#tied to this but also deserving of its own post

[radiocity]

The L Word | S2E01

[neon--nightmare]

forest fire by ajj is SUCH a loveball fresh song to me bro

[ramp-it-up]

Show Off

Ties That Bind | Next Part

Summary: Steve likes to show you off.

Word Count: 3K

Pairing: Art Dealer (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Dancer!Reader (Peach); Ari Levinson x Reader

A/N: This fic is a Peach Fic and is connected to the Bucky Barnes fic Make It So in the Knock You Down AU, and comes after the events in Ties That Bind and the Bucky fic Make It So. Interaction is life! Let me know if you like it by commenting & reblogging. This is inspired by @avengers-assemble-bingo. #KinkyBingo. This fulfills the square: Exhibitionism. Also, @fenixstar asked for it. 😘

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Ari Levinson (he's a warning), Jealous, possessive Steve, hints of violent Steve, exhibitionism kink (sex in public), marking, fingering, raw p in v, praise kink, rough sex, creampie.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

------

The party was elegant as hell, the kind of event where art changed hands over $30,000 bottles of wine and million-dollar glances.

Jazz curled through the air amid the sounds of laughter, clinking glassware, and whispered secrets.

Security was present, but invisible. Steve and Bucky had seen to it.

You and your cousin were due a night out after all that happened, but there would be no risk of danger for you two, at least not the physical kind.

You were watching your cousin be wooed by Bucky, who already had his ring on her finger, but was whispering Romanian in her ear like he’d just fallen in love. You knew that he was going to get what he wanted when she and Bucky left the function early.

She deserved. 

You were low key bored, but you were dressed for excitement and intrigue.

Your gown was decadent. It was made of rich, heavy fabric that glimmered in the light with a back that dipped scandalously low.

The skirt revealed a slit that dared anyone to look, and most did. The neckline framed your collarbones like art, but it was your legs and ass that made the room lose its mind. 

Those body parts once earned you money under neon lights and mirrored ceilings; your thigh spins damn near caused heart attacks back at Regine.

Hell, Steve even built you a studio in the penthouse so he could get private lap dances you could continue to practice your craft.

You were unapologetically lethal in the dress and heels, and your confidence was all you. Steve had zipped the dress for you that evening. And when he did, his fingers ghosted down your spine. 

“You’re gonna kill me in this, Peach.”

His deep voice was even deeper when he whispered that to you, but you two still managed to make it out of the penthouse.

From the moment you arrived at the event, Steve hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

His drink was untouched.

His jaw was tight.

And every time you laughed, his fingers twitched around the crystal.

It wasn’t jealousy.

It was worship.

Hunger, just barely contained by discipline.

He was well aware that both men and women sometimes forgot themselves around you. 

Steve said it was because of your beauty, but you insisted it was your confidence. 

And your crazy. You never tried to steal the spotlight; it just happened that you were the spotlight.

It was why he fell in love with you at first sight at that strip club in Atlanta. He just had to get your attention. And he’d been successful. 

Steve loved your wild side. But that didn’t mean he liked seeing other people get ideas. 

Especially men like Ari Levinson.

Steve saw the moment Levinson spotted you. Recognized the exact second the art collector clocked your legs, your ass, your presence, your smile.

Steve had seen that look before, on men who wanted to buy what they couldn’t afford.

You felt Steve’s stare before you saw it, a promise and a threat, all wrapped in one look.

And it occurred precisely when Ari Levinson appeared.

-----

Ari had never walked into a room and lost track of every million-dollar painting on the walls just because of a woman.

But then he saw you, absolutely stunning and unimpressed by your surroundings.

Just like a great work of art.

Ari licked his lips slowly, taking you in like a man who had acquired beauty for a living and just found something rare. He didn't know who you were, but he knew he had to find out.

Your legs deserved a warning sign. That ass was perfection. And your mouth... it looked like it screamed prayers into satin sheets effective enough to make the most notorious sinner ascend to heaven.

Ari's cock twitched when you turned your head and caught him staring.

You knew exactly what he was thinking.

He adjusted the cuff of his jacket, let himself drift toward you like a man casually approaching something he didn’t already have plans to devour.

Ari wanted you. Bad. And he didn’t give a damn that you wore a ring. Or whose ring you wore.

Lots of people wore rings, but not everyone wore them well.

He guessed that whoever gave you that ring was probably under your spell.

Ari could give a damn who it was.

-----

Steve wasn’t the kind of man who made scenes anymore.

That part of his life, the rough edges, the quiet threats, the kind of acts that made people disappear, was behind him.

These days, he wore custom suits, drank old wine, and spoke in carefully measured words. His world was oil on canvas, not blood on pavement.

But some instincts didn’t die.

Steve watched Ari make his move toward you and bided his time, not wanting to make too much of a scene too soon. He was the former gangster, but you were dangerous in your own way.

Memories of your threat to shoot his balls off made Steve smile and watch the show.

—-----

“You’re not part of the installation, are you?”

It was an opening line that usually always worked, especially in Ari’s voice, the kind that usually had people ready to fall to their knees for him. 

But you weren’t just anyone. You were Steve Rogers' wife.

Levinson looked at you like you were a masterpiece that had just caught him off-guard. And he had no idea that the vitamin D that Steve prescribed every day gave you immunity to him.

“...Because I swear, you look like the centerpiece of the whole night.”

You sipped your champagne and smiled, slightly amused at his line. But mostly annoyed. You played along.

“And what kind of art would I be, Mr. Levinson?”

“The kind that gets stolen,” he said, his voice dipping, “and starts wars.”

He stepped closer. You didn’t move back. You didn’t need to.

“You used to dance,” he added, more sure now. “Didn’t you?”

You tilted your head, wondering if he were trying to take liberties because of the kind of dance you used to do.

“I did.”

Ari grinned, eyes flicking to your legs.

“Yeah. I figured. You don’t get a body like that unless you earn it.”

He let the compliment hang.

You offered a polite smile, but your gaze wandered, looking for your husband. You could feel him, Steve’s attention slicing through the room like a live wire.

“I take my craft seriously,” you said. “Always have.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Ari chuckled, gaze dragging down to your thigh, where the slit was working it's magic.

“You’re doing more than that. You should be up on a pedestal.”

Your laugh was soft. But Ari Levinson was definitely not subtle. You lifted a brow.

“You do that with all the art you want? Put it up high where you can’t reach it?”

Ari’s eyes darkened. 

“Only the pieces I know I shouldn’t touch.”

And that’s when the air shifted.

You didn’t see Steve move, but you felt it.

—---

For a brief moment, that old part of Steve Rogers, the one that used to snap fingers and have a guy thrown into the East River, woke up.

And while Steve didn’t make scenes anymore, he still kept track. Of tone. Of body language. Of intention.

Ari’s intention was obvious. His gaze crawled down your legs like a goddamn snake. Then he had the nerve to step closer and say something about pedestals.

Goddamn pedestals.

Steve downed the rest of his drink in one go and set the glass down with care.

Ari was lucky Steve wasn’t twenty-five and stupid, or there’d be a broken jaw on the floor and some very uncomfortable rich people pretending not to stare.

Instead, Steve moved.

—---

And that was when Ari felt it.

The shift. Like the air dropped ten degrees.

He didn’t even have to turn to know who it was. Steve Rogers. The human embodiment of quiet violence in a designer suit.

Ari didn’t flinch. But inside, he grinned.

Because Steve’s jealousy wasn’t weakness; it was confirmation.

You weren’t just sexy. You belonged to Rogers.

And that made this so much more interesting.

-----

By the time you turned your head, Steve was nearly on you, eyes locked on Ari like he was deciding whether or not he was worth the trouble.

And god, Steve looked like he wanted to ruin something.

Maybe the dress.

Maybe Ari.

Maybe both.

Your body reacted before your brain had time to catch up.

You were soaking wet.

Ari followed your gaze and let out a low chuckle.

“Oh I see. Now comes the fun part. You're Rogers' new wife.”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, smiling as you twirled the rock on your left hand around your finger.

“And he’s probably two seconds from throwing me off the balcony.”

You smiled.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed again, laughing quietly.

Ari raised a brow at you, full of heat.

“Can’t blame him. I’d lose my mind too.”

—------

Steve didn’t speak at first. His eyes burned into Levinson, assessing him and making a decision.

Then he was beside you, a hand slipping to the small of your back, his thumb brushing your skin with the kind of quiet, controlled touch that made your stomach flip.

You leaned into him without hesitation, breath catching at the contact, and ruining him.

“Levinson,” Steve said coolly, like he was trying very hard to be civil. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Ari smiled, knowing he’d stirred something up. 

“Wouldn’t miss it. Especially not with the kind of company you’re keeping.”

He looked at you appreciatively.

Steve’s voice dipped.  “She’s taken.”

“Of course she is, she's your wife.”

Ari said with a casual shrug.

“Didn’t mean anything by what I said.”

Steve gave a slow, tight-lipped smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. 

“No offense taken. Just thought I’d remind you. Sometimes collectors get a little carried away. Start thinking everything in a gallery is for sale. Just causes heartbreak when they find it isn't. Or a break of some other kind.”

Ari's brows lifted.

“That a threat?”

Steve leaned in slightly, voice dropping so only Ari could hear. 

“No,” he said, tone velvet-smooth, “That’s a favor. Because if it were a threat, you wouldn’t still be standing here.”

Your breath caught. Steve’s fingers flexed subtly on your hip.

Ari’s mouth twitched into something that might have been a smirk. 

“Duly noted,” he muttered, and with a stiff nod, he turned and walked away.

Steve watched him go, his jaw clenched. You laid a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating steady and strong.

“You alright?” you asked softly.

He turned to you, some of the fire in his eyes still flickering.

“I’m fine,” he said, brushing a thumb along your cheek. 

“He won’t try that shit again.”

You raised an eyebrow. That made Steve even harder than he already was.

“You didn’t have to scare him.”

Steve’s lips twitched into a crooked grin. 

“But I wanted to. Better than the alternative."

Then, quieter, against your ear:

“You’re mine, Peach. I’ve killed for less than the way he looked at you, nevermind what he said.”

Your eyes widened as he smiled at you dangerously.

“Don’t worry about him Peach. I’m not going back there.”

You searched your husband’s beautiful blazing blue eyes.

“But do you think Ari Levinson was the only one watching you tonight? I’ve counted six men, and three women, who looked at you like a goddamn invitation.”

Your breath caught.

“And every one of them,” he continued, his fingers tightening slightly, “will go home and dream about something they’ll never have. But I’m about to have you, right under their noses. They will hear you some apart for me, even if they don’t quite know what they are listening to.”

Steve read your face, leaned in close, and whispered low against your ear.

“Come with me. Now.”

—--

Steve pulled you onto the balcony. He was controlled, but burning at the edges. The city glittered behind him, but his world had narrowed down to you. 

He didn’t look at the skyline. He looked at your mouth.

Your body.

Your eyes.

Like a starving man deciding which part of the feast to devour first.

His control was a tight thread, stretched thin, and you could feel it in the way his eyes burned into you like he needed to prove something.

Not to Levinson. But to himself. 

To you.

To prove that no one could look at you the way Ari did. That you were his. His alone. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered against your ear, his breath hot and rough.

Your stomach fluttered. The look in his eyes wasn’t just hunger, it was laced through it was the kind of darkness you’d only seen when someone threatened what was his. 

Like in Atlanta.

“You feel that, Peach?” he murmured, voice thick with hunger. 

You thought he meant his hard cock pressed against you. But he didn’t.

“The air. The view. The way I’m about five seconds from fucking you stupid against this wall?”

Your breath hitched. Your body leaned into his instinctively, the cool stone of the wall behind you, and heat radiating from the wall of muscle in front of you making a heady contraction.

He didn’t wait for permission. One hand gripped your jaw, tilting your face toward him roughly while the other slid beneath the high slit of your dress, calloused fingertips ghosting along your inner thigh until they met your soaked lace.

“God damn, sweetheart,” he growled, nostrils flaring. 

“You’re already soaked. Is this for me, or Levinson?

Your eyes flashed at him.

"Steven..."

Steve laughed, confident of your devotion.

"I'm kidding, Peach. You get off on me being weak for you, don’t you? On being mine?”

“Yes,” you whispered, shameless about it.

“Say it again,” he demanded, slipping your panties aside and dragging a single thick finger through your slick folds.

“Oh, fuck," you choked. "I’m yours. Only yours.”

Steve Rogers didn’t ease into anything, from chasing you, to marriage. He jumped right into the deep end of you.

One powerful motion and your legs were around his waist, back pressed to the wall, his hips grinding against your core.

“You want everyone to hear it?” he asked, cock sliding against your slick pussy, his thick mushroom head catching on your clit and teasing you until your toes curled.

“I want you,” you gasped, voice breaking. 

“Show them. Show me.”

Steve swiveled his hips, and then he was inside you.

Not gently. Not sweetly. But deeply, completely, fucking you like his sanity depended on it.

Every thrust was brutal affection, devotion turned into rhythm. 

The sound of your bodies slapping together echoed off stone and glass. His lips were at your throat, teeth scraping skin, leaving marks that would be unmistakeable to anyone who saw them. Neither of you cared.

He gripped your thigh, his thumb circling your clit and devastating you.

“You were made for this,” he growled. “Made to take me. Look how perfect you are when you’re full of me. Dripping for me. Squeezing the shit out of me.”

Steve pumped and the sounds were obscene as his cock sleeked in and out of your sopping wet channel. Your wetness dripped down your thighs and his balls and you didn't care as long as he kept hitting that special spot.

You couldn’t speak. You could only moan, clinging to his broad shoulders while he shattered every ounce of restraint you had left.

“You wanna cum?” he whispered against your lips.

“God, yes…please….Steve....”

He slowed, grinding into you deep, keeping you on the edge while you whimpered. Begged.

“Right here at the party like this? With me buried inside you, showing everyone who the fuck you belong to?”

“Yes, please….I can’t…. I need….”

“Then do it, baby. Let go. Cum for me.”

You shattered on command. 

Lights danced behind your eyes as your orgasm ripped through you, his name a chant falling from your lips. He followed with a moan, hips jerking as his hot cum spilled into you, claiming you all over again.

And when it was over, when your bodies were still pressed together, trembling from the aftershocks, he kissed your forehead with a tenderness that ruined you as your combined fluids ran down your legs.

RIP to his pocket square, because that’s what he used to kneel and clean you up. 

You felt owned, treasured, and marked.

And safe. Always safe.

“You did so good for me, Baby.” 

Steve stood back up and murmured it against your lips tenderly, disposing the expensive, ruined piece of fabric in the nearest receptacle.

“So fucking good. You’re everything, Peach,” he whispered.

“And I want the whole fucking world to know.”

Your legs wobbled, your pulse was wild, but his hands were right there again, steadying you like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just fucked you against the wall with the city’s elite in the next room.

He leaned in, lips ghosting over your ear as he whispered, “You good, Peach?”

Your cheeks flushed.

“I don’t think I remember how to walk.”

Steve chuckled smugly and kissed the top of your head. 

“You don’t have to. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

You rolled your eyes, but he was already taking your hand, tugging you toward the door with that cool, collected gait he wore so well.

“Show off.”

He smiled angelically as his other hand slipped easily into his pocket. Steve Rogers looked to be the epitome of cool as he held the door for you, letting you step in first.

Murmured conversation resumed around you along with laughter and the clink of crystal. It was as if nothing had happened out there.

You were breathless. Floating. Smiling. And yes, proud.

But you froze when you saw Nico standing just a few feet from the balcony entrance, half-tucked in the shadow of a tall plant, arms loosely crossed. His posture was relaxed, his gaze scanning the room, alert and cool as ever. But you knew that he’d been there.

The whole time, standing watch while you and Steve had done the deed on the balcony.

Your mouth went dry.

Steve must’ve felt your body tense, because he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he murmured.

“He didn’t see anything. He was just doing his job.”

You looked back at Nico again, half-expecting judgment or amusement, but he didn’t even meet your eyes. His face was impassive. Professional. Not a flicker of reaction.

Still, your cheeks burned.

------

Ari's head was on a swivel ever since he watched you and Steve disappear out to the balcony. And he knew, he fucking knew what was happening.

He had to hand it to Rogers, he knew how to handle you. And how to brag without saying a word. Lucky sonofabitch.

When you came back into the party, your skin was flushed and you walked a gait that hadn’t wasn't present before. Your glow wasn’t just expensive highlighter, it was the kind of post-fuck radiance that could’ve lit up half the damn city.

Ari caught your eye and smirked. His gaze dragged slowly down your frame before flicking toward Steve. 

He raised his glass, an amused smile playing at his lips.

“Everything alright out there?”

Steve didn’t blink.

“Peach needed some air.”

Ari’s gaze lingered, and you saw Steve’s jaw tense just a fraction. His fingers brushed your lower back, subtle, but firm.

Mine.

You felt the wetness still between your thighs, the slight ache in your hips, and the delicious throb of where his mouth had left proof of his devotion on your neck.

You reached for a champagne flute from a passing tray.

“You’re glowing, Mrs. Rogers,” Ari said with a knowing smirk. 

“I hope you weren’t out there dancing without music.”

Before you could answer, Steve’s hand slid from your back to your hip, resting there with deliberate weight. 

“She doesn’t need music to dance.”

Ari’s brows lifted and his eyes flicked to your legs and lingered. 

You felt Steve stiffen slightly, and you slid closer, letting your hand settle on his chest in a silent reassurance. He relaxed a little under your touch, but his possessiveness was still there.

Ari took another sip of his wine and turned away, disappearing into a knot of collectors and critics.

The conversation shifted, the moment passed, but the electricity between you and Steve didn’t.

He leaned in, his lips brushing your temple. 

“You’re mine, Peach. Every single inch of you.”

“I know,” you whispered, eyes fluttering closed. “And I love it.”

“I want them all to know it.”

You tilted your head back, eyes gleaming. 

“Then maybe you should dance with me.”

Steve raised a brow. 

“Out here, or back on that balcony?”

You smirked. “Both.”

His laugh was loud.

“Goddamn, I love being married to you.”

He offered you his hand again this time not to steal you away to the dark again, but to show you off under the lights.

And as he led you onto the dance floor, every guest including Ari Levinson, was left wondering what the hell kind of magic it was between you and Steve Rogers.

[fallenaither]

It is! Even when I first played BF it made the most sense to me with his name being Hawk and him working in the Hive.

Bugtober 2024- Day 30: Costume

Apollyon may not understand all of Bugaria's traditions, but at the very least they're accidentally still dressed for the occasion!

[maryychill]

Digimon Adventure Tri: why it's more than you think

Originally posted on Reddit.

I believe Digimon Adventure Tri deserves a more careful, emotionally attuned rereading. I'm not here to claim absolute truth. I just want to share what I understood and felt, hoping this might encourage viewers to see the work through a different lens, especially if they're open to reevaluating it.

Tri isn't broken, it's fractured on purpose

Tri is not a classic sequel. It doesn't try to replicate the adventure spirit of the original series. Instead, it dares to explore a more introspective and emotional space. I've read some people saying that there are many subplots. But if you pay attention, everything that seems scattered is actually tied together by one common thread: the dissonance between who they once were, and who they begin to be when life stops giving easy answers.

I understand that not everyone wants to see their childhood characters grow up. That's valid. Sometimes we'd rather keep them frozen in time, running across the digiworld without ever facing heartbreak or existential crisis.

But Tri proposes something different.

It doesn't ask us to return to who we were, it asks us to acknowledge that we've changed. It shows that heroes can hesitate, that bonds can shift, and that searching for meaning is part of the fight too.

I find it moving that these characters have grown, that they're still evolving, each in their own way. That gives me hope. Because evolving doesn't always look like a flashy transformation. Sometimes it looks like staying, questioning, choosing not to run.

And if this stage doesn't resonate with you, that's okay too. Maybe it wasn't your moment. Or maybe your connection to Adventure lives on a different plane.

The beauty is that nothing takes away what came before or what comes after. It just gains new layers over time.

An emotional, not conventional structure

Tri doesn't talk about an external enemy. It speaks of an internal fracture.

From the very beginning, it tells us:

“Demiurge, the soulless creator... Idea, the true form of the world...”

This isn't just poetic dressing, it's the story's thesis. The Digital World was created as a system, but one that never truly understood the beings it would hold. The infection corrupting digimon isn't just a virus. It's a metaphor, a crack in the digital soul.

Tri doesn't follow the traditional "adventure-enemy-digivolution" formula. Its core conflict often comes in silences, glances, inner contradictions.

What hurts isn't always what happens. Sometimes it's the feelings too complex to name.

Taichi hasn't lost his courage, he's transformed it into responsibility.

Yamato isn't angry for drama's sake, he's frustrated because he doesn't know how to reach Taichi anymore.

Sora doesn't fade, she's depleted from holding everyone together while forgetting how to hold herself.

Joe isn't a coward, he's the first to confront doubt.

Mimi isn't shallow, she's defending her authenticity in a world that tries to mute it.

Koushiro isn't just the genius, he's a child who made logic his shield to avoid emotional collapse.

Takeru isn't just the optimist, his quiet strength is how he doesn't get pulled under by others' pain.

Hikari isn't just light, she's a channel. Her sensitivity connects her to the invisible, but it also makes her deeply vulnerable.

Meiko isn't a mistake, she's the weight of quiet guilt and undeserved blame.

Himekawa isn't a villain, she's a warning, consumed by a love that couldn't let go.

Nishijima isn't a mentor, he's a man who regrets arriving too late.

A symbolic reading of the Digital World

Tri challenges the Digital World's mythology. It introduces concepts like the Demiurge (imperfect creator) and Idea (true essence), pulling from gnostic and platonic philosophy. The infection is not just a digital bug. It's the result of a world built without understanding the emotions that would one day inhabit it.

Distortions in space, corrupted binary code (like the unexplained "2" in a system built on 0 and 1), the merging of realities, and the appearance of soulless replicas like Imperialdramon, none of it is random. It all speaks to a world collapsing from within, not due to external battles.

A quiet story of transformation

At the beginning of this story, Taichi wants to bring everyone back together, but time has passed. They've taken different paths, changed in ways that aren't always compatible. It's not about caring less. It's about learning that closeness sometimes fades without meaning to, and that trying to reclaim it isn't always simple.

A common criticism is that Taichi now hesitates and that this is regression.

Taichi's hesitation isn't fear, it's awareness. A pause. A question: can I still protect, without hurting anyone?

This isn't a contradiction, it's a continuation.

Let’s go back to Adventure:

Episode 16: SkullGreymon emerges from his recklessness

Episode 19: Sora was kidnapped because of him

Episode 45: his leadership fractures the group

Episode 48: we see him doubt and we learn the origin of his guilt, blaming himself for Hikari's near death as a child.

02 never explored that aftermath. The story shifted focus to a new cast. But Tri picks up that thread and now Taichi isn't afraid of danger, he's afraid of causing harm. That’s not cowardice, it's growth.

And in that pause, we glimpse the roots of the future Taichi, who will one day become a diplomat, working for coexistence between humans and digimon.

Yamato doesn't understand the change, and he pushes, hoping to ignite the old spark. But underneath the anger is the fear of losing a connection that once felt unbreakable.

Meanwhile, the Digital World is fracturing.

Not from outside danger, but from the blurring lines between emotion and system, past and present, role and identity.

Soulless Systems

These aren't classic "villains":

Yggdrasill is not an evil mastermind or alien invader. It's a symbolic, near-divine system that governs without empathy. Cold, logical, and utterly disconnected. It never appears because it doesn't need to. Its will is carried out through proxies like Alphamon, corrupted Gennai, and even manipulated humans. Yggdrasill represents the idea of a creator that has lost touch with its creation, a divine absence rather than a presence.

Alphamon is not an enemy. He's an executor without voice or motive. He doesn't speak, doesn't hate, doesn't choose. He deletes threats because that is his function. He is kind of a ghost in armor, a weapon with no soul, following the will of a broken god.

Homeostasis is not the "good side". It's a system that seeks balance. A bodiless, emotionless protocol whose only priority is to restore order when chaos threatens to collapse the Digital World. It doesn't act out of empathy or cruelty, it simply follows its function. It doesn't shift because it changes its mind, but because its compass is not moral, it's systemic. It speaks through vessels (like Hikari) and intervenes not with force, but by rebooting what’s broken to restore balance.

Hackmon / Jesmon is not a friend or foe. He is the system's messenger. He watches from the shadows, especially focused on Meicoomon, whom he perceives as a destabilizing anomaly. But Hackmon doesn't act on feeling. He is the voice of Homeostasis. Its blade. And when observation is no longer enough, he digivolves into Jesmon. But Jesmon is not hope, is protocol. A final measure. He doesn't come to save, he comes to execute.

When the system doesn't grasp the soul

In a world where connections become unpredictable, systems try to fix what they don't understand.

But emotions can't be repaired or deleted with code.

It's there, amidst reboots and algorithms, that the chosen children must decide whether to obey or to choose.

Meicoomon, a rift in the soul

Meicoomon isn't just an infected digimon, she contains Libra, which can't be controlled or regulated.. Her bond with Meiko is the most fragile, yet it's also honest.

Meiko, a chosen child who struggles to understand and bear her role, still chooses to stay. She remains, even when she feels she's the source of the pain, and even when her presence brings discomfort to others.

Libra, the code sealed in the soul

Libra is more than just a virus or a system error. It's an anomaly within the code, a burden sealed within Meicoomon from her origin. Imagine it as a living archive, holding the emotional record of the Digital World before its reboot: light and shadow, order and chaos.

To safeguard this data, it was encrypted inside her, unbeknownst to her and beyond her capacity to handle.

But Meicoomon was not created to carry such a burden. Her sensitivity and natural instability made her vulnerable to that information. It overwhelmed her, turning her into a contradiction of innocence and chaos.

Libra is not her fault. It's the Digital World's doing for putting such a heavy burden on a digimon who simply deserved to exist.

The Reboot: resetting isn't healing

The reboot wasn't a mere narrative whim or an attempt to "fix" the Digital World. It was an emergency measure. The infection had destabilized the system so severely that Homeostasis executed its last resort to restore balance: a complete reset.

This reboot came with an incredibly high cost: the loss of memories, of everything shared between the chosen children and their partners.

It wasn't an act of malice, but one of coldness. A systemic protocol that simply doesn't account for emotions. For Homeostasis, a bond is just another variable in the equation of balance.

Some criticize the reboot for "failing" because Meicoomon remained infected. But that's precisely the point: Libra wasn't a superficial error. It was a deep rift, inscribed in her soul. It wasn't just digital, it was existential. And that can't be erased with a reset. Systems can be rebooted, but the soul cannot.

Yet, even though the reboot failed in its ultimate goal, the most valuable outcome was this: even without memories, without data, without prior programming... the bonds found their way back. Because some connections don't depend on memory. Some encounters transcend code. When the soul recognizes another, it doesn't need reasons. It simply responds.

Tri shows us that some connections can't be explained, they can only be felt. These are the bonds that endure, even through forgetfulness and loss.

And it's within this very mystery, something that completely eludes rigid systems, that the emotional and the intangible begin.

The "canon" isn't broken, the story has layers

The absence of the 02 kids has been one of the most persistent criticisms of Tri. However, from the first episode, their disappearance is presented as a deliberate choice, not an oversight. It's not a case of forgetting or erasing them. It was about narrowing the focus. Also, a narrative void designed to generate uncertainty, and that uncertainty is a key part of the emotional tone the story aims to convey.

Alphamon defeats them off-screen, and while this bothers their fans, it also emphasizes a crucial point: this isn't their story. It's the story of the original chosen children. Of those who are drifting apart and question if they are still the same people. Himekawa deceives them, telling them everything is fine, much like the system watches them silently. This manipulation also reflects an uncomfortable truth: sometimes, we grow up believing everything remains as it was, until it no longer does.

And when Imperialdramon appears in Episode 8 “Determination - Part 4”, it does so as a shadow. Not as the return of a beloved digimon, but as an anomaly. Daisuke and Ken aren't there. There's no digivice, no connection. It's a silent replica that attacks as if the Digital World were projecting a broken memory.

Could the pain of their absence have been explored more deeply? Maybe. But Tri chooses to focus its lens. It doesn't erase or contradict, it simply pauses at a different stage: the stage of those who are present. Those who, without intending to, also somewhat disappeared from themselves.

Perhaps Tri wasn't created to please. Perhaps it was created to make us feel.

Not all errors are failures

Tri isn't perfect. There are narrative moments that could have been more polished, and even the technical aspects of the art could have been refined. Yet, as a whole, it's a work that takes risks and proposes new ideas. It shifts the focus from "what happens" to "what we feel".

And for a series built on emotion and evolution, that might be one of the most natural next steps it could take.

What Tri tells us (if we dare to listen)

Tri shows us that growing up isn't just about leaving things behind, it's about relearning who you are when everything changes.

It shows us that sometimes, bonds break without anyone being at fault.

It reminds us that you can't always save another person, but you can stay, watch, feel, and simply be there.

And above all, Tri makes us realize a powerful truth: that bonds, even if they fade, change, or cause pain, are still what makes life truly meaningful. Because to feel, to doubt, to make mistakes, and to try again with another, that is truly to evolve, and it's absolutely worth it.

Recommendations for a better viewing experience

Divide it into chapters. I know Tri was originally released as OVAs, but you might find it on platforms like Crunchyroll, which divides it into episodes. This makes it easier to digest its emotional pacing.

Watch at least these prequels beforehand: Digimon Adventure, Our War Game and Digimon Adventure 02. Not because they're strictly mandatory, but because I think Tri is in direct conversation with the memories and events of those stories.

Choose the original japanese audio with subtitles. The dubs (especially in english and spanish) often contain significant errors that distort the emotional message. The original japanese voice acting is also rich with subtle nuances.

Avoid external noise. Don't let soulless criticisms or external expectations contaminate your experience. Watch Tri with a clear mind and open heart. Let the story unfold and speak to you, at your own pace, in your own way.

If it helps, approach it as a side story. Think of Tri less as a continuation and more as an exploration of this particular stage in the original Adventure kids' lives.

And if Tri wasn't for you, that's perfectly fine. Don't worry. It doesn't ruin anything, and it doesn't change anything. You can simply choose to omit its existence, or you can enjoy the layers it adds as it leads us toward the epilogue of Adventure 02.

Thanks for reading. If Tri also stirred something within you, offered you comfort, or left you with questions... it's truly wonderful to inhabit that space with you.

[kxsagi]

hello! I know I’m asking this on ur glorious main character goatsagi’s bday but w the recent manga leaks (IF U HAVENT READ THEM YET PLS STOP HERE) I have a request (SPOILERS BELOW)

Could you write abt Househusband!Nagi like in an AU where bro doesn’t become a pro footballer after his Blue Lock elimination 😞 and what you think he would be like? For example: he’s unhelpful post u guys moving in together until reader lwk crashes out from the strain of carrying their household on their back (poor reader) and then nagi locks in 😈 and they r happy!! Or they aren’t I feed off of angst so either is ok 😊

“𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚�� 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝! 𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐢”

a/n: this request is exposing how behind i am on requests 💀 BUT MY GLORIOUS GOATSAGI LMAOSJKSGJS

i’m all caught up to the manga so don’t worry! can’t spoil me 😼

i decided to not write angst for this one because nagi deserves to be happy after all the “burger king” jokes 

(i wish i knew art credits bc the art is so cute ☹️)

at first, living with house husband! nagi is like adopting a really pretty cat who doesn’t know what a vacuum is and keeps eating your leftovers. not out of malice, he just… forgets. or assumes you won’t mind. 

you do mind. 

"sei, did you wash the dishes?" 

"huh? no, i thought you were gonna do it after your class." 

cue the twitch in your eye. 

he’s not mean or messy. actually, house husband! nagi’s pretty neat. he wipes down the counters after he makes instant ramen and always folds his socks into perfect pairs. but helpful? not exactly. not unless you're standing there, giving him a step-by-step tutorial on how to do it. 

you didn’t expect it to be this hard. being the one who works, cooks, cleans, keeps track of bills, makes the appointments. he lounges around in oversized hoodies and his soft, soft hair, watching you buzz around the apartment like a stressed-out bee. 

and you love him, you really do, but love doesn’t clean the bathroom. 

so it happens. you burn out. 

it starts with you skipping breakfast. then forgetting to charge your phone. then breaking down in the laundry room because the dryer ate one of your socks and you’ve been on your feet for 12 hours and there’s no more clean towels. 

you come home and just. crash. 

no fanfare. no dramatic monologue. you face-plant into bed and sleep through dinner, still in your shoes. 

when you wake up, everything’s… quiet. 

no game noises. no crumbs on the floor. you blink blearily and shuffle into the kitchen, expecting chaos. 

instead, there’s house husband! nagi. hair tied back messily, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing a pot like he’s reenacting a cooking show tutorial. 

you just stare. 

"oh. you're up," he says, looking over his shoulder. there’s an apron tied crookedly around his waist. you don’t even own that apron. where did it come from? 

“did you… did you cook?” 

"mhm. made curry. didn’t know how spicy you liked it, so i made it mild and left the chili flakes on the side." 

you blink again. 

he glances at you, then at the floor. “also cleaned. and made a list of stuff we need. you look tired, so… i figured.” 

turns out, house husband! nagi just needed a wake-up call. he doesn’t like seeing you worn down. he doesn’t like knowing he was part of the reason. 

after that day, it’s like he flips a switch. he’s still the same laid-back, sleepy house husband! nagi, but now he folds your laundry with yours on top so you don’t have to bend down. he sets timers for the rice cooker and writes "don't forget lunch ♡" on post-its he sticks to your keys. he learns your favorite shampoo and stocks it before you run out. 

he even starts meal-prepping. you catch him slicing vegetables with alarming precision while watching cooking videos on 2x speed. when you ask him if he’s okay, he shrugs. 

“it’s kinda like a puzzle game,” he says, sticking a cut carrot slice to your forehead. 

he still doesn’t like vacuuming, but he does it anyway. with noise-canceling headphones and a sour face. 

"i miss football sometimes," he admits one night, curled into your side on the couch. "but this isn't bad, y'know? taking care of you. feels like i'm good at something again." 

your fingers slide through his hair. "you’re amazing at it." 

he hums, sleepy, a little smug. “yeah? then let me spoil you, okay? house husband! nagi’s locked in.” 

and you let him. because for all the lazy afternoons and pajama days and burnt toast attempts, he really is locked in. 

and the two of you? you’re happy. 

finally. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[belovedgyu]

FASHION SHOW || Kim Mingyu part 3

part 1 part 2 ⚬ pairing: uni au! kim mingyu x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 14.5k (forgive me!!) ⚬ warnings: alcohol, drinking, insecure reader, heavy mentions of body dysmorphia, internalized shame, spice/nsfw mentions and smut, the fmc briefly slips into a dissociative space but its not mentioned directly, MDNI ⚬ genres: slowburn if you squint, jealousy, established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, smut, uni!au ft. jun, soonyoung, dokyeom, giselle and yunjin

⚬ recommended songs for this chapter: - pov by ariana grande (!!!) you're so vain by carly simon plastic by moses sumney dress by taylor swift life of the party by shawn mendes she by elvis costello

⚬ author's note: you asked for one big update, you get one big update! - this was one of the messiest things i have ever written, not just because of the subject matter i was dealing with (i wanted to address, as carefully as i could, how internalized misogyny reflects in one, especially those identifying as women) but because this was also the first fic which i have written unplanned. - pardon any major grammatical errors which bug you, but writing and editing nearly 15k words in two days def took a toll on me! take care and enjoy <33

Dokyeom dropped you at your dorm after you had settled Yunjin on her bed in her apartment.

All night, your head kept on throbbing — from exhaustion, overthinking and feeling shitty in general. But what amplified it even more was the urge to check your social media every five minutes. It kept on clawing behind your eyelids each time you tried getting some sleep. 

Worse was the fact that you gave in. 

It was humiliating, in fact, that you kept clicking on their stories as soon as anyone who was present at the party posted something. 

And each time you clicked on one, your breath thickened and your lips mumbled a silent prayer as if to brace for some violent impact.

Throughout the night, until your eyes got heavy and shut on their own, you had seen so many pictures and videos that you could describe what anyone at Suri’s party was wearing with fearsome accuracy.

Now, sitting in your empty booth at The Cold Brew with your jacket sprawled on the opposite seat, haphazard notes littering the whole table, you felt nothing but stupid.

You dug the heels of your palms on your burning eyes as if that would ease the pain. 

What were you even thinking? Expecting to see a picture of Mingyu with his tongue shoved deep in Suri’s throat as her already skimpy dress rode even higher? To catch your boyfriend cheating on you on camera with the girl he had voluntarily cut deep rooted ties from? 

You stayed up all night, paranoid and tense with pain, for what? The worst thing you had found in those stories was that when Suri cut the cake, her fingers offered the first bite to someone who was standing far away to her left, more than a safe distance between them. 

In one of the stories posted by Lydia, you could hear Suri announce that ever since her second birthday, whenever she celebrated, she’d always offered the first piece of the cake to her best friend in the whole world – Mingyu. 

Suri then proceeded to walk all the way up to him, tripping over her heels twice, making him steady her by catching the wrist which she pushed to his mouth to feed him the cake. 

Mingyu bit off a little piece with a smile you knew was kind but not warm.

Mumbling something to her, he turned her around on her shoulders, directing her towards her younger brother who had flown in all the way from LA. 

Mingyu urged her that it was her brother who deserved that honor and not him. But the audio cut was cut short as Lydia cheered from behind the camera, “To two more decades of this friendship!” 

It was an innocent act, an innocent video, an innocent friendship but a very devious dress. 

You couldn’t spot Mingyu in any pictures or videos after that, evidencing that he had left around an hour after you. He had texted you something at the same time, probably a ‘good night’ or a ‘reached safe’ – you hadn’t bothered to check. 

When you woke up at eleven today, parched and irate as the late morning sun scorched your burning eyes, you had found a text from Yunjin waiting to be answered in the group chat. 

Yunjin🪼 (10:34 am): kickin off the weekend with some much needed study session @ the cold brew💪 who’s with meee?

Of course Yunjin was reignited with a new found flame of motivation. She always did, after satiating her monthly alcohol quota.

The text had been lying idle for a solid hour, you knew no one else would join her. 

Soonyoung had competed with Yunjin on who could drink more and unlike her, must still be too out of it to care. Jun had to tidy up his place from yesterday’s mess and one couldn't pay Giselle enough to study on weekends. 

Dokyeom and Mingyu were the only ones sober but they must have been too tired hauling their drunk friends up to their beds all night.

Besides, Mingyu and you had already planned to spend the weekend together at his place days ago — a plan that you mercilessly bailed out on when you replied to Yunjin.

You: Need to do some catching up on stats, will be there in an hour jinny

You heard her reshuffling your things to make room for a seat before you saw Yunjin. 

“Sorry I’m late!” She quipped, “Took an ‘everything shower’ today.” 

“Why did you have to wear red?” You groaned, the crassness of your own voice gyrating in your sensitive ears as you eyed her shirt warily. 

“What’s wrong with red?” The fashion major looked personally offended.

You just shrugged, unable to tell her that red was slowly becoming a color you just couldn’t stand. 

The two of you worked in silence for some time, occasionally sipping on your drinks before diving back into the heavy texts. The Cold Brew was mostly deserted on weekends. The murmur of the staff and the rhythmic whirring of the coffee machines being the only ambience inside the sweet smelling shop decorated with wood and plants. They weren't even playing that regular Japanese lofi playlist today.

All the windows were let open, allowing the cool breeze in and with all this ambience and serenity, it felt like the place could breathe once a week. 

Yunjin settled in her seat again after getting a little snack topped with fresh cut mangoes.

You were busy struggling with your nearly dead highlighter to do its work when you heard her. 

“Thanks for coming, though I thought you were gonna spend the day with Mingyu?” 

Yunjin had her eyes focused on restarting her laptop hence she didn’t notice how you nearly flinched at the question. 

“How do you know?” You muttered, warmth draining from your face. Anger? Embarrassment? Who knows?

“I called him in the morning to ask if he could cook something for me – all I had at the apartment was cold pizza and didn’t want to order out. He told me that he was gonna cook lunch for you and that I was welcome to join you guys if I wanted.” 

Your chest sunk a bit when she told you that. Of course, Mingyu was already planning out the day meticulously.

And you didn’t even have the guts to tell him directly that you wouldn’t show…he had to find that out from your passive aggressive text on the groupchat.

“I told him no cause I didn’t want to interrupt you guys, guess I ended up doing that anyways?” Yunjin scoffed. 

“No, no.” You huffed, pushing your notes away like you had given up on pretending to study while your brain couldn’t even register thirty percent of the material. “You didn’t interrupt. I was already planning on not seeing him today.”

Yunjin was confused. If there was any couple she knew who never got tired of each other, no matter how much time they spent together, then it was you and Mingyu. 

“Everything alright?” She asked.

You nodded, but your sorrowful eyes betrayed you. 

“Wait, is this about the lovebombing thing?” Yunjin’s eyes widened like she had finally found the answer to some conundrum. “Honey, it was just something stupid…I bet Giselle didn’t even mean it when she–”

“What? No, no Jinnie…” You couldn’t help but laugh, the suffocating tension locked in your body easing up a little. “Its not about that.”

Yunjin tilted her head to the side, blinking rapidly like she expected you to clarify. Perhaps, give her a clue about what was going on for you to abandon Mingyu for a study session which you weren’t even studying in. 

You bit down on your lower lip, as if sucking on it would give you the words needed to present your problem to your friend.

You wondered if there was a problem to even begin with?

Or was it just the frustration of unspoken words and wonky theories which was stretching you apart like two ends of a rigid rubber band. 

You shifted once in your seat, sweating because the afternoon breeze had mellowed down. Even the wind seemed to allow you the silence and space to speak. Then you shifted once again, this time involuntarily, as the red of Yunjin’s shirt sparkled mockingly in the streaming sun rays. 

“I dunno, I guess I am upset about last night.” You finally spoke, voice coming out louder than you expected like someone had just undid the menacing knot tied around it. 

Yunjin blinked at your borderline outburst before her face settled with recognition. 

“Oh…yeah, I was too drunk to notice but Giselle did say something about Mingyu being an ass and ignoring you.”

You shook your head. “No, he didn’t ignore me, not really.” 

“Then what is it?”

You wrapped your shivering palms around the dewy condensation on your half empty coffee cup. Your shoulders were too taut but your fingers loosened lifelessly, suspended from your hands, struggling to grasp the glass. 

Why was something so simple so hard to wrap your head around? You knew you didn’t feel the best, but you couldn’t deduce the reason behind this discomfort.

Maybe, talking it out loud with a friend might help?

“Mingyu didn’t do anything wrong,” You exhaled, “Suri dragged him around and he followed, yes. But it was nothing too scandalous or unkind towards me.”

“He was just catching up with friends, that’s all.” You shrugged. “Mingyu is devoted and loyal to me, I know that. But he also loves his friends, old or new. There was nothing to be jealous about, maybe there was but it wasn’t Mingyu’s attention. I don’t even know if it's jealousy…anger, perhaps?”

“Anger towards who?” Yunjin retorted, taking a bite of her dessert. “Mingyu, for letting Suri pull him around and not spending time with you. Suri, for being, you know, Suri? Or the whole thing in general?”

You considered Yunjin’s words, letting silence envelope your booth until you thought you found the right answer. 

You spoke low like you were spilling an embarrassing secret, “Anger towards myself, I guess.”

The clinking of the metal spoon cutting and scraping the ripe fruit from the small china plate halted for a moment.

Yunjin wasn’t expecting you to say that at all. 

“What? Why?” she licked the small smudge of whipped cream off her finger as she leaned back, giving you her full attention. 

You crossed your legs and began, “Look, Suri’s behavior was expected of her. She has always been a bit territorial over Mingyu, it's like she wants everybody to know – I was here first! And Mingyu, he has the tendency to get attention just by existing.” 

“Tall boys always do. Ours comes with a killer charm and attractive looks to top it off.” Yunjin added, earning a light laugh out of you.

“Yeah, but I trust him so I don’t really mind.” you explained, “It made sense for him to catch up with his old friends and not blatantly ignore Suri, not on her birthday.”

“He’s a classic people pleaser.” Yunjin shrugged. “Like I am not saying that he should tell the birthday girl to fuck off, but he could have tagged you along at least.”

You couldn’t help but wince at Yunjin’s comment. 

“Well, that's the part I am angry at myself about. Because he tried to. He asked me to come meet his friends. But I told him no because I was already getting pissed over nothing. All this sense that I am talking of right now, seemed to have vanished last night.”

Yunjin just nodded, sensing you had more to say. 

“So, I am angry at myself for ruining the mood completely…for leaving the party without him, for ignoring his texts, for staying up all night to keep tabs on what had happened after I left and for bailing out on our day together. All because of a fucking red dress.”

The last part startled you as much as it did Yunjin. 

You knew, somewhere deep down, that you were carefree and having fun up to the point Suri sauntered in wearing something that you could never have the guts to put on. 

Your mood had soured even more when you heard your boyfriend compliment the woman wearing it. 

It left you with questions like whether he found it attractive, if that was the type of style he thought looked best on women. 

You didn’t know, you never talked about stuff like that with each other. 

You thought he dressed well and you assumed the same about his opinions towards your dressing sense too. 

“Suri’s red dress?” Yunjin asked. 

“Yeah…it was just so sexy and good and Mingyu told her she looked good. I think that's what kicked off this whole insecurity bandwagon because I could never pull off something like that.”

“Oh you can totally pull it off.” Yunjin cut you off before you could finish that sentence with a convincing yet pitiful sigh. 

She didn’t seem patronizing or sympathetic, but dead serious. Her words carried her confidence and conviction. 

“I know, I know, the whole ‘anyone can pull off anything, you just need the confidence for it’ speech.” You drawled, resisting the imminent eyeroll that threatened to follow. 

“No, that’s what Giselle would say.” Yunjin leaned forward on the dark table, picking the abandoned spoon once again trying to salvage whatever remained of the mangoes floating over melting, frothy cream and soggy bread.

She continued, “I don’t think anyone can pull off everything. I, for once, would look stupid if I wore a heavy fabric…or a chunky belt with skinny jeans. But Jun would eat that up.”

She had spent hours researching body types and color analysis, this conversation was something one could trust Yunjin’s insights on. So you kept your mouth shut and listened. 

“Thats why, I mean it when I say that the dress would look good on you. The corset silhouette paired with your knockers and waist and hips? Ugh, iconic.” 

She moaned a little as the ultimate bite of the sweet treat melted on her tongue which made you doubt if the last line was a compliment directed towards you or her snack.   

“Now I am not the one to compare women and there’s nothing more annoying than the ‘who wore it better’ discourse, but the truth is, Suri looked sexy as hell.,,,and you, my precious little y/n, you would look erotic. There’s a difference between those two.”

Your jaw opened and closed, then opened again as you wrecked your brain to formulate a response. “I…uh, I don’t know what to say…thanks, maybe?” 

Yunjin wordlessly pushed the clay plate away. Now satisfied and full, she leaned back again with her arms crossed under her chest. 

“Wanna try?” she gave you a mischievous smile. 

You snorted, returning to arrange your pens and highlighters in your pencil case. “Should have asked that before you ate the whole thing…how am I supposed to try it now? Lick your lips or perhaps, the plate?” 

“I am not talking about the dessert, dumbass.” She laughed, “The dress!”

And that’s how, despite your several protests against it, you found yourself being dragged by Yunjin and Giselle to market on an afternoon which once belonged to your boyfriend. 

They insisted you try this store called "glitzy gurlz" tucked away on the far end of the street that only sold dupes. They weren't going to make you buy real Versace...not after they had just made you buy two sets of expensive lacy lingerie at Victoria's Secret not even an hour ago.

“Wow, that’s quite...extreme…I want to expand my comfort zone, not shatter it with a sledgehammer.” You argued when Yunjin lifted up a pair of bootyshorts that would leave seventy percent of your cheeks hanging exposed. 

The store was...something. You had passed it several times while exploring these markets at night and with the studded, low cut, bandage tops always dangling at displays, you never thought you'd ever step in here.

It reeked of cigarettes and seduction. You were used to shopping at places that smelt like fresh cotton and lavender.

“Did you text him like I asked you?” Giselle asked from another corner, rummaging through a rack of crop tops like a cunning scavenger scrounging for the best meat on a carcass. 

The girls insisted that you let Mingyu know that you were out shopping with them. Not because he was entitled to know about your whereabouts, but to give him a heads up for what was about to come. 

You see, you and Mingyu had this little ritual where anytime either of you’d come home after buying something – sneakers or sweaters, you’d give each other a little fashion show. 

It was silly, it was stupid but it was yours. 

He had even made some score paddles out of old table-tennis rackets – the scores ranging from ‘9🤩❤️’, ‘10🥵💓’ or ‘10+1 for being so adorable🥰’. 

He refused to give you anything below the ten each time you stepped out of the bathroom and gave him a little twirl in your newest steals from your favorite stores. 

While the 9 followed by a “womp womp” sound on your phone was your average reaction to whatever glittery paraphernalia Dokyeom convinced him to buy. 

The reason why the girls wanted you to let him know about this shopping spree was so that he could be prepared to ‘get the air knocked out of his stupid six pack abs’ in the evening when you'd surprise him with each of these risque pieces. 

“No, I haven’t texted him.” You answered, lowering your voice as you checked out the ice cream cone shaped neon heels like they personally offended you. 

“Whyyy?” The girls halted together. 

“Because I don’t know if I am even gonna buy any of this, let alone try it on in front of him.” 

You gestured towards the pile of skimpy skirts and racy dresses hanging over Giselle’s arms like handkerchiefs snipped into weird shapes and sewn in tassels.

Already regretting this whimsical side quest with your insane girlfriends who’d follow you down any rocky paths in high heels just for the thrill of it, you switched your phone on and off for the third time. 

“You’re not chickening out now!” Giselle protested, “I rescheduled my waxing appointment for this.” 

“I’ll wax you.” You offered, genuinely. 

“Thanks, but I’d rather you text Mingyu for now.” She smiled, going back to hunting down the next wow thing. 

You took a heavy sigh, trying to gather as much air as you could because you needed that extra dose of oxygen to face the texts you had been ignoring for over sixteen hours now. 

Your fingers hovered over the screen, sweat accumulating on your soft palms as you opened his chat to see six of his messages waiting for you.

Mingyu 🐶🩷 (02:05 am): did you reach safe baby? 

Mingyu 🐶🩷 (02:20 am): nvm i asked dokyeom and he says you did…ig you’re asleep. good night my love. 

Mingyu 🐶🩷 (3:23 am): reached home too, love you <3

Mingyu 🐶🩷 (10:00 am): hope the hangover’s not too bad, remember to drink water. 

Mingyu 🐶🩷 (10:02 am): also, do you mind if Yunjin joins us for lunch at my place?

Mingyu 🐶🩷 (11:47 am): saw your text on the group about studying with Yunjin…you not gonna come over?

You closed your eyes like that would make those texts disappear.

You could feel his enthusiasm dimming with each text, his voice echoing in your head when you read them, until it dropped down into the balked question at last. 

Somehow, the vibrance of all the colors around you dimmed as if a cloud had engulfed the once sparkling store.

You wanted to type out a paragraph, or send him a hundred hug emojis, two hundred crying ones and a thousand cat memes which you knew would cheer him up. 

But for now, you settled for a lie.

You (5:37 pm): Baby I am so sorry for missing your texts…the deadline for the stats assignment is near and I wanted to finish it off today. totally forgot about our lunch plan, thats on me. how about i make it up to you…dinner @ mine?

You (5:37 pm): I was feeling a bit low so came out to shop with the girls to cheer up. do you need me to buy something for you?

You didn’t expect a reply, not after you had ignored him so heartlessly and you knew that he’d be able to tell that your first text was full of lies. But it was worth a shot, and you were ready to face whatever was could come — being left on read, not being read at all, an angry rant which was just so unlikely for him to do. 

But a text came, around twenty minutes later, when you were trying on the thigh highs Yunjin had searched for in your size. 

Mingyu 🐶🩷 (6:03 pm): sure love, will be there by 8?

You: kk, love youuu 🥺

Mingyu 🐶🩷 (6:03 pm): more, always😘

Mingyu's POV

The basketball thudded once on the ground and then clanked against the metal of the pole with an intensity that could have almost burst it open. The pressure he had applied while simply dribbling was unnecessarily huge. 

Dokyeom wanted to comment on it, crack a pun about bursting balls, or maybe just ask him to calm down.

But he knew better than to speak anything which wasn’t relevant to the ongoing game between the two. Not because Mingyu was angry, but because he was thinking. 

The jollier guy knew how hard his best buddy tried to keep everything around him well and running, but life wasn’t linear like that. Sometimes, situations arose where one had to tidy up the mess they had no contribution in creating. 

But it was taking time for Mingyu to get that through. 

“I didn’t even know she was cross with me until she ghosted me today.” He muttered, more to himself than to Dokyeom.

He flicked the sweat off his brows before it could slide down into his eyes and tossed the ball towards his friend. 

Dokyeom caught it with one open palm and then with reflexes of a snake, passed it back on. “No, you did.”

Mingyu didn’t try to stop the ball, letting it bounce away until it halted on its own after colliding with the metal fence. “What do you mean?”

“You heard me.” Dokyeom pocketed his hands, exhaling a long held breath. “You knew it since last night that she was upset. Because why else would you call me instead of her when she didn’t reply to your texts after getting home?”

“I think it's natural for me to worry about her if my drunk girlfriend left with some guy who isn't me and didn't answer my texts after.” The taller guy snipped, instantly hating how bitter that sounded.

Mingyu flopped down on one of the stone benches stationed at the vacant court. Unable to look Dokyeom in the eyes, he let his own close shut. They burned with the sweat that had gotten into them regardless. He hung his head low with his elbows resting on his knees, not knowing what to do with all this dejection. 

Dokyeom’s laughter filled the spaces left by the chirruping of returning birds as he took a seat beside his friend, the sun setting behind them. “Don’t lie to yourself by dressing up your curiosity in the clothes of worry. You trust me, know that I am responsible and would never do any wrong to y/n.” then a beat, “you called me because you wanted to know if she had told me something about what bothered her. To see if she had complained to me about something you did.”

Mingyu didn’t lift his head. He just craned his neck from side to side to crack the stiff muscles like he was trying to borrow more time to put his dilemma into words.

“I thought about it all afternoon when she didn’t come,” he swallowed, body still slightly heaving from the adrenaline of the game, “and I know I didn’t do anything inherently bad. And I was so worried, thinking that I hurt her somehow. But then she texts me like nothing happened....she never tells me what's bugging her, just pushes it under the rug.”

Mingyu accepted the clean towel waiting in Dokyeom’s hands, swept his over his face and hair before tossing it over the bag lying between his stretched legs on the floor. 

“Dokyeom, do you think she’s that type of person?” He finally faced his friend, breathing more controlled than before. 

Dokyeom cocked a brow at him because he understood what he wanted to say, but only to a vague extent. “The type of person who gets mad at you over nothing…for attention?”

Mingyu shook his head at Dokyeom’s wild guess. “Gosh, no…the type of person who would be upset because I didn’t make her my first priority for an evening?”

“Are you calling her spoiled?” Dokyeom laughed too casually for a situation where his friend was practically ripping his own hair out. “Well, I think it depends. Was Suri preceding her on this figurative list of priorities of yours?” 

“Wha..why, no dude.” Mingyu’s head tilted, eyes narrowing as if that was the most insulting thing anyone could ever say to him. “There wasn’t even a list of priorities to begin with. I just wanted to catch up with my old friends and…I just…I just didn’t want to make Suri feel bad on her birthday.”

That settled it for some time. Dokyeom just nodded. He didn’t say anything, just let Mingyu sit there–-mind racing, breath getting dimmer until it settled in its natural pace.

And then, when he was assured that Mingyu would be able to answer his question without reacting with surface level emotions, he asked. 

“Do you regret ending things with Suri?”

Mingyu gnawed at the edge of his mouth, grinding the soft skin between his teeth until he could taste metal. It was a habit, a bad one which led to irritating sores sometimes. He wasn’t contemplating what to say because the answer was clear to him.

He was thinking about how to make it make sense to Dokyeom. 

“I really don’t because I did that for y/n.” 

His response was certain—no regrets, no second guessing—like he didn’t even need to explain the reason behind the choice he made all those months ago. 

Though, on the other hand, he reckoned that his recent behavior at Suri’s party might need some explanation. 

“But there’s this part of me, the little boy who loved Suri like a twin, which makes me want to compensate for the way I just tossed her out of my life, y'know? And I know its pretty fucking unreasonable, but I thought y/n would understand even when she shouldn't.” Mingyu exhaled, a strange sense of shame shooting up his spine. 

Dokyeom let those words hang in the maturing darkness around them. The sun had settled fully now, leaving the sports complex littered with departing practitioners and a vast expanse of dewy turf on cracked concrete. One by one, the overhead lights began flickering bright, cackling irritably as they did.

His hand landed on Mingyu’s shoulder, signaling that they should also get going if they didn’t want a sweaty stout man blaring whistles at their heads. 

“You should tell her that.” 

“She never asks.” Mingyu hauled his bag on a shoulder, tossing the ball from one palm to the other. “It irks me…because she never complains, just lets her thoughts run wild until she’s overwhelmed and then she blames herself for it.”

“Yeah she tends to feed herself these theories and I’m like…go clarify it before you believe it, dude! Fact vs fiction.” Dokyeom laughed, breathing easier in the lighter mood.

“Fact vs fiction.” Mingyu echoed like Dokyeom had just discovered the key to the universe. 

“And as for you...” Dokyeom’s steps slowed down when they reached the crossroads where they were to separate. “Making anyone feel better about how you choose to live your life shouldn’t be your burden. Well, not unless you’re harming yourself or someone else…you’re not responsible for Suri’s feelings, not after you explicitly told her what you needed.”

That slight tinge of shame from earlier jerked back up.

Mingyu took a second too long to exhale before he averted his gaze. Too open, too vulnerable to Dokyeom who was telling him to stop being a fucking people pleaser as gently as one could. 

Dokyeom patted his friend’s back and gave him a mock salute as he retreated…like any of that would cheer Mingyu up after this psychological deboning. 

Mingyu debated if he should catch up with Dokyeom who was headed back to their shared apartment to take a shower before going to your place. But that would only delay him more and he didn’t want you to think for even a second that he was deliberating standing you up for what you did at noon. 

Besides, you were at the point of your relationship where each of you had half your wardrobes at the other’s place, he'd take a shower at yours.

He bought a large pizza with your favorite toppings and the honey mustard sauce you liked. 

As he paid, he noticed a pair sitting together for what seemed like a date, their hands conjoined on top of the wobbly table stained with grease and dried ketchup.

Uncaring. Young. Possibly freshmen. 

His shoulders dropped at the sight. 

It reminded him of his first few amateurish dates with you.

It was Jun who introduced the two of you at a party at his frat. It was an exclusive affair, invites only, so Mingyu had expected the same few faces he always did. 

But for the first time, he saw you. And it made his heart skip like it never had. 

Your fingers were trembling around the red cup in an unsure grip like someone had just handed it to you and you were too polite to reject them, but too cautious to actually drink the contents.

It made him want to take that cup away from you, ask you what you would actually like to drink and then get it for you. 

He couldn’t understand why you were shivering though, or why your knees looked like they were seconds away from collapsing limp with the pressure you were putting on them.

But he got closer, and saw you smile. It wasn't a full smile, didn't even cause your eyes to narrow with bliss. It was just spread on your face with a lot of effort, like it was already causing your cheeks to ache.

That made him realize that you were nervous. Calculating your words before the girl you talked to could even finish her sentences. 

When he asked Jun about the girl in the corner, the one in the pale blue dress and soft hair, Jun said, “Ah, that's my lab partner from chem. She did most of the work this sem and I got an A because of her so I returned the favor by inviting her tonight.”

“She’s cute.” Mingyu stated.

“Yeah?" Jun had instantly perked up, "Come on, I’ll introduce you.” 

You were even more nervous around Jun and Mingyu than you had been with the girl in the neon overalls. Constantly glancing at your cardigan buried under much larger coats and jackets near the entrance, switching between fidgeting with your rings, your locket or your earrings.

Mingyu couldn’t take it anymore when you had faked your laugh at another one of Jun’s puns.

He knew he had to get you out of here. Not because he felt bad for you, but because he wanted to see how you existed when you weren’t so presentable. 

He got rid of Jun quite easily and talked to you a bit more. It was all things random—majors, roommates, clubs, frats and parties.

He had wanted to ask you if you would like to leave but held it back because he couldn’t find words to say it in a way that didn’t sound like an invitation for a hookup. 

He didn't want that night to end in just a hookup. Something in the nervous clench of your knees and the red imprints on your soft skin left by your accessories raged within him this desire to see it all again. Over and over again. Everyday, even.

So he stayed shut, giving you enough room by slowing down the conversation.

A natural at steering every social interaction the way he pleased, he made it seem like he had run out of ideas for small talk. When in truth, he could stand there all night for you, listen to your thoughts about anything ranging from meditation to Maslow if you let him. 

You were quick to grab that cue, as if you had been waiting for it all night. 

“I should go.” you had said, your smile shy. 

“Would you like me to walk with you? I am leaving too.” Mingyu didn’t hesitate in making that offer, you miss all the shots you don’t take after all. 

And he wasn’t shy about his obvious curiosity for you, he wanted you to know that he was interested in you. 

He saw your eyes widen before you blinked twice. His offer wasn’t too insistent or too casual, it just stood there with a little ball of hope. One you knew you could deny if you wanted to.

But you didn’t because he was just so cute, so you nodded, mumbling something like “I would appreciate that.”

It had played out exactly like he wanted it to.

And till this day, Mingyu firmly believed that the universe had something to do in making the two of you meet. 

Because unlike at Jun’s party, Suri never got sick drunk which meant she usually never left Mingyu’s side. But that day, Soonyoung had to drive her back home meaning there was no one by Mingyu’s side ruling out any girl he laid his eyes on with disapproving sneers.

If she had been there, Mingyu knew she would have said something like, “oh, she looks like someone who gets too attached too quick, don’t invite trouble gyu.”

It must have also been the universe’s doing when you had miscalculated just how cold it would get out in the campus and wore a flimsy cardigan. Because it allowed him to offer you his hoodie which earned him another chance to see you when you promised you’d return it. 

The numbers exchanged to ensure the "hoodie" was returned to its righteous owner soon turned into a channel for memes and texts which teetered on the edge of flirtation and something more delicate—friendship? 

The banters over texts were replaced by teasing at the movies and discourses during bookshop dates.

And that’s how Mingyu finally got to know you when you weren’t a guarded girl tugging at a modest dress like it was a habit, eyeing the liquor in your hand suspiciously when you should be paying attention to neon overalls. 

One thing, Mingyu never got back though, was his hoodie. 

Mingyu exited the pizza shop at the same time as the younger couple leaned in for a kiss. This time, his steps were slower than when he entered. 

He took a detour that would delay him by another fifteen minutes but the delay wouldn't matter.

Because what he was going to get for you would make your eyes crinkle with that unburdened lovely smile he had grown all too familiar with. 

And it was worth everything.

“Peonies!” You exclaimed, launching yourself on Mingyu before his foot could hit the floor inside your dorm. 

You crushed him as hard as you could in your arms, which wasn’t a lot considering Mingyu practically lived at the gym while you hadn’t even lifted a single dumbbell in your life.

You didn’t care how the plump blooms squished between your chests or the fact that his skin was caked with dried sweat. 

Balancing the large box of pizza, an ample bouquet of your favorite pink peonies, the flimsy bag on his shoulder and now your whole but small body, Mingyu looked too large for your narrow dorm. 

“You said that you were upset earlier,” he said, “so I wanted to cheer you up.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that vibrated in his chest. That made you clasp him even tighter as if it could convey to him your earnest regret which was as mighty as this hug. 

“I bailed out on lunch with you but you brought me flowers.” You squeaked, soft voice muffled even further in his clothed chest.

He thought he heard you sniffle. That stilled Mingyu’s attempts of pulling the peonies out of the embrace before all their petals tore apart.

“Baby, no…” he somehow set the pizza on your desk by the door and looped his arm around your shoulders to give you a gentle tug. When he saw there were no actual tears on your lashes, he sighed. “Lets forget what happened today, alright?” 

You nodded, taking a step back from him to hold the flowers—a few of them had flattened despite Mingyu’s rescue attempts.

You placed them neatly on your desk, right next to your textbook which was bulging with sticky notes and bookmarks. 

“Thanks for the pizza,” You said, lifting the box up in your unsteady fingers, still looking anywhere but in his eyes, “I was about to order one, it's like you read my mind.”

You didn’t intend for it to sound as sad as it did.

No matter how much he tried to play it cool, and how much you tried justifying yourself– you knew he didn’t deserve to pack the full Thai spread, which he had cooked especially for you, in tupperware and share it with his neighbors instead. 

He stepped in closer, his running shoes nudging against your fuzzy slippers. 

“We can talk about this, you know?” his fingers tips brushed against your twitching ones.��

It made him notice the rings you were wearing, and the glint of your two chain necklace peeking from between your hoodie and skin.

Strange, he thought, you only wore accessories when you thought you needed courage, like when you had to attend your first frat party at Jun's.

Something about the delicate elegance of jewelry calmed your nerves, equipped you with power. 

You didn’t say anything for many seconds, just stared at him with your big doe eyes—unblinking—like you didn’t want the sincerity of his expression and the ease he had created around you to disappear for even a moment. 

It cracked something within him, because he could see the clench of your jaw and the hollow of your neck. You were straining yourself from saying what mattered. From showing him the places that hurt. 

The growing cold in your fingers told him that you wouldn’t say anything anytime soon. So he took charge like he often did for you. Not because he thought you couldn’t carry this conversation, or whatever it was that he was borrowing from your shoulders…but because he could see it whenever you were struggling and didn’t want your knees to buckle with the weight of it. 

There’s a fine line between patronizing and caring. And Mingyu had never crossed it. 

“I am sorry if you felt abandoned by me at Suri’s party.” he said, “I want you to know that it was never my intention to make you feel left out, baby. I just wanted to catch up with my buddies and thought that I tried including you, but apparently it didn’t communicate well.”

Then, both his palms came up to cup your face with reverence, soft cheeks spilling out from the faint gaps between his fingers. “So I am sorry if I hurt you. And yeah, this afternoon sucked. But we can move past that.”

He wanted to say more, assure you more. But, your brows furrowed deep and your lips parted like you were bewildered…like you had expected him to unravel you right then and there but he gloriously missed the shot. 

“What…Mingyu, nooo” you uttered, “no, of course not. I know you didn’t…I didn’t feel left out or anything, told you so myself that I didn’t wanna join you guys. And of course, it was her birthday…you wouldn’t neglect her. You shouldn’t neglect anyone on such occasions."

It was his turn to mirror your perplexity now.

He dropped his hands to his side, pocketing one of them. “Then what is it that is making you seem so” he searched for the right word to describe what he saw in you at that moment, “…gutted?” 

You snorted at that, or at least tried to. “I just had a bad day and I hate what I did to you…standing you up on lunch, I mean.” 

You spoke in a way that told him you didn’t want to prolong this more. So he chose to believe you, despite the fact that your eyes had averted again and he could sense that this wasn’t an entirely honest answer. 

He just pulled you forward until you were smothered in his chest, again. “It's alright,” he whispered in the calming coconut scent of your hair, “just pay me back with twice the afternoons you promised.”

Even if you couldn’t see his face, you knew that he was grinning ear to ear—playful and relieved.

You pushed away, slightly enough for him to see you bat your lashes at him, but still close enough for the strands of your freshly washed hair to stay stuck to his hoodie. 

“How about I pay you back with something better?” 

The amalgamation of your shy voice with that suggestive offer was lethal and had him take a deep breath to calm down. A breath which you snatched away from him when you bit down on your bottom lip. 

“But first, let's eat.” you giggled.

“Brat.” he mumbled. 

The dinner was a blur of arguments over what to watch on your run down laptop and updates about his basketball match with Dokyeom earlier in the evening.

You told him about the shopping, not in significant details because you were planning to rather show him just why it was unlike any other sprees you had been on. 

And now he was half lying on your bed turned on his side with a folded arm supporting his head on his fist. 

His hair, wet from his recent shower, dripped on your pillow. He was shirtless, just wearing a pair of sweats which he had left here last week. His free palm occasionally patted your favorite worn out teddy which looked freakishly small in front of his naked chest.

One of his legs dangled down a little off the mattress because he was just too tall to fit it full, while the other was propped folded up allowing him to drum his fingers on his knee as he waited for you, facing your bathroom. 

Inside the said bathroom, you were sweating buckets. You tried not to look at the curve of your thigh which you had never let Mingyu see unless you were naked on his bed.

Now, the twin curves on either side peeked from under the dress whose hem ended too up for your usual taste. 

“Still waiting for my top model.” You heard Mingyu call out from your room. 

His persuasive eagerness cajoled you to step out. 

Your fingers fidgeted around the hem, pinching and twisting. But then you remembered that Giselle had scolded you from doing that when you had first tried it on so you flinched your hands away like the fabric had torched them. 

This was the first outfit and you wanted it to land softly before the buildup towards increasing riskiness began.

You anticipated him to react like it was just another new dress. 

You didn’t expect him to notice the shorter hem, the deeper neckline that dipped at your cleavage in a v, the flimsier fabric that fell over your body like spring.

But with his jaw hanging low, it was safe to assume that he did. 

He composed himself by jerking his head as if that would clear his head of all the unholy thoughts brimming in it, “God baby, this is already…woah, you’re gonna kill me with your beauty.” 

It made you smile and give him a twirl. The fabric swished around your legs, kissing them soft. He clutched his chest with his palm, swooning dramatically on your small bed. 

“Okay, next one.” You announced, loaded with a newfound thrill. 

You had to put on the thigh-high boots Yunjin had forced you to purchase for the next one because you refused to leave most of your skin bare by pairing it up with the kitten heels like they told you to. 

It was a black miniskirt—your first one ever.

Short enough to expose your business if you bent, but low enough to hide the safety shorts underneath. 

It was shorter than the first dress and you debated if the cropped, ribbed top meant to go with it would be too much.

You took the executive decision of disobeying the girls and switched the top for a white t-shirt. You further knotted and tucked it under your bra for a better silhouette. 

It was simple, looked like an outfit someone would wear to lecture if they had dance club practice scheduled immediately afterwards. 

But you weren’t a dancer, neither were you a fan of how faintly the pudgy ripples of flesh in your inner thighs jiggled every time you took a step in this skirt. 

The only aspect of this outfit which kept you grounded were the thigh highs which stretched well just above your knee. You had expected your upper thighs to bulge ridiculously out at the top of them. But they didn’t, not ridiculously at least. 

Despite your brooding predicament which was shaped like two lumpy logs of wood wrapped in bacon, as you called them, Mingyu was waiting for you outside. 

So you huffed out, slapping on a fake pout when you reemerged.

Avoiding his eyes like a plague, you twirled as soon as you could. Bad move, your teeth clenched. The twirl had caused the skirt to whip around in air, making it ride up just enough to show more of your legs. 

When you couldn’t avoid it anymore, you faced him, heart thumping in your throat. He wasn’t looking at your face, not yet, but you could see him blink several times at your legs. 

‘God, he thinks they’re hideous too.’ you thought and tried looking for clues of disgust.

You wanted to bolt back inside the bathroom, put on your biggest sweatpants and throw him out. 

Had you paid closer attention to the slight crease in his forehead, which only appeared when he was trying to figure something out, you would have understood that he wasn’t judging your legs.

Rather, he was examining them with curiosity.

If only he could read his mind which was running at a thousand thoughts per second, you’d know that he was only trying to find out if you were clenching your knees. If any of this was causing discomfort to race in your nerves. 

But then he looked up, and you couldn’t help but ask, “What do you think?”

Your throat felt like it was stuffed with sand. 

His face broke into a smile, a lazy one. Too trapped up in your own cage of shame and self loathing, you didn’t see the way he was grinding down on his lower lip—not until he let it go, red and abused.

“Babe…this is so hot.” he sighed, voice laced with seduction and something deeper. “Please make the boots a regular affair?” 

“Really?” you blinked, unbelieving. 

He was trying too hard not to shift in a manner that could make his semi hard bulge visible to you. But you looked too caught up in your head, obviously embarrassed, to be paying attention to anything but his words.

“I swear…” he almost groaned, “those look so good on you. And the skirt…’m so close to ripping it off of you baby.”

“Not yet!” you squealed, staggering back into the bathroom. “There are three more I wanna show you.”

“The night is all yours sweetheart.” his chuckle dimmed when you shut the door. 

What started as one of the many cheeky little fashion shows you did as a couple, a comical ritual at best, was turning into something strange. It knocked against his temples like an uncomfortable pendulum.

Something he couldn’t exactly put his finger on…You weren’t giggly, excited, or even a bit playful like you used to be at these things. 

The hesitant spinning, the reluctant drag of your feet like you didn’t want to leave the bathroom in the first place and show him what you wore…was so unlike you. 

And he saw you too clearly to call this timidness. No, this was raw shame. 

He knew that you weren’t just a shy person, but someone who thought everything she did was embarrassing. 

So for you to be acting so out of character by wearing things you never wore was certainly a bit bizarre.

But he didn’t comment on it, not when his ration tried to reason it out as you trying out something new for yourself. And he would rather swallow shards of glass than say something that could dim you down with doubt. 

But the flutter of your knees, too evident even under those dark boots…it didn’t leave his mind. 

For the first time since he had outgrown his awkward teenage years, Mingyu was experiencing being turned on and being confused at the same time. 

The bathroom door clicked open once again and you stepped out of the sterile lights into the warm yellow glow of your bedroom. This time, you had a pink pair of Juicy Couture shorts and a black bralette on. 

You turned around too soon, again, like you couldn’t face him anymore. But hid that embarrassment under the pretense of showing off the studded “juicy” written all up your ass. 

This one was more of a gag. You didn’t even think the girls were going to make you buy it when they had you put it on. 

Right now, the only explanation Mingyu could offer to someone who asked him what gave him the power to remain in his place and not pounce right on you to smack that juicy butt, it would be that Kratos himself was blessing him with strength. 

‘I am gonna tear them off your body.’ he wanted to say. 

Some variation of ‘you’re killing me’ he ended up saying. 

Ten more minutes of you struggling to fit inside of it and avoiding the bathroom mirror at all costs. Another outfit, this time a sheer lacy dress dress with matching innerwear that resembled a swimsuit. 

“Gonna wear this one to the 8 am lecture.” you joked, choking down the uncomfortable tears prickling behind your lids. 

“Oh hell nah,” he was sitting up now, legs and arms hugging your pillow because your lingering perfume on it relieved him. “Not unless you want me to be expelled on grounds of being violent towards anyone who even dared to look at you in this.”

“You’re a dramatic puppy.”

“You’re insanely sexy and unaware of it.” 

“I am taking this off.”

“Please don’t, please come sit on my lap….baby I will die if you don’t right now.” he whimpered. 

You could see the veins on his forearms getting prominent when his grip around your pillow strained tighter. 

Your body begged you to follow his command by throbbing at all the wrong places.

You felt exhausted without even doing anything significantly physical. 

But exerting whatever courage your humble body contained to smile and spin for him in dresses that made you feel like you weren’t even in your body anymore, just an onlooker crouching down in the dark corner of the room, was tiring enough. 

Succumbing to the warmth of his body was alluring, but not powerful enough to distract you from doing what you thought needed to be done. 

“Just one last dress, Mingyu.” you whispered, eyes rimming pink. 

He caught it, of course he did. But you blinked rapidly and turned around, disappearing into the bathroom again. 

Mingyu’s concern for you was inflating with each dress getting bolder, though he didn’t try to show it much. 

Your room, which once smelt like vanilla and coffee grounds, now reeked of burnt out nerves and shame when you finally walked out in the last dress.

Trembling fingers locked behind, shoulders taut and out for display with nothing but the frail thread like straps holding it all together. 

A red dress.

Eerie resemblance to the one worn by Suri. 

High slits on either side, ones which had reached her hips, looked like they had been stretched on you—not by your body, but by your fingers which might have twisted them or tried knotting them to cover the skin which glowed, exposed.

It had been about an hour since this fashion show of yours started, a ritual of humiliation you planned for yourself.

And by this point, with this final dress clawing at your body, your underlying intentions about this entire ordeal were not hidden anymore. 

It hit Mingyu like an uncontrolled truck on a highway.

It was never about his time or attention at the party.

It was about the dress, this dress. 

His limbs functioned on their own accord—abandoning the pillow on the bed, he crossed the room in long strides and stood before you, clutching your shoulders as you continued staring at him with eyes wide yet hauntingly blank. 

It was like you weren’t even with him anymore. Weren’t even aware of what was on your body. Just a thought, a question, a need for approval. 

Mingyu couldn't stand seeing the girl who had made him want to change for better standing like a shrunken version of herself, in clothes that itched on her delicate body.

Cold, detached, waiting for the validation of an idiot who was so in love with her that it sometimes physically hurt.

And he hated that he might have had some part to play in the dethroning of your pride.

“Do I look as amazing as her?” 

You were wearing vulnerability like an armour, like it was the only thing that fit you tonight. 

He didn’t answer, just a repeated murmur of, “baby…love…God, no don't do this…” as he grabbed the blanket and wrapped it over your shoulders. 

Your self sabotage had misconstrued his “Wow Suri, you look wonderful” into something more honest than “I’d give anything right now to wipe my memory so that I could experience seeing you in those shorts for the first time all over again.”

“How do I look, Mingyu!?” you asked, a little louder this time like you were tired of pretending his compliment to Suri had bounced off. It never did. 

“Beautiful.” Mingyu said, face bare and serious while he forced your eyes on him. “Look at me. You always look beautiful, no matter what. You don’t have to dress up like othe—”

“But why do I hate my legs so much…?” Your voice had gone impossibly small. Streaks of something wet were staining your cheeks.

“I don’t know my love, your legs are perfect like the rest of you…we’ll talk about it, but not like this.” His fingers were already fumbling around the wretched red dress under the blanket. 

The dress was objectively, jaw droppingly hot. And you looked delicious in it. But Mingyu couldn’t bear seeing it touch your skin—the skin which deserved all his love and reverence. It looked like it was slicing at your pride.

He finally unzipped it, pushed down the straps. The dress pooled down around your ankles like it was already tired of doing its job. 

“He’d be so shocked when he sees you wearing this.” Giselle had giggled a mere few hours ago when you paid for this dress. 

“I think he’d be disgusted at my cheap jealousy.” you had mumbled, loud only for yourself to hear. 

You search him for that said look of disgust and disdain. But all you found was hurt.

Pain in his hands which held you up like if they didn’t, you’d perish in thin air.

Pain in his voice that pleaded you not to do this to yourself.

Pain in his heart, which hammered against your naked chest. 

The blanket around your shoulders slipped when you stretched your arms to cling on him. And with it, all the weight you had been carrying since the last thirty odd hours came off as well. 

One of his arms was latched onto your lower back, the only thing still keeping the blanket half wrapped on you. While his other hand found solace in your hair, angling your head so that he could kiss all the skin accessible to him while mumbling apologies and adulations. 

Not buttering, not going an extra mile to make it right. Just his plain, honest thoughts about you. 

You weren’t overwhelmed by his words. But you also wanted him to just shut up and kiss you on the lips. When he didn’t get the hint, even after you tried sneaking one peck on the corner of his blabbering mouth, you took things in your own hands and locked his lips with your scorching, open ones. 

He was caught off guard for a moment, his words still lingering on his tongue which was now supposed to get used to yours gliding against it all of a sudden.

He melted, almost mashing his lips with yours. 

Teeth, tongues, whimpers…your bodies had kept count of every hour which had passed without each other. And they wanted to compensate for it by pouring all that built-up fervour into this kiss. 

When his hand shifted from your lower back to sprawl over the expanse of your shoulders to pull you up closer, it caused the blanket to completely fall down and join the red dress on the floor. 

His neck ached from being craning too low, so he groaned in your mouth like an animal and just lifted you up until your toes hovered over the ground. You shuddered and arched towards him, letting yourself be grappled by him like a doll. 

Your fingers raked in his hair when you pulled apart, just enough to give yourself the room to say what you wanted to say, a string of saliva still linking your mouths. Your toes met the ground, though still stretching up. 

“Make me forget everything that happened today,” you begged, “the lunch, the lies, whatever the hell this was…”

“You sure?” he whispered, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing circles on your cheek. 

“Positive.” you answered, certain and surer than you had ever been. 

A hiccup interrupted you, but you continued regardless, “I need you to remind me that I don’t have to do any of this to earn your love.”

If it wasn’t for your words, that tiny hiccup was enough to undo him. 

“You don’t, you really don’t.” he kissed both your eyelids shut and scooped you up.

You weren’t trembling anymore, neither were you burning hot with the fever of humiliation like before. If anything, it felt like your body was mellowing under his touch.

Like you were listening to your favorite poem after being stuck at a rave all night.

Like this was all that mattered, this moment…your body hitting the creaky mattress…his chest blocking your view of the ceiling…his hands, those damn hands, already parting your thighs to show him what throbbed for him. 

One of his hands smoothed over the valley between your breasts to distract you from the fact that he had accidentally ripped your panties while pulling them off. 

“I heard that!” you commented, referring to the obvious sound of stitches tearing. 

“I underestimated my strength against their fragility.” 

He hovered over you, planting both his palms on either side of your head and dipped down to reclaim your lips before you could scold him again. 

“I am tired of you ruining my underwear…” you tried your best to complain, even when he was nibbling at that sensitive spot right under your ear.

“I ruin them?” he seemed baffled, his nose brushing against your slightly damp cheek. “You’re the one always creaming them.”

“And whose fault is that?” you shot back. 

God, you wished you were this confident all the time and not only when a giant puppy was lapping at your skin like you were his favorite candy. 

He snickered, muttered a quick thanks, before trailing his lips soaked with your shimmery pink gloss and saliva down your neck.

He kissed the hickie he had left yesterday at the party before clamping his suction grip down on it again. 

You withered under him, a guttural moan echoed through the room. It reminded you of the paper thin walls of your dorms and how the bio major living next door was going to give you a stink eye the next day if you didn’t shut up. 

But you were so sensitive. And Mingyu was so relentless. 

You had no choice but to chomp down on your wrist when he found a new spot, just above your nipple, to savor on. 

Your buds had already perked up, waiting for his attention. Something about him sucking on your nipples always made the warmth between your legs leak like a faucet. 

He cupped both your breasts, giving them a firm squeeze before taking one of the rosy nubs in his mouth. Tongue tied, you let your head bury deeper into your pillow as Mingyu grated his tongue against your aching nipples, teasing and tickling until your throat closed up. 

“Shit, shit, shit…” you began rubbing yourself on his clothed thigh parked between your parted legs. 

Some other day, Mingyu would have restrained you by stilling your hips with force. But tonight, he let you do whatever you wanted. 

You pulled away, cursing. He could have nursed on your breasts for several more minutes had it not been for the fabric of his sweatpant getting disgustingly wet from his own leaking precum and from your sensual gyrating. 

He removed them in one tug, tossing them somewhere on your gossamer rug. The brief break from his heady presence allowed you the space to breathe in the muggy air, but it didn’t last long because he was above you again. 

Bleary eyed, almost animalistic. 

This time, he didn’t lean down to worship your body with his mouth. Sitting up on his haunches, he exhaled with a low hum as his large palms roved over your knees, sliding his hands down over your thigh until they finally settled on your hips. 

“Mingyu…?” you didn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but he was staring for too long and that…confused you. 

His eyes flickered towards you, dark and fluid, then back to your lower body. 

“You are so unbelievable, y/n.” he spoke and with an unexpected force, jerked your legs farther than he had ever done causing you to yelp, “so…so, fucking unbelievable.”

With each word, he leaned down more and more. By the time it registered to you that he didn’t mean those words to sound so condescending, his breath was already fanning against your drenched core. 

“So fucking unreasonable for thinking that this is ugly,” a chaste kiss that shouldn’t have stayed as long as it did was planted on your inner thigh “or this…” your hip was the next target.

“How can you…” he wanted to rebuke you for the act you pulled earlier.

But your scent was too intoxicating, too inviting.

And his lips chose to betray his mind by pressing down on your open cunt instead of finishing that sentence.

A scream tore from your lips as he began kissing your core the same way he made out with your lips.

Eager, slow, wet...almost desperate.  

The back of your thighs were pressed to his biceps and trapped by his veiny forearms in a deadlock that disallowed every wiggle, each twitch. 

The only mercy he showed you was permitting your grip on his hair—something to keep you from slipping into a world where nothing mattered but him. 

You realized that your teeth would draw blood if you continued muffling your moans by biting your wrist, so you turned your head around on your plump pillow and bit on it instead. 

The sounds your cunt made in response to his hungry licks were nothing but debauched. You tried clenching around something or nothing, as if that would stop the hot juices from streaming down your holes, drenching the linen sheet underneath. 

Mingyu saw it and couldn’t help himself from chuckling, it vibrated against the most reactive part of you. You were just so cute when you tried like that.

To think that you could control yourself to any degree when he was doing to you all the things that would put even the best selling pornstars to shame. 

He ripped his lips apart from suckling on your clit with an audible smack. 

And then, you heard him spit on you before you felt the thick, hot glob of his saliva dribble down from your little clitoris, soaking your fluttering petals until it mixed with the weeping fluids soaking your ass. 

He dove in again, but this time his intention wasn’t limited to kissing, nibbling and sucking on your folds. He lapped at you like a parched dog smearing the sinister mix of fluid all over your cunt, even sullying your inner thighs with it. 

All while you were trying not to rip out chunks of your pillow with your teeth. 

Something probed at your entrance, wet and soft. He was coaxing you to allow his tongue in. 

By now, you should know the gig. He had fucked you limp too many times for you to not too. He’d first open you up with his tongue, then make you comfortable on the thickness of his fingers before scissoring them around to stretch you well enough to take his cock in a new position that’d make him go deeper than he had any previous times. 

Yet, no amount of preparation or practice could ever dull the feverish ache in your belly. 

His tongue had wriggled inside your heat now, making the white, translucent cream gloss his lips as his nose nudged your clit with expert precision. 

He hadn’t stopped moaning at your taste and your ability to get so drenched, so quick. And if his tongue didn’t make you forget your name tonight, those vibrations sure as hell would. 

Unprepared like always, your body orgasmed without giving your head a warning. Your teeth let go of the pillow as you yelled out his name. 

A prayer, an appeal, a demand. 

You were pulling at his hair to get him out of there.

He responded to your fervor by clenching his eyes shut and pressing his face even closer to your folds. 

You don’t know what gave you the energy, but you pulled yourself up on your elbows, chest heaving and mouth hanging limp as you begged. “Mingyu please…”

He shook his head in between your thighs, like he was denying your empty pleas. You were swollen and oversensitive to his touch now, but his broad tongue persisted with those flat strokes, a playful little nibble here and there. Your clit was abused with overuse by the time he pulled apart. 

His body still didn’t budge from its rigid position though. Just a slight change, where he let go of your left thigh which plopped down on the mattress, listless. 

He was going to use that arm to elongate the torture. 

Your pussy was still fluttering, trying to recover from the previous orgasm, when he plunged a finger inside your hole. His thumb, rough and fat, began teasing your clit to tempt your walls to make space, to let his another coarse finger join its companion. 

It made you curse at him for never wearing gloves while lifting weights at the gym.

“Mingyu!” you cried out, but he was too fascinated watching your cunt swallow his fingers whole and return them drenched and dirty. 

His pace quickened making the squelching grow louder and louder until some of it squirted past his fingers, landing onto your thighs and his lips. 

“Baby, look!” he scoffed, “look how messy it is.” 

Your palms dug deeper in your face at that. You had long let go of urging him to pull away by yanking at his hair, you knew he wouldn’t stop until he wanted to. 

So you continued to whimper, flailing your free leg around. Sometimes, your heel would prod and push at his strapping shoulder—a sorry effort to make him stop playing with your cunt like that. 

It was your third orgasm which stroked some sympathy in him because you had begun crying from the overwhelming pleasure. 

Having stretched your walls, and vandalized them with enough lubrication to feel assured that you could take him with ease, he got up. 

Large hands with soaked fingers massaged your thighs again. This time, not to warn you of what was about to come, but to help settle down the goosebumps. 

“Water?” he asked.

Thorns were scratching at your throat when you attempted to speak so you resorted to nodding the best you could. Your head felt heavy and light at the same time. 

When you opened your eyes, you saw him uncapping the bottle from your nightstand, and when you shut them close, you saw the images of him smirking from between your legs. 

You had given up on suppressing your cries sometimes midway through the second orgasm. It wasn’t that you were suddenly inconsiderate of the bio major next door, but because you had lost track of time and space. 

You didn’t even know where you were anymore. 

His bed? Your bed? The floor? The couch in the club?

Make me forget—you had asked him to. 

And make you forget, he did. 

Some liquid spilled between your lips. Oh, yeah, the water. 

“Open up baby.” you felt like he was repeating that sentence, but you wondered when he said it the first time. 

He heard you wheeze a little when the plastic met your bitten raw lips. It was impossible to ascertain what angry marks on those swollen pink petals belonged to him, and which ones were your own doing.  

Once you had gulped down a significant amount of water, you felt the invisible chains, which had been restricting your limbs, loosen a little. 

The first thing you did when you could move them was stretch your arms, extending them as an invitation for the boy massaging your legs with stars in his eyes. 

Wordlessly, he caved in, pressing his head gently on your breasts and nearly crushing you with his weight. Your fingers found his hair again, this time to soothe his scalp which you had pulled and scratched raw.  

Dating someone as large as Mingyu was fun until you had him in your personal space. Because now, it seemed like there was a calf in your bed with you. 

Your legs shifted instinctually and you heard an agonizing whimper before you felt something heavy dig right above your knee. You stilled. 

“Gyu…” you called out in the dark. 

He didn’t answer, just nuzzled his nose deeper into the plumpness of your chest like he hadn’t wanted you to find out that just eating you out got him hard as a rock. 

When a pearl of something liquid, something warm, hit your skin and you jerked away like it was lava, he began sitting up. 

“We don’t have to…” he assured, creating some space between your bodies that you so undesired. 

“Get back here!” 

“No, I really need you to think about it.” he licked his lips, “you look so exhausted.”

He was trying hard to hold back but his eyes betrayed him when they flickered to the source of all his anguish, his throbbing dick…

…and you both knew that just him and his fist in your bathroom couldn’t placate it tonight.

“I am not tired.” you spoke, earnestly. 

Sure, your limbs ached from twisting and pushing around so much and your spine already felt like it could use some cracking. But that didn’t mean you wanted him to stop any of this halfway. There was no heaviness tugging at your eyelids and there was a fire roaring inside of you. Fire that could only be satiated by him. 

The only portion of his body you could touch was his forearm which was smoothing over your side. So you gently wrapped your fingers around it, bringing his palm to your face. You kissed it once before nestling your cheek on it. 

“I need to feel you, Gyu.” you batted your lashes at him. His eyes, dark and ravenous, were already watching your actions carefully, when you wrapped your lips around his thumb.

The same thumb which had been flicking at your nub and now you were sucking on it while giving him those bashful eyes. 

“Fuck, don’t beg like that.” he exhaled like that would save him from the torment you were shoving him in. 

His thumb traced the velvet of your tongue but you pushed it out with a pop. 

“Gyu, please…need your cock to fill me up so bad.” you pouted. 

That fucking pout…you could be telling him to burn the whole world down and he’d do that thoughtlessly if your sweet, small lips puckered up like that. 

A groan of your name spoken like it was the holiest prayer in the world before he kissed you again. 

Miraculously, your limbs still had the energy to apply some pressure around his body as they coiled over his neck and waist. There was no logical explanation to it, but you had learnt not to question miracles when they landed in your lap (or squeezed over your hips).

His hand was still cupping your cheek when he deepened the kiss. You could taste a familiar sour tinge coating his tongue which wasn’t there when he kissed you the first time.

Your taste. 

While he fished around in your drawer where he knew you kept the condoms, you hummed in his mouth, as if savoring your own aftertaste. 

You giggled at those thoughts. It had him break the dance of his lips against yours to search your face with adoration instead.

“What is it?” he enquired, smiling fondly down at you. 

You shook your head and giggled again. You had embarrassed yourself enough already…admitting that you liked kissing him more after he had eaten you out was mortifying. 

The faint golden glow the fairy lights curled around your bedpost illuminated the slight curve of his brows. He looked so harmless and boyish like this, surveying your laughter with wonder. 

It was a devastating contradiction because you knew what was about to come. 

You heard it in the crinkling tear of the plastic wrapper between his quivering lips—impatient and urgent. And in the vigor with which he palmed his length before rolling the rubber on. 

You braced yourself for all of it—the passion, the stretch, the force.

You turned your body around, intending to roll over on your stomach and getting on your knees and elbows when he stopped you by holding your shoulder.

“No, I want you like this.” he demanded and you obliged, falling back on your back. 

This was new, you both preferred it when he fucked you from behind. The position made it seamless for him to piston in and out of you at whatever pace he wanted without much restriction. The salacious slamming of his hips against your ass was an added bonus. 

Regardless, you wrapped your legs around his slim, chiseled waist, locking your heels on his lower back as he began rubbing his length up and down your slick.

You hissed with pleasure of being touched like that, but something just didn’t feel right.

It could be more real, more raw. 

“Mingyu remove the condom.” 

His eyes shifted up from your needy cunt creaming around him to your obscene eyes at this vile request. 

“Remove the condom…” you nearly sobbed, not wanting to repeat yourself but doing so regardless because he was still hesitating. “....no, not with the condom…”

It took you wringing your head from side to side and arching your back impossibly for him to roll the condom off and settle back in his position.

Your eager hole immediately wrapped around the tip when he tried lubricating himself against you. 

“Greedy…so fucking greedy,” he reprimanded. “My sweet little baby, always so wet and tight for me.”

Your face burned at his comments, but all you could do was moan pathetically as he began pushing in.

Your voice got louder with each additional inch. In this very public dorm, you should have controlled it…or at least, tried to. 

But you didn’t because he was so damn big! And you were ready to fight anyone who called you out for screaming so loud by challenging them to fit something so big inside themselves without turning into a puddle of blubbering mess. 

Where were your morals? Where was your pride? Common sense? 

When you arched to adjust better, and he took the opportunity to glide his hands under to squeeze your ass as he settled in balls deep inside of you, you got the answer to all your questions.

All in the palms of his fucking hands. 

“Hush baby…stop screaming so much.”

Just like you, he didn’t want the annoying bio major to lodge another complaint against you with the RA, so he swallowed your moans by mashing your lips with his. 

He knew just how sensitive you were—always reaching out to hold hands, apologizing to inanimate objects when you bumped into them by accident, petting the corner of your books before closing them with a silent goodbye—and that sensitivity transcended into your sexuality too. 

You often had a hard time controlling yourself in bed but you could always rely on his vigil awareness and steady presence. 

Looking after all your needs, giving you what you needed and stopping when he knew he should even when you begged him not to. 

His hands raked all over your soft body as you kissed him back, soft and shy. The gentle curves of yours pressing into his hard muscles drove him to a point of insanity. 

“Y/n you’re gonna kill me…god, what a way to go.” he broke away from your lips.

“Mingyu don’t say that!” you blubbered.

He drew back halfway before thrusting back in. Your voice against his lips got louder. He repeated that action, sometimes slow and deep sometimes fast and hard, until you got used to his massive girth and size—clinging on to him when he pulled out and clenching hard when he thrust back in. 

The bedpost thumped against the wall and the mattress squeaked like its springs were about to break when he lost control for a few seconds and fucked you wild, trying to hit the spot he knew too well…the spot he had abused with his fingers just a few minutes ago. 

Your body recoiled when he finally nudged it and you broke the kiss again to cry out instead.

Ecstatic, he confirmed if it was the right spot by hitting it with calculated deliberation over and over again. 

He didn't care how loud the bed banged against the wall, creating visible dents, or how your little body was being pushed deeper and deeper into the bed as he fucked you like that. All he wanted was for you to say it.

“Right here, baby?” he asked each time he bumped into it, “This is the spot, right?”

Each time, you cried out louder until there were actual tears running down your temples into your sweaty hair and drool—yours and his—dribbling down the left side of your cheek. 

“Mingyu…” you sobbed, “Mingyu…” like it was the only thing you knew. Because at that moment, maybe you did. 

You gasped when his hand grasped your neck, applying minimal pressure, and slowly brushed his thumb along your jawline. His face was buried in the mattress right by your ear which was ringing as he choked you. 

You felt him tilt his head and sigh, breathing into your hair. 

“You are so beautiful,” he admired so softly, like his cock wasn’t bullying the most delicate parts of you so erotically, “so sweet, so pretty…all mine.”

He kept hitting your sensitive spot, rubbing his crotch against your raw folds and thrusting in and out of your leaking heat which was releasing waves after waves of pleasure until your abdomen tightened with hurting buildup. 

You mewled and keened when he snaked his arm between your tangled bodies to rub circles around your clitoris. 

“S’okay baby, just wanna make you feel good.” he cooed seeing you struggle. 

The efforts it took for you to keep your legs locked around him ran out under the vile administrations of his dick and fingers.

Your legs fell limp on either side of his hips which were jutting in and out of you at an obscene pace. 

Rough, fast, primal, deep.

He noticed that and ripped his fingers away from your clitoris to hook his arms around your knees instead. He pulled them up near your chest as much as your flexibility allowed and kept them there—folded and steady–with his giant palms sprawled all over the back of your thighs. 

“Is this okay, y/n? Can i fuck you like this?” He asked, stilling a little. 

You frantically nodded, “Y-yes Mingyu, please…please don’t stop...close, close…”

Your incoherence wasn’t an obstacle for him to understand what you meant by those last words.

He knew your release was just around the corner, he could feel it in the pressure your throbbing walls were applying around his dick, like your cunt wanted to milk him for all he was worth right then and there. 

It made him smile like a cat who just ate the canary. “You’re squeezing me like you want me to fill your tummy with my cum, is that what you want, hmm, naughty girl?”

A feminine scream echoed through your room when he began fucking your snug pussy in this new position, stretching you so deliciously that you felt like he would split you wide open. 

The orgasm which hit you was violent to say the least. It wrecked you of any ability to think or speak until your mind was nothing but an ocean of hot white lust. 

What was the most concerning was his damning persistence, wouldn’t relent his pace at all even when you had squirted all over him, drenching his crotch and the blankets underneath. 

Now aiming for his own release, he continued slamming deep and hard into you.

“Sorry, sorry, so sorry baby but I gotta…argh…” his voice sounded painful when you wept in his neck, hugging him from under his arms which were planted on either sides of your pillow. 

“Its okay…” you hiccuped, “its okay Mingyu, I love you so much.”

“Say that again my love,” he begged, pressing his sweaty forehead with yours, “please say that again.”

“I love you.” You whispered, holding back a sob which ached in your throat.

“Say my name too…i wanna..fuck, it sounds so good when you say it.”

“Mingyu…Mingyu….I love you so much Mingyu…please come inside me baby, I am going to break…” you arched until your breasts were smushed against his solid chest. 

That undid him. 

He kissed you like he wanted to eat your lips–biting, swallowing, savoring. While down there, his dick pumped ropes after ropes of his shooting semen inside your heat. 

“God y/n, I love…I love you so much.” he mewled, “you know that, right? You know how much I love you. No? You don’t have to…fuck, you could be wearing a fucking potato sack and I’d still make love to you like its the last time I get to touch you…”

You couldn't believe he was really talking about you wearing potato sacks while coming so deep inside of you.

Mingyu always rambled too much every time he’d come. And his chatterbox was just unstoppable when he was coming inside of you, raw and unhinged. 

You answered by burying your nose in his chest which even after having been soaked and splattered with sweat—yours and his—still smelt like warm earth and fresh citrus. 

He slumped against you, spent and grateful. His hips had begun slowing down, fucking whatever come had seeped out back in and keeping it plugged down there.

When he did stop moving, and it was only your breaths and the whirring of the fan which could be heard in your room, he still didn’t remove himself from you. 

“Pull out.” you hoarsed.

“Pull out? Do you not love me anymore?” it was his turn to pout at you now as he nuzzled in your neck, kissing your sweat soaked earring. 

He did pull out eventually, carried you to the bathroom, helped you clean up and then left you soaking in the warm bathtub while he changed your sheets after another quick shower. 

The fan was turned off, you preferred the ventilation of the open window more. It brought in the cool breeze along with the calming scent of magnolias abundant on the campus.

Below your broken window, campus life buzzed—people getting in and out of the dorms, some getting ready for a party while some complaining about how noisy it was in the library that day. It was the kind of commotion that would coerce one to do something. Anything. 

Any other day, you would have caved in by either grabbing your books for an all nighter at the library or a pair of heels to crash some party. Maybe just a walk around the campus. 

But tonight, you were content with where you were, lying boneless and pink on Mingyu’s chest.

Your head rested on one of his pecs while your teddy lay on the other like he was a mattress in himself. The comfiest, coziest one. He occasionally patted your hair some times, caressing the teddy clutched in your fingers the others. 

You thought it would ruin the night, talking about what happened earlier. But it didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

The words weren’t lodged in your throat now, they were sitting ready at the tip of your tongue, ready to spill out for him. 

“Mingyu?”

“Mhmm?”

“Do you hate me for what I did?” 

A beat. Something crackled on the pavement outside, or maybe that was his chest. You took a breath, drawing strength from the magnolias. 

“Why would I?” The way he proposed that question, like it was up to you to do any explaining or leave it at that, shrinked your doubts even more. 

He wasn’t ridiculing you for thinking what you thought, or pushing you to give him reasons to hate you. Just plain genuine curiosity about what reigned your thoughts. 

“I dunno…because I was weak?”

He didn’t even wait for a moment before answering like he already anticipated that question and had a reply for it at the back of his hand.

“You did what you thought was the bravest thing, even when it hurt you. It was careless, yes. But weak? I don’t think so.” 

You let that seep into your skull. It did take you some courage to pull the stunt you pulled, it left you so exhausted…but it was also true that your intentions were reckless. 

Insecure and doubtful of the truest thing you had ever known—his love for you, this was certainly not your proudest moment. 

“I just think you need to be kinder to me, y/n.” he whispered, staring at the corner of the room where plaster was beginning to peel. 

Your heart sank in your gut. 

“Are you saying…are you saying that I am cruel to you, Mingyu?”

God, this wasn’t what you wanted. At all. 

The bail out, the outfits, the persistence…it was all for you. Because you needed space, you needed assurance, you needed to prove something to yourself. 

You never wanted him to be caught between the crossfires of your perception and identity. 

“Yes…" he affirmed, "but not when you stand me up on dates. It's when you let yourself think to the point of misery. When you make assumptions. When you talk to yourself like your biggest hater…"

"...because, i love you so much, y/n. And whoever treats you the way you treat yourself is the most cruel person in my eyes…” he gulped hard, his voice gruffer and deeper than it had ever been.

Like he was holding something back…tears, perhaps, and it was causing him so much pain. 

He continued after gathering his scattering self together, “Please, never put me in that dilemma where I have to fight you to save you. It should never be you and the lies hammered in your head vs me…it should be me and you against them instead."

He strained his neck just a little to capture your watery gaze like a promise. "Let me hold them with you, let me help you battle them…let me show you just how weak they are. They’re all just lies, after all. And you, you’re my little genius who is unfortunately outnumbered against the opinions of others.”

You didn’t know you were crying with your teddy tucked under your jaw, until the wet pool began growing on his chest. His hands were tighter on you now, stilling your rocking shoulders gently. 

He didn’t knacker you to stop crying. Didn’t even talk about anything other than how much he loved you. You slipped in and out of consciousness when you had no tears left to cry. 

That night, you dreamt of a girl who kept on tugging at the edges of her dress in a room choking with faceless people and their angry chatters. She looked hauntingly similar to you, but rounder at the edges which were yet to be formed, more juvenile in age.

Scared and trembling like she was anticipating to hear something which had already gone bad. But no bad news came. 

What came instead, was a boy. Beaming with kindness and dragging her along with a firm hand wrapped around her soft wrist. The girl kept trying to look back inside the room they had just emerged out of. But the boy kept on running, trying to match her slower pace and distracting her with the sun and the flowers. 

By the time morning rolled around, the room full of faceless people had been reduced to a pinpoint of white in some vast galactic stretch. The girl’s steps weren’t hesitant anymore as she ran away with the boy, chasing birds around magnolia trees, peonies in her hair. 

After that day, you never felt left out or pitied yourself when other girls wore shorts. You joined them, instead. Not all the time, but on days when you felt like confusing your peers into believing you had joined the fiercely stylish dance club.

And every time, Mingyu would be there to hold your hand in your microeconomics class. The one he didn't belong in.

Your favorite juicy shorts stayed, replacing your old cotton pajamas as the thing you wore the most while struggling with statistics in your dorms.

They were surprisingly comfy.

And with them stayed the boots, ones which Mingyu claimed were lethal but also never complained about when you put them on for an occasional brunch with the squad.

You never touched the red dress, though. Joking about donating it to Yunjin and Giselle who could alter it into something new. But you could never get yourself to keep those words.

It hung at the back of your closet, not as a token of shame, but as a memoir of how far you'd risen up from those voices which mocked you in your head.

Every day when you opened your wardrobe to get dressed, you greeted that dress like an old friend you didn't speak to anymore, one who had built your character more than anything ever could.

And on some nights, when you lay with Mingyu, pressed close to his heart, and if he felt too playful, he'd ask you when were you gonna put on the potato sac fashion show for him.

You'd call him an idiot. He'd call you beautiful.

the end. <33 p.s. - i wrote ramen instead of semen at one point and it just reminded me how lost i am when i have to insert a smut scene in a fluffy angsty story all of a sudden. p.p.s. - pls enjoy the moodboard i made for this chapter! <3 you can follow me on pinterest

taglist: @armycarat2612 @scoupswife1234 @mmessier31

let me know if you wanted to be tagged for my upcoming fic "normal people".

[toeskater91]

Stobotnik Fic Recs

For a moment of positivity and sharing, see below for 10 Stobotnik Fic recs.

No fics in this post relate to the Sonic 3 movie.

Please make sure to take note of the tags and ratings if you click through to AO3 to ensure full positive curation of your reading experience. The recommendations vary from General up through Explicit ratings.

Doctor Robotnik makes good on his promise of being home by Christmas - it just took a little longer than expected, and home turned out to be someplace he hadn't considered.

Post Sonic 1 movie fic and Christmas/Holiday themed! I adore this one so much, I've re-read it so many times. The Doctor makes his way back to earth slightly before Christmas and ends up on Stone's new doorstep. The mortifying ordeal of being dependent on your former Agent and navigating how to handle the joy and boundaries of your boss you've greatly missed unexpectedly returning.

"I was actually happy when I found out what had happened to you. I looked you up against my better judgment, fully expecting you to have moved on immediately. Agent Stone, consummate professional, busy making lattes for some other genius." Stone snorted. "My number one attribute, huh?" "You know it. Only reason I kept you around," Robotnik said quietly.

Post Sonic 1 movie fic. Stone ends up imprisoned and Robotnik makes his way back to Earth with a side of rescue. I adore this one a whole lot and the Stone POV throughout is gorgeous.

You have that fanfic or series that takes a passing fandom interest and then once you read it, that interest is now stuck in your brain forever because of how profound an impact it had on you? That's this series and why my Stobotnik spiral really went into play.

It starts pre-film canon and goes through both both Sonic 1 and Sonic 2, then creates its own path for post Sonic 2. It provides such in-depth characterization and growth to both Stone and Robotnik as people and their relationship, its beyond amazing, especially how it weaves into the films as well. Total series is 286k words and my god, it is so, so, so, so, so worth the read. And the 16 parts allow for pacing and breaks.

The Doctor works himself to pieces each time he completes a project. His Agent puts him back together. A reflection on the creation-destruction process, homemade bread, and the intricate rituals of it all. (a.k.a. take an allegory, beat it dead.)

Pre-Canon / No Sonic movie direct interactions. Do you have that fic, that after you read makes you just sit there because of how profound and deep it hit you in your core? That you just sit there in wondered silence as you try and wrap your brain around it? That's this fic, the amount of pieces from the various chapters I want to quote and keep with me forever. The codependency between these two tied into the creative process of the doctor and its aftermath, beyond amazing.

In the process of removing the master emerald from Robotnik, Knuckles and Tails accidentally knock it into Stone's orbit. Or - in which Stone gets a turn with the emerald after Robotnik, and the two them have some time to chew the scenery (and also take out so many G.U.N. goons), because we deserved to see them fight side-by-side longer.

Sonic 2 canon divergence, Stone gets to take a spin with the emerald. Love to see our Agent get a turn to be awesome and deadly.

Before he even met Doctor Robotnik, Agent Stone understood the undeniable rules of being his, and truly, he was his. There was a sense of belonging that came with being around the Doctor as a whole, and it was not one of compassion or comfort like one may feel in a domestic partnership. No, from the briefing he had been given on Robotnik, Stone understood that he would no longer be property of the government once he was assigned to him. Instead, he would be Robotnik’s and Robotnik’s alone, no longer his own, yet nothing to Robotnik either. To the Doctor, he was an object to use and dispose of as he saw fit, and most days, even less. That was rule one.

Pre-Canon / No Sonic movie direct interactions. This fic has amazing pacing and growth. Starts with Stone beginning to work for the Doctor and how they change and grow as his time in this role extends on. This is a beautiful fic that I've given several re-reads. This has some amazing banter and attitude from them both.

Robotnik's very first romantic attachment left him bruised and apathetic towards the concept as a whole, warping his own perception of what it means to take part in any kind of emotional relationship. Thirty years later, he takes a chance on Agent Stone who, with patient hands and raw physical attraction, slowly coaxes Robotnik out of his cybernetic shell and into a whole new world of surprisingly mundane exchanges. Or: that one series where they date like normal people rather than the top secret government assets that they are while making a mockery of the entire country.

Pre-Canon / No Sonic movie direct interactions. I adore this series and how the author portrays Stone and Robotnik. How they growt throughout their relationship and the way they communicate and play off each other is wonderful. Part 5 is Christmas/holiday themed as well.

This is about a lot of things. This is about names and what they mean, this is about the weight of inheritance, this is about bakeries and newspapers and coffee. About homes and lawns and demolished grain silos. This is about a building in Northwest Oregon. This is about Robotnik. This is about Stone. Alone together. or: in less flowery language, its a series of snapshots of robotnik's lab across the years. the way robotnik used to be very alone in it, and the way he eventually wasn't.

Pre-Canon / No Sonic movie direct interactions. This is such a uniquely structured fic, bouncing through multiple times and building the history of the land where the lab that the Doctor works in will / does stand and how they come to work together

Stone's primary objective in life is to keep Robotnik safe and alive, at any cost. Time to find out what the universe is charging him.

Sonic 2 fic with Canon Divergence. Time travel and loops where Stone is determined to ensure the doctor is safe and he can protect him. The time loops and travels are done in such an amazing way as Stone keeps trying, trying, trying. Has a happy ending.

A Doctor for Christmas: The (Not A Hallmark Movie) by EmperorHaruhi

When (former) Canadian hockey player Aban Stone and (current) German Doctor Ivo Robotnik are trapped together in the town of Green Hills, Montana, three days before Christmas by an ice storm, the pair butt heads almost immediately. Can Stone melt the doctor's icy exterior and find the man lurking within? Will Robotnik discover Stone's dark secret, and how will he react? This Christmas, the Hallmark channel (does not) present: A Doctor For Christmas - An international, multi-lingual rom-com for the ages.

Hallmark movie Alternate Universe (AU) fic. This one is beautiful and such a fun spin on these two meeting as strangers thanks to the airlines being struck by the effects of winter weather.

[weirdmageddon]

i posted this on twitter also but it’s still eating at me. i’m so fucking embarrassed to be jewish rn. i dont want to be associated with this ongoing bullshit from israel. why do we need our own state. theyre just making every jew across the globe look bad in general even though many of us are conflicted about zionism and the legitimacy of israel as a state

people have hated jews throughout history for no fuckin reason but now israel exists but now its like. GIVING people reasons to hate us as a group. note that i DON’T conflate zionism with jewishness, but a lot of people in the world don’t know the difference because theyre uninformed and been dripfed cultural antisemitic tropes their whole life and that’s the scary part is them falsely putting two and two together. like what the fuck israel stop youre just putting fuel on the fire for people around the world to hate an entire group of historically persecuted people if youre being this shitty with your insane colonialism and apartheid like……I Want No Fuckin Part Of This. you’re spelling our own doom. you cant just swoop in and go “mine now” and then oppress the people you took land from under a regime without my blood boiling at the injustice no matter WHO you are. even if my lineage is tied to you. so when news outlets support israel it doesn’t feel like they have the best interest of jews as a people in mind. it’s in the interest of a zionist ethnostate and whatever that christian zionism belief is about the jewish people returning to the holy land as prerequisite for the second coming of jesus. its not like they care about us as a dispersed ethnocultural group, it’s all for that religious narrative that a bunch of people in the US are backing.

saying you want all jews to die is antisemitic. beating someone up because they’re jewish and no other reason without knowing their views is antisemitic. criticizing human rights violations perpetrated by israel and the belief that one group deserves more rights another is not antisemitic. and the fact that israel has the ability to pull that antisemitism card in response to criticisms of the violations they commit because their state is the “jewish homeland” drives me fucking insane. take fucking accountability for your actions. and yes, there do exist full-on anti-jewish groups in the middle east that go beyond hatred of israel’s policies and existence as a state and i’m tired of people pretending there aren’t in fear of appearing to seem like they support the state of israel. on the other side of things many people overestimate this by fearmongering and saying EVERY arab is out to get jews worldwide, telling people like me “they want YOU dead”. this is not the belief every person in the middle east and it really rubs me the wrong way that people group millions of individuals into all-encompassing lumps like this. many people there do understand nuance of this political situation.

even if i have that “right of return” by israeli law or whatever, i don’t feel obliged to it; it does not register as fair. why do i have a “right of return” when i’ve never even been there in the first place while palestinians who have homes there can’t return to them? what’s the basis for that? substituting objective reality with an imaginary reality? i don’t think like that. i can hypothetically come and go whenever i please but palestinians are severely limited in mobility? what makes me more entitled to that land than the people who lived there for centuries? nothing that comes from natural law thats for sure. it’s all artificial and inflated.

but at the same time i also dont want to be the target of antisemitism and caught in the fray just for being ethnically jewish. once people start calling for the genocide of entire groups we’ve got issues (and you better believe this absolutely applies to the palestinian victims in gaza too), because people who dissent to the violence perpetrated by the loudest are caught in there with the people who are perpetrating the violence. lack of nuance. people conflating israel and its zionist apartheid policies with jewish ethnicity and culture worldwide. other people conflating being terrorist anti-jew with muslims worldwide (like that 6-year old palestinian-american boy that was just stabbed to death in chicago). scary times man. but as a jew i can’t just opt out of this if it’s how i was born as. i don’t have control over that. but i can control what i think and what my beliefs are

[what-if-i-like-my-mechs-older]

Pt28

Megatron had been informed by Blitzwing that Orion was coming his way and immediately started stacking data pads and tidying up other items, if you were outside the door it'd be that sound of something crashing, some type of glass breaking and the screech of a random cat noise.

He even posed himself lazily but in a way to make himself look inviting.

One leg along the length of the couch his other foot on the floor, an arm along along the back as he rested against its arm.

Was he trying too hard? Should he keep his glasses on?

Primus this was ridiculous he was a Decepticon leader, no not just a leader THEE LEADER and yet here he was hoping to get pegged...had they really all been so without a gentle touch and affection in the way Orion gave it that they were practically scrambling to impress an AUTOBOT!

Not only that it was Optimus from another Universe!

He groaned and slid down into the couch his chin pressed to his chest, looking completely unflattering and that was of course the moment Orion just had to arrive, of course it was.

Of all the poses he had to be found in it would be the one that looked like he was an old mech who'd fallen back on the couch.

You know maybe if he prayed hard enough maybe it would grow sentience and swallow him whole.

Orion stared at him and tried to stifle a laugh, but he just couldn't hold it, he could tell exactly what Megatron had been trying to do and The Decepticons leaders pout was just making him feel even fonder of the older mech.

Setting his data pad down on the table he came in closer, going down on one knee, his smile genuine as he whispered

"Between you and me, I think sometimes you can be extremely cute."

Gently holding his chin he kissed him, even while he was in his awkward position before resting his forehead to his.

"You don't need to pose for me, even if you'd just been sitting here I would have cuddled up by your side."

Megatron sat up at that , his confidence returning easily.

"Still, you deserve to have some effort put in for you."

Orion thought about last night, how his mystery mech had run him a bath, washed and massaged him and wrecked him repeatedly.

"Perhaps, but I also never came through on my promise to..."

He walked two fingers down his chest and down over his waist tracing over the vents, each one at a time as his hand rested on his cannon.

Pax noticed the flinch, the way he went on guard as it was touched, he could understand, after all seeing his own Universes Megatron using his one, he was aware of how powerful it was.

His hand kept open and lax as it suggestively ran up and down the length of the barrel, ah there it was, the look that had Megatron's mind whirring , thinking of exactly what he hoped The Decepticon leader was mind was going in the right track.

"You're not afraid of it?"

"Hmm a fool would be fearless in the face of something so powerful, but I'm giving you my trust by putting myself into its line of fire."

He circled the rim and teased a finger in, it was meant to bring want and desire, after all the sheer size meant he could put his whole fist in if he really wanted to, but where would the sensuality be in that?

"So... you mentioned gun play, how well do you think you'd be able to focus on your work while using me?"

"Won't that leave you vulnerable?"

Orion teased using another finger to continue caressing the inner rim.

From Megatron's field, he could sense every sensation tingling along up his arm and into his chest where his spark was.

"I can transform any time I want."

Megatron returned defiantly

"And if I tied you up? Or locked you into position and used you at my mercy?"

Orion purred, sliding his fingers in a little deeper, his smile growing as he sensed the shudder coming from him.

"You do like that don't you."

He chuckled, knowing full well he did.

"Please...I mean, ahem, I would send a signal to Soundwave and he would stop you."

Megatron had not expected to sound so needy and cleared his throat.

"Good to know."

The autobot replied , leaning down and placing a kiss on the black metal before getting up and grabbing his data pad, looking down at him , his smile only drawing Megatron in, did Prime really not know how attractive his fangs were?

He focused on him as he heard the words

"Let us begin."

Megatron had never transformed so fast.

Next

Previous

First

[leithillustration]

TRC reread post 5

TRB chapters 9-12

I've spent so much time having to stop mid-dog-walk to feverishly type out quotes I want to come back to. This is definitely the problem with only having the audiobooks and not the physical copies. I am longing to fill them with Gansey-level obsessive notes and pictures. Kudos and respect to @eepybois who colour codes the notes in their copies, that is so magical. Please tell me more about your colour coding system. I am that kind of neurodivergent :D

ANYWAY, more thoughts...

Mallory

Mallory is my hero. Him ranting about the NHS is both hilarious and so real. Most realistic portrayal of a British character.

His phone manner is horrifying and brilliant.

Gansey really is that kid who gets on better with adults, isn't he. He was born aged like 45.

We Need to Talk About Ronan

Fitting that it was Noah who found Ronan 'in a pool of his own blood'. Is Noah drawn to death? Is that why he lingers with Gansey too? It all ties together so well.

How jarring must it be for Ronan to have everyone think he was trying to kill himself. And like, was he? It was technically his self conscious mind. I wonder how he sees it consciously at this point in the narrative.

The last time Ronan was found in the church, his subconscious had tried to kill him. This time it gave him Chainsaw- a 'dependent', a reason to stay alive. He needs to be needed and wanted and loved, but he doesn't know how to handle it, so he's given himself a creature whose love and dependancy he can accept more readily. He might not know it consciously, but this is the first step to him letting himself love and be loved (and you know who I'm thinking of now, right??)

'How strange that a season should be held captive in one breath of trapped air.' This is Gansey's thought as he steps into the church to find Ronan. No comments, its just a beautiful line.

Ok maybe one comment- as much as the season referred to is Spring, on another level Gansey is remembering Ronan nearly dying and all the thoughts around that, so 'season' also acts as a collective noun for all that remembered trauma.

Ronan said he found Chainsaw in his head. It has the same brilliant vibe of Noah's 'I've been dead for seven years.' Everyone is speaking their truth here, its just that no one is really listening.

Of course he takes his baby bird to school with him. Gansey's tired-mom reaction to this is priceless. He worries so much about all his kids. His love for them is constantly present and clearly unconditional. Urgh I can't even.

Noah

The poor kid is so obviously dead. Like how did I not know this first time around? I LOVE that I didn't.

'Death isn't as close as you think.'

Gansey says this to himself in chapter 12 after calling Noah to see if he's heard from Adam. It's so hilariously ironic. Noah literally signs off the call with something like 'I'm already gone, anyway'.

Noah had a girlfriend who cheated on him with Whelk?!? How do we not talk about this more??

Every time I listen to a Whelk section I am full of rage, particularly for how he describes Noah. Like he judges Noah for following him, calling him a sheep, but he also wants his loyalty. While clearly giving nothing in return. Noah deserved so much more.

Persephone!!!

So pleased to meet her properly again in chapter 11.

She had a husband or boyfriend who was either dead or overseas?? I need to know more about this!!

Her little voice and her strange appearance meaning people may misjudge her is a wonderful reflection of Adam's character too. The difference being Persephone has embraced her nature and her power while Adam wholly rejects himself.

[attractedtopeoples]

sweetheart

Zoro Roronoa

KINKTOBER - @ficsforgaza

prompt: subspace

warnings/tags: fem!reader, sub!zoro, bondage, riding, subspace, mdni, 18+, dont like dont read, minors. go away., no beta we die like my sanity, lemme know if theres anything more i should tag in the comments (pls dont say bad spelling im sensitive) <3

0.9k words

A/N: okay so i may have forgotten to take this outta my drafts and actually post it, so ignore this being a touch later than the 15th (it’s 1:33am on the 16th for me 🥲) but otherwise here you go!

“Fuck, oh- fuck, fuck,” Zoro groans out, although it sounded a lot more like his version of a whine from where you sat on his lap, not that you’d ever say that aloud.

“You okay baby?” You ask mockingly, tilting your head down to look at him as you rise and fall on his cock. He bites his lip in lieu of response, biting back a groan as your hands wander over his chest. 

Looking down at him with adoration you stop your hips, willing away your own frustration as you watched his eyes flicker up to you again, a mix of anger-horny-why?-anger staring at your smirk, hands still mindlessly wandering over his skin.

His hands clench from where they lay tied against the headrest, the fluffy green handcuffs Nami had given you as a gag-gift coming in handy as he whimpered beneath you. Neither of you had done much with bondage, minus his own hands wrapping around your wrists when the positions were swapped. But this was fun.

He groans again as you pinch at his side. You’d been doing this awhile.

You’d ride him, both of you having a lovely time when he’d bite his lip, shutting himself up despite your earlier statement of not wanting that at all. He wasn’t a very good listener. Then, just like now, you’d stop your movements, watching as he released his lip and stared at you.

At the start the look was a lot more pissed off, however the overwhelming pleasure being so intense and then suddenly ripped from him again and again was beginning to impact him (no shit). 

“I- fuck you,” he breathed out, shifting his hips up seeking friction but you simply lifted higher off of him. He let his hips fall back onto the bed with a small groan. 

“Hm? Well I can see you’re trying baby,” you tease, appreciatively flickering your eyes over him for the millionth time tonight as his cheeks blush at the words. You could admit you were rather lewd, but you were having far too much fun to stop fucking with him.

“Now c’mon, what did I say earlier baby?” You ask, referring to the rules you set early on before you started, fairly simply, but including a clear ‘I wanna hear you’ policy that you think was being ignored rather blatantly.

“You're an ass,” Zoro quips instead of replying, his voice cracking a lot more than you think he meant it to be as you lean forward, lips joining your wandering fingers on his chest as you kiss gently up his chest.

“Not quite right,” you reply, rolling your hips with the words just to watch him groan again, shoulders going tense as his arms tug at the cuffs again. You know logically he could just rip them off, but you also know he won’t. Definitely not right now, he is not risking the blue-balls.

“Annoying fucker,” he mutters under his breath as he glances to the side, blatantly avoiding eye contact as a pretty blush makes its way up his chest. “You- you said to not bite my lip,” He huffed out, sounding like it physically pained him to say as he begrudgingly turned his eyes back to you.

You grin at him, despite the slight inaccuracy in his ‘retelling’. He deserved some leeway, with this only being his third time subbing and first successfully, you made the executive decision he was allowed to be a little shy.

“That’s right sweet boy,” you say, beginning to rock your hips again, building the pleasure back up. His hips roll up to meet you and you don’t bother correcting him this time when he lets out an unabashed groan as your teeth reconnect to his skin, grazing over his nipples before biting into the soft flesh of his neck.

As your movements speed up, you release his skin, instead resting your head against his shoulder moaning alongside him as the crescendo of your pleasure crawls towards you. You were close, and by the way his hands were grasping onto those cuffs you could tell he was too, letting out the prettiest sounds.

Finally sitting back up you moan as it causes him to shift deeper within you, your movements barely coordinated anymore as you fall over the edge, him joining you not too soon after with a loud moan that makes you oh so thankful for the empty ship. 

The two of you remain quiet for a moment before you go to shift off him, knowing he probably wasn’t capable of doing so without his hands, but before you could go far you heard a low whine come from him and you paused.

That was new.

Looking back at him you noticed his eyes were drooping but stuck on you still, and after a moment it clicked in your head. Oh baby.

“Zoro? You okay in there sweetheart?” You ask softly, hand coming up to rest against his cheek as he groans again, leaning into the touch as he breathes, pressing soft kiss to your wrist. 

“Hmm,” he hums against you, his eyes slipping shut as his body relaxes. He was definitely in the subspace. 

“You did so good, baby, but I gotta clean us up m’kay?” You gently remind him, in a way that you knew you’d copied from him when you got like this. He lets out another little whine at the idea, and oh how pretty he was. “I won’t go far, promise.” 

You wince a bit as he slips out of you, rising on shaky legs as you make your way to the bathroom for a towel, snatching up a bottle to refill with water on your way. Your boyfriend was such a sweetheart.

[genericpuff]

(I am the anon who recommended Ulysses Dies at Dawn) I hope you like it!!!! Udad is one of my favourite albums especially because of the world building around The City, so I hope you enjoyed it too!!

I did finish it, I quite liked it! Recommended it to my husband as well as he's a huuuge Epic fan (he's more of a musical theater person than me overall tbh) and probably would also love The Magnus Archives if he ever gave it a shot haha (I haven't touched TMA but I'm aware of its fandom presence on this hellsite LOL)

Overall it was a really cool concept album! Turning the setting of The Odyssey into a sort of post-modern steampunk epic was pretty unique and cool, especially with how they adapted some of the stories into said setting. Turning the riddle of the Sphinx into a literal disease that ages infants from birth to death within a matter of hours? Genius. And while it does take some massive creative liberties by incorporating other mythological characters like Herakles and Ariadne directly into the cast, it still did a pretty good job at creating a unique, thought-provoking, well-rounded plot with overarching themes and motifs in only an hour! I especially appreciate the little lore details they hid in the video descriptions and thumbnail art, I always love hunting for secrets like that haha

My favorite songs were probably My Name is No One, Riddle of the Sphinx, Sirens, and Favoured Son, the vocals are all wonderfully delivered (especially in Sirens, it gave me chills in the best way) and the narrative progression within the lyrics was very compelling especially in relation to the world-building.

I had a couple of least favorites too though, and unfortunately they were Orpheus' and Ariadne's songs which I wish I could love on that basis alone but alas, they just didn't hit the mark for me.

My issue with Trial by Song is largely personal, I can get what the vocalist was going for but that constant high-note vocal waving / shaking just doesn't do it for me, I've never been a fan of that delivery style so even if it was intentional and driven with purpose, it's just not something I can force myself to enjoy. But again, that's largely personal taste, not something I'm gonna hold against the vocalist because aside from that one personal ick they're doing a great job at hitting and maintaining those notes, if it weren't for that one thing I'd probably be way more into it haha

As for Ties That Bind, that one actually isn't a personal issue, at least as far as I can argue LOL On a technical level, the mixing felt very off, the instrumentals were often just way too loud compared to the vocalist which made it difficult to focus on what was being sung (and the mic quality itself didn't seem all that great either). And that problem was compounded by the vocalist's own stylization which threw me off because of how deep her voice suddenly sounded compared to how she had been speaking up until that point; it felt very forced and strained, especially when she tried to switch from those deep chest notes to those higher throat notes. This stylization clashed with the lyrics too, the line deliveries often felt "cramped" where the vocalist almost seemed to be slurring / rushing the words (sometimes they even felt completely off-tempo) which made it hard to make out what she was saying even when I could hear past the instrumentals. And that's not exactly ideal for a musical where the plot is literally being delivered through song LMAO It just felt like it could have used a bit more time in the oven IMO. I don't doubt that the vocalist is skilled, it just felt like the song was often working against her skills rather than with them.

All that said, in spite of those two criticisms I have of it after my first couple listens, I do think this is a great concept album and I was shocked to see it doesn't seem to have much attention on it judging by the view counts, it really deserves more attention and love because the amount of thought and detail that went into creating this world and its narrative and its characters is incredibly impressive.

So if you're like me and also had no clue this album existed until now, I highly suggest checking it out! It's not as big a time commitment as Epic or Hadestown, it only takes an hour to get through. And if you're into gritty steampunk film-noir stuff with lots of mystery and intrigue and twists, it'll probably be right up your alley!

[quantomeno]

Further discussion on the theme of 'fallible gods' in Bionicle

I want to preface this by saying it is ironic that the fandom so heavily idolises Greg Farshtey and hangs off his every word when the story is literally about how those in control of a universe can make dumb decisions.

With that aside...

Bionicle has a few core themes and the story does an excellent job of keeping them at the forefront despite the constant changes of genre and tone. Today we will talk about how Bionicle explores the idea that those in positions of power (or who have great abilities) are as human as anyone and thus just as liable to err. The following follows on from discussions in this post and also the video linked in that post, but I'll probably repeat a lot of that stuff anyway so you don't need to read/watch all that.

Bionicle begins with a world of myths and legends. The audience is positioned to identify with the Matoran and be amazed by the strength of the Toa and the wisdom of the Turaga, yet as time goes on it is revealed the Toa are actually quite childish and the Turaga have been lying to them. Then we see Metru Nui: a world of technological wonder lead by the wise yet firm leader Turaga Dume. Turaga Dume who approved of the Vahki. Turaga Dume who gets impersonated by the big evil guy and no one really notices. We meet Toa who have betrayed their cause, we meet Toa who lose, we meet Toa who were once Matoran who then became the Turaga we revered on Mata Nui.

And from then on, the revelations only get bigger: the universe's spirit is a robot whose neglect for its inhabitants led to its own demise. The being that caused the fall of the robot is not the mystic entity of darkness, but just an overly dramatic bit of smoke in a suit of armour who has an aggrandised ego. We see Matoran go to save Toa and become heroes while also making their own mistakes, being plagued by internal demons and making difficult sacrifices.

Then we see Mata Nui as a 'human': he takes on the form of those who created him, the Glatorian (I just realised I said the Great Beings were Agori but they're Glatorian. I forget they're different species). And he learns to be 'human'.

And then we learn that the reason for the whole robot universe's existence is because the Great Beings neglected their own duties and made the robot as a way to save their planet.

All this is pretty straightforward though; I'm just setting the groundwork. Because I think there's one final level to this which rarely (if ever) gets discussed, and I alluded to it a bit in that preface: us.

See, I like to think that the Great Beings were, in some respects, meant to represent the child playing with their toys. Bionicle is a story about creation (and destruction) and so much of the story is tied to the physical sets. If the makers of the Matoran Universe are the Great Beings, then doesn't that mean the child playing with the Bionicles is, in a sense, acting out their role in the story? They are the ones who build the Toa and the Matoran and the Turaga, who give life to their stories by telling them with the toys.

The other side the idea that anyone can be a hero is that heroes are just like everyone else. We are all fallible and even those with great power make mistakes. However, it is when you believe yourself to be better than others that you make the greatest errors. You eschew unity since you believe you can go win alone, you forgo your duty because you consider it beneath you and you believe you deserve a more glorious destiny. The Great Beings are just 'some guys' because we are just 'some guys'. The Matoran are just 'some guys'. So are Terry and Mata Nui. Everyone in life (real life) is just 'some guy' (I should say some person but guy sounds funnier and it evokes the everydayness of things). No one in power or authority is inherently deserving of that role; they must work towards it and show their worth. While they may have talents that make them better in some way, they are subject to the same foibles as anyone.

No life is more special than another, for all life contributes to something greater, every act can bring so much goodness if only you can see it. We are the Great Beings, we have the potential and the skill and the knowledge to achieve so much, but only if we can understand the value of the littlest thing, because we are fundamentally no different from the least of us. Toa should not forget they were once Matoran, just as Great Beings should not forget they are Glatorian.

Let's end with a fitting quote from Ihu:

You are mistaken, Nuju. All of life is a journey, and the journey is not about how high you climb or how far you walk. It is about what you learn on the way, and how you choose to use that knowledge. Use it to help others, and the glory of Mata Nui will live inside you. Use it only for yourself, and though you may walk among us, you will have no more spirit than a block of protodermis.

[illegiblewords]

SOME ILLEGIBLE RAMBLES AND REFLECTIONS: THE DEAD THREE

Finished my first/main playthrough of Baldur’s Gate 3, and it’s had me turning over all sorts of ideas tied to Dungeons and Dragons lore. A bunch happens to be about cosmology so I'm slapping together one post about the Dead Three and a follow-up about deities more generally. Buckle up if you decide to proceed dudes. This is chunky and opinion/interpretation heavy. CW for mention (not extensive) of graphic violence and sex crimes during discussion of Bhaal and Yeenoghu.

MYRKUL

I get that there are multiple death-affiliated deities in DnD. Our buddy Jergal is the end of all things and the original incarnation of the concept. Myrkul stands for the experience of dying, decay, necromancy, graves, bones, and the fear of mortality. Kelemvor rules over the dead. Orcus is a demon lord and quasi-deity of undeath. Could prob go on.

I've read many different incarnations of death over the years. To set the stage on my Myrkul read, it bears mentioning that Terry Pratchett's Death is probably my favorite. I don't have it in me to see death as something totally malicious. It's very natural, and I tend to imagine that if there were to be an incarnation embodying it this persona would have an intimate view of all the love and grief, vulnerability and intimacy, ugliness and solitude, etc. that mortals deal with. Death has witnessed the end every living being faces, from the dawn of creation until now. Even if it isn't consciously accessed at all moments, death is ancient and experienced and not likely to be shocked by what mortals are capable of anymore. Mortals are small. Uncountably numerous though we are we are far outnumbered by the unliving. What are lives next to planets, to stars? Here I'd argue against assigning value according to how big or small something is, how eternal or how brief, how simple or complex. Everything that is, is a universe unto itself and deserves the gravity of that. It is also very mundane at the same time. To me, death needs to be able to balance the preciousness and commonality of life, of existence, on the tip of its scythe. Death needs to be able to deal with the most depraved beings to exist, but also with every beloved pet put to sleep. Every lost child or parent. Everyone who dies surrounded by loved ones and everyone who dies alone.

Initially, even knowing Myrkul in particular had been a mortal necromancer and not of particular moral standing--I had mixed feelings about him being the evilest of evil skeletons. He worked it well, but the idea of any aspect of death (or any character tbh) being flat evil felt off to me. Especially with 'we're all the protagonists of our own stories' being at work. People don't often look at what actions they'd consider to be evil then go 'I'm going to make myself that on purpose'. Disregarding morality maybe, but being evil on purpose is weird.

So I looked into further lore about Myrkul. One spot that gave me pause was that Myrkul as death (rather than the adventurer Myrkul Bey al-Kursi he’d once been) revels in inspiring fear of death and driving home experiences of loss. From what I found he isn't focused on the name of the individual holding the office of death, but for the force itself being feared. He can be bribed, and he will allow for necromancy/resurrections--but the fear and gravity of death is a sacred thing to him. Disregarding that is a pretty good way to get onto Myrkul's shitlist. I want to take a moment to emphasize the importance of Myrkul focusing on his portfolio over his own ego. That is far from a given in the DnD pantheon, and like I said he's a former mortal himself. It wouldn't be out of the question for him to be a petty and insecure deity. He could have been the sort of guy where becoming a god of death by itself wasn't enough power. If Myrkul was a different person, he might have wanted people to stroke his ego and say how strong he is. He might have been someone who felt inadequate as a god without that affirmation. He could have (as a character) been unsatisfied and forever wanting/dependent upon the views of others to define himself. The fact that he DOES focus on death and decay as forces rather than himself is a big deal in reading him imo.

Anyway. Myrkul's emphasis on death as something feared got me thinking about what would cause a person to put such weight on death being understood in its negative aspect. It struck me that this is actually a very common and even important thing. You don't need to demonize death to see it, either. If you value life as sacred, the idea of life being treated as cheap or disposable is horrifying. When you love something dearly, the idea of that beloved thing being defaced is beyond outrage. It's a kind of sacrilege. People who kill as casually as breathing, who revel in the permanent destruction of someone else, become a source of horror. The absence of love creates a sort of cruelty that can't even perceive itself. And it's not uncommon for human beings in particular to partake in this. Humans dance on the graves of those they deem enemies not because they're relieved to be safe, but because they glory in the end of other lives. They don't recognize that anything of value was lost. There is no tragedy in death anymore. Every gentle moment, every vulnerability, every tragedy in their opponent's life is something to be crapped on and gloated over. There is no greater insult to life itself. Myrkul stands as a reminder that such behavior cannot stand. You can't treat life or death as cheap. To see something horrific and fail to realize the weight of its horror is itself a form of horror. The idea of a death that demands to be acknowledged for what it is, particularly by the living, imo actually denotes a level of care for life too. It might be harsh or ugly, but I don't know about evil. So while Myrkul is certainly flawed and often serves as an antagonist, I’d argue the function he performs is not only important but necessary.

And while it might vary between players, I found Aylin's enthusiastic executions and body defiling pretty uncomfortable. I understand she went through a lot and am fine with her as a character. But I think Myrkul's point stands if the audience feels even a moment of disquiet seeing her celebrate over the corpse of a broken person.

Some things are meant to be ugly.

BANE

Of the Dead Three I find Bane the most disturbing and dangerous tbh—but not for how Gortash invokes him. Way I see it, the other word for tyranny is authoritarianism on a macro-level, abuse on an individual level.

I’d argue that in life, we can only healthily control ourselves and our own individual actions/choices. We can try to persuade others or appeal to their judgment, but we can’t MAKE another person think or act how we wish. When folks attempt otherwise (individually or more broadly) it involves fear, force, deceit, or other forms of pressure. Coercion, enslavement. These fall under the umbrella of tyrannical practice to me. You treat another person as subhuman and strip them of agency.

We don’t live in a pure and ideal world. If a tyrannical person is committing crimes and denying others their free will through force, I wouldn’t call defense through force tyrannical as long as it wasn’t needlessly excessive. Power struggles exist. But the whole practice of using fear, force, deceit, or pressure to control another person is dangerous imo. They're to be utilized as little as possible.

In DnD I don’t think the fringe evil cults would be the ones most at risk for corruption by Bane. I don't think individuals or groups who prioritize self-indulgence would be most at risk, either. The most dangerous and frequent disciples of Bane imo would be within good alignment. This means followers of benevolent gods as well as the nations or groups that consider themselves to have righteous causes. ESPECIALLY those with chips on their shoulders.

When someone assumes they have and always will have the moral high ground, that they are incapable of committing injustice, that their end justifies whatever means, that it doesn’t count as abuse with the 'correct' target… that, to me, is where tyranny festers. The person convinced of their own moral infallibility is the one who sees no need for brakes and so cuts them without concern.

I’d argue everybody has a seed of tyranny in them that can be fed or starved. We feed that seed with our own indignation to become a tyrant victimizing others while still seeing ourselves as powerless. The person who first victimized you can still also be victimized by you. There isn’t a target that exists where finding joy in cruelty gets a pass.

Bane, I think, thrives on the idea that it's no problem if you're enforcing your will. Especially on people contemptible to you.

For DnD purposes, imagine you have zealous followers of idk Tyr. They are willing to do whatever it takes to enforce and spread their definition of justice. They believe in making examples of people at every opportunity. They torture, isolate, rob, and shame those they consider to be unjust or dangerous. If their victims are falsely accused—well. It’s for a noble purpose so the sacrifice is not in vain. And imagine Tyr abandons these followers as hypocrites. He no longer empowers clerics or paladins no matter how they cite scripture or brand ‘heretics’ with his symbols.

Bane doesn’t enter calling himself Bane, god of tyranny. Bane claims to follow a higher justice. Maybe he uses an avatar, maybe he chooses a Banite disciple, maybe he finds a true believer. But he argues that Tyr as an individual was never ultimately what those zealots stood for—it was justice itself. And if Tyr has turned traitor to his own portfolio, mortals need to go over his head to the core concept and implement that. Bane offers a name that suits his purposes and begins sourcing power to clerics and paladins instead. And throughout, as the zealots commit increased atrocities against those they deem dangerous or evil they fail to realize they’ve spiraled into evil alignment after all. They’d think they were either just as good as they’d always been OR BETTER. The compassion of Ilmater is spent on the depraved and corrupt as far as they’re concerned.

I think the real threat of Bane is that he should be 100% capable of corrupting an otherwise heroic party member if they aren’t wary of that capacity in themself. You suddenly find your friend who listened to your problems and supported you through awful shit mocking a person sobbing on the ground as they kick them. And that friend looks betrayed and hurt (or outraged) if you challenge their actions, because they think you should know exactly how disgusting this piece of shit is and how much they deserve the abuse. And even if you concede that individual case—it’s not the only one. The slights worthy of torment become smaller and smaller. A thought or word out of line betrays the ideology of an evil alignment, with the only solution being to beat thoughts and words out of the target until they can only repeat approved ideas back. And even then, it may not be enough.

If it was explicitly confirmed that the deity the zealot followed was Bane all along, the zealot might genuinely not believe it. They might get pissed at the very suggestion. What they do against the wicked isn’t tyranny after all. They’re righteous.

Denial doesn’t serve to disempower Bane in the least if tactics remain unchanged.

BHAAL

I’m holding off on more detailed Bhaal thoughts until I complete a dark urge run, but I’ve listened to lore on both him and the demon lord Yeenoghu recently—and I think there’s room for a really cool potential contrast.

Yeenoghu Lore

Providing this particular video link for the curious, as a way to help illustrate what I’m drawing from.

Yeenoghu holds the title as demon lord of slaughter. He glories in filth, rape, excessively graphic murder, torture, violence, and playing with corpses along the way. He’s meant to come across as a bestial, self-absorbed, remorseless desecrater. And when I say bestial, I want to draw attention to a particular IRL factoid that might be worth considering.

I love animals to bits. I don’t think animals generally contemplate morality the way humans do just due to cognitive differences and limitations. I also think it’s important to remember that humans are ALSO animals, so certain things umbrella’d under ‘human experience’ would probably apply to at least some animals too. If there are human altruists and human serial killers, we should be able to expect that animals likewise have some altruists and some serial killers within the scope of individual variation.

Cruelty is not exclusive to humans. Orcas will essentially torture smaller animals to death by flinging them into the air with their tails repeatedly like balls until repeated beatings and suffocation kill them. Dolphins commit rape and chew on live puffer fish to get high off the toxins. Chimpanzees are a horror unto themselves with cannibalism and mutilation and basically whatever atrocity they can commit. Wolves and cats sometimes hunt to excess just for the joy of it and don’t eat all they kill. Hannibal the swan (as a specific and notably homicidal individual) beat and drowned any other swans visiting his pond and showed his signet how to do it. I could go on. Some cases it might be a matter of the animal not having theory of mind to recognize that they are inflicting pain on another conscious creature. Other times, like with pissed off chimpanzees, they know EXACTLY what they’re doing and it’s on purpose to cause maximum suffering.

I think Yeenoghu should embody a little bit of both propensities. He’s just utterly self-absorbed and doesn’t give a fuck about the experiences or perspectives of other living things except insofar as they impact him.

Bhaal I want to research more like I said, but one thing I remember from my initial play through was finding a note from the Dark Urge to Orin.

Little sister, whatever in the Gray Wastes are we going to do with you? Bhaal will never care that you waste your time, posing your corpse-dollies. Bhaal doesn’t care whether you give him the corpse of a pauper or a king. At the end of the day, all Father wants is death in droves, death in numbers. To sap away the life of this dull world as swiftly and widely as we can. You plan, you plot, you prevaricate, and you waste his time. Bhaal doesn’t need us to think. He needs us to kill. You kill beautifully, and have talents in your shapes’ magics that I never will. But you do not understand Lord Bhaal. Perhaps it is a failing of your diluted blood, as a mere grandchild. I am his sole living pureblood. I will accept no challenge from you, until you show some damned respect.

To be honest this is interesting af to me because it positions Orin a bit more in-line with Yeenoghu’s modus operandi in some ways. But what sets apart the principles of Bhaal from Yeenoghu or Myrkul?

The Dark Urge suggests the goal of Bhaal is the extinction of all life, but to be honest I’m a bit skeptical. Seems like short term thinking. Even if Bhaal pulled that off, once it’s done there is no more murder or god of murder for that matter. If Bhaal is aiming for a cessation of existence and wants everyone else along for the ride maybe that’s what he’s after, but I dunno. That seems like something fans/players/loremasters would have touched on before.

I’d like to invite this possibility for foiling instead:

Life consumes other life by nature. Animals, plants, fungi, bacteria, so forth—it isn’t just a matter of philosophy. One life cannot exist without destroying another. We need to eat. If we don’t, we die well before reproduction enters the picture. But it’s more than that… you take a step, you kill countless tiny organisms you aren’t even aware of. You swat a fly. You hit something with your car. You move gracelessly or touch carelessly, and catastrophe ensues. Etcetera.

It is inevitable that your existence will mean the end for the life of another living thing. That’s just how it goes.

It could be interesting on a LOT of fronts (both as members of the dead three and as former adventuring companions) if Bhaal acted as a kind of philosophical opposite to Myrkul the way I previously described.

If the Dark Urge’s note is to be trusted, Bhaal has no interest in ritual or glorified death per se. Bhaal would be more about the mundanity that comes through the act of killing. Life is fragile as-is and often ended by accident. Killing in its most common form is thoughtless and unconscious. To Bhaal, if every life is a universe then the universe looks meaningless. There is no importance or fanfare to any of it. If one side is ‘everything matters, give weight to life and death’, Bhaal would be ‘nothing matters, we are not capable of affording reverence to every single life and death we encounter’. More specifically, the mass deaths Bhaal favors would be a kind of illustration of the uncaring and casual relationship living things have with killing other living things. The more casual and effortless it is, the more I’d imagine it serves Bhaal. Sadism and revelry miss the point—there is no hierarchy. Suffering is inconsequential. Fear is inconsequential. Instinct is inconsequential. To live is to kill by Bhaal’s logic.

It isn’t limited to murder in the sense of a member of one species killing a member of the same species. It’s more Bhaal is the god of killing. He’d gain power from murder too sure, but also hunting, harvesting, and butchering. With these interpretations in-mind, we can actually figure out how the Dead Three might have answered Jergal's question about what worth a mortal life holds. With the disclaimer this is very much conjecture. I think Myrkul would likely be "Each life is of infinite value and merits sacrificing everything for." That lends life a heavy weight and makes death a fearful force for all. It would also mesh with Ketheric as his chosen. Bane would lean into "That depends on a person's deeds", "The only life that matters is mine", or "Depends on the mortal". From those positions, the speaker argues for a hierarchy of life where some is more expendable than the rest. It's easier from that position to slide into adopting a role as judge and executioner, and from elevating yourself into a role of authority where other voices and experiences count less than your own. Bhaal I think is reflected in "Life’s only value is as currency. Doesn’t matter to me otherwise", "The only life that matters is mine", or "No one life is worth more than any other. We are equal." Bhaal has the implicit question in-turn: what is the blood-price of your own life? How much have you claimed in your own name to keep moving? It's kind of the belief that while "The only life that matters is mine" is Bhaal's answer, every other living thing should be answering the same way. There's more nuance than that of course, and likely truth falls somewhere in the middle. We aren't mentally capable of giving reverence to every death, but we can recognize in general terms and do our best case-by-case. We have a right to protect ourselves and what we love, but others share that right.

Feel free to offer different stances or thoughts though, and if you made it this far goddamn thank you for reading this monster.

[redjennies]

all right I do need to be an annoying anarchist for a minute because once again, I am seeing a worrying trend of a specific phrase being co-opted out of its original context and worse yet, being framed as being in direct opposition of the political framework that created it. i'm making this my own post and not screenshotting as not to shame anyone because I think this is an ignorance issue and not a maliciousness issue, but that doesn't make it any less insidious.

that phrase is harm reduction.

harm reduction, at least as I can best describe it, refers to community-based programs designed to address public health issues, primarily in reference to drug use but it can also be applied to sexual health and other health issues, that gives people access to safe and informed care without fear of punishment nor expectations of abstinence. one of the most famous examples of this are needle exchange programs, which are extremely effective in preventing the negative consequence of heroin use like infections and overdose and even lessen heroin use all while giving heroin users clean syringes to (presumably) do heroin with. it gives people the choice and accepts some will choose to continue their usage and those who do still deserve to live as safely and supported by their community as possible.

whatever you personally want to use harm reduction to mean, it cannot be separated from its original context of being an anti-carceral approach to public health issues particularly those that are criminalized that comes from anti-carceral far-left activism. in order to understand harm reduction, you must understand that while not every single person who works in harm reduction comes into it as a full prison abolitionist, it still goes hand-in-hand with the long-term goal of prison abolition, and because of the US carceral system being so heavily steeped in racist and specifically anti-black policies, both of harm reduction and prison abolition cannot be removed from the even broader context of racial justice. to pretend otherwise is ahistoric.

it is not the same as reformism. it should not be used as a synonym for reformism. we can quibble about the usefulness of reformism and how much of an end goal it should be at a separate time, but that is a wholly separate conversation. this is about a specific type of activism and the tradition it comes out of. this is about the people who have done and continue to do this much needed work. these are not things you can just wave away because you want to make a point about how people on the internet are annoying you. this is what "harm reduction" means. it is not a buzzword to be taken lightly lest you seek to erase the very real people who engage with these programs and the very real history of these programs.

so when I see "harm reduction" being used as an alternative to or even an antonym for abolitionism (also I'd like anyone saying this to specify what kind of abolitionism they're talking about because that's sketchy as all fuck), it becomes very clear that at best, you don't understand what you are saying and at worst, don't care you're saying some privileged and frankly anti-black bullshit and just want to dunk on people further left than you. harm reduction programs and prison abolition are so closely tied that the more you engage with one the more likely you are to become the other. even if you come to them as both, a better understanding of one naturally informs the other that's how frankly inseparable they are.

this is important to understand because we are currently living through a period where we can so transparently see the carceral system at work. not broken or manipulated by bad actors, but work exactly as intended. it has always been a machine meant to cage, exploit, and execute society's "undesirables." it has simply gone mask off, as they say. you need to understand that before you try to tell me your heavily sanitized and misapplied concept of "harm reduction" is a preferable alternative to "abolition," that what you are arguing is that we simply put the mask back on the machine. that it is okay to sacrifice others to that machine so long as you do not have to fear being on the chopping block, that perhaps there are undesirables and as long as they are the ones suffering, it is an acceptable loss. then you have the audacity to call those who believe in abolition purists for saying there are no undesirables and that none are free until the machine is gone.

of course, I think most of you would agree with me when you stop to think about it, and that is exactly what I mean when I call this rhetoric insidious. it takes long established leftist ideology and action and reframes it into something vague and easily digested and uses it to discredit and demonize those who understand its true meaning. this is what i mean when I call it reactionary liberal bullshit. it is the desperate justifications of centrists who are so afraid of fascists that they will feed them living, breathing people so long as those people are strangers they have thoroughly dehumanized. I truly believe you can always change your mind, but in order to do so, and I know I keep saying this again and again but it keeps bearing repetition, you need to learn how to recognize what kind of rhetoric you are falling for and repeating and consider who benefits from it. because when you're using "abolitionist (derogatory)," something has gone very, very wrong along the line.