#and at the same time wonder why there's not more fic

[shyficwriter]

Sorry prev, but I couldn't let these tags stay in the notes.

And before I get into agreeing with prev, I also always use readmores- but prev still has a point.

This is directed more to people in the notes than to OP (who almost definitely didn't expect their post to turn into this and actually seems pretty chill), but threatening to block people because they don't make themselves smaller for you is kinda cringe actually.

For 30K fics, yeah I get it- they should probably be under readmores or linked to AO3. But just 1k or 2k like prev said? I've seen thinkpieces on here longer than that with no readmore get regularly reblogged and no one blinks an eye. Reblog-chains and comics longer than that which keep circling with no complaint. People only seem to care when it's fic. Everyone loves to call tumblr the fandom website until they have to scroll past a fic they didn't feel like reading, or belonging to a fandom space they weren't a part of.

You all came to the fandom blogging website and got mad that there were *checks notes* fandom blog posts. And then you threaten to block the writers for not making themselves smaller than they already do, as if you were ever going to read their fic or interact with them or their posts anyway regardless.

Weird behavior, honestly.

It just gives such icky/gaslightly, "Well I might have read your fics and became your biggest fan- but you didn't put a readmore so now I'm blocking and you've lost a potential reader forever! Ouch- sorry! Buh-Bye! xoxo"

Do you all not see how gross that is? How entitled that sounds?

I'm not saying never block accounts you don't want to see- by all means block away! Curate your own experience and all that. But when you feel the need to announce it, acting like your block is some righteous punishment, or something other bloggers should be scared of and should actively avoid, just for not blogging the way you personally want them to- it gets so gross.

Especially considering that you can go into your own blog settings and hit the toggle for "Shorten long posts" yourself, and have every long post be automatically shortened and given it's own "Expand" button, therefore letting you scroll right by all the fic you want to skip.

Yes, it even works in the tags, I just checked.

if you're posting a whole fanfiction to tumblr you've got to put it under a readmore boss

[allaboutynn]

THE SPARK BETWEEN US

💐 synopsis — it was good being the maknae of aespa, they always treated you like their younger sister, well Except one member who definitely thinks of you more than that.

⚠️ warnings: Urm idk why I wrote this in first persons POV but never trying that again :/, 5th member reader, avoiding

💬 Rin: first actual attempt at writing something that’s fic related, yay(?) came up to the decision of making this blog my writing fics blogs and created another for reading and interactions!

☀︎︎☁︎︎ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓 ꆭ ᷎ ࣪ 🎀ᩖ ࣪ ۪ ̃ ✿

As I spent more time with the members of aespa, I couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging. They were all so kind and welcoming, always making sure I felt included and comfortable. Karina would often give me advice on fashion and beauty, while Giselle would share stories about her love of food and cooking. Ningning would tease me playfully, but always made sure I knew she was just joking.

But there was one member who treated me differently. Winter would often find excuses to sit next to me, or to touch my arm while we were talking. She would look at me with a gaze that was almost... intense. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I knew that Winter saw me in a different light.

At first, I tried to brush it off as mere friendliness. But as time went on, I began to realize that Winter's feelings for me went far beyond friendship. She would make subtle comments, or find ways to be close to me, even when it wasn't necessary.

I have to admit, it was a little intimidating at first. But as I got to know Winter better, I realized that she was genuinely kind and caring. She would do anything to protect me, and make sure I was happy.

And as I looked into her eyes, I couldn't help but wonder... did I feel the same way?

As I pondered my feelings, Winter's gaze seemed to hold mine for a bit longer than usual. I felt a flutter in my chest, and my heart skipped a beat. I quickly looked away, trying to brush off the sensation.

But Winter's eyes seemed to follow me, and I could sense her gaze on me even when I wasn't looking. It was as if she was trying to will me to look back at her, to acknowledge the unspoken tension between us.

I tried to focus on the conversation around me, but my mind kept wandering back to Winter. I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if we were more than just friends.

As the evening drew to a close, Winter walked me home, her arm brushing against mine. The touch sent shivers down my spine, and I felt my heart racing in my chest.

As we stood outside my door, Winter turned to me and smiled. "Thanks for tonight," she said, her voice low and husky. "I had a really great time."

I smiled back, feeling a sense of nervousness. "I had a great time too," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

Winter's eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I thought she was going to kiss me. But then she seemed to hesitate, and instead, she leaned in and whispered, "Goodnight."

As I watched her walk away, I couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment. But at the same time, I knew that Winter's feelings for me were real, and that she was willing to take things slow.

I smiled to myself, feeling a sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, Winter and I could explore something more than friendship. And as I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't help but wonder what the future held for us.

The next day, I couldn't shake off the feeling that something had shifted between Winter and me. We had always been close, but the way she had looked at me the night before, the way she had whispered "goodnight" in my ear... it all felt so intimate, so personal.

As I went about my day, I found myself wondering what Winter was doing, whether she was thinking about me too. I felt a little silly, to be honest - I had never really considered Winter in a romantic way before, but now I couldn't seem to get her out of my head.

It wasn't until we met up for practice that afternoon that I saw Winter again. She smiled at me as I walked in, and I felt my heart skip a beat. We exchanged a few pleasantries, but I could sense a newfound tension between us, a sense of awareness that hadn't been there before.

As we began to practice, I found myself stealing glances at Winter, watching the way she moved with such precision and control. She was always so focused, so dedicated to her craft - and yet, when she caught my eye, I saw a flicker of something else there, something softer and more vulnerable.

I felt a pang of curiosity, and before I knew it, I was wondering what it would be like to kiss her, to hold her close and see where things might go. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, and I quickly looked away, trying to compose myself.

But as the practice drew to a close, Winter caught up to me, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Hey, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice low and teasing. "You seem a little distracted."

I felt my face heat up, and I looked away, trying to play it cool. "I'm just tired, that's all," I said, trying to brush it off.

But Winter just laughed, her eyes glinting with mischief. "I don't think that's it," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think you're just avoiding me."

I felt my heart skip a beat, and I turned to her, my eyes locking onto hers. "Why would I be avoiding you?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Winter just smiled, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "I think you know why," she said, her voice low and husky. And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me feeling stunned and confused.

As Winter walked away, I felt a pang of curiosity. What had she meant by that comment? Was she really suggesting that I was avoiding her, or was she just trying to get a rise out of me?

I decided to follow her, to see if I could get some answers. I caught up to her in the hallway, where she was waiting for the elevator.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound casual. "What did you mean back there?"

Winter turned to me, a sly smile spreading across her face. "I think you know exactly what I meant," she said, her eyes glinting with amusement.

I felt a flutter in my chest as I met her gaze. There was something in her eyes, something that made me feel like she could see right through me.

"I'm not sure I do," I said, trying to play it cool.

Winter laughed, a low, throaty sound. "Don't play dumb," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know you feel it too."

I felt a shiver run down my spine as she stepped closer to me. "Feel what?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Winter's eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I thought she was going to kiss me. "You know exactly what I'm talking about," she said, her voice husky with emotion.

And with that, the elevator doors opened, and Winter stepped inside, leaving me standing there, feeling stunned and confused.

For the next few days, I made a conscious effort to avoid Winter. I would take the stairs instead of the elevator, just so I wouldn't run into her. I would sit in a different part of the cafeteria during meals, and I would arrive early to practice so I could warm up before she arrived.

It wasn't that I didn't want to see her - it was just that I needed some time to think. I needed to process my feelings, to figure out what was going on between us. And I couldn't do that with Winter around, being her usual charming and persuasive self.

But as the days went by, I started to feel a little guilty. I was avoiding Winter, and I knew she had noticed. I could sense her eyes on me during practice, could feel her watching me even when I wasn't looking.

And then, one day, Winter decided to confront me. We were at practice, and I was sitting on the sidelines, taking a break. Winter walked over to me, her eyes fixed intently on mine.

"Hey," she said, her voice low and serious. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

I nodded, feeling a sense of trepidation. I knew what was coming.

Winter sat down beside me, her eyes never leaving mine. "I've noticed you've been avoiding me," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "And I want to know why."

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "I don't know what you're talking about," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Winter raised an eyebrow. "Don't lie to me," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "I know you've been avoiding me. And I want to know why."

I sighed, feeling a sense of resignation. I knew I couldn't avoid this conversation forever.

"Fine," I said, looking down at my feet. "I've been avoiding you because...because I don't know how to feel around you. Okay?"

Winter was silent for a moment, and I could sense her processing my words.

"Because of what I said the other day?" she asked, her voice soft and gentle.

I nodded, feeling a sense of relief. "Yeah. Because of that."

Winter nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. "I see," she said, her voice thoughtful. "Well, can I ask you something?"

I nodded, feeling a sense of trepidation.

"Do you feel the same way?" Winter asked, her voice soft and gentle.

I felt my heart skip a beat as I met her gaze. Did I feel the same way? I wasn't sure. But as I looked into Winter's eyes, I knew that I couldn't deny the spark that had ignited between us.

I hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. Winter's eyes seemed to bore into mine, as if searching for the truth. I felt a flutter in my chest, and my heart began to beat faster.

"I...I don't know," I stammered, trying to sound nonchalant despite the turmoil inside me.

Winter's expression didn't change, but I sensed a flicker of disappointment. "Okay," she said softly, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "I understand."

But I could tell she didn't understand. Not really. And I couldn't blame her. I was confused myself.

Winter stood up, her movements fluid and effortless. "I'll leave you alone for now," she said, her eyes still fixed on mine. "But can I ask you one more thing?"

I nodded, feeling a sense of trepidation.

"Will you at least think about it?" Winter asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Think about how you feel, and what you want?"

I nodded again, feeling a sense of resolve. "I'll think about it," I promised, my voice firm.

Winter smiled softly, and for a moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "Good," she said, her voice gentle. "I'll be waiting."

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me feeling more confused and uncertain than ever. But also, somehow, more hopeful.

I watched Winter walk away, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. I was glad that the conversation was over, but at the same time, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had just made things more complicated.

As I sat there, trying to process my emotions, I couldn't help but think about Winter's words. "Will you at least think about it?" she had asked, her eyes pleading with me to consider my feelings.

And I had promised her that I would. But as I sat there, I realized that I had no idea where to start. I had never really thought about my feelings for Winter before. I had always just assumed that we were friends, and that was it.

But now, I wasn't so sure. Winter's confession had thrown everything off balance, and I was left feeling confused and uncertain.

I decided to take a walk, hoping that some fresh air would clear my head. As I strolled through the streets, I couldn't help but think about Winter. I thought about the way she smiled, the way she laughed, and the way she always knew how to make me feel better.

And as I walked, I started to realize that my feelings for Winter went far beyond friendship. I felt a flutter in my chest, and my heart began to beat faster. I couldn't believe it. I had feelings for Winter.

But what did it mean? And what was I supposed to do now? I felt like I was standing at a crossroads, unsure of which path to take. But as I looked up at the sky, I knew that I had to be honest with myself. I had to acknowledge my feelings, no matter how scary it seemed.

And with that, I made a decision. I would talk to Winter again, and I would tell her how I really felt. I was nervous, but I knew it was the right thing to do.

I took a deep breath and made my way to Winter's room, my heart racing with anticipation. I had been thinking about our previous conversation nonstop, and I knew I had to talk to her again.

As I knocked on the door, Winter answered with a curious expression. "Hey, what's up?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with interest.

I smiled, feeling a sense of nervous excitement. "I wanted to talk to you about what you said the other day," I began, my voice barely above a whisper.

Winter's expression softened, and she nodded encouragingly. "I've been thinking about it a lot too," she said, her voice gentle.

I took another deep breath, feeling my heart pound in my chest. "I have to admit, I was surprised at first," I said, my eyes locking onto Winter's. "But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I feel the same way."

Winter's face lit up with a radiant smile, and she took a step closer to me. "Really?" she asked, her voice trembling with excitement.

I nodded, feeling my heart soar. "Really," I replied, my voice firm.

Winter's eyes sparkled with joy, and she reached out to take my hand. "I'm so glad," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

As our hands touched, I felt a jolt of electricity run through my body. It was like the whole world had come alive, and everything felt new and exciting. I smiled up at Winter, feeling my heart full of joy and anticipation.

As Winter's eyes sparkled with joy, I felt my heart skip a beat. We stood there for a moment, hands touching, and I knew that everything was going to be okay.

Winter smiled and leaned in close. "I'm so glad you feel the same way," she whispered, her breath tickling my ear.

I nodded, my heart racing with excitement. "Me too," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

As we stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together. And I couldn't wait to see what the future held for us.

✰𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐀

[satellite-evans]

right where you left me

Pairing: Max Verstappen x ex girlfriend!reader

Summary: You're still where Max left you.

Word count: 2.8k+

Warnings: angst, based on the Taylor Swift song

A/N:

Hi everyone, this is the first fic that I’m posting for the folkmore series, I am so excited!!! Can’t wait to hear what you guys think <3

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The restaurant still smells the same. The warm scent of buttered bread, the faint tang of expensive wine in the air, the subtle undertone of aged wood and candle wax melting into soft pools of gold. It’s been months—years, maybe—since the night Max walked out, yet the place feels untouched, frozen in time. Just like you.

You sit at the same table, your fingers brushing against the linen napkin, tracing invisible patterns on the surface. The same table where his laughter once curled in the air, where his hands would have reached for yours without thinking. Your glass of water remains half-full, just as it was that night. Untouched. Forgotten. A relic of a moment that still lingers in the corners of your mind like an echo you can’t quite silence.

The candlelight flickers, its glow catching the delicate ring you still wear on your right hand—the one he gave you as a promise before he decided promises were too heavy to keep. You twist it absentmindedly, the metal cool against your skin, a contrast to the warmth of memory.

Outside, the city hums with life. Cars glide past, their headlights flashing like distant stars. The murmur of strangers, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter—all of it moves forward, untethered to the past. But here, at this table, in this restaurant where time seems to hold its breath, you sit in the hollow space he left behind.

And for the first time in a long while, you wonder if he ever comes here, too. If he ever stops just outside the door, hand hesitating on the handle, breathing in the familiar scent and remembering. Or if, like the promises he made, he’s let it all go.

“Are you ready to order?”

The waiter’s voice pulls you from your trance, gently but firmly, like a hand on your shoulder bringing you back to the present. You blink, your gaze shifting from the flickering candlelight to the young man standing beside your table, his notepad poised, his expression polite but unreadable.

You only shake your head, offering a tight smile. “Not yet,” you murmur, though you already know the answer.

He doesn’t question it. He never does. Maybe by now, he recognizes you—not just as another customer, but as a fixture of this place. The girl who always sits alone. The girl who never changes her order. The girl who lingers too long over a half-full glass of water, as if she’s waiting for it to fill itself. The girl who still waits for someone who isn’t coming back.

Does he wonder? Does he piece together the story in his mind, constructing quiet theories about why you return to the same spot, why your fingers still play absentmindedly with a ring that should’ve lost its meaning by now? Is he used to people like you—the ones who haunt old memories like ghosts who refuse to be laid to rest?

Or does he just think that you’re a girl frozen in time, that time went on for everyone else but that you wouldn’t know?

A girl that just can’t move on.

He nods, stepping away without another word, leaving you alone once more. Alone with the past. Alone with the quiet hum of the restaurant around you, the soft clatter of silverware, the muted conversations that blur together into white noise.

You exhale, glancing toward the empty chair across from you. It remains untouched, just as it was that night. Just as it has been every night since.

You wonder if Max ever thinks about this place. If he ever remembers the way your fingers used to trace lazy patterns over his knuckles while he rambled about race strategy, his voice animated, his eyes alight with passion. If he recalls how you’d bite your lip to keep from laughing when he confidently—yet disastrously—mispronounced the names of the wines on the menu, only to scowl at you in mock offense when you corrected him. If he ever sits in a quiet moment, caught off guard by a passing scent or a familiar song playing in the background, and suddenly, inexplicably, thinks of you.

If he feels even the slightest pang of nostalgia when he hears your name.

If he even knows that you come to this restaurant, even though you felt the most heart crushing pain here.

That he left you no choice but to stay here forever.

Or if he’s forgotten all of it. All of you.

You hadn’t meant to check, but old habits die hard. One second, your mind was wandering, and the next, your fingers were already scrolling, moving with a muscle memory you wished you didn’t have. Before your brain could stop them. Before your heart could brace itself.

And suddenly, there it was, a picture trending on Twitter.

Max Verstappen & Kelly Piquet expecting their first child together!

The words seem to blur for a moment, your vision tunneling, breath catching somewhere in your throat. And then, below the headline, a photo.

You wanted to say that it was irony or even faith that you found out that he was expecting a baby with another woman in the same restaurant where he would whispered sweet words about how he wanted to be father to your children so badly, but you don’t believe in faith anymore. This restaurant was just destined to haunt you forever.

At least he looks happy.

Happier than you remember. Happier than he ever was with you.

Your grip tightens on your phone, but your body remains still, frozen in place. The sounds of the restaurant fade into static, the clinking glasses and quiet laughter around you suddenly feeling like background noise to a scene you no longer belong in.

You exhale slowly, pressing your lips together as you force yourself to look away from the screen, as if that might erase the image from your mind. As if that might make it hurt less.

But it doesn’t.

The ring on your finger feels heavier. It presses into your skin like an anchor, pulling you back to a past you can’t escape, a past you’re still tethered to. You blink rapidly at the screen, hoping, praying, that the words will change. That maybe this is some cruel joke, some mistake, but they don’t. The image doesn’t blur. It’s real. It’s him.

Another picture.

Christmas. They’re spending it together.

A perfect family. The kind you used to imagine when you’d sit together, planning for the future, talking about how one day, maybe, you’d have a house full of children and laughter.

The cruelest part is how ordinary it all looks. A picture-perfect moment, the kind you once dreamed of having with him, now shared with someone else. A life you are no longer a part of.

It’s funny, really. How time moves forward for everyone but you. How the world shifts, the seasons change, new memories replace the old ones. Love finds new homes. But you? You’re still here, frozen in place, gathering dust like an abandoned photograph tucked away in a forgotten drawer, one that’s too painful to even look at anymore.

You can’t help yourself but eread the headline over and over again and look at the pictures of them spending Christmas together, as if the repetition might somehow make it easier to swallow. Your heart clenches, a familiar ache spreading through your chest. The kind of ache that never really goes away. The kind of ache that lingers, festers, and refuses to fade no matter how much time passes.

You want to scream, to throw your phone across the room, to erase the image, the words, the entire situation from existence. But you don’t. You sit still, paralyzed, watching the truth unfold in front of you, as if you’re witnessing something that’s no longer your story but someone else’s.

And maybe it is. Maybe it always was.

You think about the night he told you. The memory lingers, every detail sharp as if it just happened yesterday. The dim candlelight flickered between you, casting warm, uneven shadows on the table, making his eyes look darker than usual. Your hair was pinned up, just the way he liked it, because all you wanted was to be enough for him, to be loved and cherished by him just the way you loved him. You remember the way he fidgeted with the water glass in his hands, the way his fingers trembled slightly, betraying the calmness his voice tried to convey. He didn’t even drink from it, just held it there like it was something to anchor him. And you? You could feel it before he even spoke. The knot in your stomach, tight and twisting, the way your heart seemed to freeze in place, like it already knew what was coming before your brain would allow it to acknowledge the truth.

"I met someone."

The words barely make sense. They hang in the air between you, impossible to grasp. For a moment, it feels like the world tilts on its axis, like reality itself has cracked and this is some sort of cruel dream you’ll wake up from.

You almost laugh, bitter and disbelieving, because it doesn’t sound real. It doesn’t sound like Max. Not the Max who once whispered forever into your hair, promising you a future where nothing could tear you apart. Not the Max who swore he couldn’t imagine a life without you, who said your names together like they belonged in the same sentence, forever linked. But the words still come, and somehow, despite everything, they are his.

The restaurant around you starts to fade away, the sounds dulling to a distant hum, muffled like you’re underwater, as if the world is pulling away from you, inch by inch. Your heart races, but your body feels oddly disconnected from it all, like you're watching someone else’s life unfold before you, helpless to stop it. You take a shallow breath, but it doesn’t reach the depths of your chest, and the weight of the moment settles in there like a stone you can’t dislodge.

"What?" Your voice barely makes it past your lips, a fragile whisper, so quiet that for a second you think he won’t even hear you. But he does.

His gaze drops to the table, his eyes avoiding yours, as if he can’t bear to see you crumble, as if he’s already sorry for what he knows he’s about to do. His voice is quieter now, almost too soft to catch. "I didn’t mean for it to happen."

You shake your head, disbelief clouding your thoughts. Your hands curl into fists in your lap, nails digging painfully into your palms, trying to hold on to something, anything. The ring on your finger suddenly feels like it’s choking the life out of you. "But it did."

The words escape from your throat like shards of glass, sharp and cold, biting as they land between you. He swallows hard, and you wonder if he’s doing it to hold back tears, or if it’s just the weight of what he’s about to say.

“She has a daughter,” he adds, his voice thick, but the words hit you like a slap, sharp and unforgiving. You feel your mascara run as your eyes sting with the hot, unfamiliar ache of betrayal. But you don’t wipe the tears away. You don’t move. You just sit there, paralyzed, staring at him, waiting for him to say something—anything—that could take it all back. That could prove this isn’t real. That could remind you of the love you thought was enough.

“She’s not mine,” he continues, his voice wavering, like he’s trying to make it sound better, like he’s trying to convince you this is somehow okay. “But I love her like she is.”

The words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. A sudden, cold numbness spreads across your chest, a pain that feels both sharp and hollow. The space between you and him stretches, filling with the things he can’t say.

“And her mother?” You force the words out, each one heavier than the last.

His silence is loud enough to drown out everything else—the clinking of silverware, the murmur of conversations from nearby tables, the soft jazz music playing in the background. Everything around you fades into the background until all that’s left is him and you, caught in the unbearable weight of what he won’t say.

When he finally speaks again, his voice barely rises above a whisper, like he’s afraid of the truth. “I love her too.”

And just like that, it’s over. The last thread of hope you had been clinging to snaps, leaving you floating in a place where nothing makes sense anymore. The ring on your finger burns, searing into your skin, but you don’t take it off. Not yet. You can’t. Because somehow, it’s the only thing left of him, of the person you thought you knew, of the future that is no longer yours.

You know where he is now. He’s winning. He’s thriving. The world sees him on podiums, champagne in hand, his new life already unfolding in the bright lights. He’s standing beside someone else now, someone who doesn’t carry the weight of the past, someone who fills the space you left behind with ease. The world loves him, adores him. And you? You’re still at the restaurant, in the ruins of what he left behind, trapped in a love story that never got its happy ending, a story that no longer belongs to you.

You press your phone to your chest, as if it could somehow stop the ache from spreading. As if holding onto the past will make the present hurt less. But it doesn’t. The weight of the truth is suffocating, a heavy fog that settles over your heart, and you realize, with painful clarity, that you were never meant to be a part of his forever. You were never meant to last.

The whispers around you grow louder, piercing through the fog of your thoughts, and it doesn’t take much to understand why. You hear his name before you see him, and when you finally do, it feels like the ground beneath you tilts ever so slightly.

Max.

He looks different—sharper, somehow. More defined, more polished by the world that shaped him after you. His eyes sweep over the restaurant, and you wonder if they’ll stop on you, if he’ll look at you and see something from the past, something worth acknowledging. But no.

He’s here’s. At the restaurant. With her.

He really brought her here.

Kelly is beside him, her laughter effortless, untouched by the weight of history, the burden of old wounds. She leans into him, her hand resting gently on her stomach, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looks up at him with the kind of love you used to think was meant for you. She doesn’t know what it’s like to sit in this seat, to watch someone walk away, to feel the years stretch endlessly before you as you wonder if they ever think about you.

Max’s gaze flicks across the room, and for just a split second, it lands on you. It’s so brief that you almost convince yourself it didn’t happen. But it did. His steps falter for a fraction of a second, his fingers tightening around Kelly’s hand before he looks away, as if something inside him is trying to hold onto a memory that’s already slipping through his fingers.

And that’s it. No smile. No apology. No acknowledgment. Just a glance, a flash of something unspoken, and then—nothing.

You knew that he didn’t care about you but, facing with that reality hurt you more than you thought. Here you were, coming to the same place a man hurt you because you loved him so much, only for the same man to come too because he didn’t love you at all.

What a shame.

Maybe it is true. Maybe you really are unawarely frozen in time. Maybe that would explain why you still feel the same pain now as on the day he left you.

You swallow hard, blinking away the burning in your eyes. The candle on the table flickers, casting long shadows that seem to stretch endlessly across the walls. The world outside moves forward, time marching on relentlessly, but you remain frozen in place, clutching onto the past like it’s the only thing that hasn’t slipped away.

The moment passes, and Max moves on, just like he always does.

But you? You’re still right where he left you.

[eggcats]

Radiostatic fic where Vox "loses a bet" and has to fight Alastor dressed in some version of a skirt and/or dress - or just like, the feminine version of his typical outfit. (Vox doesn't acknowledge he kind of likes the outfit in any way, but he still doesn't want to meet his RIVAL wearing it.)

Except. Alastor doesn't treat him any different. They fight as normal, and Alastor gives him all the same insults.

Finally, Vox is like, "HAVE YOU NOT NOTICED WHAT I'M WEARING?!" and Alastor is just like, "Of course I have, old pal, you're finally wearing something OTHER than that typical eyesore of yours!"

Vox: What.

Alastor: You didn't really think your competing stripes and colors were fashionable, did you? Not to mention that atrocious little hat you always wear! Why, I'd wondered if perhaps I should introduce you to my optometrist!

Vox doesn't even know how to handle this. Both Vel and Val are giving him shit and making fun of him "having" to fight Alastor in that outfit (he didn't really HAVE to, but he can't resist the opportunity to fuck with that deer) but Alastor didn't even seem to care? At all? What???

If Vox was gonna expect someone to have bad opinions on shit like this, it'd DEFINITELY be the deer who refuses to acknowledge it's not the 1930s anymore.

Alastor: You don't honestly believe you're the first man I've met in a skirt, do you? This is hell, my dear! I hardly see how what you're wearing takes away from your obnoxious clout chasing, after all!

Vox: Okay, fuck you for real then, I guess.

Does he realize he's transfem? Does he embrace some femininity he's refused to touch for years because he's transmasc and didn't want to be misgendered? Or does he just like to dress up in pretty skirts and dresses? You decide.

Either way, he starts wearing it more often (and he'll electrocute anyone who tries to say he's dressing up FOR Alastor, by the way, he's not. It means nothing to him that Alastor said he liked that outfit more than his usual one, and it has no correlation to him stopping wearing that outfit when he knows he'll see Alastor. No connection at all. Fuck you for even thinking that.)

It DOES lead to a hilarious misunderstanding at the hotel when Vox shows up at the hotel in a dress and Alastor immediately attacks him, only for Charlie to (tearfully) break them apart and force Alastor to go to sensitivity training for his intolerance. Vox is too busy laughing to correct her.

(Vox then chokes on his spit when the next time he sees Alastor, ALASTOR is the one in a dress because this was Charlie's way of "showing him the error of his ways" and Alastor gave up trying to explain he was attacking Vox for being VOX and NOT for wearing a dress. Vox sees an ankle and passes out like a Victorian man about it.)

[forever-and-whats-left]

Babbling on About Phantom AUs I'll Never Finish

1. The Selkie AU

My darling, my favorite—the selkie AU. I never finished the concept because:

A. I can’t finish what I write for shit. B. The concept kept turning too dark for my liking.

I love Phantom AUs that don’t shy away from how awful Erik can be, but I hate when he’s, well... y’know. And selkie lore doesn’t help—nudity, literal kidnapping, borderline born sexy yesterday tropes. I love Christine too much to put her through that. So, for now, Selkie Christine remains strictly an aesthetic.

2. Multiverse Madness Bullshit

You have no idea the mashups that are possible. Most “multiverse” Phantom stories just focus on the Eriks meeting each other. But I want everyone to meet. I want absolute chaos. I want them to take turns brutally beating up Rat Erik.

There’s an actual plot behind this, so bear with me.

Christine, now in the modern day, is haunted by visions of her past lives. But instead of being wistful or romantic about it, she goes full Home Alone—booby traps, pepper spray, the works. Meanwhile, Erik is getting the same visions, but instead of spiraling, he’s actually... okay? Turns out, being kissed by the girl who redeems you—even in dreams—does wonders for your mental health. Therapy? Self-improvement? Erik is thriving. He even plans to leave Christine alone.

Until the dreams start affecting the real world.

I know it’s corny, but I don’t care. I’m freeeeee.

3. My Darkest AU: Christine’s Ghost

This one is bleak—Christine succeeds in ending her own life, leaving Erik haunted. I have two versions:

The really dark one: Erik suppresses his guilt, but Christine’s ghost won’t let him forget. She haunts him violently, forcing him to face what he’s done.

The (marginally) lighter one: Out of remorse, Erik gives Christine proper burial rites. Still tragic, but more about sorrow than outright horror.

ANYWAY! Comment your phantom AUs below! I really love fix-its or AUs more than any other genre of fic. Why? Because it allows me to experience the same story millions of times over.

[skimmingmilk]

In Sharing Is Caring But We Never Learned How, I really loved how you wrote Vector Espio and Charmy. Even though they weren't the focus of the fic I wanted to ask if you had any ideas about them and their dynamic!

You know, I was wondering if anyone was curious about them! I'm so happy you asked! :D

I like to imagine that Vector and Espio met while they were both in the foster care system. They're so young to be running a business and raising a small child, I figure it makes sense that they felt like they were on their own pretty early on. They ended up in the same residential treatment program when Vector was about 16 and Espio was 12 and hit it off surprisingly well, to the point that when Vector aged out of the system two years later, he took Espio with him (I need to amend Espio's age in Sharing is Caring btw, I meant to make him 15 since his ages have mostly skewed older than Sonic over the years, but I totally forgot since I wrote that note like two years ago xD).

Even though Vector's older, and technically the one responsible over both Espio and Charmy, he treats Espio as more of a partner with equal footing in terms of responsibilities, rather than as a son or younger brother. Espio definitely doesn't see Vector as any sort of authority figure beyond potential "boss" and that's mostly because he's more front-facing with clients and handles the finances, lol. And also Espio can’t legally be listed on any of the business' official paperwork until he’s 16 xD They do consider one another family, but since they weren't really raised from childhood together, their bond is hard for them to describe. It's why Vector's so keen to just call Espio and Charmy "his boys." It encompasses everything anyone needs to know about them both, lol. They're his boys!

Now Charmy is absolutely Vector's son xD Espio is usually more of an older brother figure to Charmy, but there are times where he's also better at disciplining Charmy than Vector is, lol. Of course, Espio will often take the “I told you so” route whenever Vector fails to rein Charmy in instead of actually helping. But there are times – moreso when they’re older – that Espio feels somewhat of a parental responsibility for Charmy. The lines of their little family unit are exceptionally blurred, but they don't really care. It works for them!

Espio is stern, but overall more patient with Charmy, while Vector tries to play "good cop" to Espio's "bad cop," but will lose his temper a lot quicker, leading to physical hijinks like grabbing at Charmy or sitting on him, but Charmy just thinks of it as a game. Pushing Vector and Espio’s buttons, to see how much he can get away with, is all part of the fun! Especially because he knows Vector is actually a huge softy at heart and would let Charmy get away with murder no matter how much he annoys him xD Overall, Charmy sees Vector as more of his dad than he does Espio, but he looks up to them both and will imitate certain traits of theirs that he admires. Usually it’s Vector’s business-savvy (or lack thereof, lol) and Espio’s ninja skills.

I want Vector and Espio to have met Charmy while on their first official case, I’m just not sure what that looks like just yet. But they found him when he was very young – only a year or two old – and couldn’t just leave the little guy on his own. Since Vector would’ve already been a licensed foster parent to have Espio with him, he’d be all set to take Charmy in, too.

There’s still more to their background and dynamic that I haven’t fully explored yet, but that’s the basis of what I have for them so far! Thanks for asking!

[fortheloveoffanfic]

City of Second Chances

Hozier x reader

Hozier Masterlist

Author's note: I swear I'm gonna get back to posting the ongoing fics.

Summary: A year after the demise of their relationship, Andrew and Y/n reflect on what used to be.

Warnings: Angst, the briefest mentions of SMUT (like, blink and you'll miss it.)

Much like him, Las Vegas is restless – though, he thinks that may be the only similarity between him and the dazzling city below him. He isn't glamorous, he isn't unrelenting, he isn’t filled to the brim with hopes and dreams. He isn’t blessed with the grace of second chances.

Because if he was, she would be there with him tonight.

He’d make a joke about getting hitched at one of those drive through chapels, she’d humorously accept his proposal and throw her head back and laugh – but deep down they’d both be hoping that the other is just a little serious.

She would have said yes if he asked, right? Like, for real. The right way. Andrew thinks – knows – that he’s let the opportunity pass him over more times than he can count.

Fucking Vegas, and their fake Eiffel Tower, their tacky drive-thru chapels, and those silly plastic rings – like the one he carries in his wallet.

Andrew’s never been the type to enjoy that sort of fast-paced, glitzy lifestyle that the sleepless city offers, but he used to love that place – just like Y/n used to love him.

Standing at the expansive, floor-to-ceiling window of his hotel room, he can’t help but feel a sense of disenchantment with the place; the people ten stories below him, decked off in glittering dressed and expensive suits, the plastic palm trees cemented to the sidewalk and the reflective, gold-varnished doors that lead to dizzying casinos. He’s so removed from it all – Andrew feels like he’s peering in from the outside at some mystical land that he doesn’t quite understand.

But he's walked those streets, thrown money away at blackjack tables behind those doors and gotten blind-drunk at a couple of those bars. He’s done it with her – but it must've been a lifetime ago.

He wonders if one year ago feels that far away for her too. Does she look at all the photographs she used to take and feel like they belong to another version of herself, one that’s experienced the best of the world, but a lifetime ago?

He wonders if she thinks of him when she puts on those stunning silver heels or that blue dress that clung to her curves like wet fabric. What about when she hears Dusty Springfield's voice coming over the record player – does she still have the record?

Does she think of him when she pours herself a glass of wine? Does that one, far away memory come rushing back to her, like dandelion fluff on the wind – like the subtle ache of a wound that just won’t heal right.

She thinks of him when she’s barefoot.

That night in the hotel, when they got into the elevator she started complaining about how her feet hurt. It might have been drunkenness, it might have been because he���s the sweetest man she’s ever had the privilege of knowing, but Andrew immediately got on his knees and started undoing the straps of her heels – the same pair that she can’t stand to look at anymore.

“Want my shoes?” He offers earnestly, looking up at her in a way that makes her reach out and cup his face, her thumb roving the apple of his cheek. Most of the time, its the most mundane things that remind Y/n why she loves him as much as she does; the way he looks with his bowtie and the top two buttons of his dress shirt undone, the way he looks at her like there’s no one else he’d rather look at – his eagerness to offer his shoes when she makes the mistake of wearing her most uncomfortable heels for a three hour event.

“They’ll be too big,” she giggles, and Andrew flashes her that painfully rare smile that he wears so very well.

“Then I’ll carry you,” he determines upon straightening up, her silver heels still hooked in his long fingers.

“You’re too drunk for that,” Y/n counters, noting the redness in his face that only comes from a few drinks too many. Still, Andrew bends forward and loops an arm around the back of her thighs to throw her over his shoulder as the elevator doors slide open. “Andy!” She squeals, hair falling over her face as blood rushes to her head. Its a dizzying experience, especially considering she already isn’t in the best frame of mind – she’s suddenly beginning to regret that last cocktail.

“I’ve got this darlin’,” he huffs. He seems to have a handle on things too…..until he trips on the threshold of the elevator and stumbles forward. He might have caught himself if he hadn’t been so inberated – and hadn't been carrying her in the most impractical way – but he doesn’t and they both hit the carpeted floor with simultaneous ‘omphs’.

“Don’t say it,” he warns, struggling to prop his weight on an elbow so he doesn’t smother her.

“I told you so,” Y/n giggles, before wincing at the pain in her back.

“And she said it,” Andrew teases and then his smile softens, “you okay?” He asks softly, slipping his free hand behind her head so it isn’t resting on the floor.

“Better than okay,” Y/n hums, reaching between them to touch his face again. When she does, her eye catches a glimpse of the thin, plastic band adorned little bits of coloured glass meant to look like gems on her left hand. It doesn’t exactly go with the rich, jewel-toned blue stain of her dress – Andrew had gotten it out of one of those vending machines earlier, and now he’s wearing its plainer counterpart. They hadn’t made it to the chapel, but it seemed silly not to wear the rings after already buying them. Lifting her head a little, she meets his lips, tasting the heady combination of champagne and whiskey on his tongue.

“We should get off the floor,” he mumbles against her lips before stumbling to a stand and offering his hand to her. When she gets to her feet, it takes them another moment to collect their bearings before finally starting the walk down the hallway to their room – that time with her bare feet on the ground.

So now, she thinks of him when she’s barefoot. And when she looks at that dress, or the plastic ring still tucked away in her jewelry box – or thinks about Vegas.

Sometimes, the memories are so fresh in her mind that she swears they all happened yesterday; Y/n wonders if it's like that for Andrew – if those moments are all on constant replay in his mind, so achingly fresh that it makes the air thin. It must be some kind of curse not to, Y/n determines, because most times, its the sharpness of those moments that keep her going. It might not be so bad to have lost if she was once loved that deeply – at least she can say she felt it.

With Dusty Springfeild's Look of Love coming over the record player, Y/n drains a bottle of white wine, and deserts the empty bottle on the marble counter that separates the living room from her kitchen. Humming along to the tune – their song – she starts padding towards the sofa when a photograph on the yellow wall catches her eye. That stupid hotel room that overlooks that faux Eiffel tower.

Andrew at the grand piano with a bottle of wine on the top. She knows exactly what he’s playing, she remembers how awful it sounded when he realized the damn thing was woefully out of tune.

What kind of hotel room has an out of tune piano?

She remembers what happened when she distracted him. The coolness of the ivory keys under her skin. That horrifying tune that made them laugh. The tickle of his bead on her neck and the way his hand tangled around her fingers.

“How’s this for a picture?” He mumbles, lips against her skin as blood rushes to her cheeks, but the camera's already been discarded near the empty bottle and its the last thing she’s concerned about.

Fucking Vegas – and their out of tune pianos and fake Effiel towers, Y/n thinks as she takes a drag of her wine.

Great, now she’s thinking of him while she drinks wine.

[zeel-zzz]

To be Regulus Black.

[this a short 'character study' of Regulus in a fic i'm writing]

VAMPIRE REGULUS | JEGULUS | WC : 510 cw; religious imaginary

"Regulus and his need to touch"

Touch is something he never thought he would miss.

Years of solitude, years of isolation, and the one thing he continues to wish for is the warm skin of another person.

Oh, how he missed the warmth. Not just the warmth of touch but the warmth of life. The warmth of the sun that could scare off any chill that wished to take hold of him.

It’s been years, centuries since he’s seen the sun.

Years, centuries, since he could claim to be alive. 

Years, centuries, since he felt alive.

Years, centuries, it was all the same in the night. All of it is the same in the cold, in the dark. 

Years and centuries, why did time matter for a creature like him? Why did he count the days, the months, the years, the centuries? Lifetime after lifetime, it was all the same.

Always missing the warmth, always missing the sun.

“You, my brother, are the ocean. Wild and untamed, deep and engulfing. It does not matter how long goes by, you will continue to return to the shores with a vengeance. May the Saints bless those who stand on the shore you wish to fall upon.”

Call him the ocean, call him the waves that crash on the sands, call him the waters that are pulled by the moon, but also call him the water that wishes for the sun. Call him the sea that glistens in the morning light. Call him all of that in more, so long as he gets to see the beautiful blue skies again.

That is what he wishes for.

For the blue sky and the warm sun.

That’s what he finds in his touch.

In the touch of a human that shouldn't wish to be touched by him.

A creature, a monster.

“You are beautiful. So wonderful to look at, so pleasant to hold. Saints above, you are absolutely divine.”

He lies.

A monster like him, divine?

A twisted joke. The Saints must take great pleasure in making a mockery of him.

Touch this man and feel your mortality leave you once again. Look upon him and witness as everything you wished for is taken away.

His eyes are warm and kind. His touch is delicate and caring. For a moment he can forget the cold that creeps under his skin whenever they touch.

He is the sun you crave. The warmth you wish to feel on your skin.

He is bright, so bright that he shines against the candle light. He could light up a room if he were to smile. He is soft, warm, and kind. 

Look at him and yearn, for you will never be worthy of him.

Yearn, that's all he can do. He is the light his life is missing. He is the sun, the warmth, and he can not have him.

No, he could never be worthy.

No one would ever be worthy of a man like James Potter. Especially not someone who wishes to take the blood that keeps that skin of his so warm.

SIRIUS | REMUS | JAMES | BARTY | EVAN

[messrsrarchives]

Hi Robyn. I appreciate you taking the time to always articulate your thoughts on Rowling and topics like that. I was wondering if you have thoughts on this or an answer to this question:

In a recent post you said things like "there's no ethical way to engage" and that you're trying to do "the least amount of harm possible." A few years ago, I believed these things very literally and believed it was completely immoral to engage in HP at all or engage in the fandom at all, and therefore I did not. Now obviously my beliefs have changed and I no longer believe it's so immoral I can't interact with it, and obviously neither do you or any of the rest of us. Are you able to articulate why? If there's no ethical way to engage, how do you justify being in the fandom? If you're trying to do the least amount of harm possible, do you believe you're still doing harm by being in the fandom and how do you justify that? If this is all inherently unethical and harmful, why are we doing it? How is it morally justifiable to be in the HP fandom at all, to post about it and therefore "promote" it? How do you justify to yourself being in the fandom?

I don't know the answer to that, and since you're someone who often has thoughts on this sort of subject I hope you are able to articulate this in some way that makes sense. I know it's a big question that may not even really have an answer, but I would like to know your thoughts or feelings about it if you'd like to answer.

Secondly, have you ever written up one single list along the lines of "things I believe we should not do"? Like listing it all out in one post: don't watch the hbo show even if you have a subscription, don't post about the show, don't comment on fancasts' posts, don't spend money on merch, don't post merch even if you didn't pay for it, and so on.

Thank you so much <3

HIII !!! always here to yap about these things <33 this is going to be so long i'm sorry !

i think one of my pinned videos on tiktok talks about guilt. there's so much guilt for engaging here and i know that i'm not the only one who, not only feels that, but feels as though it's a lot heavier recently. regardless of how you're engaging, we're promoting her universe and we are complicit, and there's so much guilt that comes with that.

but i think sometimes guilt is useful. i think there's a certain amount of guilt in this scenario that,,, i don't know? makes you better?? i think if you feel a bit guilty for being here, then you're aware and you're more likely to be conscious about your engagement. i think if you're not feeling at least the slightest bit guilty for being here, chances are you're unaware about the effects (whether direct or not) and you're too comfortable. we see a lot of people say "well i'm queer she hates me anyway" or "well i read stories she would hate" or "this fandom is everything she hates" etc etc as if our mere existence here is,,, an act of protest? but i don't see it as that. i don't see me engaging here as an act of protest, i see everything else as one.

and i guess that's why i came back to these spaces. i was told about ATYD by a friend and i already knew the basics about JKR, so my first action was to reread the books for the first time in years and try to see if anything read differently - a lot more stood out because i was more aware, and i spent a solid two weeks just doing research and thinking "okay, if i go into this, what do i need to do?"

at that point, all i thought i had to do was boycott and not put the same ideals into fanfiction, but it's a lot more intense than that. there's the risk of promoting a fic of someone who doesn't stand with us, or of commenting on something in a promoting way, or of showing off old merch and not specifying etc etc - there's a lottt of hidden ways we promote her without realising. that's also why i don't tend to talk About the books unless i'm recalling canon information for a plotline. or the movies unless i'm doing the same.

i think where you say "how do you justify being in the fandom" the most important word there for me is You.

there's the basics, of course: don't profit her, don't post things that profit her, don't perpetuate her ideals, don't promote harry potter in random comment sections, don't talk about the reboot even if you aren't watching it etc etc.

and then everything else is You. once you've got the basics of ethical (as much as possible) engagement, the justification part comes down to you personally. what do you need to do? what will make it feel safer for you? what will make you feel more comfortable? what balances it out for You?

for me, that's talking about it. and it comes off very lecture-like and like i'm scolding people and on one hand,, yes. it's a lecture, it's education, it's demonstrating what to do. but on the other, it's for me? it's for Me. and for Me to justify being in this space, it's to be loud and vocal. i've always said not everyone needs to be loud about it! i think forced activism is harmful but for Me personally? it's the talking about it that justifies it. for every negative comment that i get, i get 10 people that didn't realise the impact. for every person that says "this is such a non-issue" i get a DM from someone else asking more questions or thanking me for talking about it.

for every person in the fandom that doesn't value trans lives and lets me know that, i get 10 trans people who thank me for being loud about it.

and i think that's it for me. formulating a safe bubble for me and everyone else that has been harmed feels like justification. i won't ever be able to change her views or make a mass change, i'm just one guy without much to offer, but i can get one dm from a trans person who is glad to have found a space and,,, yeah. i can make A difference. i'm glad.

and then that all comes together when it comes to me posting. posting even fics is promoting her but i like to think (maybe potentially ignorantly, i'm not sure) that if someone new(er) to the fandom fics a video i've made on the fyp and they want to know more, they'd swipe across to my account, hypothetically. and then they'd find the jkr playlist, they'd find the pinned videos, they'd find the yap playlist and the jkr powerpoint etc etc, and i - definitely ignorantly - like to think that it balances out somewhere. maybe. hopefully. it definitely does more than just posting about the fandom/studios/merch on something like tiktok with an incrediblyyyy loose algorithm and not mentioning anything at all.

it's a hard balance. it's a hard balance of wanting to educate but not wanting to come off kind of,,, like superior? dictorial? placing myself above everyone? but also not wanting to sit back. and i don't think i've found that balance yet, but that's okay! it's all a curve.

for someone else it could be that they add the disclaimers to their fics and don't talk about it publicly often. like here on tumblr is very different to over on tiktok, and i'm sure justification works different on a systemic level here than there. or for someone else it could be that they simply read someone else's talks about it and try to adapt. it could be anything really, it's so individual!

you can justify it however you need to, as long as you have the basics down and you're not causing harm. as long as your justification isn't rooted in assauging your guilt (by that i mean for example, "im queer and jkr hates me anyway so i'll go the studios in protest" because that causes harm)

but at the end of the day i think it comes down to not letting TERFs win. at the end of the day i think we all justify it by not letting them take away another thing we love, even if it's something as silly as a magical universe. it means a lot to us, we aren't going to give it up for someone like her.

so we make a change. we don't separate art from artist, that causes harm. we don't call it reclaiming, you can't reclaim IP of someone still living and profiting.

but we can claim a bubble within it, and we can surround ourselves with people that get it and some of us will step out of the bubble and try to get more people to join us, others will be happy just staying in there and enjoying their time, and we all just get to Breathe.

i don't know. this is long and rambly and i don't think i'll ever justify it fully. i think i'll always feel guilty and i'll always talk about it and i think i'll always have moments where i wonder if maybe i am doing more harm, or times where i feel like i'm screaming myself hoarse and people don't seem to get it but,,, i also have 20,000 people that i didn't have before. and lifelong friends. and communication skills i didn't have, and a rekindled love for something that dominated my childhood.

and i feel good, i think. about the way i've gone about it. i think the version of me that bought crusty and dusty falling to pieces books off of etsy and sat there highlighting things would be proud that this is the way we take it, and i think the 15 year old version of me that realised he was trans and threw everything away would be proud too.

and i think that's how i justify it.

am i making myself proud with this? am i proud of how i went about this, and will i be proud when everything unfolds and we see the harm reach it's peak? will i be proud of what i did to Try?

and i think that's the big question to be asking ourselves.

(and in terms of one post, i have a PDF powerpoint here that explains a Bit, but - not to just promote myself lmao but who's reading all of this actually - i will be releasing three episodes of my podcast this week ALLL about jkr! (1) things in the books (2) twitter, political action, robert galbraith books and (3) fandom responsibility - and that third one will contain everything. for now at least. it's constantly changing but for now, it will include everything we need to do to keep this space safe and comfortable and as ethical as possible)

[triglycercule]

horror is so BLESSED he's the only one out of the murder time trio that has actual good people trying to influence his story 💔💔 dust and killer were both driven to INSANITY because of the choices of their respective humans but horror??? every time without FAIL the polls for horrortale's plotline have always ended in a good place for aliza (either by bettering her relationships/reputation or for her to just. not DIE)

horrortale's potential alternate timelines my beLOVEd🙏🙏 they're SO lucky that we're being kind and benevolent hehe (≧ω≦) now where are the aus based off the possible different outcomes that could've happened in horrortale HUH???? (like how aliza couldve killed toriel or chosen horror's puzzle or gone with undyne to the core........)

[shikai-the-storyteller]

It's taking me ages to write this chapter because every time I look through old VODs / notes to check something, I come across moments like this that make me want to lie down face-first on the floor:

[Context: Pac commits to the idea of taking the Happy Pills so he can create a cure. He's about to write a note to Cellbit to explain his plan.]

Pac: If Cellbit puts himself in this position, it's worse for everyone, because Cellbit is smarter when it comes to coming up with strategic plans, so he is the thinking mind of the Favela Five group, so if he no longer has the mind, he’s not capable of solving this whole problem, you know? But if I put myself in this position to help Cellbit so he can get the cure... You understand? It's better if I'm the bait. Right? I can't- I can't carry things alone guys, I've already lost Mike [...] if I lose Cellbit and I alone had to carry things, I won't be able to. But I think Cellbit can manage better. He is more independent, and he has Roier. He has a husband. I'm trying to– to be lucid here, understand? That's all.

Date: September 11, 2023 || Timestamp: 03:10:10

[imaginethathaikyuu]

because im curious

[orcelito]

I'm at the painful "confession" scene during the kage summit arc. It really is so emotional, but also... hm.

When I was younger, like 13 or so, I was a big Sakura and Naruto shipper. They were the first pairing I read fanfic for even. And in a way, I do still enjoy the two of them together... but it's moments like these that really drive home the fact that it Doesn't really work in canon. Not the way that it's set up.

As Sakura puts it, "Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke! That's all you think about!"

She's told that Naruto has feelings for her and decides to use it to convince him to stop going after Sasuke. She does love him, but not in the way she's trying to confess. The love they share is one of comradery, not necessarily romantic. The love of two people who have gone through such pain together, and who have leaned on each other throughout it all. And the fact that she's turning around and saying she loves him "simply like everyone else", now... it's trivializing. And the fact that she's trying to convince him of this, the fact that she thinks she Can convince him of this, is pretty hurtful. They've come a long way from when they were kids, Naruto the goofball vying for her attention while she yelled at him for being stupid. Sakura respects Naruto so much more than before, and Naruto respects her too. So the fact that she's still doing this... She's desperate, really. She thinks the promise he made to her to bring Sasuke home is what's driving him to let himself be hurt over and over and over again in the pursuit and protection of Sasuke.

But she's wrong.

That may be part of it, but it's only part. Naruto wants Sasuke back for himself, too. He let himself be beat up to avoid selling him out. He chases after him with single minded determination. Sasuke is his entire drive to get stronger, to catch up, to bring him home. Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke indeed.

As it is, Naruto knows she's lying to herself. And no matter what she says, he will keep going after Sasuke. Because that's just the person that Naruto is.

[zukkaoru]

i think. everyone should stop reading my most popular fics that aren't really that good and start reading the ones with 18 kudos that are significantly better

[souridealist]

me: this is going to be my nice, fun, lighthearted fandom where I just write lots of low-pressure goofy shit, I really need that right now me: me: me: me: trips and lands 1100 words into a fic about Laura, "Worst!"Logan, and the seven million psychological complexes that Laura's original Logan by all logic would have left her with

[the-casbah-way]

Why didn't McPhee choose Lance for CEO instead of Oct?

a few reasons. octavius is managing director and lance is head of marketing, so it would make far more sense in terms of a more standard career progression for octavius to be ceo. a managing director (in this context) is very similar to a ceo anyway so mcphee knows that octavius already has all the experience needed for the role. as well as that, octavius is just very good at his job. if he wasn't he wouldn't be in the position he's in. he's very efficient and has the correct degree and previous work experience, he's great with numbers and administrative work and he's also surprisingly a very good and natural leader. he has that privileged white man way of speaking and carrying himself that makes him very good at bossing people around and actually getting them to listen. don't get me wrong he is not people positive at all and wishes he could just do his job with no input from anyone else because he doesn't trust them to meet his impossibly high standards, and that's why i said mcphee probably shouldn't have chosen him because a ceo generally needs to have VERY strong people skills. but octavius is definitely the best man for the job in terms of the choices mcphee has within the firm already. lance is too self centred to be able to better the company as a whole and his skills are definitely more suited for a role where he doesn't have to handle the entire admin side of things because he does not work anywhere near hard enough to pull that off and almost everyone that knows him can tell. he's very much a nepotism baby and did not really earn his role like octavius did