#i’ve been going back to it all week but i cannot justify spending that much money on a dick

[darlinimamess]

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[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

So, I’m seeing Grace Petrie this week, and I’m really excited about it. Someone told me she’s coming out “my way”, so I looked it up, thinking maybe a nearby city. But nope, she’s coming all the way to England to play in my own city, I don’t have to travel at all. I then saw the venue, and it’s a relatively fancy one, so as I clicked through the ticket price, I asked myself what’s the maximum I’d spend. I was debating about whether I’d go over $50, which is already a lot more than I’d normally drop at once on something like this, but I’d do it for someone I like as much as Grace Petrie when it’s such a rare opportunity for me to see her. I asked myself if I could justify going higher than that, as this venue will probably cost more…

Then the ticket page loaded, and it was $20! Grace Petrie sings a lot of working class anthems, and it turns out, she backs that up with her ticket prices. Fucking amazing. The only other obstacle to me buying a ticket was that the show was on September 21, and I knew in the back of my mind that I had that date marked out for some reason, so I might have a conflict. But I couldn’t think of anything else on that night, so I bought the ticket anyway. Today, I realized I had that date marked in my mind because it’s the Taskmaster premiere. So it’s fine, there’s no conflict. I am very excited about the new Taskmaster season, but I can wait a day to watch the first episode.

Adding a cut here because this gets fairly long once I start going on about how fucking great Grace Petrie is. Click the link to find out how fucking great Grace Petrie is.

For those who don’t know, Grace Petrie is an English musician who recently took up comedy as well, but she’s been a vaguely comedy-adjacent musician for years. A bit like Gavin Osborn that way. Actually, those two have a fair bit in common: folk singers who do a lot of anti-Tory protest songs and aren’t actually comedians, but do hang out with comedians a lot, and sometimes tour with comedians and open for comedians and their proximity to comedy has them putting jokes in their lyrics and in the stories they tell between songs on stage so they’re, like, almost comedians. But not comedians. Well, that was true, for a long time, until Grace Petrie recently started doing stand-up (incidentally, if Gavin Osborn would like to keep making sure they have a lot in common but launching his own stand-up career, I would fully support that).

You know how cool Gavin Osborn is? Well imagine if he were a butch lesbian who also does stand-up. Actually, a closer comparison might be, you know how cool Josie Long is? Imagine if she were a butch lesbian who also played guitar.

The things she sings about are feminism, lesbianism, gender non-conformity, and socialism. She’s a butch lesbian who does British comedy and folk music, who are two of my biggest interests in life. Basically, she was made in a lab to appeal to me. This is why I was thinking I’d probably go as high as $70 to see Grace Petrie.

Last year, she started performing her first ever stand-up hour, Butch Ado About Nothing. NextUp is streaming that show on September 26, and I cannot recommend it highly enough, which I realize is high praise for a show I’ve not seen. But I recently listened to her Comedian’s Comedian podcast episode, which was recorded last fall and mainly about that show, and it sounds fucking amazing. I am so incredibly excited to see it. I know it’s not great to go into a stand-up hour with expectations too high, but based on what she said on the podcast about what’s in it, I have my hopes up about as much as they can go.

I won’t see it live, because the show she’s doing in Canada is a music show. But I’m happy enough with that, because I’ll get to see her comedy show anyway, on NextUp. This way I get to experience both: her music live, and then her comedy on the stream the next week.

I’m sure I’ll have more to say about this after I see her stand-up show, since according to that podcast recording a lot of the show is about this, but I find her incredibly inspirational as a butch lesbian who also fights for other marginalized groups. I know this isn’t nearly the most important part of the damage that the TERF movement has done to culture, but one part that’s been really hurtful to me personally (as a cis woman… and again, I am entirely aware that I am not its main victim) is the way they’ve co-opted the word “lesbian”. The way when people speak against them, they call it “silencing women” and “silencing lesbians” as though their status as women and lesbians is what makes them transphobes, that they’re so tied together that you can’t criticize their bigotry without insulting their identity, as though the identities of (cis) womanhood or lesbianism are inherently bigoted.

So Grace Petrie is a big deal to me that way. She’s a cis woman, she’s a lesbian, she’s butch (I have a complex relationship with the word “butch” just like with the word “lesbian”, that basically boils down to “I’ve got a ponytail so I don’t know if I’m masculine enough to be able to get away with calling myself “butch”, even though I do identify with everything it means, but in terms of an actual label I tend to just go with “gender non-conforming”), and she doesn’t hate trans people! See, it’s possible! None of those identities make someone inherently hate trans people! In fact, they can be an amazing socialist worker’s rights activist feminist who also actively campaigns for trans rights! Plays out this campaign through everything from her Twitter to her song lyrics to the bigger stuff like attending protests and benefits! God, she’s so fucking cool.

This makes me incredibly angry, as a gay cis woman (I struggle a bit with using the word “lesbian” for myself, even though I know I never want to date or sleep with a man again so for all intents and purposes “lesbian” would be an accurate description, but I’m sometimes sort of theoretically bisexual, like can be attracted to men even if I wouldn’t want to sleep with them, and part of me worries that if I were to call myself a lesbian but then someone heard me comment that Joe Thomas is hot I’d be ruining the cause of lesbianism everywhere by telling people that lesbians can sometimes find men attractive, so I tend to just go with a more vague term like “gay woman” or “queer”, because I cannot have the entire cause of lesbianism brought down just because Joe Thomas is hot), hearing other people turn my identity into that. I had to go through a lot of shit, when I was younger and coming out when the world was less accepting of gay people and I had to deal with a lot of misogyny and self-hatred and reasons to not want to be gay and not want to be a woman (not in a trans way, just in a “being a woman sucks because sexism” way, also in a gender non-conforming way, that I didn’t like being expected to live up to femininity and grouped in based on my gender), to finally get to a point where I accept and claim these identities. Those identities matter to me now, because I’ve been marginalized for them and I feel protective of them, and I fucking hate watching other women tarnish them by making them into a vehicle for hating other marginalized groups.

And from what I hear on this podcast, her stand-up hour Butch Ado About Nothing also takes that on. Takes on transphobia from the specific perspective of a butch lesbian. And there are a lot of ways to react to that topic that can be seen specifically from the butch lesbian (or gay gender non-conforming woman, whatever you want to call it) perspective. The way we’ve spent our whole lives being told we Do Gender Wrong, and that should make us feel solidarity with other people who are marginalized for Doing Gender Wrong. And there’s so much overlap between the cis gender non-conforming experience, and the trans experience, in terms of how it feels internally to be those things and how society treats us, but also it can be complicated when it feels like we’re two separate teams competing for a tiny share of people, and this creates intra-community issues that Grace Petrie is in the right position to talk about. I am so fucking glad that someone in that position is talking about it in a way that isn’t hateful.

In all this describing of how inspirational Grace Petrie is, I don’t want to lose the message of how incredibly talented she is too. I’d enjoy listening to her songs even if I knew nothing else about her. I love her singing voice. I love the soaring choruses and uplifting music. I love the way she uses parts of traditional folk music genres, like sea shanties or old timey-style pro-union songs, and gives them an update for the 21st Century. A great traditional protest singer in 2023. I love how densely she packs her lyrics, I can get more out of them each time I hear a song. I love her performance style, from what I’ve seen on YouTube. I love the way she can write a song that’s so personal and so political at the same time. I love the sincerity and earnestness in all her work. I love that someone is not only giving voice to this, but giving it a voice with so much musical and writing ability.

Oh, and it’s not all protest songs. Sometimes she sings about falling in love with straight girls and listening to Bob Dylan because her girlfriend left her. Solidly relatable material.

I’ve just realized I forgot to explain how she actually got her comedy-adjacent status. Gavin Osborn got there by going to school with John Oliver, who invited him to comedian’s football, where Daniel Kitson accidentally broke his finger, and then invited him on tour by way of apology. Grace Petrie got there because she met Josie Long and Robin Ince at Glastonbury in about 2011, and then went on a tour with Josie in which they played in underground places that aren’t proper venues but are underpasses under highways and shit like that to reclaim public spaces for the people, and she played at those multi-act Robin Ince things that brought together comedians with musicians and writers and brilliant philosophical and scientific thinkers, and then just kept up the relationship. I think I can safely say Grace Petrie’s entry into the comedy-adjacent world was cooler, though to be fair to Gavin, he did do at least one of those cool multi-act Robin Ince shows too.

Anyway, here are some Grace Petrie songs to close this post. There will be more Grace Petrie posts coming from this blog in the next while, once I see her live and then see her comedy hour streamed a few days later.

I actually started writing this post a few days ago, and at the time, I thought this post would include an explanation of why this first song means so much to me. Then some shit happened this weekend, and I ended up putting that explanation in some other posts. So no need to get into it again - if you want to know why this song gets to me personally so much, see my last few posts. It's a song about how sometimes you fight a political fight for years and never win but it was still worth doing.

I actually got so depressed this weekend that I put that song on repeat, and then ended up posting it on this blog anyway, because I thought maybe that would help somehow. I posted the studio version then, so here's a live version:

There are a couple of live versions of this song on YouTube, it's from her most recent album and I get the impression it's one of the most popular songs on there, which is fantastic, because it means she's very likely to play it when I see her live. This song gets to me so much when I listen to it at home, I am fully prepared for it to fucking kill me if I get to hear her do it in person.

Here's one she wrote about the day Margaret Thatcher died, which gets an amazing amount of nuance into four minutes:

Acapella song in the style of traditional Irish folk music, but it's about a bad gig she did in Galway once? I will say yes to that, please:

Song about a weirdly specific feminist issue (the way female love interests get stripped of their agency when they're written about in songs and reduced to being a muse rather than their own person), helps you digest its somewhat difficult message (difficult because she's absolutely right, but also, some of my favourite songs are about female love interests who get stripped of their agency and reduced to being a muse) with an amazingly catchy chorus:

She did this one on Robin Ince's stand-up DVD, and watching that DVD was the first time I'd ever heard this particular song, and that might be the moment I fell in love with her. I mean I think I was before that, but this really cemented it:

Like I said, it's not all politics. She can do tragic love songs too:

I could keep posting her songs all night, everyone should just check out her discography. But here's one more:

Well, I know you miss the good old days of picket lines and flags When the Specials and the Jam all ruled the charts But if you're really looking for this generation's Billy Braggs We're all here with a fire in our hearts

[omegasmileyface]

Bound by the Food Chain

"man what if there was something incorporating both the Ghost King and Ghost Hunger aus" i say, not prepared to spend weeks writing up an entire ecosystem structure for the ghost zone,

thanks @attackradish and @ectolemonades for help figuring out the science and writing!

summary: The ghostly Staff who've taken up residence in Phantom's Keep notice Danny doesn't eat any ectoplasmic food. That can't be good for him.

warnings: detailed description of ghost hunger, which is vaguely like cannibalism

words: 2830

AO3 link

===

“King Phantom, when do you feed?”

“Huh?” Danny looked up at the Keep’s Librarian, Vellum. It felt like an odd question, seeing as he was currently actively eating a sandwich he had packed up with him into the Zone. He was spending a few hours in the Keep that day since it was nice and quiet for getting work — from both realms — done, and he had brought some earth food over. Ghost plants just didn’t taste very good.

Vellum looked a little shocked, like she hadn’t realized she’d asked her question aloud. “I mean, clearly you eat human food quite a bit,” she gestured to his sandwich, “but I’ve never seen you take in any sort of ectoplasmic substance.”

Danny wasn’t an expert on the (strangely psychological) ecology of the Infinite Realms, but he was familiar with the fact that all ghosts had to take in some sort of ectoplasm if they wanted to be anything more than an inert impression of emotion. Since he had never gotten any enjoyment or significant energy from eating ghost plants or breathing in the stuff ambient in the air, he pretty much just stuck with eating human food and converting the chemical energy between his forms. He was lucky that he could do that, being part human. He knew he automatically gained some energy from the human emotions around him (including his own, another benefit of being liminal) but it was negligible. He got drained pretty easily, and he knew there were things he wasn’t trying, but… he was tired, not desperate. He’d be tired anyway, with his lack of sleep.

“That’s because I don’t. I can still use the chemical energy I get from human food in my ghost form, so…” he shrugged. “This is pretty much it.”

Vellum’s brows furrowed in concern. “Are you not a—” She pursed her lips. “Are you not tired?”

“What do you mean? I definitely eat more than a regular human, and as far as I’m aware I don’t lose any of my energy in conversion. I’m getting by.”

“I think we should talk to Dr. Marchs. I don’t know if it’s… ok, that you’re not feeding ectoplasmically.”

With some exasperation, Danny let himself be brought back to the Throne room, the preferred place for anything that could constitute a “meeting”. Apparently, talking to the Keep’s Doctor, Chef, and some other Staff members about his diet counted.

The various adult ghosts looked at Danny with shared expressions of confusion and concern from where they stood around him. He was sitting on the arm of the Throne, not the most comfortable but it still felt wrong to be properly seated in it unless necessary.

Dr. Marchs finally spoke their piece. “Forgive me for asking, Your Majesty, but… are you not a hunting-ghost?”

Danny was already out of his league culturally. He had a lot to learn. “As in… like, a predator?”

“Exactly! Your core best processes ectoplasm directly from other ghosts, correct?”

Danny paled. “I don’t… know? I tend to avoid going around, just… eating other sentient creatures.” He tried to say it in a humorous way. It didn’t work.

“So you’ve never tried! I had thought… Well, I think you must be a hunting-ghost. You put out a radiant power that is only associated with that core type.”

“None of us have seen you feeding,” added Vellum, “so we weren’t sure you didn’t just defy that association. I don’t think anyone really understands all the complications of half-human physiology.”

Dr. Marchs jumped back in easily. “It’s still just speculation. You have said that you don’t enjoy eating plants from this realm, yes?” Danny nodded. “And you don’t seem to get significant relief from human emotion. Well, we’re just going to have to have you try feeding on some ghosts.”

Danny jumped to his feet. “What?! I don’t… need that, I get by fine on human food!”

“But aren’t you tired?” pointed out the Chef. Her eyes widened. “That’s why you get so drained after using big attacks! Your energy reserves aren’t being nearly refilled.”

“I believe she’s right, Your Majesty. There’s only so much energy you can take from human food, which isn’t even alive… I think you’re always tired because your core is designed to have a level of energy that you can’t provide it without processing Vital ectoplasm.”

Danny didn’t want to admit that he was consistently pretty damn tired. Instead he tried to change the subject. Ghosts were passionate beings, and as much as he hated to take advantage of that, having one of the Keep Staff gush about one of their passions to him was much better than talking about his relationship with what was essentially cannibalism. “Vital?”

Dr. Marchs’ eyes sparkled a little. “Vital as in living, not as in essential. Ectoplasm comes in three major forms. Ambient plasm makes up most of the Realms, in environments and atmospheres and auras. All ghosts are made up of Vital plasm, and those with cores have their Obsession or Purpose imprinted into the crystal structure of their own ectoplasm, which can be turned into Charged ectoplasm. The Charged form can take up an elemental type according to the ability of its source, and it has the most capacity to hold or be converted into ectoenergy. The Charged form is used to transmit intention onto a target, so it’s generally created by Cored ghosts, who are creatures of intention, in attacks or construction. Regardless of type or state, ectoplasm processing depends on its form — Uncored ghosts can process strong human emotions or Ambient ectoplasm into the Vital type. Among Cored ghosts, hunter-ghosts can best process Vital ectoplasm, gatherer-ghosts the high-activity type of Ambient plasm found in ghost plants, and scavenger-ghosts human emotion. Additionally, Charged plasm no longer linked to the source of its intention will eventually disperse into Ambient, as its most inert form.”

Danny, sitting down, had already known part of that, but the Doctor was properly smiling at this point. Dr. Marchs blushed as they realized they had just been talking, but none of the other ghosts in the room appeared to mind.

“…Regardless, King Phantom, we should really find some blobs for you to try eating. I cannot in good conscience leave you persisting off such low energy.”

He wanted to argue, he really did, but all the Keep Staff present were looking at Danny with this pleading expression. They looked genuinely concerned, and he remembered a comment he’d heard before about some of the Staff latching onto the King with their Obsessions. Some unfortunate result of the connection they’d formed with the Keep, Danny certainly didn’t deserve it, but he did know how it felt to Obsess over taking care of someone and have them turn down that care. With the same concerned look directed back their way, he got up and was led to the Garden out back.

Danny was having second thoughts again once he found himself surrounded by blobs that had been enjoying the intricate plants and high Ambient ecto levels of the Keep Garden. They were squishy but soft, like mochi coated in a good layer of starch, each a bit smaller than his head, and they all looked at him with these big vibrant eyes. Their postures were energetic, like they expected to play a game.

Once he sat down with the rest of the small group — why did he have to have an audience? — the blobs swarmed around him, resting on the sky blue grass and on his shoulders and in the others’ laps. They looked almost as expectant as the Staff in front of him.

“I…“ he bit his lip. “I can’t justify eating a living creature when I can choose not to. I know lots of ghosts have to eat others to persist, but I have the privilege that I can eat human food instead. Since I have that option, I can’t just… end another creature so I can feel a bit better.” Hey, Sam would be proud of him.

The present Staff donned looks of confusion. An Advisor who used the Keep as a home spoke up, eyes wide with realization. “Ah! Living creatures all share a survival instinct — that’s a natural result of evolution, yes? Things that do their best to live have their genes passed on? That’s not necessary for Uncored ghosts, since they do not reproduce and therefore don’t evolve. The only instincts experienced by the Uncored are instincts to better the Realms. Unless they’ve developed a strong individual personality, the Uncored are much more interested in contributing than in persisting.”

Danny’s head tilted in curiosity. Dr. Marchs took the reins on the rest of the explanation.

“The Realms are built socially where the living realm is built physically. Our homes and well-being are made from emotion, belief, and community. So for Uncored ghosts, spawned of the dimension itself, they want their ectoplasm and energy to be where it supports those communities the most, and that means ensuring the health of the ghosts in charge. Generally speaking, the more powerful a ghost is, the more likely they are to have some importance to the Realms. The Uncored — and many Cored — can sense a ghost’s power due to how much excess ectoplasm they let off. In fact, that excess is almost immediately put off as Ambient ectoplasm, meaning that there is simply more Ambient plasm around a powerful ghost, and the Uncored are often attracted since that provides sustenance for them . It’s a mutualistic relationship where one entity feeds off another, and in the end the resources of the weaker ghosts are given to the stronger, supporting the Realms. In fact, there are some cultures who believe that converting ectoplasm into a form the Cored can process is the entire reason for the existence of the Uncored.”

Vellum smiled slightly as she added on, “It’s not an entirely accurate strategy, as the most powerful ghost around is not always going to be a hunter type. They usually are, seeing as that’s the most efficient form of feeding, but it’s not impossible to be otherwise. The result in these cases is Uncored ghosts following around said Cored ghost, and as the same aspect of community comes into play, that ghost soon ends up hanging around a hunter type, who feeds on the prey that was collected.”

Danny cringed a little at the use of the word “prey”.

He looked around at the blobs nuzzled up against him. Those who didn’t look to be something resembling unconscious were peering up at him. They certainly looked expectant, as much as something without even a permanent mouth can.

After he was silent for a few moments, another Staff member spoke up, likely wanting to lighten his mood. “They really do like you! I’m not surprised, even aside from your natural power, the role you play as High King causes ectoplasm to be magnetized to you. I’m sure they’re having a little feast themselves!”

It did not lighten his mood. Danny felt genuinely guilty. Even if he wasn’t doing it on purpose, wasn’t he effectively manipulating these creatures into offering themselves up to be eaten? It wasn’t right, to make them feel as if they want to be ended, just because he had some sort of aura.

But the gathered Staff were still concerned, and anticipatory, and, somehow, hopeful . He couldn’t turn them down at this point. He’d just have to bite into one of the little ghosts surrounding him, just once. He’d throw up, disgusted with himself, and the Staff would realize it wasn’t better for him, and the remaining blobs would remember that they don’t want to die, and they’d flee, and everybody would just leave the subject alone . He only had to try.

(The human dread he was emitting at this point must have been feeding everyone else.)

“…Okay,” he said simply, and gently picked up a blob that had been sitting on his leg.

Before he could rethink himself again, he brought it to his lips. He opened his jaw slightly wider than a human’s would likely go and, fangs instinctually extended, bit down.

Danny was familiar with the scent of ectoplasm. Copper and citrus and battery acid and salt. But when he broke the surface of the small ghost and the viscous fluid burst into his mouth, the salty and bitter aspects were lost on his tongue, replaced by a thick sweetness and the cold tingle of energy. Where his fangs pierced an inch down into the substance of the ghost, he tasted this fulfillment in its emotional ectoplasm. He’s not sure he would have been able to taste it if he weren’t part human. Still, the feeling was something distinctly ghostly, a similar satisfaction to fulfilling an Obsession or a Purpose. It was hard to feel bad, sympathizing automatically with that simple rightness. The way the emotion pressed at his brain, the way the semisolid edges of the ghost slicked against his tongue, his own self-revulsion melted to the back of his mind. The ectoplasmic flesh met his teeth with a thick resistance, but it was nothing to break past it and open up to the deeper substance. It was vibrant, a pure cool energy that pulsed against his fangs. (His core sucked it up greedily.) His mouth met the energy with a pulsing of its own, a harmonizing signal sent from his core throughout his body like a heartbeat. It came out as a low purr that vibrated deep through the charged air around him. He couldn’t help but rush to swallow, though his body absorbed it just as easily without.

The blob ghost had been the size of his foot, and now it was part of the energy making up his own form. Compared to the power his core was passively putting out, to the amount it longed to have refilled, it wasn’t all that much. Unconsciously, his core put out an ectoenergetic signal that he was ready to feed. The blobs around him nuzzled closer yet, making themselves available. Danny could feel a few other Uncored ghosts who were drifting nearby come into the garden and join them.

He looked up from his ectoplasm-stained hands at the Keep Staff. They were looking at him, relieved, pleased (even though they just watched him tear into a living thing and then absorb it into his being like it didn’t even matter, said a part in the back of his consciousness. It was hard to focus on, though. It was coming from his brain, not his hungry core, after all). With his core this active, he could feel the presences of all the other ghosts around. The blobs flocking around him had auras that were weaker than the Cored Staff, but sturdy. There was a balance to them that signaled the ectoplasmic types they were taking in and storing. He sensed the Uncored pulling in the Ambient ectoplasm that sloughed off of him, barely connected to him anymore if not for the weight of the space surrounding him. And he could feel all of their stores of energy-dense Vital plasm.

He could also feel, just as an aspect of his being, his own energy stores. The metaphysical space in his center that his form and all his strength drew from. He could remember, abstractly, the moment he died and that reservoir came to be and was instantly flooded with energy. The way the portal had searched the air until it found his body and his little human soul and used him as a conduit, and all that electricity punched a hole between planes right where his ghost was trying to form, and something tore outward from that starting place just on top of his being, and the vacuum that formed on earth and in the Zone and everything in between pulled until the Infinite Realms rushed his body and in one instantaneous moment his forming core was flooded with enough ectoplasmic energy to become entirely corporeal (if it hadn’t, his ghost wouldn’t have manifested nearly quickly enough to keep him alive), and his being was stretched beyond its limits containing everything. For one moment, he had been filled with more energy than he had thought possible, and his ghost had formed itself to accommodate. Since then he’d felt so… empty. His body took what it could from human food and environmental energy, but it was made for more than that. He had blocked out the awareness of his reserves and gotten used to trying to power all his defenses on so little. He was always so tired.

He still felt low, running on just enough to operate something humanish. But his core had latched on to the ectoplasm provided by the blob, the kind it was designed to process, and finally felt a little relieved. Most ghosts that stayed within the Realms were almost always full. Danny wasn’t nearly there yet.

He reached down and grabbed another blob.

[blu-joons]

You Threaten To Leave Him ~ Park Jinyoung

A light chuckle came from you as you looked up at the clock just as Jinyoung came home, noticing it had just passed one, a new record even for him. You sat up on the sofa as he walked in from his day with his friends, an occasion that he promised would end so that he’d be home in order to spend dinner with you.

His eyes looked across at you as he walked into the room, trying to understand what the glare you were sending in his direction was for. He tried hard to brush it aside, taking a seat on the sofa as he’d been in the house all day.

It wasn’t the first time Jinyoung had forgotten about arrangements he’d made with you. Sometimes it was his friends, other times with work, but that never made up for the useless feeling that greeted you each time he failed to show.

There were a few moments of silence before Jinyoung cleared his throat, kicking his feet up to rest on the coffee table, throwing his head back comfortably. You scoffed in disbelief at his behaviour, enough for him to finally talk.

“Why don’t you head to bed? It’s getting late,” he suggested, smiling widely across at you.

“Is that really what you have to say right now?”

His shoulders shrugged, running his hands over the front of your face. “Am I supposed to say something else? I’m only looking out for you right now.”

Your head shook as he continued to go on, failing to see where he’d gone so wrong. It was what made things so much worse for you, each time Jinyoung struggled to see what he’d done wrong or why you were so upset with him.

“Do you remember even agreeing to dinner with me tonight? Or did you conveniently forget?” You asked.

As tolerant as you’d been towards Jinyoung’s job, there was a line that Jinyoung had firmly stepped over. It was one thing to appreciate his busy career, but it was another to feel pushed aside in comparison to nearly every single aspect of his life.

You’d dealt with him for weeks now in whatever phase this was, you’d spent several nights waiting up to see him. If it wasn’t for the fact you worried about his safety each and every time, you would have taken yourself off to bed several hours before he came home like he instructed you to do.

“I don’t know what else to do Jinyoung, I’m not important to you anymore, it’s like I don’t exist to you. I’ve tried to be considerate, and I know you work hard, but why constantly make promises to me that you simply cannot keep?”

His shoulders shrugged, staring across the room at you. “If it’s something you think I do, why do you bother holding onto these promises each time I make them?”

“Because I’m stupid to think that just once, you’ll keep the promise you make to me.”

His standoffish attitude only angered you more, his body didn’t react at all to the things you were saying, only reminding you how pushed aside you’d become. He didn’t care, it was obvious to you, and as much as you didn’t want to care either, you just couldn’t stop.

“I can’t keep getting my heart hurt by your actions Jinyoung.”

His head nodded, “so what do you suggest happens? Is this your way of saying that you want to break up or something?”

“I was going to say we could talk, but it’s interesting breaking up is the first thing you thought of. Is this your way of telling me that it’s what you want for the both of us?”

His head shook as he realised what he’d said, dropping his shoulders to relax. “Of course, it’s not. I didn’t mean it like that, I just wanted to know what you wanted from me.”

“I wanted a sign that you care Jinyoung,” you spoke, raising your voice slightly. “Just anything from you that would let me know that you still want there to be an us.”

He stood up instantly from where he sat, moving across the room to sit beside you in the hope it would be a good enough sign for you. He wasn’t sure how far to push things, opting to wrap his arm around the back of the sofa, keeping a small distance from you.

“I care,” he stated coldly, searching for your eyes to look at his. “I’ve not cared enough about you, everything you said is right. I shouldn’t make promises I can’t keep, but I should hold onto those promises and make sure that I fulfil them with you.”

Your head slowly turned to look at him, moving your hand to rest against his leg. “For so long it’s felt like you don’t Jinyoung. I don’t want you to think I’m being dramatic because it’s really how I felt.”

“I don’t think you’re being dramatic at all,” he frowned, “you’re justified in everything you’ve said, as hard as it is to hear.”

“Why is it so hard to hear?” You asked him.

“Because it’s you telling me that I’ve not done my job,” he admitted, biting down on his bottom lip. “During the times when I should have been there for you or supported you, I failed. I let you down, not just once, but time and time again.”

He struggled to keep his composure as the guilt began to eat away at you. He’d been too blind to see how much he’d been hurting you, when he’d spent all his days thinking that he never would hurt you, it was in fact what he’d been doing all along.

“As hard as the conversation is, I hope now you realise why I feel the way I feel and why I can’t continue you as we are right now,” you told him, “somewhere there needs to be a change because right now I feel like I’m at the bottom of all your priorities. I appreciate your busy, but I’d like for a bit of your time too sometimes.”

“You’ve never been at the bottom,” he assured you, moving his arm down to rest over your shoulders, “you’ve always been important to me, even if you might have felt otherwise. You’re right, the conversation is exactly what we need, it’s the kick I needed to make me realise that I need to change and be a better boyfriend.”

“I don’t want to change who you are,” you whispered.

His head shook, the changes he would make would only ever be for the best. “I’m going to change and be a better boyfriend, it’s not going to change who I am as Jinyoung, but it will change the way I treat you and love you, because that’s what needs to happen if I want to make sure that there’s no chance of me losing you.”

“I would never have just walked away,” you told him, “as hard as it all got, I would have tried everything to try and breakthrough to you.”

“You don’t need to anymore,” he smiled, resting his head against yours, “I’m going to make the changes and be a better person, for your sake.”

Your own smile grew, mirroring Jinyoung’s. “We’ll be alright, won’t we?”

“Of course, we always are.”

---

Masterlist

[softyoongiionly]

Sulky💭

Yoongi has a weekend at home for the first time in awhile.

There are three things on the agenda

1. Food

2. Sex

3. Informing Yoongi that he looks like a video game character

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Genre: FLUFF, references to animal crossing, smut (18+ only plz), established/new relationship au

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: smut, language and, an overwhelming amount of fluff

A/N: well hello there beautiful reader! I hope you enjoy this little piece of mine. It’s kind of silly but, honestly ever since I started playing animal crossing; I cannot get this comparison out of my mind. If you haven't played the game, you can still read though! The main point of the fic is Yoongi and the reader’s relationship.

Yoongi hasn’t had a night off with you in weeks.

And he doesn’t want you to know how much he’s looking forward to it.  

He has a particular way he wants these kinds of nights to go but, they never really follow the pattern he expects.

Tonight, it starts with a small glass of whiskey.

Yoongi drinks the old stuff cause he’s secretly a 300 year old hipster who can’t be bothered with cheap liquor.

Instead, he grabs a lowball glass and pours himself a drink as he plops onto the couch and, slowly sips until the amber liquid has disappeared down his throat.

It’s kind of hard not to notice the way his lips curl around the glass, the way his tongue collects any misplaced whiskey, the way he seems to savor the taste...

He leans back against the sofa, legs spread carelessly across the cushions and, although you usually find manspreading unattractive, there’s something about the way Yoongi does it that makes it so hot.

The chatter is minimal on days like this because you both appreciate comfortable silence.

The low hum of the television is enough to fill the room and, although Yoongi doesn’t speak, he says so much with his body language.

Yes, Yoongi values being alone and he isn’t much for frivolous displays of emotion but, he still loves affection.

His nimble fingers find their way to yours and the way he slides his fingers against the palm of your hand is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Yoongi doesn’t notice of course as he’s dealing with his own feelings at the moment.  

Holding hands on the couch is a part of his bedtime routine and if he’s being honest, it's one of his favorite parts of his day.  

He smirks at something on the TV, squeezing your hand a little tighter as he chuckles to himself, taking another sip of his whiskey.  

You watch the way his throat bobs as he swallows and god help you, you feel like a creep for how much you want to just sit there and stare at him.  

He notices you looking at him a little longer but, he doesn’t comment on it.

He’d stare at you all the time if he got the chance.  

His thumb is rubbing over your knuckles now, taking it’s time to caress the space between them, sending you further along the path of no return.  

Subconsciously, lean closer to him, resisting the urge to rest your head on his shoulder.

You know he’s going to get up soon to shower.

With a heavy sigh, Yoongi turns toward you, “I need to get this makeup off. Do you need to get in the bathroom before I shower?”

You regret having showered before he got home now because, with your still damp hair, you can’t really request that you join him without him raising an eyebrow.

Which he would, cause you know, it’s Yoongi.  

“No I should be fine. Have a good shower.” You smile, squeezing his hand before releasing your grip to allow him to get up.

He returns your smile, ignoring the twinge of regret he feels as you let go of him.

“Thanks. I’ll be out in a bit.”

You nod and return your attention back to the TV but, your boyfriend lingers around the entrance to the living room a little too long and, it’s enough to make you giggle and call him out.

“What?”

He smirks boyishly, jerking his head in your direction, “What do you have planned tonight?”

The look in his eyes makes your stomach flip but, you play it cool as you don’t want to assume the hidden meaning in his question.

“I’m in for the night. I just have to go over a few things of tomorrow morning but, otherwise I was going to hang out with you since you’re off. Why?” You tuck your legs onto the couch to fill the space that Yoongi once did, awaiting his response.

“Just wondering. I was gonna order something from the restaurant across the street, does that sound good to you? If not, I can probably make something.”  

His smirk doesn’t fully disappear but, he masks it well enough with his further inquiries.

“The restaurant sounds good,” You smile, “I know we’re both off this weekend if you want to cook then. I miss your cooking...”

Yoongi’s heart is a flutter then, he’s lowkey obsessed with any compliment you throw his way but, he doesn’t necessarily want you to know that.

“Yeah? I can cook whatever you want this weekend, you just have to let me know so I can get the ingredients. I’ll cook all of our meals though, so we don’t have to waste money on take out.”

He emphasizes the second point, trying to mask his reaction and, you resist the urge smile at how cute he is.

“Really? You don’t mind doing that? I would literally die happy, I haven't had your cooking in so long. It’s better than all the delivery places we get anyway so, I wouldn’t mind taking a weekend off from that.” You flop back against the couch, sending a longing look his way.

Your heart stutters a bit as the gummiest of smiles present itself on your boyfriends pretty lips.  

“You’re uh- you're sweet ha-” He rubs the back of his neck shyly before gesturing to the shower, “I’ll try and come up with some recipes in the shower.”

He disappears down the hall rather hastily then, not bothering to fully conclude your conversation.

It’s very much on brand for him though.

Yoongi craves validation but, its often too much for him to handle so, he often gushes over you in private.

He spends the duration of his shower thinking of all the different ways to impress you in the kitchen, meticulously sorting through all of his current favorite recipes and the ones he knows you love.  

When he strolls back into the living room, he’s wearing nothing but his boxers, his damp hair haphazardly pushed to the side.

It’s hot outside so, it’s justified but, it’s unlike Yoongi to walk around shirtless.

Modesty and all that.

“Hold on...is that? My boyfriend??? Looking fine as hell on a Wednesday afternoon like it’s no big deal?” You look him up and down which prompts him to roll his eyes.  

With a smirk on his lips, he waves you off but the blush on his cheeks contradicts his actions.

“Shut up. You're so weird.” He mutters, his arms subconsciously moving in front of his stomach.

You laugh before rushing over to him, attempting to wrap your arms around his waist.

“I’m not weird!? I’m just admiring my boyfriend’s natural beauty; excuse me.” You huff, still trying to hug him as he pretends to wiggle away from your grip.

“Yah! What’s wrong with you???” He shouts playfully when you place wet kisses against his cheek, which is afire with the effect you have on him.  

You giggle when you finally succeed at securing your boyfriend in a hug, your lips inches away from.

“You look good. I wanted you to know...” You murmur simply, your laughter fading slightly whilst you lean in towards his mouth.  

Yoongi’s breathing stalls a bit when your lips press onto his.

No one kisses like you do. It kind of sickens him honestly.

It always fucks him up.

You’re just so tender and sensual.

It makes his head spin.

Tucking your lips between his, you slowly slide your hands up his torso, delicately brushing against his ribs as you hold him.

Yoongi reciprocates your motions, his fingers holding onto the fabric of your waistband, his eyes fluttering shut when he settles deeper into the kiss.

You decide you want to take a step further and, continue touching him.

You brush your fingers over his chest, admiring the tightness there that’s developed from longer hours spent in the gym.

Yoongi’s chest is very sensitive so when you brush over his nipples, his hands are quick to settle over yours.

“W-we haven’t had dinner yet...” He stutters, nervous laughter emanating from his lips, “d-do you want dinner?”

He doesn’t move away from you though, he’s just shy.  

He hasn’t totally figured out how to initiate sex or to receive attention.

You’ve been dating for six months now.

You’ve had plenty of sex but, it still makes him nervous.

Even though, he wants you so bad.

You smile softly against his mouth before patting his hips, “Sure yeah-” You step away from him and nod towards the kitchen, “I’m gonna get the menu. I think I want something different tonight.”

Yoongi feels a little twinge in his heart when you pull away but, he knows he hasn’t offended you.

That’s the thing about you.

The reason he fell in love with you.  

He doesn’t always need to explain himself; you just get it.

“I want steak. I’ve been craving it all week. I’m a little tempted to get more than one but, I know that it’s gonna hurt my stomach.”  

He follows closely behind you, his heart still unsteady from the effects of your kiss.

“You can always save one for tomorrow? Knowing you, you’ll probably re-heat it and make it like 1,000 times better anyway.”

He scoffs playfully, “You can’t re-heat cooked steak Y/N. It gets all rubbery....”

Yoongi? Defensive in the face of a compliment?

It’s more likely than you think.

Rolling your eyes you concede, setting the menu on the countertop, “I’m so sorry for even suggesting that you could deviate from your very specific rules regarding leftovers.”

Yoongi snickers before wrapping his arms around your waist, “I’ll find a way to forgive you I guess. I can’t fault you for having poor taste.”

A gentle elbowing is in order but, otherwise you relish in the warmth his embrace is providing, “You’re such a dick.” You smirk before flipping the menu over.

His rickety laughter continues as he tightens his grip on you, “What are you thinking of having?”

“I don’t know; I think I want the chicken/steak combo bowl but, I’m also feeling the ginger-sesame salad. Ugh- but maybe I want the alfredo? There’s so many choices.”

During your minor breakdown, Yoongi feels his lips twitch in amusement.

You’re really cute.  

He wants to kiss you again and now that he’s pressed against you, he kind of regrets chickening out a minute ago.  

“What do you think?” You turn slightly in his grip to look at him and right as you do, he pecks his lips against yours.

“I think you’re cute.” He says simply before nodding to the menu, “Order all three. Eat the salad tonight and save the rest for tomorrow.”

“I like the way you think Min.” You smile, a bit dazed from his kiss, your cheeks warmer than before.

Delivery arrives in no time and the two of you spend a good half an hour shoveling takeout into your faces before you settle back against the couch to relax.

This is one of your favorite parts of a night off with Yoongi.

The two of you just do your thing together, side by side.

There isn’t much talking but, its so comforting to be near him.

He’s scrolling on his phone, checking out new equipment for his studio and, you’ve delved into your most recent obsession: Animal Crossing.

Yoongi often pokes fun at how into the  game you actually are but, truth be told, he actually enjoys watching you play.

Although, he’d never admit it.

“Oh my god Marshal, my sweet beautiful boy, how are you?” You coo to your screen, your thumbs furiously moving your character towards the fluffy little squirrel in question.

Yoongi smirks  but otherwise he keeps to himself, his arm wound around your shoulders.

“Do you like your flowers? I planted new ones behind your house, aren’t they pretty?”

“You taught me how to smirk? Of course you did, that’s literally your specialty.” Marshal responds off topic because, he’s literally a video game character and cannot hear you as a look of disgust comes over your face, “Ew Canberra no, leave me alone, I’m hanging out with Marshal.”

Yoongi finally chuckles, shaking his head, “Yah, who is Marshal and why are you always talking to him when you play that game?”  

You tilt your Switch towards him, showing off your favorite villager, “This is Marshall. He’s the love of my entire life.”

With a quirked brow, Yoongi looks at the screen blankly, “This mouse is the love of your life?”

You laugh at his expression, moving the Switch closer to his face, “He’s not a mouse! He’s a squirrel!”

Yoongi’s stoic expression cracks at the sound of your laugh, “OK fine, he’s a squirrel,” He chuckles, “Why is he so special? What does he do?”

You narrow your eyes at him, “He- What does he do? He is a future coffee shop owner/actor/fashion extraordinaire thankyouverymuch...”

Yoongi snickers, “Wow he has a lot going on. I didn’t realize mice could own property...”

“He’s a squirrel!!!” You whine and Yoongi’s head falls back as he cracks up at your outburst. “You know I only like him so much cause he reminds me of you...”

Yoongi’s laughter fades slightly, “What do you mean?”

“Look at him-” You shove your Switch back in his face, “He’s literally you. He's cute, he’s cranky, he likes music and coffee- He's basically Animal Crossing Yoongi. That’s why I worked so hard to get him on my island. See? I put his house right next to mine...”

Yoongi is going to spontaneously combust.

You are the cutest thing that has ever set foot on this earth and, he’s quite certain you were sent here to destroy him.

“You worked hard to get a villager who reminds you of me...on your island?” He clarifies, his eyes holding something new in them.

“Yeah- so don’t be mean to him.” You respond matter of factly, giggling before returning to your game.

You notice the blush that creeps across Yoongi’s lips but, you elect to ignore it.  

“You’re ridiculous.” He smirks and despite resuming his activity on his phone, you don’t miss the way his hand begins rubbing circles against your shoulder.

“You’re ridiculous.” You retort  

A part from a bit of laughter, silence quickly settles between the two of you once again.

Yoongi slipped on some actual clothes before dinner and the scent of his citrus fabric softener is a welcome addition to the comfortable atmosphere of your living room.  

You wish every night was like this.

After an hour or so, your lids begin to grow heavy.

Yoongi’s presence is soothing enough but with a full stomach and a bit of Animal Crossing, you’re struggling to stay awake.

“Jagiya?” He whispers, brushing his fingers over your cheek, “Yah, let’s get you to bed ok?”

A grumble leaves your lips then because your exhaustion is fucking with your plans for the rest of the evening.

Nights like these usually end with sex.

Sex isn’t something the two of you get to do as often as you’d like.  

You both have demanding jobs that keep you apart more often than not.

Sex is usually on the agenda because, the two of you miss each other so much.  

“But we didn’t have sex...” You grumble against his chest which suddenly shakes with scratchy laughter.

“We can have sex tomorrow. I’m off all weekend.” He murmurs through his chuckling as he ushers you to your feet, “C’mon, I’ll come to bed too...”

“Mkay. Promise?”  

Yoongi smiles, fondness exploding within his chest whilst he helps you to your feet, “I promise. Let’s go.”

Moments later, your head is on your boyfriend’s heart.

It takes no time for you to drift back off to dreamland but just as you do, you hear Yoongi whisper:

“I love you so much.”

---------------------------------------------------------

The following morning comes about slowly.  

The two of you sleep in past 10am, which is a rare occurrence.  

You’re the first one to wake up but upon noticing that Yoongi isn’t awake yet, you opt to snuggle against his chest.

His t-shirt has risen enough to expose the lower half of his stomach which you brush gently with your fingertips.

Your intention is to fall back asleep as you know very well how long your boyfriend is capable of staying in bed.  

However, you notice Yoongi stirring beneath you which prompts you to turn your head towards him.

Sure enough, he’s awake: he’s blonde hair is a mess atop his head, his babydoll features scrunched up with remnants of sleep.

A wry smile is present on his lips though and, it makes you grin just at the sight of it.

“Good morning.” You murmur  

Just like a cat, Yoongi offers a slow blink before replies, “Morning.”

“How did you sleep?”

His smile broadens, “Mm really good. You?”

You nod, resting your cheek back on his stomach, “I slept like the dead. I haven’t slept this long in weeks.”

“Yeah you passed out last night. You tried to protest when I told you to come to bed.” He recounts, his lips turning up in a smirk.

“I did? I don’t even remember that. What did I say?”

Yoongi clears his throat then, beginning to blush, “Uh you said you couldn’t go to bed because we couldn���t have sex.”

At that, you laugh and shake your head, “Oh my god. I mean-” You prop yourself a bit, “I kind of had a point but, I couldn’t have rocked your world in that condition. What did you say back?”

Yoongi’s lips are curved into a shy smile but, his eyes are lit up with his usual snark, “I told you we could have sex tomorrow and, that I was off all weekend. That seemed to be enough to get you in here.”

“That sounds about right.” When he mentions sex, warmth rustles around in your stomach, “I can’t believe you’re off all weekend...”

His hand comes up to rub against your back, his smile never fading, “Me neither. They haven’t given us a weekend off at home in months. Thank you for taking time off too, I feel bad that you usually work around my schedule.”

You scoot up more to be closer to him before leaning in to press a kiss against his cheek.

“Don’t feel bad. It’s a little easier to do on my end and, I’ve been working 60 hours a week for the past 3 months, my co-chair was begging me to take a few days off.”  

Both of his arms wrap around you now, hugging you to his chest, “You work so hard jagi. You have to make sure you don’t overdo it.”

You wanna throw a “right back at you” his way but, Yoongi’s been at the all work/no sleep lifestyle a lot longer than you.

Plus, he has a point.

“I am. That’s why I’m staying with you all weekend duhhhh.” You smile, craning your neck to kiss him.

The action immediately causes his smile to return whilst his hands slide down to your lower back.

Kissing turns into making out much quicker than you expected but, you’re not complaining.

You’ve missed your boyfriend’s mouth so much.

“Can we- can we uh...” Yoongi breathes a little heavier now, his request sounding very shaky, “Can we fuck?”

Logically, you can blame this statement on the fact that Yoon’s first language isn’t English and, that he likely heard this phrase from Namjoon but, with his hardening dick digging into your hip, you can’t help but feel like he knows exactly what he’s saying.

“Mhm...”

Yoongi rolls over so he’s resting between your legs, his hips grinding eagerly onto yours.

Still, he kisses you deeper, introducing his tongue into your mouth.

You accept him eagerly, allowing your tongue to brush against his.

“I love it when you do that...” He confesses, nudging his nose on the side of your own.

With determination, you usher his mouth back into the kiss, ensuring that you allow your tongue tease his own.

One of your free hands slides down his stomach and tucks into his black boxers, encircling his dick.

It’s throbbing which prompts you to begin guiding a firm fist up the length of him.

“Oh-” Yoongi grunts softly, his brow furrowing whilst he tries to focus on kissing you.

You smirk into his mouth whilst continuing to jerk him off, swiveling firmly around his swollen tip.

“Shit.” He can’t help but break the kiss now, his head falling into your neck, “That feels so good.”

“Yeah?” You coo, kissing the side of his head, “You like it when I touch you?”

He nods rapidly, sucking on the exposed skin of your neck, his hips beginning to rock with the motion of your hand.

Sweat is starting to appear on his hairline but that doesn’t stop you from pressing kisses up the side of his face.

“I wanted this as soon as I saw you last night. Ugh-” He grunts again but, its starting to sound very much like a whimper, “I wanted it but- fuck I’m so awkward still. If I wasn’t I- oh fuck...I’d be all over you.”

His honesty warms you from the inside out.

You love how vulnerable he’s being and, you want to make sure he continues to feel safe enough to do so.

“Look at you now though, you are all over me. You're doing so good.” You whisper and tilt his head back towards you so you can look him in the eyes, “You don’t have to worry about how awkward you are- I’m so wet right now and, you haven’t even done anything yet...”

Suddenly, Yoongi’s expression shifts to one of pure lust as he glances down at your underwear, “You’re wet for me?”

“My panties are ruined.”

Yoongi wastes no time, although pulling away from your touch is a hard decision, the next thing you know; he’s sliding a hand inside your underwear.

Nervously he giggles, his mouth hanging open in awe, “It’s so wet- do I really make you this wet?”

“Everytime.” You whisper, a soft moan brewing in your throat as the pads of his fingers find your clit.

With his mouth still parted, Yoongi smirks a little, enjoying the sight beneath him, “Back and forth?” He moves his fingers against your clit, applying the perfect amount of pressure, “Or in circles?”

“Back and forth.” You reply, eagerly straining towards his lips, “Please.”

“So polite.” He notes, still smirking as he follows your instructions, “That good?”

You part your legs for him, “Mhm...”

Yoongi touches you with confidence now, bringing you quickly to the edge.

“Are you close jagi? I really want to be inside of you after you cum all over yourself.”

That's enough to warrant an orgasm that causes your toes to curl into the sheets.

He kisses you all the way through it before lining himself up at your entrance.

He’s different this time, he’s faster, he’s harder...it doesn’t take long for the warmth of a second orgasm to begin approaching.

Baring his teeth, he looks down at where you’re joined, chuckling incredulously, “I swear- I didn’t know sex could feel like this. Not until I met you...”

His laughter his infectious so you follow suit but, his lips are so tempting you have to kiss him again.

“Yoongi?” You grunt into his mouth.

He nudges your nose, “Yeah baby?”

“I’m gonna cum again.”

A satisfied smirk comes over his lips, “Yes you are. All over my dick huh?”

All you can do is nod and let the wave of pleasure crash over you once again.

Surprisingly, Yoongi is still fucking into you but, the desperate look in his eyes signifies how close he is.

Nudging your nose again, he kisses you sloppily, “Can I cum? Please?”

With your fingers in his hair and your lips on his, you nod, “Cum for me...”

“Oh fuck- fu-fuck fuck fuck fu-fuck ah...oh shit...” With a string of curse words, he buries his face between your breasts and empties himself inside of you.

---------------------------------------------------------

After your morning rendezvous with Yoongi, the two of you eventually make your way out to the kitchen to make some coffee.

You just bought a fancy new espresso machine for your apartment and, you’re about ready to make Yoongi an Iced Americano.

He’s at the counter, chopping up some sausage for breakfast, quietly humming to himself.

At first, you think nothing of it until you slowly start to recognize the song he’s singing.

“Is that- is that Bubblegum by K.K?” You giggle, turning towards him.

He grins but he doesn’t look up at you, “I don’t know what that is...”

“Its the song from Animal Crossing- did you go and listen to it???”  

He shrugs, “I looked into Marshall and one of the first videos that came up was him singing this song.”

“You-” You smile, slowly moving towards him, “You looked up Marshal?

Still grinning, he avoids eye contact with you, placing the sausage into a bowl, “I wanted to see what you were fussing over.”

“And? Do you get it now?” You venture hopefully and he finally looks up at you with a straight face.

“No I don’t...sulky...”

“Ah! You said it! You said his catchphrase!” You giggle before rushing over and wrapping your arms around him, “I love you...”

His expression softens as he kisses the top of your head,

“I love you too- sulky...”

[mageofseven]

What about the brothers reaction to MC wanting a baby? Like, how they would respond to it, feel about it, deal with all the intricacies that comes with a planned pregnancy and think when they see their children for the first time?

Okay, so I've obviously written about the Brothers becoming parents before, but it was always more of an accident.

Planned pregnancy though? Coming right up!

Oh! And I kept the pronouns gender neutral for this, but since it involves pregnancy, MC is afab, I guess the term is? Not fully sure.

Also, unlike my main series for this, there are no complications for these pregnancies so the brothers don't have to worry about MC as much.

~

Lucifer:

Honestly...the anxiety this man feels is hard for even him to hide.

He loves MC; his Heart is everything to him and the only one that he's ever felt he could lean on emotionally. They are there for him when he'd usually have no one and because of that, he doesn't want to deny them anything as long as he can help it.

However...parenthood is a daunting thing to him. He is already a father, regardless of whether he or Satan acknowledges it, and with the direction his relationship with his son has gone, he honestly feels like a failure as a father

So to have another child to risk hurting in the same way he has with Satan? The man doesn't feel okay with the risk.

It takes a lot of comfort from MC to get him to agree to it

And from then on, he prepares.

To start with, he takes some time off of work and RAD for them both.

It's not just for the baby-making activity, though of course they do plenty of that while his brothers are at school.

It's also time for the two of them to just be together and enjoy themselves. He takes them out for lunch, watches any movie they wish, cuddles with them on the couch or bed, even dances with MC in the music room to one of his safer records.

This free time is not just to start the path of parenthood for them; it's a romantic time to enjoy themselves and express their love for each other more openly and freely without worry of his brothers interupting or Luce needing to get back to work.

When they offically discover that MC was pregnant, the anxiety crept back up in him, but his Love's excitement and smiles were enough to push it back.

Despite always having a heavy work load, the oldest made it a priority to have the nursery done very early on and stocking up certain things like diapers, clothes, and toys.

His anxiety pushed him to make sure everything was perfect, but MC had to pull him aside a few times because Luce, they are only three months along, chill dude, you have time.

With time and more reassurance from MC, his anxiety really did fall, though didn't completely disappear and hovered over her as much as his work allowed.

When MC went into labor, he had everything under control. He called the doctor and kept calm as he watched over his Love.

When he held his daughter for the first time...it was as if everything shifted inside of him. He was less worried about failing her and more concerned with making sure he doesn't.

He vowed to make sure Ksenia always feels safe, valued, and loved.

Mammon:

Um...have you seen his bank account, MC?

Y'all are nowhere ready for children, financially speaking.

In truth, Mammon does want kids; he's a very family oriented demon, even if his family doesn't see him that way.

But damn, he really has to get his shit together in order to be a good dad.

After hearing this Human beg for it though, how could the second brother say no?

Before they actually start the whole baby-making process though, the man has a debt to deal with now that he can no longer justify staving it off.

He managed to pay off a huge chunk of it by stealing from the demon lord's castle but after getting punished by Lucifer and facing a disappointed MC, he decided to pay off the rest and start saving up in a more honest way.

Honestly, it wasn't his preferred way of making his Grimm, but MC went on and on about morals and what they'd be teaching their child if they found out their dad was selling other people's shit so they could have him or her, and a lot of other guilt-tripping that the Avatar of Greed gave into. Man, they haven't even made the freaking kid yet and he already has to get his act together...

Debt gone and a decent start to his savings later, the fun part actually begins--making the kid! The demon couldn't help but gloat to his brothers about much he was getting laid, which was embarrassing to MC but hey, it's cute seeing the human's cheeks all red so no drawbacks for the Greed demon.

Once discovering MC is pregnant...well, Mammon is one of the brothers who hovers over his human, though he denies it the whole pregnancy.

When his Human went into labor, it was the kind of thing where the man pretended to be calm, but was obviously freaking out and eventually he fainted.

He woke up though and just in time for his Human to push out their daughter.

Cassia...just one look at his little girl and he knew that all of his hard work before and the self-improvement he's been trying to do...he knew it was all worth it.

Leviathan:

Boy choked on his chips when MC asked him for a baby.

Like what did he just hear???

His Henry wants a baby--with him of all people??

Yeah, I mean, he is their boyfriend, but still, the Avatar of Envy felt like this must be bad judgement on the human's part.

I mean, he's a dirty otaku. The demon doesn't even understand why they'd date him, but wanting a kid with him?

There's also the fact that...well, what it means to be an otaku. Having a kid doesn't exactly fit in with his shut-in lifestyle.

Basically, it left him feeling as if he doesn't deserve to have a kid with his Henry and that he wouldn't be good as a dad anyway; being a shut-in otaku is all he knows at this point and since being dad kinda requires you to, ya know, not be that and putting your kid first, he really has no faith in himself.

But MC did and honestly, that meant a lot to the Envy demon.

Things weren't decided in that moment. Knowing that their boyfriend was overwhelmed, the human simply asked him to give it some thought and told him that they'll love him regardless.

The man let it sit with him for a couple weeks and everytime he saw a kid in an anime or saw a commercial for some kind of toy, the otaku wondered 'what if'. What would it really be like to be a dad?

It was anime that finally made him cave. Seeing families and parents interacting with their children in them, it really did tempt the man. He recognized that it was fiction and being a parent wouldn't be exactly like that, but still; it made him wanna try.

Seeing MC's face light up when he told them he'd do it honestly made the man feel good about himself.

When MC becomes pregnant, he doesn't necessarily hover; he doesn't feel the need to always be around them or limit what they can do. He's simply more touchy-feely, surprisingly enough. Not in any inappropriate way; just more hugs, hand holding, cuddles. He just insists on more closeness than before, which MC has no complaints about.

When MC went into labor, he was a bit panicky, but pulled through. Unlike Mammon, he never fainted and was able to give support to his Henry through the process.

Holding his son just felt...surreal. Like, how the hell did this happen??? I mean yeah, he knows how, but still, it's just unbelievable. He has a son. He's a dad.

Levi honestly never thought his life would be brought to this point, but looking down at Kai, he was glad it was. In that moment, he was anxiously optimistic about their future.

Satan:

....

Yeah, MC, sweetheart, this man doesn't particularly like kids...

It's not necessarily a hard 'no' though.

After all, Satan doesn't like saying no to his sweet Kitten if he can help it.

The two spend a while discussing it, going over all the prep work they'd need to do, the finances of the situation (like, both in regards to their own finances and literally showing them statistics of how much Grimm demon parents have to spend on average for their children from birth to adulthood), and about how their life will change if they take this step. About the sacrifices they'll have to make and the new responsibilities. After all, the couple won't be able to just focus on each other anymore; their routines will have to change, their be energy put towards caring for the child. Their whole lives will have to revolve around them.

The human accepted all of it though and was ready for the change.

So the blonde agreed, despite his own feelings on the matter, feelings he never thought to speak up about before and after hearing MC's request, doesn't want to.

The couple didn't really set time aside with baby-making in mind and try to rush things. They simply slept with each whenever they just happened to be in the mood for it, like always, but stopped using the runes on they commonly put on MC for birth control.

Essentially, they just went through their days as normal and just let things happen at their own pace.

When MC became pregnant, the Wrath demon had to admit, their excitment was contagious. Seeing them happy...it really felt good to the blonde, despite his own feelings on it all.

Satan wasn't the type to hover, not really. He looked after them, giving little reminders of what they can and cannot eat in this condition as well as when they needed to take certain vitamins, but otherwise, things continued on as usual between the two.

Though his feelings about becoming a parent never completely changed during the pregnancy, seeing his Kitten's belly grow and them look forward to this child more and more as time went on, it did give him the feeling that he made the right choice

And when he felt his child kick inside MC for the first time, the realness of it all really put a crack in his mentality.

Their baby...this was a being who sparked such joy in his Kitten and that was enough for the Avatar of Wrath to start to love his child, though he didn't recognize that fact at the time.

When MC went into labor, he kept them calm and comfortable. Walked with them when they wanted to walk, which he read was good for helping labor along, and gave encouragement whenever his Kitten needed it.

When his daughter was born and he watched his Kitten hold her close, crying happy tears, the man couldn't even describe what he was feeling within himself.

When MC asked if he wanted to hold their daughter, Satan declined. Not out of rejection for Amelie but...was it really safe for him to hold a being so delicate?

"Satan..."

With his Kitten insisting with such a cute, sad face though, how could he not?

Extra carefully, he took his daughter into his arms, causing the small baby to whine and reach up her little hands at him.

This. This was the moment that he realized that despite his original bias that he really did love his daughter.

Amelie was a gift that he never knew he wanted; knew he needed. Thanks to MC though, she's here and with two parents that her more than anything in the three realms.

Asmodeus:

Asmo is a brother that I can honestly see things happening either way: with MC bringing up the idea to him or Azzy bringing the idea up to them.

Asmo loves babies--at least, I see him as someone whose mostly good with them and likes the idea of them. He can't handle things like diaper changes or anything gross like that, but he finds them adorable.

And what would be even cuter than a baby? His baby. I mean, how can you carry genetics from this man and not be gorgeous?

Luckily, MC agrees. The two don't stop to talk about anything practical with the subject. They want a baby so Azzy has the two of them start making them right then and there (well, after Lucifer scolds Asmo for trying to do so on the living room couch and the couple retreats to his room).

The first of the brothers to be genuinely excited when MC ends up pregnant and not be overshadowed by anxiety.

Very touchy-feely during his Dolly's pregnancy, more than usual. Especially once MC starts to develop their cute little belly.

Lots of kisses and talking to their belly, even long before the baby has developed enough to hear him.

This man just has too much love for his child and can't contain it all till they're born.

When MC goes into labor, he's not too anxious, but he feels bad that his Dolly has to through such pain.

Very good at comforting the human during this time. Gives lots of kisses and encouraging words, telling them how well they're doing and how their baby just can't wait to meet them.

Cries when he first holds his son. Sees Liam as the most perfect and sweet being to exist, only tied with himself and MC.

Beelzebub:

Let's face it; Beel was the one who brought the topic up. This family man got baby fever and immediately ran to Muffin for help with it.

Like, I can literally see him rushing into the kitchen while they're on cooking duty and MC smiling and asking if he'd like to taste test, only for him to blurt out that he wants a baby, as if it was something as simple a cookie or a new shirt.

After MC gets over the shock of such a request, they sit down with Beel and actually discuss such a big step.

Regardless of whether MC had thought about it before this moment, how could they say no to this big sweet man who has an endless amount of love to give?

After agreeing, MC has to coax the man away because he gets a little too excited and wants to start right then, but the human still has to finish dinner.

After dinner though! Baby making time!

Becomes insanely happy when his Muffin ends up pregnant. This man literally couldn't stop smiling his cute freaking smile even if he wanted to.

Doesn't really hover over them while they're pregnant; there's honestly little to no anxiety in this man over his child or worry about the pregnancy.

He does, however, do practically everything for them. Let him carry that bag. It's fine. They don't need to be carrying something so heavy. Tired? It's okay, go rest; he'll cook dinner instead. Feet hurt? He'll carry them home so they don't need to walk anymore.

Just a reminder that this is all done out of love though and not anxiety. He's not worried about anything going wrong; he just loves his Muffin so much and is so grateful that they're willing to have his baby.

Finding out that MC was carrying twins just made him even happier. MC had no chance of breaking free of his bear hug (which of course, he was very careful not to squeeze their belly so it was more a side hug).

Spent a lot of time during the pregnancy snuggling up to MC's belly. Anytime the two of them laid down together, he did it. Whether on the couch as they watched a movie together, or in bed together at the end of their day or as he laid with the human as they took a nap. He'd nuzzle their belly and speak soft, sweet words to their babies.

The only time this man shows any negativity about this pregnancy is when his Muffin goes into labor. As it progressed, part of him felt guilty since they were in this pain because of him. He loved their twins and wanted them to be born, but hated that MC had to cry and scream and writhe in pain to make it happen.

When it was finally over and his girls were in the world, being fed by his Muffin, this man couldn't stop watching them. His daughters. Daughters. Devil, they were so perfect to him.

And that was the day where he felt his life could never get any better. His Muffin had just perfected his life with their loving heart and hardwork and the man honestly couldn't be happier. Arsenia and Anais are exactly what he's been missing in his life and his love for them is immeasurable.

Belphegor:

MC...sweetie...this man doesn't like kids at all 😔

After having to deal with Satan as a kid, he has long decided that he doesn't wanna deal with them anymore.

So when MC brings it up to him and asks their boyfriend for a baby, he honestly will not be able to understand why they'd want one.

Yeah, Belphie loves MC, but this would still be a very hard 'no' from him.

Honestly, the only way MC would be able to get a baby from him would be by reminding him of the Incident™️, of him murdering them, and essentially being like 'a life for a life'.

Belphie holds a lot of guilt within him for killing them and whether he realizes it or not, a part of him has been desperately searching for a way to atone so he doesn't have to feel bad about it anymore.

So if this is the way to do it... he guesses that he has no choice.

It's honestly sad. MC really wants him to want a baby too, but can only hope his feelings will change down the line.

When MC becomes pregnant, he understands even less about why they'd want this. Each day, he hears his human in the bathroom, dealing with their morning sickness, and wonders why they want a baby so bad even when they're making them puke their guts out every morning.

Still, he takes care of them. Belphie is a lot of things, but an asshole isn't one of them. He wasn't just gonna knock them up and let MC suffer through it alone. Even if they wanted this, it doesn't change the fact that they're still his Human and that little gremlin making them puke was his kid so he's gotta take care of them.

Doesn't sleep as much as he used to while MC is pregnant. Tries his hardest to stay awake and help them out when needed.

Mostly only naps when they nap and as MC gets farther along, they need plenty of naps.

Finding out MC was pregnant with twins...devil, the man felt like he had the worst luck. He groaned and with it, he hurt his Human's feelings on accident.

He wasn't trying to ruin this for them. He wanted MC to be happy, really he did; all he could think about when he heard the news was how much extra work it was gonna be though. I mean, one baby already demands a lot of time and energy to take care of, but two? Ugh...

Kinda hovered over them during the pregnancy. He just wanted to make them as comfortable as he could, despite the fact that he still for the life of him couldn't understand why they'd choose this for themself. Puking, back pain, exhaustion, weird ass cravings. How was this worth it to the human?

He wanted to understand, but he couldn't and since he couldn't, all he could do was accept it and try to lighten it all for them, if he can.

When his kids kicked for the first time, MC's eyes lit up before they quickly stopped and grabbed their boyfriend's hand.

"Belphie! They kicked! They--" He watched the light drain from their eyes as they deflated. "Oh...sorry, I forgot for a second..."

God, this was the last thing he wanted. The seventh brother put so much effort into trying to make them happy, but they still think he cares so little about something that made them happy, just because it's about their kids?

"Show me."

MC raised an eyebrow.

"Are your sure?"

Belphie sighed.

"Just let me feel it, Butthead."

The human brought his hand to their belly, watching him closely. When he felt a kick, the man's eyes widened.

He didn't really say or do anything at first.

"Belphie?"

He took his hand off their belly, but never let MC's hand leave his. He squeezed it.

"You don't have to avoid things like that with me, Dummy. I'm glad they're healthy enough to do that."

And that was the truth. Belphie was glad his kids seemed to be doing fine. I mean, they're strong enough that he can feel their kicks so that must be a good sign

And most importantly, he wanted his Human to share with him the moments that make them happy because that's the point of all of this; to make them happy.

Devil, was this man anxious when they went into labor. Not that he let MC see that, of course. Like he tends to do with a lot of his emotions, he bottles them up and just focuses on helping his Human.

When his children were born and he watched MC hold them so close, so lovingly...he honestly didn't know what he was feeling, not fully.

All he knew for sure was that these three were depending on him and always would.

It took him a year or two, but he did end up bonding with his kids. Judas and Lilith...being their dad was different than he thought it would be. It wasn't always easy, especially with how much Lilith misbehaves at times, but these are his kids and they love him without limit. The Sloth demon had to admit, such love was just contagious.

The four of them were actually happy. This wasn't just some obligation he had to fulfill anymore; this was a life he enjoyed living and he honestly couldn't remember the last time he could say that before his twins.

[defilerwyrm]

⭐️ Bei Mir Bist Du Schön

FIC SPOILERS AHEAD!

Bei Mir Bist Du Schön on AO3

He opened his mouth to thank Essek but what came out instead was, “Deine Augen sind wunderschön.”

Essek stared at him, perfectly neutral save for the subtle rise of stark white eyebrows. “I don’t speak Zemnian,” he said, flashing his customary, placid little smile.

This is early Essek, well before c2e097, so this is a fully calculated move. That stare is him running simulations in his head, as it were, weighing his options, and he finally decides that he can learn more about Caleb if the guy thinks he doesn’t understand these little asides.

And boy did he ever just learn something juicy.

The second time, he was feeling petulant. Essek was normally a very patient and talented teacher, but there came a time when they butted heads over the best way to work a spell: Essek’s experience and Caleb’s contradicted each other, and neither was willing to admit that he was wrong because they weren’t. Caleb couldn’t have said why they were getting spirited over it. It was unlike them to lock horns this way, and the condescension chafed fiercely.

To my understanding, Wildemount never—at least post-Calamity—had a continent-spanning culture like the Roman Empire that would standardize learning across regions, and the Empire and Dynasty have utterly lacked in cultural exchange pretty much throughout their histories; so I reason that their approach to magic must be very damn different right down to the fundamentals. But, I also reason, magic is like math, in that there’s more than one way to come to a given conclusion—so the same spell cast by an Imperial mage might use different theory and somatic/verbal components with the same results.

I love fic that plays homage to cultural differences, so I figured that there must surely come a point where Caleb and Essek quibble about how to do a thing, with the crux being that they’re both right.

In a fit of pique, he muttered, “Du hast Glück, dass du abartig schön bist, denn du bist so ein Arsch.”

Essek’s head whipped up so fast that, for a moment, Caleb thought maybe he understood after all—but Essek just squinted at him without recognition and said, “I beg your pardon?”

Essek’s poker face is doing triple duty here because Caleb just said he’s hot af but also a dick, and this isn’t a sentiment Essek hasn’t heard before, but it hasn’t really gotten under his skin like it does this time.

Caleb passed a hand over his face and scratched at the beard he desperately needed to shave off. “Nothing,” he lied, “just annoyed with myself. This should be a moment of discovery, now that we know this can go either way. A door has unlocked and we’re both pulling it shut. Can we start again?”

The slip, and Essek’s reaction to it, made Caleb realize that they were both being dillweeds about the whole thing and it wasn’t going to move them forward at all.

It was—of course, of fucking course the intonation mattered. “A tonal shift,” he breathed. He took Essek by the lapels of his robe and shook him gently, and blurted out, “Ich könnte dein Gehirn küssen und dann deinen Mund.”

“What the hell is going on,” Nott squeaked at the same time as Essek chuckled almost nervously, “Caleb, I don’t—”

Hot boi damn near let the cat out of the bag right here. It’s certainly not that he specifically did not want to be smooched at all, but more that 1) Nott was RIGHT THERE so it would be mortifying, 2) he’s still very D: about physical contact and this point, and 3) he’s still very privately going “fuck fuck fuck WHY a HUMAN” about his own attraction to Caleb. There is very much a part of him that Wants That, but the rest of him is just not coping with it at all just yet.

The following morning, though, all he could think about was Dein Bett wäre besser and Essek’s careful fingers touching his face.

Both of them are fully mortified with themselves. They’re ridiculous. I see Caleb heading back to the Xhorhaus with shoulders bunched up, brow furrowed, and wide eyes glued to his own feet as his brain screams “DEIN BETT WÄRE BESSER” at him, mockingly, over and over. Slipping up and confessing your attraction to your crush is relatably horrifying (gods, I’ve been there, it’s awful) and Caleb is predisposed to beat himself up to begin with. Add in the rest of the party making a big deal over the fact that he spent the night over at Essek’s towers and you’ve got an abject storm in that little ginger head of his.

It did not help matters that no matter how much he insisted that nothing happened, the Mighty Nein were dead set on believing that he’d slept with his mentor, and they spent the next three days teasing him about it, none of them aware that he was simultaneously tormenting himself.

Okay so I try to be good and not talk shit about my own work these days, but that sentence just landed in a belly flop for me. I’m not sure it actually gets across what I’d meant, which was that Caleb was beating himself up for a different reason than what they all thought.

In the midst of a messy ambush by three of the wolf-cat eye-beasts, one of them managed to get the drop on Caleb, and it pinned him, screaming, to the ground. Its claws dug fiery punctures into either side of his chest. He thrashed, trying to get both hands up to cast, but it would be too late—his reflexes weren’t good enough. His body had never been nearly as sharp as his mind, and he was about to pay the price in the form of massive, dagger-like fangs lunging towards his throat. He screamed again, chest nearly frozen with fear, when—

Adventurers are generally made of tough stock, but I really wanted to dig into the POV of someone who’s being attacked by a terrifying cerature intent on ripping them apart. “You take 12 piercing damage and are knocked prone” is mechanical and dry; I wanted to show the full in-character implications of those mechanics.

Another fic that represents game mechanics narratively to absolutely stunning affect is Hard Mouth by road_rhythm, which I cannot recommend highly enough. I wrote Bei Mir before Hard Mouth started posting but had it been the other way around, it 100% would have been an inspiration in that regard.

He could not help but murmur, “Götter, ich bins so verschossen in dich.”

Fun fact: I got myself the book Talking Dirty German specifically for writing Caleb dialogue, and it really came in handy here. This idiom is from that book, as did abartig schön. The literal translation is “Gods, I am so shot into you,” which coming to think of it sounds a wee bit dirty but is figuratively very sappy.

Speaking of sappy….

“Das Gefühl ist Gegenseitig,” came the warm and sleepy reply.

Part of this is Essek being barely-conscious, but the bulk of it is this—and this is basically giving away the whole way the fic progresses: pretending not to know Zemnian began as a manipulation tactic to get intel, then became a game of “Let’s see how long it takes you to figure this out, smart boy” as their bond grew and Essek stopped deliberately trying to throw Caleb off, and finally when they were a couple he figured it would be cruel and pointless to keep up the ruse, especially since he’d been growing to appreciate pet names in their mother tongues.

Caleb took a deep breath, set his tea aside, and launched himself at Essek, who yelped, laughing, and danced out of his grasp. Essek led him on a merry chase around the kitchen and held out as long as he could before crying mercy at Caleb’s vicious tickling.

You know, I probably shouldn’t point this out in case my readers hadn’t cottoned onto it yet either, but it wasn’t until like a week after publishing this that I stopped and thought, “WTF happened to Essek’s teacup? Did he take the time to set it down? Did it get dropped and shatter? Did he show off and levitate it?? Did he bring it with him and get tea all over the place and himself?!” Smh…. Choose your own explanation, I guess, lmao.

The rolls were a little burnt that morning, but Caleb had no regrets.

Part of me feels like this is kind of a weak ending, but I justify it to myself by remembering how hard Caleb regretted his slip-ups over the course of the fic. He spends a good bit of copy beating himself up over them, so ultimately I think it fits, even if it kinda lacks punch.

[reidetic]

The Pantheon: The War or The World? - A.H

A/N: This is the second installment in ‘The Pantheon’ series. You can find the first, Golden, here. Big shout out to @zhuzhubii for their dialogue help and @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff and a discord friend (who’s tumblr I cannot tag fsm) for beta-ing both stages of this fic. This about to get real dark, y’all. Heed the content warnings.

CW/TW: Murder, violence, general angst, did you hear me about murder?

Couple: None, gen fic.

Category: Angst

Word Count: 1.8k

War. Violence. Anger, malevolence, fury. Aaron was familiar enough with them all. Over a decade in the Behavioral Analysis Unit and he had seen nothing but the wrath of mankind, spilled over from held tongues. Everything stems from fear and terror, and he would go to the grave swearing he fathered the abstract. He felt he left destruction behind him in a wake of combat, and failed to keep his fists from their fury. 

He hadn’t held his rage against Foyet, and it terrified him to no end that he held no regrets about it. If you spend your waking hours chasing the entities of psychopathy, do you not worry that one stumble will place you among the pack? Will the darkness that now inhabits him be his fall from grace? What would he teach his son about the world if he collapsed beneath it? 

He’d be lying to himself if he said the pressure only began after she left. Aaron knew a lot of things when he was young, but the lesson he never quite learned was how to slow down, and life stepped in quickly enough. Her name on his lips burned like fire for months after, only ever calling her Mom to Jack, never once braving the knowledge that the only woman he had given a piece of himself to was now gone, and he had absolutely no one to blame but himself. He still remembers the grip of Derek’s hands around his arms as he pulled him away from the fatality beneath him, still remembers the blood staining his fingernails. There is only so much evil soap can erase. 

Sometimes he felt like the Devil studied the blueprints of his life for ideas, and then he remembered that it’s only him that creates the wars waging on the homefront. How long can he sit here in the dark, touching the floor in their home where his wife’s blood stained the wood? He hadn’t been here in years, but he needed to be here, he needed to feel her again. The blonde underneath him wasn’t Haley, no, but she was close enough. She bore just enough resemblance to his wife and son to justify stealing her away, but just was different enough to let his fist close around her throat. Too fragile to fight him off, she never stood a chance, not when he’s creating his own bloodshed. The blood running from her eyebrow where his wedding ring had sliced her skin open simply pushes him over the edge, and when her body stops writhing under his closed hand, he realizes he has no idea what her name is. 

Maybe he was born with this brutality, perhaps he never stood a chance against the test of time. After all, he wasn’t just chasing killers, he was learning from them too. Cold, calculated, planned. Premeditated, wasn’t that what they called it? He watched her for weeks, needed to know that she would fulfill his fantasy, his need. He made sure she was alone, no children or husbands left behind. Not just to eliminate witnesses, but because Aaron had been on the side of that losing fight. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy. This is just his conflict, this is just his deserved combat. No one would be surprised if he snapped, would they? It was all he knew, it was ever-consuming and at the end of it, he’d be lucky to have even a fragment of a soul left. Emily had warned him once about keeping everything so far shoved down that you lose the ability to distinguish between yourself and your trauma.

There was so much darkness, so much fear. He was so tired of holding everything on his shoulders. So he found a way to put it down, he found a way to try to heal. He had to make it right. He had to give Haley another chance to die, and maybe this time it would be right. 

--

There hadn’t been a break in this case for months. Women disappearing then reappearing mangled and murdered, always a different MO, their only common thread was victimology. Blonde single women, never anyone to miss them other than their work. 

“Hey, I hate to say this but...these women, they all look like Haley.” JJ says tentatively, glancing at the tacked up photos of the victims.

An unnerving quiet falls over the room as the team looks at JJ, a mixture of resignation and horror painting their faces. 

Rossi nods with a pained look. “They do. And...Aaron fits the profile.”

Spencer looks up and adds quietly, “And he took off work for three weeks when the killings started.”

“No, he wouldn’t. Not Hotch.” Morgan stands and shakes his head. “I still think it’s Evans.” 

Rossi sighs. “Evans has an alibi, Morgan. Aaron doesn’t.” 

Morgan scoffs, looking to anyone for help and settles on Emily. “Prentiss, you really believe this?”

She sighs, looks up at him and says, “I’m sorry Derek, he fits the profile perfectly. We always say profilers make the best unsubs.”

“Damn the profile! They can be wrong. We’ve been wrong before.” Morgan pleads, looking around the room for someone on his side.

“Look, why don’t we just go to his house? If I’m right, then we bring him in. If we’re wrong, then we’re just checking on him. Okay?” JJ reasons.

“You can waste your time all you want, but I’m going to talk to Evans.” Morgan seethes, looking to Spencer. “You coming with me, kid?” Spencer just nods, throws JJ an apologetic glance, and grabs his jacket and vest, following Morgan out of the room.

“I’ll go with you, JJ. Prentiss, stay behind and keep in contact with Garcia, just in case.” Rossi instructs. JJ nods, and they head in the opposite direction of Morgan and Spencer, and JJ prays she’s wrong about this.  

--

Prying open the door to Hotch’s house, JJ shakes her head. This isn’t how she wanted this to end. She tiptoes through the room, Rossi following behind her while they work to clear the area. As they go upstairs, she starts to hear crying.

Toeing open the bedroom door, JJ calls through, “Hotch?” She sees him, hunched over a blonde woman, blood pooling on the carpet between his knees. “Hotch!” He still isn’t responding, sobs wracking through his body. “...Aaron?” She tries, pitching her voice down. 

He turns to look at her then, no sign of recognition on his face. He looks broken and battered. He still doesn’t look like a murderer.

Meeting his eyes, she says, “Aaron, it’s JJ. We can help you but I need you to put the knife down.” The heart beating inside her chest is so much less scared than it is breaking in half to watch this man she called family die. 

He turns to her, blood on his outstretched hands and a sad smile on his face. “You’re here, you’re finally here.” 

Confused, JJ cocks her head to the side, gun still trained on him.“I’m...here?” She asks.

He lurches towards her, knife in hand.“I missed you so much.” He swipes a blood covered hand under his eye to wipe away the tears, and JJ’s stomach curdles at the sight.

Rossi takes a step forward to meet JJ, and says quietly, “Aaron, stay back.” Hotch doesn’t seem to hear him, staring directly at JJ.

Unsure of what’s happening, JJ decides to lean into it, in the hopes that making him feel understood would avoid casualties. “I...missed you too.”

He gestures behind him to the still body, and says, “I did it, see? I finally got it right!” He’s shouting, and his happiness is unnerving.

JJ steps forward a little, staring at him. “Aaron...I’m sorry, but I don't understand. Could you...explain it to me?” Maybe even in this state, he’s still sane enough to be logical. Maybe.

Hotch barks a bitter laugh, “Foyet, he didn’t do it right. He…disgraced you.” You? All of a sudden JJ realizes what’s happening and she chokes back tears. She’s not Haley, but she can be for a minute if it protects him.

She softens her voice, holsters her gun and steps forward with her hands up. “I’m...I’m here now. And I've missed you so much. Why don't you put the knife down, and then-”

He shakes his head violently, sweat and tears flying off his face.“It’s too late.” He’s muttering to himself and JJ can’t understand the words under his breath.

JJ swallows thickly. “What do you mean? I’m here, it’s ok-” 

He cuts her off abruptly, waving the knife at the girl behind him dismissively. “She's already gone. She’s already gone.” He looks up through tears and smiles sadly at JJ, at the figure of his late wife in front of him. “...I got you back, though. You're here. You're here and I...-” He breaks down in sobs, sinking to his knees and clutching the knife to his chest.��

 JJ steps closer, looking down at him in pity. “That's right, I’m here. And everything will be okay, I just need you to put the knife down. Can you do that for me, Aaron? Put the knife down.”

He looks up at her, dropping the knife to the floor with a loud clatter and JJ drops to her knees, wrapping her arms around the broken man before her and they’re both crying. “I’m so sorry, Haley.” She just shushes him, pulling him up to his feet.

“I gotta cuff you now, Hotch. It’s for your own good.” Rossi has tears in his eyes, pulling the silver metal from his belt and clasping it around Hotch’s wrists. It’s then that the illusion shatters, and he sees what he’s done. JJ leans down and presses her fingers to the inside of the girl’s wrist, searching for a pulse, but it’s useless. Like he said, it was too late. She was already gone. 

“JJ?” Hotch asks pitifully. “What did I do?” He looks so tired, so crushed.

“I don’t know, Aaron. But we’ll fix it.” She’s still got slow tears rolling down her cheeks, and she takes him from Rossi, guiding him down the stairs and out the front door where the rest of the team is waiting, the looks on their faces a mixture of fear and disgust and pity.

War was ever-consuming. War within, war in the world he struggled to hold up on his shoulders. He could never decide if he saw himself more as Ares or Atlas, never could deify himself in the way he was expected to. Head of the unit, head of his remaining household, head of his world. And yet, he chose war every time. This time, the blood on his fingertips was no longer metaphorical, but the weight of the world fell off. As he’s pulled away from his home, he sees JJ and Jessica huddled over his son, and he wonders if what he’s done is worth the weightlessness. 

taglist: @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff @andiebeaword @dreatine​ @muffin-cup​ @httpnxtt​ @sunlight-moonrise​  @samanddeanstolethetardis221b​ @spencer-reid-in-a-pool​ @fanficlibrary82​ @zhuzhubii​ @prettyricky187​ @reidlusts​ 

[septic-skele]

UT - You and Me (Against The World)

Summary: If Pap was the sun, then he must be the moon: a ball of scars and craters, whose only shine was a lesser reflection of his brother’s.

“But if you weren’t there to be the moon,” Papyrus answered, so simply, so kindly, “who else would be a light in the darkness?” Sans and Papyrus, in fifty captured seconds.

Comfort

“This is not at all an admission of helplessness, surrender or defeat…but if there is anything I haven’t yet tried, brother, anything at all that might help you, I need you to tell me.”

Kiss

The human’s lipstick had formed a decidedly unpleasant texture on his teeth, Papyrus mused with a shudder as he grabbed his toothbrush to scrub away the evidence.

Soft

Sans rarely ever raised his voice, but then he didn’t need to; a low growl could be far more threatening than a shout.

Pain

“Nngh…Almost there, I think,” Sans hissed, struggling to stay loose and relaxed as Papyrus gingerly manipulated the deformed joint of his shoulder back toward its socket.

Potatoes

“Not once have I seen a potato subspecies that grows on couches,” Papyrus admitted, “so I’m afraid I cannot speak for any resemblance between them and Sans!”

Rain

“I seem to recall a well-prepared skeleton advising his lazy brother to wear sneakers on their outing today,” Papyrus snarked as Sans’ sodden slippers squished and squelched with each step.

Chocolate

Chocolate sauce was chocolate sauce and spaghetti was spaghetti, both good things independently, so…Sans could assume Papyrus had made them better together, right?

Happiness

Papyrus had genuinely laughed at what was admittedly his worst material, and that was more than enough to lift the corners of Sans’ wan smile.

Telephone

Sans had thirty-four frantic texts, a full voicemail box, and no memory of the last three days to offer as an excuse.

Ears

Papyrus couldn’t help but marvel at Frisk’s dedication to being so cool; they had put new holes in their ears not for better hearing, but simply to decorate with tiny pieces of treasure!

Name

“I’m just Sans—well, ‘Comic Sans’ if you want to be particular about it—but if you really need a surname,” Sans began, mischief sparking in his eyes, “it’s, uh, Lewis. C.S. Lewis, heheh.”

Sensual

Finally Papyrus could understand why Sans so loved spending time in bed; these new silk sheets seemed to float around his bones, gently shushing him to relax and rest.

Sex

“Turns out the humans have a label for everything,” Sans remarked with a wry grin as he spun the striped button pinned to his coat. “I’m what they call an ace in the hole.”

Touch

For reasons he couldn’t quite justify, Papyrus flinched when Frisk wrapped their arms around his neck.

Death

“I’ll see you soon, Tori,” he mumbled as he brushed his hand over the memorial’s stone base, “because if I know anything about that kid, they’re not gonna let you stay down forever.”

Weakness

All of Sans’ strength had been spent in the shower; his juddering legs and the cold embrace of the bathroom floor dictated that dressing would have to wait.

Tears

“I’m always alright,” Papyrus whispered, though he made no effort to dry his streaked cheekbones.

Speed

Papyrus doggedly insisted that the sign had said ninety miles per hour—until he recalled a particular prescription for glasses that still needed filling.

Hero

“It’s not my job to be nice or helpful or cool,” Sans announced flatly. “It’s my job to give judgment, no matter how much it might hurt.”

Freedom

“Not all humans are like Frisk, Papyrus; some of them would rather sweep us off the street than crack a smile at us.”

Life

In response to Sans’ apathetic “What do you want?”—Papyrus poured his soul into a scream: “I want you to treat your life like it matters!”

Jealousy

“Undyne is always away with Alphys and the human Frisk is busy with their plethora of school friends; I don’t know who my ‘besties’ are anymore!”

Hands

“My glove is the wrapping and my hand is the present; I’m just waiting for the day someone special wants to take it!”

Taste

Spongy in the middle, crisp around the edges, swathed with butter and spices that melted in the mouth…If only Papyrus could drag the garlic bread out of the cookbook picture and onto the plate.

Devotion

“Long live the King,” Sans murmured as he pried the crown from his exhausted brother’s head and tucked his cloak closer around him for the night.

Sickness

It was unsettling to see Pap so limp and lethargic, snoring on and off between miserable sniffs and the few coughs his abused throat could muster.

Melody

For once Papyrus regretted that he wasn’t a stealthier skeleton; he would have liked to hear Sans sing another bar or two before he jumped at his presence.

Star

Mettaton had been acknowledging everyone in the first several rows, but surely the celebrity had glanced at Papyrus a few seconds longer than the rest!

Home

Their Surface house felt like a resort—airy, open, relaxing to some degree, but Sans still had the nagging urge to keep his bags and boxes packed.

Market

“Sans, I have no intention of purchasing seventeen boxes of Twinkies!”

Hair

“Oh, so I’m not allowed any Twinkies to repackage as ‘dessert dogs’ for my booming business, but you’re allowed four different brands of shampoo for hair you don’t even have.”

Confusion

“These puzzles I’ve submitted are sure to be a much greater challenge for this week’s column, don’t you think?” he questioned smugly as his brother stared at the sheet of incomprehensible twists, turns, and teasers.

Innocence

“Doesn’t ‘hanky panky’ mean that you are ‘hankering for a pancake’?” Papyrus demanded as Sans choked on his coffee.

Fear

“I think, uh, I’d rather take the stairs, be proactive like you’re always telling me,” Sans decided, recoiling from the cramped, groaning walls of the elevator.

Sky

The pure blue expanse made Sans’ head swim with its enormity, stretching further than his eye sockets could ever see.

Lightning/Thunder

Papyrus couldn’t help but wonder if that terrifying noise was the sun, roiling and roaring at the dark clouds for blotting out its rightful place.

Forever

“Why do you always leave me behind?” Sans wanted to say, instead forcing a smile and wave as Papyrus strode toward his terminal.

Technology

Papyrus’ first college semester, Sans kept his phone charged and at full volume more consistently than he had in the last five years.

Blood

“Stay awake for me, Sans, just keep your eyes on me!” Papyrus begged, because if he didn’t keep their eyelights locked he would have to watch the pool of red grow.

Hell

Sans’ HP hung by a decimal point, slipping, and Undyne wrestled her arms around Papyrus’ shoulders to keep him back as he screamed.

Safe

“It’s thanks to you that I’m still here, bro; I won’t go anywhere if you don’t.”

Bonds

“We skeletons have a soul sense for such things; I can feel my brother’s aura of bad jokes, dirty socks and disappointment in this room.”

Gift

“It was on sale!” Papyrus lied, brightly and effortlessly, because he hated to see Sans look so guilty for receiving a good thing.

Smile

Sans chuckled fondly as he admired the worn, creased photos, tracing a finger over his baby brother’s beaming face.

Child

Papyrus wouldn’t mind having a little one to raise someday—someone to look up to him for his greatness and guidance, the way he had once looked up to Sans.

Waves

Seafoam swirled gently around his ankles, beckoning him closer, deeper, against his better judgment; if there was a choice to sink or swim, Sans would sink every time.

Moon

If Pap was the sun, then he must be the moon: a ball of scars and craters, whose only shine was a lesser reflection of his brother’s.

Hope

“But if you weren’t there to be the moon,” Papyrus answered, so simply, so kindly, “who else would be a light in the darkness?”

Heaven

Most gods Sans heard about were not gods of mercy, but he would keep looking; he would find the one who gave eternal peace as a gift, not as something to bargain for.

Completion

As his wavering steps gave out and the twirling lights softly faded, Sans closed his eyes and breathed, soundless, “Finally.”

[tomhardysteeth]

u wanna say anything for spn ending? Today's their last day of filming

Yeah sure! I love how you worded this ask, it makes me want to give a very serious answer. I’ve been rewatching random episodes the past few days and thinking about how much of my life was shaped by this random lil tv show, both positively and negatively, so here we go. 

I started watching Supernatural during my junior year of college, when I was grappling with being gay and religious, and had a pseudo-girlfriend who was emotionally abusive. I remember I started watching the show because I had been on tumblr for a while and thought, well this is a popular show on tumblr and looks like something I’d enjoy, so I might as well try it. I remember barely paying attention to the first season and thinking it was kind of silly, and I distinctly remember making fun of it right up until the season 1 finale when that truck slammed into the Impala and I said oh.

I remember sitting in the dining hall between classes, hiding in a corner with my pink headphones and my laptop, watching one episode after the other, completely consumed by it. My personal life was a mess at the time and I was angry and sad and frustrated, but I could forget about everything for a little while when I watched spn. I remember falling in love with Dean Winchester, season 3, when Sam gave him the amulet. 

Because I had already spent a lot of time on tumblr, I knew about Castiel. I couldn’t wait to get to season 4, the anticipation killed me. I didn’t really have a choice in shipping destiel, I literally shipped it before I even watched a single episode of the show lol. My first time watching seasons 4 and 5, I remember how mad I would feel every time the opening credits scrolled at the bottom of the screen and Misha Collins wasn’t listed. I cared about almost nothing but Dean and Cas interacting with each other. I was totally enamored by them, by their potential. At some point I got over that and watched the show because I liked the show, but boy did my heart and brain break for destiel. 

I broke up with my abusive girlfriend. I started coming out to more people, including people involved in the Christian campus ministry I was heavily involved in, and it was very very hard. It was 2013. The first episode of Supernatural I watched live was the episode where Dean turns into a fucking dog. 

I don’t remember when I started reading fanfic, and I had no idea how to read fanfic. A friend invited me to ao3, what is ao3? I didn’t know. I used my email address as my username. I read Twist and Shout and Pie Without Plot and other very popular fics that I knew about because everybody knew about them. I vividly remember the first fics I read because I was 21 years old and had never had an orgasm in my life and believed sex was sinful and so when the sex scenes in fics turned me on, I felt guilty about it. 

I quickly got over that and started writing explicit destiel fanfic. 

I still had no idea what I was doing. I know the very first fic I ever wrote was a mess, I’ve completely erased all traces of it, but other than that I began posting with abandon. Pretty much everything I’ve ever written for spn is still on tumblr and/or ao3. I was running a Hannibal blog at the time and started posting more Supernatural content than Hannibal content, so I created a sideblog, @deancasheadcanons​, and things very quickly got out of hand after that.

I was depressed, I was confused, I was spending my last couple years of college trying to figure out my sexuality, trying to hold onto a religion that was rejecting who I was becoming, trying to find my identity while picking a career path and being sad and being pulled in a hundred different directions. Sometimes I was working three jobs at once, on top of 17-credit-hour semesters. I was getting a degree in a field I did not care about, and I spent every class reading and writing fanfic, scrolling through tumblr, making internet friends, letting my life be consumed by Supernatural. I projected myself completely onto Dean Winchester and partially onto Castiel and did not even realize it. 

I started dressing like Dean, and my sister and brother-in-law noticed and assumed I was gay. They were extremely unsubtle in their attempts at getting me to come out by pointing out the flannel and army jackets, and I did not have it in me to admit to them that I was dressing like a fictional character, but I DID tell them I was bisexual. 

I went to therapy every week during my senior year of college, and I was embarrassed about how often I talked about my “internet life,” as I called it. I remember having the arbitrary goal of getting 1,000 kudos on a fanfic, and I remember the day it happened for the first time and I remember going to therapy that week and saying that I didn’t feel any different, that I thought getting attention for my writing would make me feel better, somehow, but I still felt the same, and my therapist asked me if I would still be writing if I was the only one who got anything out of it and I said yes. But I was still obsessed with writing things that were meaningful, and despite the fact that I would receive 10 negative/mean anons per day, I never turned anon off because I desperately wanted people to tell me that my writing meant something to them, that it mattered to them. I was fighting with myself every day over my sexuality and my identity and my purpose, and I put all of that on the shoulders of Dean and Cas. 

There was also chubby!dean. I had lived my entire life with this inexplicable thing, this shame that I knew I could not share, that I knew I would just have to suffer with for my whole life, and then I joined the spn fandom and found that there were others like me, others that had a fetish and had similar experiences as I did and were drawn to Dean Winchester because there’s no other character that could make eating and gaining weight be as enticing as he makes it (in fanfic). For the first time in my life I had a community of people that I could relate to about a thing that I never thought I would ever be able to talk about with anyone in my life. I don’t remember if I consciously chose to start posting publicly about it, but at some point I did, and I started writing kink fic, but I was still so uncomfortable with myself and so scared of the things I felt, and I tried so hard to temper myself and not offend anyone and not go “too far” and not be too weird and I was so sexually repressed and pent up and full of guilt and shame, and so now when I go back and reread some of the stuff I wrote it feels like reopening an old wound and letting myself bleed out. 

I was constantly comparing myself to others and wondering why I wasn’t getting as much attention as so-and-so, and I always made excuses about how maybe my writing was too weird and I was too much and maybe I just wasn’t good enough and I hated myself and wanted to delete everything I ever wrote, but also I’m awesome and receive a lot of attention and get a lot of good feedback but maybe that means I’m just a narcissist! I acted like an asshole online and justified it by saying it wasn’t really me, that I could be someone totally different on tumblr than the person I was in “real life,” but in hindsight, now when I think back on my early 20s, I cannot separate what I was doing in “real life” from what I was doing in the spn fandom. I shared so much of myself with the spn fandom without even recognizing that that’s what I was doing. 

And I made mistakes, god I made mistakes, and I tried to be so careful about everything I said but I was also presenting a certain version of myself to the spn fandom so that people would like me (for instance: running a destiel blog and trying my best to hide the fact that I also ship wincest) and still I got in trouble constantly, and I grew bitter and mean because you can only receive the “when are you posting the next chapter?” comment so many times before you want to bang your head into a wall. I became defensive and unkind, afraid to check my inbox because it was a nightmare, and yet unable to turn off anon because, like I said, I desperately needed that feedback, I needed people to tell me that they felt what I felt, that they understood what I was writing and why I was writing it.

I expected Supernatural to give me everything I needed. I fantasized about Dean Winchester being canonically bisexual because I thought it would confirm something in me, that it would somehow make my life a little bit easier. I didn’t want to watch other shows that could maybe help me, I wanted Supernatural to do things for me that it had never promised and would never deliver, and it’s because I was defined by it for so many years. Now that I’m back on tumblr, I’ve been going back through some of my old posts on deancasheadcanons and it’s like reading a stranger’s words. Even so, I find myself telling people “I was deancasheadcanons” instead of “I ran a sideblog called deancasheadcanons” because it really was such a huge part of my identity. What’s wild is that every time I’ve tried to explain it to someone in real life, they just look at me like I’m not making any sense. 

It was easy to stop watching Supernatural. I didn’t have cable, and I had been driving to my dad and stepmom’s house each week and watching it on their tv after they had gone to bed. I was in a new relationship with a woman I nearly married, I was back in school for a new career, I was working full time and absolutely did not have time to continue writing fanfic as prolifically as I had done for so many years. I finally reached a breaking point in 2017 and haven’t watched any new episodes since then (I don’t remember the last episode I saw). But now, as I rewatch some old episodes, it is easy to feel the way I felt the first time I watched the show. It’s easy to see why this campy little heartfelt show was a lifeline during my formative adult years.

So it turns out I have never reckoned with any of this, have never written it down, hence the 2k jumble of words you see here. And it’s like, I know that a lot of this may seem silly, trivial, especially for a show that in itself is not very serious, but as it comes to an end I have to reflect on it as a person who put so much of my heart, my creativity, my pain and my floundering identity into it. I am somewhat embarrassed and wish I could respond to this ask with a joke instead, but we’re in a pandemic and I live alone and have had way too much time to think and reflect and become a lot more self-aware, and part of that reflection has definitely been about my time in the spn fandom. I remember thinking the show was never going to end, yet here we are at the end and I felt compelled to type all this out with a desire to, I don’t know, get some closure? Convince myself that I was a whole person, that I wasn’t just a faceless URL posting destiel fics into the void, that my real life was not at all disparate from the time I spent online? In any case, I’ll always think fondly of the time I devoted to Supernatural, and I’ll take the good and the bad and everything in between. Thanks for the nice ask, anon, apparently I needed to get some things off my chest.  

[prettybuckybaby]

you'll keep on rising until the sky knows your name

Peter is a single father and the avengers find out.

part two of single parent peter parker

masterlist

read on ao3 here

She knows it’s only a week, and that Peter is perfectly capable of looking after himself and Leia, has been since he was fourteen and she was a newborn, but a week can be a long time. That’s the excuse she uses when she calls Tony, asking if he would be okay with them both staying at the tower for as long as she is working across the state. She’s grateful when Tony agrees immediately. Not that she ever had any doubt that he would; she knows Tony sees her nephew as a son, even if he stutters out a denial every time she teases him about it, and knows that he loves having Peter around the tower, and loves when he gets to spend time with Leia. So, with the opportunity of a whole week with them arises, she has no doubts that Tony would say yes.

Peter is in the middle of giving Leia a bath when Tony calls him. He answers as soon as he gets the bubbles off his hands.

“Pack your shit, kid,” Tony says, not waiting for Peter to say anything when the call connects. “You’re staying with me,” Peter sighs as Leia splashes the water in the tub.

“You’re on speaker, Mr Stark. And,” He scoffs lightly. “Yeah, right,” Tony doesn’t sound apologetic at all when he replies.

“Sorry. Anyway, I’m serious. Aunt Hottie agreed.”

“And what am I meant to do with Leia, Mr Stark? You know, my child, who-”

“Obviously, the invitation is extended to Leia,” Tony cuts him off, and Peter can almost hear the eye roll through the phone. “If I’m being honest, Pete, the invitation was mainly for her, anyway. I want to hang out with my best friend for a week, but I figured I’d be nice and invite her annoying brat of a father as well.” Tony snorts at the offended sound Peter lets out. “I’m very hospitable like that,”

“Gee, thanks Mr Stark. Your generosity astounds me.” He smiles when Leia giggles as he piles bubbles onto her head. “Mr Stark, it’s a super nice offer, but you don’t want a three-year-old running around your fancy tower for a week,”

“Sure, I do. Sucks that I have to have an ungrateful seventeen-year-old as well, but I guess you’re a package deal,” Tony teases, laughing when Peter groans.

“Really, Mr Stark,” Peter tries again. “Really nice offer, but you really don’t want a toddler running through your house, crying and knocking things over and making a mess everywhere.”

“What, more of a mess than you make? Think she’s inherited your ability to make things explode with minimal effort?”

“I’m serious, Mr Stark,”

“So am I! She’s been around here before, kid. What’s the issue?”

“A few hours is a million miles away from a week. I don’t want to impose on you.”

“Hey, Leia,” Peter groans as Tony ignore him and turns his interrogation towards his child instead. “You wanna spend a week with your favourite Uncle Tony, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Leia claps as she answers, causing water and bubbles to splash over the bathroom. Tony laughs over the speaker.

“You heard the lady, Parker.”

“You’re turning my daughter against me, Mr Stark,” Peter groans as he hears Tony’s smirk. He does again when Tony gasps in mock offense.

“I would never! I cannot believe you would accuse me of such a thing. The slander!”

“Uh huh,” Peter replies drily. “C’mon, poppet. Out you get,” He picks Leia up out of the bath, smiling when she squeals slightly, and wraps her in a fluffy towel.

“Pack your shhi…. stuff,” Tony coughs. “Stuff. There will be a car out front in an hour,”

“Nice save. Listen, Mr Stark, are you really sure about this? You know how much stuff a toddler needs for a week? There will be stuff cluttering your entire place,” Tony just laughs again.

“Stop trying to get out of this, kid. Don’t worry about the necessities. I’ve got it covered. Just bring clothes and toys. Although, there’s plenty of those here as well. You know that. Just bring whatever she wants,” Neither of them speak for a few beats, and then Peter sighs.

“Fine. Leia, think about what toys you want to take to Mr Stark’s,”

“Good kid. See you in an hour,” Peter sighs again when the call disconnects.

“C’mon, then. Let’s get you dressed,”

---------------

It’s almost exactly an hour later that Peter hears the front door of his apartment open. It would have worried him, had he not known how excited Tony was to see Leia. He almost felt bad about trying to get out of staying at the tower, but he can’t shake the feeling that something bad might happen. He knows, better than most kids his age, how unpredictable children can be. Letting one loose in Tony Stark’s house just doesn’t sit right with him, somehow.

“C’mon, Leia,” Tony and Happy hear Peter groan as they walk through the apartment. “It’s raspberry jam! You said you like raspberry jam!” Leia is giggling as she replies.

“Nu uh, Daddy,” Tony lets out a quiet laugh at the defeated sound Peter lets out.

“What do you like, then, trouble?” Tony and Happy stand in the doorway of the kitchen, watching as Leia just smiles sweetly at Peter, shaking her head at every different food Peter names.

“Apples? Cheese? Pizza? Custard? Fish fingers?” Peter watches her, raising an eyebrow softly. “A monkey?” Leia just keeps smiling as she shakes her head again. “You’re not even listening, are you, pumpkin? A monkey is not a food,” He groans again when Leia just smiles at him, the smile on his own face betraying him. He takes half a piece of toast coated in raspberry jam and shoves it in his mouth.

Tony lets his and Happy’s presence be known by laughing loudly. He waltzes into the kitchen, ruffling Peter’s hair, grinning at the scowl that is sent his way. Leia’s face brightens up more when she sees Tony and looks up towards Happy.

“Unc’a Hap!” Happy smiles, small but genuine, and reaches out to let her grab at his hands.

“Good afternoon, Leia. I hope you’re not being a pain for Daddy,” The young girl shakes her head innocently up at Happy.

“Nah. You’re an angel, aren’t you, Leia?” Tony laughs as Peter rolls his eyes. “So, what do you want to eat, kiddo? If you could have anything in the whole world?” The other three in the room watch as Leia thinks for a few moments before she speaks.

“Pick’ on’ons!” Tony snorts and nods as Peter stands up and walks towards the fridge.

“Okay, you funky little weirdo,” Leia giggles as Peter whacks the back of Tony’s head on his way back from the fridge, jar of pickled onions in his hand.

“How many, princess?” Peter opens the jar, nodding and fishing out two when Leia holds up her fingers, placing them on her plate. “Eat up, then,”

“Pickled onions?” Happy asks as Peter puts the jar back in the fridge. Peter nods when he sits back down.

“Not the weirdest thing she likes,” He smiles up at his daughter. “Gotta keep these things stocked, Happy, gotta be prepped for everything. Haven’t I, kid?” Leia grins up at him when she finishes eating.

“Speaking of being prepared, you ready to go?” Tony asks, standing up and walking around the table.

“Sure. You got everything you want Leia?” Peter asks, taking the plate from in front of Leia and washing it quickly in the sink. He looks up when Leia doesn’t reply with more than a gentle hum. Her eyes are closing softly. “You have Bearbear?” She holds up a teddy from tucked up beside her. “Good, good. You can nap on the way, okay?” He smiles softly and nods up at Tony.

“Wonderful, let’s go then. Miss Leia, Mr Bearbear,” Tony bows down, much like someone would to for royalty. “Your carriage awaits,” He puts on a posh voice and picks Leia up, smiling when she tucks herself into his side. He doesn’t wait for Peter as he starts walking out the apartment. On his way through the door, he picks up smaller of the two backpacks sitting there, the one with Leia’s favourite cartoon characters on. Happy follows behind Tony, and Peter follows behind him, slower, picking up the other half piece of toast and holding it in his mouth. He picks up the other backpack as he walks through the door, locking it behind him.

“Took your time, underoos,” Tony says quietly when Peter enters the car a few minutes after him and Happy, swallowing the last of the toast and wiping the crumbs off his face. Leia is still in Tony’s arms, Bearbear tucked under her chin, a blanket wrapped loosely around her.

“Yeah. You sped off with my daughter, remember? Are you sure you don’t have, like, super speed or something?” Tony snorts but doesn’t reply. Leia shifts slightly under the blanket. “You know, all the parenting books I read before she was born? They all said that I should be sleeping when she is. You know, because babies have different circadian rhythms or something. Need to build them up, and that takes time, so parents should-”

“Pretty sure that’s just with newborns, Pete,” Tony rolls his eyes, smiling at the teen. “If you wanna nap just have one, kid. Don’t need to justify it to me,”

“You’re the best, Mr Stark,” Peter sighs as he lies down, resting his head on Tony’s leg. He smiles when Tony runs his fingers through his hair, lulling him to sleep.

---------------

When Peter wakes up, there’s a pillow under his head, and a little finger poking at his cheek.

“Leia, sweetheart, let your daddy sleep a bit longer,” A voice says quietly, and the fingers stop poking his face. Peter rolls over, not awake properly. A moment later, there are fingers running through his hair again, and he drifts back off.

---------------

The next time Peter wakes up, he actually wakes up. He’s on the couch in Tony and Pepper’s living room, the lights turned down low and a soft blanket covering him. He sits up slowly, stretching slightly, listening to the voiced coming from the kitchen. A tired smile grows on his face when he hears Leia talking excitedly, telling whoever she is talking to about what she did at play group yesterday. He wraps the blanket around his shoulders, staggering into the kitchen.

“Hi, Daddy!” Leia grins up at Peter from where she is sat upon the countertop when he places a kiss on the top of her head.

“Nice nap, sleeping beauty?” Tony smirks from behind his mug, eyes flickering up to the tangled mess Peter is sure his hair is in.

“Time ‘s’it?” Peter mumbles, leaning his weight against the counter as he opens the fridge, rooting around until he pulls out a bell pepper. Tony grimaces when Peter bites straight into it.

“About half six,” Pepper answers, smiling softly towards Peter. “You looked tired,”

“Daddy needed a nap!” Leia nods seriously as she speaks. “Juice, Mista Stark?” She asks, voice bright and back to normal. Peter smiles at the quick change, taking the blanket from around his own shoulders and wrapping it around hers before bopping her on the nose. He laughs when she scrunches her nose up.

“Pep, have you seen the juice we got?” Tony asks, pulling his head from where it is buried in the cupboard and turning towards his wife with a frown on his face. “It’s not in here,”

“It could be downstairs?” Pepper suggests, beginning to stand up. Peter speaks up before Pepper can continue.

“I’ll go and check,” He just nods when Pepper looks towards him, a question painted on her face. “You finish telling Mr Stark and Miss Potts your story, princess. I’ll be back soon.” He pinches her cheek softly before turning to the adults. “It’s a very good story. Worth the listen,” He smiles as Pepper sits back down and turns expectantly towards Leia, who immediately jumps straight back into the story that Peter interrupted about the ducks she painted.

---------------

Peter hums softly as he makes his way down a few floors to where the other Avengers live. As soon as the doors of the lift open, the loud sound of the Avengers messing around enters his ears and continues when he walks into the kitchen where they are all gathered. He smiles at the sight.

“Hey, Peter!” Natasha is the first one to notice him, looking up from her carton of takeout food. Before Peter can respond, another voice lets out a laugh.

“So that’s why we haven’t seen Stark all day. You’ve been hogging him!” Peter smiles up innocently at Bucky, shrugging his shoulders as he begins to look through their cupboards. “How long are you here for, Pete?”

“A week or so. Aunt May got asked to work across state, she asked Mr Stark if I could crash here until she’s back,”

“What, May doesn’t trust you on your own now? Scared you’re going to be throwing some wild high school parties every night? Bringing all your, what? Three friends around?” Clint bumps his shoulder teasingly as he fills his glass with water.

“Hey!” Peter says indignantly. He snorts when Clint just raises an eyebrow at him. “Nah. Think she’s scared I’ll get lonely,” He sticks his head out of the third cupboard he’s looking through. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any capri suns up here, have you? Miss Potts said you might,”

“Ah, that makes more sense. We were wondering why we got those. Guessing Tony meant to get them sent up to his floor, right?” Steve asks, standing up and picking the two boxes up off the top of the fridge.

“Yeah. Thanks, Mr Rogers,” Peter smiles and takes the boxes from his arms. He turns his head towards the table when he hears someone laugh.

“Aren’t you getting a bit old for capri suns, mate?” Sam teases, ruffling Peter’s hair when he walks past, laughing again when the teen just scowls at him. “What are you, now? Thirteen?”

“Almost eighteen now, Mr Falcon, Sir,” Peter just smiles innocently over his shoulder when he sees Sam narrow his eyes. “And you’re kidding, right? This is the best juice out there!”

“What time are you out of school tomorrow, Pete?” Natasha calls after him as he walks towards the lift. Peter thinks for a moment.

“Not sure. Depends how long MJ keeps us for decathlon. Which depends on how annoying Flash is being,” He shrugs. “Should be back by five though. Half past, at the latest,”

“Okay,” Nat nods. “Well, we’re having a movie night. Tony and Pepper are joining us. You should come along,” Peter hesitates as FRIDAY opens the doors.

“I’ll see what I feel like when I finish my homework,” Peter steps into the lift, waving a hand over his shoulder when the Avengers call out a range of goodbyes.

---------------

Peter has a free period last on a Monday afternoon, so he picks Leia up from her play group early before he goes to decathlon practice. When Leia first started going to play group instead of staying with a babysitter all day, Peter felt bad bringing her to practice, scared that his teammates were going to think she was a distraction. The team were quick to accept her though, and now she spent half of the practice finishing her nap, and the other half sitting between her father and her Uncle Ned, answering some of the questions that MJ sneaks in specifically for Leia. The toddler giggle when she gets questions about her favourite books right and the team applauds her. Even Flash, at the practices that Leia attends, is kind enough not to wind Peter up.

Peter loves being part of the decathlon team, but the practices Leia attends are his favourite.

---------------

When they get back to the tower, Peter and Leia follow their normal routine as much as they can. They spend an hour or so sitting at the kitchen table, Peter doing his homework and Leia colouring in some pictures Peter found of Iron Man. Tony comes in as she finishes colouring the sparkling green high heeled shoes she’s added to his suit. He sits down next to her, talking to her about the additions she’s made to his suit, nodding seriously as she talks. Peter muffles a snort at Tony’s playful scowl when Leia, having been asked about the high heels, says “T’ make you taller, Mista Stark,”. Tony pretends to complain for a few minutes, a smile cracking through when Leia just giggles at his annoyance before he asks her to sign her name on the colouring and pinning it to the fridge. Leia has just about finished colouring in her Spider-man drawing when Peter finishes his homework and asks her what she wants for dinner.

It’s half past eight when Peter joins the other downstairs after bathing Leia and reading her a story, connecting the baby monitor in her room to his phone just in case. Everyone smiles up at him when he enters the room.

“You finish all your homework, honey?” Pepper asks, patting his arm softly as he walks past her.

“Yeah, Miss Potts,” He replies tiredly, using his foot to push Tony’s legs off the couch, grinning when the man groans. He sits down, shuffling around until he’s in a comfortable position, ending up with his legs thrown over Tony’s and his head resting on his shoulder.

“And everything else is okay?” Peter closes his eyes as he waves his phone in his hand. He feels Tony nod against him, and fingers carding through his hair.

He isn’t sure when he fell asleep, but Peter wakes up to his phone buzzing halfway through the second film. He squints from the brightness as he opens his phone, frowning at the image of his sleeping daughter. She’s tossing and thrashing around in her sleep, and even though there’s no sound on the video, he’s almost certain that she’s letting out soft whimpers. He locks his phone and stumbles to his feet, kicking someone who is lying on the floor and nearly falling over.

“You alright, Queens?” Steve asks him, gripping his arm to steady the teenager.

“Yeah. Just gotta…bathroom,” He mumbles out, not looking back as he stumbles across to the lift, jamming the button as he lifts his phone to his ear. Steve is the only one who hears him when he starts talking before being cut off by the doors closing, leaving the super soldier watching the closed doors of the lift, confusion over his face.

“You’re okay, baby. Just a bad-”

---------------

Peter eventually manages to get Leia back to sleep, tucked into his side in his bed.

---------------

The next night, Leia won’t go to sleep. She hasn’t slept all day, refused to nap at play group and now, even when her eyes are drooping as Peter rocks her gently in her arms, she refuses to let herself relax fully.

She eventually nods off in his arms, hours later, while Peter has a nature documentary playing quietly in the background.

“She finally go down?” Pepper asks quietly when she comes into the room. Peter glances at her watch as she walks past. It‘s nearly half past three.

“About ten minutes ago,” Peter sighs, whispering back. “Why’re you still up?”

“Had to drag Tony from the lab, just wanted to check on you,” Peter smiled up at Pepper gratefully. “Try and get some sleep, Peter,” She cards her fingers through his hair a few times and kisses his forehead before she makes her way back towards her and Tony’s bedroom.

It’s not even twenty minutes later when Leia starts whimpering in her sleep. She blinks her eyes open when Peter shushes her, peppering featherlight kisses against her forehead.

“Scary sharks again, princess?” Leia nods, burying her head in his shoulder. Peter doesn’t say anything about the tears he feels soaking his t-shirt, just rocks her gently as he stands up and wraps a blanket around her. “Let’s get you some warm milk, yeah? See if that gets you off, hey?” He makes his way into the kitchen, humming softly into Leia’s hair. He groans softly when he picks up the empty milk bottle out of the fridge. “Leia, you know I love Uncle Tony, but sometimes he’s a right pain in my as...butt. We’ll just have to go downstairs, Boo. Little adventure, then we can sleep in Daddy’s room,”

Peter rocks her gently, still humming her a song as he carries her down to the kitchen a few floors down, trying to be as quiet as he can to not wake the two super soldiers with super hearing and the two spies. He thinks he does a pretty successful job when he makes it back up to Tony’s kitchen, bottle of milk in hand, and no avengers awake.

---------------

“What’s up with you, Barton?” Bucky asks the next morning when Clint is just staring at the wall in the kitchen. “You’ve barely said a word all morning,”

“Have you noticed anything weird about Peter?” He asks immediately, looking down at his mug of now cold coffee.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know how sometimes I sleep in the vents? Well, I was last night, and I woke up when someone came into the kitchen. It was Peter,”

“That’s not really weird, Clint. Kid probably couldn't sleep. He’s allowed to come down here,” Steve points out as he sits down next to Bucky.

“Well. No, I guess not. But he had something in his arms. And then he stole our milk. And he was like, singing or something. Generally being a bit weird,”

“What was he holding?” Clint shrugs one of his shoulders.

“I don’t know. It was dark. It looked like a pile of blankets. Weird,” He insists. “That’s why I’m asking if anyone else has seen him being weird,”

“Stevie, you said he was being weird last night, right?” Bucky offers, turning towards Steve.

“I didn’t say he was being weird. I said I heard something weird,” The whole room turns to look at Steve, waiting for him to elaborate. “It’s nothing. Just when he was leaving, I heard him on the phone. Called someone ‘baby’ and said something about something bad. The doors closed before I heard anything else,”

“You’re looking too much into things,” Bruce sighs, standing up. “Peter is a bit weird sometimes. He spends too much time with Tony not to be. God knows Tony’s done a lot weirder things when he hasn’t slept in a while,”

Clint shares a look with Steve. Neither of them believe this.

---------------

On Thursday, Peter joins the other avengers for training. Normally, on a Thursday afternoon, Leia spends some time with May while Peter trains. However, with May out of town, and Rhodey in town, Tony volunteers his best friend for babysitting. Not that Rhodey takes much convincing; like everybody else who knows about Leia, he loves spending time with her, although he doesn’t get much of an opportunity with how often he is in the area. So, Leia is with Rhodey, Pepper is in a meeting, Tony is tinkering with Bucky’s arm in the corner of the training room, and Peter is sparring with Natasha and Steve when everything, as Peter knew it would, goes wrong.

Bruce jumps when the alarm starts blaring, red lights flashing through the room.

“What’s going on, FRI?” Tony barely glances up from the metal arm in his grip, not alarmed by the sudden noise.

“Colonel Rhodes has initiated lockdown procedure, Boss,” FRIDAY’s voice is as neutral as it normally is, the AI not capable of feeling the rush of panic that suddenly fills Peter.

“Wh…What?” He asks, his head snapping up towards Tony. The older man drops the screwdriver he is holding, about to start shouting when Rhodey comes into the training room and heads straight towards Peter.

“Peter! Peter. I need you not to panic,” He grips both of Peter’s arms in his hands, holding him still, forcing him to look into his eyes. “Okay. You’re definitely panicking,” Rhodey says, his own voice miles away steady.

“What happened, Rhodey?” Tony asks, coming up to the other two. He places a hand on Peter’s shoulder, hoping to calm him down. “Where is she?”

“I don’t…I don’t know,”

“You don’t know?” Peter’s voice is quiet, a mixture of angry and terrified. “What the hell do you mean you don’t know?”

“We were playing hide and seek. I’ve looked all over the floor we were on, I’ve gone through my floor, I’ve gone through their floor. I don’t know where she’s gone. But she’s got to still be in the building, Peter,”

“I swear to God, Rhodes,” Peter spits the name out, pushing Rhodey away and storming towards the door. “If anything has happened to her, I will skin you alive,” Rhodey swallows as he watches the door slam behind Peter, turning towards Tony, worry filling his eyes.

“It’ll be fine, platypus. She'll be fine,” Tony’s smile is a bit forced, but Rhodey relaxes minutely at the sight anyway. Tony turns towards the others, all of whom are watching the scene in silence, different shades of confusion colouring their faces. “Okay, guys. We’re looking for a small child, Leia. She has blonde hair, blue eyes, last seen wearing-”

“Spider-man pyjamas,” Rhodey cuts in before almost sprinting out of the door.

“And who is-”

“Not important right now, Steve,” Tony growls. “Find the kid, and when you do, let Peter know. Straight away,” He doesn’t wait for a response before he leaves the room, leaving the remaining Avengers looking at each other.

It turns out they don’t have to look for very long, only searching for fifteen minutes before FRIDAY turns off the alarms and announces that the lockdown procedure has been disabled. Tony sends a text out telling them that Leia was found in one of the intern labs, and thanks them for their help looking. They make their way up towards the intern labs, all of them stopping in their tracks when they see Peter.

The teenager is sobbing quietly as he hugs a child in his arms, sitting against a wall. His eyes are closed but there are tear tracks running down his pale face, his hands running through the child’s, Leia’s, hair, mumbling into her shoulder between sobs.

“Never again,” He is saying, just loud enough for everyone in the room, only his teammates now that Tony has ushered all the interns out, to hear him. “I was so scared. So scared,”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Leia replies, voice muffled and breaking. They watch as Tony moves over to the kids, helping Peter stand up and move towards the lift.

“I’ll follow you up, kid,” He sighs as Peter hugs the child closer, eyes still shut and body shaking. The doors close, and Tony sighs, before turning back towards the others.

“What-”

“You’ve got to let him explain,” Tony cuts in immediately. “Come upstairs. He’ll come out when he’s ready,”

They all go up to Tony and Pepper’s floor. Peter and Leia are nowhere to be seen, but Rhodey and Pepper are talking quietly in the kitchen.

“Are you alright, honeybear?” Tony asks, slapping the other man on the shoulder. The others file into the room, taking seats around the table.

“A damn sight better than Pete, that’s for sure,” Pepper places a steaming mug in front of Rhodey, and the man smiles gratefully at her.

“You know he doesn’t blame you. He was just scared,”

They talk quietly between themselves for almost two hours, before they hear Peter coming out of his room. When he comes into the room, nobody mentions how his face is blotchy and his eyes bloodshot. His jumper sleeves are too long and are covering his hands, one of which is gripping a baby monitor.

“How is she, kid?” Tony asks quietly, pulling a bottle of Peter’s favourite obscenely sugary drink out of the fridge and handing it to him.

“Asleep,” Peter mumbles, taking the drink from Tony with a grateful smile and drinking the whole thing in one.

“She’s alright, Peter. Everything’s okay,” Tony pulls Peter in close, letting his kid cry into his chest for as long as he needs. Peter pulls away after a few minutes, apologising for the wet mark he’s left on Tony’s shirt. “No, Peter. You don’t need to apologise.” Pepper comes over to them, taking the empty bottle out of Peter’s hand and replacing it with a full one, which he sips on slower than the last. Tony sighs when Peter’s eyes glance over to the other people filling their kitchen. “They saw you with her. To be honest, I think a few of them were getting suspicious anyway,” Peter sighs and walks and sits in the empty seat next to Bucky, placing a forgiving hand on Rhodey’s elbow and sending him a watery smile on his way past. There’s an awkward silence that fills the room. Peter clears his throat.

“So,”

“So,” Clint is the one to break first, watching Peter carefully. “A kid, huh,” Peter laughs softly.

“Yeah,” He smiles. “Leia,”

“How old is she?” Nat asks him, offering him a small smile.

“She’s uh, three,”

They keep asking questions about Leia, Peter talking with a smile on his face the whole time. It only falters when Bruce asks about the mother. Tony, Peter thinks absently when the man cuts in and stops that line of interrogation with a cough and a sharp look, is the best dad.

“Go and get some sleep, kid,” He says softly. It’s a testament to just how tired Peter is that he doesn’t even try to deny it. He just smiles up at Tony and pushes himself up, mumbling a quick ‘goodnight’ as he walks out the room. Nobody notices that Peter has left behind the baby monitor until a voice comes through, quiet but still clear.

“Love you, ‘Addy,”

“I love you more, Princess.”

[katiebruce]

adios, amigo.

Well, 2020. What is there to say that hasn’t already been said, tweeted or Instagram-ed a thousand and two times about you? I’ll save us all the generic stuff—“unprecedented,” “nightmarish,” “absurd”—yes, 2020 was all of those things, but on a deeper, more personal level, there is so much more I have to say that doesn’t fit quite into those clichés.

So, this will be my attempt to document and reflect upon one of the strangest years I’ve encountered in my thirty-one years on this planet. Buckle up, buttercup.

Like many others before me have frequently observed, the way I spend my New Year’s Eve has always set the tone for the year to come, and boy, was this year a picture-perfect example of exactly that. Because I had to work on January first, I spent my New Year’s Eve at home watching a depressing movie with T, quietly kissing on the cold back patio as fireworks went off in the distance. I remember feeling both happy and sad about this evening (a duality that was a major theme for me for the fifty-two weeks to come, if only I had known). I was sad not to be celebrating my favorite holiday and even remember telling T that I didn’t want the year to come to be one I spent not going out, staying home, and becoming reclusive as I finished up the stressful process of finishing my MFA thesis in the course of ten (or, what I thought would be ten) short months.

But on the other hand, being held in T’s arms, I remembered feeling so happy that I could have this little quiet holiday—something that felt so private and personal—so entirely our own. It really set the tone for our relationship for the year, and for the obstacles we not only overcame together but dominated, one right after the next.

January was cold, snowy, and full of flight cancellations, which I remember to be something worth celebration at the time. I stayed home and snuggled my way into Aquarius season, the time for me and my brethren to shine, feeling positive that I had lived my thirtieth year to one of great satisfaction and maximum travels taken. (If only I had known then that that late-January El Paso layover where my crew and I walked across the border into Juarez to eat street tacos and laugh over Mezcal would be one of the only times I would leave the country for the year, well, I might have taken a few shots of tequila and really enjoyed my stay abroad just a bit longer).

February came, and with it, the promise of friends. My darling Kristopher, as always, flew to Chicago on the day of (also the day I completed and passed my eighth recurrent [!]) and, thanks to my other darling baby, Nicole, scored tickets to one of the highly coveted format reunion tour shows happening in March* for me, her, and my momma.

(*It did not, in fact, take place in March).

I turned thirty-one in the way I’ve come accustomed too—surrounded by my favorite people (this year at Dorians—a jazz club to end all jazz clubs) too drunk and too smiley to even coherently remember the evening properly. As much fun as I remember having, I told T that I thought it was my last year to host some sort of birthday gathering, and to hold me to it come next year. (He did very well—a few weeks later, after spotting an ad in a discarded newspaper for the Chicago tour of Moulin Rouge happening on my birthday weekend, we bought tickets and I sat peacefully with the fact that one of my new year (or, new age) resolutions was so quickly and poignantly adapted).

By this time, I was already deep in the throes of my first thesis writing course, meaning that I was pretty stressed out all of the time and surely a misery to be around (sorry to those of you who were). Basically, in three semesters’ time, I was expected to draft, edit, and rewrite a fully formed novel (70,000+ words) and the idea of accomplishing such a feat felt like a ton of bricks being carried on my shoulders. I had at least four mental breakdowns in the beginning of the year (again, we all know what lays ahead for the year, I know—but at the time, this seemed like an unbearable amount of stress for one person to have to carry. The joke is not lost on me).

In the coming weeks, things began to get even weirder. Covid scares began sprouting up in cities all around us, and as the government asked people to stay at home, airline ticket prices became massively reduced, so more people began traveling. I mean, this shit was like spring break on acid—it was hugely stressful, and though the threat of the pandemic had yet to reach Chicago, I felt more and more at risk with each passing day as careless amounts of people cashed in on what they thought was the deal of a lifetime.

By the time March reached its midpoint, I, like so many others, was terrified. We had no PPE at work—literally nothing. No gloves, masks, or even hand wipes. Cleaning the aircraft still wasn’t considered a “no-go” item, as far as regulatory practices go. I remember watching the news on my layovers only to keep myself up at night wondering if the virus was going to take hold of me or anyone around me, and if so, how long until they would recover, or perhaps wouldn’t.

St. Patrick’s Day came, and after fighting about whether or not to go out with friends (we didn’t—and for the record, T and I rarely fight—but this was, after all, his first St. Patrick’s Day as a Chicagoan—so his resentment was more than justified) we saw a matinee movie (Onward) and while in the theater, read about how Chicago restaurants, as a precaution, were shutting down the next day due to rising concerns about the spread of the virus. We reacted by grabbing drinks & lunch at one of our favorite neighborhood eateries and tipping the waitstaff more heavily than I think I’ve ever tipped anyone in my life (not mentioning this to brag, or whatever—just remembering what it was like to feel utterly helpless and unsure of what to do or what was to come—we had to find our positivity in some way, and on that day, this was how we saw fit, and it helped).

Then it all sort of happened at once—Lauren’s store was closed with no impending reopening date. The grocery stores (and I swear to god, I will never forget this) became a madhouse—people taking things out of other people’s carts when they weren’t looking. I remember going into Mariano’s with T and insisiting we tie bandanas around our faces for safety, feeling like a goddamn bank robber about to make a heist. But there was nothing left to even take. Frantically, we got what we could and got out of there, and I went home to have a full-fledged panic attack about the state of the world we were currently living in and what we were going to do if things didn’t turn around quickly.

As if overnight, everyone cancelled their airline tickets. It was for the better, and though it put my job in serious jeopardy, I was in massive support of it but still felt an eerie sadness looming around the countless empty airports, airplanes, hotels and city streets. There were times when my crew and I were the only guests in a place—times when I had zero passengers on a revenue flight. And then came the mass flight cancellations—and I mean mass. Everyday became a battle of anxiety as to what was going to happen to my job in the next twenty-four hours, and then cooing my stressed-out thoughts to sleep, only to relive the anxiety with every phone buzz waiting to find out if I had lost my job overnight. By mid-spring, I was hugely considering dropping out for a period of time, just due to the stress of it all, but thanks to support from my friends, family and T, I chose to stick it out and roll with as many punches as I could until I was finally knocked-out.

Quarantines were happening all around me, and without the ability to travel or the (former) grueling expectations of maintaining a social life, I started to reconnect with myself in ways that felt both organic and new, yet much like returning home after a long time away. Lauren taught me to knit, and we celebrated her birthday on the floor of our apartment in an Indian-food induced daze renting Emma and making thousands of tiny knots onto needles that would eventually become blankets. We took walks, did puzzles, and Lauren drove me to and from the airport on the rare occasion that I actually had a flight to work, as the CTA had, unfortunately, become a cesspool of targeted attacks on flight crew members (seriously) because they were often the only person in any given train car.

A rare glimpse of optimism then presented itself via two different opportunities: a chance to take a ninety-day leave from work, and a job offer in the form of editing a book for publication. I said yes to both and hoped that I would be able to take a step back and deal with the crumbling world around me easier with both of these opportunities now on my horizon.

This period of the year (May-July) started off swimmingly. Knitting, reading, and even smoking weed for the first time in nearly a decade (I took two hits and spent the rest of the evening sinking into the couch painfully aware of how bad I am at breathing and worrying that I might stop at any given moment). I fell in love with yoga and felt myself loosening up parts of my body and my mind that had been twisted into a series of knots for god only knows how long. I spent days reading in the sun, baking bread like everyone else in the world, and learning to make my own pies. Things were going really well, and I was even ahead in school, now on track to graduate in August—when things started getting heated.

I’m not going to go on a rant about race, although I very much could, but I will say this—the fact that we are still in a race war in this country in the year 2020 (and even now, a few days into 2021) makes me so sick to my stomach I don’t know what to do. Every injustice that passes by us, overshadowed by the next untimely death or wrongdoing makes me angry in ways that I cannot even fathom putting into words. It burns the color red that is so hot and so vibrant that I can see it soaking through my eyelids even when I squeeze them shut. This country lost a lot of love from me this year, and even more respect. There are not only things we can do better—there are things we must change. And honestly, most days, I don’t think most of the country is ready to not only admit that but to also work for. And that not only sickens me, but depresses the living hell out of me. I feel so stunted all of the time when I picture a world so at peace with its own injustice. It’s just so unfair.

I watched as the world was (rightfully, although woefully) destroyed around me. My neighborhood turned into a desolate, looted shadow of itself—one where Lauren and I could sit on our back patio safely until dusk, when the crime and gunfire became so rabid that on occasions, we sat in the living room in total darkness, listening only to the radio, afraid to let anybody at street level see that we were, indeed, at home. The opportunists that took advantage of the message of this movement made me numb to such a large demographic of the population, and I found myself crying myself to sleep enough times that I thought it might be time to leave the warzone that had become Chicago for a little while as escape down to Florida. So, we packed our bags and left. It is not lost on me that so many did not have this option, and for so many minorities, just simply existing during this time was enough to cause assault. I know I am fortunate—I carry it like lead in my pockets every day.

While in Florida, the first retailers began to reopen and I found myself waiting in an hour-long line to buy soaps and hand sanitizers, and to get a glimpse of what this “new normal” might look like when things started picking back up again. Like many, it was jarring to see empty tables, capacity limits on items, cashiers behind plexiglass sheets shouting to be heard over both the physical barrier and the cloth one strung across their faces.

By the time T & I arrived home, Lauren was already making plans to reopen her store “safely” and I felt sorry for her. How could anything be safe when nothing had changed? Why were companies acting as if business could go on like before—even though nothing had gotten better?

My final months of my MFA were just ahead of me, and I had one month remaining free from work to finish my first full-length novel, and I all I really remember is stress stress stress.

And then Andrew, being Andrew, offered a glimmer of hope, in the form of a drive-in concert celebrating fifteen years of Everything in Transit in southern California, a mere matter of hours from where Nicole had been working. It took a matter of two or maybe three text messages to confirm that we would be attending, and once the ticket was purchased I practically packed my bags and headed off to visit her and try and make light of my heart.

As suspected, the trip was magical. Being around Nicole, per usual, was magical. My heart felt so fully aligned seeing a little piece of her story and getting to experience her way of life once more—drunken hot springs and all their glory. There truly are few things in my life I love more than sitting in the passenger’s seat as Nicole drives us all over the country, and experiencing it again felt so right and so perfect that I honestly thought it was one of the happiest experiences of my life. Because I had requested so, she drove me all the way to Venice Beach the day of the concert so we could see where the infamous album cover was taken. We ate cbd gummies and listened to jack’s and ate in-n-out burger like our lives depended on it. When the concert began, it was eerie, yet hopeful to see all the new protocols of something that had become so familiar to me in my former life. Drinks were ordered through an app and delivered, as was merch, and clapping was replaced by the exuberant honking of car horns. We streamed the sound through the radio and laid the in the back of Nicole’s converted SUV as we cried and sang along to the songs that made everything, even just for one night, feel like it was all going to be okay again. We ended the evening marking ourselves with our first stick and poke tattoos—hers a sun to my moon, positioned to kiss one another when we stand next to each other on our preferred selfie side (lol). I left worried about how long it might be before I could feel her warm embrace again, the embrace of one of the truest friends I’ll ever know, but also recognizing that we were lucky to have had such an experience at all during such an insane year and feeling eternally grateful for its memory.

The last weeks of what I referred to as my Rumspringa were ahead of me, and one sunny afternoon I wrote the final pages of my novel. In a mad rush to edit, revise and complete my portfolio for official review, I never really sat with myself and what I had accomplished or congratulated myself; I wrote a book in seven months’ time, and even though I am unhappy with it (more on that later) there’s no denying that I actually did it. I did it, and nobody can ever take that away from me; it’s an accomplishment I will forever have, and it’s all my own. And I need to remind myself of that. I need to let myself feel proud.

I was back to work in September and taking a huge pay cut, though working the same hours. It was stressful, but once I found out my portfolio had been accepted and I, indeed, would be receiving my MFA I felt a bit at peace for a while. I had let my hair grow long all summer, and all but stopped wearing make-up (mascara makes me feel entirely dolled up now). I felt in an odd way free—almost bare.

The fall came and went fairly quickly—the weekends alone at home and grocery-store-only outings feeling more and more like normalcy. It had been such a tough, trying year, that it suddenly felt nice to just stand still for a bit. So, I did.

In a brief amount of time, I watched (safely) as friends got married, got sick, got older and fell in love. I watched, with great anxiety, as our country voted in the most important election of our lives so far and took the deepest breath I’d ever taken as I watched that man face defeat—although he’s yet to swallow it. I watched as ex-lovers had babies, got engaged and never really stopped to think twice about any of it. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: the safety (and not in a lame, “safety-net” sort of way) of having T in my life has turned me into someone who not only craves quiet time at home, but really also sort of fell right damn into it very easily, though unexpectedly. I’ve heard the saying so many times before, but you really don’t realize everything is different once you find the right fit because that place feels like it’s always been home. I am grateful to not only have that now and moving forward, but most certainly throughout the trying, unstable times of 2020. In fact, I don’t know how I would have survived without it.

The holidays always creep up on me, and after being dealt a shitty hand from work (don’t even get me started, I’m still fuming) they came that much quicker. T & I were lucky enough to spend the holidays back home in the swamp, visiting my parents and his Dad. The time went by fast but was relaxing, fun, and reenergizing. We spent New Year’s Eve playing giant Jenga and yard Yahtzee with my parents in the cool, tropical winter of Florida. It was nice. We got tired right around 11, so we laid in bed until midnight talking, staying awake just long enough to share our new year’s kiss. It felt right—a proper send off to such a strange and unusual year. I was exctly where I needed to be—wrapped up in a blanket of T’s embrace, comfy in a bed in my childhood bedroom.

So now, here it is: 2021—the supposed upgrade to 2020, or so everybody secretly hopes. So now, as I sit here, drinking a warm, soy-chai latte (homemade!) I find myself having great difficulty setting an intention for the days ahead of me. I feel so beaten and bruised and physically fatigued for no reason but the experiences of 2020 and the courses they ran all over my life. I’m feeling reflective of having finished yet another year of my life (and my Saturn return! Halleluj!) and finding it hard to be anything but fatigued. I guess it’s from the year that’s just finished—more so than any other year it physically pained me at times to be alive at times. I’m missing so many of my friends who I haven’t been able to see for extended months at a time now. I am craving a sense of normalcy, of safety, so that I can feel better about making plans, but as for right now I just don’t have it. I am quietly trying to make subtle changes within myself and how I react to the world around me, but just like the start of this new year, that process is a slow one.

One of my resolutions (though I’m growing to hate that word more and more with each passing year) is to get back to writing. I had a good, albeit stressful, thing going while still in school, and after finishing my novel and receiving feedback, I couldn’t shake the feeling of absolute failure. It’s still there—it’s really hard to try and celebrate an accomplishment when you don’t feel like your work was good enough to warrant anything at all—especially not a fine arts degree. I never said I was a fiction writer—I just wanted to get better at writing fiction—so I need to remember that and allow myself to veer away from that for a while, to work on something new. Something I’ve been saying I’m not ready to write for many years now, something that when I now say that is just a plain old lie: My memoir. I’m ready to close the chapter in my life where I am a flight attendant, so the timing feels more than perfect.

I learned so much about what I want to do within my career and what sort of boundaries I don’t want to place on myself—and I’m trying, I really am. T gifted me with my own pottery wheel for Christmas and we are going to set it up this weekend and I am so excited to get my hands muddy and start creating. Until this year, I didn’t realize how much I needed a creative outlet other than writing—I had been depending on it for too long, my little cup felt bone dry. So, I’m excited to see where this new hobby takes me and how it influences my ability to return to the blank page—quite literally.

I know this year will not be the quick fix that so many are hopeful for—I think quite the opposite, actually. But here are some things I know for sure will happen: I will move out of my apartment and in with T. We will then, immediately get a dog and a new apartment. This, alone, feels like enough to fill the pages of the blank year ahead of us. I will go long periods of time without seeing my loved ones, and without traveling (bleak as this lifestyle may be). I will write, even when it’s hard to. I will publish something—I’m at work submitting pieces as we speak, and though the process is slow, I can tell this is my opportunity—I am ready t fight for it. I will turn 32, and the numerology of my life will seem more aligned. I will spend my birthday at home, alone, because of course Moulin Rouge has now been cancelled (I’m fine with it). I will learn more about myself the more I use my hands to create, to plant, to sculpt, to mold. I will love with fervor. I will smile more, because it’s actually healthier for you, even though my black heart hates to admit it. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll get to attend a live concert, though I realize this might be wishful thinking at this point. I will do mushrooms and giggle with the colors. I will cry. I will hurt and I will cause harm. But through it all, I will persevere. Because if 2020 taught me anything, it’s that I am capable of regenerating into new versions of myself that I didn’t even have the time to dream up. I can adapt to whatever is thrown at me, though it will often times feel impossible. I can, and will, create. I can be reborn (as many times as I’d like to, too).

So, thanks, 2020, for teaching me more about myself than any other period of five years has ever taught me. I definitely feel like I’ve been through the ringer a couple of times, yet I find myself still standing day after day. It must be the way a domino feels, standing up, time after time, knowing that something right in front of you is about to knock you down. But instead of thinking about what I’m bringing down with me, I’m thinking of the entire collective as a whole—we are all experiencing this together. And maybe, just maybe, on the other side, there’s a kid with a smile waiting to do it all over again. And that’s perhaps where the beauty lays: we have to tear everything down in order to do better, be better, make change. Nobody likes to catch fire, but everyone loves rising from the ashes. We’ll all get to where we’re headed, one way or another. And eventually, I hope, we’ll see that the other side is better than we could have ever dreamt of.

I hope that 2021 is a bridge that brings us from destruction to creation. I hope the journey is long, so we all appreciate the outcome.

I love you all and wish you warmth and wellness into this year and beyond.

Happy new year—honor the circumstances you have around you and let them help you grow.

[marshmallowprotection]

Kait Reacts To The AE 7/?

Hi! These reactions are written out every time a Chatroom opens and it’s done over the course of the day. So, you’re watching me react in real time as it is for me. So, Spoilers AHOY. Expect Another post like this later today, there is just too many chats to put it all in one post. So, hey, if you click this, you’re opening yourself to spoilers, you make the choice.

[01:02]

It's time to deal with Rika again. I'm not at all in the mood. It's really no different than what she's been telling us thus far and honestly I don't really expect anything to change on her front or anything with V. They are both made it pointedly clear to me how they feel about the situation and I don't think that there's any reasoning with them so it's just a matter of trying to hang on the until the RFA rescue us. We don't know exactly what's going on per se but we don't know for a reason and I'm not upset about that because they're trying to take precautionary measures. They're doing everything that they can and I trust them with my heart.

Basically, she calls them weak in this chat room and says that they did the right thing by bowing their heads in accepting that. This is really no different than the strong and the weak argument and symbolism that we used to have at Magenta where she would make it clear that the strong only those that would stomp before stop being stomped on. Trample before they are trampled to the ground.

She wants be live in this falsehood and deny reality and everything that's going on because she can, due to the deal they made, herself and V, and honestly, I don't to expend my energy on this woman. She's wrong. You can tell her that over and over in this chatroom and it will just not dare end. She just won't quit. It's always about what Rika wants and what Rika gets. It's never about anyone else. She is selfish and shallow to the core.

There's no fixing this because she refuses to change. She needs to go down with the Agency and Saejoong, and at this point, V, too. Get the two of them back into counciling while they're in jail because that's the only thing I can see in their future because it sure as hell isn't forgiveness and I won't assume it will be. She can say whatever she wants and lie all day, but we all know Rika, at her core, is deeply saturated in her anger and maladies. She cares not. She is quite literally just doing what she did as Savior but denying that it's the same.

Saeyoung is drugged and out of his mind right now, passed out, and Saeran is desperately trying to stop all of this and all you can think about is your selfish wish to have a decency on a false family you're building. I am hardly listening to this woman. I'm disconnected and literally just letting her prattle until I can tell her she's in the wrong over and over again.

OH BOY. THE VISUAL NOVEL IS A GODDAMN DOOZY. Jumin is speaking to his father and he opens up about what’s on his mind. The talk about Seven and the deal that they made. Chairman Han thought that... Saeyoung was a very good person from speaking to him and that the deal is made because he wanted to repay Jumin without... you know, doing it directly because Jumin would never accept something like that. Saeyoung is a stubborn man and we all know that, it is always sweet to know the lengths that he would go to for his friends that don’t just talk about... 

compassion. 

Little things like this, I don’t know, I have a lot off faith in him and I’m torn for Jumin be cause he’s spiraling. Even his father can see that Jumin is holding his sturdy mask on his face as he’s crumbling inside, and Chairman Han tells him that no matter what happens, he will be able to move on, and he should try to do so with his loss... Jumin’s mother is mentioned, and how he should keep moving from that, and I don’t quite get the context but I’ve heard there’s more on that in his BE but I’ll never know until I bother to look at the spoilers. 

Either way, Jumin starts crumbling and he cannot drink. He knows that he cannot lose his clarity. He’s envious of Saeran, who seems to be fueled by his emotions and ready to act. He wishes that he could do such a thing but it is so foreign to him. He thought he could trust V... Rika... but he can’t. He was stabbed in the back and now it hurts so much that he’s losing it. He wants to fix things but I don’t know if he can fix those relationships given what’s happened and I think he knows that. 

That’s why it hurts so fucking much.

[06:04]

I made an alarm. I’m awake. Saeran made a secure chat to talk to me and I.. I don’t know. I have dread in my heart that I’m heading towards a bad ending right now because of the way that he’s talking. I don’t know... there were CGs and it’s kind of right... right? Saeran won’t say anything because anything can get hacked right now and he won’t risk himself, the others, or us because of a loose text message on the background. What really scares me about this is the fact that he keeps saying over and over that no matter matter—

He will protect our happiness. As in, my happiness, and it feels like it’s written in such a way that he wants to leave... wants to let me be free and that this may be our goodbye soon enough. I don’t want that. I don’t want him to get hurt. I’m just in a state of confusion and hurt over you Saeran. I want our true promise of happiness and I want our return of joy. He vowed every Four Seasons and I want to keep that promise with you and only you, my love. 

He tells me to have faith in him, in our love and that he will do anything he can to protect me. I believe in him. But, I don’t want to lose him. He knows that I want to be free with him. I stated that, but he won’t... he won’t tell me anything and I hate being in the dark while I’m trapped here with Saeyoung. I don’t know if he is trying to be careful to warn me or if this is fate. 

I don’t know.

I just don’t. 

He says that he’s coming... I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t trust Rika, I don’t trust V, I don’t trust anyone in this fucking place and I wish that Saeyoung was awake but he’s still... knocked out, my God. What’s worse is that he shares that he has flight tickets. FLIGHT TICKETS. You know, like the passport merch that you can buy and that I did actually buy but won’t be here for a few weeks cause we all know how shipping works and it’s not going to give me answers right away but I think this has to be the right direction...? 

It does say “the travels you made with Saeran.”

But, he says that we should go with the RFA. 

It doesn’t outright include him when he’s talking to you. I don’t know what to think. Why would we leave the country? How are we fighting? Please, I don’t want you or Saeyoung to live in fear anymore... Saeran, please, do not force me to leave you behind. I know you want me to be happy but please, you need to be happy, too. 

This is bittersweet and hurting me and I can’t think about how this is going to play out right now. I hope they have a plan and I hope that plan is something that won’t involve more separation and sacrifice. 

The visual novel did not ease my heart but I was greeted with a very lovely CG of Saeran so maybe that makes up for it. I think it’s a dream sequence where we get to share a picnic with him... he playfully teases and jests with me about my eating habits and lets me know that he loves hearing my laugh. I ask if this is a dream but... Saeran is like, “Even if this is a dream... it doesn’t matter if it’s a dream. I’m so happy. I wish I could spend more time with you like this... I feel like I’m greedy.”

And I say, “We deserve to be happy.” 

Because I mean it. 

No beating myself up, nor he. We deserve to be happy. 

Saeran’s not helping me in the dream, “Sure, but... if the world does not want us to be happy... I hope we can continue that dream in heaven.” 

NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. Saeran please, even in my dreams, you cannot die and I refuse to die. You wouldn’t want that for me and I wouldn’t want that for you and why do I get the picnic that I wanted and was begging for. Why am I so always right about what could happen, but Cheritz has taken my hopes and used so many of my wishes to be angst or bittersweet and I—

Saeran, you’re not helping! 

DO NOT DIE FOR ME. 

I AM NOT WORTH THAT.

Okay, no, I promised not to depreciate and so did you. Please, let us be happy together, my love. 

[08:51]

Okay, I’m still not okay. Saeran is here and we’re just waiting for him to make it past the agency and the narrative here is trying to warn me that if I’m not careful with what I do, Saeran is going to try to sacrifice himself for me. I don’t know his plan and he says that he’s going to tell me very soon. But, he keeps dodging it and saying that no matter if we are near or apart, our love will never change or stray from what it is. He’s never had more peace inside of his heart as he has come to this realization. He’s clearly conflicted about his past and the more that he thinks about Magenta—

The more it... he knows that it’s trauma. He knows that it’s a wound that will stay with him but. He also knows that he escaped that trauma and found himself, he says that he knows who he wants to be. He doesn’t want to hate anymore or be angry, even though it’s justified. Don’t get me wrong, he’s not saying that he will forgive anyone that hurt him, that’s not the tone. It’s just that he doesn’t want to be fueled by hate. 

This is what he believes is going to really help himself. He knows that he has peace knowing that he was wronged, but he choose to escape and to leave all that behind. He found himself, and he knows who he is now. I’m proud of him for that but I’m scared at the same time that he will suffer to ensure my safety. I do not want that. 

I think what bothers me the most is how Rika feels so entitled to the idea that she can just forget and avoid the past. She’s just so flippant. I don’t want to talk about it. No, ma’am, you don’t get that right. You hurt him. You hurt so many of these people that once thought of you well, and you don’t get the right to pretend you are holy or better. You don’t get to forget. You don’t get to pretend. We have to live with our trauma. 

Why should you get peace? 

Nope. Nu-uh. Not happening. 

However, Saeran notes in the chatroom that she’s... something wrong about Rika. She is frantic and confused, and he isn’t sure what to make of that. She will not talk about anything but her selfish wish that will only hurt all of us the way that she’s acting and the way that V is acting. I don’t really want waste my energy on what’s up with Rika because, we all know how I feel about Rika and she just keeps proving her bullshit to me time and time again. She’s in denial and she’s lost. I don’t really care. 

The visual novel is brief, we get to see him again. V and Rika are back on their bullshit but Saeran is relieved to see we aren’t harmed, Rika asks him to join her so there’s no funny business as she tries to decide when I’m supposed to leave this place now. I don’t know when they’re going to shove me away. I’m surprised they aren’t gonna kill me. That’s a lot easier. 

They leave me with V and V’s on my fucking shit-list right now. I cannot deal with him anymore. He tells me to understand Rika. I won’t. I refuse. He says it’s great that I can leave. He says to rest before I leave. He’s going to look over Saeyoung now. I wanna tell him to fuck off because at this point, he’s proven that I can’t trust him and he’s doing nothing to help. You resigned yourself to this sun, Icarus, you can burn all you want at this point, but you do not have the right to let us burn with you. 

I’m just worried about what Saeran is going to do. I talked to Jaehee on the phone and she said that Saeran kept saying goodbye, over and over, and she hopes that I stick close to him. It’s like he wants to leave behind everything to save us. I don’t know his plan and I don’t... I don’t know what I’m supposed to know right now and I still have two hours before I get to learn his plan, I guess, and I need to know now. 

Also, Jaehee said she’d use Judo to save me if she could. What a woman.

I called Saeran as well, and that was more... unease. I’m proud of him for standing tall against his abuser. He won’t let her sway him anymore and that’s the good thing I take from this call. This shit took me years to learn myself and he’s... figured it out much faster. I’m happy for him. He seems to be better in his spirits about this and he deserves that.

Saeran: I will take care of Rika and V until you’re out of here. I love you. This mission must not fail.

WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MISSION, GOOD SIR. WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MISSION. SIR. I HAVE FUCKING ANXIETY. 

[autumnsnuggling]

Hi! If you could do no. 5 please? 😊💜

Hey Nonnie! Thanks so much for the ask! :D

I didn’t know if you wanted SFW or not, but an idea for SFW jumped into my head so... Here ya go!

5. Who buys the groceries?

WAIT! DON’T ASK THAT QUE— (glasses shatter in the distance as the usual argument starts). Sigh... Too late... 

See Nonnie, I’m sure you didn’t realise, but this is a very, very sensitive subject in the house of Drarry (bickering intensifies)... Let me explain it to you.

Harry is the main cook of the household. It took him a long time to deal with all the bullshit the Dursley’s put him through, but with therapy and support from his friends, he managed, and eventually cooking became a fun activity for him. So, he cooks. Plus, Draco only knows how to make soup, and no matter what the prat says, you cannot live on soup! Shut it, Malfoy! 

However, Harry is quite methodical. Even though he has money to spare and never needs to worry about it, and he’s fairly haphazard when it comes to everything else, when it comes to shopping, he needs to know what he’s getting to make sure he doesn’t miss anything. Seriously, if he stood in front of a Boggart now, it might show him trying to make a lasange with no lasange sheets...

So, he writes a list. And usually, if something isn’t on the list, he doesn’t come home with it. Something has to really catch his eye if it’s going to jump into his trolley, and when there’s another five things to do in the day before he can go back to sleep? He’s not going to be loitering in Tesco ‘just in case there’s a nice treat’.

But, naturally, this is unacceptable to Draco. 

Draco grew up with the finer things. The little treats just because. The luxury of time to peruse. And a complete lack of knowledge as to how many ingredients are actually needed to make meals. So, to Draco, shopping is the act of gathering nice things, not essentials. To return home without the treats is a crime. But, when they first moved in together, Harry didn’t know this yet.

The week they moved in was hectic. Harry and Draco spent most of their time building things, cleaning, and spending all their spare energy on each other, and come the weekend, Harry was completely spent. No matter how essential it was, he just couldn’t face going food shopping. So, being the adoring boyfriend he was, Draco volunteered. 

Harry made the list. He detailed where the shop was. He made sure Draco could use the card. And when Draco had thoroughly insulted him and assured him that he would be absolutely fine, Potter, you nincompoop! he sent Draco merrily on his way. And oh, what a mistake that had been. 

The man brought home half the sweet and bakery aisle, a cabbage, some fruit, a loaf of bread, and a pint of milk. That was it. And according to Draco, there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. 

“We don’t need more food!” Draco had said. “We’ll just order in! Or eat out!”

“We can’t eat out at 11pm when I’ve only just finished a shift, you wanker!” Harry had retorted. “I need the rest of the food to cook before-hand!”

But no matter how hard he tried, Harry couldn’t make the idiot see his side.

The next time he went shopping, he took Draco with him, trying to explain on the way around, and made a point of listing all the ingredients after he made a dish, just to emphasise that the list really was justified. But just as before, Draco didn’t seem phased at all, and no matter how much good food Harry put down in front of him, Draco always reached for the chocolate afterwards. Though, to be fair, Harry really didn’t mind that too much; they really were nice.

Harry learned never to trust Draco after that. He knew the man wouldn’t buy what he wanted, but would call him silly and be stubborn about it. So, Nonnie, the answer is they both do the food shopping. Why? Because that’s the only way to avoid the third wizarding war, that’s why...

Thanks for the ask! Send me a number for a drarry hc!

[nickcifonie]

In 2021, Anyone Can Make $ Playing Video Games!

I grew up playing games like Risk, Monopoly, a little Chess... and still remember buying my first computer somewhere around 1986 solely to play a computer game on. It was an Apple IIc, and that first game was some type of Pirate Adventure. I wish I remembered the name. It wasn’t all that good, but still, I was hooked!

Since that first adventure, I’ve spent thousands of hours as well as dollars playing just about every type of digital game that has followed! PC games, Atari, Wii, mobile games... you name it, I play it! I’d always generalize the cost (to myself at least) thinking “some guys play golf 3 days a week at $100 a round... I play computer games”.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it! However, the story has changed...

“Pay to Play” has become “Play to Earn”!

If you would be to search terms like “crypto games”, “blockchain games”, “make money playing video games”, and others, you’d find some really incredible statements. Today, quotes like the ones below are becoming more and more common!

“I made $400 last week playing a computer game” “I just sold my RPG character for $200 profit”

“I was offered $1k for a skin for my laser rifle of doom” (I made up the “laser rifle of doom” part)

“I bred my pet thingamajig yesterday and sold the baby!” (it’s digital, for those of you wincing)

In 2021, thanks to the blockchain, there’s a growing community of gamers who are making real dollars daily, mining, fighting, shooting, jumping... all while playing the same type of mobile and PC games that you had to PAY to play just a short while ago...

...but let’s start at the beginning.

You paid $172,000 for a what!?

Yes... all the way back in 2018 a CryptoKitty named “Dragon” was sold for an incredible $172,000. (300 ETH) Don’t be too surprised, it’s justified! It’s an adorable digital image, or “NFT” of a cat, after all.

It’s a lot of money, but for NFTs and blockchain gaming, flipping a Kitty today may as well be considered the stone ages. It’s still a record, but while you can still get started collecting these digital felines for as low as a couple of dollars, big-dollar trades still happen daily.

On the flip side of mortgaging your home to buy a digital picture of a CryptoKitty, Bored Ape, or CryptoPunk, you may feel better if you begin your adventure into making crypto (it’s real money, dear!) by playing a video game where you can “make money” instead of spending it.

I’m not saying owning a CryptoKitty or any of a plethora of “Avatar NFTs” we see popping up on various exchanges isn’t one way to do it... I’m saying to me at least, as a life-long gamer I’d much prefer playing a mobile, console, or PC game to collecting pictures in a digital wallet.

So what the heck is an NFT?

I could go into a long explanation... but since this article is about gaming and not cryptocurrency, I’ll tell you an NFT is a “non-fungible token”, and leave you google it if you really want to dig in deep. I do want to share more, so I’ll ‘splain it as simple as I can for you Lucy!

A CryptoKitty, as stated above, is a type of image called an NFT. (the collection is called “CryptoKitties) It’s a digital picture of a cartoon cat. There are thousands of different ones that have different shapes, colors, expressions and traits. (kind of like a real cat, but eats less)

The difference, is only one of each design is actually a legitimate “CryptoKitty”. (or a legitimate whatever type of image it happens to be) To be clearer... each NFT is a “one of a kind”, so if you’re thinking “but can’t I just make a copy?”, nope you can’t.

I mean... you “can” make a copy of it if you really dig the design and want it on your desktop, but it would only be a copy of that particular NFT, not the real McCoy! Ok... so what makes one real, and the rest fakes? The blockchain.

Now, I’m going to be true to my word and keep my promise of not making this an article about crypto or the blockchain, so just know this: the difference between an image that is an actual NFT, and a copy of one, is there is an underlying digital code that designates the real thing.

So real in fact, that artists are creating or importing their paintings and creations to the web as NFTs, numbering them as they would a lithograph, and selling their entire collections. So if you are an art fan, check with your favorite creators... you may be surprised to find all of their “works of art” on an online marketplace!

NFTs are viewed on certain marketplace websites and digital wallets where the copies cannot be displayed, so that is how we know one is real, and the others are not! Having said that, sure, there’s more to it, but just know that there’s a 100% secure way of knowing an image is a real NFT.

In addition, there can be more than one NFT with the same identical image. However, each has a unique underlying code, so even if they look exactly the same, they are not! Look at it like the playing cards or comic books of old... there may be 1,000 created (or “minted” as it’s called in NFT land) but they will each be numbered 1 to 1,000.

And guess which is more valuable.....? I knew you’d get it!

And these NFT’s make money how?

You’re getting warmer! There are a lot of different types of games coming out these days where you can make money playing. There are RPG’s, MOBA’s, Shooters, games in first person and in third, dungeon crawls... you name it!

If you’re thinking “how did I not know this!”, I was the same until recently! I have been gaming almost daily since I stepped into Ultima Online back in 1997, and I can’t even begin to tally how many hours and/or dollars I’ve invested into gaming.

Now, our hobby pays!

After 30-something years, my wife still thinks I’m bonkers... but I got a totally different look from her a few days ago when I told her I sold my game character for well over $200. Legit. I sold two more yesterday, and another this afternoon.

Some of these only cost me $10 or $15, some much more. Some are free. I sold another NFT character last week for $1,950, and it was sold on the game’s website, not on the black market.

So not only can an NFT be a picture of an Ape, Vegetable, Duck, or Stripper on a pole (we’ll leave it at that) but it can be a character in a game, a weapon, a mount, armor, or more.

One game is giving away free pet turtles with each character. For the uneducated on “pets” in computer games, it’s not the kind you keep in a bowl in your bedroom. It’s a companion that fights with you in an online game and may shoot fire from its eyes, heal you, or similar.

Soon after being handed out for free, they’re now selling for around $60 each.

So an NFT can be an image, a video, music, a meme... or even a shirt or shoes! But we’ll leave the NFT clothing explanation to another article. ;)

Remember that rare skin you paid out the nose for a year ago in Apex? Or the L33T character you built up in Fortnite or Warcraft? If you’re no longer playing that game, it’s money under the bridge. And you don’t own the bridge!

In this new breed of blockchain games, you could have LEGALLY sold that character, skin, weapon, land, house, mount, or whatever it was when you tired of the game. For a profit. Maybe for a LARGE profit.

Yes, in the past we were able to find ways to get around the system and dump our pixels from time to time. We’d sell the account on the black market, or cut a deal with someone like a drug dealer on a Chicago Street corner. Then we’d over who went first...

“You give me the account and weapon first!” “No you give me the money first”.  Sometimes the deals even went through. Others well... let’s just say half of the parties walked away happy.

I made good money when after 4 years of daily playing I sold my Ultima Online account for somewhere around $2,000, but I needed to find a trustworthy “go-between” to broker the deal. Even then, I was sweating it!

With today’s crypto games, not only do the games provide the platform to buy, sell, or trade your character and items, but it’s encouraged, and done with good old U.S dollars! I’ve made $ playing 4 or 5 different games already this week, as well as flipping (buying low and selling higher) NFT characters!

How else can I make money playing games?

The way you earn varies from game to game, but each week seems to reveal another new strategy, platform, or idea. Many are new strategies, and while some have “triple A” 3D animation and graphics, others are simpler and use basic one-dimensional graphics for the gameplay.

Some of these games are actually tied to a token on the blockchain. The game developer creates their own token, not too unlike Bitcoin or Ethereum, and it can be bought or sold on the open market as well as used in the game as currency.

Could you imagine if back in League of Legends, Guild Wars or Final Fantasy, when you were ready to move to a new game, you could sell or easily convert your gold to cash? Some of today’s blockchain games encourage it!

Not only can you now buy and sell characters and weapons, the gold in the game can be traded, bought, sold, or saved like real currency, stocks, crypto, or collectables. Never have I been as excited about PC and mobile gaming as I am today!

As an example, I am doing some work for a new game that will launch soon called Pepper Attack. Pepper Attack has its own token or coin... called MYTE. It can be used in the game as currency, but also be traded like Bitcoin. A lot of today’s blockchain games offer this same benefit.

Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to mine I go!

Just by owning an NFT from the game, you can login on a daily basis and click “mine” earning real-value tokens passively. Your Pepper goes to work like one of the 7 Dwarves mining MYTE, and later on you can convert it to other tokens or cold, hard cash.

There's more to do in this particular game as well. Like any good RPG or MMORPG, each pepper has a unique combination or skills like attack, defense, evade, hit points, and more. As an example of the possibilities, if you have a high attack score, other characters will be able to pay you in MYTE to “train” them, raising their score as well.

In addition, these NFTs have unique physical traits, some are common and some are very rare. This game in particular have toons that look more like anime-ish elves with weapons and a stem... I have to admit the artwork is really spicey! (see what I did there?) Other games are of course totally different.

Some people will simply collect these NFTs/characters as an investment, like playing cards or comics. Others will use them in the game, and still others will do both. Either way, they can be held, or sold for a profit!

Unlike the games of the past, when you’re ready to move on you don’t walk away and lose all the $ you have spent for characters, skins, weapons, potions, and other items. When you’re done, you’ll be able to sell your character and items... possibly for a profit... maybe a lot of profit... and move on.

These are not your father’s computer games!

As we move ahead in the genre, we are seeing AAA studios coming out with big-dollar productions, like Blankos, Mist, Illuvium, Ember Sword and others. Some of these games actually let you buy the land you build on!

Did you have your own house in Ultima Online, Star Wars Galaxies, or Archeage? What if you could have used It as a shop and been paid in dollars for your wares, rented it to another player, or sold it for cold hard cash at a huge profit down the road?

In many of today’s games, not only is it common, but extremely hard to come by, and quite expensive. Not only are people paying thousands of dollars for a plot in some of the games that have land, but they’re paying it many months before the game is even released.

They do it, because in many cases they know that they can easily 2X, 10X, or even 50X their investment a short piece down the road. Seriously? Seriously... and the early bird catches the worm!

Other games with lesser budgets are more graphic-based, but have super earnings potential as well, and are just as fun to play. These include Splinterlands, (a card game like Magic!) Crypto Blades, Axie Infinity and more.

Regardless of if the new blockchain game of your choice is a RPG, MOBA, a card game or racing game... the fact that you can put some coin into your pocket playing adds a whole new element. It’s heckafun making money playing a game!

The early nerd catches the worm!

In many cases, if you can catch a game before it releases, the land, characters, weapons, and other items... in most cases all NFTs... can be grabbed at a tiny fraction of the future value.

Of course, always check out the game details and team first, and be confident it’s a good place to put your money. Not all games are made the same.

If you’re lucky enough to find out about and partake in an early sale, for example, like grabbing a character NFT or two in   “Pepper Attack”  before the late September launch date, you may be in for a real treat!

There are plenty of new titles coming down the pipe that look to be fun, have great communities, and offer earning opportunities. A web search will find services and websites that will keep you on your toes and alert you of upcoming blockchain game releases, marketplace opening, and more.

As we look forward, the future of gaming on the blockchain is really, really exciting! Not only are the games getting better and more fun, but they’re getting better at making the economics work more smoothly as well.

The games are not without challenges, as they need to be made to sustain themselves economically over the long haul. In addition, they need to have higher levels of security (thanks blockchain!) and of course, work without becoming “pay to win”. Thankfully, the new breed of developers have risen to the challenge!

The next time you look for a new game to add to your phone or desktop, or just want a change of pace, look to a game that pays to play! Your wallet might thank you.

Another perk, is your husband or wife will appreciate it as well! Instead of hearing “are you going to play that stupid game all night again?”, you may start to hear things like “I’ll put the kids to bed tonight sweetheart, so you can get online and play”.

One can only hope...

Author - Nick Cifonie

Nick is a lifelong gamer, who cut his teeth at the local Chicago arcade playing Tetris as a teen. Better known as Znick or Deacon Z, Nick became a Game Master in Ultima Online in 1997, ran a large multi-game guild for 15 years, and now spends his time in the “play to earn” arena. Professionally, Nick is a writer and 4-decade marketer working with the  Pepper Attack team, as well as others. Nick is also a Catholic Deacon.

[arcticdementor]

On June 24, amid great cultural upheaval and unrest, Glenn Yu reached out to Glenn Loury, his former teacher, to record his thoughts about the current moment. An edited version of their conversation follows.

…

You may or may not have an opinion about that, but suppose the question were to arise in the dorm room late at night. Suppose you have the view that you’re not sure it’s racism, and then someone challenges you, saying, “you’re not black.” They say, “you’ve never been rousted by the police. You don’t know what it’s like to live in fear.” How much authority should that identitarian move have on our search for the truth? How much weight should my declarations in such an argument carry, based on my blackness? What is blackness? What do we mean? Do we mean that his skin is brown? Or do we mean that he’s had a certain set of social-class-based experiences like growing up in a housing project? Well, white people can grow up in housing projects, too. There are lots of different life experiences.

I think it’s extremely dangerous that people accept without criticism this argumentative-authority move when it’s played. It’s ad hominem. We’re supposed to impute authority to people because of their racial identity? I want you to think about that for a minute. Were you to flip the script on that, you might see the problem. What experiences are black people unable to appreciate by virtue of their blackness? If they have so much insight, maybe they also have blind spots. Maybe a black person could never understand something because they’re so full of rage about being black. Think about how awful it would be to make that move in an argument.

Suppose someone, a white guy, is arguing about affirmative action with you. Suppose he thinks that affirmative action is undignified because he thinks that positions should be earned, not given, but he allows that he doesn’t expect someone like you to understand that argument because you’re black. That would be terribly unreasonable— even “racist.” Yet I’m hard-pressed to see the difference.

…

People cry, “structural racism.” Is that why the homicide rate is an order of magnitude higher among young black men? They say structural racism. Is that why the SAT test-score gap is as big as it is? They say structural racism. Is that why two in three black American kids are born to women without a husband? Is it all about structural racism? Is everything structural racism? It has become a tautology explaining everything. All racial disparities are due to structural racism, evidently. Covid-19 comes along and there’s a disparity in the health incidence. It’s due to structural racism. They’re naming partners at a New York City law firm and there are few black faces. Structural racism. They’re admitting people to specialized exam schools in New York City and the Asians do better. This has to be structural racism, with a twist—the twist being that this time, the structural racism somehow comes out favoring the Asians.

This is not social science. This is propaganda. It’s religion. People are trying to win arguments by using words as if they were weapons.

…

And just so I don’t sound like a right-winger, observe that if I were a Marxist, I’d be furious at these people going around talking about “structural racism.” Structure, yes. Racism, no. Because if I were a Marxist, which I’m not, I’d understand the driving force of history to be the interaction between class relations and the means of production, the struggle between workers and capital in the quest for profit given the logic of capitalism. Though I don’t subscribe to it, that’s at least an intellectually serious theory. I know what people are talking about when they say we need more unions, when they say we need to break up big companies, when they say that the accumulation of wealth has gotten too great. When someone says that the logic of profit-seeking leads to war, at least I know what they’re talking about. I don’t necessarily have to agree with Das Kapital to understand that it’s a serious engagement with history.

Structural racism, by contrast, is a bluff. It’s not an engagement with history. It’s a bullying tactic. In effect, it’s telling you to shut up.

…

Yu: I’ve had conversations in the past few weeks that have ended very poorly; conversations that have spiraled out of control, where I’m suddenly a racist, so I’m on damage control. I just don’t know how to reach people in a meaningful way, and that’s very disturbing to me.

Loury: It is disturbing. I’m not a seer. My mouth is not a prayer book. I only say what I say based on my subjective assessment of it all. But it may be that, for a while anyway, there’s not going to be a whole lot of effective talking. It may well be that we have to imagine a world where effective deliberation and consensus is not within reach for us, and we’re going to have to manage that situation. It could get very bad. It could go to violence. This is what Sam Harris always says, and he’s got a point. He says that if we can’t reason together, then the only alternative for dispute resolution is violence.

I don’t know if you saw my piece in Quillette about the looting and the rioting, but I pick up these pieces published in the New York Times, respectable left-wing journals. I’m reading them, and the writer is saying, “America was founded on looting. What did you think the Boston Tea Party was?” Or, “You’re talking about looting when George Floyd lies dead? Oh, I see, black lives don’t matter as much as property.” These are, to my mind, incomprehensibly idiotic. I don’t mean that to cast aspersions. The civilization that we all enjoy rests upon a very fragile foundation. Look. I’m in my backyard. It’s very nice. I’ve got a lot of space. There’s a fence. The birds come. I have a lawn. It’s mine!

Now, if a homeless person comes and squats in my backyard, I call the police. I have him removed, forcibly. There should be no lack of clarity about whether George Floyd’s death somehow excuses or justifies burning a bodega to the ground that a Muslim immigrant spends his whole life building. Being confused about that, equivocating about that, splitting the difference about that—I don’t understand how we’re going to have a reasoned discussion. My thoughts go back to, protect civilization. Again, I know how that sounds. It’s hyperbolic. It’s exaggerated—but only a little! My gut response is that this is not the time for argument. This is the time to protect civilization and protect institutions. When people start toppling statues of Abraham Lincoln and spray-painting on statues of George Washington, “a slave owner,” things fall apart. The center cannot hold. We teeter on the brink of catastrophe.

…

Yu: If there’s no available policy intervention, and there’s also no way we can change people’s minds, then is it hopeless? Is disparity always going to be the case?

Loury: Yes. My answer is it’s hopeless. But let me rephrase the question, and I’m channeling Thomas Sowell now. You have two alternatives. You can live with disparities, or you can live in totalitarianism. Again, hyperbolic, I know. No, I’m not talking about Eastern Europe circa 1960, but look at it this way: there can’t be a disparity without somebody being on top. People don’t recognize this.

What groups are on top? What about the Jews? You could say, “There are too many Jews in positions of influence.” If there are too few black lawyers who are partners in big law firms, doesn’t it follow that are too many Jews who are partners at these big firms? If there are too few blacks who are professors of mechanical engineering at places like Carnegie Mellon, why aren’t there too many Korean professors at these places?

…

What is the nature of the world that we live in? Why would I ever expect that there would be parity across the board between ethnic, racial, cultural, and ancestral population groups in an open society? It’s a contradiction because difference is a very fact of groupness. What do I mean by a group? Well, it’s genes, to some degree; it’s culture; it’s networks of social affiliation, of intermarriage and kinship. I mean the shared narrative, the same hopes, the dreams, the stories. I mean the practices of parenting and filial piety and whatever else there might be.

A group is a group. It has characteristics. Those characteristics matter for whether you play in the NBA. They matter for whether you learn to master the violin or the piano. They matter for whether you pursue technical subjects or choose to become a humanist or a scientist. They matter for the food that you eat. They matter for how many children you raise and how you raise them. They matter as to the age when you first have sex. They matter for all those things, and I think everyone would agree with that.

But now you’re telling me that they don’t matter for who becomes a partner in a law firm? They don’t matter for who becomes a chair in the Philosophy Department somewhere? Groupness implies disparity because groupness, if taken seriously, implies differences in ways of living life. Not everybody wants to play the fiddle. Not everybody wants to dunk a basketball. Not everybody is frightened to death that their parents are going to be disappointed with them if they come home with an A-minus. Not everybody is susceptible to being swayed into a social affiliation that requires them to commit a violent crime in order to prove their bona fides. Groups differ. Groups are not evenly distributed across society. That’s inevitable. If you insist that those be flattened, you’re only going to be able to succeed by imposing a totalitarian regime that monitors everything and jiggers everything, recomputing and refiguring things until we’ve got the same number of blacks in proportion to their population and the same number of second-generation Vietnamese immigrants in proportion to their population being admitted to Caltech or the Bronx High School of Science. I don’t want to live in that world.