#specially if you don't know how to dance?

[hoe4hotchner]

Drawer | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Gn!reader CW: Fluff. Haley is still alive in this one… but they're divorced and she's not mentioned, so don't worry about her. WC: 0.8k

This is part of #Teddy-ber hosted by @angellsell

           The kitchen was quiet, save for the soft clinking of plates as you set the table. The sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow over the room, making everything feel cozy and safe. You glanced over at the small drawer beside the fridge, the one neither of you opened often, yet always ended up filling with random things. You smiled, shaking your head. The infamous junk drawer - every home had one, but yours and Aaron's had its own kind of charm.

           It all started off simple, as these things often do. A place for the odd rubber band, a spare battery, maybe a pen or two. But over time, it grew, much like your relationship with him, becoming a repository for memories, a snapshot of your life together in the most ordinary and yet extraordinary way.

           You wandered over to the drawer, giving in to the curiosity, and pulled it open. The first thing that caught your eye was a tiny, half-used notepad. You chuckled, remembering how Aaron had tried to create a system and used it to make a grocery list - once. His tidy handwriting took up the first half of the page: Apples, cereal, milk, eggs. The essentials. Then came your scribbles, messier but full of character: Chocolate, wine, ice cream. It was a small, unspoken dance between the two of you, his practicality meeting your indulgence. He’d teased you about your sweet tooth but always made sure to grab a bar of your favorite chocolate when he went to the store.

           Underneath the notepad was an old, crinkled paperclip. Nothing special at first glance, but you knew better. This particular clip had been straightened and twisted into some sort of abstract shape during one of Aaron’s late-night phone calls with the director. He had a habit of fiddling with things when he was deep in thought or conversation, his mind constantly running through strategies, cases, and plans. The paperclip had against all odds survived that night and ended up in the drawer, tossed in with the rest of the forgotten oddities.

           There was a small collection of mismatched pens, each one with a different origin story. One from the BAU, with the FBI logo fading from years of use. Another, much nicer, one with Rossi’s name engraved on the side - a Christmas gift that had mysteriously disappeared from Aaron’s desk only to reappear here. You smiled, remembering how Rossi had teased Aaron about it, accusing him of misplacing gifts as though they were case files.

           Digging a little deeper, you found a crumpled-up ticket stub. It was from a movie you and Aaron had seen early on in your relationship, on one of your rare date nights - some action thriller that neither of you had really been paying attention to. You had been too busy watching him try to relax and stop worrying about work. His arm curled around your shoulders as the tension slowly left his body. It was one of those evenings where he let himself enjoy life, and in that dark theater, you’d felt closer to him than ever. The ticket had ended up in his pocket, and then, eventually, in the drawer.

           You picked up an old keychain, shaped like a miniature Swiss Army knife. It was a gag gift from Morgan after a particularly tough case where Aaron somehow had managed to improvise his way out of a tricky situation (or so you'd been told) with nothing but a pen and a piece of string. Morgan had joked about Aaron being the new MacGyver, and the keychain had become a running joke between the two - until it, too, found its way into the drawer, no longer needed but still a significant memory.

           Near the back, half-buried under a mess of receipts and old to-do lists, you found something that made your heart swell - a small, child-sized sock. You chuckled softly, knowing exactly whose it was. Jack had spent the night a few weeks ago, and somehow, one of his socks had gone missing. You’d found it in the laundry and tossed it in the drawer, intending to return it but never getting around to it. The little sock was a reminder of the nights when Jack slept over, filling the house with his laughter and questions. Aaron was always softer when Jack was around, his face lighting up in ways that were rare for the composed man you knew.

           As you looked over the contents of the drawer, you realized that it was more than just a place for random objects. It was a reflection of your life with Aaron - the little moments that made up your days together, the way your personalities meshed in the most unexpected ways. His neatness contrasted with your occasional chaos, his seriousness balanced by your lightheartedness. And in the middle of it all, this drawer - a quiet testament to the life you were building together, one forgotten pen and grocery list at a time.

           You smiled, closing the drawer with a soft click, knowing that someday it would fill up even more. But for now, it was a comforting, endearing mess - much like love itself.

[luimagines]

hellooooo im new kinda-

but i was wondering if you could do a twi x reader but the reader is insecure about their appearance?

ps: keep up the good work!

Okie dokie artichokie! You got it! :D

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

"I have nothing to wear."

"Just pick something!"

"Like what? Nothing works!"

Uh-oh. Link didn't like that tone you were using.

He was wondering what was taking so long for you to get ready. He had planned to that you to the festival in Castle Town but this was something that he didn't expect. You were usually faster than this.

"What do you mean?" Link asks gently. He thinks he can guess what's wrong. "Can I see what you have?"

You had mentioned wanting to get something new for the special occasion but he had yet to see what you had chosen. You wanted it to be a surprise.

"...Yes. You can come in."

Oh dear, you really mustn't be feeling well if you're willing to ruin said surprise.

Link sighs and walks in. You're holding up a dress to yourself in the mirror. Two different options lay on your bed, waiting to be tried on. Or rather, have already been tried on and rejected.

"I like this color." You say, defeat coloring your tone. "But I don't like the way my shoulders look in it."

Link tilts his head. He can't see anything wrong with it, but he knows that's not what you need to hear. "What about the other ones?"

"Those were back ups." You pout, tossing the new outfit onto the bed with reckless abandon. "But I don't want to wear those tonight."

Link bite his tongue in thought. He didn't think there was anything wrong with the outfit or with your shoulders. It wasn't even on his mind.

"Try it on for me anyway." He finds himself saying. "At least let me see you in it."

"Ok, fine." You sigh, a little disappointed in yourself. Link can see it and he won't stand for it.

He steps out of the room momentarily so you can change.

You step out as well with the clothes on moments later. Link feels his breath leave his chest. You're beautiful.

But he can see already that your insecurities are beginning to take over. You give him a halfhearted twirl with pathetic flourish. "Ta da."

Link tries to hide his amusement and takes your hand, pulling you towards him. He gives you a proper twirl.

"You're gorgeous."

"...You think so?"

Oh merciful heavens, the tiny hope in your voice is a vice around his heart.

"I have eyes." He teases gently and pulls back to give the impression that he's giving this genuine thought. It's not that he wants to trick you, but there's really nothing wrong here. He has to let you believe that your beautiful no matter what.

He refuses to let you be uncomfortable in your own skin.

"Mmmmhm." He grins and purposely dances with you back into your room. You end up giggling at his antics, hanging onto him as he nearly throws you off of you feet.

"Link, please!" You laugh louder.

"Just like this then. I've figured it out." He says proudly, standing in front of your mirror again. Link had wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. "Is this better?"

You're smiling brightly, trying to see how it's any different in the mirror. But you realize. It doesn't matter. This outfit actually looks quite nice.

"It's because you're hiding my shoulders." You say gently, trying to pull away.

He doesn't let you. "No, it's because we're together." Link stresses, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. "Just stay by my side the whole time, you won't even notice."

You sigh and look back into the mirror.

He has a point. With his arm around you, you don't even see what's been bothering you anymore. You shake your head and smile again, your heart a little lighter than before. "You're to have your arm around the whole time then."

Link snorts. "Believe me, that will not be a problem."

[yuvany]

TAKING CARE OF THE YOUNGER MEMBERS

" it feels the best when you' re right next to me "

HYUNG LINE x fem!reader . . . CONTENT LIST : fluff + domestic acts + est relationship + skinship . . WORD COUNT : 545 & & CHECK BOX !!

( reblogs + feedback always appreciated !! )

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

It was cold, and Heeseung was walking beside you in front of the rest, enjoying the view of frost coating the the grass, but most importantly to be with you. The weather was cold enough to blow smoke into the air, and Heeseung made sure that you were warm and cosy. As well as that, he'd turn around and see if anyone else was freezing. He catches Jake not wearing his scarf properly and says, "Fix your scarf man, you can't become sick now. There's no one to impress in this weather either" He tightens it and pats his shoulder. "I mean, you did this when you liked y/n." Jake says, exposing Heeseung and he chuckles awkwardly and return to you. "You really also gotta keep yourself warm, honey." You say as you intertwine your fingers with his.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

He has the nurturing side to him. Let's you be in the kitchen with him when the others aren't. You giggle to yourself, knowing that you have someone as perfect as Jay with you. "You guys aren't allowed in here." Jay holds his palm out for Jake and he sigh. "Why is y/n in there then?" he groans. "She's differen't from you animals, go to the livingroom or something." Jay shoos them away. "So I'm special?" You ask, and he nods,"Very." kissing you softly on the forehead. You and him cook together in the kitchen, the new aroma of the food filling the building. "Sweetie, could you tell the rest that they can finally come here?" He asked, pulling the oven mitts off his hands. "of course," you say and run off, leaving him smiling.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

Sees the others playing card games, and asks if he can join, in which they reply yes excitedly. "babe, come play with me." He says, patting the place on the mat beside him. You shake your head at first, but then he pleads with you and you give in, taking a seat beside him. "What are we playing?" You ask, and they answer with a game you've never heard of. You, unfortunately don't know the rules, and poke Jake on the shoulder. "Hmm?" He asks, and you admit that you don't know the rules. "No worries, we can play together." He pulls you onto his lap and rests his chin in your neck as he looks at his cards. "jake hyung, you're so weird." Riki says with a giggle and this results in him getting a card thrown at him.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

You were in the practice studio, supporting the seven while they trained with their coach, and you helped them record the dances that they used to monitor their moves. While they did that, you noticed how tired and exhausted they looked, sweat dripping down their foreheads. You cringed at this, knowing that you don't like the feeling of sweat sticking to your skin, so you offer to bring them all some snacks and water bottles while they were on break. The youngest burst out in cheers and thanked you over and over for your kindness. "Are you sure? I can follow along?" Sunghoon asks, chasing after you and stopping you by the door. "I'm sure. Please take a break from your hard work, babe." You take a small towel and wipe his face with it before rubbing your nose with his.

TAGLIST : @dollyhoon @itjengirl @saeivra @orimuraa

[anavilante]

I don't know why the writers ignore the amazing quality that Callum brings to his character - the ability to look at his counterparts with an unblinking gaze in intense moments, because I'm completely blown away by it and it drives me crazy. But I have never seen any emphasis on this in the fics I read. 🙁

If you pay attention, you'll notice that Callum blinks very little. It makes his gaze more intense, more challenging, more animalistic.

I want to turn off my Clegan fan for a while and talk about this scene seriously. I don't know how familiar you are with the military and the rules of war and how much you realize that what Bucky does in this scene is a BIG "NO." And you can clearly see this in the faces of those around them.

A HUGE "NO".

GALACTIC-SCALE "NO" DURING WAR. Here a low-ranking officer PUBLICLY (not one-on-one) allows himself to contradict and be familiar with a higher-ranking officer (with that slap on the chest that is not shown in the gif), almost humiliating him in front of other soldiers. For what Bucky did (even as a reaction to Harding's words) he deserves a demotion, the guardhouse and possibly a court-martial (depending on the laws of the country). The way this scene is depicted also adds special flavor. It is simply absolutely ANIMALISTIC. This is a young wolf challenging the alpha in front of the pack. The way Harding and Bucky look at each other during their verbal duel is not civilized, these are two wolves who are ready to tear each other's throats to shreds in a fight for dominance in front of the astonished pack, each member of which has their own feelings about what is happening. Bucky and Harding, each of them needs to impress others and is ready to die trying to do so. Fortunately, Harding is a little more civilized than Bucky is animalistic, because he, understanding the mental state of the pilots who risk their lives every day and mourn the loss of their friends, he retreats (!!!), wanting to turn aggression into a joke. This is, in all honesty, an almost incredible thing in times of war, when a superior officer must take care of the morale of the group and their faith in the orders given and cannot allow anyone to doubt his authority.

It's Harding who's backing down, and Bucky who's going to go all the way. That's why non-dancing Gale starts dancing, that's why he starts worrying about Bucky being okay, because Bucky's in a not-so-latently-aggressive state.

PS Comparing Bucky to a harmless dog like a golden retriever or a cute puppy really makes me laugh.

Dog Coded Bucky my ass.

[kafus]

hi guys meet scramble. the salamence i have been preparing for NEARLY AN ENTIRE FUCKING MONTH!!!! AAAAA

so okay. i am trying to build a 6 pokemon team to take on orre colosseum in pokemon xd gale of darkness. for the uninitiated, it's basically like gen 3 VGC, but against NPCs with predetermined and handcrafted teams made by the developers. you can honestly kind of think of it like the trainer battles in the indigo disk DLC, but if pretty much all the fights had a full team and some competitive merit. and of course gen 3 doubles mechanics (which have some WILD fundamental differences from modern VGC, but i digress as that's not really the point of this post)

despite getting perfect stat pokemon being extremely difficult and time consuming in gen 3, and basically impossible outside of emerald if you want the right natures on your pokemon, the NPC opponents in orre colosseum have pokemon with perfect IVs and such, so to not suffer you really have to have some Good Pokemon. now usually this wouldn't be a problem for me because i know how to RNG manipulate wild encounters and eggs in gen 3... but there's a catch.

see i've been trying to play this copy of emerald, my new main file as of last year, MOSTLY fully legitimately and as intended by the developers, AKA no RNG manipulation and very little use of glitches. don't get me wrong, there are exceptions to this, i make my own rules and i'm just here to have fun, not to prove myself like it's some sort of challenge run for the internet to judge me on. but as for battle tower pokemon and whatnot, i haven't used RNG manipulation at all, and i intend to keep it that way. i've used RNG manipulation for that stuff in the past and frankly i'm just bored of it.

this is the team i built for orre colosseum. it's first time ever building my own team for gen 3 doubles, so i suppose we'll see how it goes, but yeah. a writeup on it after i beat orre colosseum in the future perhaps. for the sake of this post, the important pokemon is that salamence.

this thing was a fucking NIGHTMARE to get without RNG manipulation. as you may or may not know, hidden power is a move that can be any type and of any base power between 30 and 70, depending on the IVs of the pokemon that knows the move. this is an extremely unforgiving calculation and it's also pretty complex so i'm not going to get into the exact math here. but what you need to know about breeding this salamence is:

bagon is 40 egg cycles. most standard pokemon are 20. they take double the time to hatch compared to other pokemon. collecting and hatching these eggs was excessively slow, even with flame body

dragon dance is an egg move and egg moves can only be passed down by male parents in gen 3, so that is something i have to juggle

the adamant nature has only a 50/50 chance of passing with the everstone hold item as opposed to the 100% chance in modern gens. additionally, it only works when the female parent is holding it (or a ditto, but that's irrelevant here)

there is no way to guarantee the passing down of specific IVs, and there also is no destiny knot to guarantee that 5 total IVs are passed down from the parents. you're stuck with getting a random 2-3 IVs from the parents in completely random fashion

this means that i have to hatch dozens of eggs to even get a pokemon with 3 perfect IVs, even off of two parents that have the 3 perfect IVs, and the process of getting those parents in the first place is a very slow and incremental and random process... WHILE juggling nature and egg moves

the cherry on top is that to realistically have the chance to get hidden power flying, i have to have two parents with a 30 IV in special attack/special defense and a 30 or a 31 in speed. so i can't just get a perfect bagon and call it a day, i have to cross two perfect bagons with all of the above parameters to roll for those parameters to pass down again, and also roll HP flying.

NOW. i made this WAY more torturous on myself. because the easiest way to get HP flying is by pairing two x/x/x/30/30/30 parents together. but knowing that orre colosseum pokemon can have perfect stats, and because of the relative lack of speed control options in gen 3 doubles (no tailwind, no trick room, etc), every point of speed matters. i wanted that perfect speed of 31. the issue? when rolling for x/x/x/30/30/31 pokemon instead, the only way that the type of the hidden power is flying is if all the three other IVs are even numbers. so alltogether, i need the following to happen on any bagon egg, assuming that i've already put together the two x/x/x/30/30/31 parents with a male dragon dance bagon and an adamant female bagon holding an everstone:

all three IVs to pass down from the parents (the way emerald determines which IVs pass down is weird but it's roughly a 1/16 chance for the offspring to be 30/30/31)

the nature to pass down with the everstone (1/2)

all three other IVs to randomly roll even (1/8)

so the odds? 1/256. and that's not even a guarantee that the final resulting bagon has GOOD IVs in its other stats, just EVEN numbers. or 0. they could all be 0!!!!

and the first bagon i got after probably around 200 eggs (i wasn't counting at that point)? a middling 16 in attack, and a fucking ZERO in HP. zero!!!! i was so sick of bagons at this point that i considered keeping it and stopping there on that fateful day of september 1st. BUT I WAS NOT SMART. AND I DIDN'T. i decided i would keep hatching bagon until i got one more HP flying one with the IVs and nature passed down, and THEN i would stop no matter what, just keeping whichever bagon of the two was better.

i actually started fucking losing it. i had to recount the amount of bagon i ended up hatching. i was doing it full boxes at a time, and later on i even added a second save file/GBA SP just to make it go faster. you know how many bagon i hatched?? 840!! for a 1/256 chance!!! dealing with the 40 egg cycles and everything!!!

my friends watched me slowly devolve into insanity as i routinely announced in our game liveposting channel that i was HATCHING MORE BAGON. and FINALLY after nearly a full month of on and off bagon hatching. I GOT ONE TODAY. AND GUESS WHAT ITS ATTACK IV WAS.

IT.

WAS.

2!!!

anyway i'm not even actually mad because i'm just so happy this is over. i was getting so fucking sick of it. i love long pokemon grinds but this was a lot even for me. it doesn't feel even remotely good like full odds hunting and this is the longest and most miserable egg grind i've ever done in these games and will hopefully ever have to do. and yet despite knowing that i couldn't stop myself because of sunken cost fallacy. and being stubborn. so i am glad to be RELEASED from BAGON PURGATORY

i am settling for the 0 HP IV 16 attack iv bagon and i will love her. she is named scramble as a reference to the sheer amount of eggs i hatched on this journey and also the scrambled RNG. and despite it all i am very proud of myself and excited to use her in orre colosseum regardless of everything. but i can't for a while because i have three more pokemon to breed... none of which should even be NEARLY this painful. hopefully. FINGERS FUCKING CROSSED!!

[isatartdump]

Trying some stuff out cuz I always wanted to get work like these. If you got tips!!! Please. Please share.

[xcziel]

has anybody else thought about how jk could easily manage sofia's parts of slow dance or is it just me?

[brynn-lear]

I never got too deep into enstars but there are days where I miss Mama 😔

[etherealspacejelly]

I'm autistic and I currently feel like shit checklist

Hi there. Are you autistic? Do you currently feel like shit and don't know why? Try this checklist to see if you can Fix The Problem!

When was the last time you used the bathroom? If you answered "I don't know" or "at least 3 hours ago", go now!

Do you need a drink? Go get one if you don't have one in front of you.

When was the last time you ate? If you haven't eaten yet today, consider eating A Meal, or perhaps A Snack. Something is better than nothing, eat whatever you feel able to!

Is there something in your immediate surroundings that is bothering you? If the light is too bright, turn it off. If there is an annoying sound, make the sound stop or reduce your ability to hear it (earplugs, headphones, etc.). If your clothes are bothering you, change them.

Is your space messy? Pick one area of your room and clean it up as best you can. Clean your whole room if you have the energy!

When was the last time you did An Activity? Scrolling on social media doesn't count. Try actively doing something fun! Play a game you like, read a book, make something, or go for a walk.

When was the last time you Spoke to a Person? Consider talking to a person you like if it has been a while.

How long has it been since you did something Special Interest related? Make some time to do that today. Infodump to a friend, have a nice long research session, look at related images or gifs, make art about it, whatever works best for you!

Try stimming actively! Put on some music and dance, spin in circles, go to the park and use the swings!

If you still feel like shit after trying all of these things, you might be tired or sick. Go to bed early and get some rest. Hopefully you will feel better tomorrow!

Hope that helps :)

[jewishvitya]

A pro-Palestine Jew on tiktok asked those of us who were raised pro-Israel, what got us to change our minds on Palestine. I made a video to answer (with my voice, not my face), and a few people watched it and found some value in it. I'm putting this here too. I communicate through text better than voice.

So I feel repetitive for saying this at this point, but I grew up in the West Bank settlements. I wrote this post to give an example of the extent to which Palestinians are dehumanized there.

Where I live now, I meet Palestinians in day to day life. Israeli Arab citizens living their lives. In the West Bank, it was nothing like that. Over there, I only saw them through the electric fence, and the hostility between us and Palestinians was tangible.

When you're a child being brought into the situation, you don't experience the context, you don't experience the history, you don't know why they're hostile to you. You just feel "these people hate me, they don't want me to exist." And that bubble was my reality. So when I was taught in school that everything we did was in self defense, that our military is special and uniquely ethical because it's the only defensive military in the world - that made sense to me. It slotted neatly into the reality I knew.

One of the first things to burst the bubble for me was when I spoke to an old Israeli man and he was talking about his trauma from battle. I don't remember what he said, but it hit me wrong. It conflicted with the history as I understood it. So I was a bit desperate to make it make sense again, and I said, "But everything we did was in self defense, right?"

He kinda looked at me, couldn't understand at all why I was upset, and he went, "We destroyed whole villages. Of course we did. It was war, that's what you do."

And that casual "of course" stuck with me. I had to look into it more.

I couldn't look at more accurate history, and not at accounts by Palestinians, I was too primed against these sources to trust them. The community I grew up in had an anti-intellectual element to it where scholars weren't trusted about things like this.

So what really solidified this for me, was seeing Palestinian culture.

Because part of the story that Israel tells us to justify everything, is that Palestinians are not a distinct group of people, they're just Arabs. They belong to the nations around us. They insist on being here because they want to deny us a homeland. The Palestinian identity exists to hurt us. This, because the idea of displacing them and taking over their lands doesn't sound like stealing, if this was never theirs and they're only pretending because they want to deprive us.

But then foods, dances, clothing, embroidery, the Palestinian dialect. These things are history. They don't pop into existence just because you hate Jews and they're trying to move here. How gorgeous is the Palestinian thobe? How stunning is tatreez in general? And when I saw specific patterns belonging to different regions of Palestine?

All of these painted for me a rich shared life of a group of people, and countered the narrative that the Palestininian identity was fabricated to hurt us. It taught me that, whatever we call them, whatever they call themselves, they have a history in this land, they have a right to it, they have a connection to it that we can't override with our own.

I started having conversations with leftist friends. Confronting the fact that the borders of the occupied territories are arbitrary and every Israeli city was taken from them. In one of those conversations, I was encouraged to rethink how I imagine peace.

This also goes back to schooling. Because they drilled into us, we're the ones who want peace, they're the ones who keep fighting, they're just so dedicated to death and killing and they won't leave us alone.

In high school, we had a stadium event with a speaker who was telling us about a person who defected from Hamas, converted to Christianity and became a Shin Bet agent. Pretty sure you can read this in the book "Son of Hamas." A lot of my friends read the book, I didn't read it, I only know what I was told in that lecture. I guess they couldn't risk us missing out on the indoctrination if we chose not to read it.

One of the things they told us was how he thought, we've been fighting with them for so long, Israelis must have a culture around the glorification of violence. And he looked for that in music. He looked for songs about war. And for a while he just couldn't find any, but when he did, he translated it more fully, and he found out the song was about an end to wars. And this, according to the story as I was told it, was one of the things that convinced him. If you know know the current trending Israeli "war anthem," you know this flimsy reasoning doesn't work.

Back then, my friend encouraged me to think more critically about how we as Israelis envision peace, as the absence of resistance. And how self-centered it is. They can be suffering under our occupation, but as long as it doesn't reach us, that's called peace. So of course we want it and they don't.

Unless we're willing to work to change the situation entirely, our calls for peace are just "please stop fighting back against the harm we cause you."

In this video, Shlomo Yitzchak shares how he changed his mind. His story is much more interesting than mine, and he's much more eloquent telling it. He mentions how he was taught to fear Palestinians. An automatic thought, "If I go with you, you'll kill me." I was taught this too. I was taught that, if I'm in a taxi, I should be looking at the driver's name. And if that name is Arab, I should watch the road and the route he's taking, to be prepared in case he wants to take me somewhere to kill me. Just a random person trying to work. For years it stayed a habit, I'd automatically look at the driver's name. Even after knowing that I want to align myself with liberation, justice, and equality. It was a process of unlearning.

On October, not long after the current escalation of violence, I had to take a taxi again. A Jewish driver stopped and told me he'll take me, "so an Arab doesn't get you." Israeli Jews are so comfortable saying things like this to each other. My neighbors discussed a Palestinian employee, with one saying "We should tell him not to come anymore, that we want to hire a Jew." The second answered, "No, he'll say it's discrimination," like it would be so ridiculous of him. And the first just shrugged, "So we don't have to tell him why." They didn't go through with it, but they were so casual about this conversation.

In the Torah, we're told to treat those who are foreign to us well, because we know what it's like to be the foreigner. Fighting back against oppression is the natural human thing to do. We know it because we lived it. And as soon as I looked at things from this angle, it wasn't really a choice of what to support.

[elizabro]

having grown up in/around military spaces and attended military events it really is daunting and bewildering to observe the extent to which so many people are indoctrinated into the military mindset. the tribalism is ironclad. they really do think they're the unequivocal good guys of the world, the chosen and elite--americans are a brotherhood and the rest of the world is an untamed jungle for which to chart their territory. the dismissiveness of and disdain for foreign lands, this indefatigable form of nationalism that is so deeply rooted that it's just part of life, and to deviate from it is not only sacrilege but strange and worthy of ridicule. living for glory and ceremony, so completely assured in their righteousness. it doesn't even occur to them to question the system they're a part of or the violence they perpetuate, to question authority beyond the comradic eye-rolling and elbowing like ah, yes, we're all in this together, this is just something we have to deal with. most of their vitriol reserved for the power differentials in chain of command, for overzealous higherups or petty civil disputes, obstacles to securing benefits. their objection is never moral. it's never a question of the mission's integrity. sure, they can object to a certain commander's abusive leadership, but killing people is fine. civilian collateral is acceptable. it's just the nature of the job. it's uniquely sinister being in a room full of people who think this way, and do so happily, while thousands die because of their complicity.

I wouldn't even know how to begin to steer one of them towards questioning their commitment. how exactly invading foreign countries, how building and designing weapons and the spaces to deploy them in any way preserves domestic peace. to question why they accept so readily that we must have stakeholds in other countries or else america is in peril. it's so plainly antithetical as to be moronic, but it's a known irony, and thus pointing it out gets you nowhere. I'm sure there's volumes upon volumes of books that try to untangle whatever psychological or sociological factors keep people joining up and staying in (of course, we all know there's economic factors)--but man. what is the mental workaround for spending your entire day designing and building devices you know will kill people. what goes through one's mind during target practice. do they ever think about what it is they're doing. do they ever stop and look around during a speech about glory and peace and protecting the american way in a room full of people whose jobs amount to tactical murder and think--hey, this is fucking insane? I don't know. it baffles me

[teaboot]

This is gonna sound rather conceited but I feel like it highlights an issue we have in Art.

I'm good at art. I've never had a hard time making art. I started using crayons before I could walk. Painting, Beadwork, sculpture, sketching, stippling, whatever- once I have a feel for the material, it doesn't take long to start doing what I want with it. It's been a common theme my whole life.

(Y contrast I'm awful at things like dancing, performance, sports, etc- in all things there is balance, right?)

Now, I've taught myself to use so many artistic mediums now that I KNOW how to most efficiently integrate them into the brain database. Once you really *understand* a material, it's much like memorizing the layout of your house, or flexing a muscle, or something in-between- it becomes PART of your brain in a way I cant quite articulate. But to get there involves just fucking around for a bit doing nothing in particular.

And I've found, especially in group settings, that nobody seems to be able to see you make something badly and leave you alone. Even if you say you're fine, you don't want help, you're happy, you're having fun, it's fine, they gotta ride your ass and hover.

I was at a class the other day for something I hadn't done before. The medium was one I've never used, so once the instructor told us the basics I started experimenting with weight, gravity, texture, viscosity, saturation, temperature, etc. The instructor had given enough info to know what was dangerous and what was safe, and beyond that I just wanted to absorb what I could about it.

And no insult to the instructor, but they kept checking in. Which was fine the first few times.

But then, without asking me what I was trying to do, started giving tips. That I told them I was grateful for but didn't really need just yet. If I had a question, I'd ask.

But they kept coming over. And touching my shit. And manipulating my project. And touching my hands. And using my tools. Without fucking asking.

And this happens every time. EVERY TIME. And by now I know the best way to get them to fuck off is to make something way beyond their expectations so they know I'm capable, then go back to doing what I want.

So I did. I wanted to keep having fun and learning, but instead I made something beautiful that I really didn't want to make, and wasted my time, and really didn't learn what I wanted to learn at all. I knew the formula to create a beautiful thing, so I followed that formula the same way I have a hundred times before, and didn't get to try anything spontaneous or ugly or exciting, just so I could be left alone.

And I know when I was a kid, I was aware aware people saw me puttering alone on something ugly assumed I had a special issue and treated me like I was stupid because of that. (I was neurodivergent.) And at at time I knew that I could do a neat trick for them like a trained pony and they'd go, "Oh, surely they aren't defective if they can do something like that!" And piss off.

But what if I hadn't known how to do that?

What if I hadn't been talented, or "special"?

What if I'd been just any other average kid trying to learn, and I couldn't pop something pretty out of my ass to get them off my back?

My problem my whole life has been that I haven't been allowed to make anything ugly in peace. I'm capable of beauty, so I have to make beauty, or get stepped on. And once people see what I can do, they get loud about it. "Look at this! Look what they did! We all know who the best is, don't we?". And that used to feel good, but it's tiring.

And how many people like me just wanted to play? Just wanted to have fun and experiment? Who were having fun with no goal in mind, or just took longer to learn, who gave up because of all the obnoxious helpers breathing down their neck with no way to shake them off?

How many of us are made to feel defective because we aren't doing things beautifully?

I have a lovely piece of art I didn't want to make.

I think I'm gonna frame it.*

(*I think I'm gonna burn it in my yard.)

[kleftiko]

❦ HOW TO GIVE HEAD

cw: mature, sexual content, blowjobs, swearing

here are the tips i give my friends so that they get 10/10 sloppy top ratings

"baby~" you coo from beside him on the couch.

the corner of choso's lips lift slightly in response, but his eyes still focus on the screen of his phone.

"babe~" you call again. "cho~"

although your voice is the most beautiful sound he's ever heard in his life, your boyfriend grants you mercy and finally answers you.

"yes, baby?" he asks softly, eyes not leaving his phone but the small smile still on his face. he can't see the beautiful, but maniacal, grin on your lips.

"teach me how to give a blowjob~"

the tendons in his hand tighten, nearly cracking the poor device between his fingers. besides his entire body going rigid, his eyes lock onto yours, only to nearly lose himself in the look of lust in your gaze.

"y-you can't just ask that shit with a smile on your face!" your boyfriend sputters, cheeks and neck blooming with a harsh blush.

"but who else am i supposed to ask?" your question is just too pure and innocent for the look in your face, and yet, choso can't help but fall victim to you.

"fine, just-fine." he takes a tense breath before saying "sit."

with a little too much enthusiasm, you kneel on the floor between his legs, hands gently resting atop your thighs. you look like a doll to him, so eager to please and so pretty that his cock would twitch even if he didn't know what was going to happen next.

he runs a hand over his face.

"fuck, baby, don't look so eager." his deep voice is muffled behind his fingers.

you giggle. "can't help it."

"'kay, now—um—fuck." choso pinches his nose for a second, gathering his own courage to say, "you're gonna need, like, a lot of spit." while he speaks, your fingers dance across the waistband of his sweatpants, littering his v-line with goosebumps as you free his half hard cock from his boxers.

"it needs to be messy, yea?" you look up at him and lick your lips, coating them with a shine that.

he nods silently, jaw clenched.

"t-then, you're gonna wanna -fuck!" you don't let him finish when you take a lick against his tip. the rough texture of your tongue dulled by the coating of saliva you gathered across it. as you continue to pleasure him, he lets out a low groan of satisfaction, his grip tightening on the edge of the couch. the intensity in his eyes tells you that he's enjoying every moment, encouraging you to take him further down your throat.

"fuck." he whines, taking note of your comfortability, just like always. "breath through your nose."

your head bobs up, taking a breath through your nose now that your throat is clear. swirling the tip of his cock with your tongue, you tease him with slow, deliberate strokes. his hips buck involuntarily, a desperate plea for more. the taste of his precum on your tongue only fuels your desire to please him further.

"the tip-the tip, baby." your tongue pays special attention to the slit at the top of his pretty dick that's leaking absurd amounts of precum, and your boyfriend squeaked out a small, "yes, fuck."

as you continue to focus on pleasuring him, you eagerly comply with his request, intensifying your attention on the sensitive tip of his throbbing member. the combination of his desperate pleas and the taste of his precum drives you to further explore and satisfy him, ensuring his pleasure remains at the forefront of your mind.

"b-balls."

your manicured hands cup his balls. you gently massage and caress them, feeling their weight in your palms. the soft moans escaping his lips encourage you to continue, as you use the pads of your fingers and palms to fondle them.

"oh fuck."

it feels like a shame to waste your nails, so with one of them abandoning your boyfriend's sensitive balls, it creeps up to his v-line. You trace teasing circles along his v-line, feeling the shivers of anticipation ripple through his body. the combination of your delicate touch and the sensation of your nails grazing his skin heightens his arousal, making him tremble with desire.

the combination of all your minstrastions causes choso to buck against you, whimpering out obscenities as he jumbles out a warning of going to cum.

"fuck!" he whimpers as your lips release him.

spurts of cum fly into the air, landing in splats across choso's thighs, pants, and your hands as you lazily jerk him off.

the fucked out expression on his face and the mess he made of himself all because of your doing just made you crave him even more, so with one last move, you gave his angry, red, tip a soft lick, nearly causing him to cry in ecstasy.

when he calmed down, he gave you a look.

"you've done this before."

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[boltwrites]

Kitty

Fandom: Marvel; X-Men Pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine / Reader (Gender Neutral) Rating: M Tags: Suggestive, Logan's cat ear hair, Teasing

Synopsis: Sleep-addled and maybe a little horny, you ask Logan if he does his hair like that on purpose.

A/N: Fun fact about this one - you could replace reader with Deadpool and the fic would probably be the exact same (but probably with more stabbing). Enjoy! Also I almost titled it Kittyuuuuuhhhh but decided against it LMAO. Is this good? No. But I needed to expel it like some kind of demon. Anyway-

You made a soft pleased noise, arching your back as you stretched as far as you could under the thin sheet of your shared bed. Muscled warmed, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, blinking blearily against the morning light that filtered in through the curtains.

You smiled - sleepy and sweet - as you propped yourself on your elbows to see the figure sat at the foot of your bed. Logan was already awake and halfway dressed, jeans hugging his hips as he leaned over to tug on his boots. Meanwhile, here you were - still in the oversized T-shirt you used as pajamas, your hair messy from sleep.

On that thought, your eyes drifted from where they had been admiring the taunt planes of his back, to Logan's own styled hair. He'd already brushed it, those little tufts that curled into what looked like tiny devil horns neatly defined in the soft morning light.

You frowned. Hmm, no, devil horns wasn't quite right. Not really.

You sat up, a hazy plan dancing through your mind as you crawled your way to the end of the bed. Logan glanced back at you - your heart flipped at the soft smile he offered you, making no effort to shy away from your touch.

"Hey, you don't have to get up because of me," he chided. You didn't listen - instead, you draped your arms around his warm shoulders, leaned in to pepper little kisses along his jaw, even if his beard caught most of them. You didn't mind how it tickled.

"But you're wearing my favorite outfit," you insisted, doing your best not to chuckle. You did like him in worn out jeans and no shirt. It looked good on him. Everything looked good on the man, though.

"I'm wearing half an outfit," he replied, turning just enough so that he could press a proper kiss to your lips. You sighed, pillowing your head on his shoulder as his lips met yours - lazy, gentle. Those weren't words you'd use to describe his kisses at any other time of day, really. This was special.

"I know," you replied, offering him a silly smile as you leaned against his shoulder, arm around his chest preventing him from dressing any further. He didn't seem to mind, though, as your free hand carefully carded your way through his hair - making sure not to displace any of his hard work.

"But something I don't know..." you continued, twirling a finger around the tip of one of the tufts. "Is why your hair ends up like this. Do you do it on purpose?"

"Do I do what on purpose?" he asked. It was laced with a chuckle, like he thought this was one of your half-awake musings. And, perhaps it was, in a way. You were, technically half-awake. But you weren't making things up. It was a real question that had crossed your mind on several separate occasions.

"You know-" you insisted, releasing that little bit of hair from your grasp. "The kitty ears."

"The what?"

He laughed it, pulled away from you if only to make sure you caught a glance of his expression - a mixture of shock and amusement that telegraphed to you that he still wasn't taking you seriously.

You rolled your eyes at him, removing your hand from around his shoulders to scratch along his scalp, up to that little tuft of curled hair. He closed his eyes, made a low rumbling noise in his throat that only seemed to further the illusion that he was really just some big cat in disguise.

"The kitty ears," you insisted, "do you or do you not purposefully style your hair so you have these little kitty ear things?"

You sat up on your knees, reaching both your hands up to curl in the tufts - tugging them just hard enough to make his eyes flutter open as he looked up at you.

"Cat ears," he deadpanned, doubt lacing his words. "You think my hair looks like cat ears."

"Kitty ears," you clarified, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "And you didn't answer my question, which means you absolutely do it on purpose."

"No-" Logan started, tone exasperated. But, unfortunately for him, he was already in too deep.

"Nope, sorry-" you laughed, sitting down behind him to wrap your arms around his bare chest, brushing through the downy hair there. "You're my little kitty now."

"Jesus Christ-" he groaned, rolling his eyes as you kissed his cheek. You made to kiss the corner of his lips next, but he turned his head ever so slightly, trying his best to quell the smile that was spreading. He'd just wanted you to pay attention as he insisted:

"I'm not a fucking cat."

"Why not?" you teased, kissing just under his ear with a little smile. "You've got the ears..."

You snaked a hand up to card through his hair again - making sure to rake your blunt nails along his scalp like you knew he loved. And, despite his dismissive tone, you caught his eyes fluttering closed, his lips parting ever so slightly.

"The claws..." you teased, punctuating each word with a new open-mouthed kiss to his neck - the last dotted with a touch of teeth that issued a sweet rumble from low in his throat.

"The fur-" your free hand slid down his chest - down the dips and curves of his defined abs, to tangle in the thicker hair that disappeared below the waistline of his jeans.

"And, I know how to make you purr," you chuckled, fingers dancing at the edge of his belt as your other hand weaved through one of those silly little kitty ears.

Logan wasn't immune to the way you touched him - when he laughed at your ridiculous comments, it was a bit breathless, even if he sounded absolutely exhausted with your antics.

"I have to get dressed," he insisted, his hand drawing over your own where you'd just started to wiggle your fingers under the tight denim. "And you're being ridiculous."

"Hmm," you hummed, nipping at the junction of his neck and shoulder. The muscles there jumped, tensed, then relaxed - and where he'd been grasping at your hand, your fingers briefly intertwined.

"If I remember correctly..." you pondered, nuzzling against his neck. "Kitties don't wear clothes."

"Oh, come on-" he groaned, laughing as he leaned back against your chest, his head pillowed on your shoulder. You grinned down at him. "How long are you gonna keep this shit up?"

"Until you're sick of it," you promised, kissing the corner of his mouth. He rolled his eyes. "Or, you take your pants off."

"We both know you'll keep saying it even if I take my pants off," he countered, his hold on your hand the only thing preventing you from inching your way into his pants.

"Touché. But -" you bargained. "I'd be distracted."

He laughed, loud and full, and your smile grew even more. That - that's what you really liked. When you could finally get some honest joy out of him. He looked so pretty when he smiled like that, even if it was brief. His hand squeezed over yours - soft, possessive, loving. That made your heart flutter even more than the thought of getting him undressed.

But he was right - you were never going to let him live this down.

[iid-smile]

nanami would...

if they were dating you series.

hold your face just like this. oh. my. GOSH. it's not something he does regularly either, because when he cups your face, it's usually more to the side on your cheek, fingers reaching behind your ear. when he does it THIS way though, it's when you're hesitating or not being completely honest about something. he does it to catch you a bit off guard, as well as to properly maintan eye contact with you and make sure that you don't look away. he hates it when you tell him white lies, and would much rather that you tell him the truth all the time. he wants to know when you're hurting, and honesty would give him a heads up of what he should and shouldn't do. after you confess whatever you're holding back, he'd squeeze your cheeks just a little and kiss you.

massage your thighs and shoulders. he likes it most when you're completely relaxed when you're at home. if you mention any tightness anywhere, he'd immediately work on it, ask if he's doing too much or not enough, maybe even take you to bed so he can do a full body massage. if you insist on cooking for the two of you by yourself, he'd stand behind you the entire time and massage your shoulders while he watches. when he's on the couch, you'd sit slightly on his lap, facing the side, and lean back against the arm rest. your thighs are literally right there in front of him, and it'd be so easy to just slip his hands in between them, firmly squeezing and circling the skin. he likes it when you shift closer to him and rest your head on his shoulder. if it's cold or winter, he'd put a blanket over your legs first, and tuck them closer to himself.

call you his wife. i think everybody knows this by now. yes, he does use darling, love, or honey to refer to you more often. but if he's talking to a coworker or somebody who's not familiar with you, he'd always call you his wife. when he goes out to buy gifts for your anniversary, birthday or other holidays, jewellery is usually on the list. he emphasises to the worker that he's buying for his wife, because he always wants to get something that seems a little more special.

let you wear his reading glasses. his eyesight isn't bad, he'd just much rather be able to read the words clearly when he has about book in bed. when you both sleep in, you'd reach over to his bedside table and slide his glasses on. it's cute, but he does take them off you after a short while so you don't give yourself a headache. sharing glasses with him would be so cute as well... like imagine how surprised he would be when he catches you wearing them while reading because you thought he wasn't home? at some point, you both may even buy the same glasses in different colours to match.

enjoy watching you dance. you don't even have to be a good dancer. his eyes would follow every movement as you dance around your bedroom, living room, kitchen, or whatever event you're at. you'd look the cutest when you wear polyester socks, so you'd be sliding and spinning everywhere + even better if you pair it with flowing clothing. he also finds it amusing when you sing the lyrics to him with a spoon or remote as a makeshift microphone. he would never record anything, leaving it up to his memory to save lovely moments like this.

─────────────୨ৎ─────────────