#six others was overcrowding

[yandere-romanticaa]

Darkness loomed over Penacony as you ran barefoot across the dimly lit streets, the drunk passerbys oblivious to your rushed footsteps and heaving chest.

It has been six months since you felt the cool fresh air on your own. Six long, hellish months of bizarre captivity that made your head spin. Boothill was the personification of a locked and loaded gun, constantly on the chase for his next IPC lackey to shoot, or if he was in the mood he would hop on a totally different planet which no one knew about, which naturally only made him want to go even more.

The pain of trying to keep up with him was horrid. Rancid even. Scrapes and bruises, hell, even broken bones became a mild concern once you started to see the plethora of wanted posters which had your face plastered over them.

Solid bounty to boot.

Whenever you would bring up these concerns, Boothill would let out the most hearty laugh, his head thrown back so hard that his hat would come off. He would then proceed to smack you across your back, proudly saying that it was his own personal little way of claiming you.

No person with any common sense would dare come for you.

He would just shoot them dead on the spot.

"That's not a threat pumkin'!" he would say as he casually drank his drink, the alcohol swishing and swaying in the pristine crystal glass. He drank it all in one swoop before setting it back down on the counter, his gaze laser focused on you.

"It's a promise."

From the corner of your eye, you could see the way his hand was resting on the holster of his gun and came to the wise realization that you believed him.

Through trial and error, you have come to terms with the fact that Boothill will keep his promises, particularly if they were related to you.

Running away from him in the overcrowded bar was... was most definitely not the brightest idea but it had worked. It was indeed still working, even with your aching feet and burning lungs. Your entire body begged you to just stop and take a breath, but that option was impossible, because you knew all too well what was in store for you.

As if on cue, you heard him before you saw him.

Endless echoes of shouts, yelps and strings of curses followed you as you continued to flee from him. Boothill pushed, shoved and kicked absolutely every single person onto the ground if they dared to stand in his way, not giving a flying fuck - oh how satisfying it was to curse in front of him since you knew that he could not - any of them were hurt.

"Come back!" he yelled, his voice heavy and hoarse.

You did not turn around, such a luxury was not possible. Against your body's wishes, you ran.

He pursued.

A chorus of shots rang in the air, all of which were too close for comfort. None of the bullets were meant for you as the Galaxy Ranger was being pursued by the Bloodhound family, each one barking orders and insults at each other as they did everything they could to keep your so called lover in check.

As if Xipe themself had acknowledged your efforts, you spotted a tiny alleyway which was perfect to hide in. Boothill had lost his momentum due to his own pursuers, giving you precious seconds to decide on your next course of action.

And with the way you could feel your feet physically give into the pressure, you made your way into the pitch dark alleyway, carefully tip toeing around any possible source of sound. With a sigh you sat behind a large dumpster, the ultimate coverage in this time of need.

A faint glimmer of hope formed in your heart. It was hard to focus on anything other than the fact that you were free from his grasp. You'd much rather take in the stench of trash than his robotic arms, the memory alone making you shiver.

Behind the safety of your dumpster, the streets sounded like a mini warzone.

How typical of him. Being subtle was never his style.

Everything he did, Boothill did to be the biggest menace and pest known to society. He would tell you stories of his escapades as his eyes trailed over your whole body like a starving wolf, his sharp pearly white teeth almost looking like knives in your eyes.

Oh how he loved to sink his teeth into your neck. The noises you let out only seemed to spur him, giving him more motivation to mar your skin. Even now the traces were there, nasty and crude. Tracing a few fingers around your throat, you felt the raging pulse point becoming heavier and heavier, as if it was getting ready to pop and burst right in this dingy alley.

If it were not for the sounds of gunfire, you would have believed that your own heart was going to betray you. There was no way that no one was hearing this, the sheer intensity so strong and dizzying. Hot white pain seeped into your lungs and quickly made its way into your veins, chaining you onto the ground.

That's easy prey, you suddenly heard his voice in your head.

The second they're too scared to move, well I'll be fudged, that's when you shoot pumpkin'.

And you had quietly agreed with him on that summer eve. You could still recall how he hid you both beneath some bushes as he went to scavenge some food for you, showing you some tips and tricks along the way. You could recall the way the thorny bushes had wounded you, pricking the soft flesh of your arms, fresh droplets of blood coating the mostly dry ground.

It hasn't rained in ages on that planet, if you recall correctly.

Rain. What you would give for the fresh scent of the rain. The harsh droplets would mask the yelling, the roaring thunder could perhaps comfort you in some odd way.

And just like that, you wish had come true.

A single piece of evening dew feel on your cheek, the liquid oddly warmer than it ought to be.

You could not be bothered to care.

Closing your eyes, you decided to bask in the first moments of glorious freedom you had managed to steal for yourself.

Boothill had taught you well, ironically enough.

There would be no more yelling, no more loud gun fights, no more long distance traveling. No more needy Galaxy Ranger who wanted you to pay constant attention to him 24/7. You already knew where you wanted to settle somewhere, a quiet and quaint place, a place oozing with peace and serenity.

Much like this dumpster, but a lot more pleasing to the senses.

The streets were quiet and the only sound that could be heard was the music in the distance, a sound so hauntingly pleasant that it made you feel -

Quiet.

Why had it gone quiet?

Like a phantom he emerged from the shadows, his all too familiar silhouette taking over the entire alleyway. His footsteps were slow, methodic. Well calculated.

And like a true phantom, he never left you alone.

His presence was dark and imposing, testing out the waters to see whether or not you were going to come out on your own or if he had to get his hands dirty.

However, he did not give you the luxury of thinking.

"Found ya." he said through gritted teeth, his red eyes gleaming like stars in the night.

Stars you would have a hard time looking the same ever again.

[void-pitcher]

crowley being alone while creating the stars while needing a second person to kickstart them & muriel having a desk alone in heaven and getting vistors only once every few centuries & aziraphale being put on earth for six thousand years with no other angel in sight & hell being constantly overcrowded to the point where just getting through the crowd is the first torture method they use on humans & furfur and shax wanting a promotion just so they can have a chance to not have to constantly be crowded & demons showing up on earth so often that theres even a group teleporter thats used enough to get broken all r just living rent free in my head at all times

[munsonkitten]

It starts small.

Steve buys Eddie a handful of cassettes after the whole Upside Down business. Drops them unceremoniously in Eddie’s lap while Eddie’s laid up in the hospital. Eddie pulls them all out of the plastic bag and lays them out in his lap while Steve stands a few feet away, arms crossed protectively over his torn up middle.

“I got things on your vest,” Steve says as Eddie takes in the titles. “I figured everything in your room’s probably gone now, but I still have your vest, and I’ll — I’ll give it back. When you get out of here. It’s safe in my room. But, just — yeah, the tapes are things you have on it.”

Dio’s The Last in Line, Motorhead’s Ace of Spades, Metallica’s Ride the Lightning, Judas Priest’s Screaming for Vengeance, and WASP’s self-titled album.

“I almost bought you more, but I wasn’t sure what else, and I don’t know much about your music, so I just got those. I was going to bring you my Walkman, but I couldn’t find it,” Steve says. “I think one of the kids borrowed it and never gave it back, actually.”

Eddie still hasn’t said anything yet. He’s still taking in the gift in his lap, can’t even comprehend that Steve wanted to give him more.

“Uh,” Eddie says, trying to get his brain working again. “Yeah. Man. Fuck, dude. Thanks. Seriously. Don’t worry about the Walkman, really. This is nice, Harrington.”

“Yeah, no problem, Munson,” Steve says softly. He goes and sits in one of the chairs in Eddie’s hospital room, and stays there until the kids come running from Max’s overcrowded room to ask for a ride home.

Eddie lays there with his tapes spread out over his lap, and he finds himself smiling down at them. He doesn’t even have anything to listen to them on, but he thinks it might be the most thoughtful gift he’s ever gotten from anyone other than Wayne.

It’s nice, he thinks, that he might be becoming friends with Steve Harrington. It’s nice, he thinks, that even when they’re no longer fighting for their lives, Steve might want to stick around.

He didn’t expect that.

Eddie’s in the hospital for two weeks, and Steve stops by almost every day. He sits for a while, sometimes they talk, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes Eddie wakes up and sees Steve sleeping in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs. He doesn’t wake him, just smiles to himself because Steve’s tired, but he doesn’t want Eddie to be alone.

It’s been a while since Eddie’s had a friend the same age as him. Jeff and Grant are both two years younger than him, Gareth is four years, and Henderson, Wheeler, and Sinclair are all five or six years younger. He has friends, but Steve feels different, just a few months younger but already graduated. In a way, it makes Eddie feel younger, still being in high school and all.

He doesn’t really think that should matter, but it kind of does. All his younger friends look up to him, he’s always the one making plans and making sure everyone sticks to them, he’s the one in charge of it all — the older one. But when Steve’s around — Steve, with his real job, and high school diploma, and his nice car, and the brood of children he chases after, Steve, who’s an adult in all the ways Eddie himself feels like he’s not — Eddie feels like he can sit back and let someone else do all of that.

When Steve’s around, it feels like he has someone to care for him and look out for him the way he’s done for the others.

It starts to ease everything he’s carried for so long.

* * *

The next time Steve buys something for Eddie, it’s even smaller.

In fact, it’s so small that Eddie doesn’t even notice it at first because Steve was actually really sneaky about it. Eddie would almost find it cute, if he were allowed to think about Steve that way. He’s not, to be clear. It goes against his Munson Doctrine to have crushes on the jocks, rich kids, and straight boys, of which Steve is all three, but if he wasn’t, then yeah, Eddie would find it cute that Steve is sneaking him tiny gifts when he isn’t looking.

There’s a keychain on his van keys that he certainly didn’t get for himself. He notices it one day during a get together at Harrington’s house. Eddie just got out of the hospital a few days ago, and everyone insisted on throwing a party. Now kids are running around Steve’s backyard, yelling and hollering and trying not to fall in the freezing cold pool. It’s still too early in the spring to swim.

Even Max, barely out of the hospital herself, is being wheeled around in her wheelchair by nothing more than El’s mind powers.

It’s kind of fucking insane, to be honest.

But Eddie needs to go out to his car to get his pain meds because he’s really starting to feel the length of the day in his aching joints and healing wounds, so he grabs his keys off Steve’s counter where he left them, and that’s when he sees it.

A tiny metal bat dangling from his keys.

He knows it was Steve because Steve was the only one in the house when he got here and set his stuff down in the kitchen, and no one else has gone inside since Eddie found his way to the backyard, so of course it was Steve.

Eddie doesn’t mention it, just smiles to himself and runs his fingers over the pointed wings.

He sees Steve looking at him when he comes back into the kitchen. Eddie raises his hand and shakes his pill bottle at him, and without another word, Steve goes to the cupboard to get a glass that he fills with water.

Eddie sets his keys back down on the kitchen counter as Steve slides the glass of water over to him. Steve nods at the keys, and Eddie grins at him.

“Thank you,” Eddie says.

“I have a matching one,” Steve says, turning back toward the sink to look out the window above it. “Just, you know, because…”

He gestures at his torso, and then over at Eddie, and Eddie nods. He gets it.

It makes him feel a little bit closer to Steve. Even if Eddie isn’t allowed to crush on him, he’s happy to have someone who gets him. Who understands what he went through, and feels similar pain.

It’s like Steve’s saying You’re with me now, we’re connected, and you’re not getting rid of me.

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[allthecanadianpolitics]

The building may look like it’s made solely of concrete and wood, but it’s woven together with intention and gratitude. Nestled between the Squamish River and the towering Coast Mountains range in the Lower Mainland, Esḵéḵxwi7ch tl’a Sp’áḵw’us Place is a 27-unit development that provides housing exclusively for vulnerable Sḵwx̱wú7mesh residents on the nation’s territory. On the side of the building are four blue diamonds, stacked on top of each other in delicate balance as though holding each other in place. It’s a feature that Rory Richards, CEO of NUQO Modular, a female-led, Indigenous-owned company that designed the building in tandem with the Squamish Nation, says is supposed to remind endangered residents — women, children and Elders at risk of experiencing homelessness — that they are never alone. “We wanted the building to be wrapped in protection, comfort and ancestor love,” Richards said. “It’s being heralded as the future of Indigenous housing: culturally informed, culturally proud housing.” Many First Nations communities — who are already 23 times more likely to experience homelessness than non-Indigenous folks — struggle to find adequate housing, let alone homes that reflect their history. A 2023 study by the Assembly of First Nations and Indigenous Services Canada found that $135 billion is needed to close the housing gap disadvantaging First Nations communities by 2030. More than one in six Indigenous people live in overcrowded housing, according to Statistics Canada.

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Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

[writingmeraki]

hot & cold I

READ PART TWO HERE !

a min ho mini series !

summary : Feeling the warm butterflies in your stomach as well as the cold sinking feeling in your heart wasn't the best especially just because of one person nonetheless you think it was worse because that person was none other than the guy you apparently hated with your entire existence.

( or you long crossed the blurry lines of love and hate when it came to Minho and were both just idiotic enough to not realise that until you had to force it out of yourself because of your stupidity.)

genre : angst, fluff, comfort !

pairing : minho x fem!reader, e2l, idiots to lovers.

warnings : mentions of alcohol and underage drinking, kissing and making out, cussing. both being dumb and too high on their ego. kinda blame it on Minho in this one I fear 😨

author's note : and as my obsession goes crazy, I knew I had to write a miniseries on Minho. I honestly have no idea how long it can be this time, it'll mostly depend on your feedback but also how long I make this but expect 2-3 parts more ?? this was written out of nowhere tbh because I had a really different idea for this. anyways enjoy and let me know what you think ! <3 ( not proofread as usual, we die like real men 😀)

based on this request !

word count : 4.3k

"Maybe you should put that down now."

Kitty said, observing the way you tipped down the cocktail, be it a secret yet not secret alcoholic one.

You winced and shook your head as you smashed the glass down after, Kitty having to shoot an apologetic look to the temporary bartender, who wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else but a party of drunk and horny teenagers sneaking in alcohol and downing it as though they were going through all stages of grief at the moment or in moments of classical teenage stupidity.

"Oh- KAY! I think that's more than enough." She pulled your hands away from the other cocktail that was served up,despite this one now being the only non-alcoholic, she felt it was getting a lot and you whined at her, she narrowed her eyes at you.

"Y/N, you've had more than enough."

"Noooo, I'm fine I can handle ittt." Your words slurred and she gave you a blank stare, holding up two fingers, she asked

"Okay then, how many fingers I am holding up?"

You narrowed your eyes, trying to think hard and giggled as you spoke

"Kitty, Katty since when did you have six fingers?" A drunken smile sat on your face as you leaned forward pointing your finger to count the 'six' fingers.

You vision was blurry but you were still able to make out the outline of what was in front of you.

Kitty rolled her eyes and sighed softly "How much did you even have?"

You put up both your hands, all fingers up and her eyes widened almost comically, it only made you giggle at her expressions,

"TEN? please tell me TEN sips!"

"Nooo silly, of course not…it was just three glasses with that sercret ingredient." You whispered to her as you leaned in closer as though you were telling a top secret and in a way it was, your lips were turned upwards, dimples lightly peaking.

"Alright, we have to get you back to the dorms then! Let me call Q and Florian, then we'll go okay? You stay here. Don't move Y/N!" She pointed at you, her words strict but you couldn't think about anything other than how pretty she seemed at the moment, so without much thought you blurted out,

"You look so pretty, Kit, you really do." Your eyes were half closed but you could see her wearing a tight black dress, her hair done down and straight, her black heels only making her figure look leaner.

Kitty, despite knowing you were drunk, couldn't help but laugh at your words, she shook her head and told you one last time before disappearing to find Q and Florian as soon as she could.

Looking up, the ceiling was multicolored, flashes of blue and green danced across it and you looked in awe as if it was a piece of art.

You looked around you, noticing the way the entire place seemed to be overcrowded but people were having fun, either getting shit drunk or dancing as if it was their last time.

Welcome to your life

There's no turning back

Even while we sleep

We will find you

You smiled when you heard the familiar tune and lyrics, having hearing it from your roommate and also ended up falling in love with it, the beat was slightly altered to make it more party pop but it only made it more better.

Standing up and stumbling slightly as you made your way to the dance floor, the world looking like it was moving fast as you also moved your body along to the crowd.

You felt as though you'd been hit so hard when you ended up colliding harshly into the person and you braced yourself for the fall, feeling as if you're flying high to come crashing hard into the ground.

Acting on your best behaviour

Turn your back on mother nature

Everybody wants to rule the world

And as cliche as it could get, you didn't feel the crash instead a stronger grip on your waist pulled you back up as the side face instead hit something soft yet firm.

You looked up and you felt the same awe when you saw the multicolored ceiling as though it was a piece of art, maybe even more, as your eyes scanned his face.

It's my own design

It's my own remorse

Help me to decide

Help me make the most

Colours shone on his face, highlighting his sharp jawline that you felt yourself get lost in, you continued to scan the bridge of his nose and his cupid's bow. You looked into his eyes and only felt your haziness increase as you felt the tug in your heart. They seemed to drink you in as you did him, and your gaze turned to the way one corner of his lips turned upwards.

The arm around your waist felt warmer than it should and you definitely felt the heat on your face, your entire body even. Your knees felt more weaker as you prayed your legs didn't give up on you, and with this the grip on your waist only got tighter.

Minho looked down at you, his gaze never leaving your face as he held you up. Staring at your lips for a little longer than he should have. The fact that he felt as if there were sparks of electricity running through just by the waist around your arm and most of your body weight on his, made him only want more. More than he should be wanting.

And again, letting your intrusive thoughts take the wheel of your actions, you lifted up one hand and brushed it along his jawline.

"Ouch…paper cut." Giggling at your ridiculous joke, you rested your head on his shoulder now, moving your arms around his broad shoulders.

Naturally, his own arms now fully wrapped around your waist and if someone, which more than a few heads turned, saw you in this position, it'd look more intimate than it should. Considering how far down you both go.

Minho smiled unknowingly, the sound of your giggles always making his heart race more than it should.

"I know you're clumsy as fuck, but I didn't think you'd fall for me this soon, I guess it would happen soon anyways considering how intelligent and good looking I am."

Your eyes moved to look up into his, noticing his lips pulled into a smirk that really only did more things unbeknownst to you,and you narrowed them before slurring out,

"You sound exactly like Minho, I actually thought it was almost you." You continued mumbling,

"But I know it's definitely not him, considering he was already busy with that…Madison." You rolled your eyes, slowly shutting them and you pushed your head back down onto his shoulders and moved closer to the crook of his neck, craving the warmth he radiated.

"Plus I'm sure he'd let me fall face first on the ground if I fell on him the way I just did." You mumbled into his neck, he felt himself control the shiver that run down his spine when your lips touched his neck as you mumbled.

Frowning, he spoke up, wanting to defend himself even if it seemed pointless,

"No, he wouldn't." He said firmly and you looked up at him as you thought of his words,

"Considering how we are, I don't think I'm wrong to assume he'd do that." Even though you were drunk, you spoke the words more smoothly as if it was a whole truth.

"Besides I don't even care what he does, he can go kiss that…that girl for all I care, no I definitely don't care if he does this with her, if he looks at her like that way."

Minho's expression turned down, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips pulled into a frown,

"What way?" He asked softly as he could see your eyes tearing up and you gulped sadly and you put on a dejected smile,

"How I wish, I wish he'd look at me, for once." You said more gently, whispering letting your vulnerable feelings speak up.

He only felt his heart sinking the more he took in the sadness and vulnerability showing on your face, he felt his guilt double than it had before as he recalled why he'd even been making out with Madison in the first place.

He'd felt his entire focus zone in on the person who'd just walk in the place.

Even as much as he seemed to hate your mere presence, his eyes always seemed to drift towards you much to his annoyance.

His gaze felt heavy as it dragged from the shoes you'd worn to the hairstyle you'd done. Your outfit consisted of a maroon tight dress that had ended just below your knees, a teasing slit running just a little further up your left side, just enough to make someone want to see more.

Your lips were a similar shade of maroon as you smiled, depths forming on your cheeks that tugged at his heart, your hair done down and resting just below your shoulders.

You looked…you looked better than he could even describe.

Beautiful would be a word, but he thinks it underwhelms you.

Kitty was beside you in her black dress and her hair done down but his eyes couldn't stop drinking you in as if it was not enough for him.

He wanted something he shouldn't. He shouldn't be thinking about you right now the way he is.

He forced himself to look away, searching for someone else in the crowd.

He looked better than he should and you hated the way your eyes moved to the dip between his throat and shirt.

Gosh that's such an ugly fucking colour you thought yet you felt fainter as your eyes scanned the way his hair was parted, something you knew only he could pull off. Some loose strands sat on his forehead and you hated the way you felt your legs almost give up in these tight heels as you took in the way the blazer fit his broad shoulders.

Fuck he looked good.

You looked at him, observing him scanning the crowd as he disappeared away.

"Let's get this party started!" Kitty said excitedly to which you lightly laughed,

"Kitty it's already started, we are already like forty minutes late because of a certain someone but sure! Love the enthusiasm! Woo!" You chuckled as you saw her excitement bubble down and then laughing along with you.

"Let's go then girls! The best place at a party, the bar!" Q threw his arms around both your shoulders as he sloshed himself between you, now pulling you towards the bar.

The bartender served up five mocktails which you thought were too beautiful looking to be drank but you raised a toast,

"Here's to meeting new people and ending our bitchless eras!" You toasted as you giggled which was followed by the rest clinking their respective glasses onto yours as you took a sip.

"Guys,I have something." Florian spoke as he pulled a flask from his blazer and your eyes widened at the sight, knowing what it was.

"Oh My God! No way… now you're the real one for this." You said as he winked at you and opened the flask, the smell already indicating what it was as he poured in a bit into yours and his.

"Ohh me too! Me too!" Kitty said as she pushed her glass towards him and he poured in hers as well.

"The last for the best." Florian spoke as he poured it in Q's drink which made him look away and you smirked as you saw him almost blush.

"Now this is a real toast." You finally clinked your drinks for the last time, now taking in a sip, wincing yet loving the bitter taste that contrasted well with the sweetness of the cocktail.

"By the way, Y/N, I don't think you're ever going to be able to meet new people." Kitty spoke which made you turn to her in confusion.

"I mean come on, you won't be able to meet new people because you already are into someone." She continued and now looked towards Q, him nodding in agreement as you still looked in confusion.

"Oh please, don't look like a lost puppy now, we all saw the way you basically bore your eyes into Min ho as soon as you saw him like a hungry vulture or something." Q said which made Florian chuckle and you only glared at his words as though looks could kill.

"You don't plan a murder out loud now do you?" You defended yourself as Kitty rolled her eyes,

"More like you'd kill anyone who'd dare even hurt a fraction of his hair." Kitty said to which now both Florian and Q nodded, feeling betrayal as you looked at Florian, thinking he'd been on your side to which he only raised his hands in his defense.

"Look, Y/N, maybe you don't see it, but you definitely go past the so called hate line you both have." He said as he knew you surely felt more for him than the passive aggressive persona you showed when he was around.

"After all they do say the lines between love and hate tend to blur." Kitty said as she took a sip of her drink and you only scoffed, ready to reply saying you knew where you stood and you were gladly under the hate side, despising Min ho because of his unbearable personality that would make you so mad.

So mad you'd want to punch his pretty face at times.

"Uh oh." Q said suddenly as his eyes caught a sight that he wished wouldn't have but they quickly widened when he realised you were literally right next to him and probably heard him.

Naturally your eyes moved to where he was looking, and oh how you wished you also didn't see what you just saw but for completely different reasons that you couldn't put a finger on at the time being.

Minho stood next to Madison as he whispered something into her ears, which made her laugh, you saw the way his arm was wrapped around her waist, hiding her close to him.

You felt like throwing up as your stomach recoil and churn, moving your eyes, not wanting to think more of this than you should. But it seemed as though it was impossible as the image replayed in your mind.

You felt the tension in the air when your face twisted bitterly, noticing your friends also tensing up and felt guilty for suddenly changing the cheerful mood.

"Guys come one now, I don't care, now go and have fun!" You reassured them as they looked at you skeptically.

"Listen, he can go and fuck around with whoever he wants, I really don't care. We shouldn't let this ruin our moods. Now go." You bit on your tongue as put on a tight smile, no usual dimples peaking, a sign it was fake.

Hearing the firmer tone at the end, Q and Florian nodded as they held hands "Okay then, find us when you need us okay?"

Q said as you just mindlessly nodded and they also moved into the flow of the crowd.

Kitty still looked at you skeptically but you just smiled at her, now a genuine one telling her to go on and finish her agenda of meeting new people.

At least one of you seemed ready to move on.

"Thank you." You heard a voice suddenly speak up from beside you as you sat nursing the cocktail in your hands, it's coolness relieving the warmth your body felt.

"Oh someone with manners, I like that." You said putting down your drink, deciding that if he can fuck around when he wants, who were you to not as well.

The guy next to you turns towards you, him taking in your figure, a smirk forming on his face as he realised who you were.

"I'm Geon." He said to which you smiled.

"Y/N." You spoke up to which he chuckled which made you a bit confused,

"Oh I know." You raised an eyebrow at his words,

"It's an honor to have the hottest girl here talking to me." He said with a grin as you then lifted your drink to take another sip, after which you giggled at his words, even though you didn't think you would have even been phased if it weren't for the alcohol now slowly flowing in your system.

"Oh yeah? Tell me more." You leaned in closer to him with a smug smile, biting your lip lightly to which you think again, this probably wouldn't be happening right now if it weren't for the liquid courage or your mess of an emotional baggage.

This whole spectacle was being seen by someone who'd otherwise think you were both already together. He rolled his eyes, looking away as he clicked his tongue, folding his arms and a scowl of both disgust and jealousy forming on his face.

Of course.

He thought looking back at the pair of Geon and you.

"I think she's better than all the other girls, even Yuri, people say she's the prettiest but don't realize that they are wrong. And Kitty next to you looks so underwhelming but both of them are nothing but plain next to you."

And despite you starting to feel more tipsy, you controlled the urge to just flip him off.

Instead you leaned in closer, raising one hand and cupping his face, bringing your face near his ear, as though you'd whisper about how he was definitely right, a light smile forming on his face.

That's what he thought at least.

Chuckling lowly, you whispered sweetly,

"You know sweety, what type of men I absolutely despise?"

You briefly made eye contact with him when he looked down at you from the corner of his eye.

"The ones who bring women down in hopes of getting into my pants and thinking that will actually work."

You trailed your hand down his neck, fingers lightly touching, he gulped as he shivered under your touch, the grin forming on his face long gone when he heard the venom lacing your tone.

"Let alone the fact that they are my best friends, and trust me, if I wanted to I'd punch the shit out of you right now but,listen to me carefully."

You rested your hand on his collarbone,

"No girl is meant for your judging pleasure especially not for undeserving dickheads like you and if you dare talk to me again, trust me, I can do much worse than you can think."

You leaned back and patted his chest, grinning widely, but your eyes said a completely different story.

"Now. Fuck off."

And fuck off he did as he swallowed nervously, turning around and moving into the crazy crowd,mumbling something under his breath, you not really caring to pay attention to his words as you sighed out, rubbing your forehead with your fingers.

Men are nothing but disappointment, what did I even expect ?

"Hey guess what!- what happened to you?" Kitty said as she suddenly appeared from your right side making you surprised but you smiled at her reassuringly, not wanting her to know what that jerk said for obvious reasons.

"Oh it's nothing, it's getting noisy that's all." Kitty didn't seem convinced at all because she did spot you talking to Geon, not wanting to interrupt when he saw you whispering something to him,

Huh so she really was serious about the whole meeting new people thing?

But when he walked away looking a little paler, she figured it was not exactly what it looked like, deciding that she should intervene now.

"Oh-kay but you know what, I just…" You now looked forward your back facing the bar as you placed your elbows on the counter, leaning onto them, raising an eyebrow at her for her to continue,

"I am glad I came here, I'm glad we all did, I'm happy, for once and it feels so…so good to be happy with you guys who I didn't think would even be my friends."

She said smiling at you, her sitting down next to your stool, and you turned your neck, looking at her now,

You smiled, finally a genuine one and it showed when your dimples showed,

"I'm glad I met you guys as well." You told her and just as she was about to say something, her eyes trailed towards your left, narrowing to make sure she was seeing right.

She froze when she saw you look at her, naturally wanting to see what made her look the way she was looking right now.

"Uh! Well look you know I'm happy you…uh well you agreed to come here!" She pulled your shoulders a little forcefully, the rotating barstool moving and making you now face her.

You looked perplexed at her behaviour, especially how she almost knocked you out but she just smiled at you, a little too forcefully.

"I just think you should know you deserve better than you think and even if it's not-"

"Kitty."

You called out to her, stopping her rambling, moving your hands up from off your shoulders.

"What's got you so…so nervous all of a sudden?" You questioned seeing her eyes still fixated behind you, her hand stopping you again from turning around.

"I just don't think you should see this. Really." She swallowed nervously and you waved her off,

"It's not that deep Kitty chill." You said but how you wished you'd listen to her.

You went rigid, seeing the sight now in front of you and clenched your jaw.

There was Minho in all his glory, kissing, no more like passionately making out with none other than Madison.

He had his arms around her waist as she played with his hair, and you could see her smile into the kiss. His mouth moved from her lips to her jawline and you watched her giggle as he seemed to be whispering something that made her laugh only more.

Fuck.

Why did it feel like someone just ripped your heart out and smashed it right in front of you with their bare hands?

You turned towards the bar, squeezing your eyes shut, holding your head in your hands as you felt the pounding in it get harder.

You gulped harshly trying to squeeze the image out of your brain,

"Y/N." Kitty put her hand on your shoulder, her warm touch contrasting the coldness you felt.

"Ah, I should have listened to you." You laughed but it held no humour. You could feel your emotions go all over the place as you replayed everything you'd seen till now.

Both of them laughing together, him looking at her as if she was the only on there, him focusing on her as if she was the only one there, him making out with her as if she'd slip away from his hands.

"You know what maybe I just need a little drink." You raised your hand up calling for the bartender and asking for two cocktails.

You put your hand out to Kitty expectedly, her frowning at the way you tried to act as if it was all right but she could see the unshed tears on your lash line.

Before she could say anything, you asked her quickly,

"Where's that whisky Florian gave you?" Talking about the flask she'd been hiding in her purse that was given to her by Florian.

"Y/N, you can't just drink away your emotions like this, you can't even handle alcohol-"

"Kitty, I'll be fine, just…just give it to me please?"

She sighed, she knew about your tendency to avoid talking about your feelings. She just opened up her purse and removed the flask just as the bartender served the drinks.

You took it from her and poured a questionable amount but you didn't really care at the moment, wanting to feel the high rather than the heaviness you currently felt creeping in your chest.

Raising a toast to yourself, you grinned up at Kitty, a sorrowness that only made her feel more and more sympathic for you.

"Here's to the most unluckiest person at the moment, me!"

That was now half an hour ago, and here you were now wrapped tightly around the very person who'd made you feel miserable in the first place.

"You know it's not even his fault. We don't even like each other. I'm pretty sure he hates me but why the fuck does it hurt so bad?" You whined as you pulled away from the supposed stranger's, attractive one at least, body and stood up on your own.

You pushed his arms away from you and you almost stumbles but held one hand out when he tried to hold you again to prevent you from falling,

"Y/N you'll fall-"

"No, I'm fine, I swear. I don't even know why I just dumped that weird emotional baggage onto you, sorry."

"Thank you anyways, for you know saving me from breaking my own face right there, if you want me to repay you, just come to Chemistry class first period on Monday!"

You stepped away from him and trying to not cry because no matter how drunk you were you didn't want to cry over some stupid boy.

Minho stood there, his eyes downcast as he remembered the look on your face, he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily.

How do I even begin ?

READ PART TWO HERE !

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri.do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

writingmeraki Ⓒ 2023

feedback is appreciated hehe :D 💗

links : main navi !

[wnbnny]

burn- lee minho (l.mh)

| spotify playlist to listen to while reading^^

| summary: "you really think you can charm your way out of anything, don't you?" minho sighed, eyebrows pinched as he drove you back home.

"it's worked so far, hasn't it?" you grinned, chin in the palm of your hand as you stared out the window.

"one day, you'll meet your match."

| warnings: angst, bad parenting, daddy issues lol, cursing, drunk people, physical fights, blood, comfort and fluff tho, reader is a bit stupid while drunk but minho is her protector (we love a protective lino), lots of comfort and fluff i swear

| pairings: badboy/biker/college/honestly idk what to classify him as!leeknow x reader

| word count: 9.9k

| author's note: i decided to make it a proper story/fic with capitalisation and punctation this time! i realised my other fics are written in my texting style much like the style i am writing this note to you in rn, so hope u enjoy this format more or if you just want drabbles. i had to write this because hot badboy protective leeknow has been in my head for days lmao. enjoy luvs!

Minho sighed as he wove through crowds of sweaty, drunk people grinding against each other like horny animals. However, he kept his attention focused on you, trying to find you amidst the sea of bodies in a dingy, dark, and frankly overcrowded club. Eyes narrowing as he finally caught a glimpse of you, sitting at a bar drunkenly flirting with some idiot of a man.

"Y/n." He kept his gaze firmly trained on you, grabbing on to your arm tightly. You turned around, a scowl on your face until you saw who it was. "Lino!" you beamed, words slurring together as you tried to stand up, but unfortunately stumbling due to you deciding to wear six-inch heels to the club tonight. Minho's hand darted out, supporting you by the elbow, just barely saving you from completely toppling over.

"We need to go, it's late. Chaeryoung and the rest have already left." His lips thinned into a line, raising his eyebrows as you pouted up at him.

"But I wanna stay," you whined, tugging at his elbow in an effort to go back to the bar you sat at not too long ago.

"We don't have time for this, you're clearly wasted and we need to go. Don't argue with me." He sighed, eyebrows pinching together as you whined and protested.

"B-but- I wanna drink more, plus the guy at the bar said he would buy me drinks if I talked to him," you stared pleadingly up at him with your best doe eyes.

Just as you finished your sentence, right on cue, a man walked up, placing a hand on your shoulder. He looked menacing, rich, and was staring at you in a way Minho definitely did not like, he decided.

"Hey love, where did you go to? We didn't finish our conversation earlier," the man grinned, bending down to whisper in your ear, and Minho didn't miss the way you shivered the moment his hand slipped from your shoulder to your waist and the minuscule distance you tried putting between yourself and the man. "O-oh, nothing, I was just talking to my friend right here," you batted your eyelashes at the man in an attempt to make him think you were interested, not wanting him to attack you if you told him you honestly just wanted him to fuck off. The man was clearly a lot different now, his nice persona at the bar could have almost fooled you, you had only started to dislike him when he placed his hands on your shoulder.

"Look, mate, I'm not in the mood to be fighting with someone else right now. Get your hands off her and fuck off. Y/n, we're leaving." Minho gritted out, taking your arm and guiding you to his side as you cowered behind Minho like a baby deer.

"What the fuck? You told me your name was Yena!" the man looked at you, rage and fury in his eyes as he took a step towards you.

Minho's instincts immediately kicked in, pushing you behind him and stepping forward so that the man and his own noses were almost touching.

"I. Said. Leave. Her. Alone." Minho snarled, rage bubbling in his viens. The man was almost as tall as Minho, yet Minho had a more muscular body and was certain he could probably out-power him if he tried. The man sneered.

"I'd like to see you try."

And with that, Minho's fist was swinging towards his face, smirking when a crack resounded out the moment his knuckles met the man's nose, ignoring your cry of horror and the gasps from the patrons of the club.

The man stumbled back, clutching his nose, crimson blood dripping from his face, soaking his shirt as he howled in agony.

Minho grabbed your hand, dashing for it as the two of you ran out of the club, never stopping until you were in his car.

"What the fuck Minho," you gasped out, still clutching at your chest and trying to regain your breath.

"He deserved it," Minho shrugs, grabbing a pack of tissues from his backseat and trying to wipe the blood off his knuckles dry, wincing as he let out a hiss.

"Here," you grabbed the tissue from him, taking his hand before gently blowing on it and dabbing at the blood around the wound, being careful not to touch the wound.

And it was then Minho's world stopped, time freezing as his breath hitched. It was a sorry sight, the both of you sitting in his car in the middle of a parking lot behind the club, yet it felt like everything as he watched you treat his hand with the most gentle care. It was no secret to all of your friends that he had a crush on you, only that you had never noticed, pining on you from afar but never making a move. His breath stuttered when you smiled, placing a soft kiss on his hand when you were done with cleaning.

"Done," you giggled drunkenly. "A kiss to make it better. We can properly disinfect it later," you smiled, comfortably reclining in his car's seat as you stared out the window.

"U-uh, yeah," he stammered out, before hastily turning his car on and driving out, brain hazy from the kiss you had placed on his hand, butterflies erupting from his stomach.

He sighed. "You really think you can charm your way out of anything, don't you?" Minho sighed, eyebrows pinched as he drove you back home.

"It's worked so far, hasn't it?" You grinned, chin in the palm of your hand as you stared out the window.

"One day, you'll meet your match. He could've done something to you if I hadn't stepped in. Batting your eyelashes and pretending that you're busy isn't going to work all the time, what if he had persisted?" Minho's hand gripped the steering wheel tightly, eyes on the road as he sighed.

"I'll find a way out," you shrugged.

The rest of the car ride to your apartment was silent, you gently snoring as all the alcohol got to you and making you fall asleep.

Minho shook you gently, parked right outside your house.

"Hey, wake up."

You stirred slightly, grumbling before promptly going back to sleep.

"Yah, wake up or I'll pour cold water over you." He shook you more vigorously this time.

After several attempts to wake you up, he decided he had no choice but to carry you, grunting as he lifted you up and kicked the door of his car shut.

"God, when did you get this heavy," he groaned slightly to himself, arms aching as he waited for the lift.

Unlocking your apartment door with the spare key you had given him, he kicked off his shoes and removed yours, setting you down on the couch before shuffling over to the fridge to get you a hangover drink he knew would definitely come in handy tomorrow morning. Getting the necessary ingredients out of your fridge, he started making pasta, knowing your stomach would be empty when you woke up.

You woke up twenty minutes later from your nap to the aroma of homemade tomato sauce wafting through the house, blinking groggily as you watched a plate laden with piles of tomatoes, cheese, and spaghetti be set down in front of you, coupled with your favourite brand of hangover drinks by a giggling Minho.

"You look like a mess," he chuckled, digging into his own plate of pasta while sitting cross legged at your coffee table.

"Yeah, no shit sherlock." You grumbled, rubbing your eyes and unfortunately smearing mascara all over your face. "Shit."

Hurrying to the bathroom, you grabbed some makeup wipes, removing your makeup and throwing on some comfy clothes nefore heading out to eat your midnight meal with Minho, currently halfway through his plate already.

"Mm, this is good," your eyes widened in surprise as you took a bite of his food.

"Since when has my food never not been amazing?" Minho scowled playfully, glaring at you for a total of three seconds before bursting out in laughter.

Rolling your eyes, you silently ate, letting out small sounds of satisfaction as you smiled.

In that moment, Minho knew he was fucked. Well, truly, and utterly fucked. The way you looked at him with those sparkling doe eyes to the curve of your lips and the scrunch of your nose when you smiled had him bewitched and entranced, and he knew that his feelings for you were going to be there for a long, long time.

"I need to go back home, it's late," he stated, after both of you had eaten your fill and were lounging on your couch.

"Stay," you whined, and he felt his resolve crumble the moment you looked at him pleadingly.

"Fine."

You beamed at his response, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

Minho was no stranger to sleeping over at your house, the friend group the both of you were in always having random sleepovers whenever, all of you had clothes at each other's homes, so there really wasn't much of a reason for him to have to go back to his apartment at this late hour.

Taking a shower and changing into comfy shirt and shorts, he made his way into the living room, where you were fast asleep once again, shaking you gently.

"Go shower."

"Fineeee," you pouted, finally finding the will to get up and trod to the bathroom.

Later that night, the both of you lay curled up to each other in bed, his hand disinfected and wrapped up carefully in bandages by you.

"Min?" you asked sleepily.

"Yeah?"

"I like you. Like- like, like you, you know? In fact I think I love you," you rambled, a dopey smile on your face as you faced him, watching his features instantly morph into ones of shock.

Minho felt like his world had stopped, reeling from the shock as he processed what you said.

"This- this isn't a dream or a joke, right? It's real?"

The question came out as a barely there whisper, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

You smiled softly, taking his hand.

"No Min, it's not."

And that was all it took, that simple sentence, to have him lean forward and connect his plush lips to yours as he kissed you with every fibre in his being, holding you close as if he was afraid that you were a dream that would slip away the moment he let you go. You poured your soul into the kiss, deepening it, both of you never separating 'till your lips were swollen and your faces were flushed, gasping for air yet smiling giddily like toddlers receiving a lollipop, the rush of adrenaline and thrill coursing through you.

"I love you," Minho says, holding you close.

"I love you, and I would burn for you."

And he meant it.

[h-grangers]

bad idea right?: theodore nott x fem!reader (based on the first verse of the song ‘bad idea right?’ by olivia rodrigo)

warnings: modern day hogwarts with phones, not proofread!

it’s been months. sure, you’ve seen him in the hallways and during potions class, but the last time you two had interacted was christmas (and it was now nearly summer).

it was too long. too long since you’ve interacted with anyone romantically, actually. that’s why when lavender and parvati asked you to go the three broomsticks, you willingly complied. apparently madam rosmerta had booked the weird sisters for one night only and nearly every student in hogwarts was planning on attending.

as the three of you entered the extremely overcrowded pub, you headed straight for the bar. the plan was that you’d sit prettily on a stool and hope one of the many boys would approach you and offer to buy you a firewhiskey. if not, you’d still buy the firewhiskey yourself anyway. anything to take your mind of him.

no sooner had the handsome boy behind the counter handed you your drink, you felt your phone buzz in your back pocket. if you hadn’t been wearing a very tight black leather skirt, you probably wouldn’t have felt it, and you definitely wouldn’t have heard it with ‘like a hippogriff’ playing in the background.

you took your phone out of your pocket with slightly furrowed brows. the only people who ever called you were most likely in this room or your mother, who would definitely be asleep at this hour.

your mouth fell open as you read the name on your screen. you couldn’t bring yourself to delete his phone number but regardless you hadn’t ever expected to see the name Theo appear again.

your shock prevented you from answering the first time (not that you had even considered it). surely it was mistake? was he not at the party right now? your eyes scanned the room for him. you could make out draco’s blond hair and crabbe’s muscular build but no theo in sight. was it a joke then?

your confusion quickly turned to anger. tonight you were supposed to take your mind off him, but instead he managed made it about himself. the phone in your hand began to buzz a second time and you excused yourself from lavender and parvati (who were too busy eyeing up the bartender to realise that you had left) and went out back to the smoking area.

it was like he was everywhere. the smell of cigarette smoke coming from a bunch of sixth years in the far corner was all too familiar. you leaned against the stone wall and hit the answer button so angrily that it was a miracle that the screen was still intact.

‘i have no clue what you think you’re doing Nott-’

‘where are you?’ his voice cut yours off and his statement took you by surprise. was he actually that dense?

you pinched the bridge of your nose. he was never a controlling boyfriend but he would get jealous very easily. you could understand his question if you two were still together, not six months after things had ended.

‘where every other student in hogwarts is tonight. except for you though, apparently.’

‘the three broomsticks?’ you could practically see his amused expression in your mind. it didn’t help your anger. ‘i thought that you were a ‘let’s skip hogsmeade trips and stay in bed all day’ kind of girl?’

the many memories of you two taking advantage of his empty dorm room flooded your mind and your face flushed red.

‘what do you want Nott?’

‘you.’ his answer was straightforward and simple. you knew you could sense some undertone when he called. of course- this wasn’t a regular call. this was a booty call.

‘no.’ you replied, not even hesitating. it was a bad idea.

‘what’ he teased, ‘can’t remember how to get to the slytherin dorms? i’ll text you a detailed route if you want’

you could hear his heavy breathing down the other end of the phone, mixed with the chatter and laughter of the smokers in the corner and the muffled music coming from inside the bar. he was so bloody seductive and infuriating and annoying and sexy.

‘you do know that we’re done, right? completely through of each other?’ you muttered.

‘speak for yourself.’ he replied back and you bit your lip in thought.

did he stay in hogwarts tonight knowing that if he tried calling you, you’d fold easily? no matter how many times you said you didn’t like him anymore, was there actually a small part of you that knew you’d never actually moved on?

every time you’d pass him in the hallways you’d avert your eyes, but not before stealing a small glance at him. every time you got a glimpse of his hair that you loved to run your hands through, or his lips that were so kissable, your brain did go a bit fuzzy.

like right now. right now, you couldn’t focus on your thoughts, like a monkey was clanging drums around in your brain. you weren’t drunk. you didn’t have time to even take a sip of firewhiskey. you couldn’t blame the fact that you were intoxicated.

no, the reason that you were considering ditching the party was because realistically, no other men tonight would compare to him. because theo was very much superior.

‘i shouldn’t. it’s a bad idea if i see you tonight’ you said. you weren’t convincing yourself though, and most certainly not him.

‘your right. a very bad idea if we do’ he said and you could still hear the amusement in his voice. he was enjoying this. and the fact that you two shouldn’t be together tonight only made it that more exciting.

‘y/nnnnn’ he dragged your name out after several moments of silence. ‘i need you tonight. all of you. every inch of your bo-’

‘fuck it.’ you said loudly, thankful that the smoking sixth years had departed. ‘fine. give me five minutes.’

‘and there’s my girl’ he said, before abruptly hanging up.

you made your way hurriedly back through the bar as if your life depended on it. you were inches from the door before a hand grabbed your wrist.

‘where are you going ?’ lavender said, her nails digging into your skin.

‘back to the castle, the strobe lights are starting to give me a migraine.’ you lied.

‘y/n’ lavender said sternly. ‘was that Nott on the phone?’

of course lavender knew. she could read you like an open book. there was really no point in lying to her any further.

‘listen lavender-’

‘he’s your ex y/n. he had you crying for weeks after you two broke up.’

‘i’m going to talk to him!’ you said, which was technically true. you did want to talk about some things that happened during the break up. ‘besides can’t we reconnect on a friends-with-history-and-now-benefits level?’

‘so your only seeing him as a friend?’ she asked. even in the darkness, you could see her eyebrows raised in suspicion.

‘yes’ you nodded your head earnestly.

biggest lie you ever said.

[wizisbored]

the inevitable nimona centaur au baybeeee

lore dump under the cut:

this au is mostly film-based, but theres some comic references in there too

nimona is not a shapeshifter and gloreth is not a legendary figure, theyre both centuar foals. gloreth is a noble, ambrosius' younger cousin - their family is still incredibly high up in this setting, possibly having direct ties to royalty. nimona, on the other hand, has been on and off the streets since she was six due to constantly running away from orphanages. shes not originally from the kingdom, but at six she was the only survivor of a raid on a nearby villiage. shes eventually found by knights from the kingdom. she doesnt want to go with them but its not that hard for them to catch a young foal. they dont ask if shes got surviving relatives elsewhere or even give her a chance to grab anything other than the mandolin she was already carrying, they just carry her back to the kingdom and put her in an orphanage. years later, she still considers that event a kidnapping.

im not quite sure how nimona and gloreth meet, but theyre best friends for a good few years. it's sort of an escape for gloreth from uptight nobility. but shes still taking in everything she's being told about how knighthood is the best and most noble thing you can do and that the kingdom is the best place, so as nimona becomes more vocally anti-establishmet things start to get tense between them.

now, to those knights. ballister and ambrosius are knighted when nimona and gloreth are less than ten, and while the director isnt happy about the first commoner knight its not quite enough for regicide this time. knights are expected to take a few years after graduation to gain experience before taking on and training a squire, and in ballister's case those few years are very important.

with no regicide conspiracy to throw things off, the queen's announcement that anyone will be able to sign up for knight training is put into practice. and with orphanages in the kingdom being overcrowded and underfunded, staff quickly begin encouraging foals in the system to go into the institute. with each passing year its pushed more and more and the idea that its optional shrinks down, until the year ballister decides hes ready to take on a squire when its reached the point that foals are simply sent sent from the orphanages without being given the choice. the arrangement is something of an open secret.

nimona is vocally against knighthood and the kingdom in general, but at maybe 14 is sent to the institute. her finding out that this is going to happen is the breaking point for her and gloreth, because gloreth still thinks knighthood is an honour and doesn't sympathise with her anger.

not long into nimona being at the institute, foals are selected to be paired with knights that are taking squires that year. some are pre-arranged, like gloreth being apprenticed to her cousin ambrosius, and some are institute-assigned. the director, in an attempt to harm ballister's reputation, deliberately puts him with a 'problem foal' - nimona. with his zero kid experience, ballister is in no way prepared to wrangle her.

at this point, theres no bad blood between ballister and ambrosius, and they have no idea of their squires' history until they have them sparr during training and it goes terribly. but with how closely they work they decide the fillies need to get over their argument and force them together a lot, even arranging for them to be roommates. a lot of the time this leads to nimona feeling ganged up on, since obviously the other three are all quite pro-knighthood.

but anyway, thats the setup. plot is something im still brainstorming - including how ballister loses his arm - but ive got a couple thoughts :)

[octuscle]

I want to turn into a dumb ski teenager. Kinda a twunk/himbo. I love hot helmets ski masks etc, I’d make sure my boots smell fetid. Thanks!

The platform in Munich was overcrowded when the train to Innsbruck arrived. Like Peter, at least some people were wearing a suit and carrying a laptop bag. Most were struggling with skis, snowboards and huge sports bags. Peter heard Dutch, Polish and Swedish, he had the feeling that half of Europe was on its way to a skiing vacation. He, on the other hand, had to go to Innsbruck to help clear away the rubble of a spectacular real estate bankruptcy. He was one of the top insolvency administrators in Europe. And he wanted to show that he himself could bring this case to a satisfactory conclusion for everyone.

As expected, everyone was jostling at the second-class entrances. The two first-class carriages were almost empty. It was quiet, Peter would be able to work in peace. He opened his notebook and settled down at the table in his compartment. But after a few minutes, the peace and quiet was over. He heard loud voices coming closer and closer. A young man with blond hair pulled open the door to his compartment, took a quick look around and then shouted "Hörni, det är nästan en hel tågkupé tom!" into the corridor. Without asking, he heaved his sports bag into the luggage net. And after a few moments, four young men followed and took possession of the compartment together with their leader. After a few seconds, the aisle was blocked with skis and snowboards, the luggage net was full of bags and suitcases, loud music was blaring from a boombox and the first bottles of beer and vodka were on the table next to Peter's laptop. It smelled of alcohol, sweat and testosterone. Peter was furious. "You do know that this is the first class rest area?" he asked the group. The leader of the group laughed and said that the train was so overcrowded, there would certainly be no conductor to check it. Peter closed his notebook, exasperated. Concentrated work would certainly not be possible. He put on his noise-canceling headphones and hoped to get at least a little sleep.

He probably hadn't closed his eyes for five minutes when he woke up. His crotch was soaking wet. A beer bottle had fallen over and the contents had spilled onto his lap. The Swedes were roaring. One of them said "Sorry" and held out a bottle of vodka to Peter. I don't know what kind of devil he was riding, but he took a swig. And a second. And helped himself to the dried moose meat. After the train had left Kufstein station, all six of them were roaring Swedish drinking songs. And Peter wiped a long blond strand of hair from his forehead.

As the train pulled into Innsbruck, the five jocks gathered their things together. Peter was already really drunk and it was difficult for him to stow his boombox and his still-empty bottles into his rucksack in time. At the last second, he managed to fall onto the platform with his snowboard and sports bag. His friends roared.

The train to St. Anton was even fuller. There was no chance of getting a seat. Peter and his friends crowded into the aisle and the party was immediately back in full swing. They quickly made friends with the members of a Norwegian student fraternity who were going to the same sports hostel as them. It was dusk when the train arrived in St. Anton. Leif had to vomit directly into the snow. Fortunately, the icy cold air had sobered Peter up a bit. But he had to piss and tried to pee "Sverige" in the snow. He failed. The pre-ordered bus was waiting for them and took them to their hostel

Yes, Pelle was damn good at partying. He was like all Swedes who made the Alps unsafe. But he was also a damn good sportsman. "Väl framme, mamma. Nu ska jag iväg till pisten för första gången. Hälsningar till pappa!", he wrote. The lifts opened at 09:00. No matter how hard he had partied yesterday, he wanted to be the first to leave his tracks in the freshly fallen snow.

[kastalani123]

(if you prefer Ao3)

Drew Tanaka is mean.

She grows up under a mother that cares more for the cameras that follow them around than her. That cares more for her daughter knowing how to keep her posture straight, her smile saccharine sweet, her hair without a strand out of place, than her knowing how to make friends. That cares more for smoothed out and scrubbed clean photos and videos and interviews that show a perfect life, a perfect mother, a perfect daughter, than for her daughter being an actual child, not an actor with a script for every second of her life.

She grows up desperately clawing for any shred of privacy, having given up on looking for honesty long ago. She learns how to keep her makeup sharp, and her walls sharper. She indulges in cosmetics more than most children her age — it's all about keeping any hint of imperfection hidden, any hint of truth buried deep down. She files her nails into claws, paints her face into a mask no one can look behind. She keeps herself mean, because there's only so much of the same drama the media will pay attention to, only so much unpleasantness the people around her will deal with before giving up on getting close to her, only so much her mother can shape for the spotlight without risking controversy.

And then, she's twelve and at Camp, and it's weird.

The kids in the overcrowded cabin she's placed in (no privacy, no space, nothing she can keep to herself) tease and jest but it's never truly mean. Not in the way she knows. The pranks and jokes are too simple, too corny, too messy to be enjoyable to an audience of strangers. Meals are chaotic at the shared table because people push and shove and steal and laugh, and no one aside from her even thinks to bother with proper etiquette — nobody cares for small bites that don't ruin your makeup, for small portions that look lovely on pictures but don't fill you up, for elbows off the table and the correct cutlery for every food. The only rules are: sacrifice a portion to the gods; don't waste; enjoy.

That's the one they care most about, she finds within a week. Enjoy. Have fun. Live your life.

She's not sure she can do that, as she leans away from campfire songs and pottery, from swordsmanship and archery, from pegasus riding and monster fighting.

Instead, Drew Tanaka is mean.

She paints her lips brighter, grows her nails sharper, shadows her eyes darker. She digs and needles and stabs not with a sword or a dagger or a spear but with her words; she begins to write her script for these unfamiliar scenes, just as she's done her entire life. Her remarks are not the soft teasing of the others; they are her knives poised to strike at anyone who comes too close, more dangerous than ever.

Her voice is her weapon, her meanness her armour.

Literally, she learns within weeks, a command falling from her tongue as a dove comes into being above her head.

Cabin Eleven sends her off with a bracelet of colourful wooden beads and a rubber snake that was meant to be a goodbye jump scare she didn't fall for. She scoffs at both but is not allowed to refuse them, so she takes them and shoves them into the heart-shaped box every Aphrodite child gets upon entering Cabin Ten.

Because Drew Tanaka doesn't wear cheap jewelry made by a collaboration of six- to seventeen-year-olds at arts and crafts. Because Drew Tanaka doesn't find dumb pranks amusing. Because Drew Tanaka doesn't like tacky toys with sloppy paint jobs.

Because Drew Tanaka is mean.

And Silena Beauregard is nice.

She's nice, holding Drew's hand as she properly introduces every member of Cabin Ten — every one of her siblings — to her even though Drew digs her nails into her skin hard enough to leave marks. She's nice, coaxing a young pegasus over to Drew to let her practice flying. She's nice, remembering that Drew doesn't eat much meat other than fish and ensuring she gets it.

Drew is sure Silena is an exception. Camp in general is nice in a way she's only ever experienced in stories, but this goes beyond a casual piece of advice on her fighting stance or an arm lent on the climbing wall.

Except it turns out that, no, not really. Not just Silena, at least.

Cabin Ten is nice.

Anders sits her down in front of himself and braids her hair, tucking dandelions and daisies into it in a way her mother would seethe at. Khalid follows her around with a stuffed seahorse, babbling about the deep sea creatures everyone else is grossed out by. Ina shows her celestial bronze nail polish in any colour imaginable and every other way to hide weaponry in places no one would suspect. Sawyer trifles through their vast collection of homemade perfumes to find one she likes, simple as they are in plain, glass jars. Rory pulls her into dances at the campfire and steps all over her feet, his laughter and singing off-key and unappealing. Jasmin paints all over her skin, from sunsets across her forearms to hearts spread all over her face, disregarding the careful lines of her makeup.

They chip and chip and chip at her walls, with cracked nails and bloody fingers, until they startle her into lifting her mask for a second, allowing them a glimpse at the pieces of herself she has long since buried under ring lights and cameras.

They bind her to themselves with soft hugs and silly singing and simple gossip. They drag her screeching and screaming into their circle, into closeness, into softness. They push her scoffing into spending time around other campers, into sitting with people during arts and crafts, into collecting strawberries in groups.

Drew Tanaka is mean.

Drew Tanaka will never stop being mean.

That is a fact.

Nobody ever claims any different.

However, a fact is also this:

She remembers Silena's allergic to bees and ensures they never get too close. She sits Anders down and teaches him how to get his eyeliner as sharp as hers. She follows Khalid to bed some nights and struggles to read through One Thousand And One Nights because he sleeps better with them. She shows Ina the best products for her skin and hair. She trifles through her vast collection of jewelry to find earrings Sawyer likes. She pulls Rory through Camp to show off their matching outfits. She paints Jasmin's nails with designs according to whatever book or flower has caught her fancy recently.

(She wears a bracelet of wooden beads even when it doesn't match her outfit)

(She keeps a tacky rubber snake on the shelf above her bed)

Most importantly, she stays.

And next summer, Anders brings with him newspaper scraps with her and her mother's faces plastered all over them.

She smiles, sharp as a dagger, and burns them as an offering.

And then she's fourteen.

And then there's war.

And then her siblings are dead.

And then Silena is a traitor.

And then she's the Cabin Counsellor.

And then she's building up her walls faster than what remains of her family can tear down, stronger than they can chip away at, taller than they can look over.

And then Drew Tanaka is not mean.

Drew Tanaka is cruel.

(She forgot the most important rule she had set for herself long ago, when she couldn't take a step without cameras clicking and spotlights moving on her:

Give up on looking for honesty.

She reapplies foundation over her blotchy face and decides to never forget that again)

[odinsblog]

More than 9,000 Palestinians living in the West Bank have been arrested since the start of the Israel-Hamas War, a 100% increase over the same time last year. More than a third of them are being held in administrative detention, says Abdullah Al-Zaghari, who works with the Palestinian Prisoner Society, a Ramallah-based association that monitors arrests: “Yeah, without trial, without anything.”

Israeli officials maintain the arrests are in large part tied to curbing an increase in, quote, “suspected terrorist activity since the October 7 attacks,” in which Hamas militants killed around 1,200 people in Israel. But Al-Zaghari says the Israeli government is motivated by something else.

“They just put you in prison because they have a mentality of revenge against what happened in Gaza in the beginning of the war.”

Some analysts have suggested that Israel is arresting so many people, so it has thousands of less threatening prisoners to exchange in a swap with Hamas. Al-Zaghari also says recently released detainees from the West Bank and Gaza have testified that they've been beaten, deprived of food and water, and forced to sit in overcrowded cells with no electricity. Earlier this week, the Israeli military released a statement saying it was investigating allegations of mistreatment of detainees and which shares details in a forthcoming report.

As more prisoners are arrested, anger has been growing across the West Bank, while morale about the possibility of their release has gone down.

Take this weekly rally in support of Palestinian prisoners being held in central Ramallah. Just a few dozen people have shown up. Some people we speak to in nearby shops say they're fed up with the current Palestinian Authority government and see these protests as ineffective.

Others say they're afraid joining these rallies could lead to their own arrests. One man in attendance here every week is 57-year-old Muqbal Barghouti.

He tells me his son has been under administrative detention for six months, and he has no idea what his condition is. He hasn't been allowed to visit him. Then there's Muqbal's brother, Marwan Barghouti, who is perhaps the most famous Palestinian sitting in an Israeli jail.

Thirty years ago, Marwan Barghouti was poised to succeed Yasser Arafat as the new head of the Palestinian Authority. But that was scrapped when he was arrested in the early 2000s on terrorism charges. But Muqbal believes that now, more than ever, is actually a moment of hope for Marwan and the thousands of other Palestinian prisoners living in Israeli jails.

I want them to know that their freedom is very close, Barghouti tells me. He and others believe that their release could be made under a ceasefire deal between Israel and Hamas in exchange for the remaining hostages being held in Gaza.

—Israel is taking hostages in Ramallah, West Bank

[aziraphales-library]

hi mods!! Thank you for all the great work you do here, really appreciate it 💜💜

I was looking for some queer platonic ineffable wives fics, something with humor and fluff and overall domesticness (can you tell that I’ve had enough trauma from the final 15?)

thanks!!

I can't find loads of queerplatonic wives fics, but here are some qpr/ambiguous relationship fics...

Overcrowded ER by die_traumerei (G)

An unfortunate accident means a Saturday night in A&E for Crowley -- and of course Aziraphale is there too. Where else could she possibly be. (At home in bed, like a sensible person -- but still, Crowley's so grateful she's there.)

One Thousand and One Nights by Dashicra1, quona (M)

When Aziraphale and Crowley are both sent to India to meddle in the affairs of a murderous king, they realise that the perils of the court may be too much for either one of them alone to handle. Luckily, a clever, strong-willed Vizier’s daughter named Shahrazad has also had enough of the king’s tyranny. Together, they hatch a plan to change the king’s mind and free the women of the kingdom, and in so doing, they change the course of history forever.

let me take care of you by IneffableDoll (T)

“I’m…I’m sick, Crowley,” Aziraphale announced with all the pomp and gravitas one would expect of someone who liked Hamlet. Crowley blinked very slowly. “What do you mean you’re sick? We can’t get sick. You’re an angel, angel.” “Yes, I’m aware of that,” Aziraphale said testily. “How illuminating of you to point out. Look at that, not sick anymore.” “Oi,” Crowley complained. “Guess you’re not that sick if you’re still being rude to me.” “I’m an angel, I’m never rude-“ # Aziraphale mysteriously catches a cold. While demons can’t heal, Crowley has no qualms with pampering her angel as she recovers. Aziraphale, on the other hand, isn’t accustomed to being cared for…and doesn’t know how to handle it with any amount of grace.

Footloose and Fancy-Free by teatales (M)

All of my drabbles for the Ineffable Wives Femslash February 2021 prompts! Ratings and orientations various, all details in chapter summaries. Some chapters are explicit in nature (the majority are not) and are marked accordingly.

The Same Rain by IneffableDoll (G)

Crowley disentangled their fingers to brush both hands over his face, then his robes and hair. “I hate sand. It’s the worst.” “That’s what you said about the snow,” Aziraphale said. “And horses. And mosquitos. And Caligula.” “And I was right all those times, too,” Crowley retorted. ~ Six thousand years and six storms. Five times before Armageddon’t, and one time after. Through a variety of chance interactions, shenanigans, meandering conversations, and a heck of a lot of bickerflirting, an angel and a demon find each other, carefully and slowly, amidst the rain.

- Mod D

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

PJO TV SHOW (and book) SPOILERS beneath cut!!!!!

What follows is simply a bunch of my nonsensical responses to the first 2 episodes in no particular order; I really cannot explain that any other way I’m afraid

“Whose side are you on?” “Hers, always. She’s my little sister” JUST RIP OUT MY HEART WHY DON’T YOU

Mythomagic. Mythomagic. Mythomagic.

Sally saying not everyone who looks like a hero is a hero and not everyone who looks like a monster is a monster - THE FORESHADOWING??? THE REFERENCE TO BOOKS THAT ARENT EVEN BEING ADAPTED YET IM LOSING MY MIND - Also, the justice for Medusa in this was absolutely gorgeous and so well done because it didn’t black and white anyone as just a hero or just a villain but very well highlighted the woven and layered morality of a very complex web of stories, personally I’m mostly a Medusa defender but give me a good quality, well written Perseus retelling and you could probably convince me otherwise I think the point of many of these stories is that there is never a true victor and nothing is ever as easy to understand as a hero and a monster. I’m getting distracted now but hey let’s keep going, I really love Stone Blind by Natalie Haynes, which very strongly labels Perseus as the monster and Medusa as the victim, but I also think there is an argument that Danaë’s plight was diminished/overlooked in it and I would be open to hearing opposing views on that. Since I’m in this tangent I should add I don’t study classics I am just a fan, so I’m not the expert and would generally expect others to know more than me so get it out there I’m eager to learn. Anyway, Percy Jackson (sorry for the tangent)

Percy saying he thinks he’s made real friends I WANT TO CRY

They softened Gabe up quite a bit, or at least I thought they did maybe you guys think otherwise, but I wonder how his death will come across in this case(????)

I actually really like that they had Annabeth clock who Percy’s father was and push him into the water instead of it being Clarisse shoving him into the creek and stumbling upon it by accident, because it really heightened that idea of her being six steps ahead

I think the conflict between Grover and Percy was interesting and I’m intrigued as to how easily it’s resolved with the quest coming up, and on that point am I right that Sally making Grover swear to protect Percy was a new addition? Because I’m guessing that if the conflict between them is still heightened then that’s going to be the logical reason Grover uses to get into the quest, but also they made a big deal out of that and I kept expecting her to request he swear it on the Styx but she didn’t, I wonder if it was meant to be implied (?) or maybe I’m just reading into it

There was less Annabeth screen time than I was expecting but every second she was on screen was PERFECTION

The casting could literally l not have been better I love them all omg

I was kind of surprised they didn’t confirm Percy’s dyslexia and ADHD in the first episode and instead had Luke mention it because I always thought that Percy had already been diagnosed long beforw he call to camp but maybe I misremembered that (?)

THE D’ANGELO REFERENCE YES - like I know it wasn’t about them but it has to be intentional right?

The blink and you miss it Kane Chronicles reference amused me I haven’t actually read all of the Kane Chronicles yet but I really should

WAS THAT BLACKJACK!!!!!??????

I’m guessing that mechanical monster Percy saw out the window was reference to the bulls in book three sorry I can’t remember what they’re called, and with that the doodles in his notebook YES!!! I noticed a cyclops, Medusa, the minatour, and what I think might have been the hydra but I haven’t rewatched yet so stay tuned for possible correction on that lol

I love camp so much! The cabins are incredible and the interior of the Hermes is so much nicer than I imagined whilst still maintaining a kind of overcrowded atmosphere, I love it.

“You are Poseidon’s son” “I am Sally Jackson’s son” y’all don’t understand I almost screamed oh my good lord yes yes yes yes yes

Also, sassy Percy

[grantmentis]

IMO my pwhl free agent ranking of who’s still available

Please note I’m only doing players who were under contact last year and not undrafted free agents

Tier One: their phone should be buzzing

Daryl watts, Michela Cava, Hannah Miller, Kateřina Mrázová,

All these players were highly productive on their teams last season and are immediate impact players

Tier two: maybe not the first call, but should be highly sought after

Kaleigh Fratkin, Rebecca Leslie, Lauriane Rougeau, Gabrielle David, Claire Dalton, Abbey Levy, Sandra Abstreiter

These are proven players who had decent years, but may be called after tier one players and some draft picks get settled in to see where they fit in the roster .

Tier 3: building out your roster

Emma woods, Emma Greco, Lexie Adzija, Gigi Marvin, Amanda Pelkey, Sarah Bujold, Liz Schepers, Melissa Channell, Paetyn Levis, Kayla Vespa,

Fits into two groups; those who are Swiss army type middle six / pairing players who can play up and down the lineup. players who will still be third/fourth liners of depth defenders but were extremely effective in that spot, bumping them up a tier.

Tier Four: quality depth players

Madison Packer, Alexandra Labelle, Olivia Knowles, Carly Jackson, Sarah Lefort, Leah Lum, Jillian Dempsey, Madison Bizal, Catherine Dubois, Taylor Wenczkowski, Kelly babstock, Cami Kronish, Claire Butorac, Amanda Leveille, Lauren Bench, Shiann Darkangelo, Rachel McQuigge, Johanna Fällman, Lindsey post

Third/ fourth liners and third pair defender and goalies. Some of these players have a specific niche they fill, a lot are veterans, thus making me think they’ll get some early training camp invites. Unfortunately with a tight cap and limited spaces, it’s possible not all will be signed, but all will be considered

Tier four: reserves

Sam Cogan, Jess jones, Maude Poulin-Labelle, Jessica Kondas, Emma Keenan, Alexa Vasko, Kaitlin Willoughby, Liliane Perreault, Alexandra Poznikoff, Catherine Daoust, Madison Bizal, Brigitte Laganière, Nicole Kosta, Abby Cook, Brooke Bryant, Clair DeGeorge, Dominique Kremer, Nikki Nightengale, Akane Shiga, Rosalie Demers, Sammy Davis, Sam Isbell, Malia Schneider, Emma Buckles, Lauren MacInnis, Carley Olivier, Olivia Zafuto, Alexa Gruschow, Taylor Baker,

A lot of these players here either played little last year or were already reserves, or are playing a position/niche that is overcrowded. Many of these players are talented and could def earn a spot for a team that they gel right with, but likely wouldn’t be until after training camp. This tier is pretty close to tier three and probs a lot of overlap depending on a coaches evaluation of how players fit in their system

Tier ?: the unknown

Sydney Brodt, Mikyla Grant Mentis, Audrey-Anne Veillette, Ann-Sophie Bettez, Caitrin Lonergan, Fanni Garát-Gasparics, Kristin Della Rovere

These players did not play a lot last year due to various circumstances but were pretty impactful / took on high end roles when they did. Because of that, they separate themselves from other players who saw limited minutes and may be ore sought after. The exception is Veillette, who straight up DNP due to injury, but was thought pretty highly of when drafted. Bettez is also a weird one here because though she missed a lot this year, everyone knows what she’s capable of, but I don’t think she’d be willing to leave Montreal

[sayruq]

AUG 4, 2014

Why Israel Lies

Its use of the kinds of big lies favored by totalitarian regimes is aimed at feeding two reactions: racism among its supporters and terror among its victims in Gaza.

All governments lie, as I.F. Stone pointed out, including Israel and Hamas. But Israel engages in the kinds of jaw-dropping lies that characterize despotic and totalitarian regimes. It does not deform the truth; it inverts it. It routinely paints a picture for the outside world that is diametrically opposed to reality. And all of us reporters who have covered the occupied territories have run into Israel’s Alice-in-Wonderland narratives, which we dutifully insert into our stories — required under the rules of American journalism — although we know they are untrue.

I saw small boys baited and killed by Israeli soldiers in the Gaza refugee camp of Khan Younis. The soldiers swore at the boys in Arabic over the loudspeakers of their armored jeep. The boys, about 10 years old, then threw stones at an Israeli vehicle and the soldiers opened fire, killing some, wounding others. I was present more than once as Israeli troops drew out and shot Palestinian children in this way. Such incidents, in the Israeli lexicon, become children caught in crossfire. I was in Gaza when F-16 attack jets dropped 1,000-pound iron fragmentation bombs on overcrowded hovels in Gaza City. I saw the corpses of the victims, including children. This became a surgical strike on a bomb-making factory. I have watched Israel demolish homes and entire apartment blocks to create wide buffer zones between the Palestinians and the Israeli troops that ring Gaza. I have interviewed the destitute and homeless families, some camped out in crude shelters erected in the rubble. The destruction becomes the demolition of the homes of terrorists. I have stood in the remains of schools — Israel struck two United Nations schools in the last six days, causing at least 10 fatalities at one in Rafah on Sunday and at least 19 at one in the Jebaliya refugee camp Wednesday — as well as medical clinics and mosques. I have heard Israel claim that errant rockets or mortar fire from the Palestinians caused these and other deaths, or that the attacked spots were being used as arms depots or launching sites. I, along with every other reporter I know who has worked in Gaza, have never seen any evidence that Hamas uses civilians as “human shields.”

There is a perverted logic to Israel’s repeated use of the Big Lie — Große Lüge — the lie favored by tyrants from Adolf Hitler and Josef Stalin to Saddam Hussein. The Big Lie feeds the two reactions Israel seeks to elicit — racism among its supporters and terror among its victims.

By painting a picture of an army that never attacks civilians, that indeed goes out of its way to protect them, the Big Lie says Israelis are civilized and humane, and their Palestinian opponents are inhuman monsters. The Big Lie serves the idea that the slaughter in Gaza is a clash of civilizations, a war between democracy, decency and honor on one side and Islamic barbarism on the other. And in the uncommon cases when news of atrocities penetrates to the wider public, Israel blames the destruction and casualties on Hamas.

George Orwell in his novel “Nineteen Eighty-Four” called this form of propaganda doublethink. Doublethink uses “logic against logic” and “repudiate[s] morality while laying claim to it.” The Big Lie does not allow for the nuances and contradictions that can plague conscience. It is a state-orchestrated response to the dilemma of cognitive dissonance. The Big Lie permits no gray zones. The world is black and white, good and evil, righteous and unrighteous. The Big Lie allows believers to take comfort — a comfort they are desperately seeking — in their own moral superiority at the very moment they have abrogated all morality.

The Big Lie, as the father of American public relations, Edward Bernays, wrote, is limited only by the propagandist’s capacity to fathom and harness the undercurrents of individual and mass psychology. And since most supporters of Israel do not have a desire to know the truth, a truth that would force them to examine their own racism and self-delusions about Zionist and Western moral superiority, like packs of famished dogs they lap up the lies fed to them by the Israeli government. The Big Lie always finds fertile soil in what Bernays called the “logic-proof compartment of dogmatic adherence.” All effective propaganda, Bernays wrote, targets and builds upon these irrational “psychological habits.”

This is the world Franz Kafka envisioned, a world where the irrational becomes rational. It is one where, as Gustave Le Bon noted in “The Crowd: A Study of the Public Mind,” those who supply the masses with the illusions they crave become their master, and “whoever attempts to destroy their illusions is always their victim.” This irrationality explains why the reaction of Israeli supporters to those who have the courage to speak the truth — Uri Avnery, Max Blumenthal, Noam Chomsky, Jonathan Cook, Norman Finkelstein, Amira Hass, Gideon Levy, Ilan Pappé, Henry Siegman and Philip Weiss — is so rabid. That so many of these voices are Jewish, and therefore have more credibility than non-Jews who are among Israel’s cheerleaders, only ratchets up the level of hate.But the Big Lie is also consciously designed to send a chilling message to Gaza’s Palestinians, who have lost large numbers of their dwellings, clinics, mosques, and power, water and sewage facilities, along with schools and hospitals, who have suffered some 1,650 deaths since this assault began — most of the victims women and children — and who have seen 400,000 people displaced from their homes. The Big Lie makes it clear to the Palestinians that Israel will continue to wage a campaign of state terror and will never admit its atrocities or its intentions. The vast disparity between what Israel says and what Israel does tells the Palestinians that there is no hope. Israel will do and say whatever it wants. International law, like the truth, will always be irrelevant. There will never, the Palestinians understand from the Big Lie, be an acknowledgement of reality by the Israeli leadership.

The Israel Defense Forces website is replete with this black propaganda. “Hamas exploits the IDF’s sensitivity towards protecting civilian structures, particularly holy sites, by hiding command centers, weapons caches and tunnel entrances in mosques,” the IDF site reads. “In Hamas’ world, hospitals are command centers, ambulances are transport vehicles, and medics are human shields,” the site insists.

“… [Israeli] officers are tasked with an enormous responsibility: to protect Palestinian civilians on the ground, no matter how difficult that may be,” the site assures its viewers. And the IDF site provides this quote from a drone operator identified as Lt. Or. “I have personally seen rockets fired at Israel from hospitals and schools, but we couldn’t strike back because of civilians nearby. In one instance, we acquired a target but we saw that there were children in the area. We waited around, and when they didn’t leave we were forced to abort a strike on an important target.”

Israel’s ambassador to the United States, Ron Dermer, in a Big Lie of his own, said last month at a conference of Christians United for Israel that the Israeli army should be given the “Nobel Peace Prize … a Nobel Peace Prize for fighting with unimaginable restraint.”

The Big Lie destroys any possibility of history and therefore any hope for a dialogue between antagonistic parties that can be grounded in truth and reality. While, as Hannah Arendt pointed out, the ancient and modern sophists sought to win an argument at the expense of the truth, those who wield the Big Lie “want a more lasting victory at the expense of reality.” The old sophists, she said, “destroyed the dignity of human thought.” Those who resort to the Big Lie “destroy the dignity of human action.” The result, Arendt warned, is that “history itself is destroyed, and its comprehensibility.” And when facts no longer matter, when there is no shared history grounded in the truth, when people foolishly believe their own lies, there can be no useful exchange of information. The Big Lie, used like a bludgeon by Israel, as perhaps it is designed to be, ultimately reduces all problems in the world to the brutish language of violence. And when oppressed people are addressed only through violence they will answer only through violence.

[vagabond-umlaut]

Fall Versus Foliage

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader; Geto Suguru Makes His Debut; Takes Place Between Star Plasma Vessel Incident & Death Of Haibara; Fluff, Very Little Angst, Humor & Drama!! Contains Spoilers. Canon-Compliant. [Geto's Already Spiralling Here.] [I Hate Canon.]

Oneshot From Series: One Day, Three Autumns

Your Best Friend is Gojo. Gojo's Best Friend is Geto. Your Mortal Enemy is Geto.

"Oi, you six-eyed cellar spider! Where the fuck you hidin', huh?"  

Wrenching the shoji door open, you charge onto the backyard of your home, wading through the tall grasses overcrowding your so precious lawn. Somewhere from behind, someone calls your name in an overly frantic tone— paying them no attention, you proceed forwards, wrath coursing through your arteries and veins– colouring your vision with a furious shade of red.  

Honestly speaking, this isn't how you envisioned your weekend going. You were under the impression you might be able to get some indeed very much needed rest these two days— maybe with some fun too in the mix, given how you invited your friends to this tucked away home you've in the countryside.  

Then again, you never envisioned someone gobbling your Neapolitan ice cream– the entirety of it– did you, now?  

"Hey, Gojo," you holler once again, eyes roaming in search of the bane of your existence, when you suddenly stop at the sight before, only to increase the speed of your attack within the next instant. "Oi, Satoru!" you yell, clenching then relaxing your fists as you march towards that messy mop of white hair partly obscured by the tree trunk its owner's leaning against, "You gone deaf or— huhhh? What the fuck is this??" 

Were anyone from your family there right now, you'd have received an earful for such a horrendously unladylike language— you shove every thought of your stick-in-the-mud family members out your mind into the lake nearby, opting to focus on the masterpiece before instead. 

Though you're much too unsure, which of them two the masterpiece is.  

Must it be the striking painting staring back at you, the woman's eyes carrying fondness yet mystery in their depths while her lips curve in a visibly coy smile, sweet yet cryptic?  

Or must it be the striking painter snoozing beside his work, tiny quiet snores leaving him while his head lolls to the side, those black shades sitting tad precariously on his nose? 

A muted exhale leaving, you force your shoulders to slump down and relax, your hands reaching forwards to carefully pluck his glasses off– only to still and tense up, registering the presence of another person.

Very intolerable. Very obnoxious. Another. Person.

Suguru offers you an easy smile from where he's propped up against the tree beside Satoru's, an open book lying in his lap. You manage a barely civil smile in response, gritting out, "Why the hell are you here, huh? Never took you to be my 'Toru's watch dog... Senpai."

Even if the boy does detect the disrespect in the term of address you throw in as an after-thought, he makes no comment on it– wearing a smile as placid as before, and replying, "Never took these lawns to be out of bounds for me either— but here are we. Thinking things only to be proved wrong later on. Funny little coin—"

"I'm rather good at reading people," you cut him off, eyes narrowed in a glare as your teeth clack against each other in your attempts to rein in your bubbling irritation and rising volume: Satoru's asleep; he must not be disturbed at any and all costs– "and I think Ieiri-senpai prefers your company to Iori-senpai's when she's smoking. Why don't you go, have a smoke with her, yeah? They're in the other wing of the house."

Or, perhaps, in the same wing of the house adjoining these very same gardens— but you don't add that. With the fewest words spoken, you want Suguru to be gone the quickest, the farthest from Satoru— who seems too delicate, too vulnerable, too breakable in such a state— an uncomfortable shiver slithering down your spine on noticing that tiny scar at the back of his neck, you drag your attention away from him— to the second boy watching you: visibly delighted; tangibly intrigued.

You will your annoyance to be doused: your best friend's asleep; 'Toru Must Not Be Disturbed— his best friend leisurely flips over to another page, though his eyes drift to the new page only for a moment before returning to study you— albeit without the sliver of interest his hawk-like gaze always carries when settling on a hapless girl doomed to be his prey for the night— you observe this with an inward sigh of relief.

Be it for you or for Satoru, you never quite like those who try to come between the two of you friends. You suppose, the white-haired boy is not very fond of such folks either. That pathetic boy who tried to give you an equally pathetic rose in your third grade, still carries remnants of the thrashing your friend had given him on hearing your complaint – you know, the white-haired boy is not very fond of such folks either.

Suguru chuckles softly. "You..." he pauses for a little, seemingly in the search for the right words, then resumes, "You're not good in dealing with feelings, are you? Especially not where it concerns people close to you, right?"

It takes you two seconds before the meaning behind his words spring to life. You clench your fists to keep yourself absolutely rooted there, vision growing red yet again.

"Are you trying to tell me what I think you're trying to tell me, Geto?" you query quietly, nails digging deep crescents into the skin of your palms. Suguru's face morphs into an unrushed grin, smug and ugly. You reckon one of your nail's finally broken the skin of your left palm.

The Curse Manipulator shrugs. "That depends on what—"

"Being mean to you isn't me not knowing how to handle my emotions or some shallow shit like that," you cut him off, unclenching your fists and letting the air brush over the red-hot indents in your palm, "Being mean to you is me wanting to be; and you better not be expecting me to change that anytime soon, 'cause I won't–" A barely-heard mumble on kikufuku makes you pause. Throwing a sideways glance at the boy mumbling, you return your focus to the other boy, eyes fixed in a hard stare.

"I hate you and I'm so not the type to be polite with someone, only to bitch about them later on, behind their back— so I'm gonna continue hating you to your face— and I don't care what you might have to say on this, so you better save your breath, yeah?"

A moment of tense silence follows your question, broken not too long after by the black-haired boy's incredulous statement, "I never meant that to refer to myself. I was speaking on your feelings for–" He grows silent suddenly, eyes darting to Satoru for a brief second, before they return to you. Cheshire cat grin back in every bit of its dastardly glory.

"Feelings for someone close to you translates to your hatred for me– hm?" he says, throwing a momentary glance at Satoru yet again, grin unbudged, "You are one very weird girl, you know that?"

"Oh, yeah?" you snap back without missing a beat, "You might not be knowing this— but anger and hatred are equally valid feelings as any other— and regarding the matter of you being someone close to me?" you let out something between a scoff and a sigh, shaking your head, "You're one of the five other faces I see from my age group, at school everyday. Of-fucking-course, you're someone close to me. I'll be kind of upset if— Have you ever been told, your grin is low-key terrifying?"

Your genuine question earns one very hearty laugh from Suguru– it grows tempered soon enough, however, when you pointedly glance at your sleeping friend then shoot the other boy a glare. Sharp. Mad.

The latter smiles at you, shaking his head. "You're really one weird girl —perhaps the weirdest of them all..." he says, wiping a tear away from his eye, shoulders still shaking from his subdued laughter– "However, I can't help but wonder..."

You shift your weight to one foot, the other tapping an impatient tune on the ground as you stuff your hands into your jacket pockets. Smile dimming to grow a touch of honest curiosity, he asks, "You say, anger and hatred are valid emotions, but don't you feel they might burn you from the inside out, consume you and every bit of your life, leave your world in smoke and ash— don't you feel ashamed when you're feeling those? Helpless– miserable when your anger and hatred tears at your insides? Teasing you, taunting you— cursing you?"

It takes you few moments to grasp the entirety of Suguru's question; and when you do, you can't help but feel sorry for him— Though you know better than to offer something as trash as sympathy to another.

Not when it cannot retrieve the lost, resurrect the dead.

Not when it cannot remove the scars– seen and hidden.

Not when it cannot... let your 'Toru sleep without reliving the sight of millions of maggots swarming over him, weak, dying, dying, weak— YouNeedToMakeGetoLeaveNOW—

You fake a yawn, flexing and extending your legs, one at a time.

"Jogging, fencing, complaining, being mean, napping— these are my usual go-to's whenever I feel too overwhelmed by negative emotions," you answer, features made into one of nonchalance then add, almost as a mumbled after-thought, "or when any emotion confuses me too, to be honest. Kicking the wall or the source of your distress helps me too, yeah."

"So... violence is always an option, hm?"

A chuckle moves to fall past your lips— you push it back– misgivings standing where humor should be– when you catch the way Suguru's eyes gleam in the shade granted by the drifting clouds— though that gleam doesn't seem to be gleaming to you. One might accuse you to be unfairly prejudiced against him— but you know you aren't letting a smidgen of those biases tint your vision now.

You know that gleam in his eyes is anything but funny. Anything but light. Anything but good—

The Curse Manipulator rises from his slouch on the ground, sending you another of his easy smiles, though it no longer feels as harmless as it used to, earlier. Your feet move a few steps towards Satoru— in response to your instinct to shield the boy or your desire to be within his comforting aura— you're not very sure, which.

Suguru's smile grows, gaze flitting from his classmate to you. "Thank you for inviting us here. All of us really needed this break after... what happened last year," he says, volume dropping to a whisper, "Thanks a bunch, kid."

You just nod your head in response, fighting the urge to rush to your friend's side— the other boy lets out a muted chuckle, feet moving a couple steps away from you, before he stops and points at the piece of drawing lying before Satoru, held down by a stone paperweight. It is the one you gifted him, many years back at a beach, you recollect.

A tad too tickled statement startles you back to the present.

"Your 'Toru's made his 'sweetness' the subject of that portrait there... think, he fancies her or something?"

Not sparing said portrait a glance, you frown up at him. "But it seems to be of an older woman, Geto. Are you trying to suggest Satoru sees me as someone older than her age?"

"Maybe," he shrugs. You observe him for a moment before looking at the fast asleep boy again— dread and dejection filling every small bit of your body, slow yet so steady—

Satoru sees you as someone much older than your age. Satoru never tells you, he'll be drawing your portrait— but he has told that bastard best friend of his, everything. Said bastard best friend keeps being a hindrance, putting a spoke in your and Satoru's eons old friendship— not to mention those way too disturbing vibes he was giving off some time back— Bloody hell, Satoru also ate your ice cream up, didn't he?

"You seem to be overwhelmed with emotions, kid," the black-haired boy comments, still standing in the same place as he was, watching you attentively with hints of a smirk, "What are you planning to do?"

Honestly? You don't know. You're mad. You want Suguru to leave you two by yourselves for some time. But, you don't know how to— okay, no, wait–

Kicking something never not solves your issues... Besides, all of your friends– yeah, even this bang-haired asshole, keep themselves away whenever you and Satoru fight, so...

Stamping down the glee blooming in your heart, you throw Suguru a very unimpressed glance. "What can one ever expect me to do, eh?"

And that's the last thing you utter, before you stomp right up to your best friend, and ignoring the tiny flicker of regret, deliver a sharp and well-aimed kick to his leg— eliciting a yelp from your poor 'Toru– but, at the same time, kicking your oh-so-splendid plan of protecting your friendship, off as well.

[But, in case this plan fails? Something, the sweet half of yourself is a bit too sure, will happen— Shut the fuck up, you goody-two-shoes!!—

Simple!! You'll buy Satoru three– no, five– tubs of that Neapolitan ice cream. Offer to complete his homework, plus massage his shoulders as an apology for hitting him. And pout at him, trembling lips and big teary eyes and all that jazz, and—

Gojo Satoru will be best friends with his sweetness in no time, again!]

I do not own the characters used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please do not plagiarize or translate or repost this. Hope you enjoyed reading this! 😊

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Masterlist

Satoru calls his future S/O sweetness, but trust me when I say— Suguru's S/O will be the sweetest of them all. Stay tuned for the next oneshot in this series, my loves!!! 🥰