seat of your car and watching Jisung head back inside, you pull your phone out and go through the contacts of the group chat, locating Changbin’s number right away. It feels bad, it truly does. You keep reiterating this in your mind — and begin to wonder if you’re trying to convince yourself of the fact, rather than truly experiencing the guilt you once did.

Taking a breath, you open an empty message box with Changbin’s number — it only takes you a moment to think of something to say. Something to lie. It’s pathetic how desperate you are for interaction, for attention from this man, this man who is not your partner.

>hey, I think I left my bag in the restaurant, can you check for me?

Only a few short moments pass before the screen illuminates with the speech bubble to indicate one typing up a reply. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you take the time to contemplate the blurred lines of what constitutes an affair, and how surely they were blurred.

>you didn’t, and you know that, didn’t I tell you to behave?

Humiliating is the only word that comes to mind upon being so easily seen through by this man, this man that you barely know, have barely interacted with.

You find it intriguing, however, that not once has he threatened to tell Jisung. Perhaps there’s nothing to tell, after all. It’s always so easy to convince oneself that there is a perfectly reasonable explanation behind every sinful, wrongdoing.

You don’t respond. figure, that’s enough disgrace for one evening.

Coming down from your own, self-induced orgasmic high, Jisung rolls off of you and to the side, chest heaving and grinning as he looks over at you. You pretend to be as worn out as he seemingly is. You wish you were. He kisses you, lovingly, able to taste all of the adoration he has for you on his tongue and you know it’s times like that and in spite of everything else, this is the man that you love. This is the man that you admire.

But you do not desire him. Is everything else enough? Is lust that heavy and all-consuming?

"I’m gonna run for a drink, do you want anything, babe?” you say, rolling off of the bed and pulling your socks back on. You watch Jisung shake his head slowly, post-orgasmic smile still gracing his features. You loved the way he was so absolutely enthralled by you. You wished you felt the same, but maybe this is enough.

2:37am reading on the clock in the hallway, you tiptoe out of the room and down the stairs towards the kitchen with the only lights on being from the stove top, as to not leave the unfamiliar home completely pitch black in the depths of night. Pulling your over sized hoodie down and a bit over your panty-clad behind despite being in the company of no one and look around for a clean glass among the numerous filthy ones strewn about the counter tops.

"Looking for this?”

the words startle you so much you just about scream, heart dropping into your stomach at the sound of another human being accompanying you, even worse, when you recognize them better than you had hoped.

Changbin stands up from his previous squatting position, handing you an empty cup that he had found rifling through the cupboards where the pots and pans were typically held, another in his other hand.

“No one does dishes,” he laughs, “you might wanna wash that before you use it, though, it was pretty far back there.’

"So it seems,” you respond, normally, turning towards the sink and running water through the item in your hand.

“There’s cold water in the fridge.”

“Tap is fine,” you answer, finally filling it and turning back towards the man, pressing the rim to your lips and taking a sip. You laughed to yourself in silence — about how much the current scene reminded you of the first in this house. The atmosphere, however, had certainly shifted since then.

You allow yourself a moment to gaze upon him during a few of the minutes he spends looking down and at his phone. White tank top hugging his torso paired with gray sweatpants that you found yourself eyeing a little bit too much, you’d have been lying if you said you weren’t curious. Obviously.

He looked unbelievable. Broad, strong, masculine.

“Have fun?”

It takes you a moment to follow the question — what he was inferring, and once you do, absolute horror takes you — visually, physically, mentally. Oh God, he heard? you think to yourself.

You wonder if that’s why he’s awake right now, but it’s the least pressing matter on your mind, surprisingly.

“Oh my God, you heard us?” you gasp into the plastic cup, it echoing your sounds in a somewhat humorous way, and Changbin chuckles under his breath.

He doesn’t answer for a few seconds, finishing up with his phone before dimming it and slipping it back into his pocket. Chewing on his bottom lip, he finally graces you with a response.

You sort of wish he hadn’t, though.

“I heard him, not you.”

It’s a somewhat innocuous statement on the surface level. Jisung isn’t a quiet lover by any means, that much is true, but it’s the implications beyond that, that really pain you — and also ring painfully true. Does he…know?

You swallow hard, the sexual tension building once again, and with how little clothing the both of you are currently wearing, now certainly needs not be the time for these kinds of games. You apologize to him hurriedly, insisting that you’ll be more mindful next time and keep it down and in rush turn towards the refrigerator next to you — half in an attempt to release the strain on the situation, and half because you really fucking need that cold water now. Bending over and reaching in, you seek peace inside the iciness of the container — taking a deep breath of relief inside of it before reaching for what you had intended to retrieve.

But the devil waste no time in doing evil deeds.

Pressing up against you from behind, Changbin reaches into the icy box as well — your entire body stiffening beneath him at the contact, and any relief that the cool air had granted you — be it long gone, now, replaced with fiery hot contact of very few layers of clothing between two people.

You had almost forgot what desire felt like, and it was engrossing.

Changbin feels heavy and hard against you, his body heat immediately engulfing you and setting fire to your skin — the feeling of him on top of you like this, his pelvis pressed firmly into your back side — you think for a moment that you’re absolutely not strong enough for this, that you cannot handle this torture. Your mind races at all of the ways that Changbin could have you right then and there, and you wish that he would. Imagery of being bent over the counter top with panties around your thighs; held down, in place, unable to move or escape or do anything except take him — the thoughts presenting a dull throb between your legs when surely — it’s only been seconds before Changbin is pulling back and away from you with the container of butter in his hand.

“Sorry, needed to grab this.”

The thing about guilt, is that it becomes easier and easier to manage the longer that one is forced to do so. You realize that this rings true as you tell your boyfriend that you don’t feel well, and that you’ll be in the bathroom — you’re hopeful that your completely adoring, attentive boyfriend let’s you be without checking up on you just this one time — as you quickly rub your fingertips into your panties, chasing a high that comes all too quickly for your liking, and given the circumstances. Biting back your moans as to not allow them space to echo while you come, you realize that the only person you hope to hear you, is Seo Changbin.

A pool party, how incredibly frat of them, you think.

But it’s charming, and all in good fun. People from all around the neighborhood come over bringing food and drinks and all sorts of different things for fun — some bring party hats — who knows why, others bring floaty pool toys as if they’re children, and one couple even bring a llama, no one entirely sure what for, but not willing to ask any questions about it, either.

Holding Jisung’s hand as he attempts to light one of the barbecues, you sort of chuckle at his inability to manage such a menial task — watching him huff and puff in discontent at all of the ways the charcoal won’t catch flame for him, he finally pulls his hand from yours to look around the vicinity for something in particular.

“Have you seen the thing for the lighter fluid?” he asks, already flustered and whipping his head about in an attempt to locate it. “It’s like a…uhhh…like a red canister…”

“It should be in the side house,” Minho pipes up from the pool, “that’s where all that shit is kept.”

“I’ll get it, babe,” you assure, kissing him on the mouth before running off towards the direction dictated to you.

Reaching the old, worn down shack, the door inside rests ajar, but you scurry inside all the same.

And it’s becoming comical all of the ways in which you find yourself in this situation.

Changbin looks up and behind him from his squatting position, emptying ice into coolers and placing beer bottles inside of them.

“What’s up?” he asks, and you explain the charcoal debacle.

You’re reminded of his body pressed up against your own again. You think of what the two of you could get away with right here, right now, party guests being none the wiser.

And it must have been obvious, when he stands up, wiping his hands on a nearby towel before turning towards you.

“What’s going on with you and Ji?”

The question just about knocks you on your ass.

“Wh-what—”

“Come on, this isn’t…” and he pauses, thinking through his words perhaps a bit more delicately. “This isn’t…right, so what’s…”

It feels bizarre, the sudden coming to head of the situation at hand. Changbin acknowledging in words that there is, in fact, a this, and that whatever this was, was wrong. Not okay. Well upon it’s way to being extremely fucked up and morally reprehensible — on both of your parts. You’re Jisung’s girlfriend, but Changbin is his friend. There’s no innocent party, there.

Suppose, for the first time in a long time, honesty may be the best policy.

“I love Jiji, I really do—”

“But…”

“But…he doesn’t—” and now you pause, also thinking of how to delicately word this. You don’t want to humiliate your boyfriend, it sounds so pathetic when you try to say the words to someone else. To someone else you want to do all of the things for you that your own man can’t, at that. More salt in the wound.

“He doesn’t get you off?”

You don’t say anything, just a disheartened shrug of the shoulders, and Changbin’s expression Changes from concern to confusion. “He’s selfish? I never would have expected—”

But you cut him off, “No, no! He’s not, it’s not that, it’s just—”

And then his face switches back. Back to concern. “Oh — oh, he can’t.”

“Yeah.”

The two of you stand in silence for what feels like forever, and you laugh internally, thinking about how it’s the first time you’ve been in the presence of this man and not been thinking about all of the ways you want him to fuck you. The irony being, of course, that the conversation topic be about sex.

“I mean, that’s tough,” he starts again, visibly uncomfortable and likely unsure how to help. You think that Changbin might have realized just a bit too late that he was out of his depth with this one. “Sexual compatibility is a big deal in a relationship, y'know?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think I should tell you to break up with my best friend,” he says, trying to lighten the mood, “but I don’t know…has it gotten better at least? Over time?”

And you’re reminded of that time that Jisung almost made you come — the time you were thinking about Changbin, instead.

“A bit.”

Upon an awkward lull in the conversation, the two of you exit the side house with the items that you had both entered for. Hyunjin walks by at just the same time and makes a passing comment about what were you two doing in there in a joking manner, to which you playfully slap his arm and tell him to shut up. Changbin acknowledges it little, only looking down to you with what you can only deem as sympathy.

But you don’t want to be pitied, you want to be fucked.

After the party and upon returning home, you dig your phone out from your bag to find a notification — a text from Changbin, much to your surprise.

>I won’t rescue you

You know what that means. You also know that dick can’t save you. It doesn’t stop you from wanting it, anyways.

Two hours into your attempted home improvement escapades, with a puddle on the ground in your bathroom and what you can only suspect is something or another missing from this tubing, you decide to call it quits and ask The Men if they can make themselves useful to you.

>do any of you know anything about plumbing or can you only do beer bongs?

Hyunjin: come on that shit was cool

Jeongin: idk if we told you but he puked for like two hours after that btw, it ruled so hard

Hyunjin: dude shut up

Chan: @Changbin knows some shit about plumbing, he’s fixed some stuff for me before

Changbin: yeah whats up, gimmie your address i’ll take a look at it in like, an hour

You send your address and dim your phone, only to receive another notification immediately after, but it’s another text from Changbin — this time, privately.

>this better not be a ploy to get me alone in your apartment, I told you to behave.

And it wasn’t, but now you can’t help but acknowledge the fact.

When Changbin inspects the scene, he apologizes for assuming the worst of you, making a joke that he actually wishes you were just trying to fuck him, because the drainage situation is a disaster. The two of you laugh, but in only about twenty minutes of work, the man has everything under control, your drainage fixed, and even wiped up the floor for you. A true gentleman.

The problem lie in all of the very specific ways that Changbin’s muscles flex beneath his shirt as he work — turning nobs and forcing things back into place — undoing all of the nonsense you had inflicted, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t sexy. It was incredibly sexy, almost painfully sexy watching him work. You try to ignore it. You have to ignore it.

Changbin stands, behind against the counter and arms crossed as he looks at you, just having finished his handyman work. You think of all of the ways that you could be better, should be better.

All of the ways that you’re not.

It’s accidentally forceful, the way you slam yourself into him and press your mouth against his own — months of pent up, sexual frustration finally snapping and it’s all that you can manage to not immediately reach for his belt and start unbuckling it. You settle for hands against his chest to feel the muscle beneath, the muscle you have been dying to feel this entire time, and it’s every bit enthralling as you knew it would be. Part of you wishes that Changbin had been stronger, strong enough to pull you off of him, to stop you, to not kiss back.

But he’s not.

There’s reluctance at first, you can feel it in the tenseness of his mouth as you kiss at him, before you melt it away and he begins meeting you halfway with equally sloppy, needy presses of his mouth into your own, and you’re surprised that he’s the one that quickly reaches for your pants — unbuttoning, zipping, and roughly pulling them down mid thigh — not even bothering to take your panties with them. Taking you by the arms, Changbin spins you so that the two of you switch places, just as hastily dipping his hand into the already wet fabric and finally getting to feel the effect he’s had on you in such a short amount of time.

It’s embarrassing how wrecked for him you already look, with him only now pressing two fingers inside of you, and you think that nothing has ever felt more heavenly.

Reaching his free hand up and around the back of your neck, he pulls the two of you closer as he settles into a fast pace with his fingers; the drag against your walls already allowing you to build a familiar burning in your abdomen, the muscles of your thighs tightening with the promise of finally getting what you’ve been wanting. He continues kissing you, hard, before dipping down and pressing lips against your neck — slowly dragging up against your ear, the hot breath of his arousal echoing into you. You know he wants it bad, you wonder if it’s just as bad as you do.

There’s something about telling a man that another man can’t make you come. Something primal. Ego.

"I wanna hear you so bad,” he finally groans, the first words spoken since the encounter started despite it only being less than a minute in. You cry out in response, it’s the promise of release that he’s bestowing on you, and that in and of itself is almost enough to tip you over the edge.

“But we can’t do this.”

The words take longer to register than the immediate feeling of emptiness in your core does. Changbin stops, pulling his hand from you and takes a number of steps back from you altogether, leaving you reeling, fucked out, and with a ruined orgasm on top of it all. Figure, you didn’t need to step out of your relationship for this.

That thought makes you feel bad.

Through messy hair you watch the man before you. The way his chest heaves, the way he closes his eyes in an attempt to gather himself. Gather his sanity. Gather his ability to make good choices.

You look down at the tenting in his pants, and you’re so sure you’ve never wanted dick this badly in your life.

If the topic before, prior to now, was ‘what constitutes the blurry lines of an affair?’ you were sure it was crossed now. It doesn't feel as good as you thought it would, but that might be because you didn’t finish.

“I’m gonna wash my hands, and then I’m gonna go,” he says, and it’s non-accusatory, with no particular tone to it at all. As if he is genuinely just informing one of his plans.

Once Changbin leaves, sitting on your couch and scrolling on your phone, you contemplate all of the ways in which you’re terrible, and once you stop scrolling long enough to make a decision, you realize there’s comfort in simply knowing, accepting.

Turning speaker phone on, the line rings a couple of times before there’s a sing-song answer on the other end. He’s always so happy, he really thinks he’s the luckiest guy in the world.

“Hey babe, can you come over?”

You’re a little bit thankful that the next few days are just working and being home, granting you much needed time to recuperate, but with the end of spring break now right around the corner, you knew you had one more house party to attend — held by your very own boys, naturally, it would be necessary that you attend.

And you haven’t seen Changbin since he was at your apartment, but with Jisung not mentioning a single awkward word about it, you can only assume that not a word was spoken in any direction on the matter.

Not one for dressing up, jeans and a t-shirt suit you just fine for this gathering, and it’s only natural that Hyunjin make some snide comment about it upon your entering — playfully, of course, the two of you had become much closer over the two weeks time, but he certainly always had something to say…a blessing and a curse, but mostly a curse.

When 3am rolls around and dozens of party attendees find themselves littered across the living room, dining room, and even kitchen floors — much to your disdain, as someone having planned to stay the night at that home.

Even Jisung — party extraordinaire, passed out early — in his own bed, of course, because he falls asleep to watching Parks & Recreation after three beers.

Slipping down the stairs and finding the scene before you, attempting to reach the kitchen for food or a drink is akin to braving a minefield; bodies thrown about every which way, and it’s only catching movement out of the corner of your eye that pulls your attention away and to the man you had hoped to get through this evening not seeing. You watch as he quietly dips down into a hallway that you’re unfamiliar with, and you question what he’s got hiding down there.

You know it’s a bad idea, maybe he’ll just tell you to fuck off, that would be the best outcome.

“Hey!” you whisper-yell down the hall towards him as he disappears into the doorway, but he hears you, popping his head back out to find out where the sound had come from, and immediately catching eyes with you. You motion a sort of “what are you doing” in sign language that doesn’t exist, and he motions for you to come with him.

So many mistakes begin with good intentions. It’s not about being stronger than your desires, it’s about never being in a position in which you have to be.

Hopping among strung out bodies, you finally make your way to the door that leads to what you now understand to be the basement. Changbin heads down first, turning an old lightbulb hanging from the ceiling along the way to illuminate the path, and the wooden stairs creak with every step taken on them.

“I had no idea this was even down here,” you say in amazement, finally able to gaze around the space once you reach approximately the third to bottom step.

“Yeah, it’s basically a whole other home down here,” he explains, pointing in directions as he does. “Kitchen there, bedroom over there, and a bathroom to your left.”

Changbin pulls ahead as you stop to take the sights in. Despite the stairs showing their age, the rest of the interior appears well taken care of — glossed and polished wood adoring the kitchenette, bar, and majority of the tables in the living space — along with comfortable looking plush couches and an enormous flat screen television on the other end of the room.

“Drink?”

You think it’s amusing the way Changbin likes to pretend nothing has ever happened, no matter the circumstances.

“Sure.”

Standing next to the man, you watch the way his hands work in twisting and shaking items to makeshift bar tend in the moment; how his forearms flex, veins protruding, and you feel bad at the way that you still want him so bad, even after everything. Even after last time. After him walking out on you due to guilt, shame. You still wanted it.

He slows in his movements, looking at you as you watch him, and when you raise your gaze up to meet his eyes — you find something different within them.

Suppose, that’s what broken resolve looks like.

In a flash, Changbin slams everything in his hands down, taking you by the arms again just like he had before, only turning you this time, and pushing you towards the other side of the kitchenette — shorter counter, shorter sink — but he bends you over it all the same.

It happens so fast that your head spins, him having you at his mercy like this — that you barely even have a moment to register his hands on your pants again, ripping your jeans down your legs again, and shoving his hand inside your panties — all just as he had the time previous. Pressing his middle finger flat between your folds but with no intent to penetrate you, he growls at the overwhelming wetness you’ve been harboring for him this whole time, though not much time at all, maybe ten or fifteen minutes between meeting on the staircase and now, and still…soaking for him. Maybe a better man could resist the temptation, but it’s not him.

"God,” he groans into your shoulder, using his body weight to hold you down and in place. “You want it that bad, huh? I get you this wet?”

You don’t answer, still reeling from the motions, feeling his finger against you, and now weak at the way that he’s talking to you — it’s devastating when you feel the loss of his hand from you again, and you think, “not a second time,” unsure if you can even survive being left in such a state again.

But your mind is put to ease, at the sound of his belt buckle clattering throughout the basement, alongside the gentle swoop of the fabric of your undergarment being pulled down your legs.

You feel him adjusting from behind you, going through all of the motions necessary to eventually fuck you, and you’re absolutely beside yourself at the thought of finally having it. Excitement, anticipation, all bubbling in your abdomen — alongside the pulsing ache between your legs of wanting him, you can hear him tear open the package of a condom, and it’s jarring in a particular sense. Not the existence of it, but what the condom entails.

“Did you bring that…for this?” you ask, shaky in voice from desire and also uncertainty of the reply following.

Changbin forgoes answering right away to instead focus on rolling the rubber along himself, carefully beginning to line himself up with you from behind with the tip of his cock gently prodding at your entrance before speaking. “Unfortunately.”

A man worn down. Disappointed, but a slave to desire all the same.

With the answer, his initial push begins. Slow, gentle — you realize in the moment that you’ve never seen his cock, and thus have no idea what you’re “working with” so to speak, but as he pushes deeper, with more force, the stretch of his girth becomes so quickly overwhelming, tears threatening the corners of your eyes, your fingers desperately dig into the metal of the sink in front of you — begging for any kind of purchase at all, before Changbin stills inside of you, buried completely, and presses his mouth against your shoulder. “God you’re—” he begins, needing a moment to collect himself a bit more before finishing his sentence. “Small.”

You don’t know if that’s the case, or the inverse, but either way, you’re sure you’ve never been this full — the way you can feel every pulse and throb of his cock against your walls, you relish in the thought of what it’ll feel like when he comes — you almost wish he hadn’t brought a condom. A heinous thought born of desire, the most wicked trait.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and it’s a little late by now you think, but you nod all the same; desperate, whiny requests for him to move following immediately after, and he’s more than happy to oblige.

Withdrawing almost fully, Changbin pushes back in again, slowly, feeling the drag of his cock against your insides and reveling in the warm wetness. Taking into account how easy the glide is before gaining speed, or force — but it’s easy, the way you’re soaking for him and have been for weeks — almost humiliatingly so, that it’s so easy to take him with how big he is and how there was no foreplay. Your body telling on you with how happy your cunt was to accommodate him, you wish in the moment that you could have feigned at least a tiny bit of disinterest.

Pulling his body off of yours, Changbin settles one hand down onto your waist, the other pressing upward and taking purchase into your shoulder for more leverage to pull you down, on, and against him — it’s then that you finally feel the full force of his drive into you, the first sound of skin against skin that you had been craving for so long, and already — between the painful crave of him leading up to now, the thick drag of his cock, how he pulls at all of your walls and nerves with every drive and withdraw. It’s so fast that you can feel the promise of orgasm bubble up within you, something the man had yet to grant you, and you could only pray that he would be so generous tonight.

“Can I fuck you harder?”

The question sounds stupid to you, but you don’t have it in you to discuss it, only answering in babbling “please's” that sound on the brink of tears and just the sound of it is enough to make his length throb inside of you with want — the scene of a woman so fucked out for his cock that she can barely even speak anymore.

So, Changbin makes the executive decision to stop asking you to. “Jesus, okay,” is all he answers at the sights and sounds before him, driving into you once hard and fast and eliciting the most obscene cry out from you.

Settling into a brutal pace, it’s not long before you feel the promising loom of orgasm approaching — your knees threatening to buckle beneath you — you reach one hand forward in an attempt to hold onto something proper, but Changbin only digs his hands into you harder. “I’ve got you,” he grunts, following with a “fuck,” as he feels the walls of your pussy clamp down around him. Your whimpers get shorter, louder, in almost an instant, and he has no choice but to fuck you through it without so much as a plan of how to help you get there — frankly, because he didn’t think it would be this fast, this easy.

“Already? Fuck, so tight,” he groans, still maintaining his drive against you, and it’s then that he says the words that you’re not sure would ever be spoken of ever again. Words so obscene, so reprehensible, that you didn’t even know Changbin had it in him. The man of relatively good, upstanding, morality. Better than you. Better than this.

“Can’t even tell Jisung’s ever touched you, fuck.”

You wish it weren’t the thing that sends you barreling over the edge, too. The absolute repulsion of it. So incredibly fucked up and unkind to a man that has done nothing deserving of it. Of this.

But nonetheless, you come, and painfully hard, at that. Muscles tightening against one another with such force that it feels stifling, like you can’t breathe. A breathless, almost silent orgasm ripping through your body as the object of your desire fucks you through it, hard and fast — little effort on his part, really.

“Miss it, baby?” Changbin whispers towards you, and you wonder what’s gotten into him now, not that you’re complaining, but the once docile, reluctant man has slowly fallen away for this aggressive, dominant man — a man taking great pleasure in claiming your body for his own cock, instead of your boyfriends. His friends. “Miss coming around a fat cock?”

You whimper out in affirmation, largely due to the fact that the way he’s talking and the relentless stretch of him is getting you close all over again, and at record speed.

Hearing the way your voice breaks, you hear him chuckle from behind you between hard thrusts, “close again?” and you nod. “How can I get you there?”

But you can barely speak, only the sound of “r-rub-” managing through your lips but thankfully it’s enough to get the message across — pulling his hand down from your waist and snaking it down your front and between your thighs — rubbing sloppy circles in the vague area in which your clit should be; not being familiar enough with your anatomy yet to be able to hone in on right where he need to press, but the effort is enough that your second is quickly approaching, and threatening to tear his first from him as well, his panting and groaning weighing heavier and heavier on your ears with each passing second.

“Close?” and you know he’s asking you because he is, but he wants to get you there first. You nod quickly, biting into your lip, begging for a second release to take you and that he can pull it from you.

And oh, can he.

“God, I want to come into this little cunt,” he growls, still fucking into you hard and fast, the sounds of impact radiating through the basement without a care in the world who could possibly here them. “It’s mine now, anyways, isn’t it?”

The question makes your head spin. Genuinely light-headed at the implications.

“Isn’t it mine? Shouldn’t I be able to come in what’s mine? Whose is it?”

Only a loud whimper escapes you, your orgasm now quickly threatening to rip through you, and you don’t want to say it. You don’t want to answer the question. You don’t want to…

State the obvious.

Changbin repeats the last question again, and with you teetering on the edge of orgasm, your resolve comes crumbling down.

“It’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours!”

You repeat the chant a handful of more times as you come undone around his dick all over again, and it’s all that he needs to pull the same from him — walls clenching hard around him and stripping him of his release in a loud, throaty, groan. Changbin fucks you through the both of your highs, slowing with each thrust and pulling from you before he gets too soft — tying off and disposing of the condom in quick, record time.

You wonder if it’s because it signals all of his worst choices, in succession.

With so many packed suitcases and other such bags near the door, you find it nearly impossible to locate your shoes, but you’re happy about one thing, and that is the fact that you simply just get to slip your shoes on, and drive home to your comfortable apartment, without having to worry about doing any packing or unpacking.

The guys all crowd around the door to say goodbye, thank you for coming last night and spending so much time around — how much of an absolute pleasure it was to have you around so often. How much they love you.

How much Jisung loves you.

It causes a twinge in your stomach, hearing the words. Jisung pops up from the left side of you and curls his fingers in between your own just before kissing you on the side of your head and thanking you for spending so much time around these “losers” as well.

You can’t help but lay eyes on Changbin; leaned up against the wall, arms crossed, with the rest of the guys — quiet, but not any different than that of typical Seo Changbin. So cool, calm, collected — like nothing ever happened.

Like nothing was ever said.

Pulling you from your thoughts, you hear Chan make some off-hand comment about a girl that Minho had allegedly slept with during the week, and although denying it, Chan simply won’t hear it.

“Dude whatever, I know what I saw,” Chan says, stuffing a pair of basketball shorts in a bag of his, “Changbin was there, he saw it too.”

And Hyunjin laughs from the kitchen, still attempting to pack up left over drinks from the weekend. “Changbin won’t say shit though, that man is like a vault,” he starts, pausing only due to the fact that he just about drops a half full bottle of tequila on the tile floor. “That man is where secrets go to die, never to be heard from again.”

Your eyes pull towards the person in question again, slowly turning back towards you from his gaze at Hyunjin behind him — a smirk on his face, and just the ever so delicate presence of him chewing at the bottom of his lip to make eye contact with you before speaking.

“You have no idea.”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

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janmisali · 11 months

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the official jan Misali styleguide

so uh I decided to compile together a bunch of rules that I've come up with over the years for myself for how I write videos. this is not comprehensive and is unlikely to be genuinely useful to anyone (very few of these are things I'd consider to be "good advice" for anyone else who wants to make videos, they're mostly just how I personally do things), but here we go anyway!

text

text should be typeset in Noto Serif by default, using other fonts for their specific aesthetic effects on a case by case basis, always presented in contrast with Noto Serif

text should be white, on a black background, with keywords highlighted in teal (#008472)

text should use justified margins, unless this looks bad or is too hard to do with the specific program being used

the pronoun "I" should always be capitalized

proper names should usually be capitalized, but may be left in lowercase to convey a less formal tone when appropriate

the name "jan Misali" should be written with a lowercase "jan" and a capitalized "Misali", following toki pona capitalization conventions (and in general, all toki pona text should follow toki pona capitalization conventions, only capitalizing proper names)

brand names with irregular capitalization such as "YouTube" should always be in lowercase ("youtube") as a sign of disrespect

words may be capitalized for Emphasis, but this should be avoided sentence-initially

avoid capitalization for any other purpose (such as sentence capitalization or all caps) unless this is done to imitate a specific style meant to contrast with the default Misalian style

in addition to the aforementioned teal-coloring and capitalization, words may also be marked as emphasized using italics

these three styles of emphasis should be used for different purposes: teal for keywords (emphasis primarily to aid in reading), italics for spoken stress ("normal emphasis"), and capitalization for the Other Kind (meant to get the reader to slow down and pay attention to the Specific Wording of the emphasized section, but without drawing immediate visual attention to it in the way teal text does)

punctuation should only be used when it is strictly necessary for the text to be parsed or when it conveys meaningful information about how the text would be read out loud (the apostrophe does not count as punctuation for the purpose of this recommendation; it is included as part of the spelling of words it appears in)

the word "amateur" should be spelled "amature" without explanation

numbers should be written out in full as words, unless they're being used for alphanumeric codes, entries in a numbered list, years, or a video about math

text should be written word for word as it would be pronounced out loud, including filler words ("um"s and "like"s) and contractions, following the manner of speech outlined in the next section

narration

everything should be written in a formal but conversational tone, with hesitations, filler words, and stutters carefully inserted to make it sound less "written", as though the narration is one continuous unscripted infodump

however, nothing should ever genuinely be unscripted. everything should be phrased very carefully to convey information precisely and efficiently in a way that is easy to understand

there should be some sort of attempt to pronounce non-english words authentically, especially with proper names (unless there exists a common-enough anglicized pronunciation that you can be confident is more likely to be understood)

nothing should be written in a way that assumes that the audience knows less about the subject matter of the video than the narrator, except in very rare cases where this assumption is appropriate (such as when using an explicitly educational style, or when the subject is so niche that acting as though everyone already knows about it would be actively detrimental). information should always be presented as though it's a recap of common knowledge ("right?"), something that the narrator only learned relatively recently ("apparently"), or something that the narrator is unsure of ("I think")

jokes should never get "in the way" of the actual video. they should serve a purpose just like everything else. (the key question to keep in mind here is "if someone doesn't find this funny, what could they take away from it instead?". the answer should be something like "it would just be information presented in an unusual way" or "it would just be an awkward transition between two unrelated topics" or something. if the answer is "nothing, it would just be a joke they're not getting" then it had better be a really funny joke to justify its existence.)

calls to action should be avoided. the video should respect its audience members to make decisions for themselves, and only directly tell them what to do in exceptional circumstances

#jan misali

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infiniteanalemma · 7 months

Text

Nobility in Baldur's Gate

Edited to add: I never expected my silly, niche post to get as much attention as it has! I'm giving you all forehead smooches! 😚💋 I've gone through to clean up some things up as I've found new information. I also added a list of nobility that I've found in game and other sources to the end of the post. Thanks, y'all! I'm glad I'm not the only one to wonder about this stuff. Good stuff in the reblogs, too!

Baldur's Gate has dug itself deep in my brain, so I apologize to my poor mutuals who didn't follow me for BG3 content getting this onslaught of posts. Please bear with me until my hyperfixation wears off. 🙏

Now, I'll admit up front that I'm no expert in DnD lore*, so if I get things wrong, please feel free to correct me or just add in stuff I may have missed. I'm going off of what I've found in-game and my Google Fu skills.

That said, I do know enough about DnD to remember that Baldur's Gate nobility are called patriars, and that there are only a relative handful of actual patriar families. I was thinking about my "canon" Tav, Velassa, and her background in BG3. She's a modified OC that I plunked in-game during Early Access, so I made her a noble. It was just part of her existing character that I didn't think too deeply about. It was only after I starting playing that it occurred to me to wonder what exactly "a noble" is to a native Baldurian.

That got me digging a little more into the current state of the Baldurian nobility as of BG3. I don't know who--if anyone--needs or wants this, but I put this together for myself and decided to share it for anyone else who might be interested. I realize that this is probably pretty niche and it's rambly and long af, so I'll put it under a cut.

So, for starters, here's a list of all the patriar families, including "fallen" houses that are barely hanging on: Belt, Bormul, Caldwell, Dlusker, Durinbold, Eltan, Eomane, Exeltis, Gist, Guthmere, Hhune, Hlath, Hullhollyn, Irlentree, Jannath, Jhasso, Linnacker, Miyar, Nurthammas, Oathoon, Oberon, Portyr, Provoss, Ravenshade, Rillyn, Sashenstar, Shattershield, Silvershield, Tillerturn, Vammas, Vannath, Vanthampur, and Whitburn

From what I've gathered, Exeltis, Provoss and Ravenshade are all more-or-less destitute. Also, the Szarr family (Cazador's family) were patriars, but were believed to be entirely wiped out. No living descendants makes them a dead house, rather literally. 😏 (No, I'm not sorry.)

Now, we learn that Wyll's father is Ulder Ravengard, the Grand Duke. This brings us to the first point: There are four Dukes, known as the Council of Four, and the Grand Duke's job is to be the tie-breaker.

Traditionally, one of the Dukes is also the highest ranked officer of the Flaming Fist--that's Ravengard, who was a Fist promoted up through the ranks. Wyll tells us that his father was born lower class, and quite a few of the patriars seem to scorn him for that. The other Dukes are Belynne Stelmane, Dillard Portyr (more on him later) and Thalamra Vanthampur (more on her later, too). Of the four, two are patriars: Portyr and Vanthampur. We don't know much about Stelmane's past, except that she was a brilliant businesswoman, politician and--as we find out later--member of the Knights of the Shield. Apparently, you can't buy your way into the patriars, but maybe you can buy your way into being a Duke.

Skipping ahead a bit, when the player shows up to Gortash's coronation, there are a group of mostly patriars sitting in the boxes leading up to the front of the room. I'm listing them by seating arrangement, with box 1 and 2 being the left and right closest to Gortash, and 3 and 4 being farthest. (I don't know what, if anything, the seating arrangements imply. The second box has eight people, compared to four for all the rest.)

Lady Ailis Belt, Baron Callem Bormul, Lord Rugger Shattershield**, and Lady Alia Durinbold**

Lady Ruth Linnacker, Lord Sarken Eomane, Lady Freida Oberon, Lord Raylen Jannath, Lord Myer Ravenshade**, Lady Madeline Whitburn, Lady Beatrice Provoss, and Duke Dillard Portyr

Lady Winstra Hullhollyn, Admiral Peil Hullhollyn, Lord Randolph Vammas, and Lady Eshvelt Guthmere

Lord Milon Tillerturn, Lady Silifrey Sashenstar, Lord Petric Amber**, and Lady Haeril Birch**

Here's some pictures of the nobles sitting together. (Sorry for the terrible quality! I slapped it together for my own reference. 🙈)

The characters marked by ** aren't human, which is interesting because the information I found said all the patriar familes are human except the Shattershields. Myer Ravenshade is listed as human if you examine him, but he has a dwarf model. That might be a mistake, but I'm including him anyway. Alia Durinbold, from a presumably human patriar family, is a wood elf. Again, this could be a mistake, but unless Larian winds up changing it, it could mean that interracial marriages that once may have been looked down on are now becoming more acceptable. Petric Amber is also a wood elf, and Haeril Birch is a high elf.

Those last two are interesting because they are the only ones in the boxes who aren't patriars. If not for them, I'd have assumed the coronation was simply a demonstration for the patriars alone. Their inclusion means this is something else.

Digging around, my conclusion is that all the listed people are members of the Parliament of Peers--a 50 person advisory party to the Council of Four. However, what I found says that it's pretty rare for all 50 to attend meetings, and the usual group is between 20-30. There are exactly 20 named individuals listed, plus a group of unnamed "patriars" standing at the front.

Here they are, for what it's worth:

One thing I noticed here is that most of those listed here are Lord/Lady, but there are three other titles: Duke, Baron and Admiral. I've already talked about the Dukes. Looking into the patriars, the Hullhollyn family are notable for having a fleet of ships, so it makes sense that one of them would be an Admiral. That leaves the Baron.

I couldn't find anything about what it means to be a baron in Baldur's Gate. Going on real-world peerages, a baron/ess is generally the lowest "rank" of nobility. Basically, it's someone who was an official landowner (usually of an "important" bit of land) under the feudal system. Well and good, I suppose, but presumably all the Lords and Ladies of the patriars own land within the city. This particular Baron is also a patriar, but given that one doesn't need to be a patriar to become a Duke (normally a higher peer than a baron), that may not mean anything.

(Apparently, the term "Duke" was originally meant somewhat jokingly. That said, it still carries the weight of a title even if not the conventional one.) We don't see any other titles between Duke and Baron, so what does that mean?

This isn't canon, but my assumption is that it means the Baron owns important land outside of the city. This would make sense for Baron Bormul, given that the Bormul family apparently have investments in silver mines and vineyards. Assuming they own the mines/vineyards, that may make those lands "important" enough to the city for their owner to earn a title. Alternately, the Bormul family also has counterparts in Amn, so maybe baron is an Amnian title that got passed along. That's getting a bit far afield for me, though. 🤷‍♀️

Anyway, among the group at the coronation, pretty much everyone supports Gortash becoming Archduke, with the exception of Lady Sashenstar (an old woman who really isn't too impressed with this commoner) and Duke Portyr, who expresses some hesitation at the whole thing.

Duke Portyr is interesting here. Except for Ravengard (who is thralled and conducting the ceremony), Portyr is the only Duke present. Now, Stelmane is already dead, so that explains her absence. Vanthampur is also missing, which is interesting. Portyr first, though: he was Grand Duke before Ravengard. He's the one who re-instituted (Edited: and originally created!) the Parliament of Peers to make the day-to-day decisions of running the city, and ceded the title of Grand Duke to Ravengard. He's described as being conflict-averse, so it makes sense that he'd go along with Gortash's coronation, even though he's clearly unhappy about it. Also, the current leader of the Fists is also a Portyr, likely still Liara Portyr, the Duke's niece and Ravengard's second-in-command.

Thalamra Vanthampur is an interesting character, too. She's the head of the Vanthampur family, and part of the Descent into Avernus story. Apparently, she's the one who got Ravengard to go to Elturel before it sank to the Hells, intending to take his place as Grand Duke. From what I read, she also conspired with the Dead Three's cults to murder people in a bid to discredit the Flaming Fist. (The murdery bits were undoubtedly left to Bhaal's cult.) We never do find out anything about Thalamra Vanthampur in this game (I assume that's probably cut content). (Edited: She is mentioned in one of the in-game texts as having been killed, which was one of the possible outcomes of Descent into Avernus. Larian chose that as their canon, just like the fate of Elturel and Zariel.)

The only Vanthampur we do meet is Carnelia Vanthampur, who is in the Guildhall and describes herself as "a peer of the Parliament". She's willing to work with either the Guild or the Zhentarim. Nervously of course. Also interesting is that, on the Bloodstained Parchment hit list, is a Varri Vanthampur, whose gravestone you can find in Candulhallow's Tombstones shop, reading: "Varri Vanthampur. Unwanted in life, welcomed in death."

Interesting, hm?

Also on that hit list is Fridrik Hhune. The Hhunes apparently have links to the Knights of the Shield, from what I looked up--the same group the Emperor led with Stelmane. The only Hhunes we meet in-game are Blaise and Gheris Hhune, two of the werewolves in Cazador's ballroom who are brothers according to the dev notes. With them is another werewolf of a different patriar family, Duver Rillyn. This suggests Cazador has been going after members of patriar families, which sort of fits with what we know about his plans. We really don't find anything else out about them except that they consider Cazador to be their master and Astarion says they're new.

We also can talk to a Flaming Fist who mentions that Hurlbut Hhune is the father of Henrietta Hhune, who used to be secretly engaged to the Fist in question, only for her father to decide to arrange her to marry fellow patriar Derque Rillyn, who the Fist describes as "a major arsehole."

That conversation is interesting for a few reasons. For one, it tells you that arranged marriages within the patriar are a thing. Also, this Fist is a Manip (essentially a Sergeant) who can't ask the other Fists for help because "the Fists don't mess with wealthy patriars, they've got the Watch to back them up." That's aligned with what Devella can also tell you: "There are patriars on the murder target list. I'm oathbound to secure them first, so I'll be heading to the Upper City next." If you say that the Fist should protect everyone: "Not from around here, are you? We're in Baldur's Gate - this is just how things work."

This brings me back to my original issue: what is a Baldurian noble? The patriars are canonically nobles, of course, and they're undoubtedly seen as the "most important" of the nobility. From there, it's not much of a stretch to say that anyone who has earned the title of Duke is now a noble, even if they aren't patriars. I'd go so far as to say anyone on the Parliament of Peers (and their family by association) is a noble^, given that non-patriars Petric Amber and Haeril Birch are considered Lord and Lady. The information I found about that is that there are approximately twelve non-patriar members. If Amber and Birch are two of them, that leaves another unnamed 10.

^Edited: Looking at the dates, I realized that the Parliament of Peers is a very recent change to Baldurian governance. Duke Portyr originally created it after the three other Dukes on the Council of Four were assassinated. It was clearly meant as a temporary measure, but my guess is that the patriars liked having more official say. Not to mention the non-patriars who managed to get a seat. This has all happened within even the youngest of Tav/Urges' lifetimes.

Personally, I'd also assume that branch families of the patriars probably also count as nobility. By branch family, I mean those that marry out of the main line but whose ancestry stems from a patriar family. From what I've seen by naming conventions, Baldur's Gate seems to use patronmyic lineage--ancestry is generally passed to the sons, and wives take their husband's surname. So, if a daughter marries out of the family, she'd no longer be a part of her father's family lineage, but still would be considered nobility. These branch families likely still maintain powerful influence and connections from marrying into wealth, which would make them a good political/financial choice of marriage alliance, despite no longer having the main branch patriar family name. These families are also probably the ones most likely to find a place on the Parliament, too, but likely have to jockey for position if their "representative" dies (or otherwise leaves) and a new opening in the Parliament is created.

If you've read this far, as a treat you can have some crappy close-up portraits of the nobles at Gortash's coronation, grouped together in their respective boxes. 😚

* For what it's worth, I'd count myself as a casual DnD player. I have some knowledge of DnD--I've played BG1 and 2, Planescape: Torment, along with some general cultural osmosis. I've had friends who played the tabletop version, but for one reason or another, I've never played it myself.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 meta #fandom stuff #patriars #baldur's gate nobility #bg3 noble background #do I know what I'm talking about? no ❤#but I tried

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cemeteryspider · 3 months

Text

Disco Inferno

Alastor x Hippie! Reader

Summary: Your carefree soul learns how to navigate your friendships and a budding relationship in the Hazbin Hotel

Trigger Warnings: Drug use, mature themes, violence, party atmosphere, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 1699

Maybe the years of drugs, protests, and sexual acts were what did you in. After all, good people don't end up in Hell you suppose. You lived as a relative nobody in Hell, except for the people you raised hell with.

Your best friend Cherri Bomb, adorned with fiery hair and exuding leather-clad confidence, sported a rebellious flair. Her devil-may-care attitude made her the perfect partner in crime.

You were casually talking it up with some big shot when out of nowhere a pink bomb landed on the table in front of you. Quickly, you jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding the blast. However, the shrapnel struck the Overlord you were engaged in conversation with, sealing Cherri Bomb's claim to his territory.

In addition, you encountered Angel Dust, revealing a shared passion for drugs that strengthened your connection. While you may not have the same drug of choice it doesn't mean getting high together was any less fun.

You navigated a niche between Angel's popularity and Cherri's intimidation, finding your place as their intriguing and adventurous companion.

This is how you ended up being the Happy Hotel's second patron.

~~~

Although smoking became off limits, in the hotel at least, you were still swaying around to music and dancing through the day.

You almost felt better when you weren't smoking but that wasn't something you wanted to admit to Angel or especially Charlie. You knew there would be a party thrown as soon as you said it.

The now Hazbin Hotel, was home to quite a few demons, not all there to rehabilitate but it made it feel more at home. The more people around the more you felt reminded of your friends topside, now they were almost certainly dead or "double dead" as Angel might say.

Charlie and Vaggie were stern but friendly towards you. They told you to stay sober if you wanted to stay at the hotel and you happily obliged. Although sometimes you still snuck a blunt, why did they have to know?

Husk was always able to talk you down and put a drink in your hand. He heard your troubles with Cherri and how she didn't want to talk to you anymore, and heard you talk about your worries with Angel. You and Husker, bonded by shared experiences and unspoken understanding, found solace in each other's company. Often, you sat around doing absolutely nothing, reveling in the comfort of a companion who needed no words.

Sir Pentious, Hazbin's third rehabilitant, was just the sweetest. Again you two often sat around talking, usually about his inventions and sometimes about Cherri. You gave him subtle hints about what she liked and how to win her over, but usually he got too nervous to act on these. This never stopped you from trying to help, and frequently having sleep-over with him and his sweet Egg Bois.

Alastor's enigmatic presence left you with a lingering curiosity, a puzzle you were determined to put together with every passing day. However, this didn't stop you from trying to become his friend. You listened to his radio show to try to find out things he liked and often accompanied him to Cannibal Town, not for its namesake but for amazing chats with Rosie. Alastor was the one piece of the puzzle you just couldn't figure out, and the more time you spent with him the more about him you wanted to know.

~~~

So when Charlie and Vaggie went on their trip to Heaven, you decided to invite Alastor out. You decided not to call it a date, but hoped the message would get across well to him. You and Alastor left shortly after everyone else when to a club nearby.

Wanting to bridge the gap between your worlds, you chose to bring him to your favorite disco joint, even if the music wasn't his usual taste. If you wanted him to like you, he did have to get to know you.

Studio 666, with pulsating neon lights casting an otherworldly glow and a bass so deep it reverberated through your very soul, stood as Hell's most renowned disco club. Though Alastor's smile didn't fade, a twitch betrayed his discomfort amidst the crowd and physical contact. The music was nothing like what he was used to and so far away from his favorite dance tunes.

Alastor was well aware of hippie culture as he had talked with many people who died and how they lived on his radio show. He had been to a club like this once with Rosie and he did not think that he would ever be back to one. Let alone with a beautiful dame like yourself.

He stood frozen for a moment and felt very out of place in his coat and slacks. You were dressed impeccably for the occasion wearing a halter top jumpsuit adorned with red rhinestones and sparkles. Platform boots make you just a hair taller than your usual height.

You had decided to match Alastor on your night out, trying to make others notice you were with him and maybe have them be more friendly. Well as friendly as some sinners were willing to be.

Gently you took his hand and led him to the bar.

"Yo, Y/n, where have you been? The Studio's been missin' you"

"Oh you know Flower, I've just been truckin' on"

"Wearin' some groovy threads"

"When am I not, ya goof"

Alastor noticed you fall into a rhythm with the bartender, Flower you called them. Again he felt sorely out of place, even though before this, you had always made him feel right at home.

"Anyways, what can I get you and Casanova here?"

A small chuckle escaped your lips.

"You know me," you grinned, "a tequila sunrise, and Alastor will have a-"

"I'll have a Greyhound"

With that, a playful grin graced your lips as you looked up at him. For you, he would try to embrace this night of loud disco festivities with a drink he normally would never try.

Once Flower had served the two drinks Alastor saw them whisper in your ear. Despite the attempt at secrecy he heard exactly what was said.

"I got primo grass and mushrooms if you're interested, foxy"

Alastor saw the glance you gave him and quirked his eyebrow. You moved away from Flower.

"Nah, we best keep on steppin', peace, Flower"

With a smile and a nod of their head they went to serve the next customer.

~~~

You were able to find a table a little ways away from the ruckus to talk with Alastor about anything and everything that came to your mind. The hotel and its apparent success, things Alastor spoke about on his last radio broadcast, and your favorite color.

However, the smooth flow of the night was interrupted when a small group of demons approached the table where you were chatting.

"My my, here's a brick house I'd never I'd see again"

Your smile instantly turned into a scowl. You turned toward the short stubby man who seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

"Psych, the bug I thought I squished a long time ago", you practically snarled at them.

"Hold up, Dollface, no need to freak out. We just wanna talk. Why don't you take a chill pill and come boogie with us. We sure do have lots to catch up on"

Alastor appeared between the two of them before Psych could make a move to grab her.

"Why gentlemen, that is no way to treat a lady, now scurry along, u̵̪̓n̶̲̋l̶̑͜e̷͉̊s̶̜̽š̸̙ ̷̞̑y̵̪̅ơ̵̞ṳ̴̕ ̶̪̓n̴͇͂o̷̮͑ ̵͎̆l̵̫͒o̶̥̕ň̵̗g̸̠̓e̶͍̊r̴͓̉ ̵̹̋ẅ̴̳ḭ̵͠s̸̮̅h̶̛̩ ̷͈̈t̴̬͒o̶̜̔ ̴͔̿u̴͍͝s̵̗͂ē̸͎ ̴͓͝y̴̻̕o̴̮͊u̵̟͒r̵̗̈ ̸̥͂h̵a̸n̴d̶s̴"

"Snaps man, were goin'"

They stalked off, and Alastor returned to his seat.

"So, Cher, do you wish to, how did they say it, boogie?"

"Al, we don't have to dance if it's not to your liking," you suggested tentatively, concerned about Alastor's comfort.

"Nonsense, I did not learn to disco for nothing." Alastor's response carried a hint of excitement. In an instant, you found yourself on the dance floor, the disco ball casting a dazzling display of lights above your heads.

The dance floor pulsed with neon lights, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room. The infectious rhythm reverberated through the air, prompting everyone to move in synchronized harmony. Happily you take Alastor's hand and his overcoat disappears leaving him in his black button-up.

The bassline kicks in and you synchronize your movements, letting the music guide you.

The dance floor ignited with a playful series of twirls and spins. Your sequined jumpsuit scattered sparks across its surface, catching the neon lights in a dazzling display. Your bodies moving in harmony.

The tempo rises and soon a transition into sensual and intricate dance moves. Your fluidity contrasts Alastors strong and controlled movements. You playfully tease him with every step. The crowd soon had all of their eyes on the two of you.

A continued show of trust and chemistry flowed through every dip, lift, and spin. The disco lights danced in their eyes, mirroring the euphoria of the music that surrounded them showcasing laughter and glances, you were completely lost in the magic of the moment,

The music reaches its peak, and you lock eyes with Alastor. His usual smile was replaced with a lovesick grin.

As the song concluded, your heart still pounding with the rhythm, the world slowly came back into focus. The applause of the entertained crowd echoed, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment and joy. Alastor's expression, a lovesick grin, reveals a side you hadn't seen before, deepening the connection between you two.

Leading the way, Alastor guided you from the dance floor to the exit. As you stepped outside, his coat materialized on your shoulders, a protective gesture in the crisp night air.

"Wow, Alastor, I didn't know you could dance like that" The revelation left you pleasantly surprised and craving more insights into this mysterious demon.

"Mon Cherie, next time we'll go to a jazz club and you'll see how well I can dance"

Still breathless from the dance, you sighed contentedly as you continued the walk back to the hotel, the night filled with the echoes of joy and music.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel 2024

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plantanarchy · 2 years

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here's my controversial plant opinions of the day:

your garden can be both native and non-native plants. Its fine. It is not evil to plant non-native plants. Avoid invasives and noxious weeds but many non-native plants are good and fun

not all nativars are the Worst Ever or completely useless for pollinators the way many people claim BUT they do lower genetic diversity if cloned and not seed bred. This is more an issue if you are trying to reestablish a wild area or preserve a species, less so if you are landscaping your suburban house

Not all non native plants growing wild need to be eradicated or are horribly invasive, especially if they are growing in disturbed areas that we created. Hesperis matronalis for example grows places like roadsides, train tracks, and areas where invasives have already choked out natives.

Invasive plants are a symptom of a problem, not a problem themselves. They are not evil. It does not do any good to assign moral worth to plants. Native plants are not "good". Invasive plants are not "the enemy" They just are. They are filling a niche that our society left open for them.

If you are going to remove invasive plants en masse, you have to have a plan for whats going in its place. Garlic mustard, for example, tends to build up in population and then decline in number... unless the population is disturbed in which case it starts back up again.

Given that climate change is a thing and the fact that we have changed the environment on a micro level by putting in dams and streets and neighborhoods with lawns and shopping centers.... most definitions of native plants are bogus. The idea that traditonal native plants are better adapted to our local environment is no longer true. The winters are getting colder, watersheds are changing all the time, and your new development with all the topsoil shaved off in the baking sun with so much deer pressure even deer resistant plants don't stand a chance... the native plants are not native to that environment.

Oh, the problem is capitalism btw. Our infrastructure and livelihoods depend on creating environments where invasives thrive and natives cannot.

Individuals can help on a very small scale by planting their yards in an environmentally friendly way but if a highway project and new industrial center is going in down the street... nothing is going to help the local environment except lobbying and supporting conservation organizations

#etc etc

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ao3commentoftheday · 6 months

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how do i deal with something thats like vaguely popular when i lowkey hate my writing in there so much? like its not outright terrible, and i literally started to explore this fic because i wanted to explore certain concepts and relationships that aren't really present in the fandom. i was updating semi-frequently until i realized... there are a lot of bookmarks, hits, kudos, etc. it pops up in the first or second page in its crossover niche. (said niche has like around 1k works in there so its not like this fic is one of the few) and now it feels like all eyes are on me and i don't like my writing that much, that whenever i try to write, i can't help but think about how to make my writing be better instead of just writing the fic! i still love the fic, think about it daily, i know what i want to do next and want to explore but its like i've got stage fright except for writing! help ;_;

From what you say here, the change that happened in your perception wasn't connected to your ability to write. It was about realizing that people were reading.

Maybe this is stage fright. Maybe it's a crisis of confidence. Maybe it's a fear of failure. Maybe it's not wanting to be perceived. Whatever your actual emotion might be, I don't think it's hating your writing. I think it's worrying that other people might hate it.

You still love your story, but the idea of posting it where others might possibly judge it is causing you to stress out. What if you continued writing it without posting it? Get to the end before you post the next chapter. Or write a few chapters ahead, even. Far enough that you can get some of your confidence back and worry less about what the reaction might be.

If you need to post and get a reaction in order to have the energy to write on (I'm like that, too, no judgement here), then I suggest reaching out to someone you trust and getting a cheer reader. This is a kind of beta who is there to read your story and leave gushing comments. The kind of beta who wants to be the rubber duck you rant at when you get stuck and watch you figure your way out of the issue. They're the kind of beta who's there to support you and cheer you on to help you get to the finish line.

And if you're really worried about your writing? Maybe get them to do some other beta things too. Or get a second person for that.

What is it that you're worried is going to happen when you post the next chapter? Think about your worst case scenario. Is it that people will stop reading? That they'll hate your plot twist? That someone is going to tell you your grammar sucks or that you made a typo? Define the bad things that might happen and then make a plan for how you'll deal with it - either by fixing those issues before you post or by knowing how to respond if that's the reaction you get.

What about the rest of you? How do you get through these moments when you suddenly realize that people are paying attention? What do you do when the spotlight is on and it's just way too bright?

#asks and answers

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etirabys · 4 months

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The last chapter of John Bradshaw's Cat Sense is dedicated to the future of cats as a domesticated species. They're kind of in trouble, at least in the parts of the West that have carried out successful neutering campaigns.

(tumblr post extracting the parts of the book relevant to making your actual concrete cat happier is here)

For most of their history as a domesticated animal, cats were "independent workers" who weren't integrated into human households like dogs were. The shift to "affectionate indoor pets whose hunting drive is a liability rather than the main feature" has been recent, and fast.

Not only are they not adapted for this role (see the 15% of cats that remain skeptical about humans despite good socialization as kittens), current breeding practices are making them worse for this niche. Pet cats are neutered by default these days, and the main source of new cats for aspiring cat owners are kittens born to strays who are selected for being difficult to catch and spay, i.e. the cats that are most suspicious of people and best at surviving on their own because they are keen hunters of wildlife.

(The book doesn't offer quantifications of how fast friendliness is going down because of selection effects. Only one study is mentioned: in 1999 the author compared one area of Southampton where the vast majority of cats were neutered (and kittens were probably fathered by ferals) and one area where the kittens were fathered by unspayed pet male cats. The mothers in both areas were unspayed pets, but the kittens fathered by ferals were less likely to settle on human laps. No numbers given, however.)

The obvious solution – since humans are likely to continue wanting cats as pets, ideally cats who like humans back – is to breed cats deliberately, the same way we breed dogs. We aren't doing that yet, or at least not for temperament. We do breed for looks (or for being hypoallergenic), and those cats do sometimes differ in temperament due to founder effects. The main exception is the Ragamuffin/Ragdoll breed, which has a "tendency to be limp and comfortable when handled".

I'm not too worried about this – neutering campaigns are not universal, and a couple of years ago I watched a documentary about the huge, human-habituated feral cat population in Istanbul where, presumably, friendliness towards humans is selected for. There are plenty of cats in the world who are chill with humans and with each other that we can start breeding for be good at being pet cats rather than good at being ferals. And if Western society starts noticing our cats have started being less friendly and more stressed compared to the past and to foreign cats, surely we'll get started on deliberate breeding. But as the housemate of a cat who only kind of seems to be content with life as an indoor pet, it does seem that we should get started.

#rambl #cat sense #eti reads stuff #housecatblogging #agent cooper is the first cat i knew well #the second is 81k's cat juniper who is very anxious #both were acquired from the shelters in a large city where most pet cats are spayed #more notes than usual

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biggaybunny · 1 month

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Games I Don't Hear Anyone Talk About, So I'm Going To Talk About Them

There's no rhyme or reason to the order here, and maybe these games do have fanbases I've just missed! But that's the premise, here we go:

The vibes to me are like, if Celeste were a metroidvania. It has exceptional platforming mechanics that are easy to learn, hard to master, and a colorful and expansive map that rewards exploration. The characters are all adorable too.

A horde survival game a la vampire survivors with a stark and effective color palette. It has tons of atmosphere and the characters offer actual differences in playstyle from one another. I admittedly haven't put too many hours into this because it's tough as nails, but I still recommend it.

A choose-your-own-adventure VN with a light card battling element, I Was A Teenage Exocolonist was both comfy and a little melancholic about finding happiness and meaning in times of change and strife. It'll take you some time to uncover the full story, and I found myself doing four or five repeat playthroughs without feeling the repetition because there are so many branching routes to take. Also, while you can opt out of the card battling to focus on the story experience, mastering it is a lot of fun!

Have you ever thought to yourself "The only thing wrong with XCOM is that I wasn't playing as a group of weird superpowered teens, also I need the plot to be more JRPG, also there weren't enough auxiliary mechanics for me to get lost in"? Have you ever wanted to see a teenage girl roundhouse kick a man so hard he catches fire?

What if SimCity was set in the future, and also made by insane people? I admit, this game has a learning curve, and is niche. But if you're as much a fan of citybuilders as I am, this is a gem. This isn't a sandbox city builder, but doesn't follow the format of traditional guided city builders. But if you do succeed, the art style and level of detail makes regarding your successful metropolis all the more rewarding

It's part battle chess and part deck builder, and all fun. Lots of combat styles to pick from as you work your way through ridiculous odds. Not much plot, but a good game for people who like games like Slay The Spire and Monster Train.

I think those are my top games I don't see talked about. Hope someone finds this interesting, but tbh, I just had fun talking about these. There's more I could add, but I could be here all day if I wanted to. There's just so much out there, I don't know why anyone's buying price-gouging triple-a games when you can get hundreds of hours out of a title asking less than twenty bucks.

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