#I will not tag I will not explain anything

[writingforstraykids]

Behind the Mask

Pairing: Han Jisung x gn!reader (short mention of Chan)

Word count: 1066

Summary: You’re a makeup artist for stray kids - used to putting on faces, used to covering up the exhaustion under glitter and gloss. But when you find Han Jisung crying alone in the break room, you realize he’s been wearing a mask heavier than foundation.

Warnings/Tags: hurt comfort, angst, fluff, idol x makeup artist

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

You’ve been told Jisung is a handful.

The staff talk about him like he’s a whirlwind - chaotic, loud, full of energy, barely stays in one spot for more than ten seconds. You assumed they were exaggerating. Until the first time you tried to apply his foundation and he started rapping the order menu of his favorite chicken place while bouncing his legs like a caffeinated jackrabbit.

Still, it was hard not to smile around him.

He made long shoot days easier, kept the room buzzing when everyone else was barely holding on. You’d even gotten used to the challenge of chasing his face with a beauty blender while he talked with his hands. What you hadn’t expected was the silence.

You were walking back from lunch break, your touch-up kit tucked under your arm, when you passed by the break room door left slightly ajar. It was supposed to be empty - set change, everyone on break, no camera crew. But you paused at the faint sound behind it.

Not laughter. Not talking. A muffled sob.

Your fingers hovered at the door. You know better than to intrude. But something about the sound - raw and strangled, like someone trying too hard to be quiet - makes your chest twist. You peek in.

Jisung is sitting on the couch, hoodie pulled over his head, face buried in his hands.

You hesitate. Then softly, “...Jisung?” His head snaps up, eyes wide.

He blinks at you like he doesn’t recognize your voice for a second. “Sorry—” you start to back out. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No - wait.” His voice cracks, barely more than a whisper. He wipes at his face quickly, smearing faint traces of eyeliner and concealer. “It’s… I’m fine. Just - don’t tell anyone, okay?”

You step inside, slow and careful, and close the door behind you. “Your secret’s safe.”

He tries to smile, but it breaks halfway through. “I’m supposed to be the fun one,” he says, a bitter edge curling the words. “Can’t even cry without ruining someone’s day.”

“You’re not ruining anything.” You sit across from him, not too close, giving him space. There’s silence. He sniffs and wipes his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie.

You reach into your kit and silently hand him a tissue. He gives a weak chuckle and takes it.

“I was fine this morning. I swear.”

“You don’t have to explain,” you say, gentle. But he does. You can see it—whatever’s cracking inside him, it needs to come out.

“I just… I didn’t sleep. My vocals were off in rehearsal. Channie hyung said I looked tired and he meant well but—” He bites his lip. “I think I’m just tired of pretending all the time.” He exhales shakily, shoulders slumping.

You nod slowly. “That’s a lot to carry.”

“I used to love this, you know?” he says quietly. “The music, the stage, the fans. I still do. But some days, it feels like I’m performing even when I’m off-stage. Like people only want the fun version of me.”

You reach into your kit again and pull out a compact mirror and a cleansing wipe. “Let me help,” you say, moving gently to sit beside him.

He doesn’t flinch when you lift the wipe to his cheek. Just watches you with those red-rimmed eyes, a little stunned by the calm. “You always know how to fix my face,” he murmurs.

“I’d rather help you feel okay inside it,” you say softly.

That makes him pause. He looks at you - really looks, like he’s seeing past the uniform, past the role. “That’s not in your job description.”

You smile. “Neither is keeping secrets.”

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. You wipe away the last of the smudged eyeliner, then gently pat his skin dry. He closes his eyes under your touch, like he finally feels safe enough to breathe.

“Do you ever just… want to disappear for a while?” he asks suddenly. “Not forever. Just long enough to remember who you were before everything got so loud.”

You nod, quiet. “More often than I admit.”

He cracks a small smile. “We should run away.”

“Yeah?” you tease. “Where to?”

“Somewhere with no cameras. No rehearsals. Just—quiet. And maybe ramen.”

You laugh, surprised. “A peaceful life fueled by instant noodles?”

“Living the dream,” he says, and for the first time, it sounds real. There’s another pause. He leans back, his shoulder brushing yours. Not an accident. He doesn’t pull away. “Thanks for not pretending I’m okay,” he says softly.

“Thanks for trusting me.” You glance at the clock. An hour until showtime. “Wait here,” you say, standing.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Getting us that dream-life ramen.”

His brows lift. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. Instant noodles for the soul.” You return a few minutes later, two steaming cups in hand. One spicy for him. One mild for you. You sit beside him again, the room quiet but warm this time.

“God, I might love you,” he mutters.

You freeze—then laugh when you see the playful smirk on his lips. “It’s the ramen, isn’t it?”

“Obviously.”

You eat together in silence, closer now. He finishes first, sighing as he leans back.

Then the door creaks open.

Chan steps inside, glancing at Jisung worriedly. “There you are.”

Jisung straightens. “Channie hyung - sorry.”

Chan’s gaze flicks from the ramen to the red around his eyes. He reads the room instantly. “You okay?”

Jisung nods. “Getting there.”

Chan looks at you. “Thanks for staying with him.”

“Anytime.”

He nods once and disappears.

“Do you think I’ll be able to go out there?” Jisung asks softly.

“I think you already did the hardest part,” you reply. “You let someone in.” He takes your hand and holds it, just for a second. “I’ll be watching from backstage,” you say. “No masks.”

You fix his makeup one last time. Add a little shimmer, comb through his hair. He watches you in the mirror - not as an idol, not as a performer, but as someone quietly anchoring him.

“After tonight,” he says, “can we talk again? Somewhere quiet.”

You smile. “I’d like that.”

-

Backstage is a storm. But Jisung lingers, brushing your hand once before heading to his mark. “Wish me luck,” he says.

“You don’t need it. You’ve got heart.”

He looks back at you as the music starts. The lights rise. And this time, when he smiles - it’s not for the fans. It’s for you.

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[piroulinewafers]

𝐨𝐢𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: mechanic! caleb x fem! reader 𝐜𝐰: smut. 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: caleb hates her car— the dents, the rust, the constant need for repairs— but he loves that it always brings her back to him. 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: open.

the morning sun hadn’t fully climbed over the rooftops when the unmistakable sputter of her car chugged its way into the lot behind caleb’s garage. it coughed once— loudly— then shuddered to a stop with a sad little wheeze that echoed across the quiet street. she winced, gently patting the dashboard like an apology.

she hoisted herself out of the driver’s seat and closing the creaky door with more care than it deserved considering the amount of near fatal accidents the hunk of metal had gotten her into.

caleb looked up from where he was flat on his back beneath the lifted frame of a vintage pickup. the summer heat had done little to cool his workshop-stained clothe, his coveralls were rolled down on his waist, thick blue fabric stained and oil-splattered, tied in a knot around his hips. his sweat-dampened t-shirt clung to his chest like a vice and broad arms, glistening with the sheen of sweat, flexed as he sat up to give her his full, undivided attention. as always, his treasured dog tags remained around his neck, an unspoken good luck charm, clinking softly as he sat up on the creeper.

caleb simply grinned when he saw her. the same grin he’d had since they were kids, when he used to dare her to eat worms or race her to the pond at the edge of town. except now, the grin came with the added charm of a sharp jaw, broad shoulders and arms that looked carved from marble, carved in smudges of car grease instead of fine polish.

she couldn’t help but find herself staring for a moment before snapping herself out of it. oh. right. the car.

“well, well,” he drawled, standing up and wiping his hands on a used rag that probably hadn’t been clean in a while. “look what the cat dragged in, my favorite hunk of junk.” 

“i-it’s not a hunk of junk,” she mumble defensively. she shifted awkwardly, glancing back at her car. “so… do you think you could take a look? it started making a new noise. kinda like a… whimper? or maybe a dying dog.” 

caleb laughed and headed towards the car, tossing the rag over his shoulder. “sounds serious, let’s have a look, hm?” 

she trailed after him, hands in the pockets of her pants as she watched him work. she quietly marvelled at the ease in his movements, the way his muscles flexed under the grime as he circled her car, eyeing it intensely. 

“alright sweetheart,” caleb drawled, crouching down beside the front of the car. “pop the hood for me, would ya?” 

practically tripping over herself, doing as he asked as he rolled beneath the car on the creeper, tools clanking as he worked. she wasn’t sure what she expected, but the sight of him so focused— brows furrowed, lips slightly parted as he muttered something under his breath— was oddly mesmerizing. 

“looks like your alternator’s strugglin’ again,” he called out from underneath the car. “and i’m guessin’ you ignored my advice last time about replacin’ this belt, huh?”

she shifted on her feet. “i mean… i thought maybe it just needed a little encouragement.” it came out as more of a question than a statement if anything at all.

caleb rolled out from under the car, an exasperated look on his face. “cars don’t just run on hope.” he shook his head, amused, before sitting up and wiping swear from his forehead. “you’re lucky i like ya. otherwise, i’d be lettin’ you deal with this mess yourself.” 

the mechanic stretched, almost purposefully in front of her, before turning his attention to the open hood. 

“your oil is looking dark and gritty too. that means its not circulating properly and that can cause all sorts of trouble for your engine,” he explained, glancing over at her. “no wonder this hunk of metal sounds like it’s on its last legs.”

she leaned in awkwardly, trying to get a better look at what he was referring to. “o-oh, so that’s not good?”

caleb simply grinned. “no, baby, that’s not good at all. but don’t you worry, i’ll get this thing runnin’ like a dream again in no time.”

“so… you can fix it?” 

“‘course i can. i can fix anythin’.” he leaned in a little closer. of course, he wouldn’t properly fix the things, only do enough to ensure she was safe on the road but not enough that she wouldn’t need his help anymore. he liked having her come running to him all teary eyed with her car troubles so he could swoop in and fix them for her. 

“but i charge extra if the customer looks at me with those big, dumb eyes and doesn’t even pretend to know what i’m talkin’ about.” 

immediately, her cheeks flushed a soft pink. “i’m trying to learn, caleb…” 

the man simply chuckled, reaching for a wrench. “then here’s lesson one: why don’t you make yourself useful and get hand me the torque wrench.” 

she blinked, dumbly. “which one is that?” 

“you’re a big girl, i’m sure you can figure it out, right?” 

flustered, she moved to the tray, picking up a tool and holding it out hesitantly. “this one, caleb?” 

he took it from her, brushing her fingers in the process. “close enough.” her shy attempts at comprehension were beyond adorable to him. 

caleb could feel the warmth of her skin beneath his touch, the softness of her hair as it brushed against his fingertips. there was a part of him that wanted to linger, to trail his fingers down the slope of her neck and across her shoulder, but he resisted the urge. for now, at least. 

instead, he stepped back and grabbed a rag, wiping his hands thoroughly before turning his attention back to the task at hand. 

caleb’s eyes flickered over, watching her fuss with the edge of her sleeve, flicking from the engine to him and back again. like she wanted to ask something but didn’t quite know how. caleb smirked, rag still in hand, and slowing rounded the open hood. 

“you sure treat this car like it’s made of glass,” he drawled, voice low, teasing. ‘you sure you aren’t the one makin’ it whimper?”

her brows furrowed, and she opened her mouth to respond, but before she could get a word out, he was in front of her. close. closer than he should be. one step forward and she was pressed between the now closed hot hood and the firm press of his chest. 

she blinked up at him, strartled but not pulling away. her breath caught, the warmth of the metal behind her meeting the heat of him in front of her, arms caging her as he rested his palms on either side of the hood. his grin was lazy, boyish, but his gaze razor-sharp.

“you know,” caleb murmured, dipping his head just enough for his nose to skim along her cheek. “for a car that rattles like a tin can, you sure get real protective of it.”

“i-its not that bad,” she whispered, voice hitching. her hands hovered uncertainly between them, fingers twitching as if deciding whether to push him away or pull him closer. 

he chuckled, low in his throat. “sweetheart, i’ve seen shoppin’ carts with smoother steering than this thing. “then, softer, closer, “but i kinda like that you keep comin’ to me anyway.”

her lips parts, flustered, eyes wide. 

“you said you liked her…” she mumbled, trying to sound accusatory.

“i like you,” he corrected, effortlessly, without shame or hesitation. “the car’s just a bonus.”

and then he kissed her. 

it wasn’t rushed, he kissed her like he meant to fix all her broken parts, like he could find out everything she’d never said just by the way she tasted. his hand came up to cradle the side of her face, thumb brushing against his cheek as his other arm stayed firmly braced beside her on the hood. she leaned into him like she’d been waiting to fall.

when he finally pulled back, just a breath away, his grin had softened into something quieter, dangerous.

“you’re real cute when you try to talk shop with me,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face, before smearing their mixed saliva on her lips with the pad of his thumb. 

“you always bring me the best kind of trouble, you know that?” he said, humming as his hands settled on either side of her thighs on the hood of her car.

caleb just smiled. “don’t look at me like that, baby,” he murmured, something sinful curling in the edges of his smirk. ‘you’re the one who came waltzin’ in here with those big eyes and that little voice beggin’ me to look under your hood.”

her breath hitched. “i— i didn’t mean it like that—��

“didn’t say you meant to,” he cut in gently, one hand brushing lightly along her bare thigh where her shirt was ridden up from the heat. the touch was barely there. “doesn’t change what i heard.”

she sucked in a sharp breath, her hand instinctively finding the hem of her shirt like a lifeline. 

he noticed. of course he noticed.

“you always fidget when you get nervous,” he said, tone mock-thoughtful as his fingers toyed lazily with the edge of her skirt. 

her cheeks flamed, eyes darting fro his lips to his eyes and back again, and oh, that only made him bolder.

he leaned in, brushing his mouth against the shell of her ear, like he had all the time in the world. “you know,” he murmured, “there’s something real sweet about you sitting here all shy, actin’ like you don’t know how pretty you look pressed up against my car.”

it wasn’t his car, of course, and yet he took ownership of it with his words so easily and she didn’t have it in her to refute him. 

she couldn’t speak, her mouth opened and closed once, then again. useless. she was burning alive in broad daylight and all he did was smile like he was watching it happen for sport.

“if you keep lookin’ at me like that,” he warned, brushing the tip of his nose along her jaw, “i’m gonna start thinking you want something else fixed too,”

her hand shot out, pressing lightly— hesitantly— against his chest, like she meant to stop him, but the way her fingers curled into the fabric told a different story.

caleb stilled at the touch, his eyes meeting hers again. this time, his grin was gone, replaced by an intense, honest look. 

“you can tell me if i’m pushing too hard,’ he said quietly, fingers ghosting along the outside of her knee. “i’ll back off. i will. you just gotta say it.”

she shook her head, quick and small. “you’re not— i don’t want you to back off.” 

the words were barely a whisper, but they landed like thunder and they were all he needed.

his mouth was on hers again, hungrier this time. not rough, but deeper, fuller, like he wanted to know what it tasted like when he resolve cracked. one hand cradled the back of her neck, thumb stroking soft at the nape as he tilted her chin up just enough to kiss her better. the other slid along her side, slow and reverent, like he was mapping out places he’d memorize later.

she melted into him, fingers gripping his shirt like she was afraid he’d vanish. 

caleb pressed closer, chest to chest, the edge of the hood biding gently at the backs of her thighs. the car groaned under their weight, and she made a startled sound that broke the kiss, but he only grinned.

“don’t worry,” he breathed out. “i reinforced the suspension last time you brought it in. guess i had a feelin’.”

she buried her face in his shoulder, mortified. he laughed, low and warm, wrapping his arms around her as if that would keep her from melting straight into the pavement from embarrassment.

he dipped  back down to her lips, catching her in another kiss, this one messier. less patient. like her permission had flipped a switch in him and now he couldn’t be bothered to hold back anymore.

caleb’s fingers dragged up the hem of her shirt, palms slipping under the soft fabric to feel the curve of her waist and the warmth of her skin beneath his calloused hands.

she gasped, jolting when he tugged it up over her ribs, fingers fumbling as she tried to stop him. 

“c-caleb— !” she whispered, voice high and panicked as her shirt bunched under her arms. “someone might see!”  she lightly scolded, cheeks pink.

he paused, just long enough to murmur against her throat, “nobody’s gonna see, baby. this is my lot, my garage. don’t worry.” 

“but my car— “

“forget the car,” he groaned, dragging the shirt over her head anyway, her arms caught awkwardly in the sleeves as he wrestled with it. “damn it, it’s like undressin’ a stubborn toddler— “

“i’m trying!” she let out, flushed all over as he finally get her shirt off and tossed it onto a nearby seat. “but if someone walks by and… and what if it makes noise again? you said it was on it’s last legs, caleb…”

he pulled back just enough to look at her, exasperated but grinning wide, chest heaving just a little. 

“i don’t wanna hear about you talking about this stupid thing while i’m getting my hands on you, alright?” 

he wiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of grease across his forehead. “here, hold this wrench for me, would ya?” he asked, pressing the cool metal into her palm, as she grasped it, he used the opportunity to hook his fingers into the waistband of his coveralls bunched around his waist and tug them down, exposing more of his tanned, muscular thighs till the fabric pooled around his ankles. 

caleb easily plucked the wrench from her hands and dropped it back into the toolbox, the loud clatter causing her to scrunch her nose before his calloused fingers moved to burst against the smooth skin of her inner thighs. 

“shh, it’s okay,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “no one’s going to hear us. i promise. you trust me, right?” 

she clumsily nodded, sniffling softly as her hands moved to settle on his strong forearms, a shaky breath leaving her. 

his fingers crept higher, hooking into the waistband of her panties and tugging them down with a swift tug, letting them drop to the ground and gently pinching her thigh to get her to step out of them. 

“turn around for me, baby,” he commanded softly, his voice low and rough with desire. “let me see that pretty back of yours.”

almost in a trance, she allowed him to guide her, turning to face the hood of her car, gasping softly as caleb pressed against her and forced her to lean forward onto it. 

caleb’s hands slid over the curve of her ass, squeezing the firm globes appreciatively. “aren’t you just the prettiest thing…” he groaned, leaning down to press a hot kiss to the nape of her neck. “i could just eat you up.”

she felt his hard cock pressed against her bare ass, the heat of him searing her skin as hr rolled his hips. 

caleb’s breathing grew heavier as he positioned himself behind her, thick cock pressing against her ass. he wrapped a hand around his shaft, giving it a few slow pumps before notching the swollen head at her entrance. the sensation of his hot flesh pressing against her sensitive fold made her gasp and squirm.

“fuck, you’re so wet already,” caleb groaned. without warning, he spat crudely into his palm, slicking up his hard length with the makeshift lubricant. 

the crude gesture had her huff in disapproval, her brows furrowing. “you’re so gross,” she whined, feeling a mix of embarrassment and reluctant excitement mixed with her faint disgust.

he just chuckled, amused by her cute display of discomfort. “what’s wrong now? getting shy on me?” 

before she could respond, he gripped her hips tightly and thrust forward, burying himself deep inside of her with one hard stroke. a loud cry of pleasure escaped her lips, only to be muffled by caleb’s quick thinking as he shoved two thick fingers into her mouth. 

“shh, remember what you said about someone hearin’ us?” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. his hips began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained before slamming back in, driving into her with deep, powerful thrusts.

each snap of his hips rocked her forward, the hood of her car creaking softly beneath her with the force of his rough coupling. the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air as he fucked her hard and fast.

“you’re being so loud, baby,” he teased, his voice a low, lust-filled rasp. “someone’s going to hear you.” 

to emphasize the point, he pressed his palm firmly against the palm of her back, forcing her to arch it, to lean forward until her breasts were flat against the car hood.

the new angle allow him to drive into her even deeper than before, thick cock kissing her cervix with each brutal thrust.

“fuck, you liked them, hm?”

her whimpers and moans only grew louder, more desperate, as he fucked her with wild abandon. in response, caleb shoved his fingers deeper into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue until her mewls were muffled.

drool began to leak out around his thick fingers, words and moaned pleas coming out in garbled words and whines as her tongue feverishly worked against the digits, but caleb simply kept pressing down enough to keep her pleasured sounds quieted as best as he could.

caleb was relentless, hips never slowing their punishing pace. he could feel her body tensing, her cunt fluttering around his thick shaft as her climbx approached. he knew she was close, could sense her desperation to cum, to find release from the overwhelming pleasure he was inflicting upon her willing body.

“cum for me, baby,“ he growled, his voice a dark, seductive command. “cum all over my cock like a good girl, m’kay? you can do that for me, right?” his words were punctuated by a particularly hard thrust. and easily, she fell apart beneath him, hands attempting to cling to anything but unable too, hair shielding her face as he had her pressed against the hood.

her body shook as her orgasm crashed over her, waves of intense pleasure radiating through every nerve ending. 

caleb groaned long and low as he felt her pussy clench and ripple around his shaft,  her release triggering his own. with one final thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside of her, cock pulsing and throbbing as he spilled his hot seed deep inside of her spasming walls. 

finally spent, caleb slumped forward, his muscular chest pressing against her back and pinning her to the warm and now stick hood of her car. 

the both of them were panting, chests heaving in attempt to catch their breath in the aftermath of their passionate coupling. he nuzzled in her neck, lips brushing against her swear-damp skin as he placed soft kisses along her nape.

“mm, that was incredible. you’re incredible.” caleb murmured, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. “i could just stay like this forever.” 

she just let out a tired huff, almost pouty. “you’re squishing me, caleb.” she complained lightly. “i can barely breathe with you slumped on top of me like this.”

caleb just laughed, a deep rumbling godsend that vibrated through his chest and into hers. “sorry,” he chuckled, finally pulling away and relieving the pressure on her back. “i guess i got a little carried away there.”

as he sat up, she felt his softening length slip out of her, a gush of combined fluids leaking out and trickling down her inner thighs slowly. the sensation made her wrinkle her nose in distaste. caleb, noticing her discomfort, smirked wickedly at her.

“here, let me help you out,” he offered, his voice dripping with false innocence. before she could stop him, he reached down and smeared the lingering remains of his release along the insides of her thighs, marking her as his. 

“caleb!” she yelped out, trying to bat his hands away as he purposefully smeared the excess on his cock on her sensitive skin. “stop that! it’s already all sticky and gross..” 

he just laughed at her flustered reaction, grabbing her hands and hauling her upright with ease. “you’re so cute when you’re all disheveled and uncomfortable like this,” he teased, eyes glinting with amusement.   

she pouted up at him, cheeks burning still as she extended her arm to reach for her shirt, knowing she couldn’t properly reach it and caleb would go get it for her. “you’re such a jerk,” she murmured, but there was no heat behind her words.

caleb wordlessly moved to get her shirt for her, pressing it easily into her hands. “but i’m your jerk, i hope.” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, warm and unhurried.

she huffed and tried to look unimpressed, even as her fingers curled into the hem of the shirt he’d never taken off like they didn’t want to let go. 

“come on,” he said gently, brushing her hair from her face with a grease-smudged thumb. “let’s clean you up and get you somethin’ to drink. you look all tuckered out.” 

she blinked up at him, flushed and fussy, still trying to tuck herself back into some semblance of composure. then, with a little breathless pout, she muttered under her breath, “and who’s fault is that?” 

caleb froze for half a second before letting out a laugh, squeezing her closer as he wrapped an arm around her waist, allowing her to lean against him on her wobbly legs.

he didn’t need to say anything, he could see the flustered expression on her face at just the sound of his laughter, catching the faintest ghost of a smile she was trying to hide in her efforts to be ‘upset’ with him. 

and god, did he love that— how easily she softened for him, even when she didn’t mean to. how her stubborn little protests melted under his touch.

if every busted belt and crooked alignment brought her back to him, again and again, then he hoped her car never ran right. 

𝐚/𝐧: i've been trying to write this for at least 3 weeks but i just couldn't get from point a (whatever the fuck i was writing) to point b (where i wanted it to eventually lead). we'll see if i delete this later. mechanic caleb one day ill do u justice...

[postcardsfromheapside]

I'm going to put a video here where a published author and content creator is talking about the way readers frequently interact with the book world, and specifically Sarah J Maas readers and their ilk. The video isn't hating on readers, or Maas or the types of books Maas & clones write. I am not posting it in relation to the topic of plagiarism. The reason I'm posting it is because of the way people have responded to Veilguard. It's not very long, and I'm sharing it because he summarizes and briefly discusses the following points:

anchoring bias

schema theory

cultural myopia/commenting on things when you have limited cultural exposure

other people dealing with the consequences of a critical poster getting 15 minutes of attention

I thought the video was a good poke into problems coinciding with people criticizing (not critiquing, there's a difference) Veilguard, where anything from themes, plot points, characterization or even costume elements in the game are being torn apart...and the people doing the tearing are approaching the topics with often *self-admitted* lack of experience on what they're criticizing, and zero curiosity.

A concrete example: there was a discussion swirling recently in which there was an attempt to criticize Veilguard for the funerary practices Rook and Bellara go through. This in spite of the fact that a Dalish Rook and Bellara can have an in-the-moment discussion about the differences between their clan practices, and in DA:I Solas can mention how clans are different from each other, and there have been many, many posts on this site discussing from a lore perspective how the elves are not a monolith. I don't have to tell you that the posters criticizing the scene were myopic on both a cultural and personal preference level in their criticisms of the scene.

Critical posters have also frequently spoken over users who attempt to explain the diverse cultural, political, or queer experiences and influences which align with Veilguard's portrayals.

I thought it was great that this creator brought up how authors are affected for a considerable amount of time by shitty online takes. Recently there were screenshots where Trick mentioned that making Veilguard was traumatic, and folks passed them around with bioware/EA/Veilguard critical tags, but didn't include that maybe the fans themselves continue to bear some of the blame for this experience.

I don't think Bioware/EA are blameless as companies, or that Veilguard is a perfect game, but there's been a distinct trend where 'fans' claim to be critiquing things and are really only whining (and sometimes harassing creators) that they didn't get what they personally wanted. And if pressed about what they wanted, the examples they give aren't coherent narratives meant for published or produced media - if they were, those fans would already be working in those fields making art. Social media has made it very easy to 1) get access to and attention from creators, and 2) get validation (and very little pushback) from other fans for pithy remarks. In other words, it's easy to feel undeservedly "right" for shitposting.

[frost-queen]

The search is afoot (Reader!Bridgerton x Sherlock Holmes)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers, @alex–awesome–22, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23, @melsunshine  , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis, @slythetic, @bitchybananaflower, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @sweetheartlizzie07, @aardvarks-and-bats

Your curiosity sparked when your sister entered the drawing room. Posture slightly bend, head turning from side to side. Clearly in search for anything. You slammed the novel shut you were boringly reading. Tossing it aside on the sofa between you and Anthony. Hopping up to meet your sister half-way.

“Looking for something?” – you asked. Eloise hummed soft. Bending down to catch a glimpse underneath the sofa’s. You moved aside when she came nearly pushing you over. Agitated she kept searching in silence. To Anthony’s annoyance. – “Just communicate.” – he spoke with a sigh.

Eloise’s posture straightened. Her hands settling with a shove at her side. – “I seemed to have lost my notebook.” – she admitted in a frustrated tone. – “The blue one with some pencil markings on it?” – you questioned curiously. Your sister humming loud.

You clasped your hands together in delight. Eyes twinkling in delight. You then cleared your throat, moving your hands to your back. – “Where did you last saw it?” – you asked, tapping a finger thoughtfully against your chin. – “Between what hours was it? Was anything out of the ordinary?” – you continued asking, circling around her. Eloise gaped confusingly back at you.

“No.” – Anthony called out, getting up as well. He came running over to you, grabbing you by your elbows. – “We are not doing this, Y/n.” – he let know. – “But…” – you responded when he started shoving you away from Eloise. – “This is a serious matter. It needs investigating.” – finishing to proclaim your intentions. Anthony sighed loud. – “You are not a detective Y/n!” – making clear. – “But…” – you repeated being shoved towards the door.

Anthony shoved you outside, holding the door frames with both his hands. You huffed annoyed at his behaviour. – “Get your head out of the clouds.” – were his final words before shutting the door in front of you. The sudden shut, startled you. Puffing annoyed, you crossed your arms. Turning away to mope. Colin crossing the hall, caught a glimpse of you. Making him pause in this stride. – “You alright, sister?” – he questioned, coming over.

With a distress sigh, you untangled your arms. – “Anthony is being mean to me again.” – you called out. – “How so?” – Colin furrowing his brows. Approaching as he rustled his fingers through your hair. You took a deep breath. – “Eloise has lost her notebook and I simply wanted to help look for it.” – you explained. Colin letting out a long ‘aah’ as he understood. – “You’ve been playing detective again haven’t you?” – he replied.

“I just wanted to help and he tossed me out!” – you dramatically called out for it being the worst. Colin only chuckled, patting his hand on your shoulder. – “I know I shouldn’t say this, but you should read less… specially those mystery novels. Look how filled your head is with it.” – he spoke, making you shove his hand annoyed away. – “You just don’t understand me.” – raising your voice to him.

With force, you let your shoulder bump into his to shove him out of the way. –“ Y/n, I!” – Colin called out. Sighing afterwards as it was no use. You stomped angrily up the stairs. Not caring if you were being too loud. Crossing the upper floors, you paused near Eloise’s room. Humming curiously before entering. Door still open as you look around. – “Where would one misplace a notebook.” – you mumbled to yourself.

Getting on your knees, you looked underneath her bed.  Going through her drawers and searching in every nook and cranny. Your searching brought some noise along, drawing the attention of your youngest brother Gregory. He walked past, furrowed his brows and simply walked backwards. Staring confused back at you.

“What are you doing?” – he questioned. – “Searching.” – you replied, ignoring him half to keep your attention on your search. – “Mother!” – Gregory then shouted loud into the hallway. – “Y/n is playing detective again!” – he finished making you widen your eyes. Dropping everything to rush over to him with a shushing tone. Covering up his mouth with your hand.

“Quiet, Gregs.” – you let out with a hard stare. Gregory wiggled his head free, trying to shout for mother again. – “Mo… mother!” – he repeated making you struggle to keep his mouth shut. – “Stop it!” – stomping your foot on the ground. Gregory kept shouting against your hand with muffled sounds.

Groaning loud, you decided to take a run for it. Picking up the hem of your skirt, rushing towards the stairs. Huffing and puffing loud at the dismay of your family. Dismay for recognizing your talents. To not let you go with your admirations and interests. Claiming it to be foolish and absurd. For no lady could become a detective or should concern themselves with mysteries.

Anthony blamed it on the novels you had been reading. Colin blaming in on the Holmes’s. Close friends to the family. For the Holmes’s had an interest in solving mysteries as well. You ran for the door, leaving the household. Needing to have an escape from your siblings taunting. You hated their mocking. For not taking you serious on that matter. Going straight for the streets. Running away a couple of streets away till you slowed down. Sure that none of your siblings would pursuit.

Catching your breath, you enjoyed a nice walk. Clearing your head and getting rid of the annoyance lingering inside of towards your brothers. You loved them dearly, but hated that they didn’t took your interest serious. Calling it un-lady-like. A waste of time. Idle hobby’s to skip lessons. All calling it such things to make you lose interest in it. Looking around, you narrowed your eyes slightly.

Trying to read people like so many detectives did in your novels. Trying to read their stories off their faces and gestures. Moving closer to a vender, you tried to understand snippets of his life. Taking a keen eye of his hands. Seeing how rough they were. Calluses on his knuckles. Then your gaze went further up, meeting up with a pair of angry eyes. The vender cleared this throat loud at you for staring. Changing your expression, you pulled up a humble smile. Apologizing.

Moving a bit away, you recognized some voices. Turning round you saw Enola and her brother Sherlock leave a shop. Knowing mystery always followed them, you couldn’t withhold your excitement. Wanting to be a part of it. Leaving the vender, you hurried over. Making sure you weren’t trampled by a passing carriage on the road. – “Splendid day is it not, Mister Holmes.” – you breathed out, catching your breath from hasting over.

Sherlock and Enola paused when you came jumping in front of them. – “No.” – Sherlock immediately responded already knowing your intentions. He tugged Enola at her arm to follow. You weren’t going to let him win so easily, going after him. – “I didn’t say anything.” – you told him, hot on his tail. Sherlock stopped abruptly, making you nearly bump against his back. He swiftly spun around.

“Your eyes made it clear, you had alternative intentions, also did your posture.” – he started pointing out with his finger. – “The tone in your voice gave you away that you are seeking. Not to mention the flush in your cheeks indicates you hurried over because you knew we might be solving a mystery.” – he answered.

“Are you?” – you responded ignoring most of his speech. – “No.” – Sherlock said clear, turning his back to you once more. – “I know you are lying to me, just let me join.” – you begged going after him. – “No miss Y/n.” – he repeated, staying true to his words. – “Please mister Holmes.” – you reached for his elbow, pulling it towards you.

Wanting him to stop walking. – “No, miss Y/n.” – he called out like speaking to a puppy to sit still. You pouted your lips in response. Enola pressed her lips together to withhold a snicker. – “Fine, you are just scared.” – you called out once he had begun walking away again. – “Scared that I’ll solve it before you.” – hoping to get under his skin would do the trick.

“A man’s observing eye is not that great. Not compared to a woman’s eye.” – you casually said to give him that extra nudge. Admiring your own hands out of boredom. To look indifferent. Enola glanced from between her brother to you. Sherlock puffed his chest, being riled up by you. – “Ha!” -  he let out with a hard sound. Intended for mockery.

“Intimidated?” – you questioned moving your hands behind your back. Leaning a bit closer to him. Sherlock puffed loud. Suddenly grabbing you firm by your arm. Pulling you along. Enola snickering quietly at the display. You chuckled amusingly, pleased that your scheme had succeeded.

Sherlock led you to a place, shoving you inside. – “One wrong thing and you are out.” – he warned you. – “You sound like my brothers.” – you replied moving past him with crossed arms. Sherlock shot his sister a scowl to stop smiling like a damn fool. You entered the room with a humming sound. Cheerful that you could involve yourself with mysteries.

You looked around the room, going straight to a painting that caught your eyes. Before you could fully reach it, you felt a gip on your elbow stop you. Sherlock shaking his head as he pulled you away from the painting. Making you huff annoyed, trying to free you from his grip. – “Why do you go for the most obvious thing. First observe then search.” – he spoke.

“Don’t go running in like a blind fool.” – he finished letting go of your arm back by the door. – “Who are you calling a fool?” – you called back. – “You.” – Sherlock tapped his finger on your nose to tease you that extra. It made you scrunch your nose and slap his hand away. You crossed your arms, looking at the room. Sherlock staring in silently, trying to take in every detail. Enola scribbling some notes down. Sherlock began moving from his position after a while.

He stepped a certain way, suddenly stopping. Looking down as he lifted his shoe up. Seeing something black and sticky underneath his shoe. It made you laugh loud. – “If you would’ve been observant, you might have seen that there had clearly been a struggle. The desk is slightly shoved back over the wooden flooring, hinting those scrape marks.” – you approached him with a smug expression.

“If you had observed that, you would’ve also seen that the commotion had tipped the ink bottle over.” – pointing in a certain direction as Sherlock followed your point with his gaze. – “For the ink bottle is over there, where is normally would be on the desk. Someone must have picked it up and moved it away. Perhaps trying to clean it up, but forgot a spot near the carpet… you are currently standing in.”

Sherlock kept staring at you. – “She’s good.” – his sister spoke with a pleasant smile. Sherlock hummed deep, fidgeting with something in his hand. Looking with a quizzable brow from you to his sister and back. Fighting hard the urge to compliment you for your observations.

“As I said, a woman’s eye.” – you repeated holding out a handkerchief to him. He curled up a smile at your silliness. – “Do continue then, miss Y/n.” – he gestured at you to go on. Bending a bit down to clean the underside of his shoe from ink. You hummed soft looking thoughtfully around. His sister was looking around as well. Taking notes near a knights suit.

Displayed for art from a long time ago. Enola narrowed her eyes on it. Her brother’s calling catching her off guard. Making her turn sharply around, but accidentally knocking an elbow against the armour. The armour started to wobble back and forth. Enola gasping loud as she jumped aside.

The armour came falling forwards towards you as you were the next close target. – “Miss Y/n!” – Sherlock shouted out, coming to the rescue. Rushing over to you, wrapping his arms around you. Turning you away, keeping you in his arms.

Staring up close to your face, panting quietly on your lips as the armour clattered to the ground behind him. Enola gasped again with her hands up to her mouth. – “I’m so sorry.” – she let out in shock. Her brother’s eyes still on you. – “Are you alright miss Y/n?” – he questioned. You nodded with a bashful flush in your cheeks. He slowly rose your posture up so you stood steady on your feet once more.

His hands still on you, till his sister made him aware of it. Making him clear his throat, immediately dropping his grip. Quickly turning away, scratching the back of his head in the process. You swallowed hard, turning away as well. Wanting to hide the fluster in your cheeks. With a nervous atmosphere, the two of you focused on the matter once more. Unaware of the Holmes gentleman catching glimpses of you.

------------------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[asce-of-hearts]

So actually, I was thinking that the reader and Kakashi are soulmates, but somehow reader doesn't believe in that concept, and she wants to find someone naturally and meet someone naturally. So Kakashi is really frustrated by the fact and doesn't want to disclose it to the reader that he has discovered that they are soulmates. Because she will run away or something. So then he is really sad or something. So you know everyone, his advisor and Shikamaru and all, they come up with a plan that he should hire the reader as private chef since she is a chef by profession. (And I am a chef by profession.) So that's the fetish. So they suggest that she should be hired as private chef for Hokage residence. And then gradually there are some instances and then they come closer. It's a lot of smut and all. That's just the general idea.

COMPATIBILITY

Contents: Kakashi x gn!reader soulmate au scenario

more Kakashi content here

WC: 1.9K

TAG LIST

WARNINGS: DUB-CON, SOULMATE!AU, READER OWNS A RESTAURANT, OBSESSIVE AND POSSESSIVE TENDENCIES, SEMI-PUBLIC SEX, AFAB!READER, PORN WITH A LITTLE PLOT, ORAL (RECIEVING), FINGERING (RECIEVING), PENETRATIVE SEX, VERY SOFT YANDERE.

It's a matter of principle.

You simply don't believe in soulmates. It's foolish, its fantastical, and it's... boring. To just have a person chosen for you by god seems so terribly boring, and also a bad idea. What if he's a bad man? Who hits you and cheats on you? And you just can't leave because he's "your soulmate". Sounds simply stupid.

So, when the copy ninja came to you and the word "soulmates" left his lips, you simply turned around and ran away, like a coward. Because you weren't interested. There were plenty of other men, other ninja in Konoha that could be the one for you, and even if he was, he had just ruined it by spewing that soulmate nonsense.

"We're closed." You say quickly when you see him entering your little restaurant. Unfortunately, nobody is there to cover you, so you're left alone with him. You clean at a table, pretending he isn't there.

"You'll start bleeding if you keep scratching the table that hard," He says, in a sigh, always playing the uninterested man. "Won't you acknowledge me? Really? At least offer me a glass of water?" He sprawls over the table, and your eye twitches as you glare at him.

"Fine." You hiss, and serve him a glass of water as quickly and calmly as you can. "Anything else, Hatake?" You ask with the fakest smile possible, and he grins under the mask.

"If you could give me the privilege of conversing with yo—"

"It's a little too late for that," You slam the wet cloth against another table, cleaning once more. "Specially if you're going to keep insisting about that topic. So save it, I'm not interested." He watches you quietly, fingers drumming over the tabletop as he observes your movements. How your clothes cling to your curves, how you tuck your hair behind your ear. He's entranced, and even if he doesn't like to admit it, he's... a little bit obsessed. It's only natural, after all you two are soulmates, connected by a bond stronger than anything else. He believes so, he knows so, otherwise you wouldn't have your mark in the same place, branded like cattle.

"I have to keep insisting so you'll understand," He hums, his voice always a little bit condescending. "Why are you so reluctant about it? What are you afraid of?"

"I don't know you, for starters," Your eyes remain fixed on the stains, furiously scrubbing. "You never take off the mask, we have never held a conversation that isn't small talk or that lasts more than five minutes, you don't know me, my family or values, and I don't know yours. I don't know if we're compatible, I don't know if we have the same views for a relationship, let alone something like marriage."

"Then how do you explain this?" In a second he's behind you, his tall frame engulfing yours. His hand searches for a point under your clothes, over your skin. "Doesn't this little mark sting a little? Isn't my touch... soothing?" He asks, voice husky, rumbling over his chest. And you whimper when he applies pressure to the little point, the little mark over your skin, at how he's right. But you won't admit it, you would never admit it. "You'll never know... we'll never know if you don't give me a chance, ___."

"This proves nothing," You whisper, trying to stand your ground. And he chuckles. "I don't even think we're compatible." You taunt, looking at him through the corner of your eye, and his hands run over your hips now.

"I think we'll be very compatible," He bites the shell of your ear through his mask, making you gasp. "If you allow me to show you."

The curtain closes, and you're inside your little kitchen. Modest enough for you to be away from prying eyes, and lewd enough to let certain loud noises escape the confinements of the room.

The skirt and apron you were wearing were lift up, allowing him to get a clear view of your clothed cunt. Slowly, his hands undress you, the night air hitting your folds, glistening with just a little slick. And he chuckles.

"Eager?" He asks, pressing a few kisses through his mask over your skin, making your thighs tense.

"Take it off," You growl, again, trying to seem like a figure of authority, and failing miserably when his eyes crinkle at the corners, grinning. "What, you ugly or something?" You ask him curtly, and this time he cackles out loud.

"Not at all," He sighs, and he starts to remove it. "Quite the opposite from what I've been told. But it could be a lie." He shrugs, and it finally comes off. And you almost choke. It's the truth. Face masculine, well sculpted, chiseled in stone. Killer smile, deep set eyes, masculine nose, and the smallest beauty-mark under his lip. "So?" His tongue darts out, pink inside pinkish lips, and he flicks at your clit, you throw your head back, gripping the kitchen counter, digging your nails at how his tongue makes you melt, fold, everything. You're almost howling, the way he sucks, sloppily making out with your clit like that was his soulmate instead of you, it's maddening, something you've never experienced before, being eaten alive. "Speechless, I see..." He mocks, voice muffled as he starts to make out with your cunt, tongue probing in and out of your hole. Its a mess of slick and spit between your legs, an orgasm already trying to come out of your body, and he's in a land of bliss, slick dripping down his chin as he continues his messy eating.

"Fuck—" You whine, hands coming to tangle between his snowy locks, tugging and pulling, making him groan against your cunt, the reverberation of it being enough to teeter you over the edge. You feel it, the know in your stomach unraveling and suddenly he's gulping down the aftermath of his actions, of his expert tongue messing with your tender folds. Still, he doesn't relent, continuing to lap and suck and flick at all your sensitive spots, tongue-fucking you with the most evil expertise. "Kakashi!" You gasp, trying to close your legs, but he doesn't stop, warm hands coming to tighten the grip of your thighs around his head.

"M'right here, sweetheart." He growls, looking up at you, making your eyes roll back as his fingers come to aid his ministration. Mouth on your clit, hands inside your pussy. Curling when he sucks at your clit, eliciting another orgasm that robs you of any ounce of self control you could've had. And he's enjoying it, his free hand palming at his cock lazily. His fingers pumping in and out at a steady pace, continuing to flick your clit with his tongue, and then doing scissoring motions inside your gummy walls, flashing you a few sardonic glares that mock your pathetic state. Sweating, legs trembling, hair sticking to your forehead and the sides of your face. And even in that moment, he just can't help but think you're the most beautiful being that has ever walked on earth.

He lets you breathe, licking his lips and the remains of your slick and cum off his fingers, even more lewd slurping sounds filling the room. And you can't do anything other than stare. He unbuttons your shirt, letting your breasts fall loose, nipples perking up with the cold.

"Pretty..." He whispers, kissing at your neck and collarbone.

"You're still... dressed..." You pant, and he gives you an enigmatic smile. Slowly, taunting, he begins to undo his belt. The metallic sound of the buckle against the floor giving you some semblance over your situation. You're half naked, watching one of the most lusted over men in the village undress for you, like he's a common whore, and looking at you like he's in love. You take a deep breath, eyes widening as he takes his cock out. Same color as his skin, standing proud at what seems to be eight inches, the tip a pretty strawberry lollipop pink, you wonder if his cum tastes like that as well.

"Happy now?" He asks, caging you against the counter. He takes off his vest, and his undershirt, exposing his abs. For a body so lean, almost lanky, he looks surprisingly buff. He pulls you closer, and you can't help but grind your cunt against his abdomen, at the firm skin, you shiver, and he chuckles, already starting to sweat as well. "Dirty thing." He croons, gripping your hips and letting you grind against his abs. It's uncomfortable, the position, the angle, but you can't stop running your puffy folds against his skin. Maybe you're the common whore. "See? I told you we were... so compatible." He licks his lips, trying to catch his breath as he looks at you. Abs glinting under the lights due to the slick imprinted over them, he resist the urge to go down on you again.

Slowly, he starts to rub the tip of his cock against your pussy lips, smooching it with your little clit, red and swollen from the stimulation. You gasp, as he rubs it between your folds, having the time of his life at the softness and warmth of your skin. He spits at your hole, smearing it all over your cunt in a display of lewdness, adding to the mess of slick and spit he made previously.

"Stick it in..." You plead, eyes glossy. Your previous bark completely lost, cockdrunk already. "C'mon... didn't you want to prove that we had... bed chem."

"Right, I did want to do that," He says in a dry chuckle, circling your entrance with tortuous slowness. "Is it working?" He asks, and pushes, just a little. You answer him with a whine, and he pulls out, and repeats the same thing over and over again, driving you mad.

"It is! It's working!" You mewl, deliriously. Your hands come to try and line his cock with your entrance, to have him finally split you apart on his length, and with that he thrusts it in. Bottoming out with one swift movement of his hips, heavy balls smacking against the curve of your ass when he sticks it all the way inside. You moan his name once again, and he clings to your body. You both stay like that, not moving, only grasping the fact that he's finally inside. And then he moves, precise, mortal, intending to have you die from pleasure. The plump head of his cock hitting expertly against your sweet spots, smooching at your cervix and then hitting it like it wants to bruise the next second. And tears keep falling down your eyes, drooling.

"We're gonna get so married," He slobbers, carrying you by placing two strong, expert hands over your ass, fucking you in the air like you're nothing more than a fleshlight. "Because you're mine, all mine now. Aren't you, ___? My soulmate? Mine?" He sounds as pussydrunk as he looks, eyes glossy, lips that search for yours. Both swollen from kissing and biting.

"Fuckfuckfuck," you whimper, and squirt all over his cock, making him grin again. "All yours! All yours! Just don't stop!" Your voice is all high pitched and whiny, lost in the sensation of him fucking you into next week. And you feel it, how his cock throbs and threatens to pump you full of cum.

"I'm so glad you finally came to your senses..."

hope you enjoyed this!!!!

have a great day/night

TAGGING: @mimihaitani @janeisnotonline @architectofsuffering

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[grimmusings]

Given the recent resurgence in purity culture and anti-villain sentiment on Tumblr, this feels like a good time to talk about censorship and bullying. This is not a call-out post for anything that's happened recently, just some commentary on what, to me, is a disturbing trend and some general guidelines for how to conduct yourself in fandom spaces.

Essentially, it boils down to this: You have the right to not interact with anything you choose in a fandom. You don't have the right to make that choice for anyone else.

Do you know why AO3 doesn't have content bans? It stems from anti-censorship beliefs and First Amendment rights, and it also comes from a long history of watching things like this go down in fandom. The thing about banning one kind of content--or that kind of mindset--is that it hardly ever stops with one thing, until fandoms are so scrubbed from anything that has the potential to be problematic that they collapse under any perceived threat to their rigid moral standards. If you doubt that, consider how it's taken less than a month for this to jump from Marvel to include other groups of villains and fandoms. Guaranteed, it will not stop there. (And that's to say nothing of how, historically, censorship leads to silencing marginalized groups, but that's a different post.) Conservatism is insidious and takes a lot of forms, but censorship is ultimately a conservative, even a fascist, action.

The fact is that what you enjoy reading or writing is actually no reflection on what kind of person you are. There's even an argument to be made that exploring darkness in fiction a) makes you a more empathetic human and, b) makes you better-equipped to handle those topics in real life (but that's another post too). I don't care what you want to write on your own blog. I don't care how controversial your muse or your ship is or if you write the darkest of dark fic out there. I may not want to write it, engage with it, or even see it on my dash, but I'll defend your right to write it.

Writing fascist characters (HYDRA, Empire, Death Eaters, etc.) doesn't make someone a Nazi any more than writing Hannibal Lecter makes them a cannibal or writing the Punisher makes them an advocate for gun violence. Saying they are breaks one of the primary tenets of roleplay: that mun does not equal muse. It's widely accepted in the roleplaying community that we don't agree with our characters' views, and we would never in a million years condone the things they do in real life. That rule doesn't go away just because you personally don't like the character.

So let's talk about what to do when you come across writing you don't agree with.

What you have a right to do: Feel however you feel about it. Ask for tags and readmores (they have a right to refuse). Decline to explain or justify why it makes you uncomfortable. Decide not to associate with people who write that thing. Blacklist. Unfollow. Block. Add to your DNI list. Vent about it in a safe space with your friends. Take a step back from the internet. Remember that the people on the other side of the screen are real, actual humans, while characters are imaginary. Embrace the fact that engaging in fiction is optional, and you can choose to stop any time you want. Trust that grown adults have the basic media literacy to understand the difference between reality and fiction. Remind yourself of the first rule of fandom, the one AO3 is built on (Don't like; don't read). Recognize that it's perfectly valid to not want to engage with something, but that expecting other people not to write it at all isn't your call to make and can lead down a dangerous path.

What you don't have a right to do: Bully or doxx other writers. Shame them for their choices when they don't agree with you. Demand explanations or justifications from them. Gaslight them into thinking nobody else will write with them if they continue to write this thing. (You don't speak for the entire fandom. You are a very small minority making a lot of noise.) Create call-out posts. Participate in witch hunts. Send anon hate or death threats. Make people feel unsafe in their own spaces. Police other people's content.

If you descend to bullying someone because you don't like what they're writing, you don't have the moral high ground. I can't believe it needs to be said, but real bullies are worse than fictional antagonists. Bullying and censorship are far more alarming threats than people who enjoy exploring dark topics in their writing. Nobody's asking you to like it, agree with it, or even look at it. And if you don't? Now is the perfect time to say nothing about it, block, and move on. Rest assured, we don't want you on our blogs any more than you want us on yours.

[berryispunk]

Past and Present

Chapter 6 of "Rain Down on Me" for the April Showers challenge by @jolapeno

series masterlist

pairing: Frankie Morales x ofc! reader (Summer)

tags: enemies to ???, betrayal, inner turmoil, they talk, kinda soft Frankie (how we love him), talks of parental death, grief mention

notes: I finished their story just today and boy oh boy lemme tell you you guys aren’t prepared! Also a huge THANK YOU to everyone keeping track of these two idiots. They really grew on me. Anyways, enjoy 🤍

word count: ~ 1,8k

You slip into the car before you can second-guess yourself, the box of lemon cupcakes still clutched to your chest like some kind of fragile truth.  You don’t look at him. Just stare straight ahead, jaw tight, pulse loud in your ears. Every instinct is telling you to get back out, to walk away before this gets any messier. But you don’t. Maybe out of guilt. Maybe because he drove all that way. Maybe because you owe him a thank you, even if it tastes bitter on your tongue.

The rain drums softly on the windshield, steady and unrelenting. The car is quiet otherwise—too quiet. It feels like something is coiled in the silence, like if one of you breathes wrong, it might snap.

Frankie’s hands are still on the wheel, knuckles white, like he’s afraid to move.

Then, finally—his voice, rough and low:

“I didn’t mean it.”

Not an excuse, not a plea. Just the truth, stripped down and raw.

He glances over, but you still won’t look at him. Not yet.

He shifts, finally letting go of the wheel, hands dropping into his lap. “I know you don’t owe me anything. But I swear, there wasn’t a real bet. Not like you think.”

You don’t answer. Just stare out the windshield, jaw tight.

“It wasn’t about getting you into bed.” He pauses. “Not exactly.”

Your head snaps toward him. “Seriously?”

Frankie sighs, rubs a hand down his face. “Benny was running his mouth after that party. Said something like, ‘She’s already into you, man. Give it two weeks, she’ll be sleeping in your hoodie’ Just—stupid shit.”

You glare. “And you what? Took him up on it?”

He shifts in his seat, defensive now. “No. I said he was wrong. That was it.”

“You said you'd prove him wrong. Sounds like you were still playing the game.”

“It wasn’t a fucking game,” he snaps, then immediately curses under his breath, glancing away. “Sorry.”

You don’t flinch, but your voice is like ice. “So what was it, then? You let your friend think it was a joke. Let me think you were different. And for what? So you wouldn’t look whipped?”

He groans softly, leans back against the headrest. “I didn’t know how to explain what I was feeling, okay? You scare the shit outta me. I didn’t plan any of this, and suddenly I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and that’s not something I’m good at. So yeah—I acted like a dick. Like it wasn’t serious. Because if I admitted it was, then I’d have to be real about all of it. And I haven’t been real with anyone in a long fucking time.”

You stare at him for a long beat. “So instead, you let me believe I was just… something you were trying to win?”

He goes quiet. Then, softer: “I didn’t think you'd find out.”

That makes you laugh—sharp and humorless. “Wow. That’s your defense?”

He looks at you, really looks. “No. That’s me being honest.”

The silence that follows is a different kind—thick with something unspoken. Wounds not yet healed, but no longer ignored. You don’t answer right away. But you don’t get out of the car either.

—

Frankie doesn’t know what he expected when you got in—maybe fury, maybe that razor-edged silence you used like a weapon. But not this.

Not the way you’re sitting now. Shoulders drawn in, hands wrapped tight around the box like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world. You look smaller than he’s ever seen you—not physically, but like someone dimmed your light. Like the fire that used to dance behind your eyes had been snuffed out, and all that’s left is smoke.

Gone is the girl who snapped at him for breathing too loud, who met every one of his jabs with a sharper one of her own. The girl who could slice him open with a look and still make him want to get closer. This version of you is quieter. Exposed. And it slices right through him.

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t dare move. Just watches you from the edge of his vision like you’re wired too tight, like one wrong move might set something off.

Then—softly, almost swallowed by the sound of rain—you speak.

“That bakery…” You’re staring straight ahead, eyes glassy. “My dad used to take me there. Every Sunday. Just the two of us.”

You pause. Inhale like it might steady you. But your hands stay tight around the box.

“He died when I was eleven.”

The words hang there—soft and brutal—and Frankie feels them like a punch. Not just because he’s known grief too. He’s buried friends. Held memories like shrapnel in his chest. But this? This is different. This is you. And you never talk like this. Never let people in far enough to see the cracks, let alone the break.

It knocks the breath from him.

He wants to reach for you—do something, say anything—but he can’t. His throat’s too tight. His hands feel too heavy. So he just sits there. Quiet. Still. Holding the moment like it’s fragile glass, and trying not to shatter under the weight of everything you just gave him.

You laugh once, a dry, breathless sound. “It’s stupid, I know. But those cupcakes… they were always part of the good memories. The safe ones. It’s like, for a second, I could go back. Be that version of me. The one who didn’t feel so goddamn replaceable all the time.”

And that’s when it hits him.

Not like a jolt—no, it’s slower than that. Heavier. Like something sinking deep into his chest.

Because he’s never seen you like this. He’s seen the fire, the pushback, the way you wield sarcasm like armor. He’s seen the curve of your smirk when you called him an idiot, and the flicker of something softer when you thought he wasn’t looking. But not this. Not the girl sitting beside him now, swallowed by a hoodie, clutching that box like it’s the only thing keeping her from splintering.

He thought he knew you. Thought maybe he was falling for the version of you who let him in just enough to drive him crazy. But this? This changes everything.

This is real.

And something in him aches, full and sharp and warm, like he’s breaking open just to fit more of you inside.

You wipe your eyes fast, like you’ve done it a hundred times, like it’s a reflex, like you’re used to hiding softness the second it surfaces.

Frankie’s voice is a little hoarse. “It’s not stupid.”

You don’t answer, but this time, you don’t look away.

And in the quiet, something eases. Not gone, not healed—but shifted.

—

You don’t respond right away. Just sit there, the rain thinning on the windshield, the sound of it soft like a lull in a storm that hasn’t really passed.

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, but you manage to say, quieter now, “You really don’t know how much that messed me up.”

Frankie’s voice is lower too. “Yeah. I’m starting to.”

The silence stretches again, but it doesn’t cut like before. It settles.

You glance down at the box in your lap. The cupcakes are a little squished from how hard you’ve been holding them. You loosen your grip, slowly peel the lid back. The smell hits you—lemon, sugar, home—and something in your chest pinches tight.

Frankie watches you carefully, eyes unreadable.

Then he clears his throat, awkward. “You… uh. You gonna share?”

You look over at him. And it’s stupid, it’s so stupid, but the way he says it—like it’s neutral ground, like maybe this is the only language you two can speak without fighting.

You dig into the box, pick one out, and wordlessly offer it to him like a peace offering. His brows lift, surprised, like he didn’t actually expect you to say yes.

He takes it, fingers brushing yours, but doesn’t eat it right away. Just holds it. Looks at you like you’re something fragile—like if he moved too fast, you’d crack right down the middle. Under any other circumstances, you’d hate this. Hate being seen like that—exposed, vulnerable, ripped open at the seams.

But somehow, in the hush of his car, with the rain tapping gently and the scent of your childhood wrapped around you in the air, it doesn’t feel wrong.

It feels... okay. Like maybe you’re allowed to be soft here.

And you try, quietly, not to let that scare you too much.

“Was it worth it?” you ask, not looking at him. “Driving four hours round-trip for these?”

Frankie huffs a laugh, small and real. “Not if you keep hogging the frosting like that.”

You glance sideways at him, and there’s a flicker of something—not forgiveness, but maybe the ghost of what used to live between you. Something that still wants to survive the wreckage.

You look out the windshield again, cupcake resting in your palm, warmth bleeding into your fingers.

And you don’t say it, but you think it— Don’t make me regret this.

—

You sit in the silence for a while. The rain’s thinned to a drizzle now, just enough to paint the world in glistening streaks. Frankie’s hands stay on the wheel, unmoving, but his gaze flicks to you every few seconds—like he’s still making sure you’re real. Still here.

Then, finally, he says, voice low, almost hesitant, “There’s this fair. Out by the beach.”

You turn to look at him, one brow lifting.

“My parents used to take me and my sister there when we were kids,” he continues. “It’s kind of a tradition.”

A beat.

“You have a sister?” you ask, surprise flickering in your voice and your face.

Frankie shoots you a look, lips twitching. “Yeah. A big one. Why is this so surprising?”

You lean back in the seat, the smallest, tired laugh slipping from you. “I don’t know. I just didn’t picture you as someone with siblings. You’ve got that only-child brooding thing going on.”

He huffs a short laugh. “Thanks, I guess?”

You’re still looking at him, the now-soggy box of cupcakes cradled in your lap like it’s something sacred. His face has softened—still wearing that infuriatingly gentle smile, eyes warm and steady on yours. He’s quiet, careful. Watching without pushing, like he knows one wrong word might send you retreating again. And then, something in you shifts. Just slightly.

Your shoulders drop, your grip loosens, and your voice is quieter than before when you finally say, “Okay then.”

Frankie blinks. “Okay?”

“Take me to the fair.”

He blinks again—maybe just as surprised as you are that you’re actually agreeing.

“But,” you add quickly, lifting a warning finger, “this is not a date. It’s a make-up. For all the shit you’ve pulled. All food’s on you. No complaining.”

A grin pulls at the corner of his mouth—slow, crooked, and annoyingly smug.

“Yes, ma’am.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, something between you doesn’t ache.

It breathes.

Also, this is them:

thanks for reading 💌

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tags: @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @dendulinka6 @greenwitchfromthewoods @joelsgoodgirl @copperhalfcent @whirlwindrider29

[kyntypes]

It hurts so much for my natural experience as a holotherian, and as a nonhuman in general has to be censored in most spaces for someone else's comfort, who only wants that comfort because they are ableist or afraid of the "weird".

I should not need to water down my experience of a "Potential Delusion" or "Clinical Zoanthropy" just because you have been fearmongered into believing that I am purely dangerous, and purely out to harm someone. That's not my fault. I just existed. I found a label I resonated with, and I went with it. I didn't do anything outside of that.

I found solace in Reddit for a time, but it just doesn't feel right. Hell, even Tumblr feels like eggshells. I am hesitant to use certain tags because I know I'll look "crazy" to others. I know I'll likely be blocked on sight. I know I may even be reported.

I just want to be amongst therians, and be seen as one, and not othered for having a possible "scary disorder" to accompany my identities. My intrashifting and my holotherianthropy does not harm you. It's all personal to me. I never pushed it onto others. I simply try to explain my experiences, yet I am pushed to believe something else. Imagine trying to explain your religion to someone, and the other person tries to push their own beliefs onto you without hearing you out. It's basically all it sounds like to me. You can't shake what I experience, perceive, and believe.

I don't question mental therians, spiritual therians, or other kinds of therians. Yet, you get questioned when you aren't either of those. Y'know, I don't mind someone asking me how my shifting is possible. Even if it isn't, I still experience something like that. It's absolutely real to me. If someone asked me, "Do you have proof?" I personally couldn't care less. I don't have outward proof, since this is DNA we are speaking about here, but since I am methylated as well, it won't show. I will appear human no matter what. If I have a human gene, then it's the most dominant for me to outwardly appear as human. But, I know what I am. I just know. The same way you *know* that spiritually you are nonhuman, I *know* that my biology and physicality is nonhuman.

It feels like how some binary trans folks viewed non-binary trans folks as a danger to their community and "delusional" simply for having an identity outside of society's male/female binary. I'm already used to that since I am nonbinary in the "human" sense, but it's worse knowing even in another community I found some sort of solace in, I still would be considered "too weird" for them.

[riagraie]

Chat. I might've maybeee watched the first few episodes of the leaks. As in, episodes 11-13 (I got too tired to watch the 14th but will later).

I have thoughts.

WARNING: NINJAGO DRAGONS RISING SEASON 3 PART 2 SPOILERS

Pls don't break the cut if you don't want spoilers. Hopefully I used the right tags. If I didn't, pls comment and let me know and I'll add them.

Number one: I FUCKING HATE YOU NINJAGO. KILLING EGALT?????? FUCK YOUUUUUUU

Number two: EEEEEEEEE PIXANE SMOOCH AND VACATION YIPPEEEEEEEE

Number three: Lloyd feels so guilty and sad about the team drifting apart in his opinion

Number four: sassy Jay I love you. Please get back with Nya I need Jaya back. Also, I love his character development. His hesitation to trust anything that anyone says bc the administration lied to him, ras lied to him, and now the ninja trying to tell him who he is. MMMMMM TASTY ANGST

Number five: I love Sora being a sassy slay queen to Ras. Like yes girlie keep that hoe in lineeeee

Number six: OMG YAY RIYU AND RONTU BONDING!!!!

Number seven: bro. Lee is reminding me of that one villain from the flash or maybe the arrow? Idk. But omfg it's so creepy.

Number eight: HAHA YES LLOYD!!!!! BE THE WINGMAN! "Jay and Nya are married" YAAASSSSSSSSS

Number nine: Lloyd in a sweater 😼

Number ten: Lloyd this part getting a bunch of screentime 😼👹

I have a problem ik.

Other thoughts are about THE OFFICIAL SECOND TIME WE'VE SEEN A PRISMATIC BLADE SHATTER. FIRST WAS LLOYD IN S2PT2 AND THE SECOND WAS ON A DRAGONIAN WARRIOR'S DEAD SOUL HUHHHHHHHH???? NINJAGO YOU BETTER EXPLAIN YO SELF

A friend of mine on discord said maybe it has to do with Lloyd being part dragon, that only dragons can break the prismatic blades which does make sense. The blades were the only tools that could free Thunderfang, so it is basically confirmed a source dragon made them which then makes the idea of the blades only shattering when hit against a dragon reasonable.

[divinedelusional]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝

jack schlossberg x sweetheart!reader

synopsis: how jack and sweetheart met (not that detailed) and how he is with her! enjoy

warnings: none, it's fluff!

when you were about to meet jack you were nervous

you met through your mutual friend

you obviously knew who jack was but didn't know a lot about him or his personality since you didn't follow his social media

but your friend begged you to go on a date with him

you finally agreed

you were nervous about a whole experience

he went to yale, studied law at harvard, was jfk grandson - you expected him to be very serious man

while sometimes, especially at public appearances he was

showing of his knowledge, with the way he spoke

but once you got to know him, went out on more days you knew you didn't have to worry at all

he wasn't serious politic obssesed man you expected him to be

he was more like elle woods

and you loved it

he always listened to you

whatever you were ranting about

he never thought you were silly

always validated you're feelings

NEVER mansplaining anything

you genuinely wanted to know more about some political topics

and he always calmly explained

"no baby, don't worry, it took years for me to fully understand it"

"you're just saying that to make me feel better"

"i swear i'm not"

he wanted you to have your things at his place

bonus points if your belongings were pink

it made him so happy, seeing your touch in his apartment

you bought a couple floral plates and mugs

you loved to drink your morning coffees and matchas in them

you got matching jellycats, since you both have collection of stuffed animals

you got toast with jelly jellycat and jack got peanut butter jar

he always made sure you'll recieve fresh flowers from him every week

supported you in every project you wanted to participate in

encouraging your ideas

blasting taylor swift songs when you were driving somewhere

or when you were cooking

making homemade sushi for your stay at home dates, or when your friends were visiting you for girls night

jack was dropping by at yopur place to help you with sushi, then was going home

"you and your girlfriends deserve to have your quality time, sweet thing"

they loved him btw

were grateful that you finally met a man that you deserve, caring, respectful and loving

buying you whatever you want from sephora

sometimes taking you shopping there, sometimes ordering online when you didn't even know

"what the fuck is wrong with this page?!"

"what is it baby?"

"i wanted to get you this blush you were talking about, you know from that brand you already have one shade, plushie or something..."

"oh honey, but rhode is not available at sephora"

"wHaT??"

once stole your bow and wore it on his wrist at a meeting with senator

you couldn't be happier

you just wanted to be who you really were and be loved for it

you were just a girl and jack was there for it

tagging: @ddlydevotion @mystardustmelodyyy @caesarsaladlover @remotewatch @delusionaldeadgirl

[frickingnerd]

you're the only one for me

pairing: nora valkyrie x gn!reader

summary: when you get jealous of how well your girlfriends gets along with ren, nora makes it clear to you that you're the only one for her!

tags: silly & wholesome fluff, kissing, affectionate girlfriend!nora, reader being insecure / jealous, mentions of ren (but no renora)

you knew that nora and ren were just friends. you knew because nora was your girlfriend, not ren's. and yet, knowing how close those two have been for all of their lives, it was sometimes hard not*ä to get jealous at how well those two got along!

“what's wrong?” nora had just turned around from waving ren goodbye, only to find you with a somber expression on your face, that you didn't quite know how to explain. “are you jealous~?” she teased, only for your eyes to widen and your head to shake.

“no i'm not–!” you immediately huffed out in response, causing your girlfriend to laugh.

“oh, so you really are jealous~!” she grinned and nudged your side, before her own words started to sink in. “wait… why would you be jealous!?”

you hid your face behind your hands, sighing softly, as you tried to hide how uncomfortable you felt. you didn't want to be jealous, since you didn't want nora to think you didn't trust her! but it was hard to see your girlfriend so close with someone who wasn't you…

“i just…” you started, before quickly shutting up again. it was hard to put into words how you felt, especially when you didn't want to ruin things with nora. would she be upset if you told her how you felt?

“hey, you can tell me…!” nora assured you, resting a hand on your shoulder. “i– i know i tease you a lot, but we can have an honest conversation too!”

“sometimes i just… wonder if maybe ren and you would make a better pair than–”

“WOAH, STOP RIGHT THERE–!”

you flinched, surprised by nora's sudden intervention. your eyes had been glued to the floor, but as soon as she had spoken up, your gaze was glued to her.

“i thought you said i could be honest with you…?” you said, slightly confused.

“you can be honest with me, sure, but i don't want you to depreciate yourself like that! so i'm not letting you finish that sentence, ‘cause there's nobody else i'd rather be with than you, alright?”

you needed a moment to take in nora's words, before softly nodding. nora gently nudged your side, a small smile appearing on your lip.

“now, whenever you think anything like that again, let me know, so i can kiss you before you can even say out loud what you're thinking~!”

[redheadsramblings]

WIP Weekday

So I've been getting very behind in my tags replies recently.

Mostly cause the muse is not playing nice and has been in fact kicking me around the yard.

But I have woken up today determined to do something about it.

That and I actually managed to write something for my current WIP How A Rowan Became A Rook. I haven't written a lot, but it's enough to show.

So I was tagged by @thequeenofthewinter @serbarris @andthekitchensinkao3 and @theyearningghoul

Have a snippet of Lace yelling at Varric from Chapter 17

----------------------------

“She disappeared Varric! Just poof and she was gone! Like a ghost or a spirit or Maker knows what they have in Nevarra! She could be anyone or anything, and you didn’t think! What, did she bat her eyes at you, and you just brought her along? ALL BECAUSE YOU HAVE A NEED TO HELP ANYONE WHO LOOKS AT YOU SADLY! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN EATEN BY A DEMON!!”

Lace had started gesticulating wildly the more she spoke, her voice was rising with each sentence, as was she, Varric noted, ending with her on her feet waving her hands in the air and yelling at him. Which wasn’t an unusual situation, though it usually took a bit longer to get there than this. 

He sighed loudly into the silence that followed her tirade, which by the look on her face was the wrong thing to do, but he held up a hand to stop her before she got going again. Thanking the Maker that it worked, he attempted to try to explain in a way that would calm her worries. Not fears, he wasn’t stupid enough to call them that, at least not to her face.

----------------------------

It's a bit clunky and defo needs some polishing, but I wrote something! 🎊✨🙌

This is my other WIP

It's a hexagon cardigan inspired by Rowan and Emmrich

No tags because the brain gremlins have joined the muse and are being mean but if you see this and want to tag me in anything you're working on please do 🥰

[girbirty]

house and wilson smoking weed together but wilson has a panic attack for no reason and house is The Same As Usual

[egophiliac]

ENG PLAYERS I BESEECH YOU

I have been informed that you guys are getting part 4 of episode 7 tomorrow, which means we are FINALLY going to get the official romanization of Revaan's name, somebody please tell me because I need to know what it is.

like, yes, it's probably just Revan/Levan, but look, I'm sitting here with my finger over the button of all these Laverne and Shirley jokes and just waiting for the opportunity to deploy them --

[mimenoises]

2 sides of a similar coin

[feelo-fick]

"it must be the caffiene."

"...? we didn't have anything caffinated?"

//

CHILAIOS WEEK DAY 2 : Changeling

HI THIS IS SUPER LATE BUT ART HAS BEEN. HARD. AND YES I SKIPPED ONE DAY THAT ONE IS GONNA GO LAST BECAUSE ITS TAKING SO LONG TO MAKE.... ill get to the others when i find the time.

Bonus :