#mo's unfiltered thoughts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

httpiastri · 2 months

Text

PERFECTLY FINE – PAUL INTRO

series masterlist

you can't recall the day that you first started crushing on paul.

ever since you became teammates when you were 15, you were drawn to him. something between you, paul and dino just clicked; you all became best friends instantly. every race weekend was spent bonding over shared victories, helping each other through the highs and lows, and of course fooling around like the teenagers you were. you were all inseparable.

one day, you fantasized about being with paul. just for fun, just to think about what it would be like.

it was like opening pandora's box. from that day on, you could never go back to how it was not daydreaming about paul.

it all happened so suddenly. instead of being regular teammates, you unexpectedly found yourself wishing you were more than just that. you found yourself accidentally staring at him in team meetings, your eyes following the curls of his hair and that sweet grin of his. you found yourself smiling a little too much around him, giggling at every semi-bad joke he told. and you found yourself craving his attention and approval, always longing for your next interaction with him.

it was so different – and yet, it felt like it was the only thing you'd ever known.

most people around you said that you were lucky to be a june child; getting to have your parties out in the warm weather, getting tanlines and beach visits as birthday presents, and your sunshine-filled day being longer than most others.

but personally, you never saw the joy in it. racing was usually the most hectic around your birthday, giving you no time off to celebrate or rest. the sun shining just meant more sweat in the racing suit and more degradation of your tyres.

another thing that sucks about it is that almost all of your friends' birthdays are much earlier in the year than yours.

jak got to experience being 18 for a whole month before you got to join the party; paul and dino turned 18 over a year before you did.

your two teammates even turned 19 before you could finally turn legal. not fair.

it was frustrating, and sometimes even a little humiliating. despite being mature for your age, you still hated being younger – maybe mostly because you were sure paul wouldn't find you as interesting anymore when he was suddenly all adult and you were still merely sixteen for a few more months.

but on the contrary, as the year of 2022 rolled around, he found you more interesting.

when he wanted to go out to celebrate after a good race, he always did his best to find ways to get you into the club, too. and if you weren't allowed, he would celebrate with you in another way.

he never let you feel forgotten or like you weren't his priority,

because you always were.

‎‎‎ ‎

your birthday gift for your seventeenth birthday wasn't just a beach party.

for your seventeenth birthday, paul gave you a kiss. and then another.

and then you gave him one back, as if to thank him. and from there on, there was never a doubt.

the kisses he gave you always swept you off your feet. there was something about the way his hand rested underneath your jaw, the way his nose brushed against yours before sealing your lips, the way he tilted his head to gain perfect access. something about it was so different, so special.

he may have not been your first kiss – damn that boy in your sixth-year maths class for stealing that honor from paul – but he was your first everything else.

your first real relationship. first real fight.

the first boy you ever loved; the first boy you ever cried over.

the first time you let someone see the raw, unfiltered version of yourself.

your first "i hate you!" to a boy you loved; and then your first kiss in the rain, clothes and hair soaked through, with warm tears streaming down your cheeks as you thought about how stupid you were to ever doubt being with him.

your first real brush with vulnerability.

the first boy who made you feel truly alive, yet painfully aware of your own mortality.

the first one to teach you that love isn't always easy, but it's worth suffering for.

the first person you went to for help when the world crumbled beneath you.

the first person who told you that your love was beautiful; the first person to convince you that it was so stunning it could be a masterpiece, painted with the colors of your pretty laughter and soft smiles.

‎‎‎ ‎

the first boy to ever try to climb up to your third-floor balcony in milton keynes because you were ignoring him after a fight. the first boy to ever fall down a tree after using it to climb up to said balcony. the first time you rushed down the stairs in your apartment building in less than a minute because you were so scared you almost couldn't breathe. the first time you kissed a boy's hurting wrist that he used to break his fall with after the earlier mentioned fall. the first time you ever made up with a boy on the patch of grass outside of your apartment after you both had apologized profusely, hugging more tightly than ever because you were terrified of the thought of ever losing each other.

granted, your apartment building is no skyscraper, but your balcony is many meters up in the air. only a lunatic would attempt to climb all the way up to you.

the thing is... for you, paul was a lunatic.

for that eighteenth birthday you'd longed so much for, you got an early gift.

a broken relationship.

things had been headed south for a long time. the passion wasn't strong enough of a glue to hold all of the broken pieces of your heart together anymore. things were getting too much, too heavy, too tiring.

it was just a few nights before your birthday that you sat down together in his hotel room in barcelona, both quiet for a long time. there was not much left to say.

the last few weeks had been a roller coaster; you'd cried, screamed, and made up on repeat. but you knew you couldn't go on like this.

"we're tearing each other apart," you had told him, not daring to meet his eyes. "can't you tell?"

he didn't answer.

"i'm exhausted. i need a break."

"from what? from me?"

"from everything."

and then it was over. at least, on paper it was – but in your heart? probably not.

you weren't sure if your feelings for him could ever be over.

#perfectly fine!#paul aron #f1 #f2 #formula two #formula 2 #ollie bearman #fluff #angst #imagine #scenario #x reader #x you #x yn #x y/n #x oc #fanfic #fic #series #prema racing

109 notes · View notes

thegreymoon · 27 days

Text

Mo Ran is so gay it isn't even funny.

Now, this is just my opinion and I realise other people have their own interpretations, but this whole episode is super telling to me of just how unreliable his narration is about having tons and tons of sex with people of both genders in his previous lifetime. He's just so... oblivious. None of this reads as a man with a lot of previous experience with many different people. He did not pick up on her flirting with him at all. Sure, he did have a lot of insane sex in his past life, but as the book unfolds, it becomes very clear that most of that sex was with Chu Wanning. At best, there were only a handful of other people he was involved with, and one was a prostitute he was paying, while the other was his wife whose relationship with him was also transactional.

I know people argue that he is bisexual because he married Song Qiutong, but when we actually get her POV on their marriage, it turns out that they had unenjoyable sex only a handful of times, at least one of which was him taking her from behind and very much imagining that it was Chu Wanning in her place. There are plenty of gay men who end up married to straight women (and vice versa) for whatever reasons and none of this makes them any less gay. He also identifies as a 'cut-sleeve' himself at one point, so he doesn't seem at all confused about his sexual attraction to men. Later on, when we finally get his unaltered POV on his life in the brothel, it comes out that he considered the girls there as sisters at best, never as sexual partners. The only other named sexual partner is Rong Jiu, who is male, and I can buy that there were possibly other people who looked like Shi Mei that he was with under the influence of the cursed love spell, but there was never any real attraction there, which is why some argue that he is attracted only to Chu Wanning and would still be attracted to him regardless of gender.

But I think that this is also not true. He definitely was obsessed with Chu Wanning from an early age, which makes it hard to see what his preferences would have been if Chu Wanning wasn't in the picture, but that chapter when he finally realises his feelings also reveals that he does have a type, which he never dared to think about before because he thought he was unworthy of having a choice. However, Chu Wanning fits this type to a tee, so it's easy to run away with the idea that he is shizunsexual and that Mo Ran's attraction begins and ends with him.

With that said, we do get confirmation later on that he does find other men attractive, in particular, Jiang Xi. It's just that he never has the space or the inclination to do anything about it because of his preoccupation with Chu Wanning. In the extras, when Mo Ran misunderstands Xue Men's relationship with Jiang Xi and thinks they are having a love affair, in his unfiltered Taxian-jun state, he is full of approval because he personally finds these powerful, beautiful, prickly, emotionally unavailable older men to be the height of attractiveness. If Chu Wanning hadn't been in the picture, Mo Ran would have definitely been attracted to Jiang Xi or someone similar. Even Ye Wangxi, whom he also fixates on, fits this type (except for the older man bit because I understood her to be only a few years older than Mo Ran). The fact that she turns out to be a woman also cannot be used as an argument for Mo Ran's bisexuality because she very much presents as a man throughout the book (but whether or not she actually identifies as one is debatable).

In short, Mo Ran does have a type of man he is attracted to and it is definitely men that he likes, regardless of his few dubious and very unsatisfying dalliances with women. While Chu Wanning definitely fits this type of ideal man, there are other men out there whom Mo Ran finds attractive too, it's just that he is too unhinged about Chu Wanning to actually do anything about it. Also, I very much doubt that Mo Ran was nearly as promiscuous as he makes himself out to be because he reads as very oblivious when it comes to sexual relationships in general. Even with Chu Wanning, who was right there and about to pass away from sheer horniness that he couldn't even begin to disguise, Mo Ran was still going, "Shizun is so pure and virtuous!" 🙄

(I'm not going to get into the whole Shi Mei situation and how badly he misread him every step of the way too, but that is because his brain was so badly mangled by him that he really stood no chance on that front until it was entirely too late.)

#2ha #2ha meta #mo ran #chu wanning #ranwan #jiang xi #song qiutong #rong jiu #shi mei

74 notes · View notes

auroralightsthesky · 2 months

Note

Mary, my deary! Hope you are having a beautiful Sunday!

For the fanfic writer asks: 🍄🍔🥑

MO-MO!!!!! My darling how I have missed you!!!! (lol). I hope you're having a beautiful Sunday too m'dear, I think now that the clocks got turned forward I'm doing a hell of alot better (lol).

🍄-How do you come up with your fic ideas?

I'm literally all over the place with this (lol). Alot of it is movies, music, books, articles I've read etc. My favorite ones were all the crazy Frat Boy party stories I read while researching for Frat!Rhett (lol).

🍔-What's a headcanon that hasn't made it into a published fic yet?

So I definitely know Miles Miller is a boy dad first, but pretty soon Miles and wifey will be the proud parents of twin girls, Alice and Essie. Alice because "Alice In Wonderland" was one of his favorite books growing up and Essie for his dad's mother. Prepare for the unfiltered antics of Benny and Jesse when they're big brothers (lol).

🥑-I'm taking frequent breaks because The Pagekeepers is such a massive project, but at the moment I'm working on an original story called "The Little People" which may or may not have been inspired by a thought of Rhett Abbott, wifey and their babies being of a race of tiny people no bigger than a person's pinky finger. I've had it for a while and for people who love the cottagecore genre, this story's definitely for you guys.

#asks #writer asks

2 notes · View notes

ninjakk · 2 years

Text

WWXs feelings for LWJ - First Life vs Second Life

So something I wanted to talk about is the difference in WWXs feelings in his first life and second.

I've seen a lot of people say he was different with LWJ after his rebirth. But personally, I think that's wrong. Granted, he was a lot more full on the second time around, but I think that's justifiable.

Hear me out:

In my opinion, in WWXs first life he treats LWJ differently to everyone else. He's not like this with any of his friends or anyone else he meets. Let's be honest, he doesn't leave the poor bloke alone whenever he sees him. He has to get his attention in some way or form. In short, he's got a crush on him. He obviously doesn't understand his feelings, but they are there nevertheless.

As they get older, obviously there are quite a lot of things happening and they don't really get to see each other very often. But, when they do WWX has to get LWJ to notice him by teasing him with flowers. Even Wen Qing notices there is more to their relationship than WWX is willing to admit and presses him about LWJ and how he was the only one WWX has ever had visit him at the Burial Mounds.

In his second life, he finds out the person who's body he is in is apparently gay. This is never proven, only gossip from others and possibly all stemming from Jin Guangyao and his manipulative ways, orchestrating most of what happens in the story behind the scenes - so can we even take this as true? (I've read a few comments about WWX only being gay in his second life due to his new body, which is ludicrous in my opinion). Because he has been told that Mo Xuanyu is gay, this instantly gives him the opportunity to act as such. To me, he might have been using this rumour as a way to drive LWJ and JC away at the beginning, in order to escape them. But I think he took it a bit further than he needed to with LWJ, perhaps subconsciously acting how he really wanted to? Either way, I think he used the apparent 'fact' MX was gay as an excuse to act how he really wanted to with LWJ deep down. It gave him the freedom to be his true self, unfiltered and free. It also gave him a safety net from any ridicule or rejection, because people thought he was someone else.

So there is no difference in how he treats LWJ in either lives, he just had more of an excuse to treat him the way he wanted to in his second life. And lets not forget LWJ is more accepting (tolerant?!) of his flirting when he returns, because he has accepted his own feelings for WWX long ago. Which was probably a factor in WWX being able to ramp up the flirting also.

#mdzs lwj #mdzs wwx #mdzs novel #mdzs wei wuxian #mdzs lan wangji #mdzs #wangxian #wei wuxain #lan wangji #mdzs meta #mo dao zu shi

46 notes · View notes

kaija-rayne-author · 8 months

Text

To say this is a touchy topic for me is the world's biggest understatement. I have massive trauma issues because of people accusing me of meaning something that isn't even close to what I wrote/said.

I've had people tell me, the person who wrote the thing, that I mean the exact opposite of what I communicated. Shouldn't I, the person who wrote the thing, know best what I mean? It's infantilizing and gross. It's beyond disrespectful. It's ableist.

NT people loooove to pin communication problems on Autistic & ADHD people. And frankly? We're the only ones who communicate clearly. I can always tell if someone I'm talking to is NT or not by how they react to things I say, especially if there's been a misunderstanding. An autistic or ADHD person will usually want clarification, they won't usually get upset, they just want to know how it happened and whether they can avoid doing it in the future. Because, by and large, we're hard wired to avoid hurting people. Most of us really hate it even if we cause accidental harm. Then once we've talked about it, they're happy to apologize and move on. NTs start by slinging accusations, usually from the get go, and it gets worse from there.

Using accusatory language with someone you disagree with is shitty behavior, people. Do better.

Autistic & ADHD people are always accused of all sorts of nasty things by people who assume things about our words. I'm so beyond sick of it that I'm not going to show any grace or understanding about it anymore.

We're around 1/20 people now. That's 1 autistic or ADHD or combo to every neurotypical person. It's long past time for NTs to learn how to communicate with us.

What will NTs do when they're in the minority and all the rest of the world communicates in ways that are logical and based on facts? When they're the ones who are socially penalized for how they communicate? I doubt they'll do any better with it than we do.

It's one of the worst things NTs do to us. And to be fair, many baby/unhatched NDs do it too, because they mistakenly think that they'll be accepted if they pretend hard enough. They won't be, but they haven't come to understand that yet. So they harm other NDs to gain faux acceptance. And it's a daily experience.

Autistic & ADHD people, generally, are very careful about the words we use. To make sure that what we're communicating is what we mean, and only what we mean. Your insecurities and issues are yours! You need to deal with it! Not push the blame for whatever you're experiencing because of our words onto us!

Our pathological caution is a trauma response from people misunderstanding, assuming, and filling in things that do not exist in things we say for most of our lives.

If you're talking to an autistic or ADHD person, the words written are exactly what they mean. There's no hidden meaning, there's no accusation, it's just the fucking words on the page/screen. That's it.

If you read anything further into it, that's completely on you, not the autistic or ADHD person. That underhanded method of communication is strictly an NT thing. It's shit communication.

Communication rule 1. Don't assume.

Rule 2. Listen without planning your response.

Rule 3. Think about what you mean before you say it.

I learned those as part of therapy, and whoo boy do NT people really need to learn them. There're more, but that's not the point of this post.

If I've written something, it is well researched, has all of my ridiculous amount of education behind it, and it's my thoughts, my opinion, on my blog. It should be taken that way. I have had far more than enough of people accusing me of saying or meaning things I have not said. Don't like something I say? Feel free to block me. Especially on tumblr. This is my space. I'm not sugar coating or softening what I say here at all. This is as unfiltered as I get. And I like it that way. You don't? There's the door, don't let it hit you on the way out.

It really makes me question peoples reading comprehension. Most people seem to have the reading comprehension of a carrot. Which is probably an unfair comparison for the carrot. If it were just a communication issue, whatever, but it’s not.

Do you have any idea of the cost Autistic & ADHD people pay? To be so careful and worried about our language usage? Imagine having to weigh every single word you ever say or write. Imagine having to twist and turn every single word, then every sentence, then every paragraph to try to see how someone could misinterprete it. Imagine living in traumatized fear of being misunderstood, again. Even if we're not harassed off social media or summarily rejected from social groups, most of us have this trauma long before we leave elementary school. And it's cumulative.

It's fact that most of us die before we're 36. I'm 46, almost 47. I'm past my expiration date. I'm fed the fuck up with shitty communication. I'm old, and cranky, and I've had it.

This isn't a light issue. It's life threatening. You are killing us with your assumptions. Stop. It.

#autistic #autistic things #autistic traits #autistic trauma #adhdlife #living with adhd #my adhd #adhd problems #adhd brain #adhd trauma #communication

2 notes · View notes

akumanoken · 4 months

Note

For Slane, the choice to dive into the sea was easy. Love was rare to him enough already, he had his family, but no one else. He thought romantic love something he would never gain, not for someone like he, with his disagreeable & unlikeable personality. Then Sakura entered his life... & despite seeing all those ugly parts of him, he stayed. Sakura alone weathered Slane hard exterior, & did not flinch away. For that, Slane would do anything for his beloved, weather anything & no flinch away. There could be no task too great. He'd move the endless heavens & hells if so requested, so the sea was nothing in comparison.

Even the those tears felt like some kind of blessing. Who would ever weep for him, be it happiness or sorrow. But... to have it be happiness lit a bright flame in his heart. Sakura is prefect, even with a face wet with tears & a tumbling frame.

"Sakura..." Slane's arms wrapped around the other's smaller frame, pulling him close to him, if any closer, they might just yet start feeling each other's pounding heart beats. "... Aishiteru(I love you). Itsumo watashi to issho niite kudasai(please always stay with me)."

@liroyalty

He welcomed the embrace, grabbing hold of Slane's back. He wanted to stop crying... he was making a mess of himself... of his makeup, of Slane's robes... he knew that... he knew all of that, and yet, there was so much inside him he had no other way of letting it out. Love was something that only existed from far away. His people loved him, surely, but that was the only love he had resigned himself to having. No one who truly knew him, no one who got close enough to know the truth, could possibly love him. His own father was proof of that. He had been so sure that Slane would be the same, and yet his heart decided no matter what, it would find a home in the quiet sorcerer prince.

To have it returned in such a blinding, unfiltered way was a joy he never thought he would know. He could only laugh, so soft in comparison to the stuttering sobs from before. "A-Atashi mo koishiteimasu.... Istumo... Eien ni..." {I love you too. Always. Forever.}

#liroyalty #v: a blossom encased in ice #Sakura is everywhere emotionally LOL

1 note · View note

rakibulislampgo · 4 months

Text

Street Photography: Capturing Everyday Life Through the Lens

In the bustling tapestry of urban life, a captivating realm is waiting to be discovered through the lens of a camera—the world of street photography. This unique art form captures unscripted moments, candid expressions, and the raw essence of everyday life in the public domain. Street photography is not just about taking pictures; it's about telling stories, freezing time, and celebrating the beauty of the ordinary. In this article, we will delve into the enchanting world of street photography, exploring its essence, techniques, and the profound impact it can have on both photographers and viewers.

The Essence of Street Photography:

At its core, street photography is an authentic and unfiltered reflection of society. It goes beyond staged compositions and elaborate setups, instead embracing the spontaneity of the streets. Street photographers immerse themselves in the ebb and flow of urban life, capturing the fleeting moments that often go unnoticed. From the laughter of children playing in a city park to the solemn expressions of commuters lost in thought, these images serve as a visual diary of the human experience.

Unlike other genres of photography, street photography requires a keen eye for observation and an ability to anticipate and react swiftly to the ever-changing scenes unfolding in front of the lens. Photographers must be attuned to the subtleties of human behavior, the interplay of light and shadow, and the dynamic compositions found in the most unexpected places.

Techniques in Street Photography:

Blend In: Successful street photographers seamlessly blend into their surroundings, becoming inconspicuous observers. This often involves dressing inconspicuously and using unobtrusive camera equipment to avoid drawing unnecessary attention.

Timing is Everything: Capturing the perfect moment requires impeccable timing. Street photographers develop a sixth sense of anticipating the decisive moment when all elements align to create a compelling image. This skill comes with practice and a deep understanding of the subjects being photographed.

Composition: While street photography embraces spontaneity, a strong understanding of composition is crucial. Photographers must be able to frame scenes to convey emotion, context, and a sense of narrative. Techniques such as leading lines, framing, and the rule of thirds are vital in creating visually engaging photographs.

Embrace Natural Light: Street photographers often rely on natural light, leveraging the play of sunlight and shadows to add depth and drama to their images. Early and late afternoons, known as the "golden hours," provide optimal lighting conditions.

Impact on Photographers and Viewers:

For photographers, engaging in street photography can be a transformative experience. It encourages a heightened awareness, fostering a deeper connection with the world around them. The constant search for compelling moments trains photographers to appreciate the beauty in the mundane and find inspiration in unexpected places. Street photography also nurtures adaptability and the ability to think on one's feet, skills that transcend the realm of photography and are valuable in various aspects of life.

On the other side of the lens, viewers are offered a window into the diverse tapestry of human existence. Street photography can evoke emotions, spark curiosity, and provoke contemplation. Through the eyes of a skilled street photographer, the mundane becomes extraordinary, and the ordinary transforms into a story waiting to be discovered.

Street photography is a quiet yet powerful storyteller in a world filled with noise and distractions. It captures the pulse of a city, the rhythm of daily life, and the collective experiences of its inhabitants. Through a street photographer's lens, the streets transform into a canvas, each frame telling a unique and compelling story. So, the next time you navigate the urban jungle, take a moment to observe, appreciate, and perhaps capture a slice of everyday life—you might discover the extraordinary in the ordinary. Street photography beckons, inviting us to embrace the beauty of the unscripted, the unplanned, and the undeniably human.

0 notes

moerusai · 8 months

Text

Hey everyone, I understand that most of us aren't very active on Twitter but I need you to signal boost this please.

A notorious reposter is shamelessly stealing and claiming Tumblr gifs as theirs. It's not just me, if you've made a gif for KinnPorsche in the past year, you can be sure that your work has been stolen.

Twitter doesn't exactly have a system to report this disgusting behavior. But what we can do is spread the words, report and mass block. Shitheads like this don't deserve a place in fandom.

Reblogging is much appreciated 🙏🙏🙏

#kinnporsche #kinnporscheedit #fandom wank #reposting #moerusai #mo's unfiltered thoughts #signal boost #this chickenshit of course blocks me #when I call 'em out

123 notes · View notes

cryzgh0st · 9 months

Text

shchristian_: try mo sumulat tol

cry2k:tula ba?

cry2k: minsan mahirap e kaya mas gusto ko sabihin

xarbo pt.1

thousands of memories I tried to capture

and write it with no rapture

a possible blunder?

I don't know, for sure.

you sure?

silence fought the atmosphere of the loud airport

I saw him.

that guy, standing sturdy

with an invigorated airforce (1)

"Riley bro" with an inculcated smile

"that's crazy/yes sir" is an answer that will last for a while

the raindrop starts one by one

proliferating memories from the age of one

we were just kids when it all started

now the cultural difference is visible that memories seem to be in fragments

exchanged slang and phrases

"wagwan" is a way of saying what's going on? in Jamaican

(a cool fact if you ever spoke to a Jamaican, but I don't reckon that's possible)

fragmented memories

lost company

regained when started a game where every outcome is scary (uno poem verse possible (?))

a day passed when complacency was achieved

I know now that the version of you I've known for years was relieved

every wicked thought of mine disappeared

when we landed on a place of pure serenity and bliss

one particular memory I'm fond of

is one where we surrender our tribulations to the sea

vanishing every little bit at the seams

exchanged the suppressed thoughts we've been feeling forever

eradicated as we spoke of it therapeutically

in a long yet ephemeral summer

the beach of boracay at night is wild

the bar reeked of wild crowds, neon lights, and party music

where euphoria seems to be hypnotic

in contrast, is a peaceful side by the seaside

the distant cries of anguish and compressed trespasses

silenced when someone on the beach casually passes

unfiltered feelings calmed

the ocean responded with a peaceful wave

obliterating those unpleasant thoughts as we know it

Man , it'll take forever to write every possible thought I had for days..

0 notes

magnumversumplus · 9 months

Text

Manananggal Ko

Episode 7: Eskandaloso (Scandalous)

Written By Joseph M.

Beneath a sheet metal roof and within concrete walls, in an acrylic glass on a rosewood table, therein was held purified and filtered water. Cracks and holes in the scrap metal–between sheets fastened with zip ties and duct taped together–allowed dirtier water to trickle down and splatter on the table. Manong Crisanto Dalisay walked into the room and saw the acrylic glass, the chemically clean hydrogen dioxide mixing with an unfiltered mix of water, fleas and bacteria to form a substance that still looked like the pure aqua.

Except for when Crisanto held it up to his nostrils and sniffed it, it smelled of trash and cigarettes. And when he held the glass to his mouth and drank the water, it tasted like salt and stray dogs. There were still flavors derived of the Earth’s gift of springs, but injected into those layers of natural flavor of fresh lochs were the taste of another man’s–or possibly manananggal’s–poisonous vengeance.

The shot of Adam’s ale wasn’t as pure as he’d once thought, and accusations ran through his mind. The first one he deemed to be the suspect was Manong Diego Bayani–a traysikel driver who tried to stop Crisanto from reuniting with his long lost lover, attempting to help the pulis apprehend him. Cigarettes were something Manong Diego enjoyed, and trash was something Diego liked to eat.

Crisanto slammed down the glass, distortions and fractured images forming in the acrylic as he smacked it against the table. He got into his jeepney, Bigan, and hurriedly drove to the traysikel driver Diego’s shack, a similar shamble of corrugated metal and limestone lying around the corner of a palengke entrance. He banged on the door to which Diego’s drunken face answered him.

Looking at Diego’s tired eyes and slow-moving lips made him want to get into a hair-pulling fight with this man. This man–his skin swollen insect bites and rashes–and seemingly constantly agitated by the aggressive crowing of gamecocks and the cheering of the crowd in the illegal cockfighting arena behind him–suddenly found himself staggering into his own house as Crisanto pulled at his hair. Crisanto and Diego staggered around the kitchen, then into the cockfighting arena.

There were already two contestants duking it out in the arena, a sandpit repurposed for illegal gamefowl brawls. In the current matchup, there was a chicken of the notoriously victorious Sweater breed in one corner named Suzy, screeching loudly alongside the audience–a group of middle-aged men raising their fists and cheering. In another corner, there was a Hatch chicken named Rikan, an equally aggressive cock despite its less notorious win streak.

Each gamecock had stones strapped to their legs. And when the arbiter blew a whistle, the owners released their gamefowl to duke it out to each other. The quarrel between the dinosaurs’ survived was interrupted by a loud crash, and suddenly spectators were in for two side-by-side catfights.

Suzy swiped at Rikan with her claw, missing. Diego pinned Crisanto to the ground and raised a clenched fist. Rikan struck back. Crisanto stopped Diego’s fist in midair.

Rikan headbutted Suzy, the stones on her knees knocking the defeated Hatch fowl into the sand. Crisanto pushed Diego away, then jabbed him in the chest, much to the applause of the audience. Rikan butted Suzy with the side of her beak, and Suzy retaliated similarly. Crisanto punched Diego, then threw him into the crowd.

Diego fell into the arms of an inebriated gathering, a pile of tipsy men in their forties, wasting their precious pisos gambling. “Anong gusto mo, ha?” Diego was furious that their fight had escalated so much and this quickly. “What do you want?

Suddenly, someone in the crowd got to his feet, declaring that Diego had spiked them, rambling with intoxicated scorn. He was drizzled in beer stains, his hair was damp with bird poop. Other than his unfounded accusations, he spoke befuddled nonsense.

His unintelligible mumbling occupied most of his thought. The intoxicated man stumbled into the square cockfighting arena, straying far away from the stands on the left and right sides of the pit. “You poisoned me!”

Crisanto saw the opportunity to jump in and pressure the sweating, nervous Diego. “Walang hiya ka! Shameless you–you poisoned me as well!”

Other gamblers rose from their seats too, all gangly thin men with translucent moss green bottles in their hands and tattered sleeveless white shirts, all permeating with riveting tales of laced beer and tainted sodas. Diego felt karma draw tears of sweat from his arid face, his parched eyes watering up. He was under duress, and the visible breaking of his soul was as momentarily shattering as the relationship between Lagg and Crisanto.

As both star-crossed lovers soon shattered like meteors furiously hurtling into the atmosphere, Crisanto collapsed also. But like how Lagg found new love, Diego’s tears of stress turned into a wicked smile–a tangled mess of emotions weaving into his smirk. Siya ay nakakalason–he was poisonous.

He had perverted the job he once loved most, irreverent to the integrity a tricycle driver needed. The cockfight spectators all stumbled down into the sand pit and dragged the odiously leering Diego away. He was being taken to the Bongang Bonga Cockfight Arena in Pampanga to rest, but he festered with too much hatred for jeepney drivers to sleep.

0 notes

ronmanmob · 1 year

Note

🥃🥃🥃

🥃 Personal Facts Meme

It was a Horlicks night but not of the usual sort. This one wasn't built on the bones of to the marrow exhaustion - though if this insomnia persisted tomorrow the one that followed would be. This one was more a welcome back between two closely bonded beings into the nighttime sanctum for two they so enjoyed sharing together. It was an almost sacred space, one that Ron would go to lengths unspoken to defend; just like he would the woman he'd made it with.

With London spread out beneath them like the reflection on still, black water of the cold-fire nighttime sky above, he and Beth broke literal bread (with that nice butter off the market, thank you), shared their malty delicious and let confidences come as they please; let thoughts unspool and relax into their natural shapes and rhythms. Some of Ron's were odd-shaped, out in the open - unfiltered between brain and mouth and therefore...salad. But that didn't matter here, in their place. Even if she didn't follow him word-perfect - really, how could she when it was more sound and texture than spoken language - her head nodded along encouragingly, slowly, at ease with the state of things. And when English broke in again, golden-green turned from the city to him.

"---Tell y'now..." Those three-but-two words almost sounded like the translator Ron had to run his processes through to get them out right-ways slipped into place between them; tell caught by the ankle and tugged as it bobbed along in his sentence. Ron didn't hear it that way though, so he didn't repeat himself. Instead, he stole a sip of Horlicks from his mug.

"Wiv 'onesty...you're th'person m'th mos' propah wiv-- Like this-" He gestured between them, indicating the here and now; their sanctum, their sanctuary. He could be and was completely unvarnished here; could exist without feeling like he was lying constantly with his face, his vocal tone, his manner. "--Me mum don't know me as well as you do...Me bruvvah...Nah. S'only you tha' seems t'take it." Seems to handle this new-but-not version of Ron that came along at 19 and hadn't left. For all this confidence might've pained him once though, now, his seas were calm. It was simply fact.

Another sip from his mug, which he swirled gently to mix the contents.

"--I've lied mos' t'me doctahs." That thread wasn't so out of the blue as it might've seemed; talk of properness, his, its root. "--Not b'cause I don't want t'get well--" Track-skip. "I am well. Bu'--" A vague hand gesture. She knew what he meant. "--Lied mos' t'em b'cause there's bits I don't want gone. M'well enough now t'know i's--" Another gesture, this time to his head. "Bu' there's times when Rose comes by 'n--"

A flutter of blinks and a glance of his shoulder.

In the distance he'd have sworn he'd heard her giggle.

Back to Beth for his conclusion - "I don't want 'er not to" - and then back to his mug Ron went. As he'd found out when first he'd been diagnosed, to medicate his symptoms into complete submission took more medication than he could function with. It felt him useless, wrung out, dribbling - literally - and completely outside himself. He'd rather face his black dog again in open war than live like that. Any day of the week.

"--I don't-" want Rose not to visit, "-bu I remembah wha' it was like, when she didn't." He paused, considered the city across his mug's lip, stole another sip from it. "--I remembah silence, b'fore th'doors b'tween me 'n th'universe opened. I know--" Those words came quick, almost as if to reassure her. "I know tha' ain't actual; ain't logically actual--" His head shook mutedly. "Bu' I ain't logic-based, am I. Mine's different." His brain, his mind. "So when I talk'a doors 'n th'universe I mean it. Ain't grandeur. Ain't no God delusion. Bu' I c'n see 'er like I c'n see you--" A nod towards Beth. "Crystal clear, when th'windah's align 'n let 'er in."

If Beth glanced at Ron's hands she'd find a tremor in them as he held his mug. Only a little one, only adrenaline, but it was; it remained. He'd never told another living soul about seeing Rose still. They'd lock him up or dose him blind if he did.

#brooklynislandgirl #modern!verse #<- with Beth #//fankoo for sending this in darling friend <3 #cw: mental illness #tw: mental illness

1 note · View note

3lji · 3 years

Text

another thing i admire and love about tian is that he knows he has this school transfer (should i put a trigger warning for this because the thought honestly makes me spiral lmao) ANYWAY- even though he KNOWS this what does he do?

he doesn't hide away, getting angry and feeling bitter. we don't fully know what he's doing behind the scenes BUT

he resolutely has decided to not show a change to mo, but instead he wants to express his love in whatever way he can, unfiltered and without ego. simply wanting mo to know without confusion or miscommunication how he feels

tian sees an obstacle, or even an end, and he doesn't give up, he keeps going. he doesn't for a second give up on mo and what it is between them.

#tianshan #19 days #he tian #mo guan shan #these boys mean too much to me #i am so proud of he tian lmao

125 notes · View notes

staranon95 · 3 years

Text

DinCobb Week Day 2: Hurt/Comfort (SFW)

here’s my take on @dincobbweek day 2′s prompt Hurt/Comfort

in which Din gets severely injured after the fight with Gideon and is taken to Tatooine to recover

AO3 Link

Tend to Me

“Mando?”

Din blinked at where the Jedi had been just a moment earlier, carrying Grogu away as it should be.

“Mando.”

He blinked again and turned to look at the others. Cara was speaking to him, turned towards him. And he could see Bo-Katan and her Nite Owls and Fennec Shand and . . .

There was something wet trickling down his side that he was aware of all for handful of seconds before the floor was coming up to greet him.

His head felt light, but there was a distant pounding, and he didn’t feel all that here in the present moment.

He blinked and saw Cara above him. He blinked again and thought he heard the stern voice of Bo-Katan against Gideon’s steady timbre.

Someone was pulling at his cuirass, and he tried to sit up against it. They had already seen his face. They all had. The Nite Owls. Cara. Fennec.

Gideon.

He couldn’t let more of that be taken from him.

“Easy, vod.”

The sound of Mando’a settled him, and he lay back down when he saw a familiar helmet above him, partially blocking out a fluorescent light above him, giving the person an almost halo like appearance.

“Vanth,” he muttered.

“No, Din,” a gravelly voice said. “It’s not.”

Still, his eyes rolled back and he knew nothing more until later.

Whenever later would be.

He opened his eyes and found himself on his back. There was something around his torso, but his skin felt cool. Too cool. He looked and found himself bare to the waste. There was thick gauze and bandages wrapped around his torso, and at some point he’d been given an intravenous. The area around him seemed familiar.

“You’re on the Slave.” Fennec appeared above him.

Din parted his lips. She could still see him, and he felt panicked at the idea of it. “What’s—”

“Fett plans on taking you to Tatooine,” she said in that same matter-of-fact tone she always had. “You were injured in the fight. Either with Gideon or with the darktroopers, but the damage is extensive.”

Din blinked. “Why not heal me here?”

“We didn’t think you’d want to be here. Not with Bo-Katan breathing down your neck.”

The sound of heavy footsteps came upon them, and Din looked up to see Fett himself, still armour, unlike Din.

“Are we clear?” Fennec asked.

“Marshal Dune plans on watching Gideon until the New Republic arrives. And Bo-Katan has stepped back. For now.” He titled his head in Din’s direction. “She’ll want to know when you’re back on your feet, but I told her you don’t do well with droids, so healing will be a slow process.”

Din looked back up at the ceiling above him. “I’m a disgrace.”

“No, you’re not. Well. Tatooine’s not going to wait for us forever.”

As much as Din knew of Boba already, he knew even less of the man’s current aspirations. Apparently, that included overthrowing the last remnants of the Hutt presence on the planet and installing a new crime syndicate. His own.

Fortunately, for Din, he was asleep and in too much pain to worry about how this was all going to go down, and by the time he was awake, he was being lifted into a bed, and that movement alone stole the breath from his lungs. There was a sharp current of pain lancing up the right side of his rib cage and into his right shoulder. It pricked at his hip and down, and he gritted his teeth, breathing out harshly through his nose as he was settled.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He heard Fett around him, somewhere to his right. “It wasn’t going to be an easy move. Here. Got a hypospray for that.” Din tilted his neck back enough to let Fett inject him. He could feel the rush of the hypospray along the side of his neck and slowly—slowly—he felt it go to work in the worst parts of his body until he could finally relax against the bed.

Din closed his eyes and breathed out deeply before he looked to Boba. “Bringing me here was your idea?”

“Well.” Boba had his helmet off now, but the rest of his armour was still in place. He looked to the side and found a sturdy chair against the wall that he dragged up to the side of the bed. “I can’t imagine it would’ve been nice to patch up you with whatever stores of bacta they had on that ship and send you right back out there.”

“Would’ve been better.”

“To what? Handle the Princess and her self-righteous cause? Finish off Gideon and the rest of those Imps? Din, you’ve been going at it for weeks now. And I’m speaking from experience here, but when you’re down, stay down. Don’t try to get back up if it’s only going to make things worse.”

Din frowned. “The darksaber—”

“It’s here.”

“No, not that. She’ll want to discuss with me what that means. You should’ve—”

“I wasn’t going to leave you with her. Din, do you even remember what happened during the fight with Gideon? Stars, any of it?”

If Din were to be truthful, he would say he didn’t remember most of it. Certainly not now. He remembers being physical assaulted by one of the darktroopers. How it clutched his head and smashed against the metal panels of the ship over and over again. His helmet being the only thing protecting him from being seriously injured.

But he had been injured, hadn’t he? Otherwise, why would he be here?

But then later, after he had finally dispatched the darktrooper, Gideon emerged with the darksaber. He remembered parts of the fight between the beskar spear and the saber itself. Gideon had been an accomplished fighter with it and then—

“I’m not . . . sure.”

“Well,” Boba said. “Best we could figure, one of the darktroopers hurt you pretty bad. Lacerations on your neck from when one of ‘em grabbed you. At some point you were struck or you collided with something and fractured your arm up here.” He tapped a point high up on his own arm, up near the shoulder. “You’re shoulder blade didn’t fare much better. And then when you faced down with Gideon.” He chuckled. “What I would’ve given to see that fight. But he must’ve swiped you. Gotten the upper hand because he scored you along here.” He marked a long cut along his rib cage, right where the padding of his armour would’ve ended, leaving him open to Gideon’s attack. “It’s long, but not terribly deep. You got lucky.”

“Yeah, because this is what’s lucky. Lucky I didn’t get blown up in my ship. Lucky I lost the kid. Lucky I got to see him get taken by the Jedi—”

“Easy, vod.”

Din breathed in deeply.

“Feel better?”

“No.”

“Figured as much. I’ll be looking into getting you doctor. Someone local. Medical supplies of high grade are rare on this planet so it’ll be a slow recovery, but I think you could use the time off. And I doubt you want a medical droid.”

“Preferably not.”

“Right. Slow recovery it is.” Boba then stood and reached down to pat his good shoulder. “Rest up. Fennec and I will be in and out, but for now, sleep. You need it.”

He turned then and left, leaving Din to his quiet contemplation.

Even after the hypospray, he could still feel the throbbing effects of pain as it lanced up and down his side with each beat of his heart.

It was only luck that he did fall asleep from the sheer exhaustion coursing through his body.

He was left with a broken arm, a broken body, and a broken Creed. He wasn’t sure how much Boba knew of Mandalorian customs—especially Din’s customs which weren’t universal. He was still coming to terms with that.

But as it was, Din had no idea to the current state of his tribe. He knew many of them had been slain with the fallout of their exposure in the city of Nevarro. The survivors had been scattered. Or they could all be dead and Din would be the last of the Watch.

The only one who cared about a broken Creed was him, and even now he didn’t know what that meant.

What did it mean to be broken?

He shared none of these thoughts with Boba and Fennec whenever they came to visit, neither did he say anything to Boba’s hired doctor when they came to check him over and change his dressings.

He was silent through it all and needed to be prodded to get out of bed so he wouldn’t develop bed sores. He was a ghost of his former self and he could see it in Boba and Fennec’s eyes. They didn’t know what to do with him, so he guessed that’s why they contacted him.

There was a knock on the door to his room.

“Come in.” Din pushed himself to sit up against the bed with some effort and felt something pull in his side and he set his free hand upon it to try and soothe the throbbing. Then he saw Cobb Vanth enter the room.

His immediate instinct was to try and pull his helmet on, maintain some dignity, but he caught sought of his beskar’gam—helmet and all—across the room.

Besides, Fett’s doctor had already seen him without his armour. Why should he get so worried that Cobb was here?

“Fennec told me where to come find you,” the Marshal said, coming to sit slowly in the chair next to Din’s bed. “Gotta admit, this place is a whole lot bigger on the inside.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Din said, keeping his gaze to the bedspread despite how much he wanted to see Cobb’s face with unfiltered eyes for the first time. But he couldn’t get himself to do it. He didn’t think he deserved it. “Why are you here?”

“Ah, two reasons, I s’pose.” Cobb’s drawl felt like a balm. “First being business related. With Fett bein’ the new crime lord n’ all I suppose it’s only good that we negotiate a bit. See what he can offer Mos Pelgo and what he’s askin’ for in return. Pretty agreeable guy, I have to admit. Second reason . . . they asked me to see you.”

Din slowly looked over at Cobb. He looked the same as before, much more narrow now that he didn’t have Boba’s armour to cover his frame. But he looked good. He was wearing dark green today and not his usual red, but the colour still looked good on him.

And then up to his face. The cut of his beard. It was neater now than what Din remembered. He must’ve had more time to shave up a bit without the threat of krayt dragons and tuskens weighing him down. And that silver hair was still slicked back over his head, leaving bare a pair of hazel eyes.

They were hazel. And Din could see all the colours there.

“Looks like you’ve been through it,” Cobb said. “How you holding up?”

“How much do you know?”

“Bits and pieces mostly. Shand and Fett wouldn’t share much, and really it’s up to you if you want to share.”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

He remembered the nights he spent with Cobb when he had first arrived to Mos Pelgo. During the long stretches of travel between the town, the Tuskens, and the krayt dragon. After enough time, he had begun to speak more companionably with Cobb and shared stories of his own. But even now, he had so much to tell Cobb, to have him understand, because he felt Cobb could understand.

Besides, who knew more about loss than Cobb himself? The slave, the rebel, and the leader?

He was quiet through it all, only asking for clarification. And when it was all done, Din sat there with his head tipped back against the headboard, looking up at the ceiling to ignore the way tears pricked his eyes.

Cobb whistled lowly. “Seems a lot. But I am glad that Fett brought you here. Seems like you needed me.”

Din looked down to him and saw a teasing smirk on Cobb’s lips. “And what exactly would I need a Tatooine Marshal for? Are you even licensed?”

“Appointed. But that ain’t the point. The point is, I’m here for you.”

He felt Cobb’s hand on his leg there, just above his knee and the man squeezed, prompting Din to look at him.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen after this,” Din said, hardly above a whisper because how could he admit to the fact that his life was falling apart? That he didn’t know who he was anymore. He wasn’t the Mandalorian that walked into Mos Pelgo to kill a dragon. Not anymore.

“We’ve all been there,” Cobb said, squeezing and keeping a steady gaze on Din throughout it. “And you know I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m so tired.”

“It’s okay. You can sleep. I’ll be here, waitin’.”

With great effort, Din slowly lay back down on the bed and he lamented the fact that he couldn’t reach with his left hand to hold Cobb’s, to hold him there and know he wasn’t going to leave.

But Cobb was there all the same, and for now that would be enough.

#dincobb #din djarin #cobb vanth #dincobbweek #dincobbweek2021 #dincobb week #mandalorian #star speaks #star writes

17 notes · View notes