#Contrasting Only By Circumstance

[bigskydreaming]

The thing that kills me about the Star Wars prequel trilogy and why I will die on my hill that my problem is not that Star Wars is a tragedy, its that its a badly written tragedy, is that Anakin Skywalker was at his closest to being a good Jedi when he was ten years old.

[telesodalite]

I need to be weirder about the scavengers and cannibalism...

[gaytranszoro]

sorry okay im rewatching whole cake w a friend and got obsessed with the vinsmokes this time around okay. sorry. however i am a liker of themes and motifs and doomed characters. sorrey.

[ace-frog]

Listen I am I one of those moods again holy fucking shit I need to rant to badly

I fucking cannot with Ei and Yae. Like I genuinely love their characters but when I think of them along with Scara I get so unbelievably pissed. Scara was like a fuking child that Yae wanted to kill and that Ei neglected. His choices are his own and he should face the consequences but you cannot deny that Ei is a horrible fucking parent and its ridiculous that Nahida does a better job than her despite Scara trying to fucking kill her.

Scara fucked up but he was also taken advantage of and manipulated. His resentment began when he thought everyone he cared about betrayed him and I will never forgive Dottore for that among other shit for that. Ei created the dude and then just dipped and that is unexcusable. Yae gets a slight pass considering she wasn't the one who created him. Ei did. Ei had a responsibility and her trauma does not excuse that. She made him into a vessel to take the gnosis and then said nah you feel too many emotions. You cannot bring someone sentient into the world and then choose to abandon them even if that's what you thought the nicer option would be. He was left alone for 500 fucking years. That is absolutely insane. Maybe it's the older sib in me or maybe it's not but as much as I love Ei I cannot excuse her actions at all. God this is so complicated

[daydreamerdrew]

The Marvel Family (1945) #1

[alphalesbian]

.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Paying consumer debts is basically optional in the United States

The vast majority of America's debt collection targets $500-2,000 credit card debts. It is a filthy business, operated by lawless firms who hire unskilled workers drawn from the same economic background as their targets, who routinely and grotesquely flout the law, but only when it comes to the people with the least ability to pay.

America has fairly robust laws to protect debtors from sleazy debt-collection practices, notably the Fair Debt Collection Practices Act (FDCPA), which has been on the books since 1978. The FDCPA puts strict limits on the conduct of debt collectors, and offers real remedies to debtors when they are abused.

But for FDPCA provisions to be honored, they must be understood. The people who collect these debts are almost entirely untrained. The people they collected the debts from are likewise in the dark. The only specialized expertise debt-collection firms concern themselves with are a series of gotcha tricks and semi-automated legal shenanigans that let them take money they don't deserve from people who can't afford to pay it.

There's no better person to explain this dynamic than Patrick McKenzie, a finance and technology expert whose Bits About Money newsletter is absolutely essential reading. No one breaks down the internal operations of the finance sector like McKenzie. His latest edition, "Credit card debt collection," is a fantastic read:

https://www.bitsaboutmoney.com/archive/the-waste-stream-of-consumer-finance/

McKenzie describes how a debt collector who mistook him for a different PJ McKenzie and tried to shake him down for a couple hundred bucks, and how this launched him into a life as a volunteer advocate for debtors who were less equipped to defend themselves from collectors than he was.

McKenzie's conclusion is that "paying consumer debts is basically optional in the United States." If you stand on your rights (which requires that you know your rights), then you will quickly discover that debt collectors don't have – and can't get – the documentation needed to collect on whatever debts they think you owe (even if you really owe them).

The credit card companies are fully aware of this, and bank (literally) on the fact that "the vast majority of consumers, including those with the socioeconomic wherewithal to walk away from their debts, feel themselves morally bound and pay as agreed."

If you find yourself on the business end of a debt collector's harassment campaign, you can generally make it end simply by "carefully sending a series of letters invoking [your] rights under the FDCPA." The debt collector who receives these letters will have bought your debt at five cents on the dollar, and will simply write it off.

By contrast, the mere act of paying anything marks you out as substantially more likely to pay than nearly everyone else on their hit-list. Paying anything doesn't trigger forbearance, it invites a flood of harassing calls and letters, because you've demonstrated that you can be coerced into paying.

But while learning FDCPA rules isn't overly difficult, it's also beyond the wherewithal of the most distressed debtors (and people falsely accused of being debtors). McKenzie recounts that many of the people he helped were living under chaotic circumstances that put seemingly simple things "like writing letters and counting to 30 days" beyond their needs.

This means that the people best able to defend themselves against illegal shakedowns are less likely to be targeted. Instead, debt collectors husband their resources so they can use them "to do abusive and frequently illegal shakedowns of the people the legislation was meant to benefit."

Here's how this debt market works. If you become delinquent in meeting your credit card payments ("delinquent" has a flexible meaning that varies with each issuer), then your debt will be sold to a collector. It is packaged in part of a large spreadsheet – a CSV file – and likely sold to one of 10 large firms that control 75% of the industry.

The "mom and pops" who have the other quarter of the industry might also get your debt, but it's more likely that they'll buy it as a kind of tailings from one of the big guys, who package up the debts they couldn't collect on and sell them at even deeper discounts.

The people who make the calls are often barely better off than the people they're calling. They're minimally trained and required to work at a breakneck pace. Employee turnover is 75-100% annually: imagine the worst call center job in the world, and then make it worse, and make "success" into a moral injury, and you've got the debt-collector rank-and-file.

To improve the yield on this awful process, debt collection companies start by purging these spreadsheets of likely duds: dead people, people with very low credit-scores, and people who appear on a list of debtors who know their rights and are likely to stand on them (that's right, merely insisting on your rights can ensure that the entire debt-collection industry leaves you alone, forever).

The FDPCA gives you rights: for example, you have the right to verify the debt and see the contract you signed when you took it on. The debt collector who calls you almost certainly does not have that contract and can't get it. Your original lender might, but they stopped caring about your debt the minute they sold it to a debt-collector. Their own IT systems are baling-wire-and-spit Rube Goldberg machines that glue together the wheezing computers of all the companies they've bought over the last 25 years. Retrieving your paperwork is a nontrivial task, and the lender doesn't have any reason to perform it.

Debt collectors are bottom feeders. They are buying delinquent debts at 5 cents on the dollar and hoping to recover 8 percent of them; at 7 percent, they're losing money. They aren't "large, nationally scaled, hypercompetent operators" – they're shoestring operations that can only be viable if they hire unskilled workers and fail to train them.

They are subject to automatic damages for illegal behavior, but they still break the law all the time. As McKenzie writes, a debt collector will "commit three federal torts in a few minutes of talking to a debtor then follow up with a confirmation of the same in writing." A statement like "if you don’t pay me I will sue you and then Immigration will take notice of that and yank your green card" makes the requisite three violations: a false threat of legal action, a false statement of affiliation with a federal agency, and "a false alleged consequence for debt nonpayment not provided for in law."

If you know this, you can likely end the process right there. If you don't, buckle in. The one area that debt collectors invest heavily in is the automation that allows them to engage in high-intensity harassment. They use "predictive dialers" to make multiple calls at once, only connecting the collector to the calls that pick up. They will call you repeatedly. They'll call your family, something they're legally prohibited from doing except to get your contact info, but they'll do it anyway, betting that you'll scrape up $250 to keep them from harassing your mother.

These dialing systems are far better organized than any of the company's record keeping about what you owe. A company may sell your debt on and fail to keep track of it, with the effect that multiple collectors will call you about the same debt, and even paying off one of them will not stop the other.

Talking to these people is a bad idea, because the one area where collectors get sophisticated training is in emptying your bank account. If you consent to a "payment plan," they will use your account and routing info to start whacking your bank account, and your bank will let them do it, because the one part of your conversation they reliably record is this payment plan rigamarole. Sending a check won't help – they'll use the account info on the front of your check to undertake "demand debits" from your account, and backstop it with that recorded call.

Any agreement on your part to get on a payment plan transforms the old, low-value debt you incurred with your credit card into a brand new, high value debt that you owe to the bill collector. There's a good chance they'll sell this debt to another collector and take the lump sum – and then the new collector will commence a fresh round of harassment.

McKenzie says you should never talk to a debt collector. Make them put everything in writing. They are almost certain to lie to you and violate your rights, and a written record will help you prove it later. What's more, debt collection agencies just don't have the capacity or competence to engage in written correspondence. Tell them to put it in writing and there's a good chance they'll just give up and move on, hunting softer targets.

One other thing debt collectors due is robo-sue their targets, bulk-filing boilerplate suits against debtors, real and imaginary. If you don't show up for court (which is what usually happens), they'll get a default judgment, and with it, the legal right to raid your bank account and your paycheck. That, in turn, is an asset that, once again, the debt collector can sell to an even scummier bottom-feeder, pocketing a lump sum.

McKenzie doesn't know what will fix this. But Michael Hudson, a renowned scholar of the debt practices of antiquity, has some ideas. Hudson has written eloquently and persuasively about the longstanding practice of jubilee, in which all debts were periodically wiped clean (say, whenever a new king took the throne, or once per generation):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/24/grandparents-optional-party/#jubilee

Hudson's core maxim is that "debt's that can't be paid won't be paid." The productive economy will have need for credit to secure the inputs to their processes. Farmers need to borrow every year for labor, seed and fertilizer. If all goes according to plan, the producer pays off the lender after the production is done and the goods are sold.

But even the most competent producer will eventually find themselves unable to pay. The best-prepared farmer can't save every harvest from blight, hailstorms or fire. When the producer can't pay the creditor, they go a little deeper into debt. That debt accumulates, getting worse with interest and with each bad beat.

Run this process long enough and the entire productive economy will be captive to lenders, who will be able to direct production for follies and fripperies. Farmers stop producing the food the people need so they can devote their land to ornamental flowers for creditors' tables. Left to themselves, credit markets produce hereditary castes of lenders and debtors, with lenders exercising ever-more power over debtors.

This is socially destabilizing; you can feel it in McKenzie's eloquent, barely controlled rage at the hopeless structural knot that produces the abusive and predatory debt industry. Hudson's claim is that the rulers of antiquity knew this – and that we forgot it. Jubilee was key to producing long term political stability. Take away Jubilee and civilizations collapse:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/08/jubilant/#construire-des-passerelles

Debts that can't be paid won't be paid. Debt collectors know this. It's irrefutable. The point of debt markets isn't to ensure that debts are discharged – it's to ensure that every penny the hereditary debtor class has is transferred to the creditor class, at the hands of their fellow debtors.

In her 2021 Paris Review article "America's Dead Souls," Molly McGhee gives a haunting, wrenching account of the debts her parents incurred and the harassment they endured:

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2021/05/17/americas-dead-souls/

After I published on it, many readers wrote in disbelief, insisting that the debt collection practices McGhee described were illegal:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/19/zombie-debt/#damnation

And they are illegal. But debt collection is a trade founded on lawlessness, and its core competence is to identify and target people who can't invoke the law in their own defense.

Going to Defcon this weekend? I’m giving a keynote, “An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet’s Enshittification and Throw it Into Reverse,” today (Aug 12) at 12:30pm, followed by a book signing at the No Starch Press booth at 2:30pm!

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=50826

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation,” a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and bring back the old, good internet. It’s a DRM-free book, which means Audible won’t carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/12/do-not-pay/#fair-debt-collection-practices-act

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ sad girl ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ cho sang-woo x girlfriend!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! this story takes place in an alternate ending for squid game where sang-woo wins instead of gi-hun! there is also a part one to this story, million dollar man! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ one week had passed since your boyfriend, sang-woo, reappeared in your life under strange circumstances that made your blood run cold. for two agonizing weeks, he had vanished without explanation. then, he returned, battered and hollow-eyed, his face bearing scars that seemed etched not only into his skin but into his very soul. he had come to your door clutching a bag of cash, his body trembling, his clothes soaked with sweat. “wait for me,” he had whispered, his voice hoarse and desperate. you promised you would, and so you did.

˚ ༘♡ you couldn’t stop replaying that moment in your mind, every detail a puzzle you couldn’t solve. had he been involved in something criminal? was he tangled in debts or worse? the thought that he might be ensnared in something far beyond your understanding consumed you. the sight of him, standing there, so broken and afraid, haunted you. you didn’t want to believe he was in danger, but deep down, you couldn’t dismiss the fear.

˚ ༘♡ then, this morning, a text came through on your phone. it was brief, offering no answers, only an instruction, “come to my house.” no explanation, no reassurance, merely a summoning. the clock had barely struck six, but you didn’t hesitate. sleep clung to you as you threw on the white, wool coat he had gifted you months ago for your three-month anniversary.

˚ ༘♡ the streets were quiet, the morning air biting at your skin as you made your way to his home. every breath a battle against the anxiety clawing at your chest. when you reached his door, it swung open almost immediately.

˚ ༘♡ before you could say a word, he pulled you inside, his movements quick, the door closing behind you with a soft click. the air inside was warm, contrasting the chill outside, but it did little to ease the tension in your body.

˚ ༘♡ “you’re here,” he murmured, his voice low, and then his lips kissed your cheek, cool and brief, a gesture that was both familiar and foreign. the touch left your skin tingling, not with comfort but with unease. his eyes lingered on you, their usual sharpness dulled by something you couldn’t place, something sinister.

˚ ༘♡ you stepped back from him, your voice trembling but firm. “you have to tell me everything right now,” you demanded, though the weight of your exhaustion seeped into every word. the fear you’d carried for weeks had worn you down, leaving sorrow in its wake. “i can’t keep living like this, with all the secrecy and half-truths. it’s killing me.”

˚ ༘♡ as you glanced around, you noticed his home looked different, emptier than you remembered. furniture was missing, and stacks of boxes lined the walls, their presence unnerving. your eyes narrowed as you turned back to him. “are you moving? why didn’t you tell me anything?” your voice cracked with disbelief. then, anger surged, and you shoved his chest, your frustration spilling over. “this has to stop! you can’t keep throwing money and gifts at me, thinking it’ll distract me from everything you’re hiding!”

˚ ༘♡ his posture stiffened, his muscles taut under the pressure of your words. his jaw clenched tightly, and for a moment, he looked away, as though searching for the right response. when he spoke, his voice was strained, his frustration cutting through. “if you would only give me a chance!” he snapped, the sharpness of his tone filling the room. his chest heaved and fell rapidly as he struggled to compose himself.

˚ ༘♡ letting out a slow, deep breath, he rubbed his temple, his hand trembling slightly as he pulled off his glasses. without them, his eyes looked more vulnerable, the walls he so carefully built around himself momentarily exposed. “why can’t you trust me?” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with a mixture of anger and hurt. “why is it so hard for you to believe in me?”

˚ ༘♡ the scars on his face had faded slightly but still marred his handsome, angular features. your eyes lingered on them, the memories of his battered appearance resurfacing with a painful clarity. tears welled up, blurring your vision, and a tightness settled in your throat. “then tell me,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

˚ ༘♡ sang-woo exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the truth he was about to share. “it was business dealings,” he began, his tone measured, “not illegal, but high-risk. it was meant to be a way to increase my earnings, and it worked. it was highly profitable and lucrative in the fiscal aspect. it was presented as a secure business opportunity.”

˚ ༘♡ you narrowed your gaze, suspicion flaring. “how much money are you talking about?”

˚ ༘♡ he hesitated for a moment before meeting your eyes. “forty-five billion six hundred million won,” he said, his expression unreadable.

˚ ༘♡ your breath caught in you throat, your mind struggling to process the sheer enormity of the figure. “what?” you managed to choke out, your disbelief evident. “sang-woo, that kind of money doesn’t come without strings attached. it can’t be clean.”

˚ ༘♡ his jaw tightened, and he looked at you with an intensity that made your stomach churn. “do you trust me enough to believe it is?”

˚ ༘♡ you faltered, the strength of his question bearing down on you. he wasn’t explaining, he was testing your loyalty, your ability to have faith in him despite the glaring inconsistencies. deep down, doubt clawed at you, but your love for him, flawed and reckless as it was, overpowered your reservations. “i trust you,” you murmured, guilt creeping into your voice. “i’m sorry for questioning you.”

˚ ༘♡ he nodded, the tension in his frame easing slightly, though his gaze remained guarded. “the investment fund ended a few weeks ago,” he continued, his tone darker now. “it got messy, very messy.” his bruised hand lifted, gesturing to the faint scars on his face. “this… was the price of my involvement.”

˚ ༘♡ the word lingered between you, heavy and suffocating. you stared at him, the weight of his choices crashing down on you like an unbearable tide. “why didn’t you tell me?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “don’t you know I would have stood by you? no matter what?”

˚ ༘♡ his eyes darkened, and his voice rose intensely, startling you. “because I didn’t want to drag you into my problems!” he shouted, the force of his words filling the room and making you flinch. the reaction caught him off guard, his frustration fading as he noticed the fear on your pallid face. he let out a deep sigh, running his hand through his disheveled hair before pacing the length of the room. when he returned, his expression softened, and he cupped your face gently, his touch warm despite the tension. “i’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with regret. “i didn’t mean to scare you. i’m sorry.”

˚ ༘♡ you had hoped that hearing the truth would make things easier, that it would bring the clarity you craved. but instead, it felt as though the distance between you had grown wider. “sang-woo,” you said softly, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions, “i don’t care what you’ve done or what happened. i only want to know that you’re safe, that we’ll be okay.” tears spilled freely down your pale cheeks, salty streaks marking the anguish you couldn’t hide.

˚ ༘♡ his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. your head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you in a way his words couldn’t. his hand moved slowly along your back, a comforting motion that was far different than the turmoil brewing within you. “everything will be fine,” he whispered, his tone firm yet almost pleading. “i promise, it’ll all be fine.”

˚ ༘♡ despite his reassurance, you couldn’t shake the pang of unease in your stomach. his words might have been meant to comfort, but they felt fragile, as though they could shatter under the strain of whatever truths still remained hidden.

˚ ༘♡ “i love you,” he murmured, his hand gently tilting your chin until your eyes met his. his gaze was steady, filled with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. “i want to spend my life with you. to get married, have a family…”

˚ ༘♡ a shaky laugh escaped through your tears, a fragile moment of relief breaking through the tension. “alright,” you said softly, wiping at your damp cheeks. “let’s start with something simple. how about we go get something to eat?” your fingers brushed against his tired, weathered face, tracing the lines of exhaustion etched into his features. “you look like you haven’t had a decent meal in days,” you added with a small smile.

˚ ༘♡ sang woo’s lips curved upward, faint but genuine. “that sounds good,” he replied, his voice carrying a gentleness that was almost unfamiliar after everything.

a/n: i thought sang-woo wouldn’t tell his girlfriend about the squid game, with how concerned he is with maintaining a perfect reputation. let me know if you have any other requests! 🤍

[montahafamily]

🚨Please, don't skip‼️‼️

Very important... 💔🍉

I'm Montaha Basil Inshasy, l am 25 year's old🚨🚨🚨🚨

A distress call from Gaza, a family searching for safety 🍉🙏🏻🍉🫶🙏🏻

A family trapped in Gaza asks for help to survive

I am Muntaha Inshasi, 25 years old, married, recently married to Hamada Al-Skafi, 36 years old. Two months before October 7, I lived with my husband during very beautiful days, but after October 7, our lives were turned upside down due to the war of collective benefit. My husband was forced to travel outside Gaza for treatment due to his severe injury, and now, in light of the Israeli aggression, my family and I have been displaced several times. We currently live in a tent on the banks of Khan Yunis under very difficult circumstances. My family consists of a father, a mother and nine members. I need to raise money to restore a beautiful life and stability outside the Gaza Strip. All I can say leaves only a small glimpse of the suffering we are living. Here is a glimpse of the contrast between our lives before the aggression and the nightmare we have been living since its beginning.

Thank you for your support and solidarity Each of us needs 5,000 euros to travel outside Gaza.

@90-ghost @nabulsi @sar-soor @sayruq @muhammadsmiry @appsa @salem-baker @transmutationisms

Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #80 )and a-shade-of-blue

[izzyzt]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥’𝐬 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞

the salesman (gong ji-cheol) x f/reader — squid game

| Y/N confronts the recruiter after two years, but he turns the tables with a sinister game and a chilling warning: “This is your only warning, sweetheart.”|

———————————————————————————

Y/N slammed the door to the cheap motel room shut, tossing her bag onto the creaky bed. The room smelled like stale air and mildew, but she didn’t care. This wasn’t about comfort; it was a pit stop on her endless hunt for him.

It had been two years since she escaped the Squid Game alive, but she was anything but free. The blood money still sat untouched in a locked safe, a constant reminder of the lives she took and the people she lost. And above all, it reminded her of him—the man who started it all.

The man who gave her that damn card.

He had a face she couldn’t forget, one that haunted her even now: sharp features, a smile too charming for someone so cruel, and eyes that sparkled with amusement no matter the circumstance. She didn’t know his name, but that didn’t matter. She’d been chasing his shadow ever since, following every lead, every whispered rumor.

Tonight, she’d finally seen him again—on the subway. He was sitting there, calm as ever, as though the two years of her obsessive search had been nothing but a game to him. She had pushed through the crowded train to get to him, but he slipped out just as the doors opened, vanishing into the bustling platform.

And now here she was, back in this dingy motel, trying to piece together her next move.

But then, a voice she hadn’t heard in two years broke through the silence, smooth and playful.

“Took you long enough.”

Her blood froze.

Y/N turned sharply, and there he was. Him.

He was sitting in the armchair by the window, one leg crossed over the other, his posture relaxed. His suit was sharp and pristine, a stark contrast to the shabby room, and his eyes sparkled with an unsettling combination of amusement and mischief.

“How did you get in here?” she demanded, her voice sharp and trembling with anger.

He tilted his head, like a curious child trying to solve a puzzle.

“You really should learn to lock your doors, Y/N.”

Her fists clenched at her sides as she stepped toward him, her body burning with rage.

“What do you want?”

He stood, taking his time, adjusting his cuffs as though she hadn’t spoken. When he finally met her gaze, his smile widened.

“What do I want?” he repeated, stepping closer. “That’s the wrong question. You’ve been looking for me, haven’t you? Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Her rage boiled over, and without thinking, she threw a punch at him.

He caught her wrist mid-air with startling ease, his grip firm yet calculated. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink—just smiled as though she’d done exactly what he wanted.

“Now, now,” he murmured, his voice dangerously calm. “Is that any way to greet someone you’ve been chasing for so long?”

She yanked her hand free, glaring at him with fire in her eyes. “You ruined my life!”

His brow arched as he took another step forward, forcing her to back into the edge of the bed.

“Ruined it?” he echoed, his tone soft, almost pitying. “Or gave it purpose?”

She wanted to shove him again, to scream, but the way he was watching her—calm, unflinching, almost playful—stopped her in her tracks. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin, holding it up between his fingers like a magician about to perform a trick.

“Let’s play a game,” he said, his voice light and cheerful, as though they were old friends.

Her jaw tightened.

“I’m not playing anything with you.”

He pouted, tilting his head.

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart. Heads or tails. You pick.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” he replied, flipping the coin between his fingers. “Just a simple game. Call it.”

Her hands balled into fists again, but this time she swallowed her anger, narrowing her eyes.

“Heads.”

He grinned, flipping the coin high into the air. It caught the flickering light as it spun before landing neatly in his palm. He didn’t reveal the result right away, instead stepping closer, so close that she could feel his breath against her skin.

“Are you sure about that?” he whispered, his voice low and intimate.

“Just show me,” she snapped.

He opened his hand slowly, revealing tails.

His grin widened as he leaned in, his hands moving to the bed on either side of her, caging her in. The space between them vanished, his presence suffocating.

“Looks like you lose,” he murmured, his tone deceptively gentle.

“What now?” she spat, refusing to let the proximity rattle her.

His smile softened, but the intensity in his eyes burned brighter.

“Now, we see how far you’re willing to go.”

She tried to shove him away, but he didn’t budge. His gaze never wavered as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“You’re messing with my work, sweetheart, and I can’t let that happen.”

Her breath hitched as his hand brushed against her jaw, tilting her chin upward. His grip was light, almost tender, but it sent shivers down her spine.

“This is your only warning,” he continued, his lips barely an inch from hers. “Back off. Or next time, you won’t see me coming.”

With that, he released her and stepped back, adjusting his cuffs as though nothing had happened.

Y/N glared at him, her chest rising and falling with barely controlled rage.

“I’m not stopping,” she said, her voice trembling with defiance.

His smirk returned, sharp and dangerous.

“Good,” he said, walking toward the door. “That makes it so much more fun.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone in the suffocating silence. On the table by the window, she noticed the coin he had left behind, perfectly balanced on its edge, a taunting reminder that the game was far from over.

[inotakumagf]

find me in the future

✶ sylus qin x gn!reader

word count ✺ 2.1K

summary ✺ you wake up next to sylus. the only problem is that you don’t know how you ended up in his arms.

warning ✺ teeny tiny bit of angst, but it all works out in the end. description of injuries & fighting. i was very inspired by would you fall in love with me again? from epic the musical and s2e7 of arcane iykyk.....sylus is so soulmate-coded. reblogs & comments are very appreciated! :)

You wake to a warm body pressed against your back. You nuzzle further into your plush pillow at the feeling, resting your hand over the strong arm across your waist. It's almost enough to lull you back to sleep. But your eyes snap open, and you jerk away. Now that your brain is not muddled with sleep, you remember that you went to bed alone. Because you have no one to share it with. 

“Sweetheart? Is everything alright?” The voice is rough with sleep, but very familiar. 

You sit up, turning to stare at the figure that was spooning you from behind. You fumble for your nightstand to flick on the switch of your lamp. It takes you a moment to find the switch and when you do, you squint at the brightness.

You blink at the man staring up at you. It’s Sylus. You know Sylus. But why is he in your bed? Why is his arm reaching out to rub against your skin? And why is he staring at you like you hung up the stars?

“I…” You don’t know what to say. He’s not the type of person to just show up in your bed uninvited. Did you go out drinking, without remembering? Did you…? 

“Did you have a nightmare, sweetheart?” He sits up and pulls you into his arms, running his large hand over your skin in comfort.

You watch as he does so, staring at the way his hands knead over you with so much familiarity. That’s when you notice the band on his ring finger. 

Your eyes widen in surprise. He’s married? You’ve never noticed him wearing a ring before, and you feel discomfort settling in your stomach at the sight of it now. He has a spouse, and yet he’s here with you.

Sylus presses a kiss to the side of your head. “Darling, I can practically hear you thinking hard. What’s wrong?”

“I can’t…” Your heart is hammering at a fast past as you try to remember how you got here. Why can’t you remember, and why is Sylus still touching on you so sweetly? The last time you had seen him, you were visiting the N109 Zone before your mission. There had been no kisses or sweet talk then. 

You rub your hands over your face roughly, and the pressure is enough to confirm that this is not a dream. Cool metal contrasts over your warm skin, and when you stare down at your hands, it starts to click together in your head.

There is a ring and wedding band on your ring finger to match Sylus’s. He runs his hands over yours soothingly, and you can see just how well his hands mold into yours. Your breath hitches with emotion.

Your confusion overwhelms you. You’ve barely been able to hold a conversation with Sylus and suddenly you’re married to him? 

The man drops his head to your shoulder and presses kisses along the skin until he reaches your jaw. “Sweetheart, you’re worrying me. Are you falling ill?”

He leans closer before pausing. His crimson eyes find yours. You can feel the warmth of his breaths. Just an inch more, and you’d be kissing him. You feel heat rush over you at the thought. You can’t lie and say you’ve never thought about what kissing Sylus would feel like. But even after becoming friendlier with the Onychinus head, he’s never indicated any affection towards you in that way.

“Is this alright?” He whispered against your skin.

You hesitate. This Sylus wants to kiss you, but only because he thinks you’re his spouse. You are an entirely different person than who he believes, and the thought of kissing him under questionable circumstances feels wrong.

You pull back slightly. “Sorry, I just…I don’t think I feel well.”

He smiles softly at you, an expression you’ve never seen on him before. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. Shall I fetch a cool towel for you? Or some tea? What can I do to make you feel better?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the sound of a radio crackles to life. You can hear a baby screaming. Your body is on high alert at the sound, but Sylus just chuckles and throws the duvet off of his side of the bed.

He leans over to press a kiss to the top of your head and says, “Rest. I’ll check on Josephine.”

When he leaves, it takes you a full moment to recover. Josephine? Not only are you married, but you have a baby girl too? How could you forget something like that? Once your mind clears, you follow Sylus out of the room. It’s hard to navigate the unfamiliar home, especially in the dark. But you follow the wailing of the baby to a nearby room. The door is slightly ajar, and you can hear Sylus’s deep voice.

“I’m right here, peanut. Nothing will ever harm you, not with me to protect you. I don’t suppose you’ll finally let me sing you to sleep? I swear I’ve been practicing.”

Even though she can’t understand him, baby Josephine gurgles a response.

You push the door open the rest of the way. Sylus is standing over a crib with a one year old in his arms. He turns at the creak of the door. The little girl has your hair texture in a silver shade that matches her father. You step closer slowly. You lift your hand to run the knuckle of your index finger over her smooth cheek. She turns her head so that she can gnaw on your finger. You smile softly at her.

“You should have stayed in bed, I can lull her back to sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

You stare down at the baby and then up at Sylus. You can feel tears accumulating, so you look back down to hide them. “I just wanted to see her.”

Sylus shifts Josephine so that she’s cradled securely in his left arm, and he uses the other arm to bring you close to his side. He kisses your forehead and keeps his lips there, causing your eyes to flutter shut. You could get used to this very easily. 

You would have never thought that the stoic and grumpy man would ever behave like this. You wish you could remember how you got to this moment, if only to understand how Sylus’s attitude towards you could change so drastically.

It's not that he is hateful or rude, he’s just very closed off, and all your attempts at getting to know him better are always shot down. 

Sylus sighs and mumbles into your skin, “You don’t have to tell me what’s bothering you now, but promise you’ll come to me if you need to let it out. I hate seeing you so upset.”

You nod as much as you can in his hold. Josephine has fallen back asleep with the gentle rocking that Sylus has been doing, so he lowers her back into her crib.

Once she’s down, he turns to you and sweeps you off your feet. You gasp and wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself. You shoot him a glare, but he just chuckles and nuzzles his nose into your skin. 

“‘M sorry, darling. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

You rest your head against his chest, drifting off to the sound of his beating heart.

It feels like only a moment has passed when you wake, flinching at the pain that overwhelms your body. Strong arms cradle you against a solid chest. It takes a second for the ringing in your ears to clear, and you can hear someone talking.

“Mx. Hunter, can you hear me? You need to stay awake.”

Sylus is looking down at you, brows furrowed in concern. You’re in the same position as you were moments ago, except you’re outside and in so, so much pain. You must have been hit in the chest, because each breath you take is a short gasp.

“What…happened?” you wheeze out. 

“Mephisto was flying above when he saw your fight with the Wanderer. He told me that after it hit you, you disappeared for sometime.”

Your mouth goes dry. “Disappeared?”

“The Wanderer was an Elite Herte Knave. Worrisome creatures, because of how they alter time and space with their attacks. It must have displaced you somewhere nearby, because you returned as soon as I defeated it.” Sylus’s tone of voice is back to the stiff way of speaking that you’ve been used to. He won’t even look you in the eye anymore. 

“You can put me down,” you mumble. “I can walk just fine.”

He glares at you. “Oh, you’re fine, are you? When I found you, I thought you were dead because of how still you were. You can’t rush into a fight like this with little regard for your safety. It’s irresponsible, and I’d expect more from a Hunter of your caliber.”

The stark contrast between how Sylus spoke to you before versus now makes your heart sink. Even now as you’re injured, he finds time to scold you. Had the Herte Knave manipulated your mind and made you see a future you could never have? Is it that cruel?

“I’m sorry,” you apologize quietly. You’re angry at yourself for thinking that what you saw could be anything more than an illusion. 

His eyes lock on you instantly. Sylus takes in your subdued demeanor, and he sighs. “I apologize for my tone. I was…worried about you. I don’t want to lose you.”

You stare at him, and it’s his turn to look away. “I mean, we can’t have Linkon City’s finest Hunter dying, can we?”

“Can you put me down now? I need to get back to headquarters to give Captain Jenna my report.” You want to get away as fast as possible, if only to defuse your embarrassment.

Sylus’s hands tighten around you. “You’re in no shape to go anywhere, especially not back to work. Let me take care of you.”

“You don’t need to do that,” you argue. “I can go to the hospital.”

Sylus stares at you with a look you can’t decipher. “If…that’s what you want. I apologize. I considered calling the Association to tip them about your state, but I worried you might be too wounded by the time backup arrived. I can bring you to Akso Hospital and…I won’t bother you again.”

Your brows furrow. “What? You’re not–I don’t want that.”

“Then what can I do? Ask, and it’s yours.”

“Why are you acting so weird?” Your frustration has only gotten stronger with each vague response from Sylus.

“I understand that you’re uncomfortable around me, so I’ll leave you alone,” he says, looking anywhere but at you.

You grab his lower jaw and tilt his stubborn face towards you. “I don’t want you to leave. Why would you think that, after everything?”

He lets you squeeze his cheeks, staring at you with a strange look in his eyes. It’s almost…vulnerable.

“You don’t want me to carry you, or treat your wounds,” he practically whispers. “And you’re always angry at me. I’ve clearly overextended my welcome in your life.”

You stare at him, mouth agape. “You’re…you can’t be serious. I thought you hated me. I thought you were tired of my behavior. I’m always provoking you.”

Sylus shakes his head, “I’m…sorry. I don’t intend to be so gruff all the time. I enjoy your company, and your antics.”

Your treacherous heart is beating a million miles a minute. “Then…”

He smiles, and you're relieved to see him nearly back to normal. “Then I’ll patch you up at my home. And,” he hesitates for a moment, “perhaps you can stay. Until you’re healed, of course.”

He waits for your answer, large hands tightening their grip at your thighs and over your side. You want to sink into the touch, and intertwine your soul with his if it were possible.

“Yes,” you say breathlessly. “I think I should.”

Sylus smiles, and you almost feel his relief. “Good,” he murmurs.

His eye catches something, and his lips pout in thought. You look down to see what has caught his attention. He’s staring at your hand, where there are cuts and bruises left as evidence of the Wanderer attack. But what stands out against all of those wounds is the band of indentation on your ring finger. Your breath catches as you stare at the mark, running your thumb over it gently. You smile, leaning your head against Sylus’s chest.

You don’t know what your future holds, but you know for certain that you want—need—Sylus in it.

[prettyoatmeal]

Thinking about meeting Simon with his freshly bleached hair only to find out he's a natural brunette <3

I'm not sure how canon it is but I saw a tweet a while ago that Ghost bleaches his hair blond and I haven't stopped thinking about it since.

You'd always just assumed he was a natural blond. You never really paid much attention to the hair on his arms because why would you? And you never see his legs as his dresser only consists of long cargo pants. His eyebrows weren't too much darker from the blond anyway.

You had no reason to think otherwise. Which only embarrasses him even more when you do find out. He knew you were going to find out eventually, but he never actually thought that far ahead.

He doesn't get time to fix his hair on base so it's only natural that he comes back with his roots grown out. It's a stark contrast to the rest of his bleach blond hair. So when you finally get to see your sweet Simon after half a year, you can't help but immediately notice the change.

At the time he wished you would've just ignored it, but when you caught that initial glimpse of his hair, your hands immediately invaded his scalp. It didn't help either that his hair grew fast.

"You never told me you weren't a natural blond."

"It never came up." he answered gruffly, his uncomfortable shuffling contrasting with the way he leaned his head down slightly and allowed you to inadvertently play with his hair. It felt nice, but he didn't want to admit it then when he was acting aloof.

"It looks nice," you'd say, and he'd scoff. You'd say again, "you look good in brown. Matches your eyes," and he'd just grunt again, acting irritated. Though the way he let out a content sigh as his eyes closed told you otherwise.

*************** DISCLAIMER Under no circumstances do I give permission to copy, repost, or manipulate my work in any way. I am not comfortable with this. If you wish to translate my work, message me privately. My inbox is always open.

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

Each Yellowjackets character’s role in the wilderness and how these roles overlap into the adult timeline

Natalie - The Hunter

Nat’s role as The Hunter aligns with her independent spirit and her familiarity with hardship, stemming from her difficult childhood. Natalie’s hunting skills give her a sense of purpose and power that she never experienced before. Living under her father’s thumb for most of her childhood, she was repeatedly told she was useless and was forced to comply with her father’s abusive control and humiliation of her. At school, she was frequently slut-shamed and referred to as a “burnout,” reinforcing her sense of worthlessness and lack of direction. Wielding the gun gives her power, protection, motivation, and appreciation from others that she never received before. Nat’s ability to provide for the group and keep them alive proves her father’s words about her wrong, and you can see her relishing in that.

Nat’s role as The Hunter also reflects her propensity for isolation. Nat has always been a bit of an outsider, trusting very few people and outcasting herself intentionally through the abrasive front she puts on. Nat’s hunting mirrors this as it isolates her from the rest of the group. She spends most of each day trekking through the wilderness looking for game while the rest of the group stays back at the cabin. This isolation creates an even stronger codependency with Travis, as he is the only person she interacts with and relies on for most of the day.

As an adult, Natalie still embodies The Hunter role, though her objectives have transformed from hunting for food to hunting for answers, truth, and meaning in her life. She relentlessly pursues elusive leads on the postcards, the blackmailers, and the circumstances of Travis’ death (all with a gun in her hand). Her role as a hunter ties into her need for control in the midst of chaos. In the wilderness, her hunting skills provided a measure of stability; as an adult, this manifests in her obsessive pursuit of answers and in her determination to confront the past head-on

Natalie also maintains the isolation and outsider status she had in the wilderness. Just as she was apart from the other girls in the wilderness, hunting alone, her adulthood is marked by pushing people away before they can get close to her and living a transient lifestyle similar to her treks through the woods on hunting trips.

Shauna - The Butcher

Shauna’s willingness to step into arguably the most emotionally taxing and gruesome role in the wilderness speaks to both her toughness and her aggressive, adrenaline-seeking tendencies. Shauna’s role as The Butcher gives her a sense of importance, contrasting how invisible she felt before the crash living in Jackie’s shadow. It also evokes a sense of intensity, thrill, and heightened emotions; something very absent from the mundanity of her life before and after the wilderness.

Shauna’s capacity to take on such a role reveals her ability to detach and perform the task with a cool-headedness that hints at a unique adaptability. However, it also hints at something deeper, a capability for darkness and violence that she suppresses. She doesn't panic under pressure but rather appears oddly at home in these extreme moments.

Like the others, this role follows Shauna into the adult timeline. In a more obvious sense, she kills rabbits in her backyard and butchers them to feed to her family, and she cuts up Adam’s body after she murders him. But in a more subtle sense, Shauna is clearly still seeking the adrenaline that butchering in the wilderness provided her. She enters a risky affair with Adam, jumps off of bridges, sleeps with Adam in her home when Jeff could come in at any moment, tracks down the people who stole her minivan and clearly has to hold herself back from killing them, and she stabs Adam. Her (terrifying) monologue to the minivan thief about peeling human skin shows the rush that Shauna gets from these moments that remind her of the raw survival instincts she experienced in the wilderness.

Just as she was sick of being invisible behind Jackie as a teen, she is sick of the normalcy of being a suburban mom as an adult and craves what she had in the wilderness. In many ways, Shauna’s life is shaped by a tension between her past and present, where The Butcher’s ferocity lurks beneath her gentle, unassuming exterior. Her role in the wilderness forever alters her ability to experience life without craving intensity; it’s almost as if the ordinary doesn’t fulfill her, leaving her compelled to seek out higher stakes and indulge in morally dubious behavior.

Misty - The Caretaker

Misty’s role as a medic in the wilderness is an obvious sign of her need for validation and worship from others. Misty needs to be needed, and she manifests this by making people rely on her to survive in the wilderness. Her medical knowledge grants her the role of The Caretaker, a role that is especially important in the aftermath of an injurious plane crash and during Shauna’s pregnancy. Before the plane crash, Misty was ridiculed and ignored. But after the crash, she realizes she’s in a situation where the unique skills she was previously mocked and outcasted for are suddenly indispensable and praised. Misty delights in the fact that the group relies on her, and she ensures they will continue to value her by breaking the flight recorder, tripping and poisoning Coach Ben, and emphasizing her ability to deliver Shauna’s baby when the time comes. Her desire for power over others stems from a deep insecurity, and she will do anything to maintain this power.

As an adult, Misty still holds her role as The Caretaker. She works as a nurse for the elderly, a position that allows her to remain needed and in control over vulnerable people. We see Misty looking far too satisfied when she withholds pain medications from one of her patients after she disrespects Misty. We also see Misty relishing in her control over Jessica Roberts after she kidnaps her. She makes Jessica need by literally keeping her captive and at her mercy, chaining her to a bed and caring for her. In these scenes, she thrives on her (forced) emotional connection to Jessica.

Her obsessive need to be valued is also seen in her relationship with Nat. She desperately wants Nat to admit she needs her help and support. She goes to great lengths to make Nat rely on her (tampering with Nat’s car so she has to hitch a ride with Misty, spying on her so that she can leap into action and rescue her when needed, snorting Nat’s coke before she can, investigating Nat’s disappearance and infiltrating Lottie’s compound to “save” her).

Similar to Nat and Shauna, Misty is attempting to recreate the feelings of importance and purpose she had in the wilderness, and she does so by obsessively providing care to those around her, even if they don’t want it and even if it eventually ends up harming the very people she’s attempting to help.

Lottie - The Prophet

Lottie's role as The Prophet reveals her complex and often contradictory psyche. She’s modest but confident, empathetic but manipulative, gentle but dangerous, afraid of her power but also inclined to wield it. Lottie is trapped in her own mental health struggles and the pressure of others’ expectations. She is highly intuitive, both emotionally and psychologically, and her visions and interpretations suggest she has an acute awareness of others’ fears and needs, even if filtered through her delusions. This makes her a natural figure for people to gravitate toward in times of uncertainty. Her peers’ reliance on her prophecies builds her confidence and identity as a leader, though it also places her in a role where she becomes responsible for the group’s downward spiral. Her authority in the wilderness often vacillates between comforting her teammates and manipulating them, blurring her true intentions and leaving room for her power to turn darker.

Lottie’s role as The Prophet remains with her long after the rescue. We see her spiritually guiding other patients during her time in the psychiatric ward. And after she gets out of the hospital, we know that she eventually starts a full-on cult (wellness community). The wellness center is a modern extension of the community she led in the woods, blending healing practices with a lingering undercurrent of fear and control as she continues to influence others while grappling with the guilt of the disastrous consequences her influence has caused in the past. When the rest of the survivors arrive at the compound, Lottie slips right back into that familiar Prophet role. Within the span of a few hours, Lottie has the group engaging in her spiritual treatments and making a ritualistic sacrifice to the Wilderness. It remains unclear whether Lottie's prophetic abilities are rooted in genuine intuition, trauma-induced delusions, or supernatural forces, but her impact on those around her is still as powerful and dangerous as it was in the wilderness.

Travis - The Gatherer/Follower

Travis’s role is often more supportive, as he frequently follows Natalie’s lead in hunting and survival tasks and Lottie’s lead regarding spiritual beliefs and the welfare of the group. He’s not the one holding the gun on most hunting trips, but he’ll be the one behind Nat coaching her through it and reminding her to breathe. He’s devoted to Lottie’s leadership and contributes to her prayer circles in his own small ways. This role reflects his position in the group as someone searching for acceptance and stability, still grappling with the trauma of his father’s death. His willingness to contribute in more secondary ways showcases his loyalty and his struggle to find his own identity amidst the group’s chaos.

We don’t get to see a lot of adult Travis, but echoes of his role in the wilderness are still evident. He desperately seeks out Lottie’s guidance and direction, even though it leads to his death. He also continues to fall into his old patterns with Nat, following her around and supporting her through her addiction, making her promise not to commit suicide, and saving her life when she overdoses.

Van - The Storyteller

Even before the crash, Van is a cinephile and pop culture obsessive. Her proclivity towards fiction and narratives translates to the wilderness as she becomes the group’s storyteller. During Tai’s expedition, she lightens the group’s mood with her iconic “our girl Sandy” retelling. She recaps Wiskayok High's gossip during the attic seance. In a darker moment, she begins to tell the story of the cabin and the Wilderness after the group eats Javi. Van's storytelling is her way of coping with the dark reality she has been presented with, as well as making sense of her trauma through the narrative format she is comfortable with. She begins by retelling the fictional stories she loved before the crash, and then shifts to fictionalizing the world she is actually living in. Van's stories and her happy-go-lucky, humorous demeanor serve as a distraction from the traumas of the wilderness for both the group and herself.

Van’s storytelling role continues after she is rescued from the wilderness as she opens her own video store, collecting stories and sharing them with her customers. She becomes a curator of nostalgia. Van is obsessed with the pop culture of the past, which shows her strong connection to stories and narratives, albeit in a way that allows her to maintain distance from her own. As an adult, Van appears to cope by living in the past, immersing herself in a realm of curated stories that are not her own, which speaks to her avoidance of the unresolved trauma of the wilderness. Her humor, a key part of her storytelling as a teenager, becomes a defense mechanism, masking her pain and reluctance to fully engage with what she did in the wilderness.

Taissa - The Protector/Warrior

Taissa's strength and endurance cast her in the role of The Warrior and Protector. She is ambitious, decisive, and often takes charge when the group needs direction. She leads the charge on leaving the crash site and hiking to the lake, a decision which likely ended up saving many of their lives. Tai is also the first to decide to seek out civilization, forming an expedition to find help for the rest of the group. When Van is gravely injured, Tai risks her own life to stay behind and care for her, refusing to leave her side. Similarly, when Shauna goes into labor during a blizzard, Tai supports her, physically and emotionally, leading them back to safety. Beneath her tough exterior lies a deep well of care and selflessness; Tai will go to great lengths to protect the people she loves.

However, her role also highlights her internal conflict and her propensity for self-destruction as she wrestles with a dual nature that makes her both a protector and a potential threat to the group. The dark side of Tai goes against everything she stands for; it puts Van and other members of the group in danger, and it presents a complete lack of control that she is unaccustomed to. The wilderness brings out her survival instincts but also forces her to confront her more dangerous side.

As an adult, Taissa is still a fierce, protective force for her family and the remaining survivors. She pays for Nat’s multiple stints in rehab, chases down and fully tackles the blackmailer, helps Shauna cover up Adam's murder to save her from incarceration, and runs a cutthroat political campaign hoping to create change. Her pursuit of becoming a state senator symbolizes her fight to protect and improve her community. This can be seen as an extension of her drive to ensure survival in the wilderness—fighting for stability, control, and order in a chaotic world. Her willingness to do whatever it takes to succeed, even resorting to morally gray actions (e.g., sabotaging her own family to protect her political image), reflects her wilderness-era ruthlessness. When the “Other Tai” emerges again, Taissa is determined to protect her family by distancing herself from them. The Other Tai’s actions can be seen as an extreme form of her protectiveness, as well, as she kills Biscuit as a sacrifice to the Wilderness to ensure her and her family's safety and power.

[olaadel-ouf]

Iam Ola Abu El-ouf, lam 34 years old🚨🚨🚨

A distress call from Gaza...a family searching for safety🙏🇵🇸

A family trapped in Gaza asks for help to survive 🍉🙏🇵🇸

I need to raise money to restore a beautiful and stable life outside the Gaza Strip. Everything I say leaves only a small amount of the suffering we experience. Here is a glimpse into the contrast between our lives before the aggression and the nightmare we have been experiencing since its beginning. Thank you for your support

About my family:

It consists of a mother, a father, two brothers, and a separate sister. She has two children. My mother and father, who are 66 years old. We were displaced from the city of Rafah after the occupation bombed our house without taking any clothes, furniture, gas, or cover. We were protected from the cold of winter, and we live in a tent in the worst conditions in terms of cooking over fire and pollution. Water, waste collection, and lack of detergents. A 36-year-old brother, a 21-year-old brother, and children are in need of the minimum necessities of life in light of the difficult circumstances and tragedy in which we live.

We urgently need support to ensure our lives and live in peace and security

An architect, I used to work in an engineering office in the Gaza reconstruction and I aspired to complete my master’s degree, but my work and studies were halted due to the war. I am divorced and have two children, Amir, 8 years old, and Maryam, 7 years old.

@nabulsi @aces-and-angels @ibtisam @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @vakarians-babe @7amaspayrollmanager @fairuzfakhira @fallahsart @sayruq @humanvoreture @kaapstadgirly @sar-soor @dimonds456-art @plomegranate @commissions4aid-international @nabulsi @stil-macher @soon-palestine @communitythings @palestinegenocide @vakarians-babe @ghost-and-a-half

[lavenders388]

HII!!

could we please get some kang dae ho x reader??

something where he’s a bit of his usual himbo self and the reader is maybe a bit airheaded— something about two people being in love with one another while the world around them is burning is amazing.

~Flowers in December~

<3 Kang Dae Ho x Reader

requested 💌

authors note: i am amazed by the amount of requests and also so flattered!! I am so happy to get back into writing not only for myself but to be able to make other people happy to see their ideas come to life!! i apologize if this has some flaws i cant wait to get more practice in and promise the next will be better!! feedback is always appreciated! thank you all so much!!<3 -matcha

~~~~~~~~~~~⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆~~~~~~~~~~~

...

~takes place during the second night~

"we should all take turns keeping watch over the group" player 456 urged as the warning for lights out echoed throughout the room, the rest of the group silently agreeing- trusting the man who claimed to have been in one of the previous games, leaving as the sole survivor. you were, as were many others, reluctant to believe that he had done all of this before, but after his help in the first game and joining his team for the second, you grew to trust him; and the other members of your group. the man that had been assigned your partner for keeping watch was coincidentally a member you were drawn to specifically- at first because he was close to your age, his boyish face making you feel a little less scared and alone in the second game, and eventually you appreciated his outward personality and kindhearted confidence, a stark contrast to the situation you both were in. as you sat together, although trying to protect your group from whatever could happen in the dark room, you felt even safer. "how in the world did you pull that off?" you broke the silence with a whisper, referring to him playing gonggi in the previous game. "my hands were shaking so badly i could barely even hold my ddakji." he laughs, a bit louder than he should have given the people sleeping, but it made you smile. "i told you all i played with my sisters!" he chuckles. "you said you know how to do it yeah," you retorted, stifling a giggle at him being unaware of the compliment. "you didn't tell us you were amazing at it, that was a surprise." he turns away, embarrassed of how deeply your compliment made him grin and scared you'd see him blushing even in the dark. "thank you y/n." he says bashfully as he regains his composure. the silence returns; the reality of where you're both having this conversation threatening to creep back in. his gaze softens as he turns to you again, "you did really well with your ddakji you know, doing it the first try is really impressive, especially given the circumstances." you smile, a toothy grin as not only are you proud of yourself but you appreciate the compliment; especially from him. the kind, authentic way he states how good you did has you unable to find a response. "t-thank you" you say, blushing and still smiling. "it helped that nobody was there, i get nervous when people are watching me." his demeanor changes. he nervously runs his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry if i made you nervous, y/n" he says sincerely. your confusion shows on your face until you realize what he means. "oh no don't worry! i meant the crowd, like how everybody was cheering for the other teams! i didn't want them all to see if i messed up. you watching me helped actually. it made me less nervous." the silence returns; comfortingly. you've forgotten where you are, you've forgotten what would have happened if you'd messed up, all that's on your mind is the man sitting next to you. when you look back he's staring at you. smiling. "thank you for being on my team." you say to him as he turns away, trying to hide how long he was looking at you. you've never seen him speechless before. "if we work together nothing can stand in our way." he said to you just as he said to jung bae before the game. "i am truly honored you feel that way." you half-joke. "what are your plans for tomorrow?" you ask as if youre speaking to him in a normal situation. "oh wait im sorry!" you laugh. "well i bet they're the same as mine then!" you joke about your forgetfulness as well as making light of where you find yourself. like hes done for you, he also had forgotten the events of the day and what followed tomorrow. the two of you talking made him feel as though he was living a good, normal day. it was greatly appreciated by him, your bubbly nature being a moment of solace.

a/n if this is buns at all please lmk what i can do better!!! ⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆

[lechrts]

Coming Home. ✷ Lando Norris

Pairing: Lando Norris x Ex!reader

Summary: When after all these years, your paths cross once again and maybe it’s time to come home?

Word Count: 2.1k

Disclaimer/s: uhh angst kinda but also fluff. ish. yk.

Vera’s Voice! iiiiiii. corny and cheesy and cliche as hell but hope u enjoy. Or whatever idc…

The evening buzzed with luxury and prestige at the McLaren sponsorship gala in London, but the noise of it all seemed to fade into a distant hum as you stepped outside, seeking refuge from the crowd.

The crisp night air hit your skin, the coolness a welcome contrast to the stifling energy inside. You hadn’t wanted to come tonight—forced into the event by a friend who insisted it would be good for you as he plus one.

She knew damn well though.

She said you needed to get out more, to stop holding on to things that no longer mattered. But life, as always, had a way of throwing curveballs.

And of course, there he was.

Lando.

You'd noticed him earlier, effortlessly mingling with sponsors, his infectious laugh cutting through the chatter of the room.

He was the same as you remembered, but different in ways you couldn’t quite place. Back when you were dating, he was still working his way up in Formula 2, and you were just starting your degree in business at university.

You’d been two young kids trying to figure it all out—your worlds so separate, yet so intertwined. And then he made it to F1, his career rocketing to new heights, while you kept moving forward in your own life, only to find that life didn’t seem quite as bright without him.

Now, as you stood there in the cool London night, it was as if no time had passed at all. He looked older, sharper, more refined, and yet, when your eyes met, it felt like you were right back where you had left off.

He noticed you first, his gaze catching yours from across the venue, and for a moment, the world seemed to still.

You quickly turned away, trying to steady your breath, but you could feel him approach. You didn’t need to look to know it was him.

The night was still young, but you just couldn’t bare to be there any longer. Wishing for any circumstance to let you go home and forget you were even here tonight.

Eventually, you built the courage to just roam around the venue, avoiding any possible conversation when you soon stumbled upon an open balcony—empty.

You stood out there for minutes, sipping your drink as you looked out into the night sky, trying to clear your head.

Trying to forget about him.

But…

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You froze, heart racing, and for a split second, you considered pretending you hadn’t heard him.

But it was too late.

So ever so slowly, you turned. Soon locking eyes with him.

“Lando,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He matched your tone, slowly walking toward you now.

“It’s been a while.” You mumbled with a faint smile.

“Yeah,” he said, a small grin tugging at his lips, almost shy. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. “Years, actually.”

“Years,” You repeated, forcing a polite smile as he now joined you at the balcony railing.

“Uhm. How have you been?”

It was a question you had rehearsed over and over in your mind. The one you had always hoped you could ask, but never thought you would.

But now…

“Busy,” He said shortly, shrugging and glancing down for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “Racing’s been… good. Really good.”

You nodded, though it felt like the world was spinning a little too fast. “That’s great. I’ve seen it. You’ve really done well for yourself.”

His smile faltered just slightly, but he nodded. “Thanks. And you? What about you?”

“Life’s been good,” You said quickly, the words almost slipping out before you could stop them. “Working, going out with friends… the usual.”

You didn’t mention the silent space he still occupied in your life, or how hard it was to keep pretending you had moved on when everything in you still screamed his name.

But there was no point in that.

The silence stretched between you like a fragile thread. Lando seemed to be studying you, his gaze lingering on your face like he was searching for something.

“You seem… happy,” He said at last, though the uncertainty in his voice gave it away.

“I am,” you replied, too quickly, the lie obvious even to you.

Lando raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. “You were always terrible at lying.”

His words hit harder than they should have, a sharp reminder of everything that still lingered between you. You tried to mask it, but the flicker of pain you couldn't hide didn’t escape him.

“Why did you come out here, Lando?” You asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” He admitted, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than you'd ever expected. “I saw you, and I couldn’t just walk away.”

“Well, maybe you should have,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked down at your drink, hoping it would somehow help you escape.

“Do you mean that?”

You didn’t. But it was easier than admitting that seeing him now felt like ripping open old wounds.

“I moved on,” You lied, but your chest ached with the weight of the words.

He laughed, the sound hollow, tinged with disbelief. “Moved on,” he repeated, his voice rising slightly.

“Right. That’s why you can’t even look at me properly then.”

Your eyes snapped up, angry now, but there was something else too.

Fear.

Regret.

“Don’t do this. Don’t act like you know how I feel.”

“I do know,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “Because I’ve been trying to move on too, and it’s not working. It’s never worked.. no matter how hard I try.”

You felt a knot tighten in your chest. “Stop—”

“Why?” he interrupted, his eyes intense, his breath almost catching. “Because you don’t want to admit it? That we screwed up? That we never really let go?”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “It’s too late, Lando. We’re different people now.”

“Are we?” He challenged softly, stepping closer to you. “Because I feel the same as I did back then. Every time I see you, it’s like no time has passed. And it kills me that you’re standing here, pretending this doesn’t hurt you too.”

You inhaled sharply, your heart racing as the words you’d never said before caught in your throat. “Of course it hurts,” You whispered, your voice breaking.

“But that doesn’t change anything. We ended for a reason. We weren’t enough for each other then, and we’re not enough now.”

His jaw clenched, his hands gripping the rail, his knuckles turning white as if struggling to contain the words that threatened to spill out. “You’re wrong,” he said quietly but with fierce conviction.

“You were always enough for me. I just… I didn’t know how to show you. I was so caught up in everything else, I let you slip away. And it’s the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

Your walls cracked, splintered by the raw honesty in his voice. The words you’d buried long ago came flooding back.

“Lando…”

He stepped closer, so close now that you could feel his warmth, hear his breath. “Just tell me you don’t feel it anymore,” He whispered, his voice shaking. “And I’ll walk away. I promise.”

You opened your mouth, the words on the tip of your tongue. But the truth caught in your throat. You still felt it. You always had.

“I can’t,” You whispered finally, the tears slipping free. “I can’t say that.”

The relief in his eyes was instantaneous. Before you could overthink it, his hands cupped your face, cradling it like you were something precious.

“I’ve missed you,” He murmured, his forehead resting against yours. “Every day. I’ve missed you.”

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the rush of emotions. “I’ve missed you too,” You admitted, your voice thick with emotion. The words felt as though they had been waiting years to escape.

He laughed softly, the sound laced with disbelief and hope. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

And then, for the first time in years, you felt the ache in your chest ease.

“I’m still here,” he whispered, his lips brushing your temple, warm against the cold night air. “And I’m not going anywhere this time.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your tears falling freely now. “You’d better not.”

And as his lips found yours, it was like coming home.

likes, comments, & reblogs appreciated! ^_^

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox