#sometimes i just wonder how to live with the things we suppress. or things that could never see full bloom -

[lunasilvis]

Sucks to know you’ll always miss a person in particular ways. It’s not at all crumbling. Just a “damn” - one some mornings, or nights. A part of you (even in a deep hibernational slumber, even after years) will yearn to have them close(r) to your heart and enjoy life with them. Happy to say it’s not a constant feeling, fuck, I couldn’t do that. It’s in the small, unexpected, subconscious moments.

Little thunder bolts hitting the floor on a clear day.

I thought it was an exaggeration so for years I called myself an unfair judge. But fuck, energy doesn’t lie. And you wish you didn’t feel this way. I am not one who seeks out these sort of situations, I’m too relaxed to stir the seas of my calm life in these ways. And I can’t put my finger on it what it is. But you gotta make peace with the here and now, with the life that’s yours, before you. And you gotta continue sailing in your own waterway. That’s what I’m doing, it’s a matter of letting what doesn’t belong here go (and keeping what does). Still, my heart misses you sometimes so much it feels like its chambers will cave in on itself realizing there’s not a single person who’ll ever come close. And I’m trying to find ways now to be okay with that for my remaining life.

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Request from @lives-in-midgard: Bucky and reader just watched a movie and then cuddled up to sleep. After a few minutes a thunderstorm begins and reader can feel that Bucky holds her more tighter because the thunder and the lightning triggers something in him. Reader comforts Bucky and then has the idea to build a blanket fort with Bucky.

Word Count: 1,872

Warnings: Thunderstorms, Bucky's mental health

Sometimes you enjoyed a good session of Netflix and chill with Bucky but more often than not you'd end up with Hulu and hang, especially when he came home worn out from his day job of being a hero. Tonight was one of those nights. Bucky had come home completely and utterly shattered. You had been worried that he wouldn't make it home before the forecasted storm that was supposed to be rolling in. But he had come home safe and sound, if not a little worse for wear.

“Hey Buck,” you greeted him at the door with a soft tone and small peck on the cheek. 

He responded with a deep sigh, shrugging off his jacket and toeing off his dirty boots. Normally you'd chastise him for getting mud on the floor, but something told you to hold your tongue.

But it was as though he could read your mind. Bucky looked down at the mud on the floor and sighed. “I'm sorry, I'll clean it up.”

“Don't worry, baby. I'll sort it out later.”

“It's not fair on you.”

He picked up his boots and deposited them outside the front door. Bucky shut the door behind him turning back to you. He looked so lost and exhausted. You wondered what on Earth had happened to him during his last mission. As tempting it was to probe further, you sensed that it might not be the right time. Instead you opted for another question.

“What do you need?”

“I don't know,” he answered miserably.

“How does a shower sound? And I'll order your favorite take out and we can have a TV dinner. Okay?”

Bucky nodded mutely, trudging off to the bathroom. You sighed and picked up your phone to place your order. The food should arrive quickly, but you felt guilty for dragging the poor delivery man out in such terrible weather but your boyfriend needed pampering.

You answered the door to a pimply teenager who you tipped heavily for his troubles. It took you a moment to notice why he hadn't moved from his position of accepting your tip. Bucky had emerged dripping wet with a low hung towel draped over his waist. He was the epitome of a Greek God, water droplets tracing the outlines of his clearly defined abs.

“Get going, kid. Don't want to get caught in the storm.” You ushered the teen out of your doorway before closing the door behind him. You turned to Bucky with a grin. “Dressing to impress, are we?”

He blushed slightly. “Sorry. I was just looking for that towel.”

Immediately you realized that he was after the large fluffy white towel you had bought him a few months ago. It had been a self care gift. You had advised him that he needed to take care of himself better, that he deserved to have comfort. He had pretended to scorn the gift, but when your back was turned, you saw him rubbing his fingers between the soft fibers. It warmed your heart to know that he had heeded your words.

“Yeah, here it is.”

You fetched the requested item from the linen closet where you had put it after its last wash. He took the towel in his vibranium hand, his flesh one wrapped around your outstretched one, not letting you go.

You looked up into his eyes, searchingly. “Everything okay?”

“Only when you're here.”

He smiled, retreating to the bedroom to dry off and get dressed. You couldn't help but smile back at him, giving his ass a little pat as he left. Bucky returned promptly as you finished dishing out all the food onto one plate. He was definitely hungry, his insatiable supersoldier diet meant he always had room for a meal. Usually his mood was the only thing that would suppress his appetite, so it was a good sign to see him licking his lips with anticipation.

“Just one plate?” he frowned. “Is it all for you or me?”

“I thought we could share. Did you know that in Ethiopian culture, eating from the same plate is a symbol of love?”

“But you ordered Korean food,” Bucky replied, frowning in confusion. 

“You speak like six different languages and you’re so smart, but sometimes Bucky, you can be really dense.”

Bucky smirked at your teasing. He grabbed the plate from your hands and headed to the couch, beckoning for you to follow. He pulled the coffee table up to the couch and sat down on the floor leaning against it. You joined him in time to hear him heave a sigh of relief.

“Feel good to get off your feet?” you asked.

“You have no idea, Doll,” Bucky sighed.

“Did something happen out here?” you asked tentatively, helping yourself to a gimbap of the plate.

Bucky grabbed his chopsticks and stuffed a piece of sweet and sour chicken into his mouth as a way to avoid answering your question. You sighed, rubbing his thigh as an apology for your intrusion. He was definitely not in the mood to talk and you were happy to eat and watch your movie in silence.

Once you had both finished your food, you paused the movie to grab a few cushions and pushed the coffee table away to make room. You and Bucky made yourselves comfortable on the floor under a large blanket, turning down the lights and restarting the movie. You felt relaxed in his arms, in the dimmed light with the sound of rain pattering against the window.

The raindrops turned from the gentle tapping into a hammering against the glass panes of the apartment. It was accompanied by a duo of distant rumbling and bright flashes. The wind howled through the rickety apartment and you snuggled deeper under the blanket and against Bucky's side.

It was only when Bucky's fingers dug into your side sharply did you notice how tight his grip on your waist had become. This was what prompted you to cast your senses out and you noticed how rigid your boyfriend had become. His body was stiff and his breath was shallow and faster than normal. Your head was resting against his chest and you heard his heart pounding. This demeanor could almost have been mistaken for arousal, but you knew your boyfriend well enough to know when he was being triggered.

The trauma Bucky had suffered was unimaginable. He rarely spoke about his time at HYDRA, and what he did tell you was evasive at best. There would be times where he would stare off into space with a haunted look or wake up drenched in sweat after a nightmare. When you had first met, he had been reluctant to sleep over and you had felt anxious about his dedication to your relationship. But he had been surprisingly forthcoming when you'd expressed your concerns. Since then, you'd progressed in your commitment to each other and now you were a great source of comfort to him and sleeping beside you had significantly reduced the incidence of his bad dreams. And here he was again, showing all the signs of being lost in a haze of his past.

“Buck?” you whispered. “Bucky?”

He was mumbling repeatedly under his breath. “I'm not the Winter Soldier. I'm James Bucky Barnes.”

It broke your heart to hear the desperation in his voice. You had missed it at first because his voice was so soft and went unnoticed, masked by the sound of the television.

“That's right, baby. You're James Bucky Barnes, my handsome sweet boyfriend. You're kind, smart and brave. I'm so proud of how you fight every single day. How much good you do. That's the man I fell in love with. That's my Bucky.”

Bucky turned to you, not once releasing his grip on you. “I had a bad day,” he sighed.

“I know, baby.”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“That's alright. You don't have to. But I'm here for you if you do. You know that, right?”

“I appreciate that. But I don't want you to see that part of me.”

His words made you feel a little disappointed. Of course it was his choice, but you wanted him to let you in.

“I love every part of you, Buck.”

“I don't know that I deserve that.”

“Well I'm here to tell you that you do, everyday until you believe it. Now, how can I help you now?”

“I should have listened to you and put up curtains. The lightning, it's-” Bucky didn't know how to put into words the source of his distress.

You bit your lip, pondering the problem for a moment. “Oh! I have an idea! Be back in a minute, need to grab a few things. Is that okay?” You checked if he didn't mind you leaving his side for a bit.

Bucky nodded and you jumped up and into his bedroom. You had insisted he bought a bed and with it came pillows, pillow cases and bedsheets. You ran into his room to grab the biggest one you could find.

"Got it!”

You proceeded to pull the chairs from the dining room table and place them parallel to the couch, facing outwards. You shook out the sheet and in one swift motion draped it across the backs of all the chairs, effectively creating a blanket fort. You dropped a few of the decorative ornaments that you had bought Bucky onto the chair, weighing the sheets down to keep tension in the roof. Last of all, you grabbed the little galaxy projector and flicked it on. 

The bedsheet was thick enough to block out the light coming from the windows. And the cave you'd created emanated a soft purple glow that Bucky found soothing.

He put his arm back around you as you dropped to the floor and crawled against his side.

“Want to carry on with the movie? Or I can put some music on? Or anything else you want.”

“Umm,” Bucky took a minute to think what he wanted.

You waited patiently for him to process his thoughts. Bucky struggled to give an immediate answer when he was exhausted and often got frustrated if people rushed him. You tried hard to respect his needs.

“You know that soundtrack you were listening to last week?”

You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion. You listened to a lot of music.

“The music from that show you like… the one with the Duke.”

“Wait, are you talking about Bridgerton?” A grin spread across your face, impressed that Bucky had noticed.

“Yeah, that one,” Bucky mumbled.

“Sure,” you answered, smiling and pulling out your phone and opening your Spotify app. You typed out Bucky's choice in the search box and hit play. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” Bucky answered, sarcastically and rolled his eyes.

You laid your head on the pillow beside his, looking up at the lights in the sheeted ceiling you'd created. The storm outside couldn't penetrate the haven you'd made. Bucky took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the storm that raged inside him. Your arm around his waist and your hand on his heart helped tame the tempestuous beast that gnawed upon his soul.

“Thank you,” he whispered in your ear. 

[m00nsbaby]

BABES HEAR ME OUT- Ever heard of the song "the moon will sing" by the crane wives?

I was wondering if I could get "I loved you like the sun; with no light of my own, I shine only with the light you gave me"? With the moonboys 🥺💗

I CRIED???? Y'ALL NEED TO STOP SENDING ME SONGS THAT SOUND LIKE THE BABIES BECAUSE I CRY LIKE AN IDIOTLKSDJFKLG

I LOVED THIS ONE, HERE WE GO

The moon will sing.

Moon system x reader.

Tags & warnings. A bit of angst (you know me), fluff and some self steem problems.

Word count. 2.4k

Summary.

I loved you like the sun; with no light of my own, I shine only with the light you gave me.

Over time, you came to understand that this couldn't be, at least not in a romantic sense, but you had no problem accepting that the four of you worked incredibly well as best friends.

You loved them, and there was no greater reward than seeing how your love had been a significant support in their lives. Sometimes, there's nothing like watching the love of your life grow. However, no matter how hard you worked, there was something they still couldn't shake.

But the silver lining was that many times, they just needed a little reassurance.

In Steven's case, it was always his memory.

As it turns out, Steven, for logical reasons, didn't remember much of his life, and he never really thought about it until now when he was in this strange balance with Marc and Jake. Even though the three of them stood thinking, "Hey, this is better than how I felt in the past," there were things in his head that they never expressed because sometimes comfort gives you a false sense that you shouldn't complain about your current situation.

That you should be grateful.

And Steven Grant was thankful for many things. He was grateful for Marc and Jake, grateful for you, grateful for his life, and even grateful for Gus's new friend. So when throughout the day he heard or saw something that triggered a false deja vu, he suppressed the urge to cry, knowing that it was probably a memory of Marc that he wasn't identifying correctly.

Much of his life was spent questioning what had been real and what was a product of his imagination.

"Listen, listen," you whispered, looking at him intently.

Both of you were sitting on his carpet right in front of the sofa, your backs against the couch and your shoulders touching.

You were introducing Steven to the magic of Green Day, and he was the only one who could tolerate your habit of pausing every song to say, 'this is the best part,' in a short 3-minute period.

Well, this one was really the best part. The build-up during the 'Til then I walk alone' always gave you shivers, and it did the same for him, but for a completely different reason.

It was silly to think that a young Marc Spector, unsupervised and burdened with a thousand problems to deal with, didn't take advantage of every opportunity to distract himself in any way he could, like at parties.

In 2004, at just 16 years old, "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" was one of those things that made you say, "Woah, this is definitely the best thing humanity has ever created." It was at one of those ridiculous parties that Billie Joe Armstrong figuratively opened his eyes.

Suddenly, Steven wasn't with you anymore. He was on an uncomfortable couch surrounded by cigarette smoke, and the taste of beer lingered in his mouth. He could deal with the memory, but not with the flood of feelings that hit him like a runaway truck. The feeling of being a lost child, without parents, without friends, without his brother, and without any desire, fighting not to sink as the days went by.

Sometimes, it was a good reminder of how much of an anchor he was for Marc.

He ripped out his earpiece before the song could finish, and he looked at you with fear. You furrowed your brow, confused but not as detached from the situation as you had been in the past. It wasn't the first time.

"Steven? Are you okay?" you whispered, putting your phone aside to look at him.

"Yeah, yeah, I…," he stammered, closing his eyes for a few seconds just to catch his breath. "It was a… It's nothing."

You placed your hand on his cheek to seek his gaze, and he immediately melted at your touch, his head tilting toward your hand like a puppy seeking affection.

"What happened?"

"I… I remembered."

Oh, so that was it.

You nodded slowly, and your arms slid around his shoulders, he hugged you by the waist to pull you closer to his body. You learned with time that Steven's love language was physical touch.

You felt him squeeze harder with his arms, and his forehead rested on your shoulder.

"It's okay if you want to cry," you knew he was holding back.

Like clockwork, you felt your T-shirt getting wet from his tears.

"I can't anymore," he whispered with difficulty, his body experiencing small spasms from crying. "I can't anymore, I don't know what's… I don't know," he stammered, and you nodded slowly.

"I understand." The position was uncomfortable, but you weren't willing to let go. "I understand, Steven."

"I don't know what's real, I don't know." He took a deep breath. "I was at… at some kind of party," he tried to laugh at his silly memory while sniffing.

"And were they listening to Green Day? It sounds like fun," you joked back with a slight smile, your fingers combing his curls to your liking. "Marc definitely had a Green Day phase."

You managed to make him laugh, even with his difficulty in breathing.

"Maybe," you whispered, trying to get his attention again. "We can talk to him; he'll help you remember."

"He doesn't like to talk about it."

You moved away just enough to look him in the face. Your hands traveled from his shoulders to his cheeks, which you squeezed with your fingers while giving him a small smile.

"He'll understand," you whispered, the tip of your nose brushing against his. Finally, you saw him smile back.

"Do you think so?"

"I do," you confirmed, wrinkling your nose at him affectionately.

For Marc, it all depended on embracing his inner child, both literally and symbolically, the one who was always scared and never knew how to express it.

The sound of one of his crystal glasses shattering made you look up from the sofa. He was looking at the floor in annoyance, and within seconds, you heard a second crash, him hitting the nearest wall.

"Shit!" he exclaimed loudly. You sighed heavily and got up to go to the kitchen.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I… yeah," he said, looking at his hand, which had a cut on the palm. You could hear his heavy breathing, his chest rising and falling in front of your eyes.

"Calm down."

"I am calm," he replied immediately, looking at the juice stain on the floor.

"Marc, it's okay." The glass crunched under your shoe, and you almost gave him a nervous tic. You were making an even bigger mess; you were going to get him in trouble.

But with whom?

Who was going to punish him?

"Look at that." Your voice was soft, and he found it ridiculous how your expression wrinkled in concern when you noticed the cut on his hand.

He'd been impaled once; this was nothing.

"It doesn't hurt."

You ignored him, placing your hand under his to bring it closer to your face. Your other hand removed the tiny shard of glass stuck in his skin, and he hissed; it hurt a little, just a little.

Very little.

"Come on, let me…" You whispered, bringing his hand with you. This time, his shoes completed the mess beneath both of you. You turned on the sink and held his hand under the water.

He stayed still, obedient to you. He could feel the rhythm of his heart slowing down.

He watched as you put soap in his palm and then rubbed it with yours as if he were washing his hands himself. It stung, but he paid little attention when you were so close. The genuine concern you felt for him made Marc's stomach turn; this hadn't happened to him before.

The blood stopped flowing within seconds; it wasn't anything serious, just as he had thought.

"Do you think you need a band-aid?"

He thought you were teasing him until he saw you smile with your characteristic tenderness. He slowly shook his head, not knowing what to say.

His gaze dropped to the floor, and you did the same.

"Oh, that."

"Take off your shoes." He moved to the dry part of the floor, doing as he had asked you to do. His tone was so gentle that your smile unconsciously grew on your face.

This was the point you wanted to reach with him.

"Let me pick up the glass, okay? Get a towel to dry this."

And together, as if they were on a children's show, you cleaned up the mess Marc had caused, without raising your voices or arguing.

"Do you want to choose the movie for tonight?" You gave him a little nudge with your shoulder as both of you finished washing your hands, and he pushed you back in the same playful manner.

"I thought that was a given." It's amazing how quickly you can forget your mistakes when no one scares you for making them.

You were willing to stay as long as it took for Marc to understand that accidents were just that—accidents. If only someone had told him that many years ago.

The rest of the night passed as if nothing had happened. He hugged your shoulders, and you ate popcorn from the bowl resting on his stomach. Marc chose the worst action movie you had ever seen, but you enjoyed his silly comments as well as his laughter when the effects were terrible.

A broken glass wasn't the end of the world; it never was.

Topics with Jake were always deeper, both literally and symbolically; the conversations you had about the existence of human beings always seemed like a philosophy class.

Because unfortunately, he still had trouble feeling like a person with autonomy, not just an extension of Marc and Steven's needs.

He wasn't just a tool.

"I don't understand why they need another room." He looked around with a furrowed brow, still not sure how you managed to get rid of all the clutter in that room.

It was completely empty, except for an old desk that Steven refused to get rid of. It was the perfect space.

"For you."

"Huh?" He looked at you as if you were crazy.

"For you. I talked to Steven and Marc, and they both agree that you deserve to have a space for yourself that isn't your car."

He rolled his eyes.

"I don't spend that much time in my car."

"Steven says you like the car more than him."

He thought about it for a moment.

"Well, that's true."

This time, you rolled your eyes.

"But…" He continued. "It's not necessary. I'm sure Steven's books would make better use of the space. Why do I need a room?"

"For listening to music? Reading? Watching those dramatic afternoon novelas? Watching pornogr…”

"Fine! I get it!" He wasn't thrilled with the idea. You could see it as he continued to look around the room, not sure if he was planning something or simply disdainful of the idea.

"Do you like it?"

"No."

He was the most difficult person you knew; that wasn't a surprise. But he gradually warmed up to the idea, especially when you brought him two different posters, each with a completely different painting printed on them.

Café Terrace at Night by Vincent Van Gogh.

Vs.

Las Meninas by Diego Velazquez.

It took him hours to decide; every now and then, he would stop to look at the paintings and examine every detail.

"Did you know…" He caught your attention as you organized some books on the desk, new books he had chosen. "Van Gogh didn't sign this painting?" He pointed at the poster, and you looked up to analyze it as if you were going to refute it. "Historians know it's his because he mentioned it in letters before."

Well, that was something you didn't know.

Steven probably said he knew it from the headspace.

"I had no idea."

"I think I'll go with that one."

"Then that's the one."

And so began the extensive collection of meaningless decorations on the walls of Jake's new room. He had a thousand photos with no order, pictures of Marc and Steven (anyone who walked into the room would think he just had very high self-esteem), pictures of you, cats he saw on the street, his car or cars he thought were cool but would never be his.

He had photos of the moon and Queen posters. Papers that made him look like one of those hoarders from the reality shows you watched with Steven, because when he realized he could find a bit of his reality in the smallest things, he didn't stop.

A parking meter ticket, some from the corner convenience store where he bought spicy potato chips that painted his fingers red, the wrapper from one of his favorite candies, some tickets from different movies at the cinema, that note you left on the passenger seat wishing him a good day.

The collection was so extensive that you'd probably never finish listing it.

Oh, he also had a shopping list from Steven.

He never thanked you out loud, but the fact that he started using the space was enough for you. Ah, and the way he lifted you in his arms to make you laugh.

"Jake! No, no, no!" Your legs were wrapped around his hips, your fingers gripping his shoulders.

"You're amazing, you know that, cariño?"

"Why?"

"Just because you are." He kissed your entire face, oh, never the lips; he didn't cross that boundary even though the temptation was constant, especially when your huge eyes fixed on him in this way, your forehead resting against his.

"Just because you are." He repeated with the same smile.

The truth was, neither Steven, nor Marc, nor Jake had much in mind about what their life was like before you, and that's why they were afraid to think about what it would be like without you in it.

Maybe that was why they were so afraid to take that extra step, why they enjoyed your love the way they did, without giving you the exchange you deserved.

What if it didn't work out? Could they live with the memory of how well you had treated them?

What were they before you?

And what would they be if you weren't there?

None of them wanted to imagine it.

So every night, Steven held you tighter, praying that you would never realize that you deserved more than this, more than fixing someone broken; Marc told you stories you had heard before, as a way to let you know how much he cared, how confident he was that if someone wouldn't judge him, it was you; and Jake kept buying your favorite chocolates as if that would be enough to keep you, oh, and sometimes he kept the wrappers.

If you ever decided to leave, those would be proof that you were once with them.

Mk's tag list :)@ninebluehearts @icreatedthisat317am @onefinnedwonder-fm @shousha133

this one wasn't that bad, right?

[i-heart-hxh]

So, I was reading that ask about why Killua pushed Gon away in chapter 231, and the part where you said, 'It’s actually part of a larger pattern we see with Killua’s behavior towards Gon, where he decides to “protect” him by leaving him out of things and not giving him the full context of what’s happening,' really made so much sense to me for other moments between them! Do you think there's a connection to why Killua leaves in the end and doesn't tell Gon the full extent of what had hurt him?

+ in addition to my ask about that chapter (you can paste them together! character limit), I wonder if this behavior plays a role in how short and abrupt the separation was. Maybe it was time to let each other go for a while because Killua still don't know how to deliver the full context of his broken heart to Gon, and Gon knows better than push him to say it as he's still processing what he did and doesn't feel worthy of Killua's presence (Gon has never had a huge self-esteem to begin with)

Hello anon! Thank you for the thought-provoking messages--I love having conversations with people about the specifics of what happened between Gon and Killua because there's just so much to unpack there. Even after all the years I've spent in this fandom I still feel like there's always more to untangle.

Also, anon is referencing this post.

Killua sometimes hides things from Gon to protect him from other people or situations (or, in many cases, how he thinks Gon will react to those people/situations)--but he also hides things from Gon about his own internal thoughts and feelings for a few reasons that all blend into each other.

Most simply, Killua's upbringing actively tried to get him to suppress his feelings. While of course this failed to a certain degree, being raised in an environment where sharing feelings and even having feelings was actively discouraged is not an easy thing to unravel. This makes it exceptionally difficult for him to share his deep feelings and vulnerabilities and directly express his love--aside from in acts of service, which seems to be the only acceptable Zoldyck love language, essentially. He was always appreciated at home for what he did and not who he is, which is why he gets so flustered when Gon compliments him simply for being himself.

As the series goes on, Killua is increasingly fearful (as a result of the situations with Kite and Palm and not winning against Shoot due to the needle) that he'll lose his place at Gon's side or that Gon will confirm that Killua isn't as important to him as Gon is to him, so that makes it difficult for Killua to take any risks as far as how vulnerable he is with Gon. Because so much of his self-esteem hinges on how useful he is to Gon, the thought of being pushed away is terrifying to him. This makes his courage in standing up to Gon when Gon confronted Pitou exceptionally meaningful, and especially when his worst fears play out as a result--Gon does actually push him away, and then tries to throw his own life away as penance for what happened to Kite.

Killua views himself to a certain degree as essentially the shadow to Gon's light. Killua isn't even sure he deserves to be with Gon. He sees himself as someone who has been tainted by his upbringing, by his history of running from difficult opponents, etc. So, he thinks he needs to protect Gon in not just a literal sense but also a metaphorical sense--to make sure Gon doesn't end up like him. He knows Gon isn't "normal" either, but he sees Gon as someone who can lead him out of the darkness into living a more normal life, like he wants. But in order for this dynamic to continue, Killua puts himself in a role where he has to keep Gon from being tainted by the world, and also to a certain degree, from being tainted by himself and what he's been through. Of course, Gon's mental state ends up falling apart regardless with what happens and Killua is forced to confront that Gon isn't a pure being of light, but another traumatized boy who ended up in situations he couldn't handle. Killua feels partly responsible for what happened to Gon as well, because he fled from Kite with Gon, and because he couldn't change Gon's self-destructive course.

I absolutely think these tendencies play into why they have to separate, and why the separation is so brief. I don't think Killua is ready to open up and tell Gon the full extent of how he feels and how much both seeing Gon self-destruct and being pushed away hurt him. Even though Gon survived because of Nanika, Killua essentially watched him commit suicide. Of course he needs time to process that. Plus there are external factors that make the separation necessary (Alluka/Nanika, Illumi pursuing them). This post is important reading on the separation, as it affected my view of what happened between them.

Gon knows he hurt Killua deeply, and like you said I don't think he wants to push Killua into talking more about it after what happened. I'm sure they had some sort of conversation between Gon waking up and their parting that we didn't see, but I doubt it was a conversation where they delved deeply into the issues between them. I think Gon likely apologized, forcefully and wholeheartedly, but not in a way that had a complete enough understanding of what happened/what hurt Killua for it to be what they need.

It always boils down to the two of them loving each other but essentially feeling they don't deserve the other due to their own self-esteem issues.

I also think it was brief out of necessity--they didn't want to leave each other, clearly, so to drag it out risks them not being able to let each other go.

As I've said before, as much as the issues between them are deep, I have a lot of faith that they will end up reuniting and reconciling and having a better relationship in the future. The separation gives them both some space to think about what went wrong and why, and to figure out who they are individually and what kind of relationship they want to have in the future. They both need some time to mature and understand themselves better in order to reach that point.

Thank you for the asks!

[milkbobatyun]

let you break my heart again

pairing: kang taehyun x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff (if u squint really closely), bsf to more than friends to strangers, school au, right person, wrong time (sort of?), miscommunication (-ish?)

summary: in which you and taehyun are childhood friends, but as you grow older, some things make you think that you're more than friends. yet, the universe and fate love to play cruel games on you.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: this is my first time writing on tumblr and i did this instead of studying for my legal test (°ー°〃) this whole piece imo is a hot mess, but it was inspired by real life so this is in a way, a sort of speical thing to write. to the person that made me feel this way, thank u for giving me inspo for this. and also thank u to my faithful quality checker @yeonjunsfox, dude you had to read through this thing like sm times (｡ŏ_ŏ)

i. prologue

she could remember it clearly. it was a sticky summer day. it would have been perfect, blue sky for miles and fluffy clouds nowhere to be seen, if not for the fact that the sun was baking down onto the earth and causing sweat to come pouring down her back, yet this was not enough to deter her from hosting a teddy bear picnic in her front yard, plastic cups clinking against the pink and white plastic plates that came with it. but, as a five-year-old child, her attention span was short, playing with the teddies for an hour was already a feat in itself, yn wanted more. she wanted adventure.

just as she thought that, she caught sight of a white moving van rolling up to the newly-purchased house beside her house. in her childish excitement, she quickly stood up, almost tripping over herself in excitement, before she politely dusted her hands on her little yellow sundress, peeking on her tiptoes to see over the fence. to her surprise, she came eye to eye with a smiling little boy, round boba eyes bright with wonder and anticipation.

“hi! i’m taehyun! i’m…” the little boy paused, before he pulled out his hands and started counting. “i’m five!” taehyun held up five fingers in delight. ecstatic that she had someone else to play with, yn and taehyun became fast friends.

ii. when we were kids

throughout their younger school years, they had always been in the same class and their friendship grew stronger, until they were each other’s best friends. now, they had just begun their first year of middle school. with the process of growing up, their dynamic also changed. maybe it came with the arrival of adolescence, but their relationship, something, was different and yn couldn’t put her finger on it. 

sure, as children they would hold hands, especially when yn was nervous. often, taehyun would tease her about how she was a ‘scaredy-cat’, but would secretly love the way that she would shy away, into his back. he often boasted about how he was her knight in shining armour and she was his princess. as children, when they were leaving a play date, one or the other would often give a cute little kiss on the other’s squishy cheek to bid them fair well. yn could remember so clearly, the cooing noises their mothers would make, seeing that interaction. in fact, they loved it so much that both mothers had matching framed photos on their living room mantelpiece of a secret photo they snuck.

but now, it was different. there were more fleeting touches, possessive holds, namely from a devilishly handsome teenage taehyun. sometimes, he would sneak up from behind her, while she was grabbing things from her locker, and his arms would circle her waist, before he lifted her into the air, with her legs kicking. other times, he would be more sensible, wrapping his arms around her from behind before leaving his quote-on-quote “stupid, heavy head” on her shoulder. what taehyun didn’t know was how hard yn would try to suppress her smile when his hair tickled her neck.

most of the time though, yn could curse his stupid height. now that he was taller than her, he would often rub it in by petting her head, before using those stupidly long legs to run away from her. goddamn it, why did god give him such spidery long legs! doesn’t he know how tiring it is to run after him every day just to get her revenge?

being the school heartthrob’s best friend was hard, many times a day would yn be stopped in the hallways by girls and guys alike, asking her if she could pass this on to taehyun, pass that message on to him, or answer such questions about taehyun’s hobbies. more often than not, she would diligently pass the message on to taehyun, not without a tone of teasing mockery, on their walks home together. those were the best times, when the setting sun was the only witness to their banter, as they zig-zagged across the path leading to their homes, playful shoving accompanied by sarcastic jokes and digs, a secret language created by the two of them.

iii. still you take up all my mind

the second year of middle school was no different. taehyun and yn were still attached to the hip, they were barely anywhere without each other, supporting each other both in public and private. they were each other’s comfort.

yn could remember as clearly as yesterday, when they were both in some stupid lecture, where the lecturer had jokingly said that if they got bored, they could sleep through it. excited at this rare opportunity to sleep through a WHOLE lecture, taehyun immediately turned to yn. he knew that in the past week, she hadn’t been sleeping well. who would, if they had 5 assignments to hand in, back to back in the past 3 days?

he wordlessly offered her his shoulder to lean on and without missing a beat, yn immediately took the offer, resting her head on his shoulder. what surprised her though, was the added weight she felt when taehyun leaned his head and rested it on top of hers. this feeling was foreign, but it made her feel warm and fuzzy on the inside and so, they slept peacefully through the whole lecture, heads resting together, hands almost touching on the shared armrest.

iv. im just trying to understand

she doesn’t remember when it started happening, but slowly, their fleeting touches and linked pinkies during their walks together began to make her feel something more. it ignited a flame and sparks of electricity when their skin made contact. those warm, comforting back hugs made her heart do somersaults and butterflies spawn in her stomach, tickling her insides with their fluttering wings.

she didn’t take notice of it, until a friend of hers mentioned in passing, “hey, have you ever wondered if taehyun liked you? he’s always attached to you, almost acting like a boyfriend.” initially, yn dismissed her friend’s claims with a nonchalant shake of her head and a laugh, thinking that the notion was hilarious and she was so funny for mentioning something like this.

that afternoon, while taehyun and yn were walking home, taehyun subconsciously reached out his hand, linking his pinkie with hers. this sudden contact sent a sparkle of shock up yn’s arm and her heart jumped in her chest. hell, she was so surprised she almost jumped off the sidewalk into oncoming traffic. that was when her friend’s words crept back into her mind again.

‘does taehyun like me? or are we just friends?’

she thought long and hard. did other people’s best friends bring them their favourite snack when they felt down? did their best friend try their hardest at rigged arcade games to win them the plushie they had wanted? did their best friend always leave the sweetest notes in their locker before exam season? did other people also call their best friends until late at night, talking about everything and nothing at the same time? or was that what a boyfriend did?

those ideas wormed their way into her brain, warmth blooming across her cheeks. it spread like a virus, before that was all she could think about the whole walk home.

when she got home, she flopped onto her bed, burying her face into the nearest plushie and, with a silent apology for the abuse her plush was about to suffer, she let out a muffled scream. 

this was too hard. romance was too hard, how did the people in the books she read and in her school manage? did they also face the same predicament she was in? did they also have a more than 10-year friendship on the line like her? 

sighing, yn stood back up, smoothing out her hair, her mind set on getting her homework for the day done, just so she could keep her brain occupied with useless information that she most likely wouldn’t need later in life, rather than the handsome, lovable, sarcastic boy who was her best friend and lived next door to her.

she should’ve known her efforts would’ve been futile. during class, her eyes would wander to stare at the sculpture of art that was taehyun’s face, sitting next to her. her hands drew restless doodles and her thoughts were plagued with the possibility that maybe, just maybe this boy, her best friend, would like her.

these thoughts haunted her day and night, resurfacing at the times she least expected. they sprung up in her mind every time she felt his arms wrap around her waist. the contact that used to bring her so much comfort and warmth now only brought about unwanted thoughts of doubt and confusion, causing her to dread the familiar weight of those arms and attempts were made to worm her way out of the long limbs that entrapped her.

taehyun first noticed how strange his best friend was acting when she almost threw herself onto the road from the mere contact of their pinkies touching. initially, he brushed it off as his overreaction, after all, they had done this often enough that she should’ve been used to it. but as time went on, he began to doubt what he called, his ‘ynnie instincts’. things just weren’t right, somehow everything he did warranted a very strange and out-of-sorts reaction from his most beloved best friend. 

did he do something wrong? was he making her uncomfortable?

these thoughts plagued his mind, day and night, while he was doing homework, eating dinner, anything. his thoughts always drifted to her. her face, her favourite food, her comfort characters, everything they’d done together, he had everything memorised. so what had he done to make her react in such a way towards him? he thought, he pondered, he wondered, but nothing clear came to mind.

v. what i am to you

the warm summer days came and went, so too did the autumn days, and then the winter days before spring finally arrived. along with the changing of the seasons, taehyun and yn’s relationship also changed.

it was like a huge chasm had opened up between them. the pair, who once spoke about everything together, now barely talked to each other. after the break, yn had had the time to think things through and she finally found some answers for herself. yes, she did like her best friend. but did he feel the same way? that question, she left unanswered. as for taehyun, he was still in the dark about what rendered such actions from his closest friend.

in an attempt to restore their friendship, yn would seek out taehyun after classes ended, in hopes that they could rekindle their friendship, yet every time she looked for him in the corridors, he was with his new friends that he had made. frankly, they were intimidating, especially the one kid with dimples, who was super tall.

so, as any intimidated person would do, she avoided their group at all costs, but after school, she would often text taehyun or share some funny videos she saw online. however, as time went on, the replies she got were more distant, and disinterested. sometimes, she dared let herself hope, sending over a cheesy little pickup line, hoping he would take the hint and make the first move, or at least drop a hint. 

one time, she took a plunge into the deep end, sending a maths pickup line. after thinking about it for a while, she followed the video with ‘hahaha jk (unless?)’. in the end, she was once again left disappointed, with his stupid, stupid, logical reply of how ‘u’ and ‘i’ were used in maths, just for something else. for once, the conversation bounced back and forth between the two of them, until taehyun left her on read and never replied.

he was conflicted. did she like him the same way he liked her? those videos that she would send and the follow-up message of how they reminded her of him suggested one possibility, yet her responses when she noticed he was within a 50-meter radius of him suggested otherwise.

god, girls were confusing.

so of course, taehyun did something that, thinking back, was so stupid. he messaged one of the girls who had yn pass on her phone number to him.

they began talking more often, but every time taehyun saw her name flash across his screen, he didn’t feel that familiar spark of anticipation, of excitement. he felt nothing. yet every time his phone vibrated with a new notification from her, his ynnie, he felt fireworks explode in his heart. at the same time, he tried to stamp out these feelings.

“she doesn’t feel the same way” echoed like a mantra in his head. maybe if he told himself that enough times, he would believe it.

maybe talking to another girl wasn’t the best idea, or at least, telling your loud-mouth friends wasn’t the best idea. not even 2 periods had passed since taehyun had told his friend, beomgyu that he was talking to another girl, that at least half the year level knew about this new girl.

yn was only walking past a group of friends huddled together when she caught wind of what they were talking about.

“have you heard? taehyun’s talking to another girl!” one girl stage-whispered. there was a collective gasp. “no way! i thought him and yn were a thing?” another girl gossiped. “haven’t you seen the way taehyun and yn would act? i would’ve thought they were practically in love with each other.” a guy countered. “no way taehyun is talking with a different girl right?”

vi. if only you knew

in a final attempt to save their failing friendship, yn sent taehyun a long message after she got back from school that day. she poured her heart and soul into her message, deleting things and editing it over and over again in her notes app, until she was finally happy with her message. she included how she hoped their friendship could continue, she enjoyed all the moments they shared. maybe they could talk more? the message also eluded to something more, courtesy of her friend, who cheered her on over text to say that.

taking a deep breath, she sent it.

like a woman possessed, yn checked her phone every couple of minutes. while she was doing homework. right after she finished dinner. she flipped her phone after every episode of the kdrama she was watching finished. yet to her dismay, he hadn’t even read her message.

late that night, while she was preparing to head to bed, her phone vibrated, from on her bedside table. her ears pricked up at the sound of the familiar vibration, her heart soaring in her chest when she saw the contact name.

‘tyunnie sent one new message!’

clicking open the message, she felt her heart plummet.

two sentences. it only took two sentences to completely shatter her heart.

‘hey, i saw your message, i hope we can continue being friends too, but as you’ve probably heard, im currently talking to another girl. i hope you understand.”

vii. pretend that we're more than friends

no matter how much effort she put into maintaining their friendship, taehyun’s delayed replies for days and weeks exhausted her. she told herself, it was because of this new girl. she wasn’t envious of her. all she wanted was the best for him and maybe, she wasn’t enough.

after staring mindlessly at her black phone screen, waiting, hoping for a reply, she finally gave up. with a sigh, she turned over her phone, before resting her head on her desk. maybe she should stop getting her hopes up again.

maybe that’s all they’ll be, once best friends, now they were…whatever they were now.

despite all that, she hoped and dreamed that one day, someday, she’ll stop falling in love with her best friend. maybe one day, he would find the one for himself, but until then, she would allow herself to have a bit of hope maybe, pretending in her mind that they were still friends or maybe more than friends, the blurred line between friends and something more.

maybe still, he would be the person she sought out when she entered a classroom or was lost in the crowded hallway, even if all she would ever see was the back of his head. that was enough for her. when the time comes that he finds the one for him, she would happily let him break her heart once again.

in the end, taehyun and the girl had split up. the girl realised her true feelings, while taehyun finally came to terms with his love for his best friend. little did she know that every time she turned away, his longing eyes would search for her familiar silhouette in the crowd, hoping she would turn around and catch his eye.

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳) © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[precious-little-scoundrel]

i was thinking about what late night talks with bucky would be like (call me crazy), and it got me thinking:

other than dying (though arguably some are not afraid of dying), what do you think some of the mota men’s greatest fears are? i could write a hundred essays on each of them, they all are so different!

Gosh, this is an incredible ask and it got me thinkin. Too hard, probably. And while I didn’t summarize thoughts for everyone I did think of them for Bucky.

So much so I wrote a little blurb on it. Sorry Nonnie if you’re not even into this universe, I totally get it but I found fic to be a more enlightening method for exploring this. I wanna hear those thoughts of yours! Send them, I beg!

Greatest Fear

They got a bit existential as the weeks went on and their nights got more conscious. Ida and Bucky’s minds grew restless in the cold now that their bodies were healing. Huddled in their bunk they had debated baseball vs football endlessly, and argued regarding the accuracy of each other’s training anecdotes, the morality of mobsters and who was the better boxer: Braddock or Baer.

They’d ended up talking of the war, and both being sick of the dead end that the question of the future brought, they circled back around more concrete -if troublesome- thoughts. Most hairy landings, worst sounds either heard from their crew over the radio and what flashed across their minds when they had to finally press that abandon ship control.

And finally, Bucky ended up asking her what her worst fear was. And when Ida didn’t have it readily to hand -too used to suppressing any such thoughts even to her own self- he clarified: “Besides dying, I mean. If you’re even scared of that. Knowin’ you, maybe you aren’t.”

“I’d rather not.” she admitted.

“So? So what gets you scared?”

“This your way of fishing for another ghost story?” Ida teased.

“No. Just feels like sometimes you gotta remind yourself what it’s all about. Scared of dyin’ means you like livin’ enough to rather not stop. That sorta thing.”

“You’re saying love for one thing drives fear for another.” She summarized.

“Dunno. Just mullin’ it over.”

“I’d go through anything not to lose John.” she conceded, “Funny enough I’m positive he feels the same, so what a snarl.”

“I know he does.”

“Yeah.”

“If they put a gun to Buck’s head I’d tell ‘em Roosevelt's address and his favorite drink order, too.” Bucky expounded, tongue loosened by her tiny admission of frailty. “And he’d hate me for it.”

“All different kinds of loves out there.” Ida murmured consolingly, thinking hard on how her brother had been in a rage at her condition when he first saw her, and yet one of his first questions was whether she’d given anything up. Her Johnny knew she couldn’t live with herself if she had and he wouldn't've wanted her to. And nothing about that struck her as cold. Just as Bucky’s dangerous devotion to Gale didn’t strike her as weak. Just different.

“I saw a train.” Bucky began a thought but his voice died out with such finality Ida wondered if he’d ever pick the subject up again. But after a long moment he did, with some far away quality present in his voice that she’d never heard before, “On the way here. We were on one set of tracks and it was comin’ up the other.”

Ida had memories of trains, a lot of them. Going south all alone, first trip down to the uncle and aunts during the worst year of the depression. Old enough to know her own folks couldn’t support her, old enough to question how a ticket could be arranged but not supper. There had been trains that took her to training in Texas, then on to Iowa and Nebraska. Trains that took her deeper into Germany. One entire train car just for herself and too many German soldiers. Then the train that took them away from Ravensbruck. Ida felt an unsettled anticipation around trains that the peaceful rightness of flight had never caused her.

When Bucky mentioned trains and didn’t go on, Ida folded her hand into his huge one and squeezed it tightly. “What about those trains, John?”

“Heard ‘em before we saw ‘em.” he clarified, nodding his head conversationally as he was want to do, like he was gaining momentum towards a hard saying. Ida braced herself, squeezed just a little harder. “Not the engines, the screams. Car after car, and nothin’ but arms and faces reachin’ out. Screaming.”

Bucky’s bruised eyes were fixed, downcast gaze somewhere in the vicinity of her throat, but Ida knew he was seeing something far away. “I think I saw where they take them.” she muttered before she even had time to weigh her contribution to this horrid tale.

His eyes focused again and he looked at her with silent inquiry. “They took us to a labor camp first. Before here. Apparently one of the nicer ones, they had intentions of treating us as civilians.” Ida had been preoccupied with her aching body and her sharp terror of failure while at Ravensbruck, but not so much as to not notice the haunting vestiges of humanity answering roll beside her. “I felt like I was in Hades, the cold hell. Where the living damned can peruse each special misery waiting for them when they die. Called it a labor camp but I don’t know how skeletons like that could produce anything. Last bits of human resilience used to put together some industry to keep their oppressors fed, equipped. What an end.”

“Scares me shitless.” Bucky replied vehemently, and Ida realized they’d gotten full circle in their talk, that he’d dragged more out of her than she ever intended. Somehow neither his statement of fear nor her own felt weak in the moment. “That folks could get so hard they could do that to each other -I don’t know what to do with that, Ida. How’s it get to that point. Why’ve you got Fritz and then you’ve got…that? Same country, same sauerkraut, same uniforms. Scares me shitless.”

MOTA taglist, I only have one so ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for:

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

@sunny747

@ask-you-what-sir

@xxanaduwrites

@pretty4u

@yorkshirekiwi

@waitedforlove743

@elvismylove04

@blikebarbie92

@luminouslywriting

@euryno-j47

@justheretoreadthhx

@bookotter01

@mads-weasley

@ka-ski

@darkestbeforethedawn16

@slowsweetlove

@richardslady121

@barbeygirl

@prfctplcsreads

@vaf24

@harrys-housewife

@claireelizabeth85

@pearlparty

@piastrinho

[michirukaioureincarnate]

You know, with discussions of Neil Gaiman and all the disappoinment that's followed, especially of his admirers that are struggling with him not being the basic decent human being we expected and believed him to be, there's a lot of inner reflection that needs to be done to prevent more heart ache.

Not only that, but this is a wake up call to stop putting human beings on a pedestal. No one is above causing harm. Not you, not your mom, not anyone. Especially men. I don't know if this is just my way of thinking, but every single man is a potential s*x *ff*nd*r.

It's not a generaliziation, but an indisputable pattern after years of social, biological, political, and systemic conditioning. It's not a matter of if, but when, and sometimes the when never comes because the man luckily dies without tainting his slate. And if he does commit the crime, he's more likely to get away with it than his victim ever is of healing from it. The richer he is, the easier it is, but even men without power and resources get off with a slap on the wrist.

But that isn't really the point, and bear with me as I try to articulate myself through the nausea I'm feeling since stumbling upon the recent news. If you're hurt, disappointed, confused, and struggling with it because you have so much love for this man and his works: good.

You're not brushing it off. You're not acting like it's okay. If you're finding ways to justify your love for his art amidst the small voice of guilt in your chest, it's because you're a human being who, at your core, acknowledges that you don't agree with what he did. If there's an iota of fear that you may harbor the same negative qualities he does that compelled him to act so heinously, no you don't.

Before Gaiman was ousted as a predator, you knew him as a creative, a visionary, whatever positive perspective you had of him, and you wanted to admire that. Undeniably, Gaiman's a wonderful storyteller AND a s*x *ff*nd*r. The latter doesn't negate the former. But it's possible that it may have dictated some of his creative choices.

But how would you know which ones? You're not him, and you're someone who is self-aware and accountable enough to not do what he did when he hurt someone.

On that note: you are not him. You don't know him personally, neither does he know you personally. There's nothing to defend about him, because he's not yours to defend. His works aren't yours to defend.

That's his job.

Have some emotional boundaries and decenter yourselves from his life so that you're able to swallow the truth of the matter: that Gaiman's hurt real people who have to live with lifelong emotional and even physcial scars.

His actions have nothing to do with you as a fan or admirer, and the least you can do is withdraw your support until he, by some miracle, proves himself innocent and regains your trust.

YOU, as the consumer, are the prize here, not him. Have some standards for yourselves, my goodness. YOU, as a human being, are a completely separate entity from him and his actions. Gaiman would be nothing without those who actively decided on giving his works a shot.

And his ideas, whether you decide to continue consuming them or not, do not completely belong to him. Artists channel inspirations of life as they go through it, inspired by people they meet and events that happen to them, most of these things being external factors that are open to interpretation regardless of the artist's internal perspective that they present it with.

What you should worry about is if your money is going directly to him and his team, which may be used to suppress the victim's voices and provide him an unfair advantage in the matter. This is something that's still in your control more than anything else. Hell, pirate his stuff and consume it in secret if you really can't let go of it.

The conversations around "separating the art and artist" are important, and I personally don't believe in separating them at all, but a more immediate concern is to stop contributing to the artist through their art as soon as something concerning crops up. He's a business man, and you're his investors. Take your space. Breathe. Rationalize. And let his social stock value plummet, jfc, he'll still survive without your money and adoration. As long as you're not directly contributing to his ability to inflict more harm, allow yourself the space to grieve.

And, please, you're your own person. If anything, you're probably going to be the next writer, director, artist, etc who creates stuff that's on par with his or even better. Only difference will be that you won't be someone who actively hurts people.

[blood-orange-juice]

About Childe and his weird gender again, expanding on this post.

I think it has a lot to do with how gender is constructed. Male gender has very clear-cut prescriptions, mostly it's everything that is considered "good" or "human" in current culture. The expectations it places on a person may not be realistic or achievable but they are very clear. Great importance is also placed on separating itself from Everything Female. Things That Are Too Much. Things that break the current culture meaning-making procedures.

Women, while having quite a few prescriptions of their own, also deal with whatever fell through the cracks. Someone needs to ensure the world still functions and reality is never completely covered by whatever official model of the world we currently have.

So women deal with the things men have the luxury not to notice. Mostly bodily and psychological aspects and societal injustice that are not supposed to exist in the ideal picture of society men have imagined. (to be fair, it happens to anyone oppressed and othered. the task of not letting the oppressors meet with reality is delegated to them. I'm just talking about women specifically in this post. but there's a reason oppressed minorities always have ties to supernatural in folklore)

In a way, feminine women are very scary. Walking semiotic horrors.

And I explain all this to say that Childe can be perceived as feminine in two ways.

First, with his disregard for all and any societal norms he just doesn't follow the normal gender prescriptions. He plays a superhero/knight role because it's shiny and it reminds him of the stories he loved as a kid. He doesn't suppress his love for his family because it brings him joy. He looks pretty because looks are a weapon too. He does all these things that would be either stereotypically masculine or painfully unmasculine for anyone else who cares about what society thinks, but he doesn't really see any difference between them. He truly, genuinely doesn't care what others think.

Second, he's also painfully aware of the dark and insane parts of the universe everyone else has the luxury to ignore. He also knows no one cares so he dances around the things a normal guy would never have to deal with (it's such a stereotypical female experience. sometimes I wonder if that's why women rarely like Lovecraft. it's not scary or exciting to them, it's just Tuesday).

But that's just our perception, a trick of light. These are not necessarily gendered.

He also gives an impression of someone extremely vulnerable, yes, but I don't think he handles his vulnerability in a feminine way. He just doesn't hide it and we are used to labeling everything vulnerable as feminine.

He also doesn't really do anything feminine-labeled in a characteristic female way. He isn't really in contact with his emotions (despite having a lot of them), him caring about people takes the form of "protector and provider". his cooking... have you seen his cooking? He doesn't look for support and doesn't try to build things that last. He doesn't accept his vulnerability. If anything, he's trying to pretend he has no vulnerabilities and maybe no psyche at all. He's self-sacrificing in a very male way too. Because he was there and because he could and because it's a cool thing to do.

So he's just that. Himself. Someone outside of gender.

(or rather his gender is knightcore)

If we perceive him as feminine it says more about how our culture perceives gender than about who Childe is.

Also, quoting my previous post, it's a part of him being full of contradictions. For every thing that he does he also does the exact opposite, and this holds for gender too.

Yes he lives the male power fantasy. He also does it in an incredibly feminine way. I think this was Hoyo's original intention and then it blossomed into this human disaster we see.

And to end up on a joke, surely you all have seen that leaked art that is theorised to be Skirk but could have also been an early design of Childe before Hoyo decided to make him a guy.

[poetry-protest-pornography]

I'm mostly just gonna copy paste my real time conversation with @hotasfahrenheit here, with a free added bits of thoughts:

My Stand In episode 2 thoughts

I wish they translated the title song, because it's tonally confusing

I love when the makeup team adds hickeys

I definitely watched some of this second episode, but I do but remember how far I got, so I'm just rewatching all the crazy

I really need this orgasm-sneeze to be the thing that tips Ming off

I need it

Joe, baby, you've known this man for five seconds, please do not tell him where your spare key is

Ming stop being so fucking awkward challenge

Ugh, Tong is such a dick

Why does anyone hire him? He's always late, he complains about having to do his job and threatens to need weeks off if he has to do one (1) thing....

Ming: "I'm feeling jealous, so I'm gonna be petty about it and hurt Joe's feelings"

Joe: "yeah, I should've expected this"

Ming: are you bisexual (accusatory) or banging the makeup guy?

Joe: I have friends???

(Mia: Listen Ming doesn't have friends so he doesn't understand what those are

Me: oh, that's very clear. Gee, I wonder why that is 🤣)

I love that Ming dresses exclusively in $500 shirts 🤣

Wait, is this girl supposed to be set up with Ming 🤣 He's such a bitch 😆 I love him (forgot to tell with Mia about his slutty little rich asshole silk robe, but bless him and the slutty little rich asshole robe)

(Mia: Ming doesn't know how to function as a person but he does know how to look like a rich bitch)

Joe translating his anger at Ming by being hard on his trainees... Oh baby, no

He's really just "I'm asking for a friend"ed 🤣🤣🤣

Oh, I love this girl actually

Joe with the sex puns, lmao

Ming smiling and then immediately suppressing it is so sad actually

Get therapy, my dude

THE SHEETS ARE WET I AM SCREAMING

THE SNEEZES OH MY GODDD

Also, the work bathroom hook up cut with the training session was *chefs kiss* (the way this built tension and also narrative, and like, showed Joe's inner thoughts? Incredible.)

(Mia: Pepzi, our queen) FOR REALZ

He knows Joe's coffee prep

This is so domestic? (This makes me feel crazy, actually. And Joe's genuine awe at being seen in this small way breaks my fucking hearrrt)

Joe. Baby. Again, it has been five minutes and three orgasms, you cannot invite him to move in

He's being so nice to the stunt men today 😂

Ming:

The way he said Joe's name while staring at Sol like "okay bitch, watch this" killed me

He knew Joe would go to him and he wanted Sol to know real bad

Sol is ready to Fite

Listen, I knew he made him sleep on the floor OF HIS OWN HOUSE, bit it's still deeply funny to me

And then, he's just staring at him while he sleeps waiting for him to wake up so he can give him the bitchiest look known to man

Ming: *is jealous AF*

Joe: you jealous bro?

Ming: No, who would even like you?

Joe: *is the world's saddest puppy*

"sit ups break my back, live breaks my heart". Baby, no.

Lovesick Joe= drill Sergeant

Post orgasm Joe = kindergarten teacher

Sad Joe = bad poet who can't do a sit up

(Mia and I had a conversation about how sometimes, very drunk people want to be on the floor in a blanket, and she is very correct)

Wait.

...

Did Ming go home and make himself the same ramen Joe made for him? (Because he was jealous and bitchy and ran away after making the boy he likes Dad on purpose)

THIS IS MAKING ME INSANE, ACTUALLY?!

Okay, considering Ming is in love with his sister's boyfriend, they actually have a really sweet sibling dynamic, and she is actually The Best.

Why can't we go to a movie and eat fondue? Why did Thailand get movies so much better than we do? Let me watch a movie in a bed or eat fondue while I watch my favorite blorbos.

But also, he clearly just needs like, so much therapy

Like, his thought process is "I love him, no one else can have him, I'm gonna kidnap him". Which is .. Not Normal People Thoughts

"even if I could be happy, I shouldn't be"

THERAPY. THERAPY FOR A THOUSAND YEARS

Sol: " I will flirt by kicking his ass and hoping he kicks mine back"

Oh shit, Joe really just fucking knocked him out 🤣

Ming having a crisis hearing Joe talk about what love is, and then that little smile when Joe said he wanted then to be a couple... (Joe's like, pathological inability to let himself experience emotions is... Several Problems)

This man is insane

Listen, if I'm supposed to hate Ming, they shouldn't have had Up play him

NOW HE'S AT JOE'S HOUSE PLAYING HOUSE HUSBAND. (WHAT IS WRONG WITH HIM?)

Rip curry

It's the ramen of suppressed feelings again

JOE STOP MAKING ME CRY CHALLENGE

Look, is Ming:

LADY AND THE TRAMP AND THE GRIP YOU HAVE ON THE THAI BL INDUSTRY

They're so cute that it's actually a crime that I know Ming is a whole red flag parade

The way Joe did the cutest little "please, tell me, please please please, I wanna hear you say the things we both know (you jealous baby)" and Ming was like "yeah okay, I will hum a quiet affirmative and we will never speak of it again" was so fucking cute. I am prepared to cry and scream and have my feelings hurt, but gosh do they do this well.

Okay, I have like, real actual thoughts about this, but also I do not. I am obsessed and too deep in it right now to words, but AAAHHHHHHH

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 351.brb x oc

THIS CHAPTER IS 18+ IF YOU ARE A MINOR PLS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

a/n: :,) i just love them sm (comments and reblogs are super welcome and encouraged!)

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: rooster. also LOVE MAKING WOOO

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/

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-

She hasn’t stopped smiling ever since they left her parents’ house. They got home at night time,  literally spent a whole day there, laughing, enjoying food, napping a bit because she was tired…and now she watched her husband from the door frame, watched as the white tee stretched on his shoulders a bit as he pours them some wine, “Wine,LC?” she asks, “This late?”

Rooster looked up from the wine bottle he was holding, a"Why not? A little late-night wine never hurt anyone. Plus, it feels like a perfect way to cap off such a wonderful day."

Beatrice smiled, her heart swelling with contentment. She walked over to him, feet bare"You know what, you're right. A toast to a perfect day."

He handed her a glass, their fingers brushing in a gentle exchange. The clink of the glasses filled the air as they made a silent toast, savoring the rich aroma of the red wine.

"To family, love, and the unexpected joys of life," Rooster declared, his eyes locked with Beatrice's.

"Cheers to that," she replied, taking a sip. The wine was velvety on her tongue, a perfect complement to the tranquil evening. They moved to the living room, settling on the couch with glasses in hand.

Beatrice curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her. Rooster joined her, an arm casually draped over the backrest as he savored his wine.

"So," Rooster began, a smirk on his lips, "what's got you grinning like the Cheshire Cat all day?"

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Rooster raised an eyebrow, "Come on, gorgeous. You've been smiling from ear to ear since we left your parents' house. Spill the beans. What's making you so happy?"

Beatrice chuckled, unable to suppress her joy. "Okay, okay, I'll spill. It's just… she sighs, happily “ being with everyone today, with my family, with you—it made me realize how incredibly fortunate and happy I am. I have this amazing family, a wonderful husband, and a life that feels like a dream sometimes."

Rooster's expression softened as he listened to her words. "You deserve all the happiness in the world, gorgeous. I'm just glad to be a part of it."

She leaned into him, her head finding its familiar spot on his shoulder. "You are a huge part of it, Roos. I couldn't ask for a better partner in this crazy journey."

He pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head.smiling against the brown tresses. "I feel the same way. Every day with you is a gift." he sighs, the lavender in her hair entering his nostril and he felt at peace, “...also, your mom forgot I got the promotion,huh.”

“She did.”

“Yeah…she screamed so loud I think it woke the dogs.” he hums,  “And she cried a lot.”

Beatrice chuckled at the thought, hugging his arm with the one that wasn’t holding the glass. "Well, she's always been the emotional type. I'm pretty sure the entire neighborhood knows about your promotion now."

Rooster grinned, "Should I expect a neighborhood-wide celebration or just a congratulatory cake from your mom?"

"Knowing her, it could be both," Beatrice replied, laughing. "But seriously, Roos, I'm so proud of you. You've worked hard, and you absolutely deserve this promotion."

His smile widened at her words. "Thanks, baby. It means a lot to hear that from you. And your family's reaction...I wasn't expecting that level of excitement."

"It's not every day they have a son-in-law climbing up the military ladder," Beatrice teased, nudging him playfully. “Besides,you know how they are, of course they’d be over the top,Roos.”

Rooster chuckled, his eyes reflecting a mix of amusement and gratitude. "Well, I'm honored to be the cause of such excitement. Your family has always been incredibly supportive, and I couldn't be more grateful for that."

Beatrice nestled closer to Rooster, her hand tracing absent-minded patterns on his chest. "You know they love you just as much as I do.” she whispers, inhaling his cologne and then looking up when he got quiet, ‘...Roos?”

He tried,feebly so, to hide his tears, wiping them with his fingers, “I’m fine,gorgeous.”

Beatrice, concern etching her features, propped herself up on an elbow to look at Rooster. "Hey, what's going on?" She reached out to gently wipe away a stray tear on his cheek.

Rooster took a deep breath, managing a shaky smile. "Sorry, it just hit me. The combination of the promotion, your family's reaction, and... I don't know, I guess it's a lot of emotions all at once."

She scooted even closer, her fingers lightly tracing soothing patterns on his arm. "It's okay, Roos. Emotions are a part of life, and there's no need to apologize for feeling them."

He nodded, taking a moment to collect himself. "I just... I never imagined I'd be here, surrounded by such love and support. It's overwhelming, in the best possible way." he frowns, sniffling again and groaning with annoyance, “With everything that went down I–”

Beatrice smiled tenderly, her gaze filled with understanding. "You've come a long way, Roos, and you've earned every bit of this. Your hard work, dedication, and the love you've given and received—it's all you.”

He sighed, letting the weight of her words sink in. "Sometimes, it just feels surreal, you know? Like I'm afraid I'll wake up, and it'll all be a dream."

"Well, I can assure you, it's very much real," she said, her voice gentle, because boy oh boy,does she know what he means. "You're not dreaming, I promise you"

Rooster's eyes locked onto hers,brown irises moving all over her face. "I love you, Beatrice. More than words can express."

Her heart swelled with affection. "And I love you, Roos. More than words can express.” she smiles, cupping his cheek, “I worry about you, handsome.” he laughs softly, wiping his eyes again and Beatrice took that moment to set her glass aside and slowly climb on his lap,  sitting atop of his thighs with her arms on his neck, “I truly do.”

He stops sniffling for a few seconds, then drops his hands on her hips - glass of wine immediately forgotten - when he feels her warmth on his jeans, “I know…I’m okay gorgeous.” he smiles, rubbing her chin with his thumb and leaning back on the couch, “...I like this view.”

Beatrice chuckled, a warm, melodious sound that echoed in the quiet living room. She shifted slightly on his lap, finding a comfortable position, and leaned in, her lips hovering near his ear. "Well, if you like this view, maybe we should make it a regular occurrence."

Rooster grinned, and the hands on her hips tightened their hold "I wouldn't mind that at all. It's the best seat in the house."

She planted a soft kiss on his cheek. "And the best company, too."Beatrice, still perched on Rooster's lap, traced the contours of his face with her fingertips, savoring the closeness. “It is a great view.”

“Trying to make me4 blush?”

“Is it working?”

His eyes squinted a bit, the dimples on his cheeks becoming prominent as he smiles. “...maybe.” he slides the hands from her hips to her thighs, feeling where the fabric ended and skin began, “A little yes.”

Beatrice's fingers continued their delicate exploration of Rooster's face, tracing the contours of his strong jawline and lingering on the scruff that adorned it. Rooster, in turn, relished the sensation, his eyes locked onto hers "I could get used to this," Rooster admitted, his voice a soft murmur. "Just you and me, enjoying the quiet moments."

“Well,it’s been a while since we had the time to sit down and…relax.”

Rooster nodded, his hands gently caressing her thighs as he reveled in the proximity. "Agreed. Life gets so busy, “she feels his fingers going tap, tap,tap, on her skin, drawing shapes as he speaks, “...and I missed you so much.”

"I missed you too, Roos," she confessed, her voice a tender murmur. "Life does get crazy, but moments like these make everything worthwhile."

Rooster's fingers continued their rhythmic dance on her thighs, "Hmmm…” and his eyes drop down from her lips, to her neck and then to her chest, seeing it rise and fall as she breathed in and out, “...yeah…yeah true.”

“You are not even paying attention,Roos.”

Rooster's gaze snapped back to her eyes. "Guilty as charged. But who can blame me when there's such a beautiful distraction sitting on my lap?"

"Flatterer. You always know how to turn a situation around."

He grinned, his hands now settling on her hips again, providing a comforting warmth. "Well, when you have the most beautiful distraction in the room, it's hard not to get a bit distracted." he smirks, leaning closer, “And I love turning you around too.” his hands slide down to her ass where he cupped both cheeks with gusto, groaning when his palms were filled by her flesh, “Fuck,”

She gasps softly, watching as he dropped his face on her chest and she had to admit…she missed him too and sitting on his lap was already doing things inside of her. She did use a dildo, but once you have someone - once you have a Rooster - she could orgasm but it wasn’t the same.

She feels his teeth gently scraping the upper side of her left breast and his tongue following the cleavage before he moves his lips up,kissing where her neck met her shoulder with a happy hum, “You still taste really good…”

Beatrice’s eyelids dropped a little and she tried to hear if the dogs were coming over or if the baby monitor squeaked with activity, but she heard only silence. Her shoulders dropped in relief just in time for her husband’s large hands slide under her shirt until he reached her bra strap, tongue still trailing up and down her neck, “Roos…”

“Yeah?”

“We better go to the bedroom–” she squeaks in surprise because he immediately picked her up, bouncing her body in his hold to keep her steady as he walks to the staircase, all the while kissing her neck, sucking the skin enough for a red hickey to bloom on her skin.

Beatrice gasps his name, her nails gently scratching his nape as he tried, quietly, to go to their bedroom without waking anyone. She couldn’t remember the last time they had sex, which was a god damn mistake since there was no way she’d forget him.

They got inside the room and Rooster blindly locked the door, his saliva glistening her neck and chest before he sets her down, only to slam their lips together. The absence, from both sides was finally hitting, and hitting hard.

Bea moans into his mouth, feeling his hands cup her cotton shorts and then pull on the elastic, “Take ‘em off.” he breathes against her lips, pressing hot kisses on her skin, “Get all nice and naked for me,gorgeous.”

And he’s looking at her so hungrily she only nods and smiles, backing towards the bed while keeping her eyes on him. She wished she could remove her clothes and remain gazing at her husband’s body, because that man was carved out of marble. He is naked within seconds saved for his dark briefs that now were just a bit tented, “...how long were you–”

“Ever since we started drinking.” he replies, chest heaving, “...c’mere.” he doesn’t give her enough time to react because he kisses her again, his hands sliding under her cotton shorts to slide them down her thighs.

She moans into his mouth as he grabs her ass again, digging his digits into her ass cheeks and leaning back just enough to slap it. The sudden crack echoed all around the room and Rooster swallows her surprised moan, his hand moving to her front. Beatrice gasps into his mouth as his fingers slide inside of her by just pulling her panties’ crotch to the side.

He’s so very pleased when his fingers immediately feel the moistness inside. “You are already so wet for me.” he coos, kissing his way over her ear, mustache scratching her skin as she leans into him, breasts squished against his chest as she feels his calloused digits moving in and out of her.

He can feel the dribble sliding down his hand and he bites his lower lip, because he missed this so very much. And normally, he’d be all up for foreplay but– “Roos,please,” she gasps, hips moving against his hand, “Please,I just need you…r-right now.”

Oh.

Well.

Who was he to deny her?

He has to breathe in to calm himself down, slowly pulling his fingers out - the gentle squelching wasn’t missed by either of them - and licking them clean, he just watches with lust heavy eyes as she smiles - god he loved her smile - and gives her back to him to remove her bra.

“I don’t know why i’m so nervous.”

He flicks his eyes back up at her, seeing how she suddenly hugged herself. Oh that wouldn’t do. He is quick to get rid of his briefs and step behind her,pulling her hair to the side so he could kiss her neck, moaning in pure raw need when her cheeks just wrap around his member as he steps forward “Wha-why are you– fuck – nervous?”

“I don’t know.” she repeats, “I think it’s because it’s been a while since we,” and his hands cup her breasts, fingers pinching her nipples and squeezing the soft flesh, “W-We had…s-sex….oh god.”

He smirks, moving his hips slowly, grinding his cock against her ass, “I love you.” he whispers, “All of you. You still look as fucking sexy as I remember.” he kisses her shoulder, “How do you want to do this?”

Her whole body is on fire, but she replies, “I missed having you on top of me.” she whispers, biting her lower lip when she feels his smile on her skin, his hands sliding down to the love handles on her hips. 

“Well,” he coos, “Get comfortable,gorgeous.”

She wastes no time in stepping forward and falling on the bed, grabbing a pillow to get comfortable and so she could see him better. He looked unreal, like a full body illusion with the sexiest swagger she had ever seen. She bites her lower lip again, flushing just enough to make him smile as he settled on top of her.

He kisses her lips, then her cheekbone, before he nuzzles their noses together, “Wanna do the honors?” he asks while gently prodding her entrance - his gland latches on the opening for a second before it pops out again, and Beatrice whimpers while nodding.

He doesn’t know why but feeling her wedding band touching him as she align his member to her entrance was unbelievably hot. He just keeps his eyes on hers, those green irises shining with unshed tears and those pink,glossy lips of hers parting as she finally achieves it…and he pushes forward.

Honestly it’s a feeling both missed and it’s hard for them to control how good they feel. He wastes no time in interlacing their hands together and pulling them above her head. Eyes still locked as his hips move. He watches her micro expressions, the way her lips part into his name, how she whispers it so reverently but as quiet as a mouse.

Rooster is mesmerized. He always is, honestly, when it comes to Beatrice. He’s so happy. he’s so happy. He couldn’t explain but the way this woman made him feel was out of this world. His hips meet hers and he’s slow, he’s languid, he wants both to njoy this, he wants both to remember how they felt to one another.

Her wetness was comforting and warm and nice. Nice, perfect, perfection.

Beatrice was perfection.

She gasps again, a bit louder and she bites her lower lip. He knows that the flesh will be redder because of the blood rushing under there. He knows there’ll be indentations from here her teeth dug into, he knows he’ll kiss those indentations over and over because he loves her.

He had planned for something else right now, but he didn’t care. He smiles so much when her eyes focus on his and those pearly whites greet him. He moves a bit faster and her breasts shake because of it, but he’s so latched on her face.

She mouths a very quiet ‘what?’ between moans and he shakes his head. He doesn’t know what other adjectives could be said to describe her right now. He missed her, missed this, missed them. Maybe it was the whole M thing, the whole investigation but…for a second he thought he wouldn’t be able to…well.

He drops his head on her shoulder, letting go of her hands for a second so he could wrap his arms around her waist while her own arms were around his shoulders. His hips moved faster, the gentle slapping of skin against skin was loud enough for them to hear but only them. He digs his fingers on her ribs, feeling the soft flesh dip under the pressure, he wants to keep her there.

He knows he’s about to orgasm but he doesn’t care. And seeing how Beatrice got her own before his was enough of a reason for him to let go. He does so by lifting his head and pressing his forehead to hers, mouth parted, panting heavily, “I love you.”

“I love you too Roos.”

“I love you so much.” he furrows his brows, moving his hips faster, “I love y–” he swallows his groan when his orgasm hits and teeth clench  as the shudder goes up and down his spine. Her soft hands caressed the back of his head, up and down, playing with the golden brown waves as he stutters with aftershocks.

He doesn’t move. Neither does she. He just inhales her sweet scent and keeps it to memory.

“i’m gad it’s you he thinks

I’m glad it’s you too. she thinks at the same time.

I’m glad it’s us.

[aeliesa]

DEAFENING SILENCE OF YEARNING

Synopsis: He's away but in those days of being on a different horizon, you just couldn't restrain yourself to think about how your life seems to be akin to what you try to evade. Nonetheless, he continues to prove you wrong in different ways.

• Relationship: Charlotte Katakuri x female reader

• Content: some extent of angst (?) and fluff

A/N: While rewatching one piece (which means my priorities is to reach Land of Wano as of now lolololols) I couldn't help but to write this as my mind keeps on generating plots (which I hate because whenever I try to write on my other fan fiction stories, it seems to be that writers block is back from vacation!) Anyway, this is a lengthy one which I decided to cut, I realized that it is way too much for one post because it is over 8k words, which might tire some of you.

I was just really kept on letting the juice of creativity out of my mind and realized this scenario has been growing the moment I stepped in the WCI arc, and I cannot help but adore the donut boy (although my heart lies with Ace, Luffy, and Law alone ehe.)

Anyway, this is the point of view of the reader (you) on missing the donut softie boy.

I hope you enjoy! :D

Addendum: there are some revisions but it's not too much that it alters the story. Just some errors here and there. Still, the possibility of errors that I overlooked is there.

To read the continuation head to: here.

In most situations, political marriage doesn’t work that much. It may help strengthen connections between families, but those forced to bind their love to secure the future of both parties tend to suffer the most.

Although you were treated differently than most of his family’s spouses, sometimes it makes you wonder if this union is simply for the family’s benefit.

“No,” you dismissed the thought immediately.

If anyone asks how married life goes, you would like to answer one thing: life-changing. At least, it is what you were dreaming of saying rather than pleasing; there is something in this matrimony that you were hoping to seek… something that differs from your parents. However, much to your dismay, the answer becomes more explicit each day: it is the same selfish decision between two heads of the families.

“Isn’t it also a selfish choice for you?” The thought makes you sigh in frustration for hoping to see the light in this almost spiral of despair.

As much as you try to neglect the idea, it just creeps inside your mind, slowly convincing. Being persistent has its merits, yet the situation you brought upon yourself at some point says otherwise. This political marriage between your family and the Charlottes is your gateway from the life you always wanted to escape. The suffocation of your father’s law has restrained you from almost everything in life, including the liberty to roam around your former land alone. In simpler terms: you were never free.

The night is still young, but your body is already weary enough to crave the soft mattress that can be found in the chambers shared by the two of you. Despite the tiredness, you were in no mood to leave the living room as you found comfort slouching on a settee facing the fireplace, listening to the soothing crackling from the burned woods.

“Why are you still awake?” a worried figure appeared from the mirror atop the fireplace. She walked over to you as soon as she stepped on the floor. “I was here three hours ago, and you didn’t bother to leave? Your body must be sore, sister, not to mention the babysitting with our youngest siblings.”

“We can stay here if you want,” a lady with peach hair says with concern.

“I appreciate the concern, girls, but it is still early… I’m not that tired,” you softly mumbled, trying to suppress a yawn with a wide smile. “This may come off, but what are you two doing here? I heard that there’s some commotion at the Seducing Woods; shouldn’t you be there, Brûlée?” your gaze never left her as the tall, pale woman with purplish hair sat before you.

“I needed to be here,” she simply quips, blowing her newly poured tea and glimpsing at your puzzled look.

“And I wanted to see you!” says the other one.

“Here? This isn’t the forest, Brûlée.”

Brûlée comes almost daily to accompany you, which you are thankful for. There are also nights that she checks on you from time to time. It can be through the mirrors or simply staying at your house and ensuring your needs. At first, you were bewildered by her ways of seeing you, but later on, you became accustomed to it, almost that it didn’t faze you that she appeared out of the blue.

Some of your in-laws visit you, but it is almost twice or thrice a month, considering their position, you understand. You were grateful that they took their time to spend their leisure time with you; never did they show any sign of detest in those times. Unlike some spouses of their siblings, you were just elated they treated you as a part of the family.

Most of the time, Chiffon and Brûlée knock at your door or appear from the mirrors in different corners of your house.

“Big brother asked me to look after you while he’s away,” Brûlée explains casually, leaning against the settee with a trace of determination across her face. “Actually… he asked all of us, but since most of my big brothers and sisters are busy with their work, they rarely come… and right now, I took the chance to escape dealing with those dimwits-minded pirates and let the other siblings handle it.”

Chiffon ‐ the peach-haired girl, nodded, “Brûlée also came to me and told me she was off to see you, so I took the chance!”

You were not a pirate nor had the liberty to sail the sea on your own accord, but when you stepped foot in Totto Land, you saw things that could leave you at a loss for words. Never in your wildest thought that such a country existed, much less imagined it… but it did. Although some things are difficult to explain and leave you dumbfounded, nothing can beat how his actions defy your pondering about this relationship – the union and mostly about him.

He continues to prove you wrong, not that you wanted to be cynical about him. Hell, it is the last thing you want! But considering where you grew up, it cannot be helped. To add fuel to the fire, the situation you’re dealing with is no different from the factors that lead you to think about it.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Excuse me, sister.” Chiffon picks up her transponder snail and answers it with: “sister is fine!”

“That is good to hear – hey, Oven, give that to m –”

“Hey sister, how are you?!”

“Now that you got to say your words, let me have this – Cracker give that to me! I’m gonna –”

“Big sister! I will ensure no pirates will step foot in your land!”

“Big talk right there, Cracker, when I was the one who monitored those weaklings. Now give that back to me!”

“What are you trying to say, Daifuku?!”

“I’m not done yet –”

“Shut up! Hey sister, I’m going to vis – hey Oven!”

Brûlée couldn’t contain her annoyance, “why don’t you guys try to resort to talking to her one by one?”

Instead of an answer, all she received were a series of banters from her big brothers, and you couldn’t even understand their words as they continued to bicker about who goes first in talking to you. Seeing them acting like that gives you a sense of belongingness; you were never the big shot in your own family, but somehow seeing how your husband’s siblings fought for your attention is surreal. As much as you try to understand their big brother’s impact on his siblings, you still fail to comprehend how you became a part of someone they have come to love. From a different perspective, your in-laws also look up to you the same way they see their big brother but, again, from a different perspective.

“I said I’ll go first!”

“No! You’ll just take all the time!”

“Daifuku is right!”

On the other hand, the woman with purplish hair who sits in front of you seems to restrain her displeasure and starts to yell at them, which makes everything worse. The other one, named Chiffon, tries to soothe her siblings but eventually joins the banters. Although the situation worsens, you find comfort that they have turned the silence of the living room into a swarming of energy from their bickers.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their enthusiasm and somehow pitied the snail at its continuous shifting of expressions: from anger to felicity to laughs and screams, their siblings’ bond is one of a kind that you also missed at your land.

Raising a hand despite not being able to be seen, you beamed. “Hi, guys! How are you there?”

“We are fine, sister!” the siblings from the other line answered unison, with the snail imitating their ecstasy.

“Hey, sister – I – hey!”

“Look, sister, I am goi – no! I - hey! Give that back!”

“Let me just finish – ow! Hey – clank”

Right before you could say something, the line was cut off. You just smiled over the cup of tea, elated to see that your in-laws are doing fine despite taking the mess into their own hands. It is not that you questioned their ability, but sometimes you cannot help but worry. Periodically you would check on them to see if they were okay, and thanks to your sister-in-law Brûlée, it was easy for you to move from place to place due to her abilities which you find so amazing.

The two girls shook their heads in disbelief and turned to you. “We’re sorry about that.”

“There’s nothing worth apologizing for,” you assured, smiling. “I’m glad you guys are okay… thank you for ensuring my safety.”

“Of course,” Brûlée exclaims, clearly flustered with your response. “We do not want to leave you alone, and certainly, we cannot withstand our big brother’s request… even if he doesn’t ask, we will do it voluntarily.”

“We just couldn’t leave you alone,” the other agreed.

Your eyes widened at their honesty but quickly tried to look away to hide the warm color of your cheeks through sipping your tea; Brûlée failed to notice your reaction much to your delight; however, Chiffon saw that subtle reaction.

“Big brother Katakuri is awesome… he’s the most independent sibling out there, and he is so strong that we all aspire to be as strong as him,” Brûlée explains while biting a cupcake. “Anyway, it must be hard for you to be married to him.”

The thought already crossed your mind: marrying him is no easy task. No, marriage is not easy; it bounds you for eternity. It is life-changing because you have already observed it from your siblings and parents. When you agree to be tied to him, you already know that there are things you have to compromise.

“What makes you say that?” you genuinely questioned.

Brûlée clears her throat and pauses, contemplating her sentence, “I mean… big brother is always away and, most times, when he’s here, he is always at work… I can very much perceive the difficulty of having time with him.”

Chiffon frowned at her sister’s question, “Brûlée! That’s not nice…” she turned to you with curiosity shining in her eyes. “Say, sister, what is it like to be married?”

It was the silence that engulfed you. The weight of the girls’ words is evident, leaving you silent for a minute. Chiffon’s question ran into your mind. Usually, you would answer it with fine, but in those moments, something akin to your desire to answer life-changing makes you want to say something different.

“Brûlée and Chiffon…” you softly called and straightly looked into their eyes. “Marriage is something that everyone should take seriously, it is not just the union of both sides, but it is a lifetime chapter that will shape the rest of your life.”

In between your pause, Chiffon interrupts. “Our family focuses on political marriage because it is what our mother wants… Most of us shut the idea of marrying for true love because we are bound with the responsibility of making our mother’s dream come true…” she lowers her head, dejected at the idea of marrying for convenience. “I’m gonna be honest… to see you and big brother Katakuri being in love gives hope that I – would someday have the same bond with you two.”

You could taste the tiniest hint of faith in her tone of your husband’s siblings. Chiffon is the most upfront about marrying for love. You cannot blame them for losing hope in finding affection in marriage; you’re also the same as them. A wave of sympathy came over you that you almost gave her false hope, which you never did.

You stood up and went over between the two girls who were lost in their reveries and gently placed a hand on both, “I cannot deny that political marriage tends to end up tumultuous, but that does not imply it could happen to the both of you. You must also remember that things may turn the way you do not want, but that does not mean it is the end of everything. There is time in everything; perhaps who knows that you and your siblings will find love the same way your brother and I do, or way better than ours.”

You gave them a reassuring smile; you know it is not the best advice, but it was what you could offer. The two-sister-in-law of yours seemed dazed, for all they could do was hug you, which you answered by leaning at their embrace and tapping their cheeks gently.

“We are so lucky to have a big sister like you,” Chiffon uttered, making you smile.

“And I am delighted to have you as my sisters,” you answered truthfully.

The three of you remained in that position as they showered you with questions about the life of matrimony; mainly, it was Chiffon because Brûlée entertained herself with the sweets they brought for you earlier.

“Is the life of being married hard?”

You thought for a second, “I-uhh... Maybe at first? Because of the sudden changes in your life, but as far as I can see… it is not…” you paused, thinking about the days you were newly married.

A feeling of sorrow starts to sprout that you choose to kill it off instantly, you’re with his sister, and it is not the right time for that. “You must learn to compromise; you have to give up something and in the same manner accept him wholeheartedly – his flaws, family – everything!”

“What about you?”

“Me?” you cleared your throat when Chiffon nodded. It didn’t escape from you how Brûlée glanced – also waiting for your answer. It is not because the question is difficult, you already have your answer, but before responding to the young girl’s curiosity, you sipped your tea.

“Well… I also have things to compromise, which is not a big deal because… I want to be part of your brother’s life.”

By that, you know it to yourself. When you agree with the marriage, you already see yourself in a different side of life – a life shared with someone who you vowed with your heart to cherish and love. The only person with whom you’re willing to set everything aside and risk things to be with him.

Chiffon leaned against your embrace, touched by your answer, while Brûlée, with food stuffed in her mouth, chimed in, “I always – no – all of us will forever wonder how marriage life works for the both of you….”

You laugh heartily at her blatant remark. “There are just things that you cannot understand, girls… but soon you will,” you smile.

Brûlée chuckles, “I can still remember that he said almost the same thing.”

You glanced at her – astonished. Did your husband talk about you with his siblings? You cannot see him being like that… even in the house you share with him, he’s different. Nonetheless, Charlotte Katakuri never fails to subside your doubts whenever you think of one; he may be thousands of kilometers away. Still, somehow, he can always make a way to connect with you in every possible way. Honestly, he continues to leave your thoughts at bay. This demeanor of Katakuri is what you’ve been holding onto that tiniest shade of light you see in this marriage.

The girls didn’t stay too long, although they insisted on waiting until you fell asleep. You refused because you were really not ready to rest. It was also getting late, so they had to return to their own shelter because there were responsibilities to do once the sun rose.

Once they left, you started to clean and brew another tea. It has been a long day, but some of you wanted to stay in the living room. You took a blanket and covered yourself as the coldness started to make its way under your clothes. For the past five months, it became your routine to simply sit over a cup of tea with a book in your hand and wait until it is late enough for you to stand up and head to your chamber.

Despite the comfort of the silence and being alone in the middle of the night, words cannot digest in your mind, for your intuition is somewhere in the conversation with Chiffon and Brûlée earlier. You cannot help but think about your answers.

Everything you said is the truth, but when you try to contemplate it… somehow it feels almost illusory.

You thought back on the days of your life before being married.

Political marriage is a thing for powerful families, and you’re familiar with it. When your father broke the news over a fraught dinner, no one was surprised… instead all of your siblings simply nodded, questioning who would be the chosen one while you just silently listened.

As your name left your father’s mouth, everyone was astonished, but mostly, it was you who was lost for words. You have siblings who are far prettier and more adventurous than you are, but it was nerve-wracking when your father shared that the Emperor of the Sea specifically chose you.

Your family is a product of political marriage; as much as you wanted to see the love between your parents, you failed. Being the youngest, your father was very strict with you, which you cannot understand, but you could tell it was mainly because you looked like his wife who ran away from his land.

The marriage was a yes-only answer; when the Emperor of the Sea speaks, no one can say no – or if there’s one, it takes a lot of courage; it sparks a war. But you’re no warrior, just a lady with the blood of royalty of vast influence that the emperor needs.

Since you were young, you knew about the Navy, Emperors, and pirates because of his distrust of you not to run away. He brought you with him to Whole Cake Island whenever he met with the residing Yonkou – Big Mom. You will forever be aghast by the sight of the island and how everything is paradise, everyone was friendly, and you have become accustomed to their treatment to the point that they allowed you to enter their workplace and even baked with them.

You’re a good cook. Being almost restricted to the outside, you busied yourself with cooking. When Big Mom took a liking to your baked cupcakes, that was also the time she became fond of you – which was also a good thing for this political marriage. She can be the worst nightmare for everyone, but she appears to be delicate and sweet whenever it is with you. However, you’re like everyone in her eyes on some occasions.

You shifted position and took notice of the symbolism of your union with Big Mom’s son, bringing you back to your senses. He inserted the ring on your finger with no words to say, yet his actions were enough for you to feel over the moon.

“I could never regret this decision,” you mumbled, smiling as you traced the gems of your wedding ring.

No matter how you think this marriage was your escape from the life you had come to feel suffocated, it is no secret that Katakuri took your hand and led you to a new promising one. He is known to be the strongest general, the ideal brother of his siblings, and you cannot in any way taint his image as the perfect son and sibling. Before you came into his life, there was his family, and you wholeheartedly accepted it.

Katakuri has been away for five months, and you’ve been married for half a year. In the first month, he was at the main island, primarily due to his duties, and when he came home, it would be late… too late that you would fall asleep waiting for him and wake up in your room with him already gone. That series of actions became the routine of the two of you, no matter how you look at it… you just cannot hate your husband.

It has always been like that until now. For the past six months, you waited for Katakuri every night, even when he asked for your permission (despite believing that your words have no power over your mother-in-law), that he’ll be gone for five months. You were waiting for him.

Sometimes, when the sun rises, you bring yourself to your chamber and drift to sleep. Each night seems tiresome, but your determination to see him first once he’s back winning over your weary system.

Your in-laws have no idea about this, Brûlée would sometimes express her distress over you - staying up late, but you would just answer her as you’re not yet tired. In reality, you were just waiting for your man.

Life with him is way different from what you anticipated, but you do know it is bound to happen as he is a man of responsibility. But with the series of absences, you would have concluded that perhaps… he did marry you out of convenience? Or was it just you who thought that this might turn out differently?

From the book you’ve read, different genres, and authors, you had come to believe the hope in everything, and right now, you were clinging to the faith of this marriage.

Compromise. It is one of the things you compromise; you chose to understand him. Above everyone, now that he is married, isn’t his wife’s job to believe in him? Be at his back and support him in everything? You understand him. Never in each second did you resent him for the odd interactions where you are sleeping soundly while being carried by him back to the room shared by the two of you? His responsibility is still his to take, even being tied to you. The least you could do is not add another to his plate, for he already has too much.

Katakuri never raised a hand against you… as a matter of fact, he’s different from what you expected; the subtle treatment of him each night is a message of his affection for you… but you know there is more to it, but his responsibilities should be met first. His siblings are way too expressive than your own husband, at least to their knowledge. However, knowing Katakuri for years, you could tell the emotions that lie in those demeanors. However, due to his schedule, there was little to no exchange of conversations with you, which is beyond belief; you thought it might change someday, but it just worsened.

But it is what it is.

“When will you be back?” you mumbled, staring at the ring almost sorrowfully.

Charlotte Katakuri, a man of few words and the man you vowed to love for eternity, has been away for almost all the days of being married. Although it was the start of something new, you cannot help but imagine that you were falling right into where your parents’ relationship is.

It is clear as bright as the sun that you’re missing your husband, but what else could you do other than wait? You have been waiting since your marriage, how you always stay late in the living room with the hope you’ll see his manly figure entering the house… but no.

At some time during the first month of marriage, you were doing as you do as of the moment. There were times that Katakuri was surprised to see you – awake waiting for him. The two of you would eventually spend the night over a cup of tea or in bed in a warm embrace and exchange of perception on deep topics worth discussing. Katakuri is a man of few words, but much to everyone’s oblivion with you, he can be the most talkative person you love to converse on a topic because he is a man with substance and intellect; you just love to be lost in his thoughts.

Those are rare moments; in most cases, you just fell asleep waiting for him.

Hugging your knees while staring at the ring and thinking about this marriage life took your energy, and you drifted to sleep, hoping that your husband would come home this night. The longing is burning you out that seeing him seems to be next to impossible.

The bed is empty without him – everything is just too different. The deafening silence of your longing for him starts to make its way. You were waiting for him all these times, silently. Somehow, right now, saying it would probably ease you in any way it can.

“I miss you,” you softly mumbled before slumber’s darkness overtook you.

Being married to Charlotte Katakuri is a roller coaster of emotions; he could lift you to the top of the Skypiea similarly and drown you more extensively than the Fish-Man Island. But because he’s the man you never regret marrying, everything about him is worth compromising.

cont.

[therosebunpost]

A very Berry reunion!

A S.B.B verse Drabble!

You meet Steve again, but this time you’re hanging off the arm of a certain infamous metalhead.

CW: None for this chapter, but please be aware that this is a 18+ story!

———

Steve doesn’t see you again until weeks later, after Starcourt goes up in flames. After him and Robin become best friends for life and Steve starts having issues with his hearing and sight. What was an occasional occurrence was happening more frequently, and Steve started to wear glasses for the first time ever. He hated them, but he hated not being able to see even more.

The job at Troy’s Thrift came about as more of a need than any actual interest. After Starcourt, Robin and him were left jobless and traumatized. Trying to appeal to Keith’s better nature hadn’t worked, even when Robin tried to use Steve’s looks to their advantage.

So there Steve was, wearing a bright yellow polo and brown slacks, ringing up Hawkin’s discarded and abandoned items. No plans for the future, saddled with migraines and rapidly declining senses. He kind of felt accepted amongst the ratty old stuffed animals and dilapidated furniture.

He hears you before he sees you. You’re wearing a mostly pink and red ensemble, with…a domino and poker chip belt? However what takes him aback is the man standing beside you. All ripped denim and chains, Eddie Munson leaned over to press a sweet kiss on the crown of your head. Your hands are linked, and you’re currently smiling over something he's said.

Well, that’s just great.

“Harrington? Well fuck, as I live and breathe.”

“Did you guys find everything you were looking for?” Steve asks, cutting through any questions the older boy had. He sits up a little in his chair, reaching across the counter to pick items up. He’s already had a few people from school sneer at him, and he wasn’t keen on hearing the same from Eddie The Freak Munson.

“Yeah, we did. Got quite a haul going this time, huh, Bun-Bun?”

Steve was looking at the ticket on the Berry tea pot, but he could see the way you nodded enthusiastically from out of the corner of his eye. He picks up the next thing, and does a double take. An…owl radio? He vaguely recalls seeing something similar in a movie, but it’s lost on him what it was.

“Great, cash or card?” He asks, leaning back in his chair and looking at you both. He realizes that the poker chips have pink designs around the rim. Cute. He looks up at you, but you quickly look at Eddie who pulls out a wad of cash with a tiny grin. “Cash, Sunshine.”

The nickname makes him double take, blinking behind the counter. “…Okay, here’s your change. Do you want a bag or a box?” He juts his thumb over at the bin of boxes, which Eddie gleefully wanders over to, leaving him alone with you once more.

You offer another smile, fishing out your notepad and scribbling in it. It’s a strawberry theme on the cover this time, instead of flowers. Your rings were also pink, and shiny with fake metal. He wonders if you raided the local gumball machine for more accessories.

‘Thank you, Steve. How are you? I haven’t seen you since Starcourt.’

“…Fine, yeah I’m fine. Robin and I managed, if you can call working here managing.” He chuckles, looking around at the tiny store. For once he’s really glad that you have a notepad with you, even if the words occasionally make his head swim. It was a little easier to read than hear sometimes.

‘I really like this place. I imagine you find a lot of cool things in here, it must be hard not to take them home.’

Steve suppressed a snort at that. What would he do with a bunch of old junk? Still, he nods. “Yeah. It looks like you did find some cool stuff. What are the flowers for?” He nods towards the heavy, iron flowers in a bag.

‘I’m going to use them as new knobs for my drawers! Eddie and I are going to paint them together outside today since it’s still warm out!’ You quickly flip to another page, where a doodle of a dresser could be seen. It was covered with flowers and funky colors made using highlighters. It was too bright for his taste, but it fit you just fine.

Steve chuckled, amused. “It’s pretty.”

“Babe, this one work?”

The two of you look over at Eddie who came shuffling over with a box with Grapefruit slices painted on the side. “I was thinking we could use the box too!” He starts gathering your things, and there it was. That awkwardness that came with watching customers pack up in silence.

Steve looked over at his calculator, fussing with the buttons. It’s only when Eddie clears his voice that he looks over and sees you giving Eddie a look.

“It uh…it is nice to see you, man. That…that Starcourt shit was terrifying. Glad you made it out in one piece.” Eddie smiles slightly, and Steve is disarmed. He hesitates before nodding slowly. “…You too, Munson. You uh…worked at the record store, right?” He offers and it’s Eddie’s turn to be taken aback. “Yeah! Yeah, was a great gig. M’workin’ down at the mechanics now though.” He shrugs, tapping the counter.

Steve noticed some plastic rings mixed with the genuine metal. Red, plastic jewels twinkled up at him. Did you insist to match, or did Eddie? He couldn’t help the slight smile playing on his lips at either idea.

Taglist: (DM to join) @ali-r3n

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[transmutationisms]

Do you have a perspective on why stimulants aren’t currently widely prescribed as weight loss drugs? Im guessing it’s related to it being a ‘controlled substance’ and ‘scary drug’ but drug marketing in pursuit of pharmaceutical profits is pretty powerful… I wonder why I haven’t seen (effective?) efforts to try to ‘overhaul’ the image of stimulants as only associated with “addiction”, “hyperactive children”, finance bros, and “lazy adults”.

I know vyvanse is also prescribed for binge eating but I get the sense most people are unaware of that. I tried many stimulants and I had the most rapid and “easy” (found food repulsive) weight loss on vyvanse. Granted all of the many prescribed stimulants I’ve tried all greatly suppress my appetite.And I’ve seen it described as a benefit by some people who have it prescribed for adhd (I understand why people do and I sometimes see it as a very depressing benefits because lack of food security despite). Binge eating disorder and prescribing for general weight loss aren’t too far from each other in the fatphobic society we live in but I guess I’m curious how it hasn’t had the ozempic treatment already/ when will it happen. People already look down of folks who can’t function by society’s standards in certain contexts and I see that similarity in how people talk about people who take ozempic for weight loss (admonishing and a moral failure).

stimulants absolutely still are prescribed for weight loss lol, in addition to Vyvanse for 'binge eating' (v unreliable diagnosis that many people receive when they are in fact dealing with subjective loss of control around food as a direct result of restrictive behaviours...) there's also Desoxyn (methamphetamine) and Phentermine (a substituted amphetamine), which are both still FDA-approved for short-term weight management. and yes that's Phentermine as in half of fen-phen. you also have to keep in mind that off-label prescribing is hard to track but is probably still occurring at not-insignificant rates (i know it happens with Ephedra and Clenbuterol, for example). and then there are also patients who use stimulants for weight loss without a doctor's knowledge, either by obtaining them on the black market or by simply getting a doctor to prescribe them for something else.

anyway in regards to pharma marketing strategies i think there are a few things going on here:

weight loss has never actually been the sole market for these drugs, nor was it the first. amphetamine was first synthesised in 1929; it was put into asthma inhalers almost immediately and by the late 30s was being sold as a kind of generalised wellness-producing drug, used by, for instance, college students as a 'pep pill'. the Allies used quite a bit of amphetamine in WWII to keep soldiers alert (the US military was still doing this in Iraq and Afghanistan in the 2000s; afaik they have not stopped this practice). by the late 50s stimulants were also marketed as pick-me-ups for unhappy housewives and for a dizzying array of depression 'subtypes' (postpartum, old age-related, disability-related) and 'modern miseries' (atomic anxiety, economic and political unrest). it wasn't until the 50s and 60s that stimulants really started to be marketed as diet pills, with 'overeating' configured as a symptom of depression. even those formulations also had other use markets: professional athletes, for example. i'm sure pharma companies would love to have the stimulant dominance they once did in weight loss, but it's not really necessary in order to move product: these days the ADHD diagnosis will generally do the job just fine. nicolas rasmussen's book On Speed has more on this history.

speaking of the ADHD diagnosis, i have observed that in the last two or so decades, it has increasingly been invoked in bioessentialist narratives of either 'chemical imbalances' (usually dopamine, norepinephrine) or distinct 'neurotypes' that are said to cause, worsen, or be susceptible to 'overeating', which can therefore be treated by the use of stimulant drugs. i strongly suspect an effect here is that 'overeating', weight gain, or 'obesity' are de facto being used as diagnostic criteria for ADHD, or for other psychiatric diagnoses considered to have high overlap in behavioural presentation. this is not dissimilar to the formulation in the 60s of 'overeating' as a result of depression; in both cases the narrative elides the appetite-suppressant effects of stimulants and presents them as aiding with weight loss by treating an underlying bio/psychiatric pathology. an interesting historical note here is that Adderall is simply a rebrand of the second-gen formulation of the weight-loss drug Obetrol.

presently, weight loss is largely marketed using the language of health rather than aesthetics. although pharma companies are certainly not morally above lying, i do think it would be a tough pill to swallow (pun intended) if they tried to convince anyone that a stimulant prescription is part of this sort of 'wellness' scene. that could change in the future, ofc; these perceptions and associations are socially and historically contingent. in the US even as recently as the 90s, people were definitely still presenting fen-phen as health-promoting (tautologically, because it caused weight loss!), at least until the valve disease scandal.

glp-1 agonists like ozempic are, i think, getting a lot of extremely credulous coverage, from both the medical establishment and health journalists, that is obfuscating the fact that they basically also work by suppressing the appetite. whether it is 'healthier' to do this with a substance that alters endocrine function than to do it with a substance that acts on adrenergic receptors is unclear to me. certainly there are many 'side effects' of the glp-1 agonists that are simply the results of rapid / significant weight loss (fatigue, weakness, osteoporosis, hair loss, gallstones, 'ozempic face', &c). that a process that causes these things can be marketed as health-promoting is a whole other topic lol. but i think the perception of the glp-1 agonists as healthful weight-loss agents has to do with certain misunderstandings of diabetes, metabolism, and body weight, as well as a degree of... not quite blackboxing, but something adjacent, on the part of pharma companies in their promotional materials. which is to say, it wouldn't surprise me if, in the future, people looked back at glp-1 agonists as also being risky drugs to use for weight loss, and only being worth using in specific, limited circumstances.

[midnightkens]

i love you, i hate you

TW: Homophobia/biphobia, homophobic slurs, past child abuse, religious trauma, alcoholism, allusions to PTSD, mentions of depression

--

Colt hates December.

The Decembers of adulthood are a far cry from those of the latter half of his childhood and his teenage years. The harsh, biting Seattle winters meant being handcuffed to intense seasonal depression and anxiety, a toxic current that threatened to sweep him under as the months dragged.

Even living in sunny Los Angeles, depression sometimes wraps its tendrils around him. It's bearable now, but it's a small solace. December still brings horrors he'd rather forget. The phone feels heavy in his hands, and he uses his other hand to brace himself against the counter.

It's almost Christmas, but it's never been the most wonderful time of the year for the Seavers family.

Other families get to sit around a tree, opening presents and laughing together. His father's house looks like any other. It's decked to the nines in garland and wreathes, an extravagant tree and a nativity scene. Colt clenches his fist at the thought. His father, the God-fearing Christian, the preacher, so devoted to his parishioners and their families, the fakest fucking human being that Colt knows. His parishioners don't see the real Benjamin Seavers, the violent alcoholic, the abusive father and useless husband. Christmas doesn't change anything. It's an excuse for him to get sloshed, grumble about Colt never visiting, and inevitably stumble to bed, blacked out in a drunken stupor.

It's so fucking fake, and Colt hates them, yet he returns. Year after year he hops on a plane and spends a week in his childhood home, feeling like a terrified eight year old all over again.

Hands wrap around his waist, and Colt feels feather-light lips press a kiss on his shoulder. He lifts his hand and clings to Ken's arm, subconsciously leaning into the touch.

"You really don't have to go," Colt murmurs. "I know how it'll go. Hi, Dad. Are you drunk already? Why do you always think I'm drunk? And why did you bring your faggot ass partner? Dad, I'm gonna have to ask you not to call Ken a faggot. To quote Taylor Swift, I think I've seen this film before. You don't need to suffer with me."

"That's not even the worst thing I've ever been called," Ken reminds him nonchalantly. Colt rolls his eyes. "And I handled your mother pretty well, didn't I?"

"Yeah, and you looked hot doing it," Colt admits. "But you can't kick Dad out of his own house."

"I always look hot." Colt's shoulders shake with barely suppressed laughter and Ken grins. "And yeah, we can't kick your dad outta his house, but what's stopping us from just leaving? You're a grown man, hon. You don't have to take his bullshit anymore."

"I know. It's just really fucking complicated, and I hate that it is, and I don't want to drag you into it."

"You're not dragging me into anything. Listen, you've put up with my issues and Patrick stalking us and all that. Let me come with you so you don't have to deal with your crazy dad alone."

Colt sighs. Ken's voice leaves no room for argument, and a small part of him is happy that he won't have to be alone.

He just wishes it were different.

--

Colt grips the steering wheel so tightly that it creaks under the force. Ken looks out the window and sings under his breath. There's no place like home for the holidays. But Colt isn't home. He's returning to his personal Hell, the place he's never belonged. Colt's stomach lurches as they pass the church he grew up in. Cars fill the parking lot, and images of his father screaming his Sunday sermons, a wild look in his brown eyes, flash before his eyes.

Ken doesn't speak of his childhood much. Colt knows he and Barb grew up in foster care, and his needs and wants often went unmet. But he knows that Ken has never set foot inside any church. Anytime Colt describes his childhood, Ken looks like a deer in headlights.

It was traumatic, but it was all Colt knew until he escaped. Even now, the pounding of his fathers fists and the sound of his booming voice as he tries to cast the demons out of Colt are so visceral that he debates pulling over and making Ken drive the rest of the way.

A therapist he saw after his accident called it a flashback. He and Ken know how to ground the other one through them. But for Colt, it's easy to ignore them so long as he doesn't entertain thoughts about his parents, or his sister, or the church.

Easier said than done.

--

Colt pulls into the driveway and drums his fingers on the dashboard. He drinks in the sight of the nativity scene, the huge wreath on the front door, the Peace sign on the side of the house. Passerby wouldn't give the house a second glance. It's small and unassuming, perfect for hiding the dirty secrets inside.

Ken takes one of Colt's hands and gives it a squeeze. If his hand is sweaty, his partner doesn't comment. "It's okay, hon," Ken reassures. "I'll be here the whole time."

Colt nods. If he opens his mouth, he might throw up.

He's not sure when he gets out of the car, but suddenly he and Ken are at the front door. Someone must've knocked? Was it him? He doesn't have time to ask himself more questions before someone barrels into him, knocking his breath away.

"Uncle Colt!" Colt immediately relaxes and glances at his niece. Melanie is ten now, and with a smug smirk, thinks that she's starting to look more like him the older she gets. "Mom and Dad told me, Charlotte, and Lydia that you weren't coming!"

Colt barely refrains from rolling his eyes. Of course Natalie and her scumbag husband would have commentary. Don't they know better by now? He's too weak to stay away. But there's some solace in his nieces' eagerness to see him. "Hey, short stuff." Colt ruffles her hair and hugs her tightly. He really should see Mel, Lottie, and Lydia more often, but he'll go to jail if he's around his sister too much.

Melanie pulls back with an affronted gasp. "I'm not short! I - " She cuts herself off and fixes her eyes on something to Colt's left. His heart races. Please take it well, please take it well, please take it well. "Who's this?"

Colt swallows and slips his hand into Ken's. Ken runs his thumb over Colt's knuckles, and some of the tension in his shoulders eases. "Mel, this is Ken. Ken, this is my niece, Melanie. Ken is - "

"Ohhhhh! Lydia!" Melanie turns and eagerly races back to the living room, blonde ponytail swishing behind her. "Lottie! Uncle Colt brought his boyfriend!"

Colt winces and steals a glance at Ken. His partner's eyes dance with mirth, and he guides them into the house. "Come on. She seems excited, at least."

Yeah, but she shouldn't have - Colt quickly halts that train of thought. Melanie is ten, she doesn't know any better, and he's about to introduce Ken as his partner anyway. It doesn't matter. Colt closes the door and hears footsteps trampling down the stairway. He braces himself for the onslaught.

Lottie and Lydia slam into him, but he doesn't fall back this time. He wraps his arms around them both, looking around in amusement as they speak over each other. Lottie's thirteen now, Lydia sixteen. He's missed out on so much time with them, and it hurts.

"Hi, Uncle Colt!" Lydia pulls away first and all but yanks Lottie back. Lottie scowls and swats at her sister, but Lydia hardly pays her attention. "Where have you been?"

"Yeah," Lottie interjects. "Why don't you come visit?"

"Is it 'cause of Mom? She's, like, on one today, so watch out."

"Great," Colt says wryly. "I've been looking forward to that."

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Yeah, she's a bitch. Anyway." She grins cheekily, and Colt narrows his eyes. That's never a good sign. "Is this your boyfriend?" Lydia looks Ken up and down, and Colt swallows.

They've never met any of Colt's previous boyfriends. None of them have ever been serious enough. They know about his bisexuality (thanks, Natalie), but this feels different. "Yeah, Lydia. This is Ken. He's my boyfriend."

"Hi." Ken waves at the girls. His arms are lax at his sides. His lips quirk in amusement, but he allows the girls to size him up.

"Hi." Lottie crosses her arms and taps her feet. "How'd you meet my uncle?"

"Singing karaoke."

Lydia blinks in surprise. "That's kinda cute. Was he any good?"

"I don't know." Ken shoots Colt a smug smirk. "He didn't sing. I did and then he came up to me and talked my ear off."

"And you loved every second of it. You can't fool me."

"Yeah, sounds about right."

"How would you know?" Colt counters, jaw dropped in shock. Sassy. "You're not even old enough to get into a bar!"

Lydia shrugs. "You talk a lot."

Ken laughs and pats his back. "It's okay, babe. I think we're even there."

"I like him," Melanie says. "He seems nice."

Colt's shoulders slump in relief. His nieces mean the entire world to him. He tries so hard to counter the toxicity spewed by their parents, to mold their worldview and teach them how to be accepting. They only speak over text, and sometimes, Colt is never sure if his attempts are successful. But for Melanie to like him, and oh, Lydia and Lottie are nodding in agreement...It's a huge deal. It gives him hope that his nieces will be able to break the cycle. "He's all right," Colt says with a shrug. "I think I'm gonna keep him around."

"Girls!"

Here it comes.

Natalie is an imposing woman. She's tall and dark-haired like their mother, with the same striking green eyes. It's eerie. And somehow, she's somehow more homophobic than Mother Dearest. She locks eyes with Colt and purses her lips. Colt stiffens and keeps his eyes locked on hers, like he's preparing for battle.

"Girls, I thought I told you to get in the kitchen. Run along now." The girls grumble, but do as they're told. Colt knows that feeling all too well. Natalie spent their childhood making snide demands of him and making the consequences very apparent.

Natalie steps closer and wrinkles her nose like she's smelled something particularly unpleasant. Ken squeezes Colt's hand, and Natalie notices the action. "Who's this?"

"You're not dumb. You know who he is."

"Why'd you bring him?"

"Why'd you bring your husband?"

Natalie's lips press into a thin line, and when she speaks next, it's through gritted teeth. "That's different, Colton."

"How?" Ken asks with mock sincerity. "How is it different?"

Natalie sneers at them, and Colt suspects she'd like nothing more than to spit on them both. "Because you're breaking my father's heart - "

Colt barks out a surprised laugh. "His heart? Come on, Nat. You and I both know that Dad doesn't have one of those."

Colt all but drags Ken into the den, away from his sister. Dad's in there. Benjamin Seavers glazes blearily at them over the top of his beer bottle. Colt swallows. It's so fucking hard to be in the same room as him. He's tall and broad, all blond hair and steely blue eyes. Colt despises looking in the mirror sometimes.

"Colt." Dad stumbles over to them and clasps a large hand on Colt's shoulder. Colt doesn't even flinch. He doesn't acknowledge Ken at all. "I thought I told you not to bring that into this house."

"Too bad. He is my partner, his name is Ken, he's staying, and you'll respect him or we're getting on the next flight home."

"I have no problems getting the belt, boy - "

"Oh, you don't? Try me, old man! I'm bigger than you, and I cou -"

"Let's go see what's happening in the kitchen, Colt." Ken all but yanks him away and drags him to a secluded hallway. Colt presses his palms into his eyes so hard that he sees stars. Ken rubs his arms soothingly, and Colt leans into the touch.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he groans. "I'm sorry you had to hear me threaten to beat my dad. We shouldn't have come. He's an asshole and Nat - I don't know what the fuck to call her - "

"Hey, hey, none of that. We don't have to stay, remember? Say the word, and I'll book us a flight home."

"I know. I just don't want to hurt my nieces. They don't really get it."

Ken looks at him sadly, but he doesn't argue. He was in a situation he felt trapped in, too. There's an understanding between them that runs deep, but Colt wishes it didn't exist. For both of their sakes.

--

"And they threw you out a window?" Lottie's so enraptured by Colt's story that she doesn't notice her food sliding off her fork.

"Yeah, and then they - "

"Girls, stop it." Colt's brother-in-law pounds his fist on the table. The girls don't flinch, but Ken does. Colt grabs his hand to ground him. "I don't want you taking life advice from someone like that."

"Like what?" Colt challenges. "Come on, Rick. You got something to say, then say it to my damn face."

"It's obvious, son." Benjamin places his fork on his plate, but it's too loud in the otherwise quiet room. The tension is so thick that Colt could cut it with a knife. He jiggles his leg up and down and clenches a fist around his own fork. The moment is father speaks again, he's taken right back to his childhood, and Dad's about to beat the demons out of him. "The girls shouldn't be taking advice from a faggot who dropped out of high school."

"Don't call him that!" Ken snaps. His face flushes with barely contained rage. Colt almost forgot he was there. "He's your kid, and this is how you talk to him? What's the matter with you?"

Benjamin clenches his jaw and waves a dismissive hand. "You. Why don't you shut the fuck up? This is family business."

"How very Christian of you," Ken retorts. "I bet you're real proud of yourself. And for the record, I am his family."

Colt places a hand on Ken's knee. Is he about to get beaten? No, he can't be, he's an adult, Dad can't - but Dad's fists are raised and is this another exorcism? No, it's two days before Christmas and he doesn't live here -

He doesn't know how he ends up on the sofa in the living room. Ken kneels in front of him. He's saying something, but it's coming out gibberish. He tries to read Ken's lips, but his face crumples and he shakes his head.

"I fucking hate them," Colt whispers. "I really, really fucking hate them."

"I know." The other side of the cheap couch dips as Ken takes a seat next to him. The hand on his back grounds him, if only a little. "Look at me, honey. Watch me, and take a deep breath."

But he can't. He can hear his father and sister scream in the dining room; he thinks one of his nieces is crying. This is all his fault.

"No, it's not," Ken says softly. "It's theirs, Colt. It's not your fault they're bad people."

But it is. He's always been too much. Too hyper, too talkative, too daring, too different.

He wants to go home, but he can't.

The idea of getting off the sofa is too daunting.

[mbti-notes]

hi i live in an ethnically divided country and in the process of growing up i too eventually became prejudiced towards other gruops because thats what we were taught that they are responsible for ruining the country etc but as i grow up ive tried to reduce this prejudice by first holding back judgements during conflict and hearing ppl out-not easy i was wondering if you have any other ways to help me tone down some of the prejudicial feelings i have thanks

Combating prejudice is deeply related to personal growth, so it's worth going into detail about it. Prejudice is a complicated topic because it needs to be understood from many different angles. It is a psychologically sensitive topic because of the moral injury and intergenerational trauma it causes. It is a politically controversial topic because there is a lot of disagreement about the best methods of remedying it.

Academically, this field of study is relatively new, so a lot of the research is still in early stages. It is a sad fact that academia has always been dominated by the perpetrators of prejudice, so the topic was not taken seriously until civil rights became a more prominent issue in society. In countries where civil rights haven't mattered or were continually suppressed, prejudice is considered just another form of suffering that people must endure.

WHAT IS PREJUDICE?

The literal meaning of prejudice comes from "pre-judge", to make a judgment without proper logical reasoning and/or before possessing necessary and sufficient evidence (of truth). If you can set aside the moral aspect of prejudice for a moment (whether it's good or bad), the foundation of pre-judgment is actually a cognitive issue, pertaining to how humans think, and the many ways in which their thought process can be flawed. Sometimes it helps to think of prejudice in cognitive rather than moral terms because it can reduce blaming and shaming, which allows for more productive discussion.

As humans evolved, they were often faced with dangerous situations in which they had to make timely decisions without opportunity to gather sufficient information. As a result, pre-judgment got built into the human brain as a survival tool. Pre-judgment relies on "fuzzy" sources of information that are immediately available, such as memories, emotions, and intuitions. The brain automatically uses past experience to formulate "general rules of thumb", which is an unrefined method of organizing and categorizing information. These generalizations can then be used to make quick intuitive leaps and connections when navigating new situations. The word "automatic" is important because most of this information processing takes place instantly, below conscious awareness.

The great speed at which pre-judgment occurs means that certain things must be sacrificed, such as mindfulness, precision, accuracy, and most importantly, the bigger picture, since the past experience of one individual is an extremely limited pool of information. The flaws of this "lower" level information processing are presumably why human beings also had to evolve the so-called "higher" brain that is used for logical reasoning and conscious deliberation.

In other words, humans essentially have two different brains (which have been given various names throughout the history of psychology). Problems arise when the two brains diverge or disagree. The bad news is that it's impossible to stop your "lower" brain from pre-judging because it's a critical brain function. The good news is that it's quite possible to use your "higher" brain to counteract the mistakes and negative effects of pre-judgment. This is a process that may involve several steps:

STEP 1: NURTURE SELF-AWARENESS

The first step is to develop enough self-awareness to realize that there's a lot more going on in your mind than you realize. The reason I go on and on about self-awareness is that you can't address an issue until you become aware of it. Many people aren't aware of their beliefs and values and just take them for granted. To increase self-awareness, reflect on your beliefs and values in more detail. It might help to write them down.

beliefs: what you take as true/untrue about the world

values: how you assign importance, significance, or worth

The fact of the matter is that people pick up their beliefs and values quite passively from their environment. Knowing this can make you more understanding of people when they hold problematic beliefs because it's likely that they haven't had enough opportunity to examine them properly. We all grow up internalizing someone else's beliefs and values. Yet many people treat their beliefs and values as their personal "identity" and are unwilling to let them go even when the beliefs are proven false or the values proven misguided.

In your case, your culture has taught you racist beliefs and values, e.g., that people of a certain ethnicity are bad, inferior, not to be trusted, best eliminated, etc. As a child, you accepted these beliefs and values because i) you didn't know any better, and ii) holding them made it easier for you to fit in. It feels good to fit in. A culture survives and thrives when its members continually validate each other, even when the beliefs/values being validated are problematic.

In adulthood, you can hide behind excuses and continue to uncritically conform with your culture, or you can reflect critically on your culture and actively choose the kind of person you want to be. Do you want these unexamined beliefs and values to define you? Do you want to let these unexamined beliefs and values make you a protector of a prejudiced society and a perpetrator of discrimination? If not, what kind of society do you hope to live in, and what kinds of beliefs and values must you hold in order to help bring that better society into being?

Shining more light on the underlying beliefs and values that underpin your behavior creates an opportunity to change them for the better. There are many things you don't have the power to control in society, but the one thing that is always within your power to improve is yourself.

STEP 2: FACE UP TO YOUR PREJUDICE

The second step is to admit that you pre-judge and acknowledge any problems it has caused. A problem won't get solved by dancing around it. To confront a problem head on means you must see the FULL extent of it. Once again, it might help to lay it all out in writing, for example:

Write down all the times you felt awkward, clueless, or helpless around someone different from you, and explain why.

Write down all the instances where pre-judgment led you to misunderstand, misjudge, or mistreat someone, either intentionally or unintentionally.

Write down all the times you got criticized or suffered negative consequences related to pre-judgment.

Write down what you really thought about the people you've met of that ethnicity, even if it makes you feel ashamed, especially if it makes you feel ashamed. Shame is an indicator that something about your thinking/behavior is morally wrong, so learn to pay attention to shame and you'll discover opportunities to improve.

Were there better ways to approach those situations? It's hard to change negative behavior when you have no positive behavior to replace it with. Generally speaking, a great way to learn and improve in social situations is to be more curious and take more time to listen, rather than make assumptions and trip over your own false beliefs.

STEP 3: IMPROVE YOUR THINKING SKILLS

The third step is to develop better use of your "higher" intellect and its ability to reason, i.e., improve your critical thinking skills. Critical thinking basically means properly vetting your beliefs and values. There are several criteria you ought to use:

Truth: Is your belief really true? Is it based on fact? Human beings are prone to confirmation bias, so did you gather all of the available evidence and give fair consideration to the counterevidence? If you don't know enough to judge truth for yourself, have you consulted with a wide range of experts on the matter? Experts are the people who have already done sufficient formal learning and study. While their word shouldn't be taken as gospel, they are a good source of credible information that ought to be taken into consideration.

Rationality: Is your belief/value reasonable? Can you explain how you came to hold the belief/value? Can you provide a convincing logical argument to prove your belief or justify your value to others? If you don't know enough to judge the quality of information on your own, has your belief/value undergone adequate critique and rebuttal from those who know more? When used appropriately, discussion and debate with others can help you refine your ideas toward greater precision and accuracy.

Coherence: Do you express and apply your beliefs/values consistently in every situation? Do any of your beliefs/values contradict each other? Have you ever detected or been accused of hypocritical behavior? When your beliefs, values, and behaviors don't align or fit with each other, it causes an uncomfortable mental state called cognitive dissonance. It's a sign that there's a problem in your thought process, which you should use as an opportunity to straighten your mind out.

Racial/ethnic prejudice is a form of faulty thinking because it is based on stereotyping. A stereotype is an over-generalization about an entire category/group. For example, Americans are often stereotyped as loud, Canadians as polite, French as snobby, British as uptight, etc.

Stereotypes are difficult to eradicate for two reasons. First, stereotypes are a form of lazy thinking, and laziness often wins out when mental energy is limited. Since they are a form of pre-judgment, stereotypes are a quick and easy way to make sense of the world: Thinking along very general categories bypasses the need to think about all the little details of each individual member of the category. Stereotypes are also lazy in that they do not properly distinguish between race, ethnicity, and culture. How a person looks (biology), where they are from (geography), what group they identify with (culture), and how they behave (psychology) are separate issues, are they not? Yet, stereotypes do not recognize such nuances.

Second, stereotypes are easy to defend because they contain a tiny but heavily distorted grain of truth. Culture is real, and people who grow up in the same culture are more likely to adopt similar attitudes and behaviors. It is true that Americans tend to value extraverted behaviors like assertiveness and outspokenness. Cultural trends make it very easy to find an example of a loud American or a polite Canadian. Humans only require one or two examples and their brain will see a "pattern" and start making generalizations. Generalizations eventually evolve into stereotypes once enough people start believing they are true.

Many people try to debunk stereotypes by calling them false, but that's not quite the right approach. The more important problem with stereotypes is that they are only a very small piece of the picture that has been blown out of proportion and treated as the whole picture. A stereotype is an oversimplification. To debunk an oversimplification is different than just calling out falsity. If the problem is that people aren't taking enough information into consideration, then the solution should be to make them take the fuller picture into account. This can be done in two ways:

i. Seek Counterevidence: For instance, for every loud American you meet in the US, you will find a quiet one that didn't draw your attention. If you actually did this, the number of loud Americans would immediately drop to ~50%. It's much harder to justify stereotyping when you realize that the number of people who fit the stereotype isn't anywhere near 100% or even a majority. This is why an effective way to increase racial and ethnic harmony is to encourage more mixing and mingling between groups. When you're constantly encountering evidence that goes against the stereotype, over and over again, stereotypes will cease to have any meaning.

ii. Respect Individuality: Recognize that not everyone subscribes equally or in the same way to the culture in which they were brought up. Go to a collectivist culture and you'll find plenty of rebellious people. Go to a traditional culture and you'll find plenty of open-minded people. There are plenty of people who suffer because they don't fit in well with their culture. When you stereotype, you are basically saying that every person is just a mindless or unthinking product of their culture. Is it fair to dismiss people in this way, before you've even known a single fact about their personal experience and background? Another reason why mixing and mingling between groups promotes racial and ethnic harmony is because normal everyday interactions force you to connect with each individual's humanity and you can't help but be more empathetic as a result.

Do you hope to be an intelligent person? An important aspect of growing as a person is to develop your intellectual capabilities because they are necessary for having good judgment. Is it possible to make consistently good decisions in life when your mind is riddled with wrong ideas and bad thinking habits such as overgeneralizing and oversimplifying?

STEP 4: UNDERSTAND YOUR PLACE IN HISTORY

The fourth step is to have a better understanding of history and how you fit into the historical context of racial/ethnic divides. People may be born to pre-judge but they aren't born with prejudiced beliefs. Beliefs are learned and passed down from one generation to the next. Prejudice isn't just a problem of one person's faulty cognition, it is also a social and political problem, where faulty beliefs and values build a society that treats people unfairly.

In many places, people of different ethnic groups often claim their own spaces. If too many people from another ethnicity start to move in, conflicts arise. The usual responses to this "invasion" are fight or flight. Fighting involves actively rejecting them, kicking them out, killing them, or passing laws to keep them from power. Flight usually involves moving to a new space once it becomes obvious that the old space is unrecoverable. Either way, the two groups remain separate, which means there are no opportunities to mix and mingle and improve relations.

As long as two groups cannot tolerate and accept each other, conflicts will persist. And some ethnic conflicts have persisted for centuries and even produced wars, haven't they? Whether you like it or not, you come into the world as a part of history. What role have your ancestors and family played in the conflict? What do people see when they look at you, and how does that affect your relations with them? Do you want to mindlessly perpetuate the conflict so that your kids and descendants must suffer forever, or do you hope for something better? What will your legacy be in this history? Can the prejudice end with you?

STEP 5: RAISE THE BAR ON YOUR PEOPLE SKILLS

The fifth step is to hold yourself to higher standards when socializing, communicating, and interacting with others. You have to improve your people skills so that you get the most out of every interaction, rather than doing things that poison or shut down meaningful interaction. You have to be more mindful about how you come across to people. I have already recommended books on the resources page about how to socialize and communicate better.

It is a simple matter to preach tolerance and acceptance, but it is quite another matter to actually try and implement it. The fact of the matter is there are certain values that cannot be reconciled. For example, if you believe that men and women should be equal under the law, how are you going to reconcile with a culture that believes they are fundamentally unequal and should be treated unequally? It seems impossible.

This is where it's especially important to combat stereotypes through real human interaction. Stereotypes are only easy to maintain because they are abstract in your mind. When you merely think about people who are different from you, you don't think of them as real individuals, but as an abstract category or a single superficial characteristic. This must change, and an effective way is to purposely surround yourself with more people who are different from you. I often advocate this kind of exposure to foster understanding between different personality types, and the same principle applies to other human differences as well, including racial, ethnic, cultural, religious, gender, and physical differences.

If you are a member of the dominant group in society, you have never really experienced what it's like to be in the minority, and it is an experience you ought to expose yourself to, in order to truly understand the world beyond your own limited experience. The dominant group always holds the freedom to determine their own identity, whereas the minority group never feels free from majority judgment of them. Have you ever experienced such existential constraint and do you understand what negative effects it has on human psychology? Reflect more deeply on how people are bound by social, economic, and political constraints and you might find more sophisticated explanations for the "negative" behavior you observe in people.

In real human interaction, you can better connect with people as individuals, you have far more exposure to the positive side of their culture, you'll have a more nuanced understanding of what really motivates them, and you'll have more opportunity to communicate your way through differences. When two people only see each other as abstractions, stereotypes can easily be proven true, which only hardens prejudiced beliefs. But when you learn how to communicate with empathy, person to person, heart to heart, stereotypes more easily fall away, and people are more likely to soften their stance and be open to finding common ground.

Yes, there are some extreme people you will never be able to see eye-to-eye with, but you have to realize those people are in the minority. The majority of people aren't extreme and don't want conflict. Until you can do away with your abstractions and connect with people on a more human level, you'll just continue dismissing everyone you've lumped into the crude category of "bad" and consider them irredeemable, thus never discovering the majority of moderate people who are open to communication, compromise, and change. If you hope to have an influence on others, it is only fair that you open yourself up to being influenced by them. This is a very difficult but worthy endeavor if two people who would otherwise be enemies finally find some form of mutual understanding or peaceful coexistence.

Counteracting the tendency to pre-judge is hard work, even painful work, which is why many people resist or don't bother. However, if you can take on this challenge of changing your thinking and improving your people skills, you'll be opening the door to tremendous growth. You'll have a much deeper understanding of yourself, others, and the society you live in. And there are many rewards to be reaped from possessing such wisdom.

[gumnut-logic]

Sweetapple Slice 7

Alexander Sweetapple series

No one asked a question for this one, I just needed a beach and to visualise something other than suburbia. Unfortunately, the boys are interested in other things and we don't get much scenery.

Just a short one this time, not read through, just thrown up here.

This one happens during that time after 'Along the Way' when Alex first visits the Island.

And if you are wondering why this is Slice 7 and yesterday was Slice 5, Slice 6 is on its way via a different author :D I have no doubt it will appear soon :D

I hope you enjoy this little scene.

-o-o-o-

“So, what’s it like living on your own private island?”

Virgil snorted, and, turning, skipped a pebble off the surface of the Pacific Ocean. It bounced across the smooth glass of the caldera a full six times before disappearing into the turquoise depths.

“As with everything, it has its pros and cons.” Virgil raised his arms, gesturing to it all. “We live in a wildlife documentary with sunsets to die for.” A smirk. “But there is no takeout. Everything on the Island is maintained by us - the housework, the lawn, the electricity, even the sewage.” Virgil’s nose wrinkled up at that last. “A lot of its automated, thank goodness, but where there is automation-“

“There is maintenance.”

“Yeah, that. Self-sufficiency has its downsides.” Virgil looked out at the caldera again. “But then we have all this, all to ourselves. We don’t have to worry about the paparazzi out here, we’re safe on our beautiful island home.” He shrugged. “As I said, pros and cons.”

Alex scanned his eyes around the beach. “You can’t get here without a plane either. I apologise ahead for the lack of surprise visits on birthdays and anniversaries.”

Virgil smiled at him. “We can work something out.”

“Oh?”

But Virgil only kept that smile on his face and said nothing further on the topic.

Okay, play it that way, Mr Mysterious Thunderbird.

And it hit him again. He was on the hidden island of the Thunderbirds.

Virgil chuckled. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” Blushing at least.

“Fanboying fit to bust something.”

“Hey!”

But Virgil had moved in closer, one hand sliding up the side of Alex’s neck and into his hair. It was very distracting. “From one fanboy to another, you are really adorable when you do that.” And Virgil was pulling him down into a soft kiss.

Mmmm.

But before his brain could white out into the pleasure that were this gorgeous man’s lips…

“Wait. You’re a fanboy? Of what?”

Virgil chuckled, soft breath teasing Alex’s neck as dropped his forehead to Alex’s shoulder.

Alex drew him into a hug, hands sliding over well-defined muscle through the light shirt Virgil was wearing. As always, Alex was struck by exactly how incredible Virgil Tracy actually was, what those muscles did on a daily basis, and how unbelievably lucky Alex was to be holding him.

“Have you heard of Kip Harris?” It was said into his collarbone, warm breath teasing the chest hair under his borrowed shirt.

Kip Harris…

“Is he the guy who designed that gas fire suppression regime you used in the Siberian gas fields, end of last year?”

Virgil’s head shot up. “How do you know about that?”

Alex arched an eyebrow. “Fanboy? I know quite a bit about your missions. They are fascinating. The equipment you use, the techniques-“

But Virgil was laughing into his shirt.

“What?”

Those dark eyes looked up at him again, filled with mirth. “Yet you didn’t recognise me when we first met.”

Alex opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Which prompted Virgil to start giggling even more.

“Hey, I’m an engineer. Sometimes I get distracted by cool gadgets.”

The giggles became full-on laughter.

“Well, if you’re going to be like that.” Alex pulled back a little, mock offended.

Virgil grabbed at him. “Hey, no, come here.” The laughter had turned into a struggling fond smile. “I can introduce myself, if you like.” The smile almost broke into a laugh, but the man managed to hold it back. “Hi, I’m Virgil Tracy, the man behind the cool gadgets. Oh, and the coffee. Apparently, I can make cool coffee, too.”

The smile was strained beyond belief and Alex had no choice but to kiss it into submission.

“It’s hot coffee.” Mumbled against soft lips. “Wonderfully warm and hot coffee.”

Virgil didn’t answer, instead using all his many skills to melt Alex under his touch. His big hands roamed up Alex’s back and…

Yeah, he could stop thinking now.

-o-o-o-